Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (27 page)

Mike moved closer. “You know as well as we do she came from Pennsylvania—if you did your homework.”

Bernard cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, we’ve done our homework, believe you me.” He paused. “You might be surprised by what we’ve learned. But we’re not interested in Ms. Neilson at the moment. We found multiple tire imprints on the side of the road not far from the entrance to your place that all belong to the same Ford pickup. Come to find out, that truck rolled into town just about the time your employee moved here. The owner, a male, is also from Pennsylvania.”

Mike wondered if his mom was thinking the same thing he was. Could it be the man who broke into the Blue Jay? “Did you find footprints or other evidence? Or was the guy just sitting along the highway enjoying the scenery?”

“He doesn’t appear to be the type to appreciate scenery. He spent several days in the Copperville jail when he first arrived. Yesterday, we locked him up in Rawlins. His boots match the prints we found by the tire tracks.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “My goodness, the penitentiary already.”

“No. County. He assaulted a woman in the Rawlins hospital.”

Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “Can you tell us who the woman was?”

Bernard regarded him for a moment then turned to his partner. “Let’s take another look at that desk.”

Other unanswered questions swirled through Mike’s head. Could Kate, who said she was the cause of all their problems, answer those questions? Did he want to know the answers? His heart said
no
, but his head said
yes
. They needed to get to the bottom of things. But how deep did the bottom go?

***

After the deputies left, Mike climbed the ladder inside the barn to sit on a bale in the hayloft, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and massaged his temples. His brain felt muddy and swollen, like the creek during spring runoff. He still hadn’t gotten to the branding, hadn’t checked fences, hadn’t talked with the twins about hunting bison, hadn’t fixed his truck or reseeded the ATV-damaged meadow, hadn’t …

The happy sounds of children playing down at the pond drifted up the hill. He raised his gaze to look through the square opening at the front of the barn where their tractors lifted in the hay. He’d always loved the loft’s bird’s-eye view, which spanned most of the ranch buildings as well as the Sierra Madres in the background. He chuckled, remembering the times he’d seen Matt coming and dropped in front of him when he walked into the barn. And how his brother jumped and screeched like a girl.

Matt.
What was he to think about the news clippings? He stared at the ceiling of exposed rafters and unfinished wood, relishing the solitude and the smell of the wood and hay, the rustlings of mice, the snorts and snuffles of the horses below. He didn’t even mind the tart odor of dung.
I should bring Kate up here. She’d love the view.
When she could manage the ladder—and if she didn’t go to jail.

He rubbed his jaw. That wasn’t fair. Every employee was innocent until proven guilty. Kate was as innocent as he was, even though she was obviously hiding something. Maybe it had something to do with the guy who broke into her cabin. But was it possible? Could there a connection between him and Kate? And maybe Manuel? He wanted to believe in Kate. And he wanted Manuel to be innocent.

Then there was the Cyrus problem. Maybe the old guy ran off with the money. The timing was suspicious. Maybe he killed the bison. He’d never approved of the herd. But then, neither did the Clifford brothers.

Rubbing his neck, he tilted his head. Someone was coming up the ladder.

“Mike, what are you doing up here?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see his mom, her chin level with the loft floor. “Thinking.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He made room for her on the hay bale.

She sat beside him. “I’ve always loved the scene framed by that opening.” She patted his arm. “Sorry to interrupt you, but it is nice to have a private moment together.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t happen much these days. Did you want to talk about something?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I come to the loft when I get lonesome for your dad.” She gestured toward the hay window. “It makes me feel good to look out there and see all we accomplished together. We were both very proud of this ranch.”

“You should be. I often think I’m the luckiest guy alive to be able to live here.”

“And I’m lucky—blessed—to have you here.” Tears balanced on her lashes. “This summer would not have been possible without you.”

“Thanks.” He put his arm around her. “It’s been tough. I can’t help but think the wheels of the ranch would run smoother if Dad were alive. And Matt. He would keep things hopping.”

