Sweet Nothings by Catherine Anderson
“Now the kitchen,” Rodney said in a low, venomous voice.
Molly swallowed hard to steady her voice before saying, “You’re going to murder me, aren’t you?”
“All in good time. First, we have business to conclude.”
Molly flung diesel onto the middle of the floor. The fuel pooled around the cross-buck legs of the table Jake had built. Oh, God. She thought of the horseshoe clock. Then her mind conjured pictures of the downstairs bathroom where an antique Jack Daniel’s barrel served as a sink vanity and horseshoes had been welded together as towel hooks. In the great room, all the furniture had been crafted from trees felled on this ranch. Every nook and cranny of this beautiful house bore Jake Coulter’s stamp. He’d fashioned it all with those big, capable hands, making each room unique.
Rodney, who’d spent his whole life greedily taking and destroying, couldn’t conceive what he was about to incinerate—not just a house, but Jake Coulter’s dream.
“If you’re going to kill me, I’m going to make good use of the minutes I have left.” Molly straightened and turned to glare at the man who’d nearly destroyed her. “I want to make sure you know how much I detest you.”
Rodney only smiled. “You weren’t even a blip on my radar screen, Molly dear. Like I care?”
“No,” Molly said, her voice quivering with revulsion. “You never cared. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. I look at you, and do you know what I see, Rodney? There’s nothing to you. Not even the despicable parts amount to anything.”
His beautifully drawn mouth, which she’d once admired, twisted into a sneer. “Shut up and just pour the damned gas.”
“Diesel,” she corrected. Molly had no choice but to do as he said. A feeling of separateness came over her. She fleetingly wondered if it was some sort of God-given protective device inside of her kicking in. Numbness. She was about to die, and she felt so apart from it, not really afraid any longer, just numb.
When she finished dousing the house, Rodney instructed her to carry the fuel cans outside and throw them over the porch railing into the front yard. Then, keeping the gun trained on her, he withdrew a cigarette lighter from his suit pocket.
“Don’t do this, Rodney,” she tried. “Jake’s never harmed you. He’s an innocent player. If you torch his house, you’ll ruin him. Can’t you accomplish whatever it is you need to without involving him?”
“Oh,” he said in a falsely sympathetic tone, “be still, my heart. I think dumpy little Molly has fallen in love. Again. Don’t cry for him, dear heart. How long do you think it would have been before he got tired of you? Not long, that’s guaranteed. Trust me to know. You’re the most unbearably boring woman I’ve ever met.”
Molly glanced at the doorway, where diesel lay in pools just beyond the threshold. Rodney moved sideways in a half-crouch, extending the flame toward the fuel. “Be ready to move,” he said.
“Please, don’t!” Molly cried.
Rodney only laughed. The fuel ignited in a whoosh of fire. He leaped back, his hazel eyes glittering madly. “You’re so crazy, Molly. Why in God’s name would you burn down your lover’s house? People will shake their heads. They’re even Lazy J gas cans, which makes it perfect. They’ll think you got them from the shed.”
He grabbed her by the arm and flung her ahead of him down the steps. From out in his pen, Sunset shrieked. Molly knew by the sound that the stallion recognized Rodney. She stumbled as Rodney dragged her away toward the woods. He drew to a stop in approximately the same area where she’d first seen Jake, sawing up the fallen pine. Jake. It broke her heart that the house he’d built might burn to the ground. She could only thank God that he had cleared off most of the trees near the dwelling, just as he had around the stable, forming a fire break. He’d done it to protect the buildings in case of a forest fire, she felt sure. Hopefully, the safety precaution would work in reverse, preventing the flames from catching on the trees.
Grabbing her viciously by the hair, Rodney forced her to her knees. Rocks jabbed into her shins. Sharp pain lanced her thighs. The next instant, he shoved a pen and some papers in front of her face. “This time, you’ll by God sign.”
Molly blinked and tried to focus. “The papers again?” Her hands shook violently as she took them. “If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me what they are.”
“Just sign the damned thing!” He rammed the barrel of the gun against her temple, making her see stars. “So help me, if you don’t, I’ll blow your gray matter from here to hell. I have nothing left to lose. Nothing.“
“Of course you don’t. You’ve gambled it all away.”
Turning his wrist, he struck her on the head with the weapon. The front sight cut into her scalp, the sting bringing tears to her eyes. She tried to focus on the papers. The roar of the house fire snarled in her ears like a ravenous beast. She didn’t need to look back to know that Jake’s home would soon be an inferno. The print blurred, making it impossible for her to tell where the signature line was located.
“Sign it!” Rodney cried.
“I’m trying, damn you. Stop hitting me. I can’t see.”
He shoved the barrel of the gun against her temple again. “Toward the bottom. Sign it.” He gave her a hard nudge. “Your refusal to do it before fucked everything up for me. Everything. Why, all of a sudden, did you have to get stubborn. A hundred times, at least, I brought home papers, and you always signed them without a question. Why, the one time it really counted, did you have to get so goddamned righteous on me?”
“It didn’t matter before!” she cried, still trying to focus on the page. “After Daddy died, it did. I was in charge of the firm. I had to be responsible.”
