Rancher's Redemption

He thought again of the blood Tamara had found on the stolen Taurus and the huge sum of unclaimed money. A chill skated down his spine. Whatever seedy events had happened under the mesquites by the Black Creek ravine, Clay would make damn sure the ripples couldn’t touch his ranch. Since Tamara had left him, the Bar None was all he had.

Tamara carefully transferred the partial fingerprint they’d lifted from the trunk to a slide and sent the image to the main computer for analysis. She wasn’t holding her breath for a match, but she’d been surprised by what her tests had revealed in the past.

Forensics was a science. Her tests revealed facts and scientific data that had to be reviewed objectively. No amount of hoping the print would lead them to a suspect would change what the computer analysis told her was the cold truth.

Never mind that the crime scene was on Clay’s land. Still, the notion that a heinous crime could have happened so close to where her ex slept at night made the fine hair on her neck stand up.

Tamara clicked a few computer keys. The hard drive whirred softly as the program searched local and state police databases for a match on the print. The familiar hum was comforting. Her lab was a safe haven of sorts. She was in her element here, where her logical mind could have free rein and her tender heart was never at risk of being broken. Statistics, patterns and chemical elements provided basic certainties with no room for emotional entanglement. At day’s end, she could set a case aside like shedding a pair of latex gloves. No fuss, no muss. No heartache if things didn’t work out as you’d hoped.

Not like her years of working the ranch with Clay, where a foal might be stillborn or a case of colic could be fatal or a prize stud could be put down in the name of business.

Tamara rocked back in the desk chair and propped her feet on the drawer. She watched the computer screen click through images, making mathematical analyses, comparing patterns and probabilities.

Numbers. Safe, unemotional numbers.

Tee, I have a business to run. Even if we could save Lone Star, the treatment would be expensive. He’s contagious, and I can’t afford for any other horses to get sick.

Her breath caught, and she slammed her feet back to the floor as she sat up.

For Clay, ranching had been about the numbers.

Her heart performed a tuck and roll. Maybe she and her ex-husband weren’t so different after all. Was it possible Clay relied on the numbers, based his decisions on business models because they provided a distance, a safety net for the difficult decisions when a beloved horse was at stake? Was he trying to protect himself from the pain of loss inherent to the business of horse ranching?

Didn’t she purposely refuse to think of the evidence she gathered in terms of the people who were involved, the lives taken, and the families shattered by the crimes?

Her computer beeped, telling her its work was done and calling her out of her musings. Rattled by her new insights about Clay’s attitude toward ranching, her hand shook as she rolled the mouse to review the results lighting the screen.

Shoes scuffed on the floor behind her, and Eric stepped up to review the fingerprint analysis over her shoulder.

“You get a match?”

Tamara scanned the report. “No. The print’s not in the state database.”

Her boss sighed and rocked back on his heels. “Got anything on the carpet fibers?”

She spun the chair to face him and folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah. The color is called basic beige. It’s an inexpensive brand sold by most do-it-yourself home stores and used widely by the construction company that built three-fourths of the new homes in Esperanza in the past twenty years. No help there.”

Eric skewed his lips to the side as he thought. “How many homes could have been built in a podunk town the size of Esperanza?”

She grunted her offense. “Hey, I grew up in Esperanza, remember?”

“And you told me you couldn’t get out of that two-horse town fast enough, if I remember correctly.”

He was right. In high school, she’d been itching to shake the dust of Esperanza from her feet and head to New York or Chicago. But once she’d married Clay, she’d revised her plans for a while. She’d have been happy living in Esperanza with Clay until her golden years, if only…

She squelched the thought before it fully formed.

“I’ll have you know, Esperanza had a boom of new houses in the early ’90s. Surrounding towns did, too. The guy made a mint building small, affordable homes for the families who wanted the rural life and to be within easy driving distance of San Antonio.”

Eric raised a hand. “Okay, so more than five houses with this carpet?”

“Way more. Try ninety to a hundred, if you count the surrounding towns and do-it-yourselfers.” Tamara turned back to the computer and clicked a few keys. “I also found nothing on the red hair from the passenger seat. DNA breakdown for it and the blood from the driver’s door won’t be ready for a while yet. A batch of samples from the Walters case got in before us.”

