Again, Alex winced. This couldn't be happening. The very thing she'd hoped to avoid was coming to life in Technicolor reality and she didn't dare open her mouth to defend herself. What could she say?
Jason lifted his head in a single nod. “She's my niece. As a favor to me, she came out here to help remodel the ranch."
What was he doing? It was these people's jobs to sense a load of manure when they heard it, and here her uncle was laying it on thicker and deeper than the piles behind the stable.
Ms. Barton nodded, her gaze landing on the porch. “So I see.” She turned her attention to Alex. “You and the other young lady will be escorted to the closest jail where you both will be held until a judiciary board has decided your fate."
One of the deputies stepped behind her to place a set of steel handcuffs around her wrists and she lowered her head. I should be used to this by now. Even more depressing was the fact she wasn't going to see Brett again.
The deputy escorted her to an awaiting car and her heart sank upon catching a glimpse of Matt restraining Brett. None of this would be happening if she'd ignored Sinclair the way she promised she would. Damn her! Why did she have to come to the Bar K, anyway? Why couldn't she have gone to another facility?
"I'm sorry,” she mouthed to Brett.
A second deputy held the back door open as she slipped inside. And to think, I didn't even get the chance to tell him that I love him, she thought as a tear slid down her cheek.
"What are you crying for?” Sinclair snapped as she was ushered into the car.
"You got your wish,” she said no longer having the energy to argue. “I'm off the Bar K. Enjoy the moment. If I ever see you again, I will have a reason for being here."
"Are you threatening me?"
She closed her eyes. Typical. “No, I'm just making a statement of fact. If I see you again, I will get you for this."
The two officers slid into the front seats. “Pipe down, ladies."
Alex fell silent and glanced at Sinclair. Gone was the arrogant expression and cynical sneer. In its stead was realization—the realization that Alex wasn't bluffing.
"I want to speak to my lawyer,” Sinclair grumbled as the engine started.
"You will, but first you two are going to get a shower. You both stink."
Alex glanced down at her attire and grimaced. Not too long ago, her appearance would have repulsed her, but now it didn't seem like such a big deal. Well, with the possible exception of her filthy, throbbing head. It would be just her luck she'd get an infection from this. Just the same, she realized that ranch life suited her and she was going to see to it she returned to the Bar K and to Brett.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nineteen
By the time the sun set that night, Brett was a nervous wreck. Jason had spent the better part of the day on the phone—making calls to everyone he knew who might be able to bring Alex back.
"Thank God,” Jason declared after hanging up for what seemed like the one-hundredth time.
Brett glanced up from slicing an onion and peered over his shoulder. “Good news?"
His stomach twisted into a knot when Jason sighed. This wasn't promising. He concentrated on the vegetable in front of him instead of on his trembling hands.
"Maybe. I think I convinced the judiciary board that I need Alex's help improving this place. I'll find out tomorrow whether or not I'm a good liar."
Brett released the breath he'd been holding. “I thought you hated lying."
"I do, however I also know when it's in my best interest to bend the truth a bit."
Brett turned to him with a skeptical expression.
"Okay, I bent it a lot. I figured you'd be the last person to object."
Who was objecting? “I'm not. Actually, I'm grateful."
"Yeah? Well, don't be. I'm not doing it for you.” Jason jerked his head in the direction of the window. “In case you hadn't noticed, not one of you boys has done a lick of work since this morning. I should be thankful the animals have been fed and the horses corralled."
Brett recalled the way Alex had thrown Sinclair into the pig's trough and a grin surfaced. He'd hated witnessing the fight, but seeing Sinclair covered in slop was priceless.
"Some of them twice,” he said with a chuckle.
"Not funny, Brett. If the board finds out I'm lying, they won't hesitate to yank my permit away from me. Meaning, you boys will be sent away.” He shook his head. “That girl is quite possibly the most troublesome woman I've ever met."
"And you want her back."
Jason shot him a pointed look and pushed off the table before heading toward the coffeepot. “Yes, and I want her back.” A frown creased his forehead as he grabbed a mug from the hook on the wall. “If she leaves here, she'll go back to Maine and I don't want that."
Brett started to reply when the shrill sound of the phone cut him off. Jason winced and with a grin of sympathy, Brett walked across the room and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Brett?"
Alex. He'd been hoping for the opportunity to speak with her. He wanted to know if she was okay or if she was in much pain. He also wanted to reassure her that Jason was doing everything he could to bring her back. More than anything—and this worried him—he just needed to hear her voice.
He gripped the phone tighter and turned his head to look at Jason. “Jason's right here if you want to talk to him.” When Jason gave him a quizzical look, he mouthed Alex's name.
"I already spoke to Uncle Jason this afternoon.” In a softer voice, she said, “I wanted to talk to you. You don't know how sorry I am for what happened this morning. I tried to ignore her. Really I did, but when she knocked me off the ladder, I couldn't take it any more. She did it on purpose."
She didn't need to explain. He'd seen the fight from the stable and truth be said, he was glad she'd stood up for herself.
