Dalton took the time to talk to his men, interrupting the sheriff's interviews with them, to make sure they were unhurt.
At the end of a long, harrowing night, there was only one clue. Tommy Norton, the son of Ben Norton, one of Dalton's men, had sneaked out of his home and followed his father to the fire. The boy was fourteen and his father was not pleased with him for following him. However, the boy had seen a black car.
"It was a Dodge Stealth," Tommy told the sheriff. "It was black and way cool. I've seen them in magazines, but this was the first time I saw one in person. Man, it was cool! We don't see much of anything 'cept trucks out here."
"Who was driving it?" Dalton demanded.
"The windows were tinted dark so I couldn't see," the boy said. "It was an Arizona license plate starting with A. The numbers were covered with something, but the car was clean and shiny."
Sheriff Dave Shifflett grinned. "Thanks, Tommy. You'd better get home before your mother calls my office reporting a missing boy."
"I'll take care of him," Ben Norton said throwing his arm around his son's shoulder and leading him away.
"How many Dodge Stealth's can there be in Arizona with license plates starting with A?" Dalton demanded.
"Probably not many outside the major cities," the sheriff said. "I'll get on it. Keep your fingers crossed the plates weren't stolen."
* * *
Dalton walked Nicole to the house where they glumly surveyed the damage.
"Gran will be heartbroken," Dalton said grimly.
"Not if we get most of it fixed before she gets back," Nicole said. "I looked at the paintings. If the artists varnished them correctly, we should be able to have them restored. The spray paint shouldn't have penetrated the varnish. The furniture, we can send out to be reupholstered. I looked at your desk and we can replace the leather blotter. I don't know about your computer. I don't think it would be safe to turn it on. I've read about computer experts being able to restore almost all the data from hard disks, even if they computers went to the bottom of the ocean."
"I keep my computer backed up online. There's nothing important saved on it except financial statements and photographs" Dalton said. "The desk is more important. It's been handed down through four generations."
"We should clean off the kerosene as soon as possible," Nicole said. "The sheriff took all the photographs he should need, so we had better get to it."
Dalton nodded and went toward his office while Nicole headed to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. Together, they cleaned the surface of the desk with soap and water diluting the combustible. They lifted the desk and furniture off the rug, and Dalton rolled and carried it outside.
At one point during the cleanup, Nicole dashed outside and ran to her studio. It had suddenly occurred to her, that her studio might have been destroyed.
Dalton was hot on her heels, in protective mode.
"Everything is okay," Nicole exclaimed searching her studio for damage. "I guess they didn't get this far."
Dalton hugged her. "I'll get my camera."
Nicole busily took pictures with her phone. She walked out through the patio doors talking to someone.
"I hope you didn't call Gran and Roy Mac," Dalton said. "I'd like to get the rooms repainted and some of the damage repaired before I tell them."
"No, I wouldn't talk to them without telling you," Nicole replied. What she didn't tell him was whom she had needed to call at one in the morning.
They finally retired for the night. Dalton jammed a chair under the back doorknob with its broken lock. He surveyed the backyard, noting the trees and shrubs, which had been so carefully cultivated. He had never considered how the seclusion of their backyard could be used against them. An intruder crossing the yard and entering through the kitchen door would not be seen from the front or the side of the house. There were a few yard lights, but obviously not enough to deter someone wanting to break in. Break-ins had never been anything they had to deal with until recently.
It hadn't been that long in the past when they had left their doors unlocked all the time.
Whoever had broken in, and vandalized and robbed them knew what was valuable. They also somehow knew the family had left the ranch.
They went to bed, but neither Dalton nor Nicole was in the mood for sleep. They also weren't in the mood to be amorous. They lay together quietly in the dark, holding each other until they drifted into an exhausted slumber.
Morning emphasized exactly how much had been stolen and ruined in the Calloway home. Nicole would catch Dalton staring at empty display cabinets or shelf spaces. She began the process of removing the damaged art. She called her contacts in Washington for names of restoration specialists. Within an hour, she had made arrangements with a recommended restorer in Salt Lake City. They would have to crate and ship the damaged paintings to him.
She worked with Neeley to download documentation from the cloud site where Dalton archived his work and personal digital files. She made copies of photographs of the stolen items and sent them to the offices of the sheriff, the Hawthorne Police, and the State Police as requested. She also sent copies to Phillip O'Cleary. He emailed her to say he would blanket the western state pawnshops with photos, information, and offers of a reward.
Chapter Eighteen
Kay came home from Minnesota only three days before she was to enter her freshman year at Western Nevada College. She brought Matty with her. The mother and son reunion was tearful and heart rendering. Nicole nearly smothered her son with affection during his first few days home and Dalton was not far behind her. Neither of them wanted their son out of their sight.
Day-to-day life intruded, though. Helen and Roy Mac would remain in Minnesota for at least another month as Helen's sister had experienced a setback in her recovery.
Kay packed the Jeep and headed to Carson City settling into a tiny apartment she was sharing with one of her friends from Hawthorne High. Although her parents owned a home there, the young woman wanted her independence. She already had a part-time job to help pay the rent. Kay was launching herself into adulthood, and those around her could not fault her for being responsible. She was excited to start this new phase of her life and to see Mark, again.
