Lone Star Legacy (6 page)

If she’d been anyone else on the planet, he might’ve caved at the reluctance in her voice and let her off the hook. But the more he saw of her, the more she fascinated him on every level.

He wanted to find out what made her tick. Why she was so reticent about her past. Hell, he wanted to tease her into going out on a dance floor, just so he could hold her in his arms and find out if she was as soft and sexy as she looked, because even now she had his dormant hormones slowly coming out of hibernation. “Well?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Then I guess I can help you out.”

It was the most lukewarm acceptance he’d ever heard, but it was a start.

S
HE
’
D SPENT THE REST
of the day and evening stewing about her foolish decision, but at around midnight Beth glanced at the clock one last time and finally tried to fall asleep by counting and recounting the reasons that Joel McAllen was a very bad idea.

He was far too handsome for his own good, and she knew just how much a risk that could be. Twice this afternoon she’d found herself daydreaming about behavior entirely inappropriate for a woman widowed just a year.

He was a cop, and that presented an even greater risk.

And with an impressionable young daughter and the tiny apartment the two of them shared, she’d certainly never consider a short-term affair.

Joel was wrong in every way. So why, after saying yes, had she felt her heart lift?

An hour later, Sophie’s whimpers awakened her from a troubled sleep. Bleary-eyed, she stumbled into the next bedroom and sat on the edge of Sophie’s bed to rest a gentle hand on the child’s forehead. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Stop!”
Sophie cried out, clearly still deep in dreams.
“Don’t hurt my daddy!”

It was the same nightmare she’d had a hundred times over during the past year, and it still didn’t make any sense.

Beth lifted her daughter into her arms and gently smoothed back the tendrils of hair clinging to Sophie’s damp forehead, then rocked her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Mommy’s here.”

Sophie murmured something and burrowed closer, as if seeking shelter from the demons that still plagued her.

The insurance investigators had said it was an utter miracle that anyone survived the car accident, though Sophie’s damage went beyond the physical. Six months of weekly visits with a children’s counselor had helped, but hadn’t totally eliminated her nightmares about her daddy’s blood. The sirens. The pain of her own injuries. Or the unexplainable and unconfirmed presence of a stranger who scared her still.

The counselor suggested that the stranger was a fabrication, a focal point for Sophie’s terror over a situation too overwhelming for her to comprehend. The first people on the scene had been a passing highway patrol and then the paramedics, and there hadn’t been any threatening strangers according to those eyewitnesses. But fabrication or not, the night terrors were frequent and awful, and Beth’s heart twisted at the images Sophie had to face in her dreams.

The phone rang—its harsh tone slicing through the quiet of night.

Beth settled Sophie back under her covers and ran for the phone.
Please, Lord, let this just be a wrong number.

But even before she picked up the receiver, she knew who it was.

“So you’re still there. Chose not to run? That’s good to know.” The muffled voice was intense, filled with loathing that sent her heart rate into overdrive. He rattled off a post office box address in South Chicago. “Here’s your last chance—send what I want, to this address. Priority. No signature required. You’ve got ten days, or next time, I won’t just be bringing matches.”

The line went dead.

He’d given her a deadline twice before. Once, he didn’t follow through. Several weeks after the second one, there’d been a break-in and a fire at her house.

Shivering she wrapped her arms around her self.
Oh, please, Lord…not again.

J
OEL EYED THE REMNANTS
of wallpaper festooning the living room of Beth’s upstairs apartment and grinned. “Tell me again—how long has this place been in your family?”

“I’m not sure. I think the records showed it was the late 1800s. Why?”

He’d come upstairs to ask her about the placement of shelves in the new cabinets he’d just finished installing downstairs. At his knock, she’d called out for him to come on in, though from the sounds of water splashing and Sophie’s giggles, she was busy with bathtime.

“Just curious.” He glanced again at the heavily flocked crimson paper. Most of it had been removed, but the remaining tatters seemed to portray buxom women in rather compromising poses.

“Hold on.” Sophie’s giggles and Beth’s laughter floated out into the living room. A few minutes later, the little girl bounced out of the bathroom clad in a purple nightgown with a ruffled hem, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face pink and glowing.

When he’d first seen Sophie, Joel’s heart had wrenched over all he’d lost, and his old guilt and grief had threatened to consume him. Even now, he couldn’t look at her strawberry blond hair and sweet little face without imagining what his own daughter would’ve looked like by now.

Sophie twirled, her arms outstretched, then raced to a basket by the sofa and grabbed an armload of picture books. “Can you read me stories? My daddy did.”

He felt the blood leave his face.
My daddy.
“I—”

Beth came around the corner, a towel slung over one shoulder. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, too, but the steam and the splashing had freed curly tendrils that framed her face, and her damp T-shirt clung to her curves. The look of exhaustion in her eyes turned to sharp awareness when her gaze collided with his. “I’ll read to you later, when you’re in bed, Sophie.”

“But, Mommy—”

“It’s time for your bedtime snack, okay? I’m sure Mr. McAllen wants to be going home soon. It’s late and he’s had a long day.” She nodded toward the kitchen table. “I’ve got cheese, crackers and juice all set.”

