by Dana Mentink
“It was my father’s dream. He helped while... I mean, while he was in prison, some of the inmates with expertise were allowed to go work at a horse camp for disabled vets.”
He felt a whisper of tension from behind him. “What was your dad in for? That’s probably nosy, right? So if you don’t want to answer...”
“He assaulted his business partner. They ran a trucking business together and his partner was stealing money. Dad couldn’t prove it, but he went to confront the man and it turned violent. Dad went to jail and the company folded. My mom...she divorced him, cut off any contact. Dad regretted his actions, asked forgiveness when he was released, but he didn’t find it from many people.”
“Except you. That must have meant a lot to him.”
“He got out of prison, but by then he was sick with lung cancer. I went to live with him when I was a high school senior, took care of him until he died. Finished up my schooling, somehow.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Yeah. My classmates were...unkind. They said all manner of things about my father...and me. Ever since, I prefer to be on my own.”
“Is that why there’s no boyfriend or fiancé?”
She laughed, and he realized he’d been extremely nosy once again.
“You do say what’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Sorry,” he said, but he hoped she’d answer in spite of his rudeness.
“I learned that people’s love and loyalty can change like the wind. My friends, my community, even my mother’s love for my dad.” She sighed. “It’s just easier to go it alone.”
He wanted to turn around and hold her close and show her he understood. Completely. “I hear you. My half brother couldn’t slander my mother’s reputation enough. Said she was a gold digger for insisting on a paternity test. She only did it after she feared she wasn’t going to survive the cancer. Wanted me to have something.” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t take any of my so-called father’s money anyway. My mother put what little was left after expenses in the bank, but that’s gonna go to my nieces or nephews. I don’t need his money. It was never about that.”
It was about being acknowledged as something other than a mistake. Inexplicably, he felt moisture building behind his eyelids and he shook away his own idiocy.
“So that’s why there’s no girlfriend? No fiancée?” she teased. He owed her an answer, and he found it was an honest one, rather than his usual flippancy.
“I enjoy the company of women, as friends. Anything more is too risky.” He shrugged. “I’ve met some amazing women in my life, and the last thing I’d want to do is betray one like my father did to my mother.” He’d never before told anyone his fear about emulating Bryce. His own candor surprised him.
“What a pair we are, Keegan. I don’t trust people and you don’t trust yourself.”
“Guess we’re better off alone.” He’d never been sad about the idea until that very moment.
He felt a gentle pressure as she laid her head between his shoulder blades. “My dad always said forgiving the living is hard, but forgiving the dead’s even harder. He went to his grave believing my mother hated him, and part of him felt he deserved it. He didn’t. He tried so hard to make amends.”
Keegan’s father and half brother had never so much as lifted a finger to make amends. Or had they and he’d just never let them?
More idiocy. Annoyed with himself, he let Outlaw pick up the pace, his own drive to end the conversation nearly overwhelming him. Why did her attitude remind him of Bree’s?
Bear one another’s burdens... Bree would have said it, smiled and poked a finger into his chest.
And he would, for anyone else but his half brother and biological father. Anyone else but them. Surely God would understand why. They didn’t care about the harm they’d caused, the burden he carried that steered him away from spectacular women like Tracy.
It’s safer that way. You get half your genes from a lousy excuse for a husband.
He put the thoughts away as he led Outlaw back to the Gold Bar stables.
* * *
Tracy inhaled the rich scent of coffee that drifted along the streets of Gold Bar.
“At least let me buy you a cup of coffee while you wait for your grandfather.” Keegan held the door of the Sunrise Café for her, and she found herself agreeing. She knew it would be best to speedily walk out of Keegan’s life, figure out what to do on her own, but the blue eyes, the warm smile, his touch on her wrist, stopped her. What could one cup of coffee hurt? Even people who chose to go it alone needed company occasionally.
It was like stepping back in time as she followed Keegan across the checkerboard-tiled floor past an aluminum Christmas tree crowded with presents underneath for the staff. The pie case was jammed with holiday favorites: pecan, pumpkin, eggnog custard.
Her phone vibrated as she slid behind him into a booth. “Someone is calling. I don’t recognize the number.” She answered. “Hello?”
There was a click as someone disconnected. She forced down a sense of fear. “Wrong number?”
Keegan frowned. “Probably.”
Tracy sipped her black coffee, puzzling, as Keegan added two creams and a healthy dose of sugar to his mug. She kept an eye on the door for her grandfather.
“What’s he look like?” Keegan asked. “Did you get your gorgeous looks from him?”
She laughed, cheeks warm. Gorgeous? It sounded like a line she’d heard before, but for some reason Keegan said it with such sincerity that the compliment wasn’t easily deflected. “He’s big, tough and grumpy—what you’d expect from an old-school sheep rancher—but he’s a teddy bear inside.”
Keegan laughed. “No doubt.”
The café was suddenly filled with a group of ranch hands, a half dozen men and women, some in jeans, others in coveralls and work boots. She recognized Mitch with his arm around Regina. Bryce Larraby poked his head through the double doors.
