Convictions (11 page)

"Maybe." He flipped the sandwich over to grill the other side. "Or maybe I'm just getting maudlin in my old age."

Olivia managed a halfhearted smile. Ever since she'd come home after being assaulted, her father had been her rock. He was always there to listen and lend his shoulder to her tears, but now there seemed a subtle shift in their relationship. Perhaps she was finally opening her eyes and looking outward rather than focusing solely on herself.

"Do you want one, too?" her father asked, pointing at his sandwich.

"No thanks."

As he deposited the grilled cheese sandwich on a plate, Olivia put the heated soup in a bowl. She carried it to the table and set it down in front of him.

As her father ate his dinner, Olivia poured herself a glass of milk and joined him. She remembered the confrontation between Hank and Dawn, and Buck's warning.

"Something interesting happened at the cookhouse," she began.

Her father glanced up, an eyebrow arched in question. "It seems Dawn Williams is Hank Elliott's sister," Olivia said. "What?"

"Hank recognized her. Dawn didn't deny it, but there's no love lost between them. At least, not on Dawn's side. She said she was using her mother's maiden name so he couldn't find her."

Her father set his spoon down and placed his elbows on the table. His eyes narrowed. "Yet she ends up here?"

"According to her, it was all one big coincidence." She shook her head. "But I don't believe her."

"Do you think she'll be trouble?"

Olivia considered his question, using her instincts to guide her impression of the girl. "No, but I think she has some reason for finding him." She sighed. "She really laid into him about abandoning her. He seemed pretty shook up by her accusation."

Her father scowled. "Elliott doesn't deserve that."

"But he did get himself arrested and thrown in prison."

"For something I don't believe he did."

Olivia made rings on the table with the bottom of her damp milk glass. "You said before that you thought he was wrongly incarcerated."

"So you
were
listening."

"I listened, but I didn't believe you."

"And now?"

She recalled Hank's resentment, and the pain and vulnerability she'd glimpsed in his face when he'd told his story. "Now I'm not certain. He told Dawn he didn't know his friend was going to rob the store, but I've heard that excuse before."

"I have, too, more times than I can count." He paused. "But this time I believe it."

Olivia trusted her father's judgment, but it was still difficult for her to let go of her suspicions, despite her attraction toward Hank. Working with Dawn, she could get a better picture of Hank Elliott, although she had doubts about his sister, too. But, then, Olivia was trained to ferret out the truth.

"Buck wasn't happy to learn Hank and Dawn were related. He said something about hoping it wasn't like another time." Olivia kept her gaze on her father. "Do you have any idea what he meant?"

Her father stood and carried his empty soup bowl and plate to the sink. He threw out the quarter sandwich that remained and rinsed his bowl.

She stood and joined him, her anxiety level rising at his continued silence. "What did Buck mean, Dad?" she reiterated more firmly.

He turned around, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. "Two years ago one of the convicts in the program tried to escape. His girlfriend stopped by, pretending to be some kind of salesperson. She tried to get him a message, but Buck was watching her. He came to get me, and we confronted her. She pulled a gun out of her purse."

Olivia gasped. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. She didn't know much about guns. She didn't realize it couldn't be fired with the safety on. I took the gun from her and called the sheriff. Caleb came and arrested her, and took the prisoner back to the correctional facility."

Olivia's mind raced, imagining a far different scenario, one where the woman was more knowledgeable about guns. Fear made her muscles turn to jelly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, his face suddenly appearing haggard. "You had enough on your mind. You had just started working in the DA's office. I didn't want to worry you."

Anger surged through her, obliterating the fear. "Worry me? Damn it, Dad, you're the only family I have left."

His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. "And what would you have done? Call to lecture me on the folly of the work release program? You've been against the program since the beginning. You would've used the incident as more ammunition against it and, to be honest Olivia, I was sick and tired of listening to your criticism."

