Texas True (19 page)

Now Slade was dead and Lute had taken over his job. There was no way these events could've been random. They had to be connected to Slade's murder.

Since Lute had worked on the ranch, he would have known where Jasper kept the rifle. And he could easily have sneaked into the shed and taken it.

What would the sheriff say to all this when she told him? Natalie wondered.

W
ith Beau's arraignment less than a month away, Tori had arranged to meet both Beau and Will at the ranch instead of her office. Coming to the ranch meant more privacy and no interrupting phone calls, and she could spend time with her daughter once all the legal business was finished

Will studied her from his armchair. She sat curled on the couch, one foot tucked beneath her and her laptop balanced across her knees. Today she was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a soft cotton shirt with an open collar that framed her creamy throat. Her hair was loosely twisted and pinned to the crown of her head with a silver clip. She looked exactly the way Will had always liked her to look. Not that it made any difference. Even in jeans and sneakers, Tori was all business.

Will had suggested that Beau hire a big-name trial lawyer from someplace like Dallas. But Beau had chosen to stay with Tori. It had been a good idea, Will conceded. Tori was invested heart and soul in saving the man who was her daughter's uncle, her ex-husband's brother, and her own lifelong friend.

“So what did the sheriff say when you told him what we discovered at the crime scene?” Beau was referring to the fact that the shots from Jasper's rifle appeared to have been fired from directly above, most likely into a dead body.

Tori shook her head. “I'm afraid that didn't go as well as I'd hoped. He said it was an interesting idea, but the medical examiner's report was inconclusive. The only way to prove our claim would be to find evidence that Slade had died some other way.”

“Evidence we don't have,” Beau said. “But that doesn't mean we can't look for it. Right now with Axelrod set on closing his case against me, it may be our only choice.”

“Let's get back to that after I go over what Natalie told me.” Tori scanned the notes she'd typed in earlier. “Stella Rawlins has evidently been pulling Slade's strings for the past couple years. Last year she bailed him out of serious debt and took over the trucking business when he couldn't pay her back.”

Beau leaned forward in his chair. “That trucking business would be an ideal front for smuggling—drugs, guns, illegals, anything.”

“That's what I thought, too,” Tori said. “One of my contacts ran a background check on Stella. Her record's clean.”

“Which could mean she's smart enough to let other people do her dirty work,” Will said. “What about the bartender?”

“So far he's a mystery man. Nobody seems to know his real name.”

“If we can get a photo of him, I can get my friends at the DEA to run it,” Beau said. “Whoever the man is, I'm betting he's no angel. I never got a good look at his tattoos, but even at a distance they looked like prison work. If I had to guess who killed Slade, he'd be at the top of my list.”

“There's more here,” Tori said. “It seems Slade hired Lute at the trucking company.”

“Sky mentioned that,” Beau said.

“Did you also know that Stella promoted him to Slade's old job? Lute's running the place now. Natalie told me how he bragged about it.”

“Lute?” Will shook his head in disbelief. “That lazy little—”

“Natalie shouldn't be messing with those people,” Beau said. “They're dangerous. She needs to stay away, Tori.”

“Try telling Natalie that,” Tori said. “She's determined to help you any way she can. She read Axelrod the riot act for jumping to conclusions and ignoring other suspects. I talked to the sheriff this morning. He wasn't too happy about her meddling.”

“Is he still trying to prove I killed that poor girl, too?”

“I'm afraid so. He even suggested that I use your PTSD as a defense to help you avoid the death penalty. As far as he's concerned, the case is as good as closed.”

Beau exhaled raggedly. He'd done his best to stay calm and upbeat, but Will could tell the stress was beginning to wear on his brother.

“Let's look at the big picture,” Will said, changing the subject. “Lute was working here on the ranch. Beau fired him. Slade hired him. Slade was killed, Beau was framed for the murder, and Lute stepped into Slade's old job. What's the common denominator here?”

Beau shook his head. “It's Lute. But I can't believe he's got the guts to be a killer. My money's still on the bartender—for both of them.”

“You may be right,” Will said. “But even if Lute isn't our killer, I'd pick him for stealing Jasper's rifle, and maybe firing those shots into Slade, just to frame you. Either way, he's got to be up to his ears in this mess. If we could get him to tell us half of what he knows . . .”

