moment, then despair once again flooded through her.
Tears flowed unchecked from her eyes as they walked outside and toward
the waiting patrol cars. "The most important thing is for you to be
here for Cody," she told Luke. "I don't want him to be afraid."
There were a million more things she wanted to say. She wanted to
scream that she was innocent, cry that she was afraid. But she refused
to give the ranch workers who'd gathered around, and the officers, the
pleasure of seeing her break. Instead she swallowed her tears and
straightened her shoulders. She'd be damned if she'd let any of them
see her weak and afraid.
Richard opened the back door of his patrol car and Abby slid in, the
handcuffs a painful distraction that lent a bite of reality to the
surreal feel of the scene.
Within minutes the car pulled away. As the ranch fell behind, Abby's
momentary burst of strength ebbed and fear once again swept through
her. She'd never been in any legal or criminal trouble before. She
feared not only the possibility of years behind bars, but the very
process that might put her there.
What had Richard found on her blouse that had prompted him to arrest
her? How was it possible for her to have any incriminating evidence on
her when she was so certain she'd' had nothing to do with Greg's
death?
Are you sure? a little voice whispered in her head. Are you positive
you weren't there? Are you certain you didn't go to Greg's room, fight
with him and lose your temper?
She thought again of that night she'd gone to bed, only to awaken in
the middle of the yard with no memory, no idea of how she'd gotten
there.
Was that what had happened on the night of Greg's murder? She
remembered driving to Walker's pond, still seething over Greg's threats
to take Cody from her. Had her anger manifested itself in some form of
sleep disturbance, causing her to not only walk in her sleep, but to
kill in her sleep?
"No." She whispered the denial softly. There had to be another
answer. There had to be another killer. But who? And why?
"Judge Billings is out for the afternoon," Richard said, his gaze
capturing hers as he looked at her in the rearview mirror. "It looks
like you won't be arraigned until sometime tomorrow."
"You mean I'll have to spend the night in jail?" She'd been so sure
Matthew Curtis, the family lawyer, would be able to get her out of jail
within hours.
Richard snorted. "You'll be lucky if all you spend is one night in
jail. I imagine the prosecutor will request no bail. You'll probably
be in jail until the day they transfer you to prison."
His words echoed in Abby's head, sending cold chills racing up her
spine. Prison. Suddenly the total reality of her situation hit home.
She could go to prison. Cody would grow up without her. His birthdays
would pass without her presence, he'd grow into manhood and she
wouldn't be there to see each rite of passage. With these horrifying
thoughts spinning in her head, Abby leaned her head against the seat
and silently sobbed.
WHEN THE PATROL CAR had disappeared from sight, Luke walked into the
house. He should feel good. He should be euphoric. This was exactly
what he'd wanted. Justice. So why did his heart feel so heavy? Why
was he plagued by doubts?
Maybe his doubts grew from the haunted look in Abby's eyes as they'd
clicked the handcuffs around her wrists. Or perhaps his doubts found
their seeds in the tears that had trekked down her cheeks as the
officers had led her to the patrol car.
Dammit. Never had a woman so confused him.
He'd come to the ranch certain of his facts, intending to make Abby
ease up on Greg, make her allow him access to his son. But before he
could do that, Greg was killed and all the rules--all his
facts--changed.
He wanted Greg's murderer to go to jail, wanted somebody to pay for
that crime. But was Abby guilty? Initially he'd been so certain.
However, somehow in the space of the past couple of days, he'd lost the
luxury of his certainty.
He looked at his watch, wondering what time Cody would return from his
little friend's house. Already he regretted his promise to Abby to
watch over the kid until Abby returned this evening or Belinda came
home the next day. Maybe Maria would return from her sister's soon, he
thought hopefully. What in the hell did he know about kids?
Deciding the best thing to do was to keep himself occupied while he
waited for Cody, Luke went into Abby's room where the officers had left
behind a mess.
What had Richard Helstrom seen on Abby's blouse that had prompted her
arrest? The question played in his mind as he rehung her clothes in
the closet. " Blood? Surely if Abby had killed Greg, she wouldn't
have been foOlish enough to hang a bloody blouse back in her closet.
Abby might be many things, but she wasn't stupid.
After finishing the closet, he moved on to the bed, where the police
officers had dumped the contents of the drawers. As he folded the
clothes and put them away, his gaze took in the bedroom, unsurprised to
find it un frilly but nonetheless quite feminine.
