Chapter 3 #3
I processed the words, and when they sank in, I roared with laughter.
That woman was something else. Not only was she vindictive, she was also batshit crazy.
Which made her double trouble. Oftentimes, I wondered what the hell Lynx had seen in her, anyway, never mind why the hell he’d been inclined to marry the loony bitch.
Well, other than the fact that the crazy woman had claimed to be pregnant.
People could say whatever they wanted about Lynx, but he was a stand-up guy.
Granted, their marriage hadn’t lasted the better part of a year, but according to my cousin, that was twice as long as it should’ve lasted.
“Rhys just left,” I noted when I stopped laughing. “Want me to call him back here?”
Lynx shot a death glare my way, then stormed up the stairs, leaving me fighting the urge to laugh again.
When the office door slammed, I lost the battle.
Rhys
I pulled out of the lot and onto the main road through town.
Four minutes later, I took a left turn and headed to the oversized five-bedroom farmhouse I'd grown up in.
It was Monday, which meant I was going to check on my grandfather, make sure all was well.
It was the only time I could get alone with the man.
If I stopped by on the weekend, there was generally tons of family hanging around.
Aunts, uncles, cousins all there to spend time with the patriarch of the family.
The long dirt road leading up to the house had seen better days. I blamed my younger cousins for that. At sixteen, kids in this town seemed to think that driving through the mud was a rite of passage. I merely wished they’d find somewhere other than Pawpaw’s house to do their thing.
After parking my truck in the ruts in front of the house, I climbed out, looked around. Someone needed to come out and mow the front yard. I'd have to remember to call the brats who’d made the mud hole, have them come over and put their restless energy to good use.
“Boy?”
“I’m here, Pawpaw,” I greeted, my boots echoing on the rotted wood porch.
Grabbing the screen door handle, I pulled it open.
I found my grandfather sitting in his favorite chair—the one that my grandmother had sat in when she was alive—beside the picture window that overlooked the driveway and the big oak tree in front of the house.
All the lights in the house were off, the sun shining through the window and highlighting the lingering smoke and dust motes.
It seemed the air conditioner was working, despite the fact the old man kept the front door open.
Victor Trevino looked old, tired. Then again, he’d looked that way for the past two decades. He was a two-pack-a-day smoker who drank Schlitz from morning till night, and I figured the old man’s permanent scowl had something to do with too much nicotine and far too much beer.
“How’re you doin’?” I asked, leaning against the wall. I knew better than to make myself comfortable. These days, Vic preferred to be alone most of the time. He said it was enough that my mother still insisted on living with him despite the fact my old man had kicked the bucket.
Having raised three boys, Vic liked to say Cheryl Trevino was the daughter he’d never wanted.
Although the old man tried to pretend he didn’t like her, I knew he appreciated her help.
She’d put up with a lot of shit over the years, all in the name of family.
Her own parents had disowned her when she up and married William Trevino, claiming the guy wasn’t good enough for her.
They’d probably been right, but she’d never strayed.
Although her life would be significantly less stressful if she lived on her own, she stayed with Vic to help out around the house, plus to keep the vultures that were my family from stealing every damn thing the man owned.
Somehow, they managed to make it work between them.
But when she was at work, Vic wanted a little peace and quiet, or so he said.
“I’m a grumpy old man. How d’you think I’m doin’?” The cough that followed was a testament to all those damn cigarettes.
“Ornery as ever,” I noted. “Good to see some things never change.”
Vic spared me a quick glance, then looked out the window again. “You ain’t found you some sweet girl who’ll put up with that smart mouth yet?”
I smirked. “Not yet, Pawpaw.” No sexy cowboy, either.
Not that I'd mention that part. The one time my grandfather had heard that I had been with a man, the guy had stopped talking to me for a month. I was merely grateful he hadn’t disowned me.
“Well, do us all a favor and find one, would ya? It ain’t natural for a boy your age to be single.”
I was thirty-four, but to hear my grandfather say it made me feel a hell of a lot older than that.
“Probably not,” I said in an effort to appease the old man. “You or Momma need anything?”
“The dishwasher’s actin’ up again,” he informed me, waving me off with gnarled fingers clutching the butt of a cigarette.
“Well, that’s because it’s twenty years old. You know, they make ’em real nice these days.”
“Heh. Ain’t forkin’ out no more money for shit like that. Your momma’s the only one who complains. Far as I’m concerned, God gave her hands. She can put ’em to good use.”
