Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (31 page)

She hadn’t covered much distance when she heard her name called. She swung the wheelchair around.

Mike strode toward her, the light from the doorway outlining his body against the dark sky.

Her heart did a handspring. Maybe they’d talk and clear the air.

He stopped several feet from her. ”Why are you doing this?”

She could see him clench and unclench his fists. “Doing what?”

“Singing with the group.”

“Because Wanda and Chuck asked me to.”

“First you ask
me
not to tell people where you are, which has made my life plenty difficult. Then you decide to ride on a parade float, where the entire county will see you. Doesn’t add up, Kate.”

She looked down.

“So, what’s the deal?” He blew what sounded like an exasperated huff through his nose.

She lifted her chin. “Wanda said they needed a soprano, so I …” How could she tell him that, despite danger he didn’t know about, she believed God wanted her to sing in the parade?

He cursed, something she’d never heard him do before. “If it’s that hard to explain, don’t bother. From the moment you came to Copperville, you’ve left a trail of questions. Why not another one.”

Kate gripped the arms of her chair. “Did you tell Tara Hughes I’m staying with Dymple?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that.” He swiveled and marched toward the chapel.

“Mike, wait, please.” She hated to beg, but they had to find a way to dissolve the tension between them.

Hand on the railing, he stopped.

“I’m sorry. That was a low blow. Tara came to Dymple’s house looking for me right after I got out of the hospital. I didn’t know how she knew …”

Mike twisted toward her. “So you assumed—”

Kate swallowed. She had to say it. “I’d seen you with her by the barn. You seemed close. But I believe you when you say you didn’t tell her. And I apologize for making an assumption without asking you about it.” She stopped—and waited.

For a long moment, he stood still, his shoulders squared against the yellow light. “I apologize for my language. Better go help the team pack up the equipment.”

Kate slowly rotated her chair to face a cemetery shrouded by nightfall. They’d apologized to each other, but had they made any inroads in the impasse? She should have told him how much she missed him. But did he miss her? If tonight was any indication, the answer was
no
.

***

Mike took a curve fast—too fast for the old truck. The tires squealed, but he didn’t care. He’d blown it with Kate. He might as well blow a tire. The night air whooshed through the open windows and slapped at his face.

She made him crazy. Not the way Hughes made him crazy, but the way she refused to open up. From the beginning, she’d been reticent and mysterious. All questions and no answers. Even so, he wished he’d told her about the upcoming bison sale. On second thought, what did she care about his buffalo? She chose to leave the ranch, though they’d asked her to stay.

He rubbed his jaw. Why was he so upset? Not only had he and Kate not committed to an exclusive relationship, she evidently had something going with Clint. Yet, like the first time she’d ridden in Old Blue with him, tonight he’d sensed her pain and longed to hold and comfort her.

A skunk ambled onto the highway. Mike slowed and swerved to avoid it. He picked up speed again. Why hadn’t Chuck and Wanda told him they’d asked her to join the team? The moment he saw her in the doorway, he’d become completely discombobulated, barely able to breathe, let alone play his guitar.

He circled the base of a hill. The radio lost the station and momentarily hissed empty airwaves. Mike massaged his temple. How could Kate even
suggest
he’d reveal her location? Why didn’t she trust him?

Then it hit him. He’d told her about his part in Matt’s death. She had good reason not to trust him. He eyed the sliver of moon that followed his progress from just above the hill. Though he was offended by her accusation, he didn’t have a right to be rude or to leave Kate to find her way in the dark through a minefield of tombstones and tree trunks—in a wheelchair she needed because of him.

He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. He could have at least offered her a flashlight or pushed her wheelchair to the house—or given her a ride. Now it was too late. He and the team had spent half an hour packing up the sound equipment. Surely she’d made it home by now. But maybe not.

He braked to a stop on the deserted highway and made a fast U-turn. Dymple’s place was less than five miles back.

Within minutes, he parked alongside the entrance to her driveway. For a moment, the pickup’s headlights illuminated the dragonflies and hummingbirds on her blue mailbox. He cut the lights and the engine, got out the passenger side and slipped through the partially open gate.

