Shattered Sanctuary: Cold Springs Mystery, #2

By Sara Caudell

No good deed goes unpunished. In a Colorado ranching community, Jackie Jackson is building her cutting horse training facility while staying with her cousin. Unbeknownst to her rancher cousin, she provides women with a place of sanctuary. But when a Texas abused women's organization is burglarized and records stolen their tranquil life is shattered. To add to the chaos a powerful legislator starts looking for his wayward daughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Caudell
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781076435255

Sara Caudell

Sara Caudell grew up in a small ranching community in Colorado where she learned to judge beef on the hoof and under plastic wrap.  After moving around the country for her husband’s career and catching college courses as she could, she finally found herself in one place long enough to finish her degree.  She was an artist, raised three children, managed offices, and started her own business before weaving her stories and experiences into novels. She now lives in central Texas with her patient husband and four cats. In her spare time she does genealogy research and nurses orphan kittens and injured cats for the local animal shelter.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This is dedicated to my family

without whose support

I would still be floundering in ink.

A special thanks to Mary Lynn Dameron,

my friend and editor.

No good deed goes unpunished.

In a remote Colorado ranching community, a horse trainer and a rancher provide women with sanctuary. All is well—until the center for abused women headquartered in Texas is burglarized and a powerful legislator starts looking for his wayward daughter. But this is only the beginning of the problems.

List of Characters

_____________

Cary McCall Carpenter – Warren’s wife and Joe’s daughter

Warren Carpenter – Local rancher and Cary’s husband

Sarah Howard – Therapist for Joe McCall and abused wife.

Taylor Howard – Sarah Howard’s daughter.

Kevin Benson – Sarah Howard’s husband

Darrell Cavanaugh – New neighbor of Joe’s and rodeo friend of Warren

Jackie Jackson – Darrell’s cousin, who is building cutting horse ranch

Georgia O’Brian – Age 29, trainer from Texas, staying with Jackie at Darrell’s

Nicki Mitchell – Age 23 Texas horse trainer working for Jackie

Carl Simmons – Nicki’s husband

Don Simmons – Carl’s brother from Missouri

Crystal Jane (C. J.) Ware – Age 27 daughter of Speaker of the House, John Ware, of Lubbock, Texas

Larkin – Aide for Representative John Ware

Brad Collins – FBI from San Antonio

John Ware – C. J.’s father

Janet Ware – C. J.’s mother

Joe McCall – Cary’s dad, stroke victim

Randy Clark – Deputy Sheriff and small rancher

Dale Rittenhouse – Kerrville rancher and founder of the Underground

Amanda Rittenhouse – Dale’s daughter

Cliff Gordon – Bartender/owner of Wagon Wheel

Sheriff Jim Hobson – Sheriff of Cimarron County

Shattered Sanctuary

CHAPTER 1

Kerrville, Texas:

Hello. Dale Rittenhouse answered his cell phone and listened intently. A frown covered his broad, suntanned face. His end of the conversation gave nothing away. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. Thanks, J. R. Amanda, his daughter, sitting across the table at their favorite restaurant, realized there was a major problem. Their ranch manager never bothered her father except for dire emergencies.

Dale hung up as anguish played across his face. There’s been a break-in at the house. We need to finish eating and go back home. There is a lot of damage in your office. J. R. thinks computer equipment is missing. The sheriff is on his way there. Her father’s attention went to his plate of steak and a baked potato.

Fear clutched Amanda’s stomach. Should we get this to-go? Amanda pointed at her trout dinner.

No, just eat fast. Dale recognized the worry on Amanda’s face as she hurriedly wolfed down part of her dinner.

Dad, do you think . . .

Don’t worry ‘til we find out more.

They finished eating, paid and hurried to their black SUV. Slow panic and dread reflected on Amanda’s face as they headed back to the ranch in silence.

Looking over at his daughter, Dale couldn’t see her face. With her head down, her long brown hair hid her profile.  Unconsciously her thumbnail scrapped at her nail polish, slowly demolishing her new manicure. He understood her thoughts; they were the same fears nagging his mind. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and sighed.

Dale started the Women’s Underground, for battered women, after his drunk, abusive brother-in-law (now on death-row) shot Dale’s wife and her sister. The killings were a tragic awakening for Dale and Amanda. Dale wanted to stop the killing of other women by a boyfriend or spouse. He hoped this alleviated his guilt for not recognizing the prospective violence in his own family.

After researching women’s shelter organizations in large cities, he realized their business model would not work in rural areas. Close-knit communities didn’t air their dirty laundry in public. The shelters needed to be more discreet. They could not be openly advertised; the locations would be kept secret. Their existence conveyed by brochures at public gatherings and word of mouth. The contact would be a 1-800 number.

The other problem with larger shelters was the lack of communication with the women after they left the shelter. He wanted better follow-up and support. The high recidivism with abused women occurred because the dependency was not fully addressed.

