by Joanna Wayne
“I’m not asking you to change. I’m only asking you to trust me with your feelings and not shut me out of your life.”
Her voice was shaking. She was shaking. But her only chance to find happiness with the man she loved depended on breaking through the barriers, depended on him trusting her with his secrets the way he wanted her to trust him with her life. And she might never get this close to reaching him again.
“We love each other, Clint. We could make it work. But you have to let me in to your life.”
He turned and stamped toward the back door. She watched him go, defeat so heavy in her heart that she couldn’t even stand alone. She slumped against the windowsill.
Clint stopped just inside the back door, his hat in his hand. “You want the truth? I’ll give it to you.” His voice was strained, yet hard and unrelenting. “I did resent your friendship with McCord. Yours and every other person’s in this town. He was Mr. Wonderful to everyone in Star County. To everyone except me.”
Clint slammed his hat on his head and swung open the screen door. “I had McCord on a pedestal so high he would have needed an oxygen tank to breathe. But he never cared. Never wanted me around. Either I wasn’t good enough for him, or else every time he looked at me he was reminded of the one mistake he couldn’t make completely disappear.”
She felt the pain in his voice deep in her soul. “What are you saying, Clint?”
“That I’m James McCord’s bastard son.”
The door slammed so fiercely behind him that the house shook from the impact. She crossed the floor and leaned against the door, half of her wanting to go after Clint, the smarter half knowing he needed the time to himself.
But she could no longer hold back the tears that she’d fought through days of frustration and fear. Sobbing, and for once not caring, she dropped to the couch and buried her face in the cushions.
JAMES McCORD DIALED Clint’s home number for the tenth time. Still no answer. But Caulder had said Clint was furious and demanding that McCord call him at home tonight.
The phones were probably out again. The lines had probably been knocked down by a tree limb, the way that north wind was gusting. Or maybe by lightning damage. The last round of fiery bolts had been vertical, aimed straight for the earth.
He dropped his borrowed cell phone to the empty passenger seat of the borrowed truck. He was damn tired of being a fugitive, not even trusting the people who’d been hired to protect him. Living on the run from a lunatic who was threatening to destroy everything he’d worked so hard to build. Worst of all, threatening the lives of people he loved.
First, it had been his daughter. Thankfully, Levi was safe now and thousands of miles away, but the madman had turned his hate and vengeance to Darlene. And now that Clint was getting so close to the truth, he was sure to be next on the death list.
Clint.
McCord tensed as the fury inside him mingled with regret. He should never have made that vow to Eileen, should never have promised to deny his own son his name. Should never have denied himself his son. And yet he knew if he had to do it all over again, it wouldn’t be any different.
No matter that he’d loved her, that she’d been the woman who’d taught him how to love, how to face life after the shattering injury had claimed his leg. She was his best friend’s wife, and neither of them had been willing to throw that kind of painful baggage on a man who had just lived through hell.
But Eileen was dead now, and so was the man they had lied to protect. And if the lunatic who had sent him the threatening letters had his way, McCord might soon be dead too. And he would die without once hearing his son call him Dad.
His hands tightened on the wheel as he swerved and made the turn onto the road that led to Clint’s ranch. He wouldn’t break his vow to Eileen. That was sacred. But he would have to break a promise he’d made years ago to a group of buddies in a distant land. He’d broken it once, the night he’d told Darlene.
When the story was out, it would end any chance of his being elected president, any chance of his ever being involved in politics again. It might lose him the respect of his family. It might even cost him his freedom.
But he had no choice, just as he’d had no choice thirty years ago when he’d pulled a trigger and killed his commanding officer. A man did what he had to do.
CLINT STOOD IN THE STABLES, just inside the door where he still had a view of the house. He rubbed Brandy’s long neck, getting what comfort he could from the smell of horseflesh, the feel of dirt and straw under his feet, the sound of snorting and whinnying as the animals reacted to the storm.
Sounds, smells, sights that were the substance of his existence. Yet tonight they didn’t quell the rumblings in his soul. He’d blamed Darlene and McCord for the loneliness he’d endured the last six years, blamed them even as he’d denied that he was lonely. And he’d denied to himself that he was half a man without Darlene, that he would never stop loving her as long as he drew breath.
But any way you cut it, the fault had all been his. He’d sat on the edge of the bed, holding his mother’s hand when she’d told him that James McCord was his real father. Then she’d closed her eyes, never to open them again.
In that second, his whole conception of who he was had changed. The man he’d thought had been his father wasn’t. Instead, he’d been conceived from the seed of the national hero he’d grown up worshiping—the man who had turned away every time Clint had tried to get close to him, stinging him with rejection even a kid could feel, but not understand.
That night had been the beginning of the end of him and Darlene. She had called it right tonight, the same way she had called it right back then. He wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with.
But she was back in his life again, and he’d be damned if he’d let his reactions to the past rob him of the chance to spend his life with the woman he loved.
She could still walk away when this was over and her amnesia was resolved. She could go back to her career and the life she’d made for herself. But she’d leave knowing he loved her as much as any man had ever loved a woman. He owed her that.
