by Forsaken
“Go and have fun,” she said.
“Fun?” He chuckled at that. “I’m sure I’ll be babysitting the three of them. I’ll probably end up being their pack mule.”
* * *
MADDIE SAW THE DEPUTY riding toward her in the fading light and gritted her teeth. She could tell by his expression that he was going to try to keep her from doing her job. She was in no mood for this.
Worse, she’d been so sure that once they reached the sheep camp, they would find Branch alive and well. Instead she’d found herself looking for his body. The mere thought turned her blood to ice.
But she’d found no sign of him as she gathered the sheep. The fact that they were spread all over the mountainside made it clear Branch hadn’t been here for the past two days—no doubt from at least the time Dewey had said he’d gone missing.
“When you’re through I need you to go to the camp and tell me what’s missing,” Jamison said as he rode up.
“I’m not planning to go near camp until sometime tomorrow after I have my sheep together.” She cut her horse in front of his to move a couple of dawdling lambs and shot him an irritated look. It was his investigation. She wanted nothing to do with it.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, trailing after her.
“Just stay out of my way.”
“I’m going to make us both something to eat. We need to keep—”
“Yes, our strength up,” she said, reining in her horse. “You’ll need these.” She untied the saddlebags from her horse. “Now let me tend to my sheep.”
She thought he’d argue, maybe even threaten her with interfering with his investigation, although she would have scoffed at that. As far as anyone could tell Dewey had gotten separated from Branch and, panicking, had run. At least she hoped that was how this would all turn out.
As for Branch... All she knew was that he wouldn’t leave his dog or the sheep—unless something had prevented him from doing his job.
All she could do today was see to her sheep. She’d looked everywhere close to camp. It was getting too late to search farther away. And why would Branch have ranged farther, anyway?
Her worry for him increased. She knew the dangers up here. Sheep often wandered off, got into trouble on some sheer rock face. Branch could easily have tried to get them down and taken a fall. But if that was the case, then where was his horse?
If he were within shouting distance, she would have been able to hear him, she assured herself as she gathered a small band of sheep and led them back to the others. If he had remembered to take his damned radio, he could have possibly called for help. Dewey would have found him.
She felt helpless and hated that feeling more than any other. Soon it would be too dark to gather more of the sheep. The sky still had a little light left in it, but pockets of darkness would soon make riding too hazardous in this rocky terrain.
Even old Branch was spooked. Dewey’s words came at her like a shot from the dark.
She tried not to worry, telling herself that Branch had seen it all. Nothing could scare him. Dewey was mistaken. Either that or...or what? She’d heard ranchers joke about what might be back in these mountains.
One old sheepherder swore that he’d gotten put up a tree by what had to be Bigfoot.
“My dog’s dealt with grizzlies, badgers, wolves and wolverines. Nothing scared that old dog. But that night, pitch-black, something came out of the woods that sent that old dog a-hightailin’ it. I never heard such a sound coming out of whatever it was. I scrambled up that tree, clung to a limb that whole damned night. Didn’t see that dog for two days. Came back with its tail between its legs.”
Maddie didn’t believe Branch had met up with Bigfoot. Nor did the deputy, she thought as she watched him ride back to camp. Even in the growing blackness of night, she knew he was looking for evidence of a murder, and she was praying he didn’t find it.
* * *
THE SOUND OF baaing sheep and a barking dog carried on the wind as Jamison rode back to camp. When he’d seen the state Dewey was in and his skinned-up knuckles, he’d been sure he knew what had happened up in these mountains. Two men, different ages, different backgrounds, one used to this life, the other a novice with a troubled background. Of course they were going to lock horns, the older man provoking the younger one, the younger one losing his temper and doing something rash.
Jamison had expected to find the sheepherder murdered, and that blood on Dewey Putman’s coat, along with whatever other evidence he could gather up here on the mountain, would lead to the boy’s arrest.
But it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as he’d thought it would be. He had no body—at least not yet. And it appeared there had been more than just Branch and the boy on this mountaintop.
He played back Dewey’s story in his head as darkness seemed to drop like a cloak over the mountainside.
When did you last see Branch?
Just before bed last night. He said he’d been having trouble sleeping. The noises were keeping him up. It was the odd sounds...the crying.
Crying?
It was...something else. Even old Branch was spooked by it.
Are you sure Branch just didn’t wander off?
I called for him and looked all over.
Jamison could feel the darkness seep into everything around him. Earlier, the remoteness of these mountains had made him ache with loneliness. Now that he feared he and Maddie weren’t alone, the remoteness and isolation made him anxious.
He told himself that the person who’d left the tracks was probably miles away by now—no matter what had happened up here. Maddie had said there were trails that crossed the mountains into Yellowstone Park. So it was conceivable that a hiker could have come through camp and then gone on his way.
But Branch and his horse were still missing. And as Jamison reached the camp, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on up here than even he had considered.
Jamison felt that unease he’d experienced earlier. Whoever might be up here, he couldn’t see them any better than they could see him, right? Unless that person had night-vision binoculars.
