Ruthless by Lisa Jackson (29)

CHAPTER ONE

“Stop it!” Dani sniffed loudly and glared at her reflection in the dusty mirror of her bureau. Her eyes were red and swimming in tears, her cheeks flushed, her hair scraped back in a ponytail. “You’re a fool, Dani Stewart,” she chided, slapping the unshed tears from her eyes and squaring her shoulders. For eleven years she’d been strong. She wasn’t going to fall apart now. But the letter in her fingers quivered.

“Damn it all.” She wadded the yellowed pages in her fist. Why now? Why did she have to find this damned letter tucked away in the pages of her old high school annual? A lump filled her throat as she remembered packing the letter away along with the faded flowers from a corsage and a few ribbons she’d won barrel racing. For years she’d tried to repress all the memories of that time in her life—that wonderful, horrid, painful time.

A summer breeze teased at the curtains of the open window, and fading sunlight slid into the room. The smells of dry grass and freshly mown hay chased away the must that had collected in the tattered box. Her black-and-white cat, Solomon, sunned himself on the windowsill.

Through the glass she watched the brood mares pick at the sparse, dry blades of the stubble that had once been lush grass. She loved this place as much as if she’d truly owned it.

And she was going to lose it.

Unless she worked fast.

“Dream on,” she chided, biting her lower lip.

She needed to win the lottery to buy the old Macgruder spread. Instead, she’d have to settle for subleasing it and that’s why she’d found the yellowed box with her high school memorabilia in it. She was packing because she was being forced to move from the main house in hopes that a new tenant would rent what had once been her home.

Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she pulled herself together. No time to waste being maudlin. No reason to dwell on ancient, painful memories. At least not now. She eyed the hot room and sighed. The bedroom was a mess—clothes everywhere, boxes half-packed, suitcases lying open. She’d been at this for hours. Maybe she needed a break. Ramming the letter into the back pocket of her jeans, she walked determinedly through the house to the back porch, where her favorite pair of boots was propped against the screen door.

Yellow jackets and flies crawled up the inside of the mesh, searching for escape, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle floated on the breeze. A rabbit, startled by the sound of the back door slamming shut, scooted across the yard to burrow deep in the brambles near the woodshed. Dani slid her feet into the battered, familiar leather of her boots and ran across the yard to the stables, where a hot rush of air and the odors of sweat, urine and horseflesh greeted her. Horseflies buzzed at the windows, and despite Solomon’s presence, mice skittered through the holes in the feed bins.

Sliding a bridle from its peg, Dani hurried through a maze of gates to the back paddock, where her favorite mount, a game sorrel mare named Typhoon, was grazing.

Dani whistled softly and Typhoon’s red ears flicked slightly, but she didn’t move.

“Oh, come on, lazybones,” Dani said, approaching the horse. “This is gonna be fun.”

Typhoon lifted her head and snorted. For a second, Dani thought the mare might revert back to her ways as a stubborn filly and bolt at the sight of the bridle. Instead, Typhoon nickered, tossed her head, then ambled over to Dani and searched Dani’s outstretched hand for a treat. Soft lips and warm breath brushed over her open palm. “That’s a girl,” Dani whispered, patting the mare fondly. She slid the bridle over Typhoon’s head, adjusted the chin strap and, clucking her tongue, led the mare to the gate that opened to the fields.

Once the gate was latched behind her, she climbed onto the mare’s bare back. “Let’s go,” she said, leaning forward, and Typhoon, true to her nature, broke into a loping gallop. Within seconds, she picked up speed and the ground sped by in a blur, horse and rider’s shadow racing alongside the fleet animal. Wind tore through Dani’s hair and caused fresh tears to stream from her eyes.

This time she didn’t care. She thought of her baby—her son, now eleven—and wondered where he was. Alive? Healthy? An athlete? The fleeting glimpse she’d had of her baby was forever imprinted in her brain and she knew that he had his father’s coloring—dark skin, black hair, big hands. How could one impression stay with her so long?

