I’d like to give you a sneak peek
of the first chapter of my latest release, Gambling On A Dream. Although this is the third book in a
series, it is a standalone novel.
Gambling
On A Dream
Book
3
Colton
Gamblers
~*~
©2015 Sara F. (Walter) Ellwood
Chapter 1
“What the hell’s going on?”
Interim Sheriff Dawn Madison closed
her eyes and swallowed as she rested her hand over her lower abdomen. How would
she tell him his son was dead?
She stood from where she crouched
by the body of the seventeen-year-old boy, lying on the litter-strewn gravel
next to the Dumpster reeking of day-old beer bottles and spilled whiskey. The
rusty chain link fence trapped the body like the dirty newspapers stuck against
it. She wasn’t sure if the dark stain under the boy was from his blood or years
of grease and liquor spilling out of the trash.
“Where’s Chris?” Julie Larson’s
footfalls on the wood stairs from her second floor apartment to the back porch
of the Longhorn Saloon she co-owned with her brother hammered through Dawn.
“What’s goin’ on, Sam?”
“Don’t know.” Sam stopped to wait
for his younger sister, but he never took his gaze from Dawn and her deputies.
“I just got here and saw all the commotion. I can’t find Chris nowhere. He
ain’t answering his damned phone. I started wonderin’ where he is and came
looking for him. He’s supposed to be cleaning the bathrooms, but he ain’t
there. Doesn’t look like he did a damned thing since closin’.”
A group of curious bystanders was
gathering on the side of the weathered clapboard bar near the customer parking
lot. Dawn walked over to her lieutenant as he finished zipping up the body bag.
She pushed down the fear and pain of telling a father he’d lost his child and
pointed toward the growing crowd. “Tilly, get those peepers out of here. I
don’t need the grapevine going crazy over this.”
With a grunt, he stood and adjusted
his tan Stetson. “On it. What you gonna tell Sam and Julie?”
Wishing she could tell them
anything but what happened, she glanced at the brother and sister coming closer
over the weedy gravel parking lot. She fisted her hand over her lower belly,
her baby hadn’t been born yet when a drug dealer took him from her, and she
still woke up at night from the grief. The thought of what she’d have felt if
he’d been seventeen when she’d lost him made her sick. “The truth. Well, enough
of it, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t want your job, Sheriff.”
Tillman “Tilly” Kennedy jacked up his gun belt and headed to do her bidding
with the bystanders.
She glanced at Deputies Chet
Hendricks and Doug Grant. They searched for evidence in the dry weeds,
struggling for life in the greasy gravel surrounding Christopher Larson’s black
shrouded body.
Why did she do this to herself? Why
was being sheriff of this town so important? She’d been appointed interim sheriff
after Zack Cartwright hung up his shiny tin star for a branding iron last
month. She was in charge, but not uncontested for the election next month in
November that would decide whether the county wanted her or Chet Hendricks as
sheriff. Anger twisted with grief as she looked upon the black heap of a
teenager’s brutally murdered body. Whether she won the election or not, she had
to find the killer.
She turned away and intercepted the
Larsons before they could get any closer. At least the man couldn’t see what
had happened to his son. The coroner was on the scene, and Lucinda Hudson, a
local photographer who worked part-time for the county, had already taken
pictures. Sam stared over her shoulder, not a difficult task since he towered
over her five-foot, six-inch frame.
When he swung his gaze down to meet
hers, she couldn’t miss the fear within the brown depths. “What’s goin’ on,
Dawn? Tell me straight.”
Julie clung to her brother’s big
arm and bit her bottom lip. In her trembling free hand, she held a smoldering
cigarette. Her hair, which was red this week, was pulled back into a ponytail.
She looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed in her oversized T-shirt and
nothing else.
Sam was dressed in his usual white
T-shirt and jeans. The early morning sun glistened off his bald head.
The knife of anger and grief
twisted in her heart. Most people had put the Larsons--Sam and his sisters,
Ella and Julie--down all of their lives. Over the years, they’d crawled out of
the gutter by co-owning the Longhorn Saloon and now Ella’s Diner. The family
had already gone through hell back in July when Ella had been murdered by her
daughter’s biological father--none other than the richest man in the county,
oil tycoon, Leon Ferguson.
