by B. J Daniels
“I’m a waitress now, Karen,” Blythe snapped. “You want that life, go for it.”
The gun blast was deafening in the small kitchen.
LOGAN WOKE TO THE FEEL OF THE cold hard ground beneath him and a killer headache. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what had happened. If not for the ropes binding him, he might have thought one of the horses had clipped him and he’d hit his head when he went down.
He tried to sit up, straining against the ropes around his wrists and ankles. His head swam at the effort, but as his thoughts cleared, he let out a curse. Blythe.
Whoever had hit him and tied him up was after Blythe.
Rolling to his side, he looked around for something to free himself. In the corner, he spotted an old scythe that he sometimes used to cut weeds behind the barn. He began to work his way over to it, scooting on the cold earth, his mind racing.
He remembered that he’d come out to put the horses back in the pasture. He’d thought he’d left the gate open. It wouldn’t have been the first time one of the horses had gotten out. Even when he realized that something was spooking the horses, he thought it must be a rattler.
Never had he thought anyone would come after Blythe out here. His mistake. One he prayed wouldn’t cost her her life.
He reached the scythe, knocked it over and positioned it between his wrists as he began to saw. He couldn’t believe anyone would want to harm Blythe, certainly not one of her former band members, and yet someone had taken a shovel to the back of his head and left him hog-tied in the barn.
What were they going to do to Blythe?
Not kill her. No, just scare her. Logan desperately wanted to believe that in the end, they wouldn’t be able to hurt her. But then he had no concept of the kind of hatred that could bring another person to kill.
Logan sawed through the ropes on his wrist and was reaching for the scythe to cut the bindings around his ankles when he heard the gunshot. His heart dropped.
KAREN SMILED AS A CERAMIC container on the kitchen counter exploded, sending shards flying and startling Blythe. “I planned all of this. Hired someone to make it look like someone else from the band had tried to run us down on the street. I know Martin thought I was a coward, that I blamed you because I didn’t go for what I wanted ten years ago and instead let you take it from me. Martin told me to my face just before I killed him.”
Blythe stared at Karen in shock. “I thought his death was ruled a suicide.”
“He said he was going to kill himself when I found him that morning about to write his suicide note,” Karen said with a smile. “But we both knew he wouldn’t have called me to meet him over at the house unless he lacked the courage to do it. He had the gun pointed at his chest, but I was the one who had to press the trigger. He goaded me into it because he didn’t have the guts to do it himself. I was the last person he saw.”
“Oh, Karen.” She felt sick as she stumbled back against the kitchen table. Her fingers felt the smooth brim of Logan’s Stetson and her heart lurched at the thought of him. She prayed Karen was telling the truth and hadn’t hurt him.
“You’re the one who left the note for me,” she said, seeing it all now. “Martin must have told you I was there in another part of the house. All these years. You could have had a career. It didn’t have to be either me or you.”
“Do you know what makes me the angriest?” Karen said as if Blythe hadn’t spoken. “You had it all and you were going to throw it away. Martin told me how you didn’t appreciate it. You had everything I’d dreamed of and yet it meant nothing to you.”
“Karen, that’s not—”
“Don’t bother to lie. You took what was mine.” Her face twisted in a mask of fury. “Martin was right. You don’t deserve to live.”
Blythe had only a split second to react as Karen brought the gun up and squeezed the trigger. The Stetson brim was already in the fingers of her right hand. She drew it from behind her and hurled the hat at Karen as she dived for the floor.
LOGAN HURRIEDLY CUT THROUGH the ropes. As he stumbled to his feet, he felt the effects of the blow to his head. He could barely breathe, his fear was so great, but it was the dizziness that made him grab hold of the barn wall for a moment. His vision clearing, he raced toward his pickup and the shotgun that hung in the rack in the back window.
Two gunshots. His heart was in his throat as he saw that the kitchen light was on. But he saw no one as he quietly opened his pickup door and took down his shotgun. From behind the seat, he found the box of shells and popped one in each side of the double barrels. Snapping it shut, he headed for the front door.
He knew he couldn’t go in blasting. If Blythe wasn’t already dead—
The thought clutched at his heart. He’d brought her out here so he could protect her. If he’d gotten her killed—
He eased open the front door and instantly heard what sounded like a scuffle just inside.
BLYTHE WASN’T SURE IF SHE’D been hit or not. She felt the hard floor as she hit her already scraped elbow. But even that pain didn’t register at first as she knocked Karen’s feet out from under her.
