by Janet Dailey
Will stood, quivering with anger too long held back. “Dammit, Beau, I need you! The ranch needs you! You can’t just stomp the dust off your feet and walk away while we’re going through a bad time. Who am I supposed to get to take your place?”
Beau’s reply was glacial. “Get anybody you want. With you around to boss them like you did me, half the cowboys on the ranch could do my job. Flip a coin. Draw straws. I don’t care.”
Lauren glanced at Sky. Seen in profile, his face revealed nothing. But he had to be hurting. This was his flesh-and-blood family falling apart, and he had no right to interfere. She ached for him.
Will glared down the table at his brother. “This has always been your way, hasn’t it, Beau? When things get tough you walk away, just like you did eleven years ago. Dad never let on how much you hurt him, but I could tell. For all his rough ways, he loved you—maybe because you were the most like our mother. But you didn’t care. All you could think about was yourself—and you haven’t changed.”
“Say anything you want to, Will.” Beau’s voice was strained tight. “I’m staying until the wedding to help you out—that gives you almost a month to replace me. But you’re not going to change my mind.”
“Fine,” Will snapped. “Do whatever you want. You always have.” He took a step toward the front door. “I’ve got work to do. If anybody needs me, I’ll be up on the caprock with the cattle.”
He stalked outside, slamming the front door behind him. Seconds later his pickup roared away from the house.
The stunned silence hanging over the table was broken when Erin burst into tears.
Stella sat alone at the bar in the Blue Coyote, smoking a cigarette and reading the Sunday paper—a day late since it was Monday, but what did it matter? The bar wasn’t set to open for more than an hour, but today she had plans to carry out. She would need to make sure everything went down as it should. Split-second timing would be critical.
But it was early yet. For now she could relax a little and fortify her nerves for what lay ahead. After taking a drag on the cigarette, she blew a smoke ring and opened the newspaper to the obituaries.
The front page story about Garn Prescott’s death had come out a couple of days earlier. Heart attack. Who would’ve guessed fate would play into her hands that way? She’d told him to watch his blood pressure, but the strain of having his dirty little secrets aired in public must’ve been too much. Too bad. She’d had big plans for the man before he let her down. But at least his fate would be an example to others. Nobody, not even a U.S. congressman, crossed Stella Rawlins and got away with it.
Today the news about Prescott had faded to a notice of his funeral service, to be held at ten o’clock on Monday—that was today—at the Worthington Hills Mortuary in Lubbock. Burial to follow in the family plot on the Prescott Ranch.
By now the service would probably be over, the procession headed back to Prescott’s ranch. Not that Stella had planned to go—although it might have been interesting to see how many people had the guts to show up after the scandal. Would the governor have been there, or any of Prescott’s colleagues in Congress? Would the governor’s smarmy stepson, Josh Hardesty, have shown up to console Prescott’s red-haired princess daughter?
The spectacle—or lack of it—would have been interesting, Stella thought. Too bad she couldn’t have been a fly on the wall. But never mind. She had other fish to fry.
One of those fish was Marie Fletcher.
Stella had been on the fence about Marie since that fiasco with Prescott’s Cadillac. True, the mistake hadn’t been entirely her fault. But a professional would’ve made sure Prescott’s daughter was dead and erased every trace of evidence at the scene, something Marie hadn’t done. And Marie had seemed almost too eager to make amends. Stella’s gut instincts had hinted that something wasn’t right.
On Friday Abner had called her from his conference in Austin. His news had confirmed her worst suspicions. The Tylers had solid evidence that Marie had shot that old man on their ranch, and they were pretty sure she’d also killed her own brother—the crime she’d pinned on poor Nicky. Even more dangerous for Stella, they’d found tracks and a lighter that could tie Marie to the wreck that had nearly killed Garn Prescott’s daughter.
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up, Stella,” Abner had said. “I’ll be meeting with the county commissioners Monday morning to report on the conference. After that, I’ll be coming around with my deputies to arrest Marie for attempted murder.”
And Marie would sing her lying little heart out.
