Lone Star Redemption

by Colleen Thompson

  “Pull up right over there,” he said.

  Jessie peered into the weeds ahead. “But there’s nothing left.”

  “It’ll be easier to explain it outside the car.”

  They left the SUV, the dog following to sniff around them. The animal’s activity flushed a pheasant, and her ears pricked, but at a word from Jessie, she returned her attention to her mistress.

  He opened his mouth to speak, then noticed Jessie peering at him oddly.

  “What?” he asked, annoyed at the interruption.

  She fought a smile with little success. “It’s just—” her hand moved toward his jawline but stopped just short of touching “—someone’s got a little shine this morning.”

  He huffed an irritated sigh and scrubbed at his unshaven jaw. “That kid and her glitter. I’d have that stuff banned from the county if I could. Ranchers aren’t supposed to sparkle, damn it!”

  Jessie looked away, biting her lip, but a bubble of laughter escaped.

  Ignoring it, he gestured toward the scraped spot where the bunkhouse had stood. “A couple of weeks ago, I came to check on the place, but there was nothing inside or around it. No furniture, no junk, like somebody swept it clean.”

  She immediately sobered. “Nothing on the porch?”

  He shook his head and then shrugged. “Maybe Canter and his people cleared it, logged things into evidence.”

  “Or had every last bit hauled to the dump,” she said. “You do have a dump somewhere around here, don’t you?”

  “Not officially,” Zach said, “but one of the locals has a pit dug, and for thirty bucks a pickup load, you can get junk buried. A hundred bucks if you’re not from around here.”

  “So welcoming to visitors. Sounds exactly like the Rusted Spur I’ve come to know and love,” she said flatly. “But I’ll want to get directions from you later.”

  “Clem Elam won’t like you snooping around his place. He’s a friend of Hellfire’s, for one thing, and rougher than an old cob.”

  “Maybe Gretel here’ll charm him into it,” she said, smiling as she scratched the Rottweiler’s sleek black ears.

  “Or maybe Canter’s already warned him you mean trouble.”

  “The way he warned you off?”

  Did the woman ever give an inch? “Tried to, don’t you mean? Cause I’m here talking to you. And telling you what it was I did find, right over here.” He took a few steps downward, into the depression, and pointed out a spot where the dried grasses lay flat. “Before somebody came back for it.”

  At her questioning look, he told her about the silvery trail of cinders. And about the charred chunks he suspected had been bone.

  “Human bone?” Her face paled. “Tell me that isn’t what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not sure. I’m no expert. But I snapped some pictures with my phone.”

  “Let me see. You do still have them?”

  Nodding, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and found the photos he’d been so tempted to delete. As soon as he passed them to her, she scrolled through the short series, squinting at each image, pinching and enlarging, and turning her head as if she were imagining what she was seeing from a variety of angles. He knew because he’d repeatedly done the same thing, attempting to convince himself he was seeing the remnants of burnt wood or butchered animals.

  And not a murdered woman.

  “Who else have you shown these to?” she finally asked.

  “I tried to talk to Canter. He scoffed about ‘getting all excited over what was left of someone’s dinner’ but promised to come take a look. Next thing I knew, the grill was gone. Not only the grill, either. The whole bunkhouse.”

  She stared in disbelief. “What? You’re saying he was the one who tore the place down? Without your permission? How could he possibly—”

  “He showed up at the house while I was out on the range. Told my mama all about these kids he’d run off—kids my mama swore she’d seen, too—and said it was a safety hazard, practically falling down.”

  “It was definitely run-down,” said Jessie, “but the building seemed basically sound.”

  “I thought the same, but our opinions aren’t the ones that matter. Canter talked my mama into signing off on having Clem Elam and his helpers tear it down and haul it off that very hour. Since they just so happened to be right there, heavy equipment and all.”

  “That has to be illegal,” she said, her voice colder than the prairie wind.

  He shook his head. “My mama may have turned over the running of this ranch to me, but she still has full decision-making power when she chooses to exert it.”

  “Has she ever used this power before? Since you’ve come back, I mean.”

  “No.” Normally, his mother referred every question, no matter how small, to him, and he was still going through bags of unsorted receipts, unopened mail—all sorts of detritus—from her brief tenure as the head of the ranch. When he’d confronted her about the bunkhouse, she’d told him she’d been having nightmares about the place and the murder that had taken place there.

  Eden’s scared of it, too, his mother had added, as if Henry Kucharski’s death were the only reason. She’s overheard us talking about that poor man, and that reporter who stopped by—Haley’s sister. It’s upset her.

  “What did Canter say when you went to him about it?” Jessie demanded.

  “He said he had the right to see to unsafe structures, especially when he had the landowner’s permission. Unless I wanted to take a shot at having my own mama declared incompetent.”

  She made a rude noise. “What a piece of work this guy is. What’d he say about the grill?”

  “He claims he didn’t find it—and that sucker weighed a ton.”

  “So he didn’t see the bones? Did you show him?”

  Zach shook his head. “Didn’t think it was such a good idea to let him know I had those pictures. Just in case...”

