Jake (8 page)

“Yeah.” Cory ducked his head.

“And Cory?”

When the boy lifted his head, Jake added, “I’ll call in the morning and give you a report on how Shadow got through the night. And then, if you’d like, I’ll come by and pick you up so you can have a visit with him in the barn. If your colt’s strong enough, I’ll have you take him for a few laps around the corral.”

The boy nodded and turned away.

Jake drove to the barn and unhitched the horse trailer before driving past the ranch house. In the rearview mirror he watched as the mechanic cleaned his hands on a towel before climbing up to the seat of the tow truck.

Satisfied that Meg had a means of transportation and enough food to see her and Cory through the night, Jake picked up his cell phone and called the first rancher on his long list of patients in need of his care.

He’d put off his own schedule long enough. Now it was time to get to work. From the list of calls on his cell phone, he’d be lucky to get home before midnight.

Meg stashed the brown bag in the refrigerator and watched as Cory wandered out to the barn.

Was he working out there, mucking stalls, or was he just hoping to put as much distance between them as possible? Did he resent her in his house? After all, in the years he’d lived here, he’d never had to share it with anyone except his mother and father. And now both were gone, and he was probably feeling so alone.

Jake had suggested that she ought to know what the boy was going through, but in truth, she didn’t have a clue. What could she possibly have in common with an aloof little kid who could barely stand to be in the same room with her?

How would he adjust to living in a big city? Even with a haircut and new clothes, she couldn’t imagine Cory adjusting to living in her posh town house, attending a private school in D.C. while she worked. And what would she possibly do with him on the weekends, when she put in another twenty or more hours on the high-profile cases the firm handed her?

It would be a lonely, unsatisfying life for a little boy who’d grown up wild and free here in Wyoming. She knew that only too well.

Still, what choice did she have? She’d made a life for herself in D.C. Was she supposed to just walk away from all the hard work she’d put into her career to care for a kid she hadn’t even known about a week ago?

So many worries. And another headache beginning to throb at her temples.

She walked through the house, pausing to study the dusty photographs. On a cluttered mantel she found several framed pictures of her father with his third wife and Cory.

Meg wiped away the dust to study their faces. Her father, looking so much older than she’d remembered. And his wife looking like a schoolgirl in faded denims and skinny shirt. She’d been a pretty little thing. Pale, dark-haired. She looked so proud holding the baby.

What in heaven’s name had her father been thinking, to marry again and have a kid? At his age. He should have been more responsible than this. Setting the photo aside, Meg climbed the stairs to her father’s bedroom and began pulling things from his closet. The least she could do was to box up his clothing for a local charity.

As she worked, she came across a photo album on a top shelf. After wiping away the layers of dust, she opened it to find, on the very first page, a picture of her father and mother holding a baby and looking so proud and happy. The caption
My Meggy
had been written in her father’s distinctive scroll.

Meg dropped down on the edge of the bed and began flipping through the pages. Here was a small framed picture of her with her father and mother when she’d been about five. She’d been bundled in a snowsuit, barely able to move her arms or legs with all that bulk, and the three of them were standing beside a giant snowman. The sight of them had her laughing aloud. Her father had jokingly held up his fingers like devil’s horns behind his wife, who was, as always, frowning.

Meg had forgotten what a prankster her father had been. When he wasn’t giving orders like a drill sergeant, which he confessed to doing only because he wanted to drill into her the importance of being orderly, he was constantly playing jokes or doing pratfalls to make her laugh. It had been his most endearing quality.

A few pages further along she found a photo of her and her father with her beloved Strawberry. Meg looked at the little girl, eyes dancing, smile so wide it would have lit up the entire sky, and her father, his arm around her shoulders, looking for all the world like a superhero.

He had been her hero that day.

She’d loved him so much. And loved that pony almost as much.

The thought had her smiling as she continued flipping through the pages and staring hungrily at her childhood unfolding before her. So many memories, and all of them forgotten until now.