He told himself he was letting the remoteness and isolation get to him. A passing-by hiker didn’t carry infrared binoculars. And why would anyone go to the trouble of spying on them? It made no sense. Wasn’t that the real reason he hadn’t mentioned the extra set of footprints to Maddie? Or was it because he hadn’t wanted to add to her worries?
He unsaddled his horse and hobbled it next to the nearby creek, then went back into the tent. Earlier, he’d seen a kerosene lantern. He lit it. The light flickered then filled the tent with a warm golden glow that was almost welcoming.
He had hoped that Maddie would go through everything to see what might be missing, but he understood her need to see to her sheep, and he hadn’t wanted to rile her any more than he already had. He couldn’t be sure a crime had even happened up here, which he knew she would be quick to point out.
And yet, she was worried about her sheepherder, hoping he’d turn up. At this point, Jamison didn’t see that happening. If the man was injured but still alive, then where was he? They’d both ridden the area and seen nothing.
The best thing for Branch Murdock was if he’d abandoned camp just as Dewey had. But Maddie was convinced the old sheepherder wouldn’t have done that.
That left only two other alternatives. Branch Murdock was injured somewhere away from camp—or he was dead.
In which case it was Jamison’s job to find out why.
CHAPTER NINE
JAMISON CHECKED THE CONTENTS of the supply box. It seemed to be very low on food given that Dewey and Branch had been on the mountain for only four days.
Inside the saddlebag Maddie had given him, he found what he needed to make them both some beans and cornbread. He started a fire in the woodstove and went to work.
Maddie might make fun of his years at summer camps, but they were certainly paying off now, he thought. If only Lana could s
ee him now. He let out a humorous laugh, imagining the look of disgust on her face seeing him dressed like this, smelling of horse and leather and about to have beans for dinner. And just when she thought he couldn’t sink any lower.
He shook his head in wonder at how ill-suited they had been for each other. Had he not been paying attention when they were dating? Or had Lana purposely hidden her true feelings from him. Probably a little of both.
Outside the tent, the wind howled mournfully. The gusts buffeted the canvas walls, making them billow in and out as if breathing. The temperature was dropping. He could feel the cold coming in through the crack around the tent door flap.
He stopped for a moment to listen. In the distance, he would hear the baaing and bleating of the flock and the clang of the bell on one of the sheep. Every once in a while, he would hear Maddie calling to the dog or the sheep. He couldn’t tell which, just that it wasn’t a cry for help.
The quiet inside the tent brought on a melancholy of its own. He felt it in his bones as the lantern light flickered and the fire in the woodstove crackled and hissed.
When the food was ready, he dished up two metal plates, stuck two spoons in his pocket and, shutting down the stove, filled his coat pocket with dried dog food and walked the meals out to her. He knew the food would be cold by the time he reached her, but he doubted she would care any more than he did.
Outside, the darkness was complete. He could barely make out the flock. Only a few stars had come out, and those were shrouded by a thin veil of clouds that clung to the top of the high ridge.
Over the tinny jangle of the sheep’s bell, he heard singing. The song was as mournful as his earlier mood. He wondered if it was supposed to calm the sheep or Maddie herself.
She quit singing as he approached. She sat propped against a wall of rock that overlooked the wide meadow. The sheep were a pale lake of gentle ghostlike movement below her. Out of the wind, the night had taken on a peaceful quiet. The occasional baa or bleat now seemed almost restful.
“You didn’t have to stop singing on my account,” he said as he handed her the plate and sat down next to her on the cold ground.
She took the metal plate without comment. He handed her a spoon and pulled one out of his coat pocket for himself. It wasn’t until he began to eat that he heard her finally take a bite. She was stubborn, no doubt about that, but she was also sensible, he thought with a wry smile.
They ate in silence for a few long moments. Two strangers on a mountaintop, so far from the rest of the world that it felt as if they’d been forgotten.
“Tell me about Branch,” he said without looking at her.
“What’s to tell?”
“Was he always a sheepherder?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head slowly as she gazed out across the meadow filled with sheep. She didn’t want to talk—let alone to him.
But after a moment, she said, “He worked for my father and had since he was a boy. My father used to say that no one knew sheep better than Branch.” She grew quiet for a few seconds. “His wife died about twenty years ago now. Finding sheepherders was getting harder. Branch volunteered, said he needed some time alone.”
Jamison couldn’t imagine a place a person could be more alone.
“Branch knew the sheep. He studied them, worried about them,” she said between bites, as if warming to the subject and finding the words were coming easier. “He put up with the loneliness, the boredom, the sudden blizzards that blew in or being awakened by a grizzly or pack of wolves after the sheep.” She let out a sigh that sounded close to a sob. “There is so much that can go wrong up here. He spent three months here every summer, rising at dawn, sleeping with one eye open. He noticed when a ewe was limping and knew to clean the mud out of her hooves. He knew what not to let them eat. He knew how dependent they were on him.”
Jamison understood what she was saying. It was a 24/7 kind of job, one man and a dog against a dangerous world filled with all kinds of predators and two thousand defenseless sheep.
