Lonestar Secrets (10 page)

Allie's flush was beginning to fade. "Kylie talked about Faith all day today too."

Shannon rubbed at a stain on her jeans. "Jack must have loved his wife very much. He didn't want me to tell Faith that I'm her mother." Maybe he'd loved her so much he'd have trouble letting Shannon into Faith's life.

"Faith has to suspect something." Allie's voice was thoughtful. "She would have noticed how much she and Kylie look alike. Kylie told me she'd told Faith they were sisters. It's so strange how certain your daughter is even without confirmation from you."

"That twin connection is very strange and a little intimidating. I don't know what I'm going to do if Jack says no. Fight it out in court, I guess."

"I think you'll have to. It's a weird tangle."

Shannon rose. "I'd better get home." She longed to take Kylie with her, but she didn't want to disrupt the fun she was having with Betsy.

Allie walked her to the door. "I wish you'd spend the night. I hate to think about you out there all alone."

"I don't mind. I want to get things squared away for Kylie and me to make a home there." Even though every bone in her body ached, she had more filthy rooms to address. She and Allie had only cleaned the kitchen, the bedrooms, and the bathrooms. She told Allie goodbye, hugged her daughter, then went out to her jeep.

Her cell phone lay on the seat. There were two missed calls. She scrolled through them and saw that both numbers were from Mary Beth's cell phone. She didn't dare call back her friend had told her not to. She studied the keypad. What could it hurt to send a text message though? She keyed in a quick question. R U good? It was a joke between them. Mary Beth often said she'd rather be right than good.

Rick was walking toward the house and detoured to the car. "Hey, Shannon. You keeping those cowboys whipped into shape?"

She wondered if he knew about her and Tucker. Probably not. She was too wary of everyone, even Rick. "I'm working on it." She eyed him. He'd listen if she told him about the trouble, maybe even offer advice. She launched into the story about Mary Beth's call, her unease about the way her friend was acting, and her fear there was trouble brewing.

Rick's smile had long since dimmed as the story unfolded. He tipped his hat back from his forehead. "How did you meet her?"

"We were roommates at college. She went into nursing while I went into veterinary medicine. On the one hand, she's this dedicated nurse who cares about her patients, but in her private life she's always a little on the wild side. Some weeks she blows her whole paycheck on lottery tickets. Once she bought some land in Mexico that was supposed to be developed for a big resort complex. She thought she'd make four hundred thousand dollars overnight. It's still sitting there."

"Out for fast money?"

Shannon thought the label too restrictive, but she wasn't sure how to explain her friend. "Not for herself. She always sees ways she could help other people if she just had the money to do it."

He frowned. "A cop-out to justify her greed maybe."

"I don't think so. She really cares about people. She's always taking care of me. Before I left, she insisted on giving me a free tetanus shot just because she was afraid I wouldn't keep it current out here. She does the best she can."

"Who does she hang around with?"

"She works a lot of hours. In her spare time she sometimes works at the Republican Party headquarters in town. She visits the children's hospital and plays games with the kids. She goes scuba diving when she can."

"A Jill-of-all-trades," he said dryly, his nostrils flaring.

"She's not what you think," Shannon said. "Yes, she gets into scrapes occasionally, but there's no malice."

"Anything you want me to do about it?"

Shannon shook her head. "I just needed to talk to someone about my worry, and I didn't want to burden Allie with it."

"I've got a buddy in Special Ops. I'll ask him to run a check on her, see if there's anything hinky going on."

"Thanks, Rick, you're the best." At least there were a few people in town she could trust.

SHANNON CHECKED HER CELL PHONE AFTER SHE LEFT THE BAILEYS' RANCH. Nothing back from Mary Beth. A ramshackle house stood empty about a mile from her ranch. Tied up in an estate dispute, it had been deserted for as long as she could remember. As she passed the shack, she thought she heard something through her open window. She slowed and lis tened. There it came again. It sounded like a dog howling.

She whipped the vehicle to the side of the road and parked. When she hopped out, she heard the sound again. It was a dog. She jogged toward the shack. "Hey, boy," she called. "Where are you?" The dog howled, and the despair in the pitch prickled the back of her neck.

She bounded up the rickety steps to the rotted porch. Pushing open the unlatched door, she stepped into a room thick with tumble weeds, dust, and spiderwebs. Grimacing, she started to back out, but the dog's wail came again. Some of the webs held fat black widows and she shuddered. But she couldn't leave the dog in distress here either. Maybe there was another way through to the back room where the dog's cries were coming from.

She retraced her steps to the porch and went around the back. Peering in the broken window, she saw the room was the kitchen. And on the floor, tied to the leg of a broken-down table, was a forlorn golden retriever. She rushed to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked and too solid to break through. She could leave the dog here and go to the ranch after an axe, but the dog's whine came again, and she knew she couldn't desert it.

She ran back to her vehicle and rummaged in the back for a weapon against the spiders, even though the thought of going through them made bile rise to the back of her throat. The broom was tucked along the side where she'd packed it to use at the office.

She grabbed it up, and wielding it like a sword, she charged the shack. She chopped her away through the room and swept away the webs. Keeping her gaze averted from the black bodies that scurried away from her sneakers, she ran to the kitchen. It wasn't much better in here. The broom banished the closest webs and their inhabitants, then she untied the dog and unlocked the back door. Stepping into the night with her prize was like winning a race.

She knelt and took the dog's muzzle in her hands. "Who put you in there, sweetie?"The dog licked her chin. Shannon examined the golden and found no abrasions, nothing worse than dehydration and hunger. Someone had put this fine boy in the shack to let him die, and if she ever found out who had done it, she'd ... she'd ... well, she didn't know what she'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

Her hand touched his collar and tag. It read "Wyatt" and had a phone number. She recognized that number. It was Jack's. One thing she knew he'd never hurt his dog even if he'd hurt her.

