Season of Fear (24 page)

She knew the bunkhouses were divided into a couple of rough rooms, one side filled with bunk beds, placed neatly against the walls, the other side taken up by well-used wooden tables with benches.

A small room to the side housed modern kitchen facilities and, tucked away toward the back, up-to-date plumbing facilities had been installed. These modern conveniences, along with a colored television set that sat sturdily on a shelf high on one wall, were the only signs of modern times in the bunkhouses.

The rough wood, the camp-style living were like something from a western movie, and were the preferred environment for the men that lived there occasionally. Most of the men had other homes in town and stayed only a few nights a week when the work schedule was rough. A few seasonal drifters, the kind of cowboys that drifted from state to state and ranch to ranch during the busy season, would bunk there during their stint at the Ridley Ranch, but lately, with the return of the local men, their sometimes undependable help had not been necessary.

The light was located on the side of the building that housed the bunk beds, and Robin approached the window cautiously. Her spine tingled with apprehension, and she fought the sudden impulse to bolt and run back to the ranch house.

Don't be ridiculous, she admonished herself. You are here to look for Gregory.

She supposed, belatedly, that she should have gone for Alex's help before traipsing out into the dark alone. The memories of her earlier "accidents" raced through her head. She swallowed bravely and took the last steps to the window.

The interior of the bunkhouse was shadowy, an eerie pattern of geometric shadows as the light passed through the tall and angular bunk beds. She strained her eyes and peered deeply into the interior and found a deserted, lonely room.

Robin let out her breath in a sigh, relieved somehow, that her fears here had been unfounded. But as she turned to face the darkness once again and make her way back to the lively ranch house, a muffled noise reached her ears. Immediately her skin was tingling, her mouth felt dry. The noise had come from inside the bunkhouse. Someone was in there.

She peered over the windowsill again, this time determined not to miss any sign of life. She stood very still for several moments, staring into the room through the glass window. She heard the noise again, and her eyes took a cue from her ears, automatically traveling to the section of the room where the sound was being made. At first she saw nothing, and so she squinted up her eyes and stared even harder. A slight movement caught her eye.

Her instincts took over. Without a thought of risk, or fear, she flew along the long wall of the building and reached the door. It was heavy, but unlatched, and it swung grudgingly open at her tug. She leaped into the dark interior of the dining area and felt her way toward the bunk room and the trickle of light that came through its open doorway.

As she neared the light, she picked up speed, and moved rapidly through the bunks, back to the far corner where she had seen the first sign of movement. She could hear it more clearly now, the grating, scuffling movement of something against rough wood.

Her eyes narrowed in on the dark space underneath the farthest bunk. Just as something light colored moved into view, she heard a low grunt.

She leapt to the side of the bed and flew to the floor. The grunt had told her what she needed to know. Gregory! She reached her long arms under the bed and pulled the struggling child from underneath the bed. Her mind was turning vigorously. What was he doing there?

He seemed unharmed, perspiring from the heat of the closed bunkhouse and the exertion of crawling out from under the bed.

He looked up at her.

"Robin!" he called, surprised. "I'm so glad to see you. I thought it was him. I was so scared."

He threw his small arms around her neck as she sat on the rough wooden floor and he hung on for dear life. She squeezed him back, a million questions on her tongue, but his well-being her first priority.

"Are you okay?" she asked as he loosened his grip.

"I'm fine, now," he said in his sturdy little voice. "I didn't mean to get into trouble, I promise. I just followed him out here, because I had nothing else to do. I thought it would be an adventure, and it was fun for a while." His voice broke a little. "But then I watched through the window, and he got out a wooden box and opened it. Robin, he had my mother's riding helmet."

The pain of a thousand memories cried from his eyes, and Robin's heart went out to him. She hugged him close, and mumbled a few comforting thoughts, but her own mind was racing as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"He saw me, Robin. He looked over at the window and he saw me looking in. I got so scared. He came after me, saying 'I'm gonna take care of you, too, buddy.' I ran. I didn't know what to do. I ran out on the range, but it was so dark I was too scared. In a little while, I doubled back. It looked like he was gone, but I was afraid he'd be watching for me if I tried to get to the house. So I climbed back into the kitchen window at the back of the bunkhouse and hid under the bed. The box is gone, and so is he. What are we going to do, Robin? I'm so scared. I think he killed my mother!"

There was torment in his eyes.

"Who was it, Gregory, who chased you?" Fear was plucking at her heart. "It wasn't Duke, was it?"

"It was me, Robin." The low, intense voice filled the air behind her and made her blood run cold. In horrible fascination she turned to confront the killer of Laura Ridley.

It was Mac. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? For five years no one's been bothering about all of this, things were going fine. All of a sudden you appear, and trouble starts. People start asking questions, finding helmets, trying to pin me down. No one's going to pin me down, Robin. Not you, and not this brat."

For the first time Robin saw the gun in his hand, its long barrel gleaming even in the dim light from the lantern. Keep it cool, her brain ordered silently. Keep him talking, and get Gregory out of here. She eyed the kitchen door, only steps away.

"What did you do with the helmet, Mac?" she said, keeping her tone even, and attempting to keep him talking. Time, she knew, was her only hope. Every minute was precious as she stood before the hard man with the gun.

"I buried it for good this time. You can be sure of that. No one will find it now. I'm far too smart for that."

