Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S TUART HAD BEEN about to head to the office when he heard a rig pull up in front of his house. He opened the door just as Holden McKenna was about to pound on it. “She’s not here.”

“But she was, wasn’t she?”

“What is this about, Holden?”

The big rancher sighed. “I talked to her. Not that I got anywhere with her. But...” His gaze softened as he looked at the sheriff. “She’s going to break your heart.”

Stuart laughed. “You drove all this way to tell me that? I could have saved you the trip. I’ve known that for years.”

Holden rubbed the back of his neck for a moment. “I understand what it’s like to be in love with someone who is only going to hurt you over and over again. I like you, Stuart. I hate to see you in that same position.”

“I appreciate that, I really do, but I know what I’m up against. It doesn’t change the way I feel.”

“Then I’m truly sorry for you. Let Bailey go before she destroys you.” With that, the man turned and walked back to his ranch truck.

Stuart watched him drive away. Holden McKenna’s reaction to him and Bailey had left him feeling off balance. Was the rancher worried about him or Bailey? The sheriff had never really thought he’d have a chance with her, let alone... He shook his head. What? A relationship? An honest-to-goodness one with a wedding ring and babies? He tried to imagine having children with Bailey. That he could made him realize he was a lost cause.

He shook off his thoughts, reminding himself that he wasn’t even sure he and Bailey were friends at the moment. Right now, though, he had to do his job to the best of his ability. Even the thought made him question that ability.

But he’d do whatever it took. He was anxious to find out if Ralph Jones really had followed Bailey, not once but twice. He also still needed to talk to both Dickie Cline and Jay Erickson, the last two ranchers Bailey hadn’t scratched off her list.

On the way to his office, he got a call from the state crime team. They had finished Willow Branson’s rental house and her car and would get back to him if they had anything once they ran the DNA and fingerprints that didn’t match hers.

He’d already been informed that there had been no sign of forced entry or a struggle inside either the car or the rental property. He’d been waiting before going out to the house himself even though he wanted to see where she’d lived.

But now that the techs were finished, he wanted to see the house. Had Willow’s killer been in her rental? Would they get lucky and find his DNA? Had he grabbed Willow somewhere else? Or had he simply driven out to her rental, honked, and she’d come out, thinking they were going on a date?

Holden thought love was blind. Maybe he was right and it had gotten Willow killed, he mused as he drove. As he came over a small rise, he spotted the house—and the familiar SUV parked outside it. It was the same one Holden McKenna had seen leaving his house the other morning before daylight. What was Bailey doing here?

He drove down the hill to park next to her rig and got out. She must have heard him coming, because a front curtain twitched as he approached the porch. A few seconds later, the door opened.

“I waited until the crime team left,” she said, looking as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He saw emotion in her expression. Pain. “Bailey, what are you doing here?” Clearly seeing Willow’s life before it had suddenly ended had already taken an emotional toll on her.

She swallowed. “I need to show you something.” She pushed the door open wider.

Even as he stepped in, he was telling himself that if there was anything to find, the crime team would have found it. Just inside the door, he stopped, his gaze following her outstretched arm to a small table next to the couch.

The tiny item on it was so odd that he didn’t recognize it at first. As he started to step toward it, she said, “Don’t touch it. He made it for her.” That stopped him, his gaze flying to her. “I talked to her brother. He remembered that one of the ranchers Willow knew from the hotel bar had given her little presents.”

He looked from Bailey to the tiny straw figurine. “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A windmill, I think. The man also brought her homemade fudge,” she said. “Peanut butter wrapped in silver Christmas paper.”

Stuart felt his eyes widen a little. He slowly shook his head. “He could have bought it.”

“Or his wife could have made it like she does every Christmas to sell at the toy drive.”

He swore. “Her brother told you that?” She nodded. “Why didn’t he tell me all this?”

“Probably forgot. Or maybe he didn’t think it was important at the time...” She paused. “He really is a creepy, sleazy bastard.”

The sheriff knew she wasn’t talking about Aaron Branson. “Bailey, I appreciate your help, but you need to back off now, okay? We’re getting too close. You’re getting too close. He might panic and...” He couldn’t finish as he met her defiant gaze. It burned in blue flames. “Please.”

“What did my father want?” she asked, turning away, breaking eye contact.

“You came by the house after you left this morning?”

“I wanted to tell you what I’d learned from Aaron,” she said. “When I saw you were busy, I decided to come out here. You haven’t answered my question.”

He wasn’t finished trying to get her to stay out of this, but knew it would be a waste of breath. “He warned me not to fall for you.”

“Too late for that,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Stuart nodded. “He told me you were going to break my heart.”

