Amanda's Child

by Rebecca York

  God, what if she’d panicked and left? What if she’d decided that he’d ditched her? What the hell was he going to do then?

  More than once he’d longed to take a chance and reach for the phone on the bedside table in his motel room to tell her he was going to be delayed. But he’d known he’d have to give a reason why. And he wasn’t prepared to lie—or to tell her about the knife fight in Albuquerque.

  He’d imagined that conversation.

  “A guy tried to take my leg off with a knife. And the wound got infected. But everything’s okay now, because I got a greedy pharmacist to give me antibiotics. So the infection’s under control. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be there as soon as I can stand up without toppling over.’’

  He’d spared her the long-distance worry. But when his temperature had climbed to 104, he’d started to hallucinate, imagining her on the bed with him, holding his shaking body. God, he’d never needed anyone more than he needed her then. But he’d gritted his teeth and pulled himself through—because she was waiting here for him.

  He’d gotten a couple of hours’ sleep last night, and he’d driven since early in the morning to get back to her today. Fatigue dragged at him, but his nerves were humming as he took the turnoff to Henry’s Camp.

  He was so focused on getting to her cabin that he almost missed the knot of men congregated around the phone at the grocery store. Then something about the way they huddled together like football players getting a play caught his attention. Something was up—and he suddenly had the bad feeling that it might involve Amanda.

  He warned himself not to jump to conclusions even as he jammed a Broncos cap onto his head, parked on a side road, then made his way back on foot toward the small commercial center that served Henry’s Camp.

  Cursing his weak right leg, he concealed himself behind a screen of pine trees as he approached the store.

  The first man he recognized was Ed Stanton, Amanda’s ranch manager—the grizzled little man who’d bashed him over the head first and asked questions later. Stanton was talking to Al Hewitt and several other guys that Matt knew worked for Logan.

  Well, wasn’t that interesting? Stanton and Hewitt.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he edged closer, trying to hear the conversation. But it was hopeless. They were speaking in low tones, and he couldn’t get close enough without being seen.

  Matt considered his options, then ducked around the side of the grocery. Just before he reached the soft-drink cooler, two boys who looked to be about ten years old burst through the door, chattering excitedly.

  Figuring he had nothing to lose, he pointed toward the front of the building. “Say, do you know what’s going on out there?’’ he asked, striving for innocent curiosity.

  “Sure,’’ the taller one allowed. “I heard a couple of them asking Mr. Lingrand questions about that woman, Mrs. Matthews, who’s been living in the cabin up the road. One of them said she’s his wife and she ran away.’’

  “He says she can do whatever she wants—after she has the baby,’’ the other one chimed in.

  Matt’s mouth went dry, but he fought to keep his voice even. “So why are they standing around the phone?’’ he asked. “Why don’t they just go get her?’’

  “They will. But I think they want…uh…this guy, Ed, to go up there first and talk to her. Get her to go quietly. At least, that’s what I heard,’’ the first boy clarified, looking embarrassed, and Matt knew they’d probably been avidly eavesdropping on the fascinating adult conversation.

  Matt swallowed. “Pretty big stuff for Henry’s Camp,’’ he allowed.

  “Yeah.’’

  The boys scuffed their feet. “Gotta go,’’ the first one said.

  “See you around,’’ Matt answered, turning back the way he’d come. Ed was still getting instructions from Hewitt, so Matt had a little time, he hoped.

  Keeping a lid on his raw emotions, he retraced his steps and stared at the truck. He’d been planning on driving Amanda out of here. That didn’t look like an option anymore, not with Logan’s guys able to give hot pursuit.

  The only way out was the lake. But where was that going to leave them when they got to the other side?

  Exasperated, he looked around and spotted a gas station down the street. As he eyed the place, a more elaborate plan began to form in his mind. Pulling his cap down low to conceal his features and jamming on his sunglasses, he drove past the group of men, who were too intent on their conversation to pay him any mind. At the station, he stopped near one of the repair bays where three teenagers hovered around an SUV with the hood up.

