"Strange how?"
"Intense. A little too attentive. It was more than I was interested in, and I kept turning down his invitations. He didn't give up for six months or so."
"What happened to him?"
She turned and found Rick standing inside her personal space. With the stove behind her, there was nowhere to back up. "I don't know. He quit, and I never heard from him again."
"What was his name?" He took out his phone and starting inputting letters.
"Mark Haskell." She watched his focused, efficient movements. "You must be used to interrogating people. I've wracked my brain trying to remember anyone who might be behind this and came up blank. Not that I think either of these men is guilty, but at least we have a place to start. Somewhere to look."
Even though she believed her memories would only lead to dead ends, it felt good to be doing something. To hang a possible name on the faceless enemy. In a few days they'd be back to square one with no idea who her enemy could be, but right this minute, she felt hope a foreign emotion that had vanished when the soldier showed up on her doorstep to tell her the love of her life had given his.
"Why didn't you come?" she said abruptly. "When Jon died. Why didn't you come to tell me instead of letting a stranger do it?"
He took a step back, and his gaze iced over. "I was a stranger too."
"Not really. You were Jon's friend, so I considered you one too. If you'd come to tell me " She tore her gaze away and turned her back to him. Stirring the pot, she waited to see if he'd lie to her, deny the way he looked at her.
"I I couldn't," he said.
Her hand with the wooden spoon in it paused above the steaming pot. "Were you injured?"
"No, I didn't have a scratch." His tone sharpened with an edge of bitterness. "Jon died, and I didn't have a bruise."
She put the spoon down on the stove and turned to face him again. "I'd like to know about that day. How Jon died. If he said anything."
"Now's not the time." He backed away. "I'll call the rest for dinner."
Watching him retreat he was running away for sure Allie began to wonder if there was more to Jon's death than she'd realized.
She would swear she saw guilt on Rick's face.
THE WHISKEY GLOWED GOLDEN IN THE GLASS. RICK COULD SEE IT IN HIS mind, taste the hot, smoky taste on his tongue. He hadn't wanted a drink this bad in two years. Seeing Allie's trusting blue eyes on him, knowing she thought he could fix everything, made him feel like a scorpion hiding under a rock.
She had no idea he'd cost her the perfect life she'd loved.
The story would come out sooner or later. He hadn't lived thirtyfour years without seeing how wrongs never stayed hidden. What kind of friend was he that he'd kill his best friend and then take his wife? When he'd been doing it for Betsy and Jon's memory, Rick felt less confused. But standing in the kitchen, he realized he wanted Allie. Wanted her for his own, not to make amends.
He couldn't betray Jon like that. It would be as bad as King David killing Uriah so he could have Bathsheba. Somehow he had to find the courage to keep the wall up between them, to keep her from creeping into his heart.
Betsy and Fern were playing with the kittens on the back porch. He stepped through the screen door, and the two girls were so engrossed with the antics of the cats that they didn't look up.
"Supper, girls," he said. Betsy got up and ran to hug his leg. He lifted her in his arms. "You hungry?"
She nodded.
"How about after dinner we go check on your horse? She was moving around better today."
Betsy's brilliant smile was her answer. Watching her expressive face, Rick wondered if there was more to the story behind her silence. Could she have seen or heard something besides the plane crash that caused her to retreat?
He lifted Betsy to his shoulders and opened the door for Fern. "You liking it here, Fern?"
"Yes sir," she said in her soft, nearly inaudible voice.
"You're doing a good job with the horses. And with Betsy."
She peeked up at him through her lank bangs. A tremulous smile flashed across her face before it disappeared. "Thanks," she whispered. She went through the doorway ahead of him.
He bent his knees so he didn't bang Betsy's head on the doorframe and followed the others to the kitchen. Food covered the table, and the aroma of chili mingled with the scent of the apple dumplings she'd put on the windowsill to cool.
"Hey, man, I ain't eatin' no chili." Leon dropped into a chair and stretched out his long legs.
