High Noon

“That plan’s really holding together,” she muttered. Between the walk-in cooler in the High Noon’s kitchen going out and that fancy automatic toaster oven Tatum had insisted he needed to make sandwiches folks would love, the almighty dollar was tough to hang on to.

Laney sighed as she settled into her corner. She clicked the remote and set the station to a movie channel that featured classic love stories. What could she say? She had to get her happily-ever-afters from somewhere. And there was nothing like getting lost in a sappy movie after a long, hard night at the High Noon.

Truthfully, she couldn’t complain. Her life had sucked for a while after her parents died. The accident had devastated her entire life. Just a ten-year-old kid with no relatives to take her in. Foster care hadn’t been so bad, but Laney had. She’d been a pain in the butt until she was eighteen and then she’d been an idiot.

As stupid as she was and as many mistakes as she had made, she had a beautiful son because of at least one of those errors in judgment. She couldn’t regret Buddy.

Man, she hadn’t realized how starved she was. Something as simple as a ham and cheese sandwich shouldn’t have a girl moaning but Laney had learned enjoying the simple things in life came with the single-mom territory.

As a single mom and a business owner, there was rarely any time left for a social life. Hayden’s image tried to nudge its way into her thoughts.

Hayden was business. She had to keep that fact firmly in front of her. He had trouble written all over that sexy frame.

She gave herself another fifteen minutes of me time before reluctantly moving on to the other chores that would not be put off. Laundry, dishes. Forget about picking up around the house. She was way too exhausted.

Her hodgepodge kitchen wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art. Far from it actually. She’d spent the past two years scrounging for castoffs from folks remodeling their kitchens. Few of the cabinets matched; none of the appliances were the same color or from the same decade, but they all had one thing in common—they worked! Even Tatum saw the beauty in her vision when it came to getting that toaster oven secondhand.

The vinyl floor tiles were of a mixed variety as well, all leftovers from those same remodeling ventures. But her prized find was the old butcher’s chopping-block stand that she used as a center island to ground the assorted eras she’d converged in the room. The island didn’t sit level and the surface was beat all to hell and back, but still she cherished it.

She’d managed to replace all the broken windows in the house, again with castoffs from those moving to more energy-efficient choices. She’d painted the eighty-year-old wood siding herself. She’d painted the whole house as a matter of fact. Looking at it now made her proud even if she wasn’t likely to be featured in House Beautiful.

The saloon was a similar project. The building and five acres she’d gotten for a song at a tax sell-off. Someone had abandoned the place and Laney had grabbed it, using her measly savings to purchase it flat-out and do the necessary renovations. She’d talked the president of a small local independent bank into taking a risk and lending her the money on her newly remodeled house so she could buy and renovate the saloon.

That had worked great at first. Problem was, she hadn’t seen the nice older gentleman’s bad side until it was too late. The loan had been on a balloon note which wasn’t a problem at the time. Time flew and now that note came due in a mere ninety days. He had just informed her that he wouldn’t be renewing the loan so the full amount was due in three months.

If she didn’t pay, she would lose her business and her home. Worry crushed down on her shoulders.

Last month’s receipts had looked stellar, and she had felt confident she had proof of steady-enough income to get a new loan elsewhere. But now the trouble with Terry and good workers walking had started a trend in falling revenue.

Many of her regulars were complaining that the guy made them uncomfortable. With all the wackos shooting up restaurants and the like, she could understand. But the last thing she needed was a drop in cash flow as the drop-dead date on getting a new loan approached.

She needed the books to look good. Laney choked back the anxiety and reminded herself that there was still time.

With the washing machine churning and the dishes done, she walked through the house to ensure the windows and doors were locked. Before Terry reappeared, she left her windows open at night during good weather. That was a risk she couldn’t take with him lurking around. She couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Keeping her .32 handy once Buddy was asleep was another new addition to her nightly routine. She hated that feeling of being afraid. She’d lived it too many times. Seemed just when life was looking up something else came along and rained on her parade.

