B.J. Daniels

by Forsaken

  The bullet had entered his chest and come out his back, which led Frank to believe J.D. had trusted whoever had killed him. Trusted them to the extent that he hadn’t gotten up when the killer had walked up to him and, standing within a few feet, had fired directly at his heart.

  Frank hurriedly began to go through J.D.’s pockets when he heard something whiz by his ear before making a thunk sound in the tree trunk behind him. The shooter was using a silencer. He definitely hadn’t heard a shot.

  He quickly threw himself behind the tree as another bullet blew past to kick up dried pine needles just feet away from him.

  He squatted down, keeping as much of his body behind the tree as possible, and pulled J.D.’s body toward him to go through the man’s pockets. He found a wallet, a cell phone and a set of keys. He stuffed all three into his pocket. He found nothing else. J.D. was apparently traveling light.

  Pulling his pistol, he peered around the tree trunk. He had an idea where the shots had come from based on the trajectory of the bullets. The canyon was lined with large boulders. From behind any one of them the shooter would have the advantage. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Worse, the killer had him pinned down.

  Frank tried to remember if he’d seen another vehicle parked below. He hadn’t passed one on the way up this ravine. The killer could have parked down by the mine or even by one of the old houses along the road up here. Frank hadn’t noticed because he was only looking for the black pickup J.D. was driving.

  Was the killer still up there watching him, waiting for him to step out in the open before taking another shot? He couldn’t even be sure how many were up there. No doubt waiting for the drugs that they thought would be coming out of the mountains.

  The eerie silence that fell over the trees made him hold his breath, his senses keen. It was growing darker in the canyon, the waning light casting long shadows through the pines.

  Off in the distance, a squirrel chatted. Closer, a horse whinnied, making Frank start. He moved around the tree to look up the trail. A large man on a horse came slowly down the trail. The man looked so fatigued that he could barely stay in the saddle.

  The drug smuggler Dillon had told him about, Tony Adams, Frank thought, spotting two duffel bags tied on each side behind the saddle. That explained what J.D. had been doing here—and no doubt the shooter, as well.

  Frank stayed where he was, letting the rider continue down the trail, planning to wait until he came alongside him.

  Tony’s head suddenly came up; surprise and something worse crossed his expression. Had he seen J. D. West’s body? Or had he heard something?

  The man shuddered and fell forward. Frank looked to the rocks that lined the canyon wall as the drug runner tumbled from his horse.

  He could see two gunshot wounds in the man’s back as he fell. Frank swore under his breath and tried to work his way to the man.

  He heard what sounded like a whine next to his ear. An instant later a bullet ripped into the bark of a tree behind him. He ducked behind another tree. “Tony?”

  No answer.

  He glanced around the tree, hoping he could spot the shooter. “Tony?”

  Still nothing.

  He had to assume the man was dead. With J.D. gone as well, there was only him left. Frank was debating what to do when the horse Tony had been riding took a step toward him.

  “Come on,” Frank said to the horse. “Come on.” The horse took a few more steps in his direction. Just a couple more and he would be able to get a boot in the stirrup. He could stay hunkered down on one side of the horse, narrowing down the shooter’s window of opportunity.

  The horse took another step, then another. Frank reached for the reins. A bullet whizzed past. He grabbed the saddle horn and threw a boot into the stirrup. He clung to the saddle as he kicked the horse into motion. Frank could see that the trail turned within a few yards. If he could just reach there, the trees would shelter him from the shooter.

  The dirt next to him flew up as a bullet ripped through it. Frank urged the horse to keep going. As he reached the bend in the trail, another bullet sliced off bark in the tree next to him. And then he was in the trees. He swung up in the saddle and, keeping down, rode like hell.

  Frank rode the horse down the road, put in a call to Dillon then waited. No one came down the road. It gave him a lot of time to think. Tony and J.D. were dead. Everyone connected with this failed drug deal was dead—except for the shooter and whoever else might be up in those mountains.

  On a hunch, he checked the duffel bags on the horse. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find them full of rocks. No coke. What the hell?

  Tony had met someone along the trail who’d taken the drugs? Or had Tony suspected a double-cross and hid the drugs back in the mountains? It was no longer Frank’s problem.

  He waited until a DEA agent showed up to take over, gave him his statement and drove into Gardiner.

  It wasn’t his nature to leave this for the DEA and local law enforcement to figure out. But he had a thread, a tenuous one at best, to Pam. Two people who happened to be in the same New Mexico town at possibly the same time. It was all he had.

  If Pam had known J.D.... He knew it was a long shot.

  After the long day he’d had, he checked into a motel. He pulled out J.D.’s cell phone. He’d given everything else to the DEA agent. The wallet had been new, with only a couple hundred dollars in it and nothing else. The key ring only had a key to the truck on it.

  He would mail the phone to Dillon tomorrow. But tonight he wanted to see who the man had called.

  He touched the cell phone’s screen, bringing it to life. He could tell by looking at the phone that it was new, so he didn’t expect to see many numbers on it.

  But when he checked the calls sent, he got a surprise. There was a half dozen, all to the same number except for one.

  It was that one number that jumped out at him.

