Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  “The tribal elders won’t like that,” Winona predicted without having to resort to psychic abilities.

  Tracy wrinkled her nose. “They’ve made that clear. I promised I’d not do anything without their permission. Judd didn’t like that. I’m going to search the area thoroughly first. I’d say by the depth of the dirt stains, the bones haven’t been in the ground for more than twenty or thirty years. There should be other evidence. Of course, nature can fool you sometimes. I could be wrong.”

  She chatted on, drawn out by alert questions from her listener. Vaguely, she realized she hadn’t talked to anyone like this in years, not since she and Judd used to plan their future.

  “What is it?” Winona asked.

  “What?”

  “You had a thought that made you sad.”

  Tracy stared at the lined face. She sighed and took a drink of the spicy tea before answering. “It’s hard…to come back to the place where all your dreams died.”

  “Are they truly dead?” Winona asked in a kind voice.

  Tracy sifted through her memories. “Yes.”

  “But there are new beginnings. You’re too young to give up on life.”

  “Well, I haven’t.” Tracy laughed, albeit a bit shakily. She pinched her forearm lightly. “Ouch! See? I’m still living.”

  Winona smiled at her foolishness. “Aren’t there any men in California who have taken your fancy?”

  Tracy’s laughter faded. She stroked the kitten, which had curled into a ball in her lap. Its purr vibrated through her body. She suddenly felt the terrible ache of loneliness.

  “No,” she admitted. “I’ve dated some, but…”

  “But they’re not your true love.”

  Tracy pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. She gazed into the distance, where night gathered behind the mountains to the west of the wide valley. The clouds had dried up during the night and no longer wreathed the far peaks. “Were you ever in love, Winona?”

  “Everyone is in love at some stage of life.”

  “What was he like?” Tracy sat up straighter, curious about this woman’s life. “Were you married?”

  “No. He was a poet. He loved me, but he loved the world more. He went away to discover his Muse.” She studied Tracy for a short spell before continuing. “He came back—I lived in the city then and taught English at the local college—but I was angry with him and sent him away. I regretted it afterward.”

  “Did you ever see him again?”

  Winona nodded. She carefully smoothed the cat’s fur. “Twenty years later, he returned. We were in our forties. Neither of us had married. He said he had to see me one more time. We lived together for a month. He died in my arms.”

  Tracy thought it the saddest story she’d ever heard. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  “A month of memories isn’t a lot to take a person through a lifetime…nor are a few years. The nights get lonely.”

  They sat in silence, each lost in thought.

  “Well,” Tracy said at last, “I suppose I should get home. I’m so glad I came. My father and I miss our summers here and the visits with you. He sends his love.”

  A smile lighted Winona’s face. “I hear he may be getting married any day.”

  Tracy was startled. “Who to?”

  “Lily Mae.” The merry brown eyes twinkled. “She told everyone at the café she was going to nab him when he came back to town. She said two years was long enough to grieve.”

  Tracy didn’t know whether to be amused or offended. “Dad won’t be down this summer, but perhaps I’d better warn him of the widow lying in wait.”

  “Let him find out for himself,” Winona advised. “Getting caught by Lily Mae isn’t the worst thing that could happen to a man. She might be good for him.”

  “Funny, I thought the same thing when she and I were talking last night. Did you somehow listen in on the conversation?”

  “My ability doesn’t run to eavesdropping, although I sometimes wish it did.”

  They walked around the trailer to the front. The last dying rays from the sun lighted the western horizon to a paler blue than the rest of the sky, which was a deep royal blue.

  “Have you missed the country since you’ve been gone?”

  Tracy did a slow turn, looking in all the directions of the compass like a Cheyenne saying his prayers.

  To the south of them, the Beartooth Highway ran over the high pass. The land dropped off a thousand or more feet on each side of the crest where the cars crawled along the narrow, winding drive. Most travelers found the Beartooth Pass a heart grabber.

  To the west, Crazy Peak rose over eleven thousand feet. The Beartooth Creek ran east out of the mountains into the reservoir that gave Whitehorn its water supply. North and east of town the land was flat to rolling, not as rugged, but with its own beauty.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “You must move back.”

  Tracy looked at her friend. “I can’t.”

  “You will,” Winona said with absolute conviction.

  Four

  Tracy walked the path to the site, her sneakers making no noise on the mossy ground under the thick stand of trees. Behind her, Sterling McCallum—Judd’s top detective, according to the secretary—walked along, equally silent.

  Judd and Sterling made a good pair, Tracy thought sourly. Neither spoke unless absolutely necessary. Sterling was helping her search the site for clues. Judd had told her Sterling was his best man for the search, that he had a “good eye.”

  She carried a paintbrush and dustpan, a pick, rock hammer and chisel, all tools of the archeological trade. She was going to dig for treasure…or in this case, bones.

  No one was at the original location. The tribal elders had given her permission to do whatever she had to do. She set her tools out, tossed a cushion on the ground and plopped down.

  Leaning over, she surveyed the ground where the other bones had been found. She formed a square with wire posts and string and began removing the top layer of dirt and leaf mold. No other site in her surveys had yielded so much as a clue, other than this one.

