You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (7 page)

He studied her face closely. “I don’t believe Rory killed himself.”

Her head cocked. “He wasn’t the man hanging from the tree?”

“Oh, he was strung up from the tree all right. Hell, he was a sight to see. Hell of a mess.” Graphic details shocked, tossed people off balance and triggered unexpected reactions.

Her lips flattened but she kept silent.

“I don’t think there is a way a man could have secured the rope, shimmied up the tree, and then hung himself. If he’d jumped with the rope around his neck, it would have just about snapped his head off. The rope did slice into his neck, but the marks cut like a man dangling versus falling.”

“And the purpose of that graphic description was meant to do what?” No missing the pop of annoyance.

He wasn’t ready to talk about the cigarette butt or the tire tracks. Though he did note the flatbed truck behind her.

Shifting gears he said, “What have you been doing all these years, Ms. Templeton? You sure haven’t been in the news at all.”

“I lived here. I earned several certificates in viticulture in summer courses in California. When my aunt died last winter I took over the place.”

“You’ve changed your name, and you keep a low profile. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding. I needed a fresh start after the accident. I didn’t want to be with people who suffered loss and pain because of me. I have no intention of reconnecting with my past or the people I’d known a dozen years ago.”

“Then why not leave? Your aunt is dead.” He nodded toward the new construction. “Looks like you’re putting down roots.”

“It was my aunt’s dream to make wine, and so we cleared ground for a winery and tasting room this past winter. She’d been suffering from cancer, but we thought she had it licked, and clearing the land was our way of celebrating.” Her voice hitched. “And then she suffered an unexpected heart attack at the hospital during routine tests and died.”

“Again, why stay here?”

“This is my home. Bonneville is as much a part of me as I am of it.”

“What do you do here?”

She arched a brow. “You want a rundown?”

“I’d also like a tour of the place.”

“You’ll have to come back another time for the tour, Ranger Bragg. I’ve a horse farrier arriving in about five minutes.”

With or without an excuse, he’d return to Bonneville. “That’s five minutes for a quick overview.”

She shook her head. “Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll show it to you. You want to listen to my phone messages in case Rory called me more than I admitted? Want to check my boots for dirt or look in the barn for rope?”

He smiled. “We’ll keep it simple today. Tell me about Bonneville.”

Her lips flattened. “The new tasting room is behind me, but it’s not furnished yet and there’s little to see. The winery won’t be finished until December.”

“Show me all your trucks.”

She cocked a brow but didn’t miss a beat. “You see the one there. It’s ten years old. I use it for general transportation. I’ve three other trucks, but they’re out with the morning crew who are weeding. They break at lunch. If you come back at noon, I can arrange a viewing.”

Pushy and hard-edged, she didn’t resemble the kid in the photograph. Hard not to have sympathy for that kid; however, the woman was a ballbuster.

In no rush, he walked over to the dark pickup and using his phone he photographed each tire. “What if I want the trucks brought in earlier.”

Her gaze narrowed, and he sensed she was gauging if this was worth a fight. “It’ll cost me money to bring in the crew and have them sit while you do whatever it is you do. The crew will be in at noon. I run on a tight budget, Ranger Bragg.”

He didn’t care about her bottom line or her crew. But before he could rebut, a truck pulling a large horse trailer rolled up the hill toward them. Dust billowed around the wheels and coated the already grimy truck with more grime.

Greer shot him a glance. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

She tossed him a wary gaze and headed for the truck.

There was no middle ground for Greer Templeton. Hot or cold. Sad or angry. She acted stunned by the news of Rory’s death, but then she could be one hell of a guilty-as-sin actress.

 

 

Greer could barely breathe as she put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the truck hauling the horse trailer. The Ranger had remained behind but his gaze trailed her like a hungry wolf. Those eyes. Gray. Hard. Penetrating. In those eyes, she’d seen that he’d tried and convicted her like all the others had done over the years.

Her aunt had told her time after time she’d needed to forgive herself. Live your life. Find a man. Have sex. Smile more.

Doubtful a smile would have swayed Bragg. His six-foot-three-inch height and broad shoulders radiated substantial power and a total absence of tenderness. His warrior energy didn’t threaten danger but promised it.

Smile. Don’t let him see you sweat.

Right.

She’d tried smiling after the accident, hoping to soothe her parents’ grief, neighbors’ questioning stares, and finally the judge’s final opinion. But smiling hadn’t worked. No matter how nice she was or how much she tried to atone for her sins, no one ever looked at her the same again.

And so she’d stopped smiling, choosing instead to come out swinging. Might as well cut to the chase, air the suspicions, and accept the inevitable rejection.

She nodded to the farrier. “Mac, thanks for driving up here today. I know we’re a bit out of your way.”

White hair and a handlebar mustache accentuated the farrier’s tanned, deeply wrinkled skin weathered by sixty-plus years of harsh Texas sun. He wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt, jeans, and a battered cowboy hat. “For the life of me I don’t know why you want to get into the horse business, Ms. Templeton. You’ll be tossing good money after bad feeding these old nags. I don’t want to think about the vet bill.”

