No, she wasn’t.
Nat stood at the end of the bed, oblivious to his nakedness, legs spread, arms folded across his chest. He tucked his chin in, narrowed his eyes and frowned down at her.
“You could stay here couldn’t you? No one knows you’re here.”
The idea was so tempting...and drove home every reason she had to leave. She desperately wanted to stay. Desperately.
She shook her head. “Talbot knows. I have to go.”
“Why?” Nat asked.
She could see Nat’s mind at work, trying to fit all the pieces of the puzzle, trying to solve the problems she ran from, but he didn’t have all the pieces.
“Why?” he demanded, louder this time.
She didn’t answer, just stared down at her hands spread across the coverlet. The ring her mother had given her on her seventh birthday glinted on her finger.
“You think the mob will find you here?” Nat asked.
Elizabeth nodded, biting her lip against the need to stay.
With quick jerky movements he started to get dressed, doing up his jeans, pulling on a shirt.
This was goodbye, she realized suddenly. Nat stood by the edge of the bed and looked down at her. Elizabeth lifted her head to meet his turbulent gaze.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Eliza,” he said softly.
“Yes.” Elizabeth straightened her back. “It does.”
Nat cursed and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that sounded like the final nail being driven home in her coffin.
A bitter draft streamed through the air and swept goose bumps across her flesh. Nat’s scent clung to the pillow and she hugged it to her, trying to commit the smell to memory, but she knew it would fade. Given time, everything faded.
***
Nat shoved the truck into third gear, going down the steep incline towards the lower river valley, and again, down into second. The engine roared in protest, but the truck slowed a little. The old Ford shook in time to Dwight Yokam and Sheryl Crow singing Baby Don’t Go and made his teeth ache.
Every time he went over a rut his brain jounced and he braced himself on the steering wheel and hung on for the ride. He was glad he needed to concentrate and wasn’t able to think much. Sas had come home around eight a.m., grief-stricken and worn, her eyes puffy from crying.
She was holding up, but barely. Ryan had been unconscious in the bunkhouse, Cal and Ezra each nursing coffee, subdued and silent. Nat had left them. Refused their offers of help and headed out to the auction on his own.
Rose would have wanted it this way.
The trail was only marginally quicker than going back down onto the main road and heading along the highway. It was just a tractor rut truth be told, a double indentation of bare gray earth surrounded by the crush of wilderness. But Nat wanted to use this route—it might be the last time he’d have the right.
He didn’t know if Eliza would be there when he got back. It burned his gut to think about her so he stamped down on his thoughts and even harder on the truck’s lousy brakes. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him. It was driving him insane.
Going too fast, he hit a big rut and just managed to jerk the steering wheel back before he smacked the verge. Punching the dashboard in frustration, he tried to concentrate on the drive. He entered the cool and shaded forest and rolled down the window to let fresh air flow around the airless cab.
This land was no good for ranching and cost them a heap in taxes. Didn’t matter how beautiful the place was, sentimentality didn’t pay the bills.
The light inside the forest was sharp and bright and a gentle breeze brushed shadows across the lush grass. Bluebells and dog daisies covered the underbelly, popping up along the edge of the trail like brightly colored pennants.
Breathing deeply, he smelled the fresh earth and tasted the essence of life as nature took advantage of the short summer. Birds sang in the trees and he heard the tentative buzz of newly hatched insects.
He’d lost his virginity in these woods, in this very truck. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Him and Adele Black, a pair of sixteen-year-olds with their heads full of hormones and curiosity. Adele had been a tiny little thing and he’d been a good deal smaller back then too. He couldn’t imagine doing it in a truck anymore. The image of Eliza stretched naked on the burgundy upholstery made his heart hammer and his blood pound.
Shit. He had to deal with this. The woman was leaving him.
He neared the old gate that led through to a meadow at the bottom of his property. It was the ideal location to build that picture-perfect little holiday home, if you had the cash. Nat hoped to God someone other than Troy Strange had the cash.
