Big Sky Standoff

by B. J Daniels

  SHERIFF CLAUDE MCCRAY wasn’t in, but the dispatcher said she was expecting him, and to wait in his office.

  Ten minutes later, Claude walked in. He was a big man, powerfully built, with a chiseled face and deep-set brown eyes. He gave Jacklyn a look that could have wilted lettuce. His gaze turned even more hostile when he glanced at Dillon.

  McCray chuckled to himself as he moved behind his desk, shaking his head as he glared at Jacklyn again. “Dillon Savage. You got the bastard out. What a surprise.”

  She met his eyes for only an instant before she looked away, not wanting to get into this with him. Especially in front of Dillon, given what Claude had accused her of nearly four years ago.

  “You’re obsessed with Dillon Savage,” McCray had said.

  “Excuse me? It’s my job to find him and stop him,” she’d snapped back.

  “Oh, Jacklyn, it’s way beyond that. You admire him, admit it.”

  “Wh-what?” she’d stammered, sliding out of bed, wanting to distance herself from this ridiculous talk.

  “He’s the only one who’s ever eluded you this long,” Claude had called after her. “You’re making a damn hero out of him.”

  She had been barely able to speak, she was so shocked. “That’s so ridiculous, I don’t even— You’re jealous of a cattle rustler?”

  He’d narrowed his eyes at her angrily. “I’m jealous of a man you can’t go five minutes without talking about.”

  “I’m sorry I bothered you with talk about my job,” she’d snapped as she jerked on her jeans and boots and looked around for her bra and sweater.

  Claude was sitting up in the bed, watching her, frowning. “I’d bet you spend more time thinking about Dillon Savage than you do me.”

  She’d heard the jealousy and bitterness in his voice and had been sickened by it. He’d called her after that, telling her he’d had too much to drink and didn’t know what he was saying.

  For all his apologies, that had been the end of their affair. She’d caught Dillon a few days later and had made a point of staying as far from Sheriff Claude McCray as possible, even though he’d tried to contact her repeatedly over the past four years.

  Now, as Claude settled into his chair behind the large metal desk, she noticed that he looked shorter than she remembered, his shoulders less broad. Or maybe she couldn’t help comparing him to Dillon Savage. They were both close to the same age, but that was where the similarities ended.

  “What’s the world coming to when we have to get criminals out of prison to help solve crimes?” McCray said as if to himself, looking from Dillon to Jack.

  “Is there anything new on the Robinson case?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation on track.

  “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend here,” McCray quipped.

  Dillon was watching this interplay with interest. She swore under her breath, wishing that she’d come alone. But she didn’t like letting Dillon out of her sight. Especially now that the stakes were higher, with Tom Robinson critical.

  “Sheriff, I just need to know if you have any leads. I understand you went out to the crime scene last night.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying how stupid it was to go out there in the dark and possibly destroy evidence. “I’m headed out there now.”

  “Don’t waste your time. There’s nothing to find.”

  She would be the judge of that. “What about the Drummond place?”

  Claude was shaking his head. “Wasn’t worth riding back in there for so few head of cattle.”

  Bud Drummond might argue that, she thought.

  She rose from her chair, anxious to get out of Claude’s office. She’d thought about not even bothering to come here, but he’d sent word that he wanted to see her. She should have known it wasn’t about the Robinson case.

  Her real reason for coming, she knew, was so he wouldn’t think she was afraid to face him. Perish the thought.

  “If Tom Robinson dies, it will be murder,” McCray said, glaring at Dillon. “This time you’ll stay in prison.”

  Dillon, to his credit, didn’t react. But she could see that this situation could escalate easily if they didn’t leave. Claude seemed to be working himself up for a fight.

  “We’re going,” Jacklyn said, moving toward the door.

  The sheriff rose, coming around the desk to grab her arm. “I need to speak with you alone.”

