More to Texas than Cowboys

She recalled having seen a rusty pitchfork lying in the barn; her mom had said it should be tossed in the trash before someone accidentally stepped on the tines and ended up with tetanus. Leave it to her mom to think in terms of worst-scenario accidents. Greer remembered her mother had carried the pitchfork up to the house, where she’d stood it by the green garbage can outside the back door.

Feeling her way like a blind woman, Greer located the pitchfork. Although she was armed now, what she really needed was a flashlight. It occurred to her to try to find one in a box of miscellaneous kitchen items she hadn’t yet unpacked. Just as she began to open the carton, the thin, almost strangled cry wavered again.

Greer dashed out the door, torn at leaving Shelby alone for however long it’d take to trek the distance to the river. When she started to walk, she quickly found a path. Greer recalled that it zigzagged across her pasture to a small stand of cypress overhanging the river. That was where it now seemed the cries were coming from. Did people boat at night? Boys she used to know went south to hunt Lord-only-knew-what at night.

Her property sloped from the house all the way to the water’s edge. If she hurried, she could get down there to see if a boater or perhaps a calf had somehow got stuck or stranded, and be back before Shelby even realized she was missing.

A desire to be a good Samaritan won out over her fears. Greer took off at a half run. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the almost starless night. All the vegetation along the path had been chewed away, probably by cattle.

It’d only been her land for seven days. One week since she’d signed the city’s contract and put her name on a two-year trial mortgage held by the Homestead Bank and Trust. The fact was, Greer had no idea when Jase Farley had abandoned his ranch. No doubt he’d owned animals he watered at the river, just as she hoped to do one day soon.

The closer she drew to the dark trees, the more tightly she gripped the rough-hewn handle of the pitchfork. So tightly her palms were sweating and her fingers ached. Greer’s mouth felt dry and she licked her lips.

The only sound she’d heard since she embarked on this fool’s errand was the rapid thunkity, thunkity, thunk of her heart. The mournful cries appeared to have stopped.

Slowing her charge into the dark trees, which could be home to any number of dangerous animals or humans, Greer glanced at her house. How stupid was she, leaving Shelby alone and unprotected?

Backing up a few steps, intending to make a mad dash back the way she’d come, Greer hit something solid and warm and—she feared—very human. She wrapped her hand firmly around her feeble mode of protection, the pitchfork. Hoping the element of surprise might at least buy her running time, she spun, ready to launch a counteroffensive.

Suddenly she was blinded by a bright stream of light that burst suddenly from an industrial-size flashlight. Greer threw up an arm to ward off what she assumed was an imminent attack. She stumbled, tripped over a bulging cypress root and fell hard on her backside. A yelp of frustration mingled with her pain.

The last thing she expected was to hear a voice she recognized. “Greer, why in heaven’s name are you tramping through the woods in the dead of night? Are you sleepwalking?”

Noah Kelley. He was behind those ghastly cries?

Greer lost no time in scrambling up. “Maybe the question should be why have you lured me down here?”

“What?” He finally pointed the light he carried at the ground, which gave them each a better chance to peruse the other.

Greer saw he had on the boots he’d worn earlier, and blue jeans somewhat less faded than the previous ones. His dark blond hair was thoroughly disheveled, and he was shirtless. His skin had turned dusky gold in the light. His chest was dusted with hair a lot darker than the wheat-blond locks draped appealingly over his forehead. She’d thought her mouth and throat were dry on the trek here; now she couldn’t have swallowed if her life depended on it. But as Noah continued to look dumbfounded, she snapped, “You obviously hoped to frighten me, with all those woman-in-distress noises.”

“That’s exactly what it sounded like. I’ve got no idea what time it was, but a high-pitched scream woke me up. At first I thought I was dreaming, but then I heard it again. Not quite as distinct, but worrisome enough to get me out of a warm bed. Since you’re the only person here, and you’re female, why wouldn’t I think you’re the one out here caterwauling at the moon, not the other way around?”

The hand not gripping Greer’s pitchfork curled into a fist. “There isn’t any moon, in case you’re too unobservant to notice. And I may be a female, but I am not the source of those cries. Admit I caught you in the act of trying to scare me into leaving my property.” She sniffed disdainfully. “I suppose you sent those letters, too.”

