The Quiet Seduction (11 page)

It took him a minute to work his way back to their conversation. “Ellen, your son might not be a whiz at spelling, but look at the way he handles things around
here. Most kids would bitch and groan at having to do chores before school, after school and on weekends. He pitches in like a real trouper. I've yet to hear him complain.”

“Is that what your children are like? Whining at being asked to do a few chores? If so, blame the parent, not the child.”

What could he say? “I don't have a son, don't have a wife, don't even have a significant other.” Not without explaining how he knew, and he wasn't yet ready to do that.

Actually, what he had was a comfortable arrangement with a lady sales rep for a Napa Valley winery. Cassie was single, of sound mind and spectacular body. The sex was great on the rare occasions when she was in town and they were both free, usually about every six weeks or so.

They rode in silence for a while. Overhead, a hawk circled lazily. Applying the slightest pressure with his heels, Spence urged the gelding into a gallop, as if trying to outdistance any further leading questions.

Ellen caught up with him when he reached the fallen fence post. “I'm sorry, Storm. I shouldn't take my frustrations out on you.”

Dismounting, he ground-tied his mount and looked around. “I don't suppose you've got a supply of new posts handy?”

“There were some locust posts in the loft when we bought the place. Six or seven. As far as I know, they're still there.”

Scanning the fence line, Storm said judiciously, “It would barely be a start, but if we replaced about every third post that should get us as far as the corner. The
bracing looks pretty solid. Is that yours?” He indicated the grove of grapefruit trees in the distance.

“Technically, yes. It's one of the sections I lease out. I don't know anything at all about growing citrus fruit, and Jake wasn't particularly interested. All he wanted to do was raise horses.”

“At least you've got a start on that. Pretty soon you'll have increased your herd.”

“Yes, well, that happened sort of accidentally, too. The man who sold them to us said to wait at least a year before breeding the mares. By the time the year was up, Jake had already been diagnosed. The prognosis wasn't…well, suffice to say, the horses were the last thing on my mind. Later on, Mr. Caster said we'd better either breed the mares or get rid of Zeus before he kicked the place down, so I told him to go ahead with the breeding. Speaking of fence repairs, that's why I'm short of supplies. That darned Zeus. And according to the vet, the mares will be ready again less than two weeks after they drop a foal. Honestly, I'm not sure if I can handle this job.”

Spence was tempted to tell her she had no business even trying to run a breeding operation when she didn't know the first thing about it. But he knew why she was doing it, and he couldn't argue with her sentiments. As he saw it, she had damned few options. Sell out and use the money to relocate to someplace where the job market was better than it was around here and where the schools were just as good. But with no special training, what kind of a job could she find that would support the two of them?

Her other option was going home to Daddy. He had a feeling that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. If
she went back at all it would be at a time when she didn't need the old man's help.

The cold front that had ushered in the rash of severe weather had long since moved out. Today it was muggy, but not at all unpleasant. He rolled back the sleeves of his borrowed shirt while Ellen removed the leather vest she'd been wearing and hung it over the saddle.

“How good are you at fencing?” she asked, then before he could answer, she shook her head, laughing. “Don't bother to answer. You don't know, right?”

Oh, boy. Talk about weaving a tangled web. “Are we talking foils and sabers here?”

“We're talking post-hole diggers, wire-pullers and staples.”

One thing he was good at was avoiding direct answers. It was a lawyer's stock in trade. They argued briefly about the merits of stringing new wire, which she didn't have enough of on hand, as opposed to refastening the old wire to new posts. He told her truthfully that she knew more about fencing than he did.

Spence knew his way around a ranch, up to a point. He knew how to use tools, up to that same point. He'd worked his way through college doing everything from wrangling to managing a car wash. “How good a fence do you need to separate a herd of grapefruit trees from a dirt road?” he asked on the ride back.

“Very funny. Ever hear the saying, good fences make good neighbors?”

“So that explains why none of your neighbors came to check on you after the tornado. Your fence was down.”

“I didn't need any checking, if you'll remember.
Besides, I had you. Pete told Mr. Ludlum that we had someone staying with us to help out.”

And Ludlum had told how many others? That was a potential problem. Evidently Del Brio's men had had some idea of where to start looking. They wanted him dead, not alive. If word leaked out that he was still alive and the same guys turned up again, they'd be armed. Probably had been the first time. He'd like to think he could handle it, but he had to be sure before he put Ellen and Pete in any danger. Yesterday or any time during the past two weeks, he'd have been a sitting duck.

