Rustler's Moon (5 page)

Wilkes pulled his hat down and answered, “Then I guess she’s not here.”

He ignored the laughter and walked out, head high, keepsake box in hand. Thank goodness the next place down the road was a café he knew. Dorothy’s Café had been around for as long as he could remember, and the food served was exactly the same. Fried grease with a side of starch. He might be a half hour early to meet his friend, but the café seemed a safe place. He knew it would take a little time to wash Lexie out of his mind.

As he sat down at the first booth, he saw a sign across the street that said Puppy Paradise, Dog Grooming and Training.

No doubt about it, Crossroads, Texas, was growing. Wilkes couldn’t wait to show Uncle Vern the new place. Maybe he’d suggest grooming the cattle.

He ordered coffee, then opened the box he’d bought. To his shock, he’d paid twenty dollars for a mug that looked to be about the same as the one the waitress delivered with his coffee.

Only, the mug in the box was obviously worth far more because it read, “You are at the Crossroads of your life.”

Wilkes laughed. Nothing had changed in his life in six years. It was hard to see a crossroads when he knew he was born with only one way to travel. He had played four years of college football without managing to pick up much education and served three years in the army without collecting any bullet holes, but by twenty-six, after drifting across the United States and back, he’d come back home to do what he always knew he’d do. Run the ranch. It wasn’t as if he’d given up on his dreams; he’d never really had any to begin with.

His folks weren’t dead. They were simply absentee landlords. Never around to help or fix things, but calling in now and then to check on what he was doing. They must have started packing the day they’d called Wilkes and found out he hadn’t even bothered to look for a job after he got out of the army. He was drifting and they had the solution to his no goal, no direction life.

His mother’s folks were aging and needed help downsizing and selling several small businesses. So Wilkes’s parents moved to Denver claiming Wilkes would run the ranch while they were gone, since he seemed to have nothing else to do.

He’d agreed, thinking they’d be gone a few months. Six years later his dad looked like an aging hippie and his mother was taking meditation classes so she could teleport. They took cruises with Wilkes’s eighty-year-old grandparents and showed no sign of coming back to the work of ranching.

Wilkes told himself he didn’t care. After all, he had no plans after the army and he loved ranching.

“Morning, Wilkes,” a low voice greeted him.

Wilkes turned to see Yancy Grey coming through the door. He was a few years younger than Wilkes, but they’d become friends working on a park project together last year. Yancy had an awkward way about him at first meeting. He’d talk too fast sometimes or be unable to find the right words, but Wilkes didn’t mind. When Yancy settled down into a conversation, he could tell a story with the best of them and Wilkes had the time to listen when Yancy needed to talk.

“I’m glad you had time to meet me.” Yancy slid his thin frame into the other side of the booth. “I need to ask a favor.”

The café was empty, so they weren’t likely to be bothered. Yancy worked across the street as the handyman at the retirement community. The senior citizens seemed to have adopted him when he was homeless and he looked after them like a hen with a nest full of chicks.

Since Wilkes was only talking to himself lately, a favor might pull him out of his slump. Maybe he’d even tell his friend about Uncle Vern’s plan to marry him off to the first chubby, rich, dumb girl they could find.

“How can I help?” Wilkes had no idea what Yancy needed, but if it was in his power, he was up for the job.

“I got a history question for you.”

Wilkes thought maybe he should warn his friend that just because a man had a history degree didn’t make him an expert on any time period. He’d majored in history because it had sounded easier than English. “I’ll do what I can.”

Yancy straightened, took a gulp of hot coffee the waitress slid in front of him and started. “You think a house can...you know...draw you to it? Kind of like it’s calling you?”

Nope
was the first answer that came to mind, but Wilkes leaned back deciding this conversation might just be interesting. “Tell me about it, Yancy.” His friend seemed suddenly far younger than twenty-seven.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” Yancy leaned back as if pulling away. He’d spent his late teens and early twenties in prison. Sometimes that lack of trust showed through.

Wilkes didn’t judge him for his lack of skills or scars. He had his own scars.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the facts, Yancy. Just start from the beginning without leaving out anything. I’ll wait until I know the details before I call you crazy.”

