The Rivals

by Joan Johnston

  It was only a matter of time. The rich folks never stayed long. Jackson was too isolated. They came to enjoy the majesty of the Grand Tetons, to hunt or to take a whitewater raft trip down the Snake, or to ski the double diamond slopes. And then they were gone.

  Drew was here to recuperate from a broken heart. When it was healed, he would go back to some big law firm in some big city to work. In the meantime, she was glad he was here.

  “Drew,” she murmured.

  “Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured back.

  “Thank you for being here.”

  “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” he said. “Sleep now, Sarah. Rest.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and listened for the thump of Drew’s heart. She heard the house creak. And the heater come on. And felt an ache in her throat.

  The tears slid silently down her cheeks. She felt Drew brush at one with his thumb, then lean down to kiss away another. She turned her face up to his, and their lips caught and held. Then she laid her head once more on his shoulder and gave in to the powerful lethargy that claimed her.

  Drew woke up on Sarah’s lumpy living room couch. Dawn had finally arrived. He smelled coffee. And bacon. He sat up, straightening his crooked neck carefully, and realized Sarah must have thrown the crocheted blanket over him when she got up to fix breakfast.

  He lifted the blanket and smelled it, inhaling her scent. He was astounded at how short a time he’d known Sarah Barndollar, and how profoundly she’d affected his life. No one he knew would have believed he’d spent the night baby-sitting. Children hadn’t been a part of his world—or his plans for the future.

  While he’d experienced a great deal of passion with his former lover, Grayson Choate, he’d rarely felt the sort of connection he’d experienced with Sarah last night. He’d held her in his arms till she was asleep, and then, as gently as he could, had put her into her own bed, kissed her brow and left the room.

  That sort of tenderness with a woman was much more frightening—and threatening—to the walls he’d built around himself than a tempestuous night of sex would have been.

  He’d returned to the living room with the urge to bolt, to get out, to get away, to escape from the ties he could feel beginning to bind him to this family. The sense of panic was overwhelming.

  Which was when he’d realized he didn’t have a car to leave in. He’d considered calling a cab, but wasn’t sure how likely a cabbie was to gossip about Sarah. He’d sat down on the couch and stared at the moonlight coming through the front window, wondering how he’d gotten himself so involved with this family. He remembered thinking how tired he was and how he wished he were home in his own bed.

  He must have fallen asleep.

  Drew still had the urge to flee, but even stronger was the urge to see Sarah. To know that she was all right. To comfort her. To protect her.

  Shit. He sounded like some romance novel hero. But dammit, that was how he felt.

  He scrubbed the sand out of his eyes and brushed his fingers through his lanky blond hair to flatten what was standing straight up and lift what had flattened against his scalp. He ran a hand across the dark stubble on his face and scratched his chin. And grinned. He must look like something the cat had dragged in.

  He rose, stretched his arms high over his head and leaned back until his ribs almost cracked, then hitched up his jeans and headed for the kitchen.

  Sarah stood at the stove with her back to him, humming a Faith Hill tune and wagging her jean-clad fanny in time to the music.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She turned abruptly and a half-cooked piece of bacon went flying and landed on the counter next to the sink. She stared at it, looked wide-eyed at him, and laughed. “You startled me.”

  He retrieved the hot piece of bacon with two fingers, crossed to her, and dropped it back in the pan. “Sorry about that. Thanks for loaning me your couch.”

  “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he said. And meant it.

  “I never asked if the kids gave you any problems last night,” she said.

  He saw her anxiety and decided not to tell her how Brooke had been a real pain in the ass. The teenager had challenged him on everything from which pajamas he put on Ryan to whether Nate could have a snack before going to bed.

  After the boys were down, she’d refused to go to bed herself, saying she preferred to stay up until her mother got home. He’d finally threatened to pick her up bodily and cart her to her room, if she didn’t travel there in a hurry on her own two feet.

  “The kids were great,” he said, smiling so Sarah would believe him.

