* * *
John's heart beat like a snare drum as he surveyed the cabin's dim interior. One room, two windows, one door. He saw two rifles standing in the corner. They would be Paul's.
"Okay, so you found me," Paul said to Keeton. "So what?"
John angled his eyes at Paul as it dawned on him Paul had come here to hide out from Keeton, not the law.
"You, Red"—Keeton pointed the pistol at Izzy—"get over there and get me them rifles."
Izzy stared up at John, terror in her eyes, and at that moment, he made a vow. Merle Keeton would never see Callister again if he hurt Isabelle. "Do what he says," John told her. That is, 'til I come up with something.
Izzy brought the two rifles from the corner of the room.
Keeton gestured her to prop them beside the door and ordered John and Paul back toward the cookstove. "Now," he said to Izzy, "I figger you must have something to eat up here."
"Nothing but lunch meat and bread."
"That'll do. Get me a cup o' that coffee."
John's gaze swerved to the steaming coffeepot on the cookstove and suddenly he found a plan.
Izzy looked up at him again. She had more guts than any woman he knew. He only hoped she didn't waver now. He held her gaze, formed a ring with his thumb and forefinger and barely tipped his hand.
He saw in her eyes she understood and braced himself to grab Keeton's gun. Paul's eyes darted everywhere and John could see he had a scheme of his own.
"The handle's hot," Izzy said in a quavery voice.
A flannel shirt lay on top of a pile of clothing on the floor. "Get her that shirt," John said to Keeton. "She hasn't done anything to you. Why make her burn herself?"
Keeton sidled over to the shirt. Eyes glued to the three of them, he bent, picked up the shirt and threw it at Izzy.
Her hand trembled as she wrapped the shirt around the coffeepot handle. She poured the tin cup full, then lifted it using the shirt as a pot holder. She walked the four steps to where Keeton stood and, just as John hoped, dumped the steaming cup of coffee onto Keeton's gun hand.
He let out a howl and fired the pistol on reflex. Blam!
Paul cried out, stumbled backward and fell.
John grabbed Keeton's wrist with his left hand and buried his right fist in the man's gut. Merle doubled over with an oomph! but managed to fire the pistol again. John twisted the wrist until he felt it snap. The .45 hit the floor and to John's horror, Paul went for it, crawling across the floor, his arm extended, his fingers clutching.
John lunged toward the rifles, grabbed one and popped the safety. "Don't do it, Paul."
"John, no," Izzy cried, in tears now and kneeling on the floor beside her brother.
The .45 lay there, only inches from Paul's fingers. "I mean it, Paul. I'll shoot you."
Izzy reached out and shoved the .45 beyond Paul's grasp. "He wasn't going to shoot."
"John, I was gonna help you," Paul said, getting to his feet, favoring his left shoulder.
John didn't know if he believed that. He didn't dare take a chance. A moan came from Keeton, who lay in a fetal position. John grabbed him by the coat and hefted him to his knees. "Put your hands behind your back," he ordered.
Keeton did as he was told. He had lost his starch. John reached behind himself for the handcuffs attached to his belt loop and cuffed him.
"My arm's broke," Keeton whined, in tears. "I'm burned. Them cuffs is tight."
John picked up his .45 and leveled it at Paul as he propped the rifle by the front door. "Paul, I've got only one pair of cuffs. Give me trouble and I won't think twice about blowing your ass off."
"He's hurt," Izzy cried, stepping in front of her brother. "He's innocent. He can tell you, John."
John caught her arm and drew her away from her brother. "You okay?" he asked her and pulled her closer to his side. "You scared the shit right out of me."
"It wasn't me that shot Frank," Paul said, standing with his shoulder angled.
"How bad are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. Just burns a little."
"Paul didn't do it," Izzy said, her voice breaking. "You have to listen to him, John." She went back to her brother and began working his wounded arm out of his coat sleeve.
John looked into Paul's face as Izzy wrapped the dirty flannel shirt around his bleeding arm. "What makes you think you're innocent, Paul? You were there. You helped bury Frank. You said so."