Karen came down hard next to her. A loud “oof!” came out of her as she hit the floor. Blythe saw that there was a red welt on Karen’s cheek where the Stetson brim must have hit her.
Blythe grabbed for the gun, but Karen reacted faster than she’d expected. She kicked out at Blythe, driving her back as she brought up the gun and aimed it at her head.
As Karen scrambled to her feet, Blythe slowly got to hers.
“I’m sorry this is how it has to end,” Blythe said as she saw the front door slowly swing open behind Karen. “I never wanted to hurt you. You were like a sister to me. I missed you so much. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to pick up the phone and call you.”
“Why didn’t you?” Karen demanded, sounding close to tears. Her arm was bleeding from where she’d gotten skinned-up earlier on the main drag in Whitehorse. She must have hit it when she fell, Blythe thought as she tried to think about anything but Logan.
He had slipped in through the front door, a shotgun in his hands, and was now moving up behind Karen. He motioned for her to keep talking.
“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me after the band broke up,” she said. “I blamed myself for leaving it and leaving you. I guess I also didn’t believe Martin that you’d turned down an offer to do what I was doing. I thought he’d lied. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”
Logan was now right behind Karen, practically breathing down her neck. She was crying, big fat tears running down her face.
“He was right, you know?” Karen said and made a swipe at her tears with her free hand. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t be good enough to make it. I hoped you would fail but when you didn’t…” She seemed to get hold of herself, inhaling and letting out a long sigh. “It’s too late now. I’ve burned too many bridges. This has to end here. You and me. Just as it always should have been.”
Something in Karen’s gaze suddenly changed. Blythe saw Logan raise the shotgun and cried out to warn him as Karen suddenly spun around.
Blythe felt her legs give under her. She dropped to her knees as she watched Logan bring the butt of the shotgun down on the side of Karen’s head. As she crumbled like a ragdoll, she managed to get off another shot. It whizzed past Logan, missing him only by inches, before shattering something in the living room.
In the distance, she heard the sound of sirens and remembered the call from Sheriff Buford Olson earlier. He must have called the local sheriff, McCall Crawford, for moments later the ranch yard filled with flashing lights and the sound of doors slamming and running feet on the porch steps.
Blythe buried her face in Logan’s shoulder as he dropped to his knees beside her. His breath was ragged, his heart a drum in his chest as he dragged her to him. She heard his voice break with emotion as he thanked God that she was alive.
Then he lifted her face to his and told her he loved her.
Epilogue
“If I could have your attention please.” Logan rose from his chair at the long table in the dining room of the main house at Chisholm ranch. He touched his knife to his wineglass again. A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned in his direction.
Blythe felt her heart kick up a beat as Logan smiled down at her. She wanted to pinch herself. So much had happened since that night in the kitchen. Everything about JJ and the past had come out. Logan’s family had been so supportive, just the memory brought tears to her eyes.
They’d spent the rest of that night giving their statements to the sheriff, having the doctor check Logan over to make sure he didn’t have a concussion and filling his family in on JJ and everything else that had happened.
Sheriff Buford Olson had picked up Loretta and charged her with attempted murder after discovering that she’d rented the pickup and had been the driver in the near hit-and-run. Karen had paid Loretta to do it, but Loretta told Buford that she’d been happy to. In fact, she’d done her best to hit both of them.
Karen had hired herself a good lawyer. When Blythe had tried to visit her in jail, Karen had refused to see her. As she’d left the sheriff’s department, she didn’t look back. She was through blaming herself for the events of the past.
Before he died, Martin Sanderson had also released Jett from his contract, but Jett was quickly finding out that no other recording studio was interested. On top of that, Betsy had produced a sworn affidavit from their deceased band member Lisa “Luca” Thomas, stating that Jett had stolen songs from her and what she’d been paid for them—after he’d recorded the songs as his own. Her estate was suing Jett for full disclosure.
That had pretty much driven a stake through the last of his singing career.
Blythe had been glad to see that Betsy had more backbone than any of them had seen before. She’d known that Betsy was pregnant all those years ago before the band broke up. But if her oldest son was Jett’s, then it was a secret Betsy intended to take to her grave.
A few days ago, Blythe had been sitting on the porch in the shade after a long horseback ride with Logan when he joined her.
“I love you,” he said. Blythe started to speak, but he stopped her.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know that staying here, on this ranch, in the middle of nowhere is the last thing in the world you want to do.”