“Oh, so that’s why they were free?” She might not smile, but she could still tease.

Muttering, he climbed out of the truck. “The fella that gave you these horses is doing a jig right now. You’ve saved him the cost of burying these old gals in the next year or so.”

Mac unlatched the back door and standing in the trailer were two old mares, both sway back with knobby knees. One was a brown-and-white dapple and the other black except for a patch of white on her nose. The dapple was still and quiet, but the black horse swished her tail, as if to tell Greer she didn’t appreciate the change in routine or the journey.

“I’ve a temporary corral set up for them next to the main house. Got a man coming today to work on expanding it so these gals should be sitting pretty by the end of the week.”

He pulled out the ramp, opened the door, and led the dapple out. Her ears twitched as she glared at Greer. Whereas Greer didn’t have much interest in people, her heart always went out to animals. They were all about the here and now, and if you were good to them, they loved you with no reservations.

“Hey, old lady. How you doing?” She rubbed the horse’s snout. The other horse stomped its foot. “Your friend has a bit of attitude.”

“A bad attitude,” Mac said as he led the black horse out. “She’ll kick and bite if you don’t keep an eye on her.”

Kind of like me.
“Did the farmer send feed like he promised?”

“In the back of the truck.” He handed the reins of the second horse to Greer.

The black horse snorted.

Greer couldn’t resist a smile. “Don’t worry, old lady, we’re gonna do just fine. I bet before summer’s end the vineyard guests will be spoiling you rotten.”

Like any vineyard, Bonneville’s survival depended on many factors beyond growing grapes. One of the reasons she’d built the tasting room was to earn income from hosting weddings, festivals, and tastings. It was about marketing. It would be a year or two before she held actual Bonneville wine tastings, but the facility itself was already booked for several events this fall. Perhaps the horse rescue would also add a hook that would draw customers.

She met Mac’s gaze as he came around toward her. “Do I owe you any money?”

“Nope, the seller paid all as agreed. But if you change your mind right now, I’d run these two back to where they came from, and you can just forget all this foolishness.”

The dapple horse nudged her shoulder and snorted. The black horse ignored her. “No, the girls are staying with me.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She rubbed the dapple on the snout. “I’ve been duly warned.”

“Well, I always did like your aunt Lydia. She was good to me, always treated me with respect. Was real sorry to hear she passed this winter. Always good and fair.” He cleared his throat as if emotion got the better of him.

Lydia had literally saved Greer’s life. As her release date from Shady Grove had approached, her parents had made it clear they couldn’t have her around as they worked through their grief for Jeff. She’d tried to reach out to Rory because he’d been such a good friend to her at the clinic. But he’d not answered her letters and then his brother had driven out to Shady Grove and told her to leave Rory alone.
He’s a good kid. He doesn’t need your kind of trouble.

As she’d left the facility, she really did not know where to go and questioned again if she was meant to live. And then she’d spotted the old red truck with the rusted bumper sporting a faded tie-dyed peace sign sticker. Behind the wheel sat her aunt Lydia, her riot of gray curls framing her smiling face. She’d been waving as she climbed out of the truck.

Greer had stood and stared at the woman as she had approached. Lydia had wrapped Greer in a warm embrace, hugging her tight. Her aunt had smelled of grapes, earth, and sunshine. Greer had been stiff and fearful, but instead of letting go, Lydia had squeezed harder until Greer had wept and melted into her arms. Her aunt had offered her a home, a job, and a sanctuary she’d accepted gratefully.

“Lydia was real special,” Greer said softly.

“Well, you let me know if there’s something I can do for you and those nags. Name it and I’m your man.”

“Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it. Oh, what are their names?” As she reached out to shake his hand she caught a glimpse of Bragg in her side vision. For an instant, the horses had made her forget him. An achievement, she thought. He wasn’t someone easily forgotten.

Mac took her hand and clasped it firmly before he released it. “The horses? I don’t rightly know. I should have asked.”

“I’ll give the former owner a call.”

“Just give ’em a new name. It don’t matter so much.”

“Names do matter. But perhaps new names are a good idea. Signals their fresh start.” She had dropped her first name after leaving Shady Grove, opting to become Greer. In many ways, Elizabeth had died on that stretch of road with Jeff and Sydney.

Mac glanced at Bragg, touched the brim of his hat, and moved to the truck’s tailgate. “Where should I unload the feed?”

“See that storage shed over there?” She pointed to a small wood building that held all the extra tables, chairs, and props she would use for receptions. “Leave it by the door, and I’ll put it inside.”

“Okay.”

As she stood next to the horses and watched the farrier drive off toward the shed, the crunch of the Ranger’s boots against gravel had her back straightening and her breath slowing. She wanted to absorb more positive energy from the horses to ward off Bragg but suspected there wasn’t enough energy in the universe to fend him off.

“You going into the horse trading business?” He came up beside the black horse and petted her on the side of her neck. She jerked and nipped at him.

Greer already liked the horse. “No. Just offering a home to a couple of old horses.”

