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Return to Caddo
Lake
Uncertain Fate –
Ken Casper
Uncertain Past –
Roz Denny Fox
Uncertain Future –
Eve Gaddy
Nineteen years ago,
Frannie Granger disappeared . . .
Since then, the land at Beaumarais near Caddo Lake, East
Texas, has hidden the secret of her fate. Now that secret is out, but a mystery
remains: who is responsible for what happened on her last hectic morning so
long ago?
The local sheriff is convinced Jed Louis, heir to the
antebellum plantation house, breeder of Percheron horses, and the eldest of the
three foster children Frannie raised as her own, is responsible for what took
place.
Gwyn Miller, who leases land from Jed, is equally committed
to proving the millionaire horseman was in no way involved.
She’s also determined to show Jed that nothing can ever
threaten what they have with each other, not even his Uncertain Fate.
Ken Casper is the author of more
than 25 novels, including AS THE CROW DIES and CROWS FEAT, the first two books
in The Jason Crow West Texas Mystery Series.He and his wife raise horses in West Texas.
"A nice, light romantic read with just enough mystery thrown
into the mix!" -- Valerie Galluppi, NetGalley
Prologue
Uncertain, Texas
Tuesday, May 4, 1982
"WHERE’S THE admission
request?” Jed asked as he bolted from his bedroom into the kitchen. He rifled
among the bills and other papers Frannie kept in a square, shallow basket on
the end of the counter, pulled out the form and scowled.
"I didn’t sign it,” Frannie told him over her
shoulder as she scooped up the cornflakes Emmy or Will had carelessly spilled
on the counter. Probably Will. The sixteen-year-old was still having a hard
time learning to clean up after himself. She should make him take care of it,
but everyone seemed to be running behind this morning, and Frannie had more
important things on her mind than worrying about a few spilled crumbs. She
wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation she knew she was in for.
"Sign it now,” Jed demanded. "I have to turn it
in this morning.”
"I’m not going to sign it,” she responded in as
calm a voice as she could muster. "I told you that last night.”
"Damn it, you promised to help me.” His deep
voice was raised enough that Emmy and Will, gulping cold cereal at the kitchen
table, stopped their chewing and gaped at him. Frannie adjusted the waistband
of her loose-fitting work jeans and moved to the sink.
"Watch your language, young man. This isn’t a
locker room.” She glared at him, her anxiety starting to rise. "I agreed only
to think about it, and I did. But I haven’t changed my mind.” To the others she
said, "Hurry or you’ll be late.”
She could feel the angry tension pulsing in the
towering teenager. Where did he get his incredible size? His mother had
been a pale wisp of a thing, and his father... well, maybe
that was where the dark hair and lanky frame came from.
"You can’t do this to me,” he shouted, his blue
eyes blazing. "You can’t screw me like this.”
"Jed Louis,” Emmy yelled in her high-pitched
voice from the table, "don’t you dare talk to my Mom Fran like that.”
"Keep out of this, Emmy-M,” he said offhandedly
to the thirteen-year-old while he continued to glower at Frannie as she wrung
out a dishrag at the sink. "This is my big opportunity.”
"Jed, you’re a good fiddle player. I don’t deny
it. You’re very talented, and I’m proud of you. But you’re not concert
quality—”
"Maybe not yet.” Frustration rang in his voice.
"That’s why you’ve got to sign that paper. So I can go to Juilliard.”
"Jed—” Frannie’s tone softened with sympathy "—if
I believed you were another Isaac Stern or Itzak Perlmann, I’d sign that piece
of paper without a second thought. But all the Juilliards in the world aren’t
going to put you on the stage in Carnegie Hall. Go to college, son. You’re good
in science, and you’ve been offered a basketball scholarship—”
"I want to play the violin,” he insisted.
Frannie shook her head. "Do you have any idea how
hard it is to make a living as a professional musician, especially playing
classical violin?”
"I don’t have to make a living,” he reminded her.
"In three years and two months, when I turn twenty-one, I inherit Beaumarais.
I’ll have all the money I need.”
Frannie leaned against the counter and crossed
her arms. "Is that what you want to do with your life, Jed—live off your
uncle’s money? You have an obligation to yourself to earn your own way, to be
self-supporting—”
"Oh, I get it. Other people can inherit wealth,
but not me. I’m nothing but a bastard. Bastards don’t deserve anything.”
Appalled at his bitterness, Frannie replied
kindly, "Jed, I never said that.”
"The hell you didn’t.”
Will got up from the table and carried his empty
bowl to the sink. As he passed by his foster brother he muttered, "Cool it,
man.”
"Mind your own damn business.”
Emmy shot Jed a withering glance, then jumped up
from the table. "We’re going to be late for school.” She dashed into her
room and retrieved her books.
Jed held the form out, stiff-armed, to Frannie.
"It has to be turned in today.”
"I’m sorry, Jed—” she shook her head in heartfelt
commiseration "—I won’t sign it. It’s not right for you.”
Jed slammed the paper down on the table. "Damn
it. Every time I want to do something, you tell me it’s not right for me. I
can’t even take Amanda Jennings on a date without you saying she’s no good—”
"Amanda, huh!” Emmy sneered. "That stuck-up snob.
Just because she’s got big boobs—”
"Emerald Monday, you watch your mouth, too,”
Frannie warned. "I don’t ever want to hear you talking like that again. Do you
understand me?”
"Yes, ma’am,” Emmy said contritely. "But you
ought to see the way she keeps coming on to Jed and Will, rubbing up against
them and practically sticking her tongue in their ears,” she added
belligerently.
"That’s enough, young lady.” To the boys, Frannie
said, "I want both of you to stay away from Amanda—”
"Why?” Jed challenged. "Isn’t she good enough for
me, or am I not good enough for her? After all, her daddy owns the only bank in
town, and I’m nothing but a bastard.”