"I was trapped. If I hadn't, Merle would've shot me, too."
John didn't know if he believed that, either. Paul and Keeton had been friends for years.
Izzy had done the best she could bandaging her brother's wound. "Let's get Dancer saddled," John told her, then turned his attention to Paul. "You help her."
John picked up the coffeepot and used the remaining liquid to douse the fire in the woodstove, then directed all of them outside. Paul followed Isabelle to the corral.
"Goddammit, John," Keeton said, in tears, "don't do this to me. You've knowed me all your life. I got rights—"
Miranda. Shit. John had never memorized the Miranda declaration. "Shut up, Keeton."
John pulled his wallet where he kept the statement out of his back pocket. By the time he read Keeton his rights, Izzy and Paul had Dancer saddled.
"Anything in that cabin you need?" he asked her.
"Paul's gear and there's some food."
"Get it and let's go," John said as he unloaded Paul's guns.
She came out carrying a gunnysack. He prodded Keeton to his feet, hefted the rifles under one arm and told Isabelle to mount up. He pointed the direction and trailed behind, leading Rowdy as they returned to his camp.
He rolled his sleeping bag and tied it behind his saddle, found a pigging string in his poke and used it to tie the rifles onto his saddlehorn. "I'm gonna tell you something," he said to his prisoner. "You stay twenty feet in front of me. If that distance varies an inch, you're in deep shit." He unsnapped the strap holding his pistol. "I always hit where I aim. That goes for you, too, Paul."
"Paul can ride double with me," Isabelle said.
"No. That's dangerous."
"It's at least ten miles," she argued. "He's wounded. He can't walk—"
"Isabelle. He walked up here. He can walk back. He's not that bad off. I intend to get all of us off this mountain with nobody else getting hurt."
At the limestone ledge, John unclipped his cell phone and tried for service. To his relief, the phone worked. He called the office and Rooster answered. John told him to meet him in the Blazer at Isabelle's house.
An hour later, an armada of vehicles met them in Isabelle's driveway. She stood back as John loaded Paul and Keeton into the Blazer. Walt Cassidy and Dan O'Neal approached.
"Thank God," Cassidy said and patted John's shoulder.
"Good job, Bradshaw." O'Neal stuck out his hand. "Proper procedure would have been for you to have notified the right people and gone in with enough assets to prevent injury."
"Not enough time. I knew where I was going and what I was doing." He would probably never tell O'Neal about Keeton getting the drop on him.
"I'm a little pissed off," the ISP investigator said with a laugh, "that I didn't get a piece of this. Nothing would've made me happier than to surprise those fuckers in a deserted cabin."
John glanced over at Izzy, who was standing at her back door, chewing on her Up. Rooster waited in the Blazer's driver's seat. John slapped the roof a couple of times. "Go to town, Rooster. I'll be right behind you."
The caravan members all seemed to crank their engines at once and headed down the driveway like a parade. When they had gone, he walked over to Izzy. Every inch of her appeared to be in agony, but she was dry-eyed. He took off his hat. "You're a brave heart, Isabelle."
"He's so easily influenced by the wrong people," she said, wiping away a tear that had sneaked out. "I always wanted him to find someone besides Merle to be friends with."
John nodded, surprised that he had come to a similar con
clusion himself.
"Thank you for saving him, John. They would have killed him. You heard that one guy."
He enclosed her in his embrace. "No, they wouldn't have, darlin'. They're professionals. That's just adrenaline and ego talking. All bullshit." He set her away. "I have to go. You'll have to come to town and make a statement. Take your time, but come as soon as you can."
"Okay," she said in a tiny voice. "He's hurt. What about his wound?"
"You don't have to worry. He and Merle both will get any medical treatment they need. I'll see to it."
She gave a big sniff. "I know. I trust you, John."
"Everything will turn out okay. You'll see." He cupped the back of her head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I love you," he said softly. "Don't ever forget that."
"I won't."
He drew back with a kiss on the back of her hand and put on his hat. "Can Rowdy stay here 'til I can come back and get him?"
