Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

O AKLEY STOOD IN the small bathroom of the ranch cabin where she and Pickett lived while their house was being built. The light was dim, but it was too early to look anyway. She stood there trying not to make deals with God that she knew she couldn’t keep.

“You just need to relax and let it happen,” Pickett always said. “Have faith that when the time is right, we will make a baby.”

Her chest squeezed at the thought of holding their infant in her arms. She wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything—except Pickett. She’d so hoped that by the time their house was finished, she’d be looking like her sister—lumbering around with a big belly, wanting only to talk about babies.

She could feel the plastic stick dangling from the fingers of her right hand but was afraid to look. She wondered if their mother had had difficulty getting pregnant. Apparently not, given the number of children she’d had fairly quickly.

It was too late to call her—even if Charlotte was taking their calls. Her sister hadn’t had any trouble getting knocked up. Oakley hoped having unkind thoughts of her pregnant sister wasn’t going to jinx this pregnancy test.

Time was up. It was now or never. She lifted the stick up to the light and mentally crossed her fingers as her eyes burned with tears.

W HEN S TUART RETURNED HOME , he saw at once that Bailey’s SUV wasn’t parked in front of his house. She’d said she was headed there. A lie because she hadn’t wanted to tell him what that altercation with Angie had been about?

He swore, aware that he might not see her for days or even weeks now—if she made a point of avoiding him. What was going on with her? More than just having a killer after her, apparently. He shook his head as he parked, got out and headed for his house. He’d thought he’d made some progress with Bailey, that she trusted him. Now he didn’t know what to think. Clearly there was a whole lot he didn’t understand, but apparently Angie Erickson did.

He’d just stepped inside when he heard the sound of a vehicle engine. He turned to see Bailey drive up and park. As she got out, she reached back into the back seat to pull out a twelve-pack of beer. Relief made his heart beat faster. She’d just stopped to get beer.

Their gazes met. She seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment, before she walked toward him. He told himself that the two of them would get through this together even as he doubted it in the next second. As she grew closer, he saw something heartbreaking in her face and almost reached for her.

“Stuart—” There was a catch in her voice before she rushed to him. He grabbed the beer an instant before she threw her arms around him. She clung to him, her body warm, soft in all the right places, before she kissed him. He couldn’t help but respond even as he knew in his heart that something must have happened on her way here, something that had her running scared.

Or this was a ruse to put off telling him the truth.

He didn’t care. She felt so right in his arms. He buried his hand in her wild, dark curls, losing himself in the kiss, in the scent of her, in the taste of her, the feel of her. He wanted this, wanted Bailey, body and soul, even if she broke his heart.

After a few minutes, she drew back, catching her lower lip in her teeth. She looked so young, so vulnerable. He could see the fear in those river eyes. “What is it, Bailey?”

A tentative smile played at her lips before she shook her head. “You know me. Trouble. Only this time...” Tears filled her eyes. She looked away.

“Let me help you.”

“You don’t know how much you already have,” she said before she kissed him hard, then stepped out of his arms. “I found out who’s been following me,” she said, her back to him. “It wasn’t Ralph. It was his wife, Norma. She thinks I’ve been having an affair with her husband.”

He grasped her arm and pulled her around to look at him, knowing that couldn’t be all that had happened since he’d last seen her.

“When I got back from talking to Norma, my driver’s side door was open,” Bailey said, and swallowed. “ He left me something in the passenger seat.”

“Tell me you didn’t touch it,” he said, instantly in sheriff mode. He looked out at her SUV. “Is it still there?”

She nodded. “It’s unlocked.”

Stuart grabbed gloves out of his patrol SUV and approached her vehicle. Even with the light fading, he could see a bundle on the passenger seat. He carefully opened the side door to find what appeared to be something wrapped in a towel stained with dried blood. Willow’s?

His stomach roiled as he carefully unwrapped the fabric, sick at the thought of what he’d find inside the towel. To his relief, it was only a small horseshoe, not even four inches, the kind used on ponies.

But the message was clear. The man was coming for Bailey. He was through waiting. Bailey had been right. He wasn’t finished with her.

After calling the state crime lab, he bagged the evidence to be picked up at his office tomorrow. He locked it in his patrol SUV and went inside the house to find Bailey heating up last night’s dinner and cooking pasta in his largest pot.

“You looked inside it,” he said.

“I didn’t touch it. I used a pen to open the towel a little. It’s her blood, isn’t it?”

“We won’t know until the crime lab runs DNA on it, but probably.” He stepped closer to her, remembering her in his arms, remembering the kiss. He’d thought the smell of marinara sauce would make him nauseous, but he heard his stomach growl. In a way, it felt good. He and Bailey were still alive, still hungry, still determined not to give up.

He pulled her close from behind. She leaned into him as she continued to stir the sauce. He wanted to believe that everything had now changed between them, that from now on she would trust him, that this had brought them closer.

But he didn’t delude himself—even after a couple of passionate kisses. With Bailey, he suspected he didn’t know even the half of it.

