Crossing Nevada. Jeannie Watt

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER ONE

      IT HAD BEEN another in a long string of sleepless nights.

      Tess O’Neil finally drifted off from sheer exhaustion just after sunrise, only to be awakened by a sharp bark and the bounce of the mattress as her dogs leaped to the floor.

      For one terrifying second she thought Eddie had found her, and she automatically reached for the weapon she kept under the bed. Her hand had just touched metal when the phone rang again and she realized what had sent her dogs on alert.

      The two Belgian Malinois shepherds, Blossom and Mac, stood shoulder to shoulder next to her bed, their amber eyes fixed on the bedroom door on the other side of the room, ears pricked forward at the unfamiliar sound of the phone. Tess pushed back the covers, heart pounding. It had to be a wrong number, but if it wasn’t...

      The ringing continued as she and the dogs crossed the hall to the old-fashioned ranch house kitchen where the plain white phone hung on the wall next to the refrigerator. She’d had the landline connected so she could send and receive faxes and have ridiculously slow internet. She never expected the damned thing to actually ring.

      Tess hesitated for a few seconds, decided it was better to know than not, and snatched the receiver off the hook.

      “Hello.” She fully expected to hear her stepfather’s drug-roughened voice either threatening or taunting her and unconsciously put a hand on Mac’s head for reassurance.

      “Ms. O’Neil?” The voice was deep, somewhat hesitant, definitely not Eddie. But how the hell did this guy know her name? Or rather, her assumed name?

      “Who is this?” Tess demanded, then instantly regretted her tone. Brittle. Edged with fear. She didn’t want to sound fearful, didn’t want to give Eddie the satisfaction if the guy on the other end of the line was one of his minions. But it was hard to sound normal when her heart was beating a hundred times faster than usual.

      There was a brief, quite possibly stunned, silence before the caller said, “I’m Zach Nolan. I live across the road.”

      “I see.” Tess took hold of the phone cord. Anyone could say they lived across the road.

      “I was wondering if you have plans for your fields and pastures?”

      It took Tess a moment to wrap her mind around the unexpected question. “My fields and pastures?” she asked blankly.

      “Yeah. The big green things surrounding your house.”

      There was a touch of gentle humor in his voice, as if he was trying to make a connection, reassure her. Tess instantly drew back. No connections.

      “Why?”

      “Until you took over the place, I grazed my cattle on those fields and paid a rental fee. I was wondering, if you aren’t using the fields, if we could make a similar arrangement.”

      He’d barely finished his sentence when Tess blurted, “No.” She let go of the phone cord and pressed her fingertips against the thickened skin on her left cheek where the stitches had been, felt the residual pain from the torn and stitched muscles below then dropped her hand. It was a habit she was trying to break.

      “You’re sure?” The touch of humor was gone, replaced by irony bordering on sarcasm, triggered no doubt by her instant and adamant response.

      “Yes.”

      “Well, thanks. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

      “No problem.” Tess hung up the phone without saying goodbye and put a hand on her forehead, pushing the bangs back and wishing she’d asked how he’d gotten her name. It had to be from that overly friendly lady who ran the local post office.

      Tess O’Neil was the authorized signature for the Angstrom Land Company, the limited liability corporation that had leased the small ranch where she was living. If you could call it living. More like hiding.

      In reality, Tess was the Angstrom Land Company, but no one knew that—the beauty of an LLC in the state of Nevada. She could conduct her financial business without using personal, traceable credit cards or her real name—Terese Olan to her former employers, Terry to her handful of friends. But her grandmother had called her Tess and that was who she’d become. If she was skirting the law by informally becoming Tess O’Neil in addition to hiding behind the LLC, she’d take that chance. It beat the alternative.

      She didn’t know if Eddie would go so far as to hire a private detective, but he had a lot of nefarious contacts. Not knowing his reach was one of the things that kept her awake at night.

      Tess walked over to the sink and started the tap running into the enamel basin before she opened the back door. The screen door wobbled on its loose hinges as she pushed it open and the dogs raced outside. They stopped in tandem a few feet from the bottom porch step, black ears pricked forward, muscles tensed and ready for action. It was a morning ritual they’d developed since moving into the house thirteen days ago. They were city dogs, still acclimating themselves to the sights, sounds and smells of the country. As was Tess.

      She watched and waited until the dogs finally dropped their guard, first Mac and then Blossom. They began snuffling in the grass, checking out the action they’d missed the night before as they headed for the taller grass to do their business.

      All clear.

      Tess closed the door and filled a glass with water, turned off the faucet and leaned back against the counter. If the dogs were relaxed, she could relax. In theory anyway.

      Her heart rate still wasn’t quite normal. Had the caller really been the guy across the road?

      She set the glass down and opened the drawer where she’d spotted the printed paper with local phone numbers while unpacking her meager kitchen supplies a few days ago. She traced a finger down the list. Nolan. Zach. Okay. He existed.

      But was it him?

      Her hand only shook a little as she dialed the number. Halfway through the second ring he answered.

      Same voice.

      Tess hung up.

      * * *

      ZACH SET DOWN the phone with a shake of his head. A prank call at eight in the morning was a first, as was the oddly defensive phone conversation he’d just had with the new neighbor. Defensive to the point of rudeness. What the hell?

      Let it go. The woman was perfectly within her rights to say no to his offer. She could work on her delivery, but...

      Zach grabbed his work gloves off the table, trying to focus on the day instead of how much hay he was going to have to buy to tide things over now that it was pretty damned obvious he’d lost the pastures he’d been counting on.

      His index finger broke through the work-thinned leather at the tip of the glove as he pulled it on. This was turning out to be a grand day. He could only imagine what delights the north pasture held for him. And, of course, the duct tape was not in the junk drawer where it belonged. His exposed fingertip was simply going to have to take its chances.

      Zach tucked his cell phone СКАЧАТЬ