Bulletproof Heart

by Sheryl Lynn

  “So you ran away and got married.”

  She plunged her hands into the hot, soapy water. She laughed, softly, bitterly. “I did better than that. I married an out-of-state city boy who was much older than me.” She peeked over her shoulder to catch Reb’s reaction. He had none she could see. “Grandpa said if I married Daniel, he’d disown me. So I did and he did.” Her chin quivered, and moisture burned her eyes. She focused on the dishes. “I didn’t talk to Grandpa again for nine years, and by then he was dying.”

  “You made up with him, right?”

  She closed her eyes, haunted by the memory of tears streaming down Garth Rifkin’s weathered cheeks. “He did love me, but he never knew what to do with me. Cattle, horses and boys, that’s all he knew. Me? I was from another planet as far as he was concerned.” She dashed at her eyes with her forearm. “All I wanted was for him to love me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. “After my husband had a heart attack, it hit me how much family means. It still took me a long time to work up the nerve to call Grandpa. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for waiting so long.”

  “He was sick before you came home?”

  “He’d had two strokes and surgery for a brain aneurysm. He was paralyzed on one side, and he suffered from seizures that caused periods of senility. He’d be lucid, then all of a sudden he couldn’t remember who he was. It was horrible. He’d always been so strong. Seeing him in bed during daylight hours was too awful for words.” Noticing a peculiar expression on Reb’s face, she asked, “What?”

  “My mistake. I thought Joey said your grandfather became sick after you came home.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “Did he? I guess if he has to blame someone for Grandpa dying, it might as well be me. He blames me for everything else.”

  “He doesn’t hate you as much as you think.”

  “You’re kind to say so, but yes, he does. I was more like a mother to him than a sister, and then I deserted him. Before I left with Daniel, I promised Joey I’d send for him as soon as I got settled.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I sent a plane ticket, but Grandpa sent it back and told me if I got anywhere near Joey, he’d have Daniel arrested. I wrote Joey a couple letters, but I never heard from him. I hurt Grandpa, hurt him bad, but I thought he didn’t care. I was so stupid. I made such a mess of things. I don’t blame Joey for hating me.”

  “He thinks you stole the ranch.”

  She envisioned Joey, fairly erupting with pent-up emotions, taking full advantage of Reb’s friendly ear. It was to the man’s credit he was willing to listen to her side, as well. She turned around and rested her backside against the sink. “If I had stolen the ranch, I’d have dumped it a long time ago. I’ve had plenty of offers from developers who’d pay top dollar to turn the Double Bar R into ranchettes for rich folks.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “Because Grandpa made me promise to keep it for Joey. Grandpa knew Tuff was out of control. He got Grandpa’s signature on some legal papers so he could sell off land. Tuff told Joey he did it to pay for Grandpa’s medical bills, but it’s a bald-faced lie.

  When I got here, nothing was paid. This place was so deep in debt, Grandpa’s lawyer advised me to declare bankruptcy. I’ve tried to explain it to Joey, but he won’t listen. He’s mad at me, he’s mad at Grandpa. I guess he’ll stay mad the rest of his life. The only person he isn’t mad at is Tuff, and that’s stupid because Tuff caused all this mess.” She slapped the counter with the wet washrag. “Sometimes I think Joey is too dumb for living.”

  “You’ll actually give the ranch to Joey. Free and clear.”

  “As free and clear as I can make it. I wish I could do it today. I want to square things between me and Joey, and my leaving might do it. But Tuff will bleed the ranch dry. So if I can prove Tuff killed that man, all my problems are solved.” Hearing how terrible she sounded made her wince. “It’s not like I want my brother to be a murderer, but he is. And if he goes away to prison, then Joey will be safe.”

  Reb’s mild expression and hooded, nonjudgmental eyes made her laugh.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “You’d make a great therapist.” When she saw the coffee was done, she reached for a mug. “I bet you’re thinking it sounds like a soap opera and we’re all crazy.”

  “I don’t think that at all, ma’am.”

