by Sheryl Lynn
“Who told you, Ric?”
“Bobby.”
Dumbfounded, all she could do was stare.
“I meant to tell you, but I didn’t know how.” He enfolded her in an embrace and held her head against his chest. She snuffled into a wadded up towel. She felt guilty about accepting his comfort, but was unwilling to give it up.
“Bobby caught me off guard. I lost my temper. Said some ugly things.” His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Then he was gone.”
Her thoughts raced over the past eighteen months. How wrong Uncle King was about Ric. If he’d wanted revenge, he could have embroiled her family in scandal or legal battles. Instead, he’d become Jodi’s friend. The glee-club-unto-himself who shouted himself hoarse at volleyball and basketball games and track meets. The devoted fan who sat in the sweltering sun on hot bleachers, watching Jodi race her horse around barrels. The dependable guy who picked her up after school when she missed the bus because of sports practice or drama club.
“I understand why you married Bobby.”
She looked at him then. “Do you?”
“He was here, I wasn’t.”
She pushed at his chest until he released her. “Stop being so understanding. I feel terrible. I loved you. I really did. I dreamed about us getting married and traveling the world. Then I found out I was pregnant. I was so scared.”
“Laney, I—”
“Daddy just hated you. I don’t know why, but even mentioning your name made him lose his temper. I was scared of what he might do.”
“I know—”
“Bobby said let’s get married, and it sounded like the perfect solution even though I knew you would hate me. I just didn’t know what to do.”
He caught her shoulders with both hands. “I know! If it makes you feel better, hell yes I was mad. I wanted to beat the snot out of Bobby. I wanted to confront you and let you know—” he gave her a little shake “—how much you hurt me. But then he was gone. I couldn’t hurt you. I couldn’t hurt Jodi. So I got over being mad. I even got over being hurt.”
She searched his eyes, wanting to believe him. Deep and wise, the dark blue depths were warmed by kindness.
“When I got to know Jodi, I saw what a great father Bobby was. He did more for her, and for you, than I ever could have.” He grinned crookedly. “It would have been a huge mistake if we got married. You’d have hated the army. You’d have ended up hating me.”
She didn’t believe that; she refused to believe it. “I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t figure out how.”
“Come on, sit down.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Bobby said I needed to hear about Jodi before I heard it elsewhere. I guess this note is the reason why.” He set a glass of water before her.
She pressed the cool glass against her hot forehead. “God, I feel so guilty. I should have shown it to Tate. I should have told—”
He stared out the window over the sink. “Uh-oh, Jodi’s coming.”
Not wanting her daughter to see she’d been crying, Elaine scrambled to her feet. She snatched up the note. “She doesn’t know, Ric.”
Still watching out the window, he said, “Then let’s not tell her. Go change your clothes.”
She hurried to the bedroom. Weeping had left her drained and wobbly, but oddly lighter. She stripped off her dress and panty hose, then pulled on socks, jeans and a flannel shirt. When she saw her blotchy face in the bathroom mirror, she groaned. She scrubbed her face clean of cosmetics.
She picked up the note from the bed. Lunch shifted unpleasantly in her stomach. Tate was going to have to see this.
What might happen from this point on, she hadn’t a clue. At least there were no more lies between her and Ric.
When she joined Ric and Jodi in the kitchen, Jodi had already changed out of her church clothes and into jeans. She was telling Ric how she and Elaine, Lillian and Uncle King were going to Greeley to attend Marlee’s graduation. Ric listened to his daughter as if her every word were a precious jewel.
Elaine felt Bobby’s presence now, in this cozy kitchen where he’d spent hours helping Jodi with her homework. Where he’d eaten countless meals. Where they’d shared laughter and small talk and philosophical discussions and arguments. His presence seemed to say to her, “Let the past go and get on with living.”
Somehow, some way, she’d make amends for what she’d done. Elaine cleared her throat to catch their attention. “Shall we go see a man about a horse?”
