CHAPTER FOURTEEN
J OSEPH STEPPED OUT OF THE CAR AND WALKED UP TO THE HOUSE THAT served as the doctor’s office. His hand shook as he clasped the doorknob. He still felt sick, but if he was ever to be a man, he needed to own up to what he’d done.
Blake stayed several steps behind him, offering no support. Joseph was on his own.
The door opened on an empty reception room, still deep in morning shadow. But Joseph could see light and hear voices from the back of the house. He followed the sound to the spare bedroom that was used for patient recovery.
The sheriff was sitting up in bed, propped from behind by pillows. A gauze dressing wrapped his wounded shoulder. A quilt covered him from the waist down. His face was colorless, but as Joseph walked into the room, he smiled.
“I’ve been hoping you’d show up, Joseph,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for staying with me last night after I was shot. That was going the extra mile. I appreciate it.”
Joseph stared at him. With effort, he found his voice. “You mean nobody told you?”
The sheriff gave him a questioning look.
“It was my fault!” The words spilled out of Joseph. “That girl in the car—I gave her the money she had, two hundred dollars that I stole from my father. When I found out she was running away with her boyfriend, I tried to stop them. That was when you came out and got shot. What happened was all my fault.” A tear spilled over and trailed down Joseph’s cheek. “I’m the one to blame for everything.”
The smile had faded from the sheriff’s face. But he spoke in a level tone. “Joseph, when I got shot, I was doing my job. I knew the risks when I signed on to be sheriff. You may have played a part in what happened, but you didn’t pull that trigger.”
“But I gave her the money—money that wasn’t even mine. If I’d just said no—” Joseph broke down in sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Being sorry doesn’t change a thing. We take what we’ve learned and move on. You as well as me.” The sheriff’s voice roughened. “Now stop mewling, dry your tears, and grow up. That’s all we can do—either of us.”
Just then, Kristin walked into the room. She carried a tray with a glass of water and a tablet, probably a painkiller, which she gave to the sheriff. Blake, who’d been listening from the hall, stepped in to join her.
“Where’s Britta?” he asked.
“Britta’s gone to look after Jake’s little girl,” Kristin said. “Marissa will be staying with her grandmother for now. But she’ll need to be told about her father and prepared for when she can be with him.”
Joseph remembered how devotedly Britta had tended the wounded sheriff. Anyone could see that she loved him. But what would happen to their relationship if Jake couldn’t use his legs?
And there were more issues to be resolved. How could Jake live in the quarters above the jail if he couldn’t climb the stairs? How could he drive, mount a horse, or look after his most basic needs? How could he be sheriff?
Joseph knew better than to voice his thoughts. But in his heart, he knew one thing—events triggered by his actions had destroyed a man’s life.
“What about those two runaways?” Blake asked. “Have they been caught?”
“Not that we’ve heard,” Jake said. “The doctor called the sheriff in Miles City after I was brought here. He said he’d send his deputies out to watch the roads and the train station. But there’s been no word this morning. We’re still waiting. I hate to think they got away.” Pain flashed across his face as he shifted against the pillows.
“Somebody should talk to Webb Calder,” Joseph suggested. “Lucy’s father—if that’s who he really is—has been working for him. He might know who her boyfriend is and where they could have gone.”
“Webb called just before you got here,” the sheriff said. “When he went to look for Nigel Merriweather, or whatever his real name is, the man had cleared out in the night. So, unless he shows up, we’re out of luck.”
“We’ll leave you to rest now,” Blake said. “Come along, Joseph. Kristin, would you walk us to the door?”
She fell into step beside her brother. Joseph followed behind as they passed through the hallway and into the reception room. Short of the front door, Blake paused and turned to her. “How is Jake really doing?” he asked in a lowered voice. “What are the chances that he’ll walk again?”
She shook her head. “I can’t be sure of the damage to his spine without an X-ray. But I’ve seen injuries like this. Based on the evidence, I’d say that it would take a miracle.”
“Let me know if he needs anything,” Blake said, preparing to leave.
“I will. But he’s a proud man. Don’t expect him to ask.”
Blake had just opened the door when a transport wagon, its side bearing the painted symbol of the Miles City Sheriff’s Department, pulled up to the house. A big-bellied man with a star on his vest climbed out of the van and strode up the walk.
“Where’s the doctor?” he demanded.