  “So you just dropped it?” she asked, her gaze challenging him to admit the truth.

  That he’d been too sickened by the thought that whatever he learned would somehow implicate his mother, who had pleaded with him to let this go, to not take any action.

  “I went back to running my cattle ranch, taking care of Eden and my mama, and worrying about my business like I oughta,” he said, feeling heat waves rising, cooking him in his boots. Because he couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d decided to mind his own business, that time with a member of his squadron. A younger pilot who had clipped him, dooming both planes, dooming so many innocents in the sleeping city below.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” he asked as he noticed her fiddling with his phone again, clicking away with her left hand.

  He reached for it, panic stabbing through him. Stepping away, she turned her back, and that dog of hers slipped between them, hackles raised and teeth bared, a low growl rumbling in her chest.

  “Calm down, Gretel. Platz,” Jessie said before looking to Zach. “It’s okay, isn’t it, if I forward these to my phone?”

  “What do you plan to do with them?”

  “Make contact with a source of mine, a forensic anthropology professor. Dr. Pollard’s the director of the Body Farm run by Sam Houston State in Huntsville, north of Houston. If he says those bones are human, then they’re human.”

  “But whether they are or not, they’re gone.”

  “Those photographs might serve as proof, along with your testimony.” When he didn’t respond, she shook her head and added, “Come on, Zach. You know this is all wrong. You’ve known it from the start. Otherwise, why would you have kept these pictures, much less shown them to me?”

  “Might not’ve been one of my better ideas.”

  “Admit it,” she said. “You’re a good guy. And you know as wel
l as I do that this situation is seriously messed up.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I do.”

  Even though the implications were tearing him apart.

  * * *

  They looked around for only a few minutes before Jessie realized it was a complete waste of time. Canter and this Elam person he’d brought in to do the demolition had been thorough; she’d give them that. There was no way she was ever going to find a piece of evidence as flimsy as a soiled T-shirt or fragile as a mirror. She’d scarcely found more than a two-by-four and a few shards of broken glass on the scraped site.

  “So what’s next?” Zach asked her after they’d returned to the SUV.

  “We have to find those bones,” she said. “We need to secure the grill and any remains for further testing after I contact the Texas Rangers.”

  “The Rangers won’t come out on the basis of a few pictures.”

  “Surely, after Henry’s murder, they’ll take this seriously. They’ll have to.”

  He frowned, looking skeptical. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends on what Canter tells them.”

  “I’ll make them listen. I swear I will,” she lashed out, choked with unexpected tears. Because at that moment, it hit her: they weren’t just talking about someone’s bones, found in an old grill, or someone’s blood soaked into a wadded T-shirt. They were talking about Haley’s. Her Haley.

  She’s gone, long gone. I’ll never see another member of my family again.

  The world spinning dizzily around her, Jessie would swear she felt her sister’s presence, felt Haley’s fear, her anguish—a wave of it so strong that she jammed on the brakes and put the SUV in Park. Bailing out, she slammed the door behind her and staggered a few steps before bending to brace her hands about her knees.

  Moments later, Zach was there beside her, holding her hair out of the way and rubbing her back as her stomach pitched and spasmed and she drew in deep breaths of chilly air. Inside the Escalade, Gretel barked aggressively, apparently convinced that she was being hurt.

  Unable to bring anything up, Jessie finally rose, tears streaming down her hot face.

  “It just hit me,” she said, wiping her face with the clean bandanna he produced from somewhere. “It has to be my sister, burned like that. Like trash, like she meant nothing.”

  Beneath the brim of his silver hat, the tall rancher’s deep, blue eyes looked into hers. And in their depths, she saw both comprehension and compassion, tempered by some worry of his own.

  “She meant something, no matter what,” he told her. “She had a family who loved her. She had you.”

  “Not enough,” Jessie said as she moved toward the Escalade’s hood and braced herself against it. “Never enough. She’s— Haley’s my twin, my mirror image. For so long, she was always there. And always in here, too, even after things went sideways.” She laid her hand on her chest, feeling the heart pumping beneath it.

  A heart that would beat alone, forever, with no chance of the reconciliation she had always believed would someday be possible. Someday, when her sister tired of the lifestyle she had chosen, when she tired of the resentment she’d felt toward Jessie, with her straight A’s and steady job.

  You act like it does any good, always playing the good twin, Haley had shouted the last time they had spoken, her tone as caustic as her words, like he’ll ever think you’re good enough, no matter what you do.

  Had that been four years ago, already? Four years since Jessie had even tried to get in contact with her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love her, as maddening as Haley’s descent was.

  “We don’t even know those bones were human,” Zach said, “and we for sure can’t prove they were hers.”

  “Why else would someone go through so much trouble to take them?” she asked. “They’re Haley’s bones. I know it. I swear, I can feel her, feel how terrified she was, how lonely. That monster she was with, that Frankie, must’ve killed her. He cut her up like an animal to burn the evidence.” Jessie couldn’t stop herself, her fear and horror spilling over.

  “Stop,” he told her, surprising her by taking her wrist and then pulling her close. Pulling her against a wall of hard muscle and the scent of leather. Into an embrace so big and masculine that it was overwhelming. “Don’t go there.”

