Rustler's Moon (7 page)

He grinned. “Promise.”

They usually stood around talking whenever they got together but tonight something seemed to be on Tim’s mind and hers was heavy with lost dreams. He tipped his imaginary hat and walked away as she turned and headed up the stairs.

By the time she got back to her room she still hadn’t received a message from Lucas. She’d hoped he would have texted just to let her know he’d made it home to Crossroads, but he hadn’t.

She did have a text from Reid asking if she’d made up her mind about the party next Friday night. Say yes, he’d texted, everyone wears black or red to the dinner.

Angry and frustrated and feeling very much alone, she texted back. Yes. I can go.

A moment later Reid answered, Pick you up at six. Bring a coat we’ll go directly to the game after the party.

Her first official date at college, she thought. But it wasn’t with Lucas. It wasn’t even with a guy she liked. All the daydreams she’d had of college and being with Lucas were falling around her like snowflakes vanishing as they touched the rug.

From this night on, she’d build new—real—experiences. Maybe not with a guy she was crazy about. Maybe not forever dreams she’d cherish. But someday when her friends talked of their college days she’d at least have a few memories to compare.

Glancing out her window, she noticed a break in the clouds where tiny stars were shining through. The night of her sixteenth birthday, Lucas had taken her far away from town lights to watch the stars over the lake.

Lauren smiled remembering earlier that same evening when Reid had shown up drunk to her party and tried to kiss her. One swift knee between his legs had sent him to the ground. He’d been a perfect gentleman after that. Tech’s stadium was at the far north end of the campus. If he stepped out of line next Friday night, she could always walk back to her dorm.

Leaning back on her bed, she thought of Lucas and how she loved kissing him, but she was his
someday
love. He wanted them to finish school before they got serious. He hadn’t believed a sixteen-year-old would know about real love, and in many ways he still treated her as if she was that sixteen-year-old.

Lucas raced through life. He’d graduated early from high school. He would make it through to his bachelor’s degree in three years and planned to start law school in the spring. He hinted that he wanted her to be part of his future, but Lauren wanted to be part of his now.

A plan simmered in the back of her thoughts. Maybe if he saw how other guys wanted to go out with her, he’d pay more attention.

She shook her head. It was a dumb plan. Stupid. But then, being available and waiting every time he called didn’t seem to be working.

If she went out with Reid, Tim would tell Lucas. If he reacted, she might just get that real date with Lucas Reyes that she’d been waiting for since she was fifteen years old.

CHAPTER FOUR

Angela

A
NGELA
PULLED
ON
an old jogging suit and decided to walk around the edge of the lake. She’d spent all week cleaning and moving into her little cabin and had grown to love the lake and the small town a mile away. Tomorrow morning she’d start a new job, a new life. Her years of taking care of her mother, of worrying about her father, were in her past, washed away by a river of tears. Now she had to face her future.

Glancing at the cat trying to spread his fat body across the windowsill, Angela whispered, “This is our new home, Doc. You’re going to love it here.”

Doc Holliday just stared at her, but Angela couldn’t stop smiling.

No one in town cared about her family, and, for the first time since her birth, no family was watching over her. Her mother had smothered her for eighteen years, then she’d passed her off to two old aunts so Angela could attend a small college outside Washington, DC. Her parents said they’d save money if she lived with the aunts, but she’d missed most of campus life. As soon as she graduated, there was never any question that she’d find a job back in Florida and move in with her parents for a while. A part-time job in a small marina museum was all she found and her duties included ordering and cleaning the gift shop as well as giving the grade-school tours.

Then her mom’s cancer returned and any possibility of having her own place was forgotten. Her father needed help.

Though her uncle Anthony had offered her a job, Angela had studied to be a museum curator, and even at half the pay, she was glad to be working in a museum. At least she had the title of assistant curator.

Every day she’d come home and tell her parents all about her work at the tiny marina museum as if what she did was fun and important.

Her father rarely talked about his job. She knew he hated it, but somehow he was tied to what he did.