She hesitated at the front window, one hand on the paper shade ready to drag it down. Her house sat a good fifty yards off the road and there were no streetlights on these old county roads, but the moon was big and bright tonight, giving her a clear view of the road that ran in front of her house.

A Jeep had parked on the shoulder directly in front of her house. With the convertible top removed, she could see that someone was behind the wheel but she couldn’t begin to determine whether the driver was male or female. Definitely wasn’t Terry’s fancy import. Since his keys were at the High Noon, she could safely assume it wasn’t him.

Unless he’d hitched or borrowed a ride from some jerk friend of his.

There was no logical reason for the driver to be stopped in front of her house unless he’d run out of gas. Since the closest convenience store was nearly all the way in town, a long ways from these twisting, winding roads, it wasn’t smart to joyride out here without at least half a tank.

Evidently the guy didn’t mind being seen since a few yards to the right or left of his position and her view would have been blocked by the trees in her yard. Not scary but definitely unsettling.

She didn’t have any binoculars but she could get closer to have a better look and assess the situation. Knowing old man Kingston, he had a P.I. or member of his personal staff watching her, hoping she would make some sort of unfit-mother mistake. She had decided that making his old man happy was the only possible reason Terry was interested in Buddy after all this time. There had to be an agenda.

“Not happening, old man.” He wasn’t getting her son and she wasn’t about to screw up. The thought that Kingston might be behind her banker’s change of heart had crossed her mind. Failing to keep a roof over her son’s head and food on the table might push her firmly into the unfit category.

“Don’t borrow trouble, Laney.”

She slid her cell into her back pocket and tucked the .32 in her waistband. She eased out the back door and made her way to the front of the house using the grapevine trellis and the old well house as cover. The trees and an abandoned tractor that was nearly as old as the house gave her a few points of cover from there. She’d considered having the old tractor hauled off when she first bought the place but she’d decided it gave the yard character. Her five acres had once been part of a huge family farm. It came with all sorts of funky character, like a leaky roof and unlevel floors.

The final tree available to shield her was only about ten yards from the road. She should be able to have a decent view of the interloper from there.

She rushed through the ankle-deep grass until she made her destination. Cutting the grass was something else she needed to find the time and energy to get done. Laney added the chore to her growing mental list.

Crouching behind the tree, she studied the vehicle and its driver. Male. The cowboy hat prevented her from making out his profile or his face.

As if he’d picked up on the thought, he removed his hat and placed it on the passenger seat. He leaned the seat back and appeared to be settling in for the night.

Strange.

He checked the screen of his cell phone and the glow highlighted his face.

Joel Hayden.

What the heck was he doing here?

Before her brain assimilated the best course of action, she pushed to her feet and strode toward him.

When he glanced her way, she demanded an answer. “What’re you doing out here?”

He hopped out of the Jeep. The doors had been removed, leaving nothing between him and making that cocky move.

Her right hand rested on the butt of her Smith and Wesson. She kind of liked this guy, but the truth was he was a stranger and she had to be smart.

“I guess I should’ve knocked on the door and let you know I was here.”

“I guess you should’ve.” A frown nagged at her. “What’re you doing?” How was it that her eyes couldn’t stop surveying him from head to toe? The guy looked even better in the moonlight, but that was no excuse to go stupid.

He shrugged, set those big hands on his lean hips. “I was worried that guy might show up at your house after I kicked him out of the saloon.”

Laney beat back the smile that tickled her lips. She did not know this man or his motives. As much as she wanted to be flattered by his chivalry, she couldn’t ever be a fool again, especially when her son’s safety was at stake. Still, she was flattered.

“That’s very noble of you, Hayden, but your pay ends when you walk out the door of the High Noon.”

“This isn’t about getting paid overtime,” he assured her.

“What’s it about, then?” Her hand still rested on the weapon he could plainly see. “I warned you about those pickup lines. Persistence doesn’t add any points.”

