Gun-Shy Bride

by B. J Daniels

  “So how did all this get you suspended?” her mother asked after her third tequila drink.

  McCall had finished her first but had passed on a second because she was driving. Even one tequila had loosened her tongue. Or maybe it was growing up with all the lies that made her want to speak the truth now.

  “I found his hunting license in the mud where the bones had been buried.” She felt her mother’s gaze.

  “So you knew it was him that first day.”

  “I suspected it was him.”

  Ruby nodded and took a drink. “What made you keep quiet?”

  “I wanted to wait until I got the DNA report before I told anyone. I also knew Grant would pull me off the case once he knew for sure it was Trace. I thought I’d have more time to try to find the killer before everything hit the fan.”

  Ruby seemed lost in thought. “You tell your grandmother? Is that why you went out there that first time?”

  “No. I just wanted to see her before she found out about the crime lab results. I’d hoped she might know something that would help me find his killer.” McCall didn’t add that she’d gone to the Winchester Ranch first today to give her grandmother the news. Tequila or not, she was no fool.

  “You could have told me,” Ruby said, sounding hurt.

  “Not until it was definite.”

  Her mother finished her drink and stared out at the water. “You thought I killed him.”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  Ruby shot her a disappointed look, then asked, “Where exactly did you find him?”

  “On a ridge south of town within sight of the Winchester Ranch. You can’t go out there. It’s a crime scene. I’m sure the sheriff will have a deputy posted.”

  She nodded. “Who would want to do that to Trace?”

  “You’d know better than me.” McCall saw something like a shadow cross her mother’s expression. “If there is someone you suspect…”

  “No,” Ruby said with a shake of her head. “Will Grant be in charge of the investigation?” she asked, looking down into her drink.

  “Shouldn’t he be?”

  It took her mother a moment. “Maybe not.”

  McCall felt her mother pulling away, hiding again in the past. “Mother—”

  Ruby did that little shrug of the shoulders thing she did when she’d been drinking. “He and Trace didn’t get along after that mess with Sandy.”

  McCall already suspected that. “I doubt it will matter. Truthfully? It’s a cold case. Twenty-seven years is a long time. I suspect it will be impossible to find the killer.”

  Did her mother look relieved?

  Ruby’s cell phone rang. “Speaking of the devil.” She snapped open the phone. “Hello?” She listened, biting her lower lip, then said, “Thanks for letting me know, Grant.”

  She put the phone back in her purse, unscrewed the cap on the tequila, then as if thinking better of it, screwed it back on and balled her cup up in her fist.

  “Don’t lose your job over this,” her mother said after a moment. “Nothing can bring Trace back. It might have been better if he’d just stayed buried. I don’t want you looking for his killer.”

  “How can you say that? Aren’t you relieved that he didn’t leave you? Don’t you want the person who took his life brought to justice?” McCall demanded. This was the last thing she’d expected from her mother. “I thought this man was the love of your life?”

  “He’s gone, McCall. Hasn’t he messed up our lives enough?”

  McCall stared at her mother. She could see that Ruby wished her daughter had never found the hunting license in the mud at the grave site, that Trace Winchester could be buried again and so could whatever had happened on that ridge.

  But unfortunately once bodies were dug up, there was no burying them again. Even if McCall wanted to, Pepper Winchester wasn’t going to rest until her favorite son’s murderer was swinging from a noose.

  “You know who killed him,” McCall said, knowing she was thinking crazy. But she kept remembering what Patty Mason had said about the mud on her mother’s pickup. Mud like on the ridge where Trace had been buried.

  Ruby shook her head and sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. “Of course I don’t know who killed him. But if I had to guess, I’d say it was someone Trace had pushed too far.”

  LUKE SANK A NAIL INTO the two-by-four and reached for another one. Restless, he’d decided to work on his house until dark. But he’d been having a hell of a time concentrating on the job.

  He’d tried Buzz’s cell phone a half-dozen times and left several messages. He couldn’t help worrying since there had been no word.

  Mostly, he was mentally kicking himself for coming back here thinking he stood half a chance with McCall. It seemed they were always on opposite sides of the fence. Now this thing with Buzz…

  And yet when Luke thought about holding McCall in his arms last night, he remembered those few moments when it had felt so right. His kiss had taken her by surprise, but she’d responded and he’d felt the heat in her, that old spark of desire that had flickered like a campfire between them.

  He reminded himself that she’d thought he’d run her off the road. It was like dousing himself in ice water.

  Just as McCall believed he’d done something unforgivable ten years ago, and even though he’d sworn he hadn’t…Yeah, trust was a huge issue between them and he doubted there was anything he could do to fix that.

  But he couldn’t bear the thought that McCall might be in danger and worried what might be going on. Buzz wasn’t stupid enough to try to run her off the road, was he?

  Luke realized he didn’t know anymore. He had so many questions, and his uncle was the only one who could answer them.

  Restless, he started to try Buzz’s cell phone again when he heard a vehicle coming up the road. Probably Buzz, he thought with relief.

  Luke shaded his eyes as he watched the cloud of dust draw closer. Definitely a pickup, just not Buzz’s new one he drove.

