by Jill Gregory
“They wanted me in New York sooner? How . . . who . . . I wasn’t told,” Josy said, surprised.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Ty told her tersely.
“I didn’t think we had anything further to talk about— now or later,” she replied, her tone as brusque as his.
For a moment those cobalt eyes pierced hers and she saw once more the flicker of something beneath, some emotion she couldn’t quite read.
“Neither did I,” he returned abruptly. He broke the glance and turned swiftly to Rossman. “Let’s get this over with then, detective. I still have a rustling investigation demanding my attention and suspects being bound over today for trial.”
Yes, Josy thought bleakly as the questioning began anew, the rustling investigation. Back to business as usual for Sheriff Barclay.
An hour and a half later Rossman finally thanked her for her cooperation, gave her his card, and instructed her to call his office for a follow-up interview after she returned to New York. She left the office quickly and was surprised when Ty excused himself and walked her out to her car.
They paused at the Blazer in silence. Neither had said a word since they’d left the building. Above, the sky was as beautiful and clear as it had been the day she first arrived in Thunder Creek. When Ada Scott had still been merely a name on a sheet of paper, when she had never set eyes on the sheriff of Thunder Creek.
“What was that Rossman said about someone pulling strings to keep me from having to return to New York?” she asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that loomed like an invisible wall between them.
“I made a few calls.” Ty shoved his hands into his pockets. “Basically I vouched for you to the authorities in New York. It was just a matter of persuading them that another few days wouldn’t hurt, and that you’d contact them as soon as you returned from Thunder Creek.”
Josy thought she knew exactly why he’d gone to the trouble. “The wedding,” she said quietly. “You knew it would upset Corinne—and therefore Roy—if I couldn’t be there. And you’re right, it would have. Corinne already thinks the wedding is cursed.” She mustered a polite smile. “I’m sure you wanted them to get off to as smooth a start as possible.”
“There was that,” he began. The tension in his tone made her lift her gaze to his face.
“Was there another reason?”
“Yeah.” He was studying her, his expression unreadable. “I wasn’t ready to—”
“Ty!”
A short, wiry deputy popped out of the building behind them. “The DA needs a meeting pronto. Judge Mason wants to see all the parties in chambers prior to the hearing. We gotta hustle to the courthouse.”
Ty’s jaw clenched. “Sorry. Can we finish this later?”
“If you’d like.” She wasn’t sure she saw the point. Every time they spoke like this—uneasy, careful, and strained with each other—a little part of her died inside.
To think that they’d made love with so much passion and joy, that they’d held each other all through the night and through the dawn—and now . . .
Now they were like strangers. Ty was striding back to his office and she was sliding into the driver’s seat of the Blazer, watching him walk away from her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so empty. Or so alone.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him and couldn’t. And there were a thousand things she needed to do before Corinne’s wedding and before she returned to New York.
But right now all she wanted to do was cry.
A strange feeling came over Josy as she turned onto Angel Road and eased the Blazer toward Ada’s house at no more than twenty miles per hour.
This might be the last time she came down this road for a while. Ada had invited her to visit over Christmas and she’d accepted. But right now, Christmas seemed a long time away.
And she was startled by the ache already gnawing inside of her because after the wedding tomorrow she wouldn’t see her newly discovered grandmother again until snowflakes tumbled from the sky and Rockefeller Center was brimming with ice skaters.
Odd how she had become attached so quickly. To Ada, to this small, cozy house on Angel Road, to Corinne and Roberta and Bessie . . . to Thunder Creek.
Not to mention Thunder Creek’s sheriff. But thinking about leaving him hurt worse than all the rest.
Don’t think about him. Don’t even try to guess what he was about to say before. Think about going back to New York, to your own apartment, trashed as it might be—to work, Francesca . . .
But the only bearable aspect of work was the thought of seeing Jane and Reese again. Even though the fall sketches were nearly completed, and she ought to be able to finish them in the next twenty-four hours, she couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm for turning them over to Francesca. What was wrong with her?
