The Legacy of Copper Creek (20 page)

“Brenna's right.” Juliet followed suit, hugging Cara. “Who knows where this will lead?”

Cara felt the sudden rush of tears and blinked furiously. “Thank you.” She looked at the three women and felt her heart swelling with love. “Really. I need to thank all of you. I would never have tried this if you hadn't planted that seed.”

“Let's just hope that little seed produces a garden of success.” Brenna turned to Juliet. “Now we'd better find your boys.”

The two young women hurried into the great room, returning minutes later with both boys and Sammy in tow.

Behind them Mad followed in his scooter, clearly eager to take control of the plane again.

At the door Brenna turned. “Are you boys ready to spend some time in my studio?”

“Oh boy.” Casey clapped his hands. “Can we play with the clay again?”

“You can.”

“I'm going to make a doggy.”

“Like Sammy?” Brenna asked.

He nodded. “Me and Efan are hoping we can get Mommy and Daddy to get us a puppy.”

Brenna glanced at Juliet.

“But Mama says she'd rather have a baby,” Ethan said with a little scowl.

“Wouldn't you like having a baby?” Brenna asked him.

The little boy shrugged. “I guess. But I'd rather get a puppy first. One like Sammy.”

“Play your cards right,” Myrna remarked, “and maybe you can have both.”

They were all laughing as Brenna led the way out the door, with the boys and Sammy trailing behind.

Mad turned to Juliet. “Ready for that aerial view of our little piece of heaven, lass?”

“I can't wait.”

They called their good-byes to Cara and Myrna before heading out the door, with Mad in the lead in his scooter and Juliet moving along behind.

When they were alone, Myrna turned to Cara. “This is the perfect time for me to do some chores upstairs, while the house is empty. I think I'll strip all the beds and get some much-needed work done.” She paused. “And now that we're finally alone, I want to tell you how happy I am that you've contacted those people in New York. I just know one of those publishers will fall in love with your stories.”

“Thank you, Myrna. I hope you're right.”

Myrna stepped close and caught Cara's hand. “I know I am. Remember this, honey. Don't let anyone tell you what's right or wrong for you. You're allowed to make mistakes in this life. But you'll never go wrong if you just follow your heart.”

“Oh, Myrna.” Cara felt hot tears scalding the backs of her eyes.

As the old woman hurried away, Cara leaned a hand on the kitchen counter and allowed the tears to fall.

Tears of joy, over the hopeful response from a literary agency, but more, tears of hope and anxiety that Brenna and Juliet were right about Whit's feelings for her. Though she'd been trying to deny what was in her heart, for fear of having it broken yet again, she couldn't stop the tiny flicker of hope that Whit was different from all the rest.

She would cling to the words of his friend and sister-in-law Brenna, who believed that Whit MacKenzie was one of the good ones in this world.

C
ara was humming a little tune as she moved around the kitchen.

Earlier she'd heard the sounds of the washer and dryer and had caught a glimpse of Myrna, arms laden with freshly folded sheets and pillowcases, heading up the stairs to tackle all those bedrooms. Now the only sound was the vacuum cleaner.

The thought of the housekeeper, happily having the entire upper floor to herself, had Cara grinning. Though the MacKenzie family was a constant delight, their sheer numbers probably created a bit of a problem for the old woman. No wonder she was happy to turn the kitchen duties over to someone else, leaving her to concentrate all her energy on household chores.

As soon as she was alone, Cara phoned the New York agent to eagerly accept his offer to read her manuscript. Her next step was calling Willow, asking permission to use the computer in her office to scan and send the stories and drawings electronically. She experienced a wild sense of relief when Willow agreed without asking for a lengthy explanation. It touched her heart that Whit's mother trusted her enough to say a simple yes to her request.

Cara paused in her work as the realization dawned that even now, while she was working in a ranch kitchen in Montana, her pages and drawings were being read and critiqued by a professional in New York City.

A professional.

Who did she think she was? The daughter of a father she'd never met and a mother who had unceremoniously dumped her to escape. And here she was, dreaming an impossible dream and beginning to think it might come true.

Despite the odds, she couldn't deny the feeling of anticipation, of absolute joy in her heart.

To celebrate, she intended to make a special dinner tonight. After all, everyone would be in a festive mood. Calves were being born in the hills. Always a reason for ranchers to celebrate. Add to that the fact that Mad had gained a measure of freedom and Casey and Ethan were playing to their hearts' content in Brenna's studio.

After checking the freezer and giving some thought to the kind of meal everyone, even the youngest, would enjoy, she decided to stuff several chickens for roasting, along with mashed potatoes, fresh garden vegetables for a salad, and soft, buttery rolls hot from the oven.

