Texas Tough (24 page)

“You look dead on your feet,” Lauren said. “Go home and get some rest. I'll be fine here.”

“I'll do it as long as you promise not to get up and try to leave,” Sky said. “You're to stay put, hear?”

“You don't understand,” she said. “My father had no family left but me. If I don't take care of things—” She broke off, remembering. “Oh no! Where's my purse? I need—”

“The troopers sent it with the ambulance. It's in the cabinet with your other things. But I'm going to tell the nurse not to give it to you. You need to rest.”

“Stop trying to manage my life, Sky Fletcher!”

He gave her a slow smile. “Hey, you've got your spunk back. I can tell you're feeling better already. But you're not doing anything till the doctor clears you.”

“He's right.” The doctor—a short, balding stranger—strode in the door. “The fact that you're awake and lucid is a good sign, Miss Prescott. But we'll want to run a CAT scan to get a look at that bump on your head. Somebody will be here to take you down to Radiology in the next few minutes. After that, you're under orders to rest. You can plan to be here through tomorrow, at least.”

With a mutter, Lauren lay back on the pillow. Her head was throbbing, but the pain was nothing compared to her frustration. It had fallen to her to deal with her father's death and all its messy implications. And here she was, practically shackled to the bed, forbidden to move. If she ever got her hands on the scumbag who'd rammed her off the road, so help her . . .

“Give me the name of the mortuary and I'll call them,” Sky said. “They can put the funeral on hold till they hear from you.”

“Thanks.” Lauren surrendered with a sigh. “It's called Worthington Hills. They're in the phone book. While you're at it, you can call Tori. Tell her what happened and where I am.”

Two young men in scrubs had come to wheel her bed out of the room. Sky reached down and squeezed her hand. “I'll be back tonight. Rest.”

All she could do was return his hand squeeze before they whisked her away.

 

By the time Sky was back on the road, the sun was coming up. Braced by two cups of scalding black coffee, he shifted mental gears, preparing himself for a day's work with the horses.

Last night had been the most gut-wrenching experience of his life—sitting by Lauren's bed, his gaze fixed on her battered face and closed eyes—those beautiful, copper-flecked eyes that might never open again. He had told her he loved her—told her more times and ways than he could count. Whispering close to her ear, he'd told her all the things he'd held back—how much she meant to him, how he wanted to build a home for her and their children, how he wanted to begin every morning of his life with the sight of her beautiful face on the pillow beside him.

Now that she was awake, she wouldn't remember a word of what he'd said. But never mind that. And never mind that he'd been up all night, felt like crap, and had a day's work ahead of him. All that really mattered was that Lauren was going to be all right.

His sunglasses were clipped to the truck's visor. He slipped them on to shield his eyes from the sun's glare. He was bone tired, and the day promised to be another scorcher. A dust devil danced over the flat, dying out as it crossed the highway. Up ahead he could see the diner where the truck driver would have waited for the white Cadillac to pass, then pulled out to follow it, waiting for his chance. If he ever caught up with the bastard, Sky vowed, he would rip him apart with his bare hands.

But the driver would almost certainly have been working for somebody else—somebody with reason to want Garn Prescott dead. So it was Lauren who'd paid for her father's mistake. That had to be the truth of it.

A few minutes later Sky slowed down, scanning the roadside until he spotted the wrecked Cadillac. It was lying where it had rolled last night, probably waiting to be loaded and hauled off. Would Abner Sweeney have the sense to inspect it for evidence, or would it go straight to the junkyard?

No one was here this morning. Sky pulled his pickup onto the shoulder and swung to the ground. He needed to get home, but this would likely be his only chance to look at the crash scene. Last night the troopers and paramedics had been focused on saving Lauren. Looking for evidence in the dark would have been the last of their concerns.

A glance in the morning light confirmed that there were no skid marks on the asphalt. Any glass or other debris from the collision would have been cleared off the road by the troopers. But if the driver had meant to kill Prescott, it made sense that he'd stop the truck, get out, and check to make sure he'd finished the job. If he'd done that, he would have left tracks.

The trouble was, there were plenty of other tracks at the scene. Sky identified the standard-issue boots the troopers wore. The paramedics usually wore sneakers. There'd be no way to tell what footgear the trucker had been wearing except by elimination.

