Robin shivered as a chill traveled the length of her spine. It was hard for her to believe that a mere three days before she had been snug in her home in Chicago, living a solitary and uneventful life. The tale that she had just heard was horrifying and ugly. She tried to picture the man who had sat at the head of the table, raising the rock that killed his wife above his head. No, somehow, some way, it didn't ring true. He was gruff, he was insensitive. That she would admit without a moment's hesitation. Yet he had had a few moments of kindness, of charm, when she had met him.
Wouldn't a person who could act in such violent and ruthless ways have to be totally bad? Couldn't you tell just by looking at him? And why, anyway, would he have any desire to kill his wife, no matter how they may have argued?
Robin was surprised at the number of defensive arguments that crept into her mind as she sat absorbing the information she had just heard. She wanted to believe Alexander Ridley innocent. That she knew. But did she feel that way because she wanted to ease the pain in the heart of the young girl before her? Or did she really feel that she had had a glimpse into a man who was incapable of performing such an inhuman act?
Robin looked down at her just-finished letter to Herman as it lay on the desk before her. She gave a long sigh, then ripped it in two and deposited it in the trash can beside the desk.
"Sara," she said, "I'm not going to be scared away by the story you've just shared with me. I'm going to stay."
Sara's tear-stained face was a mixture of relief and joy.
"I'm—I'm so glad, Robin," she stammered.
"And," Robin continued, "I want you to stop being so melodramatic over the death of your mother. It was years ago, and what's done is done. There's no proof that your father had anything to do with the incident."
"But he's changed so much since that day. He wants nothing to do with us. He hates us, Robin. Jacob says it's clear he has a guilty conscience."
"Jacob is jumping to conclusions. Has it ever occurred to you that your dad may be filled with grief? That despite arguing with your mother, he may have loved her dearly, and been sad and empty at her death? Sometimes losing someone we love makes us act in strange ways." She couldn't stop the tears that filled her eyes. She was thinking of her own father.
"Robin, Robin, don't cry. I'm so sorry if I've made you cry. Have you lost someone you loved, Robin? You look so sad."
"My father. He was very sick. We knew he'd pass on, but it still hurt me tremendously when he did."
"I'm sorry, Robin." Sara's voice was very soft. "You mean Father may have been feeling something like that when Mother died? That maybe he really had nothing to do with it, and yet no one understood how he felt."
"It could be, Sara. I don't know your father very well. But what I'm trying to say is that it's wrong to accuse people of things when there's no proof."
"Jacob is so sure that he did it."
"You're very close to Jacob, aren't you?"
"Well, we're twins. And he's very smart, you know. I don't have a lot of friends. We do a lot together. We go to private school in California and just fly home for holidays and summer."
"I imagine you have a lot of friends in school."
Sara blushed. "Not really. Jacob says no one would like us if they knew about Father, so we keep to ourselves most of the time. I don't like school. I'd much rather be here."
Robin tried to push down the anger she was feeling inside. These poor children were experiencing such tragedy in their early years, growing up without close parental relationships and guidance at a time when they were most necessary, drowning themselves in suspicion and unhappiness. She wanted to help them, to befriend them, but she didn't know how.
When the clock in the hallway chimed eleven times, Sara and Robin decided to table their conversation until morning. Sara left for her own room soundlessly, and in a much better state of mind than when she had come in.
Robin, on the other hand, was left alone with her thoughts, a mixture of confusion and uneasiness. She could feel herself being drawn into the web of problems that surrounded the Ridley Ranch.
And she kept wondering about Alexander Ridley. What was he really like?
Chapter 4
The fatigue of her journey caught up with Robin as she retired that first night, and she slept deeply and restfully until the clamoring alarm beside her had announced that seven o'clock had arrived.
She bathed quickly and selected a cool skirt and blouse to wear for her first day on the job. She had so much to learn today about managing the house! She combed her long hair carefully and tied it with a bright ribbon at the nape of her neck.
She was ready to start the day.
The house was very silent as Robin left her room and started down the hallway to the kitchen area. Robin supposed the family was still abed. But she found Cook already busy in the kitchen, standing before a spotless counter, furiously kneading a ball of dough before her.
Robin smiled at the energetic little woman.
"Good morning, I see you certainly were ahead of me getting up this morning!"
"Howdy, Robin. It would take a bit of rushing to beat me out of bed in the morning. Most days I get here by six. I like to get the baking done before the heat of the day."
Robin watched silently as the efficient woman molded the dough into rectangular loaves, then put them aside to rise.
"Now," Cook said, washing her hands at the large stainless-steel sink, "I'll get the account books and then you can get started."
She crossed the kitchen and came back with some fancy red ledgers, one labeled "Employees" and one labeled "Household Expenses."
For the next two hours the woman carefully went over the paperwork that explained the household budgeting.
Gradually, Robin became more and more relaxed as the details were set before her. The system was efficient and well organized. She would have no trouble in doing an adequate job for the Ridley family.
