by Diana Palmer
“He and his father are very similar in some ways,” she replied. “Jim Brannt raised him to have a great respect for women and to understand that they are much too delicate for physical labor.” She shook her head. “I suppose some of that is my fault, too. You know, I lived with my aunt, and she was much the same. She didn’t want me to lift a finger because ladies didn’t do that. On the other hand, she hated my mother. She didn’t want me to turn out like her, either.”
“They play some of Grandmother’s movies on television,” she said. “She really was a wonderful actress. They said she married four men.”
Shelby nodded. “The last was the best…Brad. He died in a car crash just after I married King.”
“Did Grandmother commit suicide or was that just malicious gossip?” she wondered aloud.
“I never knew,” Shelby confided. “Brad said she overdosed because the studio fired her. But my aunt had often said she wasn’t the suicidal kind at all. Maybe she just accidentally took too many pills to help her sleep. I’d like to believe that’s the case.”
“Perhaps it was.”
Shelby had hugged her. “Anyway, you don’t want to go around covered in mud and calf poop, really, do you?” she teased. “Even if you were muddy from archaeology, at least it was clean dirt.”
Morie had burst out laughing.
Her father had come into the room during the conversation. He wore a satisfied expression as he bent to kiss Shelby and hug her close.
“I got tickets,” he told her.
“To The Firebird?” Shelby exclaimed excitedly. “But they were sold out!”
“Old Doc Caldwell was persuaded to part with his. I thought his wife was going to kiss me to death since she hates Stravinsky,” he said, and produced the tickets out of his shirt pocket. He handed them to Shelby.
“When are we going?” she asked.
“Tonight.” He glanced at Morie and patted her cheek affectionately. “Sorry, kid, I couldn’t get an extra ticket.”
“Not a problem, Dad,” she’d replied with a smile. “Debussy is more to my taste. Stravinsky is a little too experimental for my tastes.”
“Want a new dress to wear to it?” King asked Shelby. “We can fly up to Dallas to Neiman Marcus.”
“I have a wonderful new dress in the closet that I’ve been saving.” She pressed close to him and was enfolded hungrily in his arms. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
He kissed her hair. “Nothing’s too good for my best girl.”
Watching them, Morie was suddenly aware that their love for each other had only intensified since they’d been married. They were still like newlyweds, often lost in each other and unaware of anything around them. She’d hoped for that sort of romance in her own life, and she’d never found it. Cort, too, remarked that their parents were exceptionally suited to each other and that he envied that relationship.
Cort, of course, was sweet on the daughter of King’s neighbor and friend, Cole Everett, who had a son and a daughter and lived nearby on the Big Spur Ranch. They frequently traded seed bulls and went to conventions together. Odalie Everett was blonde and blue-eyed like her beautiful mother, and although she wasn’t really pretty, she had a voice that was soulful and clear as a bell. She sounded just like her mother, except that Heather had been a famous contemporary singer before she married her stepbrother, Cole, and Odalie was being groomed for an operatic career. Her parents were dead set against her forming any sort of relationship with a man because of her musical aspirations. It would be difficult for her to pursue such a demanding career and have a family. She had a voice that had been hailed by critics from California to New York and she was training at the Met already. Cort, unsurprisingly, had never made his feelings for her known. In fact, he pretended that he had none. He’d been Odalie’s enemy for years, for reasons that no one understood. Least of all poor Odalie, who adored him.
Morie snapped back to the present. She had her own worries. Her brother would have to find his way to love all by himself. She turned her attention back to the television as the commercial ended and her grandmother came back onto the screen, larger than life.
After the movie ended, Morie looked in the mirror and was surprised to see that she was almost the image of her grandmother. If she’d used makeup and had her hair styled properly, she could have been mistaken for Maria Kane. So it was just as well that she’d neglected her hair and packed away her cosmetics to work on the Rancho Real, she decided. It would never do for people who watched old classic movies to notice that resemblance and start asking questions.
