Once a Cowboy (2 page)

“It’s July in Texas. He’s busy.”

“You have to learn to push, girl. You’re too damn soft. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

She kept her temper in check. “Feel free to push all you want. I’m going home where it’s cool.”

“Bert’ll have his ass over here by this afternoon.” Buck headed for his office, then stopped. “Who were those women I saw leaving?”

“Mrs. Helen Braxton and her daughter. She hired me to find her son.”

“What?” One eyebrow jerked upward in surprise.

“Her son was stolen from a hospital almost forty years ago when he was two days old.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Why would you take such a case? Call her and tell her you’ve changed your mind. We’re working on those cases for the district attorney and that’s where our attention should be—where the money is. Get your head out of the clouds.”

She stiffened her backbone, which was an effort in the heat. “I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

“Don’t talk back to me, girl. Just do what I tell you. You put yourself through hell when you found that
murdered girl. A cop learns never to put his heart into those kinds of cases, but you had to learn the hard way.”

She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Yes. I did, but I don’t regret my involvement in the Woodly case. The perpetrator is behind bars for the rest of his insane life and the parents have finally moved on. They had another child last year. I get a card every Christmas from them. You’re right, though. I do get emotionally involved, but I’m older now and much stronger, especially after working with you.”

He nodded, taking the words as a compliment. “I told you I’d put some grit in your gizzard.”

Alex grimaced. “That sounds very painful. I’d rather have chocolate in my gizzard; it’s a whole lot sweeter.”

“Heaven forbid.” Buck rolled his eyes. “Women!”

“And just so you understand me—I’ll work on any case I want. If I get emotionally involved, well, that’s my choice.”

Her response was met with a scowl, but no scathing remarks were forthcoming.

“Mrs. Braxton thinks she’s already found her son. I just have to prove that this man is or isn’t the right man. Very easy case.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with our work.”

“I’ll do it in my spare time. It’s not like I have a social life or a family.”

“If you moved out on your own, maybe you would.”

“And who would keep you and Naddy from killing each other?”

“Your grandmother can hold her own, she doesn’t need you to protect her.”

Nadene and Buck did not have a typical mother-son relationship. Buck was the result of a teenage pregnancy and Naddy had been married so many times that it was hard to keep track.

Her grandmother drank, smoked and loved to have a good time. Though Buck was a lot like her, he did not appreciate those qualities in his mother. As a bail bondsman, Naddy had led a colorful life. At seventy-eight, she was now retired. Her days were spent surfing the Internet for criminals. She did a lot of research on missing children and had even helped to find a couple.

When Alex was younger she used to wish her grandmother was more conventional, yet she had always been comforted by the thought that whatever she had to go through in this world, Naddy would be behind her all the way.

“Thought the old battle-ax would have moved out by now.” Buck’s voice brought her back to the conversation. “Hell, she’s gone ten years without getting married. That has to be a record.”

“She’s getting older. I think Naddy is with us to stay.”

“Ain’t that a helluva thing. She was never there for me as a kid and now I’m supposed to take care of her.”

Alex watched the man who was her father. With his crew cut hairstyle, shaggy gray eyebrows, slant for a mouth and sagging features, Buck Donovan was as hard as they come. Naddy had a part in making him that way but Alex wondered what kind of feelings he had for her, his own daughter. Buck probably couldn’t define them himself. And asking him would be a mortal sin, she was sure.

She caught his eyes. “She was there for me when my mother died. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe. Might be the only reason she’s still in my house.”

That comment was like a crumb to a starving person and she savored it as such. Those crumbs were few and far between.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Was she pathetic or what? Thirty-four years old and still living at home with her father and her grandmother. She needed a life. Bad.

S
HE NEGOTIATED
the Dallas traffic the same way she’d handled her father—with a large dose of patience and gritted teeth. She turned off US-75 and headed for the Lake Highlands suburb where they lived, her body greedily soaking up the coolness of the car’s air-conditioning.

She had a love-hate relationship with the Texas summers. She loved them when she was relaxing on the beach in Galveston or Padre Island, but she hated them in the trenches of Dallas. There weren’t many opportunities to get away for a weekend—Buck believed in her keeping her nose to the grindstone—but if she could find one, she’d take it. All her girlfriends were married, though, and had families. Her relationship with her cop boyfriend, Clay, had ended about a year ago.

