by Deb Kastner
Dixie raised her head. Hogan was looking at her.
“What happened?” Erik asked in his usual clipped tone.
“Looks like a truck ran this through,” Bushman offered.
Erik scowled. “Needleson.”
Dixie shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
Erik nudged his horse with his heels and began moving away without comment.
Annoyed, Dixie scrambled up as fast as her aching limbs would allow and reached for Victory. “Can you boys finish up here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
She nodded and mounted, turning Victory in the direction Erik had gone.
“You don’t know it was Needleson,” she called after him.
He turned his horse so abruptly she nearly ran Victory right up his nose.
“Needleson sold you a bum horse and you know it,” he snapped.
“Victory is not a bum horse,” she protested automatically, grinding her teeth against a further outburst. But despite her denial, doubt crept into her mind. Could John Needleson have sold her Victory as some sort of nasty prank? And who had run through the gate?
Needleson was the obvious culprit.
Her gazed locked with Erik’s. He pinched his lips together, then shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You most certainly will not.” Dixie maneuvered Victory until she was practically nose to nose with Erik. She could feel his warm breath on her face. Aqua eyes met and melded with the color of steel, and her heart felt just as cold.
“It could be John,” she conceded reluctantly. “But until we have proof, I don’t want to make trouble.”
“Seems to me Needleson’s the one making trouble.” Erik leaned toward her, closing the distance between them.
“But I won’t bother him,” he said huskily. “For now. Still, if I find out he’s trying to hurt you—”
He let the end of his sentence dangle in the air as he nudged his horse into a canter. In moments, he was out of Dixie’s sight. But not out of mind, she thought, still trying to catch her breath.
Definitely not out of mind.
Erik couldn’t ride fast enough or far enough. He hadn’t known what to say when Dixie ordered him not to see John Needleson. He wasn’t a take-orders kind of guy, especially where potential trouble was concerned.
And John Needleson was potential trouble. Erik recognized it just as surely as he’d recognized it in Ellis. And, as usual, he’d been stymied by Dixie’s enduring faith in God and humankind. Her strength of character amazed him, her goodness and kindness daunted him.
Would he ever find the words to tell her how he felt?
Chapter Fourteen
A whole week later, Dixie was still mulling over her last encounter with Erik. She’d seen him two dozen times since, but he’d reverted to the silent, brooding cowboy she was used to.
The stable hands were beginning to trust her, if only a little. Now, if only she could convince Erik to follow their example. He was as aloof and silent as ever, and his actions—or lack of them, to be more precise—were driving her to the border of insanity.
She needed to talk about what was happening between them, if indeed anything was. She scolded herself for spending her valuable time and emotional resources thinking about the infuriating man.
She should be thinking about the people, her guests, who would soon descend on the retreat in droves. At least, she hoped they would. She’d booked a few church retreats beyond her own church’s grand opening celebration, but the future was uncertain at best.
She needed to concentrate, but thoughts of Erik kept intruding, like a bothersome fly that buzzed around her head. No matter how many times she swatted him away, he just kept coming back for more.
She blew out a breath and surveyed her list. She had yet to receive the shipment of beds and basins for the individual cabins, though the main lodge was now furnished with everything from dining tables to appropriately rustic-looking curtains for the windows, and the staff cabins were likewise ornamented.
She still needed a truckload of linens, not to mention the food needed to feed fifty people, not including her staff, for two weeks.
She’d been putting off going to town, unwilling to miss out on her daily riding lesson. But it had to be done sometime, and today was as good a day as any, she decided spontaneously.
Checking to make sure she had the appropriate lists with her, she climbed into the cab of her truck and started the engine. It wasn’t until she attempted to pull out that she realized something was wrong.
The truck wasn’t moving properly, with the horsepower the all-terrain vehicle usually exhibited. In fact, it was barely moving at all.
Baffled, Dixie cut the engine and exited the cab, wondering if anyone on the premises knew anything about fixing cars. She was the last person on earth who could tell what was wrong with her truck, or at least she thought so, until she surveyed the outside of her truck.
She might not be able to tell a muffler from a radiator, but it didn’t take a trained auto mechanic to see that her tires had been slashed.
All four of them.
That it was no accident was equally as evident, for the bowie knife used to perform the deed had been left in a conspicuous spot on the hood of the truck, holding down a folded piece of notebook paper like a paperweight.
If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with other matters, she would have noticed it earlier.
Anger flared. Who would do this to her?
The stable boys, for a laugh.
Ellis, to get back at her for firing him.
Erik, just so he could come to her rescue again.
John Needleson.
That thought just added fuel to the fire. A grown man wouldn’t play a nasty, immature trick like this, would he?
She snatched the gleaming, unsheathed bowie knife from the hood and opened the paper beneath.
“Go home. You don’t belong here.”
It wasn’t signed.
