Convictions (3 page)

Although Olivia knew her father handpicked the prisoners who came to work on the ranch, icy fingers of dread crawled down her back. Nobody could predict how those men would act once they were outside the prison walls. One of them could slip away from his work detail and find his way to the house...

Taking a deep breath, Olivia pictured the gun cabinet in her father's study. She knew exactly where he kept the key to it and which drawer the revolver was in. One day, not long after she'd returned home when her father was out talking to the foreman, she'd unlocked the cabinet and lifted out the gun. Her father had taught her how to shoot when she was a teenager and, with the weapon in her hands, she'd felt safe for the first time since the attack. Another day when he was outside, she'd timed how long it took her to get from the front room to the study to retrieve the gun. She'd wrapped that knowledge around her like a security blanket. No one would catch her unaware or unarmed again.

Feeling more in control, Olivia shifted her attention to the remaining convict, the one who'd spotted her peeking out the window two days ago, when they'd first arrived. He stood silently with his hands clasped behind his back as he listened to Buck give him his day's task. She had a clear view of the man's expression, which was bland almost to the point of insolence. Even from behind her glass wall, she could feel his cold resentment. She'd seen that kind of attitude before, from conscienceless murderers and heartless rapists.

The convict nodded to Buck, then pivoted slowly to face the window. His gaze locked with Olivia's as if he'd known she was there all along. She ordered her fingers to release the curtain, to let it shield her from his hypnotic glare, but they wouldn't obey her. Instead, she remained trapped by the prisoner's dark eyes, as helpless as she'd been when—

A cry escaped her throat and she stumbled back, dropping the curtain into place. She lurched away from the window seat but nearly crumpled to her knees at the weakness of her bad leg. Scrabbling for balance, she thrust out a hand and caught herself on the back of the sofa.

She registered the sound of the front door opening and heavy footsteps coming toward her. No time to get the gun. She'd failed to protect herself. Again.

Throwing an arm across her face, she cried, "No! Leave me alone."

"Olivia, it's just me, your father," came a calming voice. "It's all right, honey. There's nobody here but you and me. I promise."

Olivia's breath rasped raggedly. She focused on her father's soothing timbre, on the familiarity of the tone, and her terror faded. Lowering her arm, she opened her eyes and saw her father standing a wary distance away. She slumped against the sofa. "I-I'm sorry."

He closed the gap between them and carefully wrapped his arms around her. "It's all right, Livvie. You're safe here."

Her father's use of her childhood name should've reassured her, but instead, anger rose sharp and ugly. She pulled out of his embrace and reached for her cane, another reminder of the horrible night that had robbed her of something infinitely more valuable than money and physical health.

"I hate this," she hissed as she limp-paced behind the couch.

Her father dropped his gaze to the floor. "The doctor said it would take time to heal." He lifted his head, and apology shone in his eyes. "Both physically and psychologically."

"How long? It's been over two months." She stopped, closed her eyes, and tipped her head back, fighting tears. "Over two months I've been afraid of my own shadow. I just want to be like I was."

She heard her father's heavy sigh. "You were stalked and assaulted, Liv. A person doesn't recover from that overnight. Or even in a few weeks or months. The son of a bitch stole your feelings of security and safety."

Olivia had heard it all before—from her fellow assistant district attorneys and her shrink. Same old overplayed tune.

She opened her eyes and faced her father. "I know that and accept it, so why can't I move past it?"

"You can't run before you walk."

She managed a tight smile and raised her cane. "How appropriate, Dad."

Impatience twitched his lips. "Locking yourself away in this house isn't helping you heal."

"If you hadn't brought those convicts here, I'd still be taking my morning walks around the yard." She knew she was being irrational and petty, but she didn't care.

He shook his head, not falling for her offensive ploy. "They're an excuse. Any time you want to go outside, I'll walk with you." He paused and eyed her shrewdly. "Or don't you trust me?"

She should've known he'd use any weapon in his arsenal, including guilt, to get his way. "You know I trust you."

