Logan looked at her with some amusement. Kelsey shrugged.
“We all get carried away now and then,” she murmured.
They were close to the bar. As she spoke, she saw that a man sitting on one of the wooden stools at the end had turned toward them. He didn’t look like a cowboy. He was tall and thin and wearing jeans, but with a tailored shirt and loafers. His hair was cut stylishly short, and there was nothing weathered about him. He saw her looking at him, and slid off his bar stool, coming toward them.
“Oh, Lord help us,” Logan groaned.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
She didn’t have to wait to find out. Corey grinned broadly. “It’s the newspaper man!” he said, apparently pleased that they’d drawn his attention.
But when the man approached and said, “Why, Mr. Simmons, did I hear that correctly? You were scared out of your room by a vision of blood on the walls?” Corey wasn’t so pleased anymore.
“No, you didn’t hear anything correctly, Murphy,” he said. “Listening in on other people’s conversations is rude, and if you write about a conversation you think you heard, I’ll denounce you as a liar!”
Kelsey noticed that Logan didn’t stand. “You’re interrupting a private conversation, Ted,” he told the man. “You’re not welcome here,” he added.
No one seemed to want the man around. It didn’t stop him.
“So, word is out that you spent the day at the morgue, Ranger Raintree. What’s going on? Is there a serial killer loose in the city, and you’re not alerting the public?”
Kelsey watched Logan’s fingers clench his beer stein. It was made of heavy glass, but she was afraid it would shatter. He managed to look up at the man. “Actually, I’m not with the Rangers right now, Murphy, and if there’s something to be said, you’ll hear it from a law enforcement spokesperson. I’m here for dinner with a friend, and I’d appreciate it if you let us enjoy that dinner in peace.”
Murphy was persistent. “Friend?” Murphy’s eyes snapped to Kelsey. “What kind of slacker do you think I am, Raintree? Friend? This is Marshal Kelsey O’Brien, in from Florida. So, what is it? Drug running? Murder? Or murders, plural?”
Logan stood at last, towering over Murphy. “If you don’t leave, we will. Kelsey, I’m sorry, but…”
She stood, too.
“I’ll take care of this creep, if you want,” Corey Simmons said, grinning. “You can’t touch him. That would be Ranger or Marshal brutality. But I’m just an old cowboy, and I can take him out. It’d be worth the night in jail.”
By then, patrons near them had heard the confrontation, and with Logan and Corey Simmons both looming over Murphy, the tension and testosterone seemed to be rippling through the bar.
Sandy came rushing over. “Ted Murphy! What are you doing? Get out! See that sign over the bar? It says the owner has discretion over who should and shouldn’t be served. You’re creating a public disturbance, and you’re going to ruin my business, and if you do, I promise I’ll sue you—and your paper—up the wazoo. Do you understand me?”
Ted Murphy had already taken a few steps back. No doubt he’d known he wasn’t going to taunt Logan Raintree into pounding him and creating negative press for the Texas Rangers. Corey Simmons didn’t seem to care about the consequences.
“I think I’ve gotten what I came for,” Murphy said. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned away, took the time to drop cash on the bar and walked out.
“That sniveling little bastard!” Logan said.
“He’s gone now. Please, sit, enjoy the saloon,” Sandy pleaded, glancing from him to Kelsey.
Kelsey nodded and glanced at Logan.
“Sure. I’m looking forward to a special special barbecue,” he said with a smile. Kelsey sat, he sat and so did Corey Simmons.
“Ease up,” Kelsey warned Logan softly. “You’re going to break that glass.”
He stared at his hand, at his white knuckles against the bronze of his skin.
Then he grinned, but it was a deadly grin. “God knows what the man is going to plaster all over that damn tabloid.”
“Then it’s a rag. Who cares?” Kelsey asked.
“Well, it’s a local paper, a daily, but it sure ain’t a very respectable one.”
“My point exactly,” Kelsey said.
“Hey, it’s me he’s going to skewer,” Corey said. “Big ’fraidy-cat tough-boy cowboy. But you know what? He’ll get his. I promise you,” Corey said. “Drink up, friends, drink up!” He lifted his stein. Kelsey politely lifted hers in return. Obviously, Corey could see that Logan’s mood hadn’t lightened. He stood, winking at Kelsey. “I’ll just leave you two alone now. If you need me, you know where to find me!”
