Gray, Ginna (22 page)

Apparently so. They drove for over an hour before reaching the
Price spread, and throughout the trip both men seemed perfectly at ease and
content with the silence that filled the cab.

Sam's aunt, on the other hand, could not have been more opposite
of her quiet husband. The minute they stepped into the ranch house Eunice Price
met her nephew with open arms and effusive greetings.

"So...this is Ms. Brownley," she said when she finally
released him from the choking bear hug. "My, my, child, if you aren't a
pretty little thing. Even prettier than that picture they've been flashing all
over the TV and papers."

Lauren felt her face grow hot. "I...um...thank you. And thank
you both for helping us. I know this is a terrible imposition, and potentially
dan—"

"Oh pooh. No need to thank us." Eunice dismissed
Lauren's words with a wave of her hand. "Sam is family, and the closest
thing Walt and I have to a son. Never had any young'uns of our own. After
Augustus and his wife split up, me'n Walt helped raise this scamp. Of course
we're going to help him. Why, it made me madder'n a wet hen when I heard that
newsperson on television telling lies about our boy, here."

She looped her arm through Lauren's and urged her down the long
central hall toward the back of the house. "Now come along to the kitchen.
You can tell us over pie and coffee how the two of you got yourselves into this
pickle."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to freshen up first,"
Lauren said.

"Why of course you would. What was I thinking?" Eunice
directed her to the powder room with instructions to take her time and join
them in the kitchen when she was done.

After using the facilities, Lauren looked at her reflection in the
mirror and shook her head. Regardless of what Sam's aunt said, she thought she
looked pale and washed-out. She hadn't put on so much as a speck of makeup in
almost a week. Quickly she powdered her nose and applied lipstick and ran a
comb through her hair. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could do for the
moment.

She left the powder room and started toward the back of the house,
but as she passed a wide, arched opening that led to an old-fashioned parlor
she came to a halt. Against the wall, just inside the door, was an ancient
upright piano.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Lauren stepped inside the room for a
closer look. She ran her hand over the mahogany surface, tracing the ornate
carvings on the upper panel, the scroll-shaped music desk. The instrument was
at least six and a half feet tall. Lauren knew it had probably been made in the
mid-nineteenth century. She lifted the fallboard and trailed her fingertips
lovingly over the keys. They were ivory and yellowed with age and a few were
chipped, but she'd never seen anything so beautiful. It had been almost a week
since she'd played a piano.

Unable to resist, Lauren picked out a few notes, and the sweetness
of the sound tugged at her. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Lauren
sank down onto the bench and placed both hands on the keyboard. She closed her
eyes, and of their own volition, her fingers began to move, and the clear,
opening notes of Mozart's Piano Concerto in A Major floated on the air.

As if from an opened floodgate, the music poured from her heart,
from her soul. She drifted with it, lost to everything else. One piece led to another,
then another. One moment her fingers danced over the keys, light as
thistledown, filling the room with a haunting, sweet melody. The next her hands
were grabbing great chunks of music, full of power and raw emotions.

At the end of one particularly moving piece the music trailed away
on one sustained, high note. Moved almost to tears, Lauren hung her head as the
sound faded, only to jump guiltily when applause broke the poignant hush.

She twisted around on the piano bench, chagrined to see Eunice and
Walter sitting together on the sofa, and Sam standing in the arched doorway.
All were watching her.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was rude. I should have
asked permission before playing your piano. I—"

"Lauren is a concert pianist," Sam explained, watching
her in that unnerving way he had.

"Was," she corrected. "Was a concert pianist."

Sam walked to her and cupped her chin with his hand, forcing her
to look up at him. "Honey, that was so beautiful it nearly broke my heart.
If you played better than that before the accident, I'm not sure I could have
survived it."

"Thank you, Sam." She gazed up at him, inordinately
pleased, not just that he had enjoyed her playing, but that he believed her. He
actually believed her. For a moment, as she and Sam gazed into each other's
eyes, she forgot about his aunt and uncle.

