Against the Wind (27 page)

J
ackson believed it was over. He would never know how much Sarah wished that were true.

Though the day was warm, she sat in front of the empty hearth in her living room, feeling cold clear to her bones. Out in front of the barn, Holly laughed as she played with Rags and Sam's dog, Feather, safe once more at the ranch, accepting in the way children seemed able to do that her life was already returning to normal.

Sarah was no longer sure what normal really was.

She leaned back in the antique rocker she had retrieved from the attic just a few days before all of this started, felt the comforting back-and-forth motion.

As Jackson had hoped, Sheriff Weber and his deputies had arrived in the meadow by helicopter soon after the shooting had ended. He had taken the gunmen into custody—three wounded, one dead—and arrested the
pilot. The man with the stringy blond beard had turned out to be a local, a hand who'd been fired off the Whittaker Ranch for stealing and now lived in Sheep River. He had only wanted money, he said.

Weber's pilot had flown Sarah and Holly back down the mountain along with Wheel, who'd been taken directly to the hospital. Later that afternoon, the sheriff had come to the ranch to take her and Holly's statements. He had said not to worry, that he would take care of everything.

If only that were true.

Sarah leaned back in the rocker. She was exhausted. She hadn't slept in the past three nights, not since that awful day in the meadow. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could hear were the sound of bullets. All she could see was blood: the man on the mound with a bloody arm; the blond man moaning, pressing a hand over his bleeding head; the black-haired man, the Turk, lying in the grass, a spreading stream of crimson pumping out of his chest.

Sitting in front of the empty hearth, she thought of those men, and a memory of Andrew arose, as it had a hundred times before.

Andrew lying on the floor of the study, scarlet soaking the front of his jacket over the perfect hole in his heart.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the memory, but it wouldn't go away.

 

“Do you think I'm a fool, Sarah?”

“Why…why would I think that?”

He just smiled, the kind of smile that made her insides roll with nausea.

“I told you we were going to Rio. Did you actually think you were going to take Holly and run away?”

She straightened, determined not to let him know how frightened she really was. “Holly and I aren't going with you. You can leave if you want, but we're staying here.”

His mouth thinned to a slash across his face. “You really believe you can defy me? You don't remember what happened the last time?”

She remembered. He had beaten her so badly she'd wound up in the hospital. The fear inside her swelled, nearly overwhelmed her.

Andrew stepped away from his chair, rounded the corner of his desk. Anticipation glittered in his eyes. He liked this, liked to hurt her.

“Andrew, please don't do this.” She forced herself not to back away, to hold her ground and face him. When he just kept coming, she drew the pistol from her purse.

Her hand shook. “Stay away from me, Andrew. I'm warning you.” A noise reached her. Was someone in the house? She glanced around, but there was no one there. “I won't…won't let you hurt me again.”

He laughed, the sound almost demonic. Even the gun wasn't enough to frighten him.

“You dare to threaten me? I'm going to kill you for this, Sarah. I'm going to make you disappear and then I'm taking Holly with me to Rio.” He took another step closer.

“I'll shoot you. I swear it.”

His lips curled. “You don't have the guts.”

She tried blot out the rest, but it was fixed in her mind and it wouldn't go away—Andrew rushing forward, his
features distorted in fury. She remembered closing her eyes for an instant, but she didn't remember pulling the trigger. Not the exact moment, just the roar of the bullet, and the feel of the pistol bucking in her hand.

Andrew's eyes bulged in disbelief. He took one more step, swayed and fell backward, landing on his back on the floor of the study. Fear froze her where she stood. Fear and denial.

This can't be happening!
Her gaze swung toward the phone on his desk.

Call 911. Call 911.

But when she looked at Andrew, she saw that his chest wasn't moving. His eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling and she knew for certain he was dead.

Dear God, what have I done!

For several long seconds, she just stood there, listening for the wail of sirens, the gun a deadweight in her hand.

But no police cars came. No one walked through the front door. The house sat at the end of a long, private drive, and no one had heard the gunshot.

Holly's sweet face rose in her mind. If she called the police they would take her away from her daughter. Even if she could prove it was self-defense, she'd be arrested. They would put Holly in foster care. There would have to be a trial. It could take weeks, months. She didn't have money for an expensive lawyer. She might even be sent to prison.

