Convictions (12 page)

"Would you?" Dawn prompted.

Olivia remembered her helplessness, and rage swept through her. "Yes," she replied in a firm voice. "If I had a chance, I'd shoot him." She'd never been so certain of anything in her life.

Dawn crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Doesn't that make you no better than Johnny Barton?"

Weariness washed away Olivia's anger. She took a shaky breath. "But
I
didn't shoot anyone."

"Only because—"

"The stew won't make itself, so unless we want a mutiny on our hands, we'd better get back to work," Olivia interrupted, wanting nothing more than to change the subject.

She turned on the radio to fill the uncomfortable silence and caught a warning for flash flooding around the area. With all the rain, it didn't surprise her.

As Olivia helped Dawn set the long tables, her leg bothered her more than usual. It was probably the damp weather that made it ache. She gripped the back of a chair and took some weight off it.

"Sit down, Olivia. I can finish," Dawn said.

Olivia opened her mouth to argue, but the stubbornness in Dawn's face reminded her so much of her brother's that the words died in her throat. She nodded and hobbled to the kitchen to sink into a chair.

She sat there, breathing deeply to dispel the remnants of the sharp pain. Some time later, she realized that Dawn should've finished the task. She rose and limped in to the dining area. When she spotted Dawn, irritation washed through her. The girl smiled flirtatiously as she leaned toward Barton, who spotted Olivia and stepped back.

Dawn turned, and her eyes widened. "Olivia," she said, sounding both surprised and guilty.

"I got worried when you didn't come back to the kitchen," Olivia said tersely. Yes, she was worried one of the men might take advantage of her, but it looked like Dawn was a willing accomplice, if not the initiator.

Dawn's lips flattened in exasperation. "I told you I can take care of myself."

"And you know what I said about staying away from the con—" she broke off, then finished, "the men."

"Um, maybe I should leave and come back when dinner's ready," Barton said, his anxious gaze shifting between Dawn and Olivia.

"No," Dawn said. "You weren't doing anything wrong. Neither of us were."

Olivia gritted her teeth, her aggravation—and concern—for Dawn overcoming her wariness around the convict. "Come back to the kitchen. The rest of the men will be coming any minute now."

For a moment, Dawn looked like she was going to rebel, complete with stamping her foot and pouting. But Barton said something to her in a low voice, and Dawn's expression softened. She nodded grudgingly.

Without a word, she swept past Olivia, leaving Olivia alone with Barton.

"I hope she's not in trouble," Barton said. He seemed amazingly young and naive for having spent the last five years in prison. "I know I was early, but..."

"It's all right, this time," Olivia said, surprisingly unafraid of the tall, husky blond.

"I haven't seen a girl close to my age since I was put away," Barton said.

"Do you know she's Hank Elliott's sister?"

Barton's eyes widened. "Neither of them said anything."

Before Olivia could decide how much to tell him, the clatter of tromping boots sent her pulse skyrocketing. The men filed through the door, talking and laughing.

"Stay away from her," Olivia advised Barton, then fled to the safety of the kitchen.

Olivia joined Dawn at the small table to eat dinner.

Dawn pushed the stew around on her plate. "You can't forbid me to see Johnny."

It took a moment for Olivia to realize she was talking about Barton. "Maybe I can't, but my father can. He's responsible for those men, who are technically still prisoners. And he's responsible for you because you're an employee."

Dawn gave up the pretense of eating. "Bat what I do on my off time isn't anyone's business but mine."

"But what Johnny Barton does is my father's business." Olivia laid her fork down and leaned toward the girl. "You could hurt Barton's chance at parole. Is that what you want?"

"No," Dawn replied without hesitation. "But—"

"The bottom line is if you want this job, you have to follow the rules."

Dawn stared down at the tabletop, and Olivia wished she knew what was going through her mind.

Finally the girl lifted her gaze to Olivia's. "I don't want to lose this job, so I'll toe the line." A crooked smile tipped her lips upward. "I'm sorry, Olivia."

