Texas Tough (27 page)

“No, that's fine.” Stella waved a dismissive hand, showing off her freshly lacquered blood red nails. “This is about something else. Sit down.”

Marie lowered herself to a chair. Nervous hands pulled her shirt over her knees, fingers bunching the hem as she waited.

“Cigarette?” Stella held out the open pack and her lighter.

“Thanks.” Marie accepted the offering, taking a cigarette and lighting it. Stella, an expert at reading people, noticed the flicker of hope in her dark eyes. Did she think she was about to get another chance to prove herself? Poor, foolish girl.

“I'm about to do you a favor,” Stella said. “I owe you this for what you did to clear Nicky of that murder charge.” She paused to light another cigarette, giving her words time to sink in. She was playing now, like a cat with a mouse, enjoying the game.

“What I'm giving you is a warning,” she said. “I got a call from the sheriff. That old man who was shot on the Tyler place got his memory back. He's claiming it was you who pulled the trigger, and that it was no accident. The Tylers and your cousin Sky are backing him up.”

Marie swore and took a long drag on her cigarette. “I was hoping the old fart was dead. I'd have finished him off with another shot, but the dog kept getting in the way. I couldn't shoot a dog.”

“You should've shot them both,” Stella said. “Abner wanted me to make sure you'd be here this afternoon. He's planning to come by with his deputies and arrest you for attempted murder.”

The look of panic that flashed across Marie's scarred face gave Stella a rush of satisfaction. She reached for her purse, which she'd left on the bar. “Here,” she said, taking out a fistful of bills. “This should be enough to get you wherever you need to go. I'm sorry things didn't work out here, but what happened happened. The sooner you're on the road, the farther away you'll be when the sheriff shows up.”

“Thanks.” Marie rose, dropped her cigarette in the ashtray, took the money, and without meeting Stella's eyes turned and walked toward the stairs.

“You're welcome, you double-crossing bitch,” Stella murmured as she disappeared. “I'll see you in hell.”

 

Marie pulled on her clothes and crammed Stella's money into her pockets, along with her cigarettes and the new lighter she'd bought. Glancing around the room, she grabbed the few small possessions she'd left out and stuffed them in her backpack. After checking the load in her KelTek P3, she shoved the small pistol into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled the hem of her T-shirt over it.

Without bothering to put on socks, she yanked on her boots. Marie was no fool. She knew Stella hadn't warned her or given her money out of gratitude. Stella Rawlins didn't have a grateful bone in her body. The last thing the woman would want was for her to be arrested and strike a plea deal with the court. Whatever Stella's motives, there was only one thing to do—take the money and run. Maybe if Lute had done that, instead of getting greedy for more, he'd still be alive.

No need to say good-bye. Marie raced down the back stairs and found her Harley under the lean-to where spare chairs and empty crates were stored. The bike was old but well maintained. She'd put gas in the tank a few days ago. A quick check showed that it was still full—no scumbag had siphoned it out like the last time.

Stowing her backpack, she sprang onto the seat, switched on the ignition, and opened up the throttle. The bike rumbled to life, shot out of the parking lot and down the street toward the main highway.

The wind caught her hair, blowing it out like a black banner behind her. It felt good to be leaving this garbage dump of a town behind—even though she was also leaving behind some big-time dreams. She'd blown her chance to be rich and powerful like Stella. But things could be worse. At least she wasn't in jail. At least she wasn't dead. She could go someplace else, start over, maybe find a decent man who wouldn't mind the scar—or better yet, would pay to have it removed. She had a good figure. With her face fixed, and some pretty clothes, she'd be a woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.

She'd turned onto the highway and was headed west when a black SUV pulled out of a side road behind her. The big vehicle was following too close. That was nothing new. A lot of drivers behaved as if motorcycles on the road were invisible. Still it was annoying. Marie was tempted to give the jerk behind the wheel her middle finger. But if he was prone to road rage, that could be a bad idea.