His eyes looked deranged, capable of anything. Robin was very scared.

He looked down cockily at his gun, and Robin signaled quickly to Gregory. She pointed unobtrusively toward the kitchen, and his eyes showed her that he got the message. Wait, she signaled, and his hardly perceptive nod showed he was following her lead.

She had to distract Mac, had to redirect that gun, and give Gregory time to get out of the bunkhouse, out into the comparative security of darkness.

"How did you find out about the helmet? How did you know where it was?" Get him talking, she told herself.

"I was at the house earlier, and I overheard Duke and the boss talking. They had decided to push things with the police chief in the morning, to find answers and let things run their course. Checking out that hat and box too close would have led them right to me. Only"—he gave a distorted laugh—"I'm taking care of that. The law will never know."

"Let the boy go, Mac. You can't get away with it. Alex and Duke aren't going to let go of this."

"I took care of Duke, Missy, and now I'm going to take care of you. Then I'm going to take this kid and take care of Ridley."

Her heart was pounding wildly.

"Duke," whispered Robin. "What did you do to Duke?" She thought of the rough, loyal man who had spent so many years on the ranch.

"Let's just say this gun has an empty barrel, okay?"

Her stomach felt like lead. He started moving toward her, and she instinctively pushed Gregory behind her. He came close, and grabbed her arm with his free hand. She could smell the stale liquor on his breath and see how his sun-beaten face needed a shave.

She didn't move.

He put the gun up to her chin.

"Women just don't get away with putting me down, lady. Not that stuck-up Laura Ridley, not her daughter, not you. She thought that big-mouth Duke was good enough for her, but not the likes of me. Well, I took care of that. And as for her daughter..."

Robin thanked God silently that she had arrived on the scene of his confrontation with Sara.

"Now, babe, I've seen the eyes you make at Ridley." His grip tightened on her arm, and he pulled her close. The feel of his shirt against her made her spring to action. Her loose arm swung up with all of her strength, and the movement caught him by surprise. She hit his forearm with force, and his startled hand released its grip on the gun. It clattered to the floor.

"Run," she screamed at Gregory, and saw a last flash of him as he darted toward the darkened door.

Please, God, her brain screamed. Let that child get away.

She ignored Mac's angry curses and ferocious grabs, and flew to the floor with the speed of a bullet. The adrenaline was pumping through her system, and she was agile and fast. Her fingers groped until her hand wrapped around the gun's barrel.

Get rid of it, she told herself. She did not know how to shoot it, and she knew she'd be no match for Mac's skill.

With a deft twist of her wrist, she flung it toward the window. The sound of shattering glass filled the night. Simultaneously, they were plunged into darkness. The gun had disappeared out the window, into the darkness of the night, and it had knocked over the lantern on its way.

The darkness was like a security blanket. She lightly rolled across the floor, and out of his stumbling reach. She silently climbed the ladder to one of the tall bunks and stretched out across the upper mattress, while he felt his way around the room below. He was drunk, she knew, and she had the advantage, if she just kept her wits about her until help came. She only hoped the thumping of her heart wouldn't give her away.

"I'll get you, Robin," he swore under his breath. "I'll make you sorry for making these problems for me."

She didn't move a muscle, and the silence of the night was deafening. "Laura tried to get away from me, too, you know. But in the end, she didn't. I'll get you too, Robin."

"I doubt that Mac! You've done all the damage you are going to do." The room sprung into light as two large spotlights glared in through the window. A large, welcome figure stood at the door. Alex.

"It's over, Mac, so give it up." Alex was unarmed, and Mac made a start for him. "Hold it!" his masculine voice shouted, and Mac froze like a child. "I'm not armed, Mac, because I wouldn't trust myself with a gun right now. But you'd better believe I'm not alone, Chief?" A warning shot from outside was fired into the air.

"Now come quietly." A uniformed deputy entered the room and handcuffed Mac, head hung low and silent. "We'll take care of him, Mr. Ridley." He led Mac out the door.

Alex covered the room in a few large strides and arrived near Robin. He deftly reached up and lifted her down from her sanctuary on top of the high mattress. Her skin tingled to the touch, and his arms felt warm and reassuring. She felt a pain in her heart. She reached the ground and pulled away.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Is Gregory all right?"

"Fit as a fiddle," he smiled, "thanks to you."

The sheriff had returned. "Okay. Mr. Ridley, we're all set. Want me to leave a light?" He pointed to the large spotlights at the windows.

"No reason, Sheriff, pack them up. We're all safe in the dark now, thank heaven!"

The law was gone, in three sturdy jeeps that Robin had never even heard arrive.

"Come on, Robin, let's walk back to the house. There is much to discuss, but we all need to settle down."

Robin agreed. She felt drained and exhausted, longing for mindless sleep. Between the horror of it all, and this dull ache in her heart...

They walked the distance to the house in comfortable silence, Alex's arm draped protectively around her slim shoulder. If only he knew how his touch made her feel.

The party was over when they returned to the house. The guests had been sent away at the first sign of trouble, and the children, including Gregory, had been tucked away safely in bed. Cook and Mrs. Manchester took Robin without a word and led her to her room, where a warm bath and fresh bedclothes were waiting.

She offered no resistance and quietly appreciated their care and concern. She was settled comfortably under the covers of her bed, grateful for the soft pillow under her head, for the feeling that an ugly mystery had been solved.

Chapter 22