by B. J Daniels
In the kitchen she filled a Baggie with sugar cubes, telling herself she shouldn’t have called, shouldn’t have warned him.
But she knew it was too late for that. She thought of the empty safe. Of the missing private investigator she’d hired. No, Dr. French knew she was after him. By now, Mason VanHorn did, too. But maybe she’d rattle them both and hope that one of them would lead her to the truth.
* * *
MASON HAD BEEN anticipating the call.
“I heard you had a break-in last night,” Dr. Niles French said, sounding upset.
Mason swore under his breath, wondering who on the ranch had blabbed. He’d kill him. “It was nothing. A vandal protesting coalbed methane wells.”
The doctor sighed. “You and I have known each other for how many years now?”
Mason didn’t have time for a trip down memory lane. “What is it you want?”
“I want the records from the sanitarium.”
Sanitarium. Mason almost laughed. It was a nut-house. Loony bin. House of horrors. “What makes you think I have them?”
“Because I know you,” Dr. French said. “Someone else has been looking for the records. I suppose you don’t know anything about that, either.”
“Why bring this up now?” Mason asked wondering if Dr. French had hired someone to break into his house for the file.
“I’m finished. I won’t do anything else for you. I’m an old man. I’m not proud of things I’ve done. Especially concerning Helena and you. I would like to die in peace. I don’t think that is too much to ask.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Not yet. Mason, after everything I have done for you, grant me this last request. Give me my file. Let me destroy it. I just need to know it will never come out.”
“Isn’t my word good enough?”
The doctor sighed. “Let me be frank. I have less to lose than you do if anyone should ever find out.”
“You aren’t threatening me, are you, Niles?”
“Do you want me to come out to the ranch to get the file?” Dr. French asked. “Or do you want to come here?”
What Mason wanted was to tell him to go to hell, but he heard something in the elderly doctor’s voice that warned him it would be a mistake. Why was it that when a person reached a certain age he felt the need to bare his soul? To make amends? To tie up loose ends? French didn’t think there was a chance in hell that he was going anywhere after death that required a clear conscience, did he?
“I’ll need a couple of days to get the file,” Mason said. “I don’t keep it here at the house.”
“You aren’t just stalling, are you, Mason?” Dr. French sounded old and tired.
Mason pitied him. “I wouldn’t be that foolish. And you’re right. It’s never too late to end things.”
“Yes. On that we can agree.” Dr. French hung up.
Mason put down the phone. Hadn’t he known this day would come? And yet he hated that it would have to end this way. Why couldn’t they have both died peacefully in their sleep? Because neither had lived a peaceful life. Nor would there be any peace beyond this life. Not for the two of them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Brandon’s only thought as drove north through Antelope Flats toward his family’s ranch was of Anna Austin. He’d always loved the drive. The road climbed from Antelope Flats, giving him a view of the Tongue River Reservoir. The water glistened as the sun sunk in brilliant orange behind the Bighorn Mountains to the west. The red rock cliffs on the east side of the lake glowed golden just before he lost sight of the water as the highway curved away.
But today he only saw silken black hair, wide brown eyes and a face that would haunt him the rest of his days.
A few miles out, he slowed and turned onto the dirt road that followed Rosebud Creek through rocky outcroppings, thickets of chokecherry trees, willows and dogwood against a backdrop of sage and red rock bluffs and ponderosa pines.
Pulling up in front of the ranch house, he looked up to see his little sister Dusty come out onto the porch as if she’d been waiting for him.
“What happened to your head?” she asked, smiling, making it clear she’d talked to her best friend Leticia. Dusty was all McCall, from her white-blond hair to her pale blue eyes and her need to know everything.
“As if you haven’t already heard,” he said, and stepped into the house.
She trailed right behind him. “Did you find her?”
“Who?” he asked, giving her his best innocent look.
“You can’t fool me, Brandon McCall. You might as well tell me about her.”
He shot her a smile over his shoulder as he trotted up the stairs to his room. “Don’t hold your breath.”
She was grumbling below him. His tomboy sister. She was almost nineteen but she still looked eleven to him. Maybe it was the way she dressed. Jeans, boots, western shirt, her hair pulled back in a braid, no makeup. Nothing girly about her. He felt a surge of love for her as he went into his room, closed the door and headed for the bath.
He showered and changed, dressing in the darkest clothing he had, then sneaked down the stairs, hoping to avoid the rest of his family if possible.
“You’re not having dinner with us?” asked a female voice behind him.
He’d almost made it to the front door. Damn. He turned to look at Shelby, his mother. She was beautiful. He could imagine that she must have been stunning when she was younger.
“I’m going camping up in the mountains,” he said.
She smiled at that, amusement in her gaze, and didn’t ask about the bandage on his head. Obviously, she’d been talking to Dusty. “Maybe some time you could bring her out to meet your family.”
The improbability of that made him smile. “Right. Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m running late.”
She nodded and waved him off. “Have fun.”
Yeah.
