Fearless Gunfighter

Taking a seat as far away from the loud music as possible, she scanned the room. To her dismay, a lot more eyes were checking her out. Not surprising since she appeared to be the only woman in there sitting alone.

Another time that kind of attention would have made her uneasy. Tonight, her mind was occupied with far more important matters.

Sydney pulled out her cell phone and punched in her instant code for Rachel the way she’d done every hour since Connie had called her that morning. The phone rang only once before a new message started.

“The number of the party you’re calling is no longer in service.”

She fought back yet another wave of nauseating dread as a young waitress with half-exposed breasts and a pair of butt-hugging denim cutoffs stopped at her table. Her name tag read Betts.

Betts smiled. “The kitchen’s closed for the night but the bar is serving until one. What can I get you?”

“A beer, something light.” That she probably wouldn’t take more than a few sips of.

“I have a good craft beer on tap that would fit that description. Want to give that a try?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve got it. Will someone be joining you?”

Sydney shook her head and went back to scrutinizing the customers. A half dozen or so couples were two-stepping around the dance floor. A few more couples occupied tables, chatting and sipping drinks.

For most, dress was casual, jeans or shorts. Footwear was predominantly Western boots for the men and sandals for the women. No one stood out as suspicious, except for Sydney in her black slacks and tailored white shirt.

A cute cowboy in faded jeans with a nice smile ambled over to her table. “Mind if I join you and buy you a drink?”

“Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.

She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”

He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”

He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”

FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.

“I’m not a cop.”

He placed the picture on the table. “If you get bored and change your mind about wanting some company tonight, you know where to find me. I guarantee you a good time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Betts returned with a cold mug of beer and set it and a throwaway coaster on the table next to the picture. She didn’t give the photo a second glance.

Sydney decided her questions for Betts could wait. A few customers had left in the short time she’d been here. Time now would be best spent checking out the remaining customers.

Not that she held out any rational hope of just accidentally running into someone who was involved in Rachel’s disappearance. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but search for someone who triggered suspicion or a situation that piqued her interest.

Fifteen minutes later, she got her wish. She was watching the door when a tall cowboy who looked as if he’d been living on the streets sauntered into the bar. Tall, lean but muscular and with at least two days’ growth of whiskers.

Unlike the other customers who seemed to know everyone, he didn’t speak to or acknowledge any of the patrons as he walked past the bar and dropped into a chair several tables away from her.

He removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.

He seemed not to notice.

Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.

She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.

She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.

Sydney motioned to Betts.

“Ready for another beer?”

“Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”

“Yeah. What?”

“See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.

“Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”

“So it appears. Is he a regular?”

“Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”

“Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”

“Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”

“Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”

“Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”

Betts studied the photo for a few seconds and then looked back at Sydney. “Nope. Why?”

“She’s an old friend of mine who moved to this area a few years ago. I thought I’d look her up while I’m visiting the area, but I’m not sure where she lives.”

“Try social media. You can find most everybody on there, even people you don’t want to find.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There were fewer couples on the dance floor now and a lot more empty seats at the bar. Evidently the party ended early on Monday evenings. Sydney sipped her beer, stood and walked over to the stranger’s table before he decided to cut out, as well.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, trying for a flirty voice but likely falling short.

“You can sit. It’s a waste of time. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it in me.”

“What if it’s a good time?”

“Then you really need to look elsewhere.”

“What if it’s only conversation?”

“You can do better talking to yourself.”

“You are scraping the bottom of the blues,” she said. “Do you live in Winding Creek?”

“Nope.”

“Me, either. Where do you live?”

“Wherever I kick off my boots.”

Her suspicions surged. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“If we find ourselves kicking off our boots in the same town one night, I might want to look you up.”

“It’s Tucker. Tucker Lawrence. But don’t bother to look me up. I got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuck one end of it under his empty glass. “Enjoy your visit to Winding Creek.”

Tucker stood, picked up his hat, tipped it and strode out of the bar the way he’d come in, looking straight ahead and not saying a word to anyone.

Sydney walked back to her table, left money for her tab and tip, and then followed Tucker Lawrence out the door. He was already in his truck and pulling away when she jumped into her car and followed him. He might not live in Winding Creek, but if not, he must be staying somewhere nearby.

There was probably at least a 99 percent chance that he was a dead end, but there was always that 1 percent. At least she’d know how to find him again if she needed to and she knew his name unless he’d lied about it.

