Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1) (18 page)

N
o one at the table spoke. The stunned silence hung heavy and awkward, surrounding the small group of four.

Jason stared down at the table.

Randi gave BJ a horrified questioning look.

Robby just shook his head.

BJ didn’t know what to think or where to look. Fortunately, Sidney chose that moment to deliver dinner. Nothing more was said about Jason’s wife or the fact that he’d led BJ to believe he was a married man, or had he? He just never corrected her misconception.

Not knowing whether to cry or rejoice, BJ felt relieved knowing she hadn’t lusted after another woman’s husband, freeing her of guilt. All this time she’d battled the attraction and felt remorse over her wayward thoughts. Where Jason was concerned, she still had a battle to wage. Knowing he was free would be harder than ever to not succumb to her feelings for him.

“Well, shall we eat? I’m famished.” Randi picked up her fork and dove into the baked chicken and stuffing like a starving refugee. “Mmm, this is really good. You have a wonderful cook.”

BJ knew her friend was working hard to bring a little normalcy to an otherwise charged and uncomfortable situation. Jason, silent as a monk, didn’t acknowledge Randi’s comment.

“Martha came with the house, sort of.” BJ glanced at Jason. “I’m not certain how long she has worked here. Do you know?”

By the baffled look on Jason’s face, he didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. “Sorry?”

“How long has Martha worked for your aunt?”

“Not sure. Probably thirty-five years or better. She was hired before I arrived on the scene. Sidney’s the one to ask.” Jason looked thoughtful. “He was hired by my Uncle Victor, Madelyne’s husband. And Uncle Victor died two years before I was born.”

“Well, all I’ve got to say is Martha has my vote for cook of the year.” Randi closed her bright, red lips around a bite of stuffing, shutting her eyelids for a moment to savor the taste. “This is food to die for.”

Robby, like a salivating puppy begging for a scrap, and unable to get his fill of Randi, watched her every move.

She ignored him.

“What prompted you to come to town? Just passing through?” For once Robby’s notable charms didn’t affect Randi.

“Don’t know.” Randi looked pointedly at BJ. “Why don’t I let BJ tell us. Why am I here?”

“It can wait ’til later when we’re alone.” BJ gave her a pointed look to
drop it
.

Randi glanced around the table. “We’re among friends. I’m sure they’re as anxious to know
why
as much as I am.”

This wasn’t exactly the venue BJ wanted to disclose her plans. But since Jason was on the board, she’d receive his reaction firsthand this way. “I had thought to ask you privately. However, since you seem bent on including one of our town’s finest in uniform and Jace in on my plans …” BJ smiled at both men and then at her friend. “How ’bout moving back to Serenity to become head of placement for Heritage House?”

B
J’s bedroom door swung open, hitting the doorstop. She flinched, snatched her pistol from the nightstand drawer, pivoted, gun raised.

Randi, stormed inside BJ’s room, stopped a few feet away with a look of horror and hands in front of her in defense. “BJ. Whoa. It’s me, Randi.”

“I can see who it is.” BJ lowered the gun, replacing it inside the drawer.

Randi studied her looking for answers. “What’s going on? Why the gun?”

“Bounding into my room like some demented person caused my knee-jerk reaction. Sorry. Maybe knock next time.”

“What’s happened to make you so skittish?” Randi landed on BJ’s bed in typical Randi fashion—sprawled, belly down, across the bed, pillow shoved under her chin, looking up at BJ.

Acting nonchalant BJ answered, “A break-in the first night. So I thought it wise to have it by my bedside while I’m sleeping. And you slamming into my room caused a knee-jerk reaction, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Randi studied her for several seconds. “About that bombshell you dropped at dinner. Why didn’t you tell me when I first got here? Now how will it look to Robby and Jason if I refuse? Sour grapes is how.”

“Were you planning on refusing?” BJ raised her brow in question.

“No, but …” She shrugged.

