Sacred Ground (8 page)

Sean grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. "Lance and I think it’d be neat if you and his mom got married."

"Married!"
Brett repeated, his tone expressing his shock. "What kind of idea is that?"

"A great one.
We want to be brothers. We could share a room and be together all the time. If you stop yelling at her, maybe she would like you as much as I do."

Brett nearly laughed at his matchmaker son. "Suppose Lance feels the same?"

"Sure. We…" he paused, rubbing his thumb with his fingertip, "we feel like brothers already. I know you don't want me playing with Lance, but I can't help it. We like the same things and it seems right to be together. We want to really be brothers." He moved closer and wrapped his arms around his father.

Hugging Sean, Brett wondered how much
Lorraine
's leaving had hurt his son. She'd never shown the boy much affection. His grandmother had filled that void, thank goodness.

"I don't think there's much chance I'll ever marry again. I have enough to keep me busy taking care of you and Grandma."

"But you could fall in love with
Willow
, couldn't you?" Sean asked, stepping back.

Brett hated the hope he saw in Sean's eyes. "I suppose anything is possible, just don't count on it.
Willow
and I don't see much eye-to-eye."

"Lance says you keep accusing her of things she didn't do. Why do you do that, Dad?"

Taking a deep breath, Brett pulled his fingers though his hair. "I . . . there are things big people talk about. Boys, like you and Lance, aren't likely to understand. You shouldn’t worry about such things. Now get going before it’s too late to even go." Brett flipped Sean's all-star baseball cap off his head.

"Dad, I hate it when you do that." He grabbed it and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Don't slam the door," he shouted after his son, laughing at youth in general. He tossed a handful of ice cubes into a glass and filled it with water. He leaned against the sink and
Willow
's deep brown eyes and soft smile came to his mind's eye. Absently he swallowed, choked, and then spit the contents into the sink.

"God damn!" he shouted, spitting more. He gagged while reaching into the fridge for the orange juice. He swallowed several gulps with urgency.

"What on earth are you cussing about, Brett? Stop drinking from the carton and get a glass," Elsie Turner said.

"Someone put bleach in the cistern. Damn, I just finished filling it up. Who the hell is doing this?" he shouted.

"Calm down. Are you sure it's bleach?" She took the glass from him and sniffed. "Oh, dear, you're right. This is awful. How will we drain the cistern and get rid of the bleach?"

He saw her concern and the hidden unasked question. Who had done this? Thinking of the truckload he’d just emptied, he rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't slam the door," Elsie called out in a monotone.

His mother's comment caused him to smile in spite of himself. Quickly he tightened off the valve, then climbed up to the top cap and opened it with an angry snap. Immediately the odor of bleach assaulted his nostrils.

"Damn!" he shouted. He should have emptied it when he got home yesterday. Anyone could have done this last night, he thought, anyone but Willow Howling Moon. They'd spent the night together.

He glanced down as his mother approached. "It wasn't
Willow
."

"You almost sound disappointed.
Who then?"

"I don't know." Brett banged the lid back down on the holding tank. "There has to be a reason," he said, sliding down. "Know anyone who smokes cigars?" He reached down the side of the truck bed and retrieved a soggy, half-smoked butt.

"Too bad it rained last night. I saw on Forensic Medicine the saliva on cigarettes can be tested for
DNA
. It's as good as a fingerprint. You think the police could still try to do it with that?" Elsie asked.

He shook his head. "Doubt it. Here." He handed it to her. "Put it in a baggie and I'll check with Mike at the station. Whoever's doing this is bound to get sloppy one of these days." Better be sooner than later.

"Come inside and have some lunch. We should call Mike and have him write up a report on this."

Brett leaned against the old truck and kicked the tire with his heel. "Why? God damn it, why?" Emotion filled him, and he struggled against the tears that threatened to surface.

He stomped over to
Willow
's old truck and got in. It roared to life. He headed down the gravel back road, unsure where he was headed. He needed time to think.

Thirty minutes later, he’d parked below the ridge where Gordon's body had been scattered. The gruesome site still haunted Brett. He'd discovered a leg over the next hill and had vomited on the spot. It gave him nightmares, and he could only begin to imagine what Mike went through when he'd found Gordon's half-eaten head. Damn, it came straight from a Stephen King novel, except this was real. The crazy bastard responsible must be capable of just about anything.

Brett moved from behind the steering wheel, and forced his tired, bruised body up the ridge. Glancing skyward he recognized a front moving in. It looked capable of dumping a good amount of wet, heavy snow their way. He slid his fingertips into the back pockets of his
Levis
, worried about his cattle. His cows were calving. The late spring snows were usually killers, and he couldn't afford any more losses.

He didn't even want to ranch, he admitted to himself. Secretly, he almost wished the place would fold. He didn't want anything to do with his father. Keeping the place and living there only reminded him of his lost dreams and how his father had won.

"Didn't expect you'd ever return here,"
Willow
said.

Brett jumped, torn from his morbid thoughts. "Damn! You could have let me know you were here! Almost shi…you surprised me," he stammered.

