Lone Star Rancher

“Info is a snap to get nowadays,” Clyde said. “I’ve heard of this Balter guy. He was one of the talking heads on a television news program the other day. He’s on the city council and is heading up a commission on terrorism. He looked okay to me.”

“That’s the problem. Everyone thinks he’s perfectly sane, while they think Jessica is off her rocker. I was at her place last night and listened to his messages, the breathing, then this sinister little laugh. It gave me chills. Jessica is keeping the tapes from the answering machine. She says maybe the police will believe her when they find her dead body and a box of recordings from the creep.”

“Damn,” Clyde muttered. He closed his eyes and rubbed his neck, then gave up. “Okay, tell her she’s welcome to come here next month if she wants to. I’ll arrange transportation from the airport in San Antonio.”

“Oh, Clyde, thank you. I don’t care what other people say. I think you’re absolutely wonderful.” She laughed at this oft-repeated joke between them, then sobering, she said, “Would you mind picking her up? I’ll feel so much better knowing she’s with you. Miles is wonderful, too, of course, but he doesn’t take things as seriously as you do. This may be a matter of life and death. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick her up. Let me know the flight, date and time, okay?”

“Yes. I’ll call as soon as I talk her into going. I’m sure she will. She’s tired and discouraged and frustrated trying to deal with this and her work and all.”

“Make sure she understands that we’ll be doing the roundup while she’s here. No one will have time to babysit or entertain her. You understand?”

“Perfectly. She just needs a break and some peace and quiet. You will keep an eye on her, won’t you? I mean, in case the stalker shows up?”

He exhaled heavily. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

With that, she said her farewells and hung up. He realized he’d forgotten to congratulate her on the article in the medical journal, which their mom had sent a couple of months ago. Not that there wouldn’t be other chances in the near future. If he knew his little sis, she would hound her friend into coming out, then she would hound him about looking after the visitor.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, which held very little else, and went out on the patio to enjoy the twilight and the cool evening air. The cattle in the two thousand acres of pasture that comprised the ranch were grazing peacefully or bedded down while they chewed their cuds.

The quiet appealed to him. No cars were on the paved county road. The interstate highway, I-35, that ran up the middle of the state through San Antonio, Austin and points north was too far away to be heard.

He liked the distance to the horizon, as if one could ride into the sunset forever. He appreciated the vastness of these wide open spaces that were so different from New York where he’d grown up.

Years ago, his mother had declared the triplets to be cowboys at heart. She said she’d known it from the moment they’d been born. Instead of crying, they’d come into the world yelling, “Whoopie-ti-yi-yo.”

Or so she’d said many times with an almost perfectly straight face.

He smiled, then took a long draught of cold beer. Sometimes he missed his mom, he admitted. When she came to the ranch, she fretted about the house and its lack of a feminine touch and worried about the boys’ love lives as well as their eating habits. She was into tofu and soybeans and healthy stuff. Married men, she pointed out, lived longer, healthier lives than bachelors.

She especially worried about him. When he’d returned from Dallas, alone and still single, he’d told his family his fiancée had died in a car accident and had never mentioned it again. His mother probably thought his heart was still broken.

Little did she know, as the saying went. He’d locked that unreliable organ away for good. The Flying Aces was the love of his life. It was enough.

Clyde smiled again, then frowned as he remembered his promise to his sister. Steven wouldn’t care a whit if Jessica visited. Miles would flirt like mad with her when he was at the house, but most of the time he would be out on the back forty of the ranch, handling that part of the roundup.

That would leave him to watch after their guest.

He said a very bad word and was glad his mother wasn’t there to hear it. He would have to guard his tongue if and when the visitor arrived, too.

Taking a long, long drink of the crisp, cold microbrew, he realized something else and nearly choked.

“Damn,” he muttered, then gave a snort of laughter. “It figures,” he said to Smoky, a dog that had drifted by last year and decided to stay, and now, attracted by the laughter, ambled over for a pat on the head.

