by Janet Dailey
Sometimes the ends really did justify the means.
* * *
Will had given the men who’d known Ralph a couple of hours off to attend the service, but no time to socialize afterward. The work on the barn couldn’t wait any longer. By now, the rubble had been cleared off the foundation, and, with the help of Sky’s construction crew, the walls were being framed. So far, the cold, dry weather had held. But nobody had forgotten the norther that had frozen the pastures and paralyzed the ranch for days. Another storm could blow in at any time.
Will had driven his pickup to the funeral, with Jasper riding shotgun and Sky, Lauren, and Erin crowded into the backseat. Now, as they turned off the main road and onto the gravel drive that led up to the house, Will remembered Lauren’s invitation. Last night she’d announced that she had a surprise to show him, something that had to be seen by daylight—something that couldn’t wait.
There’d been no need to explain. Today was Monday. With the trial on Wednesday, and so many things left undone, Will’s time was running out.
Pressed by the need to get the barn up, Will had tried to put her off. But Lauren had been insistent. Sky, newly home from the hospital, had backed her. So had Jasper, who seemed to know more than he was telling. “It’s a damned conspiracy,” Will groused. But he couldn’t help being intrigued. Something was up—and there was only one way to find out what it was.
Half an hour later, they’d changed out of their funeral clothes and met again on the porch, wearing warm coats, gloves, and hats. Jasper was tired after the funeral, and Sky was under doctor’s orders to rest, so the two of them wouldn’t be going along. But Beau had gotten wind of the adventure and declared himself in. He’d even offered to drive the secondhand Kawasaki four-seater UTV that Will had bought at auction last year, when the ranch was flush. The big, rugged four-wheeler had already been put up for sale. All the more reason to use it while they still could.
Will waited on the porch with his daughter and Lauren while Beau found the open-topped vehicle in the shed, started it up, and brought it around to the front of the house. Minutes later, they’d left the heart of the ranch and were rolling across the scrub-dotted flat toward the foothills that rimmed the escarpment.
Seated next to Beau on the front passenger seat, Will found himself savoring the sunlight on his face, the cold wind biting his skin, the smells of sage and earth, and the faint, distant ring of hammers. The ice storm had blasted the landscape, leaving behind a frost-bleached wilderness. But even here there was life. Clumps of sage and cedar, impervious to the cold, still held their muted autumn colors. Jackrabbits bounded ahead of the massive tires, zigzagging off into the brush when they wearied of the game. A ground squirrel, less bold, flashed across the trail and darted into its hole.
The late-day sun blazed above the caprock. A golden eagle flapped off its kill to circle upward on wings as broad as a tall man’s reach. Will’s senses embraced all these things, holding them in memory, to keep for when he needed a place for his mind to go.
The vehicle’s engine drowned out any attempt at conversation. Only when Beau turned onto a familiar trail did Will realize where they were headed. This was the way to the petroglyph canyon, with its bitterly disputed side-branch and rumored Spanish gold.
His pulse quickened as Beau parked at the mouth of the canyon, where the trail ended. From here the only way to go was on foot. It had occurred to him that Lauren might be planning to deed her land back to the Rimrock. But she could’ve done that at the ranch. Why drag him clear out here on a frigid and busy day?
They climbed out of the vehicle and trudged single file up the narrow, rocky path. Erin was walking just ahead of him. Will touched her shoulder. “What’s this all about?” he asked her. “Did you and Lauren find the Spanish gold?”
“Not really. You’ll see.” With a toss of her ponytail, she strode ahead, following Beau and Lauren.
In the sheltered petroglyph canyon, the sound of trickling water echoed off the high walls. A covey of quail, drinking at the spring, whirred away at their approach.
Silent now, they turned aside and followed the water’s path upward to the level of the smaller canyon. There they stopped. “This is what I wanted to show you,” Lauren said.