The last thing she wanted was to
add to their misery only three months later, but this was her job now. The job
she’d always wanted. “Sam. Julie. Let’s go inside.”
Glancing at the body bag, he
lowered his brow. “Okay.”
Once they were inside the tiny back
office, she took a deep breath. Sam’s ex-wife should be here for this too, but
she lived down in Crawford with husband number three, or was it four?
“I think y’all should have a seat
for this,” she said as gently as she could.
The fear in his eyes brightened,
and sweat beaded on his head as he sagged into the old leather chair behind a
spotless desk. “That body out there. It’s Chris, ain’t it?”
Julie stood behind him and rested a
hand on his trembling shoulder. Her hazel eyes filled with tears, and she took
a ragged puff on the burned down death stick.
Unable to hold herself up any
longer, Dawn leaned on the desk with a hip and pulled off her tan uniform
Stetson.
Sam’s dark eyes shimmered with
unshed tears. Dawn swallowed and averted her gaze to the hat gripped in her
hands as she nodded.
Julie let out a wail and hugged her
brother from behind burying her face into his beefy neck. Dawn reached out and
took the cigarette from her trembling hand, before she dropped the thing, and
put it out in an ashtray on the desk.
Sam shook violently as tears rolled
down his ruddy cheeks and emotions twisted his mouth into an ugly sneer.
He clenched his sister’s fingers,
and with the back of his other hand, wiped his eyes with a wicked swipe across
his face. His chest heaved. “Goddamn!”
Dawn stood and fisted her hands by
her side. Memories accosted her. Although her baby boy hadn’t been born yet
when she’d lost him, the pain was immense. She sniffed back the burn in her
sinuses. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“How’d it happen?”
She cleared her throat. Dammit, she
didn’t want to tell him the truth. “He was beat, then stabbed.”
Sam shook and grabbed onto the desk
as he buried his face in the wood. Julie slid to the floor, covered her face,
and sobbed, while Dawn rushed forward and rested her hand on his quaking back.
“Oh, God.” Shaking his head, he
sobbed. “I should’ve seen this coming. Especially with everything Ella went
through with Annie before the Quinns took her in.”
Kneeling before him, Dawn gave him
all the comfort she could offer. She didn’t want to ask him this now, but she had
to know. “Sam, was Chris into drugs?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. The
sigh escaping him came from his soul. “Yeah. That’s why Peggy’s latest husband
kicked him out,” he said, referring to his ex-wife. “But Chris… Chris was a
good kid.” He turned his tortured gaze to her. “Find the bastard who did this,
Dawn. Or you can kiss your dream of being sheriff goodbye. I think we both know
who is selling drugs to these kids. That brother of yours has always been a
trouble maker.”
She wouldn’t believe her older
brother was the dealer.
He couldn’t be.
* *
* *
The next morning, Dawn entered the
surgical room off the morgue of Forest County General Hospital. At the stench
of formaldehyde, embalming fluid, and disinfectant, the pot of coffee she’d
drank that morning soured, and her belly rolled.
Stopping at the foot end of the
metal table, she stared down at the autopsied body of Chris Larson. His face
had been beaten to nearly unrecognizable, and he had a total of seven stab
wounds.
Dr. Andy Warren, the county coroner,
wiped his hands on a towel as he stood next to her. “The stab to the chest is
what probably killed him. It punctured the heart and left lung.”
“When do you expect to get the
toxicology results back?”
He shrugged and tossed the towel
onto a bloody, instrument-cluttered tray. “Should have it back in three weeks.
But from the damage to his liver and heart, I’d say he’s a crack cocaine user.”
“Thanks, Doc.” The last thing
Colton needed was a crack dealer. Whatever happened to the days when the
strongest drugs around were moonshine and marijuana?
Those days were lost when the
Dallas dealers moved into the country to widen their net, and the Mexican drug
cartels pumped more coke over the border. The answer whispered to her from the
days she was a vice cop on the Dallas PD.
