by The Witness
Unable to resist, Lauren picked out a few notes, and the sweetness of the sound tugged at her. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Lauren sank down onto the bench and placed both hands on the keyboard. She closed her eyes, and of their own volition, her fingers began to move, and the clear, opening notes of Mozart's Piano Concerto in A Major floated on the air.
As if from an opened floodgate, the music poured from her heart, from her soul. She drifted with it, lost to everything else. One piece led to another, then another. One moment her fingers danced over the keys, light as thistledown, filling the room with a haunting, sweet melody. The next her hands were grabbing great chunks of music, full of power and raw emotions.
At the end of one particularly moving piece the music trailed away on one sustained, high note. Moved almost to tears, Lauren hung her head as the sound faded, only to jump guiltily when applause broke the poignant hush.
She twisted around on the piano bench, chagrined to see Eunice and Walter sitting together on the sofa, and Sam standing in the arched doorway. All were watching her.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was rude. I should have asked permission before playing your piano. I—"
"Lauren is a concert pianist," Sam explained, watching her in that unnerving way he had.
"Was," she corrected. "Was a concert pianist."
Sam walked to her and cupped her chin with his hand, forcing her to look up at him. "Honey, that was so beautiful it nearly broke my heart. If you played better than that before the accident, I'm not sure I could have survived it."
"Thank you, Sam." She gazed up at him, inordinately pleased, not just that he had enjoyed her playing, but that he believed her. He actually believed her. For a moment, as she and Sam gazed into each other's eyes, she forgot about his aunt and uncle.
Then she noticed the older couple watching them, and she winced guiltily. "But I really do apologize. It was presumptuous of me."
"Nonsense, child. Why, that's the most beautiful music that's ever come out of that old piano. I'm honored you would play such an old relic."
"Oh, no. It's a beautiful instrument. I enjoy—"
She stopped abruptly, her gaze going beyond the older couple to the large window at the front of the house. Her heart began to pound.
"Someone's coming."
Sixteen
"Damn." Sam reached for his handgun, his gaze locking on the headlights approaching along the two-mile-long driveway.
"Simmer down," Walt advised. "That'll be Augustus. I called him."
Sam turned an accusing look on his uncle. "You called my father? Why?"
"Because the man's worried sick, that's why. Fact is, you shoulda called him yourself, instead of your aunt and me. Not that we object, mind you," he added before Sam could say anything. "Boy, you gotta know your aunt and I will do whatever we can to help you, and gladly, but Augustus is your pappy, and he deserves better from you than to be ignored."
"Uh...this is really none of my business," Lauren said uneasily. "Why don't I just go to the kitchen and give you some privacy." She started to rise, but Sam waved her back down.
"Sit. I don't want you out of my sight until I know for certain the driver of that vehicle really is my father. Anyway, you already know that we don't get along. It's not like you'll hear any big family secrets."
Turning back to his uncle, Sam countered, "What would be the point in asking for his help? He's never trusted me or believed in me in the past. Why should this be any different? He's probably swallowed those news stories hook, line and sinker. Lauren and I will be lucky if he hasn't already turned us in."
"Oh, Sam," Eunice said sadly. "Your father would never do that. I know my brother was hard on you, but don't you realize that was just because he was afraid?"
Sam snorted. "Afraid? Afraid of what? That old man is tough as nails. I've never known him to be afraid of anything in his life."
"Except for one thing," his aunt insisted quietly. "He's afraid of losing you."
That caught Sam by surprise, drawing his gaze away from the approaching headlights. He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Oh, sure. That's why he rode me so hard, all those years. Why he found fault with everything I did. He did his duty by me because I was his, but I was never the son he wanted. Never a son he could be proud of. I finally figured out that it was my Indian blood he couldn't stomach."
"Sam!" Eunice exclaimed. "All these years? That's what you thought? If only you'd told me. Oh, dearest, you're so wrong."
"I don't think so. If I so much as mentioned my mother's people or spent any time on the reservation he got furious." Sam looked back at the lights. They were much closer now. "Face it, he hates Indians, and he can't abide the fact that his only son has Indian blood."
"Don't be a danged fool," Walt barked. "Augustus doesn't hate Indians. He admires and respects them. Always has. And he adored your mama. Even after she went back to her people and divorced him, he never stopped loving her. It nearly killed him when she passed away. Hell, he still loves her. Why do you think he never remarried?"
Sam stared, at a loss for words. He'd never thought of that.
"Walt is right," Eunice put in. "Your dad loves you more than anything in the world, Sam. More even than he loves the Double R, and that's saying a lot. In the past, when you seemed drawn to your Indian relatives and their culture, it terrified him. He was sure he was losing you to that way of life...the same way he'd lost his wife.
"Over the years, the more Augustus's fear grew the more rigid and demanding he became. It was the only way he knew to keep you on the ranch. Ironically, the tighter he held on, the more he drove you away." Eunice shook her head sadly. "I think, deep down, he knew it, but he didn't know what else to do."
"That's right," Walt agreed. "He lived in fear that you would turn your back on him and the ranch. When you left and joined the FBI all those years ago it was his worst nightmare come true."