"I know, darlin'.” After placing the receiver between his ear and shoulder, he picked up the knife. “How's your head? Did you need stitches?” He grimaced at the memory of the blood-spattered porch. It was a miracle the fall hadn't rendered her unconscious.
"No, but it hurt like hell when Dr. Kennedy cleaned it out for me. My chest does too for that matter. She kicked me so hard she left a bruise,” she grumbled. “I wish Uncle Jason hadn't lied to those people. If they find out the truth, everyone will suffer. I don't want anything happening to you all."
He scooped the onions into the frying pan and stirred them around the sizzling butter. “Nothing is going to happen to us, because no one is going to know. On the offhand chance they tell you that you can't stay—"
"Then I'll get a place in San Eduardo,” she interrupted. “I'm not being charged with anything and I'm not incarcerated, so there's nothing stopping me from staying in town. I can't guarantee how often I could see you all, but I'm not giving up without a fight."
The corners of his lips curled in a half-smile as he sprinkled a pinch of salt onto the sautéing onions. Just hearing that she was going to stay nearby made him feel better. If nothing else, he could see her at the monthly dances. Granted, it would only be for a few hours, but those three or four hours were better than nothing.
"I thought you wanted to live near the Gulf,” he teased.
"I did, but I've had a change of plans."
"Oh?"
"Yup. Rolling around in the pigsty taught me something today."
"Not to lose your temper?"
"No, smart ass,” she said with a laugh. “It taught me that I've found where I belong."
A pang touched his heart upon hearing her giggle. God, how he hoped Jason fooled the judiciary board. The Bar K wouldn't be the same without her. She brought a spark of life to the ranch that hadn't been there before. Everyone felt it and judging by the lack of work accomplished that day, he was willing to bet everyone missed it as well.
"I could have told you that. You didn't need to try to drown Sinclair in the pig's trough to lear
n that lesson.” He stole a glance in Jason's direction and lowered his voice, “But damn I enjoyed watching you do it."
Alex chuckled. “Now you tell me. My time's up, so I need to go. With any luck, I'll be back tomorrow."
Say it. Tell her you love her. What? He couldn't do that. Not when he wasn't sure if that was what he felt for her. He knew he cared for her, but he didn't think it qualified as love.
"I hope so. Bella was pretty ticked off you left without telling her,” he said instead. This wasn't entirely untrue. The thick buildup of tension had permeated the atmosphere, making the new mother rather restless and temperamental.
"I'll have to make it up to her. I, um, I'll talk to you tomorrow if nothing else, okay?"
"Okay. Goodnight, Alex."
"Goodnight, Brett."
* * * *
Brett tossed and turned in his bunk that night, reliving incidents he swore he had buried in his psyche long ago. He remembered nights spent shacked up in expensive hotel rooms with women old enough to be his mother, doing anything these wealthy, sexually deprived women wanted ... for a price.
"You're such a handsome young man," one woman purred while passing him a lit cigarette. "You'll make some girl very happy one day."
He wasn't sure, but he thought her name was Mary. There had been so many and it had been so long ago, he couldn't clearly remember any of their names. Not that it mattered. Once they'd paid him, he was off to find his next fix. However, Mary's comment about finding the right woman had always stuck with him. Partially because no one had ever said that to him before and partially because he thought the woman was nuts.
"Guys like me don't fall in love," he said while staring at the chandelier above the bed. "They do what they have to and move on."
His comment must have upset her and he remembered the pout on her rosy lips as she stroked his arm, her diamond wedding band sparkling in the dim light.
"Mark my words, baby. You'll find someone who'll make everything worthwhile and when you do, you'll remember me," she said, placing soft, teasing kisses down his torso until her head had disappeared beneath the satin covers.
* * * *
Brett sat up with a start. His heart thundered in his ears and sweat trickled down his neck. His anxiety didn't lessen as the outline of the other bunks came into focus, nor did the quiet snores of the other men soothe his racing pulse and trembling hands.
Mary Clark-Smith, wife of Senator Kenneth Smith. That was the woman's name. He remembered her and her words. Was this his subconscious's cruel way of telling him that he'd met the woman he was supposed to love? What a rotten way to get a point across. He felt just as filthy as he had all of those years ago and in response to this unwelcome memory, a violent shudder swept through him along with a wave of nausea.
"The old hag was right.” He swallowed a mouthful of bile. “I remember her."
He wished he didn't, though. Mary had been a regular of his and every time she brought him to the hotel, her desires became more and more perverse. Another wave of nausea, only this time he couldn't refrain from being sick.
Scrambling from his bunk, he hurried out onto the porch; not caring that he'd left the door open as he leaned over the railing and expelled the burning liquid from his throat.
"Feel better now?"
He didn't move. Better was the last thing he was feeling. Realizing that he was in love with Alex was supposed to be a grand discovery, not one that made him vomit because some broad had told him he would remember her when he fell in love.
"No.” He retched once more. “I'm in love."
No sooner had the words escaped his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones. He waved his hand toward Matt in a dismissive manner while remaining bent over the railing.
"That didn't come out right,” he added.
"Lord, I hope not. Mind telling me what part of being in love makes you sick? I would just as soon avoid that if I ever get the opportunity."
