by Sharon Sala
Roman started toward the two bodies but Ryder stopped him. With tears streaming down his face, he grabbed his brother’s arm. “No. Let me.”
Roman ached for his brother’s pain as he stepped aside, and Ryder walked into the room, absorbing the filth and degradation of the place in which she’d been kept. Dropping to his knees, he lifted her from the filth on the floor and into his arms.
Blood ran down her legs as her head lolled against his shoulder, and then he couldn’t see her face for his tears. His heart broke as he cradled her against his chest.
His voice broke along with his heart. “No more! No more!” Laying his head near her cheek, he choked on a cry. “Ah God, I can’t take anymore!”
His shoulders hunched as he bent from the burden of living when those he loved kept dying around him.
Roman knelt at his side, sharing his brother’s pain. He glanced at the woman in Ryder’s arms. Even through the bruises and dirt, her beauty was plain to see. Years ago, he’d shut himself off from this kind of loss. He’d seen so much death and too much misery to let himself be hurt by it anymore, but this was too close to home. This woman, Ryder’s wife, was gone too soon. He reached out, lifted her hair from the blood on her face, and as he did, his finger brushed the curve of her neck.
His eyes widened as he tensed and shoved Ryder’s hand aside. When he felt the pulse beating strong and sure, he rocked back on his heels. A miracle! That’s what it was. A heaven-sent miracle.
Ryder choked on a sob. “Don’t, Roman. Just leave us alone.”
Roman grabbed his brother’s hand, his voice shaking as he pressed it at the pulse point on Casey’s neck. “She’s alive, Ryder. I swear to God, your wife is alive!”
* * *
At that same moment in the Ruban household many miles away, Matilda Bass heard a whisper. She froze, and then tilted her head, straining to hear. As suddenly as the whisper had come, it was gone, and Tilly’s body went limp. She leaned against the cabinet as the bowl she was holding slipped out of her hands and onto the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, just like the weight that had been on her heart.
Joshua spun, wide-eyed and startled. And then he saw her face.
“Tilly?”
“They found her, they found her. My baby girl is alive.”
EPILOGUE
From below, the shiny black helicopter flying high above the earth resembled an oversize dragonfly charging through the air. From up above, the earth resembled a vast crazy quilt in varying shades of greens and browns that covered the landscape over which they were flying.
As if at some unseen signpost up in the sky, the pilot suddenly shifted course and soon, a long black rooftop became visible in the distance, along with the roofs of several outbuildings, connected together with a chain stitch of holding pens and corrals.
Casey leaned forward, grabbing at Ryder’s leg as her eyes lit with excitement. “Is that it? Is that the Justice ranch?”
Ryder grinned at her. “That’s it, darlin’. All seven thousand acres.”
Her smile was nervous as she glanced at him. “I’m a little anxious about meeting your family.”
“Easy now, you know they’re going to love you.”
She sighed. “I wish I could have promised you the same thing when I took you home to mine.”
Ryder laughed. “At least they like me now.”
“Like! Oh, Ryder, in their eyes, you are the next best thing to sliced bread and you know it.”
His grin widened. “Only because Miles’s new girlfriend keeps him too busy to meddle in our affairs.”
Casey nodded in agreement. “And who would have thought that Erica would go on vacation and come home with a husband?”
“Yeah, and he has a job, which was more than you could say for me when you dumped me in their laps. Dora is walking in tall cotton over the fact that they are moving to Atlanta and taking her with them.”
Casey laughed aloud. “Gran will miss you. You were the best chauffeur we ever had.”
“Dora and I understand each other,” he said. “But let’s be honest, I was the worst chauffeur, and you know it. However, now that I have moved my planes and the charter service to Ruban Crossing, I have become a bona fide, acceptable businessman.”
She patted his leg in a tender gesture. “Tilly was right all along. Somehow she knew you belonged. You are the best thing that ever happened to my family.” Her voice broke. “And to me.”
Ryder gave her a quick, nervous glance. A few months ago he’d cradled her body on the floor of Fostoria Biggers’s bedroom, certain that his world had just come to an end. Sometimes at night he still lay awake just to watch her sleep. What she had endured was beyond his understanding; that she had endured it at all was a miracle in itself.
Now, most of the time she was fine. But once in a while, when things got too quiet, he saw her soul slip into a shadow and he knew she was fighting a dark demon of her own. He knew from experience that it would take time, and a whole lot of love, for the memories of what she’d endured to recede.
“I love you,” he said softly.
Casey shivered, as if struck by an unexplained chill, and then she lifted her head and smiled and Ryder relaxed. For now, Casey was back in the light.
“I love you, too, wild man. Now take me home. I have a need to feel Texas under my feet.”
Relieved that the moment had passed, he grinned. “Royal is going to love hearing you say that. He’s a real homebody. He lives for his daughter and the ranch, and I can tell you right now that, except for a remarkable resemblance which we all share, Royal is nothing like Roman.”
