Cowboy Swagger Page 4

  “Did he always call you on your cell phone?” the sheriff asked.

  “Always.”

  “Let me see the phone.”

  “It won’t help,” Collette said, handing the phone to her father. “The caller ID always said Unavailable or Out of Area.”

  The sheriff checked out the phone before handing it back to her.

  “There are only two vehicles parked outside,” the sheriff said.

  “Eleanor’s car must be in the garage. Mine would be, too, except that I stopped out front when I saw Dylan’s truck.”

  “Check the garage, Brent,” he told one of the deputies. “Be nice if the perp stole the victim’s car, so we’d have a known vehicle to chase.” Sheriff McGuire turned to Dylan. “Where was Eleanor when you arrived?”

  “Facedown on the kitchen floor.”

  The sheriff led the way with the deputies a step behind. Dylan and Collette followed.

  “Don’t let my father intimidate you,” she whispered to him.

  “Don’t give it a thought. As long as he goes after the lunatic attacker, the rest is insignificant.”

  She liked Dylan more by the second.

  Her father stepped over the stream of blood. “Tell me exactly what you found.”

  Dylan described the scene as best he could.

  The sheriff stooped to get a better look at the knife and the skillet as he listened. When he’d heard enough, he stood and rocked back on the heels of his boots.

  Brent joined them in the kitchen. “There’s a blue Ford Mustang in the garage.”

  “That’s Eleanor’s,” Collette said.

  The sheriff nodded. “Brent, wake up the CSI team and tell them I want a full workup on the scene. Chuck, put the state patrol on alert. Tell them we’ve got a dangerous nut on the loose and may need some help tracking him down. He can’t have gotten too far away from this location yet.”

  “I’m on it,” the middle-aged deputy said.

  “Good. I’ll get with them shortly with whatever pertinent details we can come up with. The rest of you stand guard here and make sure none of the evidence is tampered with until we get prints and any other evidence they can find.”

  The men jumped to do his bidding.

  “We’ll talk on the porch,” her father said to Collette. “I need more information on your stalker before you leave for the hospital. And, Ledger, don’t even think of cutting out before I get through with you.”

  DYLAN STOOD AT THE EDGE of the porch staring at the scene that had completely changed since he’d arrived at Collette’s less than half an hour ago. The quiet had evolved into a chaotic grind of activity, talk and barked orders.

  The “ifs” and “buts” of the situation roared though his mind with the same frenetic energy. If he’d left the bar a few minutes earlier, he might have arrived in time to save Eleanor from being attacked. If he’d chased down the figure running from the house, he might have caught the bastard. If Collette had arrived a few minutes earlier, she might have been the one assaulted.

  Collette collapsed onto the porch swing and wrapped her arms around her chest although the night was warm. He turned toward her, struck by how incredibly vulnerable she looked.

  She hadn’t fallen apart even in the first shock of seeing her friend’s condition, but she looked as if she was on the verge of it now.

  She needed a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, but probably not his. Her father had made it plain that Dylan was the outsider here, persona not grata just by virtue of who he was.

  “I should have never let Eleanor spend the night. If she’d driven back to Austin after we left your ranch, she wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  Dylan thought it best not to point out the possible fallacy of that statement. Collette was certain that the man who’d made the disturbing phone calls to her was behind the violence. That wasn’t necessarily so. Eleanor might have enemies of her own.

  He leaned against the support post near the edge of the steps. “How well did you know Eleanor?”

  “We’ve been best friends since college. The two of us and Melinda Kingston met our first year at UT. We hit it off from the get-go. The three of us shared an off-campus apartment from our sophomore year right through graduation.”

  “Where does Melinda live now?”

  “In Austin, in the same apartment complex as Eleanor. Along with their regular jobs, Melinda and Eleanor are the editors and owners of Beyond the Grave. I was helping them out when I met Eleanor at your ranch today.”

  “Is Eleanor married? Divorced? In a relationship?”

  “Not married and no steady relationship. She’s a workaholic and a much-sought-after freelance investigative reporter. She’ll do whatever it takes to get her story.”

  And that kind of fervor likely earned her all kinds of enemies, he thought. “Any particular reason why she stayed overnight instead of driving back to Austin?”

  “She was interviewing a man just outside Mustang Run early tomorrow morning. She thought it would be easier to just stay here instead of driving back to Austin. She hadn’t counted on running into a lunatic.”

  Not in what seemed to be a quiet, rural Texas town. It had probably seemed even quieter and more peaceful almost eighteen years ago when Dylan’s mother had been murdered in similar fashion mere miles away. That time the perpetrator had used a gun.

  Damn!

  He’d been doing a good job of keeping his own dark memories out of this, but now that he’d acknowledged them, they slunk into his consciousness like a pack of howling coyotes. But this wasn’t about the past or him.

  “I know you’re going to the hospital to see Eleanor, but I don’t think you should come back here by yourself after that.”

  “I live here.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to spend the night here tonight.”

