But she was the one looking old all of a sudden.
The image followed him out the front door of the senior living facility and stayed with him as he folded himself into his SUV and keyed the engine.
Old? Of course she was old. She was one of the town’s oldest citizens, second only to Shorty Tucker who beat her out by a few weeks.
It made sense she would look her age even if he was just noticing it.
Looks aside, she was still every bit as outlandish as ever. He held tight to the thought and turned his attention to the name and address blazing on his cell phone.
The latest in a list of dead ends courtesy of Gator and his so-called contacts.
But Hunter was through chasing shadows.
He floored the gas and hit the interstate. It was time Gator gave him a viable lead.
CHAPTER 17
“What the hell are you doing way out here?” Gator stood in the doorway of the small cabin located at the dead end of a dirt road just off the main highway. Trees shrouded the entire area and crickets buzzed. It was an old hunting spot that had once belonged to Gator’s grandfather.
The place had changed little in all the years since Hunter’s last visit. The porch had started to sag and the beams that had once been polished to a high sheen seemed faded and worn. The paint on the small rocking chair on the porch had started to peel and cigarette butts littered the ground nearby.
He could still picture the three bootleggers—Gator Hallsey, Cooper McGraw, and Ryder Jax—gathered on the small porch, a hemi sitting in the driveway, waiting for their next delivery.
Bronc busting hadn’t paid off that often for Hunter in his early days and so he’d done a few runs with the trio to supplement his income. He’d been right here the night he’d received the news about his brother. His beeper had gone off, but it hadn’t been any of the shiners who used Hunter and Gator to run their product for them.
It had been his parents’ number and he’d known in a heartbeat that something was very wrong. He still didn’t know how his father had gotten the beeper number, except that the man had had connections in Rebel. He’d been an attorney before he’d retired and so it made sense that he’d called in a few favors to get in touch with his eldest son in the wake of tragedy.
That, or he’d known all along what Hunter had been involved in. Who he’d been running with.
Which explained why he’d been so ashamed of his son. So condemning.
At the same time, he’d been ashamed and condemning long before Hunter had taken up with Gator and his buddies. Even as a kid, Hunter had never been good enough for Jim DeMassi. He’d never made good enough grades or hung out with the right kids or helped with the collection plate at church. He’d been too busy having fun, sowing his wild oats, living instead of going through the motions like his parents and all of their friends.
He ignored the notion and focused on the cabin and the man who’d hauled open the door, a beer in one hand and his cell in the other.
Not that the cabin was Gator’s home. Even Hunter wasn’t clear exactly where the bootlegger hung his hat. The cabin was a place to crash. To wait. To exchange goods.
He glanced past Gator to the modest interior, from the small table near a stove and refrigerator, to the sofa and big-screen TV. Not a jar of shine in sight, but then Hunter hadn’t expected to see anything. Gator was too careful.
“I need a real lead.”
“I gave you what I had.”
“You gave me shit.”
“Hey, man.” He shrugged, moving back to let Hunter in. “You should chill. I’m giving you everything I can. That’s all I know.”
“So ask around some more. I need a name.”
Gator shut the door and finished a text on his phone before shifting his attention back to Hunter. “The Mayweather boys not leading you anywhere?”
The Mayweather boys hadn’t left their house in the days since Hunter had dragged them in. Instead, they were holed up inside, ordering takeout and watching reruns of Breaking Bad. At least according to Bobby who’d been spying on them since Hunter had let them go.
“We think whoever hired them might have fired them. They haven’t returned to the still site.”
“That makes sense. If this operation is top notch like you say, they were bound to wise up to those guys. They’re idiots.” Gator took a long swig of the beer in his hands before motioning to Hunter. “You want one?” When he shook his head, Gator sank down on the nearby sofa. “Seems to me you’re pressing the wrong guy. I don’t know anything, but the Mayweather boys do. You should be pressing them.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to spook whoever owns the operation. That’ll make this even more difficult. Right now, no one knows that I’m on to them. If I start pressing, any shiner worth their salt will see me coming a mile away.”
“You’re pressing me,” Gator pointed out.
“I’m asking for a favor. There’s a difference. You owe me.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
But Hunter didn’t have to remind him. Gator would never forget that Hunter had been the one to save his younger brother from a major bust that would have ruined the kid’s life. Gator’s kid brother had been a star running back for one of the local high schools and well on his way to playing for a major college. He’d been offered a full ride to four of the Big 12 schools.
Kip Hallsey had had a chance at something more and Hunter had been instrumental in making sure he didn’t get caught up in the raid that had sent half a dozen men to jail. Not Gator, of course. He’d been too smart. The man could smell a setup a mile away and he’d kept his distance that night. But his younger brother hadn’t had the same instincts.
Hunter had been there when the shit had hit the fan and he’d taken the heat for Kip. He’d stepped up and claimed the entire case of alcohol as his own.
Hunter had sat behind bars for the thirty-eight days between arrest and trial. There’d been no one bailing him out. No one giving him a second chance. He’d escaped conviction because of a lack of evidence, not because his father had been pushing for his innocence. The man had never stood up for him. Not then.
