by Anna Jeffrey
The spacious backyard made up of rocks, sand and construction debris, stretched from the a wide covered patio to the edge of a steep bluff, then down to the lakeshore and a covered boat dock.
“Drake wants to turn the patio into an outdoor kitchen like they have at his family’s ranch,” Shannon answered. “Besides that, we’ll put in a lawn. Plant some trees. I miss having trees. We had those huge trees around Grammy Evelyn’s house, you know. But it’ll be a few more weeks or even months before we worry about it.”
“Grammy Evelyn’s old house is looking great. I love the new paint job. You’ll soon have it open for tours, huh?”
Grammy Evelyn’s house, built in the late nineteenth century, already had a “Texas Historical Home” plaque beside the front door. Drake had charmed her into moving into the new home with him and Shannon and persuaded her to make a museum out of her house. Even Colleen and Gavin had liked the idea. Eventually, it would be donated to the Camden Historical Society. Now Grammy’s days were filled with searching for authentic Victorian furniture and accessories to decorate it.
“Grammy has to get a few more pieces of furniture. I never would’ve thought she’d be so excited about the project. I couldn’t see her willing to leave the place, but Drake convinced her what a good idea turning it into a museum is. We’re calling it The Lloyd Piper House, which makes her happy. She’s still in love with my grandpa to this day.”
Just then, Shannon’s phone chimed from where she had laid it on the kitchen island. She walked back and picked up to Drake’s voice. “Hey, sweetheart, whatcha doing?”
“Visiting with Christa. Wish you were here to eat supper with us. We’re about to sit down to ham and beans. They smell delicious. You’ll be here around ten?”
“About that.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I’ll pick up a sandwich from the deli downstairs.”
“If Christa decides to go home before you get here, I’m going to drive her so she doesn’t risk a DWI.”
“Be sure Steve accompanies you. Actually, he could drive her home. I’ll call him and ask him.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.” Shannon winked at Christa as she disconnected. “Bossy.”
Christa grinned.
“Now you can eat supper with us,” Shannon said. “Beans and ham in the Crockpot. What’s more provincial than that?”
Later, Shannon drove Christa’s car and Christa back to town, followed by Steve Logan. As he and Shannon returned to her home, she rode in the front seat of his SUV. “Do you have a family, Steve?” she asked him.
“No, ma’am. My work has made settling down hard.”
“You were in the military?”
“Yes, ma’am. Navy for ten years.”
“Ten years? I guessed you to be under thirty. You must have gone in really young.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re certainly a man of few words.”
It was dark and she could see only his profile, but she was sure a smile quirked a corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Do you know why we need security guards?”
Though they’d had the security people around for two months, Shannon still hadn’t been able to figure out the threat she and Drake faced and Drake hadn’t told her much.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you want to share that information with me?”
“Mr. Lockhart is a valuable target. Not knowing the perp’s motive, the Rangers fear somebody might want to hurt him. If not him directly, they might try hurting people he cares about.”
A tiny panic pinched Shannon’s stomach. “What? Are you saying that guy that hit us up in Fort Worth was trying to harm me in particular?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the theory. You and your baby. He did hit you on the passenger side. If you had been riding in a car instead of Mr. Lockhart’s truck, the impact would have been more destructive and you probably would’ve been hurt more seriously.”
Stunning information. Shannon’s hand flew to her stomach. Seconds passed before she found words. “Why, that’s the most evil thing I’ve ever heard of. Do…do you think this criminal wants one of us dead?”
“We don’t know. Apparently he’s been harassing the Lockhart family for a long while, but since he’s mostly harmed or killed animals, they’ve chalked the damaging incidents up to accidents and occurrences to be expected in their business. The Rangers say the guy’s upping his game for some reason they haven’t figured out. But you don’t have to worry. Everything’s under control. My company has never lost a subject.” He turned toward her and grinned.
