Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A N INVESTIGATOR FROM the state crime team sat in on the interrogation of Norma Jones along with the county prosecutor and the sheriff. She’d declined having a lawyer present, saying that they were all crooks.

Stuart sat across from her, unable not to think of his mother. On the surface, Norma appeared to be a nice older woman who loved to cook and clean and make her famous fudge at Christmas. But under that facade lay something dark and dangerous.

Her husband, Ralph, had been a large, quiet man who had blended into the ranching community seamlessly. He’d headed up the fight against coalbed methane drilling, starting Dirty Business, the underground group. He attended church religiously with his wife at the community hall down the road from his ranch. He didn’t look or act like a killer. Instead, the sheriff thought most people saw Ralph as harmless—including Bailey.

“You know what this is about, right, Norma?” Stuart asked, the video camera running. He was still having trouble breathing although his cracked ribs were taped. Fortunately they weren’t broken and hadn’t punctured a lung as he’d feared.

“Ralph,” Norma said, nodding. She sat up straight, meeting their gazes, as if only too ready to help them. She hadn’t cried when she’d heard that her husband was dead. She’d looked a little surprised, his deputy had said, but nothing more. She’d been shocked, though, to hear that she was being arrested, saying it wasn’t her, it was Ralph and his lust for Bailey McKenna.

Now she folded her hands in her lap and looked the sheriff in the eye. “We are respectable people. Ralph was a good man. He wasn’t perfect. Few men are. But I had dedicated my life to him—just as I promised his mother I would do. Truth is, he would have never looked twice at me if his mother hadn’t encouraged him to marry me. She knew I would do anything to make him happy. He didn’t cuss, and he rarely complained. I made a home for him, kept the cleanest house, lay with him whenever he asked, ignored his wandering eye.” Her chin came up, her back ramrod straight. “I was raised to stand by my husband.”

“Even help him kill?” the sheriff asked.

Norma waved that away and turned to the state crime investigator. “Did you know I make the best peanut butter fudge in the entire Powder River Basin and have for years? Ralph loved my fudge. I started making it just for him because it gave me such pleasure.” She smiled as if remembering.

“You know Ralph gave women your fudge as small presents,” Stuart said.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I knew. It was harmless.”

“Like it was with Willow Branson?”

“I wouldn’t know about that. Bailey though, she doesn’t like my peanut butter fudge,” Norma said, as if that told them everything there was to know about Bailey.

“Whose idea was it to kill her?” Stuart asked.

She drew herself up, chin rising again. “Something had to be done to end the spell that woman had on my husband. Ralph didn’t want to be this way. He would cry, get down on his hands and knees, and beg me to help him. I had to help. There was no other way to get it out of his system.”

“You know he raped those women,” the state crime investigator said.

Norma pursed her lips. “Had to be done. Only way. If just killing them would have done it, I’d have taken care of it myself. But Ralph said this way, he could kill the horrible compulsion in him.”

The room went deathly quiet for a few moments.

“Why brand them?” the sheriff finally asked.

“To mark them like the harlots they are.”

“But why with a horseshoe brand?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, frowning as she did. “I told you, didn’t I, that we had tiny horseshoes as decorations at our wedding for luck and happiness?”

“But why brand these women with it?”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t know. I guess because I still had one in my wood-burning craft kit. I wanted them marked. I told Ralph it was no different than branding cattle. Why does it matter? It’s over.” She started to get up, brushing off her dress skirt as she rose. “I need to see to my chores.”

“You can’t leave, Norma,” the sheriff said. “You helped your husband assault and kill one woman and assault and attempt to kill the other. If Bailey hadn’t gotten away, you and your husband would have killed her. Instead, you helped him not only commit these crimes, but also cover them up.”

“He was my husband,” she said, her voice steely. “A good woman does whatever she has to do to protect her husband and help him...” Her voice broke. “No matter what he needs, no matter what he does. I tried to save him from Bailey McKenna.”

“Why her?” Stuart asked.

Norma frowned again, her lips pursing. “You never met Ralph’s mother, did you, Sheriff? She and Ralph were very close. Ralph was her baby boy. He cried like one when she died. It had been just the two of them after her husband died young. Ralph had been the only child after a half-dozen miscarriages. She called him her miracle baby.” She looked at the sheriff, locking her gaze with his. “I always thought it was odd how much Ralph’s mother resembled Bailey.” He felt the hair quill on the back of his neck. “I think he missed his mother.”

Stuart turned to the state crime investigator. “If you wouldn’t mind reading Norma her rights,” he said quietly. “Then she is all yours.” He rose and walked out of the room. Behind him, he could hear her Miranda rights being read and Norma’s confusion as she was handcuffed and taken away.

Moving quickly down the hall, he shoved open the door and stepped outside to throw up in the grass, grabbing his side in pain. His stomach roiled, but the queasiness passed. He’d been planning to walk away from this job and would have if not for Bailey. He’d had no business working this case. He’d been too close to it from the start, not to mention where his head had been. He’d almost gotten her killed.