He wondered if his sister had noted the day of the month when she’d called. That would be so like her.

It was Friday the thirteenth.

Two

The wings of the airplane dipped first one way, then the other, as the flight approached San Antonio. Jessica closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping the soda and pretzels down. She wasn’t sure whether it was better to have a full stomach or an empty one when flying in bad weather.

Lightning crackled, and several people gasped. A little girl screamed. So did her mother.

St. Elmo’s fire danced along the front edge of the wing. Jessica thought the fuel tanks were located in the wings. Could they catch on fire?

Summoning up her courage, she reflected on the idea of leaving New York to keep from being killed by a stalker, only to go down in an airplane crash in Texas. There was a kind of rough poetic justice in the thought.

If the plane did crash, she wouldn’t have to impose on Violet’s brother, who didn’t want to fool with her in the first place. At least, that was the impression she’d gotten when her friend had carefully and thoroughly explained that the ranch was very busy at this time of the year.

Jessica would mostly have the house to herself and would have to find her own amusements.

Fine by her.

Clyde Fortune, the first-born of the triplets, was to pick her up. He was the least outgoing of the three. The brothers were identical triplets, all with dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes, around six feet tall, muscular bodies.

The last-born, Miles, had a dimple in one cheek, though, so maybe they weren’t identical. She didn’t know much about genetics, so she wasn’t sure. Anyway, they looked like the proverbial peas in the pod. As a teenager, she’d had a crush on Clyde, the quiet one of the Fortune triplets.

Not that he, an older man, had known she existed.

She’d gotten over her romantic feelings quick enough when one of them had remarked that “she was so skinny and talked with such a twang, you could use her for a guitar string” when one of their friend’s strings had broken.

Amusement eased the pain of that ancient insult. Her lean frame had earned her a fortune of her own—not in the form of a living dreamboat, but in cold cash.

At that instant, the plane touched down. Jessica thanked the heavens that they were safely on the ground. She collected her carry-on bag and all-purpose raincoat and headed for the baggage carousel.

She didn’t see anyone she recognized. Several men looked her over, but none came forward. Apparently no one was waiting for her.

Wonderful, she thought, feeling like unwanted baggage. She grabbed her suitcase when it came around the moving belt, then rolled it closer to the door, not sure if her ride expected her to go outside and wait at the curb. She should have asked Violet to be more specific about what she was supposed to do.

The oddest thing happened then. Her eyes filled with tears. Astonished, she blinked rapidly until they dried up.

Thirty minutes later, she was still standing by the sliding glass doors, watching as other passengers were met by their loved ones and hugged and kissed and made to feel wanted while she wondered what to do if Clyde didn’t show.

She could take a room in San Antonio under an assumed name and hide out there just as well as the Flying Aces—

“Jessica?”

She jerked around and stared into a worried face and dark eyes with a scowl in their depths. “Yes.”

“Sorry to be late. There was an accident on the highway. It took thirty minutes for the police to get it cleared and let the traffic through.”

“That’s okay. I was just thinking of getting a room in town. Actually I could stay here just as well as at your place. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Alamo.”

“Violet would never let me hear the end of it if I let you do that.” Clyde plucked her two cases from her. “This way.”

Although he did manage to crack a smile, Jessica wasn’t fooled. He was about as happy to see her as she was happy to be there. She silently said a word her mom had said she and her sister were never to use.

He led the way to his truck.

The rain hit them like bullets from the angry clouds that covered the city. She had her raincoat, which had a hood, but he wore only a light jacket. Water ran in a cascade from his gray felt cowboy hat.

His jeans were soon soaked along the entire front of the legs as the wind blew furiously against them as if trying to stop their progress. Her feet, clad in low sandals, got wet, and the cuffs of her summer slacks filled with water and wilted.

When they reached the parking space far out in the lot, he tossed her bags in the back of the crew cab pickup and her into the front. Not literally, but she had a feeling he would have liked to dispose of her as easily as the luggage.

It wasn’t an auspicious start to a month-long visit, she thought.