Giving the old Harley full throttle, she roared ahead. She'd outdistanced the SUV by a quarter mile when she heard it coming up behind her again, gaining fast. Cold terror clutched her as the truth struck home—this wasn't just any vehicle or any driver. She'd been played. Stella had sent somebody to kill her.

Did the driver mean to run her down or shoot her? With no time to think, Marie's survival instincts kicked in. Swerving left, she rocketed off the highway and headed across the scrub-dotted landscape. On the paved road she wouldn't stand a chance. But running loose amid rolling hills, clumps of mesquite, and sandy washes, she might be able to outmaneuver the lumbering SUV, either keeping out of sight or leading the big vehicle into a spot where it could high center or get stuck. She had her pistol, but the driver—she'd glimpsed a lone man in a dark hat—was bound to have a more powerful weapon. She couldn't risk letting him get a clear shot at her.

The SUV had turned off, too, and was coming after her. With its off-road tires and four-wheel drive, it would be hard to stop. Marie cut a zigzag route, keeping to the lowest path she could find. The long, yellow grass that carpeted the ground was so dry that it crumbled beneath her wheels, raising a plume of dust that trailed behind her in the wind. She could no longer see her pursuer, but she knew he was close on her trail and that he wouldn't give up the chase until she was dead.

The lay of the land looked familiar. She'd been here before. This was the eastern boundary of the Tylers' ranch, the area she'd cut across on the way to Coy's camp.

Not far ahead there should be a narrow wash with a sandy bottom. Marie's shifting mind calculated what little she recalled of its width and depth and the upward slope leading to its edge. Did her bike have enough power to make the jump to the other side?

If she tried and failed it would be all over for her. Either she would die in the crash or the man coming from behind would finish her off with a single shot to the head. But it was the best chance she had, maybe her only chance.

She scanned the horizon in a frantic search for the dip that marked the rim of the wash. The SUV was gaining on her, its engine blasting in her ears. If she didn't find it soon . . .

Suddenly there it was, a straight shot, not fifty yards ahead. Rising off the seat like a jockey, Marie opened up the aging bike to the limit of its power. The Harley roared forward and upward, passed over the rim of the wash, and went airborne.

The breathless sensation lasted only an instant. Then she felt the shock of solid ground beneath the wheels. Incredibly, she was unhurt, the bike still speeding forward. Without looking back, she made a beeline for a nearby rocky outcrop. The driver might be slowed down by the wash, but if he had a long-range rifle and a good aim, he could still climb out of the vehicle and drop her with a shot.

Protected for the moment by the rocks, she let the bike idle while she checked it for damage. From the wash behind her came the sound of a racing motor and spinning wheels. Evidently the driver had tried to go through the shallow wash and become stuck in the sand at the bottom. But with those big tires and that powerful engine he wouldn't be stuck long. Over time and distance there was no way she could outrun him. There had to be something else she could do to stop him and get away.

The thought triggered a desperate plan. The wind was blowing out of the west, back toward her pursuer. Yes, it could work.

Except for a few scratches, the Harley appeared undamaged. Opening one of the panniers, she took out a box of cookies she'd picked up days ago at Shop Mart. Dumping the cookies on the ground, she tore the box open flat, clicked her lighter and touched the flame to one corner. As the cardboard caught she tossed it under a tinder-dry bush. In the seconds it took to rev up the bike and speed away, a wall of fire flared behind her, wind blowing the flames toward the wash.

She'd covered a good half mile when she heard the blast of a fiery explosion. Behind her, a tower of black smoke rose against the sky. Marie's mouth tightened in a satisfied smile. She hoped the scumbag who'd tried to kill her had been inside the SUV when it blew, but she wasn't going back to find out.

With a war whoop of victory, she swung back toward the main road. She'd done it. She was safe.

By the time the wind shifted direction, blowing smoke and flame back toward the Rimrock, Marie was too far away to care.

