Texas Bad Boys Read online

  Texas

  Bad Boys

  Texas Bad Boys

  ROSEMARY LAUREY

  KAREN KELLEY

  DIANNE CASTELL

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  CONTENTS

  IN BAD WITH SOMEONE

  by Rosemary Laurey

  RUN OF BAD LUCK

  by Karen Kelley

  COME TO A BAD END

  by Dianne Castell

  IN BAD WITH

  SOMEONE

  Rosemary Laurey

  One

  “Now then, you just sign your name on each one, honey. Right here now, where I’ve marked it, and we’ll all be set and ready.”

  Honestly! Pushy and patronizing didn’t begin to describe her grandfather’s lawyer. Did he really think she’d sign the lot, unread, just on his say-so? The man was barking! Juliet ffrench started reading, frowned at the second line of the first document, skimmed the rest of the pages, and looked up at the white-haired lawyer. “There is one immediate difficulty, Mr. Rankin. You’ve misspelled my name on every single document.”

  “Now, wait a minute!” Gabe Rankin’s bushy eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline. “Mildred doesn’t make mistakes like that. Here it is.” He stabbed his finger on the front page. “Juliet Amanda Felicity French.”

  “ffrench is spelled with two small ‘fs.’”

  That earned her a dropped jaw. “I suppose we can redo them if it really matters.”

  It most certainly did. It was her name and he’d better get it right. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  He conceded the point and sent Mildred scurrying to correct and reprint them all. “You know,” he said, as he sat back down in his swivel chair, “I don’t think your grandfather was aware of the strange spelling.”

  “Given he barely acknowledged my existence until three months ago, hardly surprising.” Acerbic, yes, but after a transatlantic flight to Austin and driving miles in a wretched hired car, all on a flimsy promise, the least they could do was get her damn name right.

  “Would you like more tea while you’re waiting?” Gabe Rankin asked.

  “No, thank you.” She’d welcomed the offer of “tea” twenty minutes earlier, parched and in dire need of a good cuppa, but a glass full of ice and cold tea with a slice of lemon floating on top was not what she had in mind.

  Mildred reappeared surprisingly quickly, handing her a sheaf of papers before nipping back into her office. Juliet read each page carefully, ignoring Rankin’s obvious irritation. “It’s all fine, nothing to worry yourself about.”

  “My mother always told me never to sign anything without reading it twice,” she replied, with a deliberately sweet smile. Hell, if Mum knew she was dealing with a Maddock, she’d have said twenty times.

  “Well, you just go ahead and read them, then.”

  Interesting reading it was, too. She’d known the gist of it before she left home. The actual reality was impressive: enough dosh to keep her going for a long time and ownership of a building including a bar and four apartments. The Ragged Rooster suggested something out of a Monty Python version of Texas but she could live with it, or change it. She was the owner now.

  The money was several times what she’d earned a year managing an art gallery in South Kensington, and living here couldn’t match London expenses. True, she had to stay in Silver Gulch for three years, but, heck, it was worth a try. She’d squirrel away as much as possible and nip back home if it got too much.

  She’d give it bash, she told herself as she signed her name on half a dozen dotted lines.

  “Well now, then,” Gabe Rankin said, as he straightened the pages and clipped them together after giving her copies. “We need to find you somewhere to live. There’s a nice bed-and-breakfast down on the river and I’m sure Mizz Jones will be happy to accommodate you.”

  “Why would I go to a B and B when I own a block of flats?” A purposely bland smile met his pop-eyed stare. “They are unlet, aren’t they?” They certainly weren’t producing rent.

  “I think the manager is living in one, made an agreement with Old Mr. Maddock.”

  “Good, I’ll move into the other.” She stood, shoving papers into her bag and picking up the bundle of keys.

  “Well, now, I’m not sure about that….”

  “I am. No point in paying for a B and B when I own property.”

  “The Ragged Rooster isn’t exactly the sort of place for a lady to spend the night.”

  Fascinating! “Is it a brothel?”

