Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tension electrified the air in the Cassidy parlor. Even the sound of horses and cattle in the corrals outside could not drown out the ominous, tense silence in the room.

  Chase simply sat there staring at Lane. His expression had not changed—there had been no visible sign that the accusation had hurt—but then, Lane knew Chase had become a master at hiding his feelings during the years he'd spent in prison.

  Eva was another story altogether. Her large eyes instantly filled with tears and she blinked furiously, trying to hold them at bay.

  "How can you even say such a thing, Lane? Wasn't it bad enough that you hurt Chase so deeply when you left home? Now you've come back and done it all over again."

  Eva was still deeply in love with her husband. Lane knew Rachel was the only other person in the world who would stand up for him that way.

  "I'm sorry to hurt either of you," he said, watching Chase closely, the words coming from his heart, "but since the robberies have all occurred in and around Montana, and since you did serve time for robbery, unfortunately, you've become one of Pinkerton's suspects."

  "He's been a model citizen ever since he got out," Eva argued.

  Lane stood up, then paced to the fireplace and walked back again. He paused behind his chair and ran his fingertips over its plush brocade fabric.

  "That's the way I had it figured, but this is a pretty fine house for a rancher with such a small spread," Lane said, glancing around the room. "It's filled with some very expensive items. Except for Rachel and Tom Castor and his family, you two really haven't mixed with anyone in Last Chance. That makes questioning the townsfolk almost impossible. Nobody knows much about you."

  "Do you think this was all purchased with stolen money?" Chase asked, indicating the surroundings.

  "I don't. I've heard you inherited some money, Eva."

  Eva jumped up from the settee. "I did. I inherited a portion of my great-grandfather's jewels."

  "Sit down, Eva. You don't owe him an explanation," Chase said softly. Lane recognized the tone. He'd heard Chase use it often enough when he was in trouble.

  Eva ignored it. "Do you really think I would live on stolen money?" She walked over to the mummy case on the hearth and pointed to it. "This has been in my family for years. A good-luck piece. When my cousin sent it to me, Chase opened it and found that the mummy inside wasn't really a mummy, it was Greatgrandfather's dummy."

  She walked over to a wing chair by the window. Because of the way the chair was situated, Lane had not seen the ventriloquist's dummy that Eva now picked up and carried over to him.

  "This is Chester," she told him, offering Lane the jointed wooden doll, painted to resemble an Egyptian pharaoh. "Go ahead, take him."

  "That's all right," Lane declined.

  "No, please."

  Lane took the dummy, holding it gingerly. Eva reached out and turned it over so that Lane could see the back of Chester's head, where she pointed out a small door. Eva pressed on the door, and it popped open to reveal a small, secret chamber inside.

  "That's where Great-grandfather had hidden a very sizable stash of jewels. He became quite senile and undoubtedly forgot where he put them. They were hidden inside Chester for years, until Chase discovered the secret door one day and found them."

  She took Chester back into her arms, holding the dummy almost tenderly as she smiled over at her husband. She put Chester back on the chair and walked over to sit beside Chase. She took hold of his hand, then continued.

  "We shared the find with my family, of course. Chase gave control of the jewels to me, with the money to be used for the house and whatever I want for the children. He insists on making the ranch run on its own income—and that, Lane Cassidy, is that. I will hear no slander against my husband while you are under this roof, or you might just as well go back to wherever you came from."

  Lane's gaze cut from Eva to Chase and back again.

  "I never believed the accusations. I'm just sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news. It wasn't exactly the homecoming I had imagined," Lane said.

  There was no denying the dark shadow of pain that crept into Chase's eyes.

  "No harm done," Chase said.

  "When I walked in here this morning, you were convinced I was still on the wrong side of the law," Lane reminded him. "I guess it's human nature to believe the worst of each other."

  Chase looked down at Eva's hand in his, then back at Lane. "Can you tell me one thing?"

  "If I can."

  "What made you leave before?"

  Lane's gut clenched. He had blamed Chase for leaving him in Auggie Owens's care, but over the years he had come to realize Chase was not to blame. His uncle had been driven to find his sister's murderers and had expected to return home in days, if not hours.

  At one time, Lane thought he would never forgive the man. But now, as he struggled with what he wanted to tell his uncle, he realized he had suffered his past and come through it. To tell Chase everything now, he realized too, would only burden his uncle with unnecessary guilt and shame.

  The details of the past were dead and buried.

  Lane would leave them there.

  "I left because I was mad as hell at you for leaving me behind and then riding back into my life and telling me what to do. You had a notorious reputation as a gunfighter. I felt I had to live up to it. I couldn't do that with you riding herd over me. I had to get out."

  It was a moment before Chase responded. When he spoke he didn't look at Lane or Eva, but stared out the wide bay window. "I wish like hell it could have been something other than my being a robbery suspect that brought you home, but sometimes we have to take what we can get, don't we?"

  Chase stood up and walked over to Lane, who was watching him closely. He extended his hand. Lane quickly got to his feet and ignored Chase's outstretched hand. He put his arms around his uncle. The men stood, in silence, awkwardly holding each other, until Eva jumped up and hugged them both.