Up to this moment, Shannon’s attitude about Drake hiring private security had been casual. She had believed he had done it on a whim to satisfy Blake Rafferty. But he obviously knew things he wasn’t telling her.
Her jaw clamped tight and she said nothing else, but her thoughts roiled. Another layer of worry and responsibility that came with being married to Drake Lockhart and being pregnant with his child.
No wonder those Texas Rangers had wanted Drake to keep his Fort Worth condo and move his new family into it, an address with multiple coded locks, protection twenty-four-seven by a doorman, private security, and ultimately the Fort Worth PD.
The beautiful home where she now lived was twelve miles from town in a remote location. If an emergency arose, no cop or fireman could get to it for at least fifteen or twenty minutes and the sheriff had said his department didn’t have the manpower to provide a twenty-four-hour guard. No wonder Drake had agreed to hire private security.
Well, Drake had to be more forthcoming with information. Shannon appreciated that he only wanted to protect her from everyone and everything, including stress, but if her and her baby’s lives were in danger, she had a right to know what was going on. So far, he had controlled most of their life together and she had been content to let him. Not having to bear responsibility for every single thing had been a novelty and a relief, but she still considered their marriage an equal partnership. She had no intention of being a mushroom.
Chapter 8
Betty Lockhart said good-night to Barron Wilkes at her front door. He had pestered her about sleeping over, but she never invited him to spend the night. First, she didn’t want her stuffy neighbors to see his car in her driveway in the early morning hours, ever.
Her affair with the sixty-seven-year old real estate magnate had been ongoing ever since she moved away from the Double-Barrel Ranch nearly eight years ago. Not even in the beginning of their relationship, when he was seven years younger than now, had he proved to be a sex god in the bedroom. The man had four children. With his clumsiness at sex, how had his deceased wife managed to conceive that many times? Tonight, she was in no mood for him.
And thinking of Barron’s poor performance always reminded her of her husband, Bill Junior, who had never been a poor performer in bed, not even when they were teenagers. Only after she was no longer able to have him when she wanted him had she realized that there were men who were good at sex and men who weren’t.
Bill Junior hadn’t been to visit her in weeks. But that doesn’t mean he’s gone without sex, she thought sourly.
As she closed the door and locked it, her phone rang. She walked into the kitchen and checked caller ID. Her husband. Speak of the devil. Feeling a wave of affection for the only man with whom she had ever had sex until Barron Wilkes, she picked up the receiver.
“Betty,” he barked without even saying hello. “What the hell are you doing sending some woman out here to take pictures and siccing her on Pic? You know I don’t like shit like that. And July Fourth is coming up. You know we don’t invite outsiders to our employee picnic. It’s for the hands and their families. We want them to feel comfortable and know that it’s their day.”
Betty bristled. How dare he call and speak to her in this tone. “Zochi McLaren’s parents are friends of mine,” she snapped. “I hope you didn’t run her off.”
; “I couldn’t have run her off if I’d wanted to. She had a flat tire. And I had to get somebody to fix it. We fed her supper and Johnnie Sue put her up in the guesthouse. That’s about as hospitable as we get around here. But I’ll tell you right now, I oughtta send her packing. She doesn’t look like a photographer to me. I know you, Betty. The real reason you sent her out here is to cause trouble between Pic and Mandy.”
Betty cringed. Was she that transparent? “Don’t be ridiculous. How would I know if Pic is even at home?”
“My God, Betty. After you got your tit in a wringer with Drake and his wife and after you upset the whole Drinkwell school system, I’d think you learned a lesson about meddling. To this day, every time I go to town, somebody says something to me about what you did.”
All she had done was have a conversation with the school superintendent and show him a report on Amanda Breckenridge’s past. Betty hadn’t lived in Drinkwell in seven years. How could she have known the whole school system adored Amanda? Betty’s brow pinched into a frown.
