Pennyroyal Christmas (A Ruthorford Holiday Story Book 1) (10 page)

“Not the best way to treat a guest, boy.” Rowe laughed, patted Tramp’s side and walked over to Pharaoh, who’d decided to graze, ignoring the exchange. Shoving the bag of nails and the hammer back into to saddlebag, he mounted the horse and turned back to look at the fence. “Not perfect, but it’ll do for now. Let’s head home,” he said to Pharaoh and the started across the pasture at a canter, Tramp scampering ahead.

A screech filled the air and the hawk swooped in front of them, sending Pharaoh into a nervous dance. Tramp stopped and watched the bird.

Rowe’s cell phone rang. Pulling it out, he recognized John’s number.

“Hey brother,” he said. “I sure could have used your help today. Fence broke. Two mustangs—”

He stopped talking and listened.

The hawk swooped again. Pharaoh pranced and nickered. Tramp barked once and took off like a shot.

“No!” Rowe yelled, shoved the phone into his pocket, and gave Pharaoh his head. The horse sped after the hawk and the dog.

Man, horse and dog sailed with ease over the fence and headed toward the river.

****

“Dad?” Kat stared at the man holding a gun on her.

He snarled. “Don’t you ever call me that.” He waved the gun, motioning her out of the studio.

“What are you talking about?” She swallowed and feigned surprise.

“Don’t think I don’t know, you half-breed!” he shouted at her, spittle flying from his mouth. His clothes were dirty, his hair ragged, his eyes wild.

“We thought you…,” she let the words trail off and eased around him, almost gagging at his smell. She had a better chance in the open than in the studio.

“Died?” he sneered. “With that whore of a mother of yours?”

“Dad. Stop. Let me help you.” She stepped toward him. He raised the gun. Kat stopped. The cold air rushed around her and she shivered, still feeling the sweat of fear between her breasts.

“Now why couldn’t you die when I fixed the furnace? God damned Indian lover of yours had to spoil everything.” He shoved her forward, toward the woods.

Please, Rowe, find me. Tramp.
She concentrated all her thoughts toward them.
Rowe. Tramp. Help me.
She stumbled over a root and fell.

“Get up, bitch,” he hissed.

“Why?” Kat struggled to her feet.

He started to ramble, pushing her forward with the gun. “Damn Navy didn’t pay well. Your mother wouldn’t help. If she’d just died when I wanted her to, everything would have been fine. But, noooo!” he crooned. Kept throwing up the damn tea I gave her. She whined that it made her ill.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Of course it made her ill. It was supposed to kill her.”

Kat felt her heart pounding. He’d try to kill her mother that long ago. The suicide?

As though he read her thoughts. “I paid a guy to finish it for me. Make it look like suicide. I was at sea. Idiot screwed that up.”

Kat spun around, fire in her voice. “But you came home. We were a family.” She let her voice break.

“A little agreement your mother and I made. When she told me she was pregnant, I thought you were mine.” He stopped, madness in his eyes. “I wouldn’t kill my own kid.”

He waved the gun and shoved her in the shoulder. “As long as your mom turned over the money…her damn father left it in a trust with payments, damn the man. You two were assets. Then we came to this God forsaken town. Figured I’d take a look at this cabin. Maybe sell it and make some money. Damn thing was locked up tighter than a pair of coupling cats!

“I’m not stupid, you know. I overheard your mom crying to some bitch. I put two and two together. So, your momma offered to sweeten her deal, as long as I let her send you away. Life wasn’t too bad, as long as I had you to threaten her with. She did what I wanted and stayed out of my hair.”

“Then her damn money ran out and I had to take on a partner.” His mouth widened into a slash of a grin. “So, I took out insurance. Lots of insurance on all of us. Any smart businessman would. You can figure the rest. Or not. I don’t give a shit.”

They broke through the trees into a clearing. The ground slopped down. Kat stopped. She could see a meadow on the other side. Of what? It looked like a cliff.

