Cowboy Conspiracy. Joanna Wayne

      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.

      “I probably shouldn’t even mention this,” McGuire said, “but I’m sure you’ll hear from someone else if not from me. My daughter’s friend was brutally attacked in that house. She’s fine now, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Turned out the guy was actually after my daughter. But don’t worry. He’s behind bars now.”

      “I hope your daughter is okay,” Kelly said.

      “She’s fine now. Married and with a bun in the oven.”

      Wyatt was familiar with that part of the story. The sheriff’s daughter was married to Wyatt’s brother Dylan. This was becoming all too familial. All they needed was some fried chicken and banana pudding and it would be a family reunion.

      How did people ever have any privacy in a town like Mustang Run?

      “That house has been empty for over a year,” McGuire continued. “Place needs a paint job and lots of work. Last time I drove by to check things out, I noticed an oak tree in front that needs to be cut down.”

      “I loved that tree. I remember climbing it when I was about Jaci’s age and having tea parties with Grams under those huge spreading branches.”

      “Well, it’s dead now. Lightning bolt last spring nailed it and it looks like the first good wind will lay it on the roof.”

      “I wasn’t made aware of any of that.”

      “House was in perfect shape when Cordelia Callister was living. She’d probably roll over in her grave if she knew it was in such a state of disrepair.”

      “Surely it isn’t that bad.”

      “It’s bad enough that whoever rented it to you should have explained how much work it needs before they took your money. If you need help breaking the lease, call Judge Betty Smith. Number’s in the book. She’ll tell you what to do.”

      “Actually, I own that house,” Kelly admitted. “I had no idea it was neglected. For years, I’ve been paying a man named Arnold Jenkins to manage the property.”

      McGuire rubbed his whiskered jaw. “So you own the old Callister home place? Did you buy it sight unseen?”

      “I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. Cordelia was my grandmother.”

      “Well, hell’s bells. Then you must be Linda Ann’s daughter. Why didn’t you say so?”

      “I didn’t expect anyone around here to remember my mother.”

      “All the old-timers around here remember her. She grew up in Mustang Run and that was back when everybody knew everybody.”

      It appeared they still did.

      McGuire hooked his thumbs in his belt loop and hitched up his pants. “Don’t that beat all, you showing up back here after all these years? Linda Ann left Mustang Run right after she graduated from UT and that’s pretty much the last we’ve seen of her. How’s she doing?”

      “Mother’s doing well.”

      “I remember Cordelia talking about Linda Ann being a single mother after your father was killed. Car crash, wasn’t it?”

      Kelly nodded. “He died before I was born.”

      McGuire rubbed his jaw. “Did Linda Ann ever marry again?”

      “Yes, six years ago. She married a physics professor that she worked with in Boston. He retired last year and surprisingly, they moved to Plano, Texas.”

      “Guess your grandmother figured Linda Ann wasn’t ever going to move back to Mustang Run so she just left her property to you.”

      “Exactly. But apparently I should have checked on it personally before now. In my defense, I’ve been occupied with other matters and I trusted that Mr. Jenkins was taking care of repairs.”

      “I’m afraid Arnold’s been snookering you for over a year. He’s got the rheumatism so bad now he had to give up his membership in the local spit-and-whittle society. He’s been at his son’s house in California since before Thanksgiving.”

      “Spit and whittle?” Kelly questioned, confusion written on her face.

      “The unofficial society for retired men,” Wyatt explained. And now that he’d interrupted the dialogue, he might as well come clean and jump into the old-home-week party.

      Wyatt stuck out a hand toward the sheriff. “I should introduce myself. I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

      The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back on his heels, studying Wyatt. “Yep, I see the family resemblance now. Dylan talks about you all the time, but he didn’t say a word about his infamous Atlanta detective brother coming for a visit.”

      “No one in the family knows I’m here,” Wyatt admitted.

      “Planning to surprise ‘em, uh? Believe me, they will be. Sure as shootin’, Troy will kill the fatted calf. How long you here for?”

      “I’m not sure.”

      “Well, I’d like to sit down and chew the fat with you while you’re in town, see how the big-city way of doing things compares with our methods. The county is growing so fast, we’re adding a specialized homicide division. I could use your input.”

      “I’d be glad to give it.”

      “Right now we’d better get to the business at hand.”

      Wyatt caught a whiff of Kelly’s perfume as she and the sheriff stepped away. Add that to the sway of her hips and the effect was intoxicating.

      A half hour later, it had all been said. As suspected, the Corvette had been stolen in Houston earlier that day, the keys taken from a woman in her own driveway as she was getting in the car.

      While the sheriff had questioned Kelly, Brent had taken down a detailed description of the suspect from Wyatt and Edie. Jaci was still sleeping soundly.

      McGuire took another call on his cell phone, the third since he’d arrived. Evidently the weather was playing havoc with driving. When the sheriff broke the connection, he gulped down the remains of his second cup of coffee and turned to Wyatt.

      “I’ve got a truck that skidded off the road and into a ditch on Buchanan Road that I need to attend to. Seeing as how both you and Mrs. Burger are going to Mustang Run, how about you giving her a lift into town?”

      An offer Wyatt had made earlier and had the proposal refused. But that was when he and Kelly were strangers. Now they shared a membership in the elite Mustang Run descendants club.

      Now Wyatt was the one with concerns. “I’ll be glad to drive Mrs. Burger into town, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to stay at her house tonight.”

      “The house needs work, but it’s not going to cave in on her,” McGuire argued. “It’s been standing for more than a hundred years.”

      “The thief looked about as unsavory as they come,” Wyatt said. “Even if he can’t break into her computer files, there’s information in the stolen car about where she lives. And I suspect he has a good hunch she’ll be there alone.”

      “More likely, the thief is long gone from the area by now,” McGuire said. “But the decision for where she stays is up to Mrs. Burger.”

      Kelly