  Jacklyn looked down at his fingers digging into her flesh. He let go of her, but she saw Dillon leap to his feet, about to come to her defense.

  That was the last thing she needed. “Mr. Savage, if you wouldn’t mind waiting by the pickup…” She had no desire to be alone with Claude McCray, but if she was anything, she was no coward. And he just might have something to tell her about the investigation that Dillon shouldn’t hear.

  Dillon frowned, as if he didn’t like leaving her alone with McCray. Obviously, she wasn’t the only one who thought the man could be dangerous.

  She indicated the door and gave Dillon an imploring look.

  “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he said as he opened the door and stepped out, closing it quietly behind him.

  “That son of a bitch.” The sheriff swore and swung on her. “He acts like he owns you. Are you already sleeping with him?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What was it you had to say to me?”

  He glared at her, anger blazing in his eyes. “If you’re not, it’s just a matter of time before you are. You’ve had something for him for years.”

  “If that’s all you wanted to say…” She started for the door.

  He reached to grab her again, but this time she avoided his grasp. “Don’t,” she said, her voice low and full of warning. “Don’t touch me.”

  He drew back in surprise. “Jackie—”

  “And don’t call me that.”

  He stiffened and busied himself straightening his hat, as if trying to get his temper under control.

  What had she ever seen in him? She didn’t want to think about why she’d ended up with McCray. And it wasn’t because she hadn’t known what kind of man he was. She’d been looking for an outlaw during the day and had wanted one at night, as well.

  Too late she’d realized Claude McCray was a mean bastard with even less ethics than Dillon Savage.

  “Was there something about the case?” she asked as she reached for the doorknob.

  He glared at her for a long moment, then grudgingly said, “My men found something up by where the rustlers cut the barbed wire of Robinson’s fence last night,” he said finally. “I’m sure it’s probably been in the dirt for years and has nothing do with the rustlers, but I was told to give it to you.” He reached toward his desk, then turned and dropped a gold good-luck piece into her palm.

  “You have any idea who this might belong to?” she asked.

  “Someone whose luck is about to turn for the worst,” McCray said cryptically. “At least if I have anything to do with it.”

  Chapter Six

  “You all right?” Dillon asked as Jack came out of the sheriff’s office.

  “Fine,” she said, whipping past him and heading for the truck.

  He followed, thinking about what he’d seen in there. Definitely tension between the lawman and Jack. Dillon had never liked that redneck son of a bitch, McCray. He’d seen plenty of guys like him at prison. What he’d witnessed in the office hadn’t made Dillon dislike him any less.

  In fact, it had been all he could do not to punch the man. But if Dillon had learned anything it was that you didn’t punch out a sheriff. Especially when you had just gotten a prerelease from prison and were treading on thin ice as it was.

  Jack started the pickup as Dillon slid in and slammed the door. She seemed anxious to get out of town. He knew that feeling.

  “So what did the bastard do to you?”

  She jerked her head around to look at him and almost ran into the car in front of them.

  He saw the answer in her expression
and swore. “McCray. Oh man.” Dillon had hoped the animosity between them just had to do with work, but he’d known better. He just hadn’t wanted to believe she’d get involved with Claude McCray, and said as much.

  “Don’t,” she warned as she gripped the wheel. The light changed and she got the pickup going again. “You and I aren’t getting into this discussion.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve made some big mistakes in my life, but Claude McCray?”

  She slammed on the brakes so hard the seat belt cut into him. “I will not have this discussion with you,” she said, biting off each word. The driver behind them laid on his horn. Jack didn’t seem to notice. She was clasping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, her eyes straight ahead, as if she couldn’t look at him.

  “Okay, okay,” Dillon said, realizing this had to be that big regret he’d sensed in her. Jack’s big mistake.

  It was so unlike her. She had more sense than to get involved with McCray. Something must have caused it. “When was it?”

