Twin Turmoil

by Vanessa Brooks

  I made my selection of clothing and headed for the changing room. Jules had gone off to locate locks for our bedrooms. As I came out of the changing area carrying my choices, I passed a young woman who spun around catching hold of my arm, a delighted grin on her face.

  "Claire, well, hi there! I thought it was you. Howdy, I haven't seen you in ages! You still dating Matt? Joe and I split up. Are you guy's gonna be holding' your Pa's birthday party this year?"

  "Hi," I whispered back, terrified.

  "Oh my God, Claire, I forgot you were in some kinda accident weren't you—you okay now, hon'—what actually happened?"

  "I'd rather not talk right now, sorry, my throat y' know?" I whispered back, trying to copy her drawl.

  She looked stricken. "Hey, I'm real sorry, Claire, does it hurt you bad? Stupid, Leanne, of course it does! Look, you just take care of yourself all right? I'll ring you in a couple of days. I wanna talk to you about 'the dish.' Now then, don't you look dumb, you know who I mean. I thought, well, I'm fancy-free; I might as well have a crack at him. After all, I go out and help out with the 'teens' don't I?" She winked lasciviously. "Know what I mean?"

  I nodded knowingly and grimaced touching my throat. "Talk soon, Leanne, bye for now," I whispered with my drawl and then I spun around and walked rapidly towards the till. What on earth did she mean by the 'teens'? I had to get out of there quickly before I met anyone else who knew Claire.

  Jules was coming across the floor and waved. I whispered frantically, telling her what had happened.

  "Hey, you handled the situation well. I can't see what the fuss is about, just calm down!" She patted my arm reassuringly and after paying for our purchases, we made our way back to the car. Jules had both locks and bolts in her bag. She promised to fit them as soon as we got back and I volunteered to help. Travelling homewards, I tried to find out more about Jules. She gave little away as to her background and was evasive when I questioned her about her past life and family connections. I assumed this was due to the sensitive nature of her job but it made bonding with her frustrating. Although I liked her, our roles due to the situation, made any friendship between us strained.

  Sarah was back when we arrived at The Plomosa, busily unpacking groceries. "Och, there ye are then, Claire love, what'll you want for yer lunch the day?"

  I shrugged. "Just a sandwich please, Sarah," I whispered.

  "All righty and the same for you then, Miss?" she asked Jules who nodded her reply.

  "Sarah," I asked in my perpetual whisper, "did you open the curtains in my room last night?"

  "Open yer curtains? No lass… why would I do such a thing… why d'you ask?" She turned her beady eye on me.

  "Well, somebody did last night," I said.

  "Och, lass, why did ye not lock yer door?"

  "There is no key in either Miss Keedon's door or my own. I think Claire mentioned that to Kate this morning," Jules answered.

  "Well, 'tis most strange, most strange indeed because the keys were there the day before yesterday when I cleaned upstairs. I am certain sure they were." Sarah wagged her head to emphasise the point.

  "We must tell Mr. Carl when he gets back; he will be worried."

  "I have bought locks and keys and intend fitting them today, Sarah, so please don't fret," Jules reassured her.

  "There are plenty of strong men around here who could have done that for you, lass, you didn't need to go gallivanting off to buy locks and keys! I wish we knew what was happening around here I really do, such carryings on... soon we won't be safe in our beds and that's a fact...." Jules and I crept out of the kitchen and left Sarah to her gloomy mutterings.

  Chapter Five - Ambivalent

  While Jules hunted for tools she would need to fit the locks, I decided to take a look at the tourist bunkhouses on the dude section of the ranch. My father had drawn me a map of the ranch layout and I tucked that into the pocket of my new, comfortable jeans and set off, creeping out of the front door so as not to be caught by Sarah and put under house arrest. I needed to walk. I had my walkie-talkie and Jules knew where I was headed. She warned me to be vigilant and I agreed to all her stipulations with regards to time and distance and at last, I was free. There was no doubt life was going to be claustrophobic living under threat as I was.

  I walked past the stables and on down a wide track between empty corrals. Though it was a sunny day, it was extremely chilly. The area was beautiful, populated with cedar trees and a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. I felt the tension of the night's drama draining away as I began to enjoy myself. The air was fresh and crisp, sharp with the tang of pine.

