by Cassie Miles
DYLAN WINCED. Her words were a knife in his heart. His wife was ordering him to leave, telling him to get the hell out of their bedroom. It wasn’t the first time that one of their arguments had ended with him sleeping on the sofa in his office.
But that wasn’t going to happen tonight. He couldn’t be angry at her. Not after what she’d been through.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said.
“I’ll be fine.”
She rose from the chair. Her long cotton nightgown reached almost to the floor. Though her shoulders were back and her posture erect, she seemed wobbly. Her feet were bare, and her pink toes looked tiny and vulnerable.
He wanted to go to her, to support her. But he held back.
“You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you sleeping alone before, and I won’t make that mistake again.”
She moved toward the bed, sat on the edge. Her blue eyes appeared huge in her thin face. “I’m tired.”
“You can lie down.” He settled in the overstuffed chair she had vacated. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
He reached toward the bedside lamp to turn it off, but she stopped him. “I’d rather leave the light on.”
“Whatever you want.”
She looked toward him. For a moment, he thought she might invite him into the bed with her. Instead, she slipped under the covers and closed her eyes.
He pulled off his boots and tried to find a comfortable position. Not that he expected to get much sleep tonight. Nicole had given him a lot to think about.
She’d been right when she’d said he wasn’t the same man she’d married. Five years ago, he’d been struggling to manage the ranching operations after his dad passed away. Dylan knew his responsibilities. His father had lectured him daily.
In the years before his death, Sterling Carlisle had been a hard-driving teacher who didn’t make allowances for failure. He’d been an innovator. His changes—using free-range organic processes to raise an antibiotic-free, grass-fed herd—had revolutionized the industry in Colorado.
Dylan had inherited a big job. Though he was only twenty-seven at the time, he needed had to prove himself. When it came to the ranch, he couldn’t afford to be a dumb kid. Even small mistakes could cost a fortune.
Lucas Mann had helped with practical advice and guidance. He never hesitated to speak up when he didn’t agree. They’d butted heads. They’d made amends. And Dylan missed that old cowboy. He’d shed some tears when he heard that Lucas was dead.
He looked toward the bed where Nicole was breathing slowly and steadily. The glow from the bedside lamp highlighted her delicate features. She was right about Lucas. They needed to bury the old man and pay him respect.
In spite of his betrayal? Dylan didn’t want to send the message that he accepted traitors. There had to be consequences for bad behavior. Life wasn’t all daisy chains and sunsets. There were hard decisions to be made.
Those thoughts echoed inside his head. There are consequences. Make the hard decisions. Plan for the best but be prepared for the worst.
Leaning back in the chair, he groaned. When had he become such a stubborn cuss? When had he turned into his father?
Chapter Seven
The next morning, Dylan tried to get back into his normal routine. After making sure Nicole was okay, he showered, dressed, went downstairs, got coffee and went to his office. His intention was to dig into the stack of unopened mail and deal with an e-mail in-box that was stuffed like a Christmas turkey.
For a full week, the running of the ranch had been on autopilot. Now, there was work to be done. Invoices to be signed. Schedules to be reassigned.
Back to normal. That was what he wanted.
His instinct to stay through the night with Nicole—in spite of her objection—had been a good one. She’d wakened twice.
The first time, she’d been breathing hard, gasping. Both her hands drew into fists that she held to her mouth. When he came near the bed, she’d slapped at him. In a hard voice, she’d told him to get away from her and had let loose a string of graphic profanity—words he’d never heard from his sweet, gentle wife. Dylan had known better than to take her insults personally; she wasn’t talking to him but fighting off the demons that haunted her sleep.
Instead of waking her or touching her, he’d sat beside the bed and spoken softly, telling her that she was safe. She was home. Everything was going to be all right. Gradually, she’d slipped back into peaceful sleep.
The second time she woke up, she’d been sobbing. Again, he’d reassured her.
Though he told himself that she’d be all right, he figured that he’d better take Carolyn’s advice and call in a doctor. Maybe Nicole needed a sleeping pill, a sedative, something for her nerves.
She’ll be all right. She has to be. It might take a while, but he had to believe that Nicole would forget about her ordeal and remember that she was his wife, that they had a good life together.
Dylan got down to business. He tore open a manila envelope from the local law firm he used for day-to-day operations. The first line of the cover letter read, “Regarding the death of Lucas Mann…”
The words stung. He dropped the attorney’s papers on his desk. Who the hell am I kidding? Life at the Carlisle ranch would never be the way it was before. He couldn’t turn back the clock, couldn’t bring Lucas back to life, couldn’t erase Nicole’s heartache and make her love him the way she had before. Whether he liked it or not, things had changed.
Pushing his paperwork out of the way, he folded his arms on the desktop, leaned forward and rested his head. Tears pooled behind his eyelids, but he wouldn’t cry. Not while he was sitting at the desk that had once belonged to his father.
He closed his eyes. I’m tired. He’d gotten only a few winks of sleep last night. So tired.
When he opened his eyes and looked at his watch, he saw that two hours had passed. It was after nine o’clock, and the whole household was awake. He heard voices and laughter and the sounds of people walking around. Outside the door to his office, life was happening.
