Fugitive (A Rocky Mountain Thriller Book 2)

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “Something else? What?”

  “Will Radar go back to the ranch if you order him to?” He wasn’t sure the dog would follow Radar instead of them, but it might be worth a shot.

  She glanced down at the black-and-white Border collie prancing in the stream as if thrilled to be on this grand adventure. “I doubt it. He’s never good about leaving me. He’d probably just double back as soon as he got out of my sight.”

  One idea down. He only had one more. And it wasn’t his first choice by a long shot. “How far to Layton’s place?”

  She glanced around as if taking stock of the landscape. Though with few discernable features nearby other than hills and sagebrush, he wasn’t sure what she was seeing. “As the crow flies? Seven miles, maybe eight.”

  He nodded. Not bad for country where it often took an hour or more of driving through uninhabited wilderness to get anywhere. “Do you think we can make it that far on foot?”

  “Not before nightfall.”

  He glanced at the last glow of sun beyond the shadow of distant mountains. In this case, darkness would help them. With cloud cover and no sunlight, they might not be able to move very quickly, but neither would their pursuers.

  “I can find the way after dark,” Sarah said.

  Of course she could. Sarah had grown up on this land, and worked it every day of her life. She knew it better than he knew anything, even the mountains. “What do you think of sending the mare back to the ranch?”

  “You’re thinking the tracking dog will keep following her and not us?”

  “Something like that.”

  “She’s getting tired anyway. And she’ll be glad to be back at the barn before nightfall.”

  At least they had a plan, although the thought of being out in the middle of this vast open country on foot made him more than uneasy. He was used to the vertical wilderness. All this horizontal space made him feel small. And vulnerable.

  He slipped off the horse’s back. The water came to his knees, gurgling and swirling, cold as death. His hiking boots filled with water. His legs ached to the bone. He helped Sarah dismount.

  “Okay, girl. Go back home.” She smacked the horse on the rear and the mare trotted through the stream and up the bank. Once she hit dry land, she broke into a gallop and disappeared in the direction of the barn.

  Sarah turned back to face Eric. Tears sparkled in her eyes and spiked her lashes, but her cheeks remained dry, as if she was fighting for composure. “I need to know what happened, Eric.”

  “We need to make some time. My legs are already going numb.”

  She started trudging upstream. “He was supposed to be climbing with you.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. How on earth could he find the words?

  Sarah didn’t look at him. Instead she wrapped both arms around her stomach and kept moving forward. “Please. I need to know.”

  “He didn’t mean for anything to happen. He just…” A sob lodged in Eric’s throat. He pushed it back, but if he opened his mouth again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the emotion in check. He could feel Sarah watching him.

  “Randy’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Somehow Eric managed to nod.

  “How?” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, as if it had taken every ounce of strength in her to say the word.

  Eric fixed his gaze on a clump of big sage about ten feet away from the creek’s bank. As long as he focused on that clump and on trudging forward in the cold water, he might be able to get the words out. “He was shot in order to keep him from reaching Saddle Horn Ridge.”

  “By the sheriff?”

  “By two deputies.”

  He could hear Sarah gasping for breath. She was crying. He could feel her sobs in his own chest, taking over. He could almost smell her tears. He wanted to say soothing words. To touch her. To take her in his arms. Something. But he doubted his touch would be welcome. Besides, one move toward her and he feared he’d crumble.

  They kept walking. Finally she swiped at her eyes and cheeks. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you think was the reason? Take a flying guess.”

  “Randy had a cell mate. Name of Bracco. He gave Randy a location, told him he’d find something at the top of Saddle Horn Ridge.”

  “What?”

  “Randy didn’t know.”

  “But no doubt he thought it would be an easy score.”

  “He owes someone money.”

  Sarah nodded as if that was all he needed to say.

  Worry over Randy had been what drew Eric and Sarah together in the first place. After her brother’s fraud conviction, she’d needed to talk to someone who knew him, someone who cared. As an old climbing buddy who’d spent more than a few worried thoughts on Randy Trask, Eric had fit the bill. As they’d spent time together, it had ceased being about Randy. It had been strong and passionate and all-consuming. And finally whatever it was between Sarah and Eric had grown to the point where it had ceased being possible. At least for Eric.

  It had taken Randy’s death to throw them back together again. And so far Randy’s newest scheme had almost gotten them both killed.

  He stared out at the twilight glow on the horizon and kept plunging on. He couldn’t think about Randy. He couldn’t think about what he and Sarah had almost had. Not now. Now he needed all his concentration. He had to focus on one thing—getting Sarah to her foreman’s house, where they could call for help. Because if he couldn’t do that, none of the rest mattered.

  They trudged through the stream bed, water splashing to their knees, rocks slippery under their feet. Radar followed behind. The baying stopped. Shadows lengthened and darkness crept over the land. Finally Eric dared to step out on dry land. He reached out a hand to help Sarah over the rocks and tangle of vegetation.

  Once on solid ground, she faced him. “Eric.”

