by B. J Daniels
“You framed me for murder because I chose Blaze over you, is that what this has been about?” His words hit her like a whip. “I went to prison because of some schoolgirl crush?”
She brushed at her tears, anger replacing the hurt and humiliation. “You didn’t go to prison because of some schoolgirl crush. You could have thrown away the note I left on your pickup, and you would have, if you had trusted Blaze. Or if Blaze was trustworthy.”
“Oh yeah? Why did I go to prison?”
“Because you left your gun sitting out in your bedroom where anyone could take it,” she said. “Even if you hadn’t gone up Wild Horse Gulch that night, the killer had your gun with only your prints on it. You had motive. You’d just beat the devil out of Forrest Danvers at the bar because he was seeing your girlfriend.”
“He wasn’t seeing my girlfriend.”
She raised a brow. “Wasn’t he?”
Rourke swore. “This isn’t about Blaze.”
She stared at him. “Obviously you’re as blind to the truth as you were eleven years ago.” She started past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Admit it, you wanted me sent to prison.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “If I wanted you in prison, all I would have to do is call the sheriff and tell him you are threatening me.”
With an angry gesture, Rourke pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it out to her. “Go ahead. Call the sheriff. Get me thrown back into prison. Finish what you started.”
She stared at him. “Don’t you know I would never do that to you?”
“No. Who else hated me enough to frame me for murder besides you?”
“What makes you so sure it was even about you?” she demanded angrily.
“Because I just spent eleven years in prison,” he shot back.
“You’re that sure you were the target? What if you’re wrong. What if it wasn’t about framing you but simply about killing Forrest?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh? Haven’t you been looking for reasons someone wanted to frame you and all you’ve come up with so far is me? And my motive was that I was jealous of you and Blaze and I set this whole thing up to get back at you? I always knew you were arrogant, but I never thought you were stupid.”
He looked at her as if he could kill her.
“What if you were just an easy scapegoat?”
He shook his head. “Don’t you think I know what you’re doing? You’re just trying to get yourself off the hook.”
She could see from his expression that he didn’t want to believe that he’d lost eleven years just because he’d been a convenient patsy. That, she realized, made it worse for him, but it didn’t change what she believed had happened the night Forrest was killed and if Rourke was determined to find out the truth—
“I’ve had a long time to think about this,” she said.
“So have I.”
“Just consider this. What if the killer wanted to get rid of Forrest and looked around for someone to take the fall?” She hurried on. “You were the McCall bad boy, you kept a gun on a shelf in your bedroom, you were a hothead, you didn’t like Forrest and you were going to like him a lot less when you found out about him and Blaze.” She waved off his denial. “You were perfect.”
He stared at her, his expression grim, as if she’d just voiced his worst fear. Without a word, he turned and walked on up the trail as if wanting to distance himself from her words, from even the thought that they might be true. His lawyer had to have told him the same thing eleven years ago, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Still didn’t.
Cassidy watched him go, his pain so obvious it made her hurt. Could he hate her any more than he had? She hadn’t thought so.
Blindly she turned and started down the hill to the pickup. A sob caught in her throat at the thought that the old Rourke McCall was gone forever, destroyed by prison and injustice and his own bitterness, and that the stranger on the hillside wouldn’t stop until he destroyed them both.
Rourke didn’t go after her. He couldn’t. He fought back the pain and rage that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d had a death grip on one single-minded resolve. To find the real killer when he got out. It was how he had survived prison.
For eleven years, he’d been convinced Cassidy was part of an elaborate setup to frame him for Forrest’s murder. He had planned what he would do when he got out. Starting with the note that had gotten him up Wild Horse Gulch that night. Starting with breaking Cassidy Miller. Forcing the truth out of her.
He swore again. He’d had eleven years to think about nothing else. He knew he wasn’t without blame. He’d been stupid and hotheaded. What he wouldn’t give for another chance to do things differently.
He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. But he’d been trying to do that for eleven years. Except he hadn’t known that Cassidy Miller had been in love with him. Is that what this had all been about? She’d left the note that had sent him to prison because she thought she was in love with him?
Or was she right and he had just been a pawn, his own character flaws used against him?
He faced the bluffs and imagined fifteen hundred warriors swarming over the rise. He knew how General Crook had felt.
He wished his grandfather were still alive. Wished the two of them were standing here now, although Rourke knew he couldn’t have taken his grandfather’s disappointment in him.
Not that his grandfather would have believed him capable of murder. Just guilty of letting himself be framed for murder. He’d played right into someone’s hands. Whoever had killed Forrest had to have known how he was going to react. To Blaze dancing with Forrest. To the note on his windshield.
Two different instances. Two different women. That’s why it had made no sense. For years it had just kept coming down to that damned note left on his pickup windshield that had sent him to the murder scene. It always came back to Cassidy.
Cassidy’s scream shattered the silence.
He turned to see her scramble back from the open passenger-side door of the pickup, her eyes fixed on something inside, the scream dying on her lips as she tripped and fell.
He was running, fear knotting his stomach as he tried to imagine what had made her scream like that.