  “I just said—”

  He swore as he remembered something he’d overheard while in the county jail. “You were seeing him when you were chasing me.”

  She groaned and got the pickup going again. “Could we please drop this? Can’t you just sit over there and laugh smugly under your breath so I don’t have to hear it?”

  She still hadn’t looked at him.

  He reached over and touched her arm. Her gaze shifted to him slowly, reluctantly. He looked into her eyes and saw a pain he couldn’t comprehend. No way had McCray broken it off between them. No, from the way the sheriff had been acting, Jack had dumped him.

  So what was with this heartache Dillon saw in her eyes?

  TOM ROBINSON’S RANCH house was at the end of a narrow, deeply rutted road. The ranch was small, a wedge of land caught between Waters’s huge spread and Reda Harper’s much less extensive one.

  The ride north had been pure hell. Though Dillon finally shut up about her and Sheriff McCray, Jack knew he was sitting over there making sport of her entire affair. She hated to think what was going through his mind.

  After a few miles, she stole a glance at him. He had his hat down over his eyes, his long legs sprawled out, his hands resting in his lap. To all appearances, he seemed to be sleeping.

  Right. He was over there chortling to himself, pleased that he’d stirred her up again. Worse, that he now had something on her. The man was impossible.

  She would never figure him out. Earlier, when he’d forced her to look at him, she’d thought she’d seen compassion in his eyes, maybe even understanding.

  But how could he understand? She didn’t herself.

  Dillon Savage was like no man she’d ever known. When she’d been chasing him before, she’d been shocked to learn that he didn’t fit any profile, let alone that of a cattle rustler. For starters, he was university educated, with degrees in engineering, business and psychology, and he’d graduated at the top of his class.

  If that wasn’t enough, he’d inherited a bundle right before he started rustling cattle. He had no reason to commit the crime. Except, she suspected, to flaunt the law.

  Dillon stirred as she pulled into Tom Robinson’s yard. She felt the gold good-luck coin in her pocket. She’d almost forgotten that she’d stuck it there, she’d been so upset about McCray—and Dillon.

  She knew it might not be a clue. Anyone could have dropped it there at any time. While the coin did look old, that didn’t mean it was. Nor would she put it past Claude McCray to lie about where he’d found it, just to throw her off track. Worse, she suspected it might be fairly common, even something given out by casinos, since Montana had legalized gambling.

  If it had belonged to one of the rustlers, any fingerprints on it had been destroyed with McCray handling it.

  She sighed and reached into her pocket for the coin, thinking about what McCray had said about luck changing for the person who’d been carrying it.

  “I need to ask you something,” she said, turning to Dillon. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

  He nodded and grinned. “Did I tell you I never lie?”

  “Right.”

  Dillon looked at the hand she held toward him, her fingers clasped around something he couldn’t see, her eyes intent on his face.

  He felt his stomach clench as she slowly uncurled her fingers. He had no idea what she was going to show him. And even though he suspected it wasn’t going to be good, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw nestled in her palm.

  “You recognize it!” she accused, wrapping her fingers back around it as if she wanted to hit him with her fist. “So help me, if you deny it—”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it before. Or at least one like it.”

  She was staring at him as if she was surprised he’d actually admitted it. “Who does it belong to?”

  “I said I’d seen one like it, I didn’t say—”

  “Don’t,” she snapped, scowling at him.

  “Easy,” he said, holding up his hands. “A friend of mine used to have one like it, okay? He carried it around for luck. But he’s dead.”

  “And you don’t know what happened to his?”

  Dillon couldn’t very well miss her sarcasm. “May I look at it?”

  She reluctantly opened her hand, as if she thought he might grab it and run.

  He plucked the good-luck coin from her warm palm, accidentally brushing his fingertips across her skin, and saw her shudder. But his attention was on the coin as he turned it in his fingers. The small marks were right where he knew they would be, leaving no doubt. His heart began to pound.

  “Where did you say you got this?” he asked as he handed it back.

