Sneering, Nat figured she needed a leash. She eyed him like he was on the menu, her tongue just peeking out of her oversized lips.
Great. Freaking great.
Troy glared at him even though Nat kept his face impassive. Nat threw Eliza a quick glance, but she’d disappeared.
“Get off my property,” asshole, he bit down on the insult, “before I call the sheriff.” His voice remained flat calm, like the surface of a lake before an electrical storm. Inside he seethed, resentment curling through him like an ember on slow burn.
“Sheriff Talbot would be a little upset if he had to come out here two days in a row.” Strange smirked and suddenly Nat knew.
Strange had set up the whole thing—the fight, the visit from the sheriff. He was trying to drive the Sullivans right out of town. Sonovabitch.
What the hell had Marlena told her husband about him?
“How’s the convict?” Strange smirked again. Like Nat was too goddamned stupid to figure out he was being screwed by the Texan.
Nat sensed Ryan come up to stand beside him. His brother moved quietly when he wanted to and Nat sometimes forgot he wasn’t the only Sullivan who stood to lose the ranch.
“Did you know half the town’s fucked your wife?” Ryan asked Troy with a slow friendly smile. “Only the male half, mind.” Ryan laughed at his own little joke, as if he thought it was funny.
Nat didn’t. He hated where this was going, cringed before Ryan opened his mouth again.
“She even offered Nat a blowjob a couple weeks ago, but he was kinda rushed so he couldn’t take her up on her offer...I took her up though,” Ryan spoke in a low dead whisper, the king of easy-going, suddenly pissed. “She tell you about that?”
Oh shit.
Troy’s frame buzzed with temper. His fists clenched and unclenched by his side.
“Maybe you need the stud for her?” Ryan smiled, but Nat had never seen him look so deadly. “Because I know she likes it hard and fast, and maybe you’re just not up to the job?”
Marlena started to splutter a defense. Troy cut her off with a sharp slice of his hand and a hard grip on her wrist. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He glared at Ryan with unrestrained fury. “This from the king of screwing around? I bet your dead wife turns in her grave, the way you nail anything that—”
Troy never saw it coming. He was flat on the ground, nursing his face with both hands before he could say spit.
Nat was just sorry Ryan had got there first.
“Don’t ever mention my wife again,” Ryan spat between gritted teeth.
Maybe he should have warned Troy about Ryan’s sore point. Nat laughed.
Marlena must have decided that the best defense was a good offense because suddenly she was shouting. “I didn’t come on to him. He attacked me!” She was pointing at him, Nat, and there were actual tears in her eyes. He just bet she’d spun a great tale that hadn’t included going down on him as a tip for a ride home.
The woman was spitting mad, her revenge foiled by a man she thought she’d already nailed. “And don’t think I have to take these accusations from you. You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
Nat stared at Troy who still rolled around in the dirt and shook his head—mention the freaking lawyer now, why don’t you.
Ryan laughed, but it didn’t sound pretty. “I can get signed affidavits from half the cowboys in town, sweetheart, regarding your favorite sexual position. And they’re just the ones who can write.”
Troy climbed to his feet nursing a split lip. “I’m going to destroy you, you bastard.” Troy thrust his face closer to Nat’s.
What? Why him? Did he really believe he’d go anywhere near his crazed wife? Nat glanced across at Marlena and swore—she was reeling against the four-by-four, crying as if her heart had been broken.
The bitch was completely mental.
Nat wanted to applaud; his hands itched with the desire to start clapping and shouting Bravo. He could lose the family ranch because some bimbo didn’t like the fact he wouldn’t have sex with her?
Nat crossed his arms over his chest and stared Troy down with a cruel smile on his lips. “Just try it—”
“Nat!” Eliza shouted, “NAT!”
What the hell...Nat looked across to see Eliza standing on the porch of the main house, trying to hold his mother upright.
He started running.
“I hope the old bitch dies—” Troy shouted after him. Nat knew Ryan hit the little bastard again, but he didn’t stop to look.
