Daunting Days of Winter (12 page)

Rose looked closer at the wound, finding that it was round and raw and big enough to fit her index finger in. Dusty shied away as Rose probed the edges of the wound, fresh blood still draining from it. “You poor girl.”

A short walk up the path revealed a spotty trail of blood in the snow as far back as Rose could see. Tears pooled in her eyes as she walked back to her horse. “I didn’t know you were hurt,” she said, stroking Dusty’s nose. “I’m so sorry I did this to you. You poor girl; it’s just not right.”

CHAPTER 13

Wednesday, January 18
^th

Deer Creek, MT

Hearing a tapping on the front door, Jennifer jumped from the couch and quickly swung the door open. “Hi, Ty,” she said, looking past him as she stifled a yawn. “Where’s Kyle? Isn’t he with you?”

Ty Lewis shook his head. “It’s just me. Can I come in?”

Jennifer stepped to the side, allowing him to enter. “I went down there, you know, but they wouldn’t let me in. Said he couldn’t have visitors.”

“I know. I saw you. That’s why I’m here. Thought you needed to know what’s going on.”

Jennifer dropped anxiously onto the couch and motioned for Ty to do the same. “When are they going to let him come home? He will come home, won’t he?”

Ty pressed his clasped hands against his mouth and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how much I should say, but things look, well, they don’t look good, Jennifer. I hate to say it, but I’m more than a little worried.”

“But he didn’t do anything. How can things be so bad?” Jennifer hurled her words at him, her hands balled into fists.

The room was dark, and the moon, being the only source of light, cast long, gray shadows over everything. The whites of Ty’s eyes stood out in the darkness, flashing each time he blinked. “Listen, I’m with you on this, but it’s not about you and me. The girl that died, her daddy is a big shot over there. He had a little grocery store and a couple other businesses, so he’s really taken care of the town for the past few months. They’re all pretty riled about what happened, understandably so.”

“It doesn’t matter who her family is. Kyle didn’t do anything.” Jennifer was nearly shouting, her voice echoing in the room.

“Hey, I believe that,” Ty said softly, holding his hands up in protest. “I believe that, but the situation looks all wrong. Kyle was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The body was found in his house, and he was the one on patrol that night. Dale and his mother both swear the girl left by midnight. No one else saw or heard anything.”

“He would never do anything like that,” Jennifer said, still worked up. “I know Kyle. He might have a bit of a temper. Everyone does. But he’d never hurt anyone that way.”

Ty looked directly at Jennifer. “There’s going to be a trial. It’ll probably start next week. It’ll be over quick, maybe two or three days.”

“Will he come home after that?”

“If they find him innocent.”

“What if they don’t?”

Ty took a deep breath. “Jenn. It’s rape and murder. It won’t be good.”

CHAPTER 14

Thursday, January 19
^th

Central Wyoming

Lou Thompson knelt over the injured horse, shaking his head slowly. “It’s no good, Rose. There’s nothing I can do for her.” The sun was just coming up, and the wind that swept down over the hillside and howled through the trees was cold and biting. Lou’s worn cowboy hat was pulled down tight on his head, the collar of his jacket turned up to block the wind. “She won’t stand, and it looks like she’s been laying here for quite some time.” He turned towards Rose. “She isn’t going to make it.”

“Are you sure?” Rose stood next to Lou, her hands pushed deep in the pockets of her heavy coat, watching while he examined Dusty.

“It’s a miracle she made it this far. Look how big the wound is, and there’s no exit hole so the bullet is still inside, probably lodged in her hip. Horses have a lot of muscle there, which probably slowed the bullet enough to keep from shattering the bone, but that tissue is all damaged, and she’s lost a lot of blood. The fact that she walked this far is incredible, but that’s the end of the miracle. It’s only a matter of time and how much we’re willing to let her suffer.” The wind gusted again, pelting them with snow and ice. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

They walked to the big ranch house in silence, shielding themselves from the weather with their arms. Once inside, Rose took off her boots and dropped down hopelessly onto a couch near the fireplace. “It’s just not right, Lou. That horse shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes. I should have left sooner.”

