Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

“It’s complete,” she murmured in satisfaction. She turned it, looking at it from every angle. “Yes…yes,” she said, picking out clues as she examined the pelvic bone.

  “Well?” Jackson demanded.

  “Male. Less than twenty-five years old.”

  “Indian?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Show me your thigh bone, and I’ll make a comparison.”

  “Ha-ha,” he said.

  “Let’s find the skull. It’s bound to be here. With it, we can surely figure out who the cowboy was.”

  “I’ll start a check of all the tribal missing-person reports,” Jackson told her.

  “Good. Now let’s see what else we can find.”

  It was nearly dark before they gave up.

  “Damn,” Jackson said.

  “My feelings, too.” Tracy frowned at the hole.

  They’d hit rock bottom. There was nothing else. She studied the area. He looked at his watch.

  “Erosion,” she muttered. “Look at the runoff patterns. This area under the ledge has eroded away where the water gushed through that crack.” She pointed out the signs.

  The shallow gully disappeared over the edge of the bluff. She and Jackson walked over and peered fifty feet down into the creek that meandered along the cliff base.

  “So that’s the end of it.”

  “Heck, no. Now I’ll search the creek,” she said.

  “We’d better leave. It’s getting late.”

  “Right.” She packed up and headed for her car, the bones wrapped in special paper bags, then in plastic.

  Like a kid with a treasure she wanted to show, she was eager to get to town. She said goodbye to Jackson and drove down the steep trail. She had to see Judd right away.

  Seven

  Judd looked at the clock, then at the darkening sky. Where the hell was Tracy? She was usually back from her digging around on the res well before dark.

  Not that she had to report in to him…as she’d made damned clear more than once.

  Hell, she’d probably gone to the tribal chairman’s house for dinner. Frank Many Horses seemed to think of her as a long-lost daughter. Jackson Hawk thought a lot of her, too. Of course, Jackson had recently married, so he wasn’t a rival—

  Judd broke off the thought and cursed aloud as he realized what he was thinking. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the comfortable executive chair, his heels on the desk, and idly rocked to and fro while he tried to get his head straight.

  There was nothing wrong with him that a little sleep wouldn’t cure. Or a long, satisfying tumble in the hay, an insidious voice from some unbidden recess of his mind suggested.

  Yeah, he admitted, that, too.

  His dreams were a mixture of the old and the new—the old being the days and nights with Tracy when he’d been free to make love to her whenever he wished; the new being the days her perfume, her laughter, her womanly aura lingered in his office long after she took off for the res.

  A hard pang whipped through him as his body reminded him all too forcibly that he was a man. The problem was Tracy. She was the one he wanted.

  She’d been the most wonderful lover he’d ever had.

  Not that there had been all that many. He was a naturally monogamous person. Maybe it was the way he’d been raised, or maybe it was something he’d learned from observing others, but he’d always felt that when two people were intimate enough to possibly produce a child, they owed respect to each other and that creative process.

  He pressed his thumb and finger against his eyes, momentarily shutting out the headache that had plagued him all day, then looked at the clock again.

  Where the hell was she?

  Pivoting in the chair, he sat so he could see the street. Most of the parking spaces were empty. The stores didn’t stay open past five o’clock on a weekday night. Farther along, there were two pickups and three cars in front of the local saloon.

  He gave a snort of wry laughter. Sterling would have said he was being “bitchy.” Maybe so, but, well, he was worried.

  The courthouse clock chimed the hour. Seven. Maybe her car had broken down. Probably a flat tire. Or she’d run out of gas.

  Tracy tended to live in her own world and forget the basics, things like eating, putting gas in the car and so forth. It hadn’t bothered him while they were married.

  She’d pleased him in so many other ways, he admitted. When he came home, she was always delighted to see him. The way she’d look up, her eyes wide and shining, as if he were Prince Charming in person…God, what it did to a man to be wanted like that.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to close out the troublesome thoughts. He couldn’t.

  The memory of their lovemaking filled his nights. She’d been so responsive, loving everything he did…so natural.

  Images flashed into his mind. Her hair flowing around her shoulders as she turned the tables on him. Her teasing smile as she made him lie still and let her have her way with him. The little crooning cries she’d made. The low murmurs of delight, telling him what she liked.

  Yes, like that…no, slower…lower…there…oh, yes…oh, love, love…

  He leapt to his feet, his body as rigid as a steel beam. It was no good thinking of what had been. It was over. Over.

  The ringing of the telephone halted him in his tracks as he headed for the door. He grabbed the instrument, nearly yanking the cord out in his rush to answer.

  “Hensley,” he said.

  “Judd?”

  He took a calming breath. “Winona. What can I do for you?”

  “Is Tracy there with you?” she asked.

  The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He forced himself to be calm. Nothing had happened to her. He’d know it if she were in trouble. He didn’t pause to figure out this last cryptic thought.

  “No. Do you want me to take a message for her?”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. “She wasn’t home when I tried her house,” Winona told him, worry in her tone.

  “What’s wrong? Have you seen something?”

