by Sheryl Lynn
Elaine left him at the wrought-iron gate and walked up the path to the door. He turned his face east. The sky was turning pale pinkish-gold over the mountain peaks. Only the planet Venus was visible now.
“Ric? Look at this.” Elaine hurried to the gate. She held a manila envelope. “Somebody put money by the door.”
“Huh.” Folks left the strangest mementos on graves. During the times he’d pulled funeral detail in the army, he’d seen, along with traditional flowers and wreaths, untraditional toys, tools, articles of clothing and even a vacuum cleaner. “Wasn’t there some kind of charity people were donating to in your dad’s name?”
“It’s too much money for that.”
He saw how much when they sat in her Jeep and turned on the dome light. The two of them counted out three thousand, seven hundred fifty-eight dollars and thirty-four cents. On the outside of the envelope, scrawled in black marker, were two words: I’m sorry.
“Isn’t this just the oddest thing?” she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered if the scattered chrysanthemums on Bobby’s grave and money were connected. “A debt? A tenant who owed back rent?”
“All debts were settled when Daddy’s will was probated.”
“A private loan, then. I doubt I could rest easy if I owed money to somebody who died.” He shrugged. “I bet whoever left it welshed on a debt.”
“I suppose,” she murmured uncertainly. “What do I do with it then?”
“Buy me breakfast?” he suggested. Her hint of vanilla scent was filling the Jeep and his head. Images of breakfast in bed teased him.
She shoved the bills back in the envelope. “I’ll give it to Pastor Rimes.” She caressed the envelope. A lovely smile, soft and sweet, curved her mouth.
Ric thought his heart might explode.
“I think Bobby would like it if we have breakfast together. He always missed you, Ric. Missed your friendship.” She lowered her face. “I missed you, too. It would be nice if we could be friends again. Do you think it’s possible?”
He chucked her chin. “Not just possible, likely.”
THEIR FRIENDSHIP grew, sort of. Ric and Walt worked at the ranch until Christmas. Instead of merely waving in passing while they renovated the bunkhouse, Elaine began stopping to chat. Cautious conversations, with an undercurrent of longing she tried to ignore. She relaxed about Ric and Jodi’s friendship. He never missed one of her sporting events. If extracurricular activities kept the girl after school, Ric would drive her home. After Ric and Walt finished the bunkhouse, Elaine didn’t see Ric very often. When she did see him in town or when he brought Jodi home or picked up the girl to attend a stock auction, her heart quickened, and she couldn’t bear looking too long into his eyes.
She had to concede that a truly open friendship with him was impossible. She had too many secrets.
Now, a year and a half after Bobby’s death, Elaine learned of a danger that threatened to thrust her deepest, darkest secrets into the light. And Ric Buchanan was part of it.
She drove too fast for the slush-covered dirt road. In the rearview mirror she glimpsed a driveway. She braked and the Jeep skidded. She backed up, then turned into the driveway. Up a hill, lights shone through the naked branches of scrub oaks. She prayed this was Ric’s property.
The sun had settled behind the trees. Fields of snow, laced with animal tracks, spread to the forest’s edge. Around a curve, she spotted a small trailer house mounted on cinder blocks and a two-horse barn with an attached corral. She recognized Ric’s pickup truck, its bed filled with tools. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Ric and his buddies were going too far. If Ric didn’t promise to put a stop to their ridiculous investigation, she was going to have to take drastic measures.
She stepped into the cold evening air. The month of April was following its usual pattern. Heavy, wet snow, followed by warm days that melted the snow into slush. Her boots squished in a muddy puddle. A darting movement startled her.
A dog woofed and did a little dance of greeting, his feathery tail whipping the air. She petted his ears. “Hey, Buster. How are you doing, boy?”
The black-and-white mutt had been a stray running around town until Ric adopted him. His friendly face hanging out of Ric’s truck cab was now a familiar sight around the valley. It struck her as strange that Ric hadn’t heard her drive up. She hoped he wasn’t sleeping. On the other hand, she didn’t really care if she woke him or not.
She rapped her knuckles against the trailer door. Lights were on inside, but no answer. She knocked harder.
