Lonestar Sanctuary (16 page)

"I thought that too. But the guy who went to prison Jimmy
Hernandez is dead. He got caught up in a prison riot about a year
ago and was stabbed."

"So it couldn't be him. Anything else?"

"The other thing they have on her is that bank account records
show deposits of money in and out of her account. Like a quarter of a
million dollars."

Rick leaned back and rubbed his eyes, his stomach taking a nosedive. He should have known not to trust her. He was such a patsy. "She
showed up here penniless."

"I'm just saying.You check out her purse to see if she really had no
money? Women can lie while they're seducing you, buddy. I gotta say
I'm shocked you fell for her line."

"She's Jon's widow."

"Look, when are you going to let go of that guilt?"

Rick's jaw clenched down in a painful spasm. "I killed him,
Brendan. If I hadn't been drunk ... I rushed in when I should have
known better, and he came in after me. I think he knew how unlikely
it was that he'd walk out again." Brendan was the only one who knew,
and only because he'd been there.

"When was the last time you took a drink?" Brendan's voice was
soft.

"Two years." Rick clipped his words. What difference did it make?
All the sobriety in the world couldn't restore Jon to life.

"So live your life in the present. It's easier that way."

Rick knew better than to try to argue with Brendan. "Thanks for
the help. You'd better get to bed."

"I've got hours of paperwork ahead of me yet."

Rick closed his phone. The most damning evidence would be
money in her account. How did he check that out? If she hadn't just
been through such a trauma, he'd march upstairs and drag her from
her bed to question her.

Had he been completely duped?

A sound caught his ear, and he stood to look out the window. A
pinprick of light danced and bobbed through the trees. Someone was
out there. As far as he knew, everyone who belonged on the ranch was
tucked inside.

Rick rushed to the door, grabbing a flashlight on his way. Jem met
him on the porch and whined. "Quiet, boy," he whispered. "Come
with me." He went across the yard and stepped into the coolness of
the trees.

A twig snapped somewhere to his right, and he followed the faint
noise. Creeping through the dark, he didn't dare flip on the light. That
would only alert whoever it was to being spotted. He knew this ranch
like the back of his hand, though, and didn't really need the light.

He skirted a big boulder and looked around to see a line of dark
shapes moving low and fast toward the top of the hill. Now was the
time to flip on his light. He aimed the flashlight at the nearest figure
and pressed the soft button. The beam of light zeroed in on the face of a Hispanic man. He shouted in Spanish, and the rest of the people
turned to run. He saw three men and two women carrying children.
They streamed up the hill and disappeared.

Illegal immigrants, he was sure of it. And the first he'd seen since
coming to work here. He didn't want to believe Allie had anything to
do with this, but it sure fit.

It was too late and too dark to catch those poor souls tonight. He'd
put in a call to the border patrol, but that was the best he could do.

And tomorrow he and Allie would have a talk.

ALLIE'S EYES WERE BLURRY, AND HER READ ACHED. SHE STOOD ON THE
first rung of the corral fence and watched Emilio direct the teenagers on how to groom the horses. A dust storm was supposed to
hit late today, but right now only a light breeze lifted her hair away
from her face and filled her nose with the good fragrances of horse
and hay.

Rick had been acting weird all morning, and she was tired of dancing around his strange glances. What was bothering him? At first she
thought he'd been wondering how she was reacting to the news of
Yolanda's death, but it wasn't that. There was no sympathy in his eyes,
only speculation, and maybe even a pointed suspicion.

She'd been careful not to be alone with him. Finding out what was
biting him was less urgent than avoiding any discussion of a real marriage. Surely he couldn't think she was keeping anything from him.
Everything was out in the open now.

Emilio approached the fence, pushed his hat back off his forehead,
then leaned against a post. "The kids are doing a pretty good job," he
said. "I'm amazed at how well they've taken to ranch life."

Allie nodded. "Even Latoya is acting like a normal kid. She hasn't
even been wearing makeup, let alone unbuttoning her blouse to the
navel."

Emilio's eyes sobered. "She had a pretty rough go of it. Her
mother sold her to the first man when she was ten."