"I can see that, sorry. It seemed strange to see my truck coming this way without me in it. What are you doing here?" She stood and brushed off her jeans, smacking her backside free of dust.

Watching the gesture, his breathing increased, and he paused. "I don't know," he finally answered, “Needed time to think. Someone put bleach in the water tank on my truck and I dumped most of it into my cistern. Damn awful mess. I guess it'll save me from sterilizing and cleaning it out later this spring, but now I'll have to drain it all and refill it. It'll take days of extra work."

"You can't be serious?" she said, her tone one of shock. "
You accusing
me, again?"

He couldn't blame her for thinking the worst. He wondered how many other accusations he'd verbally attacked her with, having no more proof than he did right now.

"No," he admitted. "I know you couldn't have done it. You were with me last night."

"Don't let that stop you from thinking it was me. I could have hired someone to do it."

"Damn,
Willow
, I'm sorry. Christ, this is getting out of hand, and I haven't a clue what's going on. I'd always thought my dad had pissed someone off, and they were getting even. He had that affect on people. But it hasn't stopped. In fact, it's getting worse. Last week Wyatt asked me if I'd consider selling the Tumbling T to him."

"What?"
Willow
stomped toward him. "You won't, will you? God, I couldn't stand having him that close. It makes me shudder to think about it." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Thought Gordon and he were great friends."

"Gordon was, not me. I can't stand the weasel. He reminds me of Snidely Whiplash!" she said, chuckling.

Brett laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. It’d been way too long. "Would you believe I've made the same correlation?
Poor Snidely."

"You aren't selling, are you?"

"I'm thinking about it. It holds no sentimental ties for me. I would like to pass it on to Sean, if he wants to be a rancher, but there are times I'd like to pack up and take Mother to a new place, one she could fill with happy memories. I think the old place is nothing but a reminder of the mistakes in her life."

"Sell to me."

"What?"

"If you truly feel that way, let me buy it. I could sell a few horses for the down and get a loan for the rest. Lance wants to continue raising horses. Some day he'll want a place to build a house and raise a family. We could level the old homestead and he could build just up the hill, new, and filled with happy memories, as you said."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"More serious than Wyatt Anderson.
Snidely is in hock up to his armpits. There's no way he could buy you out. What's he thinking?"

Brett thought for a moment. "How do you know he's broke?"

"Rumors, you know how it is. Small town nothing is sacred, and all that."

"You're hiding something, I can tell," he said, wondering how he could sense it.
"You and he an item?"

"What? I’m not interested in that snake! Not on your life! My skin crawls when he gets too close, and not in a good way, like with you . . . I mean . . . Snidely would be the last person I'd let near me." She glanced away.

He noticed her darkened cheeks before she turned her back. So, she'd felt the electricity, too. In spite of all his recent problems, he suddenly felt light-hearted, even happy.

He moved behind her and placed his palms on her shoulders. Without a word, he slid his hands down her arms, then back up again. She pressed her back into his chest, and he put his arms around her and pulled her into him.

Chapter Five

I can't fight it anymore," he whispered in her ear. "You haunt me. Everywhere I go, you're there. I don't understand it. I always thought I hated you as much as you hated me.”

She turned in his arms and saw tenderness in his gaze. "I don't recall ever saying I hated you." She paused, unsure if he moved closer. Her breath caught. A flush of heat rushed through her veins. Did she imagine a sensuous light passed between them?

"I assumed . . . Gordon made it clear I wasn't even to speak to you. That was the way you wanted it. I couldn't imagine what I'd done to offend you that much. Even after his death, you steered clear of me. I figured you wanted it kept that way."

His thumbs rubbed the inside skin of each elbow. He had no way of knowing he stoked a gently growing fire. "I never told Gordon that. I didn't even know you or
Lorraine
. Why would he say that?" She studied his handsome face, liking what she saw.

"He obviously recognized your beauty."

He truly thought she was beautiful? "Not likely. Gordon worried about how quickly I was going to age. He said Indian women got wrinkled and old-looking early in life. Their butts went to their bellies, not a damn one shapely, he use to say."

"The more I learn about Gordon, the more I dislike the man. He had to be crazy not to realize he had an incredible wife. You are, you know. You run your ranch every bit as well as a man, maybe better. Sometimes I wonder how you do it all. There are days I nearly drop from exhaustion, like after branding."

She smiled. "To think I believed you were a
lazy,
spoiled rich kid. You really do work on that ranch, don't you?"

He moved his hands to her waist. She tried to deny the pulsing knot forming in her stomach.

"Harder than I care to admit." He brushed his lips against hers as he spoke.

Her mind told her to pull back, but her body refused to obey. She felt an increasing need to have him kiss her, instead of tease. She slipped her hand behind his neck and gently guided him closer. Never had she wanted a man to kiss her more. His lips were warm and soft, gentle and demanding. His kiss left her breathless and confused. No man should kiss a woman with such depth and emotion.

"Does this mean you no longer hate me?" she asked, dazed by the depth of his kiss. "The fact I'm Indian just might have slipped your mind," she taunted, afraid the jolting reminder would send him heading back to his ranch in a cloud of dust. His grip
tightened,
his attitude suddenly serious.