Gun-Shy Bride (7 page)

As Luke hit his lights and siren, he saw through the dust that one of the poachers was in the back of the truck—and the man wasn’t alone.

The rising dust from the pickup made it impossible to ID the man, though—or get a license plate number on the fleeing vehicle.

As the truck took one of the tight, narrow curves too fast, Luke heard the screech of metal as a fender skinned one of the cottonwoods at the edge of the road. An
instant later something large came tumbling out of the back of the truck.

Luke slammed on his brakes, skidding to a stop just inches from the carcass lying in the middle of the road.

For a heart-stopping moment, he’d thought the poacher had fallen out of the back of the pickup. But then he smelled the familiar scent of the animal’s blood on the breeze—the dead deer blocking the road.

In the distance, the pickup disappeared over a rise as he watched, the poachers getting away. Again.

S
ANDY
S
HERIDAN LIVED WITH
her husband, Grant, in a house up on the hill overlooking Whitehorse. The houses up here were newer. In Whitehorse, moving from the older homes to the hill was considered a step up in both lifestyle and status.

McCall parked in front of a split-level much like the others on the hill. She’d waited until the sheriff had left for a sheriffs’ conference in Billings.

Even though it was late, Sandy Sheridan answered the door still wearing her robe and slippers, both white and fluffy. Her hair was sprayed into an updo that not even one of Whitehorse’s stiff breezes could dislodge.

She’d applied fresh makeup, her cheeks looking flushed, eyes bright and ringed with mascara. McCall wondered what she was getting so duded up for at this time of the day. Or for whom.

“If you’re looking for Grant, he’s not here. He’s at—”

“The Montana Sheriff’s Association meeting in Billings. I know. Actually it’s you I wanted to see,” McCall said.

“Oh?” Sandy was her mother’s age, early forties, but
the years had been kinder. “I guess I can spare a few minutes,” she said, glancing at her watch, clearly annoyed as she stepped back to let McCall enter the house.

The house was furnished with pale furniture against white walls and drapes, giving the place a sterilized, cold feel.

“I’d offer you something to drink but—”

“I’m here about you and Trace Winchester,” McCall said, cutting to the chase.

Sandy looked as if she’d just slammed her fingers in a car door. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Earlier she’d been standing, looking impatient, now she lowered herself into a nearby off-white club chair.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’d heard that you were in love with him, and I’m talking to people who knew my father.”

Sandy let out a nervous laugh. “Why? That was high school.”

“Some people never get over high school—or their first loves.” As McCall knew only too well. “Look, I know you were dating my father when my mother got pregnant with me.”

Sandy’s face stiffened in anger belying her words. “That is ancient history. I really don’t have the time to—”

“I should have known what I heard wasn’t true. If you’d been that much in love with my father, you wouldn’t have married Grant so quickly.”

“I
loved
Trace,” Sandy snapped, taking the bait. “We were going to get married, but then your mother…” She waved a hand through the air, hurriedly regaining her composure.

“You’re
still
in love with my father,” McCall said, unable to contain her shock. What was it about the man that made women love him so desperately even after everything he did to them?

Sandy looked away. “Don’t be silly. That was—”

“Twenty-seven years ago. Not even time can change some things, though, huh.”

“I really don’t want to talk to you about this,” she said, getting to her feet. “It isn’t any of your business or your mother’s.”

Unfortunately, McCall feared it just might be. “You must have hated Trace for betraying you the way he did,” she said as she rose to leave.

“I was angry. Who wouldn’t be?”

“I think I would have wanted to kill him.”

Sandy said nothing, her expression though said it all.

“I can see that he hurt you terribly. I’m sorry.”

Tears filled the older woman’s eyes. She brushed at them, obviously embarrassed and angry, and now her mascara was running.

“You’ve brought up a painful time in my life,” Sandy said. “But that’s all behind me. As you can see, I did quite well without Trace Winchester.”

McCall stared at her, seeing a miserably unhappy woman behind the perfectly made-up face. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Now if you don’t mind…”

“What about Grant?” McCall asked, stopping at the door. “Does he know you never got over my father?”

Sandy opened the door. “Why are you asking about this after all these years? Does my husband know you’re here?” She fumbled in the pocket of her robe for her cell phone.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” McCall said, stepping past her. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your…
appointment
.”

