by Joanna Wayne
All Luke had against the town or the ranch could be summed up in two words. Alfred Dawkins. Stubborn. Controlling. Bitter. Downright ornery.
The poor excuse for a father wouldn’t like having Luke home again any more than Luke wanted to be here.
Neither of them had a lot of choice in the matter.
The old defiant angers festered in Luke’s gut as he climbed out of his new double-cab pickup truck and stepped around a mud hole.
His boots scooted across the cattle gap as he unlatched and opened the gate before getting back into his truck and driving through it the way he’d done hundreds of times as a rebellious teenager.
He paused and took in the sights and sounds before he closed the gate behind him. A barking dog, though it wouldn’t be Ace, the golden retriever he’d raised from a pup. Ace had died from a rattlesnake bite when he jumped between Luke and the striking snake.
Luke had been fourteen then. His dad had scorned him for shedding a few tears. Nothing new. Luke had never measured up in his dad’s mind. Just one of the many reasons Luke had never looked back once he left Arrowhead Hills Ranch.
A crow scolded Luke from high in the branches of a nearby live oak. A horse neighed.
Luke looked to the left and spotted a couple of chestnut mares giving him the once-over. So his dad still kept horses. Good to know.
It had been years since Luke was in the saddle. His consecutive tours in the Middle East hadn’t allowed much time for revisiting the cowboy lifestyle.
It was shirtsleeve weather, warm for late January, but a bracing breeze rustled the tall yellow strands of grass and the leaves in a persimmon tree that hugged the fence.
Luke closed the gate, climbed back into his truck and drove toward the old house. He had no idea what to expect or what kind of health his father had been in before he suffered the stroke that had led to his being placed in a rehab facility.
Significantly weakened on the left side of his body now and with difficulty putting his thoughts into coherent sentences, he was unable to take care of himself, much less the ranch.
Not that Luke had originally gotten that information firsthand. It was Esther Kavanaugh, a longtime neighbor who’d been his mother’s best friend before her death, who’d called with the SOS. Luke had followed up with Alfred’s doctor and the rehab center.
So here he was, back in Winding Creek.
The brown roof appeared as he rounded a curve in the dirt ranch road. Trees hid the rest of the clapboard house until he was closer.
It looked smaller than he remembered it. A bungalow with two bedrooms, two baths, a family den, a large kitchen downstairs and an upstairs dormer with another bedroom and bath that had been his hideaway.
Luke parked in a gravel drive in front of the carport that covered what he assumed was his dad’s scratched and dented Chevy pickup truck. Alfred had always been a Chevy man and always hard on the finish of the vehicle. He’d never let bushes or shrubs get in the way of his getting where he wanted to go on the ranch.
The wide, covered porch that his mother had always filled with huge clay pots of colorful blooms was bare except for one old pottery planter full of dirt and dead flowers, a weathered wooden rocker and what looked to be a fairly new porch swing that dangled from the ceiling by only one chain.
Luke’s mother’s once prized flower beds that had bordered the porch were choked with weeds. The paint on the house was faded and peeling. A dark brown shutter on one of the windows hung askew.
Luke climbed out of the truck and took the cracked concrete walk from the driveway to the porch steps. A sense of foreboding rattled his mood. Stepping back into the house with its bittersweet memories of his mother would have been depressing in an ideal situation. This was far from ideal.
He had no idea what Alfred or the neighbors expected of him. He didn’t mind the work, but it wasn’t as if he had any authority to make decisions about the ranch. More than likely his father hadn’t even named him in the will even though Luke had no siblings.
The door was unlocked. Luke swung it open, but before he could step inside, he heard approaching hoofbeats. He turned as the horseman rode into view, pulled on the reins and stopped in the shade a few yards from the porch.
The black mare snorted and tossed her head as the rider climbed from the saddle and looped the reins around a low-lying branch of a scraggly ash tree.
The rider acknowledged Luke with a smile and a nod.
Luke tipped his Stetson.
“You must be Luke,” the cowboy said as he approached the porch steps. “Esther Kavanaugh said you’d be here sometime this weekend. She wasn’t sure when, so I was just coming by to see if you made it yet.”
“Yep. Luke Dawkins. Just drove up. Haven’t even made it inside.” He met the guy on the edge of the porch and offered his hand.
“Buck Stalling,” the guy said. “I’m a wrangler for Pierce Lawrence over at the Double K Ranch. He sends me over here twice a day to take care of the horses.”
“Is Pierce running the ranch for Esther Kavanaugh now?” Luke asked.
“He owns it. Mrs. Kavanaugh sold it to him a few months back.”
“Interesting. She didn’t mention that she’d moved when I talked to her.”
“She didn’t move. She lives right there in the big house like she always has, close to her beloved chickens and garden.”
“Does Pierce live there, too?”
“He did before he built himself, his pregnant wife, Grace, and his young daughter a house of their own no more than a good stone’s throw away from Esther. Right nice setup.”
