by Jill Gregory
He checked caller ID and saw it was his sister, Faith, and his brother, Adam.
Since the messages would have nothing to do with work, he didn’t bother playing them. For the past two years, Faith and Adam had worried about him on Meg’s birthday, the day of her death, and this, May 2, the date of their anniversary. It would have been their fifth.
What did they think, he was going to kill himself? They should know better. Maybe if he’d stayed on at homicide in Philly, in the city where he and Meg had grown up down the block from one another, where they’d gone to school together, eaten hamburgers and shakes together, and eventually worked at the same precinct and hung out with all the same cops at Shorty’s Pub, he might have gone crazy enough to think about doing that. He didn’t like to admit it, but it was true. Being in Philly, working on the force, without Meg, had been a living hell.
That’s why, when his cousin Roy had called him and said that Thunder Creek needed a new sheriff, and suggested a change of scene might be good for him, he’d actually considered and then accepted the idea.
It hadn’t been difficult getting elected, not with Roy’s endorsement and his own record in law enforcement. And there was the helpful fact that no one had run against him. He had family ties to the community, and as a matter of fact, the Barclays still owned a big parcel of land in Thunder Creek, land on Blue Moon Mesa that had been in the family for generations. When they were kids, Ty and Faith and Adam had spent a lot of summers here visiting the Hewett side of the clan, riding horseback, fishing, hiking in the foothills above Thunder Creek.
Those had been good years, good times. And coming back had helped. Things had settled down for him a lot since he’d left Philadelphia and started over here. He liked the town and the people, his job was more laid back than being on homicide in Philly, yet it kept him plenty busy. He’d bought himself a couple of horses, he had time to go fishing now and then, and nobody bothered him much. Roy was here, but he had Corinne, and they’d gotten engaged three months ago, which kept him pretty occupied. Sometimes they all three hung out at the Tumbleweed Bar and Grill, where Corinne worked. And occasionally, Roy and Corinne tried to nag him into dating some of the local women.
But that hadn’t happened, and Ty knew it wasn’t going to happen. Fortunately, Roy and Corinne seemed to have gotten the message and had recently pretty much quit trying to push a social life on him.
It was about time.
He dropped his briefcase on a chair, flicked on a light switch as the sun angled lower in the sky, and went to the fridge in search of a beer.
The sun was a molten ball in the western sky as Josy drove slowly through the town of Thunder Creek. Beside her on the seat of the Blazer was an empty foam coffee cup, half of a chicken sandwich in a Wendy’s bag, and the map that had guided her all the way from Salt Lake City to Wyoming.
Inside the pocket of her jeans was a key to her temporary new home—fresh from the palm of Candy Merck, the friendly young bleached blonde rental agent who had just accepted a month’s security deposit and a month’s rent up front in cash and told her how to find the Pine Hills apartments.
As she cruised down Main Street, headed south, she couldn’t help the surge of excitement rushing through her. For the first time in a week she wasn’t running away. She had arrived. She was in the town where Ada Scott lived, and where her mother had come long ago to learn about her past.
When she saw the brightly lit diner filled with people, emotions flickered through her, running the gamut from delight to pain. All those childhood memories gushed back of the visit to Thunder Creek and lunch with her parents in that same tiny restaurant. Her parents had been gone for so long now, yet suddenly, for just a moment, they felt as close to her as the front booth of Bessie’s Diner.
But only for a moment.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she drove past. This street looked vaguely familiar, but it must have changed some in the past twenty or so years, she realized, glancing from side to side in the shimmering sunset light. She drove past a glass-fronted beauty salon, Merck’s Hardware, a gas station—then suddenly backed up and pulled in at the last minute. She didn’t need gas—she’d filled up some miles back, but she went inside and bought a can of Coke and a bag of potato chips to go with the leftover chicken sandwich that was going to be her dinner.
For a moment longing filled her, but she shook it off. Much as she’d have loved to stop at Bessie’s Diner for a real meal, something hot and homey, tonight wasn’t the time. She’d start her temporary new life in Thunder Creek tomorrow, when she was fresh and rested, when she had her wits about her, not now when she was dead on her feet.