By the time he’d reached the porch, Eliza had laid Rose down on the floor and dashed into the kitchen to phone 9-1-1.
His mother’s complexion was a ghastly gray and her skin clammy when he touched her cheek.
“Nat,” she gasped. Her right hand clutched at her left breast as her back arched off the floor. “Hurts...”
Rose was having another heart attack. Panic screamed inside Nat’s head, but reason drowned it out. Her blue lips were pulled back in a grimace of pain, her breath shallow. His own heart shriveled and died inside his chest. He couldn’t lose her now.
“It’ll be okay, just try and lie still.” Kneeling, he pulled a blanket off his mother’s rocking chair and placed it as a pillow beneath her head. The emergency services would take too long to get here.
Sas was at the ER.
“Phone the ER, Eliza, number’s on the board,” Nat shouted through the screen door. “Ask them what to do.”
Rose cried out in pain, her eyes lost their focus.
“Oh God.” She held her chest and grimaced hard. She shuddered, took a sharp, jerky breath. “Don’t. Let them. Take the ranch. Nat.”
“No one’s taking anything, Mom, so—”
“Promise me.” Rose gripped his hand so hard it hurt. “Promise. Me.” She gazed into his eyes and Nat’s whole body filled with dread.
Swallowing the knot that formed in his throat, Nat nodded. “I promise.”
Eliza ran through the door at the same time Ryan pulled Nat’s truck up to the porch steps.
“Doctor says get her to the ER as fast as you can.” Eliza held out a strip of tablets. “She told me to put one of these under her tongue and then get your asses down there.”
Eliza tore out a tablet and passed it to Nat.
He placed it under his mother’s tongue and picked her up, cradled her silver-haired head against his chest. She’d drifted into unconsciousness.
Grimly, Nat held Eliza’s gaze as he climbed into the truck. He hugged his mother close to his chest as Ryan gunned the engine, but the chances of Rose making it to the ER alive were slim to none and they all knew it.
****
Five hours later Elizabeth waited at the kitchen window, looked out at the moon, past little pots of herbs that lined the windowsill. Nat had phoned.
Rose was dead.
Elizabeth felt sick. She’d finally figured out that her whole damned life was cursed. She wasn’t in denial anymore; her eyes were wide-open. She loved Nat Sullivan to the depths of her soul and there was nothing she could do about it. Now his mother was dead, but she couldn’t stay to comfort him.
Despair dragged like lead in her chest—pulled her shoulders down in defeat. She was going to leave in the morning, abandon him as if he meant nothing to her, with that bitch and her husband ready to drive nails into the coffin.
But she could help. She would help. She’d already set the wheels in motion and hoped there was time to make it work. Nat wouldn’t like it, but then Nat didn’t have to know.
Tears choked and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get the air past the weight of guilt and misery that blocked her throat. Elizabeth stumbled to the door. Threw it open and staggered outside. Ran from the house into the cold night air and reached the corral, climbed the rails and stared up at the stars.
Stealth trotted over, a zephyr of air in the darkness, and rubbed his velvet soft nose against her arm. The tears didn’t stop. Desperate, she did something she hadn’t
done since she was a little girl. She found the North Star, wished upon it, like a child the night before Christmas.
****
Nat’s shoulders slumped forward; his throat constricted so tightly that no matter how hard he swallowed, grief still suffocated him like a garrote.
Sarah—hell, he didn’t even want to think about the look in her eyes when she’d realized they’d lost the battle. All that medical knowledge and she was still impotent against death. He held on to the edge of the kitchen sink, squeezed his eyes shut, but only saw the hollow reflection of grief in her eyes. He’d known before she’d told him that Rose was gone.
Hell.
Standing in the kitchen, encircled by darkness, the sound of his breathing was harsh in the noiseless room. The house was silent as if in mourning. Hell, it was.
Sarah had stayed at the hospital to make the arrangements for the funeral. He’d dropped Ryan and Cal at a bar then he’d come home for Tabitha. And for Eliza.
