Her Texas Ranger. Stella Bagwell
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his hand to the sullen child. “Hello, Matthew. I’m Seth Ketchum.”
Matthew was clearly pleased to be greeted as an adult rather than a child, but there was still a suspicious look in his eyes as he shook hands with Seth.
“Are you one of those rich Ketchums that live next to us?”
“Next to us” meant at least ten miles away as the crow flied, but Rube Dawson’s property did butt up to a portion of the T Bar K. And out here in New Mexico it was the same as West Texas—land was usually measured in sections.
“Matt!” Corrina scolded. “It’s not polite to ask someone about their finances!”
Seth merely chuckled. “Well, I’m not all that rich and part of my family lives next to you,” he told Matthew. “But I don’t. I live down in Texas. In San Antonio, where the Alamo is.”
“Oh,” Matthew mumbled, then a flicker of interest passed over his face. “Do you know Aaron?”
Seth nodded. “He’s my nephew. Are you two friends?”
Matthew nodded. “Yeah. We ride the same school bus together. He’s younger than me, but he’s pretty cool.”
“Mr. Ketchum is a Texas Ranger,” Corrina said to her son.
Matt’s blue eyes suddenly widened with disbelief. “You mean, like the one on TV?”
“That’s right,” Corrina replied. “Except that Seth is the real thing.”
Matthew’s mouth fell open as he stared openly at Seth. “You’re not wearing a badge or gun.”
Seth grinned. He didn’t know why, but something about the boy touched him. Maybe it was the vulnerable look in his eyes or the way he sidled close to his mom as though he couldn’t trust the outside world.
“That’s because I’m here as a neighbor,” Seth explained.
Corrina gestured toward the screen door leading into the house. “Dad’s inside, if you’d like to talk to him,” she invited.
“If he’s busy I can come back some other time,” Seth offered.
She cast him an odd look. “Dad’s never busy. He—uh—he’s retired now.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she opened the door and stood to one side to allow him entry. Seth slipped past her and into a dimly lit living room packed with mismatched pieces of older furniture. The house wasn’t air-conditioned, but there was a water-cooled fan blowing through vents in the ceiling. The moist breeze was enough to make the room temperature tolerable.
“Dad’s sitting out on the back porch,” Corrina stated as she ushered him down a short hallway and into a small kitchen with worn linoleum and white metal cabinets.
Along the back wall of the room, Corrina pushed open another screen door and motioned for Seth to follow her.
“Wake up, Dad,” she said in a raised voice. “Someone is here to see you.”
Rube Dawson was sitting in a metal lawn chair at one end of the screened-in cubicle. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot. Graying brown hair lay in limp hanks against his head and edged down over his ears. A blue plaid shirt was stretched taut over his rounded belly.
Seth didn’t need to see the empty beer bottles sitting on the floor next to his chair to tell him that Rube was a continual drinker.
“Hello, Mr. Dawson. Remember me?”
The older man twisted his head around and squinted long and hard at Seth. “Yeah, I think I do. You’re a Ketchum. Seth, isn’t it?”
Seth nodded while deciding Rube apparently hadn’t ruined all his brain cells with alcohol. “That’s right. I’m Seth. Ross’s older brother.”
Nodding, Rube reached a hand toward Seth and the two men shook hands.
“Sit down, son,” Rube invited warmly, “and tell me what this visit is about.”
Seth took a seat in a webbed lawn chair to Rube’s right. From the corner of his eye he could see Corrina lingering in the doorway, almost as if she was afraid to leave her father alone with him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Seth? Or some iced tea?” she offered.
He looked at her. “Tea would be nice. Thanks.”
She disappeared from the doorway and Seth turned his attention to Tucker’s old friend.
With slow, easy movements, he settled back in the chair and crossed his boots at the ankles. “I thought you might be able to help me, Rube. I’m up here trying to help my family find out who killed Noah Rider.”
Rube grimaced and swiped a thick hand through his hair. “That was a hell of a thing. I couldn’t believe it when I heard about it. Noah hadn’t been around here for years. Who would have wanted to kill him?”
Seth studied him closely. “I don’t suppose you’d kept in contact with him?”
Rube shook his head. “Nah. It’s been about twenty-two, twenty-three years since he left here. After he left here I think I ran into him a couple of times after that. And that was by accident over at Le Mesa Park.”
“What was he doing back then?”
“Training racehorses for some rancher down in Texas. Don’t know where. That’s been too many years ago for me to remember.”
Since the remains of Noah had been discovered on the T Bar K, the San Juan County Sheriff’s Department had sent Chief Deputy Daniel Redwing to Hereford, Texas, to search Noah’s last known residence. Redwing hadn’t found much for them to go on. The man had apparently been living a simple, modest life. From what the deputy had gathered from the man’s neighbors, Noah had lived alone and rarely had visitors. At the time of his death, he’d been employed at a local feedlot. Physically demanding work for a man in his sixties.
Which could only mean that Noah hadn’t possessed a nest egg for his older years. He’d been forced to work to supplement his monthly social security check, Seth mentally concluded.
“Well, at the time he was killed he was working full-time at a feedlot. His employer told a San Juan County deputy he never missed work and was surprised when Noah had told him he wanted a day off to drive up here to New Mexico.”
“Hmm. So, old Noah was working,” Rube said thoughtfully. “That doesn’t surprise me. He was always a damn sight more ambitious than me.”
That was quite an understatement, Seth decided as he focused his gaze on the back view of the Dawson place. Like the front, there was no yard, just red packed earth dotted with rocks and a few clumps of scraggy sage. Beyond, some twenty yards away, a network of broken-down corrals joined one end of the barn. Except for one black horse, the pens were empty. From the looks of things, Seth figured they’d been empty for several years.
“So you’re retired now,” Seth commented.
Rube leaned forward and rubbed a hand over both knees. “Yeah. I had to give up ranchin’. Just got too old and stiff to sit a saddle. And I couldn’t afford to hire help. Sold off all my cattle and the horses, too.”
Footsteps sounded just behind Seth and he glanced over his shoulder to see Corrina walking onto the porch carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea.
As she approached him, her gaze met his briefly then fell swiftly to the tray in her hands.
“I hope you like it sweet,” she said quietly. “I already had it made.”
She bent toward him, and as he picked up one of the glasses, he caught the faint scent of flowers on her hair. The sweet fragrance reminded Seth how very long it had been since he’d took any sort of notice of a woman. “I’m sure it will be fine. Thank you, Corrina.”
“I’ll bet I don’t have to tell