Lone Heart Pass (5 page)

He rushed into her kitchen, in a hurry to get started working. He was surprised to see that she'd made oatmeal and toast. The coffee even smelled drinkable today.

“Morning,” he nodded as he waited for her to sit down. She was dressed pretty much the same as yesterday, but she'd added a moth-eaten sweater. She'd also combed her hair and tied it in an ugly little knot that looked like a bulldog's bobbed tail. It crossed his mind that she must have to work at it to look this homely.

She handed him his coffee and sat down across the table. “So before we get started, I have a few things that need doing.”

He leaned back, sipping his coffee.

“Can you turn on the water to the washer out in that little shed behind the house? I need to do laundry.”

“I can show you how,” he answered. “It'll need to be turned off if there is any chance of freezing.”

“Fair enough.” She passed him one piece of toast. “Next, I want to plant a garden whenever the time is right. A big garden with all kinds of vegetables.”

“Did you ever grow anything?”

She shook her head. “No, but how hard could it be?”

“I've got a few books packed away on gardening that my mother used to make me read but we could ask Donald at the feed store. He'd know what would grow best here.” Charley grinned when her eyes lit up. “I could run a line from the horse trough in the corral to water it regular.”

“Great. A garden would save money on food, but I doubt it'll make any money to bring in.”

He nodded. “Probably not, but it might if we ran a row of watermelons. I was thinking of boarding horses in the extra stalls. It would bring in steady money. You'd provide the feed and I'll do the work. We could use the income as operating money for the headquarters.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Before he could tell her more, a blast from a truck horn ended the conversation.

“My stuff!” she yelled and ran outside waving, as if the lone truck on the lone road might miss the lone house.

Charley ate his breakfast of half a bowl of oatmeal and one piece of toast and then he ate hers. He refilled his bowl with cereal and downed it while he watched the trucker set a dozen boxes on the porch. The truck still looked full when the driver closed the doors and headed away to the next stop.

After refilling his coffee, Charley walked to the front door and watched her running from box to box, opening all her treasures as if she hadn't seen them in months. From what he could see, she had a box of high heels, two boxes of books, one of pillows and blankets, and the rest seemed to be clothes. She carefully lifted one box and carried it into the crowded room off the kitchen that had probably once been a parlor but that Levy had used as a bedroom.

After she set the box down as if it held glass, she ran back to the other boxes.

“Wait for me,” she said as she grabbed a few things and ran past him and up the back stairs.

“No problem,” he said to himself as he began picking up the boxes and moving them into the kitchen. He had no idea where the stuff would go, but inside seemed a better place than outside.

Ten minutes later she emerged in gray slacks, low heels and a white silk sleeveless blouse that moved like cream over her slim body. If she hadn't still been wearing that dumb knot on the back of her hair he might not have recognized her. She was tall and slim, but she was nicely curved in all the right places—if he'd been noticing, which of course he wasn't.

“I'm ready.” When he just stared, she added, “I know I'm not dressed to ranch, but this will have to do until I can wash my jeans.”

“You look fine.” Charley was surprised how much he meant it. “We'll be out all morning; you'll need a hat and a jacket to cover those arms.”

“I'll be fine.” She picked up a tiny red purse and slung the gold chain strap over her shoulder.

“Unless that's a first aid kit, you won't need it. We're going to drive over your land, not go shopping.” Charley grinned. For the first time, she looked like the city girl he knew she was. All polish. No practical.

“Right.” She didn't drop her purse. “I'll leave it in your pickup,” she said as she followed him out into the sunshine. “I never go anywhere without a purse.”

When he opened the pickup door, she smiled at him. “Thanks for taking in the boxes.”

“You're welcome.” He liked the way she talked when she wasn't yelling at him. She had a nice voice. The kind of low voice that a man wouldn't get tired of listening to.

For the next hour they drove every trail on her land. He tried to fill her in, but he had the feeling he was talking to himself most of the time.

“This is good pastureland. With the natural spring you could run fifty head out here easily, maybe more. If you want I could buy a few calves. We might have to feed them until the grass greens, but it won't be long.”

“How much per head?”

“Three hundred, this time of year. By the end of summer they'll be worth a thousand or more.”

She looked at him then. “That's a great profit.”

“Not as much as you think. We'll need to supplement-feed some of them. Then there would be shots and tagging. That'll cost you. We might lose a few before we sell them.”

She was silent for a few minutes, then said, “Buy sixty head. If we lose five we'll still make enough to buy a hundred next time and have a nice profit. Would this next pasture also hold a hundred head?”

