Hitched!

by B. J Daniels

  Her gaze fell over the room, stopping on the canopy bed and the rumpled sheets. Her heart broke at the memory of the two of them making love there earlier. She’d given herself to Jack completely, surrendering in a way she’d never thought possible. He’d been so gentle, so loving. She thought of the passion that had arced between them. Had she been a romantic, she would have said they were made for each other.

  But she was a realist, and because of that she knew making love with him had been a mistake. She was a woman wanted by the law. How could she have been so foolish to fall for Jack?

  The realization struck her like a train. She’d let herself fall in love with this cowboy from Wyoming. Now there would always be this empty place inside her heart that only Jack Winchester could fill.

  She took one last glance around the room. All she knew was that she had to get out of here, get away, far away. Once she knew her mother was safe…

  Josey jumped at the sound of an engine turning over. Rushing to the window, she saw the sheriff’s department car pulling away. Her hammering heart began to slow, then took off again as she heard the tap at the door.

  “Josey, it’s me.”

  She rushed to the door and into Jack’s arms. All her plans to escape, to run far away, to keep her distance from this man went out the window the moment she saw the smile on his face.

  “My cousin just stopped by because my grandmother had been nagging her to,” Jack said. “She’s on some big case and couldn’t stay but a minute. She was disappointed, though, that she didn’t get to meet my wife.”

  Relief made her weak as Jack locked the door, swept her up in arms and carried her back to the bed.

  “All I could think about was getting back to you,” he whispered against her hair. His mouth found hers.

  She tried to speak, but he smothered her words with kisses. As he began to make love to her, all reason left her. There was no other place she wanted to be but in Jack’s arms.

  PEPPER WATCHED HER GRANDDAUGHTER drive away. The pride she felt surprised her, as did the guilt. She wished she’d known McCall sooner. She’d lost twenty-seven years of McCall’s life. Her own fault.

  She brushed angrily at the sudden tears that blurred her eyes, surprised by them and these feelings. She hadn’t believed for a moment that the baby Ruby Bates had been carrying was her son Trace’s. Because she hadn’t wanted to.

  But the two had produced McCall, and there was little doubt she was a Winchester. She hadn’t even needed to see the DNA test. The young woman looked just like Pepper had at that age.

  Trace had been her baby, her undeniable favorite, and she’d been sick with worry because she knew she was losing him. He’d married Ruby Bates because she’d been pregnant. Or maybe because he really had loved her. Pepper had never really known. Trace was dead, and maybe even Ruby didn’t know the truth.

  Not that it mattered. They had produced McCall, and she made up for everything.

  It still amazed her that McCall seemed to have forgiven her for her past sins, unlike her children and even her other grandchildren. McCall knew that she’d tried everything to get Trace to dump Ruby and come back to the ranch.

  So maybe Trace had loved McCall’s mother. Loved McCall even though she hadn’t been born before he was murdered. After all, according to McCall, it had been her father’s idea to name her after her grandfather Call.

  She wiped her tears as the dust from McCall’s patrol car settled over the wild landscape, hating these sentimental emotions and wondering if she should have just left well enough alone and died in her sleep without ever getting her family back to the ranch. “Mother?”

  She turned to see Virginia standing in the doorway. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t heard her enter.

  “I’m bored to tears. I’m going into town again. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, but you should ask Enid if she needs any groceries, since you’re going,” Pepper said.

  Virginia made a face. “She already gave me a long list. I hope to be back by supper. Enid wanted to know if you knew if Jack and his wife would be joining us. Apparently, they missed both breakfast and dinner.”

  A good sign, Pepper thought. “Tell Enid to plan on it. If they decide to skip another meal, that will be fine also.”

  Virginia didn’t look happy about being asked to relay the message to Enid, but acquiesced. “Too bad Enid is such a horrible cook. I can’t understand how you have survived eating her food all these years.”

  Her daughter had no idea.

  AS MCCALL DROVE BACK to Whitehorse, she thought about her relationship with her grandmother. She’d never even laid eyes on the woman until last month. But since that time her life had changed—and Pepper Winchester had had her hand in that.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d forgiven her grandmother for denying her existence for more than twenty-seven years. Maybe she saw herself in Pepper Winchester—and not just the fact that they resembled each other. Or maybe what had brought them together was the shared loss of a father and son. McCall had never gotten to know her father. Trace had been killed before she was born. Her grandmother’s loss had been even greater because Trace had been her favorite, and losing him had made her lock herself away for the past twenty-seven years.

  A call pulled McCall out of her reverie. “I’ve got Sharon Turnquist on the line. She says her husband is missing.” Sharon farmed and ranched with her husband John south of the Breaks.

  “Put her through.”

  “John left to go into Winifred and never got there,” Sharon said, sounding worried and scared. “Neighbors are out looking for him, driving the road south, thinking he must have gone off somewhere along the way.”

  The Turnquist Ranch was a good fifteen miles from Mobridge on a narrow dirt road that wound through the rough badlands country. What were the chances this wasn’t connected to Ray Allan Evans Jr.?

  “I’ve got a deputy down that way,” she said. “I’ll have him help in the search. You let me know when you find him.”

