Lone Star Rancher

 

Dear Reader,

Part of the fun of making up stories is imagining yourself in the environment. Having lived in Austin, it was easy to imagine the ranching country and sweeping vistas of Texas for the Flying Aces ranch. When Jessica hiked along the creek, I walked with her. When she checked the eggs for twin yolks, I remembered being six again and visiting my uncle's egg barn. I also recall quite clearly being pecked by an irritated hen when I ruffled her feathers.

Writing Jessica and Clyde's story took me back to Ryan Fortune and his family. I was delighted to find that his twin daughter, Vanessa, was happy in her marriage, and that all had worked out well with the missing baby. (Did I mention that I get really involved in my characters' lives?) Sometimes readers ask what happened to so-and-so in one of our fictional families. I enjoy exploring the possibilities with them. Life is full of twists and turns, and that's the joy of writing: one gets a chance to explore the “road less traveled.”

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Bonus Features

J
essica Miller sighed in relief as she entered the dim coolness of the restaurant. Outside the temperature was in the nineties, not unusual for early August in New York City.

She was aware of the glances and outright stares when she followed the restaurant hostess to the table where her best friend waited for her. At five-ten and wearing sandals with two-inch heels, Jessica was tall enough to be a high-fashion model and, in fact, that was how she made her living.

With wide, bright blue eyes and light brown hair that needed little enhancement to make her look like a summer blonde, she had a face well known to the public.

“Jessica, I'm so glad you're here,” her friend Violet Fortune said. “I was afraid the photo shoot wouldn't be finished.”

“I told the director it had to be because I was leaving at noon.” She wrinkled her nose, then smiled at her old chum from long-ago summer vacations and college days.

Violet and her family were from New York but they had
visited their Fortune cousins in Texas each summer at the Double Crown Ranch outside Red Rock, which was near San Antonio. Jessica's father had managed the local hardware store in Red Rock, and Jessica had been born and raised in the small town. The girls had met as youngsters and formed a solid friendship.

They'd shared a room at college the first year, then Jessica had been discovered by the owner of a top New York modeling agency. The woman had attended a college function with her niece, spotted Jessica and demanded to represent her in a modeling career. Since the hardware store was going out of business and Jessica knew her parents and younger sister would need income, she'd taken the offer, given up her scholarship and moved to the city.

But only after the agency owner had promised Jessica's father she would guard his daughter from the predatory worms in the Big Apple who would devour fresh-faced country girls for a snack.

For the first two years of her new life in the city Jessica had actually lived in Sondra's home—with Sondra's son, five-year-old Bertram, whose father was a diplomat stationed in France; Mutley, the dog who'd followed Bertie home from the park; and four assorted cats.

At twenty-one, she'd decided she was old enough to be on her own and had bought her first New York apartment, which was where she'd lived for the past twelve years.

The other condos she owned were rented, as were the parking spaces she'd bought on the second floor of the parking garage next to her place. All in all, the country gal had done well. She was one of the three top-paid models in the world, according to
Forbes
magazine.

“What are you snickering about?” Violet demanded as Jessica took a seat opposite her friend.

“Life,” Jessica said.

Violet gave an exaggerated shrug. “Oh, that.”

The two friends laughed merrily. However, there were undertones of sadness in Violet's eyes.

Jessica refrained from questioning her friend, but she knew the sadness had to do with work. After Violet had finished medical school and residency requirements, she'd taken advanced training in neurology and settled in the city, too. She'd stayed with Jessica for a few months before finding her own place. Brilliant at diagnosing brain disorders, she was well known for her pioneering studies.

Recently Violet had been the chief physician or consulting expert on several very difficult cases. While Jessica hadn't understood the intricacy of the diseases when they had discussed the problems, she'd recognized her friend's sense of failure whenever a patient didn't make it.

Jessica thought this was taking a serious toll on the skillful, sensitive doctor, but it did no good to tell Violet the tragedies weren't her fault. She knew that, and that she had to find her own emotional balance—

“Uh, excuse me, Ms. Miller, but, uh, could I have your autograph?” a young, feminine voice interrupted.