For dessert she settled on a Black Forest cake her gram used to bake. Chocolate layer cake with cherries in a rich cream filling and topped with warm chocolate fudge drizzled over all.

While she worked, Cara couldn't keep from smiling. After so much hardship and trouble, she had a double reason to celebrate.

Not only was she one step closer to her dream of being published, but she was also beginning to hope that she'd found a place where she was truly accepted. And if Brenna and Juliet were to be believed, she might even be loved.

Love.

The mere thought of Whit MacKenzie loving her had her pausing to take in a long, deep breath.

After a lifetime of loneliness, she'd begun to believe that she simply wasn't loveable. Especially after that situation with Jared. But Whit wasn't like anyone else. She had this sense that he would always be there for her in times of trouble.

After chopping the onions and celery and bread crumbs and mixing them with seasonings and a pinch of parsley, she stuffed the chickens and set them in a large roasting pan in the refrigerator to bake in the oven later.

Then she got busy with the cake batter. Over the sound of the electric mixer, she thought she heard a door open. Seconds later she felt a quick rush of cool, damp air and turned.

A man stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Though she was aware of his perfectly tailored suit, starched shirt, and knotted tie, the only thing she could focus on were his eyes.

Eyes she'd seen before, at a ranch in Red Rock.

Evil eyes, fixed on her with a look of pure hatred.

His voice, when he spoke, was as cold as his eyes. A cultured voice that she'd heard once before, in that rancher's kitchen. “I've been watching through binoculars, waiting until they all left so we could be alone. Today's my lucky day.”

“How…” Cara's heart was pounding so hard, she was certain it would leap clear out of her chest. She licked her dry lips. “How…did you find me?”

“Pure chance. I happened upon you, but you were too busy to see me. The minute I saw your profile, I knew you at once. I could tell you hadn't spotted me.”

“Where did you see me? In town?” She thought of her visit to the sheriff in Red Rock and shivered at the very thought of being studied like a specimen without her knowledge.

He merely lifted a brow. “I decided, since you weren't even aware I'd spotted you, to take my time and make some very careful plans.”

“Plans?” She looked around. This stranger was obviously some sort of madman. Since he was blocking the entrance to the back door, her only avenue of escape was the door leading to the stairway.

The stairway. God in heaven. Myrna. She was upstairs, unaware of anything going on below.

Seeing the direction of Cara's gaze, the stranger was across the room in the blink of an eye, catching her roughly by the arm and twisting both her arms behind her back before imprisoning her wrists in plastic restraints.

He leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Don't even think about trying to escape. I pride myself on being a man who is very good at making careful plans.”

His words caused a trickle of ice along her spine.

“I like everything neat and tidy. Like this.” From his inside pocket, he produced a folded paper. Unfolding it, he set it on the kitchen counter.

From her vantage point, Cara could see that it consisted of words and letters cut from newspapers and magazines.

“What is that?”

“Your confession.”

“My…confession?”

He gave her a chilling smile. “Admitting that you killed poor old Abe over in Red Rock and came up with an elaborate lie in order to cover your guilt. And that you've been hiding out here while you mulled over a way to enrich yourself.”

“Enrich?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention the bank withdrawal from one of Willow MacKenzie's accounts bearing her forged signature?” He deliberately dropped it to the floor and stepped on it to make it appear to have slipped unnoticed from a pocket.

“No one will ever believe that.”

“Won't they?” He gave a cruel laugh. “They can't trace the handwriting on this note. But when they look into your background, they'll learn that your life has been nothing but trouble. Your absent mother slept with so many men she couldn't even identify which of her partners was your father. According to court records, she abandoned you. Years later she died in a cheap motel, leaving the town to bear the cost of her burial.”

Seeing tears well up in her eyes, he plowed ahead almost gleefully. “As for her daughter, the records show that you've drifted from job to job, town to town, and your latest fiasco had you hooking up with a wealthy businessman who will claim to authorities that you talked your way into his life and into his condo and then left in the night with as much money and jewelry as you could carry.”

“That's a lie. I never took a thing from Jared Billingham and he knows it.”

“It's a funny thing about men scorned. All the pundits talk about a woman scorned, but humiliate a man with an inflated ego, and you'll find he's willing to go to great lengths to see vengeance served. Especially if he's richly compensated for telling a little white lie.”

“How did you find out about him?”

“As the lawyer for poor old Abe Parson's estate, I've been kept up to date on the case by the authorities. I was the first to be called after your visit to Sheriff Hack's office. Since then I've had the time, the money, and the resources to put your entire life under a microscope, hoping to find your weaknesses, Cara Walton. In your case, it was a piece of cake. So deny all you want. It won't win over the authorities.” He grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging her head back with a jolt. “Truth isn't important now. What is important is what the record will show and who the authorities will choose to believe. A girl with a sorry past or a wealthy man with all the right connections.”

