Stampeded (Harlequin Intrigue Series)

by B. J Daniels

  “So you knew the family?” Marshall asked.

  Dave let out a chortle as he sat down behind his desk and leaned back in the chair. The desk was covered with papers, just as the shed was full of anything and everything a person could imagine. The heads of antelope, elk and deer lined the walls, along with old calendars and other memorabilia, including probably every metal license plate Dave and his family had ever owned.

  “Now that was one scary family,” Dave was saying. “I heard one of them had inherited the house. What’s this one like?”

  Marshall looked to Alexa. “How would you describe her?”

  “Her?” Dave raised a brow.

  “She is the great-great-granddaughter of the original builder,” Alexa said.

  “That would be Jedidiah Wellington. Growing up, I heard all kinds of stories about that old man. You’ve seen the house. He brought in German craftsmen to build it. Spent a small fortune. Craziest thing anyone had ever seen the way he designed it.”

  “Was it originally planned as a hotel?” Alexa asked.

  Dave shook his head. “More like a lodge. He was going to bring in Europeans to hunt down in the Missouri Breaks and up into that wild country to the north of the Chisholm place.”

  “What happened to change his mind?” Marshall asked.

  “His daughter hung herself in one of the rooms upstairs. She’d gotten pregnant by a local cowboy, had the baby and supposedly, because the man wouldn’t marry her, killed herself.”

  “There were rumors that Jedidiah killed her in a rage for having a bastard child.”

  “What happened to the baby?” she asked with a shudder.

  “The wife was raising it. Then one night she came into town, hysterical, said the baby had been kidnapped. The infant was later found smothered to death in the basement. No one ever believed the baby had been taken, but they had no proof that someone in the house had done it. No kidnapper was ever caught. Figure the wife or Jedidiah killed it. The wife went mad after that, had to be locked up in one of the rooms. My grandfather said the wailing was unbearable. There’d been a small town there. But the railroad was coming through about then. They all moved away, wanting to get as far away from that kind of trouble as they could.”

  “That’s horrible,” Alexa said, thinking that it explained the Crying Woman device she’d found behind the wall. Someone at that house knew the Wellington’s history, just as she had suspected. “She died in the house?”

  “Yep. Sierra and Jedidiah had a son too,” Dave said and stopped talking abruptly at the sound of Alexa’s sudden intake of breath. “Something wrong?”

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that the woman who inherited the house, her name is Sierra,” Alexa said, thinking of the old photograph and the resemblance to the current Sierra.

  “Probably named after her great-great-grandmother,” Dave said, as if he didn’t see anything strange about that.

  Named after a woman who went crazy in the house that Sierra Wellington Cross now wanted to live? Alexa took a drink of the icy cold soda pop in her hand, her hand shaking.

  Dave got back into his rhythm again. “Jedidiah gave up on his plan to make it a hunting lodge, closed off a lot of the rooms, lived there with his son. Some family and servants came and went over that time. Rumors circulated about the horrible things that went on in that house. The son, I think his name was John, married. His young wife died during a hard winter. Froze to death just yards from the house. John said she’d gone out to check the chickens, but everyone believed she was trying to flee that house, fell and died in a snowdrift.”

  Dave took a sip of his soda pop. “She left behind a son who grew up and lived in the old place for a while. He was named after his grandfather, Jedidiah. Jed left, and no one saw him for years. By the time he came back, the rest of them were dead and buried.”

  Jed Wellington, Alexa realized, would have been Sierra’s grandfather.

  “Brought his wife and kids, a son and daughter. Daughter fell down an old well and died. Son left when he was old enough. He only came back a couple of times. I suspect the only reason was because of the scandal hanging over his head. Came back here to hide out.”

  “What scandal was that?” Marshall asked.

  Dave took another drink, clearly relishing the story of the Wellingtons. “Money. Not sure of the specifics. I just know he stole a bunch of it from someone. Heard later that he killed himself.”

  Alexa stared at the old man as she realized he must be talking about Sierra’s father. “What was this Wellington’s name?”

  “Went by J. A.Wellington. I had the newspaper clipping. Not sure what happened to it.”

  “What happened to the house?” Marshall asked.

  “Some old-maid niece moved in with what family was left. She was the last to die there. Hardly anyone had seen her for years.”

  Dave chuckled. “Did hear one great story about old Jed. Wrecked his car one night on the road out to his place. Swore to the sheriff and old doc that he was being chased by a phantom pickup—and it wasn’t the first time either.”

  “A phantom pickup?” Marshall asked and chuckled. “Sounds to me like old Jed got into the sauce.”

  “Swore he hadn’t had a thing to drink,” Dave said. “After that there were occasionally stories about a pickup chasing teenagers out on that road late at night. Said the truck would almost run them off the road and then just up and disappear.”

  Alexa was still thinking about Sierra’s father killing himself after some sort of scandal. She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her sister-in-law. She knew what it was like to grow up without a father.

  “That family certainly met with a lot of tragedy,” Marshall said, glancing over at her. She saw concern in his gaze and felt another heartstring sing. “Thanks for telling us everything, Dave.”

