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“Do they ever?”
“I guess some must, considering the divorce rate in this country. Have you talked to the senator?”
“Of course. I got nowhere. He denied even knowing Margo. He’s behind her disappearance—I know it. Now I just have to prove it.” The fury was so strong that talking about him burned her throat.
“What’s his name?” Bart asked.
“Pat Hebert.”
“Patrick Lewis Hebert?”
Her nerves knotted like twisted twine at the recognition in Bart’s tone. “Don’t tell me he’s a friend of yours.”
“No, but I’ve met him. He and some other guys from Louisiana co-own Paradise Pastures—a small ranch about a half hour west of here—and they frequent the local bars and cafés when they’re around. He seems friendly enough, especially with the women. I never got the idea that he was married.”
“Not surprising since he seemed to forget that fact himself,” Jaclyn said. “But if he’s familiar with this area, then that proves he’s the one who lured me to Colts Run Cross in the first place. He’d planned to ambush me all along.”
Bart planted his feet and stopped the gentle sway of the swing. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Exactly how were you lured to this area?”
“I received a phone call two days ago from someone speaking in an obviously disguised voice telling me to meet him in Cutter’s Bar in Colts Run Cross last night if I wanted to find out what had happened to Margo. I showed up at the appointed time, but no one else did. I waited for two hours before I left. Apparently I was set up. He called back when I was sitting in your truck and said that if I didn’t stop looking for Margo, I’d end up dead.”
“You really are convinced that Hebert is behind all of this?”
“Wouldn’t you be under the circumstances?”
“I’d be suspicious, but it’s a big jump from suspicious to accusing a state senator of abducting a lover—or worse.”
And there was no reason for him to stick his neck into that kind of noose.
“If you want out, just say so,” she said, trying for flippant to cover her desperation.
“I didn’t say I wanted out. I just like to have all the facts before I go accusing a politician of wrongdoing, especially of something as serious as foul play involving a mistress. Isn’t it possible that they had an argument or that he broke up with her and she just took off?”
“If he had nothing to do with her disappearance, why deny they were having an affair?”
“Maybe to keep his wife from divorcing him—or to avoid a career-ending scandal.” He fingered his Stetson and tugged it a little lower on his forehead. “I’m still willing to help, but I have one condition.”
She squared her shoulders. “Surprise, surprise.”
“Make that two conditions. Quell the sarcasm and we do this my way, which means I call the shots.”
“Why should I agree to anything?”
“Because you need my help. You were almost killed last night, and from what you’ve said, you haven’t made much headway in finding out what’s happened to your friend on your own.”
“What’s in this for you?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be doing this because it’s the right thing to do?”
It had occurred to her, but she still had difficulty buying it. “So does this mean you’re going to drive me back to New Orleans?” she asked.
“Are you staying in New Orleans now?”
“Yes. I talked Margo’s landlady into letting me keep her apartment until the end of the month. She agreed—for a price.”
Bart frowned. “And your husband went along with that?”
“He doesn’t know,” she said, the familiar lie surprisingly sticking in her throat. “His National Guard unit was called into action in the Middle East. He has enough to worry about without laying this on him.”
“I have to take care of some things here at the ranch before I take off. The earliest I can leave is tomorrow morning. I only have one bed here at my place, but you can stay at the big house.”
“With your mom?”
“And the rest of the family. There’s plenty of room. And if you think you have questions about why I’m jumping into the missing-person’s game, you can bet my family will have a hundred more. But don’t worry—I’ll give them some kind of explanation and insist they not give you the third degree.”
The thought of facing the rest of the Collingsworths unsettled her to the point of nausea. She was never comfortable in family situations. They elicited too many memories, all of them bad.
“Don’t worry,” Bart said, no doubt reading her mind from her furrowed brow. “They’ll love you.”
“Sure, cowboy. About the way they’d love a copperhead curled up in the middle of their bed.”
“Just don’t make rattling noises,” he quipped, “and they’ll never know you’re venomous.”
BART’S PICKUP TRUCK rattled and bounced along what loosely passed for a road. Jaclyn’s nerves grew more rattled with each jolt. “So exactly who will be at dinner?” she asked as the jutted roofline of what she assumed to be the big house came into view.
