A Match Made in Texas (5 page)

He tipped his hat at a woman walking by pushing a baby stroller before he pulled open the glass door. A blast of cool air hit him in the face, and he was relieved that the air conditioner wasn’t on the fritz again. For October, it was hotter than blue blazes.

“Good Lord in heaven, Dusty,” Cora Lee, his receptionist, greeted him before the door had even finished closing. “What happened to you?”

He could’ve lied like he had to Ralph, but he trusted Cora Lee to keep things confidential. “I got pepper sprayed.”

The creak of vinyl cushions had Dusty turning to the small waiting room.

His bad day suddenly got much worse.

A grinning cowboy stood in front of the couch, his hat in one hand and a partially eaten sticky bun in the other.

“Did you have to use your gun, Sheriff? Or just the Taser?” Kenny Gene finished off the sticky bun in one bite and talked around the lump of bread. “Sheriff Winslow has a gun, but everyone knows it ain’t loaded after that accident with Buford Tyler’s prize heifer. But I bet you’re a much better shot. I bet you could hit a plug nickel from a hun-nerd yards.”

Dusty closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them, Kenny Gene was still there. Although he had moved over to the bulletin board that was filled with wanted posters.

“I’ve been lookin’ at these here pho-tos of criminals, and I think if you had yourself a dep-u-tee you could catch some of these crooks. Like this Mexican Cartel feller that escaped a couple weeks ago.” He touched the wanted poster of Alejandro Perea. A poster Dusty had studied a lot in the last few weeks.

Alejandro had been the leader of a New York City drug ring that was tied to the Mexican Cartel. Dusty’s friend Jenna Jay Scroggs had been living in New York City at the time, and when a backpack of drug money had gone missing, Alejandro had assumed that Jenna was responsible for taking it. He showed up at the Henhouse, along with his posse of thugs, and would’ve no doubt murdered Jenna, Beauregard Cates, and the hens if Olive Washburn hadn’t intervened. Alejandro and his men had been arrested. And that would’ve been the end of the story if Alejandro hadn’t escaped during a jail transfer. The feds believed that he had headed straight for Mexico. Dusty wasn’t so sure.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, then Alejandro didn’t have one. The eyes that stared back from the poster were black holes of emptiness. Dusty had seen the look before while working in Houston. Criminals with eyes like Alejandro’s were the most dangerous, simply because they didn’t give a shit about life—theirs or anyone else’s. Criminals with eyes like that weren’t concerned about being free as much as they were concerned with getting revenge.

“I figure with a good dep-u-tee we could have this feller behind bars in no time,” Kenny continued. “Or this feller.” He went to tap another picture, but his sticky fingers stuck to Alejandro’s poster, ripping it from the tack. He shook his hand a couple of times, but the poster refused to come off. Which led to a crazy, hokey-pokey dance that had Cora Lee giggling.

After the day he’d had, Dusty didn’t find it amusing. Without saying a word, he turned and walked straight into the bathroom. Once he’d placed his hat on the hook, he lathered his hands with bacterial soap and washed his face. He was lucky he’d had his sunglasses on. Very little pepper spray had gotten into his eyes. Although the skin beneath his eyes stung like hell. Or maybe what stung the most was his pride.

Bested by a teeny bit of a girl. Or not a girl so much as a woman. She might’ve been petite, but the breasts that she smashed up against his chest were 100 percent woman. Just the thought of her full softness in the cashmere sweater brought a zing of desire. Which would explain why she’d gotten the best of him. His preoccupation with her nice breasts and curvy ass had caused him to lower his guard and left him wide open to her deceit. And what really pissed him off was that it wasn’t the first time a classy-dressed woman with a sweet smile had bested him.

Obviously, he was a slow learner.

The cold water made him feel better. And after rinsing and drying his face, he stepped from the bathroom ready to take on Kenny Gene. But Kenny was nowhere in sight. Just Cora Lee holding a much-needed cup of coffee.

