Page 18

A ustin stared at the five cards in his hand.

The queen of hearts looked damned lonely with no other face cards to keep her company.

He understood that feeling. Christ, loneliness had been his companion for most of his life.

He loved his brothers, but hanging on to their shirttails, he’d found little affection and when it came, it had been little more than a quick nod of the head for a job well done.

He didn’t resent that. A man’s world was decidedly different from a woman’s.

Amelia had taught him that affection deepened with a touch: slender fingers on a clenched fist, a hand rubbing a shoulder, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek.

Small things that breached the mighty wall of lonesomeness.

But Amelia had belonged first to Dallas, then to Houston, never to Austin.

As much as she had eased his forlorn heart, she had also left him wanting. Until he’d first set eyes on Becky.

She had been his: to look at, to smile at, to laugh with—whenever he wanted.

But he’d kept his hands and lips to himself, waiting until she was old enough.

She had been nearly seventeen, the first time he’d kissed her.

And nine months later, he was sitting in a cold barren cell with nothing but the memories.

And the loneliness had increased because he had known what it was to live without it.

He told himself that it was loneliness that had him riding out to Loree Grant’s house late into the night.

He’d simply sit astride Black Thunder and stare at the shadowed house.

More than once he had to stop himself from dismounting and knocking on her door.

He didn’t imagine she’d appreciate being disturbed from her slumber at two o’clock in the morning. And what could he have said?

I can’t sleep without holding you, smelling you, listening to your breath whispering into the night.

He’d gone so far as to pull bluebonnets from the fields and stuff them beneath his pillow at the hotel just so he could pretend she was near.

It had been a week since he’d taken her to the old homestead and his loneliness had increased with each passing day.

He wasn’t in a position to court her, had nothing to offer her, and even though he’d told her that, he had seen a measure of hope reflected in her golden eyes.

He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her, and he feared if he spent much more time with her, he might do just that.

“You in or out?”

Austin snapped his gaze up to the detective’s. Wylan had lifted a brow. Austin tossed down his cards. “I feel like we’re wasting our time. Or at least I am. I might as well be spitting in a high wind for all the good I’m doing here.”

Wylan gathered up the cards and began his infuriating silent shuffle. “I finished visiting the last of the brothels last night. Didn’t glean any information.”

“You’ve been visiting brothels?”

“Yep. No telling what a man might say in the heat of passion.”

Austin knew too well the truth of that statement. “I could have saved you the trouble.”

Wylan smiled. “Oh, it was no trouble.”

The man’s easy attitude was beginning to wear thin. Austin planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Boyd McQueen had a preference for boys.”

The cards Wylan had been shuffling went flying out of his hands and disbelief swept over his face. “What?”

Austin rubbed his jaw wondering how much he could say without causing harm.

He’d learned of Boyd’s perversions from Rawley.

Furious over a past he’d been unable to change, Austin had shot a bullet over Boyd’s head in the saloon and announced that nothing would have brought him greater pleasure than to rid the ground of Boyd’s shadow.

Those words had served to condemn him as much as Boyd writing “Austin” in the dirt.

Austin sighed deeply. “Boyd took pleasure in hurting boys, among other things.”

“Your brother’s son?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. The boy has a haunted look in his eyes.

I just couldn’t figure out what had put it there.

” Wylan poured himself a whiskey and downed it in one swallow.

“I gotta tell you, the more I learn about Boyd McQueen the more I hope I don’t find the man who killed him.

But then there’s the matter of your innocence. ”

Austin fingered his glass of whiskey. “I spent five years thinking someone had killed him and purposely put the blame on me. The thought of getting even burned inside me. Now, I’m beginning to think I just got unlucky.

No one set out to hurt me. Someone murdered Boyd, and I got blamed for it.

If it hadn’t destroyed my life, I’d be applauding whoever killed him. ”

“Which is the reason I’ll keep looking, but this gives me a different angle: an irate father, a young boy McQueen might have hurt who finally grew to manhood … People will be less likely to share that sort of information, but I’ll keep that in mind as I’m digging.”

“I’m thinking of heading home. I can’t see that I’m doing any good here. Boyd stole five years of my life. I don’t want him taking any more.”

