Cowboy Swagger Read online

  “You better believe it. Her husband got gunned down in Brownsville in some kind of drug turf war a couple of years ago. That’s when she moved back here. Her addict daughter was shot last fall while she was high on crack cocaine. Losing her only child destroyed what was left of poor Edna.”

  “Does this story have a point?”

  “Edna’s lost her daughter and that turned her into a bitter woman. But living with nothing but anger and regret won’t bring her daughter back.”

  He was beginning to see where this was going. He took a long sip of his coffee and waited for it.

  “Helene wouldn’t want you to give up, Troy. She’d want you to be a father to her sons even if they are grown. She’d want you to keep living and ranching.”

  “And eating pie?”

  “Yes. And eating pie. Just don’t dry up like Edna.”

  He had no intention of drying up, not until the dirty bastard who’d taken Helene’s life paid with his own. “Don’t worry about me, Abby. I’ve got things under control.”

  “If you ever need a friend, my number’s in the book.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I won’t be holding my breath. Now I’ve got to get back to the kitchen before the crusts on my cherry pies turn from gold to black.”

  “I’ll be back to try them one day soon.”

  “Bring Dylan. I’d love to see him. And watch out for McGuire.”

  McGuire’s riding herd on him was the least of his worries. Taking it out on his son—on Helene’s son—was a horse of a different color.

  Troy had gone to prison because Glenn McGuire had twisted every speck of evidence against him. He would not get the chance to do that to Dylan.

  If Troy had learned anything in prison, it was how to take care of business—by whatever means it took.

  Chapter Seven

  The blonde bitch hadn’t died. Not that he’d meant to kill her originally, but since she’d fouled up everything for him, it would make him feel better to know she was no longer breathing.

  Once again, he’d screwed things up. But there was no way he could have known the blonde would be there or that the guy in the black truck would show up.

  He’d tracked Collette McGuire’s every movement. She lived alone. She didn’t date. No one had spent the night in that house except her for the past three months.

  Ordinarily he could back off now, give things a chance to settle down, provide some damage control.

  Not this time. Days, maybe hours, could make a difference.

  Take one life to save another.

  He’d killed for a lot less.

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan had balked at first, not wanting to start a war between her and her father, but Collette had persisted, and he’d finally agreed to let her stay at the ranch. His only stipulation had been that she tell her father beforehand.

  She’d taken care of that a few seconds ago—after she’d asked how the investigation was going. There was no way she could have had a rational discussion with her father after telling him she was sleeping on murderer’s row. His description, not hers.

  Dylan turned into the drive that led to her house. Like most of the rural homes, this one sat well back from the road. Every other week, a neighbor kid cut the grass for her on his riding mower.

  “Any word on fingerprints?” he asked Collette.

  “The only matches were mine, yours and Eleanor’s. I knew he had my and Eleanor’s fingerprints on record. He made a point of getting them when we headed to Florida for spring break our freshman year at UT after telling us horror stories about women who were abducted by strangers. We figured it was to frighten us away from cute college guys we met on the beach.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Until we met the first hunk. Did he take your fingerprints last night?”

  “He did. It’s routine, so don’t go getting bent out of shape about it. Did your father say if they’d gotten any info from your wireless provider?”

  “No, and I’m not sure he’ll be able to get that information. When the stalker phones, my caller ID always indicates Out of Area or Unavailable. I think he uses prepaid phones.”

  “Even with those, you can get some information. The general location where the call originated. Whether or not he always used the same phone.” Dylan killed the engine and opened the truck door. “Give me the name of your provider and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  She told him and then jumped out of the truck and met him on the walkway that led to the front porch. “You’re not a cop. How can you get info on my calls?”

  “I have connections. My oldest brother, Wyatt, is a police detective in Atlanta.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s one of the advantages of having five brothers. You have a wide range of expertise to call on when you’re in a jam.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Not so close that I can tell you the name of Wyatt’s current squeeze or what he ate for dinner last night, but close enough that I can ask a favor.”

  “When was the last time you saw Wyatt?”

  “About four years ago when my grandmother died. All five of us were there for the funeral. The Ledger contingent was in full force that day.”

  Collette took the key from her handbag but didn’t open the door. “How often do you all get together?”

  “We tend to avoid reunions. When the five of us congregate, the topic of conversation tends to center around the things we all have in common. Mother’s murder. Having a father in prison.”

  “But you’re still family.” Not that she had room to talk about failed family relationships. Collette unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The house felt cold and hostile, as if the aura of violence had attached itself to the very walls. It struck her that the Ledger home must feel a thousand times more frosty and intimidating to Dylan.

  And she’d be sleeping in that same house tonight, with Dylan, his father and all their haunting memories of what used to be. She shuddered at the thought.

  Dylan’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be when I get the house back in order. You can wait here if you like while I go change into work clothes.”

  “In that case, I think I’ll make that call to Wyatt.”

