Slate was fully aware that he was remembering. His right hand still touched his mother’s gravestone, yet he was back in the bank five years before—empty-handed and staring at the back of a man’s head while Dray Tyree cast him a furtive glance.
Slate held the memory. He tried to seize more detail about the man in Dray’s office, but there was only the brief glimpse. The broad shoulders and the hat pulled so low that not even hair color was distinguishable. And then the memory was gone and Slate was back on Sycamore Ridge, a hawk crying shrill and daring as it glided high above him.
He stood up and went to the pile of dirt and rock that Clay and Randy had so laboriously dug. Stretching his shoulder once, Slate picked up the shovel and set to work. As he fell into a steady rhythm, he allowed the memories to wash over him again. This time he thought of Cassidy and felt anew the wonder of their first love.
CASSIDY KILLED THE ENGINE and got out of the truck at Blue Vista. Although two Australian shepherds came up to greet her, there was no sign of Cole or any of his hands. He’d told her he was going to Fort Worth to meet with Ramsur Rodeo about supplying stock, and that was probably where he was.
Cassidy had felt certain Lucky Hill would slink over to the Blue Vista seeking employment. Her goal was to find him and ultimately to tell Cole why she’d fired him. Cassidy tried not to micro-manage the ranch and had given Lucky a free hand. He had betrayed her. Lucky was not to be trusted as a foreman—not even as an hourly hand. He had a real mean streak.
“Cole!” she called out as she walked around her truck and went up to the front door. She gave the old wood a good solid knock and waited. She didn’t like to visit Blue Vista. It held too many memories of Slate and Mary Walker. As she stood on the front porch, she remembered the day before her wedding. She and Mary had laced garlands of wildflowers along the porch railing and up the posts. They’d created a bower for her and Slate to stand under right in the very spot where she was standing now.
She shook off the memory and banged the door again. “Cole, are you there?”
She gave it another two minutes and turned to leave. She had plenty to do at the Double O, but she was struck by another thought. Amanda Best Tyree. Now was the perfect opportunity to question Amanda. Dray would be at the bank, and Amanda would be alone.
And this time Cassidy intended to tape whatever Amanda confessed to, and confess she would.
She started to leave Cole a note but thought better of it. The one thing she didn’t want was him rushing over to the Double O as soon as he got back. She wasn’t certain what role, if any, Cole had played in past events. She was taking no unnecessary risks.
On the way to Amanda’s she stopped and bought a microcassette tape recorder. Whatever she gathered wouldn’t be admissible in court, she knew, but she wasn’t worried about legalities. She also wasn’t concerned about unfair tactics. She was determined to do whatever it took to get Amanda to confess to her part in Slate’s frame-up.
She pulled into the drive of the new two-story home that Amanda and Dray had built. Looking up at the imposing house, Cassidy was reminded of Amanda’s love of shopping. She would take pleasure in filling every inch of space in the house.
She knew Amanda was home because she saw her peeping out of an upstairs window, and when she wouldn’t come to the door, Cassidy used her booted foot to get across the point that she intended to be let in. It took three solid kicks before Amanda made it to the door.
“Just a minute, Cassidy!” Amanda huffed as she fumbled with the locks. “What are the neighbors going to think with you trying to kick the door down?”
“They’re going to think I really want in,” Cassidy said as she barged past her old friend and stopped in the blackand-white-tiled foyer. Despite herself, Cassidy was impressed with the formality of the house.
“Is something wrong?” Amanda asked.
Cassidy noticed that there were dark circles beneath her old friend’s eyes, and Amanda’s skin was sallow. “Yes, there’s something wrong. It looks like you’re sick.”
Amanda shrugged. “I’m tired. I was sleeping. That’s why I didn’t—”
“Don’t bother lying, Amanda. I saw you at the window. You weren’t going to let me in because you don’t want to talk to me.” Cassidy squared her shoulders. This was harder than she thought it was going to be. Amanda did look sick and pathetic, and it went against her nature to jump on someone who was sick. She reminded herself that sick or well, Amanda had cost Slate five years of his life.
