by Dana Mentink
Evie got up immediately. After pulling plastic containers from the cupboards, she began loading up leftover pot roast and biscuits along with a dozen gingerbread cookies and bean salad. “For Tracy and her grandfather,” she said sternly. “I don’t want you to eat all the cookies on your way up.”
He laughed and kissed his mother. “You figure a food peace offering will make Grandpa Stew like me better?”
He had not gotten the chuckle he’d intended. Instead she put a warm and calloused hand to his cheek. “Just show him who you are, Keegan, the tender man you keep in here.” She put a finger to his chest.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I never deserved a home like this,” he whispered.
“Yes, you did, honey. Everyone deserves a home like this.”
Heart brimming with love he could not express, arms burdened with his mother’s offerings, he hurried out the door into the freezing night.
* * *
Tracy shivered as her grandfather blew patiently on the wood. “Too wet,” he grumbled. “No one thought to cover the woodpile.”
She wished she had another cough drop to soothe the burning in her throat. “No one has lived here for a decade,” she reminded him. “That’s why we got it for a song.”
“More like a full-on opera. Wiped out both our savings pretty good.” He got to his feet.
“We’re gonna make it,” Tracy said. “And Dad would be proud.” She mumbled, “Maybe Mom will be, too, someday.”
“Your mother is too stiff-necked to ever let go of what Matt did. Wrong of her to punish you for loving your dad.”
It was a conversation they’d had many times before. Right or wrong, she still yearned for a relationship with her mother and a piece inside her would always remain hollow and empty without that reconciliation.
“Can’t figure out why you aren’t plenty angry about it,” he continued.
“I was, for a long time, but Dad forgave her even though she couldn’t forgive him. I guess...” She shrugged. “Dad said forgiveness isn’t a two-way street.” Her throat closed up and she found she could not go on, so deep was her longing for her father.
Grandpa Stew wrapped her in an embrace. “I miss him, too, Honeybunch.”
When she had no more tears to cry, she checked the doors of the drafty three-bedroom cabin. They were locked with heavy brass bolts. The windows did not have fasteners, but she’d found the casing so rusted shut they might as well have locks. The kitchen was still a mess, with boxes piled onto the old tile counter, but at least two beds were made up with secondhand sheets she’d purchased on her previous visit.
How could her life have been turned upside down in only a matter of days? The last time she’d been here, she’d been thrilled to feather the cozy nest, to start investigating the area for possible connections that would help her career and their dream of opening a lodge. The Silver Spurs horse show had seemed like a dream come true, and the Mother Lode was one of the reasons she’d considered the area in the first place.
Such an auspicious beginning, and what a snare she was now firmly entangled in.
She walked to the window and looked out into the night. The wrinkled foothills were just visible in the moonlight against a clear, starry sky. Several old cabins stood silhouetted in the chill. Most were uninhabitable and would need to be razed and rebuilt, along with a bigger stable and corrals.
Her feet felt like ice, proving the weathermen right when they’d predicted a freeze. They might even get a dusting of snow. Keegan had a point that occupying the cabin without electricity was probably foolish.
Her heart squeezed as she recalled the look on Keegan’s face when John put him in his place.
You’re not wanted here.
And her own strange response.
I want you.
At that moment she ached for his smile, one of his cocky jokes, the earnestness of his nosy questions.
Stop it, Tracy.
He was not part of the plan and she’d learned long ago that it was costly to invest in others.
Take care of Grandpa and keep to yourself.
Perhaps once the investigation was resolved she could resurrect that anonymity she craved, the quiet life that was the key to her happiness.
Pulling the curtains closed, she went to seek the solace of her bed. It was only eight thirty, but she felt like her legs would not hold her up any longer. “I’ll just lie down for an hour and then I’ll unpack more boxes,” she told her grandfather.
Grandpa was content to read an old copy of the Farmer’s Almanac by the light of one of the lanterns she’d purchased. She’d never admit it to him, but it made her feel safer knowing that her grandfather would be on watch for a while, even though the property was far away from the horse center and the town of Gold Bar, where she’d almost lost her life a second time.
She’d closed her eyes for what seemed only a moment, but something jolted her awake. Her phone told her it was almost ten o’clock. The cabin was quiet, cold as a grave.
She heard the creak of old floorboards and fear iced over her ability to move. Someone was in the cabin. Her earlier terror returned. Throat and eyes burning, she imagined she was suffocating again, crumpling under an onslaught of poison.
Her brain supplied some measure of calm to her thundering nerves. The noise was her grandfather, of course. In spite of the winter-weight blankets, she was shivering. He must be cold, as well. Maybe he was trying to start the fire again. She let out a breath and pulled boots over her two pairs of socks. Might as well get some boxes unpacked since she was awake.
She reached for the battery-powered lantern and switched it on. Easing down the hallway, she emerged in the living room. The fireplace was dark—no sign of her grandfather.
Maybe he had gone to his room. She headed back the way she had come when a hand clamped on her arm.
She screamed.
