by Dana Mentink
He remembered the way the lady clasped his hands in hers, the ice cold of her small fingers. After he’d helped her climb out, he’d returned to the frigid water, knee-deep in the muck, and stayed with the animal until Isabel’s uncle and two other men finally arrived to pull them both out.
He found Isabel staring at him. “The horse was too traumatized to be moved in a trailer. When I walked him back to your uncle’s ranch, you were there, weren’t you? Watching me from the barn.” The picture snapped into focus. He remembered her stricken face, dark eyes wide with gratitude, hair swirling around her face like smoke. She was, quite simply, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. She’d taken a step toward him and he recalled the feeling of wanting nothing more than to join that dark-eyed girl in the shelter of the barn, but he’d been ushered into a truck instead and delivered home. By the time he’d summoned up the courage to go back, Isabel’s family had gone away.
Isabel sighed. “Yes. I wanted to thank you then, for what you did. My mother would have stayed there with Buckwheat if you hadn’t helped her.”
“Was your mother okay?”
She looked at her hands. “She came down with pneumonia. She died two months later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” She waved a hand. “For all of this. I know you don’t want those horses.”
“I’m not in the rescuing business anymore and horses aren’t really my thing.”
She stood. “I’ll find another way, keep them here until I can find homes for them.”
He shook his head. “I will honor what your sister wanted. I’ll come up and tend to them for as long as it takes.” He couldn’t believe he’d said it. How was he going to care for a bunch of horses? Especially if…when things worked out with his plan to return to duty?
Isabel looked at him thoughtfully. “I understand. You’ve done so much already.” She came to him and threw her arms around him.
He was startled by her hug, her face grazing his cheek, the slender form that fitted so well against his.
“Thank you again,” she whispered in his ear.
He was not sure whether she referred to his care of Buckwheat or her. A trickle of electricity coursed through him as she let go.
“No problem. I should head home and fax your sketch to my friend Bill. You’ve got my number if you need anything. Looks like the horses are bedded in for the night. I’ll come by tomorrow.” He tried to stop the sudden flow of words by giving her a wave and starting for the truck.
He opened the door for Tank and used the opportunity to cast a look back at Isabel. She stood, small in the tall shadow of the trees, eyes shimmering with emotion.
He remembered the longing he’d felt when he’d returned Buckwheat years before.
For a split second, he wondered what would have happened if he had gone to talk to her in the barn that rain-soaked day.
Isabel was too tired that evening to do more than drink a glass of milk and collapse onto the bed. A tabbed journal tucked behind the bedside lamp drew her attention. It was filled with Cassie’s cramped handwriting: each section held the history of the horses stabled in the barn. She read for a while, until the stories of cruelty and neglect began to overwhelm her. She determined she’d give the volume to Logan to help him find good homes for Cassie’s beloved animals. The last thing she remembered was uttering a prayer for Logan to complete the task that had been thrust upon him.
She woke the next morning when the sun poured through a gap in the curtain. Stiff and disoriented, she managed a hot shower and a plate of scrambled eggs, which revived her. She took some Post-it notes from the basket and a pen. The first task was looking into possible new homes for the horses so Logan could be relieved of his burden. John Trigg was probably the best source of information on that.
She went in search of the business card Sheila had given her to request John’s number. Phone in hand, she moved to open the curtains in the front room, throwing them wide.
She should have felt the warning prickle. The sense that she was not alone.
She didn’t realize the danger until it was too late.
With a strangled cry, she leaped back, intending to run down the hall to the back door.
The long-haired man sat in an armchair, shotgun resting on one knee, slouch hat on the other. “Stay a spell, ma’am,” he said, gesturing to the chair with the gun.
Run, run, run! her body screamed, yet she found herself unable to move. “Who are you?” Her voice was a forced whisper.
He pointed again with the gun. “Sit down. Do let us be civilized.”
She sank into a hard-backed chair.
He smiled. “Good.”
“Who are you?” she repeated.
“You can call me Autie.”
“What do you want with me?”
“You are a woman who doesn’t waste words. So many women prattle on about nothing at all. It is wearisome.” His voice held the gentle drawl of the South.
Isabel thought about running for the door, but she knew he’d put a bullet in her before she reached the threshold. She stayed silent, trying to think of a better plan, heart thundering in her chest. “What do you want?”
He watched her for a while, pale blue eyes glittering under delicate brows. “In perfect truth, I want you to disappear.”
The fear leaped in her gut. “Why?”
His long hair shone coppery blond in the morning light. “This isn’t the place for you. The Badlands is rugged country. Why, even General Custer found it a challenge.” He laughed, the sound soft and high.
She found the courage to answer in spite of the trembling that shuddered through her. “I have the right to be here.”
He blinked. “Right? I find it odd that you speak of rights. You ran away. You ran from your family and left your father to die.”
Isabel felt as if she’d been slapped.
He fixed her with a stare. “That is the problem of the truth, is it not? You can run across the globe or climb the highest mountain.” He glanced toward the stark horizon. “Even this place, these endless Badlands, cannot help you escape your own truth. It will hang around your neck like the heaviest of stones.”