  I walked for about half a mile or so before I came to a fork in the track. I needed to consult my map. I wanted the left fork in the road and turned in that direction. The bunkhouses and the cookhouse soon came into view. They were long and low, of wooden construction, surrounded by paved and tarmac parking areas. I walked to the nearest building and tried the door. To my disappointment, it was locked. I walked around the side of the building and, shading my eyes, peered inside the window.

  "What are you doing?"

  I leapt in surprise and turned at the sound of the husky toned voice. It was the same man that Jules and I had passed on the road earlier. Up close, I could see just how attractive he was. Tall and self-assured with short chestnut coloured hair and clear bright cinnamon eyes. He was frowning questioningly. "Shit, you made me jump!" I told him.

  "Miss Claire?" He sounded slightly unsure.

  Blast, I had forgotten to whisper. I tried again. "Yeah, sorry my voice is a bit… strange since my accident," I said, quietly.

  The man looked me over for a long moment before saying, "You'd best be careful 'cause if you go around using bad language like that, you could end up with a sore butt as well as a sore throat."

  "I beg your pardon?" I sputtered. Surely I had heard him wrong? He gave a gruff chuckle.

  "English then is it? Well, Claire, being sassy won't help your case none. You know the rules by now, so jus' watch that mouth, little girl."

  I flushed, my skin itching with embarrassment but I nodded meekly. No one had ever spoken to me like that before and I had no absolutely no idea how I should respond to him.

  The cowboy pushed his hat up with one finger and cocked his head. "Yes, sir?" he suggested.

  I went a deeper, ugly shade of red and stared at him dumbly before whispering, "Um 'kay." He tilted his head straight and stood tall—good grief the man must be at least six five! He fastened me with an unblinking stare and I muttered, "Yes, sir," obediently, lowering my eyes away from his intense gaze. I hated myself for being so intimidated by him.

  "So how are you feeling after your spin… was real surprised to hear that Sasha threw you. Just what happened out there?"

  I remembered Jules's advice to tell everyone I met that I had no recall of the attack. "Um, I'm not feeling so bad now but my throat and neck are still sore. Sasha may have dragged me while I was unconscious? I don't remember anything about that morning at all, but how are you today, Mr. O'Donnell?" I hazarded a guess at the man's identity. Once again, I felt myself flush. I felt sure he suspected that I was an imposter. Perhaps this man was Claire's murderer and he was trying to catch me out.

  "So formal? Thank you kindly, Miss Keedon, I'm jus' fine. Now then, did you want something… were you looking for me?" He gazed steadfastly at me and I squirmed. What was wrong with me? Blast his cool arrogance; just who the hell did he think he was anyway!

  "Just checking up on the staff," I quipped cheekily. He raised a lazy eyebrow. What was I doing poking the bear in his den! It wouldn't do to provoke the man but he simply nodded with good humour.

  "Okay, missy, d' you want the keys to look the bunkhouses over?"

  "Yes," I said with a hiss, somewhat irritated by him now. What was it about this man that made me feel so uncomfortable? O'Donnell took a bunch of keys from his jeans pocket and handed them over to me. I took them and turned to the door fumbling with each key in
the lock. He watched me for a while before reaching out a large capable hand, and plucking the keys deftly from me, he sorted out a thin silver key from the rest of the bunch. He proceeded to open the door and stepped back allowing me to enter, handing the bunch of jingling metal back to me without comment.

  "Thanks," I mumbled, somewhat ungraciously but he had already turned and strolled away unhurriedly. I went inside and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me with the key. What an infuriating and unsettling man he was and he threatened to spank me, an adult woman!? Could he be Claire's killer? Was that why he made me feel so uneasy?

  I leant back against the closed door, shut my eyes and breathed deeply to steady my nerves. I was out here all alone with someone who might be a killer, but then again, he may not be. Surely if he wanted to kill me, he would have come inside and finished me off there and then? I began to feel calmer. He had walked away and left me to look around on my own—certainly not the act of a desperate killer. My breathing steadied gradually as I went over Liam's words to me.

