Fearless Gunfighter
Joanna Wayne
This courageous rodeo star is one lethal attraction…Rodeo rider Tucker Lawrence lives for risk–even after seeing his best friend die in a rodeo accident. But there's no chance in hell he's going to let FBI agent Sydney Maxwell tackle Texas' treacherous Hill Country alone to find her missing sister. Even if the pretty profiler is putting his guarded heart in danger…With her sister in the hands of a serial killer, Sydney will break all the rules she has to. Tucker is as reckless as he is charming, but his trail savvy and courage are invaluable as they run her quarry to ground. Still, Sydney can't afford to gamble that the irresistible passion flaring between them is anything but an adrenaline rush. Or that they'll survive long enough for real love…
This courageous rodeo star is one lethal attraction...
Rodeo rider Tucker Lawrence lives for risk—even after seeing his best friend die in a rodeo accident. But there’s no chance in hell he’s going to let FBI agent Sydney Maxwell tackle treacherous Texas Hill Country alone to find her missing sister. Even if the pretty profiler is putting his guarded heart in danger...
With her sister in the hands of a serial killer, Sydney will break all the rules she has to. Tucker is as reckless as he is charming, but his trail savvy and courage are invaluable as they run her quarry to ground. Still, Sydney can’t afford to gamble that the irresistible passion flaring between them is anything but an adrenaline rush. Or that they’ll survive long enough for real love...
The only thing that really mattered was finding Rachel and the rest of the missing women.
Sydney’s hand was already on the door handle when Tucker stopped at the gate to the Double K Ranch.
“I’ve got it,” Tucker said. “A real cowboy never lets the bloody wounded do the work.”
“More of the cowboy code?”
“If it’s not, it should be.”
She watched him unlatch the gate and swing it open. It was midmorning now and the sun glistened on his shirtless shoulders and chest. His muscles rippled. Bull-rider muscles, and he’d be back to that soon.
But for now he was making it clear that he was all hers. The shocker was that she was thankful to have him around.
Fearless Gunfighter
Joanna Wayne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JOANNA WAYNE began her professional writing career in 1994. Now, more than fifty published books later, Joanna has gained a worldwide following with her cutting-edge romantic suspense and Texas family series, such as Sons of Troy Ledger and Big “D” Dads. Joanna currently resides in a small community north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. You may write to Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, TX 77356, USA or connect with her at www.joannawayne.com (http://www.joannawayne.com).
To my wonderful friend and neighbor Zona, the only former
rocket scientist I can always count on to have an extra Diet Coke
on hand. And in memory of her loving husband, Jim, who actually
did help put a man on the moon. Also, a call-out to all my friends
who love the rodeo and bull riders as much as I do. Happy reading, all.
Contents
Cover (#ucce941cb-f0c5-55ce-bef8-d28d7da65be8)
Back Cover Text (#u62e5f6ee-e1bc-537e-9b56-4223d05f2acf)
Introduction (#u514f51dc-e5d3-5213-b411-66e7c68e42a6)
Title Page (#ua9fda594-32e7-5fec-b971-e8a604b22d65)
About the Author (#ud7d8499b-06cd-5648-b70c-72af23b13d75)
Dedication (#u42cad285-fbf9-5168-94f1-a76e8512dde1)
Chapter One (#u62711119-0bdc-5caf-96bc-36411b0a0889)
Chapter Two (#u09eb6e44-839b-51c9-a185-4274780f204e)
Chapter Three (#uab9e2d12-5b67-58ac-8174-7805c3ec8718)
Chapter Four (#u845d6f92-1241-5623-8329-0c67bd480f1d)
Chapter Five (#u22312ab5-b715-5159-9ee4-b126a648fb80)
Chapter Six (#u5db301b8-d8b3-526d-9157-78720c7c9fca)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
Saturday, September 9
Rachel Maxwell opened her eyes. The world remained black. She tried to lift her arms, but blistering pain attacked with the slightest movement. She was alive. That was all she was certain of. Death couldn’t hurt this bad.
Her pupils slowly adjusted to the darkness, but the hammering inside her skull was so intense her brain couldn’t identify where she was or why. Random thoughts skirted her consciousness.
A faint line of brightness on the other side of the room provided the only illumination. Most likely a space beneath a door, so there must be a light on somewhere. No windows to let in a scant glow of moonlight. No sounds except her own ragged breathing.
She was on her back, stretched out, perhaps in a bed, perhaps not. Her fingers impulsively went to her face. Her cheeks felt swollen, but numb, the only part of her that didn’t ache. She struggled to focus.
Fear swelled, crashing through her like ocean waves as scraps of nightmarish images crept through the shadows of her mind. The man dragging her into his truck. His creepy hands all over her.
And then the punishing blows.
Her stomach heaved as the memories grew more distinct. Not a nightmare, but horrifying reality.
She forced her body to move, slid over until her hand touched what felt like rough, splintered wood. She rolled off what must be no more than a pallet of some kind and onto the hard floor. Every joint and muscle cried out for mercy as she forced herself to scoot up on her elbows and crawl toward the light.
When she reached the door, she struggled to stand, her fingers clawing at the door frame until she could wrap them around the doorknob.
She hesitated. If the door opened, it might only lead to more hell. But the faint hint of escape held sway. She turned the knob and shoved her body against it. The door didn’t budge.
She beat on the door with her fists. Agony and hopelessness took hold as she slid back to the floor. Tears filled her eyes and sobs shook her pain-racked body. She’d been imprisoned by a monster. The worst was no doubt yet to come.
(#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)Chapter Two (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
Tucker Lawrence braked his mud-encrusted black pickup truck in front of a small stucco-and-wood house on a quiet neighborhood street on the outskirts of Lubbock, Texas.
The home was veiled in darkness. No sounds. No sign of movement, which meant Lauren Hernandez hadn’t heard the news yet. The words that would wreak havoc on her life and rip the heart from her chest.
He’d exceeded the speed limits to be the first one here, no easy feat in West Texas, where posted limits were frequently eighty miles per hour with a few stretches at eighty-five. He hadn’t wanted Lauren to hear the tragic truth from a stranger.
He’d be letting Rod down if he did.
So now he’d be the one to walk up that sidewalk and ring the bell. He’d tell Lauren that the man she loved with all her heart, the father of their three young children, would never come walking through the front door again.
He wrapped his hand around the truck’s door handle, but couldn’t bring himself to twist it. Instead he let his head fall to the steering wheel as the heartbreaking images claimed his mind.
Six seconds into the ride on the toughest bull to come out of the chute last night. From the crack of the opening gate, Rod was doing everything right. Great technique. Terrific form. Spurring and staying in control of the bucking, twisting, spinning monster of an animal.
Two seconds to go when the bull went into a spin that threw Rod from the animal’s back and drew him into the vortex. All Tucker could see from his position behind the chutes was a tangle of hooves and human body as Rod tried to free himself from impending disaster.
By the time the bull stamped off, Rod wasn’t moving. He’d died two hours later from trauma to the brain.
