Showdown in West Texas (7 page)

Cage felt like a new man the next morning. Amazing what a little sleep could do for the morale.

The pain in his knee had eased up, too. He'd iced it the night before, and now, after another quick shower, he wrapped it with a pressure bandage he'd bought at the discount store.

After slipping on his new jeans and shirt—a white western cut with pearl snaps that he thought would help him blend in better, he tugged on his boots, grabbed his wallet and headed out to find some food.

Miss Nelda—or was the blonde Miss Georgina?—was cleaning shadow boxes with a feather duster when he came downstairs.

“Well, good morning,” she said with a bright smile. “My, aren't you looking chipper? How did you sleep last night?”

“Not too bad,” he said. “That poofy thing is like sleeping on a cloud.”

“You do look mighty rested,” she observed.

“And mighty hungry.”

“We've put out fresh fruit and pastries in the dining
room, but if you're looking for something a little more substantial, there's a diner across the street. And don't worry about hurting our feelings. Our nephew, Billy Don, owns the place and that poor boy needs all the help he can get. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you get my drift.”

Cage picked up a newspaper from a nearby chair. “Mind if I take this with me?”

“Not at all. Ask for the special,” she said. “It's the best value on the menu.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Oh, any time, dear.” She turned back to her dusting. “So, how long do you expect to be with us?”

Cage paused at the door. “I guess it all depends.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “On whether or not you hit it off with Grace?”

“Excuse me?”

She smiled at his surprise. “Oh, we all know why you're here. This is a small town, Mr. Walsh. Or should I call you Detective? Word travels fast so I hope you don't have any deep, dark secrets.” Her coy expression suggested that she might be actually hoping for the opposite.

“Nothing too terrible,” he murmured.

“I'm not so sure I believe you, young man. You have a certain…
je ne sais quoi,
shall we call it?”

“
Je ne sais quoi.
That's a new one,” Cage said, grinning.

“My first beau had that same mysterious air.” She fluttered her hand in front of her as if trying to conjure that unnamed something. “I suppose that's why my father never trusted him. That, and the fact that he was
a thief, a liar and a first-class scoundrel. Ran off with my dowry on our wedding day.”

“If you ask me, ma'am, he must have been a first-class fool.”

“Oh, my.” She fanned herself with the feather duster. “You do have that certain something, don't you? I hope poor Grace knows what she's letting herself in for.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Cage said. “She hasn't offered me the job, yet.”

Miss Nelda peered at him over the feathers. “Who says I was talking about a job?”

“Well, I wouldn't know what else you'd be talking about, Miss Nelda.”

She smiled appreciatively at the use of her name, and Cage was glad he'd gotten it right. “I'm sure you wouldn't. Just as I'm sure it escaped your attention how pretty our new sheriff is.”

“Is she? I hadn't noticed.”

“Of course, I much preferred her hair the way she used to wear it, but Grace has the kind of face that can overcome an unfortunate style. All the Steele girls are just lovely. It's such a shame that none of them has ever married. Unless you count Grace's elopement with that Nance boy, but that ended so quickly, hardly anyone around here even remembers it anymore.”

There was an elopement in Sheriff Steele's past? Now that surprised Cage. Spontaneous and romantic weren't exactly the words that came to mind when he thought of her. She'd struck him as levelheaded and reserved, but then, the only thing he really knew about Grace Steele was that someone had put out a hit on her.

“I've always wondered if it had something to do with what happened to their parents,” Miss Nelda mused.

“What did?” Cage had flashed back to the previous night and lost track of the conversation.

Now that Miss Nelda had brought up the subject of Grace Steele, he couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd looked out on that balcony, her eyes luminous in the dark and her hair all mussed and sexy. He liked the way her lips parted slightly when she smiled and the way she seemed so totally unaware of her hotness.

He liked a lot of things about Grace Steele, not the least of which was what he'd seen beneath those thin cotton pajamas. Soft, womanly curves…

“We were talking about why Grace and her sisters never married,” Miss Nelda reminded him. “I was saying I think it must have something to do with their parents.”

“Did they go through a bad divorce or something?”

“Divorce? Oh, dear me, no. Their parents were murdered at home while the two youngest girls were just down the hallway, hiding under their bed. Can you imagine how terrifying that must have been for them? A trauma like that is bound to have long-lasting effects.”

Miss Nelda had brought him back to the present with a hard thud. Grace Steele's parents had been murdered and now someone wanted to kill her. Cage wasn't real big on coincidences, but they did happen. He didn't want to make too much of this.

“Was the killer ever found?” he asked.

“No, and for a while after it happened, folks around here spent some mighty uneasy nights. It was horrifying to think that someone in our midst, someone who might live just down the street or go to our same church, could be so evil as to kill innocent folks in cold blood.” She shuddered as she went back to the shadow boxes. “It was a long time ago, but I don't mind telling you. I still sometimes have nightmares about it.”

“What makes you think it wasn't just some stranger passing through?”

She stopped dusting. “There were…other incidents.”

“What kind of incidents?”

Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she had gone away for a moment to another time and place that wasn't so pleasant. She tried to shrug off the melancholy with a smile, but she seemed to have lost some of her luster. “It was all such a long time ago. Best not to dwell on the past, I always say.”