He was insane. The chill in his eyes told her he had killed before and he would not hesitate to do so again. He’d already tried by pushing her into the ravine. “How do you know about me?”
He raised a shoulder. “A soldier always does a good deal of reconnaissance before he goes after a quarry. That is how you discover your enemy’s weaknesses.” He pointed at her. “You lack courage and commitment. You ran when you were sixteen and you will run again.”
How did he know so much about her life? Who could have told him? A sickening realization dawned on her. “Did Rawley send you?”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “I understand he could be getting out of prison soon. Is it not reasonable to think he would want his wife to return home to him?”
“No. No, no. I’m not his wife anymore. He’ll never get out of prison.”
Autie’s jaw clenched and he stiffened. “That is an uncharitable answer, ma’am. Perhaps you are experiencing guilt about sending him to the penitentiary? A man in a cage is no man at all. You might have done him a favor and killed him instead of having him locked up like a rabid dog.” His fingers gripped the gun until the knuckles whitened. “A cowardly act which will not go unpunished.”
Her mind whirled. “Rawley doesn’t want me back.” She swallowed hard. “If he gets out, he can start a new life.”
“Nevertheless, you need to leave, go back to Southern California.”
Isabel pressed her knees together to keep the terror from overtaking her. She could not think of any way to save herself from this madman. “So if I go, you’ll leave me alone?”
He shrugged. “I will finish my mission regardless of your choices.”
“Stop talking in riddles. What mission?” she snapped.
He looked slightly startled at her outburst. “I see
you have more spirit than I gave you credit for. Very good. It will make my assignment all the more enjoyable.”
She hissed out the words. “What will happen if I don’t leave here?”
“Then, Miss Ling, I will be happy to make you disappear.”
Her nerves screamed in terror.
He stood and walked over to her chair until his knees grazed hers. He was so close, his breath stirred the hair around her face. She froze, curled in a knot against the worn upholstery. He let the gun trail the length of her arm. “And you will join your poor sister in the family grave. Then you will be with your father at last.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That is quite an irony, is it not?”
He laughed, raised his hat and tipped it before he put in on and disappeared out the back door.
SEVEN
Logan faxed the sketch to Bill Cloudman after he returned from his morning run. He busied himself doing the dozen or so chores he’d put off during the week. There was still no word on his application for the pararescue instructor position when he checked his e-mail for the third time. He gritted his teeth and whispered the prayer again. “Lord, You know that’s the answer for me. Let it work out.”
Pararescue was his destiny. It had been burned into him with every drop of his uncle’s blood that had coursed through Logan’s fingers as he’d watched the man die, thrown from a horse into a fence. The helplessness he’d felt at that moment stayed with him until age sixteen, when he’d found his calling as soon as he read the pararescue motto: So that others may live. A lifetime later, he’d been living out that calling until the accident that shattered his ankle. The acid memories surfaced again and he prowled around to shake loose the darkness, but the new thought that emerged in his mind didn’t soothe him.
Isabel was alone with a ranch she didn’t want and a bunch of horses that had somehow become his responsibility. He thought about the feel of her arms circling his shoulders after the reading of the will. Something about her intoxicated him, as it had the first moment he’d seen her standing in the barn all those years ago.
He blinked and refocused on the necessary points. The horses needed homes. He had to make that happen before his instructor job was approved. There was no room for failure on either count. First order of business was to get the facts together, any information that Isabel might have to help him place the horses. Then maybe an ad? An Internet posting on the Range Rustlers Web site? With no more than a vague urgency to do something, he grabbed his keys and left the condo.
On the way to the truck, he passed the backhoe tucked neatly into the side yard, secured on its trailer. He’d never finished clearing the ravine as Cassie had directed him. She’d paid him a deposit and he’d only just begun when she died.
An unfinished job.
Understandable in view of the circumstances. Completely understandable.
And unacceptable.
With a sigh, he hitched the trailer to the back of the truck.
Tank scrambled in the driver’s side and they headed toward Mountain Cloud Ranch.
It was already in the nineties when he pulled into the drive at a little after nine. He was surprised to see the front door of the cabin open. Instincts pricking, he got out and jogged toward it, the dog at his heels.
“Isabel?” He heard no response and he started to run. As he crossed the threshold, he crashed into Isabel as she hastened out of the house with a battered suitcase in her hand. They went down in a pile of arms and legs and came to rest with her still clinging to the suitcase, pinning his legs with her body. She immediately jumped up, the baggage like a shield in front of her. Tank pranced around, alternately pushing his wet nose against Isabel’s pant leg and head-butting Logan.
“Are you okay?” Logan avoided another sloppy lick from the dog and got to his feet. “Sorry I knocked you over. I saw the door was open and it looked like something was wrong.”
Her eyes were wild. “Something is wrong. That crazy man was here, in the house, with a gun.”
Logan gaped. “What?”
“He knows all about me and he said if I don’t go back to L.A., he’s going to make me disappear.”