Allie put her hand over her mouth. "I had no idea. That poor kid."
Her gaze traveled to the other girl. "What about Fern?"

"Her parents and younger brother were killed in a boating accident in the Gulf. She's been in foster care for three years. She and her
mother were really close, and the trauma of her whole family being
wiped out about destroyed her." He gestured to the horses and kids.
"She's really taken to that colt. I've seen a few smiles."

Fern and Allie shared the same heartache. If Allie had been that
young, maybe she'd be as downtrodden as the girl. Allie vowed to do
whatever she could to help the teenager regain goals and focus.

Allie was sure the boys' stories were equally horrific, but she
couldn't face hearing them right now. Not with her own life weighing
her down. "How'd you get into working with these kids?" she asked.
"Have you done it long?"

His dark eyes flickered, then danced away, but not before she saw
a shutter come down. "Just happened to fall into it," he said. "I'm big
enough to scare some sense into them. No big story." He nodded
toward the Rio Grande. "I thought I saw some guys on top of the hill.
You ever get illegal aliens coming across?"

"Not while I've been here. I imagine it could be a problem though.
I haven't even seen any border patrol around. Immigrants from
Mexico could get on a boat and float down the river until they found
a good landing spot."

"There aren't that many good places to land. A lot of the way is blocked by sheer cliffs that are impossible to climb. The patrol probably chooses to focus on the easiest spots."

His tone was full of assurance, and she gave him a curious stare.
"You seem to know a lot about it."

Taking a tin from his pocket, he took out a pinch of snuff and
stuffed it in his cheek. "Makes sense."

He must not want to talk about his past at all. Maybe it was too
painful. The sun glared down from the sky, and she adjusted her
cowboy hat to shade her eyes. "Betsy loves that new horse. We
haven't named her. I keep hoping she'll start talking and name the
mare herself."

"Don't give up on that idea. She just might. I saw her come out
first thing this morning to feed her. She's hardly left the mare's side."

Allie nodded, her gaze on her daughter. Betsy was blooming here.
Even though she still wasn't talking, she was smiling more as she ran
and played in the barnyard. The animals flocked around her, from the
kittens to Jem and the horses. Even the cattle watched her when she
climbed up to sit on the fence.

A shadow blocked the sun from her eyes, and she squinted up into
Rick's face.

"I thought we might run to town and file those adoption papers,"
he said.

She straightened. "Let me get Betsy." Without waiting for his
answer, she climbed the fence and went to where her daughter stood
currying the mangy mare. Fern was helping.

Poor thing. The mare's cuts were starting to heal, but all the bones
still stuck out under the rough coat. "Betsy, let's go to town for a while."

Betsy thrust out her lower lip, and she fingered the buttons on her
blue blouse.

"I'll watch her, Mrs. Bailey." Fern's voice was almost inaudible, and
she ducked her head without looking Allie in the eye. "I like Betsy.
She's the age of my little brother ..."

"I'd rather she come with me." Panic dried into a bad taste in her
mouth. Someone had killed Yolanda. That same someone might find
them here.

Betsy tugged on her mother's arm and shook her head, tears filling her eyes. She pointed to the horse and then to Fern.

Allie was such a sucker for Betsy's entreaties. Rick assured her
they were safe here. How could anyone find them clear out here?
She'd left no trail. Still, someone had killed Elijah, even though the
sheriff seemed to think it was an accident. "She'd better come with
me. Why don't you come too, Fern?"

The girl's face lit with pleasure. "To town with you?"

"Sure. We'll stop and get an ice cream soda at the drugstore. We
won't be gone long."

Fern took Betsy's hand, and the girls followed Allie. Sorrow
welled in her throat, choking her. If only she'd let Yolanda come
with her.

She rejoined Rick and Emilio. "Betsy wants to stay with Fern, but
I don't think it's safe to leave her. I thought she could come with us."

"Sure," Emilio said. "Fern is good with kids."

His gaze toward Allie was intense and probing. Surely he wasn't
interested in her, was he? She was a married woman now. Reaching up
to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, she made sure to turn toward
him so he would see her new ring.