It seemed like months since she’d fled her apartment with one suitcase, her tote, and Ricky’s package in tow. Months since she’d lived through that nerve-wracking taxi ride to LaGuardia, calling Reese hastily on her cell, babbling a voice mail message about taking a leave of absence to work on the sketches and asking Reese to let Francesca know. At the airport she’d withdrawn four thousand dollars, nearly all of her savings, from an ATM, and hurried onto the next flight to Salt Lake City, where she’d stayed only a day, enough time to get her bearings and buy a map and a car. A truck, really, a dented, blue, banged-up 1995 Blazer that had seen better days, but the guy at Ray’s Used Cars had sworn he’d tuned her up three days earlier and she was good to go.
Ha. The Blazer had broken down in Rock Springs, developed a flat tire on the highway outside of Rawlins, and had been making a weird clunking noise for the past twenty miles. But she was here at last and all she wanted now was to get to the Pine Hills apartments and collapse.
By some miracle, she’d gotten safely away from New York. By some miracle, she hadn’t been followed—or caught. Yet.
She felt like she’d been driving forever and her eyes were bleary. Her head hurt. Her shoulders and butt ached from the long hours in the car. But she was here, and in her pocket was the key to a one-bedroom furnished apartment, hers for the next month.
If she needed to stay that long. Maybe Ricky would be in touch in a matter of days, not weeks, and this entire nightmare would be over. Maybe Archie hadn’t really died, maybe he’d been resuscitated by the paramedics, and Ricky had managed to clear his name, and whoever was after this damned package was in jail.
And maybe she was Julia Roberts and this was all just a very bad dream.
She found the Pine Hills apartment building with no problem. The nondescript rectangular building was only three stories high and set back from the road, flanked on either side by a meadow full of bluegrass and wildflowers.
It couldn’t have looked more different from her fiftytwo-story Manhattan high-rise, and she wondered fleetingly what the provided furnishings in her “furnished” apartment would look like.
It’s only for a few weeks, until you hear from Ricky, she told herself as she parked in the lot facing the balconied units. You survived foster home musical chairs and two years with the Hammonds—this will be a piece of cake.
She dragged her suitcase out of the Blazer, secured her tote over her arm, and slammed the Blazer’s door.
Ty Barclay stood in the shadows of his small balcony on the second floor, sipping his beer, alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t miss the brilliant glory of the sunset sky now, but it didn’t soothe him the way it usually did when he was out riding in the mountains or even driving the winding roads through the foothills. It just didn’t matter.
He was thinking about five years ago today, when he’d watched Meg walk toward him down the aisle wearing her mother’s ivory wedding dress, her red hair all pinned up, with just a few curls framing her face, and everyone they both knew in the world filling the seats in the church.
And he felt the tight knot of pain he lived with every day clenching inside him, more painful than ever.
Damn it, baby, I miss you so, he thought. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not for us.
A car pulled into the parking lot then, making some kind o
f clacking sound that penetrated the darkness of his thoughts. In the rosy gold light he saw it was a Blazer, with a dent in the passenger-side door and a low right rear tire. The woman driving it parked right next to his car below, sat for a moment, and then got out.
He watched her automatically, because it was what he did, who he was. A cop. He’d never seen the Blazer before, so she didn’t live here. Either she was visiting . . . or she was a new tenant.
As she pulled out a suitcase and slipped a black tote bag on her shoulder, he stopped with the bottle lifted halfway to his mouth.
He’d never seen her before, but she didn’t look like anyone from around here. His keen eyes saw the sweep of chin-length silky blonde hair, the jeans that hugged her lean figure, the dainty pink tank top encasing small, firm breasts.
He couldn’t see her face too well, but nothing about her that he could see looked familiar.
