“Carrie,” Frank said, his voice husky

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“I wish you would.” Her voice was none too steady either.

He lifted her chin with the backs of his fingers and she closed her eyes as he bent toward her. The first touch of his lips was a tentative brushing against hers.

She loved his lips. They were warm, full, gentle.

Then he gathered her into his arms and deepened the kiss. He groaned and put his heart and soul into it, and she responded in kind.

Dear Lord, he was so fine. She clutched handfuls of his shirt to keep from puddling at his feet. She was just getting started when he broke away.

“I really enjoyed the evening,” he said. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead instead of on the lips she blatantly offered. “Good night.”

And then he was gone. Out the door faster than greased lightning.

She lifted her eyebrows and stared at the door that had closed behind him. “And good night to you, too, Judge.”

Dear Reader,

This is the second of three books about a family of tall, dark and handsome fellows, the Texas Outlaws. In keeping with family tradition, the Outlaw brothers are named for famous desperadoes and are in law enforcement and public service. I hope that last month you read and enjoyed the first book of the miniseries, about J. J. (Jesse James) Outlaw, sheriff of Naconiche (NAK-uh-KNEE-chee) County, Texas. This story is about his older brother, Frank James Outlaw—who wouldn’t vote for a judge with that name?

Again set in the tall-timbered, rolling hills of the fictitious small county seat of Naconiche, this tale features more of the colorful characters typical of small East Texas towns around where I was born—warm, welcoming and often a shade eccentric. East Texas is where the Old South meets the West, so there’s a mix of cowboys and country folks, and most people are friendly—but a few still live in the backwoods, guard their privacy as if they were still moonshinin’ and tote shotguns to ward off strangers.

When Carrie Campbell blew into town, she never imagined that she would meet and come to love so many people—especially a judge with a pair of rambunctious twins. But magical things seem to happen when you stay at the Twilight Inn. Come along and see.

Warmest regards!

Jan Hudson

The Judge

Jan Hudson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Mary Hudson And with special thanks, for Marilyn Jefferies Meehan, attorney and former landman.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Still steamed, Carrie Campbell yanked open the door and strode into the justice of the peace’s offices. It had chapped her good when that moon-faced Gomer had given her a speeding ticket not two minutes after she’d crossed the county line. Doing seventy-one in a fifty-mile-an-hour zone, he’d informed her in a nasal drawl. She hadn’t seen a different speed posted. How could she be held accountable when a humongous semi parked on the shoulder had clearly blocked the sign? She’d gone back and looked.

She ought to fight it. Everything in her screamed to go to the mat about this. But she needed to play it low-key around Naconiche County, Texas—at least until her business here was finished. She could just hear her uncle Tuck saying, “Get down off your high horse, girl, and pay the damned ticket. Play your hand close to your vest and don’t stir up the locals. Remember you’ve got a job to do.”

Carrie stopped, took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She couldn’t let her temper screw up things.

Okay. She’d pay the damned ticket—if she could find somebody to take her money. Nobody was sitting at the front desk.

Spotting a door ajar at the back of the large ante-room, she headed straight for it. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could get on with her plans.

Horace P. Pfannepatter, Justice of the Peace, Precinct 2 was painted in black letters on the frosted glass panel. Through the crack, she could see a dark-haired man in a white shirt and tie sitting at a desk, rummaging through a drawer.

She rapped on the glass and pushed open the door. “Judge?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing up.

Stunned, for a moment she could only gawk. The judge was drop-dead, movie-star gorgeous. He had big brown eyes with eyelashes a foot long and one of those perfectly sculpted faces she’d only seen on young Greek men. She hated to admit it, but the guy took her breath away.

A pity about the name.

Who could seriously consider anyone named Horace P. Pfannepatter?

“What does the P. stand for?”

He stared at her in a sort of slack-jawed way that made Carrie wonder if his mother had married her first cousin. Mostly his eyes seemed to zero in on her bare legs. From his expression, you’d have thought he’d never seen a woman in shorts before. She yanked off her sunglasses and tapped her foot impatiently.

His eyes finally made it back to her face, and he gave himself a little shake. “Pardon?”

“What does the P. stand for?” she said a little louder, thinking maybe he had a hearing problem.

He gave her another out-to-lunch look, then frowned. “The P.?”

Despite his good looks, this guy didn’t seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer. What did it take to get elected to JP around here—being able to sit up and take nourishment?

“The P. in Horace P. Pfannepatter. What does it stand for?”

“Oh. Puffer. It’s a family name.”

Figured. A real shame. A real shame, too, about the gold wedding ring he wore.

“Your eyes are…very unusual,” he said, squinting at her. “I—I suppose you hear that a lot.”

She smiled. “A lot.”

After a slow trip down her body, his gaze went back to her legs. She almost reconsidered paying the ticket. Twenty to one that with a little sweet talk, she could get Horace to dismiss it, especially with the photo of the sign and the parked semi she had taken—and given his preoccupation with her exposed skin.

Better not. Resigned to her earlier decision, she sighed. “I need to pay a ticket.”

“A ticket? Oh. Maureen can help you with that.”

“Maureen?”

“Yes. At the desk out front.”

“Nobody was there when I came in.”

“Let’s see if we can find her,” he said, standing.

If Carrie thought he looked good sitting, on his feet he was dynamite. He must have been six-two or-three and no slouch in the body department. When he touched her back to usher her from his office, she felt as if she’d been zapped with a cattle prod.

Odd.

Static electricity, she was sure. He was married for goshsakes.

He smiled and her knees wobbled. He had a mouth full of perfect white teeth and a killer of a lopsided smile. “Ah, there’s Maureen. She can help you.”

A middle-aged blonde, with a half inch of black roots, stood, a distressed look on her face. “Oh, Judge, I’m sorry. I was in the storeroom looking for another box.”

“No problem. This lady needs to pay a ticket.”

“Yes, sir. Here’s the one I found.” Maureen handed him an empty carton.

“Thanks. This is perfect.”

The judge went back to his office, and Carrie shelled out eighty-seven bucks to Maureen. The ticket paid, she hightailed it toward the Twilight Inn. She was tired and thirsty and eager to get settled in at the place that would be home for a while.

FRANK OUTLAW, judge of the County Court-at-Law of Naconiche County, stood at the window, absently fingering his wedding ring as he watched the white BMW pull away. He couldn’t believe that the woman had shaken him the way she had. He hadn’t experienced that kind of mind-blowing reaction to a woman since he was a teenager—probably not since he’d first kissed Susan when they were about fourteen. He hadn’t even thought about a woman in sexual terms since his wife died, and that had been two years before.

But something about the dark-haired, purple-eyed vixen who had just strolled into Horace’s office had sure revved up his motor. He’d been so dumbfounded that he hadn’t been able to string a coherent sentence together. She probably thought he was a blithering idiot.

He’d always been a leg man, and she’d had the longest, prettiest legs he’d ever seen. Hell, she was gorgeous all over. Tall and slender with those startling eyes and kiss-me lips, she was a knockout. Not even the slightly crooked front tooth or the small scar on the side of her chin detracted from her looks. In fact, the small imperfections only seemed to make her more intriguing and heighten her sensuality. And she was sexy. It oozed from her skin and clung to her like a cloud of low morning fog on the river bottom. He was getting aroused just thinking about her. It was a strange feeling.

Frank chuckled to himself. Good thing his brother J.J. wasn’t around, or he’d never hear the end of it. J.J. was always after him to take out this woman or that, eager to jump-start his sex life, but Frank simply hadn’t been interested. Susan had been the love of his life, and when she’d been killed, something had died in Frank as well.

Good thing, too, that the woman was probably passing through on her way to someplace besides Naconiche. A woman like her could deal a man some misery.

There was a rap on the door, and Maureen stuck in her head. “I’m sorry about the interruption, Judge. That’s the third ticket Otis Purvis has issued in the same spot today. And there’s a truck broken down on the side of the highway blocking the sign. I noticed it on my way to work this morning. I told Miss Campbell she had a right to appeal, but she insisted on paying the ticket.”

