by Dana Mentink
“Uh, it’s Uncle Mitch, not Moo Moo,” Jane said, with a laugh. “Sorry, we’re still working on our words.”
Mitch shrugged, and she thought she caught the glimmer of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been called worse.” He took a knee so as to be eye level with Ben.
“Do you like cats, Ben?”
He nodded vigorously.
“What are you going to name him?”
Ben squinched his brows in thought. “Catty Cat.”
Mitch did smile now, and she thought the act transformed him into someone altogether different. He laughed, a low, rumbling sound, the first time she’d heard it. Her heart squeezed. Perhaps if Wade had not been Mitch’s brother, the stoic mask he wore would not have become permanent.
Nana Jo got Ben settled in a wooden chair with a toaster waffle. She set the kitten to work lapping at a bowl of milk while Ben watched in absolute fascination.
Mitch sidled closer to Jane and handed her a mug of coffee. “Milk and sugar?”
“Black.”
He nodded appreciatively. “We have to go. I’ve called the ranch already. Ginny and Gus are on board with you and Ben staying there.”
“But do they understand...?”
“They understand the risks completely. And what’s more, Aunt Ginny said if I don’t bring you, she’s sending Liam and Chad to fetch us.”
Gratitude made her eyes well up. “We’ll try not to be a bother.”
“No bother, but I want to leave here before sunup.”
She lowered her mug, sloshing some on her jeans. “What happened?”
“That reporter came yesterday. She knows there’s a child here. Might put things together.”
Now Jane was heading for the hallway. “I’ll grab Ben’s bag.”
“I already packed it before you got up,” Nana Jo said, patting a duffel bag with a train emblazoned on the front. “Clothes, snacks, shoes and his train collection. Mitch and I got the car seat in the truck already.”
Jane saw that Nana Jo already knew of their plans to leave her. “How can I ever thank you?” She hugged Nana tight.
“You come see me when you have your life back,” Nana said, through tears. “I will pray for the day I see you and Ben on my doorstep, free of all this.”
“Me, too,” Jane said, trying to stem her own flow of tears.
She’d just about summoned up the strength to go when there was a knock at the door.
She froze.
“All of you into the bedroom,” Mitch growled.
She took Ben by the hand and hurried away, heart thumping.
As Mitch approached the door, he drew a handgun she hadn’t known he’d been carrying.
Jane began to pray.
* * *
Mitch eyed the stranger out the window, standing in the weak puddle of porch light, a tall woman with glasses, around Mitch’s age, probably, wearing jeans and a button-up plaid shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail with streaks of gray twined into the dark. She didn’t look completely comfortable in the outfit, as if it was a costume she’d put on.
“Be right there,” Mitch called. Then he crept out the back door and circled around the front, pulling his revolver and edging close. The woman whipped around as Mitch came near, surprisingly alert.
She raised her hands, her bulky camera tucked under her shoulder. “Not very neighborly.” Her voice was husky, as if she was a smoker.
“Neighbors don’t show up before sunrise. What do you want?”
She tried a smile and didn’t get one in return, so she shrugged. “I’m Elaine Barber. I’m a reporter.”
“For what paper?”
“The West Coast Bee.”
“Okay. I have nothing to say to a reporter. Get lost.”
“I know you’re Mitch Whitehorse and I know your family history. Why are you here?”
“I said get lost. You’re trespassing.”
“But not on your property. This trailer was rented by a woman a week ago. What brings you here?”
“Invited guest. You’re not. Time to go.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “If you don’t want to tell me anything, let me share some conjecture. I think you’ve got Jane Reyes Whitehorse hidden away in this trailer. Am I right?”
Mitch stepped closer. “You’re about to get escorted off this porch step.”
Barber backed up a step, palms raised. “Look. This story is hot, and it’s going to press one way or another. The climate around here is... Well, let’s just say there are locals I’ve talked to who followed the case closely, and they haven’t forgotten all that hate and anger they’ve stockpiled toward Wade...and his wife.”
Anger flashed like an electric shock across his nerves. “Yeah, I guess that’s your job, isn’t it? To rake up muck to sell a story.”
“The muck’s already on the surface, once Wade hit town. He burned down your cabin, didn’t he?”
Mitch didn’t answer.
“If you want to protect Jane Reyes, the best way is to tell me the facts, and we can work out what’s safe to reveal.”
“I’ve never met a reporter who cared what kind of damage their stories did.”
“I’m not your average reporter,” she said.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“All right, I’ll go, but I’ll be around.” Gingerly, she removed a business card from her pocket and extended it to Mitch, her cell number scrawled on the back.
Mitch didn’t take it, so Barber tucked it under the porch mat. “Call me,” she said. “Soon.”
Mitch waited until Barber’s battered Chevy had clattered out of the trailer park before he holstered his weapon and returned to the house.
Jane stood in the kitchen. “I heard what she said. It’s all starting again, isn’t it?” A glimmer of a bitter smile. “The town will be preparing the tar and feathers.”
“No. I won’t let that happen.”
“Not so long ago you would have been heating that tar along with them.”
“I was wrong. So are they.”
“What should we do?”
