Dangerous Revelations 1o62c

Table of Contents

Excerpt

Dangerous Revelations

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

A word about the author…

Thank you for purchasing

Also available from The Wild Rose Press

Carly pulled her robe around her more closely and practically flew out of the house, looking with scorn at the young man secured on the front porch. Dillon sat in a chair, his rifle across his lap, and pulled on a T-shirt that he’d collected from somewhere in the house, the dirty laundry no doubt. He held the young man’s wallet in his hand and was opening it when Carly snatched it, pulled out the driver’s license, and inspected it under the porch light. “Since you couldn’t introduce yourself the two times we’ve met in person, Mr. Michael Barnes of Atlanta, Georgia,” she read, “let me just tell you that I am Ms. Carly James and I am fed up. You and the other goons have intimidated and frightened my family and me. You have ransacked this house and left the mess for us to clean up. It stops right now.” She couldn’t help herself; she marched right over to him and jabbed her index finger in his chest enjoying the look of surprise and wariness on his face while ignoring the strong arms of her cowboy wrapping around her and lifting her gently back. “Calm down.” She whirled on him, “I will not calm down, Dillon Johnson, until I have some answers.”

Dangerous Revelations by Jacki Ring

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Dangerous Revelations COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Jacki Ring All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Information: [email protected] Cover Art by Abigail Owen The Wild Rose Press, Inc. PO Box 708 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First Edition, 2021 Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3572-8 Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3573-5 Published in the United States of America

Dedication I dedicate this book to my parents and the other strong, independent men and women of the Nebraska Sandhills.

Chapter One 1975

Barbara Fields caressed her slightly rounded stomach as she peered around the thick redwood trunk, silently counting the followers as they filed into the compound’s meeting hall. Thirty-five. Until two weeks ago there’d been thirtysix. She felt sick thinking about the missing man. No one ever escaped. Over the past days, a sense of dread and urgency overwhelmed her. Ever since their leader Jerome returned to the compound from an overnight trip, he had been in a very dark mood. He carried his automatic rifle with him everywhere and met in private with his senior deacons twice. Then, this morning, he announced a mandatory meeting. When he did so, that feeling of dread morphed into doom and panic. As though he felt her watching him, Jerome turned from where he stood a few feet from the meeting hall, scanning the trees at the edge of the forest. Had he been counting the as they ed into the hall? Did he suspect she’d slipped away? Barbara pressed her lips together and turned her back on the compound and all it represented. Squaring her shoulders, she struggled toward the top of the steep hill, grabbing at tree trunks and undergrowth to aid her progress. She’d just crested the hill when she felt the jolt of an explosion. Looking back, she doubled over with a gut-wrenching sob as she saw the flames and smoke where the building once stood, where her friends once sat, waiting for Jerome. After giving into a sudden bout of nausea, she reminded herself that she must survive, she must give this tiny life she carried a better chance. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she hoisted her heavy backpack higher and increased her pace on the downward slope. The night’s darkness surrounded her like a cloak as she emerged from the forest near a rest area on an interstate. She used the facilities, then paused in the shadows of the building to survey the parking lot. Selecting a flatbed trailer covered with a bright orange tarpaulin, she started to walk again, making sure she appeared to be casually crossing the parking lot. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of anyone who may have heard news of a fire at the

compound. A row of trees blocked the view of the rest area from the interstate, so she rounded the truck and stopped under the branches. Standing silently, she looked for any observers, listened for voices or footsteps. After hearing or seeing nothing suspicious, she used the wheel hub to hoist herself and her backpack up under the tarp. Coming face to face with a large piece of equipment she thought was a commercial heating or air conditioning unit, she crawled around to the front of its smooth, gray metal housing and lay down. For a while, she stayed awake, nervous at every sound. Finally, she let herself drift off to sleep. Unsure of how much time ed, she awoke to the sounds of a diesel engine. Only moments later, the trailer began to move. It was still dark, so she let the sound of the engine lull her back to sleep. When she next awoke, it was light outside. The orange of the tarp glowed eerily under the bright sun, reminding her of the sky above the burning compound. Barbara squeezed her eyes shut against the memory and once again tried to push down nausea. It took a few moments to realize the truck was not moving and the engine silent. Staying low, she crawled to the edge of the trailer bed and peered out from under the tarp. The truck was parked at a construction site. Chain-link fence surrounded the lot, and a group of men in yellow hard hats stood some distance away. With her backpack looped over one arm, she decided it was now or never, so she slipped over the opposite edge of the bed and walked away quickly, not looking back. Luck was with her, for she made it out of the chain-link gate and onto a sidewalk without being noticed. She paused after a block to get her bearings. A short distance away she saw a sign that stated a business name beginning with Medford. Could she be in Medford, Oregon? Barbara allowed herself to relax just a bit. When her stomach rumbled, she checked her watch. It was after ten in the morning, almost a day since she’d last eaten. Choosing a direction that she felt might take her downtown and to busier streets, she walked until she saw a familiar fast-food chain restaurant. It had been well over a year since she ate at one, but she assumed they still offered a value menu. She’d managed to squirrel away a small amount of money. Volunteering for laundry duty at the compound literally paid off. After a small and late breakfast, Barbara emerged into the morning sun looking for a place she could sit and think about the next step of her plans. Wandering

aimlessly along the street, she came upon a cemetery where she thought she might find solace. A paved path wound through the gravesites, and soon she found herself outside a low wrought-iron fence that enclosed small headstones, many of them decorated with balloons or stuffed animals. How sad, she thought, as she cupped her belly protectively. Then a niggling memory teased her. She ed reading how people who wanted to change their identity often looked for the grave of a child who would be approximately their age if they lived. Ah, yes! If she could find one, perhaps she could go to the public library and research their newspaper archives for the obituary and obtain enough information to order a birth certificate. Once she had that, she could get the identification that would allow her to work legally while leaving her past behind in case Jerome came looking for her. After all, she was his stone left unturned. Barbara wandered between the rows, watching for the year of birth on each one. She was sixteen, but everyone said she looked older. Less than a quarter of an hour later, she found it. Paula Anne Samuelson. March 10, 1971 to May 6, 1974. Beloved daughter of Jonathan and Linda. Getting her journal and a pencil out of her backpack, Barbara quickly jotted down the information and then, with a feeling of hope, she turned and walked out of the cemetery. It was time to go to the library and then find a way to Portland. There, she would find resources for the homeless until she established her new identity and earned enough money to herself. **** Two months later, Barbara stopped at the mailbox for her room. She lived in a derelict boarding house in a poor part of Portland, but at least there was a roof over her head at night and a relatively soft surface to sleep on. Now known as Paula, she spent very little time there other than to sleep and bathe. She needed an ID to obtain a legal birth certificate under her new identity. Luckily, when you only were required to mail in a photocopy of the ID, perfection wasn’t required. Her job as a waitress at a seedy diner was a boon. Here, she found someone who claimed he could make her an illegal document. Getting a fake license under her assumed name did not cost as much as she feared it might. She pulled open her mailbox to find a large envelope from the vital records office. Yes! Now she

could truly become Paula Samuelson. The very next day she asked her boss if she could leave early. He had been kind to hire her without legal proof of a tax ID number when she explained that her card was stolen. The man may have suspected that all was not above board, but he didn’t seem the type of character to care. Consequently, by the end of the day, she possessed all the documents she needed. One day at the diner, not long after she became “legal”, Paula met a cop by the name of Roger James. Cops tended to make her nervous. Her mother had earned money in some illicit ways, and when Paula got picked up for shoplifting when she was twelve, she spent the night in juvie. Ever since then the police made her nervous, but Roger seemed nice. He frequently stopped at the diner with his partner Al for lunch. By chance one day, Paula overheard Roger telling Al how he and his wife could not have children and that he worried about her. “Since she teaches, the school year isn’t so bad, but the summers really stretch for her, and she gets down about not being a mom.” “Can’t you adopt?” Al asked. “We’re on the list, but Marian wants a baby, and the list is long. Also, we don’t have the money for a private adoption.” Paula started asking other diners and people in the neighborhood about Roger. She found out that people thought of him with the highest regard. His reputation was that of a good man who treated everyone equally no matter their skin color or income level. A week later, she got up her nerve and, when Al left the booth to go to the restroom, she timidly approached Roger. “I couldn’t help but overhear you speaking to your partner the other day about you and your wife wanting to adopt a baby.” His eyes swept over her abdomen, which clearly displayed her pregnancy. “Oh yeah?” “I know you told him you couldn’t afford a private adoption, but I’m wondering if you could afford the hospital bill and an attorney for a private adoption.” She didn’t wait for him to speak but rubbed her belly and went on. “This baby needs loving parents who can give it a far better home than I ever could. I haven’t got

enough to pay for the hospital bill, although I’ve been to the free clinic each month and the doctor tells me that the baby is healthy. I have tried to eat right and take care of myself. I don’t smoke, drink, or use drugs.” Here she paused. Roger looked up at her hopefully. “Are you saying that my wife and I could adopt your baby if we paid for the attorney to draw up the adoption papers and your hospital bill? Nothing else?” Paula shrugged. “Nothing else. I just want it to have a loving home and a wonderful future.” The next day Roger came back and reported that his wife was jubilant and made an appointment with her OB/GYN for Paula. If the doctor gave her and the baby a clean bill of health, he would hire an attorney to write up the agreement for them all to sign. Only two months later, Paula called Roger and his wife to let them know she was in labor. They picked her up and accompanied her to the hospital. There, Marian held Paula’s hand and coached her through the labor while Roger paced anxiously in the waiting room. Paula declined to hold her baby girl. She didn’t think she could do it and walk away. But she listened as Roger and Marian told her they selected the name of Carly Anne, choosing to use Paula’s middle name. Little did they know, she was a fraud. Two days later, as she left the hospital, Roger pressed a card into her hand. “We will always give you an update on Carly, any time you want it. You can call, and as she grows up, we’ll always tell her how much you loved her.” Paula hugged them both and walked away, wiping tears from her cheeks. She hesitated at the nursery window and looked at her daughter, wisps of dark hair escaping from her little knit cap. Turning, she made her way to the elevator and took the bus back to her lonely rented room. After a night spent curled up on her bed and sobbing, she rose, packed her few belongings, walked to the diner to collect her last paycheck, and then made her way to the bus depot. Stepping up to the ticket counter, Paula politely told the man how much money she had to spend on a one-way ticket and asked where it would take her on the next bus available. Many hours later she stepped off the bus in Butte Valley, Nebraska. The bus driver told her it was a sizable town with a population of around thirty thousand. Paula bit back a laugh. After growing up on the streets of

Los Angeles, this seemed like a village, not a town. But after she spent a surprisingly little amount of money renting a room in a mom and pop motel, she thought that the small size was a blessing. She followed the horrible news reports on the television and in the papers about what Jerome had done, and that a manhunt was out for him. She wrote out her feelings of guilt over her inactions to save her friends from the fire in her journal. But even if Jerome figured out she was alive, why would he ever look for her in a small town in western Nebraska? The next day she went to a local café for some breakfast. Over a filling bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee, she perused the local want ads. When her eyes landed on the word housekeeper, her heart lifted. Wanted: Live-in housekeeper on a family owned Sandhill Ranch. Duties include cooking, laundry, housework, and help raising a five-year-old boy. Reading on, Paula found a number to call. Asking the cashier for a dollar’s worth of change, she made her way to the back of the café and used the pay phone, hoping it wasn’t too early to call. “Hello,” a friendly sounding male voice answered. “Hi. My name is Paula Samuelson. I’m calling about the ad you placed in the Butte Valley paper for a housekeeper.” “What kind of experience do you have? You sound pretty young.” ing her new identity, Paula told the man that she was twenty-one. “I’ll be honest,” she stated. “I have never been a housekeeper.” She didn’t mention that she cooked and did laundry for a small crowd at the compound. “But I am a hard worker and can clean and do laundry and cook. I recently worked as a waitress in Portland, Oregon, and I helped in the kitchen sometimes. You could call my boss there. He’ll tell you I did a good job.” “Portland, Oregon, huh? What brings you to Nebraska?” Paula crossed her fingers and took a deep breath. “I don’t have a family, and I’m tired of the rush and crowds of the west coast. I guess I’m looking for a fresh start somewhere different. I got on the bus and ended up here.”

“How would you feel about taking care of a motherless five-year-old boy?” Paula managed to swallow a sob. “I would enjoy it. I like children. They’re so happy to learn and experience new things. Taking care of him would give me a chance to experience something new myself.” And maybe it could make up in some way for giving up Carly. “My ranch is about a two-hour drive from Butte Valley. Do you have a car?” She didn’t want to lose this opportunity but chose honesty. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” “Do you have a place to stay?” “I found a motel room that I can afford for a few more days.” “Why don’t I meet you someplace tomorrow? I’ll bring my son with me, and we can have lunch together.” “I would like that,” she replied with renewed hope. “Great. My name’s Leland Johnson. Where are you calling from, ’cause it kind of sounds like a café in the background?” “It’s the Butte Valley Cafe next to my motel.” “I know where that is. How about if Dillon and I meet you there at noon tomorrow?” “Perfect. I’ll be here, Mr. Johnson.” The next day Paula made sure she arrived at the café early. She waited in the glassed-in foyer, so nervous she felt sick to her stomach. Her stash of money was dwindling, but hope was disappearing on a faster rate. For once, she wished for a break, a step up in life. And then she saw them approaching, a good-looking cowboy holding the hand of a cute little boy. Inside her heart, hope flared.

Chapter Two 2020

Dillon Johnson pulled off his brown leather cowboy boots and settled in behind the old roll-top desk. His stepmother’s will lay on top of the paperwork in the center of the workspace. Picking it up, his eyes settled on the words my daughter, Carly Anne James. He never knew his beloved stepmother gave birth to a child before she came into his and his dad’s lives. The day the attorney read the will, Dillon was shocked and, if he were honest with himself, a bit angry. Hadn’t she loved him enough to tell him? It left him wondering if his father knew. “Daddy?” He looked up to see his six-year-old daughter Taylor making her way down the stairs clad in her pajamas, her blonde hair mussed. She clutched the rag doll that the woman his child called Grandma made for her last Christmas in the crook of one arm. Dillon sat up straighter and held out his arms to her. “What’s the matter, sweet pea? Can’t sleep?” Brushing back her long hair from her face, Dillon picked her up and sat her on his lap, wrapping both arms around her. She leaned her small body against his. “I miss Grandma.” Heart aching, he gently kissed the top of her head. “I know. I do, too.” Paula Johnson was the only mother Taylor knew since his wife died in childbirth. In fact, Paula had been the only mother he ever knew. The memories of his birth mother were vague since she presented unexpected divorce papers to his father when Dillon barely turned five. She left so quickly, she failed to even say goodbye to her son. “Sing to me, Daddy,” came his daughter’s soft command.

As he did since the day she came home from the hospital, Dillon began by humming and then broke into soft words. “Twinkle, twinkle little star…” Taylor’s eyes drooped, and by the end of the song, she was asleep. Rather than immediately carry her back upstairs to her bed, Dillon enjoyed the feel of her warmth within his cradled arms. He leaned his head back and let his thoughts drift. He still ed the first time he met the woman who became his stepmother. Dillon’s dad woke him and said they were going to town that day. “Which town, Daddy?” “Butte Valley.” Dillon ed being excited. Butte Valley was the biggest town he and his dad ever went to, and when they did go, his dad usually stopped at the farm and ranch supply where Dillon was allowed to pick out a toy. There were so many choices—toy ranch animals, little barns, corral fences, tractors, and trucks. He owned an entire collection that practically filled his bedroom floor, but there was always room for another cow, a pig, or a horse. At that age, he always liked the horses best, but the cows were a close second. It took a long time to get to Butte Valley—over two hours of driving time. Dillon and his dad talked about many things on the way. Dillon sat in a little booster seat that allowed him to set up higher in the truck and see out the windows. That way he could tell his dad about the horses and cows that he saw, if the little ponds they ed were full or drying up. On the way, his dad told him what they were doing. “We’re going to meet with a lady who might come to live with us as a housekeeper.” “What does a housekeeper do?” “She would clean the house, do our laundry, cook our meals, and take care of you.” “But I’ll be in kindergarten in the fall.”

“I know you will, but you will still need someone to drop you off and pick you up from school. And you can’t stay in the house alone after school, you know.” Dillon wasn’t giving up that easily. “But I like going out to work with you.” “I know you do, and I like that, too, but sometimes it’s too dangerous. Rowdy isn’t very big, you know, and one of those mean old black cows could just run over you and him.” Dillon loved his pony Rowdy, but the cows were awfully big, and he was sometimes scared around them, so he didn’t have a comeback. His dad went on. “We need help, so let’s give this lady a chance. We’re meeting her for lunch, and I want you to mind your manners while we’re at the café.” Dillon adored his daddy. He hadn’t left him like Mommy did. “I promise, Daddy.” As they walked into the café, Dillon tucked his small hand into his dad’s much bigger one. Someday, he thought, his hand would be big and roughened from work, just like Daddy’s. Thinking about it made him feel more grown up. They went into the area between the two sets of outer doors, and there stood a woman with long hair that was almost the same color as Daddy’s horse. A bay, that’s what Daddy called it. And her eyes were the color of a chocolate bar. She was chewing her lower lip and, when she saw them, she stopped. “Hi, are you Leland Johnson?” Her voice was sort of breathy, like she’d been running. His dad stopped and let go of Dillon’s hand, reaching his out to the pretty lady. “I am, and you must be Paula.” The lady nodded. “I am.” Dillon felt his dad’s hand land gently on the top of his ball cap. “This is my son.” What happened next endeared the pretty lady to him forever. She squatted down and looked at him under the bill of his cap. “Hi there. My name’s Paula, and I’m really excited about meeting you today.” That was all it took. She spoke to him like an adult and not a little kid and she made herself short just like him. He couldn’t help it, he grinned and then, feeling

a little shy, leaned against his dad’s leg as he said, “Hi.” Paula and his dad talked a lot over lunch. Dillon tried to to mind his manners, picking up his cheeseburger with both hands instead of one, trying hard not to squeeze it too tight so the catsup wouldn’t drip out on his clothes. Even though he loved French fries more than any other food in the world, he carefully put only one in his mouth at a time. Dillon smiled to himself as he ed how she noticed. “You have such good manners,” she remarked to him. He stuck out his chest a little more. At the end of the meal after he finished his bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup on it, his dad said, “Paula, if you would like it, the job is yours.” The rest of the day went quickly. They drove to a motel where Paula went in and came out with two bags. She slid into the truck and Dillon moved to the middle. They went to do some shopping then. At the farm and ranch supply, she helped him pick out his toy. “Do you want to know what I would choose?” she asked as she bent over at eye level to him once again. Dillon nodded. “I would pick this pretty horse. I don’t know what you call that color, but I’ll bet your dad does.” She looked up at his dad expectantly, and his deeper voice answered, “That’s a buckskin.” He left the store with his small hand tucked into Paula’s soft larger one. In his other hand, he clutched the new toy horse. At the grocery store, she asked them a lot of questions. What did they eat for breakfast? What kind of cookies did they like the best? Were they meat and potatoes kind of guys? Dillon’s father told her they raised their own beef, had a milk cow, and made their own butter. He went on to say they raised hens and so they gathered their own eggs, and that every year they raised some chickens to eat. On the way back to the ranch, Paula kept on asking questions. When was his birthday? When his dad told her it had just ed, on October 18th, Dillon

thought he saw a tear slide down her cheek. Surely, not. Why would his birthdate make her cry? The drive home didn’t feel like it took nearly as long as usual. They all worked to unload the things they purchased along with Paula’s luggage, and then Dillon climbed the steps and proudly showed her their two guest rooms. She asked where he slept and when he told her, she took the room nearest his so that if he needed her in the night, she would be closer. “It’s a lovely room,” she pronounced after his dad brought up her luggage. “I will always know how hard and which direction the wind is blowing, just by looking out the window at the windmill on top of that small hill.” After that, she turned to him, “Will you set the table, sweet boy, while I fix us some supper?” Dillon eagerly rushed down the steps to do the chore. And later, when they ate grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, chicken noodle for him since he didn’t care for tomato, the world felt just right to Dillon. For the first time since his mom left, it felt like home. After that first day, they all grew used to each other. Just like his dad said, Paula cooked three meals a day for them. She cooked good, too. The first time she made macaroni and cheese from scratch, as she called it, Dillon felt very wary. It looked almost white and really creamy, not orange and kind of dry like the stuff from the box that they usually ate. He waited for Daddy to take a bite first, instead eating a bite of the ham steak Paula served with it. When, out of the corner of his eye, Dillon saw his dad take a cautious bite and then make a little moaning sound and immediately take another bigger bite, Dillon decided it must taste all right. And it did! In fact, he loved it. It was nice to always have clean clothes and to sleep on sheets that Paula hung on the clothesline to dry. They smelled of fresh Nebraska air when he slid between his sheets. He cleaned his own room, but Paula helped. She taught him how to vacuum and dust and help do the dishes. And then, after a month, she asked his daddy if he would teach her how to ride a horse. Dillon still ed the look on her face when she went on that ride. He was astride Rowdy and watching closely when his dad showed her how to mount. She looked just a bit sad much of the time, but when she settled into the saddle, a different look settled onto her face. Dillon could look back now and realize that the look was one of peace. And, as she spent more and more time with horses, it

healed her. Now, Dillon realized that Paula’s life before she came to Nebraska probably caused her sadness. **** The last of the background music died off, and Carly James took a bow, breathless and exhilarated. The junior high student body lowered their cell phones, causing her to be sure they took and shared a thousand videos and photos. The other teachers and the principal were clapping and whistling enthusiastically. Carly couldn’t help but laugh in response. She first promised her English classes that she would do something shocking if they would read more books outside of the classroom than ever before. They asked what she would do. After some thought, she replied, “I’ll rap and hip-hop Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.” “You hip-hop?” a student asked, wide-eyed and doubtful. “I don’t, but I have plenty of time to take classes.” Soon, the challenge grew to encom all the junior high students. The librarian reported that she needed to order in books on inter-library loan and beg for more funds to purchase some. Parents told her how pleased they were that their child chose to read over watching television. By January, Carly knew she was in big trouble and sought out hip-hop dance lessons. As she straightened up from the bow, her best friend grabbed her and hugged her. “You did it!” Soon the other teachers were around her. “The kids loved it!” Another said, “Some of those hip-hop moves make me ache just thinking about it.” A third said, “After hearing you sing, I would have never thought you could rap so well.” And finally, “I’ll bet you are already going viral on social media.” Someone handed her a hand towel, and Carly gratefully accepted it to wipe off the sweat. “I can’t believe I did it, either, but I’m tired now.”

“Well, you can head home,” the principal said. “Thank goodness we scheduled the assembly for the last hour.” As Carly drove home, she received a call from her mother. “How did it go, sweetheart?” “Surprisingly well,” Carly replied with a chuckle. “I’ll even it it was fun. I’m probably all over Facebook and Twitter, Snapchat, and Instagram now. All the kids took their phones out and were videoing and snapping pictures of me. But it was worth it. I can’t believe how many books the students read.” Located in a low-income area of Portland, Oregon, many of the school’s students read far below the level they should be at. Carly knew that they picked out books they could read easily at first, but then they stretched themselves and chose higher level books. Yes, it was all worth it to see her students succeed. Carly realized her mom was still speaking. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t catch that.” “Oh, I just said that I fixed pot roast for dinner and I thought you might come over. Something came in the mail for you today, and your dad and I are curious about it.” “Hmm. I wonder why it was sent it to you rather than my apartment.” “We think we know why, but will you come over and we can explain more?” “Sure, will I have time for a shower first?” “Of course. Your dad won’t be home for another hour or so.” Showered and changed into clean jeans and a pretty plaid shirt, Carly used her key to open the front door of her childhood home. “I’m here.” “We’re in the kitchen,” her father replied. Carly found them both there, her dad carving the roast and her mom dishing up the vegetables. Gravy, a fruit salad, and dinner rolls were already on the table. Carly’s stomach growled loudly. “You worked up an appetite today, I’ll bet,” her father remarked. “I saw your

performance on Facebook, and you did great!” “I didn’t know you could make those dance moves,” her mom said. “No wonder you lost a few pounds while you were taking those lessons.” “I know! I thought maybe I should keep them up.” Her father paused to kiss her cheek as he walked past her with the platter of meat. “You’re skinny enough, pumpkin.” Carly knew she had a good figure, but the dancing added more muscle. “I know, Dad, but I feel so healthy now. I developed muscle in places I didn’t know I could, and it’s a lot more fun than running on the treill.” After they were seated and dished up their plates, Carly asked the one question that had been burning in her mind since her mother’s phone call. “So, what’s this mail I received?” “Oh, yes.” Her mother reached back to the sideboard and picked up a crisp white legal-sized envelope, handing it to her. “The Law Office of Joseph McCormick,” Carly said out loud, then looked at her parents. “I swear I’ve done nothing to be sued.” “It wouldn’t be that, pumpkin. When you’re sued, the summons is handed to you personally.” “Look at the return address,” her mother prompted. Carly, who had already started to open the letter, flipped it back over. “Butte Valley, NE.” She paused. “That’s the abbreviation for Nebraska.” Curious, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of letterhead. Unfolding it, she scanned the typed letter quickly and then looked up at her parents. “Someone named Paula Johnson named me in her will. Do you know who that is?” “Does it mention another name, honey?” her mother asked. Carly looked back down at the letter. “Yes, it says she was formerly Paula

Samuelson.” “That’s what we were wondering about,” her father said. “Paula Samuelson was your birth mother.” Her parents were always open about her adoption. In fact, she knew since before she started school. They told her that her birth mom had been young and couldn’t afford to buy her the food or clothes she would need growing up. This meant that she loved Carly so much that she gave her up for adoption. She knew the story of how the young woman approached her father after hearing him talk to his partner about how he and his wife wanted to adopt a newborn baby but didn’t think they would ever get the chance due to the long waitlists. “My birth mom,” Carly spoke quietly, mostly to herself. She’d never much cared about knowing any more about her. Her adoptive parents loved her so much she’d never needed anyone else. Her dad’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “What did she leave you?” Looking back at the letter, Carly read aloud. “Forty percent of the balance of her personal funds and life insurance estimated at approximately twenty-five thousand dollars and many of her personal effects including quilts and journals.” “That’s a goodly sum of money.” “Yes.” Carly looked up at her father. “About half of it would pay off the rest of my student loans.” Her mom spoke next. “I’d say she wanted you to have a piece of her by giving you the quilts and journals. Those are very personal items.” Carly nodded, suddenly feeling tears burning at the back of her eyes. Even though her parents always told her how much her birth mother loved her to give her to them, she never thought of it that way. Now she realized she may have been in error. To hide the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks, she returned her attention to the letter. “It says I should make arrangements with the executor to receive my inheritance. His name is Dillon Johnson. His address and phone number are included.”

“I think you should call him and tell him you will travel there and pick up the things.” “Mom, it would take two to three days to drive there. And it might be upsetting to this Dillon for me to show up.” “It’s not like you can’t call him and tell him you’re coming. And you only need to stop by. Otherwise, you’ll stay in a hotel. But, honestly, there are probably people in the area who could tell you more about her. I guess I feel like this is your chance to find out more about the woman who gave birth to you. If you don’t do it now, you may regret it when you’re my age.” Carly carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. “You’ve made a good point, Mom, but I think I’ll sleep on it.” “That’s a good idea,” her dad agreed, “and if you decide to drive there, let me look over your car good before you leave.” Carly smiled and stood up, leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. “First and foremost, always my protective dad.” “Hey, I’m a cop. It’s my duty to serve and protect.” Carly did sleep on it. In fact, from the time she drove away from her parents’ house until midmorning the next day, she thought about little else. If her birth mother had been unable to provide for her, she should be thankful that she gave her to her adoptive parents. She’d been given an excellent life, and her parents cared for her very much. It made sense that Paula cared for her very much, as well. Had she been unfair to the woman who gave birth to her by not thinking about her, by not being curious and asking questions? She’d seen a picture in her baby book of the young woman. She stood outside an office building, very pregnant. It explained where Carly got her dark hair and dark eyes. Paula looked very young and vulnerable, too. Making a decision, Carly made the arrangements to travel to Nebraska. **** Five days later, she pulled into Butte Valley, Nebraska for the night. She finished up her work at school in record time. It didn’t take her long to clean out her fridge and ask her next-door neighbor, Meghan, to keep an eye on her apartment

while she went to Nebraska. On his day off, her dad went over her car— checking the oil and transmission, the coolant and the battery, and deciding her tires looked good. Now she saw what appeared to be a hometown motel with a sign up that proclaimed it to be both affordable and newly renovated. In the parking lot was a café where she could get some breakfast in the morning. The room was surprisingly nice with an almost new bed. It was clean and comfortable and was affordable as d. Tired after driving for two long days, Carly slid into bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. After a Denver omelet, whole wheat toast, and a cup of coffee, Carly felt ready to start her day. It was well past the breakfast rush, so she slipped her cell phone along with the attorney’s letter from her purse. She found the number for Dillon Johnson and nervously punched in the ten digits. Just before she thought it would go to voicemail, a man’s voice answered. “This is Dillon.” His voice was smooth and masculine, not old enough to be her birth mother’s husband. Perhaps he was her son. “Uh, hi.” Carly could have kicked herself. She sounded like an idiot. “This is Carly James.” She didn’t have to say anything more. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you. I’m glad you called because we need to make arrangements to get the things Mom left to you shipped.” So, she had a half-brother. “I am wondering if I could pick them up. I would kind of like to know more about her, and I thought maybe you could tell me a bit.” The phone fell silent for a moment, as if he needed to have some time to take in her answer. “Sure. We’re quite a way from Portland, though.” “I know, but I had some time, so I just got in the car and headed out.” “Where are you now?” “In the Butte Valley Cafe.” She heard a chuckle on the other end of the conversation and a word that she

swore sounded like “Figures.” “Pardon me?” “I said that figures. That’s where I first met Paula.” So, he wasn’t her brother— probably her stepbrother. “In the Butte Valley Cafe?” “The very one. I was five, and my dad interviewed her for a housekeeper position. Who knew that the two would get married not more than six months later?” “So, my birth mother was your stepmother?” “That’s right.” Words failed her until she finally uttered, “Wow.” “Do you have paper and a pen?” The rich sound of his voice pulled her back to the conversation at hand. “I do.” “Let me give you driving instructions. It’s about a two-hour drive, and if you’re a city girl, you’re going to get into an area you have no idea exists.”

Chapter Three

An hour and a half later Carly knew Dillon was right. She was in an area she did not previously know existed. She drove on a nice four-lane highway for the first half hour out of Butte Valley. On either side were large irrigation pivot systems watering fledgling crops. Carly sang along to a classic rock station on the radio as she drove through this farmland. On the south and in the rear vision mirror, she saw the tall, dry buttes that Butte Valley was obviously named after. She met semi-trucks and cars, pickup trucks, and an occasional motorcycle. Then she came to a stop sign where the highway came to a dead end. The choices were to turn right, to the south, or to the north. No one was behind her, so she quickly checked her written directions. Dillon said to turn left toward the north. As soon as the turn lane ended, Carly found herself driving on a two-lane highway. It had wide shoulders, though. On each steep grade that she came to, there were ing lanes where she zoomed past the slower vehicles, mainly semis and RVs. After only about a half an hour, the highway veered to the right, and the wide shoulders disappeared. Soon tall hills covered with grass were on all sides. Cattle of various colors grazed peacefully in pastures fenced with barbed wire. Now and then she ed a windmill or a pond. Occasionally, a road would meet with the highway. Mailboxes or signs marked the entrances to these. Dillon suggested she set her trip odometer when she left Butte Valley, and she did. “You’ll drive one hundred and fifty miles, and then you really want to watch for the sign,” he’d directed. And so, when she got to one hundred and forty-five miles, she pulled over where a gravel road met the highway and reread her written instructions. There would be a green highway sign ahead on her right that would say Road 135. She would turn on it and reset her trip odometer. At exactly eighteen miles she would turn again. Pulling back onto the highway, needlessly watching for traffic on what had become a sparsely traveled highway, she lowered her speed until she saw the sign. Pleased, as she’d assumed she would be traveling on a gravel road like the others she ed, Carly found herself on a one-lane paved road. One lane, she mused. What did you do when you met another vehicle? She

found out soon enough when she cautiously topped a hill and screamed when she came nose to nose with a pickup truck. She jerked the wheel to the right and went halfway off the road, as did the other truck. An older man waved as he continued back onto the road and into the distance behind her. Carly, on the other hand, sat for a moment half off the narrow blacktop until her heartbeat returned to normal and her hands quit shaking. After easing back onto the road, she lowered her speed and continued on her way, thankful there were no drop offs on the edge of the road as there were in the mountains. Farther down the road, she pulled over once again and made sure she pulled completely off the road and in the right of way so she could check her directions. Her odometer read fifteen miles and, according to what she wrote down, she would drive on this road until she saw a gravel road to the right with a signpost that said 7-L Angus Ranch. Here, she would turn to the right and drive to the road’s end, about two more miles. After she turned Carly wondered if she could go any slower and still be moving. Every time she stepped on the gas on this gravel road, she felt the back end of her car skid to the side. It felt like she drove over a pioneer’s washboard, and by the time she neared the buildings she saw she needed the bathroom rather urgently. She rounded the end of a small lake edged with what she knew to be cattails and lovely willow trees. Then she followed a curve around it toward the west and the buildings. She counted several of them including a red barn, metal sheds, a larger metal building, small buildings, a trailer house, and a lovely but older two-story stucco home. She pulled her car up just on the edge of the lawn and at the end of a sidewalk that led to the front door. Little did she know as she eased out of the car door, thankful to have her feet on the ground, that inside the house young eyes were anxiously watching for her. **** “Daddy, she’s here!” Taylor’s yell of delight mingled with the barking of their two dogs. Dillon wiped his hands on the dish towel and walked into the other room. The house wasn’t as clean as he would have liked, but they only had just over two hours to work on it after Carly called. Pulling open the door, he opened his mouth to greet his newfound stepsister.

She spoke first. “Hi.” Speechless, he stared at her. She looked exactly like Paula did at that age. Mahogany colored hair, layered to frame her pretty oval face, caught the morning sunlight causing the red in it to dance in the slight spring breeze. Her eyes were the color of a milk chocolate bar, her lips shone with peach colored gloss. And just like Paula did on the day he met her twenty-eight years earlier, she chewed on her lower lip. “Daddy, you’re supposed to say hello.” Taylor’s voice penetrated his numbed brain, and he finally closed his mouth to try again. “Hi. Carly?” Her look of anxiety turned into a smile. “Yes, and I am assuming you are Dillon.” She thrust out her hand to him, and he took it in his. That mere touch set every nerve ending in his body on fire. It affected her, too, he knew because she looked down at their clasped hands and then up into his eyes with a look of bewilderment. Damn, Dillon thought. He had not experienced anything like it since he met Holly. And even their chemistry was mild compared to this. Carly’s gaze moved from him and shifted toward Taylor. “Hi there. I’m Carly, what’s your name?” Dillon knew he should have introduced his daughter, but since he had not, he stayed silent and let the child introduce herself. “Taylor. I’m six.” “Six is a great age. I when I was six, I loved to play with my fashion dolls.” “I do, too.” Taylor looked up at him. “Daddy, I think you’re supposed to invite her in.” He pulled himself together, “Yes, I think I am.” Then he stood back and held the door open wider. “Please come on in, Carly.” Shutting the door behind her, he looked around the room as she did, studying it as though through her eyes. An old baby grand piano and several guitars filled

one corner. A roll-top desk sat in the other with two comfortable leather chairs in between. A large forest green rug lay atop the wood floor beneath the chairs. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I hate to be rude, but I could use the bathroom. The drive is fairly long.” “Sure.” He led the way over to the half bath tucked underneath the stairs and flipped on the light. As soon as the door closed behind her, Taylor tugged on his hand and declared in a loud whisper, “She looks a lot like Grandma.” When he knew Carly was coming, Dillon explained to Taylor that her beloved grandmother gave birth to a baby whom she gave up for adoption before she came to Nebraska. This resulted in a myriad of questions but, as with most children, she did not judge her grandmother’s actions and only expressed curiosity about them. The sound of water running soon indicated that Carly would be ing them in a minute or two, and Taylor took it upon herself to once again remind him of his duties as a host. “We should offer her something to drink.” At that moment Carly emerged from the tiny room. “Would you like something to drink?” Dillon asked. “I can make coffee, we have iced tea, juice…” his voice trailed off. “I would love a glass of iced tea.” Taylor led the way into the kitchen. “Can I have apple juice, Daddy?” “Sure, sweet pea. Why don’t you girls have a seat and I’ll bring the drinks over?” The two of them sat at the dining room table on the other side of the counter. He poured two iced teas and a juice. “Do you take sugar in your tea?” “No, thank you.” ing them, Dillon handed out the drinks and then sat in his usual seat at the north end of the table. “How was the drive?”

After a moment’s silence, she said, “Amazing and a bit scary. You were right when you told me I would get into an area I did not have any idea existed. I drove all the way from Portland and saw so much. Eastern Oregon is hilly and drier. I really enjoyed the drive through Idaho. They have some nice farmland. Then Utah and Wyoming were so barren and different from what I’m used to. I drove I-80 all the way, of course, but, Nebraska has not been what I expected.” “What did you expect?” “More of Wyoming, I guess. Certainly, I did not expect these big rolling hills covered in lush grasses. And the distance between each road that left the highway seems so far. Once I left the highway, I didn’t see any buildings other than a few sheds until I came to that little white church with the school almost next door to it. How far away are your closest neighbors?” “A mile or two across the countryside, close to five by road.” She drank her tea as though taking time to contemplate his answer. “I’m wondering if I should dare ask, but is there a motel in the closest town?” “The closest town is Willow Flats and, no, they do not have a motel.” “Oh, so I’ll drive back to Butte Valley for the night.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “There are closer towns with motels, but not from the west. It’s only an hour and a half to Coopersville to the southeast, although the road to there is worse.” “Worse?” “Close to half of it is one-lane gravel.” “Oh.” “And there is an older motel in the town about forty miles to the south, but I wouldn’t recommend staying in it. And the road that direction is much worse.” Dillon thoroughly enjoyed the emotions that he saw in her face and eyes and was reminded so much of the woman he called Mom. After a moment he decided he would put her out of her misery. “I expected you to stay here. We have a guest room.”

“Daddy and I cleaned it this morning,” Taylor piped up. A look of amusement crossed Carly’s face and, when she next looked at Dillon, he saw understanding in her eyes. He had been embarrassed by his daughter’s comment. After all, it made it sound as though it hadn’t been clean when, in fact, it only needed fresh sheets, dusted, and vacuumed. “I don’t want to put you and your wife to any bother, but I would appreciate staying here. I’ll help out in any way I can to make up for it while I’m here.” Dillon could use the help. Paula cared for Taylor when he worked on the ranch. She cooked, cleaned, and did the laundry, although Dillon pitched in during the evenings and any other time he could. Since his stepmother died, he’d felt a bit like he barely kept his head above rising water. He knew he needed a housekeeper, but his budget didn’t extend to that. “I would appreciate that. It’s just Taylor and me.” Then, wondering if he could trust the pretty Carly James, he asked, “So what do you do back in Portland?” “I’m a junior high English teacher.” That made him feel better. Surely, they wouldn’t hire a teacher who wasn’t trustworthy. “That’s a pretty rough age, isn’t it?” “It can be, yes. I also teach in the poorest school in the city, so we have a lot of students who come from single-family homes, whose first language is not English, and who are already in gangs.” Then she paused and laughed. “But they can be such great students. Many of them read at very low levels, so this year I decided to challenge them to read more outside of school. They each were expected to come up with a reading goal, but I required that it be at least one extra book a month.” “Ah, was it one of those things where you would do something silly if they met their goals?” “Yes, as a matter of fact. I promised to hip-hop and rap Romeo and Juliet on the last day of school if they succeeded.” “I assume that they did.” “They went over by an additional fifty percent. It was outstanding.”

“Did you hip-hop?” Taylor asked. “I did,” Carly replied. “I even took lessons. Rap was a good choice because I cannot carry a tune, but I have pretty good rhythm. I have a video I’ll show you,” she told his daughter. “In fact, I suspect there are videos all over social media.” “Does that bother you?” Dillon wondered aloud, thinking of how much Paula preached to him of the evils of social media and why he’d never opened a Facebook or Twitter . “Not really. It was for a good cause, and I don’t think I did so badly at it that I need to be ashamed of it. Perhaps it will serve as motivation to other teachers to challenge their students.” The living room clock chimed the eleventh hour, and Dillon realized he should start on lunch. “I should warn you that, while I cook enough for us to survive, I am not a fancy cook. In fact, I thought we would have sloppy joes, frozen potato crowns, and canned baked beans for lunch.” “That sounds great, but why don’t you show me where everything is and let me prepare it? I’ll bet Taylor can set the table. It will give you a little break.” Thankful for the offer, Dillon said, “I won’t argue. While you do that, I could haul your luggage upstairs if you would let me.” “That would be wonderful.” She reached for her purse on the floor beside her chair, located her keys, and handed them to him. “It’s all in the trunk.” After giving her a quick tour of his kitchen and locating the hamburger in the fridge, he asked if she needed anything else. Turning, he found Carly staring at the pound of hamburger wrapped in white butcher paper. “Do you butcher your own beef?” “I take it to the butcher in Willow Flats, but I do raise my own beef.” She had a look of wonder on her face, so he quickly added, “Certified all natural and organic.” “We have our own milk, too,” Taylor said.

“Do you make your own butter?” “We do. It’s yummy. Grandma used to make cottage cheese, though, and I don’t like it.” “How about a garden?” “Definitely,” Dillon said. “I just finished planting it last week.” Carly smiled at both of them. “I believe I’ll have a glass of milk with my lunch if you wouldn’t mind. I have never drunk unpasteurized milk.” With that, she turned away and started looking for a skillet. Dillon smoothed his daughter’s blonde hair where it slipped out of the messy ponytail he fixed that morning. “You help Carly with lunch, okay?” “I will, Daddy.” She drove a pretty light-blue hybrid. Unlocking the hatchback trunk, he found two suitcases and two smaller bags, one obviously a laptop bag. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out he just had old-fashioned dial-up Internet even though he had been thinking about upgrading to satellite for both television and Internet. Dillon knew he missed out on a lot with just dial-up and the three TV channels he could pull in with his antenna. Petting his two inquisitive dogs, Max and Sadie, he reached in for the two suitcases and hauled them up to the porch, then went back for the two smaller bags. Once back in the house he made two trips, enjoying the sound of feminine voices and laughter coming from the kitchen. That, combined with the feeling he encountered when touching Carly’s hand, made him ache for a woman in his life. Oh, he had his stepmom, but he only had a wife for a little over a year. One very short year. Who knew that in the twenty-first century women could still die from childbirth? Surgery could not save her from hemorrhaging, and when it was time to go home from the hospital, only Dillon and his baby daughter made the trip. Dillon met Holly in college. Mesmerized by her pale blonde beauty, he asked her out her freshman year when he was a senior. He proposed to her at Christmas during her last year of college, and they married the weekend after she graduated. During the three years that it took her to finish school after his

graduation, Dillon worked with his dad on the family ranch, making the threehour trip to see Holly almost every weekend. During summers it was an even longer trip, but she came out frequently and stayed at the ranch. It was long enough now that Dillon’s memories of her were fading. These days he could even look at his daughter and out past the single-wide trailer home they lived in together for their short marriage without his heart breaking. “Daddy, lunchtime!” Taylor’s voice from the base of the stairs pulled him out of his reverie, and he made his way down the steps to the ground floor where the smell of sloppy joes made him realize just how hungry he felt. The child’s next words, “Wash your hands, Daddy,” caused him to step into the tiny half bath to wash before stepping into the kitchen and dining room where he found the table set with Paula’s favorite pottery dishes in three different colors— yellow, red, and green. “I gave you green today,” Taylor told him, “because Carly says you must have a green thumb to raise a good garden.” “That’s true. Who has the red?” “Carly, ’cause when she stood on the front porch, I could see a lot of red in her hair just like Grandma’s.” “Then you get the yellow to match your hair.” “That’s right.” Carly walked over with a bowl of sloppy joe mixture and one of the potatoes. Setting them next to the small bowl of baked beans and plate of buns, she said, “That’s everything.” Pulling out her chair, she sat down and laid her napkin on her lap. “After lunch, I’ll show you the guest room,” he said. “Thank you. Taylor told me that it is a lovely room with a quilt made by Paula on the bed.” “Mom loved to quilt, even small things like this.” He leaned ahead to run his hand across the pretty quilted topper made of bright primary colors that adorned the center of the table. “That’s one of the things she wanted you to have. There are, I think, three trunks full of them around the house.”

