Slate spoke up softly. “We can’t report it.”
Cassidy bit her bottom lip. “I wish we could go to the authorities and expect them to take care of this, but we don’t know who we can trust.” She thought of Rusty Jones, the man who had the power to press for a conviction—even when he knew the person charged was innocent. “We can’t trust anyone yet, but I promise we won’t carry this too far. It’s only a matter of time. But if we can buy a few hours, it could make a difference.”
Doc Jameson looked from Slate to Cassidy and back. “I never believed you were guilty, Slate. Not in my heart. I suppose I let the evidence convince me intellectually. I should have listened to my heart.”
Slate smiled. “Thanks.”
“I was with your mother a lot before she died. Mary and I were good friends, you know. She never lost faith in you or your innocence. She believed that one day you’d be vindicated.” He put his arm around Cassidy’s shoulders. “And Mary believed that the two of you were destined to be together.” He gave Cassidy a squeeze. “Who am I to go against the beliefs of a woman who was regarded as the smartest rancher in Texas?”
Cassidy put her arms around the doctor and gave him a hug. “We’ll keep you out of this, Scout’s honor.”
“Don’t bother. I haven’t had a good scrap in a long time. That’s what’s happening around here, just like everywhere else. Folks are getting afraid to take a stand. You can count me in, for whatever it takes. Now, I’ve got three patients waiting on me at the hospital, so I’d better go.”
Cassidy walked him to the door and gained the moment of privacy she sought. “Is he really okay?”
“He has the luck of a dumb mule,” Doc said, smiling. “Another fraction of an inch and he would have bled to death.”
“I won’t be able to keep him down for long,” she admitted.
“Do the best you can.” Doc frowned. “Be careful, Cassidy.”
“I will,” she promised.
As she watched him walk out into the dawn, she rubbed her hands up her bare arms. His words had chilled her. So much depended on the next few hours—and the role she’d agreed to play.
She and Slate had decided that the best thing to do was pretend that Slate was dead and that she was hiding that fact. It was a plan of desperation, they both knew that. But it was the only lure they had to try and draw out the culprits behind the frame-up of Slate and the recent attacks.
Cassidy had a pang of conscience. Doc Jameson wasn’t the only person they’d have to deceive. They could not even risk letting Lindsey know her father was there. It broke her heart to hide the truth from her small daughter, but Lindsey was talkative, and she scooted around the ranch into everything. As hard as it would be, Cassidy would have to keep Lindsey and Slate apart—at least until they could spring their trap.
Cassidy had already decided to send two ranch hands up to “dig a hole.” The obvious grave would be the bait. She and Slate would set the snare around the pretend grave to see who came to check it out.
It was sort of like trying to catch a rabbit with a stick, a string and a cardboard box, but it might work.
It had to work, Cassidy thought as she went back to the bedroom. To her relief, Slate was sound asleep. She picked up Slate’s boots and felt inside for the rusty gun they’d found in the water. She wanted a good look at it in a lighted room.
She held it in her hand, her thumb moving over the carving that had not been dulled by years underwater. Proof. Evidence. And the more she thought about it, the more it pointed to Rusty Jones as the man who had set Slate up for a prison term.
The thing that troubled her about Rusty was that it seemed his part in Slate’s conviction would be more a crime of opportunity. Only someone at the bank could have known when Slate had an appointment. Someone at Comfort Ranch Bank had been involved.
Turning out the light and adjusting the blinds so that the rising morning sun wouldn’t disturb him, she hurried to her office. This “evidence” had to be locked up someplace secure. And she wanted to compare it to the duplicate gun that had been offered into evidence against Slate. The fact that they had both guns in their possession made Cassidy’s heart race with excitement. It was enough for a retrial, if not a downright reversal.
Her fingers turned the dial, and the tumblers rolled and slid into place as she worked the combination. The door swung open and she reached inside for the gun. When she found only a small cash box and a sheaf of papers, she bent down, thinking she’d slid the gun to the back of the safe.