Chapter Ten
Ric rested his forearms on the corral’s top rail. His daughter put the Morgan gelding through his paces. A fine example of the breed, the horse had big intelligent eyes and trim ears. He was a dark russet bay with black legs and an extra long mane and tail. In the midst of shedding his winter coat, he was scruffy but looked and acted healthy. He loped in a neat figure-eight, kicking up dust in the corral.
“She rides like a dream,” Ric said.
“Amazing considering how fat that pony is,” Elaine replied. She turned a teasing grin to Erles Harbaugh. “How long since he’s been ridden?”
The middle-aged man hawked and looked about to spit, then cut his eyes at Elaine and swallowed. He thumbed back his cowboy hat. “Not since Sue went off to college. Old Savvy there is worse than a beagle dog. Eat anything that isn’t nailed down.”
“He looks good,” Ric said. Jodi looked wonderful. He thought his heart might burst with pride.
Jodi tugged the reins. The gelding obediently tucked his hindquarters and stopped. One dark ear remained swiveled toward his rider. He wore a hackamore instead of a bridle with a bit. It struck Ric as a sign of a gentle animal.
“Rides real easy, Ric,” Jodi said. She patted the animal’s neck. “But needs some exercise. Listen to him blow.”
Elaine reached through the fence and tugged a long whisker. The Morgan snuffled hungrily around her hand. “You say he’s twenty years old?”
Erles laughed. “I ain’t playing horse trader with you, missy. Uh-uh, not with no McClintock gal. He’s fourteen, in his prime. Yeah, he’s a butterball, but like the little lady says, just needs exercise. I got his pedigree, properly registered. And a vet certificate, too. Get him in shape and he’ll do wonders in pleasure trails. He’s one of them show-off critters. Loves it when a crowd is watching. Acts like the king of England when he goes prancing into a show ring.”
“I hate to sound like a greenhorn,” Ric said, “but does he have any dangerous quirks?”
Frowning in concentration, Erles scratched beneath his hat. “He’s pretty darned good at picking latches. I suggest a padlock on your feed shed. He’s been down for colic twice ’cause he’s gotten into grain. Didn’t founder, though.” He rapped his knuckles on the fence. “Knock on wood.”
Jodi offered, “Ric has a bad back. He can’t have a horse that’ll buck or spook.”
Ric flinched at the artless explanation.
“Ah, that’s right.” Erles clapped a horn-textured hand on Ric’s shoulder. “Brave man doing what you did for your country, son. Real proud of your sacrifice. I promise, won’t give you no knucklehead horse.”
Erles climbed over the fence into the corral. He asked Jodi to take the gelding at a canter in a wide circle. Erles whipped off his hat and, shouting, waved it at the horse’s face. The Morgan cocked an ear toward the man, but never broke stride. Then Erles whistled, loud and piercing. A pair of hounds squirmed beneath the corral fence. The horse noticed the dogs, but didn’t react, not even when a dog trotted after him. Erles then flicked a rope at the gelding’s hindquarters, earning a rippling twitch and an annoyed look, but no shying or loss of concentration.
“That’s one calm animal, Ric,” Elaine said. “If you like, you can keep him at the ranch for a while. Jodi can get him in shape. You can ride him in the arena until you feel comfortable.”
“Is he worth sixteen hundred dollars?” He was still reeling over Erles calling him a hero.
“He’s worth a lot more than that. But I’m sure Erles i
s sick of feeding him.”
“You don’t think he’s too short for me? He looks short.”
“Fifteen hands is about right. Make it easy for you to mount and dismount. Besides, Morgans pack a lot of power. Look at the depth of chest on him. Iron legs, too. Once he’s in shape, he’ll be unstoppable.”
He smiled down at her. “I’ll take you at your word.”
“Offer Erles twelve hundred. He’ll be insulted if you don’t dicker.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
So Ric tossed out the low-ball offer. Elaine was right. The man looked delighted, though he tried hard not to show it. In the end, Ric agreed to pay seventeen hundred and fifty dollars for the horse, the saddle and hackamore. Erles went to fetch the paperwork. Jodi led the horse into the barn to unsaddle him and rub him down. Ric and Elaine sat in his truck.
He was writing out a check when Elaine asked, “Are you sure you aren’t mad at me?”
