Remember My Touch. Gayle Wilson
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and regret.
“You and Rio haven’t exactly been…” She hesitated, searching for the right word, thinking about the strange relationship that existed between the half brothers.
“Not exactly bosom buddies,” Chase suggested caustically.
“Not exactly brothers,” she countered. “At least you haven’t acted like brothers.”
“I thought he killed Mac. At least had a part in Mac’s death. How did you want me to treat him?”
“You thought?” she asked, emphasizing the past tense, which was, to her, the pertinent part of that statement. “But you don’t think that anymore?”
“Hell, Jenny…” Chase began, and then he hesitated. “Sometimes even I don’t know what I believe anymore.” He shook his head, eyes lowering again to the steaming coffee. “It just doesn’t…” He shook his head again.
“Feel right to hate Rio any longer? Or to blame him for Mac’s death?” Jenny suggested.
Chase looked up. “You think I was wrong about that.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
Chase’s mouth tightened. It would be hard for him to make that admission, she knew. Almost as hard as it had been for her to make the unwanted one about her own life that she’d recently made.
“If that’s true,” Chase said, “then he probably hates me.”
Rio had tried to warn his half brother about what was going to happen to Mac. He had ridden across the river to tell Chase about a snatch of drunken conversation he’d overheard in a Mexican cantina. Only, he had made that ride the same night Mac’s truck had exploded, and the two events had become inextricably linked in Chase’s mind.
Chase hadn’t believed Rio’s claim that his mission that night had been a warning. Instead, he had interpreted his bastard half brother’s words as threat and had viewed Rio as the messenger of whoever had killed Mac. In the months following the murder, Chase had poured every ounce of his energy into seeing that Rio Delgado was punished for his part in that crime.
“You cost him five years of his life,” Jenny acknowledged. “If he is innocent, as he’s always claimed…”
“Then the wrong man got punished. And whoever killed Mac got away with murder,” Chase added bitterly. “I didn’t stop looking for them, Jenny. I always thought something would turn up. I never believed Rio was the mastermind. I thought he was just their damn messenger boy.”
“But he was the only one of them you could identify.”
Jenny understood all Chase’s motives in pursuing Rio. She had always understood them. She, too, had wanted somebody punished, but knowing Rio now, she had gradually come to realize that he hadn’t had anything to do with what had happened.
“Buck told me nothing else has ever come to light about that night,” Chase said. “There was never any indication that anybody was transporting drugs through this county. Or had even been planning to.”
Buck Elkins had been Mac’s deputy as well as his friend. He had been appointed sheriff after Mac’s death and had thoughtfully kept Jenny informed about the county’s progress, or in this case, its lack of progress, until she had finally asked him not to make any further reports to her about the investigation. There seemed no point in constantly being told that nothing else had been uncovered about her husband’s murder.
“Rio doesn’t seem to think too much of Buck’s detective skills,” Jenny reminded her brother-in-law.
“Couldn’t find his ass with both hands,” Chase said, repeating his half brother’s colorful assessment. Unconsciously, his lips moved, almost into a smile.
“Maybe Rio’s right,” Jenny said, “but I know Buck tried. Mac was his friend.”
“Elkins thinks Mac was wrong.”
“About what?”
“About everything. About the drugs.”
“Somebody approached Mac,” Jenny said, remembering, almost against her will, the argument they had had that night. The night Mac had died. “Somebody made him an offer.”
“Mac didn’t give me any details. Or anyone else, apparently. Not even Buck.”
“He didn’t have time. He would have told you. That’s why he asked you to come down here that weekend. And he had promised to contact the DEA. Officially, I mean. He promised me that night.”
“And instead… Hell, Jenny, we’re no closer than we were five years ago to knowing what really happened.”
The frustration she heard in his voice had played a role, she knew, in Chase’s determination to make certain that Rio, at least, paid for his part in his half brother’s death.
“And in the meantime,” he continued, his tone containing a thread of self-castigation now, “I got my half brother sent to prison for a crime neither of us believes anymore that he had anything to do with.”
“Have you told Rio that?” Jenny asked.
Chase pushed his cup away from him, the sudden motion strong enough to cause the coffee it contained to slosh out over the side. “How the hell am I supposed to tell a man that I’ve just realized my bullheaded stupidity cost him five years of his life? How do I do that, Jenny? How the hell do I ever make up for that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know that you can make up for it, but I do know that admitting you were wrong would be a good first step.”
Chase’s laugh was short and harsh. “Somehow that doesn’t seem to be quite enough,” he said. “It damn well wouldn’t be enough for me.”
“But then you’re one of those hardheaded McCullars. Maybe Rio…” She hesitated, realizing that Rio was a McCullar also, that unmistakable heritage from his father stamped as indelibly on his beautiful Latino features as it had been on the faces of his two half brothers.
“Maybe Rio’s a better man than his brother,” Chase suggested quietly.
“A more forgiving one,” Jenny said, finally smiling at him. “At least I hope so. And you didn’t answer my question. Do you want an invitation to Rio’s wedding?”
The depth of the breath Chase took was visible and audible, but he still didn’t respond.
“If it’s any help to you in reaching that decision,” she said, “I’d really like for you to be there. I think Trent would appreciate your showing up.”
“Trent’s not too thrilled about this, I guess. About Anne marrying Rio.”
“I think he’s trying to make the best of what he’s bound to see as a bad situation.”
“Senator Richardson’s beloved little sister marrying an ex-con.”
“Who shouldn’t have been an ex-con,” she reminded him quietly, feeling the need to defend Rio, even from Chase.
“And who wouldn’t have been, except for me,” he acknowledged.
“That sounds like justification enough for you to feel obligated to show up at his wedding.”
“Obligated,” he repeated bitterly. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood.
“They wore hair shirts in the Middle Ages,” Jenny said, working at keeping her own lips from tilting, although the teasing note was clear in her voice. “All you’ll need to put on is a suit.”
“You don’t think Rio will throw me out?”
“If you show up, you can probably even dance with the bride.”
“I think I’ll settle for dancing with the groom’s sister-in-law,” he said.
“Samantha