Something had to be done. Abner was a good source of information, and she knew he’d warned her for a reason. But Stella could hardly ask him to get rid of Marie. She’d needed the job done soon, and she’d needed it done right. That had meant calling her Dallas connection and paying the price for a good professional hit man.
The man she’d hired was in place now, waiting by the road out of town. Hearing footsteps overhead, Stella picked up her cell phone and made a quick call. “It shouldn’t be long. I’ll phone you when she’s on the move.”
“Fine.” The word was followed by a click as the man on the phone ended the call. His voice sounded foreign, but Stella couldn’t be sure. She’d never met the man face-to-face. Everything had been arranged through his boss—half the payment made by electronic transfer, the other half to be sent when the job was done.
Pulse racing, Stella finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. She missed the old days when Hoyt Axelrod would’ve taken care of a problem like this. But then Hoyt had become the problem. At least this way was simpler and safer.
She was still reading the paper, or at least pretending to, when Marie came downstairs to use the restroom. A few minutes later Marie came out, still barefoot and wearing the dingy gray tee she used for a nightgown. As she headed back toward the stairs, Stella spoke.
“Marie, I need to talk to you.”
Marie turned around. “Sorry, I know I overslept. But I left the place clean last night and I’ll be good to go by the time we open.”
“No, that’s fine.” Stella waved a dismissive hand, showing off her freshly lacquered blood red nails. “This is about something else. Sit down.”
Marie lowered herself to a chair. Nervous hands pulled her shirt over her knees, fingers bunching the hem as she waited.
“Cigarette?” Stella held out the open pack and her lighter.
“Thanks.” Marie accepted the offering, taking a cigarette and lighting it. Stella, an expert at reading people, noticed the flicker of hope in her dark eyes. Did she think she was about to get another chance to prove herself? Poor, foolish girl.
“I’m about to do you a favor,” Stella said. “I owe you this for what you did to clear Nicky of that murder charge.” She paused to light another cigarette, giving her words time to sink in. She was playing now, like a cat with a mouse, enjoying the game.
“What I’m giving you is a warning,” she said. “I got a call from the sheriff. That old man who was shot on the Tyler place got his memory back. He’s claiming it was you who pulled the trigger, and that it was no accident. The Tylers and your cousin Sky are backing him up.”
Marie swore and took a long drag on her cigarette. “I was hoping the old fart was dead. I’d have finished him off with another shot, but the dog kept getting in the way. I couldn’t shoot a dog.”
“You should’ve shot them both,” Stella said. “Abner wanted me to make sure you’d be here this afternoon. He’s planning to come by with his deputies and arrest you for attempted murder.”
The look of panic that flashed across Marie’s scarred face gave Stella a rush of satisfaction. She reached for her purse, which she’d left on the bar. “Here,” she said, taking out a fistful of bills. “This should be enough to get you wherever you need to go. I’m sorry things didn’t work out here, but what happened happened. The sooner you’re on the road, the farther away you’ll be when the sheriff shows up.”
“Tha
nks.” Marie rose, dropped her cigarette in the ashtray, took the money, and without meeting Stella’s eyes turned and walked toward the stairs.
“You’re welcome, you double-crossing bitch,” Stella murmured as she disappeared. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Marie pulled on her clothes and crammed Stella’s money into her pockets, along with her cigarettes and the new lighter she’d bought. Glancing around the room, she grabbed the few small possessions she’d left out and stuffed them in her backpack. After checking the load in her KelTek P3, she shoved the small pistol into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled the hem of her T-shirt over it.
Without bothering to put on socks, she yanked on her boots. Marie was no fool. She knew Stella hadn’t warned her or given her money out of gratitude. Stella Rawlins didn’t have a grateful bone in her body. The last thing the woman would want was for her to be arrested and strike a plea deal with the court. Whatever Stella’s motives, there was only one thing to do—take the money and run. Maybe if Lute had done that, instead of getting greedy for more, he’d still be alive.
