Texas True (13 page)

He shook his head. “Even now it's not that easy to talk about Iraq. You can't imagine what it was like over there, seeing what I saw, doing what I had to do. I learned not to make friends after seeing so many of them die. And the people I had to kill as a sniper—Lord, so many, and not all of them soldiers. I didn't even try to keep count. By the time my tour was finished, the boy who'd kissed you good-bye was gone. The man who'd replaced him was somebody you wouldn't even want to know. The memories, the nightmares—and the worst of it, having to pretend everything was all right. You deserved a whole man, a clean man, something I would never be again.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes tracing the lines of shadow below his eyes. Such kind eyes. And they'd seen so much suffering. “So that's why you didn't write?” Her voice was a whisper of emotion.

“I wanted to. But I didn't know what to say. It was easier to disappear and hope you'd forget me.”

“I never forgot you.” Her hand slid up his cheek as he bent to brush her mouth with his.

The very tenderness of it evoked a tremor of longing. Her lips parted, seemingly of their own volition, wanting more, inviting more.

When he kissed her again, hard and deep, a moan rose in her throat. Her arms slid around his neck. They were spiraling out of control. They should stop. They had to stop. But the hunger of all those years apart was as powerful as a landslide. He was fully aroused, his erection straining the zipper of his jeans.

His arms caught her close, arching her against him. His hand found its way under the hem of her shirt, sliding up her ribs to cup one small, perfect breast, stroking the nipple through her lace bra. Her fingers raked his hair as she uttered little animal sounds—sounds that triggered a rush of memories. They were nineteen again, and nothing mattered except belonging to each other, body and soul. Now it was the same. So help her, if she burned in hell for it, she didn't want to stop—and neither did he.

But there were other forces at work.

A belching snort from the mare broke them apart. Lupita shuddered and lifted her tail as the mineral oil took full effect. The odor was enough to quell any thought of desire.

“Oh, good grief!” Natalie pulled away from it and stumbled over to stroke the mare's neck. “That's my girl,” she murmured, avoiding Beau's eyes. “You're going to be fine now, aren't you, Lupita?”

The moment had turned awkward. Beau darted out of the stall and returned with a shovel to scoop the mess and haul it outside. By the time he came back into the barn, Natalie had gathered her gear and was headed for the door. Her stoically frozen expression was enough to tell him that whatever had passed between them was over.

He stepped into her path. “Thank you,” he said. “You saved that mare's life tonight.”

“You'll get my bill in the mail.” She sounded shaken.

“Will you be all right?”

“Of course.” She stood in the light of the single bulb. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, as if she'd spent too many sleepless nights. “Beau, what happened back there . . .”

“I know,” he said. “Don't worry, it's already forgotten.” That was a lie and they both knew it.

“We can't go back to where we once were,” she said. “We've come too far over the years. We're different people now.”

He gazed down into her dark eyes—so much kindness there, so much truth. A lot of women might be capable of an affair, but Natalie wasn't made that way. “I understand,” he muttered. “Sorry things got out of control.” He ached to wrap her in his arms and hold her close one last time, but that would only complicate things. “I'll walk you to your vehicle.”

She shook her head. “Please don't. I'll be fine.”

He let her go then, listening as she loaded her gear and started the engine. As she pulled out of the yard, he stood in the doorway, watching the red dots of her taillights until they vanished around the bend.

 

Catching the muffled sound of a vehicle's engine starting, Lute slipped from his hiding place in the barn's deep shadows and exited the building through a rear door. Too bad he couldn't reach Slade right now. It would have been quite a sight if Slade had shown up and caught his wife and Beau in that hot embrace. But Slade was on his way back from a run to Mexico and wasn't answering his cell. All Lute could do was leave him the message.

He ought to let Stella know as well. Not that Stella would care, though she might get a good laugh out of the news that Slade's wife was getting it on with her old boyfriend. But that wasn't for him to decide. Stella was paying him to pass on everything he relayed to Slade, so he dutifully made the call.

Maybe this time would make a difference.

Lute was more than ready for his life to change. He was tired of being a shit shoveler for the Tylers, and being chewed out by Beau just for taking a nap was eating at him like a worm in his gut. The more he thought about the man, the more he hated him. He would like nothing better than to watch Slade pound him to a whimpering pulp.

Stella had said that Slade wanted to give him extra jobs. Maybe he'd learn more about that the next time he went into town. Lute wasn't lazy. But cleaning stables didn't fit his kind of ambition. Or put the kind of money in his pocket that he wanted.