“Hiya!” she yelled and aimed Typhoon at a fallen oak tree that had been uprooted in the last windstorm. Twisted roots, tangled with dirt clods and rocks, reached upward at one end, while the crushed branches with dead leaves were on the other. In the middle, the long trunk of the tree formed a formidable barrier. “You can do it,” Dani encouraged. The mare gathered herself as the trunk loomed in her path. Muscles bunched then stretched as Typhoon leaped, soaring over the sun-bleached bark to land with a thud that jarred Dani’s bones. “Good girl,” Dani said with a smile as she patted Typhoon’s thick neck, and once again they were racing over the dry fields. Grasshoppers and pheasants flew out of their path in a panicked whir of wings.

Despite her melancholy, Dani’s heart swelled. Riding had always been her passion, horses her first love. Whenever her life became too complicated or too mundane, Dani found solace in the steady drum of hoofbeats, the feel of a thousand pounds of horseflesh carrying her forward, the elation of the wind tangling her hair. Freedom. Each time she was astride.

In those first few painful years after giving up the baby, Dani had spent more time riding and training horses than she had with her family, and then later, when her marriage to Jeff Stewart had begun to crumble, she’d spent hours in the saddle, working through the pain, trying to straighten out her mind and her life.

Now, she pulled on the reins and turned toward the brook that cut through the north end of the spread. Wildcat Creek was dry now, barely a trickle of water winding over smooth stones in a narrow ravine, but that would change with the coming winter.

Typhoon slowed to a walk and Dani caught her breath. What had happened to her baby? That question had followed her like a dark shadow, forever with her, never far from her thoughts. Over the years, she’d expected to have other children and had hoped that during her marriage to Jeff they would start a family. Maybe then, the pain of knowing her only child was out there—somewhere with strangers—would lessen. But Jeff hadn’t wanted kids—at least not right away—and eventually he really hadn’t wanted her, either. The marriage had been doomed. There was a chance, she knew, that she might never have another child, might never meet the son whom she’d borne eleven years earlier. A familiar ache settled deep in her heart.

The voice in her brain, the one she’d ignored for over eleven years, seemed to scream at her.

She wasn’t one to believe in fate; didn’t take much stock in kismet or even good luck. But today she felt different and a chill stole up her spine even though the temperature had to be pushing ninety degrees. Something was different. It wasn’t just the fact that she’d stumbled onto the letter she’d burrowed away; there was something else. She could feel it in her bones, the way her grandfather had often predicted a summer storm on a cloudless day.

She glanced at the sky and saw a hawk circling overhead. Wasn’t that supposed to be a good luck sign or something?

Smiling, she shook her head. “You’re losing it,” she told herself. “Losing it big time.” Pulling on the reins, she clucked her tongue.

There it was again, that damned voice she’d been able to quell for so long.

She pressed her knees into Typhoon’s ribs and felt the rush of wind against her face as the mare galloped across dry acres that rolled ever upward to mountains topped by knuckles of red rimrock.

That much was true. For the duration of their marriage, Jeff had adamantly refused to help her look for the baby she’d given up for adoption. He’d seen no reason to dig up the past, had no understanding of Dani’s concerns.

* * *

“You’ve got to give this up,” he’d said, squinting against oncoming headlights as he’d driven home through a snowstorm when she’d mentioned trying to find her son. They’d been driving the big truck and pulling a trailer of horses. Tires slid on the icy asphalt and Jeff swore loudly, as if she were to blame for the blizzard.

She hadn’t been deterred. Worrying her gloved hands, she’d said, “I just think I should try to find the baby—just to see that he’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah, Dani, great idea,” Jeff had mocked. “Jeez, get a life, would you? First of all, he’s not a baby anymore. He’s nearly what—eight or nine and probably hell on wheels. Trust me, kiddo, you’re better off not knowing anything about him. And he’s better not knowing about you. Hell, you don’t even know if his folks, his folks—the ones who adopted him legally, remember—you don’t even know if they’ve told him about you. He may even think they’re his real, biological parents.” The truck shimmied and Jeff swore again, squinting into the night. “Damn, it’s a bitch tonight.”

She’d leaned against the passenger window, arms crossed over her chest as she’d tried to fight a deep-seated anger that swarmed through her each time Jeff tried to dictate to her. A car sped by, washing the interior of the truck with harsh light.

He slanted her a dark look. “Okay, so you’re not buying this, right? Well, let’s just say you were—by some miracle—able to locate the kid. What then? What good would it do?”

“It would make me feel better.”

