by B. J Daniels
* * *
THE WHITEHORSE CEMETERY perched on a small hill overlooking what was left of Old Town. Trees had been planted in and around the clusters of gravestones.
Bridger stood next to Spencer beside the open grave, his hat in his hand. A breeze sent what was left of the leaves showering down from the trees, scattering them around the weathered gravestones. The sun slanted down through the branches as Titus Cavanaugh, the patriarch of Whitehorse, stood next to Spencer, his Bible in both hands, and waited for everyone to gather around the coffin.
Where was Laci? He hadn’t seen her, but there were too many mourners for him to find her in the crowd without being obvious. He knew she had to be there. He just wished he was with her, feeling awkward and conspicuous standing next to Spencer.
Like Spencer, he was an outsider. He hadn’t even known Alyson. Hell, he couldn’t even say he knew Spencer after all these years.
Bridger could feel eyes on him, feel the curiosity and the animosity. Old Town Whitehorse was a close-knit community. The members of the Whitehorse Sewing Circle had thrown up a silent barrier to keep him out.
“They protect their own,” Eve had told him. “The Whitehorse Sewing Circle is impenetrable. They’re worse than a secret society when it comes to keeping secrets. If they wouldn’t tell me, there isn’t a chance in hell they will tell you.”
He was finding that out. Just as he was sure many of them knew he visited Pearl Cavanaugh and the other elderly former members of the sewing circle at the nursing home.
“It is on the saddest occasion that we are gathered here today,” Titus began. “We come to say goodbye to Alyson Banning Donovan. Only days ago, we gathered in the community center to marry this couple and give our blessing to their marriage.”
As Titus continued, Bridger scanned the crowd for Laci. No sign of her. He tried not to worry. One woman in the crowd caught his eye. She had dark hair and eyes...and was about the right age to have given birth to twins thirty-two years ago.
A lot of women in the county could have been his and Eve’s birth mother. But more than likely he and Eve had been brought in from somewhere else. Did someone in this town know the truth? Was that person watching him now, worried that he would find out who they were?
He felt an intent gaze on him and looked up to see the reporter from the Milk River Examiner, Glen Whitaker, watching him with open speculation. Bridger knew exactly what the man wanted. He’d been dogging him ever since he’d moved to Whitehorse, but more so since the death of Dr. Holloway.
The man could be a problem. Bridger knew he had to watch his step. At one point, he thought about telling Glen Whitaker the whole story, but he knew enough about Old Town Whitehorse to know that exposing the Whitehorse Sewing Circle would only make the residents close ranks even tighter around their secrets. Add to that, there was no proof.
And if there were records on the babies somewhere—which Bridger prayed there were—then he didn’t want to do anything that might make those involved destroy them to protect themselves and the adopted babies.
The wind moaned in the tops of the nearly bare branches of the trees and scuttled along on the ground, kicking up fallen leaves as Titus read a short passage from the Bible, then asked if anyone had something they wanted to say.
“Titus suggested a graveside ceremony,” Spencer had told him when they’d met at the cemetery. “Too many people for the community center. Better this way. Short and sweet. It’s what Alyson would have wanted.”
Or what Spencer wanted, Bridger thought. How well had Spencer known his wife? Bridger couldn’t imagine that the subject of funerals had ever come up when they were dating. And they hadn’t dated long before they’d decided to get married, from what he’d gathered.
Such a big decision to be made so quickly. He believed, as his adopted parents had, that marriage was for life. Maybe that is why he’d never met anyone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with—even before he found out he wasn’t who he’d thought for the last thirty-two years.
Several residents stepped forward to say how badly they felt for Spencer, how much they missed Alyson. Bridger glanced down the hillside and spotted Laci at the edge of the trees. She wore all black, including a black hat that hid most of her blond hair.
Even from a distance he could see that her blue eyes were rimmed in red from crying. He wished he could go to her. Wished she’d give him a chance to explain his relationship with Spencer along with why he’d been at the wedding, why he was standing here with him now.
Beside him, Spencer followed his gaze to Laci, then shifted his feet and began to cry quietly, his body jerking spasmodically as if fighting to hold back his tears.
Bridger saw Laci’s expression. Her face was set in fury and disgust as she watched Spencer, clearly not believing his grief.
Titus closed his Bible and said, “Let us pray.”
Bridger bowed his head in prayer, unable to shake the bad feeling he had.
“Amen.” He looked up to find Laci gone. A sliver of worry burrowed under his skin. If he knew Laci—and he was beginning to—then she wouldn’t stop until she exposed Spencer for the man she believed him to be. A cold-blooded killer. But what worried Bridger more was even the slightest chance that she could be right.
* * *
LACI WAS HALFWAY down the hillside when Bridger caught up with her.
“Hold up,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Hey, you all right?” He must have realized how stupid his question was. “Of course you aren’t all right. Sorry.”
She watched him look down at his dress boots, then up at her as if at a loss for words.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “I was hoping you’d come back to the restaurant. I need you.”
