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“You have that much right,” he said, smiling again. “Look again at your sister. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. You’re one of the most stunning. And she flirts outrageously, which I’m sure you already know.”
“Thank you. My sister is beautiful. She’s been beautiful from the day she was born.” After a moment of silence, Destiny turned to him. “You were rather laid-back today. Do you ever get upset, Sheriff?”
“Sure, when things get bad enough. Most of the time in Verity, there’s nothing bad enough.”
“So my reporting about the Wrenville house murders isn’t bad enough to get you riled up?”
“Not so far,” he said. “Maybe your quest is annoying, but not critical. We’ll see as time goes by.”
She saw that the buildings on Main Street had given way to houses. Heading east, they passed two blocks of wooden Victorian-style homes, some single story, some two or three stories with tall trees that had thick trunks in what looked like an old part of town.
“We have passed most of Verity’s restaurants. Where are we going?”
“To the airport. We’ll fly to Dallas to eat. You have no objection to that, do you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “So you’ll avoid the press for the rest of the night.”
“I sure hope so,” he replied, “and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“If it did, I don’t think you’d turn around and go back,” she said, amused. “So the sheriff of Verity has his own plane. Interesting.”
“Actually, it’s mutually owned by me and my siblings. We all have ranches and want to be able to come and go, so we bought two planes and hired pilots and the necessary employees. I have my own pilot’s license, as do my brothers Nick and Tony. It’s worked out great.”
“Nice, if you can afford it.” She looked out at the passing scenery. “I recall we came into town this way so we should be passing the Wrenville house. There it is,” she said, looking at a wooden three-story home surrounded by a three-foot wrought-iron fence and a front gate hanging on one hinge. She noticed several of the windows had been broken out.
“Just an old, empty house that the town will own shortly,” Wyatt said. “Nothing exciting there. And there can’t be any clues in it about the three men who died there.”
“You don’t discourage me. It’s more interesting than that.” Destiny said, taking in the weeds and high grass that filled the yard while the two tall oaks by the house were overgrown with vines. “No, I’m excited, filled with curiosity. Sometimes it’s surprising what my show stirs up. Maybe someone will come forth with information that has been passed down through the generations. A Milan and a Calhoun both in love with the same woman and both shot dead over her, along with her father—that’s an interesting unsolved mystery. You have to admit it.”
“Interesting to an outsider, I suppose, but we don’t need the old feud stirred up. As generations pass it has weakened and with my generation, I think the feud is dying. I want it to die. We’re a quiet little town. I don’t want to see that disturbed needlessly.”
“A quiet little town with a high percentage of millionaires,” she said. She realized she had never known anyone as protective of his hometown and his family and she had to respect Wyatt for that.
“West Texas is good cattle and oil country, plus a few other businesses that have done well here,” he replied.
In minutes he turned along a narrow asphalt road and shortly she saw two hangars and a control tower ahead. A jet was outside and she assumed it would be the plane they would take to Dallas.
Wyatt picked up his phone to talk to his pilot, letting him know they were almost there, and she tingled with anticipation, looking forward to an evening with Wyatt Milan. She wondered what he would think when he learned she was a Calhoun. He acted as if he thought the old feud should die, but she barely knew him. When it involved him personally, would he still think the feud should end? Mimi had painted such a dark picture of the Milans as dishonest, crafty and manipulative that Destiny had expected a man far different from the Milan she was getting to know tonight. None of those descriptions fit Wyatt. Far from it. Honest, straightforward, hoping for good—he embodied admirable qualities. She loved Mimi and they were close, but her grandmother was wrong about this Milan.
Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Strong, firm, his lips made her wonder if he would kiss her tonight. The chemistry between them was exciting. She felt it, and she was certain he did, too. Could she kiss him into agreeing to an interview?
Three (#uab513573-dbcd-52a6-bb5e-b11637f87494)
As they reached the plane, Wyatt stopped near a brown-haired man with touches of gray in his hair. He smiled at Destiny.