 

The next morning, Beau was up early to head straight to the bunkhouse and catch Lute in bed. He stalked into the small single room. “Gear up!” he barked. “Put your pants on!”

“What'd I do now?” Lute grumbled as he crawled out of the quilts and reached for the jeans that were hanging on the bedpost.

“You damn near killed one of our best mares. Why did you give her all that grain? Any idiot would know better than to do that!”

Lute cast him a whipped dog look. “I didn't mean any harm by it. She was the last one to get fed, and I'd run out of hay. The grain was there, in a sack, and I thought, what'll it hurt this once?”

Beau squelched the urge to grab him and throw him against the wall. “That mare bloated because you were too damned lazy to go to the hay shed and get another bale! She would've died if I hadn't noticed her and called the vet.”

The vet.

A sly expression crept over Lute's face, causing Beau to wonder how much the little bastard knew. He always seemed to be slinking around, like he was spying on people.

Lute shrugged. “Then I guess it's taken care of. No harm done. I'll get the hay first thing after breakfast.”

“No, you won't. Get your gear together while I find a man to drive you to town. You're fired.”

Lute straightened. His lip curled in contempt. “My cousin Sky might have something to say about that.”

“Sky works for
me.
And I don't care if he's your blasted twin brother. If he was here, he wouldn't just fire you, he'd beat you till you couldn't piss standing up. The one thing he won't stand for is some idiot mishandling a horse. You're to be outside in fifteen minutes. Somebody will be coming by for you. He'll have your back pay. After that, I never want to see your lazy ass around here again!”

Beau strode downstairs and outside, his step lightened by the sureness that he'd done the right thing. Once he heard the story behind his cousin's dismissal, Sky would be fine with it. The man was slow to anger where most things were concerned, but Will had mentioned seeing him break the jaw of a cowhand he'd caught whipping one of the horses.

Jasper had just finished breakfast in the kitchen with Bernice. The old man would be free to drive Lute into town. Maybe he'd even impart a few words of wisdom into the young fool's ears. But Beau couldn't imagine Lute would listen.

Replacing him would be easy enough. With school letting out, there'd be plenty of husky kids eager to work for the Tylers and earn a little college money. He'd give Jasper a notice to post at Burger Shack when he got into town. Meanwhile, he could get one of the regular hands to do the job.

Before going back to the house, he stopped by the mare barn to check on Lupita. He found her nursing her foal, looking fine. She'd be hungry this morning. He'd get her some hay as soon as he saw Jasper off.

 

Lute had told the old man to let him off at the Blue Coyote. He climbed to the ground, shouldered his backpack, and watched as the pickup pulled away. The ride to town had taken forever, with the old-timer driving under the speed limit and lecturing him on the virtues of honesty and hard work all the way. Screw that! Lute swore silently. He'd shoveled shit for the last time.

Slade was bound to be sore about the firing. But maybe the news that he'd pretty much caught Slade's wife in the hay with Beau Tyler would make up for that. Lute was counting on Slade to give him more work. Maybe now that he'd proved his worth, he could even get his license and be hired as a driver. He could drive a pickup. How much harder could a big truck be?

The bar wasn't open yet, but peering through the gap between the plastic blind slats, Lute could see somebody moving around inside, cleaning or setting up. Maybe Stella would give him some work, too, or at least help him with a place to sleep. He had to find something. If he had to pay for food and a motel room, the back pay he'd gotten from the ranch wouldn't last him more than a few days. He could be faced with living on the street or hitching his way back to Oklahoma.

Stepping up to the door, he knocked. After a brief silence, it opened a few inches. Lute found himself staring into the sharp, black eyes of Nigel, the bartender.

“We're closed,” Nigel growled.

“I . . . I know,” Lute stammered, thinking he'd give his right arm to inspire the kind of fear that man did. “I need to talk to Stella.”

Looking past Nigel, Lute saw that Stella had come out of the back. He caught her eye. “It's all right,” she said. “Let the boy in.”

She motioned Lute to a stool at the bar and sat down next to him. She was dressed in a loose tank top that showed her black bra straps at the shoulders. With her face bare of makeup, she looked older than she had the first time he'd seen her, more like somebody's mother. Up close, he could see the graying roots of her hair.

A box of stale doughnuts lay open on the bar. Lute eyed them hungrily.

“Help yourself,” she said. “I was just going to throw them out. So tell me why you aren't at work. What happened?”

