Lonestar Sanctuary

  His tone was full of assurance, and she gave him a curious stare. "You seem to know a lot about it."

  Taking a tin from his pocket, he took out a pinch of snuff and stuffed it in his cheek. "Makes sense."

  He must not want to talk about his past at all. Maybe it was too painful. The sun glared down from the sky, and she adjusted her cowboy hat to shade her eyes. "Betsy loves that new horse. We haven't named her. I keep hoping she'll start talking and name the mare herself."

  "Don't give up on that idea. She just might. I saw her come out first thing this morning to feed her. She's hardly left the mare's side."

  Allie nodded, her gaze on her daughter. Betsy was blooming here. Even though she still wasn't talking, she was smiling more as she ran and played in the barnyard. The animals flocked around her, from the kittens to Jem and the horses. Even the cattle watched her when she climbed up to sit on the fence.

  A shadow blocked the sun from her eyes, and she squinted up into Rick's face.

  "I thought we might run to town and file those adoption papers," he said.

  She straightened. "Let me get Betsy." Without waiting for his answer, she climbed the fence and went to where her daughter stood currying the mangy mare. Fern was helping.

  Poor thing. The mare's cuts were starting to heal, but all the bones still stuck out under the rough coat. "Betsy, let's go to town for a while."

  Betsy thrust out her lower lip, and she fingered the buttons on her blue blouse.

  "I'll watch her, Mrs. Bailey." Fern's voice was almost inaudible, and she ducked her head without looking Allie in the eye. "I like Betsy. She's the age of my little brother ..."

  "I'd rather she come with me." Panic dried into a bad taste in her mouth. Someone had killed Yolanda. That same someone might find them here.

  Betsy tugged on her mother's arm and shook her head, tears filling her eyes. She pointed to the horse and then to Fern.

  Allie was such a sucker for Betsy's entreaties. Rick assured her they were safe here. How could anyone find them clear out here? She'd left no trail. Still, someone had killed Elijah, even though the sheriff seemed to think it was an accident. "She'd better come with me. Why don't you come too, Fern?"

  The girl's face lit with pleasure. "To town with you?"

  "Sure. We'll stop and get an ice cream soda at the drugstore. We won't be gone long."

  Fern took Betsy's hand, and the girls followed Allie. Sorrow welled in her throat, choking her. If only she'd let Yolanda come with her.

  She rejoined Rick and Emilio. "Betsy wants to stay with Fern, but I don't think it's safe to leave her. I thought she could come with us."

  "Sure," Emilio said. "Fern is good with kids."

  His gaze toward Allie was intense and probing. Surely he wasn't interested in her, was he? She was a married woman now. Reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, she made sure to turn toward him so he would see her new ring.

  Rick still hadn't spoken. He headed toward the truck, and Allie followed with the girls. At the cab's door, she stopped and spoke too softly for the girls to hear. "Marriage must not agree with you. You're a bear this morning." She flashed her most winning smile, hoping to coax him out of whatever had brought this on.

  He gave her a cold glare. "Let's not talk about it now. I want to get this adoption paperwork done first. We can sign the papers for the ranch, too."

  Allie tried to think of anything she'd done to warrant this gruff treatment, but came up blank. He'd been so solicitous and caring last night when he heard the news about Yolanda. Let him stew. She'd done nothing to incur his wrath. And even if she had, what right did he have to act like an enraged rattlesnake?

  She let the girls sit between them. They made the trip to town in a silence that seemed to thicken with every passing mile. Allie tried to distract herself with praying forYolanda's family, but she found it hard to focus when every time she glanced Rick's way he was still glowering.

  It was going to be a long year.

  The attorney's secretary had the papers ready for them to sign. Allie's signature looked a little shaky, but Rick scrawled his name in bold, confident strokes. His determination to help her daughter made her more willing to overlook his bad mood.

