Gambling on a Dream (18 page)

What the hell had he been thinking by insisting she stay with him?

* * * *

The sun was setting by the time she left her shambled home. The investigation was still going on, but when Wyatt saw her take a bunch of ibuprofen for her various pains, he insisted they leave. Her mother wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but Dawn couldn’t put her family in danger. Someone was out to get her, which meant she was getting close to figuring out the identity of the murderer. Her dad and brothers had taken her six horses back to his barn. Mom packed up some of her own clothes for Dawn to borrow until she was able to buy a new wardrobe.

God, her head hurt. She rubbed her temples as Wyatt pulled into his driveway.

He parked the truck beside the white clapboard two-story. “You shouldn’t have stayed there so long.”

She looked out the window at the big, old farmhouse. One day she wanted a place like this built on her share of the ranch. A home where she could raise a family.

Right. She had to find a man first. An impossible feat since she didn’t even date.

The opening passenger door startled her. Wyatt held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”

She shifted out of the seat but ignored his hand. “So, you’re all moved in?”

He shut the door and took the bag her mother had packed from the back of the truck. “Mostly. I don’t have much, so it didn’t take long to move in.”

She followed him up the steps to the wide wraparound porch. “You know you don’t have to do this. I can find a place in town. Or stay at the station until I can get my place cleaned up.”

He unlocked the door and opened it, but waited for her to enter. “Nonsense. I have the room and you need--”

“Don’t you dare say protection. I’m the damned sheriff, and I know how to take care of myself.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as if he gritted his teeth. “I know you can, but you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

She signed and looked into the darkened entry. “I know.” Meeting his gaze again, she realized how close they stood. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being cranky.”

He tilted his head toward the inside, and his lips twitched in a kissable one-sided smile. “You’re tired, hungry, and I know you’re in pain. C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”

Before she could even think about carrying through with the crazy thought of kissing him, she entered the warm interior of the entry and was hit with the subtle scents of oil soap, ink from the box of crumpled newspapers Wyatt had used for packing, and leather. As with most Victorian homes, the oak stairway greeted her on the left of the entry. There was a dark living room on the right and a parlor on the left.

Wyatt turned on the lights, and she followed him down the hallway to the huge country kitchen. A formal dining room sat behind the parlor, an office and a pantry were next to it. She’d been in the Estrada’s home many times as a child. The place always had a warmth and character that made her feel safe and comfortable. But it was different this time. Instead of the scent of Stella’s chocolate chip cookies, she breathed in the overwhelming fragrance of cleaners used after the Estradas moved out.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Wyatt’s voice broke into her thoughts as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking around. Despite the differences in the place, the same feeling of belonging prickled through her, even though Wyatt’s small round dining set replaced Stella’s huge country trestle table that she, the Estrada kids, and Talon played fort under when they were kids. She smiled at the memories.

“Oh. Sorry. I was just remembering all the times Mary Estrada and I hid under the table from our brothers when Stella babysat us.” She sighed and pulled out a chair from the dinning set, which was much too small for the size of the kitchen.

He headed to the refrigerator and poked his head in. “Audrey never liked this house.” After he retrieved a plastic storage bowl, he removed the lid and closed the door. He put the bowl in the microwave before turning with a wicked smile playing on his lips. “She calls me crazy for buying the old place.”

“She still thinks it’s haunted?”

He shrugged and pulled two plates from the cupboard. “Who knows? The rumor is Stella’s great-grandmother Rebecca Cartwright still roams these big old rooms.”

She took the plates from him and laughed. “Well, if a member of the Ferguson clan buying her land doesn’t anger the old gal, nothing will.”

Looking over his shoulder, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he pulled another storage bowl from the fridge. “I guess time will tell. So, if you hear any chains rattling in the attic tonight, you’ve been forewarned.”

“I’ll remember that.” She took the bowl of potato salad and set it on the table.

