by Janet Dailey
“Good-looking, is she?” Chase threw him a knowing look.
“Let’s just say that your son had good taste.” Laredo spotted the gate ahead of them and slowed the pickup again. “The entrance is coming up. Don’t forget, she will want a good look at your face when we go past it.”
Hunkered flat among the summer-brown grass, Jessy adjusted the focus on the binoculars, centering it on the man riding on the passenger side. Shock tingled through her. She lowered the glasses to look without the assistance of their magnification, then raised them again. It was impossible. Yet there was no mistaking those hard, angular features. It was definitely Chase in that truck.
She kept the binoculars trained on him until the pickup was well past her. For a stunned moment she simply lay there. Even though she had come this morning, Jessy had never given any real credence to Laredo Smith’s claim that Chase was still alive. Logic had insisted that it was merely the opening gambit in some sort of scam.
But if that wasn’t Chase in the pickup, then the man was a dead ringer for him.
She scooted backward off the sloped side of the hillock, slipped the binoculars back into their leather case, and ran at a crouch back to where she had left the pickup and horse trailer parked. She scrambled into the cab and reached for the pen and notepad lying on the seat. She was surprised to discover her hands were shaking. She paused and took a deep, steadying breath, then scratched out the message, still dazed by the knowledge it wasn’t the one she had expected to write.
Finished, Jessy tore off the sheet and started up the truck, mentally congratulating herself for having the presence of mind to advise Sally that she might not be back in time for lunch.
When she reached the highway, there was no sign of the blue pickup. Ten minutes, she had told him. Hurriedly she nailed the message to a gatepost and climbed back in the truck. After years of experience with towing trailers, she had no difficulty making the swing to reverse directions and head back down the ranch road with a good five minutes to spare.
The road she was on led straight to the Triple C headquarters, roughly forty miles distant. But Jessy didn’t stay on it. Instead she turned north on the first intersecting road, part of the nearly two hundred miles of roads that connected the far-flung reaches of the ranch.
Almost exactly ten minutes after he had last gone past the gate, Laredo approached it again. This time he pulled into the entrance and stopped, his gaze fastening on the sheet of paper fluttering in the slight morning breeze. Leaving the motor running, he climbed out of the truck and retrieved the message from the gatepost, skimmed it, and swore softly. As he slid behind the steering wheel again, he passed the sheet to Chase.
“The bad news is she has agreed to meet you at the old cemetery north of Blue Moon,” he said, shifting the transmission out of Park. “The good news is we have two hours to find it. You wouldn’t, by chance, remember where it is, would you?”
“No. I thought you said you drove all around Blue Moon yesterday.” Chase frowned at him.
“I did, but I don’t remember seeing any cemetery. It must be off the highway on a side road somewhere. There’s probably a way to reach it without going through town, but I don’t know what it is,” Laredo said grimly. “Now I wish Hattie was with us instead of back at the motel in Miles City washing up our clothes. If you can figure out a way to hunker down in the seat when we get to town, you’d better do it.”
Chase chose instead to slump sideways against the door frame and cover his face with his hat, aware that no one was likely to pay any attention to Laredo’s dozing passenger.
The cemetery didn’t turn out to be all that difficult to find. The site suited all the privacy requirements. It was a secluded location along a seldom-traveled road with no residences close by.
Laredo parked the truck in the graveled turn-in and surveyed the weed-riddled, overgrown cemetery. A pair of lone trees stood watch over the faded tombstones.
“I wonder where she is this time,” Laredo murmured, mainly to himself, then glanced at Chase. “The message said that she wants to see you alone. I guess she still thinks I might have kidnapped you.”
“It’s logical that the possibility would cross her mind.” Chase pushed open the passenger door. “Where do you suppose the O’Rourke family plot is?”
“I’m betting it will be somewhere close to one of those trees. With all the brush growing up around them, it would be a good place to wait out of sight.” He swung out of the truck. “I’d better give you a hand. You may be steadier on your feet, but this ground looks awful rough.”
Just as they moved past the hood of the truck, Jessy stepped from behind a clump of brush, holding a rifle at the ready. “You didn’t tell me he was hurt.” Her gaze briefly bored into Laredo, then shifted its attention to Chase to inspect the bandage on the left side of his head.
“That’s the first mistake you’ve made, Jessy,” Laredo replied. “For all you know, I could be holding a gun on him.”
“You could,” she conceded. “But you would be a dead man if you used it. This rifle is already cocked, and I have shot more than my share of coyotes. One more wouldn’t faze me.”
His mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “You know what? I believe you.”
During their exchange, Chase studied this tall, boy-slim woman in jeans and a well-worn straw Stetson, noting the high, strong cheekbones and sharp, angular jawline. Laredo’s previous description of her hadn’t conveyed the inner beauty that shone through her strong features. Not the rifle she gripped nor the manly clothes disguised the fact she was all woman.
“Do you still insist on talking to me alone?” Chase challenged smoothly. “Because I wouldn’t be here at all without this man. Laredo saved my life. He is the only person I trust right now.”
