Chapter 1
“My namesake built this house,” Taylor Abbott said as she pushed open the rusted gate in the gray light of early evening. “I can’t walk away from that.” The massive trees shadowed the old house in premature darkness.
“Your maiden name?” Beau pointed the flashlight in the overgrown yard and the back of the house.
“No—Taylor, although there hasn’t been a Taylor surname in our family line since Justin and Alexandra Taylor lived here a hundred years ago. But every generation’s firstborn heir was given the name Taylor as a first or middle name. This is my family’s history—my heritage. Do you have family? Do you understand how important—”
“Wait.” Beau put out his hand to stop her. He looked up at the porch on the second floor and then back towards the river... and beyond to his own house silhouetted on the hill. Music from the party drifted down to them.
“What is it?”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “This is where they’re taking them from.”
“Taking what?”
He walked up the steps to the back door and reached for the knob.
“It’s locked,” said Taylor.
Beau tried turning it anyway before storming around to the northwest side of the house.
Taylor followed. “What are you doing?” she asked, but he had already disappeared inside the old greenhouse porch covered in thick, opaque glass added in the prosperous days before the Depression years. Half of the porch’s panes were now boarded up to protect them from further damage.
Taylor stopped on the second step and peeked into the darkened porch. “Beau? I can go back and get the key from my purse if you…”
The door to the house stood wide open.
She knew the old house as well as every age spot on her face, but she also knew that spiders and mice had taken up residence. She refused to go in without a light.
“Beau?!” she said loudly.
After a moment, he hollered from the second story porch in the back.
Taylor walked around the house again. “What are you doing?”
“Somebody’s been using your house to get to me—I have a perfect view of my place from up here.”
“Get to you?”
“Take pictures of me and my guests and sell them to the highest bidder. Every time I come to Dalton, new pictures show up in the rags. But they crop the photos and change the background so we weren’t sure what direction they were shooting them from. Somebody’s getting paid a lot of money for those pictures. Now do you understand why I need this place secure? Did you know this was going on?”
“Of course not!”
He pointed the flashlight at the porch floor. “Food wrappers and, hey—a lens cover!” He leaned over to take a closer look. “I bet we can get some fingerprints off of this. Can I call the law out here? I need to find out who’s doing this. At least they can arrest them for trespassing.”
“Yes, of course! Go right ahead. I’m so sorry, Beau.” Taylor watched him tuck the flashlight under his arm and pull out his phone to dial. She noticed his shadow moving behind him, but it didn’t register soon enough that Beau wasn’t moving. She gasped when she realized someone else was on the porch.
Something dark rose up behind Beau.
“Look out!” she yelled, too late.
A blow to the head knocked Beau to his knees, and the force slung the flashlight and phone across the floor. He tried to get up, but another blow took him down again.
“Run!” She heard him struggle to say.
A third strike and he was out.
The involuntary sounds coming from her throat brought her out of shock and back to the present. Run! Her mind told her. Run now!
Taylor turned and ran toward the gate, oblivious to the ugly bite of her pretty shoes. She hit the yard gate and knocked the top hinge clean off, almost causing a tumble. She caught herself and staggered toward the river bridge.
This can’t be happening!
Rattlesnakes forgotten, with every jarring step it felt like heavy saddlebags were strapped to her thighs. When was the last time she attempted to run? High school? College?
She couldn’t catch her breath.
Focus! Get across the bridge and take the golf cart back up the hill to get help.
“I’ve never driven a golf cart!” she said out loud…just before someone tackled her from behind.
* * *
Two hours earlier…
Taylor stood in the door of the closet holding up two outfits: a straight black skirt and a black and white pin-striped blouse and the other choice, black slacks and a black top with a red collar and cuffs on the three-quarter length sleeves.
“Which one?” she asked her husband.
Tom glanced her way, not missing a stroke as he ran the comb through his thick, brown hair. Only a touch of gray showed above his ears.
“Either’s fine.”
“You’re no help.”
“They’re both black—everything in your closet’s black.” He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed a strip of blue gel on it.
“No, it’s not. Pants or skirt?”
“Pants,” he mumbled around the toothbrush in his mouth.
“Are you sure?”
He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. “He said it was casual—just a few old friends and a few new neighbors—others that have bought up ranches around here for hunting.”
“Old friends and new hunters,” Taylor grumbled. “Then I really don’t need to go.”
