Rugged Defender

by B. J Daniels

  His footsteps faltered as he neared his oldest son’s final resting place. A large pine stood like a sentinel over the grave. He read what had been carved into the granite as if the words were carved into his own flesh.

  Andrew “Drew” Calhoun

  July 4, 1982–December 10, 2013

  Bert Calhoun removed his Stetson and squatted down next to the grave, his bad knee aching. The wind whipped at his too-long gray hair and beard. He was glad he was alone on this cold winter day. He kept to the ranch except when forced to come in for supplies. He knew people talked about him. They stared and whispered when they saw him. He could well imagine what they said.

  Other than this yearly visit, he couldn’t bring himself to even drive by the cemetery. He never knew what to say to his son. Drew had had so much promise from the time he was born. He was the one Bert had always depended on to take over the ranch and keep the Calhoun name and brand going.

  That Drew had been taken from them so soon was still dynamite to his heart. There’d been days when he thought he couldn’t go on breathing at the thought of his oldest son under six feet of dirt. Had there been anyone else to take over the ranch, he would have blessedly taken his own life. Instead, the circumstances of his son’s death had him dying slowly from the pain. It had made him into a tired, bitter old man.

  The wind whipped snow past, rocking the metal container holding the faded plastic flowers on the grave next to Drew’s. He looked over at the headstone and felt the weight of his guilt. Pushing to his feet, he moved to his wife’s graveside.

  Mary Harris Calhoun

  May 11, 1954–December 21, 2002

  Losing her so young had made him hold on even tighter to Drew, since Drew resembled her the most. Now he was just glad she hadn’t been around to see what had become of the family she’d loved so much. He knew how disappointed she would be in him. No more than he was in himself.

  The promise was on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. It wasn’t the promise Mary would have wanted to hear. But it was the promise he’d made since Drew’s murder five years ago this month. He would see that their oldest son’s killer was brought to justice—one way or another.

  But he hadn’t been able to do even that.

  The promise Mary wanted was one he couldn’t even bring himself to utter let alone make happen even for her. Each time he came here, he could hear her as if she spoke from the grave.

  Bring our son home. Make amends for what you’ve done.

  Just the thought of his youngest son, Justin, doubled him over. When he closed his eyes, he saw Justin standing over his brother, the gun in his hand.

  Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He felt even more guilt because his tears were for himself, and Mary knew it. From her grave, she blamed him as if he was the one who had pulled the trigger and ended Drew’s life.

  He shook his head. He wanted justice like his next breath. But some days he wasn’t sure what justice would look like. Maybe he was already getting it and this was his punishment for the mistakes he’d made.

  And yet he couldn’t let go of what he felt in his heart. Justin had killed his brother. It felt like the truth, one that ate at him, fueled by his grief and his guilt.

  He brushed at his tears now freezing to his cheeks and rose. He didn’t need Mary to tell him the part he’d played in this tragedy. He’d always loved Drew more and everyone knew it—including Justin. And this was the price he paid.

  No, not even after five years could he promise Mary that he would make things right with Justin. Not as long as he believed his youngest son was a killer.

  Chapter Two

  The moment they walked into the local soup kitchen, Chloe spotted Nicole Kent and groaned. “What is she doing here?” she whispered to her sisters.

  “Apparently arguing with Edna,” Annabelle said. “Edna Kirkland is the kitchen supervisor. Do not argue with her.”

  Chloe had no desire to argue with anyone, especially the large woman who was towering over Justin’s old girlfriend, Nici.

  Nici held up what appeared to be a hairnet and said in a strident voice, “I’m not wearing this.” She was still short and cute in a rough sort of way with dyed black hair cut in a pixie that suited her.

  Edna crossed her arms over her abundant chest and narrowed her eyes. “You’ll wear it or I’ll call the sheriff and have you thrown in jail.” She smiled. “Your choice. Community service or jail. Those are your only options.”

  “No one mentioned I had to wear a hairnet.” Nici cursed again before going into the restroom and slamming the door.

  “Community service,” TJ whispered. “I wonder what she did.”

  “You three come here to chat or to work?” Edna barked from across the room.

  “Work,” Annabelle said quickly and hurried forward to be handed a hairnet and a soup ladle.

  “We’re about to open,” the supervisor said. “You,” she said pointing at TJ. “You’re in charge of buns and you,” she said pointing at Chloe, “you’ll be helping run dishes. When we run out of soup, we all help clean up this place. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Chloe and TJ said in unison as Nici came out of the bathroom.

  “And you,” Edna said. “You’re going straight to the dish room and start cleaning. And,” she said as Nici started to complain, “if you say one word, I’m calling the sheriff.”

  “Jail looks good right now,” the young woman said under her breath as she walked past Chloe and then did a double take. Edna had gone to open the doors. “What are you doing here?” Nici demanded of Chloe.

  “We always helped at the soup kitchen with our grandmother.”

  “No, what are you doing in Whitehorse?”

  “Spending time with my sisters over the holidays.” Chloe wondered why she was answering Nici’s rude questions. It was just such a surprise seeing her here.

  “So you aren’t staying,” Nici said.