DARBY PRESENTED HER with a cell phone the next morning. “Boss said to get that for you and make sure you carry it when you’re out alone. Still got that pistol I gave you in your saddlebags?”
“I do,” she replied. “Have they caught that escaped killer yet?”
He shook his head. “He’s a hunter. Knows these woods like the back of his hand, and is able to live off the land. It will take them a long time to hunt him down. He’s got kinfolk around here, too, and the sheriff thinks some of them may be helping him hide.”
“I don’t know that I’d help a killer escape the law,” she remarked.
“What if it was your brother or your father?” he asked simply.
She sighed. “That’s a harder choice.”
“Killer’s got a cousin that they think might help him. They’ve got his place staked out. They’re sure Bascomb is getting food and shelter somewhere.” He shook his head. “But the cousin’s place is miles from here. I don’t think Joe Bascomb would turn up on the ranch.”
“He doesn’t have anything against the Kirks, does he?” she asked a little worriedly.
“Not that I know of,” Darby told her. “In fact, Tank testified as a character witness for him during the trial. Tank still thinks he’s innocent.”
“What did he do?”
“Killed a man that he said was beating up his girlfriend. Said he didn’t mean to do it. He hit the man and he fell into a brick wall, hit his head and died. Would have probably been ruled accidental except the girlfriend suddenly testified that he banged the man’s head against the wall and killed him deliberately.”
“Why would she lie?” she asked.
“She was sweet on Bascomb, but he was in love with his late wife and didn’t want anything to do with this girl. Story was, she called him to come help her because she was scared of her new boyfriend. He was fond of her, so he went. The boyfriend had hit her once or twice and Joe Bascomb intervened to save her.” He sighed. “Noble effort. He saved her and he said she got even with him because he wouldn’t get involved with her, although she denied it in court. It got him convicted. It’s a capital offense, too. He slipped away from the transport deputy, handcuffs and leg irons and all, and hid out in the woods. They found the cuffs and irons later.” He smiled. “Joe’s a blacksmith. Wasn’t hard for him to get free, I expect.”
“He sounds like a decent man.”
He nodded. “More than one decent man’s gone to prison on the word of a spiteful woman, however.” He checked his watch. “Best get going or you’ll be late back for lunch.”
“I’m on my way.”
She saddled her horse and rode off.
AT LEAST SHE DIDN’T HAVE TO worry about the escaped killer so much, now that she knew why he’d been convicted. Of course, he’d be desperate and she didn’t want to get in his way or threaten him. But she could understand his plight. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be any way to save him. He’d go to prison for life or die in the electric chair at a judge’s pleasure. It didn’t seem right.
She found no more breaks in the line. The weather was beautiful. The predicted snow didn’t materialize. Everything was getting green and lush, and she finally took off her jacket because it was getting hot.
She paused by a stream and closed her eyes to listen to it gurgle along. She felt herself relax. A twig snapped. She whirled and looked around her, her hand tight on the bridle of her mount. A good thing, because the gelding
jumped at the sound. Horses were nervous creatures, she thought, and usually with good reason. She’d seen one tear loose from a hitching post and go careening over a fence just from a pan being dropped in the kitchen.
“What is it, boy?” she asked softly, looking around with some unease.
Nothing stirred. But she cut her losses. She mounted, turned the horse and urged him into a gallop toward the ranch.
LATER, SHE TOLD MALLORY about it when he came home. She found him in the kitchen drinking coffee with Mavie. He was concerned.
“It’s not unlikely that Joe might come here. Tank helped him in court and thinks he’s innocent,” Mallory said. “But the fact is that he’s an escaped, convicted killer. If you help him or Tank helps him, there will be consequences. You remember that.”
“I didn’t see anybody,” she protested. “I just heard a branch snap, like somebody stepped on it. I thought I should tell you, just the same. Could have been an animal, I expect.”
