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Duffy had a feeling that Oakley felt the same way.
PICKETTWOKEINa strange bed, in a room that was too large and at the same time, too familiar. At first, he wasn’t sure what had awakened him. Then he heard a tap at the door. He started to get up and dress, but lay back as the door opened. One of the staff entered with a tray, an older woman who greeted him with “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning. You can set that down anywhere you like.” He smelled coffee and what might have been blueberry coffee cake. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” she said and exited as quickly as she’d come in.
He rose as she closed the door and reached for the coffee. That was when he saw a white envelope next to a plate of perfectly sliced coffee cake and a rosebud in the small vase beside it.
Bracing himself, he took a drink of coffee before he picked up the envelope and opened it, already dreading what he was about to read. He’d been raised in this house, in this family, so he knew that bad news was usually made official in writing rather than broken face-to-face.
He took out the sheet of expensive paper, unfolded it and read, “I’m sorry to inform you that your father passed away in the night. He held on as long as he could, determined to see his son. We need to talk before you leave, Sarah.” He balled up the paper, throwing it across the room.
Emotions blindsided him for a moment. He didn’t know how to feel, only that he hurt. He couldn’t help the regret. How many times had he wished that things had been different between him and his father?
He dressed and went downstairs, knowing that Sarah would be waiting. She would know he would be anxious to leave. There wouldn’t be a funeral or even a service—his father’s instructions, which of course Sarah would follow to the letter. His father would be cremated, his remains going into the mausoleum with the rest of his ancestors.
Pickett had grown up with all the photographs of the Westmoreland men before him. He’d always found it interesting that no women had ever hung there. Nor had they ever held office in any of his father’s holdings. It didn’t surprise him that his own mother had escaped this house shortly after he was born. Not that he probably would have seen much of her since children in families like his were raised by nannies, attended boarding school, seeing little of their parents except on a holiday here and there.
Just as he’d expected, Sarah was waiting in the sitting room near the front door. She’d been looking at her phone, but now put it away and turned her attention on him.
“Please close the door,” she said and motioned him into a nearby chair.
He told himself that his last requirement in this house was to listen to what she had to say before he left. He did wonder what her pitch would be. He half expected her to pull out a spreadsheet as he took a seat.
“Thank you for coming to see your father,” Sarah began. “I know how much it meant to him. He was able to die in peace.”
He didn’t acknowledge her words. He and his father had said what they had to say to each other last night. They both had regrets, but neither’s mind had changed. Pickett could walk away now without any doubts about being gone for all these years.
She hesitated for a moment before she said, “You are aware that your father is worth a large amount of money.” That was putting it mildly, he thought. “I’m sure the two of you discussed—”
“No, we didn’t talk about money.”
She looked up in surprise for a moment, then nodded as if she should have known. “He has made some large bequeaths, but there are still decisions that need to be made about the remainder of his wealth as well as this house and his other properties and businesses. As his only living heir—”
Pickett rose and picked up his Stetson he’d had resting on his knee. “As I told him years ago, I’m not interested.” He started for the door, but her words stopped him.
“What about the staff employed in this house, the staff employed in your father’s businesses? What about your adopted family? It’s one thing for you to act superior when it comes to money, but not everyone can be that callous. Are you aware that the McKenna Ranch is in financial trouble?”
He turned slowly. As he started to say, “That’s not true,” she pulled out spreadsheets—just not the ones he’d expected. “Your girlfriend’s ranch isn’t doing that much better either. I understand it’s because of the years of drought, cattle sales down, the lack of fresh well water. Maybe you’ve heard the expression land poor? It means—”
“I know what it means.” Lots of land, not a lot of money. Pickett opened his mouth again to say he didn’t have a girlfriend, but the look on Sarah’s face told him to save his breath.
“I understand that you want nothing to do with your father’s businesses or this house,” she continued. “They can all be sold off, the money given to the charities of your choice, severance pay for the employees. Your father has already made large bequeaths for long-time employees, myself included. But with the money your father put away for your ‘personal’ needs you could make a huge difference in both ranch family’s lives.” An eyebrow rose as she studied him. “But then you would have to admit that you have never been just a ranch hand, wouldn’t you?” She slapped down the spreadsheets. “I suspect you would prefer to keep your pride and let your new family struggle on rather than admit the truth, but I need to know what you want done and I need to know now.”
OAKLEYWOKETOscreaming as the nightmare chased her from sleep. She felt someone shaking her and calling her name. A lamp came on next to her bed, blinding her. She looked around the unfamiliar room, terrified from the nightmare, from the feeling that she didn’t know what was happening.
“You’re all right,” Tilly said, sounding close to tears as she hugged her. “It was just a bad dream. You’re all right.”
She didn’t feel all right even as she recognized where she was. Tilly was here. She was in their apartment. But there was something to be afraid of, something to be very afraid of. “I saw...something.”
“It was just a dream,” her sister said, drawing back to look at her.
Oakley shook her head. “Women, there were a half dozen of them running away.” She frowned, the memory trying to pull away, to disappear back into the fog that was her memory. “Some of them ran toward a small airplane, but were shooed away from it. The men forced all of them at gunpoint into the back of a stock trailer.” She met Tilly’s eyes. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real. I saw them. I know now why CJ didn’t want me to remember.” She sat up, pressing her back against the headboard, refusing to let this memory go. “The meth lab. The women must have been working in it.”
She glanced around for her cell phone. Finding it on the bedside table, she tapped on the screen.
“Oakley, what are you doing? It’s not quite daylight.”
