A Home in Hill Country (Harlequin Heartwarming) (8 page)

“A little.” Kristin watched the horse and rider,
rather than meet the other woman’s eyes. “I moved away when I was a child, but met him in college. We dated, broke up. The usual.” From the corner of her eye, she saw the troubled look on Donna’s face. “I’m sure I was just one of many.”

“I’d probably just started dating Trevor back then.” Donna worried at her lower lip with her perfect, white teeth. “I’m sorry you and I didn’t meet back then.”

“I was only here at the ranch once.” A visit intended to be a joyous meet-my-family celebration…but one that had ended up being the most awful day of her life. Kristin forced a smile. “It’s ironic, being here again after all these years. I had no idea that my land was next to this ranch…at least, not till I started moving in and missed my road a few times. The name of your ranch is listed on the No Trespassing signs all along the highway.”

“Most land around here is leased to hunters, so we try to keep out the poachers.” Donna watched Ryan dismount, toss a stirrup over the saddle and loosen the girth, then lead the horse out of the arena. “It’s a nice coincidence that Ryan happens to be in town, now. I hear you two ran into each other.”

“Briefly.”

Donna’s eyes twinkled. “And?”

“It was on a professional basis.
Only.
”

“There’s no chance…?”

“None.” Clint had been vicious on that cold, long ago day when he threatened to ruin her family if she didn’t break up with Ryan. She’d had no doubt he would follow through.

He’d also told her he would force Ryan to leave school and go back to the ranch.

Devastated, she’d complied. When Ryan tried to dissuade her, she’d blurted out the first lie she could think of—that she never wanted to be a rancher’s wife. That she wanted country clubs and money, not dust and cattle.

He’d believed her and he’d walked away.

Heartbroken, she pined for months, wishing he’d come after her. But he hadn’t called or written. He hadn’t missed her at all.

The irony was that she’d actually ended up, on the rebound, with a guy who’d had the country club and money. A guy who’d been a terrible mistake.

She glanced at her watch. Time was flying. Through the window facing the drive, she could see dusk had fallen.

“I do have a question.” The sound of children chattering was close, but Kristin plowed ahead. “I understand my father worked here a couple years ago.”

Donna dropped her gaze. “Yes, he did.”

“Did you work with him? Talk to him much?”

“No…not really…and he was here less than a year.” Donna swirled the remaining coffee in her cup. “The kids were seven and eight then. I was either home with them or commuting to my old job, which was two hours travel each day.”

Kristin took a steadying breath. “I heard he was fired.”

Donna didn’t answer for so long that Kristin finally touched her arm. “Please, tell me.”

The younger woman glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Clint is a hard man, bless his heart. He comes roaring in from Austin unexpectedly, doesn’t like something, and heads roll. He’s fired a lot of people over the years.
Good
people.”

“My dad…was there a fight? A big argument?”

“I—I wouldn’t know about that. Things are—” She stopped abruptly and seemed to withdraw into herself. “Your father is gone. There’s no use worrying about the past, is there? Just let it be.”

The kids burst into the room. “The truck is running, and Dad has the horses loaded,” Sara exclaimed. “And we told Cody he could have a kitten, but not till they’re older. He wants the one with black spots.”

Standing, Donna tousled her son’s hair, clearly relieved by the distraction. “I think you children should be asking Cody’s mom before you start giving him any cats.”

All eyes swiveled to Kristin.

“Please, Mom. It’s gonna be really cool. It’s got one black ear and one white, and it has a bull’s-eye on one side.”

“Sounds like quite a looker,” she said dryly. “Let’s see how you do with your horse chores during the next six weeks, first.”

Cody’s face fell. “Awww, Mom. They could give it to someone else!”

“I promise we won’t,” Donna assured him. “If you do what your mom says, we’ll talk about it again when the kittens are old enough.”

Trevor walked into the room, took off his hat and smiled apologetically at Kristin. “The truck is ready to roll, but I forgot about my Loveless County Cattleman’s meeting tonight.” He ducked his head in obvious embarrassment. “I’d skip it, but I’m…uh…the president this year.”

