Family Ties

by Joanna Wayne

  A quick check on Petey, and then she’d try to read for a while. Tiptoeing across the carpet, she stopped at the crib, and her heart warmed. Squeaks, lightning, thunder, Riff’s deep voice. Nothing had fazed Petey. Sleeping soundly, he still hugged his bear to him, one leg resting on the stuffed stomach.

  So beautiful, so sweet. So much like his father. Bending, she touched the top of his head with her lips. There was no reason for Lester to hurt Petey, but Lester defied reason. Still, Petey would be safe. She had to believe that. Dillon had promised, and this time she had to have faith that he could keep his word.

  Whispering a prayer, she backed out of the nursery and headed down the hall to the king-size bed where she would lie alone. As for sleep, she doubted she would see it for a long, long time.

  LESTER GRANT stared into the stinking darkness, cursing Ashley and her dead brother. His clothes were soaking from the rain that poured through the cracks in the roof, and he was damn tired of living with spiders and rats. No wonder he’d blown his cool last night and slashed that calf.

  It was a fool thing to do, though. The Randolphs had roamed this area of the ranch all day, looking for a clue as to who did the dirty work. One time he’d thought for sure he was going to have to shoot the blond guy.

  Then he’d have been on the run again, and Ashley Jackson Randolph would still be living like a princess in her little white house. The little white house that was guarded like Fort Knox.

  And he knew why. Because Ashley had something that Dillon Randolph wanted. Oh, he might want her body, too. Lester wasn’t denying that. After all, she was a looker, with a shapely little figure that would probably light up a bedroom scene real nice. Not that an uppity senator rancher like Dillon Randolph would know what to do with it.

  But the real reason he was being so protective of his estranged wife was because he needed that million bucks himself. He’d been dipping his hands into the campaignfund pot. Lester had gotten that story firsthand from his source, and his source had never let him down yet.

  One more favor was all that Lester needed. A free trip past Go and collect the money. Only it was the guard, not Go, he needed to pass. And his reward would be a lot more than a mere two hundred bucks.

  He had to find a way to get inside that house when no one was around. The money could be in there. Maybe under the mattress, in a cardboard box, stuffed inside a quilt. It could be anywhere. If Lester could get inside the house, he’d have a chance to locate it and get out without risking arrest.

  Even if he didn’t find the money by himself, he wouldn’t be leaving without it. Either Ashley would tell him where the million was hidden or she would never talk again. Or breathe, either, for that matter.

  And Senator Dillon Randolph? He’d definitely never lay his greedy little hands on a cent of the money. In fact, killing him would be so much pleasure, Lester might give in to the temptation even if he did get the money. Kind of a parting statement to the whole rotten state. To the country, for that matter. Once he got the money, he was out of here for good.

  It wouldn’t take a miracle. Just the right man pulling guard duty. And then all of this would be one rotten memory.

  Chapter Ten

  Dillon beat a fist against the steering wheel of his Lexus. Money. He was tired of hearing about it, thinking about it, and worst of all, worrying about it. Obviously, the rest of the world wasn’t.

  The press had gotten hold of the facts about the missing campaign funds, and judging from this morning’s press conference, they were planning a field day. No concern for the issues in the election. No mention of inflation, poverty, crime in the streets. Just find a way to hang a decent candidate and capture a few kudos for themselves.

  For two cents he’d pull his hat out of the ring and toss it on a hook at Burning Pear to stay. Cows—now those were sensible creatures. Their only ambition was to find a nice stretch of grass and enough water to keep them alive. Not one pompous, revengeful cud chewer among the Randolph herd.

  Well, the reporters could rant all they wanted. He wasn’t about to crawl on his belly, responding to their accusations like he owed them something. He’d given them his word he hadn’t taken any money he wasn’t entitled to. As far as he was concerned, that should be enough.