“Miss Campbell?”

“Carolyn Campbell. From Houston. But she’s staying at the Twilight Inn while she’s in town. I gave her directions.”

Frank felt his gut twist. The Twilight Inn was the motel run by his soon to be sister-in-law, Mary Beth Parker. It was on his way home. He nodded. “I have to be back at the courthouse by two, and I need to get a move on. I’ll be through packing up here in a few minutes, Maureen, and I’ll take Horace’s things to Ida.”

“I’m sure she appreciates that.”

“It’s the least I can do for an old friend, and I know Fletcher is anxious to move in and get started.”

“Things just won’t be the same without Horace around,” Maureen said. “He’d been JP since I was a kid.”

“I know. We’ll all miss him.”

Maureen went back to her desk, and Frank went back to packing. He tried his best to keep his mind off Carolyn Campbell and her legs. He didn’t have much luck.

CARRIE FOUND the Twilight Inn without any problem. It was an old-fashioned motel, but it seemed quite neat and charming with its new coat of paint and window boxes filled with red geraniums. There was a sign on a nearby building identifying The Twilight Tearoom. She hoped the food was good. She’d missed lunch, and she was famished. Pulling to a stop in front of the unit that looked like an office, she got out and went inside.

Four old guys sat at a card table playing dominoes. All of them gave her the once-over, and one rose when she entered. “Hep ya?” he said, walking to the counter and giving her a big denture smile.

“I’m Carrie Campbell. I have a reservation.”

“Yes sir-ree bob. I’ve got you right here in the book. You’re in number five. I’m Will, and these fellers are Curtis, B.D. and Howard. We’re the biggest part of the staff of the Twilight Inn.” He produced a key. “If you’ll sign the register, B.D. will get your bags.” He handed her a pen.

“I can handle my luggage, but thanks anyhow.”

“No problem. All part of the service. And B.D. is stronger than he looks.”

“I’m fit as a fiddle,” one of the other old gents said, standing.

B.D. looked as if a strong gust of wind would blow him to Oklahoma. Torn between not wanting to hurt the old man’s pride and her fear that lifting her bags might give him a heart attack, she finally smiled and said, “Thanks.”

“Glad to oblige,” B.D. said, beaming. She’d made the right choice.

“I’d like to get something to eat,” Carrie said. “Is the restaurant open?”

One of the other men at the table glanced at the clock and shook his head. “The tearoom’s only open from eleven to one, so it’s been closed for more’n half an hour, but I reckon Mary Beth’s still in the kitchen. I ’spect she could rustle up a bite for you. Let me run and ask her.” He took off at a spry clip.

The fourth old man stood. “I’m Howard, and I’ll give B.D. a hand with the bags. You planning on staying long?”

“I may be here for several weeks,” Carrie said. “I’m a genealogist, and I’m researching several lines in this area.” The lie rolled easily off her tongue. It was best if the word didn’t get out too soon that she was a landman for an oil company and interested in leasing acreage in the area, or she’d find competition sniffing around. To keep things quiet until she was ready to make offers, she frequently posed as a professional genealogist, and in fact had done some real research as a hobby.

“That so?” B.D. said. “You ought to talk to Millie down at the library. She knows about all there is to know about the town history and the early settlers.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

B.D. squinted at her. “I swear. I just noticed your eyes are purple.”

She laughed. “Actually, they’re more violet.”

“Now that you mention it, I believe you’re right. Puts me to mind of that actress, you know, the one that’s been married so many times. Anyhow, they’re right pretty.”

“Thanks, B.D. Shall we get the bags?”

“You just pull your car into the slot beside number five,” Howard said, “and we’ll have you unloaded in a jiffy. I’ll go ahead and turn on the air conditioner. It won’t take but a minute to cool off the place. I swear you’d think that it ought to be cooler being the first of October. I guess it’s that global warming.”

In no time the men had everything unloaded and the room cooling. She was surprised at the accommodations. In her line of work, she’d stayed in some real dumps, but this room was bright and cheerful. The walls were a soft peach and the spread on the double bed was a muted plaid of peach, yellow and green that matched the draperies. Pleasant framed watercolors decorated the walls and an overstuffed green chair and ottoman looked quite comfy.

Howard put her laptop on the desk, which would be perfect for working. “Bathroom’s through there,” he said, indicating a back corner of the large room. “And over there,” he said, nodding to an alcove in the other corner, “is what we call the kitchenette. It has a microwave, a coffeepot and a little refrigerator. You can fix a bite of breakfast here in the mornings, or if you’ve a mind for something more substantial, the City Grill is the place to go. Everything you need to know about places to eat is in that little brochure on the desk.”

“There’s a map of town in there, too,” B.D. told her. “Not that you’re likely to get lost. Just stop and ask anybody for directions to where you want to go. Naconiche is a right friendly place.”

There was a rap on the open door, and an attractive blond woman with a tray came in. “Hi, Carrie. I’m Mary Beth Parker, owner of the Twilight Inn and Tearoom. I’ve brought you soup and a sandwich and some raspberry tea. I hope you like avocado.”

“I adore avocado,” Carrie said, smiling. “Thanks for rescuing a starving woman.”

“No problem.” Mary Beth set the tray on the small table near the microwave. “Welcome to Naconiche, Carrie. Curtis tells me that you’re going to be with us for several weeks.”

“She’s one of them genealogists,” B.D. said.

“How fascinating,” Mary Beth said. “I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but I’m sure you’d like to have your lunch and get settled in now. My daughter and I live in the apartment behind the office, so call if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Come on, guys,” Mary Beth said, hustling the old men from the room, “let’s leave Carrie in peace.”

Carrie smiled as she closed the door behind them. She liked Mary Beth immediately. They were about the same age, and she suspected that given different circumstances, they might become friends. For sure, Mary Beth would be a valuable source of information.

From the time she’d rolled into the city limits, Carrie had felt good vibes in this little jerk-water town. Strange, since she was a city girl through and through. Maybe it was because she could smell oil hidden in the hills and hollows. Or maybe it was something else. In any case, she had a hunch—and her hunches were always dead-on—that this assignment was going to be different from all the others.

As she lifted the napkin from the food tray, her thoughts went briefly to Judge Horace P. Pfannepatter. Too bad he was married.

Chapter Two

Carrie couldn’t function without her morning jolt of caffeine, and there was no way of getting the can open short of chewing it off with her teeth. And she was tempted to try that. She spat out a few colorful phrases and threw the recalcitrant can opener across the room. The blasted thing didn’t work. All she’d managed to do was puncture the coffee can and let out a whoosh of aroma that ran her crazy.

Her frustration level was off the charts. In spite of stocking up on a few breakfast items the afternoon before, it looked like the City Grill for her. She hoped they opened early. After dressing quickly in jeans and a pullover, she grabbed her briefcase and tore off toward the square of the small town.

The café was doing a brisk business. Only two seats at the counter were available. She commandeered one of them and stowed her briefcase between her feet.

“What’ll it be, honey?” asked the pint-size waitress who held a steaming carafe.

“Coffee,” Carrie said. “Quick.”

The waitress laughed, and the web of lines around her eyes put her age closer to sixty than forty. “One of them mornings, huh? I’ve had a few of them myself.” She slipped a mug onto the counter and poured in one practiced motion. “Cream?”

“No. Black is fine.”

“I’ll be back when you’ve had time to rev your motor.” The waitress turned to an elderly man who’d taken the stool next to hers and poured a mug for him. “Morning, Mr. Murdock. Haven’t seen you around for a few days.”

“Good morning, Vera. I’ve been in Dallas. I returned last night.”

“Have you heard about Horace Pfannepatter?”

Carrie’s ears perked up, and she glanced toward the two.

The old man, who was wearing a suit and a red bow tie, nodded gravely. “Yes, I had a message on my machine. Sad business. And him in his prime. I’m sure Ida must be devastated. I plan to call on her this morning.”

