Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  Keith Colson had finally done something that landed him in the purview of the county sheriff and not the juvenile authorities. He held up a small car dealership out in the country.

  The pistol he used was not loaded, and he didn’t even run. They picked him up not far away, walking down a lonely highway with his sack of money. He even smiled at the sheriff’s deputy—not McCallum—who arrested him.

  He was brought into the sheriff’s office for questioning, with new marks on his face.

  This time McCallum wasn’t willing to listen to evasions. He sat Keith down in the interrogation room and leaned forward intently.

  “I’ve been too involved in my own life lately to see what was going on around me,” he told Keith. “I meant to check on you again when the juvenile authorities released you, but I got shot and I’ve been pretty well slowed down. Now, however, I’m going to get to the root of this problem before you end up in federal prison.” He looked the boy straight in the eye. “Your father is beating you.” He watched Keith’s eyes dilate. “And probably hitting your grandmother, too. You’re going to tell me right now exactly what he’s done to you.”

  Keith gaped at him. He couldn’t find words. He shifted nervously in the chair. “Listen, it’s not that—”

  “Loyalty is stupid after a certain point,” McCallum said shortly. “I was loyal to my mother, but when she broke my arm, I decided that my own survival was more important than the family’s dark secret.”

  Keith’s expression changed. “Your mother broke your arm?”

  McCallum nodded curtly. “She was an alcoholic. She couldn’t admit that she had a problem and she couldn’t stop. It just got worse, until finally I realized that if she really cared about me, she’d have done something to help herself. She wouldn’t, so I had to. I had her arrested. It was painful and there was a lot of gossip. Afterwards, I had no place to go, so I got shuffled around the county, to whichever farm needed an extra hand in exchange for bed and board. She died of a heart attack in jail when I was in my early teens. I had a hell of a life. But even then it was better than having to fend her off when she came at me with bottles or knives or whatever weapon she could lay her hand on.”

  Keith seemed to grow taller. He let out a long sigh and rubbed the arms of the old wooden chair. “You know all about it then.”

  “Living with an alcoholic, you mean? Yes, I know all about it. So you won’t fool me anymore. You might as well come clean. Protecting your father isn’t worth getting a criminal record that will follow you all your life. You can’t run away from the problem by getting thrown in jail, son. In fact, you’ll find people worse than your father there.”

  Keith leaned forward and dangled his hands between his knees. “He says it’s because he lost his job and nobody else will hire him, at his age. But I don’t believe it anymore. He hits my grandma, you see. Mostly he hits her, and I can’t stand that, so I try to stop him. But he hits me when I interfere. Last time I landed a couple of shots, but he’s bigger than I am. Whenever he sobers up, he says he’ll quit. He always says he’ll quit, that it will get better.” He shook his head and smiled with a cynicism beyond his years. “Only it doesn’t. And I’m scared he’ll really hurt Grandma one day. But if I left, she could, too. She only stays to try and make some sort of home for me, and cook and clean for us. She can’t talk to him. Neither can I. He just doesn’t hear us.”

  “He’ll hear me,” McCallum said, rising.

  “What will you do?” Keith asked miserably.

  “I’ll pick him up for assault and battery, and you’ll sign a warrant,” he told the boy. “He may go to jail, but they’ll help him and he’ll dry out. Meanwhile, we’ll place you in a foster home. Your grandmother is too old to look out for you, and she’s got a sister in Montana who’d enjoy her company.”

  “Miss Larson told you, I guess,” he mused, smiling sheepishly.

  “Yes. Jessica and I are getting married.”

  “I heard. She’s a nice lady.”

  “I think so.”

  “You won’t hurt my dad?”

  “Of course not.”

  The boy got to his feet. “There’s this robbery charge….”

  “I’ll talk to Bill Murray,” McCallum said. “When he knows the circumstances, he won’t press charges. The money was all recovered and he knows the gun wasn’t loaded. He’s a kind man, and not vindictive.”

  “I’ll write him a note and tell him how sorry I am. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t turn Dad in,” he added, pleading for understanding.

