Lonestar Sanctuary

  He heard the soft movement of bare feet on the wood floor. Removing his feet from the desk, he stepped to the door and peered through the dark house. A shadowy movement came on the stairs, and he saw Latoya tiptoeing to the landing.

  She was fully dressed in jeans and carried her shoes in one hand. She reeked of perfume, some flowery scent that made his eyes water when he got closer.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  She jumped, and her shoes clattered on the floor. Retrieving them, she turned and shook her finger at him. "You scared me out of an inch of nail growth."

  "I repeat, what are you doing? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were sneaking out to meet someone."

  She tossed her head, and her black cornrows bobbed. "What if I am? Whatcha going to do about it, boss man? Turn me in?"

  Rick stepped closer to her. "Nothing," he said. "You're nearly an adult, Latoya. If you're going to make something of your life, you're the only one who can choose your actions. I could make you march back upstairs, but that would just make you resentful. Instead, I want you to think before you walk out that door. The direction of your life hinges on the choices you make."

  Her dark eyes never left his face, and he saw the defiance slip out of her tense shoulders and tightly clenched fists.

  "You don't know what it's like," she said, plopping down on the bottom step. "To want to be someone, to have someone love you."

  "Sex isn't love, girl. I think you know that by now. And I do know what it's like." He moved to join her. "Move over." She scooted over, and he sat down beside her. "I was where you are once. Only instead of sex, my drug of choice was whiskey. It cost me my best friend and my self-respect. You're young enough to stop that downward spiral. You've got a lot on the ball you're smart, pretty, enthusiastic. If you want to make people respect you, you've got to respect yourself first."

  "Easy for you to say," she said. "My mama brings home her boyfriends. They ... do things to me."

  "You don't live there now. Take back your life, Latoya. Don't let the nightmares of the past destroy it."

  She lowered her head, and he caught the glint of a tear on her cheek. Anything he said now would be too much. All he could do is let her think it through.

  "You got a way with words," she said grudgingly. "Do you really think I'm smart?"

  "I do. And you've got a way with the animals. That shows a lot of heart."

  She fell silent again for a few long moments, then she slowly rose with her shoes in hand and turned to go back up the stairs. "Mornin' will be here too soon. I'm going back to bed."

  "Good girl. I'm proud of you."

  "Whatever. It's just one day."

  "It only takes one day at a time. Believe me, I know." He watched her sashay back upstairs. It was so easy to dispense advice and so hard to live by it.

  When was he going to let go of his past? All it took was a choice like Latoya had made tonight. God had forgiven him he had no doubt about that. It was time he forgave himself.

  He bowed his head and vowed to make a choice this one day to let go of the guilt.

  20

  SHE WOULDN'T EVEN NEED MAKEUP TO BE A RODEO CLOWN. ALLIE PEERED through swollen lids at her reflection in the mirror. Purple discoloration bloomed around her eyes and forehead. Her lips looked swollen too. A large goose egg jutted from her forehead.

  It was enough to frighten little children.

  She pulled on her jeans, wincing at the pain the movements caused. Betsy watched her with big, scared eyes. "It's okay," she told her daughter. "It looks worse than it is. I'm fine. My muscles are just sore like when I work hard all day."

  After two days, this soreness should have been gone. She should be moving around by now instead of letting everyone force her to stay in bed.

  She held out her hand to Betsy, and the little girl climbed off the bed and came to her. "Let's go fix breakfast," she told her. "Everyone will be starved, and I need to get everything back to normal. I can't stay in this room another minute. I might scream. Want to hear me scream, Bets?"

  Betsy giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. She nodded. Allie smiled back. "Ah!" she screamed.

  Betsy giggled again. A giggle was a sound. It was the promise of hope.

  When Allie opened her bedroom door, she could smell the aroma of bacon. "Guess they thought they were going to make me stay up here another day," she said. Her head felt clear for the first time in three days, but she took her time getting down the steps to the kitchen.

