Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (36 page)

Deputy Ramirez brushed off his pants, gathered his things and hurried to follow them.

Kate watched the men attempt to rush Dymple out of the yard and up the drive. What could be so exciting? And what was the connection with the ranch? Minutes passed. She bowed her head and tried to pray, but the sound of an engine caught her attention.

She looked up. Dymple was trudging the path around the house with a despondency that accentuated her age. She’d never seen her friend look so weary or so discouraged, not even the day she told her she murdered her husband.

“Would you come with me?” Dymple’s lips were pinched, her voice sad. “I do my best thinking when I’m roaming the cemetery. And I have a lot to think about right now.”

The thought of facing Dymple’s heartache scared her, but Kate knew she couldn’t let her friend confront the situation alone, whatever it was.

They moved slowly through the graveyard, so slowly an observer might have assumed they were mourning the loss of a loved one.

Kate looked at her friend. “Do you remember the first time we met? In the chapel?”

Dymple nodded. “Yes, that was an impotent day.”

Kate grinned. “You’re right. It was a very special day. I’m so glad we connected.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you remember when I walked from the back of the sanctuary toward you?”

Dymple bent to pick up a scrap of paper. She put it in her pocket. “I remember.”

Kate slowed her wheelchair. “Did you, uh … Did you sense anything unusual?”

Dymple moved to stand in front of Kate. “Are you asking if I felt threatened?”

Kate looked down. “Uh-huh.”

Dymple lifted her chin, as she’d done that first day. “I could tell by your body language something was up. I have to admit I felt a moment of panic, but then God spoke.”

“He did? I didn’t hear anything. But I felt your eyes drilling into my soul, and I realized …” Kate’s eyes misted. “I realized I was about to hurt another innocent, defenseless person.” She turned her head. “I wanted to make you tell me where the church keeps its money.” Tears began to drip down her cheeks. “I’ve told God how sorry I am. But I never told you.”

Dymple pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jumper. She handed it to Kate. “And I haven’t told you what God told me that day—twice. The first time was in the chapel. The second time was in the cemetery.”

Kate blew her nose. “He really spoke to you?”

“Indeed. I was thinking of throwing the vase at you, flowers and all, and running home through the cemetery—forgetting, of course, that running isn’t one of my strengths—when I heard God say, ‘She’s mine. Love her like a daughter.’ That’s what he told me both times.”

“God told you to love me?”

“Yes, and he halted you in your tracks.” Dymple took out another tissue to dab at Kate’s face. “He had plans for you, sweetie, including our friendship. You’ve been easy to love, like the daughter I never had.”

It was true. Dymple had showered her with love. God knew how much she missed her mother, how much she needed a mom.

Dymple bent down, arms extended.

Kate leaned into her embrace. “You and God are way too good to me.”

After visiting JJ’s grave, the women made their way to the overlook. Once again, Kate looked across the valley toward Copperville. So much had happened since she’d arrived in Wyoming, not much of it good. But if God could tell Dymple to love her, he could somehow extricate her from the middle of the quagmire. “We should bring our lunch here sometime. The view is fabulous, and the breeze feels wonderful.”

“Good idea.” But Dymple’s voice lacked its usual enthusiasm.

Kate studied her friend, trying to read the emotions that played over her face.

Finally, Dymple spoke. “I need to tell you what the detectives found.”

As always, the roller-coaster high of a sweet moment had to hit bottom.

***

“Hrmft.” Ramsey slapped at the hand that jarred his shoulder.

“Wake up, Jerry. I brought you chicken-noodle soup and a six-pack.”

A six-pack? He tried to lift his head. It had been an eternity since he’d had a beer. His head dropped. Later. He was too tired now.

His shoulder was jostled again. “You need to eat. You’ve been sleeping for hours.”

He started to turn over but cried out when a sharp pain bit his belly. A string of filthy words dribbled out the side of his mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Tara touched his face.

He opened his eyes. “Pills.”

“What pills?”

“Pain pills.”

“There weren’t any in your hospital room or at the motel.”

“I need something. Aspirin, anything.” He groaned.

“How about this?” She held a whiskey jug at eye level.

