Heat

By Patricia Ward

Chelsea Bond and her son Daniel have come to their secluded ranch house near the town of Wilcox in Southern Oregon for a brief stay late in September. She is a beautiful, wealthy widow; her son, though disabled with Cerebral Palsy is bright and sensitive. They are spending the last few days at the ranch before Daniel returns to school. Her husband, Frank Bond, was caught in a business scandal and unwilling to stand trial, took his own life. Chelsea is now trying to come to terms with the loss of her husband and her future alone.

Tired of fighting the crime in the streets of Los Angeles, Sheriff Jack Royce has come to the small town of Wilcox. He liked the slower pace of the small town and the quiet simple life he had found.

Casey Donovan and Arlo Tam are two escaped convicts on the run through the rugged Siskiyou mountain wilderness of southern Oregon, headed for the California border. They robbed a bank in Roseburg and have a large duffle bag of stolen money. They come across a large ranch house in the woods, seemingly deserted except for a woman and a small boy the only occupants.

Frightened of the intruders, Chelsea tries not to upset them and hoping they will just take some supplies and leave when Sheriff Royce drives up to warn them of an approaching forest fire. Angered at the Sheriff’s appearance and in defiance of authority, Arlo pulls a gun and shoots the Sheriff and they escape in the Sheriff’s truck, but not before the two convicts take Chelsea hostage

Though wounded, the Sheriff is able to escape the onslaught of the approaching fire and get the himself and the boy to safety before the house is consumed. Once Daniel is safely with his Deputy, Sheriff Royce is tracking down the convicts. Just when he found a woman that was unlike any he’d met in a long while, he wasn’t about to leave Chelsea to an uncertain fate with those two convicts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Ward
• Release date: Dec 18, 2011

Book preview

HEAT

A novel

Patricia Ward

HEAT

Patricia Ward

Copyright 2011 Patricia Ward

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 1

September 11 10:28 a.m.

The two men inside the car felt lucky as they pulled into the empty parking lot of Roseburg National Bank of Oregon. That meant fewer witnesses, and fewer chances anything could go wrong.

Casey turned the motor off and lit a cigarette. He was in no hurry to go inside. In fact, it felt good to look out the window, listening to the everyday sounds of life going on around him. He was going to take his time. After all, it had been a long time since he had just smelled fresh, clean air on the outside.

What are we waitin’ for Case? Let’s get goin’! Arlo fidgeted beside him in the front seat of the car.

Casey turned from looking out the window to look at the other man. When I’m ready.

Shi—it! You’re never ready. What are we waitin’ for? It ain’t gonna get any better than this! I’m goin’ in, Arlo growled as he reached for the pistol in his waistband.

Put that away! said Casey sharply. You want to mess everything up before we get a chance?

You’re the one that’ll screw things up, waitin’ too long. People will show up.

His peaceful moment ruined, Casey threw his cigarette down on the pavement. Arlo was impulsive and foolish, but he had a point. Might as well get in and get it over with. It was time. Alright. Let’s go.

Arlo shoved his gun back under his jacket and jumped out of the car. He walked quickly toward the front door of the bank.

Casey slid out on the driver’s side, feeling the heavy weight of his gun under his belt. He didn’t really like to pull a job like this, but there was no other way.

This is a hold up! Arlo yelled at the teller nearest the door. He drew a wadded up duffel bag out of his pocket and threw it down on the counter. Give me all the money! Now! His gun nosed across the counter.

For a moment, the woman was frozen, terrified. Then she opened the drawer and grabbed the cash from her drawer. With shaking hands she managed to stuff the bills into the bag.

Casey looked quickly around the room. He almost felt more like a spectator, watching everything from a distance, rather than the orchestrator. Arlo didn’t really have the brains to figure out how to set up a job like this and pull it off. This was Casey’s doing. Arlo didn’t think, he just reacted. That’s why he ended up in Oregon State Pen. For armed robbery.

There were two women behind the counter and two desks on the other side of the room, one was empty. That meant there could be someone in the back right now sounding a silent alarm. Gun in hand, Casey motioned the woman at the desk to go behind the counter. She scurried across the room.

Arlo began to fidget again, feet shuffling, jabbing his gun at both tellers. You too. The other drawer! What are you waitin’ for? Grab the money and put it in the bag! I said hurry! Dammit!

The cashier, her hands shaking, moved to the next window and opened the drawer. Quickly she stuffed more cash into the bag.

You’re too slow! Hurry it up! I haven’t got all day!

That’s all, she told him, a nervous tremor in her voice.

