Lonestar Sanctuary (2 page)

"You sure you want out, Allie?" he whispered.

Terror whirled inside like a mounting tornado. She forced it deep,
down to the dark place where she kept all the things she feared. For
Betsy's sake she had to keep herself together.

Maybe she could get out, circle around to Betsy's window, and get
to her. She spun around and ran to the bathroom window, but it was
too small to allow even her tiny frame to exit. She turned back to the
door and tried to open it again. It opened a crack against the force of
his hand holding it to on the other side, then slammed shut before she
could get it open wide enough to get her leg through.

"Let go of the door!" She tugged harder, kicked at it. Her fear
morphed into a cold anger. If she could face him, she'd tear at his face
with her nails. She would allow no one to hurt her baby girl.

The man's laugh if such an evil sound could be called laughter
whispered through the door again. "Your sister was so pretty. Not
nearly as pretty as you, though. Especially not now." A knife poked
through the crack. "She screamed when she saw the knife. Are you
going to scream, Allie?"

Allie stared at the blade slicing through the door. It wasn't true,
couldn't be true. He was just trying to scare her.

Tammy had walked in on a burglar.

The knife blade danced in the crack, moving forward, then pulling
back long enough to make her think he was leaving. Then it reappeared,
the edge sharp and dangerous.

She pulled on the knob again. "You coward," she yelled. "Face me
like a man! Quit hiding behind whispers and phone calls."

"You might faint if you saw my face," he whispered. "Just like
Tammy did."

The fear tried to surge out of the box she'd stuffed it into, but Allie
tightened her control. Her sister's face flashed through her mind, and
sorrow welled in her eyes. Had this man really been the one? She
couldn't let herself believe it.

Allie laid her head against the door. "What do you want?"

"I want you to pay," he said, his whisper harsher. "I'm going to take
everything you love, just like you destroyed the things that mattered
to me. What matters most to you, Allie?"

Betsy, he would take Betsy!

Allie's frantic gaze ran around the room. What could she do?
Though she knew it was so late no one would be out there to hear, she ran to the window and screamed, "Help, somebody help me!" Her
cries fell into the silent yard. No one answered her scream.

"Don't do that," he growled.

Allie ignored his commanding tone and raised her voice so loud it
hurt her throat. "Help! Please, someone help me!"

Then she heard the sweet sound of another voice. A shout answered
her, feet shuffled through the dust toward her trailer. Help was on its
way. She whirled and leaped back to the door. The knife was gone. This
time the knob turned easily under her fingers, and the door flew open.

The hallway was empty.

Allie bounded from the bathroom and raced across the hall. "Please,
oh please, God, let Betsy be all right." She rushed into the room and saw
Betsy's tousled dark curls on the pillow. "Bets?" she whispered.

Betsy stirred and rubbed her eyes, then rolled over and went back
to sleep.

Allie sagged against the doorframe. Her legs trembled, and she
wanted to crawl into the bed herself, pull the covers over her head
like she used to when she was afraid of the boogeyman.

But this was a real-life monster.

Someone pounded on the front door hard enough to make the whole
trailer shake. She tottered down the hall and threw open the door.

Her best friend,Yolanda Fleming, stepped through the door. "Allie,
what's wrong?"

Allie clutched her. "He was here, in my house!" Aware she wore
only her shirt and underwear, she backed down the hall. "My sister.
He said he killed Tammy!"

Horror began to dawn on Yolanda's face. But even as Yolanda
hugged her, Allie knew none of her friends would be able to protect
her and Betsy. There was only one thing she could do.

HIS BOSS DROVE WITH BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL, SLOW AND STEADY AS A
tortoise. Some days Elijah DeAngelos's attention to detail drove Rick
Bailey crazy, but today wasn't one of them. He had other things to
worry about.

Interstate 10 stretched out east, straight and nearly empty of traffic. Sage and creosote had greened up with the winter rains. The old
man turned the steering wheel in his gnarled hands, and the truck
rolled down a narrow dirt path toward a broken-down barn a quarter
of a mile back.