Single, unattached and feeling my age.
Maybe she should have that made into a bumper sticker. Or, better,
single and available
. That would certainly draw attention.

She turned into the driveway with a smile. Getting
out, she glanced at the rows of brick houses built in the sixties. Buck and her mother Joan had bought their house right after they’d married. They had a large corner lot and Buck had a shop in back where he kept his boat and fishing paraphernalia.

White Rock Lake wasn’t far away and when she was younger she’d spent a lot of time hanging out at the lake with her friends. This had been Alex’s home all her life, but she knew it was time for her to move on—perhaps to find that elusive happiness she’d always been searching for.

Placing her purse and briefcase on the hood of her Jeep Wrangler, she turned on the sprinkler for the wilted Saint Augustine grass, making sure the water reached the blooming crepe myrtles. Alex took care of the yard. Any calls for help from Buck or Naddy she found to be a waste of her time. The sun beat down on her bare head and after the heat of the morning she did something she wouldn’t normally do. She ran through the sprinkler, laughing not caring if the neighbors were watching.

By the time she entered the house, her skin was almost dry. Her clothes were damp from sweat so the extra water didn’t make a difference. The air-conditioning felt wonderful on her wet skin. Pure bliss.

Laying her things on the kitchen table, she saw Naddy sitting at her computer through the open door of her bedroom. Buck’s bedroom was on the right side of the house and Naddy’s on the left, a house clearly divided. Alex occupied the bedroom upstairs and had her private space.

“Hey, Naddy, I’m home,” she called, grabbing a Popsicle out of the freezer.

“Come here, honeychild. I want to show you something.”

Alex walked to Naddy’s bedroom, licking on the icy treat. It was her favorite snack in the summertime, cool, refreshing and…She stopped in Naddy’s doorway. Her bedroom was a disaster. She really shouldn’t be surprised because Naddy tended not to pick up anything.

Buck, on the other hand, was neat and organized. A gene he obviously got from his “low-life loser father” as Naddy often said.

Alex stepped over a pile of dirty clothes. Trying to change her grandmother would be like trying to change the course of the wind or the Texas heat.

“What?” Alex asked, trying to ignore the dirty clothes hanging off of chairs and lying all over the floor. The tumbled sheets partially hid an empty Doritos bag. A couple of empty beer cans stood on the nightstand beside a jar of nuts.

“Look.” Naddy pointed to the screen, squinting at it through the glasses perched on her nose. A tall, big-boned woman, Naddy once had sandy red hair. Now it was completely white, short and stuck out in all directions, mainly because Naddy always forgot to comb it. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, the skin of a smoker. An unlit cigarette dangled from her lip.

“Why is there a cigarette in your mouth?” Buck had strict rules about smoking in the house. Joan had made them when Alex was born and Buck kept to
them, even though he smoked. He always smoked outdoors and Alex had a feeling he adhered to the rule to annoy Naddy.

“Keep your britches on, honeychild. I was going outside to light up when I found this. Tell me what you think. The baby on the left disappeared fourteen years ago in Houston. The girl on the right was found dead in an alley in Vegas last week. Look at the faces. I think it’s the same girl.” Her voice was excited.

Alex studied the faces. “Very similar.”

“I want to contact the authorities in Vegas, but I need a drag first.” Naddy stood and brushed crumbs off of her flowered housedress. “What are you doing home this time of the day and why are you all wet?”

Alex took a bite of the Popsicle. “The air’s out again.”

Naddy smiled. “Biting that Popsicle reminds me of when you were six years old. I’d tell you not to eat them so fast that they’d give you a headache, but you never listened.”

“I think I’m always going to be six years old,” she replied in a melancholy voice.
Living at home and yearning for love.

“Bite your tongue.” Naddy rummaged through a stack of papers on her desk. “Ethel’s grandson is in town and I told her you’d go out with him.”

Alex shook her head. “No. You are not setting me up for another date. Never again will I do that. I can get my own dates, thank you.”

Naddy looked indignant. “What was wrong with the last date I got you?”

“He brought his mother with him.”

Naddy grimaced. “Oh, yeah. That was out of the ordinary.”

“And stupid, insane, weird, creepy and…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay out of your affairs. I don’t have good taste in men anyway.”

“Amen.”

They eyed each other and laughed, then Alex hugged her grandmother. That was one of the things she loved about Naddy. She brought laughter to Alex’s life.

Naddy drew back. “Your skin is hot.”