The next drawer! Go to the next drawer!

There...isn’t another drawer.

Let’s go, Casey ordered quietly from behind.

But we don’t have it all! What about the vault?

I said it’s enough. Let’s get out o’ here now.

Casey turned and headed for the door while Arlo grabbed the bag, bulging with money. Oh, baby. It’s a good thing I got all this money or I’d be wantin’ to take you with me too! Arlo’s laugh was high-pitched, silly. The young woman stared back in horror at him, helpless, but sick. With his laughter still ringing around the room, Arlo bolted through the door. Casey already had the car in motion.

What the hell were you doin’ back there? Bein’ stupid! Casey shouted.

Don’t call me stupid! Then Arlo smiled. It’s just been a long time since I had a woman. Hell, I’d forgotten how good they look close up!

Well, if you blow this job over a woman, you aint’ never gettin’ out again. And you’ll never even get to see a woman, let alone have one! That’s stupid! Casey was furious. He didn’t know why he put up with Arlo.

Hell, Case. You ain’t had a woman longer than me. I know you’d do the same thing.

There ain’t no woman on this earth I would risk my life over, fool.

Arlo pulled his gun out and shoved it in Casey’s face. Don’t ever call me a fool!

Casey shoved Arlo’s hand away. You are a fool, if you’d risk us gettin’ caught over some dumb-ass woman you’ve seen for five minutes! Now, get that out of my face, you idiot!

Arlo harnessed the gun. Then he sat back in the seat and pulled wads of bills from the bag, his mind leaping onto another track now. We’re rich, Casey! We’re fuckin’ rich!

Yeah, only if we can get away with it. I’ve got to dump this car and find another one before we get noticed.

Whatever you say, Case’, Arlo’s mind was on the money before his eyes. There’s thousand’s here, Case. Thousands!

Grimly, Casey looked over at Arlo, then back to the highway, working on the next stage of his plan. So far, it did not appear they were being followed, but it could happen. He had thought as an alternate plan that they could ditch the car and head out on foot across the mountains, like a couple of backpackers; as a good way to avoid pursuit should anything go wrong with the job. They had to make it to California, to meet up with Mayfield. Now, as Casey pushed the car as fast as he could without attracting attention, he felt sure this was the best plan of action to follow. He would drive as far as he could on the secondary roads and cover as many miles as possible before dumping the car and heading cross country. Casey knew the rugged Siskiyou Mountains were no picnic even for experienced hikers. It would not be easy for them, but it was also an ideal place to lose their track’s. No one would know who they were or that they were anything but a couple of late-season hikers, tackling the mountain trail. It was perfect.

Ahead of him, the thin white line of the highway pointed toward the distant mountain range. Casey knew the treacherous summits often spelled disaster, yet ultimate freedom lay just beyond. He was willing to take that chance. His very life depended on it.

CHAPTER 2

September 17 1:23 p.m.

Chelsea Bond watched the cloud play in front of her quickly build into a thunderstorm and felt the stickiness of the rising humidity despite the car's air conditioning. She leaned over to turn the knob to colder and glanced briefly at her small passenger in the other seat.

Everything OK, sweetheart? she asked, trying to sound light-hearted. It won't be long now. We're almost there, Chelsea patted her son on the leg.

I'm O.K. My legs are a little stiff, though, Daniel said rubbing the muscles of his thighs.

Daniel had been struck with cerebral palsy at birth and did not have full use of his legs. As a result, his life had been very sheltered, revolving around a very few people, and with the recent loss of his father, it had suddenly become even more limited. Daniel was Chelsea’s only child and she had done her best to shield him from life's storms because of his disability. The death of his father had shocked and devastated the boy, as it had Chelsea, and both of them were trying to cope with the loss. This was the reason why Chelsea had decided, on the spur of the moment, to make this quick trip to their ranch in Oregon. She felt that a change in scenery, a chance to get away from their home in Los Angeles, would help bring Daniel out of the depression that gripped him. And, she hoped, it would help her come to terms with her own feelings of failure regarding her marriage to Frank.

Frank Bond had acquired Thief River Ranch a few years ago on a trip through the beautiful Siskiyou mountains of Southern Oregon. It was not the usual kind of place a wealthy businessman from Los Angeles would go for a vacation, but Frank had told Chelsea he had always had a secret desire to ride the open range like a carefree cowboy and chase cows and eat chuck wagon food. When the opportunity came to acquire the ranch he jumped at the chance. Though he seldom got to go up there, he often talked about the things he wanted to do and the changes he wanted to make with Jesse, the foreman. He stayed on year round taking care of the livestock, watching out for coyotes and generally keeping an eye out on the place while they were gone. Chelsea had photographs taken of some of the ranch, and the ranch house, and had them enlarged to hang in Frank's office. There he could look at them anytime and feel there was always an escape, from their hectic life in Los Angeles.

