by Lisa Jackson
Skye’s apartment on the main floor was the most charming. Old woodwork, a fireplace, the sun porch and a large kitchen with a breakfast nook, along with a bedroom, gave the apartment a homey feel. Fresh paint and wallpaper, a new kitchen counter and polished wood floors added to the overall appeal. Jenner’s apartment in the basement was more utilitarian with two small bedrooms, a kitchen alcove and living area. Sparsely furnished, it would serve the purpose of providing living space but had none of the ambience of the upper suite.
While the women discussed arrangements, Clarisse’s sons ran wild, charging up and down the stairs, shouting and laughing. “I’m not so sure you’d want these two living here,” Clarisse said, catching Brian as he raced by.
“Don’t be silly. They’re wonderful.” A wistful look came into her eyes, and Casey felt a pang of regret for her soon-to-be sister-in-law. She knew Skye would love to have a houseful of children but would have to settle for being a part-time mother to Hillary.
“I’ll send you a résumé,” Clarisse promised as Brian slithered out of her grasp and ran up the carpeted steps leading from the basement to the main floor, “but I haven’t worked in years and—”
“You don’t need one.” Skye’s smile was kind as they walked outside and climbed the concrete steps to the backyard. “I need help and you’re here. I was hoping that my sister, Dani, might move back here since she and her husband are separating, but she’s determined to keep leasing that ranch and training horses.” Skye’s eyes clouded. “I hope she knows what she’s doing.”
“If anyone knows her own mind, it’s Dani,” Casey observed, though she worried a little about Dani, too. She’d always been impulsive, charging through life, and her marriage to Jeff Stewart had been stormy. Casey put a hand on Skye’s shoulder. “Quit being an older sister. She’ll do fine and she’s probably better off without Jeff.”
“That’s what she says,” Skye admitted, “but I don’t know if I believe her. Oh, well—” she cleared her throat and extended her hand to Clarisse “—we can write up a contract later and you can move into my apartment next week. When Jenner moves out—”
“Your apartment is perfect,” Clarisse said quickly. “It’s bigger and we can work out the bedroom arrangement. I can sleep in the sun-room and the boys can double up in the bedroom. It’ll be wonderful.”
“Good.” Skye smiled, then glanced at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to run. I’ve got two more hours of patients before I have to meet with the seamstress for a fitting of my dress.” She blew a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “This getting married is no picnic.”
“You should have just run off to Lake Tahoe and tied the knot,” Casey said.
“Tell that to your brother!” With a wave, she was off, hurrying back to the clinic.
“She’s wonderful,” Clarisse declared as they climbed into her car.
“Yeah,” Casey agreed. “She and Max have had their ups and downs, but it’s finally working out. Same with Beth and Jenner. It’s kind of weird, if you think about it. They’ve been single so long, and now, within months, they’re both getting married.”
Jabbing her key into the ignition, Clarisse glanced in the rearview mirror at her two sons. “I don’t think I’ll ever get married again.”
“Never?” Casey was surprised. For as long as she’d known her, Clarisse had been a woman who had only wanted to be married. Even when they had been in college, Clarisse hadn’t been interested in a career; she’d only been in school to pass the time until she could marry and raise children.
“I’ve got the boys,” Clarisse said philosophically. She turned the key and the engine caught. “Why do I need a man?”
“I don’t know. Won’t it be hard, raising your sons alone? Won’t you get lonely?”
Clarisse’s smile was grim as she eased the car into the slow-moving traffic of Rimrock. “Believe it or not, Casey, I like being by myself. It’s just safer.”
Casey’s heart constricted for her friend and she felt the sting of tears against her eyes. How many times had Clarisse been the victim of Ray’s violence? How many times had she feared for her life? For her sons’ lives?
Casey wished she could make Clarisse understand that all men weren’t like Ray James. But it would take time. A lot of time. “Well, you’re starting a new life now,” she said, hoping to sound encouraging. “All that’s behind you.”
