Renegade's Pride

by B. J Daniels

  She’d attempted conversation, but he’d walked on past as if he hadn’t seen her, hadn’t heard her call his name, hadn’t seen the mixture of sympathy and gloating on her face.

  He’d given Celeste the benefit of the doubt for so many years, it had become natural. He’d had a hard time believing that Celeste gave anything—especially him—that much thought that she would plot against him.

  But Maggie believed it. The picture she’d painted of Celeste... He still shuddered at the thought the woman could be that evil. That manipulating. That hateful.

  Maggie didn’t know the woman he’d fallen in love with, married and had lost. She didn’t understand Celeste the way he did. If things had been different, Celeste would now be the mother of their children.

  The problem was that Maggie wasn’t the jealous type. She wasn’t mean or judgmental or controlling.

  That was why what she said about Celeste refused to go away. Celeste was spoiled. She was demanding. She was difficult. But psychotic? Dangerous?

  He shook his head. Not the woman he’d once promised to love until death did they part.

  But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help worrying what Celeste would do if he and Maggie got back together. If they got serious enough to marry. So he concentrated on work. He’d been hearing little things about Anvil Holloway.

  I saw Anvil buying jeans at the clothing store the other day. Jeans, a woman told him. A man who we haven’t seen wearing anything but overalls for years, his wife disappears and he starts wearing jeans? The woman lifted a brow. You really should look into that, Sheriff.

  Another saw him in town and he was smiling. Smiling!

  Then Deirdre from the library called to say Anvil had signed up for the beginning computer class she was teaching. I know you asked about his wife and computers. Just thought I’d let you know.

  Flint knew it wasn’t going to do an ounce of good, but he drove out to the Holloway farm. He found Anvil painting his porch. For a moment, he sat in his patrol SUV, merely watching the man paint. Nothing wrong with a man fixing up his place, he told himself. Nothing wrong with him wearing jeans, smiling or taking computer classes. Nothing wrong with him moving on.

  He climbed out of his rig. Anvil kept painting. The farmer didn’t ask if Flint had any news of his wife. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Still no word from Jenna?” the sheriff had to ask anyway.

  Anvil kept painting for a few moments and then put down his brush and turned toward him. “I know this is going to sound crazy,” the farmer said. “But didn’t your father see something strange out by that missile silo on your ranch the night Jenna left?”

  Flint groaned inwardly. “Jenna wasn’t abducted by aliens. Anvil, I’m sure she’s a lot closer than some distant planet in the solar system.”

  Anvil glanced toward the sky. “Who knows where she is by now.”

  Flint shook his head. His father’s story about the aliens returning had started it all up again.

  Anvil went back to his painting. Flint watched him for a few minutes. The one thing he figured they both knew was that they’d never be seeing Jenna Holloway alive again.

  Law enforcement had taught him a lot about people. He’d gone in believing in good and evil, but he now knew there were shades of gray. In those shadows, good people did bad things for often understandable reasons. Gordon Quinn was a mean man who beat horses with two-by-fours. A man despised by everyone around him including his own son and the daughter he suspected wasn’t his. He was a cruel man who’d met a cruel end.

  Anvil was a simple farmer who worked the earth to feed his family. Jenna Holloway hurt him badly with her lying, stealing and finally cheating. But the last straw was when she told him that she’d never loved him and could walk away without the least bit of remorse.

  Because of that, there were now murderers among them. Their acts blurred the lines of justice. The law was simple. The crimes not so much.

  “I might never know where your wife is,” Flint said quietly as he looked out at the land that stretched to the Snowy Mountains. Anvil stopped painting to look at him. He met the man’s gaze. “But that’s the thing about dead bodies and secrets. They’re hard to keep buried.”

  Anvil’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faraway look in his eyes. Flint wondered if he was reliving the night Jenna disappeared or if he’d buried it along with her body.

