Lonestar Sanctuary (8 page)

The men turned their horses' heads to the trail that rambled to the
top of the butte. A good barrel-racing horse was worth as much as
forty thousand dollars. Plus whatever she got from her parents' estate.

"So the poverty act is just that all show." His lip curled at the
memory of the way she'd wolfed down the sandwich. And he'd fallen
for the act. What a sap.

Charlie shook his head. "Not according to the chute boss who told
me about it. Her dad liked toys: his own plane, the best of everything.
Wasn't much left after everything was sold, and she sold the horse to
pay for trying to fix Betsy's problem."

Rick regretted his cynicism. Okay, maybe she wasn't just a good
actress. He eyed Charlie. "You sure know a lot about it."

The kid flashed a grin toward Rick. "She's a hottie, man, in case
you didn't notice. So, yeah, I watched her."

"She's a little long in the tooth for you."

"Only ten years or so. Her sister was a real looker too."

"Was?" Though Rick knew she was dead, he wanted to probe a
little. Maybe Charlie had heard some rumors.

"She was murdered about a month ago, I think. What a waste."

Rick pulled up on the reins and stopped in the trail. "What happened?" Maybe Charlie could add to what Allie had told him.

"Talk around the rodeo was it was someone who was after Allie.
Hey, race you to the top." Charlie shook the reins, and Freckles leaped
forward at the jingle of tack.

Rick let Charlie beat him while he pondered the information.
Parents and a sister, all killed just like she'd said, though she'd said
the sister walked in on a burglar. Why would rumors be flying that the
killer was after Allie? She'd said nothing about that.

But it didn't matter. He saw no way out of fulfilling his promise to Jon. He'd been as surprised as Allie when he blurted out that marriage
proposal, and ever since the words left his mouth, he'd been looking
for a way to take them back.

His contacts in special ops might be able to shed some light on her
situation.

Charlie turned in the saddle to look at him, and Rick waved him
on. He pulled out his cell phone. Coverage was spotty on the ranch,
but he'd always found good reception on this hill. Reining Gunner to
a stop, Rick called up the number and waited for Brendan to answer
on the other end.

"Waddell." Brendan's curt voice came over the line.

"It's Rick. You got a minute?"

"Hey, Cowboy. It depends. I've got a situation here I need you for.
Tit for tat. I do your favor, you come back to work."

"You know I can't do that." Rick let the grin filter through the
phone to his friend. He and Brendan never had a conversation without his ex-partner grinding that old ax. By now Brendan should know
it was a lost cause.

The sound of Brendan closing a door came through the phone.
"You know you miss it."

Sometimes Rick longed for the days of never knowing what country he'd be in come nightfall, but if he showed a sliver of weakness,
Brendan would be all over him.

He forced derision into his voice. "What's to miss? Hard beds,
crappy food, a bullet around every corner."

"It's paradise, I know. I can hear your voice break." Brendan laughed,
and his voice sobered. "What can I do for you, buddy? Got cattle
rustlers bothering you? Illegal drugs being smuggled across the desert?"

"Nothing so exciting. A woman and kid showed up here, Jon Siderses widow and daughter. Her parents died in a plane crash, then
her sister was murdered. Now she's asking for my help because Jon's
parents are suing for custody of the daughter."

"Jon was a good man. I always wondered what happened to his
family." Brendan's voice fell, and the hiss of a bad connection filled the
phone line. "You going to do something about it?"

"Something like that."

"What's her name?"

"Allie. Little girl's name is Betsy." Rick debated about telling
Brendan the little girl was mute. Nah, it wasn't an important detail. The
names would be enough. "She seems to be in some kind of trouble.
Won't talk about it. Can you see what you can find out?"

"Sure. Let me check it out. I'll get back to you by tomorrow. You
sure you don't want to get in on the rescue of some hijacked tourists
in Baghdad?"

"I think you can handle it by yourself," Rick said, his grin widening. "Thanks, Brendan. I owe you." He closed his phone, then called up
directory assistance and had the woman dial the rodeo where Allie
said she worked. Rick gave his name but was careful not to say where
he was calling from. The man he talked to there told him she'd been
one of his best employees for eight years, and he hated to lose her.
He'd said she might have won the national barrel-racing competition
as well, if she hadn't taken off.