Sophie’s face fell, but she dutifully put the books back and trudged over to the table and climbed up on a chair.

“I…could have done it,” Joel said quietly.

“I just assumed you’d rather not.” Beth’s smile was bittersweet. “Her dad always said the stories bored him, to tell you the truth. And I’ve noticed that you don’t exactly like being around young kids.”

“It’s not that.” At the look of patent disbelief on Beth’s face, he tipped his head toward the basket of books and managed a smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve read the Fern Hollow books. They were my favorites.”

“Really.” She studied him for a moment, as if not quite sure of him. “And your most favorite?”

“Definitely Sigmund. For years, I maintained a fantasy about that crocodile coming to my house to eat cream buns.”

The disbelief in her eyes faded. “Mine is the one about the seasons. I just love the artwork in that one.” She bent to pick up a scattering of doll clothes at her feet. “So, what can I do for you?”

A sudden image flashed through his thoughts that had nothing to do with his work on her café, or children’s books, or the bawdy wallpaper on the—

Well, maybe the wallpaper.

She followed his gaze. “Nice, huh? The first layer was pink paisley, and that was bad enough. Under that were layers of purple pansies and 1970s burnt-orange-and-avocado stripes. The red-flocked paper must’ve been welded on in places, because it sure isn’t coming off.”

“It’s…unusual.”

“I don’t think you could accuse anyone in this branch of my family with good taste.” Her eyes danced. “I’m beginning to think my great-great-grandmother might’ve run a house of ill repute here. Not that there could be such skeletons in my family tree.”

“I’ll bet some of the old folks in town would know. You could even play that up in the décor now, if you wanted to do something unique.”

“The Bordello—Good Coffee and Fine Food? I’d probably offend half the town if I did that, and I’d confuse the other half. They’d wonder what I had for sale.” She braced her hands on her slim hips. “So, how is everything coming with cupboards downst—”

The telephone rang.

Instantly, the color drained from her face.

It rang again. She shot a quick look at the portable receiver on an end table, but made no move to answer it.

“Your phone is ringing,” he said gently. “Expecting a call?”

“No…yes.” She took an agitated step forward, then halted.

The phone rang again.

“Want me to get that?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he sauntered over and picked it up, held it out to her, then hit the talk button when she didn’t take it from him. “Crystal’s Café.”

Walt chuckled. “So you’re still there!”

“Working.”

“Of course. Never thought otherwise.” The smile in his voice was unmistakable. “Hey, could you tell Beth that I need her to come over to the clinic for a few minutes? An emergency came in, and I could use an extra set of hands. I also can’t find the Farnsworth file, now that she’s straightened everything up. She’s welcome to bring Sophie. I’ll pay her triple if she can help out.”

Joel handed the phone over. “Walt.”

He watched the play of emotions on her face. A deep sense of relief, then concern as she eyed Sophie, who was yawning at the table.

“I understand.” She listened for moment, then added, “I’ll be there” and hung up. “Your uncle says you’re good with kids and
totally
trustworthy. Would you mind staying with Sophie for a half hour, so I can go help him? She’s so tired that I hate to get her dressed and take her out again.”

Time stood still as ice rushed through Joel’s veins and terrible memories crashed through his thoughts.

The last time he’d watched his daughter while his wife was running errands.

The absolute, overwhelming panic and fear when he’d gone into the nursery and found his little girl…just a half hour after she’d settled down for a nap.

She’d lain there peacefully, as if sound asleep, soft music still playing on the tape recorder on her dresser.

But with that sweet and terrible lullaby, she’d been ushered from this world into the next. And nothing—not his trembling efforts at CPR, nor the efforts of the EMTs—had succeeded in bringing her back.

If he’d only checked her sooner.

Checked more often.

Stayed in the room with her, watching every breath she took. If he’d done everything right, maybe the world wouldn’t have ended for him, as well.

“I—I can’t. I’m sorry.” He strode to the stairs and descended them two at a time, jogged across the café and let himself out into the cool night air.

He drove like a bat out of hell, disregarding the speed limit on the dangerous curves five miles out of town. Missed the turnoff to his ranch by a half mile. Tires squealing, he did a U-turn in the center of the road.

It wasn’t until he pulled to a halt in front of his sprawling ranch-style home that he stopped to consider his actions.

He should have said something—
anything
—before taking off. Beth had needed his help, and he’d cut out on her like some foolish hothead of a teenager.

But he’d been unable to explain his sudden, razor-sharp sense of panic. The crushing weight of memories that had blindsided him at the thought of staying at her place—alone and responsible—for her little girl. And the worst of it was that his reaction had been totally illogical.

He’d driven as if the devil himself was behind him…yet knew he would never truly escape the past.

So now little Sophie was probably at the clinic in her pj’s, curled up on one of those uncomfortable reception area chairs and trying to sleep…and he’d blown off something that might be far more serious than his own troubled history.

The stark look of fear on Beth’s face had not been his imagination. She’d been
afraid
to answer that phone. Why?