“Letters?” he echoed.

“For a college graduate, you certainly have a limited vocabulary.”

Noah glared at her and shook his head. He flashed his light along the ground, illuminating the soft loamy soil for a good number of yards in all four directions. “Do you see any tracks besides ours?” he asked abruptly.

“My point precisely,” she said, rattling her pitchfork under his nose.

“Stop that, you’re making me nervous. If someone made that noise as a scare tactic, name one reason why a man in my position would pull such a stunt.”

“Ha! Like father, like son maybe. That was clever of you today, acting as if the church stood ready to welcome me back with open arms. It was especially clever to do it in front of Ed Tanner. Shelby’s accident helped you add to your pretense of good works, because now Kristin Gallagher will vouch for you, too.” Greer made a few short jabs at him with the pitchfork again. Enough to send Noah into full retreat while she stomped several yards up the trail toward her home.

“I’ve got another news flash for you, Father Noah Kelley. Miranda told me your mother served on the Home Free committee. You Kelleys may think this juvenile bullshit will ensure I leave town and not contaminate your oh-so-pure congregation, but the truth is, I wouldn’t take a million bucks to set one foot in your so-called sanctuary. It’s only fair to inform you I’m not the girl who left Homestead ten years ago. I’ve toughened up. This is my land and I won’t be run off. Tomorrow I’m going to Guthrie’s Hardware, and I’ll apply to purchase a twenty-two. If you check with my former boss, he’ll verify I can cut a rattlesnake in half at twenty paces. So don’t mess with me.”

Totally bewildered by her outburst, Noah played his flashlight over Greer Bell’s stiff back as she marched up the trail.

He was really confused when it came to the remarks she’d tossed out about his mom and pop. He guessed his mom was still serving on the mayor’s committee in his father’s stead. But letters? What letters? Noah scratched his head. The other stuff about his father—it was clear Greer must have run afoul of Holden’s judgmental views. Noah understood. Raised in the Episcopal church, Noah found his dad’s over-the-top conservatism stifling, too.

Watching his neighbor disappear from sight, Noah had to smile. He was certainly willing to extend a more love-thy-neighbor policy if that was Greer’s concern. He sobered instantly, remembering the woman’s scream he and Greer had both heard. He wasn’t behind it, and he’d bet Sunday’s offering Greer wasn’t the culprit, either. Short of a ghost, which he definitely didn’t believe in, then who? Clint Gallagher? It was no secret the old so-and-so had tried to finagle getting hold of Greer’s land. Gallagher couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone closer to the Clear River than his Four Aces ranch. The drought had ended, but during the worst of it, the need to ration river water had caused contention. Noah had heard that night-siphoning had caused hard feelings among men, many once good friends who’d gone bankrupt when the K.C. Enterprises consortium failed, largely due to the long drought.

Deciding there was something sinister about the cries, Noah—too keyed up to go back to sleep anyhow—set out to make a thorough search of the area. He traced Greer’s boot tracks from the trees back along the path across her property. Since moving out here, Noah had witnessed Gallagher ranch hands occasionally crossing what was now Greer’s land. Tomorrow, he’d drop in and chat with Ryan Gallagher. Clint’s oldest son was a square-shooter who’d been managing the Four Aces for a while. Clint, known far and wide as a wheeler-dealer, reportedly suffered from macular degeneration, a problem the senator preferred to hide. Failing health or not, maybe the old reprobate wasn’t willing to lose the land. Did he still want it?

Still, this business tonight, with the disembodied scream, smacked of something childish. Too amateurish for a man of Gallagher’s stature, he thought.

Although, if Greer was right and someone was trying to frighten her into leaving Homestead before she fulfilled her contract, who stood to gain the most from her departure? That was a million-dollar question Noah couldn’t answer.

He backtracked to the river again and came across a spot between two flat rocks, where a deep indentation in the sand might have been made by a small boat tying up. There were enough granite slabs between the riverbank and the small copse of trees that a person or two could’ve jumped from rock to rock without leaving footprints.