Rick put his phone away and urged his horse on up the slope. Had
he been hoping it was all a scam that she really wasn't Jon's widow?
How could he? One look at Betsy spoke a world of truth. He saw Jon
in the little girl's eyes.

He had to honor his promise, but all he wanted to do was bail.

ALLIE STOOD ON THE PORCH AND RUBBED LOTION SMELLING OF LAVENDER
into her chapped hands. The Chisos Mountains were called "sky
islands" by the locals, and she'd already fallen in love with their brooding presence. They held up the sky in the distance as the cold night
gave way to sunshine, warming the rocks and vegetation.

So far she'd avoided Rick this morning. She still couldn't believe
she'd been stupid enough to mistake a mountain lion for a woman in
trouble. What should she do about Rick's suggestion? Part of her
wanted to let someone else shoulder her burdens for a little while, but
they'd been with her so long, they'd become part of her. She didn't
know if she could even let them go.

Through the open window she could hear Charlie talking to himself as he tried to figure out how to catch a calf that had slipped through
the gate.

The door opened behind her, and Elijah stepped out. "There you
are, mujercita. I have time to show you the books now. To my office, if
you would be so kind."

The books. A ball of dread coiled in her throat. While bluffing it
came easily to her, this might be more than she could fake her way
through. "I should probably check on Betsy."

"The nifia is on the back porch playing with the kittens. This will
not take long. They are not difficult." Elijah beckoned her with a
brown finger.

Allie swallowed her excuses and followed the old man to the office
off the living room. A large, high-ceilinged space, the pale yellow walls
were further warmed by the sunlight streaming in the four large windows. An oak desk dominated the center of the room. The chair's back
was to the window, and the light fell on the vast expanse of the desk.

Her eyes were drawn to the ledger in the middle of the desk. It
lay open, the squiggly black lines of letters and numbers crawling
across its pages like scorpions. Such small text would make the job
even more difficult. She'd hoped for a computer that let her make the
fonts larger.

Elijah swept his arm over the chair. "Be seated, please."

Allie went around the desk and sank onto the cracked leather desk
chair. She stared at the ledger. Clasping her hands in her lap, she told
herself the nursery rhyme that usually calmed her:

Once I saw a little bird

Go hop, hop, hop.

So I cried, little bird,

Will you stop, stop, stop?

And I was going to the window

To say, how do you do?

When he shook his little tail

And away he flew.

Something about the cadence stole her flustered feelings away. She
eased back in the chair and listened to the singsong in her head until
her confidence surged again.

It was only numbers in a book. She would work hard and learn.

Elijah stood beside her. A stack of bills lay in a wire tray on the
desk, and he took the first one. "This is the electric bill." He ran a
gnarled finger down the rows to stop on the third line down. "You
find the month by going across." He moved his finger in a vertical
direction to the third column. "This is the February bill, so it is to be
written down here. Very easy, much as you have likely done in your
private affairs."

Allie clamped her teeth against the hysterical laughter rising in her
throat. If he only knew what a mess her private affairs were.

When she didn't pick up the pencil, Elijah did it. "I'll show you."
He carefully inscribed the date and some numbers in the boxes.

She forced herself to look at the page, trying not to feel sick at the
way the black text jiggled on the white paper. She squinted and managed to make out one entry. "Your electric bill is over five hundred
dollars?"

"It costs money to run the pumps for water for the livestock, for
showers when we have a bunkhouse full of children."

"How do you pay for all this?"

He smiled. "I made much money in my younger days as a child
psychologist in Houston. The ranch, we bought when our daughter
was a baby, but we did not come to live here until she was a teenager." His face grew pensive. "This was maybe not so good a choice. My
wife, she was very frugal. I have enough for many years to come. The
agencies who send the children, they also provide some income."

"When is our next group coming? How does it all work?"