  For one brief moment she sank into his arms, before her body stiffened, too agitated to accept the comfort. “No. Please. Let me go.”

  Releasing her, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jessie. Sorry. It’s just, I’ve done the same thing with my brother, imagining what he felt, what was done to him in those final minutes. Short on facts, the human mind will do that, will torture itself endlessly. And it does no damned good at all, only makes you crazy. Keeps you from doing what you have to.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked, wishing she had even a fraction of his strength and wisdom. “Just go home? Forget my promise to my mother? Try to pretend Haley and I never dressed in matching outfits, that we never shared our toys, our crib, a womb before that? How? You tell me how, Zach, and I’ll be glad to do it. And while you’re at it, you can tell me how to keep on breathing, too.”

  He pulled off his hat to rake a hand through his hair. “I wish I had the answers for you. Wish I had them for myself.”

  She stumbled off, and this time really was sick, again and again, the world around her dimming. By the time she finished, she felt emptied, and not only physically. Numbly, she allowed Zach to help her up and lead her back to the vehicle’s passenger side, her knees so weak that they threatened to give way with every step.

  “Let me drive the rest of the way,” he said. “You’re in no condition. But before I open that door for you, you better tell your dog to stand down.”

  She silenced Gretel with a hand signal and said, “I have a cooler in the back with water,” she said. “I just need to rinse my mouth.”

  “Unlocked?” he asked, and at her nod, he retrieved it for her, cracking the top open with a twist.

  “Thanks,” she told him, and when she took the bottle from him, their hands accidentally brushed. And need opened up inside her, a yawning void that made her wish he’d pull her into those strong arms again and fill it. Fill her with presence, staving off the grief blowing through her, like the January wind.

  Inside the Escalade, he said, “Convincing the Rangers to investigate those bones will be a whole lot easier if we can get our hands on the evidence. So how ’bout let’s take a drive over to Clem Elam’s dump. You up to that?”

  Fighting hard to keep the tears from spilling, she could only nod.

  They drove for about fifteen minutes, the stark winter landscape stretching out on either side. Here and there, she spotted cattle, horned heads down and backs to the light wind. Otherwise, the view was as bleak and empty as her soul.

  Zach must have shared her mood, or at least sensed it, for he didn’t say a word until after he’d climbed out of the SUV and unhooked a length of chain serving as a makeshift gate. The sign hanging from it read Private Property and gave a local number.

  Once back inside the vehicle, he said, “I hate to call and warn him that we’re coming, but if I don’t he’s likely to set loose his pack of mutts to run us off. Or if he’s in an especially good mood, he’ll just shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I guess you’d better go ahead and call, then,” she said. “My New Year’s resolution involved cutting the lead out of my diet.”

  Zach made the call, asking the man about his luck hunting, his dogs and finally his wife before finally getting to the point of the conversation. “I’m up by your front gate right now. Mind if I drive back to the dump?”

  There was a pause as Elam answered, and Zach responded a moment later. “Absolutely, buddy. I wouldn’t think of using your place without paying. I’ll stop by the trailer after, if you don’t mind... Sure, oka
y. I’ll head there first.”

  A moment later, he disconnected and drove in through the gate, explaining, “The man has his priorities. And every one of them involves cash payment.”

  “I got that,” she said, wondering if there was any limit to the type of things that such a man might do for money.

  They drove along a rutted track, turning right just past a clump of scraggly trees. Soon, a battered silver travel trailer came into view, along with a dozen coonhound mixes, each one chained to a doghouse. All of them began to bay at the Cadillac’s approach. There was a ramshackle shed in back, and inside it she saw a mud-plastered yellow bulldozer. But it was the vehicles parked out front that attracted her attention. Not the old charcoal-gray pickup so much as the big chopper motorcycle, which jangled a memory.

  “The Rebel flags on the gas tank,” she said, nodding toward them. “I recognize that bike. It’s Hellfire’s.”

  “Great,” said Zach. “Just what we needed. But at least now we know the answer to one question.”

  “What question’s that?”

  “Which one of McFarland’s pals has a dark-colored pickup that he could’ve borrowed that night in November. The pickup that he could’ve used to wreck my truck after he shot you and your friend.”

  * * *

  When Jessie opened the door to bail out, Zach caught her left wrist. He recognized that eager, almost predatory, gleam in her eye, and he meant to nip it in the bud before it cost one or both of them more trouble.

  “You’ll need to stay out here,” he told her. “Don’t get out of the vehicle for any reason.”

  “Why on earth not?” she asked. “It’s not like they can’t see me through the window. Look there—the curtain’s moving.”

  Sure enough, when he followed her gaze, a grimy scrap of cloth twitched closed.

  “Just trust me on this, all right?” Zach continued, wondering if this was the same woman he had just watched fall apart, too upset to accept the comfort he had offered. But that didn’t mean he was going to let her ignore his attempts to keep her safe. “You’ve already had one run-in with Hellfire, and Clem’s not exactly known for his way with the ladies. But he is known to keep a loaded shotgun just inside his door.”