Bragg, not put off by the black mare, scratched her behind the ear. The horse shook her head as if to say,
no
. “You take in stray horses?”

When the black mare jerked her snout away from his hand, she swallowed a smile. “Not before today.”

Bragg eyed the mare but dropped his hand as if conceding this round. “You know how to handle a horse?”

“Not a lot. Some.” The dapple nudged her again and she wondered if the mare was trying to send her a message. Maybe she was hungry?

As if reading her mind, the Ranger rubbed the dapple horse’s neck. “Don’t feed them right away. Water’s okay, but feed right now will unsettle their stomachs.”

The old mare leaned into his strong fingers, clearly reveling in the attention. The black mare, not to be ignored, snorted. However, Bragg ignored the horse, letting her know right away he’d not tolerate any bad behavior. The Ranger expected to be met on his own terms or not at all.

Not at all suited her just fine.

He took the reins of the horses and led them to the corral. When they were both settled inside the gate, he met her gaze. “Ready for that tour.”

“Sure. Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”

“A general tour will do for now.”

For now. As if he’d return. Great.

She nodded toward a house made of rough brick and stone. “That is the original ranch house. It belonged to my aunt and now is my home.”

He studied the wide front porch, the twin rockers, and the half wine barrels filled with dirt and wildflowers. “How old is the house?”

“At least a hundred years old. The family originally settling the land raised cattle. Lydia bought the house and land from the original settler’s great-grandson twenty years ago.”

He listened with a keen interest, not missing a word.

Unsettled, she nodded toward the dirt path leading to the tasting room. Without asking she started toward it. “The new building here will be the tasting room when we have wine, but for now we’ll be renting it out for parties. Steady income is always welcome. That clear plot of land behind it will be the new winery. It should be finished by spring.”

“Looks like Italy.”

“My aunt spent a good bit of her early twenties in Italy. When she returned to Texas and saw this land it reminded her of Italy.” She pushed through the front door of the tasting room and strolled toward the large bar made of gray granite, so polished light reflected back. Behind the counter stood ceiling-high shelves waiting to be stocked with wines. The floor was clay tile and the walls a stucco. Brick-lined arches hung above the tasting counter, windows, and doorways. Throughout the large room were round tables made from wine casks. “We own a total of five hundred acres and right now have vines planted on most of it.”

Her mind flashed to the new one thousand acres she’d once hoped to clear and cultivate. Rory had been found on that land.

He walked to the French doors opening out onto a brick patio that offered a stunning view of the rolling green landscape and the vineyards. “Impressive operation.”

Judgment and a hint of approval rolled off the statement. But she wasn’t swayed, too accustomed to being judged and found lacking. “Do you know much about wines?”

“Not a bit.”

She appreciated the honesty. Too many folks tried to pretend they understood wines, and it always led to confusion. “We grow grapes for Zinfandel, Chablis, and Viognier wines. They thrive best in the Hill Country heat. My aunt preferred the taste and so do I. I’ll likely produce a thousand cases of wine next year and then it will depend.”

He faced her. “You have much competition?”

“So much I try not to think about it.”

He studied her as if trying to peel back the layers. “Opening this tasting room and the winery is going to put you out front. I also saw you’re hosting a fund-raiser.”

“Time to rejoin the world, I suppose.” She’d learned a steady tone made most statements sound true.

“Why jump back into the fray now? You’ve been tucked away here for a dozen years.”

A sigh trickled from her lungs. “My aunt asked me to.”

“So you’re just going to put yourself out there?”

How could she explain to him what she didn’t fully understand herself? “I owe her.”

“You’ll get a lot of questions about your accident.”

Every muscle in her body constricted. “I’m expecting some questions, but people have enough in their lives to worry about. I will quickly become yesterday’s news.”

“But you said you’ve been in hiding for going on a dozen years.”

“Hiding isn’t the right word.”

“How would you describe it?”

“Self-preservation.”

He arched a brow but kept quiet.

She was accustomed to silence and didn’t mind it, but silence took on an edgy meaning when Bragg stared at her. “After the accident, folks wanted details. They pretended to care, but they only wanted a bit of juicy gossip to share. It was easier to retreat. I also had to physically recover from the accident. I was pretty banged up. It took six months before I could walk without a limp.”

“And now you’re stepping up on center stage.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d been so candid about her past. Walls slid back into place. “Nothing so dramatic. I’m working at my vineyard and building my winery. That’s all. And I’m hoping the past stays buried.”

“Rory’s death might stir up the past.”

His words zinged like arrows. “I hope you’re wrong.” She flexed her fingers.

He checked his watch. “Your horses are gonna need watering. And I need to get back to Austin.”

Waves of relief washed through her, but she couldn’t resist poking the bear. “I thought you wanted a tour of the fields and the vehicles.”

“I’ll get to it another day.”

Had earlier demands for an extensive tour and vehicle inspection been a threat? Doubtful. He’d be back when it suited him.

Greer should have bid him a good day and left it, but again directness wouldn’t allow questions to remain unvoiced. “Why would the Rangers care about Rory’s death? It should be a matter for the local sheriff.”