She felt her heart deflate. He just needed a chef. “I told you—I have my own catering business.”
“Laci, please, can’t we at least talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said and glanced past him to where residents were offering their condolences. Spencer, as if sensing her gaze, glanced up and looked right at her.
“Come on, Laci, don’t let Spencer come between us.” Bridger pulled off his Stetson and raked a hand through his hair. “And don’t even try to tell me there isn’t anything more between us than cooking.”
She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. They’d been amazing together. How could she tell him that she’d broken her vow to herself and—worse—as hard as she’d tried, she didn’t regret what she’d done. In fact, all she could think about was being in his arms again.
“I have to go.” She met his gaze. “I just need to sort some things out.”
“Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer Donovan,” Bridger said.
She couldn’t, so she didn’t even try. Turning, she walked toward her car feeling Spencer’s eyes boring into her back like a bullet.
“Laci.” Bridger caught up to her. “We have to talk about this.”
“He’s watching us right now,” she said. “He’s worried that I’m going to make trouble.”
“He’s not the only one. You have to let me explain about Spencer. I hate to see you so upset and angry.”
“You don’t believe he killed my friend,” she said, daring him to deny it.
“No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
She started to turn away from him, but his words stopped her.
“I’m worried about you.”
“If he isn’t dangerous, then what’s to worry about?”
“What you’re doing to yourself. This anger you have toward Spencer. You have no evidence that he had anything to do with his wife’s death.”
“Not yet.”
He pulled off his Western hat and raked a hand through his hair again. His hair was dark and thick, a little long at the neck
. His skin was lightly tanned. There were tiny crow’s-feet around his dark eyes. It caught her off guard just how sexy this man was, she noted now with irritation.
“This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “This vendetta you’re on. I know what it’s like to get on a quest and lose sight of everything else. What if you’re wrong about Spencer?”
“And what if you are?” She shook her head, tears burning her eyes. Bridger was the one person she needed to understand, but he was blinded by his friendship with Spencer. “I can’t let him get away with murdering Alyson.” She stole a glance past Bridger. Spencer was talking to her grandfather, but his gaze kept returning to her and Bridger. “If he’s innocent, then why doesn’t he like me talking to you?”
“I don’t give a damn what he likes,” Bridger snapped, his anger surprising her.
“Then why do you keep defending him?” she demanded. “You said yourself you hadn’t seen him in years. How could you possibly know what he’s capable of anymore?” She shook her head. Why was he defending Spencer? “What aren’t you telling me?” Something. She could feel it.
When he didn’t answer, she turned to leave.
He grabbed her arm. “Spencer saved my life.”
She turned to stare at him, stunned.
He let go of her and sighed. “I told you we grew up together in Roundup, Montana. What I didn’t tell you was that we were crossing a frozen creek near town one day and I fell in and went under the ice. Spencer jumped in after me, managed to break through the ice downstream and save my life. It almost cost him his.”
She finally understood his loyalty to Spencer. “You were kids. He’s changed,” she said quietly, seeing the weight of this debt on Bridger. “I talked to the eyewitness. Spencer stood on the beach and let Alyson drown. By the time he went into the water it was too late.”
Bridger looked away for a moment. “There’s something you have to understand. Spencer got caught under the ice after he saved me. I called for help, but by the time we got him out he was unresponsive. While the EMTs were able to revive him, from that day on he was terrified of water.”
“Then why a honeymoon in Hawaii?”
“When I ran into Spencer and he told me he was getting married and invited me to the wedding, he told me that Alyson had her heart set on Hawaii—and you said yourself she loved to swim. He said he didn’t have the heart to tell her Hawaii was the last place he wanted to go.”
Laci couldn’t believe the way Spencer had set it up even before the wedding. “I have to go.”
“Laci—”
“Did you know he’s been following me?”
“What?”
“Every time I turn around, he’s there. And that’s not all. He’s been leaving me presents.”
“Presents?”
She saw the disbelief in his expression. “You think you know Spencer. Well, so do I. I know he’s hiding something and I’m going to prove that it’s murder.” Her eyes locked with his. She wanted desperately for him to believe her, needed desperately for him to believe her, but saw that he couldn’t because of the past he shared with Spencer Donovan. “You and I don’t have anything else to say to each other.”
“Apparently not, since you seem to have your mind made up no matter what.”
She turned and walked to her car, not looking back. He didn’t follow her. When she reached her door, she turned. Bridger had gone to his pickup and stopped to look back at her. Their gazes met and held for an instant. Then he looked away as he climbed inside his truck, started the engine and pulled away.
As she opened her car door, she saw another yellow rose was lying on the driver’s seat. Only this time there was no doubt in her mind that it was a warning. Or who had left it for her.
She shot a look toward the gravesite. Spencer stood alone on the hillside, his head bowed over Alyson’s grave. His features were in shadow, but she knew he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Watching her. And Bridger.
Chapter Eight
LACI WENT STRAIGHT home and got on the internet to see what she could find out about Spencer Donovan now that she knew Bridger and Spencer had grown up in Roundup, Montana. She had a place to start, at least.