  She put her foot flat on the porch to stop the gentle swaying of the swing. “Are you suggesting I stay at your ranch?”

  He’d definitely not been suggesting that. “Haunted houses make for a lousy night’s sleep,” he said, keeping it light.

  She shrugged. “I’ll be fine, and once my father gets tired of interrogating you, you should go home and get some sleep.”

  He should. He probably wouldn’t. “Your father obviously doesn’t approve of our being friends.”

  “He seldom approves of anything I do. I like it that way.”

  And yet she still lived on his turf, in the same small town she’d grown up in.

  She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her full skirt. “I should call Melinda. She’ll want to know about the assault. And then she can get in touch with Eleanor’s mother in Houston.”

  He nodded and waited.

  By the time she broke the connection, he could see new frustrations setting in. “Was there a problem?”

  “Melinda was spaced-out on her migraine drugs. She insisted she call Eleanor’s mother and she offered to call a cab and go to the hospital, but I told her to stay home. She’s a zombie when those headaches set in.”

  He walked over and dropped to the swing next to Collette. She rested her head on his shoulder and his need to pull her into his arms jumped into overdrive.

  This was not the time to have these feelings. And Collette was definitely not the woman to be having them for. It was also not the time to be a jerk, so he slipped a comforting arm around her.

  The front door swung open, and the sheriff stepped onto the porch. He stood like a stone statue, scowling as if he’d caught them in some immoral act. His censure of Dylan couldn’t have been clearer.

  Screw him, Dylan thought. Yet he stood and moved away from the swing.

  The sheriff continued to stare him down. “I have plenty of questions for you, Dylan Ledger, but first I want to hear from my daughter.”

  The sheriff walked to the edge of the porch and spit a wad of tobacco into the dirt before turning to Collette. “What do you know about this stalker and why haven’t you come to me about this befor
e now?”

  Chapter Five

  Her reasoning seemed futile now. Could it be that she’d let Eleanor face this because of her own stubborn resentment toward her father?

  Collette took a deep breath and tried to put her guilt aside for now. She needed her full powers of concentration to recall every detail she’d gleaned from the madman’s phone calls. That was the least she could do for Eleanor.

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “I didn’t come to you because the man’s calls were never threatening. At first I thought they were a joke.”

  “A joke? Someone was stalking you and you took it for a joke?”

  “At first,” she admitted. “He’d say how beautiful I was and that he couldn’t get me out of his mind. I figured one of my friends had put him up to it.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “I can’t remember word for word. The first few times, it was as if he was flirting. He’d say how much he looked forward to meeting me. When I asked why he didn’t tell me who he was, he’d say he was waiting for the right time.”

  “I take it that progressed.”

  “Yes. A few weeks ago, he started freaking me out. He’d describe how I looked in a specific dress or outfit, talk about how I’d worn my hair, comment on the errands I’d run that day. He seemed to know everything about me, what I did, where I went. That made me increasingly nervous.”

  “But he never asked you to meet him?”

  “Not once, though he kept saying we’d meet soon and that I’d like him.”

  “What about his voice? Did it remind you of anyone you know?”

  “No, that was the creepiest part of the calls. His voice sounded strained, croaky, as if he had a perpetual case of laryngitis. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. That’s why I’m almost sure I’ve never met him.”

  “When did this start?”

  “A few months back.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “Sometime around mid-March, I think. I was working late in my studio.” She’d taken it so lightly that first time, but it made her skin crawl now to think that even that night he might have been snooping around, watching her every move.

  “Damn it, Colley. What were you thinking? You should have called me immediately.”

  Colley. He’d reverted to his childhood name for her. She’d hated it, thought it made her sound like a dog. Eventually, he’d dropped it, but tonight it felt right.

  He started to pace. “Think, Colley. Had you met someone new who’d come on to you, maybe while photographing a wedding or a party of some kind?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “How can I be sure? People talk to me all the time. I don’t think about the possibility that they could be stalkers.”

  “Don’t get riled with me. I’m just asking.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. This is just so hard when I don’t even know how badly Eleanor is injured.”

  But her father’s questions kept coming, on and on until her head felt as if someone were pushing needles into her brain.

  When she could take no more, she buried her face in her hands and tried to regroup. She knew her father needed something specific to go on, but there was no consistent pattern to the stalker’s calls. All she knew of the man was his voice and the way it had started to creep inside her stomach and turn it into knots whenever he’d call.

  Drowning in guilt wouldn’t help. She gripped the chains that held the swing and raised her head, finally looking at her father. “I realize now that I should have reported the phone calls, but I’ve heard you say yourself that there’s little law enforcement can do when an unidentified stalker fails to make physical threats.”

  “I’m your father, Collette. I would have found a way to track down the son of a bitch.”

  “Then do it now,” she said, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

  “Your daughter’s had a rough night,” Dylan said, interrupting the conversation for the first time since her father had started grilling her. “Maybe you should give the questions a rest for now.”