“I’m sorry to bring you out in such weather,” she said, giving him one of the brilliant smiles she was known for.

He shrugged and growled in a low tone, “We don’t usually have this kind of storm in September.”

Actually it was the second day of the month. A Friday. Two days ago, she’d finished the photo session and celebrated by hiding out at Violet’s place so she wouldn’t have to listen to the ringing of the phone every hour on the hour.

Worse—and this was what drove her into fleeing the city—was returning from her walk on Monday and finding a pale pink rose lying in the middle of her foyer. On Tuesday, a deep pink rose had been left on the sofa table. Then on Wednesday one had been placed on her pillow with all its bloodred petals torn off. Each petal had been cut in half. A police investigation had yielded no clues.

Shaken, she’d called Violet and told her friend she would love to visit the ranch for a month. They’d planned an elaborate strategy to get her packed and onto the San Antonio flight, via a separate ticket into Chicago for the first leg of the trip, with the help of a model friend.

Linda was close to Jessica in size, and had taken her place on the daily walk in the park, wearing sunglasses and a denim hat and Jessica’s favorite sports outfit, just in case the stalker was watching her condo.

Glancing at her host now, Jessica wondered if it might not be worse to be trapped for a month at a remote ranch—well, two miles from town wasn’t exactly remote—with a handsome but brooding Heathcliff type as her protector.

Was it better to face the evil she knew than to flee to another that she didn’t? Ah, that was the question, she intoned sardonically to herself.

“Something amusing you?” Clyde asked.

She strangled the facetious smile and gave him a solemn stare. “No. I was just feeling sorry for you, being stuck with an unwanted guest for a month.”

His frown could have stopped the eighteen-wheeler, coming toward them down the state highway at seventy miles an hour.

“Violet did explain that we’re in the middle of roundup, didn’t she?”

“Yes. You don’t have to worry about entertaining me,” she said graciously. The effort was wasted on him.

“Good,” he said in his serious manner. “No one will have time to do any entertaining. You’ll have the house to yourself during the day. I’ll be in late most nights. Miles will be out in the hills and will sleep in the RV we keep for times when we can’t get back to the house.”

“I see. Uh, do you have a cook or housekeeper?”

“No. A woman from Red Rock comes in every Monday, to clean. Miles and I fix our own meals. Mostly eggs and toast or sandwiches,” he added.

“I don’t eat a lot,” she quickly told him, making it clear she didn’t expect him to wait on her.

His gaze ran down her like the sluice of cold rain hitting the windshield. In that one glance she felt he’d seen everything there was to see about her, both physically and mentally. It was rather daunting.

She gazed out at the land she hadn’t seen in almost two years. Mmm… Yes, the last time she’d visited her folks, who lived in Austin now, had been two Christmases ago.

Her sister, brother-in-law and two nieces lived in Red Rock. They ran the hardware store Jessica had bought with her first year’s earnings so her dad wouldn’t lose his livelihood.

Since she figured Roy might somehow have her family watched, she was going to have to avoid them.

Also, she realized, she would have to hide in the barn or somewhere when the housekeeper arrived, in case the woman was someone who knew her or her family.

She sighed.

Her reluctant host glanced her way again.

“I’m not bored,” she said as if he’d asked. She realized he probably wouldn’t care if she was. “It’s just that hiding out is more difficult than I’d thought it would be. I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay at your place.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s no problem.”

There was an unexpected softening in his tone that caused the ridiculous tears to burn behind her eyelids again. “Well, I know Violet twisted your arm. She can be very persistent when she gets an idea. She doesn’t let go until she gets her way.”

His chuckle was as pleasant as it was surprising. “Tell me about it.”

“She’s a wonderful friend,” Jessica said. “She’s always been there for me. I can still remember the first time all of you came into the hardware store with some of your cousins. I’d never seen so many Fortunes in one place before. Although I was familiar with the Texas side of the family, you New Yorkers were like exotic foreigners to me.”

“I had to tell you three times what I wanted,” he said.