Not now.
But he didn’t need him anymore. Hunter could stand up for himself and everyone else. He’d been doing it for two consecutive terms now.
And he was pushing for a third. One he would surely win. It was just a matter of filing the paperwork and putting his name on the ballot.
Which he had every intention of doing.
Soon.
But first he needed to check in with Bobby and make sure the Mayweather boys were still at home. Then he needed to head out to the still site and see who’d been put on guard duty.
If the Mayweathers had been fired, then someone else had been hired to take their place.
“Find me a name,” he told Gator.
The man ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll do my best. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here. I’m expecting someone.” When Hunter arched an eyebrow, he added, “You don’t want to know, Sheriff.”
* * *
“I don’t know why you don’t just move in with me and Tyler,” Brandy told Jenna when she stopped off at the bakery to pick up more cupcakes. The place had closed a half hour ago, but Brandy was always putting in overtime to prep for the following day and so her sisters often stopped by to catch up with each other. And snag some free baked goods. “We’ve got an extra bedroom.”
“You’re newlyweds. You don’t need a houseguest right now.”
“You’re not a houseguest. You’re my sister. And you’re moving in with me.”
“It’s only for two weeks. They’re demolishing the house last and then they’ll start construction right away.”
“Two weeks can easily turn to three and then four. It’s construction, Jenna. It’s not guaranteed.”
“Brody promised it wouldn’t take more than two weeks. Three a
t the most.”
“Which is exactly why you should stay with us. You haven’t let me help at all with the cleanup. We lived there once, too. We all contributed to the mess.”
“You’ve got your hands full here. I can handle the house. I’m finished with the attic and now I’m working my way through the bottom rooms.”
“The entire attic?”
She nodded. “It was a bitch, but I made it. There was so much stuff. Granddad kept everything, most of which was a whole lot of nothing. But I did come across a few sentimental pieces.”
Brandy arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“I found a trunk with a bunch of women’s clothing.”
“Grandma’s?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but it turns out the trunk belongs to someone else. Clara Bell Sawyer.”
Brandy’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s her trunk doing in James Harlin’s attic?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. There were letters in there, too. She never mailed them because there was no address, but they’re definitely meant for someone. I think she had something going on with one of the Tuckers.”
“Back then? Talk about a scandal.”
“I think it was the scandal. I think Clara Bell had something to do with the feud.” She thought about telling Brandy about the secret baby, but she still had half the stack of letters to get through and she didn’t want to say anything while there were still more questions than answers.
That, and it felt wrong somehow to talk about the letters with her sisters.
A crazy feeling because she confided everything to her sisters. But this …
This didn’t feel right.
She shrugged. “I’m probably jumping to conclusions. It’s probably nothing. I should just throw it all away and be done with it. I’ve still got so much stuff to get through.”
“Which I would gladly help with,” Brandy pushed.
“Me, too,” Callie offered, coming from the back room, a pie in hand. She’d stopped in after turning in her weekly column at the newspaper. “I can box things up and take you home with me. Brett and I have plenty of room and we would love to have you.” She fed the pie into a pie box that Brandy handed her.
“I can’t drive all the way from Brett’s ranch to the clinic every day. I’m on call most of the time. I need to be close.” Jenna steeled herself against her sisters’ persuasive looks and voiced her decision. “I’m staying in town at the motel.”
“But—”
“Stop. I appreciate the both of you. Really I do. But I’m staying at the motel. You need your privacy,” she told Brandy. “And you need it, too,” she told Callie, “otherwise I’ll never be an aunt.”
A soft look touched her eldest sister’s expression. “Actually, you might not be waiting too much longer.”
The air lodged in Jenna’s chest. “What exactly are you saying?”
“Nothing for certain. I’m just a few days late. It could be a false alarm.” A smile touched Callie’s lips. “But I have an appointment with Dr. McGhee next week just in case.”
“And you’re going to wait until then to find out?” Brandy screeched. “What’s wrong with you? Go over to the pharmacy and get a pregnancy test.”
Callie shook her head. “Brett’s out of town until Friday and I want to wait for him. If there’s news, I want us to find out together.”
Because Callie loved Brett and he loved her. Together.
“I guess I can understand that,” Brandy said.
Because Brandy loved Tyler and he loved her. Together.
Her sisters were now card-carrying members of the couple club, while Jenna stood on the outside looking in.
For the first time, the notion stirred a niggle of jealousy. A ridiculous feeling because Jenna had been in the couple club several times herself. With Chuck. And Kevin. And Marc. And Wallace. And … Too many men, none of whom had been the right man.
And so she was flying solo now, and happy to do it.
She wanted to be by herself. To prove to an entire town that she truly had changed.
Still … The look on Callie’s face, the softness of her gaze, the happiness in her expression, made Jenna think that maybe being in love wasn’t such a bad thing. With the right man.