The insurance company had yet to complete their investigation into Nicole's accident, but her insurance did cover the cost of a rental car. She had her lawyer, Brian Taylor, review her policy with a fine-toothed comb and discovered she was entitled to the use of a replacement vehicle until the claim was settled. With Kay taking the only ranch vehicle she felt comfortable driving, Nicole asked one of the ranch wives to drive her to Carson City. She returned driving a rental car with an automatic transmission. She told Dalton, two could play their game. If the insurance company didn't settle her claim, she would keep the rental until they did.
The only problem with her strategy was, now, she no longer had an excuse to keep Matty out of kindergarten. She didn't want her son on a school bus for nearly an hour each way. She would drive him to school and pick him up after school. She trusted her driving more than a stranger's, especially a stranger driving a busload of rowdy children.
Dalton accused her of being a helicopter parent. She wasn't, or, at least, she didn't think she was, but what was wrong with protecting your child? Back east, every mother Nicole knew either drove her children to school herself or arranged for someone to do it for her. She wanted Matty to learn self-reliance, but there was plenty of time for it when he was older. He was only five!
Dalton's response was more pragmatic. He thought it was a parent's job to take their children to school on the first day to make sure they were not frightened and stick around until they were settled. Then, it was time to leave. It was the child's responsibility to fit in with the other kids, make friends, and learn from their teachers. He would go with them on the first day, but he did not want Nicole hovering, coddling, and embarrassing Matty around the other children.
Dalton was still in a protective mood. In one of hi
s more dictatorial decisions, he insisted Nicole still not travel alone. It made no difference to him that with Kay and his grandparents gone, there was no one left to accompany her into town twice a day. His solution was simple. Matty would ride the bus along with all the other kids on the ranch.
Nicole's defiant response was to refuse to let her son attend at all if Dalton didn't come up with a better idea. Their argument was loud and neither of them gave an inch in compromise.
Matty missed the first two days of school before Neeley solved their problem. She reached out to the wife of one of Dalton's ranch workers. The young couple didn't have children, yet, and Kim Johnson didn't work. She was willing to act as Nicole's ride-along buddy.
Matty was literally bouncing with excitement on his first day. Nicole was teary-eyed at the thought of losing her baby. He walked away from her and Dalton without a backward glance.
Dalton stood proud and pleased. His son showed no fear of the unknown.
Nicole made it out of the elementary school without breaking down, but she cried all the way home. Her baby was growing up.
Problems arose after only a few days. Matty did not want his mommy dropping him off every day. He wanted to ride the bus, like all the other kids at the ranch. Nicole was not ready to relinquish her child so easily. It also turned out that Kim Johnson was not a person capable of being on time. The young woman made little to no effort towards punctuality. Within the first two weeks, Matty was late four times. This was a major issue for Nicole, who was almost OCD about being on time, all the time.
The following Monday morning when she knocked on the door of the Johnson's house, Kim begged off saying she was not feeling well. Nicole delivered Matty to school but was barely on time. This became a pattern. Kim Johnson was either ill or had a handy excuse every day as to why she could not accompany Nicole on the sixty-mile round trip.
Nicole accepted the situation for it was. She knew she should report the girl's lackadaisical attitude and chronic lateness to Dalton. On the other hand, if she did, they would be right back to their original argument. Instead, Nicole kept her mouth shut. She continued driving her son to school by herself. She was, after all, an adult. Dalton was being ridiculous.
One morning after dropping Matty off for school, Nicole drove to the only grocery store in town for supplies. It was one thing for her and Dalton to live off frozen pizza. It was another to feed processed foods to her child. Even Nicole admitted she was spoiled when it came to the role of a cook or housekeeper. With Mrs. O'Cleary in her life and then Helen, Nicole had never needed to cook or do a great deal of housework. These last several weeks without household help had brought the fact clearly to the forefront. Dalton couldn't complain about her lack of skills since she wasn't his wife. It didn't matter, though. She would not feed her son a diet of boxed, processed, or frozen food. She had to step up her game.
The town store was not actually within the town limits. It was outside of town in a strip center people referred to as 'out by the highway,' meaning it was closer to the 395 Interstate. Nicole drove the few miles while creating a grocery list in her mind. She had turned on her signal to pull into the parking lot when a black sports car honked and whizzed past her. It startled her. She hadn't realized someone was driving behind her and only caught a glimpse of the car as it sped away. What she did see was a scraped side door with a streak of light green paint scratched into the surface.
It was the bastard who had run her off the road!
Nicole pulled onto the highway increasing her speed to follow the black car. She had no idea what she would do, but she wasn't letting the driver get away! There were several vehicles between her and the black car as she followed it onto the 395 N.
She dragged her purse across the seat, found her cell phone, and called Phillip.
"Nicole, I'm in the middle of an overseas deal," Phillip complained. "I haven't found out anything new to tell you."
"I'm following the black car!" Nicole blurted out.
"What? Are you out of your mind?"