Tamara frowned. “I can’t help but think we missed something. I was careful, and I double-checked everything, but…where’s all the evidence? The scene was just too clean.”

“You can always go back out to Esperanza and take another look. Head down to impound and check the car again. Maybe without your ex-husband watching your every move, you’ll find something you didn’t notice before.”

Tamara snapped her gaze up to Eric’s. “Clay didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Save your breath. I saw how you looked at each other.” Eric headed for the laboratory door. “Just don’t let your feelings for your ex get in the way of this case.”

She squared her shoulders, pricked by the implication that she still cared for Clay, that she was less than professional in her approach to her job.

Her boss turned when he reached the door. “Go back to Esperanza tomorrow and widen the search grid. I’ll sweep the Taurus again and take Pete with me, so be sure to have one of the department cameras with you when you go.”

“Right.” Tamara swallowed hard. Being close to Clay and her old home had been hard enough the first time.

Maybe she could do her search without alerting Sheriff Yates or Clay. If she found anything significant, she’d call Jericho. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t have to face Clay at all. She hoped not anyway. Her heart stung badly enough from their unexpected encounter today.

The next morning, Tamara drove across the drought-parched pasture at the far end of the Bar None and headed for the mesquite trees near the Black Creek ravine. After parking her Accord, Tamara climbed out and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. She swept her gaze around the field. What had she missed? The department’s camera in hand, she headed toward the stand of trees where the Taurus had been found. From there she could fan out, searching in a methodical way, dividing the land with a grid and going section by section.

After two hours of the tedious work, with little to show for her efforts, Tamara had reached the edge of the Black Creek ravine. She thought of Clay, striding up from the ravine yesterday when she’d sought him out for questioning. With his dark good looks, cool control and muscled body, he personified the rugged, larger-than-life attitude that made Texas famous.

The trill of her cell phone roused her from her wandering thoughts.

She checked her caller ID and pressed the answer button. “Hi, Eric. What’s up?”

“You still in Esperanza?”

“Yeah. Why?” She nudged a rock with her toe then moved on, her gaze sweeping slowly left to right and back again.

“Just wondering how much longer you think you’ll be.”

“Well, it stays daylight until almost 9:00 p.m., so I’d say I have eight or nine more workable hours.” She lifted a corner of her mouth, picturing her boss’s face.

“The scary thing is, I’m not so sure you’re kidding.” Eric groaned. “Don’t get me wrong. I love your work ethic. But I don’t need you running yourself down, wearing yourself out. I need you mentally and physically sharp.”

“I just don’t want to leave until I’m sure I’ve covered everything this time. I should be finished in a couple hours.”

“Well, you got anything yet?”

She sighed. “Nothing that looks promising.”

When she finished the call with Eric, Tamara snapped her phone closed and cast an encompassing gaze around the area. Had she made the search grid large enough this time? Was she overlooking something?

As she walked the grid, she flipped her phone open again, and using her thumb, she punched in Pete’s number in the photo lab. 5-5-5-3-0—

Suddenly the earth gave way beneath her.

Tamara gasped. Her phone flew from her hand as her arms windmilled and she scrambled to catch herself. The cave-in sucked her down, and she landed with a jarring thud. Terror welled in her throat as gritty dust filled her lungs and scratched her eyes. Raising an arm to protect her head, she winced as dirt and rock pelted her.

When the world stopped shifting, Tamara lifted her head, shook the loose dirt from her. She coughed out dust, and her chest spasmed. Searing pain arced through her torso, stealing her breath. She lay still for a moment, letting the fire in her ribs subside and collecting her wits.

Grit abraded her watering eyes. Blinking hard to clear her vision, she moved slowly, checking herself one limb at a time for broken bones. Every movement made her chest throb. She grimaced. Cracked ribs. Maybe worse.

Adrenaline pulsed through her. Hands shaking, she tried to calm herself without breathing deeply, which would only fill her lungs with more grit. As the dust settled and she could draw clearer air, the putrid smell of rotting flesh assailed her. She wrinkled her nose and squinted in the dim light. How far had she fallen? The sinkhole she’d landed in seemed to be six or seven feet deep. Like a grave.