  Like so many others, I had seen the movie McLintock, with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. I had gone with a boyfriend to see the film a couple of years back. I had been surprised by how turned on I'd become at the two spankings shown in the film. It opened up a deep yearning within me; I felt foolish and embarrassed about these feelings. After all, here we were in a new era of the emancipation of women; I mean, women were burning their bras for goodness sake! I thought that I had successfully tamped down my baser feelings and was doing rather well as a liberated woman of the sixties. However, my emotions were running amok since Liam had made that threat. It proved that I was still turned on by the whole dominant male role thing. I had dated a couple English men, young and a bit nerdy. I had pushed them and pushed them, behaving badly, y'know turning up late for dates, starting stupid arguments. However, instead of the spanking that I was pushing for, they simply dumped me and moved on to sweeter natured girls. It had been a long time since I had dated anyone, after all, where are you going to find a cowboy in England? Let alone a boy who is self-assured enough to spank his date? Well, you're just not going to are you, not in England in the sixties. I sighed, swallowed and licked my dry lips. I opened my eyes and began to look about me with interest.

  The area left of the entrance was an open plan. An old-fashioned black pot-bellied stove stood at one side. On closer inspection, I saw it was a modern reproduction. A solid cedar wood circular table and chairs stood close by. The wall opposite the doorway was studded with coat hooks, below which ran a long wooden bench. It looked a typical bunkhouse, reminiscent of times gone by. There was an object that resembled a frying pan hanging on one of the coat hooks but, when I took a closer look, it was made of leather, some kind of table tennis bat maybe? I hung the thing back up and went back to exploring the bunkhouse. It was finished to a very high standard and the whole building was fairly new and solid. A corridor ran to the right of the entrance with spacious rooms off on either side. I walked over to the first door, a heavy wood affair with a solid black latch. It was a double bedroom en-suite, charmingly rustic but still luxurious. The only picture in the large room was an enormous framed photograph of a bucking bronco caught against a spectacular sunrise that hung above the bed. I studied the picture with an amateur eye and was struck by the phenomenal power of the subject. It was truly a thing of beauty. I wondered who the photographer was. I found that every bedroom had one large, original framed photograph, hung above the bed. Each framed photo was completely unique. Whoever had taken these shots knew what they were doing. My favourite was of a young cowgirl silhouetted against a cornflower-blue sky. Her head was thrown back; her glossy, sable hair flowed down over her shoulders, spilling to her waist. Her hat hung below her shoulders, one arm was raised high and she was pouring a canteen of water over her face; blue eyes half closed in private bliss, as rivulets of water cascaded over her face. Each droplet of water shone like a jewel, each one suspended in time, reflecting a mini rainbow of colour. It was eerie to stand and stare at my own mirror image, enlarged, framed, and hanging on a wall. It was Claire, of course. I stood and contemplated the stunning photograph for a long, long while. I was captivated by the beauty of the shot and fascinated by our mutual likeness. I wondered who had taken these amazing photographs. Finally I left, quietly closing and locking the door behind me. A deep melancholy enveloped me and I wanted to get back to the house as quickly as I could. The diary awaited me and I felt ready to unlock any secrets that it might hold. After locking up the bunkhouse, I scanned the area for Liam O'Donnell. I wanted to return the keys but there was no sign of him or anyone else, so I pocketed them and headed back the way I had come.

  Sarah awaited me on my return. She shooed me into the living room where a welcoming fire roared and crackled in the hearth. Presently she brought in a tray of tea and homemade muffins. "Now then, you sit yourself down there and have your tea in peace."

  She paused and then asked, "Claire dear... I wondered, did you know that your father was going to cancel next Saturday?"

  "Saturday?" I whispered using my fake drawl. Now what for goodness sake, what on earth was happening on Saturday?

  "Aye, he said because of your er, accident he felt it inappropriate to hold a party. What do you think? I mean to say… we have a party on your father's birthday every year… it's a tradition so it is!"

  I could well understand my father not wishing to celebrate after the death of his daughter. However, since nobody here knew of Claire's death, people would think it odd indeed if the party were not held as usual.

  "Well, of course the party must go ahead as always!" I tried to sound indignant.

  Sarah sighed with relief. "Och good, I hoped you would say so. I took it upon myself to start the ball rolling and Liam and his men are going to begin organising things tomorrow. Since you have lost your voice, it seemed much the best solution." Sarah leant over and patted my arm as she said this. "Is that okay with you, lassie? I have divided the tasks that require the use of the telephone between Kate and me and you had better talk to Liam about this year's theme... oh and the band arrangements."