“I bet he would.” She laughed and wiped at her tears. “I have to admit I feel cheated we didn’t get to know him as an adult. He would have been such a fine young man, probably married with kids by now.”

Her brow furrowed. “But that would make me a grandma, and I’m not sure I could handle being called
Grandma Duncan
. That name belonged to your grandmother.”

He chuckled. “Well, obviously, you don’t have to worry about grandchildren for a while.” He placed his hands on his knees. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

He looked down, chafing his thumbs against his Levis. “How did Matt die?”

“You were there—”

He turned to her. “But I don’t remember anything about it. All I know is I convinced Matt to let me drive on the highway, we had an accident and I ended up in the hospital. I couldn’t go to the funeral.” He swallowed. “I never got to say
goodbye.’
”

She rubbed his back. “I’m so sorry.”

“I killed Matt, Mom. I killed my own brother.”

“No, Mike. That’s not how it was.” She massaged the spot on her finger where her wedding ring had sat for so many years. “A drunk named Gilbert Martin rammed into you with his pickup truck. As far as I know, he’s still locked up.”

“I was twelve. I shouldn’t have been driving. Plus, I knew we weren’t supposed to be on the highway.”

“As the older, licensed person, Matt should have obeyed the law—and your father. In that sense, he was more at fault than you.”

She stood and walked to the edge of the loft. “You may not know this, but I fought for years to forgive Martin. He killed my older son and severely injured my younger one. One day I read an article that likened unforgiveness to a noxious weed that sends fat, ugly roots deep into our souls. Though nobody can see those roots, the blossoms of bitterness and the fruit of hatred are very apparent. Right then I realized I was becoming a bitter hateful woman, and I had to let it go.”

She turned to Mike. “Your situation is different, but similar. I picture the root of guilt as having thousands of secondary roots that strangle the soul the way a root-bound plant chokes itself in a pot. The flower of guilt is a perpetual sense of shame, and the shriveled fruit is an impaired relationship with God. He promises to forgive us, but if we don’t accept his forgiveness and let him remove the guilt, we will spiritually and emotionally wither up and die. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. It was true. He hadn’t accepted God’s forgiveness.

She crouched in front of him. “You and I lost the two people most precious to us. Remember when Pastor Chuck said troubles and losses in life are not meant to defeat us but to develop us?”

“Yeah.”

“We can’t live in the past. We have to live in the present and look forward to what God has in store for us. As Dymple would say, when our cup of life is filled with chokecherries, it’s time to make jelly.”

She took his hands. “I am sorry.” She paused. “
Terribly sorry
for not helping you through your grief and guilt after Matt died, for being too caught up in my own grief to see yours. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course.” He’d never really blamed her or Dad. Just himself.

“I forgive you for your part in the accident. God has already forgiven you. Now you need to forgive yourself and let go of the guilt.”

He hung his head. “I should have talked with you years ago about all this.”

“We still have each other. Together, we’ll hang onto the Whispering Pines. We’ll maintain everything your father—and Matt—worked so hard to create. And we’ll build a future for ourselves—and my grandchildren. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She stood. “I’d better get back to the office. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Oh, by the way, I called Kate. She admitted she’d been attacked in the hospital but didn’t offer details.” Laura sighed. “Maybe she’ll explain later.

“Also, Marshall Thompson from our sanitation service called for you. I told him I’d have you call him back. He sounded anxious, although I can’t imagine what could be so important about our garbage. They haven’t missed any pickup days that I know of.”

Mike felt like a boxer staggering from a near knockout, hoping and praying the match was finally over but instead gets slammed back down, flat on his face. “I’ll call him.”

She brushed straw from her pants. “We had another phone call ...”

By the sound of her voice, he knew it had not been a good call. But what could be worse than the Marshall Thompson call?

