Sweet Nothings

by Catherine Anderson

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Keith no longer works here.”

  “He doesn’t?” Molly flattened a hand against the wall. “Are you certain of that?”

  “Quite certain. I make out the payroll here.”

  Sandusky had told Molly that he’d worked at Shamrock Greens for thirty years and hoped to retire from there, which was why he hadn’t wanted any kind of trouble with Rodney. He’d been afraid her ex-husband would have him blackballed from the racing circuit if he dared to cross swords with him. An odd-turned, funny-looking little man, Sandusky had worn riding silks even when he wasn’t on the track. “These horses are my life,” he’d informed Molly. “No wife, no children. This job is all I’ve got. That’s why I didn’t call you after the first whipping, why I waited until it got so bad. I was afraid of losing my job. That’s no excuse, I know. The horse has suffered for my cowardice.“

  Remembering the passion in Sandusky’s voice, Molly couldn’t believe he had suddenly left the stable. “When exactly did Mr. Sandusky quit?” she asked.

  There was a long silence. Then the woman said, “Are you a friend?”

  “Yes.” The man had lent her his horse trailer, after all, so Molly didn’t feel that was really a lie. They were friends, of sorts.

  “Well, I suppose I won’t be speaking out of school, then. Keith didn’t exactly quit, he just up and left about three weeks ago. Not a word to the owners, no forwarding address. He didn’t even collect his pay.”

  Molly frowned. “Isn’t it strange that he didn’t come by to get his check?”

  The woman sighed. “There’s just no figuring people sometimes. I keep expecting him to call or to find a note from him in the mail. So far, nothing. If he should get in touch, would you like me to give him a message?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Molly hung up the phone. She doubted anyone at Shamrock Greens would hear from Keith Sandusky again. Something had happened. Maybe Rodney had grown so furious when he’d found Sunset missing that he’d threatened Sandusky, and the trainer had become so frightened that he’d pulled up stakes rather than stay and face the music. Molly just hoped Rodney hadn’t actually harmed the man. Maybe Keith was down in Kentucky somewhere, happily working with expensive purebreds at a highfalutin stable where Rodney would never think to look for him.

  The thought comforted Molly even though the news of the trainer’s sudden departure from Portland left her with more questions than answers. Had Sandusky revealed her whereabouts to Rodney before he left, or had he run before Rodney could force the information out of him?

  Molly had no way of knowing. There was still a possibility that Rodney had learned of her whereabouts and was responsible for all the vandalism on the Lazy J. There was also a strong possibility that Sandusky had told Rodney nothing, which took her back to square one. Rodney couldn’t be responsible for the vandalism if Sandusky hadn’t told him where she was.

  The blame for the fire and those slashed tires might be hers, after all.

  “Where’s Jake?” Molly asked Hank a few minutes later.

  Jake’s brother turned from the pile of poles they’d stripped for fencing. Beneath the brim of his hat, his burnished face glistened with sweat. “He went to town to buy tires and have it out with the insurance company.”

  Molly had hoped to talk to Jake before she lost her courage. “I thought all the trucks had flats.” She glanced to the right of the house where the vehicles were parked. Jake’s battered green Ford was there. “How did he get to town?”

  “He went up the road and borrowed the neighbor’s truck.” Hank’s gaze sharpened on her face. “Are you okay? You’re pale as milk.”

  Molly wasn’t okay. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be okay again. “Someone’s out to ruin me,” Jake had cried this morning. She gazed out across his ranch. This was no longer about just her and Sunset. Jake Coulter’s heritage was at stake. If she didn’t take immediate steps to stop herself from doing any more damage, he could lose everything he owned.

  Jake was gone until late afternoon, and immediately upon his return, he went to work building corrals with feverish determination. Since it was time for her to start cooking the evening meal, Molly decided to postpone talking to him until after dinner. He always saw her home once the kitchen was put to rights. That would be a perfect time to confess her sins to him.

