Lone Wolf's Lady

by Beverly Barton

  Then why are you so afraid? a tiny voice inside her head taunted. Is it because you know someone other than Luke McClendon killed your father, someone on the Circle A. possibly someone in your family?

  Yes, she was afraid. Afraid to face the truth. But she was even more afraid to go on living with the nightmares and the frightening memory flashes she couldn’t control. During the five years she had spent at Millones, the expensive, private sanitarium in California, where her mother had committed her a week after Luke’s trial, she’d been plagued by horrifying dreams and recurring, fragmented memory flashes. But once she’d recovered from the nervous breakdown and gone back out into the world, the dreams and flashbacks had ended—until six months ago.

  Deanna had witnessed a bloody car wreck shortly before Thanksgiving. A young mother had driven out in front of an eighteen-wheeler and she and both of her children had been killed. Deanna had witnessed the accident, had been the first on the scene, had called 911. But she had watched helplessly as the car burst into flames.

  That horrible accident had shaken her hard-won mental stability. Shortly afterward, she’d begun having the nightmares again—seeing Luke and her father arguing, seeing Luke with the pitchfork, seeing her father’s bloody body lying on the ground. And sometimes the dreams would be about the trial. She couldn’t really remember much about the trial, but in the dreams, she could see Luke’s glaring green eyes looking at her with hatred.

  Months of recent therapy had convinced her that she had to face Luke—after all these years of trying to escape from a truth too painful to remember. Through hypnosis, Dr. Kirkland had discovered that in Deanna’s subconscious mind, her memory loss was interwoven with Luke McClendon—her love for him, her guilt over betraying him, her desperate need for his forgiveness. She was convinced that without him, she wouldn’t be able to unearth the truth buried deep within her.

  Deanna pulled her white Mustang up in front of the house, opened the door and stepped out onto the drive. The two-story brick house, built by her grandfather in a style reminiscent of his wife’s family home in Kentucky, hadn’t changed at all. Big, sprawling and immaculately maintained, the structure dominated the land around it. She had loved this old house, had loved the Circle A, had been happy as her parents’ spoiled little girl, but all that had changed drastically when her father found out she was in love with Luke McClendon.

  She hadn’t been happy ever again. She had learned to accept life for what it was, had taught herself to be content, but true happiness had eluded her.

  The front door swung open and Phyllis Atchley, her perfectly coiffured blond head held regally high, stepped onto the porch and smiled at her daughter. Deanna’s heart skipped a beat. A part of her wanted to run to Phyllis and absorb the pleasure of being held in her mother’s arms once again. It had been such a long time—not since her mother had hugged her and said goodbye the day Deanna had left Millones ten years ago.

  “Deanna, darling.” Phyllis rushed down the steps and out to the drive, opening her arms in a welcoming invitation. “It’s so wonderful to see you.”

  Her mother had aged, but she was still a very attractive woman. Tall, slender and forever fashionably dressed. The moment Phyllis wrapped her arms around her, Deanna froze. The touch she had longed for was strained and devoid of any real affection. As quickly as she had taken her daughter into her embrace, Phyllis released her, stepped back and inspected her from head to toe.

  “You look well, Deanna,” Phyllis said. “Maturity suits you, darling. You take after me. Don’t you think I’ve aged well?”

  “You’re as beautiful as ever, Mother.” Despite their love for each other, there had always been a sense of rivalry between Phyllis and Deanna. More on Phyllis’s part; Deanna had simply picked up on her mother’s envious vibes. She knew her mother had resented the strong resemblance between them. Except for her brown hair, Deanna was a younger version of her gorgeous mother.

  Phyllis took Deanna’s hand. “Come inside. Junior and Benita are eager to see you. And Lauren. She’s such a sweet child.”

  “How is Junior?” Deanna asked as she followed her mother up the front steps.

  Phyllis paused momentarily on the porch. “Your brother is making the best of his situation. There really isn’t anything else he can do. The doctors have said he’ll never walk again.” A lone tear trickled down Phyllis’s rosy cheek. “Four years in that wheelchair!”

