The Second Son

“What about?”

“Trouble. He showed up at my apartment about midnight, ringing the doorbell and banging on the door. I probably wouldn’t have let him in at that time of the night had he not looked as if he might die on my doorstep if I didn’t.”

“Was he ill?”

“No. His face and arms were bruised and blood was caked on his forehead and matted in his hair.”

“Did you call for help? An ambulance? Police?”

“No, he begged me not to. And instead of being cocky and arrogant the way he usually is, he seemed fearful, desperate.”

“What explanation did he give you for the bruises?”

“He said he’d been jumped and attacked by two men who had beaten him within an inch of his life and promised more would return if he didn’t come up with the fifty thousand dollars they said he owed them. A gambling debt. Only next time they promised it wouldn’t stop with a beating. It would end in a death—Kate’s.”

She was shivering again, inside and out. Branson touched a hand to her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to lean into him, not to bury her head against his broad chest. She trembled but didn’t give in to the tears that pushed at the back of her eyelids.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Just get the story out. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

“I’m not usually like this.” Her voice broke.

“You don’t usually have to worry about the safety of your sister.”

“More often than you know. It’s just that this is the first time I haven’t been able to at least talk to her.”

“Still, it’s no crime to show emotion.”

She bit her bottom lip. It might not be a crime, but she’d learned long ago what showing weakness got you. And she doubted if the good sheriff sitting beside her ever indulged. He was too much in control, too unruffled by explosions to believe him capable of ever losing his cool or exposing his vulnerabilities.

“Did you give Ricky the money?” Branson asked, his gaze fastened on her face.

She lowered her own gaze to the concrete walk beneath her feet. “I would have in a second if I’d had it. I didn’t. But I didn’t have to think about it long. Ricky begged me to go to Charles and ask for the money.”

“Four weeks ago. By that time you and Charles must have been engaged?”

She nodded, knowing it was the same as lying. She drew into herself, alone with the rest of the secrets, the ones she didn’t dare reveal. Branson would find out soon enough, and when he did, he’d do what any good officer of the law would. He’d throw her into jail.

“And did Charles lend him the money?”

“Yes.”

“What did Ricky use for collateral?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get into the details with them. They worked it out between themselves.”

Branson fingered the brim of his hat. “So, let’s see if I have this straight. You asked your wealthy fiance´ for a loan of fifty thousand dollars because you thought it would save your sister’s life. He agreed and the two of you went back to the business of planning a wedding.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“So, if the men got their money, why would they still be trying to kill Kate?”

“That’s the same question I’ve been asking myself ever since you told me she’d been shot.”

“Where’s Ricky now?”

“I have no idea.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

She shook her head and then raked flyaway wisps of hair from her cheeks. “Ricky called me on the phone a few days after the beating and thanked me for getting Charles to lend him the money. That’s the last I’ve heard from him.”

Branson stared straight ahead. “This makes absolutely no sense.”

“I agree, but I’ve told you everything I know. So, if you’d lend me a few dollars, I’ll catch a cab and go see if Charles will at least let me back into the house to get my things. I’ll pay you back. Of course, you’ll have to take my word on that.”

“I’m not a trusting sort. Besides, I have a better idea. You can go home with me.”

“I don’t think so, Sheriff.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he added quickly. “It’s the family ranch down in Kelman. You’ll have a room of your own and the most diligent chaperon in the state of Texas—my mom. So you won’t have to worry about your virtue not being as intact when you leave as when you arrive.”

Suspicion edged along her nerve endings. “Why would you invite me to your home? You don’t know me or anything about me.”

“I can’t resist coming to the aid of a beautiful woman in danger.”

She didn’t buy that for a second. “I’m not in danger. I’m an innocent bystander.”

“Then come with me for the sake of the investigation. I’m looking for your sister. I’ll need to know everything you know about her life and her habits if I’m to find her before her would-be killer does.” He stood up, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet as well. “Besides, Charles isn’t your husband. There’s no honeymoon to hurry back to.”

“How long are we talking about?”

“How long can you spare?”

“Let’s see, at this point I’m sure I no longer have a position at Castile’s law firm, I gave up my apartment already, and I doubt Charles is going to welcome me back into his home in the hills with open arms.”

