by Dana Mentink
Focus on Grandpa. Get out of here.
Still, there was something so warm in Keegan’s touch. She allowed herself to feel comfort in it, the solace of knowing he wanted to protect her. It was a new feeling, both delicious and unsettling.
He grinned widely. “Yes, ma’am, we’re friends. I mean, you tried to shoot me and all, but once we got that out of the way, we bonded like two horses in a snowstorm.”
“I...shot at you?” She gazed in horror at his arm. “Did I do that?”
“No, ma’am. No offense, but you’re not that good a shot.”
“I’m not?” she said weakly.
“Nope. You probably couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, as my brother Owen would say.”
Her small giggle surprised her. “That’s exactly what my grandpa Stew would say, too. He’s an old cowboy from way back. When he had to sell his land, it nearly killed him.” She chewed her lip. “He’s arriving tomorrow, Saturday. I have to get out of here to meet him.” She looked around. “My cell phone. Have you seen it? I have to call him. I think I lost it somewhere.”
He leaned down and caught her eyes with his. “You didn’t have one at the train station, but I’ll ask the doctor anyway. Don’t worry. I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be all right.” He winked at her. “I promise, and I always keep my promises.”
How could she believe that? She didn’t even know the man, not really, but she found herself clinging to the idea that Keegan Thorn might be what he said he was: her friend. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend right about now when she seemed to have garnered an enemy in John Larraby.
The doctor stuck his head in, voice stern. “Mr. Thorn, when I said it was time to leave, I meant it.”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Keegan said, giving a lock of her hair a playful tug. “I’ll be right outside, Pockets.”
“Why did you call me that?”
He grinned. “Oh, that’s a story for another day. And trust me, you’re gonna love it.”
Despite his playful words, fatigue and worry pressed down on her as the door closed softly behind him.
* * *
Tracy was released late that afternoon and Keegan was ready. She could not drive for three days due to her head injury, so Keegan took one of the ranch trucks, having discarded the sling as soon as he was out the hospital doors.
“I really think you should come and stay at the Gold Bar,” he said as he opened the passenger door for her. “There’s room. My brother Barrett and his wife, Shelby, are living in her uncle’s house and tending his ranch while he’s in Europe since their own place isn’t done yet. Something about grout and shutters.”
She climbed in gingerly, wincing, and he realized for the first time how petite she was, the top of her head coming only to his collarbone. “I can’t remember much more, but I did recall something to do with celebratory pomanders.”
He chuckled. “Double wedding. Pomanders are for that. Baby coming, too, for Barrett and Shelby.”
“That’s enough without squeezing in an addled stranger.”
He climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re not addled. The doctor says you’re likely going to get your memory back in time.”
She bit her lip, a look of fear flickering through her hazel eyes. Her blond hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing scratches and a bruise along her jawline. Her profile was so delicate, he marveled at it.
Aww, knock it off, Keegan. She just needs someone to keep her safe and get John off her back until she regains her memory—a friend, nothing more.
Keegan had never been short of friends, especially female ones who loved his reckless pursuit of fun and his “barn burner” attitude, as his adopted mother would put it. And that was all he required of his relationships: companionship, shared interests and a zest for adventure. He was too restless to look for anything deeper.
He realized she was looking at him.
“Oh, sorry, did you say something?” he asked.
“No. I’m the quiet type, but I...I mean...” Her fingers twisted together on her lap. “I’m very sorry for shooting at you. I can’t imagine why I did that.”
“Plenty of people would line up to take a shot,” he joked.
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Well, maybe a punch rather than a shot, but you get the drift. I got one particular gang member who would love to lay me flat. Sonny B, he goes by.”
She nodded, more out of politeness than understanding, it seemed. He’d probably scared her.
“I lived a wild youth. I’d like to say I’m reformed, but the jury’s out still.” Exiting the parking lot, he headed for the main road. He’d figured she’d be too well mannered to ask, and he was right.
The winter sun was low in the sky, glaring through the windshield as they drove west, so she pulled down the visor. Three plastic-wrapped sticks of beef jerky fell into her lap.
“Good catch.” He laughed. “Snacks. I’m always hungry. Want one?”
She laughed. “Maybe later. I’d really appreciate a ride to my property, if it’s not too much trouble. It’s up in the foothills.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Give me directions.”
“About seventy miles east. I just bought it two months ago.”
Though he asked a few questions, she kept her answers vague. Didn’t trust him, and maybe she was right not to. Strange guy, strange town, bullets flying and a murder she couldn’t remember.
She toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “Keegan, you’ve been good to me. I don’t want you to think... I mean...what John said about the pills... I was thrown from a horse and I had a series of seizures for a period of time. I didn’t...”
He put his hand on her forearm, surprised at the delicacy of the bones there. He could circle her entire wrist with two fingers, yet she’d fired a gun at him, so the size of her spirit outstripped everything else. “I know you aren’t abusing.”
