Linda Warren - Deep In The Heart Of Texas

Clyde shot her a withering look. Trying to keep Ali from crumpling to the floor, he called out, “Frances!”

The housekeeper, a small woman with short, brown hair, appeared from the kitchen. Jane, her daughter, followed.

“Take Ali upstairs. She needs to get some rest. And, Jane, would you help your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” Jane replied as Clyde handed over his burden.

“I don’t want to, Clyde. I want to see my baby,” Ali protested.

“You go and rest, Ali. I’ll wake you if anything happens,” he promised.

Wrapping an arm around Ali’s waist, Jane asked, “Has there been any news?” Worry clouded her brown eyes. She and Miranda had been friends since childhood.

“Not since the first ransom call,” Clyde answered. “We’re waiting to find out where to drop the money.”

As the trio trudged toward the stairs, Clyde added, “Jane, phone Kevin and tell him to stop calling here. I don’t want to talk to that son of a bitch. After what he’s done to my daughter, I never want to see his face again.”

“Yes, sir,” Jane answered.

“That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think, Clyde?” Helen asked. “They’ve had a lovers’ spat. It happens to all young couples. I’m sure Kevin is very worried about Miranda.”

Clyde turned on Helen, his brown eyes blazing. “She found him in bed with another woman barely three weeks after their engagement. The FBI got the whole sordid story out of him. He hurt her, and I won’t have him anywhere near her.”

Eyebrows raised, Helen said, “If memory serves me correctly, you weren’t averse to sleeping with other women while married, and you always expected forgiveness.”

Clyde’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Shut up, Helen. If you want to stay in this house, you’ll keep your nasty comments to yourself.”

“Mother, please.” Tom intervened before things got out of hand. He took her by the arm, whispered something to her, and led her to a chair.

Doreen watched this display with dark burning eyes and bit down on her lip, but managed to keep from saying anything.

An FBI agent spoke to Clyde. “Mr. Maddox, let’s go over the routine again. When the call comes through, keep talking as long as you can. We know they’re using a cell phone, so the more time we have, the better our chance of getting the number. Ask to speak with Miranda. You want to be certain she’s okay. If they refuse, keep insisting. Tell them you need some reassurance.”

“Okay,” Clyde replied. “But what’s taking so damn long?”

“They’re trying your patience, Mr. Maddox,” the agent answered. “They want to make sure you’ll do whatever they ask. How are you coming with the money?”

Clyde turned to Tom. “Is the money ready?”

“Yes,” Tom answered. “It was hard getting two million in cash at such short notice, but John at the bank said everything was set. We should have the money within the next thirty minutes.”

“Good.” The agent nodded. “Let’s hope we can find her before you have to give them any money.”

Clyde drove a fist into his other hand. “Why don’t they call? And where the hell is Spikes?”

“I haven’t seen him or Peavy since the FBI agent interviewed them,” Tom said.

“And we’ve come up with nothing on the green van Mr. Peavy said he saw in front of the house that morning,” the agent added.

Clyde sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. “What’s going on? How could they just come in here and take my daughter without anyone seeing them?”

Everyone in the room stood paralyzed. Clyde Maddox was a rock. He never wavered under pressure, but this man with the slumped shoulders was falling apart. No one was sure what to do.

Tom glanced at the agent, then at his mother, but before anyone could make a move, Clyde jumped up, his iron demeanor back in place. “Find Spikes. I want to see him now!”

THE HERMIT PASSED the canteen to Miranda. “Drink some water, then we need to be on our way.”

Miranda didn’t realize she was thirsty until the water touched her lips. She took several gulps and handed the canteen back to him. He grabbed the backpack and stood. Miranda hoped she could do the same. With her hands on the cold hard ground, she pushed herself to her feet. She felt several fingernails break, but she couldn’t concern herself with such a minor problem. She was more worried about her legs. Miraculously they held her without pain. A grateful sigh escaped her, and they started off.

As they walked, Miranda began to identify the sounds around her: an owl, the rustle of leaves, the wind, a coyote howling in the distance. Except for the night sounds, the woods were very quiet. Just the two of them trudging steadily toward the ranch and safety.

The cramps in her legs resumed, and she gritted her teeth to bear the pain. Her attention was so focused on her cramped legs that she didn’t realize he’d stopped until she walked into his back.

“Oh,” she muttered in a startled voice as she struggled to keep from falling. She flung her hand out and caught a branch. It snapped in her hand.

The hermit whirled around and steadied her, then immediately pulled his hands free when she had her balance. Maybe he didn’t like women, she mused. Or maybe he just didn’t like her.

The questions triggered so many other questions in her head. She found she was becoming very curious about him. What was his name? What kind of life had he left behind? Was there a wife? A family?

“Damn,” he said, staring at the broken branch on the ground.

“What?” she asked, not understanding the implications.

“You broke a branch. It’ll be a dead giveaway that someone’s been through here,” he explained.

“Oh, no,” she cried, and felt as if she’d committed a crime. Maybe in a way she had. Her carelessness could alert Spikes to their whereabouts. She wanted to hide the branch, maybe leave a false trail, but his words stopped her.

“We don’t have time to worry about it.”

“But shouldn’t we do something?” she asked.

“No. They’ll probably assume it was broken by an animal—especially if we just leave it here. We have other problems.”

She held her breath and waited for his next words.

“We have to find shelter,” he said, glancing toward the sky.

She followed his gaze and found that all the stars had disappeared. The sky was black. Very black.

Still not grasping the full meaning of this, she asked, “Shelter? Why?”

“There’s a storm coming.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can smell it, and the sky has changed drastically in the past fifteen minutes.”

“I see,” she murmured, thinking that he and the elements were probably best friends. Her eyes searched the barren darkness. “But where can we find shelter in these woods?”

She felt him watching her, and she knew his expression without even seeing his face. It was dark and steely-eyed, telling her she’d used up her quota of questions for the day.

His instructions. She’d forgotten about them, but it was normal to be curious. She started to apologize because she’d never make it home without his help. But then she closed her mouth. A few questions wouldn’t kill him, she thought defiantly. He didn’t have to be so stiff and unrelenting.

She was glad when he turned his attention to the matter of finding shelter. “There’s a small cave not far from here. I think we can make it before the storm hits.”

She frowned beneath the masklike cap. Did he say cave? Weren’t there bats in caves? Should she ask? No, she answered herself. He wouldn’t appreciate her nervousness. But she wasn’t used to roughing it in the outdoors. She was accustomed to central air and heat and every possible luxury. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to tolerate what lay ahead.