Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  The years seemed to evaporate as Colton sped down the state road that cut through the canyon and followed the winding path of the creek from which the town had taken its name. Guarded on either side by hills that rose to craggy mountains, Prairie Creek Valley widened to the south, closer to the Rocking D, which was located ten miles out of town and included thousands of acres of ranch land. He slowed as the gateway that marked the entrance to the Rocking D Ranch came into view. Something in his chest sparked—the desire for home, though it wasn’t his home anymore, hadn’t been for years.

  His tires sang over the cattle guard, and then acres of white surrounded him, sparkling in the gold of the setting sun. Dillinger land stretched out all the way to the snow-capped shale mountains. His teeth locked as he passed the spur of road leading to the old homestead house. Did the place still smell of death and heartache?

  A handful of small trucks were parked in the drive of the main house, and workmen’s ladders were still leaning up against the house. White lights lined the windows and doors of the first floor, giving the house a golden glow against the snow.

  Christmas lights. So Mom’s tradition was being carried on.

  The minute Colt cut the engine, Montana lifted his head from the backseat where he’d been sleeping and started barking. “Let’s check it out, buddy,” he said, climbing out of the cab. The dog jumped out and began turning circles in the snow while Colton stared up at the cedar and glass building that looked more like a modern cathedral than a ranch house. He didn’t recognize anyone working on the Christmas lights, but then it had been years since he’d spent any amount of time here.

  Montana sniffed the fence posts, then trailed Colton as he climbed the porch steps, rang the doorbell and wondered about the best way to get past Pilar to his son.

  His son.

  His throat felt thick at the thought of having a kid in this world. Well, maybe something good had come out of his time with Pilar. He’d been so young and brash back then. He’d liked ranching, but working under his father’s rule had crushed his spirit. He’d missed Sabrina, but he’d known that he wasn’t what she needed. Not then. Not when he only thought about roping and riding and how to escape Prairie Creek and the aftermath of the fire that had taken his uncle.

  Pilar … she’d been a distraction. And in those days, he’d been looking for one. Luckily he’d found Margo and then they had Darcy …

  His chest constricted and he hitched his duffel farther up his shoulder and stepped inside the house. Montana followed him in, claws tapping on the wood. The dog paused and smelled the molding, and Colton found himself taking a deep breath, too, as he headed down the long hall to the back of the house.

  God, it still smelled like home.

  Must have been Mrs. Mac’s cooking, or maybe the cleaning stuff she used. There was something reassuring about the odors of wood smoke and lemon, and—all rolled together, the smells and the wide-plank floor and the sun hitting the clock in the nook—it all reminded him of his mother. This had been her home, the land and family that she loved, and her spirit lingered here. The feeling was strong. Right now, Colton could almost believe she was in the kitchen trying out a new cobbler recipe or upstairs going over the books. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Mom was haunting the place, giving Pilar a bit of a poke.

  He dropped his duffel onto the floor.

  “Who’s there?” Janice MacDonald emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Colton …” She beamed with pleasure. “I was wondering if we’d see the Montana cowboy for the wedding,” she teased, patting his shoulder. “But you’re too skinny. What do they feed you up there?”

  “Beer and Jack Daniel’s,” he answered, smiling.

  “Well, that’s no good for you. Your father is away in Cheyenne, but let me go get Pilar.”

  “That’s okay. If you can just show me where you want me … ?”

  “I’d better get her,” Mrs. Mac said as she headed up the stairs. “She’ll want to see you and she’s the boss now.”

  Good God.

  He didn’t believe for a second that Pilar was in love with Ira, but it seemed she’d do anything, including messing with Rourke’s well-being, to please the old man. Colton suspected that the exotic beauty wanted a direct hand on the Dillinger wealth. Well, she could have it. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about his father’s empire.

  Except where his kid was concerned.

  And that was going to be the tough part.

  He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Things were already sticky and they were only going to get worse. A helluva lot worse.