Sydney followed Tucker down the highway a few miles before turning onto a dark country back road. He took the unfamiliar curves without lowering his speed, making it difficult for her to keep up.

He turned off onto another road, more narrow, hilly and winding than the first. She was almost up with him when she spotted the deer in her peripheral vision.

She threw on her brakes and skidded to a stop just as the animal darted onto the blacktop road. Her heart jumped from her chest at the soft thumping and the jerky movement as the car rolled to a full stop.

She sprang out of the car not thinking that a wounded animal could be dangerous until she got closer to the large buck. The stunned animal stared into her headlights accusingly for a few seconds and then raced to the other side of the road and disappeared into the woods.

No limp. No signs of significant injury. Relief rolled through her. She checked out her car. There were a few stray hairs in her left bumper, but not even a dent. Luckily, she’d seen the deer in time to prevent real damage to it or her or the rental car. She climbed back behind the wheel. Tucker Lawrence was long gone.

By the time Sydney got back to Hank’s to question the owner himself, he was gone, as well. Reportedly left early on what he considered a slow night.

There was nothing left for her to do but go check into her motel room and try to get some sleep. Only how could she close her eyes not knowing what Rachel might be facing tonight?

Already missing ten days. The urgency burned like fire deep in Sydney’s soul.

* * *

THE WOMAN IN Hank’s had told it like it was. A man was in damn bad shape when he couldn’t shake the blues enough to respond to a stunning woman who’d made the first move.

Tucker had moped around for almost a week, spending most of that time in cheap motels between here and Lubbock though he could have afforded first class.

The cheap motels had seemed a better match for his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly mood. He’d stayed in Lubbock just long enough for Lauren’s parents to make the flight from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Lubbock to be with their devastated daughter.

Lauren had taken the news of Rod’s death as badly or worse than Tucker had expected. At one point, Tucker had to literally hold her up to keep her from hitting the floor. Only thing that held her even halfway together until her parents arrived was that the kids needed her.

She was a train wreck, shock and heartbreak reducing her to a state of helplessness that mimicked that of her toddler daughter.

Tucker hadn’t been in a lot better shape himself, but watching Lauren face the tragedy rode his nerves even harder.

Living, breathing, laughing one minute. Brain-dead six seconds later, though Rod’s body had managed to hold on to life for two more hours.

All for what? That was the question that wouldn’t let go of Tucker.

He should be in Oklahoma this coming weekend, competing in one of the best-paying rodeos in the September circuit. He’d started in that direction twice, had even made it to the outskirts of Tulsa once, only to turn around and head back to Texas.

His life was bull riding. It was all he’d ever known. All he wanted to know. But that could have just as easily been his skull the bull was stamping instead of Rod’s.

Had watching Rod struggle for that last breath turned Tucker into a coward? Or was he finally developing some brains to go with the testosterone that usually fueled him?

He stopped in front of the gate to the Double K Ranch and left his engine running while he got out, pulled the latch and sent the gate swinging wide.

A few minutes later, he stopped a few yards down from the front of Esther Kavanaugh’s sprawling ranch house. He felt years older than he had a couple of months ago when he was here for his brother Riley’s wedding.

The house looked the same as it had the first time he’d wound up at Esther’s door almost as done in as he felt now. That time it had been his parents who had died unexpectedly.

He started to get out of the truck but reconsidered when he realized there wasn’t a light on in the house. Ranchers rose at sunrise. No use to wake everyone in the house this late.

They’d have questions. He was in no mood to answer them tonight. Morning would be soon enough to lay his problems on his two older brothers and Esther.

If anyone could help him come to grips with his twisted emotions, it would be Pierce and Riley. If anyone could figuratively give him a kick in the rear that would get him going again, it would be Esther Kavanaugh.

Come to think of it, the kick might be more than figurative if she felt like he needed it.

He shoved his seat back as far as it would go, stretched his legs out beneath the dashboard and made himself as comfortable as he could.

Fatigue set in. His eyes grew heavy. His mind took a crazy turn. He fell asleep wondering what the woman from Hank’s would have felt like in his arms if he’d asked her to dance.

Tuesday, September 19:

RACHEL SAT HUNCHED in the corner like a guilty child in time-out. The room was still dark but her eyes had adjusted enough to the scant strip of light pushing in from beneath the door that she could make her way around the shadowy environment. Additional light would have made the cramped space even more miserable.

She’d lost count of the days she’d been here. They ran together like drops of spilled coffee. The strong, black brew was delivered every morning, usually accompanied with dry, cold and frequently burned toast.