His plan was to knock on the front door and ask Dymple if Kate had returned. But as he neared the structure, he saw light spilling from the side of the house onto the patio and thought he heard voices. Rather than bother Dymple, he decided to take a quick peek to see if Kate was inside.

From behind a bush, he looked through the patio screen. Both women were in the house, thank God. They appeared to be having an animated discussion. Curious to hear what Kate had to say about him—he’d given her plenty to talk about, if she cared to mention him at all—he inched closer.

But then he checked himself. He’d learned what he needed to know. Time to go.

***

Dymple closed the patio door. “I meant to shut this before I went looking for you.”

Kate watched her draw the blinds closed. “I’m surprised. You rarely close that door.”

“Tonight is different.” Dymple returned to the kitchen. “Would you care to have a cup of chamomile tea with me before bed? It’ll warm you and help you sleep.” She carried the teapot from the stove to the sink to fill with water.

“I would love some tea, anything hot. I should have taken a jacket.” A shiver vibrated through her.

“I’ll get you a quilt.” Dymple set the teapot on the stove and turned on the burner. “It’s not good for you to be chilled so soon after surgery.”

Kate let Dymple wrap her in a heavy cotton comforter and settle her into the recliner with a pillow under her head, her legs raised. It felt good to be mothered—something she hadn’t experienced since her parents’ death. She’d once thought she wanted Laura Duncan for a mom, or a mom-in-law, but Dymple was a mom and grandma all wrapped into one sweet, generous woman. “You’re spoiling me again.”

Dymple tucked the corners of the quilt around her legs. “My pleasure.”

Kate snuggled into the heavy blanket. The mellow smell of the chamomile made her feel like she could ignore her problems for a few hours, and like she could fall asleep at any moment.

Dymple poured them each a cup and sat on the couch. After they’d both sipped at their tea, she looked at Kate, an unusual expression on her face.

Kate raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“I had a strange phone call tonight.”

Her serious tone sent a different kind of chill through Kate.

“From someone I know?”

“Evidently.”

Kate set her mug on a coaster.

“It was a man who asked, or rather, demanded, to speak to you. And he didn’t believe me when I said you weren’t here.”

Ramsey
. Kate’s jaw clamped so tight she could barely speak. “Did he give you his name?”

“No. But he said to tell you he’d find you, that he’d make you pay for ruining his life. That’s the reason I locked the patio door.”

Kate groaned. Would she never escape Ramsey, never escape her past? “That’s why I can’t stay at your house, Dymple. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“Is he the person you told me about earlier?”

She nodded.

“Is that why I found a knife in your bedding?”

Kate tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

“When I packed your things at the Whispering Pines, I stripped the bed, and a big butcher knife fell out. Do you know how it got there?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kate finally answered. “Yes. I put it there.”

Dymple stared into her soul the way she had the first time they met. “That’s it? You put it there?”

“What more is there to say?”

Dymple’s wrinkles knotted on the bridge above her nose. “You must have had a reason for placing a knife under your pillow.”

Kate clasped her hands on top of the quilt. “My first night at the Whispering Pines, the guy who called here broke into my cabin—but Mike chased him away. I knew he’d be back, so I put the knife under my pillow. That’s the reason.” Before the butcher knife, she’d used Uncle Dean’s hunting knife. Where was it now? Did Ramsey have it? Had he called her from jail—or was he out?

“That’s a
hint
of a reason.” Dymple put her cup down. “Kate, your life is in danger, and apparently, mine, too. It’s okay to have secrets, but there are times when you need to reach out, to get help. Even the Lone Ranger had tonsillitis.”

Kate snickered. She couldn’t help it.

“Oh, dear.” Dymple screwed up her face. “Did I do it again?”

“You said the Lone Ranger had tonsillitis.”

She huffed. “I meant to say ‘Tonto.’”

“I thought so.” Kate sipped at the tea, which Dymple had sweetened with a
dab
, as she termed it, of local honey. Perhaps it was time to bare her soul. She hated to dump her garbage on her host, but Dymple, like Mike, wanted an explanation for her secrecy. “Okay, Tonto, here goes.” She took a long breath.

