Because of the new position he’d been offered?
Because he was having a hard time reconciling himself to such a Spartan existence?
Jodie Parker had offhandedly invited him to go riding with her. Even if she’d been serious, would he ever have found the time to actually do it?
Jodie.
His hands paused while adjusting his dark brown tie. He remembered what it had been like, for a fleeting moment, to hold her close. She’d always seemed so exotically out of place in a harsh land like West Texas. With that abundant copper-red hair—even if it was now short—her pale skin and jewellike yellowish-green eyes.
He remembered her from the time she was eleven or twelve and rode the school bus he drove the semester before he enrolled in college. A gangly little kid with major attitude.
In his arms that afternoon, she’d been all soft and warm and, though still delicately made, rounded enough to interfere with a man’s thought processes. Which she very well knew. Which she’d very well known since adolescence!
Only, she’d never tried it with him before. Not that she had today, either, he corrected himself. Today she’d been...what? Her reactions could be described as a bit on the questionable side, if he had a mind to be suspicious.
The problem was, he couldn’t read her the way he could other people. Was it because he had to fight through his own emotions before he could even begin to touch on hers?
He laughed again as he thought of Tony. The horse! But what wasn’t funny was the flash of jealousy he’d experienced when he thought Tony was a man.
Why would he be jealous? He had no claim on Jodie and no reason even to press for one.
As his mother had said, they were town and the Parkers were ranch. The Parkers had a history in the area longer than almost everyone else who lived here. They were West Texas!
Still he’d felt it, which was something he was going to have to examine more closely in the none-too-distant future.
He pinned his badge just above the left pocket flap of his shirt. An old-fashioned five-pointed Texas star that Jack hadn’t been able to bring himself to replace. Tradition still had merit, Jack had said, even in a modern world with modern uniforms.
After collecting the rest of his gear Tate strode out to his patrol car and drove to the jail, where trouble brewed once again.
JUST A FEW SHORT DAYS ago, Jodie reflected as she rode slowly back to ranch headquarters, she’d had two principal worries: dealing with Mae and resolving her own lack of direction in life. Now, two unexpected new difficulties had been added to the mix: she was undeniably attracted to the local sheriff, and she was harboring someone he and others might soon label a murderer.
If she dies, he’ll have to answer for it. Tate’s words rang in Jodie’s ears.
What would Mae and the other members of her family say if they knew what she was doing? Probably swear that she was beyond all hope. But now that she was committed, wasn’t it important to see it through? Mae had urged her to turn her back on her irresponsible ways, to have the backbone to pick something and stick to it. Well, this wasn’t something she would have picked voluntarily, but did that make it any less profound? An old friend needed her help. An old...friend.
To that end she needed a plan, and while riding she’d come up with a scheme she hoped would work. It all hinged on her ability to retrieve a listing of the ranches in the West Texas Regional Ranching Association from either Mae’s office or the ranch’s business office. She couldn’t go in and just ask for it. She’d have to “borrow” a copy.
Tomorrow. Early.
Slip in, slip out.
And pray she went unnoticed.
DUSK HAD FALLEN by the time Jodie reined Tony in at the corral. The cowboys who’d been out all day were coming in, as well, hungry as bears for the dinner Axel had prepared for them. Plenty of meat and beans, fried potatoes and chili peppers, topped off with corn bread or sourdough biscuits, and a dessert of cake or cobbler.
The cookhouse had a long trestle table that the four cowboys who called ranch headquarters home clustered around to eat. Sometimes Rafe and Morgan joined them, sometimes not. This evening Jodie saw neither.
Was it because of what Tate had told them about Rio?
After replacing the saddle on the rail, Jodie glanced toward the bench where, earlier, she’d talked with Tate. And she relived again those moments of closeness, when she’d gazed into his eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Her hands paused in their rubdown of the horse. Taking advantage of her distraction, the big gelding shook his great head, gave a spirited snort and trotted off to join the other horses at the far end of the corral.
Jodie glanced from him back to the bench.
She still wondered what it would be like to kiss Tate.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JODIE DECIDED to search the ranch office before taking on the more difficult and dangerous job of entering Mae’s private lair. She’d stand a far better chance of talking her way out of discovery by Rafe than by her great-aunt. And if she played her cards correctly, she wouldn’t get caught at all.
That this was a Sunday was of monumental help. Ranch activity knew few days off, but Sunday mornings were typically slow to begin. Particularly since Rafe and Morgan had started families.
She slipped through the unlocked door and into a room that was surprisingly spare for such a large and successful ranch operation. A worn desk, a well-used chair, a four-drawer metal file cabinet. On the wall behind the desk was a calendar and a painting of a prize red-and-white Hereford bull that had hung there since the thirties.
For the first time Jodie felt the chill of a true outsider. She was in a place she’d known all her life, but as an intruder, not part of the unit. In the past she’d always seen herself as different from the others, but she’d always had the safety net of knowing she did belong. Now, by entering this office so furtively, was she symbolically cutting herself off from the rest? And if that was so, was it what she really wanted?
She shook herself free of the disturbing thoughts. All she was here for was the ranch listing. A simple thing. In another day and time she would be teased for wanting something so dry and innocuous.