“What’s wrong?” he called to her as he came around the front of the pickup. Cassidy had scrambled to her feet and was now backing up, her face bloodless as she pointed toward the pickup in sheer terror.
He heard it. The distinctive rattle. At first he didn’t see it. Probably because he’d expected it to be curled under the pickup in the shade.
It wasn’t. The huge greenish-colored rattlesnake was coiled on the floorboard of the truck, its ugly head raised, the beady eyes locking on him as it struck.
Chapter Five
Rourke swung the door closed just an instant before the snake could strike him. He heard the rattler hit the inside of the door with a soft thump, then there was silence.
“Did it bite you?” he asked Cassidy, unable to disguise the fear in his voice, his insides tightening at the thought of those fangs in flesh.
She shook her head, brown eyes huge.
“Stay here,” he said, and walked across the narrow road to a stand of trees where he found what he needed. A long thick stick. Cassidy was still huddled where he’d left her, hugging herself as if it were a bitter-cold winter afternoon instead of a hot fall one.
On the other side of the pickup, he opened the door slowly. Just as he’d suspected, the snake had moved away from the slammed passenger-side door and was now lying under the driver’s side on the floor mat.
The rattler coiled again at the sound of the door opening. Rourke had caught more than his share of snakes as a boy. He’d always been fascinated by them rather than repelled.
This rattler was huge and obviously hadn’t liked captivity any more than Rourke had. It was mad and just looking for someone to take it out on.
Stepping to one side o
f the doorway, he used the thick stick to lift enough of the snake to urge it out. The rattler struck the stick, sinking its fangs into the wood and Rourke took that opportunity to pull the snake from the truck.
The rattler dropped to the ground next to the pickup, releasing the stick, looking for its next victim. Rourke didn’t move a hair, keeping the stick ready. He’d met guys like this in prison. The snake seemed to eye him for a long moment, then turned and slithered across the road, disappearing into the deep grass down by the creek.
Rourke took a look around the inside of the pickup just to make sure there weren’t any other surprises in there. He found a large burlap bag behind his seat, the kind snake hunters used, and swore under his breath.
He stuffed the empty bag back behind the seat and looked out at Cassidy. She was watching. From a safe distance.
“It’s all right now,” he said, going around the front of the pickup to where she stood. He could see that she was trembling, her face still white with fear. “The snake’s long gone.”
She glanced around the ground nervously and rubbed her bare arms as if rubbing down goose bumps.
He’d known a few people who were deathly afraid of snakes. The fear defied reason. His father had told him of a guy who jumped out of his pickup at more than forty miles an hour because some fool had put a dead rattler in his truck as a joke.
Rourke saw that kind of fear on Cassidy’s face. “Aren’t fond of snakes, huh?”
She shook her head, hugging herself again, as she kept an eye on the ground around her. “What was it doing in the truck?”
That was the sixty-four-million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “It must have nested in there while I was gone.”
She didn’t look as if she believed that. “You’re sure there aren’t any more?”
He nodded, thinking about when someone would have had the opportunity to put the snake bag behind the seat. Probably while he was in the Longhorn. He hadn’t locked the truck. Hell, it was Antelope Flats, Montana. Nobody locked their vehicles or even their houses.
And the snake wasn’t some sort of joke.
It was a warning. As clear as any he’d ever had.
“I’ll take you back to town,” he said as he opened the passenger-side door for her.
She studied the floorboard. Looking relieved to find the space empty, she got in and he closed the door behind her.
He stood for a moment, thinking about the snake, then let out a long breath. Fury bubbled inside him like molten lava. But if he’d learned anything in prison, it was how to control his temper. But right now, if he could get his hands on the person who had put that snake in his truck…
He walked around the pickup and slid behind the wheel, angry with himself for bringing Cassidy out here. What had he hoped to accomplish anyway?
Whatever it was, he felt as if it had backfired. The damned woman had him feeling guilty for scaring her with a snake he didn’t even know was in his pickup, guilty for hurting her even though he had no idea how she’d felt about him all those years ago.
No, he thought, what was really bothering him was that she had him doubting himself. He’d been so sure that she’d framed him. So sure that once he was free from prison he’d get the truth out of her.
Maybe he had, he thought glancing over at her. And then again, maybe there was a whole lot more to Cassidy Miller yet to be discovered. He knew one thing. He wasn’t through with her. She’d be seeing him again. If she thought otherwise, she was sadly mistaken.
They rode in silence back to Antelope Flats. He couldn’t quit thinking about what she’d said. What if he hadn’t been framed—just used? The perfect patsy. That was certainly him eleven years ago.
But he wasn’t ready to rule out Cassidy Miller and a frame job. Not yet. The woman had a jealous streak and had admitted a foolish crush on him. And if anyone did, he knew just how powerful jealousy could be.
He pulled up behind her car at the rear of the Longhorn and glanced over at her. She turned her head toward him, those big brown eyes swimming in tears. Behind them, something he couldn’t put his finger on.
