“You were joking about the beer, right, boss?” Toby said, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. “It’s a tradition. You buy us a case every Friday.”
“So now you expect it?”
“Well, yeah.”
Ryder just shook his head. “I think Wiley put it in the barn fridge.”
Toby grinned. “Sweet.”
Watching him walk toward his pal, Bear, something occurred to Ryder. “Hey, Toby.”
He stopped, turned. “Yeah, boss?”
“How old are you?”
Looking sheepish, Toby hesitated. “I’m not leaving the property. Just playing cards in the bunkhouse tonight.”
Ryder sighed. “How old?”
“Almost twenty-one.”
Almost.
Well, hell. Basically, he’d been buying beer for a minor. He wondered if Wiley knew. With Ryder away on business so much, Wiley had a better handle on what was going on. “What about Bear?”
“Oh, he’s twenty-three.”
Ryder slapped the Stetson against his thigh, sending up a cloud of dust. “Look, even if you have only one beer, you and your truck don’t leave the property. Got it?”
“I swear I won’t, and my birthday’s in six weeks, so I’ll be all legal and everything.”
Nodding, Ryder headed toward his office. Not that he’d admit it, but he’d been drinking beer since he was eighteen. Just on weekends, along with his college roommates. None of them had been the type to get too drunk or do anything crazy. It had been a rite of passage, a part of the college experience and nothing more.
It puzzled him that he’d suddenly thought to ask. Toby had been working for them for about five months. And at over six feet, with a husky build, he could easily pass for mid-twenties.
Ryder was the problem. Some of the newer hires were beginning to look young because he felt old. Arguably, at thirty-two, he should be in his prime. But in the ten years since graduating from college, he’d been married, divorced, lost contact with his only sister, buried his father, had been consoling his mother and had nearly doubled the size of the family ranch. So yeah, he felt like he’d already lived two lifetimes.
He heard the front door and glanced toward the porch. His mom had walked out with Wiley. Wrapped in a coat that was too warm for the relatively mild November air and leaning on her cane, she waved at Ryder. Wiley stood beside her, looking uncertain and helpless.
Ryder understood completely.
Maybe he was wrong about the attraction. Maybe Wiley was just plain worried about her like Ryder was. They hadn’t talked about it, but Gail hadn’t been the same since his dad’s death, and anyone who knew her would have to be blind not to see how much she’d aged.
As if the tragedy hadn’t been enough, one of their neighbors had been taken by cancer a short time later. Shirley Hancock and his mom hadn’t been particularly close, but the woman’s granddaughter, Becca, was the little hellion who’d dragged Amy off to LA with her. Though as it turned out, Becca had been much better about keeping in touch with her grandparents, who’d shared everything with the Mitchells. But after they’d passed, news of Amy had dried up.
Ryder stopped midstride and redirected his steps toward the house. Toward his mom.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, probably because he’d been too damn focused on expanding the ranch and doubling profits. But maybe it was time for him to take a little personal trip.
And drag his selfish baby sister back by the scruff of her neck.
Chapter Two
Becca had just sat down—no, collapsed was a better description—when she heard the doorbell. Waitressing wasn’t an easy job. But who knew being confined to an office all day trying to familiarize herself with a bunch of different terms would drain the life out of her? And it was only day three.
It took some effort to get off the chair, and then she heard the patter of little feet rushing to the door. “Noah, do not open—”
“Aunt Amy!”
Becca sighed. Well, at least it wasn’t an ax murderer, but Noah knew better.
“How’s my little man?”
Becca came from the kitchen just as Amy scooped him up in her arms and swung him around.
“Ouch!”
His shoe had hit the doorframe.
“What happened?” Amy asked, her eyes wide and surprisingly clear.
“Come in so I can close the door.” Becca noticed the kid from two houses down loitering on the sidewalk with his scary friends, trying to get a look inside. She probably should let him see. He’d find out real quick there was nothing worth stealing.
“You’re getting heavy, kiddo,” Amy said as she set Noah down. Then she turned a quizzical look at Becca. “I stopped at the restaurant. They said you’re not there anymore.”
“No, but I still work for Warren. He promoted me to an office job.”
“Wow, look at you.” Amy grinned. “I always knew you’d end up some big shot.”
Becca laughed. “Yeah, that won’t be happening anytime soon.”
“What’s that?” Noah asked, tugging on Amy’s T-shirt and pointing to the bag she was holding.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Your mommy was talking. Don’t interrupt her.”
Noah stuck out his bottom lip and pouted.
Becca was shocked. She was pretty sure this was the first time Amy had ever corrected him. For anything. As for referring to Becca as Mommy, that had been the first recognizable word he’d uttered, directed at Becca. They’d agreed it was for the best, certainly less confusing for him. But she sometimes worried that it hurt Amy’s feelings.
“How about some lemonade, you two?”
After briefly hesitating, Amy said, “Sure. I have time for a glass.” Her hair looked freshly washed, and was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Even her face had cleared up a bit. A small thing but still progress.