"You chicken, Leon?" Rick asked, lifting Betsy and depositing her in the chair beside Fern. "Can't handle the spice?"
Leon glowered at him. "Get off my grill. I can handle anything, man.
"Bet I can eat it hotter than you." Rick grinned and sat beside the boy. "Let's have a chili face-off. You game, Devon?"
The boy shook his head. "Dude, that's seriously messed up. Chili makes you fart. I want to be able to breathe tonight."
The girls snickered. Latoya ruffled Devon's red hair as she passed. "You don't need no help. You smelled yourself lately?"
The rest of the kids hooted with laughter. Rick grabbed the ladle. "Want some chili, Betsy?"
The little girl nodded, her smile breaking out.
"Then tell me. Say yes." He waited, but the little girl clucked her head. "Come on, Betsy, you can do it. You're a big girl."
Allic grabbed the ladle from his hand. "She already said she wanted the chili." Moments later a big spoonful of chili was steaming in Betsy's bowl. Allie crumpled crackers into it and blew on it before lifting a spoonful to Betsy's lips.
"Oh for Pete's sake! She's not a baby, Allie. She can talk, and she can feed herself if you'll let her."
Allic flushed and glanced around at the others listening to their conversation. She sat down, but Rick knew she would let him have it in private. Their minor spat squashed any banter, and the staff and the kids vanished as soon as they gulped down their supper.
Fern took Betsy up for her bath, and Rick leaned hack in his chair. "I shouldn't have said anything in front of the others," he said, when she opened her mouth. "But Allie, you've got to quit babying her. It's not helping Betsy grow up."
Allic banged a pot down into the sink. "She is my daughter, Rick. Mine and Jon's, not yours."
"She's going to be mine shortly," he pointed out. "Legally and in every way.
I think I know what's best for my daughter. You don't understand how fragile she is, Rick."
"I know what it's like to grow up too fast. I don't want that for her, but I do want her to grow up eventually. Yes, she's got a problem, but the way you coddle her, she's never going to talk. Quit answering for her, and start putting her in positions where she has to speak."
"I don't want to hurt her."
"She's already been hurt. Your job is to help her get past it, not wallow in it."
Allie's face reddened. "You're such a --a male!"
"I don't know how to be anything else."
I love her. She's just a little girl."
"But growing up fast. We've got to get her past this no-talking thing before she goes to school. I've got a lot of experience here with kids. Trust me a little."
The expression in her eyes left no doubt that he was asking the impossible. She began to put the leftover chili away with jerky movements. She wasn't done with this argument, not judging by the tense set of her shoulders. When she finally whirled to face him, he was ready.
"Let's get something straight right now. I'm not going to have my parenting questioned at every turn. Betsy will always be my little girl. A piece of paper doesn't make her yours. You're only going to be in her life a year, and I don't want her confused about who her father really is. Jon is her daddy, and he'll always be her daddy. I don't want you mucking up her memories."
Like he'd do anything to hurt Jon's memory. "Where'd you learn to grip the people you love in such a stranglehold?" he asked softly.
She flushed nearly the color of
the chili, but she didn't answer. It might take more patience than he had to get past her defenses.
13
THAT COUGAR'S LONELY CRY SENT GOOSE BUMPS RP HER BACK. ALLIE LAY ON the sagging mattress and listened to the animal's wail. Even though she knew what it was, the moan made her shudder. Betsy slept peacefully.
Allie rubbed her burning eyes.Yo's death still weighed heavily on her. The reality was impossible to wrap her mind around. She peered at the clock on the bed stand. It was after midnight, and the moon cast a soft wash of light through the curtains. She sat up and untangled her legs from the sheet before swinging them to the floor. On nights like this, she wished she didn't struggle so much to read.
She stood and walked to the window. Nothing moved tonight but the wind. The dust storm had descended with a vengeance after din ner, and drifts of dust piled against the porch, the barn, and the pump house. The howl of the wind had become more muted in the past hour, and she thought the storm had about blown itself out.
