Chapter Thirty
A fter flying north to Nuevo Laredo, Rio explained to Becca that they didn’t dare try crossing back into America openly—he said the authorities might discover where they were and they couldn’t chance that. He’d lost faith in Harrison, and by extension, Black Eagle. It was, after all, a government entity. There was no telling what they might do.
Besides, they had no passports with them. At the border, they would only run into trouble. With his open wound, this time he couldn’t risk infection from the dirty Rio Grande water.
In the end, he hired coyotes to smuggle them into the U.S. He arranged for a local man to drive Becca’s car over the border and leave it near town.
The coyotes put them into a secret compartment of a tall transport truck. After they were in, a false door was closed and the truck was loaded with mangoes. At the crossing, Rio whispered to Becca that since money had changed hands, given his bribe, the truck would only be cursorily inspected, a mere formality. Indeed, they heard the rear doors open, and someone apparently glanced inside, saw only the fruit, and didn’t investigate further. The doors closed.
In Laredo, Texas, they were delivered to a nondescript warehouse. It was a mere mile from where her car had been stashed, and hand in hand, they walked down a quiet country lane, found the key beneath the seat, and were on their way headed farther north. Sighing in relief, Becca leaned back in the passenger seat.
Rio took her phone, replaced the battery, and made a muttered call. In moments he hung up. “Big Jim’s expecting us.”
When she accepted her phone, she saw a dozen missed calls and voice mails from friends, her brothers, her father, and a two from Maria, the ambassador’s daughter. Sighing, she turned it off, and again removed the battery. Her friends and family might be worried, but there was nothing she could do.
They took turns driving while the other dozed, stopping only for food and fuel. Within twenty-four hours, they drove into the outskirts of Billings. When they pulled into the city limits, Rio was at the wheel.
“Montana is beautiful,” Becca said, admiring the long, rimrock cliffs, and beyond, the majestic shadow of the Bighorn Mountain range. It seemed as though she could see for miles in any direction. The air was crisp, clean. It was so open and free. And she liked the idea that no one knew where they were.
“I’ve been to different places around the world,” he said, “some amazing places. But this is home. Feels good to be back.”
Instead of driving into downtown, he kept to the outskirts, taking them into the foothills. The countryside grew lonely and wild. At last, he pulled through gates over a cattle guard and onto a mile-long driveway. He stopped the car at a sprawling, two-story ranch house. White-faced cows grazed in the fields. A hawk soared overhead.
Already walking toward them from the house, an older man approached, tall and lanky. Two gray and tan cattle dogs trailed after him. He wore a battered straw cowboy hat, worn Wrangler jeans, and beat-up boots. His skin was weathered, his manner calm in the way of an old cowhand who knew that with the rhythms of country life, there was always work to be done, and always another day in which to do it. A hurried, frenzied attitude would never define him.
On the driveway, Rio surprised her. Instead of a manly handshake between father and son, or perhaps a shoulder slap, they greeted each other with a hearty hug.
And to think, she’d first thought Rio was so detached!
“Dad, this is Rebecca De Monte,” he said, drawing her forward. “Call her Becca.”
Beneath the cowboy hat, observant and wise eyes studied her. He was taller than Rio by a couple of inches. That put him at a good six-foot-five. His gnarled hand engulfed hers. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
She smiled up at him. “Allow me to return the compliment, Mr. Lang.”
“Jim,” he corrected. “Come inside. Sarah’s waiting.”
Together they walked into the two-story clapboard house and a small, old-fashioned kitchen. With a linoleum floor, simple tiled countertop, and gingham curtains at the windows, the room was cozy and inviting. A woman in an apron was pulling a blue-speckled pan from the oven.
The dogs followed, sniffing the air and looking hopeful.
“I made supper,” Sarah called out, not looking up from her oven. Delicious smells of roast, potatoes and vegetables wafted from the pan. Becca was instantly starving.
“Rio, get your friend something to drink and have a seat,” Sarah instructed. “We can eat now.” She waved at Rio as though she’d seen him only an hour before.
Rio grinned at Becca. “She’s bossy. Always barking orders.”
Sarah did look up then. She snapped out a kitchen towel. “I’m not bossy! Maybe you’d rather wear this roast, huh? Now, get the drinks.”
“And she’s spunky,” Rio said to Becca. He moved to pull Sarah into his arms for a big hug.
