Chapter
Seventeen
The warmth of the summer night closed around her
the minute Laura stepped outside. But it failed to relax the
tension that screamed through her nerves. She stiffened slightly at
the guiding touch of Boone’s hand on her back.
Neither said a word as they walked to
the Suburban. Boone helped her into the passenger seat, closed the
door, and circled around to the driver’s side to slide behind the
wheel. Seconds after he started the engine, air blasted from the
dashboard vents, the temperature of it gradually
cooling.
All tight with anger, Laura faced the
window and stared into the nothingness, an elbow propped on the
door and curled fingers pressed to her mouth. Utility poles whipped
by outside the window as the silence between them grew more
oppressive.
Laura finally broke it, her voice taut
with the effort to keep her temper in check. “I can’t believe you
did that.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Boone
demanded. “Sit and say nothing like Dunshill, while some drunk
calls you names? Sorry, I’m not made that way.” There was a flexing
jump of a muscle along his jaw, but Laura was too angry to
notice.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.
It’s the way you hit Mitchell when he was completely defenseless.
That was vicious and uncalled for.”
A breath of disgust exploded from
Boone. “Leave it to a woman to think like that. If you’d ever been
in a fight, you’d know that when you’ve got a man down, you keep
’em down any way you can.” He slanted her a sharp look. “Who is
this guy? What was that business of you being in his
home?”
Tersely Laura provided him with a recap
of the circumstances surrounding the one and only time she had been
inside the Mitchell house. When she finished, this time it was
Boone who demanded, “What the hell were you thinking? Nothing but
trouble comes from involving yourself in somebody else’s domestic
problems. That’s why we have police and social
workers.”
It was a view she once would have
echoed, but somewhere along the line doubt had crept in. “What kind
of world would it be if everybody felt that way?” Laura said,
voicing the question that was in her mind.
“That sounds like the kind of crap
Dunshill would spout,” Boone said with contempt. “People like that
are nothing but trash. I don’t want you associating with them
anymore. I don’t care how well-intentioned the
reason.”
For a tight-lipped moment, Laura said
nothing. “You are going to be lucky if Mitchell doesn’t
sue.”
“If he does, he’ll find out you don’t
sue a Rutledge and get away with it.”
Sebastian and Trey returned to a
darkened house. The silence of it pushed at them the minute they
walked inside. Pausing in the entryway, Trey swept off his hat and
listened a moment, then glanced at Sebastian.
“I had a feeling everybody might be in
bed. My sister doesn’t get mad often, but when she does, she tends
to stay mad for a while. And she wasn’t too happy when she left
Harry’s.”
“It was an unpleasant scene.” Sebastian
glanced in the direction of the second floor, his expression
thoughtful. “No doubt Rutledge is of the opinion Mitchell provoked
the attack and therefore justified it. As so often happens in the
heat of battle, a man’s actions are more often dictated by instinct
than good judgment.” It was an absent comment, his thoughts
centering on Mitchell’s drinking and the potential repercussions on
his wife.
“That’s the first time you actually
sounded like a lawyer,” Trey said with amusement. “I think I’ll go
raid the refrigerator and see if I can’t rustle up something to
eat. Care to join me?”
“Thank you, but no. I think I’ll follow
the example of the rest of the family and retire for the
evening.”
“See you in the morning, then.” Trey’s
long strides carried him in the direction of the
kitchen.
Sebastian made his way to the staircase
at a slower pace. When he reached the top of the steps, his gaze
automatically strayed to Laura’s bedroom door. A slit of light
showed beneath it. He hesitated, then crossed to it.
Indecision held him motionless in front
of it for several long seconds. There was only silence from within.
He raised his hand and started to knock, then changed his mind and
lowered it as footsteps crossed the living room below
him.
Obeying the hush of the rest of the
house, he moved silently away from her door. By the time he reached
the bedroom, Trey was halfway up the steps, the white of a sandwich
showing in his hand.
As Sebastian turned the doorknob to his
room, Laura’s door sprang open. She stood within the doorframe,
fully backlit, the silken texture of her night-robe glistening,
creating a sensuous outline of her feminine shape.
