CASSIDY HARTE AND THE COMEBACK KID

by Reanne Thayne

  She closed her eyes, once more in her parents' bedroom looking at old photographs and bronzed baby shoes and bits of lace pillowcase her grandmother had tatted as a new bride.

  This box was lined in red velvet, she saw when she opened her eyes again, the contents obviously precious to someone.

  Why? she wondered. It was jewelry all right, but instead of old cameos and pearls that might have belonged to someone's ancestors, at first glance it seemed to be nothing but cheap costume jewelry. A gaudy necklace, spangled bracelets, a pair of dangly earrings.

  She had seen these things before. She blinked, racking her mind to remember where. A long time ago. Someone she knew had owned similar pieces.

  She couldn't think who or where or when until she moved them aside and saw something else at the bottom of the pile of trinkets. A photograph, facedown, with no writing on the back.

  She pulled it out, and nervousness skittered down her spine like a closet full of spiders.

  With trembling hands she turned over the picture, then gasped.

  It was a Polaroid of a woman she knew all too well, with dark curly hair and troubled gray eyes.

  Melanie.

  She wore a tight, flashy dress along with every one of the items in the box.

  And judging by the pool of blood puddling under her head and the empty look in those gray eyes, she was very, very dead.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  She stared at the box in her hands, vaguely aware of the drumming of her pulse, her rapid, shallow breathing.

  Her mind raced, trying to figure out what it meant. Why would this be here, tucked away in the kitchen of the Rendezvous Ranch? Had Wade somehow been involved in Melanie's death? Was this box some kind of grisly souvenir?

  Her vision dimmed at the thought, and she had to step down from the stool before she toppled to the ground.

  What other explanation could there be?

  Zack had tried to warn her about Wade, but she hadn't listened. Now she saw his claims in an entirely different light. Had Wade really been involved in the drug ring Zack said he'd stumbled on the night he left? Had he been one of the men who had brutally kicked and beaten Zack before ordering him out of town?

  She had struggled to believe Zack's claims. The idea of a mild-mannered, kind man like Wade—a pillar of the community, active in church and civic responsibilities—wrapped up in something so ugly seemed ludicrous.

  It didn't seem so outrageous now.

  She stared at the picture in her hand, at that beautiful face with the wide, empty eyes, and her stomach churned.

  Had Melanie been linked to the drug activity Zack claimed to have seen? She wouldn't have been surprised to know her sister-in-law had been abusing drugs. It fit the pattern of an unhappy, self-destructive woman.

  Melanie hadn't died of an overdose, though, but of a bullet to the brain. Had Wade put it there?

  She began to shiver. Why, in heaven's name, would he have left this here tucked away in a back cupboard of his kitchen? He must have known she would eventually find it.

  Maybe that's exactly what he wanted.

  A chill gusted over her, colder than any January wind. Why? Why would he possibly want her to see this?

  No. This must be some kind of hideous mistake. The logical, rational corner of her mind still couldn't imagine Wade could be capable of this. A box full of costume jewelry wasn't proof of anything.

  The picture, though. That was a fairly damning piece of the puzzle.

  Jesse. She should call Jesse. He would know what to do. Hands shaking, her breathing ragged, she rushed to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall and dialed her brother's cellular number.

  She was just punching in the last number when the door opened. She froze, her finger poised above the five, and the box in her other hand just as Wade walked back into the kitchen.

  In one quick movement, she shoved the box behind her back and hung up the phone.

  "Did you forget something?" she asked, hoping he couldn't hear the panic she tried to hide behind a thin, crackly sheen of false cheerfulness.

  He narrowed his gaze at her, looking from the phone and then back to her. "Is everything okay? You're looking a little pale."

  "Fine. Everything's just fine." Breathe, she ordered herself as her knees started to wobble.

  "Are you sure? Maybe you need to sit down."

  "No. I promise, I'm fine."

  If anyone in her right mind could consider ready to jump out of her skin any minute now at all close to fine.

  "Am I interrupting something?"

  "No. I was...was just trying to figure out what to fix for dessert."

  "That's why I came back. I had a couple of suggestions for something to serve after your, uh, delicious soup."

  If she hadn't been so terrified, she would have been offended by that not-so-subtle dig.

  "I was thinking a cheesecake might be nice. Or some kind of torte. I believe we have fresh raspberries."

  She made a noncommittal sound, willing him to leave the kitchen. When she didn't answer beyond that, his gaze narrowed. "Are you sure you're all right, Cassidy? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

  Maybe because she had. "No. I...I'm fine. Just a little tired."

  "What do you have there?"

  "Where?"

  "Behind your back. What are you hiding?" She shuddered out a quick breath, her mind scrambling. "It's, um, a surprise. For dessert."

  He fingered his hat. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not really all that fond of surprises. Why don't you just tell me what you're planning?"

  "Crêpes Suzette," she blurted out. "It's one of my specialties."

  "Oh." He smiled. "That sounds very elegant. Very French. I don't believe we've ever served that at the Rendezvous. Okay. Good. I'll see you at dinner, then."