There were bottles of water, something everyone in the desert kept handy, in the back of her Jeep. She uncapped a bottle and poured some into her palm and let the dog lick it up, then repeated the process until Wyatt had lapped up enough. Next the dog scarfed down several handfuls of the cat food she carried in her bag for strays. Once she loaded the dog into the backseat of the Jeep, she headed toward Jack's.

She passed the turnoff to the Bluebird Youth Ranch, then drove another five miles to Jack's ranch. She'd been by here many times, but never through the gate. The palatial house and extensive barns and white paddocks were as nice as something from a magazine. Beautiful racehorses grazed in the irrigated fields. Shannon stopped just inside the gate and got out. She had to touch one of those sleek coats.

"Here, girl," she crooned, climbing the white rail fence. She extended her hand to a sleek black horse that stood at least sixteen hands. "You're gorgeous." The mare was also very pregnant and acted agitated.

"Isn't she?"

She whirled at the sound of Jack's voice. "Did you raise her?"

He jumped the fence and joined her. "Yeah. She was born to Fancy Stockings. She's one of our best mares. You've got a good eye."

She'd heard of the famous racehorse. God said not to covet, but it was a hard commandment to obey when she let her gaze linger on the horses. Good lines, bright eyes, high energy. Horses were her weakness. If it were up to her, she'd have dozens. "She's about to foal."

"I've been watching her," he said.

Shannon stooped and ran her hand over the mare's teats. They were waxed and about to burst with milk. The tail and rump muscles were soft and relaxed. It would be soon. Within a day.

"You here to see Faith?" Jack's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned her attention on him. "Actually no. Are you missing a dog?"

His smile froze. "Did you find Wyatt?" The color left his face. "Is he all right?"

She gestured to the Jeep. "See for yourself."

He leaped the fence and bolted for the SUV. When he yanked open the back door, the dog leaped on top of him. The excited barking made Shannon smile. It was days like this that made her glad she'd been able to follow her dream.

Jack was on the ground with the dog licking his face. He turned his laughing face to Shannon. "Where'd you find him?"

"You're not going to like it." She told him about finding the dog tied in the abandoned house. "He was hungry and thirsty, but he's okay," she added as he sprang to his feet with his brows drawn together. "Do you have any idea who would do something like this?"

"Harry Slocum," he said through gritted teeth. "I fired him the night before Wyatt went missing. He told me I'd be sorry."

"All's well that ends well," she said. "Wyatt will be fine."The dog came to her and licked her hand.

"How much do I owe you?"

The warmth she'd developed toward him evaporated. "Don't be an idiot." To her surprise, he just nodded and thanked her. She'd expected him to press the issue.

Her gaze went back to the mare. "She needs to be inside. That foal is coming any minute."

"Come along. I'll show you the setup in the barn." He vaulted the fence and grabbed the mare's mane.

She followed her master toward the barn, so Shannon did the same. The barns were white monoliths, freshly painted and in top condition. Jack led them to a stall that had been prepared for foaling. She was glad to see he had fresh straw ready.

The mare lay down in the stall as soon as she entered. Shannon could see the sac protruding, and moments later the mare's water broke, staining the straw. "You should have been more prepared for this, Jack," she said. "Her tail isn't even wrapped."

Jack wore a worried frown. "I'm a bit behind since Harry left."

Shannon didn't interfere. She would likely not have to. Most horses foaled in about an hour with no problems. The mare vocalized occasionally with groans. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Jack, Shannon watched a process she never tired of. The foal's front feet slid into view, soles down and close together. Next came the fetlocks, then the foal's head appeared. Minutes later a foal slid onto the straw.

Shannon's smile beamed out until she realized the foal was very small and wasn't moving. Her throat closed. No! Nothing could happen to this little one. She sprang into the stall and wiped at the little colt's nostrils and blew gently. Nothing. Breathe, breathe. She fought tears and panic as she kneeled, rubbing the colt's tiny chest. Blowing into his nostrils again, she prayed for a miracle. Perspiration popped out on her forehead as she fought the inevitable for what seemed an eternity.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Shannon, it's over," Jack said.

She shook off the press of his fingers. "No, I can save him." She bent to her task again, but Jack knelt beside her and pulled her gently away from the unmoving colt. Tears sprang to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Shannon bolted from the stall with tears streaming from her eyes. Sobs tore from her throat. She'd lost him. Her first foaling as a vet, and she'd failed. She was vaguely aware of Jack following her with drooping shoulders.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "This wasn't your fault."

She shook off his hand and tore for her Jeep. She would never get used to a dead baby. Never.

WALLY TATUM'S OFFICE WAS LIKE A WILD WEST MUSEUM. WANTED POSTERS of long ago plastered the walls. A set of bighorns dominated one wall, and a pair of spurs reputed to have been worn by Jesse James resided in a display case. The leather sofa creaked under Jack as he waited to be called back to see the attorney.

He knew Wally was here. Jack had seen his old Cadillac parked under the streetlight. That big car was a fixture around town. Wally washed it every day, and even the interior was in pristine condition.

The lacquered door at the end of the hall opened, and Wally stepped out. He could have been a dead ringer for the famous outlaw with his waxed mustache, ruffled shirt, and pressed jeans.

The attorney motioned for Jack to join him, and Jack sprang to his feet. "Thanks for coming to meet me," Jack said. "I know it's late."

Wally's spurs jingled as he walked down the hall to his office. He sniffed. "Smells like the fires are getting closer."

"The news said the wind had shifted this way." Jack had been keeping a worried eye on the situation.