Montana Mavericks 04 - The Once and Future Wife

by Paige, Laurie

  He placed the luggage on the bed and hurriedly departed. The bed, covered in a white frilly spread with gold-and-pink poppies embroidered all over it, was giving him ideas.

  He paced to the back door and gripped the framing as he looked at the clear vista beyond the yard.

  Pale Bluff Lane ran across the lip of a limestone outcropping that formed a bluff rising twenty to fifty feet above the lower part of the valley floor, where Highway 191 curved north and ran the length of the county.

  His county. His domain and responsibility.

  He leaned against the jamb and crossed his arms over his chest, worry forming inside him. Tracy would be officially in charge, but it was going to be his case.

  A murder investigation was no place for a woman as delicate as Tracy. Hell, she’d been squeamish over the wild game he and Thadd had brought in for dinner during various hunting seasons.

  Actually, it might not be a murder case. That was what she was supposed to tell them. The department needed the who, what, why, where and when of the bones found on the reservation before they would know if they had a case.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said from behind him.

  He turned and stopped stone-still. She had changed into slacks that matched the golden yellow suit, but had retained the printed blouse and suit jacket. Her hair was drawn back from her face with a barrette, and she wore tasseled loafers.

  She looked like the girl of nineteen he’d first seen on a rarely used hiking trail, watching him drink before he plunged into the cold pool to bathe.

  At that time she’d been dressed in jeans, a yellow T-shirt and a long-sleeved, yellow-checked shirt open down the front. She’d driven him to instant arousal then. She did the same now.

  “God help me,” he muttered, and forced himself to walk out the door before he did the same thing he’d done two weeks after that first meeting—kiss her until she was pliant in his arms.

  Tracy nibbled on the chicken sandwich without much enthusiasm. Judd had gone to a fast-food place out on the highway. Now they sat on opposite sides of the desk in his office while he filled her in on the case.

  “Last March, George Sweetwater found the bones—”

  “George,” Tracy interrupted. “I remember him. What was he doing in the woods, especially in that area? It’s sacred ground.”

  “He says he was running his dogs to keep them in trim for the hunting season in the fall.”

  Tracy had to smile. “He was rabbit hunting,” she concluded.

  Judd’s eyes met hers. He smiled, too. “Out of season,” he added. “And without a license.”

  “He doesn’t need a license on tribal ground.”

  Tracy knew tribal law better than most of the Cheyenne. She had spent every summer since her earliest years on the reservation, helping her father gather oral histories and myths about the tribe.

  As a history professor at the university, he’d made Montana Native Americans and pioneers his particular field. He’d been delighted when his daughter had followed in his footsteps—sort of—with her degree in anthropology. That was before she’d gone into forensic science.

  “So you’re still up on local codes,” Judd remarked dryly.

  “I reviewed the case with my father.”

  “How is he?”

  “His knee is bothering him some, but he stills walks up the hill every day.” She laughed, thinking of the steep hill overlooking the campus in Missoula. “Faster than some of his students. In fact, he loves to challenge the freshman history class to meet him at the top for their first lesson.”

  Judd’s deep chuckle rippled over her, setting up vibrations in some molten inner core that she rarely acknowledged. She wanted no soft, vulnerable places inside her. She didn’t want to respond to him in any way.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said, the smile fading.

  Tracy’s mother had died in an accident two years ago. Her father had been lonely after that. “Thank you. And your folks?”

  “They’re fine. My niece graduated from high school.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s eighteen. I’d forgotten.”

  The cooling breeze from the air conditioner swirled a strand of hair across her mouth. She pushed it back, then refastened the clip that held the thick waves away from her face.

  When she finished, she glanced across the desk and caught Judd watching her. The harsh expression on his face stunned her.

  Then it was gone, and she wasn’t certain what she’d seen. But there for a second, as he’d watched her fix her hair, his expression had been so grim, she thought he must hate her.

  “Anyway, George found the bones near a bluff. Apparently someone from the reservation called the FBI before my department was notified,” he said, a note of irritation visible when he balled the hamburger wrapper in his fist. He gathered his debris and stuffed it in the white paper bag.

  She quickly ate the last of her sandwich and spicy french fries. “Did you examine the bones?”

  He snorted. “Are you kidding? I got a glimpse of them, but the tribal police won’t let anyone near them. Sara Lewis—you remember her?”

  Tracy nodded. She could vaguely remember the younger woman.

  “She’s curator of the Native American Museum here in Whitehorn,” he continued. “She and some of the tribe think the bones belong to some long-lost ancestors of theirs.”

  “They might,” Tracy reminded him mildly.

  He grimaced in disbelief. “Are you ready to look at the officer’s reports?”

  She nodded. The cool air sighed over her face, a soft, slow caress like that of a lover. She recoiled from the idea.

  She’d known some of the old feelings and memories were bound to be stirred by her return to Whitehorn. She just hadn’t realized they would be so strong.

  But he’d always done that to her, she admitted.

  Judd had always made her think of touching and loving and all those other things associated with the male-female attraction from the very first moment they had met. It came as a shock to her that he still did. And that no other man ever had.

