Rustler's Moon (27 page)

Her cell rang.

She picked up, smiling. “Wilkes. Did you find my cat?” She’d dropped by his place twice and both times they couldn’t find Doc Holliday. Vern swore he’d seen the cat around and all Doc’s food had disappeared from the porch, so Angie wasn’t too worried.

“Yes, I finally found the darn cat. He was up in the barn loft playing poker with my wild cats. He’s okay, but I think he’s about half drunk, because he’s walking funny.”

“Don’t let him out of the house again.”

“I won’t. How about I bring him over to your place when I pick you up for that dinner in Lubbock I promised you?”

She hesitated. “Would you consider dinner at my house? I haven’t really had a chance to cook there and it might be fun.”

“You mean just me and you alone? No one else to talk to. Nobody watching us. I might consider it. What time?”

“Seven.” She giggled. “And the only company we’ll have will be Doc.”

Angie thought all morning about what she’d cook and how Wilkes would look sitting at her little table in her little cabin. She even rushed home at lunch to put the sauce in the slow cooker so it could simmer all afternoon.

She’d also thought about their bargain. She had all the control and he’d said he’d welcome her kiss or touch at any time.

She’d always been shy, never knowing where she stood with a man. Some must have thought she wasn’t interested, others tried to move too far, too fast. One of her greatest fears in dating was that she’d make the first move only to find out that the guy didn’t see her in that light. Wilkes had made it plain how he felt about her and that she’d be the one to set the pace.

Every time they’d been together he’d found a way to touch her. At first she hadn’t seen the attraction. His first kiss was hesitant when they’d meet. But the last one had warmed her to the bone. She’d relived it several times a day since that night, but it was his touch that caused the slow heat moving through her body. His hand on her waist warming her even through her clothes. The way he leaned into her as if he wanted no space between them. And when he pulled her against him, their communication became full body contact.

Angie stood and turned down the heater. It might be a cold day, but she didn’t even need to wear a sweater. Tonight, she’d surprise him. She’d take that power he’d given her.

She might not be long-legged sexy Lexie Davis, but she might try to be bold for once in her life. After all, Wilkes wanted her. He’d never suggested that she change a single thing. He wanted her just the way she was.

For the first time in her life, Angie felt beautiful.

By the time she left work an hour earlier than usual, the rain had slowed. She stopped for fresh vegetables and a bottle of wine, then decided to drop in at Forever Keepsake to borrow as many quilt frames as they could loan her. The museum’s theme of Country Christmas was taking off with all the volunteer staff. If they planned to have everything up by the first week in December for the party, the ladies auxiliary had to start now.

The Franklin sisters greeted her with hugs. They were so excited to be able to help. As they worked wrapping old frames up to fit into her van, one of the sisters asked her how Wilkes was.

Angie didn’t want to talk about their strange bargain, so she picked another subject. “He was in Austin for a few days last week trying to help Yancy Grey with a project he’s been working on. He’s looking for anyone who might know who owns the Stanley house. You know, the old fallen-down place out on the north road.”

Both sisters stilled, listening to every word Angie said.

“Yancy feels a pull from the old place and has no idea if it’s a blessing or a curse. He says he’s got to find out what happened to the family who lived there. It seems to have become a quest.”

Both sisters stared, wide-eyed as if Death walked across in front of their store window. Rose Franklin finally asked, “You’re talking about the old place they call the Gypsy House?”

Angie nodded.

“I don’t know Yancy, just seen him from a distance a few times, but I think he would be better off to forget about that place.” Rose looked frightened. “Bad blood must have been sprinkled there. It would do no one any good to look into the house’s history.”

Angie decided she’d better agree. “You are probably right, but he’s determined. Do you two know anything about the place?” She knew they did. She could see it in their faces and body language. The two sweet ladies seemed to be on guard.

Rose straightened. “This Yancy’s not from around here. I heard he just rode in on a bus and stopped here by accident. That old house should have been torn down years ago.”

“I’ll tell Yancy Grey that,” Angie said. “But I don’t think it will stop him from searching.”

“Did you say this Yancy’s last name is Grey?” Rose asked slowly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone say before. Folks just call him Yancy and we all know who they are talking about.”