  Rick stood at the stove with a fork in his hand. When the frying bacon popped, he winced and put the back of his hand to his mouth. The bacon was beginning to smell a little burned. Jem sat at his feet with his tongue hanging out.

  "You practicing for the fire department?" she asked.

  He whipped around and pointed the fork at her. "You're supposed to be resting. I can handle this."

  "Uh-huh, I think your bacon is burning"

  He turned back around with an exclamation and began to fork up the bacon onto a plate. A few pieces fell to the floor, and Jem gobbled them up.

  Allie chuckled to herself and moved to the stove. She bumped him out of the way. "Scoot before you have to break out the big hoses." Plucking the fork from his hand, she turned off the heat and moved the skillet away so she could get the bacon to the plate. Half-cooked scrambled eggs were mounded in a bowl on the counter. The congealed mess looked hardly edible.

  Allic got out a fresh skillet, transferred a little bacon drippings from the old skillet and dumped the eggs back in to finish cooking. The bacon was a little overdone but salvageable. "You can fix some toast," she said.

  He gave her a shamefaced grin and took the bread out of the brcadbox. "I'm a lousy cook."

  I noticed." Smiling made her face hurt, but in a good way.

  God had protected all of them, and she was alive. There was much to he thankful for.

  "Did things go well with Jon's parents and Betsy?" she asked. She vaguely remembered their brief visit in her room.

  "They only stayed an hour. Betsy seemed afraid of them. Has she not been around them much?"

  "We used to visit every week, but they're so loud and bossy that they scare her. And me," she admitted. "Sunday dinners were just painful. Betsy could never sit quietly enough or eat nicely enough. I quit going about three months ago except for an occasional visit. They might be her grandparents, but they weren't helping her get well. She'd wet the bed for two nights after every visit."

  Rick put his big hand on her shoulder. "They won't get her away from us," he said.

  Smiling up at him, she thought about how she'd misjudged him the night they met. For all his size, his gentleness and caring were rare.

  And very appealing.

  Rick called the rest of the bunch for breakfast. Latoya seemed unusually quiet, and even the boys were morose. Fern didn't say anything, but that wasn't unusual.

  "What's with everyone?"Allie asked. "You'd think someone died."

  The kids just looked at one another, then their gazes went back to their plates. Allie met Rick's gaze across the table. He shrugged and raised his brows as if to say he didn't know what was up.

  "One week, and we're checkin' out," Devon said finally. "Gotta go back to the city."

  Latoya put out her lip. "I wanted to learn to barrel race first."

  "How about if I teach you before you leave?"Allie stood and began to clear the table.

  "You're not well enough to do much with that," Rick said, taking the plates from her hands. "Go rest."

  "I'm not an invalid." She tried to snatch the plates back, but he held them up out of her reach.

  "Then go do your book work."

  Her hands fell to her sides. She was so far behind on that book work. Did he know? She examined his face. There was something in his eyes that made her wonder if he realized how out of her element she was with paperwork.

  "I'll do that," she said evenly. She turned to the teenagers. "You guys go curry the horses and get
them saddled. We'll practice some barrel racing"

  "Can I take Betsy with me?" Fern asked in her soft voice.

  Allie grappled with the thought of Betsy being out of her sight. "She'd better stay with me."

  "I'll be out there," Rick said. "It's okay."

  Allie opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Rick had been on her to quit coddling Bets, and he was right. Nothing would happen to her daughter with Rick there.

  "I'll guard her with my life. You know that."

  Allie nodded. "I'll be out in a little while." She headed to the office, and her head began to ache with every step toward the torture chamber. The bright sunlight cast spears of pain into her eyes, and she crossed the room to close the blinds. When she turned back to the desk, she saw a box on it.

  It was addressed to her. Dread seized her throat. Could it be another message from the killer?

  Taking a step back, she stared at it. She wasn't going to let him terrorize her. She grabbed a letter opener and held it like a knife. Flipping it around, she slit the tape and opened the box. She didn't want to look inside.

