Smoketree

CHAPTER Five



I pointed toward the Lodge as Harper aimed Sunny right past it. “Isn’t that where we’re going?”

“We have a horse to put away.”

I arched my brows in the direction of his back, which was not so far away. “We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”

It brought a brief laugh from him. “Hardly. But where I come from, turnabout’s fair play.” He lifted the reins and tapped Sunny with an eloquent boot heel. “We see to the horse first, then to ourselves.”

I did not contest the decision, since Sunny had, indeed, donated his services, but I thought it a somewhat devious way of finding volunteer grooms. Or non-volunteer grooms, for that matter.

Harper stopped the horse in front of the small wooden tack room Cass had indicated earlier, kicked his left foot free of the stirrup and motioned for me to climb down. I did so awkwardly, not bothering to borrow his hand. Why, I don’t know, save to show I could manage by myself. Some instinct warned me he considered me a helpless city girl. Perhaps I was, to some degree, but I was not a fragile female. Not at five-ten.

He stepped off, pulled the reins over Sunny’s head and dropped them to the ground. The sorrel snorted and nuzzled in the dirt, forever seeking something to eat. Deftly Harper flipped up the left stirrup, untied and unbuckled knots and fastenings, then dragged the saddle off the blankets and pad.

“Bring ’em in,” he instructed, and I caught the blankets and pad before all hit the dirt.

I followed him in, wrinkling my nose at the acrid smell of sweaty horsehair and unclean blankets. Harper settled the heavy saddle over one of the empty brackets extending from the wall and motioned for me to slap the pad and blankets down. I knew enough to arrange them on top of the saddle, upside down, allowing the air to dry them.

He nodded. “Not bad.”

“It’s been a while, but I’m not a complete tenderfoot.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He tossed me a brush. “Have at it.”

I grimaced and went outside to Sunny. He ignored me as I scrubbed and brushed at the wet spots on his body; back, the twin pads of his chest, and the rounded middle section I knew was called the barrel.

He was a sweet, gentle horse, and yet certainly not a mount for an inexperienced rider. He peered at the world out of big brown eyes, appearing quizzical with the bright chestnut forelock falling down between ears and eyes; tail swishing as he waited to be turned into his pen. I was aware of Harper slouching in the doorway of the tack room, watching how I tended his horse.

“What is he?” I asked.

“Quarter horse.”

“Like Preacher.”

He smiled. “Not at all. Preacher’s Triple-A running stock; Sunny’s just a cowpony. There’s a big difference between the two.”

I frowned at him. “I don’t see any cows.”

His smile widened. “No. But it’s the kind of horse I admire: big-butted, stocky, solid as a brick outhouse. None of those spindle-legged speed-demons for me.” He shifted his weight against the doorjamb. “There’s room for both in this world; no sense breeding one to the exclusion of the other.”

“Cass seems to think Preacher’s the best thing on four legs.” I went on brushing Sunny.

“Well, she’s got her reasons.” The smile was gone from his face. “Cass wants off the ranch. She wants the glitter and the glamour of big-time pro rodeo. ” He smiled a little. “Anyhow, she knows Preacher can give it to her. It’s why she got him.” He rubbed at his jaw. “Me and Sunny, well, we’re just a couple of ranch hands. Don’t need none of that glamour and glitter.”

I looked at him over the back of his big-butted, stocky cowpony. “What do you want?”

He did not smile. “That, Miss Clayton, is private.”

And so I finished brushing his horse in silence, wondering what I’d said to put that cold, hard glint in his warm blue eyes.



Harper, once Sunny was put away, escorted me up to the Lodge. I saw Cass on the porch, watching us. Her face was excessively blank, too blank; her eyes were speculative and wary. Then I realized what her problem was.

Harper. And me. On one horse.

I nearly smiled. But I didn’t, knowing it would only make matters worse, and climbed up the steps to join her.

“Nice ride?” she asked.

“A little cramped,” I told her, and saw the flush in her cheeks. “But then it wasn’t my idea.”

Her eyes went at once to Harper, who remained noncommittal. He reached past us to open the door, a proper gentleman, and I saw the beginnings of a comment from Cass. Then she said nothing at all, and I went on in.

Harper’s boots thudded behind me as I entered the dining room. I wanted to wash my hands; I started to turn to ask Harper where to go but hesitated. The Olivers were deep in discussion with a man whose back was to me, a man whose back seemed oddly familiar. And yet it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“Go on through the kitchen,” Harper was saying, “Maria can point you in the right direction.”

But I hardly heard him. The new guest turned toward me, neglecting the Olivers, and I stopped dead. So dead Harper nearly knocked me flat.