For an instant she froze at the sight
of Trey. “I thought—” Laura began. Then her gaze flew past him,
straight to Sebastian. He turned from it and entered his bedroom.
“Never mind,” she said to Trey and spun away from the
door.
Trey cast a considering glance after
Sebastian and crossed the few feet to her room. He paused at its
threshold. “You okay, Sis?”
“Of course.” The curtness of her voice
said something else.
He studied the stiff, tight way she
held herself. “Are you still going to marry that guy?”
Laura flashed him an angry look, dark
eyes snapping. “Shut up, Trey. Just shut up.” She grabbed the door
and gave it a swing, shutting it in his face.
The morning sun was still low in the
sky when Laura came down the steps the next day. The familiar thump
of her grandfather’s cane came from the hallway that led to his
ground-floor room in The Homestead’s west wing. The sound of it
grew steadily nearer, signaling his approach. Laura had a warm
smile ready for him when he hobbled into view.
“Good morning, Gramps.”
He paused in surprise. “You’re up
early.”
“I don’t always sleep until noon.”
Laura saw no reason to admit that her sleep had been less than
restful. “Have you seen Boone?”
“He had breakfast with everybody about
an hour ago, then commandeered the den.” He nodded in the direction
of the room, its doors firmly shut in an apparent request for
privacy. “Said he had some calls to make.”
“I see,” Laura murmured.
“There’s a pot of coffee waiting for me
on the veranda,” Chase told her. “You’re welcome to grab a cup from
the dining room and join me.”
Her hesitation was momentary. “I’ll do
that.”
When they reached the entryway, they
separated, Chase continuing outside while Laura crossed to the
dining room. She found the housekeeper, Allie McGuire, busily
clearing away the covered warming pans from the side table. She
offered to fix Laura a hot breakfast. Laura declined in favor of a
slice of toast slathered with jam.
Carrying both the empty coffee cup and
the toast, Laura joined her grandfather, taking a seat in the twin
to his rocker. “Where’s Sebastian this morning?” she asked while he
filled her cup with coffee from the insulated carafe. “Did he go
off again with Trey?”
“Not today, he didn’t. Said he wanted
to walk off breakfast.” Chase’s glance made an idle sweep of the
ranch yard. “He’s wandering around there somewhere.”
Laura nibbled on the jam-covered toast
without really tasting it. A sip of coffee only seemed to add to
the restlessness that had plagued her all night.
“I suppose you heard about the fight
last night.” As much as she was loathe to discuss it, she also knew
it was a subject that had to be confronted.
Chase rocked slowly back and forth.
“Trey told me about it.”
“I can imagine what he said.”
Irritation crept into her voice.
“Was it the truth?” The words held a
challenge that didn’t match the conversational level of his
voice.
Laura avoided a direct answer. “The
truth is rarely black and white. I would certainly have thought
less of Boone if he hadn’t objected to abusive language that was
used in addressing me.”
“True.” The pace of his rocking never
changed.
“You don’t think I should marry him, do
you?” The tilt of her chin signaled her readiness for an
argument.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,
Laura,” Chase replied evenly. “The only thing that matters is what
you want.”
“There are worse faults a man can
have,” she insisted.
“I expect there are.” He rocked a few
more times. “Just out of curiosity, if you had to describe your
fiancé to someone, what would you say about him?”
The unexpected question had Laura
scrambling for a quick answer. “I don’t know. I suppose I would say
that he’s the son of Max Rutledge from Texas—”
Chase didn’t let her get any further.
“That’s an interesting way to begin. When most women talk about the
men they plan to marry, they go on about how wonderful they are,
how thoughtful and caring, or how funny and warm. They’re usually
slow to mention who they are related to. It seems to me you only
have one question you need to answer—whether it’s Boone Rutledge
you’re marrying or the son of Max Rutledge. If it’s the latter, it
doesn’t matter what happened last night.”
His words were like a slap in the face.
Laura desperately wanted to hit back. It was infuriating to realize
she couldn’t, because there was a little too much truth in his
statement.
“But whatever you do,” Chase added,
“just don’t close your eyes to what you might be getting
into.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” But
she wasn’t sure if she resented his suggestion that she didn’t or
that she was making a mistake marrying Boone.