  “It’s more a feeling. I can’t describe it. I just sense…I don’t know. Danger, I think. It came to me a couple of hours ago. Did she find more bones? That seems to trigger it.”

  “She’s supposed to be at the reservation. Maybe I’ll run out and check on her.”

  “Would you?” Winona requested. “I’d feel much better if I knew she was all right.”

  “Sure. She’s probably had car trouble. I’ll check it out.”

  They said goodbye. He locked his office and headed out the door. At the front steps, he stopped. A compact car, its metallic blue surface taking on a purple hue in the twilight, pulled to a stop across the street. Tracy hopped out.

  He watched as she removed a package from the seat as if it were fragile and headed across, quickly glancing both ways. She saw him at the top of the steps and quickened her pace, a smile blooming on her expressive lips.

  His heart rate speeded up, too.

  There were dirt stains on the knees of her jeans and at her temple where she’d obviously pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. Her lipstick was gone, and her nose was pink from the sun. She was indescribably beautiful.

  “Judd, wait till you see what Jackson found,” she called out, holding her package out a little.

  He waited for her, then fell into step with her as she headed for the building. “Jackson?”

  “Um-hmm. He came by and helped me dig this afternoon.”

  Judd had to unlock the outside door to let them in. They went through the silent corridor and up the steps to his office. He opened the door. She went through to the conference room, where she set her package on the table. “Look at this.”

  She removed the two packages from the plastic bag, then laid her finds on the table. She smiled at him, her eyes wide and shining, filled with delight.

  He bent over to hide the sudden sting of moisture in his eyes. Damn, but he’d have to get a grip on himself. The past was
gone, and she wasn’t in his future.

  Her find was a femur and the pelvic saddle. He studied them for a couple of minutes. “Male?” he asked, venturing a guess.

  He’d read a book on forensic anthropology once, not because her father had said she was studying it, he hastened to assure himself, but because it sounded like a subject a lawman ought to know a little about.

  “Definitely. Early twenties.”

  “How can you tell?”

  She picked up the pelvic bone. “See this Y-shaped junction here? The three main growth centers don’t come together until the male is around twenty-five. The epiphyses are almost together but not quite. See?”

  He studied the section she pointed out. Her hair brushed against his cheek as he bent closer. He ignored the tingles that radiated from the spot. Concentrating fiercely on the pelvis, he peered at the Y-shaped line she’d mentioned.

  “Can you give me a more definite age?” he asked, trying not to notice the tantalizing scent of her. She smelled of earth and sunshine, of mountain air and pine resin…of sweat and musk and perfume…of woman.

  “Yes. He was twenty-four years, three months, two days and eighteen minutes old when he died. Would you like the seconds, too?” She replaced the pelvis on the table.

  He inhaled the essence of her deep into his lungs. It was like filling himself with life. He realized she was staring at him, her eyes changing as she noticed his absorption with her rather than the conversation.

  Heat seeped into his neck as he tried to remember what she’d just said. Her words finally registered in his brain.

  “Very funny.” He tried to sound amused. He pushed his hands into his pockets and walked away.

  “He was closer to twenty-five than twenty,” she told him in a softer tone.

  “I see.”

  “I’m going to ask for another week here. I think we can make an identification. A young male, five-ten or so, strong, but lanky rather than bulky, a cowboy nearing his mid-twenties.”

  “Great. That only describes half the county, not to mention the state.”

  She shrugged. “Jackson is already checking the tribal missing-persons records. I’d suggest you get someone on the county files right away. Rafe Rawlings volunteered to check the city reports.”

  “Rawlings was at the site, too? What was it—a damned field day?” Judd snarled.

  “Only Jackson was at the site. I saw Rafe patrolling the highway and flagged him down. He’s interested in forensics.”

  “I’ll bet,” Judd muttered under his breath. He wished to hell people would stay out of what should have been his investigation.

  “If I’m keeping you from an important date, please feel free to leave,” she informed him coolly. “I’ll lock up when I’m through here.”

  She placed her precious bones in their protective covers and stored them in the cabinet he’d assigned for her use. Her bearing was as stiff as a cactus and about as friendly.

  “Winona called,” he said, ignoring her dismissal.

  “Oh?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She’d always gone into her cool, barely speaking mode when she was miffed at him. He knew how to get her out of a snit.

  He frowned. No, he didn’t. Well, he did, but he couldn’t grab her up in his arms and kiss that ticklish spot on her neck until her temper collapsed into a fit of giggles, then sighs, then moans as the kiss changed….

  “What did she say?”

  “Who?”

  “Winona.”

  He gave her a blank look.

  She heaved an exasperated breath. “You said Winona called.”

  The worry came back. “She said you must have discovered more bones. She had a feeling, she said. She thinks you’re in danger.”

  Tracy nibbled on her lower lip while she thought. He wanted to take over the task for her. He watched her, the hunger growing stronger by the second. He saw her gaze drift over his face, down his body…. She looked startled, then her eyes flicked back to his face. He gave her a sardonic smile, acknowledging the erection he couldn’t hide.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’ve got a feeling, too. I think I know where the danger lies.” He returned her steady gaze and forced himself to warn her. “With me.”

