The Prodigal Texan

“Ethan!” Kayla Ritter stood on the edge of the party nearest the street. “Ethan, they’re getting ready to cut the cake. Are you finished?”

“You bet.” Ethan started toward the park without so much as a nod to his brother, followed by Wade and the Gallaghers. Miranda lingered to gather the remnants of Project Newlywed. When she straightened up, she found Jud had collected a couple of shoe polish bottles and a length of ribbon.

“These were in the street.” He eased the trash into the bag she held in her arms, which brought his hands close to her chest. “What’s the fine for littering?”

“Life behind bars with no possibility of parole,” she said without thinking, desperate to put some distance between them.

Jud snorted. “I believe that. This always was a straitlaced town.”

Was he talking about her? “Having standards doesn’t make us straitlaced.” With her heart pounding, Miranda turned on her heel and headed toward the park and the wedding party. After all, he was the one who’d stopped, that night. She would have let him go all the way….

To her dismay, Jud fell in beside her. “There’s a fine line between having standards and being narrow-minded.”

She stopped in her tracks to confront him. “Only to someone who’s determined to defy good sense and decency.”

He stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowed under lowered brows. “I wondered how long I’d be here before somebody threw my past in my face.”

“Did you think I—we’d all forgotten?”

“I guess I hoped that just maybe, after fifteen years, people could let go of the past.” Shaking his head, he gave a weary sigh. “Dumb, Ritter, real dumb.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Miranda turned toward the party again. After only a few steps, though, she realized Jud wasn’t coming along. Despite herself, she glanced over her shoulder to see if he’d gone back the way he came.

Instead, he was staring up at the oversized statue of Hilde Schnorrberger guarding the entrance to Homestead Town Park. Hilde had followed her land-hungry husband to Texas, but when she reached the bank of Pecan Creek, she’d tied her bonnet to a tree and refused to take another step.

“Things have come full circle, haven’t they?” Jud looked from Hilde’s face to Miranda’s and back again. “A woman founded the town and now a woman’s running it.”

Miranda set her jaw. “You object to the idea of a woman in authority?”

“Not at all.” He gave her a wink and a half smile. “I’m fine with having a woman on top.”

Heat flared over her throat and across her face, but Miranda refused to be baited. “Then you’ll feel right at home in Homestead, won’t you?”

“That,” Jud said quietly as she walked away, “is what I’m here to find out.”

NAN WRIGHT stationed herself at one end of the long table borrowed from the Methodist church to hold the potluck dishes folks had brought to Greer’s wedding reception. Her other option for passing the time was to go sit with the older ladies—mothers and grandmothers—as they gossiped about the latest love affairs, the newest pregnancies, the possible divorces. Nan kept telling herself she would never get that old.

Just as she wedged a spoon into the creamy goodness of macaroni and cheese, a jolt in the food line brought someone new to her end of the table.

“Delicious,” Cruz Martinez said. When she looked into his face, he winked at her. “The food, too.”

He reached for the spoon she’d just added to the dish and Nan watched in fascination as his fingers closed on the metal handle, still warm from her touch.

Cruz grinned as he moved to the next dish, green bean casserole. “Are you having fun over here?”

She glanced around to be sure nobody was listening. “Not exactly.”

“Me, neither.” He spooned a helping of creamed corn onto his plate. “Why don’t you come out from behind there and dance with me?”

“I—”

“Pardon me.” Clarice Enfield reached across the table to serve herself a helping of scalloped tomatoes. “What are you doing standing in line over here, Cruz? You should be out on the dance floor with one of these cute young girls. Nan, where’s Miranda? She’d be perfect for Cruz, don’t you think?” She elbowed him in the side. “You two love-birds could live in the cabin and Nan could live in the farmhouse like she does now. How perfect would that be?”

Once Clarice had moved on to the salads, Cruz leaned over the table. “How about you and me in the cabin and Miranda in the farmhouse?” he murmured.

Nan couldn’t help smiling. “Hush! Next thing I know, all these motormouths will be talking about me. Go sit down and eat.”

“Dance, later?”

“Shoo,” she said, without committing herself.

