by Joanna Wayne
“Where are you now?”
Langley had lowered his voice to a whisper, but the biting anger in his tone grabbed their attention. Ashley strained to hear more.
“I’m on my way.” Langley slammed the receiver into the cradle and grabbed his hat from the shelf by the back door. The easy smile he’d flashed had been transformed into a tight scowl.
“Who was that?” Mary asked, helping Petey down and following Langley to the door. “What’s wrong?”
“It was Dillon. He’s having a little car trouble. I’m going to pick him up.”
“Don’t lie to me, Langley. I know the sound of trouble when I hear it. What’s happened to Dillon?”
“He’s fine, Mom. Really.”
Langley’s attempt at a reassuring smile failed big-time. Not bothering to say more, he pushed through the door, a sense of urgency written in every hurried movement. Mary and Ashley were right behind him.
“Langley,” Mary called after him, panic shaking her high-pitched voice.
“Can you watch Petey for me?” Ashley said, grabbing her hat.
“Sure, but…”
Ashley didn’t wait for more. The engine of Langley’s pickup truck was already growling. She swung open the passenger door and jumped inside just as the truck started to roll. The brakes squealed and the truck lurched to a stop.
“Get out, Ashley.”
“No.” She reached for the seat belt and tugged it around her, sliding the metal latch into the locked position. “Dillon’s in trouble. I have every right to know what’s going on.”
“Please, Ashley. There is trouble, but Dillon isn’t hurt. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. But he will be mad as a crossed bull if I drag you into this.”
“He’ll get over it.” She stared straight ahead. Dillon might have kept her out of his life before, but this time she was not the docile wife trying desperately to make a bad marriage work. She didn’t have to play by his rules. Besides, chances were more than good that she was the root of this trouble, just like before.
“You’re wasting a lot of time for someone who’s supposed to be in a hurry,” she snapped.
“Right. On all counts.” Langley yanked the truck into gear and gunned the engine. Gravel spit from beneath the wheels as he spun out, heading north on a dirt road that had been born through use rather than plan. It was no wider than the truck, sometimes not as wide, and overhanging branches from squatty mesquite trees and rowdy bushes scratched at her window as they flew by.
“What did Dillon say on the phone?” she asked when her body grew accustomed enough to the bouncing and jostling that she trusted her voice to speak.
“I may as well tell you,” he said. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Langley’s tone hardened to the consistency of steel. “Dillon was coming home early this morning. He’d gotten as far as the north gate to the ranch. He was just about to jump out to open it when something hit his left front window, shattering the glass.”
Fear knotted inside Ashley, memories from the past crashing in on her, squeezing her breath away. “A bullet?” The words burned inside her, but she didn’t know she’d said them out loud until Langley answered her.
“Yeah. From a rifle.”
“Dillon’s not hurt. You said so. You promised.” The words sputtered from her tongue, the fear inside her choking her breath away.
“No, the bullet had his name on it, but it missed its mark.”
“Thank God.” Relief coursed her veins.
“It hit a young campaign aide who was coming to work with him at the ranch instead.” Langley’s face drew into hard lines. “Fortunately, it’s not serious, just a graze on the forearm, according to Dillon.”
“But it could have been.”
Langley nodded without taking his eyes from the road. Only it wasn’t road anymore. He’d left the worn path and set off through dirt, grass and cactus, the most direct route to the scene of the crime.
Ashley didn’t bother him with more questions. She was afraid she already knew the answers. She and Lester Grant. What had Branson said? Dillon couldn’t afford her kind of complications.
He was right. No one could. Not if they wanted to stay alive.
ASHLEY FELT Dillon’s burning gaze settle on her the second she alighted from the truck. She met his stare, but she didn’t find the condemnation she expected. If anything, she would have sworn it was the glimmer of concern. He started in her direction, and the need to run to him came from nowhere, for a second almost overpowering her control.
“I didn’t invite her,” Langley said, motioning to Ashley as Dillon grew closer. “She insisted. But I don’t see any harm in her being here, either.”
She flashed him a thankful smile for standing up for her.
“No harm done,” Dillon agreed. He squinted in the bright morning sun. “At least not by you or Ashley.” The veins in his face and arms were like raised rivers.
“I see Sheriff Palillo made it,” Langley said, staring at the paunchy man in a khaki uniform who stood leaning against Dillon’s car.
“Yeah. He was down at the Shakely place when I called, so it wasn’t much of a drive for him. The ambulance still isn’t here.” Dillon motioned toward the car and a young blond woman sitting inside. “Fortunately, Marilyn got little more than a scratch, but I want it checked out thoroughly for the police record.”
Ashley watched as the shapely young woman climbed out of the car and walked toward them. Her left hand clutched her right arm and a stain of blood circled her shirt. She was smiling, though, and her adoring gaze was all for Dillon.
Ashley’s heart twisted in a jab of unexpected pain. The woman could have been her a few years ago. Not that they looked alike, but the age and infatuation were obviously the same. The young woman sidled up to Dillon and waited to be introduced.