He didn’t remember the house ever being this quiet before. Not when his dad had died, nor when Ryan’s wife, Becky, followed just a few months later. Maybe it was because there’d been a baby to take care of, or maybe death had finally taken the heart and soul of his family.
Not wanting to think about his mother, he methodically finished his glass of water, washed the glass, and towel-dried his hands. Walking upstairs, he listened to each footfall echo off the wood before taking another step. It sounded cold and lonely. At the top, he moved along the landing until he reached the last room at the end of the house.
The door was open a crack and he pushed it wider. Eliza lay in a dim pool of light, asleep on top of a Winnie-the-Pooh bedspread. Her legs dangled off the side of Tabitha’s tiny bed, dark hair loose and tangled around her face, lips slightly parted. Tabitha curled toward her, a kangaroo clutched in a headlock beneath her chin.
Nat swallowed back tears. He didn’t want to have to tell Tabitha that her grandma had died—he could barely deal with the thought himself. But Sarah had enough to deal with, and Ryan...well; they all knew Ryan didn’t deal well with death.
Nat rubbed his hand over his face, gnawed the inside of his lips against the edge of his teeth. He didn’t really have a choice, but maybe she’d be too young to understand anyway. And that thought brought a rush of sorrow that welded his throat shut. Tabitha wasn’t even three years old and she’d already lost three of the most important people in her life. Four—if you counted Ryan.
The nightlight coated the curve of Eliza’s cheek with soft peach and darkened the golden freckles that stood out on her nose. Another orphan, raised by strangers.
How did you survive without a mother to love you? A mother to wipe away the tears, soothe the hurt and scold the misdeeds? A mother to make you wear sweaters when you weren’t cold and wash up when there was nothing wrong with being dirty?
He watched the gentle rise and fall of Eliza’s shoulders as she slept. Wanted to reach out and touch, but couldn’t get his hand to release the death-grip on the doorknob.
Rose Sullivan had been a hard woman, bred for toughness in the high mountain valleys, but she’d had a soft side too, a side that had loved her children as fiercely as a wildcat defended her young. Just the way he’d loved her back. But now his grief weighed him down like a boulder, twice as heavy because of the promise he’d made before she’d slipped away.
He’d save the ranch. Somehow.
The auction would go ahead tomorrow morning—the woods would probably be sold before most people knew Rose was dead. Shit. Nat let go of the door, rubbed his eyes and straightened his shoulders.
Eliza whimpered and her hand burrowed beneath her pillow. Protectiveness hit him with a wave that rocked him. Pushing the door wide open he walked into the room and stepped over the stuffed teddies that lay scattered across the carpet. He covered Tabitha with her favorite blanket, brushed a fine blonde curl back from her forehead and kissed her cheek.
The little girl stirred but didn’t waken. From an early age, neither Eliza nor Tabitha had had a mother’s love. He wasn’t going to waste time feeling sorry for himself. Rose had always hated whiners, had always hated being the center of attention.
Nat walked around the bed, slid his arms beneath Eliza and lifted her up. There was no gun tucked under the pillow—thank God. She snuggled closer to his chest, burrowing into his arms. Leaning down, he kissed her hair and caught a hint of her scent.
Nat carried her through the empty house and placed her carefully on his bed. He was too deadened to feel rage and even misery was beyond him. Too battered to want to do more than find comfort any way he could.
He undressed, dampened down the stray emotions that threatened to fill his chest, slid into bed and pulled Eliza close. Murmuring something unintelligible she snuggled closer.
Nat lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. His mother had been the mainstay of his life. Now she was gone. He’d known she was ill—hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the reality that she might actually die. Rubbing his chin in Eliza’s hair, he reflexively tightened his grip, he didn’t know what he was going to do about Eliza, but he didn’t want to let her go, not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Somewhere between her pulling a gun on him and now, he’d gone and fallen in love with her and that scared the shit out of him. God knows, he’d been hurt by Nina’s betrayal, he didn’t want to go though that annihilation again.
His jaw ached from the effort of keeping his emotions in check and his heart thudded against his ribs. He’d promised his parents that he’d save the ranch and he wouldn’t give up. Debt was his middle name, encumbered by a family that was splintered around the edges. He could never leave.
