by Sheryl Lynn
A piercing shriek snapped her attention to the window. Frowning, she gazed down at the picnic area along the west side of the lodge. A flash of coppery red hair darting under the trees deepened her frown into a scowl. The McTeague kid again, up to no good. A little girl raced, shrieking, toward the lodge. Hot on her heels, the redheaded ten-year-old terror chased her with a stick.
Some parents, she thought hatefully, ought to be flogged. They brought their kids to the resort then turned them loose, expecting employees to keep them from killing themselves. Megan pushed open the window and leaned over the sill.
“Hey! Benny! Benny McTeague!”
The boy skidded to a stop and looked around wildly.
“Put down that stick, Benny.”
The boy stuck out his tongue at her and darted back under the trees.
“I don’t need this,” Megan muttered, and hurried out of her room. She took the back stairs two and three at a time, ignoring the twinges in her knees. Outside, she found the little girl Benny had been chasing. Seated on a rock, the child was in tears.
“What did he do to you, baby? Did he hit you with that stick?” With her fingers, Megan combed damp hair off the little girl’s cheeks.
“He hit Barbie!”
“Your doll?”
The girl hiccuped and nodded, pointing at a picnic table. “He won’t gimme Barbie back. He’s mean!”
“I’ll get your doll, sweetheart. Where’s your mommy and daddy?”
“Eating breakfast.”
“In the dining room or on the deck?”
The girl thought about it for a moment, her red-rimmed eyes rolling back and forth. “Under the umbrella.”
“On the deck, then. Good girl.” She pressed an impulsive kiss to the child’s forehead. “You go right around the corner and you’ll see your mommy and daddy. I’ll get your doll. Okay?”
“’Kay.”
Megan marched into the picnic area, searching the shadows under the widely spaced pines. She spotted a Barbie doll tied with a shoestring to a sapling. Muttering about ill-mannered children and their impossible parents, she released the doll.
A sharp pain exploded in her backside. She jumped, loosing a high-pitched squeal. She turned about in time to see the McTeague kid scampering toward the lodge.
Bad knees or not, she could still outrun a ten-year-old. The kid didn’t get twenty feet before she snared him.
“A slingshot!” She snatched the contraption out of his hand and stared at it in horror. No cheesy wooden toy, this slingshot was made of gleaming stainless steel with a black rubber sling. The kid struggled, but she maintained her grip. She felt the bruise forming on her rear—the wound throbbed. “You could kill somebody with this.”
“I’m telling my mu-thur!”
“No, sonny boy, I’m telling your mother.” Not that it would do any good, she thought with resignation. The McTeagues allowed the boy to run wild, act disrespectful and generally be a pain.
The McTeagues had been guests for three days, but with Benny pulling one antic after another, it felt like three years. Still, Megan felt sorry for the kid. He was only ten, after all, responding to weak parents in the only way he knew how.
Benny suddenly twisted in her grasp, catching her off guard, and he tore away. He ran like a little demon, elbows and knees pumping. Megan took a step after him, then stopped. She sighed as she studied the slingshot and Barbie doll. Speaking to his parents would accomplish nothing. Mrs. McTeague would go into her oh-dear-mydarling-wouldn’t-do-that mode and Mr. McTeague would hunch like a turtle, his eyelids battened against possible storms.
Eying the slingshot again, Megan shook her head. When she had kids, she’d raise them the way her parents raised her. With loving firmness, encouragement and eagle eyes that missed nothing.
And she sure wouldn’t give them deadly weapons like slingshots.
She found the little girl and gave her the Barbie doll. Then she made a detour into the lobby and slipped the slingshot into a drawer behind the desk, telling the clerk on duty that Benny McTeague didn’t get it back until he was checked out of the resort.
A glance at the clock behind the registration desk made her groan. Her father took a dim view of tardiness. Practicing her speech in her head, she headed for the family dining room.