She looked at him full on. “But how can you know that when you don’t know me, not really?”
Secrets flickered deep down in her eyes and he suddenly realized that her past might just be nearly as complicated as his own. Complications were things he usually avoided, but he felt an urge to dive right in to her messy situation and help.
She didn’t ask, Keegan. Cool your jets.
“Maybe I don’t know you well, but John is a jerk and he’d happily discredit you in order to preserve dear old Dad from embarrassment.”
“He’s a cop, surely...”
“He’s a jerk, trust me.” The words snapped out harsher than he’d meant, so he gave it a beat before he continued. “You were beyond scared when I met you at the train station—terrified because you’d witnessed a murder. And that wasn’t due to alcohol or pills.”
She shot him a nervous glance. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, I do.”
Again the shadows flittered across the hazel irises and she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold. He flipped on the heater.
“But how could there be no sign of it at the center?”
“Because someone is trying to cover it up, and I’m going to find out who that is.”
Tracy straightened. “I appreciate it, I really do, but you’ve done enough. This isn’t your fight.”
“Yes, it is.”
Her jaw went tight. “Please don’t dive into my problems because it’s a way to even the score with your brother.”
Her tone was soft but the words cut right to his core. Was that what he was doing? Why he’d stayed in the hospital after his wounds had been treated?
No, this wasn’t about revenge; it was justice he was after. Justice for both of them.
It was an effort to keep his voice calm. “I’m in this mess because I got shot at, too.” But if my father is covering up with the help of my br
other, he’s not going to get away with it.
He cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here?”
Her gaze drifted to the turnoff that led to the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. A frown creased her forehead. “Can you drop me here instead? I’ll get a ride from here some other way.”
“Nope.”
Her frown deepened. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”
“I know, but I’m going to go with you. I’m helping. I’m awesome like that.” He made the turn, the truck rolling by acres of grass just starting to turn green after the first of the winter storms.
Again she shifted. “Keegan, I’m involved in a mess and I’ll get out of it. By myself. Do you understand?”
He heard his mama’s voice in his head. Don’t be pushy, Keegan. Not everyone gallops through life like you do. Why they didn’t, he couldn’t imagine. Speed, excitement, danger was the stuff that made life worth living, and too much slow contemplation could drive a man crazy.
He heaved out a breath. “This isn’t something you should face alone. You saw a murder and it’s possible the murderer is still there.”
She didn’t answer but he knew she was thinking the same as him.
And he knows who you are.
FIVE
Tracy hopped out of the truck before Keegan could come around to open the door for her. Her brain screamed that she was crazy to go back into the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. Her father’s favorite saying rang in her ears. There’s no way around the trouble but through it.
Chin up, she pushed through the door into the lobby, both anticipating and dreading what her memory would dredge up. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans as two men walked up to greet her. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, his handsomeness undimmed by his sixty-some years, looked up from his conversation. He wore khakis and a long-sleeved sweater, which evidently meant he wasn’t too hands-on with the horses. He glanced from her to Keegan and his smile flickered for a moment.
Keegan said, “This is Tracy Wilson.”
The older man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise. She caught it then, the resemblance between the two in the unguarded expression. Father and son? “I...well, I’m not sure what to say other than I’m glad you are all right, Miss Wilson.”
Tracy’s pulse pounded as she searched her brain for any flash of recognition. “Thank you,” she said faintly. “We exchanged emails. I was... I...I intended to come and see Flight of Fancy, the horse my client is interested in.” How could she possibly remember that fact and forget so many other details? She hoped the exasperation didn’t show.
The other man with Bryce Larraby stepped closer. He had dark, neatly trimmed hair and a close-cut beard, and wore jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt in a soft material. “Mitch Arnold,” he said, extending his hand. He gripped her fingers, one palm covering their joined hands. “Pleased to meet you.”
Bryce recovered. “He’s the bull breeder, supplying the animals for our rodeo event.”
“Best bucking bulls in the country,” Mitch said with a grin.
After another moment he released his grip as a young woman entered from the back room. A mop of curly brown hair framed her full cheeks, gold drop-pearl earrings glinting in the nest of curls. She stopped short when she saw Tracy. “Oh...hi.”
“This is Regina Parker,” Mitch said. “My fiancée. She works in the stables. Regina, this is Tracy Wilson. She’s evaluating Flight of Fancy.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, the bloodstock agent.”
“Yes.” Tracy detected something disapproving in Regina’s tone. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“No. It’s just...well, my brother got ripped off by a bloodstock agent before. Got him a horse with ligament damage and earned a fat fee from it. Disappeared after, of course.”
Tracy kept her smile even. “I’m not that kind of agent. You can check my references if you like. I’m here to see Flight of Fancy.”