The capitulation was almost too easy, but maybe Dawn really didn't want to mess up Barton's chance at getting out of prison. Or maybe the girl was only appeasing her and planned to meet clandestinely with Barton. Olivia wouldn't put it past her.

"You're forgiven," Olivia said, taking Dawn at her word. For now. She reached across the table and laid a hand on her arm. "And I'm glad you want to stay here."

Dawn's cheeks reddened. "Thanks." She stood and carried her plate to the sink, where she scraped the remains of her stew into a bowl that would be carried out to the barn cats.

Later, after Dawn had" cleared the tables, she asked Olivia if she could go to the house. Olivia, still working on scrubbing the pots, nodded. "As long as you're not meeting Barton."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'll go straight to the house, Mom."

Olivia barely managed to restrain an eye roll herself. "I'll be in soon."

Dawn grabbed her raincoat and left Olivia alone. Ten minutes later, Olivia donned her poncho. She spotted the bowl of table scraps. She should've had Dawn carry it out to the barn for the cats, but she'd forgotten. She picked up the bowl, and after turning out the lights, she left the cookhouse. The air was cool, but despite the rain and clouds, it wasn't completely dark yet.

Olivia figured nobody would be outside in this weather, so she felt safe going to the barn alone. Once there, the blessed dryness and relative warmth felt heavenly. She turned on a light as five cats gathered around her, rubbing against her ankles and meowing loudly. She leaned over and set the bowl on the straw-covered floor. The cats immediately deserted her for the food.

Enjoying the peace and quiet, she leaned against a post and watched the cats eat, laughing quietly at their antics. The rhythm of the rain on the roof further lulled her and gave her a sense of security she hadn't felt in her own company for some time. Maybe her return to her former life in Chicago wasn't that far in the future. Olivia's spirits rose.

The barn door on the far side creaked open. Her sense of well-being fled, and she froze. Beyond the pool of light it was dark and gloomy, so she couldn't see who'd entered the barn. Her heart pounding, she eased around the post, even though she knew it provided inadequate cover. She gripped the post, her fingers cramping as her gaze frantically searched for a safe place.

Who would be out on a night like this? Should she call out? Maybe it was her father or Buck.

Or it could be Mantle.

She shivered and clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't hear anything over the rain on the roof and her own frantic heartbeat.

What if she was being stalked again? She wouldn't know until it was too late. Until she was attacked... again.

Suddenly the door behind her opened, and she spun around, forgetting about her bad leg. She gasped and grabbed a nearby post to keep her balance.

"Olivia?"

Hank's familiar voice brought a wave of relief so profound she nearly collapsed.

He took a step closer. "What's wrong?"

"I-I thought I heard someone c-come in the other door." She eased her iron grip from the post. "I couldn't see who it was."

His lips flattened, and his gaze flicked past her to the other side of the barn. "I'll check it out."

Olivia caught his arm. "I'm going with you."

She readied herself for an argument, but after only a moment, he nodded tersely and took her hand in his. It struck her that she should be frightened, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it came. She followed him closely, her fingers wrapped securely around his.

She strained to see through the murkiness and could make out shadows but little else. Finally they arrived at the other door and stopped. Hank released her and hunkered down to lay his palm on the barn floor.

"Damp. Someone was in here," he stated.

Olivia trembled. "Who?"

Hank rose and shook his head. "Why didn't you just call out to whoever came in?"

She crossed her arms. Her face warmed with embarrassment. "I was scared. I know that sounds stupid."

Hank looked down at her, and she wished she could see his eyes, but they were hidden by his cap brim's shadow. "It doesn't sound stupid, not after what you've gone through. But it's a lot different here."

Olivia smiled without humor. "Funny. Your sister said the same thing."

After a moment's startled hesitation, he shrugged. "She's right."

She didn't feel like arguing and instead asked, "What're you doing out here?"

He removed his wet ball cap and shook droplets from
it
"I come here once in a while to get away from everyone," he admitted.

"I suppose it's not a bed of roses sharing living space with four other people."

"Especially when I don't trust them," Hank added with a shrug. "But then, they don't trust me either. So we're all even."

