Lone Heart Pass (25 page)

“Thatcher, what's...”

“Don't talk,” Thatcher whispered. “Just listen. No matter what, don't say a word. I'll call you back when I'm safe.”

The door opened as Thatcher flattened beneath the bags.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Charley
April 10

C
HARLEY
ROLLED
SLOWLY
out of bed. He couldn't sleep. Maybe it was his tired muscles aching or maybe it was his longing to touch Jubilee sleeping so close beside him.

Or maybe, he realized, it was the sense that something was wrong, hanging in the night like a dense fog.

He crossed to the window and stared out over the sleeping land. The knowledge that he loved Jubilee brought him more worry than comfort. After all, he wasn't any good at love. What if he messed it up? The only thing he'd ever been good at was ranching. Maybe he should just stick to that.

Only how would he survive without Jubilee? She'd become a part of him.

The silence of the living room drew him more than any noise he heard. With his mind full of worry over how to love Jubilee, he walked through the house.

It took him a minute to realize what was wrong.

Thatcher wasn't in his bed.

Charley checked the bathroom, the kitchen, the porch.

When he turned on the lamp by his couch bed, Charley noticed Thatcher's boots were missing, but his crutch was still leaning against the corner.

He plowed his fingers through his hair. Yesterday, he'd been aware of Thatcher listening when he and Tim O'Grady were talking about how they needed to help out with the investigation. Tim had said something about going back into the Breaks and poking around. Charley had told him it would be too dangerous, but Tim said they had to do something to help.

After Charley waved goodbye to Tim, he'd helped Thatcher in the truck. The kid had muttered something about the Breaks not being safe for either of them.

He'd tried to laugh the boy's warning off. Thatcher was still hurting—he didn't need to worry about them.

Only if Thatcher was missing now, he could only be one place. He must have got it in his head to do the job that he'd claimed was too dangerous for either of the men.

He was going into the Breaks at night with an injured leg not near enough healed to hold his weight.

Charley walked back to his bedroom and collected his hat, boots and a jacket.

“What is it?” Jubilee whispered in a sleepy little voice that made him smile.

“Thatcher's gone. I'm going after him.”

She sat up. “He can take care of himself.”

Charley stretched across the covers and kissed her. “I'll be back soon. Can you stay here and keep an eye on Lillie?”

“Of course.” Jubilee leaned back on her pillow. “Only if you're both not back for breakfast, I'm coming after you.”

He took one last look back at her from the doorway, thinking that it was quite possible that he'd love this one woman a little more every day of his life. How could anyone not see that Jubilee's heart was as big as Texas?

A moment later, he was running for his truck as he called Tim. O'Grady had been to the Breaks with Thatcher a few times looking for clues about the burlapped man—maybe he'd have some ideas about where they should look first. Waiting until morning would have probably made more sense, but Charley needed to know Thatcher was safe now.

The wannabe writer didn't sound as though he was asleep when he answered.

“Tim, meet me at the turnoff to the Breaks. Thatcher is missing. I think he's gone to do what we talked about doing yesterday. He may need help.”

For once, Tim didn't talk. He simply said, “I'm on my way.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Thatcher
April 10

T
HE
SMELL
OF
decay and dirt almost choked Thatcher as he tried to breathe beneath the layers of burlap bags.

The brothers were in the house, cussing, snorting, and passing gas like cows who'd eaten far too many dandelions.

Both men also sounded drunk. They were bragging about how they'd put old Bull in his place tonight. One said he was glad they didn't have to stuff the big guy in a bag. The other claimed Bull wouldn't fit.

As they sat down at their table, one began arguing about how they should have just clubbed the sheriff when he was up here snooping around and bagged him. It would have been a lot cleaner than shooting him. Since they didn't kill him they'd have to go back and finish the job now.