The dresser was heavy cherrywood; the bed had a matching antique
headboard. The bright yellow bedspread and matching curtains added a
cheerful warmth. Unlike most women, whose dresser tops Luke suspected
would be cluttered with perfumes and creams and jewelry, treasures from
Cody decorated Abby's. A cast of a little hand, a self-portrait stick
figure, a vase with dead wildflowers. It seemed that every gift Cody
might have made or bought for his mother over his brief life was here,
a testimony to the mother-son love between the two.
Luke frowned, fighting a feeling that he was invading her privacy as he
shoved her underthings into their proper drawer. His head filled with
a vision of Abby in the cotton briefs and bras. The white fabric would
look exotic against her smooth, tanned skin. The clothing smelled like
her, a sweet fragrance that eddied in the air of the room.
"Hey, Mom, I'm home." The slam of the front door punctuated Cody's
announcement. Luke put the last of the garments away, then hurried out
of the bedroom. He met Cody in the hall.
"Hi, Luke. What are you doing here?" he asked. "Where's my mom?"
Abby hadn't told Luke what to tell Cody about her absence. "She's not
here. I'm sort of baby-sitting you until she gets home. Why don't we
go into the kitchen?" Luke said as he tried to figure out exactly how
much to tell the boy about Abby's arrest.
Cody scowled at him. "Cowboys don't have baby-sitters," he
protested.
"Six-year-old cowboys do,;' Luke countered.
"Can I have a cookie?" Cody asked once they were in the kitchen.
Luke hesitated. Only two minutes on the job and already he felt
inundated with the task of making decisions. "Okay," he agreed,
deciding a cookie couldn't hurt.
He watched as Cody grabbed a cookie from the jar on the countertop,
then w
ent to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk. "you
want some?" he asked.
Luke shook his head. He wasn't sure what he wanted or needed. Maybe a
good, stiff drink? A long vacation? Somehow he knew cookies and milk
wouldn't help a bit. "Sit down, Cody," he finally said, gesturing to
the chair at the table across from him.
Cody carried his milk and cookie to the table, then sat down, looking
at Luke curiously. "Is something wrong?" he asked. His blue eyes
darkened. "Is my mom okay?"
Luke decided to opt for the truth, knowing that's probably what Abby
would do. "You know somebody killed your father," he began. Cody
nodded solemnly. "Well} the police think maybe your morn had something
to do with it and they've taken her to the police station to talk to
her about it."
Cody stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and took a bite of
his cookie. "Boy, if those policemen think my mom hurt my dad, then
they're really dumb." He rolled his eyes to emphasize his disgust at
the very idea. "My mom wouldn't ever hurt anyone."
"It might take the police a little while to understand that," Luke
explained. "And since neither your aunt Belinda nor Maria is here
right now, it looks like I'll be taking care of you until your morn or
your aunt or Maria return."
"Kind of likea stepdad, right?" Cody gazed at him slyly.
"No, kind of like a baby-sitter." Luke eyed the little boy curiously.
"Besides, what do you know about step dads
"I know I'm looking for one." Cody took a swig of his milk, giving
himself a white mustache, before continuing. "When I was littler, I
told my morn I wanted a new dad, you know, 'cause mine was never
around. Mom explained to me that you can't just get new dads, that you
can get step dads So, that's what I want."
Luke got up and grabbed a napkin, then thrust it to the boy. "Wipe
your mouth," he instructed.
Cody grinned widely. "Now you sound like a step-dad," he exclaimed.
Luke had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.
"What dO you want for dinner?" Luke asked Cody that evening. Once
again they were in the kitchen after spending all afternoon working in
the barn. They had exercised the horses, then cleaned out the stalls
and put in fresh hay.
Cody had worked like a trouper, taking instructions from Luke and
chattering about everything he felt important that had ever happened in
his lifetime. Luke heard about his third birthday party, when he
caught his first fish, how Bulldog had taught him to spit for
distance.
Luke had listened with half an ear, his thoughts on Abby and what might
be happening to her. Did she have a good lawyer? Would they set bail
for her?
"Ice cream and popcorn." Cody's voice pulled Luke back to the present.
It took him a moment to figure out what Cody was talking about.
Dinner.
"I have a feeling your mother definitely wouldn't approve. How about
hot dogs and beans? Now that's a real cowboy dinner." Besides, it was
one of the few things Luke could cook.
Within minutes he had their supper ready and they sat at the table to
eat. As they ate, Luke found himself wishing Cody was just a little
older, that he could ask the boy questions about his mother, his dead
father, get answers to the puzzles that suddenly plagued Luke's
thoughts.
