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Loosening the reins slightly and urging Thunder with his knees, Cole took off across the pastureland, hoping to outrun his demons.
****
“I guess that probably wasn’t the best way to try and meet someone.” Cole took a swallow of the fresh coffee the waitress had poured in his cup and studied his uncle across the booth table. The man might be pushing seventy, but he was in damn good shape. All those years of ranching had kept his body lean and hard, his muscles nearly like those of a man many years younger. He still had a thick head of dark brown hair, although it was now liberally streaked with gray. Cole knew men a lot younger who weren’t in half as good shape.
“I’d say you’re right,” Tate Bishop drawled, lounging back in the booth. “Seems pretty smart if she didn’t want to get in a truck with a complete stranger. Seems like one of you has a brain in their head.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it was stupid.” He stared at his coffee. “I don’t know. It’s just that she’s been doing strange things since she got in town.”
“Like what?” The look in Tate’s piercing blue eyes was sharp. “And what have you been doing? Following her? Is that why you were in her neighborhood last night?”
Half embarrassed, Cole told him what he’d done the day before. And about Dana’s strange behavior and her visit to the fairgrounds.
“What was she was doing there?” he asked, as much of himself as his uncle. “And what’s up with the vomiting, anyway? I sure didn’t expect to see her heaving her guts.”
Tate idly stirred sugar into his own coffee. “Maybe she’s not as hardboiled as she pretends to be and the stories she read really got to her. What did John Garrett have to say?”
“Not much more than who she is, an author of true crime books. Here to dig up all that stuff from twenty-five years ago. It’s so far in the past, I can’t figure why she’s after it now?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Tate sipped the liquid in his cup. “There’s nothing for her to find. And no one will talk to her.” He paused. “You don’t think she’s got a personal interest in it, do you?”
“Like what?” Then a cold thought froze him. “You think she might be related to the pedophile? That she’s trying to see if we ever found any evidence against him? Shit.”
“I think that’s very unlikely. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on her. Just in case.” Tate smiled. “And use that smooth personality of yours to convince her she needs to leave High Ridge alone.”
“Smooth.” Cole snorted. “But I will talk to her. Make her see she has to leave these folks alone.”
“You know good and well whoever it was has been long gone from here,” Tate pointed out. “Otherwise, I’d say, yeah, go for it. But after all this time?” He shrugged. “There isn’t even a trail to follow. And people want to keep their dead buried.”
“I know. I know. Thanks for meeting me.”
“Anytime. You know that, Cole. Maybe you could find time in your busy schedule to come out and have dinner with us. Your aunt sure would love to see you.”
Cole slid out of the booth and clapped his Stetson on his head. “I’ll see how the weekend shapes up. And I sure could use some of Adele’s cooking.”
“Come out Sunday. Plan on it.”
“I’ll let you know.”
****
Dana dragged herself into the kitchen worn out from wrestling with the nightmares that always left her sleep deprived. The stranger in the truck last night had ignited a terror she usually kept a tight lid on. Every time she closed her eyes, memories of Kylie seized her in a tight grip, and with them came the choking scent of wood shavings. Sleep was a hell she didn’t need.
She found the coffee maker and pulled the new can of coffee from the fridge. Leaning on the counter, she willed the machine to brew faster, needing the caffeine jolt to her system. When the last drop filtered into the pot, she poured some into a large mug and carried it outside to the small patio.
The chairs were still covered with dew, but the chilly dampness woke up her weary body. She settled in a lounger, leaned back, and watched two birds hopping from branch to branch in one of the crepe myrtles that guarded the corners of the tiny yard. If only her life could be that simple. She sighed and turned away.
She wasn’t looking forward to her visit to the sheriff’s office today. Would he be willing to help? After all, she might be able to find answers at last to an age-old case. He ought to be happy about that. Of course, if he gave her a hard time and was a real ass about it, she could always wave court decisions at him.
Assuming he gave her access to the files, reading the one about Kylie—and herself—would be the toughest part. She just hoped she’d be able to get through it.
Focus. Make an outline and focus. Think of it as an abstract story that piques your interest. Do what you always do. Stick to the facts, don’t let emotion cloud your thinking.
Yeah, right.
When her mug was empty, she went inside, refilled it, and headed for the bathroom. Half an hour later she was showered and dressed in slacks and a tailored blouse, what she considered her non-threatening outfit. Grabbing a muffin from the box she’d left on the counter, she headed out of the house.
At Freddie’s she bought a cold drink to wash down her muffin, chugging half of the liquid in her car in the parking lot. She could already feel the tension grabbing at her again, the expectation of conflict at the sheriff’s office. Not to mention the image of that black pickup dogging her, crawling around the edge of her consciousness like some poisonous bug.
