by Janet Dailey
“That’s a relief. Come on back to bed.” She raised the covers, giving him room to slide under. Nestling close, she breathed in the warm, clean aroma of his skin. “I don’t want morning to come,” she whispered. “I want to stay here, with you.”
He kissed her. “Morning always comes, love—until the day when it doesn’t. I know you’re going to have a lot on your shoulders. But you’re strong and smart. You’ll do your father proud.”
“Not if I lose the Rimrock to the bank.”
His arms tightened around her. “I know that if you go down, you’ll go down fighting all the way. But you mustn’t blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“Blaming is a waste of time and breath. Tomorrow morning I’ll be sitting down with Sky and Lauren to draw up a financial statement of the ranch’s assets and liabilities. With that in hand, I’ll start a round of calling on the big banks in Lubbock. My dad only borrowed half the value of the ranch to buy out Beau. The rest is free and clear. With that much collateral, surely someone will be interested in refinancing. That’s the last hope.”
“You’ll make it work,” he said. “I have faith in you.”
“Thanks.” She nuzzled the warm hollow at the base of his throat. “I wish you could come with me.”
Erin regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. The last thing she needed, when approaching bank officials, was a boyfriend in tow. She needed to come across as a capable, independent woman.
“My specialty is horses, not banks,” Luke said. “I’ll be right here, getting your cow ponies shod for the roundup.”
And what would happen after his work was finished? she wondered. Would he leave and move on? Luke was a man who had to feel useful. Hanging around the ranch, working as a common cowhand or looking for things to do, was bound to wear on him. And if she lost the ranch . . . Erin tried to imagine a future without the Rimrock. She’d have nothing—a young woman barely out of her teens, with no job skills beyond handling horses. If Luke were fool enough to marry her, she’d be a burden, following him around from job to job or pining away at home because he was always gone.
It was unthinkable. She wouldn’t do that to him.
Luke stirred beside her. “Something tells me you’re not going back to sleep,” he said. “I can almost feel your mind working.”
“Which means I’ll be keeping you awake, too, if I stay,” she said. “You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since your arrest. You deserve better than this. I’m going back to the house. We’ll have other nights.”
Luke didn’t argue as she gave him a long, deep kiss, slipped out of bed, and pulled on her clothes. He was exhausted, she knew, and their lovemaking—she smiled at the memory—hadn’t exactly reinforced his strength. He would probably be asleep by the time she was out the door.
“See you in the morning,” she whispered, brushing a kiss on his lips. Then she stepped outside, into the night.
Henry slithered across her path as she crossed the yard, patrolling the place for rats, mice, and the occasional rattler. Good old Henry. If someone else took over the Rimrock, they would probably kill him on sight. Before she let that happen, she would trap him and release him into the escarpment.
But she couldn’t think of that now. Somehow she would have to find a way to save her beloved ranch.
Tomorrow she would begin.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TEN DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE LUKE’S RELEASE FROM JAIL AND Hunter Cardwell’s arrest for Will’s murder. The split-level house on the syndicate ranch stood empty. Vivian Cardwell and her son were both gone without a trace.
Rose, too, was gone. She had flown home to Wyoming to finalize the sale of her house to her brother-in-law. Once that was done, and her possessions boxed and loaded in a trailer, she’d be driving her truck back to Texas, where workers were already clearing the land for the prefabricated log home she’d ordered.
Rose had earned a settled, comfortable future, Erin mused as she gazed out the office window, watching the flight of a red-tailed hawk. Sadly, her own future, and the future of the Rimrock, remained as bleak as the sun-parched landscape outside. She’d applied for the refinance at four different banks. Three of them had already turned her down. The loan officer at the fourth bank had promised to let her know the board’s decision by this afternoon. She was waiting for the call now.
Faintly, across the yard, she could hear the ping of Luke’s hammer as he shaped a shoe on the anvil. It was a comforting sound, a sound she had come to love—a sound she would sorely miss when he was gone.
Things were good between them, more than good, especially the nights when she stole into his bed in the duplex and stayed until just before dawn. His tender, passionate loving had ushered her from girlhood into womanhood. But there were rules between them. He refused to come to her room in the house, and, by unspoken agreement, neither of them talked about the future. It was a closed door, to be opened only when the time came.
The ringing landline phone on the desk jerked her attention back to the present. She glanced at the caller ID. Her pulse broke into a gallop. It was the loan officer from the bank.
Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver. She was braced for another disappointment, but that cruel spark of hope refused to die.
“Miss Tyler?”
“Yes?” She willed her voice not to quiver.
“This is Dan Farley over at Texas First National. How are y’all doing today?”
How am I doing? “That depends on what you have to tell me.”
“Well, since you’re not in the mood for chitchat, I’ll get right to the decision. I’m right sorry, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to help you out.”
Her heart sank. Why had she even bothered to apply? “Can you tell me why?” she asked. “The value is there, and I’m only asking half of what the ranch is worth.”
“Oh, the ranch is fine. We all agreed on that. The problem is you, Miss Tyler. You’re a nineteen-year-old girl, barely out of high school, with no credit history. You’ve never even bought a car—for that matter, you don’t even have your own credit card. If you were a man, maybe—”
“This is the twenty-first century. What you just said is called discrimination.”