The canyon, which Will hadn’t visited since his boyhood, was much as he remembered. But in one place, where heavy scree had fallen down from the overhead cliff, something was different. In one spot the rocks had been cemented together to form a wall, about four feet wide and just as high. In its center was a marker of polished granite, with an inscription etched into its surface.
COOPER PRESCOTT
March 12, 1940–July 9, 1949
Sleep in the Arms of Angels
“This little boy would have been my great uncle,” Lauren said, turning to Will and Beau. “He’s the reason my grandfather wanted this canyon. Jasper knows the story. He’s agreed to tell you when you get home.”
She drew a folded document from under her coat and held it out to Will. “Here’s a signed, notarized deed. It’s yours on condition that this grave never be disturbed, and that I and my family be allowed to come here and visit it.”
“Of course.” Will had never considered himself an emotional man, but he felt the welling of tears.
Lauren wiped her own eyes and managed a smile. “Now,” she said, “how about that dollar you owe me?”
CHAPTER 17
Clay Drummond’s day had been long and tiring, and it wasn’t getting any better. He’d just climbed into his white diesel Mercedes and thrust the key into the ignition when his cell phone rang. Even without glancing at the caller ID, he knew it was Stella. The bitch is probably somewhere nearby, spying on me. Her timing was too good to be a coincidence.
“What is it?” he muttered.
“Just checking to make sure you’re ready. The trial’s two days off. I’ll be in that courtroom watching you every minute, and I don’t want any slipups. If Will Tyler doesn’t walk out of there in handcuffs, you know what I’ve got and what I can do with it.”
Clay blinked, struggling to focus his eyes. The sun, a blinding glare through the windshield, was triggering a migraine. “Maybe, Stella, but you can only do it once. Ruined, I won’t be any good to you. I’ll have nothing left to lose.”
“Then it won’t be my problem, will it? Just put that murdering bastard behind bars. Then we can negotiate for the tape.”
She was doing it again, dangling that damned surveillance tape in front of him like a carrot on a stick. At times like this, Clay could almost imagine putting his fingers around her throat and squeezing until her breath stopped and her cat-green eyes glazed over.
“Who’s the judge?” she asked. “Any leverage there?”
“Sid Henderson. He’s a friend, but he’s a pretty straight arrow. Anyway, the verdict will be up to the jury.”
“How about Abner?” she asked. “Is he on board to do his part?”
“Why don’t you ask Abner? You’ve probably got something on him, too. That’s how you operate, isn’t it?”
She laughed, a sound that reminded Clay of the villainess in a Disney movie. “Now, now. Play nice. We’re on the same team, remember? I’ll see you in court.”
She ended the call. Grinding his teeth, Clay drove home. He wasn’t looking forward to the trial. Yesterday in court Tori had whipped his butt in an assault case that he’d expected to be a slam dunk for the prosecution. The woman was good—damned good. As his onetime junior partner, she knew all his strategies. Clay had taught her well. Now his lessons were coming back to kick him in the face.
The worst of it was, he knew Will, and he knew the man didn’t deserve to go to prison. Will had done what any protective father would have done—what Clay himself would have done in a similar situation. But he couldn’t let that sway him. All his focus would have to be on doing his job, which was to win.
Clay thought about his career, his children, his marriage, and all the advantages that Louise’s money
made possible. Everything was hanging on the outcome of Will Tyler’s trial.
If he lost this case, his life, as he knew it, would be over.
* * *
Stella kept her brother’s ashes on a shelf behind the bar, where he’d worked and kept her company for the past two years. The black metal urn was a constant reminder of the childlike man who’d done whatever she asked of him—the only person she’d ever truly cared about.
With Nicky gone, the urge to pull up stakes and leave Blanco Springs was growing stronger every day. Even without selling the bar, she had plenty of money stashed away. All she’d have to do was close the place up, load her car, and head for Mexico.
But she couldn’t leave until Nicky’s killer paid the full price for what he’d done.
