“Saxton?” she said with surprise as she looked at her big brother.
“Yes. I am your 11:30. Your calendar has been cleared until 2 pm and you, my dear sister, are all mine,” he said to her. He extended his elbow. “Grab your purse and let’s ride.”
Her lips were moving but no sound was coming out. Saxton loved it. He dropped his elbow and moved around her to the drawer where she kept her purse. He grabbed it, pushed it into her hand, and pulled her towards the door. “We will be back at 2, Clara,” he told the woman who was grinning at him like a basket case.
Belva still had not found any words even when they reached the lobby. Her inability to speak only worsened when Saxton walked over to open the door to his Grandmother’s 1976 Cadillac Seville. It was probably the last time Patsy drove it as well. The car was a funky baby blue in color but in mint condition and ran like a dream.
“Saxton, what is the meaning of all this? You are wearing a suit. You walked in the doors of Blakemore Oil… taking me to lunch … oh God! Is Mama about to die from cirrhosis of the liver?” Her cheeks were flushed and pink.
He pulled the car from the curb and drove to what he knew was her favorite restaurant. “No, sis. I’m in town to spend some time with my family. You have a new job title coming up and I just wanted to sit down with you one-on-one and spend some time,” he told her.
“What new job title? This is all freaking me out!” she said to him as she ran her hands through her long mane of black hair.
“Belva, you are going to be an aunt in three months,” he said as he glanced at her.
She was grinning. “Oh my God! That’s right, Saxton, you are going to be a dad!” The conversation picked up between them as they shared childhood memories about Uncle Dusty, their aunts, and good times. Belva never complained about either of her brothers. They were good men and good to her. Even when she went through a phase of bad boys and not loving herself, her brothers were always there, pruning off the weeds which kept trying to take root around her.
Grandma Patsy had become a surrogate mother to them as their mother began to mix the pills with the highballs, and when Lucy’s mornings started at noon. Belva, desperate for attention, sought affection from many of the wrong men. One, she even married.
Colton Hornsby was the worst kind of snake. A man of little to no character who made it obvious he only wanted Belva for her money. After whisking her away to Vegas, he was disappointed to find that Bobby Ray had tied the money up and only gave her enough to live on each month. Once the rent, her car note, and utilities were paid, there was little left over for anything else. Colton had to get a job to help support his wife. Yet the disappointment continued when he also found out that Bobby Ray was not going to give him a cushy job at Blakemore Oil, but instead gave him a field hand job on the ranch working with Dusty.
His frustration in not having access to the Blakemore bank was taken out on Belva. It started subtly at first, moving her further out and away from her family. Next, he started beating on her self-esteem, taking chunks of an already low self-confidence away. Saxton stayed in constant contact with his sister, as she shied away from their father. When Colton started laying his hands on Belva is when Saxton took exception.
It was also at 3:30 in the morning when she called him from the closet in the bedroom of the nasty little rat hole they called their home. Saxton arrived at the ratty apartment to find his sister beaten and bleeding. He believed it only fair to do the same for Colton.
The damage from that night lasted far longer than anyone had anticipated. The child that Belva was carrying did not survive. Neither did her ability to conceive another child in her lifetime. When Saxton carried her limp body to his truck, he left Colton’s in the floor of the apartment. A call to his father from the hospital and that was the last anyone saw of Colton Hornsby. To this day, Saxton had no idea whether or not the man was dead or alive. A 3:30 am phone call changed his life.
The phone call from Ryanne brought back the ugly memory. The next few phone calls that arrived were going to bring back a few more memories for the Blakemores, as well as the Trodats. If there was one thing that Bobby Ray had taught him, if you see something once, it is random; you see it twice it is more than a coincidence. If you see it three times, it is a pattern and intentional. But Saxton had also learned on his own that there is no such thing as random.
Chapter 11. Who sent that box…?