Her cheeks were pink from the cold wind and her hair was tousled. She looked young enough to be Jodi’s sister. Gorgeous. He took his time signing the check. “I got over being mad. I told you that.”
“I’m not over being mad at myself.” She sighed heavily. “We need to tell Jodi.”
“Nope.” He tore the check out of the book and examined it. This made him the official owner of an eating machine that required vet check-ups, grooming, daily feeding, exercise and shoes. The pride on Jodi’s young face for helping him select the perfect animal made it all worth it.
“We have to, Ric. She needs to know.”
“No, she doesn’t. There’s no point to her knowing. Bobby was her daddy. And if you and I,” he shrugged, “get together, there’s no sense in confusing her about things she has no control over.”
She fiddled with a coat button. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“I don’t want to know. If I opened my door today and some guy said he’s my father, I’d probably punch him in the nose.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned. I’m not going to turn her whole life upside down. Fill her up with questions I don’t know how to answer. What we did, we have to live with. I don’t see why she has to suffer.”
She placed a slim hand over his. Even an innocent touch was pure torment for him. If only she knew how very difficult it had been for him to walk away from her last night.
“She loves you,” she said.
“As a friend. I love her too much to make her life any harder than it is now.” He longed to gather her into his arms. “The person we have to tell is Tate.”
She drew back, her eyes growing wide. “The note?”
“We have to, Laney. I suspected all along Bobby was being blackmailed. The note is proof.”
Erles approached the truck. Ric handed over the check. Erles handed over an envelope containing the Morgan’s pedigree, registration and vet certificate. “I’m gonna hate seeing that old chow-hound go. He’s friendly as a lap dog.”
“I’ll send a man with a trailer to pick him up tomorrow,” Elaine said. “What’s the best time for you?”
“Any old time in the afternoon, hon. Either me or the missus will be around.” He shook hands with Ric. “Does my heart good to know Savvy is going to a good home. Just don’t forget padlocks, son. And cut his grain in the summertime to nothing unless you’re working him hard.”
Flattered the old rancher thought he was giving the pampered Morgan a good home, Ric said, “I will, sir. Tell your daughter, if she gets nostalgic, she’s welcome to ride him any time.”
Ric drove Elaine and Jodi home. The girl made excited plans about getting the Morgan in shape. She listed the many places she could take Ric riding. When they reached Elaine’s house, Ric noticed his uncle’s truck was still parked in front of Lillian’s. The old bachelor had finally been heart-snagged. It amused him.
Elaine lingered next to the driver’s side of the truck while Jodi ran into the house. “I really think it’s better if we tell her. I’d hate for her to hear it from someone else.”
“Trust me on this, will you? I’m going to find Tate. I’ll call you.”
He rested an arm on the open driver’s window. He didn’t want to go. He’d be happy to sit in her kitchen and drink coffee and watch her do laundry or read the Sunday paper. Listen to Jodi talk about the thousand and one things that utterly fascinated her this week. Shoot a few baskets with his daughter. Elaine seemed reluctant to end the day, too.
Her smile quirked. She walked her fingers along his forearm. Her expression turned impish, her big eyes shining. “So, does today count as our second date?”
He bit back laughter. “Why, Miz Greene, I’m shocked and appalled by your eagerness.”
She batted her eyelashes, her smile far too innocent. “Just asking.”
He kissed her cheek, lingering with his nose in her hair. She smelled of fresh air and sweetness. Desire jolted him, weakening his resolve. He pulled back and started the engine. “You be a good girl.”
She stepped back, sighing dramatically. “It’s hard.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered and shoved the transmission into reverse.
EARLY ON Wednesday morning, Elaine drove through town. The windshield wipers swiped at steady rain mixed with sleet. It was so early none of the shops were open. Icy rain kept pedestrians off the sidewalks. She pulled around behind the Track Shack and parked next to Tate Raleigh’s Bronco.
She darted through the rain to the back door. By the time Tate answered her knocking, water was streaming from the brim of her hat. She hustled inside, shivering, chilled to the bone.