Then she noticed the older couple watching them, and she winced
guiltily. "But I really do apologize. It was presumptuous of me."

"Nonsense, child. Why, that's the most beautiful music that's
ever come out of that old piano. I'm honored you would play such an old
relic."

"Oh, no. It's a beautiful instrument. I enjoy—"

She stopped abruptly, her gaze going beyond the older couple to
the large window at the front of the house. Her heart began to pound.

"Someone's coming."

"Damn." Sam reached for his handgun, his gaze locking on
the headlights approaching along the two-mile-long driveway.

"Simmer down," Walt advised. "That'll be Augustus.
I called him."

Sam turned an accusing look on his uncle. "You called my
father? Why?"

"Because the man's worried sick, that's why. Fact is, you
shoulda called him yourself, instead of your aunt and me. Not that we object,
mind you," he added before Sam could say anything. "Boy, you gotta
know your aunt and I will do whatever we can to help you, and gladly, but
Augustus is your pappy, and he deserves better from you than to be
ignored."

"Uh...this is really none of my business," Lauren said
uneasily. "Why don't I just go to the kitchen and give you some
privacy." She started to rise, but Sam waved her back down.

"Sit. I don't want you out of my sight until I know for
certain the driver of that vehicle really is my father. Anyway, you already
know that we don't get along. It's not like you'll hear any big family secrets."

Turning back to his uncle, Sam countered, "What would be the
point in asking for his help? He's never trusted me or believed in me in the
past. Why should this be any different? He's probably swallowed those news
stories hook, line and sinker. Lauren and I will be lucky if he hasn't already
turned us in."

"Oh, Sam," Eunice said sadly. "Your father would
never do that. I know my brother was hard on you, but don't you realize that
was just because he was afraid?"

Sam snorted. "Afraid? Afraid of what? That old man is tough
as nails. I've never known him to be afraid of anything in his life."

"Except for one thing," his aunt insisted quietly.
"He's afraid of losing you."

That caught Sam by surprise, drawing his gaze away from the
approaching headlights. He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Oh, sure. That's why
he rode me so hard, all those years. Why he found fault with everything I did.
He did his duty by me because I was his, but I was never the son he wanted.
Never a son he could be proud of. I finally figured out that it was my Indian
blood he couldn't stomach."

"Sam!" Eunice exclaimed. "All these years? That's
what you thought? If only you'd told me. Oh, dearest, you're so wrong."

"I don't think so. If I so much as mentioned my mother's
people or spent any time on the reservation he got furious." Sam looked
back at the lights. They were much closer now. "Face it, he hates Indians,
and he can't abide the fact that his only son has Indian blood."

"Don't be a danged fool," Walt barked. "Augustus
doesn't hate Indians. He admires and respects them. Always has. And he adored
your mama. Even after she went back to her people and divorced him, he never
stopped loving her. It nearly killed him when she passed away. Hell, he still
loves her. Why do you think he never remarried?"

Sam stared, at a loss for words. He'd never thought of that.

"Walt is right," Eunice put in. "Your dad loves you
more than anything in the world, Sam. More even than he loves the Double R, and
that's saying a lot. In the past, when you seemed drawn to your Indian
relatives and their culture, it terrified him. He was sure he was losing you to
that way of life...the same way he'd lost his wife.

"Over the years, the more Augustus's fear grew the more rigid
and demanding he became. It was the only way he knew to keep you on the ranch.
Ironically, the tighter he held on, the more he drove you away." Eunice
shook her head sadly. "I think, deep down, he knew it, but he didn't know
what else to do."

"That's right," Walt agreed. "He lived in fear that
you would turn your back on him and the ranch. When you left and joined the FBI
all those years ago it was his worst nightmare come true."

"If all that's true, why didn't he just tell me how he
felt?"