“Oh, please…don’t think twice. There’s still enough moonlight so we can ride.” Kristin offered her hand. “I’m just grateful for your help with Cody.”

A taller figure stepped inside the tack room, and though he was behind Trevor and Donna, she didn’t have to see him to know who it was.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

The deep voice resonated right through her, and her mouth went dry. Cody let out a whoop
and raced out the door, but she felt no such surge of joy.

Another awkward meeting…a drive of a few miles that would seem like eternity.

This was her lucky day.

T
HE DRIVE HOME
in Ryan’s truck was as awkward as she’d expected. She couldn’t think of a blessed thing to say.

Cody couldn’t stop talking.

He peppered the man with questions about horses and armadillos and being a soldier who could shoot people.

She looked across the cab and saw Ryan’s skin blanch, a muscle ticking at the side of his jaw. But to his credit he gave nonchalant, vague answers and then steered the questions back to safer ground.

She could see a big case of hero worship building, from the way Cody hung on his every word.

Bad news, because there was no way Ryan would be a permanent part of Cody’s future, and this would lead to one more disappointment in her son’s young life.

While most of his friends’ grandparents were still in their lives, he’d barely known his Grandpa Nate, and the death of his dear Grammy Cantrell two years ago had broken his heart. The disinter
est of his father and grandparents on
that
side of the family tree had hurt and confused him.

Night had fallen by the time they’d driven down to her barn and unloaded the horses. Crickets chirped and a far-off family of coyotes cried to the moon, the immature voices of the younger ones adding a discordant note to the haunting chorus.

“I think they need singing lessons,” she teased as she unbuckled Rebel’s halter and sent him out into the pasture with Boots.

Even in the moonlight, she could see Cody roll his eyes.
“Mo-om.”

“But they’re better than me when I sing in the shower.” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Go toss the horses some hay, will you? There’s a bale right inside the barn.”

Ryan was watching her, his eyes intent, almost curious, as if he couldn’t quite place who she was anymore. She supposed he couldn’t—she wasn’t that young, impressionable nineteen-year-old now. Life had changed her in so many ways in the intervening years, just as it had changed him into a dark and haunted stranger.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he said, his voice somber.

“This is just so strange,” she said after a moment of thought. “I know you, yet I don’t at all. And I could never even begin to understand what you’ve been through. We were such babies
back in college weren’t we? We believed that anything was possible.”

“Innocence can be lost in many ways,” he said cryptically. He closed the tailgate of the horse trailer and started for the truck. “Make sure you get to the football game tomorrow. It will mean a lot to Cody.”

“Of course. I already planned to be there.”

“And you should try to get Cody’s dad here. That kid is hurting.”

His words still stung as she watched him drive away. Even from that first day when he brought Cody home, he’d implied that she wasn’t a careful mom. His opinion of her obviously hadn’t changed, but she
had
planned to be there for Cody tomorrow. With or without that curt reminder.

And he had no idea just how traumatic it could be if Ted actually did show up.

O
N THEIR THIRD MORNING
at the Homestead Clinic, Kristin and Max had two well-baby physicals, an old-timer with arthritis and three people who simply wanted to check out the clinic “for future reference.”

Max drummed his fingers on the counter in the lab, where he had reorganized the supplies four times since Tuesday morning. “I know I’ll look back someday and regret saying this, but I really want this place to be busy.”

“It will be. Just give it time. We have two patients this afternoon, and the
Homestead Herald
always comes out on Friday. Our notice will be good news to the people who haven’t seen our sign because they don’t get into town much. People are going to love having a local clinic again.”

Max’s eyebrows lifted. “
Love
is a tad strong, don’t you think? Our first patient certainly hasn’t been back.”

“And he hasn’t answered my phone messages, either. Before the HIPAA privacy laws took effect we could’ve called Clint’s family, laid out the bad news, and his son would have him back in a hurry. Now, unless he signs a release, we can’t say a word to anyone but him.”

“So…what can we do now? Checkers? Scrabble? I think we’ve cleaned and polished and organized this place to the nth degree.”