Jessy’s hesitation was slight. “If you trust him, then I do.” She engaged the safety on the rifle. “There isn’t anyplace for you to sit out here. Maybe it would be better if we talked in the truck.”
“Good idea.” Chase promptly turned and started back to the pickup, with Laredo at his side.
“For safety’s sake, you might want to leave the rifle outside,” Laredo suggested as he kept a supporting hand on Chase while he climbed into the passenger side.
“I planned on it,” Jessy replied and laid it in the open truck bed.
“And for your information, I do have a gun.” Laredo stepped back from the door to allow Jessy to slide in next to Chase.
She skimmed a glance over his tapered shirt and snug-fitting jeans, identifying all his muscled contours for what they were. “But not on you,” she concluded.
“Yup.” He reached behind his back. When his hand reappeared, there was a thirty-eight in it. Her only show of surprise was a faint widening of her eyes. “Like you, Jessy, I play it cautious.” Using both hands, he returned the gun to its hiding place.
“I won’t be fooled by that a second time.” She stepped onto the running board and pulled herself into the cab.
With the midday temperatures rising, they left both doors open to keep the interior air circulating. Jessy ran a critical eye over Chase, concern clouding her eyes.
“How bad were you hurt?” she asked.
“Bad enough,” Chase answered without elaboration.
“How did it happen? And why don’t you want anyone to know you’re alive?” She had come up with a dozen possible explanations en route to the cemetery, which made her anxious to hear the true one.
“It’s a long story, one I’ll let Laredo tell.”
Privately it irritated her that he chose to defer to Laredo, but she kept her irritation to herself.
Sitting sideways, Laredo leaned forward, draping an arm over the top of the steering wheel, and gave her a bare-bones account of the events that had led up to this moment. When he finished, Jessy stared at Chase, making no attempt at all to mask her shock.
“You really don’t remember who you are? Not even now?”
“My memory doesn’t go back any
farther than that parking lot,” Chase told her. “According to Hattie, in most cases like mine, it will return—maybe in a few days or a few months—in bits and pieces or full-blown. Or there may be parts I never remember, especially the time right before I was shot.”
“And Hattie is some friend or relation of yours?” She looked to Laredo for confirmation.
“Something like that.” He nodded.
“But how can you be sure of that when you haven’t seen a doctor?” Jessy reasoned.
“Hattie is a registered nurse. And seeking a doctor is too risky. By law, gunshot wounds have to be reported. I don’t need that kind of trouble.” Chase’s expression warned her that he was firm on that decision.
“But what are you going to do?” Jessy asked, conscious of the myriad of complications his amnesia created.
“That’s where you come into it,” Chase said. “I need a place close by the ranch where I can hole up—either until my memory returns or we figure out who tried to kill me. More importantly it needs to be a place where I don’t have to worry about neighbors or a landlord stopping by. Laredo tells me the Triple C is big—managed in districts. Is there an old house or cabin sitting empty somewhere?”
“I can think of three off the top of my head, but it would be too easy for one of the hands to notice it was occupied. Other than those, there really isn’t anyth—wait a minute.” She stopped, a possibility dawning on her. “There used to be an old line shack up in the high foothills. To the best of my knowledge nobody has been there in years, probably not since my dad and I were up there hunting. I couldn’t have been much more than twelve or thirteen at the time. We don’t even run cattle up there anymore.”
“It sounds perfect,” Chase stated. “How do we get there?”
With the passing of that initial burst of excitement, Jessy turned hesitant. “I can’t even swear that it’s still standing, let alone whether the well still works, or how habitable it might be. There is definitely no running water or electricity.”
“I’ve lived under rougher conditions,” Laredo said with unconcern. “If you can supply me with the necessary tools, lumber, and maybe even a generator, I can make it livable.”
“I’ll figure out a way.” Jessy knew it wouldn’t be easy to do without arousing someone’s suspicions. “I don’t think directions will do you any good. Unless you know where it is, it would be sheer luck if you found it. I’ll have to take you there. Even then the old fire road will only get you within a half mile of it. I can’t remember what the terrain is like to know whether you can drive any closer than that.”
“In that case we’ll find out when we get there.” The whinny of a horse punctuated the end of Laredo’s statement. In swift reaction, he came to full alertness, his gaze making a slashing survey of the area outside the pickup.
“That was my horse,” Jessy said in quick assurance. “I picketed him in the hollow beyond the tree.”
“You rode here?” Laredo questioned in surprise. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to take the chance someone would drive by and see a Triple C pickup parked around here. Nothing would start the rumor mill buzzing quicker.” That thought triggered another. “It will take me close to an hour to ride back to where I left the truck and trailer parked. If I try to take you to the line shack this afternoon, there won’t be much daylight left by the time we get there. Do you have a place you can stay tonight?”
“We have a couple motel rooms in Miles City,” Laredo answered. “We left Hattie there to do our laundry.”
“That settles it then. We’ll rendezvous back here tomorrow morning.” Jessy paused to consider the drive they would have to make from Miles City. “Would nine o’clock be too early?”
“We can make it.” Chase didn’t hesitate.
A lazy smile curved Laredo’s mouth. “I think he’s tired of being snuck in and out of motel rooms.”