I glanced toward the kitchen, rolling my eyes as I did. Ornery was an understatement when it came to my grandfather. The man was downright mean.
Pushing off the wall, I glanced back at Vic. “All right. I’ll give it a look, then I’m headin’ back to the office. Sure you don’t need anything?”
Vic shook his head but didn’t look at me.
As much as I loved the old fart, Monday afternoons certainly weren’t the highlight of my week.
Two hours later, sitting at the desk in my office, I propped my booted feet up on the desk and waited for the newest arrival to make his way down the hall. I'd heard Lynx Caine raising hell the second the man walked into the building five minutes ago.
Not that I wondered what the man wanted. The grapevine had already delivered the news to every-damn-body that Lynx’s crazy, soon-to-be ex-wife had stolen his truck right out of his driveway.
“Whose dick do I have to suck to get shit done around here?” Lynx bellowed.
Dropping my feet to the floor, I wiped the grin off my face and met the irate expression of our most recent crime victim.
Not that Lynx Caine was a victim. The rumor was that he’d been banging some girl on his lunch break and Tammy—not-so-lovingly nicknamed Lynx’s Stalker by the folks in town—had busted him.
Not that I was defending the crazy bitch. The fact that Tammy had moved out of my county didn’t hurt my feelings none.
“What the fuck, Trevino?” Lynx grumbled when he stepped into the small office.
“Nice to see you, too.”
“I want my goddamn truck back.”
“I’m sure you do. Kinda hard to take the girls home after you finish the job without it.”
Lynx glared at me, a look that I was all too familiar with.
“The papers are filed,” Lynx countered defensively. “I wasn’t cheatin’.”
“Don’t need to explain it to me. I don’t care who you’re bangin’. Or where. But I think you’ve learned your lesson about leavin’ your keys in your truck.”
Lynx flipped me off.
“Your truck’s out back,” I informed him.
Lynx’s dark eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What?”
Chuckling, I opened my top desk drawer and retrieved the set of keys I'd stashed there. I tossed them over to Lynx. “We pulled Tammy over just south of the county line for speedin’. She admitted to bein’ pissed when she saw your bare ass and some redhead beneath you on your couch.
We told her we’d talk you outta pressin’ charges if she gave it back without a fight. ”
Lynx dropped into the chair. “Goddamn. I’m so fuckin’ sick of this shit.”
I felt sorry for the man. Sort of. The Caine cousins were a wild bunch, always had been.
However, underneath the wild exterior, they weren’t bad guys.
Hell, I had been pretty damned impressed when Lynx married the girl in the first place and put forth the effort to be a good husband.
Turned out, Tammy had faked being knocked up in order to land one of the Caine cousins.
Lynx had been the unfortunate one who’d banged her in the first place.
From the second the news hit town that Lynx had gotten hitched, there’d been a few bets that he would be the one to stray. To everyone’s shock, Tammy had hooked up with one of the wranglers over at Dead Heat Ranch. Lynx had caught the two of them buck-ass naked in the bed of his truck, in fact.
Guy deserved a break.
“Thanks,” Lynx offered, getting to his feet.
“Keep your damn truck locked,” I ordered.
“Right.” He waved over his head as he disappeared down the hall.
Some days I loved my job.
With the office once again quiet, I pulled out my keyboard drawer and brought my computer to life. I typed in my password, then brought up my Internet browser.
Amy Smith. Texas.
I typed in the words and waited to see what the search would reveal. Just as I'd suspected, the list of people was vast.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the screen.
No one knew one single thing about the woman, which meant my search was pointless.
I didn’t even know where she came from. If I had the name of a city, I would have a place to start.
Unfortunately, the little bit of asking around I'd done today had resulted in zilch.
The woman had managed to be in Embers Ridge for three months and keep every detail about herself under wraps.
I had an overwhelming desire to find out what the woman was running from. Maybe it was my protective nature that had piqued my curiosity, or possibly something else entirely. Whatever it was, I hated the fear I saw in her eyes, hated knowing that someone had put it there.
Shit, even the fact that she would be working for Wolfe made me feel significantly better. At least that way, I knew someone would be able to watch over her, keep her safe from whatever demons were haunting her.
“Hey, Sheriff? We’ve got a loose cow out on No Name Road.”
Locking my computer, I got to my feet and grabbed my hat and my keys.
Time to do some real work.