As she expected, Roberta’s Jeep was parked at the end of the lane. In Bessie’s Diner that morning, Roberta had told her that she and Ada were leaving work early to assemble favors for the wedding dinner—small pieces of candy wrapped in lacy bags and tied with lavender ribbon. She’d invited Josy to stop by and lend a hand.
Josy only hoped the task would take her mind off the desolation filling up all the spaces in her heart.
She tapped on the screen door but didn’t hear any voices and there was no sign of Ada or Roberta in the living room.
“Anybody home?” she called out, trying to sound cheerful, but the dead silence inside immediately struck her as odd. “Ada? Roberta?”
Maybe they’re working out back in the garden, she thought, but even as she turned to go around to the back of the house, Roberta called out cheerily, “Come on in, Josy. We’re in the kitchen.”
She pushed open the door and hurried across the living room. “Do you still need help with the favors—”
She faltered at the kitchen doorway, her mouth frozen in astonishment.
Ada was seated in one of the kitchen chairs, her hands strapped to the arms of the chair with gray duct tape, and another strip of duct tape covered her mouth.
Roberta stood beside her chair. She held a rifle and it was pointed at Josy’s heart.
“Took you long enough to get here. Come on in and sit down. I have a phone call to make.”
Chapter 30
“SHERIFF, SORRY TO INTERRUPT YOU, BUT Roberta Hawkins is on the phone—she says it’s vital that she speak to you right now.”
Standing inside the air-conditioned courthouse with his cell phone to his ear, and several deputies and the assistant district attorney gathered in a knot around him, Ty frowned.
“Helen, this isn’t a good time. I’m waiting for the DA to come out of the judge’s chambers. Take a message and tell her that whatever it is, I’ll get back to her.”
“Sheriff, you don’t understand.” The birdlike secretary’s normally composed voice sounded high-pitched, almost breathless. “She says it’s urgent. She says she needs to talk to you right away or . . . somebody will die.”
What the hell? Baffled and annoyed—and suddenly, as a dark premonition spiked through him, filled with foreboding—Ty spoke in a clipped tone. “Put her through.”
Roberta’s voice on the line sounded upbeat and breezy. “Sheriff, it’s me. Roberta. Glad you took my call. It means your little girlfriend might just live.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Roberta? Where are you?”
“I’m at Ada’s house, of course. I know how fond you are of Ada. And guess who’s here? Josy Wosy pudding pie.”
He heard her laugh suddenly, a harsh, nervous laugh that sounded very different from the good-natured waitress at Bessie’s Diner.
“I have a rifle pointed right at her sweet little heart. And I’m going to pull the trigger too. Unless you get your butt over here, Sheriff.”
“What’s this all about, Roberta?” He managed to ask the question in an even tone, despite the fact that every muscle in his body was coiled with tension. Cold fear had replaced his initial shock. He�
��d have thought this was some kind of sick joke, except that Roberta didn’t sound like she was joking. She sounded odd—almost as if she were high. There was a note of desperation beneath the bravado in her voice that chilled him to his core.
“It’s about getting what I want. And what I want is my boys set free. You’re not locking them up like their daddy. Not unless you want me to blow your little girlfriend’s head off. And Ada’s too.”
“Take it easy, Roberta. I think you need to explain this to me some.” The DA walked out just then and Ty snapped his fingers over his head to get the man’s attention. The DA quickened his steps and approached, watching him in tense silence.
The chilling expression in Ty’s eyes and his carefully calm tone speaking into the phone had already alerted the deputies that something was wrong. Everyone fell silent, watching him with grave expectation.
“Bullshit, Sheriff.” Roberta’s voice rose. “You know all you need to know. Just get my boys—you know ’em as Denny and Fred—out of the lockup and bring ’em over to Ada’s place. You let us all get in my Jeep and head out of town, with no one following us, and I promise you, I’ll let Josy and Ada go just as soon as I feel safe. You’ve got twenty minutes.”