On a normal day, he’d stay right here and work. He was tempted to ignore his responsibilities and join the rest of the family. Things had changed.
Just maybe, change was good.
Before the kidnapping, his relationship with Nicole had been rocky. They’d grown apart. He’d tried his best…
Dylan stopped that thought. He took a sip of his ice-cold coffee and faced the truth. He’d taken Nicole for granted. He hadn’t paid enough attention to her. And now, if he didn’t watch out, he’d lose her for sure.
He cleared his desktop, making room for a new set of priorities. And he put his wife at the top of the list.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Dylan was back to his office, savoring a fresh cup of coffee. He’d made definite progress on Project Make Nicole Happy and he couldn’t wait for her to see the results. The world felt a whole lot brighter as he rose from his swivel chair and went to the window.
The snowfall had started. Forecasters predicted a two-to three-inch dusting for today and more tomorrow. He was glad. They needed the moisture in the pastures.
A black SUV with the Delta County Sheriff’s Department logo on the side came up the drive and parked in front of the house. Dylan went to the front door to meet Sheriff Trainer. Though Carolyn and Burke would probably want in on this conversation, he preferred a one-on-one talk. Whenever his sister was involved, things got complicated.
Dylan directed the sheriff to his office, closed the door and returned to his seat behind the desk. “Coffee?”
“I’ve already had three cups.”
And a half a pack of cigarettes from the smell of him. After he dropped his uniform jacket and hat on the sofa, Trainer settled into one of the leather chairs on the other side of the desk. The lines etched into his long, lean face had deepened during the course of this investigation. He looked years older.
“Let me guess,”
Dylan said. “You’ve got good news and bad news.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
The sheriff and his deputies had done a competent job in processing evidence and working on the crime scenes, but their investigative work in solving Nicole’s kidnapping had been less than impressive. Burke and the FBI had taken care of the Sons of Freedom smuggling operation. Jesse Longbridge had uncovered the clues that pointed to Nate Miller.
“Start with the good,” Dylan said.
“We found the truck Nate was driving.”
“Using the license-plate number Jesse gave you?”
“That’s right.” The sheriff scowled. He didn’t much like Jesse, especially since Jesse and Fiona Grant were together now. For a while, the sheriff had considered Fiona a suspect. “It was abandoned on a back road in Delta. The truck was reported stolen last night.”
“Did you talk to the owner?”
“I did, and I don’t think he’s guilty of anything other than stupidity. He was in a tavern, drinking, and left his car keys on the table. It’s just as well. He wasn’t in any condition to drive.”
Nate had stolen the truck, then abandoned it. “Do you have any idea what Nate’s driving now?”
“I already impounded all the vehicles at the Circle M that belonged to the SOF. But Nate’s truck doesn’t seem to be anywhere around here.”
“So, he’s driving his own truck. Right?”
“I guess.” The sheriff scowled.
The lackadaisical attitude was beginning to tick Dylan off. “Have you got your men out looking for him? You could set up roadblocks.”
“Not going to happen,” the sheriff said. “During the past week, my deputies have put in six months’ worth of overtime. I can’t authorize more.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The county has a budget.”
“Not my problem,” Dylan said. “Last night, Nate Miller set off a couple of sticks of dynamite trying to kill me. That kind of criminal act deserves your full attention.”
“I’m doing what I can.” The sheriff fidgeted. “There’s no point in running in circles. Nate’s good at covering his tracks. It’s not likely we’ll find him sitting at the café in Riverton, munching on a jelly donut.”
Locating Nate wouldn’t be easy. Dylan understood that, but his level of frustration was nearing the boiling point. With Nate Miller at large, he and his family were in danger. Every time they left the house, they were targets. He didn’t like being trapped. “What steps are you taking?”
The sheriff licked his lips, probably yearning for another smoke. “Waiting for leads.”
Determined to control his temper, Dylan rose slowly to his feet. “Let me get this straight, Sheriff. Your basic plan is to do nothing.”
“I’ll tell you one thing I’ve been doing ever since this mess got started. I’ve been holding off the media. It wasn’t hard to sidestep our local people, but the Denver news stations have been snooping around.”
He knew that Carolyn’s publicity and promotion department in Denver had been working to keep things quiet. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of reporters shining a spotlight on Nicole’s kidnapping—that was sure to lead to a focus on their marital problems, including their visits to the fertility clinic. And wouldn’t that be a special piece of hell? “Please tell me you haven’t spoken to anyone.”
“Not yet. But they want me to hold a press conference and go on TV. One of those national tabloids called.”
Dylan planted his palms on the desktop and leaned across to confront the sheriff directly. “All of a sudden, doing nothing sounds like a mighty fine idea.”
“I’ve got some advice for you. Those reporters are persistent. Sooner or later, they’ll snag an interview with somebody. If you and Nicole want to avoid that spotlight, you should leave town.”
And let Nate Miller chase him off his own property? This was his home. He’d do whatever necessary to defend it.
The door to his office swung open, and Nicole stepped inside. She looked pretty this morning, dressed in jeans and a blue turtleneck under a matching button-up shirt. Her blond hair was neatly brushed and tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were bright.