“It would over the warm months if we get plenty of rain.” He was surprised at her quick logic. The lady might not know ranching, but she understood numbers.

“Then we go with the hundred. I've got enough to make the investment and I understand Levy has a ranch account with the bank.”

Charley was impressed with her quick calculation. He had no idea what background she came from. “I'll make the buy before the end of the week.”

She nodded once and went back to silence.

He continued talking, “You got a gravel pit over there across the road. Always a source of quick money if you need it, but once it's gone, it's gone. We might want to save it for emergency money. The flat few acres up ahead are good for farming, but it's dry land.”

The second question came, “What's dry land mean exactly?”

“It means without rain you don't have a crop. Most years crops need irrigating, but it's expensive to buy and maintain.”

Again came the question of how much. If Charley hadn't been saving every dime he could to realize his dream of owning his own ranch, he might not have been able to give accurate answers. As it was, he knew down to the penny every cost.

Charley kept talking about what they could do with money or without. She must have enough money to pay him, but he doubted old Levy had left her much else. Maybe she was planning with her own money. The Lexus she'd parked near the house couldn't have been more than a few years old and the clothes she wore now weren't picked up at a dollar store. If the lady had money to invest, this ranch could be a great deal more than Levy ever planned.

“You going to take notes?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “I'll remember. I'll set up my office tonight and make some charts. I like to see the progress.”

“I agree.” This was what he'd studied to do. If he'd been able to do it on his family ranch he'd be counting cattle by the thousands. Here the numbers would be small, but for the first time since he'd left college, he could do what he loved, even if it was with someone else's money.

When they stopped near the edge of a narrow canyon that crawled along one side of her land, he asked her if she'd like to see the Lone Heart Pass that the ranch had been named after.

The sun was getting warmer. He walked with her to within a hundred yards of a column of rocks maybe thirty feet high. “There is no easy way into the canyon for miles except for this pass. It's like a rock hill split in two a few million years ago and left a passage. If we were on horseback we could go one at a time, slow and easy, through to the pass, but it spooks some horses to be all closed in by the walls.”

She took a few steps on ground that suddenly turned rocky and uneven.

His hand shot out to grip her arm to steady her. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers was hotter than he'd expected it to be. One touch made him aware of her as a woman. Before, he'd thought of her as lost, crazy, way out of her depth. Now, with the silk blouse clinging to her, Charley felt as if he was really seeing her for the first time.

Like the land around her, there was a beauty about Jubilee that most people didn't see at first glance. Not that he was interested, he reminded himself, but still, he could notice her.

Looking toward the passage, she asked, “Can we walk in? I'd love to see the canyon on the other side.”

Charley shook his head. “Not in those clothes or shoes. It's beautiful, but it would take us an hour or so to walk through then get back to the truck.” He could see already that her bare arms were blistering and the climb just to get to the pass opening would ruin her slipper shoes.

An instinct to protect her rose in Charley, surprising him, but she was no damsel in distress. The only way he could help her was to show her how to make this ranch grow.

She turned to face him. “Take me to town, then. Show me the way. If you have things to do here, I'll drive back in and buy what I need later, but I need to learn the road.” Her chocolate brown eyes met his and he saw determination in her gaze. “I want to be ready to start work tomorrow. It's time we started making something of this place. I'll need the right kind of clothes and shoes to do that.” She frowned as if suddenly fearing her own words. “Can you buy me a horse?”

“I'll make a few calls,” he answered. “Can you ride?”

“Of course.”

She'd answered too fast to be telling the truth. He grinned. “I've heard tell that brown eyes never lie,” he said.

She faced him square with her lying brown eyes looking a bit angry. “I can ride.”

She might be crazy, but nothing about Jubilee Hamilton was lazy.

As they walked back to his truck, she added, “Mr. Collins, I'll buy your lunch when we get to town. I'm starving. My breakfast seemed to have evaporated.”

He wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. The lady was hard to read. “I'll accept the offer for lunch, but call me Charley.”

“Fair enough. My family calls me Jub.”

He opened her passenger door. “If you don't mind, I'll call you Jubilee. Jub seems more like a drink than a name.”

When he climbed into the driver's seat, she was busy rummaging through her tiny purse that couldn't hold more than three or four things. She didn't look at him.

For some reason, he thought he'd won a round, but Charley had a feeling it would be a long time before they knew each other well enough to even be friends. They were as different as two people could be.

Ten minutes later when she asked for the vegan menu at Dorothy's Café, Charley had to fake a coughing fit to keep from laughing.