Chelsea slowed the car, carefully navigating the exit from I-5 onto Route 17 and felt heartened to be on the last leg of their journey. It won't be long now, honey. Chelsea tried to make her voice sound bright and hide some of the tiredness she felt. It had been a long, hard drive for her as well, but for Daniel's sake, she hoped it would bring him out of his grief. For that, she would go to the ends of the earth. When we get to the ranch what do you want to do first?

See my pony! Daniel answered immediately. Chelsea smiled. This was the first sparkle she had seen in his dark, somber eyes for a long time.

Do you think he's grown any?

Mom! Daniel shook his head as if his mother had lost some of her marbles. He's not going to grow any bigger. He's only a pony!

I know that. But you are going to get bigger. What are you going to do when you get too big for Caesar? Chelsea felt warm inside to hear normal, everyday conversation from her eight year old. Daniel was a bright, intellectual boy who usually rose above his physical handicap but he'd been unusually quiet since his father died. Not that he had had a lot of interaction with his father, Chelsea had to admit. Frank had a lot of problems with Daniel's handicap and she knew he often struggled with the feelings of being somehow guilty, or that Daniel suffered for his sins. Chelsea had felt the same guilt in the beginning. She remembered thinking there should have been something, some ONE thing she could have done differently to prevent this from happening to a bright, intelligent boy like Daniel. But it wasn't because of anything she or Frank had done. It just happened.

Chelsea smiled back at her son chatting away about his pony and what he was going to do once they got to the ranch, as she guided the car onto the exit for the small town of Wilcox.

The rising clouds swirled angrily over the tops of the mountains in their sudden rush south toward the California border. The masses of cumulus clouds climbed higher and higher as the temperature and pressure dropped steadily. Everywhere below the clouds lay an oppressive, leaden heat.

Sheriff Jack Royce looked up at the sky from the open doorway. He watched the ominous dark clouds build overhead, spreading dark fingers across the sky while below the heat intensified. In California they would call this earthquake weather. The air would be so heavy and suffocating that even the earth itself had to give way to the increased pressure. Jack knew that, unlike California, temblor's were pretty uncommon here in this part of Oregon and he didn't really expect an earthquake, but he couldn't shrug off the oppressive feeling that something was going to happen.

Jack was glad to be out of L.A. and that whole fast-track scene of drugs and crime where you never knew when someone was going to shoot you just because you looked at him the wrong way. Although, literally any other place would have seemed like paradise to him, he was glad he had chosen the small town atmosphere and the small town lifestyle of Wilcox. It was a good place to heal some of the emotional scars he still carried. Especially the last one that almost destroyed him.

Kristine. He could still see her face. Laughing and warm on the outside, twisted and cold on the inside. Heart with the soul of an iceberg. Why had it taken him so long to see the kind of woman she really was? Jack shook himself. Because he hadn't wanted to see the truth that his heart was telling him all along. She was no damn good.

So for now he just took one day at a time. He took care of his little town like a shepherd caring for his flock, glad the gangs and big-time criminals hadn't found his quiet, sleepy little town of Wilcox. That's just the way he wanted it.

He took a deep breath and despite the oppressive heat, could still feel the cleanness not found in Southern California. It was very different here in this small town far away from the big metropolitan area. He liked the sleepy little town tucked away in the scenic Siskiyou mountains south of the Rogue River with its quiet streets and law abiding citizens. People actually smiled at him when he walked down the street. The only crimes committed around here so far had been minor traffic violations, the occasional drunk and disorderly, and the odd poacher he caught on his rounds through the wilderness areas he patrolled.

Jack pulled the door to his office closed behind him and started his daily walk down the town's bustling main street toward the small country store a few blocks away. He did feel a bit like some gunslinging Sheriff in a John Wayne movie, but it helped to make his presence visible around town and allowed him to get acquainted with many of the local people. Jack always liked to keep track of what was going on in his beat by frequently checking in at the main hangouts. In this town it was Richter's Grocery Store.

Morning Sheriff. Caught any criminals today? Marvin Richter, the shopkeeper nodded to the Sheriff as he set a rack of shovels, rakes and hoes outside the front door with a bright orange sign proclaiming them for sale at half price.