“I have no patience for men like the one who gave you a hard time tonight,” he explained in a firm tone that still reeked of charm. “Maybe I was a little rougher on him than I should have been. I don’t want him taking out his frustration with me on you.”

Wow, that really was sweet. “Nice of you to care, but honestly, you being out here now is kind of strange unless there’s a hidden agenda. I don’t know very many men—actually I don’t know any—who would go so far out of their way just to be nice. So, what’s the hitch?” Her cynicism was showing. That was never attractive.

He took a couple of steps toward her.

Her pulse reacted, but not in fear. She was attracted to this guy and that was dangerous.

You don’t know him, Laney!

“I like you.” He didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of her in the grass that marked her property from the gravel road the state owned. “I don’t have anything else to do and this felt like the right thing.”

Before she could respond with something intelligent, he added, “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

“That’d probably be best.”

She gave him her back and marched toward the house. In those few minutes in the moonlight she understood one very important thing about Hayden. He was trouble.

“Are you certain he won’t come back?”

She hesitated. She shouldn’t have. But he had a legitimate question.

Laney turned to face him. “He might but I doubt it.”

He’d been damned drunk. Terry was probably sleeping it off at some dive motel with a honky-tonk honey who didn’t have any better sense.

“Are you prepared to use that weapon if he does?”

That was none of his business. “If I have to.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

No. “Of course. Why would I carry a weapon I can’t use?”

“Because it makes you feel safe even when you have no idea how to use it.”

Heat scorched her cheeks. “I said I know how to use it.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Laney. I’m only here to help. No hidden agenda.”

Okay, so maybe the guy was bored. As much as she felt sure providing him with entertainment would be equally entertaining to her as well, that wasn’t happening.

The last time she’d been in bed with a man was three years ago when she’d been stupid enough to believe more of Terry’s lies. As much as she recognized her own needs—needs that she had ignored for far too long—she had a son to protect.

“Good night, Hayden.”

“I’ll be out of your way at sunup.”

“Suit yourself.”

To her amazement, she made it all the way to the house without looking back. A repeat of her nightly rounds in the house proved the doors and window were secure.

In her room, curtains and shades drawn, door closed, she stripped off her clothes. A shower would just have to wait until morning. She was way too tired. Besides, the washing machine was still running and that meant the water pressure in the shower would suck.

No, thanks.

She dragged on her favorite T-shirt, the one with that silly sponge character her son loved. Tucking her .32 on the shelf above her bed—way out of Buddy’s reach even if he climbed up on the iron headboard—she realized she was sore from unloading that supply truck this afternoon.

She crawled into bed and her whole body sighed.

Her bed was the most awesome piece of furniture she owned besides the lumpy sofa.

Lying on her back, she stared at the slow turn of the ceiling fan blades in hopes that sleep would come quickly.

Didn’t happen.

How could she hope to sleep with him out there watching?

Instead, her brain started throwing out scenarios that had nothing to do with a good working relationship with the cowboy.

Not smart, Laney.

The folks who liked her called her hardworking, nice, friendly … but not a one had ever accused her of being savvy when it came to spotting the devil behind a nice smile and good manners.

She had a feeling it was going to take her savviest maneuvers to head off this collision course.

Joel Hayden was going to be way, way more than she could handle.

Chapter Three

6:30 a.m.

The sun was up and the promise of an early summer scorcher was in the air.

Joel walked back toward his Jeep. The need to stretch his legs had awoken him before sunup. All remained quiet. The last of the lights had gone out in Laney’s house around two. He doubted she and the boy would be up any time soon.

The past five nights had been spent like last night, only without Laney’s knowledge. Parked out of her line of sight, Joel had slept in his Jeep—what sleep he’d gotten—in order to keep watch on her.

It wasn’t the most comfortable assignment he’d had as far as getting any shut-eye but there was no way around it. For now, he couldn’t ensure her safety via any other means.