Noah did that, taking a route designed to keep him out of sight of Greer’s place. Some people were aware he’d bought one of the ranchettes, but he didn’t think it was widely known. So what if his crashing in from the southeast had prematurely upset the perpetrator’s plans to draw out and frighten Greer? He refused to think it might be anything worse.

A tree-by-tree search netted him something lodged in the fork of the largest cypress. This gave Noah immense satisfaction, but left him thinking that his second visit tomorrow morning, after Ryan Gallagher, would be to take his find to Sheriff Wade Montgomery. Dump this in Wade’s lap and see what he made of it.

GREER FELT NOAH’S eyes monitoring every step of her retreat as she hotfooted it home along the lumpy cattle track. Had she not been so furious, his laser-blue eyes would’ve had a paralyzing effect. He’d tried to act so darned innocent. Greer didn’t for one minute believe he was.

She took the pitchfork inside and stood it next to her bed, in case sometime between now and daylight she needed it again.

After locking the kitchen door, she checked to see that the front door missing its locking mechanism had remained shut—that the chair she’d shoved under the knob hadn’t been disturbed. Finding everything as she’d left it, she looked in on Shelby and was profoundly relieved to see that she was still fast asleep.

Greer couldn’t have gone back to bed if her life depended on it. Her nerves felt too ragged.

Remembering that she’d unpacked the box with her herbal teas, she put a kettle of water on the stove and sorted through an assortment of teas one of her favorite guests had given her last Christmas. Julie Masters and her contingent of Western writers happened to be the group Greer hoped would initiate her facility. The women had confessed that they loved exploring new places. Especially spots representative of the Old West. And bless the Sandersons, they’d urged Greer to get in touch with the women as soon as she’d set her opening date. Marisa and Cal both thought Homestead, Texas, would appeal to the writers as the site of their next retreat.

Choosing chamomile tea from the redwood box, Greer passed the kitchen window on her way to nab the kettle before it could whistle and risk waking Shelby. She saw a light in the distance, bobbing along the bank of the river, and stopped short. At first she thought maybe she was looking at the person responsible for waking her up in the middle of the night. Then the person holding the light turned and flashed it up into the trees, where it cast an umbrella over him. Noah.

The pot whistled and Greer absently grabbed it and turned off the burner. She poured water into her cup and dunked her tea strainer up and down as she watched the man who obviously hadn’t gone home when she had.

What was he doing? Was he setting up more dirty tricks?

When her tea was dark enough, she put the strainer in the sink and snapped off the light, plunging the kitchen into darkness. As she sipped her steaming drink, it became apparent that Noah was conducting a grid search of the area that ran from the riverbank and into the trees.

Did that mean he’d told the truth? That he wasn’t the person behind that scare tactic? If not Noah, then who? And why? Greer shivered. The lack of an answer to that question made her feel a lot more uneasy than if she’d been able to pin it on Noah.

Her appetite for tea or anything else was lost as a sick feeling invaded the pit of her stomach. Feet glued to the kitchen floor, Greer stood chewing on her lip until the bobbing light moved from the cypress grove and made a beeline toward Noah’s house. If he’d found anything important, wouldn’t he have come to share the information with her? That was what she would’ve done in his place. She was back to not trusting the younger Father Kelley. Either Father Kelley.

Tomorrow, after visiting the hardware store to fill out paperwork to purchase a firearm, Greer supposed she ought to stop in at the sheriff’s office. And say what? Would anyone take her word over that of the charming priest?

CHAPTER FOUR

SLEEP EVADED GREER for the rest of the night. She slipped out of bed a number of times to check on Shelby. And to rattle the doors and windows and to listen in the kitchen for any caterwauling, as Noah Kelley had described the cries. She was haunted by the fact that the first sound had seemed so human. The subsequent ones Greer wasn’t so sure about.

When her bedside clock said five-thirty, she gave up attempting to sleep. Instead, she dressed and decided to put her restless energy to work doing something constructive, like unpacking their household.

She felt vulnerable and exposed standing in a brightly lit living room with gray layers of early dawn breaking, so much so that coverings for all the windows now headed her list of items to buy in town. She hoped the material her mother planned to use for kitchen curtains was opaque enough to leave her feeling secure.