Cowboy Conspiracy. Joanna Wayne

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      She smiled as if that were the ultimate compliment. “Do me a favor while you’re out there with those rattlesnakes and cow patties, Wyatt.”

      “Send you a snakeskin?”

      “Don’t even think about it. But if on the off chance you find a woman who can put up with you, don’t push her away like she’s been living with a family of skunks, the way you did everyone I tried to fix you up with.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      “You know what’s wrong with you?”

      “I don’t like skunks.”

      “You’re afraid of falling. As soon you think you might like some woman, you make up excuses for why it won’t work. She’s too smart. She’s not smart enough. She has cats. She has kids. She doesn’t like cats or kids.”

      “You should get better friends to fix me up with.”

      “You may as well admit it. You’re afraid of relationships.”

      “Shows how smart I am. Do you know the divorce rate among cops?”

      “One day you’ll meet a woman who’ll knock you for such a loop you won’t be able to walk away. I hear Texas is full of women like that.”

      “Could be.” But a woman was the last thing he needed now. Texas and reuniting with Troy Ledger would be challenge enough. And now that the decision was made, he needed to move on. With luck, he’d be on the road by the middle of January.

      He traveled light. That was just one of the advantages of never putting down any deep roots or acquiring things like mortgages or a wife.

      He had no intention of changing that.

      “IT’S THE FUEL PUMP, Mrs. Burger. It’s going to have to be replaced.”

      Kelly groaned. She had another four hours to drive and it was already after three. Plus, the weather forecast for tonight was a line of severe thunderstorms preceding a cold front moving in from the northwest.

      The mechanic yanked a red rag from his back pocket and rubbed at a spot of grease on his arm that defied his removal efforts. “I can get to it first thing in the morning. And I’ll be glad to give you a ride now to the nearest motel.”

      “I really need to get back on the road today. I’ll pay extra if you can fix it this afternoon.”

      “I’m not sure how quickly I can get the part. I might be able to just run over to Mac’s Garage and pick it up or I might have to have one shipped in.”

      Just her luck to have her car break down in a small town. “Can’t you have someone drive to the nearest town with a Honda dealer and pick one up? I’ll pay his overtime and buy his gas.”

      Jaci tugged on Kelly’s skirt. “Can we go now, Momma?”

      “Not yet, Jaci.” She struggled to keep the frustration from her voice. She couldn’t expect a five-year-old to understand why they were just standing around waiting instead of off on the adventure she’d been promised. Jaci had been such a trooper over the last twelve months when their lives had been in serious upheaval.

      “Let me see what I can do,” the young mechanic said.

      He returned to the small waiting area ten minutes later, this time smiling.

      “I found a fuel pump that I can have here in under an hour. If we don’t run into problems, you can be on your way just after dark.”

      “Super.” They’d arrive in Mustang Run too late to accomplish anything tonight, but at least she’d be at the new house when the moving van arrived in the morning. Not actually a new house—just new to her. Actually it was older than her grandmother who’d willed it to her. But it would offer Kelly a new start after her year from hell.

      Not that she had a clue what shape the house would be in. It had stood empty for over a year now and the man who’d been managing the property was visiting his son in California.

      All he’d told her over the phone was that the house would need an ample application of soap and elbow grease and paint. She’d decided to move in and fix it up one room at a time as she found the time and the money.

      She had some savings but not enough for major repairs. Her husband’s medical bills had taken most of it before he died three years ago. And last year, she hadn’t earned a dime.

      “I’m hungry, Momma,” Jaci said, though Kelly suspected she was more bored than anything else.

      “There’s a McDonalds’s out on the highway,” the mechanic offered. “I can give you a lift over there if you’d like and pick you up when your car’s ready. It’s got a nice play area.”

      Jaci jumped around excitedly. “McDonald’s. Please, Momma. Please.”

      Hours at a McDonald’s surrounded by squealing kids and the odor of fries—or sitting here rereading for the twentieth time the two storybooks Jaci had brought with her in the car.

      That was a no-brainer.

      “That would be terrific,” Kelly agreed. Jaci could play off some of her energy, have the chicken nuggets she loved and then she’d likely sleep all the way to the Hill Country. They’d be back on track and hopefully to Mustang Run before the predicted thunderstorms set in.

      Surely nothing else could go wrong today.

      Chapter Two

      Large drops of rain splattered the windshield as Wyatt pulled off the highway and next to one of the gas pumps at a 24-hour truck stop. Eighteen-wheelers lined the truck parking area off to the right, the drivers no doubt sleeping soundly in their fancy cabs.

      He was the only gas customer and the parking lot in front of the café was empty except for a motorbike that looked as if it had seen its best days years ago, and a snazzy new Corvette.

      Wyatt climbed from his brand-new double-cab pickup truck, his going-away present to himself for trading a job he loved for a reunion with his father.

      All he owned was either tossed into the backseat or stored in the truck’s bed beneath the aluminum cover. That included the fancy rod and reel the other homicide cops had presented him with as their going-away memento.

      Stretching to relieve the kinks from his muscles, Wyatt massaged the stiff tendons in his neck. The beers he’d enjoyed with his buddies last night had left him with just enough headache pain to dull the fun of hitting the road.

      The splatters became a pelting downpour as he filled his gas tank. A gust of icy wind almost blew his black Stetson off his head. He tugged the hat lower with his free hand.

      Just as he was returning the fuel handle to its cradle, a late model Honda Accord pulled up across from him and a woman stepped out.

      The wind was blowing so hard now that the sheltering canopy above them did little to keep them dry. She pulled a denim jacket tight and glanced around nervously.

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