by Janet Dailey
“And you were wearing Bernice to a frazzle,” Sky said. “I figured both of you were ready for a break.”
“How about bringin’ my ATV around tomorrow? I’m itchin’ for a ride.”
“Sorry, but that’s up to Will. He’s got the keys and he won’t let you ride till you’re stronger. But I can take you out in the pickup tomorrow. If you’re up for it, we can take a look at the place where you were shot. Maybe it’ll help you remember.”
“You told me it was your no-good cousin that shot me. And that now he’s lit out somewhere. So what’s to remember?”
“Maybe nothing. But if you can help me, I’d like to make sure Marie’s telling the truth about it being an accident.”
“Marie? That’s the cousin who’s waitressin’ at the Blue Coyote, right?”
“Right. I should probably check in with her. She hasn’t been in touch since her brother disappeared.”
Jasper spat off the edge of the porch. “Well, after knowing Lute and hearing about those other two birds, I can’t say much for that side of your family.”
“They’re no angels. But after my mother died, they were all the family I had. At least they didn’t turn me away. I guess I owe them something for that.”
“What about the other side of your family? What have you done about that secret I told you?”
Sky’s pulse lurched. Knowing Jasper, he should have expected the question and had a response ready. Instead he felt as if he’d been punched. Seconds ticked by before he answered.
“Nothing. It’s like that Pandora’s Box I read about in school, Jasper. Open it, and all the troubles come flying out into the world. I’m fine with things as they are. What would I have to gain by telling Will and Beau that their father slept with a Comanche woman and I’m their bastard brother?”
Jasper gazed at him with a puzzled frown. “I was hoping it would give you some peace. But you don’t sound very happy about it.”
Sky leaned back in the chair and crossed his booted feet. The call of a coyote echoed through the twilight. “Bull Tyler knew all along who I was. He never acknowledged me, never said a word. And he never helped my mother. She died poor, without the medical treatment that might’ve saved her life. Which part of that should I be happy about?”
“Blast it, Sky . . .” Jasper’s words trailed into silence. His chin settled on his chest. He was quiet so long that Sky thought he’d fallen into a doze, but at last he spoke. “Bull had his reasons. You might not understand them, but I could tell you more if you want to know.”
Sky weighed the invitation, then shook his head. “Right now I figure the less I know, the less I’ll brood about it. If I change my mind, I’ll ask.”
“Don’t wait too long. I’m an old man. I won’t be here to answer your questions forever.” Jasper ruminated for a moment, then changed the subject.
“Heard about Hoyt Axelrod dyin’ in jail. Can’t say I’m sorry. Would’ve plugged him myself if I’d been there when he shot you in the back. Have they figured out what killed the bugger?”
“Last we heard, the official cause of death was ‘undetermined. ’”
“Sure it was. If you believe that, I’ve got a piece of oceanfront property in Arizona to sell you.” Jasper spat over the porch rail. “An’ now Abner Sweeney’s the sheriff. Hellfire, Abner’s got about as much sense as a jackrabbit. Tag, here, would make a better lawman than that fool, wouldn’t you, boy?” He scratched the dog’s ears. “Say, did you ever find that shotgun of mine?”
“The one that was missing after your accident?”
“Yeah. Damn good bird gun. Hate to lose it.”
“Marie said her brother took it. Wherever he is, he’s probably got it with him.”
“Well, I hope the dirty snake shoots his foot off with it. If you find him, I want it back.” Pushing out of the rocker, Jasper stood. “Reckon I’ll turn in now. It’s been a long day. Wake me in the mornin’. I’ll ride out with you in the pickup.”
“Feel free to sleep in if you’re tired. We don’t have to go tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine.” He hobbled across the porch, his gait still unsteady. The accident—or whatever it was—had taken its toll on the old cowboy. There was no guarantee he’d ever be as strong as before.
After Jasper had gone inside, Sky sat in the darkness, listening to the night—the drone of crickets in the dry grass, the mellow co-hoo of a burrowing owl, the muted whinny of a horse in the paddock. Sky’s ears and mind processed the sound. No alarm there, only restlessness.
