by B. J Daniels
Dana, like her mother, loved everything about ranching. It and breathing were one and the same to her. That’s why he couldn’t understand why Dana would be selling the place. It scared him.
He couldn’t stand the thought that he’d come back too late. Or worse that he’d been carrying a torch for a woman who no longer existed.
As he started to knock, he heard a dog growl and looked over to see a gray-muzzled, white-and-liver springer spaniel.
“Joe?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. He knelt as the dog lumbered over to him, tail wagging with recognition. “Joe, hey, old boy. I didn’t think you’d still be around.” He petted the dog, happy to see a friendly face from the past.
“Was there something you wanted?”
He hadn’t heard the front door open. Dana stood leaning against the frame, a glass of wine in her hand and a look that said she was in no mood for whatever he was selling.
He wished like hell that he wasn’t going to add to her troubles. “Evening,” he said, tipping his hat as he gave Joe a pat and straightened. “Mind if I come in for a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”
“If this has something to do with you and me…”
“No.” He gave her a rueful smile. There was no “you and me”—not anymore. Not ever again from the look in her brown eyes. “It’s about what we found in the well.”
All the starch seemed to go out of her. She stepped back, motioning him in.
He took off his hat and stepped in to slip off his boots and his jacket before following her through the very Western living area with its stone and wood to the bright, big airy kitchen. Joe followed at his heels.
“Have a seat.”
Hud pulled out a chair at the large worn oak table, put his Stetson on an adjacent chair and sat.
Dana frowned as Joe curled up at his feet. “Traitor,” she mouthed at the dog.
Hud looked around, memories of all the times he’d sat in this kitchen threatening to drown him. Mary Justice Cardwell at the stove making dinner, Dana helping, all of them chatting about the goings-on at the ranch, a new foal, a broken down tractor, cows to be moved. He could almost smell the roast and homemade rolls baking and hear Dana’s laughter, see the secret, knowing looks she’d send him, feel the warmth of being a part of this family.
And Dana would have made her mother’s double chocolate brownies for dessert—especially for him.
Dana set a bottle of wine and a glass in front of him, putting it down a little too hard and snapping him back to the present. “Unless you think we’re both going to need something stronger?” she asked.
“Wine will do.” He poured himself some and topped off her glass as she took a chair across from him. She curled her bare feet under her but not before he noticed that her toenails were painted coral. She wore jeans and an autumn gold sweater that hugged her curves and lit her eyes.
He lifted his glass, but words failed him as he looked at her. The faint scent of her wafted over to him as she took a drink of her wine. She’d always smelled of summer to him, an indefinable scent that filled his heart like helium.
Feeling awkward, he took another drink, his throat tight. He’d known being in this house again would bring it all back. It did. But just being here alone with Dana, not being able to touch her or to say all the things he wanted to say to her, was killing him. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. Hell, clearly she’d hoped to never lay eyes on him again.
But a part of him, he knew, was still hoping she’d been the one who’d sent him the anonymous note that had brought him back.
“So what did you find in the well?” she asked as if she wanted this over with as quickly as possible. She took another sip of wine, watching him over the rim of her glass, her eyes growing dark with a rage born of pain that he recognized only too well.
Dana hadn’t sent the note. He’d only been fooling himself. She still believed he’d betrayed her.
“The bones are human but you already knew that,” he said, finding his voice.
She nodded, waiting.
“We won’t know for certain until Rupert calls from the crime lab, but his opinion is that the body belonged to a Caucasian woman between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five and that she’s been down there about fifteen years.” He met her gaze and saw the shock register.
“Only fifteen years?”
Hud nodded. It seemed that, like him, she’d hoped the bones were very old and had no recent connection to their lives.
Dana let out a breath. “How did she get there?”
“She was murdered. Rupert thinks she was thrown down the well and then shot.”
Dana sat up, her feet dropping to the floor with a slap. “No.” She set the wineglass down on the table, the wine almost spilling.
Without thinking, Hud reached over to steady the glass, steady her. His fingers brushed hers. She jerked her hand back as if he’d sliced her fingers with a knife.
He pulled back his hand and picked up his wineglass, wishing now that he’d asked for something stronger.
Dana was sitting back in the chair, her arms crossed, feet on the floor. She looked shaken. He wondered how much of it was from what he’d told her about the bones in the well and how much from his touch. Did she ever wonder what their lives might have been like if she hadn’t broken off the engagement? They would be husband and wife now. Something he always thought about. It never failed to bring a wave of regret with it.
He didn’t tell Dana that the woman had still been alive, maybe even calling to her attacker for help as he left her down there.
“I’m going to have to question your family and anyone else who had access to the property or who might have known about the dry well,” he said.
She didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze went to the large window. Outside, the snow fell in huge feathery flakes, obscuring the mountains. “What was she shot with?”
He hesitated, then said, “Rupert thinks it was a .38.” He waited a beat before he added, “Does your father still have that .38 of his?”
