by Alice Sharpe
“Jealousy?”
Cody nodded. “What happened between Cassie and me was strictly between us, but if there’d been some other guy, well, I don’t know. I might have gone after the bastard.”
“This is nuts,” Adam said.
Cody pinned him with his dark gaze. “You don’t feel like that about Echo?”
“Now wait just a second—”
“Come on, Adam. Like you said, I live here. You think I can’t see what’s going on?”
“I’ve known her for three friggin’ days,” Adam protested. “Give me a break.”
Cody gazed into his eyes an extra beat. “Well, I spent years playing games, too. Who am I to judge?” He took a deep breath before adding, “What’s going on with Lonnie, J.D. and Del? They’re all acting like they have a big secret.”
Adam was happy to turn the conversation away from him and Echo. “Who knows? Think it’s important?”
“I’d say, about now, any secret is a potential time bomb, wouldn’t you?”
Chapter Thirteen
Adam left Solar Flare in his stall where the horse was already tucked in for the night. He needed to walk and think and try to figure out if he was too close to the forest to see the trees. He headed home on foot.
It was a beautiful night but it couldn’t begin to compare to the one before when he’d come this way with Echo riding behind him. It was impossible not to wonder what life was going to be like around here when the sheriff gave her permission to leave. Fact was, he wasn’t even sure what a television producer did, especially one on a channel devoted to food.
Be reasonable—what would a woman like her want a guy like him for? He couldn’t give her the razzle-dazzle excitement of a city or a job she loved. His life was as tied to the land he walked upon as it was to the air he breathed and all of it was one-hundred-percent Wyoming.
She was wrong for him. He was wrong for her. Did he want to spend the rest of his life waiting for her to leave him like Cody had with Cassie? Hell, no. Running after her, wearing his heart on his sleeve? Again, hell no.
And that’s when he saw her, walking toward him, a slim figure in the fading light. It appeared she had walked around the lake. He didn’t think she’d noticed him yet. Her head was down, she looked contemplative. He could take a few steps to his right and be on top of the ridge in thirty seconds and she need never know he was there.
And yet she was keeping a secret about Willet Garvey’s last words and in light of everything that had happened, he needed to man up and find out what she knew.
It couldn’t be good. That much was clear.
Eventually, she turned her head and saw him. He stepped up his pace and they soon met on the moonlit path.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Just walking. Thinking. You know.”
“Avoiding me?”
“Not everything is about you,” she grumbled. “I saw a truck arrive a while ago. More trouble?”
“No, just some of Dad and Uncle Pete’s buddies, out to offer support. You met them the first day you arrived.”
She crinkled her brow, then nodded. “Kind of a pink man and a guy with a Colonel Sanders mustache?”
“Right.”
They were silent for a moment until Adam spoke. “You know, I was wondering what a television producer actually does.”
She looked up at him quickly.
He added, “You’re not in front of the camera, right?”
“No.”
“Do you tell people what to do?”
She shrugged.
“Come on, just tell me. I’m curious.”
“You’re curious? Why?”
“Why not? Give me the short version.”
“The short version. Well, in my case, I work for the station. I’m the one who’s responsible for getting things done on time. I oversee hiring directors and talent and take care of the bottom line.”
“Making it pay.”
“Yes. Well, in a way. It’s my responsibility to turn a profit for the investors. Isn’t that what all business is about at the end of the day?”
“Yeah. But it seems a shame to waste a face and figure like yours behind the camera.”
Her eyes flashed to his and away. He’d half expected her to call him out on making that kind of quasi sexist remark, but she let it slide with a soft, “It’s what I find interesting.”
“You must be looking forward to New York.”
She met his gaze again and then looked out at the lake. “I’ll miss all my friends and coworkers in San Francisco, of course.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
“It’s what you do in a career, right? Keep advancing higher up the ladder, take on more challenges, all that.”
“I suppose. Do you know anyone in New York?”
“Not yet.”
“It sounds kind of lonely to me.”
“Doesn’t anyone ever leave here?”
“You mean Wyoming?” he asked, picking up a handful of rocks and lobbing one into the dark lake. The noise reminded him of the playful splashes of the night before. He dropped the rest of the rocks to the ground and brushed the dirt off his hands. “Sure. Pierce left for years.”
“This brother of yours sounds interesting. I don’t remember much about him except he thought I was irritating.”
“Heck, Echo, we all thought you were irritating.”
She laughed softly. “Well, as far as I can see, Pierce is the only one around here who tackled the world outside Wyoming.”
“Some of my college friends have moved away. And those men you met, Dad’s buddies. Like Del Halverson.”
“The pink one. But he came back.”
“His uncle ran a bank in Jersey, gave Del a job. Del said the desk-jockey thing got old after a while.”
“And the other one?”
“J. D. Oakes. He grew up in Montana, made a mint in the mining business, settled here and became a gentleman rancher. Lonnie is the one you didn’t meet. He’s been around forever, but now that you mention it, he left when he was drafted and didn’t come back for almost five years.”
She looked up at him again. “But not you.”
“Hell, honey, I’m the world’s last content man. I know what I have and what I want.”
