Wrangled Read online

  * * *

  “I’M SORRY EMMA WASN’T feeling well,” Dakota said as she took a seat at the kitchen table. She could see the smoke from the grass fire and silently prayed that Zane and the rest of the firefighters would be safe.

  “You don’t mind staying with my stepmother?” Zane had said on the way to the ranch.

  “Of course not. Emma is delightful.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” he’d said with a laugh. “I have to warn you, though. She’ll ply you with cookies or cakes and try to find out everything about the two of us. She’ll have us married by the time we get the fire out.”

  Dakota laughed.

  Zane had taken her hand. “Do I need to tell you how crazy I am about you?”

  She’d met his gaze and shaken her head. Looking into those blues, she had seen how he felt about her. She was just as crazy about him.

  “Well, just in case you don’t know, I…I…I’m crazy about you.”

  She’d laughed, shaking her head. “I love you, too, Zane,” she’d said as he pulled up to where the others were battling the fire.

  Marshall had come up to Zane’s side window then. The next thing she knew she was driving one of the ranch pickups with an empty water tank on the way back down to the house and leaving Zane without another word.

  He hadn’t said he loved her. She tried not to think about that as she watched the billowing smoke on the horizon, her heart in her throat.

  “Do you take milk in your tea?” Mrs. Crowley asked, drawing her attention back to the kitchen.

  “No, thank you.” Actually, she didn’t drink tea, but she wanted to be polite so she said nothing more. One cup of tea wouldn’t kill her. She just hoped Zane and the rest of the men were able to get the fire out, and soon.

  Something about Mrs. Crowley made her uncomfortable, she thought as she looked over at the housekeeper. The woman had come as a shock. When she’d opened the door, Dakota had been taken aback not so much by the disfigurement, though she hadn’t been expecting it, than the look in her one dark eye.

  The woman seemed to look through a person.

  Dakota shivered at the thought.

  “Would you like a sweater?” Mrs. Crowley asked. She had her back to Dakota but she’d seen her shiver?

  Dakota realized she’d seen her in the reflection in the microwave door next to her. The woman had been watching her. If Dakota hadn’t been creeped out enough by the housekeeper before, she was now.

  * * *

  MRS. CROWLEY HURRIEDLY made a cup of tea for Dakota Lansing. She could feel time running out and knew she was cutting this one way too close. Anything could go wrong. She was usually much more organized. Maybe she was losing her touch.

  She had planned on ending this quickly—her first day on the Chisholm ranch. Being back in this house had been excruciating. At the time, she hadn’t been able to stand even the thought of spending another day here with Emma and Hoyt.

  She’d waited until she’d heard Emma coming downstairs that first day. She’d been ready, the coffee made, a cup prepared for Hoyt’s fourth wife.

  The moment Emma walked in, she’d turned and said, “I have your coffee ready.” She’d turned, cup in hand, knowing that Emma took hers black and strong.

  “I thought I was an early riser,” Emma said, clearly unhappy that she didn’t have the kitchen to herself.

  “I like to get an early start.” She was still holding the cup of coffee out, a small tasteless dose of poison carefully stirred into the black brew. Fast and simple sometimes was the best.

  “I really don’t want you waiting on me,” Emma had said as she took the cup. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but coffee’s been bothering my stomach.”

  Mrs. Crowley had watched in horror as Emma poured the contents of the cup into the sink. She proceeded to wash out the cup, then pulled down a mug to make herself a cup of tea.

  “I can do that,” Mrs. Crowley said, trying to keep the frustration from her voice.

  “Like I said, I won’t have you waiting on me or Hoyt. We like doing for ourselves. I’m sure we explained that you are merely here to help with the housework and some of the cooking, when I need help.”

  All Mrs. Crowley had been able to do was nod, but she’d been fuming inside.

  “I don’t want you working too hard,” Emma had said.

  “I’m capable—”

  “I know,” her boss said, cutting her off. “But I hope you will be more of a friend than a…”

  “Servant?” She could have told the impossible woman that there was more of a chance of that than ever becoming Emma’s friend.