The tinder-dry grass on the slope made for poor tracking. But the car had come to rest on a bed of sand, washed down the barrow pit by storms and runoff. Kneeling a few feet back, Sky studied the sand.

Most of the prints would have been made by the paramedics. If the truck driver had been wearing sneakers as well, picking out his tracks would involve calculating which had been made first. But no—there would have been two paramedics, and Sky could see now that there were only two sets of sneaker prints, which left—

His heart slammed as he saw it—the narrow cowboy boot print with the pointed toe. Here was another one, and another, all but covered by the larger sneaker imprints. He'd seen boot tracks like those before, near where Jasper had been shot, and it wasn't hard to guess who might have left them. But how could the truck driver have been Marie?

Sky forced his sleep-starved mind to concentrate. Lauren had mentioned a brown truck. The Haskell trucks were brown. Stella Rawlins owned Haskell Trucking, and Marie worked for Stella. But did Marie know how to drive a semi? Was she capable of using one of those huge trucks as a murder weapon?

There was a lot he didn't know about his cousin, Sky reminded himself. Marie had come a long way from the little girl he'd left crying in the kitchen the night he ran away.

But maybe he was wrong about the boot prints. Some truckers wore cowboy boots. And not all truckers had big feet. Some were even women. He needed more evidence. And even if he found it, there were still a lot of questions to be answered.

Using his cell phone as a camera, he snapped photos of the tracks, then walked a cautious circle around the Cadillac, taking pictures of the wreck from all sides. That done, he headed back up to his pickup.

Halfway out of the barrow pit, his eyes glimpsed something bright in the yellowed grass. There, at his feet, was a cheap cigarette lighter encased in pink plastic, exactly like the one he'd seen Marie use. After snapping a photo, he took out his handkerchief and picked it up. It was clean and free of dust, which meant it couldn't have been here long.

How many macho truckers would carry a pink cigarette lighter? It wasn't final proof, but if Marie had dropped it, the fingerprints should tell the tale.

With the lighter safely wrapped in the handkerchief, Sky climbed back into his truck. His thoughts churned like black dust in a twister as he started the engine and pulled onto the road.

He'd been cutting Marie slack from the first night he'd seen her in the Blue Coyote. When she'd blamed Coy for shooting Jasper, he'd chosen to believe her, and he'd looked the other way when he found the marijuana patch. Even when Coy's body turned up, he'd kept his suspicions secret, telling himself there was no evidence against her and that the wistful little girl of his childhood memories couldn't be a murderess.

But it was time to face the truth—and time to act on it.

 

Twenty minutes later he arrived at the Rimrock and parked next to Beau's Jeep. He found Beau alone in the kitchen, drinking his morning coffee.

Beau glanced up as Sky walked in. “You look like you just spent a night in hell,” he said. “We got the message you left. How's Lauren?”

“Awake and giving me sass. Those nurses are going to have to hog-tie her to the bed. I promised her that if she'd rest, I'd call the mortuary and write a press release about her father. Maybe you could give me a hand with that.”

“Sure. Heart attack, right?”

“Right. Short and sweet. No mention of the scandal or the gunshot. Funeral pending. When it's ready, we can e-mail it to the local TV and radio stations and the newspaper.” Sky fished in his pocket for his cell phone and the lighter he'd wrapped in his handkerchief. “Right now I've got something you'll want to see.”

He showed Beau the photos he'd taken and the lighter he'd found at the crash site. While Beau studied the evidence, Sky got a lock-top sandwich bag and slipped the lighter into it. “Lauren says she was rammed by a big brown truck. Sound familiar?”

“The Haskell trucks are brown. But we'll need more than this to prove the driver was your cousin.”

“How about fingerprints? It shouldn't be too hard to get a bottle or can from the Blue Coyote with Marie's prints on it. If the prints on that lighter are a match, we can put her at the scene.”

“But we'd also have to prove she was driving the truck. For that we'd need to show cause and get a warrant to search the Haskell lot for the truck.” Beau glanced at Sky. “You know what this means, don't you?”

Sky gave him a grim nod. “If we want to go ahead with this, we'll need to involve your buddy Abner.”

“Leave Abner to me. The fact that he's running for office will put some pressure on him. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's smart enough to know that an arrest will make him look good to the voters.” Beau pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. “Marie's your cousin, Sky, the closest thing you had to a sister growing up. Are you sure you can do this without backing off?”