She didn’t allow the panic to set in until she’d gotten a flashlight and thoroughly searched the interior of the safe. The gun was gone. Vanished without a trace.
Cassidy swallowed back the surge of fright as she acknowledged that someone had been in the ranch house, had invaded her home and robbed her. She replaced all of the items in the safe and carefully relocked it. For several moments she studied the dial, but there was no sign that it had been tampered with. Whoever had taken the gun had known how to open it.
To her knowledge, no one knew the combination.
She went over the facts. She’d locked the gun in the safe after she and Slate had tried comparing it to the pictures. She’d had no need to open the safe since then, so she hadn’t checked it. Afterward, she’d been out of the house constantly.
Nita and Lindsey were almost always in the house, but Nita ran errands and kept herself busy with Lindsey. And a four-year-old girl was noisy with games and videos and shrieks of laughter. Anyone could easily have slipped in and out at any time of the night or day.
Cassidy’s conclusions were more than troubling. They were downright frightening. When she’d told Doc Jameson that she couldn’t trust the authorities, she had a firm list of suspects. That list hadn’t included someone on the Double O Ranch.
Now she couldn’t rule anyone out. It made her heart sink to realize that any one of her employees could be working against her.
She took the rusty gun with her as she left the office. This time there would be no obvious hiding place. There were nooks and crannies in the house that she alone knew. Like the small hidey-hole built into the fireplace. She’d never once mentioned that to anyone. She hadn’t even known about it the first year she’d lived in the house.
As she walked into the den, she was aware of the sounds of the ranch waking up. The morning sun filled the big room with warm light, and Cassidy realized it was full daylight On a horse ranch, especially during the summer, the day started early. It grew so hot by midday that she encouraged the hands to take a long noon break. They preferred to rise early and work late, making use of the coolest parts of the day.
She moved the stone and slipped the gun into the hole. When she replaced the stone, it looked as if it were solid. Satisfied that the gun was as safe as she could make it for the moment, she turned to the kitchen. Even though she’d been up all night, it was time for Lindsey’s breakfast.
As she put water on for grits and chopped an onion for an omelette, she heard the slap-slap of her daughter’s running footsteps.
“Slow down,” Cassidy called out even as the kitchen door burst open and the child rushed into the room.
Cassidy was aware, as always, of how her daughter was synonymous with sunlight. The entire room brightened whenever she entered. “Hello, sweetheart,” Cassidy said, bending to kiss Lindsey. “Sleep well?”
“I dreamed you ran away last night. You and Sl—ate.”
Cassidy noticed the hesitation in her daughter’s voice at Slate’s name. The day before, Lindsey had called Slate Daddy. Now she was confused, and Cassidy knew it was time for a talk. She put aside the breakfast things and sat down beside Lindsey. She smiled and reached out to push a silky strand of hair from her daughter’s face.
“You like Slate, don’t you?”
Lindsey nodded. “He’s going to tame Joker.”
“I think he might do that,” Cassidy agreed, but beneath her smile she struggled for a way to talk about Slate that Lindsey
would understand.
“Remember I told you that everyone has a mother and father, but they don’t always live together?”
Lindsey nodded. Her wide eyes reflected the seriousness of her mother’s tone. “But now he’s going to live here?”
“That’s what we need to talk about,” Cassidy said. “Your father was accused of doing something he didn’t do. Slate’s been…” There was really no way to soften it, and she trusted Lindsey’s understanding. “Slate was accused of trying to rob a bank. Even though he was innocent, he went to jail. That’s why he hasn’t been here with us.”
“But now he’s going to stay, right?”
Cassidy smiled. To a child, the past was unimportant. The present was what really mattered.
“He is, in a little while. He had to…go away for a few days,” she reassured Lindsey. “But you’re a part of all of this, and I want to make sure you understand what’s going on. That you’re happy about the decisions that get made. You always have a say, Lindsey.”
“I want him to stay.” Lindsey looked to the stove where the grits were bubbling merrily. “Can he have breakfast with us?”