  While she read the field reports of the people who had made the initial investigation after George had brought the bones into the tribal-police office, Judd returned several telephone calls.

  She noted his tone seemed different with other people compared to the one he used with her. When he talked with the mayor, the tension she’d heard earlier was gone. In its place was a relaxed amusement with a sincere undertone—Judd took his responsibilities seriously—as they discussed plans for the county fair scheduled for the next weekend.

  When his secretary, Juliet Clarke, came in with some letters for him to sign, Tracy felt a strange jolt of some peculiar emotion, sort of the way she’d felt when she witnessed the caress Maris Wyler had given him.

  Judd and the attractive blonde talked quietly. His voice held a lazy resonance that shivered right down Tracy’s spine. He had a way of listening while seeming to stare at the ground or off into space, then looking at the speaker with a slow, sideways glance, his full attention on the person.

  It was very appealing to a woman to be the center of that attention, which had a dark, sensual aspect to it that Tracy didn’t think Judd even knew about.

  Women did. They fell at his feet like trees in the path of a tornado.

  When he finished with the letters and the secretary left, he placed another call. He laughed after identifying himself. The other person must have said something very humorous. Tracy thought it was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  She tried hard not to listen, but Judd’s laughter rumbled over her like distant thunder, vibrating right down to her toes. She clenched the report. Against her will, she wondered if he was talking to Maris. He was making plans for the evening.

  When he hung up, she laid the brief reports on his desk. “I’d like to see the topos now.”

  He removed the topography maps from a cabinet and spread them over the cleared surface of the desk
. Moving around until he stood beside her, he stretched his arms wide as he opened the rolled map.

  “Hold that corner,” he requested.

  When she did, he used his left hand to point out the location of the crime scene…if there had been a crime. Bones did not necessarily mean murder and mayhem. They might even belong to an animal instead of a person.

  His shoulder pressed against hers as she leaned forward to study the area. A jolt of sensation shot through her. She moved slightly away and sensed his quick look.

  When she glanced at him, she witnessed a harshness that hadn’t been present when he’d talked to his date for the evening. She stood very still as a storm of emotion swept her in its path.

  The moment stretched…became forever….

  The secretary knocked and stuck her head in the open doorway. “Sterling is on line two.”

  Judd moved back around the desk.

  Tracy breathed once more. “I have all the information I need. I think I’ll go home.”

  He paused with his hand on the telephone. “I’ll drive you in a minute.”

  “Uh, no, I’d rather walk.” She picked up her purse and slipped out of the office. She knew she was running away. She just didn’t know from what.

  Two

  T racy explored the town before starting home. She compared the stores and buildings with her memories. Some things had changed. Some had not.

  Mason’s jewelry store had had an antique clock in the window seventeen years ago when she and Judd had married. It had been there when she’d left town seven years ago. It was there still. However, the name on the sign indicated the son was now the jeweler. She assumed the older Mason had retired.

  A new supermarket occupied a corner, but she couldn’t recall what had been there before it. She walked to the house, drove back in the rental car and bought groceries.

  The sun was beginning to set when she returned to the cottage. The sky was gilded in shades of rose, gold and lavender when she finished putting her groceries away and arranging the kitchen. She unpacked the clothing she’d brought.

  Sitting at the table, drinking a cold soda, she listened to the sigh of the wind through the pines. The only sound in the house was the steady drip-drip of the faucet.

  She tried to turn it off and failed. She made a mental note to pick up a washer at the hardware store and replace the worn one.

  After that, she changed from her good clothes into old, much-worn jeans, a blue T-shirt and a nylon Windbreaker with blue sleeves and interesting splashes of primary colors on the rest. She thought of eating, but decided she wasn’t hungry.

  Leaving the house, she wandered across the backyard to the rocky outcropping that overlooked the highway down below. Cars whipped past fairly steadily. It wasn’t like city or freeway traffic in California, where she now lived, but the road was busy for a small town in southern Montana.

  Yellowstone traffic, she decided. Families on vacation, going to see Old Faithful geyser, or maybe they’d already been to the park and were heading on up to the Lewis and Clark National Forest to camp and fish.

  She leaned against a tree and gave a shaky sigh. Darkness seemed to fill her soul. She’d talked with a psychologist a couple of years ago. The woman had told her she needed to face the past and come to terms with her grief before she could get on with her life. Tracy had thought the doctor crazy.

  Now she wasn’t so sure. Returning was harder than she’d expected. Emotions she’d buried in her work were stirring, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

  She spotted a vehicle on the highway that reminded her of Judd’s unmarked sports truck. Was he with his date now? Did he take her to his place after dinner? Or did he go to hers? Was he getting on with his life as the doctor had told her to do?

  Tracy squeezed her eyes tightly shut, unable to bear the thought of him making love to another woman.

  She felt lost and confused and unable to cope.

  All this on the first day back in town, she mused, trying to mock her emotions. She trembled to think of the coming days with Judd. He would want to be in on every detail of her investigation.

  Maybe she could solve the case quickly and go back to where it was safe. In California, they only had earthquakes, mud slides and wildfires to deal with.

