The older brother bellowed and rushed the porch. Tate, already on the steps, grabbed him, gave a compact twist, and before the man knew it, his arm was locked into place high on his back, a pained look on his sweaty face.
“You cause any more trouble and I’m takin’ you in. All of you!” Tate said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know how it is in Colorado, but down here in Texas we take this kinda thing pretty seriously. There’re certain rules and regulations I’m sworn to uphold. And anyone who breaks ’em—anyone!—is gonna have to answer for it. Do I make myself clear?” A pause. “Property rights also count pretty high down here. If the Parkers don’t want you on their spread, you aren’t on it! Is that clear?”
Rufus Hammond’s tiny eyes glittered with rage, but he also had enough sense not to continue the challenge after taking into account the rifles held at the ready by Rafe, Morgan and LeRoy. “Yeah,” he said ungraciously.
Tate let the brother go and gave him a shove.
“What about the girl?” the man snarled after almost staggering into his kin. “What was her name? Joanie? Jobie?”
“Jodie,” his brother supplied.
“Yeah, that’s it. Where’s she? Is that her back there?” He pointed straight at Jodie. “The one with the short red hair?”
Jodie’s blood went cold. She hadn’t expected them to spot her. Otherwise she’d have stayed indoors. She felt the disapproving glances of her family, as well as Tate’s irritated look.
“Are you Jodie?” the older brother demanded.
Before she could answer, Tate said shortly, “If you want to talk to her, you have to make arrangements through me. We’ll do it in a civilized manner, not like somethin’ out of a Wild West show.”
“She’s not talkin’ to anyone!” Rafe grated, contradicting Tate. “You got any questions, you talk to me. Jodie stays out of it.”
The older brother looked at him. “From what we heard in town this mornin’, I’d’ve thought you had plenty of reason to hate Rio Walsh yourself. Seems you’d want to help us string ’im up.”
“There’s not gonna be any stringin’ up!” Tate said coldly.
A nasty smile. “So you say!”
Rufus Hammond’s hand shot out, striking his son in the face. “Shut up, Tom, ’fore you get us into worse trouble.”
“All I’m—”
“I said, shut up!” Another threatened backhand and Tom grew quiet.
Jodie felt the older man’s malevolent gaze latch on to her, and she had to stave off a chill. She saw exactly why Rio was afraid of him. She sidled over a space, so that his line of vision would be blocked by Tate and Mae.
“I think maybe our business is over, don’t you?” Rafe murmured with deceptive ease.
Morgan motioned with the barrel of his rifle, which he’d partially raised, for the men to be moseying along. It had the authority of years of practice.
Tate stood steadfastly on the porch steps, like a rock, not intending to be moved.
Even LeRoy, whose quiet soul was happiest when he was working on a car engine, was up to the threat, united with his kin. His jaw was clenched, his lips a thin line.
And Mae...Jodie could feel the waves of hostility directed from her to the Hammonds.
Rufus Hammond grunted a command to his sons, who climbed back into the pickup truck. “All right,” he said as he, too, climbed in. “We’ll be goin’. But you haven’t heard the last of this!”
He gunned the engine on the final word and the truck took off, leaving, as it had arrived, in a swirl of dust and sprayed gravel.
Those on the porch watched as it raced out of sight. Then all eyes turned to Jodie.
“I thought I told you to wait inside,” Mae grumbled.
“Aunt Mae...” Rafe cautioned.
“Well, I did! And if she had...”
“All her presence did was get things out in the open.” Rafe turned to Tate, who’d rejoined them on the porch. “What do you make of it, Tate?”
“A bad bunch,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want to be in Rio Walsh’s boots if they catch up to him.”
“I hate that we’re put in this position,” Mae continued. “Having to defend that no-account—”
“I’m not overfond of it myself,” Rafe interrupted his great-aunt’s tirade.
