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The east side of the tall grain bin was the perfect place for Allie to escape. To think. The area was off bounds to guests, and even wranglers only came here when it was time to refill the feed truck. She slumped to the ground, leaning her back against the steel wall, trying to remain optimistic. She hadn’t even stayed to watch Janet bottle feed the calf, needing to be alone to digest Carter’s words.
Guilt. He felt guilty. That was almost laughable if it wasn’t so problematic. A man’s psyche could be a fragile thing. She remembered his tortured expression when he confided about his failure to save his horses. He’d worn that same look today, the one that said he’d failed to protect something he loved. And the knowledge was eating at him.
Perhaps she should have anticipated it. She could have asked Sharon to stop referring to her as a hero and building her up in front of the guests. And she should have tried harder not to limp, to keep her hands covered, to hide the ill effects from her hike. From now on, she’d put away her colorful animal slippers and squeeze her feet back into her boots, no matter how much they hurt.
She wiggled her foot, staring at her purple moose slippers with the floppy ears and cross-eyed smile. She’d miss the slippers, not only because they were the only thing that didn’t hurt her feet but because she and Janet shared a tacit moment whenever she slipped them on. They both knew a rampaging moose wasn’t at all cute.
She flipped over her hands to check the skin on her palms. Ugly and sore, but hopefully they’d heal soon. The laceration near the base of her thumb was the deepest, courtesy of Dead Man’s Gorge when Carter’s trusty lariat had been the only thing keeping her from smashing into the rocks.
Did the use of his lariat bother him too? Besides relying on it to find help, she’d also used the rope to pull him from the river but that only proved he was a good instructor. Although in the future maybe she shouldn’t talk about roping either. And she wouldn’t pick up a lariat ever again even though she’d harbored a secret fantasy about learning to ride and rope properly.
Still, she couldn’t keep her hands hidden forever and they might carry scars. Carter might never want to discuss it but he’d see her hands and remember. Besides, the entire Man Tracker experience had affected her. Shaped her. Made her realize she was strong, capable and more than able to look after herself. She couldn’t just sweep those events beneath the carpet. She didn’t want to.
She closed her eyes in despair and pressed the back of her head against the steel wall. He’ll get over it.
But that reassurance felt empty. What if he didn’t? Logically, he must know that he had saved her life. Sharon Barrett had offered him lifetime employment for his courage, and Sharon didn’t make offers like that lightly. Apparently she had also offered him a chalet but he’d declined, saying he preferred to remain in the dorm.
That was worrisome. A man like him valued his privacy. Did the rejection mean he planned to move on? Possibly return to the rodeo? He’d only left the circuit because of Jenica and not feeling worthy of his fans. She blew out an achy breath, remembering how she’d thought him arrogant because he hadn’t wanted his fan mail or to sign autographs. A cocky Mr. July who took everyone’s adoration for granted.
He wasn’t like that at all. She’d never seen him take advantage of his looks or fame. But that deep core of ethics—that ingrained sense of responsibility—might kill their relationship before it really started.
She sniffed away a tear. She wasn’t going to sit and cry. She had to do something. Maybe take a backpack and head off into the woods. Ask Sharon to make Carter find her, calling it practice for Man Tracker or something. She could be lost for days, lose her pack, run into a grizzly—the possibilities were endless.
Only he’d know it was staged. So would she. Then neither of them would feel very good about themselves.
Something clanged on the stairs of the tower, but she kept her eyes closed, too despondent to care. Hopefully, whoever was climbing the exterior stairs wouldn’t see her. She didn’t want to talk, even to a well-intentioned wrangler. Her friends thought she preferred company, but that had changed. And right now she just wanted privacy.
But minutes later, steps shuffled closer. Allie reluctantly cracked open her eyes. Rebecca’s head appeared around the corner, her face flushed. “The cat!” she called. “He’s stuck in the grain bin.”
Allie jerked forward. Someone must have left the inspection hatch open. Sharon would be livid. “Was he chasing a mouse?”
“Quick!” Rebecca said, waving her cane. “You’ll have to climb the stairs and get him. Before he panics and sinks!”
Allie jerked to her feet, galvanized by Rebecca’s alarm. She rushed around the side of the tower and hurried up the winding stairs leading to the hatch.
Just as she feared, the hatch door was open. She stepped onto the narrow ledge and bent over the railing, searching for the cat. And there he was, fifteen feet below, stuck in the grain and staring up at her. Only his head and back were visible. He’d be all right if he didn’t move. But at the sight of her, he gave a pitiful yowl and struggled toward the side of the bin.
Rebecca clanged up the stairs and leaned beside her, still puffing from the exertion.
“He’s okay,” Allie said. “But we need to get a wrangler to bring a board, make a ramp. There’s a safety harness and a ladder—”
Her words turned to a squeal of shock as something lifted her legs. The next second, she was flying through the air, arms flailing, her squeal cut off as grain filled her mouth.
She rolled over on top of the oats, feeling like a clumsy snow angel. She wasn’t hurt but she could have squashed the cat.
“What the hell, Rebecca!” she called.
The woman just stared down, her expression oddly triumphant. “I like you, Allie. I really do. But you messed up everything. I was supposed to be in that race, not you.”
Allie spit the grain from her mouth, still staring in bewilderment. The air was hot down here, stale too. And her movement had stirred up dusty chaff. It stuck deep in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She tried to straighten and scoop up the cat, but now that she was upright, her legs sank, weighing her down until she was waist deep in grain.
