would make a suitable wife for me. I remember the ruckus
you raised when I told you I wanted to marry her."
"You were eighteen then, boy!" Angus shouted. "Celina
was a widow with a baby."
"Yes. Alex. And look how fine she turned out. She could
have been my stepdaughter."
Angus's brows drew together over the bridge of his nose.
They were a dependable gauge of his temper. The steeper
the vee, the angrier he was. "There were other considerations."
Junior spun around. "Like what?"
"That was twenty-five years ago, another time, another
person. Alex isn't her mother. She's got more beauty, and a
hell of a lot more brains. If you were half the man you're
supposed to be--if, for once, you'd think with your head
instead of your pecker--you'd see how valuable it'd be to
have her standing by your side."
Junior blushed with anger. "I can see all that. I just wanted
to make damn certain before I started a courtship that you
would approve of it this time. Whether you want to believe
it or not, I loved Celina. And if I start romancing Alex, I
might just fall in love with her, too. For real. Not for you,
not for the corporation, but for myself."
He stamped toward the door. Angus called his name
sharply. Out of habit, Junior stopped and turned around.
"You resent this lecture, don't you, boy?"
"Yes," he stormed. "I'm a grown man, not a boy. I don't
need your coaching. I know how to handle Alex, or any other
woman you can name."
"Oh, you do?" Angus asked silkily.
"Yeah, I do."
"Then why did Alex leave you today and go off with
Reede?"
Upstairs, Sarah Jo eavesdropped on the raging conversation.
When Junior slunk into the living room and she heard
the clatter of glassware, she silently closed the door to her
sanctum and leaned back against it. Her chest rose and fell
with a heavy, despairing sigh.
It was happening again.
There seemed to be no escaping this nightmare. Junior was
going to have his heart broken again, this time by Celina's
daughter because she would come between Junior and his
father and his best friend. History was repeating itself. The
house was in an uproar, and all because of that girl.
Sarah Jo knew she wouldn't be able to stand it. No, she
was quite sure she wouldn't. The first time, she had failed
to protect Junior from heartache. She wouldn't be able to
protect him this time, either.
And that broke her heart.
Fifteen
She'd had every opportunity to be mugged, raped, or murdered,
or any combination thereof, in the Last Chance. Not to mention the chances she'd taken on the roads there and
back. Luckily, she had left unscathed, except for her riled
temper.
Entering her motel room, Alex slung her handbag and coat
in the chair, furious with herself for chasing after what was
obviously a red herring. Greg Harper would have a field day
if he ever found out she'd been so gullible.
That afternoon, she had called him. He wasn't impressed
with her findings so far, and made another pitch for her to
return to Austin and reconcile herself to the past. She had
held him to the time he'd allotted her.
His disfavor with her lack of results was one reason she
had put so much stock in her clandestine meeting tonight.
Greg would feel different if she could produce an eyewitness
to the murder.
She should have known the instant she pulled into the
parking lot of the bar that it didn't hold much promise. Three
bulbs were missing from the Texas lone star that blinked off
and on above the door. She had hesitated to even go inside
the place.
Every head in the room had turned. The men were a rough
bunch. They were drawn to her like coyotes to fresh meat.
The women looked even rougher, and glowered at her with
the blatant unfriendliness of potential rivals. She was tempted
to turn and run, but remembering what had taken her there,
she walked boldly to the bar.
"White wine, please."
That generated a snicker from everybody within hearing
distance. Taking her glass with her, she moved to a booth
and slid into the bench that would afford her the best view
of the room. Sipping self-consciously, she let her gaze move
from one face to another, trying to ascertain which belonged
to the voice on the telephone.
Then, to her horror, she realized that some of the men took
her close scrutiny of them as encouragement. From then on,
she confined her stares to the bottom of her wine glass, wishing
that her informant would hurry up and join her and end
the suspense. On the other hand, she dreaded meeting him.
If he were among this crowd, she didn't think he'd be someone
she would enjoy getting to know.