CHAPTER SIX

Thatcher
February 27

L
AUREN
B
RIGMAN
,
the sheriff's daughter, stared at him with those sky blue eyes, as if he was toad-level in her world. She was all dressed up in her Texas Tech University jacket with silver buttons and he looked as though his whole body served as the tester kit for paint samples. Somehow in two hours he'd managed to drip more paint than he got on the walls. The sheriff would think long and hard about hiring him again.

But he didn't care. He couldn't stop looking at Lauren's beautiful long hair. Something must be wrong with him. He couldn't think of five girls' names at school but all at once he was aware, first of the girl in the rain the other night, and now of the sheriff's only child. At least the girl whose father found a body in the canyon was his age. Lauren was way too old for him.

But Thatcher didn't care. A guy his age didn't get to talk to a girl in college very often, so he was happy to be in the sheriff's office with her even if she didn't appear to be.

He felt smarter just being in the same room with Lauren. He heard someone say she'd never even got a B in her school career. Neither had he, but Thatcher knew he was coming from the other direction.

She might be six or seven years older than he was, but she'd never been mean to him. That meant something to him. Since grade school, every time he saw her, Brigman's daughter had at least nodded at him. Most of the other kids treated him as if he was a pound dog who'd escaped.

He did his best to act as though he barely noticed her while he painted the far wall of the sheriff's office. This was his job for the morning and the sheriff must have assigned her duties, as well.

Every now and then she'd glance up as if she'd just remembered that she was supposed to be watching him while she filed. He didn't accept the idea of having a babysitter. Hell, he'd been his own man since he was six or seven and his mom started making a habit of disappearing every weekend. Sometimes the weekends seemed to run together before she came home. He never minded being alone.

But this morning Lauren's silence was starting to bug him.

“How old are you, Lauren?” he asked without stopping his work.

She didn't look up from her computer. “Twenty-one. That must sound pretty old to you.”

He ignored the fact that she thought of him as still a kid when he was taller than she was and almost fifteen. “I guess that's not too old to still be minding your old man. I was just wondering how many days of school you missed to be stuck here in your dad's office on a Saturday.”

She smiled. “I didn't miss any school. In fact, much as I hate to think about it, I'm almost finished with college. It's a place where no one makes you go to class—you just go because you want to. Whole new concept for you, Thatcher.”

He groaned, feeling a lecture coming on. He figured all the Brigmans must share some mutant gene that made them give advice the minute their mouths opened.

She laughed as if she'd read his mind. “I just came in this weekend to help Pop with the filing. My dad's a great sheriff but somehow the folders never move off his desk and into the right filing cabinet. County said they'd hire him a secretary, but he's always saying he'd have to clean up and organize first.”

Thatcher set his paintbrush down and took his third break of the morning. “You know, come to think of it, twenty-one
is
old. My mom was married and had me by then.” When Lauren didn't answer he added, “You're real pretty so I'm guessing it's the fact your dad meets everyone at the door wearing a gun that keeps men away.”

Lauren nodded. “That's it. How about you, Thatcher? At the old age of almost fifteen you're probably looking for a girlfriend, right? Maybe already have the lucky future Mrs. Jones picked out?”

Leaning on the corner of the desk, he crossed his arms. She was probably talking down to him, like a lot of townsfolk did, but he needed a few answers and she might know enough to help him. “I thought that girl whose dad found the body in the canyon a few days ago wasn't so bad looking.” He shrugged. “Or she might have been cute if she hadn't been all wet and shaking like a coyote with his ear shot off.”

“You see a lot of coyotes with their ears shot off?”

“I seen a few.”

Lauren closed her laptop looking as if she didn't believe him. “The girl with her father that night is named Kristi Norton. Her dad took over as the new high school principal on Monday. He and his wife grew up around here. I think Kristi is your age, so you should have seen her in school.”

“I ain't been to school lately. That's why I'm here today. I made the mistake of telling the sheriff that I was too embarrassed to go to school because I didn't have lunch money. I was thinking he'd loan me some, but instead he offered me a job. If I'd turned it down, he'd know I was lying and there weren't no telling what he'd do. I swear the past few years I seem to have my own guardian cop and I ain't sure if he's from heaven or hell.”

“Tough life, kid,” Lauren said as she went back to filing. “I'm basically here for the same reason. My father doesn't believe in loaning money, not even to his only daughter. For once, before I get out of college, I'd like to go somewhere for spring break besides Crossroads, Texas. Maybe a beach.”

“What about your mom?” Thatcher moved over to the coffee pot and mixed half coffee with half milk. “Did she run off or something?”

