Cowboy Conspiracy. Joanna Wayne

      “No, fortunately, I put the house keys on the ring with my car keys earlier today.”

      “What about your phone?” Wyatt asked.

      “It’s in the car. No … Wait. It’s in my pocket. I forgot it was there. I could have called 911 myself. But my computer is in the trunk.”

      “What else is in the car?”

      “There’s a folder with information from the phone company, the electric power company, the natural gas company. The house I’m moving into has been empty for a year. I had to have all the utilities reconnected.”

      She blinked repeatedly, determined to hold back a surge of tears that was gathering behind her lids. This was no time to cry. She worked to revive the fury that would keep her from showing weakness.

      Jaci’s head drooped and came to rest against Kelly’s shoulder. The darling had fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t see if salty tears started spilling from her mother’s eyes.

      “I can spread my jacket on that booth behind us if you want to lay her down,” Wyatt offered.

      “Thanks. I would appreciate that.”

      She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

      Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

      Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

      Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

      Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

      WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

      Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

      The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

      The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

      Obviously, they knew one another.

      “Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

      “You saw him drive off in the car?”

      “No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

      “And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

      “I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

      “If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

      “No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

      “You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

      The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

      Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

      Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.

      Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

      “I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

      McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

      “I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

      “Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

      “No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

      “How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

      That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.

      The bell over the door tinkled again and this time a burly guy accompanied by a petite blonde walked in. Edie greeted them by name. Judging from the comments, they were a truck-driving team who stopped by often. Edie scurried off to take care of them.

      “Is that your Corvette out there?” the sheriff asked Wyatt.

      “No. I’m driving the black pickup truck. I figure the guy who stole Ms. Burger’s Honda drove up in that. It was the only car parked out front when I came in and he was the only customer.”

      “A Honda for a Corvette. Interesting trade. Brent, run the plates on the Corvette. My guess is it’s hot.”

      Good assumption. Wyatt sipped his coffee while the sheriff gathered the basic information from Kelly. His interest piqued when they got to the address where Kelly would be living.

      “That’s the old Callister place, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “Yellow cottage-style house, down from the old Baptist church.”

      “Yes. How did you know?”

      “My daughter Collette rented the place for a while back when she was single. I was glad to see her move out.”

      “Why?” Kelly asked.