Ronan held up his hands and backed away from the desk. “Now, I know I gave you the wrong impression at our last meeting.”
“No, I’m sure I got the right impression.” Muttering in a small office like Ronan’s didn’t hide the comments. Not that Becky had anything to hide. At that point, she didn’t see the loan coming her way. Even if she did do what he wanted or answered questions he asked.
Sighing, Ronan stood and rounded the desk. He perched on the corner, his leg swinging back and forth as he looked down on her. “I’m trying to work with you on this. I’m not going to ask you to do anything at all. I just have a couple questions, okay?”
The sincerity in his voice matched the earnestness in his open gaze and seemingly genuine smile. Guard still up, although lowered a touch, Becky clasped her hands in her lap and slowly nodded. “Okay, questions. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but I’ll listen.”
What would he ask? How to get into Slate’s house? Which window would be the best to break into to steal the boy? Becky mocked her fears of his questions. What could he possibly ask that would do any harm to her in the quiet of his office, protected by the county’s bank?
“So how into MacAllister are you?” Ronan watched her, his expression amicable, at complete odds with the inflammatory question he’d tossed into the air between them.
Taken aback, Becky blinked. And blinked again. She didn’t answer.
A slight bob of his head and Ronan offered a half-smirk. “I’ll come back to that one.” He tapped his fingers together, watching her, gauging her reactions, but she didn’t flinch. “How about this one, where’s the best lab to send private samples for blood testing? I’d prefer in-state, but won’t mind going as far out-of-state as Washington.”
“Blood testing? I’m not getting you any samples. I already said no. Look, this is obviously pointless.” She jumped from her seat, her skirt swishing at the ankles of her boots. She didn’t dress up for things like this. Hated it. Had done it for a loan she’d never had a chance in Hades of acquiring.
Ronan moved to block her. “I didn’t ask you to. All I asked for was a lab. If you don’t know of one, that’s fine. I just wanted your opinion. That’s all. Not a big deal. Amelia is letting me have visitation, so I can get my own samples, if I want to.”
She squinted her eyes, as if trying to see past the exterior he’d constructed to hide his plans. But the question was harmless enough. Maybe her resources could get her a loan, if she disclosed who she used. No harm there. Not like he had anything to send anyway. “I use CryptoGen Labs in Bozeman while here, but my favorite is in Olympia.”
“Thank you. Now about that loan.” He returned to his seat and pulled out a packet of papers. “We’ll cover the majority of the loan and ask for a check in the amount of five-hundred dollars for earnest money. You’ll get it back after we close with Mrs. Roylance in,” Ronan summarized the paper. “Thirty days. Her request for the time. I assume she’s moving out of town.” He glanced up. “Any questions?”
“That’s it? Nothing else? I didn’t fill out any applications or anything.” Bewildered, Becky shuffled her feet. Ronan’s magnetism didn’t push or pull at her as he oozed charm. Something was off, she just couldn’t place it. The good luck with the loan filled her with excitement and she didn’t want to create drama where there wasn’t any.
He smiled, offering his hand across his desk. “Nope, nothing else. Dr. Roylance forwarded on your information in case of an event like this. He knew his heart wasn’t the best and he didn’t want the clinic in limbo. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the information. I’ll have Chet call you when the papers are ready to be signed. He’s our notary public for the town. You and Mrs. Roylance need to sign the papers, but we have time for that.” He focused his attention on the papers, pen in hand.
Dismissed, Becky left the room in a daze.
Maybe she’d been wrong about Ronan. He didn’t seem like a bad guy.
His first question about her interest in Slate had struck a nerve. Ronan had never readdressed it.
That fact left her on edge. Or maybe it was what the question made her ask herself.
How interested was she in the veterinarian ranch owner? Did she want to long for a man who couldn’t make up his mind about her? Twice, he’d thought she’d jumped to taking the wrong actions regarding a patient. Twice.
And the last time, he’d told her there was no chance of them even trying a “together” thing. If it weren’t for his damnable blue eyes and mouth-watering butt in jeans, she wouldn’t even continue considering it. Lust-at-first-sight hung on tighter than any love-at-first-sight thing Becky had ever heard of.
