Melissa Cutler - Cowboy Justice

Vaughn’s hands fell away from her. He looked out at the darkness for a long beat before turning to face her once more. “What do you want me to say, Rachel? They took my mom away in handcuffs. I can’t afford to make selfish choices like sleeping in with you or taking a chance that someone would see your truck parked out front come morning. I thought you understood that. You and I agreed to wait until the case is settled. I can’t tell you how frustrated it makes me that it has to be that way, but there it is. I’m sorry.”

The lack of sting she felt from his words didn’t surprise her. She’d already known what he was going to say. What floored her, instead, was the realization that she’d said almost exactly the same words to him after her mom’s suicide attempt. I can’t afford to make selfish choices.

What was it with the two of them that they valued their own happiness so little? Whatever it was, Rachel was done with it. Time to start over. Time to focus on herself and being happy. Because, damn it all, Vaughn had been right when he said she was no fainting damsel. No one was going to save her but herself, especially not a man, even if she did love him like crazy.

She stood, her legs strong and capable. No more trembling. No more weak knees.

“I know what we agreed to, but I thought maybe things had changed. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything.” She’d spouted that line so often to him it’d become her mantra, but this was the first time she knew in her heart it was true.

“Of course I do.”

She straightened the T-shirt and briefs, feeling more powerful with every breath she took. “No, you don’t. All you need to worry about is taking care of your parents and running your investigations. I’m going to go live my life, and see if I can make sense of everything that’s happened. And I’m going to plant a crop of alfalfa this year if it kills me. When the case is settled, you know where to find me.”

She walked through the kitchen, stripping off his shirt and briefs en route to the front entryway, where her clothes sat in a pile. Vaughn followed. She felt his eyes on her while she dressed, but kept her back to him until she was fully clothed.

When she faced him, his expression was guarded as he handed her his folded shirt and briefs. “I’d like to imagine you wearing these when you sleep. Would you do that for me?”

Refusing to engage in a conversation about it, she took them. He set the box of cigarettes on top.

“I’d forgotten about those,” she said.

His lips curved into a pained smile. “Believe me, I hadn’t.”

“Any other smokes you want to send with me before they tempt you?”

He shook his head. “I already smoked all the rest. That was my last box. You want to borrow a jacket for the drive?”

“I’ll be fine.” She unlocked the dead bolt and stepped outside, Vaughn behind her. They crossed the street to her truck in silence.

He held her door while she climbed in and buckled up, then stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’d never before wanted to stay until morning. If I’d have asked you, would you have?”

Turning her face into his hand, she smoothed her lips over the inside of his wrist. “Yes. This time I would have.”

He released her and stepped away, his jaw tight. Looking down the length of the dark street, he nodded, his lips twitching like he was torn about what to do. Maybe he was going to change his mind and invite her to stay after all.

Then he returned his world-weary gaze to her. “Good night, Rachel.”

Okay, then. Enough was enough.

She closed the door, fired up the engine, and rolled down her window. “Good-bye, Vaughn.”

She felt empowered, saying the words and meaning them. Freer and lighter than she had in years. She wasn’t a failure as a farmer. She wasn’t to blame for her mom’s death. And, for the first time in sixteen months, she didn’t feel like her happiness hinged on Vaughn. She’d hit rock bottom this week, sure, but that only meant there was nowhere for her to go but up.

The drive home was uneventful. One lonely road after another. Her headlights picked up a coyote dashing across the road into the bushes near the turn from the highway, and another time, her truck’s radio started playing Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy.” Less painful than “Southern Nights,” but she still couldn’t stand to listen to it. Other than that, she made it to the dirt road into their property without incident.

An unfamiliar black sedan was parked on the south side of her house. She didn’t see it until she was right up on it, given the blackness of the night. Who knew which new misfit or lost soul Amy had invited to stay? They were already housing Tina, Sloane, and Ben. More and more, Mr. Dixon or Kellan stayed over too. The last time Rachel went to Tucumcari to have new keys made, the man at the hardware store had joked about giving her a bulk discount.

