by Becky Avella
* * *
Sean’s mouth hung open. His eyes blinked, struggling to clear the cobwebs of confusion. His subconscious was trying to tell him something. What was it?
Run!
Sean scrambled to unlock his seat belt, but his fingers were clumsy and shaking and he couldn’t get the ancient clasp undone.
A voice called to him across the darkness.
“Give it up, Loomis.”
Greg Martin’s cold tone was the motivation Sean needed to get out of this metal death trap. He wouldn’t stay in here and wait to be executed. He would fight back. His eyes scanned for anything he could use as a weapon.
There was nothing.
“Face it, Sean. You are dying tonight,” Greg promised. “Why not come out and make it as quick and painless as possible?”
Finally, the seat belt clasp relented. Sean flung it away and cringed at the clanging sound the heavy latch made hitting the steel door.
Greg’s voice floated through the broken driver-side window. Sean couldn’t see him, only hear his threats. “You can’t win, Sean. You know that, right? Just come out with your hands up.”
Sean belly-crawled across the bench seat. He eased open the passenger door, praying it wouldn’t squeak. He held it open, listening for more taunts that would clue him in to Greg’s location. He heard only the thump of his own rushing blood behind his temple. He slowed his breathing. Where was Greg now? Would he lose his head to one of Greg’s bullets the minute he poked it out of the safety of the cab? He had to risk it. Staying put was a sure death sentence. Sean eased his hands into a push-up position on the ground and slithered out as quietly as he could.
The blow came before he could get his boots free from the truck, a swift kick to the side of his extended kneecap. Sean gasped at the pain. Rolling away from it, he struggled to stand, but Greg’s boot slammed down on his windpipe, pinning him to the ground. Blackness edged Sean’s vision. He fought for breath, for consciousness.
Greg leaned into his line of sight, his nose obviously broken where the shotgun had connected with it back in the meadow. He pointed the gun between Sean’s eyes. “This isn’t personal, Sean.”
How could this be the same kid he’d grown up with? Greg the jokester. Now the executioner? It was crazy what greed could do to a person. Sean writhed under the boot. Thoughts of Deanna kept him fighting. He couldn’t give up, for her sake. As soon as Greg finished with Sean, he’d go for Deanna next. He was sure Greg knew where she lived. Sean never should have left her.
“We go way back. You’ve always been a good guy,” Greg said. He took a deep breath, readjusted his aim. “Sorry, man, but you...”
Greg abandoned his sentence. His body stiffened. Something behind Sean’s head had startled him. Greg’s boot dug harder into Sean’s throat, as if he were claiming his right to his prey from another predator.
Sean pulled at the foot, trying to move it enough to give him some air. The black edges of unconsciousness were creeping in again, his line of sight narrowing.
“Why are you here?” Greg demanded into the night.
No answer.
“I had orders,” Greg whined, begging some invisible person to understand his actions.
A deafening crack was the only answer Greg got before a bullet sliced through his chest.
Greg’s eyes met Sean’s, pleading for help. Sean stared back at the dying man, too stunned to move.
Curling into the pain, Greg gurgled something unintelligible. He swayed, grasping desperately for more seconds of life. Then he sucked in his last breath and collapsed onto Sean.
EIGHTEEN
Sean tried to swallow but gagged instead. He was going to vomit if he didn’t get free from the dead man on top of him. He kicked out from underneath the weight of Greg Martin’s vacant shell and crab-walked a pace away before he remembered the other presence behind him.
He crawled cautiously to his feet, turning to face the shooter. Who had just saved his life? Crouching, he called into the trees, “Who’s there?”
Dry lightning splintered the western sky and illuminated the black silhouette of his rescuer. The next flash revealed the outline of a handgun hanging loosely at his side, but the man didn’t leave the shadows that were hiding him.
Sean lifted his hands high. “I’m unarmed. Show yourself.”