Ashley managed a hello and a few words of sympathy. What did she expect, anyway? Dillon had made it plain he’d gone on with his life. One kiss didn’t mean he’d spent the past three years pining away for her. In spite of what Branson had said.
Marilyn moved her focus to Langley, filling him in on the details of how the bullet had come from nowhere. Dillon pulled Ashley aside.
“I need to talk to the sheriff and Langley,” he said, his hands still knotted into fists. “And I need to make sure Marilyn leaves here in the ambulance. After that I need to talk to you. Wait for me.”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of going anywhere. Not until I find out what’s going on.”
“Good. When you find out, how about letting the rest of us in on it?” He walked over to the sheriff, and she caught up with him, matching his long stride by doubling her pace.
The sheriff ran short, stubby fingers over his double chin. “I wish you’d let me in on all the problems you’ve been having a little sooner, Dillon. I might have found out something then. But, in spite of what you think, I don’t see a smick smack of evidence to tie this shooting to Potter Bingley.”
“You’ve heard him around town, blabbing to everybody he sees how the Randolphs stole this section of land from his father, how the oil wells should have been on his place.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a cantankerous old hoot. His pappy was, too. Half the men in the county are, if you want to look at it that way, but they ain’t murderers and arsonists. Hell, we haven’t even had a string of fence cuttings like you’re talking about in years. Not since that Doubleday boy went on his wild hair back in eighty-nine.”
The squeal of sirens echoed in the distance. Dillon stepped in front of the sheriff, towering over him. “Okay, Palillo. You can play along with this thing all you want, but I can’t. I have myself and my family to protect, and I damn well plan to do it. Using whatever means it takes.”
“You just watch your step, Dillon. You’re getting a little too high-handed for folks around here. This ain’t Austin or San Antonio. These are my neighbors, and I got to live around here, same as you.”
“And I plan to keep on livin
g around here.”
The ambulance jerked to a screeching halt, and Dillon continued his commanding mode, this time supplying information and giving orders to the paramedics and to Marilyn, who was protesting furiously her fate of leaving without Dillon.
“It’s a treat to see you again, Mrs. Randolph,” the sheriff said after Dillon was out of earshot. “I didn’t know you and the senator had patched things up. It must have been mighty sudden.”
“You might say that. I guess it is too bad Dillon didn’t tell you about Potter Bingley sooner,” she added, hoping he’d offer a little information.
“Yeah. The senator always likes to run things around here himself. But this time I suspect he’s off base. Bingley’s been complaining for years about the Randolphs. Of course he ain’t the only one with something stuck in his craw about old man Randolph.”
Ashley stepped closer, her interest piqued Evidently the pristine Randolph family closet wasn’t exactly skeleton free. “Jack Randolph’s been dead for several years,” she said. “What could people be complaining about at this late date?”
“Land deals, cattle deals, oil wells, you name it. Everything old man Randolph touched turned to gold. His neighbors what tried to follow suit never had the same luck. Made for some mighty hard feelings at times.”
“Over here, Sheriff. I need an official signature on this form.” One of the paramedics broke into their conversation, and the sheriff waddled off, leaving her with a million questions. She walked to the truck to wait for Dillon, her mind a whirlwind of possibilities.
But this time she’d bet with the sheriff. The murderous actions were probably tied to Lester Grant, not Potter Bingley. Only why? If it was the money he was after, he seemed to be going about it the wrong way. Maybe it wasn’t the money. Maybe he’d finally given up on that and was after pure revenge. If that was the case, nothing that hurt her would be off-limits.
Not even harming Petey. A sudden rush of panic struck her chest, all but stopping her heart. This warning was for her, and she’d heed it. She’d wasted too much time already.
ASHLEY LET GO of Petey’s hand long enough to open the front door. “Ride orsey, ride orsey,” he wailed, backing down the steps. Dillon grabbed him and lifted him up and over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him.
“We can’t ride the horse now, Petey,” she said, picking him up and hugging him to her. She would have held him like that a lot longer, but he wiggled from her arms and headed for the den and the toys she had brought with them from Destin.
“We’ll go see the horses in a few minutes,” Dillon consoled him, following them into the den. He went straight for the bar as Petey did the toys.
“I’ve never had a drink in the morning before,” he said, splashing two fingers of bourbon in a shot glass. “But this morning has lasted for days.”
“I’m sure. You must be very upset about what happened to Marilyn.”
He downed his drink in one gulp. “I’m upset about a lot of things. But I’m thankful Marilyn wasn’t hurt seriously. We were damn lucky.”
A chilly tremble snaked Ashley’s spine. She remembered all too well the time when that hadn’t been the case. “If that bullet had been on target this morning, you’d be dead,” she said, her voice betraying the panic that still gripped her soul.
“Yeah.” He raked his fingers through his hair and then stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Two close calls in two days. You one day, me the next. And that’s without counting your fall the other night.”
“Luck like that can’t last forever,” Ashley replied. “But I think you can forget about Potter Bingley. He’s not even in the same league with the man causing this havoc.”
