Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid (19 page)

The identification of Melanie Harte's remains—and the subsequent wide net of suspicion cast on him—had effectively shattered that future.

The irony of the past didn't escape him. He had left her a decade ago in an effort to protect her from a no-good son of a bitch like him. He was doing the same now.

Once more he faced charges for a crime he didn't commit—this time for a heinous crime against a member of her own family—and the injustice of it made him want to climb to the highest spot he could find and shake his fists at the sky.

So close. He'd been so close to grabbing the prize, the only thing he had ever wanted. A home, a place to
belong, with the woman who had owned his heart since she was just eighteen.

And now he had nothing. Less than nothing. A few memories that cut his heart like a fresh blade.

He drew in a ragged breath and dismounted at a spot where the trees thinned. Below him the Star Valley spread out, little clusters of population surrounded by acres and acres of farms and ranches.

The dark clouds overhead saturated the valley with color. The countryside looked fresh and clean and verdant.

A place where he would always be an outsider.

He couldn't stay anymore. If Jesse Harte wanted him here to face charges, he could damn well charge him with something or cut him free. This had been just a brief, wonderful interlude that ended in disaster, and now he needed to get back to his real life.

His solitary, empty, colorless life.

He sighed, fighting the primitive urge to keep on riding until he reached the Rendezvous, then toss Cassie over his saddle and ride off into the mountains with her.

No. He couldn't. He had to head back to the Lost Creek, to spend one more night at the guest ranch he now owned and didn't know what to do with.

He didn't feel right about turning around and selling it to someone else. Not when he had promised Jean Martineau he would care for her ranch with the same care she had always given it.

He would just have to hire someone to run it. Would Cassie consider the job? he wondered, then discarded the idea just as quickly. She would excel at managing the place, he had no doubt about that whatsoever. But he could never ask her to work for him on a permanent
basis, even if he thought for a minute she might even consider it.

What a mess. He'd been so damn sure his plans to woo her again would eventually succeed that he hadn't planned for failure at all.

With another deep sigh of regret, he shoved his boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He spared one last look at the pristine valley below before nudging the horse back down the trail.

He had only ridden a hundred yards when he heard something crash through the undergrowth on the trail ahead of him, hidden from view by the thick brush. Moose and elk often frequented the thickly wooded area. They were about the only thing big enough to make that kind of noise, he thought, then he heard a high whinny and the unmistakable sound of a horse at full gallop.

Damn. What kind of idiot takes a muddy, steep trail like this at such a pace? Either the animal was out of control or its rider had some kind of a death wish.

He spurred his own mount as fast as safety dictated to catch up with the rider. As he burst around the bend, he saw a muscular buckskin being urged hell-for-leather down the trail. At first he thought the rider was a foolish boy who had been caught out in the weather unprepared, judging by the lack of rain gear and the short dark hair plastered to his head.

Then, as the rider turned around to see who followed, Zack had a quick impression of delicate, pale features, and realized the rider was no boy.

It was Cassie. And she looked scared to death.

He thought for a moment she was going to keep hurtling down the mountainside, but she finally reined
in the buckskin. The horse skidded to a stop then stood, sides heaving, while Zack caught up with her.

He dismounted and rushed to her, his arms out. She slid almost bonelessly into them, stumbling when she reached the ground. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her so tightly to his chest. He realized she was trembling, from cold or shock, he wasn't sure, and his gut clutched with dread.

“What is it? What's happened?” Urgency sharpened his voice.

Her voice sounded dazed, thready. “He killed her. We have to get out of here. I think I heard him following me.”

She tried to pull away from him, her face tight with fear, but he held her fast. “Who? Slow down!”

“Wade. He…he killed Melanie. I stumbled onto proof at the Rendezvous. I tried to hide it from him, but I couldn't and he…I think he was going to hurt me, too. I threw a pot of soup at him and ran. All I could think about was coming here, to the Lost Creek. To you.”