“Tonight it will be my mother, all three of my brothers, my two sisters, my two nephews and possibly my grandfather. He had a stroke a few months ago and he’s been slow to recover. He doesn’t always show up for dinner these days. And, of course, Juanita will be on the scene. She’s the cook.”
“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”
“Not quite. My brother Langston’s wife Trish and their daughter Gina won’t be there. They live in Houston, and Gina’s usually buried in homework or busy with extracurricular activities on school nights.”
“How will I ever tell the players without a scorecard?”
“It’ll be easy. Langston’s the oldest brother, the businessman of the family. He’s president of Collingsworth Oil and he’ll probably come right from work, which means he’ll be the only brother not wearing jeans.”
“Don’t tell me he drives out here from Houston every night just to eat dinner.”
“No, we have some business to discuss.”
Probably concerning her. This was getting worse by the second. “What about the other brothers?”
“Matt’s the second oldest. If you look close, you can see a scar on the left temple where he got kicked by a bull during his brief fling in the rodeo world. He’s four years older than I am.”
“Which would make him?”
“Thirty-three.”
“So you haven’t yet reached the moldy age of thirty?”
“Not a speck of mold on my body.”
She had no doubt that was true, though she had no plans to inspect for proof. Physical intimacy with a man like Bart would be a shortcut to heartbreak. She’d run the risk of falling hard, and once he found out the truth about her past, he’d dump her as if she were a mad cow carrier.
“That leaves one more brother,” she said.
“Zach, the baby of the family along with my sister Jaime. They’re twins. Zach is a ladies’ man and a practical joker. Jaime’s the free spirit— Mother’s polite way of saying she’s never met a rule she couldn’t break.”
“I already like her best.”
“Somehow I knew you would. My sister Becky is separated from her husband Nick, a pro football player who everyone gets along with except Becky. She says they have issues. I think that means Nick prefers taking orders from his coach instead of from Becky, but I try not to get involved.”
“Good idea. Are Becky and Nick the parents of your two nephews?”
“Right. David and Derrick are twins, seven years old, mischievous and have boundless energy. Watch out for toads in your bed.”
“Thanks for the warning. And your mom?”
“Lenora Collingsworth. She’s fifty-six and runs circles around all of us. When Jeremiah had his stroke, he shocked us all by having papers drawn up that turned the position of CEO of Collingsworth Enterprises over to her at any point he couldn’t fulfill the required duties.
“The only paying job she’d ever had before was as a waitress before she got married. But she’s amazed us all with her tenacity and ability, though she drives Langston a little nuts with her reforms for the oil company. Collingsworth Enterprises includes ranch operations, but she hasn’t gotten to telling us how to run Jack’s Bluff yet.”
“Collingsworth Oil, Collingsworth Enterprises, Jack’s Bluff Ranch. You sound like the Ewings of Southfork.”
“More scruples and a lot fewer sexual escapades.”
And in spite of the wealth, Bart still appeared to be just an easygoing cowboy with no hidden agenda. But that didn’t mean the same would be true of the rest of his family. Lenora especially worried her. A woman astute enough to step into the role of CEO without prior executive experience would surely see through Jaclyn. She’d know instinctively that Jaclyn was bad news for her son. She’d be right.
Bart pulled into the drive behind a row of pickups, a Porsche, a BMW, a silver Mercedes and a Harley. But it was the sprawling house, not the impressive vehicles, that claimed her attention. It wasn’t elaborate. There were no ostentatious columns or intricate masonry. There were only gables and porches and huge oak trees embracing the structure. It was homey and welcoming—at least that was the illusion it created.
She was hit with a paralyzing attack of nerves. “I can’t do this, Bart.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Intrude on your family.”
“You’re not intruding, you’re an invited guest.”
“But they don’t know me. For that matter, neither do you.”
“We’re feeding you, not adopting you. Just relax.”
One of his brothers walked out the back door and waved. Bart waved back. She gritted her teeth, climbed reluctantly from the car and followed Bart to the house.
“SHE’S WOW MATERIAL,” Zach said. “Not sure you can handle a sweet, young hottie like that, big brother, even if she is the size of a good bottle of tequila.”
