Texas Thunder (27 page)

“All the stuff. But it's ours. They ain't got no right to it. That's what Pawpaw says. That's what my daddy says, too. It ain't theirs. It's ours. We worked for it. It's
ours
.”

She touched his shoulder, but it only made him more agitated. “I'm sure there's no hurry. Let's do this tomorrow. I'll help.”

“Too late,” he murmured. She touched his shoulder and he grew more frantic. “It'll be gone. All gone.”

“Then let me help now. I'll dig for a little while and then you can dig.” He paused then as she reached for the make-shift spade he was using. “I'll go fast, too. I swear.”

He didn't want to let go at first, but finally he nodded. The gardening tool slipped from his hands into Karen's. She stared down at the piece of metal and a wave of recognition washed over her. She dusted frantically at the dirt, wiping as much away as possible.

Sure enough, it wasn't a broken spade.

It was the coveted PBR belt buckle that Brett had brought home after his first win. The same buckle that had been up in the attic with the Bible that Brett had been frantically searching for these past few weeks.

“Come on,” the old man said. “Dig, girl. You have to dig.”

“Let me just get something bigger. I've got a spade in the kitchen. It'll do a much better job. In fact, why don't you come with me? I'll get you some hot cocoa and then I'll get right back out here and get to work.”

She didn't expect him to cooperate. He was much too manic at the moment. Instead, he shook his head frantically and turned back to his hole. Shoving his hands into the dirt, he started digging with his fingers. “I just have to get it deep enough so that the revenuers can't get to it—“

“I'll help,” she cut in. “Just let me get a better shovel and I'll help you.”

The offer seemed to ease the tense set of his shoulders and he paused to take a breath. A few seconds passed and he started digging again. Slower this time. As if the frenzied storm of his memories were finally calming down just a little.

Hopefully, Karen pushed to her feet and headed for the kitchen. Rinsing off the buckle, she dried it and set it on the counter where her brother was sure to see it. A quick rummage in the drawer and she pulled out one of Dolly's old gardening spades that she used on the front porch flower pots.

She grabbed the tool just as her phone buzzed again. A wave of excitement rushed through her, followed by a whisper of regret because she didn't have the time to text him back.

Another text and another buzz, and a smile tugged at her lips. He might be just as hooked on her as she was on him.

And while that notion would have scared the miniskirt off her a month ago, suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad thing.

Mark was a nice guy, after all. And seriously cute. A girl could certainly do worse.

*   *   *

“Where did this come from?” Brett asked his sister early the next morning when he found the buckle sitting on top of the microwave.

Karen glanced up from her bowl of cereal and swallowed her mouthful. “Pappy had it. He was using it to dig in the garden. I thought it was a spade at first, until I got a closer look.”

He turned the buckle over in his hands. “Where did he get it?”

“I'm assuming upstairs in the attic.”

Brett did a mental search of all the boxes that he and Callie had uncovered. If the buckle had been up there, they would have seen it. Unless they'd missed a box or a trunk or
something
. “Where exactly in the attic?”

“I don't know. I just know that he was mumbling about hiding from the revenuers while he was digging in the garden with it.” She glanced through the kitchen window at the old man sitting on the front porch in his rocker. An untouched cup of coffee sat next to him. The groan of the rocking chair echoed as he pushed it back and forth, an empty look on his face. “Maybe tomorrow will be better and we can ask him.”

Maybe.

Brett grasped at the hope as he left the buckle sitting on the counter and headed for the front door. He could have easily gone out the back and avoided walking clear around the house, but he hated seeing his Pappy with that blank look and so he opted for the long way around.

In the barn, he saddled up his horse and headed for the line of fence that separated the east pasture from the west pasture. They had holes and so he'd sent a handful of men to fix the fence earlier that morning. More than enough to handle the job while he took care of the mountain of paperwork inside the house.

But Brett needed out of the house. To think. To breathe.

To run.

The truth beat at him for the rest of the day as he worked his fingers to the bone until he was so tired that he could barely breathe, much less think. By the time he led his horse into the barn, the only thing he wanted was a hot shower and a few blessed hours of sleep.

He was halfway to the house when he spotted the sheriff sitting on the back porch, waiting for him.

“Can we talk?”

“Only if you're here to tell me what the hell is going on down by the creek,” Brett said as he stepped up onto the porch. He pulled off his hat and ran a tired hand through his hair. “If you're just going to ask questions, then forget it. I'm beat.”

“I found the poachers.”

Brett's gaze snapped up. “Who?”

“Big Jimmy Ham. We busted him and his buddies last night. They were cooking a hundred gallons out on the edge of your property. They had a pretty good spot, too. There was a cave cut into the side of that hill about a half mile up. They had everything hidden inside and the entire area around booby-trapped to hell and back. A raccoon came up on them the night you heard the gunshot. They thought they were being raided.”

“And instead of running, they shot?”

“It's Big Jimmy. He doesn't have a reputation for being the smartest ax in the toolshed.” His gaze grew serious. “It wasn't the first time he shot at what he thought was a poacher. We found the remains of your missing cattle. I'm guessing they were watering by the creek at one time or another and spooked Ham. He shot first and realized his mistake later. Found a freezer of meat after we obtained a search warrant for his property. A mess of cash, too. He'll be going away for a long, long time and you'll be getting compensation for your cattle. Eventually,” Hunter added. “It has to go through the court system first, but in the end, the judge is sure to make things right.”

The news should have sent a rush of relief through Brett. There'd been no theft. His men were in the clear.

Talk about great news.

It was, but it didn't overshadow the crappy state of everything. His pappy was still sick and life still sucked.