He retrieved the steaming bowl of something spicy-smelling and a bag of sandwich rolls. After he set them on the table, he came back with a pitcher of sweet tea. She grabbed two glasses and some silverware, and then they sat down to eat.

“This smells great. Your mom’s barbequed pork?” She poured some tea into the glasses.

“You know Ma. She loves to cook.” He opened the rolls, took one out, and passed them to her. “She brought it and the salad over on Tuesday. I swear she thinks I’m starving to death.”

She laughed and took some of the potato salad. “She always thought you were too skinny.”

He glared at her, and she grinned as she bit into her sandwich. As the thought of Wyatt’s perfectly muscular body under her hands burned into her mind, she moaned and was glad her mouth was full of his mother’s delicious barbeque.

They ate in silence for a few moments. The easy way she’d relaxed with him surprised her, considering everything that had happened. She remembered the reason she was sitting here eating with Wyatt and set her half-eaten sandwich on her plate.

He frowned and sipped his tea. “I know that look.”

She shook her head. “We have to find this jerk. Something we did hit a nerve, and I want to know who is trying to scare me off the case.”

Leaning back in his chair, he wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “I talked to Dave Alton this morning.”

“Does he know anything?”

Wyatt stood and retrieved a tablet from the edge of the counter. He handed it to her as he sat again. “Border Patrol and the DEA have been watching a trucking company called North-South Transport.”

She read Wyatt’s barely legible scrawls and looked up. “The company ships textiles from Mexico to Dallas and is owned by a Lester Gilman? Why does that name sound so freakin’ familiar?”

He finished off his salad. “Because we put that two-bit con artist in prison on fraud and drug charges three and half years ago. He was released six months ago and went to work for his father, who was the original owner of North-South. Lester’s dear old dad kicked the bucket five months ago when he fell from a ten-story balcony. Guess who the sole inheritor was?”

“Lester. How convenient.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Oh, it gets better.”

“Please do tell. The suspense is killing me.”

Chuckling, he poured them more tea. “North-South Transport’s main supplier of those textiles is none other than Alvarez
Textil
.”

“As in Hector Alvarez, cousin of Ignacio Cotreras, boss of the Cotreras Cartel?” She massaged the tightening muscles of her neck.

“Bingo.” He stood and stepped behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as he placed his hands on her back with the thumbs massaging the sore spots in her neck. “Can you guess the route North-South Transport takes to get from Monterrey, Mexico to Dallas?”

She almost moaned with relief and pleasure. How could she forget the magic of his massages? Heat bloomed in her core, and she had to force her mind to concentrate on his voice. “Highway Six. They pass right through town.”

“Two for two.” He hit a particularly tight spot, and she let out a moan of satisfaction.

“Feel good?” He chuckled and worked down her back.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and shivered at the heat in his deep blue eyes. This had to stop or she’d end up in bed with him again. Standing, she broke the connection. “We need to find that driver who showed up at the Quick Fill at the same time Chris Larson was killed. Has the FBI found anything yet?”

“I’ll contact them and find out.” He put his hands on his hips. “But first, you need to get some rest. I’ll show you to my room. I don’t have a bed in the guest room yet, so I’ll bunk in the living room.”

Standing in the doorway of Wyatt’s bedroom, Dawn stared at the king-sized bed and swallowed hard. It was the same bed they’d shared all those years ago. Wyatt set the suitcase Dawn's mother had packed for her on the dark blue and white bedspread.

“The bathroom is right here.” Wyatt pointed to the door on the right of the hall. “I’ll use the one downstairs. Just let me grab some clothes and my razor.”

Dawn sucked her bottom lip between her teeth while Wyatt opened drawers and pulled out clothes. He passed her in the door and went into the large bathroom, which had been carved out of one of the bedrooms years ago when plumbing had been introduced into the old house, then came back with a shaving kit.

What did she do next? Letting herself drown in the blue sea of his gaze wasn’t an option. Clearing her throat, Dawn looked at her hands. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I know and I told you it’s the least I can do.” The huskiness of his voice had her meeting his eyes again. He jutted his chin toward the opening of the bedroom. “Go on. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do next. Goodnight, Dawn.”

