She entered the stable quietly, almost as if she did not dare to break the silence that hung in the air. Devil whinnied at her approach.
She went directly to the tackroom to collect a bridle to slip on the spunky horse to lead him to the corral. But when she reached the door of the tackroom, she gasped in surprise at what she saw.
There was a man diligently at work in the far corner of the room, concentrating on the task at hand with such effort that he had not heard her approach. She stared at the broad back, clad in the flannel shirt and jeans that were like a uniform to the men who worked on the ranch. His dark curly hair strayed from the back of his wide-brimmed hat and crept over his collar. At first she thought it was Mac, remembering the scene she had overheard between him and Sara in the same room. But as he turned his head slightly to the side, she recognized Duke. His eyes looked thoughtful and far away. She saw no trace in that split second of the haughty and assured swagger that he usually sported.
Her throat was tight and her heart was hammering as she looked at the scene before her, but it was not the presence of Duke himself that had created such havoc within her. It was the task that so closely held his attention, the job before him that held so much importance to him that he was oblivious temporarily to the environment around him.
In one hand he held a well-used cleaning rag. Sitting by his feet was an array of leather-cleaning supplies: saddle soap, oil, polish. And on a block of wood before him was a saddle, once well used, but equally well cared for. Laura Ridley's English riding saddle. He rubbed the leather vigorously, keeping it supple and giving it the special glow that comes from constant care and attention. Laura's saddle.
She stood silently glued to the spot watching his efforts. Why was he giving such tender, loving care to her saddle? Could he possibly have been the man who had been a part of Laura's life? Robin's mind was racing. She had been so sure that the identity of the man that had been involved with Laura would lead to the answers to the questions that surrounded her death. Was she now standing less than thirty feet from a vicious killer? Snatches of memory grabbed at her. Her racing pulse as she had ridden across the prairie in the dark, trying to escape her pursuer, the sound of the crashing timber as the stable post had fallen, trapping Sara and killing Ladyfingers, the swerving jeep that had been maliciously tampered with...
Run, her mind screamed, get away from the man who is sitting before you, get away while you can! Escape before he notices your presence and takes matters into his own hands.... It was too quiet here, too lonely, too dangerous. Her mind snapped and jerked her body to action.
She turned quickly in the doorway to go, but it was too late. Even without hearing a sound, Duke had suddenly sensed her presence. He turned as she was moving out the door, and she caught sight of his face.
"Robin," he said quietly, and looked deeply into her eyes. If he had jumped up, if he had shouted, if he had given her the malicious stare that she had seen in the past, she would have bounded out the door and into the comparative safety of the open before a blink of the eye. But he did none of those things. He sat where he was, turning his broad shoulders quietly, rag still in hand, and looked at her with unhappy eyes. She stopped where she was and turned back to face him.
Her pulse was still hammering at a ferocious pace, but looking at the man before her for a moment without speaking, she felt her nerves calm down considerably and she crossed the room toward him.
"I'm glad you didn't run. Robin. I could see you wanted to." He looked at the saddle before him.
"I was shocked to see you there, working so hard and with so much care on Laura's saddle. I had been wondering who had been responsible for its upkeep."
She looked deeply into his dark eyes, trying so fervently to read what was there. She saw no anger, no fear, no violence. Her body relaxed.
"I'm the one who has taken care of the saddle, Robin. I'll admit that freely. I don't think it's any crime to keep it in good shape. Because of the memories."
"And not out of guilt?"
Duke's face twisted in pain. "Guilt for her death? No, not directly." He was quiet for a moment. "I've heard that you've been digging around, Robin, trying to discover the answers to the questions about her death. I guess it was a natural assumption that the person who cared for the saddle was connected in some way. And in a way, I guess I am."
The sad look was in his eyes again. He looked so different from the man who had grabbed her arm in the office corridor so many weeks before.
"But I didn't kill her, Robin. I swear it. I don't know why she died. I don't know who was responsible. At first I was sure it had been an accident. I didn't want to believe it could have been anything else. But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made. I don't know what happened on the day she died, and I probably never will. But I pray that her death was not because of me."
His voice broke.
"You loved her very much, didn't you, Duke?"
"You'll never know how much. I'll never forget. She was everything to me. She teased me, she taunted me, promising to get a divorce from Alex and go away with me. Deep inside, I knew she never would. I knew that even if she gave up the luxury and class and status that she had as Alex's wife, it wouldn't be for me. I knew that I was leaving myself wide open to the pain of losing her. But I couldn't help myself. I stayed, I played her games. I knew her for what she was, and for what she wasn't."
His voice was rough.
"I loved her, Robin, and now she's dead. Even after five years I find it hard to say those words. Sure, I feel guilt about her death, wondering if our relationship was in any way responsible for it, always wondering if things would have been different if I had been stronger and gone away. Would she still be alive?"
He turned back to the saddle, head low, and rubbed the leather vigorously.
Robin's heart was aching. She believed the words that she heard, believed that Duke had not been involved in Laura's death. His words rang true enough, but even more so, his eyes were those of a haunted man. He had loved Laura, and had held no illusions about her. He had known that he was in a hopeless situation, and had been powerless to muster the will to extract himself.