Everything seemed unnaturally still as he waited. The silent flashes in the sky marking the passage of time were the only movement. Finally, the man stepped into sight, making Sean gasp from recognition. “Uncle Paul?”
“You hurt, Sean?”
“What are you doing...?” Sean couldn’t finish the sentence, too numb to form the words. Only moments ago, a gun had been pressed between his eyes. Now another man lay dead in his place, and it was Uncle Paul’s bullet that had put him there. A life in exchange for a life. Was Sean supposed to feel horrified by death or grateful he was still alive? He felt nothing but a gaping void of confusion threatening to suck him in.
“I thought you were going home.” It was a dumb thing to say at that moment. Shouldn’t he be saying thank-you instead? But it was the only coherent thought Sean could manage. Uncle Paul did not belong in this scene. It was all wrong.
“You needed me. So I’m here.”
No thunder accompanied the white streaks of lightning dancing across the horizon. Each silent bolt became a flare of truth, bringing bits of clarity to Sean’s scrambled thoughts.
Flash.
The fear in Greg’s eyes when he caught sight of Uncle Paul.
Flash.
Greg begging for understanding.
Flash.
Jim Johnson’s last words before the ambulance arrived, Ask Paul.
“Sheriff Johnson named you. Did you know that? While he was bleeding on the ground, he told me you’d be able to answer my questions. Why is that, Uncle Paul? What do you know?”
Paul reached for him, but Sean put his hands up and backpedaled farther away from him.
“Do not touch me,” he warned.
Sean could not reconcile the truth presenting itself in his mind with the man he knew Uncle Paul to be. This new version was a stranger to him. The things he was thinking could not be true about the same man who’d found him in the barn after his father’s funeral and held him while he sobbed. They couldn’t be about the man who made the best pancakes in the West, who’d taught Sean to hunt and fish, who had worked inhuman hours at the ranch so Sean could be free to chase rodeos every weekend.
That man had been Sean’s rock, his silent cheerleader, his second father. That man, Sean loved, trusted, needed.
“What questions should I be asking you?” Sean whispered.
“Greg Martin was going to kill you, boy. I saved your life.”
“Why was Greg afraid of you?” Sean didn’t want to hear the answer, but he made himself keep going. “How involved in all of this are you?”
Uncle Paul’s words from earlier at the school ricocheted inside Sean’s head. You’ve become your father. Those words were the final pieces to his puzzle.
“You know,” Sean said. It wasn’t until the words passed his lips, thick and full of pain, that Sean knew how true they were and how deep the betrayal ran. “You know what happened to Dad.”
Paul tripped back, his agony clear. He covered his face with his hands.
“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” Sean shoved Paul hard in the chest. “Tell me the truth. Where is he? Is Dad dead?”
Paul said nothing, put up no resistance as Sean pushed him over and over again.
“Why won’t you tell me? Has everything been a lie?” Sean roared. He swung a punch at his uncle’s face, but Paul blocked it and grabbed Sean’s wrist. He pulled Sean in close until they were almost nose to nose. “Enough,” Paul growled. “I am not your
enemy, son!”
“And I am not your son. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Paul yanked on Sean’s wrist. “Do you love that girl?”
The question hit Sean like a bucket of ice water in the face. What game was Uncle Paul playing? Sean struggled to pull free, but his uncle’s grip was ironclad, honed from nearly half a century of manual labor.
“Tony Jackson’s daughter,” Paul pressed. “Do you love her or not?”
Sean’s chest tightened to the point of pain. His body was so beat up, but none of his physical injuries hurt as much as her absence did. How could he miss her so much when she’d never truly been his? Was it infatuation? Was it because she was beautiful? Maybe winning her was nothing more than a childish goal he’d forgotten to outgrow.
No. That wasn’t it at all. He could see her physical beauty in perfect detail. He’d watched her transform from a little girl with missing front teeth to the knockout she was today. Her appearance took his breath away, but it went so far beyond skin-deep for him. Surviving this horrible day together had taken all of his feelings for her and distilled them down to an essential element: commitment. His child heart had decided something without his adult consent, and for some unexplainable reason, he’d been obligated to that decision ever since.