“Good.” He reached over and patted her
hand, then settled back in the rocker. “Speak of the devil, here
comes Sebastian now.”
Turning, Laura saw Sebastian sauntering
toward the veranda, his hands casually thrust in his pockets, the
sun at his back, its rays igniting the russet lights in his hair. A
pain twisted through her. Refusing to acknowledge it, she pushed
out of the rocking chair.
“I think I’ll go see if Boone has
finished with his business calls,” she said in parting and crossed
to the front door, reaching it as Sebastian started up the veranda
steps.
Laura was halfway across the entryway
when the housekeeper appeared in the dining room arch and halted at
the sight of Laura. “That’s good timing,” Allie declared. “I was
just coming out to get you. Jack Weldon’s on the phone. He asked to
talk to you.”
Laura frowned. “I don’t know anyone
named Jack Weldon.”
Allie MacGuire waved a hand. “Sure you
do. He’s Harry’s son, the one that took over the bar when Harry
passed.”
Laura’s frown deepened. “Did he say
what he wanted?” She asked as the front door opened behind her and
Sebastian entered.
“Not really. He mentioned something
about the Mitchell woman.” Allie’s shoulders lifted in a vague
shrug. “Do you want to talk to him, or shall I tell him you aren’t
available?”
Sebastian answered for her, “She’ll
take the call.”
“I’ll make that decision, thank you,”
Laura flared at him.
Completely unmoved by her show of
temper, Sebastian replied calmly, “Mitchell was still at the bar
last night when Trey and I left. No doubt he was far from sober
when he finally went home. We told her to go to Harry’s. Remember?”
Laura wanted to deny that it was any concern of hers, but the image
of the woman’s bruised and battered face came sharply back to her.
Sensing the beginnings of agreement, he repeated to the
housekeeper, “She’ll take the call.”
“I’ll use the extension in the living
room,” Laura said by way of acknowledgement and moved in that
direction, conscious of Sebastian shadowing her. She tried to
ignore the physical awareness she had of him, without
success.
In the living room she walked straight
to the phone, picked up the receiver, and turned, angling her
position to bring Sebastian into view. “This is Laura
Calder.”
“Miss Calder, this is Jack Weldon . . .
from Harry’s.” There was uncertainty in his voice. “I’m sorry to
bother you so early, but . . . Mitchell’s wife and kids are here. I
don’t know how to say this, but . . . she claims you told her to
come to my place.”
Laura’s mouth curved in a humorless
smile at the blatant skepticism in his statement. “Yes, I
did.”
Before she could ask if Gail Mitchell
was all right, Jack Weldon said in a shocked tone of voice, “Sorry,
I never realized you knew her.”
“Well, I do. Is she okay?” Laura asked
while Sebastian watched her, intent on every word she
said.
“She says she is, but her face doesn’t
look it. That’s why I’m calling. She can’t stay here,” he rushed
on. “I feel sorry for her; really, I do. That husband of hers is no
prize. But I’ve got a business to run, and it ain’t a shelter for
battered women. She just flat can’t stay here.”
“Where’s Mitchell?” Sebastian
prompted.
Laura nodded and asked, “Where’s her
husband? Do you know?”
“No. She claims he came home roarin’
drunk around, oh, thirty minutes ago. She said she quick locked all
the doors, and while he was banging and swearing at the back, she
and the kids snuck out the front.” There was a small pause.
“Somewhere she got the idea in her head she could hide out here
until he slept the worst of it off.” He didn’t come right out and
ask whether Laura had told her that, but the implication was there.
“But she just can’t. I don’t mean to sound hard-hearted, but she’s
got to leave. You know as well as I do what a troublemaker that
Mitchell is. Sooner or later he’s gonna find out she came here, and
when he does, that’s gonna make him mad. I know you meant well when
you told her to come here, but—”
“What’s the problem?” Sebastian asked
in quiet demand, his question coming over the top of the bar
owner’s words.
“Just a minute,” Laura said into the
phone, then clamped a hand over the mouthpiece to answer Sebastian.