“You okay?” Harper asked, but I was in no shape to answer. “Kelly?” Harper again, and still I didn’t answer.

The newcomer smiled at me. He was so like Tucker it hurt. He had the same widely-spaced gray eyes with sun-crinkles at the corners, taut brown skin, unruly blond hair and lithe build. He crossed the room to me and smiled again.

“It is you, isn’t it?” he asked in a warm baritone. “Kelly?” My breath went out quickly, replaced by feeble laughter. “Brandon! Oh my God—”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?” He grinned. “What a blow to my ego. ”

“I’m sorry,” I told Brandon. “I didn’t expect to see you here, and for a moment—well, you’re so much like Tucker.” The warmth in his eyes faded to comprehension. “Oh Kelly, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. ” He sighed and shook his head. “I’d almost forgotten the resemblance. Lately no one’s remarked on it. But if I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have forewarned you.” His eyes were very kind and compassionate. “I’m really sorry—it must have been a shock. We haven’t seen each other since… well—it’s been a while.”

We hadn’t seen each other for six months. Since the night Tucker had died. And now the memory of that evening rose up like a spectre between us.

Harper moved away. Distracted, I watched him head toward the private quarters of the Lodge. And then I turned back to Brandon. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out again, forcing a smile.

He wasn’t fooled. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.” He led me toward a table.

“Wait.” I hesitated, displaying my hands. “Let me clean up a little. I’ll only be a minute.”

Brandon let me go. I went on into the kitchen, found the washroom after Maria’s directions and shut the door with a decided click. Then I leaned against it, eyes closed, and tried to overcome the grief that surged up so uncontrollably.

When the first pain had passed I washed my face and hands, using cold water only. Then I stared at myself in the mirror over the sink and saw again the pale face with the hollow—too hollow—cheeks and the huge, dilated brown eyes. The scar on my brow was a purple snake writhing beneath my bangs. I put shaking fingertips to it and traced out its path, feeling the ridged line and puckered flesh.

Brandon was waiting for me as I rejoined the people in the dining room. He put a drink in my hand—bourbon and water—and steered me toward the nearest table. A gentle pressure on my shoulder told me to sit down on the bench.

“Relax,” he said gently as I lifted the glass to my mouth. “What else can you expect when you see me for the first time?” His smile was comforting, as was the kindness in his eyes.

I sipped at the drink and then nodded, releasing a breath. “I feel stupid.”

“No. I’m damn near his twin, when you aren’t expecting it. Like I said, I would have warned you had I known you’d be here.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t know it myself. Vanessa bundled me onto the plane with strict instructions to enjoy myself… or at least realign my priorities.” I smiled a little. “I don’t suppose the two of you planned this?”

He laughed. He had a low, warm laugh. I’d forgotten how attentive he could be. “Hardly. I’m here primarily on business, but I plan to turn it into a mini-vacation as well. Still, I can’t say I’m disappointed to find you here. ” Briefly he put out a hand and touched my newly-arranged bangs. “Don’t worry about it, Kelly. There’s not much you can do about it now.”

I overlooked that, focused on something else. “What business, Brandon? Here?”

He gestured. “With John Oliver.”

“You know the Olivers?”

The incredible grin, so like Tucker’s, flashed out to encompass me. “John works for me.”

I stared at him. “For you?”

He laughed. “In a manner of speaking. To be honest, it’s my dad he calls boss. He runs the Nevada plant for the munitions portion of the family business.” For a moment his eyes were serious again. “Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m okay. But thanks.”

“Stay here. I need to tell John something, and then I’ll be right back.”

I nodded. As he moved across the room to join the Olivers I felt other eyes on me and sought them out. It was Rafferty who watched me so intently. At last, uncomfortable, I looked away and swallowed more of my drink.

Brandon Walkerton. At Smoketree. I was surprised and shaken by his arrival, but not at all sorry. Brandon had known Tucker very well indeed, and he understood. Harper Young had tried to pry my problems out of me, but Brandon wouldn’t have to. He already knew.

Brandon James Walkerton, the fourth of that name, had known Tucker even longer than I. They had attended UCLA together, Tucker involved in drama and Brandon majoring in popularity. Tucker’s family wealth had never rivaled Brandon’s, but their backgrounds were similar enough to make them good friends. And when Tucker had gained his fame, he and Brandon—both bachelors—had made the rounds of the California party circles. They were involved in other ways, as well. Brandon’s father owned a company with corporate fingers in countless national and international pies. One happened to be a major motion picture studio-one that employed Tucker regularly.