Suddenly the vision of Alex swept across her mind, and her heart convulsed in pain. Was she, too, rapidly immersing herself in the same situation? Her feelings for Alex seemed to become deeper and deeper by the day, despite any attempts she might make to remind herself of the lack of reality in her dreams. She loved him. She knew him. And he was not hers to love.
She reached out a hand and placed it on Duke's broad shoulder. How well she could sympathize with his feelings.
"I believe you." She said it simply. "I'm very sorry."
He gave her the glimmer of a smile. "I guess life goes on. You can't change the past, no matter how hard you try. It's just a little hard to live with sometimes." He hung his rag on a peg and placed the saddle on a railing.
"This guy had better get back to work now, or I'll have more problems than I have at the moment." He squared his shoulders, tipped his broad hat to the back of his head, and once again assumed his swaggering role.
"Okay, pretty lady, time for this dude to hit the trail." He gave her his haughty, self-assured look and moved out the door.
His manner had always made her uncomfortable in the past; she had thought of him as arrogant and rude and insensitive. She smiled as she stood alone in the tackroom.
It seems we all wear masks at times to protect our innermost feelings, and Duke was no exception, she thought. The swagger would no longer throw her off balance, because she had seen the real person behind the mask. He was more human than most folks in the vicinity would give him credit for, a fact that she was sure he would blatantly deny in public! Well, his secrets would be safe with her.
She took a bridle off its peg and led Devil to the corral so that he could stretch his legs. His pace was even and sure, showing no sign of pain or lameness. With a sigh of relief, Robin led him back to his stall. Sara would be
ecstatic that her pride and joy was once again in excellent shape.
Then Robin walked slowly back to the house, concentrating on her thoughts. She had found the man who had been a part of Laura's life, but the discovery had brought her no closer to the truth than she had been before. She thought of the beautiful and wild Laura Ridley, unhappy in her life and yet not willing to change it. But finally, and absolutely, her life had changed. It had ended.
It was not her admirer who had done the deed, of that Robin was pretty certain. She had teased and taunted, Duke had said. Had she teased and taunted others? Finally finding one who had reacted in a violent way? Or had jealousy been the motive, a husband who could take her games no longer?
No! Robin's mind screamed. Not Alex. There just had to be another answer. She reached her room in the large house and shut the door behind her. The bed looked cool and inviting as she slipped out of her clothing and slid between the covers. A nap was just what she needed, she told herself as her head settled into the fluffy pillow. Sleep would make the world seem clearer. Sleep would make the clouds seem less oppressing. She closed her eyes and drifted off, dreaming no matter how hard she tried not to, of Alexander Ridley.
Robin awoke in the late afternoon hours, feeling amazingly belter after her much-needed rest. She visited with the twins and Greg in the study for a while before dinner, relaying to Sara the good news of Devil's recovery and hearing the gay chatter of her escapades with her newfound friends in town. Jacob, too, was in a good mood, which would normally be a good thing to see, but his obsessive conversation about Deborah, her stories, her class, her beauty, struck an uneasy chord in Robin's heart.
Herman and Lisa arrived to join the group, martinis in hand, and Robin found herself watching them closely. She knew now that her suspicions about Herman and Laura were as unfounded as she had hoped. Laura had been involved with Duke, and although that knowledge brought her no closer to the identity of the real killer, she could put her mind to rest that Herman had not been a part of the unhappy triangle.
The door to the study opened once more, and Deborah stood on the threshold, looking like a photographer's model in her stylish dinner dress of pale green, showing off her well-shaped shoulders and long brown legs.
She made her entrance with a toothy smile, aware and delighted that all eyes were turned her way.
"Deborah." Jacob said with his boyish enthusiasm. He stood up from the game table with such vigor that he nearly knocked it over in his attempt to cross the room to speak to her.
"How delightful to see you, Jacob. Is that a game you're playing?" She looked down her nose a bit as if teasing the boy.
"Oh, I was just sitting and killing time with Sara. I am really too old for games, but Sara wanted to play..."
Sara's eyes across the room sent Robin their message: "Poor Jacob. He's going to have to learn the hard way about people like that—like I did."
"Of course, you're too old for games, Jacob," purred Deborah with a flutter of her eyes. "Anyone can see you're not a child anymore...but a handsome young man. Now, how about a drink for me? I'm positively parched."
Jacob jumped at her request, face glowing and proud. When he left the room, Lisa spoke, surprising Robin with her words since she was normally such a quiet addition to the group.
"He is just a boy, Deborah? It is truly unkind to mislead him and tease him with your feminine appeal. He'll only get hurt."
"I have no intention of hurting anyone," snapped the tall brunette, eyes flashing at Lisa's meek face. "Can I help it if people find me attractive? And if they get hurt, am I responsible for that?"
Her eyes held the cool, angry stare that she had given Robin on one of their first meetings.
But Lisa, for all her appearance of meekness, was not one to back down.
"Yes, Deborah, people are to some extent responsible for the havoc they create in others' lives. You can't go on taunting and hurting forever. It always catches up to you sooner or later."
