Her Montana Man

by Laurie Paige

  She shook her head, then explained in a quiet voice that didn’t carry, her theory about the missing pillow, assuming there was one.

  “Huh, we sure didn’t think of that,” the lawman admitted. His grin was weary. “I don’t go around noticing whether stuff matches or not.”

  “That’s why women are better at forensics than you guys are,” she said loftily, bringing a lighter note to the seriousness of the discussion.

  “You gals are just nosier.”

  “More observant,” she corrected.

  Pierce stayed silent and took in the interactions between the other two. Professional respect was obvious as well as friendship. Chelsea and the lawman were at ease with each other. While he had also shared such moments with her, most of their interactions had been spiced by the acute awareness they had for each other.

  It came to him that he had no need to be jealous of another man, not while they shared this driving hunger that could only be appeased with each other.

  Like a punch in the gut, it hit him that he didn’t want her to disappear again the way she had long ago. There were things to be worked out between them. This time he wouldn’t let her walk out of his life, not without a fight. It promised to be an interesting situation.

  Holt glanced up from the menu the hostess had provided. “What’s so funny, Your Honor?” he quizzed.

  “Not a thing, Officer,” Pierce said. He glanced at Chelsea, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Not a thing.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I’ve got to stop by the office a minute,” Pierce said when they were on the street once more. “Want to come up?”

  “I think I’ll stroll through the park. It looks cool under those cottonwoods.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you at that bench over there between the playground and the lake.” He strolled off.

  Chelsea entered the city park where a large number of the residents had gathered to escape the heat. Most homes didn’t have air-conditioning and usually didn’t need it, so the locals sweltered when the weather did one of these inversion things, as explained on the news last night.

  She strolled along a mulched path, heading for the grove of cottonwoods near the lake. The lake was fed by an underground spring, which wasn’t as large as Cave Springs that supplied the water for the lake at Pierce’s resort.

  A deep sigh escaped her. He had carved out a good life for himself here in this friendly little town. He had his mom and sister, a brother-in-law he liked and a niece or nephew on the way. His house was lovely—

  She realized where that train of thought was taking her and broke it off. It was none of her concern why he’d built a four-bedroom house in an ideal spot. Obviously, he liked his space.

  Thinking of her own tiny apartment in Billings, she sighed again, unhappy without being able to say why.

  The grove of cottonwood trees was quiet and shady, blocking out the heat and the shrill voices of some kids hanging upside down on the monkey bars. She followed a barely discernible path and found an outcropping of huge boulders forming a shallow slope of maybe five feet in height.

  The temperature in this shady grotto was at least ten degrees cooler than outside. Water bubbled from beneath and around the stones, cascaded down the shallow drop and rushed into the lake with an impressive flow.

  Delighted at discovering the source of the lake, she sat on a boulder and dipped her hand into the crystalline springs. The water was icy cold. With a laugh, she withdrew her hand and simply sat there, enjoying the moment.

  The water sang a merry tune as it darted here and there around the rocky crevices. An occasional shout from the playground penetrated the thick canopy of leaves. A slight breeze rustled the shiny leaves.

  She spotted a jay sitting on a limb, watching her with its plumed head cocked to one side, its gaze unblinking. After a bit, feeling ridiculously uneasy, she picked up a pebble and tossed it at the tree. The bird flew away.

  Good. She didn’t like being stared at. Smiling as if she’d routed an enemy, she turned back to the spring. In one clear spot, she could see her face as she bent over the water. It was like looking through a magic glass into another world and a different version of herself, one she didn’t know. She was curious about that person.

  A sheen of light outlined her head like a halo. A saint she wasn’t, she reflected wryly.

  Soft rustlings at her back brought her head around. Expecting the nosy jay, she found nothing stirring. Even the breeze had stopped, and the leaves hung motionless on the cottonwoods.