“She took the kids out the front when Mitchell was trying to get in
the back door. The owner of the bar isn’t going to let her stay
there. He’s afraid Mitchell will make trouble for him,” she said,
eliminating the lengthy attempts at justification that had been
sandwiched between the owner’s expressions of concern.
“Tell him to keep her there until I
arrive,” Sebastian said.
“But where will you take
her?”
“To the nearest hotel—wherever that may
be,” he answered with a droll smile. Then he was moving toward the
front door.
As she removed her hand from the
mouthpiece, Laura made a split-second decision. “We’ll be there as
soon as we can. In the meantime fix them some breakfast. I’ll pay
for it when I get there.” She hung up. By the time she noticed
Boone standing in the doorway to the den, her mind was already made
up. She called after Sebastian, “Wait, I’m coming with
you.”
“Where are you going?” Boone demanded,
the darkness of displeasure in his expression.
“To town.” Her footsteps never slowed
or altered their straight course to the entryway.
Boone blocked her path. “You aren’t
going anywhere with Dunshill.”
Laura knew all the ways and words to
get around his objection and bolster his already sizable ego at the
same time. Strangely, she had absolutely no desire to do
so.
“I don’t take orders, Boone. Not from
you or your father or anybody.” She took advantage of his momentary
shock to shoulder her way past him.
Laura was halfway to the door before
Boone managed to recover some of his former bluster. “Dammit,
Laura,” he began.
But she was already walking out the
door. In long, stiff strides, he crossed to the door and stepped
onto the columned veranda, catching only a glimpse of Laura as she
slipped into the passenger seat of Sebastian’s rental
car.
A rocking chair made its slow
back-and-forth movement in his side vision. Turning, Boone saw the
elder Calder and vented some of his irritation.
“Why is she going off with him? She
knows he’s after her money. What’s gotten into her?”
“Hard to say. When Laura gets
high-headed like that, she’s hard to rein down.”
Lips thinning into a tight line, Boone
made no reply and simply stared at the car reversing away from The
Homestead.
Dust plumed behind the compact sedan as
it sped along the main graveled road that led to the ranch’s east
gate. Morning sunlight poured through the windshield. Laura flipped
the visor down to block its glare and wished for her
sunglasses.
“You realize the nearest motel is miles
from here,” she told Sebastian somewhat caustically. “You can’t
just take her there and leave her. How will she get back? You’re
kidding yourself if you think she’ll even agree to leave Blue
Moon.”
“I’m open to an alternative
suggestion,” Sebastian replied with the lazy ease that was so
typical of him. It was an attitude Laura usually found appealing,
but in the mood she was in this morning, she found it annoying. She
kept her gaze transfixed on the straight road ahead of
them.
“I wish I had my cell phone. Then I
could call Tara. Dy-Corp has several houses in town that are
sitting empty. I’m sure she could arrange for Gail and the children
to stay in one of them temporarily. I’ll call her when we get to
Harry’s.”
“A house in town would mean the
children would have to stay inside to prevent Mitchell from seeing
them,” Sebastian remarked.
“It wouldn’t be any different at a
motel.”
“Most that I have seen have swimming
pools.”
“You’re determined to get her out of
town, aren’t you?” Laura turned a challenging look on
him.
“It would be better,” Sebastian replied
evenly.
“Why are you doing any of this?” she
demanded. “Boone thinks it’s all an attempt to impress me by
showing how caring and compassionate you can be.”
“Are you impressed?” He glanced at her,
eyes atwinkle.
Laura refused to give in to his
considerable charm. “I am never impressed by stupidity. Trying to
help a woman who’s married to a wife-beater is a waste of time. It
never seems to matter how many times he pounds on her, she always
believes him when he promises it won’t happen again. And it always
does,” she said with exasperation. “She claims she loves him. Maybe
she’s in love with the man she wants him to be, but she is
definitely not in love with the man who knocks her around. So why
do they keep going back? Is it guilt? Do they honestly believe
they’ve done something to cause this? Is it fear? Do they think
they can’t make it on their own? If the man died, they’d find a
way. They wouldn’t have any choice.”
“I suspect there is always more than
one factor at work.” The calm pitch of his voice never
changed.
“How do you know?” Laura eyed him with
sharpened interest, then said sarcastically, “Are you a champion of
battered women back in England?”