  “No, more like family,” Emma had said, and gave her a smile. “We really want you to feel at home here, Cynthia.”

  That’s when she’d corrected her. “I prefer you call me Mrs. Crowley.”

  Not that it had stopped Emma from trying to get close to her. Her plan a failure, Mrs. Crowley had become intrigued by the woman and found herself amused enough that she’d felt no need to rush this. She began studying Emma Chisholm, curious about Hoyt’s fourth wife.

  And all that time, Emma had been curious about her, studying her, spying on her. When she thought about it, the whole thing was actually funny.

  But now as she fixed Dakota’s tea, she reminded herself that she was finally taking actions that would culminate in the end she had needed for so long.

  She would have to hurry, though, and that made her a little sad. But all good things had to come to an end, she told herself as she turned with two cups of tea in her hands. “Emma says I make the best tea she has ever tasted. I hope you like it.”

  * * *

  HOYT CHISHOLM WAS GLAD he was sitting down. He stared at Laura, unable to believe his eyes. She’d aged, of course, in the past thirty years. They both had.

  But she still looked enough like the woman he’d fallen in love with and married that he would have known her anywhere.

  “How did you survive that day in the lake?” he asked. “I dove and dove for you and…”

  She stared back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Sharon Jones. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  He looked into her blue eyes. He was still so shocked to see her again that he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. Everyone kept telling him she was alive, but he hadn’t believed it until this moment.

  “If you don’t know who I am, then…” Then she couldn’t have been the one who had terrorized him and his family. She couldn’t have killed his other wives. She couldn’t have framed Zane.

  “You’re…lying,” he said, telling himself this woman was Laura. He felt the weight of what that meant. It brought with it all the ramifications of what this woman had done to him and his family.

  What scared him was whether or not the police would be able to prove it. What if they couldn’t lock this woman up and throw away the key? He and Emma and his sons would have to live the rest of their lives in fear of what Laura would do next.

  “You’re a liar and a murderer,” he said.

  She shook her head slowly and gave him a small half smile. “You’re…mistaken.”

  She even sounded like Laura. No one could look this much like his first wife or sound so much like her, unless…

  He’d been so shocked to see her that for a moment he’d forgotten what the woman was capable of doing to him. She’d always messed with his mind. Her faked death, her affair with Clay Lansing—she’d put him through hell and had no intentions of stopping.

  “She’s Laura,” he told the cops as he got to his feet. “Get a DNA sample from her and you’ll be able to prove this woman is lying. She’s wanted for murder in Whitehorse. I’ll testify that she is my first wife, Lorraine Baxter Chisholm.”

  The woman looked up at him as one of the cops helped her to her feet. “You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”

  He shook his head. If she wasn’t Laura, then she was her twin sister. “It’s her.”

  As the officer started
to take her out of the room, she leaned toward Hoyt and whispered. “Are you really willing to stake your life on it? Or Emma’s?”

  Her words didn’t surprise him. But when she gave him that half smile again, he realized where he’d seen it before—and where the real Laura Chisholm was right now.

  * * *

  DAKOTA TOOK ONE of the lemon cookies as Mrs. Crowley placed a cup of tea in front of her.

  “Emma tells me that you recently lost your father,” Mrs. Crowley said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I understand he raised stock for rodeos.”

  Dakota didn’t really want to talk about her father. “Yes.” She wished Emma would wake up from her nap soon. The housekeeper continued to stare at her with that one dark eye, making her nervous.

  She looked toward the kitchen door, hoping to see Emma’s friendly face. Instead, she saw something odd.

  Part of an apron was sticking out from the under the door of the pantry.

  Mrs. Crowley followed her gaze. Dakota couldn’t miss the change in the woman’s expression.

  “Why don’t you finish your tea and I’ll check on Mrs. Chisholm,” the housekeeper said.