"If all that's true, why didn't he just tell me how he felt?"
"Oh, please," Eunice scoffed. "You of all people should know the answer to that. You're just like him, after all. You Rawlins men are a stoic breed. You keep all your emotions locked up tight behind that tough exterior—like it would kill you for someone to see that you've got a tender side. Or to admit you're hurting."
Stunned, Sam didn't know what to say. He'd always assumed that he'd simply never measured up to his father's standards and expectations. It had never occurred to him that Augustas was afraid of losing him.
"He actually believed I'd leave the Double R forever? No way in hell. I joined the Bureau to give us both some space. Dad was still a vigorous man when I left here sixteen years ago. I haven't seen him in a couple of years, but from what you've told me, he still is. I wasn't about to knuckle under to his demands like some weak-kneed yes-man, but since all we did was butt heads over everything, I decided to do us both a favor and back off and let him run the ranch his way.
"I always figured I'd come back someday and take over for him when he began to slow down and needed my help. But I never had any intention of abandoning the ranch or him. I love the Double R." Sam's jaw clenched. "And all right, dammit, I admit it. I also love that crusty old bastard. God alone knows why.
"But just because I love my mother's people, too, that doesn't mean I'd ever abandon him. How could he even think that?"
"Easy, I imagine," Walt replied. "What you gotta remember, boy, is Augustus loved your mama to distraction, and she loved him. She truly did, and that's a fact. In the end, though, her longing for her people and their way of life was too strong, and Augustus lost her. Why would he think it'd be any different with you?"
Before Sam could absorb that the approaching pickup skidded to a halt in the U-shaped gravel driveway in front of the house and the truck door slammed. An instant later the front door burst open.
"Where is he? Where's my son? Sam!"
Even as the bellow left his lips, Augustus Rawlins's big frame filled the arched entrance to the parlor.
The instant he spotted Sam, abject relief flickered across his weather-beaten face, followed quickly by anger and outrage. "Boy! What the devil is going on?"
Sam stiffened. The confusing tangle of emotions swirling inside him vanished and all the old resentment came flooding back. He met his father's demanding gaze with eyes like cold steel. "I'm not working for the mob," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Hell, I know that," Augustus barked. "I want to know who is feeding the news media that hogwash? And why?"
The reply surprised Sam. "You believe me?"
"Dammit, boy, of course I believe you!" the old man thundered. "We may have had our differences, and maybe you don't want to have any part of me or the ranch anymore, but by God, you're still my son. You're a good man and an honest one. Anyone who says otherwise is either a damned liar or a fool."
A queer sensation twisted inside Sam. His throat was suddenly so tight he could barely speak, but somehow he managed a husky, "Thanks, Dad."
Before he realized his father's intent, the old man stomped across the room and snatched him into a bear hug that sent Sam's breath whooshing out of his lungs like air escaping a balloon. Too shocked to respond, at first he stood as though turned to stone while his father thumped his back. Finally, tentatively, he returned the embrace and gave his father's back a couple of hesitant pats.
When at last Augustus released Sam he looked sheepish. Clearing his throat, he took a step back and shifted from one foot to the other. Then his gaze slid past Sam and zeroed in on Lauren, and his eyebrows jerked together in a frown. "This must be that Ms. Brownley all the news men've been yammering about. She sure doesn't look like a mobster's mistress to me."
Sam's jaw clenched. "She isn't. Lauren is a concert pianist who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed a murder."
"That's right, Gus," Eunice confirmed. "Lauren just finished playing several beautiful pieces for us."
Augustus barely heard his sister. With his head cocked to one side, he studied his son's angry expression. His gaze flickered to Lauren, then back to Sam. "I see. I guess I should've known that if they were lying about you they'd be lying about her, as well."
Whipping off his Stetson, he walked over to Lauren and stuck out his hand. "I'm Augustus Rawlins, Sam's father. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Brown-ley. And I hope you'll accept my apology for what I just said."
"Certainly, sir. I understand. You had no way of knowing."
Sam watched as Lauren's small, slender hand disappeared between both of Augustus's callused palms. He and his father were the same height and general build, although, with age, Augustus's shoulders were beginning to stoop a bit and his midsection had thickened. Even so, at sixty-four he was still a big man, rawhide tough and strong as an ox. He towered over Lauren, his great size and strength emphasizing her petiteness and delicate build.
Though Sam knew his father would never hurt Lauren, or any woman, he could barely restrain himself from going to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against his side.
What was it about Lauren that tugged at him? Sam wondered. He had protected witnesses before, and he'd done his job well, but he'd never felt this level of involvement nor intensity.
Of course, he'd never made love to any of the other witnesses, either.
But that wasn't it. He desired Lauren, certainly, and he couldn't deny that her beauty made him weak in the knees. But, hell, he'd desired other women in the past. Although...he had to admit he hadn't experienced this sort of randy passion since he was sixteen years old and trying to seduce their foreman's daughter in the hayloft.
No, there was definitely more to it than just sex.
Sam frowned, uneasy with the thought. Still...he knew it was true. There was something about Lauren that brought out a primitive protective streak in him he hadn't known he possessed.