A well of emotions hit him like a sledgehammer. For eleven years all he’d felt was his own pain. That and bitter anger. He stared into her face and was filled with regret for hurting her all those years ago.
Cassidy started to say something but must have changed her mind. She opened the pickup door as if suddenly she wanted to get away from him as much as she had that rattlesnake.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you when we were kids,” he said, surprising himself as much as her.
She seemed embarrassed as she waved off his apology like a pesky fly. “I told you, I was young and stupid,” she said as she slid out.
“We were all young and stupid,” he said. “But you’re wrong, Cassidy, I do remember the kiss in the barn.”
His last words were lost as the pickup door slammed, Cassidy giving no indication that she’d heard him.
CASSIDY COULDN’T QUIT shaking. She rushed to her car, her legs weak as she dropped into the seat, closing the door, closing her eyes for a moment, trying desperately not to cry.
Could this day have been any worse? She thought she heard a soft rattle. Her eyelids flew open and she stared at the floorboard, expecting to see a rattlesnake coiled there just an instant before it sank its teeth into her bare leg.
The floorboard was empty. She glanced over the back of the seat. Also empty.
He’d lied about how the snake had gotten into his pickup. She’d seen his expression when he’d found the burlap bag. Someone had put that snake in the pickup. As what? A threat? A warning?
She shivered at the thought. Who would do such a thing?
She started the engine and was ready to pull away before she glanced in her side mirror and saw that Rourke’s pickup was still behind her. He was leaning over the steering wheel, his hat hooding his eyes, watching her. How long would he continue to watch her? To follow her? To suspect her?
She met his gaze in the mirror and felt a chill. Putting the car into gear, she pulled away. She’d expected him to follow her, but when she looked in her rearview mirror, he wasn’t there.
Still she couldn’t quit trembling. He’d dug up all the old feelings. Pain and humiliation and resentment. But it was the old ache that hurt the most. An ache she’d always believed only Rourke McCall could fill.
She didn’t know this man who had come home from prison. She let out a laugh. She hadn’t known the other Rourke, the wild cowboy who’d made her heart flutter. Who still made her heart flutter.
Cassidy drove south of town and turned onto a short dirt road bordered on both sides by huge cottonwoods. As she drove down the lane, the fallen leaves floated up around her car, golden in the last of the day’s light.
The house was small, an old farmhouse that suited her well. It came with twenty acres, corrals and a small barn for her horse and tack. She loved owning land even if it would take most of her lifetime to pay it off.
As she pulled into the yard and cut the engine, she expected to see Rourke’s pickup pull in behind her. She sat for a moment, watching in her rearview mirror. No Rourke. Had he given up? She smiled ruefully to herself. Not a chance.
She didn’t realize how tired she was as she climbed out of the car and went into the house. What would he do next? That was the question, wasn’t it. Rourke McCall wasn’t out of her life yet. She wondered if he would ever be out of her thoughts.
It was that carefree Rourke who inhabited her thoughts. The one who had been so full of life and possibilities. When he smiled, his blue eyes had shone like summer sunlight, and just as warm. But there’d always been that hint of mischief in them, too. You never knew what he was going to do next. He probably didn’t, either.
She locked the front door behind her and, dropping her purse on the hall table, headed for her bedroom, anxious to get out of her uniform. The old Rourke. She smiled at the memory. Just being around him had made her feel part of something larger than h
er own life, something exciting and full of adventure.
But Forrest’s murder had taken all that away from him. That Rourke McCall was gone. Injustice and prison had killed him.
She felt his bitterness as keenly as he did. Even if he found Forrest’s real killer, it wouldn’t bring back the old Rourke McCall or eleven years of his life. How could he ever let go of the demons that consumed him?
As she started to undress, she glanced at the large trunk at the end of her bed. The letters. Her heart caught in her throat. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of them? If Rourke found out about them—
She shook her head in disgust at her own foolishness.
In the bathroom, she turned on the water in the tub and poured in some of her favorite bubble bath. As she watched the tub fill, she was consumed with an emptiness born of longing. What a fool she’d been. Still was. The Rourke McCall she’d fallen for was gone. She’d waited eleven years for a ghost.
She looked away from the bubbles blooming in the tub and caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a woman, but she knew she was still that same lovesick girl, ever hopeful.
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. But even as she thought it, tears began to spill down her cheeks.
“Oh hell,” she breathed on a sob, as she shed the last of her clothing and stepped into the tub, sinking into the bubbles and letting all the tears she’d never cried finally free.
ASA MCCALL LOOKED for Rourke’s old pickup when he returned to the ranch house just before dinner. He cursed under his breath when he saw it was gone. What had he expected? That maybe his son would stay? Would want to work the ranch his ancestors had fought for?
He knew he wasn’t being fair. He’d done nothing to convince Rourke to stay. But Rourke was also without a doubt the most pigheaded of his children. If Rourke’s mother Shelby were here she’d say Rourke was just like his father.
Asa scoffed at that. Rourke had always been the wild one and if anyone was to blame for that, it was Shelby. But then he blamed Shelby for most of his problems as well as those of their children.