Rod. Laughing, joking, adrenaline running high a few hours ago. Now he was gone. All because he’d lost a battle of wills with a stupid bull acting on instinct.
It wasn’t wholly about the money. Nor the glory. Nor the comradery, though all played a part in the rodeo life. It was the thrill of competition, living on the edge, facing death and never believing you wouldn’t walk away, sore but breathing.
Tucker opened the door and stepped out of the truck. Dread tore at his heart anew with each clap of his boots along the cement walk. He’d do what he came for, break the news to Lauren as gently as he could.
He wouldn’t even try to convince her the risk had been worth it. He wasn’t sure he believed that himself now. Bull riding had lost its glory when he’d watched his friend Rod take his final breath.
But where did a man go when he walked away from the only life he knew?
Chapter Three (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
Monday, September 18
FBI profiler and special agent Sydney Maxwell stepped into her supervisor’s office, nerves taut, geared for a fight she’d likely lose. Still, it was worth a try. If her worst fear was realized, she’d need all the inside information she could get.
Roland Farmer stood as she walked in and motioned toward the seat facing his desk. He smiled. She didn’t. She liked Roland and respected his judgment, but at this moment none of that mattered to her.
Roland sat down after her, leaned back in his leather chair and tented his fingers. He stared for a few seconds before speaking as if he were trying to assess her mood.
He should have no trouble doing that. It was fear, resolve and urgency. But Roland would quickly pick up more. He’d see her determination and hear the desperation in her voice.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded. She was far from all right, but she couldn’t lead off with that, not if she was to have a chance of influencing Roland to listen to reason.
“What’s on your mind that’s so important it couldn’t wait?” he asked.
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the situation, but three young women have gone missing over the past six months in the Texas Hill Country under bizarre circumstances. The body of another was found two days ago in a wooded area just outside the small town of Winding Creek.”
“Winding Creek, Texas,” Roland repeated. “Why does that ring a bell?”
“It was a big story on cable news for months about a year ago. A toddler fell and died from a head trauma while his mother was spaced out on heroin.”
“Right,” Roland said. “It’s coming back to me. It wasn’t our case but the mother had the whole town searching for the kid when she claimed he’d been kidnapped.
“A wealthy family, if I remember correctly. One of those ranchers whose cows scratch their backs on oil rigs. But back to the missing women. I take it you think this is a case for the FBI to look into?”
“I do. One of the missing women is from Shreveport, Louisiana, crosses state lines, so it meets our guidelines.”
Roland scratched his chin. “You’ll be pleased that the powers that be agree with you. It helped that the local Texas law authorities contacted the Bureau last night and requested their help. They are concerned they may have a serial killer on their hands even though only the one body has been found.”
“How soon will we be sending an investigative team to the area?”
“I’d guess an assessment team will be in the field within the next forty-eight hours—maybe sooner. Jackson Clark in the Dallas field office will head up the investigation.”
A tinge of relief only slightly eased her apprehension. “They’ll need a profiler as well as several agents in order to move quickly.”
“Are you volunteering to join Jackson’s team?”
She nodded. “It makes sense. I went to school at University of Texas, UT, in Austin. I know my way around the area.”
“I can put in your request with Jackson. He’s aware of your success on the Swamp Strangler case. I’m sure he’s impressed enough to consider you.”
She’d only met Jackson Clark once when she’d attended a weeklong seminar he’d conducted in Quantico. He was a giant of a man, intimidating, demanding—a brilliant investigator. He was not known for being easily impressed.
There was no one she’d rather see handle this case.
Roland rolled his chair closer to the desk and drummed the eraser end of a pencil against a closed folder. “The only problem I see is that you seem to be taking this case personally, Sydney. If that has anything to do with the woman you couldn’t save from the Swamp Strangler, you have to let that go and move on.”
“It’s not that.” She couldn’t lie. It was only a matter of time before the truth would come out and she’d risk losing her job if she didn’t level with Roland. “It’s even more personal,” she admitted.
Roland spread his hands palms down on the table. “Keep talking.”
“My sister, Rachel, is missing.” The words tore at her heart and her control. She blinked back a tear and stared at the toes of her black pumps.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Is Rachel the sister who’s an attorney in Houston?”
“Yes. She’s my only sister.” Her only family.
“When did you find out?”
“A few minutes after nine this morning. Connie Ledger, her best friend and a coworker, called when Rachel didn’t show up for work this morning and couldn’t be reached by phone. Connie tried Rachel’s number several times but her attempts resulted in a ‘call cannot be completed’ message.”
Roland’s brows arched. “So basically, you’re saying she didn’t make it into work this morning. There could be a lot of explanations for that.”
“And I wouldn’t be here if that were the case. Rachel took a week’s vacation that started ten days ago on a Friday afternoon. Apparently, no one has heard from her since then.”
Roland straightened, his chin jutting as if he was just clueing in to the fact that this was serious. “And you don’t know where she was vacationing or whom she was with?”
“I know where she was supposed to be. She called me the Friday she left and said she was going to a spa resort near Austin for some R & R.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, but that’s not particularly unusual for Rachel. She’s very independent. Her law firm had just successfully wrapped up a case that she’d worked long hours on for weeks before and during the trial. She sounded exhilarated, but exhausted.”
“I assume you’ve contacted the resort.”
“Yes. Rachel never showed up, nor did she cancel. They tried to reach her to no avail. When I call her number it just says ‘party unavailable.’”
Roland pulled his lips tight across his teeth. “Is she in a relationship?”
“Not currently. She broke up with her boyfriend of four years a little over a month ago. As far as I know, she hasn’t dated anyone since then.”
“I’m sure you’ve talked to her ex.”
“I called Carl this morning. So far, he hasn’t called me back, but Connie reached him earlier. He wasn’t aware Rachel was missing, but offered to meet Connie at Rachel’s apartment to check things out.”
“Did he?”
“No. Connie called the police department instead and an officer met her there. The apartment manager let them in. There was nothing amiss.”
Roland leaned in close, propped his elbows and waited for Sydney to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “I know how alarming this is, but try not to jump to any frightening conclusions before you have all the facts.”
“I’m not assuming anything. I’m not ruling out anything, either. Taking a vacation alone is very much like Rachel. Not returning to work on time is completely foreign to her modus operandi. She is very serious about her work. She’s serious about everything.”
He nodded. “Got it. You’ve got reason to worry. But I’ll have to level with Jackson. It can get sticky working a case you’re personally involved in.”
“I understand, but as part of the investigation team or on my own, I have to get to Texas as soon as possible. I’m prepared to take an emergency leave if necessary and I’ve booked a flight to Houston that leaves here at one.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less.” He stood and stepped around the corner of his desk. “Even if you’re not officially part of the Bureau’s investigation, I expect you to keep me posted. Call if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“Believe me, I will.”
And with or without Roland’s permission, she’d call on Lane Foster. Best tech geek in the business. If it was in cyberspace, he could find it. She already had a list of requests for him, some she could have done herself if she’d had the time.