“That couldn’t have come as a surprise. Is that all?” she asked, looking away.

“He told me to let you go.”

She looked back at him. “What did you tell him?”

“That I can’t. That I love you, have for a long time.”

As if knowing there was more, she seemed to be waiting. “And he gave you his blessing?”

“Something like that.” He took a step toward her, but knew better than to try to touch her. Oftentimes she seemed like a broken vase that had been badly glued back together. One wrong touch and she would shatter, the vase destroyed, completely unrepairable. “He said he felt sorry for me if I thought I could ever put a ring on your finger.”

“My father doesn’t know me,” she said, holding his gaze. “But you do.”

He wondered about that even as he nodded. “You scare me when I find you out here all by yourself in a place we know he might have been,” Stuart said. “He probably watched her from the foothills. He might have grabbed her here that night.” He was relieved to see realization in her eyes, along with fear. Fear was the one thing that might save her, he told himself. She certainly wasn’t going to listen to reason, not from him.

A heavy silence stretched between them for a few moments before he broke it. “I’ll have the crime scene techs pick up the straw figure. I doubt they can get DNA off it, but they might surprise me. For all you know, he accidently wound a piece of his hair into it. You were going to call me after you found it, right?”

“Yes, I was,” she said as she stepped past him toward the door. “You have to trust me, Layton,” she said as she stepped out into the waning rays of the fall morning, daring him to argue otherwise.

“It’s a two-way street, McKenna.”

She laughed. “Maybe I’ll see you later.” With that, she headed for her SUV.

He watched her go, studying the horizon, afraid he’d see a vehicle pull out and fall in behind her as she left. He noticed a few outbuildings in the distance and called the office. “I need a couple of deputies to search some abandoned buildings near the house Willow Branson rented.”

But fortunately, he didn’t see anyone following Bailey before she dropped over a rise in the road and disappeared.

T HE ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT Tilly Stafford McKenna’s baby shower had appeared in the local shopper, the Tattler . Like in a lot of small Montana communities, everyone who got a shopper in their mail or picked up one at local businesses was invited.

This morning, Charlotte Stafford had gotten a copy of the printed announcement via text message from her daughter. It had been days without even a text until this morning, proving what a lousy mother she was. But she figured not answering calls or texts from her offspring was no worse than the other things she’d done.

The truth was, her children were all grown and didn’t need her—better for everyone. Not that they hadn’t tried to reach her, especially CJ, but she’d ignored the calls, texts and messages. Mostly they wanted to know when she was coming back, and she didn’t have an answer for that.

She was looking at the baby shower announcement when her phone rang, startling her. She saw that it was Elaine calling. Before Charlotte had left, she’d told Elaine not to call unless she had to. That left it open to interpretation.

Hesitating for a moment, she picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded strange since she seldom used it. She saw no one, hardly left her room. Everything she needed could be ordered at the touch of a button.

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer my call,” Elaine said.

Charlotte chuckled. “I can tell by your disapproving tone that I’m about to get a lecture. Should I hang up now?”

“No,” her friend said, her voice softening. “I’d ask how you are, but you’d lie, so I won’t. I’m calling about Tilly. She’s pregnant, due in a couple of months, I think. Oakley and Birdie are throwing her a baby shower next week.”

“Birdie?”

“Your soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Brand’s fiancée. Birdie Malone. Dixon’s daughter.”

“Yes, Dixon, my dead husband who keeps coming back to haunt me,” she said. “Small world, isn’t it.”

“She reminds me of you, Charlotte.”

“Oh mercy, that can’t be good.”

“They haven’t announced a wedding date yet, but I would think you’d want to meet your first daughter-in-law-to-be before then,” Elaine said. “You also don’t want to miss your daughter’s shower—let alone the birth of her baby.”

No, she didn’t, but all of this news seemed to be about people she no longer knew—even her own blood. She’d burned so many bridges, caused so much trouble. How could anyone miss her?

“Holden’s miserable.”

The words struck her like a knife to her heart. “I didn’t ask.”

“He’s hurting. Charlotte, you need to come home. You can’t keep running. It’s time.”

S TUART DROVE ON out of town on the gravel road toward Richard “Dickie” Cline’s ranch. The day was one of those bright, warm fall days when the air smelled like burning leaves and mown hay as he drove. Overhead, white puffy clouds bobbed in a clear, deep blue sky.

The season had changed almost without him noticing it. He knew winter was coming since the temperatures had been dropping at night. This morning he’d noticed frost on his windshield. It was a sign that snow wouldn’t be far behind in this part of Montana.