“Got fired.” Lute spoke while cramming his mouth full. “Damned Tyler blamed a sick horse on me. Wasn't my fault, but anyway, I need work and a place to stay. Is Slade around?”

“He won't be back till tonight. Can't say he'll be too happy about your getting fired. But I'll see that he gives you some kind of work and a back room at the trucking company. For me, it'll be better than having you at the ranch. Now you can really keep an eye on him.”

Lute stared at her, puzzled. “Slade's bound to be mad. What makes you so sure he'll hire me?”

“Because I own his business.”

“What?” The last of Lute's strawberry doughnut dropped to the floor.

Stella shrugged. “He was having money troubles last year, about to lose the place. I bought him out, and now it's mine. Not many people know that, including that stuck-up little wife of his, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it to yourself, even with Slade.”

“Sure. But I thought Slade had plenty of money.”

“He does—now that I've set him up with some of my business connections. We split whatever he brings in. But lately I've had the feeling he's been holding out on me, making deals on his own. That's why I want you to keep your eyes open. A hundred a week, just like before. Deal?” She held out her hand. Her fake crimson nails were long and sharp.

“Deal.” Lute accepted the handshake.

Stella smiled like a satisfied cat. “Now, how's about some coffee to go with those doughnuts, honey?” she said.

 

Why did so many emergencies have to happen at night? And why two nights in a row? Natalie struggled to keep her eyes open as she drove her SUV homeward over the back roads. Tonight her patient, a yearling stud, had been found tangled in barbed wire. The thrashing colt had to be tranquilized while the wire was clipped away and the deep wounds dressed.

The young horse would be all right, but Natalie was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed.

Slade was due home tonight. With luck, he'd be out cold. If she could sneak into the spare bedroom, where she'd been sleeping since the night she'd accused him of cheating, she might be able to get some needed rest.

Stifling a yawn, she sat up straighter behind the wheel.

The house was dark when she pulled into the drive and pressed the garage door opener. Slade's red pickup was there, parked in its usual place. Good, he must be asleep. She'd be less likely to disturb him if she went in through the clinic.

Taking her medical bag and the opener, she closed the garage from the outside and went around to the clinic's front door. Her hand found the lock and inserted the key.

The instant the door swung open, Natalie sensed something was wrong. Heart in her throat, she found the wall switch and turned on the light. Her knees went weak beneath her.

The clinic had been completely trashed, furniture ripped and overturned, glass broken, files scattered across the floor. The computer had been smashed, the instruments and medical supplies crushed as if they'd been stomped by heavy boots. There'd been no animals in the back room, thank heaven, but the cages were toppled and bent as if they'd been kicked across the room.

Everything was ruined.

N
atalie stared at the chaos that had been her clinic. From the back of her mind, a warning voice screamed,
Run! Get out of here!
But she was frozen in shock. She stood rooted to the spot, taking in the nightmare. What had happened here—and why?

Then, as Slade appeared in the hallway, she knew.

Even at a distance she could smell the liquor on him. He was dressed in rumpled work clothes, his beard unshaven, his eyes narrow red slits. Natalie willed herself to stand her ground as he lumbered toward her like an enraged bear. Somehow she found her voice.

“Stop right there, Slade Haskell! Have you gone crazy? Why in heaven's name did you do this?”

He paused, close enough to cut her off from the clinic's front door. “Because you been screwin' that bastard Beau Tyler. That's why!”

Natalie's heart slammed. She and Beau had come close to the brink, but what Slade was accusing her of hadn't happened. “That's not true! I was at the Tylers', but I went there to treat a mare with colic!”

He shook his doubled fist at her. “Don't you lie to me, you little whore. I got an eyewitness that seen the two of you in the barn. For all I know, you were there with him again tonight.”

“I was working! You can call—”

“Shut up, bitch! You're gonna pay right now! Then I'm goin' after Tyler and shoot his damned balls off!”

He was coming toward her again. Natalie's hand closed on a metal folding chair that was leaning against the wall. If he came at her, she'd need some way to defend herself.

As he lunged for her, she swung the chair with all her strength. The blow glanced off his forehead, leaving a red gash above his eye. He swore, yanked the chair away, and grabbed her arm.

Now she had nothing left. He was twice her weight and as strong as a steer. There was nothing she could do to stop the huge, rock-hard fist that crashed into the side of her face. Pain exploded in her head. Then mercifully, her vision spun into blackness.

 

She woke alone, in the dark. For the first few seconds, she was aware of nothing but a throbbing, swollen pain from her temple to her chin. As more awareness dawned, she realized she was lying faceup on the cold tile of the clinic floor with bits of shattered glass scattered underneath and around her.

