Gambling on a Secret (30 page)

“What about it?”

“I’d like to go. She said you could bring a guest.”

“I’m not going.”
Just drop it.

“Tracy said you were being stubborn about this. You served this country like the rest of the folks there. Actually, I don’t understand why you
don’t
want to attend.” Before he could argue, she turned and closed the bathroom door in his face.

He stared at the white-painted slab of wood for a moment and listened to the water coming on in the shower. With a shake of his head, he turned and grabbed a t-shirt.

In the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee, tugged on his work boots, and headed to the barn. After he fed the horses and cleaned the stables, he took a brush off a shelf in the tack room and began grooming Artemis. He needed to think.

With gentle strokes, he brushed the mare, bringing her coat to a black luster. “I just don’t understand what the big deal is, Artie. I don’t want to go to that dinner.”

The horse flicked her ears at the sound of his voice, but offered no opinion.

Was he the only one who understood that he didn’t belong there? Cartwright’s banquet at the American Legion was to honor those who had served proudly and lost their lives. Not for those whose mistakes caused the causalities.

He thought of the four men who’d died that day. Kent, a pain in the ass if there ever was one, had been his chief warrant officer and second in command. They’d served four years together in the same Delta Team. He left a wife in Kansas with four kids.

There was Wagner, the kid of the team. He’d just joined Special Forces, a staff sergeant, and eager to learn everything he could. He was working on a degree, hoping to be commissioned someday.

Finished with Artemis, he put her out into pasture, then entered Ceres’ stall. He began rubbing down the smallest of the four mares. She nipped at his hat, and he patted her shoulder. “Hi, girl. I’m glad to see you, too.”

As he brushed her chestnut coat until it shined, the memories continued. He saw Zabinski’s laughing face as he pulled yet another practical joke on some unsuspecting SOB. The first sergeant, who liked to disagree with him at every turn, only had six more months until retirement. He’d never gotten to walk that daughter he’d left in Pennsylvania down the aisle.

He sniffed back the pain twisting his gut, but a tear slipped past his defenses as he remembered the last man. Fisher had been the medic of the unit for six years. He and the sergeant first class had a lot in common, and of all his men, Brad Fisher had been his closest friend. Brad had found him in his barracks crying like a girl the night he’d read Brenda’s letter. Brad had gone through a divorce himself and offered his ear when he wanted to talk.

They’d never gotten the chance to have that talk.

He left the stall, leaned on the door and pinched the bridge of his nose as he sobbed. He cried for the friends he’d lost and for the lives cut short.

After getting himself under control, he finished with the horses. He wanted a drink, but there wasn’t a drop of the stuff on the place.

When he entered the kitchen, Charli was at the stove, wearing a sundress and looking sexy. She sang along with the radio in perfect harmony with that country singer, half-brother of hers, as he crooned out a ballad about his woman being only a memory.

He listened for a moment as Nate McConnell declared that in the end all we had of those we care about were just memories.

The good and the bad.

He remembered his friends and realized he had many good memories, too, of men worth honoring.

When the song ended, she looked over her shoulder at him, and he didn’t want that drink anymore.

“Okay, we’ll go to the banquet, but under no circumstances will I get up and talk.”

Charli smiled and her eyes got shimmery.
 

Don’t you dare start crying.
 

“Go wash up, cowboy. Breakfast is almost ready.”

* * * *

The banquet hall in the American Legion on Houston Street was decked out in red, white and blue bunting. Round tables, where everything from weekly bingo to wedding feasts happened, were festive with white paper tablecloths, hurricane lamps and miniature flags. In the background Lee Greenwood sang
God Bless the U.S.A.
over the sound system.

Dylan and Charli circumvented a crowd of people gathered around Mayor Cartwright, and they found a seat at a table near the back. People looked their way, a few of them waving in surprised greeting. Dylan responded with a nod of his head.

Zack Cartwright ambled over. He looked spiffy in jeans, a white Western shirt and bolo tie. “I don’t believe my eyes. Why, if it isn’t Captain Dylan Quinn. Is the devil wearing long johns these days?”

Dylan couldn’t quite hide his grin as he shook the other man’s hand. “Don’t ever quit your day job and take the act on the road.”

Chuckling, Zack bobbed his head at Charli. “Ma’am. It’s good to see you again.”

“This is really nice, Sheriff.”

“Thanks.” He sat down in the chair across from them. “But please call me Zack.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay. Zack it is. And I insist you call me Charli.”

“Will do.” He looked at Dylan. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you later.”

Dylan glanced at her. “All right.”

After a few moments of chitchat, Zack stood. “I’ve got to make sure the Larsons have everything they need in the kitchen.”

“The Larsons?” she asked, taken aback. Most of what she’d heard about the family hadn’t been good. Siblings, Sam, Ella and Julie were admired for their shrewd business sense. But most people remembered their rough upbringing with an abusive stepfather and an alcoholic mother, which led to all three of them getting into trouble as teenagers.

“Yeah, they volunteer every year,” Zack said. “Sam tends the bar, Ella caters the shindig and Julie manages the dining room. Their real daddy was killed in Vietnam.” He said his farewells and headed off toward the kitchen.

Soon enough, people settled around the tables. Tom Miller and his wife, Sally, sat with them. A few moments later, silence fell over the hundred or so people gathered as a woman in the dress uniform of the Army stood and headed for the podium. As she passed a beautifully set table near the podium, she paused and saluted the six empty plates.

She cleared her throat and solemnly began speaking, riveting Charli with her words. “Set for six, the empty places represent Americans still missing from each of the five services–Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, Coast Guard–and civilians. This Honors Ceremony symbolizes that they are with us, here in spirit...”