  She narrowed her eyes and said, “Brooke didn’t give you any trouble?”

  He shrugged. “She was okay. How are you feeling this morning?”

  She shook her head and turned back to the stove. “As well as can be expected. I promised Ryan I’d make blueberry pancakes for breakfast this morning.” She grimaced. “But I didn’t get to the grocery store, so he’s going to have to settle for French toast and bacon.”

  Drew took a step forward, aligning his body with hers. When she leaned back into him, he slid his arms around her waist and hooked his hands together over her belly. He set his chin on her shoulder and said, “Tough night all around.”

  She moved the bacon around in the pan, found a slice that looked done, and lifted it out onto a paper towel she’d laid on the counter. “I’m handling it.” She gave him a sad smile over her shoulder and said, “I always do.”

  “I know it wasn’t easy finding your husband like that.”

  “To have my kids see Tom—” She dropped the fork on the counter and turned, sliding her arms up around his neck and laying her cheek against his chest. “I’m afraid to think what kind of nightmares they’ll have. Especially Ryan.”

  “He made it through last night. That’s a good start.”

  “Part of the reason I was so late getting home was that I waited around to see if the coroner could make a guess about how Tom died. He found a bullet hole in the back of Tom’s skull. He said it looked like he’d been shot at close range, just like that girl who was found dead in the mountains.”

  “So both deaths might be linked to whatever scheme they tried to run on Clay last night,” Drew said.

  She nodded.

  Drew picked up the fork she’d dropped, turned a piece of sizzling bacon and set the fork back down. “Who did the guy you shot turn out to be?”

  “His name was Lester Wallace,” she replied. “He had a Texas driver’s license and an address in Midland. A lot of priors. No permit for the gun. We’ve asked the Midland/Odessa PD to find out who he worked for and whatever else they can about him.”

  “Texas, huh? He’s a long way from home. Wonder how he knew where that body was.”

  “I imagine because he buried Tom there fifteen months ago,” Sarah said. “Forensics in Cheyenne will see if they can match the bullet that killed Tom with Lester’s gun.”

  “Why would a guy from Texas shoot Tom?” Drew asked.

  “Probably because Tom saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “Like what?” Drew asked.

  “It’ll be easier to hazard a guess once we know more about Lester Wallace,” Sarah said. “Like what he was doing here in Wyoming in the first place.”

  Drew put his hands on either side of Sarah’s face, looked into her eyes and said, “How are you this morning, really?”

  “Sad. Angry. Guilty.” She shot him a defiant glance. “How should I feel? I shot and killed a man last night—who probably shot and killed my husband—who’s been lying buried all this time not ten miles from here, while I’ve been…”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she met his gaze and spilled over as she choked back a sob. “While I’ve been—”

  “Shh. Shh,” Drew said, tightening his arms around her. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Sarah. Tom was gone for more than a year without a word. You’ve suspected for
a long time what must have happened to him. Now you know for sure. He didn’t leave you. He didn’t leave his kids. He was taken from all of you against his will.”

  One by one, he kissed the salty tears from her cheeks, then lifted her chin with his forefinger so he could reach her lips, which were pliant and giving. He deepened the kiss, offering comfort and…something more. “It’s over, Sarah,” he murmured. “You can all go on with your lives.”

  “What are you doing to my mother? Get away from her!”

  Drew had been totally absorbed with comforting Sarah, so he was stunned by the rake of fingernails on his arm as Brooke clawed at him. He backed off, holding his hands up to keep her pummeling fists from doing any more harm.

  Sarah wrapped her arms around Brooke from behind and said, “That’s enough, Brooke. Stop it!”

  Brooke sagged in her mother’s hold, huge tears sending clumps of black mascara rolling down her cheeks, her mouth crumpling in a wail of pain and anger. “You stay away from my mom!”

  “Behave yourself, Brooke,” Sarah admonished.