As she passed the kitchen, she glanced at the bustling going on inside. Sweet and savory aromas wafted through the door and filled the hallway: bread, pastries and Elk River’s world-famous venison stew. It was the last week of May, the bare beginnings of the tourist season, and not many guests were registered. This afternoon, however, the head of the Princess Amore Cosmetics company was bringing her executives for a mountain retreat. Megan hoped the cosmetics people kept her family so busy none of them had time to hassle her and Tristan.
When Megan entered the dining room, Kara looked up from her breakfast. “I told you she’s not sick, Mom.” She snagged a bowl of scrambled eggs. “Just insane. She’s met a guy and he’s coming to visit. I think she’s in love.”
Megan stopped behind her chair and held the ladder back in both hands. From the head of the table, her father glowered at her while he shifted significant glances at his wristwatch. Next to him, her mother tilted her head at a curious angle.
Elise Duke placed a hand over her husband’s wrist. “You have a young man visiting today, then, dear? That’s nice, but I thought you were on the schedule.”
Megan faltered with uncertainty. Unlike her sisters, she’d never brought a boy home to meet her parents. Always busy in high school and college with athletics, she’d never had a boyfriend at all, and it was a family joke that Megan would rather arm-wrestle a boy than kiss him.
You’re a grown-up, she told herself firmly. You have a life, including a love life.
“I reworked the schedule, Mom. I’m taking the week off.”
That brought an indignant gasp from her older sister. As general manager of the resort, Janine had the final say in most matters concerning employees. But not this one, Megan had determined. For the first time in her life she was making a decision entirely on her own without everybody hashing it over, nitpicking the details and declaring what was best for her.
Janine sipped from her coffee cup. “You can’t take the week off, Meg. Did you forget the Princess Amore Cosmetics people?”
“Everything is covered.”
“This is not SOP, young lady,” the Colonel announced. “AWOL will not be tolerated.”
Standard operating procedure…away without leave! Her father had retired his commission eight years ago. She wished he’d stop using those stupid military acronyms and terms.
“I am taking the week off, Colonel and Janine, and furthermore, I have an announcement to make. You might have to look for another recreation director pretty soon. I’ll probably be quitting.”
“Megan?” her mother questioned gently. “Dear, are you upset about something?”
“No, I’m not upset.” Realizing she’d hoped for cheers and unconditional support and wasn’t getting it, she clutched the back of her chair with fingers so tight they ached. “I’ve met a man, a very special man, and he’s coming today to meet all of you.”
“What man?”
“Be quiet, Janine, let her speak.” Elise urged Megan to continue.
She slid her tongue over her lips. “He wants to marry me and take me to Wyoming to live on his ranch. We’re in love.”
Janine chuckled and resumed eating breakfast. The Colonel’s eyes blazed and ruddiness bloomed on his cheeks. Kara’s mouth fell open. Elise spooned sugar into her coffee cup, one spoonful, two, three, before she gave a start and dropped the spoon.
“Marry?” the Colonel sputtered. “Marry?”
“His name is Tristan Cayle, and he’s a rancher from Powder, Wyoming.” The words emerged in a rush. “He has two brothers and two sisters, and a son named William, and his father lives with him. His wife died several years ago. The ranch has been in his family for four generations. He bro
ke his leg really bad in a rodeo accident, and that’s how we met. He raises Appaloosa horses and cattle, and he does leather work. He made his own saddle.” All the reasonable words she’d practiced had wisped out of her head like steam. She bit her inner cheek to stop the babbling.
“Marry?” The Colonel’s eyeballs looked ready to pop from the sockets.
Kara was gazing at her as if Megan had announced she’d discovered a gold mine. Janine was chuckling and swinging her head side to side.
Elise sighed and smiled. “I don’t believe you’ve mentioned this young man before, dear. When did you meet him?”
Lowering her gaze to her hands, Megan mumbled, “I haven’t…actually…met him.”
Janine hooted and tossed her napkin on the table. “You’re such a ding-a-ling, Meg. Have fun with your invisible friend. I’m going to work.”
Stung, Megan gazed resentfully at her older sister. Not only was Janine beautiful and self-confident, she succeeded at every single thing she tried. Plus, the Colonel hardly ever gave her grief about anything. The two of them had always been as close as conspirators.
