Proof of Guilt

by Lisa Jackson

  Closing her eyes against the flood of tears that threatened to spill, she tried to speak, to tell him how much she wanted him. Her lips quivered, but all the words she thought she should say wouldn’t come.

  Trask kissed her softly and wound his fingers in the thick auburn strands of her tousled hair. “If only I could make you happy,” he murmured before capturing her lips in his and shifting his weight so that his body covered hers in a protective embrace.

  As his flesh touched hers, his body heated until it glistened in a film of sweat. Her arms wound around his back and she clung to him as he became one with her, moving gently at first and then more quickly as her body responded to the familiarity of his touch. His hands massaged her breasts in the rhythm of his lovemaking.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered against her ear as the heat within her seemed to burst and he, too, surrendered. “Tory,” he called, his voice raspy. “Just love me again.” And then he fell against her, his weight a welcome burden.

  The tears that had been welling beneath her lids began to stream down her cheeks. “Shh,” he whispered, “everything will be okay.”

  Slowly Trask rolled to his side and held her close to him. He kissed her and tasted the salt of her tears. For several minutes, they clung to each other in silence and Tory, her head pressed against his chest, listened to the steady beating of Trask’s heart. Surrounded by his strength, she was lost in her feelings of love and despair for this man.

  “Regrets?” he asked, once his breathing had slowed. Tenderly he brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “No…”

  “But?”

  Her voice trembled slightly. “I’m not sure that getting involved again is the smartest thing to do. But then I’ve made a lot of questionable decisions lately.”

  He propped himself on one elbow and stared down at her. His face was shadowed but even in the darkness Tory could see the seductive slash of his smile.

  “Why not…get involved, that is?”

  “I only agreed to see you because of the letter…and, well, having an affair with you now will only complicate things.”

  His grin slowly faded, and his hands caressed her bare shoulders. “I think you’d better say what you mean and quit beating around the bush.”

  Tory gathered her courage. The next words were difficult, but necessary. She couldn’t continue to live in a crystal dreamworld that could shatter so easily. “All right, senator. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not comfortable with short-term affairs. You and I both know that when all of this…note business is cleared up, you’ll be returning to Washington.”

  “You don’t like dead-end relationships?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You could come to Washington with me,” he suggested. His arms tightened around her, holding her close to the contours of his body.

  Tory almost laughed. She reached for her jeans. “And what would you do if I took you up on your offer?” she said. “I’m no more ready for the Washington social scene than you are to explain a mistress from Oregon.”

  “I was talking about a wife, not a mistress.”

  Tory’s heart missed a beat and pain darkened her eyes. “Oh, Trask. Don’t—”

  “I asked you to marry me five years ago—remember?”

  “That was before the trial.”

  “Forget the trial!” He jerked her roughly to him and she was forced to gaze into the intensity of his eyes.

  “How can I? You’re here, looking for another conspirator in your brother’s death, for crying out loud!” She jerked on her jeans and reached for her blouse as all of the old bitterness returned to her heart. “And don’t think that just because we made love you have to dangle a wedding ring in front of my nose. I fell for that trick once before—”

  Trask’s patience snapped. He took hold of her upper arms and refused to let go. “You’re so damned self-righteous. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you that I love you. Asking you to marry me isn’t a smoke screen for some dark ulterior motive. It’s a proposal, plain and simple. I want you to be my wife and I was hoping that you could rise above the past and come to terms with your feelings as a mature adult woman!”

  “I can.”

  He let go of her arms. “And?”

  The lump in her throat swelled uncomfortably. “I love you even though I’ve been denying it, even to myself,” she whispered. “I love you very much, but…but I’m not sure that I like you sometimes. As for marriage—we’re a long way from making a decision like that.”

  Trask’s back teeth ground together. “Have you been seeing someone else?”

  Tory let out a disgusted sigh. “No. Not seriously.”

  “I heard that you were going to be married a couple of years back to some schoolteacher.”

  Tory smiled sadly with her confession. “It didn’t work out.” She turned away from him and began dressing. He watched as she slid her arms through the sleeves of her blouse.

  “Why?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “Because of you. As crazy as it sounds, senator, you’re a hard act to follow.” She smiled sadly at her own admission. How many times had she tried to deny, even to herself, that she still loved him?

  “That’s some consolation,” he said, relief evident on his face. He had pulled on his cords, and pushed his arms through his shirt, but it was still gaping open, displaying in erotic detail, the muscles of his chest and abdomen. “I want you to consider my proposal.”

  “I think it’s five years too late.”

  One dark brow quirked. “Better late than never, isn’t that what they say?”

  “‘They’ aren’t always right.”

  Trask smiled cynically as he helped her to her feet. “Marry me, Tory. I need you.”

  “Not now, don’t ask—”

  “We put it off too long once before.”

  “I can’t make a decision like this; not now, anyway. We’ve got too many things hanging over our heads. I…I need time, and so do you.”

  “You think that I’m caught up in the moment.”

