He hesitated, his eyes lowering to the vicinity of her
breasts. "Always."
They were no longer talking about the pistol in his holster.
But more than what was actually being said, the tone of the
conversation made her distinctly uncomfortable. She shifted
her weight from one bare foot to the other and dampened her
lips, only then realizing that she had already removed her
makeup. Somehow, that made her feel even more vulnerable.
That, and his motionless, broody stare.
"Why did you come here tonight? What couldn't wait until
morning?"
"An urge."
"An urge?" she repeated huskily.
He languidly got up out of the chair and moved forward
until he stood only inches in front of her. He slipped his rough
hand into the parting of her robe and encircled her neck with
it. "Yeah, an urge," he whispered. "An urge to throttle
you."
Uttering a frustrated grunt Alex removed his hand and
stepped aside. By choice, he let her go. "Judge Wallace
called me tonight and told me about the court order you asked
him for."
Her heart, which had been beating furiously, slowed down,
but she muttered a curse of aggravation. "Isn't anything
private in this town?"
"Not much, no."
"I don't think I could sneeze without everybody within
the city limits offering me a Kleenex."
"You're in the spotlight, all right. What do you expect,
going around asking to dig up a body?"
"You make it sound so whimsical."
"Well, isn't it?"
"Do you think I'd disturb my mother's grave if I didn't
think it was a vital step toward solving her murder?" she
asked heatedly. "My God, do you think it was easy for me
to even voice the request? And why did the judge feel it
necessary to consult you, you, of all people?"
"Why not me? Because I'm a suspect?"
"Yes!" she cried. "Discussing this case with you is highly
unethical."
"I'm the sheriff, remember?"
"I never forget it. That's still no excuse for Judge Wallace
to go behind my back. Why is he so nervous about having
the body exhumed? Is he afraid a forensic investigation will
reveal something he helped to cover up?"
"Your request presented him with a problem."
"I'll just bet it did! Who is he trying to protect by keeping
that coffin sealed?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Celina's body can't be exhumed. She was cremated."
Twelve
Reede couldn't figure out why he had elected to go to the
seediest tavern along the highway for a drink when he had a
perfectly good bottle of whiskey at home. Maybe it was
because his frame of mind matched the dark, murky atmosphere of the honky-tonk.
He felt like shit.
He signaled for the bartender to pour him another drink.
The Last Chance Bar was the kind of place that refilled
glasses; customers didn't get a clean one with each round.
"Thanks," Reede said, watching the whiskey splash into
his glass.
"You staking us out undercover, or what?" the bartender
quipped.
Without moving anything but his eyes, Reede looked up
at him. "I'm having a drink. Is that all right with you?"
The silly grin collapsed. "Sure, Sheriff, sure." The bartender
backed away to the opposite end of the bar, where
he'd been carrying on a conversation with two friendlier patrons.
Reede noticed that one booth across the room was occupied
by women. Surrounding the pool table was a trio of guys
whom he recognized as wild well controllers. They were
usually a rowdy bunch who parried hard between each dangerous
gig. For the time being, they were peaceable enough.
Pasty Hickam and Ruby Faye Turner were cuddled in another
booth. Reede had heard in the B & B that morning that
Angus had canned the old ranch hand. Pasty had made a
damn stupid mistake, but Reede thought the punishment was
severe. Apparently, Pasty was being consoled by his latest
flame. Reede had doffed his hat in their general direction
when he had come in. They gave every appearance of wanting
to be ignored as much as he wanted to ignore them.
It was a slow night at the Last Chance, which suited the
sheriff just fine for professional as well as personal reasons.
He had gulped his first drink, barely tasting it. This one
he sipped because he needed it to last longer. Nursing it
delayed going home. Being alone didn't hold much appeal
for Reede. Neither did passing time in the Last Chance, but
it was better than the first option. At least, tonight it was.
The whiskey had started a slow fire in his belly. It had
made the twinkling Christmas lights, strung year-'round over
the bar, seem brighter and prettier. The dinginess of the place
wasn't so obvious when viewed through whiskey fumes.
Since he was beginning to mellow, he decided this would
be his last drink of the night, another reason to savor it. Reede
never drank to the point of intoxication. Never. He'd had to
clean up after his old man had puked up everything but his
toenails too many times for him to think that getting shit-faced
was fun.
When he was just a kid, he remembered thinking that he
might grow up to be a jailbird or a monk, an astronaut or a
post-hole digger, a zookeeper or a big game hunter, but one
thing he was not going to be was a drunk. They already had
one of those in the family, and that was one too many.
"Hiya, Reede."
The sound of the breathy, feminine voice interrupted his contemplation of the amber contents of his glass. He raised
his head and immediately saw a plump set of tits.
She was wearing a skin tight black T-shirt with born bad
spelled out in glittering red letters. Her jeans were so tight
she had difficulty climbing onto the bar stool. She managed,
but not without jiggling her breasts and pressing Reede's thigh
in the process. Her smile was as brilliant as a zirconium ring,
and not nearly as genuine. Her name was Gloria, Reede
remembered, just in time to be courteous.