“You. Make you feel better. Listen to yourself. Quit being so selfish. For God’s sake, Dani, think about what you’re suggesting.” He reached into the console, found a tin of snuff and managed to open the can and place a pinch of tobacco behind his lower lip. “If you found him, you’d only screw up his life, his parents’ lives and our lives!”

“I wouldn’t. I just want to know if he’s okay.”

“He’s fine, for crying out loud. Forget him, will ya? What the hell is it with you?” He sniffed loudly and shot her a glance without a trace of understanding. The truck slid around the next corner until the tires grabbed hold of the slick pavement. Another blue streak of foul words. “Look, if you want a kid, we’ll have one, but just not now, okay?”

“I have to know,” she’d argued, and Jeff had glowered at her before snapping on the radio. The cab was filled with Willie Nelson’s voice. Snowflakes, driven by an arctic wind, froze on the windshield before being slapped away by the rhythmic wipers.

“You’re better off not knowin’.”

“It’s something I have to do.”

“Hell, Dani, if you really loved me, you wouldn’t want another man’s kid.” He rolled down the window and shot a stream of tobacco juice into the night.

“He’s my kid, Jeff. Mine.” She hooked her thumb at her chest in agitation. “I just want to know that he’s all right.”

“You should have thought of that years ago—like before he was born.”

“I did.”

He braked for the turn into the ranch. The truck glided on a sheet of black ice. “Son of a—hold on!” Dani braced herself. With a groan, the rig made the corner, the trailer side swiping one of the gateposts. Horses squealed. Jeff let out a stream of oaths that wouldn’t quit. Dani seethed.

As the truck rambled through the snowdrifts piled on the lane, Jeff hazarded a glance at his wife. She wouldn’t back down. Not this time. Mutinously, she inched up her chin a fraction. Lately they’d fought. A lot. She couldn’t help but notice the resentment harbored in his brown eyes, the fierce displeasure etched in the corners of his mouth.

“Face it, Dani. He’s not your boy any longer. You took care of that, gave up all your rights as a mother—every last one of them—when you signed those papers. You’re out of luck on this one, babe. Besides, how would he feel if he met you? Knew you gave him away? Knew that his old man was a bastard who knocked you up then split?”

“But—”

At the stables, Jeff eased on the brakes and the truck shuddered, tires spinning against wet snow as the pickup and trailer slid to a stop.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this talk.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Of course I can.” He offered her a smile without the slightest trace of warmth. Tobacco flecked his teeth. “I’m your damned husband. Remember?”

Irritation crawled up her spine. “That’s not the same as lord and master.”

“It is in my book.” He raked frustrated fingers through his thick butterscotch-colored hair. “Look, I’m not trying to come off like Attila the Hun here, but you’re driving me nuts with all this talk. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Like hell. The next thing I know, you’ll want to find a private investigator, then an expensive big-city lawyer so you can get custody.”

“I’d never do that. He has parents, probably good ones. I just want . . .” I just want to see him, to know that he’s all right. But was that really enough, or was Jeff right? Would she want to talk to him, to try to explain, to hold him and kiss away his tears ... Damn it all, her own eyes were starting to fill.

“What’s going on with you, Dani?” Jeff asked, his voice so low it could barely be heard over the whistle of the wind. He studied his wife huddled against the door, as much distance as possible between their bodies. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned off the ignition and let the keys dangle from his fingers. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on the kid’s father?”

“Of course not.”

He ignored her denial and tapped his fingers on the steering column. “It’s strange, you know. The way you’ve never told a soul who the bastard was who did this to you. You haven’t even confided in me and I’m your husband.”

“It’s not important.”

“Isn’t it?” He pocketed his keys. “I’ve always wondered about him—what kind of a yahoo he was.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She wanted to squirm. True, she’d never told anyone about the baby’s father and she had her reasons.

“Better not,” he said with a humorless smile. “’Cause you’re mine, damn it. Until I say otherwise.”

“Or I do.”

Condensation was collecting on the windows. Jeff opened the door and a blast of wind as raw as the Yukon swept into the cab. “Sometimes I can’t remember why I bothered to marry you.”