“Well, sorry, miss, that’s just the way it is. All I can do is wish you better luck somewhere else.”
Erin hung up the phone and slumped over the desk. The four banks she’d tried were the largest and the most likely to make big loans at a fair rate. Now she’d be faced with the second tier of institutions, the smaller banks, loan companies, and credit unions, some of them with tarnished reputations. There was always the chance that they could cheat her out of her property. And then there were private lenders who advertised—a frightening prospect, only for the desperate. She was a little fish in a sea of sharks. But she couldn’t give up. She had to keep trying.
She could call Beau and ask him for advice. But no, Beau, through no bad intent, was the cause of this mess. She could understand now why her father had been so angry with him.
She was getting a headache. Right now, what she needed was fresh air and Luke’s calming presence. He wouldn’t tell her what to do. That wasn’t Luke’s way. But he would listen while she talked through her problems and arrived at her own understanding.
She loved him for that. And she needed him. She needed his strength and his quiet acceptance of her as the person she was. She needed his arms in the night and his wisdom in all the days of her life. But to tell him that might make him feel trapped. If he decided to stay, it would have to be of his own free choice.
She followed the sound of his hammer and found him in the large pen, under the open shed roof. He had taken off his shirt. His muscular torso gleamed with sweat. A paint gelding was tied to the fence. A half dozen other horses drowsed around the water trough as they waited their turn.
Erin stood by the fence, watching him work, waiting for him to look up and notice her.
After a few minut
es he turned and saw her. One look at her face told him what had happened. “They turned you down,” he said.
She nodded. “I’m trying to be a big girl about it, but I feel like I’ve been thrown in a lake and left to drown—and I’m about to go under for the third time.”
“Hang on.” He came out through the gate, closed it behind him, and took her in his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his manly aroma and tasting the salt on his skin. He held her—simply held her, without trying to tell her that everything would be all right. Luke always seemed to know what she needed.
“What now?” he asked, after a brief silence. “I can feel you thinking.”
“Just grasping at straws,” she said. “Someone in one of the banks told me about this investment group. It’s a long shot. They do business loans, not real estate loans. But the ranch is a business.”
“So, do you think it’s worth talking to them?”
“What have I got to lose? The worst they can do is say no. And there are other lenders, just not as good or as safe as the banks. I can’t quit and let the ranch go, Luke. I’ve got to keep trying.”
“I know.” He kissed the spot where her hairline peaked at the midline of her forehead. “So when are you going back to Lubbock? You’ve been running back and forth almost every day. Maybe you need a break.”
“No break. There’s no point in wasting time. I might as well go tomorrow. Everything’s under control here, isn’t it?”
“As far as I know. Sky runs a tight ship. The men know their jobs, and so do I.”
“Then I guess that’s the plan,” Erin said. “Want to come to supper tonight? Carmen’s going home early, and Rose is gone, so it’ll be just you and me.”
“Sounds good.” He released her with a grin. “I’d better get back to work. The boss lady doesn’t take kindly to slackers.”
“Go then.” She gave his rump a playful slap. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Erin walked back to the house with a spring in her step. Luke had a way of lifting her spirits and making her feel strong and capable. She still had a load of worry on her shoulders, but for tonight, at least, she would put it aside and enjoy her time with the man she loved.
* * *
Deep in the escarpment, the dry night wind moaned through the canyons like a living thing. The crescent moon gleamed like the blade of a silver scimitar against the black night sky. Coyote calls echoed across the foothills.
In the sheltered hollow beneath a ledge, Marie lit a cigarette, leaned back against a boulder, and watched the smoke rise into the darkness.
Three days ago, she’d returned to her vantage point above the Rimrock Ranch. This time she had a faster bike and a gun—both stolen. And this time she was determined to finish what she’d started.
She’d been too cautious in the past. Her resolve to make Erin Tyler’s death look like an accident had cost her precious time. And time was running out. She needed to make the hit, collect Stella’s stashed drugs, and get out of the country. Faking the murder to look accidental didn’t matter now. If the law caught up with her, she’d go down for killing a cop.
The plan she’d come up with was relatively simple but would take split-second timing. For the past two mornings, she’d watched Erin Tyler walk out to her old brown station wagon, dressed for the city and carrying a briefcase. Wherever she was going, probably Lubbock, she would most likely be taking the freeway.
The best version of Marie’s plan depended on the little Tyler bitch making the drive again, hopefully tomorrow. If it didn’t happen, she could carry out her attack on a different road. But the freeway would make for an easier approach and a faster getaway.
Closing her eyes, Marie rehearsed the plan in her head. The lumbering wagon wouldn’t have much speed. It would probably be in the right-hand lane. On her old but sweet Harley-Davidson Dyna Low Rider, which she’d stolen when the owner left his keys on the bar to use the restroom, she’d have no trouble catching up to the wagon and speeding away after the shots were fired—at least two rounds, she calculated. Three, just to be safe. Her helmet, worn with the visor down, would hide her face and hair. By the time the out-of-control car rolled off the freeway or crashed into oncoming traffic, she’d be long gone.