Brett wiped his mouth and straightened. “The part where a sixty-year-old woman pops into my head, telling me that I'll remember her when I find the right woman to love.” He grimaced when the queasy feeling in his stomach refused to cease.
Matt wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Are you sure you didn't drop acid back in the day? You sound like you're having some sort of trippy flashback."
If only that were the case. He would love nothing more than to chalk up his experiences with Mary as a bad hallucination, but he couldn't. He had slept with her—and then some.
"I wish.” When Matt merely stared at him, he continued, “Hudson and I have a few things in common. Difference being, he liked it and I didn't. In fact, I hated it."
"I see. If you didn't like it, then why did you keep doing it? The money couldn't have been that good,” he said.
Actually, the money had been great while it lasted. The problem lay in when the money ran out and he had to go out again.
"You'd be surprised.” He made slashing motions and shook his head. “Regardless, this one regular of mine told me I would find the right woman someday and when I did, I would remember her. Damn if she wasn't right."
"Sorry to hear that, but you've got to look on the brighter side. At least now you know with certainty what it is you feel for Alex,” Matt returned optimistically.
Brett didn't want optimism. He wanted to know how Alex felt. He wanted to know if he was wasting his time. More importantly, he wanted an antacid.
"Wonderful. I'll march right into the San Eduardo jail and tell her. Right after I'm done painting the ground with my spleen,” he quipped.
Matt sighed in frustration and reached for an open pack of cigarettes lying on the end table nestled between the patio chairs. He removed one and offered the pack to Brett, who declined.
"Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic? Sooner or later, Alex is going to come back. If nothing else, she'll be here for visits. You can tell her then,” he said with a casual shrug. “Besides, it doesn't do you any good to let the past interfere with the present. Okay, so you were desperate. It happens. If you weren't clean, Jason sure as hell wouldn't let you near sharp objects, so there's nothing to physically keep you from going on with your life."
However nonchalant it may be, Matt made a valid point. The only thing preventing him from moving forward was his own insecurity.
"You should have been a motivational speaker. You would've been great at it,” Brett chided.
A crooked grin crinkled Matt's eyes as he took a drag from his cigarette. “I thought about it, but then I decided to join a gang of murdering drug pushers instead,” he returned and exhaled. “Hindsight. Ain't it a bitch?"
No kidding. “I guess this means we shouldn't look back to where we were,” he commented and started for the door. “It's just as well. There's nothing worth remembering, anyway."
If he had his way, he would put his memory of Mary Clark-Smith back where it belonged. Buried and forgotten, along with the other memories he had of the first eighteen years of his life.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty
"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"
Alex gripped the telephone tighter in her hand. She should have figured her lawyer wouldn't be happy to hear from her. After all, she never spoke to him unless she was in trouble.
"Contrary to popular belief, I didn't start it. Now, if you can stop being condescending for two seconds, I have a question for you,” she sniffed.
"It'll be hard, but I'll try. What's your question?"
"Can the state of Texas have me sent back to Maine for fighting on my uncle's ranch?"
It was barely eight o'clock and in less than two hours, she would hear the judiciary board's decision. Having spent the entire night lying on a hard lumpy cot, she'd mulled over her options. She could kick herself for not telling Brett that she loved him, but with any luck, her conversation with Kevin would end her regret.
"Considering you're not a prisoner and you haven't been ch
arged with anything, I would have to say no. What they can do, however, is insist that you be removed from the property. One way to secure your position on the ranch is to have your uncle hire you fulltime. It's worth a shot, anyway.” His voice lowered with suspicion, “Why do you want to stay there so badly? I figured you would have jumped at the chance to come home."
A rush of excitement flooded her as she processed his remark. She hadn't thought of having her uncle hire her. It would be perfect. She could return to the ranch and the state would never have to know Jason lied to them.
"Well, you figured wrong,” she replied. “Kevin, if I didn't hate you so much, I'd kiss you! You completely made my day."
"Glad I could help?” After regaining his senses, he asked, “Do you need me to make any calls on your behalf? I could find out where this Sinclair woman is being sent, if it'll help."
Why would she want to know that? As long as Sinclair wasn't returning as well, what difference did it make?
"She wouldn't be sent back to the Bar K, would she? I was fine right where I was until she showed up."
A printer hummed quietly in the background along with the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. “I shouldn't think so. The Kincaid ranch is for low-risk detainees who have the potential for rehabilitation. Hence why Franklin sent you,” Kevin returned a moment later.
Alex grumbled under her breath, but quieted when he continued.
"Regardless, if this woman started the altercation, then she would be at fault and subsequently be sent to another facility. That is, after an investigation was made proving or disproving your claim."
Her shoulders sagged. “There are at least two other witnesses who saw her knock me off a ladder. One of those witnesses was standing next to me when I warned her I was there."
"In that case, you have nothing to worry about. May I ask what happened to cause this woman to react so violently?"
Her frown deepened. “No, you may not. I'm in no legal trouble, so it's none of your concern what happened. Thank you for answering my questions and if I may suggest something, may I recommend you never take my sister Morgan on as a client? You'll lose what's left of your hair, if you do. Good day, Kevin."
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