Chapter 8
Lucy
Lucy looks out the passenger-side window of Trent’s pickup trying to see the craggy landscape through the rain-splattered
glass. She can feel the heat of his gaze as it flicks back and forth from the road to her face. Lucy is grateful for the dark.
Trent is driving with one hand on the steering wheel while fumbling with his phone with the other, and a harsh trill fills
the cab before Wes’s voice interrupts the ringing. “This is Wes. You know what to do.”
“Wes,” Trent says, “I just heard what happened. I hope you and Madeline are okay. I’m on my way and will be at the ranch in
about twenty minutes. Let me know what you need.”
He disconnects and then makes another call. This time it goes straight to voicemail, and Lucy hears her sister’s voice for
the first time in a month. “You’ve reached Madeline. I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as
possible.”
“Hey, Madeline,” Trent says, and Lucy is surprised at his shift in tone. From businesslike to—what?—gentler, more familiar?
“I can’t believe this. God, I hope you and the baby are okay. Give me a call, okay? And don’t worry about the horses and Pip.
I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.” He disconnects.
Interesting, Lucy thinks. Perfect little Madeline and the ranch hand. This could be much more fun than she thought, or maybe it would just complicate things.
“So you’re Madeline’s sister?” Trent finally says.
She could feign sleep, but he wouldn’t buy it. Who could sleep after they’ve learned their pregnant sister may have been blown
up in an explosion? Only a monster could do that.
“Stepsister,” Lucy says. Her breath leaves a ghostly sheen of condensation across the window. “Her mom married my dad when
we were kids. We grew up together.”
“I guess I’m surprised you’re here,” Trent says. “Madeline said you had quite the falling-out last time she was home.”
Lucy shrugs and drags one finger across the glass drawing a fat heart. “And I guess I’m surprised your sheriff dad didn’t
haul your ass off to jail for drunk driving tonight.”
“I only drank the first shot, you idiot,” Trent says with a laugh. “Then I told the bartender to switch to Coke. And besides,
I could say the same about you. You matched me drink for drink.”
“Maybe I can just hold my liquor,” Lucy shoots back. And what the hell? Madeline was telling this guy about the last time
they saw each other? “And from where I sit, it looks a lot like you were trying to get me drunk, and then my tire goes flat?
Seems pretty coincidental, don’t you think? I wonder what my sister would say about that?”
The screech of tires fills the truck’s cab, and Lucy’s seat belt snaps against her chest, preventing her head from striking
the dashboard. For one interminable moment, the truck’s wheels hydroplane across the wet pavement, sending them sliding toward
the ditch before coming to an abrupt stop. “What the fuck?” Lucy gasps when air returns to her lungs.
“Get out,” Trent says, reaching over to release her seat belt. “Get out of my truck.”
Lucy surveys the surroundings outside the truck.
Beyond the headlights lies a barren stretch of road that ends in blackness.
It’s raining harder now, and one glance down at her phone shows zero cell reception.
Like usual, she’s overplayed her hand. She hesitates a moment too long, and Trent reaches over her lap to open the passenger door.
Cool air floods the cab, and rain pelts the side of her face.
“Jesus, sensitive much?” Lucy says, wrenching the truck door shut again. “What’s your problem?”
“You know I didn’t force any of those drinks down your throat. And when you looked like you weren’t into it, I backed off,”
Trent snaps. “That’s why I left. So don’t you dare suggest anything different. If I was another kind of guy, I would have
followed you into that bathroom.”
“Fine,” she concedes, wrenching the car door shut again. “Now, can we just go?”
“I have a few more questions first,” Trent says. “Madeline and Wes never mentioned you were coming to visit. Why is that?”
“It was going to be a surprise,” Lucy says.
“You were going to surprise your sister, but don’t show up to her party?” Trent asks skeptically. “Right.” He draws out the
word for emphasis. “And you just so happen to run into me, the guy who works at the ranch that your sister owns, the sister
who you haven’t talked to in over a month? I don’t buy it.”