“We’ve already talked about this, honey. Put on your outfit and do something with your face—we need to get going.” He rinsed out the toothbrush and dropped it in the holder.
“I’d just as soon get a root canal,” she fussed to herself, slipping out of her robe and stepping into her size fourteen pants, blessing the person who invented elastic.
“I can’t believe you’re not looking forward to this. Any other woman would be falling all over herself to get to meet Beau Hunter.” He pulled a long-sleeve cotton shirt off a hanger and started to put an arm through the sleeve when Taylor reached over and stopped him.
“Sweetheart, look at yourself.” She turned him toward the mirror. “Why in the world would I be interested in meeting Beau Hunter?” she said in a husky voice, smiling at her husband.
That earned her a quick kiss. “Stop distracting me,” he said as he buttoned his shirt one button off. He groaned when he discovered his mistake.
Taylor giggled. “Beau Hunter—I wonder what lame-brain came up with that name?” She plugged in the steamer to roll her straight, shoulder-length hair.
“He was in People magazine—that sexiest man alive group. That’s impressive, isn’t it?”
“He was a runner-up. And his songs are so shallow—who in their right mind listens to Love Handles Everything with that picture showing off his own love handles? He ought to choke his song writer.”
“Maybe that’s what women want to see and hear.”
“Not this woman.”
“He wants to meet you.”
“He doesn’t want to meet me, he just wants our hundred acres, and you know it. And if that’s the only reason we’re going out there tonight, we might as well stay home. He’s not going to charm me into signing away our land.”
“Well, it’s a good opportunity for me to meet some of the non-resident land-owners in the area, and that could mean some big commissions for us.”
“That’s the only reason I’m going… for you. I don’t plan to chat with Mr. Hunter other than to say hello. I’ll probably end up embarrassing myself and you, too. You do well in social settings. I think you’d be comfortable chatting with the President. I’m not comfortable around people like Beau Hunter.”
“You’ve never been around people like Beau Hunter. All you have to do is be yourself.”
Taylor laughed. “That’ll lose you some sales, sweetie. I have the social skills of a toad.”
Tom leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “A pretty toad. Whatever happened to my vivacious homecoming queen?” He finished the line in his best radio voice.
“She disappeared about three kids and forty pounds ago.”
“Just more of you to love,” he said, patting her behind on his way out of the bathroom. “Hurry up—I’ll be in the Tahoe.”
Taylor lowered the toilet seat lid and sat down to put on her knee-high stockings, straining as she raised one thigh and then the other. Knee-highs donned, she slipped into a stylish pair of black pumps and admired her feet for a moment. Her slender ankles contradicted the rest of her body. She sighed and let the slacks fall in place as she stood up to look in the mirror on the back of the door. She used to draw second looks from men, but that hadn’t happened in years now. She frowned at herself when the image told her why. She turned to look in the vanity mirror above the sink, raised her eyebrows and jutted out her chin to hide the extra one sitting beneath it. Much better.
She reached over and switched on the fan that blew directly on her face as she quickly glided through her make-up routine for the second time that day. The South Texas weather already felt like the middle of summer even though the season wouldn’t officially start for another couple of months.
She grabbed a tissue to blot her lips and looked up and practiced a smile, deciding she looked presentable and silently thanked whoever invented makeup to hide the flaws on her face. The next thought was the image of slapping that person for inventing such a necessary curse.
Her make-up routine and style hadn’t varied since college, other than changing a few brands along the way and cutting in half the amount of time it took to do her face. She quickly pulled the rollers off her head and brushed through her dark hair. She hair-sprayed her bangs out of her face and then spritzed on her favorite perfume at the same moment her husband honked impatiently.
Taylor grabbed her purse and walked quickly through the house, hoping they wouldn’t have to park too far from Hunter’s house as her shoes reminded her they were a lot prettier than they were practical. She opened the back door, and the force of the early evening heat threatened to melt off her freshly painted face. She locked the door and hurried across the carport where her husband’s fuel hound rumbled hungrily. She opened the door and grabbed hold of a strategically placed handle and silently thanked the person who invented running boards as she stepped up into her husband’s office-on-wheels.
“What took you so long?” he asked, throwing the SUV in reverse.
Taylor stuck her face in front of the air conditioning vent. “Have you ever noticed how pretty the male species is while the homely female has to sit incognito back at the nest? We need all the help we can get, sweetheart. Watch out for the Davis boys.”