  “Us,” she corrected with the honesty he’d always admired in her. “The danger is between the two of us.” She managed to smile, but it was rather wobbly at the edges.

  He shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated by the passion that just wouldn’t give up and die. To get mixed up with her again was stupid. In another week, she’d be gone. And he’d have to face the emptiness all over again.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “But we’re adults. The attraction is there, but we don’t have to act on it. You were right. It’s no good between us.” He paused and tried to think of something to add to that. “It’s no good,” he repeated.

  But once it had been the best. He went to the door, aware of the utter silence in this part of the building and that they were alone. “Call Winona so she’ll know you made it back all right.”

  “I will.”

  He walked out, then sat in the truck until she left. He followed at a discreet distance until she was safely home.

  The police station steps were jammed with reporters, television crews, photographers and spectators when Tracy arrived at seven the next morning. Questions were tossed at Judd faster than he could answer them. He smiled when he saw Tracy.

  “Here’s the person you should talk to,” he announced, clearing a path up the steps for Tracy. “The FBI is in charge of the case, since the bones were found on a federally designated reservation.”

  “You louse,” she muttered under her breath as he took her elbow and led her to the columned portico.

  He gave her an oblique glance and smiled that slow, sexy grin that melted the heart. “It’s all yours,” he said and stepped back.

  Flashbulbs went off in her face. Several microphones angled through the air toward her, supported on long poles, like some kind of prehistoric octopus.

  For the next half hour, she answered questions about the “cowboy” and his mysterious demise. At the end of that time, she smiled and nodded—graciously, she hoped—and headed for the door of the police station. Judd opened it for her and ushered her inside.

  In the conference room, she laid her purse on a table and fell into a chair. “Now I know how celebrities must feel. That was like facing a pack of starving hyenas.”

  Judd brought her a cup of coffee and set it on the conference table in front of her. The corners of his mouth were curved in amusement. “Such is fame.”

  She made a rude face while he laughed.

  “So what’s next on your busy agenda?”

  “The missing-persons files.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got a man assigned to work with you on that.” He paused and gave her a sardonic glance. “Guess who’s been assigned to the task at city hall?”

  “Rafe Rawlings,” she promptly surmised.

  “Right.”

  He drank from a mug that had holly and red ribbons painted on it. A Christmas present, she assumed, and wondered who had given it to him. Not that it was any of her business, of course.

  “Who do I see?” she asked.

  “I’ll introduce you to the officer in charge of the archives.”

  She spent the rest of the day reviewing the missing-persons files for a ten-year period starting twenty years ago. She was surprised at the number of people who simply disappeared, even from a small county like Whitehorn.

  Where did they go? she mused. Did they lie in unmarked graves like the young cowboy they’d found?

  She shook her head at the unfairness of life. She thought of the people left behind, always wondering what had happened to their loved ones, never knowing. It was bound to have a profound effect on their lives.

  “Tracy?” Judd stuck his head around the door. “It’s time to lock up.”

  She closed the last folder in th
e file. The missing “person” in it was a dog named Bob White. Someone had realized this after the all-points bulletin had gone out. The dog had been found, but the folder had been left in the file. Some officer had probably thought that was a nice little joke to leave around for someone like her to find years later.

  “Any prospects?” Judd asked.

  “Not really. Mostly it’s teenage boys or men in midlife crises who take off for parts unknown, it seems.”

  “No women?”

  “Umm, there was one that sounded interesting.” Tracy rose and stretched her tired back. “A teenager named Lexine Baxter. She would be about your age now. I didn’t know her, but I remember the old Baxter ranch. It was bought by the Kincaids, I think…yes, when Mr. Baxter died. His daughter had a reputation for being wild. The missing-persons report was filed by an aunt. I don’t think she was very interested in finding the girl….”

  She stopped as Judd smiled in his slow, sexy way.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You should write a book. Your childhood gave you a unique view of every family in the county, including the Cheyenne.”

  “You’re right. I knew someone from every family who’d ever played a part in Whitehorn history. For instance, the original Baxter was a prospector looking for sapphires. Did you know that?”

  “No, but I’m not surprised. Montana is known for sapphires, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “I need to go back out to the site tomorrow. I want to check the soil under the ledge before it rains.”

  “For what?”

  “Blood. Hair. Bits of material from clothing. It was getting late, and Jackson thought we should leave, so I didn’t have a chance yesterday.”

  “Maybe he was worried about the ghosts of his ancestors getting mad about you being there,” Judd suggested coolly.

  “Maybe,” she returned in the same tone.

  He thrust a hand through the thick wave that had a tendency to fall over his forehead. “Sorry. It’s been a long day…week…month.” He grinned ruefully.

  She could vouch for that. The ten days she’d been there had been difficult, to say the least. She arranged the files neatly and retrieved her purse. “Well, I’m off.”