Over the past few days, he’d spent most of his spare time working with Storm Cloud. The black gelding was making good progress—especially since Sky had discovered the sore mouth that was causing him to fight the bit. The change to a snaffle bit seemed to be helping. But if Lauren wasn’t coming back to work with her horse, Sky couldn’t justify the time and expense of keeping him here.
The situation had become awkward. If Lauren wanted to break off their relationship, that was her choice. But something would need to be done about returning her horse. Much as Sky disliked involving Beau, having him contact Lauren would be the simplest solution. A phone call or e-mail should be enough to set things up. If she was busy, or didn’t want to come over, she could always send a ranch hand with a trailer.
Leaning farther back in the chair, he propped his boots on the porch railing. The dog nudged his hand, wanting to be petted. Sky stroked the tangled fur, taking a moment to loosen a cockle burr and toss it off the porch. He and Lauren had been good together. But that was the way of most good things. They tended not to last. Damned shame, though, when he thought of all the things he’d wanted—and still wanted—to do with that leggy, red-haired hellion in bed.
Muttering a curse, he stood and stretched his saddle-sore muscles. An evening breeze had sprung up, smelling of dust and promising another blast furnace day tomorrow. He would plan to start with the colts at first light, in the larger of the two round pens. If things went well, he could get in a few hours of training before he took Jasper out in the pickup.
His job was vital to the ranch’s survival. This was no time to let any distraction interfere with his work—not Marie and her problems, not the questions about his father, and not even Lauren.
Especially Lauren.
Garn Prescott propped his bare back against the pillows and clicked the remote. The flat-screen TV at the foot of the bed flashed on, lighting up the dark interior of the motel room.
“Honey, do you have to turn that thing on now?” Stella ran a teasing hand up his inner thigh. Lord, the woman was insatiable. Not that he was complaining. She knew every trick in the book, and enough others to write a book of her own. They’d driven into Lubbock for dinner and spent the past two hours in bed, having the kind of sex that boggled Prescott’s imagination. It was a good thing he’d gulped down some Viagra before they got started. He’d needed it.
“This won’t take long,” he said. “I just want to make sure the station is running my new campaign ad.”
Prescott had paid top dollar to have the ad run just before the nine o’clock news. Bankrolled by Stella, the ad had been done by a slick agency with background music, a professional script, and a combination of lighting and makeup that made him look ten years younger.
He sighed with satisfaction as the ad came on. It was already making a difference in the polls, and contributions were flowing, if not exactly gushing, into his war chest. He’d lost track of how much Stella had given him, but it had to be coming up on sixty or seventy thousand dollars. How a woman who ran a grungy little bar in a backwater town could spare so much money was a question Prescott didn’t ask. His instincts told him he was better off not knowing.
Stella took the remote out of his hand and switched off the TV. “It’s not like you have to watch the whole thing,” she said. “Come here, honey. Maybe next time we can spend the whole night together. But for now we both have places to be. One more round and it’s bye-bye time.”
Her han
d slid higher, fingers stroking with a skill that drove him wild. Prescott would never have guessed he had it in him but, wonder of wonders, the Viagra was still working.
Balancing the tray above her head, Marie made her way through the crowd. With the Texas rodeo finals on TV, the bar was packed. And Stella had chosen tonight, of all nights, to be gone.
Squeezing past a table, Marie felt a pinch on her bottom. Turning, she fixed the cowboy with a chilling glare. As the seconds passed, his grin faded and his bold gaze dropped. “Sorry,” he muttered. Marie moved on. She knew how to handle jerks like that cowboy. Once they got a look at her scarred face, they always backed off.
She’d been twenty when her husband Eddie had come home nasty drunk, kicked her across the floor, and slashed her face with a knife from the kitchen. A neighbor had driven her to the hospital, where she’d lost the baby she was carrying. Probably just as well. She would never have been a candidate for Mother of the Year.