“I’ve been sitting in a oven, which is what the office is at the moment.”

“That cheapskate son of mine needs to put in a new unit.”

Alex shrugged. “You know Buck.”

Naddy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Hmmph.”

“Good luck identifying the girl.” Alex glanced around the room. “Tonight we’re doing laundry and maybe we’ll fumigate this room.”

“Yeah. Whatever. But first I have to keep digging on the Vegas case until I annoy the hell out of somebody, then they’ll pay attention to me.” Naddy hurried out of the room to smoke her cigarette.

Naddy had bulldog instincts, just like her son, and most of the time she got results. Alex had a feeling she got her caring gene from Naddy. Her grandmother was always trying to help people.

Alex retrieved her briefcase and purse and headed upstairs to take a shower and to work. By late afternoon
she had a lot of information on Brodie Hayes. He’d earned lots of accolades. His bull-riding career started in high school. Even while attending Texas A&M University he kept riding and winning. At nineteen he went professional. All sorts of endorsements came his way including Wrangler, Budweiser and Ford trucks. Brodie Hayes seemed to have it all. He retired years ago and now owned a ranch, like Helen had said. He was single and had never been married.

Staring at his picture, she found that fact more than interesting. Why was a handsome hunk like that still unattached? One answer came to mind, but she pushed it away. He was too masculine and…That meant absolutely nothing. She kept searching.

His father was a general in the U.S. Army and his mother was an army wife who followed her husband all over the world. Nothing about his life looked out of the ordinary, but one thing caught Alex’s attention. Travis Braxton was born five days after Brodie Hayes in the same hospital in Dallas. How weird was that? Could that just be a coincidence?

She mulled this over for about thirty minutes, then she knew what she had to do. She had Brodie Hayes’s address and somehow, someway she would get a DNA sample from him.

Alex had told Mrs. Braxton that she could handle the investigation discreetly and that’s what she planned to do. First, she would meet Brodie Hayes and take it from there.

Finding his ranch wasn’t a problem—she’d gotten the exact directions from the Internet. She took I-635 then US-80 and traveled down a blacktop road until she reached the entrance to the Cowboy Up Ranch. Driving over a cattle guard, she noticed red-and-white-faced cattle lying beneath oak trees. Others were grazing in the heat or drinking from a water trough.

A ranch-style frame house loomed in front of her, a pipe fence separating it from the pasture. There were corrals and barns to the right. Everything was quiet, no activity anywhere. She parked on the side of the house and got out. Two gray-and-white dogs loped toward her.

Her breath wedged in her throat as they sniffed at her feet. “Hi there,” she said. The dogs barked and she forced herself not to show fear or jump back. “Hello to you, too,” she responded as brightly as she could. When the dogs
trotted back to the barn, she let out a tight breath. Evidently they didn’t consider her a threat. Thank God.

She walked up the stone walk to the door. There was no doorbell, so she knocked.

The wooden veranda-type porch stretched along the front of the white house. Horseshoes welded together made sturdy columns. Two wrought-iron chairs with denim seats graced both sides of the door. An inviting swing hung from the rafters. Although shrubbery grew against the house, the neatly mowed yard showed no signs of flowers or flowerbeds. All telltale signs this was the home of a bachelor.

No one came to the door. The thought of breaking in crossed her mind. She could be in and out in less than two minutes with something with his DNA on it, but she wasn’t quite ready to go to those lengths. When she was about to give up she saw a white pickup barreling her way.

She just got lucky.

B
RODIE
H
AYES
had had one of those days and he was relieved to get back to his place, his own home. Spending time with his mother left him feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a two-thousand-pound bull. He was raw, sore and a little dazed.

His parents had never understood him and the years hadn’t made a difference. He was always acutely aware that he was a big disappointment to both of them.

At five, Brodie was riding his mother’s broom as a horse. His father took it away from him and made him use it as a gun. As a kid he didn’t understand that—he didn’t want a gun. He wanted to ride a horse. When he
was six, he asked Santa for cowboy boots. He didn’t get them and he stopped believing in Santa Claus.

The years his father was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, were the happiest time of Brodie’s life. He’d made a friend, Colter Kincaid, whose family lived on a ranch and Brodie loved to visit. He learned to ride a horse and he went to rodeos with them. Following that first rodeo, he was hooked. The massive bulls held his attention. He and Colter started riding in the junior rodeos. To enter, Brodie forged his father’s signature because he knew his parents wouldn’t approve.