The house staff was dependable and well trained, as anyone could see by inspecting the immaculate condition of the house. Mr. Ridley made monthly deposits into the accounts that paid wages and household necessities, and the amounts were more than generous. Employees were well taken care of at the Ridley Ranch.
Basically, Robin's job would include menu planning with Cook, supervision of supply orders, directing the cleaning staff, payment of wages for the household employees, and allowances for the Ridley children. The records were kept accurately and fully. She would have quite a bit of paperwork to do each day. But as she surveyed the information before her, Robin realized that she would have quite a bit of time left to herself.
Surely, in a few hours of steady work each morning, she would complete her duties easily. Certainly, there was not enough work to merit the generous salary she was to receive. Her conscience told her that she'd have to dare to talk to Mr. Ridley once more as her sense of fairness insisted that she should put forth a full day's work.
Robin and Cook labored over the daily menu and planned the necessary shopping list. As they finished, Robin swallowed nervously as she replaced the ledgers on the shelf and headed for the rear wing of the house to locate Alexander Ridley.
A heavy glass door separated the back wing of the house from the living quarters. It opened easily as Robin pulled the chrome handle, and as it closed behind her, she felt as if she were entering a different world.
The carpeting in the long hallway was of the indoor/outdoor variety, serviceable and unpretentious compared to the lush floor coverings in the rest of the house. The walls were painted an identical shade of beige, and the many doors she passed gave her glimpses of simple, businesslike rooms. One held a long meeting table, encircled by stark high back chairs. Another room showed cabinet-covered walls, the labeled filing cabinets evidently holding the necessary data needed for running a ranch of this size. Robin was heading for the open door at the far end of the long hallway that bore a small white sign above the archway of the door: "Office."
But it was
deserted. Surely, Alexander Ridley would be up and around by this hour. It was the middle of the morning. She had spent hours on the books with cook in the kitchen. She decided that he was probably out on the ranch somewhere. And she resigned herself to waiting until dinner to bring up her duties with him.
She turned to retrace her steps down the long hall of the ranch wing and almost collided with a young man standing directly behind her.
Where did he come from? And how long had he been standing there?
"Well, hello there," he drawled. "And what have we here?"
Robin could feel the telltale heat rising in her face, sure signs of the blush that was spreading across it.
"Excuse me," she stammered. "I'm looking for Mr. Ridley."
"I'll just bet you are, honey." The words seemed to drool like honey from his half-smiling lips, suggestive and insulting as he stood in his faded blue shirtsleeves with his weight on one hip, his hat sitting rakishly on the back of his head.
She was irritated by his arrogance and rudeness, as she had been with Jacob only the night before. Were all men in the West so disrespectful, so rude? But she knew she couldn't go on endlessly being irritated during her stay here. Besides, the carefree smirk on the face of the man before her didn't hide the streak of hardness in his eyes. No, she wouldn't react to this man. To tell the truth, she wouldn't dare.
"I'm looking for Mr. Ridley, as I have some business matters to discuss with him." Her tone was icy and abrupt. "Now if you'll excuse me, sir."
He grabbed her arm.
"I'll tell Mr. Ridley you called." He let go with a start, and she could feel the aching pain where his rough hands had been.
She flew down the long hall, anxious to escape from him.
Just who was that man? Did he work here? She fervently prayed that she wouldn't have to face him alone again.
"Come on, Robin, let's go for a ride," suggested Sara as they finished their lunch in the dining room.
Jacob and Gregory' had taken off together to go into town for supplies for Cook, and Mr. Ridley had not appeared for the midday meal.
Robin hesitated at first, uneasy about taking free time from her supposedly full-time job, but she knew she had done all that she could on her first day, and there had been no chance to speak with her boss.
She had met the three local girls who were responsible for the cleaning, and had immediately liked and trusted their bright and freshly scrubbed faces as they showed her their immaculate linen and cleaning-supply closets, well stocked with mops and brooms and cleaning aids.
"And you're not to do any of the cleaning yourself. Miss Robin," announced the tallest. "Mr. Ridley was always strict about that. You just tell us what to do, and we'll see to it."
"I can tell you do a good job by looking around me," exclaimed Robin as they outlined the plan of action for the day.
They beamed with delight, and then went about their work.
Why, this house could practically run by itself, thought Robin guiltily. Whatever do they need a housekeeper for?
And that thought reinforced her desire to speak to Alexander Ridley, to admit that she did not feel that she could pull her weight with the generous salary she would be getting.
But when Sara brought up the possibility of going riding, Robin felt her blood stir. She had ridden often in her childhood years, taken scores of lessons in a nearby stable in Chicago, and it had been a few years since she had felt her feet in the stirrups. With her father's illness, such hobbies were left by the wayside. She thought of filling her lungs once more with the fresh air of the prairie. She thought of feeling the warm summer sun on her face, the tingle of excitement she had felt only yesterday as she began her love affair with the beauty of Montana, and the thoughts pulled her like a magnet.
Tonight I'll talk to Mr. Ridley, she rationalized. Today I will go riding.