That was her only way of knowing that a new day had started. The coffee was the bright spot in the vacuous existence devoid of everything except dread and visions of escape.

As much as she craved the coffee, she never finished the full cup. Show that she enjoyed something too much and the monster would stop bringing it.

She never knew what to expect from his visits. Vile language. Threats. Painful slaps to her face or shoves that sent her crashing to the floor.

Bizarrely, there were also times that he showed a hint of compassion. Like the second time he’d visited her in this hellhole.

She’d been starving. He’d come with a bowl of what tasted like chicken stock. Her pain had been so intense, her joints and muscles so swollen and inflamed she couldn’t get the spoon to her mouth.

He’d fed her, slowly, encouraging her to swallow. When she’d had her fill, he wiped her face with a wet cloth and pushed several pills into her mouth. For the pain, he’d said. She didn’t trust him, but she swallowed them anyway.

She’d fallen asleep almost instantly. When she woke, the thin sheets on the pallet that were stained with her blood had been changed and her laundered clothes were thrown over the one uncomfortable straight-back chair in the room.

There was also a small heavily stained sink and commode in the back corner, separated from the rest of the space by a dirty strip of printed cotton held by nails in the ceiling.

Who’d have ever believed she’d be thrilled for filthy facilities like that? Hot tears pushed at the backs of her eyelids. Would she ever escape the monster?

The sound of a slamming door cracked through the silence. Rachel’s pulse pounded. Her body trembled.

He was coming.

She hunched farther back in the corner, hugging her arms around her knees. The doorknob turned. The door squeaked open. The pungent odor of garlic and sweat swept into the room with the monster.

She studied his face before the door closed behind him, shutting out the extra light. He smiled as he always did, a big grin that told her just how much he was enjoying this.

He set a tray of food on the floor. “Did you miss me?” His tone was cocky and teasing, as if they were friends or lovers. Her skin crawled at the thought, though blessedly he hadn’t touched her sexually—yet.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you keeping me here?”

“I hate coming home to an empty house after a hard day at work.” He chuckled at his sick joke.

“I have money,” Rachel said. “A lot of money. I can pay you whatever you want if you’ll just let me go free.”

“If I gave you your freedom, I’d lose mine. Besides, I already have a woman who gives me all the money I ask for.”

“I can give you more. I won’t go to the police. I promise. I’ll stay out of your life forever and never mention this to anyone.”

He chuckled again. “Now, why would I let you go now? Your ugly bruises are almost gone. It no longer makes me sick to look at you.”

“You’ll never get away with this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet lady. People get away with far worse all the time. No one cares what you do as long as it doesn’t affect them. Even murder gets buried in the haystack.”

Eventually he’d kill her, but he’d do it slow and torturously, get his rocks off on her fear, revel in her misery as if it were a sexual adventure.

How sick would a man have to be to do that?

If Sydney were here, she’d be able to figure him out. She’d get in his mind, discover the demons that drove him. She’d find his weaknesses and use them against him.

Sydney wasn’t here, but she’d know by now that Rachel hadn’t come home from her vacation. She’d be certain something was terribly wrong.

She’d found the Swamp Strangler when no one else could. She’d find Cowboy Monster, too.

All Rachel had to do was stay alive and sane until she did.

Chapter Five

Esther Kavanaugh stretched and kicked off the lightweight blanket. The oppressive summer heat and humidity hadn’t given in to autumn yet. It seldom did in September, but she had no complaints.

The new cooling and heating system Pierce had installed kept the house as cool and comfortable as she wanted it no matter what the temperature outside. He’d made a dozen other repairs on the old house, as well.

His brother Riley pitched in and helped, even though he was newly married as well and establishing his own ranch right down the road.

That was the kind of young men the Lawrence brothers had grown into. She was thankful for them every day and had loved all three of them since the day she first met them. Now they were literally giving her a reason to keep breathing and getting up every morning to face a new day.

Pierce had been the first to come to her rescue after her husband’s death. He’d shown up one morning with his adorable five-year-old daughter, Jaci, just in the nick of time, as the saying went.

Since she was no longer able to pay her bills or take care of the Double K Ranch, he’d offered to buy the ranch from her—house, barns, livestock and all, closed on it days before foreclosure officers at the bank got a chance to get their greedy hands on everything she and Charlie had struggled all those years to build.

Selling the ranch to Pierce wasn’t even like losing it. She’d likely have willed it to him anyway since he was the oldest of the brothers she considered her only family.

