The Texan's Christmas Page 12

  He stared straight at her. “But you’re not doing that, girl. You’re different since he’s been here. It’s like he’s lit your pilot light and you’re full of warmth and glowing.”

  She touched her cheek. “I am not.”

  “Remember when he’d drive up and you’d run through the house shouting ‘He’s here. He’s here’? You’re doing that now except you’re shouting it in your head and then you have to go up on the hill to remember the pain.”

  Oh, my God! She was. She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know how to forget him,” she muttered.

  “Sign the damn lease and get him out of our lives.” Her father reached for her trembling hand. “Baby girl, don’t let him hurt you again.”

  She sank down by his chair and he stroked her hair and she soaked up his comfort and support. For a moment. Then she came to her senses. How pathetic could she get? Slapping away tears, she got to her feet.

  “I’m going to work.”

  “Girl…”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m stronger, a lot more mature and I can handle whatever happens.”

  “If you say so.”

  Ollie rubbed against her leg and she petted him. “I’m still mad at you.”

  “Why are you mad at Ollie?”

  “He chewed up Kid’s hat.” And put me in a compromising position. She didn’t think she’d mention that to her father.

  “I trained him right.”

  “I’ll see you later.” She headed for the door.

  “If that old hag comes in tonight, just shoot her.”

  Lucky told him about Walker’s intervention and Wilma leaving town.

  “Humph. I don’t believe that for a minute. You better be careful she doesn’t come in there and shoot Thelma Lou.”

  Oh, good heavens, just what she needed.

  AS SHE DROVE TO THE BEER JOINT, she noticed a neighboring rancher, Mr. Hopper, parked on the side of the road. He and a little boy were searching for something in the bar ditch. He was one of the church members, but was always friendly to her so she stopped to see if they needed help.

  “Is anything wrong, Mr. Hopper?”

  “Oh, Lucinda.” The older man turned toward her. “My grandson stuck his head out of the window and his hat blew off. We were trying to find it.”

  “Grandpa, I got it.” The little boy who looked about eight came running with the battered hat jammed on his head.

  “You sure did.” Mr. Hopper patted the boy’s shoulder. “This is Lucinda Littlefield and this is my great-grandson, John.”

  John raised a hand. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she responded.

  “They’re having a teacher workday at John’s school so my grandson brought him to spend the day with me and my wife. He’s been upset since someone stole his four-wheeler and the saddle I was going to give him.”

  “It was mine,” John said. “Why did they have to take it?”

  She bent down to his level. “Sometimes it just happens, but the authorities are doing everything they can to get your items back.”

  “They are?” His eyes opened wide. “Are they going to get Grandpa’s cows back, too?”

  Oh, goodness, what had she gotten herself into? But John looked so sad she couldn’t resist giving him some hope. “We’ll have to wait and see. It’s going to take some time to catch the thieves.”

  “Good.” He bobbed his head. “I hope they put them in jail for a long time.” He held out his little hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Lucinda.”

  She shook it with a smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  As the boy ran to the truck, Mr. Hopper said, “I’ve been telling him that for days, but he never seemed to hear me. Thank you, Luc—I believe everyone calls you Lucky, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll call you, too. Thank you, Lucky.”

  They shook hands and the moment was surreal but it gave her an insight into her own motivation for continuing in a job her father hated. She could help people and it made her feel good about herself, her life. It kept her going on days when she felt as though she couldn’t spend one more minute in that bar.

  “I hope I didn’t lift his spirits for nothing,” she had to say.

  “You gave him faith, Lucky, and we all need that from time to time.”

  “Yes.” She needed it every day—a faith and a belief that she could make a difference.

  She waved as they drove away and stood staring down the long expanse of blacktop. Kid used to give her that faith in herself, but she didn’t need him for that anymore. She could make it on her own.

  As the September sun bore down on her she realized her feelings for Kid were changing. She didn’t analyze that beyond the fact it wasn’t a bad thing.

  WHEN SHE GOT TO THE BAR, she had a talk with Bubba Joe.

  “Don’t worry, Lucky, she’s gone to Aunt Mable’s.”

  Like her father, she didn’t quite believe that. “I’m not one to give advice, but if you want a life you’re going to have to tell your mother what you will and will not tolerate.”

  “She’s my momma and worries about me.”

  She sighed in frustration. “Bubba, when we were in first grade, your mother brought you a hot lunch every day and practically spoon-fed you. That was maybe understandable when you were six but at fourteen and sixteen that was a little over-the-top, especially since she sat and ate lunch with you. I don’t want to sound cruel, but that’s why kids laughed at you. Sometime before you reach forty you need to say the word stop to your mother and mean it.”

  His big chest heaved. Oh, no. Was he going to cry?

  “Bubba…” She felt bad.

  “You’re right, Lucky, I have to do something.”

  She exhaled. “Yes. If you’re serious about Thelma Lou…”

  The woman in question came through the door. “Did I hear my name?”

  “We were talking about Momma,” Bubba replied.

