by Nancy Bush
“Fine, but I was bushwhacked by Pilar as soon as I got here.”
Ricki looked toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll be glad when this wedding is over.”
Delilah handed her the tab of her tape measure. “Hold this against the bottom step, will ya?”
They were interrupted by the ringing doorbell. Delilah was joking with Ricki when she peered through the sidelights and nearly choked as she recognized the woman standing there.
“What’s Georgina Kincaid doing here?” she whispered under her breath at Ricki.
“She’s here to see me,” Ira called from down the hall. He squinted ahead, focusing on his middle daughter as his boots tapped the runner. “Delilah? Good to see you, girl. We’ll get together later and catch up.” He patted her shoulder as he passed her on the way to the door. “Right now I’ve got a meeting. Looks like we’re getting into the oil business.”
“What?” Ricki’s head snapped around. “You said you would never drill on our land.”
“Not our land. Kincaid land.” Ira flashed his daughters a cocky grin, then opened the door and greeted Georgina, just as Brook bounded back down the stairs.
For a moment Brook and Georgina glared at each other, then Ira gestured for Georgina to come into his office, saying that Mrs. Mac had set out coffee and cookies. The older woman tore her cold gaze from Brook, gave a curt nod to both Delilah and Ricki and followed after Ira.
Brook looked at her mother with a “See?” expression, but before Delilah could ask what the hell was going on, a gray-haired man in his forties in a string tie and leather jacket came up the porch and through the open front door.
“Len Mercer, Century Petroleum,” he introduced himself, offering a hand to both Ricki and Delilah. Brook had edged away, and now turned and headed back upstairs. Delilah felt much the same way. She didn’t want to be involved with any plan Ira had to wangle Kincaid land into an oil deal.
Ira came out to usher Mercer inside, then said, “There’s one more coming from Century Petroleum. Send him in when he arrives.” Both men ducked inside the den and Ira shut the door firmly behind them.
Ricki scowled as she held the tape measure. “Since when does Dad serve snacks for a meeting?”
“Since when does Dad conduct friendly business with the Kincaids?” Delilah asked. “Brook is right, you know. Our family has issues. As evidenced by you and me working our asses off to make this wedding happen when we know it’s a match made in hell.”
A third man hurried up the outside steps as Ricki was about to shut the door. He was younger, a tall, good-looking man in a shearling coat with amazing blue eyes. Delilah let her tape measure snap back into its casing as he stepped inside and introduced himself to Ricki, who was standing closest to the door.
“Hi. I’m Tom Unger, from Century Petroleum.”
“And I’m Ricki Dillinger, Ira’s daughter,” Ricki said. “And this is my sister Delilah.”
“Hi,” Delilah and Tom said to each other at the same time. He extended his arm and shook both of their hands. His grip was sure and strong, a man who could use his muscle when he needed to. Delilah smiled but didn’t let her hand linger too long within his. Handsome men, in her experience, were lacking in other areas. Most of them, anyway.
“Delilah?” Tom said. “I always liked that song, but I guess you hear that all the time.”
“Mostly I hear, ‘hey, there, Delilah,’ and people think they’re hilarious.”
“Delilah just got in from Los Angeles,” Ricki said. “We’re having a wedding here soon.”
“I heard. It’s big news around Prairie Creek.”
“So, you’re doing oil business with Ira,” Delilah said.
“Hope to.” He pointed a thumb toward Ira’s den. “I’d better go.”
After the den door closed behind him, Ricki waggled her brows suggestively. “He’s cute.”
“A lot of them are,” Delilah said noncommittally. The last thing she needed was for her sister to start playing matchmaker.
“Cynical.”
“Yep. That’s what happens in Hollywood. We become cynical, ironic and arch.”
“Maybe you just needed to come back to Prairie Creek and find a real man.”
Delilah didn’t answer as her mind jumped to Hunter Kincaid and the summer of the homestead fire. She saw herself as she’d been that night, waiting for him at the tire swing, the one that had been hung from the lone pine tree with the hollow where they’d left notes for each other. Well, she’d left notes and he’d picked them up, mostly. Love notes … from a girl sick with love.