He couldn’t comprehend that kind of responsibility. Not even at his former job as a homicide detective had he felt anything near that. But then, his job hadn’t been to protect. It was too late for that by the time he was called in. Just like now, he showed up only to pick up the pieces, weave the threads together. Get justice if at all possible.
She’d glanced over at him. He could barely see her features in the dark shadow under her hat. But he could feel those blue eyes as penetrating as a laser beam. He couldn’t imagine the emotions roiling inside her, but he could feel them coming off her in waves. He’d seen the discouragement in the sag of her shoulders when she’d found the dog waiting at the sheepherder’s coat.
“He would never have left the sheep. Never.” She finished the meal he’d cooked then put down her plate for the dog to lick.
Jamison emptied his pocket of dried dog food onto the plate for Lucy. “I’ll look for Branch again as soon as the sun comes up,” he told Maddie.
She nodded and looked away. “I can’t help feeling responsible for whatever happened. Dewey was so green behind the ears, and Branch...”
“We don’t know what happened.”
“No, we don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thanks for the food.”
He heard the dismissal in her voice. She wanted to be alone with the night and her sheep and whatever demons haunted her.
Night was the worst for him. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, but he was getting used to it. Often even with other people, he still felt alone. Up here on this mountainside, he knew this night could be far worse than most if he closed his eyes and tried to find oblivion in sleep.
Fortunately, he planned to stay awake. “Fire a shot if you need me,” he said as he got to his feet.
“I won’t need you.” She said it as a simple statement of fact that made him smile.
“Occasionally we all need someone,” he said and left.
His boot heels sounded loud to his ears as he scrambled back down to the sheep camp. The sheep were quiet. The night had taken on an eerie silence that was unnerving.
He realized that the wind had subsided. It made him feel as if he had gone deaf. He had leaned into it for so many hours that the absence of it now threw him off balance. His footing felt unstable without the wind’s never-ending pushback. Again he worried that Dewey might be right that something was out there in the darkness, waiting to pounce.
* * *
IT WAS LATER than usual. Nettie was just closing up the store when J.D. drove up. She hadn’t seen much of him since he’d moved in, but earlier today she’d noticed he was dressed up when he’d left the apartment. She’d assumed he’d been headed out to his family ranch.
From the front porch of the store, she watched him get out of his pickup. She breathed in the spring evening, hoping he wouldn’t think she had been waiting for his return—even if it was true.
Nights like this needed to be cherished, their memory stored away for when the season changed and fall quickly turned into long winter months. She realized she hadn’t appreciated one of them in a long time.
As she watched him open his pickup door, the dome light came on, and from the high porch, she could see inside the pickup cab. He had what looked like dirty rags on the passenger side. He quickly climbed out, closing and locking the door. She noticed, too, that his pickup was filthy. What had his brother had him doing all day, mucking out stalls?
She tried to gauge how his night had gone as he started for the outside entrance to the apartment. He looked tired and appeared distracted. “Hey, cowboy,” she called. “Tough day?”
He smiled when he spotted her and changed direction, heading for the porch instead.
“How did it go?” she asked as he climbed the steps to where she was.
“Not as bad as I thought it might be,” he said as he leaned against the porch railing beside her. “Seeing you here in the starlight makes it al
l worthwhile.” He settled his gaze on her, warming her.
“Taylor must have put you to work.”
He nodded. Before she could ask more, he said, “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed this place.” His eyes locked with hers. She tried to ignore the tingling feeling in her toes or the shiver that rippled over her.
She smiled and turned away to hide the sudden rush of heat just under her skin. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about his day.
“Well, I’m glad it went well.” She started to move toward the door to finish locking up. Her home was up on the mountain behind the store, just a small hike up through the trees. She should have locked up much earlier, but tonight she hadn’t felt up to facing her empty house and she’d hoped to see J.D.
Now that he was back, though, she wasn’t sure she should have waited. Frank might be right about her and her taste in men.
“Nettie.” J.D. touched her arm. His hand was warm, his skin just rough enough to remind her of what a real man’s hands felt like.
“Have dinner with me.” When she started to decline, he quickly added, “Come on. What’s wrong with old friends having dinner? Please? I hate to eat alone, so what do you say?”
She felt herself weaken.
J.D. must have sensed it as well because he said, “Good. Let me change, and I’ll pick you up at your house. I’m thinking steak at the Grand in Big Timber. How’s that sound?”
It sounded wonderful, and she said as much.
She finished locking up and went out the back door. There was a trail behind the store that rose sharply up the mountain to the house Bob had had built for them. She was partway up when she looked back and saw J.D. emptying something from his pickup.
The pile of dirty rags she’d seen earlier?
She stopped for a moment in the darkness of the trees to watch as he discarded the rags in her trash container at the side of the store. He stopped as if he thought better of it, then reached into the commercial trash container and pushed the rags down farther. Turning, he went back to the pickup. She saw him wipe down the passenger-side seat then clean something off the door handle.
