Keeping Christmas Part 22

With his legs against the bed, he estimated the distance from where he stood to where Rebecca's head would be on her pillow. Aiming the gun, he braced himself. Two shots for her. One for him. Drunk and desperate, he decided he didn't have the energy to write a suicide note. Let his parents always wonder.

He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Boom. Boom. He opened one eye. He couldn't see Rebecca in the bed but there was no sound coming from her.

Knowing there was no turning back now, he turned the gun on himself.

BEAU BONNER GOT THE CALL early the next morning. At first he didn't recognize the voice. He had trouble making sense of the words the man was saying.

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" he finally demanded when he realized it was one of his pilots.

"Your jet, sir. It's gone."

"What do you mean, gone? Stolen?" Beau remembered that Mason had taken it. This was just a misunderstanding. "Mason Roberts took it-"

"No, sir. I'm talking about the jet you instructed me to fly to Montana today," the pilot said. "It was taken last night and I'm told it won't be back for several days."

Beau felt his blood pressure soar. "Who took it? Carl? That d.a.m.ned irresponsible cousin of his, Ace?"

"Apparently you gave your daughter Rebecca Lancaster permission to take it. She hired her own pilot."

"What?" He couldn't believe this. "Where the h.e.l.l did she go with it?" He couldn't believe this. "Where the h.e.l.l did she go with it?"

"According to her flight plan? New York City and possibly on to Paris."

Beau snapped off the phone, so livid he thought he might have a coronary. What the h.e.l.l had Rebecca been thinking?

He groaned as he realized exactly what she'd been thinking. She didn't want to hear what he had to tell her. That was so like Rebecca. She'd never wanted to hear bad news. She preferred to pretend that everything was fine.

Beau cussed to himself. He should have gone to her house, made her listen. Well, at least in New York she wouldn't hear about what was going on in Montana. There would be time when she returned to tell her everything.

He felt as if he'd dodged the bullet yet another time and felt guilty for being relieved he wouldn't have to face Rebecca this morning. Christmas morning.

What now? He'd have to call Chance to tell him he wouldn't be sending a plane. With commercial flights booked solid this time of year, Beau knew there was little chance of getting Dixie back to Texas for Christmas now. Christmas, and he was all alone.

He had hoped they could all be together this Christmas like normal families. Were there normal families? He blamed himself for Dixie and Rebecca never getting along. He loved Rebecca with all his heart, but it had never seemed enough. Even as a child, she'd seemed incapable of being satisfied. He'd poured love into her, trying to make up for the father who hadn't wanted her. But Rebecca had proved to be a bottomless pit.

And then Dixie had come along.

Just the opposite of Rebecca, Dixie had been a willful, independent child who didn't seem to need anyone. He'd blamed that on her having to grow up without a mother from such a young age. But the truth was, Dixie was like him.

Beau had spent his life trying not to be like his father and yet he could see the similarities between Rebecca and Dixie, him and Carl. Carl had wanted their father's love desperately. Beau hadn't asked for it, knew he didn't deserve that kind of high regard, and often despised their mean domineering father as much as Carl.

Beau hadn't stayed on the farm out of love or loyalty. While everyone his age left to find good-paying jobs and adventure, Beau had stayed on the farm in Texas, knowing there wasn't any other place he'd be special except in his father's eyes.

And then a gusher came in a few farms away and his friends came back to work the rigs. Carl and Ace had returned to Texas along with Mason who'd been b.u.mming around the country. Mason came to him, not just with stories of the places he'd been, but with an idea.

To sc.r.a.pe together all the money they had and have a test well dug on the isolated north forty of the farm so no one would get wind of it-especially Carl or Ace. Or Beau's old man.

He put his head in his hands. Rebecca had always believed that he loved Dixie more. Once she heard he wasn't her father, nothing would convince her otherwise.

The phone rang again. This time it was the police.

CHANCE CAME AWAKE slowly, fighting not to leave the warm contentment of the dream. He'd been so happy in the dream, happier than he could remember being.

He opened his eyes to find sunlight streaming into the cabin. For those first few seconds he thought he was alone-just as he'd been for so long.

Then he felt her beside him and closed his eyes tight to hold back the sudden rush of emotion. It hadn't been a dream. Beside him, Dixie stirred, her naked body warm and luscious next to his.

