Family Ties

by Joanna Wayne

  Dillon waited until Riff had ridden out of sight before he pulled the truck onto the road. Problems preyed on his mind. Nasty rumors about his ethics that were flying around Austin, cut fences, missing cattle and a lunatic making threats.

  And Ashley. He’d had the first four problems for months and he’d still managed to sleep like a baby at night. Somehow he was sure tonight would be different. Ashley Jackson Randolph had reentered his life, and the other problems paled in comparison.

  ASHLEY ADJUSTED her leg in the saddle and ran her fingers along the smooth leather of the reins. “I missed you, Surefire,” she crooned in the horse’s ear, nestling her face in the soft mane. He whinnied and tapped his foot on the carpet of grass as if assuring her she’d been missed, too.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to ride with you?” Trick asked her again. “It’s a big ranch, and one acre looks pretty much like another. It’s easy to get lost if you aren’t familiar with the landmarks.”

  “I might, but Surefire won’t, will you, baby? I’ll be fine alone,” she added, eager to be off.

  “Well, you be careful just the same. I don’t imagine you rode too many horses in the Florida panhandle.”

  Her fingers knotted around the reins. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Trick. On the ranch and in Florida.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I bet you are.”

  “Guess she told you.”

  Ashley turned as a gruff voice came from the open door of the horse barn. The man walked into the sunlight, tipping his hat in Ashley’s direction.

  “My name is Riff,” he said. “I met you before when you were living here on the ranch.”

  “I remember.” She extended a hand. He wiped his on the leg of his jeans before reaching for hers. He had gained a few pounds since she’d seen him last, and, if possible, his face had become even more dry and lined with deep grooves, like worn leather.

  “I was just offering my services as an escort,” Trick said, taking a cigarette and sticking it between his teeth, not bothering to light it. “She turned me down, but you can’t blame me for trying. She’s a sight prettier than you or those horses in there.”

  “She’ll be fine on her own. Surefire would never mistreat a lady.” Riff gave the horse a rewarding pat on his haunches. “You might want to head up north, Mrs. Randolph.”

  “It’s Ashley.”

  “Okay, Miss Ashley, whatever you say.” He nodded as if acknowledging he understood her reluctance to be linked with Dillon by name. “There’s a couple of new calves in the Bravo Creek pasture, just getting their legs. And there’s a stretch of late-blooming wildflowers down by Branson Creek. Looks like a sea of gold when the sun catches them just right.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check them out.”

  Surefire pulled impatiently, and she let him lead her away from the two cowboys. Tipping the woman’s Western straw hat she’d found in the living room this morning, she gave Surefire a little more rein. He broke into a smooth canter, and she leaned forward in the saddle.

  The wind swept through her hair, tugging it loose from the tight chignon she’d tied it in and sending tendrils flying about her eyes. The first tinges of exhilaration teased at her spirits. Riding was always exciting, but never like it had been the first time she’d climbed on Surefire’s back and raced Dillon across the grassy pastures.

  Today she was alone. Still, she’d made the right decision, leaving Petey to play with his grandmother just long enough for her to escape into the solitude of the ranch. She’d been at Burning Pear three days, but she’d barely seen Dillon since that first night. It was going to be difficult for him to get to know his son if he was never around.

  She urged Surefire faster and pushed Dillon from her mind. The sun had painted the ranch in shades of gold, and the fragrance of summer wafted on the morning breeze, tantalizing her senses.

  The feel of horseflesh beneath her, the heady thrill of speed, the knowledge that she was under no one’s watchful eye, surged through her. For the first time in days, the bonecrushing weight that had taken up residence on her chest began to lighten.

  The reprieve was more illusion than real, but at least for the moment, she almost felt young again. Strange—at twenty-four, she was young, but the problems that had plagued her the past few years had robbed her of her youth. Petey had brought her only pleasure.