  J. D. West had called the Westfall ranch.

  Frank stared at the number. He’d been right. There had been some connection between Pam and J.D.

  The realization gave him little satisfaction. J.D. was dead and Pam was still missing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AS THE FUNERAL limo neared the cemetery, Maddie closed her eyes, fighting tears. The week since she’d returned to the ranch was a string of endless sleepless nights and empty hours of walking around the house in a state of grief.

  Jamison had called every chance he got to check on her. She’d told him she was doing fine. “As well as could be expected,” her mother would have said.

  He had sounded as exhausted as she felt since he’d stayed back in the Beartooths to “mop up.”

  “The drugs weren’t in the plane when we reached it,” the deputy told her.

  “How is that possible?” she’d asked and shuddered at the memory of the plane and the smell of death that permeated the dense stand of pines. “Tony couldn’t have carried all of the drugs out even with two horses, right?”

  “The DEA officers think he hid them.”

  The Sweetgrass County grapevine had been abuzz with nothing else all week. Even Maddie, who’d done her best to stay clear of it, had heard.

  “Why would he put rocks in the two duffels he brought out?”

  “Another theory is that he was the decoy while the drugs were taken out another trail.”

  “So there might have been other drug runners who came into the mountains from the Yellowstone Park side?”

  “Like I said, it’s just a theory. It could have been a double cross, someone who found out about the downed plane and the plan to take the drugs out through Gardiner. Fuzz and his son are taking good care of your sheep.” Silence, and then he said, “I want to see you. We’ll be coming down soon.”

  She’d made an excuse to get off the phone, but he’d called again the next day and the next. Each call became a little shorter until the past couple of days there hadn’t been any.

  Maddie wasn’t surprised
. As the ordeal on the mountain began to dim, so did the feelings. At least she assumed that was the case for Jamison. He had planned to stay here only a year. His job was waiting for him back in New York. By now, she was sure he’d had his fill of Montana. Maybe he would go even sooner.

  The thought made her sad, but then everything did. At night when she trolled through the house, she couldn’t bear her life. She’d been told that she shouldn’t make any big decisions for a year. Easy for everyone else to say, but she was the one left alone in this house with all its past. The memories gave her no comfort.

  Her third day home she’d called a Realtor friend. “I want to sell the ranch. How quickly can you do that?”

  Bob Burns had sounded surprised. “Maddie, I would strongly advise against that. Give it some time. I’m sure—”

  “I won’t change my mind. Please, list it. Let me know when you have a buyer.”

  “Won’t you want to at least keep the house and some of the property?”

  “No. Sell it all. Lock, stock and barrel.”

  “I’ll have to run some numbers and get back to you. How soon do you want—”

  “As soon as possible.” Then what? she asked herself after she’d hung up. She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

  She’d expected to feel a deep sense of sadness. Instead, she’d felt lighter as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  As she’d walked around the house, she’d realized she hadn’t really looked at it in years.

  “This is my mother’s house.” It had shocked her to realize that. When she and Hank had gotten married her parents had moved to Arizona and given the newlyweds the house and sheep ranch. They’d been so busy working that they hadn’t made any changes. When Matthew had come along, she’d painted one of the spare rooms for him. It was still a pale blue that had faded with the years.

  Her parents had come home the summer her father took ill. Her mother had been gone within weeks after her father. Both were buried up on the hill along with her grandparents, and Hank and Matthew, and an assortment of faithful dogs.

  That day, hot tears had streamed down her face and Lucy had come over to her. The dog hadn’t left her side since Jamison had seen that Lucy was returned to her. She’d petted the dog, knowing how much Lucy missed Branch.

  Just the thought of Branch’s death had brought back Hank’s and Matthew’s. It was as if she had finally grieved for them since there hadn’t been time back when they’d died. She’d hugged the dog and cried. Lucy had licked her hand, making her cry even harder.

  Everywhere she’d looked that day she’d seen painful memories. The house had filled with memories leaving no room for air to breathe. She had known that if she stayed there a moment longer—

  But as she’d looked around the house she’d spent forty-five years of her life in, she also thought of the memories she couldn’t bear to part with. It was there her son had taken his first steps. In a bedroom down the hall was where he was conceived.

  There were so many precious memories in that house, she thought now. How could she just walk away?

  Maddie felt the funeral limo come to a stop. She’d always been able to pull herself up by her bootstraps. Today she needed that inner strength more than she ever had in her life. “Just let me get through this,” she prayed in a whisper as the driver opened her door.

  As she stepped out, she was taken aback. There were pickups everywhere and people. For a moment she thought there must be another funeral today. But as she moved toward the open grave, she saw that they had come for Branch.

  Her heart lodged in her throat. She shook her head in disbelief. They had come to pay their respects. They’d come for her. Her heart swelled, her eyes welling with tears, as she was suddenly surrounded by ranchers and county residents she hadn’t seen since Hank and Matthew’s funeral.

  She couldn’t blame any of them for leaving her alone the past four years. She’d made her ranch the prison it had become. Bitter and hurting, she hadn’t wanted their sympathy. Nor their pity. She’d been so filled with pride and determination to prove that she could do it herself without anyone but Branch. A part of her had felt that she would have fallen completely apart if she had let anyone else in. She had needed to be strong to keep the ranch going.