“Have you contacted the Texas
Rangers?”
She swallowed hard. The last thing
she wanted was the Rangers involved. Not because she couldn’t use their help,
but because of who would likely be sent to assist in the investigation.
“Yeah, I called them and the FBI
too.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get back to the office. I’m meeting
with the Ranger in an hour.”
Back at the station, she entered
the sheriff’s office. The door still had Zack Cartwright’s name painted in gold
on the frosted glass of the window. She couldn’t believe the damned fool had
gone and resigned.
He’d been like a brother to her for
as long as she could remember. When he first started sniffing around Tracy
Quinn Parker again, she thought he was nuts. But maybe Dawn had missed her
target on that one. She'd never seen Zack happier than he was now that they're
back together and engaged to be married at Thanksgiving.
He’d been an amazing sheriff, but
his heart had never been in the job.
Zack Cartwright would forever be a
cowboy.
After setting a pot of coffee to
brew in the old stained Mr. Coffee, sitting on a short metal file cabinet in
the corner, she sat in the fake leather chair behind the utilitarian desk. She
ran both hands over her slicked back hair and pulled out the band to shake out
the bun at the back of her head. Taking a deep breath, she braided and re-wound
the thick, long mess back into a knot and secured it with the black band.
Playing with her hair wasn’t going to make any of this go away.
Before she had a chance to mentally
prepare herself for the encounter coming with Texas Ranger Wyatt McPherson in
less than ten minutes, Charles “Chet” Hendricks roared through the open door
like a winter storm. The deputy had been interviewing everyone living on
Blackwell and Main Streets near the Longhorn.
She doubted anyone had seen
anything since the time of death was estimated to be sometime around four AM,
but she might get lucky because it had been a Monday morning. Someone might
have been heading out to work that early. “Find out anything?”
She couldn’t miss the smugness of
his smile. Chet had never been counted among her friends. He and Talon had been
classmates, and Chet had bullied her older brother for years over being the
youngest bastard son of the notorious Jock Blackwell, until he’d had enough and
pounded the hell out of Chet. The deputy hadn’t made it a secret he didn’t want
her as interim sheriff, and threw his hat into the election and campaigned
against her.
But his dislike went deeper than
Talon’s illegitimacy or her ability to be sheriff.
Chet disliked anyone who didn’t
check the Caucasian box on the census form.
Despite this, the town loved its
veterans, and Chet qualified. He’d gone to the Army National Guard after high
school and had done a stint in Afghanistan before getting out of the military.
While her father had been sheriff
for over a decade, his tenure as the county’s first Native American sheriff had
not been free of scandal. His election had been bought and paid for by his
adopted family--the Cartwrights. And he’d been accused of looking the other way
in more incidences than one, especially those involving the Blackwells,
Cartwrights, Fergusons, and McPhersons.
An excited gleam came into his
eyes. “I got a witness that puts Talon Blackwell in the vicinity of the
Longhorn at the same time as the murder.”
She leaned back in her chair and
gripped the armrests. What the hell was Talon doing on Main Street at that time
in the morning? He’d moved back to town two months ago and into the old hunting
cabin on the third of the family ranch belonging to him. His big plan was to
raise cattle on his part of the M bar C, their family’s ranch, now that he got
his share of money from the sale of the Blackwell Ranch.
At four AM, if a rancher was up, he
was feeding stock, not cruising through a sleeping town, fifteen miles away.
“I’ll question Talon as soon as
possible. He may have seen something.”
Chet’s lips twisted into a sardonic
grin. “Yeah, you do that, Sheriff.”
Determined not to let the pissant
intimidate her, she stood and leaned over the desk. “I should remind you, Deputy Hendricks, I was appointed
sheriff by the town council, and you haven’t won the election. You are very
close to insubordination.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting
anything.”
Both she and Hendricks turned
toward the door. Texas Ranger Wyatt McPherson stood in the opening. He pulled
his hat off his head of thick chestnut brown hair. His full lips twitched up in
one corner, and amusement caused small crinkles at the corners of his
bluebonnet-blue eyes, as if he spent too many years squinting into the sun.