Dropping to her knees to measure the stair width, she vowed to scrub Hunter Kincaid from her mind completely. She’d managed for eighteen years; a few days or a week in Prairie Creek wouldn’t change that. If her luck held, she might get through the whole visit without even seeing him. Ira had invited the Kincaids to the wedding because of the proposed oil deal. She now understood that part of the puzzle. But knowing Hunter, she doubted there was any way he would actually attend a Dillinger wedding. Thank God for that.
This whole debacle would be over soon enough. Then what, Delilah? she asked herself honestly. Where are you going to go next? Back to Santa Monica?
The prospect was fast losing any appeal.
Hard to believe, but as Colton looked around the dinner table, he actually felt happy to be back at the Rocking D. With Pilar off in Jackson and Delilah and Nell here, it was beginning to feel like old times, the days when they were a family under Rachel Dillinger’s steady hand, the days when they worked and played and ate together and gave each other a good ribbing from sunup to sundown. His sisters were here, his brother was on his way, Sabrina was seated on his right, his son—who was actually beginning to like him—was on his left, and his childhood friend Sam Featherstone sat across the table, holding the potted pork chops for Ricki to serve herself. Kit had been invited but was bound and determined to stay at the stables. Davis was with her. Looking down the table, he could see the old man had a little glimmer in his eyes as he held court at the far end.
Damn, but the Waltons had nothing on the Dillinger clan tonight.
“So, can we go riding tomorrow?” Rourke asked eagerly as he broke a roll in half.
“That’s the plan,” Colt said. He’d broken the news to Pilar that he intended to teach Rourke to ride. She’d objected as a matter of course, then had thrown up her hands and said, “Go ahead. You’re going to do what you want anyway.”
“And shooting?” Brook asked, showing more interest than in anything they’d seen to date.
Pilar hadn’t voiced any objections to Rourke handling a gun, so Colt and Sam had taken Brook and Rourke out to an empty field just before supper. In the purple twilight, they showed the kids how to handle a pistol. Like riding, shooting was a rite of passage for anyone growing up out here, and with the killer still at large, there was no time like the present to prepare the kids to defend themselves.
Colt was going to have to talk to Pilar about the gun issue soon, but for now, he was just content to be with the family. Looking past the edge of the windows, he noticed fat flakes floating through the haze of the Christmas lights.
“Are we getting another blizzard?” Ricki wondered aloud.
“Nah,” Colton said. “The winds have died down and the mercury is hovering right around freezing. We’ll see snow, but the stock can handle it.”
“The snow is probably holding up Tyler and Jen,” Ira said. “I thought we’d see them by dinnertime tonight, but they’ll get through. The last of the clan, all under one roof.” Ira’s eyes glinted as he lifted his wineglass. “My progeny.”
What an arrogant son of a bitch, taking credit for his offspring. Colton chewed his meat, determined not to let his old man spoil a good dinner. As he swallowed, he felt a steady pressure on his right thigh; under the table, Sabrina’s hand slid over his muscles and gave a squeeze, as if staking her territory. He turned to her and caught the fire in her eyes, the flame that quickl
y ignited at his touch. He could scarcely drag his gaze away. He’d plundered those lips a dozen times in the past few days, but she always left him wanting more. He wondered if he could entice her into slipping out to the barn between dinner and dessert.
“We’ve got to make the most of this white Christmas,” Nell said. “Keep up family traditions. I’m thinking about that old sleigh parked in the storage shed.”
Nell had always been the one who stuck with tradition the most.
Scooping up a spoonful of applesauce, Ricki said, “A sleigh ride in the snow? Brook’s never done that.”
“You sound like a freakin’ Christmas carol,” Brook muttered.
“But it’s so much fun,” Nell said. “I think it was our mom’s favorite Christmas tradition. Whenever we had snow, she insisted on it.”
“I can hook two of the horses up to the sleigh tomorrow,” Colton said.
“Didn’t Mom have jingle bells?” Ricki asked as everyone but Nell groaned aloud.
“God help us,” Delilah said.
