Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

H OLLY J O GROANED when she saw Pickett’s truck and him standing next to it as the bus rolled up to let her off. This was all his fault for going to HH. She’d pleaded with him to let her ride with Buck, but HH had been adamant. She could go to the dance with him but had to be home by ten, and she would continue to ride the bus until further notice.

“What are you doing here?” she said as she crossed the road to where he was parked. Behind her, the school bus engine revved and pulled away in a cloud of dust. “I don’t need a ride. I’d rather walk.”

“Fine with me,” Pickett said. “The walk will do you good, but first I have something for you.”

She weakened. “What is it?” She saw him hesitate. She’d always liked Pickett. He felt like a big brother—not that she’d ever had one. Cooper was kind of like that, but Pickett was funnier, and he knew a lot of horseback riding tricks.

He seemed to make up his mind and handed her a plastic bag he pulled from his pickup. “I talked Holden into it.”

She recognized the logo on the bag. “A cell phone?” she cried as she pulled the box out, looking from it to him. “You’re not just teasing me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Pickett said.

“I don’t understand. HH said—”

“It’s just for emergencies.”

She smiled at that.

“You know why he didn’t want you to have one,” Pickett said. “He was afraid you’d be on it all the time. So, use it wisely or lose it. I just want you to have it on you if you ever need to call someone for help.”

She couldn’t believe this. “For help?” She was so sick of being the kidnapped girl. Especially adults treating her weird.

“You get stuck somewhere, you know. Call me. I put my number in there.”

Holly Jo eyed him warily. “Just because I got kidnapped once—”

“It isn’t about that. This is about Buck.”

“Buck?” She shook her head. “Why can’t you just let me be a normal teenager?”

“That just it, you are. I know you Holly Jo. You’re smart and strong, but his is your first boyfriend. I was a teenaged boy, okay? I want you to be able to call if you ever need me. Middle of the night? Any time and I’ll come get you. You understand?”

“Not really, but okay.”

“You will if you need someone older you can trust to get you out of a bad situation. Just promise you’ll call if you’re ever in trouble.”

Holly Jo swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking of another time she was in trouble. She’d assured her therapist she’d been seeing that she was doing fine. She was—most of the time now. “I promise.”

“Now,” he said, smiling at her. “You still want to walk home, or would you rather have a ride?”

B ACK AT HIS OFFICE , Stuart was more than a little surprised when Jay Erickson and his wife showed up with Alfred “Tick” Whitaker, a geologist originally from Texas.

“I have a law degree and even passed the bar in Texas,” Tick said at the sheriff’s raised brow. “I’m here only in an advisory capacity.”

Stuart figured they could get this over with quickly if Tick could handle Angie. “I need to see Jay alone.”

“Ain’t happening,” Angie cried. “Tell him, Tick.”

“This can be over in a matter of minutes if I can see Jay alone,” the sheriff said. “Either way, Angie isn’t staying.”

She started to go off on a rant about police injustice, but Tick strong-armed her out of the office. He was no small man, which was good because Angie was built like a small tank. Once outside the office, he bent down to say a few choice words to her, then pushed her into a chair before returning.

“Lock the door,” Stuart said.

Tick hesitated, but only a moment. As the sheriff began to put down the blinds in his office, the geologist and part-time lawyer said warily, “What exactly is going to happen here?”

“Jay, I’m sure you want this over as quickly as I do,” Stuart said. “If you would remove your shirt.”

Erickson laughed nervously. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m looking for the man who killed Willow. I need to see your legs. It will only take a minute. Either show me or I’ll read you your rights and hold you for questioning. Up to you.”

He shook his head as he took off his shirt.

Stuart looked at the man’s upper body. He had burn marks all over him—except on his left shoulder—and while there was a scar on his side, it was impossible to tell if it had been a knife wound. He took photos with his camera, but what he hadn’t taken into consideration was that whatever injuries the killer had gotten when he’d attacked Bailey, the wounds had twelve years to heal.

“You can put your shirt back on,” Stuart said. “But I need you to drop your pants.”

“Come on!” Erickson protested.

“I’m looking for the man who killed Willow. I need to see your legs. It will only take a minute. Either show me or I’ll read you your rights and hold you for questioning. Up to you.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the rancher said, and looked to Tick.

Tick merely shrugged and said, “I’d show the man your legs. Unless you have something to hide.”

Erickson considered that for a long moment. “I can’t believe this.”

“Did you drive your truck into town?” Stuart asked. “If you don’t comply, I’m also going to have to take it into evidence until the crime team out of Billings can look at it. Or, once I see your legs, I let you get in it, and you and Angie go home.”

Swearing, the rancher unbuckled his belt, popped open the buttons on his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

“You’re going to have to take off one boot and slip out of that jean leg,” Stuart said. The swearing grew louder, but Erickson did as he was asked.

“This is highly irregular,” Tick pointed out, and the sheriff agreed as he set his phone to Record.

He photographed the front of Erickson’s hairy legs, then the back, noticing a few scars, one that could have been a knife wound low on the left thigh. “Please put your free leg up on that chair.”

