by Ariana Dupre
She's ready for a fight, thought Jared. Fine. “I had to go into town and pick this up,” he said, holding up a small flat box. “I've always been honest with you."
"Humph! Yeah right!” Glaring at him, her toe started a tap, tap, tap on the floor.
"Listen, Angie, I don't know what you're so mad about. Why don't you tell me so we can work this out?"
"I have nothing to discuss with the likes of you. I thought you were a playboy at first, but I never took you for the conniving, underhanded creep that you are."
"Excuse me?” Oh brother. What has she found out?
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!"
"I honestly don't have a clue,” he lied, throwing his hands up in the air; then, angling away from her, he lowered them. “Your ranting isn't making any sense."
"Does the name Mary Henry Slayton mean anything to you?"
"Yes,” he said calmly, turning to face her. “She's one of my ancestors."
"Anything else?"
Jared studied Angie for a moment. Her toe tapped furiously now, even though her voice had become more measured. “Mary Henry,” he began quietly, “was on my mother's side of the family. She married Theodore Slayton and was pregnant when he died. She vowed revenge on the Slayton's because Theodore's sister Ruby took control of the estate and sent Mary away. She had a rough life because of Ruby's actions."
"And exactly when were you planning on telling me about this?"
"I wasn't,” he said with finality.
"See, I knew it! You're out for revenge, just like Mary."
"No, I'm not.” Placing his package on the table, he studied her again. She's getting madder, he thought. Can't stand that she's not making me lose my cool, I'll bet.
"How could you let me tell you about Mary and Theodore's ghosts and never mention your connection to them?"
"Would it have mattered?"
"Yes, it matters. You came into this project under false pretenses. It matters because you offered Sam Slayton almost a million dollars for his property even before his death. It matters because you hid the truth from me and we're supposed to be partners! It matters because, even now, you want to buy me out."
Jared sighed and ran his hands through his hair. How she could say so much on one breath of air was beyond him. “When did Alan tell you?"
"He told me today but the problem is that you didn't tell me. And you never planned to tell me."
"It didn't concern you."
"Didn't concern me? Are you out of your freakin’ mind? I'm a partner in this Inn. How can you stand there and say it didn't concern me?"
Damn if anger didn't make her more beautiful—her cheeks were tinged with rose, her eyes wide, round and sparkling. “Angie, let's get out of the hallway and sit down for a minute.” He gestured to the living room couch.
"I don't want to sit down,” she snapped. “You betrayed me, Jared. You were only out for revenge."
"No, Angie, you're wrong. I was never out for revenge. Yes, I offered to buy the estate from Sam, and I wanted to buy you out. But that was before."
"Before what? Oh, never mind, I get it now. And were you going to offer me as much as you offered Sam, or more because of all the fooling around?"
"Angie...” He stepped toward her, hands held out in surrender. “You're misunderstanding."
"Don't touch me."
"Fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He had grown tired of this argument. “But you have to let me explain."
"Go ahead, I'm listening."
"In my family, I always heard the story of Mary Henry's need for revenge over and over again—how it was up to one of us—her descendants—to make everything right, so her spirit could rest in peace. When I became successful, I decided to put an end to it all as soon as I could. That's why I purchased my farm. It was part of the original Slayton estate. I talked to Sam Slayton and offered to buy his farm, but he refused. I even inquired about your property after your aunt died."
Angie stilled. “You did?"
Thank God her foot stopped its insane tapping. “Alan didn't tell you? I found out he was handling your aunt's estate and I asked him if you'd be willing to sell. He told me to give you time to grieve before I approached you. So I left you alone."
"Why do you want these five hundred acres so much that you're willing to hide the truth to get them?"
"Because, I've had it drilled into me that someone must avenge Mary. Preferably, me. It was a tremendous burden. I was never praised for my own success, just told that I was one step closer to buying the Slayton estate. I don't want my own children put under the same pressure I was."
"They wouldn't unless you forced them."
"I would never treat my children that way, but unfortunately, my family would. This thing has to stop with me."
"Why haven't you mentioned any of this to me before?"
"I changed my mind when we were forced to become partners after Sam's death."
"Changed your mind how?"
"Because you intrigued me,” he said, closing the distance between them. “When you found the journal but still kept digging, I knew you'd find out the truth and my plan would be ruined."
"Oh, just great!” Angie spun away, throwing her hands up. “The rich boy hides the facts from the country girl because she intrigues him! Admit it, you thought I couldn't handle the truth.” She narrowed her gaze, prowling around him like a cat preparing to pounce. “Do you really think I could ever trust a liar? I've never been so disappointed in anyone. How I ever convinced myself that you were an honest, trustworthy man is beyond me!” Walking away, she paused at the front door before facing him again. “You know what you can do with your interest and your millions of dollars, Jared Maxwell?"
"I expect you're going to tell me,” he said in exasperation, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"You can take all of it—your money, your interest in me, everything—and go straight to hell! I'm not selling my part of the Inn and I'll never, ever be involved with the likes of you.” Angie set her chin, murdered him with her eyes, then slammed the front door behind her.