She nodded. "I'll unsaddle him and put him in the barn with Polly and Trixie."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." She gave him a hint of a smile. "What, you think I can't take care of a horse?"
He walked toward his truck, turning back to gaze at her again before he climbed in. He had never seen anyone look more forlorn. Heart aching, he walked back to where she stood and took her hand. "He needs a lawyer. Get somebody good from Boise."
He dredged up a smile, too, remembering what she had said the night she told him why she felt so much loyalty to her brother. "I'm responsible for him as much as I am for everybody else, Isabelle. I'll look out for him."
Chapter 29
"Helluva thing," Walt Cassidy said, setting his coffee mug on the corner of John's desk. "After Keeton had already offed one official, I'll always wonder why he didn't shoot you, too."
Court had ended minutes earlier. Keeton had been arraigned and denied bail. Cassidy would be transporting him to his larger, more secure jail. John had offered to deliver Keeton, but Cassidy had wanted to come to the court hearing.
Represented by a pit bull defense lawyer Izzy had hired, Paul had been released on bail, for which he had the money, and restricted against leaving Callister. Fate had smiled on him. God help him if he screwed up because he wouldn't have a supporter left anywhere.
A week passed. Since John's trip up Callister Mountain to the miner's cabin, his every hour had been filled. He had seen Izzy once since the day she came to the courthouse and gave her statement. They had talked on the phone but had not had a detailed discussion about her brother.
In his off hours, John had been telling his sons about his relationship with Izzy and her daughter. His mom had been talking to them, too.
"I've known Merle Keeton my whole life," John said to Cassidy. "It's hard to think of him as a killer. I always looked at him and Paul both as nothing more threatening than dumb bastards who get drunk and don't think."
The veteran lawman chuckled and smoothed his mustache. "All criminals are dumb, John, or they wouldn't get in the messes they do in the first place. Some are just dumber than others."
John stood and walked over to the coffeepot for a refill. He brought the carafe back and poured another cup for Cassidy. "You believe Paul's story?"
"Yeah, I think I do. Most of it anyway. More important, ISP's polygraphist believes it. I don't doubt Rondeau was scared after he saw that his buddy had shot Frank. I'm sure he was afraid not to help bury the body. Keeton himself admitted Rondeau was no hand with a pistol and that was the only weapon in play."
"You're satisfied then that Keeton just accidentally dropped the knife in the process of burying Frank."
Cassidy nodded. "My only question is if Rondeau's lying when he says he didn't see Keeton fire the shots."
"I've heard a lot of things about Paul, but I've never heard him called a liar."
"Well, no matter. A lie's hard to maintain over time. In the coming months, Paul'll have to repeat his story a dozen times. If he's lying, at some point he'll trip himself up."
"How do you think Merle got Frank's gun? You suppose Frank really drew on him over a fishing violation?"
Cassidy shook his head and sipped his coffee. "No. But we might as well face it, John. Some things we'll never know for sure. That's the way it is in criminal investigations."
"Think Paul'll do time?"
"I don't know. He sung like a canary, seemed eager to help out. Him making that call to your office brought the whole thing to a head and he supported you up at that cabin. If he's willing to be a witness in court, well, who knows? Judge Morrison seems to like him. He must believe he's redeemable."
"One thing's for sure," John said, "I'll be keeping an eye on him. Isabelle's gonna put him to work. She told me his wife is coming back and bringing his kids and that'll make a difference in his behavior."
"A family in the picture is usually a good thing."
"I feel Paul's got a decent streak. But he needs some order in his life."
"Who doesn't? My ex-wives would tell you the same thing about me." Cassidy drained his cup, rose and reached for his hat. "If you need Keeton, he'll be locked up safe and sound in my jail."
"Thanks for everything, Walt. I don't know how I would've handled all of this without you."
"You'd have done just fine, sheriff. Just fine. A little bird told me the county commissioners are going to have a meeting about raising the sheriff's pay and pumping up the budget for the office. With two murders in three years, maybe they see they need a real sheriff after all." The old lawman looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe you'll stick around. Maybe you'll run for the office."