Clare Barker was still unaccounted for. Her whereabouts unknown since her great escape from the apartment in Copperas Cove. Rafe, her husband, remained on death row. His execution was barely more than three weeks away.

He’d been the one to contact the Colby Agency yet he’d shut down completely since learning of Clare’s disappearance. In part, possibly, because he had learned the one person he had trusted and communicated with in recent years had double-crossed him by helping Clare elude the agency’s surveillance.

Not a whole lot about this case made sense.

The necessity to keep the principals in the dark was primarily to ensure their safety. Until the Colby Agency discovered what Clare Barker was up to, these women’s safety had to be top priority. If word got out, the media circus would hinder the agency’s investigation. Disrupting the lives of the three women who had been confirmed as the long-missing Barker daughters was going to be problematic enough, mostly for them. Sadie Gilmore, the youngest, had accepted this new reality well enough, but there was no way to guess the reaction from the remaining two women. For now, keeping the investigation quiet and finding the truth as quickly as possible was essential.

Bottom line, it didn’t have to make sense to Joel or anyone else. His single mission was to protect Laney and her son.

He settled his Stetson in place and leaned against the front fender. A few more minutes and he would relocate to ensure Laney didn’t grow any more suspicious than she already was.

Laney Seagers had no idea that she had been born Lisa Barker, middle daughter of Clare and Rafe Barker. Prints from her one arrest for assaulting the same jerk who was giving her a hard time at present had confirmed her identity. She had no idea and Joel wasn’t looking forward to sharing that information. And he wouldn’t until one of two things happened—the danger had passed or he was forced to do so in order to keep watch.

The lady seemed reasonably happy considering the less-than-kind hand fate had dealt her. Like most these days it was a rough go on the financial front, but she was managing or she had been until her banker decided to turn testy. To Laney, getting that loan taken care of was her biggest worry at the moment. She had no idea that far larger problems were brewing like dark clouds over her head.

Rafe and Clare Barker were two of Texas’s most heinous criminals, the Princess Killers. The two had allegedly kidnapped and murdered more than a dozen young girls. That number didn’t include their own daughters, who had disappeared under suspicious circumstances the morning of their arrests. The Barkers were sentenced to death. Though Clare’s conviction had recently been overturned, according to her husband she was the one who had actually committed those gruesome murders more than twenty years ago.

Both had been arrested and charged, after so many young girls had gone missing in and around the community of Granger. Several bodies had been recovered from the Barker property. But the bodies of some of the missing as well as those of their three little daughters had not been found.

Now Joel and the other folks at the Colby Agency knew the reason why. Rafe Barker claimed he had turned the girls over to a trusted friend to ensure their safety from their crazy mother. To that end, he’d staged the family car and their room to make it look as if he’d killed them. But now that Clare’s conviction had been overturned, he feared for their lives.

The Colby Agency had no idea as of yet if there was any validity to Rafe’s claim of innocence, but he had been right about his daughters. The woman, Janet Tolliver, he had alleged was his accomplice in that eleventh-hour move to protect his girls had, in fact, arranged for their private, off-the-record adoptions.

Regrettably, she had been murdered within twenty-four hours of Clare’s release. So far there was no proof Clare had anything to do with the murder, but they now knew that Clare had an accomplice. A one-armed man by the name of Tony Weeden.

As an infirmary nurse, Weeden had befriended Rafe Barker. Weeden was the one person to whom Rafe had told his story—until Rafe contacted the Colby Agency. His letter to Victoria Colby-Camp had been smuggled from Polunsky Prison by Weeden.

Whatever scheme was in motion and whoever was telling the truth, there was damned good reason to believe the Barker girls were in danger. The only question was from whom.

Sadie Gilmore, born Sarah Barker and the youngest of the three, was already in the capable hands of Colby investigator Lyle McCaleb.

