To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  “A flesh wound,” he said without inflection. Like mentioning the storm earlier. “I’m a hell of a shot, I ever tell you that? The bullet grazed your arm. Enough to hurt like hell and offer you some incentive to play along, but nothing a few stitches won’t put right. I’ll give you a minute. Then, I think you ought to take your seat. Finish that drink. Hot beer ain’t any good.”

  Neve’s senses might’ve gone into shock, but her mouth apparently reverted to instinct in a time of crisis. “I’ve at least earned a finger or two of whiskey.”

  Tim issued a low rumble of laughter.

  He’s insane. What do I do? Where’s Duke?

  Her cell phone was in her pocket. Her heart leaped. She had cell service at the ranch. If she’d known Tim was going to come back with a firearm, she’d have used her spare moment to text Duke. In the meantime, she had to find a way to mute the stupid thing before someone called or texted and gave away her only hope of reaching out for rescue.

  Where were Laurel and Owen? Miles? Were they in on this, or would they help her? Jesus Christ, had she stumbled across the Southern edition of the Manson family?

  Wheels turned and her vision cleared. The shock faded as the pain in her arm, which she could now pinpoint to one burning spot on her bicep, grew. She craned her neck to check it. A graze, like Tim said, but as hot as the heart of a raging fire and seeping blood. It flowed down to her elbow, where it gathered and dripped onto Tim’s wooden floor.

  She cursed herself for not realizing he’d left until she looked up to see him walk into the room with a tumbler of dark brown liquid.

  Sweet Jesus, he actually brought me whiskey. “You’re a swell guy, Tim.” Her legs trembled and shook as she forced herself to stand enough to crawl back into the chair.

  The thick-bottomed glass landed with a thud in front of her, and she hardly waited for Tim’s hand to pull away before snatching it and slamming back the whiskey like it was the elixir of life. In sixth grade, she’d broken her arm playing a rather violent game of football with the neighborhood boys one summer. She hadn’t felt pain like it since or before, until now. She turned a flat stare to Tim, refusing to plead or show an ounce of the desperation growing in her breast. “Be a pal, Yosemite, and hit me again. With whiskey,” she added, eying the pistol he held loose at his side with distrust.

  He didn’t smile this time. His patience waned, evident in the hard line of his mouth and absence of amusement in his hazel gaze. Still, at the far end of the galley, he grabbed the whiskey decanter, this time bringing the whole thing to the table. He poured another smaller shot and sat down, waiting for Neve to toss it back.

  She did, not bothering to savor it. The faster the liquor hit, the sooner it would start numbing the incredible pain in her arm. She didn’t wait for Tim to restart the interview. “You have the chest. I don’t get what you want from me.”

  He leaned back. He’d set the chest on the table, off to the side. Now, he pulled it to the center and looked at Neve over the top of the intricate lock. “This ain’t your box, sweetheart. This one is mine.”

  Neve blew out air from puffed cheeks. “Whatever. Okay, so two boxes. So what? I can’t open the one I have. Is that what you want, the key? Because I don’t have it. I found the box, and it’s locked and impossible to open without destroying whatever could be inside.” She refrained from mentioning Duke was involved. Didn’t seem wise to tell the maniac with the gun every little detail.

  Tim smiled, the same predatory grin he’d showed her once already tonight. His true smile, if she had to peg it. “Key’s not what’s important. It’s what’s inside that I want. Or rather, what I don’t want seeing the light of day in my lifetime. There are some secrets that need to be kept buried. It’s funny. You and your aversion to lies, while my whole way of life and everything I hold dear depends on them. I reckon it’s a simple matter of perspective.”

  Did she dare ask? Did she want to know? “What’s in the chest, Tim?”

  “I’m not a villain in some movie, city girl. I want the box. That’s all. I sent Miles to your trailer while I kept you busy at the cabin, and he couldn’t find it. Does your boy Duke have it, then? Miles watched him leave with a bag, but his instructions were to search the trailer.”

  Well, that answered her question about Tim’s cohorts. Definitely in on it. As for Duke, no telling. He could be following up a lead, or Miles was very bad at hide and seek. “Duke and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. If he took it somewhere, he didn’t tell me.”