“She’s pretty broke up. Them two was real close, and I don’t know what she’ll do without him.” Vera turned to Carrie. “Hon, have you decided what you’ll have to go along with that coffee?”

Carrie hadn’t given food any thought. Was that her Horace Pfannepatter they were talking about? “Uh, I’ll have a toasted bagel.”

Vera gave her a toothy grin. “You’re not likely to find any bagels around here—unless they carry some frozen ones over at Bullock’s Grocery. Closest thing I can offer you is a short stack.”

“That’s fine,” Carrie said, her mind still not on food. “Excuse me for eavesdropping, but I heard you talking about Horace Pfannepatter. Is he the one who’s justice of the peace?”

“Vera!” a male voice called from a booth in the rear. “Could we have another round of coffee back here?”

“You and Frank keep your britches on, J.J. I’ll be there in a minute,” she blared, then she nodded to Carrie and said quietly, “The very one. Keeled over with a heart attack real sudden.”

“And died?”

“Deader ’n a doornail.” Vera topped Carrie’s coffee and took off at a fast clip, shouting as she strode, “Gimme a short stack, Lonnie, and a number three over easy.”

Carrie was too stunned to do anything but stare after the waitress. She couldn’t believe that the good-looking JP had died. He’d looked so…healthy when she saw him yesterday. She felt a sudden and aching loss—and she barely knew the man. The thought of pancakes made her stomach turn over. She drank her coffee quickly, slapped a bill on the counter and fled with her briefcase.

She decided to buy a new can opener, go back to her room and start the morning over. Horace stayed on her mind the entire time she searched Bullock’s aisles. His loss haunted her. Crazy, she told herself. She’d only seen the man once in her life…but somehow he’d made a powerful impression.

FORTIFIED WITH more coffee and a carton of peach yogurt, Carrie went downtown again and parked in front of the old stone courthouse that had probably been built a hundred or more years ago. Three stories tall, the handsome pillared structure was similar to a dozen or two original courthouses still in use in Texas—Texas Renaissance the style was called, a combination of architectural styles popular during the period. Carrie hadn’t been in all the 254 county courthouses in the state, but she’d visited a large number of them and she was always glad to see one of the old ones preserved.

The Naconiche courthouse showed community pride of the sort that was responsible for the original construction of the town’s heart. Several large trees shaded the grounds and well-tended flower beds flanked the walks. She looked forward to exploring the inside.

A variety of businesses occupied the buildings that faced the square. She noted a couple of antique stores that looked interesting, an ice-cream shop called the Double Dip that she wanted to try out later. Now she needed to familiarize herself with the courthouse, determine where the documents she needed were housed and how the town’s records were kept.

As a petroleum landman she first had to find out who owned the property and the mineral rights to the large area that her company wanted to lease. Locating the property owners wasn’t too difficult—the county tax roles could tell her that. But frequently the current owners didn’t own all the mineral rights. Former owners—sometimes two or three sales back—often retained a percentage of the mineral rights on their acreage, usually a half interest. That meant that she had to track down deeds and locate heirs as well as check on any existing leases.

She couldn’t afford to make any errors, and the tedious work took a lot of time. But actually, she kind of enjoyed doing the research. It was like working a crossword puzzle.

Inside the courthouse Carrie smelled the familiar mélange of aging papers, cleaning solutions and the lingering odor of old tobacco smoke. Even though there were No Smoking signs now, years of cigars and cigarettes had infused the walls with the faint distinctive scent common to so many of the courthouses she’d been in. After a tour of the fine old building with its polished marble and rich oak trim, she located the tax office on the second floor, just down the hall from the chambers of the judge of the County Court-at-Law.

Judge Frank J. Outlaw, the brass nameplate beside the door said. She smiled. Outlaw—a peculiar name for a judge.

With a few directions from a clerk, Carrie located the records she wanted to study, took out her minicomputer and a pad and got to work.

CARRIE’S STOMACH growled, and she glanced at her watch. Five of twelve. Her yogurt was a faded memory, and she was hungry. She couldn’t believe she’d been working all morning without a break, but as usual she’d gotten absorbed and time had flown by. Stretching, she loosened the kinks in her back, stiff from bending over the papers so long.

Her first thought was to go across the street to the City Grill for lunch, then she decided that the tearoom was a better choice. She packed her briefcase and left the tax office. Not a dozen steps away, her cell phone rang, and she dug through her shoulder bag to retrieve it.

While she was looking, she collided with someone. “Sorry,” she said, glancing up.

Her heart lurched, and she could feel the blood leave her face. It was Horace P. Pfannepatter.

“My God,” she said. “It can’t be. You’re dead!”

He smiled. “I don’t think so.” He looked down at his hands, turning them over and back. “Nope. I seem to have all my working parts. Your phone’s ringing.”

“But…but the waitress this morning said that you’d had a heart attack and died.”

He frowned. “Which waitress?”

“Vera at the café across the street.”

“I can’t imagine why she would have said that. I had breakfast there this morning with my brother. You’d better get that,” he said, pointing to her ringing purse.

Not taking her eyes from his face, she grabbed the phone, said, “I’ll call you back,” and crammed it back into her bag. “Maybe it was your father they were talking about. Do you have the same name?”

“Nope. My father’s name is John Wesley Hardin Outlaw, Wes for short.”

“Outlaw? Then…how…Aren’t you the JP?”

A slow smile spread over his face. “You thought I was Horace? No, I’m Frank Outlaw.” He stuck out his hand.

Bedarned if she didn’t feel herself blush as she took his hand. “Carrie Campbell. Sorry that…” She forgot what she was about to say. He had a million-dollar smile. And a kind of charisma that radiated from him and enveloped her in its magnetism.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I was on my way to eat during the noon recess. Why don’t you join me, and I’ll explain about Horace.”

“At the City Grill?”

“I’m not too keen on their special today. I’d planned on the Twilight Tearoom. It’s not too far.”

“I know,” Carrie responded. “I’m staying at the motel.”

“Of course you are. I remember that Maureen mentioned that.”

She drew a blank. “Maureen?”

“The clerk at the JP office.”

“Oh, yes. I…uh…need to drop by my room for a minute. Why don’t I meet you there?” She suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand, and she withdrew it quickly and started for the stairs.

“Where are you parked?” he asked as they descended.

“By the south entrance.”

“And I’m by the north. I’ll go ahead and get a table before they’re all gone.”

“Is the Tearoom a popular place?”

“Very. They have the best food in town.”

At the foot of the stairs Carrie’s cell phone rang again. “Excuse me,” she said. “I suppose I should take this.”

He waved and turned down a hall while she answered. It was her uncle Tuck.

“How are things going in the boonies?”

“Going fine. I’m at the courthouse now. I’ve just stopped for lunch.” She continued out the door while she talked.

He asked for some figures from another job, and she promised to e-mail them to him that afternoon.

“Carrie, play this one extra close to your vest. I ran into Wyatt Hearn at the Petroleum Club last night, and he was sniffing around too close for comfort. I’d hate for him to get wind of things and steal this out from under us. You haven’t seen any of his boys around town have you?”

Wyatt Hearn was another independent oilman and a bitter rival of her uncle. “Nope. I haven’t seen anybody. I’ll keep an eye out. Think I should dye my hair and wear a fake nose?”

Uncle Tuck hooted with laughter. “I don’t think you have to go that far, darlin’. Just don’t let on to anybody why you’re there until you’re ready to get their names on the dotted line.”

“Gotcha. I’ll report in at the end of the week.”

At her car, she tossed her bag and her briefcase onto the seat and climbed in. If she hurried she’d have time to freshen up a bit before lunch. It wasn’t often these days that she got to have lunch with a good-looking guy.

Remember that he’s married, she told herself.

She sighed. For a few minutes she’d forgotten. Wouldn’t you know—the first guy who turned her on in ages, and he was taken. Just as well, she told herself. She had work to do and didn’t need the distraction.

