by B. J Daniels
Tonight he let himself wonder for a moment what their lives would have been like if Shelby had been here all these years and quickly pushed the thought away. He couldn’t change the past, and thinking about Shelby only made him hurt.
Except lately, he’d been thinking about her more and more. And thinking about the mistakes he’d made, especially with his son Rourke.
“Are you all right?” his daughter asked as he walked into the house. “You’ve been gone all day. You look tired.” Dusty took her father’s arm and steered him to his chair, then went to the bar and made him a cold drink. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day, either.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking the drink. He was glad she was talking to him again. He hated it when she gave him the silent treatment. He took a long swallow, pleased when she sat down in a chair across from him.
“You were avoiding Rourke, weren’t you,” she said. “That’s why you were gone all day.”
He didn’t deny it.
“You know he didn’t do it,” she said, as if continuing a discussion they’d been having earlier. Except she hadn’t been talking to him earlier.
“Rourke couldn’t kill anyone.”
He looked at his daughter. She was so young, so trusting. Maybe he’d lived too long, seen too much, become too jaded, but he knew that anyone could kill or do even worse—especially if he felt cornered or had become bewitched by a woman. And he feared Rourke had been both. Not only cornered that night up Wild Horse Gulch, but out of his mind because of a woman. The wrong woman. They were the ones who drove you to do something stupid.
“We need to help him,” Dusty said.
He didn’t want her to get mad at him again. But there was no way he was letting her get involved with this quest her brother was on. Asa had already heard from both J.T. and Cash about Rourke’s plans to find Forrest’s killer.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, measuring his words carefully. “I’ll help Rourke if you promise to stay clear of it.”
She started to argue.
“That’s my only offer,” he said. “I can help him in ways you can’t.”
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed, not happy with his terms but too smart not to see the value in his deal.
“You will ask him to come back to the ranch?”
He nodded. He’d offer but he knew his pigheaded son wouldn’t take him up on it.
WHEN EASTON COULDN’T TAKE Blaze’s pacing and complaining any longer, he gathered up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. “I’m going to finish this at home.”
She turned in obvious surprise from the window where she’d been looking out, waiting for Rourke McCall. “You’re going home early?”
“It isn’t that early, Blaze. Normally you are long gone by now.” He gave her a pitying look. “If Rourke was going to drop by, he would have by now.” In truth, it gave him no small amount of satisfaction that Rourke hadn’t called or stopped in to see her. He could see it was driving her crazy. Her little scheme wasn’t working and Blaze was used to getting her way.
Nor was Easton surprised his old friend hadn’t come by to see him, either. He wondered what Rourke thought about him being with Blaze now?
Easton swore under his breath, remembering how badly he’d wanted Blaze when she was with Rourke. Had it been Blaze or Rourke’s life he wanted? Undeniably he had often wanted to be Rourke. To come from a big ranching family, to have the money and the power and the prestige that went with being a McCall.
Instead, Easton had gotten Blaze. It was little consolation. But then, Rourke had gotten eleven years in prison. Maybe, for once, Easton had gotten the better deal. But as he looked over at Blaze, he wouldn’t have bet good money on it.
He dreaded seeing Rourke, but not as much as he dreaded seeing Blaze with Rourke. She would throw herself at him and Easton didn’t need to see that. He’d seen enough of that eleven years ago.
“Good night,” he said as he headed for the door.
“I thought we were going to have dinner?” she cried.
“Maybe some other night,” he said, without turning to look at her. “I have a lot of work to do tonight and you were of no help today.” He closed the door firmly behind him before she could argue.
“Rourke McCall,” he said under his breath like a curse as he got into his ADC Suburban and drove out of town. “If she wants Rourke, she can have him. Her little plan to make me jealous isn’t going to work. No matter what she does.”
But that’s what worried him as he turned off onto the road to his house on the edge of the bluffs. How far would Blaze go to get him to propose marriage?
Ahead, he saw his house as he came over a rise in the road, his prized possession. He’d had it built on a bluff overlooking the Tongue River and miles and miles of rich bottomland. It had a unique modern design with a long sloping roofline and lots of wood and stone.
He’d done all right for himself, he thought, as he hit the garage-door opener, parked the Suburban and, taking his briefcase, went inside. Even the furniture was modern, sculpted with clean lines. He liked that. Just as he liked the bank of windows that ran the entire width of the house overlooking the river.
It was an impressive view, the winding band of water reflecting the late-afternoon sun, the verdant green river bottom, the red bluffs on the opposite bank rimmed with dark, silken ponderosa pines.
If the house itself didn’t relieve a bad day, the view always did. Except for today. He couldn’t get Blaze off his mind.
He’d worked for years to accumulate nice things, to afford the comfortable life he knew he should have been born into. He’d made compromises, done things that were necessary at the time but that he now feared would come back to haunt him. His life was in jeopardy. Blaze knew too much about his business, too much about him and the past.
He’d seen it in her eyes. A quiet speculation as if deciding what to do with the information she’d come across. She’d never said anything, but sometimes he felt as if she had a gun to his head.