CHAPTER 19

S
ky stood next to Lauren as her father's casket sank into the sunbaked earth. The brief service in the family plot was sparsely attended. Will and Beau were there to support Lauren and pay their respects to their lifelong neighbor. Natalie was working, but Tori had come, leaving Erin at a friend's. A few near neighbors, along with Randall Clawson, who managed the ranch for the syndicate, and Reverend Bunker Sykes from the Blanco Springs Community Church rounded out the small gathering.

Jasper had refused to go, declaring that anything good he had to say about Garn Prescott would be a lie. Bernice, who'd sent over some fresh banana bread, had chosen to stay home and look after her brother.

Sky glanced at Lauren's downcast profile. Beneath her narrow-brimmed, black straw hat, a lock of mahogany hair that the hot wind had loosened fluttered across her cheek. He'd seen no tears today. She and her father had barely had a civil relationship, let alone a close one. But he knew she was mourning all the same for what might have been and now could never be.

During the final prayer her hand had crept into his, fingers holding on tight. He was all she had now. He wanted to let her know he'd always be there for her. But before he complicated her life with a proposal, Lauren would need time to heal and let go of the past.

It was a relief to get out of the burning sun and into the air-cooled house. Lauren lifted off her hat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. Only Sky knew how deeply the day had drained her strength.

“Sit,” he ordered, guiding her to the couch. “I'll get you a plate and some cold lemonade.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a wan smile. “I'm going to sleep around the clock when this is over.”

“Do that. Anything else can wait till you're feeling a hundred percent.” Sky walked to the buffet table, where he filled two plates with cold ham and turkey sliders, some potato salad, and some fresh strawberries. Will and Beau were on opposite sides of the room, their backs toward each other. Will was talking to Randall Clawson, the syndicate manager. Beau had cornered the reverend, maybe to discuss arrangements for his August wedding to Natalie. Since the news that he was leaving, the two brothers had barely spoken to each other. They'd even driven separately to the service, Will having made the excuse that he might have to leave early.

Returning to Lauren's side, Sky found that Tori had joined her. After pulling up an extra chair, he set the plates and glasses on the coffee table between them. “Anything I can get you, Tori?”

“No, thanks. I'll be going out with Natalie when she gets off work.” She sipped her lemonade, her gaze shifting from Will to Beau. “What are we going to do about those two? This can't go on.”

“Beats me,” Sky said. “They're both as stubborn as . . . mules.”
As stubborn as their father,
he'd almost said. “Beau won't be leaving for a few more weeks. Maybe between now and then they'll work things out.”

“I don't know about that,” Tori said. “I keep remembering the last time, when Beau quarreled with his father and didn't come back for eleven years. Erin's heartbroken. She was so excited about having a little cousin to play with. Now . . .” She shook her head. “I'm afraid this might be my fault. Not long ago I warned Natalie not to let Beau move her into the ranch house. Heaven knows, I meant well. I didn't want her marriage to go the way mine did. Now I realize I should've kept my mouth shut.”

“You can't blame yourself, Tori.” Lauren laid a hand on her friend's arm. “It was Beau's decision to take his old job back.”

“But don't you see? If I hadn't given Natalie that advice, maybe she would've talked Beau out of leaving.”

“Don't beat yourself up, Tori,” Sky said. “Beau and Natalie are grown-ups. We can't make their decisions for them.”

“Speaking of decisions,” Tori said, changing the subject. “I apologize for the bad timing, Lauren, but I need to ask you this. There's a family interested in buying the Axelrod house. I told them they were second in line. Do you want me to hold it for you?”

Lauren hesitated, but only for an instant. “No, that wouldn't be fair. Not with—”

The rest of her response was cut off by the jangle of Will's cell phone. He'd turned it off for the graveside service, but he must've switched it on again. Heads swiveled toward the sound as Will grabbed the phone out of his pocket.

“What is it, Jasper?” He stepped into a quiet corner of the room, his fingers tightening on the phone. “What? . . . How close? . . . Hang on. We're on our way.”

He turned back toward the people in the room. “Fire on the Rimrock, this side of the east boundary.” Will's voice and manner were amazingly calm. “Jasper's called nine-one-one, but it might take the firefighters some time to get here. In the meantime, our first concern is to get everybody safe.”