“Surely, she wanted you and Taylor to have some of them.” “The will doesn’t specify that, but I will it I would rather you not take the ones off our beds.” Carly looked horrified at the thought. “Of course not, and you need some of them to her by, especially Taylor. You both knew her, I did not.” “When we get finished sorting through her things, I think you’ll know her better. I haven’t touched a thing in her room since her death. I didn’t get up my nerve until after the reading of the will, and since then I’ve waited until you ed me. I will it, at first, I was shocked to know I had a stepsister.” **** Carly took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as she looked across the oak table at her stepbrother. When he opened the front door, she immediately noticed his height. He must be at least a couple of inches over six feet, she thought, with thick, dark blond hair and blue eyes that were a few shades darker than his daughter’s. He sported a well-trimmed beard and mustache the same color as his hair. However, he looked tired. Life could not have been easy for him since Paula ed away, she thought. As she navigated the long road to Dillon’s ranch, she’d spent the time thinking how different life must be for the residents who lived at the end of the roads that met the highway. There was no mass transit as for city dwellers. Grocery stores were not found every few blocks. Borrowing a cup of sugar from a neighbor would take planning, then driving miles. When you were tired and hungry at the end of a day of work, you could not hit the nearest drive-thru or have food delivered. A trip to the movies would become a major outing. She wondered where they bought their gasoline. Then she thought about emergencies. Where was the nearest hospital? With these thoughts in mind, Carly became determined to help her stepbrother in any way she could. She enjoyed cooking, and the idea of cooking for Dillon and Taylor appealed to her a lot. She could certainly help with the housework and the laundry as well. She was extremely curious about their lifestyle and, so, when she and Taylor were alone in the kitchen, Carly set out to learn some answers. “Taylor, are you out of school for the summer?”

Taylor opened a drawer and began counting out silverware, her tongue peeking from between her lips as she concentrated. She didn’t answer until three sets of the flatware were on the cheerful yellow tiled countertop. Then she walked closer to Carly. “I’ve been out for two weeks. Next fall when I go back, I’ll be in first grade.” As Carly crumbled hamburger into the skillet atop the electric stove, she noticed the child watching intently. “Where do you go to school?” “To the school you on the way here.” Recalling the small school she ed halfway up the narrow oil road, Carly grimaced thinking of the long and bumpy bus ride the child must face. “I assume you ride a school bus.” “No. Grandma took me.” Suddenly, the little girl looked ready to cry. “Daddy has to now.” After sliding the potato crowns into the oven, Carly bent down to hug Taylor before changing the subject. “Where do you go shopping?” The child brightened. “There is a little grocery store in Willow Flats. Sometimes, we drive to Coopersville, and they have two grocery stores. And sometimes we drive to Butte Valley. I really like when we go there because they have a mall and Daddy will take me to buy new clothes.” “I bet you can order things, too,” Carly prompted. “Yes, we order a lot of things, like towels and sheets. But Daddy likes me to try on the clothes and shoes in a real store.” As they talked, Carly decided Taylor was a delightful child. Reaching out to stroke her soft hair, she wondered if she needed help setting the table. “Shall we set the table?” Taylor nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, but I can’t reach the plates.” She pointed to one of the white painted cupboard doors. “They’re in that one.” As Carly set out plates and glasses, she mused about the child. Taylor set the

table willingly and properly. She carried the drinks to the table so carefully she did not spill a drop. Indeed, she seemed eager to please and happy to chat. Carly looked around the homey country kitchen. It had ample cupboard and counter space for food preparation. She could easily envision trays of fresh baked cookies there. A window, framed with yellow gingham curtains, above the double basin sink looked out over the backyard. She could see a sturdy, homemade clothesline there stretching the width of the lawn. Yes, staying at the ranch for a few days would certainly be no hardship. Carly found herself eager to learn more about Paula and to get to know this father and daughter pair.

Chapter Four

Carly struggled to think of Dillon as her stepbrother as she followed him up the stairs to the second floor. The man nicely filled out the butt of his faded and well-worn jeans. As he reached the top and turned back toward her, she thought for the second time since he first opened the door for her that he had the type of body that indicated he didn’t work out in a gym. Instead, he worked hard, no doubt on his ranch. She doubted if his body held an ounce of flab. It was all pure muscle. “These rooms here,” he indicated an open pocket door, “are Taylor’s and mine. That one across the hall was Mom’s. Yours is right here.” He walked to the open door in the southwest corner of the hall. “You can use the bathroom right there at the end of the hall. It’ll be all yours.” Carly stepped into the room to discover that sunlight flooded it from a bank of windows facing the south and a pair facing the west. The oak furniture wasn’t new but looked to be heirlooms. The bed displayed a quilt pieced together with vibrant shades of purples, greens, and pinks. She trailed her fingers across it. “I don’t know much about quilts. Do you know what this pattern is called?” “Stained glass.” “It’s so beautiful and intricate.” Peering at it closer, she realized that the stitching wasn’t quite perfect. “It’s hand quilted,” she said as much to herself as to Dillon. “Yes. Dad and I turned the one-car attached garage into a sewing room for her. But she also had a big hoop quilt stand, and much of the time it would set in the front room by where the piano is. She would spend her evenings quilting while Dad and I played the piano and guitar.” Carly looked up at him in surprise. “You’re a musician?” He shrugged. “An amateur one. A few guys in the community and I get together and play for a dance at an old community hall now and then, but that’s all.” She found herself looking forward to an evening of music. “I can’t wait to listen

to you play. Are you teaching Taylor?” “The piano. Her hands are a little small for the guitar yet. She sings and has a sweet little girl voice.” He looked around the room and walked across to open a door into a small walkin closet. “There are plenty of hangers in here and lots of space in the drawers. Why don’t you settle in a bit while I go do the dishes? Afterward, I need to ride the wells, and maybe you’d like to come along.” Then he turned and left, and only the sound of his boots on the stairs remained. Carly found herself standing in the middle of the room thinking of three words, “ride the wells.” What on earth did that mean? Did she want to go along? And then she chuckled because when she stopped at a truck stop in Cheyenne, she saw a Wyoming T-shirt with a cartoon drawing of a buxom woman in a bikini, chaps, and a vest astride an oil well pumpjack with hat in hand over her head. Carly shook her head. Surely not. She unpacked her suitcases, hanging up any items that were wrinkled and hoping they would shake out without ironing. Underwear and pajamas went into the dresser. A writing desk sat in front of the south-facing windows, and she placed her laptop there, plugging it in to charge and reminding herself to ask Dillon if he would share his Wi-Fi with her. She placed her work bag that contained her latest cross stitch project on the floor next to the rocking chair, which also sat in front of the windows, thinking it would be the perfect place to spend a quiet afternoon. It was there in the corner that she saw a fire extinguisher. The sight of it jogged her memory, and she stuck her head outside the door. Yes, there in the hallway was another, and now she ed seeing one in each room downstairs. In fact, the one in the kitchen looked quite hefty. When she grabbed her toiletries bag and took it down the hall to the bathroom, she discovered one more. Bemused, Carly decided she would have to ask Dillon if there was a high fire danger in the area. The hills were covered with grasses and, in a dry thunderstorm, she supposed there could be quite a risk of lightning starting a fire. Just as she shut off the light, she looked up and saw a sprinkler head, much like you would see in an office or retail building. Stepping into the hallway, she saw Taylor. “Daddy sent me up to tell you that you might want shoes on instead of sandals when we ride the wells. He said you probably don’t have boots, but tennis shoes will work.”

“Thanks, Taylor. I have tennis shoes; I’ll slip them on.” Returning to her room, she fetched them out of the closet and realized the little girl loitered in the doorway. “Do you like the room?” “I do. I especially like the quilt your grandma made. I can’t wait to see the others. And I love this brass bed.” “Do you want to see my bed? The quilt is called a sunbonnet girl.” With her shoes on and tied, Carly stood up and held out her hand. “I’d love to.” She waited until the little girl slipped her smaller hand into hers before moving toward the door. Taylor’s room was smaller than the guest room, but the windows there faced the north and the east. Her white daybed held a handmade quilt of little girls wearing sunbonnets. The colors were pastel pink, yellow, lavender, and green. “Oh, Taylor, I love this. It’s perfect for your room.” After iring it a bit more, Carly straightened and looked around the room. The windows were framed with pretty ruffled curtains in white, and the walls were painted a pale pink. A two-story dollhouse tall enough to hold fashion dolls stood in the corner. Dropping to her knees, Carly took delight in inspecting the dollhouse more closely. Filled with furniture that she thought may have been handmade and even upholstered, there were tiny paintings hung on the walls. “This is amazing, Taylor. Where did you get it?” “Daddy and Grandpa and Grandma made it for me the Christmas I was four.” “Wow, you’re a very lucky girl. It is obvious they all loved you very much to put this much work into it.” “Ladies, are you about ready to go?” Dillon’s voice sounded up the stairs. Carly got up and took Taylor’s hand and led her out of the room. “We’re coming. I was just iring the dollhouse.” Now she ired him as he stood at the foot of the steps, one booted foot two steps up, the other on the floor, a white straw cowboy hat on his head. “It’s beautiful, and Taylor told me you made it.”

“I had some help. I couldn’t have done it by myself. Dad and I did the woodwork and the wall finishing. We made the furniture and Mom covered it, made the curtains, and the bedding and stuff. We bought the dishes and some of the fixtures from the miniature store in Butte Valley.” “I owned a dollhouse when I was a kid, but it was a purchased one and not nearly so nice.” She noticed Dillon’s eyes followed her every move as she descended the steps. At last he spoke. “So, are you ready to venture out into the pastures?” “I am.” Only minutes later they were all three in a blue truck that Dillon called the ranch pickup. The two dogs that were introduced to her as Max and Sadie hopped into the back and waited for their adventure. Carly moved a coffee can with a pair of odd-looking pliers, a hammer, and some strange looking U-shaped nails in it over to one side of the floor in order to get in. Taylor climbed in the middle and fastened her seatbelt. When Carly reached for her own, Taylor told her that big people didn’t need to wear them in the pastures. Carly did anyway, thinking it might be best for her first time and that it set a good example for the child. It was warm enough that she rolled down the window and, as Dillon put the vehicle into gear and pressed on the gas pedal, she enjoyed the feel of the country wind on her face. They drove down the short gravel road past the end of the lake. Carly enjoyed the site of ducks swimming on the water. Then they stopped at a gate made from the same barbed wire as the fence. Dillon got out and opened the gate, dragging it wide and laying it on the ground, then he returned to the pickup, drove through the gate, stopped again, and got out to shut the gate. She turned toward Taylor. “How many times does your dad do this with the gates?” “Lots. He says that when I get older, I can help by opening the gates or driving the pickup through them but that I’m too little now.” When Dillon returned to the truck, Carly said, “I’m curious what you mean by riding the wells. In Wyoming, I saw a T-shirt of a woman astride an oil well pumpjack, but I suspect that’s not quite what you meant.”

Dillon laughed heartily. “I’ve seen those T-shirts, but no, that’s not what it means. During the months when I don’t have to feed the cattle hay, I drive around the pastures about twice a week and make sure all the windmills are working. I keep my eye out for sick cattle or broken fences, too.” Carly smiled. “That’s a long way from anything I envisioned.” The ride was rough as Dillon navigated over a road created out of two ruts through the grass. She was glad she fastened the seat belt for it kept her in place instead of bouncing all over the cab. Before long, Dillon pulled up to another gate. She unfastened her seat belt and opened the door. He looked at her curiously. “Going somewhere?” “Yes, I want you to show me how to open and close the gate. That way I can help out.” “You’re sure? Barbed wire is prickly, and sometimes it takes a bit of brute strength.” “I’m sure. I’ll be careful, and after those hip-hop classes, I’m stronger than I look.” Without waiting for a reply, she got out of the vehicle and walked through the sand and grass to get to the gate where she stood waiting for Dillon. He was beside her in only a moment and proceeded to demonstrate how to open the gate. He included such warnings as, “If you’re going to do this after today, remind me to give you a pair of Mom’s leather gloves to wear.” And, “When you release the hook, be sure you have a good hold on the post. If you don’t, it can slip and hit you right in the middle.” Then, “When you’re dragging the gate open, be sure to hold it away from you, so you don’t catch your clothes or your skin on the barbs.” And finally, “When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” “Last year when I cut myself on an old bucket helping Dad with his little backyard garden.” Carly waited patiently beside the gate that now lay on the ground as Dillon drove through the opening. Then, he was beside her once again, to demonstrate closing it. “Make sure you get the bottom of the post firmly seated in the loop of wire. You insert the lever past the post and then pull back on it until you latch the

hook. Double check it to make sure it’s fastened so it won’t spring back and hit you.” Finally, they were back in the pickup. Carly enjoyed looking at the cows, their sleek black hides soaking up the sun. Some calves were at their sides or nursing. Others seemed to be in groups, running with their tails in the air, butting heads. “They’re just like children, aren’t they?” she commented. “They are. And sometimes you think the cows are communicating with each other even though they aren’t making a sound.” Taylor pointed to where two big bulls were butting heads and pawing at the ground. “Look, the bulls are fighting.” “That’s more like sparring,” her dad said. “They get bored and like to look for trouble.” It took well over an hour to drive around the huge pasture that Dillon called summer range. He explained that in the winter months he fed the cows supplemental feed and hay, so it was convenient to have them closer to the buildings. In the summer, though, when they grazed, they needed more acreage, so he moved the herd here where the acreage offered plenty of room. They drove past three windmills, slowing at each while Dillon looked them over. At one he got out, pulled off his glove, and fished a pile of weeds out to throw on the ground away from the tank. Carly asked, “Do you mind my asking how big your ranch is?” “Not at all. It’s about four thousand acres which allows me to run a little over two hundred head of cattle. It’s definitely a one family operation.” As an apartment dweller, four thousand acres of land seemed enormous to Carly, but she had read about the size of big ranches now and then and knew it really wasn’t that large. He looked over at her. “Do you want to go up our highest hill? And before you answer, I should warn you that we must walk part of the way. It’s too steep for the pickup.”

Carly could see one massive hill in particular. Now, she pointed at it. “Is it that one?” “It is. It’s one of the tallest in the Nebraska Panhandle.” “Does it have a name?” “Well, on the top it has a geographic marker—a stake pounded into the ground— with a number on it. It’s a surveyor’s stake.” “You can see a long way at the top,” Taylor said. “Then let’s do it.” As Dillon slowly drove up the steep slope, Carly clung to the door frame. At times, it felt as though the truck might flip over end to end. Finally, he parked it on a slightly more level space and looked across the cab at her. “From here we walk.” Carly had taken plenty of hikes through the Oregon mountains, and this one seemed just as steep but with no trees to hang onto to pull herself up. Instead, Dillon would stop intermittently at the top of the steepest portions and hold out his hand for her to take. It felt so good to hold his hand that she toyed with appearing helpless, but she just wasn’t that kind of woman. Taylor, she noticed, had no trouble scurrying to the top without assistance. When they finally crested the last rise, Carly’s breath caught in her chest. The tableau before them stretched for miles. Hills and small lakes dotted the landscape. Lush green valleys lay between, and cattle of all colors could be seen throughout. Not far away she could see a group of buildings. “Is that another ranch?” “It is,” came Dillon’s reply. Then stretching out his arm he pointed to another group of more distant buildings. “And there’s another.” Carly took her time using her phone to take pictures in each direction. She would text some to her parents later. Then she smiled up at her stepbrother. “This has been lovely.” When they arrived back at the house, Dillon pointed out the different ranch

buildings. He pointed to two small ones. “That’s the hen house and the house I can raise chicks in.” “You raise chickens?” “Yes, which means every evening we have to gather the eggs.” “I it I am in awe of you raising so much of your own food. I try to eat healthily, and it is very difficult at times. Organic produce can be more expensive and even contains bugs and blemishes. I am going to be spoiled when I go back to Portland.” Dillon checked his watch. “It’s about time for me to gather the eggs and milk the cow. While you were settling in, I laid out a couple of steaks and thought I could grill them and some steak fries. I think I have the stuff around for a salad.” “I haven’t eaten a steak in a while. Can I come along while you do your chores?” “Sure. Do you have your car keys with you?” Carly looked at him curiously. “I do.” “Why don’t you go get it and drive it over here. We’ll put it in the garage just in case we get some hail while you’re here.” Soon her car was ensconced in an empty space in the garage that held three other vehicles: an SUV and two pickups with extended cabs. “Now for the eggs,” Dillon announced. Taylor skipped ahead with the two dogs at her side. One was a border collie, the other a blue heeler. A tuxedo cat wandered out from under a piece of equipment and followed in their paths, its white tipped tail straight in the air. Carly smiled when she realized how refreshed and rejuvenated she felt here. She wondered if her birth mother felt like this when she first arrived. “Dillon, tonight after Taylor’s in bed, I’d like to talk to you about Paula. I know next to nothing about her, but I don’t want to say much with Taylor within hearing distance. I’m sure she misses her grandmother terribly.”

They walked around behind the outbuildings until they came upon a small, wellmaintained wooden building with a wire enclosure on one side. There were several white chickens and more dark red ones in the enclosure. The chickens were strutting around, picking at the ground, and drinking water from a dispenser. “It looks like you have about a dozen chickens,” Carly said. “Is there any difference between the white and the red ones?” Taylor hurried to her side and took her hand. “The red hens lay brown eggs and the white ones lay white eggs,” she explained knowingly. “The red ones are my favorite.” Dillon moved to the building and opened the door for them all. “In the evening, we lock them in their house after we’ve gathered the eggs. That way a coyote won’t break in and kill one of them. In the morning, we let them out when we feed and water them.” Carly entered the building cautiously, wrinkling her nose at the stench. Chuckling, Dillon reached for a basket hanging on a nail on the wall and handed it to his daughter. “Stinks, doesn’t it? That’s a telltale sign that it’s time for me to clean it.” There were chickens moving in and out of the building, and three of the hens were setting on nests. Taylor hurried and gathered the eggs from the empty nests. Then she stepped back and waited while her father lifted the setting hens from the eggs beneath them. “When they are setting, they might peck you, so it is wise to wear a pair of leather gloves. I won’t let Taylor do this yet. I feel like she needs to be a little bit older before taking on a setting hen.” They left the inside of the small building, and then Taylor and Carly stood outside and watched as Dillon let himself into the fenced in area. It took him some maneuvering, but he finally chased all the chickens into the inside of the house and slid shut the small door over the entrance and exit. He ed the girls then and said, “I’ve got some baby chicks ordered. They should be here any day now. I’ll raise them in that building there.” He indicated the other chicken house. “Then in the late summer or early fall I’ll have chickens to butcher and freeze.” With that, he turned toward the barn.

Carly saw a large light brown cow waiting outside the corral fence. “This is Martha,” Dillon introduced as he opened the gates and let the cow into the corral. “She’s a Jersey milk cow. They’re one of the best breeds of milk cows as they give a large amount of milk and it’s very rich with cream.” Martha seemed to know what she was doing as she walked straight toward the barn. Dillon hurried ahead and slid the door open. The cow entered the dim interior and walked to a stall. “Martha likes her supper,” Taylor giggled. “Daddy always said that if she could open the door and milk herself to get some feed, she probably would.” Carly enjoyed watching Dillon bring a large scoop of feed to the cow who stuck her head into the feed bunk and began happily dining. Meanwhile, he collected a funny looking one-legged stool and a stainless-steel milk bucket. Balancing on the stool, he expertly squeezed the cow’s teats, while steaming, frothing milk began to fill the bucket. Several cats seemed to appear out of nowhere and were rewarded with a bowl of milk when Dillon finished. He let Martha back out into the corral and then on into the pasture. He opened another gate where a calf bellowed and immediately ran up to the cow. “Does Martha have a baby?” “She sure does. Most ranchers and farmers bottle feed the calves, but I have discovered that Martha gives enough milk for all of us. I let the calf suck the last half and save myself the work of bottle feeding.” Later that evening, after the best steak dinner Carly had ever eaten and after Taylor took her bath and was in bed, Dillon sat on one end of the leather recliner couch in the living room and Carly curled up on the other end. The lights were on low, and the room felt cozy, filled with overstuffed furniture and oak occasional tables. Two tall bookcases flanked either side of the fireplace. This caught Carly’s eye as the fireplace was bricked over and a large silk floral arrangement adorned the hearth in front of it. Turning to look at Dillon, she took a moment longer to ire his long body relaxing in the chair before she spoke. “So, when did my birth mother come from Portland to Nebraska? And do you know why?” “She came in late October. I just turned five. I don’t know why, but she told Dad she just wanted a fresh start.”

“That makes sense. My birthday is October eighteenth. I can see a woman who gives up a baby for adoption wanting a fresh start somewhere else.” Dillon looked at her sharply. “Your birthday is the eighteenth? So is mine. No wonder my birthday always seemed sort of bittersweet to her. Here, I’ve always just thought it was because I was growing up too fast for her.” “Poor woman,” she murmured. “It must have been incredibly hard for her. What I do know is that she worked in a little diner in a poor part of Portland and my dad and his partner used to eat lunch there often. They were beat cops,” she explained. “My parents found out they would never have a child naturally and they wanted to adopt but Mom really wanted an infant, and the waitlist was lengthy. Paula overheard Dad telling his partner that and she approached him privately and told him she planned to give her baby up for adoption. She told him that if they could afford to pay the medical bills and hire the attorney for the paperwork, then she would give the baby to them.” “So, your parents took her up on it?” “They talked to her a bit more and worked it all out. That way Mom could be in the delivery room with her. Mom told me that Paula said she couldn’t even hold me or she would never give me up, and she wanted me to have a better life than she could afford to provide for me. The day of my birth was the last day they ever saw her, but every year around my birthday she called them from an anonymous number and asked about me.” “Did you ever talk to her?” “I never wanted to. I have always loved my adoptive parents and, even though they were open about the adoption, assuring me that Paula loved me so much she did give me up, I just never cared to know much about her.” “I think she always loved you, Carly. I never knew about you until the lawyer read the will. I suspect my dad didn’t know about you either, but I’ve thought about it a lot since I found out about you. As I look back, I recognize that there were many times she must have missed you a lot.” “Like?” “On my birthday. We always celebrated and Paula would make a big deal of it,

but there was always an underlying sadness about her that day like she was forcing herself to be happy and cheerful. Christmas was similar. I would say she was brittle around those times.” “I can’t imagine giving up a child of mine.” “Neither can I.” After some quiet reflection, Dillon went on. “When I grew up, I always wondered if Paula was hiding something. I can’t really put my finger on anything specific, and she never spoke of it. It was simply a feeling I had. Once, around the time I turned seventeen, I said something to Dad about it, and he simply replied that everyone had secrets and it was their business.” “What brought Paula to the ranch?” “My mother took off a couple of weeks earlier. She just up and handed Dad divorce papers, grabbed her luggage, and walked out the door without even saying goodbye to me.” Carly picked up on the catch in his voice and noticed a hint of sadness and anger. She reached over, took his hand in hers, and squeezed it silently. Once again, the most delicious feeling filled her body, making its way down to her soul. When Dillon didn’t slip his hand from hers, she quietly sighed. It felt so right. “And then?” “Dad struggled with everything. The house was a mess, I went out to work on the ranch with him since I wasn’t in school yet. We ate like bachelors. Some of the laundry got ruined, and he decided we needed to have a housekeeper, so he placed an ad in the Butte Valley newspaper. We got a few inquiries, but Dad couldn’t afford to pay much, and he almost gave up when she called to ask about it.” “So, your dad hired her, and that’s why she came?” “Yep. We even drove there to pick her up because she didn’t have a car. She was young, only twenty-one, I think. When she came to us, she knew how to cook pretty well, and she worked hard on the house. There were times she even helped on the ranch when Dad needed it. Even though I wasn’t as old as Taylor, I could tell when Dad started to fall in love with her. He would watch her a lot, flirt with her gently sometimes. Six months later they got married.”

Chapter Five

At his desk in a glitzy office on the fourth floor of his church in Atlanta, Georgia, the Reverend Godfrey Gott sat with his back to a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the most beautiful area in the city. As he soaked in the warmth of the sun pouring through the plate-glass, he contemplated his next move in building his empire. “Reverend, could I speak with you a moment?” He swiveled his chair and looked up at the pretty young blonde who served as his Director of Youth Activities. “Yes, of course, Callie.” ing his gentlemanly manners, he rose as she entered and perched in a chair opposite his desk. Sitting again, he verbally prodded her gently. “What is it?” “You know how we’ve been struggling with the youth coming to Bible studies and particularly with reading the Bible?” “Yes.” “Well, my sister told me about how she heard about a teacher in Portland, Oregon who challenged her students to read books outside of school. She promised to perform Shakespeare in rap and hip-hop if they met their goals. And they did. In fact, they reached far beyond their goals. It started out on social media and, of course I did not look it up on those sites, but I did find it on a reputable news source. I printed it off for you. I thought that we might challenge our youth to read more in the Bible, perhaps the New Testament since it’s easier to understand, then reward them with something that would appeal to them.” “What did you have in mind?” “I’m not sure. We could have a pizza party, but we do that frequently. I feel we would need something a bit more, well, extreme for the challenge.” She paused long enough for Godfrey to enjoy the sight before him. He hired her because he found her so attractive. He would never do anything about it. After all, he did not soil his own backyard anymore. It offered far too much risk, but

that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some nice-looking decorations around the office. Although young and scatterbrained, she excelled at her job because she didn’t think much differently than the youth she worked with. Callie looked up at him, having finally seemed to find the strength to speak to him. “I thought perhaps we could afford to hire one of the popular Christian rock bands to give them a free concert.” “That’s a thought. Can our youth fund afford it?” “I thought we could have a special offering, perhaps get the adults to do some fundraisers to the youth.” He held out his hand. “May I see the article?” “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” She leaned ahead, giving him a nice view down the vee of her neckline all the way to her naval. Godfrey looked good and hard, then swung his eyes down to the printout just in time to not be caught staring. Feeling as though his world just fell apart, he started to tremble and broke into cold sweats. His heart raced and felt like it was going to explode in his chest. Barbara. The young woman, Carly James, according to the caption, looked just like Barbara. Exactly like her. Godfrey quickly scanned the article to see they listed the young woman’s age as twenty-eight. Hell. He’d always had a niggling feeling that Barbara somehow escaped. Callie’s worried voice penetrated the fog in his head. “Reverend, are you feeling okay? You suddenly became quite pale.” He forced a wavering smile and deliberately added a light tone to his voice. “Hmmm? Oh, yes, just a bit of indigestion.” “If you’re sure.” “I am. Why don’t I take this with me?” He indicated the pages in his hand. “I believe you have a good idea here, but I would like to think about it.” He had his staff trained to not make any decisions without his approval, and he would keep it that way.

Godfrey waited several minutes after she left his office before getting up from his desk, tucking the printed pages into his briefcase, and then leaving. “I believe I’ll go home now, Marsha,” he told his secretary. “Sometimes I work much better on my sermon from there.” “Of course, Reverend. You have a good evening.” “You, too.” Once he had his Mercedes out on the street, Godfrey felt a little better. There were people all over the world who looked like someone else, weren’t there? She’s from Portland, you damned fool, he answered his own thoughts. That’s the next state up from California. And hadn’t Barbara been showing signs of pregnancy toward the end? He caught her twice losing her breakfast. And when she was naked, he would have sworn her previously flat belly looked slightly rounded. Hadn’t she been at that last meeting he’d called? There, at the end of things that night, he could have sworn he’d felt someone’s eyes on him. Indeed, he never shook that feeling. At his home, he greeted his housekeeper and told her she should take the rest of the day off. “Are you sure, Reverend? There’s your dinner to consider.” He lied. “I received a last-minute invitation to dine out tonight. In fact, I’m glad you hadn’t gotten anything started yet.” “Well then, I’ll just go and take the unexpected time to drop in on my grandbabies.” “Tell them hello for me, Bessie.” Godfrey waited until she left and then he locked the door, turning quickly to hang his suit jacket on the back of a chair. He walked into his study where he pressed on the third bookcase over. When it swung open, he punched in the combination to his safe room and then, after entering, pulled the bookcase back into place and locked himself in. Here he had the Internet, his secret books, the few memories he carried

with him from California, and the one thing he couldn’t bear to get rid of—his original birth certificate showing his name as Jerome Darvill. It took less than a half hour to find the video in question and learn that Carly James could, indeed, be his daughter—thanks to the in-depth background check website he subscribed to. She was the right age and had been born in Portland, Oregon. It listed the names of her parents. The mother’s name wasn’t right, but if this Carly had been adopted, it would explain that. Damn it. He’d been so careful. So damned careful. Unable to shake the bad feeling, Godfrey got up to pace, angry that this connection to his past existed. And she may possess information that could put him to death, at the very least imprison him in a federal facility for the rest of his life. **** The unrelentless piercing sound of his alarm finally woke Dillon enough for him to smack it and cause it to stop. Then he rolled over and pulled the other pillow into his arms, letting his eyes drift shut again. He and Carly stayed up late the night before talking about Paula, about the ranch, about Carly’s life, and, hell, he’d even told her about Holly. When she reached over and took his hand, he got a little choked up but did not let go. In fact, after that they sat there with their hands entwined like a couple of old married folks, and it felt right, perfect even. Wishing he could go back to sleep, the thought of the cow’s full udder made him crawl responsibly from his bed. He reached for his bathrobe and tiptoed quietly to the bathroom that he and Taylor shared now. After a quick shower and a vigorous tooth brushing, he felt better able to face the day. He peeked in on his little girl, wondering if he dared let her sleep in under Carly’s care or if he should wake her up again and drag her out to the barn while he milked. Putting off the decision until after he drank some coffee, he slid open the pocket door to the master suite and stepped out into the hall where the scent of lavender and honey teased his nostrils. The bathroom door stood open as did the guest room door. Making his way down the stairs he found Carly in the kitchen, standing at the sink and looking out the window, a mug of freshly brewed coffee in her hands.

“Anything interesting out there?” She turned to look at him. God, she was beautiful. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke. “Birds, lots of birds. I just realized you have a bird bath and a feeder for them.” “Mom did that.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and took the first appreciative sip. “No one has made coffee for me since Mom died. Thank you.” “It was my pleasure. I couldn’t wait to use a big dollop of that fresh cream in mine. I now what I love about coffee.” Dillon shifted his feet, working up to asking a favor of her. Finally, he spit it out. “I am wondering if you would do me a favor?” Her answer came with an endearing smile. “Of course, I will.” “I need to go milk, and since Paula’s death, I’ve had to wake Taylor to go along with me since I don’t want her alone in the house. I am wondering if…” He got no further. “Take your coffee and go, cowboy. You know I’ll take care of her. I also thought I’d fix some breakfast for us. How long will you be?” “Maybe forty-five minutes at the most.” “Perfect. Now go.” Dillon went out the back door from the utility room, tugging on his hat and carrying his coffee with him. Outside he found himself whistling as he strode to the barn where he let the milk cow into her stall. Soon, perched on his onelegged milk stool minus his hat, he rested his head on the Jersey’s warm flank. He washed her udder and then began the relaxing chore of filling the bucket with her warm milk. He often spoke to the docile cow. This morning was no different. “I can’t tell you how great it is to wake up to coffee in the morning, Martha.” The cow chewed her breakfast of grain in reply.

“That’s right. The coffee was already brewed this morning.” Martha stretched her neck to reach more grain. “Did you notice that Taylor isn’t out here this morning?” He paused. “Yeah? Well, Carly offered to look after her and make breakfast.” The cow took a deep breath, nearly knocking him off the stool with the expansion of her lungs. “I know you still get to eat first, but I’ll get to eat as soon as I get in. No cold cereal, I’ll bet. No rubbery eggs. No burnt bacon. I wonder what we’re having.” As it ended up, when he arrived in the house and poured the fresh milk into a gallon jar, tucking it into the spare fridge in the utility room, he smelled bacon and something that reminded him of…his thoughts were interrupted by Taylor’s excited voice. “Hurry, Daddy, and wash. Carly made blueberry pancakes from Grandma’s recipe.” Dillon needed no more urging. During the best breakfast he’d eaten since his stepmother’s death, Dillon brought up the day as his eyes feasted on the lovely woman across the table from him. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get some work done today. I am wondering how you’d feel about going through the stuff in Mom’s bedroom. She wanted you to have all of her personal effects.” The sunlight shining in the French doors on the east side of the dining room bathed her face in its golden glow. “I can do that. I’m not saying I’ll take them all, but you probably need her room cleaned out anyway, and it might be easier for me to do it than for you. Did you want to leave Taylor with me?” “Can I, Daddy? I could play in my room and help out Carly, too.” “Sure, sweet pea. Will you be good for Carly?” “I will. I promise.” He just finished his last bite of pancakes when the phone rang. He got up and grabbed the wall phone in the kitchen greeting the caller with a “Hello.”

“Hi, Dillon. This is Jan. I am wondering if you need to bring Taylor over today.” “Thanks, but I have a house guest who has offered to look after her today.” His neighbor lady was silent for a moment. “A house guest? Is this guest male or female?” Dillon laughed. “You’re nothing if not subtle, Jan, but she’s female. It’s Carly James.” “Oh yes, the surprise daughter of Paula.” “That’s right. She got here yesterday morning.” “Well, then, I just might have to stop by later today. You take care now, Dillon.” At the sound of dial tone, Dillon hung up and turned back toward the table to warn his guest. “That was Jan Washington. She and her husband Bob are our closest neighbors from the nearby ranch you saw yesterday. She’s been helping me look after Taylor when I need to get a lot of work done. I should warn you, I suspect she’ll come over to meet you today.” Carly looked a bit surprised, but the look quickly changed to one of interest. “Oh, I’ll expect her then.” “If it’s okay, I’m going to head out to work. I need to work on one of the tractors, so I’ll be out in the shop. If you need me, just call me on my cell.” He tapped the small bulletin board beside the phone. “The number’s right here, and it’s number one on speed dial. Or you can send Taylor out to get me.” “We’ll let you know when lunch is ready,” Carly replied. “Do you have a preference?” “I don’t. Feel free to use anything you’d like, or I can come in and cook if you want me to.” Carly stood up and already loaded up an armful of dishes. “No, I’ve got it.” ****

Taylor helped Carly do the dishes, carefully carrying them in from the table while Carly loaded the dishwasher and washed a few by hand, leaving them to dry in the drainer. “What shall we have for lunch, Taylor? And for dinner?” “Could we have spaghetti?” A quick inspection of the pantry and freezer led Carly to decide on spaghetti with meat sauce for lunch and minute steaks with homemade gravy for dinner. Then she suggested that the eager child help her make chocolate chip cookies. That way if Jan Washington appeared, they’d have something to offer her. Little girl giggles and warm womanly chuckles filled the next hour, resulting in a counter full of cookies fulfilling Carly’s vision from the previous day. Still, it was only nine-thirty in the morning when Carly entered her birth mother’s bedroom, turned on the light and pulled open the blinds. Pausing, she let herself soak in the feel of the room. The northwest facing room sported newer oak finished furniture. The bookcase headboard on the queen size bed held a small selection of popular romance novels, as well as several hardbound books about horse training. The quilt, done in rich browns and lighter shades of tan, featured an intricately pieced horse’s head in the center. A rocking chair in the corner had a tooled leather back and seat. Although the room’s furnishings were decidedly masculine, there were feminine touches everywhere. A ruffled tissue box cover, pink and tan throw pillows, and a miniature velvet dress form sporting jewelry and floral pins adorned the furniture. Taylor busily played with her dolls, so Carly took a few minutes to check in with her own mother before getting to work. Marian James didn’t answer her cell or home phone, so Carly sent her a text that said to call when she could. Then she looked around the room and decided to start with the nightstand. Supposedly there were journals, and that seemed like a good place to begin since she didn’t spot any among the other books. An hour later she looked at her watch and realized she spent all of that time reading the current journal Paula had been using. Each day’s entry took up at least a page filled with large loopy handwriting. Carly started from the last entry. She wasn’t surprised to see it was about horse training, as Dillon told her the night before that she had a reputation in the area as a competent horse trainer and that her last moments on earth were spent doing what she loved—training a horse for someone else. Carly cringed the night before when she found out that

the horse bucked, unseating Paula, and she died of a broken neck. Dillon saw it and all he could say, in a choked voice was how she never suffered and was with his dad now. When Dillon asked her over lunch how it was going upstairs, Carly replied with, “I’m ashamed to say I have spent most of the morning reading her journal. I can’t believe how my birth mother could make the most mundane tasks sound fascinating. The book has given me a bit of insight into her, and I understand better what she meant to you and Taylor and how she loved both of you. But I’m going to have to speed up, or I’ll be taking advantage of your hospitality for much longer than I originally intended.” “Do you have to be back home any time soon?” “No, well I guess I have to sign my teaching contract by mid-July, but that is all.” “You didn’t sign it before you left?” “I decided to think about it. I used to teach elementary school, but then I decided to switch it up.” “Didn’t you like it?” “I loved it, but well, truthfully, one of the male teachers and I had been dating and…” She trailed off. Dillon looked at her patiently while eating one of the fresh-baked cookies, a look of pure enjoyment on his face. She finally continued. “I caught him with one of the student teachers, and he kept apologizing trying to win me back. It seemed easier to make the switch, and I double majored in college so can teach either secondary and junior high English or elementary students. I saw an opening and applied. But I’ve been there two years and, while I enjoy it, I do get tired of watching for violence in the classroom and the hallways.” “Then don’t worry about how long you stay. Take all the time you need. Taylor and I are enjoying having you here.” In the midafternoon the dogs started barking and Taylor, who was helping Carly with the quilts in a chest, jumped up to look out the window.

“It’s Jan,” the child announced. Carly got up, too. She held out her hand. “Shall we go open the door?” Jan Washington turned out to be a tall, big-boned, striking blonde who she suspected looked younger than her years. Carly opened the door to find a broad genuine smile on the other woman’s face. “You must be Carly,” the other woman pronounced. “Why, you look just like Paula.” Carly laughed. “I’m getting that a lot around here. And you must be Jan.” “I am. Once Dillon said you were here, I was just so curious I had to come by, be neighborly, and welcome you to the area.” The older woman wore jeans and a plaid shirt, making Carly happy she hadn’t overdressed. She wore a pair of denim shorts and a flowered spring blouse. When the doorbell rang, she paused long enough to slip on her sandals. Welcoming her guest, Carly spoke, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the living room and I’ll get some refreshments. Is iced tea okay?” After receiving an affirmative answer and gathering the refreshments, Carly stepped into the living room with a plate of cookies and iced teas for both her and Jan, as well as lemonade for Taylor. The two were talking on the couch. “Carly and I made cookies this morning.” “I’m glad,” Jan said. “I don’t think your daddy bakes, does he?” “No, but he buys cookies at the store, and sometimes those are fun to have.” Jan reached unabashedly for a cookie and bit into it. “Mmm, these are good.” She looked at Carly. “I believe chocolate chip are Taylor’s favorite.” “And mine. I have enjoyed looking through Paula’s recipe box while I am waiting for the meals to cook. I found this one this morning. It has a notation of Taylor’s favorite.”

The other woman looked at her curiously. “You’re cooking?” “When Dillon invited me to stay, I assured him I would try not to take advantage of his hospitality but would help out as much as I could. And I do love to cook. I suspect he’s had a hard go of it recently.” “I know he has. It’s hard enough running a ranch, even a small one, by yourself. But when you add in being a single parent of a small child who is not in school for the summer, it becomes doubly hard. And no one thought your mother would away at such a young age. She was healthy and vibrant. It’s such a shame.” She spoke quietly with one eye on Taylor playing with a doll and seemingly paying little attention to them. “Dillon told me what happened. It’s hard to believe,” Carly said equally softly. “I’m realizing now that I wish I knew her. I spent all morning reading her journal and found it to be more riveting than the best novel. She really had a way with words.” “I expect you have seen her quilts by now.” “Yes, the one on my bed is a stained-glass pattern, and it is breathtaking. This afternoon Taylor and I have been emptying one of her trunks of them. There are so many beautiful ones. I can’t decide on a favorite yet. Do you know if she kept them all?” “No. Paula was very generous with her quilts. I have one that she gave Bob and me for our twenty-fifth anniversary. It’s a wedding ring pattern. Do you do any crafts?” “I enjoy counted cross stitch and embroidery, and sometimes I sew a bit for fun. Tote bags and placemats and such. They make great affordable gifts.” “Perhaps you should explore the sewing room, then. I’ll bet Paula left a quilt in progress that needs your finishing touch.” “I don’t know. I’ve never quilted before. And Paula did such a wonderful job. It seems like sacrilege.” “It would be sacrilege to leave her legacy unfinished.” Here Jan paused for a moment. “Paula taught herself to quilt. You will find several quilting how-to

books in her sewing room. She also told me once that she dropped out of high school. Surely, if she could teach herself to do such beautiful work, a bright young woman, such as yourself, could learn to do as well with practice.” Suddenly Taylor stood beside them. “You said you had to practice a lot to hiphop and rap. Isn’t it the same thing?” “What’s this about hip-hop and rap?” Jan asked. The child encouraged Carly. “Tell her.” Jan’s face held a rapt look. “Yes, tell me.” Carly began, “The school I teach at in Portland is in a low-income neighborhood, and many of the students struggle in more ways than one. I wanted them to read more and learn to enjoy it, so I dared them to read more books than they ever have before. If they succeeded, I promised to rap and hiphop to Shakespeare.” “I assume they won.” Carly felt her eyes widen with the memory even as she chuckled. “Did they ever! I knew before the contest ever ended that I better learn to dance, so I signed up for hip-hop lessons.” “That must have been quite an experience,” the older woman said, the sound of her voice prompting Carly to tell her more. “Most definitely. I lost some weight, but I learned I had muscles I never knew I had.” “Carly, show us how to dance,” Taylor pleaded. Jan rose from the couch where she sat with Carly. “Please do. I’d like to try it myself if it is such good exercise.” Carly let herself be talked into a demonstration of some moves, first alone and then with Taylor and Jan’s enthusiastic participation. The music blared from her phone as they all jumped and gyrated about the living room. Carly whirled around to face the other two and her eyes landed on the tall, fit figure of Dillon,

his eyes taking in all three of them as Jan and Taylor finally saw him and then intensely following Carly. Realizing how silly they must all look, she collapsed into a fit of giggles even as Jan spoke. Jan’s eyes flitted between Carly and Dillon, a wide, knowing smile on her face. “I’d better get home.”

