Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue (24 page)

“You dumb shit,” John Patrick said. “You’re sitting on top of one of the richest gas pockets they’ve found since the Barnett Shale around Fort Worth. Your mineral rights are worth millions.”

Justin could only blink while his brain tried to absorb what he had just heard. The business card left on his screen door suddenly made sense. Unfortunately, now, the friendship and concern his brother-in-law had shown him in the past few months also made sickening sense. Had Rachel’s spirit come because she was trying to tell him this news?

“You want the truth?” John Patrick went on. “The truth is I’ve got plans. Big plans. And big plans need big money. You think I’m gonna live where I’m living, do what I’m doing, to my dying day? Because if you do, you’d better think again.”

“You aren’t planning on leaving Felicia. Her dad would kill you.”

“Let him try. That tightwad ol’ sonofabitch has never done a thing for me, but if I tell him I’m at the front of the line to get a piece of real estate with gas and oil rights, ol’ Boots will co-sign for me. Then, when the money starts rolling in from the royalties, I can pay off the loan and get free of Boots and his daughter both.”

“But there must be other pieces of real estate you can buy. Why my place?”

“’Cause I know for damn sure the gas is there. I know a woman who’s a geologist. She showed me the seismology reports months ago. Hell, man, I can’t fuck around forever. I want to get going on my plans.”

“Don’t you know I would’ve helped you? If you had just asked me.”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ point,” John Patrick said, his voice rising. “I don’t want anybody’s help. I can do it myself.” His shoulders sagged and he crumpled against the chair. “My whole damn life I’ve been telling people I could do it myself.”

Justin looked at the diminutive man and his heart went out to him. He’d never before considered how difficult life might have been for him. Living in a part of the world where everything was supposed to be bigger, he had surely been the brunt of jokes his entire life.

“What are these big plans you’re talking about?”

“Brother, I intend to build the biggest honky-tonk in West Texas. On a par with Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth. West Texas needs something like that. I know you’re pure as the driven snow, Justin, but surely to God you’ve been to Billy Bob’s.”

Justin felt his jaw drop. Indeed he had been in the Fort Worth honky-tonk once or twice. And every time he had gotten lost. Jesus, it covered three acres. It had thirty-two different bars. And John Patrick intended to re-create it in Odessa, Texas? “Uh, are you sure about this, J. P.?”

“Hell, yes, I’m sure,” John Patrick answered. “I’m gonna get celebrities in. I figure people will come all the way from El Paso. New Mexico, even. I’m gonna introduce myself to Tag Freeman. You know Tag Freeman’s place in Midland, don’t you? I’m gonna see if ol’ Tag can get some of his rodeo celebrity friends to make appearances.”

Tag Freeman was a world-famous rodeo bullfighter who had founded the family-oriented restaurant, Tag Freeman’s Double-Kicker Barbecue and Beer, in Midland. It was a rip-roaring success. Justin had eaten there many times. The man was a celebrity, for sure. “Well, yes, but—”

“I might even get ol’ Tag to go in with me on a little barbecue joint inside the place,” John Patrick said.

Just recalled his last visit to Billy Bob’s, where he had indeed eaten barbecue brought in from one of Fort Worth’s best barbecue establishments. He supposed John Patrick could have a similar arrangement if Tag Freemen agreed to go along.

“I hear ol’ Tag’s best buds with Quint Matthews. You know who Quint Matthews is, don’t you?”

The more John Patrick talked, the brighter a light glowed in his eyes. Justin could see his brother-in-law was dead serious. “You mean the guy who’s been world champion bull rider three times? Everyone knows who Quint Matthews is. At least, everyone in Texas.”

“Exactly,” John Patrick exclaimed. “Between him and Tag, they’re bound to know the whole rodeo industry. Not to mention country western music stars.”

Justin studied John Patrick for a few seconds. Who was Justin Sadler to throw cold water on any man’s dreams? “Tell you what,” he said. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you home tonight and after you sober up, we can sit down and discuss all of this. You can give me more details of your plans. You’ve got a better business head than I do. If I’m about to
become a millionaire I can’t think of anyone who could give me better business advice.”