Five years ago Dale funded the first location and got it up and running, then he used his political influence to help fund the others. The non-profit’s goal remained simple: to help women leave the abuser, give them temporary refuge, counseling, and permanent placement as far from the abuser as practical. Amanda took over as administrator of the Underground when Dale got re-elected County Commissioner, two years ago.

The large limestone gate announcing the entrance to the Rittenhouse ranch shined in the headlights before Amanda found her voice, Dad, do you think someone found out? Were they after the records?

Let’s not panic ‘til we find out more. Dale always assessed the facts before putting forth an opinion. The records being stolen was his first thought too, but he hoped the burglars were after valuables, not information.

Arriving at the ranch-style house, Dale pulled the Tahoe into the driveway beside the Sheriff’s cruiser. Amanda and Dale emerged from the car, hurried through the front door and down the hall to her back office. Amanda felt her father’s hands on her shoulders stopping her in the doorway. They stared at the damage as a deputy scurried around taking photos. Someone had swept everything off the top of her desk onto the floor. The receipt files, notepaper, paperclips, pens, and folders were strewn across the rug between the door and her desk. Most of the files on the computer consisted of ranch accounting, cattle records, ranch mail and Dale’s correspondence.  She surveyed the room and acknowledged that her computer, an external hard-drive and a large CD case were missing.

The separate hard drive held the records of the Women’s Underground. Part of the information was coded, but the final placements had actual street and city addresses. Amanda’s eyes went to the crack behind her desk where a stapler hit the wall. The horse photos from her wall were on the floor with broken glass and frames. The overturned chairs were by the cracked window behind her desk.

After the deputy finished taking photographs and lifting fingerprints, he allowed the Rittenhouses into the room. Amanda, shaken but concentrating on the scene, gave them a list of the missing equipment. She even rummaged through her files and found serial numbers. The sheriff started speculating as to what the burglar was after, something specific on the computers or the computers to sell for pocket money. Then, assessing the mess, he commented, Whoever did this needs a course in anger management.

The remark didn’t sit well with Dale. The sheriff made the break-in personal, not random. He glanced at Amanda who took a deep breath but didn’t flinch.

Dale, is there county information stored on the computer? Something someone would break in to steal?

Can’t think of any. Once in a while, I’ll send a note to another commissioner or a constituent. Just routine reminders. Stuff like that. Nothin’ to do with county contracts or bids. Dale was not a keyboarder; anything that he needed could be delegated to the commission secretary.

No ranch secrets someone wanted? the sheriff gave a half laugh but stared at Dale. Amanda’s eyes widened. The two deputies taking photos and fingerprints listened with interest.

Can I talk to you outside, Sheriff?

Dale led the sheriff down the hall and out through the patio doors in the den. They passed J. R. sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs playing nervously with his hat. Standing on the patio and taking a deep breath, The hard drive held the Underground’s records.

I was wondering. Then Sheriff Scott took off his hat and scratched his head. You think that’s what they were after?

The worried frown on Dale’s face answered his question. The sheriff was advised of the Underground when it first started and referred three women to it over the years. He also spread the 1-800 number around to other rural law enforcement officers. I’ll start looking for the hard-drive first thing tomorrow, Dale.  I’ll have the pawnshops and computer geeks checked out first thing in the morning. If it’s okay, I’ll suggest to my men that the equipment contains confidential county information. That’d give it a sense of importance without mentioning the Underground.

Dale nodded, no less worried, but still grateful. Sounds good, thanks, Sheriff. Keep me informed, especially when you find anything.

Dale went back to Amanda’s office, J. R. left with a nod of his head and the sheriff met his men at their cars. The sheriff and his deputies were driving away when Amanda turned to her father.

Did you tell the Sheriff?

Yes. He‘ll tell them the computer and hard-drive contain county information. First thing tomorrow I will go buy a new computer. You send the attorney a back-up of all the records, don’t you?

Amanda nodded trying to follow her father’s train of thought.

Call him first thing in the morning and ask for a copy, go through it and see if anything relevant jumps out. How many people in this county have knowledge of the Underground?

Amanda paused for a minute. Besides you, me, the sheriff and the attorney . . . maybe two . . . three. The entire organization only employs seven people, just the women who run the safe houses.

How about volunteers? 

There are eleven full-time volunteers, and the doctors and psychologists work on a contract basis. The problem is the addresses of the safe houses were on the payroll records. Most expenses and other information pass through the attorneys in Ft. Worth. I’m hoping whoever took the equipment needed money as the sheriff suggested. She tried to be logical. After all, they took the petty cash box with two hundred dollars in it. We’ve gone through so much to keep any evidence of the Underground away from the ranch, Amanda lamented.