“Ah, you remember it, too.” She laughed. “I couldn’t understand a word any of you said. Except Violet. She interpreted for me and glared at you and your brothers when you laughed.”

“Now Steven, Miles and I speak Texan jes’ like you natives,” he drawled. He even smiled.

It did wonders for him, making him look younger than the thirty-six years she knew he was. His teeth were straight and very white against the tan of his face. She found herself wondering why he’d never married.

“Well,” she said in mock wonder, “you have a sense of humor. Violet assured me you did, but since I was never around you guys much, I didn’t believe her.”

The smile disappeared. “If you’re looking for charm, Miles is your man,” he suggested.

“I’m not.” She spoke as coolly as he had. “I’m trying to avoid one man. I’m certainly not looking to get involved with another.”

Silence prevailed as he turned off the state highway onto a paved county road that led to Red Rock. Two miles before they reached the town, he turned again, this time onto the road that went past the ranch.

The road had been newly topped with asphalt and wasn’t yet marked with white lines. In the darkness of the storm and the deep twilight, it seemed to disappear in the downpour. She couldn’t tell where the sides of the road were or what was ahead in the rain.

He slowed to a crawl, then made the final turn onto the ranch road, which was also paved. Her heart gave an odd lurch and beat very fast. She’d never been here.

The three brothers had purchased the place after she’d moved to New York. Except for infrequent calls, she and Violet had lost touch during those years when each was getting established in her chosen career. Then Violet had returned to the city, and they had picked up their old friendship. But Jessica had never called any of the Fortunes in Texas when she returned to visit her folks.

“Oh,” she said when the house came into view.

It was large and typical of the very popular Texas ranch style with a beige-painted wooden frame and shiny metal roof, a second story with a balcony over the front porch that went all the way across the front of the house and lots of shrubs and flowers in borders along the curving front walk and the dark brick foundation.

There was a four-car garage attached to the side of the house. Clyde hit the opener, then drove inside and closed the door behind them, shutting out the blowing rain.

A station wagon was the only other vehicle in the large space. There were no tools or lawn mowers. It was the neatest garage she’d ever seen.

“At our house, the one where I grew up,” she clarified, “the garage was always a disaster area. My mom threatened to throw everything out on a regular basis, including the three lawn mowers. One worked. The other two didn’t.”

Clyde retrieved her bags and motioned toward the door into the house. She went inside.

“We use a tractor to mow the grass when we cut the hay,” he said.

She followed him into a room that held a comfortable sofa and two leather recliners. A huge television was built into a bookcase-entertainment center beside a fireplace. The room led into a wide foyer that ran the length of the house.

On the other side of the foyer, she could see another room, a formal living room, although sparsely furnished.

The foyer had a graceful staircase of open oak steps and black wrought-iron railings. She could see a large dining table with six chairs beyond the steps and French doors opening onto a patio. The rain was too heavy to see what the view would be out the back of the house.

Clyde headed up the steps when she paused, not sure where to go. “This way,” he said.

The foyer was repeated upstairs in a gallery-type library with bookcases and twin groupings of two chairs, a table and a reading lamp to either side. Here, too, the view through wide windows would be to the backside of the house.

“These are your quarters,” he said, going into the first room on the right and flicking a light switch. A lamp on a table softly lit the room.

She glimpsed beige walls and dark furniture that was Spanish in style, plus some light oak pieces that were called Texas frontier by the local decorators.

“You have your own bath through there.” He nodded toward the side of the room. “That’s the closet next to it.”

She also had her own private sitting space beside tall windows on the north side of the house. A large bed occupied the opposite wall.

“It looks very comfortable,” she said politely.

He set her luggage on a chest at the end of the bed, then looked at her, his hands in his back pockets, his manner withdrawn. Against the dim light, his silhouette was framed against the backdrop of the bed.

A shiver ran over her while her mouth went dry. She’d learned early in New York not to mind dating men who were shorter than she was, but it was nice to go with someone she could dance with without looming over him.

