Courage To Follow (Cowboys of Courage 1)

by Charlene Bright

  Garrett didn’t let himself think like that. The whole time, he’d pictured Hoyt in a cabin somewhere, drinking too much. He couldn’t let that image fade in favor of one where Hoyt sat frozen against some tree. He’d had enough tragedy in his life. He refused to suffer more.

  They found nothing in the trailer park, which was no surprise. Garrett stopped in at Lou’s and grabbed a piece of pie, not daring to head into the woods without eating, and Mike relented and ordered fries. With a satisfied stomach, Garrett drove them back to the station, where other pairs were slowly filtering back in with mostly nothing. One team reported that the sheriff sometimes snuck off to a particular cabin two or three times a year, and Lucas instantly sent them to check it out.

  “Hey, Garrett, can I talk to you for minute?” Lucas called, and Garrett looked up in surprise. With a shrug, he ambled forward, feeling like a kid who’d been called down in class for not paying attention.

  “Hey, man, what’s going on?” he asked, leaning against Hoyt’s desk with one hip.

  Lucas looked a little nervous, and he didn’t answer right away. Garrett grew suspicious and reached up to rub the brim of his hat. When Lucas addressed him, he sounded a little hesitant. “We have a problem, man,” he said, fidgeting a little. It wasn’t typical behavior for him, and it only made Garrett more anxious. “Here’s the thing, Garrett. Leland and Grant went up to look around your place. Of course, no one wants to pin anything on anyone in this community. We’re just trying to find out if Hoyt passed by anyone’s place and left a trace of some kind.”

  Garrett waved off the explanation, growing impatient. “I get it, man. Just tell me whatever it is you have to say, whatever this problem is.”

  Lucas sighed. “There was a set of footprints, out by the stables on your land.”

  “That’s not news, buddy. I’m out there all the time.”

  Leland stepped forward. “I’ll just tell you straight up, Garrett. The footprints were Hoyt’s, and they were fresh after the last snow. They froze up, well preserved, and it was definitely Hoyt.”

  Garrett grimaced at him. “Get over it, Leland. Hoyt hasn’t been out to my place in months. Are you really still that pissed off at me to try to pin a murder on me?”

  But the other guy, Grant, came forward, holding out his cell phone. Garrett looked at the picture, and his stomach dropped. It was definitely his land, his stables, and the photo showed a clear set of tracks, made by wide sneakers, one of which dragged a little with each step, just like Hoyt’s limping gait. He shoved the phone away. “Look, I don’t know what the hell he would have been doing on my land, but I never saw him, and there are obviously none of my footprints to match.”

  Leland brushed his finger over the end of his nose. “Those tracks end in the middle of nothing, Garrett, like he got swept off his feet. It would have been real easy for you to just step in the tracks he already made.”

  “You’re insane,” Garrett balked. “Hoyt’s a big man. Do you really think I could have carried his ass over my shoulder so I could see where I was stepping? Because I sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to see if I held him in front of me. Obviously, it’s either some sort of coincidence, or the reason we didn’t find anything at his house is because someone snatched him off my property.”

  “Who else would it be, Garrett?” Lucas asked, obviously digging for something that would take suspicion off Garrett.

  “The hell if I know!” he exploded. “How do I know you didn’t set me up, Leland? You were on my land awfully early yesterday, before sunrise. You could have made those tracks yourself to set me up so you could watch me suffer. And you gave me the badge so it looked like I had motive, wanting to take over the role. You’re sick. Where is he?”

  Mike put a hand on Garrett’s chest, holding him back as he leaned toward Leland threateningly. Garrett hadn’t even seen him join them. “Hey, man, it’s not worth it. Be rational. If Leland intended to set you up for something, he could have done something way easier, like plant drugs on you.”

  He had a point, but Garrett argued, “You know, Murder One of a law officer carries a death sentence. Drug possession would get me ninety days at best. He hates me far too much to be satisfied with that.”