Hysteria threatened. She thought of Holly and forced herself to stay calm.

Opening her purse, she dropped the gun back inside, her hand shaking almost uncontrollably. On legs that felt rubbery and numb, she turned and walked out of
the study. She retrieved the bag she had packed, the last of her things left in the Sunset house, and headed for the car.

Stay calm,
a little voice ordered.

Andrew had any number of enemies, people with a reason to want him dead.
Just keep going. Pick up Holly and drive to the condo. Pretend nothing has happened. You can do it. You have to. Holly needs a mother. Without you, she has no one.

 

Sitting there now in the rocker in her cottage, Sarah brushed a tear from her cheek, fighting to bury the memories, staring into the empty hearth as if it were her empty soul.

She had tried so hard. But trouble had followed her even here. She had to leave. She couldn't face Jackson, couldn't continue the lie a moment more.

She couldn't bear to think of what he would say, of the way he would look at her if he knew she had killed her husband. The reason wouldn't matter. No man would want a woman who had done a thing like that.

And there was the future to consider, the awful certainty that in the end, Detective Mercer would come for her.

Sarah rose from the chair, feeling sick inside. She was in love with Jackson. The desperate, forever kind of love. She knew that now, had known it the moment he had run through a hail of gunfire to save her daughter. Known it by the moisture in his eyes when he realized she and Holly were safe.

He had risked his life for her and her daughter.

Sarah loved him, and now she was going to repay him for the kindness he had shown her.

She was going to leave him. She was going to give him back his life.

It would be the hardest thing she'd ever done.

 

Sarah didn't know how long she stood there staring into the empty hearth. At a knock on her door, she glanced up. Wearily, she crossed the living room, wondering who was there. Pausing at the window, she saw Jackson standing on the porch, looking masculine and virile without even trying. She summoned her courage and opened the door.

“I've brought news,” he said as she stepped back to let him into the living room. He took off his work-stained cowboy hat and held it in one of his callused hands. He always seemed so big, larger than life. There would never be another man like him.

“Would…would you like something to drink? Some iced tea, or something?”

He smiled. “It's hot out there. Iced tea sounds great.”

For the past few days, he had left her mostly alone, just stopping by to check on her and Holly, but careful to give them plenty of space, time to adjust to all that had happened.

“I'll be right back.” She went into the kitchen, filled two glasses with ice and poured in the sun tea she had made by setting a jar filled with tea and water out on the porch. Jackson rested his hat on the back of the sofa as she handed him one of the frosty glasses, and both of them sat down.

“You said you brought news. I hope it's good for a change.”

He took a long drink of his tea, the muscles in his
throat moving up and down. He set the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him. “It's kind of good news/bad news.”

She braced herself. It seemed lately, everything had been that way. “Give me the good news first.”

“Richard Kemp called. They've arrested Barry Helman and Frank Eldridge, the guys who owned Hexel. According to Kemp, Rene Abaz turned state's evidence, and Helman and Eldridge were charged with conspiracy to kidnap and attempted murder, and that's just for starters.”

“What about the mine?”

“That's the bad news. Turns out the Dry Springs Mine didn't live up to its name.”

“The springs weren't dry?”

“Not completely. There's a little town south of the mine north of Interstate 40. It's called Mineral Wells. Apparently, people there have been getting sick. The EPA tested the water and found out they had arsenic poisoning.”

“Oh, my God—and it came from the mine?”

He nodded. “From an old underground spring that ran into the town's main water supply.”

“Are you saying those barrels Hexel was storing were filled with arsenic?”

“Not exactly, but arsenic was in the waste that was in the barrels. Now that this is all out in the open, some of the scientists working for the lab have come forward. They say they were working on a variation of a product called arsenic trioxide. It's a powerful drug used to treat leukemia. Hexel was secretly trying to expand the applications. Helman and Eldridge believed they could
make some changes to the drug and come up with a cure for cancer.”

“Couldn't they do that kind of research legally?”

“I guess their greed got in the way. Their lab wasn't approved for the use of arsenic and they didn't want to spend the time or money it would require to qualify for whatever permits were needed. They figured once they found the cure, none of it would matter.”

“And Helman and Eldridge would wind up filthy rich.”