This afternoon she’d taken time to drive to the county parking lot and phone Clay as he was getting off work. She didn’t like leaving the bar when it was open. But business wouldn’t pick up until later in the evening, and the new waitress she’d hired seemed capable enough to manage without her for a few minutes.
She returned to find the place quiet, the country music low, the new girl polishing the tables. Only one customer was in the bar, a handsome, well-groomed man sitting alone in a booth, sipping Corona from a tall glass. Stella paid him scant attention until it struck her that she’d seen him before. He’d come in late one night with Tori Tyler.
Intrigued, she opened another Corona and sauntered over to the booth. “Howdy, stranger,” she said. “You don’t look like a cowboy.”
“Is there some law against not being a cowboy?” His light hazel eyes took her measure, probably deciding she was too old for him. Damned shame. The man was some looker.
She laughed at his question, leaning over the table to give him a glimpse of her ample cleavage—but only a glimpse. “Stella Rawlins,” she said. “I own this place, and I take pride in getting to know my customers. Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.” He extended a hand as she took the seat across from him. “Drew Middleton.”
She accepted the handshake. His palm was smooth and cool, not horny with a cowboy’s hard-earned calluses. “Well, Drew,” she said. “Experience has taught me that a fine-looking man like you doesn’t drink alone unless he’s got troubles—most likely woman troubles.”
A slight twitch of his mouth told Stella she’d hit the bull’s-eye. “Not long ago,” she continued, “I noticed you in here with a beautiful blond lady. Now I don’t see her. Is she the reason for that long face?”
He gazed into his half-empty glass. Stella refilled it from the bottle she’d opened. “On the house, honey,” she said. “If you feel like talking, I’m a good listener.”
He managed a bitter laugh. “Don’t get me started. I could be here all night.”
“No problem with that. Talking will make you feel better. And not a word that goes into these ears will ever come out between these lips.”
He sipped his beer in silence.
“So the lady dumped you and broke your heart. Am I right?” she asked.
He shook his head. “If she’d dumped me, at least I could get over it and move on. No, what she’s doing is keeping me on the back burner till she gets things sorted out with her ex-husband.”
“Her ex-husband?” Stella feigned surprise. “My-oh-my, the plot thickens. What’s the problem? Do you think she’s still in love with him?”
“That’s crossed my mind. She’s defending him in a trial and—” He broke off, staring at her. “Oh, Lord, I should’ve realized who you were. It was your brother that Will Tyler shot, wasn’t it? I don’t know if I should even be talking to you.”
“Why not? Will Tyler isn’t exactly my favorite person. Something tells me he isn’t yours, either.” Stella topped off his glass again. “Just curious, mind you. Where were you the night the shooting happened?”
“With Tori. She was in my car when she got the call from Will to come and get their daughter. I offered to drive her, but she insisted on taking her wagon and going alone.”
“Why alone? Because she didn’t want Will to see her with another man?”
He shrugged. “All I know was that she was in a rush. She wouldn’t tell me much, but on the phone, I heard something about an incident.”
“You say she was in a rush?”
“A big rush. I walked her to the door, pulled out of her driveway, and headed back toward Main Street. A couple minutes later, she roared past me, going at least seventy. She even ran the red light. I’m just glad she didn’t have an accident.”
He glanced at his watch, a nervous gesture, as if he’d become worried about saying too much. “I’d better be going. I’ve got someplace to be.”
“Sure.” Stella rose, slipped out of the booth, and moved to block his exit for a moment. “Feel free to come back anytime you need a cold Corona and a listening ear, honey. But let me leave you with one thought. If Will Tyler gets off, chances are, your lady will go running right back to him. If he ends up in prison, she’ll be alone—and lonesome.”
Turning away, she sashayed back toward the bar, giving him a view of her swaying rump. He might or might not be back, but never mind—he’d already made it worth her time.
As his car pulled away, Stella found her cell phone and scrolled to Clay’s number. If he was at home, he wouldn’t pick up; but right now, that didn’t matter. She waited for his voice mail, then spoke.
