by Janet Dailey
“Nick Tomescu. He was a tough-looking brute, all right. But Abner’s report says he had no history of violence.”
“I’m aware of that. But it was late at night. The man had a helmet on. And Will had just heard the radio alert on the biker who’d robbed the convenience store. He thought he was facing a criminal who’d already shot one person.” She shook her head, more emotional than Drummond had ever seen her. “What if it had been the robber? He could’ve killed Will and found Erin in the truck. Anything could’ve happened.”
“According to this report, the man had surrendered his gun.”
“But he had a knife, raised to throw. Clay, this case should never go to trial. It was self-defense, pure and simple.”
Drummond exhaled, feeling for her but mindful of his own dilemma. “For now, that will be up to the judge at the inquest. If the ruling is self-defense, Will’s trouble will be over.” But mine will just be starting, he thought.
“I heard there might be a jury,” Tori said.
“So did I. But evidently that’s not going to happen.”
“You’ve probably guessed that I’ll be representing Will.” Tori had pulled herself together, speaking calmly now. “I’m doing it because he’s Erin’s father, and she needs him. But even more important, Will is innocent.”
Drummond nodded his understanding. “What can I really do for you, Tori? The last thing I want is to hurt you and your daughter.”
“You can find out what’s driving Abner and why he’d be so determined to punish a man for doing what any father would.”
Maybe Stella’s got something on Abner, too, Drummond thought. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask him. “I’ll look into it,” he lied. “If I learn anything, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks.” She stood. “You’ve always been a friend, Clay. I know you have a job to do. But I hope you’ll at least keep me informed—and, of course, share any new evidence with me as the attorney for the defense.”
He watched her walk out, admiring her leggy stride and the way her slacks clung to her shapely hips. Tori was a magnificent woman and a longtime friend. She’d made a good case for her ex-husband’s innocence. But given what Drummond was facing, none of that could be allowed to matter. Whatever happened, he had to save himself from ruin. He had to make sure Will Tyler went to prison.
* * *
A cold wind almost blasted Tori off her feet as she stepped out of the county building. Autumn-bright leaves were flying off their branches in a storm of reds and golds. To the northwest, muddy-looking clouds were roiling in over the caprock. The forecasted norther was moving in fast.
Clutching her blazer around her, Tori raced across the parking lot to the old red pickup she’d borrowed from the ranch while her wagon was in the shop. Flinging herself into the driver’s seat, she grabbed for the door, which the wind had blown open, and yanked it shut.
For a moment she sat still, catching her breath and thinking about her meeting with Clay Drummond. In the nearly six years she’d worked as Clay’s law partner, he’d never been anything but honest and fair with her. She knew his wife, Louise, and his three children—one in college now, the other two in high school. She’d even had dinner in their home. Even though they were on opposite sides of the legal process now, she’d always believed she could trust the man. But today he’d seemed uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t wait for her to leave. When she’d argued in favor of Will’s innocence, she could’ve sworn she’d seen the man squirm. What was even more disquieting, he’d kept breaking eye contact while she was talking to him, which wasn’t like Clay at all.
Something wasn’t right. And she owed it to her client—to Will—to find out what it was.
Will.
How many times had she relived that encounter in the hall outside Erin’s room? If she’d made one more move, where would she be right now? She’d seen the hunger in Will’s eyes and felt the heat rising between them. The urge to reach down and touch the sash on his old bathrobe had been almost overpowering. One tug at the loose knot would have been enough to push them over the edge. But Will had saved them both. He had kissed her hand and walked away, leaving her weak-kneed and quivering in her silk nightgown.
Time to put the whole incident out of her mind and get on with her day. It wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t give it a chance. Neither, evidently, would Will.
She was fishing her keys out of her purse when her cell phone rang. It was Drew. “Hi,” she said, welcoming the diversion. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, Mr. Middleton?”
He chuckled. “Even the principal needs a recess break. How about you? Are you working?”
“Sort of. I’ve been laying some groundwork for Will’s defense, in case he needs it.”