  Restless, she walked north along the bluff. The sky was an interesting watercolor of lavender fading into blue fading into deep purple-blue. When the path angled back to the lane, she followed it without question.

  Almost in a trance she turned left on Silver Creek Road

  , then right on Stoney Ridge. In another few minutes, she stood in front of the rustic rail fence along the front of the house she and Judd had built. Honesty forced her to admit he’d done most of the work, but she’d loved helping.

  They had worked so hard that fall, getting the outside done so they could finish the inside during the winter. Later, it had been nip and tuck to see which occurred first—completing the house or having the child that spring.

  Judd had put the final touches on the nursery three weeks before Thadd had been born.

  She gripped the log railing with both hands as she stared at the house. It had natural stone halfway up the sides, then split redwood logs the rest of the way. Wide, double-paned windows framed views of the woods on all sides.

  The steep pitch of the roof allowed two rooms upstairs, one as a guest bedroom, the other for storage of all the treasures families collected and couldn’t bear to throw out.

  She wondered if the same family lived there. No one seemed to be home. There were no lights inside that she could detect.

  Walking along the fence, she stopped by the front gate, which stood open. A red-and-white soccer ball lay by the road. She picked it up and studied it as if she’d never seen one before.

  Finally, her chest tight and achy, she tossed the ball gently toward the house so that it came to rest by the two steps leading down from the front porch. She thrust her hands into her pockets and quickly walked down the street.

  Instead of returning home, she headed for the main part of town. She realized she was hungry.

  Crossing the street, she went to the Hip Hop Café. The small eating place hadn’t been there eight years ago. It wouldn’t bring back any painful memories. She pushed open the door and went in.

  The café was a jumble of used tables and chairs that were bright and colorful. The place had a vibrant charm that must make it popular—along with its good food, going by the delicious aromas. A jukebox sat in a corner. Two samplers decorated the walls, among various other things. The first person she saw was Lily Mae Wheeler, widow, divorcée, town gossip. Tracy hesitated, but it was too late to turn around and skedaddle back to the cottage.

  “Well, bless my soul! Would you look what the cat dragged in?” Lily Mae demanded of no one in particular. “Tracy Hensley.”

  When Lily Mae pushed out a chair with her three-inch-spike heeled sandal, Tracy had no choice but to join her.

  “When did you get into town, hon?”

  “Today. Around noon,” Tracy answered.

  “I’d heard you were coming—oh, here’s my dinner.” She picked up her purse to make room for the dinner plate. “Melissa, were you in town when Tracy lived here? About five, six years ago, wasn’t it, Tracy?”

  Since Lily Mae didn’t leave anyone time to answer questions, Tracy and the other woman spoke at once.

  “It was seven years ago when I left—”

  “I wasn’t here then—”

  They both stopped, then smiled at each other. Lily Mae broke right in. “Melissa Avery, this is Tracy Hensley.”

  “Roper,” Tracy corrected. “Tracy Roper. I decided to use my maiden name after the divorce.”

  Melissa frowned thoughtfully. “I remember. You were married to the sheriff. Your little boy…” She trailed off, embarrassed at bringing up the subject.

  “It’s all right,” Tracy said quickly. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Tracy is a famous FBI agen
t,” Lily Mae put in.

  Melissa expressed an interest in what she did.

  “Actually, I’m a consultant on special cases,” Tracy explained. “I also work at archeology digs as an anthropologist for the University of California sometimes, although forensic investigations are taking more of my time.”

  “I’m fascinated,” Melissa told her, “but I have to get back to work. We’re shorthanded tonight, so I’m helping wait tables. I’ll bring you a menu in a sec.” She hurried away.

  “You two should be friends,” Lily Mae announced. “You’re both hardworking and independent as hell. Now tell me what you’ve been doing since I saw your father last spring.”

  Tracy told Lily Mae of her doings after she ordered a salad special. It was nice to know some people never changed, she mused while they ate and talked. The gay divorcée had once had an eye for Dr. Roper, but he had seen no one but his wife.

  Tracy worried briefly over him getting hooked now by the voluptuous woman, who preferred to call herself a widow.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Her father, a workaholic like herself, had buried himself in his book project this past year.

  Lily Mae, with her bleached hair, outrageous earrings, loud laughter and come-hither glances, might be good for him. She was good-hearted, and might introduce some fun into his life—a spark of unpredictability. Heaven knew, one could never tell what the woman would say or do next.

  Tracy controlled an urge to giggle at the idea of staid Professor Roper being tugged through life by Lily Mae.

  “So I told her she should try spanking his bottom and that would put a stop to those tantrums,” Lily Mae said, ending another story while Tracy finished her meal. The hoop earrings with two-inch parrots sitting in the hoops swung to and fro.

  Lily Mae was in her fifties. She’d never had children, and her marriages hadn’t lasted all that long.

  Tracy realized the woman was lonely. She’d adopted the residents of the town and county as her extended family, thus she felt quite free to give out advice on any subject to anyone. A wry affection warmed Tracy’s heart for the talkative widow.