Buster trotted around the trailer and disappeared.
Thinking Ric might have a workshop around back, she followed the dog.
The sight that faced her stopped her in her tracks. A rock-lined path meandered toward the forest, ending at a building with a pyramidal roof and fancy woodwork reminiscent of a Victorian gazebo. Golden light glowed through half-glass walls. It wasn’t big enough for a house and it was too elaborate for a workshop. Buster stood before the door, his tail wagging. As Elaine approached, the smell of chlorinated water hit her nose. Through the glass door she saw a hot tub.
He lived in an old trailer, but had built the swankiest hot tub setup she’d ever seen. Men were so strange.
Eyes closed, Ric lounged in steaming water. He wore earphones on his head. Elaine knocked. Ric splashed water and jerked off the earphones. Trying not to giggle, Elaine waved. He beckoned for her to enter. When she opened the door, the swimming pool smell nearly knocked her backward, as did the sultry heat.
“Don’t let the dog—”
Buster slipped past Elaine and hopped onto a cushioned bench. His muddy paws left tracks.
“—inside.” Ric glowered at the dog who flattened his ears in apology, but made no move to leave. “Come on in and close the door. What brings you up here, Laney?”
The sight of him drove reasonable thoughts from her head. His hair clung damply to his forehead, framing a face far too handsome for any woman’s good. It didn’t help that practically every single female in the valley had a massive crush on him—a few married women did, too! Even Elaine’s mother had commented about his good looks and shiver-worthy smile. Worse, his bare chest and arms were beautifully muscled, and his gold-tinged skin was flushed with heat. He was undeniably sexy.
Her hips loosened and heaviness settled in her pelvis. Grief had deadened her body and soul. She half-believed that her life as a sexual woman was over. Seeing Ric like this challenged that belief.
She tore her gaze away and focused on the tub’s control panel.
“Laney?”
“Uhm, I need to talk to you.”
Smiling, he crooked a finger. “Come on in, the water’s great.”
That she was so tempted to strip off her clothes and jump in appalled her. Fine, he was sexy and desirable and deep within her being were memories of how very much she once loved him. She wasn’t, however, a starry-eyed teenager. She was mature, a mother and living in a very small community where widowed ladies who indulged in wild affairs ended up with poor reputations. Once in a lifetime for heedless madness was more than enough for her.
“No, thank you.” The steamy heat was making her sweat. She unzipped her coat. She sat next to Buster and his tail whipped against the cushion. She kept her attention on the dog. Looking at Ric was too dangerous and meeting his eyes could prove her undoing. “This is quite a setup.”
“It turned out pretty good for a first effort. Did you see my barn?” He winced, then smiled broadly as if trying to cover for it.
She understood the hot tub now. He needed it for his back. So he wasn’t strange, but merely far too proud. “I saw it. Are you ever going to buy a horse or do you just like attending auctions?”
“Jodi and I are having a blast. You should join us sometime.” He patted the tub side. “Sure you don’t want to get in? Plenty of room.”
She peeked, and regretted it. His grin was mischievous, compelling. Succumbing to
the power of his smile could very well make her forget all the good reasons why she shouldn’t get involved with him.
Forget niceties and small talk. “I know about the private investigator Tom hired. You and Tate are involved.”
He reached for a wineglass. Lamplight danced against flexing muscles in a fascinating display. She wondered if he were completely naked and mentally kicked herself for even thinking it.
“Care for some wine? It’s a nice Reisling a friend sent me from Germany. There should be another glass in the cabinet.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“For starters, put a stop to it! Tom and Gwen are not rich people. Hiring a private investigator for a wild-goose chase is expensive. Not to mention how it’s stirring up a matter that’s settled. My mother will be so hurt when she finds out. And she will find out.”
“How did you find out?”
“From Axton Cross. A man who knew him back in Denver let him know someone is asking questions. It wasn’t that difficult for Axton to figure out who was asking and why. He’s very upset. It’s hurting the realty.”
He sipped the wine then smacked his lips. “Laney.”
“What?”