  “Yes. Thank you for the information,” Alexa said as she got to her feet.

  “A lot of hair-raising stories have come out of that house and the people who have lived there,” Dave said. “Kids still tell tales about seeing things out there at night, including that old pickup trying to run them off the road. In their cases, though I’m sure alcohol was involved. Still, you couldn’t get me to stay in that house for any amount of money.”

  “You believe in ghosts?” Alexa asked, surprised that he would.

  “I believe in evil,” Dave said as he chucked his empty soda can into a large trash container by the back door. “They say that when there is a violent death, the soul lingers. That’s unholy ground out there. Someone should have burned that place down years ago. Take some dynamite to it.”

  “You all right?” Marshall asked as they left.

  “I guess I’m not surprised.” She’d sensed a dark past in the house, though she was shaken by what she’d learned. “Someone else in that house knows the history.”

  “The Crying Woman,” he said. “You think it was meant to be the original Sierra Wellington.”

  She shivered at the thought that the latest Sierra might be behind all of this, since she would be the most likely to know the Wellington history.

  But how could she use her family’s tragedies? Why would she?

  Chapter Ten

  Marshall had been wonderful at supper, but after everything she’d learned about her sister-in-law’s family, Alexa hadn’t been a very good date.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t much fun tonight,” she said as they left the restaurant.

  “Hey, I just enjoy being with you,” he said, smiling at her as he led her to his pickup. “I know you have a lot on your mind.”

  “I can’t get my mind off the Wellington family’s tragic history.”

  “Will you tell your brother about his wife’s family?” Marshall asked as they left Whitehorse and headed north along the Milk River. It had gotten dark. The headlights of the pickup cut a swath of light through the blackness.

  “I don’t know. I doubt he’ll see anything pertinent about the information. He’s blind when it c
omes to Sierra. He won’t want to admit that she might be anything like her family. According to Sierra, she was raised by her single mother. Depending on when her father killed himself, she might not even be able to remember him.”

  “Your brother could have a point. How much of who we are can we blame on our genes? I never knew my biological father, barely remember my mother. I consider Hoyt Chisholm my father. He raised me with his values. I believe I’m the man I am because of him.”

  Alexa smiled over at him. She liked the man he was. But she could argue the part genetics played since she didn’t just look like her mother. She had fought everything about her mother’s life and yet here she was, her mother’s daughter, cursed with at least some of her mother’s gift. Wasn’t it just as possible that a bad gene could be handed down? A criminal gene?

  “Sierra certainly comes from an interesting gene pool,” Alexa said. “I’d like to know more about her mother. Actually more about Sierra and her father.”

  “It probably wouldn’t hurt to learn more about everyone living there right now, given what’s happened to you,” Marshall said.

  He had a point. She wouldn’t mind knowing more about all of the people in that house.

  “What are you going to do if you can’t talk your brother into leaving?”

  “I don’t know. Eventually I have to get back to work.” Alexa looked out her side window. She had a job, an apartment, and she supposed that would be considered a life. But it had always felt temporary. Journalists moved around a lot, from paper to paper. She’d just assumed she would too until she could quit and write children’s books. That was her dream.

  “I’m sure you’re anxious to get back,” Marshall said.

  She looked over at him. “Not that anxious, actually.”

  He smiled at her and started to reach for her hand when headlights suddenly flashed on behind them. Marshall let out a curse as a vehicle’s headlights filled their truck cab with blinding light.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Alexa saw what appeared to be an old pickup riding their bumper. “Is he trying to run you off the road?”

  Just then the old truck slammed into the back of their pickup. Their truck fishtailed and the other truck fell back a little.

  “Hang on,” Marshall said and jammed his foot on the gas. His pickup took off down the narrow road, gravel flying.

  As fast as they were going, the lights of the old pickup grew brighter and brighter behind them as the driver quickly caught up.

  Alexa looked over at Marshall, then at the speedometer. They were going over a hundred. She knew there was a curve coming up. So did Marshall. She could see tension in his expression. His big hands gripped the wheel as they went down a hill and flew up another.

  And suddenly the lights behind them went out. Alexa turned in her seat. The pickup was gone. It had just disappeared.

  Marshall hit the brakes. The pickup skidded to a stop in the middle of the road just yards from the curve.

  She could see he was shaken as he glanced back in his rearview mirror, then over at her. “Tell me that wasn’t the phantom truck Dave told us about.”

  All Alexa could do was stare back at the empty road as her heart rate slowly dropped back to normal.

  MARSHALL KNEW THERE WAS no chance in hell that he was going to be able to sleep. He stood on the porch, the August night hot and without a breath of breeze. He couldn’t help thinking about the old pickup that had tried to run them off the road. That coupled with what he’d learned about the Wellingtons was bound to give him nightmares. He couldn’t even imagine what it would do to Alexa tonight.

  He hated dropping her off at that house, knowing what they did. He wished she would come over but when he glanced out at Wellington Manor, he saw no lights on her side of the mansion.

  The night should have soothed what ailed him. He loved this time of year, loved the smells as grains ripened and grasses turned golden. Standing here, he could hear the lowing of the cattle. On nights like this, he could feel that strong connection he had with this land, this place.