Wow, Lucy thinks. What else has Madeline told him about their relationship?
“You think I hit on you to get to Madeline?” Lucy can’t believe the arrogance of this guy. “You approached me, remember?”
Trent just stares at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for further explanation. “It’s complicated,” Lucy finally says with a sigh.
“We’ve had our disagreements, but I’m here now, right? And all I want to do is find out if my sister is okay. And for the
record, I had no idea who you were.”
“And how do I know if you’re really Madeline’s sister? How do I know you’re not lying?” Trent asks.
Lucy sighs, shifts in her seat, and pulls a phone from her back pocket.
She clicks through to Facebook, taps a few times, and turns the screen toward Trent showing him a picture of Madeline, Lucy, and an elderly man sitting in front of a cake emblazoned with candles.
Then another of Madeline in her equestrian gear, a gold medal around her neck, sitting atop a horse, while Lucy stands below, smiling broadly.
Then she shows him a picture of Madeline and Wes at their wedding.
“I introduced Wes to Madeline,” she says.
In fact, Lucy and Wes dated for a time but figured out they were better off as friends.
She swipes through several more photos. “See? Sisters.” Trent stares at her a moment longer before putting the truck back into gear.
Lucy eases back into her seat in relief. Maybe she hasn’t made a complete mess of things after all. Yes, she alienated Trent,
but at least she didn’t make the huge mistake of sleeping with him. Now he thinks he’s smarter than she is, has a leg up.
Well, let him think that. Yes, she’ll have to be a little bit more careful, be more diligent, but in the end, Lucy’d bet that
it wouldn’t be hard to bring Trent around to her side.
Thirty minutes later, the truck leaves the paved road and begins a rough trek down a long gravel lane. Lucy has never been
to Lone Tree Ranch but knows from looking up the property on Google Earth that they are taking the back way in, the employee
entrance for lack of a better term. From what she recalls, the unpaved road will lead to a cluster of ponderosa pine trees
and three small cabins that she assumes serve as bunkhouses for the ranch hands. Beyond the pines is a creek, a meadow, the
stables, barns, and finally the main house.
The truck comes to a bumpy stop in front of the cabins. All three are dark.
“Three of you live here?” Lucy asks. This put a hitch in her plan. One ranch hand she could handle. Three would be a problem.
“No. Only me,” Trent says. “The part-timers crash here once in a while, but I figured they would stay here tonight because
of the party. I’ll drive up to the house, and we can see what’s happening.” Trent follows the path around the pines, the truck’s
headlights guiding their way. “Oh, fuck,” Trent breathes out. Lucy peers through the windshield, but all she sees is the outline
of a ridiculously big house and lower slung, but equally impressive, stables. Stables she would love to have back home.
“What?” Lucy asks as the interior light from within a car parked at the edge of the meadow pops on. A wide-set man exits the
car and holds up his hand, ordering them to stop. Then she sees it. The ragged wreckage of the burned barn.
“Hey, hey!” the man shouts, and now Lucy sees he’s wearing a sheriff deputy’s uniform. “Hold up, now.”
Trent stops the truck and rolls down his window. Immediately, Lucy’s nose fills with a sodden, ashy smell. “Hey there, Coop,”
Trent calls back. “My dad told me I should head back this way.”
The deputy’s stance relaxes, but he still holds up his hand. “Stay there, Trent. Don’t drive any closer. I don’t want you
tearing up the crime scene.” For the first time, the deputy notices Lucy. “Who’s that?” he asks sharply.
“You’re not going to believe what I found on the side of the road,” Trent says, and Lucy wants to smack him upside the head.
“Madeline’s sister.”
“Sister?” the deputy says, coming up to the truck’s window and ducking his head down to get a better look. He examines her
closely, like most people do when they learn she is Madeline’s sister. They look nothing alike. “She’s never mentioned a sister.”
“Stepsister,” Lucy says by way of explanation. “I’m Lucy.”
“Ahhh,” the deputy says. “You must have come for the party.” Lucy doesn’t correct him. “Wes and Madeline aren’t back home
yet, but my understanding is they are both okay. Have you talked to her?”
