Best Kept Secrets(53)

sanctum and leaned back against it. Her chest rose and fell

with a heavy, despairing sigh.

It was happening again.

There seemed to be no escaping this nightmare. Junior was

going to have his heart broken again, this time by Celina's

daughter because she would come between Junior and his

father and his best friend. History was repeating itself. The

house was in an uproar, and all because of that girl.

Sarah Jo knew she wouldn't be able to stand it. No, she

was quite sure she wouldn't. The first time, she had failed

to protect Junior from heartache. She wouldn't be able to

protect him this time, either.

And that broke her heart.



Fifteen



She'd had every opportunity to be mugged, raped, or murdered,

or any combination thereof, in the Last Chance. Not to mention the chances she'd taken on the roads there and

back. Luckily, she had left unscathed, except for her riled

temper.

Entering her motel room, Alex slung her handbag and coat

in the chair, furious with herself for chasing after what was

obviously a red herring. Greg Harper would have a field day

if he ever found out she'd been so gullible.

That afternoon, she had called him. He wasn't impressed

with her findings so far, and made another pitch for her to

return to Austin and reconcile herself to the past. She had

held him to the time he'd allotted her.

His disfavor with her lack of results was one reason she



had put so much stock in her clandestine meeting tonight.

Greg would feel different if she could produce an eyewitness

to the murder.

She should have known the instant she pulled into the

parking lot of the bar that it didn't hold much promise. Three

bulbs were missing from the Texas lone star that blinked off

and on above the door. She had hesitated to even go inside

the place.

Every head in the room had turned. The men were a rough

bunch. They were drawn to her like coyotes to fresh meat.

The women looked even rougher, and glowered at her with

the blatant unfriendliness of potential rivals. She was tempted

to turn and run, but remembering what had taken her there,

she walked boldly to the bar.

"White wine, please."

That generated a snicker from everybody within hearing

distance. Taking her glass with her, she moved to a booth

and slid into the bench that would afford her the best view

of the room. Sipping self-consciously, she let her gaze move

from one face to another, trying to ascertain which belonged

to the voice on the telephone.

Then, to her horror, she realized that some of the men took

her close scrutiny of them as encouragement. From then on,

she confined her stares to the bottom of her wine glass, wishing

that her informant would hurry up and join her and end

the suspense. On the other hand, she dreaded meeting him.

If he were among this crowd, she didn't think he'd be someone

she would enjoy getting to know.

Billiard balls clacked and clattered. She got an overdose

of George Strait and Waylon Jennings. She inhaled clouds

of smoke, even though she wasn't smoking. And still she sat

alone.

Finally, a man who had been seated at the bar when she

had come in slid off his stool and moved in the general

direction of her booth. He took his own sweet time, stopping

at the jukebox to make his selections and pausing beside the

pool table to heckle one of the players about a bad shot.

His wandering seemed aimless and casual, but his gaze



kept drifting toward her. Her midsection tightened. Instinctively,

she knew that his final destination would be her booth.

It was. He propped his hip against the back of the padded

bench across the table from her and smiled down as he tilted

a long-neck beer bottle to his lips. "You waitin' for somebody?"

His voice sounded different, but then, both times he'd

called her, he'd been whispering. "You know I am," she

replied in a cold undertone. "Why'd you take so long to

come over?"

"I was building up my courage," he said, slurping another

draft of beer. "Now that I'm here, wanna dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yeah, dance. You know, a one an' a two." He used the

spout of his beer bottle to push up the brim of his cowboy

hat. His eyes slithered over her.

Her reaction was negative and chilling. "I thought you

wanted to talk."

He seemed momentarily nonplussed, then gave her a slow,

sly grin. "We can talk all you want to, honey." He set his

bottle of beer on the table and extended his hand down to

her. "My truck's right outside."

He was just a cowboy on the make! Alex didn't know

whether to laugh or scream. Hastily gathering up her things,

she headed for the door. "Hey, wait a minute. Where're you