Setting his jaw, he did a three-point turn and headed back to town at roughly the speed of light.

B
ETH STEPPED OUT
into the cool night air, with Sophie asleep in her arms. Walt stood behind her in the open doorway of the clinic.

“Sure you don’t need some help getting home?” he called after her.

“I’m almost there already. But thanks.” She crossed the parking lot, sidestepped through the wiry bushes marking the property line and wound through the assorted car parts and litter in her backyard. Glancing over her shoulder when she reached her door, she saw that he was still watching her, like a kindly grandfather making sure all was well.

She waved farewell to him, then shifted Sophie’s weight against her shoulder and reached out to unlock the door.

Footsteps crunched on the dry grass, approaching from the side of the house.

Oh, God.
Biting back a scream, she fumbled with the key. Missed. Tried again, her heart battering against her ribs and her palms slippery with sweat.

A tall figure came around the corner of the back porch. “Beth? It’s me—Joel.”

Her knees went weak with relief, her fear abruptly turning to anger. “You scared me half to death.”

“Your place was still dark, and the lights at the clinic went out when I pulled up in front of your house, so I figured you were on your way home. Here, let me help.” He lifted Sophie and settled her against his own shoulder, then followed Beth inside to the narrow entry and on up the stairs.

“Why did you come back?” She knew the tone of accusation in her voice sounded sharp and petty, but she couldn’t help it. “You were certainly in a rush to leave.”

From behind her, she heard him sigh heavily. “I…was.”

She kept moving on into Sophie’s room, settled her in bed, then came out to the living room and leaned a shoulder against the wall, her arms folded. “Well?”

“I—” He fell silent for a moment, his eyes bleak. “I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed.”

“I managed.” Her voice was clipped. “So you really didn’t need to come back.”

He moved farther into the room, surveying the dark shadows, then turned back to face her. “Why were you afraid to answer the phone, Beth?”

His grim expression demanded answers she didn’t want to give. Not if it meant stirring up his interest in her past. “I’ve…had a few prank calls,” she hedged. “I don’t know who—the caller ID always just says ‘unknown.’”

That part was certainly true, at any rate.

She pivoted into the kitchen to start a pot of decaf. Part of her wanted to tell him everything, but what could he do, after all? The Chicago police certainly hadn’t been any help.

“Did the calls start after you moved here, or before?” He soundlessly came up behind her, rested his large hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around.

“Well…” She sighed. “Before.”

His eyes were troubled as he studied her face. “Same guy?”

She shrugged away his concern. “These days, it’s all too easy to find a phone number on the Internet.”

“Has he threatened you in any way?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“He threatened to come after me.” She pulled back and turned to fill the coffeemaker reservoir, then pulled packages of filters and ground French roast from the cupboard. “But he probably doesn’t even know where I live…exactly.”

“No? Reverse lookup on the Internet will identify the address and name connected to almost any listed number. How did you list your new phone?”

“Crystal’s Café, with the street address.”

“Not your first and last name?”

“Nope.” She measured out the coffee, then shut the lid on the coffeemaker and flipped the switch on.

“But information on property ownership is online, too. Public county records, in most states. He could probably figure out the address, since you and your sister have owned this place for a number of years.”

“Five,” she whispered, bracing her hands on the counter and bowing her head.

Joel shook his head slowly. “So we’ve established that this guy called you even before you moved here. He has made threats. And, with a little work, he could trace you right to your door.”

A shiver ran down Beth’s spine.

“Which then brings up the big question—who is he, and why would anyone want to bother you?”

S
HE MANAGED TO HEDGE
with vague replies and nonchalance, and breathed a sigh of relief when Joel finally left. The dark look in his eyes promised that the subject was far from over, but what could she say? She didn’t know who her caller was. The big-city cops hadn’t been able to find him—and she’d seen the doubt in their eyes at any rate. Most of them probably figured the story was a weak cover for all the money Patrick had supposedly embezzled and hidden away.

And worse, her amateur investigation into Patrick’s activities had apparently triggered her stalker in the first place. So now, if the guy caught wind of someone asking too many questions of people back in Chicago, there might be a chance that he could panic. And until she found what he was after—if the items even existed—she just couldn’t risk it. Not for her sake, and especially not for Sophie’s. What would she do if he arrived at her door and forced his way inside?

Just a few months of work on the café and the sale of the property, then she and Sophie would be on their way to Montana. And with that move, she’d be smarter. She’d rent a post office box, get an unlisted phone number and figure out a way to avoid leaving any other sort of trail someone could follow.

Too tense to think of sleeping, she called Melanie to discuss her progress on the remodeling, then she quietly tackled the remaining wallpaper, soaking it with a sponge and trying to pry up the edges with a scraper. It came away in slimy, thumbnail-sized bits, a painstaking process that kept her hands busy but her mind free to dwell on all the troubles ahead.

By three o’clock in the morning her arms and fingers ached, and bed was a welcome thought.
So much for that,
she muttered to herself. Bracing her hands at the small of her back, she ambled to the windows facing the street and lifted one for a breath of fresh air.