What the devil had happened to his car? Not to mention the things that had been in it? Maybe the best thing he could do would be to get out of here, suddenly show up in town and let the chips start flying, but if he left now, Ellen and Pete would be vulnerable and he wouldn't be there to protect them. Del Brio wasn't dumb. He was hotheaded, but he wasn't stupid. He would much rather have him out of the picture permanently, but barring that, he would know just where and how to apply pressure to make sure Spence took early retirement and moved out of the area. And for the time being, Ellen and Pete were his Achilles' heel.

Bottom line, now that Del Brio had his own man in place as D.A., the last thing the new mob boss wanted was to have the real one turn up, especially in the middle of Alex Black's trial.

Trial, hell, it was going to be a railroad job.

“This is nice,” Ellen said softly. So softly he almost missed her words.

He nodded. It occurred to him as they walked the two mounts back along the service road that they might have been friends for years instead of having known
each other barely two weeks. It was an easy relationship, far easier in some ways than he'd have expected under the circumstances.

Far more troublesome in others. For one thing he had to stop thinking of her as anything more than a casual acquaintance. It wasn't fair to either of them, not when he'd left so much unfinished business behind.

He told himself that he didn't love Ellen. He liked her a lot—more all the time—but that wasn't love. Lust was something else entirely. Call it a chemical reaction—if so, it was a pretty volatile one. Ellen was a beautiful woman, sexy without making a big deal out of it—strong without being any less feminine. But just because he liked her, just because he wanted to take her to bed, didn't mean he was in love with her.

God, the last thing he needed now was one more complication. If he had to fall in love—and that had been the last thing on his mind when he'd locked his office door and set out to take that deposition two weeks ago—he'd have to find a way to work it into his schedule. Priority one was finding out who had ordered Judge Bridges's murder and seeing that he paid the price. About a hundred and fifty years of hard labor might do it, although he'd settle for sixty.

Along with that situation there was Luke and the commander, both out of contact somewhere in Central America at last report.

Like war, the Texas Mafia was an ongoing problem that no one man was going to be able to put an end to. It was too entrenched, too entangled for too many generations in Lone Star County. The justice system might curtail some of the more egregious activities, but the best the white-hats could hope for was to peel off layers until the whole mess shrunk to a more manageable size.
Frankie Del Brio's slice of the pie was only one small sliver of a vast network that knew no boundaries, local, state, national or otherwise. Anyone who had been on the other side as long as Spence had been knew that eradication was not a possibility; containment and control was the most they could hope for, human nature being what it was.

“P
ete and I can tackle the fence this afternoon,” Spence told Ellen, glad to turn his thoughts to a problem more easily solved. “I'll get the posts down from the loft.”

“They weigh a ton. Mr. Caster said the reason locust wears like iron is that it weighs almost as much. Something to do with the density. You can shift some stuff up there and roll them out through the hay door.”

“Or rig a block and tackle. I saw one hanging out under the shed.”

“Jake used it to help remove the power take-off from the tractor.”

“Yeah, Pete told me. Ellen, you're going to have to hire some decent help.”

“Sure, I'll just put an ad in the paper. ‘Hardworking ranch hand needed, minimum wage, no benefits. No binge drinkers or pot smokers need apply.”'

“I'd say that pretty well excludes Clyde and Booker. You knew about the pot?”

“I suspected. Did you?”

“Smelled something the other day that made me wonder. It wasn't tobacco, that I do know.”

They rode the last few hundred yards in silence. Spence didn't know the details of her financial situation other than that it had to be pretty bare bones. If she could have afforded better help, she'd have found it.
Yet, her background had been comfortable if not actually affluent. If her father could afford a big fancy wedding, he could certainly afford to see that his daughter didn't have to do the work of two men.

“Any chance your family could find you some decent help?” he asked, knowing in advance what the answer would be. Why couldn't the woman drop her pride just long enough for this mess to blow over? Now Spence was going to have to find her a bodyguard who knew his way around a stable and pass him off as a ranch hand, because he sure as hell wasn't going to go off and leave her here alone. “Ellen? As long as you're mending fences, this might be a good time to pay a visit to your father.”

“Forget it.” By then they had reached the barn. As if to underscore her self-sufficiency, Ellen slid down off the horse before he could dismount and come around to help her. “We had a housekeeper once who used to mangle metaphors. Whenever I'd blow my allowance and try to talk her into lending me some from the grocery money she'd say, ‘You buttered your bread, missy, now you can just lie in it.”'

Reluctantly, Spence conceded defeat. For now. “How does it feel, wallowing in butter?”

“Slippery,” she said with a quirky half smile.

Slippery didn't begin to describe it. Damn it, he didn't want to frighten her, but he had to find some way to put her on guard. With any luck he should be able to wind things up PDQ once he got back in action. It was the timing that worried him. The longer he stayed missing, the more confident Del Brio would be, and an overconfident hothead just might get careless. Spence didn't need much more before he wrapped up all the evidence in his possession and handed it over
to the feds, leaving them to connect the dots. He'd counted on that deposition, but even without it the evidence was pretty damning.

