by Janet Dailey
With a sideways turn of his body, he slipped through the opening and halted, letting the bag strap slide off his shoulder and lowering the soft-sided tote to the floor. “Here you go.” He handed the sable coat to Tara and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I had to borrow the pilot’s. The battery was low on mine.”
“Thanks.” Sloan shifted her hold on the baby, freeing a hand to take the phone from him.
“You dallied all that time just to borrow a phone?” Rebuke was in the cool look Tara gave him.
“Actually, I was waiting to make sure the mechanic could get the part he needed,” he replied.
“What part? What are you talking about?” Tara demanded.
“There’s a part he needs before he can get things working right again. It’s okay, though. It’s on its way from Miles City,” he assured her.
“Someone’s flying it here?” she said in surprise.
“No, it’s coming by courier.”
“But it’s a good two-hour drive from Miles City,” Tara protested.
“At least they had the part in stock,” he reminded her. “Anyway, I’m supposed to hike to that gas station up the road and wait for the courier to arrive with the part. The pilot thought that would be easier than trying to explain how to get here, especially when the gate’s padlocked. Would you like me to see if I can rent or borrow somebody’s car and come back here for you?”
Sloan never let Tara answer. “No! Absolutely not.”
“Surely you don’t want to stay here for two hours, do you?” Tara looked at Sloan as if she’d taken leave of her senses.
“If that’s how long it takes, then yes,” Sloan answered without hesitation, Turning to the attendant, sah said, “And I don’t want you to tell anyone that we’re here. Do you understand? Absolutely no one.”
He shot a quick glance at Tara to make sure she had no problem with that. By then Tara had guessed the reason for Sloan’s request. “Sloan’s right. Under no circumstances admit that anyone other than crew was onboard the plane.”
“Yes ma’am. I won’t say a word,” he promised and stepped to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as the part gets here.”
Alone again, Tara turned to Sloan. “That was quick thinking,” she said in approval. “It had slipped my mind that Max has someone in Blue Moon working for him, and that person certainly doesn’t need to know we’re here.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sloan replied, then asked, “Would you hold Jake while I call Trey?”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him first?” Yet Tara was already reaching to gather the baby into her arms.
“I think it’s better if I do.” Sloan relinquished her son into Tara’s care.
Emerging from the ranch office, Trey automatically let his glance sweep the yard and its buildings, then reach beyond it to the wide plains and its winter-brown grass. The barren look of the land suited his mood.
The honk of a horn dragged his attention to an approaching pickup. When it rolled to a stop near him, Tank’s head emerged from the driver’s-side window. “Thought you’d want to know we got trouble at the foaling barn. Looks like we might lose both that dun mare and her colt.”
Without waiting for a response, he drove off. Trey stood there a moment, knowing he should go lend a hand if he could. The decision was taken from him when the cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
Half irritated, he answered it, certain it was one of the other hands at the foaling barn, calling to tell him of the problem there. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Trey. It’s Sloan.”
With an effort, Trey hardened himself against the pull of her voice. “What do you want, Sloan?” The dry demand was anything but friendly.
“You were right about Max. He’s been behind everything that happened. Even now he’s arranging for you to be arrested on charges of drug possession.”
“Is that a fact?” he countered with disinterest. Even though she had gotten his attention, Trey was wary of believing anything she said.
“It’s true. I swear it, Trey.”
“I appreciate the warning—if that’s what it is.”
“I don’t know why I bothered to tell you that.” There was a note of defeat in her voice. “It isn’t why I called. Look, this morning I managed to slip away from the guards that Max had watching me. I made it to Tara’s with Jake.”
The instant she mentioned Tara, Trey turned and headed back to the ranch office.
“We were on our way to the Triple C when something malfunctioned on the plane,” Sloan continued, “and we had to land here at the old coal pit outside of Blue Moon. It’s going to take another two hours before it’s fixed. Please. Can you come get us?”
As she finished, Trey pushed open the door to Jessy’s private office and walked in, signaling to both her and Laredo. Caution made him ask, “Is this some kind of trap, Sloan?”
“No, it’s a call for help. But don’t take my word for it. Ask Tara.”
The pause following Sloan’s faintly annoyed statement was a small one. “Really, Trey, you need to stop being so hardheaded and listen to Sloan. Every word she said is the truth,” Tara informed him most insistently.
“Where are you, Tara?” His use of her name was deliberate, intended to alert his mother and Laredo.
“In the lobby of the old Dy-Corp office at the coal pit. It’s dusty and awful—and certainly no place for your son to be.”
“Then you do have Jake with you?” Trey wanted that confirmed as well.
“Yes, we do. Don’t we, sweetie,” Tara cooed, obviously to the baby.
“Tell Sloan I’m on my way.”
“What’s up?” Laredo asked the instant Trey closed the cell phone.
“Sloan’s in Blue Moon. She has Jake with her—and Tara.” He shot a questioning glance at his mother. “Are the keys in the Suburban?”
“Under the seat,” she confirmed.
“I’ll ride along,” Laredo said, “just in case you need somebody to watch your back.”
