THE RENEGADE RANCHER (4 page)

He drove the truck, trying not to be distracted as she shifted and got comfortable without another word. Hell, he’d shut down for months when he’d thought John had accidentally started a fire that had killed Mrs. Cook. He couldn’t really fathom what it would be like to have someone try to kill him.

“Thank you, Brian.”

“You’re welcome. Now try to get some shut-eye.”

He should force her to go back to the police or hire someone who could help. Taking her to the ranch seemed the easiest choice he’d made recently. Since he and John had cleared the air and actually talked about the night that had changed their lives forever, decisions he’d made on his own for years about the ranch were suddenly up for a group discussion.

For four months he’d craved catching the murdering son of a bitch who had destroyed his future. Now it was more important than ever. He couldn’t leave Lindsey to handle this on her own.

The hour zoomed by—even in the old Ford his grandfather had bought and used for fifteen years. Brian tinkered with the engine, keeping it running smoothly. It might not have AC, but it was his. The bank couldn’t repossess it like they were trying to foreclose on the ranch.

One trouble at a time.

Keeping Lindsey alive was more important than finding a way to buy the ranch. He turned down the drive, cut the lights and parked next to the barn. Lindsey was still out. She mumbled a little when he shifted her to open the door.

The wind had blown her hair across her face. He leaned close, gently blowing the small strands to the side. He couldn’t resist. His lips grazed her forehead so softly he wasn’t certain he’d connected with her flesh until his lips cooled again. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his shoulder.

He was behaving like a sentimental and romantic idiot. He knew all there was about Lindsey Cook. More than he wanted or needed to know. No way would she go for a cowboy like him. He wasn’t anywhere near her league of resort-hopping rich and didn’t know how to get there. Didn’t want to get there.

Dawn was just around the corner. Time for the morning chores, and no extra hands to do any part of them. What would this beach bunny think of his family’s ranch?

The old house needed a coat of paint. The barn needed a new roof. The stock tank needed to be dredged. And there were hardly enough horses left to be considered a farm anymore. It wasn’t anything to show off, but it was his.

Or could be. He’d done a lot of thinking since John had come home. Since he turned fifteen, the one thing he’d been talking about doing was leaving this small piece of real estate. Now he couldn’t figure out a way to keep from being kicked off the place.

Brian got through the door without the screen slamming shut, a sleeping beauty still in his arms.

“I thought your shifts were for three days?” His brother yawned and scratched his head coming into the kitchen. “Want coffee?”

John finally looked up from the pot that had automatically kicked on and brewed. He pointed and raised an eyebrow, recognition at Lindsey’s identity twisting his face into shock, then anger.

Brian was tired and didn’t want to wake his new responsibility with loud voices or explanations.

“Don’t ask, bro. Just don’t ask.”

Chapter Five

Serendipity at its best. He could do nothing except admire how the universe worked to bring him back to the only man to have received acclaim for one of his masterpieces.

The Sloane brothers had been the perfect pawns. He’d switched on the voice-activated microphone he’d installed years ago to record his work. There would come a day when someone would transcribe his dictation and print his book,
Details of a Successful Serial Killer.

“Will Brian Sloane’s primitive investigation cause problems for your last plan?” He asked himself the question as if a reporter sat in the room. “The paramedic is a growing pain in the ass and will be eliminated as soon as the opportunity arises.”

After he was gone, someone should know what he’d accomplished. There shouldn’t be any supposition regarding each case. When the world discovered his lifelong achievements, it should be in his own words.

The idea came to him after the second successful death. Each plan was chronicled and stored in a fireproof safe once completed, but there was nothing like hearing about the conceptualization or nuances that made each one different to execute.

“But that wasn’t the question, sir.” The reporter in his mind continued to dig. “Will he present a problem?”

For several years, he’d been using the recording device like an audible journal. At first, it had been to document his work. Basically, he was so good at creating
accidents
that no one knew he’d done anything.

“Keeping track of the Sloane brothers for twelve years hasn’t been difficult. They lead uneventful lives with the exception of John’s return home. He set off a chain of very unfortunate events. That has only forced me to accelerate my plans for the last Cook family member. With Lindsey’s death, there are no claims on what’s been mine for many years now.”