She seemed startled by the question, her gaze flying back to him. “I have no idea. Why—” Her look turned to stone. “You can’t really believe—”
“Do you have any guns in the house?” he asked in his official tone.
Her eyes narrowed in reaction. “Just the double-barreled shotgun by the door. But you’re welcome to search the house if you don’t believe me.”
He remembered the shotgun. Mary Justice Cardwell had kept it by the door, loaded with buckshot, to chase away bears from her chicken coop.
“You have any idea who this woman in the well might have been?” he asked.
“Fifteen years ago I was sixteen.” She met his gaze. Something hot flashed there as if she, too, remembered her sixteenth birthday and their first kiss.
“You recall a woman going missing about that time?” he asked, his voice sounding strange to his ears.
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his face. “Won’t there be a missing person’s report?”
“The law and justice center fire in Bozeman destroyed all the records twelve years ago,” he said.
“So we might never know who she was?” Dana asked.
“Maybe not. But if she was local, someone might remember her.” He pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket. “I’m going to need Jordan’s phone number so I can contact him.”
“He’s flying in tomorrow. He’ll probably stay with Angus, but I’m sure he’ll be contacting you.”
He thought it strange she referred to her father as Angus. He wondered what had been going on in the years he’d been gone.
“You know where to find them,” she continued. “Angus on the nearest bar stool. Clay at his studio in the old Emerson in Bozeman. And Stacy—” Her voice broke. “Well, she’s where you left her.”
Hud surprised himself by taking the jab without flinching.
“I was really sorry to hear about your mom’s accident.” He’d heard that Mary had been bu
cked off a horse and suffered severe brain damage. She’d lived for a short while, but never regained consciousness.
Dana locked eyes with him. “She always liked you.” She said it as if it was the one mistake her mother ever made.
“Is that why you’re selling the ranch?”
She got up from the table. “Is there anything else?”
He could see that he shouldn’t have mentioned the sale. Not only was it none of his business, but he also got the feeling today really wasn’t the day to ask.
He finished his wine and pushed himself up from the chair. Picking up his Stetson, he settled it on his head. “I see you forgot your ring again.”
DANA CURSED HERSELF for ever lying about the engagement let alone the ring. “The stone was loose,” she said, compounding the lies. She’d spent thirty-one years telling the truth and Hud came back to town and she became an instant liar.
“You’re not engaged to Lanny Rankin,” he said softly. “Are you?”
She lifted her chin ready to defend her lie to the death. “Not that it’s any of your business—”
“Why did you lie to me, Dana?”
Something in his tone stopped her cold. Obviously he thought she’d done it to make him jealous because she still cared. This was turning out to be the worst day of her life.
“I didn’t want you thinking there was any chance for you and me.”
He smiled. “Oh, your attitude toward me made that pretty clear. You didn’t have to come up with a fiancé.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Why hasn’t the guy asked you to marry him? Something wrong with him?”
“No,” she snapped. “My relationship with Lanny is none of your business.” She could see the wheels turning in his stubborn head. He thought more than ever that she was still carrying a torch for him.
“You’re the most annoying man I’ve ever known,” she said as she headed for the door to show him out.
His soft chuckle chased after her, piercing her heart with memory. So many memories of the two of them together.
“At least I still have that distinction,” he said as she snatched open the front door and he stepped through it.
Joe, she noticed, had followed them and now stood by her feet. The old dog might be deaf and barely getting around anymore, but he was no fool. When push came to shove, he knew where his loyalties lay.
Hud turned in the doorway to look at her, all humor gone from his expression. “At some point, I’ll need to talk to you about this investigation. I can come here or you can come down to the Big Sky office—”
“The office would be fine,” she said. “Just let me know when.”
“Dana, I really am sorry about—” he waved a hand “—everything.”
Her smile felt as sharp as a blade. “Good night, Hud.” She closed the door in his face but not before she heard him say, “Good night, Dana,” the way he used to say it after they’d kissed.
She leaned against the door, her knees as weak as water. Dammit, she wasn’t going to cry. She’d shed too many tears for Hud Savage. He wasn’t getting even one more out of her.
But she felt hot tears course down her cheeks. She wiped at the sudden wetness, biting her lip to keep from breaking down and bawling. What a lousy day this had been. This birthday was destined to go down as the worst.
Joe let out a bark, his old eyes on her, tail wagging.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said, and squatted to wrap her arms around him. “I know you always liked Hud. Didn’t we all?”
Dana had never been one to wallow in self-pity. At least not for long. She’d gone on with her life after Hud left. His coming back now wasn’t going to send her into another tailspin.
She rose and walked to the kitchen window, drawn to it by what she now knew had been in the old well all these years. The horror of it sent a shudder through her. Was it possible she had known the woman? Or worse, she thought, with a jolt, that Angus had? Hud had reminded her that her father had owned a .38.
With a groan, she recalled the time her father had let her and Hud shoot tin cans off the ranch fence with the gun.