Now the memory came back—Slade cursing her, his fist crashing home, the swirl of pain. And she remembered one more thing.

He said he was going after Beau.

She had to get up. Had to do something. She pushed herself to a sitting position. Her arms seemed fine, but something was tangled around her lower legs, restricting their movement. Reaching down to feel, she discovered her jeans and panties bunched around her ankles and a telltale stickiness between her thighs.

A cold rage flash-flamed inside her. Slade hadn't stopped at punching her and knocking her out. While she was unconscious, her husband had raped her.

She glanced at the wall clock, which, miraculously, was still in place. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since she'd arrived home. Slade could be on his way to the Tylers' right now. No time to weigh her options. Her best chance of stopping him was to call in the law. Fumbling for her cell in her jacket, she found it and punched in 911.

The female dispatcher at the county sheriff's office answered. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“This is Dr. Haskell.” Natalie's face was so sore she could barely move her jaw. “My husband, Slade Haskell, assaulted me and knocked me out. Right now he could be on his way to the Tyler ranch with a gun. He has to be stopped.”

“Do you need an ambulance?” Had the dispatcher heard anything she'd said?

“No!” Natalie would have shouted into the phone if she could. “Just pick him up. He's drunk and probably armed. You can arrest him for DUI—or better yet, domestic violence. Believe me, I intend to press charges. Hurry, before something awful happens!”

Natalie gave the dispatcher a description of the truck and the license plate number. Ending the call, she sank back against an overturned couch. Her head felt like a smashed melon. She needed to warn Beau, but the only number she had on speed dial was for the landline in the ranch office. The phone rang and rang without clicking over to voice mail. Something must be out of order. But even if she could leave a message, how likely was Beau to get it in time?

Using the couch for balance, she dragged herself to her feet and pulled up her jeans. She felt nauseous. If she could make it to the bathroom in the house, she could at least wash up. But what she really needed was to get out of here, to someplace safe.

Maybe she should have asked for an ambulance. But if she had, the whole town would know what had happened by tomorrow. Straining to focus, she speed-dialed the one friend who'd always been there for her.

Tori showed up fifteen minutes later to find Natalie still slumped on the floor. The first words out of her mouth were, “I'm taking you to the hospital.”

Righting the couch, she helped Natalie sit. Then she raced into the house and came back with a bag of ice and a towel. “Hold this on your face,” she said. “We can talk on the way. I can't believe that bastard raped you.”

“What about Erin?” Natalie managed to ask. “You mustn't leave her alone. If Slade shows up there, looking for me—”

“I took Erin to the neighbors'. She'll be fine, and the house is locked up tight.”

Just having her friend here made Natalie feel stronger. She walked to Tori's station wagon on her own and buckled herself into the front seat. “Can you call Beau and warn him?” she asked.

“I don't have his cell number. But there's no need. I called the sheriff 's office on my way here. Slade was picked up on a DUI charge. He was weaving all over the road. By the time you called nine-one-one, he was already on his way to jail. We can file domestic assault charges in the morning. You still want to, don't you?”

“It's not that I want to. It's that I
have
to.” Natalie fought back waves of nausea. Her head felt like somebody had taken a jackhammer to her skull. She probably had a concussion. And she didn't even want to think about the damage to her face. She could feel the swelling beneath the ice bag Tori had given her.

“This won't be pleasant, so be prepared.” Tori had pulled into the street and was headed for the highway. “I'll take some pictures of you in the hospital, as well as some photos of your clinic. The police will need to interview you and collect DNA for the rape kit—”

Natalie groaned. “Is that absolutely necessary?”

“You were unconscious. Slade's lawyer could claim that somebody else happened along—or that you'd been with Beau earlier.”

Natalie lay back in the seat as the words sank in. Was spousal rape even a crime in Texas? If it was, and if it could be proven, Slade could go to prison, maybe for a long time. All she'd really wanted was her freedom.

This was a nightmare. But it was
her
nightmare, and she had to keep it that way.

“Beau had nothing to do with any of this,” she said. “Now that he's not in danger, I don't even want him to know what happened. He mustn't be involved.”

“You can't keep him in the dark forever,” Tori said. “Sooner or later, he's going to find out.”

“But not yet. It's for his own good. Promise you won't tell him, Tori.”