Sydney stood and Roland held out his arms for a sympathetic hug that was appreciated though awkward. Roland was normally the strictly business kind of boss.
She gave a final nod, then hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. If her sister was in any kind of trouble, time was of the essence.
No one knew that better than Sydney.
Chapter Four (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
It was a few minutes after seven when Sydney finally made it to the front door of Rachel’s condo. She’d spent most of the three hours since she’d landed renting a car, filling out a missing person’s report at the downtown police precinct and being interviewed by a blunt but hopefully efficient detective. The rest of the time had been spent fighting traffic.
The detective had promised to give the case top priority though she had the distinct impression he wouldn’t, at least not yet. Thankfully, she had Lane behind the scenes.
Her nerves tensed as she rummaged in her oversize travel purse for the key. Her sister had moved into the luxurious high-rise with her long-term boyfriend Carl Upton less than a year ago.
Rachel still loved the apartment but her relationship with Carl had withered and died. He’d moved out last month, and according to Rachel, they’d both moved on. He still hadn’t returned her call from this morning.
Key in hand, Sydney still hesitated. It wasn’t that she was afraid of what she’d find. Connie had assured her that she and the police officer had checked out every square inch of the living quarters.
It was exhaustion, fear and the dread of facing the emptiness that held Sydney back now. She forced herself to turn the key and step inside.
Sydney rolled her luggage out of the doorway and dropped her purse and her briefcase onto the small table in the entryway. The staggering sense of emptiness she’d expected didn’t materialize.
Instead, the space overflowed with Rachel’s aura of warmth. The scent of the many candles she’d burned whenever she was home lingered in the still air.
Everything was meticulously in order, as always. Sydney had missed out on their father’s neat-freak gene but Rachel had it in spades.
Sydney walked through the living area and into the kitchen. Nothing amiss there, either. A check of the refrigerator revealed a few jars of condiments and preserves on the door shelves and very little else.
Anything that would have spoiled while she was at the resort had obviously been tossed. The kitchen trash can was also empty. Rachel was a stickler for details. And the most reliable person Sydney knew.
She would never fail to show up for work without contacting someone.
So where was she now?
Sydney’s mind searched desperately as it had all day for explanations that didn’t include a conclusion too horrible to imagine. Nonetheless, the serial-killer scenario skulked through her thoughts like a dark shadow, creating a biting chill that reached to the bone.
But that was the worst-case scenario. She had to move past the crippling fear and focus on even the smallest scraps of evidence that could lead her to Rachel.
Was it possible she’d had a nervous breakdown from the pressures she’d put on herself to become the youngest partner at Fitch, Fitch and Baumer?
No. She had too much grit for that. If things had gotten that bad, she’d have told the senior partners off and walked away from the job.
Had she been in a car crash that left her in a coma? Or perhaps had an accident that left her with temporary amnesia?
Only Sydney—with Lane’s help—had checked every emergency room and hospital for miles around. No patients fit her description. And her car had not been located.
Sydney’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID. Lane. She felt anxious and hopeful at the same time. God, did she need some good news.
“What do you have for me?” she asked as soon as they’d exchanged a quick hello.
“Rachel has used two credit cards since the last time she was seen by her coworkers.”
“When, where and how much?”
“She used an American Express card on Saturday morning to pay for a room at a bed-and-breakfast in La Grange, Texas.”
“Would that be on her route to Austin?”
“It would. I’ll send you the rest of the details. Time, name of the B and B, address and phone number.”
“Good. What else do you have?”
“She withdrew three hundred dollars cash from an ATM a few minutes after noon that same day in the neighboring town of Winding Creek.”
Winding Creek, where the body had been found. The reference rattled her nerves so badly she had to hold on to the back of the nearest chair for support.
“Do we have a photo to prove that it was actually her who withdrew the cash?”
“Working on it,” Lane said.
“Were those Rachel’s only charges?”
“No. She made a purchase at Dani’s Delights, also in Winding Creek, for sixty-five dollars and eighty-nine cents at two eighteen.”
“What kind of store is that?”
“A bakery and coffee shop.”
“Rachel barely eats. She’d have never paid that much for java and scones. I don’t have a map in front of me. Is Winding Creek near Austin?”
“It’s south of Austin, closer to San Antonio, but not far out of her way once she left La Grange.”
“What’s the draw to Winding Creek? Why would she go out of her way to visit that town?”
“I don’t have the answer to that.”
“We know Rachel was there a little after two on Saturday afternoon and then never made it to her scheduled destination. So somewhere between Winding Creek and the resort, Rachel’s plans were ambushed.”
“That’s the gist of what I’ve found so far.”
Sydney struggled to focus as the fear swelled to near suffocating. “Were you able to locate her phone?”
“Not yet. It’s not putting out a signal.”
It could be at the bottom of Winding Creek or perhaps hammered to smithereens like the Swamp Strangler destroyed the phones of his victims.
“Thanks for your help, Lane. At least I have a starting point.”
If she left now, she could easily make it to Winding Creek tonight. If it was like most small Texas towns, the sidewalk would have already been rolled up by the time she got there, but at least she’d be there when the sun came up tomorrow morning.
Rachel could be most anywhere between here and Austin, but Winding Creek was the next stop for Sydney.
* * *
HANK’S HANGOUT WAS the only place within miles of Winding Creek that was still open at eleven thirty on Monday evening. Sydney could thank Siri for finding it.
Not that she wanted a drink or company, but it was a place to start.
She pulled into the almost-empty parking lot and got out of her car. A neon sign touted live music on the weekends and all-night happy-hour prices on Monday.
Merle Haggard’s voice greeted her as she stepped inside. Faded publicity posters on the wall dated back to the era of Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson during his much-earlier years. Vintage metal plaques cautioned spurs should be removed before dancing on the bar and that horses should remain outside unless they were paying customers.
Hopefully those were in jest, though from looking at the scratched and marred surface of the bar, it had likely seen some boot scooting.
She considered staking out a bar stool, but that would have left her with her back to the rest of the room. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly, but anything would be better than staring at the ceiling of the motel she’d booked when sleep would be almost impossible tonight.
Taking a seat as far away from the loud music as possible, she scanned the room. To her dismay, a lot more eyes were checking her out. Not surprising since she appeared to be the only woman in there sitting alone.
Another time that kind of attention would have made her uneasy. Tonight, her mind was occupied with far more important matters.
Sydney pulled out her cell phone and punched in her instant code for Rachel the way she’d done every hour since Connie had called her that morning. The phone rang only once before a new message started.
“The number of the party you’re calling is no longer in service.”
She fought back yet another wave of nauseating dread as a young waitress with half-exposed breasts and a pair of butt-hugging denim cutoffs stopped at her table. Her name tag read Betts.
Betts smiled. “The kitchen’s closed for the night but the bar is serving until one. What can I get you?”
“A beer, something light.” That she probably wouldn’t take more than a few sips of.
“I have a good craft beer on tap that would fit that description. Want to give that a try?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve got it. Will someone be joining you?”