As she left, McCall glimpsed a car parked under a large old tree at the far end of the dead end street. Sandy hadn’t needed to call her husband. He already knew about McCall’s visit. Grant had apparently lied to both of them about going to the sheriffs’ meeting.

But as McCall drove away, she wondered who Grant had been spying on—
her
or his wife.

L
UKE LAY ON THE BED
in his small camper trailer, unable to fall sleep. He’d planned to take a nap before staking out a spot on the river later tonight.

Through his bedroom window he could see the dark skeleton of his house and hear the breeze whispering through the beams as clouds scudded past in the gathering dusk.

He blamed McCall for his restlessness. The woman haunted his thoughts, making him ache with a need he hadn’t been able to fill with any other woman. Had he thought the years would have changed McCall’s mind about him? Or her feelings?

At times like this, he’d always turned to his work. He forced his thoughts to the poachers’ pickup and how close he’d come to catching them earlier. He’d only gotten a glimpse of the truck as it came flying out of the fishing access, dust billowing.

The pickup was somewhere between brown and a rusted red. A good fifty years old. Something from the late fifties, early sixties. A beater. If he had to guess, he’d say a ’62 Ford.

There were more than a few around in this part of the country. Hell, Buzz even used to own one.

Maybe he still did.

Luke sat up with a curse. He hadn’t seen Buzz’s old pickup for years. It used to be parked in the back of that old barn behind Buzz’s lake house. Hell, it probably didn’t even run anymore.

He swore again. He knew he wouldn’t get any sleep if he didn’t find out if that truck was still there. Buzz hadn’t driven it in years. But that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t.

It was crazy. Or maybe not so crazy. He thought about that night years ago when he and Eugene had taken the pickup on a joyride. Buzz always kept the keys in the truck’s ignition. Since the barn was a good distance from the lake house, they’d had no trouble taking out the pickup—and returning it—without Buzz being the wiser.

Luke had this crazy idea that someone might be using Buzz’s pickup to poach deer. The irony didn’t escape him. Nor would it have someone like Trace Winchester, who would have loved to rub it in Buzz’s face.

Irony? Or payback?

It was dark by the time Luke parked on the road behind his uncle’s old barn and killed the engine. He sat for a moment listening to the sounds of the night before he grabbed his flashlight and climbed out.

The moon was a sliver of white against the darkening sky. A few stars glittered through the veil of clouds. A breeze carried the distinct odors of the lake. Through the trees he could see the lake house. No vehicle parked next to it. Buzz wasn’t home.

He breathed in the familiar scents, asking himself what the hell he was doing here about to creep around like a cat burglar.

But as he neared the old wooden structure he knew the reason he hadn’t waited was that he didn’t want Buzz to know. No reason to set his uncle off when Luke was probably wrong about the pickup being the one he’d seen the poachers driving.

He reached the back side of the barn before he turned on the flashlight. The lake house was on the opposite side. Even if Buzz happened to return, he wouldn’t be able to see the light or hear anything from the house.

Luke slipped through the space between the two hinged barn doors. Dust motes danced in the flashlight beam that barely penetrated the dark, vast interior.

The barn still smelled of hay and manure even though it hadn’t been used for either hay or livestock in years.

At a rustling sound, Luke swung around, leading with the beam of the flashlight. A cat scurried out the gap in the doors. As the dust and his heart settled back down, he probed the dark recesses of the barn with the paltry beam of the flashlight.

Luke shone the light into the dark corner where the ’62 Ford pickup was always parked.

Empty.

He stared at the hole where the truck had been parked for so many years. He’d been wrong. Relief swept over him, letting him finally admit that he’d thought Eugene might have been using the old pickup.

But when had Buzz gotten rid of it? And maybe more important, whom had he sold it to?

As Luke ran the beam over the space where the truck
had been parked, he noticed the faint tire tracks in the dust. The pickup hadn’t been gone that long. No, not that long at all, he thought as he squatted down to touch a dark spot on the dirt floor of the barn.

The spot where the pickup had recently dripped oil was still wet.

M
C
C
ALL LEFT
S
ANDY’S
, surprised how dark it had gotten. Clouds skimmed just over the treetops, the limbs whipping in the wind.

The air was damp with the promise of rain and the growing darkness heavy and oppressive. Her headlights did little to hold back the night as she left the lights of Whitehorse in her rearview mirror and drove toward her cabin on the river.