“I met him on a computer bulletin board when I was laid up after surgery. We’ve been writing to each other and talking on the telephone. I love him, and I’m going to marry him.” She wished her brother were here. Ross understood romance and would be on her side, but he and his wife were back east on a business trip.
“Your surgery was nine months ago. You’ve never mentioned him,” Elise said.
“At first we were just buddies. We both had bad legs and had to stay in bed, but then we started getting serious and one thing led to another…” She hung her head. “I didn’t want you all making fun of me.”
“Do we do that, dear?” Elise dabbed absently at her lips with a napkin.
Megan shot a glower at Janine. “Some people act like I’m nothing but a dumb jock.”
“Dumb?” Janine fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, Meg, I can’t think of anything smarter than marrying a guy you’ve never met.”
“Girls, please.” Elise tsked.
Janine paused in the doorway. Over her shoulder, she said, “What kind of guy cruises for girls on the computer, Mom? He’s either a creep or a loser. Or maybe he’s a serial killer. Only you, Meg, only you.” She left the dining room.
“You’re just jealous!” Megan shouted at her sister’s back. She shoved away from the chair and paced to the window.
A sharp scraping of chair legs against the wooden flooring signaled her father rising from the table. “This is foolish behavior and I do not condone it, Megan. What is his ETA?”
“He arrives in Colorado Springs around ten, then he’s renting a car. I love him, Colonel. If you don’t want him here, then we’ll just go somewhere else!”
“Young lady…”
She’d done this all wrong, handled everything badly, and now her entire family was turned against Tristan before they even met him. “All my life I’ve done every single thing you ever told me to do. But I’m not a kid anymore.”
He swung his glower on his wife. “I am delegating the handling of this matter to you. I expect a full report in an hour.” He executed an abrupt about-face and marched out of the room.
“Yes, dear,” Elise said with a sigh.
“Wow,” Kara said, her voice and expression filled with admiration. “When you drop a bombshell, you really drop a good one. Do you have pictures?”
Glad somebody was on her side, Megan crossed her arms. Faced by her mother’s gentle regard, anger was impossible to maintain. Her shame increased as she replayed her words and knew she’d sounded immature and defensive. “I wanted all of you to be happy for me, Mom.”
Elise patted the chair next to her. “You’re not given to, um, romantic adventures. I had no idea you were involved, and now you speak of marriage. This is quite unexpected.”
Looking back, Megan wasn’t all that certain how it had come about, either. She and Tristan had started out merely chatting, relieving the boredom of convalescence. The more they’d found in common, the more intimate their correspondence had grown. “He’s not a creep or a loser, Mom, honest. He’s the nicest guy in the world, and I know you’re just going to love him.”
Chapter Two
Amy sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes, listening to the loud click-click-clicking of the hot engine while studying the town of Powder, Wyoming.
The clutch of buildings on this windswept plain didn’t even have a traffic light. A railroad station dominated the flat landscape. Down the street a gas station flared with bright lights. Pickup trucks and four-wheel-drive utility vehicles clustered in front of a café. A trio of grain silos cast a shadow over the entire town.
Amy pulled down the sun visor and checked her reflection in the lighted mirror. Her bloodshot eyes looked sunken in the sockets, alarming her. She could not remember the last time she’d slept. Last night? The night before? Her fuzzy brain refused to reveal an answer.
She looked around again, this time examining every vehicle for official logos. She had not asked Susie for permission to borrow the car. She should have left a note so her sister would know her Mercedes hadn’t been stolen, but Amy had been so excited when Melvin Place gave her Bradley’s address she’d skipped minor details like notes. She didn’t see anything that resembled law enforcement and it relieved her.
She checked inside her handbag. The money she’d borrowed from her brother-in-law had escaped the wrapper, and loose bills cluttered the bottom of the bag. A faint oily smell came from the gun. She winced uneasily. She definitely should not have taken the gun, but it had been there in the desk, looking powerful and assuring. A woman alone needed protection. For the first time in her life, Amy was very much alone.
