Family Ties

by Joanna Wayne

  “Don’t sit there and defend her, Dillon. Not you of all people. You and your ranch that’s been in the family for generations, your brothers and mother and a whole string of relatives who come to call at Christmas and send you cards on your birthday. You’ve never known a day you weren’t surrounded by love.”

  Her words dissolved into tears, stinging, bitter tears that coursed from her eyes and rolled in rivulets down her cheeks. Dillon made it to her in mere seconds, holding her in his arms and rocking her against him.

  “Cry all you want.” His fingers wound through her hair, his mouth and lips nuzzling the flesh of her neck, whispering sweet assurances in her ears.

  “I don’t want to cry at all.” She sniffed and blew her nose on a tissue she rummaged from her pocket. “I’ve cried my share of tears already over the past.” She dropped her head to his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. He swayed gently, soothing, coaxing her to emotional stability.

  “We’ve talked enough for one night,” he said.

  She nodded her agreement, and he reached around her, flicking off the kitchen light without ever letting her out of his arms. Hand in hand they climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

  Dillon lay beside her, holding her long into the night while a million memories played across her mind. She slept a little, fitfully, waking to the comfort of Dillon’s arms around her. The woman from the dream didn’t come that night. Why should she? Now she wanted her share of the day.

  THE AIR WAS HEAVY, filled with the promise of rain. Ashley sat on Surefire’s back and stared into the endless browns and grays of the horizon and decided to head to the ranch before she was caught in a Texas downpour. A jagged streak of lightning in the east was followed by a booming rumble of thunder, and Surefire tossed his head and whinnied his own warning.

  “It’s all right, boy.” She patted his head and gave him rein as the first splatters pelted her hat. “We’ll find a bit of shelter and wait it out.” She wasn’t sure where. There was a thicket of mcsquitc in sight, but she wasn’t fond of trees in lightning storms, even if these were more the size of overgrown shrubs.

  She let Surefire find his pace, galloping up the creek just west of a fence line. Trick was somewhere behind her. He’d refused her request to ride alone, insisting Dillon would fire him on the spot, but he’d let her ride ahead. Evidently her need for wide-open spaces had shown in her harried face and voice.

  The walls at the house had closed in on her this morning, too much of Sylvia haunting her mind. The rain fell harder, soaking her shirt and prickling her skin. Head down to avoid the blinding needles of water, she almost rode right by the best chance of shelter between here and the house. She should have thought of it sooner.

  It was a lean-to, originally used for storing hay and feed for the Branson Creek pasture, now used for storage. Jerking the reins, she guided Surefire to a dry spot under the roof.

  “Good work, boy. If the wind doesn’t change direction, we’ll be sitting pretty.” Surefire whinnied his appreciation as Ashley climbed from the saddle. She shook a splash of water from her hat before balancing it atop a stack of boxes and old rags.

  “Whew,” she complained, backing toward Surefire and away from a smell that all but took her breath away. Something old like a skunk or wounded coyote had evidently crawled under the stack to die.

  She grabbed her nose with one hand and patted Surefire with the other. “Sorry, boy. I don’t like it much, either, but at least we’re dry.” Surefire nuzzled her, and she took a sugar cube from her pocket and whispered soothing words in his ear as she gave him the treat.

  A tarantula crawled out of a corner stacked high with vegetable crates and paraded in front of her, not stopping until he reached a roll of barbed wire and wiggled under. Her skin crawled. “They’re not poisonous. Nothing to be afraid of.” She made the claims out loud for her own benefit and backed to the far corner of the shack.

  A gust of wind blew a shower her way, and she shivered and wrapped her arms about her chest. It was probably just the wet clothes, but suddenly she was icy cold through and through.

  She searched the horizon for Trick. He’s said he’d be right behind her, but there wasn’t a sign of him now. He’d probably turned back at the first lightning, thinking she’d do the same. If she didn’t show up back at the horse barn soon, he’d have to head out to find her.

  Grabbing her hat, she plopped it on her wet hair. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, pulling at Surefire’s rein. “As wet as we are, a little more water won’t make a difference.”

  Surefire balked at her lead, tossing his head, pawing at a small pile of rags and a moldy saddle blanket.

  She kicked at the pile with her foot, ready to dive for the door if one of the tarantula’s buddies kicked back. It didn’t. This time it was a scorpion that marched across the dirt floor. “I’m out of here.”

  Surefire picked today not to heed her pull on his reins. He held tightly to a corner of the blanket he’d clenched between his teeth. Backing up, he carried the blanket with him, letting it unroll in the dirt.

  Ashley saw the hand first, limp, the fingers gnarled and gross shades of blue. By the time the whole arm was in view, she was standing in the downpour, head down, retching violently. She had no idea how long she stood there, doubled over at the waist, her stomach fighting and her head swimming.

  Finally, she was able to straighten. The rain came down in torrents, but she didn’t care. Spiders and scorpions were bad enough, but she’d drown before she shared a lean-to with a body. She stuck one boot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up and over the saddle.