  Dakota nodded mutely. Emma kept her kitchen spotless. Dakota had noticed when she’d helped her with the desserts the other night. She’d commented then about what a wonderful kitchen it was.

  “It’s my domain. Everything I wanted in a kitchen. Everything in its place,” Emma had said. “I have my sons and husband trained not to touch anything in here. I try my best to keep Mrs. Crowley out as well.” She’d made a face. “The woman never puts anything back where it goes. I swear, she’d rearrange everything if I let her.”

  Mrs. Crowley rose from her chair. Dakota picked up her teacup. She hadn’t taken more than a sip. The tea tasted bitter and she didn’t want any more of it. She pretended to drink, hoping she could get rid of it when Mrs. Crowley went to check on Emma.

  Dakota waited until the woman left the room, then quickly got up and dumped the tea down the drain before hurrying back to the table.

  She’d barely sat down again when Mrs. Crowley appeared in the kitchen doorway. Dakota jumped, even more nervous now. She’d come too close to being caught. Why hadn’t she just told the woman she didn’t like tea?

  She hurriedly picked up one of the cookies and took a bite, hoping Mrs. Crowley didn’t notice that her hand was shaking as she did.

  Mrs. Crowley stood at the end of the kitchen table watching her. “You like her cookies?”

  Dakota nodded. “They’re delicious. She told me she loves to bake.”

  “Can’t keep her out of the kitchen,” Mrs. Crowley said.

  Dakota noticed the housekeeper had her hand in the pocket of the apron she wore and she seemed to be standing more upright than she had before.

  “You remind me of your father.”

  Dakota’s gaze shot to the woman’s face, settling on the one dark eye. “What?”

  “Your father. I knew him.”

  Dakota stared at the woman. “You knew my father?”

  “You didn’t drink your tea,” Mrs. Crowley said.

  The swift change of topic threw her for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you just said you knew my father.”

  “As a matter of fact, we had a very short, intense affair when you were two.”

  Dakota felt her eyes widen in alarm at the woman’s words—and the gun she pulled from her apron pocket. It was a short, snub-nosed revolver and it was pointed right at Dakota’s heart.

  “You could have made it so much easier if you had only drank your tea like a good girl,” Mrs. Crowley said. “I cared about your father. I could have been happy with him had it not been for you. I’ve never liked children.”

  “Courtney.” The word had slipped out.

  “Yes, your sister.”

  “She’s your daughter?” Dakota was still trying to make sense of what she was hearing—and seeing.

  “I gave birth to her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You’re…”

  Mrs. Crowley smiled. “I used to be Laura Chisholm. Get up. We’re going for a ride.”

  “Where’s Emma?”

  “Don’t worry, she’s coming with us.”

  The gravity of the situation was just starting to sink in. Hoyt was in Butte, his sons were fighting a grass fire and Dakota was looking down the barrel of a gun held by a crazy woman and known killer. She hated to think what this woman had done to Emma, let alone Courtney.

  “What are you going to do with us?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, before your father died he pleaded with me to promise that I wouldn’t hurt you,” Laura Chisholm said, then laughed. “Unfortunately he died before I promised him anything.”

  “You were there when he died.” Hadn’t she known that was the case? “You and Courtney. You must have taken him to the hospital. Or Courtney—”

  “Don’t be naive. I gave him something that caused the heart attack, why would I try to save him? Courtney took him, but not until I was sure he wouldn’t survive.”

  Dakota took a step toward the woman, her anger overpowering her common sense. She wanted to take the gun away from this woman and—

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Laura said. “I don’t care where you die but if you ever want to see your sister again, you will do what I tell you.”

  Dakota watched as Laura popped out the white contact from her eye without ever letting the gun trained on Dakota waver. She popped the other contact out and stared at Dakota with two familiar blue eyes. Courtney had inherited her mother’s blue eyes.

  * * *

  EMMA STIRRED, EYELIDS flickering. Her body felt like it was made of lead weights. She didn’t think she could move and didn’t try for a few moments.