“He sure as hell won't talk to me,” Beau growled. “And not to you either, big brother. Maybe Sky could twist his arm and convince him to come clean.”

“I know Sky wants to help. We can ask him what he thinks of the idea.” Will was preparing to say more when Erin came bounding in from the entry, eyes sparkling, ponytail flying. At the sight of her, something tightened around Will's heart.

“You've got to come see this!” She skipped over to the couch, seized her mother's hand, and reached for Will's. “Tesoro's learned to follow me! You come, too, Uncle Beau!”

Putting serious matters aside for now, they trailed her outside. Sky and Jasper were waiting by the paddock fence where the mares grazed with their foals. The palomino colt was growing fast, putting on weight and already losing his fuzzy baby look. His coat gleamed like liquid sunlight as he explored the wonders of fresh grass, clover, and new playmates. He was already bold enough to leave his mother's side, but he kept glancing back, as if to make sure she was still close by.

Erin climbed over the fence and walked confidently across the grass. She'd be all right, Will reassured himself. Mares could be protective of their babies, but these mares were used to her.

A dozen yards from the golden foal, she stopped, held out her hand, and gave a low whistle. He raised his head and pricked his ears. “Come, Tesoro,” she said softly. “Come here.”

The colt nickered and took a step toward her. Murmuring encouragement, she kept her hand out until he came close enough to nuzzle her fingers. “Good boy.” She stroked his neck. “Such a good boy. Let's go for a walk.”

Turning she took a few steps, then glanced back. The foal scampered after her, following like a puppy.

“I'll be damned,” Beau muttered. “How'd she get him to do that, Sky?”

A rare smile lit Sky's chiseled face. “It's the imprinting. That's why Erin needed to handle him right after he was born. Now she's like family to that foal.”

Sensing that her baby was getting too far away, the mare whinnied nervously. Tesoro paused, looked around, then wheeled and raced back to his mother. Laughing, Erin trotted back toward the fence.

For the flicker of a moment, Will felt Tori's eyes on him.

Turning away from the others, he beckoned Sky aside. “It looks like we're going to need your help,” he said.

 

Sky was headed into town on two vital errands. The first was to find Lute and lean on him hard enough to get some evidence that might help Beau. Not much chance of that, Sky feared. If Lute was criminally involved in Slade Haskell's murder—either as the killer or as an accessory to the crime—he wasn't likely to fess up. And even if he was innocent, the young fool hated Beau too much to offer any kind of help.

Sky figured the best he could hope for was getting Lute to admit to stealing Jasper's rifle.

When he stopped by Haskell Trucking half an hour before closing, he was informed Lute was on the road, hauling a load of hay to a Mexican ranch. The older man at the front desk was courteous enough to tell Sky that the trip usually took about three days and that he was welcome to come back after that.

Sky thanked him and left. The Blue Coyote would be open by now, so he could tackle his second mission. But he'd be smart to wait until the place was busy enough for him to click a photo of the bartender without being noticed. Meanwhile there was time to kill. He treated himself to a double decker and a shake at Burger Shack, picked up a few needed odds and ends at the hardware store, and paid a visit to a wheelchair-bound man who fashioned hand-tooled custom saddles in his home workshop.

By the time he left, it was dark outside. He drove to the Blue Coyote, thinking he would just snap a picture or two and leave. The parking lot was almost full, but he found an empty spot next to a shiny black Corvette, elegantly small and as sleek as a bullet, with a leather interior. The car wasn't new, but it was a classic, in mint condition. He'd never seen the car before, but the pricey vehicle looked much too fine for anybody in Blanco Springs. Sky couldn't help being curious about the owner.

Inside, the bar was noisy and crowded. The tables were full, but Sky managed to slip into the one vacant booth. A half-empty glass with a lipstick print on the rim sat on the opposite side of the table, but its owner appeared to have left, so it seemed all right to stake his claim.

His eyes scanned the customers—pretty much all locals. No sign of anyone who might be driving a racy black convertible. But the skinhead bartender was working, and that was why he'd come.