Billiard balls clacked and clattered. She got an overdose
of George Strait and Waylon Jennings. She inhaled clouds
of smoke, even though she wasn't smoking. And still she sat
alone.
Finally, a man who had been seated at the bar when she
had come in slid off his stool and moved in the general
direction of her booth. He took his own sweet time, stopping
at the jukebox to make his selections and pausing beside the
pool table to heckle one of the players about a bad shot.
His wandering seemed aimless and casual, but his gaze
kept drifting toward her. Her midsection tightened. Instinctively,
she knew that his final destination would be her booth.
It was. He propped his hip against the back of the padded
bench across the table from her and smiled down as he tilted
a long-neck beer bottle to his lips. "You waitin' for somebody?"
His voice sounded different, but then, both times he'd
called her, he'd been whispering. "You know I am," she
replied in a cold undertone. "Why'd you take so long to
come over?"
"I was building up my courage," he said, slurping another
draft of beer. "Now that I'm here, wanna dance?"
"Dance?"
"Yeah, dance. You know, a one an' a two." He used the
spout of his beer bottle to push up the brim of his cowboy
hat. His eyes slithered over her.
Her reaction was negative and chilling. "I thought you
wanted to talk."
He seemed momentarily nonplussed, then gave her a slow,
sly grin. "We can talk all you want to, honey." He set his
bottle of beer on the table and extended his hand down to
her. "My truck's right outside."
He was just a cowboy on the make! Alex didn't know
whether to laugh or scream. Hastily gathering up her things,
she headed for the door. "Hey, wait a minute. Where're you
goin'?"
She left him and everybody else at the Last Chance wondering.
Now, pacing the worn carpet of her motel room,
she berated herself for being such a fool. She wouldn't put
it past Reede or one of the Mintons to pay an out-of-work
cowboy a few bucks to call her and deliberately throw her
off track.
She was still stewing several minutes later when her telephone
rang. She yanked it up. "Hello."
"Do you think I'm crazy?" the familiar voice wheezed.
"Where were you?" she shouted. "I waited in that sleazy
joint for almost an hour."
"Was the sheriff there the whole time?"
"What are you talking about? Reede wasn't there."
"Look, lady, I know what I seen. I got there just as you
was goin' inside. Reede Lambert was tailin' you. Oh, he
cruised on past, but made a U-turn down the road a piece. I
didn't even stop. It wouldn't do at all for Lambert to see us
talkin' together."
"Reede was following me?"
"Damn right. I didn't count on no law, especially Lambert,
breathin' down my neck when I called you. He's thicker'n
thieves with the Mintons. I've a good mind to call off this
whole goddamn thing."
"No, no," Alex said quickly. "I didn't know Reede was
anywhere around. We'll meet someplace else. Next time, I'll
be certain he's not trailing me."
"Well . . ."
"On the other hand, if what you've got to tell me isn't all
that important . . ."
"I seen who done it, lady."
"Then where can we meet? And when?"
He named another bar, which sounded even more disreputable
than the Last Chance. "Don't go inside this time.
There'll be a red pickup parked on the north side of the
building. I'll be in it."
"I'll be there, Mr.-- Uh, can't you at least tell me your
name?"
"Nope."
He hung up. Alex cursed. She bounced off the bed and
went to the window, throwing open the drapes with the flourish
of the bullfighter in the terrible artwork.
Feeling foolish, she saw that the only car near her room
was her own. The familiar black-and-white Blazer was nowhere
to be seen. She closed the drapes, went back to the
phone, and angrily punched out another number. She was so
furious at Reede for scaring off an eyewitness, she was shaking.
"Sheriffs office."
"I want to speak to Sheriff Lambert."
"He's already left for the day," she was informed. "Is it
an emergency?"
"Do you know where he is?"
"At home, I reckon."
"What's that number, please?"
"We aren't s'pposed to give it out."
"This is Ms. Gaither. I must speak with Sheriff Lambert
tonight. It's very important. If necessary, I could track him
through the Mintons, but I hate to disturb them."
