Nanny (19 page)

chapter
22

T
he Lazy W Ranch straddled fifty acres of some of the prettiest grazing land in Wyoming, bordered by dark waves of fir and oak. A river wound through the rolling hills, alive with rainbow and brown trout.

But the ranch's value didn't come from mineral rights or long-term investment potential. Though his family had a number of residences scattered over the country, the Lazy W was really home to Tate Winslow—the place where he'd learned to hoe an irrigation ditch, tie a fly lure, and lay down a barbed-wire fence. The clean, rugged hills of the Lazy W held his heart, fed his dreams, everything that Washington, D.C., was not.

Which was why, for Tate, even an hour spent here wiped away months of exhaustion, cynicism, and doubt.

He smiled as Sophy charged past, running straight into the arms of Bud Fowler, ranch foreman for over thirty years. The old cowboy caught the little girl tight and swung her around in a circle.

“How about we get Peaches ready for a dawn ride, Sophy? We can head up north and watch the sun break over the mountains.”

A well-briefed and trusted family retainer, Bud was too polite to comment on the pink gloves Sophy was wearing. Instead he swung the little girl up onto his shoulders, then beckoned to Audra. “You been working on your casting arm, Audra? A lot of fat trout are waiting in that stream, you know.”

“I don't have so much time right now, Bud. Not with school and . . . everything.”

“Darlin', even a grade-A student's got to take some time off. Just wait till you taste a nice, fat trout grilled on the fire, minutes from the water. Add a little cornmeal, a pinch of salt, and cook it up real fast in olive oil. Heck, no fancy restaurant's gonna come close to that.”

Audra smiled shyly. “I packed my fishing gear, just in case.”

“Well, you trot on down to see me tonight after dinner and I'll work on a new move with you. You'll have a trout in no time.”

“Can I try, too?” Sophy demanded, bending forward over Bud's head and blocking his view.

“Sure can, honey. And my Elly just may have some fresh peach ice cream hidden somewhere.” He glanced at the senator. “Fresh chocolate chip cookies, too. Assuming anyone is interested,” he added dryly.

“You tell Elly her last shipment of cookies was well-received.” Tate grinned at his old friend. “Only problem was that I made the mistake of taking them out of my office. My campaign spending bill got more support that one day than it had for the six months preceding.”

“In that case, I'll advise her to lay in more flour and sugar, Senator. By the way, your mother called twice and your brother called three times. Nothing that was an emergency, they said.” With Sophy still riding firmly on his shoulders, Bud turned to Cara. “Good to see you again, ma'am. I've got a nice mount ready for you tomorrow, if you've a mind to join the girls.”

“Can I tell you later?” Cara resolutely avoided Tate's eyes—and the flush that threatened. “Dawn may be a little too early for me.”

“No problem. Me and the boys'll wrangle these two cubs just fine. You can take things easy up here. I hear that big trial is keeping you busy as a gopher in quicksand. No court dates or dockets here, ma'am.” He tickled Sophy's leg. “Just mile-high sunsets and nights so quiet you can hear the aspens growing.”

“Bud, can you really hear—”

Audra cut her sister off, but her laugh was light, freer than Cara had heard it for weeks. “Of course you can't, silly. It's a—a figure of speech. Right, Bud?”

The old cowboy rubbed his jaw. “Hard to say about that, honey. Last night it was so quiet, I cudda sworn I heard a coyote cough over in the next county.”

Even Audra laughed in delight at this example of a tall tale, for which Bud was justly famous.

“And that was with my earmuffs on,” the old cowboy added, all honesty. “But just you tell me about this new beast you brought with you. What do you do with a ferret, anyway?”

Excited, the girls held up Liberace's cage.

“Stop worrying, Cara. They'll be safe here. So will you,” Tate said quietly, touching her cheek.

“I know. At least, the rational part of me knows. But I'm worried about Gabe and Summer. Have you heard anything yet?”

“Still too soon, honey. Gabe should check in when they arrive in Los Reyes. Don't worry, they won't be working alone down there.”