With Rourke McCall back in town and Blaze playing games, she had cocked the gun and had her finger on the trigger.
As he put down his briefcase and went to the bar to make himself a drink, he rued the day he’d hired Blaze. Sleeping with her was one thing. Working with her was a whole other ball game.
He’d only hired her as a favor to her father—and because John Logan was his silent business partner. Silent and secret. Not even Blaze knew about the exchange of money or the favors her father had demanded in return.
John thought working for ADC would straighten Blaze out. Right.
Easton had actually thought he could free himself of Blaze once he bought her father’s share in the company and he tired of her. Except he hadn’t bought out her father’s share. Nor had he tired of Blaze even though she had always been a liability. Now, though, she was a loose cannon. Blaze thought she could use Rourke, play him for a fool. Again. All she was going to do was get them both into trouble.
Easton took a sip of his drink and looked out at his view, too anxious to enjoy it.
He knew Blaze would still be at the office, pretending to work late, waiting around for Rourke.
He closed his eyes. He could just imagine Blaze turning all her charms on Rourke. The image made him sick to his stomach. He downed the drink.
There had to be some way to stop her from ruining everything.
Returning to the bar, he poured himself another drink and had a thought, one that shocked him. Would he really consider something so drastic?
Chapter Six
As the light started to fall over Antelope Flats, Rourke knew exactly where he wanted to spend his first night of freedom.
But as he drove down Main Street, he couldn’t get Cassidy off his mind. Damn her. She’d taken him in with her sweet, innocent act and, fool that he was, he’d fallen for it. She probably thought he’d bought it. Wouldn’t she be surprised when he showed up at her door tomorrow.
He couldn
’t believe that she’d made him feel guilty for hurting her all those years ago and she was the one who should be feeling guilty. He’d come home to get the truth out of her and she’d turned things around so that he felt he should be making her feel better.
Worse, for a while there, she’d had him thinking she might be right. That Forrest’s murder hadn’t been about him. That he was just the scapegoat.
He cursed himself as he pulled up in front of the sheriff’s house. Hadn’t he promised himself he would never trust another woman again?
Sheriff Cash McCall lived in an old Victorian two blocks from the Sheriff’s Department. Antelope Flats was an unincorporated town, which meant the only law was the sheriff of what was also the smallest and most isolated county in Montana.
Cash had purchased the house right after college, right after he got the job as sheriff, the youngest sheriff ever in Montana. He’d bought the house as a wedding present for his fiancée, a girl he’d met and fallen in love with at college. Jasmine Wolfe had been driving down from Bozeman to finally meet the rest of the McCalls but never made it. She’d disappeared, never to be seen again. Most people figured she got cold feet about being a sheriff’s wife in a dinky little town like Antelope Flats and made a run for it before it was too late.
Cash had searched for her, but it was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth. His brother had never gotten over her.
He and Cash had that in common. Falling for the wrong women.
“Rourke,” Cash said when he opened the door. He’d obviously been expecting him and just as obviously hadn’t been looking forward to it.
“No hard feelings, Cash,” Rourke said. “I know you were just doing your job when you arrested me and sent me to prison.” He smiled to soften his words.
Cash studied him openly for a few moments. Cash was six-four, big as their father, with the McCall blond hair and blue eyes. He was also solid as a tree stump and just as stubborn. Another trait they shared.
“That’s real kindly of you, Rourke.”
“You going to ask me in?”
“That depends,” Cash said. “You going to give me any trouble?”
He shook his head and raised his palms up in supplication. He was just an inch shorter than his brother and in as good shape. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
Cash shook his head but stepped aside. “You had dinner?”
“Ate over at the Longhorn.”
His brother swung around, halfway into the living room. “You aren’t even thinking about bothering Cassidy Miller, are you?”
Rourke shook his head.
“Because if you are, I will have you back behind bars before you can blink,” Cash said.
“I’m aware of that.”
They eyed each other for another few moments, then Cash motioned toward a chair. “You want a drink?”
“I could take a beer if you have one,” he said, thinking how protective his brother had sounded about Cassidy. Was something going on there?
Cash disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer.
“I thought I might be able to use the family cabin on the lake,” Rourke said, twisting off the top of his beer. He took a long drink. Damn, that tasted good.
His brother looked at him suspiciously.
Rourke had to laugh. “I just need a place to stay and, well, I want to be alone and I don’t want to have to watch my back.”
“Any reason you would have to watch your back?” Cash asked.
“Damn straight. Whoever killed Forrest Danvers might be getting nervous with me back in town. Maybe start feeling a little guilty.”
“Did something happen?” Cash asked, looking worried.
Rourke didn’t see any reason to tell him about the snake and add to his worry. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Cash was shaking his head. “You’re going to cause trouble, aren’t you?”
“I just served eleven years for a crime I didn’t commit. I’d like to know who set me up, but at the same time, I have no desire to go back to prison.”
Cash took a sip of his beer and sighed as he sat down across from him. “I investigated the murder, Rourke, along with the state boys who were sent in because we’re kin. They had you dead to rights.”