“Slate’s…busy. He’ll be around later.” How was she going to protect Lindsey from the gossip of the men? It was a new twist in the convolutions of deception. “How about if Nita takes you into San Antonio today. You need some clothes, and maybe you could go to a movie?” It was a ploy, but it would keep her daughter safe for another day.
“Yeah!” Lindsey pointed to the stove. “Can we have breakfast first?”
Laughing, Cassidy went to make the omelette. “Lindsey, you can call Slate by his name, or you can call him Daddy.”
Lindsey smiled. “If he’s nice, he can be Daddy. But if he fusses at me, he’ll be Slate.”
“Now, that’s a plan,” Cassidy said, laughing again.
She flipped the omelette and served the grits onto two plates. In a few moments she had the food on the table.
“This is good,” Lindsey said.
Cassidy had to agree. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When Slate woke up, he’d be ravenous, she knew. The idea of making him breakfast made her smile. It was something she’d done many times before, but now it would be new to him.
Just as Lindsey was finishing her grits, Nita came into the kitchen, stretching. “Good morning. I thought I heard vehicles last night Is something wrong?”
“We’re going to San Antonio,” Lindsey declared, sparing Cassidy from having to answer. “Mama said we could go to a movie. You can pick.”
“We are?” Nita sat down and accepted the coffee and the plate of eggs and grits Cassidy handed her.
“Lindsey needs some shoes and clothes. I thought it might be fun for the two of you.”
Nita cut a bite of omelette before she looked up, a frown on her face. “Are you sure everything’s okay? I get the feeling our trip is more than just for fun.”
Cassidy put her hand on Nita’s shoulder. “Everything is fine,” she said. “I have errands to do today, and it’s a good time for you to take care of this. Besides, Lindsey adores going to the movies. And I understand you like it, too.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Nita said, turning her attention on her breakfast.
Cassidy rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher. “I’m way behind on working some of the three-year-olds, so I’m going to hustle down to the barn. You girls got everything you need?”
“Charge everything?” Nita asked, grinning.
“Don’t go nuts, but have fun.” She dried her hands and hurried out to the barn.
THE NOONDAY SUN WAS HOT and bright as Slate stepped onto the porch of the bank. The front door opened and Hook’em Billings came out. Slate felt pleasure at the sight of his friend, but he noticed that Hook’em looked troubled.
They talked about culling his cowherd and Hook’em walked away. Slate felt a sense of foreboding as he entered the bank. They had denied Hook’em’s request for a loan. Would Clyde Barlow give him the money he needed to keep Three Sisters Ranch away from the creditors?
Slate was thinking about the rodeo and the big purse that he had a very good chance of winning in seven days. But he had to have some money immediately. Would Clyde float a loan for a few weeks on the chance that Slate would be able to win on Mr. Twist? That was the question.
He felt the wood of the door give as he pushed it open and stepped into the air-conditioned coolness. The bank was empty, but that wasn’t unusual at a few minutes before noon. Folks in Comfort took mealtime seriously. Ranching was hard work, and lunch was a time to rest and prepare for the afternoon.
He saw Amanda Best behind the teller’s window. She was one of Cassidy’s best friends, and she’d been helping Cassidy plan the wedding. He gave her a smile and a warm greeting.
She stared at him, her hands fluttering as she moved behind the counter to check and see if anyone was in Clyde’s outer office. Slate looked too, and, saw Karlie Mason’s desk was empty and the door to Clyde’s office was shut. The only other office in the small bank belonged to Dray Tyree. That door was open, and Slate caught a fleeting glimpse of the back of someone’s head. Dray had someone with him.
Slate glanced down to make sure his boots were shiny, and when he looked up again, Amanda was holding up both hands.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Her cry echoed in the small bank.
Slate felt confusion. He started to look behind him to see who she was talking to. He found that he turned slowly, suddenly gripped by a force stronger than his own will. He struggled against the power that held him in place, slowed each movement to an eternity of struggle. He heard the loud crack of a gun at the same time that something stung his head.