  “Don’t mention her.” Thelma threw her purse into the back room. Where Bubba was tall and round, Thelma was short and plump. Her brown hair was always in a ponytail, and as Lucky’s father had pointed out, she had a sharp tongue.

  “Okay,” she said to them. “I’m not getting involved in y’all’s business, but Thelma, if you’re serious about Bubba, get a divorce and keep the relationship out in the open because I’m not having Wilma coming in here, sitting at the end of the bar, stone drunk with murder in her eye.”

  “If I could find that sorry bastard of a husband, I would,” Thelma snapped.

  Lucky walked off and started to fill bowls with pretzels. Why had she said anything? It was none of her business.

  Luther and Frank were the first ones to come in. “Hey, Lucky.” Luther slid onto a bar stool. “Party not started yet?”

  “What do you want, Luther?”

  His eyes slid over her in a way that left no doubt as to what he was thinking. For once she didn’t let it slide. She was tired of taking crap from sleazy men.

  “I keep a gun below the bar and if you don’t back off, I’m going to put a hole right in the center of your forehead.”

  His ruddy skin paled.

  “He’s just joshing, Lucky,” Frank spoke up.

  “I’m not, and if you don’t treat me with the respect I deserve, then you can get your ass out of here permanently.”

  Both men just stared at her.

  “Now, once again, what would you like?”

  “Coors Light.”

  “Bottle or can?”

  “Can.”

  She placed the order and ticket in front of them.

  Luther popped the top. “You’re getting hard like Bud.”

  “I’m not taking any more crap, and you only get one warning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Luther raised his can. “Frank and I will be gone for a couple of days. You’re gonna miss us.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  As she walked away she marveled at the difference her standing up
for herself had made. Luther backpedaled immediately and his tone of voice changed, too. It wasn’t degrading. She’d even detected a little of that respect she was demanding.

  It was a Wednesday night so the place wasn’t too lively. She stilled when the cowboys came in. They were excited, laughing and joking.

  “Hey, Lucky,” Clyde called, “how about a beer?”

  She grabbed some bottles and moved to the bar in front of them.

  “We’re sorry if we scared you that night we were drunk.”

  “It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

  “We’re headed back to Cameron,” Melvin said. “Not much work around here.”

  They were leaving. This was big. That meant if they were involved in the rustling, they were likely going to move the cattle to get rid of them.

  “Good luck, boys.” She tried to appear as calm as possible. “If you’re in this area again, the bar is always open.”

  She hurried to the back room to text Travis. No response. Where was he? He usually responded immediately. Then she remembered. He had a meeting with another ranger and two market inspectors in Georgetown, but he always checked his phone. She waited, but she knew she didn’t have much time. If they were going to find out anything, the cowboys had to be followed.

  When no message came through, she went to the bar and sneaked her gun to the storeroom. She motioned for Bubba Joe.

  “What’s up?”

  “I have to leave. Please close up for me.”

  “Sure.”

  Being Bubba, he didn’t ask any questions.

  Stuffing her gun into the back of her waistband, she hurried out of the bar through the side door, holding her phone in her hand. She scanned the parking lot and saw the black Dodge nosed up next to her pickup.

  She waited a second, willing the phone to beep. It didn’t. What did she do? She called Walker and got a message. He was in Giddings and wouldn’t be back until later. If it was an emergency, the voice mail said to call 9-1-1. Damn! She’d try the sheriff but she knew he was in the meeting with Travis and she didn’t know who to trust at the sheriff’s department. What should she do now? If she did nothing, the cowboys would leave and everything they’d possibly stolen would be moved out of the county and sold, including little John’s saddle. And they’d get away with the biggest robbery in this area.

  Her options were a little murky, but she knew one thing—she had to do something. Her stomach felt queasy at the thoughts in her head. She had her phone. She had a gun. She could do this. Without another thought she walked to her truck and dropped down, making her way to the Dodge. Part of the vehicle was in the dark, away from the spotlight. Grabbing one of the sides, she swung into the bed and crouched low against the cab, hoping with everything in her that she wasn’t detected.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KID PLAYED A GAME ON HIS PHONE to keep from being bored, all the while keeping an eye on The Beer Joint. He’d gotten here early because he was tired of his family giving him odd stares. He knew they thought he was staying in High Cotton out of guilt, but they were wrong. He was searching for something inside him that would make him feel good about himself—something of substance. There had to be more to him than Kid the kidder. Or Kid the ladies’ man.

  Shoving his phone into its case, he saw a movement on the left side of the building. Lucky. Was she going home early? To his astonishment she swung into the back of the Dodge.

  What the hell?

  He jumped out of his truck, leaped across a ditch and sprinted to the vehicle and dived inside the bed. He heard a muffled scream.

  “It’s Kid.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “This doesn’t concern you. Get out.” Her voice grew angrier by the second.

  The bed of the truck smelled like diesel and cow crap—not pleasant. He shifted closer to her.

  “Get out,” she repeated.

  He didn’t heed the warning. “I’ve been thinking and I keep telling myself it can’t be true. But you’re an undercover source for Travis what’s-his-name, aren’t you? This is the dangerous stuff you’re into.”

