by Joanna Wayne
Dillon slowed his pickup truck to a crawl. “Number fifty-four, white with blue trim and a mimosa tree in the front.”
“Do you see something that looks like that?” she asked incredulously.
“No, but that’s how ex-officer Harrell described his place. Of course he also said it was a little out of the way, and I figure this is about as far out of the way as you can get and still be in the great state of Texas.”
“Why would someone move to such a deserted area?”
“Who knows? I’m sure there are some city slickers that ask the same question about south Texas ranchers, and we wouldn’t think of living anywhere else.”
Ashley kept her gaze peeled for trailer fifty-four. She was beginning to doubt it even existed. As far as she could tell they were on a disappearing path to an unexplored wilderness. A person could get lost out here and never be found. She shivered and wished that thought had never popped into her mind.
“Don’t tell me you’re cold,” Dillon commented, obviously noticing her tremor.
“No, I was just wondering if your man Harrell brought us on a wild-goose chase.”
“Anything’s possible, but I don’t think so. I got the impression from comments he made on the phone that he was eager to talk about this case.”
“What kind of comments?”
“Just some remarks about Lester never getting what he deserved. An insinuation that something or somebody might have been a little rotten in the town of Longview.”
“Wait, I think I see something. Behind that patch of trees.”
Dillon swerved to a stop, and Ashley sprang out of the car and peered through the trees. Her eyes had not deceived her. There was a trailer hidden away in there. She could see a touch of faded blue around some aluminum siding.
“I’ll do the talking,” Dillon said, holding a branch out of her way. “The less anyone knows about what’s going on with you and Lester Grant, the better.”
She ignored his comment. Having her here was Dillon’s idea, but since she’d opened herself up for the pain, she wasn’t about to keep quiet. There were too many things about the bank robbery she wanted to know, facts that never made the newspaper during Lester’s arrest and trial.
Holding up her skirt to avoid a tangle of sticker bushes, she followed Dillon down the overgrown path and up three shaky steps to the door. Harrell answered on the second knock, swinging open the door and holding it wide with a hairy arm.
“You must be the senator.”
“And you must be Grady Harrell.”
The man flashed a wide smile that showed a mouthful of dirty teeth and ushered them inside. Cigarette smoke hung heavy, and Ashley could feel her lungs clogging and her eyes burning before the door had closed behind her. Other than that, the place was well kept. The floors were clean and the sparse furnishings were in good repair.
She stuck out her hand as Dillon made the introductions, and Harrell shook it warmly.
“Can I get you folks something to drink? Beer, iced tea, water?”
“Iced tea sounds real good,” Dillon said, hooking a thumb into the front pocket of his jeans. The man limped into the kitchen, and Dillon followed, offering to help. That had been one of the first things that had attracted her to Dillon, the way he could talk to anyone anywhere and accept them as an equal.
Minutes later, the two men walked into the living room, laughing like old friends, and Dillon took the spot next to her on the couch. “It looks like you jumped a long way from police work when you quit the force up in Longview.”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice. Lester’s bullet left me too lame to pass the physical. I got my lousy pension and a commendation. My wife said let’s move to Houston. We did.”
“She must not have liked city life,” Dillon said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees.
“She liked the city fine. It was me she got tired of.” Harrell picked up a beer and took a long swig. “Left me for a young stud, so I used the few bucks I had left to buy this parcel of cheap land and opened me up a trailer park. Problem was nobody else wanted to live this far out.”
“Maybe if you advertised…” Ashley suggested.
“Nah. I kind of like it jest like it is.” He cleared his throat and took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket. Fortunately, he only tapped one from the package and fingered it longingly rather than lighting up. “I can fish, hunt and have a beer or a shot of whiskey without anyone around to harp about the evils of drink.”
His hand trembled as he stuck the unlit cigarette in his mouth. “I don’t guess you folks have the habit, do you?”
“No, and Mrs. Randolph is allergic to smoke.”
Ashley flashed him a thankful smile.
“Tell me,” Dillon said, pulling the conversation into focus. “You told me on the phone that it was Lester who shot you. According to the trial records, Lester swore he never fired a shot.”
“I reckon a guy who’ll rob a bank and shoot innocent people wouldn’t have qualms about telling a lie or two. Besides, I know what I saw.”
“Which was?” Dillon urged.
“I happened to be going into the bank when I ran right smack into these two fellows robbing the place. One was just a kid. He was scared to death, shaking and ready to run.”
“That had to be my brother.”
“Yeah. But the other guy, Lester, he was a mean one. You could see it in his eyes. He just stood there and looked at me, pointing his pistol like he was dying to kill someone. I dived for cover and came up shot.”
Harrell nursed his cigarette, holding it between his lips and nodding in silent agreement. “I was luckier than the other two who ate a bullet, though. They didn’t come up at all.”
“A witness inside the bank said Peter shot and killed the woman and her husband,” Dillon reminded him.
“Susan Ellen Richards. Some witness.”
