“Was anything said?”
“No. Just heavy breathing.” She paused, then continued, “It could just be an annoying sales call, or a wrong number. I probably shouldn’t have called but—”
“You did the right thing,” he broke in. “I’ll send a car over now to search the area and I’ll see if we can’t have someone there overnight.”
She didn’t protest this time. The call had sent icy fingers up her spine.
“When the car gets there, the officer will knock at your door. Don’t open it unless you see the uniform and badge. I’ll be over in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“No need, Ms. Rawson.”
She hung up. This was a two hot chocolate night.
She put more milk and powdered Dutch chocolate in the pan and carried it back to the range. The phone rang again, the shrill sound now threatening. Meredith dropped the pan, splashing milk over the top of the stove.
She hesitated, then went to the phone and picked it up. “Meredith Rawson.”
Silence.
“You don’t frighten me, you coward,” she said. Then hung up.
Brave words. But it did frighten her. Now she was convinced.
Someone was intentionally trying to terrify her. Doing a darn good job of it, too.
Why?
Dammit, why?
For the first time, she wished she didn’t live alone. She wished there was someone with whom she could share her fear. Her father? No. He hated weakness of any kind, and now she didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t hurt her, but she couldn’t stop feeling that he was hiding something she should know.
For a moment, her thoughts went to a tall loose-limbed detective with a shock of sandy hair and piercing green eyes. Her fingers itched to call him. But he wanted something from her, too. Something she wasn’t prepared to give.
She was alone. Completely and utterly alone.
BISBEE
Holly felt liberated. Pure joy bubbled inside her as she rode Miss Mary alongside a creek bed.
She hadn’t ridden a horse in years. She’d taken riding lessons at an exclusive camp when she was ten. But that was the last time she’d mounted a horse. She had almost forgotten her yearning for the freedom of being on such a magnificent animal.
Harry wasn’t the only one who wanted to be a cowboy. She’d just suppressed all those longings.
She hadn’t meant to ride. She had gone along with Sheriff Menelo to give Harry a treat. She had added just a touch of lipstick and had not changed from her T-shirt and jeans. After all, it wasn’t a date.
When the sheriff had driven up in a dusty Jeep, a young girl dressed in jeans and a T-shirt jumped out. “I’m Jenny,” she introduced herself.
Holly had liked her immediately. Her dark hair, a shade deeper than the sheriff’s, was worn in a long ponytail, and she radiated energy. She regarded Holly and Harry with interest and a quick smile.
“This is Mrs. Baker,” said the sheriff, who’d been a little slower in getting out of the Jeep. “And Harry.”
“Like Harry Potter,” her son chirped, obviously impressed by the older woman.
“Neat name,” Jenny said.
Holly was incredibly grateful. Now her son would probably never forget the name.
“You sit in the back with me,” Jenny said to her son. Harry immediately crawled into the backseat.
The sheriff opened the Jeep door for Holly. “Sorry for the transportation,” he said. “But I like going up into the hills. My only other vehicle is a pickup truck.”
“It’s fine,” she said, tucking herself inside. “How far is it?”
“Ten miles,” he said.
“Does Russ know you’re bringing us?”
“I called,” he said. “He boards and rents horses there, so people are often coming and going. I wanted to make sure he had a pony available for Harry.”
“And he does?”
“Uh-huh.” He glanced toward her. “Would you like to ride, too?”
“Me?” It was a foolish reply, but she had not considered it. It had been a long time since she had indulged in a pleasure just for her.
“Yep, you. Ever ridden before?”
“Ages ago,” she said slowly, afraid to give away even that small piece of information. “At summer camp when I was a child.”
Didn’t every child go to summer camp? No need to tell him that it was a very expensive, exclusive summer camp.
“It’s a little like riding a bicycle,” he said. “You don’t forget. But you might be sore if you haven’t used those muscles in a while.”
The idea of riding—even with a minion of the law—gave her a rush of anticipation.
Still, caution ruled. “My shoes—”
His glance went down to her loafers. “They’ll do. Russ has some gentle mares.”
Excitement rose in her. She had loved riding that summer. She had wanted to ride when she’d returned home, but her mother said it was only a phase and promptly enrolled her in dancing class. She’d hated that class, mainly because it was a substitute for what she’d really wanted.
After fifteen minutes, he turned down a dirt road. A small sign saying HORSES BOARDED was all that marked it.
They drove up to a cluster of buildings backed against a hill. The house was adobe and modest-looking; the stables looked far more elaborate.
Several cars were parked in the front of the house. One had a horse trailer attached.
She stepped out of the Jeep, and Jenny followed with Harry. Russ came out of the house, gave her a brief wave, and headed for the stables. In minutes he was leading a pony and a small horse into the yard.
“Thanks for letting Harry ride,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he replied as he leaned down and ruffled Harry’s hair.
“Sheriff Menelo said you rent horses. I want to pay for Harry’s.”
He shook his head. “That’s for tourists,” he said. “Not for friends.”