You’re probably right. A need for money, he let out a sigh. However, let the directors of the safe houses know what’s happened. Tell them not to panic. Keep accepting women. Business as usual. I’ll do a phone conference with John and the others directors tomorrow morning.

Still worrying, they retired to their bedrooms. Dale took care of funding for the Underground. Amanda screened the women’s information and set up the contacts, the safe houses, and the transportation arrangements. Trying to assess what information could be retrieved from the scattered and coded records, Amanda finally got up and went downstairs for a glass of wine. It was after one in the morning when she returned to her bed and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Dale sat on the bed making notes for the directors meeting. He would need to discuss the worst-case scenario: an angry, abusive husband going after his wife. And worse still there was always the possibility of the burglar selling the remaining information to other abusive husbands. The thought of hot-headed, violent men looking for and finding their wives sent shivers of fear and regret through his body. He would come up with his own plan to catch the thief. Worst problem: the public knowing he, Amanda and the ranch ran the Women’s Underground.

There would be visitors, abused women seeking shelter and dangerous husbands looking for missing wives. The ranch didn’t have the security for that. He doubted if the ranch could even be made secure for such visitors. The Underground taking over his life and family ranch was not an option. He would pull the plug on it before he would live with it on his doorstep. If it came to that, he could always help raise money for a shelter in Houston or San Antonio. He had a contingency plan for later. Now he would deal with the immediate problem. Dale lay back on the bed remembering his murdered wife and the best years of his life with the only woman he ever loved.

CHAPTER 2

Cold Springs, Colorado

Cary and Warren heard nails being pounded and the roar of machinery echoing through the valley as they drove up to the building site. It was a lovely spring morning, and the pasture was undergoing a transformation to become Jackie Jackson’s cutting-horse ranch. Yellow and pink summer flowers covered the green pasture between Colorado’s purple/blue Sawatch Mountains and the pine-splotched rampart. The elevation in the valley was not anything impressive, only 7,600 feet compared to the 14,000 feet peaks surrounding it. The sky was the deep blue that only high elevation is blessed with. The all-encompassing view was breathtaking.

They were stopping to check on Jackie’s progress. There were two contractors’ crews building a stable with a residence above and a separate barn. Jackie and her women trainers were busy plotting off the corrals and fences.

Warren parked his pickup beside Darrell Cavanaugh’s dark blue Ram and walked around to open the door for his petite wife. Darrell and Warren were long-time friends, neighbors and part-time deputies in Cimarron County.

As she got out of the truck, a clean mountain breeze caught Cary. She stopped a moment to take in a deep breath and snatched the faintest scent of pine. Good morning, Cary said as she strolled over to Darrell.

He leaned against his pickup, watching the workmen. Darrell, a handsome, thirty-year-old Texan bought land and moved his roping and cutting horses up to Cold Springs three years ago. His goal amounted to a nice quiet life raising Angus cattle and quarter horses.

Mornin’, Darrell drawled, tipping his head toward the new arrivals.  

A huge derrick truck drilling a water well in the leveled hillside caught Warren’s attention. So how are things goin’, Darrell? Warren smiled warmly from under his straw Stetson.

Well, there should be water and a place for the horses soon. Jackie is making good use of her loan money. She hated to leave Texas but I think she’ll be happy here. She’s settled into my place just fine. Darrell was resigned to the arrangement. Darrell’s cousin, Jackie, and her trainers were staying with him until the new residence was inhabitable.

Jackie mentioned the trainers would be here this week, Cary commented, glancing around the site, taking in the activity. Nodding towards the two women busy with measuring tapes putting stakes in the ground at certain intervals. Is that them?

Oh, yes! They moved in last night. Georgia O’Brian, you remember her, Warren. She’s the short, redhead over there. Used to barrel race with that black long-legged quarter horse. Warren nodded his acknowledgment as Darrell continued. She helped Jackie in Texas. She’s an excellent trainer. The other one is Nikki Mitchell. I just met her. She’s real quiet. I moved my stuff to the downstairs bedroom and gave the ladies the upstairs. Jackie assures me the residence should be finished in a month or so. If not, I’ll be out here helping these guys. I’ve never lived with three women. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. He’d tried to conjure up a reason to turn down Jackie‘s request to stay with him but he owed her for helping him out too many times. Saying ‘no’ to her was not an option; not one he could live with anyway.

Wow! Who’s that talking to Jackie? She’s gorgeous! Cary asked, scrutinizing a thirtyish, tall blond dressed in tight black jeans, a light blue silk blouse, and black boots.

Warren’s eyes followed Cary’s. Holy shit! What is she doing here?

No idea. She got out of the pickup with Jackie before you pulled up.

Who is she? Cary inquired again, still gaping.

Darrell answered with a sigh. That is Crystal Jane Ware, known as C. J. Her dad is John Ware of Lubbock, Texas, the most conservative and powerful Republican in the House of Representatives. And C. J. is the bane of every man who lays eyes on her.