John Patrick studied him for a long time, then suddenly reached into his pocket and produced a key fob. He handed it to Justin. “Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

“I’ll be back in five minutes. Wait for me here.”

A
s soon as Justin disappeared from the barroom, John Patrick hopped off the barstool, leveled a glare at the couple, who had snickered at him, and threw a wad of bills on the bar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his second set of keys. He had never needed anyone to drive him home before and tonight wasn’t going to be the first time.

Weaving as he went, he walked outside and made his way to the parked Cayenne, cursing himself for the stupid error he had made telling Justin his plans and disclosing the natural gas find. He might have had too much to drink, but he wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t comprehend the consequences of what he had done and said.

But there was no point in beating himself up over it.
Justin would have found out about the windfall eventually, no matter what happened. If not from the woman from El Paso, then any day now, from a representative of the drilling company who would make contact.

Reaching his SUV, he stopped, leaned on the fender and drew a deep breath of unpolluted air. The cool crispness was revitalizing. And as the air filled his lungs, a new plan began formulating in his brain.

Justin was known as a good guy. In fact, John Patrick wished he had a dollar for every time he had heard someone say, “Justin Sadler is such a good guy.” Bullshit. As far as John Patrick was concerned, Justin Sadler was a hick and a naive redneck. Why, if he, John Patrick, had been born with Justin’s height and only half his hair and good looks, he would rule the fuckin’ world.

But if Justin wanted to sit down and talk business, John Patrick would do it. And if Justin wanted to help him out, John Patrick would allow him to do that, too. His well-meaning brother-in-law had been right about one thing—he did have a better business head on his shoulders. And cooking the books would be a snap. He would soon have the money he needed and no one would be the wiser.

He left the hotel parking lot, tires squealing. Pulling onto the highway he laughed at the turn of events. Yep, just when you thought life had handed you a bad dose of medicine, a cure came along.

Justin spent his whole trip back to Sophia’s room digesting the news about the natural gas find. His steps carried
a distinct buoyancy. Everything around him seemed even more surreal and out of focus than it had during and after the séance. But beneath it all a thrill lurked. If John Patrick could be believed, Justin Evan Sadler was a millionaire.

He rapped lightly on Sophia’s door to warn her he was back, then inserted the key and went inside. Sophia was under the covers, lying on her side, watching TV.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “You look like you just scratched off the winning lottery ticket.”

Justin looked at her for a few seconds then burst into laughter. “In a way, I did. Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure.”

“Throw some clothes on, would you? I ran into John Patrick in the bar. He’s had too much to drink and I need to drive him home. As you might guess, someone driving drunk has a bigger effect on me than it might on other people. If you’d follow me in the rental, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she said, sitting up.

Justin started for the door. “I’ll wait outside while you dress.”

“I’ll be right out.”

He waited only a few minutes outside the room before Sophia emerged, combing her fingers through her long hair, then pulling it back into a long pony tail. “I’ve scrubbed my face for bed already. I must look a fright. Don’t look at me too closely.”

Justin restrained himself from telling her how beautiful he found her. He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go.”

Entering the bar, Justin looked around. No John Patrick.
But money had been scattered on the bar in a haphazard manner.

“Excuse me,” he said to Sophia and left her side, heading for the door marked
DUDES
. Entering and exiting before the door had time to close, he returned to Sophia’s side. “He’s not in the men’s room.”

“Maybe he needed to get some air.”

“Bet you’re right. Let’s go outside and see.”

Quickstepping, Justin led the way to the outside parking lot. Again, no sign of John Patrick or his high-powered SUV. “Damn, I don’t know where he parked.”

“Do you have the keys?”

“Yes,” he said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out the Porsche fob. He dangled it in the air.

“Does it have a button for the lights or the horn?”

“Of course.” He smacked his forehead with his palm.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Women are taught this practically from birth. Obviously you haven’t lost you car in a packed mall’s parking lot.”

Justin raised the key high and pressed the buttons, but heard no horn, saw no flashing lights. He jogged to the side of the building, with Sophia right behind him. He saw no sign of John Patrick or his car anywhere. “You’ve got the rental’s keys with you, right?”

Sophia dug in her purse and pulled out the tagged ring. “Here they are.”

“Great. Give them to me. We’ve got to catch a Porsche.”