  “Colton?” Pilar’s voice greeted him before she appeared.

  Montana’s ears perked up and he gave a low growl.

  “Stay,” Colt ordered under his breath, and the dog sat on the entry floor, just as his father’s bride swept through the archway leading to the back of the house.

  She was as beautiful as he remembered. Thick, jet-black hair wound into a knot at the base of her skull, full lips and dark eyes that still sparkled with a sexy mischief. Dressed to the nines in a sweater and tight jeans, Pilar was still a knockout. He could still appreciate her attributes, though what he mostly felt upon seeing her again was wariness.

  “So you decided to come after all,” she said, beaming up at him. “I’m thrilled. It’s so good to see you.” Were those tears she was blinking back manufactured? “It’ll mean so much to your father.”

  “I came to meet Rourke.”

  “I know.” She sniffed and ran a finger under each of her eyes to stem the tears. “He’s upstairs in his room. I’ll get him.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Colton put a hand on the banister, blocking her little hop up the stairs. “Before you drag him down here, how’s he doing? I mean, with all this.”

  “All this? Oh, the marriage and you being his father and all.”

  “Yeah, ‘and all.’”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You know how resilient kids are. He’ll get used to it.”

  Colton didn’t detect much compassion in her response. “I thought you agreed to keep it quiet. Then Ira tells me he knows, and so does the boy.”

  “Your father is the only one I told … besides Rourke, of course. But I had to tell Ira. There can’t be secrets between a husband and wife.”

  “Did you learn that from lying to Chad all those years?”

  “Whoa. Low blow, Colt. Below the belt, and I don’t want any crude jokes about that, okay. Come on, everyone has a few secrets. Even you. You can’t tell me there isn’t someone special in your life that you shared our secret with.”

  She had him there. “The only person I told is my sister Ricki, and she knows how to keep a secret.”

  “Well.” Pilar put her hands on her slender hips. “That explains why she’s so cold to me … and so nice to Rourke. He likes her, you know.”

  “I don’t blame him. Ricki’s good people.”

  “Hard to believe, coming from one Dillinger to another,” she said dryly as she turned back to the stairs. On the first landing, she paused and looked down at him, and for the first time he saw real concern in her eyes. “Please remember Rourke’s my son. I love him with all my heart. A mother’s love, you know. Unconditional.”

  He was surprised at this emotional outburst, but as if understanding that she was baring her soul a little too much, she squared her shoulders and glanced into the foyer. “One thing.” She wiggled a finger toward the door where Montana sat on the mat. “We don’t allow dogs in the house.”

  “Since when?” He couldn’t remember a day when his father’s favorite hunting hound hadn’t been curled near his chair by the fire.

  “New rule. I’m allergic. We have barns and stables and all kinds of outbuildings.” Her edict pronounced, she hurried up the remaining stairs, her heels clicking on the hardwood before she crossed the catwalk and disappeared into a hallway.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” Colton told the dog. He could hear muffled convers
ation from upstairs and then the sound of her returning footsteps.

  “Come on,” she whispered to the boy who was following her down the stairs.

  In that second, Colton’s life changed forever. Aside from his reddish hair, the kid was the spitting image of Colton as a youth. He even moved awkwardly as Colt once had, all legs and arms. How Pilar had passed him off as Chad Larson’s son was a mystery. Watching the kid trudge down the stairs as if he were walking toward the hangman’s noose, Colton felt an odd glitch in his throat.

  “Rourke,” Pilar said. “This is Colton Dillinger. He’s Ira’s son—the one I told you about. Do you remember what I said about him?”

  “Chad was my father,” the boy retorted intensely.

  “I know you always thought that, but it’s not true,” Pilar said brusquely. “Chad raised you as if you were his own, but Colton is your real father.”

  “You’re a liar!” Rourke accused, turning to face his mother.

  Colt shifted his weight. This wasn’t going well, but then he’d never thought it would.

