"Then why are you frowning?"
"My mom lied to me about Elijah," she said. "She said he kicked her out when he found out she was pregnant, and that she lost the baby. Instead, she gave my sister up for adoption, and Elijah brought Maria to the ranch. All these years I could have known her. I don't know why my mom broke ties with Elijah. It was only after she died that I realized he was even still alive."
"Maybe she didn't want your father to know about the baby."
"Maybe. But why did she refuse to have anything to do with Elijah? It doesn't make sense."
"Now that things have settled down, maybe we can try to find out."
The waitress brought their food, and the conversation lulled as they ate their tender steaks. It was the best meal Allie could remember. Maybe because she wasn't looking over her shoulder for danger every minute. Or maybe because of the loving glances Rick sent her way.
Replete with hot food, Allie leaned back in her chair. "The kids will be gone in a few days. When does our next batch come?"
"In a couple of weeks. The rest of the bunkhouse will be finished, and we'll have a group for the month of April. Summer is busy, even though it's hot. The kids like swimming in the river and riding the horses early morning before the sun heats everything up."
Allie's sigh was a happy one. Life was going to be good. "I'll be right back." She took her purse and walked to the bathroom.
The room smelled fresh from a pine detergent. Thankful it was empty, Allie found a chair and opened her purse. She pulled out a small photo of her and Jon together on their wedding day. They both looked so young and happy.
Rick wasn't Jon. Maybe it was best they were so different. Rick had his own place in her heart. "Good-bye, Jon," she whispered. "I hope you're looking down from heaven and are happy Rick and I are together. I think you are." Tears pricked her eyes as she put the picture away.
RICK HELD ALLIE'S HAND IN THE TRUCK. THE STARS AND THE MOON LIT THE vegetation on both sides of the road with a golden glow. With his window rolled down, the fragrance of creosote and sage filled his lungs.
He parked in front of the house. "Looks like the kids are watching TV." The blue glow of the television flickered through the window.
Rick's spirit deflated a bit. He'd hoped for the evening alone with Allie. Peeking at his watch, he saw it was only seven. It would be an hour before he could send the kids off to bed.
The security light illuminated the corral around the barn. They could be alone in the barn. He got out and went around to open her door.
Allie looked up at him with such trust it scared him. What if he failed her? She was bound to find out he had feet of clay soon.
"Let's make sure the kids took care of the horses," he said. Allie slid out, and he took her hand again. Jem ran to greet them, doing his little air dance of joy.
Allie stopped to pet the dog. "Hey, Jem, you keeping everyone safe for us?"
Rick led her toward the barn. "He'd only lick someone to death."
"Poor Jem, did you hear that? Rick has no faith in you."
"Oh, I have plenty of faith." Rick squeezed her fingers. "Faith that he's the friendliest dog on the planet."
The cougar screamed from a rocky hillside, and he saw Allie shiver. "It's probably two miles away," he told her.
"I know. I worry one of these days it will come after one of the horses. Or even worse, Betsy."
"Jem protects us pretty well from animal intruders. It's the human ones that were the problem." He rubbed the dog's head as he trotted beside them.
"That he does," she said, smiling.
They reached the barn, and he slid open the door. The scent of horse and hay greeted them like old friends. A mouse scurried away from their feet, then a dark shape swooped down.
Allie screamed and ducked behind him as the bat barely missed her hair, then cruised on out the door. "I hate bats," she said.
"They're interesting," he said. "There's a big colony in an old mine shaft about five miles from here. They're western pipistrelle bats, and they only eat insects, not pretty girls."
She shuddered. "Interesting to you maybe. Nasty things."
"They eat tons of mosquitoes," he said. "And scorpions and centipedes."
"They're still not my friends." She went past him to the stall that held Moonbeam. "Hey boy, you doing okay?" She rubbed the white blaze on his face.
Rick did a quick walk through, and all was quiet. He eyed the stack of hay in the corner. With a blanket over it, they could settle there and . . . talk. Suppressing a grin, he grabbed an old quilt they kept in the barn for sick horses. When he sniffed it, it smelled slightly horsy but not bad. He spread it over the hay and fell back onto it. He propped his head up with his arms folded under it.