Jessica held her smile in place. Although she wished people would leave her in peace when she was about her private business, her career precluded that possibility.

Sondra had explained all that before letting her sign a contract with the agency. Her agent was a stickler for being polite to the public, who, after all, contributed to the success of her career.

“Of course,” Jessica said. “What's your name? Are you visiting the city or do you live here?”

The teenager was obviously delighted that the famous
model was talking to her. Jessica wrote the girl's name and a brief message and signed the spiral-bound notebook. Ten other people lined up at once.

The restaurant owner was adept at handling this sort of thing. He stopped others from joining the line and, after Jessica had autographed various pieces of paper, shooed the guests to their seats and reminded them that Ms. Miller also had to eat.

“Now I recall why I was reluctant to have my picture in the medical journal with that article on long-term diseases of the brain,” Violet said with a wry grimace when they were alone.

“Yes.” Jessica sighed as she looked over the menu.

After they'd ordered, Violet narrowed her eyes and studied her friend. “So,” she said, leaning in to the table, “are you going to tell me what's happening?”

Jessica grimaced. “I have a slight problem.” She hesitated to mention it in view of the life-and-death struggles her friend dealt with every day.

“Yes?” Violet drew the word out.

“There's a local politician, a semi-biggie, who's, uh, sort of stalking me. I think.”

Violet's manner became dead serious. “Who is it? Do you know? What's he doing?”

“Roy Balter. I met him at a weekend party. I couldn't take a step without falling over him. He asked for a date. I declined by saying my time was already spoken for. That usually discourages unwanted attention. But not with him. He repeatedly asked to see me.”

“What happened next?”

“When I returned to the city, it started out with flowers. Tons of them every day. After the first few, I refused to accept any others. Now it's phone calls.”

“Demanding to see you?”

“No. Heavy breathing. When he first started calling my private line and wanting to meet for dinner or the theater, I changed the number. He got the new one, but now he doesn't say anything when he calls.”

“Oh.” Her friend thought it over. “How do you know it's him?”

“Feminine intuition and the fact that the telephone number is blocked from identification.”

Violet looked somewhat dubious. “I see.”

“I talked to the district judge, but without solid evidence, he can't issue a restraining order. The police have informed me that without one they can't do a thing, even if the man is in my building. He has to be
in
my condo.”

Jessica shuddered at the thought of him invading her private space. For the first time she admitted to herself that she was a tiny bit frightened by his persistence. It seemed obsessive…vindictive, even.

“You're sure it's him?”

“Positive. Sometimes he gives this little laugh just before he hangs up. I recognized it from the three days at the house party. It became quite annoying.”

“When he stayed glued to your side,” Violet concluded.

“Right.”

“Stalkers are dangerous. We need to do something.”

The nice thing about having a best friend like Violet was her willingness to take on another's problems and plant herself in the middle of them. It had been Violet who had helped her fill out scholarship forms for college and prodded her when she'd felt discouraged.

“You're too smart to settle down to a mediocre marriage and life in a small town. It'll stifle you,” her mentor had told her with the confidence of being eighteen and an honor graduate of a prestigious prep school.

Jessica had held the second-highest grade point average
in her graduating class, but that had been in Red Rock, and hadn't counted for much, or so she had thought. Violet had disagreed and persuaded her to go for the gold, which in her case was a scholarship to study economics.

She really would have preferred classical guitar, but she didn't think many people made a living at that. Her duty had been to her family.

However, because of the money she made from modeling, she had become interested in the investment world and had taken classes to qualify as a financial advisor for the day when her modeling career would be over. At thirty-three, she was lucky to still be on top.

Violet snapped her fingers, startling Jessica out of her introspection. “I know,” she said.

“Know what?”

“What you should do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jessica asked. “Is this anything like your brainstorm when we were sixteen that we should go down to Galveston, collect sand fleas and sell them to fishermen in order to make a fortune, only we ended up with a bucket of rotten little critters that no one wanted?”

Violet gave her a mock stern frown. “Of course not. This is serious.” Her tone was light, but her eyes looked worried, making Jessica sorry she'd mentioned the problem. “I think you should go to Texas—”

“No way. That might put my parents in danger. And my sister and her family.”