  He willed himself to look at her. Pink rimmed her eyes. Dust and tears streaked her face. But the way she raised her chin and met his gaze made him dread what was coming next. “What?”

  “I want to hire you.”

  He frowned. Not what he expected. Not at all. “Hire me?”

  “I’m going up to Saddle Horn Ridge, and I want you to be my guide.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR A MOMENT, ERIC LOOKED like he was about to clap a hand over Sarah’s mouth and demand she take back what she’d said. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “I listened.” And what she’d heard had her trembling more violently than she had after escaping Sheriff Gillette. But feeling shaken and scared didn’t change the facts. “And I’m going up to Saddle Horn Ridge. I need to know what got my brother killed.”

  He turned away from her and trudged over the rocky shore and through Russian olive, grass and sagebrush, grown large and thick from the nearby water source.

  Sarah set off after him. Radar trotted beside, glancing from her to Eric like a child caught in the middle of his parents’ argument.

  Parents.

  Sarah fought the urge to clutch an arm over her abdomen. She couldn’t think of that right now. She had enough to deal with in the present. Enough to absorb.

  “If you really listened, you wouldn’t be asking this.”

  “I’ve climbed before. I’m in shape.” If this had happened a month ago, she didn’t know where she would have gotten the energy. The fatigue of early pregnancy had come as a shock. While she’d been ready for the nausea, that bone-deep weariness had nearly flattened her. But her stamina had started to return in the past two weeks. And although she felt drained from the ebb of adrenaline after their escape from the sheriff, she was infinitely more capable than she had been in the first three months of her pregnancy.

  “Sarah…”

  “I do physical work every day. A little hiking and climbing isn’t going to kill me.”

  “Hiking and climbing? I’m more concerned about flying bullets.”

  “The bullets are just as likely to
fly if we run away as they are if we try to find out what’s going on.”

  He looked to the side, as if absorbed in contemplating a tangle of sagebrush.

  “There’s something up there, Eric.”

  “Of course there’s something. Something that got your brother killed. Something that could get you killed, too.”

  “Whatever it is, the sheriff already thinks I know about it. And you… you were there when Randy…” Sarah swallowed and blinked back the mist assaulting her eyes. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. That it had happened. That they were on the run from a sheriff who wanted to harm them. That her big brother had gone out on a hiking trip and now he was dead. “They know you saw everything.”

  “Which is why I’m not taking you to the ridge. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But if we could find what this is all about, maybe we could use it.”

  “Use it for what?”

  “I don’t know. Leverage.”

  “To make Randy’s killers pay?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. It’s what I want, too. But rushing into the same situation that got your brother killed is not the way to do it.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Getting to Layton’s house. Calling for help.”

  “Who do we call? Not the county 911.”

  “There are other law enforcement agencies. We call one of them. State police. Even the FBI.”

  “And what if they don’t believe us? We can’t run for the rest of our lives.”

  “It’s better than not having a rest of our lives.”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t sure of that. Ranching was the only life she’d ever wanted. The open sky. The freedom she felt on the back of a horse. The strength that came with hard work and autonomy and knowing the land. She didn’t even want to think of a life on the run.

  And Eric. He liked to control things, be in charge. He would gladly be responsible for the world, as long as he had a say. Being on the run, always reacting, never in control… it would kill him. He would never choose that, not if he were choosing for himself. “If you were in this alone, you’d go up on that ridge. You’d find out what this is about.”

  He slowed his stride and glanced back at her. For the first time since she’d brought up the idea of going to the ridge, the hard line of his mouth softened. “But I’m not in this alone.”

  She pulled her gaze away and stared out at the dark forms of rock and sagebrush, growing more sparse the farther they traveled from water. She wanted to turn back time. Go back before Randy was killed, before he’d decided to take his damn hiking trip. Before everything had gotten so terribly broken.

  Sarah watched Eric out of the corner of her eye. Even in the dimming twilight, she could see. He still looked like the same Eric—the taut muscles along his jaw, the light stubble, just a shade darker than his sandy brown hair—so much that even now she wanted to reach out and skim her fingers along his cheek.

  She’d wondered if Eric had noticed the change in her body as they’d galloped away from the ranch. At one time his heat pressed against her back and his hands around her waist would have reduced her to a puddle of need. This time, all she could think about was whether he felt the bulge in her tummy.

  Did he suspect?

  If things were different, she would have been thrilled to tell him. If they were still together. If he hadn’t left.

  The moment Sarah had uttered the damn M word, she’d wished she could bite it back. It had been a generic reference. Nothing about the two of them getting married. Just a fantasy of a wedding in the little basin behind the ranch house she’d had as a starry-eyed teen. But she’d seen the look on his face.

  At least he’d waited until the next day to break it off.

  Radar looked up at her, searching for a way to help. Her dog would stick with her no matter what. Do what she wanted. Follow her anywhere.

  Men weren’t quite that easy. Or loyal.

  “If you don’t want to guide me up there, Eric, I can always go alone.”

