Gambling On A Dream. Sara Walter Ellwood
a decade, his tenure as the county’s first Native American sheriff had not been free of scandal. His election had been bought and paid for by his adopted family--the Cartwrights. And he’d been accused of looking the other way in more incidences than one, especially those involving the Blackwells, Cartwrights, Fergusons, and McPhersons.
An excited gleam came into his eyes. “I got a witness that puts Talon Blackwell in the vicinity of the Longhorn at the same time as the murder.”
She leaned back in her chair and gripped the armrests. What the hell was Talon doing on Main Street at that time in the morning? He’d moved back to town two months ago and into the old hunting cabin on the third of the family ranch belonging to him. His big plan was to raise cattle on his part of the M bar C, their family’s ranch, now that he got his share of money from the sale of the Blackwell Ranch.
At four AM, if a rancher was up, he was feeding stock, not cruising through a sleeping town, fifteen miles away.
“I’ll question Talon as soon as possible. He may have seen something.”
Chet’s lips twisted into a sardonic grin. “Yeah, you do that, Sheriff.”
Determined not to let the pissant intimidate her, she stood and leaned over the desk. “I should remind you, Deputy Hendricks, I was appointed sheriff by the town council, and you haven’t won the election. You are very close to insubordination.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Both she and Hendricks turned toward the door. Texas Ranger Wyatt McPherson stood in the opening. He pulled his hat off his head of thick chestnut brown hair. His full lips twitched up in one corner, and amusement caused small crinkles at the corners of his bluebonnet-blue eyes, as if he spent too many years squinting into the sun.
Dawn sucked in a breath and hated that her heart seemed to speed up. Damn, she hated when people snuck up on her. She refused to think about the fact that her heart hadn’t started beating fast until after she’d conducted a full assessment and determined the interruption was harmless.
Well, as harmless as a rattlesnake.
Wyatt ambled into the room with the loose walk of a man who’d grown up riding horses.
“Lieutenant McPherson, welcome.” She pasted a smile on and prayed it looked genuine. The last thing she wanted was either man to know how much Wyatt’s presence affected her. She’d made that mistake last month when he showed up on duty to help catch a gang of cattle rustlers.
The Texas Ranger held out his hand. She shook it quickly and tried to ignore the way his touch caused her skin to tingle.
“Sheriff, it’s good to see you again.”
Yeah, right. Like working together on the rustling case had been a picnic.
“Glad the Rangers sent you, Wyatt.” Chet faced Wyatt with all the self-importance of a bantam roster. “I have a witness that puts Talon Blackwell at the scene around the time of death. I think he should be brought in for questioning.”
Wyatt glanced at her, but she ignored him to glare at Chet and said through gritted teeth, “Deputy Hendricks, you are dismissed.”
With a glower at her, he didn’t say more. He stormed out of the office, then shut the door with a bang behind him. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I almost need my hunting knife to cut the tension in here. What was that all about?”
She met his blue gaze. “You know you can’t trust us Injuns. Maybe I’ll ride on over to his place later and scalp him in his sleep and hang his mangy pelt on the totem pole in front of my teepee.”
Wyatt chuckled and sat in the chair in front of her desk. He laid his black Resistol hat on the edge. “See, that’s why you’ll make a great sheriff.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Better share that with the rest of the town. Chet has them convinced he’d be the best choice for sheriff.”
He shrugged and grinned a one-sided smile, making him look like a sexy cross between a young Harrison Ford and Clint Eastwood all rolled up in one. “He won’t win, and Hendricks will either come around, or else once you’re elected sheriff, he’ll quit. At least it won’t be like when your dad was elected. Over half of his deputies up and walked out in protest.”
She remembered the day her father won the election. “Yeah, and Dad wouldn’t have gotten elected if the Cartwrights and your dad hadn’t pulled every string out there. When I win this election, it will be because I earned it, not because someone bought it for me.”
Had she imagined the shadow over his eyes as he lowered his gaze to his hands?
“You’re still just as driven as you’ve always been.”
“When someone thinks killing kids on my watch for drugs is okay, damned right I’m driven.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I just hope the people in Forest County realize the fallout if they put a bigot like Chet Hendricks in the sheriff’s office.”
Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “I told you he won’t win. Give the folks of this town some credit.”
“I’ll be happy when the election is finally over.” She stood and headed for the coffee in the corner.
“So, what was he yapping about concerning Talon?”
She dumped fake creamer into her cup and handed Wyatt a cup of black. “Someone supposedly saw him near the murder scene.”
“We’ll have to question him.”
She sat behind her desk again and sipped the strong, hot coffee. “Yeah, I know.”
“I thought he was living out on the M bar C. How’s he doing these days?”
“Yeah, he’s living there.” She set her favorite bright green mug on the desk and shrugged. Would he recognize it as the one he’d given to her on her thirtieth birthday? She wasn’t sure if she was happy or disappointed when he glanced at it, and his face showed no signs of recognition. “You know Talon. He’s always been a loner. He’s more so since coming home.”
“Prison will do that to a person.”
Talon’s life had never been easy. Their mother married Dawn’s father when Talon was only a baby. Her dad had wanted to adopt him, but Talon’s biological father wouldn’t allow it. Jock Blackwell had insisted Talon carry his name, but he never was a father to Talon, or his other three illegitimate sons for that matter. Her dad had tried his best with Talon, but he’d rebelled early and gotten himself into trouble on a regular basis. Her father always got him out of the misdemeanor stuff--except he hadn’t been able to get him out of the bogus drug charges he’d racked up two years ago in Amarillo.
The day Talon graduated high school, he’d left home to ride the rodeo circuit, until he was thrown from a bull and nearly killed six years ago. He’d moved home to recover, and this time his father wanted to spend time with him. Dawn suspected Jock had wanted to gage his youngest son’s intentions. Of all his sons, Talon was the only one who hadn’t ever cared about getting his hands on Blackwell Ranch. After a few months, Talon and Jock seemed to form some sort of relationship. Then one day, Talon had ridden out over the pasture of his father’s ranch and discovered Jock dead. Her bother never talked of the sight, but it had to have been gruesome. Jock had died from a head injury and lain in the July heat and elements for three days.
She shook her head at the thoughts. “You don’t honestly believe Talon would do or sell drugs, do you?”
Wyatt sipped his black coffee from the Styrofoam cup as if considering his response. “All I know is no one truly decides to be an addict. You know that.”
She stared at the coffee in the mug clutched between her hands. “Talon swore in his trial the coke had been planted on him to keep him from competing in the rodeo. I believe my brother, Wyatt. Talon has always been a hothead and a roughneck,