by B. J Daniels
He could only estimate where the shot had come from, given where the first bullet had struck the tree. But as he moved, he came across the tracks in the fresh snow. They crisscrossed the mountainside, moving first in one direction, then back the other way.
Chance took off at a run following the tracks, keeping to the trees just as the shooter had. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the sound of a vehicle engine turning over, then the spinning of tires in the snow.
It was hard to run fast enough through the snow. He reached the clearing just in time to see the sun catch on a rig’s rooftop as it dropped over the side of the mountain. He couldn’t tell what the vehicle had been, let alone the color with the sun glinting off it.
DIXIE WAS LYING in the snow on her back, staring up at the blue sky overhead. She didn’t look in Chance’s direction as she heard him approach, but she recognized the sound of his footfalls.
She’d been lying there, more frightened than she’d ever been before—even waking up in the trunk of her own car. Her fear had been not for herself but for Chance. She’d involved him in this and now she regretted it.
His shadow fell over her and she hurriedly wiped at her tears, not wanting him to see just how scared she was, how upset.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and offered her a hand up.
She took it. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should never have gotten you into this,” she said, brushing off what snow she could, her jeans caked with snow. But she didn’t feel it. Felt nothing but an unbearable pain in her heart.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is what I get paid to do,” he said.
“Then it’s a stupid job.” Her gaze met his, anger sparking between them mixing with the fear in an explosive combination. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re fired.”
“Sorry, but I don’t work for you.”
“That’s right. You work for my father.” She turned to run back to the lodge but he grabbed her arm and spun her into him. Her body slammed against his, knocking the breath out of her even before his mouth dropped to hers and his arms wrapped around her.
The kiss was all passion and fire, fear and regret. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her last night at the pool. The kiss took the rest of her breath. She leaned into him, letting him take her weight as she lost herself in his lips. His arms bound her to him as if he never wanted to let her go.
The sound of an approaching snowmobile droned loudly, bringing them both back from that amazing place the kiss had taken them.
His arms loosened but his mouth stayed on hers until the last possible moment. They parted just an instant before a snowmobile came roaring up over the rise in the trail.
She saw Chance’s hand slip inside his coat to where she knew he’d holstered his weapon only minutes before. The snowmobile slowed, the rider’s features ghostly behind the smoked glass of his helmet. He gave a nod and throttled the machine up as he zoomed past in a clatter of engine and cloud of gray smoke.
Dixie felt weak, as if it had taken all her energy to stand after what had just happened between her and Chance. Hadn’t she always dreamed of this day? Not that it had happened as she’d hoped. No, nothing about this was how she’d imagined it.
Like the way he was looking at her now. As if he was mentally kicking himself for what he’d just done.
“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t try to take that back. You messed up big-time not coming in the pool with me last night and we both know it. Don’t make it worse by telling yourself you’re sorry about that kiss.”
He chuckled, his lips turning up in a grin. “You think you know what I’m feeling right now?” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, but believe me I have no regrets.”
She smiled. “Then I guess we’re making progress.”
“It’s not going to happen again,” he said, taking a step back as if he feared being too close to her.
She laughed. “We’ll see.”
“We need to talk about what just happened.”
“I thought we were.”
“Someone just shot at you,” he said, way too serious.
“It isn’t the first time. I told you, they shot at me in Texas as I was getting away.”
He sighed as he raked a hand through his hair, his gaze locked with hers. “You’re taking this awfully well.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you know me well enough by now to understand that I’m not one of those women who falls apart? When this is over…” She grinned. “Well, that will be another story. Right now, I just need to get to my aunt’s before whoever took a shot at me does.”
“You’re right.”
Her smile widened as she looked at him. “You should say that more often. I really like the sound of it.”
“You know this doesn’t necessarily mean that your father is behind this. It could be someone close to him. Someone he confides in. Or even someone who’s put a tap on his phone line.”
She cut her eyes to him. “Why are you defending him?”
“I just don’t like jumping to conclusions,” he said.
“No, you can’t imagine a father wanting his daughter dead.” She saw that she’d struck more than a nerve. “Will you tell me about your daughter some time?”
He reared back in surprise, shaking his head, his gaze warning her not to push this.
She took a breath, still trembling inside from her encounter both with a near bullet wound—and her even more intimate encounter with Chance Walker. At this point, she would have been hard-pressed to say which had the most affect on her.
“That offer of a ride still open? Because my not-so-scrawny behind is freezing.”
Chance looked relieved and maybe a little surprised that she’d dropped the subject so easily. Clearly he’d hoped she didn’t know. He’d underestimated her. But then, he had from the start. Since the day Chance Walker had left Texas, she’d made a point of keeping up with his life in Montana. She was her father’s daughter, after all.
CHANCE SAID NOTHING on the ride back to the lodge. On entering their suite, he picked up the phone, then put it back down again.
“You aren’t going to call the police?” she asked, relieved.