The top drawer of Rafe’s desk was locked, so her search moved to those remaining. Phone books and folders were scattered among blank notepads and cattlemen’s magazines. One drawer was filled with supplies. She was just about to give up and move to the file cabinet when, among a stack of brochures in a bottom drawer, she found what she wanted. Her satisfied smile increased when she thumbed through the narrow booklet and saw the array of telephone numbers.
Easy as pie, she thought as she tucked the booklet safely into her back jeans pocket. Then, after insuring that everything was exactly as she’d found it, she slipped outside and started toward the path to the compound.
Only, Rafe was standing in the doorway of the tack room, his gaze steadily on her, even as he talked with one of the ranch hands. How long had he been there? she thought in near panic.
Jodie proffered an offhand wave and decided the best thing she could do was go talk to him. If she didn’t, he would really start to wonder.
“Morning,” she said, forcing a smile. “I was just looking for you. You weren’t in the office, so I thought, well, he’s got to be around somewhere!” She was very careful to face him, so he wouldn’t see the booklet protruding from her back pocket.
“What do you need?” he asked. “Mighty early in the momin’ for you, isn’t it?” He squinted at the rosy light of the new day.
Jodie shrugged. “I’m still on London time. Hours ahead of everyone else. Night is day, day is night—it’s a mess.” She tried a laugh, but it sounded fake.
The cowboy Rafe was talking to was the man who’d years ago taken Rio’s place. He was older, far less attractive and undoubtedly did the job just as well. Rafe nodded to him, ending their conversation, then stepped off the narrow porch to take Jodie’s arm.
The golden-haired
puppy scrambled out of the doorway and did his best to rollick at their feet as they walked. Rafe laughed at his antics. “It sure must be nice to have that kind of energy,” he murmured.
“How long have you had him?” Jodie asked. She knew she was only prolonging the inevitable. Rafe was too much like Mae to let go of an unanswered question. He would return to it.
“About three months. Shannon gave him to me. She thought I was lonely for Shep.”
“And were you?”
Rafe’s dark eyes reflected lingering pain at the loss of his loyal companion. “Yes,” he said simply. “I was.”
“Are you going to use Shep, Jr., as a cowdog, too?”
The pain lessened as he watched the cavorting puppy. “Probably not. I can’t get him away from the kids long enough to train him.”
When they arrived at the gravel drive, Jodie glanced at the house she shared with her father and wished herself already there.
“Well...Daddy’s probably holding breakfast for me,” she murmured, easing away, yet still careful not to turn her back to him.
“You never told me what you wanted,” Rafe said, stopping her.
Jodie had yet to come up with a good answer, so she grabbed the first thing that sprang to mind. “I was wondering if Tate told you about Rio being spotted.”
Rafe frowned. “You’re trying to find me this early in the morning to ask that?”
“I’ve been awake for hours,” Jodie claimed. And this time she wasn’t fibbing. She hadn’t slept much at all last night. She’d been unsettled about everything—from Rio to Tate to her prospective clandestine visit to the business office.
Rafe’s expression was doubtful. “Tate told me,” he said.
Great. Make two strong-minded men suspicious of her motives. She shrugged. “I was just wondering what you thought, that’s all.”
“I think he’s a fool if he comes back here,” Rafe said tightly. “Better he keep going, cut across the border.”
Jodie nodded. “That’s what I think, too. That’s what I’d do. Cross into Mexico and keep going until I hit the Pacific. Put as much distance between me and everyone here as possible.”
Rafe’s frown darkened. “You aren’t plannin’ another long trip anytime soon, are you?” he demanded.
“Good heavens, no!” she said forcefully. “I’ve traveled all I want for a long time. Like I said, I haven’t even gotten over my jet lag yet.” She tried another laugh. This time it was more successful.
His scowl lessened, but Rafe still watched her.
Jodie gave a parting wave and turned to go to her house. As she did, she slipped the booklet from her back pocket to the front. She didn’t think Rafe noticed.
HALFWAY THROUGH the afternoon Jodie fell back against the rear cushion of the couch. She’d started with the nearest ranches, disguising her voice from those who might recognize her—from Jim Cleary in particular—then worked her way down the alphabetized list.
Not one claimed a ranch hand by the name of Joe-Bob. Not even when she hinted that the “cash prize” he’d been awarded and she was calling about was considerable.
Her head throbbed and her throat felt scratchy from talking. She had a few calls yet to make and a few recalls to those who hadn’t answered previously, but so far no luck.
What if it continued? What should she do next? What could she do?
She had to talk to Rio. If he was afraid of the sheriff in Colorado, maybe he’d talk to Tate. Tate would have far more resources to find this Joe-Bob than she had. He’d have access to all the ranches in the area, big and small, whether or not they were members of the ranching association. Also, when questions were put by a sheriff, they held greater weight.
She made herself dial the next number, and as soon as the ring was answered, she started again on her practiced spiel.