He wiped his mouth and took a large gulp of fresh air. He felt sick to his stomach, shaken still. Not that he hadn’t been from the moment he saw Willow Branson lying face down in the river. Just as Ralph had said, she’d looked so much like Bailey.

Stuart breathed deeply, his skin crawling from what Norma had said back in the interrogation room, and what she hadn’t. Bailey was right. We didn’t know our neighbors. We had no idea what goes on behind closed doors. Everyone had a secret, some more than others. Some worse than others.

Stuart Layton certainly had secrets. From the time he was but a child, he’d known to keep quiet about what went on behind his closed doors. He’d grown up scared of what kind of man he was. Worse, what he might be capable of doing. His greatest fear had always been what he would do if the truth came out about the woman who’d raised him.

His father had been sheriff, a man sworn to protect, and yet he hadn’t protected Stuart from the woman who should have loved him. His childhood had been a horror show of frightening memories right up until the night his mother disappeared.

At the sudden touch of a hand on his shoulder, he started and turned quickly to find the county prosecutor looking much like Stuart felt. Ashen. But concern for him was written all over her face.

“That was ugly,” the prosecutor said. “You going to be all right?”

That was a question Stuart had been asking himself for months. “I have no idea.”

B AILEY FELT NUMB as she sat on the sheriff’s front porch, watching the day fade. Stuart’s house sat on a slight hill with a view of the Powder River now snaking its way north, bordered by golden-leafed cottonwoods cutting through the river bottom. Overhead, the sky darkened into her favorite clear, deep blue, while to the west, the sun’s prism of pinks and reds and oranges rimmed the purples of the mountains. She could feel dusk begin to settle in around her. She liked this time of day, always had.

It was over. After twelve long years, her search was over. So why did she feel empty inside, hollowed out? Her attacker was dead. She’d shot him, seen him die. His accomplice would soon be on her way to prison. She thought of Norma’s fudge and felt sick to her stomach.

She’d been wrong about more than how she would feel when he was dead. She’d eliminated Ralph from the list, but now couldn’t remember why. It had to be more than the feeling that Ralph was harmless, always so polite and nice, the first one to help anyone in trouble—just like his wife had been when Bailey was growing up.

That’s when she remembered. Ralph had an alibi. Norma had told her that she’d had to leave the barbecue early because she was sick. Several others from the barbecue had verified it. As far as anyone knew, she and Ralph had left together. Bailey had never verified if anyone had seen Ralph right before or when they were leaving. Norma had lied and somehow gotten him off the ranch without anyone seeing Ralph injured and bleeding.

Everyone in the Powder River Basin must be as shocked as she’d been. She’d been taken to the house, her father standing guard over nosy neighbors and will-wishing friends. Until she’d sneaked out and come here, where she felt more at home than she did at the massive home her father had built on the ranch. Her father would never understand that—she didn’t herself.

At the sound of a vehicle, she squinted into the growing darkness to see Stuart’s patrol SUV pull in. Just the sight of him as he stepped out made her feel better. He was still moving slowly because of his cracked ribs, but he smiled when he saw her as if he’d known this was where she’d come.

She saw then that he’d picked up a six-pack of beer. He pulled one loose and handed it to her before opening one for himself. They sat listening to the familiar sounds of Powder Crossing and the river that ran through it.

“I need to give you this back,” Bailey said as she turned the engagement ring on her finger. Stuart started to object, but she stopped him. “It wasn’t a real engagement.” She pulled off the ring and held it out to him.

He stared at the ring in her hand but didn’t move to take it. “Does it count that I wanted to believe it was real?” When she said nothing, he took the ring, studying it in his palm for a moment before he pocketed it.

H OLDEN HAD LIVED next to this river his whole life. He’d never doubted how important it was to their livelihood. But as he rode along its edge this morning, he couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere that there wasn’t flowing water. He’d watched this river make its way north for years. He’d heard every joke about the Powder.

He often thought of what his grandmother had told him when he was a boy: It’s unlucky to part company with someone near a stream. Looking back, he knew he should have taken her words more seriously. It had been near a stream where he and Lottie had parted company. That certainly was unlucky.

But then again, his grandmother also said that if you were trying to get away from supernatural creatures, crossing running water was usually a good way to leave them behind. Lottie was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, but there was nothing supernatural going on there—unless it was love.

In the years since, he’d never questioned the power of free running water. He’d tried to live his life like a river that keeps flowing. But while a river didn’t change its direction and just kept moving, he couldn’t not look back. He had tried to forget the past and focus on the future. But when it came to Lottie, he’d failed. He couldn’t forget her.

Which was why he was riding his horse over to their spot on the creek this morning. Bailey was safe, her attacker and Willow’s killer dead, his accomplice in jail. Tilly was fine. Her contractions had been a false alarm, so that excitement too had passed. He’d put off trying to see Charlotte for as long as he could. Heart on his sleeve, he rode into the cool shadows of the cottonwoods and saw her.

She sat on her favorite large boulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her gaze on the water running past. Her horse was tied to a tree back on Stafford Ranch property. It whinnied as if glad to see his mare, and Lottie looked up.