He pushed away from his desk, preferring the supple leather of his couch for what amounted to a debate with himself to logically reason his way through a new challenge.

“If those laughable amateurs who kidnapped Lauren Adams hadn’t gotten greedy, the Sloanes would never have discovered my craftsmanship with the Cook deaths. Hiding Gillian’s murder within the barn fire was convenient, but also brilliant. I was so close to perfection.”

He opened and poured a shot of his favorite vodka. He needlessly swirled it in the cut glass, waiting for the right moment to consume.

“To recap, Gillian checked on the fire pit each time those high school children left her property. One swing of a board and she was unconscious as the barn burned around her. Convenient, yet brilliant. No one has ever discovered the truth of her murder.”

There was a right moment for everything. People had forgotten the art of patience. Waiting made the win worth savoring.

“I’ll need to get rid of them both. Soon, and without a lot of fuss.” He downed the clear shot. One was his limit. He enjoyed the burning sensation as it traveled through his body, immediately craving more of the fiery liquid.

“No, there isn’t a problem. But I am conflicted. Arranging a major accident would get the entire ranch out of my way for good, yet forcing an accident on their ranch is irrational. There would be too many witnesses. The pertinent question is, how do I get Brian and Lindsey to leave the ranch?”

He brushed the back of his finger under his mustache, verifying no drops of liquid moistened his upper lip. Reaching for the bottle, he realized the cool glass was in his hand and shouldn’t be. He slammed it on the table, shooting drops in the air that landed on the polished wood.

“How can I overcome this setback? Strike that. I consider this puzzle a welcome challenge. I haven’t had any in many years.” He leaned into the leather, resting his head, focusing on the microphone in the ceiling tiles. Closing his eyes, he pictured the horse ranch where Sloane had taken Lindsey. It was the only logical place he could go. He envisioned the buildings and the distances, places to hide, the horses and where they wandered.

“I have to admit, this challenge is the first time I’ve desired to meet my opponent face-to-face. If the opportunity presents itself, I might consider doing so. But that’s part of the beauty of this operation. No one knows. Not even my victims knew I controlled whether they lived or died.”

He’d given his word to himself and anyone listening to these tapes that they’d always be completely truthful. The last murder had been slightly different than the rest.

“Addendum. Pathetic Jeremy Cook most likely saw a distorted image through his snorkeling face mask. That was the closest I’ve ever gotten to any of my victims. When I was within striking distance, he was still completely at ease. My sheer strength kept him underwater. Fear never showed in his eyes until the last bubble of air escaped from his lungs. Then he knew. He knew there was no escape.”

Reliving the experience made his heart race and made him need more of the same exhilarating excitement. He wouldn’t put that on the tapes. Doctors or the media would twist the pleasure he took from a well-executed plan. They’d distort it and turn his excellence into something sick that needed analysis.

“Back to the problem at hand. How to eliminate the Cook line and take care of the Sloanes with the same deed.” The map of the property was firmly in his mind even after twelve years. As were the images of each building, the road, the fields, the pond...all there, creating a secret thrill he couldn’t share. He ran the idea from start to finish.

Excitement. Anticipation. Reward.

“Brilliant. Yes, a tip to the press connecting Brian to a possible hit-and-run accident will work nicely. A photographer should spook them sufficiently to where they are alone and vulnerable. I’ll record the details upon completion. There’s no need to repeat myself in dictation.”

Some men were thrilled by the hunt. Some by the kill. He poured another shot. It was time to celebrate. He held the glass in the air.

“A toast. To twenty years of excellence in murder.”

The vodka did its job, and he rose to switch off the recorder. There was one part of himself that he refused to share with the world. They’d label him perverted if they discovered his need to hear the moans of torture. He hid his tendency, only allowing himself to indulge as a reward for his greatness.

Fate had stepped in and brought him an opponent for his last plan. His own intelligence would be Lindsey’s downfall, and deserved to be fed and stroked. Seeing the report of another assumed overdosed prostitute in the news would meet his growing need for acknowledgment. It would also satisfy him in other pleasurable areas while she or he died.

The perfect subject for his reward had already been chosen and would fit into his plans nicely. But not a random death on the street. He had the perfect place to carry out his deed.

