Gambling on a Secret (21 page)

Whose fault was that?

“Let me take you home. I think you’re probably needed more there than here.” Zack stood and waited. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Dylan dragged himself out of the booth. “You know, Zack, you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. And dealing with you isn’t a day in the park either.”

As they moved through the sparsely occupied bar, he swallowed hard. He didn’t have many friends, but Zack was probably the closest thing he had to a best friend. “I wanted to thank you again for helping out last night.”

Zack pushed open the door. He squinted against the bright late afternoon sun. “No problem. Someday you can return the favor.” He held out his hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you back to the ranch. Dawn’s on patrol out your way, I’ll call her and have her pick me up.”

He dug for his keys. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask.”

“Yeah?” Zack took the keys and opened the passenger side door for him.

He probably should have taken offense to the way Zack was taking over, like a damned mother hen, he thought belatedly as he climbed in. “You and my baby sister aren’t tryin’ to get me on the straight and narrow, are ya? ’Cause you both should know it ain’t gonna work.”

Laughing, Zack closed Dylan’s door and got in on the driver’s side. “Tracy and me conspiring on something like that? Now I know you don’t have any brain cells left.”

As Zack pulled away from the curb, Dylan shook his head. “Nah. You’re right. Hell would freeze over first.”

Zack glanced at him. “Speaking of hell suffering a cold snap, are you going to speak at my banquet in two weeks?”

“I may be drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to be coerced into saying yes to your dinner. That’s one favor I won’t repay you with.”

* * * *

On Monday morning, Charli sat at the table and sipped a cup of coffee, waiting for Dylan to come work on the kitchen. She’d seen very little of him since Friday night.

He’d only spoken to her when it was necessary, and said very little. She didn’t have to have a minor in psychology to know he blamed himself for what was happening to her animals. His total avoidance of her did surprise her. They had to talk about what had happened between them.

Did he now think she’d expect him to marry her if she turned up pregnant? He didn’t love her, his actions afterward and the way he avoided her clearly proved that. If it was his fear of marriage keeping him away, he needn’t worry. She had no intention of ever getting married. One farce of a marriage was enough for anyone.

When she answered the soft knock on the back door, Dylan wasn’t on the other side. Tom Miller shuffled his feet with a shy smile pasted on his round face.

She moved to let the bear-like man in. “Where’s Dylan?”

After taking off his cowboy hat, he hung it on the hook beside the door. “Quinn’s gonna mow one of the hay fields today. He wants to make sure you have good hay. Told me to finish up in here.”

She stared at the former sailor for a moment before she realized what he’d meant. Tom passed her, heading toward the doorway leading into the dining room. He began assessing what needed done to the door molding. “He’s giving me a break from the weather for a while.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave her another shy smile. “And Uncle Jesse. His cantankerousness could test the nerves of a saint.”

The only thing she could do was nod. Dylan didn’t want anything to do with her. She pressed a hand to the center of her chest and wrapped her other arm around her middle, but the pain in her heart was still unbearable.

When Tom reached for a dust mask on his tool belt, she finally found her voice. “What would you like me to do?”

Tom paused, looked at her and shook his head. “Dylan said you’d probably want to help. You don’t have to. I’m used to working alone.” He picked up the electric sander Dylan had placed by the wall, and glanced at her. “I’m going to sand this old paint off.”

Taking the hidden suggestion within the comment, she nodded and forced herself to move away. Tom didn’t want her around either.

She wanted to get as far away from her ranch as she possibly could. After dismissing the idea of calling Leon, she found Tracy’s number and gave her a call.

* * * *

“Where the hell have you been all weekend?” Dylan asked the moment Kyle McPherson exited his classic Mustang.

Kyle looked around, pushing his hat back over his shaggy sandy blond hair. “I had things to do, people to see, cuz. I was off, remember?” His grin turned cocky. “If it’d been the boss callin’, I’d’ve paid attention.”