Clyde Fortune fit the bill perfectly.

She saw his chest expand as he inhaled deeply. She was too tall for her head to rest against that broad expanse, but they could dance cheek to cheek.

If they ever danced.

Which she frankly doubted.

“The kitchen is downstairs,” he said, striding toward the door as if he suddenly remembered an extremely important appointment that he was about to miss because of having to take care of her. “You’ll find soup in the pantry, sandwich stuff in the fridge. Help yourself.”

With that, he was gone.

Jessica yawned, then swung out of bed. She loved the view from the windows of her room—rolling green pastures, a thick copse of trees outlining the meandering path of a creek and then, clear skies all the way to eternity. Opening a window, she breathed deeply of the clean morning air and caught the scent of new-mown hay on the breeze.

Oh, it had been so long since she’d experienced a Texas morning! Although the humidity was high, it wasn’t any worse than in the city, so that didn’t bother her. Being cooped up inside did.

She hurriedly dressed in blue shorts and a matching knit top. With sneakers on her feet, she went down the steps and into the kitchen, being quiet, although she could tell by the absolute silence that she had the house to herself.

After sipping a glass of orange juice and eating one slice of unbuttered toast, she headed outside. Through an open door off the kitchen, she spotted a big pantry, plus several wall hooks. On one was a straw hat that would provide shade from the sun.

She put it on and slid the fastener up the strings and under her chin to keep the hat from blowing away in the wind. Then she headed outside to explore.

In the back, she discovered a lovely swimming pool. A small pool house, in the same style as the main one, contained a kitchen with Coke and beer in the refrigerator and microwave popcorn in the cabinet.

Okay, so she was nosy, she admitted when her conscience prodded her for snooping.

A hot tub held pride of place in the large room and an etched-glass door opened into a cedar-lined sauna with benches on three sides. There was also a full-size bathroom and next to that, surprisingly, another bedroom, making the pool house into a guesthouse, too.

“Charming,” she remarked to herself, then closed the door and continued her journey of exploration.

Beyond the homestead were some barns, stables and sheds. From a velvety green field came the drone of a tractor. She spotted the huge machine but couldn’t discern who was in the enclosed cab. Clyde or whoever was operating the equipment was cutting alfalfa.

Again she inhaled deeply, letting the wonderful scent flow down inside her, all the way to her roots, which sprang from the rocky Texas soil. She couldn’t believe how nostalgic she’d been for home without even knowing it.

She exhaled loudly, enjoying the ambiance of the ranch. In New York, life could be so hectic…and usually was.

Here, ah, here, there was a sense of peace—

“Oof,” she said, pitching forward against a fence post, then the ground, as something hit her on the back.

Startled, the ever-present fear of the past few months raising its ugly head, she rolled over and got a good licking in the face. Fright dissolved into laughter.

“Who are you?” she asked, sitting up while a black-and-white dog, mostly border collie, frolicked all around her.

“Smoky,” a familiar voice answered.

Jessica smiled at Clyde, who’d entered the yard through a nearby gate, and leaned on her elbows while he stopped a couple of feet from her.

“Smoky, down,” he ordered when the dog jumped up and planted his paws on the man. “Sit.”

The dog obeyed at once.

Clyde leaned forward and offered Jessica a hand. When she clasped it, he pulled her to her feet. “Sorry about Smoky,” he said in his butter-smooth baritone. “He’s never met a person he didn’t like.”

“I like him, too.” She scratched the collie’s ears.

The dog rewarded her by closing his eyes and leaning into her hand in apparent ecstasy.

“You’ve made a slave for life,” Clyde remarked. “I’ve got to run into Red Rock to pick up a part for the baler. Do you want to go?”

She really would have liked to ride along, but she shook her head and thanked him for the offer. “I don’t think I should be seen in town. My sister and her family live in Red Rock. They don’t know I’m in the area.”

“Are you worried that they might be watched?”

“Yes.”

A frown nicked a line across his forehead. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay here alone.”