“Then I guess you can stay as long as I need you.”

As long as he needed her. That was as long as she’d ever stayed with any man before. Her visit to Kelman would surely be short.

“Of course, I can’t promise you a good night’s sleep,” he said, walking along beside her in the direction of where they’d left his truck. “There’s a baby in the house.”

“The mystery baby that Kate delivered to your door?”

“That’s the one.”

Lacy’s nerves tightened again. She hated to even think how her sister had come up with a baby. Especially one whose father was a Randolph. Maybe Branson’s, though he’d vehemently denied the possibility.

There were probably many a woman enamored of the handsome cowboy lawman. Especially if you went for the intelligent, pensive type. Or if you liked the feel of his strong hand when it closed over yours. Or the sensation that crept into your senses when his hip accidentally brushed against yours as you walked side by side.

Some women might like that. Probably only the ones who were breathing.

Kelman, Texas

BRANSON TURNED OFF the main highway and onto the road to Burning Pear. He probably should have called his mother and alerted her he was bringing a guest with him. She’d welcome Lacy with open arms, but she’d expect an explanation. She’d demand to know why he was providing bed and board to the sister of the woman who’d delivered Betsy to their door.

And that was probably the reason he hadn’t called. The only explanation he could offer was the one he’d given Lacy, and that one held about as much water as the feed pail he’d shot full of holes last weekend when he’d found a rattler inside it. He could easily question Lacy about her sister without having her sleep under the same roof as he did.

But he didn’t want her disappearing on him the way Kate had. Besides, he wasn’t convinced that she’d told him the whole truth. And he was even less certain that she wasn’t in danger herself.

“What will your mother say when you come waltzing in on a Friday night with a woman in tow?” Lacy asked, breaking the silence that had ridden between them for most of the ninety-minute trip.

“First of all, I don’t waltz. I have two left feet. Second, with any luck, she’ll be asleep. Langley will likely be asleep as well, and Ryder will probably be out at the Roadhouse courting one of the local ladies.”

“Langley and Ryder?”

“My brothers. Langley runs the ranch with some help from Ryder and me and a few hands. Ryder was on the rodeo circuit, but he’s been sidelined with an injury for almost a year. He’s healing nicely, but he still has a slight limp and the doctor hasn’t given him the okay to return to the suicide circuit. My older brother, Dillon, is in Austin.”

Lacy sank back against the seat. “A big, close-knit Texas family, and I’m just going to barge in on them. I don’t think this is such a good idea, Branson.”

“Too late to worry about that now.”

“It’s never too late to worry.”

He lowered his window a notch. “Just breathe that air.”

She did. “Smells like any other air to me, minus the city pollution, of course.”

“Dust, cattle, cactus, mesquite. Smells like home to me.”

“Not something I’d want to bottle.” Still, she lowered her window a couple of inches as well. “Haven’t you ever wanted to escape from your rural roots, move to the big city, be blinded by the bright lights?”

“Once. When I was about twelve years old, I had my heart set on becoming an astronaut.”

“What changed your mind?”

“The colt my dad gave me that year for my very own. I wrote to NASA. They said they didn’t have any plans for sending horses on space missions. How about you? What did you dream of when you were young?”

Branson was sorry he’d asked the question before it had cleared his tongue. It was as if he could see Lacy sink into a sheltering hole.

“I had no dreams.” Lacy turned to stare out the window and into the moonlit shadows that marched by them. “My mother died when I was ten.”

“That’s tough when you’re a kid. I was fourteen when my dad died. I thought my world had come to an end.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Sheriff. Mine had.”

Her tone left no doubt that the conversation was finished. It was just as well. Sharing dreams and disillusionments was something close friends did, people who had more vested in their relationship than finding a missing sister and her would-be killer.

Lacy Gilbraith was part of his job and nothing more. Strange, but he’d never had trouble separating the two before. He turned off the road and stopped at the gate to the Burning Pear.

“Let me get the gate,” Lacy said, opening the truck door and jumping out before he had a chance to protest.

She moved lightly over the ground in front of him, her agile frame caught in the beam of his headlights. Unexpectedly, his mind leaped back to the sight of her as the voluminous wedding gown had parted, revealing delicate curves and satiny skin.