And lust after him, she did.
Oh crap. But she liked him, too.
Dang it.
She stomped down the cement sidewalk. Snow flurries danced out of her way, pushed along by the whipping of her skirt and the speed of her gait. The Slate and Ronan nonsense out of the way, she couldn’t wait to tell her dad all about the loan and the new business venture they were about to undergo.
Her future was definitely looking up.
Chapter 30
Slate smelled the flowers before he saw them. The stark white daisies with happy yellow centers claimed attention in the center of the island where Mac had undergone two surgeries. An opened envelope with accompanying card rested beside the blue glass vase. Fingering the stock open, Slate cocked his eyebrow at the message. “Thanks for allowing me back in your lives, Sis. Love R.J.”
The sugary sweetness of the words brought back an onslaught of pain to Slate’s torso and his lingering achiness. He rolled his shoulder up and back, testing for more tightness.
No matter what, he wasn’t going to return to his sickbed. He’d been laid up in his room – alone – for almost a week since the incident with Robbie. Hopefully Robbie had made it out alive from wherever he’d been beat to within an inch of his life.
Slate wanted a crack at him.
Laughter drew Slate down the hallway to the guest game room. Amelia’s shrieks and Ronan’s deep guttural chuckles mingled with Mac’s high-pitched squeals.
Entering the room filled with tables for billiards, ping pong, air hockey, and cards, Slate covered his astonishment at seeing the large, rough-and-tumble Ronan James wrestling on the ground with his small nephew, and looking like he was getting beat to boot.
Amelia checked the petite watch on her wrist and cleared her throat. “Okay, Mac, tell your uncle until next time. We need to get some lunch and you need to get down for a nap.”
“Oh, Mooooom.” Mac hung upside down from Ronan’s grasp.
“Yeah, oh, Moooom.” Ronan laughed at Mac, spied Slate and straightened up. “It’s okay, buddy. You need food. You need to get stronger after your surgery. I’ll be back.” He pulled the child into his arms for a large bear hug and ruffled Mac’s dark hair.
“Hey, Uncle Slate.” Mac high-fived Slate when he passed with his mom’s hand securely held in his other one.
“Hey, little man.” Slate waited until he could no longer hear his nephew’s happy chatter down the hall before addressing the man he thought of as an enemy with whom he’d created a delicate balance. “So, Ronan. Are you finding what you’re looking for? Spending time with Mac and your sister?”
Ronan hooked his thumbs under the leather strap of his belt, the movement adjusting the underarm-side holster into a more prominent position.
Slate almost scoffed. What he wouldn’t give to be able to say something to the effect that yes, he did see Ronan’s flashy gun, yes, he did understand Ronan could shoot, no, he didn’t give a damn. But he kept his mouth shut and his expression neutral. The man was a guest of Amelia’s, even if he was on his way out.
But Ronan jerked his chin up, his eyelids half-mast. “Soon I’ll have everything I need. I sent off the blood sample to Bozeman, per Becky’s suggestion. She’s a remarkable woman. Level head on her shapely shoulders. No wonder all the men in town can’t stop talking about her.” His lip
s curved into what might have been considered a smile in other parts of the state, but appeared as nothing more than a damn smug smirk in Slate’s part of the county.
“Whose blood sample?” Slate hadn’t given blood and neither had Amelia. So many portions of Ronan’s statements didn’t make sense, Slate focused on the blood part. He’d work his way through each point, if he had to.
Surprised, Ronan rubbed his chin, the scratch of his fingernails on the rough patch of stubble mocking in the late morning. “Why, Mac’s. Tim followed Becky’s orders and took blood samples after his last surgery. I sent them off to the lab the following morning. According to what Becky told me, you and Amelia gave permission to have his blood tested. I accepted it, assuming it was a sign of good will.” He moved toward the door, passing Slate and patting him on the shoulder. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” And he left.
His boot steps thudded down the hall, a pause as he left earshot, then the front door opened and closed, followed a few moments later by the roar of his Dodge pickup.
