The mountain mans bride, p.11
The Mountain Man's Bride, page 11
“What the hell are you doing here?” Lehigh’s body blocked the doorway.
“Who is it, honey?” she shouted above the noise of the dogs.
“You’re not gonna believe it. Hell, I don’t believe it.”
The barking ceased for an inexplicable moment, and a far-too-familiar voice responded. “That’s always been your problem, Carter. You’re too stupid to believe what’s right before your eyes.”
Stacy froze. Oh, God no. Please, no.
Lehigh slid to one side and the tall, handsome figure in the doorway became visible, grinning his guilty-but-I-don’t-care grin, and tipped his white cowboy hat. A brand new hat—he’d never taken to them before. Not in all the years she’d known Paul van Paten.
“Well,” he said, “aren’t you going to invite me in? We have so much to talk about.”
Lehigh, eyes ablaze, slammed the door shut in Paul’s grinning face, and the dogs erupted once again.
***
Loud, obnoxious knocking began moments later, almost inaudible over the noise of the dogs. “Quiet, dogs!” Lehigh settled back onto the couch and picked up his chopsticks. Stacy sighed and set hers down.
“He’s not going away, you know,” she said.
“He ain’t coming in, neither.” Lehigh snagged a mouthful of beef from her box.
The knocking stopped, and moments later, so did the barking. Seconds later the phone rang. Stacy stood. “I’ll get it.”
“If it’s Paul, ask him why he’s not in jail.”
“If I can get a word in edgewise. You know how he can get. All the world’s his soapbox.” She walked into the kitchen at a deliberate pace and let the phone ring for the fourth time. The answering machine clicked on.
“Stacy, it’s Paul. Pick up, I obviously know you’re in there.” Knocking resumed at the front door.
She picked up the receiver. “When did they let you out?”
“Hello to you, too. Aren’t you going to let me in? It’s cold out here.”
“I’d rather we talk privately.” Never mind that the machine would record it all, and that Lehigh could hear it all on the machine’s speaker.
“Fine. Actually, that’s probably best. I only came by to tell you that you really ought to rethink what you’re doing. Protecting Lehigh Carter is only going to bring you down.”
“Protecting…? What do you mean?”
Paul laughed. “Come on, Stacy. It’s me you’re talking to, not that hayseed ignoramus farting on your couch. We both know Carter plugged Barkley.”
“He did no such thing. He was a hundred miles away from here.” She glanced at Lehigh, who nodded and pointed outside, then gave a questioning shrug. Stacy picked up on the hint. “Speaking of which, where were you last weekend?”
“Playing poker on the Oregon coast. Lots of witnesses will back me up. Not so for your backwoods boy. I heard he got lost on the highway.”
“You heard wrong. Anyway, what reason would Lehigh have to kill Jared?”
“The same reason all of your men do crazy dumbass things. You drive them to it.” Another laugh, this one low and hollow.
“You’re the only one that’s ever acted like a lunatic.” She made a fist with her free hand. Good thing Lehigh hadn’t let Paul in. She’d have slugged him by now.
“I beg to differ. Lehigh’s as jealous as the next guy, and we both know Jared’s been trying to get into your pants for years.”
Stacy raised the phone over her head, ready to smash it into the wall. She counted to five, then brought it down to her ear, her hand shaking. “Regardless of what you think he may have wanted, nothing ever came of it.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, and the bonehead in the living room. I know better, and it’s all going to come out sooner or later. If it comes out wrong, you’re going to prison. Do it right, and that lamebrain logger friend of yours—”
The front door slammed shut. Loud crashing sounds echoed in Stacy’s ear, full of static, and the dogs’ barking resumed in stereo, coming from both the phone and the backyard. A second man’s voice sounded in the receiver, muffled and distant, but fully recognizable…and echoed in through the walls as well.
“Get off this property before I break your damned neck.”
“Let–go–you’re–choking–me—”
“On purpose, too. If you ever speak one more word to or about Stacy or me, I’ll rip your throat out and tie your mouth shut with it. Understood? Good. Now get!”