Clarisse’s jaw clenched. “That’s right. A new beginning. Now, what about you? What are your plans?”
An image of Sloan floated through Casey’s mind, but of course he wasn’t in her future. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I think I’ll stay around Rimrock, too. I’ve considered substitute teaching, finally using that degree in education. But first I’ve got to check to see that my credentials are up-to-date.”
“You—a teacher? I thought you wanted to be involved with films. Weren’t you a producer or something?”
“An assistant to an assistant, but I got tired of L.A.”
“So you’re back in Rimrock.”
“Yeah. Who would have thought it?”
“Not me,” Clarisse said, “but, you know, it’s not a bad little town. Maybe you’ll meet some nice hometown boy.”
“This from you—the woman who’s never going to walk down the aisle again?”
They sped through the city limits and headed north out of town, past the turnoff to the old copper mine. “Yeah, but you haven’t even been down once. So tell me, aside from being kidnapped, what’ve you been up to? Who’s the man in your life?”
Chapter Ten
Sloan was waiting for her. Looking as if he could spit nails, he stood in the parking area as Clarisse stepped on the brakes and slid to a stop.
“Looks like you’re in trouble,” she whispered.
“Me? No wary.” But Casey’s heart was thudding and Sloan’s stern expression didn’t change. He strode to the passenger side as Casey opened the door.
“Where’ve you been?” he demanded, his lips flat with anger.
“In town. Where were you?”
He seemed about to say something, but bit down hard and grabbed her by the arm. “We’ve been worried—”
“I was with my friend.” Smiling despite her anger, Casey motioned to Clarisse, who had stepped out of the car. “Sloan Redhawk, Clarisse James. I think you’ve met before.”
“That’s right.” Clarisse managed a smile from the other side of the car.
Sloan threw a quick glance at Clarisse as she unstrapped her boys. He tipped his hat, then tightened his grip on Casey’s arm and half dragged her to the side of the house, out of Clarisse’s earshot. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Helping a friend.”
“You could have been shot or killed or—”
“But I wasn’t, was I? And what do you expect me to do? Sit on my hands while you men—you and my mule-headed brothers—decide what’s right for me? Well, forget it.” She curved a thumb toward the middle of her chest. “I’m my own person, Sloan, and I’m sick and tired of being treated as if I need to be protected or coddled or as though I’m any different from any one of you. As if I don’t have a brain of my own. Let me tell you, if Jenner or Max had been abducted, they’d be out for blood right now and they wouldn’t let everyone else go out chasing the bad guys. No way, no how. I expect the same is true for you.”
A muscle throbbed at his temple. “This is different, damn it.”
“Don’t you dare say it’s because I’m a woman!” she snapped. “Now, if you’re done manhandling me and treating me like I don’t have a lick of sense...” She yanked her arm back and glared up at him. “From now on, I’m either an active part of your investigation, or I’ll work on my own. Either way, I won’t be held a damned prisoner. I had enough of that a week ago, thank you very much.” Without waiting for a response, she stormed back to a stunned Clarisse.
“What was that all about?” Clarisse asked. She hauled Brian into her arms while Charlie dashe
d into the snow and flung himself on the ground backward, waving his arms and making a snow angel. Reuben, acting more like a puppy than the old dog he was, romped around the boy and barked excitedly.
“I guess he’s my bodyguard. Jenner hired him.”
“I know that much, but why the strong-arm tactics?” Clarisse’s eyes twinkled as she stared at Sloan, who was still standing near the house, glaring at Casey, his hands thrust into his jacket pockets. “Oh, I get it,” Clarisse whispered. “He must be the man you wouldn’t tell me about when I asked you who you were seeing.”
“No, now wait just a minute—” Casey sputtered.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Clarisse cut in, guessing.
“In love? With Sloan?” Casey retorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Are you serious? He treats me as if he’s some kind of Neanderthal! He’s the last person on earth—”
“Sure he is,” Clarisse said, smothering a smile. “Sure he is.”