Logan took her wrist and felt the pulse hammering double time. He led her to a chair and she sat, still clutching her suitcase.
“The same man from the cemetery?”
She nodded, lips quivering. “He knows I ran away when I was sixteen. He knows about my father. He’s on some sort of mission. I think he works for Rawley.”
“Rawley is…”
She looked at the floor. “My ex-husband. He’s in prison because I turned him in for drug dealing.”
“You think he’s after revenge?”
She shrugged. “Probably. I know some of the things he did to people who crossed him.” She shuddered, tears suddenly filling her eyes. “I thought that chapter of my life was finally closed. He’s been in prison for years. Why is he after me now?”
“We’ll go to the police again.”
“No.” She shook her head. “They can’t do anything. I’m leaving here. I’m sorry to stick you with the horses. I’ll figure out with the lawyer how to deed the property to you and when you sell, you can use the money any way you want.”
He started to protest, but she cut him off.
“He says his name is Autie and he knows I ran out on my family. He knows everything.”
Logan saw the years of grief and guilt buried in her eyes. “And he knows just what to say to injure you the most.”
She sank back in the chair. “Yes. He’s making me a victim again. Just like Rawley did.”
He wanted to ask more about Rawley, but the defeat in her face stopped him. “Where will you go?”
“Back home. I’ll close up my apartment and then I’ll find someplace else.”
“Do you have any family you could stay with for a while?”
She bit her lip. “My uncle and I don’t talk. Cassie was my only family.”
They were silent for a moment. Logan replayed the events in his mind—her fall into the ravine, the stranger at the cemetery and now this close encounter. He had not laid eyes on the stranger who stalked her. Bentley had implied maybe it was all in Isabel’s head. Instinct told him she was telling the truth, and that same instinct made him want to do something about it. “Before you do anything, let’s talk to Bentley again and check in with my friend. He may have some info that could help us. Just sit tight for a minute.”
When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone and called Bentley, who wasn’t in the office. Logan left a message indicating he’d stay with Isabel until Bentley could join them, and then he texted Bill Cloudman to call him immediately.
While he sent the message, Isabel went outside and began to pace along the corral fence. Blue Boy shimmied back and forth on the other side, his feet stirring up the dry dirt, until he stopped abruptly and stuck his long neck over the rail to gently nuzzle the top of her head.
Logan’s phone buzzed and he clicked it on, watching the powerful horse as he did so.
Blue Boy was restless. If only he could talk and tell him what he knew of the man who was intent on terrorizing Isabel Ling and perhaps shed light on Cassie’s death, as well.
Isabel stayed stone still, feeling Blue Boy’s warm breath on her hair. It was the gentlest of touches before he dropped his head to stare into her eyes. She caressed him, trailing her fingers over the silky coat and strong lines of his proud face.
Cassie’s notes on Blue Boy came back to her.
He’d been bought as an investment, left in a rented stall and ignored, ridden infrequently by the overworked staff at the stable that boarded him. When the owner grew tired of the expense of upkeep, he took Blue Boy far out into a desolate wooded area and left him. The horse was found months later, miles away, his right foreleg trapped in a length of barbed wire that cut down to the bone. Blue Boy was emaciated, weakened by infection; the vet believed the kindest thing would be to euthanize the animal.
The Range Ru
stlers called Cassie and she took him in.
Isabel looked down at the faint scar circling his front leg.
Unwanted.
Lost and alone.
Rescued.
Saved.
She’d been all of those things, too. But one thing she’d never faced before was the responsibility for another creature as cruelly treated as herself.
She looked back at the little house that her sister had loved and again at the group of horses silently regarding her with uncertainty in their postures. Rawley had taken her need and vulnerability and used it to make her a victim. Once more she reached out a hand to Blue Boy and he touched his whiskered lips to her fingers.
Her tiny mother would have faced up to anyone or anything that threatened her loved ones. She’d stood between her raging alcoholic husband and her children with only a spatula in her hands and her faith that God would give her the strength to defend them.
But you didn’t stand up, Isabel. You ran away, from your family, from Rawley.
Her breath grew tight in her chest and the resolution filled her like the roaring of a strong wind.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered to Blue Boy. “Not until you find a good home. I will not abandon you like I did my sister.” She tasted the saltiness of her own tears. “I promise.”
Blue Boy whinnied in reply.
Wiping her face, she prayed. God, help me keep my promise.
The noise of an engine startled her. She watched Logan ease the backhoe off the trailer and park it in the shade of the trees.
“What’s that for?”
He shrugged. “Cassie paid me to clear the ravine and the job isn’t finished. I’m going to be here anyway working with the horses, so I’ll complete the project. It might help you sell the place.” He looked away for a moment. “Will you leave me your number? So I can touch base with you when the horses have been relocated?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ve changed my mind.”
He started. “You have?”
“Yes. I let the fear take over for a minute. No one is going to force me to run away from my sister’s ranch. I’m staying until we’ve been able to find the horses good homes.”