“O-o-o-o-h!” she yelled, venting her anger aloud as she stomped back and forth, surveying the truck’s damage. She screamed so loud, even James the cook popped his head out the kitchen window to see what the ruckus was about.
It didn’t take long for Erik to appear at her side. He always seemed to be around to see her fall apart during a crisis, she thought resentfully.
Why should today be any different?
Not that he could help in this situation, unless he knew how to magically patch tires.
Horses, he knew. Cars, she doubted. He didn’t look like the greasy, under-the-hood type.
She mentally calculated how much it would cost to get her truck towed on a flatbed into Custer, and cringed at the dollar amount.
A second job was beginning to look like a necessity. She’d considered the option since she’d arrived in South Dakota, but it still disturbed her to have her hand forced. It wasn’t going to be easy.
She’d have to commute into the small town to waitress or something. Every moment working in town would be a moment away from directing her retreat. And she wouldn’t have any more free time to ride Victory.
The thought didn’t do anything to elevate her mood, which was quickly deflating to the level of her truck tires.
In typical Erik fashion, he didn’t say a word, but crouched down by the truck, examining the tires. Anger sparkled in his eyes, simmering just below the surface, carefully controlled with the strength of his will.
For some reason, that annoyed her. What did he have to be angry about? It was her truck tires that were slashed. He could go right back to the stable and forget all about it.
But he wouldn’t. He’d step in and try to take over, like he always did.
And for another, why was he always so in control?
Once, just once, she’d like to see him overcome with anger—or any emotion, for that matter. She’d like to see him lose his cool. Really blow it, as she did on a regular basis.
“This was no accident,
” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
“No kidding,” she snapped back. “Here’s the knife that did the dirty deed.” She dropped it at his feet.
“You touched it.”
“Well, of course I touched it. There was a letter—” She stopped midsentence, realizing her error. Disturbing evidence at the scene of the crime.
Erik grunted in disgust. With her, most likely. “Where’s the letter?”
“Should I call the police?” she asked, answering a question with a question. When Erik didn’t answer, she sighed and handed him the letter.
“No.” It was almost a growl.
“No, what?”
He glanced up, his blue eyes so dark they were almost black under the rim of his Stetson. “You probably shouldn’t call the police.”
He was right. She had nothing to go on, and what little evidence she did have, she’d already tampered with, not that she thought a set of fingerprints would amount to much in a town as small as Custer.
The note was definitely a plus, but it wasn’t signed, and she suspected handwriting analysts were few and far between this far out.
“Well, in any case, I do have to call a tow truck. And then I’ve got to deal with whatever spiteful vandal slashed my tires.”
She shivered. “Do you think it’s one of my staff? One of the stable boys, maybe? Or was it Ellis?”
He frowned. “I’ll drive you to town. We can pick tires up there and I’ll put them on myself. You can get them aligned later.”
Pulling his hat off by the crown, he swiped his forearm against his temple. “Ellis wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull a stunt like this.”
Angry heat flared to her cheeks. Ellis was stupid enough to do a lot of other spiteful things, most of them right to her face.
Why not slash her tires?
“You don’t think so?” she retorted, her voice higher, louder and squeakier than she would have liked.
His stone-cold gaze settled on her. “No. I don’t. But I’ll check it out while we’re in town. If he did slash your tires, he’s in for it.”
Dixie shuddered. She didn’t like violence, and she felt the rage barely contained within Erik. Suddenly the idea of him blowing his top wasn’t as agreeable as it once had sounded.
And she still didn’t know why it mattered to him.
What difference did it make whether or not Ellis slashed her tires? It wasn’t all that long ago Erik himself wasn’t so keen on her being here, though she liked to think she’d changed his opinion on that subject over time.
If someone was trying to run her off the land, he should be rejoicing, not commiserating.
John Needleson.
Her eyes met Erik’s and his gaze confirmed her fear. He was thinking the same thing. And this time she wasn’t sure he’d keep his promise to keep his hands off.
He strode to his truck and opened the passenger door, gesturing for her to hurry. He didn’t have to speak for her to feel the tension in the air, tension between them, and tension aimed at the unknown vandal.
The drive to town in Erik’s truck was made in silence. Dixie was busy with her own thoughts, and Erik—well, he was being Erik. He didn’t speak until they pulled up in front of the auto shop in Custer.
“If you can’t get what you need here, we’ll drive up to Rapid City,” he said, leaning his forearms against the steering wheel. “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. We’ll know better, then.”
Her eyes widened. He was leaving her here? What did she know about tires? Besides, she knew he was going to ask after Ellis.
And that was none of his business.
She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. Hadn’t she just been complaining that no one ever took her seriously, that Erik didn’t believe she could do anything by herself?
And here she was about to whine about her lack of knowledge where truck tires were concerned.
Go figure.
Scowling, she got out of the truck and slammed the door. Hard.
She’d figure this out on her own if she had to go to the public library and read a book about buying truck tires.