She went directly to the sheriff and shook his hand. “I want to thank you for all your help.”
“Just doing my job. You’re looking well.”
“That I am.” Her determined smile almost covered up the underlying fear Dylan had seen last night as she continued, “I’d like to know when you can release Lucas Mann’s body for burial.”
“Within the next few days.” The sheriff stood and hitched up his belt, getting ready to leave. “I was contacted by the attorney who filed Lucas’s will.”
“Steve Stanley in Delta,” Dylan said.
“That’s the guy,” the sheriff said.
“His firm handles the basic paperwork for all our employees.” Full-timers at the ranch were required to fill out a will to go along with their health-and life-insurance policies. “I got the paperwork from Steve informing us that there wasn’t any next of kin. Lucas’s beneficiary was the homeless shelter in Delta.”
Nicole glanced at him. “The same place where you donate a side of beef every quarter?”
He nodded. He should have remembered that shelter last night when she was accusing him of being insensitive. He’d made a lot of charitable contributions. Being in the beef business, he hated to see anyone go hungry.
“In Lucas’s will,” the sheriff said, “he specifically asked to be cremated. He didn’t specify what should happen to the ashes.”
“If there’s no legal problem,” Nicole said, “I’d like to have his remains.”
The sheriff patted her shoulder. In seconds, his demeanor had switched from cold and hostile to genuine warmth. “You’re a good woman, Nicole. I’m sure that Lucas—wherever he is—would be glad that you were taking care of him.”
“He was family,” she said. “We loved him.”
“I know you did.”
If this conversation got much sweeter, Dylan thought he might go into insulin shock. He circled his desk and held open the office door. “Okay, Sheriff. Thanks for stopping by.”
“No need to rush,” Nicole said. “Would you like coffee? Polly made some of her famous raisin rolls.”
From down the hall, Dylan heard the front doorbell. Carolyn answered, and called out, “Nicole! Come here, Nicole.”
This wasn’t happening the way Dylan had planned. He’d hoped to be alone with his wife when the surprise arrived. He’d wanted her to be looking only at him.
No such luck.
Standing in the front foyer were two deliverymen from a flower shop in Delta. Each of them held two dozen red roses in vases. “These are for Nicole Carlisle,” one of the men announced. “From her adoring husband.”
Instead of cooing with delight, her eyes narrowed as she looked from the bouquets to him and back again. She didn’t appear to be pleased. What the hell? She had to be happy. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled by four dozen red roses?
He stepped toward her. “You said you wanted posies.”
“Thank you.”
The perfunctory statement of gratitude fell from her lips and landed on the floor with a thud. What had he done wrong this time?
Chapter Eight
After bidding the sheriff goodbye, Nicole directed the deliverymen to place the roses on the table in the dining room. A massive display, the flowers were absolutely gorgeous with their long stems, green leaves and sprigs of baby’s breath.
In the early years of their marriage, Dylan had often surprised Nicole with a bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked along the trail. The spontaneous gesture had delighted her. It had showed that he was thinking of her. He’d taken the trouble to dismount and gather brightly colored posies.
Roses from the florist weren’t the same. Anybody could pick up a phone and make a call.
With a sigh, she plucked one long-stemmed rose from the vase. This rich crimson woul
d fit nicely into her plans for Christmas decorations, though she doubted her husband had considered the color from a decorating standpoint.
He stood close behind her. “Do you like them?”
“Of course.” He was trying, and she had to give him points for the effort. “Really, Dylan. They’re lovely.”
“Well,” Carolyn said as she came close and inhaled the somewhat overwhelming fragrance. “If you ask me—”
“Nobody asked,” her brother said. “Nobody ever asks, but it never stops you from talking.”
Ignoring Dylan, she continued, “I like the roses better than poinsettias. We’ll tie some green ribbons around the vases, and they’ll be perfect.”
“I want to get started decorating today,” Nicole said as she trailed the velvety rose petal along her cheek. “It’s only two weeks until Christmas. I’m kind of surprised that nothing’s been done.”
“Blame your husband,” Carolyn said. “Andrea and I were ready to deck the halls, but Dylan said no.”
Puzzled, Nicole asked, “Why wouldn’t you let them decorate?”
“Because that’s your job,” he said. “I know how much you love Christmas. There’s a story behind every ornament you hang on the tree. I told Carolyn we had to wait for you.”
“Really?” She remembered their meeting in the forest when she’d been forced at gunpoint to tell him she wanted a divorce. “How did you know I’d come back?”
The green in his corduroy shirt emphasized the color of his eyes. A deep red flushed his cheeks. “I knew you’d be home for Christmas.”
His trust touched her heart. No matter what she’d told him, he believed in her. In their relationship. She held out her hand. “The holidays have always been a special time.”
When his fingers laced through hers, she felt the old Dylan returning—the bashful cowboy who blushed and wasn’t afraid to show he cared. This was the man she’d fallen in love with.
“We’ve got things to do,” Carolyn said. “Fiona and her daughter are coming over this afternoon with Jesse to help with the decorating. I’ll find Burke, and we’ll bring down the Christmas boxes from the attic.”