  “It’s hard to believe that a good horseman like Junior could have a riding accident that would leave him paralyzed.” Deanna remembered her older brother as a big, robust man, a great deal like their father had been.

  “Eddie shot that horse the very day it happened. Junior didn’t want Durango killed, but Eddie said it was what Rayburn would have done.” Phyllis squeezed Deanna’s hand. “I don’t know what we would have done all these years without Eddie. He’s been totally devoted to us and to the Circle A.”

  Smiling weakly, Deanna nodded. Eddie Nunley, the rough, wiry ranch foreman, had been at the Circle A as long as Deanna could remember. Eddie had taught her how to ride her first pony. Growing up, he’d been like a second father to her. But all that had changed the night he and Junior and her father had trapped Luke and horsewhipped him nearly to death. She had never truly forgiven them for what they’d done that night.

  “Eddie’s looking forward to seeing you.” Phyllis led Deanna into the foyer. “He’ll be here for dinner this evening.”

  Deanna stopped and looked around inside the house. Unchanged. Still elegant. Perhaps too elegant. But Phyllis’s tastes had always been expensive and rather ostentatious. Being the widow of a millionaire whose wealth had afforded him the luxury of playing at being a rancher gave Phyllis the means to live the life of a queen.

  A dark-eyed child, dressed in jeans and plaid shirt, stood just inside the living room doorway. She stared at Deanna. Deanna smiled and the girl returned her smile.

  “Lauren, come meet your Aunt Deanna.” Phyllis motioned to the child.

  “Is Deanna here?” a booming male voice asked.

  “Yes, she’s here,” Phyllis replied. “Our girl has finally come home.”

  Junior Atchley, maneuvering his motorized wheelchair, zoomed past his daughter and out into the foyer. “Good God, gal, it’s good to see you. Come here and give me a hug!” Junior lifted his big, muscular arms.

  Deanna walked over, bent down on one knee and put her arms around her brother. He encompassed her in a bear hug, then released her, but before she could stand, he ruffled her hair. She giggled. The brotherly action created a warmth inside Deanna she hadn’t felt in years.

  “Stand up and let me have a look,” Junior said. “Been ten years since we last saw you. That’s a damn long time.”

  “Too long,” Benita Atchley said as she came up behind her husband’s wheelchair and placed her hands on his shoulders. “We have missed you, Deanna, and we are all very glad you’ve come home for a visit.”

  As she lifted herself off her knee, Deanna glanced up at her sister-in-law, the woman who had once been a young Mexican housemaid. Although Benita had to be at least thirty-five now, she still maintained most of the dark, fiery beauty that had captured Junior’s heart as well as his libido. The woman now possessed a polish that had been lacking in the girl. Phyllis’s doing, no doubt, Deanna thought.

  “Come here, Lauren, and meet your Aunt Deanna.” Junior slipped his arm around his daughter’s waist. “Well, what do you think of my little girl? She’s as pretty as her mama, isn’t she?”

  “Hello, Lauren.” Deanna offered her hand to her niece, who shyly accepted it in introduction. “You are every bit as pretty as Benita.”

  “And as smart as her papa,” Benita added. “She is much like my Junior.”

  “Well, why don’t we all go into the living room for a nice little chat,” Phyllis suggested. “I’ll ring for Carlotta and have her bring us—”

  “If you don’t mind, Mother, I’d really like to rest a while before dinner,
” Deanna said. “I’m a bit tired after the drive. I left Dallas fairly early this morning.”

  “Oh, my. Yes, of course. How unthinking of me.” Phyllis glanced at the staircase. “I had your old room prepared for you. I’ll get one of the boys to bring in your luggage. Would you like for me to go up with you and help you settle in?”

  “No. I—I’d just like to be alone for a little while.”

  “If you’d prefer, I can put you in another room.” Phyllis cut her eyes toward Junior. “I wasn’t sure, so I—”

  “My old room is just fine, Mother. And please, you don’t have to tiptoe around me, afraid something you say or do might set me off. I’ve been quite sane ever since I left Millones ten years ago.”

