by Laurie Paige
“Bone marrow cells,” Carey corrected. “The new cells will replace Jenny’s old ones and make her well again.”
“We hope,” Wayne added. “Will we try again if these don’t work?”
“Yes. If you’re up to it.”
His grin was rueful. “I’d do it.”
“You’re very brave,” Sophie said solemnly, sounding so much like her mother that the grown-ups burst into laughter.
“Will you read me a story?”
Wayne glanced up from the farm-and-ranch magazine. Sophie stood across the living room, her gaze expectant. She was dressed in flannel pajamas with feet on them. She looked like a cherub.
“Sure.”
She climbed into his lap, surprising him. He winced, then shifted her slight weight off his sore leg.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Cleaning the bathroom. I splashed.”
The simplicity of her explanation reached right inside him.
“Here’s my book. It’s my favorite.”
He took the book and began. The story was about a bear family who lived in a tree house. He read the adventure, then he and Sophie discussed it in detail. He could see she was envious of the fun the bear brother and sister had.
“I had a younger brother,” he told her. “It wasn’t always fun. Sometimes he wanted to go with me, but I wanted to be with my friends.”
She bobbed her head against his chest. “I know all about that. The bear brother and sister got in a fight in one book. Mama Bear didn’t like it.”
She told him the whole story in the most serious tone he could imagine. “It was like that with me and my brother at times,” he said when she finished.
“But sometimes you liked him?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
He thought of Dugin, who’d been a pest. In ‘Nam, he’d found himself thinking of the times they’d gone skinny-dipping, of the camp-outs and hikes, of the hunting trips that most often yielded nothing but companionship.
Regret hit him hard. He should have come back and checked on his younger brother. Maybe he could have saved his life. To die so uselessly—
“Tell Mr. Kincaid good-night,” Carey ordered from across the room.
Wayne didn’t need a crystal ball to see she was angry with him. He accepted the child’s kiss and hug, then set her on her feet. “Don’t forget your book.” He handed it over.
Carey escorted her daughter down the hall. It was thirty minutes before she returned to the living room. He tensed when she came in.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, wanting to get to the bottom of this.
She pushed the tousled curls back from her temples. It was a gesture he’d seen her use when she was tired. “No. I didn’t mean for Sophie to impose on you. I thought she’d gone to her room.”
“It wasn’t an imposition. I enjoyed reading the story to her.”
He watched Carey struggle with words. Finally she spoke.
“I don’t want her to get used to having you around. It was a mistake bringing you here.”
“I didn’t ask,” he reminded her, his own temper rising.
“I know.” A flush added becoming color to her cheeks.
His anger died as he noted how beautiful she was. The lamplight gleamed off the soft curls that surrounded her face. Her eyes held the purity of thought and purpose he’d seen depicted in paintings of the Madonna.
As he watched her, his feelings shifted from the spiritual to the carnal. In spite of the soreness in his body, desire stirred, as irrepressible as the pup he’d given Sophie. He wanted this woman in his arms, in his bed…
He felt like a string of barbed wire pulled too tight. An extra ounce of pressure and he’d snap. “I can leave tonight. Perhaps that would be best.”
She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. It’s supposed to snow. You could get stuck in a drift. Let’s give it a couple of days and see how you feel.”
“All right.” He was willing. He realized he didn’t want to leave this warm home and return to life in the bunkhouse.
“I think I’ll light the fire.” She added logs to the hearth, then started the fire with the practiced ease of a woman used to doing for herself. She left him with the flames lapping hungrily over the logs.
He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the wind outside the snug house and the woman moving about in the kitchen. There was peace to be found here. That could be dangerous to a man who didn’t intend to stay.
In a few minutes, she brought mugs of hot, spiced cider into the room. She handed him two pills and a glass of water first. He took the pills without bothering to ask what they were. They each read a magazine as they sipped the cider.
“It’s snowing,” she said at one point.