And so he spent his nights avoiding his pappy and his days trying to tie up loose ends at the ranch so that he could get the hell out of town and back to the one thing that was still good—his career.

The one thing that had saved him all those years ago.

And the only thing that would save him now.

He accepted an offer from Les's clients on the acreage, securing the immediate future for Bootleg Bayou, and he made several phone calls to hurry up the chemical analysis on the moonshine sample they'd found in the attic. Where Mark Edwards hadn't managed to pull any strings with his one connection, Brett managed to push things along with his, thanks to the head of the chemistry department, who turned out to be the father of a fellow bull rider and a huge fan.

The sample came back within the next two weeks, but the ingredients didn't match Callie's half and so they knew it wasn't the original Texas Thunder. Still, it was a convincing knockoff that did garner an offer from Mark, but not nearly enough at a thousand dollars to get Callie out of debt.

Even when Brett forfeited his share so that she could have it all.

“You want me to give it all to Callie?” Edwards had asked him. “But you two found it together.”

“The money is hers. She needs it more than I do,” Brett had told the man.

Still, it wasn't enough.

He knew it and damned if it didn't keep him up at night, along with all of his other problems.

Because he loved her.

He came to that conclusion when he walked into Haverty's Real Estate to sign the final papers for the land sale and saw Callie for the first time since she'd walked out on him.

She wasn't wearing anything special—just a plain navy skirt and a cream-colored blouse—but the sight of her stalled the air in his lungs. His heart skipped a beat and just like that, he knew.

He
loved
her.

He'd always loved her.

Not that it made one bit of difference because Callie Tucker had turned her back on him. She was the one walking away this time, and as much as he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she did any and everything he wanted, he knew he couldn't.

She'd given up so much for the people that she cared about, put them above and beyond her own dreams, and now it was her turn to make her own decisions. And if that meant leaving Rebel, then so be it. She deserved this chance and he wouldn't try to stop her.

Instead, he smiled and tipped his hat and walked past her into Les's office as if all was right.

As if he hadn't lost everything in the world and his life wasn't going to shit all around him.

 

CHAPTER 30

She wasn't going to say anything.

That's what Callie told herself as she tried to focus on her computer screen and forget the all-important fact that Brett Sawyer was in the next room and he'd given up his half of the thousand dollars Mark had paid them for the semidecent moonshine they'd found in Brett's attic.

No, she wasn't going to say anything even if she did appreciate the gesture. It wasn't enough in its own right, but coupled with the secured loan they'd managed to get on Brandy's equipment, they would be close to the mark.

Close enough that she could go back to the bank and beg for another two-week extension.

At least that's what she was telling herself.

Another two weeks and she could make up the difference and take the job offer that came in just yesterday from a small entertainment press in Austin.

They needed a good photographer to take pictures of the various Austin bands and her tear sheets had been good enough to land a job. It wasn't even close to an investigative journalist position, but it was a start.

If they were willing to wait for her to wrap things up here.

She ignored the worry that niggled at her and focused on keying in the last of a new listing that Les was working on. She'd just entered the square-footage specs when Les's door opened and Brett walked out.

Another tip of his hat in her direction and he passed her by. She let loose the breath she'd been holding and congratulated herself. She was home free. Another few steps and he would be out of the office. Out of her life. For good.

“Thank you.” The words seemed to come on their own.

He stopped and turned. His blue eyes collided with hers and her breath caught.

So much for not saying anything.

“I really appreciate what you did.”

“We wouldn't have found the moonshine if not for you. It was all your idea. I'm just sorry we didn't come up with the actual recipe. I kept looking,” he went on, “I even found the Bible, but no recipe. Everything—all the pictures and important documents that I remembered, were gone. It was just the book.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don't be. I'm sure it's all there somewhere. Take care.” He started to turn, but she stopped him.

“I heard they found out what happened to your cattle.”

He nodded. “They snuck up on the Ham setup and he thought they were feds.”

“At least you can have some peace of mind now and Big Jimmy Ham will get what's coming to him.” And Little Jimmy won't have to worry about getting the crap beat out of him for every little mistake. Sheriff DeMassi had told her as much when she'd asked about it in town. They'd raided the house and cleared Little Jimmy and his mother of any wrongdoing. “It wasn't your men.” She caught her lip for a second as he stared at her, into her, and she fought the urge to press herself close.

“Thankfully not.” An awkward silence settled before he added, “I really should get going—“

“I got a job offer,” she blurted, the news finally bubbling over.

Surprise lit his eyes, followed by a glimmer of excitement, and something twisted in her chest. “That's great.”

“It's just a small paper in Austin, but it's a good starting point.”

“Austin, huh? So when do you leave?”

“I don't know. I haven't actually accepted it yet. I'm hoping they'll wait for me to wrap things up here.”

“They'll wait,” he told her, crossing the few feet between them. “You're that good, Callie.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet until they stood toe to toe. “They would be stupid not to wait for you.”

She wanted to say thank you again, to tell him that he was the reason she'd sent out the tear sheets, that he'd given her the courage to do it, the drive, but when she opened her mouth he touched his lips to hers.

Her eyes closed and she relished the soft press of his lips.

And then, just as quickly as he'd kissed her, he pulled away. A wistful smile touched his lips, and then he turned and walked away.

Callie took a step forward, intent on going after him, on saying something—anything—so that she could have one more moment with him. But Les's voice stopped her.

“Can I speak to you a second?”

“About that—” she started, but Les pressed an envelope into her hand and the words fled. “What's this?”

“Pay your taxes, Callie.”

“What are you talking about?”

He motioned to the envelope. “It's a check. Pay your taxes.”