  McCallum clapped him on the back. “Son, life is full of things we can’t do that we have to do. You’ll learn that the hard part is living with them afterward. Come on. Let’s go see the magistrate.”

  A warrant was sworn out and signed, and McCallum went to serve it. He felt sorry for Terrance Colson, but sorrier for the boy and his grandmother, who were practically being held hostage by the man.

  He found Terrance sitting on his front porch, and obviously not expecting company, since he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand.

  “What the hell do you want?” he demanded belligerently. “If it’s that damned boy again, you can lock him up and throw away the key. I’ve had it with him!”

  “He’s had it with you, too, Terrance,” McCallum replied, coming up onto the porch. “This is a warrant for your arrest, for assault and battery. Keith signed it.”

  “A…what?”

  He stumbled to his feet, only to have McCallum grab him and whirl him around to face the wall, pinning him there while he cuffed him efficiently.

  “You can’t do this to me,” Terrance yelled, adding a few choice profanities to emphasize his anger.

  The door opened timidly and little Mrs. Colson peered out. Her eyes were red and there was bad bruises on one cheek and around her mouth.

  “Are you…gonna take him off?” she asked McCallum.

  He had to fight for control at the sight of the bruises on that small, withered face. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly. “He won’t be home for a while. The very least that will happen to him is that he’ll be sent off to dry out.”

  She slumped against the door facing. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, her voice choked. Tears streamed down her face. “Oh, thank God. I’ve always been too weak and afraid to fight back, and Terrance takes after his daddy—”

  Terrance glared at her. “You shut your mouth…!”

  McCallum jerked him forward. “Let’s go,” he said tersely. “Mrs. Colson, Jessica will be out this afternoon to talk to you when I tell her what’s happened. I have an idea about where we can place Keith, but we’ll talk about that later. Are you all right? Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”

  “No, thank you, sir,” she replied. “If you’ll just carry him off, that’s all I need. That’s all I need, yes, sir.”

  Terrance yelled wild, drunken threats at her, which made McCallum even angrier. But he was a trained law-enforcement officer, and didn’t allow his fury to show. He was polite to Terrance, easing him into the patrol car with a minimum of fuss. He called goodbye to Mrs. Colson and took Terrance off to jail.

  Later, Jessica went with Sterling and Keith to talk to Mrs. Colson.

  “This is short notice, but I called Maris Wyler before I came out here. She needs a good hand out at her ranch, and when I explained the circumstances, she said she’d be happy to have Keith if he wanted to come.”

  “Do I ever!” Keith interjected. “Imagine, Gram, a real ranch! I’ll learn cowboying!”

  “If that’s what you want, Son,” Mrs. Colson said gently. “Heaven knows, it’s about time you had some pleasure in life. I know how you love animals. I reckon you’ll fit right in on a ranch. It’s very nice of Maris to let you come.”

  “She’s a good woman. She’ll take care of Keith, and he’ll be somewhere he’s really needed,” McCallum told the old woman. “He and I have had a long talk about it. The judge has offered to let him plead to a lesser charge in excha
nge for a probationary sentence in Maris’s custody. He’ll have a chance to change his whole life and get back on the right track. She’s even going to arrange for the homebound teacher to come out and give him his lessons so he won’t have to go to school and face the inevitable taunting of the other students.”

  Mrs. Colson just nodded. “That would be best, Keith,” she told her grandson. “I tried to help you as much as I could, but I couldn’t fight your father when he was drinking.”

  “It’s all right, Gram,” Keith said gently. “You did all you could. I wish you could stay.”

  “I do, too, but this is your father’s house and I could never stay here again.”

  “Yeah, neither could I,” Keith replied. “It wouldn’t ever be the same again, even if he does dry out. He talked about moving, and maybe he will. But I won’t go with him. The way he’s gotten, I’m not sure he wants to change. I’m not sure he can.”

  “The state will give him the opportunity to try,” McCallum told them. “But the rest is up to him. If you want to see him, I can arrange it.”