  DYLAN PUNCHED IN WYATT’S cell-phone number. He had all his brothers’ phone numbers programmed into his phone, though he seldom called them.

  “You’re on.” Wyatt answered with his typical offbeat greeting.

  “It’s Dylan. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “It’s always a bad time around here. What’s up? Problems in paradise already?”

  “A few.”

  “Is Troy all right?”

  It was never Dad with Wyatt.

  “About what you’d expect.”

  “I have no idea what I’d expect.”

  “Dad’s home. Quiet. Withdrawn, but talking about getting the ranch up and running again.”

  “Interesting. How are things working out for you?”

  “They could be better.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I need some information.”

  “Sure. Can you hold on a minute?”

  Dylan waited while Wyatt held a hurried conversation with someone else. There was loud talking in the background.

  “Sorry,” Wyatt said when he came back to Dylan. “I’m at the precinct. It’s crazy around here.”

  “I won’t keep you but a minute. I was wondering if you could get me the details on calls made from one cell phone to another in the Mustang Run area.”

  “Is some idiot harassing Troy already?”

  “No. It’s for a friend of mine. I’m guessing she could get the data herself but I figure you can get it a lot faster.”

  “A woman, huh? You’re a fast worker.”

  “It’s my killer charm.”

  “Must run in the family. So what’s going on with her?”

&n
bsp; “Her house was broken into last night and a girlfriend of hers who was there alone was attacked. Some guy’s been making anonymous, harassing phone calls to my friend and she thinks he could be behind the assault.”

  “How serious were the victim’s injuries?”

  “He stabbed her in the shoulder with a kitchen knife. There was considerable blood loss and the wound required surgery. He also hit her in the head with a skillet. She suffered a concussion, but no major complications to this point.”

  “Sounds as if she was fighting him off and he missed his mark with the knife, or else he didn’t mean to kill her. Either way, he’s dangerous. The police should be handling this.”

  “They are.”

  “And you should be staying far away from this situation, Dylan. The Ledger name alone could make any attempt to help backfire on you.”

  Wyatt didn’t know the half of it. “Can you get the info?”

  “I’ll need your friend’s name, cell-phone number and her wireless provider.”

  Dylan obliged him, giving the name last.

  “McGuire,” Wyatt repeated. “Any kin to Sheriff Glenn McGuire?”

  “His daughter.”

  “How in hell did you… Hold on a second, will you?”

  This time Wyatt was back on the line in a matter of seconds.

  “Things are hopping. Gotta run, but I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, my advice is to run from this like you’ve got a couple of wild hogs chasing you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, bro.”

  Thanks for reiterating what he already knew. Being with Collette was a mistake. Having her stay at his place against her dad’s wishes was downright masochistic.

  Dylan didn’t see Collette when he walked through the house, but he could hear noises and music with a Latin beat coming from her bedroom. He stepped into the kitchen. The blood was still on the floor along with the mess the investigation team had made searching for evidence.

  Dylan knew little about working a crime scene, but he figured they’d surely taken DNA samples. They’d also have taken the bloodied knife and skillet. Hopefully some concrete evidence would come of it. And Wyatt was right. They didn’t need Dylan’s help.

  Still, he walked to the back door to check the lock. It was evident that it had been tampered with. His guess was that the man had come in and left that way. Dylan’s first instinct about seeing a figure run from the house was probably right on target. He’d mentioned that to the sheriff during the interrogation session, but he had no idea if the sheriff had checked it out.

  Dylan walked out the back door, across the porch and down the steps. The grass was high, probably due to be cut soon. There was no sign of footprints.

  He scanned the area, looking for a protected spot where the attacker could have parked his car hidden from the road. There was a cluster of oak trees about fifty yards behind the house, but there were no tire tracks leading in that direction. If he’d parked there, he hadn’t gotten there from Collette’s driveway.

  Dylan made his way to the trees, though he wouldn’t wander far. Not that he expected trouble today. The attacker would have to be insane to chance coming back to the scene of the crime with Dylan’s truck parked in the drive—the same truck that had most likely frightened him away last night.

  The grass gave way to bare earth as Dylan reached the heavily shaded area. He knelt for a closer look at what appeared to be prints of rubber-soled shoes. The prints weren’t totally distinct, but there was enough there to tell that the man had walked this way toward the house and then run back to his car. He held his foot next to one of the prints. He’d guess the attacker’s shoe size at an eleven.

  And just beyond the trees, there were well-indented tire tracks. He followed them just far enough to determine that the driver had cut across from a partially overgrown dirt road that ran behind the Baptist Church. The stalker had done his homework.

  But he’d likely made a few mistakes. He’d have assumed Collette’s car was parked in the garage, would have seen the shadows behind the blinds and mistook them for Collette’s. And then Eleanor had surprised him, and he’d panicked and attacked her.

  Had it been Collette alone inside the house…

  Sick possibilities wreaked havoc with his mind.