She’d sold it to Pierce for the price it took to keep it out of foreclosure so he could use the rest of his savings to get the ranch running efficiently again.

She hadn’t asked him for a thing in return, but he’d made her a verbal promise that she’d have her house, her garden and her chickens until the day the good Lord called her home.

No reason for a paper contract when you dealt with a man who was as good as his word.

Best part of all was now she had Pierce, his wife, Grace, and Jaci making their home at the ranch. They’d moved into their own cabin two weeks ago, but they were close enough they were in and out of her house every day. And she had Riley, his wife, Dani, and her niece Constance living only a few miles away.

That only left their younger brother, Tucker, for her to worry about.

A world-class bull rider who thrived on the danger and excitement of rodeo life. Followed the circuit, constantly on the move. How was he ever going to meet the right woman when all he had time for was those buckle bunnies out looking for a good time?

He thought he was living the good life but he kept Esther busy just praying he didn’t get hurt by one of those kicking, stamping, snorting bulls.

Worries or not, taking in the Lawrence brothers had been one of the smartest things she and Charlie had ever done.

Instinctively her hand reached over and touched the spot where her husband had slept beside her for most of her adult life. The familiar ache grew heavy in her chest. Lord knew she missed that man. Always would.

But lying here getting all pitiful over things she couldn’t change wouldn’t bring Charlie back. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and wiggled her feet into her slippers before padding to the kitchen.

By the time the coffee was ready, the sun had topped the horizon and the roosters were crowing their welcome to a new day. She filled her favorite mug with the brew, the cup Pierce’s daughter, Jaci, had given her that said I “heart” Grandma.

That little girl could sure make Esther’s heart smile.

Esther spooned a smidgen of sugar into her coffee. She’d have liked a heaping teaspoonful but Doc Carter kept harping on her to take it easy on her sweets.

Of course, if she listened to everything that old pill pusher said, she might as well be eating cowhide and clover.

Pierce and Riley would be up and hard at work by now—rancher’s hours. But one or both would be stopping by later knowing she’d have a hearty breakfast waiting. She’d been cooking big ranch breakfasts for more than half a century and she’d be doing it as long as she was able.

Coffee in hand, she walked through the family room to the front door. Nothing like swaying in her new porch swing and sharing the first light of day with the early birds who’d be flitting around her feeders instead of out searching for worms.

She turned the key in the door only to realize she’d forgotten to lock it again. Years of habit were hard to break although Pierce cautioned her times were changing. They just changed a lot slower around the town of Winding Creek than they did in the big cities.

She opened the door and stepped outside.

“What the dickens?”

She stared at a mud-encrusted truck parked rock-throwing distance from her house. She was about to go get her shotgun and check it out when she saw a hairy-faced man step out of the truck and stretch like he was trying to get the kinks out of his muscles.

Oh m’God. It was Tucker. She set her mug on the porch railing post and raced to greet him.

He opened his arms and she threw herself into them.

“Sorry if I smell as disgusting as I feel,” he said.

She stood back and took a gander at him. “You look like you’ve been sleeping with the cows. How long have you been in that truck?”

“A day or two.”

“Without sleep. That’s dangerous, Tucker. You could...”

He slipped an arm around her ample waist. “Calm down. I got plenty of sleep, just not in a bed. Lights were all out when I got here and I didn’t want to wake up the whole household.”

“There’s no one here to wake up but me.”

“Where’s Pierce and his crew?”

“They moved into their own cabin two weeks ago.”

“That was fast. All he had was a foundation and a shell when I was here for Riley’s wedding. I figured it would be Thanksgiving before he had it livable.”

“He had lots of help from Riley and the neighbors, which you’d know if you came around more often. I can’t believe your brothers didn’t tell me you were coming today.”

“They don’t know. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I had a few days off before I hit the next rodeo and decided to stop by for one of your famous breakfasts. Fresh yard eggs, thick slices of bacon, fluffy biscuits and homemade blackberry jam. My mouth’s already watering.”

“You came to the right place. First thing you need is to find a razor and I ’spect a shower wouldn’t hurt none, either.”

He rubbed his heavily whiskered chin. “Right on both counts.” He reached back in the truck for a duffel and slung it over his shoulder.

Just having him here lit up her world, but she wasn’t quite buying the spur-of-the-moment excuse. Something was bothering him. He was saying the right things, but the words didn’t quite ring true. It wasn’t just his haggard appearance. She could see trouble in his eyes and hear it in his voice.