He felt more aware of time passing today as he turned in to the road to the Cline Ranch, sending up a cloud of dust and dried cottonwood leaves. Ahead, he saw the two-story ranch house sitting back from the river and slowed.

Even from a distance, he could make out a horseshoe hanging over the front door. It struck him that he hadn’t questioned the brand the man had used on Willow or Bailey. Why a horseshoe?

According to superstition, if the horseshoe was hung over a doorway with the ends up, it caught good luck from anyone who walked under it.

However, if the ends pointed down, the good luck would spill out on those entering. But it was also said to keep evil away.

The horseshoe hanging over the Cline house pointed down, Stuart noted as he climbed out of his patrol SUV and walked toward the door, wondering if it had kept evil out.

Annette Cline opened the door a few moments after the sheriff’s knock with a surprised look. “Sheriff?” she said and glanced past him before returning her gaze to him. “To what do I owe the honor?”

A nice-looking woman a good fifteen years younger than her forty-year-old husband, Annette leaned suggestively against the doorframe. She wore a blue short-sleeved dress that matched her eyes, the fabric falling over her curves like running water, accentuating everything.

The look in her eyes had always been a little too predatory. It struck Stuart as he took in her freshly applied makeup that she’d been expecting someone—just not him.

“Is Dickie around?” he asked, noticing how quiet the ranch yard seemed.

“He’s out of town,” she said, and smiled. “Can I give him a message when he comes back?”

“When do you expect him?”

“A few days. I could have him call you,” Annette said, clearly not going to ask him in even as she flirted with him. She was trying to get rid of him.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d do that.” He’d started to turn away when she said, “You sure you don’t want to leave a message?”

“I’m sure,” he said over his shoulder. As he drove away, he passed a large, newer-model pickup coming into the ranch. Wyoming plates. He called the office and had the plates run, but the name that came up, Brock Sherwood, didn’t ring any bells.

H OLDEN LOOKED UP to find Elaine standing in his den-office doorway. He’d already had a rough day and wasn’t up to more. He’d ridden over to the creek this morning, but there had been no sign of Lottie. He felt like a damned fool, which was probably why he’d said what he had to the sheriff. “If it’s bad news—”

“Not necessarily,” she said quickly. “I did some checking about this boy Buck Savage.” She came on into the room, closing the door behind her since she didn’t want anyone hearing and telling Holly Jo that they’d been checking up on her boyfriend. “Talked to the principal and several teachers at the school. Seems like a nice boy, popular.”

“But?”

“One of the teachers said she thought Buck had been getting help on his math homework. She said she thinks Holly Jo is doing it for him and trying to pass it off as his.”

“Terrific,” Holden said with a curse. “What is the teacher going to do about it?”

“Let it go for a while, saying these kinds of relationships never last long.”

“Meaning what?” he demanded.

“That if he’s only using her to do his homework, he’ll probably lose interest in her, and they’ll break up.”

Holden shoved to his feet. “The little bastard is using her?”

“We don’t know that for a fact,” Elaine said quickly as he came around the end of his desk.

“We know his father. I think it’s time I paid a visit to the Savages.” He reached for his Stetson as he started for the door.

“Try to be diplomatic, because if it gets back to Holly Jo—”

He slammed the door. “Diplomacy my ass,” he said under his breath.

B AILEY FELT A chill as she left Willow’s rental. It had been so strange and eerie to see all of the woman’s things as if Willow had just stepped out and would be back any moment. There’d been a feeling of expectation in the air along with the faint scent of the woman’s perfume. In the bathroom, her makeup had been spread out on the counter, evidence of an important date night.

In her bedroom, a variety of clothes from the closet had been discarded on the bed as if she’d had trouble deciding what to wear. Again, the date had been important to her, given her obvious indecision.

The mess in the bathroom and bedroom told her that Willow hadn’t planned to bring her date back to her house that night since she hadn’t tried to tidy up. Instead, it almost looked as if she’d been running late.

So where had she been going, and with whom? Had it been him? Had he come to her door that night? Had Willow been expecting him—or someone else? He wouldn’t have come into the house. No reason to take a chance of leaving any evidence behind. Since there was no sign of a struggle, she must have gone outside with him. But was he who she’d gotten dressed up for?

Or had it been someone else?

The thought nagged at her as she drove, riding along with her like that ever-present feeling of being watched. Another chill curled around her neck. She quickly rubbed it away, remembering when it had been clothesline cord around her neck. She had to find him and soon, she told herself as she headed into town.

If Willow had a date that night, someone she worked with at the hotel just might have known about it. People might not have been as forthcoming with the sheriff and crime team as they would be with her.