As she looked along the length of the table, she caught Rae Jean Barker’s eye. Rae Jean operated the beauty shop in downtown Homestead and considered herself the source for local news. As Nan watched, she turned and whispered something to Millicent Niebauer, who had stepped up to take her turn in the food line. Millie ran the local newspaper, the Homestead Herald, with her husband Hiram.

“I do like that young man you have working for you,” Millie commented as she moved in front of Nan. “He’s trustworthy and competent. And so attractive.” She sighed. “I bet girls all over the county are dreaming about him.”

“I expect so,” Nan said warily.

“I imagine he’ll set his sights on one of them soon, decide it’s time for him to get married, have some kids, find his own land to manage.”

“No doubt.”

“And all those females who thought he was so handsome will be left sad and lonely. Maybe feeling a little foolish, even.”

Nan met Millie’s gaze. “Maybe.”

The reporter shrugged. “That’s the way life works.” She moved on, no doubt fully aware of the knife she’d stuck between her victim’s ribs.

When Cruz came back, Nan was prepared. “No, I can’t dance.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got to get the table cleaned up.”

“Later?”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you dance with…” She saw the warning flares in his eyes. “Why don’t you go talk to Wade? Callie’s busy, and he’s all by himself.”

Cruz started to say something, then shut his mouth, turned on his heel and walked away.

Nan spent the rest of the reception hanging around the mothers and grandmothers. Maybe, without realizing it, she’d already gotten that old.

SINCE HE HADN’T BEEN invited to the reception, Jud decided to keep a low profile. He headed for the traditional party post for unattached males—the precinct around the keg.

With a tall plastic cup full of ice-cold beer in his hand, he leaned back against a tree, grateful for the chance to ease his barely healed leg and get his bearings before he actually tried to mingle.

Closest to him were the young studs, as he was sure they thought of themselves—he certainly had at nineteen and twenty. Like many of their kind, they spent the evening chugging their beer and making lewd comments about the girls preening for them on the other side of the dance floor. Jud didn’t know most of the boys’ names, but two of them he could identify by the fact that they were identical twins. Allen and Abel Enfield had the misfortune to take after their mother, with her frizzy red hair, freckled complexion and tendency to put on weight. The boys were big, beefy, and more than a little drunk.

“Mary Louise sure looks hot today.” Jud wasn’t sure which twin made the comment. “I bet I could get her to give me some, if I got her away from this stupid party.”

The other boys greeted the suggestion with hoots and laughter. “Yeah, right,” his brother said. “Just like last weekend. You were talking so big. And what’d you walk away with—a kiss on the cheek?”

That question started a scuffle, and Jud thought he was going to be called upon to prevent bloodshed. But when a silver-haired man with a drooping mustache and wire-rimmed glasses approached the keg, the knot of grappling boys instantly fell apart.

“This,” he said in an old-fashioned drawl, “is a wedding reception, not a tavern. If y’all can’t behave, leave immediately and I’ll deal with your bad manners myself later.” He stared down the Enfield boys, then looked around at their cohorts. Something about the way he held his silver-topped cane constituted a threat. “Any part of that order y’all don’t understand?”

A chorus of shamefaced “No, sirs” answered him.

The gentleman smiled. “Good. Now go ask those nice young ladies to dance. And keep your hands where everybody can see them.”

The motley crew dispersed, and the man turned to Jud. “Boys will be boys, as I’m sure you remember. How are you, Jud? Good to see you back home.”

“Thanks, Mr. Enfield.” He disengaged as quickly as possible from the former mayor’s handshake. “Looks like Homestead is getting to be a pretty lively place.”

“Yes.” Enfield’s smile held no warmth. “Yes, Mayor Miranda’s grand plan has certainly stirred things up, as I expect you’ll find out. Are you staying in town very long? You and Ethan must have a lot of catching up to do. Last time you were home was your daddy’s funeral…no, that’s not right, is it? You didn’t get here for that one. Your mother’s funeral, must’ve been. Quite a while ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Jud deliberately relaxed his hands. He couldn’t punch out a guest at a wedding reception, no matter how much he deserved it. “I was in the hospital when my dad…died.”

“Suicide is always such a tragic business.” Arlen clicked his tongue. “But I know you don’t want to talk of this right now. Give my best to your brother— I’m sure I’ll be seeing y’all around. That’s the thing about small towns, isn’t it? Everybody always knows what everybody else is doing.”