  “Calm down, Garrett,” Lucas told him. “Nobody’s saying you did it. But obviously, we can’t just ignore the evidence. Leland’s ready to take a statement from you, if you’re willing, and we’re just asking you to step away from the case for now. If something comes up to clear you, we’ll bring you right back on.”

  “This is horse shit,” Garrett raged. He’d never hurt anyone. He’d done nothing but serve this town in one way or another since he was a kid. “You know, I might understand if you had any motive, but why would I want to hurt Hoyt? He’s like a father to me.”

  Grant, the guy with the photo, scratched his ear. “Well, Garrett, you do get the badge and the salary without Sheriff Brooks around. I’m not saying that’s motive, but a lot of people would see it that way.”

  Livid, Garrett grabbed the badge out of his pocket and tossed it on the desk. “I never wanted this thing. You all know that. What would make me suddenly change my mind? And if I really wanted it that bad, don’t you think I’d convince Hoyt to retire early?”

  “Maybe you tried, but he refused. Things got heated. It was an accident,” Leland suggested, shrugging. “Or maybe you just couldn’t wait, and you plotted it.”

  “Even you know better than that, Leland.” He couldn’t believe this! He felt like Jesus on the cross, with the Romans standing around jeering at him. This was the manhunt, and he’d been picked as the prey. “Come on, guys, you have to know I wouldn’t do anything like this.”

  Kyle Kilgore, an old high school buddy of Garrett’s and Lucas’s, stepped up, looking a little sheepish. All Garrett could think was, what the hell does he have to add to all this? “I know you don’t like to talk about it, bud, but I remember how angry you were when…you know.” He didn’t say it, but Garrett knew what he was thinking. “You blamed Hoyt back then. You said if he’d locked Titus Wilcox up for assault after he brawled with the bartender, you never would have lost your parents.”

  Garrett gawked at him. “I was fifteen, Kyle. We all said stupid things back then. I was devastated, and I needed someone to blame. Titus was gone, and my parents were gone, and the only person left to hate was Hoyt. I’m an adult now, and that was years ago. If I were looking for revenge, I would have gone that route when I was still that headstrong teenager full of angst.”

  But he could see the doubt in everyone’s eyes, from Lucas and Mike to Grant and Kyle. Leland was the exception, but that’s because he was already convinced he could toss Garrett to the wolves and let them rip him apart for a sin he hadn’t committed.

  “You can get a lawyer if you want,” Mike suggested in a gravelly voice. “My cousin’s good. He’ll help you out the best he can. But you shouldn’t say anything else right now. And you need to decide if you’re talking to Leland or not about it.”

  No way was he going to make a statement to Leland. He’d turn things around and make them fit his theory. Shaking his head adamantly, Garrett started for the door. “I’m not saying anything until I’m under arrest, you got that?” He slammed out of the station, got in his Bronco, and floored it, headed to his place. He obviously had no one on his side in this community. For some reason, they’d all turned on him. He needed to dig himself out of this mess, and the only way to do that was to find Hoyt and bring him home, dead or alive, in whatever condition.

  He didn’t have the tracking skills to find someone who seemed to have disappeared without a trace, though, and he had no real clues other than the strangers Lou had mentioned. And apparently, a set of footsteps by his stables.

  As he pulled into his own driveway, he jumped out of the truck almost before he’d come to a complete stop and killed the engine, headed straight for the stables. He wanted to see these footprints for himself. As he came up on them, he recognized the gait i
nstantly, and it shocked him to his core. When had Hoyt been here without Garrett knowing about it? The tracks ended abruptly, too, just as he’d been told.

  As they’d said, the tracks had been made after the last snow and had frozen in place, stuck under the overhang out of the sun while the rest of the snow started to melt. That meant the sheriff had been here around the time he was last seen. It didn’t make sense at all, unless someone was setting him up.

  Why, though? Garrett didn’t have any enemies. He didn’t get along with Leland, but he didn’t consider the man an enemy, just a sore, stubborn son of a bitch who wouldn’t listen to reason. Hoyt treated him like his own son, and the rest of the town knew what an upstanding guy he was. Completely enraged, it took all his willpower not to level the barn and the stables. He heard the horses snorting inside, and he walked away. They sensed his energy, and if he stayed too close to them, he’d spook them. Then they would level the place for him.

