The Cowgirl in Question Part 14

The place even smelled the way he remembered it. The supper club section was closed until five, but the bar was open. He glanced past the pool table. The place was dark. Except for the lit screen of a video poker machine in the corner. The single patron, a gray-haired man, sat on a stool in front of the machine, his back to him. The man didn't turn as Rourke took a stool at the bar.

Les Thurman was filling the beer cooler. He'd been behind the bar the night Forrest was murdered. Rourke had heard that he was still bartending even though he owned the place-just as he'd been the night Forrest was killed.

Les had always been cool, letting underage teens in to play pool or dance to the jukebox if the place wasn't busy. Which it often wasn't.

Les turned and blinked as if not sure he believed his eyes. He closed the cooler. "Rourke," he said warmly as he came over and shook his hand. "It's great to see you."

It was the most sincere greeting Rourke had had from locals and it warmed his heart more than he wanted to admit.

"What can I get you to drink?" Les asked. He was pus.h.i.+ng sixty, his thick gray hair, his skin worn and wrinkled from years of ranching, before he sold the place to VanHorn and bought the Mello Dee some twelve or thirteen years ago.

"A beer would be great." Rourke watched Les pull a cold one out of the cooler, twist off the cap and place the bottle on a napkin in front of him.

Les leaned toward him, keeping his voice down as he glanced every so often at the man playing video poker. "I've thought about that night a million times over the years," he said before Rourke could bring up the subject. "I've regretted the h.e.l.l out of not breaking up that fight sooner."

Rourke shook his head. "Nothing you did or didn't do that night had any bearing on what happened."

Les didn't look comforted by that.

"I've come to realize I brought a lot of it on myself."

Les didn't seem to hear him; he appeared lost in reliving the night. "I remember I was trying to close up. There were only a few of you kids hanging around. I started to shut down the jukebox at midnight but Blaze-"

"Wanted one last dance."

Les wagged his head. "I didn't see the harm in one more dance. She can be d.a.m.ned convincing when she wants to be."

Rourke nodded. Didn't he know it. "She was trying to make me jealous and, me being the fool I was, I let it get to me."

Les said nothing, clearly in agreement on all counts.

The guy at the poker machine got up, his back still to Rourke and the bar. Rourke watched him disappear down the hall to the men's room.

"I remember little about the fight, but Ca.s.sidy said she thought some of the guys at the bar were goading me on," he said, turning his attention back to the bar.

Les raised a brow at Ca.s.sidy's name. "Yep, Easton. Cecil." He dropped his voice even lower, "Holt VanHorn. They were giving you a hard time, that's for sure. They even gave Ca.s.sidy a hard time when she came in. They were trying to stir up anyone they could that night." He shook his head. "I'm sorry as h.e.l.l about what happened."

Rourke drank his beer in the silence that fell between them. Everything about the place reminded him of that night eleven years go. He doubted Les had changed a thing. It was as if time had stood still here.

The sound of the video poker machine in the corner broke the long silence.

Rourke looked toward the man seemingly intent again on his game. "He must be winning."

Les shook his head. "Losing," he whispered. "Usually plays a lot better. Must be distracted trying to hear what we're saying."

The man turned as if on cue.

Rourke was stunned to see that it was Mason VanHorn. Mason had changed drastically in the past eleven years, his dark hair now completely white, his face lined. He looked much older than his contemporary, Rourke's father, Asa.

Mason didn't seem all that surprised to see him. Obviously Les had been right about VanHorn trying to hear their discussion.

"Welcome home," Mason said, sliding off his stool to walk over to him. "Les, give Rourke another beer. Put it on my tab."

"Thanks just the same," Rourke said, and downed some of his beer, suddenly just wanting to get out of there. He could feel the hotheaded younger Rourke bubbling under his skin, the one who used to make scenes and get into barroom brawls.