The whine of a semi coming from the south invaded the natural stillness, but Donovan wasn’t concerned about the approaching vehicle. All his attention was on the man walking along the highway. He remained motionless, his back pressed tightly against the rear wall of the coal mine’s former operations office. His own vehicle was parked on the shoulder of the highway, its hood raised to indicate mechanical trouble. Any passing motorist seeing it wouldn’t think twice about why it was there or where the driver was.
Donovan counted himself lucky that no one else heard the plane land. Such an occurrence was just enough of an oddity to draw the curious. With the abandoned airstrip a mile from town, the few residents of Blue Moon had evidently mistaken the sound of its engines for highway traffic. It suited Donovan that he was alone there, and he suspected that was exactly the way Rutledge wanted it.
Satisfied that man from the flight crew was far enough away that a backward glance from any of them was unlikely to detect any movement, Donovan slipped around the corner of the building and worked his way to the front. Briefly, he considered approaching the old hangar area where the plane was parked, but there was too much open ground to cross. Until Rutledge arrived, Donovan didn’t intend to show himself unless it became necessary.
He made a quick scan of the sky, but there was no sign of another plane yet. Halting at the building corner, he peered around it. The door to the plane’s cabin was latched open, its steps lowered, but he failed to spot any movement, either inside the plane or out.
Catching the sound of a vehicle on the highway, he crouched low, making himself less visible from the highway, and automatically slipped a hand over the gun in his pocket. But the pickup zipped on past the padlocked entrance without slowing.
Donovan relaxed, then tensed again when he thought he heard someone talking. It was nothing distinct, yet its pitch suggested the voice of a woman. He stole another look at the plane, thinking one of them might have stepped outside, but there was no o
ne in sight.
Logic told him that the plane was too far away for him to be picking up conversation from inside it. Same with the hangar. Which made the office building itself the most likely location.
Keeping a cautious eye on the aircraft, Donovan inched around the corner to a dusty window and peeked in. One look confirmed the presence of both women. Unwilling to risk being seen himself, he didn’t chance another look. Instead he acted on the assumption they had the baby with them and backed away from the window.
As he slipped around the corner, he spotted an incoming plane low in the sky. The winds aloft carried the sound of it away from the strip. A check of the highway verified the absence of any traffic, coming or going.
The drone of throttled engines reached Donovan as the sleek aircraft neared the end of the landing strip. The wheels touched down with a short, skidding squeal. Then the craft was rolling smoothly while the engines roared in a reverse thrust.
A short distance from him, the door to the office opened. “It was a plane I heard, Sloan,” a woman’s voice declared. “It just landed. I’ll bet they flew in that part we need.” As if drawn by the sight of the aircraft, Tara Calder stepped across the threshold to watch it, a hand lifted to shade her eyes from the sun’s glare. Donovan immediately walked forward. She swung to face him, all stiff and cool with challenge and said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Mrs. Calder,” Donovan apologized smoothly. “The name’s Donovan. We met last year. I own The Oasis, just up the road.”
“I remember now.” But there was no friendliness in her look.
“I heard a plane land a little while ago and got curious. What’s going on? Are you planning to open the pit again?” The questions were a means to keep her focus on him, not the plane taxiing closer.
“No, I’m not.”
“That’s a shame. It would have been good for my business if it was up and operating again. The place doesn’t look like it’s suffered much from standing empty.” Feigning a casual interest, he poked his head around to glance inside. “Why, Mrs. Calder! I didn’t realize you were here.”
Sloan looked up with an almost guilty start. That’s when Donavon noticed, in addition to holding a baby, she was trying to place a phone call.
“I see you have that new baby of yours with you.” Even as he spoke he was slipping past Tara into the building, moving with an easy swiftness that prevented Tara from reacting in time to block him. He walked straight to Sloan while she worked feverishly to punch in the last of the numbers. “It’s a little boy, isn’t it?”
Deliberately, he bumped her arm when he reached to push the blanket away from the infant’s face. There was just enough force in it to knock the phone from her hand. When it clattered to the floor, he bent to pick it up.
“That was clumsy of me. I’m sorry.” Donovan held the phone to his ear as if checking to make certain it still worked. “A busy signal,” he lied and clicked it off before handing it back to her. “At least I didn’t break it.” Again he switched his attention to the infant. “He’s a healthy-looking little guy. What’s his name?”
It was Tara who answered. “It’s Jacob,” she asserted, moving to Sloan’s side.
“Jake. That’s a good, strong name for a boy. Is it a family name?” His questions were nothing more than a ploy to distract them from the aircraft outside. Donovan sensed that Sloan had guessed that. Yet she seemed uncertain what to do about it, except to keep darting glances behind him.
“No, it isn’t.” Sloan added nothing more that could invite further conversation.
Undeterred, he directed his question to Tara. “Do you often land here when you fly in?”
“No. We had a small mechanical problem. The crew is taking care of it now.”
“Do you need a ride into town? I’d be happy to give you a lift.
“No, thanks,” Sloan refused, “my husband’s on his way to take us home. Is that what you wanted to know, Mr. Donovan?”
