by Dana Mentink
“Behind us a ways, from the direction of my cabin.”
“Shouldn’t we be running for it?” She breathed through the shuddering fear.
“Trail is exposed over the ridge. He’d have an easy time picking us off.” Mitch gripped her shoulder. “Quiet. Someone’s coming.”
She fought to breathe as she finally heard it for herself, the faint sound of hooves scuffling along the muddy trail. Wade, she knew, was an expert rider. He’d taken numerous lessons, and in fact, he’d met his first victim at the stables, a woman he’d imprisoned and killed after coercing her into handing over a large sum of money. It would be easy for him to ride the bumpy trail from the cabin to their hiding place with impressive speed.
Prickles danced over her skin, and she fought down the yelp of panic that threatened.
If she didn’t make it out alive, what would happen to Ben? She could not rely on her sister to raise him, not with Wade an ever-present threat to her and her own children. Roxanne had moved to the East Coast, changed her name, phone numbers, email, everything.
Nana Jo, the precious woman who had agreed to come to Roughwater with her to tend to Ben while she chased down Mitch, would not be able to evade Wade, either. They were safe for now, in a trailer Jane had rented for them, since she was keeping her distance and Nana Jo was on the lookout for any sign of Wade. The tough-as-nails woman knew Jane’s whole story and refused to be intimidated out of helping, but she was no match for Wade, especially after he’d found Nana’s house, where Jane rented a room. Who? How? The questions threatened to overwhelm her until she forced the thought through the panic. God loves Ben even more than I do. He will make a way for him, even if I’m not there.
Forcing herself to stay quiet, she counted the seconds, listening to the rider coming closer. Mitch crawled on his belly to a patch between the rocks that was raised enough that he could aim his rifle toward the trail where the rider would soon emerge around the sharp bend.
He looked at Jane and forced the reins into her shaking palm. “Take Rosie and run.”
Run where? The rocks closed in from every side, and she could barely make out the trail in the dark. Wade would find her in moments.
“Go,” he said fiercely. “Walk her away from the path before you mount. She’ll find a way down to the beach. Head north. You’ll find an inlet with a dock and a couple of boats. One is my dad’s. Go now, as far away as you can.”
Fear squeezed her insides. On shaking legs, she sidled up to Rosie and tugged at the reins. The horse shook her neck and snorted, seemingly reluctant to leave Mitch and Bud.
“Come on, Rosie,” she whispered.
Rosie danced from hoof to hoof.
The crunch of rock underfoot grew louder, closer, then slowed.
For a fleeting moment, she hoped Wade would turn around, give up on his pursuit.
Mitch aimed his rifle, squinting slightly with one eye.
There was a soft squeak of a saddle as the rider slid off his horse, coming toward them, one slow step at a time.
SEVEN
Mitch wedged his cheek to the stock, pressed with steady, even pressure taking the slack out of the trigger, ready for the shot as soon as he could be sure. Something didn’t feel right. Wade was insane, but he was not stupid. He knew Mitch was expecting an attack. Further, he knew the earlier gunshot had given him away. So why march straight forward into the line of fire?
Blood pounded in his temples, and his eyes burned as he stared at the point where Wade would emerge into view. Behind him he heard Jane struggling to get Rosie to obey, but he dared not turn his head to help her.
One more step, then the figure obscured by darkness stepped into view. Mitch increased the pressure on the trigger until he heard a familiar whistle.
“If you’re gonna shoot, don’t get the shirt. It’s new,” came the whispered drawl as Liam Pike walked slowly into view.
He breathed out a whoosh of relief and lowered the rifle. He felt Jane edge beside him.
“It’s okay.” He took the reins from her and led them back onto the path. “This is Liam Pike. He works at Roughwater Ranch.”
Liam wore his customary grin, the tousled red curls and stubbled chin as roguish as ever, but Mitch immediately detected the underlying gravity in his friend’s tone, the tightness of his shoulders. Liam was his brother, though not genetically, Liam’s only sister, Helen, close as his own. So too was Chad Jaggert, another member of the ranch family, Uncle Gus and Aunt Ginny’s unofficially adopted brood. Keeping their noise to a minimum, he led them all back into the screen of foliage.
