Joanna Wayne - Cowboy Conspiracy

She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

Obviously, they knew one another.

“Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

“You saw him drive off in the car?”

“No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

“And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

“I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

“If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

“No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

“You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.

Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

“I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

“I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

“Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

“How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.

The bell over the door tinkled again and this time a burly guy accompanied by a petite blonde walked in. Edie greeted them by name. Judging from the comments, they were a truck-driving team who stopped by often. Edie scurried off to take care of them.

“Is that your Corvette out there?” the sheriff asked Wyatt.

“No. I’m driving the black pickup truck. I figure the guy who stole Ms. Burger’s Honda drove up in that. It was the only car parked out front when I came in and he was the only customer.”

“A Honda for a Corvette. Interesting trade. Brent, run the plates on the Corvette. My guess is it’s hot.”

Good assumption. Wyatt sipped his coffee while the sheriff gathered the basic information from Kelly. His interest piqued when they got to the address where Kelly would be living.

“That’s the old Callister place, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “Yellow cottage-style house, down from the old Baptist church.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“My daughter Collette rented the place for a while back when she was single. I was glad to see her move out.”

“Why?” Kelly asked.

“I probably shouldn’t even mention this,” McGuire said, “but I’m sure you’ll hear from someone else if not from me. My daughter’s friend was brutally attacked in that house. She’s fine now, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Turned out the guy was actually after my daughter. But don’t worry. He’s behind bars now.”

“I hope your daughter is okay,” Kelly said.

“She’s fine now. Married and with a bun in the oven.”

Wyatt was familiar with that part of the story. The sheriff’s daughter was married to Wyatt’s brother Dylan. This was becoming all too familial. All they needed was some fried chicken and banana pudding and it would be a family reunion.

How did people ever have any privacy in a town like Mustang Run?

“That house has been empty for over a year,” McGuire continued. “Place needs a paint job and lots of work. Last time I drove by to check things out, I noticed an oak tree in front that needs to be cut down.”

“I loved that tree. I remember climbing it when I was about Jaci’s age and having tea parties with Grams under those huge spreading branches.”

“Well, it’s dead now. Lightning bolt last spring nailed it and it looks like the first good wind will lay it on the roof.”