  To her vast relief he started to walk back out of the kitchen. She forced her breathing into a slow, measured cadence. But just before he reached the door, he stopped, his head turned toward the liquor cabinet.

  To her horror she suddenly realized the door to the cupboard was still wide open, the stepstool in front of it. There was nothing she could do to hide either at this point.

  If he was indeed the one who'd stashed the gruesome little box there, he would know she had discovered it.

  He turned back to her, his mouth suddenly grim, then walked closer. "What are you hiding?" he repeated.

  "Nothing. Just...nothing." She was too frightened to come up with anything more coherent than that.

  "Oh, dear. This is a problem. You found it, didn't you?"

  "Found what? I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You were never a very good liar, Cassidy. You shouldn't have gone snooping around. It wasn't very polite."

  She tried one more time to bluff her way through. "I'm not lying. I was...was just looking for some brandy for the dessert. For crêpes Suzette you pour brandy over the crêpes and set them ablaze. It's really quite dramatic."

  His sigh was resigned. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave, now that you know."

  "I don't know anything. I swear."

  "You're a smart woman, Cassidy. That's one of the things I've always admired about you. That and your lush beauty. You're like a rare rose blooming in a weed patch." He reached a hand out and traced one finger down her cheek, and it took every ounce of strength to keep from flinching. "We could have made a wonderful team together."

  Even though her stomach heaved and she was very much afraid she was going to be sick all over him, she mustered a smile. "We still can."

  "It's too late for that. Far too late. You shouldn't have gone snooping."

  He was crazy. He had to be. He left the box there in plain sight, where anyone could have stumbled on it, then he accused her of going searching for it. Real fear began uncoiling inside her. He wouldn't let her leave. Not after this.

  "You're very much like her."

  "Like who?" She barely paid att
ention to him as her mind chased in circles trying to come up with an escape route. There were two doors in the kitchen, one to the back porch of the lodge, the other to the dining room. She mentally scanned her options and decided her chances were better outside.

  He would be on her in a second, though, unless she came up with something to delay him.

  "Like Melanie," Wade went on, his voice conversational, as if he were talking about something benign, mundane.

  "I loved her. I never wanted to hurt her." His sigh sounded wistful, melancholy. "We were going to leave Star Valley. Make a new start, just the two of us. I was working on getting the money."

  "By dealing drugs with Carl Briggs?"

  She hadn't meant to say that, it just slipped out. Wade's dark eyes widened with surprise for just a moment, then his expression hardened. "How did you know about that?"

  She didn't answer, just tried to focus on escaping.

  "That bastard Slater told you, didn't he? He doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut. I knew we should have finished him off that night."

  She swallowed hard as his words confirmed everything Zack had said and more.

  "Carl and me and a few of the other boys had a good thing going," Wade went on, apparently not expecting any involvement in the conversation from her. "We were the middlemen. It was a perfect setup. Who would have suspected a podunk small-town Wyoming police department was a distribution hub for the inter-mountain West? We could have gotten away with it forever. Then that night everything went wrong."

  He glared at her as if it had all been her fault.

  "First that no-account drifter of yours turned up where he had no business, then I came home to find Melanie at my place in town, drunk and acting crazy. She wanted to leave that night. I told her I needed a few more weeks to come up with enough money. She said she couldn't wait, that she had to get out of town and didn't have any more patience for what she called my stupid little schemes. She shouldn't have said that."

  His expression darkened until she hardly recognized him as the same kind, decent man she had always believed him to be.

  She cleared her throat, compelled despite her own instincts of self-preservation to hear of Melanie's fate. "What happened?"

  "I had to prove to her I was onto something big, to convince her to wait just a few more weeks, so I showed her the blow still in the truck. We were delivering it the next morning to our contacts.

  "If she had only stayed quiet, everything would have been fine. But she started going on about how she wanted in. If I refused, she said she would go public with the whole thing and expose us all."

  A vague plan began to form in her mind, and Cassie began edging toward the stove, hoping he wouldn't notice.

  To her relief, he seemed to be too wrapped up in the past. "I tried to shut her up, but she kept going on and on about how she deserved my share since she took pity on me and slept with me."

  He closed his eyes as if to block out the memories, and Cassie took advantage of his distraction to step closer to the stove.

  "I didn't know what else to do. She wouldn't shut up. She even picked up the phone and said she was calling the sheriff right then. I knew if she told anybody, Carl would kill me for showing her the merchandise. I pulled out my gun, just to scare her. She laughed at me and kept dialing."

  "So you shot her."

  He opened his eyes as if he were surprised to see her still there.

  "I shot her. I didn't want to. I cried the whole time I dug that grave out at the Atkins place. I loved her. I never wanted to hurt her." His lips narrowed. "I don't want to hurt you, either, Cassidy. You shouldn't have gone snooping around."

  "You shouldn't have left this in the back of the liquor cabinet, then, where anybody could have stumbled on it."

  She held out the photograph, and for a moment he froze, then he reached out and snatched it from her, examining the grisly scene as if it was a Monet watercolor.

  "Wasn't she beautiful?" he murmured. "Like an angel."

