Lonestar Sanctuary (5 page)

Without a word, Rick held out another apple. She took it and
squirreled it away in her backpack. Betsy might need it later. She did
the same with the rest of the food. If Rick and Elijah turned down her
plea for help, she and Betsy would be in desperate straits.

She settled on the hay to wait for the foal's arrival. With a full
tummy, her lids drooped and her breathing eased. Maybe she'd close
her eyes for just a minute.

"GOOD LINES," RICK SAID, EXAMINING THE WET ARRIVAL. CUPCAKE
nudged the colt. The small, black foal stood on wobbly legs. He moved
a few feet along her flank and nosed her belly before beginning to
nurse.

Elijah grabbed a pitchfork and began to clean the wet, soiled straw
out of the stall. Where did the old man get his energy? "I'll do that,"
Rick said. "Why don't you go on into bed? It's after two."

"Many hands make light work," Elijah said.

Rick shoveled with him. When they were done, he hung the pitchforks on a nail. "What about those two?" he asked, nodding toward the
sleeping woman and girl.

The girl looked like a miniature of her mother. Fine, dark hair, blue eyes, dimples that flashed. At least the mother's dimples had
flashed. Betsy hadn't smiled yet.

"You don't like Allie," Elijah observed.

"It's hard to like stupidity," Rick said. "She doesn't have an ounce
of sense." He told Elijah how he'd found them fighting off bees in the
bluebonnets. "And she didn't even have any water for the kid. I'll bet
she did something to make the girl quit talking. Now she wants you
to fix it."

"A snap judgment, Rick? You should get to know them before you
point fingers."

A slow anger burned his belly. "You're going to let them stay? It's
because she resembles Maria, isn't it?"

"I realize she is not my daughter, Rick. I would not be taken in so
easily. And wasn't it you who just told me you weren't going to do the
cooking anymore?" Elijah was smiling. "You have lost weight since
Rosa left us. A woman's cooking might fatten us both up."

"For the slaughter," Rick said. "She'll steal you blind in the night."

The woman raised his hackles for some reason. For one thing, she
was too pretty. He'd never seen eyes such an electric blue. In his
experience, beautiful women expected pretty things handed to
them. She just showed up here and expected Elijah to take her in.
That whole wolfing down of the sandwich was probably an act to get
Elijah's sympathy.

And it worked. Rick could see the softness in the old man's eyes.
Elijah was a sucker for a sob story.

"Someone once told me the same thing about you," Elijah observed.
"Trust my judgment, hijo."

Rick gave a grudging nod. "You made up your mind to help her
when she ate her food like a starving street person."

"No, it was when she put the food away for the nina. You can't tell
me that you were untouched by that, Rick."

He didn't want to be moved by her love for the child, but the gesture had affected him. "Yeah, I saw it too. It's the only reason I haven't
thrown her out on her ear. The kid needs help."

"And so do we." Elijah went toward the door. "Let them sleep. If
we wake them to move to a bed, the nina may have trouble getting
back to sleep."

Rick followed his boss out of the barn to the ranch house.
Stepping into the living room, he looked around, seeing it with fresh
eyes. He couldn't remember the last time one of them had mopped
the scarred wooden floors or dusted the battered furniture. Last
autumn maybe?

A stale odor hung in the air as though the windows hadn't been
opened in months. And maybe they hadn't. He should clean it up a
little before Allie took over. But not tonight. Fatigue weighed down
his legs. He'd do it in the morning.

ALLIE STOOD WATCHING THE SUN COME UP OYER THE MOUNTAINS. THE
morning air made her shiver, but she couldn't go inside yet. Not while
the sunrise gilded the peaks and valleys, and the air smelled like sage
and creosote. Her hair still uncombed, Betsy stood beside her with
their hands locked.

"You like it here, Bets?" Allie asked.

Betsy nodded and pointed. A flock of bluebirds blanketed the grass
and pecked for insects.

Allie drank in the sight. If only finding the real bluebird of happiness was as easy as following a flock of birds. "I've never seen so many in one place. I wonder if this is a migration spot for them. We should
ask Mr. DeAngelos."

Betsy nodded, her gaze still on the birds.