That first ride he was bucked into the dirt so hard that the wind left his body. But that only spurred his interest, making him determined to complete the eight-second ride. He would secretly enter the local rodeos, never telling his parents how he was spending his spare time. When Brodie started to win, he didn’t count on the news being in the papers.

His father was furious and grounded him. Tom Hayes believed in strict discipline and lying was definitely against the family rules. Brodie caved into the pressure and agreed to apply to Texas A&M. He majored in agriculture economics, much to his father’s disapproval.

In college he rodeoed on the weekends and he told his parents. They didn’t like it, but as long as he was in college they didn’t complain. And Brodie had turned eighteen so his decisions were his own. As he kept winning he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Tom’s wishes were for Brodie to go into the army, but Brodie knew that life wasn’t for him.

His parents pressured Brodie every way they could,
but at nineteen he quit college and followed the rodeo circuit. He made friends who became his family. Colter Kincaid had also decided the rodeo was the life for him. To Brodie, Colter and another cowboy named Tripp Daniels were like his brothers. They always would be.

His parents finally accepted his rodeo ways, as they called his life, but they had very little contact during those years. His father relented enough to fly to Vegas when Brodie won the national finals. They had a congratulatory beer together before his father left for Washington. He died two months later.

Claudia, his mother, moved to Dallas to be near her sister, Cleo. They were an unlikely pair. His mother was a social butterfly, enjoying teas, luncheons and charity functions. Cleo, who had married beneath her, as his mother had so often said, had been a cook in a large restaurant until she retired. Claudia had never approved of Cleo’s lifestyle—Cleo had been married three times and she loved to dance and go out and have fun. That was what had caused the problem today.

Brodie had lunch with them once a week. Cleo was a great cook and he always enjoyed the meal, but his mother was in one of her moods. Cleo had a new boyfriend and they went square-dancing several nights a week. Claudia was upset because that left her alone at night. She wanted Brodie to tell Cleo how bad this man was for her. He didn’t even know the man and he had no intention of doing any such thing.

When he refused, his mother had become suddenly short of breath. Claudia had had rheumatic fever as a child that left her with a heart murmur. After Brodie’s
birth, she began to have more and more problems with her heart. Two years ago, she’d had a mild heart attack, and today he’d feared the same thing was happening.

He’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the emergency room and the doctor said Claudia didn’t have a heart attack, just an anxiety attack. In the end, his mother had gotten what she’d wanted—Cleo would stay home to take care of Claudia.

His mother had always been clingy and needy and it seemed to have gotten worse with age. Soon he’d have to talk to her about her fear of being alone. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The bruises were still too raw from today’s confrontation.

He’d rather face a bull from the bowels of hell than have a conversation with his mother. He knew he had a chance of surviving with the bull. Claudia had a way of ripping him to shreds with just a few well-chosen words.

He frowned as he saw a Jeep parked in his driveway. He didn’t recognize it, then he saw a woman walking toward the vehicle. A blonde in white shorts that showed off long, slim legs and a tank top that bared tanned arms. Her hair was clipped behind her head and those feminine curves were in all the right places. Touchable places.

His day just got better.

T
HE WHITE FOUR-DOOR TRUCK
rattled loudly so Alex knew it was a diesel. The large grill guard and all-terrain tires indicated the truck was for heavy-duty jobs. A man and his truck. In Texas, it defined who he was. This truck said Brodie Hayes was one tough hombre. A woman
raised in Texas knew to never mess with a man’s truck or his life. Alex was about to break one of those rules.

The dogs trotted from the barn and scurried to her, sniffing at her feet again. She hardly noticed them as she watched one booted foot slide to the ground. She held her breath as she waited for the rest of the cowboy to emerge from the truck. Tight-fitting Wranglers molded his long legs, a gold belt buckle glistened on a tooled leather belt, a starched white shirt framed his broad shoulders and a Stetson rested perfectly on his dark head. She found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The bluest eyes in Texas, she thought, her pulse hammering wildly in her ears.

He removed his hat. “Howdy, ma’am. May I help you?”

Ohmygod. He had a dimple in the carved structure of his left cheek—an incredibly sexy dimple. His black hair curled into his collar in an unruly, wanton way. The heat of the sun was hot, but this sensual type of heat was much hotter. It burned through her body all the way to her toes and she curled them into her sandals.