“Let me finish. You should go to Texas and stay with my brothers at their ranch. No one will find you there. When your stalker realizes you're gone, he'll give up.”

Jessica wanted to believe that. “Why would he?”

“He gets his satisfaction from taunting you. If that stops, he'll move on.”

“Right, to some other unlucky woman.”

Her friend nodded, her manner sympathetic. “That's the way the world works, unfortunately.”

Their food came. Jessica murmured her thanks to the waitress, then gazed at Violet. “I can't leave the city now. I have a full schedule until the end of the month. I had planned to take September and October off, though, before heading to Italy for a special swimsuit layout.”

“It'll be cold in November,” Violet reminded her.

“Tell me about it. We'll be filming in the Alps, if you can believe that.” She started on her chicken salad. “So how's it going on the medical front? Any miracle cures I should know about?”

“I wish. I'm thinking of taking a cruise in the South Seas or something equally wild and extravagant.”

“Ha,” Jessica said, knowing her friend rarely took a day off, much less a whole week or more.

The conversation turned to general matters for the rest of the meal. When they were ready to leave, Violet laid a hand on her friend's arm. “Think about the ranch. It would be a safe place. If nothing else, it would give you some peace of mind for a couple of months.”

“I'm sure your brothers would love for a stranger to crash on them for two months.”

“You're not a stranger. Plus I've kept them up to date on your success. After all, how many people have a top model for a best friend? Promise me you'll think about it.”

“I will. Maybe two weeks would be okay.”

“A month,” Violet promptly countered.

Jessica grinned and rolled her eyes. “A month, then. I'll think about it.”

Outside they hugged and said farewell. Violet hurried off to the exciting world of brain cures and research studies. Jessica put on sunglasses and a denim tennis hat that pulled down snugly around her face, then strolled through
Central Park for an hour before heading down Fifth Avenue to her home.

After nodding to a famous writer in the lobby, she walked up the steps to her floor. Although she was cordial to the man, she kept her distance. She'd learned that he'd voted against her purchasing the apartment when her approval had come before the condo association board. He didn't like celebrities in the building. He thought it contributed to strangers hanging around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the well-known person, and making a nuisance of themselves.

She wondered what the heck he thought of his own celebrity, or maybe she should say, notoriety. He had three ex-wives and a bunch of illegitimate children.

Upon letting herself in her apartment, she made sure the door locked securely behind her, then noted the blinking light on the telephone-fax-answering machine.

With a feeling of dread, she hit the play button. One message was from her boss, telling her to report in an hour early for the photo session tomorrow and to be prepared for a long day. They wanted to continue into the evening if it rained so they could get shots of lights on the wet streets and her in the latest raincoat fashions.

“Oh, thrill,” she murmured.

The next four messages were silent, except for the faint hiss of breathing. On the last one, she heard the voice she recognized. “Heh…heh-heh,” he chuckled, a slight pause between the start and the end of the laughter.

A shiver stormed down her spine as if she stood in the cold rain. “I hate him,” she murmured as anger, resentment and fear formed a tight ball in her chest. “
Hate
him.”

 

“Yeah?” Clyde Fortune said into the phone, which had been ringing when he walked into the house.

“Is that any way to answer the phone?” his obnoxious kid sister demanded.

“Sure. It's short and to the point.”

She snorted in disapproval, then spoiled it by laughing. “How are you, my dear favorite brother?”

He grinned. “As in one of your many dear favorite brothers, according to which one you're going to ask a favor of, my sweet little sister?”

There were four boys in the family. Jack was four years older than his own thirty-six years. Since Clyde was the oldest of triplets, he had two brothers, Steven and Miles, who were the same age as he was. Violet was three years younger and the only girl among the siblings.

While the triplets had headed west when they grew up, Jack and Violet had remained in New York, where their parents lived. Their father, Patrick, was an affluent financier. Their mom, Lacey, was a feminist and an equal rights advocate. All her children had gone on marches for one cause or another during their growing years.