The celebration after his Cozumel success had been near Jeremy’s home. With Lindsey secure with the Sloanes, it might be risky to return there. But Jeremy’s bed would make the satisfaction all the sweeter.

Chapter Six

Brian’s head throbbed. He was tired. Not just from hitting his temple earlier. He needed sleep and a couple of days off. It seemed like years since he’d sat down and wasn’t on the clock, looking at ranch records or researching murders. Recently, the spare hours he’d had between shifts were spent following Lindsey’s every move. His bed looked very inviting. His father’s bed even more so with Miss Blue Eyes curled under the sheets now.

If he was lucky, he’d be under some sheets with her fairly soon. She had to be feeling the chemical reaction every time they were in the same room. Right? Hitting the hay with her could happen once they knew each other better, but not here. Not with a houseful of his family around.

The rooster crowed at the first peek of dawn. He might as well help with the morning feeding for once since he was up. It beat balancing the ranch books. Changed and gulping down a cup of coffee, he caught up with John halfway through feeding the stabled horses.

“Ready to tell me what’s going on?” his brother asked.

“There was an accident.”

“You didn’t do anything stupid, did you? We talked about this.” John sounded like an older brother or more like a former Naval officer used to getting answers.

“I didn’t do a damn thing, John. Lay off.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head. “And stop lecturing me every time we have a conversation. I’ve been taking care of this place for twelve years.”

“What the hell happened to your head?” John’s hands framed Brian’s face, turning it so he could get a closer look. His thumbs stretched the laceration, tugging at the bandage. “You’re bleeding.”

“Blast it, John. Stop treating me like I’m ten.” Brian shook free and swiped at his forehead. “I’ve got a father and don’t need you to baby me.”

Sometime during the past four months they’d switched their traditional roles. Identical in every visible way, Brian had always been the responsible one, older by minutes but by light-years in responsibility. The complete opposite of John’s jokester personality. His little brother had finally grown up while in the Navy. Or maybe it was coming home, making amends with his high school sweetheart and planning to adopt her daughter.

“Whoever stitched you up did a crappy job, bro. That’s going to leave a scar. And don’t think
I’m
slicing my forehead so we can switch places again.”

“Seems as though every time we’ve switched it was your idea and I was getting
you
out of trouble.”

“Don’t change the subject. What happened?” John stepped back, stiffening, as if he was at attention, commanding his men. It was obvious he wasn’t continuing with scooping oats until he got an answer. “After you went to the cops and they laughed in your face, I thought we agreed that it was over.”

“Stand down. This ain’t the Navy, man. Nothing major happened to me. This is from a drunk in my rig.” He straightened his hat. “Lindsey’s the one who had an accident. She’s a little freaked to be alone, that’s all. I brought her here. That’s it. No big deal. Now, I’m awful tired, so why don’t we get through the chores and I’ll explain after breakfast. Once. To everyone. Alicia will be home and Dad can pretend that he’s been home all night. Right, Dad?”

His father popped his head around the open double doors leading to the paddock. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting. Maybe Blue Eyes will be awake for your interrogation. That work for everybody?”

“Blue Eyes?” John and his dad questioned together, sounding so much alike it was creepy.

“Yeah, Lindsey.”

“You agreed to leave this alone. What happened twelve years ago doesn’t matter.” John picked up the scoop and measured oats for the horses.

“It matters to me. And I never agreed. You ordered and I reminded you that I don’t take orders from you.”

Brian left each bucket in a different stall, feeding the trained quarter horses he’d been trying to sell for months. He was ready to move to the next chore when John began laughing. “What’s so dang funny?”

“It just occurred to me, you put those stitches in yourself. Right?” He slapped his thighs, stumbling back a couple of steps, laughing hard at his own joke. “I knew it.”

“What stitches?” his dad asked, leaning on his cane. Not bad for a man recovering from a major stroke four months ago. He walked a good two miles every day just coming home from Mabel’s across the street.

“John’s losing his mind. Glad you’re here to take care of him if he starts convulsing.” Brian lengthened his stride to leave faster. “I’m going to make breakfast.”

“We need to talk about the ranch, boy-o,” his father said loudly. “The bank called again.”

“Can’t right now, Dad. I have a date with the griddle.” Brian left as John expounded on the crooked sutures. If his brother noticed, it was probably a good idea to let his sister-in-law, the professional nurse in the family, redo his sutures.