“Do you?” she said softly.
He didn’t really think it was a question so he didn’t answer it.
“What do you do all winter?”
“Work on my house. And I have hobbies—the guitar, painting, woodcarving. Then there are social things at the Grange, get-togethers with old friends. Plus ranching just slows down, you know, it doesn’t quit. There are still chores to do, animals to tend and if there isn’t some remote fence that needs work, then it’s damn near a miracle.” He darted a glance at her. “Probably sounds pretty boring to you.” He waited a second before adding, “What would you do if you weren’t in television?”
“I’d go into medicine,” she said quickly, flicking him a glance, perhaps to see if he thought the answer was amusing.
“Really?”
“Yeah. After my recent experiences around here, it’s kind of hit me that I would like to know what to do in an emergency. I don’t like feeling helpless when a life is at stake.”
He smiled down at her, wishing so much he could cup her face and kiss her. Forever. Nonstop.
She looked up at him again, the whites of her eyes glistening. “Will you show me the inside of your house?”
“Sure.”
“Now?”
He paused as he tried to figure out how big a mess he’d left the last time he had spent any time there. When was that, anyway? Two nights ago?
“If the sheriff gives his okay, I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” she added.
“As long as you don’t mind a few dirty dishes,” he said, “I’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”
It wasn’t a long walk, but once in a while the trail sloped and they brushed hands or arms. The difference betwe
en their level of physical intimacy from the night before to this night was downright gut-wrenching.
“I’m glad you brought up the fact you might be leaving soon,” he said as they neared his house.
“Why? Anxious to be rid of me?”
“You know better than that. But you’re never going to get out of here until you tell Sheriff Inkwell the truth. Don’t underestimate him. He’ll keep you here until doomsday if he thinks you’re holding back.”
Her hand landed on his arm and he looked down at her, his heart hammering in his chest. It wasn’t just because he was so worried about what she’d heard Garvey say. His whole body burned with the desire to pick her up and carry her into his house. He could smell her, taste her…
She took a shallow breath and lowered her voice. “What if what I heard lays suspicion where you don’t want it?”
“I guess that’s just the way it has to be, Echo. No matter what Willet said, Dad didn’t kill him. Even if he’d gone there, he wouldn’t have brought drugs along because he doesn’t do drugs. I doubt he has the slightest idea how to even score any. That would mean premeditation and that’s not my father’s style. He blows up fast and then cools down. Tell the sheriff what you know.”
“Don’t you want me to tell you first?” she asked as they climbed the steps leading to the covered front porch. It was very dark under the overhang. He needed to buy one of those motion sensor lights.
With one hand on the doorknob, he paused. “Of course I want to know, but maybe you should just tell Inkwell. I disappointed you once before.”
“Oh, Adam, it’s all so complicated, isn’t it?”
He kissed her forehead and thought about inching south to her lips. And face it, there was a great big soft bed one short flight of stairs away…?.
“Willet touched my arm,” she said softly. “He said, ‘Westin. Tell Den…hat… Westin…’ and then he died.”
“Hat? What did that mean?”
“I didn’t know for sure but then—”
“Let me enlighten you,” a low voice interrupted as a figure emerged from the deep shadows of the porch. The man carried a shotgun in one hand and grabbed the railing for support when his step faltered. “It means he saw you hanging around, wearing that black hat of yours…watching him. I don’t know how you did it, but you killed my dad.”
Heavy footsteps sounded from the stairs behind while at the same time, the front door flew open and the lights snapped on.
Adam pulled Echo against his side as the three remaining Garvey brothers closed in around them.
DENNIS GARVEY STOOD INSIDE Adam’s house, hands twitching at his sides, eyes darting between the older guys standing on either side of her and Adam.
The biggest and apparently the oldest of the two wore a scraggly dark beard and a black shirt. Pearl buttons glittered on his chest. He had pit-bull eyes and even from a foot away, reeked of alcohol. Echo placed him at about her own age.
The other one looked to be a couple years younger. He wore facial hair, too, but in his case, it appeared to be more a consequence of poor grooming. His eyes had a fevered, drunken look to them and he, too, smelled like a brewery.
Adam directed his comments to the bearded man. “Hank. What are you and Tommy and Dennis doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” Hank said, hoisting the shotgun with both hands. “Been waiting for you since the wee hours of the morning.”
“You didn’t come home last night,” Dennis said, almost as an accusation. He flashed a look at Echo that seemed half defiance and half apology.
“You didn’t think we was going to let you get away with murdering our daddy, did you?” the shabby brother who had to be Tommy said.
“I didn’t hurt your father. There are lots of people who saw me other places.”
“Like her?” Tommy said, pointing at Echo.
“I’m one of them,” Echo said, “but not the only one.”
“You’re forgetting I just heard you tell him what Daddy said with his last breath,” Hank said. He repeated the words for Dennis’s sake. The repetition wasn’t exact and was slurred, but it came across loud and clear anyway. Dennis’s hands curled into fists.
“Let the lady walk on back to the ranch,” Adam said. “Then we’ll go inside and get a cold drink. Talk this over like men.”