  She poured coffee and put chocolate-chip cookies on a plate. She placed the mug and plate in front of him. In passing, her arm brushed his shoulder, and an electric thrill coursed through her. She figured it must be all the talking getting to her, the communicating. It had been a long while since anyone showed enough patience to listen to her. She brushed his shoulder again, this time on purpose. When he looked up, embarrassment over her boldness made her hurry back to the sink.

  She didn’t mean to lead him on. She didn’t want a fling with the hired hand.

  Kissing him again would be nice, though.

  The telephone rang.

  Tuff—she knew it had to be Tuff. She snatched the handset off the hook and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable mechanical voice of the collect-charges operator.

  “Emily Farraday?” a man said cautiously.

  Deflated, she sagged against the wall. “Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “A friend.”

  Nerves prickled along her spine. The gruff, whispered voice didn’t sound friendly. “Who is this?”

  “Stay out of the forest, Emily. I’m warning you. You’re snooping around where you don’t belong.”

  “Oh, God!” She nearly jumped out of her skin. “You’re calling for Tuff! Well, you tell him I said—”

  “You keep poking around those woods, you’re gonna get hurt. Hurt bad. Maybe hurt dead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He hung up with a sharp click.

  Emily’s body jerked, but she kept the phone to her ear in case it was a bad connection and not a hang up. Silence rewarded her vigil, and she slowly placed the phone on the hook. Finding Reb at her elbow startled her again. “Put a bell around your neck or something,” she snapped.

  Reb cocked his head, his expression puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

  She hugged her elbows, and a shudder rippled through her from head to toe. Her gaze locked on the scrap of black-and-white-checked cloth lying on the table. “Tuff had one of his creepy buddies tell me that I’ll get hurt if I don’t stay out of the forest. Or killed.”

  Sapphire fire blazed in Reb’s eyes and his jaw muscles tightened, flaring. His thick eyebrows lowered. “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “No.” Her throat ached with the effort of holding terror at bay. If Reb would only laugh or pass it off, then it couldn’t be serious. His angry reaction made her feel worse. “Oh, jeez, I thought with him locked up, I’d be okay. Now I have to worry about his friends. Some of them are probably worse criminals than he is.” She grasped Reb’s forearm. It was unyielding corded steel under her fingers. “What am I going to do?”

  He placed his hand over hers, and its weighty gentleness soothed her somewhat.

  He said, “Call the sheriff.”

  “He’ll just think I’m making this up.” She sought answers in Reb’s steely blue eyes, and found only anger.

  REB WAITED until the lights inside the house winked out. The sodium arc bulb in the security light cast a silver glow over the house and turned the rocky yard in front of the bunkhouse into a moonscape of blackand-gray shadows. Reb sat on the bunkhouse porch, listening to the wind rustling through the trees and animals settling in the nearby barn.

  The temperature had dropped sharply. Wispy clouds blew across the face of the quarter moon. Reb mused over how, if he lived a normal life, this would be a perfect night to court Emily. He’d stand under her window and sing a sappy song. Tease her into coming out to play, to dance in the dark. He squashed the thought as quickly as it had risen.
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br />   He had no time for romance—or for wishing. He had a serious problem. Having been over the property, he hadn’t found a single piece of evidence Tuff had murdered Mullow. He hadn’t found any trace of the money. Time was running out. The call threatening Emily meant Tuff was gathering troops.

  He considered calling in his own troops, but only briefly. Without a casting sheet naming all the players, he had no idea who or how many were involved. Better to play this as low-key as possible.

  He rose, keeping his ears alert and his eyes fixed on the house. He’d exchanged his boots for athletic shoes, and they helped silence his already quiet tread. He crossed the yard and mounted the back porch, taking care to avoid the squeaky boards he’d come to know. At the kitchen door he paused, listening. Hearing nothing to indicate Emily was up and moving around, he opened the screened door. In the assumed role of handyman, he’d oiled the hinges, and the door opened smoothly without a sound. He slipped a key into the inside-door lock and it turned easily. The inner door, too, opened silently. He let himself inside.

  He crossed the floor and touched the wall-mounted telephone. A surge of chest-tightening anger caught him off guard. The irony of it didn’t escape him. He was the last person in the world who should feel any concern about some hard case threatening Emily Farraday.