“Destiny, meet our pilot, Jason Whittaker. Jason, this is Ms. Jones from Chicago.”
“It’s Destiny,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m happy to meet you and looking forward to the flight.”
“Unsolved Mysteries,” Jason said and Destiny’s smile broadened. Wyatt watched her step forward and charm his pilot who could not take his gaze from her. Wyatt could understand. She’d stolen his breath when she had appeared at the top of the stairs at the hotel. The woman knew how to make a grand entrance. Every man in the hotel lobby had been watching her and Wyatt had heard an audible sigh from several who were standing near him when she appeared. She wasn’t the delicate, perfect beauty her sister was. Instead, she was hot, sexual, lush, with a voluptuous body, a come-hither look and unruly red hair that looked as if she had just left a romp in bed. How was he going to keep denying her an interview or discouraging her from the Wrenville house? She left him tongue-tied, on fire, unable to think clearly, torn between wanting to seduce her and hoping she would pack up and go. Never had a woman rocked him like this one.
“We have good weather,” the pilot remarked, pulling Wyatt from his reverie.
“Let’s get going,” Wyatt said, taking her arm and boarding the plane. The moment he touched her, the casual contact electrified him. Her perfume deepened his awareness of her at his side. He motioned to a seat and as she sat near a window and buckled herself in, he sat facing her.
She looked out the window and the plane began to taxi away from the hangar. When they were airborne and headed southeast, she turned to Wyatt.
“So tell me the history of the Lavita Wrenville house.”
“In the early days Verity was a hub for cattle ranchers. The Wrenville family was successful and built their big home. Lavita’s father still had eastern interests and was partners with his brother in a large bank in Boston. At one time, according to legend or family history, the Wrenvilles were enormously wealthy—in a time and place where there were an unusually high number of wealthy families.”
“The Milans and the Calhouns included, right?”
“Yes. According to local history, the Milans made a fortune with cattle and ranching. I guess that’s where I get my love of ranching. So did the Calhouns. From the earliest days, I think the Calhouns and Milans clashed over land, cattle, water, running the town, all sorts of reasons, including the women they loved, so the feud started.”
“I think I’m getting the short version of Milan and Wrenville history.”
“You’re getting the only version I have,” he remarked.
“Sorry, I interrupted you. Go ahead.”
“As local history goes, the Wrenvilles gradually amassed more money than anyone else in town. Hubert Wrenville had cattle, land, the big bank, the feed store, the biggest saloon.”
“Was this Lavita’s father?”
“Yes. Finally, there was only Lavita Wrenville who lived alone in the house. She was an eccentric old maid who did not want anyone to inherit or buy the house. Lavita deeded the property, house, stable, outbuildings and all personal property in those buildings to Verity with the stipulation that the property is not to be sold or changed until next year. At that time the Wrenville property and everything on it will revert totally to Verity to do with as it pleases. I imagine the town will sell the property if they can. That’s what is in Lavita’s official will and she was the last surviving Wrenville.”
“Ah, I see. So what about information regarding the murders or a fortune she amassed and hid somewhere in the house?”
“I think that’s just rumors, legend, wishful thinking of people way back and handed down through generations. There’s nothing in the will about either one.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Maybe I’ll do a show on Lavita Wrenville and the unsolved killings and then come back next year.”
“You might consider just coming then. I don’t think you’ll find much of interest now. I’ve just told you everything about it. I don’t think there’s a fortune or a letter that revealed what happened.”
“Suppose I search and find a fortune and a letter revealing what happened the night of the murders?”
“You wouldn’t be the first to search. But there’s nothing in her will about a fortune or a letter. That’s legend.”
“You really don’t want me here, do you?” she asked, smiling slightly.
He leaned close, looking into her big green eyes that widened. “Oh, yes, I want you here. I have plans for tonight. From the moment I walked into my office and saw you, I’ve wanted you here,” he said in a husky tone that was barely above a whisper.