The rancher started to object, but Tick said, “Just do it.”

The moment the man did, Stuart saw the scar. It was jagged and deep, high inside the thigh. “What caused that?”

“Bull horn. I used to be a bull rider until one got a little too close to the jewels.”

Moving in, the sheriff photographed the scar. “Okay, thanks,” he said, shaken by the violent-looking scar and his disappointment. He’d thought this was going to be over quickly, but Erickson wasn’t the man. At least, he couldn’t prove that he was. “You can get dressed.” Outside his office, he could hear Angie causing a commotion and was glad the door was locked.

“So, this person who killed Willow Branson,” Erickson was saying. “You hear he had some kind of scar you’re looking for?”

Stuart feared that everyone in the county had heard about the horseshoe-shaped brand by now. “Something like that.”

The rancher nodded knowingly. “You could have just asked me if I had it.”

“I could have,” the sheriff said as he sat down again behind his desk. “But who’s to say you would have told me the truth?”

Erickson smirked at that. “Well, anything to help, Sheriff.”

“Appreciate that.” He didn’t sound any more sincere than the rancher had.

“A little unorthodox, but we got it done,” Tick said as he unlocked the door. “Let’s go see to Angie.”

Stuart slouched in his chair as the two filed out. He could hear Angie screaming at the top of her lungs that she was going to sue for false arrest.

“Jay wasn’t arrested,” Tick was saying. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

The sheriff closed his eyes. He’d been so sure it was Erickson, so sure that once he got him in here, saw the injuries he’d been expecting, he’d have the man before he could come for Bailey again.

Instead, he was no closer to finding him.

“Sheriff, we’ve got trouble out front,” came over his radio. “There’s an altercation on the lawn.”

He rose to his feet and rushed out of his office. “What the hell?” he said as he went past the dispatcher.

“Want me to call for backup?” she called out to him.

He could hear Angie screaming obscenities. “No, I’ll take care of it.” But as he pushed outside, he saw Angie going for someone’s throat. He caught a flash of dark, curly hair. Bailey?

Stuart rushed forward and pulled Angie off as she clawed and kicked and screamed. Fortunately, Deputy Dodson drove up, jumped out and came running. “Restrain her until I can find out what’s going on,” he ordered as he handed the woman over.

Dodson, being Dodson, threw the still-fighting Angie Erickson to the ground and cuffed her behind her back. Jay started yelling, and Stuart had to step between him and Dodson.

“Everyone settle down or I’m going to arrest all of you,” the sheriff ordered.

Jay looked like he was up for a fight, but Tick restrained him. Angie was still screaming, clearly furious. Stuart looked to Bailey. She shook her head. Of course she wouldn’t want to press charges. He sighed and said, “I’ll speak to you in my office.”

As she walked past and into the sheriff’s department, Angie yelled, “I’m going to kill you! You hear me?”

Stuart turned to Erickson. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but if you can get your wife to calm down, I just need to know what this was about. If you can’t—”

“She didn’t do anything,” Erickson said. “Why don’t you ask Bailey McKenna?”

“I plan to,” the sheriff said, and turned to Deputy Dodson. “Angie, if you settle down I’ll have my deputy uncuff you. Or we can arrest you for assault.”

She swore, then mumbled obscenities under her breath as Dodson took off the cuffs. Jay helped her to her feet, and Tick stepped in front of her to keep her from going after Stuart and getting arrested.

“Now, what was that about?” the sheriff asked.

“Your...girlfriend butting into other people’s business, that’s what,” Angie snapped. “I don’t know who she thinks she is, but carrying tales about me and my family will get her killed.”

“Let’s not make death threats in front of the sheriff,” Tick said. “Jay, why don’t you take your wife home.”

“I’m going to sue,” Angie cried as Jay and Tick led her to his pickup.

Seeing that Dodson had everything under control, Stuart went back inside to his office, where he found Bailey waiting for him. She was disheveled, a new scratch on her cheek, a grass stain on one knee of her jeans, and her shirt sleeve torn and hanging down.

“Does everyone want to kill you?” he asked from the doorway.

“Not yet, but soon,” she said as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and smeared the fresh blood on her jeans.

Stuart stared at her, realizing that he couldn’t love her more than he did right at this moment. “I’m afraid to ask.”

She nodded. “Maybe we could talk about it back at your place? I made some pretty good spaghetti sauce last night, and I’m starved. After that?” She held his gaze. “I’ll tell you. I’m just afraid that when I do, you’ll resign and leave town.”

Great , he thought. “It’s that bad?”

Bailey nodded, then shrugged, her eyes shining with tears. He saw her swallow and turn away.

“Are you sure you don’t want to press charges. The woman assaulted you.” She shok her head. “Okay, then. See you at home, then,” he said to her retreating back, wondering if she’d show up.

H OLDEN WARNED HIMSELF to keep his temper, even as he felt his heart racing and sweat making his shirt stick to the seat of his pickup. He’d had a run-in with the large Savage family in the past, a dispute over a horse. Frank Savage and his brothers worked on the Durham place, had a passel of kids, and often ended up fist fighting out behind the bar in town on Friday and Saturday nights.