He turned to watch the crowd for a minute and Jud stood still, wishing the man would go away.

“I remember a time,” Enfield said with a sigh, “when farm laborers knew their place and stayed there.”

Jud followed his line of sight and saw the bride and groom laughing with a man who displayed his Hispanic heritage in his tanned skin and sleek black hair.

“Ah, well.” He turned back to Jud. “Enjoy the party.” When Enfield gripped his shoulder, Jud fought a strong urge to grab hold of the man’s wrist and twist. Hard. The former mayor’s sly digs had been one of the most unbearable aspects of living in Homestead. Something else that hadn’t changed.

Enfield ambled away. With his teeth still gritted, Jud freshened his beer and went back to surveying the crowd. His attention lighted immediately on Miranda Wright, maybe because she was taller than the rest of the women, maybe because he hadn’t expected her to look so beautiful.

That had been the problem four years ago, too. In the middle of his mother’s funeral, he’d looked up to see Miranda straight across from him…warm, lovely, concerned.

He’d remembered a scrawny girl, all arms and legs, with tightly braided pigtails, an overbite and a learning disability that caused the teachers to keep her back in several grades. Miserable Miranda had been her nickname, often called out in a singsong voice. As Jud recalled, the moniker fit more often than not. He recalled, too, how she challenged the boys to races, to arm wrestling, to any kind of physical contest that she thought she could win. More often than not, she was right.

Somewhere, sometime, the pigtails had given way to a thick chestnut mane flowing around her shoulders. The dentist who’d corrected that overbite should get a medal, because now what a man noticed about Miranda’s mouth was those full, kissable lips. Scrawny no longer applied, either—she had a figure perfectly proportioned for her height, with generous curves and long, shapely legs.

Jud had retained enough good sense to avoid her at the service, and afterward at his dad’s house. But when she’d shown up just outside his truck window while he tried to drown himself in whiskey, he’d lost the last of his pickled brains.

He didn’t recall every detail of their encounter, but he remembered enough. And so did Miranda— the fact that she still held it against him had been obvious in her face a few minutes ago.

So he would put her on his list of apologies to be made, along with most of Homestead’s population. Not in front of friends, though, and especially not in front of Brother Ethan, the man with a permanent stick up his butt.

Looking over the crowd, Jud found his brother slow-dancing with a cute redhead who must be his new wife, judging by the lack of space between their bodies. Good ol’ Ethan would never seduce a woman and then drop her like a hot brick. Faithful, loyal, honest…if Homestead had ever sponsored a scout troop, little Ethan would have been the poster boy.

Jud visualized a poster of himself with a big red X across the picture and the message Warning! Headed Straight for Hell! Do Not Follow! The glances he was getting from the guests at the party, the whispers he could see winnowing through the crowd, assured him his reputation remained intact.

On the dance floor, couples broke apart and then rejoined as the band commenced a two-step. Jud straightened up away from the tree as he saw Wade Montgomery coming toward him, accompanied by the man who didn’t “know his place,” according to Arlen Enfield.

“Join me,” he told the sheriff, holding up his beer. “I don’t like drinking alone.” Usually.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Wade drew a cup for himself and one for the other guy. “Jud Ritter, this is Cruz Martinez, the foreman on Nan Wright’s farm. Cruz, Jud is Ethan’s brother.”

Martinez offered a firm handshake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“I knew you’d need a place to stay,” Wade said, “and I didn’t think you’d…uh…want to crowd in at Ethan’s house, with the kids and all.”

Nice guy, Wade, and tactful. Jud had never known him to be anything but loyal and honorable in the twenty-five years they’d been friends.

“Cruz lives in a cabin out on Nan’s ranch,” Wade continued, “and he’s got plenty of room. He says he’ll be glad for some company.”

Jud recognized a bad idea when he heard one. “I thought I’d…uh…stay at the Rise and Shine, out on the highway. I don’t want to put anybody out, especially the bride and groom on their wedding night.”

“You don’t want to stay at the Rise and Shine,” the sheriff assured him. “The cockroaches rearrange the furniture every night when the lights go out.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Everybody in town will know your comings and goings if you stay at the motel. Tripp Dooley still owns the place and he still goes through the guests’ luggage while they’re out of the room. I’ve never caught him stealing, but not for lack of trying. Chances are good he’d compromise your investigation, especially if any of the locals are involved.” He blew out a deep, frustrated breath. “And they practically have to be.”