He arched his brow. "Then let's go see Misty's new foals."

"Foals?"

"She had twins—a filly and a colt—last night." For a moment, Olivia forgot her fears. "Are they healthy?"

"Right as rain. And cuter'n two bugs in a rug." He canted his head, mutely asking her to accompany him.

Olivia's mouth lost all moisture. Walk outside? Leave her sanctuary?

"I d-don't..." She shook her head, hating herself for her cowardice.

"You say you want to be like your old self? You can't do that hiding in here," her father stated.

She hated it when he used her own words against her. But then, that's what a lawyer was trained to do. She should know.

She glanced down the foyer, at the solid oak door. All she had to do was swing the door open and step outside into the sunlight. Outside where the convicts were.

She turned to look down the hall, at the door to her father's study where the gun was kept. Maybe she could take it with her. Nobody would know if she tucked it into her jacket pocket.

I would know.

Wrestling with her fear, Olivia closed her eyes. She used to be called the "risk taker" in the Chicago district attorney's office. It was time to start living up to that name again.

Her heart hammered in her chest, but she nodded. "All right." He smiled warmly. "Good."

Olivia braced herself and started to the door. Her father followed, and when she stopped, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Gotta walk before you can run," he repeated softly.

Olivia shook her head, amused in spite of her belly-cramping dread. With a shaking hand she reached out and turned the doorknob. Fresh air redolent of fresh-cut hay washed across her face as the door swung open.

Steeling herself, she hobbled out to stand in the center of the wide porch. The scent of juniper drifted past her, and Olivia took a deep breath of the pungency. Her father's familiar aftershave mixed with the juniper, and her pulse slowed its frantic beat.

"Whenever you're ready," he said.

Olivia gripped her cane tightly and kept her gaze averted from the activity around the corrals. Continuing down the steps, she used the porch post to help keep the weight off her bad leg. To get to Misty and her foals, Olivia would have to walk past the men saddling and loading horses into a trailer. Could she do it?

She had to—to prove she could.

Her father walked close beside her but didn't physically aid her. She was grateful for that. It was difficult enough to accept her emotional dependence on him.

He kept himself between her and the hired men, but many of them touched their hat brims and greeted her with sincere respect and pleasure. Some had worked on the ranch for years, since before she moved away, and Olivia relaxed amid the familiar faces.

She glanced over at the corral and met the remaining prisoner's cold eyes. Her footsteps faltered.

"Is something wrong?" her father asked.

"Which one is he?" she demanded.

He followed her line of sight. "Hank Elliott. I'll introduce you." Before she could argue, he called out, "Elliott. Come here."

The rangy man swaggered over to them and stopped a few feet away, one hip cocked. "Yes, sir?"

"This is my daughter, Olivia. Olivia, this is Hank Elliott."

"Ma'am," Elliott drawled.

Olivia couldn't have spoken if her life depended on it. All she could do was nod.

"We were just going to peek in on Misty's foals. Care to join us?" her father asked him.

Olivia shot him a disbelieving look, but he didn't seem to notice.

Elliott didn't reply, but he fell into step on the other side of Olivia. Her heart hammered in her breast as the man's intensity battered her already-strained defenses. She could easily visualize him in the defendant's chair in a courtroom, his expression contemptuous as he dared the jury to convict him. And if Olivia had been the prosecutor, she would've fought to have him put away for a very long time.

His long legs moved with smooth, stealthy motions as his thighs surged against denim. He swung his arms easily, and Olivia couldn't help but notice the flexing of his forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his chambray shirt. Pure masculinity radiated from him like blinding rays of sunlight, and both were equally scorching.

Attracted to him despite everything, Olivia reminded herself that Ted Bundy had been good-looking, too. So was the man who'd stalked and attacked her.

To deflect her downward-spiraling thoughts, she glanced away and found her attention captured by the worn brown boots encasing Elliott's feet. Something told her he was no stranger to ranch work. That insight made him seem somehow more human, and her fear diminished slightly.

