Texas Rebels: Paxton. Linda Warren

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       Chapter Two

      One hour and thirty minutes later Paxton zoomed toward Horseshoe, Texas, and Rebel Ranch. He wasn’t being manipulated by Miss Bertie. But then the seeds of guilt began to play with his mind. His dad had always said once you start a job, you make sure you finish it. He could remember when he was a kid, he and his dad were fixing a fence and it began to drizzle and then it started to sleet. But his dad worked on, saying a man always finishes the job he starts.

      If he gave the sales slip to his mother, so Miss Bertie could pick up her check, that meant he hadn’t finished the job. Disappointment would be in his mother’s eyes and in that moment he knew he couldn’t just run away like a little boy. What would it hurt to compliment Miss Bertie’s plain-Jane granddaughter? He’d flirted with more girls than he could remember. One more was a piece of cake.

      He turned off the highway onto County Road 461 and drove across the cattle guard, the trailer clanging. The dog raced along the chain-link fence, barking his head off. Paxton stopped the truck at the back of the house and slammed the gearshift into Park. He picked up Miss Bertie’s sales receipt, which had a tag number and a description of each calf, from the console and headed for the back door.

      Memphis jumped up and down, barking and wagging his tail, eager to see a person. He had a heck of a time keeping the dog from darting out the gate. A long porch adorned the back of the house with a couple of old rocking chairs. He went up the steps and knocked on the built-in-screen glass door.

      “Come on in!” Miss Bertie shouted.

      He opened the door and stepped into 1960, or the late 1950s. The floor was yellow-and-white linoleum and the chairs and table were an old Formica set. It reminded him of his grandmother’s old house. Miss Bertie came into the kitchen and this time she wasn’t wearing a hat. Her short gray hair stuck out in all directions. He wondered if she had a brush or a comb.

      She winked at him. “Sweetie, come here. We have company.”

      “Gran, I’m riding my bike.”

      “We still greet company in my house. Get your butt in here.”

      Paxton removed his hat, ready to get this over with as fast as he could.

      A girl appeared in the doorway in jogging pants and a sweatshirt with the University of Houston on it. She was thin and frail, and her clothes hung on her. Her short light brown hair framed a pretty face. Familiar sea-green eyes stared at him.

      The girl from Port Aransas.

      She was as stunned as he was, grabbing the door frame for support.

      “Remi, sweetie, this is Paxton Rebel. And this is my granddaughter—”

      “What are you doing letting a Rebel into your house?” The girl turned on her grandmother.

      Miss Bertie shrugged. “I have nothing against the Rebels.”

      “John Rebel killed my father. Have you forgotten that?”

      Oh, crap. It dawned on Paxton for the first time. This had to be Ezra McCray’s daughter. He’d been younger then and had forgotten a lot of the details. But Miss Bertie’s daughter, Ava, had married Ezra McCray. Paxton knew they had a son, Ruger, but he had no idea they had a daughter.

      “Okay, missy, I’m not standing here and letting you paint your father as a saint. He was an evil man and I would have killed him myself, but your grandfather always stopped me. He beat your mother so many times and I begged her to leave, but she was scared to death of him. Everyone in this town was scared of him. And in case you’ve forgotten he tried to kill two of the Rebel boys.”

      “I’d rather not talk about this and I’d rather not talk to him.” She nodded toward Paxton.

      “Do you know what he’s doing here?” Miss Bertie asked.

      “No.”

      “He hauled my calves to the auction barn because Ruger wouldn’t. Your brother is under Ira McCray’s thumb and he won’t let him do anything for me. These are the people you’re protecting. People you don’t even know. You were less than two years old when your mother took you to Houston. Later, your mother remarried and Nathan adopted you. Nathan is your father and Ezra is nothing to you.”

      “Gran—”

      Paxton had had enough. He wasn’t stepping into this land mine. He handed Miss Bertie the papers. “You can pick up your check tomorrow afternoon.” He tipped his hat. “It’s been a pleasure.”

      “Wait a minute. I want to look at this,” Miss Bertie called, and he forced himself to stop and turn around. “I have to find my glasses.” She disappeared down a hallway.

      Remi СКАЧАТЬ