Right now, he was starved and needed to get his mind off some sky-blue eyes and corn-silk hair spread over a pillow in the front bedroom.

* * *

“Y
UM
. P
ANCAKES
.”

The distinct smell of a hot griddle and syrup wafted into Lindsey’s nose, encouraging her to breathe deeply and enjoy. She stretched her arms above her head. No surfing today, her shoulder was a little sore. She rubbed it as she sank back into the pillows, surrounded by the comforting feeling of her favorite place in Florida. The sun streamed through the windows every morning and she’d breathe in the soft, fresh smell of sun-dried sheets. There was a plus side to not owning a dryer.

Snuggling the quilt closer to her chest, she wanted to spend the rest of the morning asleep. But there was work or something she was supposed to do. And pancakes. Her eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar room.

Wide-awake in an instant. Panic. Aches.

Where am I?

Then her memory kicked in with Brian’s words that he was taking her to his home. Darn. She was on a ranch, not back at the beach. She’d be inside the storefront cage where she worked by three that afternoon. Stuck inside. It couldn’t compare to working in the sun, walking in the sand or having the surf as part of every conversation.

She missed the sun. But she was responsible now, with a real job and possible advancement. A permanent roof over her head instead of crashing with relatives during the winter season when she was broke. Responsibility was a good thing.

The room didn’t look like Brian at all. Pictures in old frames were placed on a dresser around a handmade doily and jewelry box. Grandparents, baby photos of two identical boys and a stunning woman in a wedding dress from the 70s. Either the loner she’d met wasn’t much of a loner or it wasn’t Brian’s room after all.

She was still completely dressed except for her shoes—a good thing, no awkward moments. She made the bed like a good guest—she’d been one often enough. Hit the bathroom, then not wanting to disturb anyone, she tiptoed through the hallway leading to the living area. She followed the heavenly smell of pancakes, hoping to find her cowboy rescuer.

A man was crashed on the couch. His face was pressed into the back cushions, but she knew it was Brian. His boots were at one end with his hat resting on top. She wasn’t surprised he was still asleep. He’d worked all night, then stayed up with her. What she couldn’t believe was that he’d carried her to bed and she hadn’t woken up.

“Shh. You’ll get in trouble if you wake up Uncle Brian,” a little girl tried to whisper from the kitchen entrance, placing her first finger across her lips but speaking loud enough to be heard across the room.

Lindsey followed the little girl into the kitchen, hesitating before interrupting the woman cleaning up, uncertain how to explain why she was in her home. These two had to be the new additions to the family. She recognized their pictures from the articles she’d found involving Brian and the little girl’s kidnapping last summer.

“Mommy,” Brian’s niece said, sending her pigtails bouncing over her shoulders.

“Lauren, you know you have to eat before you can go outside. Get back in your seat and leave Uncle Brian alone.” She didn’t look away from the dishes in the sink.

“Brian’s lady is up,” she announced, and her mom turned. Lauren laced her fingers through Lindsey’s and tugged her across the kitchen. Mother and daughter looked alike; both had rich, dark brown hair and the same arch to their brows.

“Hi, I’m Alicia. Brian said y’all got here at dawn. I didn’t expect you up this soon.” Alicia wiped her hands on a dish towel. There had been a moment of hesitation with her smile, but it looked genuine now that it was in place. Then she knelt by her daughter. “Lauren, you didn’t go and wake Miss Lindsey up, did you?”

Another surprise, Alicia Sloane knew her name. “Oh, no, I had a great sleep,” Lindsey rushed to explain. “I met Lauren in the living room. Oh, and I’m not Brian’s lady. We just met yesterday and he brought me here because I had no place to go. Great, that sort of sounds horrible. I mean, the story’s a little complicated. A lot complicated, actually.”

Alicia smiled bigger, stood and tapped Lauren on the bottom, scooting her toward her booster seat at the table. “Thank you for minding me, sweetie. Now get up there and finish eating. Don’t worry, Lindsey. Brian explained everything over breakfast. Are you hungry? I was instructed to give you hotcakes as soon as you were ready.”

“They smell delicious. Can I help?”

