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“We have a potential very high-profile case I’d like to discuss with you.”
Rachel couldn’t imagine why he wanted to discuss that with her. She took the chair that faced his desk. He sat down again and leaned back in his oversize leather chair.
“Who’s the defendant?” she asked.
“Hayden Covey. I suppose you’ve heard that he was arrested last night.”
“It was breaking news on my phone alerts this morning.” She was certain almost everyone in the state had heard by now.
Hayden was a student at University of Texas who’d allegedly brutally murdered his girlfriend days after she’d broken up with him.
He was also the only son of a popular and very influential state senator married to an extremely rich heiress.
The victim was Louann Black, nineteen years old, also a student at the university. Though not as wealthy and influential as the Coveys, her family was well-known in the Austin music circuit.
Hayden had written several songs for big-name performers and frequently performed around town himself in popular music venues.
This would likely be the trial of the decade in Texas.
“Do you think Hayden is innocent?” Rachel asked.
“He claims to be and I know his parents believe him.”
“Most parents do, though the evidence against him looks extremely damaging.”
“But not ironclad,” Eric said. “A top-notch defense attorney could win the case.”
“Then coming to you was a good decision,” Rachel said. “Few would argue that you’re not the top defense attorney in the South.”
“But maybe not the best man to defend Hayden. I’ll be honest with you, Rachel. Senator Covey and I have been close friends since our law school days at UT. I’ve known Hayden since he was born. He’s a great kid.”
“He’s twenty,” Rachel reminded him. “Not exactly a kid.”
“That’s true. He’s turned into a fine young man with a great life and a pro football career in front of him. He’s one of the top college running backs in the country and he’s only a junior.”
“Even great athletes commit crimes.”
“Yes, but he’s never been in trouble except for one unfortunate arrest last year for roughing up another student after an altercation at a bar near the university. Several witnesses said the victim was at fault.”
According to the media over the last few days, those witnesses were Hayden’s friends and the roughing up was a vicious attack that sent an unsuspecting underclassman to the hospital with a broken jaw and a serious concussion from repeated kicks to the head.
That was nothing compared to the brutality of the attack that killed his former girlfriend.
“Considering how my friendship with the senator might negatively influence the jury, I’m not sure I’m the best one to officially lead Hayden’s defense.”
“Good point,” she agreed, though she was certain he’d be a strong behind-the-scenes force in the case no matter who was the lead attorney of record.
“Luckily, the firm has several top-notch criminal defense attorneys,” she noted.
“Yes, which makes this a tough decision. But I talked with my son and Edward last evening. We all three believe that you’re the best choice for the job.”
She stared at him, stunned by his words. “You mean as lead attorney?”
“Yes, though you’ll have full backing from the firm and all the assistance you require. But you’ll deliver the opening and closing statements and handle the press.”
She’d worked her butt off for an opportunity like this ever since she started with the firm right after law school. But she was certain her performance had fallen off over the last few months. She tried harder than ever, but she had trouble concentrating and dealing with the never-ending panic attacks.
“Why me?” she asked.
“I’ve discussed it with my partners. We all agree that you have exactly the qualities needed for this trial. You’re not only capable and thorough, you read the jury as well as or better than any attorney with the firm. You proved that time and time again.”
“I’ve never headed up a high-profile like this.”
“No, but you’ve demonstrated that you know your way around a courtroom. You won’t be intimidated by a judge or daunted by the best the district attorney can hurl at you.”
A year ago that might have been the case. Now she wasn’t convinced she could navigate through all the brutal murder evidence and still stay on her game.
She’d only been a team member on the case they’d just tried and won, but even looking at the photos of a young female victim attacked in an elevator at her workplace had brought on an increase in Rachel’s nightmares and a heightened anxiety level.
Her career had been her life, but it seemed to be turning on her. She definitely couldn’t handle a murder case unless she was totally convinced of the defendant’s innocence. “I appreciate the confidence, but—”
“I know it will be your biggest challenge to date,” Fitch interrupted. “We think you’re ready for it.”