  She hung up and called to make sure that the deputy she’d sent down to Mobridge had returned with a signed agreement from the Hanovers. Both had been faxed to the phone company, she was informed.

  McCall hung up feeling antsy. She just hoped to hell that RJ hadn’t stumbled across John Turnquist. She knew the elderly farmer and his wife. You couldn’t ask for two nicer people.

  Unfortunately, John was the kind of man who would stop and offer a ride to anyone walking along the road. This was rural Montana, where people still helped one another. Even strangers.

  JACK AND JOSEY finally came up for air and realized they were both starving. They laughed and played in the huge clawfoot tub before getting dressed in time to go downstairs for supper.

  There was an unspoken truce between them, Jack thought. It was as if they knew they didn’t have much time together—although right now, feeling the way he did, he couldn’t imagine a day without Josey in it.

  He was surprised when Virginia was the one late for supper. She came into the lodge complaining about the road into Whitehorse, the dust, the distance, the rough road. She plopped down at the table, announcing she was starved as she distractedly thumbed through the newspaper she’d bought in town.

  “Do you have to do that at the table during supper?” Pepper asked with no real heat behind it.

  Jack had noticed that his grandmother didn’t seem to be herself. She appeared even more distracted than even Virginia.

  “I picked up the Whitehorse newspaper since everyone in town was talking about the front-page article,” Virginia said, as if she hadn’t heard her mother. “A car was found in the Missouri River south of town after a fisherman hooked into the body of a woman. You can’t believe the rumors that are flying around town. What has everyone so worked up is a rumor that the woman was found with a noose around her neck. Someone had hung her!”

  Josey’s fork rattled to her plate.

  Jack’s gaze shot to Josey. All the color had dr
ained from her face.

  “Virginia!” her mother snapped. “We’re eating.”

  “Why didn’t McCall tell us about this?” Virginia demanded of her mother. “This must be the big case she is working on. Everyone is supposed to be on the lookout for possibly two individuals who might have been hitchhiking from somewhere near the Fred Robinson Bridge on the Missouri River crossing.”

  Jack heard all the air rush from Josey’s lips. Her fingers gripped the table as if she were on a ship tossed at sea.

  “They believe the driver of the vehicle got away after the car went into the water and that both suspects are believed to be armed and dangerous!” Virginia said, scanning through the story. “Apparently, they are both wanted for questioning in a murder case in California. The photos of them aren’t very good in grainy black-and-white.”

  Josey stumbled to her feet. “I’m sorry, I—” She rushed out.

  Pepper threw down her napkin, silverware clattering, and shoved back her chair. “Don’t you ever know when to shut up, Virginia? Go after her, Jack. That woman could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t be like your father.”

  Jack was already on his feet before his grandmother had even spoken. He’d been so shocked by the news Virginia had brought home, it had taken him a few moments to move. He snatched the newspaper from Virginia’s fingers.

  “Oh, God, you don’t think she’s pregnant already, do you?” he heard his aunt say as he rushed from the room.

  THE CALL CAME IN late that evening from the deputy McCall had sent out to the Turnquist Ranch.

  “One of the other ranchers spotted a body down in a gully,” the deputy told her. “It’s John Turnquist. I put in a call to the coroner. He’s on his way out. Thought I’d better let you know. There’s no sign of the pickup he was driving. His wallet’s missing, as well. His wife said he didn’t have much money in it, but did have several credit cards.”

  RJ. “Tell her not to cancel the credit cards just yet,” McCall said. “We might be able to track him that way. We’ll need numbers on the cards so we can work with the companies, and we’re going to need a description of that pickup.”

  “There’s something else,” the deputy said. “Can’t be sure until George gets here, but it looked like John was beaten with something before he was dumped out and rolled down into the gully.”

  She swore under her breath. “Well, at least now we know what Ray Allan Evans Jr. is driving. Let’s find this bastard before he finds his next victim.”

  JOSEY RAN TO THEIR ROOM at the end of the empty wing, her heart pounding in her ears.

  Celeste’s body had been found. But the heart-stopping news: RJ was alive. He’d gotten away. She knew what that meant. He would be coming after her. Probably already was.

  She stopped pacing to stand in the middle of the bedroom, her mind racing. She had to get out of here. She had to—

  At the sound of the door opening behind her, she spun around.

  “Talk to me,” Jack said quietly, as he closed the door and locked it.

  She shook her head and took a step back. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Josey, you have to tell me what all this has to do with you.” His words were heavy with emotion as he put down the newspaper. “After what’s happened between us, you owe me that.”

  She tried to swallow. Her stomach roiled. “I’ve already involved you. I can’t—”

  “Josey.” He took a step to her, his big hands cupping her shoulders. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me—”

  “It’s all too…” She waved a hand through the air, unable to even form words to describe what had happened to her. “You don’t want any of this. Let me leave. Pretend you never picked me up on that highway.”

  “I can’t do that.” He sounded filled with anguish.

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you just a little worried that I’m a murderer?”

  His blue eyes lit with something akin to love as he took hold of the ends of the scarf around her neck and slowly began to untie it.