“Coffee’s on me for everyone, Meg,” he called to the cashier. “These folks have been working their fingers to the bone.” His gaze traveled over the booths and she thought he started a bit when he caught sight of her and Keegan. He smiled and nodded at them before he headed back out the door. The noise of the crowd ebbed and flowed, and she noticed one bearded man staring at her. He whispered to his friend and jerked a chin in her direction, causing her face to go from warm to hot.
“That’s her,” he heard the man say. “Causing trouble for Bryce. Probably looking for a payout.”
Keegan half rose, fury pinching his mouth.
“Don’t,” she said, clamping a hand on his forearm. “Please.”
He allowed himself to be pulled to his seat, but he kept up a hostile gaze until the man looked away.
Tracy pushed out a breath. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Keep an eye out for my grandfather, okay?”
Keegan nodded. She leaned close and put her lips to his ear. “Keegan, don’t say anything to those men. It will just make things worse. They’re loyal to Bryce Larraby. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s plenty wrong with that,” Keegan muttered, but he kept his seat as she edged out of the booth.
Scooting to the back of the crowd, she hurried to the ladies’ room, letting herself into a stall and standing there, breath tight.
They think...they all think that I made the whole thing up to extort money. She pressed her forehead to the cool metal door of the stall. If she could just remember the face of the killer, some small detail...
She closed her eyes, re-creating the darkened office at the Mother Lode center. An impression of the killer pressed into her senses, chilling her bones, teasing her skin into goose bumps. Someone tall, broad-shouldered, face cloaked in shadows, but enough light for her to see...what? Long hair? Was the killer a woman? Or was her mind mixing up the details of the
killer and victim?
Think. You’ve got to think.
Nothing emerged in her memory but her panicked flight, the broken ornament, running into Keegan at the train station...
And then she flashed on her pulling her father’s gun from her pocket and firing, Keegan emerging from the hole in the floor, unharmed but irate.
What else you got in those pockets? A Winchester? Nunchucks?
A grin lit her face. “So that’s why he calls me Pockets,” she murmured. It wasn’t much progress but at least she’d remembered another small thing.
She was about to fling the stall door open when she heard footsteps on the tile. No need to face down any more hostile strangers. She’d wait until the other occupant was safely locked in a stall before she exited.
But she heard another sound instead: the scrape of a heavy object being pulled along the floor.
Prickles erupted along her skin as she caught the smell of something poisonous, something deadly.
TEN
Keegan sat drinking coffee and listening to Frank Sinatra croon out Christmas carols while the stable workers grabbed their mugs and crowded into the available tables.
Mitch strolled past with Regina tucked into the crook of his arm, though she was almost taller than the bull breeder. Mitch smiled, but Regina did not.
“Morning,” Mitch said.
He returned the greeting. “Got a question for you.”
“You’re full of them, aren’t you?” Regina snapped.
He worked to keep his tone level. “People with nothing to hide don’t mind a few questions.”
Her eyes flashed. “Bryce has nothing to hide, and you’ve caused him crazy amounts of trouble with your accusations that someone was murdered. You just want to punish him because of something that happened when you were a kid. Grow up, Keegan. Lots of people have busted-up families. Isn’t that right, Mitch?”
Mitch’s mouth quirked in irritation. “For sure. My old man thought he was some kind of military hero and his family was a platoon to be ordered around. Regina here...well, you don’t even know your daddy, now do you?”
Regina shrugged. “Bryce has been like a dad to me. He’s a great man.”
Keegan ground his teeth and stared back at her. “This isn’t because he’s my father.”
“Isn’t it?”
Mitch squeezed Regina’s shoulders and gave a forced smile. “Bryce is fine, baby. He can handle it. Everything’s on track for the show. A question or two won’t make a difference.”
Keegan asked quickly while she took a breath to respond. “Who’s Nan Ridley?”
Regina’s mouth snapped closed, as if she’d been surprised by the question.
“Nan?” Mitch squinted in thought. “Oh, wait. She was supposed to be the vet at the horse show. Seemed eager to be there but got a better offer. Quit, I heard.”
“When?”
“Last week sometime, but Bryce would know the exact date. Why are you asking about her?”
Keegan ignored Mitch’s question. “Did you know her?”
Regina shrugged. “Yeah. Not well. Our paths didn’t cross that often and she was kinda snooty.”
Mitch laughed. “You think every female is kinda snooty, especially when they spend time chatting with me.”
Regina flushed. “Maybe if you didn’t go out of your way to be so charming to the ladies.”
He squeezed her close and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s cute that you’re jealous.”
“What did you talk about with her?” Keegan asked Mitch.
“Business. The care and feeding of bucking bulls. She wanted to be sure I was treating them well. I told her, ‘Honey, these animals are my bread and butter. They get treated better than my women.’” He laughed. Keegan noticed Regina did not.
“Anyway, I only spoke to her a couple of times. Seemed nice, efficient in an uptight sort of city-girl way. That’s all I know about Nan, but you could ask around.” He jutted a chin at the stable workers, many of whom were obviously listening to the whole conversation. “But I wouldn’t expect a lot of cooperation if I were you.” His tone turned steely and he leaned closer. “Unlike you, they’ve all got a lot of respect for Bryce.” He flashed another smile. “Enjoy your coffee.”
