Out of the Dark

by Justine Davis

  Both boys stared at the floor. After a long, tensely silent moment, Eric asked in very subdued tones. “What are you going to do?”

  “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened that day, start to finish. Every detail. And then, if you convince me you’ve told me everything, I’ll give you a head start before I tell the Flynns what you did. What they do then is up to them.”

  He leaned back against a saddle rack and crossed his arms over his chest. The two teenagers gulped, swallowed and at last began to talk.

  * * *

  She’d sworn she wasn’t going to do it, but when she woke up late that afternoon from a restless sleep that had done little to relieve her weariness, Tory glanced out her bedroom window. When she saw Cole’s truck still there, she wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse. Better because he was still here, or worse, because it hurt so just to look at him and know that she’d already had all she would ever have of him. That it was no doubt all he had to give didn’t make her feel any better, it only made her ache for him as much as for herself.

  She went downstairs, wondering what she would say when she saw him. She found him stretched out on the living room sofa with his back propped up at one end by the cushions, his boots pulled off, legs crossed at the ankle. Even sitting up, he took up a lot of the sofa’s length. There were files and papers scattered all around him, and he was holding one folder, studying its contents intently,

  A movement, close to the floor, caught her attention. Rocky, half-hidden at the end of the couch, was crouched in an attack posture, his gaze fixed steadily on Cole’s hapless boots. She started to smile despite herself, and in that instant the cat pounced.

  Or tried to. Without even looking down, Cole’s right arm came down in a smooth, unerring motion and swept the cat up off the floor. He lifted the startled animal, who made a growl of protest, and deposited him on the back of the sofa, where, Tory saw now, her old bandanna lay crumpled. Rocky glared at Cole, then settled down atop the now grubby red cotton square as if this had been his intent all along.

  Cole had done it all without ever looking away from the folder he was holding with his other hand. But he had done it, despite his tough talk about the “damn cat”, with exquisite care. Tory felt an odd little ache inside as she looked at them. That pang distracted her just enough, and the first words that came out of her mouth were the last ones she’d wanted to say.

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  He sat up, the file folder in one hand, and what looked like the geological survey in the other. “Not yet. Something came up.”

  She looked at the chaos that surrounded him. She gestured at the piles. “Something to do with this?”

  He nodded. “Would you...sit down for a minute? I need to talk to you.”

  There was something very odd about the way he sounded. Slowly, a nervous little knot of anticipation tightening in her stomach, she sat on the edge of the chair closest to the sofa.

  “Talk to me about what?”

  “I need you to answer a question, Tory. Honestly, and without getting mad at me for asking.”

  She felt like getting mad at him for saying that. But she reined in her instant reaction; she knew she was tired. But he was being so...careful? Gentle? Was it something so awful?

  “What?” she finally prompted, unable to bear waiting any longer.

  “Is there any chance, any chance at all, that somehow you could have gotten some bad feed that didn’t get noticed?”

  He was right. She was mad at him for asking. She opened her mouth to snap at him, then stopped. Something came up, he’d said.

  “Why are you asking this?” She managed to say it evenly enough.

  “I just need to know if there’s any chance, Tory.”

  “Why? What came up? What happened?”

  He let out a long breath, and his eyes closed for a long moment. Then, sounding resigned, as if he’d hoped but not expected her to just simply answer him, he told her.

  “Eric and Kurt?” she exclaimed when he’d finished. “They broke that waterline?” She blinked back tears as she thought of the sweet-natured Appaloosa, and how he’d died.

  “They were stupid. And they ran out rather than face the music. But I believe they didn’t mean any harm.”

  Tory bit her lip, but the tears spilled over, anyway. “He was such a clown, such a personality. And he had such talent, once we found out where it was. Poor Arthur.” She swiped at her eyes. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

  Rocky meowed plaintively, as if her tears had disturbed him. It was an odd sound to come from the rough-and-tumble cat, and it somehow helped her control herself. When she looked up again, Cole was looking as if he felt like Rocky sounded.

  “They were afraid to tell you,” he said. “Especially after Arthur had to be put down, and they knew it was partly their fault. And they kept coming back because they thought if they didn’t, you’d guess it had been them. Among other reasons.”

  She looked up. “Other reasons?”

  “They also said they felt bad. And that they like you, and Hobie.” Cole’s mouth twisted wryly at one corner. “Maybe I’m gullible, but I believe them. They’re just a couple of not-too-bright kids whose fooling around ended up with them in trouble and someone else—Arthur—hurt. It’s not the first time that’s happened.”

  She sat quietly, trying to take it in. It was a long time before she finally thought to ask what she should have thought of right away.

  “What does that have to do with what you asked me?”

  He fiddled with the file he was holding. He opened it, stuffed in the geological survey, and closed it again. He glanced at Rocky, who was watching him with every appearance of intent interest.

  “Cole?”

  He looked up at her. “What it means,” he said at last, “is that if Arthur was really an accident, it raises another possibility here.”

  “What do you mean? What possibility?”

  His lips compressed for a moment, and Tory knew that he didn’t want to say this, whatever it was.

  “What possibility, Cole? Do you mean about what’s going on here?”