  Tim leaned forward, serious again. “Tell me where the box is, Neve. If hurting you doesn’t work, there’s always your assistant. Then again, your regard for human beings seems a little lacking. Now, I’m an animal lover, but I’ll do what I’ve got to.”

  The implied threat to Darcy the Pit sent chills down her spine and froze the very air in her lungs. “I’ll murder you in your sleep if you touch a single fucking whisker on my dog,” she managed to say on a breathy exhale.

  Tim didn’t seem to register the threat. Nor did he respond when the shrill ring of Neve’s cell phone cut through the silence between them, adding a new flavor to the tension-filled atmosphere.

  Neve’s heart filled with dread. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “You want me to get that?”

  “I sure do. And if it’s your partner, invite him on over. With the box, of course.”

  With her uninjured arm, Neve twisted to her side, dug her phone from her pocket, and used her thumb to slide the answer button. “Duke. Where are you?”

  “I’m with Cherish. There’s no time to explain.” His excitement hummed over the line. “Listen to me carefully, Neve. Stay away from Lady Killer Ranch. Timothy Hux has been after the chest. You won’t believe what’s in here.”

  She bit her lip. Shit. Duke not only had the chest but had accessed whatever Tim had shot a woman in order to contain. “Uh…” Too late now. “Tell me more.”

  Tim waited with his head cocked to one side. He crossed his arms, the pistol still gripped in one hand.

  Duke’s discovery had left him near breathless. “They’re letters. Neve, you won’t believe…letters between Ben and Florrie. Letters from Florrie to the woman who ended up raising Florrie’s baby. It’s all here, the whole history. I took everything to Cherish Rancourt to confirm. I’m with her now, and it’s all legit, Neve.”

  “What’s legit, Duke? You’re all over the place.”

  He groaned with frustration. “Ben told Florrie everything in his letters. Lulu did know about the baby. His name was Paul, and his birth wasn’t the tipping point that set Lulu off. He was six months old when Florrie was killed, so that didn’t make sense, anyway.”

  “Wait, when did we learn that?”

  Duke ignored her. “Somehow, Lulu must’ve found out what Ben planned to do, but Florrie knew what was coming and had Paul taken away. And Lulu didn’t kill herself. She was murdered, too. By Ben.”

  Neve nearly forgot Tim was sitting across from her. “What are you talking about? None of this makes sense. Why would he do that? And why wasn’t he able to protect Florrie if he was there when it all happened?”

  “Ben did something drastic, and when Lulu found out, she planned to kill Paul. Only Paul was gone, and in a rage, she killed Florrie. Ben came upon the scene. He knew the baby was safe, but he says in his final letter, the one accompanying his living will, he felt Paul was better off raised without him. He’d always be at risk. Where Lulu had failed, one of her sons might one day succeed. Better they believe the baby had died. He must’ve hidden the box away so one day someone like you would find it and his proper heir would be recognized. Then Ben avenged Florrie.”

  “By killing Lulu. What did Ben do to set her off, anyway, if not have another kid?”

  “That’s the part where Tim Hux comes in. Ben left everything—the ranch, the land, all of it—to Florrie and her baby. He writes in one of the letters to Florrie that he found out none of Lulu
’s boys were his. The timing had never added up. Just like he hadn’t married for love, neither had Lulu. She’d married for security. She didn’t care about Ben’s mistress. But when he found out Lulu’s children didn’t belong to him, he had his will rewritten. Instead, he deeded the ranch to the child he knew for certain was his. Paul Huxley. That’s when the name changed. Lulu’s boys weren’t true Huxleys. Ben shortened the name, going so far as to rename the ranch they’d inherit, in a subtle declaration of the truth. It’s all right here, Neve. Tim has no claim to Lady Killer Ranch.”

  “Florrie’s baby,” Neve whispered. She raised her eyes to Tim.

  He had the gun pointed right at her. “I caught the gist of it. Tell your friend to bring the box to the ranch, or I’m going to give you a bigger hole to worry over.”

  She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “Tim, it’s over. There’s evidence you’re not the legal owner of this property.” Her mouth fell open as it hit her. “Krandall Beels is.”

