CHAPTER 8

Gina and the rest of the group straggled into the yard two days later. Over the past twenty-four hours, the heavens had opened and dumped every last bit of rain in the world on top of them. They were wet, hungry, tired, and just a little cranky.

But they filed into the barn with their mounts. The horses were as tired and wet and dirty as they were, and it would be inhuman to leave them like that.

Gina led Spike and Lady Belle to their stalls. Jase appeared and took care of Spike with tight, annoyed movements, not speaking until he finished well ahead of her.

“Meet me in the kitchen,” he said. “We’ve got trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Teo didn’t seem the type to be a problem. Then again, he hadn’t seemed the type to lie, and look how wrong she’d been.

Jase just shook his head and moved off to help the others.

The next few days would be spent at the ranch for the spa portion of their getaway. The guests could order massages, travel to the nearby hot springs, schedule a yoga retreat or any number of other relaxing benefits before they left on their second, slightly more difficult than the first, trail ride.

Gina finished with Lady Belle and was able to cop a shower and a change of clothes yet still beat Jase to the kitchen. Fanny was putting the finishing touches on supper, which would consist of her famous Five-Alarm Chili and Fajita Chicken Nachos.

Despite the hot shower and warm clothes, Gina remained chilled. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the always-full pot and sat at the table.

“What happened?” she asked.

Fanny continued to stir the chili, refusing to meet Gina’s eyes. “You must talk to Jase.”

Gina didn’t like this at all, especially since she could have sworn unshed tears thickened Fanny’s voice. But no matter how many times Gina asked or how much she begged, Fanny would say nothing more. Which caused Gina to imagine all sorts of horrible things.

Teo and Jase fighting. Teo hitting his head. He was now in an irreversible coma, and the police were asking questions.

Teo dead and buried in the garden. Jase needed her to help him figure out what they were going to do with the rest of the bodies. Because they couldn’t let anyone leave now, could they?

Gina shook her head. She’d watched way too many thriller movies on cold winter nights. Then again, so had Jase.

Taking a sip of coffee, she faced the scenario she’d been avoiding—a far more realistic but no less disturbing one. What if Teo was still here, refusing to leave until she led him to the place depicted in that photograph?

After her parents had died, it had taken Gina nearly a year to go back there. By then, the cavern had been filled with earth, packed tight, and made to appear as if nothing had ever happened there at all.

But she knew better.

Jase walked in, and Gina started up so fast, she nearly knocked over her chair. She did slosh coffee onto the once-pristine tabletop.

“What happened?” she repeated, a little too loud.

Jase glanced at his mom, who continued to stir the chili, staring into it as if she could find the answer to one of life’s great questions at the bottom of that pot. “You didn’t tell her?”

“That is for you.”

“Great,” he muttered.

“What did you do?” Gina demanded. “Did you hurt him?”

“I haven’t even talked to him yet.”

Jase crossed the room and poured his own coffee, then took the dishcloth his mother handed him, even though she hadn’t turned around and could not possibly know Gina had spilled anything, and tossed it to her. “Do you want me to hurt him?”

Gina, in the middle of wiping up the mess, paused. The overhead lights caught Jase’s dark eyes, making them loom black as a starless night. For an instant he looked like someone she didn’t know. “Are you nuts?”

Jase shrugged. “He’s gonna take the ranch. I wouldn’t mind getting a few licks first.”

“Take the ranch?” All of Gina’s horrible scenarios came rushing back. Teo in traction, fat lip, black eye, talking to his lawyer, instigating lawsuits. Huge earthmovers rolling up the road within the week.

“How could you?” Gina threw the sopping dishrag at Jase’s head. He caught it with one hand and tossed it into the sink. She really couldn’t get a good throw with something so flimsy. Next time she’d use her coffee mug. “So he lied. So he kissed me. You didn’t have to break him.”

Fanny stopped her stirring. “Who kissed you?”