  He let out a short breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at his hands, then laced his fingers together. At last he looked at her.

  “I mean the possibility that nothing’s going on here.”

  Chapter 16

  Cole watched Tory pale as all the implications of what he’d said raced through her mind almost visibly.

  “What are you saying?” she whispered at last. “That it is our fault?”

  “Tory, listen—”

  She whirled away from him and walked toward the window. She came to a halt, to stand silently staring outside. Rocky yowled and stood up on the sofa back, arching his back as if they were getting thoroughly on his nerves. Cole couldn’t blame him; after the past eighteen hours, his own nerves were just about shot.

  “Let me get this right,” Tory said, her voice slightly higher and much tighter. “Arthur was an accident. And Firefly and John’s Prize were simply colic induced by bad feed we gave them. Is that it?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just need to know—”

  She spun back, glaring at him. “You need to know if we’re the kind of people who are careless enough to let a horse be given moldy hay, or spoiled feed?”

  Cole let out a compressed breath. He’d known this would be unpleasant, had known she wouldn’t take well to any aspersion cast upon their care of their horses—the thing her entire life revolved around. But he’d had to ask. Hadn’t he?

  Tory’s eyes narrowed then. “No, that’s not it, is it? You know Hobie, you know he would never let something like that happen. So you must think it’s me.”

  “Tory, stop. I know you wouldn’t—”

  “Do you?” Her arms came up to wrap around herself, as if she suddenly felt chilled. Or very alone. “What do you know about me, really? That I’m Hobie’s niece? Is that enough? Don’t forget, I’m
my father’s daughter, too. And he doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

  She began pacing, still with her arms wrapped around herself, only now Cole couldn’t help thinking it was as if she needed to hold herself together with her own hands. He knew the feeling, that sensation that you were about to shatter into a million pieces and only with a concentrated effort could you hang on.

  Suddenly she stopped, and turned to face him again. “Tell me something, Cole.”

  Uh-oh. The moment she uttered those telltale words, the back of his neck began to tingle.

  “Why did you...make love to me last night?”

  He wasn’t about to answer that. He wasn’t even sure he knew the answer, beyond the obvious one that he’d been so hot for her he’d been about to climb the walls. He’d finally admitted it was more, much more than that. He’d had to admit it, so powerful were the memories of that encounter. But he hadn’t quite let himself decide exactly what it was. Not yet. Because he had that same sense of racing headlong toward some inevitable end, and he was afraid it was going to be a pain he didn’t want to face. Whether he’d carry that pain or cause it, he didn’t know.

  “Is it some kind of male thing?” she asked, the distress in her eyes digging at him. “How could you...want someone you think could be so negligent?”

  “I don’t think—”

  She laughed, harshly, cutting him off. “Don’t think? I’ve heard that about men and their hormones before. I didn’t believe it. I guess I should have. Why else would you have—”

  “Stop it!”

  Cole stood up, dropping the folder he’d been holding and not caring. Rocky hissed in disgust, caught up his precious bandanna, and scrambled out of sight behind the sofa. His eyes fastened on Tory, Cole crossed the space between them in one stride. She watched him come, but didn’t move. Oddly, it was then that it hit him that she had never backed away from him, never been afraid of him in a physical way, despite the difference in their sizes. The trust that implied, that no matter how angry he got, he wouldn’t use his size or strength against her, staggered him a little. And when he reached out to take her hands in his, he was more aware than ever of how easily he could hurt her.

  But when his eyes met hers, and he saw the raw uncertainty there, he realized he had already hurt her a great deal. The kind of wounds that would be very slow to heal, if they ever did. The knowledge ripped words out of him that he’d never expected to say to her.

  “You’re an incredible woman, Tory. You’ve got more nerve and brains and heart than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re beautiful, on the outside far more than you realize, and inside in a way that will never fade away. How could I...” He stopped, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. “I couldn’t say no to you. Even though I knew I should. Even though I knew I didn’t...deserve what you were giving me. I wanted it too much to be noble about it.”

  She lowered her eyes then, to stare at their hands. He didn’t know if he’d made things better or worse. He was in unfamiliar territory, but every instinct he had was clamoring about very thin ice. He tried for safer ground.

  “Tory, listen to me. I never thought you were careless, or negligent or at fault here in any way. But I know how hard you’ve been working, with Hobie being laid up. Too much work, and too little time. No matter how thorough you are, or how careful, something could have slipped through. You just can’t do it all, not by yourself.”

  She continued staring at their hands for a long, silent moment. When at last she looked up at him, the distress in her eyes had been replaced by an expression he couldn’t name.

  “I’ve had to compromise,” she admitted, quietly, obviously calmer now. “Things have had to wait, and the house isn’t what it could be, and we’ve been eating whatever’s fast and easy...but I would never compromise the horses, Cole. They come first. They always have.”

  He looked down at her, at first absorbing not her words, but that look in her eyes. But it wasn’t until he put it together with the words that he understood. She was telling him, openly and honestly, the truth. She wanted him to believe her, but she wouldn’t beg him to. And it wasn’t simply pride, either. She wouldn’t beg him, because if he believed what he’d said about her, she shouldn’t have to. Hell, he thought, after what had happened between them, she shouldn’t have to, no matter what he’d said about it being nothing more than sex.