He could trace it to the beginning, back to five years old and his very first mutton-busting event at Roundup. He’d been dazzled by the tiny towheaded cowgirl who pranced into the rodeo arena wearing a pink helmet and a sunny smile. Sean had slipped right off the back of his sheep within a few seconds, but not Deanna. She’d wrapped her skinny arms around her sheep’s neck and refused to let go. He was so happy for her when they handed her the blue ribbon he forgot to care that he’d lost. When she turned that smile toward him, that’s all it took. He was hers.
Did he love her? When had he ever stopped? But what right did Uncle Paul have to that answer? He didn’t deserve any more access to Sean’s heart. “There’s a dead man at our feet and you want to talk about my love life?”
“Where is she now?” Paul asked.
“She didn’t want my help anymore, so she stayed behind at her place. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Is she alone?”
“Why do you care?” Sean snarled. “A few hours ago you were begging me to abandon her.”
Paul yanked him closer, his breath hot on Sean’s face. “Answer the question, Sean! Is she alone or not?”
Sean pulled at his uncle’s grip, jockeying for more personal space. What was his deal? “She’s with Blake Ransford, all right? Is that what you want to hear? That she chose him over me? Happy now?”
Paul groaned. He dropped Sean’s wrist. “I owe you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I owe you so much... Everything. Even more than you can guess at.” He scrubbed at his face as if he could wipe away the grief etched there. “I promise you’ll get your explanations, all the answers you want, but you don’t have time to hear me out, and I refuse to tell you any of it until I can tell you all of it.”
Sean squared his stance. “I’ll be the judge of what I’ve got time to hear. I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”
“Not if you love that girl. It might already be too late.”
Paul had chosen the one and only thing that could distract Sean at that moment. “I’m listening,” he said. “What’s wrong with Deanna?”
Her name across his lips took him back to the airport. He felt again the rightness of holding her, the certainty that she had been kissing him back.
“Like I told you,” Paul said, “I am not your enemy. But Blake Ransford is.”
As Paul’s words sank in, Sean’s whole body became weightless. Blake Ransford? “No, that can’t be. I thought Austin Mills was in charge. He...”
“Mills is on Ransford’s payroll.”
This new revelation winded Sean like a kidney shot. He raked his hair with both hands and paced. “I can’t believe I left her there.”
He’d spent all day trying to keep her alive only to hand her over to them in the end. His pride had made him blind to Deanna’s clues. She’d been trying to make him understand, and he’d missed it. He should have fought for her instead of running away like a kicked puppy.
Paul continued, “Blake thinks he’s in love with her. I don’t know—maybe he is at some level, but he’ll always put the business first. If Deanna doesn’t bend to his will quickly, he’ll lose patience. And trust me, Blake out of patience is a very dangerous thing. He’ll do whatever he has to do to protect his interests. If he can’t bring himself to kill her, he’ll order one of his men to do it for him.”
“Tell me what to do,” Sean begged.
“He’ll take her to his place, where he can guard her best. It’s that big ranch house up on the ridge on your way home. You know it?”
There were several affluent homes tucked into the hillside along the highway that led from their ranch to town. Competing for the best view of the river valley below, homeowners had grabbed whatever soil they could amid the steep basalt cliffs, but Blake Ransford had claimed the best spot. His sprawling estate on top of a high knoll gave him nearly-360-degree views. Sean passed it every time he drove into Kinakane from the ranch. In fact, he’d passed it this evening with Deanna on their way to get the sheriff.
“Hard to miss that big castle on the hill,” he grumbled.
“That’s exactly what will make it easy for him to defend. He can sit in his living room and watch anyone approaching. You can’t drive up to the front door and ask him to hand her over. You’ll have to go in on foot, climb up through the brush on the backside and find a way to sneak inside. The fact that they think you’re dead will give you a little advantage but that won’t last for long. If they don’t hear from Greg soon, they’ll be expecting you.”