Lucy shakes her head.
“Hey, Trent,” the deputy says, switching his focus, “can I snag you for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure,” Trent says, rolling up his window and then stepping from the truck. “Be right back,” he says before shutting
the door again with a heavy thunk.
Lucy watches as the two men move toward the burned-out barn, heads tilted toward each other. She longs to go to the stables
to see Sonnet, one of the horses Madeline brought back from Iowa. Lucy’s horse. Instead, she grabs her backpack from the floor
and quietly slips from the truck. The rain has turned to a spitting mist, and Lucy ducks her head, stuffs her hands into her
pockets and moves toward the darkened house, picking her way across the lawn littered with champagne glasses, deflated balloons,
and cracked china. She half expects the deputy or Trent to come sprinting after her, but once at the back terrace Lucy turns
to see them still deep in conversation. Lucy hesitates as she lifts her foot to climb the steps that lead to the wall of windows
and entrance to the house. Will the backyard light up with security lights? It doesn’t matter, Lucy tells herself. Madeline
is her sister. She belongs here. No lights come on as she moves up the steps, and even more surprising, the glass doors that
lead inside the house are unlocked.
Lucy steps inside. The only glow is coming from the baseboards, giving the room a cold, ghostly aura.
Lucy moves to the center of the large living room and looks up.
Above her is a monstrosity of a chandelier made of elk antlers that cast a sharp tangle of shadows across the floor.
Even in the dark, Lucy knows that everything in this house is over-the-top expensive. Madeline did always expect the best.
From somewhere at the front of the house comes the soft jangle of keys and the indecipherable murmurs of a couple trying to
argue quietly. Madeline and Wes are home. From behind her comes the clatter of footsteps. The sheriff and Trent finally realized
Lucy wasn’t in the truck any longer.
“Hey,” the deputy says breathlessly just as the living room lights flick on. Madeline gasps and grabs Wes’s arm.
Lucy almost doesn’t recognize her sister. She is hugely pregnant and dressed in hospital scrubs. Her face is pale, her hair
lank, and she smells like an ashtray. Lucy watches as Madeline tries to make sense of who is in front of her. Their last encounter
included true but harsh words and hours of debate and ended with Madeline loading up Lucy’s beloved Sonnet in a trailer and
leaving without a backward glance. Madeline’s appearance, only four weeks later, is alarming.
Wes appears equally stunned at seeing his sister-in-law standing in his living room but is the first to speak. “Lucy,” he
says, and there is no rancor in his voice. Lucy and Wes have always gotten along well. “Madeline didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“That’s because I didn’t know,” Madeline says, her voice hard.
“I heard about the explosion,” Lucy says. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” She opens her arms wide and first moves to Wes,
embracing him, and then turns toward her sister, ready to draw her in close, ready to tell her that she’s here now. That everything
will be okay, though that’s one colossal, bullshit lie.
The slap sounds like a firecracker, and heat explodes across Lucy’s cheek.
“Madeline!” Wes says, rushing between the two women. “What are you doing?”
“Get out of my house,” Madeline says, her voice even, absolute. “How dare you come here.” Without another word, Madeline turns and makes her way up the curved staircase to the second floor.
“Lucy, my God,” Wes says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Lucy manages to say, the sting of Madeline’s slap still radiating across her face.
“Do you want me to escort her off the property?” the deputy asks. “I’m sorry she got in the house. Trent brought her here,
said she was Madeline’s sister. I thought it would be okay.”
Trent looks mortified, ready to jump in and drag Lucy from the house himself.
“No, no. It is okay,” Wes says. “We’ve had a bad scare today. Of course Lucy can stay here. Madeline will feel better in the
morning. We’ll work it out then. Are you sure you’re okay?” Wes asks again, concern in his dark blue eyes. “You know she didn’t
mean it. You’re family, Luce. You’re always welcome here.”
Lucy cups her flaming cheek in her palm, covering the smile that has inched its way across her face.