  She almost saw his tonsils. “Good heavens! No! Nothing like that in Silver Gulch. It’s just a bar. A bit rowdy on weekends and when the Astros win but…”

  “I’m staying there, Mr. Rankin, and meanwhile, I think I’ll pop over to The Ragged Rooster for lunch.”

  “She has the look of Drew,” Mildred said, coming out of her office as Rankin closed the door behind Juliet ffrench.

  “It’s that red hair.”

  “Not just that, she has his eyes.”

  Couldn’t say he’d noticed, but Mildred should know after all the talk linking her and Drew Maddock years back. “Maybe.”

  “Where’s she gone?”

  “To look over the Rooster and move into one of the spare apartments.”

  “She what!” Mildred laughed until she coughed. “You going to call over and warn them?”

  He shook his head. “Won’t hurt young Carter to get taken down a peg or two. Might just stroll on over later and see if he survives.”

  Juliet left her hired car parked in the shade behind Gabe Rankin’s office and stood on the opposite corner, slap in the middle of the town. If you could call it a town, but “village” didn’t quite describe Silver Gulch either. She slipped off her jacket and let the afternoon sun warm her bare arms. At least the weather was a distinct improvement from London.

  Curious about the place she was going to be inhabiting, at least for a few years, Juliet turned left and wandered down the surprisingly wide street. The town looked prosperous enough, in a slightly worn way. Several shops lined both sides of the street. There were a couple of empty premises, and on the opposite side from the Rooster was a brick building that looked like a boarded-up hotel.

  At least she’d inherited a viable business, not an old ruin.

  Odd that after all these years of neglect, her grandfather had thought of her on his deathbed. Most propitiously, as it turned out. She still savored the look in Alistair’s eyes when she told him she’d be out of the country for a while—she’d just inherited property in Texas.

  True, she’d done absolutely nothing to correct his misapprehension about an oil well, but that was his avaricious mind at work. Serve him right for dumping her for the skinny brunette with boobs and a rich daddy.

  The bitchy satisfaction of knowing he believed he’d blown it did a lot to ease her wounded pride. She would not admit to an aching heart over the specimen of humanity named Alistair Winton-Jones.

  Why even cloud her thoughts with him? She was in Texas and the sun was shining on a blissfully warm April afternoon. So much for blazing heat, arid land, and tumbleweed. Silver Gulch was surrounded by green fields, rolling hills, and a fast-flowing river. With a bit of a stretch, it wasn’t that different from the Home Counties. Not that she’d ever come across a sheriff’s office or a shop selling cowboy hats at home.

  The little cluster of men holding up the wall between the hardware and the clothing store were not the sort one encountered in a London pub, either. One, in particular, was eyeing her as if he’d bought a ticket.

  In a different frame of mind, she might even have returned the stare. He wasn’t half bad-looking,
sexy even, with tousled brown hair and dark eyes that she was not going to meet. She was so utterly not in the mood for anything even vaguely resembling male bullshit. Gabe’s “little lady” patronage had used up her last shred of tolerance.

  She crossed the road and headed for the Rooster. Might as well find out if she’d inherited more than a headache along with the money.

  After the outside warmth, the air-conditioning came as a bit of a shock. Ignoring the goose bumps on her arms and the chill of the cold air, Juliet shut the door behind her. Heels echoing on the wood plank floor, she walked toward the wide counter. On her right, a row of booths filled the wall, and to her left were half a dozen pale Formica-topped tables. One was occupied by a trio of white-haired ladies. As she passed, she noticed two men in one of the booths; their dark suits didn’t quite fit the ambiance. Businessmen on their way to somewhere else perhaps? The only other person in the place besides herself was a waitress, who barely looked up from wrapping cutlery in paper napkins.

  Juliet sat down at the counter on a round stool, the twin, she’d swear, of one in a Norman Rockwell painting, and smiled at the waitress who turned and asked, “What can I get you?”

  “Do you have a menu?”