She could swear Erik was chuckling as he turned out of the parking lot. A loud protest welled in her, but she held back, knowing the object of her wrath was on his way to investigate Ellis and wouldn’t hear her even if she screamed down the road. Which she was mighty tempted to do, whether he could hear it or not.
She took several deep breaths and consciously unclenched her fists.
Let him laugh. She’d show him just what Dixie Sullivan could do if she put her mind to it.
She didn’t need a man in her life to order her around and protect her when she didn’t need protection.
Even Erik Wheeler.
Erik was loathe to leave her alone, even within the safety of town limits. Someone was being nasty. Very nasty. If he were a gambling man, he’d put his money on John Needleson.
But he’d promised Dixie to follow up with Ellis, and he intended to keep his word. If it didn’t take him long, he might be able to ask a few pertinent questions around town. Starting with Mary in the post office. If there was any new gossip running around, Mary would know it.
He clamped his jaw until his teeth hurt, and reluctantly turned his truck down the lane toward Ellis’s grandmother’s house. His gut told him he was wasting his time. And time was working against him. He wouldn’t let anyone harm Dixie, if that was the vandal’s intent.
That’s what Erik was determined to find out.
Chapter Fifteen
Dixie leaned against the metal frame of the garage door, watching a kid about the same age as her stable hands straining against a lug wrench. He was only on the second tire of the lady’s car that was in front of Dixie, and it had been nearly an hour. Time certainly didn’t mean the same thing in Custer as it did in Denver.
A ten-minute lube had obviously never been heard of in these parts. She thought it might be more efficient to take off all four tires and then replace them with the new ones, but she hesitated to suggest it. The kid was the expert, she supposed.
“Problems?” a dry, scratchy voice asked from beside her.
She turned to see John Needleson staring at her. He was smiling, but it was more of a gloating smile than a friendly smile. Suspicion flashed through her mind, and her shoulders tensed.
“Nothing that I can’t handle.”
“That so?”
She stared at him, and he stared back angrily. Suspicion turned to knowledge. He was out-and-out baiting her, perhaps attempting to rail her into accusing him of slashing her tires.
And she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to tell him she knew everything. Demand the truth from him. What did he have against her?
But a still, small voice tapped her on the shoulder, and she froze, taking deep breaths to relieve the tension in her muscles. Anger wouldn’t win any wars.
Only love could do that.
She didn’t deserve God’s grace. Could she do less for John? Do unto others…
There was pain behind John’s angry gaze. There was a reason animosity shone from his eyes. She didn’t know the whole story. It was enough to know his need was there. Dixie wanted to point him to the One who could help him deal with his wife’s death.
“I’m glad to see you, John,” she said softly, genuinely. “I want to get to know my neighbors better.”
His breath caught in what sounded like a snort. “Don’t need no neighbors intruding.”
She was taken aback, as if slapped. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Well, you are.”
She wanted to point out that he’d been the one to approach her, but the point seemed moot. He didn’t appear to be talking about here and now.
“Are you here in town for supplies?” she asked, trying a different tack.
He grunted in response.
Funny, that he should be at the garage at the exact time she’d come to get her slashed tires repaired. The hair stood up on the back of
Dixie’s neck.
“I love riding Victory.” She didn’t know whether she was searching for a compatible subject, or baiting him.
His bushy gray eyebrows rose high on his forehead. There was no missing his astonishment.
“I didn’t know he was only green broke when I bought him.”
His eyes narrowed. “You say you’re riding him?”
She attempted a grimacing smile. “Absolutely.”
He frowned. “Too bad.”
He whirled on his heels and stomped away, muttering under his breath.
He’d sold her the colt on purpose.
Was he trying to harm her? What did he have to gain?
She strained to remember their short, one-sided conversation. What had he said about intruding neighbors? Is that how he felt about her?
Even grouchy neighbors didn’t slash tires. John Needleson was definitely an enigma. One she meant to solve, with God’s help.
And Erik’s blissful ignorance of the entire situation. This was definitely, Dixie thought, one situation where what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“It wasn’t Ellis,” Erik explained as they drove back to the retreat, four new truck tires tossed into the bed of his pickup.
His anger still simmered just below the surface, so he carefully tread on the words he spoke.
“How do you know?” snapped Dixie, pressing her fingers against her temples. “I’m getting a headache.”
“Thinking too hard?” he teased, then, with effort pinched his lips into a straight line when she glared at him.
Even when he was furious, she made him want to grin like the cat who swallowed the canary.
“Who else could it be?”
Her query echoed his own, the question which had plagued him all afternoon, ever since he’d spoken to Ellis’s grandmother.
“According to his grandmother, Ellis flew off to Wyoming three days ago,” he explained, his voice gruff.
“She could be lying,” Dixie suggested.
Erik barked out a laugh. “Whatever kind of boy Ellis turned out to be, it’s not his grandmother’s fault. She’s a saint. Trust me. She’s not lying.”