“Keep moving,” he hissed. “Can’t claim the insurance if you’ve got a bullet in you.”

“But you’re dead?” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, I’ll show up. Claim amnesia.”

A hawk screamed overhead.

Douglas Chance spun around as Rowe raced into the clearing.

Chance fired the gun and Rowe flew backward off Pharaoh.

Kat screamed.

“Damn Indian!” Doug spat and turned back to Kat.

She backed up and saw a movement off to the side. At that moment, Pharaoh screamed and leapt forward, rearing on hind legs. Doug swung toward the horse, raising the gun.

In a flash of black, Tramp flew through the air, slamming into the man’s chest. The shot went wild and Kat watched Douglas Chance and Tramp disappear over the cliff. A scream lodged in her throat as she ran to the edge. Chance lay on the ground, his head at an odd angle with Tramp on top of him.

She spun, blinded by tears, as she heard Rowe behind her, calling 9-1-1. Blood ran down his cheek from his scalp. “I’m fine.” He grabbed her hand and led her to a path down the side. The rocks kept tripping her up as she refused to take her eyes off her beloved dog. She heard a whimper and Tramp raised his head. She pushed ahead of Rowe. Tramp tried to stand but his front paw gave way and he fell back on the man. At once, Kat was beside him, lifting him, moving him away from the broken man. Tramp looked a bit addled and favored
 
his paw, but seemed okay.

He licked her face. Sitting on the ground, she hugged his ruff of black—the woman and her dog in a patch of pennyroyal, its lilac flowers peeking through the snow.

Rowe came to them and knelt, running his hands over the dog. When he got to his paw, Tramp pulled back and whimpered. “I think it’s a sprain, old man. But we’ll get you checked out just the same. You okay?” He looked at Kat before pulling her into his arms. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered into her hair.

“Never,” she spoke softly and let her hand move to the cut on his head.

“Stunned me,” he said. “I came to when Pharaoh charged and Tramp…,” his voice faltered.

She pulled Tramp to them and held on.

****

Fresh snow that had begun that morning covered the ground and continued to fall softly outside the long expanse of windows at the ranch. The tree was lit, the fireplace crackled, and laughter filled the greatroom.

Brenda lifted her cup of eggnog, “To my family,” she said with a nod to Kat, Rowe, and Tramp, who lay on a soft blanket on the couch, sucking up the attention. His foreleg was bound in a red and green bandage to support his weight while the sprain healed.

Kat had noticed earlier that he walked much better when he didn’t think they were looking. Besides, someone had helped him up on that couch—or had they? She leaned over the back of the couch and planted a kiss atop his furry head.

Rowe excused himself to answer the door. It had taken three stitches to put him back together again and, except for the headache and ringing in his ears—which should go away in about a week, the doctor said—he was fine.

Silence fell as Samuel followed Rowe into the room. He shifted, fidgeting with the brim of his hat. Kat grabbed a cup and walked over, handing it to him. “It non-alcoholic,” she whispered.

“Thanks,” he lifted his glance and took a sip. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled. “Flavoring.”

“I just thought you all would want to know what I found out.”

Kat sat down next to Tramp and Rowe took a seat on the other side on the arm of the couch. Samuel stood by the fireplace, looking at Kat.

“You are one lucky lady,” he began. He’d arrived at the ravine to find Pharaoh pawing at the ground. When he’d looked over, he’d seen Doug Chance dead and Rowe and Kat holding the injured dog. “From what Kat told me and what I found out from your brother,” he gave a nod to Rowe, “Douglas Chance was one crazy son of a bitch and had been for a long, long time.

“That old teabag you gave me,” he said, referring to the one Kat had found in the box and given him on a hunch, “was pennyroyal. Even after this long a time, it was strong. And deadly.”

Pennyroyal, that’s what was nagging at her. First, the book of poetry—it was a pennyroyal plant tooled into the soft leather. Then Morgan gave her the candle. She’d have to talk to them. From what she was learning, and beginning to accept, Ruthorford was more than a little special.