John grinned. Luke McRae had all but promised him a raise in pay if he would just run. And Dan O'Neal had left town calling him "Sheriff" instead of "Bradshaw." For the last few days John had been secretly thinking he might contact the ISP about taking a few classes in their peace officer training school.
After Cassidy left with Merle Keeton in his custody, John sat for a few minutes contemplating irresponsibility and bad judgment and the catastrophic result. Fishing for sturgeon was forbidden in Idaho waters. Everybody knew it, including Paul and Keeton, but they did it anyway, for fun. The penalty was a heavy fine and possible restrictions on fishing licenses, but it didn't compare to the punishment for murder. And it sure wasn't worth the loss of a man's life. The whole episode made John shudder.
He shrugged into his jacket, put on his hat and told Rooster and Dana he was going home. He walked outside and looked up at the azure sky. Spring in the mountains. The sun had some warmth to it. The earth smelled fresh. He had two healthy sons of whom he would soon have sole legal custody. Thanks to his mom and dad, a lawyer in Boise was handling the matter now. He owned a good horse and a good woman loved him. What more could a man ask for?
His boys were still with his folks. His horse and saddle and his horse trailer were at Isabelle's. His clothes, his TV and his king-sized bed were sitting in his duplex apartment. What he needed to do now was have a long talk with his boys, then organize and consolidate.
He drove to the Lazy B, where his family welcomed him with smiles and open arms. Whatever the thing was that had hung between him and his dad for the past few years seemed to have vanished and they were returning to the warm relationship of long ago. John guessed his dad no longer thought him an irresponsible screwup who gave no thought to his actions.
He spent a good evening with his sons, telling them his plans for his future and theirs. They liked the idea of living in the country again, in a household where horses and dogs were part of everyday life. They didn't even mind that a girl came along with it.
The next morning, while he showered and put on a dress shirt, his mom helped his boys into the new jeans and boots she and his dad had bought them. After John finished dressing, they stood straight as arrows in front of him for his inspection. They seemed to be excited about making a good impression.
His parents came into the living room. "Here's the ring, son."
His dad handed him an antique wedding ring. "I'm not convinced this move you're about to make is for the best, but—"
"Hush up, Tom," Katie Bradshaw said. "It's none of your business. This is John's life, not yours." She came to John. "It can be resized if necessary. I had it cleaned and had the stone tightened."
The ring had belonged to John's paternal great-grandmother. John's mother had worn it when she married his father. As stones went, the emerald was small, but its symbolism wasn't. Four generations of solid marriages and families stood behind it.
"Are you sure you're finished with it?" John asked his mom.
She laughed and hugged him, then looked up at his dad. "I haven't worn it since your dad bought me this marble-sized rock. It's for good luck, John. Someday you'll pass it on to one of your children for the same reason. I know you've found the right one this time. I can't wait to welcome Isabelle and her daughter into our family."
"Dad, is our new mom gonna let us have our own horse again?" his nine-year-old asked.
John had called Isabelle earlier and told her he would be dropping by to introduce her and his sons. "Son, she'll even teach you how to talk to him."
He and the boys stopped off at Fielder's Mercantile to buy a bouquet. Fielder's didn't have roses, so Trey said he thought the red carnations were pretty. John thought so, too, remembering the day he had bought Izzy a bouquet of carnations and placed it on the seat of her truck. Izzy wouldn't care what kind of flowers they were. She would care more about the sentiment.
As he came to a stop in his usual place near the barn, Izzy and Ava came outside. With the sun shining on her hair, Izzy looked beautiful. He and his sons climbed out of the truck.
Izzy eyed the bouquet and grinned. "What's that?"
"It's flowers," he said.
She laughed. "I can see that."
He urged Trey and Cody forward. "This is Trey and Cody." Solemn-faced, both boys put out their right hands and John hid a grin. Isabelle smiled, shook their hands and introduced Ava.
Before the moment could become awkward, he dug the ring from his shirt pocket, then sank to one knee and prodded his sons to do the same. He thrust the ring and the flowers out to her. "Isabelle, we came to ask you and Ava to marry us."
The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 Page 30