Seeing Randi’s multicolored polka-dot PJs and the sprigs of flyaway hair that had escaped her sagging ponytail, BJ smiled. Randi had a comical, but loveable, deranged look.

She knew if she laughed it would only exasperate Randi more, BJ sat down on the bed beside her friend. “I was going to talk to you about it over dinner. But you insisted on having dinner partners and including them in on my surprise. What else could I do? And what’s the harm anyway?”

Randi huffed. “Plenty.” She bounced over to the edge of the bed to sit next to BJ, glancing down at her floppy-eared bunny slippers. “I don’t want Robby knowing my business. And furthermore, I left this town to get away from that asylum, not to come back and be the placement manager.” She turned toward BJ. “What were you thinking?”

The cinders in Randi’s eyes had dampened considerably.

 “What was I thinking? Do you have to ask?” She held Randi’s hand. “I want my closest and dearest friend, who knows the inside-out of the placement business, to come live with me for at least a year and do what she does best. Place children with loving families. How ’bout it?”

She watched Randi soften. “You’ve been saying for the last couple of years you needed a change. Here’s your opportunity. Give your notice and work with me. Or you could take a leave of absence for a month, give it a try, and see if the job fits. If it doesn’t, I’m sure I could find you a position elsewhere or DHR would take you back in an instant.”

Randi looked down at her well-manicured nails.

“To sweeten the pot, you move in here with me, all expenses paid. I’ll even give you a hefty salary, more than you’re probably worth.” BJ smiled at Randi when she saw her brows inch up and the combative look in her eyes. “Which, of course, will be negotiable. In fact, you name the figure. I’ll pay.”

“Working with children who are already waiting for adoption would be a whole lot easier than working to get children free from their abusive parents. I wouldn’t have to jump through hoops to set up the adoption for the Heritage kids.”

BJ wanted to shout for joy, but knew better. She had hooked her. Or at least Randi sounded like she was wavering on the fence and about to fall on her side. She’d have to play it cool, or Randi just might show her obstinate side and walk.

“You would have free reign with the children. No hassles. Just qualifying and interviewing perspective parents. The legal paperwork would be handled through Mr. Hampton’s office, so you would have none of that, except the preliminary documents. But at first, I want you to go over the books, make sure everything is running smoothly—no padded expenses, all the papers in order. And I would even agree to hiring help if you need someone.”

“Sounds like a job made in heaven.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You haven’t met the headmistress yet.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, a little. I think she’ll be okay. But if not, I leave that up to you. You have full run of the operation. I want you to have people you can trust to do what you tell them to do.”

“I’ll do it, but on my terms. Temporary at first. If it works for me, I’ll stay.”

BJ hugged her friend. “Oh, thank you. When can you start?”

B
J
decided that work would be better than tossing in bed. She headed down the stairs to her studio. When she passed the door to Madelyne’s old office she hesitated. Until now, she hadn’t desired to explore the woman’s personal office. However, at this moment she had an unexplainable urge to go inside and investigate the madam’s domain.

Sidney had explained from the first that Madelyne had left strict instructions before her death to keep the room clean but under no circumstances was the room to be disturbed. She wanted the new owner, BJ, to be the one to say what was to be done to the room’s contents.

BJ still couldn’t quite grasp the concept that this huge estate belonged solely to her. What was the woman thinking when she made out her will? Daft most likely.

Thinking the door might be locked, BJ found that it opened with ease. Instead of stepping inside, she stood a moment breathing in the aroma of roses with a hint of spice. The smell pulled her back to when she was seven at Heritage House. Ms. Madelyne had found BJ sitting in her room all alone, a book in hand, tears running down her cheeks. She’d been banished to her room for some infraction, which BJ couldn’t remember. The woman sat down on the bed beside her, gently enveloped BJ in her arms and began wiping the tears away with a silky piece of cloth she’d retrieved from her pants pocket. The heady smell of roses with a hint of spice surrounded them making her feel comforted, just as now.

