Cowboy Conspiracy

“Was a cop. Guess it doesn’t say much for my detective intuition that I let the guy just walk out of here and steal your car. The fact that he left in the middle of a pouring rain should have tipped me off he might be up to no good, especially since I figured the motorbike was his, too.”

“Why did you leave the force?”

“Personal reasons.”

That she understood, the same way there were a lot of questions about her life she wouldn’t want to go into with a stranger. Or with family for that matter. She hadn’t even fully explained the year’s disappearing act to her mother. There had been no reason to worry her. Kelly had been frightened enough for both of them.

“If you’re a detective, you must know the routine. What happens when the deputy shows up?”

“He’ll ask questions about the car. You’ll answer the ones you can and then he’ll fill out a police report.”

“I know the license-plate number. Everything else, I’ll have to get from my insurance agent. That may have to wait until morning. Hopefully, I’ll have the car back before then.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Why not?” Her frustration spiked again. “They will look for it, won’t they? That’s their job.”

“That’s one of their jobs. I don’t know how they prioritize around here, but car thefts are not top priority in the big city unless they involve force, weapons or kidnapping.”

Panic swelled again. “I need that car. It has my purse with my wallet in it.”

“How did you pay your tab in the restaurant?”

“With the credit card I used for buying gas. After swiping it, I’d stuck it in the front pocket of my jeans.”

“Did you leave your purse in the front seat? If so, that might have been the lure that made him choose your Honda over my new truck.”

“I wasn’t that stupid. I put it in the trunk, but there were personal items in the backseat and the sleeping bags Jaci and I were going to sleep on tonight.”

“Where exactly were you planning to spread sleeping bags in a storm?”

“On the floor in my house. The moving van with my furniture won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“If you have other credit cards, I’d suggest you cancel them at once.”

“I don’t.” She wouldn’t have this one had the FBI not obtained it for her. Her credit slate had been wiped clean a year ago and all accounts closed.

“Is there a key to your house in your purse or somewhere else in your car?”

“No, fortunately, I put the house keys on the ring with my car keys earlier today.”

“What about your phone?” Wyatt asked.

“It’s in the car. No … Wait. It’s in my pocket. I forgot it was there. I could have called 911 myself. But my computer is in the trunk.”

“What else is in the car?”

“There’s a folder with information from the phone company, the electric power company, the natural gas company. The house I’m moving into has been empty for a year. I had to have all the utilities reconnected.”

She blinked repeatedly, determined to hold back a surge of tears that was gathering behind her lids. This was no time to cry. She worked to revive the fury that would keep her from showing weakness.

Jaci’s head drooped and came to rest against Kelly’s shoulder. The darling had fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t see if salty tears started spilling from her mother’s eyes.

“I can spread my jacket on that booth behind us if you want to lay her down,” Wyatt offered.

“Thanks. I would appreciate that.”

She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

Obviously, they knew one another.

“Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

“You saw him drive off in the car?”

“No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

“And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

“I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

“If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

“No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

“You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.