Sydney shook her head and went back to scrutinizing the customers. A half dozen or so couples were two-stepping around the dance floor. A few more couples occupied tables, chatting and sipping drinks.
For most, dress was casual, jeans or shorts. Footwear was predominantly Western boots for the men and sandals for the women. No one stood out as suspicious, except for Sydney in her black slacks and tailored white shirt.
A cute cowboy in faded jeans with a nice smile ambled over to her table. “Mind if I join you and buy you a drink?”
“Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.
She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”
He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”
He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”
FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.
“I’m not a cop.”
He placed the picture on the table. “If you get bored and change your mind about wanting some company tonight, you know where to find me. I guarantee you a good time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Betts returned with a cold mug of beer and set it and a throwaway coaster on the table next to the picture. She didn’t give the photo a second glance.
Sydney decided her questions for Betts could wait. A few customers had left in the short time she’d been here. Time now would be best spent checking out the remaining customers.
Not that she held out any rational hope of just accidentally running into someone who was involved in Rachel’s disappearance. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but search for someone who triggered suspicion or a situation that piqued her interest.
Fifteen minutes later, she got her wish. She was watching the door when a tall cowboy who looked as if he’d been living on the streets sauntered into the bar. Tall, lean but muscular and with at least two days’ growth of whiskers.
Unlike the other customers who seemed to know everyone, he didn’t speak to or acknowledge any of the patrons as he walked past the bar and dropped into a chair several tables away from her.
He removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.
He seemed not to notice.
Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.
She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.
She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.
Sydney motioned to Betts.
“Ready for another beer?”
“Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”
“Yeah. What?”
“See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.
“Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”
“So it appears. Is he a regular?”
“Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”
“Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”
“Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”
“Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”
“Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”
Betts studied the photo for a few seconds and then looked back at Sydney. “Nope. Why?”
“She’s an old friend of mine who moved to this area a few years ago. I thought I’d look her up while I’m visiting the area, but I’m not sure where she lives.”
“Try social media. You can find most everybody on there, even people you don’t want to find.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There were fewer couples on the dance floor now and a lot more empty seats at the bar. Evidently the party ended early on Monday evenings. Sydney sipped her beer, stood and walked over to the stranger’s table before he decided to cut out, as well.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, trying for a flirty voice but likely falling short.
“You can sit. It’s a waste of time. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it in me.”
“What if it’s a good time?”
“Then you really need to look elsewhere.”
“What if it’s only conversation?”
“You can do better talking to yourself.”
“You are scraping the bottom of the blues,” she said. “Do you live in Winding Creek?”
“Nope.”
“Me, either. Where do you live?”
“Wherever I kick off my boots.”
Her suspicions surged. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“If we find ourselves kicking off our boots in the same town one night, I might want to look you up.”
“It’s Tucker. Tucker Lawrence. But don’t bother to look me up. I got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuck one end of it under his empty glass. “Enjoy your visit to Winding Creek.”
Tucker stood, picked up his hat, tipped it and strode out of the bar the way he’d come in, looking straight ahead and not saying a word to anyone.
Sydney walked back to her table, left money for her tab and tip, and then followed Tucker Lawrence out the door. He was already in his truck and pulling away when she jumped into her car and followed him. He might not live in Winding Creek, but if not, he must be staying somewhere nearby.
There was probably at least a 99 percent chance that he was a dead end, but there was always that 1 percent. At least she’d know how to find him again if she needed to and she knew his name unless he’d lied about it.
Sydney followed Tucker down the highway a few miles before turning onto a dark country back road. He took the unfamiliar curves without lowering his speed, making it difficult for her to keep up.
He turned off onto another road, more narrow, hilly and winding than the first. She was almost up with him when she spotted the deer in her peripheral vision.
She threw on her brakes and skidded to a stop just as the animal darted onto the blacktop road. Her heart jumped from her chest at the soft thumping and the jerky movement as the car rolled to a full stop.
She sprang out of the car not thinking that a wounded animal could be dangerous until she got closer to the large buck. The stunned animal stared into her headlights accusingly for a few seconds and then raced to the other side of the road and disappeared into the woods.
No limp. No signs of significant injury. Relief rolled through her. She checked out her car. There were a few stray hairs in her left bumper, but not even a dent. Luckily, she’d seen the deer in time to prevent real damage to it or her or the rental car. She climbed back behind the wheel. Tucker Lawrence was long gone.
By the time Sydney got back to Hank’s to question the owner himself, he was gone, as well. Reportedly left early on what he considered a slow night.
There was nothing left for her to do but go check into her motel room and try to get some sleep. Only how could she close her eyes not knowing what Rachel might be facing tonight?
Already missing ten days. The urgency burned like fire deep in Sydney’s soul.
* * *
THE WOMAN IN Hank’s had told it like it was. A man was in damn bad shape when he couldn’t shake the blues enough to respond to a stunning woman who’d made the first move.
Tucker had moped around for almost a week, spending most of that time in cheap motels between here and Lubbock though he could have afforded first class.
The cheap motels had seemed a better match for his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly mood. He’d stayed in Lubbock just long enough for Lauren’s parents to make the flight from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Lubbock to be with their devastated daughter.
Lauren had taken the news of Rod’s death as badly or worse than Tucker had expected. At one point, Tucker had to literally hold her up to keep her from hitting the floor. Only thing that held her even halfway together until her parents arrived was that the kids needed her.
She was a train wreck, shock and heartbreak reducing her to a state of helplessness that mimicked that of her toddler daughter.
Tucker hadn’t been in a lot better shape himself, but watching Lauren face the tragedy rode his nerves even harder.
Living, breathing, laughing one minute. Brain-dead six seconds later, though Rod’s body had managed to hold on to life for two more hours.
All for what? That was the question that wouldn’t let go of Tucker.
He should be in Oklahoma this coming weekend, competing in one of the best-paying rodeos in the September circuit. He’d started in that direction twice, had even made it to the outskirts of Tulsa once, only to turn around and head back to Texas.
His life was bull riding. It was all he’d ever known. All he wanted to know. But that could have just as easily been his skull the bull was stamping instead of Rod’s.
Had watching Rod struggle for that last breath turned Tucker into a coward? Or was he finally developing some brains to go with the testosterone that usually fueled him?
He stopped in front of the gate to the Double K Ranch and left his engine running while he got out, pulled the latch and sent the gate swinging wide.
A few minutes later, he stopped a few yards down from the front of Esther Kavanaugh’s sprawling ranch house. He felt years older than he had a couple of months ago when he was here for his brother Riley’s wedding.
The house looked the same as it had the first time he’d wound up at Esther’s door almost as done in as he felt now. That time it had been his parents who had died unexpectedly.
He started to get out of the truck but reconsidered when he realized there wasn’t a light on in the house. Ranchers rose at sunrise. No use to wake everyone in the house this late.
They’d have questions. He was in no mood to answer them tonight. Morning would be soon enough to lay his problems on his two older brothers and Esther.
