One Night Standoff - By Delores Fossen Page 0,26

his memory problems, that was one name Clayton would never forget. “He’s the guy who shot me in the diner.”

“Yeah,” Harlan verified. “Like Lenora, Dayton was once a criminal informant. There’s no official record of it, but my friend says he used some info that Dayton provided during an investigation.”

Clayton looked at Lenora to see if she knew that, but she obviously hadn’t. She shook her head.

“There’s more,” Harlan said, and there was a lot of concern in his voice. “According to my agent friend, when Dayton worked as a CI, he reported to none other than Special Agent James Britt.”

Chapter Eight

Lenora forced herself to eat, though the way her stomach was churning, she wasn’t sure she could keep it down. Still, she did it for the baby’s sake. And for Clayton’s. She was tired of seeing the worry in his eyes.

Worry that she’d put there.

Worry that was now mirrored in his brothers’ eyes, too.

There were three of them at the dinner table—Harlan, Wyatt and the youngest, Declan. Stella, the family friend, was there as well, and even Clayton’s foster father, Kirby. The man was in a wheelchair and looked every bit as sick as Clayton had said he was—salt-white hair, and his veiny skin seemed paper thin. He wasn’t eating but instead had an IV bag hooked up to his arm.

An odd gathering indeed.

There seemed to be lots of silent communication going on, as if they were all wired into each other’s thoughts. Except for her, of course. While all of Clayton’s family seemed sympathetic to the danger she and the baby were in, she figured there was a massive amount of suspicion, too. Probably because of her criminal past.

“You okay?” Clayton asked her.

Lenora realized she was staring at the plate of lasagna again, so she took another bite and nodded. “It’s my first time eating with four lawmen.” She wanted to keep the conversation light since the mood was anything but. “I keep waiting for one of you to read me my rights and arrest me.”

Her attempted humor didn’t work that well. The corner of Clayton’s mouth lifted. Stella’s, too. But the remaining trio of marshals and their foster father didn’t crack a smile, and the quiet tension returned.

They had plenty to discuss, but no one was discussing it. Maybe because they were all so familiar with what was going on. Or maybe the lack of discussion was to spare her feelings. It wasn’t working, but then discussing the investigation wouldn’t help in that department, either.

All afternoon Clayton had tried—and failed—to get more info on James’s association with the dead man who’d shot Clayton. Ditto for more info on Quentin. He was a suspect now, along with James, and either one of them could be working for Riggs. However, Clayton had been able to find out that James was in serious debt from two failed marriages and child-support payments. Maybe the debt had made him desperate enough to turn to Riggs for cash and murder for hire.

“Heard you got a clean bill of health from the doctor,” Stella commented.

It took Lenora a moment to realize the woman was talking to her. She nodded. Dr. Cheryl Landry had given Lenora a checkup and said all was well. A huge relief. Despite all the craziness going on, her baby was still her first priority.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Stella continued, “how long have Clayton and you been together?”

Lenora nearly choked on the bite of lasagna she’d just taken. She looked at Clayton, trying to figure out what or what not to say.

“We’re not actually together,” Clayton answered.

“The baby wasn’t planned,” Lenora added.

“But he or she is still very much wanted,” Clayton added, as well.

That caused the others to glance around. If there’d been a picture of awkward in the dictionary, this would have been it.

“A grandbaby,” Kirby said, his voice a weak whisper. “Always wanted one of those.”

Stella nodded. “Well, if you’d asked me which of Kirby’s boys would be the first to be a daddy, I wouldn’t have said Clayton or Slade. Wyatt, for sure.”

Wyatt didn’t say a thing.

Clayton scraped his fork over the cheesy top of the lasagna but didn’t eat it. In fact, he was eating less than Lenora was. “You don’t think I’m father material?” he asked Stella.

“Didn’t say that. I think you’ll make a fine one, but before Kirby brought you here to the ranch, none of you boys exactly had good role models for daddies.”

Lenora remembered the discussion with the Ranger investigating Webb’s