"Oh, please," Eunice scoffed. "You of all people
should know the answer to that. You're just like him, after all. You Rawlins
men are a stoic breed. You keep all your emotions locked up tight behind that
tough exterior—like it would kill you for someone to see that you've got a
tender side. Or to admit you're hurting."

Stunned, Sam didn't know what to say. He'd always assumed that
he'd simply never measured up to his father's standards and expectations. It
had never occurred to him that Augustas was afraid of losing him.

"He actually believed I'd leave the Double R forever? No way
in hell. I joined the Bureau to give us both some space. Dad was still a
vigorous man when I left here sixteen years ago. I haven't seen him in a couple
of years, but from what you've told me, he still is. I wasn't about to knuckle
under to his demands like some weak-kneed yes-man, but since all we did was
butt heads over everything, I decided to do us both a favor and back off and
let him run the ranch his way.

"I always figured I'd come back someday and take over for him
when he began to slow down and needed my help. But I never had any intention of
abandoning the ranch or him. I love the Double R." Sam's jaw clenched.
"And all right, dammit, I admit it. I also love that crusty old bastard.
God alone knows why.

"But just because I love my mother's people, too, that
doesn't mean I'd ever abandon him. How could he even think that?"

"Easy, I imagine," Walt replied. "What you gotta
remember, boy, is Augustus loved your mama to distraction, and she loved him.
She truly did, and that's a fact. In the end, though, her longing for her
people and their way of life was too strong, and Augustus lost her. Why would
he think it'd be any different with you?"

Before Sam could absorb that the approaching pickup skidded to a
halt in the U-shaped gravel driveway in front of the house and the truck door
slammed. An instant later the front door burst open.

"Where is he? Where's my son?
Sam!"

Even as the bellow left his lips, Augustus Rawlins's big frame
filled the arched entrance to the parlor. The instant he spotted Sam, abject
relief flickered across his weather-beaten face, followed quickly by anger and
outrage. "Boy! What the devil is going on?"

Sam stiffened. The confusing tangle of emotions swirling inside
him vanished and all the old resentment came flooding back. He met his father's
demanding gaze with eyes like cold steel. "I'm not working for the
mob," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Hell, I know that," Augustus barked. "I want to know
who is feeding the news media that hogwash? And why?"

The reply surprised Sam. "You believe me?"

"Dammit, boy, of course I believe you!" the old man
thundered. "We may have had our differences, and maybe you don't want to
have any part of me or the ranch anymore, but by God, you're still my son.
You're a good man and an honest one. Anyone who says otherwise is either a
damned liar or a fool."

A queer sensation twisted inside Sam. His throat was suddenly so
tight he could barely speak, but somehow he managed a husky, "Thanks,
Dad."

Before he realized his father's intent, the old man stomped across
the room and snatched him into a bear hug that sent Sam's breath whooshing out
of his lungs like air escaping a balloon. Too shocked to respond, at first he
stood as though turned to stone while his father thumped his back. Finally,
tentatively, he returned the embrace and gave his father's back a couple of
hesitant pats.

When at last Augustus released Sam he looked sheepish. Clearing
his throat, he took a step back and shifted from one foot to the other. Then
his gaze slid past Sam and zeroed in on Lauren, and his eyebrows jerked
together in a frown. "This must be that Ms. Brownley all the news men've
been yammering about. She sure doesn't look like a mobster's mistress to
me."

Sam's jaw clenched. "She isn't. Lauren is a concert pianist
who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed a
murder."

"That's right, Gus," Eunice confirmed. "Lauren just
finished playing several beautiful pieces for us."

Augustus barely heard his sister. With his head cocked to one
side, he studied his son's angry expression. His gaze flickered to Lauren, then
back to Sam. "I see. I guess I should've known that if they were lying
about you they'd be lying about her, as well."

Whipping off his Stetson, he walked over to Lauren and stuck out
his hand. "I'm Augustus Rawlins, Sam's father. It's a pleasure to meet
you, Ms. Brown-ley. And I hope you'll accept my apology for what I just
said."

