John knew she was watching him for a reaction, but he felt like they were talking about someone he didn’t know, so it wasn’t hard to appear stoic.
When he remained silent, she continued, “Chester said you, probably found out Saul was going to turn you in, so you killed him.”
Inwardly, John flinched. Nothing she said rang a bell with him. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by smuggling cocaine, and he didn’t know anyone named Saul. They had him mixed up with someone else. But why couldn’t they see that? He wanted this straightened up. He wanted to tell her who he was—John McCain, Texas Ranger—but he didn’t think she’d believe him.
She’d think he was loco, then he’d have no chance to work himself out of this mess. The only good thing he could see right now was that she’d said she didn’t believe he was a murderer. When she’d told him that in the jail cell, it was like manna from heaven. “I sure don’t remember killing anybody.”
“Jon, has it dawned on you that Chester could have mistaken you for someone else and that the real murderer not only shot at you, but was also the person who chased Chester through the desert? Or Chester could have been the one doing the shooting. Anyway, the task at hand is to find out who the real murderer is. Any ideas?”
He couldn’t say Cardis, because unless he could travel through time, too, Cardis had been dead a century or more. All John could do was sigh and answer, “No idea.”
“But in the cave you seemed to be aware of some others. You just wouldn’t tell me any names other than the one you blurted out in your sleep—Atkinson.”
“I think I had to have been mistaken about him.” Atkinson had to be dead, too. Shot in San Elizario.
“Look, I’m working with your attorney. You not only can, but you should tell me whatever you know. I won’t tell anyone but Robert. It’s privileged information. So whatever is bothering you, perhaps I can help you with it.”
More than anything in the world, he wanted to lay his heart out, to be understood, to be helped, but his own uncertainty stopped him. “I’m not sure I can tell it straight myself. Give me a little time, and when I get it figured out, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.” She slowed down as they approached a dirt turnoff with a cattle guard at the entrance. “This must be it, because the next turnoff is at least five more miles down the road. We’ll just drive until we come to your mailbox.”
He didn’t see much point in responding to the statement. He knew she was miffed at him because she thought he was holding out on her, and if their positions were reversed, he would be, too.
The car bumped along the dirt road, crossing a couple of dry arroyos before climbing onto a rolling, grass-covered plain that hadn’t seen a cow in several years. John spotted the buildings of a ranch about the same time Lauren did.
“Looks like we found it,” she said, slowing down at a mailbox that had Bar M stenciled on its side in black letters.
John sat up straighter and surveyed the land everyone said was his. It was beautiful open grassland surrounded by rugged mountains—just the type of place he’d dreamed of buying after his years with the rangers were over. A place to raise a family and enjoy living rather than just being glad to be alive for one more day. He’d had too much of the latter. And it didn’t look like his luck had changed. Even though he rejoiced in being free of the jail cell, there he’d felt safer. Now there was nothing to keep whoever had been trying to kill him from trying again.
Danger was part of his job as a ranger, but he regretted dragging the woman beside him into his mess—whatever it was. When the car stopped, he instinctively reached down and smoothly unbuckled the belt before catching himself. How did he know what to do? he wondered as he climbed out and retrieved the sack of groceries she’d insisted he needed. He waited until she had come around to join him before starting up the path that led to a large stone house. A porch swing creaked as a gust of wind whipped down the long veranda stretching across the front.
“The clouds are sucking wind as they build. Looks like we may be in for some rain tonight,” Lauren said.
“A rancher can always use it.” He paused at the front door, feeling as if something wasn’t quite right. Carefully, he depressed the latch and gave the door a shove. It flew inward. “How were we going to get in if the door had been locked?”
Lauren grinned. “I forgot to mention that one of my many talents is picking locks.”
“It is?” He was momentarily startled by her words before he decided she was teasing him.
“No, but I can climb in small bathroom windows.” She stepped ahead of him into a large room and looked around. “Do you recognize anything?” she asked.
He stared at the large area with its tan leather furniture placed in front of a huge stone fireplace. Built-in bookcases filled with volumes lined the back wall, and on the nearest wall, tall French windows looked out onto the long front veranda. Not exactly what he’d expected.
At first glance, the room was orderly. Then he noticed the books in the shelves were crooked and their edges weren’t aligned. The sofa was shifted slightly from where it had obviously sat on the rug. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, but it sure looks like someone else has.” He used the side of his foot to push a pillow out of the way.
“Yes, it does. Probably the sheriff and his boys. He got a warrant after your arrest, and I’m sure they went through the house and outbuildings looking for any evidence.”
Even though this wasn’t his house, John felt violated in some way. The knowledge that someone had pawed through Jonathan McCain’s possessions bothered him.
Lauren must have sensed his agitation because she touched his arm and suggested, “Let’s put away the groceries, then we can look around.”
They proceeded to work together in silence, putting the food away. After a few moments Lauren closed the refrigerator door and turned to face him. “Jon, even though the court ordered it, I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here.”
“That entered my mind, too. There’s a lot of wide-open space here that makes me a good target anywhere I go.”