  “You could, but you won’t. We’ll call the state police, the attorney general, the FBI. Report all that’s happened. They can take care of whatever is on that ridge and the sheriff at the same time.”

  Sarah pressed her lips together, her steps slowing, stopping. Fatigue bore down on her shoulders and made her legs heavy. A moment ago, she thought she had the energy to take on anything. Gillette. Eric. The climb to Saddle Horn Ridge. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  She cupped her hand over her abdomen. She had to think for more than herself. Her life wasn’t the only one she was risking. And as much as she wanted to tell Eric he was wrong about what she would or wouldn’t do, if there was a safer way out, she needed to take it. “Fine. We’ll call.”

  “It’s the right decision, Sarah.” Eric glanced down at her arm. His brows dipped in a frown.

  She let her arm fall to her side and resumed walking. Feeling him watching her, she could only hope he was trying to figure out her change of heart and not mulling over what her protective gesture might mean.

  ______

  Eric didn’t have to ask if Sarah had been serious about climbing to Saddle Horn Ridge on her own. He recognized that jut of her chin, those thrown-back shoulders, that look in her eye as if she was daring anyone to get in her way. She’d do it. And he couldn’t have stopped her if she hadn’t changed her mind. He was both relieved and surprised she’d seen things his way.

  And a little suspicious.

  They trudged toward the light that marked Layton’s place twinkling in the distance. The silvery sheen of sagebrush dotted the path in front of them like bumpers in an old barroom pinball game. Eric could sense wildlife around him, and prayed one of them didn’t step on a rattler yet to descend into his hole for the night. He watched Radar for warning of anything his own senses didn’t pick up.

  But mostly he stole glances at Sarah.

  He’d thought she looked different the moment he saw her in the barn. Softer. More curvy. Even now he wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms.

  He shook his head. As attractive as he found her, he’d made his decision. Five months of dating, and he knew if he didn’t get out then, he wasn’t getting out. Three months since the breakup, and he felt the same way. Sarah couldn’t be part of his life, and he certainly wasn’t up to being part of hers.

  The wind picked up from the west and carried rain with it. The downpour was hard and short-lived, like most in the area. They kept walking through it following the light they could no longer see. By the time the storm blew over, they were soaked to the skin. The strong scent of wet sage permeated the night air.

  Sarah walked with both arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her hair curled, cupping wet around cheekbones, jaw and collarbone. Her chin trembled with an endless shiver.

  “You okay?” He wished he had a jacket to put around her shoulders. As it was, he was starting to shiver, too.

  “Fine.”

  He doubted that. But at least he could get her to Layton’s. The foreman would take care of her. Get her clothes dry. Lend them a phone. It would all be over soon.

  Layton’s place was less than impressive. A small trailer nestled at the foot of a flat-topped hill referred to as a bench. At least the bench offered some shelter from the wicked basin winds. To the rear of the trailer sat a nice-sized horse barn flanked on one side by a corral fenced in lodgepole pine rails. As far as Eric knew, Layton’s horses were kept at the Buckrail. But all horse people he’d ever met invested far more in their horse operation than in their own homes. Layton Adams seemed to fit that mold to a T.

  “Looks like no one’s home.”

  “He and the other hands took a herd of steers to the BLM.”

  The BLM was a shorthand way of describing the vast amount of acreage in Wyoming controlled by the federal government’s Bureau of Land Management. Sarah must have leased some of the land to graze her cattle. “Maybe he got
detained.”

  “You think the sheriff might do something to Layton?”

  “I’m sure he’s okay.” Judging from the way Sarah looked at him, she took his assurances for what they were worth. Not much.

  “Is there any way we can get in his trailer? Use his phone?”

  “I don’t have a key, if that’s what you mean. And I doubt he would stash one outside. Not after what happened to his daughter. He’s been pretty paranoid about things like locking doors ever since.”

  As long as Eric had known Layton, he was a man alone. No wife. No family. He lived for his work and the only emotional attachment he seemed to have to anyone was his devotion to Sarah. “I didn’t know Layton had a family.”

  “His daughter was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Years ago. Shot at a friend’s slumber party. An ex-boyfriend of one of the girls. It was the stuff of legends at my school. Only difference was, I knew one of the families.”

  “That had to be tough.”

  “He and his wife split a few months later. That’s when he came to work at the Buckrail.”

  Eric wiped a hand over his face. It explained a lot about Layton. The man had no sense of humor and little personality. Life had obviously kicked both straight out of him.

  “Is there some other way in?”

  “You mean break in?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  Sarah frowned at the tiny trailer. “If you lift me up to a window, maybe I can jimmy the lock.”

  They wound through Layton’s sorry excuse for a lawn, shadows making the sage look as big as hedges. When they reached the trailer, Eric clasped his hands and lowered them, ready to boost Sarah up to the window like he’d boosted her onto the bay mare’s back.

  A click and scrape came from somewhere behind his head. The sound of a rifle chambering a round. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “LAYTON.” SARAH TURNED AND WOBBLED on one foot, her other cradled in Eric’s hands. “It’s okay, Layton. It’s me.”