She had apologized to Pic and Amanda both and she now had a cordial relationship, at least with Pic, but Drake was a different kind of person from Pic. Her oldest son was so stubborn he might never make up with her. Being reminded how she had alienated him so thoroughly broke her heart anew and tears threatened. “Just stop it, Bill Junior. Is this why you called? To attack me?”
“I’m just warning you, wife—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your wife any longer.”
“Then what the hell are you? We’re not divorced. I’m still paying your bills. Jesus Christ, I just bought you a new car. Now I’m having second thoughts. I’m wondering if two nights in a crazy woman’s bed is worth a new Cadillac.”
Betty gasped. Although nothing he said to her surprised her. “You are such an ass.”
A wicked heh-heh-heh came back at her.
Dear God. The man loved nothing better than needling her. “Do not distract me, Bill Junior. Amanda Breckenridge is not good enough for Pic. You know it as well as I do. I don’t understand why the school system thinks she’s so wonderful.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Betty? What’s wrong with her? She’s an outstanding coach. She tries to teach those knot-headed kids good English. Her daddy and mama were good people. We went to school with them. We knew ’em our whole lives.”
“She’s been married and divorced, Bill Junior. And she was married to a criminal.”
Betty had researched. Sam Larson, Amanda’s former husband—of course she’d had her name changed back to her maiden name—had operated a theft ring in Lubbock. It had taken the police several years to catch up with him and his little gang, but they had and Sam had been sentenced to prison. He probably was still there.
“And he went to jail,” Bill Junior said. “And Mandy divorced him.”
“No one will ever make me believe she wasn’t a part of it. Or that she didn’t know what was going on.”
The Lubbock police had investigated Amanda all right, but all along, she claimed she had no idea what her husband was doing. She must have been convincing because the security company Betty had hired had found no evidence that she was ever charged.
“Pic’s been married, too, Betty. Your thinking is screwed up where our boys are concerned. Just leave them alone. Let nature take its course.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Bill Junior. But it doesn’t hurt to nudge it a little. Zochimilka McLaren is an extremely attractive young woman and she’s bright and well-educated.”
“I’m telling you, you’d better back off. All you’re gonna do is cause more hard feelings.”
No way did she intend to be chided or have her motives questioned by someone who had no moral ground to criticize her or anyone. During the twenty-eight years she had lived at the Double-Barrel as Bill Junior’s wife, he had partied hard and cheated with more women than she could count on her fingers. “Shut up. Just remember this. If you’re rude to someone whose parents are friends of mine, you’ll never pass through my bedroom doorway again.”
She slammed the receiver into its cradle with a loud clack!
Bastard! She was trembling with anger and on the verge of bawling. She walked over to the cupboard, yanked a glass off the shelf and filled it with ice cubes, then carried it to the dining room, dragged a fifth of Crown Royal out of the hutch and poured herself a shot. As she swallowed the first burning sip, the tears came.
She added another dollop of bourbon to her glass and moved into the family room. She sank into her favorite reclining chair and turned on TV, but no programming was enough to block her memories.
Her pain penetrated deeper than that inflicted by her cheating husband. Her hide had thickened against that years back. What hurt her more was that she hadn’t seen or heard from Drake since the family gathering at the Petroleum Club the day of his wedding. And he hadn’t spoken to her then, hadn’t even tried to introduce her to his wife. Betty deserved that, she supposed. She should have known better than to hatch a plot with that Donna Schoonover, but she had let her good intentions override her common sense.
Bill Junior had told her Drake and his wife had moved to a house on the lake in Camden and sold his Fort Worth condo. Now, Betty was alone in the city. When Drake had lived here, having him almost within walking distance had been a comfort and made her feel safe. Now, she had to rely on some brute in a black SUV and hiding behind dark sunglasses to protect her.
Tears trailed down her cheeks. Would Drake ever make up with her? How could she live the rest of her life estranged from her wonderful oldest son? How could she bear never knowing his child?
