by Linda Style
And she knew herself well enough to know she just might cave. She was indebted to them. After all, she wouldn’t have made it through her program at Georgetown if her parents hadn’t been there for her after the assault…after she’d been forced to watch that monster violate her roommate and…
Oh, God! She stopped the horrible thought before she relived it again. She was grateful for her parents’ support. She owed them. Which made it that much harder to leave.
“No jobs in Iowa?”
“Not in my field. Epiphany is a very small town.”
“And how did you meet my aunt?” He leaned against the door.
“Oh, I didn’t. But we spoke on the phone. My best friend’s father is an attorney in Manhattan, and he told me that one of the firm’s clients, your aunt, had a temporary job available that might be perfect for me for a couple of months. And since it was in Arizona—somewhere I’d never been—I was intrigued.”
Elated in fact. Los Rios was fifteen hundred miles from Epiphany. There’d be no watchful eye on her here.
Towering over her, he let his eyes catch hers and for just the briefest flicker of a second, she saw something unexpected. A flash of empathy?
Whatever it was lasted only a microsecond. “Yeah, well, tell me in a couple days how intriguing it is,” he said.
Was that what his contentious attitude was all about? He hated being here himself. “If you find it so…so unpleasant, why are you here then?”
A muscle twitched near his eye. “If you’re looking for excitement, you won’t find it in Los Rios.”
He’d totally ignored her question, which told her more about him than if he’d given some flip answer. “Well, I guess I’ll know soon enough, won’t I?” She smiled. “What’s that old saying? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
Fact was, what she thought of him or the place really didn’t matter. Yes, she’d looked forward to seeing the West and being on a ranch, but since that wasn’t really why she was here, it was a moot point.
All she had to concentrate on was making this situation work. “I wish I’d known about your aunt’s death, though. Was she sick for long?”
“No. She had an accident.” He motioned to a door across the hallway, then stepped forward and reached around her to turn the knob, his arm brushing against her as he did. “Your quarters. Dinner will be somewhere between six and seven.” He pointed to his right. “Thataway.”
With that, he turned and walked away, muttering something about discussing her job at dinner. Watching him disappear down the shadowy hallway, she forced herself to sound cheerful. “Thank you, Mr. Rivera. I’ll see you at dinner then.”
Jerk.
Cool air enveloped Maddy the second she stepped inside. Looking around, she was pleasantly surprised to see that the room was spacious and well-appointed, as if it’d been recently redecorated.
Feeling better, she kicked off her shoes and walked around to see where everything was. Queen-size bed, two chairs, a dresser and a large walk-in closet connected to the bathroom on her left. Another door, French doors, led to a small patio outside. The room was absolutely delightful.
After splashing her face with water that was more hot than cold, even though that’s what the faucet indicated, she stripped to her underwear and sponged herself with a damp washcloth. Then she flopped across the lodgepole bed on top of a spread designed like a Mexican serape.
The two plump brown leather chairs with matching ottomans squatted like soft boulders in front of the window. The Southwestern-style Tiffany floor lamp between the chairs was a nice touch, too. Must’ve been Ms. Devereaux’s doing. J.D. Rivera hardly seemed the type to be interested in interior decorating.
Even so, who in the world would willingly live in such a remote, isolated place? She rolled to her back and stared at the rough-sawn beams above. Her new boss, that was who. It was the perfect place for someone like him to hide from the rest of the world.
So what had happened to him? An accident? A fight? With his attitude, that was easy to envision. It was also easy to envision that he’d had something to do with his aunt’s death. But she wasn’t going to let herself dwell on that possibility. Whatever Rivera was about, he was not her problem.
A renewed sense of determination filled her. Despite a few minor glitches, she’d made it this far—and she was still here! A small success, but for her, it was huge.
If she could stay focused, keep her thoughts on her goal, she’d be fine. All she had to do was take things moment to moment. Take control of her life—and her destiny.