His arms tightened around her, and she rested her cheek against his chest only for a moment, then drew back frantically.

“We can't stay here. I think he's crazy. Who knows what he'll do if he finds us. Come on. We have to get to the ranch and call Jesse.”

And she needed to get out of this rain and her wet clothes before she caught pneumonia. Already he could see signs of hypothermia in her bloodless lips and dazed expression. He pulled off his oiled slicker and wrapped her in it. She was trembling so much he didn't think she would be able to stay in the saddle much
longer. “I think you and your horse are both done for. You can ride with me.”

She opened her mouth as if she to argue, then closed it again, obviously deciding there wasn't time.

Grateful for the strength of the big, rawboned bay he'd been riding since his arrival at the ranch, he mounted first, then reached down and helped her up behind him. She clung tightly as he urged the horse down the trail, the buckskin plodding tiredly behind.

She wrapped her arms around him, soaking in the heat that emanated from his powerful back. Although deep tremors still shook her body, for the first time since that gruesome discovery—no, for the first time since the week before, when Jesse had growled out the news about Melanie's death and Zack had pushed her away—she began to feel safe and warm again.

As they rode, she explained her discovery to him, about stumbling onto that terrible box and the story Wade had told her of Melanie's death.

“How did you get away?” he asked, shifting in the saddle so he could see her through the gathering darkness.

She winced. “I, um, threw a pot of hot beef and barley soup on him and ran out the door.”

“Soup? You threw
soup
at a man threatening to kill you? A man who has already murdered at least one person who stood in his way?”

Feeling warmer by the second, she clenched her teeth at the stunned disbelief in his voice. “Yeah, I know. It was a waste of good soup. How about the next time a murderer comes after me, I'll ask you first before I make any kind of move to protect myself?”

Before he could answer, they heard a loud rustling in the thick brush twenty yards or thirty yards ahead
of them. Both horses alerted, tails raised. With a soft command to the bay, Zack reined in the horse, his head up like a tawny mountain lion scenting danger.

Although there was a good hour of daylight left, the steady rain created a thick, misty curtain that limited visibility. All she could hear was the heavy pounding of her pulse and the musical drip of raindrops plinking off the leaves.

“Is it Wade?” she whispered through the fear in her throat.

He squeezed one of her hands wrapped around his middle. “I'm not sure. Probably not. A man doesn't quickly recover from having a pot of beef and barley soup hurled at him.”

He gave her that lopsided grin she loved so much, then it slid away. “Damn. I wish I'd brought a revolver with me.”

A revolver?
Did he really think he might need a weapon? She had never wanted to put Zack in danger. All she had been thinking about was escape. Now her mind reeled with a dozen scenarios, each more grim than the last.

After a moment they heard nothing else down the trail so Zack cautiously urged his horse on. Before they could make it even ten yards, Wade stepped out of the brush, holding a shiny black handgun aimed right at them.

Cassie swallowed a shriek, and her grip tightened convulsively around Zack.

All signs of the benign, friendly man she had known had disappeared, replaced by an angry stranger. Wade's face was a dusky red, as if he had spent way too much time in the sun. Odd, since it was so cloudy. It took
her several seconds to realize he must have been burned by the soup broth.

“Oh, this is perfect,” he drawled. “It couldn't be more perfect. I can take care of two problems at once.”

Horrified, Cassie stared at him. What had she done? She had led Wade right to them, now here they were unarmed and completely at his mercy. Dear heavens. She should have escaped to the Diamond Harte. It was several miles farther, but Wade wouldn't have been able to storm into the ranch house.

And even if he had managed to catch up with her, at least Zack would have been safe.

“How did you find me?” she asked, and cursed her voice for trembling.

“It wasn't hard. When you stole my horse, I knew you would come here. To him. Slater.” He said the name like the vilest curse. “Besides, you left a trail a mile wide for me to follow. I just can't figure out why you're still so hot for him after what he did. I would have been so good to you.”

