my mother’s great-uncle Heck Tatum. He went to California and was never heard from again.”
“When was this?” Carrie asked.
“I’m not exactly sure. Sometime before 1920, I believe.”
“You never know. He may have struck it rich in real estate.”
Frank chuckled. “I doubt it. From what my mother tells me about Uncle Heck, it’s more likely that he wound up in jail than in the money. He was the black sheep of his family. I think he left here just one step ahead of the sheriff.”
When they arrived at the tearoom, Carrie meant to duck out and go to her room for a few minutes, but she was so intrigued by the tale of Frank’s errant relative that she forgot her plan and walked with him to the door.
“What did he do?” she asked.
“You mean, to get the sheriff after him? As I recall the story, I believe that Uncle Heck made his living cooking moonshine and stealing cows. Folks around here don’t cotton to cattle rustling. Back then it was sometimes a hanging offense.”
“Hanging?”
“Yep.”
A few people were waiting for tables, but Frank waved to someone. “There are Dad and J.J. Come on, we’ll join them.”
“Oh, I don’t want to horn in when you’re having lunch with your family.”
“You wouldn’t be horning in. Come on.”
He steered her to the table for four.
J.J. and the older man stood as they approached, and Frank introduced Carrie to his father. Wes Outlaw was tall like his sons and she could see the family resemblance except that his dark hair was gray, his fingers were knobby and his waist had thickened a bit. He had the same great smile, and it flashed across his weathered face when he told her to call him Wes.
“I was just telling Carrie about Mama’s great-uncle Heck.”
“Ah, the cattle rustler,” Wes said.
“And the moonshiner,” Carrie added.
Wes grinned. “Nobody around here was bothered much by the moonshining—fact is, most folks bought a jug from him now and then, I understand. But stealing cows is serious business.”
All three of the Outlaws were raconteurs, and they kept her entertained during lunch with funny stories about some of the lawless characters in the county’s history. They seemed to enjoy topping one another’s yarns.
As they lingered over coffee and dessert, Carrie laughed as J.J. told in great detail about the night that a young man and his friends had a few too many beers and put a pig in the mayor’s Cadillac. “That pig made a big mess,” J.J. said.
“It didn’t,” Carrie said, laughing.
J.J. grinned. “It did. All over everywhere.”
“I had a hard time,” Frank said, “keeping a straight face when those kids were brought before me.”
“What did you do to them?”
“Gave them a stern lecture and made them put in a lot of hours of community service.”
Carrie glanced at her watch, then looked around the room. The place was almost deserted. “Sorry, but I have to go.” She reached for her wallet.
“Today’s on me,” Frank said.
“I’ll get the next one.” Why had she said that? What happened to the resolution that she wasn’t going to spend any more time with Frank Outlaw? She mentally shrugged. What was the harm? She enjoyed his company; she liked his family. No big deal. In a few weeks she’d be in West Texas or Oklahoma on her next project. She was going to take a page from Amanda’s book and live for the moment.
She said her goodbyes and went to her room to work.
“MIND IF I CATCH a ride back to the courthouse with one of you?” Frank asked over a second cup of coffee.
“Be glad to drop you off,” his father said. “Say, I like your young woman. Seems to have a head on her shoulders.”
“She’s not my young woman,” Frank told him. “She’s just someone in town for a few days to do some research.”
“What kind of research?”
“Genealogy,” J.J. said.
“And titles and missing heirs,” Frank added.
“Hmm,” Wes said, rubbing his mouth the way he always did when he was thinking. “What kind of titles?”
“Land, I imagine. She spends a lot of time in the tax office.”
“Did you invite her to go with us to the musical Saturday night?” J.J. asked Frank.
“Uh, no.”
“Why the hell not? She’s single, good-looking and fun to talk to. Ask her.”
“I’ll think about it.”
J.J. gave an exasperated snort. “I’m going to the kitchen to see Mary Beth.”
Wes pushed back his chair. “You ’bout ready to go?”
“Anytime. Just don’t you start on me.”
“Start on you? About what, son?”
“About Carrie.”
His dad held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t say a word.”
CARRIE WORKED in her room for the entire afternoon. There were some serious gaps in the information she’d gathered so far. She was going to have to run down some deeds, land titles and some missing heirs. She hadn’t lied about that to Frank. One of the tough things about her job was locating heirs when property owners died and didn’t leave a will. Texas had very specific guidelines about who inherited in such cases. Figuring out who owned what could get complicated.
This part of her job required patience and persistence. It was often easier simply to talk to the existing landowners and get information to at least point her in the right direction, but since Uncle Tuck wanted things kept quiet as long as possible, she was handicapped in her search. If she ran into too many problems, she’d have to start questioning the locals. Maybe that’s where Millie the librarian might help.
After working at her computer for several hours, Carrie felt as if she was going cross-eyed. She saved her work, then stretched and got up. No wonder her eyes were tired. It was growing dark. But at least her material was organized, and she was ready to start work at the county clerk’s office the next day.
She thought about jogging, then remembered that this was the night Mary Beth taught aerobics. She ate an apple, washed her face, then changed into her sneakers and workout clothes.
By the time Carrie arrived at unit two, several