When her mother died, she stayed at home helping him in grief, thinking that they’d move along pretty much as they had before.

One note from her father, written on the day he died, changed all that.

She guessed her aunt and uncle would be glad not to have her around. Surely whatever, or whoever, had frightened her father would not follow her here. She knew no secrets. She owned nothing of value.

As she clicked on her flashlight and began to navigate the uneven shoreline of the lake, Angela felt light-headed with possibilities. Her plan just might work in this quiet little community where cows outnumbered people. She’d fill her new home with her mother’s quilts, and the furniture she’d picked up at secondhand stores. She’d fish on the lake with her father’s gear. She’d have their memories with her—the photo of her and her dad, his ledger with the leather worn thin and her replica Greek coin necklace. All that would have to be enough.

She decided her father had been right to tell her to leave. She felt newborn here, as if anything were possible, as if life could be somehow fuller, richer here.

She breathed in the night air, the smell of evergreens and lake water. She was stepping into a new world. Walking on a different planet. All her life she’d been a meek homebody and now she was an explorer.

The few dozen houses that stood along the shore didn’t seem to have drapes, or even blinds. She felt a little like a voyeur staring into the homes as she walked. Couples reading, playing cards, watching TV. “Yes,” she whispered. “There will be a peace here for me.”

A fisherman docking his boat stopped to watch her, but didn’t wave. A couple cuddled in a blanket at the far end of one of the private docks didn’t notice her pass. As the evening aged, she blended in with the shadows.

For the first time in her life, she almost believed she was invisible.

When she passed Dan Brigman’s house, she was surprised to see the sheriff with a woman in a flowing dress and heels standing in the room that faced the lake. Dan had mentioned a daughter when he’d shown her the cabin, but not a wife. She’d gotten the impression he wasn’t married, yet the woman looked far too old to be his daughter.

The woman was waving her arms as if arguing with the sheriff, then raised her hands in the air and let them drop to her sides as though giving up.

Angela stood frozen as the woman stormed from the room. The sound of the front door slamming and a car starting reached her ears, then the engine roared up the road behind the sheriff’s lake house.

She was still staring when Dan Brigman walked out on his deck and looked up at the stars.

She thought maybe, just maybe, if she remained perfectly still he wouldn’t see her. But of course, if he looked in her direction, she’d be silhouetted against the moonlit lake. Wild-haired, five-three Peeping Toms were hard to miss.

Angela lowered her head, clicked off the flashlight and walked slowly past his place, hoping the shadow of his dock might hide her from view.

She almost made it to the bend before he called out, “Angela, is that you?”

She turned and watched him jogging toward her in jeans and a sweatshirt. “I thought I’d walk around part of the lake,” she managed to say.

He fell into step with her. “Mind if I tag along? I could use a walk.” The sheriff looked thinner without his vest and forty-pound duty belt around his waist. He also looked somehow sadder than he’d been last week, even in the shadows.

“Not at all.” She clicked back on her flashlight even though the lights from the houses cast a warm glow over a broken path that wandered along between docks and lawn furniture. “You can tell me about the lake.”

“Well, legend says this stop was an old Comanche winter camp. After the Second World War some of the men returning home decided to build here. I always thought they were looking for peace. I know how they feel—no matter how hectic the job of county sheriff gets, when I come home and stare out at the lake, the world seems right.”

As he spoke, his words slowed a bit and his shoulders seemed to relax. When she asked about his daughter, he laughed and told her that she had a date for homecoming. “I’m finding out just how important that is,” he admitted.

“You and your wife must be happy she’s adjusting well to college.” Angela didn’t add that she had no idea how important homecoming dates might be. That wasn’t something she’d participated in at college. She’d had few dates, with friends mostly.

“We are proud of Lauren.” He cleared his throat. “But my wife and I divorced years ago.” He shrugged. “I might as well tell you. You’ll hear all about everyone who lives around town as soon as you start work tomorrow. Margaret left me a few months after I took this job. She wanted to finish school, then do an internship at a big company in Dallas. After that she got a job there and couldn’t leave the big city and all it had to offer. It took me three years to figure out she wasn’t coming back home. It seemed leaving me wasn’t a problem.”

