Chapter 2
There were times when Bram hated his job. Rarely, as he’d wanted to serve in law enforcement his entire life, but today was one of those loathe-my-work days. Shooting stray dogs was wrong. They didn’t have rabies. Hadn’t bitten anyone. No threat to domestic animals. Not chasing wildlife. The dogs just needed a good home, but Sam wouldn’t listen. The owner had been sent several letters with citations for letting the dogs run and for lack of rabies vaccinations, but she hadn’t bothered to show up in court. The sheriff had given Bram the court orders for the dogs’ destruction. He’d spent the entire drive from St. Anthony trying to figure out a solution. Sadly, only Sam could reverse the decision.
Dispatch alerted him to the earthquake as he pulled up in front of Sam’s Mercantile. Nothing seemed to be disturbed, and the usual group of guests waited outside the store for transport to Mule Shoe. He pulled out a file and looked at a photograph, then compared it to the two dogs lying under a pine. The big dog was memorable and a perfect match. Unfortunately.
He backed into a parking spot, straightened his uniform, and stepped from his cruiser. The black Lab mix spotted him and raced in his direction. Was this dog attacking? How could the dog know why he had come? He reached for his pistol as the lab launched herself at him, placed two dusty paws on his chest, and landed a sloppy, wet tongue across his cheek.
“Uck! Down.” He pushed the eager canine off, then brushed the dirt from his crisply pressed uniform. Small black hairs had managed to tangle in the material. He plucked them out as he strolled into the store. He knew where the restroom was and aimed for it, where he grabbed a paper towel and wiped the dog slobber off his cheek. A quick inspection showed most of the canine’s damage had been taken care of. He returned to the store. The earthquake had sent a variety of cans to the floor. He reshelved them as he passed, making sure the labels were turned outward and they were evenly placed. The Campbell’s and Progresso soups had been mixed together.
He resisted the urge to rearrange the display, turned, and spotted her. Thick, shoulder-length, light-brown hair, perfectly brushed. Flawless complexion. Slender but well-toned body. Large eyes behind oversized glasses. The glasses put him off slightly, but they didn’t seem to be overly thick. She looked like a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Demi Moore.
“Hello there. I’m Bram White,” he blurted.
He knew she was a guest, she’d soon be heading up to the ranch, and she was in a financial stratosphere out of his reach. The cost of staying at the Mule Shoe was almost a thousand dollars a night. But for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to get to know a woman. This woman.
* * *
The loud clang of the cowbell over the door took everyone’s attention away from my checkbook. A young man in his early twenties entered wheeling a handcart of crated sodas. “Hi, all, your friendly neighborhood Coke dealer is here.” He grinned at his wit, but his smile faded when he looked around. “Someone die?”
“Not now, Liam,” Sam said without looking at him.
The young man wheeled his load to the old cooler and began stocking the unit.
The cowbell rang again and a lanky man in his late thirties strolled into the store. His worn jeans, battered cowboy boots, freshly pressed blue-plaid shirt, and Stetson hat reminded me of a young Sam Elliott. He stopped as soon as he entered and looked from face to face. His gaze finally arrived at me. Nodding slightly, he touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am. Time to leave for the Mule Shoe.” Underneath his bushy mustache, he seemed to be smiling.
“Ran into a bit of a problem here, Wyatt,” Bram said to the wrangler.
“That so?” Wyatt waited.
Everyone spoke at once. “I think you should—”
“This is just a—”
“You’ve come to the wrong—”
Bram raised his hands, then glanced at my tightly clutched checkbook and pen. “This may take some sorting out. Wyatt, why don’t you take the other guests and their luggage to the ranch. I’ll see to it Miss Graham gets there before dinner.”
Wyatt raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth as if to say something, then touched his brim again and left.
Bram stepped over to the counter. “Sam, seems you have a good solution for your dog problem. Why don’t you settle Shadow Woman’s account and let her take them? I don’t particularly like shooting innocent pets, with or without a court order.”