  Once again she felt the chill, not on her skin, but deep inside her. She would have sworn that Lester was near, watching her, enjoying her horror. She threw her head back and buried her knees in Surefire’s sides, riding hard to safety.

  THE DULL ACHE that had been clawing at Ashley’s temples since finding the corpse of Potter Bingley had sharpened into a stabbing pain. She massaged forcefully as a dragging Dillon ushered the last cop out the door. As bad as she felt, it was him she hurt for.

  He had been put through the mill while she had been spared most of the endless questions. The sheriff had left her alone while she got Petey down for his nap. After that he’d asked her only a few routine questions about how and where she’d found the body.

  Dillon shut and locked the door. Something else that was new to Burning Pear. Before the problems with Lester and Potter Bingley, no one had ever bothered with locks.

  “Do they have any idea how Bingley was killed?” she asked, walking over and wrapping her arms around Dillon’s waist.

  “They have a real good idea. Those were barbed wire marks around his neck. The only question the sheriff’s worried about answering right now is who’s responsible.”

  “Do they have any suspects?”

  “They have one. Me.” His lips drew into tight lines.

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “Thanks.” He walked over and dropped to the couch, pulling her down beside him. “That makes you a minority of one.”

  “Oh, Dillon, that’s not true. Your friends and your family know you could never do such a thing. Other people must know that, too.”

  “Apparently not the right people. It seems I made some comments the other day when I was upset. According to the sheriff, I said I’d kill the man who took a shot at me if I caught him. Now he’s dead. Great timing, don’t you think?”

  “You said that in a moment of rage. People say it all the time. It doesn’t mean they would actually do it.”

  “It means I’m the chief suspect in a murder case. Maybe the only suspect.”

  She could think of no reassurance that would sound like any more than lip service. Dillon had made it plain he could handle Potter Bingley, especially if he found out he was the one who’d put a bullet through his car window.

  And yes, for one brief second, when the body was identified as Potter Bingley, the thought that Dillon migh
t have killed him had crossed her mind. But she knew better. Dillon might get angry, might give in to fits of fury when things were out of his control, but he could never take a man’s life.

  To cut through a man’s jugular with barbed wire, to watch him bleed and choke to death. No. Dillon could never do that. But someone had. She shivered and leaned against Dillon, needing his warmth to combat the frigid dread that lived inside her.

  “I think I know who killed him.” The words stuck in her throat, coming out in little more than a hoarse whisper.

  Dillon stared at her in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

  She sucked in a large gulp of air. She had to keep her wits about her, had to make Dillon see the truth. “I believe Lester Grant killed Bingley. I think he’s still here, on the ranch.”

  “What’s happened, Ashley?” Dillon’s eyes burned with fury. “Has he threatened you again?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s a feeling, a chill that’s deep inside me and won’t go away. He was watching me today when I found the body. I don’t know how I know that. I just do.”

  “Oh, baby, baby.” He rocked her to him. “You’ve been through so much. No wonder you’re afraid. All I want to do is keep you safe, but I keep failing you.”

  Dillon kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. “I think Lester is long gone, but if he’s on the ranch, we’ll find him. I have all my hands on the lookout for him, plus a few off-duty police officers Branson’s rounding up right now.”

  “It won’t matter, Dillon. People will just keep dying, and it will be my fault. Everywhere I go I bring trouble. It’s always been that way.”

  “You’re just upset. What you saw today would frighten anyone. But it’s going to be okay.”

  “No. You keep saying that, but it isn’t okay. You said it the day of the wedding and then barely missed being killed.”

  “That had nothing to do with Lester Grant. He was in jail.”

  “But he caused it somehow. You know that. You hated me for ruining your life. No matter how I tried to please you, you turned your back on me, refused to let me come into your room. Now it’s happening all over again.”

  Tears bit at her eyes until she couldn’t hold them back. They slid, salty and bitter, down her cheeks. Dillon tried to hold her, but she pushed him away. “A kiss and a hug won’t change anything, Dillon. Not this time.”

  “Then how about reason? It was true I didn’t want you around after I was shot. Not when I was half a man and the doctor told me I might never be more. I wasn’t going to lay there and dry up and watch my hot-blooded wife long for a man who could satisfy her the way I had.”

  “So you kicked me out, like my mother had done when I didn’t fit into her life, like the family Peter and I lived with had done, except it was Peter they kicked out, robbing me of the only family I had.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ashley. You have to believe that. It was my problem, not yours.”

  His hand reached for hers, but she pulled away. Words were easy. Her memories weren’t. “If your medical condition was the only reason you turned your back on me, why didn’t you welcome me when I returned to tell you about our son? You were walking then, getting around well enough to handle your senate duties full time.”

  “Because you were right. I couldn’t forgive you, but not because I blamed you for the shooting. It was your leaving I couldn’t forgive, although it was the best thing that happened to me. I was so angry at you for walking out that I fought like hell to get my life back. I did it in record time. Dr. Stevens wrote me up in several medical journals.”

  “How wonderful for you and Dr. Stevens.” Her sarcasm was cutting, but no match for the pain that tore at her heart, an old wound reopened.

  “I made mistakes, Ashley, but I never meant to hurt you.”