"Look there," Rick said. His hand gripped the door handle, wishing he could wring someone's neck. The call had come in two hours ago about these horses, but he'd hoped the caller was wrong about
how bad their condition was. Everyone in the area knew to call
Bluebird Ranch when a horse was in danger.

The two horses, one a pinto and the other a dun, stood on the
other side of a gate that hung cockeyed on its post, their heads down.
They could easily have gotten out, but they didn't have the strength.
The ribs of both animals showed through their rough, dull coats. They
barely mustered the will to turn to look at the vehicle.

They were so far gone, it would be a battle to save them.

Rick flung open his door and strode to the trailer they'd hauled
here. Opening the back, he reached in for the bucket of high-protein
dog food and sweet feed, a combination of oats, steamed cracked
corn, and cottonseed pellets, all covered with molasses. The quick
energy would be crucial to saving the mares. He carried the mixture
to the animals. Elijah followed with a bucket of water.

Rick watched the feeble horses try to feed, and he fisted his hands.
If he could find the man who had starved these horses, Rick would
bloody his nose. He told himself to take a few deep breaths. Getting
mad wouldn't help these animals.

He stepped to the dun and ran his hand over her patchy coat,
wincing at the protruding bones. "I'm not sure we can save them," he
admitted.

"I fear you might be right." Elijah held the bucket of water under
the pinto's lips, but the mare refused to drink.

Rick heard the sound of an engine and turned to look. "The vet's
here." He stepped to meet Grady O'Sullivan. "Thanks for coming all
this way." The ranch was two hours from town, and Grady was the
only vet he trusted to come this far.

The large man had red hair that stuck up like Woody Woodpecker's crest. About Rick's age, his big hands and feet matched his bulk.
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with feet thrust into sandals, he could
have been at home on the Gulf beach.

He was also the pastor of the church Rick attended. He knew
more about Rick than any man except Elijah.

Grady's gaze was on the horses, and he just nodded as he got out
his bag. "They look bad, Rick."

"They are." Rick followed the vet to the two mares.

The dun's front legs buckled, and she went down. Rick knelt on
one side, and the vet on the other. Grady ran his hands over her,
checked her eyes and mouth, then prodded her stomach.

Rick knew the verdict before the man said anything. His gut
clenched in a painful spasm, and he exhaled until it released. He'd
hoped to reach her sooner.

Grady shook his head. "They're too far gone. I doubt they have the
strength to make the trip. This one will die in the next couple of
hours. She's just been starved too long."

"What about the pinto?" Elijah asked. The other mare had managed
to get down some water and a handful of sweet feed and dog food. She
stood swaying, her head down.

"Maybe, but it will take a miracle," the vet said.

"Those we have had before," Elijah said.

"Do what you can, Grady," Rick pleaded. "For both of them."

The vet heaved a sigh and opened his bag. "I'll start an IV of electrolytes and add in some B12. Then all we can do is pray."

Rick had already started that, and he knew the other men had as
well. He watched the vet insert the IV and get the fluid going. The
minutes ticked by, and he swatted at the horseflies congregating
around the desperately ill mares. Squatting by the dun, he rubbed her head and neck, but half an hour later, she blew a final puff of breath
into his palm, then ... nothing.

No, no! He couldn't lose her. He blew in her nostrils and massaged
her stomach, but the great chest stayed motionless. His head dropped.
Pain pulsed behind his eyes. "She's gone," he said.

Feeling older than his thirty-four years, he stood and went to check
on the pinto. Elijah was at her side, coaxing her into eating another
handful of the high-calorie feed. "She looks a little stronger," he said.

Elijah nodded. "This one, she will make it."

"Another hour and the prognosis would have been different,"
Grady said. "She's a nice mare. Small, but good lines. The kids at the
ranch will love her."

Rick looked back at the dun. He'd failed that one. "Can we take
her home now?"

"Give her another hour and some more feed, then see how strong
she is. Wait until she's not wobbly. And leave the IV in until the second bag is empty." He closed his supply case. "Call me if you need me."

"Thanks, Grady. Tell Dolly I appreciate her sparing you on your
day off "

"No problem." Grady carried his bag to the car, and Rick walked
with him.