Dawn sucked in a breath and hated
that her heart seemed to speed up. Damn, she hated when people snuck up on her.
She refused to think about the fact that her heart hadn’t started beating fast
until after she’d conducted a full
assessment and determined the interruption was harmless.
Well, as harmless as a rattlesnake.
Wyatt ambled into the room with the
loose walk of a man who’d grown up riding horses.
“Lieutenant McPherson, welcome.”
She pasted a smile on and prayed it looked genuine. The last thing she wanted
was either man to know how much Wyatt’s presence affected her. She’d made that
mistake last month when he showed up on duty to help catch a gang of cattle
rustlers.
The Texas Ranger held out his hand.
She shook it quickly and tried to ignore the way his touch caused her skin to
tingle.
“Sheriff, it’s good to see you
again.”
Yeah,
right. Like working together on the rustling case had been a picnic.
“Glad the Rangers sent you, Wyatt.”
Chet faced Wyatt with all the self-importance of a bantam roster. “I have a
witness that puts Talon Blackwell at the scene around the time of death. I
think he should be brought in for questioning.”
Wyatt glanced at her, but she
ignored him to glare at Chet and said through gritted teeth, “Deputy Hendricks,
you are dismissed.”
With a glower at her, he didn’t say
more. He stormed out of the office, then shut the door with a bang behind him.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I almost need my hunting knife to
cut the tension in here. What was that all about?”
She met his blue gaze. “You know
you can’t trust us Injuns. Maybe I’ll ride on over to his place later and scalp
him in his sleep and hang his mangy pelt on the totem pole in front of my
teepee.”
Wyatt chuckled and sat in the chair
in front of her desk. He laid his black Resistol hat on the edge. “See, that’s
why you’ll make a great sheriff.”
She narrowed her eyes on him.
“Better share that with the rest of the town. Chet has them convinced he’d be
the best choice for sheriff.”
He shrugged and grinned a one-sided
smile, making him look like a sexy cross between a young Harrison Ford and
Clint Eastwood all rolled up in one. “He won’t win, and Hendricks will either
come around, or else once you’re elected sheriff, he’ll quit. At least it won’t
be like when your dad was elected. Over half of his deputies up and walked out
in protest.”
She remembered the day her father
won the election. “Yeah, and Dad wouldn’t have gotten elected if the
Cartwrights and your dad hadn’t pulled every string out there. When I win this
election, it will be because I earned it, not because someone bought it for
me.”
Had she imagined the shadow over
his eyes as he lowered his gaze to his hands?
“You’re still just as driven as
you’ve always been.”
“When someone thinks killing kids
on my watch for drugs is okay, damned right I’m driven.” She folded her arms
over her chest. “I just hope the people in Forest County realize the fallout if
they put a bigot like Chet Hendricks in the sheriff’s office.”
Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “I
told you he won’t win. Give the folks of this town some credit.”
“I’ll be happy when the election is
finally over.” She stood and headed for the coffee in the corner.
“So, what was he yapping about
concerning Talon?”
She dumped fake creamer into her
cup and handed Wyatt a cup of black. “Someone supposedly saw him near the
murder scene.”
“We’ll have to question him.”
She sat behind her desk again and
sipped the strong, hot coffee. “Yeah, I know.”
“I thought he was living out on the
M bar C. How’s he doing these days?”
“Yeah, he’s living there.” She set
her favorite bright green mug on the desk and shrugged. Would he recognize it
as the one he’d given to her on her thirtieth birthday? She wasn’t sure if she
was happy or disappointed when he glanced at it, and his face showed no signs
of recognition. “You know Talon. He’s always been a loner. He’s more so since
coming home.”
“Prison will do that to a person.”
Talon’s life had never been easy.
Their mother married Dawn’s father when Talon was only a baby. Her dad had
wanted to adopt him, but Talon’s biological father wouldn’t allow it. Jock
Blackwell had insisted Talon carry his name, but he never was a father to
Talon, or his other three illegitimate sons for that matter. Her dad had tried
his best with Talon, but he’d rebelled early and gotten himself into trouble on
a regular basis. Her father always got him out of the misdemeanor stuff--except
he hadn’t been able to get him out of the bogus drug charges he’d racked up two
years ago in Amarillo.