  He might have put a dead snake or something in it.

  She should probably call Rick, but she told herself not to be a ninny. It was only a package. Snapping open the top, she peered inside. Wads of bubble wrap obscured the contents. Unable to help herself, she popped a bubble before lifting it out. Under it was an eyeglass case. Under that was a folder.

  A movement by the door caught her eye, and she looked up to see Rick leaning against the doorjamb with Betsy in his arms. They were both smiling.

  "Open the case," he said, crossing the room to join her at the desk. He set Betsy on the floor.

  "This is from you?"

  He nodded. "It's to celebrate our new beginning." His smile widened.

  Then she realized what this was. "Overlays for reading, and pink glasses?" She didn't wait for him to answer but picked up the case and opened it. The glasses were as precious as gold. She perched them on her nose, and the soft color washed the hard glare out of her vision.

  "Rick, they're wonderful." She whirled and leaped at him. He caught her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you!" Before she could have second thoughts, she kissed him.

  His lips were firm and gentle. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "It's the nicest present anyone ever got me."

  "I'm glad," he whispered.

  "You can put me down now." Her feet dangled at least eight inches off the floor.

  "What if I don't want to?" He grinned, but his eyes told her he was serious. He brushed her lips with a soft kiss, then set her on the floor.

  Allie stepped away and looked around the room. Her eyes widened as she took in details of the room she'd missed before. The soft patina of oak bookshelves, the detail in the oriental rug on the floor. "Everything is so much clearer!"

  "Glad they help you." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  "How'd you get them?"

  "Ordered them online at the library. I want to give you what you need," he said.

  Her exuberance gave way to self-consciousness. Did he expect something from her for them? She wasn't ready to do anything more than share a quick kiss.

  His gaze searched hers as if he were looking for something. A heavy sigh eased out. She wasn't quite sure what he'd hoped to see, but it hurt that she'd disappointed him.

  The light in his eyes dimmed. He took Betsy's hand and disappeared from the room. Allie sighed and got to work. She found the book work a breeze with her new eyeglasses and the overlays. The numbers and letters didn't jump around, and she quickly input the data in the account book and wrote the checks for the bills.

  It only took an hour, then she shut the book and locked it in the desk. The kids would be ready for their first barrel-racing lesson. She stepped to the door. The phone rang, and she backtracked.

  "Bluebird Ranch," she said into the receiver. There was only silence on the line. "Hello, is anyone there?"

  A song began to play. Eddy Arnold's rich voice came to her ear, singing, "Gonna Find Me a Bluebird." The phone dropped from her fingers.

  How did he know she loved that song?

  She backed away from the phone, then bolted from the room. In her haste, she banged her shoulder against the doorjamb, but the pain barely slowed her down. Her boots slid on the polished wood floor of the hallway, but she managed to stay on her feet and ran to the front door. Throwing it open, she stepped out into the sunlight and stood blinking on the porch.

  The hills had a watching quality, as if he stood hidden among the rocks with binoculars trained on her. Maybe he did. How could he know so much about her unless he was nearby?

  RICK LENGTHENED THE STIRRUPS ON THE SADDLE HE HAD PDT ON BETSY'S mare. "We're going to see how she likes being ridden, Betsy."

  The little girl had an uneasy frown between her eyes, but she nodded. Her gaze cleared, and she looked up at him with such trust that he felt ten feet tall and bulletproof.

  "Don't you think she needs a name?" he asked. "It would make her feel more at home."

  Betsy hesitated, then nodded. The tip of her tongue came out, and she wetted her lips. Rick held his breath.

  Say something, honey. He didn't dare say the words for fear of breaking the spell.

  "Bluebird," Betsy said in a voice so soft and hoarse it barely carried above the sound of the wind.

  Rick wanted to sweep her into his arms and lift her high, but he tempered his excitement. He glanced toward the house, wanting to run and tell Allie, but if Betsy thought it was a huge deal, she might clam up again. "Okay, Bluebird is what we'll call her. She's a blue roan, so it fits." He ran his hand over the horse's neck. "How do you like your new name, Bluebird?"