Over an hour later, Rick and Elijah decided the mare was strong
enough to attempt the trip. The men got her loaded into the trailer,
then climbed into the truck.

"We'll have to stop and feed her a few times," Rick said.

For now Rick could be glad Elijah was a slow and careful driver.
The mare couldn't handle much jarring. "How can men be so cruel?"
he asked softly once they were out on I-10 again. "We see so much of
this neglect. People think they want a horse but don't stop to realize how much care one requires. When they're tired of it all, they just
abandon their responsibilities."

Elijah gave him a quick glance. "Somehow I do not think you are
speaking of the man who did this to the horses. It brings back memories of your mother, si?"

The scars on Rick's back throbbed at the word mother. The woman
didn't deserve the title. His thoughts raced to the woman who'd
scarred him. It was her fault the county had taken his brother, Chad
Rick had never found him again. If he'd had a real dad, like Elijah, and
a loving mom, what might he have done with his life?

Those kinds of doubts could drive him crazy. Rick was doing what
he wanted, saving the horses he loved and helping kids turn out right.

THE SUN HAD ALREADY CONYERTED THE TRAILER INTO A SAUNA, THOUGH A
slight breeze relieved the heat a tad. Allie swiped away the sheen of
perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand before tossing
a handful of socks into the suitcase.

"But where are you going?" Yolanda blocked the doorway.

About Allie's age, Yolanda was a pretty African-American who
could ride like Dale Evans and rope like Roy Rogers. Yo would go far
in the rodeo. Ice curled around Allie's veins at the realization she
wouldn't be around to see it.

She glanced up from packing and forced a smile. "It's better if you
don't know," she toldYolanda. "You're safer that way."

Familiar sounds and smells wafted in through the window: shouts
from the stock crew, steers bellowing, the jingle of horse tack, the good
scent of horse and cattle. Allie would miss the rodeo. And El Paso. Even
this little trailer had come to feel like home after so many years.

Yolanda flopped onto the bed, her black cornrows bouncing on
her shoulders. "I'm scared for you, girl. You'll be alone, without anyone to help you with Betsy. Let me tag along for luck."

"You're going to win the barrel race this year, Yo. I can't take that
away from you. We'll be fine."Allie's purse sat on the nightstand with
only a hundred dollars in it, and she prayed it would be enough to get
them to the Big Bend. Yolanda would give her anything she had, but
Allie couldn't ask.

It was bad enough that she had to give up her dream of winning
the barrel race this year herself. She wouldn't dream of torpedoing
Yo's chances as well.

"Did you talk to the cops?" Yolanda asked.

"What good would it do? The police have done nothing to stop
whoever this guy is."A lump crept up her throat, but she swallowed it
down and focused on her packing.

"They're trying. The guy is slick."

Allie zipped her old green suitcase closed. "I have to disappear."

The worry inYolanda's dark eyes intensified. "I know we've gone
over this before, but, girl, you have to have some idea who could hate
you so much."

"Hernandez is the only one with something against me, and he's
dead."

"What if it's someone he met in the clink?"

Allie set her suitcase on the cracked linoleum floor. "Why would
someone take on his vendetta? Whoever this guy is, he's killed three
people,Yo. That takes a lot of hatred. And I'm not waiting around for
him to get to Betsy."

After her parents died when her father's plane went down, the
calls started. An eerie voice taunted her on the phone, telling her he had killed her parents and would take everything she loved. She'd
been sunken in despair and grief, bowed down with more than she
could bear until the guy started calling.

Strangely, his calls infused her with the determination to protect
the rest of her family. The threats gave her purpose.

Only one person could help her now. She hadn't wanted to go to
him not with him working for the one man she wanted to avoid
but now he was her best chance.

"How do you think Betsy will handle the change?"

Allie glanced out the open curtains to the melee going on outside.
Her daughter stood on the first rung of the fence, watching the cowboys practice throwing their ropes at the stationary stands. Dust billowed from the horse's hooves. "I hope the place where I'm taking her
will make her well."