Fumbling on the wall for the light switch, BJ felt more like an interloper in spite of the fact everything legally belonged to her. The room, tastefully furnished with antiques, not heavy-handed but with a delicate grace, reflected a bygone era and a lady’s office without a hint of masculinity.

BJ knew, without pulling open the drapes, the windows opened to a view of the front lawn and drive, all easily visible from the Queen Anne desk. She walked to the brownish kid-leather desk chair, and before sitting down, ran her hand over the smooth burl wood surface of the desktop. A leather protector, not a cheap one like BJ’s on her desk, but top grain leather handmade to specification, sat center stage with a silver and glass inkwell on a silver platform holding a magnificent matching pearl and silver inlay fountain pen and pencil with a lady’s letter opener.

She lifted each exquisite instrument, feeling the weight and balance, and knew these were not for show. Madelyne actually used them.

Curious as to what a woman of wealth would possess but leave behind for the next owner to rummage through and maybe throw away, BJ, one by one, opened the desk drawers. Most were empty except for the stationery and envelopes with an embossed ‘L’, an assortment of expensive writing instruments, tape, scissors, stapler, and other odds and ends normally found in most desks except these were of the best quality.

The file drawers, one on each side, held empty hanging folders, as though waiting for occupation. When she pulled the handle on the center drawer, BJ found a single odd-looking key taped to an envelope with her name—Billy Jo Spencer—written in delicate letters across the front.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the envelope, afraid of what she might find inside. She pulled the key from the envelope sitting it on the leather mat. Reaching for the letter opener, she zipped through the top of the thick envelope and drew out several sheets of stationery, the same type she had seen in the drawer. The paper crackled as she unfolded the letter. Her fingers shook as her mind whirled with all sort of imaginings.

My dearest Billy Jo …

I
t’s been quiet. Nothing moving. Will you be all right? Or do you want me to stay awhile?”

Reuben knew his father was concerned for his safety, but sometimes he wished he wouldn’t treat him like the baby of the family, after all, he was twenty-one. “Go on home, Dad. I’ll be fine.” He held up his Stanley Thermos and gave it a shake. “I have plenty to hold me ’til morning.”

“Do you have your cell phone and a full charge?”

“
Yes, Dad
.” He wanted to say
enough with the worry
, but didn’t.

“This is nasty business, and I don’t want you ending up like one of those calves.”

Noticing the strain on his father’s face, Reuben laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look. I’ll be fine.” He gave his dad a grin. “But if you don’t get home soon, Mom’ll have all the ranch hands out looking for both of us.”

His dad laughed. “You’re probably right. Well, I’ll see you around six-thirty, seven. Mama will have breakfast ready. So don’t be late.”

“I won’t, Dad.” Reuben watched his dad untie Spirit and leap up into the saddle, waiting for that one last instruction he knew would be coming.

“Reuben?”

So predictable.
He rolled his eyes, instantly grateful his father couldn’t see his reaction. That would have cost him another five minutes of lecture. “Yeah, Dad?”

“If they come tonight, don’t be a hero. Call the house immediately. Fire a warning shot like we discussed. Make sure you’re well covered. There could be two or more of them. So be careful.”

“I will. Later.”

His father rode off without another word. Reuben watched until he was well out of sight. He settled back against the scrub oak. Legs outstretched, ankles crossed, he propped his shotgun against the trunk within easy reach.

Night watch wasn’t terribly exciting, but he hoped he’d run across the culprits who were slaughtering the calves before they killed more. He had no use for dirtbags that would slice open the bellies of innocent animals and leave them to rot. He spat on the ground purging his mouth of the bitter taste the killing caused.

Grabbing his Thermos and twisting off the lid, he poured out the steaming liquid. The aroma of coffee caused his stomach to clench as he anticipated the first swallow. Sipping from the cup, he looked over the settled herd. With the warmth of the coffee spreading through him, he relaxed and settled in for the long night ahead.

A bellowing calf drew Reuben’s attention. Thankful for the moonlight, he searched through the shadows and found a baby longhorn in the midst of a tight cattle cluster. When the little one butted its way through and stopped next to a large heifer, Reuben smiled. He almost laughed when he saw the mama nudge the calf showing her displeasure which brought about another bellow.