Friends. It had a nice sound. Still, despite her now frugal existence, she pressed the point. “I would rather pay.”
He sighed. “You have to get used to our ways, Liz. That’s not the way it works.”
She flushed. She suddenly realized she was being ungracious. But she had been so determined to pay her own way and remain aloof. She didn’t realize how difficult that was going to be here.
“Then I accept with thanks.”
“Good,” he said.
She and Sheriff Menelo watched as Jenny used a mounting block to climb into the saddle. Russ handed the reins of the pony to Sheriff Menelo and moved over to the side of the fence. Jenny walked the horse into a large fenced area that held a number of barrels placed at intervals. She increased the pace to a canter as she started to maneuver around the barrels.
“Russ is teaching her,” Sheriff Menelo said. “She wants to be a barrel racer.”
“Rodeo?”
“Russ is a former rodeo cowboy.”
Startled, she looked at Russ again. He had the lanky build of a cowboy but still she was surprised. And intrigued. “When did he quit?”
“About fifteen years ago. A bull nearly killed him. He decided raising cutting horses would be safer, but it’s a hard way to make a living, so he boards horses and gives lessons as well.”
Sheriff Menelo looked down at Harry, who was gazing at the pony in rapture. “Ready, cowboy?”
“Yes, sir.”
The sheriff threw her an approving look for her son’s manners. If only he knew it was a habit born of fear, not courtesy. He leaned down, picked Harry up and settled him into the saddle, then walked the pony, his right hand securely on the reins.
She could hear the sheriff talking to her son. “Relax but straighten your back. Move with the horse.”
The smile left her son’s face, replaced by a look of total concentration. He so obviously wanted to do well. After about twenty minutes, the sheriff handed the reins to her son but walked alongside, his hand on the bridle. For a moment, her mouth went dry, but Har
ry’s expression was a combination of joy and pride. He loved it.
The sheriff stopped and lifted Harry down. Her son stumbled a moment, then looked up at her, beaming.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said.
“Doug,” he corrected.
She wasn’t sure whether she wanted first-name intimacy. But she nodded.
“Now you,” he said. “Jenny and Russ will be busy for another hour. There’s a creek not far away.”
“But Harry …” She almost said Mikey, but stopped just in time.
“He can ride in front of me,” Doug said. “Russ has a mare called Miss Mary.” He grinned. “She’s a perfect lady … just right for you.”
Was he implying that she was a perfect lady? If he only knew …
Run. Run like the devil is after you.
But instead she nodded. She waited as he went into the barn.
“Did you see me?” Harry asked. “I was riding all by myself.”
“I saw,” she said. “I was amazed.”
He grinned. “I like it here, Mommy.”
“I do, too.”
“I wish Father could have seen me.”
Her heart skipped a beat. What if he had said that in front of the sheriff?
She looked down at her suddenly clammy hands. Would the fear and doubt never end? How could she possibly think she could live a normal life or provide one for Harry when she panicked over every word, every question, every answer she could not give?
Sheriff Menelo returned, leading two horses. One was a bay, tall and obviously anxious for the ride. The other was a smaller horse, a chestnut mare. More delicate, if you could call a quarter horse delicate. Yet that was the word for her. Miss Mary. A perfect lady.
Doug tied his horse’s reins to a post, then helped her up into the saddle. “Just relax,” he said as he showed her how to hold the reins. “She’ll do all the work.”
He put Harry on his horse and swung up easily behind him. Very easily and very gracefully for such a big man. He directed the horse toward the dirt road, then looked at her. “Are you okay?”
She was and she wasn’t. The new Holly—no, Liz now—loved the horse, the company, the day. The old Holly kept warning her to be careful.
“Have you known Russ long?” she asked Doug.
“We went to high school together. Bisbee High.”
“Friends?”
“We played football together. He was a quarterback and I was a tackle but neither of us was good enough to get a scholarship. He went to the rodeo and I went to the army.”
“And you’ve remained friends all these years?”
“Pretty much,” he said.
Despite her fears, Doug Menelo was an easy companion. He did not demand conversation. Nor did he try to pry.
The sky was as pure a blue as she could remember and she enjoyed the heat of the sun. She tried not to think of the future or the past, even as she knew the latter was never going away and the former was perilous.
But she wouldn’t allow those thoughts to spoil this afternoon.
Doug guided his horse toward her and motioned to the left, where golden flowers colored the starkly beautiful desert. “Mexican gold poppies,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been reading about the desert.”
“Hmm. Does that mean you’re staying?”
“It means I haven’t been here before and I’m curious.”
“Do you like Bisbee?”
“It’s hard not to like it. It has character.”
“Have you been to Ramsey Canyon?”
“Ramsey Canyon?”
“It’s not far from here. It’s a preserve, and they have hundreds of hummingbirds. Jenny loves it.”
“I’ll have to take Harry there,” she said.
She knew she was precluding the invitation he’d probably meant to issue. She regretted it. More than regretted it. She liked Doug Menelo. She liked him very much. She liked the way he appreciated his surroundings and the gentleness he demonstrated with his niece and her son. He was a man meant to have children. She wondered why he didn’t.