Slate didn’t move. He couldn’t swallow what Ronan had just revealed.
Minutes passed. Slate rubbed his eyes, but remained rooted to the spot. Betrayal coursed through him. He didn’t know what to do.
A shrill scream rent the air. Amelia’s sobs and shouts for Slate to come fast pulled him from his stupor.
Thundering down the hall, Slate ignored everything else scrambling for a foothold in his mind. Fear kept his arms tight and he searched every window for signs of an intruder or some other danger. “Amelia? Where are you?”
“Here. We’re here.” The front porch. Her sobs didn’t abate.
The roar of Ronan’s truck cut out, didn’t fade like driving away, but more like he shut it off. Slate picked up the pace, reaching for the .357 Magnum at his waist. The weight comforted him, even the slightest bit which steadied his heart rate.
If Ronan had done anything to Slate’s family, he’d be chewing on bullets.
Slate burst through the door, blinded by the sunlight reflecting from the bright white and red snow. Wait, red snow?
He searched the spacious porch for Amelia and Mac. They huddled together, Mac’s face tucked into the crook of Amelia’s neck while she held him in her arms, on the side of the stairs. Coming up alongside them, he held his revolver steady at his side, barrel pointed downward.
Ronan slid from the cab of his truck, his Glock dull black and already in his grip. Calling across the yard separating them, he scanned the area, bent in a half-crouch. “Is everyone alright? I didn’t see the wolves until I’d already started the truck.”
Wolves. Slate scanned the snow-covered landscaping. Scarlet liquid splattered in long arcs across the rolling mounds of white. Dark patches of hair lay strewn about the yard attached to varying sized chunks of meat and white-yellow tendon and bones.
Later he’d have to deal with the fact that the small horse Becky had worked so hard to save lay spread out across the snow like pennies at the bottom of a well.
Pig, Jr. Dead. Torn apart by wolves. Slate swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled Mac and Amelia into his arms. Looking over their heads, he watched Ronan scan the perimeter. “Do you see anything?”
Ronan shook his head, eyes sharp under his Stetson. “Nothing. I don’t know how they got in and out so fast. I didn’t see them leave.”
A deep growl from the deck behind them caught Slate’s attention at the same time a growl behind Ronan’s truck pulled his.
Whispering into her short silky hair, Slate held extremely still. “Don’t move. When I say, get inside. Don’t stop and wait. Just slam that door. Nod if you understand.” Her barely imperceptible movement marked his timing.
Slate shoved them toward the door while spinning to the intruder on his porch.
He brought his gun up, the barrel connecting with the chest of the large wolf bearing down on him.
The shot reverberated off the walls and overhang, the report shaking his wrist and forearm.
Sharp, long teeth dug into his shoulder, clamping with excessive force while in the middle of death throes.
Slate pushed at the heavy weight of the suddenly still animal. The slight movement pulled at the chunk of flesh still between the tightly lined jaws. Stabbing pain stole his breath away.
Another shot rang out, followed by the solid thudding of Ronan’s boots across the driveway and up the stairs. “Aw, no, Slate, hold on.” Ronan knelt beside him, prying at the animal’s mouth with gloved hands.
Slate ground his teeth together against crying out in pain. The last thing he needed was to give more fodder for Ronan to mold into ammunition against him. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and nodded when Ronan finally removed the unbearable mass on Slate’s chest.
Inhaling slow and deep, Slate shoved his free hand over his bleeding shoulder. “Thanks. Are there only two wolves?” He rolled to his side and forced himself to stand, leaning on the porch post for support.
“It appears so.” Ronan moved to stand beside Slate at the railing of the deck, studying the horrific slaughter for any sign of more. “Isn’t that the little colt we just rescued from the wire?”
“Yeah.” Slate’s quiet reply concealed his sadness for the loss of the sweet horse. Tender mercies would allow for the horse to have died quickly. But even that Slate couldn’t count on. The destruction spread too far, too much. Slate choked back the sadness. Death was a part of life.
How did he tell Mac that?
Inhaling moved his chest which jostled his shoulder. Another gush of warmth seeped through his fingers. While he could probably tend his own wound, he needed the chance to see Becky.
