Slow Hand Luke

“What about Chester?” Annie asked, who was already planning to go straight to the hospital and not the ranch. Chester had been an extra pair of hands and a good friend to Marjorie as far back as Annie could remember. He could take care of the few animals that remained.

“Honey, his arthritis is bad and he’s no spring chicken anymore.”

Annie sighed. From what she could recall, the man was at least a good eight to ten years younger than Aunt Marjorie. “Look, I’m coming to the hospital and then I’ll—”

“Annie, listen. I need you at the ranch. Not here. Dang it.” The beeping of medical machinery in the background made Annie’s heart race. “I have to go now.”

“No, wait. What hospital are you—”

She heard a click and then a dial tone. Cursing under her breath, she reached for a phone book. First, she’d book a flight, then tell the captain she needed time off. Chester would know what hospital Aunt Marjorie was in. If not, she could ask Lisa to find out, even if she had to use official channels.

Annie’s gaze caught on the piece of paper she held. An application for the detectives exam. Potter had apparently brought it over when he answered her phone. She exhaled slowly as she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it in the wastebasket. Aunt Marjorie was far more important.

L UKE M CC ALL HAD had a lot of practice sneaking in and out of places and he was damn good at it. He coasted his pickup into the empty parking lot to a space right in front of the Quick Trip, turned off the engine and glanced around as he flexed his stiff shoulder. Frowning at the pain, he slowly climbed out of the truck.

At eleven o’clock, the convenience store was dead, just as he’d hoped. Instead of going straight to Hasting’s Corner, he was here for supplies forty miles outside of town. Once he got to his granddad’s ranch, he’d be able to hole up for a while without anyone knowing he was back. Not that anyone cared about him, except out of pure nosiness—aside from Sally Jo, who’d bring over her chicken and dumplings and an open invitation to wash more than his jeans.

And if Barb’s husband was away on roundup, she’d probably show up, too. Not that Luke would ever drop his bucket in another guy’s well. Even a no-account like him had some principles.

He snorted at the irony of his predicament. He wouldn’t have so much as sniffed around Joanne if he’d known she was Old Man Seabrook’s wife. Hell, she was young enough to be his daughter. Easy mistake. Turned out to be a big one, though. Because now Luke had the law crawling up his ass. The kind of money Seabrook had could buy a whole lot of trouble for Luke.

He pushed open the door, setting off the overhead bell and, without looking up from the paper she was scribbling on, the woman behind the counter said, “We just closed.”

Luke removed his Stetson, and swept back his hair, just as the woman looked up. “Sorry, ma’am. I must’ve missed the sign.”

She blinked, then shoved a pencil behind her ear and gave him a quick once-over. A slow smile lifted her ruby-red lips. “Well, cowboy, you go ahead and lock that door behind you and I’ll give you time to get what you come for.”

Luke tipped his hat to her before resetting it on his head. “Thank you, ma’am.” His smile vanished as soon as he turned away to lock the door. Must be getting old. He used to like being gawked at as if he were a piece of juicy chicken-fried steak.

“Won’t be but a minute,” he said and strolled down the aisle toward the refrigerated section, feeling the weight of her stare at his back.

“Take your time,” she called after him. “I’m just wrapping up my paperwork, and it’ll be nice to have a big strong man walk me out to my car for a change.”

Luke blew out a puff of air. Walking out with her was all he was doing. He grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator, reconsidered, and exchanged it for a twelve-pack. If he was lucky, maybe he could hide out at the deserted old ranch for a week before the sheriff found out that he had inherited the place six months ago. Careful of his injured shoulder, he carried the beer, three packages of cold cuts and two loaves of bread to the register.

“You going to a party?” the woman asked, eyeing his haul.

“No, ma’am.” He withdrew his wallet and waited for her to ring up his purchases.

“You call me ma’am one more time, cowboy, and I’ll have to spank you.” Her teasing grin made one side of his mouth hike up. “I’m not that much older than you.” She dropped his lunchmeat and bread into a bag. “But don’t you worry. I got a husband and two nearly grown boys of my own, but I can still look.”

“You best be careful, ma—, uh, darlin’,” he said. “It’s late, the place is deserted. You shouldn’t be talking to a strange man like that.”