“Look me straight in the eye. Tell me truthfully that you believe Bobby’s death was an accident.”
She squeezed her lips together and stared at her clenched fists. She couldn’t blame Ric for wanting to know what had happened at the lodge. She wanted to know herself.
“Ric,” she said, “I sympathize with Tom. I know he’s hurting. But Gwen is so worried about him. She says he hardly talks anymore. He sleeps in Bobby’s old bedroom instead of with her—when he sleeps at all. If not for my sake and my mother’s sake, then stop this craziness for Gwen. It’s killing Tom.”
“I know what it’s doing to him. If I could stop him, I would.”
“What about Tate? If he wasn’t egging Tom on—”
“That’s not how it is. Trust me. Tom won’t quit until he knows the truth. He just won’t.”
She sighed. Ric was her only hope.
His eyes caught and held hers. He’d always been easy to talk to. When he gave his attention, he gave it fully, never showing impatience. When he listened, it felt as if she were the only thing that mattered. At eighteen, she’d told him things she hadn’t even trusted to her diary.
At thirty-one, she was about to do so again.
“I think Daddy might have shot Bobby on purpose.” There. She’d said it out loud, confessed her terrible secret. Her muscles tensed and pain arced through her midsection. She waited for lightning to strike or the earth to open and swallow her whole.
Ric’s gaze remained steady.
“Something was troubling Bobby a week or so before he died. You know him, how he always fussed and fretted. Like the world would stop turning if he didn’t keep an eye on every detail. But this was different. He was acting funny. Snappish. He even yelled at Jodi, and he hardly ever did that.”
“Do you have any idea what was bothering him?”
Like some horrendous relic too dangerous to dispose of, the note she’d found now lay buried in her lingerie drawer. If Ric ever saw it…“I pestered him to tell me what was the matter. All he said was that he wouldn’t haul trash out of the realty for Daddy anymore. He said the trashman caught him.”
“Why would Bobby haul trash?”
“Daddy could be sort of…cheap. Not about big things or gifts, but he’d reuse envelopes and haggle with workmen over the cost of supplies. Penny-ante stuff. He was always roping Bobby into doing odd jobs for free.”
“Did you talk to the trashman?”
“I did. He didn’t know what I was talking about.” In a funny roundabout way, it was almost a relief to confide the awful knowledge she’d been carrying for nearly eighteen months. She wiped sweat off her brow. “But Bobby had hauled trash. I think he caught Daddy doing something.”
“What?” he prompted.
“Nothing illegal, I swear. I looked everywhere. No shady deals. No bribing the zoning commissioners. No screwing around with water rights.”
“What did you find?”
She drew a deep breath. “An earring in Daddy’s car. It doesn’t belong to Mama.”
He looked surprised. “Del was cheating on Lillian?”
Her cheeks warmed and not because of the steaming hot tub. “Bobby had absolutely no reason to be at the lodge that night. Or any night for that matter. He never went up there.”
Ric sipped wine, his expression thoughtful.
“Sometimes I hate my father.” Misery weighted her shoulders. She wanted more than anything to crawl into the tub with Ric and let him hold her. “I loved him. I can’t stand thinking he might have murdered Bobby. Bobby didn’t deserve to die. But no matter how many times I tell myself it was an accident, it doesn’t feel like an accident. And it just wears on me and grinds me down.”
“Ah, Laney…”
“Whenever I see Tom, I want to tell him. I really do. But I’m so scared that he’ll force Uncle King to investigate. Do you know what that would do to Mama? Daddy was her whole world. How can she live with knowing he’s a murderer? And what about my brother and sister? Or Jodi? I feel like I’m betraying Bobby by not telling, but I don’t know what to do. Please, Ric, don’t let all this come out. Convince Tom to stop. Please.”
“Go on into the trailer and wait for me. I’m turning into a prune here.”
She sniffed and swiped her hot eyes. She wished she could read his reaction. He didn’t seem condemning or horrified, though, and it gave her hope.
RIC ENTERED the trailer. Before he could shut the door, Buster slipped inside. “Buster!” he snapped. “Feet.” The dog froze in his tracks, his ears drooping and his eyes rolling. Ric reached for a towel and another spasm ripped through his lower back. A grunt escaped.