The room suddenly felt hot, suffocating, filled with people who worshipped Bryce Larraby as some sort of hero. The injustice of it burned. Bryce was a man who had ensnared a vulnerable young woman, gotten her pregnant and refused to acknowledge his offspring until he was legally forced to. And that was all he’d ever done. To date, Bryce had never called him son, only John and his stepsons, Marie’s twins. Why were they worthy of acknowledgment and he was not?
You wouldn’t want it anyway, not from that man. He had a father in Tom Thorn and an amazing mother, parents who were worthier by far than his own blood. So why did it matter what kind of man he was biologically linked to? And if it didn’t matter...why did he let it influence his relationships? All of a sudden, he was unable to sit still for another moment.
He paid for the coffee and headed for the door, figuring he could watch for both Tracy and her grandfather if he stood just outside. The December sunshine blinded him for a moment, and someone bumped into him. He was about to apologize for the contact, though it wasn’t his fault, when he recognized the short, stocky man with the long ponytail snaking out from under a bandanna, the tattooed biceps bulging out of a sleeveless leather vest.
“Hello, Keegan,” Sonny B said.
Keegan bit back a groan. His day was heading right down the sewer. “Sonny, I don’t want trouble.”
“Since when?”
Since I met Tracy Wilson. He was surprised at the thought. Until recently he would not have shied away from trouble, and he might have even welcomed it. But now...well, he had other concerns, trying to give Tracy back the life she deserved. “Look, man, I don’t have a beef with you anymore.”
“Well, maybe I got a beef with you, tough guy.” His fists went up.
Keegan raised his reflexively. “I don’t want to be a part of this. Not now.”
Sonny’s eyes formed slits. “You embarrassed me in front of my boys. Made me look foolish.”
That wasn’t hard to do, he thought but managed to keep the words inside. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough.” Sonny threw a punch, which Keegan easily ducked. People began to gather on the sidewalk, including an older man with a bald head and a wide set of shoulders filling out a worn flannel shirt.
“Seriously, man, I don’t have time for this right now.”
Sonny glared. “Well, you’re gonna make time, whether you like it or not.”
Someone pushed past the gathered gawkers—his brother Jack.
He eyed Sonny B like a bucking horse. “Keeg? You need a wingman?”
Keegan kept his fists up. “I was trying to explain to this guy that I’m not interested in trouble.”
Keegan knew his brother better than anyone alive and only he could detect the well-hidden surprise in Jack’s face. “That sounds like mighty good sense to me.” Jack jutted a chin at Sonny B. “You got no reason to stay. Beat it.”
“Why should I?”
Jack smiled. “It’s almost Christmas.”
“Don’t care. I can mess up your brother on a holiday, no sweat on me.”
Jack’s smile vanished. “All right. How about this one? Because my other two brothers are across the street at the hardware store, and they’re both stronger than I am and a good sight meaner.”
Sonny took in Jack’s height and then his gaze shifted to Keegan. “Maybe I got some brothers of my own. I can call ’em up right now.”
Keegan was about to answer when he heard a sound that chilled his blood—a woman’s scream coming from the back of the coffee shop, a woman he knew in his gut was Tracy.
Almost at the same moment the fire alarm began to blare. He looked at Jack.
“I’ll go around the back!” Jack shouted as Keegan charged into the exiting diners, desperate to get to Tracy.
* * *
Tracy’s scream was drowned out by the shrilling fire alarm. She fumbled for her phone as she smelled the tang of something familiar: the harsh scent of bleach and a pungent ammonia odor. Bleach plus ammonia equaled death. It must be a mistake. No one would be mixing those two deadly elements unless they had murder on their mind.
She tried to peer through the crack in the stall door to be sure the intruder was gone, but she did not have a good sight line. The alarm continued to bleat. Whoever was trying to poison her had set it off as a diversion. People would be leaving the building, unaware of her plight.
As the toxic fumes began to fill the air, she pulled the neck of her sweater over her mouth to keep from breathing in the poison. Her eyes were already watering, vision blurring and lungs burning as the chemicals mixed together to form chloramine. There wasn’t much time.
Call later, get out now.
She ripped open the stall door, ushering in a wave of chemicals that made her gag. The intruder had dumped the trash can and upended the two bottles in the container to allow the contents to begin their deadly work. He or she must have had something over their nose and mouth.
Tracy raced to the bathroom door and tugged. It didn’t budge. Panicked, she yanked on it for several seconds until she realized the wooden doorstop had been jammed under the door and it was hopelessly stuck. Terror nearly brought her to the floor. She grabbed the phone from her pocket and tried to dial, to call Keegan, the police, but her hands were trembling badly and her vision blurred so severely she could not even see the buttons properly.
“Help,” she tried calling again, but the chemicals had robbed her of her voice and her plea came out as a raspy whisper. Rummaging under the small sink, she found nothing that would help her pry open the door. When her fingers skimmed a large plastic bag, neatly folded, she grabbed it and shook it open. Breath held, she fastened the bag over the trash can, hoping it would contain the fumes and buy her a few more minutes of life.