“Logan—”
He touched a finger to her lips. “Let me finish. I didn’t tell you I love you to try to get you to stay. I just wanted you to know that if you ever need to get away from your life again, I’ll be here.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m not going to want to escape my life again. All of this has helped me know what I want to do with the rest of it.” She touched his handsome face, cupping his strong jaw with her palm. “I love you, Logan Chisholm, and there is no place I want to be other than right here with you.”
He’d stared at her in surprise. “What about your career—”
“Martin freed me from my contract, so I do still have my singing career if I wanted it. But since climbing on the back of your motorcycle that day over in the Flathead, I’ve known that the only singing I want to do is to my babies. You do want children, don’t you?”
“THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED to ask this woman,” Logan said now as he reached down and took Blythe’s hand. “Jennifer Blythe James, would you be my wife?”
Blythe felt tears blur her eyes as she looked around the table and saw all the smiling welcoming faces. Then she turned her face up to Logan. “There is nothing I would love more,” she said.
He dragged her to her feet and into his arms. She leaned into him, felt his strength and that of his family around them, all the things a good marriage needed.
The room burst with applause and cheers around them as Logan kissed her. Blythe could see their children running through this big house, all the holidays and birthdays, all the cousins, aunts and uncles.
She’d dreamed of a big family, but the Chisholms were bigger and more loving than any she had ever dreamed possible.
When Logan finally released her, she found herself hugged by everyone in the room. Emma was last. She’d cupped Blythe’s shoulders in her hands and just looked at her for a long moment.
“You are going to make the most beautiful bride and such a good wife to our Logan,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Welcome to the family.” Emma pulled her into a hug.
Through her tears, Blythe saw her future husband standing nearby looking at her as if he would always see her as she was now. She smiled back, picturing getting old with this man. Yes, after all the fame and fortune, this was exactly where she wanted to be.
HER NAME WAS NOW CYNTHIA CROWLEY. She’d picked the name out of thin air—just as she did most of her names.
She thought of it as reinventing herself. She cut her hair, dyed it, got different colored contact lenses, changed her makeup, her address, became the woman she imagined Cynthia Crowley was. A widow with no family and no real means of support.
Laura had first discovered in high school drama class that she could don a disguise like an outer shell. She’d loved acting and she was good at it. Everyone said she seemed to transform into her character. The truth was, her characters had felt more real to her than whoever she’d been before she pulled on their skin.
She liked to think of herself as a chameleon. Or a snake that was forever shedding its skin. She had changed character so many times that some days she could hardly remember that young woman who’d married Hoyt Chisholm. Laura suspected though that Mrs. Laura Chisholm had been as big a fake as Cynthia Crowley was now.
Women did that when they married for life. They became who their husbands thought they had married. That’s what she had done with Hoyt. She’d played the role of his wife. At least for a while.
It was no wonder that her life had led her to the special effects department of several movie studios in California. It was amazing how the new products could transform an actor. She especially loved a type of substance that reminded her of the glue she’d used in grade school. As a special effects makeup artist, she had worked with actors to make them look old and wrinkled or badly scarred.
The work was rewarding. She loved what she did and often experimented with her own disguises. But ultimately, there was only one constant in her life. Hoyt Chisholm.
Laura remembered the first time she’d seen Hoyt. She’d known then that she would love him until the day she died. She’d also known that he would never love her as much as she loved him. It had broken her heart every moment she’d been with him. That was why she hadn’t been able to stay. It had been too painful knowing that one day he would see the real her and hate her.
She was tortured by the way other women had looked at him. It had been impossible not to imagine him with one of them instead of her. Hoyt would become angry when she’d voice her fears and she’d feel another piece of her heart gouged away by his lack of understanding.
Once he’d decided to adopt the boys, she’d lost more of him. He’d actually thought the boys would bring the two of them closer, but when she’d seen his love for babies that weren’t even his own blood, she’d felt herself losing more and more of him. He tried to make it up to her, trying so hard it made her hurt even worse. She’d seen him start to pull away from her and knew she had to escape before it got any worse.
Divorce was out of the question. She would always be his only wife till death parted them. She could have warned him not to ever remarry before she faked her death that day on Fort Peck Reservoir. But Hoyt wouldn’t have understood. You had to love someone so much it hurt to understand.
She’d known he would remarry. She’d thought he would have to wait seven years to have her declared dead. But he’d found a way around it, marrying that bitch Tasha. Unlike her, Tasha had shared Hoyt’s love of horses. Oh, the horrible pain of watching the two of them together, until one day she couldn’t take it any longer and had rig
ged Tasha’s saddle.