  “But you did. You gave me everything I’d ever wanted and then snatched it all away. And you can do it again if I let you, with even better reason this time. And this time you would take my son.”

  “No. Things were different then. I had nothing to offer you.”

  “And that’s the worst part of all.” She choked on the words, but didn’t stop. “You destroyed our marriage because of some macho male image thing. Half a man, a whole man. What did you think I was? A sex maniac who’d married you for your prowess?”

  “No, I thought you were a beautiful woman with a healthy sex appetite, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask you to give it up so you could pity your poor, crippled husband. If that’s a macho male image thing, then I’m guilty.”

  Ashley shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “So where does that leave us, Dillon?”

  “In love. Where we’ve always been.”

  “But love didn’t change who or what we are. You didn’t trust me to stay when the going got tough. After all, I had no roots, not the kind you Randolphs had, so you ran me out of your life and then thrived on being right about me.”

  “I made a mistake, a tragic one, and I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, well, that changes everything, doesn’t it? You made a mistake that tore me inside out and left me to live on what little bit of self-esteem didn’t run out. Well, you weren’t the only one who made a mistake. I married a man thinking he could save me from my unhappiness. It didn’t work for either of us then, no more than it can work now.”

  “Of course it can work. I love you. And you love me. You surely can’t deny that. No one could make love to me the way you do and not care.”

  “Making love doesn’t prove anything except that the two of us have chemistry so strong we should be part of the curriculum at MIT.”

  “So you tell me, Ashley. What’s the answer? Do you walk away again, and we both exist instead of living?”

  “No, I walk away and take care of my problems with Lester Grant. The way I should have done to start with. The way I would have done if I hadn’t let you persuade me otherwise. If I had, Potter Bingley would be alive.”

  “And what about Petey?”

  “He stays with you.” Her heart constricted, and for a second she thought it might stop beating completely. She’d thought life had been tough before. It had been a piece of cake compared to what it would be like leaving Petey, not knowing when—or if—she’d ever see him again. But she had no choice. If nothing else, the brutal murder scene today had convinced her of that.

  “When I leave the ranch, Lester will leave, too. Burning Pear will be the safest place for Petey. And if for some reason I don’t come back, then he’ll have his father and a whole wonderful family to love him.”

  “He won’t have his mother. You know better than anyone how difficult that can be.”

  “But he’ll be alive. If I can’t give him anything else, at least I can give him that.” Tears burned her eyes. She’d miss his second birthday. She might miss all his birthdays. But at least this way, he would have birthdays.

  One tear escaped as she started up the stairs. She fought hard to keep the second from falling, because once the stream got started, it might not ever stop again.

  “You can’t run out again. Lester cannot get to you or Petey here, not with the security I’ll have in place. And you promised me you’d give me a chance to find Lester Grant.”

  “That was a murder ago.”

  “A murder that has nothing to do with Lester Grant except in your mind. Everything bad in this world doesn’t happen because of you. You had a lousy childhood, but you’re not a child anymore. We have problems, but we love each other, and we’ll work them out together. We can’t do that if you leave.”

  Ashley rounded her lips and blew out a head of steam. “I’ll stay until after Petey’s birthday. It’s three days away. If Lester isn’t in custody by then, I’m walking.”

  “Okay, three days. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  She shook her head and walked toward the bedroom. No wonder the man was a politician. He never gave up on a cause. Even now he followed her, his hand in the small of her back.

/>   “I love you, Ashley. I always will.”

  She kept walking. If Lester wasn’t found soon, she’d never live to have an always.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dillon glanced at the headlines in the morning paper and promptly stuffed the entire edition into the trash-quietly so as not to wake his son. The reporters were having a field day, and their lead-story personality was being uncooperative. At least uncooperative was what the more responsible were saying.

  Other descriptions included tight-lipped, belligerent, hostile and criminal, to name a few. Well, they could take their typewriters and write him out of the election if that made them happy. But they were not going to dictate how he ran his life.

  The charges against him were ludicrous. If the people who’d voted him into office didn’t know him well enough to know what he was made of by now, his going on the tubes whining about his innocence wouldn’t convince them. They had his word and his record. Both were spotless. He wasn’t apologizing for things he hadn’t done, and he damn sure wasn’t apologizing for loving Ashley.

  Not when he was fighting as hard as he could to keep her safe, to keep her with him. But at least there had been good news on that score. Lester had been spotted in New Orleans. That meant Ashley’s fears about his being on the property were groundless. It also meant Lester had probably given up on the idea of making a return visit to the ranch.

  Even Ashley was beginning to relax. A little more gentlemanly persuasion and he was sure he could convince her to forget her stupid time line for leaving.

  But that in no way let Lester off the hook. He belonged in prison. And prison was where he was going to end up if Dillon had to go to New Orleans and find the slime himself. He’d heard New Orleans cops frequently needed a nudge or two to prod them into action.

  The toaster popped up, and Dillon grabbed the four pieces of bread and buttered them, adding them to the tray of preserves and fresh fruit he’d prepared. The juice was poured, and the coffee had just finished perking. Now all he had to do was wake his woman.