Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

As the words sank in, the courtroom erupted in sound and movement. Erin flung herself over the rail and wrapped her arms around Will’s neck. Beau was hugging his shoulders. As if from far away, he heard the judge thanking the jurors and telling him he was free to go. His arm reached for Tori and pulled her close. Quivering, she pressed her face against his jacket.

Looking past her, Will caught a flash of hate-filled green eyes. Facing him from across the aisle, Stella mouthed something he couldn’t understand. Then, with a last, venomous look, she turned and stalked out of the courtroom.

CHAPTER 19

Abner got word of the verdict from the bailiff, who’d called to let him know that Will Tyler wouldn’t be needing the jail cell he’d reserved. Too bad in a way. Seeing the high-and-mighty Will locked up and headed for prison would have given him some satisfaction. But he’d known all along that the man wasn’t guilty. At least now his conscience would be clear.

Damned funny thing, his conscience. He’d almost forgotten he had one until he’d held his newborn grandson in his arms. When he’d looked down into those pure eyes, it was as if they could see all the way into the depths of his corrupted soul. That was when Abner had known he had to become a better man.

Clay Drummond was going to be sore. So was Stella. For now, he knew enough of their secrets to keep them from doing him too much damage. But he was playing a dangerous game—a game that could leave him disgraced or dead, and little Ralphie without a grandfather.

Abner thought of all the times he’d skirted the limits of the law. Evidence tampering, leaking confidential information, looking the other way when Stella did her dirty work—so many small crimes that he’d lost count. He had loved being sheriff, loved the authority, the respect, and the sheer fun of playing detective. But a man with his secret record had no business in a position of public trust. To cleanse his conscience and keep himself safe, he would have to start over.

There was only one way to do that.

Bringing up his computer, he opened a blank document and began typing a letter of resignation.

At home, in a locked drawer of his study desk, Clay kept a loaded .38. Now, alone in his courthouse office, he found himself thinking about that gun and how he might use it to end his life. Even death would be better than what he and his family would face if Stella released that damning surveillance tape.

Through the west window the setting sun cast a bloodred glow into the room, reflecting off the empty bourbon bottle on his desk. He was borderline drunk. But his office door was locked, his staff gone for the night. Nobody was going to walk in on him.

What now? Would Stella warn him first or would she simply leak the tape to her press contacts? Either way, he had no doubt she’d do it. She’d ruined Garn Prescott after he’d let her down. She’d do the same to him.

His ringing cell phone broke the silence. Clay glanced at the caller ID. His stomach clenched.

“You really blew it today, didn’t you, honey?” Stella’s voice was like the purr of a big, sleek cat toying with a mouse.

“Please, Stella,” he begged her, almost blubbering. “I’ll do anything! Just don’t release that tape!”

“You say you’ll do anything?” She laughed, dangling the bait. “What would you say to a chance to get the tape back?”

Clay’s pulse leapt. But he was sober enough to know that whatever Stella had in mind would be illegal and dangerous. Desperate as he was, he had to keep his head.

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it on two conditions,” he said. “First I want your promise that you’ll give me the tape.”

“Cross my heart, honey. Do the job and it’s yours. What’s the other condition?”

“I want to keep my life—my job, my reputation, and my family. If my involvement can be kept secret, I’m on board.”

Again she laughed. “That can be arranged—as long as you’re not stupid enough to get caught. But once I’ve told you the plan, you’re in. Get cold feet, and you’ll be humping an underage girl on the ten o’clock news.”

The knot in Clay’s gut felt like a tangle of barbed wire. “I’m in,” he said. “Tell me what I have to do.”

* * *

Will had celebrated his acquittal by going home, changing his clothes, and working on the barn until dusk. Lord, but it feels good to be a free man! After what he’d survived, even the money troubles seemed surmountable. Now that the specter of prison was gone, he could plan. And he could make the hard decisions it would take to keep the ranch running.

That night the ranch family had celebrated around the dinner table with green salad, fresh garlic bread, and a big pan of Bernice’s lasagna. Now it was late, the meal finished, the leftovers put away, and the dishes loaded in the dishwasher. Erin and Bernice, worn out by the day, had gone to bed. Sky, Lauren, Jasper, Beau, and Natalie had left for the night.

Only Tori remained. Wrapped in the afghan, her stocking feet tucked under her, she sat on the front porch with Will in the opposite chair. The night was clear, the stars like the spill of a million diamonds across the sky. The breeze was no more than a whisper.

Will studied her moonlit profile—the chiseled nose, the soft, full lips, the stubborn chin, and the wisps of golden hair framing her face. There was nobody like Tori. He ached to make her his again.

Tonight could be his best chance to tell her what was on his mind. But he’d never been much good with romantic talk. Maybe that had been part of the problem when they were married. He’d been too tough, too macho, to say the words a woman needed to hear.

Could he say them now?

She stirred, untangling her legs. “I suppose I should be going,” she said.