Chapter Six

Godfrey walked into the darkened interior of one of the most discreet restaurants in the Atlanta area. He happened to know many deals were made here, both legal and illegal. It seemed like a suitable location to meet two of his most devoted deacons. When the maitre’d led him to a table tucked quietly away in a corner, Godfrey saw that the men were already there. “Deacon Tankov, Deacon Manning,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. Godfrey pulled out a chair and sat between them, looking at them both. Tankov was a big man, insane and a devoted fanatic who would do anything Godfrey asked. He had pale blond hair and icy blue eyes. His first name was Ivan, and Godfrey privately thought of him as Ivan the Terrible. Earl Manning, on the other hand, ed the church for a different reason. In fact, they were much the same as Godfrey’s—pure and simple greed. Sometimes Godfrey thought the other man suspected he was not who he claimed to be. Other times, he decided the deacon believed Godfrey to be nothing more than the leader of a mega-church. It mattered not. The two were at a bit of a silent standoff. Earl knew that Godfrey would make him wealthy, and Godfrey knew Earl could make him known to the world. “I sent my housekeeper home early tonight, so dinner is on me.” “Thank you, Reverend,” both men said quietly. Godfrey would wait until after the meal to get to the task at hand. And so, before and during the meal, he led the conversation to things surrounding the church— the softball team, the sermon, and then finally to Callie’s idea for the youth of the congregation. As the waiter removed the last of the dishes from the table, Godfrey handed them each a copy of the printout he’d studied so long that afternoon. “This teacher in Portland challenged her students to improve their reading by promising a show of her own. While I do not necessarily approve of her display, it did seem to work, and I would like to discuss her motivational methods with

her. I would like you both to fly to Portland and locate her. Do not tell her you are with a church or where we’re from. You know how touchy some people can be about religious sects. Instead, say you are from a private school and that your leader would like to speak to her. If you can find out her phone number and address, that would allow me to her. I’m very interested. She reminds me of someone I used to know.” Two days later he received a call on his cell phone. “She’s not in Portland,” Tankov said without an introduction. “She went to Nebraska.” “What did she go to Nebraska for?” He heard the sound of a slight scuffle on the other end of the phone. “This is Manning,” came a different voice. “We distracted the school secretary to get access to her computer, but we got Carly James’ address.” Godfrey experienced a slight sinking feeling. “How did you distract the secretary?” “Just a phone call. Tankov stayed outside and called the school with a question that required the secretary to check with the principal, leaving me alone in the office just long enough to look in the computer.” Earl never failed to do what was needed. “Good job, Mr. Manning.” “It turns out that Ms. James lives in an apartment with a neighbor who is pretty talkative if you just flirt a little. We couldn’t get Ms. James’ phone number, that’s when the neighbor started to back off. But she did say she went to a place called Willow Flats, Nebraska. She said that Ms. James unexpectedly inherited some things from her birth mother. Do you want us to go there?” A spark ignited in Gott’s gut. He was closer. “Please do, but don’t try to her until I speak with you again. Just go there, get a hotel, and then give me a call.” “Sure thing, Reverend.” Godfrey hung up, not liking the rather sarcastic tone Manning used with the word Reverend.

After making his way back to his safe room, Godfrey started up his computer once again. He already completed a thorough search for Barbara Fields. There were, of course, many hits, but nothing that made him think he’d found what he searched for. Tonight, though, he could add the town and state to the search. Half an hour later, almost ready to it defeat, he hit pay dirt. It took a bit of work and thought, but he finally found a list for recent obituaries in Nebraska, then narrowed it down for people from Willow Flats. It didn’t appear the town had a mortuary, but he found an obit for a Paula Johnson in a town named Coopersville. Sure enough, the accompanying photo bore an older but strong resemblance to Barbara Fields. Interestingly enough, the age was off by about five years, but the obituary stated that she was a horse trainer, quilter, and an avid journal keeper. In fact, those journals were what Godfrey needed to get his hands on. The secrets they might contain needed to be destroyed once and for all. When his deacons checked in the next day, he would tell them to discreetly ask around about Paula Johnson and to locate Carly James. Did Ms. James inherit the journals? Had they been destroyed? He needed to find out, and he would kill again to do so. **** Hot pink. Carly’s toenails were painted hot pink and Taylor’s matched. At the end of the second day working on an elderly tractor, Dillon came into the house to be met by mouthwatering aromas and his daughter’s excited voice. “Look, Daddy! Look at my toes.” Dillon looked as commanded. When did his little girl grow up without his notice? Carly entered the kitchen, her brow wrinkled with concern. “I hope you don’t mind. All little girls love to have their toenails painted.” He stared at Carly’s toes. And unbidden, a vision of her stretched out on his bed, as naked as her feet, slid into his mind. His hand could wrap around one of her silken, slender feet and draw it up to his mouth where he could nibble on those toes, sucking one at a time into his mouth until she…

Dillon shook his head to bring himself out of his reverie. His heart wasn’t strong enough for this. Late the previous afternoon, he opened the back door to the house only to be bombarded by loud rap music. Curious, he walked through the kitchen and into the dining room where he looked in the living room to see his daughter, Jan, and Carly dancing. Taylor and Jan lacked grace but showed enthusiasm. But Carly moved in such an overtly sexual way that a wall of lust slammed into him. Only her laughter and Jan’s voice allowed him to recover. Now, Carly’s worried voice interrupted his erotic thoughts. “Are you okay, Dillon?” “Daddy?” Taylor sounded like she expected to be in trouble. He soothed his daughter by ruffling her hair. “It looks great. I’m just glad you handled it, Carly, because I don’t think pedicures are my forte.” She laughed. And it sounded wonderful. “No, I don’t expect they are.” Later, as he put a helping of mashed potatoes on Taylor’s plate and a larger one on his own, he commented, “I saw Jan pull up again today,” “We enjoyed a nice visit yesterday, so she came back today. In fact, yesterday she suggested to me that there might be an unfinished quilt in the sewing room. She came today to help me explore that room, and we found it. Now I want to figure out if I have it in me to finish it.” “Mom’s got a lot of books in there. Surely some of them would be of help.” “I saw those and, yes, some of them seem to be pretty basic instruction books.” He could get used to this, Dillon thought. It was the second night that they spent sharing a meal with Carly, one that she prepared to be so delicious. After the meal both nights, he said he would do the dishes and she argued with him. They ended up working side by side, Carly filling the dishwasher and Dillon scrubbing the pots and pans in the sink. Taylor carefully carried the dishes from the table to the counter. It felt like a family. The previous night Taylor wanted to play board games. The three of them sat around the table laughing and talking about much of nothing. Carly popped some popcorn and Dillon poured juice for Taylor and beer for Carly and him.

They let Taylor stay up late, and after they helped her in bed, Carly excused herself to go to her own room. This night, after they helped Taylor bathe and tucked her into bed, Dillon planned on ing Carly in the living room, but she wasn’t there. “Dillon?” Her voice came from near the piano. He smiled, happy that she hadn’t gone to her room, and went through the archway to her. He found her curled up in one of the leather chairs, looking hopeful. “I thought maybe you would play for me. If you’re not too tired that is.” He sat on the piano bench. “I’m seldom too tired to play. Is there anything you’d like to hear?” “Whatever you’d like to play, cowboy.” He liked the way she said cowboy. It slid down his spine and spread warmth throughout his entire body. Embracing the feeling, he let his fingers move across the keys in one of his favorite old country and western tunes. They ed the next half hour in that way, with Dillon playing and softly singing the lyrics while Carly listened, a silent and appreciative audience. At last, he lowered the keyboard cover and moved to the chair ading hers. Carly applauded softly. “That is lovely. Who taught you to play?” “Dad. He learned from his mother.” “I know you’re tired or I would have begged you to never stop. Maybe tomorrow night you can demonstrate the guitar for me.” “I’ll be getting together soon with the band to practice out in the garage. Maybe you would like to listen.” “Of course, I would like to if you don’t mind if I stay that long!” “I certainly don’t mind.”

They fell into a comfortable silence until Carly broke it. “Dillon, I’ve been curious if there is a reason you have so many fire extinguishers and even a sprinkler system? It seems a little unusual in a residence.” “Mom acted scared of fire. Every time she went to town she came home with an extinguisher, and she insisted I know how to use them, even at Taylor’s age. She cajoled Dad into putting in the sprinkler system and even made us have fire drills.” “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? The drills are a good idea, just not something that the average American family does, though. Do you know why?” “I have no idea. Dad asked her several times, and she just said that we were wise to be prepared.” “That seems odd.” Dillon reached over and took her hand in his as she did two nights before. He wondered if he could get up his nerve to kiss her. It had been a long time since he kissed a woman who interested him. During the day, while he worked on the tractor, he spent a lot of time with his mind on Carly. If the truth were told, he could have probably repaired the machine in half the time if he just kept his mind on his work. “I talked to my mom today,” Carly brought up. “What did she have to say?” “It’s raining a lot.” “That’s pretty common in Portland, isn’t it?” “It is. Have you ever been there?” “No, but I wouldn’t mind visiting it some time.” “She also said everyone she knows is talking about the video of me doing Shakespeare. It’s silly, isn’t it, what catches people’s attention online?” “This may come as a surprise, but I never look at social media.”

“Really?” “Mom discouraged it. She said that she read a lot about the negative aspects of it in the newspaper and the magazines we subscribed to. Combined with the fact that I only have dial up Internet, I guess I just haven’t bothered. But I’ve been thinking about getting satellite. I would enjoy having a few more television channels, and I think, with the right guidance, some things on the Internet could be helpful to Taylor. Like when she has to write a report or something.” “You’re right. It takes common sense and caution, but I’ve always assigned my students research projects that used the Internet. Even young children can learn a lot using it.” The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her last words. She checked the caller ID and then answered it. “Hi, Meghan. Is everything okay in my apartment?” Dillon couldn’t hear the caller’s voice, but he watched Carly’s face. At first, she seemed interested and curious. Then she replied to whatever had been said, “Wow, that’s interesting. Mom said the video has gone viral.” Then her facial expression changed to one of confusion and wariness. “No, you did the right thing. I’m glad you didn’t give them my number, especially if the one guy gave you the creeps. “Oh, good. Would you mind if I called my parents and asked them to come over? They can check my apartment, but I would really like you to tell my dad what happened and give him a description of them and the car they were driving.” A smile filled her face again. “Okay, great. I’ll call them right now and, Meghan, thank you for letting me know, and be sure you lock your door tonight.” Then she hung up and immediately dialed, presumably her parents. She looked over at Dillon. “Some strange men came past my apartment today, and when I didn’t answer, they talked to my neighbor. Oh, hi, Dad.” Dillon eavesdropped without apology. Carly asked her Dad to drive over and check her place, as well as to talk to Meghan. “She said that these two men came by looking for me. Supposedly, someone wants to talk to me about how to motivate students. At first, she said, they were nice, although the one man was so big, he appeared intimidating. But when she wasn’t willing to share my phone number with them, she said she got nervous. She said the one looked like a bad

Russian mafia guy off of TV, and the other guy looked a bit like a boxer. They started getting accusatory and almost threatening. She finally slipped inside and got the door shut and locked. Meghan said she watched out the window until they drove off.” A look of relief crossed her features. “Okay, Daddy. I love you.” “I’m glad you’re here,” Dillon said as soon as she hung up. “Jeez. This just s what Paula said. There are a lot of nut jobs out there looking at Facebook.” She shivered. “It gives me the chills for some reason.” Dillon stood up and held out his hand to her. She looked up at him curiously but let him help her up. He led her into the living room, pausing at the front door to check the lock. He nudged her gently to the couch. “I’ll be right back.” Only minutes later, he sat next to her on the couch with a mug in one hand and a glass in the other. “I checked all the doors and windows,” he said. “And here I have a mug of chamomile tea sweetened slightly with honey and a shot of whiskey on the rocks. Your choice. I’ll drink whichever you don’t want.” Carly reached over and took the tea, holding it up to inhale its fragrant steam. Dillon took a sip of the whiskey and put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her gently closer. “Try not to let it worry you,” he murmured. “Meghan told them that I came to Willow Flats,” she replied shakily. “It may be nothing, but I wonder why, if they wanted to talk to me about motivating students, they became mildly threatening with her.” “I suspect they were lying about their reason, but you haven’t even been to Willow Flats, and no one knows you’re here except Jan, and she isn’t a gossip.” Carly snuggled in a bit closer, and Dillon relished the feel of the side of her body pressed against his. “Do you have the video on your phone? I haven’t seen it yet.” “I do.” Dillon watched as she swiped the face of the phone and then pressed a few buttons. Then she handed him the phone and reached over to push the video play

icon. No wonder weird men were tracking her down, he thought without speaking. She wore a pair of snug leggings and a jogging bra, her hair in a ponytail. Her moves were sexy as hell, as she gyrated and jumped around the stage, rapping the words to Romeo and Juliet. Whistles and shouts and catcalls came from the young people in the crowd. Lust slammed into him, the same as the day before. Speaking without thought, Dillon said, “I see why it went viral. You’re good. Sexy.” “I’m sexy?” He hadn’t meant to say it, as it would not bring comfort to her after finding out about the men that went to her apartment. But now that the words were spoken, Dillon knew he needed to follow them through. “Yeah, you’re sexy.” “I don’t think many people would think so.” “Then they’re all fools.” She flashed him the most charming smile and fell silent a moment. Then, “So, do you think those men might be stalkers of a sort?” “I expect they are. They saw the video and wanted to find you. No doubt they won’t follow up now. They’re probably just a couple of crazy guys from Portland.” She seemed to relax. “You’re probably right.” “I want you to promise me you won’t worry about this. There is no reason to lose sleep over it.” “I’ll try not to. Being here makes me feel safe. Being with you makes me feel safe.” Dillon set down his glass and took the still warm mug from Carly’s hands, setting it on the coffee table. He turned slightly so he faced her, and he slid his fingers into her hair at her temple, letting the silky strands slide over his fingers. “I want to kiss you,” he uttered in a husky voice filled with desire, even to his

own ears. She whispered, “I want that, too.” The first touch of their lips was exploratory—sweet and gentle, soft and caressing. When she sighed and placed her hand on the open vee of his shirt, Dillon slid his hand around to the back of her head and deepened the kiss, moving his lips with more pressure across hers. She moaned, and his blood turned white hot as he slid his other arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. He teased her mouth open with his tongue and let it tangle seductively with hers. She tasted of honey and temptation. Dillon pressed gently against her, lowering her to the couch cushions, sliding his hand up her rib cage to tease the underside of her breast. “Daddy, are you kissing Carly?” His daughter’s voice worked as good as a bucket of ice water. Carly started to giggle. Dillon sat up, grabbing a cushion from the couch to slide inconspicuously into his lap, hoping to hide the evidence of his desire from his innocent six-yearold. He cleared his throat. “Hey, sweet pea. What’s the matter?” She walked to the couch. “I can’t sleep. Can I sit on your lap?” Carly looked at him, her eyes filled with mirth. “Here, Taylor, why don’t you sit on my lap. I believe I can think of a story to tell you.” “If you can’t, you can make one up.” “I could, couldn’t I? What would you like your story to be about?” Taylor leaned back, cuddling against Carly right where Dillon wished he were. “I think I need a story about a handsome prince and a beautiful princess who fall in love and kiss.” And then she giggled. **** “We’re in Denver,” Deacon Manley said when Godfrey answered his cell phone. “We’re going to stay here tonight and then travel on up there tomorrow morning if that is alright with you.”

“Actually,” Godfrey replied. “I want you to stay in Denver an extra day. Go to the zoo or a museum and have a little fun. I am sending Deacon Barnes up there to assist you. If you find Ms. James, she may have spoken to her friend and have a description of you. It’s best if I send someone else along who will take a different tack since you’ve already met with resistance.” “What’s that different tack, Reverend?” “Barnes will pretend he is trying to deliver a life insurance payout for the death of a woman by the name of Paula Johnson. I believe she may be the birth mother of Ms. James. According to her obituary, she is survived by a stepson, a Dillon Johnson on a ranch somewhere near Willow Flats. Surely if you ask around town, you can find directions there. Oh, and it says that Paula was an avid journal keeper. I am particularly interested in that since Ms. James is an English teacher. Perhaps that explains her ability to motivate her students so well.” “We’ll do that, Reverend, and report back as soon as we can. I’ll give Barnes a call and let him know where we’re staying.” Godfrey hung up. He knew his excuses were weak and, no doubt, Manning already saw through them. Godfrey would reward him, though. He believed in paying for loyalty.

Chapter Seven

The next day Dillon beat Carly to the kitchen. When she ed him before the coffee finished brewing, he took his time, lazily looking her over from head to toe. “You have really great legs.” “It’s the hip-hop classes. Those dance moves are a real work out.” “We got interrupted last night.” He spoke softly and reached out to catch her hand, pulling her close. She laid her hands on his chest, then lifted one to encircle his neck. Last night was the best kiss she had ever experienced, and if it hadn’t been for Taylor, she was not sure how far she would have let it go. She’d only known Dillon for a few days, but she felt like she knew him forever in the most wonderful way possible. He lowered his lips to hers. Just before he touched them, he whispered, “Good morning.” And then he kissed her while he let his hands roam up and down her spine. One hand dropped to the top of her hip and tugged her even closer. Time stopped, and all she could think about was the early morning taste of his mint toothpaste, the early morning scent of his spicy cologne, the early morning feel of his beard against her cheek. Then suddenly it was gone. He stepped back and released her. She felt bereft and confused as he reached for the coffee pot and two mugs. And then she heard it—little bare feet on the steps. Carly turned in time to see Taylor step into the kitchen in her pink ruffled nightgown. “Morning, sweet pea,” her dad said. “Come give me a hug.” The child ran toward him, and Dillon caught her, swinging her up into an embrace. He nuzzled her nose with his and caused her to shriek in girlish laughter. “Are you cooking breakfast for us this morning?” Taylor laughed. “No, but I’ll set the table.” “Well, I guess that’s a help.” “I want Carly to cook. She does better than you.” With this she squirmed to get

down, turning to look at Carly. “Will you?” “Of course, I will. What should we have?” Her answer was quick and decisive. “French toast.” “Well, then, you better go wash your hands, and I’ll get started. We’ll send your daddy out to milk the cow, shall we?” Taylor nodded, then looked at him, her blue eyes sparkling with delight. “Yes. Daddy, go milk the cow.” Dillon left the house with a laugh. The day went by at a delightful pace, Carly thought. With the weather warm, but not hot, they threw open the windows on the house. Over breakfast, Dillon offered to help her with Paula’s room. “All I really need to do until evening chores is go out later on and shut off the irrigation in the garden.” “Maybe we could go along,” she suggested. “I know there may not be much to see other than furrowed rows of soil, but I would still like to see it.” “Sure. I’ll give you a tour. Plus, some of the green shoots are already starting to poke through.” They spent about an hour working in Paula’s room. Carly finished unpacking all the quilts, examining them and putting them back into the chest, undecided what to do with all of them. This day they moved on to the closet. They packed clothing into a trash bag. “Next time we go to town, we can donate these to the poor unless you want to sell them,” Dillon said. Carly told him that she would rather donate them. But as they worked, she found cowboy boots in her size, as well as a hat. She put them on with Dillon in the bedroom. “What do you think? Do I look like a cowgirl?” She then proceeded to strut around the room clad in cutoffs, a tank top, and Paula’s ivory leather boots with brown pin box tips and intricately stitched shaft. When he turned around, she saw the desire in his eyes. “You look like my kind of cowgirl, that’s for damned sure.” She delighted in his answer and enjoyed the warm feeling that came over her as he looked at her, and a slow smile came over

his face. “Have you ever ridden a horse?” “A pony when I was about Taylor’s age. We were at the carnival and it just went around in a circle, so I’m not sure that counts.” “Perhaps you would like to be introduced to Blossom. She’s our oldest horse and is the one Paula learned to ride on when the horse was young. Blossom is not very energetic and prefers to spend a lot of time stopping to smell the clover, so to speak.” Carly found herself excited at the prospect of riding a horse. “I would love to meet Blossom. Do you think we could this afternoon?” “I see no reason why not. Taylor has a pony called Little Bit that she loves to ride, so she’ll be excited.” At the garden Carly learned he used a drip system to irrigate. He pointed out the corn, beans, peas, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and even some broccoli and cauliflower. There were squash plants, both summer and winter, melons, and a few pumpkins. A border of marigolds to repel bugs ran around it all. “I have a potato patch, too. It’s just over in the corner of the meadow and is watered from a windmill apparatus I have rigged up.” After walking back to the house, they all worked together to prepare a lunch of sandwiches, chips, and cookies. Then Carly and Taylor got ready to go horseback riding while Dillon did the few dishes. It took a little time for Carly to get used to wearing the boots. They were heavier than she usually wore, but they fit her perfectly, making her rethink getting rid of her birth mother’s shoes. Some of them were very attractive, and Carly always felt she could never own enough shoes. In the corral, she met all the horses. Blossom turned out to be a pretty little reddish horse. “She’s a sorrel,” Dillon said. “Hand her a carrot, but make sure you keep your fingers out of reach of her teeth. Blossom wouldn’t mean to bite you, but sometimes fingers just get in the way.” The mare enjoyed the carrot, and when she finished, she nudged Carly with her head looking for more, almost knocking her down as she wasn’t expecting it.

Little Bit, she learned, was a Shetland pony about the color of Blossom, only he had a blond looking mane and tail instead of one that matched his coat. He acted fond of Taylor and treated her carefully. The other three horses were introduced as Dapple, Thunder, and Stormy. “I really don’t need all three, but I can’t bear to sell any of them. Dapple was Paula’s mare, and Stormy was my Dad’s horse.” A pretty gray/blue dappled horse, Dapple’s eyes looked intelligent, while Stormy was what Dillon called a buckskin. His own horse was a large dark brown animal with black mane and tail, a bay he called it. “I try to take turns riding them,” he said. “Today I think I’ll exercise Dapple. She’s a little better about a pleasure ride, while the other two prefer to work cattle.” Dillon saddled all three horses. Taylor talked to her pony and Carly tried to help him. She managed the saddle blankets and, otherwise, felt in the way, but he didn’t seem to be annoyed by it. He got Taylor up on Little Bit first, and they walked around the corral while he helped Carly mount and then adjusted her stirrups. “You two just walk around the corral while I saddle Dapple. Don’t stiffen up on her, Carly. Just relax and get into the rhythm of her gait.” At first, she felt nervous, but soon she realized she could just relax and enjoy the ride. Once Dillon had Dapple saddled, he opened the gate, and Carly followed Taylor out, tugging gently on the reins to halt Blossom and wait for Dillon to mount. He led them through the meadow toward the lake, giving some instructions as they went. “Watch for holes. A horse is pretty good about spotting them, but you don’t want the horse to injure themselves.” After a few minutes he said, “Be careful about birds. Sometimes there’s a hidden nest and one will fly up and hit a horse in its belly. That spooks them, and they’ll buck or jump. When they do, it’s easy to lose you. You want to relax but always keep a grip on the horse with your legs.” After they rounded the lake and headed back, Dillon said, “You’re a natural, Carly, just like your mother. I when Paula first arrived, she seemed almost scared to ride, but then when she got up on that horse, she proved to be a natural. She almost became one with it. Dad taught her how to work with them, break them, and train them. I’ll it, after what happened to her, I would rather you didn’t get quite that good, but it’s great that you seem so comfortable in the

saddle.” Back at the house, they returned to their tasks, and Carly discovered some fabulous pairs of shoes in Paula’s closet. Taylor helped her haul them to the guest room. “I wish some of her clothes fit me, but she must have been a little bigger.” “A little more middle-aged,” Dillon said. “When Paula came to the ranch, she was your size, but women, well, they settle into middle-age and…” He trailed off with a mischievous grin. Carly started to laugh. “Oh, quit trying to be politically correct. We all get a little bigger as we age. You will, too, although as hard as you work, I doubt if it will be much bigger.” “My dad always called it the furniture disease.” “What? I’ve never heard of that.” She looked up to see his grin broaden and realized he meant it as a joke. “You know, where your chest falls into your drawers.” With her arms full of clothes, she walked by and managed to get a hand free to pat him gently on the cheek. “Silly cowboy.” The next day Dillon got a call from the Post Office that his chicks had arrived, so he drove into town to pick them up. After he left, Taylor went upstairs to play in her room, and Carly settled in the front room with a stack of Paula’s journals. She made her way through the most current one and started flipping through another pile to see what they might contain. The ringing of the doorbell surprised her, and she wondered if Jan or some other neighbor she had not yet met had drove in. Opening the door, she found a young black man in a nice suit on the porch. Probably a salesman, she thought. “Miss James?” His words put her on guard. How would someone know her name and where to find her on the ranch? “Yes,” she reluctantly itted.

“I represent a life insurance company. According to our records, Paula Johnson purchased a rather large policy some years back and named you as the beneficiary. Could I come in and speak to you?” Meghan’s words from two nights before came back to her. This man did not match the descriptions of the others, but still, she found it odd. Paula had a life insurance policy that she left to her and Dillon. Why would she have another that she left just to Carly? Dillon’s house had a large, covered porch, and Carly decided to take advantage of the seating of a grouping of wicker chairs with cushioned seats on them. “Please have a seat. It’s a lovely day, Mr.—oh, you didn’t introduce yourself, did you?” He avoided her comment and followed her gaze to the porch. “You’re right, Miss James. This would be a lovely place to visit.” He then turned and sat in the closest chair. Carly refused to be cornered by him and, instead of taking a chair, perched on the porch railing. “Do you have a business card?” She watched bemusedly and warily as he patted his coat pockets and then finally itted, “I’m sorry, but I must have left them at my hotel.” Her voice reflected her cynicism when she replied. “How inconvenient.” He ignored her and went on, opening a leather-bound notepad. “Now, we will need a copy of the death certificate, of course.” Here he paused and looked up, “How did she die? We have a copy of the obituary and, unfortunately, it doesn’t state that.” Carly thought about it but decided no harm could come from giving him that information. She felt somewhat like they were playing a game of cat and mouse; she just didn’t know which role she played. “In a riding accident.” He winced. “That’s unfortunate.” “Yes.” He picked up a copy of the obituary and studied it. Carly reminded herself that

she should ask Dillon for a copy of it since she had not yet seen it. “It’s a lovely obituary,” he commented. “It sounds like your mother must have been a wonderful woman. She was your mother, wasn’t she?” “My birth mother,” Carly acknowledged. “How did you know?” “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps my employer told me.” “And who is that?” Once again, he dodged her question. “She was a quilter, I see. Oh, and a journal writer. What a wonderful habit, to write of your life so that your family will someday be able to enjoy it long after you are in the hereafter.” Carly made no reply. Unsure why, she felt strongly that she needed to keep her mouth shut now. “How many journals did your mother leave? I assume many years’ worth?” The sound of a vehicle rent the otherwise quiet air. She turned to see Dillon’s truck making its slow way down the road. At last he pulled up in front of the house, parking beside the dark mid-sized sedan that the visitor drove. Dillon emerged and paused to look at the car. As he approached, he took out a notebook and pencil to jot something down, then he climbed the three steps to the porch. “I wasn’t aware that we had a visitor, or I would have hurried back.” He stepped closer, a quizzical look on his face, and put his hand between Carly’s shoulders, rubbing her back as though he sensed the tension in her spine. She smiled at him, letting her nerves show. “This gentleman says he represents a life insurance company, and that Paula bought a sizable policy and named me the beneficiary. Unfortunately, he seems to have left his business cards at his hotel, and I know neither his name nor that of the company.” “Interesting.” Dillon stepped forward and held out his hand. “Could I see a copy of the policy, sir?” The man rose as though trying to intimidate Dillon. Carly found this laughable since he was a good half foot shorter than Dillon. “I’m not at liberty to show you that until I have seen the death certificate.”

“Well, we are not at liberty to show you that until we know your name and the company you work for.” “As I told Miss James, I accidentally left my business cards behind this morning.” “I see, well, why don’t you get off my land and only come back if and when you have the information we need.” The stranger opened his mouth as though to argue but took another look at Dillon and quietly walked to his car. Carly stood and turned to face the direction of the road. “I don’t know why, but he gave me the creeps. He doesn’t match the description of the men Meghan talked to, but I am still bothered by him.” She slipped both arms around Dillon’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you got back when you did.” He used one finger to tilt up her face and kissed her on the lips. “It is odd. Very odd. So can your dad run license plate numbers?” “Of course, he can.” Dillon pulled out his little notebook and flipped it to the page he had written on. “Why don’t you give him a call and see if he can run this one? I suspect it’s just a rental, but I wonder if he could find out who rented it.” “I will. These days he’s a desk jockey since he’s so close to retirement, so that means I can call him at work.” She slipped into the house to find her cell phone. **** Dillon found himself staring down the road where he could just make out the car topping the far hill. What the hell? he wondered. When he’d heard about the goons going to Carly’s apartment, he’d dismissed it as a stalker who wanted to meet her because of that video. But now this? It just didn’t stack up. He had been able to tell Carly felt upset the minute he’d pulled up to the house. He’d never seen someone with such a straight, stiff spine sitting on a porch railing. Then he realized that if she would have sat in one of the other

chairs she would have been cornered and couldn’t have made it into the house and behind a locked front door. That was a smart choice. At last, he stepped into the house where he could hear Carly on the phone. She paced the kitchen as she spoke. He could see she tried to play down her worries. Dillon knew, though, that her father would see through it when she ended the call with “I love you, Daddy.” Every father around the world could tell a daughter needed him when she called him Daddy in that tone of voice, no matter her age. She looked up and caught him watching her. “He’s going to run it right now, and if it’s a rental, he’ll call the rental company and follow through with them. He said you were smart to write down the plate number.” He tugged her into his arms for a comforting embrace. “I knew something bad happened as soon as I saw you.” “How did you know?” “You showed it through your posture, sweetheart.” He kissed her again before he spoke. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone frightening you. I know it hasn’t been long, but I care about you, Carly. A lot.” “Who came?” Taylor’s voice came from right behind them, and Dillon stepped away from Carly. “Just an insurance salesman, sweet pea.” “Oh.” The child meandered toward the counter a little too innocently. “Can I have a cookie?” Dillon distracted his daughter. “Don’t you want to help get the baby chicks settled into their new home?” Taylor clapped her hands and jumped up and down with enthusiasm. “Baby chicks! Baby chicks!” Carly guided the child toward the stairs. “Let’s both go get on some better

shoes.” It took them close to an hour to get the tiny birds settled. Dillon found himself smiling as he watched the two females fawn over the little chirping balls of fluff. When Carly first held one and looked up at him with her face wreathed in happiness, he could swear his heart skipped a beat. Then, when she supervised his daughter in handling a chick with a gentle touch, it skipped a bit more—and beat faster. When they had the chicks settled, Carly said, “Why don’t I go cook lunch now?” “What are we having?” his child wanted to know. “How about hamburgers and French fries?” “Yay!” Dillon watched his daughter dance in happy circles all the way back to the house at the thought of French fries, even if they were probably the frozen kind. Just as they walked in the house the phone rang. He announced, “I’ll get it in the other room.” Grabbing up the receiver he found himself speaking with the woman who served as secretary of the school board. “Has something come up, Agnes?” “Yes, Dillon, it’s a serious problem. Cathy Bateman returned her teacher’s contract.” She paused. “Unsigned.” Dillon swore under his breath. “Did she say why?” “Yes. She’s tired of the commute from Willow Flats. She wants more pay. Oh, and she feels like she should have better benefits. And the list goes on. She and her husband are getting a divorce and Cathy is going to, and I quote, ‘get the hell out of Dodge’ if we can’t meet her demands.” “Our next meeting’s coming up in a few days.” “Yes, on Tuesday night.”

“Would you mind calling everyone and telling them how important the meeting will be? We’ll have to talk about advertising and see if there is any way we can afford to pay more competitively, maybe fix up the old trailer house there, and things like that.” “I’ll do that, Dillon. I have a bad feeling about this. It’s hard to find a teacher who will work in the middle of nowhere.” “I know.” Then he looked up as he saw Carly walk past the doorway with a stack of plates. “I’ll let you go, Agnes, and I’ll see you next week.” He hung up without saying goodbye and wandered into the kitchen. “We’re having homemade French fries, Daddy,” Taylor informed him. “Carly said it’s worth making them because they’re so much better than the frozen kind.” “And,” Carly interjected, “I discovered that you own a deep-fat fryer.” He didn’t say anything, but just leaned against the door frame studying her until she looked at him and said, “What’s wrong?” “That was the secretary of the school board. I’m the president, so she called me to tell me that our teacher has resigned.” “Really? That’s the school I ed up by the little church, right?” “It is.” “I’ll bet there aren’t many schools left like it in the nation.” “No, but we hang on. Thirteen students, one teacher. And if we didn’t have it, we would have to drive the kids all the way to Willow Flats.” He stepped closer and looked over her shoulder watching her peel potatoes at the kitchen sink. Then he spoke softly. “And now we need an experienced elementary teacher. Do you want to apply?” Carly looked at him over her shoulder, a thoughtful expression on her face. Dillon decided he should be honest with her. “The pay’s not very good and neither are the benefits, but there’s no violence other than an occasional school yard scuffle.”

Chapter Eight

That evening, Carly snuggled against Dillon on the couch while he watched a travel show on public television. Her mind wasn’t on the show. Instead, she kept thinking of what he had asked her. She hadn’t signed her teaching contract in Portland yet because she missed teaching elementary school. On the other hand, sometimes she got bored with one grade. How many grades were the thirteen students in? Where would she live? Would Dillon ask her to live with him? Or, perhaps, even marry him eventually? Even though it had only been a short time since she had arrived, every time she thought about leaving her heart almost broke. She wasn’t the type of woman who could live with a man, despite having separate rooms, or to kiss him several times a day as had become their habit and walk away from him. And what about Taylor? In a short period of time, she’d grown very fond of the little girl. Dillon, his dad, and Paula had done a fabulous job raising her. But the older the child got, the more she would need a mother. Oh, she knew that single dads the world over explained the facts of life to girls whose bodies were developing, but who better than a mother? And when a girl felt irritated with the male species, it was hard to complain to another male. Who would take her shopping for her first bra? Jan, the neighbor? “How many grades are in the school?” Dillon shifted in his seat and smoothed her hair where his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Hmm?” “How many grades are the thirteen students in?” Dillon looked at her with interest. “I don’t think we’ll have a kindergartner this year, and, let’s see, no fifth-graders either, but otherwise all of them.” “Does all of them include seventh and eighth?”

“Yes, the kids in this area could go into Willow Flats for junior high, but I don’t think any of them will. They would have to have older siblings who could drive to make it worth them traveling that distance.” Seven grades. If she applied and got it, she would be teaching seven grade levels of students. Even with thirteen students, about a third of what her usual class size had been, she would never be bored. And she could do wonderful things like let the oldest ones help with the younger ones. One of the best ways of learning was to help others learn. “I can almost hear the gears in your brain turning.” “I am just contemplating what you asked.” “If you wanted to apply for the teacher position?” “Uh, huh.” She wondered if she should ask him where she would live. It seemed so forward. Maybe she could bring it up in another way. “Isn’t there a trailer house behind the school?” “Yes, but I don’t think you’d need to live there. We have plenty of room right here on the ranch.” There was, but in what bedroom, in what status? Her cell phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s my father,” she said after checking the caller ID. “Hi, Dad.” “I hope I’m not calling too late,” her father said. “You aren’t. We’re just watching a television show. Do you have information about our visitor?” “I do.” “Can I put you on speaker, Dad, so that Dillon can hear, too?” “That would be good.” Carly hit the button on her phone and then said, “Can you still hear me, Dad?”

“I can.” “Hello, Mr. James,” Dillon greeted the other man. “This is Dillon.” “It’s good to talk to you, Dillon. Are you taking care of my little girl?” Carly smiled as Dillon replied, “I am, sir.” “Call me Roger, would you?” Without waiting for a reply, her father got right down to business. “I ran those plates, and it is a rental car. When I called the company, I found out it was checked out at the airport in Denver to a man with a Georgia license by the name of Earl Manning. I don’t think he’s your man, though.” “Why is that?” Dillon asked. “This guy is listed as five feet eleven and weighs over two hundred pounds with blue eyes. And he would be forty-eight now. Carly, you told me the young man that showed up is closer to your age and African American, very slightly built.” “That’s right,” she said. “This couldn’t be the same man.” “The thing is,” her father said, “this Manning pretty well fits the description of one of the two that visited Meghan. I ran a check on him and found out he’s spent a little time in prison in his younger adult years for assault and battery, along with a couple years for racketeering. Nothing big. I doubt he was the brains behind whatever the scheme was. More likely the brawn. But I don’t want to think of you running into him, Carly.” “Neither do I,” Dillon and Carly added almost at the same time. Dillon spoke again. “I keep thinking about what they want, and I can’t figure it out.” “Well, son, let’s all keep working on that. And take precautions, lock your doors, maybe call the sheriff if they show up again, that kind of thing. Do you have any weapons, Dillon?” “I’m a rancher, Roger. I have a couple of shotguns and a couple of hunting rifles.”

“Keep them cleaned, then.” Her dad ended the call with goodbye, and both Dillon and Carly sat back in thought. Finally, he broke the silence. “If I’m not around the house I want you to keep the doors and windows locked. If it gets hot, turn on the air conditioning. Keep your cell phone close by, and I’ll do the same.” Carly promised she would, then she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I think I’ll go to bed, cowboy. This business exhausts me.” “You do that, sweetheart. I think I’ll clean my guns and check my ammo supply.” Carly struggled to try to sleep. Between thinking about the men that went to her apartment and the one that drove out to the ranch, mixed with contemplation about applying for the teaching position, as well the future of her relationship with Dillon, she tossed and turned until she finally fell into a fretful sleep. The next morning over breakfast, Dillon brought up the subject of the strangers to his daughter. “Taylor, I don’t want to scare you, but the insurance man that came here yesterday is a stranger, and we don’t know for sure what he wants. You do your stranger danger rules, right?” “Yes, Daddy, I shouldn’t talk to strangers. I should stay out of their reach. I should tell an adult anytime I’m scared. And if I need to, I should run and hide.” “That’s right. Do you how to call me on my cell phone?” “Yes. I’ll show you.” Carly watched as the child slid off her chair and went over to the kitchen phone. A stool had been placed there; now she knew why. Taylor climbed up on it and pushed two buttons before Dillon’s phone rang. When he answered, she said, “Hello, Daddy,” and then giggled and hung up. Back on her chair, the child looked worried. “Do you think someone wants to hurt us?” “I don’t know, sweet pea. I hope not, but it is always good to be prepared.” Before he left to go to work, Dillon pulled Carly into the utility room. “Here’s my downstairs gun safe,” he said. He opened a nearby cupboard and showed her

a key in a box on the top shelf. “Here is the key. I have another gun safe upstairs in my room, and the key to it is in a hollow copy of the Bible on the top shelf of the bookcase. The ammo is on the top shelf of each case.” She nodded her understanding. “Do you know how to shoot?” “Yes. My father is a cop after all. But I have only shot revolvers, and I would like to practice if we could make time today.” “That’s a good idea. These rifles have quite a kickback on them. We’ll go out this afternoon.” As he left to go to the garden and the potato patch, then to work in the shop, Carly locked all the doors behind him. After he’d left, she noticed one rifle missing from the safe. **** “How did it go yesterday morning, Deacon Barnes?” Godfrey asked the young man over the phone. “Not as well as I had hoped, Reverend. She seemed reluctant to speak with me, although I did find out that Mrs. Johnson died from a riding accident.” “Did Miss James tell you whether Mrs. Johnson is her mother?” “She did tell me that she was her birth mother.” “Well done, Deacon. Well done!” Godfrey didn’t need to do silly tricks to motivate his followers. A few carefully placed words ensured their loyalty. He had always been able to talk others into doing what he wanted. “Did she mention the journals?” “No. Miss James did not disclose anything personal. Of course, it may have been because I did not provide my name or that of the life insurance company and I had no business card to give her when she asked.” Godfrey pinched his nose between his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the

oncoming headache and schooled his voice before speaking. “Now that we know that Mrs. Johnson was, indeed, Miss James’ mother, I’m very anxious to read those journals. I realize now that Mrs. Johnson is the person I , but I had to be sure since I knew her before she married. I would like to publish those journals, but before I can, I must get my hands on them. I would like you and Deacons Tankov and Manning to put just a little pressure on Miss James. My friend was a wonderful person and a talented writer. Those journals will be inspirational and should be shared with the world. It would be a shame for the family to keep them for themselves.” “A little pressure, yes, I understand.” “I don’t want you to hurt her. You’re the calm one, Deacon Barnes. Don’t let our friends get too pushy.” “Yes, Reverend. I will try my best to get the journals.” Godfrey hung up and hoped that they would succeed. If the journals did exist, he must get his hands on them. It was a matter of life and death. **** Carly spent some time straightening up the house once Dillon went out to work. She gathered Paula’s journals and took them upstairs to put them away and out of sight. Something about the stranger’s interest in them made her want to put them in a safe place. After her housework, she did some laundry, choosing to use the backyard clothesline to dry the sheets. She had an urge to crawl into bed that night with bedding that smelled like the sweet Sandhill air. “Would you like to help me hang up the laundry outside?” she asked Taylor. “You could hand me the clothes pins, so I don’t accidentally drop the sheets on the ground.” “I always helped Grandma,” the little one said eagerly. “She told me I am the best laundry helper anywhere.” Outside in the late morning sunshine, they had a good time and made a game of the laundry task. The yard did not have a fence, and the two dogs ed them.

Their laughter filled the air until, suddenly, both dogs’ ears perked up. Max barked and hurried around the side of the house. “Good afternoon, Miss James.” The voice Carly heard belonged to the stranger from the day before. Despite an overwhelming sense of foreboding, Carly tried to stay calm, but she laid a hand on Taylor’s shoulder and spoke softly. “I need you to walk calmly into the house and call your daddy. Tell him the insurance man is back. Then go up to your bedroom and lock the door behind you and stay there. Don’t look out the window.” The child’s voice trembled with fear even as tears filled her eyes. “Okay.” Luckily, she walked quickly into the house and shut the back door behind her. Carly turned her attention to the stranger. “Did you bring the insurance policy?” She calmly put the last clothespin on the line and then turned to face him full on, trying not to let fear show in her face when two other men ed him. One matched Meghan’s description exactly—like an actor playing a Russian mafia member. The other, though not quite six feet tall, weighed well over two hundred pounds. Her mouth dried to dust as her heart rate banged in her ears. She tried to breathe deeply and calm herself. She had to buy enough time for Dillon to arrive. “I’m sorry,” the youngest man said. “I’m afraid I could not.” She knew she was goading him but couldn’t help herself. “Did you your business cards?” “Alas, I did not.” The dogs flanked her, and as the Russian looking man took one step forward, both animals growled, and Max blocked her body with his. She continued. “Do your friends have business cards or even names?” They did not reply. “Ah, despite your unwillingness to introduce yourselves, I do know who you are, sir.” She faced the heavy-set man who matched the driver’s license descriptions.

“I believe you are Earl Manning. Is that correct?” She kept her eyes on his face and felt triumphant when she saw a flicker of worry cross his features although he did not confirm or deny her accusation. “Why are you here?” The youngest man took back control of the conversation. “We’re very interested in your mother’s journals.” “What does that have to do with a life insurance policy?” The Russian looking man stepped forward. Max and Sadie both snapped. “Forget about the life insurance policy,” he said with a look for the dogs. “We want Mrs. Johnson’s journals.” “Why?” “An old friend of hers would like to obtain them and publish them,” Manning said. The younger man interjected, “We would, of course, pay for them.” While relieved, Carly was still scared and definitely on her guard. At least she now knew what the men were after. But she didn’t know why. “Who is this old friend?” The younger man answered again. “He wishes to remain anonymous. Could you please show us the journals? Once we are assured you have them, we can make arrangements to purchase them from you.” Carly looked at them sternly, and asked, “Would you please leave?” “Do as the lady says.” She turned slightly to see Dillon striding into the backyard, a rifle in his right hand, pointing at the ground. “There’s no need for guns,” Manning mumbled. “Great, in that case, you will all leave and won’t come back. We will be calling the county sheriff to report the three of you as suspicious.”

