been looking at him as anything other than an official of the law, he’d probably write her a second set of tickets.
Deputy McCleod twisted the key in the ignition and the truck sparked to life. As he whirled the vehicle onto the highway, he picked up the two-way mike fastened to the dashboard. “Lijah, I’m headed to the Sandbur. Be sure to measure the skid marks and try to locate the owner of the damaged fence. If those bulls get out we’ll have accidents and lawsuits all over the place.”
“Gotcha, Ripp. Will do.”
Grabbing the seat belt, Lucita fastened it across her lap while the deputy gunned the truck down the highway toward the Sandbur turnoff.
Once she had the belt securely in place, she settled against the seat and stared out the blackened windshield. Her throbbing pulse was causing the gash on her head to leak even more and she pressed the handkerchief tightly to the wound. The fleeting thought passed through her mind that the snow-white fabric he’d lent her would never be the same again. She would owe him a handkerchief. But would she ever have the opportunity to repay him?
Idiot, she scolded herself. Seeing Deputy McCleod again was the last thing she needed to be thinking about.
From the corner of her eye, she watched him reach for the two-way radio. After the female dispatcher responded he began repeating letters and numbers that Lucita quickly recognized from her car tag and driver’s license. She understood. Even though her family was well-known in this part of Texas, he had no way of knowing if she had outstanding tickets or warrants. He had to treat her like any other person involved in an accident.
Moments later the dispatcher came back on the air. “Everything clear on that license and tag, number two.”
“Roger. Thanks.”
“Did she call you number two?” Lucita asked curiously.
“That’s my code,” he explained. “I’m the chief deputy behind the sheriff.”
“Oh.” She should have guessed he wasn’t a mere deputy. The man reeked authority, along with all that masculinity.
“Where will my car be taken?” she asked after a moment.
He answered her question. “To the only salvage yard in town—Santee’s. But just in case you’re wondering, I can save you the trouble and tell you right now that the vehicle is totaled.”
He flipped on the left-hand blinker and turned onto a graveled road that would eventually carry them to Lucita’s family ranch. The Sandbur was such a large property that it was divided into two: the Mission River Division and the Goliad Division. The latter was where the homes of the owners were located and it was to that bustling part of the ranch that Deputy McCleod headed as he guided the truck over a bumpy road past stands of mesquite trees and wesatch bushes.
Lucita wanted to ask him who’d made him an authority on automobiles, but she bit her tongue. There wasn’t any point in taking her bad fortune out on this lawman. So far he’d treated her with respect and concern where another lawman might have taken pleasure in giving her an angry chewing-out.
Forcing her gaze away from his handsome profile, she said in a quiet voice, “Do you think I’m lying about the tailgater bumping into me?”
Not bothering to spare her a glance, he said, “No. But there’s a chance you could be mistaken. Things happen quickly when a person is traveling at a high rate of speed. And I—”
He paused as though he didn’t think his next words were appropriate and Lucita was quick to prompt him. “Please finish, Deputy McCleod. I respect your experienced opinion.”
“Okay. I get the feeling that you’re holding something back about this whole thing.”
The insinuation in his words made her more than a little uncomfortable. She didn’t want this man knowing that she was the black sheep of the Saddler-Sanchez family, that she was the only one who’d brought shame upon herself and her loved ones by marrying a guy they all objected to. “In other words, you don’t trust me.”
He darted a glance at her and the aloofness on his face left her colder than the air blowing from the vents on the dashboard.
“Ms. Sanchez, in my business I can’t take anyone at face value.”
Thankfully for Lucita the remaining distance to the ranch house was only a few short miles. The atmosphere inside the deputy’s truck was thick with tension and the only noise breaking the awkward silence was the sound of crackling voices going back and forth over the two-way radio.
Lucita hunkered down and tried to rest her head on the back of the seat, but each time the truck hit a washed-out hole in the road, the jarring seemed to go right to her injury. After a couple of minutes she gave up and sat rigidly on the edge of the seat.
Before long they crossed a cattle guard framed with an iron pipe entrance. Above, on the arch brace, the S/S brand cut from sheet metal swung in the night breeze.
After they rumbled across the slatted cattle guard, the road began to branch off in all directions between barns, corrals and outbuildings. Deputy McCleod seemed to know exactly where he was going, as he passed the main ranch house, and barreled on toward her father’s redbrick home. She could only surmise that he’d been here before. Perhaps he’d visited when some unidentified ruffians had seriously injured her father in town, or maybe he was acquainted with her brothers personally. She could only guess. One thing she did know, if she’d met him before, she would have never forgotten him.
Lucita quickly corrected his directions. “I’m not living with my father and brothers. I live in the guesthouse out back. You need to go past the first turnoff.”
Thankfully he didn’t ply her with personal questions. Instead, he said, “I think I’d better hand you over to your family, first. I want to make sure you get that wound attended to.”
The man didn’t even trust her to take care of herself. Well, what did she expect, she asked herself grimly. She’d confessed to driving at dangerous speeds. That didn’t exactly speak well for her common sense. But if he’d only seen the menacing car trying to run her down, he might actually understand the desperation she’d felt.
Moments later he parked in front of the Grecian-style manor house. Grabbing up her handbag, Lucita followed him up the lighted path to the front entrance. She hoped that someone was home by now.
To her relief, her older brother, Matteo, Matt to those who knew him well, answered the door. The moment he saw the caller was Deputy McCleod, he stepped onto the concrete porch with a broad smile and reached to shake his hand.
“Ripp! What are you doing out here tonight, old buddy?”
The tall, lean deputy stepped to one side and gestured to Lucita, who was standing at the edge of the shadows.
“I have your sister here, Matt. She met up with an accident a little bit earlier tonight. I thought you’d better know about it.”
Lucita felt like a child bringing home a note from her teacher. Only this was worse than getting caught rubbing dirt in a boy’s face or kicking a pompous cheerleader in the shins.
For a moment her dark-haired, muscular brother was completely stunned. “My God! Luci!”
Stepping into the glaring orb of the porch light, Lucita realized she must be a frightful sight. Blood was smeared on her cheek and hands, and at some point since the accident, it had dripped onto her beige blouse and matching slacks, leaving red splotches against the expensive linen.
Matt grabbed her by the shoulders. “What happened?”
Even though Matt was only four years older than her thirty-six years, he took the big brother role a step further, treating her more like a father. For the past three years it had been Matt who’d pestered and cajoled until she’d packed up her son and their belongings and moved from Corpus Christi back to the Sandbur. It had been Matt who’d convinced her that family was meant to be together, especially in times of trouble. Well,