  Dillon twisted the knob on the door of his car, lowering the window and letting the wind hit him square in the face. Not that fresh air was enough to temper his fury. It might have had an effect on his worries about his crazy neighbor and even on the press, but there was also Lester Grant to consider.

  Fury washed through Dillon in new waves. The nerve of the rat, using him to get to Ashley. One thing was for certain. If the infamous Mr. Grant was found on Burning Pear, he’d be in jail so fast, he wouldn’t have time to spit twice, much less terrorize women.

  Ashley was convinced Lester was somewhere on Burning Pear. Dillon wasn’t, but he hadn’t ruled the possibility out completely. Wherever he was, the wheels were in motion to find him and put his cowardly acts of terror to an end.

  And it wasn’t Sheriff Palillo he was depending on. Dillon had always handled his own problems, and he could damn sure handle Lester Grant. Potter Bingley, too, for that matter.

  Dillon turned his head from side to side to work out the kinks stress had produced. The desire to protect Ashley from Lester Grant was consuming him. Ashley was consuming him. So much so that he’d gone against every vow he’d made himself three years ago.

  He’d made love to her again, opened all his old wounds and left them bare. It had probably been the biggest mistake of his life, knowing she planned to take his son and leave him again as soon as Lester Grant was out of the picture.

  But, no matter the cost, it was a mistake he couldn’t wait to make again.

  Dillon skidded to a stop at the back door of the big house and headed inside. All was quiet, too quiet. He stopped at the kitchen window long enough to catch a glimpse of his mom. The surge of relief that raced through him was proof of how paranoid this mess was making him.

  Mary saw him watching her sashay through her vegetable garden and waved cheerily before going back to picking her peas.

  Just as well. He was ready to get out of closed confines and into the wide open spaces. The faster, the better. Killers, press, yellow-bellied bank robbers or no, he was spending the rest of the day getting to know his son.

  And getting reacquainted with his wife. That thought made him move faster as he headed to his room to trade his press-conference attire for a pair of jeans and some goat-roping boots.

  ASHLEY SLOWED SUREFIRE to a trot. The ride had been all too short. Astride Surefire, her world had seemed to fall into sync. The brilliance of the sun on her face, the cooling whispers of summer wind in her hair and Dillon and Petey by her side, her son sitting tall in his father’s saddle. Once she’d come close to pinching herself to see if this was real and not another dream.

  But the pinch hadn’t been necessary. Reason had checked in and assured her she was awake. Awake and living a dream that could end any minute in a nightmare.

  “Whoa, orsey,” Petey squealed and then giggled delightedly. He still had doubts about his new home and about the man who called himself Daddy, but horses had won his heart.

  “Okay, big boy. Time to dismount.”

  A few yards ahead of her, Dillon was climbing from his saddle and showing Petey how to slide down to the stirrups. But the ride was over, and so was Petey’s interest in cooperating. Wiggling, he dropped to the ground and tried to jerk free of Dillon’s grasp.

  “Want Mommy. Want Mommy.” His demanding cries carried over the loud complaints of a couple of blackbirds.

  “How’d you like riding the horse?” Dillon asked, ignoring Petey’s yelps and continued struggles to break free.

  “Want Mommy now!” he demanded again, and this time he backed up his orders with his favorite defense, a swift kick to Dillon’s jeaned shins.

  “Petey, that’s no way to say thank-you for a ride on Thunder.” Ashley slid fro
m her saddle and joined the two of them.

  “He’ll get used to me,” Dillon said, flashing his familiar cocky smile.

  Ashley stopped walking, her knees suddenly as soft as one of Mary’s custards. Petey ran toward her in his wobbly toddler gait, and she grabbed on to a low-hanging branch for support. Looking up, she met Dillon’s scrutinizing gaze.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say, “all things considered.”

  “You look a little pale.”

  “Then the sun will be good for me.”

  “The shade will be better,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to a grassy spot under a spreading pecan tree.