“Right here.” Kristin stepped forward. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“We’ve got an accident victim—a young woman, some cuts and bruises, maybe a concussion and some cracked ribs. Your place was the closest medical help. Can you take a look at her?”
“Of course. Bring her in. I’ll see her in my surgery.”
“Thanks. She’s on a stretcher, probably in shock. I’ll have my deputies carry her in.” The sheriff signaled the vehicle with his hand, then turned back to the doctor. “I understand Sheriff Calhoun is here. Is he up to talking?”
“If you don’t keep him too long. He’s alert, but still weak. Joseph, would you show the sheriff back to the recovery room?”
“Sure.” Joseph led the big man down the hall to the room where Jake was resting. After ushering the sheriff inside, he lingered in the hall to listen. Eavesdropping might not be polite, but if there was any news, he wanted to hear it.
“Dammit, Jake, you look like hell!” The big man swore.
“I feel like hell, too,” Jake said. “But that can’t be helped. Pull up a chair and tell me what’s going on.”
The spindly wooden chair groaned as the big man sat down. “We found your fugitives this morning,” he said. “From the look of things, they doused their headlamps and steered into the woods to hide from the folks that were chasing them. It might have worked, but about twenty yards in, they crashed into a tree. The man was killed. The woman was hurt and trapped in the wreck. We found them this morning. That’s her my deputies just brought in.”
Joseph’s breath caught in his throat. From the front room, he could hear the tread of sturdy boots as the stretcher was carried inside to the surgery.
Lucy would be on that stretcher. Lucy, who had lied to him, charmed him into stealing money, and fled with her lover. Now the man was dead, and Lucy was injured. Joseph tried to tell himself that she’d gotten what was coming to her—and that he was justified in hating her. But he didn’t hate her. He didn’t love her or even pity her. What he felt for Lucy was nothing at all.
“How badly was she hurt?” Jake asked.
“Mostly glass cuts and bruises. Maybe a mild concussion and cracked ribs. Once the doc patches her up, we’ll be taking her to jail. I recognized her from a poster. She and her husband are wanted for extortion in Colorado. He’s an English type, pretends to be rich. She passes as his daughter, but she’s over twenty-one. She’ll be charged as an adult.”
“So the fellow who died wasn’t her husband?” Jake asked.
“It appears she was running off with another man. The husband’s still at large.”
The sheriff’s words jolted Joseph. He’d assumed Lucy was an innocent girl, fifteen or sixteen at the most. Instead, she was a married woman and an accomplished con artist. What a fool he’d been.
“Did she have any cash on her?” He spoke from the doorway. “I gave her two hundred dollars. The money belonged to my father.”
“She did have some money on her.” The sheriff frowned and shifted in his chair. “If it’s your father’s and he wants it back, he’ll have to come in, present some identification, and sign a claim form. Since that money is evidence, the process may take some time.”
Joseph heard Blake’s voice calling him from the front room. Returning down the hallway, he passed the closed door of the surgery, where Kristin was treating the woman who’d played him for a lovesick schoolboy. For a moment he was tempted to open the door and let her know that he saw her for what she was. But his father was waiting. And why should he bother with Lucy? She had no more power over him.
At least Blake would be getting his stolen money back. But Joseph knew better than to think his punishment was over. He would serve every day of his sentence in the hated sawmill. But nothing, not a hundred times that, could undo the terrible damage he’d done.
* * *
Mason waited until his mother had drunk her tea and toddled off to bed before he placed his call to Deer Lodge. Phoning the prison was always chancy. The phones could be busy or out of order. Taviani might be occupied with business or simply not in the mood to talk. Or there might be something going on at the prison, some kind of trouble like a fight or a lockdown.
But tonight, luck was in Mason’s favor. After a few minutes’ wait, he heard the old man’s voice on the phone.
“Dollarhide! I’ve been thinking about you, pal. How are things going?”
“They could be better,” Mason said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“Something wrong?”
“I hate to complain, but it’s Colucci. I’m doing everything to grow my business. I’ve got the setup and all the customers I can handle. But I’m not getting the goods. You probably know about the crash of that De Havilland and the loss of the pilot. I buried the boy myself. Colucci’s down to one plane and one pilot, and he’s not coming through with anything. Either he needs more support, or I need a new supplier.”
Taviani sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. But your needs are going to have to wait. There are other things in the wind. I might even need your help. Can I count on your silence?”