  One was working, while the other two were shooting the breeze.

  “Anybody interested in making some money?’’ he called out in a friendly tone.

  “How?’’ the taller of the spectators asked.

  “Driving this truck to the other side of the lake.’’

  The kid definitely looked interested.

  Matt swung easily into the story he’d thought up only moments ago. “I’m planning to take my wife fishing. Then we’re heading west. It’ll be quicker if we leave from over there.’’

  “If I take your truck over, how do I get back?’’

  “You can take the boat back to the rental dock.’’

  As the kid thought it over, Matt added, “I’ll give you fifty dollars now. And another hundred when we pick up the truck.’’

  “A hundred and fifty!’’

  “I need you to start over there now, ’cause we’re ready to move out,’’ Matt answered.

  “Okay. You’ve got a deal.’’

  Matt climbed out of the truck, taking his pack. “I’m Mark Waverly,’’ he said, holding out his hand.

  “Jerry Tucker,’’ the teen answered, shaking hands.

  “Park at the Yuma campground,’’ Matt directed, glad that he’d studied the geography of the lake and knew where there were other pockets of civilization.

  Tucker nodded, and Matt extracted a fifty from his wallet, and handed it over.

  “You get there before we do, you get a bonus,’’ he said, handing over his keys.

  “You bet!’’

  As Tucker slid behind the wheel, Matt wondered if he could trust the guy. But he really had no other option.

  Before the truck was out of sight, he headed for the boat dock, cursing the bum leg that kept his speed down. He hadn’t walked much since the knifing, and his thigh was beginning to throb. Ignoring the pain, he climbed down a short flight of steps to a weathered shack.

  “Anybody home?’’ he called.

  No one answered, and the attendant who took care of the rentals was nowhere in sight—which was good. No explanations. No conversations. No lies about when he’d be back. Matt peeled off another hundred dollars and left it on the desk. Then he selected a sweet little speedboat and topped off the gas tank. After casting off the ropes, he pulled away from the pier and headed toward Amanda’s cabin.

  The short ride along the rocky shoreline gave him time for unwelcome thoughts. About Ed and Logan’s men. And how they’d found Amanda. He cut off the speculation as he reached her private dock and cut the engine.

  The gravel path to the cabin was uphill—another grueling workout for his damn leg. When he reached the porch, he was disgusted to realize he was sweating. He gave himself thirty seconds to cool down, then clenched his fists as he put his full weight on the leg. It would hold, he decided. Long enough for him to sit down in the boat again.

  Realizing he was stalling and that he couldn’t afford the luxury, he pushed open the door, calling out Amanda’s name as he entered.

  She was sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. As he stepped through the doorway, her head jerked up. When she saw it was him, she sprang to her feet, hands on her hips, the action pulling the fabric of her shirt tight across her prominent middle.

  “Matt! Where the hell have you been?’’ Anger and relief mingled in her voice. It w
as the reaction he’d been dreading—the reaction he’d been expecting.

  “I know you’re riled.’’

  “Riled! That’s an interesting way to put it.’’

  “Honey, believe me, I got here as soon as I could. But I don’t have time to explain now.’’

  Her eyes flashed. “You’ve got a nerve calling me honey. You leave me here for three weeks and you don’t have time to tell me why.’’

  “Two weeks and six days. But I’m here now. And we have to leave—before it’s too late.’’

  “Right. Distract the woman by making up an emergency.’’

  He laughed sharply. “Believe me, I’m not making anything up.’’

  “How long did you expect me to stay here waiting for you? Groceries here are outrageous. Next week I would have been down to five hundred dollars. Was I supposed to ask Mr. Lingrand if I could get a job scrubbing the floor in the grocery store?’’

  “Of course not!’’

  “Then what?’’

  “I would have thought of something.’’

