Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H OLLY J O TRIED to contain her excitement. Her very first dance, and she was going with Buck Savage, the dreamiest boy in school. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she waited for Tana and her friends to pick her up to go decorate the gym. She hoped Buck came. The last time she talked to him, he’d said he would come by before the dance to give her a ride.

Fortunately, she’d talked HH into letting her go with him. She couldn’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to have her soon-to-be adoptive father take her and pick her up. The thought mortified her.

Seeing dust rising down the county road, Holly Jo felt that rush of excitement again. Soon she would be with her friends. But when the car pulled up, it wasn’t Tana. It was Buck.

She frowned, then broke in a huge smile.

The passenger side window came down. “Get in!”

Holly Jo bristled at his tone. She’d been so happy to see him, but now hesitated. Why was he acting like this. She glanced back down the road. No Tana. Buck must have told her that he would be picking her up. She looked back up the ranch road. No sign of HH or Pickett or anyone else. Still, she hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

“Who said anything was wrong? Come on,” Buck said, softening his tone. “You coming or not?”

The cutest boy in school wanted to give her a ride to class. Why was she hesitating? She knew Buck. Had spent time with him at school. Tana thought he was great. She’d been hoping Buck would ask her to the dance, her first dance with a boyfriend. It was just a ride to school, she told herself and climbed in.

He sped off before she even had a chance to put on her seat belt.

“Your old man came over to our house and gave me and my dad a ration of shit,” Buck said.

She blinked. Her old man? HH? He’d gone over to the Savages’? She tried to breathe. “What?”

He finally looked over at her, and she realized he was furious. “Are you deaf?”

“No. I just don’t understand,” she stammered.

“You’re turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth.”

She couldn’t believe he just said that.

He was driving too fast, and yet he looked away long enough to glare at her. “I thought you were smart. Why would you tell your father about us?”

“I didn’t,” she cried as she looked from him to the narrow gravel road. Towering thick cottonwoods lined both sides beyond the narrow barrow pit. Her heart pounded. She started to ask him to slow down when he hit the brakes, making her glad that she’d managed to get her seat belt on.

The car rocked and began to fishtail before he hit the gas and went down a path through the trees that led to the river. He brought it to a stop just feet from the bank.

She realized that she’d been hanging on, her fingers gripping the door handle white-knuckled.

He killed the engine and slumped in the seat, running his hand through his hair before looking over at her. “Did you tell him I was using you? That you were doing my math homework for me?”

“No,” she said quickly, even though she was doing his math homework for him.

“Well, someone did.”

Pickett, she thought, and felt like crying. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” she whispered.

They sat in silence. An occasional magpie squawked from a nearby tree. “I thought you didn’t mind helping me with my math so I could play football.”

“I don’t,” she told him quickly. “I know how much footfall means to you. Isn’t there a game next weekend?”

He didn’t answer as he looked over at her. His gaze softened.

Her heart beat faster when he looked at her like that.

“I thought you and I had something.”

Holly Jo nodded, unable to speak about the lump that had formed in her throat.

“You’re my girl, right?”

“Right.” The word came out thick with emotion.

“That’s what I thought. “You know I’d do anything for you, and I know you’d do the same for me. Unless you don’t want to be my girl and go to the dance with me.”

Pulse pounding she smiled and nodded. Buck started the car and headed for the school.

B Y THE TIME the sheriff reached Richard “Dickie” Cline’s ranch, he’d already been briefed by the Miles City Police Chief on Brock Sherwood’s cause of death. His throat had been cut. He’d bled to death.

Stuart assumed whoever had killed him had waited until Annette left the motel room.

“A pickup truck was seen leaving the scene shortly before Mrs. Cline returned to find the body,” the chief was saying. “I just ran the plates. The truck is registered to Richard Cline.”

“I’m on my way to talk to him now. He’s apparently been gone for a few days. I wanted to speak with him about our murder over here. I can bring him in if you want to come over to Powder Crossing to talk to him.”

“I’d be interested to hear what he has to say,” the chief said.

“I’ll get back to you,” the sheriff said, and disconnected.

Dickie had motive and opportunity and was seen leaving the scene of the murder. He was also the last one on Bailey’s list that they hadn’t already scratched off. Stuart was anxious to talk to him.

As he drove into the yard, he parked next to the rancher’s pickup and got out. He put a hand on the hood. Dickie hadn’t been home long—the engine was still ticking as it cooled.

Turning toward the house, he saw the rancher looking out the window. A moment later, the door opened, and Dickie stepped outside. He was a large man, muscular, but not what Stuart would call handsome. He had a thick head of dark hair that was wet from a recent shower. He ran his fingers through it, the scent of shampoo and body wash strong.

Stuart looked past him. “Annette around?” he asked casually, aware that she wasn’t.

The rancher looked over his shoulder back into the house. “Wasn’t home when I got here. Must have gone into town for something.” He looked at the sheriff. “Her text said you wanted to talk to me.” He frowned as if he couldn’t imagine why.

The sheriff had a few ideas. “Mind if we go in and sit down? I have some questions I need to ask you.”

Dickie shrugged, but pushed open the door behind him, letting Stuart lead the way into the house. He could hear the washing machine chugging away down the hall. Seemed the rancher had time to shower and do a load of clothing.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” the sheriff said, and walked down the hall to open the washing machine. Looked like jeans and a shirt or two.

“What the hell?” the rancher said behind him as Stuart pulled out the shirts and dropped them into the sink next to the washer and dryer. Any blood might already have been washed away, but he thought the crime lab would still be able to find some embedded in the jeans, because it appeared the wash had just started.