“Can’t he get himself another lawyer for that?”
“Not one who’ll work for free. Since he’s Erin’s father, and since she was a witness, I really do have to be involved. It’s family business.”
There was a beat of silence. “All right,” he said. “But I confess I’d feel more secure if you weren’t so chummy with your ex.”
“We’re not chummy. We have a daughter, who means the world to both of us. If it weren’t for Erin, I’d probably never speak to him again.”
“Ouch!” Drew’s laugh sounded forced. “Sorry, that’s not why I called. Just wondering if you were free for a movie tonight.”
She hesitated, checking her mental to-do list.
“I need to see you, Tori,” he said. “Besides, you could use a fun chick flick with popcorn and some good old-fashioned back-row snuggling.”
“Isn’t the back row where your students sit to make out?”
“At least they won’t be sitting behind us. Is that a yes?”
She relented. “Sure. My house, seven-thirty?”
“Let’s make it seven. We can get pizza before the movie.”
“Fine. Seven. See you then.” She ended the call. At least she’d have something to take her mind off Will’s troubles tonight. Drew had a way of relaxing her, making her laugh. He never confronted her or made unreasonable demands the way Will had done when they were married. And Will would never offer to watch a chick flick just because he thought she’d enjoy it.
Drew is a gem, Tori told herself. If she didn’t grab him fast, some other woman would.
As she started the truck, a gust blasted a shower of leaves onto the windshield. Tori turned on the wipers to clear them away. She’d planned to drive to the ranch tonight to brief Will on the case and check on Erin. But given her date with Drew and the chance of a storm moving in, it made more sense to spend the night in town—which brought up the question of what would happen when Drew drove her home.
He’d said he needed to see her. Did that mean he wanted to take their relationship to a new level? Was she ready for that? Tori wasn’t a prude. The one brief fling she’d had when she was still reeling from the divorce had been doomed from the start. And she’d never been one for casual sleeping around. She’d come to believe that love, or at least emotional intimacy, should be there before sex happened. Had she reached that point with Drew?
What would he do if she hadn’t?
During her musings she’d let the truck idle too low and killed the engine. Shifting down, she started it again and pulled out of the parking spot. Her station wagon was still waiting for the arrival of a new starter. Maybe it was time she began shopping for a new vehicle, something that wouldn’t strand her somewhere at night or break down in bad weather. The next time she saw Will, maybe she’d ask him for some suggestions.
Will again. Damn.
Muttering under her breath, Tori ground the pickup’s aging gears and roared out of the parking lot.
* * *
After lunch—a beef sandwich eaten off the kitchen counter—Will chose a sturdy paint gelding from the long barn, saddled it, and took the trail up to the back pastures. The windy weather wasn’t the best for riding, but he’d wanted to check the stock and the fence
s before the coming storm. At least that was his excuse.
He didn’t really need to go. He’d put Beau in charge of readying the pastures and the cattle for bad weather, and, much as Will was tempted, he’d learned better than to show up and try to supervise. Beau knew his job, and any interference from his big brother would only rile his temper. Will had resolved to keep his distance, but he wanted to get out of the house and see things for himself.
The events of the past few days had left him shaken and out of sorts. He felt the need to ride the ranch alone, to see the land and see himself as part of it. With so much uncertainty hanging over him, he needed a reminder of who he was, why he was here, and what he was fighting for.
Collar raised against the wind, Stetson jammed on and tied under his chin, he rode across the fire-scarred flat and up toward the edge of the foothills. The stiff breeze whipped waves across the yellow grassland and battered his sheepskin coat. A pair of ravens soared on the windy swells, tumbling as if in play.
In the pastures red-coated Hereford cattle clustered with their backs to the wind. After the summer drought and the fire that followed, Will had sold off most of his steers at a loss. The animals that remained were breeding stock—prime cows and bulls and last spring’s half-grown calves—his best hope for the next season. If he could keep them fed and healthy over the winter, he’d have a good start on next summer’s herd. But if the coming winter turned harsh, the price of extra hay and the calorie-rich cottonseed cake known as “cow candy” could bankrupt him.
