Those Texas Nights

He found neither.

There was still a hole in his bedroom floor marked with a scrawled sign that said hole. No windows, just tarp where they should be. And there was a fridge in the master bathroom, something that hadn’t been there that morning. That didn’t qualify as progress.

The fridge door was open, and one of Freddie’s sons—Mick—was peering inside. Not foraging for food apparently but rather using it as a makeshift air conditioner to stave off the already sweltering April heat. He looked to be having an orgasmic moment with his eyes closed and his head going back and forth like an oscillating fan.

Clay cleared his throat, and Mick jumped nearly a foot off the floor. It was the fastest Clay had ever seen the man move.

“Shit,” Mick repeated a couple of times. “You scared the dickens out of me, Chief.”

Ditto. But Clay wasn’t afraid of Mick. He was afraid he was going to have to live with these clowns for the rest of his life.

And learn the meaning of dickens.

Mick didn’t close the fridge door. He just stood there enjoying the cool air on his backside and was seemingly oblivious to the fact that Clay wanted to rip off his arm and beat him with it.

“Why’s the fridge in here?” Clay asked.

“Oh, it’s temporary,” Mick said as if that explained everything.

Clay decided to give very specific instructions and use small words. “I want the fridge in the kitchen, and the toilet and bathtub out of the living room and into the guest bath.”

Mick looked at him as if that were a tall order but then nodded.

Even though Clay figured this was going to be just another exercise in frustration, he still wanted some answers. “Why exactly is the fridge in here anyway?”

“The plug.” Mick hitched his thumb to the outlet.

“Did the electrical plug in the kitchen quit working?” Clay pressed when Mick didn’t add more.

“Nope. I needed it for the saw, and since I wanted to keep my Pepsi cold, I brought the fridge in here. Didn’t think you’d want it in your bedroom.”

“I don’t want it anywhere but the kitchen.”

Again, Mick made it seem as if that would be a tall order. “Say, in case you didn’t notice, the phone next to your couch is blinking. Guess that means you got a message or something.”

Yeah, or something, but Clay didn’t want to deal with that right now. The landline had come with the house, and while he hadn’t given the number to April and didn’t use it as his contact information, his neighbors sometimes called him on it. Along with one other person who’d managed to get hold of it.

And that particular person did leave messages.

Apparently, this was Clay’s day to receive one. But not now. He’d listen to it when he was alone.

“Your face and hands are healing,” Mick remarked. “Those chickens messed you up real good, didn’t they?”

Yeah, and it pained Clay to admit it, but he’d actually checked for the feathered critters to make sure they weren’t around before he got out of his truck and went into the house. The chickens weren’t his. They’d sort of come with the property, but as soon as Clay could catch them, he was having a barbecue.

Clay shut the fridge door, hoping it would spur Mick to get back to work, and the man did follow Clay back into the living room. But apparently it wasn’t to work. It was to chat.

“Guess you heard all about Sophie and Garrett having to move back a couple of weeks ago?” Mick went on.

Clay nodded. Hard not to hear what was the number one gossip topic. It had even surpassed Sophie’s jilting and the talk about Sophie showing up at his office and asking him on a date. Of course, it was possible the date-thing was still the hottest topic, but the townsfolk were keeping quiet about that around him.

“I heard the FBI fellas took all their money and stuff.” Mick followed him when Clay went out the back—after he checked for the feral chickens.

Apparently, they were still on the topic of the Grangers, but Clay ignored him and walked to the pasture fence. Now, here was why he’d bought the run-down place that folks called the old Pennington ranch. The land and the barn. No more boarding his horses, Sal and Mal. The pair were in the pasture and looked a lot more content than Clay did at the moment.

But Clay did have plans for the place. Plans that included a house where everything was in the right room. That way he could get on with the peace and quiet part of his life.

Man, he needed it bad.

“Don’t know how their cousin, Lawson, is taking Sophie and Garrett coming back and being right under his nose,” Mick continued. “Guess you heard about all the bad blood there?”

“I heard,” Clay settled for saying, and he hoped that put an end to this conversation.

It didn’t.

“Sophie and Garrett’s great-grandpa was Zachariah Taylor Granger, or Z.T. as people called him,” Mick explained. “Lawson’s great-granddaddy was Jerimiah, Z.T.’s brother. Both of ’em made a fortune to pass onto their kids and grandkids. Z.T’s kin live here on the Granger ranch. Jerimiah’s kin live nearby, but they don’t come into town much at all. The two families own so much land that it almost bumps right up against each other.”

“Are you telling me this for a reason?” Clay asked. He used the same tone he did when interrogating felony suspects.

“Sure am. I’m telling you because there might be trouble with Lawson. Ever since he had a falling-out with his brothers about five or six years ago, he’s been working the Granger ranch on Roman’s behalf. Roman doesn’t want to work it because of a falling-out he had with his mom and on account of him being so busy.” He paused. “A lot of the Grangers have falling-outs.”

“And you’re telling me this for a reason?” Clay repeated.

“Yeah, it could be real important that you get the whole messy picture when it comes to the Grangers. Roman won’t be trouble. He lives in San Antonio and owns a rodeo business. But Lawson’s a different story. He might not be so happy now that Sophie and Garrett are back to take over things.”

Maybe that was true, but Clay still couldn’t find any angle that connected him to this situation. This all sounded like gossip.

“You figure Sophie Granger and you will get back together now that things are off with Brantley and her?” Mick asked.

So, that was the angle.

Clay gave him an annoyed glance. “Sophie and I were never together.”

Mick made a yeah right sound, and Clay didn’t bother to set him straight since it wouldn’t do any good. Because Mick, like most other people, believed that Sophie and Clay had had a “thing,” and that’s why her ex-fiancé had called off the wedding. Apparently, Brantley was still well liked in town, and Sophie was getting the blame for ruining things with Mr. Perfect.

Other than Sophie launching herself into his arms the day of the jilting, Clay had never laid a hand on her. And wouldn’t. Sophie wasn’t exactly the peace-and-quiet-inducing type.

Plus, there were her eyes.

Clay figured a lot of men looked at Sophie and saw an attractive woman. And she was. But Clay just couldn’t get past those eyes because they reminded him, well, of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.

He mentally put those eyes back in the memory box in his head that he’d marked as “shit to forget.” It worked, but in those couple of seconds that it took him to move it there, the images came. He felt the sick feeling of dread in his stomach.

And he saw her.

Hell. He saw her, her face way too clear for just a tiny piece of a nightmare.

“Say, are you okay?” Mick asked.