Instead, Faith took stock of the situation, which had to be quite traumatic for her, and remained calm.
“You hurt Grace,” Faith said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Lizzie nodded. “I was scared.” She swallowed. “But it’s no excuse. I’m sorry.” She looked up at Grace, her eyes full of remorse. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Grace’s throat closed. She remembered Carter telling her that Lizzie was a consummate liar, but Grace read plain truth in her gaze. Lizzie asked for forgiveness, but wasn’t certain she’d have it, or deserved it.
Grace had gone to church a large part of her life, as did most people in Riverbend. Though she didn’t consider herself unduly religious, she remembered the stories and verses she’d learned in Sunday School—enough to know that forgiveness was one of the toughest things a person had to do, but also the most important.
Looking at Lizzie, with her sad eyes, her hair, which had been dyed black, now grown out into her natural brown, Grace wondered if she could ever forgive. Grace’s life had almost been taken away, she’d lain in pain in a hospital bed for a long time, and then for weeks at home trying to get back on her feet. It had been a close thing, the doctors had said. Grace had been very, very lucky.
Grace had been angry and afraid, hesitant about leaving her own house for the longest time. She’d forced herself back to Circle C, but even now rarely went anywhere but very familiar places.
How dare this woman do that to her? Try to take away her life, her confidence, her sense of safety? Could Grace forgive that? What was to say Lizzie wouldn’t leave here, get back on drugs, and do something as heinous again? Even worse, what if she hurt Faith? Lizzie should go to prison and stay there.
Not seven times, but seventy times seven. So the parable went. A person had to forgive over and over again, as hard as it might be.
Her Sunday School teacher had liked to say, Forgiveness is not earned, but freely given.
Grace made an inward growl. Damn it, I hate being the good girl.
Grace met Lizzie’s eyes and gave her the faintest nod.
Lizzie relaxed a fraction, and turned back to Faith. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Faith regarded her gravely. “Are you going to jail?”
“Maybe.” Lizzie glanced up at Carter then returned her gaze to Faith. “Like you said, I’ve done bad things.”
Faith nodded. “When you get out, we can talk. I would like to get to know you.”
Lizzie broke into a sudden smile, as though Faith had just bestowed a great gift on her. “My mom and dad want to meet you too. They have a great big house, real nice. Would you like to meet your other grandparents?”
Faith considered. “Yes. But I think we should take it slow.”
“I’ll tell them,” Lizzie said, tears in her voice.
Carter broke in. “That’s enough.” He put his hand on Faith’s shoulder. “Ross.”
“Come on, now,” Ross said to Lizzie.
Lizzie wiped tears from her face, rose, and obediently turned to follow Ross. Tyler closed in behind her.
Lizzie glanced back at Faith, who watched her walk away. Lizzie’s eyes held undisguised longing, sorrow, no malice at all.
Tyler motioned her on, and they kept moving. Grant and Adam followed, unsmiling.
Carter leaned down to Faith, and Olivia came to hug her. “You all right, baby?” Carter asked.
Faith embraced her grandmother and patted her back, then slid from Carter’s grasp and turned back to her saucer-eyed friends.
“Well,” Faith said to them. “That was intense. I think we should have cake.”
***
Carter was so proud of his daughter, he could spit. She made it through the rest of the party with absolute composure, and after cake, took her friends, as planned, down to the stables to show off Dodie, the dainty mare Faith had won plenty of ribbons on.
Faith waved her friends good-bye when parents came to pick them up, and helped Grace and Olivia clean up.
Carter was proud of Grace too. If Grace had dashed across the grass, gotten Lizzie in a headlock, and slammed her to the ground, he wouldn’t have blamed her.
Instead, Grace had stood there, as regal as ever, and given Lizzie a gracious nod. The nod had said, I’ll be cool with you, but don’t ever mess with me again. Grace was sweetness, but not a pushover.
Lizzie didn’t come back out of the rooms over the garage. Ross stayed up there with her, as did Tyler. Ross had also called a policewoman he knew, to act as chaperone and witness to Lizzie’s treatment.
