Revenge (53 page)

Son of a bitch! Usually a man of few words, he couldn't control his urge to explain. “The money's the big issue, yeah, but I owed Jenner a favor. A big one.”

“Why? I can't imagine owing Jenner anything.”

Damn but she was a persistent thing. “He saved my life.”

She made a sound of disbelief and he didn't elaborate, didn't want to think about it. Sloan didn't like owing any man, even Jenner McKee. He was glad that once Casey had been deposited on the doorstep of the Rocking M and he'd tracked down Barry White's partner in crime, he'd be free of that particular debt.

But he didn't like their chances of beating the storm back to Oregon. Snow had been falling steadily for hours on end, the drifts on the side of the road were deep enough to cause the pickup's wheels to spin and they had hundreds of miles to drive before he could leave Casey at the McKee ranch, find the other bastard or bastards involved in the attacks against the McKees, collect his reward and start a new life, a solitary life far away from L.A. He was tired of the inadequate web of freeways, the smog and the paralyzed traffic. He'd put up with earthquakes, mud slides and fires that raged out of control for too many years.

There had been a time when he'd embraced the city, when he'd felt at home in the sunshine and walked on the sand near the ocean. The vast Pacific had been calming, the rugged hillsides had risen in stark contrast to the bustle of the city and he'd loved his job with the police department. It hadn't been glamorous, but it had been steady and filled with excitement. When the long hours of the night were finally over, he'd return to his little two-bedroom cottage and find Jane, cozy and warm, snuggled under thin blankets and smiling up at him.

But that had been long ago, in a distant time that had been his youth. Things had changed; his life had been ripped apart into jagged pieces, which never seemed to quite fit together again, as if the one vital and integral part of him was missing. He wondered if he'd ever be whole again or if there would always be a tear in him, a black void that he kept hidden and denied, but that kept him awake at nights when he was lying alone in his empty double bed, staring at the slowly rotating paddle fan and examining his life.

So now he'd have a hundred thousand dollars. That thought should have warmed him from the inside out, but it didn't. Even the idea of purchasing his own ranch didn't lift his spirits. Besides, they weren't home free. Not yet.

 

Casey closed her eyes, but she didn't sleep. Not even the warm cab and the steady drone of the engine could make her relax. She was still too anxious, her nerves strung tight like new fence wire, and she needed time to unwind.

The more distance they put between them and the horrid cabin where she'd been held hostage, the better she felt, and yet she couldn't help wondering if Sloan was driving them into some kind of trap. Sloan's concerns about the telephone call made sense but she didn't want to think that anyone close to her or the investigation had given away any information that someone might have used for his own vile means. The same old questions that had plagued her for a week ran in circles through her brain.

Who was Barry's partner in crime? Just one man? Or two? Maybe more? Why had they killed her father? Why had they tried to burn down the stables, crippling Jenner and nearly killing Hillary and Dani? Why had they run Beth off the road? And why for God's sake did they feel the need to kidnap her? For money? Hatred of the McKee family? Who were these people and what did they want? Would their thirst for revenge never end? Jonah was dead, but they still weren't satisfied—probably never would be.

A familiar rage burned through her blood and she felt violated all over again. Was it possible that someone, probably someone she knew and trusted, was laughing at her family's pain, was, at this very moment, scheming more ways to torture them? Whoever the culprit was, she silently swore, he would pay.

Sloan turned onto a highway that intersected the road they were following and the terrain flattened a little. They met a snowplow heading in the opposite direction and eventually came upon pavement that had been cleared at one time but was already becoming thick with snow again.

Once the truck was rolling along a fairly clear stretch of road, Sloan reached under the seat and found a thermos. “Coffee. If you want it. There's an extra cup in the glove compartment. Wait—” he glanced at her fingers and frowned “—I'll get it.”

“I can do it.” She reached in and withdrew a blue enameled cup.

But she couldn't open the lid of the thermos. Her fingers, hot with pain, refused to grip. Frustrated, she handed the thermos back to him, and he somehow managed to uncap the jug. He handed her its plastic cup and poured a thin stream of coffee into it. She held out the enameled cup and he poured again. “I wish I had remembered this earlier,” he said, capping the thermos. “Guess I had too much on my mind.”

Taking a long gulp from the enameled cup, he settled lower on his back as he drove. Long and lean, his body folded neatly behind the wheel. Faded jeans, sheepskin jacket, flannel shirt—marks of a cowboy. The black felt hat, with its feather band and touch of silver added to his appeal. Earthy, sexy and charged with a raw energy, he was exactly the kind of man she'd always found fascinating but had told herself to avoid.

Tearing her eyes from him, she stared out at the night. The boughs of the pines bowed under the weight of the snow and still it just kept falling, piling up on the road, dancing in front of the headlights. They met no cars or trucks, and to Casey it felt as if she and this silent, brooding man were the only people in the universe. She sipped her coffee. It was hot and scalded the back of her throat, but warmed her from the inside out.

“How is my family—I mean, you were at the ranch. How did they deal with the kidnapping?” she finally asked.

“As well as could be expected.” He forced a smile. “But Jenner, he couldn't stand waiting around. Faxed me a letter the day they got word from the kidnappers.”

She imagined her mother and grandmother nearly frantic with concern, and her brothers—both well-known hotheads-would probably want to strangle Barry White with their bare hands. Sighing, she leaned against the window and pictured her mother. Two months ago, Casey had been convinced that Virginia McKee was losing her mind because of her wild theories about her husband's supposedly accidental death. Virginia was convinced from the beginning that Jonah had been murdered. Turned out her mother had been right all along.

Swallowing another long sip of coffee, she slid a glance at the man who had saved her. “I guess I should thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

“I thought this was a favor.”

