The Cowboy Soldier's Sons by Tina Leonard

Author:Tina Leonard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Seeing Xav in the ICU scared Shaman. It was difficult looking at his younger brother with his eyes closed and tubes stuck in him. In his mind, Shaman always associated Xav with laughter and lightheartedness—happy-go-lucky, all-out life force. Kendall was the family stalwart, Gage the seeker, Shaman the wanderer.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered to his brother. It was a plea. Xav lay so still and pale in the hospital bed, almost waxen, with the monitors assessing his vital signs.

Shaman hadn’t mentioned to Sheriff Nance who he suspected might be behind the attacks on him and Xav. There was no real proof.

But he knew, deep in his gut. And though it had nearly destroyed his marriage, he knew he’d been right to make Tempest leave Dark Diablo.

Gage came in, eyeing Shaman with concern. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll be here for a while. Why don’t you go take a break, get a cup of coffee.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back.”

Gage settled into a chair. “No rush. I’m not leaving his side.”

Shaman glanced at Gage. “You don’t think it was an accident, either, do you?”

“No.” He leaned back to get comfortable, crossing one boot over his leg. “The injury is too similar to yours. I think it’s time we put a stop to it.”

Shaman nodded. “I was thinking the same.”

He left and drove to Tempest’s small, run-down house, parking his truck and staring at the home where his wife had grown up. There was nothing here but bad memories—even Tempest had said that. She said the townspeople didn’t tear it down because it was hers. Her fame kept it from being pushed over and splintered to bits, as Jonas had done to Bud Taylor’s barns and bunkhouse.

It was best to clear out old ghosts.

Shaman went inside the small house, seeing a small propane cookstove on the floor. There was a battery-powered flashlight nearby and a hand-crank radio. On the dusty counter were two cartons of water bottles and a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

There was also a steel pipe leaning against the wall. Shaman examined it without touching it, not surprised to see blood streaks on the side.

If Bobby was in this house, Shaman knew he would kill him. Who would find out? Shaman knew how to do it quickly, quietly, without drama. He wanted to do it.

But he had two sons to think of. This was his wife’s brother, even if there was no love lost between them. The best thing would be to let Bobby Taylor sit in jail for a long, long time.

Shaman pondered that. Then he called Sheriff Nance and reported a possible gas leak at his wife’s old house. The sheriff didn’t even question what Shaman was doing out there. A husband had every right to check on his wife’s property for her.

That was what everyone would say.

Shaman left, making certain the flashlight was shining on the pipe like a beacon.

Then he went to church, something he hadn’t done in years, and sat in a pew to pray, marshaling his thoughts.

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