“Good morning,” Tate said. He helped her out of her coat. He hung it and her hat on a wooden peg. “Crazy weather. Don’t you ever get spring around here?”
“Wait until you see your first July snowstorm. Is Ric here?”
“Not yet.”
She followed him into the tiny apartment tacked onto the back of the bar. Age-darkened pine paneling covered the walls. Indoor-outdoor carpeting was worn through in spots. A rack holding free weights crowded an entire corner. What snagged her attention were the books. Shelves made of planks on cinder blocks sagged beneath the weight of countless volumes. Books were piled on the floor and in a precarious looking stack atop a table next to a sofa. Tate moved books from a kitchen chair.
“You like to read.” She felt dumb for stating the obvious.
“When I have time.” He plunked a steaming mug of coffee on a table in front of her. He winked. “Hopeless bookaholic.”
She never knew what to make of Tate. Her first impression had been of a big, dumb jock, but once she stopped being distracted by his accent, she’d realized he was highly intelligent. If the eclectic collection of books indicated anything, he was cultured as well.
“I imagine you miss book stores,” she said.
“And a library. This town needs a library, what do you think?” He jerked a thumb at a computer squeezed into a corner. “The Internet is useful, but libraries are better.”
“Why did you move here?”
He joined her at the table. “When I was twelve my family took a cross-country vacation to California.” He laughed. “Station wagon, crap tied on top, fighting with my brothers and sisters, Dad making time, Mom whining about bathroom stops, the whole schmear. What I remember best was the Rockies. I fell in love. Everything is so big. It’s…grand! So when I got a chance to move, I took it.”
Elaine got a funny sense that he wasn’t telling the whole story. She shook off the feeling. His personal life was none of her business.
When Ric showed up, he was soaking wet after walking from the wood shop. His hands were red. He gratefully wrapped both of them around a hot coffee mug. He lowered himself to a chair as if fearing he’d break in half.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” he answered sharply.
Her mothering instinct probably irritated the dickens out of him. S
he curled her lips inward against the urge to fuss.
“Ric says you have something to show me,” Tate said. The rickety table dipped when he rested an arm on it.
She pulled the note from her shirt pocket. The time was past for shame. She handed it over.
Poker-faced, he read it. “Where did you get this?”
She told him about finding it in Bobby’s jeans pocket. She added, “I had it in my head that Daddy wrote it. I even searched his house for a typewriter, but didn’t find one. I was scared to death it was proof that he was a murderer. But now I realize it’s impossible.”
Tate looked between the note and Ric. “Why is that?”
“Because the threat…he threatened to tell Ric that he’s Jodi’s biological father.”
Tate’s expression remained bland. What was a huge scandal in McClintock probably didn’t mean diddly to a New Yorker.
“Bobby told me that day in the Track Shack,” Ric said. “He wanted me to hear about it before I heard elsewhere. Laney is right. Del would have shot himself before letting me know I had a claim on his granddaughter.”
“So, who else knows?” Tate asked.
Elaine slumped on the chair. She was a fool to think she could keep any secrets in a small town. “I never told anyone, and I doubt if Bobby did, but our hasty wedding caused some gossip. So did the timing of Jodi’s birth.”
Tate frowned. “I’m surprised Bobby didn’t tell you that he told Ric.”
She supposed not even the intimacy of marriage meant knowing another person inside and out. “He must have wanted to talk to Daddy first.”
“How would Axton Cross know about Ric and Jodi?”
Elaine looked to Ric, and he looked to her. In sync, they shrugged. She said, “He must have heard some gossip. Do you still think Axton is involved?”
“He owns a revolver.”
Elaine’s belly lurched. “What kind?”
“.44 magnum.”
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
Ric sat taller. Suddenly, he looked very dangerous.
“The weapon is registered, and he has a concealed carry permit. The sheriff issued it. I talked to the M.E. who autopsied Bobby. Bobby’s wound was consistent with a .44 round fired at close range. I also did what I could with the phone records, but I don’t think anything will come out of it. The under-sheriff was on desk duty when Del’s call came in. He swears the sheriff was at the station.”