Things had been pretty weird at the house since his mother’s return. Shelby Ward McCall had been dead to all of them for over thirty years. Then last summer, she’d just appeared at the front door as if returning from the grave.
Except she’d never been dead, no matter what the gravestone said at the local cemetery. Nope. Shelby and Asa had just cooked it up rather than get a divorce. At least that was their story and so far, they were sticking to it.
But Brandon, his brothers and sister hadn’t missed that something was going on between their father and mother. Too much whispering, odd looks and times when one of them caught Shelby crying. Shelby wasn’t one of those women who cried over nothing, which made them all worry that their parents had a secret between them that would make the others pale in comparison.
He tried not to think about it as he went to his pickup, got his shotgun and the supplies he’d purchased in town, and headed for the barn.
Saddling his horse, he loaded everything, including his sleeping bag, and swung up into the saddle, heading his horse south toward the VanHorn Ranch. The sun was all the way down by the time he reached the first ridge. He stopped to look back on his family ranch, as he always did.
Like his brothers, there’d been a time when he’d tried to run from the ranching life, from the responsibility and the weight of a hundred-year-old tradition, mostly from the feeling that he had no choice in life but to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps.
Now, just the thought of leaving here to go to law school bothered him. What if for some reason—a job, money, a woman—he didn’t make it back?
He shook his head at the thought and spurred his horse. It would be dark soon. He wanted to be on the VanHorn Ranch before then.
VanHorn would have all his men looking for Brandon McCall—and his pickup. The only way to sneak back on was by horseback.
He wondered how Anna Austin planned to get back on the ranch. It didn’t matter. Whatever she pulled tonight, he’d be waiting for her.
* * *
MASON ANSWERED the phone. “What?”
�
��She called me.”
“What? Are you drunk?” he demanded. “Look, Doc, I don’t have time for this right now.”
“Make time. Did you hear what I said? She called me and threatened me.”
Mason was losing his patience. “Who are you talking about?”
“Anna Austin. Who the hell do you think?”
Mason felt all the air rush from his lungs. “That’s not possible.”
“She said she’s in town and that she is coming after the two of us. I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it.”
“She’s not in town.” Mason stumbled over to a chair and dropped into it.
“You swore this would never happen. I did everything you asked. You said that would be the end of it. Now do you understand why I wanted that damned file?”
His mind raced. “I’ll take care of it. Do you hear me? I’ll take care of it.”
“Damn you for talking me into this,” Dr. French said.
“I want the file now. I’m not waiting a few days. You get it or else.”
“Or else what?” Mason snapped. “Don’t forget why you helped me. You needed the money or don’t you remember?” he asked, his voice leaden with sarcasm.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “I remember. But I’m too old to care now. All I have left is my reputation. I won’t let you have that, too, Mason. You took everything else.”
“Don’t threaten me, Niles. Not if you know what is good for you.”
“You can’t control me anymore, Mason. If you don’t give me the file, you will regret it.” He hung up.
Mason slammed down the phone. “I already regret it,” he said to the empty room. The old fool had to be mistaken. She didn’t know anything about Dr. French. It wasn’t possible. Nor could she be in town. He would have known.
Picking up the phone, he called Information for the number at the newspaper where she worked.
He was shocked to learn that she’d left that job six months before. The receptionist thought Anna Austin had resigned to do freelance investigative journalism. No, she didn’t know of any other number she could be reached at.
If she had a cell phone, he had no way to get that number. His heart began to pound. He’d always feared that his secrets would get out someday. As he bent to pry up the floorboard and pulled out Helena VanHorn’s worn dusty medical file, he prayed to God this wasn’t the day.
* * *
ANNA TOOK back roads to the marina. She knew all the roads into the ranch would be watched, the house guarded. She had to get everyone away from the house and, at the same time, find a way to get in there herself.
She rented a boat for a week, even though she didn’t expect to be in town that long, and left the truck parked in a stand of trees where she didn’t think it would be noticed.
Once in the boat, she stuffed her gear under a seat. Then, powering up the motor, she eased away from the dock.
She’d had experience with boats because of the girls she’d met at expensive summer camps and even more expensive private schools. As soon as she was past the No-Wake buoys, she hit the throttle. The motor roared, the bow rising, then dropping as the boat picked up speed.
She couldn’t help but smile as the wind and spray hit her face, blowing back her hair. She loved being on the water. There was nothing quite as freeing. She let the craft run full throttle, bouncing over waves from other boats, the sun in her face.
The Tongue River Reservoir stretched for miles from the steep red rock cliffs and pine trees to where the lake turned to river, flat and thick with brush and cottonwoods.
In places along the shore, she could see veins of black coal in the rocks. Up the river, there were coal mines that operated twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes she heard an occasional blast or caught sight of the huge crane at work.
It was getting dark. She watched the shoreline ahead, telling herself she had no choice other than what she was about to do.
* * *
IT WAS FULL DARK by the time Brandon stopped on a rise over the VanHorn Ranch complex. He scanned the buildings before him with night-vision binoculars. The ranch house was dark. Mason VanHorn’s big car wasn’t parked in front of the ranch house and he didn’t see anyone guarding it, but he knew VanHorn and the others were there waiting.
