Chapter 51

Worry rose, formed into a ball in Molly’s throat as she moved across the field in the edges of darkness.

It’s got to be Ranger. Rafe. Maybe that new guy, Spence, that cutie, come home to get something.

That eased her mind for all of ten seconds, but she was too smart to ignore the evidence, though her heart wanted to.

No truck. No jeep parked outside.

Not them.

She pulled her sweater closer, almost wishing it would make her disappear. Danger, the aura of it, lurked behind every shadowed tree, every group of bushes. Behind the machinery out in the yard, or in the driveway.

Definitely in the barn.

She didn’t know if it was sass, or the too stupid to live heroine syndrome she’d watched in countless movies and gothic flicks with Jack, but this was still their spread. Still her damn home—and there she did swear.

It was still hers, and damned if she’d let someone skulk around, and possibly do damage to any of it. Do bad things, quietly, where no one could see them.

The vision of her animals came to her mind. Storm. Tawny. Elixir, the expensive thoroughbred they’d acquired recently.

She reached the barn now and it looked foreboding. A huge, dark structure, the outside walls reaching for the sky. So high…

Her hand grazed the open entranceway. She almost didn’t want to touch it as if she did, there was no turning back.

An alarm bell went off in her mind. Where was the light that was supposed to be on, and shining? Even if the electricity failed, they had a generator. It was part of their emergency system, critical when dealing with the livestock that were so important to their operation.

She took a full step in, paused.

The barn, inside, was shrouded with darkness. No illumination, save what filtered in from the starlight and the moon, normally. But tonight there were big clouds in the sky, shadowing things. Damn, she intoned internally. Not good. Not good.

But this was still her place. Their place. She would protect it, and their assets, while they still had them, with every breath in her body. She was Jack Elbert Dawson’s wife, Mistress of Dawson Ridges, this very moment.

She took another tentative step into the dark depths. Another left even the scant light behind.

Suddenly, rough arms of steel encircled her, crushed her. She struggled but whomever it was, was superior. She let loose a warrior roar but it didn’t go far. A dirty, muddy hand pressed so violently against her mouth, it practically dislocated her jaw.

Then this person, this vile intruder shoved her brutally. Grabbed her and walked her jerkily to the inside, into the pitch. A couple more steps, and he abruptly propelled her into the blackness. She fell against a wall, hit her head on iron, and blacked out.

* * *

Molly regained consciousness slowly. She blinked, realized something was wrong after the first few seconds. She attempted to move, but was unable to. Her hands were tied with thick, hemp rope, the bristles cutting into her wrists.

But finally, the one lone bulb that was always on…was on.

“Interesting position to be in, ain’t it?”

She turned, and there, to the left but not too far away, was a figure, enveloped in darkness. “Hello?”

“Hello, my sweet ass.” He laughed. “How are you, Molly Dawson? Queen of the Ridges, Keeper of the Manse?”

The voice was familiar, and remembrance dawned, vaguely. It didn’t help that her head hurt. What the crap was his name? A ranch hand, she thought. Oh.

“Kelvin!”

“Not entirely stupid.” He snorted. “Though I never thought you were.”

Kelvin was one of their long-term employees. Not overly talkative, he kept to himself, mostly. Was known for careful, precision work. But sometimes everything lined up too severely. Others got to expect it, let it be. He got the work done, didn’t make trouble, and quirks were part of hiring people that did good work, Cole said.

But he’d always been a bit odd in that way, and very quiet.

Yet she’d always treated him fairly, and with respect. Because she had respected him. “What’s this about?”

He got up off the old pail he was sitting on, moved out of the shadows. He stared at her, and her skin prickled.

“Bitch. You’re going down.”

“But…”

“See that bag of feed, the gold you’re all feeding that stupid horse?” He motioned to Tawny. “She was abused by her last owner, so she gets the best, now. Horse feed with the latest scientific doodads. Stuff that would work on the space station. Shit.”

He spat on the earth floor. “What with all the medicine, the shots, the garbage she’s getting—a stupid horse—it’s more than I make in a week. When you actually deigned to pay me, that is. And now?”

His face, though relatively young, wrinkled into unkempt folds, sinister shadows in the odd lighting as he looked at her with revulsion. “You give me nothing. You give me shit food and an old mattress. For all the years I’ve worked for you? That’s what I get? While you all live in a fancy home, make shit mistakes all the time, and you still get the lap of luxury?”

She groaned, couldn’t answer. Her stomach was roiling. She was going to throw up.

“Don’t act all innocent with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your sons, those precious Dawson boys, all your people go off and do whatever the hell they want. Sow their wild oats, create an uproar, answer to nobody. No repercussions, no consequences. They come home, pick up where they left off. With all this waiting for them? A ranch that goes as far as the eye can see. Farther. Stock. Riches. Excitement. Family.”

The last word came out with disgust. Molly heard it.

“You all do what you bloody well want without any comeuppance. While we all have to watch our steps, the minutes we stay on task. Dot our I’s and cross our t’s, or else.” A hateful spirit was working itself up in him, taking him over.

“No more.” He delivered the pronouncement with a burn, and anger. “I’m done cow-towing. To your bastard husband. To your loser son. To Dawson Ridges. To you. Because tonight…”

She stared at him, wishing she could shut out his next words, wake from this nightmare. But she knew she had listen, and hear. Because was mad, he was free, and with that sick brain, he had a plan.

“No more little bits of sabotage that drive you nuts. No more planting trouble here and there, seeing you wonder where it came from, who had the damn power over you. Yeah, I loved seeing all the worry. Felt good. When all the bulls went down, I danced. Almost took a knife to their balls to end your plans, then decided poison would be more painful. More worry and cash spent, for you. Expensive steaks! When your stupid son got hit with the lawsuit ‘cause of the horses I drugged over at Raary’s—yeah, that was a brainstorm—it couldn’t have gone better.”

He peered at her in the dark. “Now, it’s worst for you. Everyone’s gone, you’re here, and I didn’t plan it this way, but I can work with it. In fact, you’re going to be a feature of my plan.”

He pointed to the cans of gas that were stacked, way too precisely, between Storm and Tawny’s stalls. Equal distance between them both, and if she measured, she bet she’d find them accurate to a sixteenth of an inch.

Freak.

“It’s all right here. Bunch at the house too.” He smiled a warped, frightening smile. “And you, Molly Dawson, head bitch in charge, are going to be the big firecracker treat right in the middle of it all.”