"Hi, Gloria."
"Buy me a beer?"
"Sure." He called out the order to the bartender. Glancing
pointedly over his shoulder, Reede called her attention to the
group of friends she'd left sitting in the booth across the dim
tavern.
"Don't mind them," she said, flirtatiously tapping his arm
where it rested on the bar. "It's every girl for herself after
ten o'clock."
"Ladies' night out?"
"Hmm." She tipped the long-neck to her glossy lips and
drank. "We were headed for Abilene to see the new Richard
Gere movie, but the weather turned so bad, we said what the
hell, and decided to stay in town. Wha'chu been up to tonight?
You on duty?"
"For a while. I'm off now." Reluctant to be drawn into
conversation, he returned to his drink.
Gloria wasn't going to be dismissed that easily. She scooted
as close to him as the barstool would allow and threw her
arm across his shoulders. "Poor Reede. It must get awful
lonesome riding around by yourself all the time."
"I'm working when I'm riding around."
"I know, but still ..." Her breath fanned his ear. It
smelled like beer. "It's no wonder you frown so much." A
sharp fingernail plowed the deep furrow between his eyebrows.
He jerked his head back, away from her touch. She
snatched her hand back and uttered a soft, wounded sound.
"Look, I'm sorry," he muttered. "My mood's as bad as
the weather. It's been a long day. Guess I'm just tired."
Rather than putting her off, that encouraged her. "Maybe
I could cheer you up, Reede," she said with a timorous smile.
"Anyway, I'd sure like to try." Again she moved close,
sandwiching his upper arm between her cushiony breasts.
"I've had the wildest crush on you since I was in seventh
grade. Don't make out like you didn't know," she said with
a scolding pout.
"No, I didn't know that."
"Well, I did. But you were taken then. What was that
girl's name? The one that loony killed in the stable?"
"Celina."
"Yeah. You were real gone on her, weren't you? By the
time I got to high school, you were at Texas Tech. Then I
got married and started having kids." She didn't notice that
he wasn't interested in her chatter. " 'Course, the husband's
long gone, and the kids are old enough now to take care of
themselves. I guess there never was much chance for you to
know I had a crush on you, was there?"
"I guess not."
She leaned so far forward, her perch on the stool became
precarious. "Maybe it's time you did, Reede."
He glanced down at her breasts, which were making teasing,
brushing contact with his arm. As a result, her nipples
made hard, distinct impressions against her T-shirt. Somehow,
the blatancy wasn't as enticing as Alex's innocent, bare
toes peeking out from beneath her white terry-cloth bathrobe.
Knowing that there was nothing but Gloria under the black
T-shirt didn't excite him as much as wondering what, if
anything, was under Alex's white robe.
He wasn't aroused, not even a little. He wondered why.
Gloria was pretty enough. Black hair curled around her
face and emphasized dark eyes that were now lambent with
invitation and promise. Her lips were parted and wet, but he
wasn't sure he could kiss them without sliding off. They were
coated with cherry-red lipstick. Involuntarily, he compared
them to lips free of makeup, but still pink and moist, kissable
and sexy, without making any attempt to be.
"I gotta be going," he said suddenly. He unhooked his
boot heels from the rungs of the stool and came to his feet,
fishing in the pocket of his jeans for enough bills to cover
the price of his drinks and her beer.
"But, I thought--"
"Better get back to your group, or you're liable to miss
the party."
The wild well control boys had ventured toward the
women, who were making no secret of being on the prowl
and out for a good time. The merging of the two groups had
been as inevitable as a hard freeze by morning. The delay
had been calculated to build the anticipation. Now, however,
sexual innuendos were being swapped at a rate to match the
stock exchange on a busy day.
"Nice seeing you, Gloria."
Reede pulled his hat down low over his brows and left,
but not before catching her wounded expression. Alex's face
had held that same devastated, disbelieving expression when
he had told her that her mother's body had been cremated.
Seconds after he had uttered the words, she recoiled against
the wall, clutching the lapels of her robe to her throat as if
she was warding off something evil. "Cremated?"
"That's right." He watched her face turn pale, and her
eyes turn glassy.
"I didn't know. Grandma never said. I never thought. . ."
Her voice dwindled into nothingness. He remained silent
and unmoving, figuring that she needed time to digest that
sobering piece of information.
He had mentally cursed Joe Wallace for dumping such a
rotten task on him. The goddamn coward had called him, fit
to be tied, whining and carrying on, asking what he should
tell her. When Reede suggested that Alex be told the truth,
the judge had interpreted it as volunteering and had been all
too willing to abdicate the responsibility.
Alex's numbness hadn't lasted long. Her senses returned
abruptly, as though she'd been jarred into consciousness by
a thought. "Did Judge Wallace know?"
Reede remembered shrugging with feigned indifference.
"Look, all I know is that he called me and said that what
you wanted to do was impossible, even if he had handed
down a court order, which he would have been reluctant to
do."