She’s probably from Hope or Medicine Bow or Douglas and got hired on as a waitress or guest wrangler at the dude ranch, he thought, taking another swig of his beer. The Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch, owned by Wood and Tammie Morgan, had more employees than just about any other business in Thunder Creek, and they were always coming and going. Most of those who didn’t live in the bunkhouses on the Crystal Horseshoe property lived here at the Pine Hills, which offered half of its units with month-to-month leases.
Between the dude ranch’s wealthy guests and its employees, a small but steady flow of strangers came and went from Thunder Creek these days, but fortunately, even that hadn’t much changed the character of the little town, which was much the same as he remembered from his childhood.
A gust of wind blew down from the mountains, ruffling the woman’s hair as she started toward the door of the building, dragging the suitcase behind her. Ty shrugged, finished his beer, and left the balcony, slamming the door closed behind him.
Restlessness churned through him, almost crowding out the emptiness he’d felt ever since the day Meg died. He eyed the laptop on the desk and knew he could always work until he couldn’t see straight. Or he could run—another five-mile jog might sap some of what was eating him. Better yet, he’d do both. Run now, work later. And maybe, just maybe, he’d eventually manage to sleep.
He stuffed his keys into the pocket of the sweats he’d changed into and headed for the door.
On the stairway, he saw the woman struggling with her suitcase. She was halfway up to his floor and nearly fell backward when she spotted him sprinting suddenly toward her.
“Your tire’s going flat,” Ty said, cruising past her.
“Ex— . . . excuse me?”
“On your Blazer. Rear tire’s going flat,” he said curtly over his shoulder as he reached the ground floor. Then he noted how pale and tired she looked, and how filled to the gills her suitcase was.
“Oh, hell. Give me that.” He sprinted back up and took it from her before she could protest, then ran it up to the landing as if it weighed no more than his briefcase.
“Thanks . . . I . . . think,” she mumbled with a small, hesitant smile, but Ty was already forgetting her. He bounded past her and out the door, plunging into the deepening cool of the night and thinking of Meg, of how she’d chuckled when he’d gotten her veil all tangled lifting it for their first married kiss, of how warm her lips had felt, of how they’d promised themselves to each other for always.
He put his head down, clenched his fists, and ran faster.
Josy dragged her suitcase down the hallway until she reached 2D. For a moment she wondered if all the men in Thunder Creek could possibly be as handsome as the one she’d just met. Well, not met, actually, she thought wryly. Encountered was more like it.
He obviously had things on his mind, but at least he’d helped her with her suitcase. For a moment when she’d seen him running toward her with that scowl on his face, she’d feared he was one of the men she’d seen at Archie’s house, arriving in Thunder Creek right on her tail. She didn’t know why, but she’d had a quick impression of toughness, danger, and a kind of darkness—on his hard-planed face and in the way he moved.
Or maybe, she reflected wearily, her nerves were just shot.
Her leather tote with the package inside swung against her side as she fitted the key Candy Merck had given her into the lock and pushed the door open. She flipped on the light switch and peered in at her new home away from home.
The apartment wasn’t bad. It was small, with a cheap overhead light fixture that gave out merely adequate light, but the nubby forest-green sofa against one wall looked decent enough and there was a tall maple bookcase, and two armchairs upholstered in a passable maroon twill. She tugged her suitcase inside, closed the door, and walked through the place slowly.
The furniture was inexpensive but sturdy maple veneer, the kitchen cabinets looked new, and the floors were all plain buffed wood. The white-painted walls were uniformly bare, except for one framed print over the sofa—a moose standing by a river with a backdrop of snowcapped mountains. There was a lonely looking potted silk plant near the sliding doors that opened onto a small balcony. All in all, it was pretty generic but decent, and nothing that a few rugs and prints and maybe some throw pillows couldn’t brighten up a bit. Not that she was in a position to spend much money decorating a place that was going to be a very temporary home. She’d depleted most of her combined checking and savings account when she’d made the ATM withdrawal, and after paying cash for her airline ticket and the Blazer and then laying out the security deposit on this place, she only had six hundred dollars left. She’d have to count her pennies—or find some part-time work while she was here and earn a little money on the side.