Jase, who’d been taking an impossibly large sip of some very hot coffee, paused with the mug still to his lips. His glance flicked to his mother, then back to Gina before he lowered the mug and swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You hurt Teo, and now he’s suing us. We’re gonna lose the ranch.”

Jase set the cup down so hard Gina thought it might shatter. Then he picked up an envelope from the counter and tossed it onto the table, where it skidded across the surface so fast she had to slap her palm on top of it to keep the thing from sliding off the other side.

“I’d forgotten about that asshole,” Jase said. “But obviously you haven’t. Maybe that’ll bring your mind back to more important things than pretty boy.”

He stalked out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Gina opened the envelope and discovered that Jase was right.

Any thoughts of Teo Mecate instantly disappeared as soon as she read what lay inside.

*   *   *

Matt made the mistake of asking his rental GPS to direct him to the nearest town, which he then drove right through without stopping, since it was composed of a few houses and several stray dogs.

After he’d driven five miles down the highway and been told by an annoyingly prim British voice that he must make a “legal U-turn,” he’d done so and discovered the sign for Nomad as he’d come back in the other side.

Since Matt couldn’t find a single business establishment—no gas station, no restaurant, not even a tavern—with his eyes or the damn GPS, he’d knocked on the only house with a car in the driveway (even though it was up on blocks, it was still a car) and been told by the seemingly alone ten-year-old kid that the nearest “real” town was Durango.

Matt had known this, having flown into it. He’d just figured there had to be another one closer to the ranch than forty miles away. Why he’d figured that he had no idea. Unless it was because the uppity British voice on the GPS had told him so.

He’d driven close to a half hour back in the direction he’d come, then another hour farther on roads that really needed some work. By the time he reached Durango, just after five, any inquiries he might have made at the courthouse or a local bank had to be postponed.

Matt had been tempted to drive directly to the airport and fly home. But the sight of the Strater Hotel convinced him to at least stay the night.

The Strater was an historic landmark in downtown Durango. Built in the late 1880s by the pharmacist Henry Strater, who didn’t have the money, the experience, or enough years on the planet to enter into a contract when he started, the building had become a testament to old-time Western ingenuity. Henry built his dream with spit, grit, and imagination, and the hotel became not only prosperous but also a legend.

The place had been remodeled by the latest owners and now boasted ninety-three Victorian rooms, each with a plumbing upgrade.

The desk clerk leaned forward, lowering his voice as if to impart a really great secret. “Louis L’Amour always stayed in room two-twenty-two.”

“Okay.” Matt wasn’t sure why that was important.

“He said the music from the Diamond Belle Saloon right below helped him to write all those books.”

“Good for him.”

“Would you like to stay there? It’s open.”

“Why would I want to listen to music?”

The clerk glanced pointedly at the laptop case in Matt’s hand.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not a writer. Just…”

“You don’t have to explain, sir. Many of our guests are addicted to the Internet.” He straightened, tapping the keys of his computer, then giving a pleased nod at what his keyboard prowess had wrought. “Would you like a room with free wireless Internet?”

Matt didn’t answer at first, figuring the question had been rhetorical—who wouldn’t want free wireless Internet?—but when the clerk continued to stare at him with his so light as to be almost invisible eyebrows raised Matt finally said, “Sure!”

A shower, some clean clothes, and a half hour with his computer and Matt was almost himself again. He found Benjamin Morris—a retired banker who’d gone into the business of buying properties in trouble, then charging the debtors a higher interest rate—through Google. However, when Matt called to set up an appointment Mr. Morris was “not available until Monday.”

Though he had to wait several days to move forward, actually knowing where he was moving made him feel refreshed, renewed, and ready to prove the Mecate theory, as well as keep his job. He wasn’t going to let anyone—not even the luscious Gina O’Neil—blow it for him. Besides, considering the trouble she was in, his plan would benefit them both.