“What about her?” Ashley asked, recognizing the name of the witness who at first had said she wasn’t sure who’d shot the people and later sworn it was her brother.
“She was a show-off from way back. You know, the kind of girl who always wanted to perform. And that’s just what she did for the jury. One of the other guys said they all had their back to the wall, even her. She just picked a side and took it. So happened it was Lester’s. He was the one still around to get a kick out of her performance.”
“Or maybe she didn’t pick a side. Maybe someone convinced her to change her story,” Dillon suggested, his fingers crawling the brim of his hat the way they did when he was thinking.
“That could be, but Lester was already in jail by then and Peter was dead. I think Lester just lucked out and got himself a young defender, right out of college and damn persuasive. The boy was bound and determined to make a name for himself. He did, so I hear, working for some big firm in Dallas now.”
“I think you’re right, Mr. Harrell.” Ashley’s words were low and not quite steady, but something inside her had quieted for the first time in years. “I never believed my brother killed anyone. I don’t believe he could.”
She felt Dillon’s hand on hers, squeezing, consoling. Understanding. He’d made this trip for her, so that she could hear what Harrell had to say. No matter what had happened between them or what might happen in the future, she’d always be grateful for this.
“You mentioned some money when we talked on the phone,” Dillon said. “A stash just east of the spot where Peter was shot.”
“Yeah, close to half a million dollars was found in an iron pot stuck in an abandoned well. It wasn’t uncovered until a couple of years later, right after I moved down here. I heard about it through a cousin who’s still on the force up there. The police kept it real quiet.”
“Why would they?” Ashley leaned forward and waited for the answer.
“Because the police were hoping you’d lead them to the rest of the money. They watched you for years, checked your charge accounts, your spending records, even knew you drove an ol
d car. They figured if news of the money hit the paper, you’d be more careful than ever. They didn’t let up until you married the senator here. Guess they figured it was useless then.”
“Why? What would getting married have to do with it?”
“Plenty. When you marry into one of the biggest ranching families in south Texas, you don’t have to live like a poor working girl. If you did have the stolen money, you could spend it without detection or invest it and save it for later. Either way, it would be the devil to prove.”
Realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. No wonder Branson had fought the marriage. He probably thought she was guilty, like the police did, thought she was marrying Dillon to get them off her case. Maybe Dillon had come to the same conclusion. That would explain the way he turned his back on her so soon after the wedding.
A thousand thoughts collided in her brain as Dillon led her through the goodbyes and to the rented car.
“Are you all right?” he asked, opening the door for her. “You look a little dazed.”
“I’m fine, or at least I will be once I digest all of this. And thanks.”
He held on to her hand. “For what?”
“For letting me hear what Harrell had to say about Peter.”
“You deserved to know the truth.”
She settled into the car and let her head relax against the headrest. “The truth seems to have a lot of faces. Do you think Harrell’s version was factual?”
“He’s bitter, but I can’t think of any reason for him to lie.”
“It makes it easier for me, somehow, hearing evidence that my brother wasn’t a murderer. I know he had problems, and that robbing the bank was crime enough, but still…”
Dillon took his right hand from the steering wheel and snaked it about her shoulders. “He’s your family, Ashley. Don’t ever apologize for caring about him, no matter what he did. Caring and loving doesn’t mean condoning.”
“Family. Peter and me, the two of us against the world. That’s the way it seemed a lot of the time. And for most of our lives, we didn’t even know where the other was living. You are a very lucky man, Dillon, being born a Randolph.”
“I’m lucky for a lot of reasons. I just didn’t always know it.”
“IS EVERYTHING all right, Senator?” the waiter asked, filling Dillon’s and Ashley’s wineglasses from the near empty bottle of merlot.
“Perfect like always. That’s why I travel so far for dinner.”
“All the way from the quiet little town of Kelman to the traffic jams of Houston? I don’t think so,” he protested, glowing from the praise. “And the lady?” He bent in a mock bow and eyed her plate, which still held a half dozen shrimp and several plump fried oysters. “Was the food not good?”
“The food was divine. There was just so much of it. I’m so full I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”
“Then I will take it out of your way.” He took the two plates, hers half full and Dillon’s so clean it looked as though a cat had shared with him.
“You must come here often,” she said, sipping her wine and studying the glow of candlelight in Dillon’s eyes. “Even the waiters know you.”
“The owner’s dad is in the Texas legislature, a friend of mine. But I do like the food. They give you enough to know you’ve eaten. Besides, the atmosphere is sort of down home with just enough sophistication to realize you should eat with the right fork. I thought it might be just the place to help you unwind tonight.”
“You chose well.”
And he had, indeed. For the first time since the day Dillon had appeared at her door, she had almost forgotten that her world was in utter chaos. Part of it was the policeman’s testimony about her brother. Troubled and angry, Peter had gotten into one scrap after another growing up. But she couldn’t bear to believe the brother she loved so much had killed innocent people who had died begging for their lives.
The waiter returned with a steaming pot of coffee, interrupting her thoughts and filling two china cups to the brim. “Brewed fresh and strong, just the way you like it, Senator.”