The handyman nodded, took another gulp of coffee and said, “Last night, like I do a lot of nights, I took a walk down the north road. The moon seemed to be whispering secrets in the midnight air, like it does on cloudy nights, you know?”

“I know.” Wilkes’s brain cells woke up. He didn’t know any such thing, but he’d follow along where this went. He doubted he would be any help to Yancy Grey, but he wanted to hear more.

“I went down the road toward the old Gypsy House. You know the place covered by weeds and long dead trees.”

Wilkes nodded.

Yancy continued, “I’ve heard there are folks who swear they saw strangers as foggy as ghosts going into the house after dark and never coming out. According to the retired folks across the street the place is haunted by dead Gypsies or hippies. No one knows which. Some say the crumbling old place almost took four teenagers’ lives a few years ago, but I was too much into my own problems back then and don’t remember the details. When I ask about the house, folks claim evil lived there. One even said he thought he heard a scream once when he passed the place.”

“I’ve heard the stories, too. Did you feel the evil?” Wilkes interrupted.

Yancy shook his head. “The house had been drawing me since I arrived in Crossroads, even before I’d heard it was haunted. I guess you probably heard I came to town broke, alone and fresh out of prison.”

“I heard. Also know you helped the sheriff catch a gang of rustlers who almost killed Staten Kirkland.”

Yancy smiled. “Yeah, after that folks accepted me. I’m doing all right now. Got a good job. Hell, I even saved enough to buy a car outright, no payments, but still I walk at night out to that old place. I feel like it’s mocking me. Daring me to step inside. Sounds crazy, don’t it?”

Wilkes shrugged. “I’m tracking you. Keep talking.” He didn’t want to admit that stressing over a woman who left him years ago might fall into the crazy folder, as well.

Yancy continued, “As I got close to the house last night, it seemed to grow. Maybe it was in my head, but with every step closer the place looked bigger. I’ve seen some bad things in my life, but last night I swear I felt a shiver run down my back like someone walked over my grave.”

Wilkes smiled realizing, truth or not, the guy could tell a story better than Uncle Vern.

“When I felt it calling last night, I gripped the flashlight in my pocket like a weapon and stepped off the road, determined to get to the bottom of this nightmare. I headed through the high weeds that circle the place like a moat around a monster’s castle. I had to do something.” Yancy’s hands balled into fists.

“I yelled that I was going in, but I sounded like a frightened boy. I’m tired of having bad dreams, Wilkes, and last night I figured to put an end to it.

“The warped frame of what had once been a screen door tapped against the side of the house as if knocking on a crypt’s door in a forgotten cemetery. I planted my boot on the porch and stepped up, relieved that the wood took my weight.” Yancy took a few seconds to breathe.

Wilkes waited.

“I yelled like I wasn’t afraid. ‘You don’t frighten me.’ I took one step toward the door. The boards creaked as if crying out for me to stay back, but I didn’t stop. I widened my stance and pulled the hammer I’d brought from the loop on my pants. With as much force as I could manage, I pulled the nails from the two-by-fours blocking the door.

“As the boards rattled across the porch, I took a long breath. What I was doing was probably a crime. The place has do-not-enter signs posted at every corner of the house. But I didn’t care. I’d made up my mind.”

Wilkes shoved his coffee cup aside. He felt as if he was at the old house with Yancy. His senses hadn’t felt so alive since the army.

“Once the boards were off, I shoved the door open and flashed my light inside. Three rotted steps led down onto what looked like a dirt floor. If there was wood beneath the dirt, I couldn’t tell. When part of the roof must have tumbled in on the high school kids, no one thought to clean anything up.

“I avoided the steps and jumped down into the lower level of the house. The remains of a staircase leading up to the second floor lined one wall. They reminded me of rotting, broken teeth hanging lopsided in an open mouth. When I passed my light over the floor, I noticed a few old broken chairs and a bed frame.

“All the noise of loose boards rattling and wind whistling through cracks seemed muted inside. I just stood there, too afraid to go farther. If something fell on me, I’d be nothing but bones before anyone thought to look for me in that old place. Then, in the stillness, I swear I felt a hand on my shoulder, a slight tug pulling me deeper into the blackness.”