Royce stopped in front of the store and slowly looked up and down the main street No. It's been a slow day for crime today, Mr. Richter. Not so much as a traffic violation today. Sometimes I almost feel guilty for taking the good people of Wilcox's money and giving them nothing to show for it! Jack laughed. He was genuinely fond of the rotund, balding shopkeeper.

Nah, don't you be sayin' nothin' like that, Sheriff. You're doin' a good job. We're mighty happy to have a man with your background working here, keeping us right safe and sound. Mighty grateful indeed.

Well, I like it here too, Mr. Richter. Though sometimes it’s almost too quiet. He crossed over to the cold box and took out a soda. I'm not used to so much peacefulness yet. Not that I'm complaining mind you, the Sheriff smiled warmly.

I know what you mean—that somethin' extra around here, huh? Mr. Richter said with a twinkle in his eyes and a knowing nod. Not too much for a good-looking, single man like you to do around here, 'cept hunt and fish. I'm afraid there ain't too many eligible women to take up with. You know how it is. Just too quiet for most folks. Most of 'em all go off to the big cities for excitement once they’re grown. The most lively it gets around here is when the place fills up with tourists in the summer. But when they're all gone, why, it gets quiet as a church in the middle of the week. Why, we haven't had a real crime committed around here since before the war.

Royce nodded silently. Suddenly the old images rose in his mind again without really wanting to of the jungles of Southeast Asia and the buddies he had left behind. Nam, he whispered.

Lord no! Mr. Richter chuckled, turning to go back into the store. WWII! Back in the depression, there was this gang o' young guns, the Sorrell brothers. They used to plague this whole area from Salem to the California border, thinkin' they was the next James or Younger gang, robbin' stores, banks, whatever took their fancy. They even tried to rob a train, but somethin' went wrong and they was finally caught. Why they even—what! Mr. Richter stopped in the middle of his sentence and stared past the Sheriff at a car that pulled up in front of the store. As I live and breathe—that's Mrs. Bond!

The Sheriff turned to see who had the power to stop the talkative shopkeeper in mid-sentence and then halted the soda halfway to his lips. A silver gray Mercedes with two occupants had just pulled up in front of the store. Years of observation that meant life or death had heightened his skills of observation. His narrowed eyes missed nothing as the driver stepped out of the car, shut the door carefully behind her, and walked around to the other side to open the passenger door. Who did you say that was? he asked, feeling the tug of a familiar knot in the pit of his stomach.

Mrs. Bond? the shopkeeper looked surprised. Oh, that's right. You weren't here then. My goodness, I don't remember when they were here last. They don't come up here too much. Mr. Richter made a curious sound under his breath. What a woman that one is! She's the closest thing we have to royalty 'round here. She and Mr. Bond own a big ranch south of town. Thief River Ranch. Nice place, big house, you might not have seen it though. It's set back off the main road quite a piece. She is quite a lady—quite a lady indeed! Mr. Richter chuckled to himself as he busied himself again with sweeping around the counter.

Oh, yeah, The Sheriff took another long draft from the can. To him, she was only another citizen of his sleepy little town. At the same time, he couldn't help notice the soft curls of her shoulder-length blonde hair flowing loose around her face, and the clothes—looking like they just came off Rodeo drive—that fit closely on her shapely figure. He couldn't see her face clearly behind the driving glasses, but he didn't have to—he knew the kind of woman she was. He had known too many women like her: beautiful, wealthy, the kind of women who would use a man for an afternoon’s distraction while their rich husbands were away. Mrs. Bond pulled down the sunglasses and looked around. Yes, there was no doubt about it, she was beautiful. Jack knew she could make any man stand up and take notice whatever town she walked into. But he didn’t want anything to do with women like that anymore. The last time was enough for a lifetime.

Shame about the boy, tho', Mr. Richter added, clicking his tongue, shaking his head. Nice kid too. Has some kind of handicap—palsy I think it's called. Bright boy. Normal every other way, just can't use his legs too well. His mother dotes on him.

Jack listened to the shopkeeper rattle on while he watched the woman help the boy out of the car. Slowly they navigated their way up the steps.

Mrs. Bond! How nice to see you again, Mr. Richter announced, setting aside his broom, rushing over to shake hands as the newcomers stepped into the doorway. And Daniel. How are you, son? My goodness, look how big you've grown!

Mr. Richter. How nice to see you again, Chelsea extended her own hand to the kindly shopowner in a warm welcome. They had always gotten on well; Mr. Richter liked to offer her new products for her to try and she enjoyed being his guinea pig.