If anyone could help him come to grips with his twisted emotions, it would be Pierce and Riley. If anyone could figuratively give him a kick in the rear that would get him going again, it would be Esther Kavanaugh.
Come to think of it, the kick might be more than figurative if she felt like he needed it.
He shoved his seat back as far as it would go, stretched his legs out beneath the dashboard and made himself as comfortable as he could.
Fatigue set in. His eyes grew heavy. His mind took a crazy turn. He fell asleep wondering what the woman from Hank’s would have felt like in his arms if he’d asked her to dance.
Tuesday, September 19:
RACHEL SAT HUNCHED in the corner like a guilty child in time-out. The room was still dark but her eyes had adjusted enough to the scant strip of light pushing in from beneath the door that she could make her way around the shadowy environment. Additional light would have made the cramped space even more miserable.
She’d lost count of the days she’d been here. They ran together like drops of spilled coffee. The strong, black brew was delivered every morning, usually accompanied with dry, cold and frequently burned toast.
That was her only way of knowing that a new day had started. The coffee was the bright spot in the vacuous existence devoid of everything except dread and visions of escape.
As much as she craved the coffee, she never finished the full cup. Show that she enjoyed something too much and the monster would stop bringing it.
She never knew what to expect from his visits. Vile language. Threats. Painful slaps to her face or shoves that sent her crashing to the floor.
Bizarrely, there were also times that he showed a hint of compassion. Like the second time he’d visited her in this hellhole.
She’d been starving. He’d come with a bowl of what tasted like chicken stock. Her pain had been so intense, her joints and muscles so swollen and inflamed she couldn’t get the spoon to her mouth.
He’d fed her, slowly, encouraging her to swallow. When she’d had her fill, he wiped her face with a wet cloth and pushed several pills into her mouth. For the pain, he’d said. She didn’t trust him, but she swallowed them anyway.
She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. When she woke, the thin sheets on the pallet that were stained with her blood had been changed and her laundered clothes were thrown over the one uncomfortable straight-back chair in the room.
There was also a small heavily stained sink and commode in the back corner, separated from the rest of the space by a dirty strip of printed cotton held by nails in the ceiling.
Who’d have ever believed she’d be thrilled for filthy facilities like that? Hot tears pushed at the backs of her eyelids. Would she ever escape the monster?
The sound of a slamming door cracked through the silence. Rachel’s pulse pounded. Her body trembled.
He was coming.
She hunched farther back in the corner, hugging her arms around her knees. The doorknob turned. The door squeaked open. The pungent odor of garlic and sweat swept into the room with the monster.
She studied his face before the door closed behind him, shutting out the extra light. He smiled as he always did, a big grin that told her just how much he was enjoying this.
He set a tray of food on the floor. “Did you miss me?” His tone was cocky and teasing, as if they were friends or lovers. Her skin crawled at the thought, though blessedly he hadn’t touched her sexually—yet.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you keeping me here?”
“I hate coming home to an empty house after a hard day at work.” He chuckled at his sick joke.
“I have money,” Rachel said. “A lot of money. I can pay you whatever you want if you’ll just let me go free.”
“If I gave you your freedom, I’d lose mine. Besides, I already have a woman who gives me all the money I ask for.”
“I can give you more. I won’t go to the police. I promise. I’ll stay out of your life forever and never mention this to anyone.”
He chuckled again. “Now, why would I let you go now? Your ugly bruises are almost gone. It no longer makes me sick to look at you.”
“You’ll never get away with this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet lady. People get away with far worse all the time. No one cares what you do as long as it doesn’t affect them. Even murder gets buried in the haystack.”
Eventually he’d kill her, but he’d do it slow and torturously, get his rocks off on her fear, revel in her misery as if it were a sexual adventure.
How sick would a man have to be to do that?
If Sydney were here, she’d be able to figure him out. She’d get in his mind, discover the demons that drove him. She’d find his weaknesses and use them against him.
Sydney wasn’t here, but she’d know by now that Rachel hadn’t come home from her vacation. She’d be certain something was terribly wrong.
She’d found the Swamp Strangler when no one else could. She’d find Cowboy Monster, too.
All Rachel had to do was stay alive and sane until she did.
Chapter Five (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
Esther Kavanaugh stretched and kicked off the lightweight blanket. The oppressive summer heat and humidity hadn’t given in to autumn yet. It seldom did in September, but she had no complaints.
The new cooling and heating system Pierce had installed kept the house as cool and comfortable as she wanted it no matter what the temperature outside. He’d made a dozen other repairs on the old house, as well.
His brother Riley pitched in and helped, even though he was newly married as well and establishing his own ranch right down the road.
That was the kind of young men the Lawrence brothers had grown into. She was thankful for them every day and had loved all three of them since the day she first met them. Now they were literally giving her a reason to keep breathing and getting up every morning to face a new day.
Pierce had been the first to come to her rescue after her husband’s death. He’d shown up one morning with his adorable five-year-old daughter, Jaci, just in the nick of time, as the saying went.
Since she was no longer able to pay her bills or take care of the Double K Ranch, he’d offered to buy the ranch from her—house, barns, livestock and all, closed on it days before foreclosure officers at the bank got a chance to get their greedy hands on everything she and Charlie had struggled all those years to build.
Selling the ranch to Pierce wasn’t even like losing it. She’d likely have willed it to him anyway since he was the oldest of the brothers she considered her only family.
She’d sold it to Pierce for the price it took to keep it out of foreclosure so he could use the rest of his savings to get the ranch running efficiently again.
She hadn’t asked him for a thing in return, but he’d made her a verbal promise that she’d have her house, her garden and her chickens until the day the good Lord called her home.
No reason for a paper contract when you dealt with a man who was as good as his word.
Best part of all was now she had Pierce, his wife, Grace, and Jaci making their home at the ranch. They’d moved into their own cabin two weeks ago, but they were close enough they were in and out of her house every day. And she had Riley, his wife, Dani, and her niece Constance living only a few miles away.
That only left their younger brother, Tucker, for her to worry about.
A world-class bull rider who thrived on the danger and excitement of rodeo life. Followed the circuit, constantly on the move. How was he ever going to meet the right woman when all he had time for was those buckle bunnies out looking for a good time?
He thought he was living the good life but he kept Esther busy just praying he didn’t get hurt by one of those kicking, stamping, snorting bulls.
Worries or not, taking in the Lawrence brothers had been one of the smartest things she and Charlie had ever done.
Instinctively her hand reached over and touched the spot where her husband had slept beside her for most of her adult life. The familiar ache grew heavy in her chest. Lord knew she missed that man. Always would.
But lying here getting all pitiful over things she couldn’t change wouldn’t bring Charlie back. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and wiggled her feet into her slippers before padding to the kitchen.
By the time the coffee was ready, the sun had topped the horizon and the roosters were crowing their welcome to a new day. She filled her favorite mug with the brew, the cup Pierce’s daughter, Jaci, had given her that said I “heart” Grandma.
That little girl could sure make Esther’s heart smile.
