Lone Star Redemption. Colleen Thompson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I sure as heck noticed how she lied to him about who we were and then popped off your sister’s boyfriend’s name when her son looked at her funny. And right in front of you, too, after acting like she couldn’t remember.”

      Frowning, Jessie shook her head. “She was so flustered by that point, I’m guessing she couldn’t keep it together any longer. But at least I have the boyfriend’s name now, so we can check him out.”

      He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced down at its face. “Not out here, you can’t. Not online, anyway. There’s no service, and—big surprise—no Wi-Fi signal, either.”

      “How do people live like this?” Hours from the nearest Starbucks, she was going into withdrawal, and being cut off from the phone, email and internet was even harder.

      As if on cue, a trio of cows—or bulls, or whatever the heck they were—wandered into their path. Apparently unfazed by the wind, the big red-and-white animals stopped to chew and stare at them.

      “Come on, you three. Out of the way.” She tapped the horn, and one mooed. Another turned around and mooned her, before lifting its tail to...

      “Not on my hood, you don’t!” she said, shifting into Reverse and backing the car a safe distance. Though she’d covered far more than her share of crime scenes, accidents and fatality fires on the night beat, she crinkled her nose and oohed at the disgusting display.

      Henry grinned and said, “I’m guessing Bossy there doesn’t like us any better than that cowboy does.”

      Jessie snorted, then tried to decide if her Prius could make it if she drove off the graded driveway and carefully skirted the cattle. The ground to either side was lumpy with rocks, and the tough grasses and thorny shrubs could easily hide holes where they might get stuck.

      Fortunately, the cattle moved on, swishing their tails smugly.

      “I am so having a nice, juicy steak tonight, if I can find one...” she grumbled.

      The caterpillar mustache twitched. “I’m sure our host will be glad to hear that. Good for the cattle business, after all.”

      “Oh, right,” she said, wishing she could declare for vegetarianism, instead. But she’d been raised on good Texas beef, and she’d miss it like crazy if she had to give it up. “Well, all that aside, I think I saw a diner back in Rusted Spur. And I’m betting there’s a signal there, too, so I can hop on the web.”

      “Glad to hear it ’cause right about now, I could eat that cow whole.” Henry slanted her a look, reminding her she’d been in such a big hurry to reach the ranch, they’d had nothing since first thing that morning. Not that there had been a lot of restaurants to choose from once they’d left the state highway. “You’re sure the place’ll be open?”

      “Judging from the number of pickups parked out front earlier, I figure it’s the local hangout. Thank goodness it wasn’t boarded up like most of the other businesses in town.”

      “Town seems like a stretch,” said Henry, who was a city boy himself, born and raised in Chicago.

      Jessie had to agree with his assessment. When they’d driven through Rusted Spur forty minutes before finding the ranch, the winds had just begun to blow, making the depressing collection of weathered, mostly wood-frame buildings, older vehicles and a single, flashing red light look positively bleak. She hoped that she was wrong, that some unexplored cross-street would reveal a thriving downtown with actual human beings she could talk to. Because even if her sister had been a stranger here, Haley’s boyfriend wasn’t, which made it likely he had friends or family members who would know where he had gone.

      “It’s late for lunch and early for dinner, but let’s head that way, anyhow,” she suggested. “With a little luck, we’ll find some chatty local who’ll tell us about Frankie McFarland.”

      “Could be they won’t like outsiders,” Henry warned. “Especially not outsiders asking questions about a local boy.”

      “Oh, ye of little faith,” she said. “I’ll bet you a nice, crisp twenty there’s somebody eager to rat out old Frankie. Either because he’s a jerk—my sister’s boyfriends always are—or for the chance to be on TV.”

      “Not for some Dallas station they don’t even get here.”

      Henry’s cynicism reminded her of the other type of people news crews frequently encountered: those who called them vultures—or worse—and slammed doors in their faces. Thinking of Zach Rayford’s contempt, she decided to forget about the camera and the microphone and simply play up the worried-sister angle. Her reunion with her twin later would make for more compelling viewing, anyway.

      By the time they rolled into town, the storm had completely blown itself out, leaving behind a faint orange haze and chilly temperatures for late October.

      Before heading toward the diner, they took the time to drive around town and found a few more going concerns, including a feed cooperative, a small post office located inside a rundown grocery store and a combination car repair shop and gas station. A lone pickup crossed the intersection ahead of them and a couple of lean brown dogs trotted along a buckled sidewalk.

      “I’m starting to wonder if that storm blew us back in time,” said Henry as he peered at a long-since-closed theater. “This place looks like something from another century.”

      “Another planet,” Jessie agreed, thinking of the tangled freeways and shining skyscrapers of downtown Dallas.

      They easily found parking in front of a place called Tumbleweeds, which sported a peeling, hand-lettered sign proclaiming it the HOME OF THE PANHANDLE’S BIGGEST CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK!

      “I notice they didn’t bother to claim ‘best,’” she said, making a mental note to order something healthier than the breaded, fried and gravy-laden dish.

      After hiding the mini-cam in the rear hatch, they went in to scope the place out. At only a few minutes past four, the small, wood-frame structure was deserted save for a plump, dark-haired teenager cleaning tables and an older man Jessie assumed to be the cook, judging from his hairnet and apron, dozing as he leaned against the counter.

      The waitress put down the rag she’d been using and smiled at them with crooked little teeth. “Welcome to Tumbleweeds. Are y’all here for dinner?”

      “Sure thing,” Jessie said, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the girl—Mandy, according to the name tag on her apron—didn’t seem to recognize her, which probably meant she didn’t know Haley. But that didn’t mean the teen couldn’t be of help.

      An hour later, they came out, full of saturated fats, since there hadn’t been so much as a single veggie on the menu that wasn’t deep-fried or infused with bacon drippings, but little wiser than they had been.

      Although Mandy had seemed sympathetic when Jessie told her about her search, it was clear that she knew nothing about Haley. She had, however, told them that Frankie McFarland’s brother, Danny, worked at the nearby feed store. Searches on both names with her cell phone, which was working decently if slowly, didn’t turn up anything of use. Apparently, the McFarland brothers didn’t stay connected with their friends on social networks, either.

      Jessie and Henry had nearly reached the car when the girl from СКАЧАТЬ