A smile tugged at a corner of his
mouth. “Do I detect a trace of bitterness? You and Boone must have
had words last night. Naturally, you have no wish to speak sharply
to the love of your life, not when I make such a handy whipping
boy.”
“You’re very good at taking the
conversation off in some other direction to avoid answering
questions,” Laura stated. “But it isn’t going to work this
time.”
“I see that.” He nodded thoughtfully
and let a silence fall.
“So answer me,” she said
impatiently.
“The truth?” Sebastian countered with a
quick, sideways glance. “I only ask because, in the past when I’ve
spoken the truth, you’ve chosen not to believe me.”
“You’re doing it again, Sebastian, and
I refuse to be sidetracked.”
“The reason isn’t really mine to tell,”
Sebastian replied somewhat cryptically. “Helen is the one you
should ask.”
“Your sister?” Laura frowned in
surprise. “Are you saying she was abused?”
“Surely you don’t believe it happens
only to women in the lower scale of society?” he queried. “I
suspect it’s equally prevalent in the so-called privileged class,
where it’s often kept as a dark secret, perhaps out of pride or
shame.”
“You’re serious.” Laura digested that
fact, then said, “But your sister seemed like such an intelligent
and sensible woman.”
“It’s a conundrum, isn’t it?” Sebastian
replied. “Fortunately she had a friend who recognized all the
hallmarks of an abusive relationship and held a hand out without
ever becoming judgmental.”
Laura remembered his own lack of
criticism in dealing with Gail Mitchell. “I was pretty rough with
Gail,” she recalled.
“But you never pulled your hand back.”
There was a tenderness in the look he gave her that warmed Laura
all the way through.
Suddenly all the inner turmoil was
gone—the odd anger and edginess. In its place was a kind of heady
calm. Sebastian drove through the east gate and turned onto the
two-lane highway, heading north to Blue Moon.
An easy silence settled between them
for a long run of miles. Rooftops jutted into the horizon ahead of
them, their uneven angles close to the highway, making a jagged
line against the sky. Standing two stories tall, close to the
highway, Harry’s was easy to identify from the rest.
Prompted by its nearness, Laura
remarked idly, “I hope Mitchell was too drunk to go looking for his
wife and kids when he discovered they weren’t in the house. If he
showed up at Harry’s, I’m not sure Weldon would try to interfere—or
call the police.”
“I suspect your assumptions are
accurate.” Sebastian didn’t bother to reduce the car’s speed until
they were closer to town.
To Laura’s relief, the parking lot at
Harry’s was empty of vehicles. With a turn of the steering wheel,
Sebastian swung the car into the driveway and stopped directly in
front of the entrance. As Laura stepped out of the car, she
happened to glance across the highway. The vehicle parked beside
the pump island sported a light bar on its roof and a county
sheriff’s insignia on its door. Her attention instantly shifted to
the uniformed officer making his way to the store at an easy walk.
Even though his back was to her, Laura recognized him
instantly.
“There’s Logan across the way,” she
said to Sebastian, comforted by the knowledge that Logan was close
by if they needed him.
As Sebastian turned to look, a bell
jingled, signaling the opening of the door to Harry’s. The squat
owner, Jack Weldon, stepped into the open doorway.
“It’s about time you got here,” he
declared, clearly agitated. “You’d better drive around back.
Mitchell’s across the street at Fedderson’s.”
Surprise held Laura motionless for a
split second. As she swung around to look, two short, explosive
pops rang out. Ranch-raised, she recognized the sound of gunshots.
Even as fear leaped within her, she saw Logan pivot drunkenly away
from the door he held open, his knees buckling, a dark stain on the
front of his uniform.
“No!” The scream came from her own
throat when he crumpled to the ground, though Laura was unaware of
it.
On legs that felt strangely wooden and
slow, she ran toward her fallen uncle. Sebastian caught and held
her before she ever reached the highway. As she struggled to twist
loose, the whole of her attention was riveted on Logan, lying
motionless. She was only vaguely aware of the man who bolted from
the store and scrambled to a pickup parked near its
entrance.