  Petey lagged a few steps behind, kicking through the grass and stopping to pick up twigs that had dropped from the tree. With a new area to explore, he’d quickly lost all interest in her. Unfortunately, Dillon didn’t.

  “I really appreciate your coming riding with us today. Petey is a lot more responsive to me when you’re close by.” He leaned against the tree, one boot propped on the trunk, a tuft of dark hair falling over his brow.

  She struggled for equilibrium. Avoiding the unsettling depths of his eyes, she dropped her gaze to the exposed roots of the tree. “That’s why I came to Burning Pear,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah.”

  He brushed a gnat from her face and let a finger slide down her arm and tangle for one tantalizing second with her fingers.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about the bugs,” Dillon said, apparently not noticing the effect his touch had on her, “but I declare the rest of the day free from problems. We all need a break.”

  Flashing his disarming smile again, he walked to Thunder and retrieved a quilt and a bulky leather pouch from the saddlebag.

  “A day free of problems. Do you think such a thing exists?” She didn’t fight the sigh that escaped her lips.

  “It does now.” Swinging the quilt in the air, he let it parachute to the grass in waves of color. “If not a day, then at least a couple of hours.” His voice carried the taint of weariness, but he was clearly working at the no-problems promise.

  Stooping, he pulled a long-necked bottle of red wine from the pouch, and two plastic glasses. “I thought about crystal, but I figured they’d never make it in one piece.”

  Ashley dropped to the quilt. “You do know how to throw a no-problems party.”

  “Just one of my many talents.”

  “My, you’re in a festive mood today.”

  “It’s a front. Either laugh at your problems or they grind you into the dirt. I’m not ready to be ground under just yet.”

  Petey wandered over to the quilt and lifted one corner to peek under. “What that, Mommy?”

  She scooted to the edge and peeked under with him. “I don’t see a thing but grass, sweetie.”

  Satisfied there wasn’t a treasure hidden there that was better than the twigs he’d found to dig with, he toddled to his pile of dirt.

  “Is he always so curious?” Dillon asked, reaching across the quilt and placing a plastic bag of fresh strawberries at her fingertips.

  “Always. I often wish I could read that busy mind of his and get an idea of what he’s thinking.”

  “Good thoughts, I hope.” Dillon uncorked the bottle of wine with a flourish and filled the plastic glasses. “A boy should have nothing more to think about than fast horses, acres of land to explore and people he loves.”

  Ashley tipped the glass and sipped, letting the fruity taste soothe her dry throat. She watched Dillon do the same, but when he smiled, tiny lines burrowed in his brow.

  “Are those the things you’re thinking of, Dillon?”

  “Partly.” He leaned on his elbow and cocked his hat to an agreeable angle. “A few less desirable options are battling for space in the corral.”

  “Would some of those have to do with the calf that was slaughtered?”

  “Bad new travels fast. How did you hear about that?”

  “From Riff. He was on guard duty last night, and he stopped in for coffee.”

  “Riff talks way too much. And you don’t have to worry. I have my own ideas on how to handle that situation. Now, remember the rule of the day. No problems.”

  He leaned over and touched her lips with his. The kiss was heady, like the wine, and she scooted away while her mind still worked with some semblance of clarity. She’d love to follow Dillon’s edict of no problems, but they weighed too heavily on her mind.

  “Riff told me something else last night,” she said, stretching her legs in front of her. “He mentioned that your campaign for reelection might be in trouble.”

  “There’s no need for you to be burdened with all of that.”

  Old aggravations rumbled inside her. “Because I’m not a Randolph?”

  “Because you don’t need any extra problems. And you are a Randolph, unless there’s been a divorce I don’t know about.” Dillon filled his wineglass and topped off hers. “I don’t want to argue, Ashley. I just want a peaceful afternoon with Petey.” He leaned closer. “And with you.”

  She pulled away. “And I want answers to my questions.”

  Dillon ignored her demand, instead pushing a lock of hair from her face.