“You’ve got a lot to account for, and I’m here to find out the truth.” Her words were more effective than a slap.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t feel up to this. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.”
Cassidy shook her head. “Not this time, Amanda. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize your health, but I’m going to learn the truth. Today. Right this minute.”
Amanda cast a furtive look up the stairs, as if she hoped that help would arrive from that quarter. “You sound as crazy as Slate. Both of you think you can rewrite history because you don’t like the way it happened. Slate came into that bank and tried to rob it. Dray had to shoot him. That’s the truth, Cassidy, like it or not.”
Cassidy unobtrusively reached into her purse and clicked on the tape recorder. “I don’t like that version, Amanda, because I know it’s a lie. Now you can tell me the truth and I’ll do as much as I can for you, or you can keep on lying. If you choose the latter, I swear to you that I’ll make the worst enemy you ever dreamed of having. I will hound you to your grave.” The harshness of her words had the intended effect. Amanda blanched and grasped the stair railing.
“Cassidy, I can’t believe what you’re doing.” Amanda put her hand on her stomach. “You could make me lose the baby.”
“I hardly think a good dose of the truth will hurt you,” Cassidy said coldly. “If you’re in danger from anything, it’s a guilty conscience. I don’t know how you sleep at night after what you did to Slate.”
The first tears welled in Amanda’s dark eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe them away as they traced slowly down her cheek. “You’re right,” she said in a whisper. “I don’t sleep at night. Neither does Dray. We thought the house and the baby would make things better, but they haven’t.” The tears dripped down her face. “They’ve only made things worse, but I can’t tell you anything, Cassidy. I can’t. If I do—” She put her hands over her face and began to sob.
As hard as she’d fought to toughen her resolve, Cassidy felt her own eyes begin to fill. It was terrible to watch someone so obviously in anguish. “Tell me the truth, Amanda,” she said. “It can only make things better.”
“I doubt it,” Amanda managed to say.
“It will.” Cassidy took her arm and led her through the house, finally finding the kitchen that was filled with gleaming appliances and the latest of gadgets. She pulled out a chair at the big kitchen table and put a kettle of water on the stove for tea. She gave Amanda privacy for the time it took to make two cups of tea. When she placed them on the table, Cassidy saw that the brunette had gotten a grip on her emotions.
Cassidy slid into a seat. “Tell me,” she said, her gaze unflinching.
“You have every right to hate me,” Amanda said. This time she held on to her composure. “Everything I said at the trial was a lie.”
Even though Cassidy knew it to be true, she still felt as if she’d been hit in the head with a block of wood. “All a lie?” she repeated.
Amanda nodded. “Everything. Slate didn’t have a gun. He wasn’t trying to rob the bank. None of it was true.”
“And you let him go to prison for five years?” Cassidy asked the question softly, but she saw Amanda recoil at the harsh truth of what her actions had cost.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Amanda said. “Dray and I had to do it. We had to.”
“No one has to lie and put an innocent man in prison,” Cassidy responded. Her tone was still soft,
but all compassion for Amanda was gone. She felt completely devoid of any emotion except an anger that was so hot it made her cold. “Why?”
Amanda looked down into her cup of tea and found the courage to meet Cassidy’s gaze once again. “I’d embezzled funds at the bank. I’d stolen thousands of dollars.”
“You intended to rob the bank to cover the money you’d embezzled?” Cassidy was astounded.
Amanda shook her head. “No. It was just that if I didn’t go along with the plan to frame Slate, then I was going to be turned in. Dray had…” She looked beyond Cassidy, and her eyes filled with tears again. “Dear God, you can’t begin to know the hell Dray and I have lived in.”
“My sympathy is limited,” Cassidy warned her. “Who put you up to framing Slate?”
