by Amy Frazier
When Garrett realized Samantha was staring at him, he shook off thoughts of the past. “It’s just that I’ve known you—what?—a couple weeks Rory’s been working for you?—and I know nothing about you.”
“You did a background check, if I recall.” Right before his eyes she was becoming the cool, distant woman who’d lunched in his office. “And I came up clean.”
Thinking of his most recent conversation with Noelle, he felt a guilty knot in his stomach.
“I have nothing to hide,” she said. “What do you want to know?”
“Does your father own Ashley International Hotels?”
“Yes.” She looked away from him, toward the barn entrance and the rain. In the dim light her fine features were etched with a certain weariness. “I was supposed to take over the business.”
Now that surprised him. Noelle made it sound as if Lawrence’s daughter’s only function was to inherit the family fortune.
She sighed. “You might as well have the whole truth.”
Suddenly, he didn’t want to know everything. It seemed like an invasion of her privacy. It wasn’t as if he was tracking a public enemy.
“I couldn’t cut it as a hotelier,” she continued in a voice that sounded like a recording. “Oh, I was efficient. I was on top of things. I knew the business from bottom to top. But it was just a job. I wasn’t like my father. Hotels didn’t define me. More to the point, the corporate pressures were killing me inside.”
An overwhelming sense of protectiveness filled him, making him step toward her. But she raised her hand to ward him off.
“In a business such as ours,” she said, “socializing is a very important part. So I rationalized the drinking. I didn’t realize—no, I didn’t want to admit—that it was a crutch. It smoothed the rough edges of fear.”
“You said you knew the ropes. What did you fear?”
“Disappointing my parents.” She looked up at him, and he could see tears in her eyes. “I’m their only child. They’ve poured their hopes and dreams into me.”
When he took her in his arms, she let him embrace her. Shield her. He wondered at the inequity of the world. He’d had no hopes and dreams poured into him—nothing beyond minimal expectations—and here she’d had a crushing amount.
“Your parents obviously haven’t been slouches in the achievement department,” he said, stroking her hair. “They don’t need you to fulfill their dreams. They need to let you find your own path.”
She wiped her eyes and pushed away from him. “Oh, I think yesterday was a prime example of how well they’re able to mind their own business.”
“I get the impression they don’t think Applegate is any place for an heiress.”
She shivered. “Don’t use that awful word.”
“Okay. But tell me…did you choose Applegate specifically to get a rise out of your parents?”
“No!” Staring out into the lessening rain, she seemed to be deliberating. Finally, she turned to him. “I’m not, by nature, a secretive person, and secrets have a way of getting out in the open, anyway.”
This was what he’d been waiting for, so now why did he feel as if he’d bullied her into the telling?
She sat down on a bale of hay. Looked at her hands. “When it became more and more clear that I was not cut out to be a hotelier, I would often rely on alcohol for the courage to face what needed to be done. In the past couple years, I’d had some traffic violations. Several speeding tickets. A fender bender. But my father was able to make them go away…until the last time.”
Garrett tried to keep an open mind, but one of his hot buttons had always been the corruptible power of money. But this was Samantha, whom he’d grown to respect. To like. Really like. In order not to say anything judgmental, he said nothing.
Frowning, she continued. “I’d just had lunch and several martinis to give me strength to get through the afternoon. An important meeting. Usually, when I drank, I’d call for a limo, but I was running late. I got in my car, and…I…rear-ended a loaded school bus.” She looked up at him, her eyes dry this time but brimming with remorse. “I was the only one seriously hurt, but my nightmares are filled with what-ifs.”
His first thought was that there were maybe thirty Rorys on that bus, and this woman—this woman of privilege—had thoughtlessly put innocent lives in jeopardy for—what?—a business meeting.
“You’re disgusted,” she said softly.
Yes. He was. As a sheriff he dealt in black and white. Right and wrong. Innocence and guilt. How could he not feel righteous disgust?
