Montana (27 page)

“No, but he will,” Dakota said with an ironic sort of conviction. “Let's just say the sheriff would be delighted with an opportunity to pin this murder on me.”

“And you didn't do it?”

“You're damn right! I didn't have anything to do with it.”

In his heart he recognized that the rancher was probably guilty of nothing more than poor judgment.

“What about Molly?” Russell asked.

The look in Sam's eyes when he responded was a familiar one to Russell; he saw it every time he saw his own reflection. Pain. Deep desolate pain. “She only speaks to me when necessary,” Sam told him. “I don't know what she believes—then again, maybe I do.”

“Have you spoken to her about this?”

He shook his head. “I don't know how…I'm not entirely sure she's made the connection. She smelled Pearl's perfume on me, but she has no way of knowing the woman I was with that night was the woman who was murdered. I've tried to come up with a way of explaining what happened and I can't. You're the only one I've talked to about this.”

“You made the right decision in coming to me first,” Russell said.

“If worse comes to worst, will you represent me?” Sam asked, and his dark brooding gaze refused to release Russell's.

“I'm not a criminal attorney. You'd be better—”

“You're the only one I trust.”

Russell hesitated. Pearl had trusted him, too, and he'd single-handedly destroyed that. Sam Dakota would do well to look elsewhere for legal representation. In his present state of mind, he wouldn't do the man a damn bit of good.

“Will you?” Sam pressed.

Russell avoided eye contact. “God's own truth, I don't know. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Sam hesitated and then nodded. “Be warned. That bridge is well within sight.”

 

The alley behind Willie's was dark and deserted as Monroe waited for Lance. His mind was churning with the recent events involving Pearl Mitchell. Her body hadn't been found, and while he hadn't verbalized his suspicions, he fully suspected Lance was the one responsible. Killing a valuable piece of Loyalist property was just the kind of thing he'd come to expect from that troublemaker.

For once Lance was on time. He opened the car door and slid quickly inside.

“You heard about the fire?” he asked. “At Dakota's?”

“I heard,” Monroe confirmed. “Do you have any other brilliant ideas?” It was difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“A few.”

“Perhaps you'd better clear them with me.”

Lance's eyes narrowed. “You don't think I can do the job? Then I suggest you try it yourself. Those two are the stubbornest
luckiest
damn pair I've ever seen.”

“I just might.” This wasn't the first time Monroe had thought to take matters into his own hands, especially since he was dealing with a man he considered completely incompetent.

The silence between them was strained with tension. “I'm going after their weakest link next,” Lance said.

“What's that?” Monroe demanded.

“What it is with any family.” Lance was smiling now. “The kids.”

 

“You don't look your normal perky self,” Ginny commented when Molly brought her a tall cold glass of lemonade, then joined her at the kitchen table. Ginny had dropped by unexpectedly, taking Molly at her word. Her timing was perfect; if ever Molly needed a friend, it was now.

“I've been feeling a bit under the weather,” was all Molly would admit. Pride being what it was, she found it difficult to announce that her marriage of less than two months was a failure. She could barely look at Sam. He'd lied to her, misled her and worst of all cheated on her. It was as though she'd searched out and married Daniel's twin brother, she thought bitterly.

Molly's stomach twisted in a knot of pain. She knew how to choose men, all right. From the frying pan into the fire—that was her. When it came to husbands, she seemed to have a knack for choosing the most-likely-to-hurt-her candidates.

What wounded her most was that Sam hadn't bothered to deny he'd been with another woman. She'd ranted and raved and carried on like a fishwife, but all he'd said was that she could believe what she wanted. Which had made Molly all the more furious. He came home smelling like a whorehouse, and
she
was the one who was supposed to feel guilty?

“Sit down, honey,” Ginny advised. “What's wrong?”

To Molly's utter humiliation her eyes filled with tears.

“You want to talk about it?” Ginny asked with a gentleness Molly had rarely heard in the other woman's voice.

She shook her head.

“I suspect you're worried about the price of beef,” Ginny murmured, reaching for a cookie. “I'm telling you, it can't get much worse than this.”

Molly didn't need any other troubles, but they seemed to come in droves. The cattle were ready for market, and the price per pound was several cents less than it had been the year before. The middlemen were making huge profits and in the process destroying the independent rancher.

As if there weren't enough problems in her life, the current slump in beef prices meant they wouldn't have enough money to meet their accrued expenses. Without a loan or some other way of paying the bills, Molly didn't know what they'd do. It was just one more trouble along with everything else—only the
everything else
seemed more pressing just then.

Ginny leaned over and grabbed her hand. “What's wrong, Molly?” she asked again. “Don't be afraid to tell me. It doesn't take a four-eyed snake to see that something's troubling you real bad.”

That was when Ginny's kindness finally reduced Molly to sobs. She covered her face with both hands and wept as if her entire world had shattered hopelessly.

What amazed Molly was that, as she blubbered out the sorry tale, Ginny seemed to understand every word. She told her neighbor about the squabble—but not what they'd fought over—and how Sam had come home smelling of expensive French perfume. He'd been with someone else, Molly was convinced of that. He'd betrayed her.

“You can't really think Sam would cheat on you, Molly!”

“I…I don't know what to think anymore,” Molly confessed.

“Hogwash. You married him, didn't you?”