  On the other end of the line, Duke concurred. “Cherish was Paul’s wife. And Krandall is their son, and yes, the rightful owner of Lady Killer Ranch. Tim’s known the evidence existed this whole time.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m with him now. And he wants the box and all the documents brought here. Or he’s going to shoot me again, Duke.”

  “And his dog, too.” Tim smiled. “Better mention that. Especially if he thinks about bringing the local sheriff along. ”

  Miles walked in then, Darcy the Pit and Hannah trailing behind him on their leashes.

  Chapter 13

  Tim poured her another shot of whiskey. He’d laid the gun down on the table. The barrel still faced Neve like the staring black eyeball of a demon, but at least no finger rested on the trigger.

  This time, she sipped the strong liquor, mindful it may be her last joyful thing in this life. What she’d give for Darcy the Pit to come through on that badass reputation right about now, instead of lolling her tongue around, simply excited to be on an adventure. Until some overt act of violence took place, the dog wouldn’t react. Neve didn’t know Hannah well enough to say what she’d do if one of the men attacked, but she, too, appeared serene, if not outright bored, by it all.

  “Tell me about the chests, Yosemite.” Now the cards were on the table, she saw no point in keeping secrets. “Duke and I searched everywhere for the key. I still can’t tell you where the hell he found it. No one in town has seen anything like the metal-locking mechanism. We even tried the historical society.”

  A glint of pride rippled over his features. “Family heirloom, you might say. My great-granny Lulu learned metal-smithing from my great-grandpa. And no, I don’t mean old Ben. I mean the real one, of course. Only child Ben ever sired was missing-presumed-dead baby Paul. Alive after all.”

  “If you didn’t know Paul lived, why did you need the letters so desperately?”

  He settled back and let out a small sigh. At some point, he’d poured himself a whiskey, too. Half of what he’d poured for Neve.

  Of course, he’s not the one with a gunshot wound.

  “I’ve always known the ranch wasn’t mine. Just like my daddy knew. And my granddaddy. And Krandall, me and him, we schooled together. Beels or not, he can’t make no claim to my ranch. He doesn’t know a thing. How could he? But Lulu didn’t keep no secrets from her boys. Ben was never nothing more than a means to survive. She wrote everything in a letter, along with her plans for that little nigger baby of Ben’s. I had no idea about the chest you had until Miles mentioned Vince babbling on about your strange little box. And how remarkably similar it sounded to one I happen to have.” He put a hand on top of the chest. “Lulu would hardly have hidden anything at the cursed cabin, but easy enough for Ben to get his hands on one of Lulu’s chests and stash proof—proof we’ve kept hidden for generations.”

  “Proof this land belongs to Krandall.”

  “Like hell.” Steel flashed behind his gaze. “See, Granddaddy found Lulu’s letters in her workshop after Ben passed away, letters explaining everything she’d done. Ben had kept the space barred, closed up tight after he murdered Lulu in cold blood.”

  “She killed the woman he loved after failing to murder his only legitimate child. I’d call it a crime of passion.”

  “I’d call it hypocrisy. You think life on a ranch is easy? Lulu put her life into this land. She didn’t do nothing worse than what Ben did, carrying on publicly the way he did. With a whore, no less. A black whore. A mark of shame for his whole family. Lulu deserved better. She deserved to see her children taken care of.”

  In a way, Neve sort of agreed. Ben had been a real piece of work. She’d say it ran in the family, except Tim’s insanity had apparently come down from Lulu. “Fine. Whatever. Say you’re right, you deserve the ranch and Krandall doesn’t. First of all, the law doesn’t take into account what one deserves. It’s a simple matter of ownership. What’s your plan, Yosemite? You going to shoot everyone who knows the truth? Because that’s three charges of murder in the first degree. Paul’s wife is with Duke. Cherish Rancourt is the one who verified the letters.”

  “When I burn the evidence, it’s a matter of word. Yours versus mine. And possession is nine-tenths. Duke gives me the documents, and y’all scamper on home. This gun won’t exist by the time you get any authorities out this far. Ain’t nobody got time to search hundreds upon hundreds of acres for a weapon that may or may not exist.”