***

Kate told Dymple everything—Ramsey’s full name, how and where they met, the incidents at the Whispering Pines. She talked about foster parents who used her to get money from the state and abused her in every imaginable way. She told how she ran away, again and again, about life on the streets, about selling her body to maintain a meth habit, and about her years behind bars. She explained that another conviction could trigger three-strikes-you’re-out sentencing and result in a lifetime behind bars.

Dymple listened intently, interrupting now and then to ask a question or offer more tea.

When the clock on the fireplace mantel chimed midnight, Kate rubbed her eyes and yawned. “That’s it. That’s all there is to say about my sordid history.” She picked up her cup for a final sip, amazed by the lightness she felt in her soul. Maybe it was because Dymple was such a compassionate listener.

Dymple settled her cup atop the saucer on the coffee table. “I need to know more about this Jerry Ramsey person.”

“There’s not much I can add, except that he’s a sick blend of crazy and evil.”

“I don’t understand why he’s after you, why he thinks you ruined his life.”

Kate stared at the ceiling. “I’m ashamed to say I traded Ramsey sex for drugs. But after I found God—or God found me, I wanted Ramsey and dope out of my life. That didn’t go over so good, but he was transferred to another unit, which was a relief, until I realized I was pregnant.

“When I started to show, I’d been imprisoned long enough it was obvious the father was a correctional officer. After a lot of pressure from the staff, I finally told them Ramsey was the one who got me pregnant and agreed to an abortion. I later heard he was fired.”

“Is he violent?”

“He beat me up the day I …” Kate wiggled her fingers above the edge of the quilt to indicate quotation marks. “
Broke up
with him. I regained consciousness in the infirmary and remained there for several days. Even so, I refused to rat on him until later.”

“You poor dear. I’m surprised you didn’t lose the baby.”

Kate swirled leaf particles at the bottom of her teacup. It might have been better if Ramsey had been the one who killed the baby, not her.

***

Mike punched the start button on Kate’s computer. “Can you believe it’s July already?”

Coach swung his chair around to face Laura and Mike. “Is Whispering Pines entering a float in the Fourth of July parade this year?”

Mike shook his head. “Who around here has time to make a float?”

“All you’d have to do is put a couple bison calves in the back of a truck and you’d have the biggest hit of the parade.”

Laura looked up from her work. “It’s not that easy. We’d need banners for the truck. Plus, we’re running low on brochures, so we’d have to get more printed and also buy candy to throw to the kids. Might even be insurance issues to consider, in case harm is done by or to the calves. The biggest drawback is that it may be too late to get an entry approved by the parade committee.”

“Just a thought.”

Mike offered a thumbs-up. “I think it’s a great idea.” But then he grunted. “Uh-oh.”

Laura frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“This desktop background. I think it’s—”

Laura and Coach hurried to his side, but Laura looked away as soon as she saw the picture. “That’s horrible.”

“Where did that come from?” Coach squinted at the screen. “Did Kate put it on there?”

“She couldn’t have. The calf was knifed while she was in the hospital.”

The two men stared at the close-up of the bloody gash, then at each other. Coach’s brow wrinkled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yep.”

Laura stood to the side, her gaze averted from the screen. “What are you two talking about?”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “It’s a different calf.”

The visitor bell and the telephone rang at the same time.

Mike jumped to his feet. “I’ll get the counter.”

“Thanks.” Laura returned to her desk and reached for the phone.

A middle-aged couple stood at the front desk, their faces bright with expectancy.

Mike forced the gruesome image of the dead calf out of his head and a smile onto his face. “Welcome to Whispering Pines. How can I help you?”

The man spoke first. “We’re the Cunninghams.” He had solid shoulders and a husky voice. “We have reservations.”

Mike searched the computer files. “Here you are. Buck and Sherri from Lubbock, Texas.” He reached across the counter to shake their hands. “I’m Mike Duncan.” He checked the computer again. “You’re staying three weeks, right?”

Sherri nodded.