Wylan gathered up his scattered cards and began to play a game of solitaire. “I’m going to stay here a few more days, then head back to Kansas, see if this new information brings anything to the surface.”

The McQueens had moved to Texas from Kansas several years back. If Dee hadn’t brought such joy to Dallas’s life, Austin would have wished they’d never left Kansas.

“Mr. Leigh?”

Austin glanced up at the hesitant voice. Recognition dawned and he slowly came to his feet. “Dewayne, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. I was out visiting Loree today. She looks a might poorly. I have a feeling you’re the cause, but she said it ain’t my place to judge.”

Guilt cut through him like a rusty knife. He should have honored her request that he never return. “That was mighty generous of her.”

“She’s a generous sort—to a fault, if you want to know the truth. I don’t like to see her hurt.”

“I have no intention of hurting her.” It was that intention that had kept him away from her when everything inside him wanted to see her again.

“Well, see that you don’t ‘cuz you’d have to answer to me if you did.”

Dewayne spun on his heel. Austin dropped into his chair and met Wylan’s speculative gaze.

“What was all that about?”

“Personal,” Austin said just before he downed his whiskey, relishing the burning in his gut. Dewayne obviously had a soft spot for Loree. Hell, who wouldn’t?

“Nothing that might help me find Boyd’s killer?”

“No, but what would it cost me to have you search for another killer?”

“Not a cent. Your brother is paying me enough to find ten killers.”

“What information would you need?”

“Name helps. Description. Anything at all. What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He killed a family—”

“Mr. Leigh?”

Austin jerked his head around. Dewayne held out an envelope. “I forgot that Loree asked me to drop this off at the Driskill for you, but reckon I can just give it to you here.”

Austin took the envelope, studying the scrawl on the paper that looked as though it had been written with a trembling hand. “ ‘Preciate it.”

Dewayne gave him a slow nod before sauntering away.

“That from your Loree?”

“She’s not my Loree.” Austin tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter she’d written. The words had joy, fear, and dread weaving through him. He surged to his feet, knocking the chair over.

“What is it?”

“I was wrong. She is my Loree. Do whatever it takes to find Boyd’s killer. I’m headin’ back to Dallas’s ranch.”

His Loree. Austin stood in the doorway of her bedroom, watching her.

She was too trusting, leaving the front door and the door to her bedroom open.

And the dog wasn’t a damn bit of good. It had neither heard nor smelled his approach, but just continued to gnaw on one of Loree’s black shoes near the bed, growling at it as though it were a threat when the real threat was leaning against her doorjamb.

In her daisy colored dress, she sat on the floor, her legs tucked beneath her, her toes peering out from under her backside.

Her thick braid was draped over her shoulder.

She had opened a wooden chest and was slowly removing tiny pieces of clothing, spreading them over her lap, and pressing them flat with her fingers, as though each garment was precious—as precious as the child growing within her.

His child.

His knees felt like a couple of strawberries left too long on the vine, until they were soft and worthless. Her note had asked nothing of him. She expected nothing from him. She had simply wanted him to know that she was carrying his child.

He’d gathered up his belongings at the hotel, saddled Black Thunder, and ridden hard, every word of her letter emblazoned on his mind, echoing through his heart. He wished he could offer her more than an uncertain future and broken dreams.

He shoved himself away from the doorjamb.

His boot heels echoed through the room as he walked toward her, his stomach knotted as though someone had lassoed it and given the rope a hard tug.

She jerked her head around, the wariness in her golden eyes remaining as he neared.

Sweeping his hat from his head, he hunkered down beside her. “Howdy.”

She gave him a tentative smile, her fingers wrinkling the tiny gown she’d just smoothed across her lap. “Hello.”

“Dewayne gave me your letter.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

A shaft of deep sadness pierced his soul. “You don’t know me at all, Loree, if you believe that.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she dropped her gaze to the delicate clothing in her lap. Reaching out with his thumb, he captured a teardrop that slowly rolled from the corner of her eye. “I’m going home, Loree.”

She snapped her gaze up to his. “You found the man you were looking for?”