How could she have forgotten the way her father had allowed her to drive the tractor—with him seated alongside, of course—while they rolled across the fields? Or the fact that on the first snowfall of her ninth year, he’d hitched a team to an old-fashioned sleigh and had taken her on a sleigh ride across the pasture? Oh, how she’d loved that feeling of skimming across the frozen land, their laughter ringing in the frosty air.

There was a picture of the two of them taking a flying leap into the creek that ran through the high meadow. It had been their favorite pastime on sultry summer days.

And another photo of them at a bonfire, roasting marshmallows. Meg could close her eyes and still taste the sticky, melted confection fresh from the fire. Her father had always saved the last one for her.

Nearly an hour later, when she closed the cover of the album, she sat on the edge of her father’s bed and wiped away the tears that had welled up and caught her by complete surprise.

Not that she was feeling nostalgic, she reminded herself. It was just that she’d forgotten more than she remembered. Such sweet, innocent times. Before the anger, the bickering, the finger-pointing. Before she’d been wrenched from the only home she’d ever known to start a new and bewildering life in a big city, among strangers.

Needing to be busy, Meg returned to the closet. There were other albums, of other wives, but she had no interest in looking at the pictures. Maybe another day. For now, for this short time, she wanted nothing that would distract her from the pleasant images that were playing through her mind.

She was surprised to hear footsteps on the stairs. She peered into the hallway to find Cory walking toward his bedroom.

He turned. Seeing her he called, “’Night.”

“Good night? We never had supper.”

“I’m not hungry. It’s late.” He moved on down the hall.

“Yeah. Okay. Good night, Cory.” She glanced at the window and realized that the sun had set long ago and darkness was already creeping across the landscape.

An hour later, as she made ready for bed, the pleasant feelings remained.

She made her way down the stairs to lock the doors. While she was there, she made herself a cup of tea before turning out the lights and heading for her bedroom.

Jake’s sound sleep was shattered by the ringing of his phone. He rolled over and thought about ignoring the persistent ring. He’d spent hours tending to lame horses, pregnant mares, and even Flora’s ancient cat, who finally coughed up enough meat loaf to kill the average kitty.

Flora had been mortified. “If you ever tell my customers what made Nippers sick, Jake Conway, I’ll put arsenic in your soup.”

“Yeah. I guess it might have a few of your regulars refusing to try your famous meat loaf if they heard what it did to old Nippers.”

“It wasn’t the meat loaf. It was his overeating. I should have named him Piggers.”

The two of them laughed together before Flora sent Jake on his way with half a homemade apple pie, which he’d managed to polish off before reaching home well past midnight.

And now some fool cat had probably gotten itself sick again. Or maybe up a tree.

He was so weary. He would just—

The phone rang yet again, and swearing, he made a grab for it. “Yeah?”

For a moment there was only silence.

“Hello,” he barked. “This is Jake Conway.”

“Jake?” The frantic, whispered voice on the other end had him sitting up on the edge of the bed.

“Cory? What’s wrong?”

“I heard a sound and looked out my window. There’s someone out there.”

Jake ran a hand over his face, suddenly wide awake. “Where are you?”

“Upstairs. In my room.”

“All right. Now listen to me, Cory.” Jake was already up and moving about his room, searching for the clothes he’d tossed aside…had it been only an hour ago? “Go to your sister’s room and wake her. Tell her I want the two of you to stay in her room until I get there. And you may want to put something heavy against the door so it can’t be forced open. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t open that door to anyone but me, son.”

“I won’t.”

Jake fumbled into his clothes and boots and slipped his phone into his shirt pocket.

Downstairs he raced to his father’s big office and removed a rifle and handgun from a locked cabinet, along with a pouch of ammunition.

He was out the door and on the road within minutes. As his truck ate up the miles, he dialed a number and waited until he heard a voice that sounded as weary as his own.

“Police Chief Everett Fletcher here.”

“Everett. Jake Conway.” In a few terse sentences he explained about the phone call, and his destination.

“You want me out there, Jake?”