"Certainly, sir. I understand. You had no way of
knowing."

Sam watched as Lauren's small, slender hand disappeared between
both of Augustus's callused palms. He and his father were the same height and
general build, although, with age, Augustus's shoulders were beginning to stoop
a bit and his midsection had thickened. Even so, at sixty-four he was still a
big man, rawhide tough and strong as an ox. He towered over Lauren, his great
size and strength emphasizing her petiteness and delicate build.

Though Sam knew his father would never hurt Lauren, or any woman,
he could barely restrain himself from going to her, putting his arm around her
shoulders and pulling her close against his side.

What was it about Lauren that tugged at him? Sam wondered. He had
protected witnesses before, and he'd done his job well, but he'd never felt
this level of involvement nor intensity.

Of course, he'd never made love to any of the other witnesses,
either.

But that wasn't it. He desired Lauren, certainly, and he couldn't
deny that her beauty made him weak in the knees. But, hell, he'd desired other
women in the past. Although...he had to admit he hadn't experienced this sort
of randy passion since he was sixteen years old and trying to seduce their
foreman's daughter in the hayloft.

No, there was definitely more to it than just sex.

Sam frowned, uneasy with the thought. Still...he knew it was true.
There was something about Lauren that brought out a primitive protective streak
in him he hadn't known he possessed.

Was it her dainty appearance? Or that air of refinement that was
so much a part of her? Even when they'd been camping rough and tromping through
the wilderness there had been a subtle elegance in every move she made.

Maybe it was her valiant spirit and keen intelligence that
attracted him. Or that single-minded determination to stand on her own two
feet.

Or was it simply the whole package?

"Would you mind telling me exactly what's going on?"
Augustas demanded when he'd finished talking to Lauren. "Not an hour ago a
whole caravan of FBI cars came roaring up to the house looking for you."

Sam tensed, instantly alert. "What did you tell them?"

"What do you think? The truth. That you weren't there and I
hadn't heard from you. Didn't believe me, though. Those yahoos wanted to search
every acre of the place, but I sent the whole lot of 'um packing. Told 'um
without a warrant they could go suck eggs, and to get the hell off my land and
stay off."

Sam's gaze darted to the window again. "You can bet they're
still out there, waiting for Lauren and me to turn up. They've probably got
every entrance to the ranch staked out."

"Guess it's a good thing you called Eunice and me, after
all," Walt said. "We haven't seen hide nor hair of any federal
agents."

That's because they don't know about this place, Sam thought. It
was not his nature to confide the details of his life to anyone, but in this
case his reticence had stemmed from something more. When he had applied to the
Bureau he had found the routine, in-depth background check they ran on every
potential candidate offensive. He had deliberately withheld the information
that the adjacent ranch belonged to his aunt and uncle. Gut instinct had
cautioned him to keep that secret—just in case he ever needed a haven.

"You still haven't told me how you got yourselves into this
mess," Augustus said. "I thought the FBI was an honorable organization."

"It is. But once in a while you get a bad apple or two."
For the third time that evening, Sam gave a succinct but thorough accounting of
the events of the past five days. When he was done, his father gave a low
whistle.

"What're you going to do, son? With no one to turn to at the
Bureau, you're on your own."

"I know. I thought we'd rest here tonight and at first light
I'd take Lauren up to our old hunting cabin."

"Is it safe to stay here now, with agents close by?"
Lauren asked.

"For a time it should be."

"Uh-oh. Looks to me like that time's done run out," Walt
pronounced, waving toward the window. "There's a string of cars coming
fast up the driveway."

"Damn." Grabbing Lauren's arm, Sam dragged her away from
the window and pressed back against the adjacent wall. He shot his father an
annoyed look. "They must have followed you here."

"Don't see how. I'm not stupid, boy. I drove over on the
ranch road that connects our two places. Not a soul saw me, I'd swear to
it."

Sam's jaw clenched. That meant they'd found out about this place
and his relationship to its owners. And there was only one way that could have
happened.