He looked up when footsteps sounded on the stairs. “It's a good thing I'm a man who thinks ahead. I even made plans to eliminate anyone who…happened to intrude upon my carefully laid scheme.”

Seeing him reach into his pocket and withdraw a small silver pistol, Cara's eyes widened. And though her throat was clogged with terror, she managed to shout, “Myrna, stay away! Run!”

Confused, the old woman stepped into the doorway, staring at Cara with a look of sheer bewilderment. “What in the world…?”

The stranger took aim and fired a single shot. Myrna crumpled to the floor.

Cara twisted free of his grasp and raced to the old woman's side, tears of horror streaming from her eyes as she dropped to her knees.

“Oh, Myrna. I'm so sorry. This was all my…”

She was shoved aside as the stranger touched a finger to Myrna's throat before grabbing Cara by the arm and hauling her to her feet.

“Time to move. The old fool's dead. But just to make sure…” He fired a second shot at close range.

Then he boldly reached into Cara's shirt pocket and grabbed her cell phone, tossing it to the floor beside Myrna's body. “Wouldn't want the authorities to be able to track you. Besides,” he added with a sneer, “you won't be needing that where you're heading.”

As Cara was dragged toward the door, she turned for a final look at Myrna, who lay as still as death in an ever-widening pool of blood.

One of the ranch trucks stood idling at the back steps. The stranger hauled Cara around to the driver's side and forced her inside before shoving her across to the passenger side.

“See.” His voice was triumphant. “You've even stolen one of the MacKenzies' ranch trucks. The poor, trusting fools leave all their keys on hooks on the barn wall. Something a clever thief like you would have taken note of.”

“You're despicable.” The more she tried to free herself of the restraints, the more the cruel plastic dug into her wrists, drawing blood.

“And you're nothing but an annoying little fool.” He put the vehicle in gear and turned away from the driveway, veering toward the barns and then across a high meadow before heading toward back country.

In those first few moments, Cara gave in to the feelings of horror and revulsion that had bile burning her throat, threatening to choke her. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she couldn't stop them, nor could she wipe them away. All she could do was huddle in a corner of the vehicle, steeped in misery and self-pity.

This evil man had killed sweet Myrna. And all because of her. And now, the entire family would read that note and blame her.

My fault.

My fault.

Why shouldn't they believe she was guilty? Hadn't she always known she deserved the life she'd been given? Oh, she'd tried to hold on to her dreams. But the truth was, her course had been set years ago when even her own mother didn't want her.

While she huddled in the corner of the truck and brooded, she thought about Whit, coming home to find Myrna dead, his family betrayed. How long before he was persuaded that he'd been tricked into allowing a thief and a monster into his life?

He'd said he wanted to talk when he came back.

She'd foolishly begun to think that this time her life would turn around. He would declare his love, and they would live happily ever after.

She felt fresh tears well up in her eyes and blinked them away.

Whether Whit believed in her or not, she knew in her heart that she hadn't done anything to deserve whatever cruel fate this stranger planned for her.

As the driver maneuvered the truck up steep hills and across streams swollen by melting snow, she forced herself to put aside her misery and pay attention.

Slowly, with great effort, she pulled herself back from the edge of a deep, dark cavern of self-pity and felt her courage return.

If she survived this, she would have to find her way back. To prove her innocence. And possibly, to win back Whit's trust.

Though none of this territory was familiar, she was determined to commit it to memory.

She turned to the stranger. “Who are you?”

Through gritted teeth he hissed, “Your worst nightmare.”

“What have I done to you?”

He turned the wheel sharply, and they passed through a line of trees casting light and shadow on the trail ahead. “You made a fatal mistake.”

“I don't under—”

“You had to poke your nose in where it wasn't wanted.”

“What was that old rancher to you?”

“Abe had something I needed.”

“You wanted a derelict ranch?”

They came out the other side of the trees into sunlight and he shot her a quick glance. “Land. Valuable land.”

“Why didn't you just buy it from him?”

“He wouldn't agree to sell.”

“But what does that have to do with me?”

“You went to the law.”

“It didn't matter. I didn't really see anything, and I couldn't identify you. Why come after me now?”

He gave a chilling smile. “Your evidence had them taking a second look.”

“That doesn't make any sense—”

His hand swept out in an arc, connecting with her cheek with such force, her head snapped to one side and she had to close her eyes against the shower of painful stars.

“Shut up. I'm sick of the sound of your voice.”

She leaned back, trying to clear her head and stay focused. So far, none of this made any sense. He wasn't even under suspicion in the murder of that old rancher. Why risk killing her now and calling attention to himself?

“You realize you'll have the law searching for me.”