When he’d left, Logan looked at Kelsey. “Murphy truly is a rat,” he told her. “He’ll put all kinds of half-truths in the paper, and get the public going, screaming that the police and the Rangers are putting the city in danger.”
“It may not be that bad,” Kelsey said. She tried to smile. “Hey, I come from Key West. If news isn’t bizarre, it’s worthless.”
He finally cracked a real smile. Then it faded. “Sorry. I don’t loathe many people, but I loathe that man. When my wife…”
His voice trailed off. She was surprised to feel her heart sink.
He had a wife. Well, that wasn’t a great surprise. The man was walking sexuality, rugged and masculine to a fault.
After a moment, he continued speaking. “When my wife was murdered, and I found her just minutes too late…”
He shook his head and then looked at her again. “It was one of those instances. The kind we’ve talked about. I found her because I heard her.” He brought his fingers to his forehead. “In here,” he said. “I heard her crying out, and then, after I found her, I realized I’d heard her because she was dead. I’d put a killer on death row, and his brother wasn’t happy. When the trial was over, he kidnapped my wife—and didn’t give a damn if the world knew who’d done it. He said he’d heard I had ‘Injun powers,’ and that if I wanted her back, he’d give me clues, but I’d have to use those powers. I don’t think he even meant to kill her—he buried her alive, but he didn’t set up the oxygen supply right, and she suffocated. I got to her, but too late. We put her killer on death row, too, but…” He paused. “Reporters all over were writing about the case. I never said how I found her, never spoke to anyone about it. I was sent on leave. When Murphy got wind of what happened, he wrote an article about Indian dream states, one that actually suggested Texas Rangers with Native American blood used peyote, and that my, uh, supposed drug habit might have been the reason Alana was so easily taken. There was a protest, of course—the Department of Public Safety was going to sue. I didn’t know about it, and I didn’t give a damn about it at the time. But the article couched the insinuations so carefully that everything was merely a suggestion. An implication. And in the end there was no lawsuit. Murphy isn’t stupid. He’s a vicious bastard, but he isn’t stupid. If he puts anything out there now, it’ll be filled with innuendo, but he’ll manage to make us all look like bumbling idiots.”
Kelsey wasn’t sure what to say; she felt his pain and bitterness as if it were a tidal wave, washing across the table and sweeping her in. She wanted to touch him, tell him she was sorry, but he didn’t seem the kind of man who wanted pity. Before she could decide what, if anything, to do, Ricky came bearing their dinner plates, oblivious to the recent conflict.
“Here we go, an extraspecial dinner special!” With a flourish he served them. “Right back with the barbecue sauces—hot, spicy and mild for the faint of heart.”
Logan straightened, a forced smile coming to his lips, something of a mask slipping over his features, hiding his thoughts and emotions. “Thanks.” He glanced at Kelsey. “Texas barbecue is famous, you know. And when it’s special—well, there’s nothing better.”
She felt that Logan had long since learned to cope with both his fury and his agony, concealing them behind stoicism. She felt numb and awkward herself; she’d learned so much about investigating people, but it hadn’t occurred to her to find out more about Logan Raintree. Then again, they were on the same side. But she didn’t know how to react. She couldn’t move so quickly from an agitated state to a relaxed one, and she must have stared at him, stricken, when she should have been doing or saying something—anything—else.
“God, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said at last, her voice shaking.
“And you shouldn’t have known. We can’t work together with you tiptoeing around my feelings. I’m sorry—it’s just that Murphy is the one person who can hit exactly the right buttons to send my temper over the edge.”
She grinned. “But you didn’t belt him one.”
“Don’t go applauding me on that. I’m afraid that if I ever touched him, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d kill him.”
She could tell he wanted to change the subject. But she couldn’t help herself. “How long ago did this happen?” she asked him.
His jaw tensed for a moment. “Don’t worry—I’m not going over the edge now. Alana died three years ago. I took my time dealing with it. I’m doing okay.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she said honestly.
He studied her again and seemed to believe her. “Good,” he said. “I don’t think the food can be all that special if you don’t eat it.”
“I’m eating, I’m eating.”
“The barbecue is excellent,” he told her. “And messy.” He grimaced and licked barbecue sauce from his fingers.