Frannie took a deep, fortifying breath. "Jed,
stop it. I don’t approve of Amanda Jennings because she’s a troublemaker. As
for Ray Jennings—” she paused, choosing her words carefully "—he owns the bank
only because he married into it.”
"Oh, so now he’s not good enough in your
estimation, either.” Jed snorted contemptuously. "Does anybody live up to your
high standards? Well, look around. You have to close in the porch so Will and I
can have our own rooms. This isn’t exactly a mansion we’re living in.”
Frannie’s lips quivered and her eyes grew
suddenly moist. She swallowed hard before answering. "No, it’s not, Jed,” she
said softly. "But it’s the best I can do. I want you to do your best, too. It’s
the only way you’ll ever find peace of mind.”
"Peace of mind. Yeah, right. You’re ruining my
life!” he shouted. "I’ll show you.” He grabbed the piece of paper and strode to
the back door. "You’ll be sorry you didn’t help me.”
Chapter One
Uncertain, Texas
Tuesday, April 3, 2001
GWYNETH MILLER liked small towns, which was why
she’d chosen Uncertain, Texas. She’d asked several residents how it came by its
curious name and had received a slightly different version of its history every
time.
One was that back in the 1880s, when the location
was little more than a campground and fishing site, it was "uncertain” if a
horse-drawn wagon could get through on the muddy roads after a heavy rain.
Another was that when the town was established and the residents wanted it be
recognized, a county clerk erroneously recorded the preliminary request on
which the name of the place had been annotated as "uncertain,” because they
hadn’t yet decided on what to call it.
Not that it mattered. The place had appeal. It
was quiet, clean, unhurried and friendly. Gwyn wasn’t fond of big cities or
even living in their shadows. This little town on the Texas-Louisiana border
was well beyond the pale.
Its location wasn’t exactly convenient for her
business as an animal manager, which involved making animals available on a
short-term basis for private and commercial projects. Texas roads were so good,
however, that being off the beaten track wasn’t a serious problem.
Having finished feeding all her animals, Gwyn
headed toward a family restaurant in town for a second cup of coffee. She’d
stopped at the Caddo Kitchen on her first visit to the area. It was every bit
as shabby as it was cozy. The walls were covered with fishing nets, poles,
reels and mounted trophies above pea-green vinyl-upholstered booths that were
faded and cracking. When she’d remarked to the waitress that she was looking
for a house to rent and some pasture to graze horses, the four men drinking
coffee around the one occupied table had unanimously recommended she check with
Jed Louis. He apparently owned a considerable number of lease properties in the
area, as well as farm and ranch land. They knew his telephone number by heart.
This morning, middle-aged men wearing baseball
caps with farm equipment logos were finishing up platters of sausage patties
and eggs or biscuits and gravy at most of the tables. Gwyn found an open stool
at the counter and slipped onto it.
"What can I get you, hon?” a gum-chewing woman,
who probably wasn’t much older than Gwyn, asked from behind the counter.
"Just coffee, thanks.”
"Coming up.” The woman snagged a heavy china mug
from a stack behind her, plopped it down in front of Gwyn and filled it in one
quick confident motion without spilling a drop. "You’re the gal who was asking
about land for horses.”
Gwyn smiled. "You have a good memory.” It had
been almost two months since she’d been in the place and then just the one
time.
The woman proudly patted the exaggerated-red
curls on her head. "Always was pretty good with faces. I don’t imagine any of
the guys around here forgot yours, either.”
The compliment was so unexpected Gwyn felt a rush
of heat to her cheeks.
"Cassie, you planning on serving number six or
jawing all day?” a sweaty-looking, overweight man in soiled cook’s whites called
out from the window behind her.
"Hold your grits, Jake. I’m coming. Men,” Cassie
huffed. "Always want it hot and quick.”
Gwyn snickered and sipped the steaming brew. Her
instant coffee back at the house tasted better.
"Somebody told me your horses are those little
ones,” Cassie commented over her shoulder a minute later while she loaded a
couple of slices of white bread into an old-fashioned rotary toaster. "Bet
they’re cute. My daddy bought me a horse once. A Shetland. Pretty as a new
button and mean as the dickens. Never cared much for the critters after that.
But those little ones now... I just might change my mind. Do
they bite?”
Gwyn chuckled. "Mine don’t, if you treat them
right.”
"I heard you can potty-train them. Is that true?”
Gwyn laughed. "I wish.”
"That’s what I figured. Like trying to housebreak
a man. Not in this world.” There was more affection in her voice than
complaint. "Maybe I’ll drop by sometime and you can let me pet them.”
Gwyn just smiled. She would gladly show Cassie
the horses if she visited, but Gwyn didn’t want to encourage everyone in town
to do the same. She was grateful that the grazing field Jed Louis had leased
her was well off the road, beyond the piney woods, and safely out of sight. The
miniature palominos were natural attractions, which made them extremely
marketable, but they needed careful guarding, too. If they were too close to a
road, there was a distinct danger of their being lifted over a fence and
stolen.
"Heard you’re renting Frannie’s old place,”
Cassie prattled on as she tore open a foil bag of ground coffee, dumped it into
a paper filter and set a glass pot under the drip spout of the coffeemaker.
"Reckon you’re going to be in for a few official visitors.”
Gwyn’s ears perked up. "Official visitors? What
are you talking about?”
Cassie reached around and grabbed the abandoned
newspaper a couple of places down the line. "I guess you haven’t seen this.”
Gwyn stared at the headlines, then slowly read
the article. She seemed to have opened Pandora’s box. She finished her coffee
and pulled a couple of dollars from her jeans pocket. Throwing them on the
counter, she went out to her Rover. Maybe it was time to mend some fences.