The phone went dead.
Ty was already shouting orders as he sprinted to his car.
“Let me take the tape off her mouth,” Josy said quietly, as Roberta dragged a kitchen chair toward the window, where she could sit in the corner and see the road. “You don’t need to keep her gagged anymore.”
“True enough.” Roberta shrugged. “Go ahead. Just don’t try anything. I’ve been shootin’ tin cans, foxes, and rabbits since I was eleven and I never miss.”
Josy knelt down beside Ada and as gently as possible peeled the gray tape from her lips. “It’s going to be all right,” she said softly, her eyes locking with her grandmother’s. To her surprise Ada didn’t look nearly as pale or frightened as she would have expected—instead, she was flushed. Anger steamed from her faded brown eyes.
“Roberta, you are fired,” she snapped the moment the duct tape was gone.
“Fired?” The woman shot her a thin smile. “Well, I don’t know what you and Bessie and ole Katy will do without me. I’m the best damned waitress who ever worked at Bessie’s place—everyone knows it. But I’m never waitressing again. Me and my boys—we’re going to live in style.”
“Denny Owens and Fred Barnes are your sons? Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” Josy asked, straightening up. She was wondering frantically how she could get that rifle away from Roberta. The woman was bigger than she was, and no fool.
But it had to be done.
“It served my purposes for no one to know, that’s why. Things worked out much better with no apparent connection between us. No one—including our dear sheriff and that low-down sneaky cop, Chance—even knew our real names. That way no one could catch on by finding out the boys had a record.”
Roberta shook her head and her dangling turquoise earrings clinked around her face. “I didn’t count on Chance being a cop, not at all. He made a pretty good rustler—he almost had us fooled—until he kept pushing the boys to tell him the name of their boss. I figured at first he was trying to horn in on our operation—and to turn the boys against me, but then . . .”
Her eyes grew crafty. “I started wondering if he was a cop. He just wouldn’t give up, you know. Either way, we decided he had to be dealt with.” She stared ruefully at Josy. “Too bad that you and Ty Barclay got in the way that night. If my boys were still free, you and Ada wouldn’t be in this pickle.”
Ada sent the other woman a scornful glance. “Rustlers are scum of the earth. You needn’t look so proud.”
“I am proud.” Roberta stuck out her chin defiantly. “I’m as proud of me and my boys as you are of that smarty-pants grandson of yours at the university. Let me tell you something—we took over the family business when my husband couldn’t run it anymore, and we grew it even bigger than it ever was. Thanks to me, I guess. When Luther was in charge, we were small potatoes. I found ways to outsmart or outbribe the brand inspectors Luther never dreamed of. And I made a lot more money rustling cows and horses than I’d make in a hundred years waiting tables at Bessie’s.”
“Where is Luther now?” Josy asked, stepping casually around Ada’s chair, trying to position herself in front of it.
But Roberta jerked the rifle toward her. “Hold on, pumpkin. Back up. We don’t want you getting too close now, do we? I need you—to get my boys back.”
“Where’s Luther?” Ada spoke up, her voice frostier than Josy had ever heard it. “He walked out on you, didn’t he?”
“Like hell he did.” Roberta flushed. Anger and resentment blazed in her eyes. “He got arrested over in Oregon two years ago. He’s in prison for rustling, that’s where he is. And I miss that man more’n you’ll ever know. But he’ll get out in another couple of years and when he does, we’ll have a cool little fortune ready for his new start—for our new start too. We’ll just go underground until then, and come up somewhere else with brand-new names and IDs and presto, get on with livin’ the good life.”
“So all this time, you’ve been the one behind the rustling operation. You’re BJ, the big boss,” Josy said.
“Bobbi June, that’s me. Don’t look so surprised.” Roberta glanced quickly at the road, then back to her two hostages, her grip steady on the rifle. “My Luther taught me everything he knew, and I figured out even more on my own. I’m a real independent twenty-first-century woman,” she added, her lips twisting. “Of course it helped dating some of Thunder Creek’s most eligible ranchers.”