She put out her arms, stopping herself from sinking further.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” she said. “I’m sorry I was Janet’s partner, not you. And I’m sorry you hurt your knee. Now get the harness and throw it down. This cat is very upset.” And so am I.
“I wasn’t worried at first,” Rebecca said, unmoving from her perch. “Didn’t think you’d make it as far as Dwight’s campsite. I knew Janet wouldn’t linger. No one was supposed to see him that night. Except for me.”
Allie was reaching for the cat but now her arm stilled. She tilted her head, glancing up. “What do you mean?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Rebecca’s laugh was unusually shrill. “I was supposed to meet him there, to be a witness to Trina’s accidental drowning. We would have been free and clear, able to enjoy the good life without her.”
The cat had made it to Allie’s side and was now gripping her wrist but she barely noticed his claws. Rebecca and Dwight were lovers? She’d seen them both at the pool the night before the race, but hadn’t thought anything of it. More chilling was the admission that the woman knew about Dwight’s plans. And hadn’t intended to stop him.
“This proves he loves me,” Rebecca went on. “To go through with it, even when I wasn’t around to help. I wasn’t sure if he would. But that bitch was such a whiner.”
Allie’s breath was laboring now. She didn’t know if it was the stuffiness, or the grain pressing against her sweaty chest, or these horrible revelations. Rebecca hadn’t only intended to be a witness; she’d planned to help. She’d been capable of staring into Trina’s pleading eyes and holding her head beneath that dark water.
“And now I can take care of this final thing for him,” Rebecca went on. “You’re the only witness to what really happened.”
“But I already gave the police my statement,” Allie said. “I can change it though,” she added quickly. “Yes, as soon as I get out of here, I’ll give a different one. No problem.”
She pulled the cat into her chest, and with her other arm slowly reached into the grain, fumbling for her pocket. This woman was as murderous as Dwight, and someone needed to get over here. Luckily, Allie had Sharon on speed dial.
“Looking for this?” Rebecca gave a taunting sneer as she waved Allie’s phone in the air. “You gave it to me to take Janet’s stupid pictures.”
Allie pulled her arm back up. The movement resulted in her sinking several more inches, driving home the fact that nothing was holding her up except fluid grain. It was best not to wiggle anymore. She’d stand here very quietly, holding the cat, so neither of them would sink. She’d just keep Rebecca talking. Maybe the woman would relent and let them out.
“Trina was a whiner,” Allie said. Forgive me, Trina. “And you and Dwight make a much better couple.” She forced a smile that felt like a snarl as it curled over her teeth. “How did you meet anyway?”
“At the Olympic sponsor tent,” Rebecca said. “He comforted me when I didn’t qualify. And when Janet went on to win.” Her voice sounded bitter. Clearly she wasn’t interested in talking about Janet. And the subject of Dwight was a potential minefield.
“How did you get the cat in here?” Allie asked, grasping for a more neutral topic. “He’s rather wild so he must have known you were...friendly.”
“I caught him by putting some cornbread in a box. Then I carried the box over and dumped him in. And don’t patronize me. I wish he didn’t have to die but it will make more sense, finding the two of you here.”
Allie’s arms tightened so much that the cat hissed. She forced her grip to loosen. She didn’t want to burst Rebecca’s bubble but she didn’t intend to panic. And if she didn’t move much, she and the cat would be fine. There was a good chance a wrangler would arrive at feeding time. When he backed the truck in to load up the oats, she’d holler a blue moon.
“It’s almost lunch time,” Rebecca said. “I have to go. Janet will be hurt when her new best friend doesn’t show up to say good-bye. But don’t worry. I’ll console her. I would have taken care of you sooner but Carter was always watching. So long, Allie.”
The woman’s face disappeared. Stairs clanged as she descended the exterior stairs, her movement sending vibrations through the bin.
“Don’t worry,” Allie murmured to the cat. “We’ll be okay.”
She glanced up at the patch of blue sky, reassured Rebecca hadn’t closed the hatch. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as cold-hearted as she appeared, or maybe she’d simply forgotten. Either way, there wasn’t much danger of suffocating.
Now that she had stopped moving, the chaff was settling. She coughed, clearing her throat of the dust, breathing a little easier. She scratched the cat’s ragged ear, comforted by his presence. He was purring now, as if prepared for a wait. They wouldn’t be comfortable, but they’d be okay.
Unless Rebecca came back...
Allie glanced up, uneasy again. Why had the woman left the hatch open? Rebecca must know Allie wasn’t going to panic, not if there was sufficient air. So the woman’s clumsy murder attempt would fail. Unless she returned and closed the hatch, or came back with an axe, or dropped in a rattlesnake.
Allie gave her head a shake, determined not to let her imagination run wild. That would only make things worse. Besides, the clanging had stopped so Rebecca must be on the ground now, making her way back to Janet and their limo ride to the airport.
Outside there was a faint drift of music, possibly from the roping arena. No, Carter wouldn’t bother with music. More likely it was from the dining hall. Guests were probably straggling in for lunch. A glass of cold water would taste good now, but she was accustomed to going much longer without drinking. She’d certainly hidden in more dangerous places, from far more dangerous people. And she knew time would pass faster if she blanked her mind and chilled.
Something clinked below, sending another vibration through the walls. The noise was replaced by a louder sound. For a moment, it didn’t register as anything alarming, more like the droning of bees. Something felt different though, as if the ground was shifting. Then the horrifying knowledge slammed her like a gut shot.
Rebecca had turned on the grain auger.