Mason VanHorn pulled up the stool next to him at the bar and motioned to Les to make him another drink. Rourke saw Les's expression. He didn't like VanHorn any better than Rourke did. But then Les might have even more reason to hate VanHorn. There'd been talk years ago that VanHorn had cheated Les out of his ranch, forced him to sell.

"I'll have to go get another bottle of Scotch," Les said, making it clear he was put out.

Mason didn't seem to notice. "So how is your father?" he asked Rourke, as if he and Asa were old friends instead of lifelong adversaries. "Probably pretty much semi-retired like me, I guess."

"He's fine," Rourke said, not looking at him.

"I haven't seen him in town much," Mason said, and turned his empty drink gla.s.s in his fingers as he waited for Les to come back. "I heard he had a heart attack a while back. I hope he's feeling all right."

Rourke could feel the heat, the anger like a second skin just beneath his. "How is Holt these days?"

Mason bristled. "Fine."

Brandon had told him that Mason and Holt had had a falling-out and Holt had moved into town. Right after Rourke went to prison. "Some kind of bad blood there," Brandon had said. "No one seems to know what it was about."

Les came from the back with a bottle of Scotch and took his time mixing Mason a drink.

"Holt's just fine," Mason repeated and took a swallow of his old drink, all water by now. "I'll tell him you asked about him."

"You do that," Rourke said, finis.h.i.+ng his beer. Les motioned that his beer was on the house as he set Mason's mixed drink in front of him.

Rourke nodded his thanks and left a tip as he slid off the stool.

"It was good seeing you," Les said.

"You, too," Rourke said.

"Again, I'm sorry the way things turned out," Les said, sounding like he meant it.

Rourke tried not to look at Mason VanHorn. He knew he should just walk away before he said or did something he would regret. Mason knew d.a.m.ned well that his foreman fleeced every cowhand in the county when he got the chance. But Rourke knew that was only part of the reason he despised the man. His dislike was inherited-a family grudge that went back to his grandfather's time but had continued with his own father and Mason.

Rourke wasn't even sure what all the VanHorns had done to start the feud between the two families. Whatever it was it ran deep. Probably a battle over land. Wasn't that usually the case? That or a woman.

He glanced over at Mason. "On second thought, don't bother to give Holt my regards. I'll be looking him up myself."

He noted Mason's uneasy look, then turned and walked out. He was almost to his pickup, when he saw the piece of white folded paper stuck under his winds.h.i.+eld wiper.

A sense of deja vu made him sick to his stomach. Like a sleepwalker, he moved toward the pickup and plucked the note from under the winds.h.i.+eld, unfolding the paper just as he had the night of Forrest's murder.

He thought he could feel someone watching him from inside the bar. Mason.

He stared down at the words scrawled on the note: Leave well enough alone or join Forrest. Leave well enough alone or join Forrest. He balled up the note, turning to look back at the bar. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the windows, making it impossible to see inside. Mason had left the video poker machine supposedly to go to the men's room. He could have slipped out the back door easy enough and put the note under the wiper. He balled up the note, turning to look back at the bar. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the windows, making it impossible to see inside. Mason had left the video poker machine supposedly to go to the men's room. He could have slipped out the back door easy enough and put the note under the wiper.

Rourke realized he could also have been followed to the bar. He hadn't been watching for a tail, hadn't even thought he needed to. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Rourke got into his truck, tossed the note to the floor and started the engine, shaking inside from anger.

Did someone really think he could be scared off by a rattlesnake or a stupid note?

Chapter Ten.

Everyone was already in the family dining room standing around waiting when Rourke walked in just before six.

He took his old spot across from J.T., and for a moment he felt as if he hadn't been gone eleven years, as if he'd never been to prison, as if it had all been a bad dream.

"You want to tell us what this is about?" J.T. asked his father after they were all seated.

"Can't a father have his family to dinner without there being some big announcement?" Dusty asked.

They all ignored her, instead waiting for Asa to tell them what was going on.

