“It’s natural at this time of the month, Mama.” It seemed like a good excuse for looking “pale and drawn.”
“Oh, I see. Well, getting back to the robbery…”
In spite of the tackiness of their room in that horrid little off-road motel, Sophia was in high spirits. “It was so easy,” she said with a self-satisfied laugh. “When you told me everyone was going away for the holiday weekend, and that even the household staff wouldn’t be on the premises, I knew immediately that I’d been handed a golden opportunity.”
Clint wore his usual brooding expression. “So, what did you take?”
Sophia airily waved her hand. “Just a few things…my favorite set of china, for one. Nothing I dare sell, of course. I’m sure Ryan has called in the law by now, so we must be very careful. If I’d known the combination to Ryan’s safe, you and I would be in tall cotton tonight. That cheapskate never would give me the combination,” she said with a disgusted roll of her eyes.
“Obviously he didn’t trust you,” Clint drawled, adding, “With good reason.” Then he asked, “Did you find any cash?”
“About five hundred dollars.” Sophia opened her purse and pulled out a small wad bills. “Here’s your share.”
Clint was disappointed. “Five hundred was it?”
“I found that in a drawer of his desk.” Actually she’d found two thousand plus change in Ryan’s desk, but she felt that she needed the cash a whole lot more than Clint did.
“The sheriff was at the ranch all afternoon,” Clint said. “Rumor has it that the thief got away with a lot more than a set of china. Let me take the stuff to Houston and pawn it. I know one pawnshop owner that would take anything I brought in without notifying the law, even if he did recognize it as stolen property.”
“No,” Sophia said flatly. “I won’t take that risk, Clint. My divorce settlement with Ryan is far more important than the few measly bucks a pawnshop owner would pay for stolen goods.”
“I’m getting damn tired of waiting for those negotiations to be finalized,” Clint snapped.
“Do you think I’m not?” Sophia bit back. She was also getting tired of Clint pressuring her for money. If she didn’t need the information he provided about daily occurrences at the ranch, she would shed him like a dirty shirt.
But theirs was a liaison she couldn’t yet discard, and she forced herself to smile at him. “Let’s forget all that for now and have a drink. I brought your favorite whiskey with me. How about it?”
Clint felt another moment of intense dislike. Small wonder that Ryan hadn’t trusted his wife enough to give her the combination to his safe, Clint thought. He didn’t trust Sophia either: he would bet anything that she’d found a lot more cash during her midnight raid than she’d told him about.
His hands were tied for the present, but he wouldn’t always have to play the fool, he told himself. Sophia held all the cards right now, but once the divorce was behind them and he’d gotten his share of the Fortune wealth, Sophia had just better watch her step around him.
“Sure,” he said with a casualness that was phonier than a three-dollar bill. “Go ahead and pour the drinks.”
Maria Cassidy was sitting on the sagging sofa in the minuscule living room of her rented trailer on the outskirts of the town of Leather Bucket. Her expression was brooding and bitter. Baby Bryan Fortune was sleeping peacefully in the small crib she had bought for her own son, James. While she was relieved that James had been plucked from the kidnappers’ hands, it galled Maria that Matthew and Claudia had taken over his care and had named him Taylor.
But Maria was the first to admit that everything about the Fortunes bothered her. She didn’t trust any of them, nor did she like them—with the possible exception of the baby boy she had taken upon discovering that kidnappers had taken her own son, stupidly thinking that James was Bryan.
Whoever the kidnappers were, though, they weren’t the only stupid people in this part of the world. Maria felt that her own mother, Lily, was appallingly stupid. Lily actually believed that Ryan Fortune was going to marry her when his divorce from Sophia became final—which, to Maria, was the laugh of the century.
The thing was, though, no one else thought it was a laughing matter. Maria had tried talking to her sister, Hannah, about it, and normally mealymouthed Hannah had actually snapped at her. “Mother is happy, Maria, and don’t you dare do anything to ruin it for her.”