In the distance he could see Beau’s crew with the flatbed truck, setting up stacks of baled hay to serve as extra wind breaks for the cattle. Two generations ago, when Bull’s father, Williston Tyler, had cleared the land for pasture, he’d had the foresight to leave clumps of cedar growing in place. Last summer’s wildfire had destroyed many of the scrubby evergreens. A few stands had been spared, but if the storm turned out to be a bad one, the trees wouldn’t be enough. Cold would be the worst danger. The cattle were still growing their long winter coats. They’d been given extra feed to strengthen their resistance, and heaters had been installed to keep their water tanks from freezing over. But the worry wouldn’t ease till this early storm had passed.
Last summer, after the drought and the fire, he and Beau had taken out a hundred-thousand-dollar short-term bank loan, secured by some acreage, to tide the ranch over for a few months, pending the sale of the steers and Sky’s colts. But the cattle had sold low; and with other Texas ranches in as much trouble as the Rimrock, few of their owners had cash to spend on new horses.
At the first of the year, the loan, along with the interest, would be due. If they could talk the bank into an extension, they had a chance of pulling through. Otherwise, they’d have no choice except to lose the land or sell it—a solution that would make Bull Tyler turn over in his grave.
As if spurred by the thought, he headed the horse uphill toward the escarpment. A forty-minute ride brought him to the mouth of a narrow box canyon with high, red sandstone walls. Sheltered from the wind, it was a mystical place. Soft red sand covered the floor. On the side where a sheer cliff rose straight up, a panorama of Native American petroglyphs—wild animals, warriors, mythic spirits, and many, many horses—paraded across the sandstone face, telling silent stories of a past that would never live again.
Will dismounted, tethered the horse, and walked up the canyon, enjoying the peace of the place. But someone had been here recently. For the space of a breath, Will felt the warning prickle at the back of his neck. Then he relaxed as he recognized the prints of Sky’s worn soles and Lauren’s narrow designer boots. This, he knew, was one of their favorite places.
Near the spot where Will stood, mesquite bushes screened a small, steep side canyon—the disputed canyon that his father had sold to Ferg Prescott years ago for a dollar. The last time Will had been here, the stream in its bed had been dammed at the top. Barbed wire had blocked the entrance with a sign reading, PROPERTY OF PRESCOTT RANCH. But as Will pushed his way through the brush, he realized something had changed. The barbed wire and the sign were gone. Water trickled down the rocks, the sound of it music to a rancher’s ears.
Lauren had kept her word. But the parcel was still in Prescott hands, and she had nothing to gain by selling it. Will was doing his best to be patient, but with the threat of jail hanging over him, he needed to get the matter settled. Whatever happened next, he owed it to his father’s memory to make the Rimrock Ranch whole again.
* * *
Will returned to the ranch house, hung up his coat and, hearing voices, found Jasper and Erin at the kitchen table, drinking cocoa with marshmallows. “You look like you could use some thawin’ out,” Jasper said. “Pan’s still hot on the stove. Help yourself to what’s left.”
“Thanks.” Will emptied the steaming cocoa into a mug, skipping the marshmallows, which were too sweet for his taste.
“Daddy, can I go out and see Tesoro?” Erin asked. “Sky’s out there. I just saw him drive up.”
“Have you finished your schoolwork?”
She grinned. “All done.”
“Fine, then. But put on a coat. It’s brisk out there.”
Erin raced to get her coat. The front door opened and closed as she left the house. Will took a cautious sip of hot cocoa and settled back in his chair. He’d hoped to catch the old man alone for a quiet talk.
“I rode out to the petroglyph canyon today,” he said. “Lauren promised me Sunday that she’d free up the water in that little side canyon. It’s been done. The fence and the sign are gone, too.”
Jasper’s gaze narrowed beneath his grizzled brows. “But the gal hasn’t budged on selling you back that land, has she?”
