Slow Hand Luke. Debbi Rawlins

the coffee but hadn’t started another pot. She measured out the grounds and filled the carafe with water. While she waited for the coffee to brew, she stared at the calendar that hung nearby on the wall.

      Monday’s date was circled, marking the deadline for the detectives exam. As if she needed the reminder. Besides Lisa jumping down her throat, Mr. O’Brien had mentioned it, and her own captain had pointed out that she’d be foolish to pass up any more career opportunities.

      So she’d missed the first sergeant’s exam. Not on purpose. She’d been finishing her master’s degree and had to study for a final. And why was everyone so worried about her career anyway? It was none of their business. If she wanted to stay where she was, that was her decision.

      “Corrigan!”

      She stuck her head out of the coffee room and saw Lieutenant Potter standing at her desk, Annie’s phone in his hand.

      “Call for you,” he said, and set the receiver down on her desk.

      Annoyed, she grabbed her empty mug and headed for the phone. She hoped it wasn’t another personal call, particularly from her father, even though everyone in the precinct already knew about her deadbeat dad. They knew about Steve Witherspoon, too, about how the scumbag attorney had used her. That stung more than anything else.

      Hell, her colleagues seemed to know everything about everybody. The precinct was like a soap opera. That’s why she mostly kept to herself or hung out with Lisa.

      She picked up the receiver and barked her last name.

      “Annie?” The voice was shaky, but unmistakable.

      “Aunt Marjorie?”

      “Good heavens, girl. I hope you don’t always answer the phone that way.”

      Annie sank into her chair, dread clawing at her chest as she glanced at the clock. Six-ten in the morning, Texas time. “Is everything okay?”

      “Right as rain.” Her aunt hesitated. “Except for one small thing…Honey, you got any vacation time saved up?”

      “What is it, Aunt Marjorie?”

      “You know I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important.”

      “Please tell me.”

      Aunt Marjorie paused, her faint breath as weak as a fall leaf. “My doctor insists on me having some silly tests. Can’t be done locally, of course, so I gotta go all the way to Houston.”

      Annie immediately picked up a pen and turned over a piece of used paper. “What kind of tests?”

      “For my heart and lungs. Which are both obviously working fine or else I wouldn’t be here talking to you, would I?”

      Annie smiled. Aunt Marjorie had always been feisty. She was close to eighty-five, a widow for fifty-one years and as stubborn as a woman who’d lived alone so long could be. Annie adored her. “The doctor had to have a reason, Aunt Marjorie. Would you mind if I spoke to him?”

      “The thing is, honey, what I really need is for you to watch my ranch. Only for a week or so, until I get out of this place. I’m worried about the chickens mostly.”

      “The hospital? You’re there? Now?”

      “Just got here,” Aunt Marjorie said sheepishly. “But don’t go jumping to any conclusions—you get your exercise some other way, young lady. I’m fine. It’s the ranch I’m worried about. I don’t want the animals starving.”

      “You don’t have that many left, do you?”

      “A few milk cows. About two dozen hens that are still laying.”

      “What about Chester?” Annie asked, who was already planning to go straight to the hospital and not the ranch. Chester had been an extra pair of hands and a good friend to Marjorie as far back as Annie could remember. He could take care of the few animals that remained.

      “Honey, his arthritis is bad and he’s no spring chicken anymore.”

      Annie sighed. From what she could recall, the man was at least a good eight to ten years younger than Aunt Marjorie. “Look, I’m coming to the hospital and then I’ll—”

      “Annie, listen. I need you at the ranch. Not here. Dang it.” The beeping of medical machinery in the background made Annie’s heart race. “I have to go now.”

      “No, wait. What hospital are you—”

      She heard a click and then a dial tone. Cursing under her breath, she reached for a phone book. First, she’d book a flight, then tell the captain she needed time off. Chester would know what hospital Aunt Marjorie was in. If not, she could ask Lisa to find out, even if she had to use official channels.

      Annie’s gaze caught on the piece of paper she held. An application for the detectives exam. Potter had apparently brought it over when he answered her phone. She exhaled slowly as she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it in the wastebasket. Aunt Marjorie was far more important.

      

      L UKE M CC ALL HAD had a lot of practice sneaking in and out of places and he was damn good at it. He coasted his pickup into the empty parking lot to a space right in front of the Quick Trip, turned off the engine and glanced around as he flexed his stiff shoulder. Frowning at the pain, he slowly climbed out of the truck.

      At eleven o’clock, the convenience store was dead, just as he’d hoped. Instead of going straight to Hasting’s Corner, he was here for supplies forty miles outside of town. Once he got to his granddad’s ranch, he’d be able to hole up for a while without anyone knowing he was back. Not that anyone cared about him, except out of pure nosiness—aside from Sally Jo, who’d bring over her chicken and dumplings and an open invitation to wash more than his jeans.

      And if Barb’s husband was away on roundup, she’d probably show up, too. Not that Luke would ever drop his bucket in another guy’s well. Even a no-account like him had some principles.

      He snorted at the irony of his predicament. He wouldn’t have so much as sniffed around Joanne if he’d known she was Old Man Seabrook’s wife. Hell, she was young enough to be his daughter. Easy mistake. Turned out to be a big one, though. Because now Luke had the law crawling up his ass. The kind of money Seabrook had could buy a whole lot of trouble for Luke.

      He pushed open the door, setting off the overhead bell and, without looking up from the paper she was scribbling on, the woman behind the counter said, “We just closed.”

      Luke removed his Stetson, and swept back his hair, just as the woman looked up. “Sorry, ma’am. I must’ve missed the sign.”

      She blinked, then shoved a pencil behind her ear and gave him a quick once-over. A slow smile lifted her ruby-red lips. “Well, cowboy, you go ahead and lock that door behind you and I’ll give you time to get what you come for.”

      Luke tipped his hat to her before resetting it on his head. “Thank you, ma’am.” His smile vanished as soon as he turned away to lock the door. Must be getting old. He used to like being gawked at as if he were a piece of juicy chicken-fried steak.

      “Won’t be but a minute,” he said and strolled down the aisle toward the refrigerated section, feeling the weight of her stare at his back.

      “Take your time,” she called after him. “I’m just wrapping up my paperwork, and it’ll be nice to have a big strong man walk me out to my car for a change.”

      Luke blew out a puff of air. Walking out with her was all he was doing. He grabbed a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator, reconsidered, and exchanged it for a twelve-pack. If he was lucky, maybe he could hide out at the deserted old ranch for a week before the sheriff found out that he had inherited the place six months ago. Careful of his injured shoulder, he carried the beer, three packages of cold cuts and two loaves of bread to the register.

      “You going to a party?” the woman asked, eyeing his haul.

      “No,