Ronan touched his upper arm. “Hey, I’m going to check on my sister and Mac. Make sure they’re alright. Do you need anything?”
Careful to keep his shoulder and arm stiff, Slate shook his head slowly. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m thinking about heading into town anyway.” He motioned with a slight nod toward the yard. “I have to do something about the blood. Mac won’t like that.”
“Right.” He opened the door, but turned back. “Hey, MacAllister, before you start thinking we’re buds or something, nothing’s changed. Remember that, okay? This ranch will be mine. And all the rights with it.” He winked, his smile hard and uncompromising.
If only Slate could release his arm to throttle his neighbor without fear of losing too much blood, Ronan would be down on the ground at that very moment. Slate breathed in and out, applying pressure to the jagged edges of the bite.
Becky would give him a shot. He’d get to see her. He didn’t care what Ronan said. Ronan was an ass.
Speaking of the bastard, Slate ignored Ronan when he pounded out of the house. He didn’t acknowledge Slate and climbed into the truck, roaring away down the snowy drive.
His enemy gone, Slate allowed himself to sag onto the patio chair set just beside the windows. He closed his eyes and squeezed as hard as he could on the meat of his shoulder. The bleeding had to stop, or he’d grow too light-headed to drive anywhere.
The door opened and Amelia stomped out to the porch. She gasped at the sight of blood. “Slate, what happened?”
“A wolf bit me. Don’t worry. It’s just flesh. Becky can fix me up. I’m certain of it.” He grunted his words, careful to focus on the act rather than the thought of germs and infections that would most likely thrive in his wound if he didn’t get treated fast. Sometimes being a doctor – even an animal one – had its cons.
“Oh no… I’m. So. Sorry.” She held out her hand. “I hate to say this, but I don’t think you should go see her for any medical treatment – or see her at all. You could go to Ronan’s and have Tim look at you. He’s pretty competent.”
“Why?” The suggestion to go to Ronan’s brought Slate’s gaze up to Amelia’s face. “Ronan’s? I’m not going there. What’s wrong with Dr. O’Donald?”
“Ronan just told me she authorized blood sampling and testing of Mac without my permission. I can’t trust he
r now. Not since that.” She crossed her arms, anger bright pink in her cheeks.
In the split second it took to remember the conversation Slate had had with Ronan, Slate realized he didn’t believe a word of what his conniving brother-in-law said. He sat up, ignoring the fire shooting from his shoulder down his spine and down to his toes. How deep had that wolf bit?
A deep breath to brace himself, Slate forced himself upright, fingers tight on his wound. He looked down into Amelia’s surprised eyes. “I don’t believe it. Becky wouldn’t do that and you know it. Your brother is manipulative and an instigator. I guarantee she didn’t do what he says she did.” And he didn’t even question it. Deep down, he was right.
The reality was, he knew she hadn’t entertained the idea of doing anything unethical before. He had no excuse for how he’d reacted. Even with an apology, he had the feeling she wouldn’t forgive his actions. And could he blame her?
Energy saved up, at least enough to get him to his truck, Slate pushed past Amelia. Whether she answered or not, he didn’t care.
Becky deserved more from them than she’d received.
~~~
Winter had finally taken a break, stalling the blizzards and heavy snow falls. Sunlight glinted off the frozen crystals covering everything he passed. Slate loved the mountains, loved Montana and the inclement seasons. The drive took the last ounce of his concentration and he was grateful that he didn’t have to worry about a snow storm or disappearing sunlight.
He tried the clinic first. Middle of a weekday and passable roads, where else would she be?
Stumbling through the front door, Slate struggled to keep himself upright. His bleeding hadn’t stopped. The liquid cooled as it soaked into his jeans, spreading down to his knee.
“Slate? Honey, is that you?” Shelley, the head nurse, bustled around the corner of the desk, her glasses dangling from the leopard print lanyard around her neck. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Dr. O’Donald? Can you bring a chair? We have a patient who looks very injured.” She steadied him with a hand to his bicep. “Hang on, Slate. That looks like a lot of blood.”
Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 20