Not until she heard the slam of the
pickup and the engine roar to life did Laura take notice of the
light blue pickup. As the truck peeled onto the highway, she got a
good look at the driver; it was Mitchell.
Sebastian abruptly released her and
took off for Fedderson’s. Laura ran after him, her heart hammering,
fear clutching at her chest. Sebastian was the first to reach
Logan’s side. He lay in a limp heap, blood saturating the front of
his shirt.
Sebastian took one look at him and
ordered, “Call for help. Quick.”
With her own eyes confirming the need
for haste, Laura hurried inside, teeth clenched against the sobs in
her throat. She saw no sign of the owner, Marsha Kelly, as she ran
to the counter and the telephone that sat atop it. When she reached
over to pick up the receiver, Laura saw the woman lying unconscious
on the floor behind the narrow counter, a trickle of blood coming
from a small cut on her left temple.
Spurred by the sight, Laura climbed
over the counter, scooped up the receiver and rapidly punched the
emergency number. “This is Laura Calder,” she said the instant she
received an answer and crouched next to Marsha Kelly, searching for
and finding a strong, steady pulse. “I’m at Fedderson’s in Blue
Moon. Logan”—she caught the beginnings of panic in her voice and
clamped off her emotions, recognizing the need for cool, clear
thinking—“Sheriff Echohawk’s been shot, at least once in the chest,
and Marsha Kelly is unconscious. I saw Gary Mitchell leave here in
an old Chevy pickup, light blue in color. I didn’t get the license
plate number. But I’m sure he’s the one who shot Logan. Send an
ambulance, fast.”
“We have one on the way.”
There were more questions to which
Laura could provide few answers. Through it all she kept an eye on
the glass door and the partially obstructed view it offered of
Sebastian crouched over Logan. After receiving a parting caution to
touch as little as possible, thus preserving any evidence at the
crime scene, Laura hung up, checked again on Marsha, then made her
way around the counter to the front door, using a hip to push it
open.
“The ambulance is on its way,” she said
as Sebastian stood and turned to meet her, the red of blood on his
hands and his clothes.
For an instant, he made no reply. “I’m
sorry,” he said at last. Laura didn’t have to ask what he meant;
she could tell from his solemn expression and the look of deep
compassion in his eyes.
Still the disbelief came. “No.” She
shook her head. “He can’t be dead. Not Logan.”
Needing to confirm it for herself, she
started to push past him, but Sebastian caught her by the arms.
“He’s gone, Laura. You can’t bring him back. No one
can.”
She stiffened, wanting to deny it, but
her throat knotted up, hot and painful. When Sebastian folded her
silently into his arms, Laura didn’t resist. Just for a moment, she
let her head dip against his chest, accepting his attempt to
comfort, but she couldn’t stop the whirl of thoughts in her
mind.
One was foremost among them. “I’ve got
to call home.”
Wrapped in an emotionless calm, she
turned out of his arms and went back inside the store. When she
stepped behind the counter, there was a low moan from the woman on
the floor. Laura bent down to her.
“Marsha, it’s Laura Calder. Can you
hear me?”
“My head,” she mumbled, raising a hand
to her temple.
“Just lie still,” Laura ordered.
“There’s an ambulance on the way.” The words only reminded her that
Logan would have no need for it.
The woman was still too dazed to offer
any objection. Still, Laura kept an eye on her as she straightened
and picked up the phone again. She automatically started to dial
The Homestead, then remembered her mother would be at the ranch
office, and punched in the digits to her personal
extension.
“Mom, it’s Laura,” she said the minute
her mother answered. She thought she sounded calm, but something in
her voice must have given her away.
“What’s wrong?” her mother demanded
with instant concern.
“It’s Logan. He’s been shot.” Laura
heard the quick intake of breath on the other end of the line, and
something squeezed her own heart. “He’s dead, Mom.”
There was a moment of shocked silence,
followed by a slightly addled burst of questions. “How? Why? Where
are you?”
Laura briefly described the events that
took place, ending with, “Aunt Cat.” Her voice tightened up.
“She’ll have to be told.” And there was Quint, too, so far
away.
“I’ll go to her right away. Laura,” she
began on a worried and questioning note.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” she assured her,
knowing that at the moment all she felt was numbness.