  Her head snapped up. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “What would it take to convince you?”

  “Time—enough time to put all of what happened behind us.”

  “Five years isn’t enough?”

  Tory smiled sadly. “Not when one party is interested in dredging it all up again.”

  He leaned forward, pushing his forehead against hers and locking his hands behind her shoulders. “I love you and I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” she tried to assure him.

  “Yeah, I can tell.” He patted her gently on the buttocks. “So who would want to fill that gorgeous skin of yours full of buckshot?” he asked.

  “No one was shooting at me.”

  His face became stern. “Whoever shot the calf wasn’t playing around.”

  “I’m okay,” she insisted but he didn’t seem convinced. “Really.”

  “I think you should come and stay with me at the cabin. You’d be safer.”

  “I can’t.”

  He rubbed his chin in frustration. “Look, Tory, I dragged you into this mess and now it seems to be getting dangerous. I feel responsible.”

  “You don’t have to. I can look after myself.”

  “If another person was involved in the Quarter Horse swindle, he’s also involved in murder, Tory. Jason’s murder. There’s no telling to what lengths he might go to protect himself. The dead calf and the potshot taken at us today are serious.”

  “Don’t try to scare me; I’m already scared.”

  “Then?”

  “I told you, I can handle it.”

  Impatiently Trask raked his fingers through his hair. “I want to keep an eye on you, but I have to go to Salem, to the penitentiary, tomorrow.”

  “To talk to George Henderson?”

  “And Linn Benton.”

  Tory felt her throat constrict at the mention of her father’s two “partners” in the
horse swindle. “Do you think that’s smart?”

  Trask’s eyes narrowed and in the darkness Tory could see the hardening of his jaw. “If someone else was involved, they’d know about it.”

  “And what makes you so sure they’d talk to you?”

  “I already set up the meeting through the warden. Henderson and Benton are both up for parole in the next couple of years—your dad took most of the blame, you know. While he was handed down thirty years, they plea bargained for shorter sentences.”

  “It was never fair,” she whispered.

  “Because Calvin didn’t even try to defend himself!” When she blanched he touched her lovingly on the chin. “Look, knowing the likes of Benton and Henderson, they won’t want to stir up any trouble that might foul up their chances for parole.”

  “And you intend to throw your weight around, now that you’re a senator and all.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Isn’t that unethical?”

  “But effective.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic, though she didn’t like the idea of involving Henderson and Benton. A small feeling of dread skittered down her spine. “When will you be back?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’ll come by here and let you know what happened.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you sure you won’t come with me to the cabin?” he asked, pushing a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “It might be safer.” Once again his eyes had darkened seductively.

  “That depends upon what you call safe, senator,” she said teasingly, trying to push aside her fears. “Besides, the Lazy W is home. I feel safer on this ranch than I do anywhere in the world. I’ve managed to make it by myself for five years. I think I’ll be okay for the next twenty-four hours.” She winked conspiratorially at him and he couldn’t resist kissing her provocative pout.

  Trask realized that there was no point in arguing further with Tory. Short of bodily carrying her to the Blazer and taking her hostage, there was no way of getting her to leave the ranch. “Just remember that I love you and that I expect you to take care of yourself.”

  She couldn’t hide the catch in her voice. “I will.”

  He reached for his hat and forced it onto his head before kissing her once more and striding out of the house. Tory watched him from the window and smiled when she saw him tuck his shirttails into his cords. Then he climbed into the Blazer and roared down the lane.

  “It’s too easy to love you,” she whispered as she mounted the stairs and headed to her bed…alone.

  * * *

  TRASK DROVE LIKE a madman. His fingers were clenched around the steering wheel of the Blazer and the stream of oaths that came from his mouth were aimed at his own stupidity.

  He skidded to a stop at the main intersection in town and slammed his fist into the steering wheel. He was furious with himself. Inadvertently, because of his own damned impatience, he had placed Tory in danger.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, stripping the gears of the Blazer as he pushed the throttle and maneuvered through town. He drove without conscious thought to Neva’s house. After parking the Blazer in the driveway, Trask strode to the front door and let himself in with his own key.

  “Trask?” Neva called anxiously from her room. She tossed on her robe and hurried into the hallway. Trask was standing in the living room, looking as if he’d like to break someone’s neck. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

  “I need to use your phone. There isn’t one at the cabin.”

  “Go ahead.” She pushed the blond hair away from her face and stared at the disheveled state of Trask’s clothes and the stern set of his jaw. “You nearly scared me to death, you know.”

  “Sorry,” he said without regret and paced between the living room and hallway. “I should have called.”

  “It’s okay.” She sighed and looked upward to the loft where her son was sleeping. “At least you didn’t wake Nicholas…yet.” She folded her arms over her chest and studied Trask’s worried expression. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?”

  “I’m really not sure.”

  “Don’t tell me, Tory didn’t go along with your plan.”