But from the first time he’d met her, Samantha had proved herself a more subtle matter. A more challenging subject. In her there were shades of gray. Hot and cold running together. Openness and mystery existing side by side. What she’d done appalled him, yes. Until he thought of the strength it must have taken to make this confession. To divulge something she clearly hadn’t wanted to tell him. Even Mack, since Iraq, hadn’t been this honest with him.
Garrett thought of Samantha’s pain. Of trying to be shoehorned into a life that was not a fit. “No,” he replied, at last, extending his hand to her. “I’m not disgusted.”
She took his hand as if she was about to shake and say goodbye. “As a sheriff, you know the rest, I’m sure. After I was released from the hospital, I had to appear before a judge.”
“Who first took away your license.”
“Yes.”
“And then sentenced you to community service.” His heart sank, and he removed his hand from hers. “Don’t tell me Whistling Meadows is your community service.”
“No. Whistling Meadows is the direct result of rehab. Actually, it’s been a continuation of rehab.”
The rain had stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and, as happened so often with these mountain storms, the sun was shining brightly through still-dark and ominous clouds, catching the dust motes floating in the barn’s air, making them sparkle. The only sound was the drip of rain off the eaves, the call of songbirds emerging from shelter. And the pounding in his ears.
He didn’t know what to do with this new information about Samantha. It wasn’t what he expected. He knew she attended AA. He knew she didn’t have a license. But to buy up sixty acres of prime real estate as rehab? To keep her hands busy? People around here took up woodworking, rock climbing, gardening. Clearly, Samantha’s lifestyle was too rich for his blood.
“Darling?” Helena Lawrence appeared in the barn doorway. “Ruggiero’s come back for us. You need to hurry and dress. Remember, the Atwaters have flown in to have dinner with us at the inn.” She eyed Garrett dismissively. “Reservations are for eight-thirty.”
He didn’t need that little extra reminder of the social gulf between Samantha and himself. “I need to call Rory,” he said. “To make sure he and Red are okay.” With barely a nod for both women, he left.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AS SHE WATCHED GARRETT WALK away, Samantha tried not to show any emotion, tried not to give her mother any hint of the inner turmoil that had her stomach tightening. Garrett had said he wasn’t disgusted by her disclosure, but his body language had said otherwise. What had he wanted from her? As a lawman was he thinking she needed punishment, not rehab? Did he see her as a frivolous socialite? It stunned her that his good opinion of her mattered.
Helena, whose goal was to make life as beautiful and as problem-free as possible, could always sense disruption in her family’s private universe. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why was the sheriff still here?” By the stiff tone, Samantha could tell her mother clearly did not consider Garrett part of and party to the Lawrence circle.
“We’re concerned for Rory and Red.” That was certainly no lie. “They’re still on the mountain.”
“Well, I’m sure the sheriff can handle it. He has a whole department at his disposal if necessary.” Her mother reached out to finger a lock of Samantha’s hair, which had gone very curly with the humidity. “Darling, when did you stop straightening y
our hair? It’s so…unruly. You must let me make an appointment for you with Vivica at the inn.”
“Mother, please, stop. I like my hair natural.” If she could be honest with Garrett and survive having him walk away from her, maybe, just maybe, she could get up the courage to be straight with her mother. “And I’m sorry, but I won’t be having dinner with you tonight.”
“But the Atwaters—”
“I’ve never liked the Atwaters. Damien can’t keep his hands to himself.”
Helena’s eyes grew wide. She looked as if she feared Samantha might be about to have a meltdown. “We don’t want to stress you.”
“Frankly, I am stressed, and we need to talk about why.”
“The sheriff, of course. He shouldn’t have worried you about his son.”
“My employee.” Her young knight in shining armor. “Mother…I’m not talking about the sheriff’s family. I’m talking about ours. I’ve always tried to be a good daughter—”
“And you have been. The absolute best. Our glittering star. That’s why your father and I want to help you put your life back together.”