She didn’t bother protesting any further and silently cursed herself for wearing her heart on her sleeve. It had always been her failing, she supposed. Because of her hot temper, quick tongue and expressive face, she’d had trouble hiding her true emotions. But love? With Sloan? Impossible. He wasn’t the kind of man who wanted a woman. He’d told her himself that what they each were searching for in life was vastly different—too different. Yet... Oh, Lord, could it be possible?
From the corner of her eye she watched him walk to the barn and she only hoped that he hadn’t overheard Clarisse’s remarks.
Sloan fed the brood mares and tried to calm down. He’d been a fool, grabbing hold of Casey’s arm, treating her as if she were a child, but he’d been scared out of his mind, more frightened than he’d ever been in his life.
When he’d come back to the ranch and found out that she was gone, he’d nearly lost control. Even the fact that she was with Clarisse hadn’t convinced him that she was safe, and he was nearly ready to take off after them when the nose of Clarisse’s little car had come into view.
Thank God she was safe.
Pouring grain into the manger, he watched as the horses ate eagerly, tails switching, ears flicking at the slightest sound. He’d always loved being with the animals, rubbing their soft noses, scratching their bony foreheads, avoiding swift teeth and hooves. The barn was filled with odors—dust and sweat, urine and leather, grain and manure—all mixed together to bring back memories of his grandfather’s ranch.
While living in the city, he’d missed the vast open spaces of the range and the feeling of oneness with beasts of all kinds. Unlike some of the ranchers who hated coyotes, wolves, rabbits and foxes, he’d enjoyed trying to outsmart the pests. Sure, they’d gotten under his skin when they’d attacked his grandfather’s herds or garden, but he’d felt it was all part of the game—man against nature. In L.A. it had been man against man. The law versus the criminal. He’d only stayed in Southern California because of Jane.
Jane. Funny, her image had faded in the past few days and he felt a little jab of guilt because he knew the reason why: Casey. Whether he’d wanted to or not, he’d found a woman not to replace his wife, but to become a new part of his life. If he’d let her.
He climbed to the hayloft and kicked several bales over the side, then jumped down and slit the twine holding the bales together. Still thinking of Casey and the ever-present problem of dealing with her, he grabbed a pitchfork hanging from a nail in the wall and shook loose hay into the mangers.
Life was getting too damned complicated.
Though Casey insisted, Clarisse refused to stay at the ranch. She and the boys rented a room at the Lucky Star Motel on Lee Street in Rimrock. Casey argued that they had plenty of room at the ranch, that the Lucky Star was in a bad part of town, that she wanted Clarisse to stick around, but her friend was adamant.
“You’ve done enough, and besides, I’ll see you every day. Just let me do this by myself,” Clarisse insisted after they’d finished dinner. “I’m trying to prove myself, remember? The boys and I can’t be taking too many handouts.”
“It’s not a handout,” Casey protested, but realized Clarisse wouldn’t change her mind. She was just getting ready to leave when Max strode in with Skye, bringing with them the chill winter wind.
“You missed dinner!” Mavis protested. “Kiki!” she yelled toward the kitchen, “Kiki, Max and—”
“We’ve already eaten,” Max said. “We just dropped by because before I left the office I found this on your fax machine.” He handed a sheaf of papers to Sloan. “They just came in.”
Sloan fingered through the documents and let out a low whistle. “From the boot company—Hardtack,” he explained. Seeing Casey’s confused expression, he added, “Remember the guy with the boots in the diner?” When she nodded, he continued. “They were unique, so I did some digging, checking out every boot manufacturer who makes cowboy-style boots with silver chains on the heels. Turns out only two make the style that the guy wore and only one sells them in this part of the country. This—” he held up a sheet “—is a list of retail stores where they can be found... and guess what?”
“I couldn’t,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry.
“One of the outlets for Hardtack Boots just happens to be in Dawson City.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Not yet,” Sloan agreed.
“Boots with chains?” Clarisse said, only half listening as she tried to help Charlie into his jacket and hood. “Like the kind the other private investigator was wearing?”