  “Sure.” She pushed over a laminated card in a springy metal stand and Juliet noticed the name Mary-Beth pinned on her overall pocket. “The chicken and fish are finished, but Lucas can fix you a burger or a sandwich.”

  “Thanks.” Juliet scanned the menu. “Basic” and “unimaginative” were words that sprang to mind. Six versions of hamburger, a variety of sandwiches, and that was pretty much that. Definitely not a ewe’s-milk cheese or sun-dried tomato establishment. Still when in Silver Gulch…“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger, please.”

  “Want fries or onion rings with that?”

  “Onion rings.” Why not?

  “Lettuce and tomato?”

  “Please.”

  “American or Swiss?”

  Now she was losing the thread. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Cheese,” Mary-Beth repeated, as if to a slow child. “You want American or Swiss?”

  Interesting options. Who knew ordering a hamburger could be so complicated? “Swiss.”

  “Want tea with that?”

  Not if it resembled the liquid Gabe had produced. “No, thank you. Water would be lovely.”

  “Okay.” She turned and called the order through a hatch behind her. Moments later, the sounds and aroma of meat sizzling wafted in Juliet’s direction. Mary-Beth turned to lift a rack of glasses and Juliet took the opportunity to survey her property.

  Clean, reasonably well cared for but definitely needing redecorating. Lack of money perhaps? Not if the money in her bequest was anything to go by. Gabe had mentioned a manager and the stipulation of keeping the current staff as a condition of inheritance. Mary-Beth seemed industrious enough, and Lucas, the cook, was audibly clinking plates and dropping something into hot fat. Seemed the only slacker in the team was the invisible manager.

  Mary-Beth brought over a misted glass of water. “Anything else I can get you? Need a straw?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Reaching into a pocket in her apron, she pulled one out and laid it on the counter by the glass and lingered. “Australian are you?”

  Juliet paused in the middle of ripping the paper covering. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Australian, right? You sound just like Russell Crowe. Heard him on Oprah one afternoon.”

  “Actually, no. I’m English.” Juliet put the straw in her glass and tried not to stare at the woman. Being likened to Russell Crowe was definitely a first time in her life experience.

  “All sound the same to me, honey,” Mary-Beth replied, with a shake of her impossibly blonde, bouffant hair. “You from England then?”

  “Yes. What about you? Are you a native Texan?”

  “Sure thing. Born right here in Silver Gulch. My mamma never made it to the hospital in Pebble Creek. I left for a while when I married a man from Shreveport, but once that didn’t work out, I came right back home.”

  And she bet Mary-Beth was a font of local knowledge. “Have you worked here long?”

  “Seven years. Rod hired me right after he took over running the place. Me, Betty, and Lucas, the cook, all started the same time.” She wiped an invisible spot off the counter with her cloth.

  “I bet it’s not always this quiet.”

  Mary-Beth laughed. “You’re right, there! That’s why I work daytime shift. I’m getting too old to cope with the evening rush. Tips are good then, but see this place on a Friday or Saturday night….”

  Juliet intended to.

  A call from the hatch into the kitchen distracted Mary-Beth, who reached over for a plate piled high with jumbo-sized onion rings and the largest hamburger Juliet had ever seen. “Here you are.” Mary-Beth put the plate in front of Juliet. “Want ketchup with that?”

  “No, thank you.” Even if she’d wanted any, she doubted the plate could hold even a dab more of anything.

  “On your way to San Antonio, are you?” Mary-Beth asked as Juliet unpeeled the napkin from her cutlery.

  “Actually, no.” Now came the denouement. “I’m staying here in Silver Gulch for a while. My name’s Juliet ffrench.” No reaction. Shouldn’t have expected name recognition. “I’m Pete Maddock’s granddaughter.”

  That raised Mary-Beth’s plucked eyebrows. “Drew Maddock was your father?”

  For whatever good it had done her. “Yes.”

  “You inheriting the old man’s estate?”

  “Some of it. I gather there are three of us.” That was obviously news, by the look on Mary-Beth’s face, and would no doubt be over the entire town by teatime.

