Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (38 page)

Kate shook her head. “Nothing has made sense since I came to Wyoming.” She paused. “What was it that led Tara to my car?”

“Looked like a computer to me.”

“I know computers do amazing things, but how could it find my car?”

“Beats me.”

Kate rubbed the newly exposed flesh on her knee. “You know Tara will tell everyone from here to Copperville and beyond that I’m in jail.”

Dymple brushed a strand of hair away from Kate’s eyes. “No matter what rumors she spreads, sweetie, there’s a verse in the Bible that says men look at outward appearances, but God sees our hearts. He knows your heart, Kate. You
will
be vindicated. He also knows Tara’s heart. We don’t know what her role is in all of this, but there’ll be consequences for her vile behavior.”

Kate took the map. “I think I’d better fold this for you before you ruin it.”

“Shall we try again to see your car?”

“Might as well. We’re here.”

Dymple made a second U-turn and drove around the block again. She stopped where Tara had parked—across from the impound lot. Kate’s Honda sat in the middle of the asphalt surrounded by boxes and suitcases. A man in a beige uniform was digging through an open a carton.

Kate blew air between her lips. “Something about seeing my possessions scattered around a parking lot outside a sheriff’s department gives me a funny feeling. I hope it’s an allegorical expression of my life, not prophetical.”

“I’ll ask the sheriff what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Kate placed her hand on Dymple’s arm. “They’re obviously searching for something. Probably drugs, which they won’t find.”

“Unless someone planted them in your car.”

Kate groaned. “You’re right. There’s always that possibility.” Moths began to thrash in her stomach.

Dymple parked near the front of the building. “I’ll be right back.”

Kate watched her friend limp away, glad Dymple hadn’t asked her to go inside with her. If she’d gone in, she might not have come out. She looked at the two rows of small, evenly spaced windows on the side of the building, windows so tiny no human could crawl through them. That had to be where the jail cells were located. Thank God she was on the outside.

She sucked in a breath and grabbed the dashboard. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Now that she no longer used a wheelchair, the sheriff was free to take her off house arrest and put her in jail. The moths became mallets beating against her ribcage. Where could she run? Where could she hide? She reached for the door handle. If she could somehow get to her car …

Dymple emerged from the building, her face grim.

***

Mike’s stomach turned. Watching a second cow die was no easier than seeing the first one go down. Ignoring the turmoil in his stomach, he turned to the twins, but they were gone. Hearing a whimper, he looked around.

The women had sunk to the ground. They leaned on each other, freckles flaring against their pale, wrinkled faces.

He knelt before them. “Are you ladies okay?”

Minnie fanned her sister with her hat. “He killed that poor buffalo.”

Mike kept his voice gentle. “That’s what hunting is all about.”

“I know. I just didn’t think …”

Mamie sat up. “What will happen to it now?”

“We’ll take it to Rawlins to be butchered.”

Their faces contorted, and they pulled each other close again.

Buck walked over. “When can I get a closer look at her?”

“When we take in the loader and flatbed to retrieve the carcass.”

“The ranch can have the meat. All I want is the head and horns.”

Mike thought of yesterday’s dead buffalo sitting at the processing plant. “How about you donate it to the homeless shelter in Rawlins?”

Buck slapped him on the shoulder. “Great idea.”

Clint, who’d been watching the herd for reactions to the gunshot, turned to the group. “Are you ready for target practice, ladies?”

Mamie and Minnie looked at each other. “No, thank you.” Mamie brushed dirt from the knee of her green pants. “I couldn’t kill one of those amazing animals.”

Minnie straightened her hat and raised her chin. “At least we can tell our friends we went on a buffalo hunt.”

Mamie smiled. “That’s right.”

Clint winked at Mike as they helped the twins to their feet.

***

Kate held her breath, her heart thumping so hard she felt like she was shaking the Jeep. Whatever Dymple had to say, it wasn’t good. But she didn’t have an officer with her, so maybe …

Dymple opened the driver-side door but stood beside the Jeep without speaking.

Kate made herself ask. “Do they want me to go inside?” Was this her last free moment of life, her last breath of air outside penitentiary walls?