There had been much kidding about their physical resemblance. Brandon was a little heavier, a little taller, a little more overpowering on first meeting than Tucker. They had shared similar temperaments and interests. They had shared a large portion of their lives together, until Tucker met me. And then things had changed. As Tucker and I grew closer and closer, Brandon drifted away, jetting around the world in search of entertainment. That he had come to Smoketree on business really surprised me. He had never been work-oriented before.

I smiled. Brandon Walkerton was a playboy who knew his part very well. He was very, very good at spending his father’s money; I wasn’t too certain he knew how to make it.



Throughout the meal Brandon was attentive and charming, speaking about trivial things he thought might divert me. I realized what he was doing, and appreciated it.

The Olivers conversed with him warmly, old friends as well as business acquaintances. Julie and Matt Chesley joined in from time to time, but spoke mostly with Nathan. I noticed he seemed strangely subdued, but he guided the generalized table talk with skill and warmth. Still, I thought it seemed more out of habit than his normal affable manner.

Cass sat by Harper, guarding him like a jealous dog does a bone. It amused me that she seemed to consider me a threat to whatever relationship existed between them. Harper treated her like a younger sister; he either didn’t or wouldn’t realize she was no longer a little girl.

When the meal was over Brandon made a skilled, unobtrusive exit, taking me with him. I felt a pang of guilt over our abrupt escape, but as Rafferty brushed by us on the porch I decided his rudeness outdid ours.

“My place, or yours?” Brandon asked.

I laughed at him. We stood in the garish illumination of the yellow porchlight. It gilded his blond hair and leached color from his eyes. “Sounds like a proposition, Mr. Walkerton.”

“Ah, but I don’t suppose you would take it seriously.” His tone was smooth and easy, applying no pressure; Brandon had always been very good with words and nuances.

“Thank you,” I told him. “It helps.”

He turned toward me. “I’ve been worried about you, you know.”

“I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I know that. It doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” His face, jaundiced in the light, was serious. “You will give me that right, won’t you—even if you were Tucker’s lady?” He paused. “Let’s find a place to talk, Kelly. I think we both have a lot to say to each other.”

“There’s nothing to say—”

“Kelly,” he interrupted calmly, “I’ve heard all the rumors. Shall we go discuss them?”

“Wait—”

He took my hand and led me down the steps. “Come on.”

We wound up at the pens near the burned barn. Brandon asked about it, remarking on how spooky the charred rafters and uprights appeared in the moonlight. Illumination from the Lodge leaked out to reach the barn, but it was weak and diluted by distance. The stench of destruction still hung about it.

“Last night,” I told him. “It was a mess.”

“I can imagine. ” He hooked one foot on the bottom rail and rested his forearms along the top one. The inhabitant eyed him distrustfully from the far end, then went back to lipping at the hay in the feeder.

I felt as wary suddenly. “Well?”

He didn’t look at me. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you in the past six months.”

“How many did you believe?”

He smiled. “I’m not exactly sure. But you look well enough to me, if a little strained. And too thin. ” He turned against the rails and looked straight at me. “What happened to you? Afterward. You dropped out of sight.”

I hedged. “What were they saying, Brandon?”

He shook his head slightly, mouth drawing into a taut line. “I didn’t believe any of it-everything from a nervous breakdown to attempted suicide.”

My hands closed over the cool metal rail. “Nothing about manslaughter, then?”

He swung around. “Manslaughter! What are you talking about?”

“I was driving.” Three simple words. And so hard to say. “Damn it, it was an accident!”

“It doesn’t make it any easier!” I glared at him and tried to fight back the tears. “It was still me.”

“He was drunk when he left the party. Everyone knew that. If he’d gotten behind the wheel God knows what might have—” He stopped dead, realizing what he was about to say.

I nodded. “Exactly. Tucker driving might have gotten us both killed. Well? I drove—and I merely got one of us killed instead of both!”

“Kelly…” He let his breath out harshly. “Damn it, what can I say? It happened. It wasn’t your fault. That bastard coming the other way is at fault. What the hell else could you have done?”

“He’s dead, Brandon. That’s all I know.”

“I know. I know.” He put out both hands, caught my shoulders and pulled me to him. He was warm and big and safe. Just by holding me he eased some of the grief, and yet he also compounded it. “Kelly… he was special to me, too.”

I turned my face against his chest. “I know it. And I hate living with it. What else can I do but blame myself?”

“You can stop.” His chin rested on the top of my head. “I don’t blame you. No one else does, either. It was one of those horrible accidents no one can understand. Oh God, I’m so sorry…” He hugged me protectively.

“Brandon—”

“I might have stopped you. I might have kept you from leaving the party. I might have made sure Tucker didn’t go anywhere. ”

I pulled away from him. “You can’t blame yourself for that!”

His eyes were sad. “No more than you can blame yourself when someone else caused the accident. Lay it all on his head, not on yours.”