“I sent him for lunch,” she said as she handed him the cup. “You looked like you could use a few minutes of peace and quiet.”

“Thanks,” Dusty said. “Will the man ever give up?”

“It doesn’t look like it. He’s been here every day for the last two months. Ever since Sheriff Winslow stopped letting him help out in Bramble.” She walked around her desk and sat down on the yoga ball she used as a chair. “Of course, I can’t blame Sheriff Winslow. Kenny is a little like my second cousin on my mama’s side—a few marbles short of a bag. But he has a good heart.” She looked up at Dusty. “And it really wouldn’t hurt to let him be your deputy.”

“Not a chance. I don’t have time to babysit Kenny Gene. Not with everything else on my plate. Did you find me a new housekeeper yet?”

“I’m afraid not. Women in the town aren’t willing to put up with your ornery nature for anything less than a wedding ring.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to clean house and do laundry myself.” He blew on the coffee.

“And from the looks of that wrinkled shirt, I’d say you were doing a fine job of it.” Cora twisted around on the huge white ball and pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet. “Since you came in alone, I figure the pepper sprayer got away. Did you send out an APB? Or did you want me to?”

Dusty’s shoulders tightened. “I took care of it.”

It was a lie. He hadn’t sent out an APB, and he didn’t plan to. Not only because he was embarrassed about being bested by a woman but also because he didn’t want just anyone bringing her in. He wanted to keep that pleasure for himself. He hadn’t gotten her license plate number, but how many Smart Cars could there be with Texas plates? And the woman was definitely from Texas—east Texas. Her thick country twang was a dead giveaway.

Dusty took a sip of coffee. As always, it was strong, black, and perfect. He really should get Cora Lee a good Christmas present this year.

“Could you pull up all the Smart Cars registered in Texas?” he asked.

Cora’s gaze lifted, and a smile seeped across her wide mouth. “The guy who got the best of you drove a Smart Car?”

“He didn’t get the best of me,” he said. “He just took me by surprise, is all.” Cora turned away, but her shaking shoulders were a dead giveaway. Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t splurge on a nice gift. “Did I get any messages while I was out?”

Her shoulders stopped shaking, and when she turned, her smile was much more sympathetic. “You sure you want to deal with that right now?”

He paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. “Heather?”

Cora Lee nodded. “She wants you to call her back.”

The tension in Dusty’s shoulders tightened into two hard knots.

“See if you can get me that list of Smart Cars,” he said as he headed back to his office.

Once inside, he changed into a clean but wrinkled shirt before sitting down behind his desk and turning on his cell phone. He hated most technology, but cell phones were the worst invention since flavored coffee. The only thing they were good for was causing accidents and making people rude. He didn’t know how many accidents took place because of texting or how many times he’d lifted a hand in greeting only to be ignored by the person in favor of the phone glued to their ear.

Heather, on the other hand, slept with her cell phone. He didn’t even hear a ring before she picked up.

“I want you to stop calling Emma,” she snapped. “She gets very emotional after she talks with you, and her therapist says it could be the reason that she isn’t sleeping all through the night.”

Dusty probably should’ve listened to Cora Lee and put off the phone call. He was in no mood to deal with his ex-wife. His next words proved it.

“Fuck the therapist.”

Heather gasped. “You know how I feel about foul language, Dustin. And the therapist is only trying to help our daughter through this difficult time.”

“Your so-called therapist is another one of your hired ‘experts’ who screwed me over in court and gave you full custody. So I don’t give a shit if you like my language or not.”

“She was only doing what’s best for Emma.”

He leaned up and ran a hand through his hair. “What’s best for Emmie is getting to spend time with her father.”

“Not when her father has a bad temper and a tendency for brutality.”

Right about then, Heather was right. Dusty wanted to jump up and ram his fist through the wall. But that was exactly what she wanted. She had manipulated a display of temper out of him in court and gotten full custody of their only daughter, but he’d be damned if she’d continue to manipulate him. No matter how hard it was, he sat back in his chair and tried to remain calm.