  Keith actually shivered. “No, thanks,” he said with a laugh. “When can I go and see this lady who says she’ll take me in?”

  “Right now, I guess,” McCallum said with a grin. “We’ll take Jessica with us, in case we need backup.”

  Keith frowned. “This sounds serious.”

  “Maris is a character,” he replied. “But she’s fair and she has a kind heart. You’ll do fine. Just don’t get on the wrong side of her.”

  “What he means,” Jessica said, with a pointed glance at McCallum, “is that Maris is a strong and capable woman who can run a ranch all by herself.”

  McCallum started to open his mouth.

  “You can shut up,” Jessica interrupted him deftly. “And you’d better not swagger in front of Maris, or she’ll cut you off at the ankles. She isn’t the forgiving, long-suffering angel of mercy that I am.”

  “And not half as modest.” McCallum grinned.

  Jessica made a face at him, but love gleamed out of her soft brown eyes—and his, too. They had a hard time separating work from their private lives, but they managed it. They lived in each others’ pockets, except at night. The whole town looked at them with kind indulgence, because they were so obviously in love that it touched people’s hearts.

  Even old Mrs. Colson smiled at the way they played. It took her back fifty years to her own girlhood and her late husband.

  “Well, we’d better be on our way. I’ll drive you to the bus station when you’re packed and ready to leave,” McCallum told her. “And if there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”

  “All I need is to leave here,” she replied, touching her swollen cheek gingerly. “Thank you for trying to help me, Son,” she told Keith. “You were the only reason I stayed at all. I was scared of what he’d do to you if I left.”

  “I kept trying to find ways to get out,” Keith confessed, “so that you could leave. But they kept sending me home again.”

  “Well, nobody’s perfect, not even the criminal-justice system,” McCallum said, tongue-in-cheek.

  They left Mrs. Colson with an ice bag on her cheek and drove to the No Bull Ranch. Maris Wyler came out to meet them.

  She was tall and lean, very tan from working outdoors, her long golden hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jeans and boots and a faded long-sleeved shirt, but she looked oddly elegant even in that rig.

  “You’re Keith. I’m Maris,” she said forthrightly, introducing herself to the boy with a smile and a firm handshake. “Ever work with cattle?”

  “No, ma’am,” Keith shook his head.

  “Well, you’ll learn quickly. I can sure use a hand out here. I hope you like the work.”

  “I think I will,” he said.

  “That’s good, ’cause there’s plenty of it.” Maris replied with a grin.

  “He’ll be fine here,” Maris assured Jessica.

  “I knew that already,” Jessica replied. “Thanks, Maris. I hope someone does something as kind for you one day.”

  “No problem. Come on, Keith, grab your gear and let’s get you settled. So long, McCallum, Jessica. Feel free to come out and see him whenever you like. Just call first and make sure we’re home.”

  “I will,” Jessica replied.

  She watched the two walk off toward the neat, new bunkhouse. The ranch, originally called the Circle W, had been in Maris’s husband’s family for years. Ray hadn’t been the sort of man a woman like Maris deserved. He was a heavy drinker like Keith’s father, as well as a gambler and womanizer. Nobody had been surprised when he’d recently come to a bad end—running his pickup into a cement bunker on the highway in a drunken state one night. Maris had been doing all the work on the ranch for years while her lazy husband spent money on foolish schemes and chased the rodeo. It was poetic justice that she ended up with the ranch.

  “Hensley’s always been a little sweet on her, you know,” McCallum confided to Jessica as he drove them back to her place. “It was hard for him to tell her about Ray’s death.”

  “Really? My goodness, she’s nothing like his ex-wife.”

  “Men don’t always fall for the same type of woman,” he teased. “He called her for me when I approached him about someplace for Keith to go, besides into foster care.”

  “I’m glad Maris was willing,” she said quietly. “Keith’s not a bad boy, but he could have ended up in prison so easily, trying to get away from his father.”

  “It’s a hell of a world for kids sometimes,” he said.