“Heard a shot,” Mitch said.
Liam nodded. “I rode up to your cabin to check on you when we got a call from the marshal that Wade escaped. He was hiding behind your woodpile. He took a shot, but he’s not a proper marksman.” Liam huffed out a breath. “He shouldn’t have been able to get the drop on me.”
Mitch caught the emotion behind the easygoing Southern-boy facade. In the past, Liam Pike, former Green Beret, would never have missed the sounds of an ambush, but that was before a disease eroded his hearing, leaving him deaf in one ear and with damage in the other. He could hide his shame and frustration from everyone except for Mitch. Mitch offered a casual shrug. “Missed, that’s all that matters.”
“My reflexes are still good,” Liam said, his cocky grin back in place. “Lithe as a cat.” His gaze shifted to Jane, and he angled a questioning eyebrow.
“Jane Reyes,” Mitch said. He left the rest unsaid. Liam’s calculating glance told Mitch he’d put it all together. This was the former wife of a sadistic killer. “She says Wade is after her.”
He felt her stiffen beside him. “He is,” she said. “He almost killed both of us on the beach last night.”
Liam tapped his own temple and looked at Mitch’s battered forehead. “Souvenir?”
Mitch nodded. “To go with the scar on my cheek. I’m taking her to the ranch until the marshal arrives.”
“He rolled onto the ranch an hour ago.” Liam wiggled his cell phone at Mitch. “You’d know that if you had this clever device we like to call a satellite phone.”
Jane shot him a “that’s what I told him” smile. He ignored it. “Did the marshal come with you?”
Liam looked away for a moment. “I didn’t tell him where I was going. He was making calls when I left.”
Mitch wondered why Liam had decided to leave the marshal behind, but the question could wait until later. “Pops?”
“I called your father and told him. He’s okay, taking precautions.”
Mitch felt his muscles relax a fraction. “Figure Wade’s still around?”
He shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. Gonna be dawn soon, and I tracked him headed away from here. My guess is he’s gonna cut the horse loose and head to a car. Then again, he really hates you, so he might not be making prudent choices.”
“I’ll check the local stables to see if he rented a horse. Could have stolen it. Which marshal is assigned to this?”
“Guy by the name of Foley,” Liam answered.
Mitch exhaled, biting back a comment.
“Know him?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not best buddies?”
Mitch didn’t reply. Liam shot another quick glance at Jane and then away. He’d save his questions for later. No way was a Green Beret going to share information in front of a potential hostile. Was that what Jane was? He didn’t know for sure, but he wished anybody but Al Foley was heading up the operation. They had a history, and it wasn’t one he wanted to revisit. Ever.
One problem at a time, he told himself.
He helped Jane astride Bud and swung into the saddle on Rosie. “We’ll get there as quick as possible. Most likely Wade has left, like Liam said.”
“Is Liam coming, too?” Jane turned in the saddle to look for him and gasped. “He’s
already gone.”
Of course he was. Separately they had a much better chance of evading Wade and even tracking him. Liam’s hearing might not be acute, but he had plenty of remaining skill. A formidable fighter, a worthy brother.
Mitch had a feeling he was going to be calling upon all of Liam’s skills very soon indeed.
* * *
Jane endured the ride, which took nearly two hours since they stopped frequently to listen for sounds of pursuit. The sense of being stalked and her rudimentary riding skills left her muscles screaming. Finally, as dawn broke, they emerged from the woods at the edge of a vast plateau that overlooked the misty Pacific Ocean. The sun lightened the sky from slate to silver, outlining a sprawling set of Mission-style buildings. At the entrance to the grounds was a sign spelling out Roughwater Ranch in iron letters. The stucco walls of the main house were topped with bronzed tiles on the roof, the central structure towering over the lower parts, backed by wooded green hills to the rear. It was gorgeous and not at all the type of place where she would have pictured a roughened cowboy like Mitch Whitehorse.