After a loud, crunching sound, the phone went dead.
***
Stacy rolled onto her left side, facing away from Lehigh in the spacious king-sized bed, for the five hundredth time in the past ten minutes. Or so it seemed. Her much-needed beauty sleep proved an elusive quarry after the day’s tumultuous conclusion.
Lehigh slumbered next to her. The man could sleep through earthquakes, physical or emotional. She considered waking him—talking to someone right now could really help—but resisted the urge. It’d just make him as miserable as she, and what good would that do?
Paul’s visit had unnerved her more than the prospect of being arrested again. She’d retained the best lawyer in the county in Constantine Richards, and if the cops wanted to play dirty, well, so could she. She was not above using the influence of George Lindsay McBride if it came to that.
But the fact that Paul had somehow gained his freedom changed the whole equation. That meant he’d worked the system somehow, using, and thereby tainting, the very same levers of influence available to her. No doubt he’d poisoned those waters and filled them with his own version of events—none of which would favor her case.
Nor Lehigh’s. Definitely not Lehigh’s.
Plus it meant Paul’s harassment would pick up where it left off before his arrest. His visit earlier in the evening proved that, even after Lehigh had dusted him up a little. He simply couldn’t resist taunting her, and he’d never forgive her for dumping him. If he truly believed it yet, even after almost six months. Sometimes she doubted it. Paul could convince himself, and others, of the most outrageous falsehoods. Like the way he spread the tale about them being engaged, even though he’d never formally proposed and she’d never accepted.
Still, his message scared her, implying that the police had uncovered some new damning information about her—something she could, if she chose, use to divert suspicion to Lehigh. A jealousy angle of some sort, involving Jared Barkley.
Which meant that somebody had done some serious digging into her past. Hers, Jared Barkley’s, or both.
Which reminded her: she never did get back to telling Lehigh why she’d met with Jared so often in recent months. Paul’s intrusion had left Lehigh in a sour mood for hours, and he only calmed down in time to announce he needed to go to bed. The conversation would be tough enough with him in a good mood. No way would she try when he was already furious.
She rolled over again, facing Lehigh’s broad back. Most sleepless nights, she’d spoon up next to him, and his regular heavy breathing and warm, strong body would lull her to sleep. But somehow cuddling him felt wrong right then—awkward, even dishonest. He trusted her, in spite of everything pointing to reasons he shouldn’t. Meanwhile, she’d suspected him of the worst at the first opportunity.
Of course, he never actually denied any of it.
She shifted again and faced the window. Faint moonlight trickled in through the drapes. The digital alarm clock emitted a faint hum. The furnace kicked in, sending a whoosh of warm air into the room.
A hand curled around her waist from behind, and a muscular leg grazed against hers.
“What’s up, honey?” he whispered.
She placed her hand over his and pressed it into her abdomen. He squeezed her close, moved his hand northward over her ribs to seek out softer, suppler flesh. His lips caressed her neck, her ear, her face.
Maybe being awake wouldn’t be so bad after all.
***
Lehigh shook himself awake at his makeshift desk and wiped drool off of his chin with a shirtsleeve. Dang, twice that morning he’d dozed off sitting up. At this rate he’d waste the whole day without getting a thing done.
But then again, so what? He had no deadlines to meet—nothing firm, anyway. And the reason for his exhaustion—Stacy jumping his bones at the slightest provocation. Well, small price to pay.
He stared down at the draft blueprints in front of him, plans for rebuilding his house up on Brady Mountain. The house seemed small, even though he’d added a hundred square feet to the existing footprint. More important, it blew the budget he’d set for it, the amount of the insurance settlement, by fifty thousand bucks. On top of the legal bills, he couldn’t afford to increase his mortgage debt any further, at least not until some of his forest stands matured. Which, being trees, he could do little to accelerate.
He stood, stretched, cracked his back, and headed into the kitchen to get some coffee. It had gone cold, so he put a cup in the microwave. While the machine whirred, he took creamer out of the fridge and sniffed it. On its last legs, but drinkable.