  Had the stalker come as he’d promised to convince Collette he was her soul mate? Or had he come to claim her against her will?

  He’d love the stalker to show up now. Love to slam a fist into his face over and over until the man was mush.

  He didn’t know how he’d become this attached to Collette so quickly. All he knew was that he had to keep her safe.

  Collette was on her knees in the kitchen when he returned to the house, scrubbing the blood stains with a terry-cloth rag. The harsh odor of chemicals in the cleanser clogged his nostrils.

  “Do you mind opening another window?” she asked without looking up.

  He opened several and left the back door ajar.

  “Thanks.” Her yellow rubber gloves made a crinkling sound as she dipped the rag in the bucket of water and squeezed out the excess.

  He watched her work, mesmerized by the movement of her body in the denim cutoffs and the soft pink T-shirt she’d changed into. She had a natural way about her that made her far more enticing than any glamour queen he’d ever seen. She was sensual without trying, feminine yet feisty and independent.

  And what she did for a pair of denim cutoffs and a cotton shirt was affecting him in ways he didn’t need right now. He had to find something to do besides stare at her derriere.

  “Why don’t you let me work on those stains while you go get your things together,” he said.

  “About that…” She dropped her rag into the bucket of soapy water and pulled off the gloves, dropping them onto the floor. “I’ve given that more thought. I can’t intrude on you and your father when he’s trying to adjust to life outside of prison and you’re trying to reconnect with him. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

  He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Fine. Then I’ll stay here with you.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t ask. I’m offering.”

  “And I’m turning you down. I have to move back into this house sooner or later.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone, Collette. Your place or mine. They’re the only options, unless you want me to rent a hotel room for both of us.”

  “You’re not making this easy, Dylan.”

  “It sounds easy enough to me.”

  “I can’t take you away from your father. He needs you, probably even more than I do.”

  “Then it’s settled. Get your things. You and your vivacious energy are probably exactly what the Ledger house needs.” A new thought occurred to him. “Unless you’re afraid my father is dangerous or that the house is haunted.”

  “From what I read in the newspaper yesterday, your father is exceptionally nonviolent. And I’d take ghosts over real live villains any day.”

  “Then it’s settled. You pack. I’ll clean.”

  “Forget about the scrubbing. I think I’ll take my sister-in-law up on her offer to send her housekeeper my way for a day.”

  “Good. I hate scrub-pail hands.”

  He mussed her hair as if she were a kid, letting his fingers delve into the thick richness of it. “This should be fun. I haven’t had a sleepover in years.”

  “A houseguest,” she corrected him. “Sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

  He smiled. “Of course. Just a slip of the tongue.”

  He was far too smart to share a bed with Collette. He’d be out of here in a week or two, and she was going to be hell to get over as it was. Not that he had any idea where he was going. He only knew he couldn’t go back to being cooped up in an office.

  IF SOMEONE HAD TOLD Collette yesterday that she’d be staying over at Troy Ledger’s house tonight, she’d have thought them daft. Dylan made the difference. They were stil
l virtual strangers, yet she’d connected with him in a way that defied the odds.

  Her heart had jumped to her throat when she’d accidentally caught him in the viewfinder yesterday, and being around him didn’t lessen the impact. But if the attraction were purely physical, she’d have put him on the back burner while she dealt with her stalker and his attack on Eleanor.

  But Dylan was protective without being patronizing. He hadn’t lectured her about dealing with the stalker on her own or even hinted that this could be her fault.

  And he’d discovered the footprints and tire tracks behind her house. She assumed her father had as well, but, of course, he wouldn’t bother to mention any of that to her. Now all they needed was a good description of the rat from Eleanor.

  “Do you mind driving to the hospital before we go back to the ranch?”

  “Not at all. If Eleanor’s talking, she could provide a lot of missing details.”

  “Maybe I should call first. If she can’t have visitors yet, there’s no reason to waste time on the drive.”

  She retrieved her cell phone and punched in the number for Eleanor’s private room. She immediately recognized the voice that answered. “Good morning, Mrs. Baker. This is Collette.”

  “I’m glad you called. I was so stressed last night I don’t know if I thanked you for staying with Eleanor until I could drive over from Houston.”

  “I was glad to do it, though Eleanor never knew I was there.”

  “Your father has already been in this morning. I’d heard a lot about him from Eleanor but had never met him. I feel a lot better after talking to him. He assured me he’ll get to the bottom of this and arrest the thug who tried to kill Eleanor.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Collette agreed. “How is Eleanor?”

  “The doctor said the shoulder surgery went well. He doesn’t expect any complications. I’m just glad you found her and got her to the hospital as quickly as you did.”

  “Actually, Dylan called for the ambulance even before I got home.”

  “Dylan?”

  So her dad had failed to mention him. She’d love to know the reason for that. Likely more of his diabolical plan to put Dylan on the hot seat and keep Collette from trusting him.