Amanda gripped the table. “I’ll tell you everything but that. Everything. I can’t tell you who it is. He’ll kill Dray. My husband disappeared from the bank today at lunch.” The tears were rolling down her face again. “Dray would never do that, just disappear from work and not go back. I’m sure someone has him. Someone who intends to make him keep quiet.” Amanda collapsed on the table and began to sob. “He said he would kill both of us if we ever talked. He paid the bank back all of the money I’d embezzled, and he forced us to tell those lies about Slate, but he said he would kill us if we ever revealed what we’d done. He said he’d kill us one at a time, and that he’d make us suffer.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cassidy pressed hard on the gas as she drove back to the Double O. Nothing she’d threatened Amanda with had been more terrifying than her fear that Dray would die if she spoke the name of the man who’d masterminded framing Slate. Cassidy had left Amanda’s house still not knowing the true face of her enemy, but she had on tape Amanda’s confession that Slate had been framed.
Cassidy desperately wanted to go to the sheriff, but she didn’t trust the law officers, and she certainly didn’t trust Rusty Jones. The way things were shaping up, Rusty seemed the most obvious culprit. Right or wrong, he had power over the local law enforcement.
Her only hope was to get back to the ranch and to get Slate. If they could find Dray and produce him safely, Amanda had agreed to tell the complete truth—in front of everyone.
The Hill Country flashed by her window, and she looked out on the pastures that rolled to the rugged outcroppings of rock that defined the horizon. The land had a harsh beauty that she’d always loved. It was so much like Slate, she realized. So much like herself. Like the land, they had endured. They had not given up, and ultimately, they would prevail. She had to believe that.
Misgivings about leaving Amanda gnawed at her. Her only consolation was that Amanda was so truly frightened for Dray’s life that she would remain at home and cooperate on the hope that Slate could find her husband and bring him back alive. Slate could do it, if anyone could. Cassidy felt a sense of relief as she turned down the driveway to home, to Slate.
As she pulled up to the ranch house at the Double O, she did a double take. There were two sheriff’s cars and a black Cadillac parked in front of the house. As she got closer, she was shocked to see Rusty Jones sitting on her front porch.
She got out of the truck slowly and started toward the house. In the distance she could see the ranch hands gathering at the barns. Something was definitely up. Two deputies were walking toward her, coming from the weanling barn.
“Cassidy,” Rusty said, stepping forward. “I hate like hell to do this, but you’re going to have to come with us.” As the sheriff, Noll Owens, walked across the porch toward her, Rusty waved him back. “Let’s not make this worse than it has to be,” he said softly.
“What?” Cassidy looked from the lawman to the prosecutor. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” At that moment, she trusted Rusty Jones less than anyone she knew. She glanced at the ranch house, wondering if Slate was inside. Had he returned from filling in the fake grave? If he was inside, would he stay calm?
“On the contrary,” the sheriff said as he pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt. “Cassidy O’Neal, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lucky Hill. You have the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, the state will provide you with legal representation.”
Cassidy heard the words, but she didn’t believe what was happening. “The murder of Lucky Hill? He was fine when he left here. Ask my cook. Lucky knocked Kip in the jaw.”
“He was alive when he left the Double O, but he’s not now,” Rusty said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, he’s pretty dead,” Sheriff Owens added.
Cassidy didn’t resist as the sheriff snapped the handcuffs on one wrist. The whole scene was impossible. Even if Lucky was dead, why would anyone think she’d killed him? “What happened?”
“He was shot,” Rusty said. He turned to the sheriff. “Is that really necessary?”
“Procedure,” the sheriff said, cuffing Cassidy’s hands in front of her.
“I’m telling you, Lucky left here this morning without a scratch on him,” Cassidy repeated. “You can ask any of the men.”
“We talked to your employees. They were reluctant to tell the truth at first, but they talked.” Rusty stepped closer. “They finally admitted they heard you threaten to kill Lucky.” Rusty went to his car and returned with something in a paper bag. He held it under Cassidy’s nose. “Recognize this?”
