Chapter Thirteen #2
Great-Aunt Irma had known so many people and influenced others.
Mollie wondered if Bethany would take over that role for the Cloverdell community.
Erin would develop more friendships from work at the hazelnut operations.
And what about Mollie? Would she become a fixture in downtown Salem and the Willamette Valley?
There were others she didn’t recognize. A tall woman in a long sweater. A plump lady wearing a feathered hat. None of them looked like snipers, mercenaries or associates of Julio. She spotted Rossi mingling with the new arrivals and wondered how many others in the crowd worked for Spence.
She called Thornton over to stand beside her. He had a clean-shaven, boyish face dotted with freckles, and she wondered how much real experience he’d had with his sidearm. “How long have you worked for Spence?”
“Part-time for a couple of years after I got out of the army. I’m still going to college.”
Apparently, he was older than he looked. She motioned for him to come closer to the window. “Can you identify Spence’s team out there?”
He immediately named Rossi, then rattled off three other names. “They blend with most of the crowd, especially the women.”
“Are you from around here?”
“Grew up west of here in McMinnville,” he said. “I live in Salem now.”
“Planning to stay in Oregon?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “I thought I wanted to get away and travel the world, but when I came back, I wanted to stay.”
“Me, too.” There’s no place like home.
Her gaze fastened onto a woman with long blond hair and sunglasses.
Her long, tanned legs were on full display in her very short skirt.
She paused at the edge of the hill, looking down toward the clubhouse, and then she made a move that Mollie had seen hundreds of times before.
The woman braced her hand at her waist, cocked her hip and tossed her head, sending a ripple through her hair.
Mollie’s hopes were fulfilled. In Bethany’s backyard, she saw Madison.
Alive and well, the way Mollie had always believed.
She wanted to scream and wave and draw her attention.
Instead, Mollie clapped her hand over her mouth and didn’t make a sound.
The appearance of Madison meant she had to break her promise to Spence and take a risk by escaping from this dusty room. She had to elude Thornton.
Giving him an embarrassed look, she lied, “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said. “Don’t want to take a chance on having someone attack you on the way down the hall.”
She fought to keep the tension out of her voice. “I won’t be a minute.”
“It’s no problem.” Then he made a huge mistake. He opened the door and held it for her like a gentleman.
Mollie whipped past him into the hallway, grasped the door handle and yanked it shut.
This familiar move had been perfected years ago when she wanted to get away from her sister or one of the other Clovers.
With a silent apology to Thornton, she twisted the key in the lock. He was stuck inside with no way out.
She dashed for the narrow staircase that had been assigned to the servants in the long-ago days when the help wasn’t supposed to be seen.
For years, these stairs had needed repair and were seldom used.
She encountered no one from the third floor to the kitchen level, where she paused, hearing the clatter of food prep and chatter of voices.
Taking a breath, Mollie darted across the landing and went down to the root cellar.
The faint light from a couple of bare bulbs showed her the way to the door.
Every second that ticked by meant Madison could be farther away.
Would she go to the clubhouse? Was she working with Julio on some kind of scheme?
Mollie stepped out into the June sunlight. A light breeze pushed fluffy white clouds across the blue sky. The Willamette Valley was known for rain-soaked winters, but springtime burst with spectacular color and gentle warmth.
In her jeans and ancient canvas jacket, she felt underdressed when surrounded by the mob who had attended the memorial. She craned her neck, trying to see in all directions at once. Where in the hell had Madison gone?
The plump little lady in the feathered hat approached and wrapped Mollie in a tight hug. “You’re one of the twins, aren’t you?”
Her voice sounded hoarse. Her muscular grasp felt like a vise, and she wasn’t really all that short. Mollie tried to shrug her off. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
“Come along, dear. I’ll take care of you.”
More rudely, Mollie pushed. “Let me go.”
“Hush now.” The lady pressed a hankie to Mollie’s nose and made consoling noises, designed to make others think that Mollie had been overwhelmed by grief and needed comforting.
A sickly sweet smell penetrated her nostrils.
Mollie gasped, tried to struggle and signal to the members of Spence’s security team mingling in the crowd.
When people responded, the lady in the hat made an excuse as she supposedly guided Mollie toward the barn.
Another person stepped up to help. Together they made excuses and moved her away from the crowd.
Though she resisted, Mollie felt her consciousness fading. Her knees buckled, and her two helpers pretended to help keep her standing upright as she stumbled in the general direction of the barn.
Her brain couldn’t function. Not unconscious but numb, she realized she was being abducted in broad daylight. How could this be happening? She’d been grabbed by Julio’s thugs. Just as Spence had predicted. A mistake, she’d made a mistake.
Seeing Madison had knocked her for a loop.
Practicality and common sense were gone.
She never should have left the safe room on the third floor, never should have locked Thornton in the room.
Her fault, this was all her fault. She had to make it right.
Fumbling around, she stuck her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the small canister of pepper spray.
It fit neatly in her palm. She tried to raise her arm and protect herself, but her muscles wouldn’t respond.
Her hand dangled uselessly, unable to help her.
Though she didn’t know how quickly they crossed the yard outside the barn, it must have been done with a minimum of effort. Not attracting much attention. From her third-floor window, she’d seen Rossi and others from Spence’s team. Why weren’t they helping her? Why couldn’t she call out to them?
She opened her mouth to scream. But the hankie smothered her.
In the cool darkness of the horse barn, the two men—one disguised as a lady in a hat—half dragged her to a far corner behind the horse’s stalls where they propped her in a sitting position on a hay bale.
She leaned her back against a wall and struggled to stay awake.
The horses nickered. The earthy scent of hay comforted her.
Through her blurred vision, she saw a tall cowboy walking toward her with a bowlegged gait. His belt buckle gleamed. The brim of his hat tilted back, and she stared up into his face. It couldn’t be him. But she knew it was. Marshal Tim Youngblood.
And he wasn’t here to help her.