Bracing his shoulders, he looked down to the bottom of the meadow, through the gate that led onto the highway where cars were parked. He spotted Strange, deep in conversation with their local bank manager. Nat parked the truck behind the gate, got out and vaulted the old five-bar.
Though he wanted to kill Troy Strange, he clamped down on the urge for now.
Marlena lounged against the Mercedes in a clingy top, micro-shorts and high-heels, looking as out of place as a hooker at kindergarten. She spotted him, eyeing him like a piece of meat and he grimaced, figuring maybe those feminists were onto something after all.
He spotted Molly Adams, another old high school girlfriend, sitting on the fender of a little Honda. She was plump, but still pretty, and ran an old fashioned saloon that drew in the tourists. She smiled, waved a half-eaten apple in his direction. She obviously hadn’t heard about Rose’s death yet, but it was still early. Feeling grim, he nodded, but stayed back, in no mood for pleasantries or conversation.
Several lawyer-types clutched cell phones like substitute personalities and he recognized some of Sarah’s co-workers from the hospital. Nat smiled woodenly and tipped his hat to a couple he’d met at a wedding about a year ago. He hoped his smile didn’t look as sour as it felt.
Nat crossed over to where the auctioneer, Rich Willard, a short, beefy man, stood perched on some sort of wooden podium. Rich had been a great friend of his dad’s, a good man to know in a crisis. His belly protruded over tightly buckled trousers and a stray piece of food dangled from his moustache.
Nat had always liked him.
“Sorry to hear about your mother, son.” Rich’s watery blue blinked repeatedly. “We can do this another time if you want.”
Nat looked out over the crowd of people gathered nearby. No way did he want to go through this again. Ever.
“No. Today.” Nat cleared his throat. “Appreciate you doing this for us.”
“Don’t mention it. Just glad I can help.” Rich looked at his wristwatch. “You ready to start, son?”
The compassion in Rich’s eyes made Nat grimace. This wasn’t easy for him, but he’d be damned if he showed that weakness in front of anybody here today.
“Let’s do it,” Nat said.
“If it makes you feel any better I have Atty in the crowd and we’re prepared to pay at least the reserve price.” Rich peered out, searched for his diminutive wife somewhere in the crowd.
Nat swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to do that, sir.”
“Hell, we’d love to own this land, Nat.” Rich lowered his head conspiratorially. “You know women, son, once they get an idea into their heads.” Rich laughed, a funny belly gurgling sound that was as forced as Nat’s smile. “If she gets carried away I’ll pretend I don’t see her.”
Nat went and stood beside the top gate. Marlena watched him and he hoped she didn’t cause more trouble; he didn’t want to have to deal with her today. Strange slipped a hand around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer. Nat hoped he had chains.
Rich started the show with an outline of the land and what it contained. The stream with its waterfall, fishing rights, hunting rights. Seven acres of mature forest, mainly yellow pine, quaking aspen, and some red cedar. And three acres of lush spring meadow. Each word struc
k a nail in Nat’s heart. Bids started at $100,000.
Nat watched as the smaller players upped the ante, slowly, inexorably towards the $300,000 mark. That was what he needed to clear his debts. That was enough to pay off the bank.
Slowly the small time bidders fell away and the serious combatants began to show.
Nat tried to be dispassionate. It was just land after all. But his mother had always loved this patch of ground... A guy who looked like a rumpled tourist bid $400,000, which surprised him. Nat wondered if the man was just dipping his toes into the action to add to the excitement of his day or if he was serious about owning a piece of Montana.
Troy Strange had the smug look of a man who knew he could buy out everyone there twice over and upped the bid to $450K, and went back to his conversation with the banker.
Damn it.
Nat wanted to kick a rock but stuck his hands in his pockets instead. One of the local doctors upped it to $460,000 and Nat began to hope.
Strange upped it again, his grin tighter this time. Rich looked back to the doctor who shook his head. His wife whispered fiercely in his ear, but the doctor just shook his head and folded an arm around her shoulder.