  “Oh, darling, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Mother wasn’t implying that she thinks you’re still unstable,” Junior said. “It’s just that we don’t want anything to ruin your first visit home. We want you to enjoy being with us and have a good time while you’re here.”

  “Your mother and I have planned a party for Saturday night to welcome you home,” Benita added, a hopeful smile on her face. “We have invited half the county. It will be the biggest and best barbecue the Circle A has ever had.”

  Oh, dear God, surely they hadn’t! But Deanna knew that they had. They were pretending that nothing was wrong, that nothing bad had ever happened. They were giving her the prodigal daughter’s welcome, killing the fatted calf and inviting the neighbors in for the barbecue!

  “I didn’t come back to Stone Creek, to the Circle A. to enjoy myself. And I don’t expect to have a good time while I’m here.”

  “But, darling...” Phyllis whined.

  “I should have told y’all when I called, but...I’ve been having nightmares and flashes of memory,” she said. “The same nightmares I had when I first went to Millones. And the memory flashes are stronger and more vivid than they ever were.”

  “Hell, Deanna, don’t you think you ought to be back under a doctor’s care. Mother can call Doc Penson and have him—”

  “I don’t want Dr. Penson or any other doctor,” Deanna said. “I’m not unstable or mentally incompetent. I can handle these dreams and flashbacks. In fact, I want to have them. I need to have them.”

  “What are you trying to tell us?” Phyllis asked.

  “I’ve come home in the hopes that these dreams and flashbacks will help me fit all the pieces together. I want to remember what happened the night Daddy died. And I want to be able to remember everything that happened after that...the trial...my first few months at Millones...and—and my baby.”

  Silence hung in the air like an invisible vulture, waiting to pounce and devour. Deanna’s gaze traveled from her mother’s pale face and gaping mouth to her brother’s tense jaw and sad eyes to her sister-in-law’s flushed cheeks.

  “I didn’t realize until recently that I’ve been running away from a truth I couldn’t bear to remember. I thought I’d made peace with the past, that I’d moved on and made a new life for myself. But I can never have a new life—a real life—until I come to terms with the past.”

  Deanna took several steps up the stairs, then turned her head a fraction and looked down at her family. “I don’t remember what happened the night Daddy died, but there’s one thing I do know. Instinctively. In my heart of hearts. Luke McClendon didn’t kill my father. So that means someone else did. And that someone let an innocent man spend five years in prison.”

  Without another word, Deanna walked up the stairs, down the hall and away from the whispered murmurs. She’d shocked and upset her family. She could have waited to tell them the real reason she’d come home. But in the long run, it wouldn’t have mattered. Whenever she told them, their reaction would have been the same. They didn’t want Luke McClendon’s name cleared of a crime he hadn’t committed. After all these years, they still hated him.

  Deanna opened the door to her old room, took a deep breath and walked inside. Late afternoon sunlight danced across the hardwood floors and illuminated the frilly, flowery teenage girl’s room with a muted pink glow. She sat down on the antique painted metal bed that had belonged to her grandmother.

  She was home, in her old room, on her bed. She should feel warm and safe and content. But she didn’t. Here, in the bosom of her family, she felt alone and uneasy.

  Was she strong enough to stay and face the demons? Face Luke McClendon? Would he give her a second chance to help prove his innocence? Or did he still hate her too much to ever trust her again?

  Kizzie McClendon stared at the invitation in her hand as if it were a deadly spider. She wished she could smash it, destroy it, keep it from doing harm to anyone. She could burn it, she supposed, or rip it into a hundred pieces and throw it into the trash. But the destruction of the handwritten note wouldn’t change the facts. Deanna Atchley had returned to Stone Creek.

  Why now, after all these years? Couldn’t she have just stayed away and left well enough alone? It had taken Luke years after his release from prison to begin putting the past behind him. And only recently had she seen a glimpse of the young man who had, fifteen years ago, just begun to believe he had a place here at Montrose, as a part of the McClendon family. But Rayburn Atchley’s murder had ended the progress she and Baxter had made with the boy. Ended it, perhaps, forever.