She was tired, bone weary and sick at heart. She’d forced her mother to bare her soul and found out things about her father that she’d never wanted to know.

He’s dead, McCall, why can’t you just let it go?

Because she couldn’t. Just as she couldn’t get over Luke Crawford. She’d never believed in all that first love stuff that made good television movies. But Luke had been her first love, her only love.

Sometimes she thought about what her life would have been like if things had worked out for them. They could be married now, might even be parents.

She had a sudden image of Luke holding a baby and felt her eyes blur with tears. She rubbed them, telling herself she should be watching for deer along this stretch of narrow two-lane dirt road that wound through the large, old cottonwoods along the river, instead of bawling over what might have been.

But the night reminded her of another night ten years ago, the night she gave herself to Luke Crawford next to a small campfire beside the river. It had been the first time for both of them and so amazing that she’d known then no other man would make her feel the way Luke had.

That was the night he’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her. She’d been so young and naive, she’d believed him, she thought now. And yet he’d been so tender, so loving—

As she came around a bend in the road, a vehicle came careening out of one of the fishing access roads. She saw the dust in her headlights an instant before she saw the vehicle.

The fool was driving without his headlights on.

She’d barely recognized that fact when the driver of the vehicle flashed on his headlights—and headed directly at her.

Luke couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling as he left his uncle’s barn and headed down the narrow, dirt river road. He caught glimpses of the moon through the tall cottonwoods. Clouds skimmed past overhead giving the night a surreal feel.

When he’d stopped by his uncle’s cabin for a moment, he’d thought he heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. Buzz hardly ventured anywhere other than town occasionally and then only during the day. It seemed strange that he wasn’t home tonight.

Luke tried his uncle’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message.

He’d waited for a few minutes, thinking Buzz would be home any minute, and then left, worried about what he’d discovered in the barn. He’d made a cast of the tire tracks but he hadn’t needed to compare it with the other casts he’d taken from poaching sites. The distinct tracks in the dust had matched the ones from the poachers’ vehicle. Someone was using Buzz’s truck to poach deer, and Luke had a pretty good idea who that person was.
As for Eugene’s accomplice, it could be any one of his lowlife friends.

As Luke rounded a curve in the road, he saw headlights at an odd angle. His heart thundered in his chest as he recognized the pickup in the ditch. McCall?

Pulling over, he grabbed his flashlight and jumped out. The pickup’s front tires were on the road, headlights angled upward, the back tires buried in the dirt of the deep, narrow ditch.

From the dust still settling on the road, Luke guessed that the accident had just happened. All he could think was that it was a wonder she hadn’t rolled the truck as he rushed to the driver’s side and jerked open the door, the dome light coming on.

“McCall, are you—” He never got the words “all right” out.

She came out of the pickup swinging. He felt the sharp smack of her palm against the side of his face before he could restrain her.

“What in the hell?” he demanded as he looked into her eyes, saw the fear and the anger. But it was the fear that changed everything. He’d never seen her afraid before. He remembered the only other time he’d seen her vulnerable and, like now, she’d been in his arms.

She tried to take another swing, but he had her arms pinned down. Her mouth opened to say something, but her words were lost as his mouth dropped to hers. She struggled, but only for a moment.

He felt the fight go out of her as if, like him, she’d lost herself in the kiss—just the way she had all those years ago.

Then as if reason came back to her, she shoved him
away. She was breathing hard, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the kiss or her earlier anger.

“You bastard,” she said on a ragged breath.

“It was just a kiss, McCall.” A lie. That powerful thing between them couldn’t have been more evident. For those amazing moments, she’d been kissing him back, but that could have been enough to make her even angrier.

She advanced on him. He could still feel the sting of her slap and thought for a moment she would try to hit him again.

“You ran me off the road!”

He stared at her in the glow of the lights coming from their headlights and the dome light inside her open pickup door. “Whoa. I found you in the ditch. Are you saying someone purposely ran you off the road?”

She narrowed her gaze at him. “Not someone.
You.
If you think you can scare me away from investigating your uncle—”

“Are you crazy? You can’t believe I would purposely try to run you off the road. Let alone that I would try to interfere in your investigation.” He saw her expression. “Yeah, I guess you can. Why should you believe me? You’ve never believed anything I’ve ever told you. Not ten years ago. Not now. My mistake for thinking you needed my help.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly before glancing down the dark road. “You didn’t just come flying out of that fishing access site directly at me?”