“Damned sure. She almost murdered Lauren. The woman's got to be stopped.”

“Then here's what I'm thinking,” Beau said. “Hear me out, and feel free to argue when I'm finished. If the truck checks out, we may be able to get Marie for attempted murder. But a smart lawyer could claim the wreck was Lauren's fault and get the charge reduced to leaving the scene of an accident. That's a slap on the wrist—most likely a fine and probation or a few weeks in the county jail.”

Sky forced himself to keep quiet and listen. Beau was making sense, he knew. But that didn't mean he had to like what he was hearing.

“Marie had no reason to ram Prescott's car unless she was following orders,” Beau said. “What we really want is to get the person behind those orders—and behind a lot of other things. I'd say we give Marie some rope, let her work her way into Stella's organization. As long as she doesn't know we're onto her, she could slip up again. Meanwhile we can look for ways to prove she shot Jasper and murdered her brother.”

“So if we wait, there's a better chance she'll get what she deserves.” Sky was still skeptical. He wanted this mess over and done.

“More than that,” Beau said. “If she knows she's looking at years behind bars, she'll be more apt to make a deal—and give us Stella.”

CHAPTER 17

S
o far Marie had managed to keep out of Stella's way. Last night after the wreck, she'd stayed away from the Blue Coyote until she was sure Stella and Nick had gone. This morning she'd spent a couple of hours at Haskell Trucking, hosing, wiping, scrubbing, and vacuuming every fingerprint and every trace of paint, dirt, and gravel from the semi, including the tires. There wasn't much chance the woman in Prescott's car had survived, and even less chance she'd gotten a good look at the truck. But why risk it?

Now it was time to report back to work and face whatever had to be faced. She'd have little choice except to tell the truth. Letting Stella catch her in a lie would be a bad idea.

She walked in to find Stella, looking sour and suspicious, waiting at the bar. Nick was nowhere to be seen.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked in a voice that was like the purr of a cat about to pounce on a sparrow.

Bracing herself, Marie feigned a shrug. “I picked up the signal a little after dark. Prescott's Cadillac came by the diner a few minutes later. I followed it to a spot with a good, steep shoulder and rammed it from behind. It crumpled and rolled down into the barrow pit.”

“And?”
Stella's eyes narrowed and sharpened, as if she already knew the truth.

“When I walked down to check, it wasn't Prescott. It was a woman with long red hair. She was alone in the car.”

“Prescott had a red-haired daughter. Probably her. Was she alive?”

“I couldn't tell for sure. She was unconscious, hanging by the seat belt, bleeding from her head. I figured if she wasn't dead, she soon would be.”

“So you
left
her that way?”

A rivulet of cold sweat trickled down Marie's back. “Somebody was coming. I could see the headlights. I figured my best bet was to get out of there before I got caught.” Marie could feel herself beginning to crumble. “Give me another chance. This time I'll find Prescott and finish the job, I promise.”

Stella's laughter exploded. “No, you won't, dearie.”

Marie stared at her, her stomach curdling.

“I heard the news on the radio driving in,” Stella said. “Garn Prescott died yesterday in the hospital—of a heart attack.”

Marie's legs buckled. She sank onto a chair. “So he was already dead last night when I . . .”

“That's right—not that we knew it at the time. At least you showed willing. But I'd be happier if you'd made sure his daughter wasn't going to wake up. Since nothing's been on the news, I'm guessing she survived. Do you think she got a look at the truck?”

“It was dark. But the parking lot at the diner has overhead lights. She could've seen me as I pulled out. I cleaned up the truck this morning. There's nothing on it that could link it to the wreck or to me.”

“Well, I've learned not to take chances. A friend in Lubbock is looking to buy a truck like that. I'll discount the price if he picks it up today.” Stella's green eyes narrowed. “So why are you sitting there? No thanks to you, Nicky and I were short-handed last night and didn't have time to clean up. The floor needs sweeping, and the bar and tables need polishing before we open. Get to work!”

Marie grabbed a broom and dustpan from the hall closet and began sweeping under the tables. For now, at least, it was business as usual. All she could do was wait for Stella to play the next card.

After what had happened to Lute, she knew better than to turn her back on the woman. With the Harley gassed, pistol loaded, and backpack handy, she'd be ready to cut and run at the first sign of trouble.

