Colleen Thompson - Lone Star Redemption

“I notice they didn’t bother to claim ‘best,’” she said, making a mental note to order something healthier than the breaded, fried and gravy-laden dish.

After hiding the mini-cam in the rear hatch, they went in to scope the place out. At only a few minutes past four, the small, wood-frame structure was deserted save for a plump, dark-haired teenager cleaning tables and an older man Jessie assumed to be the cook, judging from his hairnet and apron, dozing as he leaned against the counter.

The waitress put down the rag she’d been using and smiled at them with crooked little teeth. “Welcome to Tumbleweeds. Are y’all here for dinner?”

“Sure thing,” Jessie said, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the girl—Mandy, according to the name tag on her apron—didn’t seem to recognize her, which probably meant she didn’t know Haley. But that didn’t mean the teen couldn’t be of help.

An hour later, they came out, full of saturated fats, since there hadn’t been so much as a single veggie on the menu that wasn’t deep-fried or infused with bacon drippings, but little wiser than they had been.

Although Mandy had seemed sympathetic when Jessie told her about her search, it was clear that she knew nothing about Haley. She had, however, told them that Frankie McFarland’s brother, Danny, worked at the nearby feed store. Searches on both names with her cell phone, which was working decently if slowly, didn’t turn up anything of use. Apparently, the McFarland brothers didn’t stay connected with their friends on social networks, either.

Jessie and Henry had nearly reached the car when the girl from the diner came trotting out after them, her dark braid bouncing behind her and her round face pink with exertion. As soon as she caught her breath, she warned, “I didn’t want to say it in there with Crabby Leonard listening, but Danny’s nickname around town is Hellfire. On account of his temper.”

“You mean he’s violent?” Henry rushed to ask.

“He’s been tryin’ to pass himself off as respectable since he bought out the local watering hole, but everybody knows he’n Frankie have always been quick to take offense and even quicker with their fists. I’ve heard Sheriff Canter joke about naming one of his jail cells the McFarland Suite.”

Jessie’s stomach twisted with sudden apprehension as for the first time it occurred to her that her sister might not be deliberately hiding from her family, but in trouble. The kind of trouble that came with being involved with a violently abusive man.

An approaching rumble cut like a chainsaw through the small-town quiet. Swiveling her head, Mandy gasped and whispered, “Oh, gosh. Here he comes now. That’s Hellfire.”

As a big chopper-style motorcycle came into view, the waitress glanced from Henry to Jessie and begged, “Please don’t tell him I said anything about his temper. Or that stupid joke the sheriff made, okay?”

“It’s already forgotten,” Jessie promised.

But she was talking to thin air, for Mandy was already hurrying back inside as Danny McFarland roared up, his ragged, reddish beard and hair wild in the wind beneath the level of the skull-and-crossbones bandanna he was wearing. A big man with a bigger belly, he hid a portion of his bulk beneath an oversize black leather jacket. As he dismounted, she saw the name Prairie Rose Saloon had been emblazoned across the back. Beneath those words, a rattlesnake, all coiled menace, gaped among yellow roses with wicked, blood-tipped thorns.

As biker art went, it was impressive. But Jessie had neither the inclination nor the time to appreciate the view as Hellfire turned around to look her over. Though his eyes were hidden behind wraparound reflective glasses, Jessie’s skin crawled at the contempt that seemed to roll off him in waves.

“Careful with this guy,” Henry warned, shrinking back as she stepped forward.

Though Jessie had interviewed motorcycle “thugs” who’d turned out to have hearts of gold underneath their rough exteriors, her instincts screamed at her to retreat to safety. But McFarland was the only lead she had to follow, so she held her ground, even when he removed the glasses to reveal a pair of teardrops tattooed beneath his right eye. Teardrops that often signified a stint in prison—or worse.

In a moment, the mask shifted, morphing from simple toughness into fury before he burst out with, “You stupid bitch. You think anyone’s gonna be fooled by a freakin’ haircut and some fancy clothes? What’d I tell you about—”

“Haley is my sister,” Jessie said, jolted by the knowledge that he’d mistaken her for her twin. That he clearly knew—and hated—her. “She’s also your brother’s girlfriend, from what I hear. Can you tell me where they went?”

“Your sister? What the hell’re you trying to pull, girl?” He stopped abruptly to scowl at her, grooves furrowing his weathered face before blinking in surprise. “Wait a minute. You ain’t kidding, are you?”

“Our mother’s— Our mom’s dying,” Jessie admitted. “She only wants to see my sister one more time.”

“Well, I can tell you, Rusted Spur’s the last place you’re gonna find that girl, or my brother, either. Now you get on down the road, too—if you want to stay alive.”

Jessie’s jaw tightened. Does everyone in this one-horse town intend to threaten me? Nevertheless, she stood her ground, insisting, “I can’t go anywhere without Haley.”

McFarland looked from her to Henry and back again, his lip curling to reveal tobacco-stained teeth. “Maybe then you won’t be leaving. Alive, anyway.”

Jessie didn’t give an inch, demanding, “Where is she, Hellfire? Where’d your brother take her?”

As the biker’s gaze turned dangerous, Henry grabbed at her arm. “Let’s get out of here, Jessie. I’ll drive this time if you want.”

Jerking her arm free, she didn’t budge and didn’t take her eyes off McFarland for a second.

Without further warning, he surged toward her, faster than she would have imagined such a big man capable of moving. With a cry of alarm, she backpedaled, choking with fear and nausea as her hands came up to ward off his attack.

Chapter 3

Zach was astonished at how swiftly his mother jumped up and trotted upstairs to the landing. Showing no sign of illness, she knelt before Eden and wrapped the tiny girl in her thin arms.

“No, sweetheart. You remember,” she insisted. “Your mama’s job has her flying overseas now. That’s why she had to leave you with me.”

Zach’s gut tightened as his suspicion deepened. Was she reminding Eden of a truth—or coaching the child to stick to some story she’d come up with?

Looking frightened, the girl stared into his mother’s face. “I want to stay with you, Grandma, and Uncle Zach, too, and my pony. Please don’t make me go back there. I don’t want to leave.”

“I promise, baby, you don’t have to. Your mama signed the papers so you can stay with us forever.”

“And get my puppies, too, soon as they’re ready to leave their mommy?” Eden asked, brightening at the mention of her favorite subject.

Zach’s mother shot him an aggrieved look, since he’d been the fool who’d taken her with him to see his friend Nate, a bachelor who was even more clueless than Zach was when it came to four-year-olds. Not only had he shown Eden the litter of fluffy Australian shepherd pups in the barn, he’d encouraged her to cuddle and play with them, then pick out the one that she liked best.

When Eden, who was as crazy about animals as Ian had been at her age, had been unable to choose between a merle female and a male tricolor, Nate had joked, “Then why not take both, Eden? This week only, they’re free to pretty girls.”