  Pilar said firmly, “I never told you the truth before because I didn’t think you were old enough to understand that—”

  “But I’m old enough now?” he charged, defiance flashing in his eyes, the same kind of rebellion that Colton had felt. “Now that you’re sleeping with the old man, I’m old enough to know that you screwed his son, too?”

  Whoa!

  Pilar gasped, and for the briefest of seconds Colt wondered if she might slap her son. To ward it off, Colton caught her wrist. Fury burned in Pilar’s dark eyes as she spun to face Colt.

  “The boy’s got a point,” he said.

  “I don’t need you standing up for me!” Rourke’s face was flushed. “Let go of my mother.”

  Colton slowly released her and Pilar smoothed her sweater, lifting her chin in defiance. “This is starting off well. Now, let’s go into the family room and try again, so we can all get to know each other.”

  “Fuck that!” Rourke pushed past his mother and headed for the stairs. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”

  “Rourke, come back here right now!” she demanded.

  With his head down, the boy bounded up the steps and disappeared around the top landing without looking back.

  “Rourke!” Pilar hollered.

  Watching him flee, Colton felt a mixture of relief, guilt and compassion. And part of him wished that he could escape up the stairs as well.

  “I’m going to drag him down here by his ears, if I have to,” Pilar declared, starting up the stairs.

  “Unconditional love?” Colt threw back at her, and when he saw a shaft of pain in her eyes, said a little more softly, “Let him go.”

  She started up the first few steps. “But he just swore and disrespected me and you, and he never uses foul language—”

  “Give him a little time to get used to things.”

  “I’m getting married in a week!”

  “It’s not a deadline for Rourke, though. You and Dad are in the all-fired rush to get married. Give the kid a break. And, if he doesn’t want to see me this trip, I’ll come back some other time.”

  Pilar paused on the landing and crossed her arms over her breasts. With an angry glance cast to the second floor she said, “Look, Colt, I’m not going to let my son swear like one of Ira’s cowhands.”

  “Our son,” Colton reminded her as somewhere upstairs a door slammed so hard the timbers of the house shook and Montana gave out a startled little woof.

  “I did not raise that boy to be defiant!”

  “He’s eleven. You hit him with some pretty big news. And there’s plenty more attitude just around the corner.”

  “Not from my son.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Doesn’t run in the Dillinger family. Or with you, for that matter. I’ll bet you gave your mother fits as a teenager.” She glared at him as he added, “Sometimes, you just have to back off a little, Pilar,” then picked up his duffel bag and whistled for Montana to come.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “Looking for a place to stay.”

  “But you can stay here. I’ll have Janice get one of the guest suites ready.”

  “Nope.” Colton shouldered his bag and headed toward the door, his boots finding their way across the familiar planks of the floor. “Wherever I bunk, the dog goes, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Seven o’clock on a Friday night, and Sam had to hustle to stop into the downtown shops before they closed. This time of year, Main Street wasn’t exactly bustling after dark, even though his department was working overtime due to being short staffed, two more deputies down with the flu. That’s why he, after his regular shift, was braving the cold in the streets of the town, helping pass out flyers, despite the work piling up on his desk and computer. He caught Hub Booman at the cleaner’s and Aura Calo at the bookstore just as they were closing. The barbershop, pizza place and realtor’s office had come next. He’d been lucky to be able to hand off the flyer to Cal in the flower shop; Sally would have held him captive in conversation for half an hour.

  By the time he headed toward Molly’s he had covered most of the merchants and he was bone weary. Tomorrow morning, with hopefully a full crew, he’d get one of his deputies to hit the daytime businesses, like the bank and the feed-and-seed shop.

  A blast of warm air carried the scent of fresh baked rolls and roasted meat as he opened the door. It smelled good. Classic rock was playing on the jukebox, and the dinner crowd was tucking into plates of fried chicken, roast beef and gravy, or the Friday spaghetti feed.