“I don’t blame him.” There was empathy in the look Jessy gave Chase. Then the practical side of her surfaced. “If there is nothing else, I need to start back. We all have a lot to do before tomorrow morning.”
She was halfway out of the truck when Chase stopped her. “Before you go, I have a question to ask you. What was I doing in Texas? Why did I go there?”
“You said you had a meeting with somebody named Brewster. Tom Brewster, I think it was.” Her recollection of the man’s first name was hazy.
“Who is Brewster? What does he do?”
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Jessy admitted. “To the best of my knowledge, the ranch has never had any dealings with him in the past. In some way he’s involved with cattle, but I don’t know if he’s a buyer, a rancher, a broker or what.”
“Didn’t I tell you why I was going to see him?” Chase probed.
“Just that you wanted to talk to him about some cattle.”
“Am I usually that vague?” Chase frowned in skepticism.
“No,” Jessy admitted with a slight smile. “But you also told me that being away for a few days would give me an opportunity to run the ranch on my own. I thought that was probably your main reason for going to Texas. I know you didn’t give me the impression the trip was of any great importance. I wish now I had asked more questions,” she said with regret.
“Maybe the trip was an excuse to be gone.” Chase was forced to concede that possibility. “But until we can be certain of that, see what you can find out about this man Brewster.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he withdrew them. “No, we don’t want to tip our hand in case he is an important connection. So don’t ask questions about him, but see if I wrote his address or phone number down somewhere. If I did, get that information to me. In the meantime I’ll figure out the best way to handle it.”
“It’s logical that Chase would have called him from the hotel,” Laredo inserted. “Look through the room charges and write down any phone numbers that you don’t recognize.”
“Logan took care of your bill while they were in Fort Worth. I’m almost positive he gave me the itemized receipt. I’ll see what I can find,” Jessy promised. “Anything else?”
“For now, only one. I’ll need some cash,” Chase told her. “I don’t have a cent on me. I’m not sure exactly how much I owe Laredo and Hattie already, but it’s adding up every day.”
“I’ll bring some money for you tomorrow.” Jessy swung to the ground and retrieved her rifle, then turned back to them, unusually solemn. “I’ll meet you here at nine tomorrow. Be careful.”
“You can count on it.” Chase pulled the passenger door shut. In silence, they swung out of the old cemetery. Not until they were on the road toward Blue Moon did Chase speak again. “You’re right about Jessy. I would hate to learn she can’t be trusted.”
“Me too,” Laredo said. “She’s an easy woman to like.”
“I just hope she doesn’t give you reason to regret letting her know that you are armed.”
“If she is as square as I think she is, she needs to be alert for that.” He slid a wry grin in Chase’s direction. “Maybe you can teach her the ins and outs of cattle ranching, but I can teach her the skills to stay alive.”
Absently amused and inwardly pleased, Chase ran his glance over the man’s clean profile. “That sounds like you are signing on for the duration.”
“Do you have a problem with that?” Laredo countered, a faint twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Not a one.” Smiling, Chase settled back in the seat, making himself comfortable for the long ride back to Miles City.
The brown horse shuffled along at an easy trot, its rider in no hurry and bound for no particular destination. But Culley O’Rourke’s wanderings rarely had a purpose. The sole exception to that rule involved his niece Cat Calder Echohawk. Ever since his sister had been killed in that plane crash when Cat was still a teenager he had made it his mission to watch over Maggie’s daughter. But on this day Cat was at home, still enveloped in grief over her father’s recent death.
But Calder’s
death was no cause for regret as far as Culley was concerned. There was a time when he had been consumed with hatred for the man. The hatred had burned itself out, though, and he had come to tolerate the man’s existence, for Cat’s sake.
Without a doubt, the years had wrought many changes in Culley O’Rourke, most notably in his appearance. His hair that had once been the glistening black of a crow had grayed to the color of a weathered barn board. His once wide shoulders had thinned and appeared permanently bowed in a protective hunch. The nervous, hair-trigger energy that had so often seemed poised on the edge of violence had faded to a constant restlessness.
It was that innate restlessness that pushed him to this endless wandering that knew no boundaries. Long ago the Triple C riders had grown used to seeing him ghosting over the ranch’s vast holdings, invariably fighting shy of any contact.
If his presence drew any comment at all, it was generally something wry like, “Saw ole Crazy Culley today, sloping out of sight behind a hill.” And it was always issued with an amused shake of the head.
Keeping to a swale in the plains and deliberately avoiding sky-lining himself on higher ground, Culley took a roundabout track toward a fence gate. He had yet to decide if he would make use of it or angle off in another direction. It would probably be the latter. Culley had never been one to travel along roads, and there was one on the other side of the fence gate.
The brown gelding pricked its ears, its nose lifting to scent the air. Culley had ridden the horse for too many years not to have learned to correctly read its body language. Something was nearby. By reading the horse’s slight variations, Culley could tell if that thing was a cow, a coyote, or a horse. This time the gelding was reacting to one of its own kind. In this particular area of the Triple C, Culley knew that if there was a horse in the area, ninety percent of the time there would be a rider, too.