“Don’t joke. I’m serious. You need a bodyguard.”
“I’m serious, too.” He grinned at a sudden thought. “Are you going to stay out here with me? You could be my bodyguard.” He knew she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like to pretend. The way she’d kissed him in the cave and the way she was looking at him now proved that.
Lauren swallowed. “Someone has already tried to kill you. That someone may come back now that you’re out of jail.”
“They tried to kill you, too,” he reminded her, taking a step closer. “You may not be safe, either.”
“I’ve told you, Jon, that I was probably mistaken for you in the canyon.”
He measured her with his eyes, then let his gaze rest on her bustline, remembering how the round orbs had felt pressed against him. He fought the desire he felt building inside. “Sure. That wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination at all, considering that we’re almost the same size and body build.”
He watched her fight the impulse to pull the edges of her rose-colored jacket over the pearl buttons peeking from the narrow opening. She won, but a flush the same shade of pink crept up her throat and settled on her cheeks.
He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at her discomfort. This was the first time he’d seen her at a disadvantage since the cave. She wasn’t as tough as she pretended. Beneath the businesswoman facade lay a lady that could be embarrassed. The knowledge intrigued him.
“Don’t laugh. I had on a jacket—” her look dared him to make a comment “—so I really could have been mistaken for a man.”
“You could be right, but that’s not what I’m concerned about now. Are you offering to stay with me or not? Surely one of your duties as my attorney is to make sure I’m safe?” He closed his hands over her shoulders and gently massaged the taut muscles there, knowing what her answer was going to be.
Her voice
grew huskier as he caressed her. “I am not your attorney. My duty toward the firm extends only so far, and right now my duty is to clear you.”
“I’d like that, lady, but I also want you....”
She reached up and touched a finger to his lips. “Please don’t say any more. My firm represents you and there is a fine line we can’t cross now, no matter what we want.”
“I see.” Disappointed, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and shrugged. “Then I suggest we look around.” That at least would give them something to do. And maybe he wouldn’t want to take her in his arms so badly.
After they had looked through every room and discovered nothing of interest, Lauren said, “I’d like to see the rest of the buildings and the murder scene before it gets late.”
He held the back door open for her, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the murder scene.
“If you’d like,” she said as they took the steps together, “I’ll call my brother, Ted, to see if he can drive over to stay with you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass on the offer.” He couldn’t trust her brother any more than anyone else. John followed her into a building attached to the barn and drew up short when he saw her walk over to a vehicle he recognized as a car.
She patted it. “Nice car. Is this yours?” He shook his head while she tried to open the doors. “Locked. I guess the keys are in the house. We’ll look when we get back.”
Lauren was dismayed to find an expensive, late-model Mercedes in the garage instead of a four-wheel-drive pickup or some other rig favored by ranchers. Though she’d read the registration information in his file, it hadn’t seemed real until now. She’d tried to push the sheriffs accusations of drug dealing to the back of her mind, but this caused her to doubt Jonathan, and she didn’t like that. She knew deep inside that he hadn’t killed Saul, but Jon didn’t appear to know if he’d sold drugs. In fact, he hadn’t denied what she’d repeated. Now, when she looked back at him, he appeared confused.
Trying to hide her growing uncertainty, she turned and walked toward the metal barn. She slid the large door open and paused for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. As she stepped inside she heard a meeow just as a small furry animal dashed against her leg. She screamed and jumped backward, bumping into Jonathan, who had followed her.
He clutched Lauren’s shoulders to steady her. “I’m guessing you scared that old barn cat as much as it scared you.”
“I doubt it,” she said, holding her hand over her heart while she regained her breath. “I hope you don’t have any more animals lurking about.”
“I can’t tell you if I do or not,” Jonathan answered.
Lauren looked around carefully before leaving the barn and strolling to the corral. Soon she forgot the cat as she realized there hadn’t been any cattle in the pens for some time. Weeds clogged the shipping chutes and alleys. Suspicions flooded through her.
When he’d asked, she had wanted to stay here with him, but she and Jonathan McCain had no future. He was now the firm’s client, though she was convinced he wasn’t guilty—of murder. She wasn’t so sure he was innocent of flying drugs in and out of this remote Texas ranch. These empty pens attested to that. He’d supposedly been on this ranch for months. If he hadn’t been raising cattle or horses, what on earth had he been doing here all that time?
It was impossible to imagine he could be part of the drug trade that corrupted society. Though she shouldn’t let her personal feelings interfere with her professional judgment, that was just what she was doing. Was it because Jonathan was handsome and had an indefinable presence that set some men apart that she wanted him to be guiltless?
She felt him as he stopped beside her and rested his foot on the bottom board of the fence. He hung his arms over the top rail and said, “Doesn’t look like I was much of a rancher.”
As much as it hurt, Lauren had to agree. She tried to quell the sinking feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. She had tried to deny he was involved in drugs, but then remembered the large sums of money that had been telexed, from Mexico. As she looked around she had to accept the possibility that he was involved in something illegal.