Stunned, Olivia knew her mouth was gaping and her eyes were wide. Her father had never before spoken to her this way.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he met her gaze, there was regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Holding up his hands, he said, "That was the only incident like that in all the years I've been doing this, and to my way of thinking, that's a damned good record."

She hadn't known how much her protests had bothered him. She'd only been trying to help him, and she'd ended up upsetting him. Opening her mouth to apologize, Olivia was interrupted before she could speak.

"I'm going to bed, Liv. I'll check the locks. Could you make sure all the lights are out?"

She only had time to nod before he walked out of the kitchen, his shoulders hunched and his footsteps heavy.

He's gotten old.

The realization brought a sharp pang to her heart. While she'd been following her dream, her father had grown old alone. His only passion seemed to be the program, and she had repeatedly maligned it. No wonder there was little mention of the convicts who worked at the ranch in her father's letters. It was a vital part of his life, yet he'd kept it from her. And it was her own fault.

She owed her father so much. The least she could do was bury her aversion for the program—and the convicts—and give her father her tolerance if not her approval.

Chapter Eight

Olivia was pleased at how quickly Dawn picked up on the tasks and routine of her job. Although the teenager seemed preoccupied at times, they worked together well. On Dawn's fourth day on the job, there was another awkward moment when she wanted to clear the breakfast dishes before the men left the dining area. Olivia tugged her into the kitchen.

"They aren't going to try anything," Dawn said, rolling her eyes at Olivia's concern. "Most of them have wives and girlfriends."

"It doesn't matter," Olivia insisted. "When I was in Chicago, I saw a lot of women who had your attitude, up until they were beaten or raped. Many times both." She trembled inwardly, even as she kept her voice steady. There was no way she'd let anything happen to Hank's sister, not while she was under Olivia's supervision.

The girl sighed in exasperation. "That was Chicago. We're in the middle of nowhere. Nothing like that ever happens out here."

A shiver slid down Olivia's spine. Was it the memory of her attack, or was something else making her skin grow clammy? Something like the Jane Doe that Sheriff Jordan had told them about? Of course, that woman had been killed a long time ago. Her murderer was probably long gone.

Probably.

And what about Melinda, who was still missing? Had she run off to vacation in Las Vegas like most people believed, or was she lying somewhere out there in the hills like the recently discovered Jane Doe?

"Please, just humor me," Olivia said to Dawn.

The younger girl rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Olivia heard the men departing. "Now you can clear the tables."

"Fine."

Olivia wondered if she'd been as stubborn at that age. She limped out of the kitchen and almost ran into Hank. He caught her arms and instead of aversion, she fought the urge to lean closer. Before she could pull away, he released her.

"I'm sorry you had to witness our little family reunion, Ms. Kincaid," he said, his voice a mix of chagrin and sullenness.

Olivia blinked, startled by the lame apology. Annoyed, she lifted her chin. But then she saw evidence of sleepless nights and felt a wave of compassion.

"That's all right. I imagine it was quite a shock to see your sister here," she said stiffly after ensuring Dawn was far enough away that she wouldn't overhear them.

Hank smiled wryly, easing the defensiveness in his posture. "That it was."

Suspecting he wanted to know about what his sister had been doing, she said, "Dawn just finished her first year of college in Fort Collins."

First surprise then pride softened Hank's features. "Thanks for letting me know."

She tilted her head to the side in acknowledgment.

His sister came over to pick up the dirty plates from a nearby table.

"Morning, Dawn," Hank said.

She nodded curtly and returned to the kitchen bearing a pile of dishes, not seeing his flinch of pain.

"Thanks for the breakfast, Ms. Kincaid," Hank said formally, then left.

Olivia wanted to slap some sense into his sister. "He's trying," she said to the girl as she finished clearing the last table.

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Too little too late."

"He says he was innocent."

"I believe him."

Olivia stared at the girl. "But you said—"

"I said he left me." Dawn spun away.