Esther spooned a smidgen of sugar into her coffee. She’d have liked a heaping teaspoonful but Doc Carter kept harping on her to take it easy on her sweets.
Of course, if she listened to everything that old pill pusher said, she might as well be eating cowhide and clover.
Pierce and Riley would be up and hard at work by now—rancher’s hours. But one or both would be stopping by later knowing she’d have a hearty breakfast waiting. She’d been cooking big ranch breakfasts for more than half a century and she’d be doing it as long as she was able.
Coffee in hand, she walked through the family room to the front door. Nothing like swaying in her new porch swing and sharing the first light of day with the early birds who’d be flitting around her feeders instead of out searching for worms.
She turned the key in the door only to realize she’d forgotten to lock it again. Years of habit were hard to break although Pierce cautioned her times were changing. They just changed a lot slower around the town of Winding Creek than they did in the big cities.
She opened the door and stepped outside.
“What the dickens?”
She stared at a mud-encrusted truck parked rock-throwing distance from her house. She was about to go get her shotgun and check it out when she saw a hairy-faced man step out of the truck and stretch like he was trying to get the kinks out of his muscles.
Oh m’God. It was Tucker. She set her mug on the porch railing post and raced to greet him.
He opened his arms and she threw herself into them.
“Sorry if I smell as disgusting as I feel,” he said.
She stood back and took a gander at him. “You look like you’ve been sleeping with the cows. How long have you been in that truck?”
“A day or two.”
“Without sleep. That’s dangerous, Tucker. You could...”
He slipped an arm around her ample waist. “Calm down. I got plenty of sleep, just not in a bed. Lights were all out when I got here and I didn’t want to wake up the whole household.”
“There’s no one here to wake up but me.”
“Where’s Pierce and his crew?”
“They moved into their own cabin two weeks ago.”
“That was fast. All he had was a foundation and a shell when I was here for Riley’s wedding. I figured it would be Thanksgiving before he had it livable.”
“He had lots of help from Riley and the neighbors, which you’d know if you came around more often. I can’t believe your brothers didn’t tell me you were coming today.”
“They don’t know. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I had a few days off before I hit the next rodeo and decided to stop by for one of your famous breakfasts. Fresh yard eggs, thick slices of bacon, fluffy biscuits and homemade blackberry jam. My mouth’s already watering.”
“You came to the right place. First thing you need is to find a razor and I ’spect a shower wouldn’t hurt none, either.”
He rubbed his heavily whiskered chin. “Right on both counts.” He reached back in the truck for a duffel and slung it over his shoulder.
Just having him here lit up her world, but she wasn’t quite buying the spur-of-the-moment excuse. Something was bothering him. He was saying the right things, but the words didn’t quite ring true. It wasn’t just his haggard appearance. She could see trouble in his eyes and hear it in his voice.
She’d pry the truth out of him later. Right now she was going to do what would make them both feel good.
Feed him.
* * *
TUCKER KICKED OUT of his boots, stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. Pipes creaked in the old house, but the water was hot and his cramped muscles reveled in the massaging spray.
Crazy that this place had the feel of home though he’d only lived in it for ten months. Painful months of grieving and coming to grips with an existence that would never again include his parents.
He’d been afraid, angry and, most of all, heartbroken. The Kavanaughs had helped him make it through the trauma, especially Esther. Her faith, love and compassion had been his salvation.
He didn’t expect that kind of miracle this time. The answers he needed now had to come from inside himself.
By the time he’d showered, shaved and dressed in a pair of his most worn and comfortable jeans, the odors of bacon and coffee were doing a number on his stomach.
He shoved his feet into his boots and started down the hall. Laughter and familiar voices chimed in before he reached the kitchen. Esther had clearly wasted no time in spreading the news that he was here.
“What are you two freeloaders doing here?” he joked as he joined his brothers in the kitchen.
“Checking to see why you came sneaking in like a horse thief in the middle of the night,” Pierce said.
“I just figured you stopped by to rub in how much money you’re making working eight seconds a night,” Riley said, pulling him into a playful neck hold.
“No way. I just came by for Esther’s cooking.”
“I can buy that,” Pierce said. “Let’s get to it before the biscuits get cold.”
Breakfast turned into a boisterous, laid-back reunion. He needed that more than either of them would guess.
* * *
SYDNEY STARED INTO the bathroom mirror, her reflection a haunting image of the agony that had kept her awake most of the night. Her eyelids were puffy, the circles below her eyes dark.
The little sleep she’d gotten had been restless and interrupted by frightening nightmares where Rachel was crying for help or fighting for her life.
The highway noises hadn’t helped. Eighteen-wheelers sounded as if they were roaring through her room. Exhaustion would work against her. She needed to be fully alert today, picking up on every clue no matter how small or how well hidden.
She knew from experience and training that it was the seemingly unimportant details that frequently made the difference.
Her sister had spent almost seventy dollars in a bakery. That couldn’t have all been for coffee and sweets, but it was a large enough purchase that hopefully whoever had waited on Rachel would remember her. They might recall if she’d been alone or with someone. If she’d seemed distraught or worried. If anyone had harassed her in any way.
Reaching for her brush, Sydney ran it through her layered sandy-blond hair, attempting to force the unruly locks into place. She was only mildly successful.
Her movements on automatic, Sydney applied the basics—moisturizing sunscreen, eyeliner, mascara, a smear of gloss on her lips. The first stop of the morning would be Dani’s Delights.
Her phone rang on her way to her car. She fished it from her handbag and checked the caller ID. FBI.
Was it possible Jackson Clark wanted her on the case despite her personal connection?
Her surge of optimism was quickly followed by a sharp pain to her stomach that almost doubled her over.
Please don’t let this be bad news about Rachel, she prayed silently as she took the call.
“Is this Agent Sydney Maxwell?”
“Yes.”
“Can you hold for a minute? Jackson Clark in the Dallas office of the Bureau would like to speak to you.”
“Yes.”
She held her breath the few seconds before his booming voice came through. “Thanks for holding, Sydney.”
“No problem.” No hint in his tone that this was a bad-news call. She breathed easier.
“I don’t think we’ve met but I’m familiar with your work,” Jackson said, “especially that amazing job you did on the Swamp Strangler case.”
“Thank you. We haven’t officially met,” she agreed, “but I took one of your classes at Quantico.”
“Sorry I don’t remember. Those classes are usually overflowing and I’m busy trying to cover more than the time allows.”
“I didn’t expect you to remember me.”
“I hope I didn’t call you at a bad time,” he said, “but I just got off the phone with Roland Farmer. He mentioned your sister didn’t show up at a resort near Austin a little over a week ago and hasn’t been heard from since. I hope you have good news by now.”
“No, sir. She’s still missing and I’m extremely concerned.” Panic verging on hysteria would be more accurate, but a good FBI agent never admitted panic.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Jackson said. “I’m sure you’ve talked to local law enforcement.”