She sighed. “It was your Aunt Judith. She’s coming in July. Said she wants to be here for the Fourth.” Laura stared down the side of the loft into the belly of the barn. “I should be happy to see my sister-in-law, but …”

Aunt Judith’s comments at his dad’s funeral often rang in Mike’s head like a stuck car alarm. “You should be pleased, Michael, darling,” she’d intoned in her pseudo-cultured voice. “Your father has such a
beautiful
view from this hillside.” If ever he’d yearned to strangle a person, that was the moment.
You should be pleased, you should be …

Weeks later, her annual Christmas letter included a picture of his dad in his casket. His mom had read the caption to him. “My dear, departed brother, my final sibling out of six precious souls to pass, today rides a heavenly range herding cosmic cattle, leaving me to traverse this cold, cruel world without the comfort of a loved one by my side.”

“So her five kids and nineteen grandkids don’t count as loved ones?” Laura had crumpled all eleven single-spaced pages into tight balls and hurled them into the fireplace before he had a chance to see the photograph. Which was fine by him. Aunt Judith had a way of getting under his skin. And she never missed an opportunity to remind him that he would never measure up to his brother.

He kicked a bale. Just the person to grind his nose into the mat.

Chapter Twenty-Two

HER WEIGHT ON HER
good leg, Kate used the patio table and a chair back to push herself to a standing position. She’d sat for more than an hour searching for internships in Denver. Her advisor in Pennsylvania would have come up with multiple options in the snap of a finger. But Kate wasn’t ready to tell the university she’d blown it. They’d bent over backwards to help her get a degree while she was in prison. Would she lose the diploma if she became incarcerated again and unable to fulfill the internship requirements?

She heard the front gate clink, then male voices. Her heart plunged. She scanned the woods that surrounded Dymple’s house. If only her leg wasn’t broken … She groaned and plopped into the wheelchair. “Okay, God. I’ll trust your promise that in all things—even an arrest for something I didn’t do—you will work for good.”

She gripped the wheels and rolled the path toward the front of the house. When she cleared the corner, she saw two sheriff’s deputies standing before the purple door, shoulders squared, elbows out, hands hovering near their guns.

She stopped. This was a first. The one time in her life she was innocent, and she was turning herself in. Had she lost her mind? She hoped it had something to do with a change of character, not just her broken leg. “Looking for me, officers?”

The deputies whirled, hands on their holsters.

Kate smiled at their startled expressions and lifted her hands. “I won’t cause you any trouble.”

Neither man looked convinced.

“But gentlemen …” The voice came from the other side of the house. “
I
will cause you plenty of grief.”

The deputies spun the other direction.

Dymple, who held a basket of plastic flowers, glared at the men. “Whoa, boys. Remember me? I live here.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on us.” The deputy looked from Dymple to Kate and back again. “You could get hurt.”

She straightened to her full five feet three inches. “If you’d been paying attention, Bernie, you’d have seen me coming. Now, tell me why you and—” She stared at the other officer’s name tag. “Why you and Deputy Ramirez are honoring us with this surprise visit.” She set the basket on the ground and moved to stand next to Kate.

“We have two duties today—two warrants.” Deputy Bernard held up papers. “The first is a search warrant that allows us to search your house. The other is a warrant for Miss Neilson’s arrest for theft of funds at the Whispering Pines Guest Ranch.”

Kate felt Dymple flinch, even though her friend stood several inches away. She reached out to take her hand. “I should have warned you.”

Bernard sneered. “Should a been smart enough to wear gloves.”

Dymple stared at the men until they began to fidget. Finally, she spoke. “You are welcome to search my home. I have nothing to hide. Neither does Kate.”

Kate blinked, wishing she felt as confident as Dymple sounded.

“But as for arresting this young woman …” Dymple indicated the cast on Kate’s leg. “You can see she’s wheelchair bound, and you know she just had surgery. Incarcerating her right now would be cruel and unusual punishment. If you take her to jail, I will immediately call my lawyer, the ACLU, the governor—who, by the way, happens to be a personal friend, all the newspapers and radio and television stations from here to Denver and Salt Lake, and anyone else I can think of.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe I’ll even learn how to bloom on the Internet.”