I didn't expect to see you here so late in the season. How long has it been since you were here last?

Christmas. A year ago, Chelsea told him.

Has it been that long? Good gracious. Where does the time go? And Mr. Bond? Will he be joining you as well?

Chelsea couldn't stop the tremor that swept over her at the mention of her husband, nor could she immediately answer the shopkeeper's innocent question. Daniel, why don't you go over to the candy counter and see what you like. You can pick out any two.

Two?

Chelsea smiled. Two. After he walked away, Chelsea told him. I'm afraid Daniel's father won't be joining us. He died—six months ago, Mr. Richter.

Oh no! Oh no! Mr. Richter gasped, genuinely shocked. I am sorry to hear such sad news, Mrs. Bond. Mr. Bond was always such a friendly fellow, always had a smile and a kind word for you, whoever you were. He never talked down to anybody, no matter how poor they were.

Chelsea nodded, hearing the familiar description of Frank Bond. To most people, Frank Bond was charming, considerate and kind. But there was another side to Frank Bond, a cold, ruthless and insensitive side which he had increasingly shown to his family. It was due, she supposed, to the increased pressure of his work. He had seldom talked about his work to Chelsea, preferring to keep that part of his life separate, and Chelsea had accepted that. Unfortunately, now, she wished she had not allowed herself to be so ignorant about her husband's business dealings. Maybe it would have made a difference.

So I brought Daniel up here to spend a little time at the ranch before his school begins later this month. I know I'll be needing some things, of course, Chelsea smiled and handed the shopkeeper a slip of paper. Here's a list of what we'll need.

But of course, Mrs. Bond. We'll fix you right up with everything you need, the shopkeeper said, taking the list. Oh, by the way, I don't believe you've met our new Sheriff, Mrs. Bond. This is Sheriff Royce. Mr. Richter introduced them and hurried away to pick out the items on the list.

Jack had watched the interchange between Mr. Richter and Mrs. Bond, intrigued about the whole story of the beautiful widow and her handicapped son. But there was something else...something he couldn't put his finger on that tugged at the back of his mind.

Mrs. Bond, Royce tipped his hat to Chelsea. He felt an unnatural, unfamiliar coolness toward her, as if something warned him not to fall under her spell. Nice to meet you. Hope you have a pleasant stay.

Thank you, Sheriff, Chelsea nodded politely and turned to follow after Mr. Richter. For some reason she felt uncomfortable with the new Sheriff. Something about his cool reserve held back her normally warm reception of strangers. She chalked it up to the long drive and went to see how Mr. Richter was doing with her groceries.

The door at the back of the room opened and Mrs. Richter, a big-boned woman with steel gray hair and the gentlest of hearts came in. Royce drifted to the back of the store to chat with her.

And how are you today, Sheriff Royce? Catch any vicious criminals yet? Mrs. Richer asked with a smile. Jack smiled back. I’m afraid they’ve all gotten away today, Mrs. Richter.

Jack Royce had a handsome smile and even Mrs. Richter was charmed. He had what was generally considered attractive features—tall with thick, dark brown hair and brown eyes and a heavy mustache that emphasized his strong mouth. He had never had problems with getting dates, unfortunately he always seemed to pick out the wrong kind of women and he had never been married. But so far up here, the thought of even having a date had never even entered his mind. Of course, the beautiful Mrs. Bond could put that notion into any man's head, he thought involuntarily, turning to look over Mrs. Richter's shoulder at the younger woman as she handed a bag of apples to Mr. Richter to weigh and place into a larger bag. Damn! Royce scolded himself. Hadn't learned his lesson the last time! This was more trouble than he wanted right now, and he turned his attention safely back to the older woman. Funny thing, I was just talking about that with Mr. Richter, he went on. He was telling me a story about some gangsters before the war and—

Oh, Lord! He wasn't bending your ear about the Sorrell boys was he? Mrs. Richter moaned, rolling her eyes upward.

I think that's what he called them.

He loves to trot out that old story every chance he gets a new audience who’ll listen. You just have to humor him Sheriff.

The Sheriff smiled. I don't mind. It's all new to me. Well, I guess I need to be getting on back to the office. Thanks for the soda. I'll see you later. Royce nodded to the Richter’s and avoided looking at Mrs. Bond and her son as he walked out the door. All he needed was to become attracted to a wealthy widow in town only for a short while and have his heart run through the meat grinder again. No, he thought as he walked back to his office. He'd had enough of that kind of woman to last