Sophia scrambled into the passenger seat of the compact rental, Justin scooted behind the wheel, started the car and
accelerated in the direction that John Patrick would most likely have taken to reach home. Justin knew the Aero rental would never catch up with the Cayenne. His only hope was John Patrick hadn’t opened up the SUV’s powerful engine. Unfortunately, he also knew the driver loved nothing more than pushing anything to its limit.

He toyed with the idea of calling the highway patrol, but decided he preferred catching up with John Patrick and getting him to pull over. Lucky for all, the nighttime traffic on the West Texas highways was scarce. He and Sophia had met only one car traveling in the opposite direction.

He unclipped his cell phone and handed it to Sophia. “Locate John Patrick’s number and call him for me. If we can get him, maybe I can talk him into stopping.”

After a few seconds Sophia said, “Got it. Sorry it took so long. I’m not familiar with this phone.”

Taking it from her, Justin listened to the burrs, his hopes diminishing as he heard each one. When John Patrick’s outgoing message for voice mail engaged, he snapped the phone shut and returned it to the holder clipped to his belt. “Damn. He’s not answering.”

“Maybe he’s home already,” Sophia said.

“I hope not. He lives about five miles farther north than my place and another five or more off the highway. If he’s already home, he flew under the radar.”

“Is there someplace he’d go besides home?”

Justin laughed sardonically. “Oooh, yeah, but I don’t know all of those addresses.” A few beats of silence passed, with Justin thinking of the inebriated man who had taken
Rachel’s life. He swallowed hard. “I hate to think he’s putting someone’s life in jeopardy. I’ll drive as far as his house. If his vehicle isn’t there, I’ll call the DPS.

“That’s probably best,” Sophia said softly.

They rode in silence until they reached the turnoff that led to John Patrick’s house. Justin said a silent prayer that the familiar black Porsche would be parked where it usually was when John Patrick was home—on the circular drive in front of the house. Rachel had told him once that she thought her brother did that so that he could make a fast getaway if he needed to. But when the Daly home came into Justin’s headlight range, his hopes were dashed. He saw no sign of the Cayenne and drove back to the main highway.

“Let me try his cell one more time.” He reached for his phone again and keyed in the stored number. He waited for an answer that didn’t come.

“What about calling his house?”

“I don’t want to upset his wife needlessly. I’d rather call the troopers. If it turns out he’s home and parked in the garage or something, then no harm’s done. On the other hand, if he’s still out driving around, they’ll find him.” After a long, guilt-laden pause, he added, “And they’ll nail him on a DUI. He could go to jail.”

Sophia reached over and touched his forearm. Her touch had a soothing effect, easing the conflict he felt. “I know it’s hard for you to call them, but it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah. Lives could be at stake. And don’t I know that better than anyone.” Keying in 9-1-1, he gave the operator the information and was thanked for his call and his service
to the community, but he ended the call feeling more heel than hero.

“I know you feel bad, but you had no choice,” Sophia said. “You had to do it.”

Justin sent a sideways glance at his passenger. Was she reading his mind and thoughts? Was she capable of that?

“I didn’t read your mind,” she replied. “I don’t have the power to do that. But I do think you’re the kind of man who wouldn’t take enjoyment from a situation like this.”

“I appreciate that,” Justin said. “Say, uh, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re about a mile from the entrance to my place. I’m feeling better now and if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll just—”

“Don’t apologize. It makes perfect sense you want to go home. I’ve had a wonderful evening. Let’s just pretend we had a date and I’m taking you home.”

Justin chuckled. “I suppose that would be in keeping with the way things are done these days, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s what I hear,” Sophia said, laughing too.

With his gate in sight, Justin slowed. He crossed the cattle guard and eased up the winding driveway. His headlights spotlighted his home and much to his utter disbelief, there, in front of
his
house, sat the Porsche, driver’s door open, lights on. As Justin came to a stop behind the SUV, he could hear the motor purring like a contented cat.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t even think to look here.”

“At least he’s off the road,” Sophia said with a sigh.

“That’s a plus.” He switched off the ignition. “Looks like I’ll be babysitting tonight.”

“I’ll stay just long enough to make sure everything’s all right.”