“Yes. He’s Yancy Grey.” Angie might not be able to read minds but she knew something was going on between the sisters. It was almost as if they were silently passing invisible notes. Rose had her top chin stuck out as far as it would go and Daisy looked as though she was about to cry.

Angie swore the air in the little shop changed. She took a gulp while some oxygen remained. These two were hiding something.

“All right, ladies, tell me what you know about it,” Angie said, unsure if she wanted to hear whatever they hid from her. “Any detail will help Yancy,” she said as she thought about whether a family had been killed there or devil worshippers had mutilated animals in the house that called to him.

Rose shook her head, then turned to her sister for support. They seemed to be reading each other’s mind again, only now it seemed more like an argument. Finally, Rose straightened like a judge about to pronounce a sentence. “We’ll tell the horrible story once and only once if it will help. Evil lives in that place, and anyone interested in it needs to know that.”

Daisy didn’t look at her sister as she whispered, “No. Let what happened be dead and buried, Rose. It’s none of our concern.”

“It needs to be told.” Rose folded her arms. “If only for Yancy’s sake. If he’s a Grey, he might need to know it.”

“All right. Once. Then the story dies.”

Angie stared at Rose. “Can you two come to my house in an hour? I’ll have Yancy there if you think it’s something he needs to hear.” She wasn’t sure their tale would help Yancy, but Angie didn’t want to be alone when the sisters told what they knew. “I’m making supper for Wilkes and you’d be most welcome to join us.” If the sisters were only telling the story once, she needed others there.

“We’ll be out to your place as soon as we lock up tonight,” Rose said.

“And we’ll bring dessert. It’s only proper if we stay for dinner,” Daisy added.

Angie studied the pair. How bad could this story be if no one else in town knew it? The Franklin sisters were probably blowing it up.

An hour later, Wilkes, Yancy and Dan Brigman all stood in her tiny living room. Three long-legged men in boots all tried to fit into her furniture. Wilkes finally gave up trying to look comfortable and simply stood leaning against the wall.

Angie faced them all with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Now, don’t any of you frighten Rose and Daisy or I swear you’ll regret this.”

None of them looked bothered by the threat. Dan even laughed, probably imagining a fight between the three of them and the two middle-aged ladies.

Wilkes shook his head. “Angie, honey, I’ve known the Franklin sisters all my life. They love spreading gossip about everyone in town. I’ll be shocked if there is one story about this town that they haven’t told a hundred times.”

Dan agreed. “They file a police report on at least one person in town a month. Usually crimes they haven’t actually witnessed, but they’ve heard about or suspect. Things like Dorothy serving cat food at the café on Wednesday, or the principal stealing trash cans out of the roadside parks, or the volunteer fire department watching X-rated movies on their training nights. They are always wanting me to go out and investigate something they think is going on.”

Angie was beginning to think she’d fallen for a trick. Maybe the Franklin sisters were just telling stories. “What do you think, Yancy?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know the ladies except by sight, but I’m hoping they know something, because I’m out of ideas. The sheriff says I can’t explore the place without permission from the owner, so all I can do is hope information falls in my lap. But don’t worry, Angie, I’ll be nice to them. I can smell supper cooking and hope I’ll be invited.”

“You’re all invited. I made enough spaghetti for a dozen.” She wanted to tell them about how her mother always made a big pot of sauce on rainy days, then froze servings for meals later, but she doubted the three men would care.

Wilkes moved to the kitchen as if to help. She handed him the spoon and nodded toward the pot of sauce.

When Dan and Yancy started talking about the problems at the roadside parks, Wilkes leaned close to Angie and whispered, “This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for tonight.”

“Me, either, but this is exciting. Just think, you might find out something about this town that you don’t know. I’ve got the feeling the sisters have never told this story before. Daisy looked like she didn’t want Rose to mention anything.”

He shook his head. “Not likely.”

Ten minutes later the sisters rushed in. Their little folding umbrellas did nothing to keep the rain off their tent dresses. The wet material clung like shrink-wrap over bodies rich in bulges.