“You ain’t got no more cold drinks,” Tommy said and laughed. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “We drank your beer, every last one. Time to break out the hard stuff.”
“The lady ain’t going nowhere,” Hank said.
“She has nothing to do with any of this,” Adam said. “It doesn’t concern her.”
Dennis glanced at Echo again. “I say we let her go. We don’t got no beef with her.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not leaving,” Echo said firmly as she gazed up at Adam. Didn’t he know her at all? Did he really think she’d leave him alone?
He gazed directly into her eyes and she realized what an idiot she was being. If she left, she could summon help. Two drunks and a shotgun were nothing to be taken lightly.
“On second thought, this isn’t my battle, I’d only get in the way,” she said. “I’ll just—”
“You’re staying right where you are!” Hank yelled, drops of spittle landing on his beard. “You’re related. Maybe not by way of blood, but you’re a Westin just the same.”
Tommy pushed them both into the house. Echo stumbled on the threshold and Adam caught her. The suppressed tension in his body traveled through his hands and up her arms.
The door slammed behind them.
Dennis ran around the big room turning on lights. As he did, different spaces were illuminated and each was more breathtaking than the one before. Too scared to take in details, Echo was left with impressions of warm wood and lots of glass.
And then the stench of stale beer and half-eaten food hit her olfactory glands. Tommy lurched over to the table in front of a red leather sofa and picked up a can. He drained what was in it, then threw it across the room.
The clatter it made as it hit the wall caused Echo to jump.
“What do you guys want?” Adam demanded, jaw knotted, silver eyes the color of pewter.
“I want to be staring you in the eyes when you die, just like you did our dad,” Hank said, his voice garbled, tears rolling down his cheeks unheeded.
“I didn’t kill your father,” Adam said softly.
Tommy had moved off toward what appeared to be the kitchen. He returned a minute later carrying two bottles, one of whiskey, the other of gin. He opened the gin and took a long swallow before offering the bottle to Hank who waved it away.
“Wait a second,” Dennis said. He was standing with his hands on the back of the sofa, looking at the rest of them like they were actors on a stage. “No matter which Westin pulled the trigger, you can bet his pa set up our dad.”
Hank stared hard at Adam, then he swore. “Damn it, Den, you’re right.” He nosed the gun closer to Adam. “Call your old man,” he demanded. “Get him over here.”
“So you can shoot both of us?” Adam said calmly. “I don’t think so.”
Hank leered at Echo. “I’ll shoot her if you don’t call them.”
“No, you won’t. She hasn’t done you any harm. All she did was try to comfort your dad.”
“That’s right,” Dennis said, voice cracking.
With a sweep of his arm, Tommy cleared empty beer cans and stale sandwich crusts off the low table by the sofa. The whiskey bottle hit the wood with a clink while Tommy upended the gin and swilled down another inch. Then he jerked his head toward the front of the house.
“Do you hear something?”
Hank didn’t take his eyes off Adam. They were all silent for a second. All Echo could hear was the drumming of her own erratic heart.
Hank finally said, “No.”
“Well, I do,” Tommy muttered, and lurched toward the window, cradling the bottle against his chest. “See, I was right!” he yelled. “
There are lights coming down the road.” He turned back to the room, waving the bottle. “Someone’s coming. We got to get out of here.”
Hank thrust the shotgun closer to Adam. Echo stopped breathing. The muzzle was less than a foot from Adam’s chest.
“Hank, don’t, you’re drunk!” Dennis cried.
Adam took a deep breath. Then, his movements lightning-quick, he grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and yanked it to the side. Hank was unsteady enough to stumble forward but his finger was still on the trigger. The gun went off.
Echo screamed, certain Adam had taken a bullet.
But it was Tommy who crumpled to the floor. He grabbed his bloody left leg as the gin bottle exploded beside him. Within seconds, the man was lying in a puddle of his own blood mixed liberally with booze.
While Hank stared at his brother, Adam landed a punch on his nose. Hank reeled back in the other direction, toward Echo, rounding himself up, reaching for her with hands like claws, his small eyes burning with rage. She grabbed the whiskey bottle from the table and holding the neck with both her hands, thumped Hank over the head so hard the action jarred her arms and she dropped the bottle. It burst on the rock floor in a spurting fountain of amber spirits and glass.
Hank stared at her with crossed eyes before crashing at her feet.
She looked up at Adam. He stood cradling his arm, his expression taut with pain. He’d used the wrong hand to slug Hank Garvey.
Echo was barely able to process the last sixty seconds and the fact that she and Adam were still standing and relatively unhurt. Then she looked around for Dennis and found him kneeling at Tommy’s side.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
Dennis had whipped off a light jacket and was holding it against his brother’s leg. He glanced up. “He’s so drunk he probably don’t even know he’s been shot.”
A moment later, Cody and Sheriff Inkwell walked into the house.
Chapter Fourteen
The ambulance crew took Tommy out on a stretcher. Sheriff Inkwell’s deputies hauled off Hank and Dennis. Dennis, who was a minor, wouldn’t face the same charges as his more aggressive brothers but as Adam watched the boy get into the squad car, he felt more than just a pang of regret.