  Garrett knew his options were limited, but he refused to just sit around and wait to be crucified. Pacing the floors inside his cabin, he racked his brain for another way. He thought maybe Lou would back him, but he didn’t want to drag her down in flames with him. One person’s testimony as a character witness wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  There was no other recourse. He had to find Hoyt. Desperate, he only knew of one way to find him, and he would have to call in a very big favor. It was still early; if he left now, he could be at the Crow Nation Reservation and home before nightfall. He didn’t care if anyone came looking for him and thought he’d run; he would be back, and they could scream at him then. Right now, he had to do what was in his best interest, and that meant going to see a very old friend.

  Chief Solid Fist greeted Garrett honorably, and that boded well for Garrett. His raven-black hair had become threaded with gray since Garrett had last seen him, and he regretted not making more regular trips to the reservation. The chief had been a good friend to him in the worst of times, and Garrett realized he should take better care of the few friendships he had.

  They entered the Crow Nation Chief’s small house, and Solid Fist took a seat in an old, worn armchair. Garrett faced him, settling himself on the edge of a loveseat that had seen better days. The Crow people didn’t care about possessions; they were a spiritual people, still very connected to their heritage, and possessions were a necessity in a world where making sure the gods smiled upon the land and their people took precedent over everything else.

  “I haven’t seen you for some time, Working Bull.” Garrett couldn’t remember the last time anyone had referred to him by his given Native American name. It felt good, rolled over his skin soothingly, and he calmed a little. He’d been stressed and anxious the entire drive, and it was nice to feel his muscles relax a bit.

  “I’ve been a busy man, Chief. I should have kept in touch better.”

  The chief nodded. “I assume, since you haven’t made regular visits in a long time, your visit today is not just to catch up on old times. You look like a harried man right now. What can I do to help you?”

  Garrett didn’t mince words; there were times when the chief enjoyed bantering conversation, but this wasn’t one of them. He’d gotten straight to the point, and Garrett would be respectful and do the same. “I’m being accused of murdering the sheriff, and my entire town’s hopping on the wagon. They’ve got tracks on my land and nothing else to go on, but they’re ready to convict me already.”

  “Do they have a body?” Solid Fist asked in his quiet, nonchalant way.

  Shaking his head, Garrett told him, “He wasn’t even officially a missing person until today. I was part of the search team, and they told me to step back and stay out of the way, in so many words.”

  The chief shifted, running his fingers over his chin. “You are an innocent man, Garrett. This I know. It’s too bad small towns don’t follow the letter of the law in maintaining your innocence until they prove you guilty. What do you feel happened to your sheriff?”

  Garrett had an answer for that yesterday, but today, he wasn’t sure. “I can think of a lot of things. He could have gone hunting and gotten hurt, or he could have gone to visit family and not told anyone. He could have gone into the woods to investigate something and had a heart attack. There’s no telling. But I know I didn’t kill him, and I can’t think of anyone else who had a motive to do so, either.”

  “You believe he is alive. Do you think you’re being a bit optimistic? Three days is a long time to be missing, especially if he’s injured and outside in the elements.”

  “I’m not sure if he’s alive or not, but I don’t think he was murdered.” Garrett sighed. “I can’t track well enough to hunt Hoyt down. I need help. I was hoping you could loan me one of your trackers so I can find the man and clear my name.”

  Solid Fist stared at him for a long time in silence, and Garrett knew the chief was considering not only Garrett’s state of mind but also how best to assist, whether to grant the request, and how it would impact both his nation and the case. Finally, the chief sat forward. “I will have one of my best trackers meet you at your home tomorrow morning. I assure you, if your sheriff is anywhere in the state, he will be found.”

  Profound relief washed over Garrett. With one of Solid Fist’s men, this would be cleared up in no time, and Leland and the rest of the town would be eating their words. “Thank you, Chief. I don’t know how to repay you, but I’ll find a way.”