Her brother, Cole, was as unapproachable on the subject as Hannah was. Maria felt that she was the only one who had the nerve to face the truth of that ridiculous liaison: Ryan Fortune would use Lily until he tired of her, then he’d toss her out. Maria could hardly wait for that day, and she often fantasized how she would triumphantly say, Told you so!
Maria had other fantasies, as well. She knew that the Fortunes would do just about anything to get baby Bryan back. That beautiful sleeping child was worth millions, but how did one go about converting a kidnapped child to hard cash? Without getting caught, of course.
Maria let her imagination take over. Obviously some sort of contact would be necessary. A telephone call? No, a phone call was too risky. Even if she disguised her voice, someone might recognize it. It would have to be a letter.
How much should she ask for? My Lord, she would be rich! She fantasized about living with more money than she could spend. First-class travel accommodations, designer clothes, the best hotels and restaurants, elegant resorts, elbow-rubbing with rich and famous people—all this ran through her mind.
And then her lips twisted with renewed bitterness. Money would permit her to get out of Texas and away from the Fortunes and her own dumb family. Nothing she could buy with that money would please her more.
Now, exactly when should she write that letter? And how should she deliver it without leaving a trail of clues that would lead investigators back to her?
She had a lot to think about. This was going to take some very careful planning.
The day had been trying. Dallas had been at the big house since around two that afternoon with his father, Lily, Parker Malone— Ryan’s lawyer—and the sheriff. They’d gone through the house with a fine-tooth comb, making a list of missing items. Ryan had been mad as hell and distraught, and Dallas had apologized for not putting a night guard on the place.
“It’s not your fault,” Ryan had told him. “I should have thought of it myself. Hell’s bells, we’ve got two body-guards, and one of them went with Matthew and Claudia, and the other went to Bermuda with Lily and me. I should have left one of them behind to keep an eye on the house, or hired a third man to do it. So stop blaming yourself, Dallas. It was my oversight, not yours.”
They had discussed Sophia. “Dad, I realize she’s the most likely candidate, but how would she have known that everyone was gone?”
“That’s what none of us can figure out,” Ryan had said grimly. “Parker came up with an idea that’s been eating at me—the possibility of Sophia having an ally among the hired help. Someone who tells her everything we do. What do you think?”
“I guess it’s possible,” Dallas had said slowly, thinking of the ranch’s cadre of hired help. No one person stood out in his mind. “But I can’t imagine who it would be.”
“Neither can I,” Ryan had admitted. “Which only makes that idea doubly worrisome. If there really is someone among our ranks who’s spying on every move we make and carrying the information to Sophia, who do we dare trust?”
When Dallas went home after dinner at the main house that night, he was still thinking about it. Who, among all the people who worked on the ranch, would carry tales to Sophia? Had she ever been particularly friendly with any of the hired help? If she had been, Dallas thought, he’d certainly never witnessed it.
After a shower, Dallas doused the lights and climbed into bed. The robbery fled his mind as Maggie’s image filled it. He’d made a damn fool of himself again with Maggie. He never could have imagined her taking his proposal of marriage as an insult—and it hurt li
ke hell that she had.
And yet she’d told him straight out one time that she didn’t like him. Why in heaven’s name couldn’t he just believe her and let it go at that? Was it because she physically responded to him? Damn, she was a confusing woman. After flatly refusing to marry him, she’d made love with him, then told him no again. If only there was a way to crawl into her brain and really get a grasp on her thoughts and feelings.
Well, that was an inane wish, Dallas thought. He would never understand Maggie, and he might as well face it.
Thirteen
The furor caused by the robbery gradually died down. Suspicions were not enough to legally lay the blame on Sophia, and even the question of how a thief—be it Sophia or someone else—could have pulled it off without anyone on the ranch catching on lost impetus.