The three looked as though they wanted to argue, but they finally turned and walked around the corner of the house. Dillon followed them. Over his shoulder, he said, “Go in and check on Taylor, would you?” **** Dillon stood with one hip cocked, leaning against one of the porch columns, his rifle upright on his shoulder. He watched intently as the car topped the farthest hill. Only then did he let his body begin to relax for the first time since his daughter had called his cell phone. He ed every moment of that call. The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his struggles with the irrigation at the potato patch. Dillon grabbed it and said hello. “Daddy, Carly says to come quick.” His daughter’s fear-filled voice sent him running for the pickup at a dead run, the cell phone shoved to his ear. “I’m coming, sweet pea.” He had tried to keep his voice calm. “Do you know why she needs me?” “We were in the backyard hanging up the laundry when a man came around the corner. I’m supposed to tell you the insurance man is here. Then I’m supposed to go to my room and lock my door. And I’m not supposed to look out the window.” “Then you go do that. As soon as we can, we’ll be up to get you.” “I’m scared, Daddy. Do you have your gun?” “I do, and everything is going to be fine. Now you hang up and follow Carly’s instructions, and I’ll be right there.” He heard a sniff as she said, “Bye.” Dillon had driven as fast as he could across the rough land to the house. He’d parked by the shop, not wanting them to hear the truck, and then he’d run toward the house and straight to the backyard. Damn, he felt so proud of Carly as she stood facing them, appearing calm, although he knew she wasn’t by the stiffness in her stance. He was proud of the dogs, too. Though not trained as guard dogs, Max wedged his furry body between Carly and the men while Sadie stood at attention to her right side.

Now both dogs lounged at his side. He squatted down and scratched both of their heads. “Good dogs! In just a few minutes, I’ll bring you each a bone.” Turning to the house, Dillon fished his house key out of his jean’s pocket and opened the front door. Locking it behind him, he called, “Carly?” “We’re up here, Dillon.” The voice came from the vicinity of Taylor’s room. “I’ll be up in a minute,” he replied, then he walked through to the utility room, double checked to make sure the back door was locked and put his rifle back in the gun safe. Afterward he climbed upstairs where he found Carly sitting on the floor of Taylor’s bedroom holding his daughter on her lap, both arms around her. She looked up as he entered. “I am just telling Taylor how proud I am of her for doing exactly as I told her to. She is very brave.” Dillon walked across the room and lowered his body to the floor beside them. He looked at his little girl’s tear-streaked face and reached over to tenderly wipe a tear away with his thumb. “She is. When she called me, she told me what you told her to do, and then she hung up and came up here.” He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Taylor’s brow. “Carly and I are going to go downstairs, sweet pea. I promised Max and Sadie each a bone. I have some beef bones in the freezer, and it’s warm enough outside they’ll enjoy them frozen.” Then he stood and held out his hand to Carly as Taylor reached for her beloved ragdoll and nodded. As soon as they stepped off the bottom step, Carly spoke. “They want her journals,” she told him, puzzlement written across her face. “They even offered to pay for them.” “I don’t suppose they gave any indication as to why they want them?” His stepmother had written in them every night but from what he knew, she wrote about day-to-day happenings—the weather, the garden, her quilting, or horse training. Probably the most exciting things about them were when they had a visit from the neighbors or when someone gave birth or died. When she shook her head, he continued, “So, no life insurance, huh?” “They told me to forget about it but that whoever they are working for is an old friend of Paula’s and he wants to publish her journals. They wouldn’t say who,

just that he wished to remain anonymous.” Dillon thought about what she’d said. “I wonder if it is someone who she knew before she came to Nebraska. If so, what’s in the journals that he wants?” “That’s what I’ve been thinking. And I feel like we need to get them off the ranch or locked up. Of course, if we do that, we can’t read them.” “And if we don’t read them, we will never know what they might be after,” Dillon added. “But I think you’re right. I think they need to be moved.” Walking to his desk, he said, “I’m going to call the sheriff now.” While he talked to the sheriff, Carly went into the kitchen, and soon he heard the sounds of lunch being prepared. After the sheriff told him he would drive out that afternoon and take a report, Dillon walked into the kitchen to tell Carly what the officer had said. Instead, he found himself watching her, how she gracefully moved around the kitchen. She’d called Taylor down to set the table, and he listened as she talked calmly to Taylor, coaching her on how to do small tasks. Carly James was a brave and caring woman, and Dillon knew already that he loved her.

Chapter Nine

“About all I can do is take a report,” Sheriff Jenkins stated. The adults were sitting around the dining table with three cups of coffee. “It isn’t illegal to be annoying. However, if it continues to happen, then we have reason to cite them for tresing or something else if this escalates.” Dillon frowned. “I suspect it is going to escalate, so, yes, please take the report so we don’t have to start at ground zero in case something else happens.” “I don’t want to worry you, but I did ask around town before I left, and I found out people have taken note of three strangers asking questions.” Here he looked at Dillon. “Not about you, other than how to get to the ranch. And, Carly, while they’ve asked about you, no one in town knows who you are or that you’re staying with Dillon. But they’ve been asking more about Paula.” “I can’t figure out why. My stepmother led the most circumspect life possible.” “She did, indeed. I don’t think they can be getting much information.” He proceeded to take down the report. Carly and Dillon provided physical descriptions of them. Then Dillon pulled out his notebook and said, “They drive a dark blue mid-sized rental sedan. I have the license plate here.” The lawman took note of it and then handed it back to Dillon. “It’s rented to a man by the name of Earl Manning,” Carly said. “He has a Georgia license and served time some years ago for assault and battery, as well as racketeering.” Jenkins raised a brow. “How do you know this?” “My father is a policeman in Portland, Oregon. He’s been on the force for over thirty years and has served both as a beat cop and a detective. He’s a captain now over the fraud investigation unit.” “When I got the plate number, Roger ran them for us and did a little investigation of Manning,” Dillon added.

“While none of them told me their names,” Carly said, “I told the one that I knew his name is Earl Manning and I watched his face very carefully. I definitely hit the nail on the head.” The sheriff finished his report and stood up. “There’s one thing about a small rural community,” he said looking at Carly, “folks look out after each other.” Here he shifted his gaze to Dillon. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll stop in at a few of the neighboring ranches and give them a brief update and ask them to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. I’ll do the same in town.” Jenkins started toward the kitchen door. “You folks be safe. Dillon, keep that gun handy and, Carly, if you don’t know how to shoot a rifle or a shotgun, have Dillon show you. Keep the doors and windows locked. Call me if they come back. Unfortunately, I can’t get here in time, but if I see them in town, I’ll tail them and stop them and talk to them.” They both walked him to the door and bade him goodbye. As he drove off, Dillon flipped the lock on the front door. “Should we hide the journals first or give you a lesson in shooting?” Carly thought about it for a moment. “I think we should hide the journals. I do know how to fire a gun although these big ones might knock me on my butt. Now, where are we going to put the journals?” Dillon thought a moment. “I’ve got an idea.” He shouted up the stairway, “Taylor, put on your shoes.” When they left the house, locking the doors behind them, they walked toward the west as though they were going to the shop. The dogs went with them, running ahead, their black noses to the ground, tails wagging. Even a cat, Taylor’s favorite Carly knew, ran along beside them. Before they got to the shop, however, they veered off into a thicket of some type. Dense bushes with gnarled trunks and twisted limbs were covered with small green leaves and formed an almost impenetrable maze. “What are these bushes?” Carly asked. “Plums. Not the kind you eat, but the type you can make jams and jellies or wine with. The birds go crazy about them. Dad told me my great-great-grandparents planted them not long after they homesteaded the ranch. I guess my great-greatgrandmother brought a small shrub from where they lived in Illinois as she

couldn’t bear to leave them. She planted the first ones on top of the little hill here north of the house. Apparently, they like this climate because they’ve taken over the whole hill. At first my ancestors tried to keep it under control, but it got to be too much, and it’s not like this hill is used for much of anything.” Carly ired the dense and inviting thicket. “When I was your age, Taylor, I would have loved to play in here.” “Sometimes I do.” “Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, we play Robin Hood in here, don’t we, sweet pea? The little girl giggled. “Daddy plays Robin Hood and I am Maid Marian and he has to save me from the bad guys.” They entered the thicket on a path that wound toward the side of the hill. “That sounds like fun,” Carly said although she privately thought it sounded a little too much like reality these days. Dillon warned, “Be careful. I try to keep the branches cut back from the path a bit, but it’s a never-ending job, and sometimes it gets away from me. The branches have thorns on them so they can scratch you or catch your clothing.” Carly looked at them closer and saw that they did, indeed, have little thorns. She dodged one or two, and Dillon held some back from them all. The path soon ended at a door set into the hillside. A camouflaged iron door with a handle set into it could barely be seen until you were right on it. “Is it a root cellar?” He nodded. “It is a cellar. Mom painted the door camo years ago. She said it wouldn’t be an eyesore that way.” Dillon paused and then finally continued. “Now I wonder if she had another reason.” He swung the door open. “Come on in. I’ll show you what I mean.” At the foot of the stairs, they encountered another heavy iron door. Dillon worked the latch and leaned his shoulder against it, swinging it open and causing the hinges to squeal. “I’d better oil this,” he commented. There was a light switch just inside, and it lit up a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling. Carly stepped in, inhaling the musty underground smell of the small

room. Inside were shelves and a stack of lawn chairs. There were some canned goods on the shelves. She noted pickles and green beans along with something that looked like applesauce and peaches. “It’s a good place to keep the spare canned goods,” Dillon commented as she inspected the jars. “It stays cool enough here year-round to keep them from getting too hot, yet warm enough to keep them from freezing.” Seeing gallon jugs of unopened water, she commented, “You could survive anything down here.” “Mom always said you needed a good place to go in a tornado, but now that I see it with new eyes, I have a feeling that she might have been hiding something. We don’t get many tornadoes nearby and this seems like far too much for that.” Carly looked at the iron door. “Yes, this door is as thick as a bank vault’s door.” “There’s a spider, Daddy.” Carly hated spiders but decided she shouldn’t scream and run until she knew more. She looked for it and saw it just as Dillon said, “It’s only a granddaddy long legs, sweet pea. He’s not hurting anything. In fact, he likes to eat the other bugs, so that helps out.” After a moment more, Dillon said, “I think there’s a couple of old trunks full of journals up in the attic. Maybe we can get all the journals in those trunks and move them out here. I have a couple of heavy-duty padlocks around to lock the place up with. I doubt if anybody would ever find this place.” “No, I can’t imagine they would.” Carly took Taylor’s hand and led her out of the cellar then waited while Dillon closed it up again. As she thought about what they were doing, she realized how paranoid they sounded. “Listen to us, Dillon. We sound like we’re preparing for the worst. Are we overreacting?” He stepped close and put his arm around Carly’s waist. “I don’t think so.” As Taylor broke away and chased after the cat, he quietly went on. “I think that perhaps I should send you and Taylor somewhere else, but it seems to be you they’re interested in, and I don’t feel like I should let you out of my sights.” “But what about Taylor? I hate that she is exposed to this. Where are her other grandparents?”

“Holly’s parents live in Florida. They keep in touch with us now and then and always send Taylor gifts at her birthday and Christmas, but she hasn’t seen them for over a year. I wouldn’t feel good about putting her on a plane by herself, and she doesn’t know them well enough to feel good about being separated from me.” As they emerged from the thicket and followed Taylor and the animals to the house, Dillon went on. “If things escalate, we’ll have to re-evaluate that but, for now, I think we should stick with the status quo.” Back at the house, Carly and Taylor watched as Dillon pulled down a set of steps leading to the attic. “Can I come up, Daddy?” Taylor asked. Carly felt the same way. She loved exploring attics. His answer didn’t come immediately, and Carly finally said to the child, “You go on up, Taylor. I’ll be right behind you, but don’t step into the attic until Daddy says it’s okay. Some attics don’t have sturdy floors in them.” As their heads emerged through the hole in the ceiling, Carly noticed that Dillon sat on his knees staring at the roof. “Is something wrong?” He looked back. “Come on up. It’s safe. And, no, there isn’t anything wrong. The sprinkler just caught my eye, and I’ve been sitting here thinking about why a woman would insist on a sprinkler system and a cellar that would withstand anything. I guess I grew up with them and never thought about how odd it is before.” Once Taylor climbed safely in to explore the contents of the room, Carly crawled in and sat beside Dillon. He looked over at her. “And there’s more. She really frowned on social media. And, while she had friends in the neighborhood, she rarely wanted to go to town, especially in the early days. She’d ask to send a grocery list with Dad and me but rarely wanted to go. Back in those days she ordered a lot of things from catalogs. As time went by and she got older, she would start going to town more often—sometimes even on her own. I expect she bought most of the fire extinguishers from the rancher’s supply in Willow Flats because the owner would say something about them now and then, like to remind her not to forget to test them annually. A few times she would even go to Butte Valley alone.” “She didn’t want anyone to know her or see her?” Dillon looked at her. “Kind of, yes.” Too tall to stand up straight, he crawled to a

trunk. Carly followed him on all fours. “And she never talked about before.” “Before?” “Before she came. The only thing she ever told either Dad or me was that she’d worked in a little diner in Portland.” “Most likely the one where she met my Dad,” Carly said. “It’s no longer there. Dad said the owner died and the heirs closed the place up and put it up for sale. Last I knew, it’s an auto repair shop.” “Chances are, even if the owner were alive, he wouldn’t her. It’s been too long.” Carly switched to sitting cross legged as Dillon opened the lid of the trunk to reveal stacks of journals. She found one considerably older than the ones downstairs, but the entries seemed very similar. We went to Dillon’s school picnic today. He’s so excited to be done with school for the summer. I asked him what he wanted to do with himself for the whole summer and he answered that he wanted to a youth agriculture club. I dread those meetings, although I’m sure he wants the social life. They’ll be every two weeks in Willow Flats. Perhaps his dad will take him most of the time. Leland enjoys seeing the other men, whereas I would much rather safely stay home. Carly reread it aloud. “Do you find it odd that she would rather safely stay home? Going to town to a meeting hardly seems dangerous. Do you think she was an agoraphobic?” Dillon paused in looking through the books. “I don’t think so,” he said after some thought. “She didn’t mind going over to see Jan or to, say, the school picnic.” After a few moments of silence, he continued. “It’s almost like she didn’t want to get on the highway. Any activities that were available on the narrow oil road she seemed fine with. But if you had to get on the highway, she was reluctant.” Carly looked down at the journal in her lap again. “I’ve been wondering if you know why your stepmother and dad never had any children of their own. Why didn’t you have a sibling?”

“I asked that same question of Dad once. He said Paula didn’t want children, although she loved me and took great care of me. Dad said he was always happy with his only son and didn’t feel the need for a big family either.” They both returned to flipping through the journals and then Dillon seemed to be onto something, flipping pages faster until he suddenly stopped. “This is the year she fixed up the cellar.” He read an entry aloud. “I told Leland I would like to fix up the cellar in case we have to spend time in there during a summer storm. It would be a good place to go just to be safe. I think if I paint that iron door to blend in with the grass, that most people could never find it, but we would know where it is. And the old wood door at the bottom of the steps needs to be replaced anyway. Thick iron would be much better for my purposes.” “What purposes would those be?” Carly wondered aloud. Dillon just shook his head. When it grew too hot to stay up there, Dillon dragged the two chests they found full of journals to the opening of the attic. “Do you know what I noticed?” “What’s that?” “The earliest journal starts the day she arrived at the ranch.” “As though she didn’t journal before then?” Carly asked. “I don’t think so, ’cause a bunch of the pages from that have been cut out with a pair of scissors or a knife like she didn’t want anyone to read about her life before she got here. I find it very curious.” Dillon hoisted the trunks down the stairs, and then he watched as Carly and Taylor climbed down. He tucked the attic stairs back into the ceiling and then said, “Why don’t we haul these out to the cellar in the pickup?” “Sure, but what about the ones in her bedroom?” Carly asked. “Let’s keep a few in the house. Let’s put them in the gun safe in my room, and we can start trying to get through them. Where are they at?”

“I’ve got them in her bedroom closet in a box on the shelf. I’ll get it.” As she walked out of the bedroom, Dillon spoke from the other room. “I’m in here, Carly.” She followed the sound of his voice into his bedroom. Although she’d been curious, she had remained polite and not snooped in his room before. Walking in, she found its layout to be the same as hers, with a bank of windows facing the south and two more looking east toward the barn. The room wasn’t as big as many master bedrooms she had seen before, and a queen-sized bed dominated the one wall with a long walk-in closet just inside the door where it would be opposite the bathroom wall. A long dresser with a mirror sat along the wall that backed up against the stairs, and a chest of drawers stood between the eastfacing windows. Nightstands flanked the bed with a gun safe tucked in the corner. The furniture had a walnut finish, and a quilt covered the bed with an autumn leaf pattern. The room smelled like Dillon; a scent Carly had become very fond of—a mix of spicy cologne, a touch of the earthy smell of animals, and a little bit of grease and oil. A year ago, she would have sworn she wouldn’t appreciate those scents at all, and now it made her think of Dillon, caused her to grow warm all over and to experience feelings of desire and love. Yes, love, she realized. Dillon waited in front of the open gun safe where a drawer with a lock at the bottom stood open. “How many can we fit in here?” Carly walked over with the box, and he took it from her. “I left two of them out so we can read them, but here are the rest. I’d say we can get most of them in this drawer, don’t you think?” He didn’t comment but worked to fill the drawer and managed to get them all inside. “That’s great. We won’t need to haul the most recent ones to the cellar that way. I wonder if we should start from the oldest, though.” With that comment, they came to the decision that is what they should do, and they spent a half hour shuffling the journals and putting them in year order until six years’ worth were locked behind double locks in the gun safe, and the rest were in the trunks that Dillon loaded in the truck. Dillon backed up to the plum thicket and then hauled the two trunks down the

path. Once he had them in the cellar, he went to the shop and rummaged until he found padlocks. Each one had only one key. She and Taylor watched as he dug through a corner of what appeared to be trash. She finally asked what he was looking for. “I don’t know, but I’ll recognize it when I see it,” came his reply. In fact, it wasn’t long until he made a small sound of victory and held up a birdhouse. Soon he had a piece of wire and a pair of pliers in his hands. “Daddy, are you going to hang up a birdhouse for the birds?” “I am. They deserve a place to go in a summer storm, just like we can go into the cellar if we need to.” Then, as his daughter once again became distracted with the dogs, Dillon led the way back into the thicket. He padlocked both cellar doors and then quietly showed Carly how to lift the roof of the birdhouse to fetch the keys. He then hung it with the sturdy wire on a nearby branch in the thicket. As they moved back to the pickup, the dogs, anticipating a ride, leaped into the back. “Daddy, can I ride with the dogs?” “No, sweet pea, it’s too dangerous on this bumpy ground. Get in the cab with Carly and me, and we’re going to go see if Jan will let you spend a little time with her.” “Why?” “I want to teach Carly how to shoot a big gun, and it’s not safe to have you near us when we do that. Plus, it’s noisy, and it’s hard on your hearing.” “Okay. Maybe Jan and I can have tea. She likes to share tea with me.”

Chapter Ten

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Dillon’s curious voice interrupted the quiet. At eight-thirty in the evening with Taylor tucked in bed, Carly and Dillon sat on the reclining couch. “Updating my resume.” Dillon flipped the journal he read over on his lap so he wouldn’t lose his place and then looked at her intently. “Does that mean you’re going to apply for the job?” “I’m thinking about it.” And she had been. A lot. The recent days had been some of the best times of her life. Sure, the worry about the strangers hung over their heads like a storm cloud, but the rest of it outweighed that. Dillon refused to leave her and Taylor alone while he worked, so she spent almost every waking moment with him. When he drove out in the pasture to check the wells and the cows, they went along, and she opened the gates. The one time he had to get a cow and a calf into the corral so he could doctor the calf, she and Taylor rode along. In fact, Carly, atop Blossom, even rode along behind the cow urging her to keep moving. When Dillon worked in the shop to overhaul the equipment he would soon need to use to bale the hay, Carly sat in a lawn chair just outside. She read Paula’s journals and kept an eye on Taylor who either drew pictures or played with the cats and dogs. She spent the evenings sitting next to Dillon while they both read the journals. They would often listen to music in the background and share excerpts they read. One evening, Dillon’s band came to practice. That night Taylor got to stay up late, and they ed the men in the garage listening, and sometimes dancing, to the country music Carly found herself growing fond of. Now that she knew she loved Dillon, she intended to make plans to stay in Nebraska. She thought he felt the same way and hoped her life would continue here on the ranch. But, if not, she would move to Willow Flats until he realized he wanted her.

“You could present your resume to the school board tomorrow evening at our meeting.” “That would seem an opportune time. How many applicants do you have?” “None. We haven’t d it yet and, even if we do, there won’t be big numbers.” He returned to reading the journal, but only two pages later he flipped it back over on his lap again and changed the subject. “There hasn’t been anyone since Holly.” “You haven’t had any girlfriends since your wife died?” “No. No girlfriends, no one-night stands, no one.” This shocked Carly. He was good-looking, sexy, smart, talented, interesting and… She voiced her thoughts. “Are women around here crazy?” Dillon laughed. “It’s nice to know you think they would be, but you haven’t been off the ranch. There simply aren’t a lot of eligible women around. And I have a daughter to think about.” “You have a daughter who needs a mother.” “True, but right now I don’t see any reason to leave the ranch to find one for her.” Carly smiled, hugging the words to her heart. “Does that mean…?” “That I’m in love with you? That I want a future with you? Yes, and yes. I want to get this mystery surrounding us solved and then, because I’m old fashioned, I do want to meet your parents. At some carefully planned time, I will drop to one knee and tell you I’m a one-woman kind of man.” She realized she held her breath, and now she inhaled. “Wow. I’ve been hoping you felt that way because I love you, too, Dillon Johnson.” Carly watched as her cowboy stood up, removed her computer from her lap, and set it on an end table. Then he pulled her from the chair, wrapped his arms around her, and said, “I’m getting damned tired of holding back, of thinking that I shouldn’t carry you upstairs because I have an impressionable daughter up

there. But you know what, the bedroom door has a lock on it, and I think it’s time we used it.” With that, he swept her up in his arms. Carly burst out with delighted laughter. “Dillon! You can’t carry me upstairs. You’ll hurt your back.” He shushed her with a kiss, managing to flip the light switch with his elbow at the same time. When he lifted his lips he said, “I toss around fifty-pound bags of feed and heavy pieces of machinery all the time. You’re as light as a feather.” But when he got halfway up the dim stairs, he stopped with one foot on the next step up. “I told you I am too heavy,” she teased. He laid his forehead against hers, a huge look of disappointment on his face. “It’s not that. We can’t do this.” Carly’s heart sunk all the way to her toes. She had been so ready for the next step for a few days now. She would respect his wishes, she told herself. But she whispered, “Why not?” “I don’t have any condoms. I haven’t needed them for years. And, if I were to find one, it would be so expired it would be ineffective.” Carly’s hopes soared again, and she wrapped her free hand around his head to bring his lips back to hers. “It’s okay, cowboy. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, and you must be, too, after all this time.” And then she kissed him, brushing her lips over his in a tantalizing taste of what would come. He made a happy noise at the back of his throat and walked on up the steps, hitting yet another light switch at the top with his elbow. In his room, he used his boot to quietly shut his bedroom door. Then he set her gently on his bed in the dark before reaching over to turn the bedside lamp on low. After locking the door, he pulled off his boots, socks, and belt before ing her on the bed. As he settled next to her, leaning on one arm, she entwined her bare feet with his and then rose on one elbow to place a hand on the open collar of his shirt. Dillon leaned in to kiss her, truly and deeply kiss her, his tongue tangling with hers in a sweet dance that sent warm feelings of delight up and down her spine. Carly slowly slid her hand down and opened the first snap of his shirt. As her fingers teased the dusting of hair on his chest on their

way to the next snap, he groaned and rolled her over onto her back, sliding one hand under the hem of her T-shirt. The second snap opened easier than the first, as Dillon’s hand slid under her shirt, the tips of his fingers sliding slowly back and forth. She arched her back as her breasts ached for those fingers to move up and up. As he moved his lips from hers, she almost cried, but then his tongue traced a hot, moist trail to her earlobe which he sucked tauntingly into his mouth. Carly pulled her mind back to the task at hand and parted another snap, and then another and another, and finally the last one. She frantically pushed his shirt open, so anxious to get her hands on his bare chest that she could barely restrain herself. “Here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me help you.” He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and then he turned his attention to hers, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. He froze in the act of dropping her shirt as his eyes met hers and then slid down to her neck and past to where her front closing bra met between her breasts. As his blue eyes darkened with desire, he dropped the shirt and slid his hand up her abdomen to that little clasp. He dropped a kiss on one breast where the fabric cupped her skin. Dragging his lips across to the other, he unfastened the restraints and brushed the cups from her to reveal her sensitive nipples. He drew one tip into his mouth, loving it with the tip of his tongue, with the gentle nips of his teeth. “Dillon,” she gasped. **** Dillon reveled in the sound of his name being gasped by Carly. He redirected his mouth’s attention to the other breast, cupping the first one with his hand. It was perfect. She was perfect, slender and muscular with delicious feminine curves. Her hands were caressing his chest, then his shoulders. They slipped around to his back, leaving a trail of fire everywhere they touched. Needing to be closer, he moved his hand to the button on her shorts. He fumbled, then recovered and unbuttoned them, inched the zipper down, and then hurried to push them down over her hips. She cooperated by raising her hips. He encountered nothing more than a tiny triangle of cotton. He slipped his fingers inside as he eased both layers of cloth down past the warm mound they hid. At last, they were off, and he looked, for a long time. She laid there gloriously naked in his bed, her eyes dazed, her lips swollen. Her nipples were pink and hard and begging to be tasted

once again, her legs were slightly parted. She pushed gently at his chest. He wondered if she wanted him to stop. How he hoped she didn’t. But he paused to find out, and she waved one delicate finger down toward his waist. Sounding slightly desperate she said, “You’re overdressed for the occasion.” Dillon couldn’t help but grin, and he rose, crawled off the bed, and dropped his jeans and briefs. He was already hard, he thought he had been since that day she walked in the door. He swore his chest puffed out when she reached out with one hand and stroked him, sliding her hand with a firm grip right down to the base. “Come on back to bed, cowboy.” He about lost it right there which brought up another worry. Could he not lose it? It had been so long, and he wanted her so badly. Dillon pushed the worry aside and slid back onto the bed, where he smiled and pulled her close again. He started back at her breasts and worked his way up to the curve of her neck, his fingers then finding their way down her body until they slipped in between her legs and then inside her inviting folds, where he found her wet and hot and, oh so ready. But he wanted to pleasure her first, except for the fact that he throbbed. “Dillon, I need you inside me. Now. We can go slow later. Please.” He didn’t wait to be asked again, he slid between her legs and guided himself inside her welcoming body. With one quick thrust, they were one. He paused to let her body adjust to his as she slipped her legs around his waist and urged him to continue. “Ride me, cowboy.” Dillon felt sure he crossed over some invisible line into paradise. “Whatever my lady wants.” Later, after he made love to her twice, the first time seeking release as quickly as they both could, the second taking their time in finding the pleasure that each offered the other, Dillon wrapped his arms around her, pulled her body against his, and said softly, “I love you, Carly.” She responded with a kiss. One long, slow, drawn-out kiss. Then she snuggled in. Just as her eyes were drifting shut, she said, “I suppose I should tiptoe back to my room.”

That had him wide awake. “Nothing doing, sweetheart.” “But Taylor…” Dillon interrupted her. “Will recover from seeing us in the same bed just as she recovered from seeing us kiss. Besides, we’ll be up before her. We always are.” Morning light flooded the room through the eastern windows when a knock sounded on the door, and a plaintive, demanding voice sounded. “Daddy, let me in! I can’t find Carly anywhere. Did the bad men come and take her?” He could hear the tears starting just as the warm female body in his arms moved and stretched languidly up against him. He pulled the covers up to her shoulders and slid out of bed. “Just a minute, sweet pea.” Dillon grabbed his jeans off the floor and pulled them on before he unlocked the door. Taylor couldn’t see into the room because of its design with a short hall leading past the closet door. By now, tears were rolling down Taylor’s cheeks, and she looked scared. He scooped her up into his arms and shut the bedroom door behind him. “Don’t worry, sweet pea. Carly is fine. She just decided to sleep in my room last night.” One little fist came up and wiped at her tears while Dillon wiped at the other side. “The bad men didn’t come and get her?” “No, honey.” “Why did she sleep in your room? Did she get scared, too?” Dillon took a deep breath and walked into her room, sitting on her little daybed and putting her on his lap. It was time for a father-daughter talk, he knew. He stroked his little girl’s back and smoothed her hair, his heart so full of love for her that it ached. After some thought and no real idea where to start, he just jumped in. “Do you how, when you were really little, Grandma and Grandpa used to sleep in the same bed?”

Taylor nodded. “Well, when adults care for each other, they sleep in the same bed. And Carly and I care for each other.” Taylor snuggled against him, laying her little head on his chest. Then she looked up at him with hope in her sweet blue eyes. “Do you love Carly, Daddy?” “I do, sweet pea. I love her a lot.” “Do you love her as much as you loved my mommy?” “Yes.” Dillon would never tell her that his love for Carly was more mature and stronger than that of his love for Holly. “Are you going to marry her?” “Yes.” Although he had not formally proposed, Dillon knew this to be true. He couldn’t wait to marry Carly, and he wanted the full thing—a wedding, a honeymoon, more kids. “I haven’t asked her yet, so you can’t ask her first. But I will ask and I will marry her.” The child’s face fell with worry again. Her eyes, which looked so much like Holly’s, reflected her anxiety. “What if she says no?” “I don’t think she will,” he told her confidently. “She loves me, too.” Taylor’s voice grew firmer. “Did she tell you she loves you?” “She did.” Questions filled Taylor’s face now, replacing the anxiety. “If you marry Carly, does that mean she’ll be my mommy?” “Yes. In fact, since your mommy is in heaven, Carly can adopt you so she won’t be your stepmom like Grandma was mine, she can be your real mommy.” “Why didn’t Grandma adopt you?” Dillon often questioned that himself. She always said, “I don’t need a piece of paper, Dillon. You are my son, and I love you without any fancy court

documents.” Now he wondered if she had another reason why she did not want any court documents. But he told his daughter what Paula told him. “I want the piece of paper. I will frame it and hang it on the wall, so everybody knows Carly is my mom.” A small sound came from the doorway, and they both looked up to see Carly wrapped in Dillon’s bathrobe leaning against the door frame. Her hair looked tousled, and her eyes and mouth reflected a big smile. Dillon grinned. Never did anyone look more like they just crawled out of bed from a wondrous night of making love. Taylor slipped off his lap and ran over to Carly. “When you and Daddy get married will you adopt me?” Carly dropped down to her knees and wrapped her arms around Dillon’s daughter, making his heart ache even more. He could see the love for the little girl in her eyes. “Yes, Taylor. I will, and I will be the luckiest woman on earth to be your mommy.” “Are you going to sleep with Daddy again tonight?” Carly’s eyes raised to Dillon’s over Carly’s shoulder. He nodded. “Yes, I would like to. Are you okay with that?” “Sure, people do it all the time.” Dillon tried to bite back his chuckle, but Carly didn’t succeed. “They do, don’t they?” “I could help you move your clothes into Daddy’s bedroom today.” “You wouldn’t mind?” “No, and we could move your stuff, like your shampoo and lotion, into Daddy’s bathroom, too. Then I could have my own bathroom back.” Dillon broke out in laughter after all. That evening, Dillon took Carly and Taylor to the school board meeting with

him. Taylor usually went along anyway, and some other kids in the community did, as well. On the drive there, his daughter informed Carly that they could spend the evening in the other room. “It is a one-room school?” Carly questioned Dillon. “One room is a classroom; the extra room is smaller and serves as a library and lunchroom. There is a fridge in there and a microwave, a couple of tables and chairs. That way the kids don’t get their desks messy eating lunch, and they can have hot meals if they want.” “Oh, I never thought about that.” Dillon had copies of her resume in the briefcase he carried to the meetings. He hoped he would get a good response from the other when he handed it out, but he wasn’t completely sure of what reactions to expect. There were already a few cars outside the school when they pulled up. Usually, a few parents showed up even though they weren’t on the board. Dillon heartily approved of this as he felt strongly that parents should be involved in their children’s education. As they entered the small schoolhouse, several people were grouped around a coffee pot and sink on a counter along one wall of the small entry hall. Agnes, the secretary, stepped up and looked at Dillon. “I’m so worried,” she told him. “Everyone knows by now that Cathy Bateman didn’t renew her contract. how hard of a time we had finding her? And if we don’t get a teacher, we’ll have to close the school.” He assured Agnes, “We can , but I already have one resume from Paula’s birth daughter who is here from Portland.” And then he heard it—Taylor talking to Paul and Penny Showater in the larger room. Paul served as Vice President of the board and would step up if Dillon resigned due to a conflict of interest. He entered to find his daughter standing with Carly near the Showaters. “Who’s your friend?” Penny Showater’s interested tone of voice indicated she was speaking to Taylor about Carly.

“This is Carly,” Taylor told the couple. “She’s going to be my mommy as soon as Daddy marries her. She’s really nice, and she lets me help with stuff even though I’m still pretty little. Today she let me help move her clothes into Daddy’s bedroom.” Dillon groaned as he heard the words. He turned around to try to salvage the moment, but even as he moved, Taylor continued. “She’s a teacher, too. Daddy has her rest…her resum…” The child struggled with the unfamiliar word. “Does your Daddy have her resume?” Paul asked. “Yes, that’s right.” Carly’s face turned an unusual shade of red, Dillon suspected his own did, as well. The entire small group turned mirthful eyes upon him. Paul spoke to the small crowd, “I suggest we interview Carly right away. The best way to prevent a teacher from leaving is to have her sleeping with the board’s president.” Dillon opened his mouth to speak, carefully forming his words. “I would, of course, resign from the board due to a conflict of interest.” Paul clapped him on the shoulder. “Nonsense, Dillon, no one else wants the job.” **** “Patience is a virtue, Deacon Manning,” Godfrey said in his most saccharine voice. “However, the longer the three of you are gone, the more time I have to think about my old friend Paula Johnson.” “I’m sorry, Reverend, but Ms. James is very reluctant to even speak to us. She has not yet itted that the journals even exist.” “But the obituary does mention them.” “Yes, but we even offered to pay her for them, and she did not take us up on the offer. Furthermore, Dillon Johnson, the owner of the ranch, ran us off at gunpoint and said he would be calling the sheriff.” “Are you asking around town about Paula?”

“We are. At first, people were responsive but reluctant. Everyone has only good things to say about her.” “Of course. She was a wonderful person.” He thought that at one time, anyway. “Now everyone has clammed up. The sheriff has talked to everyone, and he or his deputy follow us around town.” “Pray tell, Deacon Manning, how he could have told everyone in town?” “Reverend, Willow Flats is a very small town. The sign at the edge of town says the population is three hundred and twenty-five and I suspect that has been greatly exaggerated. Even though we must drive two hours each way, it is a good thing we are forced to stay in Coopersville or else we would have been thrown out of town. They are a very close-knit group, much like our church.” Godfrey took a deep breath trying to calm himself before he spoke. “Starting tomorrow we will need to step it up. If they do not sell or give you the journals, you will need to find them and take them. It is for the greater good. The good of our church and of education in our country.” “We’ll get the job done, Reverend.” Here Manning lowered his voice. “Of course I assume there will be some reward in it for me.” Godfrey had wondered when this would come up and felt glad it did. Greed worked as a powerful motivator, and Manning was the one of the three deacons driven by greed and not just fanaticism. “Of course. Just get your hands on those journals. And don’t let anyone read them. That includes you. They must remain secretive and not be released to anyone in advance of my plans for them.” “That makes me very curious.” “Curiosity kills the cat,” Godfrey said quietly in his most threatening voice. “Silence comes at a cost.” And then, “We’ll see what we can do tomorrow. Dillon Johnson is the president of the school board, and they met tonight. I happened to be hanging around outside the open window and found out that Ms. James applied for the open teaching position. To get it, she must be licensed and, thus, fingerprinted. She told the board she would drive into Willow Flats today for that and where she goes Johnson and the little girl go. We’ll make sure we’re

available to look for those journals the moment they leave the ranch.” Godfrey smiled. “Why that is an exceptional plan, Deacon Manning. However, if the sheriff has expressed interest in what you are doing, be sure to cover your tracks.” “You can trust me on that, Reverend. We will all wear gloves as we search.” “Good. And you are not to look in the journals.” When he hung up, Godfrey mused about the conversation. If they were successful… here, he stopped and shook his head. There could be no if. He could not fail. Reframing his thought, he continued his musings. When the men succeeded, he might have to do a little dirty clean-up work. He’d killed before. Many times. These days the idea made him feel a little nauseous. When he’d done it before, he’d been young and felt invincible, that the means justified the end. Now, he just felt, well, scared. An idea came to him, and he tapped his appointment app on his phone. He’d been thinking about a little getaway. After all, in this new life he sometimes got tired of being on such a straight and narrow path. He’d spent so much time in South America that he’d become used to a different way of life. One that included a different type of companionship than the untouchable women in Atlanta. He could escape for a few days, live it up, and see if he could find someone to do his dirty work on a quick trip to the U.S. and then return to their own country. Mentally making plans already, Godfrey began to relax.

Chapter Eleven

“Perhaps we can check with Sheriff Jenkins as to whether he has seen those men around when we go to Willow Flats today,” Carly said as she set a plate of pancakes on the table. Dillon’s answer came just as Taylor ed them after washing her hands. “We’ll do that.” “Can I have a new toy when we get to town?” Taylor asked. Carly looked up. “Is there a toy store in Willow Flats?” Dillon chuckled. “Hardly. But Toots’ Rancher’s Supply handles a few toys. They get more in for Christmas, but they always have a few. Cars and tractors, play animals, some dolls, that type of thing.” He reached over and buttered his daughter’s pancakes and poured on the syrup. “If you behave while we do everything else then, yes, you can have a small toy.” “You said there is a small grocery store there, right?” Carly asked. “Yes, there is. Griff’s.” “I think I’ll make a list of a few things I’d like to see if they have, then.” Carly took extra care in getting dressed to go to town. Other than to Jan’s and the meeting the night before, she hadn’t been off the ranch since arriving. She both enjoyed this and struggled to get used to it. She knew she could have left the ranch more often, but until she knew the men had left the area, she was reluctant to go anywhere. Digging through her somewhat limited supply of clothing, she chose a sundress made of a pretty yellow print. Sleeveless, it buttoned all the way up the front with a nice A-line skirt. She slipped on a pair of matching sandals. Dillon came into the room to change, and he found her in the bathroom with the door open, putting the final touch on her cosmetics. He watched her a moment and then slid his arm around her waist. “I sure like sharing my bathroom with you.”

She stepped into the circle of his arms and pressed against him to kiss him even though she had just put on lipstick. “I’ve never shared a bathroom with a man so if I get to hogging it, be sure you let me know. I can tend to take long showers.” He nuzzled her neck. “If that’s the case and I need one, I’ll just you,” Taylor stepped into the small bathroom with her back presented to them both. “Can you zip my dress?” After her father turned around to do so, she said, “See, Daddy, Carly and I are both wearing sundresses today.” “I see that, and you are both very beautiful. Everyone in town will be looking our way.” Carly said, “I hope not. Despite my video, I really don’t like being the center of attention.” It was later that they loaded up in Dillon’s better truck with a back seat and a cover on the box. “I double checked the locks on the house, and this morning I locked the shop and the garage.” “I really hate that we have to do that,” Carly said. Then, after a moment, “I haven’t found anything in the journals I’ve read that makes me understand why someone would want them.” “Neither have I. I’ve thought that we need to get on the Internet and do a thorough search.” “Your dial-up is going to be slow going.” “Yeah, well as to that, there’s a guy in Willow Flats that puts up satellite dishes for Internet and TV. I’ve been thinking about it and believe I’ll stop in today and ask him a few questions if he’s around.” “We could probably use the library if you didn’t want to commit to the satellite.” “As long as the projected costs are what he once told me they were, I do want to commit,” he said. “And the library at Willow Flats isn’t what you might think of as a library. I doubt if their old computers and Internet are much faster than dialup.”

“Now I’m curious. I’m also glad I read e-books.” Carly turned slightly sideways, as far as her seatbelt would allow so she could ire his profile. She looked back at Taylor and smiled at her. The little girl played with a baby doll she brought along and pretended to bottle feed it. Looking back at Dillon, she said, “I am surprised at how many books the school has.” “We try to set aside a decent budget for those. Rural kids don’t have the same opportunities for reading materials that city dwellers do. A long time ago a bookmobile came out from Butte Valley, but that ended before I graduated from high school. Of course, we constantly buy new ones so the kids don’t end up reading the same ones over and over.” “The school does have Internet, doesn’t it?” “It does, and it’s satellite. I suppose we could go over and use it. Probably no one would care but there is a lot of software on the computers that prevent students from looking at things they shouldn’t so we might meet up with some roadblocks.” “That’s an idea, but it’s not what I meant. What I’ve been thinking about suggesting is that the school board get three or four e-readers. Just the basic ones that don’t get on the Internet other than for the book sites. Digital books are a little cheaper than the others, and then you could buy them, preloading the ereaders. Also, since your space is severely limited for paper books, this would prevent a problem with storage space. Each year you could get more e-readers, but to start with, the teacher could use them as an incentive. You know, get your spelling words all correct, and you get to take home an e-reader for a week or two.” Dillon looked over at her, a pleased and surprised look on his face. They were just entering a long valley where they wouldn’t meet any cars on the narrow road without warning. He let go of the steering wheel with his right hand and reached over to pick up her left. Bringing it to his lips, he caressed the back of her hand with his lips, brushing her knuckles with his tongue. “I love how smart and creative you are. And the board has a little money we need to get rid of. We were talking about buying books, but I think I’ll introduce your idea. Besides, by then you’ll be employed, and you can put them together for us.” Carly leaned back and relaxed against the seat, thinking of the night before. The

board asked if she would mind an on-the-spot interview. She told them that would be fine, and the board and the parents asked her questions about her teaching style and beliefs, her experience, and her goals. “After teaching in a large urban school, won’t you get bored with this one?” one woman asked. “I don’t think so,” Carly answered honestly. “You see, in a big school you teach the same lessons to every child. If you don’t change grade levels, and the principal often isn’t too excited about shuffling everyone around, then the next year you tend to teach the exact same thing again. In a K through eighth school, there would always be lesson plans to create, new textbooks to go through much more frequently, and I see it as an all-new challenge. I am sure I would actually be much less bored.” “How would you handle discipline?” This came from a father in the group. “In my most recent school, my classes consisted of thirty to forty students. It is in a poverty-ridden part of town, and many of the students were gang , so discipline was difficult. In this school, I suspect a loss of computer privileges or timeout during recess would do the trick. If not, as always I would speak to the parents.” The man nodded his head. “That would do it. Extra chores after school usually straighten my boy right up.” After the interview, they asked her to wait in the other room with the children that came. She did so, picking out a short book she could read and dramatize to the four young children there. Agnes found her there. “I don’t want to interrupt the story,” she said. “They all seem enthralled, but once you’re done, we’d like to talk to you again.” On the way home Dillon told her that everyone voted, school board and parents, to hire her. And when she went back in, they told her they wanted to offer her the position but could not until she officially possessed a Nebraska teacher’s license. Agnes was aware that it wouldn’t take long for a provisional license, and since she had a license in Oregon, the paperwork would only be a technicality. Dillon slowed the truck and put on the turn signal. They reached the highway

that Carly drove from Butte Valley. Now they turned east, and she found herself sitting up straighter and looking around. “You know, Dillon, when I drove here, I had no idea what to expect, but I never anticipated this expanse of beautiful rolling hills covered in grasses. The Sandhills really is a beautiful and peaceful place.” “Amen to that, sweetheart.” It was less than ten minutes before they entered the outskirts of Willow Flats. Carly saw the green population sign showing that there were just over three hundred residents. She smiled. Some of the small Oregon mountain towns were around that size, but it was rare. The first business she saw bore a sign in front that pronounced it to be Toots’ Rancher’s Supply. It had a loading dock on one end where she supposed customers could back up their trucks and load feed and such. They ed an older building on the other side of the road. Its sign read Griff’s Grocery. She saw a butcher, although Dillon assured her, they didn’t sell meat—instead they butchered and packaged it for the owners of the cattle. She saw a veterinary clinic and a hair salon. The courthouse sat at the top of a small hill. A small building by the standards Carly was used to, it stood as the shining crown of town. Dillon drove directly to it, pulling up next to the sheriff’s car. The sheriff’s office had its own outside entrance, and Dillon opened the door for them. An older gray-haired woman sat behind a desk talking on the telephone. They walked up to the counter just as Sheriff Jenkins walked out of an office and up to the counter. “Dillon, Carly, and little Taylor! Don’t tell me you have been visited by those men again.” “We weren’t,” Dillon said, “but we’re wondering if you knew anything more.” “Not much. I spoke to several of your neighbors and people around town. I’ve heard that the men tried to get information about Paula or you, Carly, after that and no one gave them the time of day. A few times I saw them driving around town, and my deputy or I just pulled in and tailed them. Haven’t seen them around for a couple of days now.” Carly smiled with relief. “That is good to know, Sheriff.” “I’m not ready to give up my vigilance, though,” Dillon said.