“Responsible. Jesus Christ. You caused yourself no end of heartache, you stupid bitch. I would have split town and left you alone if only you had signed off. But, oh no, you had to be difficult for the first time in our marriage.”
“What am I signing off?” Molly asked, struggling to hold the pen in her shaking fingers.
“An offshore account! Millions of dollars, Molly. All of it automatically deposited by the dummy corporations under your name. That way, the profits never came to me, and if anyone ever found out, you and your dad would take the fall. I thought having your power of attorney would enable me to make withdrawals, only that jerkwater foreign country doesn’t recognize it as a legal document! All that money, and I couldn’t touch a cent of it. I was almost broke, and you refused to sign. The only way I could survive was to bet on the races with what money I had here, hoping for a win.”
“Only Sunset kept losing,” she inserted hollowly.
“The goddamned horse has four left feet,” Rodney retorted bitterly.
“I was locked up over this?” Molly wanted to fly at him, claw out his eyes, bite him, kick him. “You deprived me of my freedom for money?”
“It wasn’t by choice. You forced my hand. What was I supposed to do, let you waltz away before you signed this, and let millions of dollars turn to dust in a bank account I couldn’t touch? I had to make you sign. I figured you would eventually, that sooner or later, you’d break down and see reason.”
“Why on earth did you bank your dirty money under my name?” Molly cried.
“Why not? If something went sour, I had it set up so your father and you would take the heat, and I’d walk away without being implicated.”
“To amass another fortune?”
He smiled. “I profited by my own genius. So hang me. You and your father were both so stupid, lending yourself so easily to be used. Why not?”
Molly pressed the pen to the paper, remembering all the many times she’d refused to do this. “So it was all for money. You consigned me to hell for money.”
“You could have ended it any time. I asked you, time and again, to sign this for me, and you refused.” He crouched beside her, leveling the gun between her eyes. “Do you realize how brilliant I am, Molly? You have a brain the size of a pea, compared to mine. You saw all those
Molly stared along the blue-black barrel of the gun at his face. His features were contorted with feverish intensity. In his irises, reflections of the flames behind her danced like tiny demons caught up in the throes of evil. “So all those companies unwittingly sent you copies of all their electronic correspondence,” she whispered.
“Exactly. The perfect insider-trading setup. I sent them introductory email brochures about our firm, and after that, I got all the upcoming information about their products, their business dealings. My own little crystal ball to show me the future and enable me to make millions.”
Her vision was beginning to clear from the rap on her head. Molly lowered her gaze to the document he wanted her to sign. She saw that it was a withdrawal form to an offshore bank account. She thought of all the movies she’d watched where the imperiled heroine got the villain to keep talking and thereby bought herself precious seconds of time. Fat chance. Rodney had said all there was to say. Time had run out.
She thought about defying him. Oh, how appealing that thought was. As if he guessed her thoughts, Rodney smiled coldly. “I can make it painful. Is that what you want? Before I’m done, you’ll beg me to die. For once in your misbegotten life, do it the easy way.”
Molly considered her options. Jake was out there somewhere. Even if it was painful for her, any delay might save her life. Her husband and Hank would surely see the smoke. At this very moment, they might be racing back to the ranch. How long did it take to cover two miles on horseback? She had no idea, absolutely none, but any chance she might have to live was one she couldn’t ignore.
Molly looked Rodney dead in the eye. “If I sign this, I’m signing my death warrant.”
A diabolical glint slipped into Rodney’s eyes. “And if you don’t sign it, you’re signing his death warrant.”
He smiled and pushed to his feet, aiming the gun away from her. For a moment, Molly couldn’t think what he meant to shoot. Then her gaze followed the direction of the gun barrel—to Sunset. Her heart caught. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out and stared with burning eyes at the beautiful black horse.
Rodney sighted in, smiling evilly. “A knee first, don’t you think? That’s sure death for a horse. Slow, excruciating.” The gun clicked ominously. “If you think I can’t hit him from here, don’t delude yourself. I’ve been practicing weekly at a shooting range for almost five years. I can pick my target. And I assure you, darling, I’ll make it very painful for him.”
Molly told herself that Sunset was only an animal, that her life was far more precious. But, somehow, when she looked at that magnificent black stallion, knowing how horribly he’d already suffered at Rodney’s hands, it wasn’t that simple. The bond that had developed between her and the horse ran deep, and she’d risked so much to save him. If she allowed Rodney to kill him now, all her efforts would be for nothing.
The thought washed her mouth with bitterness. Rodney Wells had taken-so very much from her. He couldn’t have Sunset, too.
Rodney would probably kill her anyway. It took only a split second to fire a bullet. How much time could she conceivably buy for herself? A minute, maybe? Looking at Sunset, she couldn’t bring herself to sacrifice his life on the off chance that Jake might return in time to save her.
“No, don’t!” she cried. “I’ll sign, Rodney. Don’t hurt him. Please, don’t.”
Rodney turned the gun back on her. “Then do it, damn you.”
Her hands trembling so that she could barely move the pen, Molly scrawled her signature on the appropriate line, knowing as she did that she might be signing her life away. She thrust the paper at him. “There, you bastard. You’ve got your money. Now why don’t you just go?”