A small shudder rippled through Casey’s body, but she refused to deny it access. Remembering Roman also meant remembering when they’d first met. Of waking up and seeing Ryder—of being lifted into the helicopter and looking up at an echo of her husband’s face as Ryder laid her in Roman’s arms—of helicopters and hospitals—of police and FBI. Of fearing the dark and doctors and needles. Of Tilly’s hand on her cheek and Joshie’s kiss on her brow. And always, overshadowing everything and everyone, was Ryder. Ever present, ever faithful, everlasting.
She turned to look out the other side of the helicopter, marveling at the size of the cattle herds in the far distance. From up here, the cattle looked like so many ants. Finally, she was able to say what she thought.
“Roman will always have a special place in my heart. I like him a lot.”
Ryder’s grin slid a little off center as his emotions betrayed him. “Oh, hell, honey, I like him, too. He’s my brother. And I owe him more than I will ever be able to repay.”
The look they shared was brief, but it was enough to remember they had a lot for which to be thankful.
Moments later, Ryder shoved the controls of the helicopter forward and it started to descend, aiming for a wide, flat area behind some barns like a horsefly heading for the rump of a steer.
* * *
That night, and long after Royal and Maddie had gone to bed, Ryder walked the halls of the house in which he’d been raised, visiting the ghosts that had driven him away. Unable to sleep, he’d checked on Casey one last time and then gone outside to the wide front porch to listen to the night.
It was spring, and the air was sweet and cool. The scent of flowers in the nearby flower bed reminded him of Casey. To him, she would always be a fresh breath of spring. She’d been his savior in so many ways that he couldn’t begin to take count, and they’d come too close to losing that which made life worth living. That day in Fostoria Biggers’s house, when he’d touched her skin and felt the pulse of her life beating beneath his fingertips, he’d known then that they’d been given a second chance.
A night owl hooted from a nearby tree and Ryder paused, listening to the familiar sound. A cow lowed in a nearby pasture, calling for her baby. Moments later, a plaintive bawl announced the baby’s location, and all was well. Ryder took a deep breath, absorbing the peace of home and the assurance that he’d done the right t
hing by bringing Casey here to visit.
A quick breeze came up, lifting the hair away from his forehead and brushing against his chest like a lover’s fingers. He glanced up at the sky and then to the faint wisps of clouds overhead, judging the possibility of a rain before morning.
And while he was looking at stars, the breeze seemed to shift, and the skin on his flesh tightened in warning. A sound came out of the night, like a whisper, or a memory, but it was there in his mind. And he knew who it was that his heart finally heard.
Welcome home, son.
He turned toward the house. But it wasn’t Micah who came out of the door.
Casey came off of the porch and out into the dew-damp grass to stand beside him. She lifted her hand to his cheek, feeling, rather than seeing the tears that had started to fall.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?”
Ryder wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until he could feel the even beat of her heart. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath. Flowers. She always smelled like flowers.
“Now that you’re here, I’m more than all right.”
Casey sighed, and held him even closer. “Come to bed, Ryder. I can’t sleep without you.”
He lifted her into his arms. “Then buckle up, darlin’, and I’ll take you to dreamland.”
* * * * *
If you love the novels of Sharon Sala,
be sure to check out her upcoming release,
LIFE OF LIES.
Fame, fortune…and a fatal obsession
Keep reading for a sneak peek from
LIFE OF LIES.
CHAPTER ONE
Dust motes stirred within the sunlight streaming into the hayloft of the abandoned barn. The hay bales that had been left behind were busted and moldy, fit only for the rats that wintered there, and partially hiding the couple making love on the mattress nestled along the back wall.
The heat of the day and the lack of moving air coated their bodies with beads of sweat, but it was the heat building inside them that was out of control.
Alicia groaned, and Jerry slid his fingers through her long dark hair and kept on moving, shifting his body just enough so that the camera in the shadows on the other side of the loft caught the bounce of her breast and the long length of her legs beneath him.
In the midst of their passion, Alicia heard voices approaching the barn. Her eyes widened. They were about to be found out! She grabbed Jerry’s arms.
“Someone’s coming!”
Jerry froze, then put his hand over her mouth and motioned toward their clothing in a pile at the foot of the bed. With the mood broken and their affair on the verge of being discovered, they scrambled to get dressed. But their bodies were slick with sweat and their hands were shaking. All they got on was underwear before the men entered the barn below.
Half naked and shaking in terror, they huddled together on the mattress, listening in disbelief to what sounded like a drug deal going down. Jerry turned toward the camera, his eyes widening in horror, then looked back at Alicia just as a gun went off below them.
Alicia clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming as more gunshots sounded, and as hay sprayed around them, she realized some shots were flying into the loft. She buried her face against her knees, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.
The shots ended as abruptly as they’d begun. She heard footsteps running out of the barn and turned with relief to Jerry until she saw him slumped down behind her, blood spilling onto the mattress.
“Jerry! Oh my God, Jerry!” she cried, and knelt beside him, trying to feel for a pulse. But there was none.
He was dead.
She leaned over his body, sobbing uncontrollably at the reality of what had just happened, then rocked back on her heels and screamed.
“Cut!” the director said, and then jumped out of his chair while Sahara Travis pulled herself up from the hayloft as gracefully as if she’d just curtsied before the queen.
She held out her arms as someone from wardrobe came running with a dressing gown to cover her up.