Nat growled softly under his breath. What about Cal? Ezra? Who’d employ an ex-con, and an old man who should’ve retired years ago?
Eliza moaned in her sleep and he soothed her with a kiss on the temple.
Tomorrow’s sale of Venus’ woods might generate enough money to get them out of this year’s mess, but what about next year? Where would he get the money to build the indoor arena he needed to train other people’s mounts during the winter? The vultures were circling and Troy Strange was the main one to pick over the bones.
Hell. The son of a bitch was the last person Nat wanted taking anything from him. His stomach pitched and rolled with a mixture of hate and dread.
Eliza whimpered and twitched in her sleep, pulling Nat back from his thoughts. He wished to God he could dispel the sadness that crept upon her, darkened her eyes and doused her happiness.
It would take time. The one thing he figured he didn’t have with Eliza.
The tempo of her breathing changed, tension invading her muscles as she started to writhe under the covers as if running away.
He leaned over her, brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Eliza, wake up honey.”
Green eyes opened, wide and shocked, but she relaxed on a sigh. Realization crowded her gaze and chased away the vestiges of sleep and tears formed on her lashes. She reached up to cup his cheek.
“I’m so sorry about Rose.”
Tears slid down the sides of her face, staining the pillow. Nat held her gaze even though he didn’t want to. He traced a tear with a blunt finger and wiped it away. Some things were too important to avoid. Nodding, he let the misery slide through his mind and acknowledged the grief.
She tried to smile at him, but her lips trembled too badly to pull it off. He couldn’t read the emotions that shone in the depths of her eyes, but reminded himself that sympathy was a poor substitute for love.
Now wasn’t the time to figure it out.
She leaned up. Pressed her lips to his in a gentle caress. Time hovered slowly and she drew out the touch until it was saturated with longing. Nat savored the feel of her lips against his. Tasted each kiss, and let them feed his sorrow.
He undressed her slowly. Lay back when she moved over him. Let her soothe his hurts and absorb his misery with kisses and unbearable gentleness.
Oblivion loomed over him with an intensity that burned white behind his eyelids. He grabbed onto the passion—ignored death that hovered in the background like a soundtrack. He didn’t want to feel anything but Eliza’s breath on his body or her touch on his skin. Pain and heartbreak could wait.
Chapter Seventeen
Learjet, April 16th
“DeLattio escaped?” Sick with dread Marsh paced the passageway of the jet.
Half an hour ago he’d been feeling great, wide-awake and alert after a few hours sleep. The anticipation of finding Elizabeth and Josephine had zinged along his nerves like electricity, giving him a tidal high. Now his good mood sank below a sea of filth.
“Someone poisoned the agents assigned guard duty—Bob Butler and Peter Wade.” Dancer grimaced, tapped more keys on his laptop. Marsh hadn’t known the agents personally, but his stomach twisted anyway.
“Sodium cyanide. DeLattio’s lawyer was found with a 9mm gunshot wound to the head.”
“Christ,” Marsh stuffed his hands in his pockets, alarmed at the turn of events. “And Ron Moody said Stone Creek, Montana?”
A sheriff from a small town in Montana had put in a request for an ID on fingerprints that had turned out to be Elizabeth’s.
“Yeah.” Steve Dancer pointed to a GPS map on the computer screen. “Gave me the usual bullshit, but that’s where he said. And it lines up with Josephine’s route. She’s heading north on Highway 15. If we fly straight to Kalispell we could be waiting for her when she arrives.”
Marsh thought about it and liked the idea. God he’d love to see her face. Turning, he gave the orders for the pilot to change the flight plan. Still restless, he paced up and down the corridor, examining their plan for loopholes.
“How do we find Elizabeth once we get to this place?” Marsh grabbed an apple from the complimentary bowl, thought about the effects of cyanide and changed his mind.
“The local sheriff is a guy named Talbot. I figure we contact him first, find out what he knows.” Dancer reclined in his leather seat, stretched his arms over his head and yawned.
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