He turned to Dickie. “I’m going to have to ask you where you were this morning.”

The rancher looked at his shirt and jeans in the sink, then at the sheriff. “Not until I talk to my lawyer.”

“You’re going to have to talk to him at my office,” Stuart said, reaching for his handcuffs. “Richard Cline, you have the right to remain silent...”

O AKLE Y TOLD HERSELF that all she had to do was get through the baby shower. She felt as if she would burst with the knowledge. I am pregnant! Pregnant! She wanted to shout it from the rooftop, and yet she’d told no one, not even Pickett. She’d been afraid that she would jinx it.

“Are you all right?” Birdie asked her as she shoved another shower card over to her to log into the gift book Tilly had provided. “You’re getting behind, and if you mess up... Well, you probably know your sister better than I do, but she scares me.”

Oakley laughed. She liked Birdie and thought she was going to fit into their strange family just fine. “I’m so glad you’re helping me with this.” The young woman was perfect for her brother Brand. He needed someone who challenged him, and boy would Birdie challenge him.

“I got your back,” she whispered as Tilly opened yet another present, something so cute and adorable it made Oakley hold on even tighter to her secret.

“Did you two get this one?” Tilly asked pointedly, her gaze going from Birdie to Oakley and lingering. Her sister knew her too well. She dropped her gaze, but not before she saw a spark in Tilly’s eyes. She knew and was probably worried that Oakley would announce it at her baby shower.

There was a time when they’d been so competitive, so immature and resentful of each other, that Oakley might have done just that. But not today. She quickly updated the presents log as everyone began to migrate into the dining room for cake and coffee.

She pushed herself to her feet, the first time she’d gotten a chance to stand for at least an hour. For a moment, she felt a little dizzy. Birdie had gone into the dining room to help serve. Tilly was busy making sure everything was perfect when she looked up and caught Oakley’s eye.

The room seemed to spin as she felt the warm wetness between her legs. No! No! She looked down and saw a trickle of blood run down her bare leg past the hem of her skirt.

Her sister was to her in an instant, taking her arm and leading her quickly into the bathroom. Oakley hadn’t even realized that she was crying until she saw her reflection in the mirror over the skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Tilly was saying as she handed her sister a warm washrag and helped her over to the toilet.

Oakley pulled off her soaked panties. Tilly took them from her and began to rinse them in the sink. “It’s your shower,” Oakley protested. “You should be—”

“I’m right where I want to be,” Tilly said. “Here.” She handed her a tampon. “I’ll get you something to wear and be right back.”

She sat on the toilet, numb even as tears streamed down her face. No baby. All she’d had was a matter of a few precious hours believing she was going to have a baby. Hadn’t she known it was too good to be true?

I N THE INTERROGATION room at the sheriff’s department, Stuart sat next to the Miles City police chief across from Richard Cline and his attorney, a man best known as Shorty Gilmore.

“I swear I didn’t kill the man,” Cline cried even as Shorty advised against his talking. “Yes, I followed her there. I waited until she left to go across the street, and then I saw that she hadn’t closed the motel room door all the way, so I went into the room.” He shook off his lawyer’s hand. “They already know I was there. I want to get this cleared up.”

“You had the knife with you?” the chief of police asked.

“No,” the rancher snapped. “I didn’t have a knife. I was going to beat him up—not kill him. I saw he was still in bed. I went over there and jerked back the covers. That’s when I got blood on my clothes. It was everywhere.” His lawyer groaned. “I panicked and got out of there.”

“You were just going to beat him up?” the cop asked.

“He was sleeping with my wife! I was going to beat the hell out of him.”

“Which could have also gotten you arrested,” Shorty whispered.

“Where have you been the past few days or so?” Stuart asked, and he saw the rancher hesitate.

“I had business down in Wyoming.”

“What kind of business?”

Cline looked away. “I knew Annette was seeing someone. I wanted to find out who this man was and how serious it was, okay?”

“You do understand,” his lawyer whispered, “that makes your actions sound premeditated.”

“What did you find out?” the chief of police asked, ignoring the lawyer.

“The son of a bitch was a womanizer and flat broke. He was after my wife and my ranch,” Cline said, making his lawyer groan again.

“You weren’t giving up either, huh,” the cop said. “Kind of gives you a motive for murder, I’d say.”

“I told you. I didn’t kill him.”

“Then who did?” the chief demanded. “Your wife wasn’t gone long enough that two men could have gone into that room.”

“I’d been waiting across the street. I saw Annette leave and started over there but had to wait on some traffic. As I crossed the street, I saw a man walking away from the motel. He could have come out of her room.” He looked from the chief to Stuart. “He must have.”

“What did he look like?” the sheriff asked.

“Big, stocky...” He shrugged. “I only saw him from behind.”

“Did you see what vehicle he got into?”

Cline shook his head. “I had other things on my mind.”

“Let’s say the man had just come out of the motel room where you were headed,” the chief said. “Who else had motive to kill your wife’s lover?”

The rancher hung his head. “I don’t know. Maybe someone Brock Sherwood owed money to. When I asked around about him down in Wyoming, I found out that he owes everyone and was about to have his pickup repossessed.”

“Little chance of anyone collecting the money they’re owed if the man is dead,” the cop pointed out as he rose. “We’re going to be talking to your wife, but in the meantime, you’ll be a guest of our Miles City jail. You don’t have any trouble with that, do you, sheriff?”

“Just one thing,” Stuart said. “Mr. Cline, would you mind removing your shirt?”