The way she had today.
Even so—an angry man could mean trouble.
She just hoped to hell he wasn’t dangerous.
AFTER GETTING the teacher settled, J.D. climbed into his old Ford pickup and rumbled down the narrow gravel road toward Los Rios. Damn woman. He’d planned on her leaving and giving back some money in the process.
New York, she’d said. The city would eat her alive. She wouldn’t last long in Los Rios, either.
On the outskirts of town, he pulled into Grady’s Star gas station, killed the engine and got out.
Grady was standing at the pumps. “Hey, James. Man, you’re a mess. You look worse than you did last night.”
They shook hands, and J.D. gave Grady a friendly shot on the arm. Grady and J.D.’s teachers were the only people who’d called him by his given name. James Devereaux Rivera, a name that brought more ill than good in Los Rios. The Rivera part, anyway.
“I don’t feel so hot, either.” He rubbed his chin. Last night he’d managed to make his way back to Grady’s after he’d been attacked. Grady’s wife had tended his injuries. “How’s Annie?”
“Except for paying homage at the porcelain altar every morning, she’s fine. Doc says the nausea should ease up in about a month or so.” Another car pulled up to the pump on the other side, and Grady motioned to J.D. that he’d be right back.
Grady was a stand-up guy, solid, honest and loyal—the best kind of friend to have. J.D. had been pleasantly surprised to find that Grady’s wife, Annie, had no objections to the friendship. He’d expected her to disapprove of him—like everyone else in town did.
J.D. had been branded a troublemaker the second he’d set foot on Los Rios soil at five years old. And the perception had stuck.
A knot formed in his stomach. The day he’d come to live with his grandparents was burned into his brain. Devastated over his parents’ deaths and all alone, he’d arrived via a rickety old bus from Mexico. His grandmother had come to pick him up, and she’d had him wait outside the general store while she shopped for a few things.
Chewing his nails, he’d searched for a friendly face. A bunch of men and women stood on the sidewalk talking among themselves. One man pointed at J.D., another man nodded and gave him a squinty-eyed look. J.D. turned away, only to see a giant of a man with thick red hair and a mean look in his eyes barreling toward him. He wore a badge.
Reaching J.D., the man leaned down, poked a hard finger in J.D.’s chest and hissed through thin lips, “I’ll be watching you, kid. Just like I did your old man.”
J.D. stared at the shiny star on the man’s chest, his five-year-old heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he peed his pants, right there in front of everyone.
And not one person came to his aid….
Now he grabbed a cloth from the gas pump and swiped at the side mirrors on his truck, his stomach churning at the memory. Even back then, the righteous enclave had let him know he was as unwelcome as his father had been.
He might’ve wanted acceptance at first, but it wasn’t long before he didn’t give a damn. The feeling hadn’t changed. He didn’t give a damn now, either. If his return to Los Rios meant he was a thorn in the town’s collective side, so be it. That was their problem, not his.
Finished with the other car, Grady returned, giving a thumbs-up to the Buick as it drove off. “Gladys Hackert, remember her?”
“Like a bad boil,” J.D. joked. How could he forget the teacher who’d bounced him from her sixth-grade class more times than he could count. By sixth grade, he was living up to the town’s worst expectations.
“Sheriff’s been askin’ on you,” Grady said, leaning against the front fender of the rusty green pickup. “He heard you were hurt. Said he was concerned and thought the guys who waylaid you were probably border jumpers needing money.”
Border jumpers, undocumented aliens, UDAs, illegal immigrants and a host of other names were used for those who crossed the Mexican border into the U.S. without papers. Border jumpers were common in the area because Los Rios was so close to Mexico. Nearly four hundred thousand illegals crossed the Arizona border each year.
In the old days, before J.D. had come to live at the ranch, his grandparents had apparently been sympathetic to the plight of those crossing over, giving them water and helping them on their way. But J.D. later learned that his mother’s sister, his aunt Ethel, and some other people in town had had a problem with that. Sheriff Collier had been particularly incensed since he prided himself on the number of illegals he caught and sent back every year.