Thatcher tried to hold the phone still, but it wasn't easy. He'd never been so afraid in his life. He was three feet away from two killers. Correction: drunk killers. They passed a jug of homemade whiskey between them as they relived how they'd stormed into the Saturday night prayer meeting and taken over the crowd.

Thatcher didn't hear Weathers say a word. The deputy must know that if he'd made a sound, Thatcher would be the next person killed. He had no idea how much the deputy could hear. Probably most of the shouting and cussing.

An hour dripped by. One of the brothers had passed out and the other seemed determined to finish off the jug.

Thatcher waited. He'd clicked off the phone when they stopped talking, only he couldn't move until he had an opening. His injured leg was cramping, but he didn't dare move.

Finally, the only brother awake staggered out the back door, unzipping his pants as he walked.

The moment Thatcher heard the back door pop closed, he thought of darting for the front door. But, what if he made a sound and woke the other brother snoring three feet away?

His leg was throbbing in pain, but his heartbeat drowned out reason. This might be his one chance. Run or die. The thought that his body would fit in one of the bags that now covered him was no comfort.

Just as he managed to collect his courage, the back door opened and the wandering brother staggered in.

Thatcher's chance was gone. He'd have to stay put until the brothers left in the morning. If they left in the morning.

A sound of whistling came from outside. Then the crunching of steps coming toward the cabin.

The brother who was awake hit his sibling on the shoulder so hard he almost fell out of the chair. “Wake up. Some drunk's come up our path.”

“He'll be sorry he bothered us this time of night,” the sleepy brother said as he cussed his way to the door.

Both brothers laughed, excited at the thought of having a victim showing up at their door.

“Hey, Dulapse brothers!” A man's voice yelled from outside. “You got any moonshine for sale?”

Thatcher almost swore aloud. The drunk storming the gates was Tim O'Grady.

Both the brothers managed to stagger to the door. They must have realized they were too drunk to fight, so they took turns cussing Tim out and ordering him off their land.

Thatcher was just thankful they didn't shoot him, especially when Tim started asking questions like where could he get some pot this time of night.

Both brothers moved outside and started yelling that they'd kill him if he ever came near their place again.

Thatcher saw his chance. He climbed out from under the bags and limped to the back door. His weak leg didn't seem to work at all. With one hand braced against the wall, he hopped, dragging his injured leg like dead wood behind him.

Fear overrode pain in his brain.

A foot beyond the back steps, he spotted a lean shadow coming toward him. Before he could scream, Charley whispered, “I got you, That.”

He looped his arm around his ribs and Thatcher decided if they lived through this night he'd take on religion because right now the rancher was as close to being an angel as Thatcher would probably ever see.

Half carrying him down the rise, Charley ran toward what looked like his pickup parked just beyond the tree line.

“My truck?”

“We'll get it later,” Charley said. “Right now we're getting you out of here.”

Thatcher's leg couldn't keep up. About the time he thought of telling Charley to go on without him, he felt Tim's arm lock around his other side. Together the two men ran, with Thatcher hanging between them like a rag doll.

They were in the truck and flying down the road before Thatcher could take a full breath.

A minute later a line of patrol cars blinked on their lights. They looked like Christmas lights decorating the lane from the Breaks to County Road 111.

“That'll be Weathers and his buddies. He called in for backup while he was recording everything coming through on your phone. They are going in as soon as we're out of the way.” Charley laughed. “You cracked the case, kid!”

“What about me? I was great back there,” Tim added as they passed the line of patrol cars.

When he reached the county road, Thatcher hit five on his phone.

“Thatcher!” Weathers answered before the phone even rang more than a beep.

“I'm out. Charley said you heard everything?”

“I heard it all.” Weathers sounded as if he might have a heart attack and he hadn't even been in the cabin. “Get your ass to the sheriff's office as fast as you can. I've called in backup from every county around. Sheriff Brigman said he'll be waiting to take your statement personally once you're safe.”

“Will do.”

A few miles down the road, a highway patrol car swung in behind Charley's pickup with lights flashing, and Thatcher relaxed.