  Sam went straight to the bulletin board by the door and tacked up one of the flyers. MISSING—AMBER BARSTOW. The e-mailed photo from the young woman’s parents had printed up nice and clear, her dark hair shining, her smile carefree and giddy.

  If only that photo could speak. Tell him where she was. Already she’d been missing more than a week, and Sam didn’t like the idea that she’d been last seen here in Prairie Creek. It was his responsibility to find her, and he didn’t think he’d sleep a wink until that happened.

  But he needed to eat, and he wouldn’t mind spreading the alarm about Amber in person. In Prairie Creek, that meant putting the word out at Molly’s Diner.

  The stools at the end of the counter were taken by the crew from Slim’s barbershop, with Slim himself at the end chewing on a breadstick. Paul Nesbitt, the town mayor, was there with his wife, Chrissy, sitting alongside Ricki Dillinger.

  And that was the only empty seat, right next to Ricki. Sam hesitated as he unzipped his jacket and considered grabbing dinner at the saloon instead. He didn’t have anything against Ricki. Hell, growing up best friends with her brother Colton, he’d ridden and corralled cattle alongside that girl. There’d been years of campfires and competitions, shooting matches and horse races. Ricki had been like a sister to him, and he’d missed her when she flew out East to be a city girl.

  But now, Ricki was back, and Sam wasn’t feeling so brotherly anymore. It pissed him off. Feelings. Shifting tides of emotion that were about as easy to stop as a cold front coming down from Canada.

  “Sheriff?” The mayor twisted around on his stool. “Pull up a stool and grab some grub.”

  “Sounds good.” Sam shook off his jacket and hung it on a hook, trying to grow a thick skin in the process. “I’ve been passing these around town.” He held up the stack of flyers, then passed a few out to the patrons at the counter. “We’ve got a missing person, last seen at Big Bart’s.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Paul held the flyer away to accommodate his farsightedness. “I heard there was some commotion out by Big Bart’s today. A search party?”

  Sam nodded. He’d spent most of the day organizing the search, but even with men and women from all the nearby law enforcement agencies, the county was a huge parcel of land to scour, and snowdrifts and freezing temperatures didn’t help.

  Leaning close to her husband, Chrissy sigh
ed. “Pretty girl. These things always scare me.”

  “She got any friends in the area?” asked Henry, who’d been cutting Sam’s hair since he was five.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m hoping someone might come forward once we get the word out. Her car was abandoned with a flat tire, and it would be great if a friend picked her up.” Safe and sound. That’s what Sam had told his own daughter when she used to wake up from a nightmare. Don’t worry, you’re safe and sound. He wished he could say the same for Amber Barstow.

  “When was the last time we had a missing person here?” someone asked.

  “Never happened while I was sheriff.” Sam took the empty stool beside Ricki, who was studying the flyer, staring at the photo in the same way he had.

  “That’s a question for the town archives,” Paul said. Running an insurance agency with Chrissy, Paul was a big fan of facts and statistics.

  “There was a guy in the sixties,” Slim offered. “Vietnam vet. Turned out he went off in the woods and shot himself.”

  Sam saw that Ricki was halfway through a roast beef platter. “How’s the beef tonight?” he asked.

  “Melt in your mouth.”

  “I’ll take one of those, Cordelia. And water.” He turned to Ricki, who was usually not part of the Friday night crowd at Molly’s. “What are you up to?”

  “Treating myself to dinner. Just dropped my daughter off at the high school for the basketball game.”

  “That’s good. Glad she’s making friends.”

  “Well, actually I had to force her to go, mean mother that I am.” Ricki pushed the flyer back on the counter and picked up her fork. “What are you working, four to twelve?”

  “I started at six-hundred hours with the search party out by Big Bart’s. I’m down one deputy with another on maternity leave, a few more are out with the flu, but this isn’t something I can put off till after Christmas.”

  “Does the state have a missing persons unit?”