  The wind had picked up by the time they stepped back out into the sunshine. A few tumbleweeds lay nestled against the truck tires, and tiny bits of sand stung Allie's cheeks as the two of them hurried to the shelter of the drugstore. Rick had her by the arm to steady her. He opened the door, then shut it behind her.

  The aroma of cheeseburgers and French fries, of sock hops and high school dates, washed over her. Black-and-white tiles on the floor and red vinyl booths made the place look like a set from the movie Grease. Rick led the way to the booth at the back.

  "A jukebox," Fern breathed in a reverent tone.

  "Here. Pick out some music." Rick dug a handful of coins from his pocket and dropped them into her cupped palms.

  Fern and Betsy went to pick out the music. Allie folded her hands together to keep them from shaking. "Okay, let's have it. I'm tired of tiptoeing around your mood. If you've got a complaint, spill it."

  Rick's icy and appraising eyes belonged to a stranger. Where was the warmth that he showed last night? For a few moments she thought he might refuse to speak.

  Then he leaned against the seat. "I talked to my friend yesterday, the one who's in intelligence."

  "So? I have nothing to hide."

  "He had more details about your part in the moving of illegal aliens."

  "I didn't have any part in that other than testifying"

  "Then where did you get all the money?"

  "What money?" Allie's gaze went to her bag containing exactly ten dollars and fifteen cents.

  "A quarter of a million dollars has moved through your account in the last six months."

  Allie gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "That's impossible." But was it? She never looked at her bank statements. They were too hard to make out. The only way she knew what she had in the bank at any given time was to run through the ATM and check her balance.

  "I see you're suddenly remembering," Rick said. "Your face says it all."

  "No, you don't understand," she protested. "I never know what's in my account. I I can't read the statements."

  He frowned then. "What are you talking about?"

  She looked away from his intense gaze. "I have Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome. Some people call it Irlen Syndrome. It's really hard for me to read things on white paper. The letters jump and move around. So I don't read my statement."

  "I've never heard of it."

  From his tone, she guessed he thought she was lying. "Look it up," she snapped. "That's why I have to make sure I wear sunglasses in the glare, or a hat. My eyes can't handle glare."

  The ice in his eyes thawed slightly. "I still find it hard to believe you don't know what's in your account."

  She kept her gaze focused on her hands, tightly clenched in her lap. "Jon always handled the banking. Since his death, everything like that has been ... difficult."

  "Why didn't you ask Yolanda for help?"

  She bristled at his persistent skepticism. "I wanted to stand on my own two feet. If Yo knew how tight things were, she'd insist on helping me. I couldn't accept that."

  "Can you explain how so much money could be in your account? Did anyone else have access to it?"

  She grabbed her purse and upended it. A bottle of nail polish rolled out, a comb, a lipstick clattered to the table, then her wallet plopped on the surface. Picking it up, she threw it at him. "Take a look. Ten dollars and some change."

  He recoiled, but she dug in her purse again and brought out her checkbook. "Here, you want to see how incompetent I am? Make sure I'm a loser?" Her voice rose, and she saw the girls look toward her, so she gathered her self-control. "Here, take a look."

  She knew what he would see. Chicken scratches scrawling their way across the page, strikeouts, messy entries that made no sense. Falli
ng silent, sadness replaced the anger. "I'm not a criminal, Rick."

  His hand closed around the checkbook. "I'm sorry, Allie. I believe you. If someone's messing with your account, we need to find out who."

  Her gaze came up at the softening of his voice. Maybe he recognized the ring of truth. "I've never given anyone the number. Unless it's the guy who killed Yo and my family. Maybe he's trying to make me look guilty of something. That smuggling thing, maybe."

  "He's doing a pretty good job of it." Rick laid the checkbook next to her other things. "The FBI will track you down in short order."

  "I didn't leave a trail," she said. "No credit cards, nothing."

  "Did you know you were under suspicion when you left El Paso?"

  "I had no idea." She began to return the items to her purse.

  "What about this Jimmy Hernandez that you testified against? How did that happen?"