“Load up in the truck.”
The seconds that passed between them told him it was another decision point for Jane—whether to continue to trust him or not. He knew from his work with the horses that trust was not a onetime decision. In the beginning it was a series of back-and-forth steps, a constant testing to see how much tension the rope would hold. She had good reasons not to trust him or any man ever again, but he found himself waiting, hoping with every cell that she would believe in him.
After one more endless moment, she turned to the bedroom. “Come on out, Ben Bear. Let’s go to Uncle Mitch’s ranch.”
Mitch blew out a silent breath and ushered them outside. He’d have to be sure the persistent Barber wasn’t going to follow them.
Ben hummed a constant stream of songs that Mitch hadn’t heard of as they drove back to the ranch, the kitten sitting as close to Ben as it could manage. Mitch didn’t think Ben’s head was high enough to see out the window until he squealed when they drove onto ranch property.
“Cows!”
Jane laughed. “Yes, Ben. Uncle Mitch works on a cattle ranch.”
Mitch waved to Liam, who was returning from his rounds. He was sweaty and dirty and looked profoundly satisfied. He knew the feeling. There was nothing like riding across the sprawling property, keeping tabs on the grass-fed, free-range cattle. The bulls had been turned out with the cows, and the summer months would tell which of the cows were pregnant. In the fall, a whole new group of boisterous calves would be given radio frequency identification tags. The RFID and color-coded tags made it easier to identify the animals from a distance.
Pride swelled inside him. The irrigated pastureland produced adult cattle that tipped the scales at twelve h
undred pounds by the time they were two years old. Part of his job was to keep the cattle accustomed to a simple human presence. Without human contact, the animals would quickly become wild.
Liam edged Streak close to the stopped truck, and Mitch heard Ben’s inhalation. “Horse,” he whispered.
Mitch lowered the rear passenger window. “That’s Ben in the back.”
Liam thumbed back his cowboy hat, peered into the back seat and waved a leather-gloved hand while Streak lipped the glass. Ben’s high-pitched giggle made them all laugh.
“Kid likes horses,” Liam said. “Gonna be a regular cowboy someday.”
“Yeah,” Mitch said, as Liam waved goodbye and led his horse to the stables. Of course he’s gonna like horses, Mitch wanted to say. He’s my nephew. The thought dumbfounded him, along with the prideful sensation in which it was wrapped. He could not possibly feel as though Ben, a boy he’d just met, from a brother he could not stand to think about, was his kin. He was so unsettled at his own reaction, he bypassed the house, mechanically heading for the stables. Reversing course, he took them back.
Helen’s van was parked there, Roughwater Lodge emblazoned on the side. He held the car door while Jane extracted Ben from the complicated car seat straps. She wanted to carry him, but the boy insisted on walking, clutching her hand. Gutsy, Mitch thought, in admiration. He had Jane’s narrow face, but he thought he could detect the long-legged stature of the Whitehorse clan. That almost made him stop. This was Wade’s son. Had Wade’s twisted sickness been passed down in the DNA? He figured Jane must have spent a lot of time worrying about that very thing.
But Wade and Mitch were both the product of the same parents, and they couldn’t be more different. He considered the passion burning inside him to capture Wade. Both brothers were ferociously determined. Two sides of the same coin? He swallowed hard and ushered them into the house.
SIXTEEN
A woman greeted them in the foyer, her long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. A pencil poked out from just above the hair tie, where she must have tucked it. She immediately held out a hand to Jane. “Helen Pike,” she said. “I’m Liam’s sister.”
Jane noted the wide smile that mirrored her brother’s, the eyes a similar shade of blue, striking against her freckled skin. She introduced herself, and Helen bent to wiggle her fingers at Ben. “Hi, sweetie. I brought some toys for you to play with.”
“Oh, that was so kind, but you didn’t need to do that,” Jane protested.
“I manage the Roughwater Lodge about two miles from here. We have a whole kids’ area and more toys than we can store. Besides, I love playing blocks, and I don’t have a building pal.”
“I didn’t know there was a lodge on the property.”
“Ranching is always capital intensive and return deficient.”
Jane found herself grinning at this outgoing woman who spoke about business and blocks in the same breath.
Mitch chuckled. “You can tell she has way too many college degrees. She’s as smart as her brother.”
“Smarter,” Helen said with a wink. “What a sweet little kitty,” she said as Ben pointed to the kitten wiggling in the crook of Jane’s arm.
“Catty Cat,” Ben said solemnly.
“Of course. What else would you call a cat?” Helen said with a laugh. As her gaze traveled to Ben, Jane thought she saw a haze of sadness momentarily dull Helen’s good cheer. “He reminds me of...a friend of mine. She had twin girls. They must be about this age by now. I haven’t seen them since they were a few months old.”
Jane nodded. “Time goes by so fast sometimes. It’s hard to stay in touch.”
“Their mother was my best friend. She, um, died a year ago.” A ten-second pause before she whispered the rest, so low Jane almost missed it. “She was murdered, actually.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jane said.
“Me, too.” Helen blew out a breath and shook her head before the smile was back in place. “Anyway, the toys are in the dining room. Want to see them, Ben?”
