Reunion at Cardwell Ranch (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

Sid quickly changed into the clothing she also kept in the second cabin. She’d tried to be prepared for anything that might happen. What she hadn’t seen coming was Laramie Cardwell.

“Stay here,” she said to Zander as she opened the door to follow Laramie.

“Like that is going to happen,” Zander said, right behind her.

Sid couldn’t see Laramie as she rushed down the steps and started through the snow-laden pines toward her cabin. One of the reasons she’d bought the property was the tunnel between the two cabins. The owner had told her the tunnel had been dug back in the fifties as a bomb shelter when nuclear war had seemed imminent. The owner had kept the tunnel maintained.

It had saved them temporarily and given her a place to stash the forgeries as well as the bulk of her paintings.

Snow began to fall. At first it was only a few flakes drifting past on the breeze. Then a flurry of them whirled around them as they hurried toward the cabin obscured by trees and snow. Sid could hear sirens coming up the mountain, but feared they would never get there in time. Laramie had the advantage, she told herself. Cody would be busy trying to make his escape. But he was greedy. He would also try to pack up as many of the paintings as he could before he realized the forgeries weren’t there and burned the cabin.

The cabin was old. It would burn quickly. Had they still been locked in the storage room, she doubted any of them would have survived.

Ahead, she could see the cabin. Cody had come by snowmobile, forcing Zander along. It was still sitting out front. There was no sign of either Cody or Laramie through the pines.

“Shouldn’t one of us have a plan?” Zander said behind her.

She saw that her sister had picked up a limb from the snow. It was thick enough that it could make a pretty good dent in Cody’s head—if Zander got the chance to use it.

They slowed as they approached the cabin. “I have a gun just inside the back door in the wicker basket with my scarves and gloves,” Sid whispered. “It’s loaded. So if something happens—”

“I’ve got you covered, sis.”

* * *

L
ARAMIE
SPOTTED
THE
snowmobile sitting outside the cabin with a half dozen paintings leaning against it. Sid had been right. The bastard couldn’t pass up stealing even more paintings. He treasured them more than the lives he’d planned to snuff out in the storage room.

Laramie moved cautiously along the side of the cabin. He could hear Cody inside ransacking the place, no doubt looking for the forgeries. Which meant that he’d have had to put down the firebomb he’d made.

As he neared the open doorway of the cabin, Laramie peered inside. He couldn’t see Cody, but he could hear him. Stepping in, he made his way to the fireplace where the poker leaned against the stone chimney.

“What the hell?” Cody swore as he came out of Sid’s studio. He held a painting in both hands. “How did you...?” The rest of his words were lost as he realized that the tables had turned. He threw the painting he’d been holding at Laramie and reached into his pocket for the gun.

From the confused look on his face, Laramie realized that Cody must have laid down the gun somewhere—just as he had the firebomb.

As Cody looked around wildly for both weapons, Laramie spotted the gun lying on the kitchen table about the same time that Cody did. Cody dived for it. Laramie charged. He caught the artist in the back with the poker. Cody let out a loud grunt and staggered, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he lurched toward the gun, his fingers within inches of it when Laramie again swung the poker.

This time it caught him in the side of the head. The sound of sirens filled the air as Cody dropped to his knees. Laramie quickly stepped around him and pushed the gun out of the artist’s reach.

“You don’t understand. That crazy old fool was going to ruin me,” Cody said.

Laramie spotted the homemade turpentine firebomb on the kitchen counter where Cody had left it as Sid and Zander rushed in, with Marshal Hud Savage and his deputies on their heels.

* * *

T
HE
NEWS
HIT
the canyon as if it were Cody’s firebomb. Cody Kent had been arrested. The homemade turpentine firebomb and Cody’s gun had been taken as evidence. Trapped, Cody had broken down and told the authorities everything. He confessed to killing H. F. Powell after the man had tried to destroy his career. After that, he’d confessed to killing Rock and trying to frame Taylor and making Hank Ramsey’s death look like a suicide.