She leaned in a fraction, so close they were almost touching, and he fought the urge to close the distance and kiss her. “Then we should have an interesting evening because I’ve been looking forward to tonight since we parted this afternoon,” she whispered. Her words were slow, sultry, increasing the sexual tension between them. As they gazed at each other, again he was hot, tied in knots with desire, yet at the same time aware of the clash of wills between them.
She smiled and sat back. “This should be an interesting evening.”
“I’ll admit, you’re not like other women I’ve known.”
“That’s a relief,” she said and he gave her a faint smile.
“Tell me about the murders. All I know is that Lavita’s father, a Milan and a Calhoun all were shot to death.”
Wyatt settled back, inhaled deeply and tried to get his wits about him. “All I’ve ever heard is that Lavita had two men in love with her—unfortunately, a Milan and a Calhoun. The feud had been in existence through at least two generations by then, so it was going strong and the two men did not speak to each other. The night of the shootings, they both called on her at the same time and neither would leave. She was upset. The men were angry and according to the old story, they were going to fight and pistols were drawn. Her father heard the argument, appeared and mixed in the struggle. Terrified what would happen, Lavita ran to get their stable keeper. As she rushed back to the house, shots were fired. According to the story, all three men were armed and had fired at each other, killing each other.”
“So far, that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Some stories say that, on her deathbed, Lavita admitted that one of the men was still alive and conscious when she returned to the house and told Lavita what happened before he died. At the time of the murders, she had stated they were all dead by the time she got back.”
“Couldn’t the stable keeper verify her story?”
Wyatt smiled. “Remember, this was the late 1800s and the story has been passed down by word of mouth since. According to the story, the stable keeper went to get his pistol and was far enough behind Lavita that all three men were dead when he arrived at the scene. The three men died that night, presumably shortly after the shooting. And Lavita never revealed anyone talked to her until she was on her deathbed. Until then, she claimed she didn’t know what had happened after she ran out of the house to get help.”
“If that’s the true story about what happened, it makes one wonder what she was told and why she hid it from the world. Nowadays, withholding information would put her behind bars.”
“Early-day justice may have been dispensed differently and hers was an influential family. If the legend is true, she may not have wanted the true story to come out because of the feud. The Calhouns and the Milans had a history of getting revenge.”
“This story holds possibilities for an interesting chapter in my next book.”
Wyatt wanted to groan. He had hoped to discourage her with the story, which he found vague and probably hearsay. “It all comes down to trying to find an old letter Lavita wrote that reveals the truth about that night.”
Destiny shifted in her seat, drawing his attention to her dress. The unique design left one shoulder bare. The other shoulder was covered by a short sleeve that had four buttons running down a center seam in the sleeve, so if unbuttoned, the front half of her dress would no longer be attached to the back half above the waist. The thought consumed him, distracting him from his story. He had to figuratively shake himself to get back on track.
“The letter has been rumored to be in the house,” he continued. “I’ve never heard a version that included the grounds as a possibility,” he added.
“Think there will be a bidding war on the property?”
“I don’t. You never know what might appeal to a developer, but that property is in the industrial part of Verity, small as that is. In my view, it’s far out for a likely shopping area. The town grew in all other directions. The house overlooks the cemetery on one side. The river runs behind it. Nearby is the airport and to the front is the highway. Not the greatest location. No one wanted the house and it was left to crumble.” He sat back and crossed his leg over the other at the knee.
“Now that you know about it—and there is little to tell you—I hope you’ll rethink using it on your show. The killings were long, long ago and of little interest,” he said, watching her closely.
“I simply think you’re trying to get rid of me,” she replied sweetly, her green eyes sparkling. “The deaths of the three men are an interesting puzzle, plus the feud between two of them, two families who have many descendants today, you included.”
“I suppose only the ratings will indicate which of us is right. There are far more intriguing unsolved mysteries in Texas. Come by the office and you can look at a list. It would be nice for all the residents if you would move on down the road.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I have a quiet, peaceful, pleasant town. The biggest problems this past year have been getting the Dixons’ cat out of their chimney and getting Doc Lamon’s dock back after it collapsed in a storm and floated downriver.”