AS HE DROVE to the tearoom, Frank felt as nervous as a kid on his first date. But it wasn’t a date, he told himself. It was a simple shared meal. Still, he wondered why in the world he had opened his big mouth and invited her to the tearoom of all places. His brother was bound to be there—along with some of the biggest gossips in Naconiche. His mother and half the town would know that he was eating with a beautiful woman before they finished dessert.

God, what a mess he’d gotten himself into—and all because of an innocent invitation. He didn’t like what everybody would be thinking, but one look into those incredible eyes of hers had short-circuited his brain.

He made it to the tearoom just in time to get the last available table. Unfortunately it was in the middle of the room. He sat facing the door so that he could see when Carrie arrived.

“I’ll have iced tea for now,” he told the young waitress. “Make that two teas. I’m waiting on somebody. It should be just a couple of minutes.” He turned to study the menu on the chalkboard over the bar.

“Hey, big brother,” a familiar voice said as a chair scraped the floor.

Damn. It was J.J. “What are you doing here?”

J.J. chuckled as he sat down. “What am I doing here? Hell, I eat lunch here almost every day. Half of the time with you. What do you think I’m doing here? Hey, Lori,” he said to the waitress who served the tea along with a basket of bread. “I’ll have the chicken spaghetti special. What are you having, Frank?”

“I haven’t ordered yet.”

“Why not?” J.J. picked up one of the tea glasses and took a big swig.

“I’m…waiting on someone. Lori, would you bring another tea?”

“Sure thing, Judge. Be right back.”

J.J. frowned and set down the glass he held. “Whoops, have I stepped in a cow patty? Do I need to move?”

“No, no. Stay where you are. It’s just somebody I ran into at the courthouse.” Carrie came through the door just then, and Frank stood to get her attention.

She smiled and walked to the table. If she was surprised to see J.J. sitting there, she didn’t let on. J.J. was the one who looked surprised. Frank quickly introduced the two of them and, feeling awkward as the devil, helped seat her.

“A sheriff and a judge named Outlaw,” Carrie said. “That is strange.”

“We’ve taken some ribbing from time to time,” J.J. said, “especially since my whole name is Jesse James Outlaw.”

“And mine is Frank James Outlaw,” Frank said to her. To J.J.. he said, “I met Carrie yesterday when she stopped by the JP’s office. I went over to pack up Horace’s personal things for Ida.” He turned to Carrie and explained. “Horace died over the weekend. Ida is his wife and a second cousin to our father.”

“We’re kin to ’bout everybody in the county,” J.J. told her.

Carrie grinned and said to Frank, “It’s a relief to know that you’re not a ghost.”

“A ghost?” J.J. said, frowning.

“I saw him in the justice of the peace’s office, and I assumed that he was Horace Pfannepatter.”

J.J. hooted with laughter. “Naw, old Horace was bald as buckshot and had thirty years and a hundred pounds on Frank. Are you new in town?”

Carrie shook her head. “Just visiting. I’m here doing research.”

“What kind of research?” J.J. asked.

Lori returned just then with another glass of tea and J.J.’s plate. “You folks ready to order?”

“The menu is on the blackboard,” Frank told Carrie. While she read it, he ordered the spaghetti special.

“Make that two,” Carrie said, glancing at J.J.’s plate. “That looks delicious.”

“It is. Mary Beth makes the best chicken spaghetti in town. I’m not marrying her for her cooking, but it’s a nice bonus.”

“Oh,” Carrie said, “are you and Mary Beth engaged?”

“Yep,” J.J. said. “I’m a lucky man. What kind of research did you say you were doing?”

“Some old county records, deeds and such.” She took a sip of her tea. “This is fabulous. Raspberry, isn’t it?”

Frank nodded. “House specialty.”

“You looking to buy some property?” J.J. asked.

What was it with J.J.? Frank wondered. He sounded like he was grilling a suspect.

Carrie chuckled. “Me? Heavens no. Please eat, J.J. Your food will get cold if you wait on us.”

“Nope. Here yours is.”

The waitress served plates to Carrie and Frank and added another basket of bread to the table.

B.D., one of the old guys who played dominoes and helped run the motel, passed by with a tray of food just then. B.D. greeted them all with a “hi-dee” and said, “Miss Carrie, you had a chance to talk to Millie yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Millie?” J.J. asked.

“Millie down at the library,” B.D. said. “Miss Carrie’s one of them genealogists, don’t ya know? Well, I’d better get this grub over to the office. The boys are waiting.”

“You’re a genealogist?” J.J. said.

Carrie laughed. “You make it sound like a disease.”

“I think what J.J. is trying to say is that you don’t look like the typical genealogist,” Frank offered, trying to steer away from the interrogation. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Oh, hell. Had he really said that?

J.J. grinned like a possum in a persimmon tree. Frank turned his attention to his plate, hoping she’d ignore his gaffe. She didn’t.

“And exactly what does the typical genealogist look like?” she asked, looking amused. “Have you known many?”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t think I know any genealogists. You’re the first.”

“There’s Millie,” J.J. said. “She’s the local expert. She’s even written a book.”

“I’ll have to buy a copy.”

She smiled, and Frank almost missed his mouth with his fork. He tried to think of something to say and drew a blank.

“What family are you researching?” J.J. asked between bites.

“I’m really not at liberty to say much about my business. Clients like to keep some things private.”

J.J. laughed. “Must be a horse thief or two in the clan.”

She smiled again, and the room seemed to grow brighter. “I have a couple of my own ancestors who were on the shady side. They’ve been expunged from the family bible. Speaking of shady characters, why in the world are you Outlaws named after outlaws?”

“It was my grandfather’s idea,” Frank said, relieved that finally he could contribute to the conversation. “He was a judge, too. He thought that having a memorable name would be an asset in both business and politics, so he named our father John Wesley Hardin and our uncle Butch Cassidy. I guess his idea worked. Our dad was undefeated for sheriff until he retired, and Uncle Butch was a state senator when he died.”

“And now the two of you are sheriff and judge. Undefeated?”

“So far,” J.J. said.

After Frank’s tongue got untangled, they talked about the history of the town and the old courthouse while they ate. Carrie seemed interested and asked all kinds of questions about the town and the county. He found himself growing very comfortable talking with her.

J.J. asked, “Where’s home for you, Carrie?”

“Houston.”

“Our oldest brother lives in Houston,” Frank told her. “He’s in homicide with H.P.D.”

“And his name is…”

“Cole Younger Outlaw,” J.J. supplied. “And our other brother is a Texas Ranger. Sam Bass Outlaw.”

“And our baby sister is with the FBI,” Frank said. “Belle Starr Outlaw.”

“Quite an impressive family,” Carrie said.

“We try.” J.J. polished off the last bite on his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going into the kitchen to kiss the cook. Nice meeting you, Carrie.” He stood, bowed slightly and left.

She smiled. “I like your brother.”

“He’s a good guy. Do you like his brother, too?” Frank nearly groaned. Had he really said that?

“Of course. I’m glad you didn’t die.”

Her attention seemed to be on his hands, and he looked down to find that he was twirling his wedding ring round and round on his finger. “Me, too. My wife did, though.” God, that was awkward.

Carrie looked puzzled. “Did what?”

“Died. My wife was killed in a car wreck.”

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry. When was this?”

“It’s been almost two years.” He shook his head to keep the memories from intruding. “How about dessert? Mary Beth makes a mean apple tart.”

“Sounds tempting, but if I eat another bite, I’ll nod off over the records this afternoon. I need to scoot.”

She took her wallet from her bag, but Frank waved her off. “My invitation, my treat.”

“Thanks. I’ll get the check next time.”

“It’s a deal.” He stood as she said her goodbyes, then watched her walk out the door. He liked Carrie Campbell. She was warm, open and easy to talk to. Plus she was a beautiful woman.