She noticed a long, paved surface running from north to south about a quarter of a mile from the house. The airstrip. Lauren headed there as fast as she could, hoping to leave the unpleasantness behind. Yet the closer she got to the airstrip the worse she felt.
She knew time had wiped away any traces of whatever it was she hoped to find. Still, she felt compelled to try. Reaching the edge of the smooth surface, she stopped and rested her hands on her hips as she stared at the asphalt. The wind whipped through her blond hair and muffled her words. “This is the airstrip where Saul’s body was found.”
Jonathan had followed her and now stood looking out across the area. She actually saw the moment when his shoulders slumped, and she wanted to reach out and comfort him.
“You don’t remember, do you?” she asked. Beneath his dark tan, his face was pale and drawn, perhaps from exposure and lack of food while he was in the desert, she supposed. But there was something else. A thinly veiled veneer of tension and hopelessness marred his almost perfect features. He looked like a wounded warrior.
He answered her with a negative shake of his head.
While she walked up and down the strip and studied the ground, he knelt on one knee and plucked a piece of grass to roll between his fingers. He looked at the horizen, at the buildings and at the sky while apparently making his own mental search. Finally, he threw the grass down and joined Lauren. “Find anything?”
She shook her head. “The sheriff said Saul was killed on this end. I guess the light rain shower we had the morning after the shooting washed away all the tracks and any traces of blood. I didn’t find anything.” She tried to keep her voice professional. “I’d hoped we’d find something to help you.”
“Me, too.”
She saw the flash of lightning a split second before she heard the clap of thunder and felt the first drop of rain. Jonathan grabbed her wrist as he broke into a sprint, nearly dragging her back toward the house. They reached the front porch just as the shower grew heavier. The wind had picked up and the sky had grown dark in a matter of minutes. Intent on their search of the airstrip, Lauren hadn’t noticed how close the storm had gotten. If she didn’t want to get caught she had to leave soon.
“I’d better get on back to town before it gets really bad.” She avoided looking Jonathan in the eyes because she was afraid her doubts would be there for him to see. “Will you be okay?”
“Sure.”
“Well, call me if you need help.” She stopped short. “Jon, you don’t know how to use the telephone, do you?”
They hurried into the house and she showed him how to use the phone. “Good. Now, I’ve got to go.” Without another word, she made a mad dash through the rain to her car. Through the windshield, she waved at Jonathan, who was standing on the veranda, hands in his pockets. The lonely image tugged at her heart as she turned the car around and sped away.
The sinking feelings she’d had when she’d seen the airstrip and realized that at least part of Van Rooten’s tale could be true refused to go away. As larger and larger raindrops began to pelt the windshield, she turned on the wipers and gripped the wheel tighter. The dirt road would quickly get slick and muddy if the rain kept up.
Somehow the storm suited her mood. How could she have let herself begin to care for the firm’s new client? For two miles she berated herself. She had made bad choices before in trying to save the incorrigibles in high school and college. Surely she had learned something from those experiences. Was there something wrong with her? Why was she attracted to bad boys who weren’t suitable?
After she’d parted ways with yet another bad boy last year she’d said that she was turning over a new leaf and was only going to date middle-aged accountants whose wives had died and left them with two kids and a mortgage. And then Jonathan McCain showed up, and in one day in a cave, he’d
stolen her heart.
By the time she started down the hill leading to a deep arroyo, she had to fight to keep control of the slipping tires. It had rained harder up in the mountains and now the once dry bed was a roaring, swollen tempest of water and debris.
She knew better than to try to ford a running creek. And it might be hours before this one would be safe to cross. She could sleep in her car, but not only would that be uncomfortable, November nights in the desert were cold. That left going back to face Jonathan.
She turned her car around carefully and started to the ranch with a growing sense of anticipation. As stupid as it was, she wanted to spend more time with him. By the time she pulled up in front of the ranch house, the rain had begun to fall in sheets and the lightning stabbed angrily at the surrounding mountains.
Between claps of thunder and bolts of lightning, John saw low-lying lights draw close to the house. Using the lightning flashes to see by in the growing dimness, he returned to the kitchen and hunted through the drawers until he found a large butcher knife and tucked it into the top of his boot. It wouldn’t be any protection against a rifle, but he’d be damned if he was going to be a sitting duck for whoever was out there.
Then he waited in one of the rooms facing the front of the house so he could see out the window. It was several minutes before one of the flashes illuminated a small woman making a dash for the house.
Lauren! Why was she back? He knew the answer immediately. The deep arroyo they’d crossed earlier had been flooded. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to come back here instead of trying to cross it, he thought, hurrying to the front door.
Just as he got there, Lauren threw open the door and dived inside. She was soaking wet. Her clothes were plastered to her body and her hair had come unwound and hung down her back in tendrils. Using both hands, she wiped the rain from her face. “Wow. This is what Dad calls a real gully washer.”
“Was the arroyo already flooded?” As she nodded, he pushed the door shut behind her, then guided her into the living room. “I’ll get a fire going so you can dry off.”
McCain's Memories Page 9