  Brooke jerked herself free and said, “How can you kiss another man, when we just found out Daddy’s dead?”

  Drew met Sarah’s stricken glance. He’d only meant to give her a kiss of comfort. He had no idea how or why it had become so much more. Maybe because they’d both needed each other so much. He got no further than that thought before both boys arrived at the kitchen door in their pajamas.

  “What’s going on?” Nate demanded. “Why is Brooke screeching like a wildcat?”

  “I caught him kissing Mom!” Brooke said, pointing a chipped, scarlet-painted fingernail at Drew.

  “So?” Nate said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Mom is married!” Brooke spat.

  “Dad is dead,” Nate shot back brutally. “He has been for more than a year.”

  “I know that,” Brooke retorted. “But he didn’t know that until last night.”

  Drew had to admit she was right. “I’m sorry, Brooke, for any pain I caused you. Your mother and I—” Drew realized he had no idea where to go from there. His brief relationship with Sarah had been based on sexual attraction. He wasn’t sure how it had become so much more complicated.

  He met Sarah’s agonized gaze, hoping she would know how to explain what he could not.

  “I think you should leave,” she said softly, her eyes stark.

  Drew looked around the room and realized he didn’t belong here. They didn’t want or need him. He was the outsider, the one who would never fit in. Not that he wanted to. “Yeah. Sure,” he said.

  He didn’t look at Sarah or her kids on his way to the living room to get his coat. He was at the front door when he remembered—again—that he’d driven Sarah’s Tahoe from Bear Island. He didn’t have his cell phone with him, either. It was in his pickup, which he’d left at the landing where he’d launched his fishing boat.

  “Screw it,” he said as he opened Sarah’s front door and stepped into the frigid cold. It wasn’t that long a walk down the mountain to town. He could call a cab when he found a pay phone.

  He didn’t bother saying good-bye to anyone. Good-byes didn’t matter, because he wasn’t coming back.

  17

  In the end, Drew didn’t have to walk very far, because an older man in a pickup stopped to see if he wanted a ride into town. Drew couldn’t help thinking that sort of thing never would have happened to him in Houston. In a big city, every stranger was a potential robber, rapist or murderer. In a small town, strangers were soon identified as neighbors.

  Except, that hadn’t been the case lately in Jackson Hole. Far too many innocent young women had become victims.

  Drew had his new friend drop him off at the jail. He’d talked with Clay on the phone in the wee hours of the morning and knew that, despite the fact it was Sunday morning, a bail hearing had been scheduled in the circuit court at ten o’clock—for which Drew was supposed to act as Clay’s counsel.

  Since Drew had previously only represented white-collar criminals, he’d urged Clay to contact an attorney who specialized in representing clients accused of murder.

  “No need for that,” Clay had said. “All you have to do is show up. Bail will be set and I’ll be out of here.”

  Drew wanted to make one last plea to Clay in person to postpone the bail hearing and get a good criminal attorney to represent him.

  It was after six, but the area outside the jail was deserted. Apparently, all the television folks were still tucked into their warm, cozy beds. Drew told the deputy on duty he was there as Clay’s attorney, and Clay was brought—in manacles—to a room where they could talk.

  “You look like hell,” Drew said, leaning against the wall as Clay paced the room in his yellow jumpsuit.

  “You don’t look much better,” his cousin replied. “What are you doing here at this godforsaken hour of the morning?”

  “You need someone who specializes in criminal law, Clay,” Drew said. “If the judge starts asking questions and expecting me to spout case law, I’m not going to know diddly-squat. To be honest, if it were me, and someone told me the facts of this case, I wouldn’t let you out on bail. The evidence is too damning.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re not the judge,” Clay said, twisting his body from side to side to stretch out the kinks. “Anyway, I took your advice. I talked to some hotshot criminal attorney in New York last night who’s agreed to represent me. Unfortunately, he can’t make it to Jackson in time for the bail hearing this morning.”