  The horse turned and looked at him, and he could have almost sworn the mare recognized how important it was that Betsy had named her. He rubbed the mare's face and ears. "I'm going to get on your back, girl. I'll try not to hurt you."

  He fitted his boot into the stirrup. Bluebird didn't move away but stood still and quiet. Testing his weight, he stepped onto the stirrup, then back off, but again she didn't move. Though she'd been abused, she was going to let him mount.

  With a smooth, easy movement, he swung onto her back. Mistake. The mare began to buck and snort, arching her back into the air like a rodeo bronco. She tossed Rick so high he could have snatched at the clouds. Seconds later, he was flat on his back with his mouth full of dust and staring up at the mare's underbelly. She was still bucking, and he rolled away before she could trample him.

  Betsy ran to him and patted his face with her small hands. "Okay?" she asked in her rusty voice.

  "I'm fine, Bets. We should go find your mother though."

  Betsy must have thought he meant he needed Allie's help, because she took off like a roadrunner, running so fast she kicked dust back into his face. He spit it out and sat up as Betsy returned with her mother in tow. Allie must have already been outside and on her way. At least she hadn't seen his humiliating fall.

  He bolted to his feet before she could help him. "Betsy, tell your mom what you named your mare."

  Allie's eyes went wide, and her lips parted. "You gave your horse a name, Betsy?"

  The little girl nodded. "Bluebird," she said again in her rough voice.

  Allie dropped to her knees and pulled Betsy into her arms. "That's a wonderful name, Bets," she said in a choked voice. "It suits her."

  "Bluebirds can be vicious if you've ever seen them shaking a worm. Bluebird isn't as sweet as she looks." Rick said, dusting off his jeans.

  "She threw you?"Allie stood but kept Betsy's hand in hers.

  "Like a roadrunner shaking a snake." He grinned and took Betsy's other hand, but the little girl pulled away from both of them and ran to climb onto the fence to watch her horse.

  "Are you okay?" Allie asked.

  "The only thing hurt is my pride. The old girl fooled me. Stood so quiet I thought she was used to being r
idden." He looked at Allie then and realized she was on the verge of tears. Her hands were clasped tightly together in front of her. Her agitation wasn't the joyous kind Betsy's talking would bring about.

  He took her hand, unhooking it from the other one. "You're shaking. What's wrong?"

  "I don't know whether to laugh or cry." She rubbed her eyes. "Betsy's talking," she said. "But for how long? He called me while I was working."

  "Who?"

  She clung to his hand. "The guy who's after me."

  His fingers tightened, and he drew her close to his chest. She fit so well in his arms, like she was made to be there. His hands stroked her soft hair, so fine and silky. The trembling eased. "Now tell me what he said."

  "Nothing," she mumbled. "He played a song."

  "What song?"

  "`Gonna Find Me a Bluebird.' It's my favorite."

  "How'd he know that?"

  She pulled away and glanced up at him. "That's what scares me. He knows things about me, whoever he is."

  He pulled her tight again. "You're safe here."

  But was she? He looked out over her head and saw the glint of binoculars on the hillside.

  He grabbed Gunner from the corral and rode up the hill. Jem ran along beside the horse. No weapons, he realized. His nightstick was in the umbrella stand by the front door.

  Pebbles scattered and slid down the slope as the horse's hooves dislodged them. The wind nearly blew his hat off when he reached the top of the incline. Turning in his saddle, he looked down toward the ranch. It was about here he'd seen the glint of something.

  He dismounted and led Gunner along the narrow trail. His gaze scanned the thin, rocky soil for tracks.

  Jem growled, then took off toward a big rock that looked like a jackrabbit. Rick leaped after the dog. He heard a man's voice shout, then a figure shot up from behind the rock and backed away from the snarling dog. Jem never barked or snarled, so Rick grabbed a rock in each hand and rushed forward to see who would rile the dog like that.