The broadcaster was saying, “H. F. Powell’s story is one of madness and genius. When he was denied membership in the organization, Old West Artists Coalition, he swore retribution, which ultimately led to his murder. And Cody Kent would have gotten away with it if not for Powell’s daughter, Obsidian Forester.”

Sid got up to turn off the news as, on screen, Cody was being led into the courthouse. “You don’t understand,” he told reporters. “All I have is my art.”

“Maybe he’ll teach an art class in prison,” Zander said as Sid turned off the television.

“Maybe,” she agreed and looked at Laramie who was frowning at the television. “Is something wrong?” she asked him.

“Just a little confused,” he admitted. “If all the paintings but the ones that were stolen burned in the fire...”

“The originals my father copied from were in a safe at the house,” Sid said. “He planned to expose the artists at their annual conference, which was to be held here in Big Sky a few days after his death. More than likely our father bragged to someone about what he was going to do.”

“Not all of the originals were in the safe,” Zander said, shooting a look at her sister. “What Sid isn’t telling you is that her sister stole several of the paintings from the safe and she had to buy them back before she could replace the forgeries.” Zander smiled sheepishly at Sid. “I’m sorry I made things harder for you. Because of me, we lost the family ranch.”

Sid shook her head. “Dad was so in debt by the time he died, there wouldn’t have been a way to save it anyway. You were right. This...quest I’ve been on... I should have let it go, but I wanted justice and I hated the idea of everyone believing he was so crazy he would kill himself.”

“He
was
crazy,” Zander said and laughed. “We should know. We’re his daughters and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Well, your father has justice now,” Laramie said. “And his daughters have found their way back to each other. I’d say you accomplished more than you set out to.” He rose to leave. “The invitation is still open for Christmas Eve at Cardwell Ranch. Open to both of you,” he said to Zander.

“So what now?” Zander asked after Laramie left. “You don’t have a murderer to catch, no houses to break into... What will my little sis do to keep herself busy?”

“Wipe that grin off your face, Z,” she said playfully.

“He’s in love with you, you know.”

Sid said nothing. She still couldn’t believe it. She loved Laramie as well, but their lives were in different states. “He’s going back to Houston after the holidays.”

Zander lifted a brow. “So go with him.”

She shook her head. “My life is here.”

“Painting cowboy art.” Her sister shook her head and laughed. “I thought Dad messed
me
up, but he really did a number on you.”

“We can’t spend the rest of our lives blaming H.F. for our choices,” Sid said.

“Maybe you can’t,” Zander said with a laugh. “But I can. I’m just like him. I’ll never settle down.”

“Don’t say never. Who knows what the future holds.”

Her sister seemed to study her for a long moment. “This is the most contented I’ve ever seen you. Those years when you worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads when Dad had locked himself in his studio and refused to paint his own work and support us... You always did what you had to do.”

Sid wished she could believe that. “I forged his work while he was forging others’. You’re right. We really
are
messed up, huh?”

Zander smiled. “The ironic thing about all of it? You’re a better artist than even the great H. F. Powell.” She held up her hand to keep Sid from arguing the point. “It’s true, sis. That painting...” She pointed to the one of Sid’s mother on horseback that Cody had stolen from her father’s studio. “It’s a masterpiece. It would have sold for a fortune.”

She heard the wistfulness as well as the larceny in her sister’s voice.

“We could have both retired on that money,” Zander continued. “Instead, you had to give up one of the real H. F. Powells you managed to keep me from stealing to keep us from going to prison.”

Sid chuckled. “I don’t want to retire. I want to paint. What about you? You have our father’s gift, as well.”

“Gift? More like a curse.” Zander shook her head. “No, you couldn’t make me paint even at gunpoint. I’ve always hated it. Maybe because it takes practice and I don’t care enough to hone my skills. I’ll leave art to you. Anyway, look what Cody’s artist talent did for him.” She stood and reached for her bag. “The difference is that you have more than your art. You have a chance for real happiness with Laramie Cardwell.”

“Wait a minute, where are you going? It’s Christmas Eve. You said we were going to—”

“We’re going to Cardwell Ranch.”