The men moved away from the fireplace so the sisters could sit close to dry their clothes. Angie served cocoa as they all pulled up kitchen chairs and sat down in the little living room. The rain outside, the fireplace crackling, the warm smells of home cooking, all made for a night of storytelling, but from the tears sparkling in Daisy Franklin’s eyes Angie wasn’t sure this would be a tale anyone would want to hear.

For a few minutes they talked of nothing, the day, the rain, the upcoming holidays. Then, as if he were the judge over the proceedings, Dan took the lead. “Miss Franklin,” he said to Rose, who usually did most of the talking for the two sisters, “we understand you have news about the old house on the north road.”

Rose nodded. “I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Very few know this story and I’ll only tell it once. I wouldn’t be telling it now except Yancy’s last name is Grey, so my sister and I finally agreed that he has a right to know.”

Angie saw Wilkes roll his eyes as if to hint they were playing it up a little too much.

“Take your time, Miss Franklin,” Dan encouraged. “We’re looking for anything you might know about the old Stanley house or the people who once lived there.”

Everyone waited except Daisy Franklin. The poor woman looked as if she might bolt. This subject was obviously not one she wanted to talk about. Her little umbrella made a clicking sound like a tiny chime as she twisted it back and forth in her hands.

“I’ll start with what everyone in town probably knows.” Rose ignored her sister’s panic. “Almost thirty years ago my sister Daisy and I fell in love with the same boy. He worked for our father.” She looked at Daisy. “We had a small dairy farm and he mostly made deliveries. Rose or I would go along and collect the money. He had a kindness about him that made us both feel special just to know him.”

“What was his name?” Dan asked.

“His name was Galen Stanley. His family could trace their roots all the way back to the original folk who were among the first settlers. He said his great-great-grandfather had been the first blacksmith in the area.

“Galen was a good person, but something was wrong with his old man. He’d served time in prison, and most said he wasn’t right in the head after that. He’d grown up with the Grey boys down the road but they had a falling-out twenty years before when they were all young and running wild. Poor farm kids with nothing to do.”

Daisy interrupted. “We don’t know why the two families hated each other. That happened before Rose and I were born.”

Rose nodded and continued, “As the years passed, the two families grew to hate each other more and more.”

Daisy sliced in again. “Teachers used to make sure there were no Greys and Stanleys in the same class.”

Yancy moved to the edge of his chair. “I’m a Grey. Maybe it’s the hate I feel when I walk near the old house if it was owned by the Stanleys. Only, I’ve never heard of any Greys or Stanleys who live here. Seems like if they were both big families they’d have some descendants.”

“There ain’t any anymore,” Daisy whispered. “Left more than twenty-five years ago, I’m guessing.”

No one commented on Yancy’s speculation about why he might sense hate from the house, and Rose continued, “Galen’s father was a mean, mean man. He was hard on his only child. We all saw it. Even when he was a kid, Galen would come to school all beat-up. Not from just a whipping or a slap, but deep bruises that lay on top of each other.”

Daisy decided she wanted to break in again. She waved her hand until her sister noticed her and let her have the floor. “My mother said Galen’s father got messed up on drugs in the early sixties. The house he’d inherited was known for wild parties. But by the time Galen came along, his dad had straightened up some. He’d married a girl fifteen years younger, claimed he wanted her young so he could finish raising her right. No one in town saw her much after she married. She had Galen within a year. There were no other children. Word was she miscarried a few times. Some claimed she fell a lot.

“Galen was a good kid despite his mean father. Tried to do what was right, made good grades, but it wasn’t easy with a drunk for a dad. When he was seventeen, he fell hard for a girl who claimed her heritage was Gypsy, too. She was from the family the Stanleys hated. She was a Grey.”

Tears slid down Daisy’s cheek as she continued. “Story goes that Galen and the girl ran off one night. Their fathers set aside the feud and went after them. When they found them, the account was told to my father that they stripped the girl and tied her to the front of Galen’s pickup so she had to watch them take turns beating him. Every time he’d fall or crawl out of the headlight beams, one of the men would drag him back so she could see how bad he looked. His own father snapped a bone in Galen’s arm just to hear her scream. She passed out before the beating was over. If she knew what happened next, she never said.