In the small bedroom that overlooked the meadow she found a double bed, nightstand, and closet, but was dismayed to discover that there weren’t any linens—only a mattress pad, a pillow, and a cheap polyester-cotton quilt. She’d need to buy a set of sheets, a pillowcase, and blanket . . .
Anxiety rose up suddenly and she felt her stomach clenching. She probably should have just booked a room at the Saddle-Up Motel she’d passed on her way into town. It would have definitely been more affordable. But it had looked isolated and shabby and she’d passed it up in favor of finding a bed-and-breakfast or something. But it turned out that Thunder Creek didn’t have a bed-and-breakfast—only the Saddle-Up Motel, the Pine Hills apartments, and the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch, which was all the way at the other end of the spectrum, far too plush and pricey for her to even consider.
The Pine Hills had made the most sense. She’d have privacy and security—and anyone searching for her would probably check in motels and hotels, not in an apartment building. If anyone even was searching for her. They were probably after Ricky, not her.
What in the world is he mixed up in? she wondered for the hundredth time. And what does that stupid package have to do with it?
She closed her eyes, praying he was all right, praying he’d show up soon to take this damned package off her hands.
She had a life to get back to in New York—what was left of her life, at least—and she couldn’t stay here in this speck of a town forever.
But while she was here . . . Josy rose from the bed and strode to the window, staring out at the meadow and the distant mountains shadowed in darkness now. While she was here, she’d clear her head, come up with some ideas, and get them sketched out for Francesca.
And she’d find Ada Scott. She wasn’t sure if she’d approach her or tell her about the connection between them, but she’d find her, and at least know what her grandmother looked like, who she was.
It would make the time go faster until she could go home. It would distract her from the fact that she could be in danger. It would keep her from thinking about Doug.
And surely by the time she finished with all of that, Ricky would be in touch, he’d show up, he’d take the package off her hands and explain this mess to her.
All she had to do was take it one step at a time.
Exhaus
tion dragged at her. She’d been driving long hours for days on end, eating at truck stops and greasy spoons. What she really needed was a massage and a facial at the Red Door. A Pilates workout with Jane at the gym. She needed a martini at the Soho Grand, take-out Mongolian beef from Shun Lee Palace, and ten hours’ sleep on her own fluffy featherbed complete with cloud-soft DKNY linens.
Instead, she sat on her nubby green sofa and ate half a chicken sandwich and a bag of potato chips. After a final sip of tepid Coke, she pushed Ricky’s package into the shadowy recesses of a kitchen cabinet, curled up on top of the thin maroon quilt atop her bed, and fell asleep until the sun woke her in the morning, shining like a fiery opal in the pristine blue Wyoming sky.
Chapter 4
JOSY DROVE THE TWO MILES INTO TOWN EARLY the next morning armed with a shopping list and a plan. Though she was ravenously hungry, she’d discovered that her right rear tire was indeed flat, as the dark-haired stranger on the stairway had told her, so she pulled into Slade’s gas station first and arranged to have the spare put on, then walked swiftly up the street to Bessie’s Diner.
The morning was mild, without any trace of the chill that had pinged the air once the sun went down last night. She was comfortable in her sandals, Diesel jeans, and a red tank top as she studied the long, pleasant main street, filled with rows of shops. Some of them—like Granny’s Quilts and Mrs. Brown’s Antiques—looked brand-new and were probably geared toward the tourists staying at the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch. Others—like the Mane Event beauty salon, Merck’s Hardware, and Krane’s drugstore—looked as weathered and permanent as the mountains themselves and had probably been here the last time she walked along this street—with her parents when she was eight years old.
What struck her most was the pure freshness of the pine-laced air, the vastness of the rolling gray and green expanses stretching in every direction from the town, and the gorgeous silk-blue sky that seemed to fill the universe. Her breath caught at the sight of the mountains towering in the distance, glittering snow frosting their peaks. A waterfall glinted like liquid crystal amid cool green ponderosa pine. And something inside of her, something knotted tight, relaxed at the sight of all this space and openness, at the grand wild beauty of it arrayed before her as far as she could see.