“That's about it. Kemp says they'll be charged with conspiring to conceal health risks and knowing endangerment, among at least a dozen other violations. Strict liability applies in cases like this, so Hexel will be on the hook for everything that's happened in Mineral Wells. The company is out of business for good.”

Sarah glanced away, guilt rising in her chest. “I wonder how much Andrew knew about this.”

“Whatever he knew or didn't know had nothing to do with you. You're an innocent bystander in all of this.”

She tried to convince herself, but it all came back to the question of how could she ever have married a man like that? How could she have lived with him for all of those years?

“I'd better get going,” Jackson said, finishing the last of his tea and setting the glass back down on the coaster. He came up off the sofa and Sarah stood up, too. Neither of them moved. All she could think about was how much it was going to hurt to give him up.

“There's something I need to tell you,” she forced herself to say.

One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “What is it?”

“I'm moving, Jackson. I've rented a place at the edge
of town, just south of the road to Sheep River. I told you I was going to leave before all of this happened.”

“Sarah…”

“I want to be closer to work. Smiley's been great or I would have already lost my job. Holly will be closer to school and I can see my grandmother more often. It'll be better for all of us.”

“Not all of us, Sarah,” he said softly. He reached out and rested a hand against her cheek. “It won't be better for me.” His dark gaze locked with hers and she felt the pull of it deep inside her. She wanted to touch him, erase the pain in his face. “I love you, Sarah. I want you and Holly to stay here on the ranch. I want you to mar—”

“Don't say it!” She jerked away, backed up a couple of paces. Jackson wanted to marry her! It was exactly what she wanted and absolutely could not have. Dear God, she couldn't bear it.

“I—I'm not ready for a serious relationship. I don't think I ever will be.”

“Sarah, listen to me…”

“My mind is made up, Jackson. I'm leaving.” She looked at him and couldn't hold back tears. “Please let me go. Let me go and get on with your life.”

Those strong, suntanned hands settled gently on her shoulders. “Tell me you don't love me and I'll walk away. I won't ever bother you again.”

She bit back a sob. How could she do it? How could she lie about something that meant so very much? It took every ounce of her will, every ounce of courage she possessed.

“I don't love you, Jackson. I wish I did, but I don't.”

For long moments, Jackson said nothing. Then he
turned away from her, picked his hat up off the back of the sofa and headed for the door.

He stepped out onto the porch. “Whenever you're ready, I'll send a couple of the hands over to help you move the boxes.” Very softly, he closed the door, the faint click as loud as a gunshot in the silence of her heart.

Sarah pressed a hand over her mouth to hold back a sob of pain. She loved him so very much.

She told herself she had done the right thing.

S
arah had been living in her new place in town for almost two weeks. The house was more modern than the cottage, with a newer kitchen and bath. But it didn't feel homey like the little cottage on the ranch, and it wasn't surrounded by a clear bubbling stream, beautiful vistas and towering pine trees.

The furniture inside was modern, too, and Spartan. She hadn't even brought the few antiques she had purchased for the cottage. There was no fireplace here, just a heater in the wall, and no old, worn, wooden floors. The antiques seemed to belong up there, not here.

She kept telling herself she could fix the place up a little, make it more comfortable, but so far she never seemed to find the time.

Holly didn't like the house, either. At first she had cried and begged Sarah not to move away from the ranch, but she was a sweet, loving child, and sensing
her mother's unhappiness, she had resigned herself and let the matter rest.

Holly missed Jackson, though. Whenever his name came up, a wistful look crept over the little girl's face. She thought of him as the father she had never really known, and Sarah blamed herself for that, too.

That Sarah missed him didn't surprise her. She ached for the sound of his voice, the thud of his heavy boots on the wide plank floors as he walked into the cottage. She missed the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at her, missed his lovemaking.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Most of the time, she was able to keep thoughts of him away. Once in a while, like today, the loneliness crept in and memories of Jackson returned, along with the terrible pain of losing him.

Sarah shook her head, forcing his beloved image away. She checked her watch, saw that it was nearly three o'clock and went in search of her car keys. Holly had spent the day with Gran, but it was time to drive out to Sheep River and pick her up.

The phone rang just as she found her key chain and picked it up off the table. Sarah walked into the kitchen and lifted the receiver.

“Ah, Sarah…there you are. How are you enjoying your new home?”