Jared let her go. There was no point trying to talk to her when she was that furious. Besides, security would keep an eye on her. He'd let her cool down a bit, then he'd go after her. If she were calm it would be easier to implement his other plan.
Picking up the box from the table, he carried it to the office. Removing the lid, he took out another box inside, opened that, then picked up the cold object.
Sitting down in his chair he leaned back, turning the metal over in his hands. His lips lifted into a grin when the light reflected into his eyes. “I'll give you some time to cool off, my dear.” He replaced the item, and locked the box in the file cabinet. “One way or the other, Angelina Benton, you will be mine."
* * * *
Angie kicked the gravel in the dirt road and sent the small rocks flying through the yard. How Jared could make her lose complete control of her emotions was beyond her.
How dare him! What a stupid ... obnoxious ... gorgeous hunk of a man!
Aw, geez. Angie covered her face with her hands and cursed herself. How could I have lost my heart to that conniving jerk? How could I? And, more to the point, what am I going to do?
She went and sat down at the picnic table on the lawn. He had hidden the truth. No doubt about it. But he also was acting out of love for children he didn't even have yet. If she were honest with herself, really honest, she had to admit she found this admirable. Loveable. Sexy, even. Damn!
The voice of the security guard caused her to look up. He was talking on his radio.
She shook her head to clear it. Jared's a dishonest creep, Angie, she admonished herself as she stood up and kicked a large white rock. How could he flirt with me and set me up at the same time?
A while later, still kicking the rock ahead of her, she came to a decision.
Jared Maxwell, she'd concluded, would never have what he wanted so badly—the origina
l five hundred acre Slayton homestead. Because he'd lied to her. Not just once, but many times. He'd have to remain her partner until she died, but that couldn't be helped. Her share of the Inn would then go to her relatives, forcing her family to always to be partners with his. That was unfortunate, but far better than the alternative.
She'd have Alan see to the legalities.
Suddenly she realized that she was in front of the Davis house. Had she been so lost in her thoughts of Jared that she'd just wandered off? Suddenly, she remembered the stalker. Quickening her step, she turned back toward the homestead.
A crunch behind her made Angie stop dead, and listen intently to the night. It's probably an animal. I won't let it scare me.
But then she heard the footsteps.
Turning, she thought she saw the outline of a large man in the moonlight. As soon as he started to laugh—a dark, evil laugh that pulled the pit of her stomach to her throat—she ducked into the bushes.
"You can't hide from me, Angie baby."
Oh God! No! It's the man from the barn fire! Jumping from behind her cover, Angie raced up the road. Panic made her feet fly faster and faster over the ground.
Not fast enough.
He grabbed her arms from behind, jerked her shoulder blades together. Her scream echoed though the forest, mixing with his diabolical laughter.
"Angie!” yelled Jared, from somewhere up the road. “Where are you? Angie!"
Angie bit the man's arm and he loosened his grip.
She bolted away from him, shouting, “I'm over here! Jared!"
A large arm wrapped around her neck, stopping her mid-flight. Something round, cold and hard dug into her back.
"Don't make another sound,” the man growled.
"Jared, he's got a gun!” Angie screamed.
Her attacker pulled her hard up against him with his left arm, her back to his chest. The next thing she heard was a shot ringing out.
"Jared!"
Angie's heart ripped apart when she heard a moan, followed by a solid thump. Oh, God, he's killed Jared!
She screamed his name, just as the metal butt of the gun slammed against her skull. Pain exploded through her head.
The last thing she remembered was the night turning to complete darkness as she hit the ground.
* * * *
Chapter 18
"Hello.” Alan pushed open the unlocked door, yelling into the Slayton house. “Anybody in here?"
He had telephoned all morning, only to get the answering machine. He decided to drive over since he needed Angie's signature on some paperwork.
If only his matchmaking had worked. But after Angie's reaction at her house, the sooner he was out of this, the better. They could fight each other until they realized what he could already see.
Walking through the house, he found it empty. They must be on the farm, he thought, spying Burt through a window.
"Hello Burt,” Alan called, as he exited the porch and walked down toward the stables where Burt was working on a tractor.
"Howdy, Alan."
"Where are Jared and Angie working today?"
"I haven't seen them.” He closed the hood and walked around the machine, wiping his hands on a red bandanna.
"Neither of them? What time did you get here?"
"Around six this morning."
Alan glanced at his watch. One in the afternoon. “Are the horses here?"
"Yep, fed them both this morning."
"Wonder where they could be."
"Did you check the bedroom?” Burt grinned, rubbing his face with the blue bandana.
"No, why would I look there?” Alan studied him.
"There's some mighty big sparks flying between those two, if you ask me."
"Are you saying they're sleeping together?"
"Nah, they may be fooling around a bit, but that Angie, you know she's saving herself for marriage."
"Okay, I'll check the house again,” Alan said, turning back to the Inn. “Thanks, Burt."
Inside the house Alan searched for Angie and Jared. When he got to her room, he found a crinkled piece of paper on her bed. He picked it up and read the note. “Oh my God!"
Hurrying back outside he ran toward the barn, “Burt! Where are you, Burt?"