  Allie sighed. It was an old story, and she was sick of it. Everyone seemed to think it had some bearing on her present circumstances, and she knew it didn't. "He worked with me. He was in charge of getting stock handlers. I noticed he seemed to have a lot of men milling around who couldn't speak English, but I didn't think much about it at first. It's not unusual, you know? I was on my way to the grocery store one night and noticed him pull off onto a deserted road in front of me. He had a load of workers in his truck. It was long after hours, so I decided to circle back and see what he was doing. I parked my pickup along the road and walked back. The workers were all transferring to a van. The next day I started paying attention and noticed none of the workers Jimmy used were the same day to day. I got suspicious and told the police. A couple of months later he was arrested, and I was called to testify when the trial came up."

  Rick's scowl turned thoughtful. "So he could be behind it if you sent him to prison."

  "They had a lot more on him than my testimony."

  "But you turned him in."

  She held out her hands, palms up. "They were already suspicious."

  "He might not know that."

  This was getting them nowhere. Allie shook her head. "Look, he died in prison during a riot. It's not him."

  "If you had nothing to do with any illegal alien traffic, then someone is out to get you."

  Allic wanted to slap her forehead. "That's what I've been trying to tell you.You're not listening."

  "I'm listening now," he said. "Who hates you?"

  Allic sighed. "Everyone asks that, and I just don't know." She could see he didn't believe she didn't know who was after her. But she could feel a noose tightening around her neck.

  12

  THE WIND HOWLED AND RAGED OUTSIDE THE WINDOW LIKE A PACK OF wolves baying for entrance. Allie stirred the pot of chili and watched the eddies of sand dance in the glow of sunset.

  "Smells good." Charlie stood with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. The expression in his eyes said he was talking about her and not the chili. He looked washed-out.

  Allie hid her smile. Rick seemed to barely notice how she looked, let alone how she smelled. "It'll be ready in a few minutes. You okay? You look a little pale."

  He rubbed his forehead. "Just a headache." He smiled and held out a small, velvet box.

  "What's this?"Allie took the box and opened it. A diamond eternity necklace lay nestled on the satin. The diamonds circling the pendant made her blink. "Charlie, it's beautiful. Who's it for?"

  "You." His smile was shy.

  Allie caught her breath. "Oh no, Charlie, I can't accept something so expensive." In her hand, the little box closed with a snap. She pressed it back into his hand. "I'm sorry."

  "It's true, isn't it?"

  "What is?"

  He stuffed the box into the pocket of his jeans. "Someone in town said you and Rick got hitched."

  "It's true."

  He blinked rapidly, and his eyes looked moist. "You married Rick? You just got here."

  "He knew my first husband." She knew it sounded lame.

  "That's no reason to get married." Charlie's lips trembled like he wanted to cry. He pressed them together like he suddenly remembered he was a grown-up.

  "Well, we did." She clamped her teeth against any explanation. It wasn't like Charlie was a good friend or anything. He was just disappointed not to make his conquest. He was on his way to growing up, and she'd just given him a valuable lesson in not counting chickens.

  "Probably for Betsy," he mumbled, then turned and shuffled away.

  If only she had someone she could really talk to here. Or anywhere, for that matter. There was no one left to her now, no one to help her see the path through the trees. Had she even done the right thing? But Jon had trusted Rick. Surely she could do the same.

  Rick just seemed so sure of himself. She was anything but. Part of her insecurity came from the trouble she had with light, and part of it was the life she'd led that of a nomad. The rodeo was her family, but the personnel often changed with every event. She'd learned to hide behind a smile and her work.

  The thump of Rick's boots on the floor had become familiar, and she glanced up as he came into the kitchen. The expression on his face told her he had more questions.

  "I've been thinking about who could be targeting you," he said, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down. "I wonder if it could be someone who has something against Jon."

  "Against Jon?" Allie shook her head. "Everyone liked him."

  "Not everyone," Rick said.

  Allie joined him at the table. "What do you mean? He was like a pied piper. At the sound of his voice, people flocked to him. He had that certain something that made people instantly warm to him."