“But they never caught him. ”

“No. Probably never will. But it doesn’t change the fact he was responsible, not you.”

“Or you.”

He sighed. “No. But I still think about it. I still remember how unlike him it was to get that drunk… and I remember trying to talk you into letting him sleep it off at the house.”

I pulled away from him. “I wasn’t drunk. There was no reason to think I couldn’t get us home safely.” I shook my head and felt the familiar sickened feeling curling deep in my belly. “But I wish I’d listened to you.”

His hand was gentle on my arm. “Look, that’s all in the past. I can’t tell you not to think about it, but I think you need to look ahead now. Go back to modeling.”

I grimaced. “That’s not so easy anymore. There’s not much of my career left.”

“All right,” he said. “Yes, I saw your scar. And yes, it’s ugly. I knew you’d been scarred by the accident. But I don’t see that it has to end your career. There’s always plastic surgery—”

“This is plastic surgery!” I took a heavy breath. “Brandon, they’ve done everything. This one isn’t going to magically disappear. What you see is what you get.”

“Look, it’s not as if your entire face has been destroyed,” he said. “Or the rest of you. There’s an awful lot of the Jazzmine Girl left, you know.” He smiled. “Kelly, it’s not nearly as bad as you think it is.”

I shook my head slowly. “Oh Brandon, you don’t understand the modeling business at all.”

He spread his hands. “So tell me.”

“For every successful model there are hundreds waiting to take her place. There is no job security in this business. The minute a void appears it’s filled.” I spread my hands helplessly. “What company is going to hire me when they can get twenty or so other girls who don’t have scars?”

“What about Jazzmine?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Drew’s talking to them. Things are kind of sticky right now; my contract was up with Jazzmine a couple of months ago and they’re hedging about making another offer. Drew’s doing his usual subtle arm-twisting, along with saying all the right things, so I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He’ll probably know in a week or so if they’ve decided to get another girl.”

“Drew Stanford?” Brandon nodded. “You’ve got the best with him—that much I know. I dated a model once; she told me how she envied your position and manager.” He sighed and leaned against the pen. “Jazzmine would be stupid to let you go. Look what you’ve done for them.”

“And vice versa.” I shook my head. “Maybe now is just as good a time as any to quit. I might not even have any choice.”

“Don’t bet on it.” He looked past me to the shell of the barn. “You don’t bear the slightest resemblance to that, Kelly. Remember that.”

I knew what he meant, and I appreciated it. But I couldn’t help smiling. “At least with me it wasn’t intended. The fire was purposely set.”

He looked at me sharply, furrows appearing between his brows. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you mixed up in some sort of trouble?”

I laughed at him and put out my hands as the horse came up to the rails. He—or she—set his nose against my hand and blew softly. “Not me, of course not. There just seems to be some skullduggery going on around here. Evil’s afoot at Smoketree.” For a moment I gave my imagination free rein, eager for something different to talk about. Who cared if it was all a tall tale?

“Kelly—”

“No, really. Just listen.” I mulled it over a minute. “It’s like this. Smoketree’s a very valuable piece of property—it’s an ideal place for land developers to come in and build condominiums.” I shrugged. “After all, the ranch is practically surrounded by government land, and there’s a ski area just over the hill. So some big outfit comes in here and makes Nathan, the owner, an offer. But he says no, because he loves this land.” I was warming to my subject. “Right about then, the wrangler buys half the ranch. And then, these odd incidents begin occurring.”

“Kelly—”

“And, if these incidents go on long enough”—I paused for dramatic effect—“and cause Nathan enough losses, he’ll have to sell. ”

Brandon sighed. “Have you figured out who’s behind it?”

“No.” I frowned into the darkness, thinking about it. “Unless, of course, it was the butler.”

“What?” It was a gust of air from his lungs.

I grinned. “It’s always the butler in whodunits. Well, Smoketree doesn’t have a butler, but it does have the loyal retainer—sort of. Harper Young. Head wrangler… and half-owner.” I laughed. “You see?”

He didn’t. “I think you’re out of your mind. Still, I’ll admit I’d sooner see you out of it than in it.” He grinned back, “Come on, Kelly, you don’t really mean to tell me—”

“Why not?” I demanded. “The land developers are paying Harper to make Nathan sell his portion. Then Harper sells his half—and Smoketree is no more. ”

“It’s too simple,” he retorted.

“Simple things work best,” I proclaimed. “Don’t you see? All these accidents. A man on the inside would be invaluable. As a matter of fact, I’d be willing to bet these incidents started happening right after Harper bought into Smoketree.”

“No, they didn’t,” said Harper from the far side of the pens. “They started right before.”