J.D. would have thought the old guy would’ve retired by now. But since no one else ran for the job, the sheriff just kept getting reelected. “That right? Hell, last I heard, the good sheriff was still trying to find out if I killed my aunt for her property.”
Grady snorted a laugh, then stopped abruptly. “Sorry you had to come back like this. Her dying and all.”
“I hadn’t seen the woman in years.” Not since he was fifteen, and she’d taken over the ranch after his grandparents died. And even then, not for long. Since she was his only living relative she’d become his guardian and had immediately sent him packing to military school in Maryland. “So, you can save the sympathy.”
His friend seemed uncomfortable and changed the subject. “Sheriff asked if you could identify the men who jumped you.”
J.D. didn’t believe for a second that the two guys who’d stopped him on the road pretending to have car trouble were UDAs. He’d lived in Los Rios long enough to know that most who crossed over illegally didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. And after seventeen years in the military, he was savvy enough to know a setup when he saw one.
“Yeah? Funny he didn’t come out or call to ask me about it.” After last night, his feeling was that someone didn’t like the fact that J.D. was back in town and was asking questions about the fire that had happened some thirty-five years ago. The fire his father was supposed to have started and that had killed two men.
Grady gave him a sheepish look. “That’s probably my fault. I told the sheriff you couldn’t identify anyone because it was too dark. Guess he figured you’d come in and file a report or something.”
Grady had always taken people at their word, always given a guy the benefit of the doubt. He believed the sheriff was an honest man doing an honest job. Hell, the whole town thought that.
But J.D. knew better. Still, there was no reason to involve Grady in old problems that weren’t his. In fact, he, J.D., had decided when he first came back that he wasn’t going to deal with the past either. He was going to do what he needed to do to get the ranch in shape and keep to himself. The fewer people he had to deal with, the better.
But things changed last night. Someone was obviously worried about J.D.’s presence in Los Rios, and he wanted to know why. What were they afraid of?
“Right. In fact, I’m headed to the sheriff’s office now.”
Grady’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Collier will get to the bottom of the attack. He’s good at that.” He cracked a wide smile. “Hey, I’m glad you’re okay, buddy. And I’m glad you’re back.”
J.D. clapped Grady on the shoulder, pleased that their friendship was still strong after all his years away. But he couldn’t say he was glad to be back.
If he never set foot in the town again, it would be too soon.
He took a step to leave and, as if on cue, a stab of pain shot up his leg. A reminder that it didn’t matter how he felt about being here. He had nowhere else to go.
“Thanks. It’s great seeing you, too. Gotta get back to work, though.”
Ten minutes later, J.D. drove into the heart of Los Rios, still amazed at how little the town had changed in the years since his grandparents had passed on.
Los Rios, population 999, was one long main street with a combo beer joint–pool hall, a defunct bowling alley, a bank, a barbershop with the ubiquitous candy-cane pole outside, the Sunflower Café, the John Deere dealership that carried both tractors and cars, new and used, and Masterson’s General Store and Lumberyard.
The mayor’s office and the jail consisted of three rooms in the back of Charlie Masterson’s store, and the town was run by the Big Three—Mayor Sikes, the sheriff and old man Masterson. A trio that had made J.D.’s youth a living hell.
After leaving Los Rios, he’d put all that out of his mind and made a new life for himself in the navy—top gun. He’d had a career. The navy had been his life. His family.
But all that was gone, and coming back to Los Rios was like opening an old wound with a dull butter knife.
Like returning to hell.
His knuckles tightened on the wheel as he pulled into one of the angled parking spaces in front of Masterson’s. He had to let the past go. None of it mattered anymore. Getting through one day at a time was hard enough.