Behind him J.J. said, “Beautiful woman.”

“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”

J.J. hooted. “You’re lying and your feet stink!”

Frank tried to suppress a grin. “She is easy on the eyes. But don’t make more out of this than it is.”

“Me? I’m not making anything out of it? When are you going to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Want some dessert?”

“You buying?” J.J. asked.

“I bought breakfast, you mooch.”

“Say, Mary Beth and I are going over to Travis Lake Saturday night to see a musical that the college is putting on. Why don’t you ask Carrie, and go with us?”

“I doubt that she’ll even be here then.”

“Sure she will. Mary Beth said her reservation is for several weeks. Ask her. Get out and enjoy yourself, Frank. It’s time.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Three

Keeping her identity secret was turning out to be a problem, Carrie thought as she hurried to her room after lunch. She’d been squirming as she’d sat there with a sheriff and a judge trying to walk a fine line between sidestepping the truth and telling a blatant lie. While she’d been very careful not to actually lie to them, neither had she said anything to correct the impression that the old man had made about her being a genealogist. In fact, she could have kissed the old codger for getting her off the hook. She hoped she wasn’t getting herself into a huge mess by her evasions. It was one thing to misrepresent herself to townspeople and quite another to mislead officers of the law.

Maybe she needed to do a little genealogical research on the side to keep herself honest. Had any of her ancestors come from this area of Texas? Seems as if there might have been a great-great-uncle on her father’s side whose first wife was from around here. She’d check. In the meantime, she would be wise to avoid the Outlaw brothers.

Carrie stayed so busy the rest of the day that she didn’t have much time to think about him, but that evening when she took a break from studying the county platts scattered over her bed, her thoughts turned to Frank Outlaw. She lay back on her propped pillows, took a sip of her cola and remembered that smile. And the handsome contours of his face. And the timbre of his voice.

Frank Outlaw was a hunk.

And he wasn’t married.

But she needed to forget about him. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize this deal.

Easier said than done. She thought about him some more as she creamed off her makeup and put on her sleep shirt. She thought of him the next morning as she passed his office in the courthouse. And again at five of twelve when she decided to go to lunch. Not in a long, long time had she met a man that interested her as much as Frank.

But, she told herself, she’d be wise to steer clear of him. Basically an honest person, she felt a little guilty about giving him the wrong impression about her business in Naconiche. No. She felt a lot guilty.

He wasn’t in the hall as he’d been the day before.

Which was good, she quickly reminded herself, if she wanted to avoid him. Maybe she’d have lunch at the City Grill. Yes. He’d be going to the tearoom.

She hurried across the street to the café. There wasn’t an empty seat at the counter and all the tables were taken. Then, as she scanned the room again, their eyes met. It was Frank. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have made tracks out the door, but she didn’t want to look like an idiot. She’d simply wait until there was a seat available. Trying to avoid looking at the judge, she studied the framed photographs of baseball teams hanging near the cash register.

“Carrie?”

Turning, she saw that Frank had come up behind her. She smiled. “Hello.”

He smiled. “Hello. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. And you’re not likely to find a seat anytime soon.”

So much for trying to avoid him. Accepting fate, she said, “Thanks,” and followed him to his table. After she was seated, she scanned the menu. “What’s the special today?”

He looked amused. “Liver and onions.”

She made a face and shuddered. “I hate liver and onions.”

“Me, too. When my mom used to fix liver for dinner, I always offered my little brother Sam a quarter to eat mine.”

“And he did it?”

“Yep. Sam would eat almost anything.” He chuckled. “If the price was right.”

Carrie loved that chuckle, the way it rumbled deep in his throat and sent little ripples up her spine. And his mouth fascinated her. Although it was definitely masculine, the full, curved shape of his lips was downright beautiful—and sexy as the dickens.

He must have been reading her mind, because just then the tip of his tongue appeared and moistened his lower lip. Entranced, she watched his tongue withdraw, observed his lips press together, then relax, noted the glisten left on his mouth by the action.

Darned if her toes didn’t curl.

She glanced up, and his eyes locked with hers. They were dark, very dark and filled with something indefinable…but totally captivating. His eyes alone would have made him enormously attractive. Bedroom eyes they called them. The kind that made such glorious promises that women wanted to throw themselves into his arms and follow him anywhere. She wasn’t immune. Her impulses ran along the same line.

“What would you like?” he asked.

A slow smile spread over her face. Wonder what he would do if she told him the truth? “What would you like?”

“I…uh—” he took a deep breath and pressed his lips together again “—think I’ll have a BLT,” he said to the waitress who had appeared. He closed his menu and began twirling his wedding ring.

She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” If she didn’t know better, Carrie would have thought that she made the judge nervous. Why? She was tempted to ask but wise enough not to.

Her female antennae told her that he was just as attracted to her as she was to him. She’d have to be an ignoramus to have missed it. Maybe he was still mourning his wife, she reasoned. But two years was a heck of a long time.

“What was it like growing up in a large family?” Carrie asked, turning the conversation to safe territory.

“Chaotic at times, and we had our share of squabbles. But mostly it was fun. We’re all very close.”

They ate their sandwiches and made small talk. She carefully avoided any discussion of her work.

“Want dessert?” Frank asked. “Their cobbler isn’t bad.”

Carrie shook her head. “I have a yen for ice cream, and I’ve heard that the Double Dip has the best in town.”

Frank grinned. “I can vouch for that.”

“Join me?”

“Sure.”

He reached for the check, but she insisted on paying. “It’s my turn. You can get the ice cream.”

“That’s a deal. I get a family discount.”

“Family?”

“My mom owns it. After she retired from teaching a few years ago, she got bored and decided to find something to do with her time. The Double Dip was up for sale, so she bought it.”

They walked across the street to the old-fashioned ice-cream parlor, and as they approached, a serious wave of nostalgia rolled over Carrie. It reminded her of the little shop where Burt, one of her long line of stepfathers, used to take her when she was a kid. Was Burt number three or number four? She couldn’t remember. But she had really liked him; he was a kind man and told silly jokes that made her laugh. Obviously her mother hadn’t liked him nearly as well as Carrie had, for they soon packed and left, and no amount of weeping and begging had convinced her mother to stay.

A bell over the door announced their arrival. The stools at the counter were red, just like the ones from her childhood. She took a seat at the chrome-trimmed counter and inhaled the wonderful cold-sweet fragrance, a blend of smells so poignant that she could almost feel her pigtails on her shoulders.

“Gosh, this brings back memories,” she said. “I love this place already. I used to go to a shop just like this one when I was a little girl.”

A grandmotherly type with short gray hair bustled in from the back, drying her hands on a towel. She smiled. “Hello, son.” She turned to Carrie, and Frank made the introductions.

“Carrie is in town to do some work at the courthouse, and she heard that you had the best ice cream in town,” Frank said.

“I hope I can make good on that claim,” Nonie Outlaw said. “What would you like?”

“Do you have peppermint?”

The woman smiled. “We surely do. It’s my husband’s favorite.”

“Mine, too. I’ll have a double dip.”

“Cone or dish?”

“Oh, a cone. And do you have chocolate sprinkles?”

“Surely do.”

“Put some of those on top.”

When the cone was made, Carrie took the two fat scoops of peppermint ice cream, the top dark with sprinkles. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma, then licked a dollop from the side—and sighed. The taste was everything she remembered.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t believe that I’ve waited over twenty years to have another one of these. Mrs. Outlaw, this is delicious.” Her tongue made another swipe, then another in a distinct pattern that was suddenly familiar.

The woman laughed. “I’m glad you like it. But most everybody just calls me Miss Nonie from my teaching days. Welcome to Naconiche. Are you going to be staying long? We have several events coming up soon that you might enjoy.”

“I’ll be around several weeks.”

“She does genealogical research,” Frank said.

“That’s wonderful. Have you met Millie at the library yet?”