  Neve wanted to make a joke, but the throbbing pain in her arm reminded her of the seriousness of the situation. Some part of her still seemed convinced she’d get herself out of this. But even if she ran for it, Tim Hux was psychotic enough, judging by the graze on her arm, that he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through both of the stupid happy dogs, now practically sitting on each other at Miles’s feet.

  He hadn’t uttered a word since entering with the dogs. Bunch of coldhearted fuckers, these Hux boys.

  She resigned herself to the role of damsel. It chafed. She’d done things solo her whole life, but there was no getting herself out of this pickle alive—and with two healthy dogs—without a cavalry arriving to save the day.

  Duke would deliver. He had to. If not for her, he’d do it for Hannah. Somehow, that gave her more faith than if she were his sole motivation. All else aside, the dude really loved his dog.

  * * * *

  Duke had never attempted a daring rescue mission before.

  Cherish and Krandall weren’t exactly helping. Cherish tittered after Duke, and Krandall didn’t seem to have a care for what happened next. He’d already made it clear as day he had no interest in the ranch. After Cherish had ridden with Duke back to Thrift House to wake Krandall again and show him the proof of his inheritance, he only tagged along to look after his mother, who insisted remaining by Duke’s side until the ordeal was over.

  Somehow, Duke doubted Tim would take much confidence in Krandall’s disinterest. He wanted the documents, and he’d have them.

  He’d also have a new hole to match Neve’s if he wanted to make things any more difficult than that. Duke held up the Beretta and gave it a distrustful once-over. He was a rifle man. The pistol didn’t sit right in his hand. But he still knew how to pull the trigger. Would, if it came to that. Fear, cold and heavy, settled into his gut like a boulder when Neve told him about the gunshot wound on her arm. He’d hardly even registered Tim’s other hostages, Darcy and Hannah. They were secondary. He couldn’t save them without first getting Neve out of that house.

  “Listen, Krandall, I appreciate the, uh, weapon.”

  Krandall’s unhappy expression didn’t change. All just a big old inconvenience, this.

  Cherish worried her hands. They sat together on the sofa in the location trailer. “Duke, please. Sheriff Walsh could be here in five minutes. Let him handle this.”

  “I’m sorry, Cherish, but I told you. Tim will shoot the dogs. Not only do I believe he’ll do it. He’s got it in him to
shoot a woman he’s become something of friends with, but I also happen to know, with absolute conviction, Neve won’t forgive me if I let anything happen to Darcy the Pit.”

  Huh. The full name did sort of roll off the tongue once he got used to it.

  “He won’t expect me to be armed. And while I don’t have much use for guns these days, I grew up hunting with my dad. Never aimed at a human before, but there’s probably no end to the shit we’re each capable of with the proper motivation.”

  He stopped, sat up straight, and blinked at the wall.

  “Shit,” he breathed, realization dawning like a new day. A new, unwanted, unbidden day. “I love her. That’s what this is. I’m not worried for a friend. I’m terrified down to my bones that I might lose her.” He swallowed hard. “She’s…I can’t lose her. It’d kill me. God, she’s so awful, how did this happen?”

  He didn’t expect an answer, but Cherish offered one. “Well, you’re a nice man. She must be a sweet girl.”

  “If a granite wall were a person, that’d be Neve. Hard, unyielding, bossy, angry.” The list really did go on.

  “Oh.” The old woman shrugged. “Well, the heart wants what the heart wants and all that.”

  He rubbed his forehead with the hand not holding the loaded gun. When she’d said Tim had shot her, everything inside him fell like a scattered pile of Legos, all corners and edges, and none of it fitting together. Before the cabin, before the anger and the arguing, they’d been friends. For two years, he’d been Neve’s neighbor and confidant. And while he’d gone to Hell and back to avoid her temper, he also loved her fierceness. He loved that she was solid. She had a mouth, but she backed up everything that came out of it. She lived her credo of honesty, even when it was the kind that hurt. Neve taught him lies didn’t hurt less if they sat behind good intentions. It all hurt the same. So, maybe she was right. Better brutal honesty than honeyed deception.

  He shook his head.