Betty yanked a tissue from a box on the table and mopped her eyes. She spent a lot of time in tears these days, so she kept tissues handy.
An image of the woman Drake had married and her wild red hair came to her and temporarily stopped her tears. Drake’s child could have that hair. Betty shuddered and swallowed another sip.
She had attempted to learn more about Shannon Piper besides what had been in the report Donna Schoonover’s detective friend had produced, but no one in Betty’s circle of friends knew one thing about her or Piper Real Estate Company.
She would be going on five months by now, carrying Betty’s longed-for grandchild. She didn’t even know how Drake felt about becoming a father. Didn’t know if he wanted a boy or a girl. Had he learned the baby’s sex? If Bill Junior had that information, would he pass it on to her? Or would he be an ass and keep it secret just to torment her? And what difference would knowing make if Drake wanted nothing to do with her?
She had to do something. But what? If she apologized, would Drake or his new wife listen? Or would they shun her? Unlike Pic, Drake was a grudge-carrier. He was like an elephant when it came to remembering bad things someone had done to him.
More tears flooded her eyes and she broke into sobs. Oh, hell. I’ve become a crying drunk.
****
Shrill barks and haunting howls drifted through the warm night to Xochimilka McLaren’s ears and she sat up in bed, her heart pounding. Wolves? Were there wolves in the Texas outback? She sat stone still, her eyelids stretched so wide they ached, listening to the sounds repeat themselves. She never had this experience in Austin, had never felt so alone and defenseless.
Well, she shouldn’t worry. They sounded far away. And they couldn’t get into this house. She was confident of that. Thank God she didn’t have to go outside. What would she do if confronted by a wolf? She might just faint.
She glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Slightly after midnight. She lay back and turned on her side, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and burying her ear against the pillow, trying to shut out the sounds.
She replayed the day. Johnnie Sue, who appeared to run the Double- Barrel household, had installed her in the guesthouse, a small stone cottage a good walk downhill from the main ranch house. It had two bedrooms and two bathrooms and a full kitchen, including pots and pans and
dishes. At first glance, it looked old and rustic, but it was only decorated to look that way. In fact, it was freakin’ luxurious. Totally an improvement over the cheap furnished apartment she had leased in Austin. And she could already tell it had a better bed.
Earlier, her VW had magically appeared under a carport attached to the guesthouse. A tall rangy old guy had told her his name was Smoky and said he had arranged for someone to remove her tire, repair it and put it back on her car. Thank God he hadn’t asked her for money to pay for it.
Johnnie Sue had also told her the guesthouse had no food in it. She could go to town and buy some groceries or she was welcome to eat in the ranch house. What a relief. With only a limited amount of cash and no credit card that wasn’t maxed out or canceled because she hadn’t paid the bill, she was stuck relying on the kindness of strangers. Blanche DeBois had nothing on her.
Having not eaten all day, she had gratefully accepted the maid’s offer. She, Mr. Lockhart and Johnnie Sue ate dinner at a round oak table in the breakfast room just off the kitchen. The Lockharts were supposed to be filthy rich, but Johnnie Sue seemed to be the only domestic help. Odd that the hired help would sit down and eat with her and Mr. Lockhart. That certainly wouldn’t happen in her parents’ home.
Over dinner, they had talked about mostly nothing. Mr. Lockhart wanted to know how she knew Mrs. Lockhart. Xochimilka was forced to tell him she had seen his wife only a couple of times. Her mother and Mrs. Lockhart had gotten acquainted in an Austin golf tournament and become friends.
Johnnie Sue had served a meal of unidentifiable little clumps of fried meat, mashed potatoes and gravy, salad and hot yeast rolls. But even as hungry as she was, Xochimilka was appalled when she learned that the meat they were eating was quail breast. She had barely managed not to faint or have a fit. She had been to restaurants with her parents where quail breast had been on the menu, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of ordering it.