Nat’s heart began to pound in his chest.
No. No. No.
He stared into Troy’s smirking face, gritted his teeth and set his mouth into a hard line. If the bastard bought it he was going to deck him.
“Any more bidders?” Rich asked in a hopeful tone. He knew how much the Sullivans disliked their Texan neighbor.
One man raised his hand, all the while talking into a cell phone.
Rich tilted his head in polite inquiry as the guy held up his hand again in a quick moment of consultation.
“But that’s ridiculous...” was all Nat could catch at this distance.
Impatient, Nat crossed his arms over his chest and breathed out a heavy sigh. He wanted to get this over with, find out if Eliza had left him—and bury his mother.
“One million dollars,” the guy on the cell shouted. “One million American dollars.” He looked liked he’d swallowed his tongue.
Nat wished he’d had the pleasure of watching Strange’s mouth sag, but his own was gaping in surprise.
“That’s one million going once,” Rich stared at Strange who ground his teeth and glared at the little guy with the phone, “Going twice,” Rich waited a heartbeat, “Gone!”
Nat sagged against the five-bar gate. One-million-dollars? His legs recovered slowly, but his ears still rang. One-million-fucking-dollars! He wanted to laugh, would have, if his heart hadn’t been ripped out and his pride trampled into the mud like trash.
But Troy Strange hadn’t bought it. That was the other good news. Nat pushed himself off the gate and walked down the hill to where his banker stood in his Sunday best. “You’ll get your money tomorrow, Brent.” Nat tipped back his hat and couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his voice.
“Obviously I know something you don’t, Sullivan.” Brent Whittaker’s tone implied an as per usual that hung in the air like a red flag.
Nat studied the man, and wondered if he could punch Brent in the nose without getting sued. Not with this many witnesses. The prick always managed to sound supercilious whatever the subject. He was a money-man who cared about little besides wealth and power.
It was all bullshit.
“Your loan was bought from the bank—”
Nat grabbed him by the throat one handed and squeezed. “Who?”
“Don’t...know—” Brent choked.
Nat let go, but leaned closer. “Who bought the loan?”
“Maybe the same person who bought the land.” Whittaker rubbed his sore throat and looked over to the guy who’d bid a million bucks. “Maybe they’re trying to force you out.”
Nat didn’t give a fuck what they were trying to do. With a million dollars in the bank the ranch could survive for a good few years. Maybe long enough to get the stud farm up and running.
It was almost worth losing the woods.
“How do I find out who holds the debt?” Nat demanded.
“I expect they’ll let you know soon enough.” Whittaker’s lips twisted into a smirk that suited his pinched autocratic face before he turned and scuttled away.
Jerk.
Nat shrugged and walked over to where Rich was exchanging details with the guy on the cell phone. Sticking out his hand he introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sullivan.” The man juggled the phone, some papers and a briefcase between his knees. “I’m Arthur Nugent.”
The accent sounded English to Nat. “You going to build a home here, Mr. Nugent?”
The man laughed sounding tired, and bobbled the cell. “No, no sir. I’m acting on behalf of a client.” The man nodded towards the phone like it was a real person. “A client who wants to remain anonymous, so that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”
Feeling uneasy, Nat thanked both Rich and Arthur Nugent and agreed to meet up the next day in his lawyer’s office. He signed the papers and walked back to his truck, unable to shake the disquiet that tingled at the back of his mind.
There was no way anyone would get their hands on his ranch.
No way.
He vaulted the gate, jumped into the truck and reversed to drive back up the lane. Suddenly the euphoria of the sale receded; money was only one of his many problems.
EIGHTEEN
Elizabeth took her rifle from the top of the wardrobe where she’d placed it for safety. She loaded it, left the hammer half-cocked and the chamber empty, then slid it into its carry case and propped it next to her rucksack. Back in the living room she packed the rest of her gear, piled some emergency cash, a spare passport, and a change of clothes into a small tote.
