The Barefoot Summer(60)

He hurriedly got into the backseat and scooted over into her embrace, pulling her so close that their hearts beat in unison. “Bad news. All that information checked out, but the one suspect we thought it might lead us to didn’t pan out. I was so angry. I hope you didn’t think it was at you.”

“I didn’t, but I did know that you needed some cool-down time. That means I’ll get top billing on the list of suspects, because I have the money to pay someone to kill him, right?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. We’ll keep digging.”

“Thank you for that much. Gracie had a meltdown today, and Amanda had to take care of it. I’m going to talk to the girls tonight about all this. In my opinion, Gracie needs a day at the ranch next week. Meeting with you this afternoon is good. I can tell them that’s what we were talking about,” Kate said.

He wanted to kiss her again, but with the newest turn of events, maybe that was a bad idea. It wouldn’t be good for her case or his record if he was romantically involved with the lead suspect in his final case.

“I should be going,” he said.

“Me, too. I’ve got a lot to tell the girls, and hopefully, the festival and the day at the ranch will help Gracie. I didn’t realize that a little kid went through the stages of grief just like an adult.”

“Me, either.” He scooted across the seat and out the door. “Thank you, Kate, for everything.”

“It is what it is.” She shrugged.

But why can’t it be different just this one time, Waylon thought as he started up his truck engine and drove away. Why couldn’t we have met under different circumstances—like at a party or even on a couple of bar stools?



Kate watched the rain splat against the windshield and the side windows for five minutes. What-ifs played through her mind the whole time. What if they came and took her away in handcuffs? What would Gracie do if the policemen took her mother? Did Mama Rita have enough money to take care of her properly? And Amanda? What if her baby was born in prison and they gave it up for adoption?

Finally, with no answers to any of the questions, she crawled over the seat and headed home. Home. Was that what the cabin had become?

She stopped by the convenience store and picked up two bottles of wine and a couple of two-liter bottles of Diet Coke for Amanda and tossed in a bag of Gracie’s favorite gummy candies. Other than Conrad’s monthly overnight visits, her life had been in a nice comfortable rut for the past thirteen years, and now it was one big mess after another. Paying him the million-dollar settlement would have been so much easier than all this, but then she would have never met Gracie—or Jamie and Amanda. The latter two were beginning to get under her skin, but not as much as that little dark-haired girl.

There was no way she could get from car to cabin without getting wet, so she embraced the rain, enjoying the feel of its warmth as it soaked her from head to toe. When she reached the door, she kicked it with her sandal and yelled, “Hey, Jamie or anyone in there, would you open the door, please?”

Her phone rang at the same time Gracie slung open the door. She recognized the ringtone as the one she had assigned to her mother, but it stopped before she could answer it.

“What’s in the bags?” Gracie asked.

“Wine for me and your mother. Diet Coke for Amanda and a bag of those sour candies that you like,” Kate said.

“Thank you, thank you.” Gracie wrapped her arms around Kate’s long legs. “I love you, Kate.”

“Not as much as I love you, Gracie.”

“I love you to the moon and back.” Gracie grinned.

“Well, I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck,” Kate said.

Gracie drew her dark brows down over deep-brown eyes and asked, “Is that a lot?”

“More than to the moon and back,” Kate said.

“Okay, then you love me more today, but tomorrow I will love you more. Mama, guess what Kate brought me?” She fished the candy from the bag and went down the hall in her famous run-everywhere mode.

Kate went to her bedroom and changed into dry clothing, then sat down in the rocking chair and hit the speed dial for her mother.

“I told you this was going to turn into a nightmare before it was over. That’s the reason I wanted you to be out of town for a while,” Teresa said without so much as a hello or hey.

“And here I thought you wanted me to be rested in December when I took over your office,” Kate said.

“Don’t you get sassy with me! Have you seen the Dallas newspaper?”

“No, I have not. Here in the hinterlands we use smoke signals—they tell me we might get the Pony Express to deliver newspapers to us pretty soon,” Kate answered.

“This is not a laughing matter.” Teresa’s voice hit a brand-new high.

“Okay, Mother, what does it say?” Kate sighed.

“Third page. Upper half. A columnist is talking about the murder and he’s gotten all kinds of information from somewhere, like all of Conrad’s aliases, his real name, and that he was a polygamist, and he lists his three wives at the time of his death. And your name and the fact that you are an oil heiress is right there in black and white.”

“Did it say anything about Gracie?” Kate gasped.

“Who the hell is Gracie? Another wife?”