He glanced toward the windows. The snow was coming down in thick clots that broke apart when they struck the glass. It was already a half inch thick on the sill.
“This will be hard on the cattle,” he said.
“Yes.”
He turned off the lamp beside his chair and watched the play of firelight over her face. Her sweat suit was faded to a gray-green color that took on bronzed touches as the flames leaped higher. Her hair and skin glowed.
She laid the magazine aside and let her head fall back against the sofa as she stared into the fire. It was as if they were cut off from the world at this moment.
He wanted it to last.
The rush of emotion caught him off guard. If he could have managed the feat, he’d have swept her into his arms and made the sweetest love to her. As it was, he could only watch and wish that life had been different, that somehow it could be kinder and gentler, as someone had once said.
But it was real and harsh and unforgiving.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. “If you would point me in the direction?”
She leaped up as if startled out of a dream. “Of course. I should have…I mean, it’s through here.” She handed him the cane and led the way down the hall to a bedroom at the far end.
The room was cool after the warmth of the fire. He waited while she turned down the bed and laid an extra blanket out. She also had a pair of pajamas for him and a thick terry robe along with tube socks.
“My dad left the robe last time he was here,” she explained. “Lorrie picked up the pajamas at the store. We guessed on the size. There are towels and razors and soap in the guest bathroom. It’s next door.”
“Thanks.”
She scurried out.
Moving carefully, he undressed and pulled on the pjs. He brushed his teeth with a new toothbrush he found in the bathroom. She’d thought of everything.
Except that he couldn’t sleep. The bed was too lonely and too cold after sharing hers. He lay there for an hour.
At last, need overcame common sense. He struggled out of bed and limped down the hall with the aid of the cane. At her door, he paused, then opened it. She was reading.
Her eyes were luminous as she stared across the room at him. He closed the door and limped to the other side of the wide bed. “I can’t sleep down there,” he explained.
He got in bed, sighed and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, she clicked off the light and lay down. After another minute, she moved over and laid her arm across his middle. Her leg touched his.
“That’s better,” he murmured. He thought of all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. “What the hell,” he said, and looped an arm around her shoulders. He dropped into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Nine
Wayne opened his eyes at the scrape of the lock across the door frame. Dark hair surrounding an oval face appeared. Lorrie’s dark eyes fastened on him. She stopped.
“Hi,” he said.
A smile bloomed on her mouth. Her eyes took on a shine of wicked glee. “Well, hello.”
He tried to think of an explanation for why he was in Carey’s bed. He gave up. “Don’t read anything into this,” he advised gruffly. “It doesn’t mean anything. That is, nothing ha
ppened.”
She looked distinctly disappointed. “Too bad.”
He realized he had an adult ally in the house. “Carey wouldn’t agree with that assessment.” He pushed himself upright very, very carefully. God, he could hardly move.
Lorrie handed him the cane.
“Thanks. This is worse than I thought.” He gritted his teeth and headed for the bathroom. It wasn’t until he was in the shower that he realized he probably should have gone to the guest bath down the hall.
He liked this one better. Carey’s scent lingered in the close quarters. He inhaled deeply, smelling shampoo and soap and the lightly scented powder she used. He used her razor, then hobbled into the bedroom.
The bed was made and his clothing from yesterday, freshly washed and ironed, lay on the comforter. He dressed and hobbled to the guest bathroom to brush his teeth before heading for the kitchen for coffee.
Lorrie was there. She put his breakfast on the table. Looking out the window, he saw the snow was only two or three inches deep. Not enough to keep Montana folks from getting out and about their business. Certainly not enough to keep Carey home with him for the day. He ate the orange sections, then the pancakes and bacon.
“That was great, Lorrie. Thanks.” He glanced at the clock. “Nine already?”