“Not unless I have to.” Tori swung onto the highway and gunned the engine. The needle crept upward to seventy. “Slade's likely to get out on bail. First thing tomorrow, I'll get a restraining order to protect you. Do you want me to file for divorce while I'm at it? We have plenty of grounds for a good settlement now.”

“Yes, go ahead.” Natalie thought about the destruction of her clinic. The property and equipment were insured. But would the insurance company pay when the co-owner was responsible for the damage?

“Maybe you should stay with me for a few weeks,” Tori was saying, “or at least until you're healed. I've got plenty of room and Erin would love having you there. Think about it, at least. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this.”

“I'll think about it. Thanks.” Natalie closed her eyes and pressed the ice bag against her face. The ice was starting to thaw, leaking down the side of her neck like a trail of melting tears. So many decisions. The list, if she made one, would be as long as her arm. Right now she was too exhausted to deal with the present, let alone the future. And she was in pain—so much pain that only one thing stood out with the clarity of a lightning bolt.

Tonight her life had changed forever.

Slade had returned to work the next afternoon. Bailed out of the county jail by Stella, he was sore, hungover, and in such a foul temper that Lute couldn't go near him without cringing.

Lute had overheard enough to know that Slade had been charged with DUI and domestic assault and that he'd been served with a restraining order to keep him away from his wife, who was still in the hospital. His trial date was three weeks away.

Slade had come home to find the locks changed on the house and his clothes and other essentials boxed on the front porch. His pickup had been confiscated along with his driver's license. He was sleeping on a cot in his office and dependent on his employees to drive him where he needed to go.

Until this week, Lute had admired Slade to the point of hero worship. But that view had changed. Now what Lute felt was a heady sense of power. It was his simple phone message that had triggered Slade's drunken rampage and brought him down. And it had all been so easy.

Once Lute had aspired to be Slade's right-hand man. Now he had bigger ambitions. Slade would be going to jail, maybe for a long time. Somebody else would be needed to manage the trucking company and do business with Stella's so-called connections. Somebody Stella could trust. Why not him?

The three truckers Slade employed were family men who did local hauling—things like feed, machinery, and livestock. It was Slade, and only Slade, who did the Mexican runs. Whatever was going back and forth on those runs had to involve a lot of money—guns, drugs, maybe illegal immigrants. Lute was no fool. Having grown up in a family of lawbreakers, he knew what kind of things went on across the border. Given the chance, he could handle them just fine.

Plans were spinning in his head. He would shadow Slade for the next three weeks to learn everything he could about the business. Meanwhile, he'd be getting his trucker's license so he could be ready to drive when the time came. And he would curry favor with Stella, letting her know she could trust him to step into Slade's job.

It was all coming together. Soon he would have everything he wanted.

 

Natalie's stomach clenched as she stared into the hand mirror the nurse had given her. Her left eye was swollen almost shut, and the side of her face was a mass of blue and purple bruises. On the second day after Slade's beating, she looked like a character from a horror movie.

“I guess I should be thankful it wasn't worse,” she said, laying the mirror facedown on the hospital bed.

“Yes, you should.” The middle-aged nurse, with a manner that suggested she'd seen it all, put the mirror in the nightstand drawer. “At least he didn't crush your nose or break your jaw. You should see some of the women who've come in here.”

“I never expected to be one of them.” Natalie settled back against the pillows, trying to appear calmer than she felt.

“Nobody does, dear. Not the first time, at least. Your pretty face will look fine in a couple of weeks. But the doctor's still concerned about that concussion. She wants to keep you for another day or two, or at least until the dizziness goes away.”

Natalie sighed, reached for the chilled gel pack, and laid it against her face. She had so much to do, so many things to take care of, it was maddening to have to lie here doing nothing. But Tori, who'd been a godsend, securing her house and car and moving Slade's things outside, had insisted that for now, the hospital was the safest place for her. With Slade out on bail, there was no guarantee that any restraining order would keep him from coming after her again.

For that very reason, she'd decided not to stay with Tori and Erin. She didn't want Slade coming anywhere near her friends. If she went back home, she could clean up the clinic and assess the damage while she healed.

Slade's guns were still in her house, locked in his gun safe. The locksmith Tori had hired had changed the combination. Natalie had always hated guns, but when she got back to the house, she would take one out of the safe, load it, and keep it close for protection. She wasn't sure she could pull the trigger, but at least she could use the gun as a threat.

The nurse had gone. Alone, Natalie turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Tears made stinging salt trails down her cheeks. She knew how to be strong, and she would be. But right now she only felt ravaged, drained, and destroyed.