The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas. Linda Warren
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“Yes.”
“I heard them talking.” Lamar rubbed his throat.
“About what?”
“I…Oh, Sheriff…” Lamar was shaking and his skin was a grayish color.
“Take a deep breath,” Wyatt coaxed while reaching for his cell to call Judy Deaver, the nurse. Since Horseshoe didn’t have a clinic, they depended on the nurse for minor emergencies.
“Judy, this is Wyatt. I need you at the jail immediately.”
“Be right there.”
“Keep taking deep breaths,” he told Lamar.
Next he called Stuart and didn’t waste words. “Get to the jail now.” He had a feeling time was of the essence.
Lamar was about to slide out of the chair, so Wyatt urged him to stand, wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to a cot in the back room.
“Relax and try to breathe normally.”
“My throat hurts and…and I can barely breathe.”
Judy came through the door with her bag.
“Back here,” Wyatt called.
“What happened?” she asked, taking Lamar’s pulse.
“Zeke near choked the life out of him.”
She spared Wyatt a glance. “When are you going to do something about that man?”
“Tonight,” he replied. He’d let Zeke Boggs get away with too much because of his diminished mental capacity, but kidnapping a prisoner was way over the line. Or at least he assumed she’d been kidnapped. Ms. Ross might have talked Zeke into letting her go. Then he’d have two prisoners on the lam. Either way, it wasn’t good for his department.
Stuart charged through the door, still stuffing his shirt into his pants. “What’s happening?”
Wyatt reached for his rifle in the gun cabinet. “Zeke assaulted Lamar and escaped. Ms. Ross is gone, too. I don’t know if they’re together or not, but I will find out.”
“Holy crap! We’ve never had a jailbreak.”
That didn’t sit well with Wyatt, either. “Call Bubba and get him to watch the office. Use your truck with the four-wheel drive and head to Earl Boggs’s place and let him know you’re going through his property to get to Zeke’s place. Tell him I’m going through the back way on horseback. It should be faster. I’ll meet you at Zeke’s.”
“Okay.”
Wyatt handed him a rifle. “Be careful and watch your back.”
The only way to get to Zeke’s quickly was through the Daniels property, which bordered Boggs’s land. As Wyatt spun away from the office, he reached for his cell and poked out Tripp Daniels’s number.
Tripp answered on the second ring.
“This is Wyatt. I hate to bother you at this time of night, but I need a fast horse.”
He and Tripp were friends. They went to school together for a time when the Carsons had moved to nearby Bramble to take care of his mother’s mother. Tripp was a rodeo rider, but he’d retired and settled down with a wife and a family.
“You got it.”
Wyatt liked that about Tripp. No questions. He knew Wyatt wouldn’t ask unless it was important. “See you in about ten minutes.”
Wyatt swerved onto the dirt road that led to the Lady Luck Ranch, hoping his instincts were right and Zeke had hightailed it to his shack and moonshine still on the river. He also hoped he hadn’t taken Peyton Ross with him. That would mean, though, that Ms. Ross had persuaded Zeke to unlock her cell and let her go. She would be an escaped prisoner. A huge knot formed in his gut. And it had a name. Peyton Ross.
He had a feeling he was going to rue the day he’d ever set eyes on the woman.
Chapter Four
Wyatt drove past the large, two-story colonial house to the barn and corrals. A light was on in the barn, so he knew Tripp was there. He grabbed his rifle from the back seat and climbed out.
As he did, Tripp emerged from the barn, leading a brown mare with a blaze of white down her face and one white-stockinged foot. Tightening the saddle cinch, Tripp said, “That didn’t take you long. What’s the rush?”
“I had a jailbreak tonight.”
Tripp lowered a stirrup and turned to face Wyatt. “Damn. So who are you after?”
“Zeke Boggs.”
Tripp stepped away from the horse with a frown. “He was in Bramble a couple of weeks ago scaring all the women to death. Horace locked him up and then escorted him out of town.”
Wyatt shoved his rifle into the scabbard on the saddle. “We’ve all been lenient with Zeke, but this time he’s crossed a line. He helped a female prisoner escape and I have to find him fast.”
“What!”
Wyatt put his left foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Do you mind if I go through your land to get to his shack?”
“Of course not. Do you need any help?”
“No. I can handle Zeke. Thanks for the use of the horse. I appreciate it.”
“Her name is Blaze—she’s a workhorse. She won’t let you down and she’ll carry you right through those brushy areas.”
“I owe you.”
“You sure do,” Tripp said. “I had my arms wrapped around the most gorgeous woman in the county.”
“Give Camila my best.” Blaze was prancing, ready to run.
Wyatt held her back, glancing at Tripp’s leather house shoes.
“Those are really bad for your cowboy image.” With that, he shot out of the yard, but not before he saw Tripp’s wide grin.
PEYTON WASN’T SURE how long they had been driving, but it seemed like hours. She kept pushing on the door with her body in hopes it would come open. Tumbling out onto the road seemed a good alternative to her current situation. It was probably rusted shut, though. The rope cut into her skin and it burned and hurt like hell.
They were now on nothing more than a dirt track, bumpy and narrow. Her insides were being jostled like something in a blender and she felt nauseous. The truck’s one headlight picked out a heavy thicket. Where were they?
In her mind the answer came a little too quickly—somewhere where no one will find you.
She swallowed hard to block her thoughts. The sheriff will come. Although he annoyed her, he appeared competent.
The stench in the truck was getting to her. Could one expire from odors? She’d never thought much about death before her father had become ill. She didn’t like the idea of it then and she certainly didn’t like it now. How could she get away from this horrible man?
Suddenly the beam of the headlight exposed a clearing with a small dilapidated shack and an attached lean-to. A creek or river flowed nearby. Two rusty trucks were parked to the side and weeds flourished around them. Junk and clutter filled the yard, from an old washing machine to a pile of cans and bottles.
Definitely a place where a body could be buried without anyone ever finding it. A nervous hiccup slid down her throat.
Zeke stopped the truck and reached under the dash to disconnect the wires. The engine sputtered away. And then there was silence.
“This is it,” he said proudly. “My home. I need a woman to take care of it.”
A bulldozer would take care of it. The words died