  “You got the ranch.”

  “No.” Thank goodness. A bar she could handle; a ranch was beyond her.

  Mary-Beth caught on fast. “You got the Rooster?”

  “Yes. Part of the agreement was I keep on all the current staff who want to stay.” No point in letting her worry about her job.

  She didn’t look relieved. “I see. Well, I have to nip out back. If you need me, just holler.”

  Rod Carter was enjoying downtime with Lance Colby. Wasn’t often the foreman of Pete’s old ranch got into town, and crime in Silver Gulch was little enough that John Snow could always take a few minutes from law enforcement to join them. They’d been buddies since their days on the high school wrestling team, and apart from a few years Rod had spent in the military and John had been down in San Antonio, they’d pretty much stayed together. It was a fine afternoon, and having a sexy redhead walk past just added to his day.

  “Nice ass there,” Lance said, giving her a look that bordered on prurient.

  “Tits are even better,” John added. “Think that red hair goes all the way down?”

  What was with them? “Look somewhere else you two. She’s mine.” She certainly wasn’t going to be theirs.

  “How do you figure that one?” Lance asked, all casual-like. “Put your name on her, have you?”

  “She’s going in the Rooster. My territory, boys. That makes her mine.” And why not? He liked the look of her, admired her self-confidence and her very nice legs and certainly appreciated the way her hair shone in the sunlight, ignoring John’s presumptuous speculation, sort of. She had class. What was a woman like her doing in Silver Gulch? It was up to him to find out. He wanted a closer look at her. A much closer look.

  “Maybe we should toss for her,” Lance suggested, ducking as Rod took a playful swing at him.

  “Nah!” John shook his head. “Better let Rod have her. Unless you want to share with us, buddy,” he added, grinning at Rod.

  Brother, did they have a twisted sense of humor. “Bugger off. She’s mine.” Whoever she was. “John gets to keep the ones he arrests, Lance gets any who go out to the ranch, and I keep the ones in the Rooster.” Made good sense to him. Not that the others appeared to agree. “Come on, for Pete’s sake, what else is happe
ning round here?”

  “I heard Gabe tell Reverend Wallace that he looked to settle the Maddock estate soon. Seems that Drew left three daughters,” John said.

  “Beats me how they can administer a will when we don’t know for sure he’s dead,” Lance said. “Never found the body.”

  “Bet it’s in the Gulf by now,” Rod said. The Wrangler ran fast and deep this time of year.

  “Didn’t need to declare death,” John replied. “Seems it was some sort of trust he set up a few months before the accident. Just divided chunks of property. Some went to the women and some were to be sold off. There were a few other arrangements. Said the old man wanted to sort out his affairs early. Just as well as it turned out.”

  Rod smiled. Yes! That had to mean he got the Rooster clear and unencumbered. Hot damn! The old man had promised him the bar on his death if Rod made it profitable. He’d done more than that. The place was a miniature gold mine. Sweated labor and long hours paid off. Sad about old Pete’s drowning, but at seventy-five, he’d had a darn good run for his money. Rod was a little curious what the granddaughters got, and which chunks of Pete’s property were to be sold, but none of that mattered to him. “Well, boys,” he said, “looks like we’re due to have a big party celebrating the new ownership of the Ragged Rooster.”

  “Sure thing. When?” Lance asked.

  “Better pick a night I’m off duty,” John said, giving Rod a thump on the back. “So I can share a pitcher of beer with the rest of you.”

  “A pitcher? Hell! We’ll have free beer all night!”

  Through their laughter came the squeak of Rod’s cell phone. He flipped it open. Mary-Beth calling? What was wrong?

  “Rod,” she said, in her usual no-nonsense manner, “better get your skinny ass over here on the double!”

  “What’s the matter?” Things looked quiet enough from this side of the road.

  “The new owner of the Ragged Rooster is sitting here munching on onion rings and a bacon burger with Swiss. Thought you might want to know.”