Paul laid his strong hand on Sean’s shoulder and squeezed. The gesture was so familiar Sean longed to turn over the big hourglass of time, to rewind to the place when Deanna was safe and he still trusted his uncle. “Are you up to this, Sean?”
“I have to be.”
“All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect you. That’s what I was trying to do at the school tonight. I always knew you had a thing for her but had no idea how deep it went. That’s why I came back. If I had any hope of your forgiveness, it would be gone if I didn’t warn you and give you the chance to save her. I couldn’t be responsible for you losing her, too.”
Sean hung his head. “I might have already done that all on my own.”
Paul slapped the butt of his pistol into Sean’s palm. “This would never be my plan, but we’re all out of time and options.”
Sean wrapped his hands around the pistol, unable to lift his gaze from the weapon that had ended Greg Martin’s life. What would he have to do in order to save Deanna?
“Are you coming with me?”
“The best I can do is get you there.” Paul shoved at Greg’s body with the toe of his boot. “I’ve got other messes to fix. If I can, I’ll come back and try to create some kind of diversion. But don’t wait for me. You get in, get Deanna and get out.”
Paul wrapped his hands around Sean’s and the pistol and squeezed. “You use this thing if you have to. You promised me you’d be home before the fire got there, and I’m holding you to that. They won’t hesitate to shoot the two of you, so you don’t hesitate, either. Understand?”
“I have to know one thing first,” Sean said. “My dad. What side was he on?”
Gripping the back of Sean’s neck, Paul forced eye contact. “He was the man you always believed him to be, Sean. A hero like his son.” The tears in Paul’s eyes shone in the moonlight. “Whatever happens, whatever you are thinking about me right now, remember that I love you. I always have, and I always will.”
Then he closed his eyes and pulled S
ean’s forehead against his own. “I will make this right, Sean, or I will die trying.”
* * *
Deanna rested her forehead against the cool window. Somewhere out there in all that blackness, Greg Martin had killed Sean simply because he knew too much. It seemed poetic somehow, that a man of such light would be extinguished under the cover of night. Poetic, but wrong. So senseless. So unjust. Evil even. And it was her fault.
She turned from the window. This train of thought was going to kill her if she didn’t stop it, but there wasn’t enough to distract her in the stuffy room. Sleep definitely wasn’t happening. Blake knew nothing if he honestly thought that was possible.
Her hand shook as she unzipped her bag and lifted out the high school yearbook she’d stuffed inside it before leaving her house. Of all the things she could have brought with her, it was a silly choice. But as Blake had maneuvered her by her upper arm through her living room on their way out of her house, she’d tripped and spotted the book still lying on the floor by the couch.
“I want to take that with me,” she’d told him, impulsively.
Blake had lifted an eyebrow but hadn’t stopped her as she scooped it up and threw it on top of her clothes, zipping the bag shut quickly before she could think about why she wanted to bring it with her so badly. Her subconscious had known exactly why. There were pictures of Sean inside.
Could she look at them now or would it hurt too much? Sitting on the edge of the bed, she smoothed each glossy page from top to bottom with her flat hand and relived high school. There were too many pictures of herself. Sean had been camera shy, but she had reveled in the spotlight. She’d been so full of confidence, nothing more than a silly little fool. Her only plan had been to marry Austin and float through life on his good looks and charm.
Next to the cutest-couple picture, Austin had written, “Hey Babe, You’re so lucky, lol. We look good together, don’t you think? XOXO Austin.”
Yeah. What a Prince Charming he had been. But she’d bought his lie that she couldn’t do any better. When the inevitable day came that she found Austin entangled with Kelsey Marquette, she almost hadn’t broken up with him. Deanna flipped past the ugly memories and found the Rodeo Club page.