“You always have. That hasn’t changed. What’s happening?”
“For starters, it’s Colucci. He’s supposed to be putting my share of the profits into an account I set up for when I leave this place. I’m beginning to think he’s holding out on me.”
“The way things are going, I suspect there might be nothing to hold out,” Mason said.
“No, I know better,” Taviani said. “He’s dealing with Al Capone on the side, giving him part of my share to keep him happy. If you’re being cut out, it’s because Colucci knows you’re my friend.”
“But it was Capone who got us the De Havilland.”
“I know. But Capone never does anything without a good reason. I don’t trust him. And I don’t trust Colucci.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“That Colucci needs to be replaced with a man I can trust—a man like you.”
Mason could guess what the old man was thinking. Colucci would simply disappear—Taviani had plenty of outside connections to make that happen.
But did he want to take over Colucci’s job, including all the power and risk associated with it? Mason had never aspired to that level of involvement. All he’d ever wanted was the money. But Taviani could be ruthless when people didn’t follow his orders. How could he say no to the old man without making himself a target?
“There’s something else,” Taviani said. “Colucci’s pilot, a woman, is passing information to the feds. I need to get rid of her before I make changes.”
Mason’s pulse lurched. He forced himself to speak calmly. “How do you know about her?”
“Her father is a prisoner here. A few days ago, he was bragging about the special treatment he gets because of his daughter. When I showed a friendly interest, the fool admitted that she was an informant, working as a pilot for Colucci.”
Mason struggled to take in the new reality. Ruby had been passing everything she knew about the operation—and about him—to federal agents, probably to protect her father. Earlier, when he’d urged her to leave, she’d protested that obligations forced her to stay. Now he understood.
Not that it gave him any comfort. Ruby had lied to him. And what she’d likely told the feds could put him right back behind bars.
“Does Colucci know?” Mason’s heart was pounding.
“Not yet. I get the impression he’s sweet on her—too sweet to do what I need done. And he depends on her for the deliveries. I’d like to keep things that way until they’re both taken care of. That’s where you come in. I can hire somebody to take out Colucci. But I know the woman makes deliveries to you. You could arrange a little accident for her.”
“I’m a bootlegger, not a murderer,” Mason said, hiding his shock.
Taviani chuckled. “There’s a first time for everybody. Take out the woman, and Colucci’s job is yours. You’ll have the power to hire who you want, bring in all the goods you need, and take your cut of every delivery—as long as you give me my share. So what do you say?”
Mason hesitated. He could say no, but if he refused, Taviani would find somebody else to kill Ruby. The only hope of keeping her safe would be to agree and stall for time. Ruby had deceived him and worked against him. But her life mattered more to him than he’d realized until now.
“If she’s reporting to the feds, the damage is already done,” he said. “Why not use her—feed her false information to pass on? She’ll be no use to you dead.”
“Forget that. Too many things could go wrong. Are you up for the job, or do I find somebody else to do it?”
Again, Mason hesitated. If this was a test, he was already in danger of failing. “All right,” he said. “But if you want it done right, it’s going to take time. You could arrange a shipment. I could do it then.”
“No time for that, and I can’t lose another plane.” Taviani’s voice had taken on an edge. “I want her gone before she can do any more damage. And I’ll need proof that she’s dead. However you do it, it’s got to happen fast.”
“What about Colucci?”
“Leave him to me.” Mason could hear muffled voices in the background. “I have to go. Let me know when you’ve done your job.” Taviani ended the call.
Mason hung up the receiver and walked out onto the front porch. The rising moon cast the trees into ghostly shadows. The night wind stirred the falling leaves and carried the scent of the season’s first cold storm—coming early this year, even for Montana. He felt the touch of a damp nose against his hand. His fingers rubbed the massive head. A tail thumped against his legs. Brutus had finally made peace with him.
Was Ruby safe tonight? Or had Taviani, sensing Mason’s hesitation, already sent one of his minions to murder her?
The old man was as unpredictable as a wounded leopard, killing without provocation and without remorse. No one was safe, not even Mason. If he were to violate Taviani’s trust, he would never be allowed to live. He knew too many secrets.
If Ruby was in Miles City, she could already be in danger. He needed to find her, to protect her or at least to warn her. And he knew of only one place to look. Taviani would know of it, too. Colucci would have told him.