Rourke nodded. “Oh, I know all about the evidence. My gun, my fingerprints on it, Forrest’s blood on my shirt, the fact that I was found at the scene, the fight with Forrest earlier at the Mello Dee. I also know I didn’t kill him.” He held up a hand to still his brother as he continued. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure I took the fall for the murder, though. I can’t help but wonder why.”
“We went over all this eleven years ago, Rourke.”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m not going to trouble you with any of it.”
“If you think that eases my mind—”
“I’d forgotten how good a cold beer tasted,” he said. It did feel good to be home.
“You should go fishing for a few days,” Cash suggested.
Rourke did a little fishing of his own. “I hear you’re not married yet.” Of course that wasn’t all he’d heard. He’d heard that Blaze had gone after J.T., then Cash and, in fact, hadn’t necessarily given up on Cash.
“Have you seen her yet?” Cash asked.
“Blaze? Not yet.”
“I meant Cassidy,” Cash said, acting surprised Rourke hadn’t known who he was talking about.
Rourke eyed his brother. “Saw Cassidy this afternoon. She waited on me at the café and then we went for a drive together.”
Cash lifted a brow.
“It’s cool. She’s going to help me clear my name.” One way or another. But he didn’t tell his brother that.
“Dammit, Rourke, leave Cassidy out of this.”
“Is there something between you and Cassidy I should know about?” Rourke asked, surprised how upset his brother was getting at just the mention of Cassidy Miller.
“She’s a nice woman. I don’t want to see her hurt. That’s all.”
That wasn’t all. Not by a long shot. He could see that in the way Cash avoided his gaze. Rourke was surprised that it bothered him.
“You know there is one thing that I could use, though,” he said. “The file on Forrest Danvers’s murder.” Cash started to speak but Rourke cut him off. “A copy would do, big brother. Since I already served my time, what could it hurt?”
Cash groaned as he got up. He walked to a desk off the hall, opened a drawer and took out something. “Have you seen the rest of the family?”
“Yep. I can’t believe the way Dusty has grown up,” Rourke said, shaking his head. “She was just a kid when I left.”
Of the McCalls, J.T. was the oldest at thirty-six, followed by Cash at thirty-five, Rourke at thirty-three and Brandon at thirty. They were all pretty evenly spaced except for the baby, Dusty.
Thirteen years after their mother Shelby died, Asa had gone off one day and came back with a baby. He’d told them that Dusty was orphaned, the child of a friend. He’d adopted her and stuck to his story, but the boys had been old enough to know better.
Dusty was the spitting image of the rest of the McCalls and obviously some love child of Asa’s, although they’d never known who Dusty’s mother was. They didn’t blame the old man for being lonesome. They’d never understood why he hadn’t remarried.
“After being married to Shelby, I would never dream of marrying again,” he’d said the one time Rourke had broached the subject.
Rourke couldn’t even remember what his mother looked like. He’d only been three when she’d died, Brandon just a baby. There were no photos of her in the house. Asa said it was too hard on him having her photo around. But J.T. remembered her and maybe Cash. They’d both kept flowers on her grave all these years.
“You know Dad was hoping you’d come back and ranch,” Cash said, turning from the desk.
Rourke gave his brother a give-me-a-break look. “He didn’t mention that when I saw him earl
ier today. Maybe he didn’t go through with legally disinheriting me but—”
“Who do you think put up the money for your appeal?” Cash said. “I’d hoped you’d come home a little smarter.”
“Prison is such an educational place,” Rourke quipped, trying to hide his surprise. The old man had paid for his appeal? “I thought Brandon and Dusty—”
“Dad paid for all of it. He just didn’t want you to know,” Cash said. “Stubborn pride. Obviously you inherited it from him.”
He handed Rourke a key ring with two keys on it. “That’s the key for the cabin. The other one’s for the boathouse. Seriously, go fishing. Finding Forrest’s killer can wait another few days. After all, you’ve waited eleven years, right? And I’ll see what I can do about getting you a copy of your file.”
“Thanks.” He really meant it. He took the keys, suddenly exhausted. It had been a long emotional day and a damned surprising one. He knew he needed sleep more than anything else. The very last thing he should do was confront the other cowgirl he’d been thinking about for eleven years.
BLAZE WAITED at the office until almost seven o’clock for Rourke. She’d worn her sexiest silk blouse, an expensive suit and her highest heels this morning, the ones that flattered her legs, legs encased in the finest silk hosiery money could buy.
And she knew she smelled and looked divine. She’d seen Easton’s reaction every time he looked at her or came near her. It did her heart good that he’d been acting jealous all day. He knew she’d only dressed this way for Rourke and it had been killing him.
Except Rourke hadn’t shown. Maybe he didn’t know where she worked. Maybe he’d gone by her apartment.
But she knew that wasn’t the case. Rourke would know where to find her. He just hadn’t.
She considered that he might have gotten over her. After all it had been eleven years.
She quickly rejected the thought.
He had written her a letter right after his trial, asking her to write him and to wait for him. She’d written back that it wouldn’t be fair to either of them for her to wait and that writing would only make it more painful, but that he would always have a place in her heart. He hadn’t written her again. Nor she him.