THE WIND HAD PICKED UP, whirling leaves and making missiles of dirt and debris as Clint headed back to the house. He held his hat with one hand and protected his eyes with the other as he crossed the space between the stables and the house. A hell of a night out for man or beast. Even Darlene’s would-be killer was probably huddling beside a fire tonight.
A vicious bolt of lightning made the night as light as day, and a thundering crash of thunder followed. Clint broke into a jog, hoping to reach the house before the rain started.
The crashing smack of wood on wood slowed him. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but he recognized the sound. The wind was playing with his barn door—blowing it open one minute only to hurl it shut the next.
He’d thought for sure he’d latched it earlier, but evidently he hadn’t. He’d have to make a quick detour and take care of it. He didn’t keep that much in the old barn: some hay, feed for the cattle, a few tools. But the way the wind was blowing tonight, what he had would get soaked if he left that door flapping.
He broke into a full-fledged run and didn’t stop until he’d stepped under the roof of the barn and grabbed hold of the edge of the swinging door. He lifted and pulled against the wind. He’d almost done it when he felt the glancing blow to his head and stumbled backward.
Right into the barrel of a gun.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hello, Clint. Nice of you to stop by. I figured you’d come to check on that banging door sooner or later. I had no idea it would be this soon.”
“Thornton, what are you doing in my barn?”
“Like I said, waiting for you.” He shoved the gun into the recess between his shoulder blades. “Don’t make any foolish moves, Clint. Don’t give me an excuse to pull this trigger before I’m ready.”
“If I’m going to take a bullet anyway, now’s as good as later to me.” But he wasn’t stupid en
ough to call Thornton’s bluff. Thornton reached down and yanked Clint’s revolver from its holster and tossed it to the middle of the barn.
Clint kept his cool. He had to be alert. Weapon or no, he still had a chance to save himself and warn Darlene. The chance lessened when Thornton pulled a pair of cuffs from his back pocket and fastened the steel bracelets around Clint’s wrists. Thornton reached behind him with one hand and flicked on the dim overhead light.
“Darlene’s probably wandering where you are. If she looks out here and sees the light, she might save me the trouble of going after her.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Clint lied. “She left with Randy a few minutes ago. He was driving her to San Antonio to catch a flight to D.C.”
“No, I talked to Whitt Emory not more than an hour ago. He has her protection all lined up starting the second she steps off the plane tomorrow.”
“So you decided to outsmart him. Get to her here where you only had me to walk over.”
“And you made it so easy.” He shoved Clint toward the center of the barn.
Clint moved without resistance. The longer he kept Thornton busy with him, the better Darlene’s chances were at staying alive. If she came out into the dark looking for him, she’d bring a gun. If Thornton went into the house looking for her, she might not even have a fighting chance.
“Back up against that post, Clint.”
“So are you going to tell me what this is about?” he asked, following Thornton’s orders. “What’s your reason for hating McCord?”
“Justice. It’s been thirty years in coming. But I’ll die before I see the man who shot my brother Hal in cold blood become the president of the United States.”
Realization hit like a ton of bricks, and Clint recoiled under the weight of it. He tried to put together what he’d learned from the files at the Altamira and the data he’d been able to access on his computer. Hal Edwards. Known to his buddies as Whacko. He’d been on the A-Team with McCord. He’d been the commanding officer of the mission that had taken place during the crucial time period Darlene had identified this afternoon. He had not returned from the mission.
This must have been the horrifying story McCord had shared with Darlene on Monday night. She’d learned that McCord was a murderer.
“You don’t have to kill Darlene to make your own justice, Thornton. Her amnesia is permanent. She’ll never be able to identify you from the attack.”
Thornton laughed, a nervous cackle that bordered on hysteria. “She’ll never be able to identify me because she never saw me. I wore a ski mask and a flowing cloak that disguised my physique. And I never said one word, so there was not even a minute chance someone could recognize my voice. I’m the best at what I do, Sheriff, just like you. Only I don’t make mistakes.”
“Then let Darlene go. Why kill an innocent woman?”
“Because she’s not an innocent woman. She’s with the FBI. I knew she’d be a problem from the beginning. That’s why I was prepared to take her out the day she set foot in Vaquero. Like you, she won’t stop until she implicates me in the attack and McCord’s murder.”
“McCord hasn’t been murdered.”
“He will be. Take my word for it. You, Darlene, McCord. It’s too late for all of you.”
“You’ll never get away with this.”
“Yes, I will. That’s the beauty of it. The identity and background I created for myself are flawless. Jake Edwards died in a boating accident. I’m now Thornton Roberts, security expert from Minnesota. No one will question that.”
“They will when McCord shows up dead.”
“No. Not the way I have his murder planned. Not once you and Darlene are no longer alive to thwart me.”
“Leave Darlene out of this, Jake. She can’t hurt you. The part of her brain that controls her memory was permanently damaged. She will never remember what McCord told her.”