  “Don’t.” The word came out a whisper.

  “This is why I don’t believe you’re a killer,” he said softly. “Someone did this to you. Just as someone did it to that woman they found.”

  She fought back the horrible memories. “You don’t understand. You could be arrested for harboring a fugitive. Jack, everyone is looking for me, the police in California, the sheriff here in Montana, and…” Tears filled her eyes.

  “And the person who hurt you. That’s what has you so terrified.” Jack thumbed at her tears, then kissed her. “But you’re going to tell me because you know you can trust me.”

  She smiled at that. “The last man who told me to trust him almost killed me.”

  “I’m not that man.”

  No, Josey thought. Jack Winchester, whatever his secrets, was like no man she’d ever met. And right now, she suspected he might be the only person alive who’d believe her story.

  AFTER BREAKING INTO a small older pharmacy and getting everything he needed, RJ had gone back to his motel and seen to his shoulder before going to sleep. He’d picked a Billings motel where he could park the pickup so the clerk couldn’t see it. The clerk had been half-asleep when he’d checked in and hadn’t paid any attention to him, anyway. He’d worn the hood up on the sweatshirt he’d taken from the Mobridge house just in case, though. No way could the man be able to make a positive ID of him.

  He’d set his alarm for just after midnight and had come up with a way to get rid of all the evidence and the truck. Since hotwiring these damned new cars was next to impossible even if he knew how, he decided to take a more direct approach.

  He drove around until he found a rundown bar on the south side of Billings. Then he crossed the river, and found an old abandoned farm house. Driving into the yard with his lights off, he parked the truck behind one of the out buildings.

  He’d seen enough CSI to know exactly how arsonists set fires. With the pack of cigarettes he’d bought at a convenience mart and the extra gas in the back of the truck, he’d soaked the front seat and set the makeshift fuse.

  He’d been about a half mile away, walking down the road, when the pickup blew. RJ smiled to himself as he walked the rest of the way to the bar. The back parking lot was cloaked in darkness. Ideal for what he had in mind.

  The jukebox blared inside the bar, one of those serious drinkers’ bars where patrons went to get falling-down drunk. There was a pile of junk behind the bar and a stand of pines.

  Given the late hour, it wasn’t long before a man came stumbling out of the bar, clearly three sheets to the wind. RJ stayed hidden in the dark behind one of the cars and waited until the man started to put his key into the door lock before he called to him.

  “Harry?” RJ called, pretending to be drunk as he approached the man, the tire iron behind his back.

  The man turned.

  “Oh, sorry, I thought you were Harry Johnson.” RJ was close now, close enough to smell the man’s boozy breath.

  “Nope, maybe he’s still in the bar.” The man turned back to his car, fumbling with the keys.

  RJ hit him in the kidneys, then brought the tire iron down on the man’s skull. He went down like a ton of bricks.

  Unfortunately, the drunk was heavier than he looked, especially considering he was now dead weight. RJ dragged him behind the pile of junk and laid a scrap of sheet metal over him like a blanket.

  He figured it would be a while before anyone found the guy and probably even longer before someone started searching for his vehicle.

  Picking up the keys from the ground where the man had dropped them, RJ opened the car door and climbed into the large older model American-made car. He swore. The man was a smoker, and the inside of the car reeked.

  Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, as his father used to say. Just the thought of Ray Sr. made him grit his teeth. He wasn’t the least bit sorry that old son of a bitch was dead.

  RJ
started the engine, turned on the radio, pulled away from the bar and headed for Whitehorse. Like the driver of the yellow Cadillac, he had the directions to the Winchester Ranch.

  “It’s out there and gone,” the clerk had told him. “About as remote as it can get.”

  Josey didn’t know it, but she’d chosen the perfect place to end this.

  MCCALL WASN’T SURPRISED to hear from Detective Diaz in Palm City, California. She figured he was calling for an update, and while she had little in hard evidence, when she finished telling him what they had so far, he came to the same conclusions she had.

  “That sounds like him,” the detective said. “RJ skated on more than a few run-ins with the law, from breaking and entering, theft and assault to allegations from prostitutes who claimed he’d abused them. None of them ever made trial. I’m sure his father paid the people off.”

  McCall heard something in his voice. “And Josephine Vanderliner?”

  “She went through a wild time when she was younger, nothing big. Speeding, drinking, a couple of marijuana possession charges, but she’s been out of trouble since her mother’s accident.”

  “What about Ray Sr.?”

  “Nothing on the books, but he was living pretty high on the hog and running out of money fast when he married Ella Vanderliner.”

  “What about her car accident?”

  Diaz chuckled. “Like minds. There was some question since it was a single car rollover. She had been drinking. The daughter was convinced it was foul play, saying her mother never had more than a glass of wine.”

  McCall could almost hear him shrug. “You said the mother is in a nursing home? Have you checked it to see if Josephine has called or stopped by?”

  Diaz cleared his voice. “Actually, that’s why I called. The mother was apparently moved, but the home swears they have no idea where.”

  “Someone had to sign her out.”

  “Apparently her daughter had made arrangements before…” His voice trailed off.