Her Texas Lawman. Stella Bagwell

thing by coming home to the Sandbur.

      Since her smashed car had gone to the graveyard at Santee’s Salvage she’d been driving one of the ranch’s work trucks. Matt and Cordero had tried to insist that she take one of their family cars, but she’d refused, reminding her brothers that she’d come home to the Sandbur to be with her family, not to use them. The brown Ford she’d collected from the ranch yard was several years old with ripped upholstery and a bed full of hay hooks, horse halters and fencing tools. Black decals of the S/S brand were plastered on both doors, leaving no doubt as to which teacher was driving the banged-up vehicle, but Lucita could care less about keeping up appearances. As long as she had transportation to and from work, she was content. As soon as her insurance policy settled, she’d find herself some little economical car that could make the sixty-plus-mile round-trip every day on a few dollars of gas.

      This morning she’d managed to find a parking slot beneath one of the flowering pear trees growing at the edge of the school parking lot. Now as she opened the door and threw her tote bag and purse inside, she was glad for the shade. At least she could slide beneath the steering wheel without blistering her rear.

      She’d started the engine and was about to jerk the floor shift into Reverse when she noticed a piece of folded notebook paper beneath her windshield wiper.

      Probably a student who couldn’t face her with some sort of request, she thought, or one who needed a second chance at a flunked test.

      Sighing, she thrust the floor gearshift into Neutral and left the engine running while she stepped down to retrieve the paper. Once she was back in the truck, she started to toss the note into her purse and go on her way, but curiosity got the better of her at the last second and she unfolded the square.

      The typed words in front of her were so unexpected and strange that for a moment she couldn’t assimilate what she was reading. Then she began to shake.

      Deposit one million dollars into this account by Wednesday noon. If you don’t comply, you’ll wish like hell you had. Derek

      After the word account there was a row of numbers and the name of a nearby bank. As for the signature, since it was also typed, there was no absolute way to tell if her ex-husband had actually written it.

      Oh, God. Oh, God. What was she supposed to do now?

      Deputy McCleod. The tall, lanky lawman was the first image to come to Lucita’s frantically racing mind. Ripp had to know about this. Not just because he was the deputy working her case, but also because she trusted him. His solid presence would make her feel safe, something she desperately needed at the moment.

      Lucita drove the twenty-six miles from Victoria to Goliad with her cell phone next to her on the seat and one eye on the rearview mirror. By the time she parked in front of the sheriff’s department, she was still shaking, but she’d managed to gather her senses together. She walked into the building with gritty determination on her face.

      “Can I help you?”

      The question came from a female officer sitting behind a waist-high counter. She was much younger than Lucita, on the curvy side, with pale blond hair pulled into a ponytail.

      “I’d like to speak with Deputy McCleod if he’s here,” Lucita told her.

      The young officer’s brows lifted marginally. “He’s here. Just a minute.”

      The woman left the area behind the counter and disappeared down a corridor.