  All too soon she reached Bravo Creek. Breathless, she tugged Surefire to a halt. He’d be more than ready for a drink in the shimmering creek that twisted through the old riverbed. And she was ready to stretch her legs and search for those new calves Riff had told her about. She slid from Surefire’s back to the carpet of grass.

  Surefire waded to the edge of the creek and then eased his front feet in, lowering his regal neck for a taste of the running water. She followed him, bending and cupping her hands, filling them with water and dousing her face. Bravo Creek ran cool, even when the hot Texas sun bronzed its rolling surface, the blessing of a cold spring that fed it from somewhere upstream.

  “So nice, isn’t it, Surefire?” she whispered, running her fingers the length of his neck. He stepped back, as if spooked, and an uneasy chill settled over Ashley. She turned and studied the bushes and the cluster of mesquite trees a few yards away. There wasn’t a sign of movement not even a glimpse of a rabbit or the calves Trick had mentioned. Still she had the ghostly feeling that someone was watching her.

  For a minute, she wished she’d brought the pistol Dillon kept on top of the bookshelf. She’d found it yesterday by accident while placing photographs of Petey in spots that needed his bright, shining face.

  The feel of the gun had brought gooseflesh popping out like measles. She’d called Dillon immediately and asked if there were other loaded guns around the house, ones Petey might be able to get his hands on. But Dillon assured her that was the only one, and it was well out of Petey’s reach. Still, it made her nervous. When Dillon came back, it would be leaving with him.

  Loaded guns, knives in her back and ghostly feelings haunting her in the bright sunlight. From sandy beaches to terror in just a few short days. Not that she’d ever felt totally safe, even in Destin. Certainly not safe enough to give up her lies and secret identity. No wonder she was letting her imagination get away from her now.

  Taking Surefire’s reins, she led him to the shade of the one large oak that stood guard over this portion of the creek. The hanging tree. Dillon had called it that on her first trip to the ranch, leading into the story of its history.

  A ragged sigh escaped her lips. A tree with a history. With roots so deep it reached nourishment even when the drought killed everything around it. Roots. She’d envied the tree that.

  Ashley leaned against the trunk of the tree and let memories slide over the fears of the present. Dillon had been so excited that day, showing her the ranch, going on about his and his brothers’ plans for the land. It was a different Dillon from the one she’d fallen in love with at the capitol. Different, but just as devastating.

  They’d stopped right here, beneath this very tree.

  Ashley closed her eyes, fighting a tear that came from nowhere. That was then. This was now. Only three years ago, but it seemed far more like a lifetime. Like somebody else’s lifetime.

  The old ache settled inside her, tightening her lungs and stealing her breath. Still, she’d never be sorry for the time she’d shared with Dillon. How could she be? Without Dillon, there would be no Petey.

  Her fingers automatically reached for the locket around her neck. She wasn’t sure why she still wore it, except that it had hung over her heart so long, she felt vulnerable without it.

  Surefire pawed the ground impatiently. “Okay, boy, I’ve had enough of this place, too.” After all, she had plans to make today. She’d run from Lester Grant long enough. Now it was time for her to do the stalking.

  She’d leave the ranch, and somehow she would find him or lure him to her. Only this time she’d be ready for him. Then, when she’d settled up wi
th Lester once and for all, she’d come to Burning Pear and claim her son.

  Surefire neighed again, twisting his head from side to side, as if he could smell trouble in the air. Eager to get on the move, she climbed into the saddle. From that height, she would be able to see if anyone was near.

  She let her gaze scan the area, slowly, watching for movement behind each bush. A blackbird took wing, rustling the leaves from his launching pad. Other than that only the wind stirred.

  Planting her knees into Surefire’s sides, she took the reins and turned him away from the creek. The jitters didn’t abate. She gulped in a huge helping of fresh air. But this time the fragrance of flowers and earth was tainted with the acrid smell of something burning.

  She studied the sky, fastening her gaze on the thin curl of smoke that rose from the north. It was probably just the ranch hands burning some trash, but she’d check it out. A tiny flicker could quickly grow into a major fire if not controlled. She’d heard Dillon and Langley talk about one fire that had claimed thousands of acres.