  A chill invaded her, as if she’d swallowed an ice cube and it lodged in her stomach. A sense of impending…danger? disaster?…wafted around her like the icy remains of a spirit long departed.

  She shivered, then stood, her eyes darting along the path, over the trees, catching at shadows, then moving again. With three easy jumps, she leaped over the burbling water and through the woods until she came upon the open field where several ball teams were at practice.

  Relieved to be in sight of other people, she strolled across the lawn and around the lake until she reached the bench where she was to meet Pierce.

  Sitting there in the sun, she felt the icy discomfort fade into drowsy warmth. Whatever had disturbed her so profoundly was gone now, its evil influence retracting to an unknown hidden place.

  “Chelsea,” a male voice called out.

  Holt Tanner stopped in front of the bench. A young woman was with him. Dressed in a floral skirt and a purple silk blouse with a squash-blossom silver belt over it, she looked sort of New Age. She had long, wavy black hair and really beautiful gray eyes. Early twenties, probably. Petite in stature. Familiar.

  “Hello, Dr. Kearns,” the woman said.

  “Please, call me Chelsea,” she said. A light came on in her brain. “You’re Tessa Madison, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. We worked together one time. In Chicago.”

  “I remember.” Chelsea stuck out her hand. “I’m glad to see you again.”

  The young woman shook hands with her. A surprised expression came over her, then she shook her head slightly.

  “What?” Chelsea said, sensing an undertone.

  “Nothing,” Tessa murmured and stepped back.

  “Are you on the case?” Chelsea asked.

  “Oh, no. I was walking through the park, on my way back to the store, when I thought I recognized you. I knew you were in town due to the newspaper report.”

  Chelsea glanced at Holt, wondering why he was with the psychic.

  “Pierce asked me to tell you he would be a bit late, if I saw you,” Holt said, explaining his presence. “I saw you from the street when I was going to the cruiser and came over.”

  “I see. Have you met Tessa Madison?”

  “No. How do you do?” he said politely but with obvious impatience. “I’ve got to be going.”

  “Thanks for the message,” Chelsea said to his retreating back. She smiled at Tessa and moved over. Join me? It’s lovely here in the park.”

  “I’ve got to get back to the store and relieve my helper,” Tessa said, but she sat down on the end of the bench, rather like someone waiting for the “ready set-go” signal to start a race.

  Chelsea laid a hand on the psychic’s arm and felt her stiffen. “Tell me,” she requested, drawing back.

  Tessa looked unhappy. “No one knew about my abilities—or peculiarities, if you prefer—until you came to town. I didn’t want anyone to know. Now everyone does.”

  “I did mention it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a secret. I thought you might be able to help. I sensed a…a coldness around the chair where the librarian died.”

  Tessa clenched her hands together, her face closed but troubled. “Death is always difficult.”

  “Yes. I felt something earlier, down by the spring, as if there was danger close by. Did you feel it when you touched me?”

  “I…no. It was something else.”

  “What?” Chelsea asked, continuing her probe.

  Th
e lovely eyes, the color of rain, met hers briefly before Tessa looked away. “Congratulations on the coming little one,” she said very softly.

  Chelsea’s breath hung in her throat and refused to come in or go out. Finally she swallowed and managed to breathe again. “So there is a child.”

  Tessa stood. “I’m sorry if it isn’t what you want. I could be wrong—”

  “No,” Chelsea said in a husky croak. “I do want the baby. I’m very glad. Thank you for confirming it.”

  “Yes, well, goodbye, Dr. Kearns.” She hurried off with a rustle of silk, leaving a faint fragrance of rosemary and lavender. A few feet away she turned and said, “You’re not in danger at present, but you could be if you keep digging around. Everyone involved in the case could be in danger.”

  Chelsea watched the other woman until she disappeared from sight, her mind running in a thousand different directions and getting nowhere fast.

  “Hey, beautiful,” she heard Pierce call out.