“Guests don’t cook, silly.” One of the cutest giggles she’d ever heard came from tiny lips and a mouth full of pancakes.

“Lauren, that was rude. You don’t call grown-ups silly.” Brian’s sister-in-law retrieved the batter from the refrigerator and slid it onto the mixer stand. “And you don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“But you do. You said Uncle Brian bringing a guest to Pawpaw’s very full house was silly.” She folded another half of a small pancake and stuffed it in her mouth, smiling with a drip of syrup on her chin as she chewed.

“Oh, gosh.” Alicia’s hand covered her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right, me being here is quite silly. Um...” Lindsey understood. Staying here wasn’t only awkward for the Sloanes. She had a bit of background, but what did she really know about Brian? “I guess I should go. If you know where my purse is, I’ll call a cab to take me home.”

“Don’t be silly,” Alicia said. “Oh, my, there I go again. What I meant to say is you’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you want. This is Brian’s house more than mine, and I shouldn’t have spouted off about a lack of space. Lauren, we’ll talk about this later, young lady.”

“I really think I should go.” She backed up, trying to leave gracefully. Maybe she’d missed her purse in Brian’s room. Two strong hands cupped her shoulders, steadying her as she tripped into a rock-solid body.

“You’ve got nowhere to go. Remember?” Brian’s voice said just above her head.

“Are you in trouble, Mommy? Uncle Brian looks mad.”

“I’m tired, baby girl. Just tired.” His warm breath tickled her spine. “I get ornery when I only get a half hour of shut-eye.”

“I told you to sleep in our room,” Alicia said.

“That will never happen.” He laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I function on naps all the time. Besides, the smell of that griddle made me hungry again.” He patted Lindsey’s shoulders and guided her to a chair at the old-fashioned table. “How’s the shoulder?”

“A little sore, but fine.”

The strange part of the scene around her was that she didn’t feel unwanted or a burden or even more than slightly awkward. When Brian was in the room, she felt at home. Her hand skimmed the table top as he pushed her chair closer to the table.

Metal legs, green Formica, scuffs, a few crayon marks—old and newish—made her feel as if the table had been there a very long time. The extension was in the middle and six quaint matching chairs were in place.

“How long is your lady friend going to be here, Uncle Brian?”

“I have to be at work this afternoon, so I should be heading home,” she explained to Lauren, but looked at Brian, who raised an eyebrow and rested his head on his hand.

“After some pancakes, right?” Alicia set a stack in front of her. Big and fluffy with a dab of butter melting over the top.

“Go ahead. This is second breakfast for me,” Brian said, or encouraged, or ordered. It was hard to tell. The man spoke with such authority, she was compelled to listen and wanted to follow his instructions. He was like a lifeguard even without water around.

“She likes ’em, Uncle Brian.”

“I think you’re right, baby girl. Her eyes just rolled back in her head for a second.”

Lindsey completely understood why Lauren had spoken with her mouth full. The pancakes were wonderful and she wanted to let Alicia know as soon as they touched her taste buds. And the coffee was simple and excellent. She’d thought she was spoiled with Jeremy’s one-cup flavored machine or the corner coffee shop at work. But there was something about the rustic flavor of black coffee that went with the pancakes and pure maple syrup.

“These really are great, Alicia. Thanks for going to the trouble.” Lindsey stuffed another big bite between her lips. Totally in heaven.

“All I did was flip ’em. That paramedic sitting beside you learned some secret ingredient and won’t give it up.” Alicia pointed the spatula toward Brian. “He mixed up the batter and cooked breakfast before he caught some shut-eye.”

If the screen door hadn’t shut behind two men and startled her into silence, Lindsey probably would have blurted her astonishment at how kind this man had been to her. The men were close in size to Brian, but one was on a cane.

The other, once he removed his hat and wasn’t backlit, she could tell was John, Brian’s duplicate. “Woman of the house, two starving men need some lunch.”

Alicia set the pancakes on the table in front of Brian. “As if one of them in the room wasn’t enough.”

“I was thinking that exact same thing.” Lindsey watched John kiss and twirl his bride right back to the sink. The older man joined them at the table and a cup of coffee appeared at his fingertips. He had to be their father—they looked just like him. All three men took turns adding the same dollop of milk to their cups.