Bart poured himself a mug of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I told you—she’s married to a serviceman. I have no plans to ‘handle’ her. I’m just going to drive her back to New Orleans and see if her friend’s disappearance checks out to be as suspicious as she fears.”
“And if it is?” Matt asked.
“Then I’ll see what I can do to help her find out what happened to the missing woman.”
Zach opened the refrigerator and pulled out a half-gallon container of milk. “Politicians being what they are today, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if Hebert is involved in her disappearance.”
“Whether he is or not, I suspect he’s anxious to keep his affair away from public scrutiny,” Langston said. “But he’s going pretty far if he’s the one guilty of running—or having Jaclyn run—off the road last night.”
“Desperate situations call for desperate measures,” Bart countered. “And if he’s guilty of foul play, the guy is not only desperate and immoral but also depraved.”
“Which would put Jaclyn in serious danger,” Langston admitted.
Bart had especially requested Langston’s presence at the informal after-dinner confab. Langston wasn’t as negative as Matt or as impulsive as Zach and he was used to dealing with difficult situations and political confrontations in the business world.
“So what do you suggest, Langston?”
“I’d say the first step is to hire a good private investigator. I put Clay Markham on retainer for Collingsworth Oil a couple of months ago, so you’re welcome to use him. He’s as good as they come. I’d suggest having a background check done on Jaclyn, as well. She seems nice, but appearances can be deceiving. And then I’d make a personal visit to the Louisiana senator who’s suspected of foul play.”
Zach cut himself a slice of chocolate cake to go with his milk, scattering crumbs as he took it from the cake plate to a napkin. “Foul play? You sound like a politician yourself. Just say it like it is. There’s a good chance Margo was murdered. Then you can get down to the nitty-gritty of finding out who, why and where.”
Bart shook his head. “Don’t let Jaclyn hear you say that. She’s still hoping for the best.”
Matt rocked back on the heels of his boots, his face grim. “Did it ever occur to you that this Margo woman could have blackmailed the senator, then taken off with the money? The way I see it, that’s the most likely scenario. If it were me, I’d buy Jaclyn a plane ticket home, maybe even offer to pay for a private detective for her since you said her husband’s off fighting for our country. Then I’d ride off into the sunset like a smart cowboy.”
“I’ll drive her home,” Bart said. “After that, I may follow your advice.” But he doubted it. There was something about Jaclyn and the situation that had hold of him, and he just couldn’t see himself letting go of it until he had more facts.
He’d have to be careful around Jaclyn for the reason Zach had said. She was wow material. And she was married. But she was also spunky and possibly in real danger. He couldn’t just turn his back on her.
“Keep us posted,” Langston said. “And don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Don’t worry. The image of dead hero has no appeal for me.”
“And keep your pants zipped and your heart in tow,” Zach cautioned. “Jaclyn’s the kind of woman who could burrow under a man’s skin without even trying.”
“I have the skin of an armadillo,” Bart said, though he wasn’t sure even that was tough enough to avoid letting Jaclyn get to him. Still, he’d never messed with another man’s wife before—and he damn sure wouldn’t start with the wife of a serviceman on active duty.
Bart and his brothers joined their mother and their sister Becky on the screened back porch for Langston to say his goodbyes.
“Where are Jaime and Jaclyn?” Bart asked, alarmed that Jaime might be somewhere bombarding her with questions.
“Jaime went into town with a couple of her girlfriends,” Lenora said. “Jaclyn seemed tired, so I suggested she go upstairs and get some rest. She seemed grateful for the offer.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Bart agreed, hating the disappointment that he hadn’t gotten to tell her good-night.
“She’s really worried about her friend,” Becky said. “She didn’t say much, but I could hear it in her voice when she talked about the police blowing off her concerns.”
Lenora stood and walked over to where Bart was standing. “I don’t know how the police can do that. I know the area’s had a hard time coming back after Katrina and that the police have their hands full with the upswing in crime, but surely they could have at least questioned people about her disappearance.”
“It’s hard to say what they were thinking or what they’ve actually done,” Bart said, “but I think the situation deserves better than it’s getting.”
“I’m not sure you’re getting involved in this is a good idea, Bart.”
