Cowboy Conspiracy

by Joanna Wayne

  “I’m not looking for a cowboy.”

  Wyatt hooked the heels of his Western boots on the stool’s rung. That ruled him out. Not that he worked with cows, but he was a cowboy in his soul.

  “Where are you moving from?” Edie asked.

  “East of here.”

  You couldn’t get much more evasive that than, Wyatt thought. His cop instincts checked in and he wondered if she might be on the run—from the police or perhaps an unwanted lover.

  “We’re getting a cat,” the little girl said.

  “That will be nice,” Edie said. “I had a cat when I was young. I named it Princess.”

  “I’m naming mine Belle. That’s a princess name.”

  “It is. I like that.”

  “My name is Jaci.”

  “I like that, too. Now I better get back to my grill before I burn the ham.”

  The thunder was now a constant growl in the background and the pounding on the metal roof sounded like hailstones. The lights blinked again as Edie pulled sliced tomatoes, lettuce leaves and jalapeños from a small built-in refrigerator beneath the counter.

  Wyatt shifted on the stool so that he had a better view of the woman at the front table without staring obviously. His mind automatically sized her up the way he would a suspect. The hair was strawberry blond, clean and shiny. It was cut short and in wavy layers that flipped about her chin. She had a cute nose that turned up ever so slightly on the end.

  Nice breasts. Slender hips—he’d noticed those when she was pumping gas. Full lips. Great smile—when she smiled.

  Okay, so maybe he was noticing her more like a woman than a suspect. She did intrigue him, maybe because she was showing absolutely no interest in him.

  She looked up, saw him watching her and shot him that same back-off stare she had aimed at him outside.

  Once Edie put his sandwich in front of him, his concentration turned to the food. When he did look up, he caught the guy at the other end of the bar eyeing Jaci’s mother. Wyatt couldn’t fault him for noticing an attractive woman. He’d done the same.

  But the way this guy was looking at her bothered Wyatt. He could see why the waitress felt uncomfortable around him.

  Wyatt felt that copper’s itch to find some reason to ask for the man’s ID. He’d like to check him out and see if he had a record or an outstanding warrant for his arrest.

  A few minutes later, the guy paid his tab, stood and swaggered toward the door. He stopped near the woman at the table and rested his right hand on his groin area, leering until the woman looked up. She glanced away quickly.

  Wyatt’s muscles clenched. Badge or not, he wasn’t going to let the slimy weasel intimidate a woman while he was here to stop it.

  But then the guy turned and strode out of the café and into the full fury of the storm.

  By the time Wyatt had finished his sandwich and a second cup of coffee, the steady pelting against the roof had finally slacked off. The woman and kid were already pulling on their jackets. They left as Wyatt paid his tab.

  He’d just shrugged into his own jacket when he heard the piercing wail. Adrenaline rushed his veins. He shoved his way out the door, his instincts already kicking in and ready for whatever he might find.

  Anything except this.

  Chapter Three

  The woman from the diner had shoved a motorbike to the pavement and was kicking the frame like she was attacking a hungry grizzly. Had it been a grizzly, the bear would likely be losing the battle.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  Her hands flew to her hips. “That hooligan stole my car.”

  Wyatt looked around. True enough, there was no sign of the Honda she’d been driving earlier.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she demanded. “Do something.”

  “Looks like you have the bike subdued,” he quipped.

  “Not help with the bike. My purse is in that car. All my money’s in it. He has my computer. A box of Jaci’s favorite toys.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “And half of our clothes!” She slammed the heel of her stylish boot into the bike’s frame again.

  The hooligan in question had a good half hour head start. With no idea which direction he’d gone in, chances were slim Wyatt could chase him down in his pickup truck.

  “What in holy tarnation are you doing to my bike?” This time it was the waitress’s shrill voice that cut through the damp air.

  The woman threw up her hands. “Your bike? I thought it belonged to the man who stole my car.”

  “That creep who was in the café stole your car?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I knew he was up to no good the second he walked in. I figured he was just hanging around waiting for the power to go off so he could clean out the register.”

  Wyatt made the 911 call while the women righted the downed bike and the attacker apologized profusely for the damage her boot had inflicted.

  The kid ran over to Wyatt. “Call the police and the game warden,” she squealed. “That man stole my toys and my books.”

  Three near-hysterical females was downright scary. The light rain that was still falling did nothing to settle them down. At least the kid had sense enough to move to the cover of the aluminum canopy over the door after she put in her order for cops.

  “Ladies,” Wyatt announced when he’d finished the call. “A deputy is on the way. Let’s go back inside and calm down.”

  “Easy for you to say,” the woman snapped. “You have your truck.”

  No doubt because the thief didn’t realize Wyatt had a couple of loaded pistols inside. Wyatt stopped at the Corvette parked in the lot as the three women marched inside.

  If the guy hadn’t been riding the motorbike, he must have been driving this. Ten to one it was stolen, as well. But there was nothing he could do about it until a deputy showed up.

  Back in Atlanta, he’d have made a few calls and had local cops and the state police already on the lookout for the stolen Honda. He’d have run a license-plate check on the Corvette. He’d have assumed control instead of waiting for a deputy.

  Already he missed his life.

  KELLY TOOK A DEEP BREATH and struggled to think rationally. Instead, she plunged into the frightening abyss of “what ifs.” What if the creep had been the one pumping gas when she was? What if he’d knocked her to the pavement and stolen the car with Jaci inside it? What if she’d walked out while he was hot-wiring the ignition and he’d shot Jaci or her or both of them?

  When she looked at it that way, the loss of her car and her belongings didn’t seem nearly so horrific. But still, she was fed up with being criminals’ prey. It was as if she wore a sign on her back that said victim.