  Molly had no idea what she meant to say, only that somehow she had to get it said. She would leave nothing out. She’d tell him that she’d been lying to him from the start, that she’d brought this trouble to his door, and that she was sorry, so very sorry, for unintentionally hurting him.

  Knowing what lay ahead, Molly could barely eat supper. Occasionally, she caught Jake watching her, his eyes dark with concern. She avoided his gaze, so upset and ashamed that it was all she could do to remain sitting at the table.

  When dinner was over, Jake didn’t stay to help her clean up as he usually did, and when the dishes were done, it was Hank who grabbed his hat and jacket to walk her home.

  “Where’s Jake?” Molly asked, scarcely able to believe he’d altered their usual routine. Not tonight when she most needed to see him.

  “He crashed,” Hank told her softly. “I don’t think he’s slept more than two hours, all totaled, since the fire. He’s been running on nerves and caffeine.”

  As Molly passed through the living room, she saw Jake sprawled on the log-frame sofa. One arm angled over his eyes, he was snoring softly. He looked absolutely exhausted, and she was glad he was getting some rest. At the same time, she wanted to run over and shake him awake. She was desperately afraid she might lose her courage if she postponed talking to him.

  Hank gently ushered her from the house. Once on the porch, he flashed her a grin. “I’m glad he didn’t wake up. He’d insist on walking you himself.”

  Disheartened, Molly allowed Hank to guide her down the steps. Unlike Jake, he didn’t detour to take her for a stroll, but headed directly for the cabin. Not that she wanted to go walking. She was too worried to appreciate the beauty of the stars tonight.

  Once on her porch, Hank said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll do a quick walk-through.” He stepped inside ahead of her. “When Jake wakes up, he’s bound to ask if I made sure you were safe before I left.”

  Molly waited just inside the front door while Jake’s brother made a fast tour of the cabin. When he returned to the living room, he said, “All clear.”

  “Thank you. I really don’t think anyone would hide in here, but it’s nice to have you check.”

  He stopped beside her and flipped the wall switch to turn on the floor lamp. “Three days ago, I wouldn’t have believed anyone would hide in here, either. Now nothing would surprise me. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Right.” Molly turned to watch him step out. As she pushed the door closed, she called, “Good night, Hank. Thanks for walking me over.”

  “Not a problem. G’night.”

  Molly shoved the deadbolt home. Then she pressed her forehead against the sturdy planks, weariness weighing heavily on her shoulders. What an awful day it had been.

  The chill of the room seeped through her jacket, making her shiver. Grabbing the afghan that lay over the back of the sofa, she hurried over to lay a fire. A moment later, when the flames sprang to life, she stared vacantly at the licking tongues of orange, remembering the stable fire two nights before.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself. She would take Jake aside first thing in the morning, and she would tell him everything.

  Morning dawned bright and cold, a layer of frost dusting everything with silvery white in the first faint light of day. Molly bundled up in a jacket before she left the cabin, but even so, she shivered in the chill air. As she drew abreast of Sunset’s pen, the stallion whickered and trotted over to the fence, clearly pleased to see her. Unable to walk by without stopping to say hello, Molly stepped up onto a rail and reached over to scratch between the horse’s ears.

  “I’m s
orry,” she whispered. “We no sooner make friends, and now I’m neglecting you. I just haven’t had any time.”

  The stallion sniffed her jacket. Molly pressed her cheek to his velvety muzzle, wishing she could spend time with him that afternoon. Unfortunately, it might be impossible. Once she spoke to Jake, he could send her packing. He wasn’t going to be happy when she told him her story.

  Lifting her gaze, she looked out over the pastureland that bordered both sides of the creek for as far as she could see. This was Jake’s heritage, a dream of his great-grandfather’s that had been passed down through generations. He’d played here as a little boy, as his father had before him. Molly knew all about heritage and tradition, how the sentiment of it became even more important than the business itself. Wasn’t that a large part of the reason she’d remained here, to give herself time to heal so she might return to Portland and reclaim her share of the firm her dad had built?