His throat tightened as he ground-tied his horse and made his way toward her on the rocks in the creek. She hadn’t moved. She didn’t even appear to be breathing as he neared.

He remembered all the other times, the good and the bad. The times they made love along the grassy shore. Also how she would threaten him with her whip or her rifle, both times still sitting on her horse, he noted.

Words failed him as he looked into her beautiful green eyes. As they filled with tears, he reached for her, dragging her from the rock into his arms. She melted against him, her arms going around his neck. They held each other like that for a long time.

Holden could hear the water, smell the fallen dried leaves of the cottonwoods, feel Lottie in his arms. A flock of geese cut a V in the brilliant blue of the Montana sky overhead, honking as they passed.

“You came home,” he whispered, drawing back just enough to look into her eyes. She held his gaze and nodded. “Promise you’ll never leave again.”

Her smile filled his heart like helium. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he pulled her closer. Lottie had come home. He felt such a surge of hope, the future suddenly looking brighter. Anything was possible.

H OLLY J O HAD known that Tana wouldn’t ride the bus long. Especially after she got a boyfriend with a driver’s license and his father’s old pickup.

But that was all right, because Holly Jo and Gus were talking again. As if it had happened overnight, Gus had shot up a few inches, which had made him as tall or taller than the other boys his age. He looked stronger, too, since he’d been working with his dad.

But the real change in Gus was because of what happened at school. She’d heard about it from Tana.

“Apparently Gus overheard Buck saying something rude about you, Holly Jo. Gus just walked up to Buck and punched him in the face, knocking him to the floor. Then Gus stood over him and said, ‘If you ever say something like that about Holly Jo again, I’ll kick your butt.’”

Holly Jo pretended to be embarrassed by the whole thing. But she couldn’t help being proud of her old friend for sticking up for her. It changed how the other kids saw Gus as well. It gave him a kind of cred. He began making more friends. Even Buck and his friends gave him a wide berth as if Gus had earned their respect.

She and Gus had started sitting together on the bus. They’d become friends again. He came over to the ranch, where they rode horses together. She taught him a couple of tricks. The one thing she realized when she and Gus hung out together was that she wasn’t ready to grow up. Not yet. Her life after being kidnapped had changed too fast. She didn’t like the person she’d become with Buck. She hadn’t been ready.

Nor had she been sure how she felt about Holden adopting her. But after the adoption had gone through, she found herself excited about it. She was now legally Holly Jo McKenna. She and Holden had agreed that she could still call him HH, even though sometimes she liked the idea of calling him Dad, since she’d never had one before. Maybe one day she would. She didn’t think he would mind.

S TUART AND B AILEY had said that they loved each other sitting in his patrol SUV at the barbecue, but that now seemed like a very long time ago. Stuart knew that people often did things they later regretted when they were under duress. His declaration had been heartfelt. He couldn’t swear that Bailey’s had.

As they sat on the porch, quietly letting darkness settle around them, they sipped their beers without talking. He thought of this woman he’d fallen in love with. She’d been wild in her youth, too pretty for her own good, and too smart. While she seemed to have curbed that wildness, there was still an intensity about her, a drive, as well as a wounded part of her that often came out as anger against the world. He’d seen it all up close and doubted finding her attacker had instantly changed that. It would take time, especially after twelve years.

Now at least he thought he understood the dark side of her. He knew what she had to be angry about. From the outside, Bailey had seemed to have it all. Her father was a wealthy, powerful man who owned a huge ranch in the Powder River Basin. Bailey was his only daughter. Growing up, he doubted she had wanted for anything.

Stuart, on the other hand, had lived a very modest existence and still did. He’d envied ranch kids born to land, money, prestige. It made him wonder what had been so awful about growing up on the McKenna Ranch that had made Bailey angry about her life. If anyone should be angry, it was him, raised by a hard, uninvolved father and a dangerous mother.

Just the thought of his mother reminded him of the book Bailey said she’d written. Now she would have her ending. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d become a writer. All those years of devouring books, her interest in what made people tick from the time she was small, her need to dig deeper. It had always been there. It was a huge part of the woman he’d fallen in love with.

A breeze stirred the nearby trees, scattering dried leaves across the yard. Bailey put down her beer. He felt her gaze on him even before she stood and took his hand. He could feel her trembling. From the cold fall night? Or from fear?

She drew him up from the porch until they stood only a breath apart. He saw her swallow, felt the push-pull of her emotions as he had for longer than he could remember.

“Would you want to make love with me?” Her voice broke.

“I never thought you’d ask,” he said, grinning as he dragged her to him, squeezing her tight, and winced as he felt his cracked ribs complain.

“Oh, I forgot. Maybe we should wait until—”

“They’ll be fine.” He smiled at her and saw her fear. “We’ll both be fine.”

“I want this so badly, but—”

She didn’t have to tell him that she felt damaged. He planned to do his damnedest to make her never feel like that again. “Bailey, you trust me?” She nodded and forced a smile, and he kissed her. “We have all night.”