Jud held up a hand. “Okay, I give in.” He’d just avoid Mayor Wright on her own land as much as possible, and wrap up his business—personal and professional—fast. “Thanks,” he told his host.

“No problem.” Martinez shrugged. “Wade says you’re looking into some of the trouble we’ve been dealing with around here.”

“Anything I can do.”

“We had a break just this week,” Wade said. “The kid who played some tricks on Greer Bell’s guest ranch—”

“That’s Greer Kelley, now,” Martinez put in.

“Right. The Sunrise Guest Ranch. This kid’s kinda slow, and when a stranger offered him cash to play a couple of ‘harmless’ pranks, he agreed. He’s been too scared to identify who paid him until this week.”

“You picked up the guy?”

Wade nodded. “Yesterday. He’s sitting in my jail, not saying much of anything. I figured you could use your big-city interrogation techniques to make him talk. Or we could try straight torture. My dad has this bullwhip at his house…”

“You’re a violent SOB, Montgomery. I always knew that.”

The three of them laughed together, then Wade went off to find his wife. Martinez was giving Jud directions to the foreman’s house on Hayseed Farm when shouts broke out from the crowd.

“There they go!” The westward flow of bodies indicated that Noah and Greer were escaping toward the park entrance.

Bringing up the rear of the procession, Jud arrived on the street in time to see the bride double over with laughter at the appearance of her car. Amidst a deluge of tiny purple flowers, Noah Kelley ushered his wife into the vehicle, stared at his shaving-cream-coated hand for a disgusted moment, then ran to the driver’s side. Cheers, whistles and rattling tin cans followed the couple out of town as the Blazer disappeared into the sunset.

Once the bride and groom had left, their guests didn’t linger. Soon the park was empty except for the cleanup crew composed of the couple’s friends, including Cruz Martinez. Jud didn’t want to show up at his host’s house before the man got there himself, so he decided he would help out where he could. Thanks to a couple of bullet holes in his torso and one in his thigh, his shoulder and leg still weren’t up to heavy lifting. But he thought he could manage some of the lighter chores.

His brother and Ryan Gallagher were folding up chairs and tables.

“Looks like there are plenty of these to go around,” Jud said, closing the seat of one chair. “Mind if I help?”

“Have at it,” Ryan said.

“Don’t put yourself out,” Ethan said at exactly the same time.

Ryan shifted his gaze from Ethan to Jud and back again. “Uh…Kristin needs me for something,” he mumbled, and was gone in the next second.

“Real finesse,” Jud told his brother. “Could you have been ruder?”

Ethan didn’t glance in his direction. “If I set my mind to it, I probably could. You don’t have the least responsibility for clearing up after this party. Why bother?”

“My mother taught me to be polite.”

“I’d say you missed a few lessons. Like ‘honor your father…’” Ethan shook his head. “No. I’m not going to do this. You’re so hot to fold chairs, be my guest.” He let the chair he was holding fall to the ground and walked away to help his wife dismantle the food tables.

At the very thought of food, Jud’s stomach rumbled—he hadn’t eaten since leaving Austin at noon.

“I guess you didn’t get anything to eat.” Miranda picked up the chair Ethan had dropped, folded it and set it neatly in the rack.

“No big deal. I’ll get something later.”

“On your drive back to Austin.” She nodded, as if he’d told her his plans.

He took some satisfaction in correcting that obviously comforting assumption. “I’m staying in town for a few days.”

“What?” From her horrified stare, he might as well have announced his plans to commit serial murder. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“But…where will you stay? I mean, Ethan—”

“Wouldn’t have me within ten feet of his fence line,” he finished for her. “Right. That’s okay. Somebody else offered me a room, and I accepted.”

Turning to take down a table, she shrugged a careless shoulder. “Who would that be?”

“Cruz Martinez said I could bunk in with him.” “What?” Her screech drew the attention of people all over the park. She let the table fall and planted her hands on her curvy hips. “Cruz Martinez invited you to stay in his house?”

“And I’m grateful. I wasn’t looking forward to staying at the Rise and Shine. Especially since Tripp Dooley still runs the place.”