"No, but I'm not letting it get away, either!
"Pull off the highway and call the police," Phillip ordered. "What happens if they spot you? You could be putting your life in danger."
"How will they know it's me?" Nicole demanded. "I'm driving a rental car with the dark-tinted windows like everyone out here has on their vehicles. No one can see me inside, just like I can't see who's driving the black car."
"Can you get a plate number?"
"Hold on," Nicole said passing two trucks to get closer to the vehicle. She was speeding and knew it, but managed to get behind the black car. The black car's turn signal came on, and they were approaching a ramp leading to the Hawthorne Army Depot. She held her speed but didn't dare follow the car off the interstate.
"I got it," Nicole said into the phone. "At least, I got most of it, Nevada plates ADF or ADP 637. I didn't get the last number if there is another number. Whoever is driving must work at the Ammunition Depot because there's a sticker on the bumper."
"I'm on it," Phillip said. "Go home, Nicole. Do not take any more chances! This could be the person who tried to kill you. Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, I'm listening," snapped Nicole.
"Good. I'll take it from here."
Nicole disconnected the call and lowered her speed in the nick of time, as she passed a state trooper parked on the side of the road with a radar gun. She had to drive another fifteen miles before she found a legal crossover to the lanes going in the opposite direction. She counted herself lucky, as she had not noticed the crossover when she drove the same highway during her fateful trip to Reno. She knew it was, at least, another thirty miles to the next exit. When Nicole returned to Hawthorne, she finally went to the grocery store and filled a cart with fresh vegetables and fruits.
* * *
Nicole was glad Matty's kindergarten was a full day. As it was, she drove over an hour, twice a day to deliver and pick him up from school. She even set her phone alarm to remind her. Otherwise, she might get involved with her painting and lose track of time.
Matty settled into his school and looked forward to leaving every morning. Nicole, on the other hand, was beginning to dread the morning trips. She still was not ready to allow him to ride the bus. It was amazing to her how many ranch errands had to be done in town. Since she was going to Hawthorne, everyone relegated her to carry out the errands. She stopped at the pharmacy and the feed store. She had made so many trips to the hardware store they knew her by name. She was losing half of her day to travel and errands.
Dalton shrugged off the inconveniences. Errands were the job of whoever went to town first and it was usually her. He did not see any reason to send a cowman to town when they needed something if she was already making the trip.
Nicole was willing, at first. However, she soon realized her one-hour-long round-trip commute was doubled with all the errands. Every day she lost more time away from her easel. She was also a full-time mom after the school pickup since there was no one around to help keep Matty occupied. He didn't like spending his afternoons in his mother's studio. Nicole had also assumed Helen's duties as chief cook and bottle washer. She wasn't thrilled with that job, either. She didn't mind throwing cookies together occasionally, but full meals took a lot more time than she was willing to devote to cooking.
After an especially disastrous effort at cooking and setting off the smoke alarms, Nicole threw in the towel. She marched over to Dalton's office to have it out with him and was greatly annoyed when the target of her anger wasn't there.
"Neeley, I need help!"
"What kind?"
"Cooking!"
Dalton's capable assistant shook her head. "I can't help you. My Joe does most of the cooking at our place."
"Does Hawthorne have an employment office?" Nicole asked.
"No, not unless you count the bulletin boards at the post office, Hawthorne Drugs, and the local grocery. Most people look there. If you can't find what
you need, you can place an ad in the Nevada Appeal. It's an online newspaper. The next best thing is the Reno Gazette-Journal."
"I need to hire a housekeeper."
Neeley sat back in her chair. "Are you replacing Mrs. Jackson? Does Dalton know about this?"
"Not yet, and no, I don't want to replace his housekeeper. I have never met the woman. However, she has been gone ever since I got here. I need help!"
"What about the Irish woman you're bringing out here? Wasn't she your housekeeper back east?" Neeley asked.
"Mrs. O'Cleary isn't my housekeeper. She's my adopted mother who is taking an extended vacation with her relatives in Ireland. I don't know when she will return to the States. Meanwhile, I have a gallery showing to prepare for, and I cannot do it if I am stuck cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry. I'm an artist, not a housekeeper!"
"I think you should discuss this with Dalton first, honey," Neeley suggested. "He might not want to trust a stranger in his house. You settle it with him. If he agrees, I'll put the word out to see if anyone wants part-time work."
"Why do I have to clear it with him?" Nicole demanded. "I'll be paying for the housekeeper."
"He's the boss, honey," Neeley said with a serious tone in her voice. "I don't reckon you've encountered Dalton in a temper, yet. Get his permission first," the woman advised.
Nicole slammed out of Neeley's office. She was frustrated but tried to keep calm. She was well aware of Dalton's temper, but damn-it, she had a temper too. She loved living at the Double C. However, in some ways, the people there were stuck in the past. As far as she could see, Helen and the wives of the hired hands might have heard about women's liberation, but it wasn't something they practiced. They accepted and were happy with their traditional roles of mothers and wives. They were more interested in keeping their men pleased than fighting for their rights.
Maybe, With Conditions Page 25