  Now, because of her, Jake could lose the Lazy J. All his dreams and aspirations would be little more than dust in the wind, and it would be her fault. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  It was tempting to linger at Sunset’s pen rather than go face him. She had dreaded doing a few things in her life, but this took the prize.

  Swinging off the fence, she hurried across the stretch of gravel to the house. She kept her gaze carefully averted from the charred remains of the stable. About halfway up the front steps, Molly saw a brownish-red lump lying on the porch. Her knees almost buckled. It was a dead chicken. The poor thing’s head had been chopped off. Crimson neck tendons straggled from the gaping wound.

  She rushed to the edge of the porch, grabbed the rail, and promptly lost what little was in her stomach. When the spasms passed, she slowly straightened. A quick glance over her shoulder verified that it was a beheaded chicken, all right, or what was left of it, anyway. The poor creature’s feathers were half gone, as if it had been mauled.

  She gulped, fighting back another wave of nausea. Then she raced for the front door. Once inside the entry hall, she leaned against the log wall, hoping to calm down before she proceeded to the kitchen.

  “How the hell should I know?” she heard Hank say. “Damn, Jake, I can’t believe you’re trying to pin all this on me.”

  Curious, Molly followed the voice toward the downstairs bathroom, situated to the left just off the hall. Halfway there, she heard Jake say, “Well, I sure as hell don’t know her.” A loud thump and what sounded like water splashing punctuated the statement. “If I find out that this is all the result of some fatal attraction, Hank, I swear, I’ll kick your ass clear into next week.”

  “I haven’t gone out with a woman in months, let alone some fruitcake who’d do something like this. Why automatically blame me, anyway? Like you never dated any women? I’ll bet there’s a Sarah somewhere in your black book.”

  “What black book? If I had one, I’ve long since lost track of it, and I’ve never dated a woman named Sarah.” Silence. “Well, maybe one. But that was almost two years ago. If she was pissed because I stopped seeing her, why the hell did she wait until now to do something about it?”

  Molly reached the bathroom just then. She stared bewilderedly through the open doorway. For an instant, her brain couldn’t assimilate what her eyes were seeing. Blood. It was everywhere, all over the floor, all over the sink and commode. Her gaze jerked to the bathtub where Jake knelt on one knee, wringing out a crimson-stained cleaning rag. Above his shoulder, she saw writing of some kind on the white ceramic tile. She stared incredulously as the letters came into focus. Sarah. Someone had written the name in blood.

  Molly heard the ocean in her ears. Black spots danced before her eyes. Sarah. Memories hit her, hard and fast. She gasped and whirled away, covering her face with her hands. Sarah. Oh, dear God.

  She broke into a run, not sure where she was going, only knowing she had to get out.

  “Molly!” Jake called.

  She kept going. When she reached the front door, she remembered the dead chicken on the porch. Wheeling, she raced back through the house into the great room. From there, she spilled into the kitchen. She aimed her lurching steps for the back door. Out. She had to get out. Fresh air. She needed to breathe.

  Once outside, she nearly fell down the back steps in her haste to escape.

  After searching high and low, Jake finally found Molly sitting by the creek several minutes later. Arms wrapped around her upraised knees, she sat on the grassy bank, staring off at nothing, her face so pale it frightened him. He started to speak. Then he thought better of it and simply joined her instead.

  When she made no offer to say anything, he ventured a soft, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said thinly.

  She sounded perilously close to tears. Believing she was upset about the chicken, Jake tucked one leg under his rump and bent the other, using his raised knee as a rest for his arm. He joined her in staring across the creek.

  “If it’s any consolation, honey, the chicken didn’t suffer. Beheading is a quick and merciful way to kill them. I know it looked bad, but I think that was a result of someone swinging it around the bathroom after it was dead to spread its blood every damned place.”

  It took her a moment to respond. Her voice was faint and quavering. “I need to tell you something, Jake, and I don’t know how to start.”

  Jake angled her a searching look. “Start with the first thing that comes to mind, honey. I won’t critique your delivery.”