An unmarked car was parked in the driveway. Jane had spent enough time during Wade’s trial being followed by police that she recognized a cop car when she saw one. They’d protected her from the press and the public hatred until the moment Wade was convicted, and then she’d had to face the aftermath alone. Even when her mother had the stroke that would later end her life, Jane had to disguise herself and sneak into the hospital to avoid reporters eager to flay her in the public eye. With the exception of her precious friend Nana Jo, she’d been completely alone ever since.
And now the horror was starting up all over again. Jane’s breath caught. Mitch would deliver her and Ben to the marshal. Then it would be a life spent in safe houses and watching over her shoulder until the moment Wade found her again, as she knew he would. Trying to keep her legs from collapsing, she slid off Bud before Mitch could dismount from Rosie. If he figured he would hand her over like a Christmas goose, he was in for a surprise. God had given her Ben, and she would do right by him until there was no breath left in her body. Surreptitiously she tried to smooth her rumpled jacket and wipe a smudge from the leg of her damp jeans.
Liam approached along a wide graveled road that bordered a split-rail fence. He led an elegant black horse by the reins. Somehow he’d managed to beat them back to the property unnoticed. He politely took the reins from her and Mitch.
“I’ll see to the horses. Join you in a few.” He left them to make their way into the main house. She forced her stiff joints to keep up with Mitch’s long-legged stride. He let himself in the ornate front door and held it for her to enter, chivalry she had not expected.
The place was all dark woods, white walls and burnished Spanish tile floors. Past a sturdy stand that displayed an oiled saddle, she followed Mitch through an arched entry into a massive dining area. The interior begged for her attention, particularly the display of orchids thriving along the windowsill, but she was drawn instead to the three men and one woman seated at a long, solid wood table. Two of the men stood when she entered; the one in uniform did not.
The small woman with the silver pixie cut, energetic and lithe, walked to Jane, solemnly extending a palm. “Hello. You must be Jane. I’m Mary Knightly, but everyone who sets foot on Roughwater Ranch winds up calling me Aunt Ginny.” She did not exactly smile, but she quirked a look at Mitch. “Liam called earlier. You could have called, too, with the cell phone we gave you at Christmas. You remember that present, right?”
Mitch sighed. “Yes, ma’am. Liam already roasted me about that.”
“It’s still in the box, isn’t it?” When Mitch didn’t answer at first, she arched an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sounding like a chastised little boy.
Now Jane saw Ginny allow a slight smile. “Mitch will tell you his determined streak comes from the proud Cherokee ancestry on his father’s side, but I think it’s a condition called stubbornness that all the men inherit around here.”
“And the women,” the older man piped up. He too extended a calloused hand, his dark eyes genial but guarded. “I’m Gus Knightly, Uncle Gus to her Aunt Ginny. Mitch’s mom was my big sis.” He gestured to a young man whose sober expression left him unreadable. “This is Chad Jaggert. You’ve met Mitch, our nephew, and Liam. Chad’s our unofficial son, along with Liam.”
Chad fingered the cowboy hat in his hands and nodded politely. “Ma’am.”
The marshal got to his feet and cleared his throat as if interrupting.
“And this is Marshal Al Foley.”
Foley nodded. He was a stocky man, muscled rather than fat, perhaps a few years older than Mitch and a head shorter. Fatigue lines bracketed his mouth, and the bags under his eyes were pronounced. “Ms. Whitehorse.”
“Reyes,” Jane corrected instantly.
“Ms. Reyes,” he went on with a hint of something in his tone. “I’m sure we both appreciate the Knightly family for trying to make you feel at home, but this isn’t a social occasion. Come sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He glowered. “Stand, then. There’s more at stake here than your comfort.”
Mitch rolled a shoulder. “We’ve been riding for hours, and she’s not used to that.”
The marshal’s mouth twitched. “Guess you being retired, you’re not, either, huh, Whitehorse? Living the quiet life here in Driftwood away from the action?”
Mitch didn’t reply, but Jane saw a vein jump in his jaw.
“You two used to work together?” Gus said.
“More alongside each other,” Mitch said.