Lou slowly took off his coat and hung it on a stand by the front door. He was a fourth generation rancher and owned one of the largest spreads in their part of Wyoming. Just under 18,000 acres of his own, along with 6,400 acres of federal land leases, gave him miles of solitude and security. At 55 years old, Lou still looked like he was in his early forties. Other than a six-inch scar on his right cheek he was movie star handsome, standing six foot two and built long and lean, as if he trained for marathons instead of running his ranch. He was showing signs of aging, though, as his long mustache was a little grayer each time Rose visited, and his head a little more bald.

As a little girl, Rose had dreamt about growing up, getting married, and living on a ranch, and both Lou and his property, from a physical standpoint, more than exceeded everything she’d aspired to. It was his wife, Sonja, however, who Rose really felt a kinship with. She was Nordic pretty, intelligent, witty, and such a catch that Lou had gone against his father’s wishes in marrying her, then a waitress in her immigrant parents’ restaurant, when he was just twenty-one and not yet done with college.

Lou continued dryly, unmoved by Rose’s emotion. “I don’t know about the blame, but we probably shouldn’t wait too long on the animal. That injury will keep her from standing, and the longer we wait, the more she’ll suffer. If you want,” Lou said, approaching the fire with his hands held out to warm them. “I can shoot her for you, or you can do it. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll have to cut her up and take her away from the house though, so the carcass doesn’t draw the wolves in. We have enough problems with them as it is.”

“Good heavens, Lou,” Sonja said, emerging from the bedroom. “Show a little empathy. Dusty isn’t an old car or one of your steers; she’s a part of Rose’s family. You’re so business-like when it comes to the animals.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, giving Rose an apologetic look.

Lou turned away from Sonja and closed his eyes. “They’re all just things. If you let yourself get attached to them, then you have problems like this. I am sorry though, Rose. I guess maybe I was a little insensitive.”

Rose gazed numbly into the fire. “It’s okay. You’re not the one who put her at risk.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Sonja said. “This is bigger than all of us. That we’ve made it this long says something about us. Lou, you just go take care of Rose’s horse for her.”

“No,” Rose interrupted. “Dusty is my responsibility; I should do it. Just give me a minute to get my head right.”

“I’ll go work on some breakfast,” Sonja said as she excused herself, giving Lou a stern look.

A few minutes later the sound of the front door closing was followed by a lone crack from a rifle.

CHAPTER 15

Tuesday, January 24
^th

Deer Creek, MT

Jennifer walked as close to Kyle as she could get. He was flanked on both sides by guards, with two more following close behind. The guards were all well armed, but with a mismatch of weapons that reflected the improvised nature of the community’s operations. A small crowd trailed behind, and Jennifer could see people up ahead, heading towards the community building from all directions. The trial was to begin that morning and was the most anticipated, talked about event the community had experienced since the EMP, almost five months before.

“Looks like it’s going to be a full house,” Kyle said to the guard walking between him and Jennifer. The man was from Clinton, a friend of the victim’s family, and treated Kyle like a leper. He gave no reply, just stared straight ahead.

“How are you holding up, Kyle?” Jennifer asked, half jogging to keep up.

Kyle smiled. He’d spent the last four days and nights in the crawl space of the militia house, only coming out to speak with his counsel, the prosecutor, or his family, when they were allowed to visit. As luck would have it, the assistant District Attorney, a bright, powerful woman, lived in Clinton, knew the victim’s family, and jumped at the chance to do something more than chop wood and scavenge for food.

On Kyle’s side, Boyd Kelley, a sullen, unpleasant, estate attorney, still harboring a grudge from losing out to Gabe for the job of community head, had been drafted to represent him. Knowing how the two attorneys would appear to the jury had Kyle feeling like he was spotting the opposition two touchdowns and a field goal before the game began. “I’m doing alright, Jenn. How about you guys?”

“Not so good. We’re all really worried, and we miss you a lot.”