Through the falling snow, she looked toward the hillside and hugged herself against the chill of her thoughts before glancing at the kitchen clock.
There was time if she hurried. She’d heard that her dad and uncle were playing with their band at the Corral Bar tonight. If she left now she might be able to talk to both of them and still get back in time for her date with Lanny.
She was anxious to talk to her father—before he and her uncle had time to come up with a convincing story. The thought surprised her. Why had she just assumed he had something to hide? Because, she thought with a rueful grin, he was her father and she knew him.
By now the canyon grapevine would be humming with the news about the body in the well. After all, Jordan had heard all the way back in New York City.
She’d just have to weather the blizzard—the storm outside as well as the arrival of her brother tomorrow from New York.
She groaned at the thought as she took her coat from a hook by the door. It was a good ten miles down the road to the bar and the roads would be slick, the visibility poor. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to get any sleep until she talked to her father.
She just hoped it was early enough for him to be halfway sober, but she wasn’t counting on it.
AS HUD DROVE AWAY from the ranch, he kept saying the words over and over in her head.
She isn’t engaged. She isn’t engaged.
He smiled to himself. Admittedly, it was a small victory. But he’d been right. She wasn’t engaged to Lanny.
Maybe even after all this time, he knew Dana better than she’d thought.
As snow continued to fall, he drove across the narrow bridge that spanned the Gallatin River and turned onto Highway 191 headed south down the Gallatin Canyon, feeling better than he had in years.
The “canyon,” as it was known, ran from the mouth just south of Gallatin Gateway almost to West Yellowstone, ninety miles of winding road that trailed the river in a deep cut through the steep mountains on each side.
It had changed a lot since Hud was a boy. Luxury houses had sprouted up all around the resort. Fortunately some of the original cabins still remained and the majority of the canyon was National Forest so it would always remain undeveloped.
The drive along the river had always been breathtaking, a winding strip of highway that followed the river up over the Continental Divide and down the other side to West Yellowstone.
Hud had rented a cabin a few miles up the canyon from Big Sky. But as he started up the highway, his headlights doing little to cut through the thick falling snow, his radio squawked.
He pulled over into one of the wide spots along the river. “Savage here.”
The dispatcher in Bozeman, an elderly woman named Lorraine, announced she was patching through a call.
“Marshal Savage?” asked a voice he didn’t recognize. “This is Dr. Gerald Cross with the crime lab in Missoula.”
“Yes.” Hud wondered why it wasn’t Rupert calling.
“I have information on the evidence you sent us that I thought you’d want to hear about right away.” There was the fluttering sound of papers, then the doctor’s voice again. “We got lucky. Normally something like this takes weeks if not months, but your coroner was so insistent that we run the tests ASAP…The bullet lodged in the skull of the victim matches a bullet used in a shooting in your area.”
Hud blinked in confusion. “What shooting?”
Another shuffle of papers. “A Judge Raymond Randolph. He was murdered in his home. An apparent robbery?”
Hud felt the air rush from his lungs. Judge Randolph. And the night Hud had been trying to forget for the past five years.
He cleared his throat. “You’re saying the same gun that killed the Jane Doe from the well was used in the Randolph case?”
“The striations match. No doubt about it. Same gun used for both murders,” the doctor said.
“The Randolph case was only five years ago. Hasn’t this body been down in the well longer than that? The coroner estimated about fifteen years.”
“Our preliminary findings support that time period,” Dr. Cross said.
Hud tried to take it in: two murders, years apart, but the same gun was used for both?
“We found further evidence in the dirt that was recovered around the body,” the doctor was saying. “An emerald ring. The good news is that it was custom-made by a jeweler in your area. Should be easy to track.”
Hud felt hopeful. “Can you fax me the information on the ring along with digital photos?”
“I’ll have that done right away,” the doctor said. “Also, three fingers on her left hand were broken, the ring finger in two places. Broken in the fall, I would assume, unless she tried to fight off her assailant.
“But what also might be helpful in identifying the woman is the prior break in the Jane Doe’s radius, right wrist,” the doctor continued. “It appears it was broken and healed shortly before her death. The break had been set, indicating she sought medical attention. She would have been wearing a cast in the weeks prior to her death.”
A woman with a broken wrist in a cast.
“I’ve sent the information to both the dentists and doctors in your area,” Dr. Cross said. “All her teeth were intact and she’d had dental work done on several molars not long before her death, as well. You got lucky on this one.”
Lucky? Hud didn’t feel lucky. Again he wondered why Rupert hadn’t made the call. “Is Dr. Milligan still there? I wanted to ask him something.”
“Sorry, but Rupert left some time ago. He said he had an appointment.”
Hud thanked him and hung up the radio, wondering what was going on with Rupert. Why hadn’t he been the one to call? It wasn’t like him. Especially since he’d been right about everything. He would have called if for nothing else than to say, “Good thing you didn’t bet me.”