But she wasn't ready to give up yet—not as long as there was a chance to move up in Stella's world of wealth and power. For all Marie knew, it could be the only chance she'd ever have.

 

Sky worked the horses till after sundown. He'd climbed out of the shower, about to dress and drive back to the hospital, when his cell phone rang. It was Lauren.

“Hi.” He tried to sound casual, but concern for her had dogged him all day. “Sounds like you talked the nurse into giving your phone back. I was just getting ready to come see you.”

“That's why I called. You looked dead on your feet this morning. If you haven't slept, I don't want you nodding off on the road. Stay home.”

“You're giving
me
orders now?”

“You're darn right I am. And don't worry about me. I'm still hurting, but the scan showed no bleeding on my brain. The doctor wants to keep me through tomorrow night. After that, if all goes well, I can go home the next morning and get ready for the funeral.”

“You'll have a lot to deal with,” Sky said. “Are you sure you'll be up to it?”

“I can manage—especially if you've got my back. But you won't be much help if you've crashed and burned. You can come get me when I'm ready to go home. Meanwhile, for my sake, if not yours, get some sleep.”

“You're sure you'll be all right?”

“Stop babying me. I'm supposed to be a big girl, remember?”

After a moment's good-natured banter, Sky ended the call. Lauren's good news had lifted a dreadful weight. But as he pulled on his sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, the disappointment was there, too. He'd looked forward all day to being with her. But she was right. He was tired to the marrow of his bones—too tired to be driving on the highway. He needed a good night's rest.

Wandering barefoot onto their shared porch, he found Jasper in his rocker, the dog sprawled at his feet. Sky had yet to corner the old man long enough to ask for the full story of Bull and his mother. Maybe now was as good a time as any.

Pulling his chair over to Jasper's side of the porch, Sky sat down. With the sun gone, the twilight breeze felt almost cool on his damp face. The rim of a waxing moon had risen above the rolling plains to the east. The lights were on in the big house.

“Feels good to be off my feet,” Sky said. “How about you?”

Jasper stirred with a little snort, as if he'd been dozing. “Hellfire, I'm goin' stir-crazy sittin' around here. Can't get very far on my feet, and Will won't let loose of the key to the ATV. I been goin' and doin' all my life, Sky. I wasn't cut out to sit on my butt like a damned toadstool.”

It wasn't the response Sky had expected. Maybe another time would be better to ask the old man for answers to his questions.

“You did make it into town today,” he said.

“Runnin' errands with Bernice? That wasn't much better than sittin' around here. She wouldn't even let me drive the truck. What I want is to be out on my own. I want my ATV back. I want to have a gun and go out huntin' like I used to afore I got shot.”

“I guess you still can't remember everything, can you?” Jasper shook his head. “Don't suppose I ever will. Heard the gun, felt the bullet, and then the blasted ATV wouldn't steer. That's all I remember. If I got a look at the lowlife that shot me, I still don't recollect it. But if it was that cousin of yours, the one they found dead in the bog, the varmint got what he deserved. Worst of it was, he took my good bird gun.”

“Tell you what,” Sky said. “I'll bet Will would let you take the ATV out if somebody was with you. I'll get the key tonight. Tomorrow morning, before it gets too hot, we can take my shotgun and go out for an hour or two. Maybe you can even shoot us a wild turkey for Sunday dinner.”

“You'd do that for me?” The old man's voice shook with joyful amazement, then took on a note of suspicion. “Guess I'd better ask what's in it for you.”

Sky laughed. “Nothing much. But if you'll tell me what you know about Bull and my mother while we're out there, I'll call us even.”

Jasper's grin lit the twilight. “I'll do that with pleasure. It's about time you asked me. I've been half-fearin' you'd make me take the story to my grave.”

 

Will had no problem with giving Sky the key to take Jasper out hunting. “Just don't let him get too tired, Sky,” he said. “We don't want the old man back in the hospital.”

“I'll take care of him,” Sky said. “Believe it or not, I worry as much about him as you do.”

“How's Lauren, by the way?”

“Better. They'll be keeping her another day. Then I can drive her home.”