She stared into space as she let his statement sink in. What-ifs stormed her mind. What if she wasn’t up to it? What if she wasn’t convinced of Hayden Covey’s innocence? What if she had a meltdown in front of the jury? If that happened in a case this high profile, it would be the end of her career.
Eric stood, walked to the front of his desk and stared down at her, his gaze intent, intimidating. “This case is very important to me and to the firm, Rachel. We’ve stood beside you and supported you in every way we could since your unfortunate incident. Now I’m asking for you to deliver. Don’t let me down.”
Don’t let him down.
The tone and stance made it clear his words were a warning. This was more than an offer. It was a demand.
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Then I’ve made myself clear.”
“Perfectly clear. When do I meet the defendant?” she asked, though she hadn’t officially agreed to take the assignment. Ordinarily, the firm granted attorneys that privilege. This time that didn’t appear to be the case.
“Hayden and his parents will be here this morning at ten,” Fitch said. “I’ll also sit in on that first meeting.”
“I expected that you would. Is that all for now?”
“Yes, except that I should warn you that Hayden’s mother, Claire, is in a distraught state. I hope you can give her full confidence in the defense we’ll provide for her son.”
“I’ll do as much as I honestly can.” Honestly was the key word in Rachel’s mind.
Eric Fitch Sr. had gotten what he wanted. He stood, then smiled and nodded, acknowledging his win.
Rachel was getting the career boost she’d worked so hard for, the opportunity to make a name for herself and vastly improve her chance of being named at least a junior partner one day soon.
So why did she feel the almost overwhelming desire to tell Eric Fitch he could take this job and shove it?
Chapter Two (#u233b9fe2-90b4-590a-aef2-79feae13f7c7)
Luke Dawkins nudged his worn Stetson back on his head and took a long, hard look at the rusting metal gate. Arrowhead Hills Ranch was carved into the weathered wooden sign along with two imprints of arrowheads.
The last time he’d laid eyes on that gate, he’d seen it through the rearview mirror of the beat-up red pickup truck that he’d bought with money he’d earned working at the local feed and tack shop. That had been eleven years ago, when he was eighteen.
The rickety ranch gate seemed the same. Luke wasn’t.
You Can’t Go Home Again. Thomas Wolfe had known his stuff. The home might not change. The person who’d left would.
A few years of bouncing from job to job followed by eight years in the military had turned Luke into a man, yet he still dreaded returning to the place he’d once called home.
A small Texas Hill Country town with a lot more cows than people, more barbwire than roads and some of the best ranch land in the state.
All Luke had against the town or the ranch could be summed up in two words. Alfred Dawkins. Stubborn. Controlling. Bitter. Downright ornery.
The poor excuse for a father wouldn’t like having Luke home again any more than Luke wanted to be here.
Neither of them had a lot of choice in the matter.
The old defiant angers festered in Luke’s gut as he climbed out of his new double-cab pickup truck and stepped around a mud hole.
His boots scooted across the cattle gap as he unlatched and opened the gate before getting back into his truck and driving through it the way he’d done hundreds of times as a rebellious teenager.
He paused and took in the sights and sounds before he closed the gate behind him. A barking dog, though it wouldn’t be Ace, the golden retriever he’d raised from a pup. Ace had died from a rattlesnake bite when he jumped between Luke and the striking snake.
Luke had been fourteen then. His dad had scorned him for shedding a few tears. Nothing new. Luke had never measured up in his dad’s mind. Just one of the many reasons Luke had never looked back once he left Arrowhead Hills Ranch.
A crow scolded Luke from high in the branches of a nearby live oak. A horse neighed.
Luke looked to the left and spotted a couple of chestnut mares giving him the once-over. So his dad still kept horses. Good to know.
It had been years since Luke was in the saddle. His consecutive tours in the Middle East hadn’t allowed much time for revisiting the cowboy lifestyle.
It was shirtsleeve weather, warm for late January, but a bracing breeze rustled the tall yellow strands of grass and the leaves in a persimmon tree that hugged the fence.
Luke closed the gate, climbed back into his truck and drove toward the old house. He had no idea what to expect or what kind of health his father had been in before he suffered the stroke that had led to his being placed in a rehab facility.