As far as the sheriff and the authorities in Hawaii were concerned, the case was closed, but she couldn’t let it go. Her instincts told her there was a lot more to the story.
As she worked, she tried not to think about Bridger. What did she know about the man, anyway? Hardly anything. He was still as much a mystery to her as he was to the rest of Old Town Whitehorse and the county.
So why did she feel that she knew him on an even more intimate level than lovemaking? She remembered cooking with him in his kitchen, that feeling of being home. Isn’t that why his friendship with Spencer felt so much like a betrayal?
She could just imagine what her sister Laney would have to say about it. Laney would flip if she even knew that Laci had been hanging around with the Mystery Man of Old Town Whitehorse, let alone having been to bed with him.
Or possibly worse—that Laci had broken her promise and was now about to go after Spencer Donovan. She typed in Roundup, Montana and Spencer Donovan, then waited to see what came up on the screen. It felt good to be doing something about Alyson’s death even if it turned out she was wrong about Spencer, wrong about Alyson’s drowning being murder.
A high school alumni website came up on the screen, and her heart began to pound as she stared at the photos. Apparently Spencer had been one of the popular kids, so he showed up in a series of random shots.
There were photos of a younger Spencer in both basketball and football uniforms. His motto, according to the caption under one of his photos, was Take No Prisoners.
But it was a photograph with one of his teammates that caught her attention. Spencer and a boy named Tom Simpson had apparently been close friends. The two were photographed together, Spencer’s arm resting on Tom’s shoulders, both of them grinning at the camera.
It didn’t take her long to find Tom Simpson. Tom had become an attorney and still lived and worked in Roundup.
Laci copied down the information, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. She could be in Roundup in less than two hours. Too bad Montana had done away with its no-speed-limit law, otherwise she could be there even sooner.
* * *
BRIDGER WAS STOCKING the pantry at the restaurant, cursing himself because he couldn’t get Laci Cavanaugh out of his mind and yet knowing the best thing he could do was get as far away from that woman as possible, when he looked up and saw his sister, Eve Bailey, standing in the doorway.
It was the expression on her face that stopped him cold. He quickly climbed down and ushered her to a chair.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, still surprised how easily he could read her—but, then again, they had shared the same womb and the same genes.
“They were razing what was left of Dr. Holloway’s office building and the construction crew found something,” Eve said. “A steel box. The sheriff has taken it to his office and is trying to find someone who can open it. The lid got too hot in the fire. It’s going to take a welding torch to open it. They aren’t even sure the contents will still be intact.” She stopped, tears in her eyes. “But this could be what we’ve been looking for.”
He’d thought this moment would complete him. He was finally going to know the truth. He should have been ecstatic, but instead all he felt was anxious and strangely afraid.
He reached for Eve’s hand and squeezed it, seeing that she, too, was shaken. “You’ve been waiting for this for so long,” he said. For him it had only been months and yet it seemed like a lifetime.
“I’m scared,” his sister admitted, something he knew was hard for her. Eve had the exterior of a porcupine. She hated to show any vulnerability. They had that in common. “We
may wish the truth had died with Doc.”
“We have the right to know who our mother was and, if possible, the circumstances of our conception and birth.”
Eve smiled ruefully. “Having the right is one thing, actually facing that knowledge...” She shook her head. “Isn’t it enough to know we were adopted?”
“Maybe for you,” he said, knowing she’d been as desperate as he was to know the truth. Had her desire cooled, as his had recently? “I want to know who she was, the circumstances, no matter what I learn.” Was that true? He hoped to hell it was.
She nodded. “I told Carter to call us when he gets the box open. He’s promised he will.” She hesitated. “He’s worried about what’s inside, what it will do to you and me and the others, the Whitehorse Sewing Circle babies—the ones who don’t know they were adopted.”
She didn’t have to add that the sheriff would be most worried about what the contents would do to Eve. Bridger had seen the love in that man’s eyes for Eve Bailey. According to local scuttlebutt, Carter Jackson had hurt Eve back in high school, dumped her for someone else who he’d married and later divorced. But Eve was having trouble forgiving him. It didn’t help that Carter’s ex had almost killed her.
He could understand her lack of forgiveness. He was still wrestling with that, angry at his adoptive parents even though both were now dead. It was hard to trust again.
That’s why he knew he had to distance himself from Laci Cavanaugh. He reminded himself that his interest in her had originally only been to find out what she knew about her grandmother’s underground adoption agency.
Right. So how did he explain that he’d never gotten around to asking Laci about the Whitehorse Sewing Circle?
Because he’d found out that she cooked and he’d gotten sidetracked.
He knew it was more than that. There was something about Laci Cavanaugh that was captivating. An innocence. A mule-headed stubbornness. An enthusiasm about life that was contagious.
He shook his head. The woman also saw killers where there were none. The only smart thing to do was to give her a wide berth and not give Laci Cavanaugh another thought.