JACK DENTON was sitting in a rocker on his front porch when Tate pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. At his approach Jack slowly unfolded his bulk. He’d always been a substantial man, impressive both in character and in size. A good six feet, he tipped the scale at over two hundred pounds. Pounds that had been solid muscle in his younger years, but at sixty-two had softened.
“Well, would ya look at what the cat just dragged in!” he exclaimed as Tate approached the porch.
“It hasn’t been that long, Jack.” Tate smiled ruefully as his old friend came to greet him.
“It has, but who’s countin’?” Jack looked him up and down as he thumped him soundly on the shoulder. “They been runnin’ you off your feet lately?”
“Same as always,” Tate said. “You know how it is.”
“Sure...yeah. Sit down...sit down. Would you like somethin’ cold to drink?”
Tate took a slat-back chair. “Somethin’ cold sounds real good.”
Jack went to rummage around in his kitchen and came back with two bottles of diet soda. “Diet’s all I got. I been tryin’ to take a few pounds off lately, not that it’s doin’ much good.” He handed a bottle to Tate before dropping back into the old rocker.
The two men sat in companionable silence, and as he took several long satisfying swallows Tate’s gaze moved over his old friend’s property. When Jack had first bought the place, it had needed a lot of work. Now the modest house was in tip-top shape, as were the outbuildings and the fences. In comparison to some of the neighboring ranches, the spread was quite small. But the thirty or so head of cattle that Jack ran on his hundred acres were just as important to him—possibly more so—than the bigger herds of the large ranchers.
Tate’s gaze moved to the man himself. Besides having the reputation as one of the fairest, most ethical and toughest sheriffs the county had ever known, Jack was also one of the most reticent. As Tate’s mother had said, Jack played his cards very close to his vest. He always had. It was hard to know whether it was because he was the county’s first African-American sheriff and, as such, felt the need to be cautious, or because it was just his nature.
“Place is lookin’ better every time I see it,” Tate said to Jack finally. “You’ve just about got it the way you want it, haven’t you?”
“Almost. Barn could use a little more work inside. Everything else...” He shrugged.
Tate’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter, Jack? Last time I was out here I thought somethin’ was botherin’ you. Do you need some help? You know all you have to do is say the word, and you’ll have more volunteers than you can shake a stick at.”
Jack shifted in his chair. “It’s not that,” he said.
Tate set his half-empty soda on the wooden floor planks. “Something’s not gone haywire with your health, has it?”
Jack remained silent.
“Dammit, Jack!” Tate burst out. “If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to? You’ve known me all my life. You’ve known my family. You and my daddy were best friends. You cradled him in your arms when he lay dyin’ on the highway. You’re the one who caught the two bastards who murdered him! You’re the one who cried when you testified about him at their trial. You’re the one who did the best you could to see my mom and me through the worst of everythin’ afterward. So, Jack, what is it?”
Normally when Tate got exercised about something, Jack smiled in tolerant amusement. Today his gaze remained steady. “I might say the same thing to you. Why didn’t you tell me about that task force you’ve been asked to join? Why’d I have to hear about it from someone else?”
Tate’s eyes widened. Jack had heard?
Jack set his soda on the floor next to Tate’s, then leaned forward, gripping the rocker’s armrests. “How do you think it felt hearin’ something like that from a stranger? I didn’t believe it at first. No, I said, Tate woulda told me! I’ve known that boy since he wore diapers. Hell, I’ve changed his diapers! He’d tell me if he was thinkin’ of leaving again!”
“I only got asked a week or so ago,” Tate defended. “Anyway, I thought it was supposed to be a secret until everything was settled.”
&nb
sp; “Some people don’t believe in secrets,” Jack said.
“Some people?” Tate shot back. “That sure doesn’t include you, then, does it? A possum has less secrets than you!”
Jack leaned even further forward. “Are you callin’ me a possum?”
The two men glared at each other, then slowly the sparks in their eyes changed to amusement, and both started to laugh. Tate, young and strong. Jack, old and wise.
Jack continued to chuckle as he settled back in his seat. “A possum!” he repeated.
Tate grinned. “It was the only thing I could think of. I knew you’d take exception if I compared you to a polecat.”
“Good thing for you that you didn’t!”
Tate moved restlessly to the edge of the porch. “Actually that’s one of the reasons I stopped by,” he admitted. “Hell, Jack, I don’t know what to do! Drew Winslow’s gonna call back for an answer soon, and I’m just as far away from making a decision as I was when he first talked to me. You remember me tellin’ you about Drew Winslow, don’t you? My old supervisor in Dallas?”
“Actually he was the one who called me,” Jack said. “He wanted me to persuade you to accept. When I got over my surprise, I told him it was your decision and yours alone. That I wasn’t about to influence you either way.”
“What’d he say to that?”
“Said you were gonna miss a great opportunity if you turned him down. And that state law enforcement was gonna miss a great cop.” Jack was silent a moment before asking quietly, “What do you want to do, son?”
Tate shook his head. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to go, the other part thinks I should stay.”
“Because of your mother?”
“That and other things.” Tate was sure Jack knew he meant the sheriffs job, but neither man said the actual words. “What do you think my dad would say, Jack?” he asked. “What do you think he’d tell me?”
Texas Lawman Page 8
