A Texas Family. Linda Warren

accusations right and left, and I just wanted to get her out of my office and out of my life.”

      “Good.” Levi glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run. Talk to you when I get back.”

      As Levi walked out, Carson linked his hands behind his head. He had lied to his friend. He knew exactly what Jena Brooks looked like: she had sad, soulful dark eyes, dark flowing hair and a smooth curvy body that was titillating when bathed in sweat. He’d never admit that to anyone but himself. Since Beth, he hadn’t even looked at another woman, and it bothered him that he’d noticed Jena.

      No, there could never be anything between him and Jena except a past they both wanted to forget.

      * * *

      JENA WAS ON her way back from Dripping Springs. Last night she and Hilary had talked until after midnight. Jena wanted to do something for Hilary in appreciation of everything she’d done for their mother. That led to a long discussion. Hilary didn’t want anything. She was her mother, too, she’d said. In the end, they agreed to fix up the house. It was long overdue.

      Hilary wanted a buttercup-yellow house with white shutters, so Jena bought all the supplies and Hilary’s friends would do the work. In a fit of indulgence, she went ahead and bought shingles to finish the roof.

      Her cell buzzed and she reached for it in the console. “Hey, Hil.”

      “Did you get everything?”

      “Yes. A soft yellow, just like you wanted. It’s going to look so nice with the white shutters. Are you sure the guys will do this?”

      “Yes. I told them this morning, and Billy Jack said he’d bring the paint sprayer over tomorrow.”

      “I went ahead and bought shingles. And we have to get new screens, but I have to measure them first.”

      “Wow. You are being generous.”

      “I left everything at the store for Billy Jack to pick up.”

      “Good deal. I can’t wait to see the new look. I’m tired of that drab house.”

      “That’s why you paint murals all over it?”

      “Yes, I... Hold on. I’ve got another call.”

      In a minute Hil was back. “Sis, it was Carson. He wants to see you. You didn’t give him your cell number.”

      “Oh, crap. I forgot. I’ll check on Mama and then head over to his office.”

      “I’ll check on Mama. You go to his office. He might have some news.”

      “Okay. I’ll see you later.” She clicked off and felt a rush of excitement run through her. Maybe he’d talked to his father. Maybe he knew... Oh, God. Her hands grew clammy on the steering wheel.

      She turned into the parking area of the constable’s office and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Grabbing her purse, she got out and stared at the building. Was it only yesterday she’d come here with every word rehearsed in her head? With every dream intact in her heart?

      Opening the door, she went inside. Carson sat at his desk, reading through a big file.

      “Come in,” he said. “Have a seat.” His eyes looked worried and his hair was tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it.

      She sat in a chair, placed her purse on the floor and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. Yesterday she’d been dressed in her best clothes. Today she was casual in white capris, sandals and an olive-green sleeveless top. She was thinking inane things when the most important subject was almost too painful to broach.

      “Did you find the bloodstain on the basement floor?” she asked, her heart beating a steady tattoo against her ribs.

      “Yes.”

      “And you talked to Asa?”

      “No. Sorry.” He looked up, his green eyes tortured.

      She ignored that look. “You saw the stain, but for some reason you haven’t talked to your father?”

      “No.”

      She got up, grabbed her purse, intending to leave and call Blake right away. This was unacceptable.

      But he was faster than her, blocking her path to the door. “Please, Ms. Brooks. I’m asking for more time.”

      “I’ve been without my child for nine years. That’s enough time.”

      “Please.”

      Something in that one little word said in earnest got to her and she weakened. Or maybe it was the broad chest and wide shoulders that held her attention. A light citrus scent teased her nostrils. Swirls of brown chest hair peeped out from the V of his white shirt. Jared had had boyish good looks, but Carson had a raw masculinity that made her aware he was a man and she was a woman.

      “I was going to talk to him last night, but he wasn’t feeling well and my aunt gave him a sleeping pill so he could rest. When he wakes up, I’ll try again, but you have to understand he’s not the strong domineering man you remember. He’s never gotten over Jared’s murder, and he’s very fragile in his body and in his mind.”

      “I understand that.” She hitched the strap of her purse higher. “My mom is not doing well, either. She’s in her own little world. The tragedy has affected so many people, and it still lingers. My father’s murder was never solved. Either the authorities covered up for Asa or they didn’t care.”

      “Could we talk about that?”

      “The murders?”

      “Yes. I have a lot of questions.”

      She sighed. “What good will that do except to dredge up old heartaches and pain?”

      “The cases were closed very quickly, and I feel there is still evidence out there to help corroborate your story.”

      What was it about this man that made her see his point of view? “Okay. Okay. I’ll answer questions. Again, I might add.”

      “I appreciate that.”

      She turned toward the chair and noticed he was still standing by the door. “Are you afraid I’m going to sneak out?”

      “Just making sure,” he replied with a half grin. The tired expression was gone from his face, and she knew he could be quite persuasive if he applied himself.

      She resumed her seat, as did he. As she placed her purse back on the floor, she noticed the photo on his desk. Her nerves had been so helter-skelter when she was in the office before she hadn’t even seen it.

      “Your children?” She pointed to the photo.

      “Um...yeah. Trey and Claire.”

      The boy had brown hair and favored Carson. The little girl was her mother all the way. She remembered Beth Corbett—a beautiful blonde. Hilary had told her about Beth’s death. That had to have been hard to lose his brother and wife within a few years.

      “I’m sorry about your wife.” She felt she had to say something.

      “Thank you,” he replied in a neutral tone, signaling the subject was off-limits.

      He shuffled through the file. “Why did your dad shoot Jared? Was there an ongoing feud between them?”

      She lifted an eyebrow. “You mean because of me?”

      “Yes.” He looked up, his green eyes intense.

      “It may surprise you to know that my father had no interest in my or my sister’s lives. When he learned I was pregnant, he said at least I had enough sense to sleep with someone who had money.” She clenched her hands in her lap. Her childhood had been riddled with strife. Her father had been a decent person until he started drinking. Then he became abusive. They used to dread the sound of his truck in the driveway. Their mother would