You’ll Find Out

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I t was the second day affer Brig had departed that Becca’s worries began to affect her work. The first night she had been anxious, but slowly her worry had developed into fear. Not only had she not heard from Brig in the last forty eight hours, but also Dean hadn’t returned, and she couldn’t track him down. She had known that Dean was angry when he left the farm, but she had expected him to show up before now. This wasn’t the first time he had taken off in an angry huff, but it was surprising that he hadn’t come home with his tail tucked between his legs and a sheepish grin on his face after he had cooled off. This time it was different.

Ian O’Riley had shrugged off her concern with a dismissive shake of his balding head. Ian figured that Dean probably just needed to go somewhere and let off steam. He would return again, the old man assured Becca, like a bad penny. Becca wasn’t so sure. In her anxiety, she had called Dean’s favorite haunts in the nearby town. No one had seen him since the night he had driven into town like a madman.

She was working on the books when she heard the familiar sound of Dean’s pickup rattling down the drive. A smile of relief curved her lips as the truck came to a halt near the stables. Dean was known for his theatrical entrances. She closed the general ledger and was about to head outside when she heard the clatter of his boots pounding on the stairs. He flew into the office at a dead run. Breathless from his sprint across the parking lot, wearing the same faded jeans and work shirt he had donned on Sunday, he looked tired and drawn. There was the faint smell of alcohol mingled with sour sweat on his clothes. A tender bruise blackened one of his cheeks.

Becca tried to make light of the situation, though her suspicion could not be denied. “You look like something the cat dragged in and then kicked back out again,” she teased, though her green eyes reflected her concern for her brother. “But I’m glad you’re back. I was really beginning to worry about you.”

“I’ll bet,” Dean ground out caustically. It was then she noticed the look of contempt that darkened his icy blue eyes.

“Is something wrong? What happened to you? Where have you been? I called all over town, but no one knew where you were. I even thought about calling the police . . .” she tried to touch him on the shoulder, but he shrank away like a wounded animal.

“The police?” he echoed. “That would have been great. Jesus, Becca, you don’t have to pretend any longer. I know how you feel about me.”

The sarcasm in his voice made her smile disappear completely. What had gotten into him? He acted as if she intended to hurt him. “Dean, are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, dropping his insolent attitude for a second. It was replaced immediately, as if he suddenly remembered that she was the enemy. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “And if I am in trouble, I know who to blame.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at . . .”

“Don’t give me that line, Becca. You know as well as I do that Chambers isn’t going to let up on me for a minute, is he?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his grimy hand as if he were trying to erase a haunting memory.

“What has Brig got to do with any of this?” she asked, her voice tight, her mouth dry. Apprehension slowly began to grip her heart. Dean was in trouble—big trouble—and Brig was involved. The bloody memory of Sentimental Lady’s last frantic hours kept surfacing in her mind. Dean couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Ah, hell, Sis. I don’t have time to sit around here and swap stories with you now. I just came back for a few of my things and a couple of bucks . . .”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper filled with dread.

Dean looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time since entering the room. He ran his hand against the corner of his mouth as he studied her. He was skeptical. “You mean you don’t know?”

She shook her head, her green eyes beseeching him as she attempted to understand the brother who had once been so dear to her. He was a stranger . . . a frightened stranger carrying a heavy burden of guilt. She could read it in his eyes. Good Lord, Dean must have known all along what had happened to Sentimental Lady! The brother she had known had changed more than she had been willing to admit. Her heart froze.

“Then, I’ll tell you. Chambers is responsible for this,” Dean stated as he pointed angrily at his discolored cheek.

“Brig?” Becca mouthed the word. She was incredulous. It was then that she noticed the dried blood smeared on Dean’s plaid shirt and the slight swelling of his lower lip.

“That’s right! Your friend, Brig Chambers, champion of all that is good and right with the world,” he snarled. “Defender of the little people and the big bucks. That’s how you see him, isn’t it? As some modern-day Prince Charming?”

“I . . . I see Brig as a man, a good man . . .”

“Ha!”

“. . . and I find it difficult to believe that Brig got into a fistfight with you.”

“Of course you do. Because it’s not his style, right? How many times have I told you that you get crazy when you’re around him? Well, you’re right; Chambers didn’t beat me up. He wouldn’t dirty his hands. One of his goons got hold of me the other night and decided to teach me a lesson.”