Looking at his picture was one thing, but seeing him in the flesh was quite another. A neon sign seemed to blink in her mind.
Cowboy. Dangerous. Stay away.

For the first time she was physically attracted to a man just by looking at him. She always thought that type of reaction was crazy when her girlfriends had giggled about it. Of course she’d found men handsome, but she’d never sleep with them just because of that. Brodie Hayes was different. With the crook of his finger…she drew in a deep breath. Weak and pliable she wasn’t.

“Ma’am?”

His voice was deep with a true Texas drawl that tightened her toes even more and sent her pulse into orbit. But somehow she managed to find her vocal cords.

“I was looking for the Circle C Ranch.” As a private investigator, she was used to thinking fast.

He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“I must have gotten the directions wrong.” She hated to play stupid, but sometimes it worked. “I’ll call my friend to see where I turned wrong.”

He just dipped his head in acknowledgement.

She’d hoped for some sort of conversation or introduction, but none came so she walked toward her car. She had no intention of leaving though. Getting in, she waited until he disappeared inside. Large oak trees shaded the house and the dogs trotted to one and lay down. A light breeze stirred the stifling heat.

A plan formed in her mind. If she could get something with his DNA on it, then Brodie wouldn’t have to know about Helen Braxton. It would save him some heartache. Counting to ten, she got out, marched to the front door and knocked.

He opened it immediately and her heart did a nervous flip-flop. If they could package masculinity, Brodie Hayes’s picture would be on the bottle. She was getting tired of that female reaction. He probably encountered it every day. He was just a man. Get over it, she told herself. She had a job to do.

“I’m sorry to bother you again, but my cell’s not working. May I please use your phone?”

“Sure.” He opened the door wider and she stepped into his home. She followed him through a foyer into a
large den with a stone fireplace, hardwood floors and overstuffed leather furniture. A large plasma TV almost covered one wall and plaques, trophies, belt buckles and numerous items from his rodeo days were displayed in a large glass case that covered another wall.

She was taking in her surroundings, but trying to be discreet when he handed her a cordless phone.

“Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with my cell. I can’t get a signal.”

“That happens sometimes.”

She was getting the impression he was a man of few words. Engaging in a friendly chat wasn’t going to happen. Why wasn’t he curious or intrigued by a strange woman on his doorstep?

She had no choice but to place a call. She poked out her home number, hoping Naddy would be outside smoking another cigarette. Her luck didn’t hold. Naddy answered on the second ring.

“Nad, this is Alex. I’m afraid I’m lost. Could you please give me the directions again?”

“Who is this?” She heard the confusion in Naddy’s voice.

“Yes, I know. I’m always getting lost. But I’m a city girl and these country roads are so confusing.”

“I’m hanging up because you’re not making any sense. I get confused enough on my own.”

“You know me, and please don’t use a dumb blonde joke.”

“Oh. You’re stalling for time or staking out a place somewhere.” Bless her, Naddy finally got it.

“Yes. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Whatever, child. I got work to do.”

Naddy hung up and Alex did the same, handing the phone to Brodie, who had clicked on the six o’clock news. She hadn’t even made a blip on his male radar. Her fragile ego took a nosedive and she brought her thoughts back to the job she was here to do. Get DNA evidence.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes trailing toward the rodeo memorabilia. “Are those yours?”

He glanced at her. “Yes.”

She walked closer, staring at several silver and gold buckles. “So you’re a rodeo rider?”

“Used to be. Just a cowboy now. “

She held out her hand. “I’m Alex Donovan.”

Brodie took her hand, it was soft yet strong. Just like the lady, he thought. The moment he looked into her brown eyes he knew she wasn’t a casual type gal. “Nice girl” was written all over her pretty face—this was the type of woman he normally steered clear of. Women who wanted commitment, forever and a part of his soul in the bargain.

He chose women who didn’t get their hearts broken when he walked away, because that’s who he was—a walk-away type guy. His friends, Colter and Tripp, had found true love but he knew that wasn’t in the cards for him. Nesting wasn’t in his nature. Risking his life and staying on the move was. His father had said those were the qualities of a soldier, but he was a cowboy to the core.

Although it was true that these days he’d settled in one place. Risking his life was a day on the freeway pulling a horse trailer. Since his retirement from the
rodeo, his life had changed, he had to admit that. But the woman hadn’t been made who could make him think about marriage.