He spent Friday strolling around the fascinatingly old yet intriguingly updated Strater Hotel, having a glass of wine in their Spiritorium and dinner at the Mahogany Grille next door, where he opted to ignore the elk tenderloin in favor of the Kansas City strip.

On Saturday and Sunday Matt toured the overly western but still kind of fun Durango. They’d done a nice job keeping the downtown area reminiscent of the Old West. If he didn’t know better he’d think the bookstore and the candy store had actually been there since 1875.

In between his brief fits of tourism Matt did some research. Couldn’t let all that free Wi-Fi go to waste.

He discovered that Nahua Springs Ranch had gone to Gina as the only child following the accidental death of her parents. What that accidental death had been was never fully explained beyond “accident,” which could cover any manner of things. That it wasn’t revealed just how high the O’Neils were in the pecking order of the area.

Nahua Springs had once been a well-respected quarter-horse ranch. Betsy O’Neil was one of the top breeders and Pete one of the best trainers. It wasn’t until after they’d died that Nahua Springs had morphed from real ranch to dude.

Though it was considered one of the finest in the area, nevertheless, the place had been in trouble for a while. You had to sell a lot of “I wanna be a cowboy” packages just to make the mortgage every month, and that was before you figured in taxes that in recent years had bloomed well past excruciating.

In truth, without the intervention of Benjamin Morris, Nahua Springs would have been lost years ago.

Matt rubbed his tired eyes. Gina had been responsible for the place since she was fifteen. She could use a little help, and he was just the man to give it to her. She’d be so grateful.

He returned to the computer, figuring he should print another copy of the photograph Gina had snatched from his hand—he was certain they had an office center downstairs where he could do just that—but he Googled his brains out and couldn’t find it. The picture was just … gone.

“Dammit,” he muttered. Someone had removed it.

Gina? Or Jase? Did it matter?

He’d probably come across the image eventually—the Internet was like that—but why waste any more time? Matt didn’t need the photo to remember what the area looked like.

From the expression on Gina’s face when he’d shown it to her, she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon, either.

*   *   *

Gina would have liked to head directly into town and confront Benjamin Morris. Unfortunately, his office was closed for the weekend. Probably for the best, since she had to spend the next few days scheduling spa treatments and entertaining their guests.

SOP for the final night of the spa portion of the package was a bonfire, complete with a local crooner who sang amusing cowboy ditties with help from the guests.

Mel loved it. He and the entertainment began a dueling song contest that had begun as amusing, with Mel continuing to pull old favorites from his boys’ school days like:

“A bum sat by the sewer

And by the sewer he died

And at the coroner’s inquest

They called it ‘sewer side’

Oh, it ain’t gonna rain no more, no more

It ain’t gonna rain no more

How in the heck can I wash around my neck

If it ain’t gonna rain no more?”

But later the contest segued into poetry and became disturbing when a few too many Moonshine Mollys, Isaac’s concoction that tasted like a weak whiskey sour but packed the punch of a double Long Island Iced Tea, led to the following:

“There once was a fellow McSweeny

Who spilled some gin on his weenie

Just to be couth

He added vermouth

Then slipped his girlfriend a martini”

“Whoa!” Gina jumped up from her perch on one of the flat stumps scattered around the bonfire for just that purpose. “And that concludes the entertainment for this evening.”

“Aw, how come?” Mel muttered. “I know ’bout a hundred more.”

“He does,” Melda agreed, snatching the nearly empty glass that had held a third Molly from his hand. “Once he gets started, it’s pretty hard to shut him the hell up.”

“How do you slip someone a martini?” Derek asked. “I don’t get it.”

“Let’s go.” Tim shot both Gina and Mel a look nearly as dirty as the limerick and dragged his son into the house.

“A martini sounds good,” Amberleigh announced.

The cowboy crooner smoothed back what was left of his hair, then wiped the grease he’d spread into it onto his jeans. “I could help you with that, little lady.”