“I’ve found another witness for you. His name is Drew Middleton. Call him.”
* * *
Curled on her couch, with her glasses on her nose and her laptop on her knees, Tori reviewed her opening statement for tomorrow’s trial. How many times had she read through her notes—moving a paragraph here, striking a sentence there, arranging and rearranging her ideas? Having it perfect had become an obsession.
The lamp behind her cast an island of light in the house that was otherwise dark. By now, it was after eleven. What she needed was to put the files aside, get some sleep, and look at them with fresh eyes in the morning. But even then, she could miss something vital, something that might make a difference for Will.
For the past few days she’d spent most of her time at the ranch, but today, needing quiet time to prepare, she’d fled to her house in town. Erin had stayed with Will, who’d made it clear that he wanted an ordinary workday with no fuss and no emotion.
Tori wouldn’t be seeing either of them again until tomorrow’s trial. Beau would be driving Erin and Will into town, leaving Natalie to rest at home. Sky had wanted to support Will at the trial, too, but somebody needed to oversee the ranch work, so he’d offered to stay. Lauren, already in town, would be there and had promised to text him updates as they happened.
Erin was to be a key witness. Tori had hoped to spare her by using the interview she’d taped with Abner, but Clay had insisted on calling her for the prosecution.
Tori lifted away her glasses, cleaned them on the hem of her sweatshirt, and put them on again. She was getting tired, but she had to be sure she was ready. She’d tried hundreds of cases over her career, but none that mattered the way this one did. Will’s freedom, Erin’s happiness, and the future of the Rimrock were all depending on her performance tomorrow.
Heaven help her, what if she failed?
* * *
Will stood alone on the front porch, gazing out across the yard. The house was dark, behind him, and Erin and Bernice long since asleep. Moon shadows, cast by wind-driven clouds, flowed like phantom water across the bare ground. The windmill creaked in the darkness. Coyote calls echoed down from the foothills.
The cold breeze burned his cheeks. If the jury found him guilty, he could be going away for years. Would this be his last night on the ranch before prison gates closed behind him? Would tomorrow morning be the last time he awoke to dawn chores and Bernice’s coffee—the last time he forked hay for the horses and cattle, broke the ice on the water troughs, and watched the sky fade from onyx to silver above the eastern plain?
> Will’s cold hands gripped the porch rail as he pulled himself back to reality. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about the things he’d miss if he went to prison. The jury would find him innocent—he had to keep believing that. After all, hadn’t he done what any good father would do—acted in defense of his child?
Tori would give her all to save him. He could count on that. He could count on her. She might not be his wife anymore, but she’d always been there for him and for Erin.
Hadn’t she?
A picture rose from his memory—Tori sitting in the booth, holding hands with Drew Middleton. For all he knew, she could be with the man right now, and not just holding hands.
Damn! Will cursed himself. This was no time for jealousy. He had to trust Tori, had to believe she wouldn’t let him down. She might be independent to a fault, but she was honest and true to the marrow of her bones and she always gave her best.
The night of the ice storm, their need for each other had broken down the barriers between them. Tonight he needed her again—with a soul-deep ache that had become physical pain. For most of his life, he’d tried to be like his father—tough, closed-off, priding himself on always standing alone. But he wasn’t Bull Tyler. He needed the only woman he’d ever loved—needed to see her, touch her, hold her, just one more time.
He could call her. But no, it was late. By now, Tori would be asleep—and if she wasn’t alone, he didn’t want to know. He would see her tomorrow, in court, at a polite distance, when he put his life into her hands.
Will was about to go back inside when his cell phone rang. His pulse leapt.
“Did I wake you?” Tori’s voice washed through him like a soft spring rain.
“Not even close. Something tells me I won’t get much sleep tonight. What’s up?”
There was a beat of silence before she answered. “Nothing much. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“No need to worry,” Will said. “I’m fine.”
