Texas Grit. Barb Han

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СКАЧАТЬ the family’s lawyer and longtime friend of their father. Some people might say that Ed was Maverick Mike’s only true confidant.

      “Ed told me, too.” Ella rolled the spoon through her ice cream.

      He eyed the label. It came from Carrie’s Cold Treats.

      “Ed said there was some kind of stipulation.” Dade didn’t care a hill of beans about what he stood to inherit. The only reason he cared about the will was because there might be a revelation in it that could blow open the investigation and bring their father’s killer to justice. It sat hard on his chest that his father had been murdered on the ranch, that someone had had access and had wanted to prove they could do whatever they wanted at Maverick Mike’s home. What did that say about security? About Dade and his brother? Early on, folks had speculated that Andrea Caldwell, the Mav’s girlfriend, had shot him in his sleep. Dade hadn’t taken the rumor seriously. Andrea was a sweet person. She might not be able to take care of herself but she wouldn’t hurt a fly. It wasn’t her nature.

      “Wish I knew what he was talking about,” Ella admitted. “Do you?”

      “Guess we’ll learn together.” Dade filled a water glass and drained it. “When does Holden get here?”

      “A couple of days,” she said, her eyes getting a little spark in them when she referred to her fiancé. “He’s closing out his accounts in Virginia so he can move here. I wanted to go with him, but he thought I’d feel better if I stayed on the ranch while everything’s been so crazy.”

      “He’s probably right,” Dade agreed.

      Ella stood, moved to the sink and rinsed out her bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. “Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

      “I’ll see you in the morning,” Dade said. By the time he returned to the kitchen with a can of ground coffee, Ella had gone to bed. It was late. A shower and the idea of sleep won out over making coffee.

      After climbing in bed, Dade drew the covers up. His mind drifted to the last gift from his father, a fishing rod. Not just any fishing rod, but the one he’d wanted as a kid. There’d been a note, too. One that Dade had balled up and tossed into a drawer without reading. He’d been filled with anger and figured one small gesture couldn’t wipe away the abuse Dade had suffered at his father’s hands. Now he’d never have another chance to make things right with the old man. To add insult to injury, the note had gone missing.

      The sheriff was no closer to making an arrest now than he’d been a week ago. There were too many leads and too many distractions between the media and others who’d descended on Cattle Barge. Claims of paternity or debts owed from Maverick Mike were through the roof. Only one paternity claim had panned out so far, and Madelyn Kensington had arrived at the ranch seeming even less thrilled with the news than the Butlers had been.

      Rather than chew on those unproductive nuggets, Dade flipped onto his back. He’d been in bed long enough for his eyes to adjust to the dark, so he stared up at the ceiling, at the texture he’d heard his sisters describe as orange peel. The pattern stretched from wall to wall.

      Out of nowhere, Dade felt hemmed in. He used to love having his own wing in the main house, but now it felt like a cage.

      Tonight must be the night for fruitless thoughts, because his mind turned to Carrie and how good it had been to see her again. He told himself it was her safety that had him wanting to check on her in the morning when he had work to do.

      What time did her sweet shop open? He picked up his phone on the nightstand and glanced at the time. One o’clock in the morning. Work started in three hours. He thumbed the internet icon and then entered the name of her shop.

      She opened at eleven o’clock, which meant she probably arrived by seven or eight to prep for the day.

      The festival worker should be long gone by then. Shouldn’t he? It was probably the brush with death two of his sisters had had recently that had Dade’s mind twisting over his thoughts, concerned about Carrie.

      Because what if Nash had left that rose? What did that say about the man’s intentions?

       Chapter Four

      “Coco, come here, girl.” Carrie glanced around the backyard of her one-story bungalow, looking for her dog. Normally, she liked living in a suburb on the edge of the small town with its cul-de-sacs and third-of-an-acre lots. Tonight, she looked out into the blackness with apprehension. Was it always this dark outside on a weeknight? All the homes on her street were blacked out, and no one seemed to see the need to waste electricity by leaving a porch light on.

      This had never bothered her before, but Nash had caught her off guard, setting her nerves even more on edge after dealing with Brett. Where was her dog?

      Carrie stepped onto the back porch and called for Coco again. Her dog had run around the side of the house, which wasn’t unusual, but Carrie didn’t like it tonight. Out of habit, she’d dropped her keys next to the front door, along with her pepper spray. All kinds of worrisome thoughts plagued her. Technically, the festival wouldn’t pack up and leave until morning. Could Nash have figured out where she lived? He might’ve followed her home one evening. No. She would’ve known. She would’ve noticed an unfamiliar car or truck.

      “Coco,” she repeated, louder this time. And then she listened for the sounds of the dog tags clanking together—the proof of rabies vaccination always jingled when she moved. All she could hear were cicadas and crickets, which sounded haunting tonight. Keep thinking along those lines and she’d really psych herself out. Okay, it was too late for that. It’ll be fine, Carrie.

      Glancing into the shadows, a prickly sensation that someone was watching overtook her. This time she studied the dark corners of her yard. The glow from the back porch lit up barely more than her deck. Again, she asked herself if Nash could’ve followed her home. No way. She and Dade had talked for a long time after the encounter and they’d gone to the sheriff’s office. Her nerves were fried, and what she really needed was a cool shower, a good meal and sleep. It was time to put this awful day to rest and wake with a clean slate tomorrow.

      The sound of a truck engine hummed from down the street. As the noise moved toward her, she whistled for her dog and made kissing noises. Those usually did the trick. Not tonight.

      Carrie took a couple of steps back, placing her hand on the doorknob leading into the kitchen. As soon as Coco darted onto the deck, Carrie would be ready to usher her baby inside and quickly lock the door behind them. Why did her dog always exert her independence at the worst possible times?

      Gravel crunched underneath tires as her neighbor’s truck engine roared and then died. The bungalow next door had been rented six months ago by a single guy who seemed intent on keeping to himself. After several fruitless attempts to stop by and introduce herself, Carrie wondered if he wanted to be on friendly terms at all. Tonight probably wasn’t the best time for a conversation and since he’d made no effort so far, she figured he might be a jerk anyway. He kept odd hours, even to her, and she hadn’t seen him outside since he moved in. He was gone for days at a time with no indication of where he’d been. Lights in his house were on at odd times. Carrie had noticed them when Coco was sick and needed to go outside during the night. He never had company—or at least he didn’t while she’d been home. She could admit that wasn’t often since she’d opened the sweet shop last year.

      “Your СКАЧАТЬ