“But it’s obvious you’re trying to put it back the way it was. Or, at least, to superimpose my old life on top of the new.”
Helena appeared confused. “Certainly. What could be wrong with that?”
“I’m not the same woman who entered rehab. I’ve changed more than my name.”
“Please, don’t fret about the name change. We understand the temporary need for anonymity while you recuperate.”
“You don’t understand. Samantha Weston is who I’ve become. Who I want to be. And not just temporarily.”
With the tips of her fingers, her mother brushed Samantha’s forehead. “You look tired, darling. Dr. Kumar prescribed rest, yet all I’ve seen you do is work. And manual labor at that. You have the resources to hire a real staff.”
“I love the work. It leaves my body exhausted, and my mind peaceful.”
“Darling, that’s why God invented Pilates.”
“Mother, be serious.”
“All right. Maybe it is better if you don’t join us tonight. I recommend a long relaxing bath and an early bedtime.” She lightly kissed Samantha’s cheek. “But if you need us, we’re only a phone call away. Ruggiero can always come get you.”
Samantha could not wait for her mother and father to leave the farm—and felt guilty for her traitorous impulses. But her loyalties lay elsewhere. As soon as the limo turned out of her drive and onto the county road, she called Rory’s cell phone. Voice mail kicked in. She told herself it might be the iffy reception in the mountains. Or perhaps Rory had turned the phone off to conserve the battery. She could hope. If, however, the guys had run into trouble, she needed to get to them.
Because Garrett had blown up in the aftermath of the spying debacle, she’d promised to look after his son’s best interests when he was at Whistling Meadows. Rory wouldn’t now be up there somewhere if he hadn’t been determined to wipe out the graffiti at the campground. Her campground. She felt a responsibility, especially since she suspected Garrett thought of her as wildly irresponsible.
Checking her watch, she figured there were a couple more hours of daylight. She quickly threw a first aid kit and a high-powered flashlight into her backpack, then pulled on walking boots, grabbed a staff and headed on foot through the outer pasture toward the forest trail. When she passed Tanner Harris’s house and saw his boys hitching a trailer to a truck, for the first time ever she wished she had some kind of ATV or dirt bike to cover the ground quickly.
But she was strong, and purposeful hiking was different than an amble with llamas. Despite some muddy spots from the rain, she made good progress up the ridge. She’d be a lot happier, however, if she saw Rory and Red coming at her from the opposite direction. In fact, it struck her that if she didn’t meet them by the time she arrived at the campground, she had no idea where this cabin was that Rory spoke of. Before purchasing it, she’d seen her property outlined on a map, but she hadn’t explored it all yet. What kind of steward of the land did that make her?
If she was serious about being Samantha Weston, she needed to sit down and rethink her business as a permanent undertaking.
Not far from where Garrett had shot the rattlesnake, along a portion of trail faced on one side by granite outcroppings and on the other by a steep drop off the ridge, Samantha saw Red’s homemade ATV. It was empty.
Her heart pounding wildly, Samantha ran the remaining distance. “Rory! Red!”
“Down here!” Red’s voice came from below.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Rory didn’t sound okay. “I lost my cell phone. We watched it slide right off the cart.”
Oh, Garrett was going to love this.
Samantha slipped her backpack off, then cautiously approached the edge of the trail. An almost vertical drop, there wasn’t much besides rocks and some scraggly trees to hold on to—and Red and Rory were hanging on for dear life about twenty feet below. She could look down on the tops of their heads. The phone could easily have bounced all the way to the base of the ridge. Even if the terrain were level, the light was going fast. Something as small as a cell phone would be impossible to find.
“Leave it!” she called out. “It’s not worth risking life and limb.”
“But my mom bought it for me!” Rory wailed. “She’s gonna kill me!”
“Not if you get killed here first.” The thought of a fall—or snakebite—made her cringe. “Red, talk some sense into him.”
“The Duchess is right. I’m not sure I want to die for a cell phone, kid.”