“Yes, and checked all the hospitals as well as ran a paper trail. The last place we have any record of her whereabouts was a charge she’d made to a credit card in a bakery in Winding Creek, Texas, called Dani’s Delights.”
“Yes. I also have that information. Does she have relatives or friends in that area?”
“No relatives for certain and no friends that I know of.”
“How much do you know about the other women who have gone missing from that area over the past six months?”
“Just the facts that are publicly available. Names. Dates of disappearance. Descriptions. That sort of thing.”
“But you think Rachel could be the fourth victim of the perp or perhaps fifth if he killed the girl whose body was found Saturday.”
“I think it’s possible. Her disappearance fits the pattern. In any case, I think she’s met with foul play and is in immediate danger.”
“Based on what I’ve heard, I think you could be right. Bottom line, I’m heading up a team of agents to help the locals investigate.”
“When will you start?”
“Is today soon enough for you?”
“Yes. We need to act fast before another body shows up. All of the women are likely in extreme danger.”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard but the body has been identified as Sara Goodwin, a sixteen-year-old runaway who was apparently living on the streets in San Antonio. She was never reported as missing, so we have little information on her except what we have from forensics.”
“Which is?”
“Preliminary indications are that she was dead for up to a month before they found the body. Cause of death is believed to be by trauma to the head caused by a sharp object.”
“Did they find any DNA or other evidence to help identify the perp?”
“Nothing firm at this point. The reason I called is that Roland said you were willing to be assigned to this case.”
“More than willing.” She needed all the information the FBI could uncover to help her find Rachel.
“In that case, welcome aboard. How soon can you get to Winding Creek, Texas?”
“I’m already here, on my way to Dani’s Delights.”
“Perfect.”
“Then you’re not worried about my extremely close relationship with one of the victims?”
“I don’t give a damn about protocol when lives are involved. You’re a gifted profiler. You proved that on the Swamp Strangler case.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m leaving my office in about thirty minutes and heading your way. I’ll be meeting with Sheriff Cavazos when I get there, but after that I’d like you and the other agents to be available for a full briefing. I’ll call you when I have the meeting place verified.”
Off and running. She liked Jackson Clark better by the second.
“One other thing,” he said. “Don’t identify yourself as an FBI agent or as Rachel’s sister just yet. I may want you to go undercover on this unless you’ve already blown that option.”
“I showed Rachel’s picture to a cowboy and a waitress at a local roadhouse last night and asked if they’d seen her. Neither had. I didn’t mention that she was my sister or even that she was missing.”
“Can’t undo that. If it comes out, so be it, but don’t mention Rachel again. Get out there, look over the town and the area, talk to people while we’re gathering as much information as we can on the missing girls. You’ve got a talent for noting what most people miss. Use it.”
“I’ll need an identity.”
“In the works. Lane will be forwarding you a driver’s license and establishing the background materials. You’re Syd Cotton, a freelance travel/ photographer from New York. It’s your first time to this area of Texas, so naturally you’ll be asking lots of questions and nosing around.”
“I’ll stick to that until you tell me differently.”
“I’ll be in touch around noon and, Sydney, glad to have you aboard. I think you’ll be a real asset to our team.”
As excited as she was to be on the insider team, the thought of working undercover made her uncomfortable. She’d planned to question the staff in the bakery, see what they remembered about Rachel.
Now the best she could do was look around. She didn’t see how much could come of that. It was difficult to imagine a madman choosing his victims as they enjoyed their morning scones and coffee.
But then, stranger things had happened.
* * *
THE TOWN OF Winding Creek was like a movie set re-creation of the Old West. The low wooden buildings had surely been standing since gambler brawls and gunslingers overflowed from the bars and into the narrow streets.
Only now the stores sold fragrant candles, silver Christmas ornaments, sequined Western shirts and stylish cowboy boots. Main Street, with its brightly painted benches, pots filled with flowers in full bloom and even a few hitching posts along the curb, was so quaint it almost seemed a facade.
A horse trailer pulled by an oversize black pickup truck squeaked to a stop at a traffic light.
Two elderly gentlemen in denim coveralls slouched on one of the benches, their Western hats pulled low over their foreheads to block the sun. Crumbs from the giant cinnamon rolls they were devouring fell from their mouths to the front of their shirts.
Even more intriguing were the smiles and nods and the tipping of straw Stetsons from strangers. It was easy to see why Rachel had felt it worthwhile to take a side trip to Winding Creek. It was far more difficult to imagine evil lurking among the smiles and welcoming shops.
But somewhere between the bakery and the resort, something had gone terribly wrong. Sydney picked up her pace and hastened the last half block to the bakery.
Her pulse quickened as she stepped inside Dani’s Delights. She was struck immediately by the shop’s mouthwatering odors and glass cases filled with tempting pastries. The attractive redhead behind the counter was pouring coffee into tall white mugs as she chatted and laughed with her customers.
Sydney sidestepped the line of about a half dozen people waiting for service. The morning rush hour was apparently in full swing with at least half the square metal tables occupied. The noise level was high as the occupants communicated with not only the friends at their table but those sitting several tables away.
The small-town atmosphere registered solidly in Sydney’s mind. There seemed to be few strangers in the group, but then, this was half past eight on a weekday morning. The clientele might be vastly different on a Saturday afternoon when Rachel had been here.
Sydney scanned the space. Blue painted shelves filled with inexpensive gift items lined the left wall. A display of unique pottery pieces filled eye-catching mahogany shelves near a back staircase.
Sydney was immediately drawn to the vases, pitchers and bowls in the pottery area, as she was certain her sister would have been. Sydney picked up and checked the price on the bottom of a small but striking vase glazed in the earthy colors Rachel loved.
Ninety-five dollars. More than the amount Rachel had charged. Sydney checked additional items. There were several bowls and pots in the sixty-to seventy-dollar price range.
“They’re made by a local artist.”
The voice startled Sydney. She spun around and found herself looking into the expressive eyes of the redhead who’d been serving coffee. A quick glance back at the counter revealed that there was no longer a line.
“The potter does beautiful work,” Sydney responded. “I have a sister who’d love the colors and designs.”
“You should bring her in or take her to visit the artist’s studio. She has a lot more choices than I can display. I can give you her card if you’re interested.”
“Yes, please do.”
“Do you live around here?”
Sydney took a few seconds to compose a response that Jackson would approve. “I live in New York but I’m certainly enjoying your charming town.”
“Do you have family in Winding Creek?”
“No. Actually I’m here for work.”
“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. What kind of work brings you to our small town?”
“I’m a freelancer. I do travel articles for a variety of magazines and newspapers. I’m thinking this one will feature Winding Creek but include the surrounding area and some interesting anecdotes about the inhabitants.”
“You’ll meet no shortage of interesting people, that’s for sure. Where are you staying?”
“I’m at the motel for now but I hope to find something a little roomier and with some atmosphere.”
“There are several popular B and Bs in town that would fit that description.”
The bell over the front door dinged as a couple of middle-aged women walked in.