  “Get it postponed,” Drew said. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Clay shook his head. “I don’t want to spend one more minute in that cell than I have to.”

  “It’s your neck,” Drew said, resigned to representing Clay, at least for the bail hearing. “Any idea who set you up?”

  “The person I want to talk to is Niles Taylor. It’s a little coincidental, don’t you think, that Lester Wallace is from Midland, too?” Clay said. “Once I’m released, I plan to make a plea on TV to anyone who might have been blackmailed in a similar way to come forward—anonymously, if necessary.”

  “You think some politician or businessman or judge who’s been—maybe still is being—blackmailed is actually going to admit he paid off a blackmailer in return for not being exposed as a murderer?”

  Clay shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I’ll be glad to bark up a different tree, if you can show me one.”

  But Drew didn’t have any better ideas to offer. “Do you think Kate’s disappearance is part of this blackmail scheme?”

  Clay frowned. “I think it has to be. I just don’t understand why no one’s contacted me. There’s been no ransom demand, no threats on Kate’s life, nothing.”

  “The fact that she was picked up almost immediately after she arrived in town suggests someone knew she was coming and was waiting for her,” Drew said. “Has Morgan been able to determine the origin of that e-mail?”

  “I got distracted and forgot to ask him about it when he was here last night—or rather, very early this morning.”

  “Morgan was here at the jail?”

  Clay smiled. “Morgan and Jocelyn flew in with my parents on their Citation.”

  “Why would Jocelyn come all the way out here?” Drew asked. “Is there something going on between the two of you that you haven’t told me about?”

  “She was around a lot when Giselle was in the hospital, and we got to be friends,” Clay said. “Lately, she’s been my hostess at a couple of parties and my date when I’ve needed one at social functions. My parents offered her the ride and she took it. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Right,” Drew said skeptically. “In my experience, a woman who flies halfway across the country to see a man accused of murder considers herself more than ‘just a friend.’ ”

  “Do me a favor. Forget about Jocelyn. Find Morgan and ask him
about that e-mail to Kate.”

  “Where is he staying?”

  Clay raked an agitated hand through his hair. “He didn’t stop by and see you at the ranch?”

  Drew hesitated, then admitted, “I didn’t sleep there last night.” He gave Clay a look that didn’t invite questions.

  “Jocelyn should know where he is,” Clay said.

  “Where is she staying?”

  Clay looked bemused as he said, “With Libby.”

  Drew whistled. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “Jocelyn couldn’t find a hotel room, so Libby offered her a bed at her house.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

  “Why should it be?” Clay said. “Jocelyn is just a friend.”

  “Uh huh,” Drew said. “And what does that make Libby? Just another friend?”

  “Yes. Now go,” Clay said. “Find Morgan.”

  “I’m gone,” Drew said. “I’ll bring you something to wear to the hearing.”

  Drew called Libby’s house from the jail and Jocelyn told him that Morgan was staying at the Antler Motel on Pearl Street. Drew left the jail and walked the short distance to the motel, which appealed to tourists because it was constructed of logs and featured rooms with fireplaces and the inevitable Western decor.

  He knocked on the outside door to Morgan’s room, but there was no answer. Either Morgan wasn’t in, or Jocelyn had given him the wrong room number.

  When Drew checked at the registration desk, the clerk said, “Mr. DeWitt picked up a rental car last night. Haven’t seen him since.”

  Drew figured Morgan must have gone out for an early breakfast. He checked at the Wagon Wheel restaurant across the street, but there was no sign of his stepbrother. Drew realized he’d rather be having coffee and bacon and French toast with Sarah, but since that wasn’t a choice, he decided to treat himself to sausage and biscuits at Bubba’s.

  It was a long walk down Broadway to Bubba’s, but there was no wind, and it was so dry in Jackson it didn’t feel as cold as he knew it was. Drew realized why the sun hadn’t made an appearance when feathery snowflakes began to fall. He grinned and stuck out his tongue to catch a few.