Convictions by Maureen McKade Read Free Book Online Page A

victory.
    A knock sounded, and her concentration shattered. Time resumed its normal pace.
    Her father stuck his head in the office doorway. "Are you busy?"
    She cleared her throat. "No. C'mon in."
    He joined her. "More solitaire?"
    "Spider solitaire," she corrected. "More challenging."
    His sigh was soft, but Olivia heard it. "How many hours have you been at this tonight?"
    Irritation cut through her as she glanced at the anniversary clock on the bookshelf: 10:45. She'd come in to check her e-mail at 7:30. She covered her shock quickly. "Two, maybe three hours."
    "Try closer to three and a half."
    "Why did you ask if you already knew?" Olivia asked peevishly.
    "This won't help you step back into the world, Liv." Knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it, she started the computer shut down sequence.
    "I came in to remind you I'll be leaving for Denver early in the morning," he said. "I have a nine o'clock meeting. Was there anything you wanted me to pick up for you? Maybe some more books?"
    Olivia shook her head. "I just ordered three online last week. I wish you didn't have to go." As soon as the words left her mouth, she, wanted to snatch them back.
    His smile disappeared. "I'll cancel if you want me to."
    Self-contempt rolled through her at how relieved she was by his offer. "No. I'll be fine," she said firmly, more to convince herself than her father. "I'll give Connie a hand."
    "She told me yesterday that she appreciates your help. She's never complained, but she's not getting any younger, either."
    The Hispanic cook had been working at the ranch for so long that Olivia couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been there. Instead of being gratified by Connie's thanks, Olivia felt guilty for not helping her more.
    "I don't do that much, but I do peel a mean potato," Olivia said, forcing a teasing grin.
    "You do more than that, according to Connie." He glanced at the clock. "It's late. You should go to bed, Liv. I'll be home in time for dinner tomorrow night." He kissed her forehead. "If you have any trouble, go to Connie."
    He didn't specify what kind of trouble, but they both knew. If she felt an anxiety attack coming on, she would seek out Connie. "I'll be okay."
    He nodded, but she could tell he wasn't completely assured. "Good night, Liv."
    She watched him go, feeling the leaden weight of fear drag her down again. Savagely, she reminded herself this wasn't the first time since she'd run back home with her tail tucked between her legs that he'd left the ranch for a day.
    But it is the first time since the convicts arrived.
    Olivia reassured herself with the knowledge that she could get to the gun in her father's room from any place in the house in fifty-seven seconds or less.
     
    Hank threaded the leather strap through his fingers, examining it closely for wears and flaws. The bridle was an old one, but it had been well cared for. Not finding any part that needed mending, he pulled the strap between an oil-soaked cloth. When he returned the bridle to its nail, it gleamed.
    He didn't mind working alone in the tack room. No one bothered him here, and he could relax his guard. The scent of leather reminded him of his father teaching him how to care for the saddlery. Sometimes the images of his father were so clear, Hank almost forgot he wasn't here by choice. Then Rollie or Mantle or one of the other men would come by and remind him of the stark reality.
    As he replaced a latigo strap on a saddle, he heard muffled voices arguing outside the tack room. He listened closely but couldn't make out the words. He warily moved to the door that led into the main part of the barn.
    Although it was dim, Hank could make out Mantle and Barton not more than twenty feet away. Barton was holding his hands up, as if warding off Mantle.
    "No."
    Barton's single word told Hank all he needed to know. There was no doubt as to what Mantle wanted from the good-looking kid. The son of a bitch had been eyeing Barton like a vulture readying