He shuddered as his body responded in ways it shouldn’t, the feelings inside him so foreign to the way he normally reacted that they almost frightened him. He worked on regaining control of mind and body as he drove through the open gate.

A spray of lights from an oncoming car illuminated Lacy as she swung the gate closed and latched it. The vehicle slowed, and Branson’s muscles tensed instinctively. For a second, he thought the driver was going to stop, but he accelerated again and darted off before Branson had a chance to identify the car or the driver.

“I thought for a minute Charles had come to haul me back to his place,” Lacy said, climbing into the truck and buckling her seat belt.

“I couldn’t tell the make of the car, but it wasn’t his Jag.”

“So you had the same thought?”

“The possibility sprang to mind. It was probably a couple of young people looking for a spot to pull off and neck. I’ve found them in the driveway before on a Friday or Saturday night.”

“And like the good sheriff you are, I’m sure you sent them home.”

“I’ve even been known to take them myself if I catch a whiff of alcohol. The exciting life of a Texas county sheriff.”

“Then you should thank Kate and me for dropping into your world. We seem to be real short of dull moments lately.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Branson guided the truck around a rut in the road. He slowed as a young deer stepped out of a cluster of mesquite and into the peripheral glow of the headlights. The deer froze for a second, just long enough for Lacy to sit up and take notice, before the startled animal darted back into the brush.

She watched in the direction the fawn had disappeared and then turned to look at him. “What’s that?”

“The fawn?”

“No, those lights.”

She pointed past his head, out his side window.

Branson shifted his gaze and caught a glimpse of the sprawling two-storey ranch house where he’d lived all his life. “That’s home. I told you it was too late to turn back.”

“You mean you actually live there!”

“A man’s got to sleep somewhere.”

“But it’s so big!”

“Yeah. My dad leaned to the grandiose. We pretty much fill it up when we’re all home, though.” Branson rounded a curve in the road, and clusters of heavy brush and scrubby trees blocked the house from view for the next hundred yards or so. When it appeared again, Branson realized why the size looked so impressive from a distance.

The place was lit up as if there were a party going on. Only there wasn’t. The birthday party had been two days ago.

Past midnight and all the lights burning could only mean trouble. He speeded up as much as he dared with the prospect of a deer or a cow stepping into his path. Still, it seemed to take forever to cover the last of the distance down the dusty road.

Forgetting Lacy Gilbraith, Branson skidded to a stop and jumped out, hitting the ground at a run and not slowing until he was inside the house.

One look at Ryder’s face, and he knew his fears had been well founded.

Chapter Five

“It’s Mom!” The explanation spilled out of Ryder’s mouth before Branson had a chance to question him. “She was having chest pains. Langley called Dr. Ramirez and he sent an ambulance for her. He’s meeting her at the clinic in Kelman for now. If it’s serious, they’ll stabilize her and move her to San Antonio.”

Branson handled the bad news like he handled everything. Outwardly, he was calm. Inside, the dread burned like acid. “How long ago was that?”

“They probably haven’t been gone a good half hour yet.”

“Where’s Langley? I saw his car out back.”

“He rode with Mom in the ambulance. She was still insisting she’d be fine, but she looked scared. She was pale as a sheet. And shaky.” Worry pooled in Ryder’s eyes. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”

Branson rolled the news around in his head. Other than the winter she’d had pneumonia, he didn’t remember his mom ever going to bed with an ailment. If she’d willingly left Burning Pear in an ambulance, she had to be in serious pain.

He buried his hands in his pockets, hating the feeling that there was nothing he could do. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

The answer came from the newly created nursery in the form of a high-pitched wail. Betsy. In the panic of the moment, he’d forgotten all about the baby. And Lacy. He glanced toward the back door. Apparently she hadn’t followed him in.

Betsy’s cries increased in volume.

Ryder backed toward the hall door. “Mom’s in good hands, Branson. Good spirits, too. She was still giving orders as they strapped her to the stretcher.”

But in spite of his attempts to reassure Branson, Ryder’s lips were drawn into tight lines, his muscles bunched, as he turned to walk toward the crying infant. He stopped at the door and turned back to face Branson. “Mom will pull through this. She has to.”

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