  She let Surefire make his own pace, and he flew across the hard ground, leaving her to hold on as best she could. Minutes later, he’d delivered her to the source of the smoke. It was a dilapidated shack, the glassless windows boarded over with huge planks of weather-beaten plywood. Smoke billowed from between the boards, and a persistent flame licked at the far end of the oblong structure.

  Ashley slid from Surefire’s back and ran to the building. The old wooden door stood open, half off its hinges. Holding her hand over her nose, she stuck her head inside, Smoke was heavy, but the fire was contained in one corner. If she hurried, she could put it out before it spread.

  Jerking the shirt from her body, she attacked the blaze, beating the flames with the thin cotton. The edge of her shirt caught fire and she threw it to the ground, stamping out the embers. A new part of the floor caught fire, throwing a flame skyward, and she had to jump sideways to miss the path of fire.

  Gasping for breath, she backed away. She couldn’t do this alone. She turned toward the door just in time to see it slam shut. And just in time to hear the latch fall into place.

  Chapter Seven

  Dillon raced toward the threatening cloud of smoke, fury driving him to push the powerful roan to his limits. Cutting his fences and writing stupid notes wasn’t enough. Now the rotten yellow belly was setting fires on his land.

  Under other circumstances, Dillon might have assumed the fire had been started accidentally, but not this time. It fit too well into the pattern of cowardly attacks he had been dealing with for the past few months. And it was in the northern end of his land, the favorite battle zone of his cryptic enemy.

  Relief tempered the fury as the fiery sight came into full view. Nothing but one of the empty shacks that had survived decades of storms and droughts. He should have torn it down years ago. This one and dozens like it dotted the remote areas of the ranch. They were nothing but refuges for tarantulas and rats.

  He climbed from the saddle and surveyed the scene. Dark smoke billowed from between the loose boards, and flames licked at the back side. It would collapse any minute, but he’d already called for backup, using the cellular phone he kept strapped to his belt like an old-time rancher might have kept his six-shooter.

  A wall of heat hit Dillon full force as he stepped closer, searing his skin through the thick denim of his jeans. The fire would spread fast if not stopped, but Riff and Langley were already rounding up the ranch hands and enough shovels to dig a trench. Still, when he caught the dirty coward…

  A loud crackling noise erupted and one of the boards from the ceiling collapsed and fell. Dillon backed away, then jerked to a dead stop as a high-pitched scream rose above the fire’s rumblings.

  He bolted for the door, sticking his hand into a crack in the boards and yanking. It didn’t budge. The cry came again, and this time there was no mistaking the voice. Panic rocketed through him, providing a new surge of strength. This time when he pulled, the door creaked open.

  “Dillon, help me out of here.” Spasms of coughing all but drowned Ashley’s words.

  “I’ve got you, baby.” The words flew from his mouth as he moved in a terrified rush, falling to his knees and grabbing her shoulders. Her feet raked the ground as he pulled her to safety just as half the ceiling collapsed around them.

  Coughing and gasping for breath, he threw Ashley across his shoulder and ran to a grassy spot downwind from the choking smoke and unbearable heat.

  “The fire. I tried to stop it.” Her voice was weak and punctuated with hoarse coughs.

  “Don’t talk.” He couldn’t himself. His insides had dissolved into a shuddering mass. He cradled her head in his trembling hands.

  “I thought it was…” Tears moistened her eyes, sliding into the soot that painted her face.

  “I’m here, Ashley. It’s okay.” His voice cracked on the words. Touching her as gently as he could, he ran his fingers down her arms, examining her slowly, inch by inch, assuring himself she was really all right. His gaze fastened on the gold heart that dangled between her breasts, and his heart skipped another beat.

  His fingers brushed across the soot-tarnished locket, and she folded her arms over her half-exposed breasts. Evidently she’d used her shirt to fight the blaze. Tough as nails, as always. He jerked open the buttons of his shirt and yanked it from his arms, then draped it about her.