Her glare could have burned through steel. “Well, it’s just too bad for you that you’re going to be staying there after all.”

Jud gave her an innocent look. “I don’t understand.”

“You understand perfectly, Jud Ritter. My mother and I own the Hayseed Farm.” She marched up to him and stuck a finger in his chest. “And I’m telling you right now that there’s no way I’m having you staying anywhere on my property. Got that? No way in hell!”

CHAPTER THREE

MIRANDA KNEW Jud had deliberately driven her to lose her temper, just the way he’d done when they were in school. She couldn’t count the hours she’d spent in detention because of his teasing.

At least Homestead’s mayor would not have to suffer detention for fighting. On the other hand, yelling at Jud didn’t do much for her image as a mature, competent official.

She stepped back. “I really don’t think you’d be happy staying at our place,” she said more calmly. “Wade and Callie have lots of room, or there’s Greer’s guest ranch….”

“I’d rather not horn in on the newlyweds, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, there’s—”

“Look, I’ll stay out of your way,” he said. “You don’t have to fear for your virtue or your livestock. I just need a place to crash.”

Miranda couldn’t let it alone. “You haven’t been home for more than a night in fifteen years. Why the urge to stay on now?”

Jud opened his mouth, and she thought she might get an answer. But then Wade stepped up beside them.

“I’m responsible for that, Ms. Mayor. Let’s meet in your office Monday morning about ten and I’ll explain what’s going on.” Wade drew Jud away to meet his wife, and Miranda had to be satisfied with what little she knew.

Twilight came early in December, and they finished cleaning up the park in near darkness. Finally, Miranda climbed into her truck and let her head fall back against the seat. “I’m exhausted. Baling a field of hay is an easier day’s work than throwing a party.”

In the passenger seat, her mom chuckled. “That’s why we’re farmers, not event planners, or whatever they’re called.”

“Now that’s a horrid thought—a continual round of parties to plan, set up and take down.” Miranda shuddered. “Just kill me.”

As they drove out of town, they passed Cruz’s bright blue truck still parked on the curb, with Jud standing at the driver’s open door.

“Was that Jud Ritter?” Nan turned her head to stare out the rear window.

“Didn’t you see him at the party? He showed up while we were decorating Greer’s Blazer.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her mother dropped back into her seat. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Did he come back for the wedding?”

“He didn’t even come back for his own brother’s ceremony. He wouldn’t say exactly why he’s here, but Wade has something to do with it. We’re going to meet Monday so he can explain.”

“I’m surprised he was talking to Cruz, though. I don’t think Jud’s been home since Cruz came to town.”

“Wade very kindly arranged for Jud to stay at Cruz’s place while he’s here.”

“What?” The sharpness of the word was completely unlike her mother’s usual drawl.

“I don’t like the idea, either. I mean, Cruz leases the house, but you still own it, and I’m not sure where he gets off having somebody else stay there.”

“Oh…well, of course, Cruz is free to have friends stay with him.” Nan raked her fingers through her cap of sleek silver hair. “We didn’t object when his brother came up from Mexico.”

“Yes, but—” What did she mean to say? “Jud just plain makes me uncomfortable.”

“I know. I remember the tears he cost you all those years ago. But you’ve both grown up. I doubt you’ll even notice he’s in town.”

Miranda glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two sets of headlights following her as she turned off the highway into their private drive.

“I’ll notice,” she growled. “Jud will make sure of that.”

JUD SLOWED DOWN as he approached the entrance to Hayseed Farm, allowing the two trucks in front of him to get well ahead. Thanks to his childhood feud with Miranda, he’d never set foot on Hayseed Farm during his years in Homestead. This was his first— and maybe his only—chance to satisfy his curiosity.

On both sides of the narrow gravel lane, winter hay had sprouted, narrow green shoots standing ankle high in row after row, acre upon acre. Miranda’s mother had managed the farm since her husband died, when Miranda was only three. For thirty years, Nan Wright had single-handedly planted, harvested and baled hay for local livestock farmers. Like any farm kid, Miranda probably helped out as soon as she was able.

Zeb Ritter had sure as hell put his sons to work in the fields and the barn, practically as soon as they could walk. Jud had hated every minute of every chore. He still remembered the burn of resentment in his belly, the desperate desire to get away.