“I won’t stop calling or showing up for my visitations,” he stated. “I don’t care if your fancy lawyers get a restraining order. I won’t have Emmie thinking that I deserted her.”

There was a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine. But don’t call her at bedtime. You can call her in the morning when she has all day to forget about the lies you tell her.”

Dusty’s hand tightened on the phone. “I’ve never lied to Emmie. Or you for that matter.”

“Ha! What would you call promising to love and honor? You never loved me a day in your life, Dustin Hicks. You just seduced me to get your hands on my daddy’s money.”

Dusty could’ve argued the point, but what was the use? Heather’s father had brainwashed her, and nothing Dusty could say would change that. He had given up fighting for his marriage, but he would never give up fighting for his daughter.

“So it’s still morning,” he said. “Put Emmie on.”

There was a long pause followed by the sound of heels clicking against marble flooring. “Emma James! Your daddy’s on the phone.”

A shriek echoed through the receiver, filling his heart with joy and, at the same time, making it feel as empty as a crushed aluminum can.

“Hey, Pa!” Emmie yelled so loudly that Dusty had to pull the phone away from his ear.

He grinned at the name Em had started calling him after watching an episode of
Andy Griffith
on some pay channel. “Well, hey, yourself, Nugget.”

“Did you catched any crim-aminals today?”

“Nope. What have you been doing?”

“I gots to make pea-nutty butty cookies with Elsa.” She lowered her voice, her words muffled against the mouthpiece. “And I don’t like pea-nutty butty cookies.”

Dusty laughed. “I know that. You threw up all over me the last time I gave you one.”

“When was that, Pa? I don’t me-member.”

It took a strong will to keep the raw emotion from his voice. “It was the last time I came to visit. When we went to the Houston zoo.”

“Oh! I’ve been there with Grampy. I like the flame-minkos the best. Did you know that they can standed on one leg, Pa? Just like this. Can you see me, Pa? I’m a pink flame-minko.” There was a loud thump, followed by Emmie’s cries.

“Emmie!” Dusty sat up in the chair. “Baby, are you okay? What happened? Where’s your mother?” But Emmie didn’t answer. She just continued to cry until her mother got back on the line.

“Now do you see what I’m talking about? Can’t you just leave well enough alone?” The line disconnected, and Dusty was left cradling his cell phone, wishing with all his heart that it was his daughter instead.

But it didn’t take long for his pain to be transformed into anger. He pulled the phone from his ear and scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he wanted.

Like Heather, his friend Ryker picked up immediately.

“Hey, Dusty. What’s up?”

Dusty released the breath that he’d been holding. “I was wondering if you’ve found anything out.”

“I’m sorry, man, but the last time I followed her, all she did was go talk to her accountant. Are you sure there’s a guy?”

Dusty wasn’t sure of anything. He was simply grasping at straws. Anything to prove that Heather wasn’t the saintly mother her lawyers had made her out to be. Anything to get his Emmie back.

His shoulders drooped. “Just let me know if you discover something. I’ll send you another check as soon as I can.”

“I hate to take your money, man,” Ryker said, “especially when that bitch and her rich daddy gave you such a bum deal. But business has been kinda slow—”

“It’s no problem.” Dusty cut him off. “We all have to eat.” Between hiring better lawyers and a private detective, Dusty was a little worried about eating himself. His savings was dwindling fast. Maybe it was a good thing his housekeeper quit. That was just that much more money to go for getting back Emma.

“I’ll call you if I find out anything,” Ryker said.

“Thanks, man.” Dusty hung up the phone just as Cora Lee tapped on the door and walked in.

“I pulled up a list of all the Smart Cars. There’s more than you would think.” She set the list down on top of the desk, and Dusty was shocked by the size of the spreadsheet. Obviously, Texans weren’t as attached to gas-guzzling, American-made cars as he’d thought. There was no way in hell he would be able to figure out who the woman was. No way to punish her or get the money he needed to reimburse the town for the damage done to his squad car.