The sheriff agreed. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Carly decided to get her chore out of the way. “I am wondering, Sheriff, if you’d take my fingerprints. I’m applying for a Nebraska teacher’s license, and they need them.” “Sure thing. Let me get the kit, and I’ll come over to that side of the counter. You applying for a job around here?” “Actually, yes, the school that Taylor goes to has an opening.” The sheriff looked up at her and Dillon with a sparkle in his eye and a grin on his face, “So it’s like that, huh?” As soon as the man got to work on rolling Carly’s ink-covered fingers on the form she needed to submit, Taylor spoke up. “Can I have my fingerprints taken?” The sheriff grinned. “I think you could. It’s actually a good idea.” He turned to his assistant just hung up the phone, “Hazel, can you bring us one of those cards for kids?” A half hour later, both Carly and Taylor were fingerprinted and their hands mostly clean of ink. It took Carly quite a bit of soap to get it off Taylor’s hand and her nose, which had obviously suffered from an itch during the process. Back in the truck, Dillon suggested they stop and talk to the man about the satellite, and when she discovered the small office was situated right next door to the hair salon, Carly said, “Dillon, would you mind if Taylor and I stop in at the salon? Her bangs could really use a trim if they have time.” Taylor grasped Carly’s hand excitedly. “Does that mean I can get a haircut?” “If they have time, and if Daddy is okay with it.” Dillon studied his daughter. “I am. I it I don’t really think about that kind of stuff, but now that you point it out, my sweet pea can barely see.” He ran his hand fondly through her bangs. He looked up at Carly then. “You two go on, and I’ll catch up with you there unless you can’t get in. Be careful.”

“Always.” With Taylor’s little hand tucked into her own, Carly walked next door, pausing only long enough to appreciate the name of the salon painted on the door, “Live and Dye” she read. She grinned and then told Taylor, “The salon has a cute name. I’ll bet you’ve been here before.” “Yes, but sometimes Grandma just cut my hair.” “Well, that is not something I trust myself doing. What if it ended up crooked?” The little girl’s giggling mingled with the tinkling of the bell on the door. Inside were three hair stations and a station for having nails done. Three dryers sat near the same number of sinks, and there were a few seats for customers to wait in. Today only two women were working, and one person waiting. An older lady, that Carly suspected was the salon owner, looked up and smiled. “Why if it isn’t Dillon Johnson’s little girl. How are you, honey?” Taylor ducked her head until Carly gently squeezed the child’s hand encouragingly. “Can you tell the lady you’re doing fine?” Taylor finally looked up and said, “I’m fine.” Carly took over the conversation. “We were wondering if it would be possible for Taylor to get a trim while we’re in town?” “Why sure you could. Bertha here is waiting for me. But Polly is just finishing up and she could get you in, couldn’t you, Polly? Polly appeared to be a few years older than Carly, with a neat hairstyle and a friendly attitude. “Sure, I could. It’ll just be a few minutes.” Carly led Taylor to the few chairs and sat down. The little girl slid into the chair next to her. The older lady spoke again. “I’m Sally, by the way. Are you helping Dillon out now that Paula’s ed, God rest her soul?” Carly felt unsure how to answer. She was his stepsister, but they most likely didn’t know she existed. She was his girlfriend, but they would wonder where she came from. Finally settling on the truth, she replied, “I’m Carly James from

Portland, Oregon. I’m Paula’s biological daughter, and I’m helping Dillon out with the estate and wherever I’m needed.” “You’re the one those men were asking about.” “Three men?” “Yes, one of ’em looks like a missionary, one like a gangster, and one like a hoodlum.” That described them all quite well. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I do hope they were not menacing.” The stylist looked up sharply. “Sheriff Jenkins said they were to you.” Carly shrugged. “Not too bad. They seem to want information about Paula, and I’m afraid I don’t have any to give. Not that I would anyway.” The waiting customer now got involved. “My husband Jack runs the gas station, and after the sheriff told him about them, he told them he would sell them enough gas to get out of town but no more. We don’t need their kind around here. Paula was a good woman, if a bit shy.” Polly finished up with her customer and took the payment, then turned to Carly and Taylor. “Come on, Taylor, let’s get your hair washed.” “Can you come with me?” Taylor asked Carly quietly. “Of course.” The shampoo took only minutes, and then Taylor climbed onto a booster cushion staring at herself in the mirror while Polly combed out the wet blonde tresses. “Just a trim?” The other woman looked toward Carly for an answer. “Maybe a couple of inches. The bangs especially need to be trimmed. Pretty soon we’re going to lose our little girl under those bangs.” Polly raised one eyebrow at the word “our”, indicated the chair next to her booth, and picked up her scissors. “Dillon’s a really nice man,” she said. “Been alone for too long.”

Carly wasn’t about to fall into this trap. “Yes. Paula’s death has been hard on them, leaving him to handle everything.” “What do you do in Portland?” Sally asked. “I’m a teacher. I’ve been recently teaching English in a junior high.” “Oh my gosh! That’s why you look familiar. You’re the teacher that did that Shakespeare thing that went viral on Facebook.” Polly wore a smug look on her face, having placed her. Not denying, Carly nodded. “I am.” The other women all turned to appraise her figure. Sally unabashedly said, “We were talking about you the other day. I said I wished I could move like that. I’d weigh a whole lot less and never be out of breath. Now that I’ve met you in person, I see that you really are in good shape.” “I wasn’t when I started, though,” Carly assured the ladies. “I signed up for dance lessons and found out they were some of the best exercise I could do.” ing her first lesson, Carly laughed. “You should have seen me after my first lesson.” Here she did a demonstration of a stiff-legged walk. “I walked like this. Stairs were a torture—” here she paused dramatically “—and my apartment is one flight up.” Polly commiserated, “I know that feeling. It’s been a few years, but I actually tried aerobics once.” Carly continued. “I got upstairs to my place and wanted nothing more than a glass of wine and a hot bath. I enjoyed that immensely, but then had to lift my sore body out of the tub.” The other women all groaned with sympathy and murmured understanding. The front doorbell sounded again, and Dillon walked in. He saw them and walked right back, putting his hand on Carly’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. Looks like Taylor’s getting her ‘do’.” So much for playing it cool, Carly thought. He leaned beside her then and told her they would be getting the satellite dish put up the very next day and then proceeded to entertain all the ladies in the salon by touching her hair, rubbing her

back, and sliding his arm around her shoulders. Carly decided she didn’t mind if he didn’t. Since they didn’t need anything to be kept cold, a stop at the grocery store came next. Carly didn’t know what to expect from the small store when she anxiously entered. What she discovered were old-fashioned wooden shelves and real wood floors that creaked as they walked. She also found that they offered all the basics, just fewer brands of each item. She got the flour and sugar she wanted, along with a bag of chocolate chips and some vegetable oil. Dillon had so many canned and frozen items she didn’t need any of those but was excited to see some fresh bananas that were still pretty green and would ripen within a day or two. The apples were crisp and organic. There were also some beefsteak tomatoes that were deliciously ripe. Dillon introduced her to the clerk and the owner, Griff. “Where did you get such beautiful tomatoes so early?” she asked him. “My wife raises them in a greenhouse behind our home.” “Well, she is obviously providing a wonderful service to the community.” “Besides the tomatoes, what else do you think of our small town, young lady?” “I like it. Everyone I have met has been very nice and friendly. I haven’t seen a single traffic light and no stop and go traffic.” After the store, Dillon said, “How about if I take you to lunch? It’s the closest thing to a date that we’ll have had.” The Antelope Bar and Grill looked like a typical western themed cafe with wooden tables and chairs, as well as a taxidermist display of antelope, deer, rabbits, and a coyote. The lunchtime menu, typed on white paper and laminated, sat between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers. The fare seemed standard for a small cafe—burgers, sandwiches, chicken strip baskets. Carly looked at it, thinking a burger might be the safest, but decided to ask Dillon. “What do you recommend?” With a finger, he indicated a chalkboard over the bar. “Everything’s decent, but I always order the special.”

“Lasagna,” she read aloud. Taylor asked her father. “Do I like lasagna?” “You do. You haven’t eaten it much, but it’s good.” “What’s it like?” Carly answered her. “It’s a lot like spaghetti but with big wide flat noodles and more cheese. It’s stacked, and you will get a square of it. And you like salad, don’t you? It comes with breadsticks and the salad bar.” Carly was already thinking about the salad bar. She asked Dillon, “When do you think our lettuce will be ready to eat?” “It’s getting there.” The middle-aged waitress wore jeans and a western shirt. “Hi, Dillon.” Then she smiled at Taylor. “Your hair looks nice, honey, and I swear you’ve grown since I last saw you.” “I just got a cut and style,” Taylor said proudly. “Polly did it.” “Well, she did a great job.” The waitress looked at Carly and stuck her hand out. “I’m Becca.” Carly shook the other woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Carly.” Dillon added, “Carly is Paula’s biological daughter.” Becca grinned. “So, that makes her your stepsister.” “I guess it does,” Dillon replied. “Humph! Sally came in to pick up a sandwich. From the way she explained it, your relationship is more like kissing cousins.” With a teasing look upon her face, Becca swiftly switched topics. “Now, what can I get you folks?” The special turned out to be quite good, and even Taylor cleaned her plate. After paying at the bar and saying a few words to other patrons, Dillon put his hand in the middle of Carly’s back and caught up Taylor’s hand in his other. “Time to go

to Toots’.” After a half an hour buying salt blocks, chicken feed, and helping Taylor pick out a toy horse she thought her doll needed, they made their way back to the ranch. Just as they turned off onto Dillon’s road, Carly noticed an SUV parked in the right of way about a quarter mile on down the main road under a lone tree. “Do you recognize that vehicle?” Dillon stopped. “What vehicle?” “There’s a dark green SUV parked under the tree down there in the right of way.” He put the truck in reverse and backed up onto the main road. As he did so, the vehicle pulled out onto the narrow blacktop and gunned it. “Damn it,” Dillon said. “I’d like to get his license plate, but I’ll never catch him without risking an accident.” Carly’s mouth felt dry, and her heart raced in her chest. “Who are these people?” Dillon squeezed her hand and then started up his road, placing his right hand on the steering wheel again. They were just at the end of the lake when the darkcolored rental with two men in it came straight toward them, dust flying out behind their wheels. Dillon jerked the truck off the road, while Carly offered a prayer for safety and of thanks that the lake was on the other side of the road. As the car barreled past them, Carly recognized Earl Manning and the blond man who looked like a gangster.

Chapter Twelve

Dillon reached the house quickly. The dogs were in the yard and obviously upset. “The two of you stay in the truck and lock the doors. I expect they’re gone but, Carly, don’t hesitate to drive away if you need to. Slide over here behind the wheel, just in case.” He got out of the truck and reached under the seat to pull out a rifle. “Call the sheriff from your cell phone, will you? 911 should work and ask to be transferred to the county.” Then he walked up the sidewalk, and Carly stayed in the vehicle, left scared and worried, with a sobbing six-year-old. First things first, she thought. She got out her cell and then said to Taylor. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie. Daddy has it all under control.” Then she made the call. Dispatch answered immediately, and she told them that she needed to be transferred to the sheriff’s office in Willow Flats. Hazel answered within moments that Carly spent looking for any sign of Dillon. The front window had been shattered, and Dillon went in the door, leaving it open. Pulling her mind back to the phone call, Carly introduced herself and asked for the sheriff. He sounded official when he answered, “Carly, is something wrong?” “Yes. The house has been broken into. I don’t know much else, but Dillon went in with a gun. As we turned off the oil road onto Dillon’s road this afternoon, I saw an SUV parked under a tree’s low-hanging branches in the right of way about a quarter mile down. When Dillon backed up and turned that way, the SUV took off fast to the south. Then, just as we got up here by the lake, we met the rental car tearing down the road. Dillon pulled off the road to avoid a head on accident with them. I recognized Earl Manning as the driver with the blond man in the enger seat.” “Which most likely means that the younger black man who drove the SUV served as their surveillance. He probably called the others so they could get out without getting caught. You have any idea what they did inside the house?” “No. Dillon made Taylor and me wait in the truck with it locked.” Just as the sheriff started to speak again, Dillon appeared on the front porch, gun in hand.

“Oh, wait,” she said. “He just came out.” She watched as he walked over to the truck, his jaw tight and his skin pale. Carly unlocked and opened the door, then handed him her phone. “It’s the sheriff.” **** Dillon took the phone from Carly. “Hi, Sheriff.” “How bad is it?” “The house has been ransacked. It could be worse. They didn’t cut open the furniture like they do on television, and they didn’t break the TV. The dressers have all been searched, the closets are a mess. They pulled all the books out of the bookcases. It looks like they went through the kitchen. I don’t think we’ve lost much, but there’s a lot of clean-up to do.” “I’m on my way,” the sheriff said. “Try not to touch anything that you already haven’t.” “I went straight through to the utility room and put on my gloves.” “Good. Stay out of the house, keep those women safe, and I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Dillon pushed the stop button and handed the phone to Carly. Then he handed her the rifle and opened the back door to get his daughter out of her booster seat and wrap her in his arms. Carly got out and held the gun safely at her side, pointing down. He pulled her into his embrace, as well. The dogs moved over and were sniffing and licking around them. Taylor had stopped crying when she said, “Daddy, Max is bleeding.” Carly immediately pulled back, laid the gun on the truck seat, and squatted down by the dog to inspect his snout. “He’s bitten something that was bleeding. I’ll bet he bit one of the men.” She looked up at Dillon. He put Taylor down then got onto his knees to inspect the dog. He looked over Sadie as well and then petted them both. “Good dogs,” he praised them.

“Look,” Taylor said, bending to pick up something from the ground. Just as she reached for it, she recoiled, and Carly got there in a second. Carly bent over the item. “Don’t touch it.” After further inspection. she looked up. “It’s bloody denim.” Dillon got up and rummaged in the back, locating the cardboard box he’d hauled out of the Rancher’s Supply, emptying the contents into the pickup box. He carried it over and laid it upside down over the fabric. “Taylor, honey, stand here and keep the dogs from moving this while I go over to the flower bed and get a big rock to put on top of it.” As he returned to the box with a stabilizing rock, Carly said, “How bad is the house?” He straightened. “It’s bad, but it could be worse. I honestly don’t think much has been destroyed, but it has been ransacked and thoroughly searched. Even the attic has been searched. I don’t think we’ll get it cleaned up tonight. Maybe enough to sleep there.” After a moment he said, “I need to check the outbuildings. How about if we all go together?” Carly agreed. “Please. I think Taylor and I would both like to be near you.” As they walked to each building, including the chicken house, Dillon appreciated the care Carly took with his little girl. She held the child’s hand, and whenever they stopped so that Dillon could check out one of the buildings, she held Taylor in her arms and talked to her softly. He picked up some of the things she said and the manner in which she phrased things. “Bad people sometimes break into houses and make a mess. That doesn’t mean they’ll ever come back. And if they do, Daddy will take care of us.” Later she told the child, “We can use this as an opportunity to practice staying safe.” During their walk, Dillon discovered nothing else on the ranch had been broken into. They were specifically happy about the cellar being undisturbed. Privately, Dillon was glad to know his shop hadn’t been touched as he didn’t have time to clean it up. By the time they were back to the house after their thorough search, the sheriff’s car, followed by one more patrol car, drove quickly toward them and pulled up in front of the house.

Jenkins greeted them. “I’ve got the full force with me. Carly, these are my deputies, Brian Downs, Sean Caruso, and Jon Drake.” All three of the men shook hands with her. They carried large plastic cases which Carly hoped meant they were going to dust for prints. She asked as much. “We are. We may not have much luck because your prints will be all over things, too.” He reached out and tweaked Taylor’s nose. “Good thing we got your prints, young lady. That way, we’ll know which ones are yours.” He looked up at Dillon and Carly. “Why don’t you all make yourselves comfortable somewhere outside the house. We’ll try to hurry, but we’re going to be awhile.” Dillon spoke before the men went inside. “Before you get started, I want to show you something that Taylor found.” He whistled to the dog and gently held Max’s snout. Jenkins squatted down and looked at it, glee in his eyes. “You’re a good dog. You bit one of them, didn’t you? Pretty hard, too, I’d say.” He straightened up and told Brian, “Call Hazel and have her warn all the area hospitals and urgent cares that we’re looking for anyone with a dog bite deep enough to draw blood.” After a few more moments, he hung up. “That may give us a lucky break.” Dillon went on. “Well, then, let me show you this.” He led the way to the box and lifted the rock and box off the fabric. The sheriff and one of the deputies squatted down. The deputy immediately had an evidence bag in his hand. “There’s enough blood on here to analyze,” he said to the sheriff, then bagged it. Dillon collected his girls, as he’d come to think of them, and went up onto the porch. He scraped the glass off one of the chairs and moved three of them to the other side of the porch. Carly sat and pulled Taylor on her lap just as Dillon’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and checked the caller ID before answering. “It’s Bob or Jan.” “Hey, Dillon, this is Bob. I was out in the yard when two of the sheriff’s cars went by. I wanted to see if it had anything to do with you.” “It does,” Dillon said. “We went into Willow Flats today, and when we got home, we met the culprits leaving. They broke the front window and ransacked

the house.” “Well, damn. How bad is it?” “It could be worse. At first glance, nothing seems to be destroyed, but the closets, dressers, and bookcases have all been emptied. It’s a hell of a mess. The sheriff and his men are in dusting for prints. I hope we get it cleaned up enough to sleep there tonight, but if not, we’ll sleep in the trailer.” Dillon heard Bob telling Jan what happened, then his neighbor spoke again. “I’m supposed to tell you that Jan just started frying a chicken. She’ll make a few quick changes in her menu, and we’ll be over later. We’ll have a picnic outside at your table she said.” Dillon was relieved. They hadn’t gotten far enough to think about dinner. “I appreciate that a lot. We’ll be here.” After he hung up, he sat back to think. He felt so powerless. He needed to protect his family, and that now included Carly. They knew next to nothing, only that the culprits wanted Paula’s journals. Carly seemed to read his thoughts. “Maybe we should let them look at them.” Dillon jerked his head around to look at her. “I don’t play with assholes.” “I feel the same way except I don’t want your life destroyed, and we have Taylor to think about.” The little girl sat cuddling her favorite cat on Carly’s lap. “I feel so damned helpless. I went to college and studied animal science, not psychology, and I am ill prepared to deal with this.” Then he grated out, “Let’s call your dad. I feel like we need his advice. If you wouldn’t mind, I would really like to talk to him.” It took less than five minutes for Carly to get her father on the phone. She didn’t say much, only that Dillon wanted to talk to him, then handed over the phone. ing that he should call him by his first name, Dillon greeted him. “Hello, Roger.” “Carly sounds upset. What’s going on?” Dillon rose to step out of earshot of Taylor. “Someone broke into and ransacked the house today.”

He went on, telling Roger the entire story. He always reminded himself that someone could somehow be listening in, so he did not disclose the location of the journals, just that they were very well hidden. He did say they couldn’t find anything in them that someone would want. “I feel helpless,” he itted. “I don’t know how to keep the girls safe. I love your daughter, sir, and I’m torn on whether I should keep her close or send her away somewhere safe. But these men seem to be more after her than me, so that worries me.” “Let me check a couple of things, and then I’ll call back within a half hour or so.” “I appreciate it.” Dillon ended the call and walked over to hand the phone back to Carly. They sat on the porch, holding hands, each lost in their own thoughts except for an occasional comment. Carly said, “I keep wondering why the journals start with her first day at the ranch.” “And I keep questioning what happened to those first missing pages in the oldest book. The journals all run by year, and she came in October.” “Perhaps she destroyed them.” “Or hid them.” Close to an hour later, a car drove up to the house. Taylor alerted them from where she now sat on her father’s lap. “Bob and Jan are here, and I’m glad. I’m hungry.” They all rose to greet them, and Dillon helped Bob carry the food around to the side of the house to the picnic table. “I hope I brought something everyone likes,” Jan said as she set out still hot fried chicken, potato salad, potato chips, homemade baked beans, a veggie tray with dip, and chocolate cupcakes. Carly looked on in appreciation. “This is a feast, and we appreciate it so much. This is just one more thing that I love about this area. In Portland, I know one neighbor, and even though I might wave to the others, I do not know their names.” They dished up their plates and then Jan spoke again. “Bob told me what

happened, and I thought perhaps Taylor should come and spend the night with us. I have one set of her play clothes at our house, and she can sleep in one of my T-shirts.” Dillon thought that might be a good idea, but he didn’t know what Taylor wanted. It should be up to her. He only had to look at her to know she didn’t want leave. Before he said anything, she said, “I want to stay here. I want to sleep with Daddy and Carly tonight.” “Ok, sweet pea, if that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.” Carly’s phone rang, and she picked it up and checked the screen. “It’s my dad.” She answered it, getting up from the table and walking toward the back of the yard. Time seemed to drag until she returned. “Mom and Dad are flying to Denver tomorrow. They will rent a car, and will be here by evening. Dad said not to argue with him about it.” An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. “There’ll be no argument from me. In fact, I appreciate it. I almost asked, but he’s got a job, and I didn’t know if he could take time off.” “He has so much vacation time stored up. He’s got a month off approved if he needs that much. And Mom retired from teaching a while back, so she’s free. Dad said she did say they may have to pack dirty clothes to get here that fast, but I assured them that you do have a washer and dryer.” As they finished eating, Sheriff Jenkins stepped out. “Well, we’ve got some real clean prints, but I expect they are all yours. No doubt they wore gloves while they ransacked your place. However, we do have that piece of fabric, and we can test the blood on that. If it’s in the database, we’ll find out who it is. If not, we’re back to the same place, with one name and one plate number. I’ll try to hurry the test. I’ll send one of the boys up to the crime lab in Butte Valley tomorrow.” Dillon shook the man’s hand. “Thank you.” The sheriff handed him a business card with a number written on it. “This is my cell phone number. If you need me again, call me directly. If it’s serious, call 911 first, because we can get state troopers here if we need to. I will send one of the other boys down to Coopersville tomorrow to make inquiries at the hotels. I

suspect they’re staying there as we’ve seen them coming into town from the south and that’s the closest place to stay and commute. I don’t have enough deputies to post one out here, but we’ll be patrolling the area a lot more than usual. I am going to the sheriff to the south, too, and have him be on the lookout, as well.” After the lawmen left Bob said, “Why don’t I board up that window for you, Dillon? I found a nice little piece of plywood in the shop, so I tossed it and some tools in the trunk before I left.” Dillon liked to be independent, but he knew he needed help, and he trusted his neighbor to do a nice job of it, too. “Thank you.” “And I thought I could help clean up a bit,” Jan said. “Why don’t I work in the kitchen so you can at least cook some breakfast in the morning?” Carly clapped a hand over her mouth. “I forgot the bananas. We have food to haul in from the truck, and the bananas have been in the truck most of the day.” They all got to work. Dillon still had to gather the eggs, check on the growing chicks, and milk the cow, but he knew he needed to escort Carly and Taylor into the house. With the shape it was in, they were both going to be upset. And he was right. As soon as she stepped in the front door, it hit Carly hard. Tears began to fill her eyes as she looked at the mess. Dillon’s music from the piano bench lay strewn on the floor. All the books from the bookcases were knocked off and lay in piles in a six-foot circle at the base of it. The desk met with the worst. The drawers were pulled out and lay on the floor, all of Dillon’s papers and receipts strewed everywhere. The living room fared better than any of the other rooms. The only bookcase in the room and a magazine rack were all that were hit. In the kitchen, every cupboard stood open, and the contents of the bottom ones were emptied out. The pantry had been searched and a partial sack of flour knocked off and spilled on the floor. The condition of the sewing room caused Carly to truly break down. “Oh, Dillon, all of Paula’s fabric.” He wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll pick up just like everything else.”

“Yes, but it’s more personal.” Dillon didn’t say anything, but he thought she would think it was damned personal when they got upstairs. And Taylor would, too. So far, the little girl just clung to his hand, but soon, it would hit her even harder. Jan didn’t follow them upstairs. She stayed in the kitchen, declaring she would clean up, reorganize, and scrub until all looked spotless. Carly stepped into Paula’s room first. Here she looked around and just sighed. Then she marched resolutely to the guest room where little looked disturbed. But as she stepped into their room, she paused, reached for a tissue to blow her nose, and then said, “Now I know why victims of any crime always say they feel violated.” Taylor then said, very quietly, “How bad is my room, Daddy?” Dillon picked her up and said, “Let’s go see. I want you to promise me something first, though.” “What?” “That you’ll that everything can be picked up and put away.” “Okay,” Her little body trembled in his arms as they stepped in to see the toys in disarray on the floor. The clothes were strewn out of the closet and dresser just like they were in the other rooms. Carly, he noticed, was still and no longer crying. When she turned toward him, he could see anger flaring in her eyes. She was in a fighting mood and the brave, stiff-spined woman who faced those men down twice now said, “You’d better go milk the cow, Dillon. Taylor and I will start in the master bedroom so we can all sleep there tonight. Bob will keep us safe until you return from doing the chores.” Alone in the barn, Dillon let his anger surface. He climbed the ladder to the second floor. Once in the haymow he looked to where an old punching bag hung from a rafter. Covered with dust from years of disuse, a pair of boxing gloves hung from a nearby nail. He thought back to when he’d last taken his anger out in this way. Realizing it had been when Holly died, he stripped off his shirt and carefully laid aside his hat. Then he reached for the gloves, slapping them together to dislodge any six or eight-legged creatures. Slipping them on, he

tentatively punched the bag and immediately sneezed as dust rained down. He tried again. Thwack. Ah, that felt good. Wham! That was more like it. Wham, whop, whack! Dillon danced around the bag as he took swings at it and took satisfaction in the connection of his fists to it. What had Paula hidden from them all those years before besides a daughter? Who in the hell were the men disrupting their lives? Why now? What did they want? Could he keep the girls he loved safe? The questions spun through his mind. As they pounded his thoughts, so his fists pounded the bag until the sweat dripped from his body and his brow. Only when the low mooing of the cow broke through the questions in his mind did he stop.

Chapter Thirteen

Morning came far too soon. Carly woke when she sensed Dillon getting out of bed. She rolled toward the middle where Taylor still slept soundly. It didn’t surprise her. After putting away the clothes from the closet and all the drawers, which were pulled out and literally dumped on the carpet, it was almost midnight before the three of them had gotten to bed. Dillon whispered, “I’ve got to go milk the cow and feed the animals. “I think you’ll be safe here alone. They’re not likely to return to the scene of the crime so soon, and I’ll lock the doors. And I’m pretty sure, after yesterday, Max will let us know if anybody else is around.” Carly nodded. “You go, and I’m going to get up and fix breakfast. We have a long day ahead of us with cleaning up the house, the satellite guy coming out, and Mom and Dad arriving later. I’m really glad Jan offered to come back over to help.” Dillon leaned across the bed to kiss her. “She and Bob are the best neighbors a person could have.” Carly listened to the sounds of his boots descending the stairs. Then she carefully slid out of bed, covering Taylor back up. Stretching, her eyes landed on the gun safe, and she ed the journals in the drawer at the bottom. Carly located the hollow “Bible” still on the shelf, finding it odd that it appeared untouched even though all the books on either side of it were removed. She opened it to find the key and then unlocked the gun safe. What a great hiding place, she thought as she saw the neatly stacked journals. The usual chores helped Carly stay calm. The mundane task of cooking breakfast, thinking about which foods would please Dillon and Taylor, had a settling effect. Today, she faced a lot of laundry. They washed one load the night before, and that helped because she couldn’t stand the thought of putting anything on her body those three goons had touched. She would use the clothesline to dry much of the things as that would hurry the task along. Plus, she really enjoyed it. They washed their sheets in that one small load, but she would wash the rest today, then hang them out to dry. Each mattress was flipped onto its side the previous day, no doubt with the

thought that journals would be easy to hide underneath. This caused her to smile once again as she thought about how they missed that hidden drawer in the gun safe. With the smile still on her face, she went into the utility room to locate a couple of packages of meat to thaw. Dillon opened the door as she stood there. “It’s nice to see you smiling,” he said. “I am just thinking about how they want the journals so badly, but they didn’t even find the ones in the gun safe.” “I thought of that while I handled the milking. Of course, with the way it’s designed you can’t see the drawer from the outside, so they probably didn’t think it important enough to break into it. Apparently, they didn’t find the key.” “That’s the oddest thing. I don’t think they touched the hollow Bible. Maybe it means they have a smidgen of respect for something.” When they went back into the kitchen, they found a sleepy Taylor sitting at the table in her nightgown. Dillon greeted his daughter with a hug and a kiss. “Good morning, sweet pea. You seem kind of quiet this morning.” Carly noticed that, too, and worried about the little girl. “I want to know if you’ll let me use some anti-bac…” she paused and then started again, “anti-back… you know, the wipes.” Carly smiled. “You want to use anti-bacterial wipes?” “Yes, to clean my toys as I clean my room.” “Do you want help with your room?” Dillon asked. “I don’t need it, and you have a lot to do.” Carly decided to interject. “I don’t see any harm in it if you wear gloves and you’re careful. You know you don’t want to put them in your mouth or rub your eyes with them.” The child rolled her eyes, giving them a preview of her teenaged years to come. “I know.”

“Then I think you can,” Dillon said. “But Carly’s right, we’ll have you put on some gloves so that you don’t irritate your skin with them.” They talked about their plan for cleaning up the house as they ate and were interrupted by the phone ringing. Carly said, “I’ll get it. You finish eating before your food gets cold.” Picking up the receiver she greeted the caller. “Hello.” “Hi Carly, this is Jan. We’re just rounding the lake but didn’t want to be greeted with a gun. Couldn’t blame you for doing so, though.” Carly laughed. “We probably would have.” She hung up, told Dillon who called, and then moved to the front door. He stood behind her by the time she reached it. The neighbors pulled up, and both got out. “Bob, I didn’t know you were coming,” Dillon told him. “I’m grateful for the help.” “I won’t be much help cleaning up the house, but I can check the wells and the cows and do whatever needs done outside so that you can concentrate on the inside.” By mid-morning, the man who sold Dillon the satellite dish came to install it. Dillon took the time to discuss where to place it. They decided the porch roof would be the perfect place as it faced south. By the time the man came inside to install the television and Internet, the two front rooms were returned to normal. Barely pausing for sandwiches, chips, and fruit for lunch, the adults completed the house by mid-afternoon. Even Taylor finished her room by herself except for making the bed and putting the drawers back in the dresser. Dillon thanked Bob and Jan as they stood at the door ready to leave. “The house is probably cleaner than it has been in years. I can’t thank you enough.” “You don’t need to. I’m getting older, and I’m thinking about putting up another metal shed before winter,” Bob began. “You know I’ll help.” As soon as they were gone, Carly went in and sat down at the desk. “I’ve been waiting all afternoon to get my hands on this new Internet.”

Dillon walked over to look over her shoulder. “Can I you?” “Of course.” As he pulled up a chair, she leaned over and kissed him. “I checked on Taylor about fifteen minutes ago, because she’s been so quiet. She is sound asleep in the middle of our bed.” “Good. I know this has been hard on her. I can’t wait until your parents arrive this evening. I think that will distract her.” “They called close to an hour ago. They were in the rental car heading through northeastern Colorado. Mom had the instructions in her hand you gave me to email them, and Dad is looking forward to the drive.” “I’m anxious to meet them, but that brings up a question I have. Is it going to be okay that their little girl is sharing my bed?” “I thought about that, and I’ve decided they’re going to have to be okay with it.” “Your dad’s a cop. He could kill me.” “They wouldn’t want to orphan Taylor,” she replied with a sassy grin as she brought up the Internet. “This is nice and fast,” she said of their new connection. “What are you looking for first?” “I’m just going to type in Paula’s maiden name along with Oregon and see what I get.” It took only moments for the search results to appear. Carly grabbed his hand and sat forward. “Dillon, look at this!” Dillon leaned in to check the screen. “Paula Samuelson, obituary. That can’t be the same Paula. I didn’t send the obituary to be published in Oregon.” Carly pulled it up and found that the site belonged to a newspaper in Medford, Oregon. “Look, these are copies of old newspapers that have recently been digitized.” Dillon grew quiet, as he read what she found. “I don’t get it. This is an obit for a Paula Anne Samuelson that has the same date of birth as our Paula, but look, it

shows she died May 7, 1970.” He remained quiet a moment as he finished reading. “I saw her birth certificate once. It’s up in a safe deposit box at the bank, but I’ll swear it listed her parents as Jonathan and Linda Samuelson just like this does.” Carly leaned back in her seat thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that people used to go to a cemetery and look for someone about their age who died as a child. Then, if they found out enough information about the deceased person, they could take on their identity. That was before they assigned social security numbers at birth.” Dillon leaned back to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “So you mean that Paula, or whoever she might have been before, might have been in this cemetery —” He pointed at the screen “—and found this grave, then went to the newspaper office or the library to read the obituary and eventually took on this girl’s identity?” “I can’t wait until Dad gets here. I wonder if he ever ran a check on Paula before adopting me.” “If she did do this, how will we ever figure out who she actually was?” “There’s always DNA. We could use hair out of her hairbrush but that means that sometime around thirty years ago they would have to have her DNA on file for some reason, and that is highly unlikely.” “The journals. It must be in the journals. I’m still bothered by those missing pages. Even if she started journaling the day she arrived at the ranch, the one she used wouldn’t be missing about two-thirds of its pages. But those could be anywhere, hidden, or locked up someplace, even destroyed.” They made additional searches on Paula Samuelson and Paula Johnson which didn’t prove to be worthwhile, but Carly printed that obituary and also saved it to a flash drive. Then she looked at her watch. “I’d better start dinner. I’ll bet Mom and Dad will be here within an hour.” **** When the pale blue rental vehicle pulled into the yard, Dillon found himself to be nervous, excited, and relieved all at one time. He felt nervous to meet Carly’s parents as he was crazy about her and wanted them to think well of him.

Excitement filled him for the exact same reason. And the relief, well it almost made his knees give out when Roger James stepped out of the car. A few inches shorter than Dillon, he looked fit and trim for a man his age. His hair was gray and his blue eyes, Dillon thought, probably saw everything. Indeed, he looked and moved like a cop. Roger wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and a gun holster at his hip. “A lot of people say they find him a bit intimidating,” Carly said quietly to him before she flew down the steps to hug, first her mother, and then her father. Dillon agreed. Roger James could have played the part of a badass detective with a good heart in Hollywood. Swinging his attention to Marian James, he realized that everyone had to know Carly had been adopted. The older woman wore her hair styled in a sleek, short, light gray pageboy, and her blue eyes were very similar to her husband’s. In fact, Dillon realized, if they all went somewhere together, people were much more likely to think Roger and Marian were his parents than they were Carly’s. Taylor slipped out of the house then and stood beside him just as Marian rushed up to the porch and greeted him. She didn’t shake his hand but just wrapped him in a hug. “I am so happy to meet you, Dillon. I can already see why Carly is crazy about you.” He hugged her back and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he introduced her to Taylor. “You’re so pretty,” she told the child. “I’m really glad I brought you what I did.” Taylor expressed intent interest now. “What did you bring me?” “It’s something of Carly’s. She gave me permission to bring it to you. It is something she wore at your age.” Marian looked around at the available seating on the porch. “Let’s go sit over here, and I’ll get it out of my purse.” Dillon walked down the steps to where Carly and her dad were near the trunk and said, “Roger, it’s good to meet you.” He held out his hand as he spoke. The other man clasped it and shook it firmly. “I hear you’re sleeping with my little girl.” Well, hell, Dillon thought. What a great way to start out with the man he hoped

would be his father-in-law before the end of the year. Carly onished him. “Daddy! You promised to be nice.” Roger replied with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t make any promises about refraining from bodily harm.” Dillon grinned and reached into the trunk for two pieces of luggage. “Carly told me you wouldn’t want to leave Taylor an orphan, so I think I’m pretty safe.” Roger laughed and slapped Dillon on the back. “Cocky little bugger, aren’t you?” “Not cocky, sir. Confident. There is a difference.” Roger looked at Carly and said, “I like him, sweetheart. You’ve chosen wisely.” “We can find somewhere to put the car inside if you’d like,” Dillon offered. “Nah, I paid for the extra insurance on it, and I think it’s a better idea to leave it out where everyone can see it. That throws people off you know.” “I sure hope so.” Both men picked up luggage, and Carly carried her mother’s handiwork bag and her father’s briefcase as they went in the house. Taylor and Marian were already upstairs by the sounds of their voices. “And this is my doll house. My daddy and my other Grandpa and Grandma built it for me.” “It’s very nice, Taylor. Perhaps while I’m here I can play dolls with you.” “I’d really like that, Grandma.” “Is that’s Mom’s idea?” Carly asked her dad. “Calling us Grandma and Grandpa, you mean?” Carly had a smirk on her face. “Uh, huh.”

“We discussed it on the plane. You told us that you’re serious about this fellow, and he seems serious about you. And we’ve waited a long time for a grandchild.” “What? I’m only twenty-eight, Dad.” “And some of our friends already have two or three. Their children started much younger than you are now. You’ve told us that Taylor is a delightful child, so now we will have something to brag about, too.” Carly sent Dillon a look that clearly stated, “What can you do?” Dillon replied, “I’m sure Taylor is thrilled. Her mother’s parents live in Florida and rarely see her. Now that Paula and my dad are both gone, my daughter could use another set of grandparents.” “Dad, let’s get this luggage up to the guest room,” Carly said, leading the way up the steps. As they topped the stairs, Marian and Taylor stepped into the hallway. “Taylor already showed me our room, and I just wanted to say that quilt is beautiful.” “Isn’t it, though? Paula left so much fabric and a partially finished quilt top in the sewing room. I’m thinking about seeing if I am crafty enough to take up quilting.” Marian assured her, “You would be great at it. I also love your house, Dillon. The windows are wonderful.” “Thanks,” he replied. “My grandfather built it before World War II. I’ve always liked the windows myself, but you do have to put up storm windows in the winter or the heating bill skyrockets.” Refusing time to get settled and saying there would always be time for that later, Roger and Marian wanted a full tour of the house. Dillon suspected it could be for a different reason than simple curiosity. While Carly and her mom, along with Taylor who now sported a child’s gold locket around her neck, talked about the features of the house, Roger and Dillon trailed along behind talking about vantage points and exits. Roger expressed excitement upon seeing the fire extinguishers and the sprinkler system. “Most houses don’t have these, but it’s

great that you do.” “My stepmom insisted on them,” Dillon said. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?” “I suspect so, but Carly and I have an idea, and after we have Taylor tucked into bed tonight, we’d like to sit down and talk to you about it.” They were just finishing grilled steaks and baked potatoes for dinner when the phone rang. Dillon answered. It was the sheriff. Jenkins opened with, “Brian went down to Coopersville today. He found out that they’ve been staying down there in more than one of the hotels. They only stay at one for two nights and when they , they’re using false names and paying cash. We know this because all the desk clerks recognize the physical description of Earl Manning, but he has not used that name once. The only car they’re putting down when they check in is the one Carly’s dad already ran the plates on. It’d be easy to park another vehicle around somewhere though, one of the bigger stores or a truck stop. Either one would probably never notice it as they’re open around the clock. Same with the hospital. I just wanted to check in and let you know the progress.” Dillon thanked him and hung up. Two hours later, with Taylor tucked in bed, the four adults sat in the living room. Carly started off the conversation. “Dad, I’ve been wondering, when Paula offered to let you and Mom adopt me, did you run a background check on her?” “I searched for her driver’s license, and ID’d her by the photo, and I ran a check on that. I found it a little odd that she had a new license, whereas most people get them when they turn sixteen. I dismissed it at the time. She was obviously poor and couldn’t afford a car, so I thought maybe it wasn’t important to her. Not everyone starts to drive young.” “Here’s the deal,” Carly said. “Dillon and I have been reading her journals because that seems to be what these men are after. They even offered to pay me for them. Anyway, the very first journal indicated she started it the day she came to the ranch when Dillon was five and before Paula married his dad. The thing is, about two-thirds of the pages have been cut out.”

Dillon ed in. “And all the other journals take up one book for one year, and we have all of them for every year I have known her.” Carly took over the conversation once again, “Then today, after we got this place cleaned up and the Internet and television were hooked up, I did a search for Paula Samuelson from Oregon, and this is what I found.” She picked up the copy of the obituary she printed off earlier and handed it to her parents, who were sitting next to each other on the couch. Dillon explained further. “That’s Paula’s middle name and her birthdate. The parents’ names listed on that are, I believe, the same as the ones on her birth certificate. It’s locked in the bank up in Willow Flats and, now that you’re here to protect the girls, I think I should drive up there tomorrow and get it out.” “I told Dillon today that I’ve heard of people who have taken on a new identity by finding someone of a similar age that died as a child,” Carly continued. “Oh, yes,” her father said, “that used to be quite common.” Marian spoke up for the first time. “Of course, if that is what Paula did and she destroyed everything from her previous life, how will we ever find out her real identity?” “It has to be connected to the journals somehow, Mom. And I feel strongly that there must either be something in them, or was at one time, that these men want quite badly for some reason.” “You have always been very good at research,” her mother pointed out to Carly. “And your father is a detective. I am curious about what she wrote in her journals, though.” “You are welcome to read them.” Dillon put in. “They’re filled with day-to-day happenings.” Carly spoke up. “I agree that I don’t see what anyone could be after them for, but I find them fascinating. The one I’m reading now has all about Dillon’s junior prom. Paula describes how handsome he looked in his rented tux.” She turned a teasing gaze toward Dillon, “What was your date’s name, cowboy? Something like a baked good, wasn’t it?”

Marian ed the fun. “I once knew a Cookie.” “I can beat that. My best friend from high school married a Peaches,” Roger said. “Too bad his last name wasn’t Pie.” “It’s not a baked good, but there is always Rosemary,” Marian suggested. “Muffy,” Dillon ground out. “Her name was Muffy Swanson.” He was glad Taylor fell asleep in her own bed that night. He determined to seek retribution for Carly’s teasing.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, Dillon left his daughter and Carly home with her parents for a quick trip to Willow Flats. He didn’t want to take too long because if he were home, then there were two men with guns, but he trusted Roger to keep everyone safe. While in Willow Flats, he had two chores, and only two. He intended to go to the bank to get Paula’s birth certificate, and then he would stop at the store with a short list of items Carly wanted to replace the ones that were broken when the goons ransacked the pantry. As soon as he finished, he would head straight home. One of the things Dillon intended to pick up out of his safety deposit box was Paula’s engagement ring. He didn’t know if Carly would like it or what type of jewelry she liked, but it was a decent ring being a half carat diamond solitaire set in a traditional fourteen carat gold setting. At the time, his dad could not afford more and, frankly, Dillon probably couldn’t afford a bigger one either. He pushed the gas down a little more than usual, hoping to speed up the trip, and he parked in front of the bank at five minutes before they opened. Forcing himself to relax, he slouched in the truck seat until he saw the sign on the door flip to Open. Inside he smiled at the teller and one other employee then walked up to greet the Vice President of the bank, a middle-aged lady who worked at the bank since he’d been a boy. “Good morning, Helen.” “Well, hello, Dillon. How are you this morning?” “I’m doing well.” “Oh? I heard you’ve had some trouble out at your place.” So, word had gotten around. “Someone wants something Paula had though we don’t know what it is. Her birth daughter’s father is a policeman from Oregon. He and his wife got here yesterday evening. And Sheriff Jenkins and his men are working hard to get to the bottom of this. We’re doing a little investigating of our own, too.” “Well, I certainly hope you all stay safe.”