“Could have been. Or could have been Joe Bascomb,” he added. “You keep your eyes open. Darby give you that cell phone?”
She nodded and produced it.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Cane said he thought he’d seen you before. Now that he mentioned it, you do look familiar.”
“I told him…I just have that sort of face.” She laughed. She couldn’t react to the remark. “I might look like somebody you remember.”
He frowned. “Not really. Tank and I were watching this old movie on the classics channel. It starred that actress who killed herself—what was her name? Kane,” he said finally. “Maria Kane. That’s it. You remind me of her.”
“I do?” She smiled broadly to hide her discomfort. “Thanks! I think she was gorgeous! I watched that movie myself. I like the old black-and-white ones.”
He was diverted, as she’d meant him to be. “Me, too. I’m partial to Randolph Scott and Gary Cooper and John Wayne, myself.”
She raised her hand. “Bette Davis.”
He made a face. “Hard as nails. I like feminine women.”
She shifted uncomfortably. He was making a statement. Probably Gelly Bruner was his ideal. He’d already said he liked the pretty blonde actress in the werewolf movie. Gelly was blonde and blue-eyed, and pretty, also. Morie, with her dark hair and eyes and olive complexion, would never be to his taste. He might like kissing her, but he wasn’t looking at her as if he wanted anything more from her.
“Do you ever wear anything besides slacks and shirts with writing or pictures on them?” he asked suddenly.
She stared at him. “I’d have a real hard time pulling calves in a dress.” She said it with a straight face.
He gave a sudden laugh. “Damn!”
“Well, I would, boss,” she said reasonably.
He just sipped his coffee. “I guess you would.”
Piano music was coming from the living room. It was soft and pretty at first, then there were fumbles and then a crash. “Damn it!” Tank groaned.
They heard him get up and soon he came into the kitchen. He glanced at Morie. “I can’t get the rhythm of that coda. Do you have your iPod with you, with the soundtracks on it?”
“No,” she replied. She’d left it in the bunkhouse. “But I can show you.”
He frowned. “You can play a piano?”
She shifted as Mallory stared openly at her. “Sort of.”
“Sort of.” Tank caught her hand and pulled her along with him to the living room. He seated her at the grand piano. “Show me.”
CHAPTER SIX
“I JUST PICKED UP a little piano playing at the last job I worked,” Morie protested, denying her many years of piano lessons. “I probably can’t even do an octave now.”
“Can you read music?” Tank persisted.
She shifted. “Yes. A little.”
“Come on, then. Play.”
She couldn’t figure a way out of it. They might ask all sorts of questions if they knew how well she played. She’d been offered a music scholarship in college, which she’d turned down. Her parents could well afford her tuition, and the scholarship might help some deserving student who had no such means.
After a minute’s hesitation, she put her long-fingered hands on the keyboard and looked at the score before her.
She found the pedals with her foot, rested her hands on the keyboard and suddenly began to play.
Mallory, standing in the doorway, was shocked speechless. Tank, closer, smiled as he sank into an easy chair. A minute later, Cane heard the exquisite score and came into the room, as well, perching on the sofa.
Lost in the music, Morie played with utter joy. It had been weeks since she’d had access to a piano, and this one was top quality. It had been tuned recently, as well. The sounds that came from it were as exquisite as the score she was playing with such expression.
When the final, poignant crescendo was reached and she played the last notes, there was an utter stillness in the room and, then, exuberant applause.
She got up, embarrassed and flushed. “I only play a little,” she protested. “Thanks.”
Mallory was staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you full of surprises, for a poor cowgirl,” he remarked with faint suspicion.
She bit her lower lip, hard. “All of us have natural talent of some sort. I always knew how to play. I played by ear for a long time, then this nice lady took me in and tutored me where I worked last.” Actually, it had been Heather Everett, who played as well as she sang.
“And where was that, did you say?” Mallory persisted.