He fell silent. They just walked. She listened to the water lapping against the shoreline and fish slapping the calm lake as they jumped to catch their supper.

She thought of asking who the woman was that she’d seen in the sheriff’s house, but maybe he had a right to his secrets, too. Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d better turn in. Tomorrow will be a big day for me.”

At the spot where she turned off toward her cabin, they stopped and he turned to face her. “Angela, don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll be fine. We’re all glad you’re here. When I hand over the museum keys, a few representatives from some of the original families will be there.”

He could probably hear her breathing stop, so he rushed to continue. “You’ve already talked to Staten Kirkland. He’s the one who hired you on the phone. You’ll meet the O’Gradys and Collinses as well as the Wagners. All from old families who settled here a hundred years ago. They’re just showing up to wish you the best.”

“Is there anyone I should be worried about?”

Dan laughed. “They are all good people. You might watch out for Wagner, though. Vern’s been known to ask any single girl around to marry him.”

“How many wives has he had?”

“None. Talk is, after he forgot to show up at the church a few times, every woman in town stopped believing anything Vern said.” Dan shook his head. “I don’t know if that story is true. Wagner told it to me himself.”

“I’ll watch out for him.”

Dan laughed. “I promise, he’s someone not easy to miss.”

Angela said good-night and walked down the path to her cabin trying to remember all the names she’d heard. Kirkland, Collins, O’Grady and Wagner. Once she got settled in her new job, she’d look up all their family histories. Though she’d like to forget hers, most people wanted to talk about their roots.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
she was so early to the parking lot of the museum she waited half an hour before the sheriff showed up. While he was unlocking the huge double doors of the museum, cars and pickup trucks began pulling into the lot.

The sheriff stood beside her as the families piled out and greeted each other. Dan leaned close to her and quietly gave her the lowdown. “The couple in the Cadillac are the Collinses, they own the Bar W Ranch. Both their sons are away at school. That van with all the kids are one branch of the O’Gradys. Lots of them around town.” He nodded to an attractive couple with a young son. “The tall couple with the toddler are the Kirklands. Staten owns the Double K. Biggest spread within a hundred miles. Word is his wife, Quinn, is pregnant again. The two men climbing out of that old rusty red pickup are Wagners. They own the Devil’s Fork Ranch.”

Angela fought the urge to bolt. So many people, all coming to see her. Kirkland was tall, big like his voice had been on the phone. The man called Collins looked bored and his wife seemed overdressed.

She suddenly had a dozen questions to ask the sheriff, but it was too late.

People were too near the museum for him to fill her in on any more details, but she felt as if she had at least put a few names with faces.

When the sheriff finally opened the doors, she was surprised to see a banner welcoming her. A long lace-covered table was set up with red velvet cupcakes, lemon squares and juice in tall champagne glasses. All made it seem more a party than her first day at work. Three round little grandmother-types stood behind the refreshments table beaming with pride.

Fifty people crowded into the big two-story open foyer. Angela and the sheriff stood next to the mayor, Davis Collins, and his perfect, much younger wife named Cherry.

Angela fought down a giggle every time the mayor called his wife “Cherry Baby.” Everyone in the room, except Davis Collins, could see his wife glare at him. She obviously hated the name and he obviously didn’t care.

Everyone except two-year-old James Kirkland stood silently as the mayor said what a grand day it was to have a new curator over the museum they all loved.

With keys in her hand, Angela moved among the people trying to remember names. Everyone wanted to show her their favorite exhibit. After two hours, Angela felt as if she’d had a private tour of every foot of the museum from archives with journals of the first settlers, to the gun collections, to a mock-up of the first wagons. All her years of studying Texas history came alive as she touched artifacts that had survived since the time of the first Austin colony, including weapons that were around during the fight at the Alamo, and Native American clothing now treasured as works of art.