  “Just stay true to yourself, Working Bull. When you clear yourself of this charge, you come tell me how your life has changed. That is all the repayment I will need.”

  Garrett shook his hand, amused at the cryptic message so characteristic of his dear friend. He drove home much less hurried, looking forward to the day ending and a new one beginning. The last two days rivaled for a position at the top of his list of worst days ever. He just told himself it would be over soon, and he would be able to go back to his business and live his quiet life alone, without interruption.

  Chapter 5

  He found Diablo waiting for him, lying quietly on the deck. His ears perked as Garrett approached, but the lazy beast didn’t get up until he had the keys in the lock. Inside, he saw his answering machine flashing wildly, and he groaned. He’d play the messages later; he really didn’t want to hear what they had to say right now. He could guess several of the callers, and he didn’t even care to hear their voices, whether apologizing or ranting and accusing.

  He wandered into the kitchen with every intention of cooking, but he didn’t have the energy or the motivation. His stomach growled at him in protest, and he dug around in the fridge until he found a package of deli meat. He chopped up some lettuce and sliced a tomato, slathered some mayonnaise and mustard on a couple slices of bread, and piled it high with the meat and veggies. He added a thick slice of Colby jack cheese for good measure and called it dinner. He poured a Jack Daniels, something he rarely drank, and took everything to the living room, where he rarely ate.

  Diablo just curled up at his feet, apparently not hungry, and Garrett turned on a movie he’d wanted to see for a while now. He slipped into his “nothing box,” determined not to think about anything and just let the movie play out, and when it ended, he was ready for bed. He showered and shaved, feeling the need to look clean and proper. It was the only way he felt he could portray the innocent man, considering all the bogus circumstantial evidence against him.

  He stripped down to his boxers and trudged to bed, practically asleep on his feet, and he told Diablo, “I’m not setting the alarm. Don’t let me sleep late.” The dog barked and made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed as Garrett drifted off.

  Of course, his internal clock didn’t need a friendly reminder from his canine companion. His eyes popped open at the same time every morning, with or without an alarm. He dressed and, as usual, Eleanor’s damned rooster crowed as he poured his first cup of coffee for the day. The crazy bird had to be deaf and blind. He was off-key, his crow feeling l
ike someone drove nails into Garrett’s spine, and he never crowed at dawn. He started an hour or so early and went for about half an hour, and he started up again just after noon and continued for almost an hour. He usually let one more out at sunset, but that round was usually short-lived.

  Garrett hated chickens. Fowl would forever be the one type of animal he refused to have on his ranch. He could handle the stench of a pigsty, but something about a chicken coop made his stomach turn at the mere thought.

  By the time he’d finished his morning chores and gotten back in the house for more coffee and some bacon and biscuits, it was after seven, and he figured it would probably be a good idea to make enough for two, since he expected the Crow Nation tracker to be there about the time breakfast was ready.

  He’d intended to greet his guest outside, but he heard the tires on the gravel just as he pulled the biscuits out of the oven and took the bacon out of the frying pan. He peered out the kitchen window but couldn’t quite make out who was driving the Dodge Ram. Garrett knew several of the trackers, and he’d hoped for a friendly face.

  He set the table, figuring he could at least have a welcoming environment, and he heard the tracker knock at the door. “Come in!” he called, rushing to finish the preparations. The door opened and closed, and his back was to the entrance as he poured two cups of coffee and dug around for the infernal non-dairy creamer he kept on hand. “It’s early, and I know you had to leave the reservation before the ass-crack of dawn, so I thought you might want some breakfast,” he called over his shoulder.

  He turned to put the coffee on the table, and as his eyes fell on the tracker, his smile froze on his face.

  Chapter 6

  Well, wasn’t this a fine surprise, Shakota Clearwater thought as Garrett Woodward turned to face her. When the request for a tracker to head to Courage on a mission arose among her people, Shakota had volunteered instantly. She loved her heritage, and she enjoyed her life and home on the reservation. But something outside of the culture called to her, and she took advantage of opportunities to explore the outside world when she could.