Her argument with Rick was another reason for her sleeplessness. Did she really have a stranglehold on Betsy? Her gaze touched her sleeping daughter. She wanted only the best for her baby girl. Rick didn't understand how important it was to keep Jon's memory alive. Maybe the most important thing in her life, other than Betsy herself.
A whisper of sound came from behind her, and she turned to see a white square of paper on the floor, highlighted in the glow of moonlight. Someone had slipped it under her door. Rick maybe? Allie stepped to the door and picked up the note, then carried it back to the window to look at it in the moonlight.
She laughed softly at the way her pulse raced. A midnight tryst with her husband. Husband. She'd never thought to experience marriage again. But why hadn't he knocked and asked her to talk?
Maybe it was an apology.
She unfolded the note. Holding it up to the light, she tried to make out the words, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Glare bothered her, but this small bit of light wasn't enough either.
Glancing at Betsy, she saw her daughter was still sound asleep. Allie grabbed her robe, stuffed her feet into slippers and tiptoed out of the room. She could use some company. Jem was outside, and the porch light might be enough to read by.
Padding noiselessly through the quiet house, she slipped out onto the front porch. The dog wasn't around, so she whistled for him, a light sound that seemed unduly loud in the night.
After a few minutes, she saw him coming over the hillside. The porch light illuminated the yard enough that she could see him do his little excited dance in the air before he joined her, but he didn't make any noise.
She patted his head, and he settled at her feet. "I could use some company," she told the dog in a soft voice. He wagged his tail and licked her hand. She slipped to the porch floor and wrapped her arms around him, relishing his warm fur and his happy tongue.
Yo was dead. The realization kept surprising her, then grief would well afresh. Tears slipped down her face, and she buried her face in Jem's fur.
He whined and nuzzled her neck. She let him comfort her until the pain eased, then pushed him away and got up. The forgotten note fell to the ground. She grabbed it from the floor, settled on the swing, then held the note under the wash of light, which was soft enough not to cast a glare on the page. Still, the black typewritten letters jumped around on the white paper. If only she had the money to replace her pink glasses.
Maybe someday.
She blinked and squinted and managed to make out the letters.
I've found you. Tag, I'm it. Your worst nightmare.
The blood congealed in her head, and she felt faint. "No," she whispered.
Jem whined, and she rubbed his ears, clinging to the contact with another living thing.
He couldn't have found her. It was impossible. She was misreading this. Squinting, she reread the note, but the words remained the same. Ominous words full of menace.
She gasped, her hand going to her throat. How had the guy gotten in? He was out there somewhere, maybe standing in the shadows.
Betsy!
Allie sprang to her feet and threw open the door. Rushing pellmell up the steps, she bolted into the bedroom and ran to Betsy's bed. Her daughter was still sleeping, but a lingering scent of some kind of men's cologne made Allie whirl and flip on the light. She blinked at the bright light and stared hard into the shadows.
She and Betsy were alone.
Could it be one of the teenagers' idea of a joke? Maybe one of them had overheard her telling Rick about the stalker. They'd been up the night she found out about Yolanda's murder. She didn't want to believe they'd be so cruel, but they might not realize how hurtful it was.
Allie hugged herself. She had to tell Rick about this, but she didn't want to leave Betsy alone. Better to wake her daughter up than to have some madman take her. Allie scooped Betsy up in her arms, grunting softly with the little girl's weight as she headed down the hall to Rick's room.
Leaning against the doorframe, she supported Betsy with one arm and rapped on the door with her other hand. "Rick?" she called softly.
The silence of the house set Allie on edge. She wanted to turn her head and look behind her, but she was almost afraid to find out if he was watching her. "Rick," she called louder. A muffled click came through the door, then a light shone out from under the crack. Relief flooded her.
Rick could handle anything.
The door swung open, and she nearly fell into the room. Rick's hair stood on end. Dressed in pajama shorts and no shirt, he leaned on the doorframe and blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Allie? What's wrong?"
Allie's fears left her as soon as she saw him. She wanted to walk into his arms, let him wrap her in safety. How did he do it? She could be a bundle of terror, but one moment in his presence and she felt safe.