What if Abby hadn't killed Greg? That meant there was still a killer
loose, a killer who for some reason wanted to implicate Abby, someone
who had access to the branding irons.
"Tell me 'something-about the men who work here." He figured the boy,
in his innocence and friendliness, might know something that adults
wouldn't know about the men working for his mother.
"Like what?" Cody asked as he added more catsup to his hot dog.
"You like the men who work for your mom?"
Cody shrugged. "Some of them. Bulldog is my best friend, and Roger is
sort of nice."
Luke nodded. Roger Eaton he a ready smile and an easy friendliness,
"What about Rusty?"
"He's okay, 'cept he's always telling me kids should be seen and not
heard."
"Is there any of the men that your morn has had trouble with?"
Cody's eyes darkened. "Billy and Morn sometimes yell at each other."
Luke thought of the sullen, alcoholic man. There had obviously been
some bad blood between Billy and Abby before she'd fired him. Had it
been enough for Billy to kill Greg Foxwood and then frame Abby?
He rubbed his forehead, wondering why in the hell he found himself
working hard to come up with another suspect. Everything pointed to
Abby. She wouldn't have been arrested had the evidence not distinctly
pointed to her culpability. Although his head said to leave things
alone, that the odds were good that Abby was the guilty party, his
heart entertained a disturbing doubt.
Frowning, he bid Cody to finish his meal, eager to put the kid to bed.
He didn't know why he'd promised to look after him to begin with.
Something about Abby Connor had him doing things, thinking things,
completely out of character, and he didn't' like it. He didn't like it
one little bit.
Later in the evening, Luke watched from the doorway as Cody crawled
into bed. "Will my morn be home tomorrow?" Cody asked, his eyes half
cast with sleepiness.
Luke hesitated, not wanting to make unrealistic promises. "I'm not
sure. But your aunt Belinda should be back sometime tomorrow."
"Wanna see my letters 'from my dad?" Cody asked. Before Luke could
answer, Cody leaned over and pulled a handful of paper from the drawer
next to the bed.
Drawn by curiosity, despite his reluctance, Luke walked across the room
and sat on the edge of Cody's bed. Three letters in six years. Luke
had expected more.
The familiar handwriting on the pieces of paper shot an arrow of grief
through Luke, grief he swallowed before allowing it to consume him.
The creases in the letters were worn, attesting to the fact that the
letters had been read and reread many times. "He always promised to
come and see me, but he never came," Cody said softly, and in Cody's
voice Luke heard the resounding sorrow of broken promises, the
shattered faith of a little boy.
Once again Luke's doubts about Abby's guilt exploded in his mind. Luke
had been told lies and he'd believed them as truths. That's what had
brought him out here. It had been lies that had made him leave his
home in Chicago and travel here.
Had anything he'd been told been true? And if everything he had been
told was a lie, then Abby Connor wasn't a cold, ruthless witch; it was
possible she was merely a victim.
Cody yawned tiredly and Luke handed him the letters. "You'd better put
these away before you fall asleep." Luke watched as the little boy
carefully placed the letters into the drawer where he'd initially
gotten them. "My mom says my dad was a real cowboy, but I don't think
he was. I think he was just a pretend one."
"Why do you say that?"
Cody
frowned thoughtfully. "" Cause if he'd been a real cowboy, he
would have stayed with me and my mom. He wouldn't have left us alone
when I was a baby. "
Again in Cody's wistful voice Luke heard the whisper of little-boy
longing. He didn't want to be moved by it, didn't want to be
vulnerable to caring about Cody.
Cody was obviously hungry for a father figure, a man who deserved to be
loved and looked up to. Cody needed a hero, a real cowboy, and Luke
certainly wasn't the man.
Luke was here under false pretenses. Real cowboys didn't lie, and
nearly every word out of Luke's mouth since he'd arrived had been a
lie. Real cowboys lived up to their commitments, honored their vows,
and Luke had failed at that long ago.
Cody was looking for a hero, and Luke wasn't a hero. In fact, Luke had
a feeling that before everything was said and done, Cody would hate him
. because before this was all over, he had a feeling he would be just
another man who made Abby cry.
Chapter Seven
Bert Manigan had the personality of a pit bull. Aggressive, tenacious
and more than a little obnoxious, he also enjoyed a reputation as one
of the best lawyers in the state of Wyoming.
Although Abby had never met the man, Junior had arranged for Bert to
meet Abby an hour before she was set to be arraigned. Abby's family
Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes Page 9