Red-Hot Texas Nights (10 page)

They'd had little more than a few suitcases and the clothes on their backs when they'd walked into James Harlin Tucker's home, but that fact had never bothered her parents. They'd had each other and as long as they'd been together, they'd been happy.

For the most part.

But Brandy hadn't missed the look of longing in her mother's eyes whenever she'd whipped up a few pies to bring in some extra money at Thanksgiving, or baked a dozen loaves of cranberry walnut bread to sell at the Christmas Bazaar.

Her baking hadn't just been a means to an end. It had been something she'd loved. Something she'd been proud of. Something she might have had an opportunity to actually pursue if she hadn't married so young and given up everything for her husband and children.

Brandy's hands tightened on the steering wheel as she pulled to a stop in front of the house. The place was dark except for the bare yellow bulb that flickered on the front porch, the driveway empty.

But then Brandy hadn't expected anything different. It was Saturday night, which meant Callie was with Brett, and Jenna … well, she was, hopefully, setting the record straight with Jase.

And Brandy was, as usual, alone.

She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to ignore the hum that vibrated along her nerve endings as she remembered the press of Tyler's mouth. She stiffened and pulled a box of leftover bread rolls from the backseat, along with a box of thumbprint cookies, before making her way to the steps. She was one shy of the front porch when she heard the echo of an engine. She set the bakery boxes on the porch and turned just as twin beams sliced through the darkness and bathed her in stark white light.

Her own gaze narrowed, her vision going blurry as she fought to see past the sudden plunge of headlights. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and excitement gunned through her as gravel crunched and brakes growled. The lights died and anticipation wound tight in her belly.

She blinked once, twice until her eyes adjusted and she could make out the silhouette of a man climbing down from the driver's side of a beige SUV.

Beige, not black. A beaten-up Suburban rather than a brand-spanking new, sleek diesel pickup.

The realization sliced through her and her anticipation took a nosedive while her unease snapped to attention.

“Hey there, Brandy.” Sheriff Hunter DeMassi's voice carried through the darkness a few moments before he stepped into the dim halo of porch light that pushed out into the yard. “Hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. I'm just getting home from work.” She waited while he stepped up onto the porch, the light turning him from a shadow to an actual man. “What can I do for you?”

Another search. That's what she expected. The sheriff had been out numerous times over the past few months to walk the path to the site of her granddad's old still. The place where he'd finally blown himself to smithereens after decades of making his own shine.

But then everybody makes mistakes, and while James Harlin had been every bit as good as his daddy and his granddaddy before him, he hadn't been the legend himself—
the
Elijah G. Sawyer—and so the odds had finally caught up to him. That, and his failing eyesight and withering liver had contributed to the tragedy. Both had made him slower and more susceptible to errors, and so he'd finally made one.

His last one.

She eyed the sheriff. He was just a few years older than she was. Tyler's age, to be more exact. Like Tyler, he was well over six feet, too. But that's where the similarities ended. His dark hair was cut much shorter than Tyler's, his face clean-shaven. He had golden eyes that caught the porch light and gleamed with an intensity that told her he hadn't shown up just to see how she was doing. There was something else driving him. Something far more serious.

“You can have another look out back if you want,” Brandy offered.

“No need.” He shook his head. “I'm here because there have been new facts that have come to light. See, we made a few arrests last month. Caught some moonshiners that were poaching on Sawyer land.”

She nodded. “I heard about that. You guys arrested Big Jimmy, didn't you?”

“Him and a few others working with him.” The sheriff nodded. “Since moonshining is a federal offense, Austin sent a crew out to go over the still site, and they found a few interesting pieces of evidence.”

“Such as?”

He didn't say anything for a long moment, as if picking and choosing just how much to tell her. “Your grandfather's DNA was found at the site,” he finally murmured.

“My grandfather had his own still. Why would he be nosing around at Big Jimmy's place?”

“You tell me. There's no denying the evidence. Some way, somehow, he was with Big Jimmy at his still at some point prior to his death. And we're not talking years. The weather would have washed away any old evidence. This was fresh. He paid a visit to that still not a week or two before he died.”

“That's crazy. My grandpa hated Big Jimmy.” James Harlin had hated most everyone who'd threatened his livelihood. Not that Big Jimmy had cooked up hooch that good. But he had gone so far as to try to push his stuff on James Harlin's customers, and so her granddad had seen the man as a threat. At least he'd cussed up a blue streak whenever anyone had made mention of him.

“Maybe Granddad went there to threaten him. You know how territorial he was.”

“That's what the Feds are thinking. The thing is, this place was deep in the woods. Far enough out that James Harlin would have had a devil of a time getting out there. It seems he could have run across Big Jimmy at any number of places without having to go to so much trouble. The diner. The VFW Hall. Cavanaugh's General Store. There are a dozen places that don't involve crawling onto a four-wheeler and roughing it three miles over raw terrain. Did he have access to an off-road vehicle?”

“Are you kidding? If his truck couldn't get the job done, then he didn't bother.” She glanced toward the old barn that sat several yards from the house. “There's the old tractor, but it died years ago.”

“Which means it's doubtful he headed out there on his own.”

She eyed him. “What are you trying to say?”

“That something's off.” He seemed to think. “Something doesn't add up.”

“Which makes you wonder about everything that does add up,” she added for him. He didn't respond, but she didn't miss the gleam in his eyes that said she'd hit the nail on the head. “You're thinking there was more to the explosion, aren't you?”

“No, no,” he said much too quickly to ease her mind. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I went over the scene myself and didn't find anything that would indicate the explosion was anything other than a terrible accident. It's just…” He shook his head again. “I'm sure I'm just making a mountain out of an anthill.” He sat the hat back on his head. “But I'd still like to be sure. Maybe look around a little more just to ease my own mind.”