She looked into the bag and saw the gun that had been stolen from her safe. “That’s Slate’s—” She stopped herself, afraid that if she said anything else Slate would be implicated.
“Yes, the weapon that was signed over to Slate Walker, and, from what I understand, the gun was put in your care.”
“Someone stole it from my safe,” she said. She was beginning to get a picture, and it was one she didn’t like.
“You never reported the theft,” the sheriff pointed out.
“I only discovered it missing this morning,” Cassidy said through clenched teeth.
“Where is Slate?” Rusty asked in a casual tone.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” Cassidy was spitting mad. The shock had worn off, and she realized clearly what was happening. She’d been hornswoggled and framed.
“We suspect that Slate was your accomplice in the murder of Lucky Hill. Both of your fingerprints are on the gun, Cassidy.”
“That’s because I held it when I put it in my safe,” she answered, with growing anger.
“Two of your men disclosed the information that you sent them to dig a grave today.” Rusty shook his head. “All of these facts add up to one very solid murder charge.” Rusty looked around the ranch, focusing on the barns. “I knew when Slate came back to town he’d only bring trouble.”
“Slate has nothing to do with Lucky Hill, and neither do I,” Cassidy said clearly. “I’ve been framed.”
“That’s what you’re saying about Slate and the bank robbery, and it was his ticket to five years in prison,” the sheriff said, with no little amount of satisfaction. “Murder gets you a lot more time.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Cassidy said. Her anger was beginning to crack, and what lay beneath it was raw worry. Someone had stacked the deck against her, and she had to admit it was done with great style. While she and Slate were busy setting their trap, someone had been doing the same thing to her—a far more serious and deadly trap. And she’d stumbled into it headfirst. It didn’t matter that there was no real motive for her to kill Lucky. The circumstantial evidence was all against her.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy,” Rusty said. “I really am.”
“I’ll bet you are,” she snapped.
The sheriff grasped her arm and started toward the patrol car. “Let’s go.” He looked at the deputies, who’d rejoined them. “Okay, men, go on down there and put that animal down.”
“What animal?” Cassidy tried to jerk free of him, but he held her in a firm grip.
“We have an order from the judge to destroy that bay stallion. Luc
ky came into town and filed charges against the horse, saying he was a killer. He said Cole Benson was worried about the horse being on your property and asked Lucky to keep an eye on the situation, and that you’d try to get even with him for what he’d been doing. I guess he didn’t expect you to strike so soon. But just because Lucky’s dead doesn’t negate his complaint.”
Cassidy twisted free of the sheriff. “Lucky is a liar. Joker’s no killer. He could have stomped Lucky to death, but he didn’t harm a hair on him.”
“That’s not the story Mr. Hill told before he met his untimely end,” Rusty said. “The horse is a range stallion. He’s not really your property, and since he’s a menace, the county has a right to destroy him. The judge had just issued a ruling on the matter when we got the call reporting Lucky’s body.”
Cassidy felt the panic threaten to spill over. She had to think. She had to act fast. “I’m in possession of the animal, and that makes him mine. He’s confined on my property and he’s not a threat to anyone. If you do anything to him, I swear the county will be hit with a lawsuit that will bankrupt it. You’d better check your authority in this matter before you take a rash action.”
The sheriff looked uncomfortably at the prosecutor.
“Have the deputies call Judge Harwell,” Rusty said. “Get a ruling on the matter of possession before you shoot him.” He started to his car, then turned back. His light eyes were calculating. “Where is Slate, Cassidy?” he asked again. “I’ve known you a long time and I can’t believe you weren’t coerced into this. If you cooperate with us, we’ll see about some kind of deal, a reduced sentence, maybe.”
“Drop dead,” she answered. She turned to the men at the bunkhouse and called out to them. “Don’t let them hurt Joker. I’ll be back later.” She didn’t have time to say more, as the sheriff put his hand on the top of her head and forced her into the patrol car.
Remember Me, Cowboy Page 19