  Lane was the first to step out of the embrace. Eva's eyes were shining. "You be sure to tell those Pinkerton men that your uncle is innocent. If they need to interview me or my family about the jewels, we'd be happy to oblige," she said.

  "I don't think it'll come to that now," Lane said.

  "You have other suspects?" Chase wanted to know.

  "Just one."

  "Who is it?" Eva slipped her arm through her husband's. "Anyone we know?"

  "Maybe."

  "You said Rachel was involved somehow. Does this have anything to do with you running off with her?" Chase asked.

  Eva gasped. "What does Rachel have to do with any of this?"

  "Nothing, really," Lane said. "I want you to forget everything I've told you…"

  "Ha!" Eva laughed.

  "All right, you won't forget, but at least promise me you won't mention a word of this to anyone while I'm still working on the case. Do I have your word?"

  Chase nodded.

  "I still can't believe it. You, a Pinkerton." Eva laughed again. When Lane crossed his arms, waiting for an answer, she raised her right hand and swore, "I promise. I won't say a thing."

  Rachel hugged Ty close, willing to endure the stuffiness of the sitting room rather than let him off her lap. Loretta had drawn the heavy brocade curtains, but while it did plunge the place into gloom, it did little to cool the oppressive heat.

  Rachel's head was pounding, not only from the weather, but from the barrage of questions the McKennas had thrown at her for over an hour. Ty's sudden appearance in the room had put an effective end to the interview, at least momentarily. She could tell by Stuart's high color and permanent frown lines etched between Loretta's brows that the interrogation was far from over.

  She wondered, not for the first time, how Lane constantly dealt in subterfuge and kept his stories straight. She had practically taken to answering in monosyllables, afraid she would let some minor detail slip and prove she was lying.

&nb
sp; On the ride out from town she had explained to Robert, as slowly and carefully as she could, how she had "escaped" from Lane Cassidy. He appeared to believe her and asked no further questions. He had even been kind enough to explain everything to his parents when they settled in the parlor.

  She bent her head to plant a kiss on the crown of Ty's head, and in so doing snuck a peek at her former mother-in-law. Loretta was fanning herself furiously, staring bullets at Rachel, her lips pursed tight, her eyes pressed together in a thoughtful squint.

  "Ty," Loretta said, abruptly shattering the momentary silence, "run along upstairs and look for Martha. We were not finished speaking to your mama."

  Ty turned worried eyes in Rachel's direction. "Is something the matter, Mama?"

  "Nothing, darling. I'll be up shortly."

  "It's hot upstairs," he whined. "I want to go home."

  She knew he couldn't help but be aware of the tension in the room. Rachel smoothed his hair off his forehead and then set him on his feet. "Why don't you run out to the kitchen and see if Jacques has made some cold lemonade?"

  "It's not like Delphie's," he told her.

  "Tyson, you are not to talk back to your elders. Your mother has asked you to do something and you should obey," Loretta said bluntly.

  "I'll see you again in a few minutes," Rachel whispered, and squeezed his hand, vowing to herself to finish with this nonsense as soon as possible. She longed to collect her son and be on her way, but she didn't want to risk exposing Lane's true identity. She would have to play the victim a while longer.

  Robert, who had been sitting across the room watching all that transpired, stood up and walked over to the side table next to Rachel's chair. He picked up a leather-bound volume, turned it over in his hand and appeared to study it offhandedly. He set the book down.

  "What I still don't understand is Cassidy's motive for kidnapping you," he said slowly.

  Rachel couldn't help but let out a sigh. "I have no idea why he did it. How could I possibly know the workings of a criminal mind?"

  "You didn't think of him as a criminal a few days ago," Loretta reminded her.

  Stuart harrumphed from the corner of the settee, where he sprawled with a brandy in one hand, his legs propped on a tasseled footstool. He had done nothing but glare at her since she entered the house.

  "I've changed my opinion of him," Rachel admitted. "He didn't tell me why he up and ran off with me. Nor did he have much of an opportunity before I hit him on the head. He was irrational the whole time, ranting and raving. I think he may have lost his mind."

  "Did he mention me at all?" Robert asked.

  Rachel couldn't trust herself to lie. She simply shook her head no.

  "What were you doing at the line shack with him?" Robert had lowered his voice, but Loretta heard him perfectly.

  "Outrageous," she mumbled. "So common."

  "I told you, I went to ask him to stop coming around trying to ingratiate himself with Ty. I realized that what Loretta had been trying to tell me was true." Rachel threaded her fingers together in her lap. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on her hands. "I was beginning to notice that people were whispering and talking about me when I passed them on the street. He was ruining my good name, and I wanted to put a stop to it."

  She was so tense, so exhausted after a sleepless night that she was on the verge of tears. She used her pent-up emotion, used the raw nerves that had been exposed by the questioning she had withstood thus far, and closed her eyes, allowing the tears to form.

  When she looked up at Robert, she saw him through a haze of tears.

  "You understand, don't you, Robert?" she whispered.

  His figure wavered in her vision, but she felt a rush of relief when she saw him go down on one knee beside her. He took her hands in both of his and patted them tenderly.