Just in case.
She tried to focus her mind on the job, not on the stabbing pain that shot through her whenever she thought about leaving Nat, but her presence here put them all in danger.
The trials were due to start any day. The newscasts continued to harp on about her disappearance and she felt uncomfortably exposed. Not that she resembled Juliette anymore, but Nat had pieced together her identity pretty damned quick, which meant others could too.
Nat...
She swallowed then determinedly zipped the tote. Maybe she should disguise her voice—quash the Irish lilt that lingered? Prickles of unease tapped along her spine. Had she missed something? Screwed up and given something away?
DeLattio was after her.
She knew it. She almost felt his fingers clutching at her back.
She checked the Glock, then slid the gun into the shoulder harness she’d strapped on over her T-shirt.
A navy baseball cap was pulled low over her hair. She picked up her black shades and carried her stuff out to the Jeep. Blue hovered next to her, tried to jump inside, but couldn’t quite make it.
“Sorry, buddy, you can’t come with me.” She rubbed his head, lingered over the soft velvet of his ears and swallowed the lump in her throat. She gazed up at the mountains in the distance. The sky was a relentless blue. Deep and clear like the depths of Nat’s eyes. She tried to absorb the scene. Knew she’d never set foot in Montana again.
The yard was peaceful. The cattle had been moved up to higher pastures. Foals gamboled besides their dams. The kittens chased strands of hay by the open barn door and Stealth whinnied from his stall.
There was no one around to say farewell. They were all busy. Just the way she’d planned it.
Loneliness pressed against the edges of her mind. It was an emotion she was well acquainted with. Heartbreak wasn’t. She hefted the last bag, pushed it further into the dark recesses of the rear compartment.
She didn’t want to go.
A chasm of grief tore through her so wide it threatened to swallow her whole. Emotions that had been buried deep surged and overrode the need to run. Sagging against the side of the Jeep, she held her hand across her eyes and tried not to weep.
The sun felt warm on her
skin. Metal, hard beneath the press of her hand, gleamed dully in the midday sun. Birds sang and darted around the cabin. The breeze rustled the tree branches in a familiar refrain. She’d found a home here, a family to love. Fear and revenge seemed petty cousins to such riches. But she wasn’t leaving for her own safety, she reminded herself. She was doing it for the Sullivans. For Nat. If she didn’t leave now they could all die.
Elizabeth pushed herself away from the warm metal of the car and blanked her thoughts. Taking a step back, she reached up and closed the trunk with a sharp bang that echoed off the distant hills in a final volley. Moving quickly she went back to check the cabin one last time, and Blue followed every step she took.
***
Marshall Hayes sat behind Dancer in Sheriff Talbot’s beat-up old Blazer, anxiously gripping the back of the headrest.
“You say you interviewed Elizabeth Reed three-days ago?” Marsh asked Talbot.
“Yes, sir.” The sheriff’s drawl was pure Midwest. “Knew right off there was something funny about her. Looks like I was right, don’t it?” He looked at Marsh, clearly expecting an answer.
The sheriff wanted to know what sort of criminal he’d tracked down.
“We really appreciate the ride, Sheriff.” Marsh avoided answering the question. He needed to keep the guy on his side, but without risking any leaks to the press.
A tree-shaped air-freshener jiggled as the sheriff turned his attention back to the road. Elizabeth should have been smart enough to leave the ranch after the sheriff questioned her. Even if he wasn’t suspicious, she’d have moved on—right?
He tried to focus on what the sheriff was saying. “Pardon me?”
“I just wondered if any of you high-rolling federal agents,” the drawl carried an edge of irritation, “were ever gonna tell a hick country boy like me what the hell is going on?”
Marsh smiled at the man. Pissed off law enforcement officers were his forte. “Later, Sheriff, I promise you.” Marsh caught Talbot’s gaze in the rearview mirror. The sheriff’s eyes flashed hot for an instant, but then he nodded, apparently satisfied.
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