Dillon’s eyebrows went up, and his muscles tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s time we come clean.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter Nine
Dillon stared out the window, drink in hand, while he waited for Ashley to return from Petey’s bedroom. The morning of excitement at the big house with his grandmother had left the boy tired and fussy and ready for his nap a little early. It was just as well. Neither Dillon nor Ashley was in the best of moods.
His son’s first days on the ranch had been a far cry from what he’d expected.
“Petey’s talking to his stuffed animals, but I think he’ll drop off to sleep soon,” Ashley announced, walking into the den and perching on the edge of the sofa.
Dillon sat beside her. “I’m sorry I brought you into this, Ashley. I thought I was dealing with vandalism and empty threats. I never would have insisted you or Petey come here if I’d thought for a minute I was bringing either of you into danger.”
“I don’t believe you have.”
“Then you have a bizarre concept of danger. Yesterday someone tried to incinerate you. Today someone is taking potshots at me. You or Petey could have been in the car, and the injury could have been a lot worse than the flesh wound Marilyn lucked out with.” The possibility still clawed at his gut.
“It’s not the danger part I’m questioning.” Ashley crossed and uncrossed her legs, her fingers nervously pressing the rough denim that covered her thighs. “I think I’m the one the killer is after.”
“Don’t be ridicu—”
“Don’t start it, Dillon. For once, just listen. Lester Grant is capable of anything.”
So she was back to this again. She never let go of her past. Or maybe it never let go of her. Either way, she took way too much on herself.
He reached for her hand, half expecting her to pull away as she did so frequently, but this time she let his touch go unchallenged. “You have to stop blaming—”
“I don’t want to be patronized,” she interrupted. “I know what I’m talking about.”
“Not this time.” He struggled with the situation, searching for facts among the confusion. “I don’t really know what I’m up against here, but I can guarantee you it has nothing to do with you.”
“You gave that same guarantee three years ago.”
“I made a lot of mistakes three years ago.” Right now he wasn’t sure what they were. A week ago he’d have sworn it was getting involved with Ashley in the first place. Now, after a week of having her burrow back under his skin, letting her go seemed the tragedy of the century.
“Lester is dangerous, Dillon. You of all people should know that. He sent me a message the night before our wedding and told me not to marry you. I’m sure you remember what happened when we ignored his warning.”
“Lester had nothing to do with my being shot at the wedding. The police told you that at the time.”
“But I didn’t believe them. And neither did you.”
He couldn’t argue with her. Then he hadn’t had such a wide range of enemies. Today was a different matter. “Look, Ashley, there’s no reason to rehash the past. The problems we’re having at the ranch now have nothing to do with you or Lester Grant. His sentence was for twenty years. He’s still in jail, for chrissake.”
“Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“His term was shortened, and the enlightened parole board granted him an early release. He’s been free for a year.”
Dillon leaned forward, new possibilities crashing into the scheme of things but not convincing him anything had changed. “Okay, so he’s out on parole. That still doesn’t mean he’s stupid enough to show up here. Besides, what reason would he have to harass me or you seven years after the robbery?”
“He still thinks I have the money that he and my brother stole. He’s determined to get it back. And he knows I’m here at the ranch.”
“How could he know that? Even some of my best friends haven’t gotten the word yet.”
She jerked her hand from his grasp. “Because I was lying the night you found me in Destin. I didn’t fall down the steps. I was pushed. The police showed up and spoiled Lester’s kidnap attempt.”
Every muscle in Dillo
n’s body went rigid and his lungs constricted, choking him on anger and guilt. That low-down piece of scum. The thought of his murderous hands crawling on Ashley, terrorizing her, tore at his composure.
He had slept in his car while Ashley had fought for her life and then he’d been too stupid to figure out what had happened. “How did he know where to find you?” he asked, still fighting the urge to kill that clobbered him in the gut.
“He followed you to my apartment.”
“That’s impossible. I had no idea where you were myself until the day before I arrived. And that flight was overbooked. I had to call on my senate connections to make that flight.”
“Nonetheless, he followed you. He told me that himself.”
“There’s no way…”
“There is one way. Someone here at the ranch may have fed him the information. I’ve thought about it over and over. That’s the only way he could have known you were traveling to Destin to find me.”
Dillon knotted his hands into fists, his brain grappling with details. Even with all that was going on, betrayal by one of his own ranch hands had never entered his mind. “This still doesn’t make sense, Ashley. If it was Lester who attacked you, why didn’t you tell me that the night I found you?”
“Why should I have told you anything? You appeared from nowhere demanding my son. Knowing about Lester’s threats on my life would have been just the ammunition you needed to fight a successful custody battle. And I’ve told you before. You will never take my son away from me.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Does that mean you will agree to his living with me somewhere other than on Burning Pear?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“I’m leaving Burning Pear to handle Lester, Dillon. My way. All I ask is that you stay out of this. In your own infamous words, this has nothing to do with you.”