“I don’t know what you mean, but I’m glad to hear you aren’t stranded.” Yet the only thought in his mind was the need to get this vital piece of information to Rutledge. And right away. “Since it seems you have everything under control, I won’t bother you anymore. That’s a good-looking baby you’ve got, Mrs. Calder,” he said and backed to the door.
The muscled bulk of his torso briefly filled the doorframe, blocking the light. Then he was outside and moving away.
“There should be something you can push to call the last number dialed.” Sloan hurriedly shoved the cell phone into Tara’s hand, an urgency in her voice and action.
Tara stared at the foreign object she held. “Who am I trying to call?”
“Trey. Hurry,” Sloan urged and started toward the door to see which way Donovan had gone, not trusting that he had actually left. “Oh my God.” The words came out in a strangled murmur when she saw the familiar sight of Max in his wheelchair. At the moment he was halted in conversation with Donovan. In a burst of near panic, she turned to warn Tara. “It’s Max. He’s here.”
“Max? You mean that was his plane?” Her expression mirrored Sloan’s initial shock “But how did he know we were here?”
“That isn’t important now. Is there another way out?” Sloan looked around with a desperation that had her wrapping both arms around her son, gathering him close.
“There’s a back door, but I wouldn’t bother to try for it,” Tara replied, turning all shrewd and cool. “Even if we did make it out, we’d never get to the plane. That Donovan character would stop us. Obviously, he’s Max’s man here.”
“We could try for the road,” Sloan reasoned, following Tara’s lead in fighting down her panic. “Trey’s on his way and—”
“Exactly,” Tara stated. “All we need to do is stall Max until he arrives. After all, he isn’t about to drag you out of here by force. Between my flight crew and his, there are too many witnesses.”
“You’re right.” With that realization, Sloan felt an iron calm settle through her. The only fear that remained was the kind that heightened the senses.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Sloan caught the telltale whisper of slender wheels rolling across the gritty concrete outside, she turned to face the door. There was Donovan, walking behind Max’s chair. When they reached the door’s raised threshold, it was his hands that rocked the chair over it and into the building.
“Max, how on earth did you know we were here?” Tara declared in feigned amazement.
But Max never looked her way, his dark gaze fastening itself on Sloan. “Thank God, I finally caught up with you, Sloan,” he declared, his wide shoulders sagging in a show of relief. “What are you doing here? Don’t you realize that if the Calders find out you’re here, they’ll take your son from you?”
“What else could I do?” Sloan lifted her chin in defiance. “You were just using me—and Jake—to get even with the Calders.”
“What nonsense is this?” Max frowned, looking properly stunned. “I’ve done everything I know to help you keep your son. I thought that’s why you came to me.”
“Is that what you were doing when I overheard you talking on the phone the other night—I assume, to Mr. Donovan here?” she challenged.
“You were listening.” He sighed, in regret. “That’s unfortunate. It’s better if you know nothing about such things.”
“What things?” Sloan demanded, cold with anger. “The lies you had Donovan spread about Trey having an affair? Or the phone calls he obviously made to convince me it was true?”
His frown deepened in confusion. “You’re the one who told me that your husband was seeing another woman. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Just like you’ll have nothing to do with Trey being caught with drugs, I suppose,” Sloan taunted.
“Like I said earlier, it’s unfortunate you overheard that,” Max admitted with a contrite look. “But I don’t think you realize what an ugly thing a cust
ody battle can become. The Calders already have people digging to uncover anything they can about you that might be twisted into something damaging. What they can’t find, they’ll manufacture and find somebody who’ll swear to it. What you overheard about the drugs was just my way of striking first. I admit that. But this suggestion that I had anything to do with your husband’s affair is false. You must have misunderstood something I said.”
“So you’re saying that I made it all up?” Sloan knew better, but she stopped short of calling him a liar. Time was what she needed, and little of that could be gained through open hostility.
“It’s the only logical explanation,” Max replied. “Considering the strain you’ve been under, it’s understandable. What with the anxiety of being a new mother, the loss of sleep from all the nighttime feedings, and your fears about losing custody of your son, you’ve been a bundle of nerves lately. Is it any wonder your mind has started playing tricks on you? There’s only so much anyone can take before something snaps.”
Fear shivered through her at the convincing picture he had painted of an unstable woman in need of professional care, too distraught to know what she was doing. Worse, she had established the pattern herself, fleeing first to Texas, then running again.
“I’m not your enemy, Sloan,” Max continued in his calm and reasonable tone. “Haven’t I looked after you all your life? And I always will. Deep down, you know that. The danger isn’t from me. It comes from the Calders. But don’t take my word for it. Ask Tara. She can tell you the deplorable way she was treated by them—despised by the family, cheated on by her husband. You must have heard the way they talk about her. Believe me, she has no love for them, either.”
There was no mistaking the certainty in Max’s voice that he had an ally in Tara. Stunned, Sloan looked at her in disbelief. “Are you in this with him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” When Tara made a reassuring move toward her, Sloan instinctively recoiled from her reaching hand. “What is the matter with you, Sloan?”