The day Talon graduated high
school, he’d left home to ride the rodeo circuit, until he was thrown from a
bull and nearly killed six years ago. He’d moved home to recover, and this time
his father wanted to spend time with him. Dawn suspected Jock had wanted to
gage his youngest son’s intentions. Of all his sons, Talon was the only one who
hadn’t ever cared about getting his hands on Blackwell Ranch. After a few
months, Talon and Jock seemed to form some sort of relationship. Then one day,
Talon had ridden out over the pasture of his father’s ranch and discovered Jock
dead. Her bother never talked of the sight, but it had to have been gruesome.
Jock had died from a head injury and lain in the July heat and elements for
three days.
She shook her head at the thoughts.
“You don’t honestly believe Talon would do or sell drugs, do you?”
Wyatt sipped his black coffee from
the Styrofoam cup as if considering his response. “All I know is no one truly
decides to be an addict. You know that.”
She stared at the coffee in the mug
clutched between her hands. “Talon swore in his trial the coke had been planted
on him to keep him from competing in the rodeo. I believe my brother, Wyatt.
Talon has always been a hothead and a roughneck, but he has never been an
addict, dealer--or a murderer.”
“We still have to talk to him.”
She let out a long breath, sagging
with the exhale, and nodded. Wanting to change the subject, she asked about his
younger sister. “How’s Rachel? I heard she came home the other day.”
“Rachel’s home, but having a tough
time.”
“I’ll have to come over and visit
her.” She and Rachel McPherson had been friends in school. But they’d grown
apart as high school friends do. Dawn went off to the police academy in Austin,
while Rachel went to the University of Texas, graduating as a registered nurse.
She ended up joining the Army, being commissioned, and was deployed to
Afghanistan. This last deployment had been her third time over there, and it
would also be her last. She’d been shot multiple times and had lost her lower
leg.
The damned war. Post traumatic
stress disorder had screwed up Zack in a big way. He’d all but been an
alcoholic, and she believed if it hadn’t been for his little girl, he would’ve
put a bullet in his own head after his wife died. His depression, and her fear
that he’d go off the deep end, had been what convinced her to talk him into
running for sheriff after her father retired, instead of running for the office
herself.
“I just wish there was something I
could do.” He sipped his coffee and shook his head. “Yesterday, after I brought
her home from the Waco VA hospital, Audrey showed up. I love my twin, but I
wish she would stay away for a little while. Rachel seemed more depressed after
Audrey left, and of course, that upset Mom.”
“Was Lance there too?” What a mess.
Lance Cartwright was the last person Rachel needed to see right now.
She understood Rachel’s pain.
Nothing worse than being thrown away by a man you loved. Dawn had taken a
bullet for Wyatt, costing her their baby’s life. He left her the moment he
discovered she’d been pregnant. Like she’d always feared he would, which had
been exactly why she hadn’t told him.
“No, he had the good sense to stay
away.” Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. “But my mother thinks everything will
be fine and dandy if they all make up. She’s planning a huge dinner Sunday and
invited Lance and Audrey over.”
Dawn let out a breath and hugged
her mug between her hands, hoping the warmth would take away her sudden chill.
“Damn. I mean… This has to be brutal for Rachel. Doesn’t your mom realize how
she must feel?”
Not only was Rachel now sterile
after being shot in the gut, but there was a time she loved Lance before her
sister stole him away by seducing him.
“I think Mom’s in denial. She wants
all of us to get along.”
When he looked up, the love for his
sister shining in his eyes twisted her heart. He’d always been there for his
sisters, but he hadn’t stuck by her when she needed him.
“My baby sister can’t take much
more, and without her friends, I’m afraid for her.”
She nodded, but her friend’s
welfare wasn’t what had her reeling; it was the man she had once loved.
~~~~~
The Cast of Crossing the Line
Ella
Lux