“Why didn’t you come home?” she cried.

“Because this guy, he wouldn’t let me . . .”

“Oh, Dean—”

‘’It’s true!” Dean’s fist pounded onto the top of the desk. Becca nearly jumped out of her skin.

She wavered for a moment, trying desperately to understand her brother, the brother she had once trusted with her life. The question faltered on her dry lips. “How . . . how do you know that this man . . . the one that hurt you . . . how do you know that he was connected with Brig?”

“Who else?”

“Someone who bears a grudge against you . . .” she was thinking as fast as she could, hoping to find someone, anyone, other than Brig who might be responsible. “ . . . like Jackie McDonnell. Maybe she was behind it.”

Dean’s eyes flared dangerously. “I know it was Chambers, Becca.” He glanced around the room nervously. “Look, I don’t have much time. I need a check for a couple of grand.” The checkbook was lying open on the desk. Dean picked it up.

“You need two thousand dollars?” Becca repeated. Too much was happening. She needed time to think and understand what was happening. “Why?”

“Because I’m leaving, damn it!”

“Leaving? Why?” Becca felt her entire body beginning to shake.

“I just can’t sit around here any longer and watch you make a fool of yourself over Brig Chambers—”

“That’s not what’s bothering you.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Becca watched her brother through new eyes, but she gave him one last chance, praying silently that her suspicions weren’t founded. “This has something to do with Jackie McDonnell and her baby, doesn’t it?”

Dean laughed mirthlessly before his eyes narrowed. “Leave her out of this. And as for that kid of hers . . . how do I know that it was mine? Jackie had been making it with half the guys in the county. I wasn’t about to raise some other man’s bastard.”

“Dean!”

He shook an angry finger under her nose. “I told you not to tell Brig about Gypsy Wind, but you had to, didn’t you? And he had to come back here and start digging everything up all over again. This is all your fault, Becca—”

“Oh, God, no,” Becca whispered. Tears pooled in her round green eyes. “Sentimental Lady—”

“Shhh!” The sound of a car racing down the drive caught Dean’s attention and he put a finger to his swollen lips to silence his sister. His eyes glittered dangerously when he glanced out the window and a bitter smile thinned his lips. “Damn!” A silver Mercedes was speeding on the gravel driveway. Dean recognized it as belonging to Brig Chambers. “I’ve got to get out of here, Becca, and now. Give me the money—”

“You can’t run,” she murmured, her trembling voice betraying her battered emotions.

Dean’s eyes were filled with undisguised contempt. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“But I don’t understand . . .”

“I just bet you don’t. And you probably never will.” He ripped a check out of the book and stuffed it into his pocket before grabbing the loose cash from the top desk drawer. “Just do me one last favor, will you, Becca?”

“What’s that?”

“Give me a few minutes to get out of here,” he requested. A small shadow of fear clouded his gaze for a split second. Becca felt her stomach begin to knot.

“What . . . what do you want me to do?”

He was undecided. “Hell, I don’t know. Anything. Stall Brig. Do whatever you have to, tell him you think you saw me out in the far pasture . . . tell him anything to get him off my back and give me a running start.”

Becca’s hands were shaking as she stepped toward Dean and placed her palms against his shoulders. He stiffened while tears streamed down her cheeks. “I think I know what you’re running from, Dean, and it’s a mistake. You can’t begin to hide—”

“You’re a miserable excuse for a sister!” Dean screamed at her as he shook himself free of her grasp and knocked her to the floor. “I knew I couldn’t count on you!” He ran to the window and opened it. Quickly he calculated the fall. It was only two stories, less than twenty feet. Surely he could make it. He poised on the window ledge and cast one last insolent glance of hatred at his sister. For the first time Becca noticed the shiny butt of a pistol peeking out of his pocket. He wrapped one hand around the gun while with the other he took hold of the ledge.

“Don’t!” Becca shrieked hysterically from her position on the floorboards. Her hair was tangled, her face contorted in fear, and she sobbed uncontrollably when she witnessed Dean lower himself out of the window and finally release his grip on the ledge. “No!” She heard him drop, the hollow sound of a body hitting unyielding earth.

