Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

Will shrugged. “Fine. It won’t be any different from what you heard last night. Tell me when to start.”

Tori listened while Will related the same story he’d told her. Abner stopped him from time to time to ask questions. Tori could tell the sheriff was probing for any detail that might conflict with what Erin had said. It was almost as if he was trying to build a case against Will. What she didn’t understand was why. There was no bad blood between the sheriff and the Tylers. And Abner was no longer running for the election he’d just won. What was driving him?

Partway through the session, Beau wandered into the den, took a seat, and leaned forward to listen. Only when Will had finished his story, which matched Erin’s, did he speak up.

“Sheriff, according to Will, the man said something about a package and money. The newscast I saw mentioned that the deputies found cocaine on his bike. Can we assume that Nick Tomescu was on his way to a drug deal, and that he mistook Will for his customer?”

Abner looked flustered. “We can’t assume anything,” he said.

“Did you question his sister?”

“I did. Stella was grieving, of course. She said she didn’t know anything about her brother’s activities. I’m inclined to believe her.”

“Of course.” Beau rolled his eyes in Tori’s direction. She responded with a subtle shake of her head. Stella Rawlins would never admit to being involved in anything. And she appeared to have the sheriff wrapped around her little finger.

Restless as a bull in the bucking chute, Will rose to his feet. “Are we finished, Sheriff? I need to get to work.”

“Just one more thing, Will,” the sheriff said. “Last night you told me you’d sent your daughter away because she hadn’t seen anything. That turned out to be untrue. Do you have anything to add in defense of your statement?”

Tori’s eyes were on Will—his tightened jaw, his narrowed eyes. She knew that look all too well. It was the look of a man who’d had enough. As he drew in his breath, she braced for the explosion.

Will exhaled, holding himself in check. “I’m done here,” he said. “Ask my lawyer.”

With that, he strode out of the room. Tori heard the closing of the front door—not quite a slam—and the roar of his pickup as he sped away. She guessed he’d be headed somewhere out of reach, maybe up to the summer pastures on the caprock to check the grass and mend the fences. That had been his way when they were married—in any kind of emotional crisis, Will would simply walk away and disappear into his work.

Abner was staring after him, slack-jawed. Tori rose, speaking into the silence. “Sheriff, I believe you already know the answer to your question. Will didn’t know that Erin had seen the shooting until I told him this morning. You’ve no call to read anything else into the situation. Agreed?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” Abner stood, turned off the recorder, and stuffed it into his imitation-leather briefcase. “I guess we really are done here.”

“You said there’d be an inquest.” Beau had risen as well. “Can you give us some idea what’s involved and how long it’ll take?”

“My best guess is ten days to several weeks. We’ll need to get the coroner’s report and schedule the judge. If the judge wants to impanel a jury, that’ll take more time.”

“A jury? Why, for God’s sake?” Beau demanded.

“To decide whether Will should be charged and tried—most likely for manslaughter.”

With that exit line, Abner picked up his briefcase and keys, and headed out the front door.

* * *

That evening, after a long, restless afternoon, Tori stood at the porch rail and watched the last rays of the setting sun fade behind the escarpment. The canyons lay deep in purple shadow, the high buttes above them still bathed in velvety mauve light. Quail called from the cedars along the foothills. Horses, their nostrils testing the wind, nickered and snorted in the paddock. The evening breeze carried the smell of dust and an ominous chill, a warning, perhaps, that the first norther of the season was already sweeping down the distant plain.

She glanced at the luminous dial of her watch. Drew had planned to pick her up two hours from now for an eight o’clock movie and late-night pizza. Either she would need to go home, change, and be there when he arrived, or call now and cancel their date.

The question was, should she stay here with Erin? Her daughter had seemed fine today, but last night she’d had trouble sleeping. Tori had ended up putting an old Disney movie in the DVD player and watching with her until her head drooped and her eyes closed. If Erin was still traumatized tonight, Tori didn’t want to leave her, not even with Will. At times like this, a child needed her mother.

And Will—did he need her, too?

But that couldn’t be allowed to matter. Will was his own man, and she was no longer his wife. It made sense that she’d agreed to be his lawyer. But that was where she had to draw the line. Sympathy wasn’t part of the bargain.

So, if she canceled her date and stayed here, would that be sending Will the wrong message?

A brisk November wind whistled across the porch. Tori shivered beneath her light wool sweater. Either way, it was time to make a decision.

She was about to go back inside when she felt a warm weight settle on her shoulders. As the smells of sage, wood smoke, and horses enfolded her, she recognized Will’s fleece-lined range coat and the strong hands that had wrapped it around her.

“Can’t have you freezing out here, can we?” Will’s husky baritone rumbled in her ear. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath stirring her hair. A long-forgotten thread of heat uncurled in the depths of her body, recalling the sensual passion that had created Erin and the other baby, the one she’d lost. In those early years their lovemaking had been good. More than good—until the end, when even love hadn’t been enough.