Fearless Gunfighter. Joanna Wayne
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removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.
He seemed not to notice.
Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.
She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.
She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.
Sydney motioned to Betts.
“Ready for another beer?”
“Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”
“Yeah. What?”
“See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.
“Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”
“So it appears. Is he a regular?”
“Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”
“Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”
“Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”
“Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”
“Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”
Betts studied the photo for a few seconds and then looked back at Sydney. “Nope. Why?”
“She’s an old friend of mine who moved to this area a few years ago. I thought I’d look her up while I’m visiting the area, but I’m not sure where she lives.”
“Try social media. You can find most everybody on there, even people you don’t want to find.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There were fewer couples on the dance floor now and a lot more empty seats at the bar. Evidently the party ended early on Monday evenings. Sydney sipped her beer, stood and walked over to the stranger’s table before he decided to cut out, as well.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, trying for a flirty voice but likely falling short.
“You can sit. It’s a waste of time. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it in me.”
“What if it’s a good time?”
“Then you really need to look elsewhere.”
“What if it’s only conversation?”
“You can do better talking to yourself.”
“You are scraping the bottom of the blues,” she said. “Do you live in Winding Creek?”
“Nope.”
“Me, either. Where do you live?”
“Wherever I kick off my boots.”
Her suspicions surged. “Do you have a name, cowboy?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“If we find ourselves kicking off our boots in the same town one night, I might want to look you up.”
“It’s Tucker. Tucker Lawrence. But don’t bother to look me up. I got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and stuck one end of it under his empty glass. “Enjoy your visit to Winding Creek.”
Tucker stood, picked up his hat, tipped it and strode out of the bar the way he’d come in, looking straight ahead and not saying a word to anyone.
Sydney walked back to her table, left money for her tab and tip, and then followed Tucker Lawrence out the door. He was already in his truck and pulling away when she jumped into her car and followed him. He might not live in Winding Creek, but if not, he must be staying somewhere nearby.
There was probably at least a 99 percent chance that he was a dead end, but there was always that 1 percent. At least she’d know how to find him again if she needed to and she knew his name unless he’d lied about it.
Sydney followed Tucker down the highway a few miles before turning onto a dark country back road. He took the unfamiliar curves without lowering his speed, making it difficult for her to keep up.
He turned off onto another road, more narrow, hilly and winding than the first. She was almost up with him when she spotted the deer in her peripheral vision.
She threw on her brakes and skidded to a stop just as the animal darted onto the blacktop road. Her heart jumped from her chest at the soft thumping and the jerky movement as the car rolled to a full stop.
She sprang out of the car not thinking that a wounded animal could be dangerous until she got closer to the large buck. The stunned animal stared into her headlights accusingly for a few seconds and then raced to the other side of the road and disappeared into the woods.
No limp. No signs of significant injury. Relief rolled through her. She checked out her car. There were a few stray hairs in her left bumper, but not even a dent. Luckily, she’d seen the deer in time to prevent real damage to it or her or the rental car. She climbed back behind the wheel. Tucker Lawrence was long gone.
By the time Sydney got back to Hank’s to question the owner himself, he was gone, as well. Reportedly left early on what he considered a slow night.
There was nothing left for her to do but go check into her motel room and try to get some sleep. Only how could she close her eyes not knowing what Rachel might be facing tonight?
Already missing ten days. The urgency burned like fire deep in Sydney’s soul.
* * *
THE WOMAN IN Hank’s had told it like it was. A man was in damn bad shape when he couldn’t shake the blues enough to respond to a stunning woman who’d made the first move.
Tucker had moped around for almost a week, spending most of that time in cheap motels between here and Lubbock though he could have afforded first class.
The cheap motels had seemed a better match for his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly mood. He’d stayed in Lubbock just long enough for Lauren’s parents to make the flight from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Lubbock to be with their devastated daughter.
Lauren had taken the news of Rod’s death as badly or worse than Tucker had expected. At one point, Tucker had to literally hold her up to keep her from hitting the floor. Only thing that held her even halfway together until her parents arrived was that the kids needed her.
She was a train wreck, shock and heartbreak reducing her to a state of helplessness that mimicked that of her toddler daughter.
Tucker hadn’t been in a lot better shape himself, but watching Lauren face the tragedy rode his nerves even harder.
Living, breathing, laughing one minute. Brain-dead six seconds later, though Rod’s body had managed to hold on to life for two more hours.
All for what? That was the question that wouldn’t let go of Tucker.
He should