Brig burst into the room. His eyes darted from the open window to Becca’s ashen face and the terror reflected in her deep green eyes. The concern on his face deepened. “Are you all right?” he asked as he raced to her side and took her into the strong security of his arms. “God, Becca, are you all right?”

“I’m okay . . .”

“You’re not hurt?” His dark eyes raked her body as if he were searching for evidence to the contrary.

“Really . . . I’m . . . I’m fine,” she managed to say as she wiped her tears with the back of one hand. The other was braced behind his neck, holding him near. She needed to feel the strength of his body against hers, the comfort of his arms holding her fiercely. She had to know there was something strong in the world that she could grasp.

He held her just as desperately. For the last two hours he had feared her dead, lost to him forever, and he vowed silently that he would never again let her go, should he find her alive. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Dear God, Rebecca,” he groaned, “I was afraid that I’d lost you.” His voice was husky, his vision clouded by salty tears of relief.

The next few moments were quiet, the silence broken only by her quiet sobs and the rapid beating of his heart. From somewhere nearby, he thought he heard a painful moan, but he ignored it, concentrating only on the warmth of the woman in his arms.

Slowly her thoughts became coherent. “Where have you been?” she asked in the faintest of whispers.

“In L.A.”

“Then you didn’t return to Denver?”

His smile was grim. “No. It’s a long story. Your brother—where is he?”

Becca nodded feebly toward the window, afraid that Dean might be injured or worse. Reluctantly Brig released her, but before he reached the ledge the thought of Dean’s hidden pistol entered Becca’s weary mind. “Watch out,” she called after Brig. “He’s got a gun.” Her heart twisted at the thought.

The sound of a pickup coughing and sparking to life caught her attention. Brig stood watching silently as the truck roared down the winding lane. “Stupid fool,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Why did you let him go?” Once again confusion took hold of her.

“He won’t get far, and I didn’t come here chasing him,” Brig explained. “It was you I came to see. I was worried about you.” He came back to her and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. His eyes were filled with genuine concern. “When I heard that Dean had gotten away from Charlie—”

“Then Dean was right. It was you. You were behind it!”

Brig nodded curtly. “But, as usual, your brother used less than sound judgment. He wouldn’t accept Charlie’s hospitality and tried to knock him out by hitting him over the back of the head. Charlie reciprocated.”

“But why did you try and hold him? I think that’s called kidnapping in this state.”

“No one kidnapped anyone. We just invited Dean to play poker—for forty-eight hours. I guess he didn’t like the game.”

“But, Brig, why?”

“Because I needed time and I had to be sure that he wouldn’t hurt you while I was in L.A.”

Becca shook her head, rubbing the soft golden wisps of her hair against Brig’s chest. “You didn’t need to worry. Dean would never hurt me.”

“When it comes to you, I don’t take any chances. Come on, let’s go into the house and I’ll pour you a drink. You look like you could use one.”

“What I need is answers. I want to know what it was you were after in Los Angeles.”

Becca’s knees were weak and she had to lean on Brig as they walked through the gathering twilight toward the old farmhouse. Brig’s arm was a steadying reinforcement on Becca’s slumped shoulders. She tried to think rationally, but the headache that had begun to develop between her temples and the memory of the fear in Dean’s eyes clouded her mind.

Once inside the farmhouse, Brig poured two shots of brandy. Becca accepted the drink gratefully and had to hold the small snifter in both of her hands in order not to spill any of the amber liquor. She looked small and frail as she sat on the couch cradling the glass between her fingers. Brig wondered how much of her vulnerability was the direct result of his carelessness. He silently cursed himself before draining his drink in one lengthy swallow.

Her soft green eyes searched his. “I don’t understand, Brig, why aren’t you chasing Dean?”

“Because I’d rather stay with you—you need me right now.”

She smiled weakly despite her fears. “But I thought you wanted to capture him—oh God, will you listen to me. I’m talking about my brother!” She dropped her head into her palm and felt the tears beginning to rise once again in her throat.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” He sat beside her on the couch after refilling her drink.

“How can you even think that everything’s okay?”

“Because for the last six years we’ve all been living a lie—I’m just angry with myself for not sensing it any earlier. I let my pride get in the way of my clear thinking.”

“I think we all could say that. But what about Dean?”

“He’s probably already in custody.”

“What?”