“Oh, come on, Del,” Colt said. “You don’t have to pretend to be cool. You’re not in SoCal anymore.”
“I bet I can find them,” Nell said determinedly.
Everyone finished eating, but they remained at the table, talking and joking. Colton sipped from a mug of coffee, listening to the noise of his big, crazy family and his smaller one—Sabrina on his right and Rourke on his left. Maybe he understood some of the old man’s Dillinger pride. Family pride.
There was a pounding noise from the kitchen, and suddenly they came traipsing in—Jen, Tyler and the two kids.
“You missed dinner, but you made it for dessert,” Ira said, clapping his younger son on the back. Tyler was a younger version of Colton, with the same dark hair shot with red, the same lean cowboy physique.
“I’m heating up some pork chops,” Mrs. Mac assured the kids, five-year-old Haley and eleven-year-old Justin.
“Let me help you unload,” Colton said, rising from the table.
And suddenly everyone was up, eager to help—or maybe it was just the lure of the snow. They all donned coats and boots and headed out to the circle of light in the driveway by the large garage. The unloading was done in a minute, but people lingered, talking and laughing. The older kids worked the snow, rolling a large sphere for the base of a snowman. Haley and Nell flopped down on their backs and waved their arms to make snow angels.
Rourke and Justin were talking, working on something together, and Colt felt a flash of pride at the resilience of his son. He strode over for a word and noticed an arsenal of snowballs, stacked in a pyramid.
He stopped short, grinning. Industrious kids.
He leaned down to scoop some snow. As he was rolling it into a ball, the boys noticed him.
“That’s a nice-looking stash of ammo,” he drawled.
“Stay back,” Justin said, “if you know what’s good for you.”
“Quick word of advice,” Colt said as he packed the snowball in his hands. “Aim for the body.”
The boys grinned, then ducked as he wound up and whipped the snowball at Rourke. They responded by pelting him with missiles.
“Save yourselves!” he shouted, running past his brothers and sisters to dive behind Tyler’s SUV. He grabbed Sabrina and swept her off her feet, taking her along.
There were gasps and howls and laughter as everyone scattered, then re-emerged with snow bombs flying. Colt grinned. Life could be pretty damn good when things came together.
Perfect.
There they were. The Dillingers. One big, happy family. Joy in the air.
How satisfying it would be to drop one of them in the snow with a bullet, quick and clean. But no … a knife was the way …
He fondled the teeth in his pocket as he watched them play in the golden light of the illuminated lodge. He’d wanted to take another tonight, but he had to be patient. A slight delay. A small sacrifice worth the ultimate reward.
More than a tooth to fondle in his pocket.
A real, live trophy.
A live Dillinger to play with for a while.
The lights of the dashboard cast a glow on Ricki’s face as she sat beside Sam in the Jeep. After last night, after that kiss that had turned into a heated make-out session, it had become challenging to be in close spaces like this with her. That was why Sam had tried to talk her out of coming along for the drive out to Dodge Miller’s place, a trailer on reservation land. He valued her as a deputy, but he had to utilize every ounce of restraint in his body to keep the physical heat down.
He wanted her, and he hated himself for it. What kind of boss lusted after his employee?
“I asked my father about Dodge Miller and the loan,” Ricki said. “Ira tried to dismiss it as a simple conversation. Then he told me that Dodge brought Mia into it. Dodge claimed that Mia would benefit from the butcher shop’s prosperity. Said how he would take care of her, would take her off Dad’s hands. That really pissed Dad off. Yes, Mia always hung around, but Dad felt sorry for her, I guess.”
“So your father refused the loan.”
Ricki nodded. “And Dodge’s shop went belly-up because apparently he couldn’t get one of the local banks to bail him out.”
Sam caught a hint of her sweet scent as she shifted her legs. “Maybe the business wasn’t so profitable after all. I don’t really know Dodge Miller’s finances, but I can tell you, his living quarters are pretty ramshackle. This end of the reservation is a sorry place. You can’t see much in the dark, but these houses are modest. Some of them are old hunting shacks without insulation or plumbing.”