“You still haven't told me—”

Tate slid his arm across her shoulders. “Later, Counselor. If we don't hurry up, that steak I was telling you about is going to get up and amble back to the herd.”

 

Up ahead, Sophy lowered her voice. “Look, Bud, he's kissing her again.”

“That bother you, honey?” Bud's tone was casual.

“Not really. It's just—I mean, I don't get why grown-ups do that stuff all the time. Phillip Howland kissed me once and it tasted like crayons.
Ick.
”

Bud kept a carefully straight face. “Boy oughta be horse-whipped and no mistake. What about you, Audra?”

“Yeah, do
you
like kissing?” Sophy demanded.

“Actually,” Bud cut in gently, “I was asking if the senator and your mother kissing bothered her.”

Audra toyed with the strap on her backpack. “No. Why should it? The senator—well, he's great. I think it's really cool he's gonna be our father. Well, our stepfather,” she said thoughtfully. “And any fool could see that Mom thinks he's, like, a major
babe.
So, yeah, I'm cool with it.”

Bud nodded. “Glad to hear that. Now, why don't we get the Jeep loaded and then you can introduce everybody at the ranch to Liberace?”

 

The sky was streaked with long fingers of purple beneath racing clouds. Cara sank down on the bent-twig rocker on the Lazy W's broad front porch, watching far-off lights twinkle from the nearest town, fifteen miles away.

“All this unimaginable peace.” She took in a long, delicious breath of clean air. “And stillness everywhere. Why do I always forget how good it is to be here?” She looked up at Tate, who was leaning on the split-rail porch, cradling a cup of coffee. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“My pleasure. We all need some time out of the pressure cooker. How's that cut on your hand?”

“Fine. I can't believe I was so clumsy.”

“Stress, honey. It can hit you in ways you don't expect. Believe me, I know.” Tate sipped some coffee. “Audra's growing up. She's looking a little tired, too. I'd like to spend some time with her, if you don't mind. Maybe we'll go fishing one day.”

“She'd love that.” Cara frowned. “And you're right, she does look tired. Also, she's not eating enough. Apparently someone's been telling her she's fat. We'll have to ply her with food while we're here.”

“Don't worry, Bud and Elly make feeding guests a prime mission in life, so Audra won't know what hit her.” He stared off over the peaceful valley. “And Sophy, dear Lord, was there ever a child so bright and amazingly honest? She makes me feel a year younger for every minute I'm around her.”

“She adores you,” Cara said softly. “So does Audra.” She stuck out her tongue. “According to Audra, I think you're a major babe.”

“I'm glad to hear it, Ms. O'Connor.” Tate set down his coffee and moved behind Cara, expertly massaging her tense shoulders. “What about those pink gloves Sophy's taken to wearing?”

He felt the instant jerk in Cara's shoulders, but continued to rub gently.

“I thought it was a fashion thing at first. You know, like the Hello Kitty purses and the big, fuzzy slippers. But I'm not so sure. Sometimes when I touch her, she looks so—so odd. Surprised, shocked, maybe a little afraid. I've been meaning to ask her, but things have been so busy and—” Cara closed her eyes. “That's no excuse. I've let too many things slip with the preparation for the Costello appeal.”

“I hear one of the witnesses may recant his story.”

“It's possible.”

“Forget about it for now.” Tate worked his hands slowly up and down her back. “That's why we're here, remember?”

Cara gave a groan of utter contentment. “Do that again and I'll do indecent things for you, Senator.”

He did it again, chuckling. “Can I have a written deposition to that effect, Counselor? Or shall we simply move to adjourn?”

He kissed her neck and the tender skin behind her ear until she shivered, her breath turning husky. “Tate, the girls—”

“Are down with Bud and Elly, who will keep them engrossed in tall tales over chocolate cookies and peach ice cream for at least three hours.” His lips curved as he found the top button of her blouse. “If we hurry, we could join them.”

Cara eased her hands under his shirt and laughed darkly when he groaned. “Senator, the very last thing I plan to do tonight is hurry.”

Their fingers entwined as they crossed the porch. As one, their shadows joined and then disappeared into the quiet house.