  She tried to smile, but the attempt was ruined by a tremulous wobble of her chin. Her big, butterscotch-brown eyes went luminous with tears. “I’ve been lying to you. From the very first, I’ve done nothing but lie.”

  Jake rubbed a hand over his face and blinked. That came as no surprise. He’d always known she was lying to him about certain things.

  “My last name, for instance. It isn’t Houston like I said. It’s really Sterling Wells. It’ll be just Sterling when I legally drop my married name.”

  Jake arched an eyebrow. “Is that what this is about, honey? The fact that you’ve lied about a few things?”

  “Not just a few things,” she protested shakily. “About practically everything. And all of this”—she swung her hand to indicate the ranch—“has been my fault, if not directly, then indirectly, and the end result is the same, either way. You’ve been pushed to the edge of bankruptcy.”

  He wanted so badly to hug her. Seeing her cry nearly broke his heart. “I thought you were upset over the silly chicken.”

  Another rush of tears filled her eyes. “It upsets me, all right. I didn’t think I had it in me to kill anything. Now just look at what I may have done.”

  “What?” Jake said carefully, convinced his ears had deceived him.

  “You heard me.” With trembling hands, she wiped her cheeks and sniffed. Then she bent her head. “I may have done this. I could have done all of it.” She cupped a hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me, Jake. I’m so very, very sorry. I’ll make it up to you one day, I swear. I’ll pay you for all the damages.”

  “Whoa. Back up. I’m getting confused. Why do you think you might have done all this? The deputy who came out when we called seemed pretty sure some gal named Sarah did it.” Heat crawled up Jake’s neck. “A scorned lover of mine or Hank’s who’s come back to haunt us.”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “First kids set fire to your stable and slash all the tires, and now a scorned lover paints her name all over your bathroom in blood?”

  Jake knew it sounded far-fetched. The local law enforcement officials seemed more interested in offering explanations for all the bizarre incidents than in actually catching the perpetrator. “If someone named Sarah didn’t do it, who did?”

  Molly steepled her fingers. “Trust me, Sarah didn’t write her name on your tile. She couldn’t have.” Her chin wobbled again. “She’s been dead for almost eleven years.”

  Jake was growing more confused by the moment. He
was about to make her back up and start all over when he heard Hank shout his name. He glanced up to see his brother waving at him from across the creek.

  “You need to come up to the house!” he yelled. “We’ve got trouble.”

  Jake could believe it. Lately trouble had been raining buckets. He groaned and pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry, honey. I’d better go see what the hell has happened now.” He leaned down to offer her a hand. “Come back with me. As soon as I get a minute, we’ll find a quiet place to talk.”

  As he drew her to her feet, she threw a worried look toward the house. “Oh, God, I wonder what it is this time.”

  He flashed what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “Unless the house is burning down, it can’t be too bad. Right?”

  She didn’t return his smile. “I’m so sorry, Jake.” She lifted a tear-filled gaze to his, her expression filled with hopeless resignation. “Please believe that. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Jake cupped a hand to her cheek. Thumbing away a tear, he said, “Sweetheart, you don’t even need to say it. I know you didn’t.”

  After all the recent vandalism on the Lazy J, Molly wasn’t surprised to see the sheriff’s Bronco parked out front when they drew near the house. What did stop her cold was the cream-colored Lexus nosed in behind the county vehicle. She’d been half expecting Rodney to show up, but seeing his car was still a shock.

  Her stomach dropped when the driver door opened and her ex-husband climbed out, looking just as she remembered him. Impeccably dressed, as always, he seemed taller to her as he unfolded to his full height. Walking toward them, he brushed the wrinkles from the sleeves of his expensive gray suit jacket, then straightened his tie and ran a hand over his perfectly groomed blond hair. Even at a distance, Molly could see the gleam of cunning and intelligence in his hazel eyes.

  In that instant she knew, almost beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d been behind every awful incident at the ranch. There was no mistaking that little smirk. She’d seen it a hundred times—when he lied to her about his women, when he was trying to cover up his gambling. It was a smirk that said, “I’m so phenomenal, and you are so incredibly stupid.“