The Crush Part 31

I checked the log book to be sure."

Threadgill had played this moron like a fiddle.

"I offered to ring you, but he said no, then asked to borrow the stationery and a pen."

"All right, you've delivered the message." Lozada was about to close the door when the concierge raised his hand.

"One more thing, Mr. Lozada." He coughed lightly behind his fist. "You'll receive an official notice in writing, but I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I've been appointed to advise you that the building's homeowners' a.s.sociation convened earlier today and voted unanimously that you . . . that they ..."

"What?"

"They want you out of the building, sir. In light of recent

allegations, they're demanding that you vacate within thirty days."

Lozada wasn't about to demean himself by arguing with this n.o.body. "You can tell the other homeowners to go f.u.c.k themselves. I own this penthouse and will live here for as long as I f.u.c.king well please."

He slammed the door in the man's face. Striding angrily to the built-in slate bar, he poured himself a straight shot of tequila. He didn't know which had made him madder and insulted him more, being asked to move out of the prestigious address or Wick Threadgill's juvenile dare:

The roses were red; My blood, too.

Come get me, a.s.shole.

I'm waiting for you.

Chapter 22.

When Rennie arrived at her ranch, the first thing she did was saddle Beade and go for a long, galloping ride. Following that, she spent two hours in the barn grooming the horses. They didn't need grooming, but it was therapeutic for her.

Earlier in the day, Oren Wesley had made a courtesy call informing her of Lozada's imminent release from jail.

"You're releasing him?"

"I have no choice." He explained the district attorney's decision. "I warned you that the charge might not stick.

Wick claims it was Lozada, but without hard evidence--"

"What about his breaking into my house?"

"There was no sign of forced entry, Dr. Newton."

"But he broke in," she insisted.

"If you wish, you could come down and file a complaint."

"What good would it do?"

What had become clear to her was that she couldn't

rely on the judicial system to take care of Lozada for her.

The problem was hers and she must solve it. But how?

Then there was the matter of Wick. She was still angry with Wick the cop, who deserved her scorn. But Wick the man was her patient who deserved the best medical care she could provide. How was she to reconcile the two?

Out of respect for Dr. Howell, the board had set a date two weeks hence for her formal a.s.sumption of the chief of surgery position. She wanted to move into that job with a

clear slate, with her life in perfect order, free of problems.

She needed time away to think things through and plot a course of action.

Her last-minute decision to take a few days off had required some deft maneuvering by her able office staff, but they juggled the schedule so that her patients were only moderately inconvenienced. Dr. Sugarman returned the favor she had done him a few months ago by agreeing to oversee the care of her post-op patients who were still in the hospital, Wick among them.

She had packed in a hurry and made good time driving.

The horseback ride had provided a temporary reprieve from her troubling thoughts. Toby Robbins arrived shortly after she returned to the house. "You didn't have to come right away, Toby," she told him as soon as she answered the door. Earlier she had called him to report a loose board on the corral gate.

"I feel bad about overlooking it."

"It's no big deal. It'll keep."

"I'd just as soon get it fixed now. Unless this is a bad time for you."

"Now is fine."

He looked beyond her at the pieces of luggage still

standing on her living room floor. "Staying for a while this time?"

"A few days. Let me show you that loose board." They went down the front steps together. On the way to the corral he retrieved a metal toolbox from the bed of his pickup truck. "How's Corrine?"

"Fine. She's giving the devotional at the church ladies'

luncheon next Thursday. She's got b.u.t.terflies."

"I'm sure she'll do fine."

He nodded, glanced at Rennie, then said, "We read about you in the paper this week."

"Don't believe everything you read, Toby."

"It was all good this time."

This time. She didn't know if the qualifier had been intentional.

The old rancher remembered newspaper stories about her that hadn't been so flattering, the ones about the fatal shooting of Raymond Collier.

Before inheriting his ranch from his parents, Toby had lived in Dalton and occasionally had done odd jobs for T.

Dan. When he took over the ranch, it had a modest herd of beef cattle, but, with careful management, he had increased it and prospered when other ranchers had succ.u.mbed to drought or economic recessions of one origin or another.

Through the years, he had stayed in touch with Rennie.

He knew she was interested in having a weekend getaway,

a place where she could keep horses, so he had notified her when the ranch neighboring his went on the market. She saw it only once before signing a contract for the asking price.

Toby no longer needed the additional income that came from doing odd jobs for her. She supposed he

worked for her because he was a good neighbor, a nice man, or simply because he liked her.

Or maybe he was kind to her because he had known T.

Dan so well.

"Here. See?" She showed him the gate, wiggling the loose slat, then stepping aside so he could get to it. He inspected it, then hunkered down and took a hammer from his toolbox. He used the forked end to pry the rusty nails out of the loose holes.

"That guy, the one whose life you saved ..."

"Wick Threadgill."

"Wasn't he the fella I met out here?"

"That's right."

"What do you think of him?"

"I don't."

She had answered too quickly and defensively. Toby squinted up at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Uh, listen, Toby, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go back inside and start putting things away. Come say goodbye before you leave."

"Will do."

She was busy in the kitchen an hour later when he approached the back door and knocked. "Come on in."

He stepped inside and removed his hat. "Some of the other boards had loose nails, too. I replaced them all.

Solid as a rock now."

"Thank you. How about something cold to drink?"

"No, thanks. I best get going so Corrine won't have to hold supper for me. Next week sometime I could come over and give that gate a coat of fresh paint."

"That would be nice. Want me to buy the paint?"

"I'll bring it with me. Same white okay?"

"Perfect."

"Are you going to be okay here, Rennie?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason."

He had his reasons, all right. She could tell by the way he nervously threaded the brim of his hat through his fingers and stared at the toes of his scuffed work boots.

"What's on your mind, Toby?"

Raising his head, he gave her a direct look. "You've

been mixed up lately with some pretty raunchy characters.

If you don't mind my saying so."