Jodie wanted Tate to look at her. Wanted him to give some sign he remembered what they’d talked about last night—his agreement to help find Rio’s card-playing friend. But he studiously avoided looking at her. Because of what had happened between them just before he’d agreed?
It had taken her hours to go to sleep last night. Hours to settle down. To be able to deal with her feelings. She wasn’t sure about anything, except that she wanted to spend more time with Tate. Had he come to the opposite conclusion?
She gave a start when she heard him say her name.
“Jodie should probably stick close to the compound for the next few days,” Tate said.
“She will,” Rafe assured him.
“She’d better!” Mae asserted.
When Jodie looked up, Morgan winked at her and murmured to the others, “Don’t you think maybe y‘all should do a little askin’?”
“If she has any sense, we won’t have to ask,” Mae snapped.
“She’s seen what they’re like,” Rafe agreed.
Jodie’s jaw tightened. She hated to be talked about like she wasn’t there. It reminded her of the treatment she’d received as a teenager. And now even Tate had done it! “Excuse me,” she said tightly, and slipped around them to walk away.
“Jodie!” Mae called after her. “Don’t you dare leave this ranch! Not without one of the men coming with you!”
Jodie kept walking, her body stiff.
“Jodie!” Mae called again.
A small fuss broke out on the porch, but Jodie refused to turn around. Footsteps pounded after her, accompanied by a rhythmic metallic clinking. Tate, the equipment on his service belt rattling, soon caught up with her.
Jodie wouldn’t look at him. She was angry, she was frightened, and he had played a major part in it all.
He fell into step at her side, not saying anything until they arrived at her door. “Mae’s right.” he said, reaching out to keep her on the narrow porch. “Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I’m not planning to,” she returned.
He was standing close to her. So close they seemed to share the same ripple of awareness. His hand lifted, a butterfly caress to her cheek. Jodie looked away. She was aware that members of her family still remained on Mae’s porch and were, in all probability, watching them.
His hand fell back to his side, as if he, too, realized they were on display. He glanced over his shoulder at Mae’s house, then back at her, his expression a confirmation.
“This changes things, Jodie,” he said tautly. “You have to tell me where Rio is.”
For a wild and crazy moment Jodie had thought he’d meant things were changed between the two of them—the madness of an attraction that wouldn’t go away. “I don’t believe I do,” she said.
“You saw the Hammonds. You saw what kind of people they are. You could get hurt! We need to end this now.”
“I told you what the Hammonds were like last night, remember?”
“How can I forget last night?”
“You said you’d help.”
“That’s not what I was talking about!”
“It’s what I’m talking about!”
It was so hard to look at him and not give in. The temptation to take the easy way out was strong. Tate would see to Rio’s safety—for as long as he was in his jurisdiction. But what would happen afterward? When he had to turn him over to the Colorado sheriff? No, she couldn’t do it. She’d given Rio her word and she had to see it through.
A muscle jumped in Tate’s cheek. He knew she wasn’t going to back down. “I hope you know what you’re doin’, Jodie,” he said tightly. “And that you don’t come out of this like you did the last time—the worst
one off.”
“I survived,” she said flatly.
“And hopefully, if things go wrong, you can do it again.” He wheeled around, ready to leave, until Jodie stopped him.
“Tate? You will help—right?” she asked, needing to hear him say it once again.
His eyes glittered at her from beneath the rim of his hat. Several seconds passed, then he said quietly, “Yes, God help me, I will.”
CHAPTER TEN
TATE LEFT THE RANCH in a far worse frame of mind than when he’d arrived the evening before. Not only had his worst fears about the Hammonds been confirmed, but so had his doubts about the judgment of his counterpart in Colorado. There was an unprofessional closeness between the sheriff and the grieving relatives, a closeness that had hampered the investigation. If what Rio Walsh had told Jodie was true.
Tate’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. That was a mighty big if. Still it needed to be checked out. By him, not by anyone connected with Clayborne County.
