Endangered Heiress. Barb Han
Eighteen
Madelyn Kensington glanced at the screen of her phone as it vibrated. Her ringtone belted out. The screen read Unknown Caller and the number wasn’t familiar. Everyone had gone to lunch on her floor and she suddenly felt vulnerable.
The area code revealed the call came from within Texas. Her muscles corded. She prayed this wasn’t her ex trying to trick her into speaking to him by using a different phone. She had no plans to drop the harassment charges against him or ask the judge to lift the restraining order. She was still frustrated with herself for allowing Owen to slip past her jerk-radar. She’d walked away the instant he’d revealed his true colors and, based on his threats, she’d been too late.
A low sigh slipped out. This whole week had been one problem after another, and being without her convertible while the word skank had been removed from her hood—courtesy of Owen even though he’d denied it—ranked right up there with the time she’d been stranded for twenty-four hours with no bathroom during a road trip in college.
The ringing stopped and she stared at the device. Tapping her foot, she waited for the voice-mail icon to pop onto the screen. It was taking too long. She absently fingered the small dragonfly dangling from its chain around her neck as she waited. The necklace had belonged to her mother and touching it made her feel connected, comforted when her life felt like it was spiraling out of control. In times like these Madelyn especially missed never having known her mother.
Owen’s last words wound through her thoughts. Think you can walk away from me? You’ll never know when I’ll strike. Icy tendrils gripped her spine, shocking her with a cold chill that spread through her body. Either her ex was leaving the longest voice mail in recorded history or this was another frustrating telemarketing call.
Again, her ringtone belted out as the phone vibrated in her hand. The motion startled her. She dropped the device and pushed her chair back as her cell crashed against the tiled floor. Great—she probably just broke her phone over nothing. This needed to stop. She was jumping at every shadow ever since Owen’s reaction to the breakup.
This probably didn’t have anything to do with him anyway. Her father could be trying to reach her. She’d left three messages last week and another this morning to share the good news about her promotion as well as the special ceremony her old high school had planned for her.
Madelyn bent over and clasped her fingers around the phone. She hesitated. What were the chances her father was actually returning the call? It wasn’t the first of the month. His calls came like clockwork.
Okay, she’d answer and then get rid of this jerk.
“Hello,” she stated on a sharp sigh, deciding on balance that she needed to deal with whatever was on the other end of the line.
“I apologize for the interruption, Ms. Kensington, but I promise this call will be worth your time.” The slight Southern drawl sounded educated and from Texas. “My name is Ed Staples.”
“Okay-y-y.” She drew out the y as she geared up for her response to the sales pitch that was surely about to come. The name Staples sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him, so she spun around and typed his name into her laptop.
The man seemed to pick up on her frustration. “I’m the family attorney for the Butler estate.”
She studied her laptop screen and, yes, received confirmation Ed Staples was telling the truth.
There was a pause and Madelyn felt like he was waiting for some kind of reaction from her.
“Are you familiar with Mike Butler?” Mr. Staples asked.
“Maverick Mike Butler?” she said out loud, not really meaning to. Now she really was confused. Of course she’d heard of Mike Butler, aka Maverick Mike. Her job at the Houston Daily News as an investigative reporter assured she would at least be acquainted with the name. His story was no secret—son of a poor crop farmer who beat the odds and made something of himself. He’d done so well that he was one of the wealthiest cattle ranchers in the Lone Star State. His rise to riches was as legendary as his buck-wild reputation. If rumors were true, he won his first ranch at a poker table and lost his first wife to his gambling problem. And that was where his run of bad luck had ended. Everything else the man touched seemed like it turned to gold. It was no secret that he lived on his own terms, another fact widely known to pretty much every Texan. Last week, the legend from Cattle Barge had made even bigger news with his death.
“Ma’am,” the lawyer said.
The sound of his voice made her jump.
“Sorry—what did you say?” Outside of print, Madelyn had no idea who Mike Butler was. She’d never met him personally and they didn’t exactly run in the same circles. “What did you need from me, Mr.—?”
“Staples, but please call me Ed.”
Right. He’d already said that. Madelyn was distracted. Thinking about Owen had thrown her off.
“How can I help you, Ed?” she asked, refocusing.
“Can you meet me tomorrow afternoon here at the Butler ranch?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I’m working, but I might be able to arrange something if you tell me what this is about,” she responded, still trying to shake the creepy chill from earlier. Owen was right about one thing: he seemed everywhere to her.
“I’ve been instructed to offer to send a car,” he continued, unfazed by her work excuse.
“No, thanks. I have my own. Is there a reason we need to meet face-to-face? I mean, can you tell me what this is about over the phone?” she asked, mildly interested in what he had to say and at the very least thankful for the distraction.
“I apologize. My instructions are clear. If you want to know the nature of Mr. Butler’s request you have to be on the property.” He was steadfast. She’d give him that.
“Well, then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she countered. Her frustration level was already high and she didn’t need another person wasting her time. Plus, it wasn’t like she could drop everything without a clear reason to give her boss and she didn’t cover the crime beat.
“Would it make a difference if I told you that it’s in your best interest to come?” he asked.
This guy was persistent. And frustrating with his cryptic message.
“Cattle Barge isn’t exactly a few minutes down the road. If you want me to make that drive I need something to go on. My boss will want to know why I need time off to chase down a story outside of Houston,” she said. When she really thought about it, the ranch must be swarming with media by now. Any news about Mike Butler’s death guaranteed above-the-fold placement in print and major promo for broadcast. “Plus, there must be dozens of reporters at the gate chomping at the bit for something to report. Why tell me? I mean, just walk outside your front door and pick someone if you want to get your story out.”
“This is personal,” he said. “In fact, you may want to take vacation days.”
Days? She decided to entertain him for just a second. “Okay, so let me see if I have this correctly. You want me to take off work at the snap of a finger for a man I’ve never met and a reason you refuse to tell me? Does that sound about right?”
“I’m afraid it’s better than it sounds,” he admitted.
“Who wants me there?” Maybe she could come at this from another angle to get an answer.
“Your presence was requested