“That, too.” He looked at her for a second and her breath seemed to stop somewhere between her throat and lungs. His features seemed harsh in the reflection of the dash lights and his countenance grim. A dangerous man, she thought, one who shoved rifle barrels under men's chins and blasted out windows with a shotgun. A man to reckon with.

As he drove, he drank from his cup, stared straight ahead and did his job. Period. She wondered what he thought of her and decided it didn't matter. “Jenner said you were married,” she said to break the silence.

“I was.”

“But not any longer?”

His lips tightened just a little, his eyes narrowed a fraction. “Jane died,” he said quietly.

The cab seemed suddenly small, filled with unspoken emotions. She saw the pain in his eyes and how quickly he disguised it. Her throat tight, Casey reached out to touch his arm. “I'm sorry—I didn't know.”

“How could you?” His jaw was set in stone, his gaze dark, his lips flat over his teeth.

“Look, I didn't mean to pry.”

He glanced pointedly down at the fingers still resting on his sleeve. “You didn't.”

“But—”

“Just forget it.”

The wheels of the truck whined as he veered off the road and the trailer swung wide before gripping the icy pavement. Casey started, nearly spilling her coffee, but the truck plunged through six inches of new snow that covered a lane of some kind, a road that parted the forest.

“Where are we?” she asked, squinting into the night.

“Wes Duncan's place. He's the guy who loaned me the horse and trailer.”

The pines gave way to a clearing, where a small cabin and barn were illuminated by a single security lamp that flooded the snow-covered paddock and yard with watery blue illumination. Icicles hung from the eaves of the house and patches of warm light glowed from the windows. Smoke curled from a single stone chimney that climbed up one wall.

“This'll just take a minute.” Sloan let the engine idle and hopped down from the cab of the truck just as the front door flew open. A wiry man in earmuffs, work boots, overalls and ski jacket appeared in the doorway.

“Well, whaddya know,” the man said, his breath fogging in the frigid air. “Hell, Redhawk, I'd just about given up on you. Molly said you'd be back tonight, but I figured with the blizzard and all it wouldn't be till morning or later.”

“A little snow doesn't scare me.” Sloan closed the door of the pickup. Casey strained to hear their conversation over the rumble of the truck's engine and the gusting of the wind.

“I heard on the radio that they're closin' down the main road. Plows can't keep up with this damned stuff. So I figured I wouldn't see you until this all passed over, which, from the looks of it, will be a while.”

“Hell,” Sloan growled.

Wes cast a quick glance in Casey's direction as he plodded through knee-deep snow to the back of the truck. “Maybe you two had better bunk here for the night. We got a couch and a recliner and the electricity hasn't kicked off yet. If it does, we've got the wood stove and the fireplace and enough kerosene lanterns to last a week or two. Might be best if you stayed here till morning.”

No way!
She had to get home. It had been so long. She wasn't going to stay here in the middle of nowhere and... Her heart sank as she realized she didn't have much choice in what happened. She was completely at Sloan Redhawk's mercy, and while she was indebted to him and grateful that he'd rescued her, she wouldn't sit still and let him run her life. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she set the empty thermos lid on the dash and flung open the door.

An icy blast of wind cut through her jacket and brushed frozen grains of snow against her face. She dropped into six inches of powder just as Sloan was unhitching the trailer and Wes was leading the packhorse toward the barn. The wind howled and cut through her jacket as if she were naked.

“What're you doing?” Sloan demanded. “Get back in the truck. You'll freeze—”

“I just want to know what's going on.”

“Oh, for God's sake!” He swung the coupler head of the trailer away from the hitch.

“If the roads are closed—”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Are you crazy? Don't worry? I heard Wes telling you—”

“I know what he said.” Sloan yanked open the door.

“But—”

“Are you going to get into the truck or am I going to have to push you?”

“If the roads—”

So quickly she nearly lost her breath, he spun her around to look at him. Snow fell around his head and shoulders, clinging to his eyelashes and running down the hard planes of his face. “I've gotten you this far, haven't I?”

When she didn't answer, he let out another oath. “For the love of God, Casey, have a little faith, will you? Just get into the damned truck and let me worry about the rest!”

Deciding she had no other choice, she hauled herself into the cab and jumped as he slammed the door behind her. Head ducked against the wind, he dashed to the driver's side, sketched a wave to Wes and climbed behind the wheel.

Shoving the truck into gear, he guided the truck along the tracks he'd laid down only a few minutes before, ruts that were already filling with snow. Casey, still fuming, huddled in the corner, but she couldn't control her tongue.

“Listen, Redhawk, I've thanked you for rescuing me and I meant it. If it wasn't for you, I don't know if I would have lived or died, but just because you saved my life doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do.”

“Like hell.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“You wait a minute.” He cranked on the wheel and the truck skidded through the soft snow to the main road. Casey braced herself by planting her feet on the floor as the truck straightened. He wasn't finished. “Until you're back at the Rocking M, safe and sound, you're my responsibility.”

“Just as long as we both understand I'm not your captive.”

He flashed her a sidelong glance that was meant to cut her-to the quick, but she tilted her chin up a fraction and didn't flinch. “For the past week I've had an idiot tell me what to do—when to eat, when to sleep, when to get up, even when to go to the bathroom. It was the most degrading, dehumanizing experience of my life and so I'm a little touchy about men I don't know and don't really trust barking out orders and telling me what to do.”

“You don't trust me?”

“I don't
know you.”

“Don't you trust Jenner? His judgment?”

She snorted. “Jenner doesn't have a great track record, you know. For a lot of years he spent his time between the rodeo arena, the local bars and cheap motels. The people he met weren't always trustworthy.”

“I am.”

“How do I know that?”