Tom slowed the truck for the passel of boys playing touch football in the front yard two houses down.
Something tugged at Taylor’s heart as she recalled the times her husband and children played football in their own yard not so long ago. Thomas Bastion Taylor Abbott, Jr., or Tank as everyone called him, would graduate from Texas A&M at College Station soon. Their second child Johnny was a sophomore at A&M’s biggest rival: the University of Texas in Austin. Taylor hadn’t the heart to tell Tommy that UT didn’t feel the same level of rivalry towards A&M. Red River rival Oklahoma University held the top spot for the Longhorns. Their youngest child and only daughter Dawsie was a freshman at Texas State in San Marcos. The Abbotts were indeed a family divided.
“When is Tank’s graduation again?” Tom asked.
“Two weeks from today—the morning ceremony, and we’re going up Friday night. I don’t want to take a chance of missing his graduation if we wait to leave early that morning.”
“Three kids in college, and we’re about to get down to two, thank the Lord. I don’t know how we did it this year.”
Taylor smiled at her husband. “I can’t believe Tommy’s already graduating. He’s going to have to hand over his car to Johnny in August, if not before.”
“I hope that job in Austin pans out, because we can’t afford another car payment.”
“Maybe the boys can share an apartment and the car for a while.”
“Sharing the apartment might work, but not the car. Johnny’s been counting the days ‘til he gets those wheels under him. It’s his turn now.”
“And baby girl’s moving off campus next month—she has to have something to get around in.”
“We can’t afford it—she’s just going to have to use the Shuttle for a while longer.”
“Then you get to tell her, and in person.” Taylor knew he would crumble if he had to look into his daughter’s big blue eyes.
Tom cringed. “Maybe we can put off moving her until August. She’s right in the middle of campus.”
“Her heart’s set on getting out of the dorm.”
“Well, what if we convince her to stay put until then, and in return I’ll try to find something affordable for her to drive by the time fall semester starts.”
“No wonder she loves you best.” Taylor teased as she reached over and squeezed her husband’s shoulder. “But that’s a third car payment, not counting insurance and gas. Think we can handle it?”
“We could buy all the kids a car if we’d take Hunter’s offer.”
She exhaled audibly as she removed her hand. “Tom…”
“Nobody’s lived on that place for years—you know it’s going to take a lot more money than you realize to fix up that old house.”
“It’s not just an old house—it’s my ancestors’ place, and there’s so little of it left now.”
“No wonder they all abandoned it. The house is a money pit.”
“Why can’t you understand how important this is to me?”
“We can’t live in the past.”
“I’m not living in the past! I’m trying to preserve the past. There’s a difference!”
Tom glanced at her. “Is there?”
“Let’s not argue about it—you know how I feel…” She let the words dangle uncomfortably between them.
Tom pulled up to the one red light in Dalton and waited until it turned green. He turned left and headed south out of town over the Nueces River bridge.
Taylor watched the ground below for the ribbon of water winding through the trees and brush. “The river’s low,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Hunter’s tax write-offs have been crossing the river onto our land. I gave his manager permission to come get them when he needed to.”
“That’s fine. I wonder if any of Mr. Cotulla’s livestock has crossed over to the other side, too.”
Tom nodded. “Yeah, but they’ve worked it out.”
“Well, if nothing else tonight, I am curious about this house, or lodge, or whatever it is Mr. Hunter’s built. I heard it’s massive.”
“He can afford it.”
“Wonder why he chose Dalton rather than some bigger city to live by?”
“It fits his image—this is the best hunting in Texas, remember?”
Taylor wrinkled up her nose. “What sport is it when hunters feed the deer all year round just to walk up and shoot them at a feeder? That’s about as challenging as shooting a steer at a feed lot.”
“Please don’t bring up your feelings about hunting tonight. I’d like to get a foot in the door on selling those other ranchers security cameras not only at their homes, but at those feeders and entrance gates and barns and wherever else they might want them.”
Taylor smiled and nodded. “I’ll try to be a good girl.”
Tom turned off the access road onto the gravel county road just as a shiny black Hummer blew past them, scattering dirt and gravel in its wake.
“That blooming idiot!” yelled Tom, slamming on his brakes to keep the rocks from cracking the windshield.
“That’s probably one of your potential customers, dear. Do try to be a good boy.”
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