Shaking her head, Olivia returned to the kitchen to rinse the plates and wash the pans before placing them in the dishwasher. As she worked, she couldn't help but think about Hank and Dawn Elliott. Dawn believed her brother was innocent, yet she couldn't forgive him for abandoning her. Of course, Dawn had barely been a teenager at the time. All she understood was she no longer had a home, and it was her brother's fault. But Dawn was no longer a girl. Couldn't she forgive him and move on?

If Olivia had been fortunate enough to have siblings, she couldn't imagine disowning them. Surely in a few years Dawn would regret her attitude, but the time in between would be lost forever. And once Hank was out, he'd need as much support as he could get. In fact, Olivia suspected both brother and sister would benefit from having the other to lean on.

Maybe she could help them. She wasn't certain how, but she used to be able to figure out a solution after examining a problem from all different angles. Perhaps if she studied both Dawn and Hank, she'd find a way to help them reconcile.

By doing so, Olivia could repay Hank for his assistance over the past month. It would also assuage her conscience for readily believing the worst of the man because he'd been in prison.

The next day a front came through, bringing a steady rain that clearly had no intention of ending soon. Everybody on the ranch, from the hired hands to the horses to the barn cats were miserable and on edge.

On the second day of the deluge, Olivia listened to the rain on the roof as she and Dawn finished cleaning the lunch dishes and started preparing dinner. Although it was Saturday, June was a busy time, so the only day off was Sunday. This evening many of the men would go home to their families who lived in Fort Collins, Longmont, and even Denver. They'd spend the rest of the weekend with their loved ones, then return to the ranch early Monday morning for another six-day week. Those who remained, including the convicts, would have to scrounge for their own meals on Sunday so Olivia and Dawn could have a day off, too.

Olivia was definitely looking forward to the free time. She'd only checked her e-mail twice since she took over the cook's job, and she hadn't had any time to play spider solitaire. She smiled to herself, deciding that was probably a good thing—she'd become obsessed with the damned game.

She glanced up from her task and noticed Dawn standing motionless as she stared out a window. Frowning, Olivia laid down the carrot she was cleaning and silently came up behind the girl. She looked over her shoulder to the wet world outside and immediately saw who had captured Dawn's attention: the youngest prisoner, Barton. • "He's one of the convicts," Olivia said quietly.

Startled, Dawn jumped, but her attention returned to the poncho-covered young man. "He walked me to the house yesterday." Her voice held an innocent girl's wistfulness.

Scowling, Olivia wondered how that had escaped her attention. "That doesn't mean he's harmless," she warned. "He's in prison for shooting a man."

Dawn turned, her eyes wide. "Why'd he shoot him?"

Olivia returned to the sink to continue cleaning carrots for the dinner stew.

"He must've had a good reason," Dawn said, following her.

She obviously had a crush on Barton.

Olivia repeated what her father had told her, "The man he shot had sold some drugs to his brother, who died from an overdose."

"So he's really not a criminal," Dawn said almost triumphantly.

"He took the law into his own hands."

"But it was for a good cause."

Olivia managed to restrain a sigh of impatience. "Vigilantes are just as bad as the criminals they go after, since they're breaking the law, too. Barton should've gone to the police with his information rather than shooting the drug dealer."

A petulant frown took residence on Dawn's face. "If you'd had the opportunity, would you have shot the man who attacked you?"

Olivia's breath whooshed from her lungs like she'd been kicked in the belly. She grasped the edge of the sink as light-headedness swam through her. That night flashed through her mind in disturbing detail.

Pale light splashing across his gaunt face.

His shadow moving over her.

The odor of garlic, old sweat, and unwashed clothing.

Excruciating pain in her knee.

Hot tears on her cheeks.

She breathed deeply to dispel the sensory images, and the terror leached away. She hadn't had an anxiety attack in weeks and had even gone for two or three hours without thinking about what had happened. Why did Dawn's words bring it all back in shocking detail?