Not for long, though. Soon she’d be reunited with Bradley. Soon everything would be all right.
She left the car and remembered to lock it. She tugged at the waistband of the slacks she’d borrowed from Susie. They were a size too large, but Amy had needed nice clothing in which to meet her husband. Susie wore beautiful clothes created by top designers.
She walked inside the Powder post office. A bell over the door tinkled, and the woman behind the counter looked up. A blue uniform shirt, crisp with starch, fit snugly over her broad shoulders. Her short hair was gray, and her face was leathery and deeply wrinkled. Her eyes were sharp, her expression imperious. Behind her, a blackand-white photograph of the woman showed the same expression, looking down her nose at the world. In bold lettering, the label read, Eula Masterson, Postmistress.
“Yes’m,” Eula said. “What can I do for you?”
Amy quailed, suddenly afraid of this old woman. She looked as mean and unsympathetic as a prison matron. Amy had to clear her suddenly aching throat before she could speak. “I’m looking for the HBD Ranch. All I have is a post office box, so could I get directions?”
“You’ll be wanting the Cayle spread, then. You government?”
Amy drew in her chin and peered over the top of her sunglasses. “Government?”
“Land Management, IRS? What you be wanting with the Cayles?”
Her confusion rising with her fear, Amy backed a step. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
The old woman narrowed her eyes and placed both hands atop the counter. Her hands were large and muscular, tanned a dark walnut brown with liver spots. She thrust out her chin. “I don’t believe I need be giving out directions. If the IRS is too cheap to hand out maps, then so is the post office.”
Amy looked between the old woman and her portrait. A government servant, paid for by taxpayers. Did she have a right to ask questions of the public? “I am not with the IRS, or any government agency. I’m a…friend of Tristan Cayle’s. Do you know him?”
“A-yep, but if you’re looking for Tristan, then you’re plumb out of luck. Him and his boy took off for Colorado this morning. Flew out of Casper this—”
“Boy?” Amy staggered and grasped the counter edge. All these years
…Bradley had stolen her son, but Amy never imagined he would actually keep him. “Did you say boy? He has a son? How old is he? What’s his name? What does he look like?”
“Tristan Cayle’s boy is none of your concern. Get on out of here before I call the law. I’m warning—”
Amy peered at the woman, waiting for her to continue. Eula no longer looked at Amy’s face, she stared at the counter. Amy looked down and wondered when she’d pulled the gun out of her purse. She must be very, very tired because she could not remember. She raised the heavy pistol higher, pointing it directly at Eula’s chest. “Tell me about my son.”
Eula’s mouth opened, but all that emerged was a squeak.
“Where did he go?”
“Colorado Springs,” Eula whispered, still staring at the pistol. “A place called Elk River Resort. He met a woman, and it’s the craziest darn thing, met her on a computer and talked to her and now he’s thinking marriage—” She shook herself and tore her gaze from the
pistol. “Put that away!”
“Tell me about my son right now!”
“I am calling the law right now. It’s a federal crime robbing the post off—”
The shot startled Amy and she nearly dropped the gun. Her hand went numb and her arm tingled all the way to the shoulder. Eula gazed down at her blue chambray uniform blouse as a bright red blossom spread across her bosom.
“Where is my boy? My son! He stole him away from me and I want him back! Where is he?”
The postmistress sank slowly to the floor, out of sight behind the counter.
“No,” Amy whispered, backing to the door. “I want my baby. I want him back. He’s mine. He’s mine!”
TRISTAN CAYLE HAD NEVER liked flying, and this flight had done nothing to change his opinion. His leg ached from cramping in the too-small seat. His son had groused all during the flight about the skimpy bag of peanuts he’d been given for a snack and because Tristan had insisted he wear a suit. The other passengers dressed casually, which William had mentioned to the point of obnoxiousness. Tristan silently agreed—his necktie choked him and he perspired in his jacket—but they were going to make a good impression on Megan if it killed them.