 

Grady started talking on the runway in Elko and didn't stop until the cargo plane cut its engines in Arizona.

“Hell, Grady, let the lady rest.” Sheriff McCall appeared from the cockpit, shaking his head. “You'll have to forgive him, Ms. Mulvaney. He's imagining you're a bank robber or a movie star. Why else would you hitch a ride at the last minute?”

“Now wait just a minute, T.J. I never said—”

“Don't have to, Grady. It's written all over your face.” The sheriff picked up Summer's small suitcase and grinned. “But we're neither one asking any questions.” He trotted down the stairs with lanky grace. “Jeep's over here.”

Walking outside, Summer was hit with a wave of heat so solid it jerked her breath out of her throat. On three sides of the small airfield low trees and dense shrubs climbed toward jagged mountains. The sky shimmered in the last rays of the setting sun, burning the nearby red cliffs. Summer had never been in the desert before, and the smell in the air surprised her, a complex mix of sage, rosemary, and primal earth.

She had a dozen questions to ask, but experience had taught her that words were usually not the best way to measure people, so she slid into the Jeep beside the sheriff and waited, already sensing she could trust him.

As much as Summer ever allowed herself to trust anyone.

“Don't talk much, do you?”

She shrugged. “Enough to get the job done.”

T.J. McCall angled his hat back on his head. “A part of me is mighty curious what that job is, but the police officer in me is damned sure it's none of my business.” Without looking away from the road, he reached beneath his seat and pulled out a padded envelope. “This is for you. It came about twenty minutes before we left.”

He made a point of keeping his gaze steady on the road as Summer opened the envelope.

The forensic report inside was neatly typed and amazingly detailed. Cara O'Connor's box had produced traces of a cheaper quality, mineral oil–based pigment, consistent with tabloid printing materials. The paper also contained evidence of hydrogenated soy and safflower oil, cellulose gel, monosodium glutamate, smoke flavoring . . .

The list of chemicals and additives went on for four lines, followed by the final terse analysis: “fast food hamburger, fast food fries with ketchup, mustard,
and
special sauce.” Summer frowned as the report continued.

Distinctive types of petrochemical distillate traces suggest the proximity to a major airport, while salt admixture indicates proximity to the ocean. Additional cross-tracking by menu selections narrowed the outlets, and when coupled with the air pollutant profile—

Summer stopped reading for a moment. In all her time at the agency, she had never come across such a detailed report. Clearly big strings had been pulled to accomplish this in such a short time. The senator's involvement would certainly have been behind some of those strings.

She continued to scan the notes, mentally reviewing the data for flaws or omissions, but the work seemed bulletproof—right down to the secondary geographic analysis of superimposed probabilities, which yielded seven high-priority candidates: two in Oakland, and five near San Francisco International.

Impressed, Summer filed away the street addresses in case they triggered additional connections, then slid the report back into the envelope.

Surveillance teams were already in place. Patterns were being noted, especially for any suspects with clearance into the Justice Building where Cara worked.

“Everything okay?” the sheriff asked casually.

“Looking better every minute.” Cara studied the reddish landscape dotted by towering saguaro cactuses. “It's beautiful here. Not in a typical green suburban way, but the colors are amazing.”

“The desert grows on you.” T.J. downshifted and bumped onto a dirt road. “People come to Almost bound for someplace else, and a lot of them end up staying.”

“Because of the beauty?”

“And the peace. And the way people stick together here. The world can be a low and unworthy place,” he said gravely. “But not Almost.”

There was pride in his voice as he turned at a stand of cottonwood trees, then slowed before a house that rose in sinuous walls of reddish-brown adobe. Lights gleamed through punched-tin lanterns outside a pair of massive wooden doors.

“Welcome to my house, Ms. Mulvaney.”

Summer could only stare at the magnificent structure on the hillside, its windows ablaze with the last colors of the sunset. She was still gawking as she followed the sheriff through the courtyard, past a fountain that spilled over weathered stones.

“You can relax in here,” the sheriff said, showing Summer to a lovely room with peach-colored walls and French doors that opened onto a private desert garden.