  “Nicole Kent, you’ve got two seconds to get into the dish room,” Edna called and Nici scooted off after an eye roll and a curse.

  “Charming,” TJ said as she pulled on her hairnet and the plastic gloves she would be wearing while handing out buns.

  “I never understood what Justin saw in her,” Annabelle said.

  Chloe watched her go into the dish room. “They were a lot alike. Both on the outside looking in.”

  “Alike? Nici from one of the poorest families and Justin from one of the wealthiest? He comes from one of the largest ranches around here,” Annabelle said. “His family was rich compared to most and his father still is.”

  “I doubt Bert Calhoun would feel that way,” TJ said. “He lost his wife at a young age and apparently now he’s lost both sons.”

  “You know what I mean,” Annabelle said. “Wealth-wise.”

  “But Justin always felt as if he didn’t matter,” Chloe said. “I would imagine Nici felt the same way.”

  Edna began barking orders so they went to work, but Chloe couldn’t help thinking about Justin and what she’d learned had happened to him and his family after she’d left. She knew that he and his older brother hadn’t gotten along, but she refused to believe Justin had anything to do with Drew’s death.

  * * *

  IT DIDN’T TAKE Justin long to pack. Quitting his job hadn’t been that hard either. Saddle tramps like him were a dime a dozen. The rancher would be able to pick up help easily before calving season when he really would need it.

  After throwing everything into his pickup, he slid behind the wheel wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner. The reason was staring him in the face. He hadn’t wanted to know the truth about his brother’s death. It had been easier to run away.

  He sighed as he started the truck and pointed it west. Why now? It was the question that had been nagging at him all morning. Tell me this isn’t about
some kiss that was so long ago it was like another world.

  Justin laughed to himself as he left the dirt road and hit the two-lane blacktop. Hearing Chloe’s voice had brought it all back. Those few weeks of happiness before his life had gone to hell in a handbasket. Maybe he was trying to relive those moments—as crazy as it sounded. He was too much of a realist to think he could.

  But he’d been hiding out from the past for too long. He was going home—to all that entailed. Just the thought of seeing his father set his teeth on edge. But he was no longer afraid of the past. It was the truth that woke him in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. What had happened the day his brother was killed?

  * * *

  “GRANDMOTHER WOULD BE so proud,” Annabelle said as they tossed their hairnets in the trash, pulled on their coats and left the now-clean soup kitchen.

  “You’re being awfully quiet,” TJ said as Chloe climbed into the back seat of Annabelle’s SUV and TJ took shotgun. She turned in her seat to look back at her. “Are you angry with me for calling Justin?”

  “No. It was nice talking to him. But that ship sailed a long time ago.”

  “Don’t say that,” Annabelle cut in as she slid behind the wheel and started the motor. “Look at me and Dawson. I left him even when he worked so hard to buy me an engagement ring and roses to ask me to marry him. I thought he’d never forgive me. He said I broke his heart.” Her voice cracked with emotion and tears flooded her blue eyes. “But we found our way back to each other.”

  “I wonder why Justin didn’t marry Nici,” Chloe said.

  “Who knows if they were even really engaged,” Annabelle said and scoffed. “That’s just what Nici said after they broke up. As far as I know that’s as close as she’s gotten to marriage.”

  “Maybe she spends too much time in jail,” TJ joked.

  “You two have certainly gotten caught up on local gossip,” Chloe said. Thinking of Nici made her uncomfortable. The woman was her own worst enemy. But weren’t they all that way sometimes?

  “So are you going to tell us what is going on with you?” TJ asked as she buckled her seat belt and looked at Chloe in her side mirror.

  “Why?” Annabelle said. “What’s going on with Chloe?” She shot a questioning look in the rearview mirror at her oldest sister.

  “I lost my job,” Chloe said, glad to have the secret out.

  “What do you mean you ‘lost it’?” TJ said.

  “I was laid off with a bunch of others.” She looked out the window as Annabelle drove through the small western town of Whitehorse. It wasn’t that long ago that she was here for her grandmother’s funeral. Before that, she’d seldom returned except for quick visits. Like her sisters she’d wanted to conquer the world—far from Whitehorse, Montana.

  Annabelle had become a supermodel with her face on the covers of magazines—until recently giving it up to be with her old high school boyfriend, rancher Dawson Rogers. The two were perfect for each other. Chloe wondered why it had taken her sister so long to realize it.

  As for TJ, she’d become a New York Times bestselling author who also only recently left the big city life after falling in love. She now lived in a tiny cabin in the woods until she and her fiancé could get a larger place built up in the Little Rockies.

  Chloe had become an investigative journalist and had worked her way up through bigger papers until she’d found herself working for one of the largest in Southern California. But with the way print newspapers were going recently, she’d been laid off with a dozen others and the thought of looking for another newspaper job... She said as much to her sisters.

  “I’m so sorry,” Annabelle said. “What are you going to do?”

  Chloe let out a bark of a laugh. “I have no idea. I have enough money saved that I don’t have to worry about it for a while.”

  “You can stay in grandmother’s house as long as you want,” Annabelle said.