She shuddered and quickly shoved aside the chilling thought.

Stay calm. Think. Clay and his ranch hands were too far away to hear her call for help. Her cell phone was—

She groped in the darkness, digging with her fingers through the soil and rock.

Fresh streaks of hot pain sliced through her when she moved. Tamara bit down on her lip and rode out the throbbing waves and ensuing nausea. Climbing out of this hole and driving to Clay’s house was going to hurt like hell, but what choice did she have?

Holding her ribs, she shifted to her knees. A moan rumbled from her throat, and she gritted her teeth in agony. Before she tried pushing to her feet, she ran her hand over the dirt one more time, searching for her cell phone. She stretched as far as she could and found nothing but hot, crumbled earth. She crawled forward a bit, deeper into the shadows, and again shifted her fingers through the dusty debris.

Her hand bumped up against something large and heavy. When she tentatively brushed her hand along the object, she found it soft, like fabric. Or clothing.

Foreboding rippled through her.

She fished in her pocket for her keys, where she kept a small light on the fob to help her find the ignition switch at night. The bright LED light illuminated a tiny portion of the sinkhole. Holding her breath, she held the light toward the object.

And screamed.

Lying face down, mere inches from where she’d landed, was a man’s dead and decaying body.

Chapter 4

Tamara struggled to regain her composure, find her professional detachment. She’d seen enough corpses through her job to stomach the grisly sight and even tolerate the smell to an extent. But the shock of finding the body so unexpectedly, the eerie shadows her key-ring light cast, having nearly fallen on top of the dead man…

She swallowed the sour taste that rose in her throat. Clenching her teeth to endure the sharp pain, she pulled herself to her feet. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase to climb out of the pit. By using the toes of her shoes to dig footholds, she managed to pull herself out of the sinkhole, one excruciating inch at a time.

Overwhelmed by the pain, the stench of death, the horror of what had happened to her, she braced on shaky hands and knees and retched—which sent fresh paroxysms of pain through her chest. The unforgiving Texas sun beat down on her and made her head swoon. Common sense warned her she had to get to her car, had to get out of the heat, had to get help for her injuries.

She had to report finding the dead man.

She shuddered.

A body.

The driver of the stolen car? Maybe. But if so, who put him down in that hole?

After struggling to her car, holding her aching ribs as still as possible, Tamara drove slowly toward the ranch’s main house. The idea of facing Clay again hurt almost as much as the jarring bumps and jolts of the uneven pasture and pothole-riddled driveway.

She blasted her horn as she approached the house. Within moments, two irritated ranch hands stalked toward her car, shouting for her to quit honking. Others looked on, clearly curious about what she wanted. She scanned the approaching ranch workers, looking for the one man she wanted most to see and yet dreaded facing.

Finally she spotted Clay, hurrying through the front door of the white house and crossing the wide porch. A familiar beagle rose from his nap on the porch and romped across the yard at Clay’s feet.

Tears of relief pricked her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to force them down. She swore to be strong in front of Clay if it killed her. Gaze fixed on her ex-husband, she waved off the ranch hands when they opened her door and offered her help.

The moment Clay realized who was behind the wheel of the Accord, his gait faltered for a second. His irritated scowl morphed into a look of shock then concern. He sprinted the remaining distance to her driver’s side door.

Pushing aside one of his workers, he squatted in the V of the open car door. “Tamara, what’s wrong? Why—”

“I fell…into a sinkhole. Out by the ravine.” She closed her eyes and waited out a new wash of pain.

Clay mumbled a curse. “How bad are you hurt? Can you walk?”

Before she could answer, he shoved to his feet and leaned in to check her. Taking her chin in his fingers, he swept her face with his gaze, then touched a scrape on her temple.

Wincing, she grabbed his wrist to stop his ministrations. “I found a body.”

Clay’s thick eyebrows dipped, his dark eyes homing in on hers. “A body? Where?”

“In the pit. A man. He’s been dead at least a couple days, judging from the stink.”