Christmas was getting close and uppermost in everyone’s mind. Since the day of his proposal, Dallas had stayed away from Maggie. She knew that he came by every so often to see Travis, but he never once attempted to see her. Every time Maggie realized that Dallas was in the yard talking to Travis, she chanced a peek out a window at him. The sight of Dallas never failed to upset her, but she couldn’t stop herself from taking that furtive look. And, perversely, he seemed to be more handsome each time she saw him. Obviously, as long as she was in a position to see him, her feelings were only going to keep digging deeper into her psyche.
She’d stopped telling herself that she had to leave the ranch, because there was no way to accomplish it. She couldn’t accept her fate graciously, however, and, as Maggie should have known would happen, Rosita noticed her daughter’s down-in-the-mouth mood.
“Maggie, if you’re worrying about paying for Christmas gifts, your papa and I will give you the money to do your shopping.”
“Thank you, Mama, but I have enough money for gifts.” She figured she might as well spend what money she did have in giving Travis a wonderful Christmas; it wasn’t enough for anything else. Then Rosita’s generous offer sank in. Her parents would give her money for everything but what she really wanted: a move to Houston.
Rosita and Ruben were happy that she and Travis were living with them, and they would never agree to finance a move that they so rigidly disapproved of. To their way of thinking, a daughter alone should move back home. It was an old world attitude, but Maggie knew there was no way to convince her parents that she was perfectly capable of living independently, not even if she pointed out that she had done exactly that in Phoenix since her divorce.
But in spite of her decision to use her money for Christmas gifts, Maggie procrastinated on the actual shopping. Every day she walked down to the mailbox with hope in her heart that this would be the day that she would receive a letter from a Houston bank, and every day she walked back to the house disappointed.
Until Friday, the eighteenth of December. There was a handful of mail that day, and she thumbed through it, looking for an envelope addressed to her. When she saw one, she gasped out loud at the return address: Texas Bank of Commerce and Industry. So excited that her heart was pounding, she ran all the way back to the house.
Travis called, “Mama, why are you running?”
Maggie laughed gaily. “Just for the fun of it, son.” Most days Travis walked to the mailbox with her, but today he’d been frolicking with Baron and hadn’t wanted to go. Maggie had told him he didn’t have to go, but to be sure that he stayed in the yard. In one notable way the puppy had been a blessing, because from the day Dallas had given Baron to Travis, the little boy had stayed close to the house, apparently content to play with his pet.
Inside, Maggie breathlessly tore open the envelope and extracted a single page, which she unfolded and eagerly read.
Dear Ms. Perez Randall,
We have an opening in our commercial loan department that may interest you. We will be holding interviews for the position the first two days of next week, so if you are still seeking employment, please call the following phone number and we will schedule an interview for you. The number is 555-6261.
The letter was signed by a Karen Johnson with the title of Director of Personnel.
Maggie was beside herself, and she immediately went to the phone and dialed the number. In ten minutes she had an interview lined up for Monday morning at 9:00 a.m.
Something told Maggie that she was going to get that job. But even before the interview, sometime this weekend, in fact, she had to express to her parents her unshakable determination to get back on her own two feet. She knew in her heart that it wasn’t going to be an easy discussion, but there simply was no way around it.
A short time later her initial excitement over the letter began dissipating. An early-morning interview presented its own set of problems. Transportation to Houston was one of them, of course, and another was what she would do with Travis on Monday.
While going through her closet to choose the perfect outfit for the interview, Maggie decided she could catch a ride to Red Rock with someone from the ranch; people were always going to town for one reason or another. Then, in Red Rock, she could take a bus to Houston. Though that plan seemed feasible, its success depended on bus schedules and whether or not someone would be taking an early-morning run into Red Rock on Monday. It would be far, far better if she could arrive in Houston on Sunday night and rent a motel room close to the Texas Bank of Commerce and Industry. At least she would be on time for her appointment with Karen Johnson. First impressions were crucial in job interviews, and showing up late wouldn’t be wise.