“Be my guest,” she said, motioning to the back. “But the dozers were already out plowing down everything so I can't say that you'll find much of anything besides crushed timber.”

“I'm not interested in poking around out back.” He shook his head. “I'd like to look around inside, if that's okay. Your grandfather's room, in particular.”

Because no one had even thought to go through his personal belongings. There'd been no reason to when all signs had pointed to a tragic accident and nothing more.

Until now.

The realization sent a whisper of unease through her. “Callie packed most everything away, but it's all boxed up in his bedroom.” While her older sister had worked up the courage to face her demons where their grandfather was concerned, Callie hadn't actually parted with any of his stuff. Rather, she'd left it for Brandy and Jenny to do away with as they saw fit. Since Jenna's idea of dealing with things was to look the other way, the boxes had been left to Brandy, who'd yet to decide between the local Goodwill or the church donation box. “You're welcome to have a look through them if you think there might be something helpful in there.”

“I'd appreciate that.” He waited while she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

She scooped up the white ball of fluff that met her and cuddled the yapping animal close while she motioned the sheriff in. “Hush, Jez,” she told the dog. “It's just the sheriff.” But Jez didn't care. She was a ballsy teacup–mutt mix that Jenna had brought home from the veterinary clinic, along with half a dozen other strays—two rabbits, two more monstrous dogs that lived on the back porch, and a small cat now camped out in the barn. While little more than a handful, Jez considered herself the ruler of the Tucker household and she meant to establish dominance.

Until the sheriff reached out a hand and tickled her behind the ears. The barking turned to panting and soon she was lapping at his fingers and wagging her tail excitedly.

“I think she likes you,” she told the sheriff as she led him down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed off the old hardwood floor the way they had done her entire life whenever she'd ventured to James Harlin's room.

Not that she'd made the trek very often.

He'd been a mean old coot and so Brandy had avoided him for the most part, just as he'd avoided her. Callie had been the pain in the ass, facing off with him, calling him out whenever she had the chance, and Jenna had been the chip-off-the-old-block, giving him a good chuckle with her wild and crazy ways. Meanwhile, Brandy had been invisible to him. The nonexistent middle child. Until he'd come looking for cookies to chase down his liquor, that is. But even then, he'd rarely made eye contact with her. As if looking at her bothered him even more than the damnable hemorrhoids he complained about so religiously.

She'd hoped to coax a smile from him with her famous gingerbread.

But James Harlin hadn't been capable of smiling. He'd gone to his grave with the same frown he'd worn throughout his life, leaving Brandy to wonder if he'd ever really liked anything.

Her cookies. Her.

That's why she'd yet to part with the boxes. Because she was still trying to make up her mind about him, just as she was trying to decide what to do with his stuff.

She pushed aside the thought and focused on the panting dog. “She definitely likes you,” she told the sheriff.

“What can I say? It's the animal magnetism.”

He grinned and she remembered their high school days when he'd asked her out a time or two and she'd turned him down. He'd been one of the few who hadn't written anything about her on the bathroom wall, and so she'd always liked him.

“This is it,” she said, showing him into the small room that her grandfather had occupied near the back of the house. She pushed open the door and flipped on the light. “Take your time.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I shouldn't be too long.”

She nodded. “I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.” She stalled for a split-second, drinking in the familiar smells of mothballs and moonshine that still permeated the small space. An empty Mason jar sat on the nightstand next to an old
Reader's Digest
and a half-empty pack of Juicy Fruit gum. The man had liked his gum as much as his shine and so it had been all too typical to find him smacking away in between sips during his TV time.

Her gaze hooked on the worn quilt that covered the full-size bed and she remembered James covered up to his neck on a particularly cold night, a jar of hooch next to him, a frown on his face.

Until she'd handed him one of her homemade cookies. The expression had slipped then for just a heartbeat. Not a full-blown smile, mind you. Just the hint of something besides his usual disdain.

Then he'd shifted his attention back to
Wheel of Fortune
and she'd been left to wonder if it had just been her imagination.

Or if maybe, just maybe, she wasn't invisible to him after all.

She shook away the past and turned to leave the sheriff to his work. Brandy spent the next half hour storing the extras she'd brought home from the bakery and cleaning up the mess Jenna had left in the kitchen. Her younger sister had never been strong on housework, not with Callie to pick up the slack. Since Callie had all but moved in with her fiancé and left Brandy and Jenna to fend for themselves, Brandy had taken over most of the domestic duties.

She cleaned the kitchen and was just picking up in the living room, Jez yapping at her heels, when the sheriff appeared in the doorway.

She arched an eyebrow. “Find anything helpful?”

“Not really. There sure are a lot of empty Bengay tubes.”

“I said Callie packed up.” She grinned. “I didn't say she threw anything away.” Her sister had had a hard enough time putting away the old man's belongings. She hadn't been able to bring herself to toss out anything. Brandy had promised to do that for her sister when she found the time. Which, thanks to the bakery's demanding hours, hadn't happened yet. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

He nodded. “Thanks for letting me look around. The Feds are probably right. James Harlin could be a determined SOB when he wanted to be. I'm sure he probably found a way out there to give those boys a piece of his mind for poaching on his business.”

Only he didn't sound so sure.

A fact that followed Brandy around for the next hour as she showered and changed and tried to get some much-needed sleep.

Tried
being the operative word.

Instead, she tossed and turned and thought about her granddad and the night of the explosion. There'd been nothing off about that night.

He'd gone out to work like always and she'd crawled into bed early in order to be at the bakery at the crack of dawn. She'd been sleeping like a rock, too, until the sound had rattled the walls. The next thing she knew, she was standing with her sisters, watching the flames lick at the pitch-black night while sirens wailed in the background.