“I’m not willing to take that chance. Now I have to hurry. I’m going to tie you to the center post. I’ll have to remove the cuffs so that none of this will ever be tied to me. If you make the slightest attempt to escape, I’ll shoot you.”
Clint had no doubt that Jake Edwards meant exactly what he said. The man’s eyes shone with the glassy sheen of a madman’s, and his trigger finger was poised and ready.
Clint’s chances were running out. And he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. He stood against the post, compliant, waiting until the exact second when his left hand was free of the cuff.
He jerked with all his might, breaking loose and diving to the ground. He slid across the carpet of loose straw, the tips of his fingers mere inches from the butt of his revolver—
The sound of gunfire reverberated like thunder through the narrow barn.
Jake Edwards’s bullet had found its mark.
DARLENE HAD CRIED herself out, then got up and washed the mascara from her face. She’d even warmed some packages of homemade soup she’d found in the freezer, no doubt provided by friendly neighbors. It would be the only supper they’d need after Mary’s Sunday dinner. The table was set. The ice in the tea glasses had started to melt.
But Clint had not returned.
He was close by. He would never leave her unprotected, no matter how angry he was that she’d pushed him so hard and so far. The secret he’d guarded so fiercely had been more brutal than she’d expected, but she wasn’t sorry she’d kept at him until he’d exploded with the truth.
It was a jaggedly scarred beginning, but it was a beginning for them. The barriers Clint had erected between them had started to topple, and they had started with the foundation of steel. The rest would be easier.
Now she just wished Clint would walk back through the door.
The zigzagging spikes of lightning had become almost constant, quickly followed by ear-splitting crashes of thunder that exploded like gunfire. The rain would start soon. Probably come down in torrents if the preview was any indication.
If Clint didn’t return in a few minutes, she’d go looking for him. He shouldn’t be out on a night like this. Loopy lifted his head, his ears jumping to attention.
“You’re worried about him too, aren’t you, boy?” She reached down to offer a reassuring pat, but Loopy sprang to his feet and took off for the back door, barking an agitated greeting. Darlene’s hands flew to her hair, straightening it into place. Clint must finally have decided to face her again.
The back door flew open, but it wasn’t Clint who stepped inside.
“Thornton, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see Clint.”
“He’s outside. I’ll get him.”
“I found him already, Darlene. He’s out in the barn, and he’s hurt. You better come with me.”
“Is he...”
“He’s alive, but he’s hurt bad. Looks like he slipped from the top of the ladder and fell. He can’t move his legs, though, and he’s asking for you.”
The room began to spin around her. No wonder Clint hadn’t come back. She should have known something was wrong. She should have checked sooner. Hands shaking, she grabbed the phone to call for an ambulance, but the line was dead—knocked out by. the raging storm.
“Get your car, Thornton. You can drive it right up to the barn. We have to get Clint to the hospital.” She rushed past him, flying down the back steps and running against a driving wind that tore at her clothes and whipped her hair into her mouth and eyes.
Thornton was right behind her, and not in his car as she’d asked. A wave of suspicion rolled through her mind. Thornton had never been to the ranch before. Why would he be here now? How would he have found Clint injured in the barn?
Reasoning collided with the fear that raced through her senses. She was running as fast as she could, but she might be racing into a trap that would get her and Clint killed.
She swung around and started back toward the house. Thornton grabbed her arm and jerked her to a stop. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get firs
t aid supplies.” She tried to appear calm, to convince him she’d be right back. Which she would be—only this time she’d have a gun. “There might be something I can do before we get Clint to the hospital.”
“I don’t think so. He won’t be going to a hospital. There won’t even be enough left of him to take to the morgue.”
Thornton’s expression, as much as his cruel words, ripped her apart. A trap. She’d been right, only not soon enough.
“Start walking again, Darlene. Your sheriff lover is waiting for you.”
“It’s me you’re looking for, Thornton. Not Clint. He doesn’t know anything. He can’t hurt you.”
“He does now. He knows I shot him and tied him up so that he could wait for your arrival.” He shoved her, the gun bumping against her body with every step.
If she ran, he’d pull the trigger. If she didn’t, he would kill her anyway. But if Clint was in the barn, they might be able to do something together. And if Thornton was lying, then Clint was out there somewhere and he would save her.
This was no time to give up. She slowed her step, and Thornton kicked her from behind, sending her stumbling into the door of the barn. It flew open, and he dragged her inside. But now the barrel of the gun had moved from her ribs to the tender area of her temple, just below the bandage.
“Okay, Clint,” he announced, his voice echoing from the rafters. “The guest of honor at our party has arrived. The celebrity barn-burning can commence.”
Darlene struggled to break from Thornton’s grasp, to rush to Clint. His hands and feet were tied behind his back, and his left leg below the knee was a bloody mass. He looked at her and smiled, but she only saw his pain and the paleness of his face.
Thornton yanked her arm behind her back, and ground the pistol into her head. She kicked at him, and he twisted her arm even farther, until she thought it might break.
“Don’t fight him, Darlene. He’s a madman.”
“I don’t understand.” She turned from Thornton to Clint. “Tell me what’s going on.”