  He lifted the handset and pressed it to his ear. He had to think a moment, to remember the local service number. By feel, he punched in star-six-nine. A mechanical-sounding voice told him the number of the last caller. The seventy-five-cent charge for caller identification would show up on Emily’s next phone bill, but by then the job should be done.

  FOR TWO DAYS Reb helped Emily search the forest. She kept looking around her, and she stuck close to him; the threatening call had shaken her. She even brought out her grandfather’s shotgun, toting it as she searched. The shotgun made him nervous. He kept envisioning her finding the duffel bag and saying, Thanks, Reb. Boom.

  Soon tree trunks and bushes sported red rag markers throughout the forest. Reb kept a sharp eye out for signs of other searchers, but though they left no stone unturned, no hole unexplored and no thicket unexamined, he didn’t find so much as a boot print. He tried not to keep that sharp eye on Emily.

  The distinct possibility existed Emily had already found and relocated the three million dollars. But every minute he spent with her, enjoying her company, liking her gentle sense of humor and admiring her perseverance, made it that much harder to picture her as a crook.

  On the third day, while Emily served Reb’s breakfast, she told him, “I’ve got to go to town today. I’ll be back for supper, but you have to fix your own lunch. I can trust you to not mess up my kitchen, right?” Her dark eyes held dire warning; a gentle curve of her lips softened the admonishment.

  Such a kissable mouth, he thought mournfully, as full and ripe as berries. If the sultry little glances and coquettish smiles she’d been tossing at him were any indication, it was a mouth wishing very much to be kissed. “Yes, ma’am. You won’t find a crumb.”

  Her unruly curls were tamed into a single braid hanging down her back. A sleeveless blue chambray blouse tucked into white jeans showed off her full bosom and slender waist. Her arms were suntanned and finely muscled, her shoulders brushed with sprays of fine freckles. He noted the touches of mascara on her naturally lush eyelashes and glossy balm on her lips.

  “You don’t have to search the forest…” Her voice trailed off as she eyed him hopefully.

  “I can keep searching.”

  “I’d be obliged.” Her sunny smile stripped him of coherent thought. “You don’t think it’s useless, do you? I mean, we’ve covered acres and found nothing. I don’t want you think you’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m ready and willing, ma’am.”

  “You are an angel.” She sat down and picked up a pen. Next to her plate lay a sheet of paper. “I’m going into Grand Junction. Do you need anything?”

  “No, ma’am. Why all the way to Grand Junction?”

  She gave him a cocky grin and held up an advertisement she’d torn from a newspaper. “I’m taking Joey’s truck to put new tires on it. He’s worked so hard, he deserves them.” Her smile turned fetchingly sheepish. “They’re having a sale, and it’s too good a deal to pass up.” She turned the paper so he could see it. She tapped a line she’d written. “This is the brand Joey needs, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Confusion gave him a feeling like a fist around his diaphragm. He’d heard her complain about this old kitchen and its need for new appliances. A dishwasher would cut her cleanup time by half. It made no sense for a greedy, grasping woman to spring for new tires for her ungracious brother.

  “I should be back before Joey gets home. If you want to use the washing machine to do some laundry, go ahead. Soap and such are in the cabinet over the machines. Clean out your pockets before you wash, please.” She pushed a key toward the center of the table. “And keep the house locked up.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m probably the only person in the valley who has to lock the doors.”

  He’d been waiting for an opportunity to search the house, and here she gave him carte blanche. Instead of satisfaction, his gut tightened with shame.

  Shame lingered while Reb did his chores. Since his amval on the Double Bar R, he hadn’t found one shred of evidence Emily had anything to do with murder or theft—except for Tuff, Joey and Claude saying she was bad to the bone. She trusted him. She liked him.

  This job was starting to get on his nerves.

  By the time he finished working, Emily was gone. He entered the house, which was of wood construction and creaky with age. The floors beyond the kitchen were oak planks. Even Reb’s practiced light tread made the floorboards creak. Hardening his jaw and his heart, refusing to look beyond the task at hand, he searched the kitchen, going through each cabinet methodically, ignoring no possible hiding place.