Meanwhile, it suited him fine to let Del Brio believe he'd been sucked up by that twister and dropped off somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.

He unsaddled the horse, rubbed him down and turned him into the paddock. Pete came racing out from the house. “Hey, I thought you guys were going to stay all day. Can I go now? Storm, why'd you unsaddle him? I thought we were going to ride out after you and Mom got back.”

“We are, only first we've got us a project.”

 

Lunch was ready by the time Spence and Pete got the block and tackle in position to swing the heavy fence posts down from the loft into the back of the truck. They decided to eat first, then ride out to the work site.

“Wonder why they put 'em up there,” Pete said.

“Probably because they weren't needed, but they're too good to throw away. Or maybe to make room for a couple more stalls down below. Any more questions?” Spence ruffled the boy's hair.

“Wonder how they got 'em up there,” Pete asked a few minutes later as the two of them were washing up together downstairs.

“Same way we're going to get 'em down.” Spence had already explained why rolling the cumbersome eight-foot locust posts out of the loft onto the ground below would not be a good idea, as they would have to be handled again to get them into the truck. Then he'd had to explain what a hernia was.

“Man, you know a bunch of stuff. You know how puppies get made?”

Oh, jeez, I'm not sure I'm up to this, Spence thought ruefully. “I bet your mama could tell you.”

“I already know. I was just wondering if you did.”

Lunch was baked beans from a can and hot dogs. Pete said, “Cool!”

Spence held Ellen's chair before seating himself. Briefly, they discussed the project while they ate, and Ellen mentioned the two pickups that were parked out beside the tractor shed. “I usually drive the small truck except when I'm pulling the trailer.”

“My mom can back up and everything with a trailer,” Pete said, his mouth full of hot dog, mustard and bread. “She hardly ever knocks anything down anymore.”

Spence winked at Ellen. “We loaded the logs into the duelly,” he told her. “I figured you might need to run into town before we got back.” It had been agreed that there was no reason he shouldn't drive as long as he stayed on Wagner property. “We should be back before dark.”

 

It had been a few years since he'd driven a stick shift, but the big diesel purred like a kitten under his hands.

Pete brought up the subject of puppies again as they bounced along the rutted lane to the back section. Spence listened with a part of his mind, another part involved in how best to handle the situation in which he found himself. He knew he didn't want to leave Ellen and the boy here alone, and was somewhat surprised to realize that he didn't want to leave them at all. But he had some unfinished business to wind up.
The sooner he took care of that, the better for all concerned. Which, unfortunately, included Pete and Ellen.

His timing would have to be flawless. If Del Brio and his puppet got wind of his reappearance before Spence was ready, the prosecution could rush things to conclusion. Black's court-appointed attorney was barely adequate. Joe Ed Malone had managed to see to that.

On the other hand, arranging for a postponement might not be that easy unless he could come up with a damned good excuse, such as irrefutable evidence of witness tampering. It all depended on how deep Del Brio had managed to burrow into the justice system. A retrial, if it came to that, would take days, probably weeks, at best. Meanwhile, accidents could happen. Jail cell suicides were not unheard of. Case closed.

Damn, he had to get back into action. “Hand me that post-hole digger, son.”

He grunted and dug, stopping now and then to mop the sweat from his face. Pete, frowning in concentration, pried rusted heavy-duty staples from the rotten wood, agilely avoiding the coils of rusted barbed wire as they sprang free.

Moving down the line, Spence tested the standing posts. All needed replacing, but he had replacements for only a few. You couldn't always tell from looking at a post whether or not it was rotten below the surface.

Not unlike the situation he faced in other areas. In a town like Mission Creek, the good-old-boy brotherhood stretched across too many boundaries, too many generations, making for entirely too many dubious relationships. For what he was about to tackle, he needed a tight cadre of white-hats. With Luke off on another mission, that meant he had to depend on Flynt and
Tyler. If they happened to be out of town, too, he was on his own until he could get the feds involved and bring them up to speed.

Pete came up behind him, dropped the crowbar, whistled and mopped his brow, mimicking Spence's actions. The two stood there, feet spread apart, and studied the progress they'd made.

“He wouldn't have to sleep with me all the time,” Pete said gravely. “But it would be sort of nice until he got used to us. I mean, so he wouldn't get lonesome or anything. Don't you think so?”

Back to the present. Spence made the mental adjustment instantaneously. The boy obviously wanted a dog, and just as obviously wanted an ally when he broached the subject with his mother.

“I don't see anything wrong with that—except maybe he should have his own bed in your room instead of sleeping on your bed, in case he rolled in something. Dogs do that occasionally.”