  Squinting into the sun, he saw the sheriff’s department logo on the side and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  McCall?

  He watched her drive into his yard, hoping this was a social visit, knowing it probably wasn’t. Had something happened to Buzz and Eugene and she was here to give him the bad news? No, the sheriff would have called, not sent McCall.

  He stood in the shade as she climbed out of her pickup. Her dark hair shone in the fading sunlight. She moved with long-legged grace toward him. And as always, he was hit with such a need for this woman that it almost dropped him to his knees.

  Turning back to his work, he drove a nail into another two-by-four, warning himself not to get his hopes up that her being here had anything to do with him. Or that kiss last night.

  Chapter Ten

  McCall followed the sound of the hammer toward the wooden structure etched against the sunset—and Luke Crawford.

  She’d driven her mother back to town in time to get ready for Ruby’s date with Red Harper.

  “Are you sure you’re up to going out tonight?” she’d asked her mother, trying to hide her surprise. “I could rent a movie, get us a pizza—”

  “No.” Ruby had patted McCall’s arm. “I need to see Red. I want to be the one to tell him.”

  McCall still didn’t know how her mother was really taking the news of her husband’s murder. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe it had and she’d been serious about McCall dropping her investigation. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  “Your father’s been dead to me for a long time,” Ruby had said. “I guess I just need time, you know?”

  McCall had guessed so. Everyone in town would be talking about Trace’s murder. Being the woman left alone and pregnant didn’t garner the same kind of sympathy as being the widow of a man unjustly murdered in his prime. Ruby hadn’t gotten to be the grieving widow. Until now.

  Normally, McCall would have headed to her cabin, anxious for the peace and quiet. But it was still ear
ly and there’d been one more thing she had to do.

  The sun had slipped behind the Little Rockies as she spotted Luke. She glanced past him and the skeletal frame of his house to the stock pond in the distance and felt a chill snake up her spine.

  Her gaze came back to Luke, and for a moment, she wanted to stop all this. She wanted to sit down in the shade with Luke, share a cold beer, watch the sun set and forget about the past, all of it, especially the part where Luke broke her heart.

  She realized she shouldn’t have come here feeling so vulnerable. For years, she’d built a shield around herself after Luke hurt her. But there were now cracks in her armor. Finding out that her father hadn’t run out on her and her mother had opened old wounds—just as Luke had by coming back to Whitehorse.

  Luke’s presence had filled her head with thoughts of what could have been. What could still be if only she could forgive him.

  She listened to Luke pound another nail and shelved all her crazy thoughts, especially the ones about Luke Crawford and second chances.

  The air was cool in the shade. The hammering stopped. She knew Luke had already seen her coming.

  As he slipped his hammer into the side of his carpenter’s apron, he turned and leaned against the opening where he’d been working. “McCall,” he said, the sound of it making her ache.

  He looked wary, but who could blame him after last night? She bristled, reminded that all she’d done to him was slap him. Nothing compared to a kiss. She was the one who should be wary.

  The sun lit in his dark eyes. His skin looked bronze against his pale yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms. The jeans were worn, just like the boots.

  He couldn’t have looked more appealing or more dangerous to her equilibrium, she thought as she gazed up at him.

  “What brings you out here, Deputy?” he asked.

  That earlier thought of sitting in the shade with him flitted past. She swatted it away. “Your stock pond.”

  Luke smiled as if he thought she was kidding. He dropped the nails he’d been holding into a pocket of the carpenter’s apron. “You looking to do some fishing? There’s northern pike in there as long as your arm. But shouldn’t you have brought your fishing pole?”

  “That’s not what I’m fishing for.”

  He raised a brow and pushed back his straw Western hat to reveal a thick pencil stuck behind his right ear. He smelled of sawdust.

  “How deep would you say the pond is?” she asked, trying to distract herself from how good Luke looked and the way being this close to him made her ache.

  His lips quirked in a questioning grin, humor sparkling in his dark eyes. “At the dam end? Twelve to fourteen feet. Shallower at the other end.”

  She nodded. Plenty deep enough. She felt a shiver of dread ripple through her. Her father’s pickup was in that stock pond. With the Crawford Ranch vacant twenty-seven years ago it was the perfect place to dispose of the truck quickly.

  Nor was there any reason it would have been found since the place had been bought by an out-of-state corporation and had quickly gotten tied up in some legal mess before Luke bought it back.

  “Then you don’t mind if I have a look?” she asked.

  “Sure. What is it you’re looking for anyway?”

  “I’ve got this crazy idea there might be a pickup down there.”

  “In the pond?” He sounded skeptical as he untied his carpenter’s apron and dropped it on the floor before he jumped down and walked with her toward the earthen dam.

  As they approached, she saw that the water was the color of a rusted pickup, much too dark to see anything in its depths.

  “How are you planning to—Whoa,” he said as she took off her jacket and pulled off one boot. “You aren’t aiming to jump in there?”

  “You know of a better way to find out if the truck is down there?”

  “That water will be ice-cold. It’s spring fed.”

  She pulled off her other boot and began to unbuckle the belt on her jeans.

  “Stop. As curious as I am to see how far you’re willing to go with this, I can’t let you,” Luke said.