Opening his eyes, he looked at her, shocked by his feelings of just seeing her beside him, let alone the memory of their lovemaking. At that moment he would have moved heaven and earth to keep her beside him.

That thought made him carefully slide out of the bed and leave the bedroom. He found his clothing and dressed before building a fire and jotting Dixie a note. Beauregard bound up the moment the dog saw that they would be going outside. The snow was deep but Chance didn't take the time to shovel, Beauregard busting a trail ahead of him through a world of cold white.

He thought about taking the pickup, but decided to hike down the road until he could get cell phone service. The land lay in frozen silence. He stood in the deep snow, breathing in the scent of pine. He needed this time alone on this beautiful Christmas morning.

Bonner answered on the first ring. "Rebecca?"

"No," Chance said, frowning. "It's Chance."

"I thought it would be Rebecca." He sounded half-asleep. Or half-drunk. "She took my plane to New York or Paris. I don't know."

"The plane you were bringing to Montana today," Chance guessed, and swore under his breath.

"Mason has the other one. I don't know when either of them will be back. I'm trying to line up another plane."

"Beau, listen, this can't wait. Dixie and I found out some things about the man your wife had an affair with before she met you that I think you need to know. If you don't already."

Now it was Bonner's turn to swear. "I told you I don't know anything about him and I don't want to."

"You don't have a choice. I'm pretty sure he's the person who hired the two men who were trying to kill Dixie before she could unearth his ident.i.ty."

"Are you sure this isn't just another of Dixie's-"

"Two men tried to run us off the road yesterday," Chance snapped. "The same two men Dixie says abducted her and ransacked her house looking for her research on her mother's family. The men are dead, but whoever hired them is still out there."

"Oh, my G.o.d," Bonner said. "Then it's true. Someone really is trying to kill her?"

"What the h.e.l.l do you think I've been trying to tell you? And Dixie's aunt is dead, as well."

"My G.o.d. I was so sure-"

Chance tried to understand how Bonner must feel right now. Given the other tricks Dixie had played on Bonner, Chance could understand why he hadn't believe it. Mostly Bonner hadn't wanted to believe it. He'd have to share some of the blame if it were true since he hadn't been honest with Dixie when she'd come to him with the photographs.

"You think it's the man Sarah was involved with before me," Bonner said. "You have any idea who he is?"

"No, but from what we found out, he's someone who knows you. He used your name while he was living up here. Your wife's name was actually Elizabeth Sarah Worth. She changed it to Sarah when this man took her to Texas. By then, oil had been found on your farm." Chance hesitated.

"No," Bonner said, as if suspecting where Chance was headed with this.

"She changed her name to Sarah and went after you and your money."

"I don't believe it." But the tremor in his voice said he did.

"The man blackmailed her into doing it," Chance said. "It seems Sarah had a good friend in Idaho who she wrote to every week." He heard Bonner make a small, sad sound. "I a.s.sume you didn't know about Amelia McCarthy?"

"No." His voice was m.u.f.fled.

Chance hated that he had to tell Bonner this over the phone. But the sooner Bonner had the information, the sooner maybe they could find the killer.

"In the last letter that Sarah sent, she said she'd fallen in love with you. She was happy. She said she could no longer live with the lies of her past and planned to tell you the truth."

Bonner sounded as if he was crying. "She never told me."

"The man had been blackmailing her, threatening to tell you. She was giving him money to keep him quiet. Apparently she was also afraid of him."

There was a painful choking sound on the other end of the line. "If you tell me that he-"

"Sarah's friend believed that the man killed her to keep you from learning the truth," Chance finished.

"My G.o.d," Bonner said.

"I'm telling you this because I think this man believes that once Dixie is stopped, the truth will never come out. He still has something to lose if you find out who he is. Do you have any idea who he might be?" Silence. "Bonner?"

Chance swore. Beauregard Bonner had hung up. He tried him back, but the line was busy. He tried again, walking farther up the road. This time it rang and rang.

Just as Chance was going to hang up and try again, thinking he must have dialed wrong, he saw the footprints in the snow.