The other man exited the barn, leading Thunder. “I'm right here. What's wrong?"
The lines in Alan's face deepened as he frowned and held up the paper. “I found this note on Angie's pillow."
Burt winced. “What did it say?"
Alan read it aloud.
* * * *
"This is the third and last of my messages Angie baby. I wonder if you'll get this before I get you? Tonight's the night your blood will spill."
* * * *
"Damn!” said Burt.
"Has Angie received two other messages, Burt?"
"I ... um...” he didn't look at Alan, instead busied himself with the horse.
Alan reached over, grabbed his forearm. “Burt, I'm seventy-seven years old. I think I can handle the truth. This is important—I need to know."
"Yeah, she did.” Burt threw the reins over Thunder's neck. “Secrets always have a way of coming out, don't they?"
"What did the notes say?"
"Just threats to scare her. I don't remember the exact words."
"Let me guess. Angie didn't want me to worry so she asked everyone who knew about them to keep it a secret."
"That's about the size of it."
A muscle twitched in Alan's jaw. “Let's check Clyde Davis's house. Saddle up Whisper, Burt. We're going to look for them. It's not like Angie to disappear like this.” Fear for Angie clenched at his heart as her dream pounded in his brain.
"Alan, maybe you're overreacting."
"If you won't saddle her, I will."
Burt didn't argue but handed Thunder's reins to Alan then headed back inside the stable.
Alan followed. “I called the security company Jared hired and told then to send extra men. Sheriff Oakley's sending deputies out to check both of their homes. We're to meet him here in an hour."
"Don't worry, Alan,” Burt said as he readied Whisper. “We'll find them."
Back outside, they mounted and walked the horses, searching the ground for clues until they were almost to the old Davis house.
"Burt, look!” Alan urged Thunder forward then dismounted.
"What did you find?” Burt asked, stopping alongside Alan.
"This section of road is full of marks, as if people were scuffling here."
Burt looked down at the road and dismounted. “Alan, these marks were probably made by an animal."
"I don't think so. Look, there are shoe marks."
Burt moved around the marks, inspecting them. Sitting back on his haunches, he lifted his hat and scratched his head. “I just don't see it, Alan. It's hard to tell what made this."
Alan stood up, and looked into the forest for clues.
"I think I found something,” Burt said, his voice thick with concern. Burt pointed down at a tie-dyed scrunchie beside the ditch on the edge of the road.
Alan drew in a sharp breath. “Angie was wearing that when I met with her yesterday."
"Let's take this to the house.” Burt bent to pick up the piece of fabric.
"No, don't touch it.” Alan grabbed his arm, stopping him. “We'll bring the deputies back here."
* * * *
Angie lay motionless against the hard damp ground, listening for her attacker. Only the songs of birds filled the air, and the birds couldn't tell her where she was.
Her thoughts flew to Jared—he'd been shot. Oh God, please let him be alive! She'd been wrong about him all along. Who cared if he was a descendent of Mary and Theodore Slayton? That all seemed so unimportant now.
She should have listened to Alan. Taken his advice. She'd let her fear and suspicions keep her from the man she loved. If she got out of this one, Jared Maxwell would know how much she loved him. She'd give herself to him, body and soul, married or not
.
Angie twisted against the ropes. This must be how a hog feels when he's tied, she thought. Lucky for the hog that his legs are short. Her arms and legs ached from being tied together behind her.
She felt the rope with her fingertips. The knot near her feet that she'd struggled with for hours still held tight. At least she'd gotten her shoes off and eased the pain in her ankles.
If only she could see.
Angie rolled to her stomach; then to her other side. Changing positions lessened the pain in her shoulder and hip, at least for a while. She could smell the earth underneath her. She supposed the gag was a blessing since every time she moved a fine layer of dust settled over her face, and the gag kept it out of her mouth.
Stay strong, focused, and above all remain calm, she told herself.
Wiggling her foot she tried to push the rope over her heel. If she could just get one foot loose, the knot would be easier to untie.
She'd been working at the rope for a while when she heard the footsteps outside and froze.
The bump of the door told her he was inside. The dust settling against her bare skin told her he stood right beside her.
When the coolness of water soaked the gag, she sucked desperately against the cloth. She hadn't known she was so thirsty.
She tried to speak, to beg him to let her go. But the cold steel of a gun barrel moving slowly down her cheek, then neck, silenced her. His breath, hot against her face, reeked of liquor.
"I'll be back to make love to you, Angie baby.” His voice was low and raspy as a large hand cupped her breast and the steel of the gun slid between her legs. His sinister laughter echoed around her.
Another bump, wood scraping against wood, and he was gone. This is no time to panic, said a little voice in her mind.
Tell that to my heart. She could barely hear herself think with it pounding in her ears.
Think Angie! What makes that sound? It only took a minute. I'm in a tobacco barn!
Since she couldn't see, she imagined the inside of the one-roomed barns. The two doors on opposite walls, rows of burners ran parallel to the doors between the door opening and the walls without doors. So ... with her back to the door she needed to scoot in the direction of her head or feet.
Angie rocked her body until, at last, her hand touched one of the metal burners used to cure the leaves. I'm right!