Bucerias Nayarit, Mexico
Victorío sat in his office wishing for an escape. His current day-to-day operations were pummeling the joy out of his life and he needed a reason to smile. The American holiday of Thanksgiving was approaching and he had been invited to come to Dallas to have dinner with Saxton and Odessa. He wasn’t so sure how he felt about the rest of the family. Odessa’s mother was scary. The whole thing she did with the towels to his cousin, Mateo, was still haunting him when he closed his eyes at night. Dora Trodat was a terrifying lady.
It explained why the little slip of a woman Saxton had married was full of fire. He really respected Odessa. He esteemed Saxton even more. An individual may not be able to choose their family, but one did have a say in whom they befriended.
His family … that was another story altogether. It panged him that since going legitimate with his business, he had earned more enemies than when he was a cutthroat drug dealer. He no longer had any desire to walk on the darker side of life, but he thrived on walking in the clear light of day. The thing that truly amazed him was to walk into a meeting and not have to worry about whether he would walk out alive. He’d seen it one time too many; a bad guy approaching an even worse guy who was tougher than the guy who walked in before. Either way, at the end of conversation, if there was one to be had, somebody was going to end up dead. Victorío wanted to make sure it wasn’t him.
In the interim, he made alliances. He was not pleased with how his relationship with the Nueva Generación had turned out, but Hugo Delgado had pretty much ended the partnership with that group. Trying to kill him was by any account a deal breaker. He still worked some with the Zetas, but that group was headed up by Delgado’s brother, Eduardo. He was seldom seen and even Victorío was unaware how he looked after so many years. It was clear that he had sent Mateo to kill the Blakemores, but his cousin was more into pissing people off than actually doing as he was instructed. What worried Victorío the most was Mateo had probably pissed off the wrong person.
A yellow DHL truck made its way up the drive to the hacienda. Antoinette. She has probably ordered something else she does not need. To his surprise the box was for him. The weight of the container surprised him as he maneuvered the package to his office. Who is sending me something? Caution made him pause as he looked at the unmarked box. He put his ear closer, listening to hear if any ticking was made.
Hesitant, he slipped the letter opener into the sides and cut away the tape. Carefully, he opened the flaps to come in contact with lots of dry ice. He used the letter opener to push some of it to the side. The contents had a peculiar smell. There were packs of lime inside the box, along with coffee beans. Gently, Victorío moved these items aside.
Ay Dios Mio! He almost screamed as he peered into the box to see the severed head of his cousin, Mateo, staring up at him, with that same foolish grin he often wore. In his death, someone had made him go out wearing the duplicitous smile he presented in life to so many others.
There were no doubts in his mind that it was Eduardo Delgado who sent that box. He would pack the car and go and visit his uncle before leaving for the United States. He would take him this horrible gift so he could bury his favorite son, or at least what was left of Mateo Rentería.
Corpus Christie, Texas
Dwight awoke with an uneasy feeling. It had been two days since Ryanne had shot him. As many questions as he asked, he was receiving even fewer answers. No one knew where she was; some had checked flights, trains, buses, and nothing. In two days, his wife had vanished. I will have them expand my search to Dallas. Maybe
she is with her sister.
A more primary concern for him was his own well-being. I have failed the head of the Zeta Cartel. Even when he did get out the hospital, to kill Ryanne now would be premeditated murder. The extra he had been receiving each month to woo her was not enough to change his identity or to get out of the country. The idea of marrying her was his idea. Working with a shady insurance agent to take out an extra policy on her was also his idea. For any of his misery to pay off, he had to finish the job.
His eyes opened into the darkened room and he spotted a man sitting in the corner with a guitar. Throat dry and cracking, Dwight asked, “Who are you and what are you doing in my room?”
The man smiled. “I told them I was with The Healing Waters Therapy Mission. We provide music therapy to despondent patients.”
I am not sad. Dwight tried to sit up but it was difficult. His loving wife had shot him in the nads. That alone, was enough to make him take her life, which he planned to do once he was recovered.
“I’m sorry, I am not depressed. I don’t need you to sing or play for me,” Dwight told the man.
“Are you sure you are not sad? You really should be. Especially knowing that you were given a job that you failed to complete,” the man said. Dwight flinched in the bed. The guitar carrying man continued to talk as he strummed a few chords on the instrument.