No need to say good-bye. Marie raced down the back stairs and found her Harley under the lean-to where spare chairs and empty crates were stored. The bike was old but well maintained. She’d put gas in the tank a few days ago. A quick check showed that it was still full—no scumbag had siphoned it out like the last time.
Stowing her backpack, she sprang onto the seat, switched on the ignition, and opened up the throttle. The bike rumbled to life, shot out of the parking lot and down the street toward the main highway.
The wind caught her hair, blowing it out like a black banner behind her. It felt good to be leaving this garbage dump of a town behind—even though she was also leaving behind some big-time dreams. She’d blown her chance to be rich and powerful like Stella. But things could be worse. At least she wasn’t in jail. At least she wasn’t dead. She could go someplace else, start over, maybe find a decent man who wouldn’t mind the scar—or better yet, would pay to have it removed. She had a good figure. With her face fixed, and some pretty clothes, she’d be a woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.
She’d turned onto the highway and was headed west when a black SUV pulled out of a side road behind her. The big vehicle was following too close. That was nothing new. A lot of drivers behaved as if motorcycles on the road were invisible. Still it was annoying. Marie was tempted to give the jerk behind the wheel her middle finger. But if he was prone to road rage, that could be a bad idea.
Giving the old Harley full throttle, she roared ahead. She’d outdistanced the SUV by a quarter mile when she heard it coming up behind her again, gaining fast. Cold terror clutched her as the truth struck home—this wasn’t just any vehicle or any driver. She’d been played. Stella had sent somebody to kill her.
Did the driver mean to run her down or shoot her? With no time to think, Marie’s survival instincts kicked in. Swerving left, she rocketed off the highway and headed across the scrub-dotted landscape. On the paved road she wouldn’t stand a chance. But running loose amid rolling hills, clumps of mesquite, and sandy washes, she might be able to outmaneuver the lumbering SUV, either keeping out of sight or leading the big vehicle into a spot where it could high center or get stuck. She had her pistol, but the driver—she’d glimpsed a lone man in a dark hat—was bound to have a more powerful weapon. She couldn’t risk letting him get a clear shot at her.
The SUV had turned off, too, and was coming after her. With its off-road tires and four-wheel drive, it would be hard to stop. Marie cut a zigzag route, keeping to the lowest path she could find. The long, yellow grass that carpeted the ground was so dry that it crumbled beneath her wheels, raising a plume of dust that trailed behind her in the wind. She could no longer see her pursuer, but she knew he was close on her trail and that he wouldn’t give up the chase until she was dead.
The lay of the land looked familiar. She’d been here before. This was the eastern boundary of the Tylers’ ranch, the area she’d cut across on the way to Coy’s camp.
Not far ahead there should be a narrow wash with a sandy bottom. Marie’s shifting mind calculated what little she recalled of its width and depth and the upward slope leading to its edge. Did her bike have enough power to make the jump to the other side?
If she tried and failed it would be all over for her. Either she would die in the crash or the man coming from behind would finish her off with a single shot to the head. But it was the best chance she had, maybe her only chance.
She scanned the horizon in a frantic search for the dip that marked the rim of the wash. The SUV was gaining on her, its engine blasting in her ears. If she didn’t find it soon . . .
Suddenly there it was, a straight shot, not fifty yards ahead. Rising off the seat like a jockey, Marie opened up the aging bike to the limit of its power. The Harley roared forward and upward, passed over the rim of the wash, and went airborne.
The breathless sensation lasted only an instant. Then she felt the shock of solid ground beneath the wheels. Incredibly, she was unhurt, the bike still speeding forward. Without looking back, she made a beeline for a nearby rocky outcrop. The driver might be slowed down by the wash, but if he had a long-range rifle and a good aim, he could still climb out of the vehicle and drop her with a shot.
Protected for the moment by the rocks, she let the bike idle while she checked it for damage. From the wash behind her came the sound of a racing motor and spinning wheels. Evidently the driver had tried to go through the shallow wash and become stuck in the sand at the bottom. But with those big tires and that powerful engine he wouldn’t be stuck long. Over time and distance there was no way she could outrun him. There had to be something else she could do to stop him and get away.