“Damned sorry for all that girl's been through,” Will said. “First her father, then this accident, or whatever the hell it was. If she's not up to being alone, she's welcome over here. We've got a couple of spare guest rooms in the house, and it's not like she's a stranger. She's more like family, even if she
is
a Prescott.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that more than you know.” Sky chose not to question Will's motives. The disputed land might be on his mind, but Will did have a kind and generous heart. Sky would give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

The ATV was a side-by-side model with a bench seat and a roll bar over the top. With Jasper driving, they set out across the brush-dotted plain toward the seep. In this drought, the meager water supply was the likeliest place to find good bird shooting.

Even at first light the day was warm, with a dry wind sifting across the flat. The streaks of cloud in the east painted the sunrise with slashes of flame and crimson. Startled by the sound of the ATV, a golden eagle flapped off the ground and soared into the dawn.

Jasper parked the vehicle on a low rise overlooking the seep. Sky handed him the loaded shotgun. The old cowboy balanced it across his knees and settled back to wait. Quail piped their calls from the underbrush. But Jasper wasn't here for quail. Sky knew he was waiting for a wild turkey.

For the first few minutes they sat quietly. Sky waited for Jasper to speak, not wanting to push him.

At last Jasper broke the silence. “So, what do you already know about your parents?”

“I know what you told me about Bull,” Sky said. “And I know my mother worked as a maid for the Prescotts. She's part of a group photo I saw in their dining room.”

“And your mother didn't tell you anything?”

“Not that I remember. I was only three when she died.”

“What about money?”

“What money? We were so poor we had to live with our relatives. There wasn't even money for a doctor when my mother got sick. If there had been, she might have lived.”

“You've got a lot of anger in you, boy,” Jasper said.

“Can you blame me? My mother was a good woman. Bull Tyler got her pregnant and tossed her away like an old shoe. He didn't give a damn about her.”

“So that's what you think, is it?” Jasper settled against the back of the seat, his far-sighted eyes watching the birds that flocked around the seep. “It's about time you decided to hear the truth.”

Sky waited for the old cowboy to begin, part of him still braced against the pain of knowing. But Jasper was right. It was time for the truth.

“I was with Bull the first time he saw your mother,” Jasper said. “It was the day Ferg Prescott's wife, Edith, was buried. You know Bull and Ferg never did get on. But when there's a death in the family, it's only common decency to set bad blood aside and pay your respects. It's what Bull was doing that afternoon, and he'd asked me to come along—most likely to watch his back.”

“So my mother would've been serving at the house.” Sky filled in the brief silence.

“That's right. And Lord Almighty, she was the most beautiful woman I've seen to this very day. Even in that dog-plain maid's uniform, with her hair in a bun, she was a queen. I reckon every man in the room was givin' her sideways looks. But she wasn't lookin' back. Not till she locked eyes with Bull.

“By then Bull's wife, Susan, had been gone a few years, and Bernice had come to cook and help out with the boys. I know for a fact there was a gal in Lubbock that Bull paid now and again to see to his needs, but there was no love in it. He was still visiting his wife's grave with flowers every Sunday. I don't think he ever meant to remarry. But when he set eyes on your mother, and she looked back at him . . . it was like seein' him come to life again.”

Jasper raised his binoculars to scan the brush around the seep, lowered them, shook his head, and then continued. “I saw the two of them talking in a corner that day. After that I never saw them together. But I knew they were findin' ways to meet up. And I could see that, for the first time in years, Bull was happy.

“One day she took that old car she drove and left without a word. Bull never was much of a one to share, but I could tell how bad he'd been hurt. I know for a fact he really loved the woman.”

Jasper paused to lift the canteen to his lips and wet his dry throat. “A day or two later, Bull got a call from Ferg Prescott. It seemed Marie had written Bull a letter before she left and put it in the mailbox by the Prescotts' gate. When Ferg came out to mail something else, there was the letter, waiting for the mailman. Naturally the bastard took it. But that wasn't all. The low-down skunk steamed the envelope open and read every word.”

Too stunned to curse, Sky listened in silence. No wonder Bull had hated Ferg Prescott. And no wonder Jasper had nothing good to say about the man and his family.

“Ferg offered to make a deal,” Jasper said. “He would give Bull the letter and swear not to make a copy on condition that Bull deed him that little piece of canyon land where the Spanish gold was supposed to be hid. Otherwise, he'd keep the letter and use it any way that struck his fancy, maybe even send a copy to Bull's sons when they got older.”