Ross had said, grim-faced, that Lizzie had slipped away from them when she’d gone to the bathroom, another reason he’d called the policewoman. She’d climbed out the window and down scaffolding before Tyler and Ross had realized. The scaffolding had been removed as well.
Carter was a little uncertain about Tyler being close by. Tyler liked women—a lot—and Lizzie was good at manipulating men. But Tyler tended to go for happy, chirpy sweethearts, not damaged women looking to be rescued, and for all his charm, he wasn’t stupid.
Carter knew exactly what woman Ross was into, and knew Lizzie wouldn’t pull his little brother away from her. Ross too was no fool.
Faith stayed up later than usual, helping Grace, until Carter insisted she go to bed. He went with her, tucking her in.
“What’s going to happen to her?” Faith asked as Carter drew the covers over her. “My mom, I mean.”
Faith always called Lizzie my mother or my mom, always adding the my. Mom wasn’t a name to her, only a designation.
“I don’t know, baby. We have to wait and see. She knows a lot about bad people, but they know she knows. She might have to go into witness protection.”
“Which means I wouldn’t get to see her,” Faith said. “I watch TV.”
“It would be her choice, but yeah.” Carter paused, taking in his daughter with her freshly washed face, her braids resting on the covers. “Are you okay with all this, sweetheart? You’re taking it pretty well.”
Faith shrugged. “I’m not happy, but I’ve had nine years to think about it. I’ve looked up what happens to people when they’re on drugs, and it seems like she needs help more than anything else. My grandparents should have looked after her better.” She frowned, and Carter imagined her admonishing them about it. “I mean, you look after me just fine, and you grew up rough. When you were my age, you were on the streets. But there’s nothing wrong with you now.”
Carter’s heart warmed from her simple praise. He gently squeezed her hand. “Thanks, baby.”
Faith gave him a severe look. “You didn’t announce your engagement to Grace.”
“I know. Me and Grace decided it wasn’t the right time.”
Faith nodded. “You were probably right. How about tomorrow? At dinner? Make it official.”
“Sweetie, you know we aren’t really engaged. And if Lizzie goes into witness protection or to jail, it won’t matter anymore.”
Faith’s scowl returned. “It matters to me. And if you’re not engaged, why were you kissing Grace like that, and why is she sleeping in your bed?”
She had a point. “Things get mixed up when you’re a grownup,” was all Carter could think of to say.
“I don’t want to grow up, then.”
Carter let himself smile. “Probably smart.”
Faith sent him a skeptical look. “Work it out, Dad. You like Grace, and she likes you. I don’t see the problem.”
Other than Grace furious with him for stashing Lizzie here for the night, sure. And many other things they needed to work out.
“We’ll talk about it later, sweetie.” Carter kissed her on the forehead then straightened the photo of him and Faith in the cutsie frame, which he’d put on her nightstand. “Thanks for this. It’s real nice.”
Faith smiled, her anger gone. “Grace helped me make it. We decided to surprise you with it.”
Carter remembered walking out of his bedroom in only a towel to catch Grace hi
ding it. “It sure was a surprise. I love it, sweetie.”
“Good.” Faith snuggled down. “Good night, Daddy.”
“Night.” Carter kissed her again, smoothed her covers, then made for the door and snapped out the light at the switch. “Sweet dreams.”
“You too.” Faith pointed a thin finger at him. “Tomorrow. Remember.”
Carter didn’t answer. He closed the door, deep in thought.
Grace had gone home tonight. Carter didn’t blame her, but he yearned with everything he had to wrap his arms around her and bury himself in her heat.
He made up a bed for himself on the sofa in their suite’s living room, determined to be on guard at Faith’s door. He didn’t trust Lizzie not to pull something underhanded to get her hands on Faith, and he didn’t trust Joss to keep out of it either.
The night was quiet, though. Everyone slept, except Carter, who lay awake, thinking of Grace.
***
Grace answered her cell phone as she was eating breakfast with her brothers, seeing that the caller was Carter.
“Hey,” she said softly to him. She rose and moved to the back porch, under the stares of Ray and Kyle, to talk in privacy.
“Ross arranged for Lizzie to be taken into protective custody,” Carter said. “She agreed, and said she has a lot to tell about Joss—his operations, how to get to him.” Carter paused. “You coming over today?”
“Probably,” Grace said, her voice light. “I can’t leave your mom to deal with the residual of yesterday, and y’all still need to eat.”
“Good.” Carter’s voice was warm. He was a man of few words, but Grace realized that he didn’t really need to say a lot. He conveyed more in a few syllables than most people did in a barrage of sentences. “Want to talk to you.”
“Yeah.” Grace didn’t need to ask him about what. “See you later then.”
“Sure thing,” Carter said. He paused a long moment then said. “Bye, now.”
“Bye.” Grace was smiling as she clutched the phone, even when she heard the soft click that meant he was gone. Carter usually abruptly ended his phone conversations, but he’d made himself remember to give her a farewell.
***
When Grace reached the ranch, everything was so normal, it made her eyes sting. Olivia was rushing around, getting ready to talk to a local group about the ranch foster program, which was still going strong. It was Saturday, so Faith was home, working with Dodie in a corral with an instructor. Bailey, Faith’s favorite riding coach, wasn’t doing as much these days. She’d be home with her feet up.
The guys were doing Saturday things. Ross was at work, Grant and Adam with their wives. Tyler and Carter were training, working out new stunts. They’d taken their horses out, and would be back for lunch.
As happened every Saturday.
Grace, left alone, cleaned, prepped for lunch and dinner, practiced on more recipes for her dream pastry shop. She’d driven some of her finished bakery items to Mrs. Ward already this morning. Mrs. Ward was picky about her food, but she already had started a regular order with Grace. It was a start.
The sun was warm, the air the sweet cool of fall, the nip reminding Grace that winter was around the corner. Soon, she would be planning a Thanksgiving dinner, and then Christmas. She briefly wondered whether she’d spend those upcoming holiday dinners with Carter’s family as well as her own.
She was filling profiteroles with thick pastry cream when she heard a commotion at the stables.
Faith?
Grace’s first stricken thought was that Lizzie or this shadowy Joss had come out here to try to take Faith again. Her second, that Faith had fallen and was hurt.
Grace abandoned her pastries and ran out of the house, making her way down to the corrals.
Faith was fine. She sat astride Dodie, her instructor standing next to her. What had the stable hands in an uproar was Buster.
Buster was the brothers’ favorite stunt horse. He would put up with them jumping on and off his back, would fearlessly run next to a moving car or train, and he wouldn’t swerve at a bad moment. He knew his job.
He was also a notorious little shit. Buster had the worst manners of any horse Grace had known, using any excuse to bite or kick, step on a foot, or, when he knew the serious work was done, tossing off his rider and heading for the sunset.
Buster had run back to the stables. At the moment, he was loping around the outside of the corrals, expertly dodging anyone trying to grab him.
“What’s he doing here?” Faith asked. “Dad was riding him.”
Grace had reached the corral, and climbed to stand on the lower bar. “You know Buster,” she said, trying to keep worry from her voice. “He always runs away as soon as your dad’s off his back.”
“But he runs away,” Faith said. “Not home. And why is Uncle Tyler here?”
She pointed as Tyler charged out of the office, demanding to know what was going on.
“Tyler?” Grace called. “I thought you were out with Carter.”
“I was.” Tyler saw Buster, and his face fell. “I came in early. Carter wanted to work on a couple things out at the practice area.”
Faith stood up in her stirrups. Dodie, catching her anxiousness, shied sideways, but Faith easily kept her balance.
“There’s something wrong,” Faith said, voice sharp. “Something’s happened to my dad.”
Chapter Seventeen
Carter, at that moment, was in the trunk of a car. His hands were bound tightly behind him with what felt like thin wire, and his head hurt where one of the thugs had whacked him with a tire iron.
The last blow had him sagging, his limbs not working, which enabled them to shove him into the trunk and drive away.
Carter felt some grim humor, however. A carload of men had driven up to where he’d been working Buster out in the open, at the end of a dirt road. He’d been practicing jumping from Buster and over a barbed wire fence, rolling to a halt on the other side.
Buster, as usual, ran off as soon as Carter was down, but he didn’t go far. He’d come back when Carter whistled and yelled long enough, and let him mount again. Buster always made it clear, though, that it was his choice.
How Joss’s guys had found him, Carter didn’t know. He recognized the two he’d fought at Joss’s chop shop, but not the others.
They were armed, and they told Carter to get off the horse and come with them or die. Carter was far more worried they’d shoot Buster than him, so he’d dismounted.
Buster, of course, used the excuse to run. But instead of heading for the horizon, he rushed the men.
They fired wildly, trying to scare him off. Buster, though, wasn’t afraid of gunfire. Movie shoots were full of it, plus any number of explosions.
Carter ran after the horse, heart in his throat, sure the men would shoot and kill him. But either they drew the line at killing animals, or Buster had them so spooked they couldn’t aim, and he wasn’t hit.
Even the most docile horse could be dangerous, and Buster was far from docile. He turned his butt around and kicked the hell out of one of Joss’s thugs, then he ran, flicking his tail in triumph.
Carter was left to face the five men standing. They jumped him. Carter fought. He was pretty sure they’d kill him, but he got in many good punches and knocked guns away from two of them.
In the end, he was beaten down, bound hand and foot, and dumped, his head spinning from the tire-iron blow, into the trunk.
Carter would be more upset about his predicament but for several things. Joss had locked Carter into a trunk before—more than once. It was his modus for subduing his flunkies and dragging them home when they tried to run away.
Also, Carter had fully intended to confront Joss and explain to him that he was to keep away from his family or life would get bad. With what Lizzie had on him, Joss might be arrested anytime anyway, but Carter knew better than to think locking him in prison would render him tame.
Joss would likely be at the end of the car
ride, saving Carter the trouble of traveling to see him.
The third reason was that if Joss were busy taking retribution on Carter, it meant he wasn’t taking it on Faith or Grace. Not that Joss wouldn’t go after them as well, but once Carter was done with him today, he wouldn’t be able to. Carter would make certain of that one way or the other.
The car bumped and jounced over the washboard roads common in this part of Texas. Roads were graded so pickups could get to farms or oilfields, and then left unfinished. Few spent the money to have the roads paved.
They’d taken Carter’s cell phone, so no maneuvering it out of his pocket and calling for help. If he could get a signal. No, he just had to wait this out and face what came. Meanwhile he kept himself busy working to loosen the wire around his wrists and ankles.
Carter was good at judging time passing—stunt riding was all about timing. That, and waiting to perform. He figured an hour had gone by before the car, bumping monotonously along, stopped. They’d moved at a tedious pace, vehicles on these roads having to slow for washes, gates, rocks in the road, armadillos …
Probably the car had gone west. If they’d gone any other direction, they’d have met up with a town before long.
The trunk opened. Carter averted his eyes from the glare, not wanting to be blinded before his vision could adjust.
Three guys dragged him out, grabbing him by his denim riding shirt. Carter’s head throbbed, but his feet got under him okay.
It was noon, and hot. The sun glared in a sky full of puffy clouds, with thunderheads on the horizon. Early November in West Texas could still feel like summer.
They were in an oil field. Carter understood that from the rumble and clank, clank of an oil pump jack, and the acrid smell of its engine.
The pump jack was a huge one, its head moving ponderously up and down as the giant counterweights turned behind it. The pump was surrounded by a high, chain-link fence with a gate, the gate padlocked. The pump was isolated—Carter thought he saw another way off in the distance, but nothing else in the emptiness.
Joss had nothing to do with this well, Carter knew. He’d simply picked it for a convenient place to kill Carter.