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Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T REYTON M C K ENNA HAD been expecting a visitor since his last phone call from CJ Stafford. He regretted ever getting involved with the sick bastard. He’d thought that once CJ was behind bars, that would be the end of their so-called relationship. He’d been wrong.

At the sound of a vehicle coming up his road, he picked up the sawed-off shotgun he kept handy. He also had begun carrying a gun strapped to his ankle. The kind of men he dealt with on a daily basis made being armed a necessity.

But the kind of men he expected CJ would send to keep him in line would be the worst. His so-called partner in crime seemed to collect the lowest form of criminal, ones thirsty for blood.

He wasn’t surprised to see the panel van roar up into his yard. He’d bought this property some time ago. It was badlands country incapable of growing a damned thing. But it had been cheap, had a building on it that he’d made into a home of sorts, and was far enough out that he didn’t get visitors—normally.

The one time his father had paid him an unwelcome and unannounced visit, Holden had said he couldn’t understand how he could live like this after growing up on the McKenna Ranch with everything.

“I want to be my own man,” Treyton had said. “I can’t do that standing in your shadow.”

“You call this being your own man?” his father had demanded.

“I’m no longer under your roof or your thumb, so you damned betcha I do. Now get off my property, old man. You chose my brother over me a long time ago. You and I have nothing more to say to each other, so don’t come back.”

“I raised you and Cooper the same. Your problem with your brother is you, not him,” Holden said, glancing around. “I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but I’m sure it isn’t anything good.”

Treyton had laughed. “You always had so little faith in me.” He’d slammed the door in his father’s face and never looked back.

But this wasn’t his father who’d pulled in. The sun glinted off the windshield of the panel van, not allowing him to see who was driving or who was riding shotgun. But he wasn’t surprised when he heard the side door roll open and saw two men come around the front of the van before the driver and passenger emerged.

Four men. It wasn’t the first time Treyton had been outnumbered, but it could be the last. He scooped up two handfuls of shells and pushed them into his jacket pocket as he walked to the door and threw it open.

“I might not be able to kill you all, but I’m going to try,” he called to them as the men approached, recognizing several of them.

The driver of the van, a stout man with a shaved head who went by the name Ret for retribution , held up his hand, and they all stopped moving toward him. “Just want to talk.”

Treyton laughed. “Not if CJ sent you.”

Ret tilted his head as if considering this. “Any reason CJ would have to send us?”

“None at all. He and I understand each other perfectly, always have. We go way back. Didn’t he tell you that?”

“He did mention that you were a McKenna and he didn’t like McKennas,” Ret said.

“I feel the same way about Staffords. But this is business, right?”

“Right,” Ret agreed and shifted his feet.

The change in the four men was subtle, but Treyton didn’t miss it. He pumped a shell into the shotgun and fired—just short of where the men were standing.

They jumped back, already going for the weapons they’d brought. Treyton knew that the next few shots would have to stop at least three of them if he stood a chance of this not going south. But killing even some of them would bring its own problems.

He pumped into another shell as those critical seconds swept past. Two of the men were moving toward him fast when he heard the roar of a vehicle coming up the road. The men didn’t seem to hear it until the siren and lights turned on and the patrol SUV came to a dust-boiling stop in back of the van.

By then, one of the men had launched himself at Treyton. Rather than pull the trigger, he stepped aside and brought the butt of the shotgun down hard on the man’s shoulder. The blow crumpled him on the porch steps. Treyton gave him a swift kick that rolled him back down the steps and into the dirt.

“There a problem here?” the sheriff asked as he climbed out of the patrol car with his own shotgun.

Treyton McKenna had never been so glad to see the law.

B AILEY FELT SOMETIMES as if she was losing her mind. She’d been focused on the man who’d assaulted her for years now, knowing he was out there. As much as she trusted Stuart with her life, but she wasn’t about to stop looking for the man of her nightmares on her own. She could feel him watching her everywhere she went. He was coming for her. Had he been biding his time for the past twelve years? Or had seeing Willow brought it all back and triggered something in him? Was he even now closer than she knew?

It was as if she could feel his sour breath on her neck, hear his hoarse whisper in her ears. I’m right here, Bailey. Only this time I’m going to kill you—like should have happened the first time. Ready? She could hear his deep, throaty chuckle. Ready or not, here I come.

“Bailey, are you listening?”

She surfaced from her thoughts to realize that she was sitting in her SUV parked in front of the family’s ranch house. She’d been about to climb out when she’d gotten the call. She’d had no choice but to take it and get it over with. At least here in the car, she would have the needed privacy.

“You aren’t going to be able to keep this quiet in a few months,” the woman on the other end of the call was saying.

She was well aware her secret would be out soon. Time was running out.

“I had really hoped we could discuss this in person when you came to Billings. You’ve cancelled two appointments, but I could stay another day if—”

“No. Don’t.” She looked in the rearview mirror at her appearance. The scratches on her face were a daily reminder of what was at stake. She knew that R. Durham was only the first to get wind of what she’d been doing. It would be much worse when more people knew. “I apologize for standing you up in Billings, but family issues have kept coming up.” She couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.

“If you’re thinking of backing out—”

“No, it’s too late for that.” She looked away from the mirror to the view of the Powder River Basin stretched to the horizon. She used to love this view, especially this time of year with the cottonwood leaves turning golden along the dark green, quietly flowing river. Coming back here could be the worst mistake I ever made. The last one as well.

“Good, I’m glad you realize that it’s too late for that. I can understand if you’re having second thoughts, but—”

“It’s not that.” Wasn’t it? Not that it mattered. She’d done what she’d done. No turning back now. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She kept saying it as if just voicing the words would make it true, when she knew all along that nothing was going to be fine. In fact, things could get much worse and would if the man coming after her wasn’t found and stopped soon.