Dropping important names worked miracles. She was given
the telephone number without further delay. She intended to
put an immediate halt to the sheriffs sneaky surveillance.
Her resolve vanished when a feminine contralto voice answered
his telephone.
"It's a woman, asking for you." Nora Gail extended the
telephone receiver to Reede. Her pencil-perfect eyebrows
formed an inquisitive arch. He had been adding logs to the
fireplace across the room. He brushed his hands on the seat
of his jeans and pretended not to see the inquiry in her expression
as he took the receiver from her.
"Yeah? This is Lambert."
"This is Alex."
He turned his back on his guest. "What do you want?"
"I want to know why you were following me tonight."
"How do you know I was?"
"I ... I saw you."
"No, you didn't. What the hell were you doing in that
honky-tonk?"
"Having a drink."
"And you picked the Last Chance?" he asked scoffingly.
"Baby, you hardly look like its typical barfly. That
place is reserved for shit kickers and roughnecks looking
for fun with dissatisfied housewives. So either you went
there to get laid, or to keep a secret appointment. Which
was it?"
"I was there on official business."
"So, it was to meet somebody. Who? You'd be wise to
tell me, Alex, because whoever it was got scared off when
he saw me."
"You admit that you were trailing me?" Reede remained
stubbornly silent. "That's just one of many topics we'll address
first thing in the morning."
"Sorry. Tomorrow's my day off."
"It's important."
"That's your opinion."
"Where will you be?"
"I said no, Counselor."
"You don't have a choice."
"The hell I don't. I'm off duty tomorrow."
"Well, I'm not."
He cursed and blew out an exasperated breath, making
certain she heard both. "If the ground's thawed out, I'll be
at the Minions' practice track."
"I'll find you."
Without another word, he dropped the receiver back into
the cradle. He'd trapped her and he knew it. He'd heard her
breathing falter when he'd asked how she'd known he had
followed her. Whoever she had planned on meeting had
chickened out. Who? Junior? It was disturbing how much he
disliked that idea.
"Who was that?" Nora Gail asked, adjusting the lush white
mink coat around her shoulders. Her beaded sweater had a
low neckline. She amply filled it ... and then some. In the
cleft of her breasts nestled an opal as big around as a silver
dollar. The gold chain suspending it in that magnificent setting
was half an inch wide and studded with small, brilliant diamonds.
She took a black cigarette out of an eighteen-carat gold
box. Reede picked up her matching lighter and held it to the
tip of the cigarette. She curved her hand around his. The
rings on her plump, pampered hand glittered. "Thank you,
sugar."
"Don't mention it." He tossed the lighter back onto the
kitchen table and returned to his chair across from her.
"That was Celina's girl, wasn't it?"
"What if it was?"
"Ah." She pulled her lips into a ruby pucker and blew a
stream of smoke toward his ceiling. "Her ears must have
been burning." Tilting her hand downward, she pointed with
her cigarette at the letter lying on the table. "What do you
think about it?"
Reede picked up the letter and reread it, though its message
had been crystal clear the first time. It urged Alexandra
Gaither to cease and desist in her investigation. The letter
strongly suggested that she suspend all efforts to prosecute
Angus Minton, Junior Minton, and Reede Lambert on any
criminal charges.
The character of each man mentioned was given a glowing
review by the undersigned, who were a group of
concerned citizens--among them, his guest. They were
concerned not only for their esteemed colleagues who found
themselves in this unfortunate circumstance, but also for
themselves and their business interests, should the racetrack
license be revoked in light of Ms. Gaither's unfounded investigation.
In summation, the letter admonished her to retreat immediately
and let them get down to the business of profiting
well off the increased revenue a racetrack would mean to
their community.
After reading the letter a second time, Reede refolded it
and stuffed it into the unsealed envelope. It had been addressed
to Alex in care of the Westerner Motel.
He didn't comment on the contents. Instead, he asked,
"Did you instigate it?"
"I bounced the idea off a few of the others."