“Sounds like a good deal for all of them. I just didn’t realize Pierce was back in Winding Creek.”
“Then you know Pierce,” Buck said. “I’m surprised he never mentioned knowing you.”
“No reason he should. Last time I saw him we were in high school, and he moved away before we graduated.”
“Yeah. Tough on him and his brothers losing their parents so early. Lucky for them that the Kavanaughs took them in until their uncle moved them to Kansas.”
Tough on anyone that young to lose a parent. No one knew that any better than Luke.
“If you’re taking care of the horses, who’s looking after the critters?” Luke asked.
“Dudley Miles assigned a couple of his cowboys to help out with the herd until Alfred is functioning enough to hire on some new hands. That’s how it is in Winding Creek. Neighbors take care of neighbors.”
“Certainly seems that way,” Luke agreed.
“I’m real sorry about your father’s stroke,” Buck said. “I didn’t really know him very well, but all the same I sure feel bad for him and you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I heard a dog barking when I came up. Is that Alfred’s dog?”
“Nope. You probably heard Marley. He belongs to one of the cowboys who’s working the critters. He brings him with him some days.”
“That’s a nice-looking horse you’re riding,” Luke said.
“Yep. Wish Lucky was mine. She’s one hell of a cow pony.”
“How many horses does Albert have?”
“Eight quarter horses that he keeps in his new fancy horse barn. Those are his pride and joy. Gonna be tough on your dad if he can’t ride anymore.”
“Hopefully that won’t be the case.”
“He also has three other cow ponies and one good cutter. They have stalls at the back of the old barn when they’re not loose in the pasture.”
“What’s the size of the cattle herd?”
“I don’t have the exact numbers, but I s’pect your dad has a hundred or so Black Angus and damn near that many Santa Gertrudis. That’s just an estimate. Numbers change, of course, depending on when he takes the beef to market and how many calves are born in the spring.”
“That sounds lik
e a lot of work for a man who’s almost seventy to manage,” Luke said.
“He always kept a few hired hands around until he got mad about something and ran them off. He had two hired hands when he had the stroke. They weren’t from around here. Just showed up from somewhere in Oklahoma around Thanksgiving looking for work. They disappeared when Albert had his stroke and wasn’t around to pay them.”
Luke couldn’t really blame them for that. He couldn’t imagine Albert had done anything to deserve a lot of loyalty from them.
He and Buck talked for a few minutes more, long enough to convince Luke that the ranch was not as neglected as the house.
He waited until Buck rode away before stepping inside. Déjà vu hit with a wallop. Memories, both bad and good, came crashing down on him.
It got worse when he reached the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and would have sworn he could smell frying chicken. His mother’s shiny black hair would dance about her shoulders as she cooked and she’d be humming the latest hit from the pop chart. Her lips would shimmer with a bright shade of lipstick.
Before everything had gone bad. So many, many years ago.
Luke shut down the recollections before the bittersweet turned to just plain bitter. It was after three in the afternoon, and darkness set in early in January.
From all accounts, his father was being well cared for and might even be asleep for the night before Luke could make the drive to San Antonio, where he was recovering. A visit with him could wait until tomorrow.
Luke would spend the last of the daylight hours checking out the ranch by horseback.
Suddenly he found himself downright eager to get back in the saddle again. Or maybe he was just glad of an excuse to avoid seeing Alfred for one more day.
Chapter Three
Rachel shrugged out of her navy blue blazer and draped it over the arm of the comfortable wing chair before taking a seat in her psychologist’s office. Her first visits to Dr. Stephen Lindquist’s had been awkward and strained and had always ended with her in tears.
That had been in late September, during the first weeks after she’d been rescued by her sister, Sydney, and Sydney’s now husband, Tucker Lawrence. Rachel had been a total wreck then, the panic attacks hitting with excessive regularity and crippling ferocity.
Work was impossible. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll.
Not atypical with her degree of post-traumatic stress, Dr. Lindquist had assured her. His skill and easy manner had quickly won her over, yet she wasn’t making the kind of progress she’d hoped for.
She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her experience in captivity. Couldn’t deal with the fact that if her sister and Tucker had come moments later she would have been burned alive.
Talking or thinking about it brought it all back to life.
Dr. Lindquist settled in his rustic-brown leather chair. “Good to see you, Rachel.”
“Thanks for fitting me in on a Friday afternoon with such short notice,” she said.
“You sounded a bit panicky on the phone.”
“I was. I am.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I had a major meltdown at work this morning.” Her voice cracked. She wrapped her arms around her chest as if that could calm her shattered nerves.
“Take a few deep breaths,” Dr. Lindquist suggested. “There’s no rush. You’re my last appointment for the day. You have me as long as you need me.”
“Thanks, but you may be sorry you offered that.”
“I won’t be. Is it the nightmares again?”
“No, though I still have them from time to time. It’s just that every time I seem to be getting in control of my fears, something happens to send me back into the self-destruction spiral.”