Dymple got into the Jeep and took Kate’s trembling hand. “I’m sorry to scare you. This old noggin just had a couple major jolts.”

“What did the sheriff say?”

“First of all, yes, your car is being searched, a second time. The first time, they found your cell phone charger and heard suspicious messages on your phone, which he says confirmed some e-mail messages.”

Kate swallowed. She knew that would happen.

“Then drips were discovered in your cabin up at the Whispering Pines, so they decided to go through your car again.”

“Why would the Sheriff’s Department care about drips in my cabin?”

Dymple harrumphed. “I meant to say
drugs
.”

“That can’t be. I’ve been clean for more than five years.”

“I believe you, Kate. I don’t know if I would recognize drugs if I saw them, but I didn’t see anything unusual when I packed your things. However, the sheriff says his deputies found contraband in every room of the cabin.”

Kate moaned. It was true. She was going to spend the rest of her life behind bars.

“I hate to say it, but there’s more bad news, sweetie.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more.” Her chest felt frozen, as if her organs had given up and stopped working.

“Gerald Ramsey escaped.”

Kate’s gaze flashed to the tiny windows just below the roofline of the building. “That’s impossible.”

***

Ramsey watched game shows, drank the two remaining beers from the six-pack, and smoked while Tara chatted with customers upstairs. The ceiling creaked with the weight of shoppers wandering the store above him. About to doze off, he sat up when his picture flashed across the television screen. Using the remote, he turned up the volume.

“We interrupt this program for a community service announcement.” The announcer was male. “Just moments ago, the Carbon County Sheriff’s Department issued an ‘inmate escape alert.’”

He stared at his mug shot, which filled the screen.

Speaking rapidly, the man listed his name—Gerald Ramsey—and description. Race: Caucasian. Age: thirty-seven. Weight: 162. Height: five feet, nine inches. Eyes: gray. Hair: black.

Ramsey sneered. Not anymore.

The announcer continued. “Secure your homes. Do not pick up hitchhikers. Do not open your door to strangers. Keep your children in view at all times.”

Ramsey drove his fist into the air. “Yeah!” He was famous. He was on TV. He was feared.

Tara came tripping down the stairs just as the newscast ended. Before he could tell her he was a celebrity, she picked up a knife from the end table. “Where did this come from?”

“My suitcase. That’s the one you gave me, remember?”

“I thought it looked familiar.” She hesitated. “Why do you have it out?”

He heard the hint of fright in her voice. Respect was coming at him from all directions. “You never know when you’ll need a weapon.” He fastened his gaze on hers and held it until she dropped the knife where she found it.

She stepped into the bathroom. “I came down to check my lipstick.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

IT WAS LATE BY
the time Mike tiptoed into his bedroom, boots in hand. He set them in a corner and fell onto the bed, too tired to undress. After a moment, he raised his head, realizing for the first time that the loud snores came from the guest room, not his parents’ bedroom. For a moment, he’d been back in high school, when he’d slip into the house with his father’s noisy breathing in the background. Too bad it was Aunt Judith instead of Dad.

The hinges squeaked and his mom’s concerned face, illuminated by moonlight, peered around the door. Yep, just like high school. “Mom.” He kept his voice low. “I tried not to wake you.”

She stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. “You didn’t wake me.” Her voice was hushed. “When you didn’t answer your radio this evening, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Sorry.” Fearing a call would alert the person they were trailing, he’d turned off his two-way. “After Chuck shot the bison cow this morning, Clint checked the fence and found the upper gate down again. So we took horses up there and went looking for stray bison. Ended up going farther than expected.”

She waited, obviously expecting to hear more.

He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

She squeezed his toes. “You look bone tired. I’ll let you get to sleep. Just wanted to remind you about tomorrow’s parade.”

He grunted. “I forgot all about it. I’m supposed to meet the band for a practice before it starts.”

She patted his toes and turned to go.

“I hope Aunt Judith’s snoring doesn’t keep you awake, Mom.”

She smiled. “I kind of like it. She sounds just like your father.”