“Not yet, but everybody tells me she’s the town authority. I plan to go by tomorrow.” She turned to Frank. “Aren’t you having any ice cream?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to pass. I’m due back in court. Mom, put this one on my tab.”

Other customers came in and Miss Nonie left to take their orders. Carrie waved goodbye to her as she and Frank left.

“This ice cream really is fabulous. I’m going to do some window-shopping while I finish it. Thanks for it and for sharing your table.”

“Thanks for buying my lunch,” he said.

“No problem.”

He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else.

She waited, but whatever was on his mind went unsaid. He merely nodded and started across the street. A red pickup truck almost hit him. The truck driver honked and swerved, and Frank jumped back. He didn’t look at her. When the way was clear, he trotted to the other side.

She wanted to call out to him, but he didn’t look back.

Her ice cream started dribbling over her fingers, and she hurriedly began to lick away the mess. When she glanced up again, Frank was hurrying up the steps of the courthouse. She sighed. He even looked good from the rear. Maybe she wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of the handsome Frank James Outlaw while she was in Naconiche.

FRANK FELT like such a dope. He’d nearly been creamed by that pickup. He’d been off-kilter since he’d run into Carrie in the hall outside his office. A couple of times yesterday afternoon, he’d found his mind wandering from the case he was hearing to thoughts of her. And last night he’d done more tossing and turning than sleeping, bedeviled by memories of Susan and feeling guilty as hell about being attracted to another woman.

And he was attracted to her. It bothered him. Bothered him so much that, trying to avoid bumping into Carrie, he’d left his office early and gone to the Grill instead of the tearoom. But it seemed that the powers that be had other ideas. When he’d looked up and seen her at the café, he’d felt a rush of elation rather than disappointment. His best efforts at trying to ignore her didn’t last long. As if they had a mind of their own, his legs had gotten up and trotted in her direction.

He’d almost invited her to go to that musical in Travis Lake that J.J. had suggested. Almost. He was glad he’d kept his mouth shut. It was too soon after Susan’s death to start seeing another woman. Or was it?

Sure it was. Susan had been the great love of his life. Until a couple of days ago, he had thought he’d be content to be a widower for the rest of his life. His kids, his work, that was enough for him he’d believed.

Carrie Campbell had shaken that belief. It made him nervous.

Court that afternoon was absorbing enough to hold his attention, but back in his chambers, Frank began to get that antsy feeling again and left early. When he spotted the florist across the square near his parking space, he walked over and bought a small bouquet of yellow mums tied with a white ribbon. He laid the flowers on the seat and drove to the cemetery west of town.

The wind had kicked up a little, and it rumpled his hair and flapped his tie as he walked to the familiar spot where Susan lay. Fallen leaves from an oak tree nearby made a scratching sound as they skittered across the headstone. He squatted down and brushed away leaves and a bit of grass from a recent mowing.

Hers was a simple flat marker made of a slab of pink granite with an antique brass plaque. Dogwood blossoms decorated the margin of the large plaque, and in the center was her name, Susan E. Outlaw, the dates of her birth and death, and the simple but profound message: Beloved Wife and Mother. A permanent brass vase was filled with a pretty bouquet of silk flowers that changed with the seasons, but Susan had always liked fresh flowers, so he brought them now and then.

“Hi, Suz,” he whispered, laying the mums just below the marker. “I brought you some flowers. They’re yellow. Your favorite color.”

Now he knew that Susan wasn’t there, but it was the closest he could come to physically being near her, so he often came to the cemetery to talk to her. Looking at a photograph of her or looking up at the sky or sitting in the kitchen or even in church didn’t do it for him. He’d tried it. This was the last place he’d seen the body of his wife, and this was the place where he returned.

“God, Suz, I miss you so much. It’s so lonely sometimes without you.”

A gust of wind sent more leaves sliding across the marker.

“Did I tell you that the twins are doing really well learning to ride their bikes? Of course they’ll have training wheels for quite a while yet, so there’s no need to worry about them getting bunged up.”

He told Susan everything that had been going on his life—except that he didn’t mention Carrie Campbell. He couldn’t quite bring himself to mention her.

Afterward he felt better. He returned to his car and headed home. This was the night he’d promised the twins they could watch the Charlie Brown special on TV.

CARRIE PUT the low-cal dinner in the small freezer compartment and the salad in the fridge. Although she’d done it hundreds of times, somehow the prospect of eating out alone that night seemed dreary, so she’d stopped by the grocery store to pick up something.

She stretched her back and rolled her head around, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. Exercise. That’s what she needed. She’d missed jogging the past couple of days, and she felt it.

After changing hurriedly into grungies and her running shoes, she did a few warm-up exercises, then stuck her key into her pocket and went outside.

She greeted Mary Beth Parker, who was coming out of the office unit.

“Hi,” Mary Beth said. “Going for a run?”

“Thought I would. What’s a good route?”

“Go down this street about a quarter mile, then take a dirt road to the left. There’s not much traffic there. I teach aerobics on Thursday nights in unit two. You’re welcome to work out with us tomorrow if you like.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

“I was just going for a short run myself,” Mary Beth said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. I’d like the company.”

“I broke my foot last spring, and I still have to take it pretty easy while I’m getting back into shape. I’m not at marathon level yet.”

Carrie grinned. “You don’t have to worry about holding me back. A couple of miles will do it for me. Three maybe if I walk and jog.”

“That’s about my speed for now.” They started down the road at a fast walk.

The route they took was a two-lane blacktop with pastures on one side and tall trees, mostly pines mixed with a few hardwoods, on the other. A few head of black cattle grazed in the pasture while a breeze rustled the treetops and swayed the underbrush.

“Tell me,” Carrie said. “How did you come to be a chef and an innkeeper? Was it a family business?”

Mary Beth laughed. “It’s a long story, and I’m no chef. I’m a cook—through necessity. And I’m not sure that running a small motel elevates me to the grand term of innkeeper. It was a family business—in a way. A distant cousin owned it, but when I inherited the Twilight Inn and the restaurant last spring, the place was a mess. Worse than a mess. The motel units had been standing vacant for years and were dilapidated beyond belief. The tearoom had been a Mexican restaurant more recently and wasn’t as bad, but the roof leaked and it had mice.”

“You’ve certainly done wonders with it, and chef or not, the food at the tearoom is great.”

“Thanks. It was a lot of work, and I couldn’t have done it without the help of some very good friends. I was desperate when I came back to Naconiche, and inheriting this place seemed like a godsend—until I saw the condition of it. This is where we turn.”

They took the dirt road and began to jog at a slow pace. “Desperate? Sounds like an intriguing story.”

As they trotted along the red dirt, Mary Beth related the tale of her return to Naconiche. She’d grown up in the town, then moved away with her parents about the time she started college. She’d met her former husband in school, married him, moved to Mississippi and lived the good life—for a while.

“Marriage to Brad wasn’t the fairy tale I’d imagined it would be. Things got really bad, and we divorced. Katy and I moved into the garage apartment of a friend in Natchez.

“I was teaching aerobics, and we were getting by,” Mary Beth said. “Barely. Until I injured my foot. I couldn’t teach with my foot in a cast, and I was almost broke when I discovered that I’d inherited the Twilight Inn. I thought we were saved.”

“Except that it wasn’t what you expected.”

“Lord no. It was a disaster.” Mary Beth laughed. “Katy and I lived in the restaurant for a while.”

“In the restaurant?”

Mary Beth grinned. “Yes. It wasn’t so bad until it rained and the roof leaked like a sieve. J.J. came to the rescue. This is where we turn around.”

They started back to the motel, walking for a while, then resuming their jog. “Your fiancé seems like a really nice guy.”

“He is. Sometimes I think that probably I should have stayed in Naconiche and married him to begin with. But I know we were too young in those days.”

“So you knew him before?”

Mary Beth nodded. “He was my first love. We dated a long time.”

“And he never married?”

“Nope. Says he was pining for me all that time. And if you believe that, I’ve got this bridge…”

They both laughed.