“You slept late. Carey is at her office. Sophie is at school. Sterling McCallum will be out to see you—”
The fire siren went off at the courthouse. It was a call for all volunteers to report to the firehouse on the double. He and Lorrie checked the kitchen windows, but couldn’t see any smoke.
“My husband is a fireman,” she said, a worried frown wrinkling her brow. “He’s off duty—four days on, four days off is how they work. He just got off last night, but he’ll have to go in for this one.”
“Maybe it’s nothing, a grass fire or something.” He realized how stupid that sounded. A grass fire with snow on the ground? Hardly.
She turned on the radio.
“Fire at the Kincaid ranch,” a reporter was saying. “We’ll have a full report at ten.”
Wayne sprang to his feet, then cursed as pain shot through his left hip. He grabbed the back of the chair. “I’ve got to get out there.”
Lorrie pressed her lips together, then nodded. “I’ll drive. We’ll go in your truck.” She tossed him his coat and pulled on a red-and-black parka. She grabbed a toboggan cap and looked at him.
“My hat is in the truck.” He jerked on the shearling jacket and limped toward the garage a step behind Lorrie.
They headed for the Kincaid ranch. Two fire engines passed them on the way. The fire chief was there when they arrived. So was Judd Hensley, the sheriff, and Sterling McCallum, the sheriff’s chief investigator.
The firemen wet down the ranch buildings while the hay barn burned to the ground, too far gone to save.
Rand Harding, cursing a blue streak until he spotted Lorrie standing next to Wayne, was directing the four hands in moving the nervous horses away from the area. The cattle milled and bawled in the home pastures, upset by the commotion.
The last standing wall of the barn collapsed with a groan of strained timbers and a great swirl of embers rushing up to the crystal-clear sky. The snow reflected the orange glow of the flames. Wayne watched impassively as the rest of the winter feed turned to ashes.
After the fire burned itself out, the firemen soaked the remains. Lorrie spoke to her husband, then asked if Wayne was ready to go back to town. If he was, her husband wanted a ride back to their house.
“I’ll drop you off,” Sterling told him. “The sheriff wants to talk to us.”
Wayne told Lorrie and her husband to go on. He’d be in later. Leaning heavily on the cane, he led the way to the bunkhouse. There would be coffee on hand and a place to sit. He couldn’t believe how tired his leg had gotten while he watched the fire eat up the rest of the Kincaid resources.
At the bunkhouse, he saw it was almost noon, and realized he’d been standing for over two hours. Carey would have his hide if she knew. Taking it easy? Right.
He checked the pot, found it full and helped himself. The sheriff and deputy did the same. Rand Harding came in. He washed up at the sink, then joined them.
“This cuts it,” Rand said in disgust. “We’ll have to sell out now. Hargrove was out here last week. He says Lester Buell has a buyer. You gonna contact him?” He glanced at the deputy, then stared at the cup of coffee in his hands.
Sterling shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll have to go over everything with the bank and, of course, Hargrove, since he’s the attorney for the estate.”
Wayne rubbed his forehead, where a headache was now ticking like a time bomb getting ready to go off. There was something… If he could just remember.
“You look as if you might have thought of something,” the sheriff commented. “We could use a clue.”
“Yeah. I do remember one thing. Rand reminded me when he mentioned Buell. Lester tried to buy the ranch once before. A long time ago.”
The memory flooded in. Buell had been sniffing around the ranch about the time he’d caught his father in the hay with another man’s wife, the day his mother had cried her heart out over a man who hadn’t been worth a damn—
“Well?” Hensley broke in. “Is that it?”
He looked tired and impatient. McCallum didn’t look too good, either. The vigil at the hospital was wearing him and his wife down.
Wayne nodded. “When I was a kid, the ranch went through a hard time, the usual thing—prices down, costs up. Buell came around then, too, trying to buy the ranch for a song. My dad threw him off the place, told him he’d shoot him if he ever showed up again.”
“That was Jeremiah,” Hensley said. A half smile flicked across his face.