B AILEY HAD BEEN so determined to tell Stuart everything—before she’d spotted the gray SUV, confronted Norma and found what he’d left her in her car.

She had every reason to stall as they sat at his small table in the kitchen, eating the spaghetti she’d made, like they’d done this dozen of times before. It was warm and cozy and felt so normal that she wanted to forget everything but this moment since after she told him, they might never do this again.

“This is really good,” he said, sounding so surprised that she had to laugh. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

She grinned and shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She’d meant it as a joke, but realized after the words came out of her that it wasn’t funny, because it was true. She stood up and got them each another beer before sitting down again.

As she opened hers, she said, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s my mother’s recipe. Elaine’s mom kept it for me after my mother died. I’ve never made it before, but I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your mother,” he said as he put down his fork and looked at her.

She could tell that he was waiting. His look said that he knew she would tell him when she was ready, as if he’d learned that prodding her would only make her dig her heels in. She realized she was wrong about one thing. He knew her—even if he didn’t know all her secrets.

“Did you know that I always dreamed of being a writer?” she blurted out.

“I knew you loved to read, so I’m not surprised. Didn’t you major in English at college?”

She nodded. “English with a minor in criminology.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Criminology? I guess I could see that, given what had happened before you left for college. So, you haven’t given up on being a writer?”

Bailey rose, avoiding his gaze as she began to pick up the dirty dishes. Before Willow was killed, she could have come up with a lot of reasons for keeping everything to herself. But she couldn’t anymore—especially from Stuart.

“I started gathering information after I got back from college,” she said, her back to him.

“Information?” he asked, already sounding suspicious.

“I’ve written a book,” she said as she rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. “It’s almost finished.”

“What kind of book?”

“At first it was just an excuse to get closer to the ranchers here in the Powder River Basin,” she said, avoiding the question. “I was sure one of them knew the truth.” She kept her back turned to him.

She heard his sharp intake of breath before he said, “You were looking for the man who’d attacked you by talking to the women in their lives.”

Bailey didn’t care what other people thought, even her family. But Stuart was different. She didn’t want to see his reaction, which was why she had tried for so long to keep it a secret. She especially didn’t want to see his disappointment in her.

But as her editor had pointed out, she couldn’t keep it a secret much longer. The book would be published soon.

“You’d be surprised how many people wanted to tell me their stories,” she rushed on, unable to look at him. “Or even better, stories about their neighbors. I wrote it all down, thinking there was a thread that would lead me to him . But instead, I realized that I had a book.” She took a breath and let it out before she said, “It’s a tell-all book about the people of the Powder River Basin.”

The silence that followed felt thick as mud. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she turned to look at him. To her surprise, she saw no judgment in his gaze. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t a criticism.

“The night outside the bar, when someone tried to mug you...”

“A man tried to take my bag. It wasn’t him . Whoever it was, I’m not sure if he wanted my money or my laptop, or he could have suspected I was writing a book and was afraid about what was in it. Afraid he or his family was talked about.”

Stuart shook his head as his gaze met hers. “The injuries to your face.”

“A deputy from another county with relatives in this one.”

“No wonder I suspected you were in trouble,” he said with a shake of his head. “You do realize that it’s going to be hard to differentiate between the killer and some random person who wants to stop this book of yours from ever seeing print. Have you already sold it?”

She nodded. “I just need to write the final chapter—the finding and killing of the man who attacked me.”

The sheriff groaned. “Who all is in the book?”

“Pretty much everyone.”

“Your family? Your father?” She nodded. “You blame him, but why everyone else in the basin? You can’t blame them too for what happened to you.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but I think Willow would.”

He sighed. “It was one bad man.”

“Who blends in so seamlessly with the residents of the Powder River Basin that I can’t find him,” she said, feeling her ire rise. “Someone knows him, really knows him, because he came home with a small horseshoe branded on his left shoulder and knife wounds that someone had to bandage. Why haven’t they come forward?”

“Maybe he’s a bachelor who lives alone, and he bandaged himself. I assume you checked the hospital and those in the surrounding area.”

She nodded. “Someone stitched him up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a wife who lies in bed next to him at night. Or a sister or daughter who senses something wrong with him. Or a neighbor who saw him covered in blood twelve years ago. Or a rancher or his wife who passed him on the county road near the river where Willow lay drowning. Maybe even someone who saw him come out of the woods where her body was found.”

“Not everyone recognizes evil when they see it,” Stuart said.

“Or they see it, but they don’t want to get involved. Or they refuse to see—let alone do anything about it.” Bailey shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m no better than any of them. I let Willow get killed knowing the monster was out there because I was too traumatized to come forward all those years ago, asking myself what was the point since I couldn’t identify him.”

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “You said everyone is in this book?”

“Anyone with a secret, so pretty much everyone. I didn’t set out to unearth the stories, but once I did, the writer in me had to tell their secrets and unlock the mysteries and local legends.” She saw his expression change as he realized who else was in the book.

“My mother,” he said on a shaky breath. It wasn’t a question.