On her way to the kitchen, Becca smiled when she heard Noah ask about the bag again. She brought the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge, her gaze catching on the veggies she’d been cutting up at the table. “Hey, Amy, can you stay for dinner?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
Becca would’ve been surprised if she’d agreed. Derek kept her on a short leash, which made her visits infrequent and brief. Next week was Thanksgiving. Even though Becca knew the calls home had dwindled, she would remind Amy while she seemed clearheaded.
Noah let out a whoop.
A toy, of course.
Becca hoped it was age appropriate so she wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. Again.
She carried the glasses and Noah’s plastic cup into the tiny living room. The torn bag was on the floor next to him. Amy was perched at the edge of the couch, holding two plain white envelopes as she watched Noah tear into the package.
“Don’t worry,” she said, taking her lemonade. “It’s a Lego truck. Age three and up.”
“Perfect.” Becca returned her smile. “Noah? I’m putting your cup right here.” She set it on the corner of the end table. “Look up, please.”
Grudgingly, he did.
“Do you see it?”
“Yes, Mommy. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Be careful you don’t spill it.” She sat next to Amy and watched him, noting his frustration at being unable to open the box quickly enough. She didn’t want it escalating into a tantrum.
“You’re so good with him,” Amy said softly, her gaze as wistful as her sigh.
“So are you. He loves it when you visit, or take him for an outing.”
“Yeah, but you’re here day in and day out. Plus work a full-time job. How do you have the patience?”
Becca smiled. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Seriously,” she added when Amy looked doubtful. “I still have faith you’ll get it together and leave you-know-who.�
� They were speaking softly, but Becca glanced over to make sure Noah wasn’t listening. “My new job pays a lot more, and I’m hoping to find a bigger place. You’ll be able to move in with us.”
Amy sniffled, not from a cold or allergies—it was the drugs. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It’s going to happen. You’ll see.”
“Sometimes your optimism really annoys the sh—crap out of me.”
“I know,” Becca said, laughing.
Amy smiled.
“Wow!” Noah freed the truck from its box and held it up high as he jumped up and down. “Neato.”
“Wow is right,” Becca said. “Did you thank your—” The word got stuck in her mouth.
“Yes,” Amy said, “he was very good and remembered to thank his aunt Amy.”
They didn’t speak for a while but watched Noah play with his toy and fill the silence with vroom sounds as he rolled the truck around.
“What time is it?” Amy asked suddenly.
Becca patted her pocket. Her phone was in the kitchen. “About six thirty, I think.”
Amy cursed under her breath. “I wish I could stay longer, but I don’t need Derek getting pissed off or paranoid.” She glanced at the envelopes in her hand, then looked at Noah. “I’m gonna do it,” she said in a quiet voice. “I’m gonna leave him.”
Not sure she’d heard correctly over Noah’s excitement, Becca leaned closer to Amy. “Derek?” she whispered. “You’re—”
Amy nodded. “I’ve stashed some money. It’s not much,” she said, pushing one of the envelopes at Becca, who refused it. “But it should help a little—”
“Wait. When?”
“Soon.”
“Soon? Come on, Amy. You can’t just—”
“Please, just listen. It’s important.” Amy’s voice shook. Her gaze darted to Noah, who was happily playing with his new toy and paying them no mind. “Derek’s going to meet someone at the border next week. I don’t know when for sure.”
“You’ll come here, right? He doesn’t know where I live.”
“I’m not coming anywhere near you or Noah. Not for a while.” Amy swallowed. “He’s dangerous, Bec.”
“I know.”
“No.” Amy’s eyes closed briefly. “You don’t.”
Becca bit her lip. Every part of her wanted to hang on to her friend so tight she couldn’t go back to that monster. When Becca had first met Derek, he’d been all dimples and charm. She’d seen him twice after that and thought something was off about him. But not Amy. She’d fallen hard and fast.
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll call you. Take the money, Bec.”
“Okay, now you listen, because you aren’t thinking clearly. You’re going to need cash, a lot of it. First thing you should do is buy a phone he can’t track. They sell cheap ones, no contract. You don’t have to give your name or anything.” Becca’s mouth was so dry she had to stop and take a quick sip of lemonade. Damn, she wished she had more cash in the house. “What about a women’s shelter? You’d be safe. Even if he knew you were there, he couldn’t get to you—”
“Becca?”
“I still have some pamphlets.” She started to rise, but Amy caught her arm.
“Becca, I’ll be fine.”
“But you don’t even know where you’re going. You haven’t thought this through.”
“No, I haven’t, but only because I just found out he’ll be gone. Without dragging me along with him. That almost never happens. I can’t blow this shot.”
“You know the Mexican border is only four hours away. He might not be gone very long.”
“A deal went sideways, and he’s in deep shit over it.” A nasty smile lifted her lips. “He’s gotta make things right, whatever it takes.”
“So let’s make a plan. Right now. We can figure it out.”
Amy shook her head. “If I’m away too long, he’ll get suspicious,” she said, sniffling again and making Becca wonder if it was the next fix that had her anxious to leave. “I have money, okay? So don’t worry about that.” She inhaled deeply. “There is something you can do for me, though.”