"Sometimes we have a group come for a month or two, sometimes
a larger group for just a day. Right now, the crew is remodeling the
bunkhouse, so we have none. But a few rooms are done, and we will
take a handful later today." He went toward the door. "You look, si? I
will get us coffee."

The stack of bills seemed huge. Her head already ached from looking at just one page of the black numbers on white paper. She should
confess her condition and get it over with. Sitting back in the chair,
she glanced around the room until her gaze settled on the picture of
a young woman.

It almost could have been her.

She stood and picked it up, running her fingers over the cool glass.
The woman was younger than Allie, and her eyes were brown instead
of blue, but she had the same high cheekbones and full lips. The same
dark hair. Who was she?

She heard Elijah coming and put the picture back on the bookshelf. He arrived at the doorway as she turned around. Caught.

"That was my granddaughter, Maria."

"Was?"

"Ten years now she has been in her grave. A riding accident when
she was twenty-five."

"I'm sorry."

"You have the look of her, si?"

"I noticed. Was that why you stared when you first saw me?"

"It is so." He turned to the door. "I will leave you to your work."

"Could I use the phone to call my friend in El Paso and let her
know I arrived safely?"

"Si, of course. Anytime you wish." He closed the door behind him.

Allie looked at the picture again. Maria would have been her
cousin. Her mother had always told Allie she was an only child. So
who were Maria's parents? The thought she might still have family
filled her with a sense of purpose and rightness about coming here.

Allie went back to the chair, picked up the phone, and dialed Yo's
cell phone number. Her friend answered almost at once. "Yo, it's me."

"Allie, I've been so worried. Are you okay, girl?"

The chair squeaked as Allie leaned back, glancing at her nails.
She'd managed not to bite them for three days, but the polish looked
terrible. "I'm fine. Got here in one piece. How's everything? How are
you riding today?"

"I am all that, girlfriend," Yo crowed. "Ran just over 14.7 seconds
today."

"Oh great, Yo. You're going to win this year!" Allie pulled polish
remover from her purse and began to remove the chipped polish. The
pungent sting of the chemical reminded her that her chance at the title
was a thing of the past.

"As long as I don't bite it."

"You won't. You'll do great."

"I miss you, girl."

Allie closed her eyes and wished she could be back where she
belonged. "I miss you too,Yo. Listen, I need your advice." She started
to bite her nails, then yanked her fingers from her mouth. Her mother
always used to say a lady didn't bite her nails.

"Like I'm the one to ask." Yo's voice held a smile. "What's up?"

"I've had someone offer to help me make sure I don't lose Betsy. It's a friend of Jon's. He says if I'm married and he adopts Betsy, she'll
be safe from Jon's parents."

"Uh-uh, no way, girl. You don't go marrying no stranger." Yo's
voice rose.

"He was Jon's best friend. I I think I trust him,Yo. And it would
only be for a year or so. Just until Betsy is safe." Was she actually argu-
ingfor the idea?

"What kind of lesson is that teaching Betsy?You marrying then
divorcing for convenience's sake. And she'll be yanked from pillar
to post."

Allie winced. "I'll take care of her."

Yolanda sighed. "Allie, you don't know this guy. He could be an ax
murderer or something."

Allie grinned, remembering how Rick had said he wasn't an ax
murderer when she'd been afraid to get in the truck. "He's not like
that, Yo."

"Hmm, do I hear some interest, girl?"

"Not hardly. He's a big guy, all muscle and testosterone. Not at all
like Jon."

"That's not a bad thing. It's not good to try to find a Jon look-alike."

"Now who's pulling for the idea? Not interested."

"Because he's not like Jon? Honey, you've got to let him go sometime. He's dead. I know it's harsh to say it, but you've got to face it.
You're still young. I want you to find someone else and love again."

"I'll never love anyone like I loved Jon. And I don't want Betsy to
put someone else in her daddy's place."

Yo sighed. "Girl, she can't remember him by now. Kids forget."

"She won't forget," Allie said fiercely. "I won't let her."

"Time has a way of smoothing out the bumps. You wouldn't want Betsy to grieve forever. I don't want you to, either. You've got to trust
again, Allie. Let go of that ironclad control."