“Hush,” her grandfather whispered. “Someone’s out there.”
Her body went rigid. Vision adjusting slowly to the darkness, she sucked in a breath when she realized he was holding a shotgun with one hand.
“Grandpa...” she started.
“I heard a motorcycle. Saw a headlamp coming up the mountain. Then it switched off. Someone doesn’t want us to know they’re here.”
“I’ll try to call the police. I almost got a signal from the back bedroom.” Pulse pounding, she scurried down the hallway. In the farthest room, which was piled with boxes yet to be unloaded, she attempted to dial 9-1-1, but though she tried every corner of the room, she got no signal. Skin prickled with fear, she hurried back.
A blast of icy air robbed her of breath. No! her mind screamed as her eyes interpreted the scene.
The living room was empty. Her grandfather was gone and the front door was banging in the winter breeze.
THIRTEEN
Keegan heard the blast of a shotgun. Forgetting the care packages he’d been about to retrieve, he took off sprinting for the dark cabin.
Why didn’t I bring my rifle? he chastised himself. As he charged up the weed-covered walkway, he wondered if he was heading right into the line of fire. Was Tracy shooting? His chest tightened. Or was someone shooting at her?
He was almost to the door when Tracy came out with such speed that she plowed right into him.
He grabbed her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Keegan?” Gulping in air, she squeezed her arms around his torso. He could feel her heart ramming into her ribs, muscles quivering. As she pulled away, the moonlight reflected her stark terror back at him. “What...what are you doing here?” she gasped.
“Later. Who’s shooting?”
“I think it’s Grandpa. He heard someone out there, a motorcycle, and he went after them.”
“Which direction?”
“I don’t know.”
He turned her around. “Go back in the house. Lock the doors. I’ll find him.”
“Not without me, you won’t. He could be hurt, and besides, he’s liable to shoot at you.”
“A family hobby, it seems.”
“I’m going.”
“Tracy...”
“There,” she said, stabbing a finger at one of the dilapidated cabins. “I saw something moving. It has to be Grandpa.”
“Or the intruder,” he snapped. She started off but he grabbed her wrist. “If you’re gonna be all bullheaded, Pockets, at least stay behind me.” He shoved her around his back and scrambled toward the cabin, keeping to the fringe of trees.
They approached quickly, the soft ground muffling their steps. About twenty feet from the cabin they crouched behind a fallen pine, listening. An owl hooted softly in the distance and wind ruffled the tall grasses. He thought he heard the distant rumble of a vehicle speeding down the mountain, but he could not be sure.
“Can you text him?” Keegan whispered.
“He doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” Keegan sighed. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way. Stay here.”
“I...”
Before she could raise a ruckus, he crept out from their hiding place and put some distance between him and Tracy. “Mr. Wilson?” he called out. “It’s Keegan Thorn.”
He heard a groan.
Tracy whimpered.
“Are you injured?” Keegan called.
Stew’s voice, rough and gravelly, came from the bleak interior. “I told you to stay off this property, and I meant it.”
Keegan squared his shoulders. “Well, I’m here anyway, and I know I’ve got a lot of bad qualities, but how about not shooting me, huh? That will make a big mess for you to clean up. I’m pretty sure I got a lot of blood in me.”
“Grandpa,” Tracy called out. “I’m with Keegan. We’re coming in to help you right now. Don’t you do any more shooting, you hear me?”
Keegan didn’t wait for Tracy to pass him but pushed his way into the rotting cabin, skin crawling at the thought of a bullet plowing into his sternum at any moment. Better him than Tracy, though. If she would just stay out while he sized up the situation.
The planked floor was spongy under his boots, the ceiling above sagging under the accumulation of pine needles, necessitating that he slouch. The place reeked of mold, and moss grew across the wood walls. At first he thought he’d been mistaken—the place looked empty—until he saw Stew sitting on the floor. His leg was twisted awkwardly, gun in his hand.
Tracy gasped and ran to him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Saw the bike coming over the top of the hill. It was you, wasn’t it?” He glared at Keegan. “Got off a couple of warning shots from in here, just to send you a message. Would have shot out your tires if I hadn’t sunk into the floor at this rotten patch.”
“You weren’t shooting at me,” Keegan said. “But we’ve got other issues. Let’s see how bad you’re hurt.”
His mouth pinched in pain and anger. “You stay away from me and my granddaughter. If I hadn’t fallen, I would have plugged you proper and you’d have deserved it.”
“Don’t say that,” Tracy breathed.
And they say I’m a hothead. Keegan simply knelt and ripped up the rotted board to expose the man’s ankle. He shone his phone flashlight into the hole. “Hard to tell in this light. Might be broken, but you can’t walk on it, that’s certain. I’ll carry you back to the cabin.”
He made to haul Stew from his sitting position, but the man waved the shotgun in his face. “You will not.”
“Grandpa!” Tracy cried out.
“Didn’t you hear what I said, boy?” His eyes gleamed in the pungent darkness. “I shot at you and I meant it. Don’t make me do it again, ’cause this time I’m not gonna miss.”