  Unfortunately, that old pickup that had chased them nagged at him. While he might believe evil could be passed down from generation to generation and concede that some spirits just couldn’t rest, he didn’t believe in phantom pickups. The truck that had tried to run them off the road had been real. He’d heard the sound of metal meeting metal. There was nothing phantom about that truck—nor its driver—and tomorrow he’d prove it.

  The heat pressed down on him. He glanced toward Wellington Manor again and caught the glimmer of the pond in the dark cottonwoods. What he needed was a swim. He hadn’t gone swimming in the middle of the night since he was a kid and lately he’d been feeling like a kid again.

  Alexa. She was responsible for the way he was feeling. He warned himself that she would be leaving soon. She’d have to get back to her job, as she’d said. But he remembered what he’d read about her in that interview. She wanted to write children’s books. Couldn’t you write children’s books anywhere? Even in a remote part of Montana?

  He shook his head at the fantasy his thoughts had taken and, grabbing a towel, headed for the pond to cool off.

  ALEXA HAD BEEN GRATEFUL TO SLIP into the house and find no one waiting up for her. She didn’t know what she was going to tell her brother, but whatever she decided tomorrow would be soon enough.

  She went straight to her room, unlocked the door and stepped in. Everything appeared to be as she had left it and yet she sensed that someone had been there. With all the locks the same in the house, anyone could come and go at will with a skeleton key, just as she had done.

  It was late and she was exhausted after the day she’d had. She changed into a nightgown even though she doubted she would be able to sleep, her mind still whirling. What if everything that was happening was just as her brother had suspected? Something evil that emanated from this house? Some leftover evil from generations of evil?

  Moving to the French doors, she stepped out on the balcony to look toward Marshall’s house. His house was dark. She marveled that he was able to put everything out of his mind and go right to bed.

  Alexa started to step away from the window when she saw two figures in the trees beside the house. Jayden and a young blond woman. As they slipped into the house through a back door, Alexa recognized the woman Jayden had his arm around. Sierra.

  She hurriedly stepped back. Her heart threatened to break. She didn’t want to believe her sister-in-law would be cheating on Landon, especially since they’d only just married. But nothing was as it should be in this house.

  Angry and upset, she threw herself on the bed and closed her eyes tight against the tears. She’d come here to help her brother, and now she would be the one to break his heart. Emotionally exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep.

  “Alexa?”

  She stirred.

  “Alexa?”

  Opening her eyes, she saw her mother standing next to her bed.

  “You must save your brother,” her mother said. “You know what you have to do.”

  Startled, Alexa jerked up in the bed, blinking wildly. For a moment, she was back in her childhood bedroom. But as she blinked again the bedroom at Wellington Manor came into focus. The room was empty. Her mother was gone.

  If she had ever been there at all.

  But her words still hung in the air and there was a familiar smell….

  Alexa bolted from the bed. Her nightgown was drenched with sweat and she was breathing hard.

  “It was just a nightmare,” she whispered to herself as she stepped to the window, hoping for a breath of air.

  That’s when she saw him, his cowboy hat cocked back on his head. He wore nothing but jeans and boots, a towel draped over one shoulder as he sauntered toward the pond.

  He disappeared behind the trees. A moment later she heard a splash.

  The sound pulled her—just as the thought did of the cowboy in the cool water of the pond.

 
; She grabbed her robe, drew it on and, taking her key, hurried out of her room. The hallway was empty. She tiptoed down the stairs and through the living room to slip out the front door.

  For a moment, she stood on the step, hesitating. She’d already dragged Marshall into her nightmare. She knew what could happen if she continued down to the pond. Just the thought sent a shiver through her. She took a step, then another. As she walked through the deep shadows of the trees, she felt excitement stir within her—and desire. She began to run.

  At the edge of the trees, she stopped. She could see him swimming through the dark water, droplets washing over his brown skin, his back and shoulders shimmering in the moonlight.

  She’d never seen a more beautiful man.

  MARSHALL TOOK ANOTHER stroke and opened his eyes. She was standing at the edge of the trees, a vision in white. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen her.

  He watched, fascinated, as she stepped from the trees, her white robe sliding off her slim sun-browned shoulders. For a moment, she stood silhouetted in the moonlight making her nightgown transparent. He could see the lush curves of her breasts, the slim waist, the full hips.

  As she waded out into the water, he saw the dark of her nipples, the points hard pebbles against the fabric.

  His gaze locked with hers. Slowly she reached down and lifted the hem of her nightgown, raising it up and over her head. She tossed the gown back toward the dry shore, then dove into the water and swam out toward him.

  Marshall realized he had been holding his breath. She was so breathtaking. The water felt like cool silk against his skin as he took a final stroke and drifted slowly toward her.

  He drew up, treading water, as she moved into him and pressed her naked body against his. Her skin felt hot and silken. Water droplets jeweled on her lashes as she looked at him—her look hotter than her skin against his. His desire spiked as he pulled her closer.

  “I saw you from my window,” she whispered.