“She asked for more time. I’m trying to be patient and give her some rope.” Will studied the man who’d been more of a father to him than Bull Tyler ever had. “You don’t like her much, do you?”
Jasper’s scowl deepened. “She seems nice enough, all right. And she makes Sky smile, which takes some doin’. But she’s Garn Prescott’s daughter and Ol’ Ferg’s granddaughter, and they was both rotten, no-good skunks! I’ll never trust a Prescott as long as I live!”
Will shook his head. “Well, I hope you change your mind, Jasper. When Lauren marries Sky, she’ll be family.”
“She’ll still be a Prescott. I’ll wait to pass judgment.”
“Speaking of Old Ferg,” Will said, changing the subject, “I’ve always wondered why my dad sold him that little canyon—and for just a dollar. You’ve been with our family longer than anybody on the ranch, even me. I know there are stories Bull never wanted told. But he’s gone, and I need to know. Are you ready to tell me?”
“Maybe.” Jasper’s mouth tightened as if holding back the secret. Will waited, giving the old man a moment to ponder. When Jasper cleared his throat, Will braced for what he was about to hear.
“This was after your mother was killed in that wreck, you understand,” Jasper began. “Bull loved his wife. He mourned her till the day he died. But there was another woman he loved, too. He sold the land because of her—and to protect you and Beau.”
Will nodded, knowing better than to speak.
“I’m telling secrets I swore not to tell,” Jasper said. “But since I might not be long for this world, maybe it’s time you heard. Bull got the woman pregnant. She knew she couldn’t expect him to marry her, so she went home to her people in Oklahoma. She left a letter meant for Bull, but Ferg Prescott got his thievin’ hands on it first. There were things in that letter that could’ve dirtied Bull’s reputation, if they came out, and hurt his children down the line.
“The blackmailing bastard offered Bull the letter in exchange for selling him that piece of land.” Jasper pushed to his feet, a signal that the story was done. “So now you know. That’s just one reason why I don’t trust the Prescotts, and there are plenty of others.”
“What about the woman?” Will asked, already guessing the answer.
; “Bull sent a man to find her and give her money for the baby. But he never saw her again.”
“She was Sky’s mother, wasn’t she? Does Sky know?”
“He does. I told him. And I reckon he’s told Lauren.” Jasper hobbled toward the kitchen door.
“One more thing,” Will said. “What about the Spanish gold? Is there anything to that old rumor?”
Pausing in the open doorway, Jasper turned and gave Will a dark glance. “I’ve told you enough,” he said. “That’s a story for another time—if I ever choose to tell it.”
* * *
Being with Drew was just the diversion Tori needed. Tonight’s date—pizza, cokes at the Burger Shack, and a silly romantic movie—had made her feel seventeen again. They walked out of the theater arm in arm.
Now what?
Wind blasted them as they walked down the block to his sleek gray Honda. “You’ve got school tomorrow. It’s probably past your bedtime.” Tori managed a nervous laugh. “I sound like I’m talking to Erin, don’t I?”
He ushered her to his car and opened the door, the perfect gentleman. “Actually, I’m not quite ready to turn in. How about a nice, grown-up beer at the Blue Coyote? We can wind down and talk a little. Sound good?”
“Sure,” Tori answered, hesitant but wanting to please him. She liked Drew, liked him a lot. But was she ready for what he might be leading up to?
They drove the few blocks to the last corner in town, where the cheap neon sign cast a blueish glow over the customers who wandered in and out. Late on a weeknight, the place wasn’t crowded. The big-screen TV above the bar was turned off, the classic country music muted and mellow with a throbbing underbeat.
Drew guided Tori to a quiet corner booth, his hand warm and possessive on the small of her back. They took their seats and ordered two Coronas from the tired-looking blond waitress. The girl came right back with their drinks. She looked too young to be working in a bar, but nobody seemed to care.
Tori studied him across the table. He was a handsome man, with regular features and light brown hair that almost matched his good-natured eyes. He wore a brown cashmere sweater under his fleece-lined wool jacket. Flawless conservative style.