Clay stiffened at the news, barely brushing her chest, but the contact sent a fiery spasm through her. She gasped and gritted her teeth.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, snatching his hands away from her.

A prick of self-consciousness filtered through her haze of discomfort. She must look frightful, scratched, bleeding and covered in grime. And after baking in the heat for hours, wallowing in a dirt pit, then dragging herself to her car, she had to be ripe.

By contrast, even breathing shallowly as she was to avoid pain, the aroma of sunshine and leather clung to Clay and filled her nose. Her heart gave a hard thump. So many precious memories were tied to his seductive scent. Memories that now left her emotionally raw.

“I…may have cracked…a rib or two. I can hardly…breathe. It hurts…every time I move—”

“Can you walk or should I carry you inside?”

Just getting to her car had hurt like hell. She was tempted to let him carry her, but she hated to seem needy. “I can walk.”

“Hobo, get back,” he told the beagle, who stuck his nose inside the car to greet the ranch’s visitor.

Tamara smiled through her pain at the sight of the mutt, her old friend. She held her fingers out for him to sniff and scratched his head. “Hi, boy.”

Clay placed a hand under her elbow to steady her as she rose slowly, stiffly from the car. New aches from the tumble into the pit assaulted her. Muscles cramped, joints ached, scrapes throbbed.

She hobbled a few steps and couldn’t stop the groan that escaped her dry lips.

“That’s it,” Clay said and carefully lifted her into his arms.

She clutched the shirt at his shoulder when pain ripped though her chest. “No, Clay, I—I’m okay.” She stopped to suck air in through her teeth. “Really. L-let me down.”

He scoffed. “You can barely stand, much less walk.”

“But if I move slowly, I can—”

“Don’t argue.” His penetrating espresso gaze silenced her.

Cradling her ribs, she rested her cheek on the soft cotton of his shirt. Being this close to him again stole her breath. Feeling the power of his arms around her, hearing the thud of his heart left her a bit dizzy. With Hobo barking excitedly at his feet, he strode with smooth quick steps, mindful not to jostle her, and soon had her in the blissful air-conditioning of his house.

He bypassed the living and dining rooms, heading straight down the long hall, through the kitchen and into the family room at the back of the house.

“Marie!” Clay called as he settled her on a cool leather couch.

A Mexican woman came out of the laundry room and appeared in the kitchen. “Sí, Mr. Clay?”

“I need the hydrogen peroxide and a damp cloth.”

Tamara met the woman’s startled expression and gave her a strained smile.

The woman pressed a hand to her cheek and hurried closer. “Oh, my! What happened?”

“I fell in some kind of sinkhole…out in the south pasture.” She opted to leave out the detail about the dead body until the sheriff had a chance to investigate.

Clay made quick introductions between Tamara and his housekeeper. If the woman found it odd that Clay’s ex-wife had been hanging around one of his pastures, she hid it well.

Tamara winced as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

Marie waved a hand toward her. “Mr. Clay, she needs to see a doctor. She’s hurting.”

Clay unclipped his cell phone and started dialing. “I know. I’m calling Doc Mason right now.”

The older woman shook her head. “But Doc Mason is not here. He went on vacation, I heard.”

Clay scowled and closed his phone. “Vacation? Doc never takes vacation. It’s hard enough to get him to take off a day to go fishing.”

Marie shrugged then hurried toward the hall bathroom.

“Clay, we have to call Jericho…about the body I found,” she whispered so Marie wouldn’t overhear.

“I will. First I need to make sure you’re okay. If Doc is out of town, I’ll have to call an ambulance, but the nearest one could still take almost an hour to get you to a hospital.”

He stroked his stubbled cheeks, and the scrape of his callused palms on the bristles slid over her like a lover’s caress. She knew so well the sandpapery scratch of his unshaven chin against her skin, gently abrading her during lovemaking. The sensation was tantalizing, thrilling.

Tamara took a deep breath to clear the erotic memories from her head and was rewarded with a sharp stab from her battered ribs.

Her grunt of discomfort darkened Clay’s concerned stare to the shade of midnight. “Try not to move.”

She quirked a grin. “Ya think?”