Long after his mom left the room, Mike stared at the ceiling, listening to his aunt’s rhythmic inhalations. They’d found three buffalo grazing several hundred yards from the pasture and had with excruciating slowness guided them back inside the fence. Then they’d searched the forest for more strays as they followed the ATV trail, which led to the Hughes headquarters on the other side of the mountain. Nestled by the river in a copse of cottonwoods, the ranch appeared innocent, even idyllic in the twilight.

He and Clint were standing at the edge of the grove, reins in hand, debating their next step, when they heard voices. They’d secured the horses and tiptoed toward to the nearest outbuilding, where a flashlight flickered behind a dirty window and vague forms moved about.

“You need to pay me a lot more if you want me to keep doing your dirty work.” The voice was male—a familiar but muffled voice he couldn’t place.

Mike unbuttoned his shirt, pushed the pillow away and flipped onto his stomach. Did he really recognize the voice, or was it his imagination?

Then another man had spoken. “We’ll talk about that later. You said this engine’s running rough. Start it up, so we can take a listen.”

The sound of a small motor coming to life had startled a flock of birds roosting in the treetops. They’d risen
en masse
to fly in circles above the trees, loudly voicing their disapproval.

That’s when he’d nudged Clint. “Good time to make our exit.”

Though it was dark, he’d seen Clint’s disbelief. “But don’t you want to know who it is?”

Mike turned on his side and punched the pillow into a wad under his neck. Maybe they should have gotten closer. But what if they’d been caught? Clint didn’t know about his boot prints at Dymple’s house or Bernie’s investigation. He turned to his other side. He’d never be able to explain a second instance of sneaking onto other people’s property to peek in their windows.

Not that he’d been charged with anything–yet, probably because the boots Caldwell took were the wrong ones. Thank God he hadn’t found the muddy pair on the deck. But the size matched, and Bernie, being Bernie, would eventually put two and two together.

***

Dymple drove Kate to Copperville early the next morning. When they crossed the river, she patted Kate’s leg. “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. You know people are going to ask where I’ve been. They’ll wonder why I dropped out of sight right after the accident—and right after the Duncans’ money was stolen. I’m not sure how I’ll answer them.” She sighed. “Plus, there could be rumors circulating about my past, thanks to Ramsey’s presence in the area. Sometimes I feel like I have
ex-con
plastered across my forehead.”

Dymple slowed for pedestrians carrying lawn chairs. “You can be like the moon when it slips behind dark clouds, Kate. You can allow your fear of exposure to obscure your beautiful personality and the joy of Jesus in your life, or you can pry the clouds apart to let his light shine through. Don’t worry about what others might be thinking today. Just have fun, sing your heart out and share your sweet smile with everyone you see.”

Kate squeezed Dymple’s hand. “What would I do without you to keep my head screwed on straight?”

Tractors and trucks hitched to elaborate floats were lining up along the street, and a high-school band congregated in a grassy area just off Main Street. Dymple maneuvered the Jeep between skittish horses and antique cars, searching for the Highway Haven entry. They’d almost made it to the other end of the street when a parade official stopped them and told Dymple she’d have to park her car.

Dymple pointed to Kate. “This young woman is on crutches. She can’t—”

Kate opened her door. “I’ll be fine. You need to find a place for your folding chair before the crowd gets too big and you have to stand.” She closed the door and found herself in the middle of a group of people, some with children on their shoulders, who’d surrounded a truck with buffalo calves penned in the back—and a Whispering Pines banner on the side. One of the calves let out a loud bawl as Dymple drove away.

Kate’s heart jumped to her throat.
Trudy.
But then she remembered. Trudy was dead.

“Kate, we thought you moved away.”

Engulfed in a double hug by Bethany and Trisha, Kate almost lost her balance, but she hugged back as best she could with crutches in her armpits. “I’m so glad to see you two.”

“Did you just get out of the hospital?” Trisha asked.

“I’ve been out for a while.”

She pointed to Kate’s wrist. “Where did you get that gorgeous bracelet?”

Kate lifted her arm so that sunlight sparkled off the stones. “From a very special man.”