Was it her dainty appearance? Or that air of refinement that was so much a part of her? Even when they'd been camping rough and tromping through the wilderness there had been a subtle elegance in every move she made.
Maybe it was her valiant spirit and keen intelligence that attracted him. Or that single-minded determination to stand on her own two feet.
Or was it simply the whole package?
"Would you mind telling me exactly what's going on?" Augustas demanded when he'd finished talking to Lauren. "Not an hour ago a whole caravan of FBI cars came roaring up to the house looking for you."
Sam tensed, instantly alert. "What did you tell them?"
"What do you think? The truth. That you weren't there and I hadn't heard from you. Didn't believe me, though. Those yahoos wanted to search every acre of the place, but I sent the whole lot of 'um packing. Told 'um without a warrant they could go suck eggs, and to get the hell off my land and stay off."
Sam's gaze darted to the window again. "You can bet they're still out there, waiting for Lauren and me to turn up. They've probably got every entrance to the ranch staked out."
"Guess it's a good thing you called Eunice and me, after all," Walt said. "We haven't seen hide nor hair of any federal agents."
That's because they don't know about this place, Sam thought. It was not his nature to confide the details of his life to anyone, but in this case his reticence had stemmed from something more. When he had applied to the Bureau he had found the routine, in-depth background check they ran on every potential candidate offensive. He had deliberately withheld the information that the adjacent ranch belonged to his aunt and uncle. Gut instinct had cautioned him to keep that secret—just in case he ever needed a haven.
"You still haven't told me how you got yourselves into this mess," Augustus said. "I thought the FBI was an honorable organization."
"It is. But once in a while you get a bad apple or two." For the third time that evening, Sam gave a succinct but thorough accounting of the events of the past five days. When he was done, his father gave a low whistle.
"What're you going to do, son? With no one to turn to at the Bureau, you're on your own."
"I know. I thought we'd rest here tonight and at first light I'd take Lauren up to our old hunting cabin."
"Is it safe to stay here now, with agents close by?" Lauren asked.
"For a time it should be."
"Uh-oh. Looks to me like that time's done run out," Walt pronounced, waving toward the window. "There's a string of cars coming fast up the driveway."
"Damn." Grabbing Lauren's arm, Sam dragged her away from the window and pressed back against the adjacent wall. He shot his father an annoyed look. "They must have followed you here."
"Don't see how. I'm not stupid, boy. I drove over on the ranch road that connects our two places. Not a soul saw me, I'd swear to it."
Sam's jaw clenched. That meant they'd found out about this place and his relationship to its owners. And there was only one way that could have happened.
Augustus stomped toward the gun case in the corner. "Let's break out your rifles, Walt. They're not taking my boy."
"No, Dad. No gunplay."
"Why not? We can take 'um, son. There's only fifteen or sixteen of 'um and five of us. Except for Lauren, we're all crack shots."
"Then what? Trust me, Dad, you shoot one of those guys and the Bureau will swoop down on this place with an army of agents. Lauren and I will be killed and you'll all spend the next twenty years in prison. The only chance we have is to get out of here."
"Okay, then, take my truck and go out the back road with the lights off before they get close enough to the house to spot you," Augustus ordered.
"Are you sure?"
"Just go, boy. Go on, get out of here. Now! Walt'n me'll deal with these yahoos."
With Lauren in tow, Sam headed for the door. After only two steps he hesitated, then swung back and snatched his father into a bear hug. "Thanks, Dad. I..."
"I know, son. I know," Augustus said gruffly. "Now go on with you. Git while you still can."
Father and son exchan
ged a long look, then Sam spun away, hauling Lauren with him.
In the front hall, he scooped up the duffle bag on the run and tore out the front door. Spanning Lauren's waist with his hands, he picked her up and tossed her into the cab of the truck and slung the duffle in after her. He eyed the line of approaching headlights as he raced around the pickup and climbed behind the wheel. They were almost halfway down the driveway and moving in fast.
The truck engine sprang to life at the first twist of the key, which, as always, was in the ignition. Sam didn't bother to back up and follow the driveway around back, but took off across the yard and his aunt's beloved flowerbeds and careered around the corner of the house. Out back, once they passed the barn and corrals they were in total darkness. Sam headed for the woods that butted up to the ranch yard on the east, and Lauren made a distressed sound.
"Oh Lord! We're going to crash into a tree!"
"Calm down, we're okay. I can see well enough in the moonlight. Besides, I know every inch of these woods. There's a dirt road right about...here." He jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. A low hanging branch scraped the side of the truck and Lauren shrieked as the pickup shot between two tall Cottonwood trees.
"Hold on," Sam advised. "This road isn't used much and it's narrow and rough."
What little moonlight filtered down through the bare branches gave only patchy illumination. As they bumped along through the darkness Lauren sat forward and peered through the windshield, gripping the dash with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other and moaning at every scrape and thunk against the side of the pickup.
On the opposite side of the woods the dirt road continued through a clearing for about twenty feet to a gated entrance from a two-lane, paved back road. Sam brought the pickup to a slow stop at the edge of the woods and sat in the darkness with the engine idling, scanning the area.