Her attempt at levity bounced off his tense jaw and stress-tightened muscles. He began to pace.

When Marie returned with the cloth and antiseptic, she sat on the edge of the couch and began dabbing the scrapes on Tamara’s face. “Call the clinic,” she said. “There is a doctor filling in for Doc Mason, I think.”

Clay’s eyebrows lifted, and hope lit his eyes.

His housekeeper nodded. “That’s what I heard at Miss Sue’s. Everyone was as surprised as you.”

The mention of the local diner brought a smile to Tamara’s face. “Gossip central. Is the pecan pie there still as good as it used to be?”

Clay gave Tamara a worried frown, as if her interest in the best pie in Texas were a sign of head injury. Flipping open his cell, he punched redial. His concern for her both touched her and chafed her independence. In their marriage, Clay’s take-charge, assume-all-responsibility mode of operation had always been a mixed blessing.

Once arrangements had been made to meet the doctor on call at the Esperanza clinic and Clay had her settled in his pickup, Tamara shifted her attention once more to what she felt was a more pressing issue.

The dead man on Clay’s property.

She borrowed Clay’s phone as he drove her to town and called Sheriff Yates.

After Jericho assured her he’d start an immediate recovery and investigation of the body, she inquired what he’d learned about the money.

“Nothing yet. The serial numbers didn’t turn anything up,” Jericho said. “None of the banks in the area have a record of a withdrawal of that size or any other unusual activity. I’m checking the rest of the state now, but so far that money’s proving a dead end.”

The truck hit a bump, and she inhaled sharply.

Clay winced. “Sorry. No way to miss ’em all on this road.”

“Tamara, is something wrong?” Jericho asked.

“Did I mention how I found the body?” She explained about her fall and that Clay was taking her to the medical clinic in town.

“Ouch. Broken ribs are a bear. Sorry ’bout that.” She heard another voice in the background, heard Jericho reply. “Well, we’re headed out to the Bar None now. I’ll keep you posted.”

“For the time being, you’ll have to reach me on Clay’s cell.” She gritted her teeth as they lurched over another pothole. “But if you find my cell at the scene, I’d appreciate getting it back.”

“Sure thing. Take care, Tamara.”

When they reached Doc Mason’s clinic in Esperanza, Clay helped her out of his truck and into the wheelchair a nurse brought out. He parked the wheelchair in the waiting room and walked up to the desk to check her in.

Tamara was grousing to herself about take-charge Clay’s latest crusade when the clinic door opened and a familiar blond-haired man walked in from the street. He slipped off his sunglasses and headed straight for the front desk.

“Billy? Billy Akers?” Tamara asked.

Her longtime family friend and former neighbor turned, and when he spotted Tamara, his face lit with an effusive grin. “Well, I’ll be! Tamara the Brat! How are you?”

She smiled at his use of the nickname he and her older brother had given her growing up. Billy, who still had the build of a linebacker from his high-school days, hurried over to her and bent to give her a hug.

Tamara held up a hand to stop him. “Oh, uh…don’t squeeze.” She winced and pointed to her midriff. “Possibly broken ribs.”

Scrunching his freckled nose, Billy made an appropriately sympathetic face. “Yikes. What happened?”

She waved his question off. “Long story. Gosh, it’s good to see you. It’s been years. How are your parents?”

Billy’s face fell. “Well…not so good. Mama’s been diagnosed with ALS…Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

“Oh, no!” Grief for the woman who’d been like a second mother to her and her brother plucked Tamara’s heart.

“Seeing her suffering has been hard. Especially on Dad.”

Tamara took Billy’s hand in hers and squeezed it. “I can imagine. Oh, Billy, please give her my best. Tell her I’ll be praying for her.”

“I will.” He hitched a thumb toward the front desk. “In fact, I’m here to refill one of her prescriptions.” When he spotted Clay at the counter, a speculative gleam sparked in Billy’s eyes. “Are you here with Clay? Does this mean you two are—” He wagged a finger from Clay to Tamara.

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”

When she saw her denial hadn’t satisfied his curiosity, she tried to work out the simplest explanation that would stave off the rumormongers. “I was on his property when I fell, and his house was the closest help.”