  "I know. But some people resented that. We had a colonel who couldn't stand him. He thought Jon was a fake who used his charisma to advance himself."

  Allie stared at him. "Jon was genuine."

  "I know. I'm just saying not everyone liked him."

  "He's dead," she pointed out. "This stalker keeps saying he's going to strip me of everything I love. So it's personal and targeted at me."

  "Yeah, that's true. Shoot, I thought maybe I was on to something" He stared at her. "Tell me about your life with Jon. About the rodeo. Maybe we'll see something you've missed."

  "It was a fairy tale," she said softly.

  "How'd you meet him?"

  "He was on leave, and his buddy talked him into going to the rodeo. He hated it, you know. The dust, the smells. I was moving horses from one corral to the other, and he stepped into some horse dung. He was so mad. I laughed, and he looked up. Our eyes met and it was . . . magic. He asked me out, we saw each other every night for a week, and he asked me to marry him. I said yes."

  "He moved fast."

  "You moved faster." They locked gazes, and Allie laughed. No magic there, though Rick's steadiness drew her.

  It was just as well. Loving Rick would be like trying to ride a horse that had never been broken. The flight into the air might be high, but the jarring when she came back down could crush her bones.

  "We married right away, against the advice of his parents. They never really accepted me. He found a house off base, and we settled in. Betsy was born about ten months later. Life was perfect for three years." The few years she'd spent with Jon had been the best of her life -a home, a neighborhood, a church. Bliss.

  "Then he was sent to Iraq."

  "Yes." She looked down at her hands. "A few months later I got the news. I had no choice but to go back to the rodeo. I had to support Betsy, and it was the only way I knew how."

  "Jon's insurance?"

  "Only a little left over after the burial costs. He meant to get more," she added when she saw his frown.

  "Anyone at the base you might have had a run-in with?"

  She thought back. In her memory, the days spent with Jon at Fort Irwin, California were filled with sunshine and laughter. No darkness marred the halcyon days. She shook her head. "There was nothing."

  "And the rodeo?"

  She shrugged. "Y
ou get a lot of transients. People who think the rodeo is glamorous until they are faced with the reality of dust, sweat, and cow patties. Some hate being told what to do and walk off. I've had the usual rounds of misunderstandings, minor arguments. Nothing that stands out."

  "What about competitors? Any sore losers?"

  A face leaped to mind. "I just thought of someone," she said slowly. "There was a stock contractor we used for about five years. Ted Rediger. I found him injecting some bulls with something to make them buck harder. That's a big no-no. I turned him in, and he lost the contract with the rodeo."

  "Did he know you were the reason he lost the contract?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." She hadn't even thought about the incident until now. It had seemed so minor.

  "He never confronted you?"

  "No, I never saw him after that."

  "I'll have Brendan check it out." Rick leaned back, and his unblinking eyes focused on her. "Are you afraid?"

  Allie shuddered. "Wouldn't you be? Some faceless person wants to hurt me, and I don't even know why. It would help if I knew the reason.

  "Did you date anyone before Jon? With looks like yours, you could break someone's heart."

  Was that a flicker of awareness in his eyes? Allie wanted to look away and couldn't. His gaze bore into her, and she realized she liked Rick. And was drawn to him as well. He was steady and strong, and those broad shoulders could weather any storm. She felt so battered by life. The thought of a port in her storm was attractive. But maybe only because he was a link to Jon, and she was so lonely.

  She'd have to be careful or she'd find herself in love with him, and that would be disastrous. Their goal was to help Betsy. Nothing more. She wanted to smile at her rationalizations.

  The chili. Glad to tear her gaze away, she rose and went to stir the pot. "Jon was the only man I ever loved."

  "But not the only man who ever loved you?" he persisted.

  "There was a rodeo clown who asked me out a few times, and I went. He was ... strange." She heard his chair scrape, and she tensed when he came up behind her. His proximity set her nerves tingling.