  “That wasn’t it, no thanks to you.” He frowned. In the past he’d been able to confide everything to Neva, but now things had changed; he sensed it. “Look, let me use the phone in the den and then we can talk.”

  “Okay. How about a cup of coffee?”

  “How about a beer?”

  Neva’s brows shot upward. “That bad?”

  “I don’t know, Neva.” He shook his head and the lines of worry near the corners of his eyes were more evident than they had been. “I just don’t know.” He walked through the kitchen to the small office where his brother had once planned to expose the biggest horse swindle in the Pacific Northwest.

  Trask closed the door to the den and stared at the memorabilia that Neva had never managed to put away. A picture of Jason holding a newborn Nicholas was propped up on the desk. Jason’s favorite softball glove and a ball autographed by Pete Rose sat on a bookcase next to all of the paperback thrillers Jason had intended, but never had time, to read. A plaque on the wall complemented the trophies in the bookcase; mementos of a life cut off much too early.

  The desk chair groaned as Trask sat down, picked up the phone and punched out the number of the sheriff’s department. After two rings the call was answered and Trask was told that Paul Barnett wasn’t in the office, but would return in the morning.

  “Great,” Trask muttered. Rather than leave his name with the dispatcher, Trask hung up and drummed his fingers on the desk as he considered his alternatives. You’ve been a fool, he thought as he leaned back in the chair and put his fingers together tent style. How could you have been so stupid?

  It was one thing to come back to Sinclair and start a quiet investigation; quite another to come back and flaunt the reasons for his return. Although he hadn’t told anyone other than Neva and Tory about the anonymous letter, he hadn’t hidden the fact that he was back in Sinclair for the express purpose of seeing Tory again. By now, half the town knew his intentions. The guilty persons could certainly put two and two together.

  And so Tory was in danger, because of him. Trask took off his hat and threw it onto the worn leather couch. His mouth felt dry for the need of a drink.

  The trouble was, Trask wasn’t cut out for this cloak-and-dagger business. Never had been. Even the back-scratching and closed-door deals in Washington rubbed him the wrong way. As a junior senator, he’d already ruffled more than his share of congressional feathers.

  With a grimace he pulled a copy of the anonymous letter out of his wallet and laid it on the desk while he dialed Paul Barnett’s home number and waited. It took several rings, but a groggy-voiced Barnett finally answered.

  The conversation was short and one-sided as Trask explained why he was in Sinclair and what had happened.

  “I’ll need to see the original note,” Barnett said, once Trask had finished his story. All the sleep was out of the sheriff’s voice. “I already sent one of my men out to check out the dead calf. As far as we can tell, it was an isolated incident.”

  “A warning,” Trask corrected.

  “Possibly.”

  “The same as the rifle shot this evening.”

  “I’ll check into it, do what I can.”

  “Good. Tory’s not going to like the fact that I called you. She wanted to keep things under wraps until we’d found what we were looking for.”

  “That’s foolish of course, but I can’t say as I blame her, considering what happened to her pa and the reputation of that ranch.”

  “What happened to Calvin and the ranch aren’t important. Right now she needs protection. Whether she knows it or not,” he added grimly.

  “I don’t have the manpower to have someone cover the Lazy W day and night, you know.”

  “I’ll take care of that end. John Davis, a pr
ivate investigator in Bend, owes me a favor—a big one.”

  “And you’ve called him?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. And the note?”

  “I’ll bring it over within the hour.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Just as Trask hung up the phone, Neva knocked quietly on the door and entered the den. She offered Trask a mug filled with coffee. “We were out of beer,” she lied.

  Trask grinned at the obvious deception. “I don’t need a mother, you know.”

  Neva leaned against the doorjamb and eyed him sadly. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “I do all right.”

  “I read the papers, Trask. What do they call you? ‘The young rogue senator from Oregon’?”

  “Sometimes.” He took a sip from the cup and let the warm liquid salve his nerves. “When are you going to take all this stuff—” he motioned to Jason’s softball trophies and plaques “—down and put it away?”

  “Maybe never.”

  Trask frowned and shook his head. “You’re a young beautiful woman, Neva—”

  “With a six-year-old son who needs to know about his father.”

  “Maybe he needs a new one.”

  Neva looked shocked. “He’s a McFadden, Trask. Your brother’s son. You want some stranger to raise him?”

  “He’ll always be a McFadden; but he could use some male influence.”

  “He has you,” she said softly.

  “I live in Washington.”

  “Until you don’t get reelected.”

  Trask nearly choked on his coffee. “That’s what I like to hear: confidence.” Trask’s eyes darted around the room and his smile faded. “You can’t live in the past, Neva.”

  “I was going to say exactly the same thing to you.”

  Trask caught her meaningful glance and frowned into his cup before finishing his coffee in one swallow and setting the empty mug on the desk. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You could stay,” she suggested, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Nicholas would be thrilled.”

  Trask shook his head, stood up, grabbed his hat and kissed Neva on the forehead. “Can’t do it. I’ve got things to do tonight.”