If Rio Walsh had a confirmed alibi for the time of the assault, particularly one that was independently corroborated by the other participants in the card game, he would have to be ruled out as a suspect. Not railroaded into jail because it was convenient.
Tate’s lips thinned. Someone had killed that girl. Some sniveling coward who took grim delight in attacking a far weaker person.
Tate wanted to be the man to get him. He’d love to root him out and make him face what he’d done. And if it did turn out to be Rio...
Jealousy seared through him in a white-hot flame. He couldn’t put aside something he’d overheard that morning when he’d gone into Mae Parker’s kitchen for a cup of coffee. The housekeeper, while preparing breakfast, had been talking to her husband. I only hope Jodie doesn’t still have feelings for that Rio Walsh. You don’t think that’s why she’s stayed away from the ranch for so long, do you? I always thought it was because she was enjoying her independence, but it’s possible it might’ve been—Then she’d seen Tate and stopped talking.
Tate had been back in Del Norte for only about six months when the Jodie-Rio thing happened. He, like everyone else, had known about it, but it hadn’t really touched his life. He’d been too caught up in trying to adjust from big-city policing to being a deputy sheriff in the lightly populated county, and in his concern for his mother, who’d been having difficulty stabilizing her diabetes.
Through it all, though, he could remember he’d felt a gnawing irritability every time he thought about Jodie and her gigolo cowboy. She’d always had a way of getting under his skin.
He laughed dryly. Getting under his skin!
That kiss! Holy God! It had taken every speck of discipline he’d had in him to stop kissing her. And then not to kiss her again. But she hadn’t made it easy. She knew the effect she had on him. She’d reveled in it. Edging closer, touching him...
He groaned. She been like a cat playing with a defenseless mouse.
There were people he knew who would laugh at that description. Jack, for one. He’d guffaw and tell him he didn’t look or act the least bit defenseless.
Only, that was the way he felt when he was with her. Completely at a loss to understand anything except the basics of elemental human biology.
A call came over the radio. A possible breaking-and-entering at a house on his way into Del Norte. Within seconds Tate’s thoughts refocused on his duties, and he switched on the overhead lights and accelerated down the highway.
Five minutes later an old woman, nearly as old as Mae Parker but far frailer, met him outside the long metal gate that barred the way across her drive. She rushed up to the car, waving her arms, and barely let him get out before she exclaimed, “I saw him! In my back room! He was big. Huge! And he growled at me!”
Tate tried to calm her. “You live here alone, don’t you, Mrs. Johnston?” He’d recognized her instantly as the widow of Del Norte’s one-time postmaster.
“Yes! Just me—and my dog!” She indicated a small black terrier snuffling around at her heels that looked at least her equal in dog years.
“And this intruder growled at you?” Tate asked.
“Yes! It was terrible. Terrible!”
“You stay here while I check things out. If you want, you can sit in the back of the patrol car.”
Mrs. Johnston shook her head, her eyes wide, her parchmentlike cheeks flushed.
Tate unsnapped the narrow strap that secured his gun, slipped through the gate and walked down the drive. Alongside the house, he carefully checked each window before moving past. He heard and saw nothing unusual inside. Then at the rear of the house he found a door ajar. Drawing his gun, he flattened out beside the door frame, hugging the aluminum siding with his back.
“You inside! You’ve got ten seconds to show yourself!” he called briskly.
There was a sound and his muscles tightened. Then a small furry head thrust through the narrow opening.
“Meow?” A young cat looked up at him.
Much of Tate’s tension drained away, but his training had taught him to check further. He stepped past the cat, noticed that she was very pregnant and proceeded to check each room, particularly the back rooms, to insure they were empty.
Only when he was completely satisfied did he put away his gun and scoop up the young tabby. “Are you the criminal responsible for all this?” he asked, rubbing her under the chin, making her purr in response.
Tate brought her out to the old woman. “Here’s your trouble, Mrs. Johnston,” he said easily. “Seems like someone’s lookin’ for a place to have her babies. Does she belong to any of your neighbors?”