“I do, too.” “What can I help you with, Dillon?” “I need to get something out of my safe deposit box.” After looking up his box number in the computer, she grabbed her keys and walked him to the vault. Pulling his box out of the cabinet, she set it on the table and then left. Dillon unlocked the box and looked through its contents. He found Paula’s birth certificate right on top where he’d put it after emptying out the box that she and his dad rented. He pulled it out of the envelope and, sure enough, her parents were listed as Jonathan and Linda Samuelson of Medford, Oregon. The thought came to him that they could still be alive. They’d be elderly, but it might be worth a try. Digging through the box further he took her will and life insurance policy with him. Right now, he thought it might be safer in his cellar than anywhere else. He flipped open the ring box and looked at the three rings inside. The engagement ring had two plain gold bands with it, one was Paula’s and the other his dad’s. Otherwise, the items in the box were his, Taylor’s, and Holly’s birth certificates as well as his life insurance policy, his and Holly’s marriage certificate, her death certificate, and the deed to the ranch. Dillon started to put them all back in and then paused. Something in his gut told him he should take them with him. He knew there used to be a fireproof box up in the attic, and he thought maybe he’d just take everything home and put it in the cellar. He put it all in the briefcase he carried in, then locked the box and put it back on the shelves. As he walked out of the bank, he thanked Helen, then said goodbye to the other ladies. Dillon made his one additional stop at the grocery store and pulled back on the road within a half hour. After pulling into the yard in front of the house, he saw Roger and Carly sitting on the front porch, Max and Sadie at their feet. Dillon got out of the truck and walked up the steps, briefcase in hand. Carly smiled up at him. “Hey, cowboy. Did you get the birth certificate?” “I did, and Jonathan and Linda are listed as her parents. I got to wondering if they might still be alive. They certainly could be. Do you think we should do a

search for that on the Internet?” “That’s a good idea,” Carly said. “You’re right. They could still be alive, although probably quite elderly. I wonder if they had other children who might know something, too.” She stood, and Dillon used the opportunity to slide an arm around her waist and kiss her. Keeping in mind that Roger sat only a few feet away, he kept the kiss innocent but enjoyed it, nonetheless. When he lifted his lips, she said, “I think that I’ll go do a bit of a search.” “I’m going to crawl up in the attic where I know there is a fireproof box. I should make sure there is nothing interesting in it, but I emptied out the safety deposit box. Something just made me do so. Then I’m going to take it out to the cellar and give your dad a little tour of that. He found the box easily, the key in the lock, and nothing in it, although he hadn’t really expected anything. Back downstairs he tucked everything into the box, including the ring, slipped the key on his key ring, and carried it downstairs. Marian and Taylor were in the kitchen doing something, and Carly sat at his desk. He kissed her more longingly and then said, “Lock the door behind me, sweetheart.” Roger waited on the porch and stood when Dillon stepped out of the house. “Did you lock the door?” “Carly did it just now.” “I’m anxious to see this cellar. Carly told me about it,” Roger said. As the dogs started to follow them, he said, “Are Max and Sadie well enough trained to stay here with the ladies?” “I think so.” Then he said, “Stay,” and the two dogs lay back down on the porch. The walk to the plum thicket was pleasant, although the weather was shaping up to be a hot June day. “Great hay growing weather,” he commented to Roger, “but I wish we’d get a good rainstorm.” “While you were gone, I checked out your new satellite offerings, and the weather channel does say you have a good chance of a thunderstorm for the next few nights.” As they came to the cellar, Roger laughed. “This is great. I would have stepped on it before I even noticed it. And I’m a trained detective.”

“The keys to the two padlocks are in this birdhouse over here.” He showed the other man where to find them and then unlocked the first door, leading the way down the stairs inside. Roger looked around, including overhead. “I really do think this is a good hiding place, Dillon. Between the crook in the path, the overhead branches, and the fact that the shrubs grow right over the top of the cellar keeps it pretty safe from people spying with binoculars from a distance or flying overhead.” At the bottom of the cellar steps, Roger inspected the door. “Where did you get this?” “When Mom insisted on making the cellar more tornado proof, as she put it, Dad found the door at a junkyard. It is a remnant from someone’s Cold War bomb shelter, I guess.” Inside, Dillon put the fireproof box down on the dirt floor in a dark corner under the shelves holding the canned goods. He then showed Roger the stash of journals, and they briefly looked them over. Particularly, he showed the other man the first journal. Roger flipped through a few pages. “I see what you mean. The pages have clearly been cut out with something like a knife. I’d say we need to do a thorough search to see if we can find them.” After a bit of further inspection, they locked up the cellar. Dillon accompanied Roger back to the house before changing into work clothes and announcing he would be in the garden. Just before he left, he turned back toward Carly. “Say, did you find out whether the people listed as Paula’s parents are still alive?” “I did. They ed away within a few months of each other three years ago.” “Too bad,” Dillon replied and kissed her before starting for the door. “Dillon, I would love to go with you.” Her words stopped him dead in his tracks. “Mom will look after Taylor. They’re having a wonderful time, and Dad is really enjoying spending time with the dogs and an action-adventure book on the porch.” “Do you have on sunscreen? I wouldn’t want that beautiful skin to burn.”

“I do. And I have one of Paula’s hats in the utility room.” Dillon grinned, already excited by the prospect of gardening with Carly. “Well, go get it woman.” **** Godfrey lay on the beach in a small Ecuadorian seaside town, thinking about how well his plan for a little time off came together. When his cell phone rang, he groaned. After a night of enjoying the hotel bar and the company of a voluptuous paid companion, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with his deacons. But when he checked the caller ID and saw Earl Manning’s name, he felt he should take the call. He hoped those men finally obtained Barbara’s journals, because he felt sure that Paula Johnson nee Samuelson had started out in life as Barbara Fields. “Hello.” “Reverend, I wanted to give you an update and ask for some direction.” “Okay, but I am on a mission trip and am taking a break from our building team to take the call.” “I wouldn’t want to be the reason that some poor people didn’t get a house,” Manning said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We broke into the house and ransacked it pretty good. We even got up into the attic and never found the journals, not even one.” Godfrey put a hand to his head. He damned well wished he knew if the journals even existed or if Barbara destroyed them when she’d taken on her new identity. Until he knew, the possibility of life in prison and, worse, a death penalty hung over his head. How many people had he killed? Hell, Godfrey didn’t know. He pulled his mind back to the conversation at hand. Manning said, “We’re going to try to find a time to search the outbuildings. There’s a lot of them—a shop, barn, garage, a trailer house, chicken coop, and a bunch of sheds. Our problem is, they’re on to us. Tankov got bit by one of the dogs when we went into the house. The bite’s pretty deep, and the dog got a piece of his jeans. He needed to get some stitches, so we ended up driving to a

Denver suburb as the cops are asking questions in all these small towns.” Godfrey struggled to keep any warmth in his voice at all. “Kill the dog next time You surely have a gun.” “I and Tankov each have one,” came the wary reply. Godfrey hoped his voice sounded suitably ministerial this time. “Good. Don’t use them on anyone except the dogs, but God gives us dominion over the animals, and if they get in our way, we must do what we must do.” Manning said, “I wonder if they’re in the bank in a safety deposit box. I’ve been watching it a bit, and it would be easy to get into. A lone woman unlocks it at the same time every day. I think I could easily get in and out without getting caught.” “Do what you have to do, Manning.” “I don’t mind destroying property, Reverend, and I’ll even encourage people to give me information, but I’m going to warn you, that’s the farthest I’ll go.” “I understand. Doing anything more would be considered a sin.” That evening Godfrey went to a little cantina he would normally never frequent in his present life. However, in a life past, he had. ing the old days, he looked in the hotel mirror at his reflection. Where he once possessed a glorious mane of long black hair, there was now short, carefully styled, and much thinner gray hair. He raised a hand and stroked his clean-shaven cheeks and chin ing the full and long black beard and moustache. The eyes, of course, were the same, but the body…well, Godfrey sighed. His had settled into middle age some time ago. Thankful that he wasn’t exactly portly, yet he sucked in his gut. Godfrey took a last look at his worn jeans and tropical shirt. He’d wanted boots but hadn’t packed any and wouldn’t go buy any. Besides, playing a tourist suited him just fine. He did take the precaution of tucking a small handgun into his sock. He wasn’t stupid after all. Then, locking his hotel room door behind him, he made his way to the ground floor and out of the lobby.

The cabbie seemed surprised when Godfrey stated his destination. The genial man even told him in adequate English that it is no place for tourists. Godfrey thanked him for his concern. Loud music blared from the open door of the cantina. As Godfrey entered the darkened interior, he sidestepped a fist fight. Seeing a glint of metal pulled from a sheath on a belt, he increased his pace before it became a knife fight. Approaching the bar, he ordered a beer and stood quietly drinking it while he observed his surroundings. At last he spied who he needed. Juan sat at a table in the corner, and Godfrey saw that his two companions stood with arms crossed rather than being seated. He left his beer behind and approached the table. Godfrey greeted his old acquaintance, “Juan, ha sido un largo tiempo.” It had, after all, been a long time. The small-statured, leather skinned man peered at him from behind bushy eyebrows. “¿Te conozco?” They, indeed, knew each other in another lifetime. Godfrey would say as much but not in front of Juan’s sentinels. He looked meaningfully their way, and with a few words to the two men they wandered just out of earshot. In another lifetime, Godfrey thought, and then translated those thoughts, “En otra vida. Me conociste como Jerome.” Juan laughed and immediately shook his hand. Within seconds he started speaking in rapid fire Spanish. Godfrey, who didn’t have the chance to practice much these days, tried hard to translate at times. Phrases like “where is the hairy ape” or “you’ve gotten a little fat” were not said in a disparaging way so Godfrey laughed, too. Finally, they got down to business, and Godfrey told him he might need a little help in the near future—a hired killer. He asked if Juan still did that or if he knew anyone who did. “Ah! Un asesino a sueldo, no?” Juan asked. “Sí.” Juan indicated the two younger men and waved them forward. “Mis hijos.” So, it was a family business these days. Godfrey collected cell phone numbers and explained that he would call if he needed their assistance. Then he enjoyed a

few shots of tequila before accepting a ride back to the hotel from Juan and his sons. **** Things were quiet at the ranch for two days, and then, in the dead of night, they were all awoken by the furious barking of the dogs. Just as they climbed out of bed and Dillon pulled on his jeans and boots, a gunshot rang out. Carly ran to the window. “Stay away from there,” Dillon ordered. “Go get Taylor and your mother and hide in the hallway right outside our bathroom. If you can call the sheriff and 911, please do.” He grabbed his rifle and headed down the stairs. He exited the house just in time to see two vehicles tearing down the road and Roger on a dead run after them. Then the older man stopped, took aim, and fired his revolver. Dillon followed in Roger’s footsteps and arrived at his side just as the last vehicle, the dark sedan, veered to the side with a flat tire. “Nice shot,” Dillon said while still running toward the car, now with Roger behind him. “Be careful, son. He may have a gun,” Roger said. “Let me approach the car, and you cover me.” Then Dillon noticed the older man wore a bulletproof vest. He chuckled under his breath as he raised his rifle while Roger approached the car. “Get out, your hands up,” he barked. “You are under citizen’s arrest.” The young black man who had approached Carly twice slowly opened the door and stepped out of the car, arms held firmly in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’m not armed.” “Up against the car, hands on the roof,” Roger snapped out again. The man did as ordered. “What are you? Some kind of cop?” “That’s right, I’m some kind of cop, and I don’t take lightly to what you are doing to my family, and neither does this cowboy here. The one with the high-

powered hunting rifle aimed at your head.” Roger looked back at Dillon. “You got me covered, son?” “I do.” Dillon watched as Roger holstered his gun before patting down the young man. He then approached slowly while Roger pulled the man’s arms behind his back. “Do you have handcuffs?” “No,” he answered as he reached into his pocket. “But I’ve got zip ties.” The young man didn’t fight them in any way. When he laid his head on the roof of the car, he looked like he gave up. Roger asked him, “You got a wallet, young man?” “In the glove box.” Dillon looked at Roger, and he nodded to him. Dillon took this as an agreement that he should check it out, so he walked around the car and opened the door, riffling through and finding it easily. He took it out and slipped it in his own pocket until they got somewhere light enough to inspect its contents. As he walked around the car again, Max and Sadie came up although they seemed a little fearful. The young man looked over at them and said, “Is the blue heeler okay?” Dillon looked at him sharply. “Is that what you were shooting at?” “Hey, it wasn’t me. I like animals, but when that dog took a bite out of Ivan’s leg, I figured he was doomed next time we came around.” Dillon didn’t think the dog was injured, but he walked over and dropped to one knee, running his hand carefully over first Max, and then Sadie. “They’re both fine, I think.” Roger reached into the car and pocketed the keys before taking their hostage by the arm and marching him up toward the house. “Do you have anywhere escape proof we can lock him up?” Dillon thought about it and then grinned. “How about the chicken house? I don’t know as the hens will like sharing their coop, but it does lock from the outside,

and it’s sturdily made. “Please, no,” the young man said. Roger replied, “I thought you liked animals,” “Animals, not poultry.” “What do you have against chickens?” Dillon asked with a grin. “When I visited my grandmother as a boy, she made me gather the eggs, and I always got pecked.” They walked silently for a bit. Finally, Roger spoke. “Do you have a hunk of chain and a padlock, Dillon?” “I’m sure I do. The chain might be pretty good sized. You know, a log chain.” He was liking this, maybe a little too much. “Well, young man, which will it be? Would you rather spend your time until the sheriff gets here to take you into custody locked up alone in the chicken coop, or would you rather talk to Dillon and me here on the front porch while chained to a column to prevent your escape?” “I’ll take the front porch, sir.” Dillon found the requested chain and padlock in the box on the ranch truck, and then he helped Roger wind the chain around the young man’s ankle where he fastened it with a heavy bolt, then padlocked the other end to the front porch column. Roger pulled over a chair for their captive, then seated himself. He pulled his revolver out of his holster and aimed it at him. “Go tell the ladies they can come out of hiding, why don’t you, Dillon? Oh, and find out if the sheriff is on his way.” Dillon did as Roger requested. He took two steps at a time and found all three of the females in the hallway right outside the bathroom with the doors of all the rooms and the hallway firmly shut. Taylor was crying, and Carly attempted to comfort her.

“Did you get the sheriff?” “I did. He and one of his deputies are on the way as is the state patrol, although they were farther away.” Then, looking up at him with a worried look in her eye, Carly asked, “What did they shoot?” “Nothing. He tried to shoot Max, but completely missed. Neither he nor Sadie are injured.” Taylor started crying louder, and he squatted down in front of her. “It’s okay, sweet pea. Both dogs are fine. Like you, they’re a little scared, but they’re fine.” “Are you sure, Daddy?” He watched as his little girl scrubbed furiously at her tears. “I am. I checked them both over from head to tail, and there is not a single drop of blood, not even a scratch.” “And what about the other shot?” Marian asked. “Your husband took out a tire. He’s good, I got to tell you.” Dillon rose to stand up again. “We have the youngest man on the front porch. He isn’t armed, and I don’t believe ever was. Roger used zip ties for cuffs, and we have him chained to the front porch column. Roger has his gun trained on him, so I better go out and help. I have his wallet in my pocket, and we can find out who he is.” He leaned ahead, kissed Taylor on the head and Carly on the lips. With a wink for Marian, he headed back down the stairs. **** Carly started to tremble. No, she thought, it wasn’t a tremble. She shook like the proverbial leaf, and felt angry, furious even. She needed to do something to satisfy her own need to know. “Taylor, honey, why don’t you go with Grandma. I’ll bet she will make you a nice cup of hot cocoa with whipped cream on top.” Marian replied, “I sure will, and maybe I’ll make a pot of coffee for the rest of us.”

As soon as Taylor rose, Carly pulled her robe around her more closely and practically flew out of the house, looking with scorn at the young man secured on the front porch. Dillon sat in a chair, his rifle across his lap, and pulled on a Tshirt that he’d collected from somewhere in the house, the dirty laundry no doubt. He held the young man’s wallet in his hand and was opening it when Carly snatched it, pulled out the driver’s license, and inspected it under the porch light. “Since you couldn’t introduce yourself the two times we’ve met in person, Mr. Michael Barnes of Atlanta, Georgia,” she read, “let me just tell you that I am Ms. Carly James, and I am fed up. You and the other goons have intimidated and frightened my family and me. You have ransacked this house and left the mess for us to clean up. It stops right now.” She couldn’t help herself; she marched right over to him and jabbed her index finger in his chest, enjoying the look of surprise and wariness on his face while ignoring the strong arms of her cowboy wrapping around her and lifting her gently back. “Calm down.” She whirled on him. “I will not calm down, Dillon Johnson, until I have some answers.” She fleetingly saw a smirk on her father’s face and whirled to look at him, but he had time to school his features. Looking back at Barnes she said, “Talk. Now. I want to know what you want, why you want it, who you’re working with and for. And why you are causing our lives to be hell.” And then she stopped, tapping one bare foot on the porch floor, her arms crossed around her chest, and waited. He wouldn’t look at her. He kept his eyes firmly on the toes of his shoes. She wished she had shoes on. Toe tapping didn’t have much effect when you were barefoot. Then she ed, Paula’s cowboy boots were right inside the door. She whirled and hurried in the house in a huff. Spotting the boots, she bent to pull them on her bare feet. She heard Dillon ask, “Now what is she up to?” Her father’s answer was only to laugh. Turning again, she exited the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. She made the mistake of catching a bemused glance between the two men she loved. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire. Carly turned back to face the miscreant, crossed her arms across her chest

once again, and began determinedly tapping her toe. Still nothing, only silence. She turned toward her father. “Daddy, do you have any more zip ties?” she asked sweetly. “Sure, honey. May I ask what you want them for?” “Mr. Barnes looks so uncomfortable with his hands behind his back.” Here she paused for the length of a breath. “And, Dillon, could you run out to the shop and get me good-sized bolt cutters?” “Uh, what for?” he asked. “That’s how they make people talk in the movies.” Dillon rose from his chair with a grin on his face. “I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Wait!” Barnes’ eyes were wide and his voice shaky. “Don’t I get a lawyer?” Carly smiled sweetly at him. “We’re not the law, so you can’t perjure yourself to us.” Barnes looked at her father. “But he’s a cop. He said so.” Carly shook her head. “He is so far out of his jurisdiction that it doesn’t count. I’ll bet he never told you you were under arrest.” “He said he made a citizen’s arrest.” Carly waved that off with a hand. “That’s nothing. Now, the sheriff and the Nebraska State Patrol are on their way, and that is when you’ll be arrested. So, Mr. Barnes, why don’t you tell us who your partners are?” He remained silent and looked down at his lap. “They’ll get revenge.” Here her dad spoke up. “You’ll be in protective police custody, Mr. Barnes. I guarantee it.” “You mean jail.” “We’ll make sure you’re separated. Now, we know the one is Earl Manning, and we know he has a criminal history.” The young man looked up. “He does?” “Oh, yes. He’s not a real nice fella,” Roger said. “Why don’t you tell us who the other one is.” Carly noticed that Dillon took out his small notebook to jot down notes with his pencil. “His name is Ivan Tankov. I don’t know much about him except that he’s very dedicated.”

“Dedicated to what?” Carly asked. “Our mission.” That sounded scary to Carly. Terrorists were dedicated to their mission. Although it certainly felt as though they were being terrorized. She walked over and perched on the porch railing like she did the first time Michael Barnes had come around. “What is your mission?” “We’re supposed to obtain the journals from you. If you just took me up on our offer to pay for them, this would all be over. I’m not comfortable around Tankov and Manning, and I’m not sure how far they will go to obtain them. I gave you a hint without saying it aloud as I didn’t have the authorization to pay you.” “We’ve got that figured out, Barnes,” Dillon said. “What we need to know is who wants them and why.” “Our reverend has said that Paula Johnson is an old friend of his and he would like to publish the journals. Apparently, he believes she is a very good writer and must have a story worth telling.” “Your minister asked this of you?” Carly said in disbelief. “Yes, he did.” “What church is this?” “Paradise Pathway in Atlanta.” “And who is the minister?” “I’d rather not say.” “Ah, come on Michael. It’s the middle of the night, and I would rather not have to go in and turn on the computer, but I can. It will take five minutes for me to get the answer.” Carly realized just how tired she felt, and so she hoped he would spill. Finally, he answered. “Reverend Godfrey Gott.”

“How big is your church?” Roger asked. “About four thousand, which is great. It only started three years ago. Why, the growth is amazing!” Dillon spoke next. “Why would you do something like this for Reverend Gott?” “I’m all alone,” Michael said. “Three years ago, I lived on the streets, strung out on drugs, being pressured by a gang to them, and Reverend Gott found me. He found me a place to stay and sent me to these meetings where I got cleaned up. We went to Bible studies, and he introduced me to the rest of the church family. The Reverend trusted me enough to send me out to look for other young people on the streets, to go door to door and testify about the goodness of God and this wonderful church. Just a couple of months ago he made me a deacon. You can’t imagine what that felt like.” Roger intervened. “Does this church have a lot of social activities?” “Oh yes”—the young man smiled—“every night of the week there is something to do. We all get together and play sports or listen to Christian music. We have potlucks and Bible studies and worship sessions.” The sound of a siren broke through the quiet of the night. Dillon rose and went to greet the sheriff as soon as the man pulled up. Carly figured Michael could expect quite a night ahead of him. She thought about thanking him for telling them what he did but thought better about it. In fact, she had just straightened up to move out of the way when he said quietly, “Miss James, be careful. I have only been given the plan day by day, but I get the idea that Manning and Tankov will stop at nothing.” A chill ran through her, and she nodded to him before slipping into the house to pour coffee for the men. It took two pots of coffee before everyone left. Sheriff Jenkins and his deputy, Sean Caruso, arrived together in one car. The sheriff got out and looked at the scene on the porch. “I wasn’t sure what I would find,” he finally spoke, “but it damned sure wasn’t this.” He walked up onto the porch and reached out to shake Roger’s hand. “Carly’s dad, I assume.” Roger stood up and pulled out his ID. “That’s right. Captain Roger James of the Portland PD.”

The sheriff gave the badge a cursory inspection and then handed it back. “So, Roger, are you or Dillon responsible for that flat tire out on that rental car?” “I am. Dillon got the ladies to safety, so he was a bit behind me.” The sheriff then turned to Michael Barnes. “And who do we have here?” Dillon spoke next, giving the sheriff the wallet. “His name is Michael Barnes from Atlanta, Georgia. He’s just been telling us about who the other men are and who they’re working for, what they’re after, that kind of stuff.” Jenkins looked appraisingly at Barnes. “Glad to know you’re willing to talk.” The young man said, “I’d like a lawyer before I say anything else.” “We can do that,” the sheriff said. “The state patrol is on the way, so I think I’ll let them haul you up to the jail in Butte Valley. We haven’t got anything but a couple of holding cells in Willow Flats. And we sure don’t have a public defender.” Then he looked at his deputy. “Sean, would you mind putting Mr. Barnes here in the back of the cruiser?” “Of course not, Sheriff. Dillon, do you have a key for that padlock?” Sean got Barnes cuffed and cut off the zip ties. He unlocked the chain and escorted him to the back seat of the sheriff’s car. Carly saw it all as she walked out holding a tray of coffee, cream and sugar, and several mugs. “Why, Carly, just what I wished for, a hot cup of coffee,” the sheriff said. She set it on the table and poured him a cup. “Black, Sheriff?” “You know it.” He took a sip of the scalding brew. “Ah, Roger, you taught your daughter to make coffee like a cop likes it.” “Daddy, would you like a cup?” He nodded. “Sure, I don’t think we’re going to be getting much sleep tonight, anyway.” Carly poured his and one for Dillon before handing a cup to the deputy, who thanked her politely.

“We have visitors,” she said looking warily at the headlights coming down the road. “It’s probably Bob or some of the other neighbors,” Jenkins said. “We ran a siren all the way.” When Bob and Jan pulled up and got out of the truck, Carly opened the screen door. “Mom, we’re going to need more coffee.” “I’m on it, honey.” The men seemed to all be talking at once, filling in the sheriff and the deputy on everything Michael Barnes told them and on what had happened. Max and Sadie showed they’d experienced no harm when they came around sniffing the car tires with Max leaving his mark on each one. “We heard the siren,” Bob said as they stepped on the porch. “I see you’ve got someone in custody.” Jan walked right behind her husband, and she went over to hug Carly just as Marian came out the door. “Jan, let me introduce my mom,” Carly said. After the introductions were made Carly said, “Where’s Taylor?” “Sound asleep on the living room couch. I thought about taking her upstairs, but I thought she’d be more comfortable where she can hear us if she wakes up.” “I agree,” Carly said. Then, “Let’s get some folding chairs out of the house and the men on the porch. I don’t want to be left out.” “And I want to know what happened,” Jan put in. Carly’s mom said, “I’ll bet the next pot of coffee is done brewing. Let me get it.” They just settled in when two more sets of headlights could be seen on the road. “That’ll be Tucker and Chris,” Bob said. “They called me to find out if I knew what happened and, while I didn’t know for sure, I made a good guess.”

The newly arriving neighbor men stopped just as another two cars, this time the state troopers, pulled up. The troopers stuck around long enough to enjoy a cup of coffee and find out what happened from Sheriff Jenkins. Then they put Michael in the back of one of their cars and pulled out, the car in front carrying their prisoner. Jenkins asked them to arrange for the public defender and that he’d be up early the next day to interrogate the man. He asked Sean to call in an APB on the other two men who escaped. Then the two of them thanked Carly for the coffee and drove off. The neighbors stayed around for another half hour sharing ideas. Tucker suggested they all convene tomorrow and put up a gate at the end of the road near a cattle guard. “I’ve got a spare gate from my corral made out of heavy pipe,” he said. “It won’t take us long to put it up along with a couple of s on either side. Keep it padlocked. Even your mailbox is outside of that, and if anyone needs to come over, we can call.” Chris said, “I’ve got a spare dog kennel. I think I should bring it over tomorrow. If we set it up by the east side of your house, the dogs can still warn you when someone’s coming, but people aren’t too likely to get up close enough to shoot them, and it’ll be right below that window up there.” “I’d appreciate that,” Dillon said. “I’d hate to see either one get killed or injured, and that’s my bedroom window, so I can take aim at the son of a bitch that is shooting at my dog by shooting at him.” There were recommendations on how to make sure the shop wasn’t broken into. “Man, if they broke into my shop and ransacked it,” Bob said with a laugh, “it would take me a year to get it organized again.” Tucker put in, “Just drive that little bulldozer you have up and put the blade right against the building. Even if they cut your padlock, they still won’t be able to slide the door open past that blade.” “If you want us to,” Bob said, “we can set up a roadblock. Everyone in the area would take turns checking traffic.” Roger interrupted, “Roadblocks aren’t legal, Bob.” “Well then, we won’t block the road, we’ll just watch it, sort of like a parade,

and call ahead when we see anything unusual.” Dillon spoke, “Let’s hold off on that, but I sure would appreciate the gate and the kennel.” At last, they all took their leave and, at three in the morning, Carly and her family finally retired to bed. Crawling in under the covers, she reached across a sleeping Taylor to caress Dillon’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ll get to sleep again tonight, between the fright, the excitement, and the caffeine.” Dillon slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer. “If Taylor weren’t sleeping with us, I’d have a suggestion of how we can the time.” He reached over to give her a silent kiss. **** “What is it this time, Manning?” Godfrey did not even try to be nice. His previous companion was ed by one of her friends, and the phone rang at an extremely inopportune time. “If you are still on your mission trip,” he practically sneered, “I would stay there. We drove onto that ranch tonight, and when the dogs started barking, Tankov took aim and completely missed, I think. I turned around with Barnes in his car behind me, but as we were getting out of there, we heard a gunshot and Barnes was no longer behind us.” One of the women licked Godfrey with her pierced tongue, causing him to inhale sharply. “That’s unfortunate.” “I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. If he’s alive, he’ll squeal like a pig. I’m going to go into the bank in the morning while the sheriff is occupied with Barnes.” The phone was silent after that. Godfrey tossed his phone aside, determined to enjoy the next couple of hours. **** Dillon’s night ended after far too little sleep. He and Roger left the house to do the chores and check to make sure nothing had been done to any of the

outbuildings. “I don’t think they got a chance before the dogs started barking,” Roger said. “Then I threw on the yard light as I came out of the house. No doubt that scared them away.” “I’m sure glad,” Dillon replied. “I can’t wait until this is over.” “I know. But you’re all handling it extremely well.” Dillon decided he may as well ask Roger now for Carly’s hand in marriage. It was an old-fashioned thing to do, and Carly was an independent woman, but he knew she still took her parents’ opinions to heart. “I hadn’t seen Carly as mad before as last night,” he began. Roger chuckled. “She sure had her dander up.” “I think she did a better job of getting answers than either of us would have.” “It was a bit like the good cop, bad cop routine.” “I love her, you know,” Dillon said. “I know, and she loves you back.” “I realize it’s kind of an old-fashioned thing to do, but I guess I’m sort of an oldfashioned guy. It would make me feel good to know I have your blessing when I ask her to marry me.” Roger answered without hesitation. “You do. When will that be?” “I’d kind of like this to be over, but if it drags on, I won’t wait too long.” “Good.” And then after a bit, Roger said, “She thinks she’s going to get the teacher contract at the little school up the road.” “As soon as she gets her license in the mail, she’ll be given a contract.” “That’ll be nice. She’s a darned fine teacher, and it would be a shame for her to let her skills get rusty. And it’ll be nice for the two of you to have that extra income. Babies cost money, and Marian and I have our hearts set on at least two

besides Taylor.” Dillon grinned. “Do you?” It wasn’t long after breakfast that Chris pulled up with a kennel in the back of his truck. They moved the doghouse up against the east side of the house and then they lifted the kennel over it. Taylor came out to watch, and she moved their food and water bowls in and then enticed the two dogs in to check it out. Carly appeared with two dog bones and, after that, Max and Sadie were reluctant to move. Dillon knew it wouldn’t take much effort to shut them in it at night again. Tucker and Bob showed up, and the five men worked together to put up the heavy iron s in front of the barbed wire fence at the end of the valley. Then they hung the gate on it so that it could swing open and allow a car to drive through it. “It won’t be easy to knock down,” Bob said. Tucker laughed. “It’s going to do a lot of damage to the front end of any vehicle that tries to knock it down or ram it.” He walked back to his truck and got out a No Tresing sign that they hung on the gate. As the three men left, Dillon thanked them for their help. “I’ll pay you back, you know.” “We do know,” Chris said. “Frankly, I like having a big, strong young guy like you in my debt.” Back at the house, Dillon made plans to get a little ranch work done that day. Between the gate and Roger, he felt safe in leaving home to do what he needed to do. Today, it would be riding the wells. When he mentioned this at lunch, Carly said, “Can I come?” “You should go, Carly,” her mother encouraged. “Taylor and I have plans for the afternoon anyway.” “Grandma and I are going to make friendship bracelets,” Taylor piped up. “And if you wouldn’t mind me borrowing your computer,” Roger said, “I thought I’d try to do a little detective work on my own.”

Just before they left the house, the phone rang. Dillon answered. “Hello?” “Hi, Dillon. This is Sheriff Jenkins.” “Hey, Sheriff, did you get much different information out of Barnes?” “Not much. I honestly think the kid has been brainwashed into thinking he’s doing the right thing for his church. At heart, he’s not a violent guy. We ran a check on this Tankov, and he’s been investigated a bit for being involved in a few scuffles—nothing major, just tresing in the name of the church and that sort of thing. Now, I’ve got some bad news.” Dillon held his breath. “What is it?” “The bank was robbed this morning. By the sound of the description I’d put Earl Manning as the suspect.” “Did anybody get hurt?” “No. Helen got pretty shaken up but not hurt. When she went to open the bank to go in, he came up to her on the sidewalk and pointed a gun at her head. He wore a black stocking over his face and a ball cap, so she didn’t get a real good look at him. He locked the door behind him and then forced her to unlock the vault that has the safety deposit boxes in it.” Dillon waited, knowing what he would hear next. “He made her open up yours. Apparently, it’s empty.” “It is,” Dillon said, understanding now why he experienced the overwhelming urge to take everything out of it. “Even though it’s closed, he made her open up the one that had been in your dad’s and Paula’s names.” “And it’s empty.” “Then he made her open all the ones that are big enough to hold more, like the size journals would need. He rummaged through everything, then took off.”

“But he didn’t hurt Helen? Didn’t hit her?” Dillon needed to know. “No, he didn’t. She stayed calm until Brian and Jon got there and took her report. She took the day off, and they encouraged her to see her doctor for a mild sedative if she needed it.” Dillon said, “I doubt if she needs it. She’s a strong woman.” The sheriff chuckled. “She told Brian she would be applying for a concealed weapon permit, and if this ever happened again, the robber would be sorry.”

Chapter Sixteen

Carly’s heart ached at the knowledge that her trouble spilled over onto others. First, it was Dillon and Taylor. Her parents were involved now, and this was the last straw to have the Vice President of the bank be held at gunpoint during Earl Manning’s search for the journals. She’d been silent all the way to the first gate, but when she got out of the truck, she said, “I think I should leave.” Dillon moved beside her in a moment, pulling her into his arms, smoothing her hair. “Why?” “Because I’ve put you and Taylor at risk. Now the poor woman at the bank has been traumatized because of my actions.” “How can you say that? They’re after the journals, not you. It’s my safety deposit box that they wanted in.” “But the darned video of my performance alerted them to me. You said yourself that I look just like Paula. I saw it in the photos in the house. It’s me looking like Paula that led them here. It has to be.” “But I think they know you don’t have the journals. They have just tried to intimidate you because you’re a woman, and they think you’re easy to push around.” Here he looked at her with a smug smile on his face. “They didn’t see you on that front porch standing up to Barnes, demanding information from him. They haven’t figured out that you are way meaner than I am.” This caused her to laugh. She tilted her head until it lay against his chest and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. The entire time, Dillon held her in a comforting embrace. Finally, after the stress ran its course, she looked up at him. “I am meaner, aren’t I?” “You know what you remind me of?” He waited until she looked at him inquiringly. “And, please, sweetheart, do not take this the wrong way, but you remind me of one of my cows. Most of the year they have a fairly mild temperament, but at calving time they become extremely protective of their babies. They’d sooner knock you down than to wait and see what you want with

their calf. That’s you. You are protective of Taylor and of me and of everyone you care for, and that is an irable trait.” Carly dried her tears and tried to shake off her worry. “You’re right, it isn’t my fault. I still feel like I should apologize to this Helen at the bank, though.” “I’ll tell you what. We’ll send her some of those flowers they deliver overnight.” “Okay, that will make me feel better.” “Now, let’s go check the tanks. I want to drive by the garden, too.” An hour later they had checked all the cow tanks and turned the water on in the garden. It looked great, and Carly could barely wait for the first batch of lettuce. She told him enthusiastically, “It won’t be long before we can have some wilted lettuce.” Dillon looked puzzled. “Why do we want wilted lettuce? I thought the idea was to eat it while it is crisp.” “Silly cowboy. Wilted lettuce is when you make a hot dressing out of bacon, onion, oil, and vinegar and pour it over the crisp lettuce until it’s wilted.” “Bacon is always good,” came his manly rebuttal. Carly rolled her eyes as they pulled up in front of the house. “Just you wait, you’re going to love it.” Once inside they ired Taylor’s friendship bracelets. She and Marian made several. Roger, when asked if he’d found anything, replied, “I may be on to something, but I need to do a little more research.” And so, Dillon went out to do his chores while Carly and her mom turned their minds to dinner. Carly just reached in the cupboard for a kettle to boil potatoes in when the phone rang. “Hello,” she said as she picked it up. “Give us the journals, and you won’t get hurt,” a male voice said. “We’ll call tomorrow to arrange for you to deliver them. If you do not let us have them,

someone is going to get hurt.” Then she heard only dial tone. “Dad, quick! They threatened me on that phone call. Some guy told me he wanted the journals, and they’ll call tomorrow to arrange for us to deliver them.” Thankful that Taylor went upstairs to her room, she went on. “He said if we do not, someone will get hurt.” Roger came around the corner. “Don’t use the phone. In fact, keep it off the hook until I find something.” Then he looked around. “Where’s the phone book?” Carly kept a hold of the receiver but stretched the cord enough to pull open a drawer. “Right here.” He flipped through the front pages and found the code to type in to see where the last call came from, and then he dialed, with the phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder, pen and paper ready. Then he called the sheriff. After her dad hung up, he said, “The sheriff will be out just as soon as he can. He’ll know where the call came from, and he’s going to talk to us about what to do. It might be nice if we could invite him to dinner.” “It’s the least we can do,” Carly said. “Mom, let’s make meatloaf. I’ll get another package of ground beef out of the freezer and thaw it in the microwave.” When Dillon came in later, he stepped into the kitchen even before he poured the milk into a jar for the refrigerator. He could sense the mood in the house and asked, “What happened?” Roger spoke, telling him of the phone call and Jenkins’ impending visit. Dillon walked over and kissed Carly. “I love you,” he said before turning to go deal with the fresh milk. The sheriff arrived just before they sat down to eat. Carly greeted him when he followed Dillon into the kitchen and dining room. “You didn’t have to invite me for dinner,” he said, “but I sure won’t turn it down. It smells wonderful, and it’s been a long day.” Carly said, “I hope you don’t mind meatloaf.” “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

“We thought after dinner my mom and Taylor will go upstairs and watch a movie on my laptop. That way we can talk in the living room without little ears overhearing us.” He agreed. “That’d be a good idea.” After their meal, they moved into the living room with chocolate cake and ice cream. Marian took Taylor upstairs to watch Cinderella. Settling into their seats, the sheriff said, “I ran that phone number you gave me, Roger, and it’s for a cell phone that’s not ed to anyone. It’s probably one of those you can buy at any convenience store.” “A burner phone,” Roger said. “That’s what I expected since pay phones are beginning to be few and far between.” “Unfortunately, we’re a small department, and there’s no way we’re going to be able to pull off a wiretap. Of course, you have more than one phone, so when you get a call, it would be good if you, Roger, would listen in to any call.” Dillon said, “I can do better than that. My answering machine has a setting to record all calls that come in.” The sheriff grinned. “Now we’re talkin’! That way we have the recording without the caller getting wise that anyone else is listening in.” He paused and then said, “I’d like a deputy here all day if that’s okay.” Roger said, “In case they’re watching us, could he dress in plain clothes and drive a plain vehicle?” “Sure,” Jenkins said. “I’ll send Brian Downs. He’s the most experienced, and he knows everything about this case. How about if I have him come pretty early?” “I know it’s early, but if he comes before light, we could pull his truck into the shop or garage,” Dillon said. “That way if they’re watching they are not as likely to know he’s here.” With the plans made, Roger turned the conversation a bit. “I’d like to tell all of you what I have been doing today.” They all looked at him expectantly as he went on. “After listening to Barnes talk

about his church, it reminded me of some training we’ve taken in the past year or two on cults. Some of these big churches, mega-churches they’re called, are considered cults.” “I’ve read that in the paper, too,” Carly said. “Yep,” Jenkins said. “I’ve heard the same thing, although our churches don’t qualify for that, so I haven’t paid that much attention to it.” Dillon said, “They seem a lot different from the cults that you hear about in the news like Waco, Texas, or the mass suicide guy who had them all drink juice.” “Jim Jones,” Roger replied. “And you’re right, these aren’t, on the surface, that much like those groups. They don’t live in a commune and wear weird clothes and things like that. But I did a little research that backs up what I learned in this training. Some of the things these cults do are recruit people who are alone or in need, just like Barnes.” “Yes,” Dillon said, “he said he was all alone and on drugs when this Reverend Gott approached him and gave him a place to live and got him help and into Bible studies.” “That’s the other thing they do,” Roger continued. “They tend to be set off from the rest of society. In other words, they offer everything their need. They also tend to have very majestic church buildings, and I looked this one up on Google Earth and, boy, is it something. And this Godfrey Gott, he’s the leader of it all. He has a staff that helps him out, but largely he does every service, or they have a recording of him so that he is at every single church service the attend.” Carly pulled her legs up underneath her and leaned into Dillon. “Wow, that makes sense, but what could it have to do with him wanting Paula’s journals?” “That is the billion-dollar question, my dear,” Roger told his daughter, “but then I ed something. And this is a stretch, but it’s just an example of what might have been.” He paused, took a drink of his iced tea. “Several months before you were born, Carly, a horrible tragedy occurred in the forests of Northern California. It involved a cult called the Pure Path Brotherhood and seems more like what Dillon is talking about. The cult always kept a pretty low profile, and the FBI didn’t know much about it. The only thing that people

seemed to know is that, once you ed, you never escaped. Rumors were that if people tried to leave the cult, they were killed. It preyed on lonely people like foster kids and drug addicts, homeless veterans, and folks like that. Then the tragedy happened. The cult burned to the ground. All the buildings went up in smoke, and they found the badly burned bodies of about two dozen people in one of the buildings, ostensibly the meeting place. Many of them were never identified because they were the type that wasn’t missed. The building they lived in and that might have any records of the also burned. Law enforcement always suspected that the leader, supposedly a young man by the name of Jerome Darvil, caused the explosion for some reason, whether he thought the Feds were getting too close, or what. There is no proof and he has never been found.” “Mom was scared to death of fire,” Dillon uttered. “You only have to look around at all the extinguishers to know that. And the fireplace,” he said pointing to it, “hasn’t been used since she came into our lives.” “And a little girl with the same name as Paula was born and died in southern Oregon. We think Paula took on her identity. I went to the cellar and looked at her birth certificate, and the copy of it has an issued date just a few months after that cult fire,” Roger stated. “I’m not saying any of this is fact, but it sure is circumstantial.” Sheriff Jenkins added his thoughts to the conversation. “So, if Paula was a member of the Pure Path Brotherhood and knew that Jerome Darvil was planning something and she escaped, she would have known everything. And if she kept a journal in those days, those journals might have enough in them to put Jerome to death or at least in prison for life.” “And if Jerome went underground and changed his identity, just like Paula,” Dillon put in, “then he may have come back and started another, but a different type of cult, in Atlanta, Georgia.” Carly finished the line of reasoning. “The Pure Path Brotherhood becomes Paradise Pathway.” Roger stood up. “Come in here.” He led the way to the computer in the other room. Sitting at the desk, he keyed for a minute on the keyboard and then a document where two side-by-side pictures came up. “Meet Jerome Darvil and

the Reverend Godfrey Gott. , there is almost a thirty-year time difference.” They all crowded around the computer monitor, each in turn, leaning in for a closer look. “It’s hard to see a similarity with all of Jerome’s hair,” Dillon said. “But the coloring’s right,” Carly chimed in. “The skin tone is a little tanner on Jerome, but time outdoors in the California sun would explain that. And while Godfrey’s hair is gray, it’s the right shade of gray to have started out as dark as Jerome’s.” Sheriff Jenkins reached to the monitor and used one finger to trace the lines of the two noses. “That’s the same nose, I’d swear.” “And the same eyes,” Roger added. “The eyes are always a give-away.” The sheriff stood back with a very thoughtful look on his face. “You may have just solved an unsolved crime, Roger.” “I think I’ll do a little more investigation and then maybe the FBI. I want to be sure of my accusations, so I don’t just sound like a conspiracy theorist.” “Why don’t I see what I can find on Godfrey Gott?” the sheriff said. **** After seeing the sheriff off, the adults in the house spent a restless night. They went about the usual tasks—giving Taylor her bath, a bedtime story, and a lullaby. Carly and her parents tried to relax while listening to Dillon play the piano and then the guitar, sometimes singing to them softly. They locked the dogs in the kennel, and the men walked the buildings, making sure everything that could be had been locked, although they both doubted that anything would happen that night since the caller promised to be in the next day. Dillon got out the instructions for his answering machine and they set it to record, then tested it by calling with their cellphones. Finally, they felt as ready as they could be and fell into their respective beds only to toss and turn.