He was driving slowly now, looking for the turnoff to the access road—just a black hole in the trees. His Jeep bumped along for about a quarter of a mile before the headlights swept over a small, snow-covered trailer.
“I’m going to leave the headlights on,” Sam said. “Otherwise, it’s pitch-black out here.”
“You sure that’s not going to piss Dodge off?”
“Chances are, he’ll be pissed off no matter what we do.”
They stepped out into the cold, still night, noise muffled by the steadily falling snow. Sam knew that Ricki was behind him. She had his back, and that felt good. Being able to have complete trust in your partner was what it was all about.
It took a few knocks to get a response, but finally the door opened a crack and Dodge appeared, cap covering his eyes and flashlight grazing his beard.
The beam of the light blinded Sam for a moment, before he turned down his Stetson and let his eyes adjust.
“Sheriff? What the hell’s going on?” Dodge demanded.
“Didn’t mean to alarm you, Dodge, but I’ve been calling you all day. When I couldn’t reach you, I decided to take a ride out, talk to you in person.”
“I got no desire or reason to talk to you or your deputy,” Dodge said as the stink of booze filled the air. “You’re wasting your time and gas, coming out here.”
“Dodge … hold on.” Sam already had the tip of his steel-toed boot in the door to keep it from slamming in his face. “I need to talk to you about Mia. You heard she was killed?”
“You got a warrant for my arrest?”
“No.”
“Then get the hell out!”
Dodge shoved on the door, but it bounced off Sam’s boot, bringing a string of curses from the trailer’s occupant, who clasped his hand over the door and leaned into it, his face hidden from view.
“I don’t have a warrant, but I could get one.” Sam paused as Dodge made a futile effort to inch the door closed. “Why don’t you make it easy on you and me and let us in? Talk with us a few minutes. You might know something that could help us find Mia’s killer. He’s out there, Dodge. And he’s not done.”
The door opened again, but now the flashlight was gone, a soft light glowing behind Dodge. “You don’t know jack shit,” he said, his eyes still in shadow. “You just come out here and try to pin it on me.”
“I’m not trying
to pin it on anyone, just asking some questions. That’s all.”
“I see.”
“Could you tell us your whereabouts on Satur—”
Dodge cut in. “I work my ass off for shit over there in Lander. Ten-hour shifts, most of them in the fridge. I got days when my fingers ache down to the bone from the chill. I lost everything and now I got arthritis, too, and I’m just a piece of meat, owned by someone else. A shit job in a shit world. No one in this town gets that.”
Ricki spoke up from behind Sam. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened to Mia.”
“Who said that?” Dodge’s head snapped as if he’d been stung, and he wheeled around and shot the beam of his light on Ricki’s face. “You got a woman … a Dillinger? Is that fucking Ricki Dillinger playing cop?”
A protective instinct rose in Sam. “That’s my deputy,” he said firmly.
“Fuck that.” Dodge lifted his chin so that his beady eyes could latch on to Ricki, and Sam shifted into Dodge’s path, uncomfortable with her being in harm’s way. “It’s men like her papa who ran me out of business. Buying up all the land and jacking up the price of rent! Greedy fuckers. A dozen Ira Dillingers. That was all it took.”
“That may be so, but Ricki is a law-enforcement officer. She’s got nothing to do with your business going down.” Sam drew himself up, trying to see into the trailer, but a glimpse of stacked pots and bottles was the best he could do. This was a bust; Dodge was too drunk to be reliable, and there was no way they were getting inside.
“They’re all alike. Rich bastards.” Dodge slapped a hand to his face, his words slowed by the alcohol in his blood. “Money grubbers, counting their coins. Not a single good bone in their bodies.”
“I want to know about Mia,” Sam said, trying to change the subject. “About the man who killed her. We haven’t apprehended him, Dodge. Don’t you want to step up and help us catch him before it happens again? Tell me what you know. Tell me now, or I’ll be back in the morning with a warrant.”
Sam knew he would probably be back regardless, but it was worth a shot.
“Mia didn’t care about me. She only cared about them. Well, they’re coming down. Get ready for a fall, pretty Ricki. Get ready, because you’re all coming down. Down!”