At the entrance to the barn, Olivia went in first with her father behind her. Elliott brought up the rear, but Olivia was hyperaware of his presence. Her father's hand on her back guided her past a half-dozen stalls before they arrived at Misty's.

Olivia leaned against the gate and peered through the slats to see the newborn foals. Their spindly legs appeared too thin to hold them upright, but the young horses were surprisingly steady. The colt was suckling one of his mother's teats while the filly butted her brother.

Momentarily forgetting about the convict, Olivia laughed softly at the foals' antics. "They're beautiful."

"Without Hank, they wouldn't have survived," her father said.

Olivia straightened in surprise to glance at him.

Her father answered her unspoken question. "The first one had to be turned before either of them could come out. The vet wasn't going to get here in time, but Hank was able to do it and save them both."

Olivia turned her attention to the flat hazel eyes that gazed at her. Her mouth grew dry, but she forced herself to ask, "How did you know what to do?"

Elliott shrugged, insolence written in the careless gesture. "I grew up on a ranch."

"He wants to be a veterinarian," her father added.

A flash of annoyance streaked across Elliott's face, but he only shrugged again.
"Wanted
to be a veterinarian."

"So what happened that kept you from going to vet school?" Olivia asked, her natural curiosity asserting itself.

His hard lips curled upward, but there was no warmth in the expression. "Prison happened."

She lifted her chin. "The consequences of breaking the law."

His jaw muscle knotted. "Yes, ma'am."

Although the words were correct, his disdainful tone caused her to flinch.

"You should get going. The men probably have the horses loaded up," her father said to Elliott.

"Yes, sir." He spun around and stalked out of the barn.

Olivia scowled at the convict's back. "How can you trust him?"

"Don't judge him until you get all the facts, Liv," her father said with a glimmer of his stern judge persona. "As a lawyer, you should know that."

"Obviously he's already been judged and found guilty, or he wouldn't have been in prison. What did he do?"

"Accessory to felonious assault. He pleaded not guilty."

Olivia snorted. "They all plead their innocence. It doesn't mean a damn thing."

"Right. Every person in prison deserves to be there." His tone was rife with sarcasm.

"You said it. I didn't."

Her father shook her head. "The system isn't perfect, Liv. You know that. Sometimes the innocent are convicted."

"And too often the guilty aren't."

"You have your mother's stubbornness."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Only when you let it blind you."

Olivia gripped her cane tightly. "Stubbornness didn't blind me to the bastard who did this." She glanced down at her leg. "He'd already stalked and assaulted at least two other women. I tried to put him in prison where he belonged."

"You did your best."

"And look where it got me. I'm thirty years old and living with my father because I'm too scared to live on my own." She choked on the last word, hating herself for what she'd become.

Her father put his arm around her shoulders, but she threw it off and moved away from the stall. Knowing he was only trying to help made her feel guilty, but she was too full of self-disgust and anger.

Outside the barn, she stood for a moment, taking long breaths to loosen the constricting band around her chest. A clang caught her attention, and she looked over to see Elliott closing the back end of the horse trailer.

As if knowing she was there, he turned and swept his hungry gaze up and down her body. Elliott wore his virility like a suit of armor and wielded his sultry gaze like a sword. Even suspecting this knight possessed no chivalry, Olivia couldn't deny the arrow of heat streaking through her.

Although Olivia's attacker hadn't raped her, lying in her hospital bed afterward, she'd believed she would never experience a woman's desire for a man again. But this convicted felon stirred something deep and primal within her.

Something she thought was as dead as her self-confidence.

"Do you want to continue walking?" her father asked from close beside her.

Olivia jerked, startled. Before she could answer, Elliott spun away and joined three other men in the quad cab of the pickup. She watched the truck and horse trailer bump down the driveway.

Breathing a sigh of relief that Elliott was gone and the yard was now deserted, she replied, "Yes. It's nice to be outside."

Although he didn't say anything, Olivia knew her father was pleased that she didn't scurry back into her hidey-hole. She linked her arm with his, and he patted her hand as they continued walking.