  An afternoon of digging yielded the rest of the finger bones. She placed them in evidence bags with tweezers and wrote the location on a piece of paper and stuck it in the bag. She then recorded the information in her log book.

  “You’re good,” McCallum said when she finally packed up her finds and indicated she was ready to leave.

  “Thanks.”

  She gave him a curious glance as they returned to the police vehicle they’d come out in. He hadn’t helped with the dig at all. Instead, he’d wandered around the area, peering at first one thing and then another as if he had nothing particular on his mind.

  Once she’d seen him picking thimbleberries off a bush and eating them. He’d brought her a handful. She’d been grateful, for she’d forgotten to bring a water canteen with her.

  She paused at the ridge and looked over the flat grassland below. “What are those?” she asked, pointing at some strange animals near the creek.

  “Beefalo,” McCallum said.

  “Ah. I thought they were the strangest-looking cows I ever saw.” She smiled. “A melding of the old and the new. I wonder if it will work.”

  He shrugged. He was a big man—big hands, big feet…a big heart? Hard to tell, but he had brought her the berries to munch on. He looked tough and had a military bearing. She was sure his nose had been broken at least once.

  He wore a silver-and-turqoise ring and a wedding band. There had been some teasing banter between him and Judd that morning about the last big case he’d been assigned to…something about an abandoned baby. Apparently he and his wife had adopted the infant last fall.

  Tracy couldn’t imagine those large hands being gentle enough to hold a baby. But then, Judd had been incredibly wonderful with Thadd, even when the baby was a newborn and had weighed in at seven pounds, two ounces.

  Her heart gave a squeeze, and she d
ropped that line of thought. Instead, she concentrated on what she’d learned during the past week. With tribal permission, she’d sent a small section of bone off to the forensic lab in California. When she got the results, she’d know how long the bones had been there.

  On the way back to town, she decided to have a showdown with Judd. For three days—Wednesday, Thursday and today—he’d sent whatever policeman he could spare to stay with her at the site. She didn’t need a baby-sitter, and she was going to tell him so.

  “You like digging up bones?” McCallum asked.

  “Yes.” In her mind, she was rehearsing what she was going to say to Judd.

  “How’d you get interested in that?”

  She frowned at him. “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “I can see you’re thinking of other things.” He grinned, a slow, lazy smile that reminded her of Judd.

  There seemed to be an understanding between the two men. They were kindred spirits, she decided. They shared certain, intangible characteristics…like being quietly stubborn when she’d insisted she didn’t want anyone tagging along with her.

  Pity the man’s poor wife if McCallum were as much of a watchdog as Judd was proving to be, she thought waspishly.

  When they arrived in town, the detective let her out at the police station and drove off. She carried the loot up to her assigned room. Judd had given her a key to his office, but she didn’t need it. He was in, talking on the telephone when she went through.

  She realized he had put her right where he wanted her. He or his secretary could keep on eye on her comings and goings with no problem whatsoever. She gave him a withering glance and sailed on by, closing the door after her.

  Opening the bag, she laid out the new finds and compared the bones to the original ones George had found and to the bones found by the tribal police. They all fit together.

  From the size of the hand, she assumed the person had been a male, twenty to forty years old. That was a rough guess. The hipbone was best for information on the sex and age of the person.

  Getting out her magnifying glass, she studied all the bones for signs of breaks or thickening at certain places that could indicate the type of work he’d done. Bone density and wrist size indicated whether the person had been left- or right-handed.

  Provided she ever found the other hand to compare the two.

  The door opened. “How’s it going?” Judd asked.

  She laid the glass in its case. “Fine. I found some more bits.” She glared at him. “While your watchdog stood around bored as all get-out.”

  The dark eyebrows jutted upward. “You sound tired.”

  “I sound irritated,” she corrected. “Don’t get in the way of my investigation, Judd. I’m ordering you to back off.”

  The tension in the small room escalated to tornado-warning velocity. Since the passionate episode, they’d stepped around each other with the caution of two cats who’d arrived in a new and strange territory at the same time.

  But, she reminded herself, she was the top cat. And he’d better not forget it.

  “All right. You’re on your own.” He spread his hands as if he were giving up. “The fair opened today. Winona called and wanted to know if you were going. She’s entered several of the food categories, and they’re being judged this evening. She wants to have supper at the fair afterward.”

  “I’ll call her,” Tracy murmured, the heat taken out of her anger by his cool acceptance of her authority.

  She arranged to meet Winona at the main gate at six. She glanced at her watch after she hung up. It was already after five.

  If she wanted a shower and change of clothes, she’d better get with it. She covered her work and laid her tool case on the end of the table. After clipping on her waist purse, she started out at a brisk walk.

  Judd wasn’t in his office when she left. She told the secretary good-night.

  She’d left her car at the cottage, since it was as easy to commute on foot as by vehicle in the snug little town. On impulse, she walked around by the house she and Judd had built.

  Strange, but she never saw a family there. In fact, she never saw signs that anyone lived there at all—no lights in the house, no car in the garage…well, the garage was always closed, but surely they’d leave the door open once in a while.