“And have you blow the whistle on me? Not a chance, darling. When I walk away, there’ll be no evidence to haunt me. That means I have to shut your trap, make it look like you went over the edge and did all this.” He tucked the withdrawal form safely inside his suit jacket, then grabbed Molly’s arm and jerked her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s finish this before your cowboy rounds up his beasts and comes back to complicate matters.”
Molly stumbled along beside him, wincing at the pain of his grip on her arm. “How will you kill me, Rodney? Not with the gun, surely. Or is it registered in my name like the one you killed my father with was registered in his?”
“I seldom repeat a stroke of genius,” he said with a laugh. “It worked once. Repeat performances are risky.”
He led her to Sunset’s pen. When he suddenly released her at the gate, Molly stared stupidly at him, not registering what he meant to do until she glanced down to see a large rock and a whip lying near her feet. She threw him an appalled glance. He kept the gun trained on her as he bent to pick up the rock.
“Open the gate,” he whispered.
Molly glanced back at the whip. “What are you—?”
“Just do it!”
She jerked away from the thrusting gun barrel and turned to open the gate. Against her back, she could feel the intensifying heat of the house fire. She wondered if Jake might see the smoke. Prayed he might.
“Step inside,” Rodney ordered.
Molly did as he said.
“Stop!” he said. “And don’t turn around. Things always hurt less if you don’t look.”
Molly braced, trying frantically to think of something she could do to save herself. The next instant, her head exploded with agony. In that split second between consciousness and oblivion, she knew he’d struck her with the rock. Then—blessed blackness.
Jake cut his horse in behind the gelding, clicking his tongue and softly talking to keep the animal from panicking. Fifty yards up the road, Hank was going through similar motions with a frightened mare.
“It’s all right, boy,” Jake crooned. “Let’s head home and have some oats.”
Hank was already dogging the mare in that direction. He waved his Stetson at Jake in silent communication. Jake lifted a hand to let his brother know he’d be right behind him. He was shifting in the saddle, thinking of his wife and wishing he were back in bed with her already, when he saw what looked like smoke in the distance. He stared at it stupidly for a moment. Then alarm bells clanged in his brain. It was coming from the Lazy J.
He tensed, standing rigid in the stirrups, his heart freezing in his chest. “Hank!” he yelled. “There’s a fire back at the ranch!”
Hank wheeled his horse, following Jake’s gaze. His whole body snapped to attention when he saw the smoke. “Holy hell! It’s the house!”
Sweet Christ. Jake had thought the same thing, but it had frightened him so that he’d pushed it away. The house. Molly was in there. She was sleeping. Oh, sweet Christ.
Jake left the horse he’d been dogging to race his mount along the edge of the drainage ditch toward his brother. “Molly!” he cried when he got close enough to Hank to make himself heard clearly. “She’s upstairs asleep!”
Hank leaned sharply forward in the saddle and dug in with his heels, urging his horse into a flat-out run. Jake fell in beside him in a breakneck dash for home.
Molly blinked dazedly. Dirt. In her mouth, in her eyes. She coughed and spat. Her fingers dug into the earth, the grit pushing up under her nails. Her head hurt. The pain was so excruciating, it was almost blinding. She didn’t know where she was. There was a roaring in her ears, a loud snapping sound, and shrill bursts of noise that sounded like someone shrieking.
She moaned and rolled onto her side. In her blurry vision, black legs
She tried to push up on her elbow. Her body felt leaden, as if her limbs had become detached from her brain. She fell back onto the dirt, too disoriented to move or think clearly. She saw Rodney on the fence. He sat astride the top rail, and he was swinging one arm. As her vision cleared a bit, she realized he was snapping a whip.
Her brain froze with horror. She glanced up at Sunset, the source of all the shrieking sounds. The stallion danced in terror, trying to avoid the leather that whined in the air all around him. But there was no escape in the small corral.
“Trample her, you son of a bitch!” Rodney yelled. “Do something right, just once in your miserable life!”
Sunset screamed and sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the lacerating bite of the whip. Rodney laughed as the horse danced perilously close to Molly’s legs. She tried frantically to move her feet, to escape the stallion’s hooves, but her body ignored the commands. Oh, God. Rodney meant to make Sunset kill her. It would look like an unfortunate accident, Sunset would pay the price, and Rodney would waltz away scot-free.
To Molly’s disbelief, Sunset didn’t step on her. Coincidence? She threw another frightened look at the horse. The whip sliced through the air again, almost connecting with the stallion’s nose. He threw up his head. Molly saw the whites of his eyes. He danced sideways—away from her.
Sunset. He’d looked at her. She’d seen the flash of his eyes. Even with Rodney terrorizing him, he was trying to avoid stepping on her.
“He won’t hurt you, honey. I feel it,” Jake had told her once.
Tears of sheer outrage sprang to Molly’s eyes. She riveted a glare on Rodney, hating him as she’d never hated anyone. Fury sent a rush of adrenalin coursing through her body. She struggled up onto her elbows and knees. Damn him, damn him. He was a bastard without a heart. How could he do this?