Mason’s mother was asleep, and the faithful Sidney had retired to his rooms. After letting the dog inside and locking the front door, Mason took time to pocket some extra cash, buckle on his holstered pistol, and shrug into his leather jacket. Exiting through the kitchen, he raced for his car.
As he cranked the engine to a start, a coldness touched his cheek and melted on his warm skin. It was snow.
* * *
With a woolen blanket wrapped over her nightgown, Ruby stood at the window of her hotel room. On the other side of the glass, snowflakes drifted into the alley, vanishing into the darkness below. She’d hoped for a night of restful sleep. Instead, she’d lain awake for what seemed like hours, haunted by a vague sense that something wasn’t right.
She’d long since learned to trust her instincts. But this time the cause was hard to pin down. Was it Colucci? She’d worried about him showing up at her door. But the snowstorm should be enough to keep him on the farm tonight. The door was triple-locked. And just in case, she kept a loaded pistol tucked under the edge of her mattress. She had every reason to believe she was safe.
But as she stood by the window and saw, through the snowy blur, a pair of glowing headlights turning down the alley toward the hotel’s back entrance, her ribs jerked tight, squeezing off her breath.
She couldn’t make out the vehicle. Plenty of people, especially those with something to hide, parked in the alley and used the back stairs. There was no reason to believe the car had anything to do with her. But as it vanished around the corner of the building, her unease lingered. When she heard the heavy tread of boots coming up the stairs to the third floor, she flew to the far side of her bed and drew the small revolver from its hiding place.
The footfalls stopped outside her door. There was a light knock. She didn’t answer. Maybe her caller would give up and go away. Then she heard a man’s deep voice.
“Ruby, it’s Mason. Answer me if you’re there. I need to talk to you.”
Recognizing the voice, Ruby began to breathe again. But was she really safe? All she really knew about Mason was that he was a bootlegger and an associate of Colucci’s.
True, he had saved her after she crashed. And his kiss had roused a surge of passion that she couldn’t forget. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. She would let him in, but she couldn’t afford to lower her guard.
Thumbing back the hammer on the pistol, she used her free hand to open the door. He stepped inside, his presence filling the unlit room. Still gripping the gun, she locked the door again and faced him. In the snow light that fell through the window, beads of moisture gleamed on his hair.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Who sent you? Was it Colucci?”
“Put that gun away, Ruby,” he said. “My visit has nothing to do with our friend Colucci. But you’re in big trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re not pointing that gun at me. Believe me, I’m the last person you want to shoot.”
Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? She released the hammer and lowered the weapon. “Tell me,” she said. “Where did you hear that I was in trouble?”
“From the man who gave me orders to kill you.”
She gasped, shrinking back from him, almost tripping over the hem of the blanket.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ruby. I’m just going to tell you what you need to hear.”
She sank onto the edge of the bed. He lifted the gun from her hand, laid it on the nightstand, and sat down beside her.
“Your secret’s been discovered,” he said. “I know you’re an informant for the Bureau of Investigation.”
Her body went rigid. “Who else knows? Colucci?”
“No, not him. Not yet, at least.”
“Then who else? Who told you?”
“The man who actually runs this show—from prison.”
From prison. Ruby’s mind rearranged the things she knew like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They slid into place, fitting in ways she would never have believed until now.
Prison. Her father, working in the library. Making friends. Dangerous friends. Sharing secrets in an effort to be liked.
Nothing else made sense. But where did Mason fit into the picture?
“How can that be?” she asked. “I cooperated with the feds because my father was in prison. They faked his death and promised to keep him safe.”
“But they couldn’t keep him quiet,” Mason said. “Your father talked to the wrong people.”
“That would be like him. He’s always been so trusting, so naive, like a child.” Ruby could feel herself crumbling inside. “Now somebody wants me dead—and you said you had orders to kill me. Who gave you those orders?”
“Never mind that. You can’t stay here,” Mason said. “I’ve got money. I can get you on the midnight train. Go as far as it will take you. Change your name, whatever it takes. I’ll just say that you got away before I could find you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving without my father. My handlers promised me that when the time came, they’d get both of us to safety.”
“Ruby, your father gave you up to the enemy.”
“But he didn’t mean to, Mason. If he stays in prison without my protection, they’ll put him to hard labor. He’s old, and he’s not strong. He’ll die.”