Ben nodded, and they trekked into the living room, where Ginny joined them, an iPad tucked under her arm. She gasped in delight when she saw Ben.
“Well, hello, Ben. I’m Aunt Ginny. I’m so happy you’re here to visit.”
Ben didn’t say anything, but his eyes rounded at the sight of a basket filled with toy cars. He beelined right for them, hunkering down on the throw rug, Catty Cat pawing curiously at the pile.
Jane sat next to him, exclaiming over each one as Ben showed it to her. Helen caught Mitch’s eye. Wordlessly he followed her to the far side of the room. Jane didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she found herself wondering what they were discussing as Mitch’s face went dark with anger. Finally, he gestured her over. “You have a right to hear this. Tell her, Helen.”
Helen fingered the zipper of her jacket. “I was in town this morning at the Chuckwagon. It’s the town’s primary eatery in Driftwood. I overheard some...talk.”
She waited, tension gathering in her stomach.
Helen looked pained. “Just some locals—not everyone, of course. A few loudmouths, is all.”
“Just say it, Helen,” Mitch said.
She straightened, keeping her voice low. Liam approached on socked feet and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“What did I interrupt?”
“I was mentioning that there’s talk in town, the Judd boys in particular.”
“Hotheads,” Liam said.
“Not unlike you, from time to time,” Helen reprimanded, “but they’d heard about the fire, and they’d also heard it was likely Wade’s work.”
Mitch sighed. “It was a matter of time before that got out, especially with a reporter sniffing around.”
“They’d also heard...” She shot a hasty look at Jane. “That Jane was hiding out somewhere in the area. They think... I mean...they said...”
“That they hated me?” Jane did not need confirmation to know her guess was accurate.
“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “I just thought it would be better for you not to be surprised.”
“It’s not a surprise,” Jane said, fighting back the despair. “People will never stop thinking I helped Wade. They’ve always found out somehow about my past even after I dropped the Whitehorse name, and that’s when the hate mail, the smashed windows, the graffiti always starts up.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t stay here. If they find out...”
“They won’t, and if they do, I’d deal with it,” Mitch said.
Liam lifted an eyebrow. “And you’d have help.”
Twin pangs of regret and gratitude throbbed in Jane’s heart. “I can’t allow anyone to be hurt because they offered me shelter.”
“We’ll be careful.”
Until Wade was captured, it was dangerous for them all if she stayed and dangerous for her and Ben to leave. Caught in an impossible situation, like she had been ever since she married Wade. Unable to speak over the lump in her throat, she answered with a nod and then wandered away to watch her son play.
The day passed in a blur. By early evening, Ben was tired, so she laid him on the guest room bed. Catty Cat, now freshly washed and fed thanks to Helen, had been set up with a litter box. He leaped up and snuggled at the top of Ben’s pillow, just like he’d done in the trailer. Ben’s eyes were half-closed by the time she kissed him, stroked Catty Cat and tiptoed out of the room.
Desperate to clear her mind, she let herself out into a golden sunset, zipping her jacket against the chill. Breathing in the mingled scents of grassland and sea, she spotted Mitch leaning against the fence, staring out toward the ocean as the sun sank in glowing splendor into the waves. He wore jeans and a cowboy hat, leather gloves tucked into his back pocket. His boots were worn and scuffed, tough, like the cowboy who wore them. There was no pretense about Mitch Whitehorse; he wore no mask of self-importance. He was an
honest, hardworking ranch hand, and his straightforwardness pulled her like the tide. She went to him, following his line of sight past the smooth hollows of green, backed by rocky hillsides, out to the restless sea.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said, coming to stand next to him.
“Yeah.”
“I’m...I’m not sure it’s right to stay.”
He didn’t look at her, the wind tangling her long hair with his. “To whip up or whoa,” he said.
“What?”
“Decisions have to be made. When the cattle are moving in the wrong direction, you gotta whip up, ride hard and get ahead of them or send the dogs to turn them. When they’re moving in the right direction, you back off and give them space to do the right thing.”
She smiled. “If only people were as easy to manage as cattle.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to compare the two.”
“Yes, you did, but it’s okay. I take no offense. I’ve been mulling it over again and again, and it’s come down to three choices. Trust Foley, trust you or trust neither of you and go it alone. I’ve prayed about it, and for some reason I think God’s telling me to trust you.”
She saw his jaw tighten, shadowed by the hint of a dark beard.
“I won’t let you down.”
She touched his arm, rock solid, steel taut. “I know that in my head. It’s just...hard to convince my heart.”
Their gaze wandered to the lush grassland now darkening in dusk. “So I guess that means I’ll whoa for a while.”
He smiled. “Sounds funny when you say it.”
“A hopeless city slicker.”
“Yeah.” A smile still played on his lips. “But I can teach Ben a few things so he won’t be such a townie, as Liam would say.”
“He’d love that.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Why did you choose the cowboy life after you retired from the marshals?”
“Suits me.”
“How so?”
“I’m a good tracker, horseman. I’m patient, and I’m happy to work by myself. I’ve got an eye for noticing things in the cattle—illnesses, behavioral changes.”