His body began to fall, and though he did everything in his power to remain upright, he could not stop it. Slowly, slowly he went down, the room a kaleidoscope of objects and colors as he fell into blackness.
SLATE SAT UP IN THE BED, his breathing shallow and ragged. He remembered the bank! He remembered what had happened. Though some would classify the experience as a dream, Slate knew it was memory. He’d remembered the clothes he wore, the hat he’d left in the truck, the fact that he’d had no weapon on him.
He’d gone into the bank unarmed! There was no doubt about it. He’d gone in and someone had shot him and framed him.
But who?
Amanda Tyree was involved. She was the best place to start.
He put his feet down on the floor and stood up. He expected some momentary weakness, and he was gratified to discover that the only thing he felt was serious hunger.
He glanced out the window and determined by the sun that it was close to noon. As he looked for his clothes, which were gone, he remembered that he was a prisoner in the bedroom. He was supposed to be dead. He grinned to himself at the idea. Someone was in for a very big and very unpleasant surprise.
He returned to the window and listened to the sounds of the Double O. In a distant corral, he saw Cassidy working with a flashy chestnut with white socks. Since he was confined to the room, he pulled up a chair and admired the way Cassidy worked with the animal. She was one talented horsewoman. And the best friend anyone could ever have. For all the unfair things that had happened to him, he had Cassidy on the positive side. The scales tipped heavily in her direction.
He wondered about the risk of going into the kitchen and looking for something to eat, but decided that to do so would be a foolish risk. He wouldn’t die, no matter how much his stomach grumbled.
Cassidy worked the horse in intricate patterns at the trot and lope, and then slowed to a walk to cool the animal. Slate was impressed. With a little more work, the horse would be ready for the show ring. As the possibility of his future expanded in front of him, he felt a sense of happiness that he hadn’t known in a long time.
His memory was coming back. It was slow, and frustrating, but he believed, in time, he would recover everything he’d lost—except the five years in prison.
For t
hat, someone was going to pay a hefty price.
Tired of inactivity, he flexed his shoulder and felt only a minor twinge. He was ready to get busy. Time was wasting.
He looked out to find that Cassidy was walking toward the house. He couldn’t help but admire her walk, so confident and yet feminine. The desire he felt for her was instantaneous, but it was entwined with other feelings, much deeper feelings that came with such intensity he had to take a deep breath.
He considered getting back into bed and pretending to be the good patient when he saw her stop and whirl around. He heard it then, the sound of a horse, furious and frightened. Curious, he leaned closer to the window for a broader view that took in the training corral beside the weanling barn. At the sight of Lucky Hill on Joker, Slate’s mouth went dry.
Fury was his first reaction, and then concern for the horse Lucky had saddled the stallion and somehow managed to climb aboard. And Joker was fighting with everything in his being to get rid of the cowboy.
Joker executed a series of turns, jumps, twists and lunges that Slate had never seen in world class bronc riding. The only way Lucky Hill was able to hang on was by using the deep, heavy saddle he’d placed on Joker.
As Slate watched helplessly, he saw the cowboy gouge the stallion with spurs. “Damn him,” Slate whispered. A horse like Joker might never recover from such brutal treatment. He wanted to rush out the window and beat the life out of Lucky Hill.
He saw that Cassidy had the same impulse. She was running toward the corral, and the anger in her voice was a whip.
“Hill, you’re fired!”
The battle had drawn some of the ranch hands, who were running to the fence to watch.
Helpless to intervene, Slate stood at the window, wishing a thousand mishaps on Lucky Hill. Before he could finish his thought, the cowboy rose high in the air and came down in the dirt.
Slate was beginning to grin when he saw the stallion whirl. Joker rushed the cowboy, who was scrabbling out of the corral as fast as he could.
But not fast enough.
Joker went up on his hind legs, his front feet striking the air as he shrilled a cry of rage and terror.
Remember Me, Cowboy Page 17