  And when it came right down to it, she really didn’t have to beg. He believed her. Whatever had happened to those horses, it wasn’t out of carelessness or neglect or being shorthanded or even exhausted. Tory might neglect her home, her car, even herself—probably herself first, he amended silently—but she would never, ever shortchange her horses.

  She was as honest in this as she was in everything. As honest as she had been last night, when she’d given him a fierce, open, genuine response unlike anything he’d ever known. A response that had made him wish he had something to give her besides the raw, hot sex he’d promised. A response that had the power to heat him up now, at just the memory.

  Abruptly he released her hands. Touching her while memories of last night swirled in his mind was making it far too difficult for him to concentrate. He backed up, and sat down on the sofa once more, amid all the information that seemed to complicate rather than clarify things.

  “I know,” he said on a long exhalation. “I’m sorry, Tory. It’s just that I keep going through all this—” he nodded toward the scatter of papers “—and I can’t make it work. It’s like there’s a piece missing.”

  Tory sank down on the edge of the chair. “So now what?”

  “For starters, I think we can eliminate the kids.” Tory sighed, but nodded. “After that, I can come up with half-a-dozen suspects, and every one of them has a motive. Sort of. But enough of a motive to justify this?”

  “Sort of a motive?”

  “Crain’s got a ranch under a hell of a debt load, but he’s making it. The insurance money made things easier, but he wasn’t desperate for it, unless he was determined to buy you out. But it wasn’t really enough to do that, so even if he’d succeeded in driving you out of business...” He ended with a shrug. Then he gave her a sideways look before he admitted, “Same with John Lennox. My people say he’s strapped tight, but he’s not going under.”

  It was the perfect opportunity for an “I told you so,” but she didn’t take it. She merely nodded for him to go on. After a moment, he did.

  “Charlie Lee would like your land added to his, but he’s not in a rush to lay out the money for it, not enough to try and drive you out, either.”

  “What about those men who threatened Hobie?”

  He blinked in surprise. “He told you about that?”

  Her mouth quirked. “Somehow I knew you wouldn’t have told me, either,” she said wryly.

  “I just...knew he wouldn’t want to worry you.”

  “I’ve been worried,” she reminded him needlessly. “But no, he didn’t voluntarily tell me. Last year one of them left an ugly message on the answering machine, about his father being killed. When I asked Hobie about it, he thought I meant the man who’d been hurt himself. So I knew there’d been two.”

  “Yeah. But when I checked with the office, they’d found out George Wheeler hasn’t left Topeka in a year. Bart Brock has, but he just got married. That’s not a likely thing for a man nursing a lethal grudge.”

  Tory sighed. “I always thought they were just striking out, anyway. How could they really blame Hobie?”

  “That’s what I meant by a ‘sort of’ motive. None of them are really strong enough.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Now if I could just combine a couple of these so-called motives, we might have something.”

  “And I suppose finding out that insurance man was the trespasser lets out my gold mine theory,” she said glumly. “I guess it was silly, anyway.”

  “Still worth checking out.” With his foot, he nudged the folder he’d dropped that held the geological survey. “But the satellite scan
only shows a few alteration zones, and they’re so small and scattered it wouldn’t be practical to try and get anything out.”

  “Alteration zones?”

  “Sorry,” he said wryly. “I’ve been reading this stuff too long. That’s an area where the original rock has decayed into clay. It shows up on an infrared band in the satellite scanner. They generally mean a mineral deposit of some kind.”

  “Oh. No gold mine, then.”

  “Afraid not, honey.”

  Her gaze shot to his face, and only then did he realize what he’d said. It had slipped out so easily, although it was an endearment he couldn’t ever remember using before. He averted his eyes, and hastily began to pick up the papers he had begun separating into some kind of order, and had given up on in annoyance when it became clear they weren’t any help. The silence drew out, and he began to feel silly, fussing with a stack of papers just to avoid looking at her.

  “Don’t worry, Cole,” she said softly, “I won’t hold you to it.”

  He froze. His eyes closed as something knotted up inside him, some searing bundle of nerves that had only come to life since Tory Flynn had walked into his ordered little world.

  “Believe me,” she added, in those same soft, unaccusing tones. “You hold yourself responsible for enough already. You don’t need me adding to it.”

  His gaze shot to her face then. There wasn’t a trace of mockery or sarcasm or even hurt there, just a gentle understanding that made him feel an absurd urge to drop everything, grab her and hold on for as long as he could. The thought of that, of night after night in her arms, of chasing away the demons with the sweet, purifying fire he’d felt last night, made him shiver inside.

  And then, in a voice that told him worlds about how much she’d learned since last night, she said huskily, “Don’t look at me like that if you don’t mean it.”

  His breath lodged in his throat. His body surged in response to the breathy sound of her voice. He tried to fight it down, but it was swift and fierce, and would not be denied. “And if I did mean it?” he finally managed to say.

  She shook her head slowly. “You don’t. I can’t heal you, Cole. You have to do that yourself.”