The last four days had been the longest of his life. He’d been adequately fed, and the crawl space was tolerably warm, but sitting around doing nothing, while being so close to his family and in such unbelievable circumstances, was testing the limits of his sanity. “I miss you too, Jenn, and the kids. Can’t wait to come home.” He smiled bravely, but having spoken to both his counsel and the prosecutor for hours, Kyle wasn’t sure that was going to happen. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not good. He’s having a hard time with all this. He doesn’t understand why you can’t come home, but you saw that yesterday when we visited.”

“Tell him I love him, okay?” Kyle struggled with his emotions.

“I do. Every day.”

They rounded the corner and approached the building where most events happened: church, community meetings, militia training, and now murder trials. A group of people was waiting to go in, more than Kyle had ever remembered seeing there. Many, he assumed, had come from Clinton for the trial. “Quite the crowd,” he observed. “We should have sold tickets.”

“Not much else for people to do; I suppose they’re curious.”

“Guess I’d be here if it wasn’t me on trial. Do you know I love you?”

Jennifer nodded. “I do, but it’s always nice to hear you say it. Think they’d take the handcuffs off for a hug?”

Kyle looked at his escorts questioningly, knowing they’d heard his wife. No one responded or even looked at him. “I think that’s a no. How about a rain check?”

Jennifer tried to keep from crying. “Only if you promise it will never expire.”

“I promise,” he replied, finding it hard to talk. “Just give me a couple days.” They arrived at the makeshift courthouse, and the people crowding the entrance stepped back to allow the entourage to enter. The inside of the building was packed, standing room only, and the two men bracketing Kyle grabbed ahold of his coat and steered him through the crowd, both to ensure that they weren’t separated from him and so he could get through the throng.

Kyle was led to the front of the building, where an improvised court had been set up. The judges’ table was a tall dinette draped with a black tablecloth, at which Gabe Vance and Don Allen, the respective mayors of the two communities, co-presided. To their left, and Kyle’s right, was the jury of five locals, two from Deer Creek, two from Clinton, and a man who lived between the two towns and hadn’t attached himself to either community. The prosecutor’s table was closest to the jury, and the table for the defense, where Boyd Kelly sat, disheveled and pale, was to Kyle’s left. The guards led Kyle to a chair beside his attorney, removed his handcuffs, then positioned themselves in chairs just off to the side.

Grace Anderson had arrived early and taken a seat directly behind the defense table, saving a seat for Jennifer, who slipped in quietly beside her friend.

The dull roar of conversation quieted as soon as Kyle sat down, then Gabe rose to his feet. Neither he nor his counterpart had any experience with running a trial, but had taken direction from the two attorneys on the best way to proceed under the circumstances.

“Good morning,” Gabe shouted as the crowd quieted. A murmur rolled through the crowd as the proceedings commenced. “We will begin the trial of Kyle Tait, represented by Boyd Kelly, for the rape and murder of Leah Smith, who is represented by the family’s counsel, Helen Markham.”

Gabe delineated the trial’s proceedings, explaining the rules of the courtroom and the decorum expected of the spectators. This was followed by the agenda for the trial, most of which had been whispered throughout the community already, but Gabe reiterated it for the benefit of anyone in attendance who hadn’t heard. The first day of the trial was for opening statements, followed by the prosecution’s case and witnesses. The next day, Wednesday, was for the defense to present their case, followed by any rebuttals, then closing arguments on Thursday. At that point, the trial would be turned over to the jury, with their deliberations to last until a verdict was reached.

Gabe noted that the schedule would be fluid and adjust as needed, but most people expected a verdict before sundown on Saturday.

Gabe finished his explanations, then asked the prosecutor for her opening statement.

Helen Markham, shoulders back and head high, smartly dressed in a red blouse and black skirt, walked to the front of the room, turned, cleared her throat, and smiled. Kyle guessed that she was in her early forties, maybe a little younger, but he didn’t really care. Her brown hair was shoulder-length and styled neatly, and although Kyle didn’t find her particularly attractive, she wasn’t ugly either. Her voice was low and gravelly, more suited to a radio personality than what you’d expect from a courtroom attorney.