  Grandmother’s house. She had to smile at that. Their grandmother Frannie had left the house to only Annabelle, which had caused friction between them but ultimately brought them together.

  “It’s funny how things work out,” she said as her sister pulled up in front of the house in question. Annabelle, with help from friends, had refurbished the house. It did have a feeling of home, Chloe had to admit, since the three of them were raised in this house. It was a large two-story with four bedrooms, two up and two down. It sat among large old cottonwoods and backed to the Milk River in an area affectionately called “Millionaire’s Row.”

  Not that any houses in Whitehorse were even close to a million. The homes were conservative like the rural people who lived in the area. And right now, Chloe had to admit, the town looked almost charming with its mantle of fresh snow and holiday lights.

  “Would you mind if I borrowed your SUV?” Chloe asked as her sister pulled up into the driveway of their grandmother’s house. “There’s somewhere I need to go.”

  * * *

  JUSTIN DROVE ACROSS eastern Montana trying to imagine the rolling prairie landscape when thousands of buffalo roamed the area. Unfortunately, they’d all been killed off. He’d seen photos of their bones stacked in huge piles next to the railroad at Whitehorse.

  His great-great-grandfather had been on one of the original cattle drives that brought longhorns to the area from Texas. He’d heard about how lush the grass was back then. His father’s family had settled the land, giving birth to the Calhoun Cattle Company. He still got a lump in this throat when he thought about his legacy.

  It hadn’t been easy to give it up and simply walk away. Kind of like ripping out his heart. He loved the land, the ranch history, the feeling of being a part of something bigger than himself. He’d always felt more of a kinship with the ranch than his brother had—not that their father noticed.

  So he’d left, since his heart had already been decimated over his brother’s death—and his father’s accusations. Now all that grief and regret had settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t throw off. Five years had done little to lessen the pain. But he had grown up in that time. He was his own man now, something he could have never been with his older brother constantly reminding him that he was the little brother, the one his father didn’t put his faith or his love into.

  By early afternoon he looked up to see Whitehorse, the tall grain bins next to the railroad silhouetted against the winter sky. He slowed his pickup, wanting to take it all in. Memories, both good and bad, assailed him. Home.

  He took a deep breath, telling himself he was going to settle things once and for all, starting with the people he’d hurt.

  * * *

  THE MILK RIVER COURIER, the town’s only newspaper, was lodged in a small brick building along the main road. Chloe felt a rush of excitement as she pushed open the door. Being an investigative reporter was in her blood. She loved digging for information and couldn’t wait to get into the newspaper’s archives.

  The smell of ink and paper filled her nostrils, the sound of clicking keyboards like music to her ears. It was early in the week so the small staff was busy trying to put together the weekly edition. She was led to the archives where she settled in, determined to find out what she could.

  Chloe reread the first story about Andrew “Drew” Calhoun’s death. It was short and clearly had little more information in it than what she’d found on the sheriff’s blog that had also run in the paper.

  Drew was found dead at 11:22 p.m. on that Saturday night. He’d been shot. It was unclear by whom. He was pronounced dead by the coroner at the scene. The investigation was continuing.

  She read through what few stories followed, realizing that no one from the paper had gotten anywhere if they’d even tried to investigate the death. This was a small town and Bert Calhoun was a wealthy rancher. The paper had let the story die. It didn’t take long to realize little information had become public. The
small weekly printed what was called the cop reports, but didn’t dig any deeper so skimmed only the surface of the news.

  Chloe didn’t blame the staff. She understood, because even with larger newspapers there were some situations that were touchy. She’d always had trouble treading lightly. Like now. She wanted answers and she realized there was only one place to go. She couldn’t bear the idea that Justin had been blamed for his brother’s death—even if he’d never been arrested for it. She had to know the truth. It was inherent in her DNA. And this was Justin. The cowboy she’d shared that one amazing winter kiss with all those years ago. A girl didn’t forget things like that.

  * * *

  JUSTIN FOUND THE Kent house without any trouble. It was a large old three-story wooden structure that needed paint and the porch fixed. It looked exactly as he remembered it.

  He had no idea if Nicole even still lived in Whitehorse. He’d made a point of not keeping in touch with anyone from home. As he walked up the unshoveled, snow-packed walk to the door, he saw a faded curtain twitch. The door was opened before he even reached it.

  “I guess it’s a day for surprises,” Nici said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing back here?”

  “It’s good to see you too, Nici.” She hadn’t changed from her dyed black hair to her belligerent attitude. He had to smile. “Buy you a coffee?”

  “Make it a beer and you’re on.”

  The last place he wanted to go was a bar where he might be recognized. He pulled into the local convenience store, ran in and came back out with a six-pack.

  “Maybe you haven’t heard, but Montana has an open container law,” she said as he handed her the beer.

  “Then you’d better not open one until we reach the lake,” he said and started the truck.

  She immediately opened a beer, just as he knew she would. They said little on the drive out to Nelson Reservoir. He and Nici used to come out here all the time at night in the summer. He would be tired from working the ranch all day under his father’s unrelenting supervision. He’d need to unwind and Nici was always up for it.