  “I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee,” Edie offered. “You never know how long we’ll have to wait for a deputy in this weather.”

  Kelly and Jaci slid into one side of the narrow booth. Not unexpectedly, the cowboy slid in opposite them. Fortunately, he seemed to be taking command of the situation. Good that someone was, since she’d flown into a rage out there instead of thinking logically.

  He was quite a hunk. Not that she hadn’t noticed that earlier, but now she actually let her gaze linger on the rugged planes and angles of his face. He couldn’t be many years older than she was, if any, but he had an edge about him and an aura of self-confidence.

  She liked his hair—short but rumpled and dry—where hers was wet and dripping, thanks to the Western hat he’d just tossed to the booth behind them. His dark brown locks were streaked with coppery highlights, the artistic work of the sun.

  But his eyes were the real draw. Mesmerizing. Piercing, but not threatening. The color of the coffee she could smell dripping through the pot.

  “I think we should introduce ourselves,” he said. “I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

  “Good to meet you, Wyatt, though I would have preferred to meet under better circumstances. I’m Kelly Burger.”

  It was a relief to finally use her real name again.
Maybe one day she’d even be able to get past the fears she’d lived with for nearly twelve months. She extended her hand and when his wrapped around hers, the tingle of awareness danced through her. She pulled her hand away too quickly. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

  She looked down at her daughter, thankful to break away from Wyatt’s penetrating gaze. “This is Jaci.”

  The cowboy’s lips split into a wide grin. “Hi, Jaci.”

  Attacked by one of her rare cases of shyness, Jaci twirled a finger in her hair and looked down at the table. It was well past her bedtime, and even though she’d slept some in the car, she was running out of steam.

  Jaci pulled her short legs into the seat with her and finally looked at Wyatt. “Can you take us to our new house?”

  “It’s okay, Jaci,” Kelly assured her. “The police will see that we get home tonight.”

  “Actually, I heard Jaci say earlier that you’re going to Mustang Run,” Wyatt said. “That’s also where I’m heading, so I can give you a lift if you’d like.”

  The coincidence set off a warning bell in her head. For all she knew Wyatt could be as bad as the rotten thug who’d stolen her car. Boots and a cowboy hat didn’t mean he was the real thing. “Do you own a ranch near Mustang Run?”

  “My family does. I was a homicide detective with the Atlanta Police Department until yesterday. Now I guess I’m a freeloader.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Was a cop. Guess it doesn’t say much for my detective intuition that I let the guy just walk out of here and steal your car. The fact that he left in the middle of a pouring rain should have tipped me off he might be up to no good, especially since I figured the motorbike was his, too.”

  “Why did you leave the force?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  That she understood, the same way there were a lot of questions about her life she wouldn’t want to go into with a stranger. Or with family for that matter. She hadn’t even fully explained the year’s disappearing act to her mother. There had been no reason to worry her. Kelly had been frightened enough for both of them.

  “If you’re a detective, you must know the routine. What happens when the deputy shows up?”

  “He’ll ask questions about the car. You’ll answer the ones you can and then he’ll fill out a police report.”

  “I know the license-plate number. Everything else, I’ll have to get from my insurance agent. That may have to wait until morning. Hopefully, I’ll have the car back before then.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “Why not?” Her frustration spiked again. “They will look for it, won’t they? That’s their job.”

  “That’s one of their jobs. I don’t know how they prioritize around here, but car thefts are not top priority in the big city unless they involve force, weapons or kidnapping.”

  Panic swelled again. “I need that car. It has my purse with my wallet in it.”

  “How did you pay your tab in the restaurant?”

  “With the credit card I used for buying gas. After swiping it, I’d stuck it in the front pocket of my jeans.”

  “Did you leave your purse in the front seat? If so, that might have been the lure that made him choose your Honda over my new truck.”

  “I wasn’t that stupid. I put it in the trunk, but there were personal items in the backseat and the sleeping bags Jaci and I were going to sleep on tonight.”

  “Where exactly were you planning to spread sleeping bags in a storm?”

  “On the floor in my house. The moving van with my furniture won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

  “If you have other credit cards, I’d suggest you cancel them at once.”

  “I don’t.” She wouldn’t have this one had the FBI not obtained it for her. Her credit slate had been wiped clean a year ago and all accounts closed.

  “Is there a key to your house in your purse or somewhere else in your car?”

  “No, fortunately, I put the house keys on the ring with my car keys earlier today.”

  “What about your phone?” Wyatt asked.

  “It’s in the car. No… Wait. It’s in my pocket. I forgot it was there. I could have called 911 myself. But my computer is in the trunk.”

  “What else is in the car?”

  “There’s a folder with information from the phone company, the electric power company, the natural gas company. The house I’m moving into has been empty for a year. I had to have all the utilities reconnected.”

  She blinked repeatedly, determined to hold back a surge of tears that was gathering behind her lids. This was no time to cry. She worked to revive the fury that would keep her from showing weakness.

  Jaci’s head drooped and came to rest against Kelly’s shoulder. The darling had fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t see if salty tears started spilling from her mother’s eyes.

  “I can spread my jacket on that booth behind us if you want to lay her down,” Wyatt offered.

  “Thanks. I would appreciate that.”

  She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

  Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

  Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

  Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

  Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

  WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

  Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

  The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

  The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

  Obviously, they knew one another.

  “Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

  “You saw him drive off in the car?”

  “No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

  “And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

  “I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

  “If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

  “No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

  “You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

  The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

  Sheriff
Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

  Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.

  Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

  “I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

  McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

  “I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

  “Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

  “No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

  “How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

  That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.