  “I can get a warrant—”

  “I’m not talking about that.” He was angry with her again. “Damn it, McCall, if there’s something in there, I’ll find out. Whose pickup is this you think is down there, anyway?”

  “My father’s.”

  Luke blinked. “Trace Winchester?”

  “He is my father, no matter what the local grapevine says.”

  “I didn’t mean—Never mind.” He pulled off his boots, tossing them down, then unsnapped his shirt and dropped it into the pile. She tried not to look at his bare chest.

  Nor had she meant to make him angry with her again. “I can do this without your help,” she said, although she hadn’t been looking forward to going in that water.

  He leveled his gaze on her, eyes hard as stones. “I don’t doubt you’re more than capable and determined to do anything you set your mind to and that you certainly don’t need me, but it’s my stock pond. Stay here.” In his socks, he padded around the dam to the side and waded gingerly into the water.

  She could tell that the water was freezing cold from the way he tried not to show just how uncomfortable it was. When he reached chest-deep, he did a shallow dive and disappeared beneath the still dark surface.

  McCall took off her good leather belt and dropped it on the ground, ready to go in after him if necessary. A meadowlark sang from the sage. In the distance, a truck shifted down on Highway 191. Nothing moved on the stock pond’s surface.

  McCall held her breath as she stared down at the water and waited.

  No Luke.

  She would give him just a little longer and then—

  He surfaced in a shower of dirty water and swam hard toward the side, his back to her. As he climbed out, his jeans running water, she saw something in the set of his shoulders. And felt herself sag under the knowledge.

  “It’s down there, isn’t it?” she asked as he climbed up to the dam and picked up his shirt.

  LUKE SHRUGGED INTO HIS SHIRT, the thin fabric sticking to his wet skin and fought off the chill of the water—and what he’d found.

  “There’s a pickup down there,” he said. “And it’s been there for a while. That’s all I can tell you.”

  The radio in her patrol pickup squawked. She leaned down to pull on her boots, picked up her belt and jacket and headed toward her patrol SUV without a word.

  Luke swore under his breath as she called back after a moment, “I have to go. Can I trust you not to disturb the site?”

  Luke picked up his boots and walked over to her, fighting his temper. When was the woman going to start trusting him?

  “What do you think I’m going to do? Drain the pond? Or drag the pickup out before you get back?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  Her look said that’s exactly what had crossed her mind.

  He shook his head, his anger suddenly spent. “McCall, why would I do that?”

  “I just want to do this the legal way,” she said, and he realized she wasn’t wearing her badge and her gun. Why was that? “Do I need to get a warrant before I come back with a wrecker to pull out the pickup?”

  “No, it’s all yours.”

  He watched her drive away, swearing to himself. That damned woman. When he’d first seen her drive into the place he’d thought—Oh, hell, it didn’t matter what he’d thought or worse, what he’d hoped. She hadn’t come to see him. She was just being a cop—even if she wasn’t wearing her gun or badge.

  As he stomped over to the small trailer he lived in until he got his house built, he wished he’d let her go in that ice-cold pond. Would have served her right, he thought, his stiff jeans so cold against his skin they felt as if they were starting to freeze.

  He stripped out of his clothes on his front step since he had all the privacy in the world way out here. Stark naked, he went inside and turned on the shower. As he stepp
ed under the warm spray, he waited for it to take away some of the chill.

  With McCall gone, his mind began to clear.

  Trace Winchester’s pickup was in his stock pond?

  What had made McCall even suspect there might be a truck down there?

  He told himself it had nothing to do with him. The place had been vacant since his parents’ deaths. Luke turned off the shower and reached for a towel, finally getting why McCall had thought he might interfere with her crime scene. If that’s what it was.

  Buzz. McCall had been investigating him in regard to her father, and now apparently she thought the pickup in the Crawford stock pond was Trace Winchester’s.

  And if it was her father’s truck, what the hell did that mean? Luke didn’t like the implications.

  Trace could have dumped the pickup before he took off for parts unknown. Or he could be inside the cab at the bottom of that pond. If so, there was little chance he’d driven himself in there by accident.

  As Luke glanced out at the pond, he felt sick. A breeze riffled the surface of the water. Walleye chop, Buzz would have called it.

  Buzz. Did this have something to do with his uncle? McCall apparently thought so. Luke hoped not as he reached for his cell phone and punched in Buzz’s number.

  Giving his uncle a heads-up wasn’t interfering with the deputy or her possible crime scene. He owed Buzz at least that.

  And he wanted to be the one to tell his uncle. Or maybe he wanted to judge for himself what Buzz’s involvement might be based on the tone of his voice when he heard about the pickup being found in the pond.

  “YOU WHAT?” SHERIFF GRANT Sheridan looked pale under the fluorescent lighting in his office.

  “I believe I’ve found my father’s pickup, the black Chevy missing since his disappearance,” McCall said.

  “Where the hell—”

  “It was dumped in a stock pond not far from where his remains were found,” she said.

  Grant had been standing, but now he lowered himself into his office chair and motioned for her to sit down. “I thought I told you to stay away from this investigation?”