* * *

She thought the same thing. He’d been kinder in the beginning, more understanding, and they’d wanted the same things in life, or so she’d thought. A carefree man, he’d had an easy smile, and though his tongue had been sharp, it hadn’t been aimed at her until two years into the marriage. But their dreams—a ranch of their own, horses, cattle and children—had become a burden.

His philandering and cutting remarks had hurt. That night of the blizzard his comments had penetrated deep into her heart, but she had learned to ignore the hateful little barbs, just as she’d turned her eyes away from the fact that he’d been cheating on her. She’d guessed that there were other women from the start, but she’d never had any proof, didn’t want any. She’d kept the marriage together—the dream—because she believed in the “until death do you part” section of the marriage vows. In fact, she believed in all of them, but eventually there had just been no reason to continue. Their life together was a sham; everyone in town knew it. Jeff wanted out. So they’d divorced and split their meager assets. Dani had clung on to this ranch as if it were her own, refusing to give up the lease, working from dawn to dusk trying to make enough money to save this little scrap of land tucked under the rimrock because it was all she had left.

She’d never considered giving up. Stubborn Donahue pride, her mother had often suggested. After the divorce, Dani had lost weight, hadn’t been able to sleep nights, and worried herself sick about the future. She’d even bought her first pack of cigarettes in years, enjoying the calming smoke. In the darkness of her room, she had shed her share of tears over yet another failure in her life, but during the day, she’d worn an I-don’t-give-a-damn smile that she’d pasted onto her face for everyone to see.

Most of the pain was in the past now. The fact that Jeff was living with Wanda Tulley, a waitress at the Black Anvil who was four months’ pregnant, bothered her, but it wasn’t the same dull ache she’d experienced for months after giving up her baby. No, this ache was simpler. Her pride was bruised. Any love she’d felt for Jeff had died a long, long time before.

Now, as she rode up the final slope toward the ranch house, she was determined not to fail again. But fate seemed against her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t afford to keep up the payments on the ranch and her mother’s words rang in her ears. “Running a ranch isn’t a job for a single woman, Danielle.”

Dani’s cocky reply had been something to the effect that she didn’t plan on doing it by herself. But it was as if she’d been cursed on that day, and now, true to her mother’s worries, she was scrambling to make ends meet. Alone. Trying to save a ranch she didn’t even own.

She’d worked a deal with the owner of the property and planned to sublease the main house. She could live over the garage in a small apartment. If only she found the right person to rent the place. She’d left the actual leasing and subleasing and all that legal mumbo jumbo to her brother-in-law, Max, who was a lawyer and whose company, McKee Enterprises, owned a good share of all the buildings in the small town of Rimrock. Max would find the perfect tenant with the right credit rating. All Dani had to do was move out by the first of July and she was just about ready.

“Let’s go,” she said to the horse. The sun had disappeared over the western ridge of mountains and dusk was settling through the valley. A sliver of moon appeared in the deepening sky as Typhoon crested the final hill and the heart of the Macgruder ranch came into view. Outbuildings, ranch house, stables and a network of interlocking paddocks were a familiar and welcome sight.

Home.

For as long as she could keep it.

Clucking to the mare, Dani saw a movement beneath the pine tree near the garage. Parked next to her old Ford Bronco was Max McKee’s new Chevy pickup.

Urging Typhoon into a faster gait, she waved, recognizing Max from a distance. Tall and broad shouldered with brown hair streaked by the sun, her brother-in-law stood in the lengthening shadows beside another man, a man she didn’t recognize. He, too, was over six feet and had ink black hair and dark skin. His head was bent in conversation and she couldn’t see his features clearly, but her heart gave a little kick. Maybe this was the new tenant, the man who would help her hold on to the ranch. Smiling inwardly, she hoped that he had a wife and a couple of kids to fill up the empty house she’d shared with Jeff—the house she’d hoped to pack with her own children. She’d always loved kids and had envisioned a passel of them running through the fields, splashing in the creek, chasing after the barn cats, laughing and talking and asking her to show them how to ride bareback.

Her heart ached.

Someday, she told herself. It’s still not too late. And someday you’ll have your own, or at the very least, find the one you’ve already had.

And no one would be able to stop her. No one. From this day forward, she was a woman with a purpose. Single-minded and determined.

Clearing a suddenly thick throat, she dug her heels into Typhoon’s dusty sides and charged forward, determined to face whatever God had in mind for her.