“The problem with greed is you make a choice for what you think is easy money, but you never know who you are actually dealing with on the other end of the phone,” the man told him.
Dwight began to mumble, stumbling over his words as the sweat began to bead on his forehead. He reached for the call switch for the nurse.
“I disabled that. You cannot call out for help,” he said as he remained still in the chair, strumming his guitar.
“Who are you?” Dwight wanted to know.
The man began to sing a few words of a song he had never heard. “The real issue here, Dwight Darrel Dobbins, is that you lied to me. You told me your wife was an unattractive woman and a cold fish. You also were paid to woo her; not to marry the woman.” The guitar-playing stranger stood, his face no longer in the shadows of the room.
“Seňor Delgado,” Dwight mumbled.
“Sí,” he said with a smile. This man was far younger than Dwight had imagined him. The calm he exuded made him scarier than a cutthroat in a dark alley. From his back pocket, Eduardo removed a syringe, pulled back the plunger and injected an air bubble into Dwight’s IV. “If you lied to me about how she looked, you probably lied about how she was in bed as well. That, I intend to find out for myself.”
Eduardo watched the panic fill Dwight’s eyes. Never one to be sadistic about death, especially when it was at his hands, he preferred for the end to be quick. This one, he wanted to hurt. He pulled out his phone and showed Dwight the selfie of him and a smiling Ryanne. “Yes, next week, I will show her how a real man makes love to a woman. When I am done, she will forget you ever existed. Besides, she will be rich from the insurance policies you decided you both needed. Sí, Sí, I know about that as well Dwight Darrel Dobbins.”
Dwight grabbed at the IV, trying to pull it from his arm, but it was too late, the air bubble entered into his vein. Eduardo strummed his guitar as he left the room and walked down the hall of the ward. He stopped to play for a few of the nurses at the station when the code sounded in Dwight’s room. Nurses were running and yelling for a code blue. Crash carts were flying on light wheels to Dwight’s room as Eduardo calmly walked to the elevator and stepped inside the car.
Ryanne would be notified later today of her husband’s death. He found it disconcerting that he wanted to be there to console her. His next stop was Houston and a quiet evening comforting an attractive young widow.
Chapter 12. Welcome to the Busy B …
Kevin, Jr., or Kev as Odessa liked to call him, arrived home earlier than anticipated, which was perfect for the Trodats. A quick call to Saxton and the family met the plane at the same airstrip to fly to Houston on Tuesday evening. Aboard the aircraft, Kevin, Jr., who had been informed of the situation with his sister and Dwight, said nothing as he sat quietly, holding Ryanne’s hand.
It also had not escaped Dora’s notice that it was not the same plane they had taken a few days before. “Unless they changed the carpet and leather seat covers in three days, this is not the same plane. This one is swankier,” she commented.
Kev piped up, “They have more than one plane? ‘Dessa, how rich is Saxton?”
Odessa had little to say on the subject other than one comment. “Saxton and I have what we are building together.”
Big Sarge grinned at her. “That is a good answer, ‘Dessa, but his family is loaded. They have oil wells, oil rigs, Texas beef, horses, sheep, and everything else you can imagine. I cannot wait to see this ranch.”
Dora spoke softly. “I can’t wait to meet his mama. Do you think what I am wearing is okay?”
All three of her children shook their heads no. For the damndest reason, Dora was dressed like Barbara Stanwyck from the Big Valley television series. She wore a pair of suede culottes with a turquoise studded western belt, a turquoise silk blouse, a matching suede leather jacket with deep brown calfskin gloves. The gloves, of course, matched the knee high riding boots. Dora Trodat had never been near a horse in her life. To make it worse, around her neck she wore a scarf that was adorned in little beetles.
Kevin, Jr., asked, “Let me guess, you got that scarf from Mary Jean?”
Big Sarge asked what everyone wanted to know. “You still dating that weirdo?”
“Dad, that is not nice. Mary Jean is a middle school science teacher …” Kevin tried to say.