Heat raged up Dylan’s neck as fast as fire in dry brush. He struggled to unclamp his back teeth. “I called you. Several times, in fact. And the last time I checked, I’m still running this place. Next time I call, you’d damn well better pay attention.”

Kyle squared his shoulders and his scruffy jaw twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, any of the calves die?”

“No. And I want to keep it that way. They are, under no circumstances, to be fed any hay. There’s enough pasture for them and the sick ones are under the care of Doc Evans. I’ll take care of the horses.”

Kyle’s blue eyes narrowed. “Are you implying I’m responsible for this?”

“As far as I’m concerned no one is responsible, but I don’t want any more to get sick, and I sure as hell don’t want any of them to die.”

He ordered Kyle to clear out the storage barn of all the hay. He’d hired a truck to haul it away, and when Kyle finished, he could have the rest of the day off. He didn’t want to deal with the kid.

As he passed the barn, Dylan went inside. The roof had been replaced, the walls fixed and the inside gutted. Charli hoped to buy more horses, but the stables could only hold eight at most. The barn had room for twenty horses, plus a large tack room, and special areas for foaling.

“Howdy.” Jesse Riley, Tom’s wizened uncle, bent over a stall door in the breezeway, glanced at him and continued to hammer in nails. Several more stalls remained to be built.

“Jesse, I need to ask you a question.” He had long ago learned Jesse Riley was as nosy as Winnie Cartwright and not much got past him, but unlike the mayor’s wife, Jesse usually kept what he knew under his hat–key being
usually
.

“Yeah.” With his hand on his back, Jesse stood up and laid his hammer aside. “What do you want to know?”

He looked around at the construction and piles of boards lying on the concrete floor. “Have you noticed anything odd going on with Kyle?”

Jesse laughed, a nails-rolling-around-in-a-coffee-can sound. “There’s always been something
odd
about that boy. I think his mama and daddy should’ve stopped while they were ahead before having him.”

“Did Kyle give Marlin and Jeannie a hard time?”

Again that laugh, as Jesse grabbed a two-by-four off a pile. “Did he ever. Marlin McPherson is a good man, but he spent the last ten years getting the boy out of trouble. Old Sheriff Madison should’ve put him in juvey hall years ago.” Jesse looked at him and shook his head. “Leon Ferguson wouldn’t give him a job because he didn’t trust him, in fact.”

“That’s a glowing recommendation.” He thought for a moment. “Jesse, keep your eyes and ears open, will ya? I didn’t want to hire him, but the boss did.”

Jesse tipped the bill of his ball cap. “You got it.”

* * * *

Tracy settled across from Charli in a booth at Ella’s Diner later that day. “Oh, that’s just terrible.” Charli had told her all about the poisoning as they walked to the restaurant. “Dylan hasn’t talked to me. What I’ve heard mostly came from Zack and the infamous Colton Grapevine.”

Charli reached for a menu. “The sheriff’s been a wonderful neighbor, but I wish Dylan would just ask Leon for help. I know he’d be more than willing. I haven’t brought it up because I know how he feels about your uncle.”

She also hadn’t brought it up because Dylan was avoiding her.

Tracy fussed with the napkin-wrapped silverware. Her face pinched in a frown. “Are you seeing him now?”

“Who?”

“Leon.” Tracy set the paper napkin and silverware down. “I’ve heard about the date.”

She leaned back into the red vinyl seat. “Wow, does anything stay private in this town?”

Tracy snorted and shook her head. “Nope. The telephones were ringing off the hook Friday after Leon flew you to Dallas. You’ve become the envy of a lot of women who’ve been trying to lasso my uncle for years.”

“They can have him, because I’m not dating him.”

A young waitress stopped by their table. Charli recognized her immediately from the drug deal in the grocery store parking lot.

Tracy voiced her surprise. “Annie, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The girl stopped short of rolling her eyes. “Mom pulled me out and decided to home school me. What do you want?”

Tracy ordered a burger and fries without looking at the menu. Charli ordered a chicken salad sandwich and fresh fruit. The girl walked away.