  As her eyes finally managed to stay open, she looked around and saw that she was lying on the floor of the pantry.

  Had she fallen? Fainted? She tried to sit up and found her muscles so lethargic it took all of her effort.

  She was partway up into a sitting position when memory flooded her and she froze, listening.

  Voices. She listened, recognizing Mrs. Crowley’s monotone. It took her a moment to place the other voice. Dakota Lansing.

  Emma sat up the rest of the way, thinking only that she had to save Dakota. She felt her head spin from the sudden movement and thought she might pass out.

  She took a moment, trying to clear her head, her thoughts. How did she think she was going to save Dakota when she wasn’t even sure she could get to her feet?

  As she listened, she felt her blood turn to ice. Mrs. Crowley was Laura Chisholm. The woman had been living in their house all this time? Her heart pounded at the thought of the murderer this close to them.

  But hadn’t she known something was wrong? Hadn’t she been spying on the woman? She would never have guessed, though, that Mrs. Crowley was Laura Chisholm. Her disguise was too good. Now Emma understood why the woman had kept them all at arm’s length. Finally, Emma knew the woman’s biggest secret of all.

  She heard Mrs. Crowley say, “I guess I don’t need to check on Mrs. Chisholm. I hear her getting up now.”

  She’d heard her moving in the pantry.

  From the conversation, Emma knew she didn’t have much time. Mrs. Crowley had drugged her, and now the woman had Dakota and was planning on taking them to Courtney.

  Emma, even through the haze of whatever she’d been drugged with, was betting the drive would be eleven miles round-trip.

  She struggled to her feet. She knew she couldn’t fight off the woman she’d known as Mrs. Crowley. All she could do was try to leave a message for Hoyt or the boys when they returned.

  She looked around for something to write with and spotted her chalkboard on the back of the pantry door where she made her grocery lists.

  Hurriedly, she grabbed a piece of chalk and as quietly as possible, began to write.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hoyt cal
led the house immediately, his heart dropping when the phone rang and rang. He left a message for Emma to call him at once.

  Then he started to call Sheriff McCall Crawford as he watched the police take the woman he’d thought was Laura back to her cell.

  She turned once to look back at him and mouthed, “Too late.”

  And then she was gone through a door.

  Hoyt thought if he had to look at her another minute, he would have gone for her throat.

  He’d call the sheriff and his sons on the way to the plane. He needed to get home as quickly as possible. Fortunately, he’d be flying back, but still it would take him too long. That had been the plan, though, hadn’t it?

  Hoyt couldn’t take that thought any further because he knew the rest of her plan. Emma. The thought of losing her was almost his undoing. Ahead he saw the plane and pilot waiting for him.

  As he hurried to the plane, he knew this was all his fault. He’d invited the woman into his house. Once as his wife. Now as his housekeeper.

  Laura must be ecstatic that she’d fooled him so easily. She’d played him, getting him out of town, far from the ranch and Emma. He prayed he was wrong, but the more the thought about it, he knew Mrs. Crowley was Laura. He racked his brain. Had Laura ever mentioned a twin sister?

  He couldn’t remember, but the woman he’d just seen at the police station was a close relative, there was no doubt about that. And right now, the woman wasn’t going anywhere. The police would be able to hold her until they could get to the bottom of this.

  If Laura hurt Emma…

  His heart ached from trying to hold in his terror. He had married a monster. Or had he made her that way?

  Hoyt didn’t know. He just hoped he’d get a chance to ask her—before he killed her.

  * * *

  MCCALL HADN’T GOTTEN MUCH sleep last night. The baby had kicked the entire night, it seemed. She’d called in and told the dispatcher she’d be running a little late.

  “Can you stay within cell phone range today?” she asked Luke.

  “The baby?” His eyes lit when he asked. He smiled as he placed a large hand on her abdomen and felt the baby kick.

  She smiled and covered his hand with hers. Her undersheriff Nick Giovanni would be back tomorrow to take over. She was more than ready.