After a moment, she pushed him away. “I’m not spunky,” Sarah said. “I’m sweet and kind. Now, sit down.”
Becca hid a smile. “I’ll be happy to follow your orders, Sarah. Thank you for making us this meal. It looks heavenly. I’m so hungry.”
Rio went to the doorway. “Jim and I’ll get some wine,” he said and the two men disappeared into the next room.
Untying her apron, Sarah faced Becca for the first time. In her early thirties, she was tall, at least five-foot-ten. A thick, dark blonde braid fell to her waist and enormous green eyes under darker winged brows fastened on Becca. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she said. “At last, a woman has lassoed Rio.”
With that she threw her arms around Becca and gave her a close hug. Surprised again, Becca returned the embrace. When they parted, she said, “Um, I’m not sure I’ve lassoed him at all. He was sent to rescue me in Mexico when I was kidnapped. He saved my life.”
Sarah appeared unsurprised. “That’s what he does.” She reached into a cabinet for dinner platters. “And he’s very good at it.” She also took down four salad plates.
“Can I help?”
“Utensils are in that drawer,” Sarah said, and they worked companionably to set the table. In the center Sarah placed her roast, and then from the refrigerator a wooden bowl filled with fresh salad greens. “And I made an apple pie for dessert,” she said. “It’s Rio’s favorite. He doesn’t come home often, so I wanted to do that for him.”
“I love apple pie, too,” Becca said, “but I’ve never made one.”
“I’ll teach you.” She smiled and Becca saw that her white teeth were perfect. In fact, she was truly a stunning beauty. “Tomorrow,” she said confidently.
With that, Becca was at home. She marveled at how easily Sarah accepted her, and was grateful for Big Jim’s hospitality. She wondered how an astoundingly beautiful young woman remained hidden out here in this remote place. Like Rio, Sarah was Hollywood gorgeous.
In consternation, Becca glanced around. Maybe there was something in the water?
Over dinner and glasses of red wine, Rio and Becca filled the other two in on their predicament, on her father’s political aspirations, and their ignorance of who, exactly, was trying to kill them.
“You’ll reach out,” Big Jim asked Rio, “to your old contacts?”
“Tomorrow,” Rio confirmed. “I’ll make a few calls, send a few emails. I don’t like running blind, and on this one, we need a little help.”
Jim stretched out his long legs and folded his hands over his lean belly. “Gonna call in the Feds?”
Rio cast a wary glance at Becca. “Maybe. We’ll see what new information my contacts dig up.”
Becca gulped. “The Feds? As in ... the FBI?”
Rio reached out, took her hand. “We’ll see, okay? Now’s not the time to worry about that.” He sent a warning glance to his father.
“Pie?” Sarah said brightly, getting up to fetch the expertly made dessert, the top layer basket-weaved in an intricate pattern. As she took a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer and cut generous slices, she said, “Tomorrow, you guys will be busy. So, we’re going to bake another pie, and then I’ll take Becca for a ride into the meadow.” She glanced at Becca. “You ride, don’t you?”
“You mean on horseback? Yes, I love horses.” As a child in private schooling, proper horsemanship was part of the curriculum.
After dinner, she helped Sarah clean the table while Rio washed dishes. Eventually, the men went onto the screened veranda. Big Jim smoked a fragrant cigar and Rio took a tall whisky on ice. Their low voices rumbled.
When the last dish was being put away, Sarah looked sideways at Becca. “Rio’s smitten,” she said, “with you. It’s obvious.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Trust me. I know him. He’s my brother and he’s crazy about you. He’s never brought a woman home before. Never. And he looks at you as though he’d like to eat you for lunch.”
Becca didn’t know what to say.
“Are you in love with him?” Sarah demanded. “Just tell me.”
“I—I don’t know.” She met the other woman’s eyes anxiously. “I’m ... safe with him. He ... makes me feel beautiful and valued. It’s just so soon. We only met days ago!” She rubbed her brow. “I’m grateful he’s helping me solve this terrible mystery my family is mixed up in.”
Sarah waited, and so Becca whispered, “All right. I’m crazy about him.”
“Good enough,” Sarah said briskly. “That’s all I need to know. He’s a fine man. He deserves the best. Looks like he found it.”
Becca flushed. She hoped so. She really, really hoped so.