“And you’re not married or committed to some special fella?” Mary Beth asked.

“Never have been. Never will be.” Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be.

Mary Beth was quiet for a long time. The only sounds were their breathing and the slap of their soles on the road, but Carrie could almost hear the wheels going around as her running partner considered possible explanations for her statement—and was too polite to question her further. Carrie should have kept her mouth shut. She’d never been prone to sharing intimacies with anyone, but she’d felt drawn to Mary Beth almost immediately and felt very comfortable with her—almost as if they’d been friends for a long time. And God knows, Mary Beth had certainly been candid about her life.

After about a half mile, Carrie chuckled and said lightly, “I always figured that my mother was married enough for the both of us. Seven times at last count.”

“Seven? You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Is she still living?”

“Alive and well and in the south of France. The last couple of times, she married Europeans.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Only occasionally. We don’t have much in common. My mother is a dependent type who must have a man to take care of her. I don’t need anybody to take care of me. And the truth is, my work keeps me on the road too much for a long-term relationship. Men seem to want their women around for more than a week here and there. Or at least that’s been my experience.”

“I suppose that’s true. And you travel all the time doing genealogical research?”

“That and various other kinds of specialized research. I stay pretty busy. Where’s your daughter tonight?”

“J.J. took Katy over to Frank’s house to watch a special TV program with his twins.”

“His twins? Frank has twins?”

“A boy and a girl Katy’s age. They’re all in kindergarten together.”

Carrie was stunned. She’d never thought about his having children, though it made sense when you considered he was a widower. That put the cap on it for sure. So much for Frank. While she’d never really considered any kind of serious relationship between them, even the remote possibility of a few casual dates while she was in town had disappeared. From now on she’d avoid him like the plague.

Men with children were invariably looking for a mother for their kids, and that wasn’t for her. She didn’t know a thing about kids and certainly wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She’d had a lousy role model.

Chapter Four

Her resolve didn’t last long. Carrie ran into Frank as she was coming out of the assessor’s office at a quarter to twelve, and darned if her heart didn’t skip a beat.

“Hello,” he said, closing his door behind him. “Going to lunch?”

“Yes, at the tearoom.” She wasn’t going to eat at cholesterol city across the square just to avoid Frank Outlaw.

He smiled. “Me, too. Want a ride?”

“Uh, no. I need to do some work in my room afterward. I’ll take my car,” she said.

“Mind if I hitch a ride with you? I’ll get Dad to drop me back here.”

“No problem. You joining your father today?” she asked.

“He and J.J. and I usually eat together on Thursdays. That’s chocolate cake day. We’re all suckers for Mary Beth’s chocolate cake.”

“I’m a sucker for anything chocolate.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

He grinned. Why did he have to grin? He looked so darned sexy when he grinned. And why did he have to put his hand to her back when they walked to her car? Didn’t he know that it made funny prickles zip up and down her spine like a Japanese express train? Her resolve to cool her feelings for Frank was dissolving fast.

Since the first time she’d seen him, he’d had a singular effect on her, and it seemed to have grown instead of diminished. What was it about this particular man that shot her defenses? He had two arms, two legs and all the rest of the body parts typical of the male gender—and she’d never melted like ice cream in a skillet over other guys. At least not since she’d been sixteen and ape over Jon Bon Jovi.

As they drove away from the courthouse Frank ran his hand over the leather seat, and his fingertips brushed her leg. The touch hit her like a jolt of electricity. Did he do that on purpose? She glanced at him, but his hands were clamped together, and he was engrossed in studying the dash.

He looked up and said, “Nice car.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

“You must be a very good genealogist.”

She smiled. “I am. I’m good at all kinds of research that I do, but the car was a thirtieth birthday gift from my mother and her husband.” She didn’t add that her mother had told her latest catch that it was her daughter’s twenty-first birthday. Hence the special gift. After her face-lift, Amanda had shaved nine years off her age, so she’d shaved nine years off Carrie’s age as well. One thing she’d have to say for her mother, she’d made out like a bandit in her last couple of trips down the aisle. Amanda had plenty stashed away for her golden years.

“Her husband? Not your father?” Frank asked.

“No. My father died in an accident when I was only two. Amanda, my mother, has been married several times. I believe the latest one is a retired investor. He’s French. Jacques something-or-the-other. We’ve never met.”

“I take it that you and your mother aren’t close,” he said quietly.

She glanced over and saw sincere compassion in his eyes, and tears suddenly sprang into her own. Damn. She never cried. And certainly not over Amanda. Long ago she’d learned that the only thing crying accomplished was to make her face blotchy. That was another thing about Frank. He seemed to be able to fly under the radar of her emotional control.

She took a deep breath. “Not really. I never seemed to fit in with her plans.”

“That’s tough on kids.”

“I survived. Mary Beth tells me that you have twins.”

“I do. Janey and Jimmy. They’re five.”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She knew zilch about children. And, she reminded herself, she really didn’t want to encourage any further intimacy. She’d said too much already. Carrie clamped her teeth together and tried not to squirm.

The silence dragged on for an eternity.

Finally Frank said, “You mentioned doing other kinds of research besides genealogy.”

“Yes.”

“What kinds?”

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Titles, missing heirs, that sort of thing.” Which was technically true.

“Ah. Missing heirs. Sounds intriguing. Found any folks in Naconiche County who have inherited a bundle from a long-lost relative?”

She laughed. “Not yet.”

“I think everybody has had the dream that some long-lost relative rolling in dough will kick the bucket and leave a fortune to them.”

“Do you have any long-lost relatives?”

“Only my mother’s great-uncle Heck Tatum. He went to California and was never heard from again.”

“When was this?” Carrie asked.

“I’m not exactly sure. Sometime before 1920, I believe.”

“You never know. He may have struck it rich in real estate.”

Frank chuckled. “I doubt it. From what my mother tells me about Uncle Heck, it’s more likely that he wound up in jail than in the money. He was the black sheep of his family. I think he left here just one step ahead of the sheriff.”

When they arrived at the tearoom, Carrie meant to duck out and go to her room for a few minutes, but she was so intrigued by the tale of Frank’s errant relative that she forgot her plan and walked with him to the door.

“What did he do?” she asked.

“You mean, to get the sheriff after him? As I recall the story, I believe that Uncle Heck made his living cooking moonshine and stealing cows. Folks around here don’t cotton to cattle rustling. Back then it was sometimes a hanging offense.”

“Hanging?”

“Yep.”

A few people were waiting for tables, but Frank waved to someone. “There are Dad and J.J. Come on, we’ll join them.”

“Oh, I don’t want to horn in when you’re having lunch with your family.”

“You wouldn’t be horning in. Come on.”

He steered her to the table for four.

J.J. and the older man stood as they approached, and Frank introduced Carrie to his father. Wes Outlaw was tall like his sons and she could see the family resemblance except that his dark hair was gray, his fingers were knobby and his waist had thickened a bit. He had the same great smile, and it flashed across his weathered face when he told her to call him Wes.

“I was just telling Carrie about Mama’s great-uncle Heck.”

“Ah, the cattle rustler,” Wes said.

“And the moonshiner,” Carrie added.

Wes grinned. “Nobody around here was bothered much by the moonshining—fact is, most folks bought a jug from him now and then, I understand. But stealing cows is serious business.”

All three of the Outlaws were raconteurs, and they kept her entertained during lunch with funny stories about some of the lawless characters in the county’s history. They seemed to enjoy topping one another’s yarns.

As they lingered over coffee and dessert, Carrie laughed as J.J. told in great detail about the night that a young man and his friends had a few too many beers and put a pig in the mayor’s Cadillac. “That pig made a big mess,” J.J. said.

“It didn’t,” Carrie said, laughing.

J.J. grinned. “It did. All over everywhere.”

“I had a hard time,” Frank said, “keeping a straight face when those kids were brought before me.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Gave them a stern lecture and made them put in a lot of hours of community service.”