Rick still hadn't spoken. He headed toward the truck, and Allie
followed with the girls. At the cab's door, she stopped and spoke too
softly for the girls to hear. "Marriage must not agree with you. You're a bear this morning." She flashed her most winning smile, hoping to
coax him out of whatever had brought this on.

He gave her a cold glare. "Let's not talk about it now. I want to get
this adoption paperwork done first. We can sign the papers for the
ranch, too."

Allie tried to think of anything she'd done to warrant this gruff
treatment, but came up blank. He'd been so solicitous and caring last
night when he heard the news about Yolanda. Let him stew. She'd
done nothing to incur his wrath. And even if she had, what right did
he have to act like an enraged rattlesnake?

She let the girls sit between them. They made the trip to town in
a silence that seemed to thicken with every passing mile. Allie tried
to distract herself with praying forYolanda's family, but she found it
hard to focus when every time she glanced Rick's way he was still
glowering.

It was going to be a long year.

The attorney's secretary had the papers ready for them to sign.
Allie's signature looked a little shaky, but Rick scrawled his name in
bold, confident strokes. His determination to help her daughter made
her more willing to overlook his bad mood.

The wind had picked up by the time they stepped back out into
the sunshine. A few tumbleweeds lay nestled against the truck tires,
and tiny bits of sand stung Allie's cheeks as the two of them hurried
to the shelter of the drugstore. Rick had her by the arm to steady her.
He opened the door, then shut it behind her.

The aroma of cheeseburgers and French fries, of sock hops and
high school dates, washed over her. Black-and-white tiles on the floor
and red vinyl booths made the place look like a set from the movie
Grease. Rick led the way to the booth at the back.

"A jukebox," Fern breathed in a reverent tone.

"Here. Pick out some music." Rick dug a handful of coins from his
pocket and dropped them into her cupped palms.

Fern and Betsy went to pick out the music. Allie folded her hands
together to keep them from shaking. "Okay, let's have it. I'm tired of
tiptoeing around your mood. If you've got a complaint, spill it."

Rick's icy and appraising eyes belonged to a stranger. Where was
the warmth that he showed last night? For a few moments she thought
he might refuse to speak.

Then he leaned against the seat. "I talked to my friend yesterday,
the one who's in intelligence."

"So? I have nothing to hide."

"He had more details about your part in the moving of illegal aliens."

"I didn't have any part in that other than testifying"

"Then where did you get all the money?"

"What money?" Allie's gaze went to her bag containing exactly ten
dollars and fifteen cents.

"A quarter of a million dollars has moved through your account in
the last six months."

Allie gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "That's impossible."
But was it? She never looked at her bank statements. They were too
hard to make out. The only way she knew what she had in the bank at
any given time was to run through the ATM and check her balance.

"I see you're suddenly remembering," Rick said. "Your face says
it all."

"No, you don't understand," she protested. "I never know what's
in my account. I I can't read the statements."

He frowned then. "What are you talking about?"

She looked away from his intense gaze. "I have Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome. Some people call it Irlen Syndrome. It's really hard for me
to read things on white paper. The letters jump and move around. So
I don't read my statement."

"I've never heard of it."

From his tone, she guessed he thought she was lying. "Look it up,"
she snapped. "That's why I have to make sure I wear sunglasses in the
glare, or a hat. My eyes can't handle glare."

The ice in his eyes thawed slightly. "I still find it hard to believe you
don't know what's in your account."

She kept her gaze focused on her hands, tightly clenched in her
lap. "Jon always handled the banking. Since his death, everything like
that has been ... difficult."

"Why didn't you ask Yolanda for help?"

She bristled at his persistent skepticism. "I wanted to stand on my
own two feet. If Yo knew how tight things were, she'd insist on helping me. I couldn't accept that."

"Can you explain how so much money could be in your account?
Did anyone else have access to it?"

She grabbed her purse and upended it. A bottle of nail polish rolled
out, a comb, a lipstick clattered to the table, then her wallet plopped
on the surface. Picking it up, she threw it at him. "Take a look. Ten dollars and some change."