  Even now, as a man of thirty-five, who ruled Montrose with the same easy authority Baxter had, Luke kept himself separate from the family, from her and his brothers. Her stepson lived his life, now more than ever, as a loner, isolated within himself, allowing no one—not even his family—to penetrate the defensive barrier that kept him at arm’s length from the rest of the world.

  Deanna Atchley had done this to him. He had given her his young love, his blind trust and she had used it to destroy him. She had taken the witness stand against him and doomed him to prison. Not just the five years in the penitentiary, but a lifetime imprisoned within himself. Unable to reach out to others. Unable to love or trust.

  How had the woman had the nerve to send the McClendon family this damn invitation to her homecoming barbecue? One of the Circle A ranch hands had hand-delivered the thing only minutes ago. If she’d known what it was, she would have thrown it back in the man’s face.

  Clutching the cream-colored stationery in her hand, Kizzie the floor in the den. The invitation wasn’t the problem even the Atchleys’ grand celebration wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Deanna Atchley was back and Kizzie had no idea how Luke would react once he found out. Much as she wanted to keep the truth from him, she knew she couldn’t. And this news should come from her, not one of the hands, who had, by now, probably heard about Deanna’s return. The whole county was no doubt buzzing with the gossip that Phyllis Atchley’s crazy daughter had come back from wherever she’d been hiding these past fifteen years.

  Nobody knew what had happened to the girl after Luke’s trial. She’d simply vanished off the face of the earth. Kizzie wondered what had really happened to the child Deanna had been carrying. Luke’s child. He never mentioned the baby, just as he never mentioned Deanna. But Kizzie knew that a man with Luke’s past, born illegitimate, not knowing his father until he was fifteen, would agonize over the fate of his own son or daughter.

  There was no point putting it off. She’d saddle up Minerva and go find Luke. But she’d rather face an angry bull than tell Luke that Deanna had returned to Stone Creek.

  Luke watched the sun lying on the western horizon like a fat orange ball. Tendrils of ripe pink and purple and gold spanned the length of the sky, mingling with the clear blue that spread upward to the heavens. He readjusted his hips in the saddle and breathed in the sweet evening air. Looking out over the vast acreage that comprised Montrose, he felt the same sense of contentment that he always did when he remembered that this ranch was his home as well as his responsibility, and his pleasure to oversee for the whole McClendon clan.

  When Kizzie had come to him, after his father’s death five years ago, and told
him that she and her sons, Tyler and Grant, had decided they wanted him to take over the reins of Montrose, he’d been dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe that they wanted him—Baxter’s bastard son—to be in charge of the ranch. But neither of Baxter’s other sons loved the ranch the way Luke did and neither wanted to step into their father’s shoes and run the whole operation.

  Montrose had become Luke’s life—he ate, slept, breathed and lived for the ranch. It was all he had. All he’d ever have.

  Montrose was enough. It was all he needed.

  Luke caught a glimpse of Kizzie heading up the dirt path that led from the northern range into the hills where he’d paused to enjoy the view. What was his stepmother doing out here at this time of the evening? She didn’t usually disturb him unless there was a problem.

  He waited until she was almost at the top of the hill, then waved and called out to her. “What are you doing out here? Thought you’d be helping Alva get things ready for supper. Tyler’s still coming over tonight, isn’t he?”

  “As far as I know, your brother’s still coming. Unless he has some sort of emergency. Ever since he got himself elected sheriff, we see less and less of him.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Luke said. “What are—”

  “I’ve got something to tell you and it couldn’t wait.” Kizzie reined in Minerva, bringing the mare up beside the big, dun quarter horse that Luke had raised from a colt.

  Luke searched his stepmother’s dark eyes and a sudden uneasiness hit him square in the gut. Kizzie wasn’t the type to get unduly concerned about things. She was the most levelheaded woman he’d ever known.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Have you heard from Tess?”

  “No.” Kizzie’s voice was edged with pain. “I haven’t heard anything from your sister. As much as I wish that girl would write or call, I’m afraid that’s not what I rode out here to tell you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Luke dismounted, then reached up and helped his stepmother to the ground. Side by side, they walked, leading their horses behind them.