Her nerves were shot. Dammit, if only she had time for a cigarette. . . .
The thought triggered a desperate plan. The wind was blowing out of the west, back toward her pursuer. Yes, it could work.
Except for a few scratches, the Harley appeared undamaged. Opening one of the panniers, she took out a box of cookies she’d picked up days ago at Shop Mart. Dumping the cookies on the ground, she tore the box open flat, clicked her lighter and touched the flame to one corner. As the cardboard caught she tossed it under a tinder-dry bush. In the seconds it took to rev up the bike and speed away, a wall of fire flared behind her, wind blowing the flames toward the wash.
She’d covered a good half mile when she heard the blast of a fiery explosion. Behind her, a tower of black smoke rose against the sky. Marie’s mouth tightened in a satisfied smile. She hoped the scumbag who’d tried to kill her had been inside the SUV when it blew, but she wasn’t going back to find out.
With a war whoop of victory, she swung back toward the main road. She’d done it. She was safe.
By the time the wind shifted direction, blowing smoke and flame back toward the Rimrock, Marie was too far away to care.
CHAPTER 19
Sky stood next to Lauren as her father’s casket sank into the sunbaked earth. The brief service in the family plot was sparsely attended. Will and Beau were there to support Lauren and pay their respects to their lifelong neighbor. Natalie was working, but Tori had come, leaving Erin at a friend’s. A few near neighbors, along with Randall Clawson, who managed the ranch for the syndicate, and Reverend Bunker Sykes from the Blanco Springs Community Church rounded out the small gathering.
Jasper had refused to go, declaring that anything good he had to say about Garn Prescott would be a lie. Bernice, who’d sent over some fresh banana bread, had chosen to stay home and look after her brother.
Sky glanced at Lauren’s downcast profile. Beneath her narrow-brimmed, black straw hat, a lock of mahogany hair that the hot wind had loosened fluttered across her cheek. He’d seen no tears today. She and her father had barely had a civil relationship, let alone a close one. But he knew she was mourning all the same for what might have been and now could never be.
During the final prayer her hand
had crept into his, fingers holding on tight. He was all she had now. He wanted to let her know he’d always be there for her. But before he complicated her life with a proposal, Lauren would need time to heal and let go of the past.
It was a relief to get out of the burning sun and into the air-cooled house. Lauren lifted off her hat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. Only Sky knew how deeply the day had drained her strength.
“Sit,” he ordered, guiding her to the couch. “I’ll get you a plate and some cold lemonade.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a wan smile. “I’m going to sleep around the clock when this is over.”
“Do that. Anything else can wait till you’re feeling a hundred percent.” Sky walked to the buffet table, where he filled two plates with cold ham and turkey sliders, some potato salad, and some fresh strawberries. Will and Beau were on opposite sides of the room, their backs toward each other. Will was talking to Randall Clawson, the syndicate manager. Beau had cornered the reverend, maybe to discuss arrangements for his August wedding to Natalie. Since the news that he was leaving, the two brothers had barely spoken to each other. They’d even driven separately to the service, Will having made the excuse that he might have to leave early.
Returning to Lauren’s side, Sky found that Tori had joined her. After pulling up an extra chair, he set the plates and glasses on the coffee table between them. “Anything I can get you, Tori?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be going out with Natalie when she gets off work.” She sipped her lemonade, her gaze shifting from Will to Beau. “What are we going to do about those two? This can’t go on.”
“Beats me,” Sky said. “They’re both as stubborn as . . . mules.” As stubborn as their father, he’d almost said. “Beau won’t be leaving for a few more weeks. Maybe between now and then they’ll work things out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tori said. “I keep remembering the last time, when Beau quarreled with his father and didn’t come back for eleven years. Erin’s heartbroken. She was so excited about having a little cousin to play with. Now . . .” She shook her head. “I’m afraid this might be my fault. Not long ago I warned Natalie not to let Beau move her into the ranch house. Heaven knows, I meant well. I didn’t want her marriage to go the way mine did. Now I realize I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