Her stomach instantly knotted. She knew that voice, recognized the hint of derision. She swallowed, forced a note of calm into her tone. “Detective Mercer…good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I'm just calling with a little bit of news. I thought you might be interested to know we found the murder weapon…the gun that killed your husband.”

Nausea hit her with such force she doubled over, wrapped her arms around her waist and fought not to be sick. Drawing in a breath, she clung to her composure by a thread. “You…you found the gun?”

“That's right. Guess where it was?”

“Wh-where?”

“A couple of divers were doing some work under the Santa Monica pier. Imagine their surprise when they turned up a .38 caliber pistol, lying under the sand at the base of one of the pilings. I guess all sorts of things get tossed off the pier, but this was certainly one of the more interesting items they found.”

Sarah said nothing. She was afraid of what her voice would sound like if she tried to speak.

“Rather an interesting coincidence wouldn't you say—being as you live just a few blocks away. When did you toss it there, Sarah? Right after you shot your husband through the heart?”

She fought for control, prayed her voice would not tremble. “Any…anyone could have thrown it there. Unless you can prove it was me—”

“Oh, I will—sooner or later. Count on it, Sarah.”

The line went dead, and for several seconds, Sarah just stood there, holding the phone in her hand. She was shaking all over, her stomach rolling, threatening to erupt.

She set the phone back in its cradle, walked over and sank down in a kitchen chair. For the past two weeks, every time she'd thought of Jackson, the notion had arisen that maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe she should call him, tell him she loved him. Tell him she wanted to marry him more than anything in the world.

But deep down, she knew she couldn't keep lying to him. That in not telling him the truth about Andrew, she was betraying his trust in the worst possible manner.

She looked back at the telephone, ominously silent now, but for exactly how long?

How long would it be until Detective Mercer came to haul her off to prison?

 

Jackson was working in the barn when Jimmy spotted the smoke. “Hey, boss, you'd better come take a look at this.”

Jackson walked out of the barn, his gaze following the direction Jimmy pointed.

“Sonofabitch.” A plume of white smoke rose from the thick forest covering the west slope of the distant mountains.

“You know where that is?” Jimmy said.

“Up near Pine Lake.”

“Isn't that where Red DeSalvo and his loggers were working?”

“Yeah.” Jackson pulled out his cell phone. “The Forest Service is probably already on it, but we'd better call it in, just in case.”

He pressed the Forest Service number that was on autodial in his cell address book, reported the fire, then went to retrieve his binoculars from the pickup and began to scan the white smoke in the distance. He glanced up at the sound of a chopper, watched it appear overhead on its way to collect buckets of water from the lake.

“Looks like they're already on it,” Jimmy said.

“Looks that way.”

“Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be able to stop it
before it gets too bad.” Current forest policy was to let the trees burn and just protect whatever structures might be in danger. It was probably good in some cases, clearing out the underbrush and giving the forest a chance to breathe, but it made for a long, dangerous, smoky summer, and a helluva lot of anxiety and fear.

“We'd better pull the cows out of the upper meadow,” Jackson said.

Jimmy nodded, his long black ponytail shifting against the back of his neck. “I'll get the men, saddle some horses and get up there.”

Wheel was out of the hospital, but not ready for such strenuous work. The men would have to go horseback. It was too dry to risk a spark from one of the ATVs, and there was a ban on the use of any machinery between noon and midnight to keep down the fire danger.

Jackson couldn't help wondering if the loggers had any part in starting the blaze, since Red and his crew weren't much good at following rules.

“Saddle Galahad,” he said, “and I'll go with you.”

“You got it.” Jimmy waved over his shoulder as he walked away, and Jackson headed off to retrieve his gear.

At least the fire would get him away from the house. For the past two weeks, he had hardly been out of his study, just sat there staring at the walls as if they held the answer to what had happened between him and Sarah.

He was in love with her. Deeply in love, and God, it hurt. He could barely eat, couldn't sleep, thought about Sarah and Holly from morning till night. Losing her was killing him, and he didn't even know how it had happened.

From the start, he had tried to keep his distance. He had told himself not to fall for her again, not to let her hurt him the way she had before. But Sarah Allen had gotten into his blood when he was a kid of nineteen. Clearly, he had never gotten over her.

As he grabbed his saddlebags, a blanket and a jacket and headed out the door, Jackson wondered if he ever really would.