  He could feel her breathing rapidly. “All right, you’ve figured it out. Now get lost.”

  “You’re not facing these guys alone.”

  “I just need to know where they’re going. That’s all and then I’ll get out.”

  But it was too late. The cowboys were coming to their truck. The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they drew closer. Kid pulled her flat against the bottom of the bed.

  “Too bad we can’t take Lucky with us.” That was Melvin.

  Lucky stiffened.

  “The boss said to leave her alone so that’s what we’re doing.” Clyde chuckled. “Doesn’t mean we can’t come back later and have some fun.” The doors slammed shut and the motor roared to life.

  “Check the time on your watch,” she whispered.

  He glanced at the lighted dial. “Yeah, it’s always good to know the time when you’re going to die.”

  The truck backed out and moved onto the highway.

  “We’re turning left,” she whispered.

  “That’s my guess.”

  The lights from the bar faded away and the truck bumped over uneven ground as it traveled through the night. The rough road jostled them against each other.

  “Stop touching my breasts,” Lucky said under her breath.

  “I’m trying to hold on.”

  “Hold on to something else.”

  The truck stopped and they burrowed further against the bottom of the bed.

  “Check the time,” she said again.

  “Nine-minute thirty-second drive, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

  “Shh.”

  “Don’t know why I have to open the damn gate,” Melvin grumbled as he got out.

  The vehicle pulled through and stopped again. Suddenly they heard Melvin peeing and Kid hoped he wasn’t close to the truck, but it sure sounded like it. Don’t look. Don’t look, he chanted in his head.

  He breathed a sigh of relief against Lucky’s cheek and she felt damn good beneath him—not exactly an appropriate thought at the moment. Their lives were in danger.

  The truck bounced on rougher terrain.

  “Where are they going?” Lucky whispered, almost as if she’d accepted him being there.

  “Not downtown High Cotton, for sure.”

  Bushes and trees scraped against the truck and it finally stopped. The cowboys got out. Doors slammed. “Let’s get to work,” Clyde ordered. “It’s all scheduled. The boss wants this done tonight.”

  They heard movement and then silence. “Stay down,” he told Lucky, and peeped around the cab. An old mobile home sat among the bushes, which he could see because a small light was burning outside. Otherwise there was nothing but woods. Where were they? And where had the cowboys gone?

  “What do you see?” Lucky asked.

  “Dense woods and a rundown mobile home. Let’s get out before they return.” He jumped to the ground, as did she. Grabbing her hand, they ran into the woods and sat in the thicket. Darkness surrounded them.

  “I have to contact Travis,” she said, “but I’m afraid they’ll see the light.”

  “Hold it close to your chest. The woods are so thick I don’t think they’ll notice. I just wish I knew where they were.”

  She leaned against a tree and pulled out her phone. He scooted closer to help shield the light.

  “I got a text from Travis. He’s on his way and he says for me to wait for him.”

  “You’ve blown that one,” he remarked.

  “Don’t start.” She looked around. “I have to text him back.”

  “From the tone of your voice I’m guessing chasing criminals is not part of your job description.”

  She fiddled with her phone. “No. I just gather information.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

&
nbsp; “No. The stealing has been going on for months and it’s time the thieves were caught. Chance’s cows were stolen. Don’t you want to know who did it?”

  “Those two-bit cowboys who just walked into the woods.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. We have to follow them.”

  “Oh, God. I had a few gray hairs before I came back to High Cotton, but now I can feel them sprouting by the minute and every one has Lucky written on it.”

  “Poor Kid.”

  “Do you know how dangerous this is?”

  “I have my gun.”

  “I know. I felt it poking in places it shouldn’t have.”

  He heard a snicker.

  “Are you laughing?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, right.” He reached for his cell. “I’ll text Chance. Travis should hear about this in person, and the sheriff and Walker need to be notified. Let’s try to figure out where we are.”

  “We turned left which is east and drove nine minutes and thirty seconds. This has to be near the old Wilkins’ property, heavily wooded and the son never tends to it. He tried to sell it, but no one wanted to spend the money to clear the land.”

  “So you think the Wilkins guy is involved?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Be on the lookout while I try to text.” He wasn’t quite sure how to word the message. So he poked in letters fast: L and I r following 3 cowboys involvd in catt rust. Think old Wilkins place. Contact T. Will txt later.

  He got back one word: What?

  Do it. He punched in the letters and turned off his phone.

  “Make sure your cell is off,” he said.

  “Already done it.” She got to her feet. “Let’s see if we can find them.”

  Kid stood and stopped. “Listen.” The bellow of cattle broke through the silence of the night.

  “Cows. They’re agitated so they must be moving them. Let’s go.”

  They walked to the trail the truck was parked on and followed it. Since they could barely see, they stayed close together. The track gave way to a clearing and Kid pulled Lucky into the bushes. Squatting, they surveyed the scene in front of them. A barbed wire fenced pen held about thirty head of cattle. He saw Chance’s black ones right away and Judd’s white Brahmas stuck out like old lady Grisley’s wig.