Significantly weakened on the left side of his body now and with difficulty putting his thoughts into coherent sentences, he was unable to take care of himself, much less the ranch.
Not that Luke had originally gotten that information firsthand. It was Esther Kavanaugh, a longtime neighbor who’d been his mother’s best friend before her death, who’d called with the SOS. Luke had followed up with Alfred’s doctor and the rehab center.
So here he was, back in Winding Creek.
The brown roof appeared as he rounded a curve in the dirt ranch road. Trees hid the rest of the clapboard house until he was closer.
It looked smaller than he remembered it. A bungalow with two bedrooms, two baths, a family den, a large kitchen downstairs and an upstairs dormer with another bedroom and bath that had been his hideaway.
Luke parked in a gravel drive in front of the carport that covered what he assumed was his dad’s scratched and dented Chevy pickup truck. Alfred had always been a Chevy man and always hard on the finish of the vehicle. He’d never let bushes or shrubs get in the way of his getting where he wanted to go on the ranch.
The wide, covered porch that his mother had always filled with huge clay pots of colorful blooms was bare except for one old pottery planter full of dirt and dead flowers, a weathered wooden rocker and what looked to be a fairly new porch swing that dangled from the ceiling by only one chain.
Luke’s mother’s once prized flower beds that had bordered the porch were choked with weeds. The paint on the house was faded and peeling. A dark brown shutter on one of the windows hung askew.
Luke climbed out of the truck and took the cracked concrete walk from the driveway to the porch steps. A sense of foreboding rattled his mood. Stepping back into the house with its bittersweet memories of his mother would have been depressing in an ideal situation. This was far from ideal.
He had no idea what Alfred or the neighbors expected of him. He didn’t mind the work, but it wasn’t as if he had any authority to make decisions about the ranch. More than likely his father hadn’t even named him in the will even though Luke had no siblings.
The door was unlocked. Luke swung it open, but before he could step inside, he heard approaching hoofbeats. He turned as the horseman rode into view, pulled on the reins and stopped in the shade a few yards from the porch.
The black mare snorted and tossed her head as the rider climbed from the saddle and looped the reins around a low-lying branch of a scraggly ash tree.
The rider acknowledged Luke with a smile and a nod.
Luke tipped his Stetson.
“You must be Luke,” the cowboy said as he approached the porch steps. “Esther Kavanaugh said you’d be here sometime this weekend. She wasn’t sure when, so I was just coming by to see if you made it yet.”
“Yep. Luke Dawkins. Just drove up. Haven’t even made it inside.” He met the guy on the edge of the porch and offered his hand.
“Buck Stalling,” the guy said. “I’m a wrangler for Pierce Lawrence over at the Double K Ranch. He sends me over here twice a day to take care of the horses.”
“Is Pierce running the ranch for Esther Kavanaugh now?” Luke asked.
“He owns it. Mrs. Kavanaugh sold it to him a few months back.”
“Interesting. She didn’t mention that she’d moved when I talked to her.”
“She didn’t move. She lives right there in the big house like she always has, close to her beloved chickens and garden.”
“Does Pierce live there, too?”
“He did before he built himself, his pregnant wife, Grace, and his young daughter a house of their own no more than a good stone’s throw away from Esther. Right nice setup.”
“Sounds like a good deal for all of them. I just didn’t realize Pierce was back in Winding Creek.”
“Then you know Pierce,” Buck said. “I’m surprised he never mentioned knowing you.”
“No reason he should. Last time I saw him we were in high school, and he moved away before we graduated.”
“Yeah. Tough on him and his brothers losing their parents so early. Lucky for them that the Kavanaughs took them in until their uncle moved them to Kansas.”
Tough on anyone that young to lose a parent. No one knew that any better than Luke.
“If you’re taking care of the horses, who’s looking after the critters?” Luke asked.
“Dudley Miles assigned a couple of his cowboys to help out with the herd until Alfred is functioning enough to hire on some new hands. That’s how it is in Winding Creek. Neighbors take care of neighbors.”