"Except they committed crimes and, according to you, you're innocent."

His low laughter stole through Olivia and settled in her belly. A seductive smile claimed his lips, and Olivia forgot to breathe. Although he had a five o'clock shadow and his hair was plastered to his scalp from the rain—or maybe because of those things—masculinity radiated from him in undeniable waves. She swayed toward him, but her head caught up to her body, and she stilled.

Hank's smile deepened, as if he knew the battle that clashed within her. He stepped closer. Olivia resisted the urge to retreat, but not because of the fear that had been with her since the attack. Instead, it was the feelings he evoked that frightened her.

"You never have to be afraid of me, Olivia," he whispered close to her cheek. "Never."

Her eyelids fluttered as his warm breath stirred embers of desire and lust. Maybe he'd never physically harm her, but there were other kinds of hurt. Like the hurt of wanting but being too afraid to reach for it, or the hurt of losing something you didn't even know you possessed until it was gone.

"I'm not afraid of you," Olivia said honestly.
Not the way you think I am.
Although her voice was husky, she kept her gaze locked with his.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Good." Then he abruptly stepped away, as if he couldn't stand to be close to her. "I'll walk you back to the house."

Frustrated and unaccountably hurt, she opened the barn door and stepped back into the pouring rain. She heard Hank behind her, closing the door, and then the light touch of his hand on her back.

He accompanied her to the porch.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem."

By the tone of his voice, she could've been nothing but a lost calf returned to its mama.

As he turned to leave, she remembered something. "Was everyone in your barracks when you came to the barn?"

"Mantle and Reger weren't," he replied. Then Hank stepped off the porch and disappeared into the wet darkness.

Cold fear slithered through Olivia.

What if the silent visitor to the barn had been one of the two convicts?

Chapter Nine

Later that evening Dawn joined Olivia in the living room. Some half-hour comedy Olivia had never heard of played on the television. But it was obvious by Dawn's comments and laughter that she was familiar with the program.

After another incomprehensible joke, Olivia realized she was a total cultural pygmy when it came to the current TV shows.

"I'm going to make some popcorn. Want some?" Olivia asked Dawn, restless and wanting something to do. "Sure."

Olivia smiled and pushed herself to her feet. Her knee had grown stiff, so it would do her good to move around.

As she shuffled toward the kitchen, the front door swung open, and her father, wearing a dripping raincoat and a grim expression, entered the foyer.

"Dad," Olivia said, startled. "What's wrong?"

He removed his hat and shook the water off onto the rug. "We've got to get the cattle moved out of Winnie Canyon," he announced gravely. "The stream's already overflowed its banks."

"Oh no." Then she remembered the mass exodus of men after dinner. "But most of the hired men are gone."

He nodded somberly. "Buck's gathering everyone he can to go up there and move the cattle out."

Olivia glanced down at her knee.

"Not you, honey. Your leg," he said, reading her mind.

She rubbed her thigh with her fist. "After my last appointment, my physical therapist said I could start riding again."

"You haven't even sat a horse since you came home. Riding at night trying to move cattle is out of the question."

"I can help," Dawn said from behind Olivia. "I used to help my brother herd our cattle. It was a long time ago, but I still remember how."

"It's going to be wet and treacherous in the dark," he warned the girl.

"I'll change into my boots." Dawn hurried off toward her room.

"I want to help, Dad," Olivia said. "I may not be up to riding yet, but I want to go with you. If nothing else, I can stay with the vehicles and watch the extra horses, or even block with one of the trucks."

Worry showed in his eyes, and he rubbed his jaw. "You'll be sitting out there by yourself."

She knew what he was asking. "I won't lie and tell you it won't bother me, but I can do this. I
want
to do this."

"All right, Liv. Go put on some warm clothes. It's going to be cold and ugly out there tonight."

Olivia smiled, grateful for his understanding. "Thanks, Dad."

Fifteen minutes later, she stepped outside wearing a rain slicker, her wide-brimmed hat, and the riding boots she hadn't worn in years—boots that felt like old friends. To keep her shoulder-length hair dry and out of the way, she put it up under her hat.