  She came back with some answer he didn’t hear, because all his attention suddenly focused on the path. Ed Stanton was about fifty yards away, bearing down on the cabin with a nervous look in his lying eyes. How far behind was the wolf pack?

  Chapter Nine

  “Damn!’’

  “What’s wrong?’’

  “Your friend Stanton is outside. That’s going to mean a change in plans,’’ he muttered.

  “Ed? Here?’’ she asked, her voice suddenly guilty.

  “In the flesh. And he’s come with a bunch of Logan’s men.’’

  Amanda pressed her hand to her mouth. “No! He wouldn’t. He said—’’

  “Don’t tell me you were dumb enough to talk to him,’’ he snapped, immediately regretting the choice of words.

  She gave him a defiant look. “When you didn’t come back, I had to talk to someone I trusted.’’

  “You picked the wrong guy! He’s here to scoop you up.’’

  “No!’’

  A knock on the door cut off the argument.

  Matt lowered his voice. “Either you trust me, or you trust him. And if you trust me, get him to come in.’’ Stepping behind the door, he shifted the pack off his shoulder and set it on the floor. From under his shirt, he drew the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants. “And whatever you do, don’t let him get you outside.’’

  Amanda shot him a look he couldn’t read. Then her hand was on the doorknob, and there was nothing he could do but trust her.

  “Ed, what are you doing here?’’ she asked, her voice ringing with surprise as she opened the door.

  “I came to persuade you to do the right thing and come back.’’ Through the crack between the door and the frame, Matt could see the ranch foreman take a step forward, but he stopped before he reached the threshold.

  Come in, you bastard, Matt silently urged.

  Amanda echoed the invitation, trying to draw him nearer with her body language.

  Stanton stayed planted where he was, his hands in his back pockets as he took in Amanda’s appearance. “You didn’t tell anyone you were pregnant,’’ he accused. “You could have told me.’’

  “I was going to.’’

  The man’s head bobbed.

  “How did you know where to find me?’’ she asked.

  “Well…’’

  Before he could finish, she stepped back. “Let’s not talk out here.’’

  To Matt’s vast relief, Stanton followed her inside. As the door closed, Matt stepped forward, pressing the barrel of the gun into the foreman’s back. “Don’t move. And don’t do anything that’s going to alert your friends down the road.’’

  “You!’’ Stanton spat.

  “Surprise.’’ Matt kept his gaze on the man as he spoke to Amanda. “Is there anything we can use to tie his hands?’’

  “Rope, in the pantry.’’

  “Get it.’’ God, the last thing they needed was a hostage—unless he could turn it to his advantage.

  “Can you keep him covered while I tie him up?’’ he asked when she returned.

  “Yes,’’ she said, her voice firmer than he’d expected.

  Giving her the gun, he tied the intruder’s hands, then took back the weapon and explained what they were going to do. “There’s a boat at the dock. We’re going out the back door. Stanton first. Then me. Then Amanda. Don’t try anything funny,’’ he warned the foreman, “or you’ll end up with a bullet in the kneecap. I promise.’’

  Stanton gave him a deadly look, but he followed orders. When they reached the boat, Matt directed Amanda to the bow, then helped Stanton into the middle where he could keep an eye on him.

  Casting off, he jumped in, grimacing as his bad leg came down too hard on the metal seat.

  “You won’t get away,’’ Stanton spit out.

  “How long have you been working for Roy Logan?’’ Matt asked as he steered the boat.

  Stanton clamped his mouth shut.

  “How much is he paying you?’’

  When the foreman didn’t answer, Matt raised his head, throwing Amanda an inquiring glance. “Can he swim?’’

  “Not with my hands tied,’’ Ed yelped.

  “Well, you’re going to give it a try—unless you start talking,’’ Matt told him calmly. “How long have you been working for Roy Logan?’’ he asked again as he cut the engine speed.

  He saw Stanton swallow. “Don’t throw me in. I’ll tell you! Logan called when he found out about the baby. He told me he’d pay good to keep Miss Amanda at the ranch.’’