Wayne remembered that his dad had once had friends and been a respected member of the community. A man’s indiscretions were often overlooked and forgiven.
But he hadn’t forgiven. He’d never forget his mother’s tears, his own shock. His dad, the man he’d trusted more than anyone else in the world, had been a liar and a cheater.
“Yeah, but it was more than that. The old man was madder than a bent-tail bull about something else.”
Wayne tried to let the thought come to the forefront. He couldn’t quite grasp it, but there had been something about Buell’s offer that had infuriated his father. It came to him.
“Buell was a front for someone else,” he said. “He didn’t have the money for a spread like this.”
“Still doesn’t,” Sterling added. He took a drink of coffee, his eyes narrowed in thought.
“But I can’t remember who it was. I think the old man figured it out, though. He was fit to be tied.”
“Now Buell is nosing around again,” Sterling murmured. “And things are happening on the ranch.”
“You think Dale Carson is working for Buell?” the foreman asked. “You think he set fire to the barn? He must have done it. He would know the men and I were out at first light to check the cattle after the storm came through. We had six inches of snow in some spots.”
“Carson is the prime suspect.” Wayne spoke to Sterling. “You talked to Reed Austin lately? He was trying to get the information out of Janie Carson, I think.”
Wayne felt his ears growing warm as he recalled the incident in the park with Janie. Carey had been furious. As if he’d pick the kid over a woman like her. She had a lot to learn if she thought that.
“Dale is down in Denver,” Sterling reported. “Austin says Janie got a call from him the other day. He’s got a job on a ranch there. I know where he is. I don’t think he’ll be going anyplace we can’t find him if we need to.”
“He isn’t our man,” Wayne said. “Buell flashed some bills in his face and he got greedy. Momentarily. I think nearly getting caught put the fear of jail in him. Buell, or whoever he’s working for, has brought in someone else.”
Sterling muttered an imprecation.
The sheriff stood.
“I’ve got to get back to the office. You giving Kincaid a ride?” he asked Sterling.
“Yeah.”
After they were on the road, Wayne spoke his mind to Sterling. “Buell is the lead to whoever wants the ranch.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Can you put a tail on him? Maybe check his phone calls? He has a cell phone. I’d check that.”
Sterling exhaled heavily. “I’d have to get a court order. It takes proof of wrongdoing, or at least a strong suspicion of it, enough to convince a judge.”
“Probable cause.” Wayne closed his eyes and sought the answer. He had the key. He knew he did. But it was locked into a fifteen-year-old’s memories of his father and mother and a time that had been filled with disillusionment.
“Talk to Kate,” he suggested.
“The hanging judge?” Sterling mocked. “She’s the toughest one on the county circuit.”
“She’s fair.”
“Yeah, she is. She’ll listen, too. I’ll tell her Buell is a front for someone, and that somebody is going to get killed if we don’t stop these accidents at the ranch.” His tone was full of irony and controlled anger. “If the fire doesn’t do it, they might decide they need to get rid of all the heirs. Be careful.”
Wayne’s stomach clenched at the harsh truth of this statement. Moving a tractor, making ghostly noises and scaring the cattle were one thing. Men who would set fires and use poison were something else.
Dangerous. That was the word.
Sterling pulled into the drive at Carey’s place. Wayne didn’t even bother to ask how the deputy knew he was staying there. He had no doubt the local grapevine was alive and well in Whitehorn and would be as long as Lily Mae Wheeler lived there.
“Keep in touch,” the lawman requested. “Let me know if you think of anything. I’ll talk to Judd about going to Judge Walker.”
Wayne nodded and climbed out of the vehicle with difficulty. His hip hurt like a toothache. His head throbbed in sympathy. He hobbled up to the door and tried the knob. It opened. He went inside.
The house was warm. The smell of something mouthwatering wafted from the kitchen. He headed that way. Lorrie was there, a spoon in hand, peering into a pot.
