Free Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) by Russell Blake Page B

photo album. After a few minutes he set it down next to the knife.
    “Jack, thanks for the hospitality. If it’s all right, I’ll be back in the morning. Is there a decent motel around here?”
    “Hell, boy, you don’t need to go to any motel. If you don’t mind a little dust and Allie’s snoring sawing through the walls, you can take the third bedroom. Got plenty of space.”
    “I feel like I’ve imposed on you enough.”
    “No skin off my back.”
    Drake smiled. “I thought you were going to shoot me earlier?”
    “You try to sneak into Allie’s room, you can damn sure bet that prophecy’s going to come true. Knife or no knife, a double load of twelve-aught buck’ll stop you dead.”
    “I can hear you threatening the guest, you know. I’m not deaf,” Allie called from the kitchen.
    “You mind your beeswax. I was just laying down the ground rules.”
    The kitchen doorway darkened as her slim form moved into it, the warm glow of the lights behind framing her like a soft halo.
    Her brow scrunched as she frowned. “Right. I heard. No rape. Good rule. We should have it stamped on the soap. Or I could embroider it on the pillows. Y’all come back now, but no rapin’, ya hear? ”
    “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea–” Drake started, but Allie cut him off.
    “No, now I insist. And you better bar your door. Double lock it. Because those Texas women can eat you alive, like a black widow. Wanton lust on the plains. Isn’t that right, Dad?”
    Jack regarded Drake with a tired expression and shrugged. “You may need that little knife of yours.”
    Drake looked at Allie and grinned. “I’ll be fine. I know karate.”

    Chapter Eleven
    The night crawled on as Drake tossed and turned, his mind running at hyper-speed to process Jack’s revelations about his father. He eventually drifted off at two a.m., no soft knock on the door and invitation to romantic interludes forthcoming.
    He awoke to pans clattering in the kitchen and the mouthwatering smell of bacon and coffee. After a hurried shower in a claw-foot antique tub, he ran a comb through his wet hair, pulled on a shirt and jeans, and made his way down the hall to Allie in the kitchen. Jack was watching her go about her chores from the dining room table, a steaming mug of coffee before him.
    “There he is. How did you sleep?” Jack asked.
    “Fine. Like a baby,” Drake lied, surreptitiously eyeing Allie as she broke three eggs into a bowl and expertly whipped them with a fork.
    “Hope scrambled’s okay. It’s the only thing I know how to make,” Allie said.
    “I love scrambled eggs. Especially with bacon.”
    “Then you’re in luck. Coming right up.”
    Breakfast was delicious. When Jack had finished, he moved into the living room with his second cup of coffee and took up his familiar position in the easy chair. Drake joined him after being shooed out of the kitchen, his offer to help with the dishes rebuffed. He sat down across from Jack and went through the photo album again, carefully removing a half-dozen snapshots before closing the cover.
    “I’ll get these copied and bring them back. I’m sure there’s some place with a scanner around here,” he said.
    “No need. They’re yours. With my compliments, young man. Your father would have wanted that.”
    “No, really. They’re just as much yours as mine. A part of history.” Drake paused, having grappled for most of the night with whether to come clean with his father’s friend. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Jack, I haven’t been completely honest with you. When I told you that Patricia left a few notes, I mean. She left a lot more than that. I’ve…I’ve also got my dad’s journal.”
    Jack stared at him and leaned forward, his tone hushed. “The journal? You have it?”
    “Yes. Patricia left it to me. I just didn’t understand its significance until I spoke with you. I didn’t realize that it was anything more than the notes of a deluded man chasing a