Allie turned toward him and smiled when she saw his comfortable pose. "I take it you are in no hurry to go check on the kids?"
"Emilio is with them." He patted the spot beside him. Her smile widened, and she approached his little nest. "The kitchen is probably a mess.
"I'll help you with it later." Reaching up, he grabbed her hand and tugged her down onto the quilt with him. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled against him. Her hair, smelling like a yucca blossom, tickled his nose, but he didn't mind.
He settled his chin against the top of her head. The words he wanted to say hovered behind his teeth.
I love you.
He'd never told anyone that except his little brother. His parents weren't ones for soft words, and he'd learned that early. But Chad was different. And so was Allie. He'd never imagined he could be so happy, so content. But how did she feel? If she left him, he couldn't handle it.
She still didn't know the role he'd played in Jon's death. And he couldn't tell her. Not right now, with the hay so soft and sweetsmelling, and her trust in him so heady.
"Are you happy, Allie?"
"Very happy." Her voice had a little hitch in it. She pulled away and looked into his face. Her hand came up to cup his cheek. "I love you, Rick," she whispered.
Joy exploded in Rick's chest, radiating heat through his body. "You do? Really?" He sounded like a sixteen-year-old kid, and he nearly groaned. His lips found hers. So soft and yielding. He drank in the love she poured over him like the desert drank up rain.
Tell her. The words lodged behind his teeth. Three little words. I love you. Why couldn't he say them? He was afraid to let them loose in case they grew into something he couldn't manage.
Love made you vulnerable, tore your heart out when you weren't looking. If he said the words, they might bite him later. So instead he poured how he felt into the kiss. Surely she would understand.
They necked like two kids at the drive-in until he heard the kids laughing as they went past the barn to the bunkhouse.
"Let's go to the house," he whispered. "The bed is softer."
Her questioning gaze softened, and she nodded. Hand in hand, they slipped out of the barn and moved through the pools of moonlight to the house.
Th
CONTENTMENT SOFTENED RICK'S BONES. HE PROPPED HIMSELF ON ONE elbow and watched his wife's face in the morning light. Had he ever been this happy, even once? He didn't think so.
His conscience had torn at him all night in spite of it. Until she knew the truth, how could he trust her vows of love? Before he got in any deeper, he needed to know how she'd react to the truth.
And he still hadn't told her he loved her. Rick believed in showing how he felt with action. She rolled closer, tucking her head onto his shoulder. He pulled her closer.
"You okay?" Her voice was husky.
"Fine."
His hand rubbed against the flesh of her upper arm in a loving caress. He had to tell her. Tension tightened the muscles in his back and arms. It wasn't fair to keep it from her. If only he had some whiskey to bolster his courage.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"There's something I have to tell you," he said. Her smile bloomed out, and he knew she thought he was going to say someth
ing sweet, like the three little words that hovered on his tongue.
He rushed on before he lost his courage. "It's about Jon's death. My part in it."
Rolling onto her back, she propped herself up on the pillow and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
He sat up and ran his hand through his rumpled hair. His courage began to fail. How could she forgive him when he couldn't forgive himself? "Forget it."
"No. No, I'm not going to forget it. Something is between us, Rick, even after last night. If we are going to build a future, we have to knock down the wall."
He knew she was right. "It's my fault he's dead."
She folded her arms across her chest as though to ward off whatever he was trying to tell her. "How can it be your fault?"
"Allie, I'm an alcoholic. A recovering one, but it's something I struggle with every day." He couldn't look away from her stunned face, though he wanted to.
"An alcoholic." Her blue eyes cleared, and she touched his arm. "It's okay, Rick. We all have something we're ashamed of in our past. I'll be here for you."
She wouldn't be so glib once she knew the truth. Rick held her gaze. "You don't understand, Allie. I was drunk the day Jon died." He looked away, unable to watch the words he was about to say pierce her. In an instant he was back in Iraq with the raw sewage making his eyes water and the stink of gunpowder lingering on his clothes.