“You’re dealing with a lot. A little backsliding is to be expected. We’ve talked about that.”
“I know. But this is more than a little backsliding. I may have blown my career.”
The doctor crossed an ankle over his knee. “Why don’t you tell me what happened from the beginning?”
“I suppose you’ve heard that Senator Covey’s son, Hayden, has been arrested.”
“No way to miss it. The murder of his ex-girlfriend is dominating the news. I’m sure the senator and his wife are devastated.”
“And desperate. I didn’t know it until this morning, but the senator is a good friend of my boss, Eric Fitch Sr.”
“Guess that means your firm will be defending Hayden.”
“It looks that way. I was offered the chance to be the lead attorney in charge of his defense.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Troubled. Confused. Anxious.” Her muscles tightened and she felt a nagging ache at her right temple.
“It’s the kind of high-profile case that can make or break a defense attorney,” she continued, “the kind of opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The kind I thought I was ready for.”
“And now you’re not sure. What changed your mind?”
“Doubts that I can handle the job. Thoughts that I don’t want to handle the job.”
He leaned in closer. “Go on.”
“Senator and Mrs. Covey brought their son into the office this morning for a preliminary interview. As I shook hands with Hayden, I stared into the cold, barren intensity of his predatory eyes and an icy shiver ran though me. In that second, it was as if I knew that he was capable of murder.
“No evidence had been presented. It was nothing Hayden had said or done. I just looked into his eyes and saw Roy Sales.”
“What did you do?”
“I mumbled something about feeling ill, which I was, and then stood and staggered out of the meeting.”
Rachel covered her eyes with her hands, fighting back salty tears of frustration. Her life had changed forever. Now the past was destroying her career with no relief in sight.
“If it turns out Hayden Covey is guilty of the brutal murder of his former girlfriend, I’d say your assessment of him is right on target,” the doctor said.
“Which doesn’t excuse my unprofessional behavior.”
“Have you talked to your boss about the incident?”
“Not yet. I think he was with the Coveys the rest of the morning, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until he confronts me about my reaction. I’ll be lucky if I’m not fired. My boss put me to the test and I failed miserably.”
“Failure is a strong word.”
“And not one I’m used to,” she admitted. “But nothing is what I’m used to anymore and I’m tired of having my friends and coworkers feel sorry for me instead of seeing me as an equal.”
“I’m sure most of them mean well,” Dr. Lindquist said.
“I know, but it’s not the way I want to live.”
“Maybe it’s time you changed your life. Go somewhere where everyone doesn’t know about your past.”
“You’re starting to sound like my sister, Dr. Lindquist, and I get her advice for free.”
“What kind of advice does she give you?”
“Stop putting so much pressure on myself. She thinks I should quit the firm and spend some time finding myself again—away from the world of defending people accused of violent crimes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“You know, Doctor, sometimes I wish you’d just give me answers instead of trying to lead me to work my way through the impossible maze.”
An unexpected smile touched the doctor’s lips. “Sometimes I wish I could, too. Unfortunately, that’s not the way this works. The real answers must come from you.
“So, back to the question. How do you feel about Sydney’s suggestion that you take a less stressful job for a while, maybe a change of scenery, as well?”
“It feels like I’d be giving up. It feels like I would have lost and Roy Sales has won.”
>
“Any other considerations?”
As usual, she had the feeling Dr. Lindquist was seeing right through her. “There are times I long to walk away from it all,” she admitted reluctantly. “But working for a prominent law firm was the dream that got me through law school. So much time and work have been invested into that dream. I can’t just throw that away.”
“Sometimes dreams change.”
“Or they can be changed for you.”
“Have you considered other career options?”
“Not exactly, but I have a friend who specializes in working with charitable organizations—handles lawsuits and tax issues for them and works with people who wish to set up foundations or donate money in their wills. She loves it. Says she always feels like she’s on the right side.”
“That has a lot of plusses?” the doctor said.
“Then is just walking away from my job what you think I should do?”
“It’s what you think you should do that matters, Rachel. I don’t see that as giving up. Sometimes changing life paths is the most difficult decision of all.”
“I never looked at it that way.”
“You’re a tough, smart woman with good instincts. You’ll make the right decision for you. It just takes time.”
“You have more confidence in me than I do in myself.”
“You’ll get there. I am puzzled, though, why Eric Sr. didn’t just take the lead on this case himself.”
“He’s concerned his friendship with the senator might bias the jury against him. And he claims that I’d be more effective at convincing the jury of Hayden’s innocence.”
“Because of your own past? Your opinion of Hayden Covey would likely count for a lot, considering what you’ve been through.”
She thought painstakingly about Dr. Lindquist’s comment and then cringed as the truth about Eric’s more likely motives took root. He didn’t think she was the most capable defense attorney at the firm.
He was using her, putting his faith in the jurors pitying her and believing she’d never defend Hayden unless she fully believed in his innocence.
Her insides twisted. She had no proof of the theory, but it made sense. How had she not seen that before?