He gave a quick check over the herd for any sign of a vermin of the two-legged variety, but didn’t see anyone. Down across the creek, he spotted a tiny pinpoint of light grow then nothing.
Sam and his cigarettes
. Knowing Sam was at his post gave Reuben a small amount of security even though a good distance away. However, when he glanced in the general area where the other night guard should have been, he didn’t catch any movement there.
Must be hunkered down
.
Hopefully not asleep.

How long he’d been sitting in this position, he wasn’t sure. But one thing for sure, his legs were cramping. An hour and a half, maybe two? He had no way of knowing, but he wouldn’t risk compromising his position just to check the time.

He shifted, hoping to draw the kinks out of his legs and regain some circulation. To his left, a twig snapped and he arrested his movements. His fingers circled the scatter gun, pulling the butt slowly down on top of his knee. He lifted the barrel slightly, moving the shotgun into position. Animal or man, he’d be ready.

His eyes pierced the darkness, alert for movement. His insides clinched with anticipation.

A bush rustled, not much, but enough to know it had to be either a four-legged critter or a human. Gravel crunched beneath a boot.
Human
.

In his mind he had practiced this moment, but he prayed it wouldn’t come to the point of having to kill someone. Hopefully, the person would stand down with a warning shot. But he was prepared to do whatever it took to stop him.

Within seconds, a long shadow emerged and separated from a scraggly elm. The man walked in Reuben’s direction.

Reuben remained still, not allowing so much as a breath for fear he’d be detected.

The darkened form took shape. A stout man, a little over six feet, slight limp, headed straight for Reuben. At first, he thought the man had seen him beneath the oak. By the dark figure’s ease of movement, Reuben knew he hadn’t.

The moon lit the culprits profile as he ambled down the knoll, angling in the direction of the herd. Relief flooded Reuben but was soon replaced with knowledge.

He recognized the man, and he had no business on the ranch, especially this time of the morning. When a glint of metal caught Reuben’s attention, he knew he had the guilty party in his sights.

Calculating every move, Reuben stood and then began to follow, keeping his distance and presence from being known. The scumbag got within twenty feet of the herd but wasn’t yet within the fence.
Time to stop him.

Lifting the shotgun, Reuben flipped the safety off, but before he could squeeze the trigger, small pebbles struck his boots and the back of his pant leg. He twisted to look up the hill when a blast rent the air.

A tremendous blow ripped through Reuben’s shoulder. He flew backward, head bouncing several times on the ground causing flashes of light, shattering into a million pieces. He tumbled downward, gaining speed, until his stomach slammed into a fence post. The taste of grit mingled with blood filled his mouth. The throbbing pain in his chest and shoulder excruciating. Consciousness began to fade.

Somewhere in the distance, curses tore through the silence of the predawn morning. Running. A shower of rocks. The crunch of gravel. Something jabbing his ribs, yet Reuben couldn’t open his eyes.

“You killed him, you fool. It was only supposed to be cattle, not a cowhand.”

“What did you want me to do, let him gun you down from behind?”

Hands grabbed at Reuben, rolling him over. His eyelids were too heavy to open but he recognized the voices.

“This is not a cowhand. This is Reuben, Mateo’s son. Grab his feet. Let’s move him under that bush where no one will stumble across him.”

Reuben wanted to cry out when the jerking of his arms caused explosive pain. The movement of being carried tore his insides to bits, but he couldn’t cry out. They dumped him on the ground then rolled him under a bush that tore at his flesh. He offered a prayer of thanks that the torture was over. Another gun blast. The bullet slammed into his body igniting his chest.

“Let’s get outta here before someone comes.”

Hurried steps caused gravel and rocks to shower down on him. The sound of retreat faded into nothing. Reuben wondered if his dad would find him, or if he would die here alone? The pain eased as the blessed peace of nothingness closed in around him.