THE SOUND OF THE TROOPS' BOOTS CLOCKED ALONG THE PAYMENT. RICK staggered when they stopped at the end of the street. The rest of the unit hunkered down behind some trash barrels. Rick fell clumsily beside his buddy. Some hair of the dog would clear his mind. He fumbled for the little flask he'd slipped into his pocket.
"You've had enough," Jon hissed. He grabbed the flask from Rick's hand and started to put it in his own pocket.
"No sermon," Rick slurred. "Give it back." He made an awkward swipe at Jon's arm.
A shadow loomed over them. Colonel Preston glared down at Jon. "I knew you weren't as pure as you tried to seem, Lieutenant Siders. Hand it over. You'll be brought up for courtmartial on this."
Rick tried to slide out of the way. He had enough presence of mind to know that if the colonel saw him like this, he'd be placed under arrest. Jon was too good of a buddy to squeal on him.
"Yes sir," Jon said, straightening. He passed the flask to his superior. "I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry doesn't cut it," the colonel snapped. "Stand up. Walk a line for me."
"I didn't drink any of it, sir. I'm competent to fight." Jon leaped to his feet, walked a line, turned, and came back.
Shame clutched Rick's gut. He'd make it up to Jon though. His buddy had been eyeing a dress for his wife but didn't have the money to buy it. Jon sent every cent back to his little family in El Paso. Rick would buy it and send it, then tell Jon what he'd done.
"Enough. But this isn't over." The colonel grabbed the flask and moved away with a final contemptuous glare.
"Thanks, buddy," Rick muttered. "You saved my bacon there."
Jon's gaze held pity and love. "You've got to quit the drinking, Rick. It's going to kill you."
"I know, I know." Rick stood, still wavering. "Let's get this job done." He couldn't stand to look his buddy in the eye. Jon was the best friend he'd ever had.
"Stop!" Jon grabbed Rick's arm when he started toward the house that had pieces of plaster missing and no windows. "Wait for the order."
Rick shrugged off his friend's hand. "No glory in waiting," he said, his words slurred. Before Jon could grab him again, he leaped to the door and kicked it open.
His gaze collided with the five insurgents pointing guns at him. He brought his own weapon up, but slowly, too slowly. Expecting to feel bullets tearing through his skin, he closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, Jon's rebel call echoed into the small room. His buddy leaped into the house in front of the men.
The bullets meant for him entered Jon's chest, and his bloodspattered body fell across Rick as the other soldiers came through the door.
HE COULDN'T LOOK AT HER AS HE RECOUNTED THE STORY. WHEN IT WAS over, he lifted his gaze to her face. "Don't hate me, Allie. I hate myself enough for both of us."
A stunned expression dulled the brightness of her eyes. "No," she said. "You're lying. You're afraid to love me, so you're trying to drive me away.
"It's the truth, honey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's eaten me up all this time. It's the reason I had to help you. I owed it to Jon."
She clapped her hands over her ears. "No, I won't listen."
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down. "If we're going to go on from here, it has to be with truth between us. I killed him, Allie. I need you to forgive me. Can you do that?"
"That's the only reason you married me?"
Her whimper cut him to bloody shreds inside. "The only reason. But it's not the reason I want to stay married now."
"Then why?" She held up her hand. "Wait, don't say anything. I have to think about this. It's too much to take in." She got out of bed and gathered her clothes from the floor. "I've got to get out of here for a while."
He watched her walk away. Saying the words "I love you" might have stopped her, but he still couldn't get them out past his tongue. Maybe it was a good thing. If she couldn't forgive him, he wasn't going to run the risk of rejection.
MOONBEAM MOYED SMOOTHLY UNDER HER. ALLIE BARELY NOTICED THE clouds overhead, the blackness deepening as the storm approached. Her second husband had killed her first.
Murderer.
She couldn't stop the tears. Why couldn't he have kept the truth to himself? Dealing with it was going to be impossible. She had loved Jon, and now she loved Rick.