  Settling his Stetson on his head, he walked away from the newly painted porch to his patrol SUV. The sun was high in a sky devoid of clouds. Summer was coming and he was betting it would be a hot one.

  * * *

  MAGGIE’S DAYS BLENDED together in a blur of perms, cuts, dyes and highlights. She smiled, she chuckled, she commiserated, treading through her days like a sleepwalker.

  At night when her hands were no longer busy, she let the regrets in, along with the sorrow for what could have been and, ultimately, the ache in her heart that had made her cry herself to sleep more often than she wanted to admit.

  Maggie licked her wounds, held her head up high and went on. She did her best to avoid Flint. It was Celeste she didn’t dare run into until she’d cooled down. She feared she would strangle the woman with her bare hands if they crossed paths.

  The more time she’d had to think about it, the more convinced she was that Celeste had gotten herself beat up that night to ruin Maggie and Flint’s date. She knew that sounded crazy.

  Just as she knew that when her path crossed with Celeste’s, the woman would give her that pitying look, all the time grinning because she’d won. How could Flint not see the pleasure the woman took in hurting him? In hurting Maggie.

  But Maggie wasn’t one to wallow in misery, so with the light of day, she bucked up. She wasn’t about to let anyone know how badly she hurt.

  She’d promised herself that the next time she ran into Celeste, she would be nice to her, no matter what the woman said or did. It wouldn’t change things between her and Flint. She hadn’t heard from him since that night she’d broken up with him.

  But he’d been busy. The town was aflutter with the news about Patrick and Brittany. Flint had saved his sister’s life with the help of Trask Beaumont. It didn’t surprise her that both were being called heroes.

  She’d heard from one of her clients that Trask and Lillie were engaged and that Trask had bought the old Chandler ranch and was planning on raising cattle. She couldn’t have been more happy for them. She knew Flint must be pleased. She’d almost picked up the phone to call him. Almost.

  As one day led into another, she’d been tempted to call Flint, apologize, but she’d had back-to-back appointments and hardly a break. At least that’s what she told herself. The truth was she couldn’t help thinking that maybe it was for the best that she and Flint weren’t together right now.

  She wasn’t proud of the way she’d acted after their second big date was canceled. She had been jealous of Celeste. She’d been scared the woman would come between her and Flint—and Maggie had let her. She didn’t know how to fix things, but she was willing to give it some time.

  As she stepped out of the shop, she noticed that the clothing store was still open. Maybe if she hurried...

  She’d just stepped in when she saw Celeste. Her first instinct was to turn around and leave. But unfortunately the woman had seen her.

  “Maggie.” Celeste had used makeup to cover her bruises, but it was clear she’d had a black eye and a cut lip not all that long ago. Also, she was moving as if her ribs hurt. Had she really fallen down the stairs? Or had Wayne Duma hurt her? Maggie figured they might never know.

  Whatever Celeste’s ailments, none of them stopped her, though, as she made her way to Maggie. “I’m so glad to see you. I owe you an apology.”

  That was the last thing Maggie wanted. “No, I’m—”

>   “I feel so terrible. Flint told me about your breakup.”

  She cursed inwardly. Flint had told Celeste about their breakup?

  Had he gone right to Celeste the night after their argument? Maggie fought not to show her surprise or hurt, but of course the woman saw it. A smile curved her still rather fat lip.

  “I’m so sorry. I feel responsible. I’ve been so demanding of Flint’s time lately.”

  Maggie felt herself frown and say, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  That stopped Celeste. She didn’t look so much like the cat who ate the canary and enjoyed every bite. “You and Flint. He told me that he wouldn’t be seeing you again.”

  “Really?” She smiled. “You must have misunderstood him.” The lie slipped out so easily, Maggie felt her Catholic upbringing practically smack her with a nun’s ruler. “In fact...” Seeing how much pleasure her breakup with Flint gave the woman, she tried to stop herself, but couldn’t. “I’m here looking for something special to wear for our next date.”