A couple of her brothers had gone after Eddie, knocked out his front teeth, busted his right hand, and threatened worse if he ever came near their sister again. After the divorce she’d kept her married name—Marie Johnson—because in Oklahoma there were advantages to not being known as a Fletcher. She’d kept the scar, too, though not by choice. The operation to fix her face would cost thousands of dollars—more money than Marie could ever earn at the shitty jobs she was forced to take.
But if things went as planned, all that was about to change.
Behind the bar, Stella’s brother, Nick, was filling orders as fast as Marie could pick them up. “Where’s Stella?” she asked as she stacked a fresh tray.
Nick shrugged, his bland expression unchanged. Despite his shaved head and biker tattoos there was an air of shyness about the man. Early on Marie had tried flirting with him just to see what would happen. But she’d gotten nowhere. Maybe he’d been put off by the scar, or maybe he just wasn’t interested in women.
Stella doted on her younger brother. He seemed to be the one person in the world she cared about. Marie could understand that. She’d felt much the same way about Lute. That was why her revenge would be so fitting and why carrying it out would be so sweet. She would have that bitch Stella right where she wanted her.
Killing Coy hadn’t been part of her original plan. But between his marijuana patch and his big mouth, she’d figured that sooner or later he was bound to get them both in trouble and ruin everything. She’d never liked Coy—the way he’d teased her and tormented the stray animals she befriended. But she hadn’t thought of killing him until a few weeks ago when she’d come across the loaded 9 mm Glock Nick kept in the back of the drawer below the cash register.
Staring down at the gun, Marie had felt a thrill as her scheme came together. After meeting Sky that first night in the parking lot, she had taken the gun with gloved hands, ridden the Harley back to Coy’s camp, and done what she needed to. It had been easier than she’d expected, leaving her with scarcely a twinge of regret.
Now all she had to do was wait.
CHAPTER 10
Sky was pulling off his dusty boots when his cell phone rang. He willed himself to ignore the leap of his pulse as he saw her name. Nearly a week had passed since Beau had e-mailed Lauren at the Prescott Ranch office, asking about her horse and whether she planned on returning to work. Neither he nor Sky had heard back from her.
Lauren was impulsive, to say the least. Sky wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she’d had it out with her father and decided to fly back to Maryland. He couldn’t imagine she’d leave without telling him or Beau. But then again, how well did he really know her?
Reminding himself of that, he dropped his boots and took the call.
“Sky?” Her husky voice sounded uncertain, as if she was afraid he might be angry.
“Lauren? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She didn’t sound fine, he thought.
“Where are you? I’ve been worried about you.” Worried was an understatement. He’d lain awake nights wondering where she was and what might have happened to her. But he’d be damned if he’d let her know that.
“I’m at the ranch. I left for a little while. It’s . . . complicated.”
“I’m listening.”
There was a long pause. “My father found out about us. He threatened to ruin you if I saw you again.”
“That’s no surprise. We should’ve known it might happen.” Sky willed himself not to feel—no anger, no disappointment. It was what it was.
“I saw Beau’s e-mail about Storm Cloud. Do you still have him?”
“I’ve been working with him. He’s doing fine. But he needs to go home.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll pay his expenses, of course, or Beau can just take it out of what he owes me.” Again, there was a beat of silence. “My father went to Lubbock tonight. He told me he wouldn’t be back till morning. I think he must have a girlfriend somewhere.”
Sky waited, sensing she had more to say, guessing at what it might be.
“I need to see you,” she said. “If you could ride Storm Cloud over here, we could put him up and I could drive you home.”
Sky glanced at the bedside clock. Eleven-fifteen. Was the woman pulling his strings—keeping him on edge for days, then expecting him to come running like a besotted puppy at her call? It would serve her right if he turned her down and sent Storm Cloud home in a trailer tomorrow.
And what about her father? Who was to say Prescott wouldn’t change his mind and come home early?
But why was he arguing with himself? The urge to see Lauren, even just to talk, was driving him like a whip.