“You can count on me to help, Will,” one of the ranchers said.

“No, Sam, you've got your own property to protect,” Will said. “If the wind changes, the fire could go anywhere. Randall—” He glanced toward the Prescott Ranch manager. “This place is the closest to ours. It could go next. You'll want to get your buildings hosed down and your stock out of the way.”

“Can I make it back to town?” Tori, in her black court suit and stiletto pumps, was already headed for the door.

“If the fire's jumped the main road, you could be driving right into it,” Will said. “You'll be better off coming with us to the Rimrock.”

She looked stricken. “Erin—”

“She'll be all right. Call her before she hears about it. Tell her not to worry.”

“I'll come with you folks.” Reverend Sykes was in his sixties but still fit and active. “Since Tori was the one who gave me a lift, I can't get back either. Might as well make myself useful.”

Beau was already outside. They could hear his vehicle starting up. Sky stood with Lauren, knowing he had to leave, too. “Go,” she said. “I'll be fine.”

“You can't stay here,” he said. “If the fire comes this way, this old wooden house will go up like a torch. Go with Clawson to the syndicate headquarters. There'll be plenty of water there and people who can evacuate you if it comes to that. I'll have my hands full with the horses. I can't be worrying about you, too. Promise me you'll stay safe.”

“I will.” She took his hand and squeezed it hard. “And you stay safe, too. Now go.”

I love you, Lauren.
Sky felt the words, but this wasn't the time or the place to speak them. All he could do was tear himself away from her and race outside to his truck.

The reverend piled in beside him. Through the row of tall Lombardy poplars that formed a wind break around the house, they could see columns of smoke rising against the hot, blue sky.

“Looks like a big one,” Reverend Sykes said. “Too big.”

“Any fire's too big.” Sky stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine made a clicking sound and died. Sky swore and tried again. This time the engine coughed, turned over, and started. Sky revved the motor to give it plenty of gas and charge the battery. The truck shot across the yard toward the road.

“Sounds like maybe a low battery or a bad solenoid,” the reverend said.

“Yeah, I've been meaning to replace both. But who's got time these days?” Sky used one hand to drive and the other to call the cowhand he'd left in charge of the horses. “Start loading them up and trucking them out,” he told the man who answered. “Mares and foals first. Like we talked about.”

“Got it. Trailers are hitched up and coming around now,” the man answered.

“Thanks, I'm on my way.” Sky ended the call. When he'd gone over the evacuation plan with the hands, he'd never imagined how soon that plan would have to be carried out.

Reverend Sykes gazed at the smoke through the open window. “Don't see any sign of air support yet,” he said. “I heard tell there's a big blaze down south of here. Maybe that's where the planes and choppers are.”

“Well, until they come, I guess we're on our own.” Sky swung onto the turnoff to the Rimrock, tires squealing in a cloud of dust.

“Are you scared, Sky, when you think of what could happen?”

“Scared?” Sky eased off on the gas as the house and barns came into sight. “Hell—excuse me, Reverend—if I let myself think about it, I'd be scared spitless. So I don't think. I just do my job. Right now that's all I can do.”

 

“Hurry, Lauren! Blast it, we've got to get out of here!” Randall Clawson's wife and daughter, luckily, were out of town, but he was anxious to get away and get back to his duties. Lauren couldn't blame him. The smoke was close enough to sting their eyes and nostrils. A single spark, carried on the high wind, could turn this house into an inferno, destroying everything in it and around it—the stately poplars, the garage with her grandfather's priceless vintage auto collection, and the history of a family.

She'd encouraged Clawson to go on ahead and let her follow in the Corvette when she was ready. But the good man had insisted on staying until she was safely out of the house. If she wanted to take her little car then, she could follow him.

The funeral director and catering staff had packed up and taken the back road to the main highway, bound for Lubbock. Lauren had changed into her jeans and filled a valise with a change of clothes, some personal papers and jewelry, and a few toiletries. But she knew she could be seeing this house for the last time. She wanted something else—a memory to keep. As soon as she laid eyes on it, she knew what it had to be.

