A Texas Family. Linda Warren

come back for revenge, just as she’d told Carson. She now had access to resources for justice, and she intended to make that happen—with or without the constable’s help.

      CHAPTER TWO

      EVERY TIME CARSON drove under the wrought-iron arch for the Bar C Ranch, his chest filled with pride, which was quickly replaced with anger for a brief second. When he’d finished his tour of duty, he was excited to see his wife and son again. And to be there for his dad, who Beth had said had sunk into deep depression since Jared’s death. But that was just one of Carson’s many worries.

      Even before Jared was murdered, Asa had turned over the reins of the ranch to Roland Stubbs, allowing him to sign checks. That was a big mistake. Roland sold all the cattle, horses, equipment and drained the ranch bank account. All that was left was the house, barns and land.

      Carson’s return home was bittersweet. His dad sat brooding in his chair and didn’t show much interest in the ranch or in his daughter-in-law or grandson. Beth had been dealing with a newborn and hadn’t noticed anything strange going on except for the cattle trailers going in and out, which she’d thought was normal ranching business.

      He’d contacted the sheriff, and Roland and Curly Sanders were soon arrested and convicted. Curly was released last year, but Roland would be in prison for some time to come. When Jena had mentioned goons, he’d had a bad feeling in his gut. Those two were ruthless enough to do anything.

      He never quite understood his dad’s reasoning in handing the ranch’s responsibilities to Roland. He’d said it was Carson’s fault for not being here. The Bar C was his legacy, and neither he nor Jared showed any respect for what he’d built. So if the ranch was in trouble Carson had only himself to blame.

      But Carson accepted only so much of that blame. According to Beth, his dad was spending a lot of time with a lady he kept in Austin. That meant he’d been ignoring his business, which had allowed Roland to weasel his way into a cushy job. As long as Asa saw money rolling in, he hadn’t questioned Roland or his activities.

      “Dad, you better get your money ready,” Trey said from the passenger seat. “I made all A’s again, and it’s five bucks for every A. Remember?”

      “What?”

      “Dad.” Trey sighed. “You’re not listening.”

      “Five bucks for every A. I got it.”

      “Me, too, Daddy,” Claire said from her car seat in the back.

      “You got it, princess.” He looked in the rearview mirror at his blonde beauty. She looked just like her mother except she had green eyes like him, as did Trey.

      “You don’t get grades,” Trey told her. “You’re too little.”

      “Am not.”

      “Are, too.”

      Carson held up his hand. “Enough. What are you going to do with your money, Trey?”

      “Buy a new fishing rod. This summer I’m gonna catch that big ol’ catfish in Willow Creek.”

      “I don’t like fishing,” Claire said. Like her mother, Claire would rather stay indoors.

      The large two-story French colonial-style house came into view. It had an expansive veranda with a balcony above and the stately Greek columns typical of a Southern plantation. The Corbett home had been in the family for years, and Asa had completely renovated it for his wife, a Dallas socialite. She’d stayed long enough to have two sons and then returned to the city without them. Asa refused to let her take them, according to Carson’s aunt Fran. Asa’s wife had died one year later in a plane crash. Carson vaguely remembered the funeral.

      He drove around back to the garages. The kids jumped out and ran through the breezeway to the sunroom. Aunt Fran, his dad’s sister, had a snack waiting for them. After Carson and Jared’s mother had left, their aunt came to help. She was the only mother figure they’d had in their lives. When he and Jared were older, she decided to travel and see the world. She’d returned for good when Jared died. Carson didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t. She could deal with Asa better than anyone.

      “Where’s Pa?” He kissed his aunt’s cheek.

      “In the den,” she replied, pouring milk into glasses. “He’s sitting in there with a picture of Jared in his lap. One of these days I’m going to hide it. It’s not healthy for him to stare at it all the time.”

      In her late fifties, Aunt Fran had a reddish tint to her short, bobbed, graying blond hair. She was strong-willed and determined, like Asa, except she was a much softer version of him.

      Carson walked into the den. Asa sat in his motorized wheelchair. He could work the joystick with his right hand. A physiotherapist was working with him, and Asa could stand and shuffle a couple of steps, but his left side was weak and stiff.

      In his younger years, Asa had been a formidable, well-respected rancher. Governors, senators, congressmen courted Asa for favors. Many barbecues had been thrown on the Bar C to support the candidate of Asa’s choice. He’d ruled Willow Creek. Nothing had been done here without his approval. That was then. Now it was disheartening to see his robustly strong dad reduced to a shell of his former self.

      “Hi, Pa,” he said.

      Asa turned the chair to face his son. “K-ids.”

      “They’re having a snack. They’ll be here in a minute.” The only bright spot in his dad’s life was his grandkids. Claire would crawl into his lap and help to work his fingers for exercise. Trey would help to work his legs, and he’d read to him. It was good for his kids. It taught them how to treat the disabled and the elderly...except his dad was only sixty-five.

      Carson intended to bring up Jena Brooks but decided to wait. He didn’t want to upset Asa without showing him some hard evidence. He had to prove Ms. Brooks was lying, and the only way to do that was with facts.

      The kids ran in, and Claire climbed up to sit in Asa’s lap, looking at the photo of Jared. Trey sat at his feet, telling his grandfather about his good grades.

      “I’ve got to go out, guys. Trey, do your homework, and, Claire, I’ll help you when I get back.”

      “I’ll help her, Dad,” Trey offered.

      “Thanks, son.”

      He got in his constable’s car and headed for Minnie Voltree’s house. The woman had to be in her seventies now, but the last time he’d seen her she was still spry and had all her mental faculties, as far as he could tell.

      After crossing the tracks that divided the community, he turned onto a narrow dirt road that curled into a hilly wooded area. Minnie and her family lived deep in the woods, but people were still able to find her if they needed her. Since everyone, including the poor, had access to better medical care than used to be available in Willow Creek, Minnie’s midwife services were rarely needed these days.

      A trailer house was barely visible. Carson drove over a cattle guard and into the front yard. Chickens pecked freely in the grass. Minnie sat in a chair on the attached front porch, snapping green beans. An old redbone coonhound lay at her feet.

      “Afternoon, Constable,” Minnie said as he walked up the steps. The dog raised his head and then went back to sleep.

      “Minnie.” He tipped his hat.

      “What brings you out this way?” Minnie had a blue bandanna tied around her long gray hair. Her fingers continued to snap the beans deftly.

      “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

      “About what?”

      “Jena Brooks?”

      Her fingers paused for a second. A bad sign. “Sure.”

      “Did you deliver her baby?”

      Minnie