The phone’s sudden ring echoed off the walls. Lucky and Diamond emerged from nowhere, barking their fool heads off. “Quiet, dogs!” That worked until the next ring, three seconds later. He kicked open the back door to let them outside and picked up after the third ring.
“Mr. Carter? Please hold for Constantine Richards.”
“Screw that,” he said to the efficient young woman at the other end of the line. “Tell him to call when he’s—”
“Mr. Carter?” Richards sounded irritated. Maybe he’d heard Lehigh’s rant. Good for him. That might teach him to dump a good client. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“More bad news? What the hell else could go wrong this week?” Probably not much, since it was almost Friday.
“Your fiancée was arrested once again this afternoon.”
“Oh hell. Now what for? Another speeding ticket?”
Richards cleared his throat and his voice lowered to a thunderous rumble. “I’m afraid this time, it’s much more serious. Mr. Carter, Stacy has been charged with murder.”
Chapter
Lehigh pounded the steering wheel for the fifth time since dashing unshaven and unshowered out of the house. This time it hurt his hand, which pissed him off, so he smacked the wheel again, this time with his other hand. It hurt even worse when he gripped the wheel for a NASCAR-style pass of a crappy little Toyota hybrid whose driver apparently cared more about his dashboard readings than what went on around him on the road. Probably a freaking Portlander. Never mind that other people had places to go, things to do.
Like strangle Buck Summers, for starters.
He skidded to a stop in the parking lot at the Sheriff’s office, startling a uniformed deputy into spilling his coffee, a new recruit Lehigh didn’t recognize. Probably one of Buck’s nephews or some such. He slammed the truck door shut behind him and stalked toward the entrance.
The young deputy hustled to intercept him. “Sir? That was not a safe entry into this—”
Lehigh held up an open palm. “Stow it, kid. I’m in a hurry.” The kid’s name tag read “T. Roscoe.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to show some identification. Your driver’s license, regist—”
Lehigh spun on one heel, smacked the foam coffee cup out of the deputy’s hand, and pointed a finger in his face. “One more word out of you and I tell your mother you’re skipping algebra to smoke cigarettes. Now get out of my way or I’ll feed you to my dogs. In pieces. Starting with your balls. Get!”
The deputy, already at least four inches shorter than Lehigh, shrunk further under the taller man’s fierce glare. He opened his mouth to object, then shut it and stepped aside. “I’ll let you go with a warning,” he said. “This time.”
Lehigh rolled his eyes and pulled open the double glass doors. Nobody sat behind the desk—probably T. Roscoe’s job, the slacker. He walked over to the door labeled “Staff only beyond this point” and pushed the door open wide.
“Sir, you can’t go in there!” The kid again.
“In that case, you guys should invest in some locks.” Lehigh kept walking. Where to, he had no idea.
“Sir? Sir?” Fast footsteps grew louder behind him.
Lehigh spun to face the huffing, red-faced Roscoe. “If you insist on being part of this party, at least make yourself useful. Where’s Stacy McBride?”
The kid stopped, mouth open. “You must be Lehigh Carter.”
Maybe the kid wasn’t as dumb as he looked. “Suppose I am. Does that help or hinder?”
“Wait right here.” The deputy disappeared behind the double doors again, then returned with an envelope in his hand. The return address read “C. Richards, Attorney at Law.” Lehigh’s name appeared in neat typewritten letters at the center of the envelope. The bottom read, “Private Correspondence.”
“Thanks.” Lehigh tore open the envelope and scanned the first page. Halfway through, vomit surged up his throat. He clamped down and swallowed it, then re-read the page.
Somehow, though he’d never have predicted it, things had gotten a whole hell of a lot worse.
***
“What do you mean, I can’t see her?” Lehigh balled his hands into fists and resisted the urge to pummel the bobbing Adam’s apple of Constantine Richards.
“You will need to be deposed,” Richards said for the twenty thousandth time. “It is best if you two do not have the opportunity to share information—or even appear to have that opportunity.”