  She coughed a thank-you and tried to sit up.

  “I have some water on my saddle. I’ll get it for you.”

  “I’m fine, Dillon. Just deal with the fire. But be careful.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the fire.”

  His hands tightened around her. If he’d been a second later, if she hadn’t been scrunched against a missing board that had let her breathe, if she hadn’t kept screaming…So many ifs. His mind careened crazily.

  But he had found her, and she was okay, frightened but with no sign of serious burns. Hating to let her go even for a second, he eased her to the ground while he went for the water.

  Ashley stretched her cramped legs and closed her eyes, longing to block out the sight of the inferno that had almost consumed her along with the shack. But the crackling of flames and the crashing of boards falling and knocking together still roared in her ears. She rose up to her elbows, struggling for air to cool her burning lungs.

  Dillon was back in seconds, supporting her head in his arms and letting the water trickle down her parched throat. When she nodded that she’d had enough, he dotted a clean handkerchief with water and sponged her face.

  “I guess I look a sight.”

  “You’ll do.”

  His voice was husky, and his eyes swam in an ebony sea. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think concern and not smoke moistened his eyes.

  “Are you able to ride? If you are I’ll take you to the ranch. If not, we’ll have to wait on someone to bring a truck.”

  “I can ride.” She wasn’t at all sure she was telling the truth, but she was ready to get as far away from here as Surefire could carry her.

  “Good. All you’ll have to do is hold on to me. I’ll handle Thunder.”

  “Where’s Surefire?”

  “I haven’t seen a sign of him. He’s probably gone for help.” He bent and took her arm, wrapping it around his neck. “Just hold on.”

  “I can walk.” She pushed away from him, sure she could stand on her own. Her legs wobbled under her like a newborn colt’s, and Dillon swung her into his arms.

  “I’m sure you could make it on your own. But it won’t kill you to let someone else take care of you just once.”

  Just once. A few minutes ago she’d thought once was more than she’d ever have again. Giving in to his strength, she rested her head against his broad shoulders. She was much too tired to fight or even to remember why she should.

  His horse was waiting, and when Dillon propped her into position, she threw her leg over Thunder and clung to his neck. Struggling fo
r balance, she tried to sit upright. But upright seemed to be moving back and forth. Head swimming in ever widening circles, she swayed toward Dillon.

  “Okay, just take it easy.” He reached up to steady her, keeping his arm around her waist until she gained her equilibrium.

  She clutched at the loose shirt that Dillon had thrown over her shoulders. Again, he helped, pulling the sleeves over her arms and tugging at the front until it fully covered her sooty breasts. Fumbling with the metal snaps, he managed enough to keep the shirt from dropping off her shoulders.

  “We’ll go as slow as we need to,” he promised, swinging up in front of her. “Now, hold on to me and try a couple of deep breaths. That should help clear your head.”

  She gulped in a few jagged helpings of air. The rich supply of oxygen burned her lungs, but it did bring a little clarity to her thinking. She straightened her back and looked ahead, the opposite direction from the death trap she’d just escaped.

  Dillon pulled her hands around him. “Hold tight. That’s all you have to do. I’ll do the rest.”

  “No problem.”

  “If there is, just whisper in my ear. I’ll stop.”

  Ashley leaned into Dillon, her face buried in the smooth flesh of his bare back. Still trembling, she hugged her body to his tightly, her fingers knotted against the hardness of his stomach. So close, she could all but feel the strength from his body surge into hers as Thunder broke into a canter.

  “Are you still hanging in there?”

  “I’m fine, but we’ll be a long time getting home at this rate.”

  He picked up their pace, still at no more than an easy trot, but enough that the wind whispered through her clothes and hair, cooling her skin and awakening her senses.

  She was alive. Breathing air. Feeling a body next to hers. Suddenly, she felt like shouting. A close call with death was a potent revitalizer. Or was it just the sudden intimacy with Dillon that had her every nerve singing with awareness?