She pulled into her usual spot in front of the porch, grabbed Vaughn’s clothes and cigarettes, and stepped outside, stretching her back. She had an hour until Rudy, Damon, and Ben showed up for work. Plenty of time for a shower and a cup of coffee. The coffee might get her through morning chores, but given how little sleep she’d gotten, there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to keep her energized until the end of the day.

Movement to her right made her turn.

A man in dark clothes flew at her, hitting her to the ground, the air knocked clean out of her lungs. He backhanded her across the cheek, and she was too stunned and hurt to react. He was so strong, crushing her with his body. She pedaled her boots against the gravel, but couldn’t break free. He wound back to hit her again, so she flailed her hand, smacking his face with her ring of keys.

He grunted, like maybe she hurt him, so she swung again and he grabbed her arm. But his weight had shifted enough so that she was able to push her boot against the ground and roll him off her. Scrambling to her feet, she sucked in her first real breath of air and screamed. Less than ten yards away was a house full of people. If she was going to go down, she at least needed to warn her family of the danger.

The man lunged at her again and she tripped back, running for Ben’s truck across the yard. Desperate for a weapon, she had the driver door open when the man slammed into her back. He knocked her head against the side of the truck. She elbowed him, catching him in the soft part of his belly. Her movements were imprecise and unskilled, but got the job done.

She pulled herself away from the attacker by sheer will and flung her upper body onto the floor of the cab. Ben’s rifle was easy to find under the seat. The ammo sat behind it in a box. She grabbed some, but didn’t have time to load. So she pivoted, swinging the rifle around like a club.

That’s when she saw the flames, licking up toward the sky in a swirl of black smoke.

The porch was on fire.

She gasped. Amy was in the house. Ben, Sloane, Tina too. Maybe Kellan. Oh, God. They hadn’t reacted to her screams. Did that mean the assailant had gotten to them already?

In that moment of blind terror, the assailant grabbed the rifle from her hands and knocked her across the skull.

She crumpled. Her mouth pooled with blood and her head pounded so bad she couldn’t move her eyes. The smoke alarms were sounding in the house now, loud and out of rhythm with each other. The attacker grabbed her by the boots and dragged her facedown across the gravel driveway, past her burning house.

He shoved her into the trunk of the black sedan, and she was too weak to defend herself beyond flailing her arms. In the blackness of the closed trunk, once the engine rumbled to life and the car took off, her fear and pain subsided enough for her to think.

Whoever the man who’d kidnapped her was, he had to be connected to Meyer Jr. and the meth lab. It all went back to her father, and the terrible choices he’d made. Fear and rage battled inside her. Rage at her father for dragging them into hell. But also at herself. Her epiphany about her actions being consequence-free was a load of crap. What happened tonight was her fault alone.

The message the universe had been trying to get through to her was finally sinking in, though it was too late to matter. All that week, her farm and family had been under siege by druggies and violent criminals, two of whom were still on the loose. But instead of staying home to watch over her family, she’d been off screwing the sheriff—again. Her mom had already paid the price for her selfishness, and now she, along with the rest of her family, were going to die.

Vaughn’s cell phone rang. He tore his gaze from the case file he’d been poring over to look at his watch. Three-forty-five. With no cigarettes to take his mind off Rachel or his parents’ grim situation, he’d thrown in the towel and gone to the office.

The overnight dispatch calls were patched through Irene’s home line for another three hours, and Deputy Reyes, the on-duty officer, was on patrol. Grateful for the silence, Vaughn had dug into research on El Diente, pulling every unsolved injury and fatality case in the county involving victims who were missing teeth.

The display on his phone said the call was from Kellan’s cell. If he’d found out Vaughn had slept with Rachel and was phoning to tell him off for it, then he could go to hell. It was none of his business. He pressed accept and propped a boot on his desk. “Hey, what’re you doing up this early?”

“We can’t find Rachel.” Kellan’s words rushed out in a blur of speech. His voice was strained with fear.