The next day, Brian Downs called Dillon’s cell at about five-thirty in the morning and told him he was approaching the gate. Dillon drove down and let him in, padlocking the gate behind the deputy. Dillon backed his pickup out, and Brian drove his into the garage so anyone watching would only see a familiar vehicle. The day seemed to crawl by. Dillon called Bob and asked him to check his wells and pasture. Their land butted up against each other, and Bob could access Dillon’s summer range from a gate not far from his own house. Dillon knew it wasn’t long before he needed to start haying, and he called the teenaged boy that he usually hired to help and arranged for him to be ready whenever Dillon deemed the grass tall enough. Dillon sure hoped they captured all of the people involved before time to put up the hay. Mostly, they all stayed around the house. Brian brought a book but spent a lot of time visiting with Roger, exchanging cop stories and talking about the differences between small-town and urban police work. Marian took it upon herself to keep Taylor occupied and away from the phone on the desk, the one they decided to answer since it attached to the answering machine. Dillon would forever be grateful for the cookie making, the game playing, and paper doll instructions they’d printed off the computer. Marian and Taylor were creating memories that the little girl would always . And while he fell deeper in love with Carly every day, he grew fonder each day of the couple that adopted her and raised her to be such an outstanding woman. Carly and Dillon were equally antsy and had a hard time settling. She read her ereader and then set it down. She played a game with her mother and Taylor and then bowed out of a second one. The dogs benefited from her mood as they got a good brushing on the front porch followed by a bone for each. She discovered catnip growing in the flowers around the house and picked some of that for the cats. The weather didn’t improve anything but stayed hot and still, with storm clouds building to the west. While Dillon needed the rain, he did not need hail, high winds, or, heaven forbid, a tornado. This just increased the sense of impending doom. Finally, at three o’clock in the afternoon the phone rang. Dillon leapt off the piano bench where he played the blues that fit his mood and dashed for the

phone, tripping on a rug on the floor and knocking the receiver off. He fumbled and finally got it to his ear and his mouth. “Hello,” he said, his mouth dry and his hand trembling. Finally managing to sit down, he noticed the answering machine kicked on its recorder. He picked up the pencil laying on the pad and waited. “We want the journals tomorrow,” the man said. “This time tomorrow, three o’clock, down on your road where you put up the gate on the cattle guard. You’ll send Carly alone with all the journals. You will not have copied or photographed any of them and, if you have, we will expect those copies as well. She will come alone in your ranch truck. If we see anyone else, you, her dad, the cops, your friendly neighbors, anyone, even the dogs, we will turn around and leave. There is no second chance, Dillon. If you mess this up, someone will get hurt.” Then he hung up. “No,” Dillon groaned and told Roger, Brian, and Carly, “Absolutely not. I’ll take them. I expect they’ll be happy to get them from whomever.” They decided to just hand them over. They were no longer so important that it mattered. They also knew the information in them would disappoint the men. This worried Dillon as he thought they would assume that they still had the pre-ranch journals. Carly wrapped her arms around him. “I can do it, Dillon. I know how to shoot Dad’s revolver, and I’ll tuck it in the back waistband of my pants. I won’t pull it out unless I need to, but I’ll have it.” “And we’ll be around,” Brian put in. “I think the sheriff wants me and the two of you to be hidden up here at the north end. We won’t make a move, just watch for any trouble against Carly, and we’ll have our rifles ready to take them out if we need to. Then, after they pull onto your road, they’re going to move in with two roadblocks on the main road. The sheriff has the state troopers and the sheriff from the next county south in line to help. There is no way these guys are going to escape.” Having convinced his daughter to sleep in her own bed that night, Dillon made sweet love to Carly, holding her close as the storm moved in. The lightning cracked around them, while the thunder crashed overhead. Dillon prayed there would be no fires. The wind picked up, and the tree branches danced against the house. When he heard Taylor whimper, he went and got her and let her crawl into bed between them.

When morning came, he leaned across his daughter and whispered to Carly. “Are you sure? You’re sure you can do this?” “I can. I have to. I love you so much, and I just want this to be over.” **** Carly carefully prepared for that afternoon. Brian spent the night at their house, sleeping in Paula’s old room without complaint. He helped Dillon and her dad load the two trunks of journals into the back of the ranch truck. Right after lunch, all three men walked to their individual hiding places. Brian was the smallest so he went to the meadow closest to where the exchange would take place. He came prepared and brought camo fatigues to wear. The grass stood tall there in a slight dip, and he burrowed down amongst it. Her dad hid in the rushes and reeds at the edge of the lake. Dillon hid behind a cattle tank within shooting distance. Carly put on jeans and a shirt with a long enough tail to hide the gun in her waistband. She tucked her cell phone into her bra so in the worst-case scenario they might not realize she had it. With her heart in her throat, she drove the truck slowly down the road. Per the instructions she received from the deputy and her dad, she backed the truck up near the gate and then got out to swing the gate open. With the tailgate down, she slid onto it to wait for the criminals, thinking about how the sheriff and other lawmen would soon be setting up their roadblocks. At three o’clock on the dot, a black SUV topped the hill and drove toward her. When they saw her backed up, they did the same, getting as close as they could without parking on the cattle guard. Then Earl Manning and Ivan Tankov got out, both with guns in their hands. “Hello, Carly,” Manning said. “Are the journals in those trunks?” She tried valiantly to keep the nervousness and fear out of her voice. “Yes, they are. We haven’t copied or photographed them. That job would be impossible with the lack of resources and time that we have.” “Do you mind telling us where you were storing them since we never found them in the house?”

“So, you do it that you ransacked our home?” As before, neither answered the question. Before she could make up a lie to tell them, the wind came up in a strong circular, pattern. The whirlwind ed nearby and traveled to the east. Manning’s and Tankov’s eyes followed it, as did Carly’s, as it ed right over Brian, tossing the grasses here and there and clearly revealing his still form with the rifle aimed right at them. Manning shouted, “Let’s get out of here right now.” The two men turned and ran to the SUV, jerking open the doors. Just as they hurriedly got in the vehicle, Brian and her father both fired. A bullet once again hit one of the back tires, the other shot through the glass in the back of the SUV. Meanwhile, Manning and Tankov careened off and were soon driving on the bare wheel. Sparks flew so far, Carly prayed they would not start a fire along the edge of the narrow road. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit her. She stumbled back and sat on the truck’s tailgate again. As she did so, she started to tremble from the stress of it all. She took a deep breath to steady herself. As the words “or someone will get hurt” sounded through her mind, she became so angry and so frustrated that she screamed.

Chapter Seventeen

Dillon heard Carly scream and took off at a run, his heart in his throat. He hadn’t heard either man shoot their gun. Did they pull a knife on her and stab or cut her? If they did, he would hunt them down and kill them with his bare hands, and he’d wager Roger would be right beside him. He felt like he ran a mile to get to the truck, and he noticed the other two men running, as well. At last, he reached Carly and pulled her into his arms. His hands frantically ran over her body, checking for blood. “How did they hurt you?” “They didn’t. I am just so mad and frustrated, I screamed. I’m sorry I worried you.” Roger caught up to them and stopped at the truck, catching his breath. “What in the hell happened?” “I’m not hurt, Daddy. Just angry and frustrated.” Brian, who had been slowed down by having to climb a fence, arrived and said, “Did you see that damned whirlwind? It went right over the top of me.” Roger said, “Sometimes it’s just bad luck.” Dillon ran his hand down Carly’s arm, further assuring himself she was uninjured. “At least we’re all okay, though.” “I’m just so very disappointed. I want this nightmare to stop,” Carly stressed. “We’ve still got the roadblocks,” Brian said. “We should be hearing from them any minute now.” They heard a plane engine that sounded low. Carly looked around the skyline and couldn’t see one. “I wonder where the plane is?” she asked, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Shortly, they heard several gunshots. Then a small plane appeared in the sky, banking toward the south and climbing to a higher altitude. Roger looked toward the sky. “This isn’t good.”

“I never thought about it, but that valley over the hill is perfect for landing a plane, and the narrow road shouldn’t be a problem for a decent pilot,” Dillon explained. Brian’s cell phone rang, and he spoke for a few minutes before hanging up. He turned to the group and said, “They ditched the SUV and had a small plane fly in and pick them up. The sheriff said they tried to shoot them, but they were too far away, and they don’t think they hit them at all.” Taking a deep breath, Carly said, “We may as well go back to the house and put the journals away. They wouldn’t have been happy with these anyway.” Dillon agreed. “No. It would just buy us some time in case Tankov and Manning didn’t know what Gott is looking for. It would have taken days, even weeks for them to know they really didn’t have anything. I am hoping in that time, we would find something else.” Dillon jumped in the back of the pickup, and Brian followed suit, leaving Roger to walk around and get in the enger side. Mindful of her engers in the back, Carly drove slowly back. “I’m worried, Dad, about what they’re going to do now. They said that we would be sorry.” “I know, honey. There’ve been many times throughout my career that I’ve been stumped, and this is one of them. This time it’s more frustrating than ever, though, because it affects you and the man and child you love.” “All I can think about is that we need to find the rest of the journals. I just feel that they do exist if we can just find them.” **** Dillon heard Carly through the open window, and he agreed with her. He shared her frustration, which he could hear in her voice, and he shared her fear. As they pulled up to the house and he jumped out, he thought they could all search. The men probably wouldn’t act on their threats immediately. The entire western half of the state was looking for them so they would probably needed to be holed up in Colorado, Wyoming, or even one of the other bordering states. Hopefully, that gave them a day or two to break up and do a thorough search. As they got out of the truck, Marian appeared on the porch. Carly walked up and

hugged her, clinging to her for a minute or two. “We failed, Mom.” They all gathered around her and told her what happened. Marian said, “My heart about stopped when I heard those two gunshots. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard in my life.” Brian said, “If it’s okay, Dillon, I’m going to collect my things and then head home.” “That’s fine. We all appreciate you giving two days of your life to help out with this,” Dillon replied. It only took the man a minute or two to get his things, and soon he pulled out of the yard. Dillon said, “I’ve thought that we need to do a thorough search of the property for the missing journals. I don’t know if we’ll find them, but I think we need to try.” “I agree,” Carly said. “We should probably search all the buildings, shouldn’t we?” “I think so. The two that we are less likely to need to search is the shop and the garage. Paula rarely spent time there. She couldn’t have hidden anything in the trailer house when she arrived at the ranch. It would have to have been moved there because the trailer wasn’t there until just before Holly and I got married. However, it wasn’t long before she started spending time in the barn, especially the saddle room. And she took over the chickens right away. Of course, there’s the cellar, although there isn’t much space, but I suppose it isn’t inconceivable that she buried something.” Marian spoke up. “If you don’t mind me being snoopy, Dillon, I’d be happy to start on the ground floor of the house.” “Thank you, Marian, I’ll take you up on that offer.” Then he turned to Roger. “I would appreciate it, Roger, if you would take on a cursory inspection of the shop and garage. I’m going to take on the trailer, the chicken coops, and the barn. Carly, how would you feel about working on the house, particularly the attic, with your mom?” “That would be great,” she replied, “and I think I’ll talk to Taylor about what we’re looking for. She’ll think it’s a game and is perfectly capable of locating

papers or books.” Dillon added, “I’ll start with the cellar, since I have to put the trunks in there, anyway. Dad had a metal detector,” he went on, “It’s out in the shop, and I think it still works.” “In that case,” Roger added, “why don’t I take on the yard, too? Particularly the backyard if she used the clothesline. It’s not that hard to dig out the sod, bury something, and replace the sod so no one notices, and I’m sure there were many times that she stayed on the ranch alone.” “You’re right” Dillon offered, “there were. I’m going to use the metal detector in the cellar and then I’ll bring it up to you.” They spent the rest of the day and the next to no avail. Twice, the metal detector went off. Dillon’s heart leapt when it first happened in the cellar. He chose a small garden spade, and he set up a flashlight so he could see while digging. The spot was just under the edge of a shelf. But he only found an old rusty piece of iron. Likewise, Roger had it go off in the backyard. When he found an old paint can, he let out a holler. The entire family rushed to the backyard as he and Dillon worked to unearth it. “It’s not big enough for journals,” Carly pointed out, “but it would be big enough for journal pages.” Marian added, “A lot of people used to bury their money in a can in the backyard. Even if it is only that, it will be exciting.” As Dillon grasped the handle to lift it from the hole, hoping the rusty can did not fall apart on him, he made the announcement that it felt fairly heavy. He carried it to the picnic table, and they all stood around while he reached into his pocket for his pocketknife to pry the lid open. “Hurry, Daddy,” Taylor said as she balanced on the edge of the picnic table seat so she could see. When they pried the lid off, they found the can full of coins. Dillon reached in and pulled out a handful of them, ing one to each of them. “This is a dollar coin minted in 1938,” Carly said. “This one has a date of 1887,” Marian added.

Roger looked at his fifty-cent piece. “You’ll need to take these to a coin dealer to find out what they’re worth. You might have a good start to a college fund for Taylor here.” Keeping in mind that they needed to stay on task, Carly went into the utility room to find an empty coffee can, and they transferred the money into that. Dillon then hauled it out to the cellar and put it in there. Then he began the remainder of his search. The trailer house always reminded him of Holly as that is where they spent their little time as husband and wife. The narrow home wasn’t fancy but in good shape as it hadn’t been used that much. The living room included an eating area closed off from the kitchen only by a bar type counter. All the furnishings were the same, as they hadn’t needed them in the big house after Holly died. The kitchen cupboards still held their dishes and pots and pans. None were expensive as they only wanted useful things such as pottery dishes and decent cookware. Dillon toyed with packing it all away for Taylor, and he would have if it was valuable enough to be lasting. Instead, he kept it all the same in case he ever needed to employ a hired man. A young single man would probably be happy to have some place furnished enough he could just walk into it. As he moved toward the back of the trailer, he ed the only empty room. It was the tiny spare bedroom. Before they drove to the hospital with Holly in labor, the room showed the touch of his wife in decorating it as a nursery. Now it still held Noah’s Ark curtains and wallpaper border. When Dillon made the call to his parents that Holly had died, he hadn’t even thought about how he would manage alone. The next day, when he arrived home with his newborn in a car seat and his wife’s body in the mortuary, he found that his parents with the help of several neighbors, moved all of their things out of the master bedroom suite into a spare room. They moved the furniture from their sitting room, and that room had been made into a nursery with the same Noah’s Ark theme. How they accomplished it so fast, he never knew. And while Dillon had been the one to get up in the night to feed his baby, Paula was the one to care for her in the day. His dad walked him through colic and other normal infant illnesses. Indeed, the whole family truly raised Taylor. Now he searched it thoroughly. He inspected the walls for ing that may be peeled back, even though only pages would have fit there. Flipping the mattress and box springs up he checked the bed area. The dressers didn’t reveal anything.

He even looked in the toilet tank. Finally, he finished his search. He had nowhere left to search, having already thoroughly investigated the other buildings including the chicken coop where he upset all the birds with his search. Dillon trudged to the house with the threats of Manning and Tankov hanging over his head. In the house he found Marian and Carly working in the kitchen. “Oh good,” Carly said. “You’re just in time. I heated up the grill, and we’re just going to have a simple supper, but if you could grill the hamburgers that would be great.” She didn’t wait for a reply but thrust a plate of neatly formed patties into his hands. Roger soon ed him on the patio. The man looked as if he’d recently showered, and Dillon looked forward to one of those himself. “I guess we didn’t succeed in finding anything.” “No. I wish I knew if there is anything to find. If Paula owned journals with incriminating information in them, maybe she just destroyed them.” Carly stepped out onto the patio having heard their conversation through the screen. “Or maybe she hid them where only she would know where to find them so that, if ever a need arose, she could hold them over the head of someone, such as this Jerome. That is what I would have done.” Dropping a kiss on her lips, Dillon said, “But you’re highly intelligent.” “Whether or not I am,” Carly replied, “I think intelligence tends to be genetic, so I am assuming she was, too.” “That’s true.” Carly smiled fondly toward her father. “Of course, there is talk these days of nature versus nurture. While genetics is inherent, nurture is so very important.” She walked toward Roger and slipped into his arms. “I will always be so grateful to you and Mom for raising me.” Roger kissed her on the top of her head. Watching them, Dillon mused about father-daughter relationships. He kissed Taylor in the same way, and he still would whether she would be fifteen, thirty, or even fifty.

Dillon grew thoughtful for a moment and then spoke his thoughts aloud. “I keep thinking about my stepmom’s relationship with this Jerome. As a member of the cult, would she have observed enough to be a threat to him? Or was she closer than a simple observer?” Carly turned horrified eyes toward him. “No! That means he could be my biological father and I refuse to accept that.” “Your mother and I did a damned fine job of raising you,” Roger reminded her. “Such a good job that it would override anything bad.” Dillon checked the burgers, sorry he expressed his thoughts. “Burgers are done,” he announced. They spent the evening watching a family movie, Taylor curled up on Dillon’s lap on the sofa, Carly cuddled up next to him, with his future in-laws trying to relax as well. They didn’t speak of what threatened them as if by silent choice they all knew they needed a night off. In fact, they all went to bed quite early, not long after Taylor fell asleep in her room. Dillon was, for once, having a pleasant dream when the sound of the dogs barking followed by that of breaking glass woke him up. He couldn’t decide if it was a part of his dream or reality, when a piercing beeping interrupted his thoughts. It took him precious seconds to realize the smoke alarm sounded and he could smell smoke, most likely coming up from the ground floor. Just as he reached for her, Carly woke up. “Oh my God, it’s a fire!” He yanked on his jeans and slipped into his boots, no socks. “Head for Taylor’s room. Don’t try to save anything. I’m going to check on your parents.” “No need,” her father broke in. “It’s rolling up from downstairs, but it’s not bad enough that the sprinkler system has set off yet. But there is no way we’re going to get down those stairs and out that front door with as much smoke as there is.” Marian was still pulling on her robe as she ed them. “It’s okay,” Dillon said. “This way.” He led the way into Taylor’s room where Carly woke his daughter up, although she sleepily clung to Carly. He rushed to the closet, and he grabbed a chain link ladder that resided in a box on the shelf. Roger shut the bedroom door and pulled open the window from the bottom looking out, Dillon assumed, at possible escape routes. “I’ve got a ladder,” he

said to Roger, gently pushing him aside while he hooked it over the edge of the windowsill. “I want you to go first, Roger, and take Taylor. Then Marian, and you Carly. Hang on carefully. It’s metal and could be slippery. Get away from the house when you get down. I’ll be right behind you.” Roger crawled out the window and grabbed Taylor. He told her to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Then he climbed carefully down, running to the north side of the yard. Dillon helped Marian out next. “As soon as you get down, let me know, and Carly will be right behind you.” While Carly anxiously watched her mother descend the chain ladder, Dillon ran to where he knew the fire extinguishers to be. The big one in the hallway was in a harness. Looping it around his neck, he grabbed two more. By the time he got back into Taylor’s room, Carly made it halfway down the ladder, and Marian held Taylor on the lawn. “Carly, when you get down, go let out the dogs if you can safely do so. Roger,” he hollered, “if I toss these two fire extinguishers down can you catch them?” The sound of more breaking glass and a whoosh of fire that he could clearly hear came from the front room. Without hearing Roger’s answer, he tossed the extinguishers down and then hurriedly climbed down the ladder himself. The dogs were barking furiously, the sound of an engine gunning rapidly, and Carly screaming, “It’s them!” all happening at the same time. As she came back around the corner, Roger tossed a cell phone at his daughter. “Call 911, honey. I’m going to go around front with Dillon.” Dillon was already on his way around the house with a fire extinguisher. He trusted Roger to be right behind him with the other. The suspects broke the front window, and now smoke rolled out, but while there were flames, they did not yet engulf the entire room. The sprinkler in the front room had turned on, but the others had not yet. He kicked the front door in and led with his fire extinguisher, Roger close behind. The flames were out in only a matter of minutes. They were primarily on one of the two chairs and did not make it to the piano or the roll-top desk. The sprinkler shut off as soon as the flames were out. Fresh air from outside already cleared the smoke. The two men stepped out onto the porch and gulped in big breaths of night air. “Did you notice that canister in there, Dillon?” Roger asked.

“Yeah, I tripped over the damned thing. I figure that’s some sort of incendiary device.” “It’s a smoke bomb. We’ve used them on the force before.” Carly heard her father as the women and Taylor ed them in the front of the house although they stayed on the lawn. “Why would they throw a smoke bomb into the house?” Roger stuck his head back into the doorway. “Do be careful breathing those noxious fumes, dear,” Marian said. “I will.” But he looked anyway. “Here, Dillon, see those shards of glass right by the chair?” “Yes.” “That is the remnants of a Molotov cocktail. I would wager they threw in the smoke bomb as a warning, to give us time to escape. If their goal was to burn the journals, and they thought they were in the house but they didn’t want to kill us, it’s the perfect way of doing it. And it’s one thing to risk an arrest for breaking and entering or arson and another to risk an arrest for murder.” “The firemen are coming,” Taylor announced. They all fell silent and, sure enough, they could hear a siren in the distance. Roger asked, “Do you have a volunteer force?” “Yes, there’s a few of the guys that carry pagers and the rest of us are here by telephone.” Within minutes the fire truck, followed by two pickups, pulled into the yard. Three men jumped out. “It’s all right,” Dillon said. “We put the fire out.” One of the men pulled a cell out to call people and send them back home. The others walked up to the porch, including Fred Simonson the volunteer fire chief, Bob, and Tucker.

“So, what happened?” Fred asked. “It appears that someone threw a smoke bomb through the window,” Roger answered. “That gave us enough time to get out. Then they followed that up with a Molotov cocktail, but Dillon and I got the fire extinguished before it caused much damage.” The men were all in their firefighter’s uniforms, and Fred said, “Let’s go get our oxygen tanks, and we’ll go in and open the windows for you and clear the smoke out. If it’s arson, we need to call the sheriff.” Carly heard the comment. “I’ll call him. Dad do you have his number programmed into your phone?” “I do, honey.” By the time the sheriff arrived, the men pulled the chair out of the house, and Tucker broke it apart and liberally doused it with water from the garden hose until no sparks or flames could be alive. Dillon and Roger went in and grabbed every towel they could to clean up the sprinkler’s water from the musical instruments and desk. When the men came out, Carly asked Dillon if everything would be okay. “I think so. The piano got damp, but since I always put the cover over the keys, it should be fine. Again, since we keep the rolltop down on the desk the computer and paperwork didn’t even get damp.” Sheriff Jenkins went into the house to inspect it. He took photos of the broken glass and the smoke bomb canister before carefully bagging them up as evidence. Doing the same with the front window, he stood back and said, “Well, Dillon, it’s just as well you haven’t repaired the glass on the east side of the door. Now you can board up this window on the west side and have a matched set. Dillon looked at them. “I don’t think I will repair them until the culprits are all behind bars.” After Jenkins finished, he and Fred gave the all clear, and Carly carried Taylor inside. Her mom followed, and Carly said, “I’m going to try to get Taylor down again.”

As the firemen pulled out of the yard, the sheriff hung around for a bit. “I intended to call you tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve been making some phone calls, and I found out that the plane that picked up Tankov and Manning is owned by a man up near Cheyenne. The Cheyenne police went to see him, and he claimed he didn’t know anything except he received instructions to fly in and pick up two men on this road. They paid in cash and fit the description of our two suspects. He flew them back to Cheyenne. He said us shooting at them about scared the life out of him.” Dillon chuckled. “I’ll bet if he is innocent and has no idea who they were or what they were doing, it sure would.” “The cops said he told them that he knew only that he should be prepared to pick up two men and some cargo that wouldn’t weigh over two to three hundred pounds. While they fit the description of our suspects, they provided him with fake names, and he didn’t ask to see an ID.” “Figures,” Roger said. Jenkins said, “I also called the Atlanta police and chatted with one of their detectives. He told me that there are concerns about the Paradise Pathways church being a cult, but that there have not been many citizens who complained much. A couple of people complained that the church asked them to tithe more than they could afford when they were . They’ve since withdrawn from the church.” “Also,” Jenkins continued, “he said there have been a few scattered complaints about their recruiting methods, going door-to-door, that kind of thing but that isn’t against the law. They did say they were willing to swing by and have a chat with the good reverend but he called back to tell me Gott is out of the country for a while on a mission trip.” “That’s convenient,” Dillon said.

Chapter Eighteen

The next day was spent cleaning up the front room. Dillon decided he could easily refinish the floor where it had burned, and the only thing destroyed was the chair. Marian and Carly got buckets of hot water with a furniture soap added, and they thoroughly cleaned the smoke damage off the piano, the desk, floor, and other furniture. They did the same throughout the ground floor and Dillon cleaned his guitars. Upstairs, they discovered significant less damage. With all the windows and doors open, the house received a thorough airing out. Worse than the damage to the house was the damage to their spirits. All five of them were tired. Taylor acted clingy and seemed withdrawn. Carly and Dillon talked again about whether they should send her away. They talked to Roger about it outside out of the child’s hearing distance. “The only thing we can think of, Dad, is for you and Mom to go home and take her with you.” “I’m sorry, honey, but you are my daughter, and I will not leave you in danger. I talked to your mother and she is reluctant to leave you and me as well.” Dillon said, “Then the solution is for all four of you to go.” “No,” Carly said adamantly. “I’m not leaving you alone here, Dillon. What if they killed you? Taylor and I need you.” Dillon stared off across the lake and finally said, “Then we stay as a united front.” Carly’s emotions were all over the place. She felt scared for all of them, but she was angry, too. Very angry. No one should treat another human being this way, to just toy with them. Then sometimes she could only be thankful. If they truly wanted to hurt them, the suspects had ample opportunity to do so. Throwing in the smoke bomb to give them time to get out of the house before setting it on fire was unheard of. Also, they were in the house when they ransacked it, and they surely knew it contained fire extinguishers. Had they even wanted to burn down the house or could it just be a scare tactic? She got her answer that afternoon when she picked up the phone. She worked in

the living room cleaning the smoke off the desk and was thankful they set the answering machine to record all the calls. “Miss James,” the voice she now recognized as Earl Manning’s greeted her. “Mr. Manning,” she said as she lowered herself into the desk chair. Her hands started shaking and her voice quivered. Dillon and her father were both there instantly. Dillon put his hand out as though he wanted to take the phone, but she shook her head. “It’s a shame you didn’t follow our instructions for turning over the journals. I told you to come alone.” Carly took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Mr. Manning, you don’t seem like a stupid man. You can’t have expected me to meet you without protection.” “And then there were the roadblocks. And the men who set those up fired at the plane. Really, you are all treading on dangerous ground when you could just provide us with the journals.” “With all you and your partners have done, Mr. Manning, you are wanted men in the state of Nebraska.” Anger took over, making Carly feel strong. “Surely you don’t expect to be able to threaten and harass us without some repercussions.” “And likewise, Ms. James, you cannot expect us to just go away when our employer so badly wants those journals.” “Do you know why he wants those journals?” “We have told you all that we know and, frankly, it doesn’t matter much to me. I have been told that I will be financially rewarded when I obtain them, and that is all I care about.” Carly enjoyed herself now. Confronting him, if only over the phone, made her feel better, more in control. “Most people earn their living the honest way, Mr. Manning.” He scoffed at her. “Do you know how hard it is to make a decent wage with a criminal record hanging over your head?” She remained silent for a moment and then finally said, “You should have

thought about that before you committed crimes the first time.” “As if,” came his response. Then, “Now let’s make arrangements to get those journals to me.” “I’ve got a better idea,” she said taking a huge gamble. “I have a message for your employer, but it’s rather complicated so why don’t you jot it down?” “What is it?” “Why don’t you tell Reverend Gott that we do not have any journals from Paula’s life when she knew him as Jerome Darvill. And please assure him that if we do find any proof of the horrific crimes he committed as Jerome, we will turn them directly over to the FBI and not to him.” Then she hung up. Dillon dropped to his knees in front of her. “What did you just do, sweetheart?” “I told him the truth. I am so tired of this cat-and-mouse game. And even if we give them the journals, if Dad is right in on his guess, once this Godfrey Gott person finds out that we don’t have anything incriminating on him, he’ll just come after us.” She looked at him. “Something tells me my father is right.” **** Godfrey missed his mansion. He enjoyed the air-conditioning, and he employed a cook who could fix American food. Living in a beachfront hotel and having plenty of companionship of the ill-reputed kind, drinking, carousing, seemed all well and good, but it wasn’t the same as in the old days. Back then, he didn’t mind living in a less than pristine home. It was all about the rush of knowing he’d gotten away and that he could do anything. Now, he disliked it, and he disliked it more with each day. He’d even taken up smoking again, a habit he gave up long ago. But it took the edge off, and he needed that now. His phone rang, and he dug into his pocket to retrieve it, although the hammock made it difficult to reach in his pocket. By the time he got it, it quit ringing. He needed only to wait about a minute for it to ring again. “Hello,” he said, although he didn’t recognize the number. “Reverend, how’s the mission trip?”

Godfrey ignored the question. “Manning, where are you calling from?” “A burner phone.” Things must be heating up, Godfrey thought, if Manning quit using his regular cell phone. “Have you obtained the journals yet?” “The cops are crawling all over the place, and we’ve moved farther afield to be safe. That takes more time to commute back and forth. This ranch is surprisingly remote. However, I did Ms. James today and spoke with her.” “Did you? What, you ed the time of day over the phone?” “I attempted to arrange to get the journals, but instead she gave me a message to on to you.” “I’m all ears.” “She said to tell you that they do not have any journals that Paula wrote when she knew you as Jerome Darvil. Therefore, she said they have no incriminating evidence against you, but if they do find any, they will be taking it straight to the FBI.” Godfrey suddenly felt nauseous. How could they know his true identity if they didn’t have any journals? His head began to ache. Manning continued to speak. “I didn’t know what she meant, so I spent a little time on the Internet. Really, Jerome? What kind of sick man are you? Anyway, I’m done. I don’t know about Tankov, but I’m out of here.” Godfrey snapped, “Wait.” “What d’ya want?” “Nobody abandons me and lives, Manning. Nobody.” Godfrey thought about the arrangements he could make with a single phone call to Juan. He turned his attention back to the phone and Earl Manning where he met with blessed silence, so he went on. “If you do one more thing for me, just one more, I’ll let you stay alive as long as you never breathe a word about what you know.” He could tell Manning contemplated it.

Finally, “What do I have to do?” **** It had been quiet at the ranch. Carly knew that Dillon felt anxious about things because he called it, “The quiet before the storm”. Her dad agreed. That morning Dillon went down to fix the fence where Manning and Tankov cut it in two places to get to the house since they had a locked gate up now. Afterward, at lunch, Dillon said, “There’s a sick calf in the summer pasture. I’m going to go down after lunch on horseback to drive him and his mama back up to the barn so I can doctor him.” Then he’d added, “Next week I’m going to start haying. Roger, how much time do you have left on vacation?” “A couple of weeks.” “Good. That way maybe you can stay with the ladies while I’m out in the hayfield. I feel like I need to tell my hired man’s parents about the trouble we’ve been having in case they don’t want him exposed to the trouble while he’s here.” “What will you do if they don’t want him to work here?” Carly asked. “I’ll just have to do it all myself. I can do it, it’s just slower.” “Maybe I could help. As long as Mom and Dad are here, they can watch Taylor. After that, Jan would probably be willing to keep her.” Dillon answered without committing, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” As he prepared to leave, Carly accompanied him out to the barn where he asked, “Do you mind if I take the dogs? When I open the gates, Max and Sadie will herd the cow and her calf through the gate. It makes it a lot easier for me.” “Not at all. I think Dad is planning on taking up sentry duty on the front porch anyway. You know he discovered your collection of action-adventure novels, and he’s working his way through those. I think this is the most time he’s ever taken to relax.” Dillon looked at her and reached up to caress her cheek gently. “I don’t think this can be very relaxing for him.”

Carly leaned her face against his touch. “I don’t know. Despite everything, I think my parents are enjoying themselves. Sure, we have this threat hanging over our heads, but it’s not the same as dealing with the Portland gangs.” “I it your dad told me that he enjoyed having his feet up on the front porch railing and spending his time looking out over the lake and the meadow.” “When there is a threat, you can see it and hear it coming out here,” Carly added. “Unless it’s in the middle of the night.” “And Mom is having the time of her life with Taylor.” “And Taylor is having the time of her life with your mom.” He leaned and kissed her then. “I like your parents, sweetheart, and I love you.” Dillon turned and whistled at the dogs, and they both eagerly got up to follow them to the corral. “Which horse are you riding?” “Thunder. And I’m taking the saddle that has the rifle scabbard on it. Oh, and I have my cell phone,” he added. After Dillon whistled the horses in and haltered Thunder before letting the others back out to pasture, Carly held the horse by the halter, stroking his nose, while Dillon saddled him. She commented, “It sure is hot out here.” Indeed, there wasn’t a breath of air, and the heat seemed oppressive. Dillon scanned the horizon, “It looks like another storm, doesn’t it?” When he’d finished saddling the horse, he pulled her close and kissed her longingly, his tongue dancing with hers. He laid his forehead against hers. “We will get through this.” “Yes, we will, cowboy.” She opened the gate for him and then wandered back to the house, turning once to see him disappear around the end of the lake with the dogs on each side of his horse. As Carly walked up to the house, she saw her dad on the front porch, feet on the railing just as she and Dillon talked about. He read a book while lounging in his

chair with his gun in his holster on his right hip. She smiled at him as she stepped onto the porch. “Having a nice nap, Dad?” He jerked upright. “I’m not napping.” Grinning, she said, “You will be.” Back in the house, Carly checked on her mother and Taylor where they sat curled up on the couch watching another movie. The air conditioning ran, so she shut the front door and settled at the desk. She thought she would do a bit more research to see if she could find any more pictures of Jerome Darvil that she could compare with that of Godfrey Gott. She had been engrossed in the task for about forty-five minutes when she heard a funny sound on the porch, a small pop followed by her father shouting “hide,” then silence. She lifted the receiver and speed dialed Dillon’s phone, laying the receiver beside the phone. She’d toyed with 911 but knew, even on his horse, Dillon would be faster. Rising to lock the door, it burst out of her hand and knocked her to the floor. Marian and Taylor appeared in the doorway, both looking as though they’d just woken from a nap. Carly swung her eyes back to the intruder. She would have recognized Godfrey Gott anywhere. He looked hard, not physically, but emotionally. His lips were thin and pressed firmly together, his eyes piercing. His graying hair was neatly and expensively groomed, and he wore a suit and tie. “Get up off the floor,” he ordered pointing a gun at her. She recognized the muzzle’s extension as a silencer. “Dad,” she gasped. Did he kill him? Carly felt lightheaded, and a feeling of hysteria overwhelmed her. “Don’t worry about him. Manning and Tankov took care of him. If I’d done it, he would be dead. As it is, he’ll live, but he won’t be any good to help you out.” Carly wondered what that meant although she tried to calm herself upon hearing her father was alive. She hoped Godfrey told the truth. She stood up and pulled Taylor behind her, her mother bravely stepping over to flank her. “Now,” the man she felt sure used to be known as Jerome Darvil said, “my men

tell me you have a room that may have used to be a garage. Take me to it.” Carly gave Taylor a gentle nudge. “Go to the sewing room, sweetheart.” Then she looped her arm through her mother’s and said with false bravado, “Come on, Mom.” In the sewing room, he waved his gun toward a stack of folding chairs. “Sit.” Then he turned his back slightly, rummaging through the drawers in the sewing room. Carly took a chance and hovered near the counter where a small pair of scissors lay. Her mother looked at her and followed Carly’s line of sight when she glanced at the scissors. Then her mother picked up a folding chair and dropped it, causing Godfrey to look at her. “Excuse me,” her mom said, “I’m frightened, and the gun makes me nervous.” As her mother bent to pick up the chair, Carly swept the small scissors off the counter and slipped them in her hip pocket hoping her tank top was long enough to keep them hidden. She quickly grabbed two folding chairs and set them up. “Here, Taylor, sit between Grandma and me.” Soon they were all seated while Godfrey approached with the gun trained on them. He handed a roll of wide masking tape to Marian. “Put this on their wrists behind their chairs and make it tight.” “Reverend Gott,” Carly began. “You can’t do that to a child. She isn’t big enough. Let her have her wrists fastened in front of her.” He looked at Taylor, who was pale with tears streaking down her cheeks. “How old are you?” With a tremor in her voice, the child said quietly, “Six.” He looked at Marian. “All right, in front for the little girl only. Make sure Miss James’ wrists are very tightly bound in the back.” As Marian bound her wrists, she reached into Carly’s hip pocket and tugged the scissors out enough Carly could reach the handles. Then she walked around and sat in her own chair. Godfrey tucked his gun in his suit pocket long enough to use the tape to secure Marian’s wrists as well. Then he returned to the front of

the chairs. He looked at Carly and shook his head. “You look just like Barbara. I’ve seldom seen a mother and daughter who are so similar.” Keep him talking, Carly thought, give Dillon time to get here. “Was that her name before she became known as Paula?” “Ah, yes, I see no harm in you knowing. Her name used to be Barbara Fields. When she came to me, she had run away from a foster home. A series of foster homes. But pretty, oh so pretty. Just like you.” Carly tucked away every word for future research. “How old was she?” “Only fifteen or so. It’s a shame, really, how many young people are out on the streets looking for something, for someone.” “Like Michael Barnes.” “Oh, yes, like Michael Barnes.” He pulled out a chair and sat in it. “How is he, do you know?” Carly wondered if he really cared or if he was just curious. “He’s in jail, awaiting arraignment. Too bad, really, that he probably feels as if his church and his leader have deserted him.” “As he has deserted me,” Gott said. “As your mother deserted me.” Be brave and keep him talking, Carly thought to herself. “Did she? Perhaps she had to choose between you and me.” “I thought she could be pregnant, but she never told me I would be a father.” The idea of him being her father made her want to vomit. Was evil genetic? The door to the room opened, and Earl Manning stepped in. Godfrey looked at him. “Is everything under control?” Carly slipped the scissors out of her pocket and got them into position to use. She needed noise to cover the sound of her snipping.

“He’s out cold,” Manning said. “I actually put him in the dog kennel. I thought that seemed a good place for him. It wasn’t locked, but I took his gun and his knife from him, and I used the zip ties I found in his pocket to fasten the kennel shut.” “Good, good. And Tankov?” “Guarding the front door in case the cowboy comes back.” Snip, snip, snip. It seemed to take forever as she couldn’t open the scissors much and there were too many layers of the tape to allow her to rip it. Manning leaned against the counter near the door while Godfrey returned to his seat. “What do you want from us, Reverend Gott?” Carly asked with a feigned sound of confusion to her voice. Keep him talking while I snip and Dillon rides back, she reminded herself. “Why I assumed you knew, Carly. I want the journals.” She looked at Earl Manning, “Didn’t you on my message, Manning? That we don’t have anything on the time before Paula came to the ranch?” Carly rolled her neck, as though it were stiff, flexing her shoulders what she could so that she could see around the room, looking for a weapon. Then she saw it, a fire extinguisher on a shelf not more than two feet to her right. Carly coughed and made the last snip. **** Dillon had just entered the summer range when his cell phone rang. He reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed it. It came from the house. There was no one there when he answered it. His pulse picked up, wondering if it were an accident. But no, these days there were no accidents. Then he heard it. A male voice telling her to get up. Carly said, “Dad,” and the male voice telling her Roger wouldn’t be able to help. Dillon put the phone on speaker, muted it, and jacked up the volume as high as he could. Then he took a moment to think. If he went down the road, they would

see him, but if he went west through the pasture he used to keep the bulls in during the offseason, then he could cut through the home meadow, west of the lake, and come in behind the shop. There, a windbreak of cedar trees on the west side of the meadow provided shelter with just enough room to ride his horse in between the trees and the fence. With his plan made, he nudged Thunder forward and flew to the fence. Approaching the first barbed wire fence, Dillon was glad he’d brought his fence pliers. He would cut the fence and fix it later, rather than to go out of his way to the gate and dismount to open it. But Thunder had other ideas. Galloping full out, the horse didn’t slow when they came to the fence. Instead, he leaped from the ground and sailed over the fence. Preparing for the landing, Dillon gripped the saddle tightly with his legs. The landing felt surprisingly smooth. “Good boy,” Dillon praised. Thunder showed even less hesitation at the next fence. Max and Sadie were keeping up, crawling under the fences as they came to them. Then they approached the last fence near the windbreak. This time, Dillon reined his horse in, dismounted with the fence pliers in hand, and cut the wire, throwing it far enough to make sure Thunder wouldn’t step on it. While he stood on the ground, he caught Max and Sadie by the collars. Looking them in the eyes, he said, “Quiet”, then prayed they understood and climbed atop Thunder again. Staying out of sight of the house, Dillon dismounted his horse west of the shop, looping the reins around a piece of equipment. Reminding the dogs to be quiet, he pulled his rifle out from the scabbard, checked his ammunition, and then slid more bullets into his pants pocket. No sound came from the phone’s speaker that he could discern, and so Dillon slowly made his way to the house. Ea against the west side, he looked through the window and saw Tankov standing in the doorway, with his back to him. Dillon raised the rifle and took aim through the glass, pulling the trigger.

Chapter Nineteen

“Where are the journals, Carly?” Unwilling to disclose the exact location, she said simply, “They’re in an outbuilding.” She needed to get one of them out of the sewing room, so she lied. “It’s locked, but the key is in the top left-hand drawer on the desk by the front door.” Godfrey stepped out of the room. “Keep your eye on them, Manning.” She heard a gunshot combined with breaking glass nearby. She screamed and made a dive for the fire extinguisher even as bile rose in her throat. Hoping she knew how to use it, she pulled the pin from the handle and then lifted the hose. Manning jerked his head toward the door into the kitchen at the explosive sound of the gunshot, and when he looked back, she aimed the fire extinguisher and pulled the handle and sprayed foam into his face. Then she swung the hefty extinguisher by the handle and hit him on the side of the head. He dropped to the floor like a dead man. Carly tore into action and used her scissors to cut her mother’s and Taylor’s wrists. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered, as much to herself and to her mother as to Taylor. She looked out the blinds on the door to the backyard and saw that it was empty. “Run to the cellar!” She practically pushed them out the door. Carly wanted to know what had happened, who was shot, but common sense told her to run, too. She clutched Taylor’s other hand, and the three tore across the yard toward the plum thicket. When they got to the northwest side of the house, she ran into Dillon. Throwing her arms around his neck, she clasped him to her. “You’re okay?” “Yes.” He reached out to touch his daughter and then continued, “I’ve got to find your dad and go after the other men. I shot Tankov, but I assume Manning is here and a man I heard over the phone. “Manning’s out cold in the sewing room. The other one is Godfrey Gott.”

“I thought so. He just got in the ranch pickup to make his escape, but with the way he backed out, I doubt he knows how to drive a stick shift, and that will buy me some time. Go and stay in the cellar until someone comes to get you.” Then he took off on a run. Carly, Taylor, and Marian ran to the cellar. Carly’s hands shook as she fished for the key in the birdhouse and got the padlock unlocked. With Marian’s help she got the heavy door lifted and thrown open. The next door opened easier, and soon they were in the cellar with the light turned on. Carly swung the door shut and put the bar down to secure it. Then she leaned against it and sank to the floor, not caring about spiders or bugs. She held out her arms to Taylor, “Oh, baby, come here and hug me.” The child started to sob. “Grandpa.” Marian ed them, kneeling on the floor to wrap her own arms around both of them. “Your grandpa will be fine,” she said, although Carly could hear the doubt in her voice. “He’s tough.” **** Dillon felt better knowing that the girls in his life were okay. Once they were in the cellar, they’d be safe. He could still see his truck lurching down the road. Cutting behind the house, he rounded it with the dogs on his heels and saw Roger sitting up in the dog kennel clutching his upper right arm. “Roger, you’ve been shot.” Dillon grabbed his knife and cut the cable ties, swinging open the gate. “Don’t I know it.” Roger knelt to pet the dogs, and Dillon wondered why until he saw him reach for Sadie’s collar. “Here, let me get that,” Dillon told him, taking it off and using it to fashion a tourniquet, although it appeared that no major artery had been hit. “We have to go after him. I think we can catch him. He stole the work truck, and I don’t think he knows how to drive a stick shift with the way the truck is jerking.” “How’re the girls?” “They’re fine. They were on their way to the cellar.”