As a large, male shadow fell over the driver’s side of her SUV, she froze for an instant before he bent down, and she saw his face. “I have to go,” she said.

“We’ll talk next week. This is an exciting time for you. Enjoy it.”

Bailey laughed as she disconnected. Exciting was putting it mildly.

Her father tapped on her window. “You coming in the house?”

Was she? She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to talk to her. She could just drive off. Or not. She cut the engine, and he stepped back as she climbed out, dragging her large satchel with her. She saw him look at the bag and then her in question for a moment.

“We need to talk about Stuart,” he said.

“Why?” she asked as she started toward the house. She wasn’t having this conversation out in the front yard. She could see Pickett over by the corrals working with Holly Jo on one of horseback riding tricks. The girl believed she could be a world-famous trick rider and was determined to make it happen.

Bailey actually admired the thirteen-year-old—not that she’d had anything to do with her since Holden had brought her back to the ranch to live. She was in no place to take the girl under her wing, let alone giggle while they painted each other’s nails.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t notice Holly Jo had grit, something Bailey was sure her father also admired. She remembered when he’d looked at her with awe the way he did Holly Jo. But that was a long time ago, back when there was a reason to have high hopes for her, she thought as she entered the ranch house, her father close behind.

He motioned her into his office-den. “Sit down,” he ordered, then softened his tone as he took a chair behind his desk. “Please, Bailey.”

She felt like a petulant child as she slumped into a chair across from his desk. She just wanted this over. The news she’d gotten this morning felt as if it had made that already ticking clock tick faster. Now it ticked in time with her pounding heart. She didn’t have any time to waste, especially in some futile attempt to explain herself.

“Tell me about you and Stuart,” he said as he leaned forward, folding his large, weathered hands in front of him.

“There is no me and Stuart.” Not really, not yet. “When and if there is, I’ll let you know.”

He narrowed his gaze at her. “You spend time with him.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Damn it, Bailey, he told me that he’s in love with you.”

She’d have rather heard that from Stuart under other circumstances, she thought. Not that she hadn’t known how he felt about her. But for so long, she hadn’t felt...lovable, so she had questioned how he possibly could love her—especially when he didn’t understand her secrets. “He barely knows me.”

“He’s known you your whole life!”

She had no answer for that. Her father didn’t know her either, but he didn’t seem to realize it.

“What is going on with you?” he demanded, losing his patience.

“Nothing.” She met his gaze, having become good at lying, even to herself.

Holden shook his head, his tone softening again. “I feel like you’re angry at me.”

“What would I have to be angry at you about?” she asked.

Silence filled the room. He closed his eyes as if in pain, making her wish she could take it back, take it all back, especially her misplaced anger at him.

She got to her feet. For a moment, she searched for words to make it better, but couldn’t find any.

“Please be careful,” he said, dismissing her. “I worry about you.”

“Me too,” she said as she went upstairs to get a change of clothes before she left again.

T HIRTY - FIVE , T REYTON M C K ENNA had longish dark hair and amazing blue eyes, much like his sister Bailey. Stuart figured Willow found the cowboy handsome. She might have taken his arrogance for confidence. More than likely, he wouldn’t have shown her his rotten side—at least, not at first.

“Nice to see you, Sheriff,” Treyton said as the men with the weapons got back into their van and left.

“Seems my timing worked out well for you. Want to tell me about it?”

Holden’s son smiled. “Nothing to tell.”

Stuart nodded knowingly. Both the McKenna and the Stafford families’ oldest sons were trouble. CJ Stafford was behind bars and hopefully would remain there for a very long time. So far, Treyton McKenna had avoided arrest, but the sheriff figured it was just a matter of time before he ended up incarcerated.

“Got quite the place out here,” Stuart said as he glanced around. There were several old buildings that appeared to have been fixed up. “What do you do way out here?” he asked, looking past the buildings to the scrub pine and rough terrain beyond.

“There a reason you showed up when you did, Sheriff?”

He turned back to him. “Willow Branson.”

Treyton frowned. “What about her?”

“She’s dead.” He saw the man’s surprise. “You know anything about that?”

“No. What happened to her?” He sounded upset.

“She was murdered.”

Treyton blinked and shook his head. “That’s awful.”

“I was hoping since you knew her that you might have some idea who would have done that to her,” Stuart asked. “Maybe someone who hung around the hotel where she worked? Maybe someone in the hotel bar?”

The cowboy was still shaking his head, shock making him seem paler. “I... I don’t know.”

“You dated her, right?”

He let out a huff. “Not dated exactly. A lot of guys flirted with her.”

“Like who?” Stuart asked.

Treyton seemed to have to think about that. “A bunch of old ranchers who had crushes on her. I used to tease her about it.”

“Sounds like you were close. You ever tell her to change her hair color?”

He looked surprised. “Her hair color? No, I wouldn’t have changed anything about her.”

“There wasn’t one rancher she was closer to than others?”

Treyton shook his head. “I never paid much attention. She and I had a few laughs at the bar. That’s all it was. She wasn’t interested in me. I got the impression she was dating someone she was serious about.”

Dating someone? “You have some idea who?”

“Sorry. Like I said... I still can’t believe...” He shook his head again, sounding truly sorry to hear that she was dead. Maybe Treyton McKenna had a heart after all.

“You going to be okay if those men come back?” Stuart asked. “Because I’m betting they will.”

Treyton seemed to get over his earlier shock as he grinned and said, “Don’t worry about me, Sheriff. I can take care of myself.”

“If you say so.” Stuart touched the brim of his Stetson and walked to his patrol SUV. Climbing inside, he wondered again what Treyton did out here all alone. Whatever it was, he’d bet his favorite boots it wasn’t legal.

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