And unless someone stopped her, Anna Austin was going to walk right into a trap. He thought about what he would do if he were her. She would have access to maps of the ranch. Several were posted on coalbed-methane-well Web sites. If she really was some famous investigative reporter, she would know where to look. He had to assume she knew the ranch probably better than he did.
She’d used vandalizing the wellheads as a distraction before, but she would know that none of VanHorn’s men would fall for that again. It would have to be something bigger, something they couldn’t ignore that wouldn’t just draw them away from the ranch house, but force them away.
Tonight would be clear, with stars and a full moon. He was betting that she would make her move before the moon came up. And the moon would be up soon.
If he was right about her returning. His gut told him she’d be back. Or maybe he was just hoping. As he sat on his horse in the dark, Brandon smiled to himself at the thought of seeing her again. It was more than just his pride driving him, although he hated to admit that the woman intrigued the hell out of him.
Nothing moved in the darkness. He was beginning to think she’d outsmarted him again. Then he saw it. Down the mountainside, past the highway to Wyoming, past the ranch house. He focused the binoculars on what looked like a boat winding its way through the submerged trees where the creek drained into the lake below him. Hadn’t he heard that VanHorn had purchased this narrow piece of swampy land?
“Anna,” he breathed, and grinned.
She’d found a way back on the ranch.
Spurring his horse, he rode down the mountainside, following the cover along the creek. Clouds drifted over the tops of the large old cottonwoods as he headed for the lake—and Anna.
As he neared the lake’s edge, he heard the putt-putt of a boat motor, then silence. Waves splashed at his horse’s feet. He reined in and listened, hearing a soft metal thud, the lap of water and then stillness again.
Dismounting, he dropped his reins, leaving his horse to work his way to where he’d heard the last sound. The lake was up, many of the trees in this area now standing in water. He tried not to make a sound as he kept to the dense shadows of the trees.
A light splash, then another. Hunkering down at the base of one of the cottonwoods, he waited.
She came out of the water. Like last night, she wore all black, including the stocking cap covering her dark hair. Only tonight she had on all-black denim—and western boots. To his surprise, he realized she was dressed for horseback riding.
For a moment, he was too surprised to move.
She ran through the trees toward the fence line. An instant later, a half-dozen dark hulking shapes appeared out of the darkness. VanHorn’s wild horses?
She didn’t really think she could just climb on one and ride it, did she?
He stayed where he was, anxious to see what she planned to do, not wanting to spook her. It would do his pride good to see her lying on her back in the damp soft earth after being thrown—if she even got that far.
He watched her dig out something from her pocket. She was making a sound that had all the horses’ ears up. She inched forward. A horse whinnied and stomped the ground.
Behind him, Brandon heard his own horse whinny in answer. Several of the wild horses milled around, a couple shied a little, but came back to where Anna was standing.
He could only see her back, but she hadn’t appeared to have heard his horse, didn’t seem aware of him behind her, watching. Waiting.
To his amazement, the horses didn’t run off as he’d expected they would. It was almost as if she’d been here earlier, the way they’d come up to the fence when they’d seen her. Almost as if they’d been waiting for her.
He saw her hold her hand out, palm down to one of the smaller of the horses. The mare nuzzled the closed hand. Anna didn’t move a muscle. The mare nuzzled her hand again and slowly like a flower opening to the sun, the hand turned and opened.
Whatever she’d had in it quickly disappeared. She reached into her pocket for more as she began to stroke the horse’s neck.
Brandon edged closer. He could hear her talking softly to the horse and the horse responding.
“Nice night for a boat ride,” he whispered when he was within touching distance. He couldn’t be sure VanHorn’s men weren’t within hearing distance. He wanted to save her—not throw her to the wolves.
She didn’t even start, almost as if she’d known he was behind her. Either that or she had nerves of steel. The woman had grit, he’d give her that.
The horses shied, but didn’t go far as she slowly turned to look at him. He was close, close enough in the darkness that he could see her face clearly, read her expression. No, he’d startled her, but she was hiding it well.
“Interested in a boat ride? I have a rental. You’re welcome to go for a ride if you like,” she whispered back.
He smiled at that. “I’m not really dressed for it. For that matter, neither are you. Planning to do a little horseback riding?”
She turned to the horses that had sneaked back over and dug what he realized were sugar cubes from her pocket. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they. I’ve always loved wild horses. They’re built so different from domestic horses.”
It surprised him. Not just her knowledge of horses, but her obvious love for them.
He leaned over to whisper in her ear. An errant lock of her dark hair tickled his nose. Her hair smelled of smoke, as if she’d been near a campfire. “I know what you’re up to.”
“Do you?” She didn’t look at him as she rubbed the mare between the eyes and dug out another sugar cube.
“Mason VanHorn came home today.” He waited for a reaction, but didn’t get one. “He’s set a trap for you.” For us, Brandon thought. “If you try to go back up to the ranch house, he’ll be waiting for you.”