By the time they reached town, another cruiser had joined them.

Charley and Tim both helped him out of the truck when they reached town. “You did good, That,” Charley said. “But, when we get back home Jubilee and I are going to want to have a long talk about you sneaking out. You scared us to death.”

Thatcher smiled. “I never had nobody who cared before.”

“I know. How about we settle on you leaving a note next time? We're not trying to cage you, That, just keep up with you.”

“Fair enough.” Thatcher didn't care if his leg hurt or that he almost died tonight. It just felt good to know someone worried about him.

As they walked into the sheriff's office, Tim looked at Charley. “You know, Collins, you're not old enough to be the boy's father.”

“I know.” Charley laughed. “But he's aging me fast. Between him and Jubilee I'll be an old man by the end of the year.”

Brigman looked up from his desk. He looked pale, maybe even a little green around the edges, but the sheriff was back where he belonged and Thatcher didn't care how many lectures he had to sit through.

Within half an hour, the office was packed with lawmen. Everyone in the room had heard the brothers talking. They'd gone in and arrested the Dulapses as soon as they knew Thatcher was safe. And without a shot being fired.

Thatcher sat back, relaxing. Trying to take it all in. Brigman had been collecting evidence on them, but he couldn't get enough for a case. Someone had even sent a few notes telling Brigman to stay out of the Breaks if he wanted to stay healthy. Once the search of their cabin was over, Thatcher had no doubt the sheriff would have plenty of handwriting samples to compare. Highway patrolmen had been watching the road in and out of the Breaks since the sheriff was shot. They saw Cap Fuller take Thatcher in to get his truck. They saw him go in alone after dark.

Like guardian angels, they'd been at the county line waiting for him to come out. He didn't know it, but they were making sure he'd be safe from then on.

So many facts were flying, Thatcher couldn't keep up. All the clues were falling into place. The Dulapse brothers had killed the tattooed man in order to take his land. They'd shot Sheriff Brigman for getting too close. And Thatcher was shot because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Charley handed him a can of Coke, then sat down beside him.

“Did you know about all this investigating that was going on, Charley?”

“I knew some. That's why I put rifles above every door. That's why we tried to keep an eye on you. We don't want you hurt.”

“Oh, I thought the rifles were some kind of strange decorating habit you had.” Thatcher laughed at his own joke.

When he looked down he noticed the leg of his jeans was wet. As he pulled the denim up, he saw that the bandage over his wound was more red than white.

“Oh, hellfire and snot,” he muttered. “I'm dripping again.”

Charley didn't say a word; he just stood and caught Weathers's eye. “We're on our way to the hospital again.”

Weathers stepped away from his fellow officers and picked Thatcher up as if he was no bigger than a baby.

On his way to Charley's truck, Weathers said, “We'll take the case from here, but I talked to Brigman and he wanted me to make sure you know that what you did was foolish and dangerous. It also cracked the case.”

As he sat Thatcher down in the pickup, he added, “One of the guys will lead you in. You're about to make the trip to Lubbock faster than you ever thought possible.”

“Could you do me a favor, Fifth?” Thatcher figured they were friends now. “Could you not tell anyone about this? I don't know how much hugging and patting I can take. I'm injured, you know.”

“If that's the way you want it.”

Charley started his truck, and in minutes they were on their way back to the emergency room.

Thatcher worried that the chubby nurse might sit on him like she promised if he didn't take care of his leg. The vampire would probably want more blood and the one with the evil left eye was probably waiting around just to scare him.

He was relieved to find only an intern who cleaned up the blood, checked the wound, added a few stitches and wrapped him up. He also handed Charley more pain pills and antibiotics.

“Now stay off that leg for a while, kid,” the intern lectured.

“All right, I'll try. But I was running for my life.”

“Sure, kid,” the intern answered, looking terminally bored.

Charlie and Thatcher laughed all the way home about how the intern thought they were kidding.