And so they made their plans to meet by the front door in a few short minutes, long enough for Robin to shed the skirt she was wearing and don her beloved and neglected jodphurs that still lay packed in one of her suitcases.
"Now don't laugh, Sara." Robin warned. "I'm a city-bred rider, and I ride English style. But maybe once I get reaccustomed to a horse, you can break me into western style."
"Fair enough, Robin." Sara paused. "I'll have one of the gentle horses saddled up with the English saddle. I guess it'll be okay. It hasn't been used since Mother..." Her face clouded over.
"Then it's time it was used again," interrupted Robin. She already cared greatly for the sensitive girl she was with and had subconsciously appointed herself a one-girl crusader to rid her young mind of the ghosts and cobwebs that were lurking there and tearing her apart.
They parted to prepare for their ride.
Robin was thankful she had had the foresight to pack her riding outfit, remembering how she had struggled to fit her belongings into her crowded cases. She had almost left it behind.
It was only a short time later that she appeared at the entranceway of the house in her high leather boots, tan jodphurs, and her blond hair tucked up under her black riding helmet.
Sara started a little at first, but quickly her smile reappeared and they headed for the stable.
The air outside was hot and dry in the early afternoon. The sun was almost directly overhead. They approached the small wooden structure that stabled the horses and Robin's nostrils were filled with the smell of fresh hay and horse. Her pulse quickened. There were only four horses still standing in the stable as they entered. Over a dozen stalls stood empty, their inhabitants already saddled and out on the range with the ranch hands. Sara saddled up her own horse, a tall rambunctious black stallion, his feet kicking randomly, his upper lip curling angrily as Sara slid the bit into his mouth.
"He looks a little mean. Sara. That's an awful lot of horse. Are you sure you can handle that one?"
Sara only laughed. "He's mine. Robin. I broke him in myself. No one else dares to get near him. His name is Devil. I can handle him, all right. I like to live dangerously."
And indeed her eyes were sparkling in a strange way as she ran her hand down the proud and hostile black nose of her mount.
Robin shivered, immediately grateful that the gentle chestnut mare that had been selected for her looked steady and graceful.
The English saddle was in perfect condition, the leather supple and showing good care. Someone had obviously been attending to it during the five years that it had been unused.
The girls mounted their horses and look off across the prairie, Devil plowing up dust and dirt as he thundered along with Sara exuberantly riding atop. Robin's mount, Ladyfingers, following demurely behind, with Robin sitting regally in the saddle, posting easily, her helmeted head cutting a dark profile as they left the ranch behind.
Many heads turned to watch her go by, Cook at the kitchen window, Jacob and Gregory as they pulled up the drive in the jeep, the ranch hands on the range, and Alexander Ridley as he gazed from the doorway of the barn where he stood.
Not a word was spoken, but the effect was undeniable. The feminine figure riding calmly on the horizon looked like the ghost of Laura Ridley.
It only took Robin a couple of minutes on the back of Ladyfingers to feel at home in the saddle once more. The horse was gentle and well mannered. She responded immediately to even the slightest tug of the reins or an almost indiscernible nudge of the heel.
The girls took off across the open prairie, leaving the ranch and its surrounding buildings far behind. As they quickened their pace, Robin felt exhilarated.
They traveled miles across the land, Sara far out ahead, her dark braids flying behind her as she crouched low on the back of her spirited stallion.
Robin soon decided to ease Ladyfingers to a slower pace, and heard her whinny gratefully as she broke from a gallop to a trot. She had had enough of the breakneck pace, and Robin was not one to push a horse unmercifully.
They were riding parallel to a long rail fence by this time, with Sara gaining mor
e and more distance. She glanced back and saw that Robin had slowed her mount, and she pulled Devil sharply to the right. Within seconds Sara rode back toward Robin and Ladyfingers. Devil's hoofs pounded into the hard ground like a jackhammer, Sara still plastered to his back like a jockey at a racetrack. But they were moving too fast. Robin jerked her docile horse sharply to the left as Devil came thundering past, veering his massive bulk at a sharp angle and hurdling over the fence that stood by the side.
Robin had had a glimpse of Sara's determined face as she had sped by, a tight, intense grimace as she led her stately stallion over the fence. They came to a quick halt at the other side and started walking back.
Robin was irate. Such a reckless and foolhardy action could have resulted in a terrible accident. She was ready to reprimand Sara sharply.
But as Sara drew near, she saw the elated gleam in her eye, the breathless look of excitement written over her entire face.
"We sure scared you," she gloated. "You should have seen your face when Devil came flying past. Isn't he a beauty?"
Robin could feel her face burn with anger. "You could have killed me," she said angrily. "Whoever told you it was right to ride a horse that way? What if you had run into us?" Robin's voice was shaking.
"But we didn't run into you, did we. Robin? I knew we wouldn't. Don't be such a stick in the mud."
Sara gave Devil a sharp kick in the side with her heels and headed him back toward the ranch. He threw his head back as if he were laughing as he walked proudly by. His eyes were lit with the same reckless light that Robin had seen in Sara. Those two were a good match, she thought.
Season of Fear Page 3