“Sky, are you still there?” How long had he kept her waiting for an answer?
His free hand reached for his boots. “I’m on my way. Just tell me where to find you.”
By the time she ended the call, Lauren was trembling. Phoning Sky had crushed her pride and drained her courage. Facing him would be even harder, especially given what she needed to say.
Sinking onto the porch swing, she struggled to make sense of the past few days. As the plane had lifted off the runway, bound for Baltimore, she’d told herself she was doing the right thing. The idea of a caring relationship with her father was nothing more than a fairy tale. The longer she stayed with him, the worse his abuse was bound to become. He might even break down and hit her, the way she remembered him hitting her mother. There was no way she would stand for that.
As for Sky, he was better off without her. They’d had a few laughs, but trying to make it last would be like hanging an anvil around his neck. She was doing him a favor, she’d told herself. Even without the damage her father could do, the last thing Sky needed was to be saddled with a neurotic mess like Miss Lauren Prescott.
Leaving without telling him good-bye had been the coward’s way out. But any attempt to explain would have been a disaster. She’d planned to write him a letter from Maryland, a nice, polite one, thanking him for what they’d shared and wishing him the best.
What they’d shared . . .
But she’d known better than to go there.
At some point in the flight she’d remembered Storm Cloud. It had been irresponsible on her part, leaving the horse with Sky. At least the black gelding was in good hands. But she’d only borrowed him from the Prescott Ranch. She would need to send money for his keep and instructions for his return.
Her grandparents’ home outside Baltimore had been even gloomier than Lauren remembered. Much of the land had been sold to real estate developers. Even her grandfather’s horses and stables were gone. Her grandparents, both in their eighties, rarely left the house or even looked past the heavy drapes that kept out much of the light.
The kindly servants Lauren remembered from her teens had been replaced by brusque strangers who clearly viewed her as an intruder. Concerned, Lauren had contacted the family lawyers, who’d confirmed that on her grandparents’ deaths the remainder of the estate would be sold to pay its debts,
leaving next to nothing for her. The only surprise had been how little she cared.
After three days of filling out applications for jobs she didn’t want, she’d driven to see Mike’s parents in North Carolina. Arriving at their home, she’d learned from the gardener that they’d left on a cruise.
Just one place remained for her to visit. After buying a bouquet of blue Dutch irises and lilies of the valley from a florist, she’d gone to the cemetery to leave the flowers on Mike’s grave.
The last time she’d been to the place was the day of the wrenching, emotional funeral. A year later, climbing out of her car, she’d braced herself for a surge of love and grief, along with newfound anger for all the people Mike’s suicide had hurt. But as she kissed the bouquet and laid it at the base of the granite headstone, all she’d felt was a surprising sense of quiet, calm acceptance.
She’d moved on.
And she didn’t belong here anymore.
Driving back to Maryland, visions of open space, golden grass, cattle, horses, and a tall, lean cowboy with coal black hair and riveting blue eyes had flooded her memory. Lauren wasn’t blind to the risks. Sky was a loner. The odds of a happy future with such a man were slim to none. Reaching out to him would mean setting herself up for heartbreak. But if there was a chance for them, any chance at all, she couldn’t walk away until she knew for sure.
Two days later she was on a flight back to Texas.
The distant sound of approaching hoof beats roused Lauren from her musings. If it was Sky, he’d wasted no time getting here. Heart pounding, she rose and walked to the top of the porch steps. She’d told him to come to the house. From there she could show him the way to the stables.
When the syndicate had bought the ranch from Garn Prescott, they’d agreed to leave the main house, with its surrounding lawns and gardens, for the Prescott family. A new house for the ranch manager, along with an office and some outbuildings, had been built some distance away, on the far side of the original barns and stables. The arrangement gave the Prescotts the privacy they needed to live their lives undisturbed, as well as shared use of the stables and other facilities. Since Lauren had worked in the ranch office, she was familiar with the layout of the place, and most of the employees knew her. Coming onto the property in the middle of the night, Sky would need her with him.