Sam jabbed his finger at the officer. “Yeah, but I got that court order. I’m within my rights—”
“No one’s saying you don’t have the authority,” Bram said. “But if the press gets hold of this, well, you know folks won’t be breaking their legs to shop at your store.”
Sam scratched his jaw and glanced around.
“I’ll double what Shadow Woman owes you,” I said.
The words had barely left my mouth when Sam headed for the counter. He reached under, yanked out a file, and opened it. Julia gave him a disgusted look and went back to replacing cans.
“The old lady’s balance as of six months ago was two hundred fifty-seven dollars and forty-two cents. Her check for that amount bounced, as I’m sure you heard.” He shot Julia a nasty glance. “The dog food, at forty-six eighty-five a month for six months—”
“Three months,” I said. “You stopped feeding them a while back.”
Sam didn’t bother looking up. “So, three hundred ninety-seven dollars and ninety-seven cents doubled is . . . seven hundred ninety-five dollars and ninety-four cents.” This time he looked at me and smirked.
I wanted to punch him into Turkey or France but instead opened my checkbook, grateful that no one could see my shaking hand. I had the money, thanks to the disability payments, but I was supposed to be invisible. Now I had everyone’s attention.
After writing the check, I handed it to Sam, then stepped away from him. I knew my limp would be more pronounced. It always was when people were watching me. And Bram was watching.
Why should I care that Bram was watching? News flash, officer, this model comes dinged, shopworn, and as is.
“I’ve added another fifty dollars for dog food to take with me.” I turned to the deputy. “Looks like there will be three of us heading up to the Mule Shoe.”
Bram grinned at me.
He didn’t get the “shopworn” memo.
“Sam, can I borrow your wagon?”
Or maybe he did. “I’m perfectly capable of riding a horse.” I tamped down the unwelcome memory of my competitive horseback-riding days. I hadn’t been on a horse, let alone raced around any barrels, roped a single calf, or done any other timed event, for five years. I wasn’t even sure if I could stay on a horse.
“You might be, but fifty pounds of dog food, not to mention the food dishes and bones Sam is about to give you, won’t fit on the back of a horse.”
“I think the dogs and I can manage.”
“But there’s more.” Bram glanced at Sam. “Since Miss Graham paid Shadow Woman’s bill, you need to give her the scrip.”
“Script?” Julia paused her tidying up.
“Scrip. No t,” I said to her. Stop showing off.
Bram rubbed his mouth to hide his grin, then said to me, “Shadow Woman used her drawings in lieu of money—”
“A practice called scrip, which is a substitute for legal tender,” I said to Julia. Her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yes,” Bram said, “at least for the past year or so. You made that suggestion, right, Sam? So because Darby here has paid her bill, she gets the art. Right again, Sam?”
Sam walked stiff-legged into a back room, returning shortly with an oversized battered file folder. “Here.” He shoved it in my direction.
“One more.” Bram pointed at the drawing on the wall.
Sam took it down and shoved it into the file folder.
“There’s another two small drawings in the phone book.” Julia gave Sam a defiant look.
“Who said you—” Sam slammed his hand on the counter and glared
at the clerk.
“She needed food, you were gone, and you know how she could become crazy-mad at the drop of a hat.” Julia put her hands on her hips.
Bram ignored both of them and stepped into the back room. He returned with an old phone book, which he handed to me.
Sam looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. He finally sputtered, “I’ll go hitch up the wagon.”
Bram grinned.
Crash!
I jumped.
Julia had dropped several cans.
Bram turned and headed toward her. The woman gave me a snarky grin.
I wiggled my fingers at her as I aimed for the door. “Vous avez de la saleté sur le nez, arkadaşım,” I said in French and Turkish. You have dirt on your nose, my friend.
Now I really am showing off. If Julia had her sights on Bram, she had nothing to fear from me.
The dogs were stretched out under a pine but rose when I appeared. I sat on the edge of the wooden sidewalk and let them approach and check me out on their terms. Holly, the Lab mix, wasted no time establishing her eagerness to become my dog. She sat beside me, leaned close, and wagged her tail in the dirt so hard she created a cloud of dust. Maverick stood back and watched.