The house was closer to town than the far-flung ranches. One among a cluster.
“Not that I know of.” She frowned. “Are...are you sure everything’s...?”
Tate smiled. “I’ve checked it out, but I’ll be glad to come inside with you and do it again if it’ll make you feel better.”
She shook her head. The dog moved around, sniffing, finally taking notice of the cat.
“Do you want her?” Tate asked. “She looks like she could use a good home.”
“Not really,” the woman said quickly, then relented. “I do like cats, though. So does Sophie.” She glanced at the dog. “We had one up until a couple of years ago when our Isabelle ran off.”
She took the cat away from Tate and stroked it lovingly. “What should we call you?” she wondered aloud as she started down the drive toward her house. “Pixie? Because you caused so much trouble? And next, we’ll have to think up names for all your babies!”
She never thought to look around and say thanks, but Tate didn’t mind. This was the kind of breaking-and-entering call he preferred. One where everyone was happy in the end.
In ten minutes he was back at the sheriffs office. He might have been gone a week, rather than merely overnight, from the number of important matters that “just couldn’t wait” and the blizzard of telephone calls that “had to be returned right away.” He cut straight through it all, though, with the matter he considered of highest priority.
He. set his mother and Rose Martinez to calling all the ranches in Briggs County, while he contacted his fellow sheriffs in the other counties. If this Joe-Bob character was working on a ranch anywhere in the western part of the state, he was going to be found, and as soon as possible, because Tate put an urgency in his request.
He was determined to get this situation resolved quickly.
JODIE DIDN’T TAKE WELL to waiting. Particularly waiting while being kept in the dark. She reached for the telephone any number of times that afternoon to call Tate to check on his progress, but she hung up before punching more than three numbers.
What was happening? What was he doing? Had he had any luck yet in finding Joe-Bob?
She paced from room to room, glad her father was out. Life seemed to be going on much as usual around the ranch. The men continued to do their jobs, although one always seemed to be within easy calling distance. Each time she fli
pped the curtain aside to look out, someone noticed. They were watching her, protecting her. And it was starting to drive her batty!
She hadn’t told Tate about the deadline. Should she have? Should she still? But how would he receive it? She was already skating on such thin ice with him. She didn’t want to complicate things.
She gave a small wry laugh. As if everything wasn’t already sufficiently complicated.
One thing was sure, however. She couldn’t stand to be alone any longer. She had to find someone to talk to.
Shannon was seated at the dining-room table sorting through several packets of material when Jodie knocked on the door.
“Hi! Come on in,” Shannon called, motioning for her to join her. “I was just going through some of the papers Jack Denton sent over. Did you know his grandfather fought alongside Teddy Roosevelt during the charge up San Juan Hill? And before him his father was one of the original Buffalo Soldiers? He joined the Tenth Calvary shortly after the Civil War and was sent to help tame the frontier. He ended up stationed in West Texas at Fort Davis.” Her eyes shone. “Look! Here’s a picture of Jack’s great-grandfather...and this is his grandfather. Rafe told me Jack’s family had been in the area almost as long as the Parkers, but I didn’t realize—And something else! When he finally had enough of army life, his great-grandfather worked on a ranch—this ranch!—until he could support himself with the kind of work he really wanted, which was making furniture.”
She finally noticed Jodie’s pinched features. “Sorry,” she said, pushing the papers and photographs aside. “I get carried away. These family histories just take hold of me. I love learning about the things people did and how they match up to their descendants today. In Jack’s case I’d say the genes run true to his ancestors.” She grimaced. “I should apologize again, shouldn’t I?”
“No, it’s me,” Jodie said quickly. “I’m interrupting.”
“The boys are taking their afternoon naps and I’m indulging myself. You aren’t interrupting a thing.”
“But this...” Jodie swept a hand over the paperwork.
“Can wait. Jack’s not in any hurry. He just wants it all put together in a book one day. Would you like coffee or an iced tea or something?”
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