“Step on it! The fire won't wait!” Clawson stood framed in the open front doorway, his car keys in his hand. Smoke was drifting into the house. Lauren could taste it, bitter and burning in her throat.

“One more thing and I'm coming.” She raced to the dining room and seized the framed photograph that showed her grandparents, her father, and Sky's beautiful mother. More than all the expensive furnishings in the house, this picture was the one thing she wanted to save for her children. “Let's go,” she said.

As they came out onto the front porch, Lauren could see the hellish glow of the fire through the trees. The shifting wind was blowing it straight toward the Rimrock. She imagined Sky, working feverishly to load the horses as the flames swept closer. So many horses—and they were like his children. She knew Sky wouldn't leave until every last one was out of danger.

As she sprinted out to her car, her lips moved in silent prayer.
Please . . . please keep him safe.

 

With nothing in its way, the wildfire stampeded across the tinder-dry grassland. Searing flames leaped higher than a man's reach. Smoke billowed upward, darkening the sunlight. Swift-moving animals—rabbits, coyotes, and deer—plunged ahead of the burning grass in a desperate search for safety. Snakes, lizards, mice, and prairie dogs took refuge under the ground. Birds took to the air. Some animals would survive. Many would not.

On the Rimrock, the mares and foals and the first of Sky's colts had been loaded into the two longest trailers and were on their way up to the fenced pastureland on the caprock. It would be rough going, the gravel road steep and narrow, the loaded trailers heavy, the horses frightened.

While they waited for the trucks to bring the empty trailers back down, Sky and his crew of a half-dozen men loaded the stallions into the smaller vans. The horses snorted and tossed their heads, smelling the smoke and sensing the danger. Some panicked, bucking, screaming, even biting. Others refused to budge.

Alert for any sign of trouble, Sky moved among them on foot, pausing where he was needed to soothe a terrified animal, prevent an injury, or coax a stubborn horse up the ramp. Vaquero, the champion chestnut stud, wanted nothing to do with the one-horse trailer that would haul him to safety. Eyes rolling, ears laid back, he was snorting and dancing, becoming more agitated by the second. The two mounted cowboys holding the big stallion on double lead ropes were in danger of losing control.

“Easy, boy.” Sky stepped to his head, one hand clasping his halter, the other stroking his powerful neck. “I know you're scared. We all are.” Leaning toward Vaquero's ear, Sky murmured the horse song his Comanche grandfather had taught him. It was a song the stallion had heard many times before and recognized as a signal.
Be calm like the water
.
Be steady like the earth. All will be well. All will be well. . . .

Vaquero lowered his head. His ears pricked forward. With a last defiant snort and a swish of his tail, he trotted up the ramp into the trailer.

Sometime soon, Sky thought, he would teach that song to Erin.

With the stallions loaded and the trailers waiting for the trucks, Sky took a moment to catch his breath and glance around the yard. Tori's station wagon was parked at the back corner of the house with Bernice, Jasper, and the dog inside. Dressed in baggy jeans, an old shirt, and work boots—most likely borrowed from Jasper—a rumpled Tori staggered into sight lugging a wire cage full of Bernice's precious red laying hens. She was smudged head to toe with dirt and chicken manure. Sky could imagine her chasing down each one of those hens and herding them, or stuffing them, into the cages. Bernice would have wanted her to save them all.

After hefting the cage into the back of her vehicle next to another one like it, Tori closed the tailgate, piled into the driver's seat, and headed off toward the road that climbed the escarpment.

From across the yard Will had paused to watch her load the car and drive away. The boss of the Rimrock seemed to be everywhere at once, coordinating things in the yard, directing the men hosing down the house and outbuildings, and using a walkie-talkie to communicate with Beau on the fire line and the men up on the caprock. The preparations he'd made ahead, which both Sky and Beau had viewed as his usual overmanaging, were paying off.