  However, the place was well kept up. The yard was mowed and weeded regularly. The rock garden she’d designed looked nice. She and Judd had planned it so very little maintenance was needed.

  They both had liked the natural look of shrubs and pine needles and rocks, forming curving walkways among the many trees.

  She rushed by and went on to her cottage. After a quick shower, she slipped on her favorite gold slacks and a gold silk shell with a white-and-gold-striped linen jacket for evening.

  The gold loops she wore in her ears and the matching bracelet had been a gift from her father one Christmas years ago.

  She glanced at the clock. Five to six. She considered, then decided her waist purse was the handiest to use. It left her hands free, yet kept her money and wallet right in front of her where she could keep an eye on them.

  The county fairgrounds were five miles south of town. She arrived at ten after six, parked and dashed to the entrance. Judd was there, talking to an attractive woman.

  It wasn’t Maris Wyler—or whatever her name was, now that she’d married—but another woman who wasn’t at all like Maris.

  This woman looked very delicate. Her manner was demure. When she laughed and glanced up at Judd, then quickly away, she seemed shy.

  And very attractive. A Laura Ashley type in a floral print skirt with a white lacy blouse and a bow holding her hair at the back of her neck.

  Tracy felt a return of that odd emotion she’d experienced when she saw Maris pat Judd’s cheek on Monday. Before she had time to define it, Judd saw her. His smile disappeared like spilled milk among farm cats.

  She went forward, her shoulders squared as if going into battle. She forced herself to relax and smile calmly.

  Judd made the introductions. “Mary Jo, this is Tracy Roper. Tracy, Mary Jo Kincaid.”

  Tracy shook hands with Little Bo Peep, as she named her in her mind, disliking the sweetly feminine woman on sight. Which wasn’t at all fair or nice, but…

  “Oh, you must be the FBI agent,” Mary Jo exclaimed in a soft, almost breathless voice. “I just can’t imagine doing dangerous work like that.” She gave a delicate shiver and leaned against Judd’s arm as if seeking protection.

  “Dead people aren’t dangerous,” Tracy said bluntly. “Only the living.” She ignored the ominous frown Judd gave her.

  Tracy tried to place the woman. She knew the Kincaids fairly well. She and her father had collected their pioneer stories and read their great-great-great-grandmother’s diary of the trip west. There had been two sons, one of which was dead. She didn’t remember any daughters.

  “Mary Jo was the children’s librarian here. She and Dugin Kincaid were married last June.”

  “Oh.” Tracy noticed the diamond rings on Mary Jo’s left hand. A feeling like relief washed over her. Her smile became genuine. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”

  “Oh, I am. Dugin is just wonderful to me. Well, I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to judge flower arrangements in a few minutes. It was nice meeting you.” She hurried off toward the gate, leaving a trail of expensive perfume to mingle with the scent of popcorn and hot dogs from a nearby stand.

  Tracy glanced up to see Judd watching her with a definite look of hostility in his dark eyes. “Yes?” she said.

  “Mary Jo has had a hard time this past year. First an abandoned baby was found on her fiancé’s doorstep, then the body of a stranger was discovered during her wedding. And her father-in-law died two months ago. Jeremiah was a strong man and losing him turned the family upside down. Mary Jo is shy and doesn’t open up to people easily. I thought you might be friends.”

  Tracy fumed at his censorious tone. “Why should
she need me when she has you for her champion?” she asked acidly.

  His eyebrows lowered like a thunderstorm about to start.

  Tracy backed up a couple of steps. “I have to find Winona.”

  “She’s at the vegetable-judging pavilion. She said to meet her there,” he told her. He reached into his shirt pocket. “Here’s your ticket.” He handed it to her.

  He, too, had changed clothes before coming to the fair. In jeans and cowboy boots, with a red shirt and denim jacket, he was incredibly attractive. He wore a Wind River hat, gray with a gray-and-black woven band. Not showy, but seductive just the same.

  Her heart seemed to be beating against her ribs all of a sudden. Jealousy, she thought. She was jealous of any woman he smiled at. She swallowed and tried to ignore the painful beat.

  “Who do I owe for it?” she asked, taking the ticket.

  He looked annoyed. “No one. I had a couple of free passes.” His smile was sardonic. “Perks of the office.”

  “Well, thanks.” She paused, not sure what to do. “I’d better meet Winona.” She hurried off without waiting for a reply.

  Judd let her go. He watched her long, slender legs striding purposefully toward the gate. She handed over the ticket, got her hand stamped and went inside.

  She couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

  He snorted cynically. Since that episode in the cottage, she stayed a cautious distance from him, as if she thought he couldn’t be trusted around her.

  He couldn’t. That’s what made him mad as hell. And another thing—he’d been flirting with Mary Jo, on purpose, knowing he was doing it and knowing that Tracy could see them talking while she crossed the parking lot and approached them.

  His skin seemed too small for his body all at once, as if filling with needs too long denied. A clamoring hunger in him was growing and pushing to be let out. He clamped down on the unwanted desire. Not Tracy. No way. Never again.

  Shaking his head, he walked more slowly toward the entrance. Winona had asked him to eat with her and Tracy. He didn’t want to.