DIXIE WOKE to a chill in the air. She felt in the bed for Chance only to find him gone. She knew he wouldn't have gone far, but still it filled her with a sense of loss. She didn't want to waste a second because eventually this would be over and they would go their separate ways. If they lived that long.

Hadn't she warned herself not to hope for more than what Chance could give her? She knew he'd been hurt badly in the past. It was no coincidence that his relationships were few and far between and little more than a few dates.

He liked living out here alone. He needed it. She understood the choice between living alone or being with the wrong person. Roy Bob Jackson had tempted her, made her realize that she wanted someone in her life. But it had never been Roy Bob Jackson-even if she hadn't found out he worked for her father.

No, it had always been Chance Walker.

She smiled as she remembered their lovemaking, regretting nothing. If this was all they ever shared, then she could live with that. At least, she hoped she could.

Rising, she tiptoed across the cold wood floor to open the bedroom door. Chance had a blaze going in the fireplace. She sniffed the air, hoping for the smell of bacon frying. And French toast, she thought. She always ate hers with brown sugar, honey and b.u.t.ter and had gotten Chance to try it years ago in Texas when she was just a silly kid with a crush.

She wondered if he still ate his French toast that way as she went through the living room picking up her clothing and putting it on as she moved.

But Chance wasn't in the kitchen. Instead she found a note stuck to the coffeemaker.

"Gone up the road to make a cell phone call. Be right back."

Did that mean there wasn't cell phone service in the cabin? She started the coffee and while it brewed, she found her purse and tried her her cell phone which she'd turned off after talking to Amelia's sister-in-law, Rita McCarthy. The service was unreliable, but she did have a message. She played the message, surprised to hear Rita McCarthy's voice. cell phone which she'd turned off after talking to Amelia's sister-in-law, Rita McCarthy. The service was unreliable, but she did have a message. She played the message, surprised to hear Rita McCarthy's voice.

"After I talked to you, I got to thinking," Rita said. "I remembered something. Give me a call."

Rita had remembered something. About the man? Dixie went to the window and looked out, hoping to see Chance returning. But there was only his tracks and the dog's in the deep snow of the deck.

She moved to the bedroom window at the back of the cabin and peered out. She could see where he and the dog had walked up the road.

A thud toward the front of the house startled her. Maybe Chance and Beauregard had taken a different way back. Padding into the living room, she glanced out the front window again. No sign of anyone.

She jumped as a large clump of snow came sliding off the metal roof of the cabin to land in a pile just off the deck. Her heart was racing and for a moment, she reconsidered hiking up the road to find Chance. But what if he took another way back and she missed him?

It wasn't as if she'd get lost. All she had to do was to follow the road back. On impulse, she scribbled her note on the bottom of Chance's, that way he'd know where to find her if she did miss him. She was too impatient to wait for him to return. She had to know what Rita had remembered.

Tucking her cell phone into her pocket, she looked around for her coat and boots. Another thud outside. She glanced toward the window as she pulled on her boots and slipped into her coat.

As she opened the door, she felt the wind and heard the groan of the pines. Snow fell from a pine near the edge of the deck, startling her. Why was she nervous?

Because she had a feeling that in a few minutes she would know the ident.i.ty of the man who wanted her dead.

CHANCE BENT OVER the tracks in the snow. Footprints. Snow had partially filled the tracks, making it hard for him to gauge the size of the boots that had made the prints.

It appeared someone had walked up the snow-filled road, then dropped down the side of the mountain.

He glanced back into the direction of his cabin, a good mile back and down another even less-traveled road flanked on each side by pines.

The tracks in the snow could be from someone going to one of the nearer cabins along the lake. Someone checking to make sure his cabin hadn't been broken into. This time of year all but his cabin was boarded up for winter.

"What do you think, old boy?" Chance said to Beauregard.

The dog's head came up at the sound of Chance's voice. There was snow on the mutt's nose from where he'd been sniffing the tracks.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Chance said.

Heart in his throat, he dropped off the road, following the tracks in the new snow as quickly as he could along the steep frozen bank to the edge of the lake.

The snow was deep, the going slow. He had to wonder why anyone would have come this way. Why not stay on the road where the walking was easier?

He pa.s.sed one cabin after another, following the tracks to where they picked up a second set. He stopped, surprised to see that these were older, possibly from last night during the storm.