He shook his head, too angry with her and himself to speak. Why the hell had he kissed her? He’d only managed to make things worse. But once he had her in his arms, he hadn’t been able to help himself.

“Then where is the other pickup?” she demanded.

“I have no idea.”

“I thought…” She stared at him as if really seeing him. “The headlights came right at me, I swerved and lost control and when I looked up…”

“There I was,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I guess…”

If it had been anyone other than McCall, he might have thought the driver imagined another truck. Or had been unintentionally run off the road by someone.

But this was McCall.

“I saw dust as I came around the corner,” he said, trying to remember the scene before he’d realized it was McCall’s pickup and lost all reason. “I just assumed you’d made the dust when you crashed in the ditch.”

“A pickup came right at me.”

He felt himself start. “You saw that it was a pickup?”

“The headlights. They were high, so maybe I only got the
impression
it was a truck. Wait, no, I remember the way the back of the vehicle spun out as it turned onto the river road and came toward me. It was a pickup.”

As Luke looked down the dark road, a sliver of fear burrowed under his skin. He doubted it was a coincidence that he’d been looking for a pickup, heard a vehicle as he was leaving Buzz’s—and one had just run McCall off the road.

What worried him was the fear that the pickup—and McCall being run off the road—had something to do with not only Buzz’s truck, but also his uncle.

M
C
C
ALL HUGGED HERSELF
against the cold Montana April night and the emotions Luke Crawford had set off like fireworks inside her.

He made her heart beat too fast, her pulse race, her body ache. He had when she was seventeen. He was even more desirable now, she thought, remembering the feel of his arms around her and the kiss. She reminded herself that this was the man who’d broken her heart, but that old bitterness didn’t have the bite it used to.

“I’m sorry I accused you of running me off the road.”

He was standing so close she could smell his woodsy male scent. She could see that her accusation had hurt more than the slap.

She hugged herself tighter at the memory of his arms around her, the solid, strong feel of his body, his mouth on hers. “And I’m sorry I hit you.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

Damn the man. She wanted to smack him again.

“Yes, I’m sorry you did, too.”

“I should get my tow rope,” he said, clearly upset. “I think I can pull you out with my truck.”

She nodded and felt something break inside her as he brushed past her, anger in every line of his body. “Thanks,” she said.

He mumbled something under his breath she couldn’t hear as he headed for his truck.

McCall leaned against the cold metal of her pickup and stared at his broad back silhouetted against his headlights. How could she have thought he would want to hurt her? Because he’d hurt her before.

She took a deep breath of the cold night air and, touching her finger to her lips, felt her traitorous heart quicken at the memory of the kiss.

His kiss had brought back the past in one fell swoop. That night beside the campfire, the stars glittering
overhead, the night she’d been seventeen and so wonderfully in love.

Her skin ached at the memory of their lovemaking beside the campfire.

“McCall? You ready?”

Lost in the past, she started at the sound of his voice. Hurriedly, she climbed back behind the wheel and slammed her pickup door.

With a jolt, she realized that she’d been so shaken earlier she hadn’t bothered to turn off the engine. Her hands trembled as she was reminded of the near head-on collision before she’d swerved and lost control, ending up in the ditch.

It could have been so much worse.

She saw that Luke had turned his truck around, hooked up the tow rope and was just waiting for her to give him a signal that she was ready.

She whirred down her window. “Ready when you are.”

He gave her a thumbs-up before disappearing into the cab of his truck. She waited as he pulled forward, the tow rope tightening until she felt the tension stretch between them.

All these years of being apart and now they’d been thrown together how many times in the past two days? If she believed in fate…

When she felt the tow rope grow taut, she gave her truck some gas. She could hear the dirt and gravel scrape against the undercarriage, then she was hauled up and out of the ditch and onto the road, forced to hit her brakes to keep from running into the back of Luke’s pickup.

Putting the truck in Park, she got out and stood between their two rigs as he unhooked the tow rope, trying not to
notice the way the fabric of his shirt stretched over the hard muscles of his shoulders. “About earlier—”

“Forget it,” he said, rising to his feet with the tow rope coiled in his hands.

If only she could forget.