Brenda spoke up. “Your mom wrote me about the peppermint tea he was giving her. My gut made me call her and tell her to stop drinking it. You’re lucky she didn’t have a miscarriage—or worse.” Then she smiled. “But you’re Ruthorford stock. It wouldn’t have happened.”

Samuel spoke up. “He had it all arranged. Their insurance from the boat accident was left to a “nonprofit” group. When John started looking into it…,” he stopped to address Rowe. “Sure wish your brother would come to work for me,” he said as an aside. “John discovered that the money filtered through several dummy groups to an offshore account in, of all things, your mother’s name. I guess he hoped if things went south, she’d be accused of his death.”

Rowe spoke up. “John called me and said they couldn’t find any prints at the house other than your parents. No one thought anything about it. Then he told me Samuel had found a partial print in the basement and it could have been Chance’s, but it wasn’t a hundred percent and besides, the man was dead. That’s when I knew Chance wasn’t dead and I remembered bits of the fight I’d heard at the cabin before they left. I thought he was talking about me. He wasn’t. He was referring to Mark Garrett.”

“Well,” Samuel started toward the hall. “I have a patrol to do. Although, I have a feeling it’s going to be a calm Christmas Eve.”

“Amen,” everyone added and Kat followed him, taking his cup.

“Thanks,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Kristoff Bask from Abbott House will be contacting you. He’s going to get things straightened out for you. He’s Ruthorford’s attorney,” he added when she gave him a questioning look. “You’ll get to know him, sooner or later.” He reached down and kissed her on the cheek. “Welcome home.”

Later that night—after they’d changed Tramp’s bandage for the third time. The dog loved the snow. He had dashed down to the barn with them to feed Pharaoh his Christmas present of oats and a big shiny apple, then raced around in the snow. As soon as he reached the porch, however, he would start limping, the big con artist. When they were finally all snug on the couch with Kat and Rowe on one end and tramp on the other, Kat reached over the back of the couch and picked up a gaily-wrapped parcel.

“This is for you,” she said and kissed Rowe on his lips, letting the kiss linger.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” he said but tore into the box anyway. Nestled in paper shavings, was the statue of Tramp. He pulled it out and studied it.

“There’s a tiny chip near his front paw. I dropped it when Chance showed up.”

He looked from the statue to the injured leg of the dog—they matched. “No. It’s perfect.”

She pushed her fingers threw his hair. “Rowe, just how did you know where to find me?”

“Clancy, Tramp, and Pharaoh brought me to you.”

“Clancy?”

At that moment, the hawk swooped down and landed on the back of the Adirondack chair on the deck. “That’s Clancy,” Rowe laughed and pointed to the window.

“Rowe?”

He eased his arm around her. “There are some things you might want to know about Ruthorford, since you’re a part of it, now.”

She moved into his arms, letting her lips brush his. “Can you tell me in the morning? I have other things I want to learn tonight.”

“It can wait.” He pulled her closer. “Merry Christmas,
Kateri
.”

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered and sank into his kiss.

~THE END~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shanon Grey weaves romance and suspense with threads of the paranormal. THE SHOPPE OF SPELLS, published by Crossroads Publishing House, is the first in her series,

THE GATEKEEPERS.

Shanon spent her life on coasts, both the beautiful Atlantic and the balmy Gulf. Hurricane Katrina taught her the fragility of life and the strength of friendship, family and starting over. She currently lives in northern Georgia, trading the familiarity of the coast for the lush beauty and wonder of the mountains, where her husband fulfilled her lifelong dream—to live in a cottage in the woods. There, she garners inspiration from horses grazing on rolling pastures and deer that wander by to tease her beloved dog.

Stay up to date on other Shanon Grey books and events by visiting her website at:

www.ShanonGrey.com

You can also visit Shanon on facebook and twitter @ShanonGrey
.

A sample of THE SHOPPE OF SPELLS

is included in this digital release.

Copyright 2011, Shanon Grey

All rights reserved.