  Her gaze burned into him. “I didn’t.”

  Dillon could only assume that, since she’d gone to the sheriff about Tom Robinson, McCray had given it to her. Which had to mean that she suspected one of the rustlers who’d attacked Tom had dropped it.

  “So who was the deceased friend of yours who had one like it?” she asked, clearly not believing him.

  “Halsey Waters. And as for what happened to his coin,” Dillon said, “I personally put it in his suit pocket at his funeral.”

  “Halsey Waters? Shade’s oldest son?”

  “That’s the one.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dillon saw the ranch house door open and a stocky cowboy step out. Arlen Dubois.

  It was turning out to be like old home week, Dillon thought. All the old gang was back in central Montana. Just as they had been for Halsey Waters’s funeral.

  ARLEN DUBOIS WAS all cowboy, long and lanky, legs bowed, boots run-down, jeans worn and dirty. He invited them into the house, explaining that he was looking after everything with Tom in the hospital.

  Jacklyn watched Arlen take off his hat and nervously rake a hand through short blond curls. His skin was white and lightly freckled where the hat had protected it from the sun. The rest of his face was sunburned red.

  He looked from Jacklyn to Dillon and quickly back again. “I’d offer you something to drink…”

  “We’re fine,” Jacklyn said, noticing how uncomfortable the cowboy was in the presence of his old friend. Arlen had a slight lisp, buckteeth and a broad open face. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  He shifted on his feet. “Okay.”

  “Do you mind if we sit down?” she asked.

  Arlen got all flustered, but waved them toward chairs in the small living room. Jacklyn noticed that the fabric was threadbare, and doubted the furnishings had been replaced in Tom’s lifetime.

  Arlen turned his hat in his hands as he sat on the edge of one of the chairs.

  “You work for Tom Robinson?” she asked.

  “Yep, but you already know that. If you think I had anything to do with what happened to Tom—”

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Robinson?”

  Arlen gave that some thought, scraping at a dirty spot on his hat as he did. “About four years,” he said, without
looking up. The same amount of time Dillon Savage had been behind bars.

  “You and Mr. Savage here have been friends for a long time, right?”

  Arlen started. “What does that have to do with this? If you think I ever stole cattle with him—”

  “I was just asking if you were friends.”

  Arlen shrugged, avoiding Dillon’s gaze. “We knew each other.”

  Yeah, she would just bet. She’d long suspected Dillon hadn’t done the rustling alone. He would have needed help. But would he have involved a man like Arlen Dubois? Word at the bar was that Dubois tended to brag when he had a few drinks in him, although few people believed even half of what he said.

  “Have you seen anyone suspicious around the ranch? Before Tom was attacked?” she asked, knowing that most of her questions were a waste of time. She had just wanted to see Arlen and Dillon together.

  Dillon seemed cool as a cucumber, like a man who had nothing to hide.

  “Nothin’ suspicious,” Arlen said, with a shake of his head.

  “You know of anyone who had a grudge against Tom?”

  The cowboy shook his head again. “Tom was likable enough.”

  Dillon was studying Arlen, and making him even more nervous. Maybe she should have left him in the truck.

  “If you think of anything…”

  Arlen looked relieved. “Sure,” he said, and rose from his chair. “You ready to ride out to where I found Tom?”

  Jacklyn nodded. “One more thing,” she said as she stood and reached into her pocket. “Ever seen this before?”

  Arlen reacted as if she’d held out a rattlesnake. His gaze shot to Dillon’s, then back to the coin. “I might have seen one like it once.”

  “Where was that?” she asked.

  “I can’t really recall.”

  Both of Arlen’s responses were lies.

  “Mr. Savage, would you mind waiting for me in the pickup?” she asked.

  “Not at all, Ms. Wilde.”

  She ground her teeth as she waited for him to close the front door behind him. “Anything you want to tell me, Arlen?”