“I don’t blame you, big guy,” I whispered. “I’m a bit wary of strangers as well.” Now that I could see him clearly, I noted a crumpled ear, healed scars across his muzzle, and a missing patch of fur on his side. “Looks like you’re as battered as I am. Well, we’ll do our work here, then we’ll head back home to Clan Firinn.”
The young deliveryman exited the store.
I concentrated on the dogs, hoping he wouldn’t come over.
“Hey there.”
No such luck.
Holly shot toward him. I turned. He’d parked his handcart beside the door and was talking to the dogs. Maverick stood back and watched. “Hi there, fella.” The Anatolian remained out of reach. The man produced two dog biscuits. Holly snatched hers from his hand and raced away. He placed Maverick’s cookie on the porch and moved backward. The dog kept his eyes on the man as he gingerly picked up his treat, then sauntered to a nearby tree.
“I’m Liam Turner.”
I nodded at him.
“I heard what you did for Shadow Woman’s dogs. I didn’t realize what Sam was planning, or that he’d stopped feeding them. I would have taken them . . . well, I would have taken them once I got my own place. My mom doesn’t like dogs.”
“You live with your mother?”
“For now. Say, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, maybe we can have a few beers together? Things are usually pretty quiet at Mule Shoe in the evenings. Do you like bro-country music?”
“Bro-country? A country music subgenre about pickups, beautiful women, partying, and the consumption of beer?”
“Yeah!”
“So tempting, so very tempting, but alas, I’ll be penning memorable squibs.”
“Ah. Okay. Well, keep me in mind. Anyway . . . um . . . thanks.” He swung away, then turned back. “You look familiar. Have you been to Mule Shoe before?”
Before I had to answer, a wagon prominently labeled Sam’s Mercantile came around the corner, pulled by a chestnut Belgian draft horse with flaxen mane and tail. The dogs scattered. Sam got down from the high seat. “Don’t you have to be somewhere, Liam?”
Liam’s eyebrows drew together. “Just leaving.” He grabbed the cart and stalked away.
“Good luck getting those dogs to go anywhere with you. And remember, if they stay here I got a court order to shoot ’em. And you’re not getting your money back.” He stomped into the store.
“He’s just one step away,” I whispered, “from calling out the flying monkeys.”
Alone on the street, I walked over to the Belgian and stroked his silky nose. The horse nodded and gave a soft nicker. “I’m sorry I don’t have a carrot or apple for you. I didn’t pack for organically powered transportation.” I moved to the wagon. The bed was high, and climbing up would be awkward, but I didn’t want, or need, help. Or sympathy. I tucked the folder of drawings into the bag of information on Mule Shoe, then placed the bag and my purse on the wooden bed. I scrambled up and had just settled in when Bram appeared with a bag of dog food over his shoulder. Julia followed with an array of food dishes, water buckets, and dog treats. Bram effortlessly dropped the kibble onto the wagon bed next to me, then took the items from Julia and added them to the supplies.
“I’m not sure how you’re going to get the dogs to follow you.” He moved toward the spring seat.
“Holly. Maverick,” I called.
The two dogs trotted over and leaped into the wagon bed beside me.
“Well I’ll be!” Bram scratched his head, then climbed into the seat.
“You don’t have to take me to Mule Shoe—”
“Ah, but I want to. And I’m officially off-duty. Sure you don’t want to sit up here with me?” He patted the seat.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m fine. I’ll use the time to ponder the most captivating hook to a bro-country song. ‘Chew tobacco, spit’ kinda tugs at my heart.” I really wasn’t fine. Though Maverick was pressed against the wagon as far from me as he could get, Holly had sprawled across my lap. The bed was as hard as cement and the evening was starting to get cold.
Bram clicked his tongue at the horse and we headed up a steep trail into the mountains. I held on to the side of the wagon until we crested the first hill, then the road leveled somewhat.