  “When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it, Ledger.”

  His continuous brusque treatment of Dylan was uncalled for, and it grated on Collette’s already raw nerves. “Dylan’s right, Dad. I’ll keep trying to think of anything I can to help, but we’re wasting time here and Eleanor might need me.”

  Her dad nodded and spit again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before walking over to the swing where she was sitting. “Okay, but I don’t feel good about you being alone while the lunatic who attacked Eleanor is still on the loose.”

  “I won’t be alone. I’m going straight to the hospital.”

  “Get your things and Brent can drive you there. When you’re finished, he can take you to Bill and Alma’s to spend the rest of the night.”

  Always with the orders. But this time she would do as he said—or almost as he said. “I’ll take my own car. I don’t like being stuck anywhere without it.”

  “Dumb move with a lunatic on the loose who has made it his business to follow you around. But if you insist on having your car, Brent can drive you to the hospital and I’ll have one of the other deputies drive your car to Bill’s.”

  “Okay.” Too bad Dylan hadn’t invited her to his place for the night. Her father would have thrown a fit, but it would have been a lot easier than going over all of this again with her brother and his wife.

  And she really hated the thought of bringing Georgia into this. Not that they could keep it from her. Nothing stayed secret in Mustang Run.

  When she stood to go inside, her father put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was discomfiting for her and no doubt for him, as well. She’d accepted long ago that he was guarded with his emotions. Instead he gave orders and criticized.

  And drove away the best things in his life.

  “We’ll get the son of a bitch, Colley.” He patted her on the shoulder and then stepped back. “You get your things together. I’ll go tell Brent the plan.”

  When he walked away, Dylan took his place at her side and took her hands in his. “None of this is your fault, Collette. Don’t let anyone make you think that it is.”

  There was no awkwardness in Dylan’s touch. He was practically a stranger, yet it was easier to turn to him for comfort than to her own father.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. “For everything.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “Keep that thought while my father is trying to break you the way he would a wild steed. That’s what you get for coming to the aid of the sheriff’s daughter.”

  “I’m not worried about him, but I can see why he’s suspicious about my showing up here tonight. Just for the record, why did you tell me to stop by anytime?”

  She had no answer that made sense even to her. “I guess I just wanted to see you again.” She pushed through the door, then stopped and turned back to face Dylan. “Why did you come?”

  “Two beers. Dread of going back to the ranch.” He leaned against the door frame. “And I wanted to see you again.”

  She could really grow to like this man.

  DYLAN WOKE and opened his eyes at the smell of brewing coffee drifting from the kitchen. The predawn darkness outside his window told him daybreak was at least a half hour away. He couldn’t have slept more than a few hours.

  Punching his pillow, he rolled to his stomach. A pain attacked just below the small of his back. The mattress on his boyhood bed was likely the culprit, either that or the strain of the previous evening.

  He’d assumed it would be the memories of his past that messed up his mind when he returned to Mustang Run. Now there were new dilemmas to consume his thoughts and rob him of sleep.

  The only good news was that Collette had called him from the hospital last night to let him know that her friend Eleanor had regained consciousness and was in stable condition, though too groggy from pain medication to answer questions.

  She’d suffered a concussion
and needed to undergo surgery today to repair damage to her shoulder. But luckily the injuries were not life-threatening.

  Nonetheless, Collette sounded panicky about her friend’s condition.

  The floorboards squeaked when he threw his legs over the side of the bed and planted his size-ten feet. Fatigue still clung to him like soap scum to a shower door, but he might as well face the day ahead and his dad.

  Dylan grabbed the jeans he’d worn yesterday from the chair where he’d tossed them last night. He’d shower and change after coffee. He didn’t bother with shoes or a shirt. He did stop at the bathroom, take care of business, wash his hands and rake his damp fingers through his hair.

  When he stepped into the kitchen, his dad was standing at the back door looking out and seemingly studying the skulking shadows made by branches swaying in the slight breeze.

  “You’re up early,” Troy said, not bothering to turn around.

  “I smelled coffee.”

  “Yeah. I started a pot once I figured out how. Even appliances have changed a lot in seventeen years.”

  Dylan hadn’t considered that there would be so many common everyday things his father hadn’t done while he was in prison. Even moving around his own kitchen must seem strange.

  That was another reason Dylan probably should have given him some time to adjust on his own before barging in as a welcoming party of one. But the attorney had felt it important that at least one of Troy’s sons be there for his homecoming.

  “You were out late last night,” Troy said.

  Dylan nodded. When the coffee indicator flashed green, he took two mugs from the cabinet and filled both of them, handing one to his father.

  “No place better to party than Texas,” Troy said.

  “Actually I was late because I ran into a problem.”

  The tension factor in the room increased. “What kind of problem?”

  “A young woman was viciously attacked. I was the first one on the scene.”

  Troy winced as if the words had been blows. His free hand clenched and unclenched a couple of times before he pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down.