As Holden pulled up in the ranch hand’s yard, a half dozen little kids scattered. The screen door on the large, sprawling former main house swung open, and the oldest Savage stepped out. Frank squinted as the dust settled around the McKenna Ranch pickup and Holden stepped out.

“I need to talk to you about your son,” he said as he stalked toward the house.

“Which son would that be?” Frank said lazily, still standing in his doorway.

“Buck. Seems he’s been using my daughter, Holly Jo.”

“That right?” Frank let the screen door slam behind him as he walked to the top of the porch steps. “I heard you were adopting her but didn’t think it had gone through yet.”

Holden waved that away. “He’s using Holly Jo to do his homework, pretending to be her boyfriend, and I’m not going to stand for it,” Holden said, glaring up at the man.

The ranch hand frowned, then turned and yelled back into the house. “Buck! Get your scrawny behind out here.”

The lanky teenager who came out of the house was just what Holden had expected. He could see right away what Holly Jo saw in the surly expression on the boy’s face, the too-long blond hair the sixteen-year-old flipped back nonchalantly, the confident way he leaned against the porch pillar to glare down at him.

“Have you been getting someone else to do your homework?” Frank asked.

“Why would I do that?” Buck asked.

“Either because you’re lazy or you’re not all that bright,” Holden said, and Frank shot him a warning look before turning that look on the boy.

Suddenly not looking so confident, Buck said, “She’s been helping me with my math.”

“You need help with your math, your mama will help you,” Frank said, and looked at Holden. “That all?”

“One more thing,” he said. “Holly Jo won’t be riding with your son from now on. She’ll be taking the bus.” Buck shrugged like it was no big deal and headed back inside. Holden shook his head and started to walk away.

“Now that we got my kid straightened out, how about you do the same with your daughter,” Frank said from the porch.

Holden turned to look back at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Bailey. Maybe you should have a talk with her about what she’d been up to before she gets hurt.”

He felt his pulse punch up at the threat and started to take a step back toward the house when Frank went inside, slamming the door behind him.

B AILEY DROVE AWAY from the sheriff’s department, planning to go straight to Stuart’s house. But she remembered that they were out of beer. She wasn’t looking forward to the discussion they were about to have. She knew she was going to need at least one beer, maybe more, to get through it.

She hadn’t been kidding about her concern. Once she told him, she didn’t fear so much that he would resign and move away from town and leave her high and dry. She feared he would never look at her again with such pure love in his eyes. The thought of losing that love would maim her in a way not even her attacker had.

After hurrying into the local general store and coming out with a twelve-pack, she climbed behind the wheel and started to drive to the sheriff’s house. But when she looked into the rearview mirror, she saw a familiar gray SUV parked down the street, the engine idling.

With a curse, she jumped out and stalked down the street toward the vehicle. Why was Ralph Jones still following her? She couldn’t see his face with the afternoon sun glinting off the windshield, but she wasn’t surprised when he hurriedly tried to back up and get away.

She picked up a rock from the edge of the road as she reached the driver’s side door, ready to break out the window. But as she grabbed the door handle with one hand and lifted the rock with the other, she saw that it wasn’t Ralph Jones.

It was Norma, his wife, and her expression gave her away.

Apparently realizing that she couldn’t escape, Norma put the SUV into Park and tried to put the window up before Bailey could stop her.

Bailey tapped on the window and waited as Norma put it back down. “It was you. Why have you been following me?” she demanded, feeling a little off balance as she saw the woman’s obvious fury.

“I know about you and my husband, you homewrecker,” Norma spat as she glared at her.

Bailey took a step back. “What?”

“Don’t bother to lie. I saw how shook up he was when he thought you were the one who was lying in that creek. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I’d never seen him like that. He’d been acting strangely for months. The way he got all slicked up to take a horse to Wyoming. Nicking some of my fudge to take to you since he’d never liked it.” Her voice broke. “You’d have thought the old fool would know better than to fall for a...a...woman like you, and at his age!” Tears filled her eyes. She wiped at them. “After all these years of marriage.”

“Norma, I have not been seeing your husband. It wasn’t me.” Had he taken the fudge to Willow? Had it simply been platonic? She reached in, touched the woman’s arm, thinking she could convince her how wrong she’d been, but Norma jerked it back.

“Stay away from my husband, or so help me...” The ranchwoman shifted into gear. “Best step back. Wouldn’t want to run over you.” With that she roared off, leaving Bailey standing in the road, wondering what had just happened.

Walking back to her SUV, she saw that her driver’s side door was open. Had she left it like that when she’d hurried over to confront Ralph Jones, only to find Norma behind the wheel?

Maybe, she thought as she approached the SUV more slowly, all the while looking around warily. Sometimes, for seconds and even minutes, she’d forget that the man who killed Willow was out there. Sometimes, she could even lie and tell herself that Willow’s death hadn’t been a message to her, and the man wasn’t coming for her next.

As time had passed since the murder, she’d even started to sometimes think he’d only wanted the younger version of her.

But then she reached her SUV and looked in, her heart dropping as she saw what he’d left her.