The mountains marched into the distance like a stack of torn paper, each layer lighter than the previous one, ranging from deep viridian to soft lavender. The struts creaked in rhythm with the clop, clop, clop of the horse.
Thin air from the almost-eight-thousand-foot elevation carried the scent of pine needles . . . and something else. I inhaled deeply. Smoke. “Is there a forest fire around here?”
Bram turned, then sniffed the air. Pulling up the horse, he stood, looked around, then checked his watch. “Right on time. Dirtbag.”
“Excuse me?”
He sat down and clicked at the horse before answering. “It’s not a forest fire. Don’t worry. We should be arriving at the ranch soon.”
Not a forest fire, and he checked his watch. “So Targhee Falls has a serial arsonist?”
Bram whipped around so fast he startled the dogs. “What? How did you know? Have you been reading the papers? Online news?”
Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? “You said as much. ‘Not a forest fire’ means another kind of fire. ‘Dirtbag’ means an individual. ‘Right on time’ means this has happened before, and probably fairly often. All that pointed to an individual setting fires.”
“Are you Sherlock Holmes disguised as . . . as Audrey Hepburn?”
“Hardly.”
He fell silent as if I might clarify. I made a point of scratching Holly behind the ear. The happy canine rewarded me with a sloppy lick on the wrist.
We climbed at a steady pace before passing through a narrow, rock-lined passage only slightly wider than the wagon. Beyond it, the road seemed to cling to the mountain with a sheer wall on my right and a dizzying drop on the left. It reminded me of Glacier Park’s Going-to-the-Sun Road, but without the low retaining wall. I closed my eyes and held on to Holly.
“You can open your eyes now.” Bram’s voice held a lilt of humor.
Tell him you were just resting your eyes.
“Don’t tell me you were just resting your eyes.”
My mouth dropped open and I gawked at him.
He grinned. “You may be Sherlock, but I’m a mind reader.” He urged the horse to move a bit faster. “Actually, everyone gets a bit queasy as we go through the Devil’s Keyhole—that’s the narrow spot back there—and over Devil’s Pass.”
“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”
He didn’t answer.
Significant pause? What was he holding back? “Isn’t it?”
/> “Um . . . one would need to be careful, of course.”
My neck itched. “I see. And at some point, ‘one’ wasn’t careful.”
He glanced at me before returning his attention to the road. “Has anyone ever said you’re spooky-accurate catching verbal clues?”
My stomach gave a small lurch. I was inaccurate once, and it had cost me everything.
And I was supposed to be undercover.
He clicked at the horse. “About six months ago a couple of hikers probably tried to climb up, or maybe down, the cliff side of the pass. They didn’t have the proper gear. Their bodies wouldn’t have been found for quite some time, but thanks to an observant fish and game officer looking for some poachers, they were discovered before . . . um . . .”
“Before?”
“The critters had time to get to them and drag them off.”
I tried to keep my too-vivid imagination from running wild.
Without a case outline defining what Scott wanted me to do, I wasn’t sure what questions, if any, I should be asking the deputy. And I was pretty sure he’d pick up on even the slightest indication that I was anything more than a tourist.
The grassy road started a gentle downward angle, and the burble of a fast-moving stream grew louder. Soon we were level with the small river. The road widened, then opened to a lush green meadow. We stopped at a rustic gate with a log arch holding a Mule Shoe Ranch sign. While Bram opened the gate, curious horses in the nearby pasture gathered at the fence to check us out. Soon after we passed through, a large log-and-stone lodge appeared on the left. An unpainted barn in shades of gray-brown lay ahead, and a series of small cabins were on the right. Steep, pine-covered mountains pressed in on all sides, framing the idyllic scene.
“The lodge is the center of the resort.” He pointed left. “Inside is the dining hall, gift shop, classroom, and lobby. Behind the lodge are the staff quarters, which you can’t see from here. Guest cabins are over there.” He nodded right. “You should have your cabin assignment inside that bag Sam gave you. We can drop the dogs and food at your cabin, then go to the lodge. Dinner will be served soon.”
Woman in Shadow Page 2