“When I talked to the group that gathered today, they were curious, interested and very friendly.”
“They were curious, interested and friendly because you’re a stunning, sexy woman. They were curious about you, not the old Wrenville place.”
“Thank you. But I didn’t get the feeling from any of them that someone would prefer that I didn’t put Lavita Wrenville’s story on my show. Did it occur to you that you might be wrong?”
“I know my town pretty well. I don’t think I’m wrong,” he said, knowing their quiet clash grew stronger and neither changed the other’s opinion. “Today was a bunch of men who wanted to see you and talk to you. Wait until the women are involved and you’re in Chicago and the results of your visit are right here in Verity for the locals to deal with. They won’t be so happy or so cooperative, especially if you stir up that Milan-Calhoun feud.”
“Have you always been right?”
“No, but I’m right often enough that I trust my own judgment.”
She laughed and in spite of their steady battle, her stubborn refusal to leave Verity, her flagrant disregard for law in Verity, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and make love to her.
“It doesn’t bother you that you’re going to upset a whole town?”
“Of course it would bother me if I thought that would happen.” She gave him an assessing look out of the corner of her eye. “It must be wonderful to feel you’re always right.”
He stifled a laugh and a retort
“Come by the office and look at that list of other unsolved Texas murders,” he said, eliciting a smile from her. It seemed they had once again agreed to disagree.
Needing a break from his tenacious but beautiful opponent, he picked up the phone to confer with Jason on the arrival time. When he got his answer, he should have simply turned to look out the window but his eyes lit on Destiny instead. “No wedding ring,” he observed. “So you’re single.”
“Definitely. There’s no special man in my life at the moment.”
“I’m glad to hear that since I’m taking you out.”
“This wouldn’t count anyway. You’re taking me out to tell me about Lavita Wrenville and the unsolved murders. This is a business evening.”
He leaned close again, placing his hands on the arms of her seat to hem her in while they gazed into each other’s eyes. “There is no way this evening will be a business trip. The closest we’ll come is the conversation we just had, and now I’ve finished giving you the Wrenville history. I’ve been looking forward to tonight all afternoon long.”
“You want me to pack and return to Chicago and then you tell me you’ve been wanting to go out with me. That’s contradictory,” she said.
“My feelings are contradictory. You’re a complication in my quiet life,” he said, gazing into her big, green eyes that threatened to make him tell her to do whatever she wanted in Verity.
“A few complications in life sometimes make it more interesting. You’ll be able to handle this one, I’m sure.”
“I can’t wait,” he said, his heart drumming. He knew she wasn’t going to leave quietly and she would be a constant challenge to him. The most enticing challenge he had ever had in his life.
* * *
As Destiny walked to a waiting limo, Wyatt took her arm and in minutes they were headed into downtown Dallas. Wyatt sat across from her, looking totally relaxed, his booted foot resting on his other knee, his hand on the arm of the seat. In spite of all appearances of a relaxed man who cared nothing about the outcome of their discussion, she could feel an undercurrent between them. A clash of wills.
There were moments he flirted and set her heart racing. Other times, like now, he seemed remote. She couldn’t gauge her effect on him and it disturbed her because she was accustomed to red-blooded thirtysomething males succumbing to her charms or trying to charm her. Especially when she had flirted with them.
“Do you own the red limo?” he asked.
“No, I leased it for this trip. We flew to Dallas and picked it up there.”
“You always travel with this staff?”
She shook her head. “No. My assistant, Amy, works for me full-time since the success of my first book. Virginia Boyden, a camera operator—she’s a field operator who works for the show and her husband, Duke Boyden, is my chauffeur, whom I’ve known forever. He worked for my mom, so he’s like a relative. He drives for others, too. I hire him when I need him. I don’t travel like this as much for the show as for background for my next book.”
“Busy person, accustomed to getting what you want.”
“I think that description fits you best. You’re the oldest of your siblings, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, just the same as you are.”