The old man had to let them stay. The bluebirds told Allie she and
Betsy were in the right place. Betsy would talk again, and no one would
find them here. She'd been careful to cover her tracks, and the faceless
man wouldn't know where she'd gone. They would be safe here.

"I don't think they're up yet. If the door isn't locked, we'll go in
and fix breakfast." Allie glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven, so
the lack of lights in the house surprised her, but the men might have
been up most of the night with the mare.

The thin, sandy soil felt cool under her bare feet, and she avoided
the cactus in the path as she stepped toward the house.

A male voice spoke. "You made it."

Allie turned to see a fresh-faced young man. He looked like a
fourteen-year-old trying to act twenty-four. A big rodeo belt buckle
on his waist glinted. With his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans
and his cowboy hat pushed back, he stood with one worn boot on the
fence rail as if posing for a documentary about cowboys.

Poor kid. If he only knew trying to make an impression on her would
get him nowhere. He'd tried it at the rodeo last month, and though she
hadn't caught his name, he was the one who told her about this place.

"We never introduced ourselves when we met at the rodeo." She
extended a hand. "I'm Allie Siders, and this is Betsy. We came in last
night."

"Like I'd forget a honey like you. I'm Charlie." He put his propped
foot back on the ground, shook Allie's hand in a strong grip, then
knelt in front of Betsy. "Hey kid, want to see some horses?"

Betsy buried her face in Allie's waist and didn't look at him.

"She's tired,"Allie said. "Maybe later."

The young man straightened. "I made a run to Marathon after oats
yesterday," he said. "When I saw that old truck parked beside the barn
this morning, I wondered who had blown in while I wasn't looking."

"I don't think anyone in the house is up yet."

He nodded. "Cupcake foaled. I think the boss was up most of the
night. Otherwise, there'd be breakfast on the table. I could rustle us
up some grub."

"Let me do it." Allie took Betsy's hand and moved toward the
house again. "I was about to try the door when you called to me."

The house looked like it had grown out of the red soil, but as she
neared, she saw red dirt coated the stone face of the home. The big
pillars that supported the massive porch of the two-story dwelling
sported a fresh white coat of paint. The place was bigger than she'd
thought at first, easily three thousand square feet.

She followed Charlie up the stone steps and across the porch to
the entry.

"It's always unlocked." Charlie twisted the doorknob and pushed
open the door. "Go on in."

She stepped onto an oak floor, its patina of old age as fitting as the
well-worn boots on her feet. Stucco walls painted a soft green invited
her in, but they were bare of any ornamentation that would have
enhanced the effect of the color. Heaped under the window was a
jumble of discarded socks, boots, and shoes. They gave off a pungent
odor, and Betsy wrinkled her nose.

Allie took Betsy's hand and moved down the hall to the door at the
end. "Is this the way to the kitchen?"

"Yep. Don't mind the mess. The housekeeper left last fall."

Mess was an understatement. As Allie moved past the living room, she caught a glimpse of a large den littered with newspapers and piles
of books. Some kind of video game controller lay on a recliner, its
wires stretching to the TV.

She averted her eyes and stepped through the swinging door into
the kitchen. And stopped short. Had no one cleaned the kitchen since
the housekeeper left?

The sink overflowed with pots and dishes. Several cupboards hung
open to reveal empty shelves. Every dish in the place must be dirty.

Charlie seemed oblivious to the chaos. He went to the refrigerator and opened it. "I know we've got eggs and bacon. There's bread
for toast. I think there might be hash browns in the freezer."

"I'll figure it out. First I'd better do some dishes." Allie rolled up
the sleeves of her blouse and went to the sink. "I can't cook in this ...
dirt." She eyed the stove, thick with grime.

Charlie's smile was weak. "Yeah, it's bad."

"Want to dry the dishes?"

"Uh, I'll go feed the stock." He backed out of the kitchen.

THE SETTING OF THE SUN ONLY SLIGHTLY COOLED THE BRUTALITY OF THE
Fallujah heat. Rick tossed his cards onto the battered wooden table.
"You win," he told his best friend.

"I always win." His buddy grinned at him and began to gather up
the cards. "I'm done. I need to write to my wife."