Charli looked around as everyone stood at the woman’s request. She sensed Dylan stiffen beside her and glanced at him. He stood tall and straight, as did Tom and every other former or current service man or woman in the place. Even those whose old backs were normally stooped by hard work and age stood with pride. As the officer read from an index card, the “Honor Guard,” consisting of Zack, his uncle, Ella Larson, Tom Miller and two other men, each placed hats from the five branches of the military on the plates. Ella placed a cowboy hat on the sixth.

She had never witnessed such a moving service before. By the end, she wasn’t the only one sniffing back tears and reaching for tissues. Many of the men were, too.

She glanced up at Dylan and took his hand. He met her gaze with gray eyes swimming in unshed tears. When a tear dripped off his long dark lashes, she squeezed his hand.

After a few moments of reserved silence, Toby Keith’s
American Soldier
came from the speakers and quiet conversations resumed. Julie, Ella and several other waitresses from Ella’s Diner and the Longhorn began serving the meal of roast beef with all the fixings.

Sally Miller, who was the complete opposite of her shy husband, leaned over the table, her brown eyes wide with expectation. “I heard Rachel’s home on leave because she’s deploying to Afghanistan in a few weeks.”

“Rachel?” She looked up at Dylan.

He nodded toward the redheaded woman who had narrated the ceremony. “Major Rachel McPherson. One of Kyle’s older sisters. She’s an Army nurse. Doesn’t come home much. Bad blood between her and her older sister, Audrey Cartwright.”

“Oh.”

The meal was good, and Tom and Dylan talked about the ranch and the work on the house. While the men talked, Sally filled her in on all the old gossip for the reason why there was
bad blood
between the McPherson sisters. Of course, she had already guessed it–Lance Cartwright, Zack’s first cousin and son of Mayor Paul and Winnie Cartwright. The thrill of the telling gone, Sally pulled out pictures of her five-month-old son.

“He’s beautiful,” Charli said of the Easter photo of little Tommy, Jr., who, in her opinion, had been aptly named.

She couldn’t help but wonder who her own baby would look like. Would he have her red hair? Dear Lord, she hoped not. Would he look like Dylan? Or some hybrid of them?

She handed the picture back and caught Dylan gazing at her. He rested his hand on her thigh under the table and gently squeezed. Was he wondering the same thing?

After the meal, the speeches began. They weren’t long, and she found ninety-one-year-old Henrietta Parker’s adventures as a female pilot during WWII hilarious.

Charli noticed Ella standing near the bar and stood. “Excuse me.”

Ella looked up with a tentative smile on her lips. “Hello. It’s good to see Dylan here.”

“Yeah. I think he needed this.” She glanced at Ella’s older brother.

Sam nodded his head. “Can I get you anything, Miz?”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head and met Ella’s eyes. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Ella put out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Here’s fine.”

“How’s Annie?”

“I’ve had her to two shrinks in Waco. She refuses to talk to them.”

“Have you considered my offer to speak with her?”

Ella looked beyond her, and Charli glanced over her shoulder to find Dylan standing behind her. Ella said, “She thinks you’re just another shrink.”

“How about we surprise her?”

Ella shrugged. “Knock yourself out. What do you have in mind? I’m at my wits’ end. She stole a hundred bucks out of the cash till.” She sighed, and the woman’s exasperation shot through Charli clear to her toes. “I know she bought drugs with it.”

She caught Dylan’s look of concern from her peripheral vision, but she ignored him. This was between her and Ella. She had to help Annie, who was so much like she’d been at that age, there was no way she could turn her back. “Is she still waiting tables at your place?”

Ella snorted. “When she shows up.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Call me some morning when she’s at work. I’ll swing by at the lull between breakfast and lunch.”

Ella’s lips twisted in a sad half-smile, and she looked at Dylan before answering. “All right.” She slid off the barstool. “I’d better get back to work.” She headed for the kitchen door with her shoulders stooped.

Sam stepped close and leaned over the gleaming bar. “That girl means the world to my sister, Miz Monroe. If there’s anything you can do to help her, I’d appreciate it.” He nodded at Dylan. “Quinn, it’s good to see you somewhere other than in my honky-tonk.”

Before Dylan or she could respond, Sam turned to take an order from a couple of older men.

Dylan narrowed his eyes, and she squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

After a beat, he nodded.

* * * *

Dylan found Zack talking with Rachel McPherson and a uniformed National Guardsman. Rachel smiled at him and stepped forward to hug him. “Hello, Dylan.”

“Welcome home, Rach.” He stepped back from his cousin. “But I hear you’re going back to Afghanistan.”

She shrugged and brushed at wisps of bobbed auburn hair that had fallen into her face. “I’ll be in a field hospital near Kabul. Hopefully, this is my last trip over there. I hope to get promoted to light colonel and go to the War College in Pennsylvania next year. Then I can take a stateside command.”

“I never thought you’d make a career out of the military. Why don’t you get out? You could get a civilian job anywhere.”

She patted his arm. “Someday I may. Hey, you take care of yourself.”

“You too, Rachel.”

After she left and Zack completed his conversation with the Guardsman, he turned to Dylan. “I got the results back from the Rangers.”

“I figured.”

“Just as we suspected. Only a trace of poison, which was only in the hay from the feeders.”

He glanced over at Charli, who was having an animated conversation with Zack’s once-famous, ex-hippy mother, Jackie McGinnis Cartwright. He looked back at Zack. “Now what do we do?”

Zack thrust out a breath and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Nothing but wait. We don’t have any evidence that it’s Kyle–or Leon.”

“Then I suggest we find some.”

* * * *

Dylan helped Charli into the passenger side of her car and then got behind the steering wheel. After they were on the road, heading to the ranch, he said, “Annie Greenberg is a troublemaker. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to get tangled up with her.”