“Who’s her mother?”

“Ella Larson, the owner of this place and co-owner of the blasted Longhorn Saloon.” Tracy made a
tsking
sound and pushed her long hair from the side of her face. “Annie’s a troublemaker with a capital
T
. She was arrested on drug charges a month ago. A shame. She’s a smart girl.” Tracy shook her head and played with her silverware again. “Her mother and father divorced abruptly a couple of years ago, and afterward, her daddy completely ignored her. I heard through the Grapevine he found out he’s sterile and probably had been since a horse kicked him when he was a kid.”

Charli looked back at Tracy, her meaning dawning. “She doesn’t know?” Tracy shrugged, and she turned her attention back to the teenager behind the counter. “How old is she?”

Tracy thought for a moment. “Fifteen or sixteen, I’m not sure.”

Annie brought their lemonades, and Charli studied the girl. Her hair was bleached white with the short, spiky tips dyed bright pink, but her roots were dark. Enough black makeup for at least five people surrounded her deep brown eyes. She had a stud in her nose, a hoop in her bottom lip, plus numerous other piercings. Her baggy black pants and t-shirt screamed
bad attitude
.

She felt Annie’s anger and resentment sizzling under the surface like some primitive volcano, and remembered the anger all too well. If something wasn’t done to help defuse it, her intervention of calling the cops that day would have been for nothing.

“So, what’s going on with you and Dylan, then?”

Sipping her lemonade, she stalled as long as she could. “Nothing’s going on.”

Tracy puckered her brow again, but didn’t say more on the matter of either man.

Their meals came, and they ate in silence for a few moments until a woman stopped at their table on her way through the restaurant. “Hello, Tracy.”

Tracy narrowed her eyes at the petite brunette carrying an infant carrier by her side. “Brenda. I guess Zack can’t keep all the riffraff out of town.”

Brenda? As in Dylan’s ex?
Charli studied the woman closer. Brenda wouldn’t ever be a supermodel, but she was prettier than she had imagined. Her dark hair was styled into an attractive pixie cut, her eyes dark and intelligent.

Brenda laughed humorlessly. “Oh, Tracy, you always did have a sick sense of humor. You know what they say... Those in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones. When’s your next class reunion? You, Zack Cartwright and Jake Parker all in the same room–I’d buy tickets for that show.” Brenda turned to her, holding out a hand to her. “Hi, I’m Brenda Dailey. I don’t think we’ve met.”

They shook hands. “Charli Monroe.”

“Oh, the owner of the old Blackwell place. My mother told me my ex-husband works for you.”

“If your ex-husband is Dylan Quinn, then, yes, he’s my manager.” She glanced down at the bundle in the carrier. “Is this your baby?”

Brenda’s fake smile turned soft, and she pulled the blanket away from the infant’s sleeping, chubby face. “Yes, this is Nicholas, Junior. He’s almost eight months old and growing like a weed.”

“What do you want, Brenda?” Tracy sounded as if she chipped the words from the coldest ice cube she could find.

The woman shrugged. “I just saw the two of you and thought I’d do the neighborly thing and say hi. I’m supposed to meet Mama for lunch.” Brenda turned to her again–fake smile bright enough to short-out a power plant.

Anger ripped through Charli. How could anyone hurt someone as badly as Brenda had Dylan? Though he didn’t talk about the reasons for his divorce, she had heard enough to know. Brenda’s baby had been conceived while he’d been, not only still married to her, but in Afghanistan fighting for his country.

Brenda shifted the carrier from one hand to another. A big diamond on her finger glittered in the sunlight coming through the window. “I’m a bit surprised Dylan is still working for you, Miss Monroe.”

Besides the jealousy burning a hole in her stomach, she didn’t like this woman with a mile-long vicious streak. How could Dylan have loved someone so self-absorbed? How could he still love her? “Why are you surprised? He’s an excellent manager.”

“I’ve heard about his buying poisoned hay. He was probably drunk.”