Remember My Touch. Gayle Wilson

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      “About everything. About the drugs.”

      “Somebody approached Mac,” Jenny said, remembering, almost against her will, the argument they had had that night. The night Mac had died. “Somebody made him an offer.”

      “Mac didn’t give me any details. Or anyone else, apparently. Not even Buck.”

      “He didn’t have time. He would have told you. That’s why he asked you to come down here that weekend. And he had promised to contact the DEA. Officially, I mean. He promised me that night.”

      “And instead… Hell, Jenny, we’re no closer than we were five years ago to knowing what really happened.”

      The frustration she heard in his voice had played a role, she knew, in Chase’s determination to make certain that Rio, at least, paid for his part in his half brother’s death.

      “And in the meantime,” he continued, his tone containing a thread of self-castigation now, “I got my half brother sent to prison for a crime neither of us believes anymore that he had anything to do with.”

      “Have you told Rio that?” Jenny asked.

      Chase pushed his cup away from him, the sudden motion strong enough to cause the coffee it contained to slosh out over the side. “How the hell am I supposed to tell a man that I’ve just realized my bullheaded stupidity cost him five years of his life? How do I do that, Jenny? How the hell do I ever make up for that?”

      “I don’t know. I don’t know that you can make up for it, but I do know that admitting you were wrong would be a good first step.”

      Chase’s laugh was short and harsh. “Somehow that doesn’t seem to be quite enough,” he said. “It damn well wouldn’t be enough for me.”

      “But then you’re one of those hardheaded McCullars. Maybe Rio…” She hesitated, realizing that Rio was a McCullar also, that unmistakable heritage from his father stamped as indelibly on his beautiful Latino features as it had been on the faces of his two half brothers.

      “Maybe Rio’s a better man than his brother,” Chase suggested quietly.

      “A more forgiving one,” Jenny said, finally smiling at him. “At least I hope so. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you want an invitation to Rio’s wedding?”

      The depth of the breath Chase took was visible and audible, but he still didn’t respond.

      “If it’s any help to you in reaching that decision,” she said, “I’d really like for you to be there. I think Trent would appreciate your showing up.”

      “Trent’s not too thrilled about this, I guess. About Anne marrying Rio.”

      “I think he’s trying to make the best of what he’s bound to see as a bad situation.”

      “Senator Richardson’s beloved little sister marrying an ex-con.”

      “Who shouldn’t have been an ex-con,” she reminded him quietly, feeling the need to defend Rio, even from Chase.

      “And who wouldn’t have been, except for me,” he acknowledged.

      “That sounds like justification enough for you to feel obligated to show up at his wedding.”

      “Obligated,” he repeated bitterly. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood.

      “They wore hair shirts in the Middle Ages,” Jenny said, working at keeping her own lips from tilting, although the teasing note was clear in her voice. “All you’ll need to put on is a suit.”

      “You don’t think Rio will throw me out?”

      “If you show up, you can probably even dance with the bride.”

      “I think I’ll settle for dancing with the groom’s sister-in-law,” he said.

      “Samantha will be delighted to hear that, I’m sure.” Chase’s wife, Samantha, was one of Jenny’s best friends and had been long before she married Chase McCullar.

      “I wasn’t talking about Samantha,” Chase said. He crossed the small distance between them and leaned down to press his lips lightly to Jenny’s cheek—something she couldn’t ever remember him doing before. Then, without another word, he went out the kitchen door.

      Jenny turned back to the dishes in the sink, but she was smiling, and as the long afternoon passed, she found herself remembering that unexpected brotherly kiss, and smiling again.

      It was good to have Chase home. And Rio, another of Mac’s brothers, whom she had really never known until he, too, had come back home. Rio had arrived at her ranch, angry and vengeful, determined to make Chase McCullar pay for what he had done, and instead he had ended up becoming part of Jenny’s family.

      Two men who were, in spite of all the bitterness and betrayal that lay in their past, finally becoming brothers. She only wished there was some way Mac could know about that. She really believed Mac would have approved.

      HE TOOK ANOTHER LOOK into the motel’s mirror. Doing that wasn’t something that ever gave him pleasure, although he thought he had probably done the best he could with his appearance this afternoon. His thick brown hair, brushed with gray at the temples, had just been trimmed. The suit he wore was new and expensive, and it had been expertly tailored to fit the tall, lean body. The white shirt was also a recent purchase, as was the maroon silk tie, its darkly subdued pattern very appropriate, they had told him, for an afternoon wedding.

      These weren’t the kinds of clothes he was accustomed to wearing. Not like any he’d ever worn in his life, but then that was really what this was all about, he thought. Disguise and deception. He hated them both, hated the necessity of them, although he couldn’t deny that they were necessary. Just as he knew the brown contact lens he wore was necessary.

      Before he left the room, he took the clipping he’d been carrying around with him for the last couple of months out of his wallet and laid it on the top of the dresser, carefully smoothing the creases with his left hand until it lay perfectly flat.

      Knowing that he would need the courage it would provide, he made himself read it again, slowly, although by now he knew the words by heart. At least he knew the ones that mattered. The ones that had finally brought him to San Antonio today.

      The newspaper column he had so carefully preserved contained the announcement of the engagement that had led to the wedding he would attend this afternoon. An engagement between Anne Richardson, Texas State Senator Trent Richardson’s sister, and a man named Rio Delgado. That announcement had been the crux of the column, but that hadn’t been what had caused him to read and reread this well-worn clipping.

      It had been the two-sentence teaser the society writer had included at the bottom that had been branded into his consciousness, that had gnawed at his gut since he’d first seen it. The words he had read over and over concerned the impending nuptials of Senator Richardson himself. To the widow of slain Texas lawman Mac McCullar.

      The man’s gaze lifted again to the mirror. He didn’t recognize the reflection there—the black patch that hid the empty socket of his right eye; the strange, reconstructed СКАЧАТЬ