The pistol, a .357 Magnum she’d lifted from the front seat of a parked car, was a cold weight in the shoulder holster she wore under her leather jacket. Marie touched it, as if to reassure herself that it was there, loaded and ready. Just do it, she told herself. Get it over with, get the drugs, and you’ll be free.
* * *
Luke had finished morning chores and was washing his hands at the outside tap when he saw Erin come out of the house. She headed for her station wagon, then turned and saw him. As she crossed the yard, he stepped into the barn to give them some privacy.
Balancing her briefcase, she ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. A few hours ago they’d been in his bed together, but she greeted him as if they’d been apart for weeks. He loved that about her—the way she gave herself with total abandon, holding nothing back. As he held her, he imagined waking up to that sweet love every morning, giving her babies, and watching them grow up. Could he be the steady, caring husband she needed by her side? Could he be a good father to their children? Could he love her as freely and trustingly as she loved him?
Sometimes, like now, his feelings for Erin were so intense that they scared him. Could he be the man she needed and deserved? Or would his restless nature cause him to let her down and break her heart?
His arms released her. His eyes looked her up and down. She was wearing new jeans and a denim blazer over a pink silk blouse. Her boots were freshly polished. “You’re a knockout this morning,” he said.”
She laughed. “The look I was aiming for is tough, successful businesswoman. Wish me luck.”
“You’ve got all my wishes. Maybe this will be the day when something good happens.”
“I hope so. Gotta go.” She stretched on tiptoe to brush a kiss over his lips, then turned and strode across the yard toward her car.
Luke watched her walk away, admiring her spunk. He would have given anything if he could take on her burden and make her troubles go away. But there was nothing he could do except be here, and give her refuge when the going got rough.
As she reached the old, brown station wagon and climbed inside, a chill crept over him—a premonition that something wasn’t right. Luke had learned to trust his instincts, but this time there appeared to be no cause for alarm. Will’s killer was behind bars, and there’d been no sign of the mysterious intruder since the shooting at the Blue Coyote. Sky’s cousin had probably left the country.
He could shout at Erin, stop her from leaving, and insist that she stay here. But he knew she wouldn’t listen. She would laugh, call him an old worry wart, and drive away.
All he could do was let her go. But he wouldn’t take an easy breath until she was safely home again.
* * *
Marie cut across the flatlands and along the back roads. At the junction with the highway she idled the bike and waited until the brown station wagon had passed, then followed about two hundred yards behind. Perfect timing, she congratulated herself. Now all she had to do was keep back, out of sight, until the vehicle was on the freeway. At the right spot, she would speed up, come even with the wagon, draw the .375 Magnum, put a couple of shots through the driver’s side window, and lose herself in the morning commuter traffic. Mission accomplished.
The plan sounded almost too easy. But she’d rehearsed it in her mind at least a hundred times. The critical part was holding steady when the time came to draw and fire. Do it right, and Erin Tyler would be dead before she knew what had hit her. Do it wrong . . . but she couldn’t afford to do it wrong. Not this time.
After the first twenty miles or so, the traffic grew heavier as commuters, heading for work in the city, merged onto the freeway. By now the lanes were crowded enough for her bike to blend in, but moving well enough
to allow for speed. Marie could see the station wagon ahead of her, in the right-hand lane, just as she’d expected. The lane next to it was clear. It was now or never.
Adrenaline poured through Marie’s body. Her pulse kicked into high gear as she accelerated—fast enough to come even with the wagon, but not too fast for her to aim and fire. She drew the pistol. Now she could see the driver’s profile through the side window. It was Erin Tyler, all right. And she was looking straight ahead.
Steering with her left hand and aiming with her right, Marie fired two quick shots. She glimpsed a crimson splatter on the cracked glass, but she couldn’t stick around to check the extent of damage. With a roar, the bike shot ahead, moving forward, then to the left, where it zigzagged into the main stream of automobiles. Minutes later, as the city neared, she slowed, secured the gun in its holster, and let the bike mingle with the heavy morning commuter traffic. From somewhere far behind her, she could hear the wail of sirens.
She had done it. She had killed Erin Tyler and made a clean getaway. Euphoria surged. As it filled her like a drug, she raised the visor on her helmet, flung back her head, and shrilled a Comanche war cry.
* * *
When he saw Carmen rushing out of the house, Luke suspected that something had happened. When she came closer, and he saw her wild-eyed, stricken face, he knew.
With a silent prayer on his lips, he ran to meet her.
“I just saw it on TV,” she gasped, struggling for breath. “They didn’t give a name, but I know it was Erin—”
“What happened?” He clasped her shoulders to steady her.
“A driver, shot on the freeway south of Lubbock—brown Chevy station wagon. It rolled down an embankment and crashed at the bottom. They showed the car. It was Erin’s. I know it was her!”
“What about Erin? Is she alive?” It was all Luke could do to keep from shaking the poor woman.
“They—they said the driver, a woman, had been air-lifted to the hospital in critical condition. That’s all I know. The TV’s on in the house. Maybe we can find out more.”