But this time he didn’t catch her out. “The Story Ranch outside Billings.” She happened to know that the ranch had been sold after the owner’s death. There was nobody who could deny her story. And she could always give him the phone number of the housekeeper who’d promised to cover her allegations.
Mallory actually looked disappointed. “I see.”
“He was a grand old fellow to work for,” she elaborated. “He had a piano and he let me practice on it. I was heartbroken when he died.” She was certain that she would have been, if she’d known him. Her father spoke of the old gentleman with great affection. He knew him from cattlemen’s conventions.
“You have a real talent,” Cane remarked. “Have you thought about a career using it?”
“Shut up,” Mallory said at once, glaring at his brother. “I’m not looking for a new hire to look after my prize heifers because she—” he indicated her “—wants to go off looking for a recording contract!”
“She should use her talent,” Cane argued hotly. “She’s wasting her life working for pennies, using up her health lifting heavy limbs off fences! Down the road, she’ll pay for all this physical labor. She’s too slightly built to even be doing it!”
Mallory knew that, but it irritated him that his brother had pointed it out to him. “She asked for the job and was willing to do whatever it involved!” he shot back.
Cane stood up, dark eyes glittering. “And you’re taking advantage of it!”
“You could send somebody with her to ride fences,” Tank interjected, stepping between the brothers. He smiled at Morie, who was looking with stifled horror at the confrontation she’d provoked so innocently. “In fact, I could ride them with her. I’ve got enough time free.”
“Or I could,” Cane said shortly. “You need to work on marketing for the production sale. I’m the one with the most free time.”
“She works for me, damn it!” Mallory ground out. “I tell her what to do. You don’t hire and fire! Either of you! Personnel problems are my business!”
“I am not a problem!” Morie said, and stomped her foot at the three brothers. “Listen, I don’t mind doing whatever my job calls for, honest I don’t. I really appreciate your kindness. But I just work here. I’m a hired hand.”
They stared at her.
“Your hands are precious,” Cane said gently, and with feeling, because he only had one left and he knew better than any
of the other brothers how precious they truly were. “You mustn’t risk them on physical labor.”
“I’ll buy her a pair of damned gloves, then!” Mallory snapped. “Want me to hire a companion for her, to do the hard jobs, while I’m at it?”
Morie felt sick. She lowered her eyes and moved away. “I’ll get back to work,” she said in a faint tone. “I never meant to cause trouble. I’m really sorry.”
She went out the door before they could stop her.
“Oh, you’re a real prince,” Cane shot at his older brother. “Now she’s upset!”
“I should go after her,” Tank agreed.
“I’ll go after her,” Cane replied curtly, starting for the door.
“What the hell is the matter with you two?” Mallory demanded hotly. “She’s an employee! She’s a hire!”
They glared at him.
“You’ve already forgotten Vanessa, have you?” he asked with a cold smile.
They sobered at once.
“She was handing our family heirlooms out the window to her lover, when we caught her,” he reminded them. “She was sweet and caring, and the best cook in two counties. She pampered us. Brought hot chocolate and cookies out to the barn in the snow when we couldn’t leave sick bulls. Made soup for us when we had to take turns staying in the line cabins, before market prices shot up. Treated us like princes. And all the while, she was pricing the stuff in the cabinets, the paintings, the silver services, the china, the crystal that was in our family for a hundred years.”
They looked shamefaced.
“She came with excellent references, too,” Mallory continued. “Except when I finally got around to checking them out, they were bogus. She lied even when we caught her red-handed. Her lover had made her do it. She was innocent. She loved working for us. She’d do anything if we’d forgive her and let her come back. She’d testify against her lover, even.”
“But she had a record as long as my leg,” Tank put in quietly.
“And a real talent for lying.” Cane nodded.
“And we almost lost the ranch because she sued us for defamation of character and sexual harassment, of which we were totally innocent.”