He looked at her and she could tell he was struggling with this. “It isn’t because I’m worried that your father’s money has corrupted the local sheriff.”
“So let me get this straight,” she said. “There are times that it’s a bad idea to call the cops?”
He scowled at her. “The sheriff would have to drive out for our statements. It would take hours. He’d check the tracks in the snow and find what I did. Man-size boot prints, nothing distinguishing about them. He would find the slug in the tree and figure out that it came from a rifle. He would trail the footprints to tire tracks.”
She nodded.
Chance sighed. “In the end, he’d make the report and conclude it was probably a stray bullet from a late hunt.”
“A hunter? You believe that?”
“No.” He met her gaze and shook his head. “I still don’t know what to believe.”
She nodded, knowing the feeling only too well. “I meant what I said earlier. Call my father and quit. I don’t want your death on my conscience.”
“You have a conscience?”
“I’m serious, Chance.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but you didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me. I’m in this to the end now.”
“If it’s the money—”
“It’s not the money,” he said, eyes snapping. “I finish what I start.”
She cocked her head at him and grinned. “Really? That’s good to hear.” She hoped that also applied to what he’d started on the trail earlier.
“I mean it, Dixie. We’re going to Livingston to talk to Glendora Ferris. I’m not finished until we find out who’s trying to kill you and why.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that he did mean it. “I just don’t want you to be sorry.”
He laughed.
“Hell, I was sorry the minute I laid eyes on your father again. The way I see it, things can only get worse.”
She wasn’t sure how to take that since his gaze went to her lips as if he was remembering the kiss.
Unconsciously she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. He groaned and turned away, leaving her smiling.
“Strip out of those wet clothes,” he ordered, his back to her. “While you get a hot shower, I’ll get your clothing dried. We’ll stop by your car on the way to Livingston and get the rest of your clothes.”
She stripped down and tossed her wet, cold clothing on the floor right behind him. He didn’t move until she went into the bathroom and started to close the door. What was he so afraid of? But she knew the answer to that.
She turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, her skin red and chilled. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood under the hot water, thinking about Chance Walker, thinking about his daughter, and finally thinking about what had happened in the woods.
For a while, flirting with Chance, she’d been able to put it out of her mind. Hadn’t she known that Chance had alerted the killers where she was by calling her father from the lodge phone?
Tears stung her eyes. What was it she’d stumbled across digging in her family’s past that could make her own father want her dead?
Chapter Eleven
While Dixie was in the shower, Chance put in a call to Bonner in Texas and wasn’t surprised when his call was answered by an abrupt, “Don’t tell me you no longer have Dixie.”
“Call off your thugs,” Chance ordered.
“I told you I didn’t hire anyone else.”
“Bull.”
“Chance, if there is anyone else after Dixie…well, I don’t know anything about it. Have you asked her?”
“Listen, Bonner, someone just took a potshot at your daughter. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Bonner swore. “She’s all right?”
“For the moment.”
“You sure she isn’t behind it? I wouldn’t put anything past her—even setting up getting shot at to get you on her side.”
“Her side? What the hell does that mean?”
“Just that Dixie gets things into her head—”
“Like trying to find her mother’s relatives?” Chance asked.
Silence. “So she told you.”
“Why don’t you want her finding out about her mother’s family? What are you afraid she’s going to uncover?”
“I didn’t even know Sarah had any relatives that were still alive and that’s the truth. I just don’t want Dixie digging into things that should stay in the past.”
“Too late for that. Wanna tell me what in the past you’re afraid is going to come out?”
“I told you there isn’t any—”
Chance swore. “Did you go over to her house?”
“Just because the place was messed up doesn’t mean Dixie didn’t do it herself.”
“For hell’s sake, get your head out of the sand. Dixie’s in trouble. If I find out you have anything to do with someone shooting—”
“She’s my daughter. If anyone should know how a man feels about his daughter, it should be you.”
“I mean it,” Chance said, ignoring Bonner’s last remark. “I won’t rest until I see you behind bars if I find out you are in any way involved with trying to harm her.”
GLENDORA FERRIS LIVED in a four-story white clapboard apartment house a few blocks from downtown Livingston.
The drive hadn’t taken long from White Sulphur Springs. Chance had put country-western music on the radio and Dixie had dozed, too nervous to let herself think about what they might find once they reached Livingston.
Now, in the shadow of a massive peak, Dixie climbed out of the pickup to look up at the apartment house. Wind buffeted her hair and whirled snow around her. Christmas lights strung across the front slapped the side of the apartment house to the rhythm of the gusts.
The house was old and in poor shape, paint peeling, the boards of the porch sagging and cracked. Faded curtains hung in what windows she could see from the front. She wondered if Glendora Ferris was watching them from behind one of those curtains.
As they started up the steps, clouds hung low over the town, the light flat, the wind icy-cold, as if another snowstorm was moving in. In the lobby, Dixie glanced at the decrepit elevator. It was small and dark and smelled of cooked cabbage.