  Shading her eyes with a hand, she returned his smile and watched as he came toward her. His stride was long and easy, the step of a man confident in his world, a man used to taking responsibility, who would never dream of shirking his duty, as he saw it.

  Including his duty to her and the baby.

  Her breath hung up again and she had to force herself to breathe steadily and keep smiling.

  “Wasn’t that one of our local shopkeepers?” he asked, stopping beside her and dropping to the bench.

  “Yes. Tessa Madison.”

  “The herbal place. I remember.” He gave her a curious glance. “She seems rather quiet, but tense. Trouble?”

  “Actually, no. She said we weren’t in danger from the killer—”

  “What!”

  “But only as long as we don’t keep poking around.”

  “Explain that,” he demanded.

  Chelsea hesitated, then said, “I’ve worked with Tessa before. She’s a psychic. Sometimes she knows things.”

  Pierce snorted, openly skeptical.

  “The killer is watching, but he isn’t worried. He doesn’t think he’ll be caught. He thinks he’s too smart for the rest of us.”

  She knew she was right as soon as she said the words. While she didn’t get visions or anything like that, she sometimes felt things, call them hunches or intuition, and knew when something was right or wrong.

  “Who is it?” Pierce demanded.

  She shrugged. “That we don’t know.”

  “That’s the trouble with visions,” he said cynically, relaxing against the bench once more. “Either they don’t tell you enough to do any good, or they’re full of detail, all of which turns out to be open to interpretation.”

  She smiled at his disgruntled manner. “Sorry, my crystal ball is in the shop.” She stood. “Ready to go home? It’s time for my nap by the lake.”

  He stood, his eyes darkening dangerously. “Yeah, mine, too,” was all he said, although a devilish smile curved the corners of his mouth.

  For a moment the need to tell him about the baby nearly overcame her reticence to divulge the news Tessa had told her. It was too early to know for sure. She brightened. She could get a pregnancy test kit at the grocery.

  But not in Rumor. If Pierce heard about it, that’s all he would need to send him off the deep end. He’d drag her off to the justice of the peace no matter what she said.

  A shiver of excitement raced all the way to her toes. That didn’t sound half-bad. And that fact worried her.

  While Pierce attended to matters at the resort that afternoon, Chelsea finished reading through the forensic investigation book. Done, she sighed and examined all that she and Holt had discovered about Harriet Martel and the case of the missing lover.

  Hmm, that sounded like a Perry Mason title. She wondered what the famed detective would have deduced from the clues in this case. What would he have noticed that she had overlooked?

  This wasn’t a stranger who had killed. Crimes of passion had roots that reflected a deeply involved relationship, one that had proved lethal to the reclusive librarian.

  Laying the book aside, Chelsea got to her feet and paced the deck, her eyes on the cedar planks, her mind on the cottage where violence had erupted.

  She could see the two figures, male and female, locked in a struggle for control, one demanding, one denying. She could hear their voices, the tone, not the words, as they quarreled. She could see the man pacing in fury.

  Maybe he went into the kitchen, trying to collect himself, and Harriet used that moment to write the initials on the back of the book, using her own blood. She’d barely gotten the book replaced when he returned and demanded again that she get rid of the child. She refused. His fury exploded. He jerked open the drawer, grabbed the gun, swung it toward the infuriating woman and fired—

  A crack of thunder broke into her thoughts.

  Glancing westward, she saw dark clouds building rapidly around the peaks of the Beartooth Mountains. A storm might bring some relief from the oppressive heat. Or it might trigger a forest fire, she corrected, seeing the flash of lightning in the distance.

  Unbearably restless, she decided she’d take a walk now in case the valley did get some rain later.

  “Chelsea, wait up,” a familiar baritone called out when she reached the path encircling the lake.

  She watched Pierce come toward her, a handsome man in casual clothes, self-assured, kind and hardworking.

  “Going for a walk?” he asked.

  “Yes. Join me?”