  “And now your duties have somewhat expanded,’’ Matt pointed out as he speeded up again.

  Stanton’s eyes flashed. “It ain’t right to deprive a man of his grandchild.’’

  “What a touching sentiment,’’ Matt growled. “Is that why you let Logan tap the phone at the ranch?’’

  Stanton looked daggers at him. “That’s right.’’

  Behind Stanton, Amanda gasped.

  “And you kept her on the phone long enough so Logan could locate her. Then you led his men here.’’

  Amanda gave her foreman a piercing look. “Ed, you were like family to me. Why did you do it?’’ she asked, her tone stricken.

  His face registered defiance—and apology. “Do you know what it’s like to work hard all your life and watch somebody else get the benefit? Your pa owed me. You owed me. I figured I’d never collect from you. But Logan came through with cash.’’

  “How much did you sell me for?’’ Amanda breathed.

  “That’s between me and Logan.’’

  Matt might have thrown him into the water for that smart remark, but he figured it wasn’t worth a murder rap—since they had a witness. The teenager he’d paid to drive the truck around the lake, Jerry Tucker, was standing on the rocks at the edge of the campground, waving his arms.

  Matt waved back, then brought the boat in close and cut the engine. “We’ve got a complication,’’ he told the kid. “This guy’s after my wife—which was why I wanted to get her out of town so fast. What I’d like is for you to take him about halfway around the shore, and leave him to walk back to Henry’s.’’

  “No!’’ Stanton objected. “That’ll take all day.’’

  “Exactly.’’ Matt tossed the kid the rope, which he caught and wrapped around a tree trunk. When the boat was secure, Matt picked up his pack from the seat and helped Amanda out, then made it to dry land with a distinct lack of grace.

  “You need a gun to keep him out of trouble?’’ Matt asked Tucker.

  The boy grinned. “Naw. I figure if he tries something, I can toss him overboard.’’

  “You and I are on the same wavelength,’’ Matt said, peeling off an extra hundred. “If anyone asks about me and Mrs. Waverly, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell them you don’t know anything.’’

  “That’s not his name,’’ Stanton shouted. “He’s Matthew Forester, and he’s w
anted for murder.’’

  Matt winked at Tucker. “Sure. In fact, he’ll probably tell you a bunch of strange stories before you drop him off. But don’t pay him no mind. He’s only been out of the state mental hospital for a few weeks. And it looks like he’s going back real soon.’’

  “That’s a lie!’’ Stanton shouted, ending the accusation with a string of curses.

  Tucker wagged his finger. “Watch your language in front of Mrs. Waverly.’’ Still, he didn’t look entirely comfortable with the idea of taking a madman for a ride in a small boat.

  Matt clapped the young man on the shoulder. “He only goes after women and children, so you’re safe.’’ Then he addressed the foreman directly. “I assume you have enough sense not to show up at the ranch again. Send them a letter so one of the hands can ship you your things.’’

  “That place will fall apart without me,’’ Stanton growled.

  “We’ll take the chance. Now get going.’’

  Stanton started to curse again, then fixed his angry gaze on Matt. “You’re going to regret doing this. I promise.’’

  “I guess you’ll have to catch me first,’’ Matt answered as Tucker climbed into the boat. When the young man was settled at the tiller, Matt cast off.

  As the craft headed into open water, he took Amanda’s arm. “Come on. We’d better make tracks.’’

  She let him lead her toward the truck, which was parked about fifty yards from the lake. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you,’’ she murmured.

  “You were entitled.’’

  “I was worried about you.’’ She gulped. “And—and then you came running in, and I had to leave everything. The paintings I wanted to show you. The collages. Maybe you would have thought they were dumb, but—’’ She stopped, her lip quivering. “I guess none of that’s important.’’

  “No. I would have loved to see them. I’m so sorry.’’

  He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him. When he saw her eyes were moist, he felt his throat close and all he could do was pull her close.