“I know.” Pete nodded sagely. “Mr. Caster said it was so their enemies couldn't smell 'em. Dogs don't bathe as much as cats do.”

“I believe you're right.”

Working together, they managed to get five of the seven posts set. It had taken longer than Spence had anticipated, as the ground was rock-hard. Rather than rework the rusted barbed wire in the fading daylight, they decided to wait until morning.

“Cats are okay, only the barn cats are wild.” Pete picked up the threads of the earlier conversation once they were in the pickup. “Mom says they have fleas, even the kittens, and if I bring one in the house, the fleas will fall off and get on us, and she doesn't like to use poison sprays.”

“Tough. Some moms are like that, though.”

Spence downshifted to negotiate a deeply rutted stretch of road. Even bone-tired, he took great pleasure in the smooth coordination of foot on clutch, hand on gearshift. After two weeks of inactivity, he'd jumped at even the most menial jobs. Handling the eight-foot locust fence posts was a good physical workout. Oddly enough, it sharpened his mental faculties, as well, which was probably a good thing. He would need to be in top form when he made his public reappearance.

“Mom says we have to have barn cats, but the last dog we had chased 'em. Then Zeus kicked the dog and he died. He was a real good dog. He ate vegetables, and Mom even let him sleep at the foot of my bed when I had the flu. I keep asking her for another one, but she always says, ‘We'll see.' That either means no or wait for Christmas, but this Christmas she's going to get me another bike. See, insurance doesn't cover bikes, I asked Mr. Ludlum. It covers cars and that kind of stuff, but not bikes. So maybe you could talk to her? We pro'ly need a good watchdog, anyway, and I don't care what kind he is. If we get a puppy I can train him to eat vegetables and bark at strangers and all. And not chase cats—only I think dogs have to do that, don't you?”

“Whew! Take a breath, son. We don't have to settle it tonight.”

Although, maybe they should. Spence didn't know how much time he had left. Now that he'd managed to win the boy's approval, he was having a few second thoughts. He wasn't sure Pete would understand if he suddenly took off, and he wasn't sure how much he could afford to explain.

“'Kay.” Pete took several breaths. As they neared
the house, he glanced around, his hazel eyes large and curious. “What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like?”

“Not knowing anything. Um, magnesia.”

Spence parked the truck beside the horse barn. His gaze automatically scanned the area, looking for something—anything—out of order. Funny, the way his old Special Forces training kicked in after all these years. “Amnesia? It's kind of hard to explain. How about if you went upstairs and opened your bedroom door but didn't turn on the light. You'd know everything was still there, even if you couldn't see it. No,” he said after a slight pause. “Bad analogy.”

“What a 'nalogy?”

They sat there in the truck, bone-tired, but basking in the satisfaction of having accomplished more than either of them had expected. Spence tried to explain. The boy was like a sponge. An intelligent sponge, but by the time they climbed down to go inside for supper, he wasn't sure which was more exhausted—his brain or his shoulders.

 

After supper he fixed the leaky kitchen faucet. No big deal, even though he'd never done it before. With all the odd jobs he'd held as a youth—licit and illicit—plumbing was one he'd missed. Ellen handed him the tools and supplies, and logic did the rest. Next, the horses were brought in for the night, rubbed down and fed. Spence helped. He'd worked with horses before, but it had been a while. Over the past couple of years he'd probably managed to spend a total of one week at his own ranch. Thank God for his manager, who treated both stock and property as his own.

“At the rate you're learning, even if you never re
gained your memory, you could probably get a job as a ranch hand.”

“I'll keep it in mind.” As long as it was her ranch, he added silently. And as long as she worked beside him, humming under her breath and smelling of hay and baby powder. He glanced over at Pete who was doing his best to lure one of the half-wild barn cats into accepting a handful of dried corn.

“I know I should get him a dog,” she murmured. They stood side by side and waited for the boy to come down from the loft, where the bushy-tailed gray cat had hidden. Shadows lurked in the corners of the barn where the outside security light couldn't reach. Ellen sighed heavily, and without thinking, Spence draped a companionable arm across her shoulders.

Companionable? Yeah, right.

“They sort of go together. Boys and dogs.” In this particular case he sided with Pete.

“He cried for days after Bowser died, but come to think about it, he didn't start asking for another dog until fairly recently.”

“That probably means he's healing. Wounds don't last forever, Ellen. That doesn't mean there aren't scars, but after a while even a scar becomes a natural part of—” He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

Did she? Did he? Was he talking about the pain a boy feels when he loses a father or a beloved pet, or the bone-deep grief of a woman who loses a beloved husband?

Something told him he'd better back off. He had enough to handle without diving into those particular waters.