Bryce took a step forward. “Of course she’s a quality bloodstock agent, Regina. I love Flight of Fancy. He’s got such personality.” Bryce nodded at Regina. “Bring him to the arena for Miss Wilson now, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Regina said and exited the same way she’d entered.
“This is awkward.” Bryce offered an apologetic smile. “I would rather not bring it up but...” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “The police have been here since Wednesday night and, well, I’m afraid there’s just no sign of any violence.”
Tracy’s face went hot as she caught the look from both men, a look that said she was some sort of nutcase. “I know I saw a murder.” Even if I can’t remember the killer’s face.
“And someone shot at both of us,” Keegan added. “Kinda lends credibility to her report.”
Mitch quirked an eyebrow. “Problem is, we got no body. So who was murdered, exactly?”
With all eyes locked on her, Tracy wished she could sink into the floor. It brought back her miserable high school year when her father had been released from jail, where he’d served time for assaulting his former business partner. The whispers, the looks, the comments like “her dad’s a criminal,” all came rushing back in a wave of shame that made her legs go wobbly.
But she’d forgiven her father, even if her mother couldn’t, and he’d accepted his forgiveness from the Lord. That was the past.
She steeled her spine. “I saw a woman murdered. I can’t remember her face or the killer’s, but I will, and when I do, someone is going to jail.”
Bryce jerked as his phone buzzed. “That’s Regina. The horse is ready for you to look at.” He glanced at Keegan. “I know you’d be pleased as punch if something shady happened here, anything that would tarnish my reputation and the Mother Lode’s, but nothing did. A lot of folks are counting on this horse show for their livelihoods, for the excitement of it and what it brings to our town.”
Keegan shook his head. “Spoken like a true politician with plenty of skin in this game, Mr. Mayor.”
Bryce frowned. “And you, Keegan? Entered into the cutting competition, I noticed.”
“That a problem?”
“No.”
Mitch chuckled. “Family drama. Better than television.”
Keegan stared at him and Mitch held his gaze.
“Just joking, man,” Mitch said. “Don’t take it personally. I got a chip on my shoulder about my old man, too. Comes a point you gotta let it go.”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“I’m only concerned about what impacts my paycheck. Just don’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any, and we’ll all get along fine.”
Bryce and Mitch left together.
Trouble where there wasn’t any? Tracy took in the angry pinch to Keegan’s mouth as he stared after his father and Mitch.
Oh, there’s plenty of trouble here already, she thought—trouble she wanted nothing to do with.
* * *
Tracy strode away a few paces to gather her emotions, Keegan figured. He needed a moment to collect his, as well. Even just being near his father brought it all back: his abandonment of Keegan’s mother, his flat-out accusations that she was a liar until the paternity test proved him to be the father. Keegan had been ten at the time she’d forced the test, the beginning of his mother’s battle against breast cancer. She’d gotten a pittance of child support out of Bryce Larraby by the time she’d lost her life to cancer when Keegan was sixteen. Father Dearest hadn’t even had the decency to attend Keegan’s mother’s funeral.
He forced his fisted hands to relax and went after Tracy.
Standing next to a decorated Christmas tree, she looked even smaller. As he came up next to her, she gasped, arms rigid as if she’d received an electric shock. He wondered for a moment if she was about to have a seizure, so he reached out for her, but she grabbed him first, hands clutching his for
earms, face stark white.
“I remember this tree. Keegan, I remember it.”
He could feel the cold from her fingers seeping through his shirtsleeve. “What exactly? Tell me.”
“I remember running by it. I was scared. Terrified.” Her mouth was tight with the memory. “He was after me—the killer. I brushed by this tree and an ornament fell off and broke. It was a silver ball with gold beads glued onto it. It shattered on the floor.”
“Can you remember his face? The guy who was after you?”
She closed her eyes, breathing hard. After several seconds she opened them, deflated. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
He let her breathe a few times to expel some of the fear before he gently pushed her aside and started hunting around the bottom of the tree. “Maybe there are shards. It won’t be proof enough for the cops, but let me see if I can find a piece to corroborate your details.”
Underneath the tree was a flannel tree skirt in a bright holiday plaid, which concealed a water reservoir. Other than a pile of needles and an ornament hook, he found nothing, no sign that anything had broken.
She studied the branches. The ornaments were laid out at precise intervals, all silver orbs with gold beading, except for one. It was a subtle difference, but the one nearest the bottom was a plain silver ball.
“Someone replaced it,” Tracy said.
Keegan grabbed a tissue from the box on the reception counter and reached for the ornament. “I’ll put it in a bag and have it checked for prints. I have a friend who can do it.”
“No, you won’t.”
They whirled to find John Larraby glowering down at them. “That’s my job. I’ll do it, if you give me a reasonable explanation of why I should bother.”
“I broke it as I ran, and someone hung a new one in its place,” Tracy told the chief.