“If you remember anything about the truck that ran you off the road…”

“Sure,” she said, although she knew that wasn’t going to happen. All she’d seen was dust, then bright headlights.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

Both feet firmly planted on the ground. That was her.

He turned and started toward his pickup, all broad shoulders, long legs, slim hips and cowboy boots. But it was the way he moved, a long, lanky swagger…

“Luke?”

He stopped and looked back at her, waiting though wary.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just…thanks.”

He nodded, climbed into his pickup and drove away, leaving her wanting to pound her head against the side of her truck.

L
UKE KNEW HE HAD TO BE
dreaming because McCall lay next to him on the bed in his new house—the one he hadn’t finished building, let alone moved into.

She was in his arms, her body warm and silky soft, scented with the sweet smells of summer. Her limbs were lightly suntanned, a sprinkling of freckles along the tops of her shoulders and the bridge of her nose.

He drew her closer, breathing her in, amazed that he hadn’t lost her. He didn’t question how it was that she was here with him. All those years apart seemed to melt
away and he knew in his heart that this was where McCall was destined to be—with him.

Something jarred him. He closed his eyes tighter, fighting whatever was trying to pull him from the dream, knowing that the moment he came fully awake, McCall would be gone. Gone, just as she had been for the past ten years. Only this time, lost to him forever.

The ringing of his cell phone dragged him up from the dream. He stirred, still keeping his eyes closed, still fighting that moment when he would know for certain it had all just been a dream.

The phone rang again. Luke cursed and opened his eyes. The bed next to him was cold and empty.

He rolled over and snatched up the phone. “Luke Crawford.” His gaze went to the lighted clock next to his bed—3:00 a.m.

And he knew even before he heard the rancher’s voice that the poachers had hit again.

M
C
C
ALL WOKE BEFORE DAWN
. She blamed Luke Crawford for another fitful night. Showered and dressed, too antsy to sit around, she went out to examine her pickup to make sure there was no real damage.

The rear bumper was dented and filled with dirt and grass from the ditch, but apparently no real damage. With a shudder she remembered seeing the huge cottonwood trees that lined the road, fearing she couldn’t get control of the pickup before plowing into them.

She was just thankful she had only ended up in the ditch. No harm done.

If only she could say as much for Luke’s kiss. Damn him.

Desperately needing to get him off her mind, she got
in her pickup and drove south on Highway 191. It wasn’t until she’d gone a few miles that she realized she’d be driving right past his house.

She’d heard he’d bought the old Crawford place that had belonged to his parents before their deaths. Buzz had sold it to an out-of-state corporation when he took Luke in.

But when Luke had returned to town, he’d somehow been able to buy it back. She’d heard he was living in a camp trailer on the property while he built a house.

At this early hour, she was tempted to drive down to his trailer and wake him up. If she couldn’t get any rest, it didn’t seem fair that he should. As the saying went, misery loves company.

But she had no desire to see him. Especially after their encounter last night.

Clouds low, rain threatening, she drove another few miles before she turned off on the road that led to the ridge where she’d found her father’s grave.

A cold wind rocked the patrol SUV as she sat staring at the muddy grave—and a dozen footprints around it. She’d known this would happen once Rocky told people about it. Grave robbers had scoured the area looking for curios or clues to go with their theories on whose body had been buried there.

McCall told herself it would have been worse if she’d told the sheriff about the hunting license and cordoned off the grave with crime scene tape. Everyone in town would have had to come out and see for themselves. She had to be content with the fact that she’d gotten any evidence there was and turned it all in to the lab.

Except for the hunting license.

Taking her binoculars, she climbed out and walked along the spine of the ridge. It worried her what her mother had said about Geneva Cherry disappearing about the same time as Trace.

As she walked, she looked for signs of another grave but saw no place to bury another body. The ridge was rocky except for the area where her father had been buried.

So if Geneva had been with Trace that day and someone had gotten rid of them both, the killer hadn’t buried them both here. Why bury one and not the other? Because Geneva’s disappearance and Trace’s weren’t related? Unless Geneva had been the killer.

McCall walked out to where the ridge narrowed to a windy point. She raised her binoculars, wondering if her father had stood on this very spot looking through his rifle scope for antelope on opening day of the season.

As the Winchester Ranch came into view, McCall realized with a start that he could have been watching the house, could have maybe even seen people inside that morning.