“Name it.”
“If you don’t hear from me in a week, I’d like you to take Noah home, to Blackfoot Falls. To my family. His family. Let my mom raise him, out in the country where he’ll be safe and happy. Derek still doesn’t know anything about where we came from.”
Shock spread through every part of Becca’s body. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t seem to make her jaw work.
“I know you’re surprised,” Amy said quietly.
“Surprised? Are you forgetting why we left in the first place?”
Amy slowly shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You can have your life back, Bec. I bet you haven’t had a date in five years.”
“You think I care about that?” Becca hadn’t meant to raise her voice. Thank God Noah was still occupied. “How can you ask me to put him in that—that environment?”
Amy dropped both envelopes on the couch. “If you don’t hear from me in a week, open the second envelope.”
Becca stared at it, her insides clenching. When she looked up, her friend looked away. “Amy, you’re scaring me. Let me help you.”
“It’s just a letter, but it’ll explain a lot. Just promise me you’ll wait the week.”
“Watch this...” Noah lifted the truck, pretending it was an airplane.
Amy turned and smiled at him. A tear slipped down her cheek and she dashed it away.
“Mommy, look.”
Becca managed a smile, and her “look at you,” sounded somewhat natural despite the fear churning in her stomach. “Don’t go back, Amy,” she pleaded, lowering her voice. “You’ve already made the decision. Just stay. I have clothes for you, anything you need...”
Amy stood. “If I wait till he’s gone, I’ll have a head start. God, I hope he doesn’t remember you worked at the restaurant. Don’t underestimate Derek—he might come looking for him,” she said, staring fearfully at Noah.
“Why?”
“For leverage. Hell, for just about anything, if it means saving his own ass.”
The air fled Becca’s lungs. “I’m begging you, Amy. Let me help you.”
“Remember, wait a week.” Amy took a step and stopped, her moist eyes dark with misery. “Please don’t hate me,” she whispered, then picked up Noah and hugged him so tight he whimpered. “Bye, little man. I love you with all my heart.”
“Amy, wait.”
“I love you, too, Becca,” she said, and was out the door before Becca could take another breath.
* * *
BECCA STOOD AT her bedroom window, staring out into the gathering darkness. A gang of rough-looking neighborhood kids huddled at the corner, oblivious to the police cruiser that had circled for the third time.
Six days, and not a word from Amy. Becca was a complete wreck. She tried to remember how they’d left it, exactly, but she’d been too rattled. Shouldn’t Amy have called by now? Just to let Becca know she’d gotten away from Derek. A few seconds. That’s all it would’ve taken.
Unless she couldn’t because the bastard had caught her.
Becca shuddered at the thought.
Trying to concentrate at work took all her energy. Hard to learn anything new with the attention span of a two-year-old. Her mind kept spiraling to dark places and robbing her of hope.
Her gaze strayed to the envelope she’d stupidly left in full view on the dresser. Every time she saw it her anxiety level rose. Twice now, she’d almost given in to curiosity. But, no, she hadn’t read the letter.
She had checked the envelope with the money, though. Not a huge amount, but more than she’d expected. Which bothered her. A lot. If Amy had truly thought she could escape, she would’ve k
nown she needed every penny.
Becca briefly closed her eyes. Why had she let Amy leave? If she’d had just a little more time to convince her...
Noah stirred. Curled up on her bed, sound asleep, he wrapped one small arm around the pillow. It was seven thirty. If she didn’t wake him soon, tomorrow morning he’d be springing out of bed before the rooster crowed.
The thought surprised her. The saying had been one of her grandmother’s favorites. Even as the memory made Becca smile, it saddened her. She missed both her grandparents, but she’d been especially close to Grams. No kinder, more generous woman had ever walked the earth. Always ready to listen, never judging. Oh, how Becca would’ve loved her advice right about now.
Her cell rang, startling her. It wasn’t Amy, though.
Maureen managed the downtown restaurant where Becca used to work. The busy dinner hour was an odd time to call. “Hey, Maureen, what’s up?”
“Listen, I only have a minute and it’s probably nothing, but I thought you should know. Some creepy-looking dude was in here asking for you. Long hair, lots of tats, rides a Harley. Didn’t give his name.”
Becca’s heart nearly stopped. “How long ago?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe? We’re swamped or I would’ve called sooner.”
“No, that’s fine. I appreciate the heads-up.” Her voice sounded remarkably calm considering she could barely breathe. “What did you tell him?”
“Just that you didn’t work here anymore and I didn’t know where you were. I hope that was okay.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” She knew Maureen was curious, but the restaurant was busy and Becca easily ended the call.
She pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. Did this mean Amy had gotten away and he was looking for her? He would assume Becca knew her whereabouts. But if Amy had escaped, wouldn’t she have called? She knew Becca was worried...
In a few steps, she had the envelope in her trembling hand. She glanced at Noah, still asleep, before she tore through the flap.
The letter was short, written in Amy’s scratchy handwriting. Moving to the doorway where the light was better, Becca started to read.
To Trust a Rancher Page 2