  She chose that moment to move, while he was distracted by the picture. In one motion, she picked up the heavy stockpot of soup—the soup he had been so disdainful of—and hurled it into his face.

  As the boiling liquid hit him, Wade screamed a terrible, high-pitched scream and went down on his knees, his hands over his face. She knew this was likely her only chance for survival so she didn't wait around.

  In seconds she had rushed out the back door. Although she knew it was costing her precious time, she quickly hefted one of the sturdy Adirondack lawn chairs on the back porch and wedged it under the door-knob as a further delaying tactic, then took off running.

  The sky had darkened even more, and after just a few yards she was soaked and shivering in her jeans and sweatshirt.

  A short distance from the house she caught a lucky break. Wade had left his horse tied up to a hitching post near the driveway, obviously intending to ride out again after he finished nagging her about dessert.

  The horse was skittish as this strange, dripping-wet woman ran up to him out of nowhere. He whinnied and danced around on his lead, but Cassie hadn't spent her whole life around horses for nothing. She grabbed the reins firmly and wasted a few more valuable seconds trying to calm the animal with soft words.

  When the fractious horse was finally under control, she quickly mounted. Although the stirrups were set for Wade's much longer legs, she dug the heels of her sneakers into his side. The horse apparently got the message and the two of them hurtled off through the rain.

  She wasn't conscious of any kind of plan beyond escaping whatever grim fate Wade had in store for her. But as the horse galloped away from the Rendezvous, she realized exactly where she was heading.

  To the Lost Creek.

  To safety.

  To Zack.

  * * *

  It was over.

  Despite the steady drizzle, Zack nudged his mount a little higher up the trail above the Lost Creek, loath to leave the mountain just yet. He wanted one last look at this place he had come to love so much—at the bright, shining future he had cupped in his hands for only a few precious moments before it had trickled through his fingers.

  He was leaving in the morning at first light, Jesse Harte's edicts about not leaving town be damned. His lawyers could wrangle over the particulars. Until the county prosecutor determined there was enough evidence to charge him, they had no legal basis to keep him here.

  And he couldn't stay any longer.

  It was too painful being so close to Cassie, to know she was just through the trees at her new job working for that son of a bitch Lowry. Just a few miles away but forever out of his reach.

  For a few magical weeks she had been his again. The world had gleamed with promise. Possibilities. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of her: laughing at something he said, her smile wide and her eyes bright; bustling about the heat of the ranch kitchen with flushed cheeks and that look of concentration on her features; her body taut beneath him, around him, as he made love to her.

  He should have known this time with her wouldn't last. It had been a chimera, a fleeting glimpse at something he could never hope to own.

  The identification of Melanie Harte's remains—and the subsequent wide net of suspicion cast on him—had effectively shattered that future.

  The irony of the past didn't escape him. He had left her a decade ago in an effort to protect her from a no-good son of a bitch like him. He was doing the same now.

  Once more he faced charges for a crime he didn't commit—this time for a heinous crime against a member of her own family—and the injustice of it made him want to climb to the highest spot he could find and shake his fists at the sky.

  So close. He'd been so close to grabbing the prize, the only thing he had ever wanted. A home, a place to belong, with the woman who had owned his heart since she was just eighteen.

  And now he had nothing. Less than nothing. A few memories that cut his heart like a fresh blade.

 
He drew in a ragged breath and dismounted at a spot where the trees thinned. Below him the Star Valley spread out, little clusters of population surrounded by acres and acres of farms and ranches.

  The dark clouds overhead saturated the valley with color. The countryside looked fresh and clean and verdant.

  A place where he would always be an outsider.

  He couldn't stay anymore. If Jesse Harte wanted him here to face charges, he could damn well charge him with something or cut him free. This had been just a brief, wonderful interlude that ended in disaster, and now he needed to get back to his real life.

  His solitary, empty, colorless life.

  He sighed, fighting the primitive urge to keep on riding until he reached the Rendezvous, then toss Cassie over his saddle and ride off into the mountains with her.

  No. He couldn't. He had to head back to the Lost Creek, to spend one more night at the guest ranch he now owned and didn't know what to do with.

  He didn't feel right about turning around and selling it to someone else. Not when he had promised Jean Martineau he would care for her ranch with the same care she had always given it.

  He would just have to hire someone to run it. Would Cassie consider the job? he wondered, then discarded the idea just as quickly. She would excel at managing the place, he had no doubt about that whatsoever. But he could never ask her to work for him on a permanent basis, even if he thought for a minute she might even consider it.

  What a mess. He'd been so damn sure his plans to woo her again would eventually succeed that he hadn't planned for failure at all.

  With another deep sigh of regret, he shoved his boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He spared one last look at the pristine valley below before nudging the horse back down the trail.

  He had only ridden a hundred yards when he heard something crash through the undergrowth on the trail ahead of him, hidden from view by the thick brush. Moose and elk often frequented the thickly wooded area. They were about the only thing big enough to make that kind of noise, he thought, then he heard a high whinny and the unmistakable sound of a horse at full gallop.