“Do you know how hard I had to work to convince her I’d be responsible? Do you know when I’ll get another phone? Never.” He clung to his tree limb so tightly his knuckles showed white in the fading light.
“Rory,” Samantha replied, kneeling by the precipice and using her calmest negotiator’s voice. “You lost the phone while doing a difficult job for me. Under difficult circumstances. I’ll call your mother and explain that it’s my fault. I’ll replace the phone.”
“You would do that?”
“Yes.” It was only money.
“You’re not going get a better offer than that,” Red urged.
“Don’t tell my dad.”
“I won’t tell him,” she promised.
“Okay, but…now how do I get back up onto the trail?”
“Very carefully,” Red cautioned. “I’m gonna stay here and spot you. The Duchess is above if you need a hand up. You all right with that, Duchess?”
“Y-yes.” Although she didn’t weigh much more than Rory, and there was nothing to grab on to along this side of the trail, there was no question but that she must be strong for this boy who’d risked so much for her. She lay flat on the ground and extended her arms over the edge. Sharp pebbles dug into her stomach. “I’m ready.”
Painful seconds passed as Rory made his slow ascent. When he was just beneath her, he looked up, his expression turning from nervous concentration to utter relief. He thrust his hand in hers and held on as if he never planned to let go.
She clung to him and slithered backward on her belly, pulling as he pushed. Finally, he clambered over the edge and flopped next to her, panting.
“Nobody worry about me,” a sarcastic voice floated up from below. “This is just a walk in the park for a man my age.”
“Red!” With a start both Samantha and Rory turned their attention to getting their friend back to safety. But as they hung over the edge of the trail, arms outstretched, Red proved to be extremely dexterous at finding tree branches and toeholds to make his way up unassisted.
On the trail, however, he rolled onto his back with a grunt. “This isn’t how I saw retirement playin’ out.”
Rory chuckled. “Admit it. You’ve been bragging to Francis, Douglas and Owen how your old age is five times more exciting than theirs.”
“Well, I’m thinkin’ of scalin’ back the excitement.
” He sat up on the hard-packed earth. He’d lost his John Deere cap, and his thin, graying hair sticking up in wisps about his head, along with his sunburned cheeks and nose, gave him the look of an angry imp. “Let’s get home. I need some Ben-Gay.”
They all stood. “I don’t know what to say,” Samantha said, bending to put on her backpack, “except to apologize to both of you. You’ve been nothing but helpful, yet what have your efforts gotten you? Scrapes and bruises and not much else.”
Red took the backpack out of her hands. “Eh. What else do I have to do with my time?” His tone was gruff, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “C’mon, there’s room for all three of us to ride.”
Samantha pulled out her BlackBerry and offered it to Rory. “Your father’s probably wondering why he’s being routed to voice mail. Call him and let him know you’re okay.”
Rory did but fudged an explanation as to why he was calling on Samantha’s phone. Garrett promised to be waiting at the farm.
Samantha was glad of the lift. It was definitely time to follow her mother’s advice with a long soaking bath and an early bedtime. But best-laid plans…
When they pulled into the barnyard, the cruiser was parked near the paddock fence, but there was no sign of Garrett. Nor any sign of the llamas. The inner-pasture gate was wide open. Dread began to form in the pit of Samantha’s stomach.
“What the—?” Red pulled his ATV to a halt near the barn just as Garrett came around the farmhouse, leading Ace by his halter. The llama’s white coat showed ghostly in the gathering darkness.
“What happened?” Samantha asked, jumping out of the cart and running to Ace.
“I don’t know,” Garrett replied. “When I got here, the gate was open. This one was grazing on the new flowers next to the porch. I’ve put out a call to be on the lookout for the others.”
In the beam of the barn’s spotlight, Samantha checked Ace all over. He seemed fine. Only a little miffed that he’d been pulled from his smorgasbord. She breathed a sigh of relief. “One down, five to go.”