If he was anyone but who he was, she might have even taken a chance in building a friendship with him. But a sheriff? Eventually he would want more information. More answers. More answers than she could ever give him. And she could never forget she had a husband.
They stopped at a creek bed. Although it was dry now, cottonwoods had soaked up enough moisture to flourish. They contrasted with the cactus and the landscape that rose up to meet the sky.
“Want to get down?” Doug asked her.
“If I can get back up again.”
He grinned. “You might be a bit sore, but I think we can get you back aboard. How do you like Miss Mary?”
“Are all horses this easy to ride?”
“No. Miss Mary is unusual. Russ always gives her to novice riders. She seems to understand that she has to take care of them, rather than the other way around.”
“She’s wonderful.”
“I’m sure Russ will let you and Harry ride any time.”
She nodded, although she had no intention of doing it again. Next time, she would take Harry to a public riding stable. She could not feel obligated, nor could she dare the intimacy that friendship demanded.
Doug leaned over and lowered Harry to the ground, then dismounted. She did the same.
He pointed to a mountain in the distance. “That used to be an Apache stronghold,” he said. “This whole area was a battleground. It took guts to settle it.”
“You love it,” she observed.
“I do. You either love it or hate it,” he said. “It has a pull on those who love it.”
“You said you were in the army. What did you do?”
“Military police. That’s how I came to be in law enforcement.”
That was one subject she didn’t want to pursue. She took several steps, then stumbled. He reached out to steady her.
Involuntarily, she flinched.
He removed his hand immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I … was just startled.”
“Mrs. Baker … Liz … I know you were recently widowed. I wouldn’t take advantage of that. I just thought you and your son needed to get out.”
She felt her cheeks darken. She swallowed. “I didn’t think that you would. It’s just that—”
“I know. I lost someone years ago. It’s not easy.” The sincere sympathy in his voice made her feel worse. She was a cheat.
“No it’s not,” she said. “Harry and I should be getting back. I have work to do, and we have supper early.”
“Okay,” he said easily. “Here, use my hands.” He inter-locked his hands and she stepped into them, then up into the saddle. This time, she felt more confident.
She waited until he and Harry were mounted, then she turned back in the direction from which they’d come.
They rode back in silence. His face was emotionless, but his hands were protective of her son. Harry kept glancing up at him, apparently finding something he had never found in his father.
She fought to keep tears back.
twelve
ANGOLA PRISON, LOUISIANA
Gage waited at least thirty minutes in the visiting room before Clint arrived.
In the meantime, Gage watched other prisoners and their families, feeling a little like a voyeur. How many times had he been here? At least once a month for nearly eight years. Sometimes more often.
He swallowed hard. These visits were soul crushing. So was the eager, hopeful look on his brother’s face when he saw him.
Despite eight years in Angola, Clint appeared impossibly young. Gage knew the look belied the experience. In the first three years, Clint had been disciplined repeatedly. He’d been in one fight after another, establishing his reputation in a prison that demanded toughness.
And Gage couldn’t help. He’d felt the bitter frustration of being unable to make things better for someone he loved.
T
he two brothers gave each other a bear hug.
“You look good, kid.”
Clint gave him the funny little half grin that had charmed girls when he’d been younger. “I have a parole hearing coming up.”
Gage should have known that. He hadn’t. “What can I do?”
“I need a job waiting.”
“I’ll talk to Dom. He might have some ideas.”
“I’ve been studying computer technology. I’m good at it, bro. I didn’t tell you before because, well … hell, I know how many times I’ve let you down. But I graduate from the course next week.” His gaze went to the books on the table and his eyes lit. “These books will help me go beyond what they’re offering here. The instructor suggested them.”
“You’ve always been smart as hell,” Gage acknowledged. “You just never tried.”
“I’m trying now. I don’t want to be here.”
Gage nodded at the books. “If you need any more, let me know.”
“Thanks. I won’t disappoint you this time.”
“When’s the hearing?”
“Next month.”
“You need an address, too. You can move in with me,” Gage said.
“Won’t that affect your job?”
Gage shrugged. “It’s no one’s business. Not if you keep clean.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“Until you get on your feet.”
“You’ll come to the hearing?”
“I’ll be there.”
Clint sighed with relief.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“You’re a cop, bro. One of them.”
Listen to me, Clint. I didn’t have anything to do with your arrest. You did all that by yourself. I’ll help you now, but by God, if you get involved in drugs again, I’m out. I’ll turn you in myself.”
“I know,” Clint said. “Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.” He gave Gage that crooked smile again.
But Gage had stopped believing it years ago. He’d believed Clint too many times. He wasn’t going to offer him money. A place to live if he stayed clean, yes. He would help find him a job. He would pay tuition for college. But he knew he wasn’t going to give Clint money.
“I’m going to make it,” Clint said.
Gage merely nodded.
“You still on internal affairs?”
“Public Integrity,” Gage corrected. “No. I’ve been transferred to homicide.”
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