“Yes, but—” She'd married Daniel, too.

Ginny didn't allow her to finish. “That man's so crazy about you he can't see straight. The minute you come into view his eyes follow you like a hawk watching a prairie rabbit. He'd no more seek out someone else than he'd court a rattlesnake.”

“But…” Molly hesitated. Ginny didn't know all the details, and Molly couldn't tell her. “He misled me about his past.” She inhaled a quavering breath and continued. “It's true I told him this was a fresh start for us both, but I certainly expected him to tell me…certain things.”

“Certain things?”

Molly twisted the damp tissue in her hands and looked away. “Sam's…got a prison record.”

“Oh, that. I know all about it. Walt told me,” Ginny surprised her by saying.

“Gramps
knew?
”

“Course he did. Do you think he'd let you marry any man without knowing everything there was to know about him first? You were his only kin.”

“But I assumed…I thought…”

Ginny rubbed her forehead as she mulled over this latest bit of information. “It makes sense, doesn't it?”

“Sense?” Molly repeated.

“Sam not telling you. The boy was afraid. Figured if you knew he'd done time, you wouldn't have married him. That doesn't sound like a man who'd step out on his wife first chance he got, now does it?”

“Sure he wanted to marry me! Gramps offered him that land and those cattle, and—”

“Fiddlesticks. That land was incentive, all right, and probably got Sam to thinking about marriage, but that
wasn't
the only reason he married you. He was interested in you right off—I could see it and so could Walt. Not having much time left, Walt did the only thing he could. He hurried the two of you along, is all.”

Molly desperately wanted to believe Sam loved her. These past weeks—before the night of the fire—had been the happiest of her adult life. The thought that it had all been a lie hurt more than anything she'd ever faced, including Gramps's death.

Ginny took a long swallow of her drink. “Don't be a fool, Molly Dakota, and make the same mistake as me. I loved your grandfather for longer than I care to admit. We could've enjoyed a few good years together, but we were both too stubborn and set in our ways to let the other know. That was the reason we bickered. We both knew the minute we stopped fighting we'd be making love, and it put the fear of God into us.” The older woman sniffed loudly, dabbing at her eyes. “Damn allergies,” she muttered and blew her nose.

“Oh, Ginny.”

“Trust him, Molly. Walt did, and he was the best judge of character I ever knew. I swear to you that you won't be sorry.”

Ginny left soon afterward, and as Molly waved her off, she noted that Sam's truck was back. He hadn't told her where he was headed that afternoon, and she hadn't asked. They weren't exactly on speaking terms. He ignored her except for the most basic conversations about ranch or household matters, and she did the same with him.

Still standing in the back doorway, Molly saw Tom and Clay trudging down the long drive, with Clay's half-grown dog trotting beside them; the school bus dropped them off at the end of the quarter-mile ranch road, where Bullwinkle faithfully waited for Clay. Molly had snacks ready and waiting. Both boys acted as if they were half-starved whenever they walked in the door after school.

“You and Sam still fighting?” Clay asked as he grabbed his lemonade and two chocolate-chip cookies.

“We aren't fighting, exactly,” she murmured. She'd done her best to hide the tension between her and Sam from the children and was relieved that he'd done his own part to disguise it.

“Well, hurry up and forgive him, would you?” Tom said. “Sam's about as much fun as fried liver and onions these days. How much does he have to suffer before you'll forgive him?”

“Tom!” Molly couldn't believe her son would ask such a question. “What's between Sam and me is none of your business.”

“Is this what happens when people get married?” her youngest son wanted to know. “It's great for a little while, and then you fight and everything changes?”

Difficult as it was to admit, her boys were right. This unpleasantness had gone on long enough. Ginny's observations had hit home, and now her own children were saying essentially the same thing.

Running her fingers through her hair, Molly squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and headed out the back door.

“Where you going?” Clay called after her.

“Where do you think, stupid?” his brother taunted. “Leave them be, all right? And if Mom comes back with straw in her hair, don't ask any questions.”

Molly turned to glare at her oldest son, but Tom only smiled and winked. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders and she grinned. At the moment a bit of straw in her hair appealed to her. She'd missed Sam. After a decade without lovemaking, it surprised her how easily she'd adjusted to the routine of married life.

Sam was in the barn cleaning tack and barely glanced up when she entered.

“I have something to ask you and I expect the full truth,” she announced.

Her statement was met with silence.

“All right?” she asked, feeling suddenly uncertain. It would've been easier if Sam had approached her, instead.

“Fine. Ask away,” he muttered.

“Were you or were you not with a woman the other night?”

“That depends on your definition of
with.
”

“I didn't realize this was a technical question.” She crossed her arms defensively.

“If you're asking if I slept with—as in had sex with—another woman, then the answer is a flat-out no.”

“Oh.”

“If you're curious as to what I was doing, I'll tell you. A lady asked for a ride home and I gave her one. She was grateful and hugged me, and I swear to you, Molly, that's all it was. A hug, nothing more.”

The intensity of his look burned straight through to her heart. She wanted to believe him so very much.

“I've only loved one woman in my life,” he continued, methodically polishing the worn leather of her grandfather's saddle. “And that's you.”

Molly felt her chest tighten. She wanted it to be true, and while he'd shown her in a hundred ways that he cared, he'd never said the words. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, “I love you, too.”