The man behind the bar was too busy to notice that he was being photographed. Within the next few minutes, Sky was able to get three good facial shots with his phone and send them to Beau. Mission accomplished, he was about to get up and leave when he found his feet blocked by a pair of elegantly narrow, hand-tooled Western boots that looked as if they'd never known a speck of Texas dust.

“You're sitting in my booth, cowboy.” The husky female voice sounded more upper-class East Coast than down-home Texas.

Sky took his time answering. His gaze traveled upward, taking in the length of her legs and the way the soft designer denim fit every curve. Her white linen blouse, sheer enough to reveal glimpses of the lacy bra underneath, was tucked in at the waist and secured by a silver-studded concha belt that she'd probably bought at some snootified place. The lady was about as far from Blanco Springs as you could get, which made him wonder what the hell she was doing here.

“Sorry, I didn't see your brand on the booth,” he said.

“It's right there.” She pointed to the glass. Her copper-hued hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders. Her fine features were offset by a ripe, sensual mouth. She was young, he realized, younger than she was acting. “Can't a lady even go to the loo without giving up her seat?” she demanded.

Go to the loo?
No, she definitely wasn't from around here.

“There are two seats.” Sky gave her a hint of a smile. “Sit down. If you'll forgive me, I'll buy you a refill on that beer.”

She slid into the empty side of the booth. Her eyes were the color of a pretty little agate stone that Sky had once found in a streambed, green-gold with sparks of copper. “Better not,” she said. “This one's my third, and I have to drive home. In fact, I was about to leave, but that was before you showed up. Here”—she shoved the half-empty glass toward him—“you can finish it for me.”

Sky's pulse kicked up a notch. If this beauty was playing a game, he wasn't about to leave until he understood the rules.

“As long as we're here, I guess we might as well introduce ourselves. I'm—”

“No.” She cut him off. “No names. It's more fun that way.”

A red flag went up in Sky's mind. “Jealous husband?” he asked, noting her ringless finger.

She shook her head. “More like an overprotective father. That's all you need to know. I'm twenty-two and he treats me like I'm fourteen, always blathering on about keeping my reputation spotless so I can find a suitable husband. Tonight we had words about the issue. Things got a bit heated and”—she shrugged, the lace bra shifting beneath the thin white linen shirt—“here I am.”

“So, do you plan on going home anytime soon?” Sky took a sip of her beer, placing his mouth over the lipstick print.

Her direct gaze held a seductive twinkle. “Not if I can find something better to do. Ever driven a Corvette?”

“No, but I think I can handle it.” And he could handle her, too, if he got the chance.

“Come on.” She was on her feet, beckoning him toward the door with a toss of her auburn hair. Sky trailed her outside, staying far enough behind to allow himself a view of her confident stride and taut rump. Whatever the lady had in mind was bound to be interesting.

She led him to the Corvette and tossed him the keys. Sky squeezed his lanky frame into the driver's seat and adjusted it all the way back. She slid in on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. “Hope you can drive a stick shift,” she said.

“I can drive a lot of things.” Buckling in, he turned the key and tapped the gas pedal. The engine rumbled to life. “Where to?” he asked.

“Anywhere.” She leaned back in the seat and raked a hand through her hair. “Please, just be quiet and drive.”

Sky shifted the Corvette into reverse and gunned the engine. The car responded like a well-trained cutting horse, shooting backward at a touch of his boot. He adjusted his reflexes as they roared toward the highway and out of town. He wasn't driving the pickup tonight, he reminded himself, easing back on the gas. This powerful car was as sleek, fast, and elegant as the female sitting next to him.

Who could her father be? Rich, no doubt. Most likely some dude rancher from one of the big, syndicated outfits. And the lady? Clearly not a Texas type. Spoiled, rebellious, and out to break every rule in her daddy's book.

Sky picked a narrow but paved back road that headed across the rolling plain and wound up into the escarpment. He drove in silence. Even if the woman hadn't wanted quiet, the noise of the road and the wind rushing past their ears would have made conversation difficult. Sky sensed that, whatever happened, she didn't want him to know that much about her. This was nothing more than a fleeting adventure with an unknown cowboy, to be savored and forgotten. No messy complications. And that was fine. He preferred things that way himself.