Rourke looked down the table at his father. Asa had been acting strangely, but Rourke figured it had something to do with him getting out of prison. He just hoped to h.e.l.l that wasn't what this dinner was about as he watched Martha and several new cook's a.s.sistants serve the food.

"Come on, what's going on?" J.T. demanded. "You practically jump out of your skin every time the phone rings."

Asa was pus.h.i.+ng his food around on his plate and didn't seem to hear.

"Dad?" Cash said.

His father looked up in surprise. "I'm sorry, you want the roast?" he asked, reaching for the large platter.

"No," J.T said. "I asked what the h.e.l.l is bothering you. If something's going on we should know about-"

The doorbell rang. Asa knocked over his water gla.s.s as he stumbled to his feet.

"Martha's got it," J.T. said.

Rourke, like all the others, was staring at his father. Asa had gone pale and, even from where Rourke sat, he could see that his father was shaking.

Martha appeared in the doorway. Like Asa, she seemed upset.

Rourke was on his feet. "Martha, what is it?" He'd barely gotten the words out of his mouth when a woman appeared in the doorway. She was blond, somewhere in her late fifties although she could have pa.s.sed for much younger. She had the palest, clearest blue eyes he'd ever seen-even paler than his own.

Although he'd been too young to remember his mother, he knew that's who she was. Just as he realized in that instant of absolute silence before all h.e.l.l broke loose that his father had lied about her death.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" J.T. demanded.

Asa didn't seem to hear him. "As usual, Shelby, your timing is horrendous."

Her laugh was magnificent and Rourke thought he remembered it, that wonderful joyous tinkle of laughter that seemed to light up the entire house.

"Oh, Asa, you old goat, you know you love surprises," she said, looking around the table, her blue eyes seeming hungry as if she couldn't get enough of each of them.

Asa was looking at Shelby, a mixture of anger and awe, Rourke thought. He could practically feel the chemistry between them.

He looked over at his sister. The resemblance was uncanny between Dusty and Shelby and he could see that Dusty hadn't missed it. He let out a low oath and shook his head. He'd always suspected Dusty was his half sister but now it was clear who her mother had been.

Everyone was talking at once, just like the old days before the knock-down-drag-out fights began.

Shelby walked over to Asa, her eyes tearing as she kissed his old weathered cheek. "Something tells me this is going to be some story," Rourke said under his breath.

"Everyone settle down," Asa ordered loudly. "Martha, break out the good bourbon. Now you know the truth. Your mother is alive."

"No kidding," J.T. snapped.

"Our mother?" Dusty demanded. mother?" Dusty demanded.

Asa nodded, turning his attention to her, his expression softening. "You're a McCall in every sense of the word."

Rourke could see that Dusty was as angry as her brothers now. "You lied to me all these years?"

"I need to speak with your mother alone." Asa looked to Shelby, his expression as close to a plea as Rourke had ever seen.

"If you'll excuse us," Shelby said.

J.T. and Cash started to argue.

"We'll only be a moment," she said. "Then I want to talk to all of you."

Asa closed the dining-room door firmly behind them.

J.T. was the first to speak. "What the h.e.l.l? Did any of you..." He broke off, seeing that none of them had a clue. "Someone please tell me why we've been putting flowers on her grave for the past thirty years?"

"You think they are still married?" Dusty asked Rourke.

"Must be."

"Where has she been?" Brandon asked into the stunned silence. "Why didn't she let us know she was alive?"

"Amnesia," Dusty said. "I read about this woman who was on her way to the grocery store and b.u.mped her head and they found her years later in Alaska or someplace."

"Our mother didn't have amnesia," Cash said. "Unless it comes and goes. Dad just said you were his daughter with her."

Dusty frowned. "Why did he let me believe that he adopted me?"

"Who knows what else the old man has been hiding from us," Rourke said, and chuckled to himself. Just when he thought his father couldn't surprise him.