“I already told Laramie that we were spending Christmas Eve here,” Sid said.

“Well, there’s been a change of plans. He invited us both to a real Christmas celebration,” Zander said. “It sounds incredibly cheesy, but I’m not about to let you miss that. Come on.”

“Are you sure, Z? Hot chocolate, tree trimming, carols around the fire?”

Zander put her arm around her sister. “I can stand it for one night. There will be presents, though, right?”

Sid shook her head at her sister. “I really am glad you came here for Christmas.”

* * *

L
ARAMIE
HADN
’
T
REALIZED
he’d been watching for her until he saw the SUV pull up out front of the ranch house.

Dana grinned at him as he headed out to the porch. It had been a crazy time after the ball, but his cousin was determined that they would have their Christmas Eve come hell or high water.

“Invite Sid and her sister,” she’d insisted. “The more the merrier.”

“She’s having Christmas with her sister at the cabin,” he’d told his cousin. “It’s just as well. I don’t see how anything can come of this. I live in Houston. Sid has her own life here.”

“You can’t see any way to overcome that obstacle?” Dana had asked in exasperation.

“It’s more than the fact that our lives are thousands of miles apart,” he’d said. “We don’t really know each other.”

His cousin had given him an impatient look. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. And even if it is the case, surely there is some way you can rectify it. Is Houston really calling you back? Or are you just like your brothers were and afraid of giving away your heart?”

Laramie had smiled at Dana. “You just can’t stand one of your cousins making a clean getaway.”

She’d looked as if she might cry. “No, I can’t. Nor do I want Sid to get away. Look what she did to try to bring her father’s killer to justice. She risked her life and her reputation and prison.”

Fortunately, once the Holiday Masquerade Ball and Auction committee members had learned how it was that the H. F. Powell painting was a forgery and Sid had offered them a real Powell to replace it, they’d dropped any legal charges. Also, Sid had promised to donate one of her paintings for the auction next year. Her paintings were now sought after as much as her father’s had been.

“Hello,” Laramie called from the porch as Sid and her sister climbed out of the SUV. “Glad to see you changed your mind.”

“I changed it for her,” Zander said.

He smiled. “That was nice of you.” As the two climbed the steps, Zander went on past, letting him pull Sid in for quick kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

S
ID
STEPPED
INTO
his arms as if it was the most natural thing. She parted her lips for his warm, sweet kiss and could have stayed in that very spot forever.

At the door, Zander cleared her throat and said, “The kids are watching you two.”

They turned, laughing, to see all of the Cardwell brood at the window, hands cupped around their eyes, making faces and laughing.

“Must be time to go in,” Sid said, straightening her coat and bracing herself to meet the rest of the family.

Later, Sid sat listening to the sound of a family at play. It was loud and unruly and wonderful.

“Are you doing all right?” Laramie whispered next to her.

She nodded and smiled. “This is normal?”

He laughed. “As normal as the Cardwells get.”

“I love it.” She’d met his brothers, their wives, Dana’s sister and two brothers and their mates, along with Dana’s father, Laramie and his brothers’ father and mother and his mother’s new husband and all the children. There was also Dana’s best friend, Hilde, and her husband, a local deputy.

It was insane. The air was filled with noise and the smells of holiday food. There’d been eggnog and hot chocolate and gingerbread men just as she’d predicted...and homemade fudge.

When it got late, the children were put to bed. The finishing touches were put on the tree. Sid had expected a huge, beautiful pine. Instead, it was a large ungainly tree.

“Dana can’t stand the idea of an ugly tree not getting to be a Christmas tree,” her husband the marshal explained with a shake of his head. “We do what we can for it.”

When the lights came on, the tree was transformed. As the fire crackled they gathered to sing “Silent Night.” Laramie put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She stared at the sparkling lights of the tree and reached for her sister’s hand.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she whispered when the song ended.

“It’s only the first of many if I have anything to say about it,” Laramie told her as he drew her into his arms. “I’m not letting you get away from me again.”