Her voice was even and quiet, yet it held the attention of anyone in the room.
A deafening silence followed and the door opened again, admitting Jacob, drink in hand. He was followed by Alex. "Here you go, Deborah. Your wish is my command." Jacob held the drink out with happy eyes.
"Yes," murmured Deborah, ignoring his outstretched hand and lithely moving past him, positioning herself at Alex's side.
"Alex, darling, so good to see you. It's been such a dreadfully long day." She latched onto his arm and looked coyly into his eyes.
Robin was aware of the silence once again in the room, of the bleak and defeated look in Jacob's embarrassed eyes as he stared down into the drink still resting in his hand, and the unreadable expression on Alex's face as he looked at Deborah and said, "Yes, it has been a long dreary day. Let's hope for a more enjoyable evening."
Alex turned his head then to look at the others in the room, and his eyes rested on Robin, quizzically, as if aware of the tension in the room but unaware of the source. But she didn't meet his gaze. Instead she stared down at the still unfinished game on the study table, deep in her own thoughts.
Chapter 17
The following morning dawned drearily, the second day in a row of cloudy skies around Hamilton. Robin was less tired than on the preceding morning, but still had to rally her spirits as she prepared for the day, to keep a sunny disposition despite the clouds in the sky and the worries in her heart.
Gregory came bounding into the kitchen midmorning, his face aglow with devilish excitement, his eyes bright with alertness. Robin put aside her budget books and turned her attention to the eager young boy.
"Wait until you see, Robin. This is going to be an exciting day. We're going to have a storm!"
Robin laughed and gave his tousled head a pat.
"With the sun hidden behind all these clouds, I wouldn't be surprised, Gregory."
She thought of all the storms she had seen in her years of life in Chicago. Her father and she would curl up in comfortable stuffed chairs in the library of their large, old house near the university and read books in the soft glow of lamplight, while the Chicago wind and rain battered the slate roof and plummeted against the tall windows.
While the fury of the storms had been unleashed on the outside world, the two of them had been safe and quiet, peaceful in their own little world away from it all. The thought of her father's content face, reading diligently, his brilliant mind absorbed in the material before him, was a deeply warming one.
"What's so special about this storm that is about to arrive?" Robin asked the child with a smile.
"It's going to be a big one, Robin, probably a lot more dangerous than we've seen in a long time. Dad has got the ranch hands running every which way, battening down the hatches, and gathering in every head of livestock that can be found to round up. It's been so long in coming, you see. Those clouds have been building..."
Robin looked at him oddly. "Just what kind of storm are we going to have?" A small lump was forming in the pit of her stomach.
Gregory rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Good grief," he said in an exaggerated exasperation. "Don't you know anything?" Diligently he took her by the hand and moved over to the kitchen window.
He pointed to the overcast skies.
"At certain times of year, strange things happen with the weather out here. Late summer is sometimes the worst. The clouds gather, then get a greenish tinge around the edges. See?"
She stared up into the grayness, looking for the effect he described. Sure enough, as she looked carefully, she could see what he was talking about. The clouds had a definite green ring around them, a shadowy signal to those below of what was to come.
"I see what you mean. So now what will happen?"
"Hail, Robin. A hailstorm like you've never imagined."
"Hail? In this heat?"
"Like I said, late summer is the most likely time. And the most dangerous. People expect bad weather in the winter. They're prepared for it. But now
..." He paused, then went on. "The crops are ripening in the ground. One good storm will flatten them so that you'd never recognize them. And the cattle..."
She thought of the cattle that roamed the many square miles of range. She thought of the young calves that wandered cheerfully behind their mothers, born only that spring, used to the sunshine and relative peace of the summer skies.
"They've got to get them to shelter. I've seen hail stones bigger than golf balls, just falling from the sky covering everything in sight. They batter houses, cars, and hurt anyone caught without shelter."
Robin shuddered. The picture the ten-year-old painted was not a happy one.
"It sounds horrible, Gregory, absolutely horrible. How can you be so excited about it?"
A thoughtful look came over his young face, and for a split second, Robin felt that she had caught a momentary glimpse of what Alexander Ridley had been like as a child.
"It's nature, Robin, it's a part of living on this earth. I like the idea of trying to be ready for it, of trying to beat the storms and coming out okay. It's a sort of challenge, I guess. Makes me feel so close to the land. All of a sudden you realize just how strong nature is and feel a part of it all."
She put a hand on his slight shoulder, glad for their few short moments together.
As he said a hasty goodbye (with two fistfuls of cookies from the waiting cookie jar) and darted out to once again join the activity on the ranch, she looked out the window, noticing the scurrying of men as they secured doors and gates around the barns. They moved quietly, evenly, men with a purpose who were well aware of what they were up against. She watched as Gregory crossed the ground toward them, finally disappearing into the stable.
The sky had taken on an even greener tinge in the few moments that she had remained by the window. On the horizon, a horse and rider came into sight, hoofs hammering the dusty ground as they approached. She recognized Alex even at a distance, and watched his tall, lean form molded to the saddle as he covered the distance to the ranch.
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