Carrie glanced at her watch, then looked around the room. The place was almost deserted. “Sorry, but I have to go.” She reached for her wallet.

“Today’s on me,” Frank said.

“I’ll get the next one.” Why had she said that? What happened to the resolution that she wasn’t going to spend any more time with Frank Outlaw? She mentally shrugged. What was the harm? She enjoyed his company; she liked his family. No big deal. In a few weeks she’d be in West Texas or Oklahoma on her next project. She was going to take a page from Amanda’s book and live for the moment.

She said her goodbyes and went to her room to work.

“MIND IF I CATCH a ride back to the courthouse with one of you?” Frank asked over a second cup of coffee.

“Be glad to drop you off,” his father said. “Say, I like your young woman. Seems to have a head on her shoulders.”

“She’s not my young woman,” Frank told him. “She’s just someone in town for a few days to do some research.”

“What kind of research?”

“Genealogy,” J.J. said.

“And titles and missing heirs,” Frank added.

“Hmm,” Wes said, rubbing his mouth the way he always did when he was thinking. “What kind of titles?”

“Land, I imagine. She spends a lot of time in the tax office.”

“Did you invite her to go with us to the musical Saturday night?” J.J. asked Frank.

“Uh, no.”

“Why the hell not? She’s single, good-looking and fun to talk to. Ask her.”

“I’ll think about it.”

J.J. gave an exasperated snort. “I’m going to the kitchen to see Mary Beth.”

Wes pushed back his chair. “You ’bout ready to go?”

“Anytime. Just don’t you start on me.”

“Start on you? About what, son?”

“About Carrie.”

His dad held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t say a word.”

CARRIE WORKED in her room for the entire afternoon. There were some serious gaps in the information she’d gathered so far. She was going to have to run down some deeds, land titles and some missing heirs. She hadn’t lied about that to Frank. One of the tough things about her job was locating heirs when property owners died and didn’t leave a will. Texas had very specific guidelines about who inherited in such cases. Figuring out who owned what could get complicated.

This part of her job required patience and persistence. It was often easier simply to talk to the existing landowners and get information to at least point her in the right direction, but since Uncle Tuck wanted things kept quiet as long as possible, she was handicapped in her search. If she ran into too many problems, she’d have to start questioning the locals. Maybe that’s where Millie the librarian might help.

After working at her computer for several hours, Carrie felt as if she was going cross-eyed. She saved her work, then stretched and got up. No wonder her eyes were tired. It was growing dark. But at least her material was organized, and she was ready to start work at the county clerk’s office the next day.

She thought about jogging, then remembered that this was the night Mary Beth taught aerobics. She ate an apple, washed her face, then changed into her sneakers and workout clothes.

By the time Carrie arrived at unit two, several women had gathered.

Mary Beth looked up and saw her. “Hi, Carrie. Come on in and let me get you acquainted with everybody.”

She led her to two women and introduced her to Ellen, a blonde who was in real estate, and Dixie, a brunette who was in remarkably good shape for a mother of six children. Mary Beth said, “These two are my best buddies from high school. Can you believe that we used to be cheerleaders together?”

Carrie laughed. “I was a high school cheerleader, too. It seems like eons ago.”

She also met Dr. Kelly Martin, a stunning green-eyed redhead, whose long curls were held atop her head with a big yellow clip.

“Dr. Kelly is the person you want to see if you break your leg or get the flu,” Mary Beth said. “The best doctor in Naconiche.”

Dr. Kelly grinned and stuck out her hand. “Hi, Carrie. I hope you don’t need to see me professionally. Are you new in town?”

“No, just visiting for a few weeks.” Carrie studied the doctor’s face. “You look very familiar to me. Have we met?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking the same thing. I grew up in Dallas. Did you?”

Carrie shook her head. “Did you go to the University of Texas?”

“Sure did.” She smiled knowingly, then mentioned the name of a sorority.

Memories flashed through Carrie’s mind, and she smiled as well. “Kelly Martin. Now I remember. You were a year or two ahead of me. But your hair was long and straight then, and you wore glasses.”

“I’ve had Lasik on my eyes, and I don’t have time anymore to blow-dry this mop into submission every morning. It’s great to see you again. You look gorgeous as always. It’s those eyes I remembered.” Kelly turned to Mary Beth. “Would you believe that Carrie and I were sorority sisters at UT years ago?”

“You’re kidding! That’s wonderful.”

“Are you going to be in town over the weekend?” Kelly asked Carrie.

“Sure am.”

“Fantastic. Let’s get together Sunday afternoon and catch up.”

They made plans for a late lunch, and there was barely time for a brief exchange of names with four other women before the class began. One of them was named Millie. The librarian? Carrie wondered.

She didn’t wonder long because Mary Beth went into her drill sergeant mode, and for almost an hour Carrie was too busy keeping the pace to think about much of anything. By the time they stopped to cool down, she was pooped and wet with sweat. She stretched out on the floor, flung her arms wide and sucked in deep breaths. “I may die,” she said to Kelly, who was next to her.

Kelly laughed. “I doubt it. But Mary Beth’s no wuss. She’s tough. I’ve got to run home and shower and make rounds at the hospital. See you Sunday.”

Carrie wiggled her fingers. After several of the women had left, she rose. “I thought I was in better shape,” she said to Mary Beth, who was standing with Ellen and Dixie.

“You’re in better shape than me,” Ellen said. “I still can’t make it through the whole session without resting several times.”

“Me, either,” Dixie chimed in.

“Yeah,” Ellen said, “but you had a baby not too long ago.”

“You’re all doing great,” Mary Beth said. “Remember that I said you should go at your own pace. You should have taken a break, Carrie.”

She chuckled. “What can I tell you? I’m a high achiever. I’m going to drag myself to my room and take a shower.”

“Have you had dinner?” Mary Beth asked.

“No, but I picked up something to nuke later.”

“Why don’t you join Ellen, Dixie and me at the tearoom for a light supper? It’s only leftovers, but we’d love to have you.”

Carrie laughed. “I’m a bit odoriferous for a social occasion.”

“Oh, piddle,” Dixie said with a dismissing wave. “We’ve all been sweating like pigs. Forget about it and come on. Mary Beth has saved us some chocolate cake.”

“Chocolate? How can I resist? That stuff is sinful.”

The four of them trudged over to the tearoom. Or rather, three of them trudged. Mary Beth still had a spring in her step.

They spent a leisurely hour over their simple meal, and Carrie thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the women, making girl-talk. Her job kept her on the road so much that she didn’t have much time to spend with friends, especially female friends. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t have very many women friends left. Their lives had taken them in different directions, and she hadn’t taken the time to cultivate new friendships to fill the void.

Dixie was the first to rise. “I’ve got to get a move on or Jack will be sending out a posse,” she said. “Great to meet you, Carrie. I hope you’ll join us for as long as you’re in town.”

“Me, too,” Ellen said. “Nobody will be sending out a posse for me, but I know my sitter would like to get home early, and I’m riding with Dixie.”

After the two left, Carrie helped carry the dishes into the kitchen. “This was really fun,” she said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“We enjoyed having you,” Mary Beth said. “Listen, if you’re going to be around tomorrow night and don’t have plans, why don’t you go to the football game with us? Then, watching high school football may not be your idea of a scintillating evening.”

“Lord, I haven’t been to a football game in ages.”

“We have a winning team this year, and everybody in town will be there. It’s the only Friday night entertainment around here. Go with us. We’ll have hot dogs and peanuts, and root for the Mustangs.”

“With you and Dixie and Ellen?”

“No, with J.J., Katy and me. I insist. Be ready about six-thirty. Wear jeans and bring a jacket.”

Carrie tried to weasel out of the invitation, but Mary Beth wouldn’t take no for an answer.

What the heck. She didn’t have anything better to do, and sitting around a hotel room alone with only a TV for company got very old very quickly.

“You’re on,” Carrie said. “Shall I bring my pompoms?”

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