The director was pleased with both actors, and the lilt in his voice showed it.
Bobby French, the actor playing Jerry, stood up scratching his bare belly and waiting for someone to bring him a robe.
“That was great, Bobby. Absolutely riveting, Sahara. We’ll break for lunch now. Everyone back on set in one hour.”
Sahara nodded as she began fastening her dressing gown while looking around for her personal assistant.
“Has anyone seen Lucy?” she asked.
One of the cameramen waved toward the craft service area.
“Catering was here. She might have taken your lunch to your trailer.”
“Thanks,” Sahara said, and strode off the set and then outside into the sunny California heat.
She was halfway to the trailer when she heard someone calling her name.
“Wait a second!” Lucy called, as she ran to catch up. “I was dropping off your lunch, and I got a call from wardrobe. They wanted you to stop in before you get back on set, but I told them to send someone to your trailer for measurements instead.”
Sahara frowned. “Thanks, but why do they need new measurements?”
“Your director doesn’t like the wardrobe in tomorrow’s scenes,” Lucy said.
“Whatever,” Sahara said, and walked up the steps and into the trailer with Lucy behind her.
The air-conditioning was welcome as she entered. Sahara turned toward the kitchen to wash up and was startled to see a woman curled up on the floor.
“It’s Moira,” Sahara cried, running to her.
She dropped to her knees beside the wardrobe assistant, assuming Moira must have fainted. But then she felt for a pulse and there was none.
“She’s not breathing! Call 911,” Sahara shouted to Lucy, then rolled Moira onto her back to begin CPR, while her assistant frantically pulled out her phone.
Sahara tilted Moira’s head back and ran her finger inside her mouth to make sure the airway was clear, only to realize it was packed with food Moira never got to swallow. She leaned closer, intent on clearing the airway when she smelled something that nearly stopped her heart. She yanked her finger out of Moira’s mouth and frantically wiped it on her robe, then jumped to her feet to wash her hands at the sink.
The tray with Sahara’s catered meal was on the counter and it was obvious that the food in Moira’s mouth came from that plate. Sahara smelled the food and then shoved it aside, staggering toward a chair to sit down, trembling in every muscle. The ramifications of what she was thinking were too horrifying to accept.
“The police are on the way,” Lucy said, as she turned around, and then saw her boss sitting at the table, staring at the body on the floor. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you doing CPR?”
“She’s dead. I think she’s been poisoned.”
Lucy gasped. “What do you mean? How do you know?”
“Her breath…I smelled bitter almonds. Someone put cyanide in my food, and she ate it.”
Lucy ran toward the counter and lifted the cover off Sahara’s lunch. Sure enough some food had been eaten off the plate. She smelled it, then spun toward Sahara with a look of disbelief.
“I smell it, too, but—cyanide? How do you know?”
Sahara was rocking back and forth where she sat with her hands curled into fists, shaking uncontrollably. She ignored Lucy’s question completely, focusing instead on the implications of what had just happened.
“Why would she eat my lunch? Maybe she thought I’d never miss it. Who cares—she’s dead, Lucy! But if she was poisoned by my food, then… Oh my God! She died because someone tried to kill me! Why? Why?” Sahara cried, and then burst into tears.
Lucy ran to comfort her as the sound of sirens filled the air. By the time the police cars were on the lot and heading for Sahara’s trailer, most of the crew was already there.
Tom Mahan, the director, was in a panic,
thinking something had happened to the star of his movie. He was relieved to see Sahara sitting at the table in tears, but that ended abruptly when he saw the body.
“Oh my God! Moira! What happened?”
“We don’t know. She was here to take measurements, and it looks like she ate some of Sahara’s catered meal and…died. Sahara thinks Moira was poisoned,” Lucy said.
“I don’t think it, I know it,” Sahara insisted. “Remember the movie I did with Rhett Coulter? The stalker used cyanide on Rhett’s character to get rid of him so he could get to me. It was the medical examiner who smelled bitter almonds and said he’d been poisoned.”
“Yes, I remember!” Tom said. “Wow, good call, Sahara.”
She looked up at him in disbelief. “Can we please not celebrate my memory right now? Moira is dead.”
“Right! Sorry!” he said, and darted out of the trailer. Moments later he was back with a half-dozen uniformed officers from the Hollywood division of the LAPD, followed by a couple of detectives from Homicide who began issuing orders. To the director’s dismay, shooting would have to be stopped and everyone would be on lockdown until statements were taken.
A couple of officers were unrolling crime scene tape around the trailer as everyone was sent back to the set. An interview site was set up near craft services by commandeering one of the long serving tables to use as a desk.
Because she found the body, Sahara was called up first. The video camera was on and once again she was being filmed, but this time she wasn’t going to have to fake emotions. She was sick to her stomach and scared to death.
The detective doing the interview sat down on the other side of the table and introduced himself.
“Miss Travis, I’m Detective Colin Shaw from the Homicide division. We’re going to be filming all of the interviews for our records.” He gestured toward the video camera set up on a tripod nearby. “I need you to tell me in your own words what happened, beginning with where you were the hour prior to the discovery of Moira Patrick’s body.”