“Mmm.” He managed a small smile. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

She set the whiskey on the end table. “After you eat some soup.” She pointed at a pile beside the hide-a-bed. “That’s your stuff from the motel, including your laptop. I was surprised it was still there, after all this time.”

“I paid ahead.”

“Which was a good thing. I found that psycho dope under the mattress, just like you said.” She snickered. “Officer Watts never knew what hit him.”

“You have any trouble getting in?”

“No. Your card key was still under the mat.” She twirled a strand of hair with her finger. “The Sheriff’s Department is probably over at the Sleepy Time right now trying to figure out what happened to you and your belongings.”

He slowly pushed himself upright and leaned against the back of the foldout couch.

She set a tray on his lap before placing a covered Styrofoam cup on it. “I have some codeine upstairs from Daddy’s knee surgery. That’ll help the pain.”

He grabbed her arm. “What does he know about me?”

She scowled. “Nothing.”

“Good.”

She pulled a plastic spoon and crackers from the pocket of the scrubs she still wore. “You’d get along great with Daddy. You two are a lot alike. I’ll introduce you one of these days.”

He worked the lid off the soup. “I can’t stay here. You have to drive me to Mexico. We’ll leave tonight.”

***

Kate rested her elbow on the wheelchair arm. “What did Deputy Caldwell say?”

Dymple gripped the railing. “All that excitement at the house was because they found tire prints at the entrance to the drive.”

“Plenty of people use your driveway.”

“Yes, but not everyone runs studs on their vehicle in the summer.”

“What does that mean?” Kate watched a canoe drift silently below them.

“Whose pickup always has studded tires, no matter the season?”

“How would I …? Oh.” She stared at Dymple. “Mike, Mike Duncan. But he’s driven into your driveway dozens of times.”

“That’s what I told the deputies. But, from what I got out of Bernie’s babbling, he thinks he can prove from the boot prints and the tire tracks that Mike met you in my backyard to do a drug deal.”

“What?” Kate gaped at her. “That’s nuts. I’ve done my share of dealing, but Mike doesn’t have a clue—”

“Exactly what I told them, except the part about you. I have to admit, the tire tracks are as obvious as the boot prints.” She sighed. “Bernie wanted me to press charges, but I refused. I find it hard to believe Mike would have a clandestine meeting of any sort, especially in my backyard.”

“How did he react when you said you wouldn’t do it?”

Dymple sniggered. “His face turned red, and he started sputtering. Then he said he didn’t need a complaint. He’d just add the evidence to what he’d found at the ranch, including proof you’ve been killing buffalo for Mike.”

“That’s insane. I didn’t … I couldn’t …” Kate groaned. “How do I stop this crazy train from dragging us all over the cliff?”

For a long time, neither woman spoke. A pair of hawks circled above the river, their shrill, high-pitched calls echoing between the mountains.

Dymple sighed. “You can’t stop it, Kate. Neither can I.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“Yes, there is.” She took both of Kate’s hands and bowed her head. Her braid slipped over her shoulder to hang in front of Kate’s face. “Oh, God, we are helpless sheep who need your shepherding. And so do the Duncans. Satan is trying to steal our joy and our peace. But you can bring faith out of fear, joy out of sorrow, sanity out of insanity, and good out of Elvis.”

Kate scrunched her face tight to contain the grin that threatened to give way to a chuckle and ruin Dymple’s earnest prayer for evil Elvis.

“Lord, we are straining at the bit to be done with this struggle.” Dymple released one of Kate’s hands to raise her own above her head. “Help us rely on your perfect plan and wait on your perfect timing. In the meantime, dip us deep into your living water. Wash away the dirt. Fill us with your Spirit. Quench our thirst for peace. May each of us come through this ordeal shining like you, our Morning Star, and singing your praises for all the world to hear. Amen.”

***

“Of course you can drive me to Mexico. You have that great big yellow tank parked outside the door.”

Tara caressed his shoulder. “But we can’t be partners if you’re in Mexico and I’m in Wyoming, Jer.”

“We can’t be partners if I stay here. They’ll find me and throw me back in jail. You have to move to Mexico with me.”

She popped the tops on two beer cans before handing him one. “What if I told you I know a place where nobody will
ever
find you?”

He glanced up at the tiny, street-level window covered by a short curtain. “I can’t stay in this basement forever.”