“How idiotic. Need I remind you that we live together?” Lehigh grabbed at his long locks and stomped around the room. “At least we did, until she took up residence at old Iron Bar Hotel here, courtesy of crooked cops!” His shout strained his throat, already sore from thirty minutes of “talking” with his former lawyer.
“I might recommend, for her sake, a change in your arrangements in that regard.” Richards blinked a few times. Dandruff stuck to the tips of a few of his eyelashes. “Assuming she is released, of course.”
“What changes? And what do you mean ‘assuming’? Aren’t you here to spring her out of this hoosegow?” Resist. Urge. To. Strangle.
“That matter is pending. It appears she will be detained until a hearing, tentatively set for Friday morning. Before then, you should find suitable alternative living arrangements.” Two more blinks, and a tuft of white flakes floated onto the lapel of his otherwise immaculate dark blue suit.
“You’re telling me I gotta move out of our house?”
Richards brushed the speck off his lapel and cleared his throat. “Of course it is not legally required. But with the potential for you being called as a witness for both sides, not to mention the possibility of being charged separately as an accomplice—”
“What?” Lehigh’s screech hurt his own ears. The wince on Richards’ face indicated he shared the injury. Lehigh stomped in circles around the small meeting room, bumping into extra chairs and thrusting them aside in wanton disregard for noise and breakage. “This is so damned screwed up. How the hell could you let this happen? We pay you big bucks, mister, to keep this sort of crap from happening. Well, I ain’t moving out. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“If you’d consider the ramifications for her defense—”
“If you’ll consider the ramifications of me firing your ugly butt!”
Richards grimaced. “Mr. Carter, if you’ll forgive me. Only Miss McBride can make that decision.”
“And she will. Let me see her, and—”
“Mr. Carter, the decision not to discuss any of this with you was also her decision. As was the decision for you to change residences.”
Lehigh stopped pacing and stared.
Richards pointed to the phone on the table. “Perhaps now would be a good time for you to consult with your own attorney.”
***
Lehigh emptied the contents of his bathroom drawer into a shoe box, tossed in the toothbrush and razor blade he kept by the sink, and slammed the box’s lid over the opening. Some space remained in the box, but he had no time or patience for efficient packing.
All of his stuff fit in the back of the pickup with ease, one benefit of having lost most of his possessions to fire six months before. He whistled for the dogs. Lucky appeared from nowhere, bounded into the open door of the king cab and hopped into the open jump seat in back. A second later, Diamond scrambled in behind her.
His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t had time to eat since breakfast, some seven-plus hours ago. He craved a burger and beer. He knew of a place where he could get both cheap, pretty close to the motel on the highway. Lucky would be fine in the cab of the truck.
He hadn’t seen Stacy since before her arrest, nor heard from her, other than through her pompous-assed lawyer. He realized he’d blown his chance of getting her to talk about her dinner dates, or whatever the hell they were, with Jared Barkley. He’d waited too long for the right moment, and now—well. Maybe cutting him off was her idea, after all.
Even so, she couldn’t have been the one to decide that Lehigh should leave. It had to have been Richards—but she’d gone along with it. Unbelievable. Three months before their wedding and things were unraveling with gale force. The wedding would have to be postponed, if it could happen at all. She might still be in jail, if her hearing the next day didn’t go well. Even if it did, Lehigh didn’t feel inclined to marry someone who kicked him out of the house, met secretly with other men, and wouldn’t speak to him, no matter what some big-bucks lawyer advised.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the Roadhouse Grill and skidded to a stop. Two men in cowboy hats looked up from their cigarettes, eyes squinted. A steady drizzle blurred their images through the windshield in seconds.
“I won’t be long, dogs.” He lowered his windows a crack and opened the back slider window a few inches. They wouldn’t mind if a few drops of rain got in. He locked the truck and headed to the entrance, nodding at the two men on the way by. One of them nodded back. The other stared at him, holding smoke inside puffed cheeks.