Justin dreaded what lay ahead. He had been cordial to John Patrick in the bar, but after the revealing conversation, he didn’t know how long he could maintain that façade. He opened the door and slid out.

At the Porsche he stopped, leaned inside, and killed the engine and lights. John Patrick might have no concern for the price of gas, but Justin didn’t see the point in the waste. As he closed the door, his eyes landed on his own front porch, bathed in the weak glow of the porch light he had turned on when he and Sophia left earlier. There, lying face down and motionless was a body. Justin recognized the clothing. John Patrick.

Passed out
, Justin thought. He expelled a breath and left the Cayenne. He walked over and gently nudged his brother-in-law with his toe, “Hey J. P., get up.” No response. He nudged again, a little harder. “Get up, J. P. You can’t sleep it off out here on my porch. The coyotes will drag you off.”

Sophia came alongside him. “Are you sure he’s all right?”

Justin looked at her. “I assume he’s passed out.”

Squatting, Justin made a visual inspection of his brother-in-law, looking for signs of trauma. He picked up his wrist and felt for a pulse.

Taking his shoulder, he gently turned him over until he lay on his back. “Jesus,” he mumbled and dragged a nearby chair closer, raised John Patrick’s feet and placed them on the chair. Without a word to Sophia, he grabbed his phone and for the second time in the evening, called 9-1-1.

“What’s wrong?” Sophia asked after he disconnected.

“I don’t know, but he’s barely breathing and his pulse is so faint I had trouble finding it. The other night, I thought he was lying about the cardiac problem, but maybe he wasn’t.”

“Shouldn’t he be covered up?”

“Yeah, what was I thinking? I’ll be right back.” Justin went into the house and grabbed the first thing he found—the afghan from the couch. Rachel’s afghan.

Outside, Sophia took the throw from his hands and spread it over John Patrick’s still body. She pressed her hand against his forehead for several seconds. Justin couldn’t see her face, but her body language told him something was happening. “If it’s his heart, I doubt he’d be running a fever,” he said. “I think he feels clammy.”

Not moving from her place beside the unresponsive body, Sophia looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. “When the paramedics get here, be sure they understand that he’s suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder as well.”

Justin stared at her in disbelief.” Are you kidding? How? What do you know that I don’t?”

“Let’s just say that what this man has been through tonight, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

Justin didn’t say another word. He sank to the porch floor, his body pressed against John Patrick’s to keep him warm while they waited in silence. His imagination was running wild with what might have occurred, but for a reason he couldn’t understand, much less explain, he chose to not ask questions.

Every few minutes he picked up his unconscious brother-
in-law’s wrist and felt for a pulse. It was there, but barely. Still, he was alive. If Sophia hadn’t been here, Justin would have assumed it was his heart or that he had passed out from overdrinking. Could a person truly be shocked to the brink of death? He’d heard of it before, but never witnessed it.

In less than twenty minutes the wail of the ambulance’s siren pierced the night’s quiet. The horizon, black as velvet, displayed a splash of brilliant color. “Here they come,” Justin said.

He recognized the ambulance driver as Mike Greenwich, a man Justin had worked with many times. His partner was a young Mexican man Justin had never met. Both were removing paraphernalia from the back of the EMT unit when Justin approached. “Hi, Mike. Glad to see you.”

“Hey, man.” He gestured toward his partner. “This is Julio. He’s new.” He peered around Justin’s body. “I thought this was your address when the call came in. What’s going on?”

“I just got home and found my brother-in-law like this.” He tilted his head toward John Patrick’s still body.

“Is that a kid?” Julio asked, as the trio moved to the body.

“Naw, he’s a full-grown asshole,” Mike said. “What’d little Johnny do this time? Fall down and go boom?”

Mike and his companion laughed, but grew silent when Justin stopped them with an icy glare. “This is my wife’s brother, guys.” After a pause, he continued, “His pulse is faint and breathing is shallow. He’s cold and clammy to the touch. He’s been drinking heavily but no signs of vomitus, passageway is clear, no obstructions. Reflexes are normal
with no response to painful stimuli. Pupils are normal, not fixed and dilated. I don’t have a cuff here at my house, so I didn’t take his pressure.”