Next to the general store, Fred Billings, the barber, was sitting on a bench outside his shop, along with two other men J.D. didn’t recognize. He climbed from the truck and nodded to the men as he walked by. Fred nodded back, but didn’t say so much as a howdy.
“Yo, Masterson,” J.D. called once inside the store. The dusty dry scent of grain and flour caught in the back of his throat. Muslin feed and flour sacks lined one entire wall, just as they had twenty years ago.
Clyde, standing behind the counter, was the grandson of old Charlie. Clyde’s father was dead and Clyde stood to inherit all the Masterson money and property.
“Rivera,” the man answered with a nod. “You look real bad.”
J.D. leaned across the oak counter, so worn with age that it was slightly indented in the place where goods were passed back and forth. Clyde probably knew why J.D. looked so bad, because word got around in Los Rios faster than the speed of light.
“Yeah, but I feel great. I’ll feel even better if the supplies I ordered a week and a half ago are here.”
A tall, lean man with a narrow pointy face and haystack hair, Clyde shook his head. “Haven’t heard a thing.”
J.D. waited a second, his nerves bunching. He controlled his temper, then said calmly, “Last I heard, supplies usually get here in four to five days. Any chance you might be calling someone to find out why they haven’t arrived?”
“Maybe,” Clyde drawled. “Maybe I’ll call tomorrow if they don’t come.”
Just then, Sheriff Collier appeared at the back of the store, his hair still as red as Orphan Annie’s. Seeing J.D., the sheriff swaggered toward him, his chin jutting a little higher with each step. All the old guy needed was a ten-gallon hat and he’d be John Wayne.
When the sheriff reached J.D., both men stood in silence, each assessing the other. If anyone else in town had been jumped and assaulted, the sheriff would’ve been all over it.
“I don’t suppose you want to file a complaint,” Sheriff Collier said, his voice indicating he wasn’t posing a question.
J.D.’s muscles coiled. “Should I, Tom? Think it would do any good? Those border jumpers are probably long gone by now.”
The man’s rheumy eyes narrowed and his barrel chest puffed up even more. J.D. knew the man hated when people called him Tom instead of Sheriff.
“Just askin’ in case something comes up again. You and that pretty new girlfriend of yours are kind of isolated way out there, who knows what might happen?”
Two hours since the teacher arrived, and old Tom
knew about it already. “She works for me. But then I guess you know that, too, don’t you, considering what great friends you and Aunt Ethel were. She probably told you all about it before she passed on so suddenly.”
The sheriff’s shoulders went stiff. It was no secret that Tom Collier had been in love with Ethel Devereaux. No secret that she’d ditched him for another guy and made a fool of him.
“And if something does come up,” J.D. added, “you’ll be the first to know. I guarantee it.”
“Good,” the sheriff said, glaring at J.D. “This is a nice quiet town. People mind their own business and no one bothers anyone.” His eyes darkened dangerously. “We want to keep it that way, boy.”
CHAPTER THREE
A STRANGE SCRATCHING sound awakened Maddy with a start. She sat up slowly and gradually realized where she was.
Instead of feeling well-rested after her nap, her nerves were stretched tight and she had a hard time drawing a full breath. Her gaze shifted around the darkened room. Nothing amiss, but her pulse raced anyway. A thin film of perspiration covered her skin.
Scratch, scratch. The noise sounded as if it came from outside the door, which she noticed was open a crack. Odd. She was sure she’d shut it before she went to sleep.
As she watched the door, it slowly creaked open a few more inches and at the bottom of the opening a pair of yellow eyes blazed back at her. In the next instant, a furry thing shot across the room and leaped onto the bed like a flying squirrel.
A terror-filled scream ripped from her throat. Visions of sharp teeth and dripping blood flashed in her head. She flailed wildly, striking out, shoving the animal away before she pulled up the blanket and curled into a ball underneath, her arms protecting her head and face. Seconds later, she felt movement, and then the weight on the bed beside her was gone.