  This was definitely not what Celeste wanted to hear. Her expression was priceless. She looked like someone had taken away her sucker. The threat of eternal damnation couldn’t stop Maggie now. “Actually, we’ve decided to take our relationship to the next step.”

  Celeste appeared too shocked to speak. “But I thought...”

  Maggie laughed as if they were two girlfriends sharing a joke in the dress shop. She had stooped to Celeste’s level and was mortified by what she’d done. Celeste would have the last laugh when she found out the truth.

  Celeste recovered quickly. “I should let you get ready for your date, then.” She seemed to brighten. “You’ve probably already discovered that Flint hates waiting.”

  The woman always managed to remind her that Flint had been hers first. It wiped away that moment of guilt and regret.

  “He’s changed a lot, I guess,” Maggie said with a laugh. “Or maybe I don’t keep him waiting.” It was as if her mouth had taken over. All the things she’d wished she’d said to Celeste were just waiting to come shooting out with no end in sight if she didn’t stop this now.

  Celeste gave a brittle nod and stepped back as if to leave. But she seemed lost, as if she’d forgotten what had brought her into the shop to begin with. She looked at her diamond-studded watch before giving Maggie a wan smile. “I’m going to have to shop another day. We have people coming over. Just the mayor and a few local dignitaries...”

  Who was the woman kidding? The local mayor owned a fertilizer business in town. Maggie couldn’t imagine any dignitaries unless she meant some of the people on the city council or the school board. She wanted to laugh, but she was too close to tears to do so. For a while, she’d believed she really did have a special date with Flint. But pretending made it all seem so much sadder and more pathetic.

  She watched Celeste leave the store, get into her huge SUV and drive away. Maggie went to the lingerie section of the store to buy more panties—the real reason she’d come in. Normally, she bought the white cotton comfortable ones to work in. She picked up a three-pack, feeling miserable and ashamed. Her gaze shifted to the silky bikini ones in an assortment of beautiful colors.

  “May I help you?” the clerk asked disinterestedly, looking longingly after Celeste, who’d left without buying anything.

  “I want these.” Maggie hesitated as she picked up the silky bikini ones. “And some of these and a few of the matching bras.”

  The clerk’s eyes lit up a little. “Is there anything else? We just got in some really cute sundresses. Let me show you my favorite.”

  It was the most service Maggie had ever gotten, so she let the young woman show her the sundresses. She bought two and left, feeling a little better. Too bad Flint would never see her in the sundresses, she thought. Maybe she’d wear one at work.

  That thought surprised her. She’d always worn practical clothing, sensible shoes and a simple hairdo at work, while Daisy wore high heels, cute tops and skirts, and often did something fun with her long hair.

  Maggie wondered at this change she felt coming over her as she walked to her car with her full shopping bag. But she was smiling. No matter how things turned out with Flint, she was going to be all right.

  * * *

  IN THE DAYS that followed, Caroline Quinn put the ranch up for sale. She stopped into the Stagecoach Saloon the afternoon after she talked to the Realtor.

  “I guess you were right,” she said to Lillie as she took a stool at the bar. It was a slow afternoon. A sad country song played on the jukebox. A couple of regulars were shooting pool near the back and Darby was in the kitchen with Billie Dee making homemade tamales.

  “Right?” Lillie asked as she poured Caroline a glass of white wine. “Right about what?”

  “You were confident that Trask didn’t kill Gordon and you were right.”

  The memory of that night by the pond still haunted her. Brittany’s and Patrick’s trials were still months away. She hated to think what would happen to them now. “I never imagined Brittany and Patrick were responsible.”

  “I wondered,” Caroline said after taking a sip of her wine. “A couple of times I saw them with their heads together.” She shuddered. “I think they planned to get rid of me next. They both would have inherited under Gordon’s will if I was dead and I think they knew it.”