“Best get back to my duties, but if you’ll stop by the counter before you go, I’ll give you the addresses for the B and Bs and the pottery studio.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that. And, of course, I want to try your coffee and a pastry before I go.”
“Good. I hope you become a regular while you’re here.”
“I’m sure I will. Do you work every day?”
“Except on rare occasions. I’m Dani, the owner and creator of all the delights. Well, except for the bread. My hubby is fast taking over in that department.”
“Sounds like a keeper.”
“He definitely is.”
Sydney took another look around the shop and then walked to the counter and got in line behind a woman who was choosing an assortment of cupcakes. The bell over the door dinged again and this time it was two extremely good-looking cowboys who sauntered in.
Brothers, she’d bet from their strong resemblance. One looked a bit familiar. She stared until she realized why.
He was the suspicious stranger she’d tried to follow when he’d left the bar last night.
He looked different all cleaned up, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that it was the same man. He’d made a point of ignoring her attempts at conversation last night. He might not be that dismissive and rude since he wasn’t alone.
She went for her most seductive smile and looked him in the eye as he approached the counter.
“Remember me, Tucker Lawrence?”
Chapter Six (#u71481723-de61-5e0e-a577-fc991205f150)
Tucker stared for a second before nodding. “You’re the woman from Hank’s.”
“That’s right. Fancy running into you again.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” the other cowboy asked.
“We exchanged howdys at Hank’s last night.”
“That explains why you got to the ranch so late you had to sleep in your truck.”
Dani finished serving the customer and stepped from behind the counter.
“Tucker Lawrence. It’s about time you paid us poor working relatives a visit.” She went in for a hug before turning to Sydney. “Did I just hear that you’ve already met my amazing brother-in-law?”
“We ran into each other like Tucker said, except that I’m pretty sure howdy never came out of my mouth.”
Dani laughed. “In that case, we need some real introductions before the next paying customers walk through the door.”
She took Riley’s arm. “This is my husband, Riley Lawrence, and his brother Tucker.”
“And I’m...” Sydney hesitated, but only for a second. “I’m Syd Cotton.”
“She’s a freelance writer working on an article about our town. Why don’t you three find a seat and I’ll pour us some coffee,” Dani offered.
“I never turn down coffee,” Sydney said, “but I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”
“There will be interruptions whether you’re sitting with us or not. Not that I’m complaining. No customers, no income with which to pay the bills.
“Since the guys just had breakfast at Esther’s I know they can’t hold another bite of food, but can I get you something to eat, Syd? Perhaps a bacon-and-egg croissant.”
“They’re to die for,” Riley said. “You can take my word for it. I sleep with the cook.”
Sydney wasn’t hungry, but she needed something in her stomach or she’d risk a blistering headache by the time she met with Jackson.
“Sounds wonderful,” Sydney agreed.
“I’ll get the coffees and the croissant,” Riley volunteered. “You two see if you can talk Tucker into staying a few days. I’ve got a horse barn that needs a roof, so might as well put those muscles of his to work doing something useful.”
“My muscles are on break,” Tucker quipped, “but my supervisory skills are available to the highest bidder.”
“I’m married now,” Riley said playfully. “I get supervisory services for free.”
“Only when you need them,” Dani chimed in as he walked away.
Tucker held their chairs while she and Dani settled into them. Once they were seated Dani reached over and touched Tucker’s arm.
“You certainly generated some excitement this morning, showing up without anyone knowing you were coming. Esther was so delighted when she called to tell us, she could barely talk straight.”
“Esther gets excited easily.”
“She does,” Dani agreed. “She’s such a dear. If you have time while you’re here, I’d like you to meet her, Syd. She’s in her early seventies, but she’s the quintessential Texas rancher’s wife. Good-hearted, hard worker, and she’d do anything for you.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“You know, Esther might be willing to rent you a room or two for a few days. She lives in a huge rambling house just a few miles from town on the Double K Ranch. You’d even have Tucker to show you around the ranch and give you an introduction to that lifestyle from an insider’s vantage point.”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Tucker said, putting an end to that possibility before Sydney had a chance to answer.
“Why so soon?” Dani questioned. “You just got here.”
“I have obligations elsewhere.”
“Esther will be crushed and Riley will be disappointed. I know he wants to personally introduce you to every new Black Angus he’s purchased to start his new herd.”
“That’s next on today’s agenda,” Tucker said. “We just drove into town to deliver some supplies he picked up for you.”
“I know. He’s wonderful, isn’t he?”
“If you say so.” Tucker stretched his long legs beneath the table.
Riley showed up with a tray of coffees and the croissant just as two middle-aged women with elaborately coiffed hair reminiscent of several decades past entered the shop.
“The Simmons sisters,” Dani said. “Two caramel lattes, one with whipped cream, one without, and one chocolate-filled croissant, cut in half and placed on two saucers.”
“I’ll take care of them,” Riley said. “Eleanor Simmons has a secret crush on me. Might as well make her day.”
Dani rubbed his back. “Well, who wouldn’t have a crush on you, sweetie? But I know exactly how much whipped cream she likes on her coffee, so I’ll give you a hand.”
They walked away, leaving Sydney and Tucker alone at the small table. A purposeful move, Sydney suspected, since for some strange reason Dani appeared to be playing matchmaker.
The feisty pastry chef would change her mind quickly about that if she realized everything Sydney had just said about herself was a lie.
Sydney sipped her coffee and considered where she should take the conversation. Sitting here in silence was getting her nowhere, but blurting out leading questions would blow her cover before she even got started.
“Did you grow up around here?” she asked.
“Lived here for the first thirteen years of my life.”
“Where did you live after that?”
“Kansas.”
“Do you still have family here, other than your brother, I mean?”
“I have two brothers, Pierce and Riley. They both live around here. They’re the only family I’ve got.”
“Then you’re not kin to the woman Dani refers to as Esther?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“I’m just basically a very curious person.”
“Sorry. I’m not basically a grouch. I just have a lot on my mind. It doesn’t excuse my behavior. No use taking my troubles out on you.”
“Apology accepted.”
She decided on a different approach. “Life in a close-knit community like Winding Creek is a novel experience for me. It seems like such a safe, friendly area.”
“It is.”
“But I heard on the news that three women are missing from this area of Texas.”
“You got me there. I’m not good about keeping up with the news.”
“Not even on social media?”
“Especially not on social media. Cowboys are men of action. We do not chat, eat quiche or drink green smoothies. That’s your Texas facts of the day.”
“I’ll be sure it makes my journal.”
By the time the Simmonses had their lattes, there were another four people in line. Dani was on the phone. Riley was bagging pastries.
Sydney and Tucker stayed silent until both Riley and Dani rejoined them.
Dani shot Riley a conspiratorial look. “I just got off the phone with Esther Kavanaugh. I told her about you needing a place to stay for a few days and she said she’d love to have you as long as you didn’t expect anything fancy.”
“She hasn’t even met me,” Sydney said.
“I have, and she knows I’m a great judge of character. Besides, the people at a B and B would never have met you, either.”
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