Emma Johansen and Boone Murphy ran the Simple hardware store together. But not cordially. They fought like cats and dogs. Part of the town was betting on which one would kill the other first and the other part was convinced that they were madly in love and would eventually get married. Although those romantics were dwindling in numbers.
Dixie shook her head as she got into the sheriff’s SUV. “It seems that Boone parked in Emma’s parking spot and she didn’t take too kindly to it. Boone now wants her thrown in jail for purposely denting the back fender of his brand new Dodge Ram.” She shook her head. “This is the life of a small town sheriff.”
“And you love every second of it.”
“As much as you love that damned ol’ rodeo.” Dixie stuck her hand out the window and waved as she drove away.
Maisy stood there waving until the SUV disappeared in a cloud of dust, then she headed to the thicket of trees to the left of the trailer. The same trees that Sheriff Willaby had taken Dixie to, intending to kill her. Dixie believed the sheriff had brought her there because it was where he’d buried Sam’s body.
In the shade beneath the mesquite and oaks, Maisy saw the vague tracks of the tracking dogs in the dried mud. She followed them through the trees. They seemed to go around and around in circles. That’s how Maisy had felt since finding out about Sam’s death. She felt like she was spinning on a playground merry-go-round. Spinning and spinning until she was dizzy. She wanted it to stop so she could get off and catch her balance. But she knew there would be no getting off until Sam’s body was found.
It wasn’t like she believed he was alive. It was that she couldn’t believe he was dead. She couldn’t believe she would never have a chance to meet him face-to-face. Never have a chance to yell at him for leaving her mama and her. Never have a chance to forgive him.
And never have a chance to win his love.
She stopped and looked up through the green leaves of the mesquite and oak at the blue Texas sky.
“Damn you, Daddy. Damn you!”
Chapter Seven
“I want to help with my son as much as I can, but I don’t know if I can do the entire poopy diaper thing.” Cru lowered the chicken wing he’d just picked up and looked like he was going to be ill.
“Why not?” Val asked. “As a rancher, you deal with animal manure every day.”
“Yeah, but that’s with a shovel. I don’t actually have to wipe the horse’s butt.”
Logan laughed. “You’ll be just fine. I worried about it too. But when it’s your kid, it’s different. Not to say that it’s easy. I made a real mess of things the first few times I changed Helen.”
“Maybe Cru and I should come over and practice changing Helen before our babies get here,” Holden said. Sawyer wasn’t surprised by the comment. Holden had always been the practical Double Diamond boy who liked being prepared. Which was why he made a damn fine lawyer. “And maybe Devlin could come too,” Holden continued. “She’s feeling a little anxious about motherhood.”
“Y’all are more than welcome to come change diapers any time,” Logan said. “Especially if it’s at two in the morning.” After the boys finished laughing, he lifted his long-necked bottle of beer. “To the soon-to-be daddies, Holden and Cru.”
Sawyer clinked his bottle with the rest of the boys’. He was enjoying being with his friends, but he’d much rather be back on the rodeo circuit getting ready for his ride. He would’ve been if Lincoln hadn’t done such a good job of guilt tripping him into staying to celebrate Holden and Cru’s kids.
He glanced down the table at his friend. Lincoln seemed pensive tonight. As if he had a lot on his mind. As a Texas Ranger, he probably did.
“Okay, enough talk about babies,” Cru said. “We’re boring the hell out of Sawyer.”
He grinned. “Hey, I love to talk about babes.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Especially if they look like that redheaded babe standing at the bar. I wouldn’t mind her waking me up at two in the morning.”
The conversation moved onto the redhead’s assets for a few moments before Logan turned to Sawyer. “Tell us about this horse you found. Have you discovered anything about the owner yet?”
“No.” Sawyer took a sip of beer. “Animal control came out to take a look at him and filled out a report, but they said they hadn’t heard a word about a missing horse.”
“Did they take him?” Val asked.
“They wanted to, but Angel threw a fit when they tried to get him in the trailer. So they decided it was best to leave him where he is.”
Sawyer probably could’ve gotten the horse in, but he hadn’t offered to help. For some strange reason, he didn’t want to let the horse go. In fact, just the thought of animal control taking him freaked him out almost as much as it did Angel. Obviously, the concussion had affected his emotions.
“Do Chester and Lucas want to keep him?” Logan asked.
Lincoln jumped in. “I’m sure they do. But they don’t need another horse to take care of. Especially one with as many issues as Angel has. They’re good cowboys, but they’re getting up in age. I worry about them having to care for a horse that’s so aggressive.”
Lincoln had a good point. Sawyer would feel guilty as hell if Chester and Lucas got injured taking care of Angel. And yet, he hated the thought of Angel going to someone who didn’t understand him. There was something about the wounded animal that struck a chord with him. Something in his eyes that spoke to something inside of Sawyer.
“Maybe one of you could take him,” Sawyer said. “I think he could be a damned good riding horse in time.”
Cru spoke up. “I would be willing—” He cut off suddenly and cringed as if in pain. He glanced at Lincoln and then cleared his throat. “I would be willing to ask around to see if anyone wants him.”
Holden shrugged and looked down at his beer. “Maybe you should keep him, Sawyer.”
“And drag him around with me to a bunch of rodeos? I’m sure Angel would love life in the back of a horse trailer.”
“You’re right,” Logan said. “Traveling is hard on a horse.” He paused. “And a thirty-year-old man.”
Sawyer didn’t need the reminder. In his teens and early twenties, thirty had seemed a lifetime away. Now suddenly it was here . . . and terrifying. Or maybe what was terrifying was being thirty and not having accomplished anything.
As if reading his thoughts, Cru called to the barmaid. “Hey, Wanda. A round of tequila shots. My friend Sawyer just had a birthday and is officially over the hill.”
“Thanks, Cru,” he said drily.
Cru grinned. “Anytime, buddy. Anytime.”
When the shots arrived, Sawyer wanted to decline his. Tequila had now become his least favorite drink. But with his friends toasting his birthday, he was forced to down the shot. He choked on the fiery liquid when the reason he no longer liked tequila walked up.
Maisy gave him a hard whack on the back. “You okay, Saw?”
“I’m good,” he said, even though he wasn’t. With Maisy standing so close, his body was strung as tight as a fiddle string. She smelled nice. Like the sheets his grandmother used to dry out in the sunshine. As a kid, he had loved running through those sheets and feeling the soft cotton brush against his face as his nose filled with the fresh, clean scent. Now, he tried to hold his breath. It was too bad that he could still see.