  Lillie felt a chill skitter up her spine at the thought of what those two might have done if they had gotten away with murder a second time that night at the pond.

  “They’ve turned on each other, I’ve heard. Brittany admitted hitting Gordon with a shovel but swears Patrick acted alone when he picked up the pitchfork. According to him, Brittany was the one who insisted he finish his father off.”

  Lillie studied the woman for a moment. “Did you know that Brittany wasn’t Gordon’s daughter?”

  Caroline shook her head. “I also didn’t know about Skip and Gordon’s first wife, either...” Her smile had an edge to it. “Another reason I’m selling the ranch and leaving.”

  “Where will you go?” Lillie asked.

  “South. Arizona maybe. Maybe even Texas. Billie Dee was trying to get me to check out the Houston area. I might.” Her smile was distracted.

  “Skip going with you?” Lillie had heard that he had closed down the construction company. He’d also filed a civil suit against J.T. Burrows for the money he’d embezzled. She wondered how long before J.T.’s son, Johnny, got dragged into it.

  “I doubt Skip will ever see that money. J.T. is broke. I feel bad about his son, though,” Caroline said, thinking also of Johnny. “I assume you’ve heard.”

  Lillie hadn’t and her expression must have shown it.

  “Johnny’s fiancée broke it off. I doubt he’ll be staying around. Like rats fleeing a sinking ship.” Caroline took another drink of her wine. “What about you?”

  “No plan to ever leave here,” Lillie said almost proudly. “Trask bought the ranch up the road, one he’d always admired when he was a boy.

  “Good for him. I always liked him. Did I hear you’re engaged?”

  Lillie felt her face heat as she lifted her left hand.

  “Nice engagement ring,” Caroline said. “I predict the two of you will be very happy.”

  Lillie could only smile. She didn’t want to jinx the future, but they’d been through so much, she thought they deserved some happiness.

  Caroline finished her wine, dropped some money on the bar and slid off the stool to leave.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Lillie said.

  “Thank you. I think I’m going to get a plant once I’m settled and see if I can keep it alive. Only then will I consider a relationship with a man.” She laughed. “What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a really good
idea.”

  * * *

  ELY INSISTED THEY have the picnic at the ranch. They picked a day when the bar was closed. Darby brought the Stagecoach Saloon’s big barbecue along with enough pork ribs to feed an army. Billie Dee made sides from there, including jalapeño corn bread and black-eyed pea salad, smoky baked beans and two tubs of two different kinds of potato salad.

  Lillie helped as much as Billie Dee would allow her. “You should be with your fiancé, not here in this kitchen working,” the cook said, shaking a spatula at her. “Go have some fun with that good-looking cowboy. I’ve got this covered.”

  When she and Trask arrived at the ranch, she saw that her family was waiting. She took them all in, thankful for them in ways she couldn’t have imagined just days before.

  They greeted the two of them, drawing them into the gathering on the large deck that overlooked the creek. Everyone talked at once at first, the sound echoing through the pines and across the babbling water of the stream.

  Lillie was content to listen and watch Trask interact with her family. She’d never been happier. The day was beautiful and she and Trask were together. Their future stretched out in front of them like Montana’s big sky—seemingly endless.

  Trask was excited about the building of their home. They’d spent the morning talking about floor plans and babies and cattle and their wedding. It had been bliss. She couldn’t wait to become Lillie Beaumont. Mrs. Trask Beaumont. She felt like a teen again, wanting to just write the name again and again on a notebook.

  “You look happy,” Flint said, joining her.

  “I am.”

  “I still can’t get over what happened,” he said, remnants of his fear still in his gaze. “You could have been killed.”

  Lillie nodded. “But you saved me. You and Trask.”

  He looked away for a moment. “Brittany and Patrick were just kids when they killed Gordon.”

  “Didn’t you once tell me that murder begins at home?”

  Flint chuckled. “I didn’t think you ever listened to me.”