“I’ve got a much safer place in mind.”

He tipped his head back, sipping the beer and studying her face, his eyelids low. “Yeah?”

“Our ranch has a cabin way back in the hills where nobody ever goes. It’s old but in good condition.”

“Trying to turn me into a hermit?”

“I think you’d make a fabulous mountain man. It would be a great disguise.” She looked him up and down. “Grow a beard; let your hair get long, stop using that goop …”

His eyelids narrowed.

She batted her eyelashes. “Just joking. But I’m serious about the cabin. You’d be safe there.”

“And what would I do for food? Rip rabbits apart with my bare hands?”

Her face contorted. “Of course not. I’d take food to you, but you could shoot squirrels and deer and other animals, if you wanted.”

He swore again and slugged the mattress. “They took it.”

She jerked back. “Who took what?”

“My gun. The sheriff confiscated my gun
and
my truck.” He clutched the bedding. “That pistol was brand new. I only got to use it once.”

“Do I dare ask how you used the gun?”

“On a buffalo.” He stuck out his chest. “One shot sent it straight to its knees. Most fun I ever had.”

She stood up, hands on her hips. “Are you telling me you killed one of Michael’s bison?”

“It was a buffalo in Nebraska.” He stopped. “What’s it to you? We’re partners now. You’re done with Duncan.”

She cocked her head. “I have a plan—”

He threw his empty beer can at her. “I’m sick of you and your harebrained plans.”

She sidestepped the can. “You can listen to my
harebrained
plan, Jerry Ramsey, or I can walk upstairs, out the front door of my store, and across the street to the police station.” Her lips twitched. “Might even be able to claim a nice bundle of reward money for myself.”

Chapter Thirty

RAMSEY GRITTED HIS TEETH.
“So, Sharon, what’s this plan of yours?” He would listen, but he’d do things his way—after he got his strength back.

Tara stood, arms folded. She glowered at him. “We need to get one thing straight—or this partnership will never last.”

He sneered and looked her up and down. “Never said I wanted to be your partner.”

She ignored him. “My name.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s
Tara
.” She spelled it out. “T-a-r-a. Can you remember that?”

He grunted. “‘Course I can.”

“Then you do that.” She hesitated, apparently waiting for more.

“Sit down.”

She sat on the end of the bed. “About the plan—it’s a big one with potential for plenty of cash.”

He felt a surge of interest.

“Daddy and I have been working on this for a long time. The pieces are about to fall into place, except for a couple glitches. That’s where you come in.”

He stuck his index fingernail between his teeth and began to chew.

“My grandpa was a really smart banker who knew how to acquire property. Every time a local rancher got into financial trouble, he bought their land cheap, so they wouldn’t have to foreclose. He’s the reason I got interested in real estate. Anyway, after arranging a few deals to make sure all his land was contiguous, he created one of the largest ranches in the region.”

Ramsey settled into his pillows. This was beginning to sound interesting.

“Grandpa died years ago. My father owns the ranch now.” She sat tall, eyes bright. “Daddy does cattle ranching like most everyone else around here, but he also wants to stock our place with exotics—”

He interrupted her. “Exotics?” Strip-dancers on the ranch could bring in plenty of cash, but what did they have to do with cattle?

“Exotics are animals you don’t normally see in America. Wealthy hunters will pay big bucks to bag trophy heads for their walls.”

“You mean lions and tigers?”

“No. We’ll have animals that can’t climb trees or jump the fences. Gazelle, wildebeest, giraffe, zebra, kangaroo, emu, ostrich, camel—maybe wild boar or possibly javelina, even though they live in the U.S. in desert places like Texas and Arizona.” She took a quick breath.

“And who knows what else. Daddy wants a herd of buffalo, but he doesn’t want them fenced inside little pastures like Michael’s bison. He wants them to roam free, the way they do in Yellowstone Park, so hunters feel like they’re actually chasing down their prey. They might even get to see a stampede.”

“Besides the exotics, sportsmen could shoot the animals that live around here.” She used her fingers to list them. “Bears, coyotes, mule deer, elk, moose, antelope, pheasant, grouse, wild turkey—” She leaned forward. “I hear wolves have returned to this area. Isn’t that exciting? Wolves would really suck in the hunters.”