“Good. I’m going along to catch Godfrey. You drive, I’ll shoot.” Dillon said, “Can you shoot a rifle on the road?” “They didn’t find the gun in my boot. Let’s go.” Dillon slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his key ring. His good truck sat right outside the garage, and it took only minutes to have it headed down the road. “When we get to the end of the road, we’ll each look our own direction. Hopefully, we’ll still be able to see him. If not, they should be able to catch him with roadblocks at the ends of the road. There are only three ways out of here by road, and one of those only locals know about.” Dillon grabbed his cell phone and handed it to Roger. “Call the sheriff. Tell him we’ll call back if and when we know which way he’s going.” He listened to Roger’s end of the conversation as he came to the end of the road. They each looked their direction, and Dillon saw his ranch truck at the very top of the hill to the north, so he tore out onto the narrow main road in the same direction. Just before Roger hung up with Jenkins, he told him which way they were headed. Dillon said, “Why don’t you call Bob, too. If this guy is as crazy and desperate as I think he is, he could pull into someone’s place and hold them hostage.” **** He should have just killed them all, Godfrey thought as he tried to shift gears on the damned truck. It had been decades since he regularly drove a jeep or pickup. His neck hurt from lurching back and forth as he tried to shift smoothly. Added to that, he was lost. When he got to the end of the road, he lost precious minutes trying to decide which way to go. They’d come in from the south, but the road was horrible, so he finally turned to the north. All hell broke loose. He still didn’t have the journals, didn’t even know if they existed, and now he would be wanted for what he’d just done. If they ever ran his fingerprints he would be screwed, completely screwed. He patted his inside jacket pocket and found his cigarettes. He fumbled but finally found his lighter and lit one up, taking a deep draw on it. Ah, that made him feel better and even

made him believe that he might get away. If he could escape and keep a low profile, he could go underground for the rest of his life. He’d done it before, and he could do it again. Luckily, he’d been squirreling millions away in offshore s from the church’s funds. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and Godfrey realized he was driving into a thunderstorm. Why did he not notice that when he chose this direction? Oh well, he thought, it might be good. If anyone were following him, they wouldn’t be able to see as well in the rain. He wondered about Manning. He wished he’d taken the time to deal with him. Godfrey didn’t know if Tankov survived being shot, but he’d stepped over his bleeding body in the doorway of the house. It must have been the cowboy who took him out. All Godfrey knew was that the shot came from the window of the room he had just stepped into. If the shooter just changed angles, he could be a dead man now instead of racing down the road toward freedom. Godfrey briefly wondered what would happen to the empire he’d built in Atlanta. No one else could run it like he did. Oh, there would be people who would try. They might promote one of the deacons, but it wouldn’t work. No one else could do it. It would crumble and fall apart, and the building he’d built would be on the market within a year. Lightning flashed ahead of him, and he looked in the rearview mirror only to see lights behind him and coming fast. **** “There he is,” Roger pointed with his good arm, the one without the gun in his hand. The taillights of the ranch truck were just cresting the hill at the other end of the valley they entered. Dillon stepped on the gas. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and he knew they were about to drive into a thunderstorm. He didn’t want to lose sight of Gott in the darker light, so he gunned it even more. “How close do I have to get for you to shoot at him?” “Closer than this.” “Are you sure you can do this? I’m hitting sixty, and your shooting arm is wounded.”

“I’m sure, but I’m less sure about my aim. I don’t think I can hit a tire at this speed. Are you going to hate me if I shoot up your truck?” “Nah, I’ve got insurance on it.” He didn’t mention it was just liability. Instead, he stepped on the gas even more. Roger rolled down the window and leaned his upper body out of it. Dillon ired him. The rain hit him hard in the face. The road wasn’t exactly smooth with all its hills and curves. Dillon ran up on the other truck, so he eased off the gas pedal. A shot rang out. Roger slid back into the truck just a bit for a few seconds only. “I’m not sure, but I think I hit the tailgate.” Water dripped off his face, but he said, “Let’s try this again.” He started to crawl further out the window, reaching out with his wounded left arm to grab hold of the side-view mirror to steady himself. After a groan of pain, he spoke again. “Ease up to him, son. I need you to get just a bit closer.” Dillon did so, close enough now he knew that he couldn’t stop if Godfrey slammed on the brakes. It made him nervous that Roger was hanging so far out the window. The gun went off again and the back window shattered, but the truck ahead didn’t waver. Roger ducked back into the cab. “Damn, I’m getting old. I used to be able to do this better.” “You’ve driven through the streets of Portland shooting out windows?” Dillon said, aghast. “How dangerous is that to the bystanders?” “I’ve only done it a couple of times when a wanted felon tried to escape in an empty parking lot.” “Ah. So, it’s not really like it is on TV?” “No.” They entered another long valley. “Okay, we’re going to try again.” He once again crawled about halfway out the window and took aim. Dillon got closer, and Roger pulled the trigger. Looking to see what it hit, Dillon groaned and eased off the gas pedal. Dillon eyed the fifty-gallon tank he kept tractor fuel in that he kept in the pickup’s box. “You hit the spare gas tank.” “No, I didn’t. I hit that silver tank in the back of your…” Roger trailed off.

“That’s full of gas?” “It is. I carry it to refuel my tractors in the hay field. I just filled it the other day in preparation for next week.” As lightning flashed above, they saw gasoline spurting from a hole in the side of the silver tank. Dillon said, “A spark will blow that sky high.” “It’s still safe to shoot, Dillon. The spark comes from the gun, not the bullet unless it hits metal. But back off. Surely the sheriff is at the other end of the road by now.” **** Godfrey felt a growing sense of panic. They were shooting at him. He supposed it was that damned cowboy and the man that he thought Tankov and Manning disabled. Such sissies his deacons were! Why wouldn’t they just kill that man on the front porch with a gun on his hip? He ed when Manning called him and told him he wouldn’t kill someone for him. Godfrey made a serious error right then. He should have left Manning out of it. Tankov, now, he was a fanatic who would do anything for his leader. Instead, Godfrey had been shot at. He didn’t even know what the first bullet hit, but it made a thunk. The second one about caused him to wet himself, and now, when the lightning flashed, it winked at him from where it sunk into the dash just above the radio. The third one hit something in the back. Godfrey took a last draw on the calming cigarette and then looked at it. Damn, it was almost down to the filter. Time to get another one lit. He took one hand off the wheel and rolled down the window. Then he grabbed his cigarette butt and threw it out the window. **** Dillon saw a red glowing ember fly out of the cab of the truck, and he slammed on his brakes, glad Roger sat safely inside the cab with the window up. The wind blew from the northwest, and both men were entranced as the ember landed right on that little hole in the gas tank. An explosion rocked the vehicle in a ball of flames, and the scene in front of them became a fireball too hot even for the rain to suppress.

Both men jumped out of the truck, and Dillon started to run to Godfrey’s aid until Roger’s good hand caught him at the elbow. “Let it go, son. You can’t save him without risking your life. Frankly, I doubt you could save him at all. It shows what a good person you are that you even thought about trying.” As they stood and watched the fire, lightning lit up the heavens, and the thunder ominously shook the atmosphere. The rain soaked through their clothes as the sirens sounded from the north. The sheriff stopped on the other side of the burning vehicle and then made his way around it at a safe distance in the right of way. Then an ambulance slowly followed him and kept on going. The sheriff rolled down his window and hollered out it. “Godfrey Gott, I assume?” Dillon nodded. The sheriff reached out the window and put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “I’d say your troubles are over, Dillon.” Then, “Brian is right behind me. We’ll let him deal with this. Follow us to your place. We need to see about those other two, and I’d say we need to get this man”—and here he nodded at Roger—“to the hospital, too.” Dazed, Dillon turned back to his truck. Roger followed and got in, and then they drove back to the ranch with the ambulance leading the way and Jenkins close behind. They all pulled up in front of the house and Jenkins got out, gun drawn, and motioned for everyone to stay where they were. Dillon watched as the man cautiously made his way to where Tankov lay just inside his house. Several minutes ed after that before the Sheriff appeared at the doorway with Manning in cuffs, weaving and stumbling on the way to the patrol car just as another sheriff’s deputy’s car pulled up. Sean Caruso got out and took over Manning, leading him to the back of his own cruiser and putting him inside. Sheriff Jenkins waved at them, indicating they could get out, and they did so as the EMTs also emerged. “Tankov is alive, but I’d say he’s seriously injured. Sean, I need you to ride with the ambulance and keep this guy in custody and handcuffed to the gurney in case he comes to. Call ahead to the Butte Valley police and have them waiting when you get there. Manning can wait for another ambulance. He says Carly lambasted him good with a fire extinguisher. I expect he’s got a concussion.” He

turned to look at Roger with concern. “Roger, how are you? It looks like you’ve been shot.” “I have been, but it’s not much more than a flesh wound. I can get Marian to drive me to the hospital.” “In that case, Dillon, why don’t you call one of your neighbors to deal with your animals and get your family out of here. I’ve got to call the crime scene unit from Butte Valley and someone to clean up where Tankov bled on your floor. We’ll be processing this scene all night, and I’ll make sure one of my deputies is here until you get back. You can surely buy what you need for the night in town ’cause I can’t let you into the house until we’re done. I would like to get all of your statements, but it can wait until you get back.” He paused. “And for heaven’s sake, Dillon, go to Coopersville. Your little girl doesn’t need to see any of this, especially that burning truck. That hospital there is good enough to deal with Roger.” Dillon felt exhausted, the effects of his adrenalin rush wearing off. He couldn’t find the strength to argue with anything Jenkins said. And when Sean Caruso came over to Roger and said, “Sir, I’ve had some EMT training. Why don’t you let me patch you up a little while Dillon gets what he needs to do done and the EMTs get Tankov loaded?” Roger didn’t argue either. He just led the way around to the picnic table and sat down heavily. Dillon put the dogs in the kennel. He thought he’d offer to buy it from Tucker if he would sell it. He petted them both and put them in so they wouldn’t be barking at all the people who would be crawling around his place. Then he walked out toward the shop where his horse waited patiently. He stopped to stroke his neck, wishing he had a carrot. “You were a good horse today, Thunder, and I’m going to get this saddle off just as soon as I hug my girls.” As he walked to the cellar, he thought about how lucky they were that it didn’t storm here, or his horse would have been a sitting duck tied up to that iron equipment. He walked down the cellar steps and knocked on the solid iron door with his fist. “Carly, sweetheart, it’s me—Dillon. It’s safe to come out now.” The door slowly opened, and Carly peeked out, then threw the door open and launched herself into his arms. Taylor rushed forward, and they both caught her.

Then he looked at Marian over his shoulder. “Roger’s going to be fine,” he assured her. “He was shot in the upper arm, but it’s mostly a flesh wound. We’re short an ambulance for him, so Sean Caruso is looking at his arm right now, and then we’re all going to load him up and haul him down to the hospital in Coopersville.” The woman began to weep out of relief, and Carly pulled herself away from Dillon to embrace her mother. “I never want to repeat this day,” she said. Dillon pulled his key ring out. “Carly, can I get you to go get the Jeep out of the garage? I need to unsaddle Thunder before we leave. He’s been tied up out here longer than you have been in the cellar.” “Yes,” she said, reaching for the keys. “Should I drive out and pick up Mom and Taylor?” “Yes. Marian, Roger will be in the Jeep by the time Carly gets out here. If you can just be patient for a little longer, we need to keep someone away from the house.” Here he looked meaningfully at Taylor. Marian caught on immediately. “Of course. Taylor, we could step outside to the plum thicket and see how many birds we can spot.” Carly was already on her way to the garage, skirting around the back of the house as Dillon collected Thunder and took him the same way to the barn. Just as he opened the corral gate, Bob pulled up in his pickup and took the horse’s reins. “You go on with your family,” the neighbor said. “I’ll take care of your horse, I’ll feed your dogs, gather your eggs, and milk your cow both tonight and in the morning and longer if you need me to.” Dillon shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, Bob.” “Then when you get back, Jan and I’ll expect to be invited over for a steak dinner, and you can fill us in on what the hell happened here today.”

Chapter Twenty

Carly backed out the Jeep when Dillon approached and shut the garage door. Then he hopped in the enger seat. “Do you want me to drive?” He looked and sounded exhausted. Carly had been nervous and scared, but she’d recovered some in the cellar after disabling Manning. “I think I ought to. You don’t look like you’re up to it.” “I won’t argue.” She backed up and pulled up beside the east side of the house where her dad sat at the picnic table. As Sean rolled down her father’s sleeve and helped him toward the vehicle, she turned toward the man she loved. “Before everyone gets in, what happened to Godfrey?” “In a nutshell, your dad shot a hole in the gas tank in the back of the truck, and then Godfrey threw a cigarette butt out the window into the truck bed.” Carly felt the air leave her lungs. “So he’s dead.” “Very.” Dillon opened his door. “I’ll get your dad.” With the window down, she heard Dillon approach her father. “Hey, Roger, you about ready to go get that bullet removed?” Her dad stood. “I am, son. Past ready. And Sean here has to escort Tankov to the hospital. The paramedics said they have him stabilized and he’ll no doubt survive.” “We’re going to let Carly drive,” Dillon told him. “Why don’t you take the front seat with her?” “No, I’m shorter than you are. I do want the enger’s side though, so Taylor doesn’t accidentally bump this arm of mine.” As Dillon helped her dad into the car, Carly said, “I don’t have my license or

anything.” “I have my wallet,” Dillon said. “I took it when I left the house today as a precaution, I guess. I think if you get pulled over, Sheriff Jenkins will get you out of it since he told me we can’t get into the house until they’re finished processing it.” “And I have my wallet,” her dad said. “Let’s go get your mother and Taylor. I’m sure they’re both worried to death.” At the cellar, Dillon gave Taylor another big hug and a kiss and told her how proud of her he felt for being brave. He then strapped her into her booster seat. Marian leaned in through the open window to kiss her husband and say, “I have been so scared. We’re going to have a talk about retirement, you know. There is no reason for you to work any longer than you need to.” As they drove by the house, Dillon distracted his daughter by pointing out a blue heron in the lake so she couldn’t concentrate on all the vehicles parked in front including another ambulance that waited for Earl Manning to be loaded into the back. Carly figured he would have a heck of a headache but felt glad she didn’t kill him. She didn’t need that on her conscience. “Should we stop at the mailbox?” Carly asked as they approached it. “We haven’t gotten it in a couple of days, have we?” “No, we haven’t,” he said. “You okay if we take that extra minute, Roger?” “I’m better than okay. I’ve got two of the three most beautiful girls in the world right here in the backseat with me.” Carly heard Taylor giggle and her mother sigh and say “ah”. They all needed that. She stopped next to the mailbox and reached out her window to get the mail and then ed it across to Dillon. Then she pulled right onto the road. “I’ve never been this way. You’ll direct me, won’t you?” “You know I will.” Then he settled into his seat and started sorting through the mail. “This is odd.” Carly took her eyes off the road long enough to look quizzically at him. “What’s odd?”

“It’s a bill for a safety deposit box from a Butte Valley bank, and it’s addressed to Paula.” Carly said, “Maybe that’s the missing piece we’ve needed all along.” Dillon tucked it into the glove box with the other mail. “Well, we can’t deal with it now, but soon. Real soon.” All of them were anxious to know what happened since none knew the full story. But with Taylor in the car they were careful what they said. Roger’s piece of how it started began with, “They shot me and then must have hit me in the head with the butt of their gun. I woke up in the dogs’ kennel.” Taylor thought this was terrible. “Grandpa, don’t they know you are not a dog?” “Well, it could have been worse. At least I had water and food.” This made the little girl giggle once again. “I am very proud of our daughter,” Marian said. “That terrible man made us go into the sewing room and told us to set up folding chairs and sit on them. I saw Carly looking at a little pair of scissors, so I dropped the chair to cause a distraction so she could nab them up.” “Mom showed so much bravery,” Carly interjected. “That gave me time to stick the scissors in my back pocket. And then when Godfrey made her bind my and Taylor’s wrists with that wide masking tape that Paula used with her quilting, Mom even tugged the scissors up a little bit so I could reach them.” It came Taylor’s turn to chime in. “And then when the mean man with the gun left the room, Mommy grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed it all over in the other man’s face.” Here she said with awe, “His whole face was covered with white foam. And then she hit him over the head with it.” Then she became silent. “Is he dead?” Dillon turned in his seat to look at his precious daughter. “No, sweet pea. He’s alive, and the sheriff arrested him. I’ll bet his head hurts though. when you fell and hit your head and you had a little bump on your forehead? Well, I’ll bet the bad man has a big bump.” And then, after a moment, he said,

“Is Carly Mommy now?” “Yes, because she acts just like a mommy cow. She took care of me. She hid me behind her when the man waved his gun at us. And she held me and tried to make me feel better. And you’re going to marry her, and she’s going to adopt me.” “But I haven’t asked her yet,” he pointed out with a grin. From their grins, he saw his future in-laws were highly amused by the conversation. “I don’t know why you’re taking so long to ask her,” his child added. Carly added with an innocent look on her face when she asked, “Yeah, cowboy, why are you taking so long to ask me?” “Be patient, sweetheart.” They went back to their stories of what happened. Dillon and Roger gave a very toned-down version of chasing Godfrey and then when Marian asked how he died, Roger said, “For now, let’s just say that smoking kills.” When they got to the hospital, two police officers met them at the Emergency Room door. “Captain James?” one of them said as they both approached with their badges out. “Yes, I’m Captain Roger James.” “It’s good to meet you, sir. Sheriff Jenkins from Willow Flats asked us to meet you here and make sure you and your family have everything you need. We’ve heard you were shot, and we’re also supposed to collect the bullet for evidence.” “Thank you,” Roger said. Soon the hospital staff took Roger in to be prepped for surgery on his arm. Marian settled in to wait. “Why don’t you all go shopping and get what you need for tonight and tomorrow,” she suggested. “The doctor has assured me there is very little risk with the surgery, and your dad should be alert again within just a few hours. The doctor said they’ll keep him at least overnight.” “Are you staying with him?” Carly asked.

“Of course, I am, but I would like a change of clothes and maybe something appropriate to sleep in. They’ll surely have a couch or a recliner in the room.” Carly hugged her mom fiercely. “All right, Mom. We’ll go shopping and maybe get a room and then we’ll be back.” “Take your time, sweetheart.” And so, the three of them left, hanging onto hands as if their lives depended on it. Coopersville turned out to be a town of about ten thousand people. It boasted a small downtown, but the heart of the shopping sat grouped together on the edge of town opposite the hospital. There, they found a big box store, a grocery store, and a big rancher’s supply. There were three national hotel chains, all midpriced, nearby. Dillon drove now, and he pulled up in front of one of the nicer hotels. “I think I’ll get us a room first, then we can go shopping and maybe eat at the hospital with your mom.” “She will appreciate that.” Dillon got out of the Jeep. “I’ll be back soon.” When he got back in the vehicle, Taylor asked, “Do we get to stay in the hotel tonight?” “We do,” her father answered her. “Will they have the little soaps?” Carly answered this time, twisting back to look at her. “They will, and they’ll have little bottles of shampoo. Since we don’t have a toothbrush or a comb, we can ask at the desk and get those things in little sizes, too.” “Yay.” Dillon smiled at Carly as they drove across the street to shop. Carly picked herself out a pair of pajamas, a pretty sundress, and new underwear, as well as a pair of sandals that matched the dress. She found similar items for

Taylor and her mom to wear the next day, but selected a pair of crop length leggings and an oversized T-shirt for her mom. Dillon found underwear and sleep pants for himself but declared that he would go to the Rancher’s Supply for jeans and a shirt. Back at the hospital, her mother reported that Roger was out of surgery and all went well. After alerting the recovery room nurse as to their plans, they escorted her mom to the cafeteria where they selected their food and claimed a table for four near a window overlooking a small garden. Dillon could see a small rose garden with a white wrought-iron bench, and he suddenly had an idea. He tried to keep his mind on the conversation at hand as he mulled over his idea in the back of his mind. “The recent activity has made me determined to get your dad to retire on time,” Marian said. “He can retire at the first of August, but he’s been talking about how he could work a little longer, just to give him something to do, and I am going to put my foot down to that.” “You’re absolutely right, Mom,” Carly said. “You both have good retirement plans, don’t you?” “We do and working longer won’t do anything for us. We have medical insurance policies through our retirement. We don’t need to wait until we are old enough for Medicare.” “I’ll your idea,” Carly added. “You know, put my two cents in with Dad.” “It’s just a matter of where we want to retire, and I have decided, if you’re going to be in Nebraska I do not want to stay in Oregon. You’re our only child, and now we have Taylor to spoil. Surely there are many lovely towns within driving distance of your ranch,” she said, looking at Dillon inquiringly. **** Dillon thought about how happy Carly seemed with her parents nearby, and he knew she’d never been more than a few miles away from them. And Taylor spent a lot of time with Marian in particular and seemed to revel in the attention now that Paula and his dad were both gone. He found himself speaking. “I have that little lived in trailer on the ranch. I know it wouldn’t be what you want

permanently, but you could sure live in it rent-free until you decide on something.” Marian smiled broadly. “Why, I didn’t think of that, Dillon! It’s the perfect solution. Once we sell the house in Portland, we could buy anything we wanted around here. Maybe we could even build.” “On the ranch even,” Dillon said, receiving an approving smile from the woman he loved. “I think I can find a little land to spare.” “Once he’s mended, Dad could help Dillon out on the ranch now and then. I heard him say the other day that he really wanted to learn to ride a horse.” “And I could help with the garden,” Marian said. “I do love to garden.” As they finished eating, Dillon decided to act on his idea, and he turned to Marian. “Marian, would you mind staying here with Taylor for a few minutes? I want to talk to Carly alone for a few minutes.” Marian’s gaze went to the garden outside the window and said, “Of course not. You two go on.” Dillon rose from his chair and held out his hand to Carly. She took it, and he guided her to the door that opened onto the garden and out into the bright June sunshine. Without saying a word, he led her to the iron bench in the small rose garden. He sat and tugged her down next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and seeking her lips with his own. The kiss was provocative and offered love and hope in the same sweet caress. As he lifted his lips, he caught her other hand up in his and said, “Carly, sweetheart, I love you, and I continue to fall in love with you more each day. I can’t think of anything I would rather have than you as my wife, my best friend, my lover, and the mother of my children, both Taylor and future babies. Please say yes.” And she did. “Yes, cowboy, yes, yes, yes!” Then she threw her arms lovingly around his neck and kissed him again. As she lifted her lips, she said, “I love you so much, Dillon Johnson.” “I have a ring at home. I don’t know if you’ll like it, but if you don’t, we’ll buy a

new one.” “What is it?” she asked. “Dad gave it to Paula. It’s a fourteen-carat gold half carat diamond solitaire with matching wedding bands, including Dad’s. It’s nice, but not huge.” “It sounds perfect, and I would be honored to wear it. After all, if it weren’t for Paula, I would have never met you. And going through what we have has only drawn us closer together.” He kissed her again before she said, “I can’t believe you offered the trailer and land to my mother.” He drew back and looked at her. Perhaps he misread her approving look at dinner. “Is that okay?” “Of course it’s okay! I’ve never lived far from them, and if it’s too close, we’ll know after a short time. Then they can house hunt somewhere not too far away.” He was relieved. “Good. I like your parents and really respect your dad. I’ll it, it would be nice to have him around to help once in a while. Usually, I do okay on the ranch alone, but it is nice to have someone to open the gates and things.” “Taylor loves having them nearby.” “I noticed that, and we’re going to need a little help when we have a baby.” “Mmmhmm,” she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. “You know what, cowboy?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I can’t wait for things to get back to normal.” A child’s voice interrupted them. “Daddy, Daddy! Did you ask her?” “I’m so sorry,” Marian said. “I just couldn’t hold her back anymore, but I’m curious, too.” Carly stood up and walked around the bench, holding her arms out to both of them. “He did propose, and I said yes.” Then she caught both Taylor and her mother into her embrace.

Dillon rose just as his daughter came barreling at him. He caught her as she made a trusting leap into the air. “I’m glad Carly’s going to be my mommy,” she said as she gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. “I am, too, sweet pea.” They didn’t stay at the hospital much longer before giving Marian the things they’d bought for her and then driving to their hotel. Taylor took her bath and put on her new pajamas before crawling into bed to watch television, but she fell sound asleep within ten minutes. “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed, too,” Dillon told Carly. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.” The next morning, they ate at the hospital again and found out that the doctor planned on releasing Carly’s dad the next day. Marian was intent on staying with him the entire time but refused Carly’s offer to go buy her another day’s worth of clothes. “They have a washer and dryer here I can use,” she said. “And I used your dad’s debit card to get some cash out of the ATM, so I’m all set. They even have a library here.” Dillon left Carly and Taylor to visit Roger while he slipped out and called Bob. “I think you ought to take it easy for the day, Dillon,” in answer to Dillon’s question about how things were going on the ranch. “The sheriff’s deputy is here to protect your things, and if he leaves, I’ll lock everything up. Honestly, I have it under control. I even rode the wells and noticed that sick calf. I came back and saddled Paula’s horse, and the dogs and I rode out to get it and its momma in. One dose of medicine and he’s already better.” “If that’s the case, I have an errand I would like to run this morning, and then we’ll be home this evening.” “Sounds good.” After his phone call, Dillon entered the hospital room. Roger reached for his hand to shake. “I hear you finally popped the question.” Dillon grinned. “I did, and she said yes. I’m the luckiest man on earth.” “With everything that’s happened, you might actually be the luckiest man on

earth.” “If you two will be okay here at the hospital on your own, I think Carly and I and Taylor need to drive up to Butte Valley and see what’s in that safety deposit box. I talked to Bob, and he said he’ll take care of everything again today, and we should be home this evening. We’ll be back to get you tomorrow.” After saying their goodbyes, they went out to the parking lot and got in the Jeep for another drive. It took them two hours to get to Butte Valley from Coopersville. They talked about so much, starting with the wedding. “I’d like to marry you as soon as we can,” Dillon itted, “but I want you to have the wedding of your dreams.” “You know, Dillon, I’ve put a little thought into that. And I think that the most perfect wedding in the world would be down on the south side of the lake where it’s so pretty. My parents need to be there, but otherwise, I don’t have a lot of family I care about having there. I feel like it would be nice to have the neighbors there, and I really want Jan to be my matron of honor. But I think we need to see if Sheriff Jenkins can get ordained or something, because I would like to have him perform the ceremony.” That sounded perfect to Dillon. If they waited until later in the summer, the meadow would have been hayed, and the grass would be starting to grow again. They could have the reception in the backyard, and he would ask Bob to be his best man. “I hope I get my teacher’s certificate right away. Do you think I’d be safe in starting lesson plans before I have the contract?” “I’m very sure that you would be. I have a key to the school, and we could drive up any evening to pick up the teacher’s copy of the textbooks.” After a bit, he asked, “When do you need to get back to Portland to pack up your things?” “You know, I think I could talk my parents into packing up my things. I don’t know as we need the furniture. It’s not like I have anything fabulous, so maybe they could just sell it and then hire a small truck to drive the rest of the things out. You never know, if we get married in mid-August, they might just bring their own things along, too.” “That’d be nice,” he agreed. “That way they’d be here to stay with Taylor while

we take a honeymoon. And, in that case, you better have your lessons all planned because we’ll get back just before the school term starts.” When they arrived in town, Dillon drove straight to the lawyer’s office. “I’ll need a copy of the death certificate and proof that I’m the executor of the will to get into the bank.” They all went into the office, and Carly took Taylor to the lady’s room while he spoke to the attorney’s legal secretary. It didn’t take long to obtain what he needed from that office, and then they drove to a bank that Dillon had never been in. It took a little time for Dillon to get access to the safety deposit box. He didn’t have a key for it, so he waited for a banker to approve his access to it. He left Carly and Taylor out in the lobby when he went in. After the banker left him alone with the unlocked box, Dillon remained still and silent for a moment, wondering what Paula left in the box. He opened it up and found a key on a keychain for a storage unit. Well, damn. Paula still held tight to her secrets. He flipped the key over to look at it, hoping it said which storage facility it came from. Seeing the name of the business imprinted in the metal, Dillon breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now they would finally know the whole story.

Chapter Twenty-One

“I’m hungry,” Taylor said. Carly wrapped her arm around the child. “As soon as Daddy comes out, we’ll ask him to take us to lunch. Where would you like to go?” She expected Taylor to reply with the name of one of the many fast-food restaurants with children’s playgrounds. Instead, she was surprised by the answer. “Butte Valley Cafe.” “I ate breakfast there the morning I came to the ranch.” “It’s good, and it’s Daddy’s favorite place.” “Do you know why that is?” “That’s where he and his daddy met Grandma Paula the first time.” Carly saw Dillon stepping out of the vault. She tried to interpret the look on his face, but she couldn’t. If anything, he still looked tired. She rose from her chair and captured Taylor’s hand as she stood. “Don’t keep me in suspense, cowboy.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a key. “It contained only this.” Carly captured the tag and read it. “A key to a storage locker.” “Did I hear Taylor say something about lunch?” “Yes, she wants to go to the Butte Valley Cafe.” “That’s my favorite, and it’s on the way to the storage company.” The two adults tried to keep the conversation away from the recent events and their contemplations about what might be in the storage unit. Instead, they spent lunchtime talking to Taylor. Carly wanted to know more about the school where she would be teaching, so she asked about the other students and what they did on recess.

“In the morning before school and after lunch we play on the swings and teetertotters and stuff,” Taylor explained. “Me and the other girls do anyway.” Carly asked, “What do the boys do?” Taylor shrugged dismissively. “Boy stuff.” Dillon intervened. “Haven’t I seen them on the monkey bars?” Taylor swallowed her bite of hamburger before replying. “Yeah, they like to show off their muscles.” She thought a moment and then continued. “Mostly they run around waving sticks in the air.” “Hey,” her father interjected. “When I was that age, it may have looked like we were waving sticks in the air, but we were really slaying dragons.” “Sure, Daddy,” Taylor said with a sweet but fake smile that spoke volumes. “Whatever you want to think.” He looked at his daughter. “Sometimes I’d swear you’re really thirteen.” Carly stepped in with more questions. “Do you play any games?” “During recess, we do. And we take turns picking which one we play. I like to play Hide and Seek. Sometimes we play King of the Hill or tag. If it snows, we play Fox and Goose.” “How about soccer or softball?” Carly asked. “There are not enough kids to play softball,” Dillon reminded her. “Country schools play a form of softball called Work-up, where there is one batter, and each time they switch, they all switch playing positions, so each child gets to play each position.” “That’s nice,” Carly said. “That way even the littlest one gets a turn at being a pitcher, huh?” “That’s right.” “Is there anything else I need to know about teaching a country school?”

“We always have a big Christmas program, too,” Taylor said, “with songs and poems and a play.” “Where do you find a play suitable for that size of school with such varied ages?” “It’s getting to be a problem,” Dillon itted. “Although it seems to me that a teacher who also majored in English and made a social media splash rapping Shakespeare should be able to write a play.” Carly laughed. “Oh, I could, couldn’t I? What fun!” “And we drive the kids into Willow Flats for things like achievement tests and a spelling bee,” Dillon added. “Don’t forget the track meet,” Taylor said. “I won the fifty-yard dash in my age group!” “Wow! Did you get a ribbon or a trophy or something?” “I got a pretty blue ribbon that says First Place. I have it in my treasure box.” “Well, I want to see it, real soon.” Carly fell silent, thinking about her new life. She looked forward to being a wife and mother and felt excited about the prospect of teaching this fall. There would be a lot to learn about this new way of life, but she felt ready. When they finished with lunch, Taylor asked if she could have ice cream for dessert. “How about if we buy ice cream on the way out of town?” Dillon suggested. “Okay, then let’s hurry and get out-of-town fast.” Carly could feel butterflies in her stomach by the time they arrived at the storage unit. She looked at Dillon. “Are you as nervous and excited as I am?” Dillon entwined his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. “I think so. I just have this feeling that what we’re going to find is going to be shocking and not

necessarily in a good way.” Inside the small unit, they found a single plastic tub sitting on a wood pallet. Dillon placed his hand on the lid. “Shall we?” “Yes, but if it’s journals as we suspect I don’t think we should read them until we get home with them.” “I agree. In fact, not until after Taylor’s in bed.” “Good idea.” And so, Dillon popped open the lid, and they found a neat stack of journals, many of which were just spiral notebooks, unlike the nicer journals at the ranch. On the top sat a large plastic envelope. Even though they were both curious, he sealed it back up and loaded it in the Jeep. As they left town, he asked her, “Do you want to stop and do any shopping?” Carly didn’t want to, but the opportunity to buy fresh fruit and a larger choice of groceries didn’t often come at the ranch, she learned. And so she forced herself to concentrate on what they could use for food, laundry and dishwasher detergent, paper goods, and other things. At last, they stopped at a drive-in and got soft ice cream cones before driving out of town. They drove past the spot where the explosion happened. The truck had been moved, but they could tell where it had happened by the burned and singed grass on the edge of the narrow road. “Daddy, when was there a fire?” Taylor asked, craning her neck. “The other night, sweet pea. There was a thunderstorm with lots of lightning.” “Oh, did it rain, too, to put out the fire?” “It did.” Turning into the ranch felt like coming home to Carly. She looked at the lake, the buildings, the horses in their pasture. To the west she could see the garden and smiled at the thought of homegrown vegetables she would have to learn to can or freeze. She thought about her future. Of driving about ten miles and often not meeting a single car on her way to teach. The idea of raising children here,

where they could ride a pony, play with dogs and cats, and even go fishing. “Are there fish in the lake?” she asked. “Yeah, we have a pretty good stock of bullheads.” “Bullhead. I’ve never heard of bullheads before.” “It’s a kind of catfish. Do you fish?” “Now and then I go with Dad. Do you?” “Sure, on a lazy Sunday afternoon sometimes. The lake’s right there and tucked in those reeds at the end of the lake I have a rowboat. Now that things are back to normal, I thought I’d ask your dad if he’d like to go. I assume he’s going to be here another week or so while he recovers.” “Dad would like that.” “It looks like all the official vehicles are gone. That’s Bob’s truck and, look, Bob and Jan are sitting on the front porch with the dogs.” “How’s Roger?” were the first words out of Bob’s mouth. “He’s surprisingly good,” Carly answered. “We’ll go get him and Mom tomorrow.” Dillon walked to the back of the jeep and started grabbing grocery sacks from the back. “Why don’t you drive around to the east side,” Bob said. “We’ve done a little work on the floor and you shouldn’t walk on it for a few more hours.” Putting the sacks back, Dillon looked up as did Carly. “You fixed the windows!” Carly said almost at the same time as Dillon said, “You fixed the floor?” “It wasn’t just us. We made a few calls and organized a workday. Tucker ran into town and picked up some glass, Chris and I sanded and finished the floor after the crime scene unit cleaned it up. Sheriff Jenkins called and said for you to call him when you both can give your statements but to wait until Roger and Marian are back as he needs theirs, too. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, both Tankov and Manning will be fine but headed directly to jail after they are released from

the Butte Valley hospital. Barnes is out on bail and headed back to Atlanta swearing off of, as he says, ‘cult-like churches’ forever.” After Bob and Jan helped empty the Jeep and Bob assured Dillon all the chores were done, they drove away, and Carly stood with the man and little girl she loved in the yard, petting the dogs and glad to be looking toward a calm night. After an easy dinner of grilled sandwiches and chips, Carly and Dillon worked together to give Taylor her bath and get her into her pajamas. They all three cuddled on the couch while they watched a family movie using their new satellite dish television. At last Taylor crawled in bed with droopy eyelids, and Carly and Dillon went into their bedroom where Dillon set the plastic tub. He opened the lid and took out the plastic envelope. Inside they found a birth certificate for Barbara Fields. Dillon picked it up and studied it. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Carly said as she looked over his shoulder, “Godfrey told me she was Barbara Fields before.” “Look, she was actually four years younger than she let everybody think.” Carly did the math quickly. “That means she gave birth to me when she was only sixteen.” Dillon put the birth certificate back in the envelope and got out the next item, which was a brown envelope with a few pictures in it. “These must be of Paula when she was a kid.” They looked through them, pointing out things and making comments to each other as they went. Finally, Dillon put them back within the plastic and took out the last item—a sealed envelope addressed to the two of them. He handed it to her. “Why don’t you read this aloud?” Carly took a deep breath and slid a finger under the flap of the envelope. Inside she pulled out two handwritten sheets of paper. Dear Carly and Dillon, I hope you can read this letter together. This may come as a surprise to you, but my real name is Barbara Fields. I grew up with a single mother who was usually strung out on drugs and alcohol. I rarely had a stable roof over my head or even

two meals a day. Shortly after I turned ten, my mother died of an overdose, and I found myself in foster care. In the next few years, I was bounced around, touched inappropriately, and raised by a number of people who ranged from those who couldn’t care less to those who were fanatics, and so I ran away at fourteen. The next year was as miserable as ever. Then, a year later, I met a young man a few years older than me by the name of Jerome Darvill, and he told me he knew of a place where I would be a member of a family with a warm home and three wellprepared meals a day. I asked him what the catch was, and he said there wasn’t any, that everyone who lived there shared the chores. I may have been foolish but desperate, and so I ed the Pure Path Brotherhood. Jerome immediately selected me to be his woman, not legally in any way. It wasn’t long, though, before I realized that the group was a cult and that Jerome used everyone to his advantage. I came into the group without money, so he had none to take from me. We raised vegetables and made quilts to sell yet were never given any money from the sales as it all went into the group funds, which I found out Jerome largely kept. Then I learned that in the forest around the cult’s lands, Jerome and the other men were raising marijuana and cooking meth, and this raised the majority of the money. I wanted to leave the cult, but people who wanted to leave disappeared. One night I snuck out and followed Jerome and I found out why. I witnessed a violent murder and watched as Jerome buried the body. Because the were all people who didn’t have families, he did not get caught. But then there were some rumblings about the FBI and the DEA investigating the cult, and Jerome told everyone we were going to have a meeting in our meeting hall to discuss the problems we might be facing. By then I knew I was pregnant with you, Carly, and I knew that Jerome would not have cared. So I took what little money I secretly collected from doing laundry or taking a few dollars from Jerome’s wallet, and I made plans to leave. I left almost everything behind, and I took only my birth certificate, my journals, and the photos that I have included. When everyone else walked to the meeting building, I slipped into the forest. I am sure Jerome blocked the doors and set the building on fire. I am still haunted by the sight and sound of flames. I am still scared to death of fire. I am guilty for my inaction and will never forgive myself for not saving my friends. But I faced a choice and chose, instead, to save you, Carly. I feel very lucky that I built a new identity I could be proud of. Carly, I will

always wish I had been able to hold you and to be your mother, but I know I made the right decision in giving you to your parents, who are wonderful people. Dillon, I will always be thankful that I found you and your dad, and I have loved both of you more than I can express. To have that love returned to me has been the greatest gift a woman could ever have. If you’re reading this, I am gone and am happy for an eternity with your father. I will always miss you and Taylor. The journals in this tub contain details about the murders and other crimes that Jerome committed. I know he disappeared, but I suspect he is still alive at this time, lurking somewhere, taking advantage of good people. Evil will, after all, always be revealed. Do not read them, you should not have to be exposed to the information within. Instead, I ask that you get them to the FBI. Your loving mother, Paula Carly folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “Well, we know now,” she said, getting up to put the envelope back in the tub and sealing it with the lid. Then she turned and crawled back onto the bed. “When she wrote that, she didn’t have any idea that Jerome, aka Godfrey, would already be dead and that he died in a way that befits his crimes,” Dillon said. He slid his hand under her shirt and up her spine. “Make love with me, Carly,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. **** Six Weeks Later “Mommy, do I look okay?” Carly looked down at the little girl who would soon be her legal daughter. “You are beautiful, sweet pea.” She wore a below knee length dress made of white eyelet. The child wore white patent Mary Janes with white eyelet trimmed socks. A wreath of daisies and tiny roses adorned her head. “You’re beautiful, too, Mommy.” Carly felt beautiful. Her garden length dress was made of white eyelet also. Because she would be walking across the meadow, she chose flat shoes. She left her hair loose like Dillon liked it and adorned it with a crown of flowers, as well.

“You certainly are beautiful, darling,” Marian said. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Jan appeared, dressed in a similar style of dress in pink. “I wanted to let you know that everything is on track. The men are in their suits, and that includes the sheriff, although I will swear he is more nervous than the groom.” Carly laughed ing the look on the sheriff’s face when they asked him if he would become ordained so that he could officiate at their wedding. He had been speechless and then burst out, “Hell yes, it would be my honor.” Jan continued, “The men have already loaded up in the wagon and are driving over to the south side of the lake, and all the guests are gathered there. Our buggy will be here in a moment.” Insistent on having the wedding on the south side of the lake, Carly did not think about the transportation there. However, Dillon knew of a man with an oldfashioned buggy and a freight wagon that he could hire to provide them rides. The guests could park their cars on that side of the lake and then drive up to the house after the ceremony. They all delighted in the buggy ride, especially Taylor. The three women enjoyed it almost as much. When they arrived, Tucker and Chris were there, hands out to assist first Marian and then Taylor, followed by Jan from the buggy. When it was Carly’s turn, her father approached to help her down and escort her down the grass-covered aisle to her bridegroom. Dillon’s musician friends provided guitar music, and the sheriff stood with his back to the lake with Dillon and Bob to his left. Taylor scattered flower petals as she made her way toward the lake with Jan close behind her. Then it was Carly’s and Roger’s turn. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” “I am, Daddy.” And then they walked slowly when Carly wanted to run. Her heart felt so full of love for the man who awaited her that she could barely pace herself. At last, she reached him, and Roger gave him her hand. She listened as the sheriff read an

excerpt from the Bible and then read the vows Dillon and Carly wrote together. They repeated those after him, and he pronounced them man and wife, saying, “Dillon, you may kiss your bride.” The ride in the buggy back to the house included Taylor. The rest of the wedding party and the guests were just behind, and the three of them led the guests into the backyard where the caterer set up. Before the party got into full swing, Carly’s parents hurried to embrace them. “In case we don’t get a chance to talk to you before you leave on your honeymoon, I wanted to let you know that I’ve talked to Bob,” Roger said. “If I have any problems running the ranch while you’re gone, he’ll be here in minutes.” Carly’s parents returned to Oregon a week after her father got out of the hospital. He took sick time and vacation time until he was considered retired. During that time, they packed up Carly’s belongings as well as their own. They loaded their belongings in a small rental truck and arranged for their furniture to be taken to Coopersville to a large storage unit. Then they settled into the trailer house for the foreseeable future, although they would be sleeping in Dillon and Carly’s home until the two of them returned from their Black Hills honeymoon. Now Dillon slapped Roger on the back gently. “You’re going to do great. The milk cow already loves you. Why just last night she licked your neck.” Their neighbors and friends lined up to wish them well. They all enjoyed the catered meal and then watched as they opened gifts that ranged from household items to ranch items. At last Dillon slipped his arm around her waist. “We have all of our lives to be friendly, but I love you so much, sweetheart, that I’m not willing to share you for the rest of the night. Let’s get out of here.”

A word about the author… Jacki Ring grew up in the Sandhills of western Nebraska, riding horses, herding cows, and driving tractors. Although she has lived in other states and settled in Colorado, she is still a country girl at heart. She loves nothing more than plotting murder and romance and putting these plots on paper. She lives with her husband, daughter, and a feisty feline at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.

Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc. For questions or more information us at [email protected]. The Wild Rose Press, Inc. www.thewildrosepress.com

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