"You write to her every night." Rick's tone was sharp, but in his
heart he wished he had someone to write to every night. Someone
who cared if he lived or died.

His friend's smile faded. "I worry about her. What if I don't come
back?"

Rick shuffled on his chair. "Don't talk like that. We're both going
to get on that plane next month and fly home."

"Tomorrow's mission is dangerous, buddy. Promise you'll look
out for my family if the worst happens."

"You'll take care of them yourself." Rick stood and pushed his
chair under the table. "I don't want to hear this."

"I know what will happen if I don't come home. My parents will
try to get my daughter. And that can't happen. Not ever. Promise me
you'll make sure."

"If I promise, will you drop it?"

"Promise me," Jon said again. "I know you're a man of your word."

"Okay, okay, I promise. Now shut up about it!"

His friend's shape began to morph. Red spots bloomed on his
chest, his face grew pale and stricken. Rick saw breastbone protruding through the skin before he awakened with a start to hear an echo
still lingering in his room.

I promise.

He sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His heart was
thumping in his chest like he'd just had a fright. He drew a few deep
breaths until he got control of his racing pulse. It was over, he
reminded himself.

Maybe these nightmares were going to continue until he checked
on his buddy's family. This was the second dream in a week, and he
always woke drenched with dread. Shaking off the effects of the
dream, he climbed out of bed and pulled his clothes on.

Rick's nose twitched when he opened his bedroom door. Was that
bacon? The tantalizing scent pulled him from the room and down the
steps. His stomach growled, and he spared a glance at his watch. Holy
cow, was it really that late? Though he'd only had about four hours sleep.

He heard banging in the kitchen. Charlie was sure loud this morning, but bless him for making breakfast. Rick stopped in the doorway
and saw the tiny woman at the sink. The kitchen sparkled, even the tile
underfoot. Every dish and pot was in place. Bacon sizzled in a skillet,
and the eggs and hash browns looked crisp and tasty.

Allie whirled to face him. Her welcoming smile faded. Rick felt
his own smile falter.

"Where's Charlie? I thought he was fixing breakfast."

"He's feeding the livestock. You're up late," she said.

He squinted at the clock on the wall. "I think it was four when we
got to bed."

"Is Elijah up?"

"No, he's still out." He frowned. "You think you can win him over
by cleaning the kitchen?"

Allie opened her mouth, then closed it again. That would put her
in her place. Did she think she was Martha Stewart, coming in here
and taking over?

She turned back to the stove. "Breakfast is ready." She ladled up a
plate of food and handed it to him.

His stomach, traitor that it was, rumbled loudly in the kitchen. He
took the plate without a word and sat down beside Betsy, who was finishing up her own serving of eggs and toast.

The little girl gave him a shy glance, and he tried to coax a smile
from her. "Hey Betsy, have you seen the new baby?"

Betsy nodded, but the smile he wanted didn't break out. He
glanced at her mom. What had she done to this kid?

"We saw him,"Allie said.

Rick frowned. "You always answer for her?"

"She doesn't talk."

"She won't ever talk if you don't let her."

"I'm her mother. I think I know how to behave around her better
than you do."Allie turned her back to him and turned off the burners.

Touchy. She made him tense just by being in the same room. That
was the trouble with women they came in and upset everything.
He'd woken up in a good mood, and now he could tear the head off
of a bear with his hands.

Betsy tugged on his hand and pointed to the door. "You want to go
watch cartoons?" Rick asked. The little girl nodded. "Okay, but don't
turn the TV up very loud. Let's let Elijah sleep."

The wooden chair legs scraped across the tile, and Allie settled into
the chair. She wet her lips, and her eyes looked uncertain. "I thought
I'd better formally introduce myself," she said. "I'm Allie Siders."

She paused as though she expected the name to mean something
to him. That's when it hit, and when it did, his pulse leaped like
spurred horse.

Siders. Jon's wife was named Allie. It couldn't be. The egg in his
mouth formed an immovable lump.

"I'm Jon's widow," she said quietly.

Rick choked, then managed to swallow the bite of eggs. "Jon's
widow?" His gaze locked with hers. Jon Siders. Even hearing the name
made the grief and guilt well up like a spring. The promise he'd never
kept had come here searching him out.