  "Yeah, of course, thanks, Sarah," I whispered, nodding enthusiastically. My heart missed a beat at the thought of any further dealings with Liam O'Donnell. Sarah, pleased with herself, sauntered away, humming gaily.

  How was I to cope with an event where I would be expected to know everyone? Perhaps I could pretend to be completely drunk and call everyone darling!

  Sarah appeared back at the door again. "Oh, and I quite forgot to tell you, your father is returning in the morning with Molly and Den. He said to tell you he's sorry and that they don't know anything. Does that make any sense to you? He assured me you would understand his meaning?"

  Molly and Den... Who on earth were they? I realised that Sarah was waiting for a reply from me. She seemed to take my silence as disapproval, because she then added, "I know, I know, they have their own place in Vegas, so why do they keep coming down here? But you know, Claire dear, she is his wife and even though Dennis is no blood relation to you, he is still your stepbrother and he is very fond of you, despite the way you freeze him out all the while."

  Wife... step brother? What the hell was going on—what sort of cheap trick was my father pulling? Luckily Sarah continued her chattering and that covered the fact I could not have spoken had I tried; I didn't know what to think.

  I ran upstairs and found Jules. She had made an excellent job of the locks and I was relieved to know that I would sleep more easily that night.

  I told her about my meeting with Liam and asked her to find out who the photographer was that had taken the wonderful pictures up on the bunkhouse walls. Jules looked coyly at me as she asked what I had thought of Liam. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything," I said, flushing, "but you won't believe this, he threatened to er, spank me!"

  Jules threw back her head and laughed. "He's quite a dish—I wouldn't mind a trip over his knee... those girls always come a
round in the end; he's a born natural!"

  "What girls?" I asked.

  "The naughty girls, the ones that are sent here to reform, of course."

  I gaped at her. "My father told me nothing at all about any of this!"

  Jules sighed, "That man, I'm sorry, I know that he is your father an' all, but... really! Sit down and I'll explain how it all works. What happens is this; rich parents contact Liam at the ranch when their daughter's, or sometimes a son's, behaviour is out of control and ask that the ranch takes the brat on full-time. The teen is set boundaries and they have to work hard, each one is given daily chores to do. They work with the horses and so forth, for however long it takes to turn them around. They earn themselves privileges for good behaviour. Liam is in charge of that side of things, he doles out the discipline as and when it's required. Loss of privileges to begin with and then if they persistently re-offend, usually a paddling. There is always another adult present when a kid earns a punishment and it is entered into a discipline record book. The whole ranch reform thing pays really well and the demand for this type of hands-on, 'one to one' residential discipline care is growing fast."

  Wow. "Ok-ay, I did not know that... does it work?" I asked curiously.

  "Yup, seems to. My precinct sent a kid here last year and now she's settled in college and doing really well. We hear from her mom from time to time."

  "Um, can I ask, what is a 'paddling'?"

  Jules grinned. "A spanking with a paddle y'know?"

  A vision of the brown leather bat like object that I had found hanging in the bunkhouse came to mind and I nodded my understanding. I didn't know what else to say, the concept was so new to me. Thinking about my father, I was angry that he'd neglected to share with me something as important as this about the ranch.

  Jules knew that my father was married to Molly and she was amazed and extremely cross with him for not telling me about Molly or her son Dennis. Apparently, they had a house on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Dennis managed one of the Keedon Motels in Vegas, the only one that had a casino attached. She told me that Molly had met my father some ten years ago in New York. He had fallen for her in a big way and they had married after only two months. Dennis, Molly's son, had been working as a croupier in an Atlantic City casino. After Molly and my father married, Dennis began to work for his stepfather in the motel in Las Vegas. Although the house in Vegas was their married home, from what information Jules could glean from the staff, my father chose to spend more time here than there. Apparently, she had questioned him as to whether Molly would be in on the secret of my identity and he had said absolutely not. This alarmed me until Jules explained that he had said Molly could not keep secrets. So, another hurdle to be jumped, a stepmother and a stepbrother. Boy, I would give my father 'what for' when I next saw him.