She took the money he handed her. “Thought you might be from around here, but I guess not. This is East Texas, sugar. Anyway, I ain’t got nothing to worry about with you.” She winked as she handed him his change. “It’s all in your eyes. Decent men have that certain look.”

Luke snorted. Boy, she had no idea how wrong she was. All she had to do was ask anyone in Hasting’s Corner. Luke’s own grandfather could have set her straight if the ornery old buzzard hadn’t keeled over last year while trying to shoe a stubborn mule. “You ready for that escort outside?” he asked, gathering up his groceries.

She smiled. “You go on ahead, handsome. I still have another ten minutes of trying to make some sense out of these here numbers.”

Luke hesitated, but she came around the counter to shoo him out, getting to the door before him to unlock it.

Her gaze caught on his belt buckle, the one he’d won three years ago. “Hey, you on the circuit?”

He nodded, anxious to leave before she asked any more questions. Too late, he realized. He should have just lied and said it belonged to his brother.

“You somebody I would know?”

“Nah.”

“Well, you won that buckle. That’s no small thing. What’s your name?”

“Tom Black.”

“Hmm, we’re big rodeo fans. But I can’t say I recall your name. Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m new to the circuit.”

Her disbelieving frown was like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face. Hell, he already knew he was getting too old to still be riding, much less be new to the game.

“Well, you drive careful, you hear?” she said, then opened the door and locked it behind him. His arms full, he nudged his chin in farewell when she waved, then deposited his groceries and himself into the battered white pickup.

Slouching down in the seat, he adjusted his hat and was surprised by a fleeting image of his grandfather. Luke missed him sometimes. The guy could be as stern and dour as a lemon-sucking preacher, but he was still the only father Luke had ever known. His own daddy had skipped town before Luke had taken his first step. Didn’t want no kids, no responsibility, he’d told everyone, then just up and left.

Now that he was older, Luke understood. He didn’t like being tied down, either, but he sure as hell wouldn’t leave a wife and baby behind to starve. Nope. The rodeo was his life and he made no apologies. And he sure as hell didn’t scatter regrets.

One by one the lights went out in the store and then the door opened and Luke straightened. He watched the clerk hurry toward a blue compact car and open the door, before he started his truck.

Once she was safely inside and had turned on her headlights, he put the truck in gear. She honked and waved as she reversed out of the stall. He pulled out onto the highway and headed toward Hasting’s Corner, not sure what he was going to do once he got there, besides sleep. He needed a solid twenty-four hours’ worth. Then, maybe he could come up with a plan to get to Joanne.

Then, too, if he laid low long enough, maybe Seabrook would cool off and admit that Luke hadn’t stolen the million bucks in prize money. He flexed his aching shoulder, wincing with the pain that shot to his neck. Hell, even if it took a month to straighten out this mess, it wasn’t as if he’d be getting on another bull soon. Not till Houston, anyway. For the money. Even if it ended up being the last time. The hell with what the doctors said.

He got to the familiar fork in the road and veered right toward Hasting’s Corner. The road, narrow and full of potholes, divided the flat idle land for endless miles. Without streetlights and with no moon it was too dark to see anything, but he remembered the road well, even though he’d only been back twice since he’d left home at sixteen.

The farther it went the land got hilly and more interesting. That’s where that bastard Seabrook lived. In a big white show-house on the side of a hill, facing a lake. The self-proclaimed king of the rodeo, big and mean as a Brahma bull, Seabrook ruled the county. And wasn’t it just Luke’s rotten luck that of all the counties this side of Texas, the bastard had to live here?

Something flashed up ahead. Luke caught it right before he rounded the bend. It was a car, still distant, but no mistaking the warning lights.

“Damn!”

He slowed down, trying to decide if he should stop. Ten miles out of town like this, it could be someone he knew.

“Damn!”

Whoever it was had to have a cell phone. Everyone did these days and, if not, ten miles wasn’t that far to walk. He got close enough to see that it was a small red Ford, its right rear tire stuck in a ditch. But no sign of a person. Good. Problem solved.

Just as he passed the car he saw her—a woman, slim, with long, dark, wavy hair. Standing in the beam of the headlights.

“Damn.” He couldn’t leave her out here.