He lifted Betsy from her arms. "Is she sick?" His voice, roughed with sleep, held concern.
"No, no, she's fine."Allie walked past him into the bedroom. She'd been in here to clean, but it looked different at night with Rick's presence filling the room. His jeans lay atop his boots at the foot of the bed, and the rumpled covers lay in a heap.
Rick stepped past her to the bed and laid Betsy on it, then drew the covers around her before turning back to Allie. "You look scared. Did someone call?"
"Worse." She handed him the note.
He frowned and held it out to read it. His expression changed from bewilderment to anger. "Where was this?"
"Under my door."Allie cinched the belt on her robe tighter. "I was awake and heard him slip it into the room."
"Did you try to see who it was?"
She shook her head. "I -I thought it might be a note from you, so I wasn't concerned at first. I tried to read it in my room and couldn't, so I went to the porch. I didn't see anyone."
"The house wasn't locked. We never lock it in case one of the hands or the kids need something in the night. Anyone could have gotten in."
"How did he find me so fast?" Had it really been less than two weeks since she drove the long, lonely stretch of 1-10 from El Paso? Life here at the ranch seemed so normal, so right.
"I don't know." Rick put the paper down on the bed and came to her. His hands dropped onto her shoulders. "I'll protect you, Allie. Don't look so afraid."
"I'm afraid for Betsy," she admitted.
He pulled her against his chest, and she inhaled the musky male scent of him. It had been so long since she'd relaxed in a man's arms. His arms and chest were hard with muscle, and the hairs on his chest tickled her cheek. For the muscle-bound type, he was pretty nice.
She wasn't attracted to him, but to the safety he offered.
No!
She drew away and stepped back. Rick wasn't Jon. She was just lonely. It would be easy to forget herself in his arms, and she couldn't let that happen. The year would be up before she knew it, and her heart couldn't stand being broken again.
Besides, falling in love with anyone would be a betrayal of Jon. Jon had been
an easygoing guy, content to let her do what she liked. She sensed controlling Rick would be like lassoing the wind. There were few things she still controlled in her life Betsy and her heart and Allie planned to keep a tight grip on both.
Rick's hands dropped away. "I'll find him, Allie. I promise." His gaze held hers. "I'm going to go search the house. Prop a chair against the door. I'll call to you when I come back. Don't go outside of this room until I tell you it's safe, okay?"
"Okay." He bent over his shirt and jeans, and Allie gasped. "Your back."
Thick scars crisscrossed his back. Someone had beat him badly, or cut him with something. Allie reached out and touched the worst one, and Rick flinched away.
"Old story," he said shortly. He jerked aT-shirt on over his bare chest and yanked on his jeans over his shorts. She followed him to the door and clicked it shut behind him. Dragging the ladder-back chair from the corner, she propped it under the doorknob and crawled into bed with Betsy.
The pillow smelled of Rick. She told herself not to be a fool, but she buried her face in the pillow anyway and pulled the covers around her neck as if she were enveloped in Rick's arms.
Stupid, stupid. She wasn't so naive that she didn't recognize how she was beginning to fall for her new husband. She kicked off the sheets. Betsy shuffled and rolled away from her. Maybe someday he'd tell her who had made those scars. And why.
THE HOUSE BLAZED WITH LIGHT. RICK HAD LOOKED IN EVERY CLOSET, behind every curtain in the empty bedrooms and in the downstairs. He hadn't wanted to awaken the teenage girls, but when he didn't find an intruder, he rapped on their door and had them come out while he searched their room.
Their hair a mess and dragging their sheets, they'd congregated in the hall while he poked around their room. It stank of cheap perfume and nail polish.
"If you want to hook up, just say so," Latoya said, batting her lashes. "You don't have to make no excuses to visit my bedroom."
Rick was in no mood for her antics. "You've got sleep in the corners of your eyes," he told her.
Her coy smile faded, and she cleaned the gunk out of her eyes. "Thanks," she said sullenly.