“Keep up with service like this and I might just move to Houston. Of course, we’ll have to get the Astros’ batting averages up a bit if I’m going to be fully happy here.”
The two men tangled in a brief round of baseball talk, while Ashley stayed lost in her own thoughts. As soon as the waiter moved away, Dillon turned to face her. The easy smile he’d flashed at the waiter vanished, his gaze so serious she felt an anxious stirring inside her.
She’d left Florida with Dillon Randolph, the demanding father who wanted to take her son away from her. Dillon Randolph, the enemy.
But day by day the lines between husband and enemy had blurred until now there was only an indistinct boundary that instinct told her she must never cross. Only Branson seemed to have a clear conception of why. Branson, and now the press. Ashley Jackson was bad news for a fastrising Texas politician.
“The election is only two weeks away. You should be out campaigning tonight.”
“I like it better right where I am.”
His voice became husky and low, and Ashley felt her resolve teeter on the edge. He reached out and ran his hand over hers, his fingertips caressing and then tangling with hers. Just keep it light, she told herself. Weakness was costly.
“Have you found out anything new in the case of the missing campaign funds?”
“I have an impartial accounting firm looking into it. I suppose one of my aides could be capable of graft, but I don’t think so. I chose them carefully, and I’ve worked with the latest recruit for over a year. Besides, I’m a good judge of character.”
Not always. He’d fallen short in the wife department. “Tell me more about your father,” she said, knowing she had to get her mind off the relationship between Dillon and herself. “So many people loved him, yet his enemies appear to be just as vehement.”
“He was a good man. That’s what I remember most about him. Teaching us to ride, telling far-fetched tales about the days of the Wild West, although later I found out half of them were exaggerations. But he had his own notion of truth, always full of grandiose plans and schemes. Some people think he also had his own notions of fairness.”
“Maybe those were the ones who were jealous of his success.”
“I’d like to think that. It goes easier if I believe he was honest in his dealings.”
“Because a Randolph never goes back on his word.”
“No man worth the price of his saddle does.”
Unless it was their vow to love and cherish forever. The accusation stuck in her throat and burned into her chest. Apparently even men worth their saddles were allowed some room to err where wives were concerned.
Conversation died between them as Dillon took care of the check and led her out of the restaurant, grabbing his hat as he went. The hotel was only a few minutes away, and he seemed as eager to get there as she did. He was probably sleeping no better than she was with all that was going on in their lives.
Lester’s visit four nights ago had left her shaken and restless, and every time she wakened, Dillon was pacing the halls or sitting in the leather chair in the living room, his feet propped on the windowsill while he stared into the darkness.
And every time she’d opened her eyes and found him in her room, she’d fought the devil inside her to keep from opening her arms and inviting him to slide into bed beside her. And the battle was growing tougher every night.
DILLON SHOVED the plastic key into the slot and pushed the hotel door open. Ashley slipped past him, and he followed her inside. The day had played havoc with his will. He was spent from trying to stay focused while every incidental touch of Ashley’s hand or thigh had triggered desire so intense his insides had trembled like a boy riding his first stallion.
No longer fighting his impulses, he crossed the room and opened the curtains to the lights of the Houston skyline.
“I’m really tired tonight, Dillon. I think it’s
best if you go to your room now and we both try to get some sleep.”
“Not just yet.” He set his hat on the chest.
“You don’t have to worry about me. We’re thirty stories up, and I’ll set the dead bolt. Besides, if I need anything, you’ll be in the adjoining room.”
He was making her nervous. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in the hurried rhythm of her words. Good. That meant she had some idea of what he wanted from her. He strode across the room and took her hands.
“It’s not your safety I’m worried about tonight.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She pulled away, her shoulders squared into fighting position.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Ashley. It’s only answers I’m demanding, straight answers, just like you demanded from me. I won’t be leaving until I get them.” Her gaze met his and connected, one more knot in the invisible rope that always held them together no matter what pulled them apart.
“I’ll answer, if I can.”
“Why didn’t you come to me when Petey was born? Why didn’t you tell me I had a son?”
“I tried to tell you.” Her voice shook. “I called and asked you to meet me in San Antonio, or don’t you remember?”
“I met you. There was no mention of a son.”
“No, not after I saw the hatred in your eyes. Not after the way you cut off my every attempt to explain anything to you. Not after you assured me you were better off without me.”
“So you just decided Petey should never know his father?”
“I didn’t decide about forever, only about then. If I had told you about Petey, you would have demanded custody, just as you have now. You with all your power, your money, your political connections. You would have taken Petey, and I would have had nothing.”
Protests flew to his mind but never made it to his lips. She knew him too damn well. At that point in his life, he would have taken Petey from her or died trying. Forgiveness had not existed in his vocabulary.
“I had no choice, Dillon. You had everything. All I had was Petey. I couldn’t even come to you to help me keep him safe. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I ran. And I would have kept on running if you hadn’t stopped me.”