Russ St. James had his eye on the unpredictable Olivia Westfield, born Olivia Barker, the oldest of the three. When reviewing the background files on the Barker girls, Joel had expected that his assignment would prove the most troublesome. Laney Seagers had a record of violence, though not exactly a rap sheet as long as her arm. She’d been in and out of one kind of trouble or another during her teenage years. She was also the only one of the three sisters with a kid in tow.

So far the biggest issue was with her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child. Still, Joel hadn’t attempted to move in close to his mark until last night. He supposed the next couple of days would reveal a clearer picture of what lay ahead as far as his ability to gain her trust.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Laney stepped out onto her front porch, settled her attention directly on him and headed his way.

He’d promised to be gone by sunup. Maybe he’d lingered too long. Laney seemed to appreciate his charm to a point, but she was far too wise of the ways of men to be fooled for long. She had no intention of falling into a trap of any sort. The lady was definitely jaded when it came to all things male. But she was attracted to him.

Jeans skintight, T-shirt just as formfitting, she strode purposefully toward him. Her hair bounced around her shoulders, the gold catching the early morning sun and shining like silk.

Now that would be a hell of a vision to wake up to every morning for the rest of a guy’s life. Even a hardcore bachelor like him could appreciate that prospect.

“You’re up early.” He smiled, gave her a nod.

“Saw you walking around out here at the crack of dawn yourself.” She set her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “I imagine you could use a cup of coffee before you go back to town.” She shrugged. “It’s the least I can do after you stood guard all night.”

He cast a speculative glance at the waist of her jeans. “Decided you didn’t need your weapon this morning?”

She smiled. Not one of those full-blown make-his-heart-thump kind but sexy as hell nonetheless. “I’m a little paranoid at night. Afraid of the dark as a kid. You know how it goes. Some of us just don’t grow out of it.”

“Never had any trouble in the dark.” He matched her smile. “But I have my moments with paranoia.”

“So, you interested in coffee? I grind the beans every morning.”

“Hard to refuse an offer like that.”

“Is that a yes, Mr. Hayden?”

“Hop in.” He grinned. “Considering the miles you walk most nights from one end of that bar to the other, taking a load off won’t hurt.” Not that he minded watching her walk.

“That’s a nice Jeep.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Looks new.”

“It’s a couple years old.” He cranked the engine. “Bought it for my thirty-second birthday. I guess it’s my midlife-crisis car.”

“At least you didn’t get a massive truck.” She shook her head as he rolled along her dirt driveway. “Some guys think they either have to buy the biggest truck or the fastest car. For some crazy reason they think it’s a chick magnet.”

He glanced at her as he parked in front of her house. “You mean it’s not?”

“Definitely not.” She admired the interior of his Jeep. “A vehicle should suit the man and his purpose in life.”

“Never really thought about it that way.”

Her gaze settled on his. “What’s your purpose, Hayden? You got a house? A wife? Kids?”

He laughed. “No. No. And, no. Did I pass the test?”

She swung her legs to her right and hopped to the ground. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He wondered what her old beat-up Chevy said about her purpose. Just getting by? Or laid-back and happy to go with the flow?

“I know what you’re thinking.” She strode up onto the porch.

If she was a mind reader they were in serious trouble. “Is that right?”

She nodded. “You’re wondering why I drive that old truck.”

He pushed up his hat and studied her a moment. “The thought has crossed my mind.” He wouldn’t mention how recently.

“It was my father’s.” She turned toward the old blue vehicle. “It was the only thing left after the fire. A buddy of my dad’s saved it for me. Took him a while to find me with the bouncing around from one foster home to the other. It’s a damn good vehicle. Since I was sixteen it’s been the one reliable thing in my life. Got me where I needed to go. Even served as a home sometimes.”

“That beats the hell out of a high-tech sound system and power windows any day of the week.”

“Damn straight.”

The screen door whined as she swung it open. The old house had a comfortable feel about it. Swing on the front porch. Pot of colorful flowers near the door. Old-fashioned screen door fronting an even older slab door with glass so old it had that wavy look. Inside, the place was well-kept and smelled of fresh-brewed coffee.