  She straightened the long denim skirt she was wearing with a plaid shirt and boots. “Yes.”

  He reached over and clasped her hand tightly in his. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Have you? Did it hurt?” she teased.

  He chuckled. “Not nice.”

  “Sorry. I’ll behave. What were you thinking?”

  His grip eased and he slipped his fingers in between hers. “That Baby Jennifer needs a home and we need a baby.”

  Thirteen

  Jessica had thought about that a lot—that Baby Jennifer needed someone to love her and take care of her. McCallum had been firm about the improbability of a court awarding the baby’s care to a single woman. But that situation had changed. She and McCallum were engaged, soon to be married. There was every reason in the world to believe that, under the circumstances, a judge might be willing to let them have custody.

  She caught her breath audibly. Bubbles of joy burst inside her. “Oh, Sterling, do you think…!”

  His hand grasped hers. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try. She’s a pretty, sweet baby. And I agree with you—I think our lives would be enriched by having a child to love and raise. There’s more to being a mother and father than just biology. It takes love and sacrifice and day-to-day living to manage that.” He glanced at her gently. “You aren’t the sort of woman who will ever be happy without a baby.”

  She smiled sadly. “I would have loved to have yours.”

  “So would I,” he replied, his tone as tender as his eyes, which briefly searched hers. “But this is the next best thing. What do you think? Do you want to petition the court for permission to adopt her?”

  “Yes!”

  He chuckled. “That didn’t take much thought.”

  “Oh, yes, it did. I’ve thought of nothing else since she was found.”

  “The judge may say no,” he cautioned.

  “He may say yes.”

  He just shook his head. That unshakable optimism touched him, especially in view of all the tragedy Jessica had had in her life. She was amazing. A miracle. He loved her more every day.

  “All right, then,” he replied. “We’ll get a lawyer and fill out the papers.”

  “Today,” she added.

  He smiled. “Today.”

  The wedding of Mary Jo Plumber and Dugin Kincaid was the social event of the decade in Whitehorse. It had all the elements of a Cinderella wedding, exce
pt that Mary Jo was a bit past the girlish stage. Nevertheless, she had a designer dress that any princess would have envied. It had a keyhole neckline and a full skirt with yards and yards of satin and imported Belgian lace. The veil trailed back over the long train in a symphony of grace. It was the sort of dress that every young girl dreams of wearing, and Jessica was no exception. She would have loved to have worn that wedding gown.

  But being the practical woman she was, she realized that she and Sterling would have to pinch pennies a bit, so an expensive dress was out of the question. It didn’t matter, though, she thought as she looked at her handsome fiancé in his dark suit, white shirt and sedate red tie. If she had to be married in a pillowcase with armholes, that would be all right. She loved him so much that nothing else mattered.

  The Kincaid ranch had been chosen for the ceremony, rather than any of the small Whitehorn churches. Since it was late June, the weather allowed for an outside wedding, and that was what the Kincaids had planned.

  There was a canopy, decorated with orchids that Jeremiah had ordered flown in from Hawaii for the occasion. There were pots of flowers everywhere, and the swimming pool was filled to capacity with floating gardenias. Their scent was delicious.

  For the wedding ceremony, chairs had been lined up in front of a lavishly decorated altar flanked by candelabra. No expense had been spared. The reception was being held on the patio of the enormous ranch house, and caterers were already busy setting up tables.

  The enormous manicured lawn behind the house was filled to capacity as Mary Jo walked down the aisle toward her husband-to-be. Dugin looked vaguely uncomfortable in his suit, frequently glancing toward his father as if he needed Jeremiah’s permission even to get married. It was typical of the way he always bowed to his father’s wishes. Dugin had spent most of his life seeking Jeremiah’s approval, in one way or another. He’d always been a disappointment to Jeremiah, nevertheless.

  The grand piano, brought outside from the living room, was exquisitely played by a local church organist. The wedding march echoed in pure, sweet notes across the lawn, and Mary Jo looked ten years younger in her finery.