“I called the police and explained everything to them. They were going to pick up Dean and question him. I told them that I suspected that he would try to make a run for it after he came here.”

“But how did you know that he’d be back?”

Brig’s lips curved into a thoughtful frown. “Because the poker game—the one he skipped out on. It was rigged. For a while he won and big, then he started losing. By the time he took off, he didn’t have a dime on him—or a credit card. He was bound to come here for some cash when he smelled that I was on to him.” Brig shook his head in self-mockery. “That was a bad move on my part. He could have hurt you . . .”

“He would never hurt me.”

“You don’t know your brother anymore.”

Becca’s eyes were clear when she looked into Brig’s stormy gray gaze. “Nothing that has happened has convinced me that Dean would intentionally harm me, at least not physically.” She swirled the liquor in her glass and studied the small whirlpool. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke again. “All of this has something to do with Sentimental Lady, doesn’t it?”

Brig set his empty glass on a side table. “Yes.”

“And that was why you didn’t go back to Denver?”

“I couldn’t . . . not when I felt I was so close to the truth.”

“But why couldn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me know what you were planning?”

Brig raked his fingers through his dark hair and his eyes closed for a moment, as if he was searching for just the right words to make her understand his motives. “Because I wanted to be sure that I was on the right track. For God’s sake, Rebecca, Dean’s your brother! I couldn’t accuse him without the evidence backing me up.”

“And now you’ve got it?” she asked quietly as she absently rubbed her temple. Brig’s arm across her shoulder tensed and he nodded. “Oh, God,” she murmured desperately. She fought against the tears threatening to spill.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked gently.

She shook her long blond curls. “No. Not really. I . . . I had vague suspicions . . . nothing founded and I guess I really wanted to look the other way. I didn’t want to believe that Dean was a part of it . . . I guess I hid my head in the sand.” She turned away from him and her next words were barely a whisper. “It explains so much,” she confided, taking a sip from the brandy. “Tell me what you found.”

There was a dead quality in her voice that made him hesitate. “I should have known that Dean was involved when I found out that he had intentionally not told you about the phone calls. That didn’t make much sense to me. It was as if he wanted to keep us apart. From what I could remember about him, he was always interested in Chambers Oil. He didn’t object to your seeing me six years ago and I suspected he was secretly hoping that you and I would get married and he’d be that much closer to my father’s wealth.”

Becca felt that she should defend her brother, but Brig’s assessment of the situation was so close to her own feelings, she couldn’t deny his supposition. She silently nodded her agreement, trying to hold at bay the sickening feeling of betrayal taking hold of her. It was true. Before the tragedy, Dean had been more than pleased with her relationship with Brig.

“But something happened,” Brig continued. “It had to have been the accident. At first, I thought like everyone else, that the reason for Dean’s attitude toward me and the fact that he didn’t let the phone calls through was because he blamed me for not supporting you during the investigation.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, though something inside her told her that she really didn’t want to know.

“It was something you said.”

“What?”

“You mentioned that Dean suggested you go to my father for the money to breed Gypsy Wind. That seemed a little out of character to me. If Dean wanted us apart, why would he risk getting the old man involved?”

“We had no choice,” Becca reiterated. “There was nowhere else to turn and I really don’t think Dean wanted me to contact Jason. When I decided to go, Dean objected.”

“I think he was just blowing smoke . . .”

Becca leaned heavily against the cushions and closed her eyes. She remembered meeting with Jason Chambers in his cabin in the Rockies. He had insisted that she meet him there, away from the eyes in the office. The transaction was to be a private matter. No one would know about it except for himself and Becca. He had seemed pleased that she had come, or was it relief that had sparked in his cool brown eyes as he puffed on his pipe and let the smoke circle his head? His smile as they had shaken hands seemed vaguely triumphant and he had tucked the note away in the bottom drawer of his scarred oak desk. His response had been immediate and Becca had left the cabin feeling that if she had asked for a million dollars he would have given it to her without batting an eye. Yes, it had been strange, but she had been so elated that the oddity of the situation hadn’t really taken hold of her. Until now, when Brig brought it all back to her.