  "Of course I understand. You were only doing what you thought was right, and look where it got you."

  "Got you right in a passel of manure is where it got you," Stuart Senior grumbled into his shirtfront. Loretta shot him a disgusted glare.

  "Lane Cassidy is a wild and despicable creature." Loretta drew herself up and then shuddered, as if the very thought of him disgusted her to the core. "I can't imagine what it would be like to have a person like that put his hands on me."

  No, you can't imagine. Rachel looked down at Robert's hands, which were still covering hers.

  "I think it's time we stopped pussyfooting around the issue. Did he compromise you, Rachel? I think that is the question on all our minds," Loretta said.

  Mary Margaret chose this moment to fling open the door and come rushing into the room.

  At least she's created a draft, Rachel thought.

  "Rachel!" Mary Margaret hurried to her side, took up a position opposite Robert and threw her arm around Rachel's shoulders. "How terrible for you. Was it just horrifying? You can tell me all about it." She knelt there in yards of black voile trimmed in emerald, her cheeks flushed with two bright spots on her pale skin.

  "Well, Rachel?" Loretta urged.

  Yes, he had compromised her. By the end of the night she had begged for release. She had begged Lane to set her body pulsing with pleasure. She wanted to shout the truth, wanted to shock them all senseless with it.

  "No," she whispered, looking up at Robert, appealing to him for help. "No. He did not compromise me."

  Robert got to his feet, but did not move away. "Mary Margaret, why don't you take Rachel upstairs. This room is stifling. I'm sure we could all do with some fresh air and a rest before dinner."

  "Of course." The faded strawberry-blonde stood and held out her hand. "Come, Rachel. I'll stay with you. You can tell me all about it," she murmured.

  Rachel wanted to run for the nearest exit. Instead she called on every ounce of composure she had once used to subdue a roomful of wriggling students and calmed her seething anger enough to let Mary Margaret lead her placidly away.

  Robert watched Rachel leave the room before he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  "What do you think?" his mother asked the minute the door closed behind the women. "I think she's lying. I think there's more to this than meets the eye."

  "I think she's telling the truth," Robert said, more than willing to lie to his mother. He glanced down at his heavily embroidered vest front and flicked at a piece of lint that marred its perfection.

  Rachel was a terrible liar, he said to himself.

  But why was she lying at all? What was she hiding?

  Two hours later, when the family gathered around the sumptuous repast laid out on the dining room table, Robert was still convinced of her deceit. He watched Rachel push her food around her plate.

  "Not feeling well, Rachel?" he asked from across a sea of silver, crystal and china.

  She glanced up and looked around at the gathering before she spoke. "It's too hot to eat."

  The room was as opulent as his mother could make it out here, an island of civility and grandeur in the midst of a cow pile. It took a fortune to live the good life. In his mind there was never enough, no such thing as too much money.

  He glanced over at Rachel again, and when their eyes met she dropped her gaze immediately. He was losing her, he feared. She was slipping out of his grasp, and half of the McKenna fortune was slipping right along with her.

  Next to her, the boy shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth, smiling at his mother between bites. Thankfully, the brat was more like Rachel than Stuart, Robert mused. He might even have possibilities, if brought up under his own guidance—but then that would still leave the child alive to inherit as soon as he came of age.

  No, the boy was definitely in the way, Robert decided. Nothing but a hindrance. Just now, though, he couldn't waste time worrying about Ty McKenna. He had bigger fish to fry.

  Where in the hell was Cassidy? More to the point, what did he want? He hadn't heard from Wernermeyer all day, so there was no telling where Cassidy might be or whe
n he would try to be in contact again.

  He had to get to the bottom of the puzzle, Robert told himself, and the fastest means at his disposal was Rachel—

  "Robert? Did you hear me?"

  He came to attention as his mother's shrill voice jarred him out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry, Mother. What did you say?"

  She stared at him pointedly. "I said given the circumstances, don't you think it would be best if Rachel moved in with us?"

  "I really don't—" Rachel began.

  "There's no way you can go back to town now, not with people talking about…" Loretta glanced at her grandson and let her words die.

  "What are people talking about?" Ty piped up.

  "Nothing, darling," Rachel told him.

  "Grandmother just said—"

  "Grandmother is wrong," Rachel said softly, defiantly.

  Robert carefully set his knife and fork down on his plate, then raised his linen napkin to his lips, blotted them, folded the napkin and laid it alongside the plate.

  "Rachel, I'm sure you could use some air," he offered. "How about a walk on the veranda? Please excuse us, Mother. Father."

  Rachel's relief was so blatantly evident it was almost comical to him. She practically leapt to her feet. Robert waited for her in the open veranda doorway while his mother, obviously irritated with him, did little to hide her anger.

  They left the others at the table and stepped out into the gathering darkness. Although she had to remain cautious, to carefully choose her every word, Rachel was thankful for the respite. They had rounded the far corner of the veranda and were facing the garden when Robert paused. He leaned back against the rail that banded the wide porch and reached into his pocket for a slim cigar.

  She watched the match flare. It flickered and almost went out before he cupped it in his hands and raised it to the cigar. She looked out across the garden into the approaching night and took a deep breath.