“I’ll check it out and report in. If you don’t hear from me within the hour, I’d appreciate some backup.”

“You got it, Jake. You stay safe now.”

Jake’s tone was pure ice. “Count on it.”

Chapter Six

Meg. Hey, Meg.”

At the sound of Cory’s frantic whispers, and his hands shoving roughly against her shoulder, Meg jerked awake and sat up in the darkness. “What—?”

At the sound of her voice a small hand clamped over her mouth. “Shh. There’s someone out there. Don’t let him hear you.”

“An intruder?” She sat up, struggling to untangle herself from the blanket.

“I saw him out my window.”

“A man? You saw a man?”

The boy nodded. “Jake said to wake you.”

“Jake?” Her sleep-fogged brain couldn’t seem to wrap around the boy’s words. “Jake’s here, too?”

“I called him.”

“We’re alone here with the intruder?” Now she was up and rushing to the window. “Where is he? I don’t see anyone. Are you sure you saw someone out there?”

“I’m sure. I know what I saw.”

Meg looked around the room. “I need a weapon. Something I can use to defend us.” Spotting the curtains, she pulled down the round wooden rod, testing its weight.

Seeing what she intended, Cory caught her arm. “No. Jake said we should stay here in your room until he comes.”

“What if he doesn’t come?”

“He said he would.” The boy raced across the room and leaned his thin shoulder against the dresser. “Jake said we should block the door so the intruder can’t get in.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, but against her better judgment Meg moved to the other edge of the dresser. Together, pushing, shoving with all their might, they managed to position the heavy dresser against the door.

Then, hearts pounding, faces intent, the two of them pressed their ears to the door, waiting for whatever danger lay just beyond.

Meg crossed to the night table and flipped open her phone, dialing the police chief’s number. In a breathy voice she said, “It’s Meg Stanford here. Cory spotted an intruder.”

“Yes, ma’am. Jake Conway already alerted me. Are you and the boy all right?”

“We’re okay for now. We’re up in my room.”

“That’s good. You stay there. Jake’s on his way. When he gets there, he’ll report in.”

Meg clutched her phone, wondering why the knowledge that Jake was coming gave her a measure of comfort. Still, her heart continued racing like a runaway train.

The agony of having to wait, without knowing who was out there or what he was doing, had her breathing hard and fast. Each minute felt like an eternity.

Jake drove like a madman. As though the very devil himself was after him. When he reached the gravel road that led to the Stanford ranch, he cut the lights on his truck. No sense telegraphing to the intruder that he was coming.

As he approached the house, all his senses went on high alert.

He hoped to hell the guy was still around. After the night he’d put in, Jake was feeling mean and itching for a good knock-down, drag-out fight. He couldn’t think of a more worthy opponent than the creep who had trashed Meg’s car and her father’s office.

As he rounded the corner of the house he saw a sudden movement on the porch. Jake snatched up his rifle and was out of his truck in an instant. He could just make out a man’s figure leaping over the porch railing and racing hell-bent toward the barn.

“Stop right there or you’re a dead man.”

The figure never even paused as it rounded the corner of the first barn and continued on, with Jake in hot pursuit.

The man ahead changed directions and suddenly veered away from the second barn in the distance, choosing instead to plunge headlong into the dense woods.

At the edge of the woods Jake paused to listen. There was no thrashing around. No snapping of twigs or crunching of footsteps. Except for the sounds of night birds and insects, there was no way of knowing where the man had gone. He could be far ahead, racing toward freedom, or hiding nearby with his own weapon, hoping to ambush his pursuer.

With a string of muttered curses, Jake turned and made his way back to the ranch house.

When he climbed the steps to the porch, he found a glass pane shattered and the back door ajar, and could see the pry marks where the intruder had used a heavy bar to force the door open. In his haste, the intruder had dropped the pry bar before fleeing.

Stepping inside, Jake threw on the lights and stepped carefully around the shards of broken glass lying on the kitchen floor. He threw on more lights as he moved through the house and up the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms.