begged, he wouldn’t put her on his visitors’ list. She wasn’t much of a letter writer, but she’d sent him one a week at first, telling him about how Georgianna and Cindy were doing, hoping to ease his mind about them.
But after a while, there was nothing she’d wanted to say, so she wrote less frequently.
God help her. She wanted to run to Cody and feel herself in his arms again. She’d always felt safe with him and always loved.
Safe? With a killer?
Instead, she shook her head and prayed that Slim wouldn’t tell her father that she’d been at the Double M. “Sorry, I have to get going.”
“Will I see you soon?” Cody asked quietly. “Our place?”
She nodded. He did the same. That was all she was going to get for now, and that simple gesture was all she could give in return.
Georgianna gave Laura a quick peck on the cheek. “Come and visit again,” she said, following Cody inside.
Cindy turned back and waved to her as she walked on the squeaky, splintered boards of the porch. “Bye, Laura. See you on Friday when you drop Johnny off.”
Laura’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of her son. She hoped Cody hadn’t heard what Cindy had said, not until she had a chance to think things through.
She’d thought she’d had another two years before she had to worry about telling Cody about Johnny.
But her time was up. Cody wasn’t stupid.
She was hard-pressed to make something positive out of this situation that had suddenly been thrust upon her. It was easier to procrastinate and believe that Cody’s felony conviction and incarceration hadn’t happened.
Laura waved goodbye to Cindy and noticed that Slim took a seat on the rocking chair on the porch to wait for him.
“Slim, what’s going on?” Laura asked when the Masters family was inside the ranch house. “I didn’t know that Cody was being released today.”
“I just found out, too. Your father apparently arranged for his early release. This morning he told me that Cody was going to get out early and to go pick him up at the correctional facility.”
“Wait a second.” Laura raised a hand like a traffic cop. “My father helped to get Cody out on parole?”
“Sí.”
“I don’t understand. My father was never a Cody Masters fan.”
Slim removed his straw hat and hung it on a knee. “That’s putting it mildly. All I know is that Georgianna Masters—er... I mean, Georgianna Lindy—paid the boss a visit, and soon the parole people were talking to J.W. So this morning, J.W. told me that after I pick Cody up, he’s going to be working at the Duke Ranch as part of his parole.”
Interesting, Laura thought. I wonder what Daddy is up to.
“But Cody’s own ranch needs a lot of work,” Laura said. “It’s been going downhill since he went to prison. He should be able to work his own property, not my father’s! Georgianna is struggling to keep it up herself, and Cindy has to go to school.”
“Cody’s worked both ranches before.” Slim shrugged. “And from what I understand, the wages that he earned at J.W.’s back then went toward fixing up the Double M. As long as prison didn’t break Cody’s back, he can do the same again.”
The Dukes had always had so much, and the Masters family barely scraped by. As far back as Laura could remember, it had been like that. To make things worse, her father enjoyed constantly riding Cody, telling him that he, Georgianna and Cindy would be better off if they sold their ranch back to J.W.
Maybe for once her father was right.
It’d be difficult avoiding Cody because, as exes, he knew they had things to discuss, but she’d have to avoid him as much as possible until she figured out a plan.
“Slim, what will his duties be?”
“According to J.W., I’m to treat him like a typical greenhorn. He can start by mucking out the stalls.”
Laura sighed. It wasn’t just Cody that her father disliked. It always stuck in his craw that Mike Masters, Cody’s father, had won his little pie-slice of land, along with a decaying farmhouse from J.W., in an all-night drunken poker game.
Subsequently, J.W. had devoted his life to getting the land back.
To that end, he was probably going to use Cody somehow. Maybe use him to influence Georgianna Masters to sell out. That was the kind of man J.W. was. It was his way or the highway.
Secrets. She’d have to keep hers as long as she could.
* * *
Cody shook off his rumpled suit and hurried into the shower, letting the water sluice over him. It couldn’t be hot enough, as far as he was concerned.
A private shower—what a luxury! He fingered the vinyl curtain with a school of tropical fish swimming over a coral reef. He laughed at the design on a curtain in the middle of the damn Arizona desert.
As the bathroom filled up with steam, he took a deep breath and poured shower gel all over himself. Then he found a pink loofah and scraped his skin with it until it tingled.
As soon as he had a block of time, he’d head up into the mountains—to Saguaro Canyon—and soak in the cold rushing water. He knew just the spot, too. It was a favorite of his and Laura’s.
They used to sit in the creek for hours at a time, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his chest. They’d relax in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes they’d talk about the future. It had always been their dream that somehow he’d make his mark in the world and then he’d ask J.W. for her hand in marriage.
But now he was a jailbird, a convicted felon. No one in their right mind would hire him, much less let him marry their daughter, but he knew he’d made the right decision, and he’d have to live with the consequences.
He supposed he should be grateful that he had a paying job at J.W.’s ranch and that he got out of that hellhole earlier than he’d thought he would, even though he’d planned on serving his whole sentence. There were just some things that a man had to do to protect those he loved.
He soaped up again and kept scrubbing with the loofah. Then he washed his hair with mango-coconut shampoo that must have been his mother’s or sister’s, digging his fingernails into his scalp.
For the next several minutes, he just stood under the spray, letting the hot water cleanse his body, cleanse his soul.
With a sigh of regret, he turned it off.
He couldn’t stall any longer. He was burning daylight.
He’d just spent three years out of five for involuntary manslaughter, and he owed the parole system two more years. That meant two years working as an indentured servant for J. W. Duke.
In
