Page 60 of Westin

“We’re going to figure this out,” Westin said softly against her temple almost as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone. She kissed his shoulder, grateful for his presence.

Clint pulled the truck up to a side door, leading Lee and Westin into the house through the kitchen. He nodded to a young woman slicing tomatoes on a butcher-block-topped island, but offered no other greeting as he led the way down a narrow corridor that led the way through the same sort of maze as the one he’d taken her through during her last visit to this house. When they arrived at the same room, that large sitting room, he gestured for her to wait. He and Westin entered the room together, both with their hats in hand.

Curious, Lee peeked around the corner and discovered that Miss Dulcie wasn’t alone in the room. A man, tall and dark with a distinguished amount of white beginning to lighten his jet-black hair just above his temples, stood before her, his entire body expressing fury in the way he stood, in the way he held his hands behind his back, in the tension that seemed to vibrate through every inch of him. When he spotted Westin, that fury only seemed to increase, burning like a wildfire through dry brush. Lee didn’t understand this stranger’s fury, but she took an instant dislike to him.

“Spend three years trying to get an audience with this guy, and I suddenly find myself in his company twice in twelve hours,” Westin commented dryly.

“Do you see?” the stranger said to Miss Dulcie. “The insolence is ridiculous.”

Lee peeked again, aching with curiosity. There was something about this guy, the stranger, that seemed familiar to her. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why, but there was something about him. She felt confident in her dislike for him, though, based solely on his attitude toward Westin. Anyone who didn’t think Westin was a great guy was someone she didn’t want to know.

Miss Dulcie stood between the two men and gestured for Clint to leave the room. He hesitated, clearly not sure he really wanted to do that. If anyone but Miss Dulcie had suggested it, he probably wouldn’t have gone. But this was coming from Miss Dulcie, and he respected her too much not to do as she said. His hat still in his hands, Clint came out of the room and gestured for Lee to follow him. She did, somewhat reluctantly, glancing into the room as she passed. She caught Westin’s eye, and he nodded, a clear attempt to reassure her that failed miserably. There was just something about that stranger that made her very uneasy.

Clint led the way up a large staircase that worked its way to the second floor, directing her to a set of double doors beyond a wide landing. The room was dark-paneled with shelves built into the walls from floor to ceiling, all of them covered in books. She caught a glimpse of some of the titles, knew enough about expensive books—criminals had a thing about collections, and a few she’d gone after collected rare first editions to launder their money—to know that some of them had to be first editions.

Clint led her through the room to a table at the back where someone had laid out several books, some of them open to specific pages, like they’d been doing research. Clint carefully moved the books out of the way, then produced a laptop from a cabinet built into one of the bookshelves.

“You won’t be bothered up here.”

“Are you leaving?”

Clint lowered his head slightly. “I should go back down in case things get out of hand.”

“Who is that man?”

“Dominic Mollohan. He owns the Rocking D Ranch.”

“The Rocking D?”

“A neighboring ranch. It’s the biggest ranch in the state, barely, and a direct rival to Golden Sphinx. Asa and Mollohan used to fight all the time, but they did it in the courts or at the auctions, always trying to outdo each other. Mollohan is convinced that Asa stole three hundred acres of Rocking D because he won them against Mollohan’s father in a card game. It was how he started the Golden Sphinx back in the seventies, with those three hundred acres.”

“That’s a lot of acreage.”

“Yeah, it is. But Rocking D is still more than four hundred acres, just a little bigger than Golden Sphinx.”

“What is his beef with Westin?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure.” But even as he said it, Lee knew he was lying. He knew—or he had a suspicion—what it was about. That was why he was in a hurry to get back downstairs.

“You’re worried about him.”

“It’s my job to worry about all my boys.”

“You think this guy is going to push him back to the bottle.”

Clint’s eyebrows rose. “He told you?”

“Didn’t have to.”

There was a tattoo on Westin’s bicep that told the story. Twelve simple, impossible, steps, it said. She knew it could have been there for lots of reasons—that those twelve steps could have referred to a lot of things, not necessarily the one Clint had just confirmed. But there was something about the way Westin was, the quiet control that was always right there, right under the surface, that Lee recognized. She had to know people, had to be able to read them so that she could protect herself if it came down to that. She knew Westin’s demons even if she didn’t know what caused them.

Clint took off his hat and ran his hand over the top of his head before putting it back in place. “He won’t like that I let it slip.”

“I think he probably knows I figured it out.” She settled back in her chair and lifted the lid of the laptop. “I’m glad he has friends who care enough to look out for him.”

“You don’t have to worry about him.”

Clint crossed the room, but hesitated just inside the door. “Stay here. Don’t go wandering around the house.”

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