“My folks are divorced. Mom would give me money, but it comes with strings. She's in that do-I-still-look-like-I'm-in-my-early-thirties stage. If I told her I wanted to go to the Gulf for spring break, she'd probably buy the exact same bathing suit and go with me.”

Thatcher nodded but had no idea what she meant. He wasn't even sure what she meant by divorce. “My mom has been common-law married four times—all the guy does is move in and she starts calling him her husband. Then, when he moves out, she considers herself common-law divorced. She claims it's cheaper that way, but I never called a one of them Dad. I figured, judging from my mom's taste in men, that I'm better off not knowing who the bastard was that fathered me.”

Lauren's light blue eyes stared at him. “You've got to go to school, Thatcher. I think, somewhere beneath all the dirty hair, there just might be a brain.”

No one had ever said that to him. He wanted to tell her that he made two thousand three hundred and fourteen dollars last year selling snakes, and almost eight hundred selling eggs to farms too lazy to bother with chickens.

But he didn't say anything because one of his mother's boyfriends told him if he told anyone he was selling snakes or eggs the government would come after him for taxes.

“Lauren, could I ask you a question?”

“If it's about how to impress Kristi, I'd say start with a haircut, a bath and clean clothes. You've already got the brains and that cute smile.”

“No, it's not that,” Thatcher said as he stored the information away for later. “Could you tell me where the grid is? Mr. Fuller told me once that I lived off it.”

Lauren laughed. “You mean old Mr. Fuller who retired years ago?”

“Yeah. He came in to substitute when Mr. Franks ran off with Miss Smith-Williams back before Thanksgiving.” Thatcher scratched his head. “That was strange. Mr. Franks was old and mean and Miss Smith-Williams always seemed confused. Couldn't even pick a last name. And, no matter where she was—her class, the hallway or the parking lot—she'd jump when the bell rang. You'd think after teaching high school for twenty years she'd get used to it ringing.”

Lauren giggled. “Wonder where they are now?”

He winked at her. “Probably on a beach where there are no bells to ring or kids for Mr. Franks to yell at. I can see them wearing matching bathing suits and listening to country swing.”

Lauren winked back at him. “You might want to keep that vision to yourself.”

They both laughed.

He leaned over the desk and figured it was time to risk another question. “See that bottom drawer of your dad's desk?”

“Yes.” She was back to working.

“You have any idea what he keeps in it?”

“Papers, I guess.”

Thatcher knelt down and tugged on the handle. “Then why is it locked?”

Now he had her attention. She swiveled around and also tried the drawer. “I don't remember him having a locked drawer. He has a safe to keep evidence in. Why would he need a drawer?”

Thatcher shrugged. “Letters from a lover. Weapons. Drugs. Body parts.”

She frowned. “My pop doesn't have time for lovers. He carries his weapon. Drugs would be locked in the safe and body parts would smell.”

Before he could ask any more questions, the phone on the sheriff's desk rang.

Lauren answered, nodded a few times and said yes once, then hung up.

Thatcher moved closer.

She'd turned eggshell-white.

“What?” he said.

Lauren stood slowly. “The coroner has the report ready on the man they found dead in the canyon. He's faxing it over. He said he wants my pop to see it immediately.”

“So call him up and tell him.” Thatcher might not have a cell phone, but everyone else in the world seemed to.

“I can't. He's down in the canyon looking for clues. No cell service in that tiny sliver of canyon behind Lone Heart Pass.” Lauren looked worried as the fax machine spit out three sheets of paper. “I have to get this report to him. I know there's nothing down there, but going to where someone died gives me the creeps.”

Thatcher set his cup in the sink and washed his hands. “Don't worry about anything, I'm going with you.” He lowered his voice, trying to sound older. “This is official police business and you might need backup.”

“But...”

He moved a few feet, blocking her exit. “The sheriff told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he?” Thatcher saw the truth in her eyes before she had time to think of a lie. “Well, the only way to watch me is to take me with you.”

She grabbed her purse. “Then come on.”

Thatcher exploded. “Wow! We're on a job. Do I get a gun?”

“No,” she shouted as she bumped his shoulder on her way out.

“Well, fine,” he yelled back. “But we're picking my truck up on the way back. The last bit of paint is probably rusting off right now from being left out in the rain.”

When she didn't answer, he tried asking another question as they reached the small parking lot beside the county offices. “Any chance I could drive your car? I could use a little practice with something that I don't have to shift.”

“No,” she answered as she climbed into the driver's side.

Lauren started the car and shoved the gear into drive before he had a chance to close the passenger door.

Thatcher didn't care. He was on official police business. This was exciting. He might have to rethink becoming a coroner.