She found herself thinking about Hunter, about the way he’d kissed her and how she really, really wanted him to do it again.
Because of lust, not love. She hardly knew him and he hardly knew her and hot kisses didn’t make a solid foundation for any relationship.
Sure, it couldn’t hurt.
But there had to be more.
As in hot sex?
The notion struck and she stiffened. She wasn’t thinking about sex with Hunter. Or fantasizing about it. Or wanting it.
No.
“Do you have any blueberry pie?” Callie asked. “I could really go for some right now.”
Brandy and Jenna exchanged glances. “Yep, she’s pregnant, all right,” Brandy said. “You hate blueberries,” she pointed out to their eldest sister.
“Not really. I’ve only had them a few times.”
“And you hated them every time.”
“I think hate is a strong word.”
“Detested them?” Jenna offered. “Because I distinctly remember you taking a bite of a scone at the last ladies’ auxiliary bake sale and literally spitting it back out on the table in front of old lady Hester and Myrtle Simcox.”
“It went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. It was either spit it back out or have old lady Hester try to Heimlich me.” She sniffed. “I definitely smell blueberries.” Her eyes lit with excitement. “You just pulled some pies out of the oven, right?”
“They’re tarts and you’re definitely pregnant.” Brandy retrieved a small box and disappeared into the back room for a full five minutes before emerging with a half-dozen tarts. Closing the box, she handed it to Callie. “Knock yourself out. And what about you?” she asked, turning to Jenna. “Any cravings?”
Just one.
Hunter’s image whispered through her head and she stiffened. “Very funny.” She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “Just give me the cupcakes.”
“Six, huh?” Brandy asked as she pulled the chocolate confections from the case and stuffed them into a pink bakery box.
Jenna thought of the kiss again and the empty house waiting for her at home and her stomach hollowed out. “Better make it a full dozen.”
CHAPTER 18
Were there any nice, normal heterosexual men left in the world? The question echoed through Kimberly Bowman’s mind early Thursday evening as she sat on the patio at The Green Bean, the one and only health food spot in Rebel. She stared across an overflowing platter of watercress and cucumber slices to the man who sat opposite her, folded into the small wrought-iron chair
Gabe Witherspoon.
He was the head of the science department at Rebel High and the latest prospect in her search for the perfect man. Kim, in her most secret, private fantasies had always envisioned a tall, dark, and handsome man with killer eyes and a sexy smile and a bit of a bad-boy streak.
And hands … She definitely pictured large, strong, callused hands.
A cross between Justin Timberlake and the Marlboro man.
Gabe, all five feet five inches of him, had short dishwater-brown hair, a pale complexion, and a perfectly knotted bow tie. Very un-Marlboro-esque, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers.
And that’s what she was at the moment, a beggar. A desperate, I need to find someone before my lady parts shrivel up and die beggar.
She glanced at the scooter parked outside near the curb and swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.
So he wasn’t the Marlboro man?
After six months of serious searching, complete with enough first dates to qualify her for some kind of desperate single woman’s record, Gabe was the closest she’d come to her dream man. Hell, he was the closest she’d come to any man and so Kim wasn
’t going to write him off simply because he didn’t measure up to her fantasy man. In fact, she was boosting him up her list of potential hubby material because he wasn’t her fantasy man.
Kim knew the difference between fantasy and reality. Fantasies were all about lust—and she knew firsthand that lust didn’t make for lifelong commitment. Compatibility did that, and while Gabe didn’t make her want to rip off the red thong she’d indulged in during the last semiannual sale at Victoria’s Secret, he’d already aced five of Redbook’s Perfect Mate Compatibility Requirements. He was an educated, health-conscious, nonsmoking, white-collar professional ready to settle down and start a family.
Gabe ate a piece of cucumber dipped in bean curd and dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin before smoothing it over his lap. Kim’s gaze dropped to her own lap, to the neatly spread napkin. Compulsively neat. Hello number six.
Six out of the ten. That put him one over her only other serious prospect, Benny Remington, a brilliant nonsmoking orthodontist desperate to marry and make his mama a grandma before he turned forty.
Kim could sympathize. Her thirty-fifth birthday—a major traumatic event that would make her the oldest single woman working at the high school if she didn’t do something now—was just around the corner.
One month.
She fought down a wave of rising panic. She would make her deadline to meet and marry before then. She’d already signed up for every major dating service from eHarmony to LassoThatCowboy.com. Sure, she wasn’t looking for a working cowboy, per se. But a ranch owner or a horse breeder … Someone in charge of the work rather than busting his ass doing the work … Now that’s what she wanted.
But first she had to decide between Gabe and Benny.
Gabe was definitely leading the race, despite the clear nail polish tipping his fingers. He was probably just a closet nail biter. She’d seen Donna down at the nail salon paint many a man’s nails, even in a town like Rebel. It helped with the nail biting, she’d told Kim while painting a flower on her big toe. That, or they were secretly sexually confused and the clear nail polish helped them nurture their feminine side without actually coming out of the closet.
Tempting Texas Page 10