“Really?” Ashleigh asked. The As were sharing a sheared double log on the far side of the fire. “You have vermouth and gin?”

“No.” The crooner shifted his hand from his hip to his crotch. “But I’ve got a—”

“Out!” Gina announced.

“But I want a martini!” Amberleigh wailed.

“Not that kind,” Gina muttered. “Believe me.”

She motioned for Jase to get rid of the guy, and while he hadn’t spoken to her since he’d stalked out of the kitchen, he did as she asked. If it got around that they’d held a lewd-limerick contest on bonfire night they could lose what customers they had. Or maybe they’d have more customers than they could handle. Either way, the cowboy crooner needed to go now.

What was his real name?

“I’m gonna write a new sh-ongbook,” Mel slurred. “I jush-t need music for my poems.”

He was determined to create that music before morning. Gina would have gladly left him to it—she doubted he’d be able to keep from passing out within the next few minutes—except Mel wanted to compose music on a piano they didn’t have, wearing underwear that existed only in his imagination.

“Isaac!” Gina shouted, and when the old man appeared she shoved a naked Mel in his direction. “Your problem.”

She’d told him not to serve people more than one of his Moonshine Mollys.

Gina hurried to her room, retrieved a key, and unlocked the hall closet where she kept clothes she never wore.

Hanging in a plastic bag right in the center was her best dress. Sure, it had been her best dress since she’d gotten it for high school graduation. But that didn’t make it any less nice. Just a little out-of-date.

Gina removed the garment from the bag, letting the full white skirt dotted with tiny purple flowers flow through her fingers.

“You aren’t gonna wear that, are you?”

Both As stood silhouetted in the door of their room.

“You aren’t supposed to wear white before…” Ashleigh frowned. “Labor Day?”

“After Labor Day,” Amberleigh corrected. “Not before Memorial Day.”

“Why?” Gina asked.

The girls glanced at each other, then back at Gina.

“Because you can’t,” Ashleigh said.

“I assure you I can.” Gina leaned down and grabbed her white pumps from the bottom of the closet. Especially since she didn’t have much choice.

“Ew!” Ashleigh exclaimed.

“Not those shoes,” Amberleigh agreed.

Gina turned them over. They were a little scuffed on the heels, but otherwise they seemed fine to her.

“White pumps are for weddings,” Ashleigh whispered as if it were a secret.

“Only?” Gina asked.

“Maybe christenings.” She glanced at Amberleigh.

The other girl shrugged and murmured, “Confirmations?”

“Bar Mitzvahs!” Ashleigh announced.

“I think that’s Bat Mitzvahs,” Gina corrected.

“Bats don’t have mitzvahs.” Ashleigh laughed. “You’re silly.”

“That’s me,” Gina agreed, heading for her room with her white dress and white shoes. “Silly, silly, silly.”

“Hold on.” Amberleigh stepped in front of her and peered into Gina’s eyes. “You really gonna wear that?”

Gina nearly walked past without answering. But there seemed to be someone home behind Amberleigh’s usually vacant blue gaze for a change. “I have a business meeting tomorrow.”

She didn’t, not really. She hadn’t bothered to call Mr. Morris and set up a meeting. That would only give him a chance to refuse.

“With a man?”

“What difference does that make?”

Amberleigh lifted a brow and waited. Gina sighed, thinking of the short, squat, strange little man who had bought her ranch from the bank. She hated the guy. But he was a guy. And the last time she’d visited him, asking for an extension on their loan, he’d taken one look at her dusty boots, faded jeans, and flannel shirt, lifted his lip, and said, Next time, wear a dress.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s a man. So?”

“Important?”

“Very,” Gina agreed.

“In that case, sugar.” Amberleigh took the white garment from Gina’s hands; Ashleigh took the white shoes, then together they tossed them into the closet and slammed the door. “You’re gonna need a better dress.”