“There was something else that bothered me,” Brig continued. “Jason agreed to that loan . . . without any restrictions, right?” Becca opened her eyes and nodded her agreement. “He wasn’t exactly the most philanthropic man around,” Brig observed, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertip, “especially when you consider his attitude after the match race. His remarks were so unfeeling and cruel. It just didn’t make any sense that he would loan you the money to breed another horse like Sentimental Lady. The answer had to be in that final race, but I just didn’t know what it was.”

“So why did you decide to go to Los Angeles? I’m sorry, Brig, you’ve lost me.”

“Because Ian O’Riley slipped up. When I asked him about Martha, he mentioned Jackie McDonnell and the child.”

“So you went to L.A. to find Jackie,” Becca surmised. “Did you locate her?”

Brig’s expression remained grim. “Yeah. I found her and her mother . . .”

“Martha.”

“Let me tell you, there’s no love lost between Jackie and your brother.”

“I know,” Becca replied as she reflected on Dean’s cruel statement about the girl. How had she been so blind to her own brother’s deceit?

“Jackie was more than willing to tell me everything she knew about the situation, which was only that Dean had been doing a few things for my father. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit that he had injected Sentimental Lady. Maybe she really doesn’t know, or maybe she was protecting herself. If she knew about the crime, there’s a chance that she could be considered an accomplice.”

“So you’re sure that Dean was involved,” Becca whispered dryly. She held her tears at bay though they burned hotly behind her eyelids.

His fingers rubbed her shoulder. “The way I’ve got it figured is that Jason paid Dean to inject Sentimental Lady within the last hour before the race, after the racing soundness examination. Dean got a bundle of money from my father and Jason Chambers’ horse, Winsome, kept his flawless record intact.”

“Becoming all the more valuable at stud . . .”

“Exactly.”

Becca tried one final, futile denial. “But Dean, he never had any money . . .”

Brig pressed a silencing finger to her lips. “Because he spent it—”

“On what?”

“According to Jackie, your brother gambles, and I can speak from personal experience to tell you he’s a lousy gambler—at least at poker.”

“Then how do you know that Dean got the payoff?”

“Somehow he managed to give Jackie five thousand dollars to help with the medical costs of having the baby and to give her enough money to establish herself somewhere else, to get her off his back.”

“No wonder Martha never bothered to write.”

Brig’s voice was soothing. “She never blamed you, but couldn’t stand the sight of your brother.”

Becca slumped lower on the worn couch, as if the weight of Brig’s explanation was too much for her slim shoulders to bear.

“So Jackie is willing to testify against my brother and tell the police that Jason and Dean were in this together.”

“I’m not sure she’s that strong.”

Becca’s green eyes urged him to continue. “Then what?”

“I think that Dean will make a full confession when he understands that the circumstantial evidence points at him and paints a rather grim picture. He’d be smarter to play his cards right and try and keep this as quiet as possible—for everyone’s sake.”

“They’ll be back, won’t they?” Becca asked. “The reporters will be back.”

“As soon as they get wind of the story.”

Becca sank her teeth into her knuckles as she thought about her brother and the frightened man he had become. “Dear God,” she whispered, feeling suddenly chilled to the bone. “That’s why he took care of me, because of his guilt.”

“And so that you wouldn’t find him out.”

The pain in her heart was reflected in the tortured emotions on her face. “Sentimental Lady was so beautiful. . . and so innocent. I can’t believe that he would intentionally—”

“Dean never intended to kill the horse, Rebecca. He only wanted to disqualify her. It was the misstep and her temperament that finally killed her.”

“But if he hadn’t injected her—”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

A shuddering sigh passed Rebecca’s lips. “It doesn’t matter; Sentimental Lady is dead.”

“And you took the blame for that. You and Ian O’Riley.”

“It’s over now.”

“And you can start fresh with Gypsy Wind.”

“I don’t even want to think about racing right now,” Becca confided. “I’m so tired, and confused. I don’t think I’ll ever want to race again.”

“You will.”

“I’m not sure, Brig.” She looked at him with eyes filled with agony and remorse. “If it wasn’t for my stubborn pride and the fact that I had to prove myself to the world as a horse breeder, none of this tragedy would have taken place . . . and my brother wouldn’t be on the run—”

“Don’t blame yourself, Becca.”

She wrapped her arms about her abdomen and rocked on the couch. “Hold me, Brig,” she pleaded. “Hold me until it’s over . . .”