He was just in his early forties, but Max seemed more like the kind of grandfather she’d longed for as a child, rather than someone just ten years older. She grinned back at him. “Actually, I have an appointment with the sheriff over our lunch hour.”

“You do have a dark and dangerous past.” He feigned horror. “I
knew
it.”

Laughing, she dropped her cell into her bag. “I think you’re safe here. In fact, knowing that I
work with a nurse who bench-presses three hundred pounds makes me feel safe, too.”

She strolled across Main Street and cut across the lush green lawn of the courthouse. Following the signs, she skirted the massive stone building and went around to a back entry. The receptionist smiled and waved her toward a chair in the small waiting room outside several closed office doors.

A few moments later, a tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties came out. His khaki Dockers, white shirt and tooled leather belt were hardly like the uniforms of the police back in Dallas, but he emanated an air of quiet authority that no one could miss. “Miss Cantrell? I’m Wade Montgomery.”

She rose and shook his hand. “Thanks for seeing me today. I was afraid you might be off on some emergency, or something.”

He grinned. “Nothing earthshaking so far today, but that changes by the minute. Come on back.”

She liked him at once. His manner was easygoing right down to the Stetson hanging on the rack by the door. He waited until she sat, then dropped into the swivel chair behind his desk.

“How long have you been here in town?” she asked.

“I grew up here, but moved away for college and didn’t come back until I became sheriff four
years ago.” He studied her over steepled fingers. “I have the advantage, I guess, since I’m on the Home Free committee. I know you’re new in town, and have the place Jim Baxter used to lease—western edge of the K-Bar-C property, a half mile off the highway. And, I believe, you still have family here.”

“You have a good memory.”

He lifted a notebook at the side of his desk. “I cheated and looked you up.”

“I think I need a notebook like that. I lived here until I was ten, and there are so many people here that I don’t remember, or who seem vaguely familiar.” It left her with a strange sense of disconnectedness.

“Don’t let it bother you. I was away for a long time, too, and this town
has
changed a great deal.”

He was one of the few people who’d been open and friendly to her since she’d come to town. She wished she didn’t need to bring up her family’s troubled past. “I…guess you were in town eighteen months ago, then. My father…”

His affable expression faded to one of regret. “My deputies and I were clear across the county at a six-vehicle pile up on the interstate. By the time I arrived at the scene of your father’s accident, the ambulance had taken him to the hospital.”

“My father drove that road all his life. The weather was good, and that particular curve isn’t
even sharp.” She felt her lower lip start to tremble and swallowed hard. “I just can’t understand how he could have veered off right there, in broad daylight.”

“Unfortunately, we see single-car accidents all the time. Someone is distracted, or dozes off for an instant. Maybe a deer bounds across the road and they swerve. Sometimes it’s alcohol, though your dad was fine. One guy I know was startled by a low-flying wild turkey that cracked his windshield. He ended up in the river.”

“I don’t believe—” she hesitated, already seeing the doubt and resigned expectation in his eyes “—that my father’s death was an accident. Maybe someone forced my father off the road, or damaged his truck beforehand.”

“I understand. Believe me, we all want to second-guess these things a hundred different ways. We want a reason. Something—or someone to blame.”

“But how do you know for
sure?
”

“Once the wrecker got his truck up on the road, we checked it over. There was a lot of rollover damage, but the steering wheel and brakes seemed fine.”

“But you said the truck was damaged. There could’ve been paint marks from another vehicle, say, ramming into the side of it at that curve?
Marks you might’ve missed?” She saw the sympathy in his eyes. “I’d like to see the report.”

“There was an investigation, ma’am. There was no evidence of skid marks from another vehicle. No witnesses. Interviews of people who knew him well uncovered no enemies.” Wade swiveled his chair, stood and went to a bank of files along the wall. After thumbing through a number of tabbed folders he withdrew one and brought it back to the desk. “I’m not sure if you want to see these. They aren’t of your father at the scene, but the damage to his truck is pretty significant. And…I believe there was some blood.”

“Please.” She gingerly opened the file to find a slim stack of documents. Behind them was an envelope of photos. Time slowed to a crawl. She dreaded the evidence of her father’s death, yet needed, finally, to put her doubts to rest.