“ You’ll die if you stay.” He took a breath. “The man who’s giving the orders is in prison. I served time with him, some of it as his bodyguard, and I know how ruthless he can be. If he decides I’m not capable of killing you, he’ll send a professional to do the job.”
Mason was watching her, his gaze alert but tender in the faint light. Outside, windblown snow battered the windowpane. If things had been different, she might have moved closer or reached out and touched him. Something about Mason Dollarhide made her yearn for things she had long since left behind—warmth, safety, and the freedom to love. But that chance had come too late. Tonight she could be seeing him for the last time.
“I have a plan,” she said. “I’ll call my handler, Agent Hargrave, and tell him that I’ve been found out. The agents will come and take me to their safe house to wait for my father. You can leave before they get here. They don’t even have to know you were involved.”
“Are you sure you can count on their help, Ruby?” Mason said. “Now that you’ve been exposed, you’ll be of no more use to them. They’ll have no reason to protect you.”
“But they promised me,” Ruby argued. “They said they’d free my father and send us somewhere safe. And they’re working for the United States government. I even met the man who’s in charge now, Mr. J. Edgar Hoover. If I can’t trust them, who can I trust?”
His hands came up to cradle Ruby’s face. His piercing eyes locked with hers. “Blast it, Ruby, you’re just as na?ve as you say your father is. You might trust those men, but I’m not leaving you alone with them, not until I know you’re going to be all right.”
“But they’ll know who you are—I’ve reported you. You could go back to prison.”
“I said I’m not leaving,” he insisted. “I want you safe. I’ll deal with the rest. I have a plan of my own.”
“But why take a chance?” she whispered. “Why risk so much for a woman who’s already put you in danger?”
“I’ve asked myself the same damned question.” He kissed her then. His mouth—hard, urgent, and seeking—answered in a way that erased all need for words. As the kiss lingered, a pulsing desire, too long denied, welled in the depths of her body, its heat pooling down into her thighs and flowing upward until every part of her shimmered like sunlight through rainbow glass.
She knew Mason was far from perfect. He was a man who’d played by his own rules and paid the price. But none of that mattered. She had wanted him from the first moment he touched her.
Her blanket fell to the bed as she raised her arms to pull him down to her. Her body was naked beneath her muslin nightgown. His hands were cool through the thin fabric, but his lips were warm, pressing the curve of her neck, moving to her throat and down to her breasts.
Ruby had never been intimate with any man except her husband. After his death, and even before, she had frozen her physical and emotional needs. Now, in Mason’s arms, she was swept away by a wild hunger. She wanted his hands on every part of her, his bare skin warm and rough against hers, his hard arousal filling the dark emptiness inside her.
She tugged at his belt buckle. He reached down to help her. The holstered gun thudded to the floor with his trousers, followed by his boots and the rest of his clothes. Kissing her again, he eased her out of the nightgown and folded her under the covers.
He was an experienced lover, as Ruby had sensed that he would be. But she didn’t care how many other women he’d enjoyed in the past. Here and now, he was hers—and she was his.
Taking his time, he calmed her feverish need with gentle kisses, then aroused her slowly, nuzzling her breasts, his tongue teasing the nipples into sensitive nubs. She moaned, arching her body to meet his caresses.
“I’ve wanted you from the time you took me up in your plane,” he murmured against the hollow between her breasts. “I’ve dreamed of pleasuring you, Ruby. But anytime you want me to stop . . .” He brushed a trail of feathery kisses down the midline of her belly, then moved lower and lower still.
“ Oh . . .” Her fingers tangled in his hair as the first climax rippled through her body. “I didn’t know you could . . . oh! ” Her words ended in a gasp as it happened again.
“Anything else?” His tone was teasing.
“Yes . . . oh, yes.” Her legs opened for him, hips rising to meet his thrust. Slick with moisture, she welcomed him in, feeling every inch of his hard strength as he filled her. Instinctively, they moved as one, as if they’d been forged for this—and for each other. Deeper, faster, like two comets mounting the sky, they burst into starlight and floated back to Earth.
She lay in Mason’s arms, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. He had shown her what could happen between a man and woman when their bodies and souls were in tune—something she had lost sight of during the last years of her marriage. But when he turned and kissed her, Ruby understood.
Mason had given her one last gift—something to remember after they had to say goodbye.
I love you, Mason. The words rose in her mind. But some things were better left unsaid.