Oh, she can’t be that bad! Cary glanced from one cowboy to the other; both were nodding their head.

Jackie and C. J. both waved and started toward them. Warren took hold of Cary’s shoulders, pulled her in front of him, and held her there as a shield between him and the femme fatale. Darrell stepped back against his truck and took a deep breath.

Hi, Darrell. C. J. threw her arms around his neck and gave him a long kiss on the mouth. Darrell stood like a statue and didn’t hug or kiss her back. C. J. ignored Darrell's lack of enthusiasm and turned to Warren. I hear you have a lady friend. Is this her?

Yes. Warren adjusted Cary so she would still serve as his shield. This is Cary Carpenter, my WIFE. Honey, meet C. J. Ware.

Nice to meet you. Cary leaned forward, extended her hand and was engulfed with C. J.’s expensive fragrance.

C. J. offered her soft, manicured hand to Cary’s small rough one. I am so happy to meet a friend of Warren’s. She turned her head and gave Warren a wink. Blatant flirting was her trademark.

Warren addressed Jackie with his spiel: Cary’s dad wanted us to check on the building and how deep you’d needed to go for water. I can tell you’re making progress and the well isn’t in yet. I’ll tell Joe. Well, we’ll go now. See you later, Jackie. Darrell. C. J.

Warren turned Cary and led her to their pickup, put her on the passenger side, ran around, got in the driver’s seat, started the truck and left. Cary gave a wave to the people standing in the dust as Warren sped away.

Warren is there something you would like to tell me? Cary put on her seatbelt.

Can we talk about this later? Warren was still visibly shaken.

Yeah, I guess so, she answered.  Various scenarios ran through her mind. Old girlfriend? Lover?

* * *

The three stood dumbfounded and watched the dusty trail of Cary and Warren’s abrupt departure. A songbird trilled in a tree during a break in construction noise.  The dust began to settle on the road and the truck disappeared from view.

What’re you doing in Colorado, C. J.? Darrell demanded, pulling his attention back to the two women beside him. Darrell’s reputation for being a flirt around women did not extend to C. J. Flirting with her was dangerous. Hell, talking to her could be dangerous.

C. J. volunteered to help me train cutting horses and get my business started. And I’m looking forward to having her stay with us, Jackie’s smile reflected the enthusiasm of someone who just announced a gold strike. She owns and shows Shakespeare. Last year they won Grand Champion at the cutting horse competition in Houston. He’s trained so well all she needs is stay on the horse. That horse can cut calves from a herd with or without a rider.

The thought of C. J. staying at his house with the other trainers worried Darrell. Determined, Darrell took Jackie’s elbow and led her over to the tree line, away from C. J. I know how outstanding Shakespeare is. You don’t need to tell me. Jackie, we need to talk about C. J.!

Why?  What about C. J.?

Jackie, that woman isn’t staying in my house! he informed her, glaring down at her trying to be intimidating.

Why? We can double up and you have five bedrooms. Darrell, she’ll help me get my business started here in Colorado! I can’t turn her down! Do you realize what having her name associated with my business can do for me? She’s my way out of debt. She skipped to another thought, putting her fist on her hip. And why can’t she stay at your house, you’re letting the rest of us stay there? Jackie pleaded, not understanding his problem.

Why? Why! Because her dad is Speaker of the House, John Ware. Chairman of the House Budget Committee. Any idea what kind of weight that man can throw around? He says ‘jump’ and twenty people ask ‘how high?’ He has bodyguards and Secret Service at his beck-and-call. Every time he believes there’s a problem he sends them to check-up on his daughter.  His voice grew louder and louder as his agitation mounted and the memory of the last time he met C. J. grew even more vivid. Have you ever been questioned by the FBI?

Startled, Jackie shook her head. Darrell. She’ll hear you.

Softer, but no less determined, Darrell continued, Well, I have! I would rather ride bulls all day then spend five minutes with that bunch. Jackie, I enjoy my nice quiet life with no one threatening me. I enjoy being able to walk down the street without looking over my shoulder. I don’t like her and all the trappings she brings with her,

He would not let her stay.  He would not. He was adamant about it. And I don’t like waking up with Secret Service surrounding my pickup!

He blurted it without thinking about the questions that the last remark might provoke.  Jackie’s expression made him realize his mistake.

You’re serious? She leaned closer towards him, astonished by the big cowboy’s display of fear and anger. You had Secret Service surrounding your pickup?

No. But someone I know did. He regretted saying too much. Before she could ask more, his argument took another avenue.  Why can’t she stay at the motel?

Jackie checked that C. J. was not close enough to hear.

She can’t use any of her credit cards or write a check and she’s a little short of cash, Jackie whispered. How could she make the situation sound normal? Hopefully, even typical?  "Her brother is wiring her money, he goes to Fort