She headed for the stairs. Chance didn’t argue. As she recalled, he didn’t like small, tight spaces any more than she did. The cab of the pickup had been intimate enough. She secretly suspected he liked having Beauregard the dog between them.
Because of Montana’s higher altitude and the climb up four floors, Dixie felt winded by the time they reached Glendora Ferris’s apartment. Dixie waited a few seconds to catch her breath, knowing part of her hesitancy was fear. She was depending on this woman being her aunt. On finding answers behind this door.
At her knock came the sound of an older female voice on the other side. “Just a minute.”
Dixie wiped her palms down the sides of her jeans, jittery with nerves, and glanced at Chance. He gave her an encouraging nod. He was the one person who knew how much was riding on this. Finally, she might get the answers she so desperately needed.
She warned herself not to get her hopes up, but it was too late for that. She couldn’t help her excitement as the door opened a crack and a weathered face peered out between the door and chain.
Dixie looked into a pair of watery-blue eyes. “Glendora?”
The woman blinked. “Yes?”
“My name is Dixie Bonner. My mother was Sarah Worth?”
“Elizabeth?” The door closed.
Dixie looked over at Chance. Elizabeth? The chain grated in the latch. The door opened again.
The woman standing in front of them was anywhere from her seventies to late eighties. She wore a faded housecoat. Her hands were boney-thin and flecked with age spots. But it was the expression she wore that made Dixie’s heart take a nosedive.
The woman looked totally lost, her gray hair poking up at all angles, her eyes blank. “Elizabeth?” She was looking around as if she’d expected someone else.
“I’m the daughter of Sarah Worth,” Dixie said, bringing the woman’s attention back to her. “I’m looking for her sister Glendora?”
“Elizabeth?” The woman didn’t move, but her body began to quiver and she reached for the doorjamb as if needing it for support. Dixie moved quickly to her, putting an arm around the frail shoulders and leading her back inside to the couch.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Dixie said, patting the woman’s boney hand as she lowered her to the couch.
Behind them, Chance stepped in and closed the door.
The poor woman had no idea who Dixie was.
“Can I get you some water?” Dixie offered, glancing toward the kitchenette.
The woman shook her head, never taking her eyes off Dixie. “I thought you were a ghost.” She reached out to take Dixie’s hand, pulling her down beside her on the couch. “You look so much like her. Elizabeth isn’t with you?”
“Elizabeth?” Dixie asked, fighting her disappointment. This woman wasn’t going to be of any help.
“Elizabeth.” She seemed unaware of the tears on her translucent cheeks. “That was her real name. Sarah was her middle name.”
Dixie stared at the woman in shock. “Then, you’re her sister Glendora?”
The woman smiled. “What did you say your name was?”
“Dixie.”
“Dixie.” She looked confused again. “I thought her daughter’s name was Rebecca?”
Relief washed over Dixie. She laughed. “My older sister’s name is Rebecca.”
“Elizabeth had more children?” Glendora sounded surprised by that. Almost disapproving. She still hadn’t seemed to notice Chance waiting by the door.
“I lost track of Elizabeth after
she had her little girl,” Glendora said, then lowered her voice as if the walls had ears. “I couldn’t understand how she could have two babies with that man. I guess things must have gotten better since she had you. You did say your name was Bonner, right?”
Dixie nodded. “You didn’t like her husband?”
“Husband?” Glendora huffed. “He didn’t want anything to do with marriage. I never saw him shed a tear for his own son when he died.” She wagged her head. “Elizabeth was so young, so innocent. She didn’t know that some men are scoundrels. I tried to warn her about him. I was six years older, more like a mother to her since we’d lost our parents and lived with a maiden aunt.”
Dixie listened, trying to imagine her mother, young and naive, falling for a scoundrel.
“She was so heartbroken when she lost her son. I suppose that’s why she wanted another baby. That, and to try to hang on to that man.” Glendora’s expression softened as she reached out to touch Dixie’s face. “You look just like her. Is she still…”
Dixie shook her head. “She died when I was thirteen months old.”
Glendora’s watery eyes filled with tears. “I guess I always knew that she wasn’t long for this world. She was too good.” She met Dixie’s gaze. “She was still with him?”
“Yes,” Dixie said.
“I heard he moved her to Texas to work some farm.”
The Bonner farm. Was it possible oil hadn’t been discovered on the land yet? “So she had the baby boy in…?”
“Idaho, where we lived.” She scowled. “Only lived a few weeks.”
“Then my brother is buried in Idaho?”
“Ashton.” She was staring at Dixie again, her eyes brimming with tears.
“What did she name him?” Dixie asked.
“Beauregard Bonner Junior Worth,” Glendora said.
No wonder Dixie hadn’t found him. She’d never dreamed her mother hadn’t been married yet.
“I never knew what happened to my sister once she went to Texas. He didn’t like her having anyone but him.” She glanced toward the door and seemed to see Chance for the first time. “You have a handsome husband.”