She dealt the four-by-six color photos out onto the desk, one by one. The crumpled front end of his ’67 Chevy. The twisted bed and tailgate, showing the crushing damage to the roof of the cab—as if a giant had slammed his foot on it. The sides of the vehicle, battered and muddy. Clumps of grass hanging from the jagged spikes where the side view mirrors had been torn away. A narrow streak of bright crimson trailing down the side of the driver’s side door.

Sadness and nausea welled until they almost
clogged her throat. “I—I didn’t realize,” she whispered as she sat back in her chair and rested her fingertips against her eyelids, concentrating on taking slow, even breaths.

She knew the truck well, because he’d driven it for decades. It had been a dented rust bucket from bumper to bumper even before the accident, a junker pieced together with different colors on each fender and a door painted primer-gray. Rust had already turned the quarter panels to fragile lace.

It was a truck that spoke of little success and even less hope for the future. Given its condition and preexisting dents, plus the mud and the grass and the damage from the accident itself, finding any sort of evidence would have been a sheer stroke of luck.

She felt a gentle touch at her shoulder and opened her eyes to find the sheriff offering her a glass of cold water. She accepted it and held it against her cheek, until her stomach quit rolling and she didn’t feel quite so dizzy.

She managed a smile. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to doubt your investigation, but I needed to know.”

“I’m sorry about your loss, Ms. Cantrell. Death is hard, but death with no reason is even more difficult.”

“That isn’t quite what I meant.” She slid the
photographs back into the envelope, closed the folder and handed it back to him. “I now know that evidence at the scene would’ve been very difficult to gather, but I’m still not convinced his death was accidental. If I wanted to find that old truck, where would I look?”

He studied her for a moment. “I know it’s hard to let go of this, but—”

“I need to find it. Please.”

He blew out a deep breath. “Out behind Buddy’s Auto Shop. He keeps a lot of old vehicles for parts. But it’s been eighteen months, ma’am. I expect that old truck has been crushed and melted down by now. There wasn’t much left of it as it was.”

“I hope I can find something, because there’s not much left of my dad’s honor, either.”

C
OACHING FOURTH GRADE
football had to be about as frustrating as trying to herd cats, but the little fellers were so serious, so determined, that Ryan could only lean against the hood of his truck and grin.

Few of them could hang on to the ball if it inadvertently landed in their hands. Some of them ran the wrong way, or bent over to study things they found in the grass. The ones who did run the right way tended to trip and fall if they got up too much speed. Cody had missed a half-dozen catches.

The parents rimming the makeshift football field set up in the school yard were something to watch, too, but he didn’t like them nearly as much. Several fathers were yelling at their sons, impatient and angry, as if the world depended on the next haphazard play. Some of the moms were getting into it a little too much, as well.

If he was a dad, he’d be
cheerin
g his son on….

But that was as unlikely as a Central Texas ice storm in July.

He’d dated women along the way and had enjoyed treating them well. But none of them had even come close to making him feel like settling down. None of them since Kristin—and what a big mistake
that
had been.

A single male voice, rife with irritation, rose above the others. Ryan shifted his weight against the pickup and scanned the crowd, wishing the jerk would just shut up or leave. What did that do to a kid, hearing his dad berate him in front of everyone else? What kid would even want to try?

He surveyed the crowd again and then picked the man out of the crowd. He was a tall, slender guy standing off by himself, dressed in some sort of corporate getup. The whole nine yards—a well-cut jacket, crisply pressed pants, perfect hair with every strand in place.

From the back, Ryan could see that his ears were red with anger and as he turned….

Teddy Peters. He hadn’t changed that much since college. He still had the pale complexion, splotched now with red patches on his cheeks, the thin, disapproving mouth.

Ryan turned away in disgust, wondering again how Kristin could’ve ever married someone like Teddy. Of course, she’d given money her highest priority. But how could that have outweighed everything else about someone who’d been such a supercilious fraternity twit in college?

He and Ryan had never been friends. Seeing the guy in action on campus had been more than enough basis to avoid him.

Ryan jerked his truck keys out of his pocket, but something made him turn back and search the playing field.