Elaine gasped. “Are you all right?”
“Do me a favor. Wipe off Buster’s feet.” He massaged the shrieking muscles with the heel of his hand. Deep, slow breathing helped some.
Eyeing Ric with concern, Elaine cleaned the mud from the dog’s paws. “Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay?”
“Got too ambitious hauling lumber today. I’ll be fine.” He held the wall and used his toes and heels to work off his shoes. Hot spikes jabbed his spine. Nasty fingers of pain clawed paths through his thighs. Soaking in the hot tub had helped, but not enough. “Excuse me for being a poor host, but I have to lie down.” Elaine grasped his arm.
Resentment pinged him. He was strong. He’d always been strong. He refused to let a few aches and pains turn him into a couch potato. She wrapped an arm around his waist. He let some of his weight rest on her. Together they hobbled into the tiny bedroom. She helped him lie flat on the narrow bed. He glowered at the ceiling.
“What can I get you?”
He pointed at the bathroom. “Big bottle in the medicine cabinet. Ibuprofen.” He didn’t want her seeing the prescription bottles, but he hurt too much to fetch his own pills. Fortunately these spasm attacks rarely lasted more than a few hours.
She brought the medicine and a glass of water. Without asking, she slipped an arm under his neck and gently raised his head. His cheek pressed her bosom. She had small breasts, but they were very nice. Not a good direction for his thoughts to travel, considering he wore knit sweatpants and no underwear.
He mustered thoughts about baseball and cutting wood, any non-sexual image, while he swallowed pills and gulped water. She dabbed at his wet chin with a tissue. He couldn’t think about baseball when she smelled like heaven, and her big brown eyes trapped him like quicksand.
“Thank you, nurse.” She lowered him to the pillow. He hungrily relished every millisecond of contact. He’d been celibate since his injury. Quite frankly, it sucked.
“You never did tell me about your accident.”
He gl
anced at a shadow box hanging on the wall. It contained his Silver Star and Bronze Star medals. His Purple Hearts were in a box shoved under the bed. The sight dampened rising desire. Some hero he’d been. “It wasn’t an accident, exactly. I got blown up.”
She flinched and grimaced. “How?”
“I was on patrol when our Humvee hit a mine. I still don’t know who planted it. Hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys anymore.”
She stroked his arm. “That’s so awful.”
She didn’t know the half of it. He still suffered nightmares. “I survived. Unlike the kid driving. He was only nineteen.”
“Oh, Ric, that’s so sad. I’m sorry.”
Not half as sorry as he was.
“It’s not so bad. At first the doctors weren’t sure I’d ever walk again.” He folded his fingers over her hand, reveling in the velvety softness of her skin. “Stuff happens. Nothing to do except pick yourself up and go on.” He’d like to pick her up…
Just his luck. He got her alone in his bedroom, and he couldn’t even move. Refusing to think about what might have been, he sniffed the air. The savory smell of chile made his stomach growl. “Can you stay a while? Where’s Jodi?”
“She went to Steamboat Springs with some friends. A ski weekend. I can stay.”
The girl had assured him that next to horses, skiing was her true love. He wished he could take her skiing. “You’re a nice mom,” he said.
Her lovely smile was a better reward than a thousand medals. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind feeding me? I have a pot of stew on the stove. Join me. It’s pretty good.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He listened to her bustle around the trailer. Along with being a good mother, she’d been a good daughter, too. It must have cost her dearly to confess how she felt about her father. He knew too well what it was like to hate a parent. He’d been six years old when his mother deserted him. At odd moments, the old hatred popped up, accompanied by guilt and a bleak sense of betrayal. It never fully went away.
She brought a tray with two bowls, a plate of crackers, a jar of pickled jalapeño peppers and glasses of water. She set the tray beside him, left the bedroom and returned with a chair. All business, she helped him prop up on pillows. She handled him with an ease that didn’t seem possible considering she couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds, and he weighed more than two hundred. He commented on her strength.