Oh, how she loved him.
But he had kept this one vital piece of information to himself until she threw everything to the winds and gave herself to him. Had he thought if he told her last night, he wouldn't get her into his bed?
Her hard laugh turned to a sob as the wind picked up pieces of sand and flung them against her face. The stinging attack broke her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see the towering thunderheads still building.
She had some time before it hit. The cabin where Rosa Garcia lived was just over the hill. She could head there to escape the coming rain. It would be an excuse to ask Rosa the questions she needed answered.
The tiny cabin looked barely bigger than an outhouse, a mere fifteen-by-fifteen square. Flowers bloomed beside the porch, and the rocker looked worn and well used.
Glancing at her watch, Allie saw it was barely six thirty. The old woman might still be in bed. But before she could decide what to do, the front door opened, and a tiny, wizened figure stepped into view. An apron covered the dark dress that touched her boot tops, and the woman wore her white hair coiled in a knot at the back of her neck.
"Finally, you have come for a visit." Rosa's dark eyes examined her. "You have the look of Maria, si, and of your mother. Coffee is brewing. Come." She hooked a finger toward Allie.
Allie dismounted, tied the reins to the porch railing, and followed the woman inside. The tiny cabin was as spotless inside as out. A bright rug covered the worn floorboards, and three candles burned on the fireplace mantel. Coffee boiled on a woodstove in the corner.
Rosa wrapped her hand in her apron, lifted the coffeepot from the heat, and poured two cups. "Cream and sugar, si?"
"Yes, please." Allie accepted the coffee the woman handed her, then went to sit on the ladder-back chair. "You sounded like you were expecting me."
"Si. I knew you would come in your own time. You want to know of your mother." Rosa settled at the table with Allie. "I am the only one left who knows all the story. The rest all dead."
Rain began to patter against the metal roof over their heads. "You were at the ranch when my mother was a child?"
Rosa nodded. "Si. From the time your madre was crawling on the floor."
She might as well start at the beginning. "What happened to my grandmother?"
R
osa's dark eyes softened. "Ah, Francesca was a darling girl. Elijah, he loved her very much. I thought he would die himself when the pneumonia took her from him. But he had your madre to care for."
"I saw some pictures of my mother growing up. She looked so happy until she got to her teens. What happened? Who was Maria's father?"
Rosa winced. "It is an unhappy story. Elijah carried the hurt to his grave. He blamed himself."
Wrapping her fingers around her warm cup, Allie tried to prepare herself for whatever information was coming. Thunder rumbled overhead. She would be trapped here all morning unless Rosa hurried up.
"Elijah had a partner. Nolan Webster. Handsome as el diablo himself. His wife was Francesca's best friend. He took a special interest in Anna, showed her rodeo tricks, took her to her first rodeo. Elijah thought nothing of it until his daughter told him she was pregnant. And Nolan was the father."
Allie shuddered, suddenly cold. "How old was this Nolan?"
"Forty, he was. And Anna was fifteen."
A lech. "He should have been shot," Allie said fiercely. "He could have been prosecuted for statutory rape."
"Si. Elijah did just that, dear girl."
Allie opened her mouth and shut it again. "Did what? You don't mean Elijah shot him?" That couldn't be what Rosa meant. Elijah was no murderer.
Rosa's lively dark eyes narrowed. "Si. Elijah, he shot Nolan and buried him in an old well. Anna was the only one who knew. She left the ranch that night and never returned. It was the only way she could cope with knowing her father was a murderer."
Allie swallowed hard. "Elijah seemed to be such a good man."
Rosa grabbed her hand with tough, sinewy fingers. "Si, he was a very good man. But even good men have their breaking points. He spent the rest of his life atoning for his sin. That is when he converted the ranch to a place for hurting young people."
"And Maria?"
"Elijah had many eyes and ears. When Anna left, he found her again a year later. By then she was beginning to make a name for herself in the rodeo. She refused to come home. When she had no bebe with her, Elijah found out what had happened to the little one. She was to be adopted, but he fought and won custody and brought her home."