“Like you were for Melanie?”

The words tumbled out before she could swallow them down, and she winced. When would she ever learn to shut her big mouth?

If possible, more color suffused his face. “You don't know anything about that. I loved her.” He gestured emphatically with the hand holding the gun, and she held her breath, waiting for the bullet to dig into her flesh. Or worse, for Zack to be hit.

He appeared to be struggling to regain control. A moment later he pointed the gun at them again. “Get down. Both of you.”

Inside the circle of her arms, Zack's already taut frame tensed even more. “Why?”

“I'm the one with the gun. Because I said so, damn it. Now get off the damn horse.”

Her legs were shaking just like the rest of her, and she had to grip Zack's hand tightly to keep from falling as she dismounted. Once she reached the ground, he climbed down from the horse to join her, then moved in front of her, shielding her body with his.

Wade noted the gesture with a cold smile. “You really think you're going to take me on? It looks to me like I'm the one holding all the aces here. My Colt .45 trumps your bare hands any day.”

The bare hands in question clenched convulsively. This must be horrible for Zack. Forced to stand helplessly and do nothing while they both literally stared death in the face.

Wade pointed the gun at Zack suddenly. “Cassidy, you tie up the horses. Mine, too. We wouldn't want them to wander back to the ranch and raise any suspicions. Oh, and make sure those knots are tight, too, unless you want to watch your loverboy die right here.”

With cold, shaking hands, she obeyed then stood aside while Wade double-checked her knots.

“All right. Now walk,” Wade ordered, his voice hard.

“Where are you taking us?” Zack asked.

She suspected even before Wade answered.

“There's an old, abandoned cabin between the Rendezvous and the Lost Creek,” he said. “Jean and I keep it maintained for the tourists to see what an authentic Western homestead was like. It's the perfect place for a lovers' tryst.”

His laugh raised her hackles. “And for a lovers' spat.”

They walked single file through the heavy timber on what looked like little more than a deer trail, Cassie in the lead, Zack a few steps behind her and Wade coming up the rear, his gun trained on them both. Even with the warmth of Zack's oiled slicker, she was still wet and cold.

What did it matter if she was shivering? She was going to die in a few moments, anyway.

“So you're going to kill us both and make it look like a murder-suicide?” Zack broke the silence, his voice almost casual. She marveled at his grit—how was he so calm when she could barely make one foot move in front of the other?

“That's the general idea.”

“You used to be a cop. I'm sure you're aware those kind of crime scenes aren't easy to fake.”

“I'll make it look good. Trust me. It won't be too hard. Everyone knows you and Cassie are on the outs now, that she and everybody else think you murdered Melanie. I've got the proof right here.”

Eyes focused on the trail ahead of her for some kind of weapon, she barely heard a thump as he patted the pocket of his slicker. He must have brought the box with Melanie's picture and her jewelry.

“Your poor grief-stricken brother will be smart enough to put it together, Cass. The minute the police chief sees this in your cold, dead hands, he'll know you found evidence that your lover killed Melanie. Even he'll be able to figure out you must have confronted Slater with it, forcing him to kill you. Then, unable to live with his crimes, he turned his gun on himself. It's very romantic, really. The perfect setup.”

It
was
perfect. Given his overwhelming animosity
toward Zack, Jesse would be quick to jump to such a conclusion.

She couldn't let Wade get away with it, she thought fiercely. Not only because she didn't want to die here on this cold, rainy mountainside, but for Zack's sake.

It wasn't fair. He had been unfairly blamed for too many things, only because he was an outsider.

Through a break in the trees she saw the outline of a structure ahead and knew they were almost at the old cabin. They didn't have much time. She had to figure something out.

She was just wondering if she could create a diversion long enough for Zack to get away when he coughed behind her. She surreptitiously turned her head to look at him and their gazes met. The sun had almost slipped behind the mountains to the west but she had enough light left to see him mouth a single word to her.