“Goodnight,” she said as he turned away and headed down the hall. Was she the only one who saw the double meaning in his words? What would happen next, not only with the case, but with them? As he disappeared down the stairs, she whispered to herself, “Why are you doing this, Wyatt?”

Shaking her head as the light in the hall went off from below, she entered his bedroom and sucked in a deep breath. Beside the bed, a heavy oak dresser sat against the wall. The moon shimmered through the bowed window, and a box of books sat on the window seat.

She went to the suitcase on the bed and rifled through her mother’s borrowed clothes for something she could wear to bed. A new pack of underwear, socks, two white blouses, a pair of dressy black jeans. “Damn, Mom, how could you forget night clothes?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a pair of the underwear. Thank goodness, her mother had a new pack lying around. She’d have to make do with the bra she wore until she could get to the store to buy new clothes. Bra size was the only size she and her mother didn’t share.

She had to find something to wear to bed. Without thinking about it, she went to the closet door and opened it. A narrow shelving unit divided the space in half with Wyatt’s clothes hanging on the right. She could easily imagine the closet shared by a husband and wife. Swallowing at the sudden lump, she remembered when she and Wyatt shared his closet in Dallas.

She reached for one of his shirts and held it up to her nose. His musky scent mingled with the clean fragrance of fabric softener. How many times had she worn his shirts to bed?

With a sniff, she took the shirt off the hanger and closed the door. She’d feel better after a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

She put the shirt on the bed and reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out the scraps of the sonogram photo. Refusing to let grief wreck her again, she pieced the bits together on the dresser top. She’d tape them when she got the chance. Of all the photos she’d collected, this was the only one she had to save.

She gently touched the blurry white image of her son's tiny face. “Oh, angel baby, I love you.”

Sniffing again, she picked up her borrowed clothes and headed for the bathroom before the tears could start flowing.

* * * *

“
Where’s Wyatt?
”
Dawn’s throat hurt as she opened her eyes and tried to focus on the hospital room. The beeping of a machine thundered in her ears.

Her mother feathered her fingertips over Dawn's forehead.
“
He’s not here, sweetheart.
”

Her chest hurt. Why was she in the hospital?
“
What happened? Where’s Wyatt?
”

Mom glanced away.
“
He’s not hurt if that’s what you’re asking. He’s working.
”
She took Dawn’s hand and met her gaze again. Tears filled Mom’s eyes, and Dawn had a sinking feeling.
“
Do you remember what happened?
”

She shook her head.
“
Not really.
”

“
Sweetheart, you were shot in the chest and had surgery to remove the bullet.
”

As the memory of being shot came back to her, Dawn groaned and looked around the room again.

Her father stood by the end of her bed with his hat in his hands.
“
Wyatt was the father of your baby?
”

Mom looked over her shoulder at Dad.
“
Tom, not now.
”

He came around to the other side of the bed.
“
She’s got to know.
”
Dad pulled a stool over and sat next to her bed. Clearing his throat, he took her other hand.

If they knew about the baby, did Wyatt know too?
“
Know what?
”

“
Sweetpea, you lost the baby,
”
Dad huskily said, and Mom cried as she squeezed Dawn’s hand.

Pain shot through her as sharp as when the bullet had hit her.
“
No.
”
She sobbed and pulled her hands from her parents’ grips. Grabbing at her lower belly, she shook her head.
“
No, not my baby boy.
”

“
Wyatt didn’t know, did he?
”
Mom’s voice trembled with her tears.

Dawn shook her head.
“
I didn’t know how to tell him. We never talked about kids or even the future. I got pregnant the first week we were together.
”

“
How long were you together?
”
Dad wiped away her tears with a rough thumb.

“
Five months. Oh, God, that’s why he’s not here. He found out about the baby and…
”
She couldn’t say the words.