“Shoot me if you have to,” Keegan said, “but one thing you should know first. The intruder you fired at wasn’t me.”
“Likely story,” Stew snapped.
Keegan bit down the rising irritation. “You said you shot at a motorcycle.”
“Yeah.”
“You sure about that?”
“I know my engines. It was a motorcycle.”
He stared right back at Tracy’s grandfather as he delivered the news. “I drove a truck, Mr. Wilson. My bike is back at the ranch.”
Silence. The words drifted, held for a moment in the dank space. Stew’s mouth fell open and Keegan took the opportunity to haul him off the floor and get a shoulder under one of his armpits. Tracy helped support him from the other side and they began to carry him back to the cabin. On the way, Keegan tried to listen for the sound of a motor, but he heard nothing over the wind and Grandpa Stew’s groaning protests. The man was still trying to digest Keegan’s revelation.
At any other moment Keegan would have enjoyed besting Tracy’s cantankerous relative, but the truth bunched up the muscles in his gut.
No one would be riding their motorcycle onto the property at this hour by accident.
The motorcyclist had come on purpose. To find Tracy.
His fear supplied the rest.
And kill her.
* * *
Tracy did not allow herself to feel, just to do. Take care of Grandpa. That’s all.
Feet numb from the cold, they hauled her grandfather to the cabin and set him on the sofa. After piling fleece blankets on top of him, she turned on the lanterns and examined his ankle.
“Lock the door behind me,” Keegan said. While she watched from behind the curtain, he ran to his truck and brought in an armful of dry wood.
Soon he was busy coaxing a fire to life. The crackling flames sounded sweeter than music to her ears, the tang of smoke more tantalizing than a delicious meal. The fire would chase away the terror and the shadows.
Don’t be such a child, she chided, but relief swelled above the trepidation as the wood caught. She was so terribly grateful that Keegan had arrived when he had. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead as he stoked the fire, broad shoulders encased in a scarred leather jacket. From head to the worn soles of his boots, Keegan was a cowboy, mixed with something much more dangerous. Her grandfather was right; he was a rebel, a trouble magnet, but at that moment she nearly wept with relief to have him there.
Fighting for control, she pulled the curtains tightly closed and activated a chemical ice pack from the first-aid kit she’d brought. The warmth of the fire and Keegan’s steadying presence allowed her to focus on the thought she’d kept at bay. Someone had tracked her to the property. Panic bubbled up her throat again, but she shoved it down.
She gently prodded her grandfather’s ankle, earning a groan that he could not contain. “I’m not sure if it’s broken or not. You’ll need an X-ray.”
Keegan sat back on his knees, feeding kindling slowly into the flames. “We’ll get him to a hospital as soon as we’re positive the biker’s gone and I can get one of my brothers here to keep watch. Already called the police from my truck after I did another check.”
“How did you...?”
“I brought a satellite phone for you to keep here. Mama insists we have one since we have this penchant for going camping out in the boonies. The cops are sending a unit.”
“So we can look forward to more drama between you and John Larraby?” her grandfather snarled.
Keegan kept his attention on the flames. “You’re on unincorporated land. Gold Bar is the nearest police department. John’s the one in charge.”
“And that means we have to rely on your brother, the one who can’t stand you?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Half brother, and the feeling is mutual, but he’ll do his job like he would for any other citizen.”
It was the nearest thing to a compliment she’d ever heard
Keegan say about John. She hoped he really believed it deep down.
Her grandfather shook his head. “Anyway, I’m not going to a hospital for a little wrenched ankle.” In spite of his flippant tone, there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Been through plenty worse than this. Tore up my knee from a spooked horse one time.”
Keegan chuckled. “Been there myself. Got my nose broken by a spirited mare. Took me a long time to get her to like me.”
Grandpa Stew’s eyes narrowed. “Ever wrangle sheep?”
“Cattle,” Keegan said. “I train cutting horses.”
Tracy watched her grandpa file that away in his mind. He distrusted anyone who wasn’t a horse man, but didn’t want to acknowledge that Keegan might have some admirable attributes. It almost made her smile.
Keegan tapped out a message on his phone. “My brothers are already on their way. Owen and Barrett are going to take the back roads. They’ll make sure whoever it was isn’t hanging out in the woods or something. They’ll check places the cops can’t.”
Hanging out in the woods. A shiver rippled up her spine. Who might be out there...waiting for Keegan to leave? She swallowed. “Why...why did you come?”
“To give you the phone and some dry wood, and to tell you something I learned.” Keegan relayed the mini-horse connection, and she felt her pulse thump harder.
“You think Nan might have said something there about her plans?” Something that would either confirm Tracy’s version of the events or disprove them?
“Only one way to find out.” He looked at his phone again. “Brothers are en route and cops are going to drive the main road. Whoever it was has probably split by now.” He glanced at her grandfather and blew out a breath. “Shall we begin Operation Hospital Transport when my brothers arrive?”
“I told you, I’m not going.”