  “Dillon, I hope you didn’t read too much into our…” She struggled for the right words.

  “Into our making love yesterday?” He studied her expression, his own changing from friendly to suspicious.

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you going to tell me you didn’t enjoy it?”

  “No, of course not. But it was just our pasts catching up with us, our memories reliving passions that died years ago. It doesn’t change anything. When Lester is in jail, Petey and I will be leaving.”

  The lines in Dillon’s face hardened to steel. “What is there to change? You never said you wanted to stay on Burning Pear. And I never agreed you could take Petey away.”

  Yanking his hat low over his forehead, Dillon glared from beneath the brim, no trace of a smile to lighten the determination that darkened his face.

  “Ask all the questions you want. But, rest assured, I don’t need you, Branson or anyone else to fight my battles.”

  “Oh, now even the other Randolphs are off-limits. So what you’re saying is you don’t need anyone.”

  Dillon grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, their eyes locked in simmering battle. So close. Emotions tore at him, fighting inside him like charging bulls.

  One part of him longed to grab her and pull her into his arms, to let her know what real need was. One touch of his lips on hers, one more afternoon of giving in to the passion that roared inside him, and maybe they could both let go some of their bitterness.

  But the reasoning, self-preserving part of him won the battle for control. “Okay, Ashley, if it’s dirt you want, I’ll give it to you. I don’t know how much you know about my father.”

  “I know your mother thinks he hung the star in the Lone Star State.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s probably the worst part about all of this. The press is after me, but they’re going through my father’s memory to take me down. And Mother will be the one most hurt.”

  “How could they use your father to get to you? He’s been dead for years.”

  “He made a lot of land deals in his time. That’s how the ranch grew to be one of the three largest in the state. Some of his deals were rumored to be on the shady side.”

  “Were there any facts to back up the rumors?”

  “Not in most cases. The Bingley deal was the exception. Potter’s father was in debt to his eyebrows and about to lose his ranch. My dad offered to buy a small portion of his land, a little under the going rate.”

  “That’s business.”

  “True, but that particular parcel of land ended up being worth a hell of a lot more than the rest of the Bingley ranch. There’s ten producing oil wells in that small area. Everyone in these parts was convinced my father had some inside knowledge b
efore he specified which land was to be included in the purchase.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve heard the talk around here ever since I was a boy. We all have. That’s why Langley, Branson, Ryder and I got together a few months ago and offered Potter a cash settlement. He took our offer as an admittance of guilt, but he refused it. He countered with one of his own, one that was out of the question.”

  “Is that when the threatening letters started?”

  “Yes. And the fence cutting, and loud and long complaints to everyone who’ll listen. Now it’s escalated to butchering cows, firing bullets and starting fires.” A worried frown drew deep grooves into Dillon’s face. “He’s an angry man, but still the violence doesn’t fit in with previous behavior patterns.”

  Ashley nodded. “But violence does fit the patterns of Lester Grant.”

  “Maybe. Whoever’s responsible will pay. That much I promise you.” Dillon knotted his hands into tight fists, the fire in his eyes convincing her he would keep that promise if it was the last thing he did.

  “I still don’t understand,” she said. “How could a land deal between your father and a neighbor that took place years ago affect your bid for reelection?”

  “Potter managed to get his tale of the crooked Randolph to a few members of the news media at the most opportune time. There’s a question about some campaign funds I can’t seem to account for. Like father, like son. Both crooks. That’s my legacy, and apparently it makes a good story.”

  Dillon stiffened, his muscles straining against the cotton of his shirt. Ashley looked at him, really looked at him. She’d fallen in love years ago with a man who reeked of power and position, a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t stop for anyone who stepped in his path.

  For the first time she could begin to understand why the ribbon of steel that girded his will was so strong and why he had built such impossible expectations for himself. He felt he had to clear the family name. Instead, he was being drawn into the same trap, and it had to hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit.