Page 104 of The Promise
They reached the platform and shadow man reached up to grab her legs. She slid into his arms, her whole body suddenly feeling like rubber. The stranger's arms were replaced by Michael's as he dropped down onto the platform. She nestledagainst him, drawing comfort from his nearness. She felt his lips moving against her temple and pressed closer, not sure whether she had the strength to stand on her own.
"That was a near miss." The voice was cultured, with the trace of an English accent. It seemed somehow out of place in the Wild West—and she had personal experience with the Wild part of the moniker.
Michael was answering. She could feel the vibrations of his words through his shirt. It was strangely comforting. "It would have been a hell of a lot closer if you hadn't come along."
"Well." Cara could hear the smile in shadow man's voice. "My timing has always been impeccable. I should like to hear what exactly the two of you were doing up here with," he paused and Cara imagined he was looking down at Amos' body, "riff-raff like that."
She smiled into Michael's shirt. He sounded so pompously English. "But," he went on, "I should think the first thing to do is get this young lady a cup of coffee. Hardly civilized to go on with explanations and leave the poor thing hanging onto you for dear life."
Cara was beginning to like this shadowy character. She pulled away from Michael, relieved to find that her feet were capable of supporting her. She winced as she straightened her arm. "Take me to the coffee." Her voice had even returned to some semblance of normal. She took a shaky step forward, linking arms with both men.
"My kind of girl," the man said, patting her hand paternally.
"Mine, too, Owen, mine too." Michael added, his hand covering hers with a gentle squeeze as he led them across the platform toward the beckoning doorway.
Owen. She turned the name over in her mind, matching it to the man. So this was Owen Prescott. They moved toward thedoor, Michael laughing at something Owen said. It was good to hear the sound.
Maybe the nightmare was finally over.
Owen's office was empty.And from the looks of it, it had been empty for a day or so. Patrick leaned back in Owen's chair and ran a finger through the light coating of dust that covered everything. Owen was nothing if not fastidious. There could only be one reason everything was this dusty.
Owen was gone.
Patrick frowned, wondering why Owen would have left with everything in such turmoil. Granted, he didn't know about Striker, or about Michael's return. But still, he knew what Striker had been saying, and he knew how much pain Patrick was in. It wasn't like Owen to desert him. He'd always been there when Patrick needed him—the one person in this world Patrick knew he could count on.
It had been Owen who'd told him about his mother and Zach. He'd been out to the ranch even before Michael and his father had come down off the mountain. Why, it had been Owen who'd figured out about the stage coach.
Patrick drew in a sharp breath.Owen. Oh God, it couldn't be. Not Owen. But the very things that had comforted him at the time, mocked him now. Owen had been there. Always there. His heart rebelled at the direction his thoughts were taking, but the evidence continued to mount. His father had found something in the mountains. Something involving silver. And he'd come into town to tell Owen. His friend. His confidant.
His murderer.
It all fit. And yet, he still couldn't make himself believe it. Why would Owen have taken the silver? It had already been partially his. Patrick frowned, pushing the horrible notion away. There had to be another explanation, someone else that could be behind everything. It couldn't be Owen. It just couldn't.
"Patrick?" Loralee's soft voice pulled him from the horror of his thoughts.
"Is Pete all right?"
She nodded, her hands clenched at her side. "Doc says he's gonna be fine. Ginny is with him."
"Is there something else?"
She nodded again, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the office. "Where's Owen?"
"He's not here."
She relaxed a little. "There's something you've got to know."
Patrick walked over to her, his hands reaching for hers. "Whatever it is, just say it."
She drew in a deep breath. "Ginny overheard Owen talking to the sheriff yesterday morning. She was working at the hotel. She cooks there to bring in some extra money. Anyway, he, Owen, I mean, was telling the sheriff that he believed you were responsible for Corabeth's death."
"Me?" The word exploded from his mouth, his fears resurfacing in full force.
"Yes. And there's more. He told Amos that he'd best get on out to Clune and arrest you, before you hurt someone else. He told him I was missing and that he thought maybe you'd taken it in your head to kill me, too."
"My God. You don't believe…" He trailed off, his eyes locking with hers.
"Of course not." Her hands tightened around his. "But don't you see, if Owen is saying things like that then that means?—"