  In the laundry room he threw a load of clothes in the washer. In case anyone came home early, it gave him an excuse for being inside the house.

  He searched the small room. He found a stray sock behind the dryer, nothing more. He moved his search through the parlor, family room and the storeroom behind the stairs. Nothing. He didn’t expect to find the money in the house. After all, Emily wouldn’t want Joey finding it, either.

  Still, he had to eliminate the obvious. He went downstairs to the basement. A single naked light bulb illuminated the narrow, low-ceilinged, dirt-wall cellar, which consisted of two rooms. The main room held the furnace, water heater and freezer; the smaller room served as a root cellar, containing bins of root vegetables and shelves of canned goods. He checked the freezer, examining each wrapped package. Braced for a possible meeting with a spider or snake, he felt around the walls and behind bins for hiding holes.

  Behind a bin he found a plastic sandwich bag containing some marijuana. He guessed it belonged to Tuff. “Nice going, cretin,” he muttered, tucking the bag in his pocket.

  He climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were four bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Emily had closed the windows in the event of an afternoon thunderstorm. Even this early in the morning, the rooms were hot and stuffy. Reb picked out Joey’s room immediately. It looked like a teenager’s room. Ribbons awarded for 4-H animal-showing competitions and trophies won in bull-riding events were on proud display on shelves along one wall. Reb searched the room quickly and efficiently. He found nothing.

  The next bedroom was larger. Tuff’s room, Reb guessed, as he eyed a new television set and VCR. The closet was jammed with expensive clothing. Reb examined a hand-stitched Italian linen shirt. Two hundred bucks easy, retail. Tuff had a fondness for ostrich-skin cowboy boots and gold jewelry, too. Not bad for a cowboy without a job.

  In the bottom of a dresser drawer he discovered some marijuana paraphernalia. There was no money in Tuff’s room, though.

  The third room was small and tidy. Work shirts and trousers hung in the closet. Denim jeans, socks and underwear fille
d a dresser. Boxes full of papers and other memorabilia were under the bed and on the closet shelf. Reb found a shoebox full of prescription pill bottles made out for Garth Rifkin.

  One empty bottle had contained a blood thinner. The prescription had been filled eighteen months ago, which meant Emily, not Joey, told the truth about when their grandfather had suffered the first stroke.

  He hesitated about calling Joey a dirty little liar, but apparently the kid didn’t know the difference between truth and fiction. Or he didn’t care. Or maybe he was so convinced of Emily’s guilt that facts didn’t matter.

  He entered Emily’s bedroom. He noted the deadbolt lock on the door. Of shiny brass, it looked newly installed. Along with the bed, the room held two dressers, an armoire, a parson’s table groaning under a junglelike collection of houseplants, a desk and a file cabinet. Her closet was jammed to critical mass with dresses, pastel-colored suits, lacy blouses and racks full of shoes.

  The shoes took him aback. He’d only seen her wear sneakers and boots. He picked up a dainty red alligator pump with a gold tap on the toe and a slender spike heel. He caressed the glossy leather, rousing images of the elegant line of her calf and shapely sculpting of her ankle above the shining red high heel.

  He quickly replaced the shoe.

  Steeling himself, he checked pockets and felt around for hidden panels on the walls behind the clothes.

  A dangling length of silk scarf brushed over his face, and as he moved to push it away, he couldn’t help pressing it to his nose. Mellow sweetness redolent of vanilla and flowers filled his head with images of her wearing nothing but red shoes, sweet perfume and a smile, her arms open in welcome, her breasts bouncing softly. Heat flooded his groin, and every muscle tensed in thwarted pleasure. He sprang out of the closet as if it contained monsters. Chest heaving, fists on his hips, he shook his head to clear it.

  In the file cabinet he found bank statements. She hadn’t made a deposit in three months, but debits were numerous. He found an insurance file. Her late husband had owned a policy for one hundred thousand dollars. Reb couldn’t find anything to indicate she’d inherited an estate worthy of note. Not much of a rich guy. He discovered she’d spoken the truth, too, about inheriting financial woes along with the ranch.