Wilkes could barely breathe waiting for what came next.

“Whatever drew me to the house seemed to want to keep me there.

“Fear stampeded through my blood, I raced out and hammered the boards back across the door knowing even as I did it that I’d have to come back.”

Yancy took a drink. “The house calls me, Wilkes, I swear, and it won’t stop until I figure out why.”

Wilkes exhaled deeply. “That’s some story. What’s your question?”

Yancy grinned. “Can you help me figure out what it wants with me? I need to know the history of the place and who I have to get permission from to go in without worrying about being caught. I’ve thought about it all night. You’re the only person I know who might go back with me. I remember that night on the Kirkland Ranch when we were waiting for the rustlers in the dark. You said, after the army, you gave up being afraid of anything. Well, now is your chance to prove it. Go back to the house with me.”

Their waitress must have been tired of waiting for them to motion her over. She appeared, notepad in hand, ready to take their order. “If you two don’t order breakfast soon, you’ll have to switch to the lunch menu.”

Both men apologized to her and ordered the special. She refilled their coffee and mentioned something about how Dorothy should charge for squatters.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Wilkes smiled. “I’m in. I’ll see what history I can find on the house and we’ll recon the site one night soon.”

CHAPTER THREE

Lauren
Texas Tech University

T
HE
STRONG
W
EST
T
EXAS
wind blasted dirt against her bare legs as Lauren Brigman ran across campus. No girl at Texas Tech wore a dress on days like this, but she’d thought maybe she would see Lucas, her almost boyfriend, today. He had gone home to work every weekend since she’d arrived on campus. Then last week he said he might not be driving home to Crossroads until early Saturday morning, which meant they might see each other tonight.

It meant they could have a date.
A real date
, she thought as she stormed the dorm door and took the two flights of stairs at a run.

She had spent her last two years of high school waiting for Lucas to come home from college so they could start dating. Only, when he did come home, he was always working on weekends and their times together consisted of no more than a few moonlit walks along the lake or early-morning coffee at the café before he headed back. He’d promised that when she joined him at Tech it would be different.
They
would be together, a real couple. Studying wrapped up in one another. Sharing kisses in the dark corners of the library. Late-night phone calls.

Until last month, she’d lived on thirty-minute breakfasts with him before he left Crossroads to go back to Lubbock, and late-night ice-cream runs where they talked in the Dairy Queen parking lot after he got finished working on one of the ranches around town. She’d lived on hope that he’d soon be her real boyfriend. They’d finally both be in college. They’d be a couple. No one could say he was too old for her. A few years difference wouldn’t seem so much.

She’d been at Texas Tech over a month and none of her dreams were coming true. Her entire love life had been Photoshopping her and Lucas Reyes’s faces onto couples in all the old movies she’d seen. If possible she saw less of him here than she had when she’d lived in Crossroads and he’d dropped in on weekends to work. College wasn’t turning out to be what she planned.

As Lauren opened her dorm room door, she wasn’t surprised to see her roommate still in bed. After all, it wasn’t dark yet.

Polly Pierce rolled over, her black-and-red hair streaking across her face. “You’re back already?”

“It’s after five, Polly. You missed lunch.” Lauren used to say that she missed class, but Polly was on the one-semester plan. She never studied and hadn’t bothered to unpack most of her stuff. There was little doubt that she’d be moving back home by Christmas break.

“I know. I’m starving.” She rolled over and pulled an empty cracker box from under her back. “I ate all your peanut butter and crackers.”

“Where’s the peanut butter jar?” Lauren wondered why she even talked to Polly. As an only child raised by her pop, the county sheriff of Ransom Canyon, Lauren had always had her own neat, organized space. Sharing quarters with Polly was like some kind of experiment to see if two different life forms could survive in the same environment.

Polly rummaged around in her mass of covers and found the empty jar. “Don’t give me that look,” she said, cuddling back under her blankets. “I think I’m descended from bears. It’s not my fault the fall semester parallels with hibernation.”