Cage wondered about her sudden reticence. He wanted to hear more, but he didn't dare press her. Beneath the flirtatious smiles and coy glances, he had a feeling Miss Nelda was really quite fragile.

“You run on along to breakfast.” She shooed him toward the door with the duster. “And if you see Billy Don, tell him Sister and I need him to come over and change some lightbulbs for us. I happened to notice on my walk last evening that one of the bulbs on the balcony is burned out.” The mischievous sparkle was back in her eyes when she added, “We wouldn't want someone who might wander out there—for whatever reason—to trip and have a nasty fall, would we?”

 

T
HE DINER ACROSS THE STREET
was the typical small-town greasy spoon—a plate-glass front, a long counter inside where men in work clothes sat hunched over steaming cups of coffee and a line of red vinyl booths by the window that allowed patrons a panoramic view of the parking lot.

The place wasn't crowded that morning so Cage had his choice of seats. He slid into one of the vinyl booths facing the front so that he could see the door. He'd also noted the exits and taken a quick survey of the customers. No one seemed to pay him the slightest attention except for the man in the booth behind him. And he only gave Cage a cursory glance before he resumed his cell phone conversation.

A skinny, freckle-faced redhead came over to take his order. She set a glass of ice water in front of him, then turned over the coffee cup on the table and filled it from the carafe she carried in her right hand.

“Do you need to look at a menu, hon, or do you already know what you want?” She sat the coffeepot on the table and pulled an order pad from the pocket of her apron.

“I'll take the special,” Cage said.

She gave him a wink. “Good choice. Be right back.”

As she turned toward the counter, the guy in the booth behind Cage said, “Hey, Kel, can I get some more coffee back here, babe?”

“I just gave you a refill. You got a hollow leg or something?” she teased.

“Sure do. You play your cards right, I might just show it to you sometime.”

Oh, brother,
Cage thought.

“No,
thank
you,” the waitress said adamantly.

“Ah, now, baby, what's the matter? You don't want to see my hollow leg?”

“I don't want to see
any
of your legs, Jesse Nance.”

“Since when?”

“Since your old lady came in here and chewed my butt out good just for talking to you. That woman is downright scary when she's mad. And they say redheads have tempers!”

“You know what else they say about redheads?”

“Oh, hush your mouth.”

“Come on, darlin',” he cajoled. “Sookie's bark is way worse than her bite.”

“Says you,” the waitress grumbled. “What does she think about your ex being back in town?”

“You mean Gracie?” He gave a low laugh. “Sookie's got nothing to worry about there, that's for damn sure. The second happiest day of my life was when that girl packed her bags and left town.”

“Second happiest? What's your first?”

“I'll let you know, sweetie.”

“Yeah, you do that, Jesse.”

Cage hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but once he heard the name Nance, he'd remembered his conversation with Miss Nelda. That was the name of the boy she'd said Grace Steele had eloped with.

Now Cage found himself just itching to turn around and get another look at the guy. His first impression was of an average-looking man with dark brown hair and a sunburned face. And he also had about the lamest pickup lines Cage had ever heard. Hard to believe that
kind of corn had ever worked on a sophisticated woman like Grace.

But, hey, Cage was no George Clooney, either. Who was he to pass judgment on the guy just because he'd once been married to Grace Steele?

The bells over the door sounded, drawing his attention to the man who'd just walked in.

Now there was a guy who could give Clooney a run for his money, Cage thought.

The newcomer was tall, trim and handsome—in a pampered sort of way—and the expensive suit he wore looked totally out of place amidst all the denim and khaki in the diner. Cage figured he must be from out of town, a businessman just passing through or something, but he sure seemed to know where he was going. Without hesitation, he strode down the aisle toward Cage's booth, bypassing his table for the one behind him.

Whoever he was, he set the redheaded waitress all atwitter. She was still standing at Nance's booth, and Cage heard her gush, “Oh, Mr. McKinney! Nice to see you…good morning! What can I get for you?”

“Nothing, thanks. I've already had my breakfast.” And in a far superior establishment, his haughty tone seemed to imply.

“Not even coffee?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Well…if you change your mind, just holler.”

“I'll take my check,” Jesse said peevishly, obviously not too keen on having his thunder stolen.

“Just hold your horses,” the waitress told him.

When she saw Cage, she stopped short, grimaced,
then mouthed,
Sorry,
evidently having forgotten all about him.

Cage unfolded the paper and thumbed through the pages, surprised to find nothing about the shooting. But then, it was a local paper and the editorials seemed more concerned about the dismal prospects of the Jericho Pass Bobcats than about any trouble on the border.

High school football used to be about the most important thing to him, too, but those days seemed a long time ago, Cage reflected as he refolded the paper and slid it aside.

Behind him, he heard the McKinney man say in an impatient tone, “Okay, Jesse, here I am. What's so all-fired important that you had to drag me away from my Rotary Club breakfast?”

“I'll order you something here,” Nance offered. “Anything you want.”

“I'm not in the mood for a heart attack so I'll take a pass on the grease,” McKinney said snidely. “Tell me what this is about so I can get on with my day.”

“Okay. I'll just put it right out there, then,” Nance said. “There's a rumor going around town that you've been sniffing around the Steele place.”

“So?”

“I thought you and me had a deal.”

“I repeat, so?”

Nance paused. “Are you really interested in buying that place or is this just one of your tricks?”