  Now she couldn’t have been more touched that they had shown up for Branch’s graveside service. She’d kept it simple, skipping a church service because she knew Branch wouldn’t have wanted it.

  Maddie fought her tears, overwhelmed at this kind of turnout. Branch would have hated it, she thought, and couldn’t help but smile to herself. But she was touched to see them all here.

  As she moved to the grave, she straightened her back, willing herself not to fall apart. And yet nearing the open grave, she felt the last of her resolve waning. Any moment she would be sobbing her heart out.

  Branch had been the one person in her life she knew without a doubt that she could depend on. He’d been her family, her friend, her steadying rock in the threatening storm that had been her life.

  Then, just when she felt herself crumbling, she saw him. Jamison stepped to her. He looked nothing like the deputy who had driven up in front of her house only two weeks ago.

  The stubble she remembered only too well from her night of passion with him in the wall tent at sheep camp had grown into a short beard. His hair was longer, too, and the fact that he’d made no attempt to chop it off, she thought, meant he’d left it like that on purpose.

  Like most everyone around Branch’s casket, Jamison wore jeans, boots, a dress Western shirt and his Stetson, which he now removed.

  He seemed so different and yet when she looked into those gray eyes she saw the man she’d fallen in love with up in the Beartooth Mountains. The thought came as a small shock. Not that she’d fallen in love with him, but that she was now admitting it.

  He gave her a smile and offered his arm. She took it, gripping his strong forearm and feeling stronger herself.

  “You will get through this,” he whispered to her.

  She looked around at all her neighbors as the preacher said a few words over Branch’s casket. She’d told him to keep it short and sweet. Branch, as much as he believed in a higher power, didn’t hold much stock in churches or preachers, for that matter. He always said he spoke to God up in the mountains.

  It was one reason she’d picked this gravesite for him. It had a great view of the Beartooths, got a lot of sun and still had a few pine trees to protect it in the winter.

  The service over, Maddie knelt down and picked up a handful of dirt. It felt warm in her fingers. She could feel the sun on her back. Summer really was coming, she thought as she slowly let the earth fall to the top of the casket.

  “Goodbye, Branch. Sleep well,” she whispered and stood, glad to feel Jamison’s arm around her as a crow cawed from a high branch and then flew out across the vast Montana sky.

  * * *

  JAMISON FELT LIKE a teenage boy as he drove up the Boulder River Valley. He’d called Maddie every day since the funeral, but she’d put him off. He’d heard that she’d sold the Diamond C to Fuzz Carpenter and that he’d made her a good offer.

  So now what was she planning to do? Jamison had no idea. When he’d called, she would get him off the phone as quickly as possible. He was worried about her being out there alone. But every time he suggested they have dinner or he come out, she’d have an excuse.

  Not today, though, he thought as he turned onto the road into her ranch. He couldn’t help but remember the first time he’d driven in here. The wind had been howling that day, gently rocking his patrol SUV. It was no different today.

  Today there were no freshly washed sheets on the line, but that old weathered rocker was still on the porch, teetering back and forth in the gale.

  He was relieved to see her pickup parked in front of the house. He’d called and they’d spoken for only a moment. He hadn’t told her he was driving out. He’d had the feeling she might have left to avoid him
.

  He parked, got out and stood for a moment, thinking about the first time he’d seen her. There’d been such a self-assuredness about her as she’d come out on the porch and leaned against one of the posts. He recalled the way she’d squinted into the sun, those cornflower-blue eyes looking steely and yet wary.

  Jamison was a little worried about what kind of reception he was going to get. But he wasn’t leaving until she told him why she’d been avoiding him.

  Before he could reach the bottom porch step, the front door opened.

  He hadn’t seen her since he’d been forced to leave her after the funeral. That day she’d worn dress boots, black jeans and a black jean jacket. He’d known that she wouldn’t wear a dress. She was a sheep rancher and he suspected Branch would have wanted her to remember that at his funeral.

  Today she was wearing a cotton shirt and jeans. Her feet were bare, and he got the feeling from the smudge of dirt on her cheek and her disarrayed hair that had come loose from her braid that she’d been busy. Probably packing. He hadn’t heard when she was supposed to be out of the house, but he suspected it would be soon.

  “You should have warned me you were coming out,” she said.

  “And give you a chance to dodge me?” He shook his head as he climbed the steps. “Not a chance.”

  “We don’t have anything to say to each other. I’m sure you’ve heard that I sold the ranch to Fuzz Carpenter.”

  “I did. What will you do now?”

  She shrugged. “Like I told you before, anything I want to.”

  “You won’t leave the area, will you?” He hated the emotion he heard in his voice. But he didn’t want to lose her.

  “Why would it matter? You’ll be going back to New York before long.”

  “I’m staying.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Since when?”

  He met her gaze and held it. “Maybe this place is growing on me. Maddie, you know damned well why I want to stay.” He was just inches from her. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the look in her eye warned him not to try. There were things that needed to be said between them first.