“What other investigator?”
“Oh, what was his name? Rex Stone, I think. Let me see.” She found her purse, pulled out her wallet and drew out a business card with Rex Stone’s name emblazoned across it.
“What the devil?” Max muttered as the two men locked gazes.
“What did Rex Stone want with you?”
“Same as everyone else. He thought I might know where Casey was.” She looked up at them both. “Wasn’t he hired by the family?”
“Yeah,” Max said, “but if Stone ever wore a pair of cowboy boots, I’d eat mine.”
Clarisse laughed. “He looked like he wore them all the time. And he must’ve because they’d surely seen better days.”
“He never said anything about meeting you.”
“It was just the other day.”
“In Seattle?” Casey stiffened. “When?”
“Let’s see—the day before yesterday, I think.” Satisfied that Charlie’s hood was in place, she straightened.
“How’d he find you?”
“I asked him that, ’cause no one at the shelter would tell him, I know that. But I’d stopped by there and he saw me. You know, it was almost as if he was waiting for me.” She finally noticed the frozen expressions surrounding her. “What?”
“He recognized you?”
“Yes.” She looked from one face to another. “What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not,” Casey reassured her. “But two days ago, Rex Stone was here, in Rimrock. Not Seattle. Mom went to visit him in town in the middle of the day. What time did you meet him?”
Clarisse bit her lip. “About one in the afternoon.”
“What did he look like?” Sloan asked before Max could say another word.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Clarisse said. “Like a lot of guys from around here. Tall and lanky, western-cut suit jacket with jeans and those boots with silver chains on the heels. Three chains, I think.”
“Tall?” Max repeated.
“Yeah, and kind of weathered-looking, you know, dark skin and too many wrinkles. Oh, yes, and he was wearing a hat and he either had short hair or—”
“A ponytail,” Sloan guessed.
“I suppose. You don’t think he was Stone, do you?”
Max rubbed the back of his neck. “Rex Stone is barely five-eight and weighs over two hundred pounds.”
“Oh, no...” Clarisse whispered. “T
hen who was he?”
“That’s what I’d like to find out. We saw the same guy in a diner on the way back to Rimrock. The next day we had potshots taken at us.”
Clarisse gasped.
“I’ll drive her down to see the sheriff,” Max offered. “I think he’ll want you and Sloan to look at mug shots.”
“I’ll do anything,” Clarisse said, shuddering, her eyes dark with concern. “Oh, Casey, I’m sorry.”
“What did you tell him?” Sloan asked.
Her face fell. “That I had gotten a message from you and that you were at the Rocking M. He didn’t seem surprised at all. I mean, I thought he knew... Oh, God, this is terrible. I probably led him right to you.”
“He probably knew we were on our way here, anyway,” Casey said, though her stomach was clenched.
“But now he’s certain.” Clarisse looked near tears. “Oh, Casey, what have I done? You’ve been so good to me and—”
“Don’t worry about it, really. We’re all fine,” Casey said, hoping that her face hadn’t drained of color.
“But if something happens to you—”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Sloan said, his hands crumpling the papers he still held in his fist. His brow furrowed in thought.
“You think Stone’s in on this then?” Max asked.
“No!” Virginia said.
“I don’t know what to think,” Sloan admitted, “but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”
Casey read Hillary’s Christmas list for the third time but she could barely concentrate on the note naming a dozen different toys she’d never heard of.
Everyone staying at the ranch was seated in the den. Virginia was curled up in a corner of the couch addressing Christmas cards, while Mavis played a game of solitaire at a small table near the window. Sloan, big as life, resting on the small of his back in the desk chair, his long legs stretched out so that he could prop the heel of a boot on the hearth, was deep in a telephone conversation with Max. From Sloan’s clipped remarks, she guessed they were discussing her kidnapping. Again. As if she weren’t there. As if she weren’t involved, for crying out loud. She was sick of it. Tired of being pampered. Anxious to get on with her life.