She spoke quickly, her gaze flitting back and forth between the road and her hostages. “It wasn’t at all hard finding out what those nice older gentlemen were up to— where they wintered their cattle, when they were setting out patrols. And they knew all about their neighbors’ stock too. Once a man’s been divorced or widowered, he enjoys a woman’s company and the chance to tell her all about how smart he is and what a good businessman and every little problem he encounters. Luther never had the inside scoop I did, and he didn’t think as big as I do, but he still did pretty well. Until he got caught.”
“Your sons got caught too,” Josy pointed out. “Do you see a pattern here?”
Roberta’s gaze sharpened and her lips stretched into a thin, hard line. “You’d best watch what you say, Miss New York City,” she snapped.
“If I were you, I’d want to cut my losses and take off,” Josy went on doggedly.
Roberta shook her head. She looked grim, tense, and somehow older, the deep lines around her eyes and mouth standing out in bright relief in the sunshine that streamed through the kitchen window.
“Not without my boys,” she stated flatly. “Once Sheriff Barclay trades ’em for the two of you, we’ll be out of here quicker than ice cream off a spoon.”
“You’re going to miss Corinne’s wedding,” Josy said in a low tone, all the while listening for the sound of sirens. She thought she heard them, far in the distance, a muted jangle.
“Can’t be helped. Poor Corinne’s going to be real shook up. But my boys come first. Now, let’s go into the living room, ladies. We got company comin’ any minute now.”
She ordered Josy to cut the duct tape that bound Ada’s wrists. “There’s a vegetable knife in that drawer—take it out, nice and slow. Just cut the tape and then set the knife down in the sink. No quick moves. Nobody has to get hurt here—not if I get what I want.”
Josy followed her instructions exactly, then helped Ada to stand up. She was shaky on her feet, no doubt sore from the bonds and the lack of blood circulation in her wrists, but her chin was high and there was a blaze of anger in her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” Josy said under her breath as she slipped an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Ty will be here soon.”
“Quit whispering!” Roberta barked. There was a wild wariness in her eyes. “You’re not all
owed to talk to each other. Now get in the living room—quick. Don’t go forgetting that I’m right behind you and my finger’s on the trigger.”
As they crossed the braided rug, the sound of sirens wailing down Angel Road filled the house and Josy glanced back to see the color draining from Roberta’s cheeks.
“Okay, now. You’d better pray he brought my boys. Go stand in front of the window, both of you. I want them to see that I can pick you off anytime I choose.”
Chapter 31
TY RACED THROUGH THE TREES WITH SINGLE-MINDED purpose, not even glancing back as he outdistanced the deputy trying to keep up with him by a good ten yards. His strides were long and powerful, his eyes fixed on his destination. He’d left his car on the main road when everyone else had turned down Angel Road, and had veered off at a dead run, sprinting across the ridge like a man possessed, then circling a quarter mile through the brush and around to the line of trees that backed Ada’s house. He ran as he’d never run before, his feet thundering furiously across the damp grassy earth.
This—now—was his only hope, his only chance to get into the house without being spotted.
Only a short while ago he’d thought he’d have time to talk to Josy, to tell her how he felt, to see if they could ever bridge the chasm that had sprung up between them with the death of Ricky Sabatini.
But now they might not have any time at all.
He sucked in air and ran faster.
Every second was going to count . . . “Move it, faster!” Roberta snapped as the stream of police vehicles and two ambulances roared down Angel Road. Ada moved slowly, stiffly, toward the windows, her spine rigid. Josy lagged behind, taking one step, two . . .
“Lord,” Roberta muttered nervously behind her. “Did he bring my boys or just every damn cop in the state of Wyoming? He’d better have them out there or he’s going to need both of those ambulances,” she blustered.
The first few vehicles turned sharply right and screeched to a halt in the drive, positioned sideways as a barrier. Officers spilled out, crouching behind the cars, drawing guns.