But then there was Travis, who was much too young to leave alone in a motel room while she went to the interview. Remembering that there were motels and hotels in Phoenix that advertised bonded baby-sitting services for their guests, Maggie began searching for the Houston telephone directory that she was positive she had seen in one drawer or another since coming home.
When she finally found it, she flipped through the Yellow Pages and read the dozens of hotel and motel ads. Some mentioned reliable baby-sitting as part of their service, so her next task was to locate one situated near the bank. Using the map of Houston in the phone book, she finally pin-pointed a hotel in the general vicinity. Deciding that was the best she could do, she phoned and made a reservation for Sunday night, emphasizing her need for child care on Monday morning. The clerk promised to line up a sitter, and Maggie put down the phone feeling greatly relieved.
Surely someone would give her and Travis a ride to Red Rock on Sunday, and the rest of her plan would fall into place after that. On Monday she would arrive at the interview on time, bright-eyed from a good night’s sleep, and not worried about her son.
Maggie suddenly noticed the clock—almost two hours had passed since she had talked to Travis on her way into the house! Darn it, how had she let so much time go by without checking on her son? It was strange that he hadn’t run in for a drink of water, a snack or a potty break.
Jumping up, Maggie hastened to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she didn’t immediately see Travis in the front or side yard, she started calling his name. Leaving the porch she walked to the back of the house, where he often played. He wasn’t there, nor was he on the other side of the house. He was, in fact, nowhere to be seen. Nor was the puppy. Maggie’s heart sank clear to her toes. Scanning fields and the ranch, her eyes darting in every direction, she felt the same dread every time Travis had taken a notion to wander.
Recalling that Cruz had found him playing in a haystack the last time Travis had left the yard, Maggie took off running in that direction. This time, she told herself, Travis was going to have to be punished. Maybe if he sat on a chair in the house for a full day, he would remember his promise to stay in the yard.
Dallas, on Vic, was heading for the ranch. As always when he rode alone, his thoughts were jumping from one thing to another. Chores and projects on the ranch, as well as his father’s many personal problems, occupied his brain. Behind every thought, though, was Maggie and her cruel, incomprehensible rejection of his mar
riage proposal.
He had forced himself to stay away from her, but obviously that old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder was true, because no matter how busy he kept himself he couldn’t stop thinking of her. Sometimes he resented her with every fiber of his being; he told himself that she simply wasn’t the woman he’d thought she was, and that he was better off without her.
But there were also unnerving moments when he blamed himself for her attitude, when he remembered in torturous detail how crudely he’d first approached her. That invariably led to other memories, most of which were heart-wrenchingly disturbing. A constant question tingled: If she hadn’t liked him from the get-go, why had she made love with him, not once but twice?
Deep in thought, Dallas barely noticed the childish voice that came out of nowhere. But after a few minutes that high-pitched sound zigzagged through his thoughts and finally registered. Pulling Vic to a halt, Dallas frowned and looked around.
Way off in the distance he could see a child and a small dog. The child appeared to be chasing the dog, and the dog playfully kept dodging the child’s hands. Dallas’s frown deepened. Surely he wasn’t seeing Travis and Baron this far from their house. Good God, Maggie would pitch a fit.
Nudging Vic into a quick gallop, Dallas rode toward the scene that became clearer the closer he got. It was Travis and Baron, and what was going on was pretty damn funny. The puppy would dart ahead, then stop and wait for Travis to try and catch him. The second Travis reached out for the pup, off Baron would go again.
Dallas couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, Trav!” he shouted when he figured the boy was within earshot.
Travis stopped running and waited for Dallas to ride up to him. Dallas immediately saw how hot and sweaty Travis was, even though the day was cool. While Dallas dismounted, Travis said forlornly, “He ran away, and I can’t catch him, Dallas.”
A Willing Wife Page 16