Big Sarge interrupted, “So what? My sister is a high school English teacher; you don’t see her walking around with pages from books hanging off of her!”
“Yes, but Daddy, she is always randomly quoting Shakespeare for no reason,” Kevin added.
“What are you trying to say about your dear sweet auntie Kev?” Big Sarge wanted to know.
“I’m saying, Daddy. Your sister is a weirdo, too.”
The room was quiet. “You have a point there, son,” Big Sarge said as he slapped him on the back.
Kevin was still in defense of Mary Jean. “She is a sweet girl, but no … the distance thing …” Kev told his father and left it at that, saying no more.
It was also noticed that Ryanne had said no more about her circumstance with Dwight. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” is what she told her family. They respected her wishes.
The flight was quick as they touched down on the east side of the ranch. A Suburban was there to meet them as the driver addressed Odessa, “Welcome home, Mrs. Blakemore.”
Everyone turned to Odessa, who only rubbed her belly as she slid into the backseat of the vehicle and buckled her seat belt. It was less than a ten-mile ride from the east side of the farm to the front gates of the Busy B Ranch. The Trodats were all staring out the windows, watching the oil wells pump, some cattle graze as a few cowboys rode by the greener areas on horses. The vehicle entered the front gate of the ranch, driving down the one-mile stretch to the front door of the house. Ryanne’s brow furrowed as she took in all that she was seeing.
“That is a big ass house! What is that 8,000 square feet?” Kev asked his sister.
Odessa felt uncomfortable when she answered, “I think it is 10,000 square feet.”
“Whoa!” Big Sarge mumbled.
As the vehicle came to a stop, the crisp November wind whipped across the portico as an ominous sign of change being swept into their lives. The thunder of hooves could be heard, as in the distance, the cowboys they saw earlier were riding up to the house. It was easy to spot Saxton, sitting tall atop Longshot, the big black stallion’s mane whipping in the wind as he rode up the path to greet them. The horse had barely stopped when Saxton slid out of the saddle to swoop Odessa up in his arms.
“Hey you,” he said as his mouth found hers. “I missed
the heck out of you,” he said as he held her close, careful not to squish her belly. Longshot must have missed her, too, because the horse came over and nudged her purse.
“Fine. Fine. Give me a minute, you big brute,” she said to the horse. Odessa fumbled through her purse to pull out an apple and fed it to the animal, who nodded its large head and walked away.
Saxton called after his horse, “Don’t you wander off. I’ll take you to the stables in a minute.”
The horse didn’t seem to give a shit about what Saxton was saying as it munched happily on the treat Odessa had given it. Saxton’s attention went to his in-laws as he passed out hugs and shook hands while proclaiming loudly, “Welcome to the Busy B!”
The front doors opened as Lucy walked out, followed by Grandma Patsy. “Saxton, don’t be rude, let the people come inside and warm themselves by the fire. And get that damned horse out of here before it shits all over my driveway!”
“Sorry, Mama,” he told her as he introduced Odessa’s family to his own. He told the Trodat’s “Don’t worry about trying to remember names. There will be so many Blakemores in and out of this house in the next few days, there is no way you guys will be able to keep up with everyone.”
Saxton’s phone was ringing as he fumbled in his pockets to grab the device. Big Sarge had his eye on Grandma Patsy, who was giving him the evil look. Lucy’s arm was linked into Dora’s as she ushered her through the front doors. The driver was taking care of their luggage as the rest of the riders rode up. Bobby Ray was among them as he slid down to embrace Odessa, shake hands and welcome everyone to the house. It was not hard to see the resemblance between Saxton and his father. The same height, the same build and same hair, only Bobby Ray’s was a deep grey.
Odessa’s eyes were on Saxton, who was obviously receiving some bad news on the phone. Her eyes were imploring him for answers but his eyes wandered to Ryanne. It was the look on her husband’s face that told her Dwight was dead. She didn’t even need to ask. The real task was going to be telling Ryanne. It was no doubt that she wasn’t going to take it well.
Dinner With the Blakemores (The Blakemore Files Book 5) Page 5