Foley’s gaze stayed on him for a moment before traveling to Jane.
“I’m sorry if this is an inconvenient time, but I need to talk to you immediately.”
“Not immediately,” Ginny said.
The marshal and Mitch both jerked a questioning look at her.
“Her clothes are damp.” Ginny took Jane by the forearm, guiding her away. “She needs to get something dry on. We’ll be back in a minute.”
“But...” the marshal sputtered.
Ginny paid him no mind and sailed along with Jane in tow. They reached a bedroom with two twin beds covered by neat hand-stitched quilts. “I’d give you some of my things, but as Gus says, I’m ‘fun sized,’ so mine won’t fit. Helen leaves clothes here for when she visits unexpectedly.” Ginny rummaged in the drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read “Love me, love my horse.”
“I...I appreciate it very much,” Jane said. “But I’d better get back to the marshal. He’s...”
Ginny leveled a look at Jane that dried up all her words. “Jane, I don’t know what your story is, what you did or didn’t know about Wade Whitehorse. I suppose that’s not my business anyway, but I will never allow a man, any man, to boss a woman under my roof. Am I clear?” Her eyes sparked blue fire.
Jane closed her open mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled.
“Call me Aunt Ginny,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Bathroom’s through there. There’s an ancient phone if you need it. Come out when you’re settled. I’ll find you something to eat.”
She left, leaving the bedroom door open and Jane standing there, clutching the offered clothing. Hastening to the bathroom, Jane stripped away her sodden garments and pulled on the borrowed items. She and Helen must be roughly the same dimensions, since the clothes fit well enough. She balled up the wet ones and put them in a corner of the bathroom, and then she all but ran to the phone, dialing Nana Jo’s number on the clunky push-button pad. After four interminable rings, Nana Jo answered.
“Jane, I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right?” Nana Jo’s voice was breathless and high.
“I’m okay. Wade found me, but I got away.”
Silence followed by a weak sigh. “Oh, Jane.
I can’t believe this is starting all over again. Should I pack?”
“No,” she said savagely. “I’m getting help.”
“From Wade’s brother? But doesn’t he think...?”
“That I’m complicit, yes, but I am going to convince him to help me.” I have to.
“Jane, maybe we should go. My cousin in Idaho...”
“Nana, I can’t, don’t you see? There’s nowhere to run from this. I have to make a stand if Ben’s ever going to have a life. If you can just watch him a little longer...” She hated the pleading that crept into her voice.
“You know I will as long as I can.”
“It will be safe if Wade doesn’t know about Ben. Can I talk to him for a minute?”
“Sure.” In a moment Jane heard the sound of a child’s breathing on the line. Her breathing hitched hard. “Hey, Ben Bear, it’s Mommy.”
“Hi, Mommy,” he said.
Tears crowded her eyes, and she thought she might not be able to squeeze out anything further. “What are you doing with Nana Jo?” she managed.
“Twains.”
“You’re playing trains? That sounds like fun. I am going to see you real soon, okay? I miss you.”
She heard Nana Jo prompting him to say goodbye.
“I love you, Ben Bear.”
“Wuv you, Mommy.”
Wuv you, Mommy. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she hung up the receiver. Turning to the door, she started to see Mitch, standing uncertainly, dark eyes watching. He held a fluffy pink towel that Aunt Ginny must have figured she might want.
Having him witness her uncloaked fear and pain made her suddenly angry.
“Are you surprised to see the monster’s wife can cry?” she snapped.
His mouth opened as if he were about to say something. Instead he closed it, put the towel gently down on the closest bed and walked away.
EIGHT
I love you, Ben Bear.
It was the combination of the words and the anguish in the tone that made the scene stick in Mitch’s mind as he returned to the dining room. All right, he told himself. So she loves her kid. Maybe she changed after she gave birth. Women did, he knew, and men. Becoming a parent altered people in intangible ways. He used to daydream about how he would be different when he and Paige Lynn were married, until he’d learned the hard way that for the Whitehorses, dreams evaporated quickly but hardships stuck around.