  He nodded and fell into step beside her. They strolled along the path, their steps silent on the thick layer of pine straw that cushioned the trail.

  He took her hand. “Thinking about the case?”

  “Yes. It’s maddening. There must be something we’re overlooking, some simple fact that eludes us.”

  “Let it rest,” he advised. “Sometimes things come to you when you least expect it.”

  “True.” Strolling leisurely, Chelsea was intensely aware of their intertwined hands as they circled the lake. Her heart began a heavy warning beat that signaled danger. Huh, tell her something she didn’t know.

  They ran into other couples and families on the resort side of the lake. Most of the adults sat on benches in the deepening shadows of the pines while children, uncaring of the heat, played running games on the lawn.

  Pierce chuckled. “Remember all the times we walked along the shore in Chicago, no matter what the weather?”

  “Rain, hail, snow and sleet, we experienced everything Mother Nature could think of.”

  “Plus the wind. Montana blizzards were a breeze compared to Chicago winters.”

  “Then April came, and it was suddenly beautiful.”

  “Yes,” he said. “April came.”

  April. The month she’d heard she been accepted in the forensic program. The month they’d parted. She watched the path and said nothing.

  The lodge and cabins were left behind as they walked on. The cries of the children faded into the lazy trills of bird calls when they reached the wooded area.

  “I’m sorry for what I said,” he continued after a long silence. He glanced at her, then back at the trail. “That night I spoke out of hurt pride. You were so excited, so obviously glad to be leaving. I had to pretend it didn’t bother me.”

  The hurt of that long-ago evening returned. The rumble of thunder reminded her of the storm that had blown in from the lake that distant night. The rain had fallen, but not her tears. Those had stayed inside, in her heart.

  She tugged her hand from his and walked faster, as if that way she could escape the memories. “It was long ago. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I hurt you. That matters,” he said quietly.

  “Why are you telling me this now?” she demanded, angry with herself because it still caused her pain. Only foolish people let the past continue to haunt them.

  “To clear the air between us. I don’t want the past overshadowing the present…or the fu
ture.”

  She started to tell him there was no future between them, but an inescapable truth asserted itself. If they had made a child, then their lives were indeed entangled.

  The need to share her news rose in a painful gulp to her throat. “I think…”

  The words wouldn’t come. She tried, she honestly tried, but she wasn’t ready to face the consequences of confession.

  “I think it’s going to rain,” she ended miserably, coward that she was.

  “You’re right. I’ve felt a few sprinkles. We’d better make a dash for it.”

  A fresh wind swept down the mountain as they speeded up. It seemed to laugh at their efforts to outrun the storm.

  Before they reached the cove and the narrow foot bridge that crossed it, lightning flashed brilliantly all around them and was immediately followed by a clap of thunder directly over their heads.

  “Come on,” Pierce shouted at her. He held out a hand.

  Grabbing on, she ran all-out for the cabin set back from the lake. By the time they reached the porch, they were both drenched.

  Shivers attacked her as soon as she stopped running. The rain changed to tiny balls of hail that pinged off the roof and skipped along the grass in a wild dance.

  Laughing, Chelsea admitted, “I wanted a break in the heat, but I’m not sure this was what I’d envisioned.”

  Her companion didn’t answer.

  Glancing at him, she shivered again at the intensity of his gaze. Following it, she realized her cotton top had become transparent. Her nipples clearly stood out as dark circles beneath the wet bra. She crossed her arms.

  “Too late,” he murmured, a half smile touching his mouth and disappearing.

  They stood there as if in a trance, their clothing dripping on the wood floor while the storm increased to a frenzied tempo. The hail changed to sleet. The wind grew icy cold, a foretaste of winter in its howl.

  “We need to change.” But she didn’t move.

  Neither did he.

  It was as if they were frozen in time and place, cut off by the thunderstorm from all others of their kind. The isolation was complete, as if they’d been transported to an island far, far away.