Thunder at Dawn

by Jill Gregory

  “What are you now? My shrink?”

  Gabe laughed. “Why the hell not? I got me a degree, a real good one—from the school of hard knocks. Taught me all I know about human nature, cattle, weather, and everything else.” Gabe eyed him shrewdly. “And something tells me your guts are in a knot over something. And if it’s not that land deal, it’s something else. What happened today?”

  Scowling, Zach shrugged. “I just . . . ran into a ghost.”

  “You don’t say.”

  But as Gabe waited for more, Zach shook his head. “It’s not important.” He clapped the older man on the shoulder. “Neely fixed fried chicken for dinner tonight. Why don’t you stick around and join us?”

  Gabe accepted. He was still concerned about that brooding look he’d seen in Zach’s eyes, but knew better than to ask a second time. Zach didn’t like anyone messing in his business. Even an old friend.

  And Gabe, who made a religion of keeping pretty much to himself as well, couldn’t say he blamed him.

  Zach went into his study at the Last Trail ranch and tossed the mail on his desk. Then he drew the curtains wide and, ignoring the comfortable brown leather armchair, crossed to the window, staring out at the topaz sun sinking in a splash of rose light over the Laramie Mountains.

  He’d been Texas born and bred, and his heart would always belong to the Lone Star State, but this Wyoming majesty was pretty damned hard to resist. It had impressed him in his younger days and it still held him in its spell. Especially at dawn, and again at sunset.

  He enjoyed the pure magnificence of this land. It was wild, vast, and rugged, a place that possessed a beauty so fierce it grabbed a man by the throat and never let go. It called out to anyone with eyes—flaunting its crystal-clear mountain streams and dizzying waterfalls, its array of elk deer and cougars and coyotes. Wyoming was chock-full of nature at its grandest, with deep canyons and red buttes and twisting ravines, with endless prairie and plains, and foothills that in the spring and summer glowed with wildflowers.

  He couldn’t imagine ever tiring of the vista spread before him from every window of this sprawling house.

  Yet, strangely, he still missed Texas. Despite all the bad memories of growing up there in his father’s house, the tough hard plains of his boyhood still called to him, to something deep inside him.

  He knew he’d never go back, at least not to live. For business, yes. But to work and reside full-time in Buffalo Springs, where his father had ruled the town, the county, half the damned state—no, those days were gone. He’d broken away from Caleb McCallum and his oil and cattle empire years ago to make his own mark in the world. Eventually, he’d become CEO of a rival conglomerate that had offered him the sun and moon to come onboard, and he’d amassed his own fortune totally independent of his father’s wealth.

  He hadn’t done it for the money though. He’d done it for himself.

  That had been in the days when Caleb McCallum thought Jock, Zach’s brother, could do no wrong. That Jock was everything Zach wasn’t . . . that he was everything Caleb wanted him to be . . .

  He caught himself thinking about the past and wheeled from the window, crossing to his desk. He made it a habit not to look back. It was a waste of time. Looking ahead had gotten him where he was today. As the successor to his father at TexCorp Oil, he ran a business with nearly thirty thousand employees and offices all over the world. Many people depended on him, above all his son.

  Looking back wasn’t going to take care of any of them. The future was ahead of him and it could be whatever he wanted to make of it.

  He didn’t want much for himself, but for Dillon, he wanted a whole lot more. Like a loving home, a solid foundation, and the freedom to choose his own path. That’s what he planned to give him in Thunder Creek. A future where he could be more than Caleb McCallum’s grandson and Jock McCallum’s nephew.

  And Zach McCallum’s son.

  Dillon would have the opportunity to become his own man—just as Zach had managed to do—on his own terms and in his own way.

  Picking up the mail once more, his gaze fell on a save-the-date card with midnight-blue lettering.

  He studied it thoughtfully. Autumn Auction and Dinner Dance: a benefit fund-raiser for the new pediatric wing of the Thunder Creek Hospital.

  It was being held September 1 at the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch, owned by Wood and Tammie Morgan.

  He noted that Patti Maxwell was the chairman of the event.

  Patti Maxwell. Another name out of the past, that distant past when he was nineteen and had spent one summer in Thunder Creek visiting Aunt Ardelle and her husband, Sheriff Stan Harvey. Patti Maxwell had been Patti Reese at the time, and had been best friends with Faith Barclay back in those days. He wondered if they still were close.

  And he also wondered if Faith would be attending the auction and the dance.

  Then he dropped the card onto the desk. What difference does it make? he asked himself in irritation. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to run into Faith after all these years, but they were both adults. In a town this small, they were bound to see each other now and again. So what?

  Yet he grimaced, wondering if she’d be back in Philadelphia, or wherever she’d come from, before the benefit took place. She was a big-time prosecutor now—that’s what Ty Barclay had told him the one time he’d asked about Faith. A career woman with a full and successful life.

  So chances were slim that she’d be sticking around for the next few weeks. Not that it mattered to him one way or the other.

  Frowning, he folded his long frame into his chair and pulled up a spreadsheet on the computer.

  Yet Faith Barclay’s face still lingered in his mind.

  What the hell is wrong with you? he asked himself. You survived all those years growing up in Jock’s shadow, and under Caleb’s thumb, and married to Alicia, and now you’re bent out of shape about a summer girlfriend you made out with ten years ago?

  But this wasn’t just any summer girlfriend, and he knew it.

  It was Faith.

  Seeing her today had affected him more than he’d ever expected. It had hurtled him back in time for one overwhelming moment, and he’d been stunned both by the emotions that had flooded him and by how little she’d changed.

  She was still slender, sleek, delicately built. But her body had ripened, her breasts were fuller, her cheekbones sharply, almost exotically defined. And she still had the sexiest fluff of riotous curls spiraling down to her shoulders that he’d ever seen.

  After ten long years, the slim tomboy beauty who’d sparked his heart the first time he met her was still a firecracker, a spitfire of a girl who didn’t take crap from anyone.

  But now she wasn’t that slightly lanky, slightly gawky girl with the wide, breezy smile. She was a woman, a long-legged, beautiful woman, powerful in that elegant black suit, devastatingly self-contained and tough as a cop in the way she’d raked him over the coals for speeding.

  Damn, he’d nearly killed her. They’d nearly killed each other.

  Just goes to prove my point, Zach thought as he heard Dillon burst into the house. You’re no good for each other. You never were. If ever there was a moment, a blink in time where Faith Barclay belonged in your life, it was ten years ago. Ancient history. That time, that moment, is gone.

  So don’t look back.

  He sure as hell didn’t want to go back.

  And from the way Faith had lit into him this afternoon, she didn’t want to either.

  Faith’s bags were completely unpacked by 7 P.M. and finally, she felt herself starting to unwind.

  She had grilled herself a cheese sandwich and had zapped a cup of tomato soup in the microwave—thanks to the fresh groceries her sister-in-law Josy had thoughtfully left for her before Josy and Ty headed to New York.

  Ty had definitely picked a winner when he found Josy. She was the best sister-in-law in the world. A successful, down-to-earth fashion designer, she’d been orphaned at a young age and had grown up in
foster care before learning that her biological grandmother was alive and living in Thunder Creek. Ada Scott had never even known she had a granddaughter, and now she had Josy, who lived and worked right here in Thunder Creek most of the year—when she wasn’t traveling to New York or Europe on buying trips or for a show, or scheduling a week of meetings at her New York offices. In the past few years, Josy and Ada had become as close as if they’d known each other all their lives, and Josy had fit just as beautifully into the Barclay family as she had in Thunder Creek. She and Ty were so happy, so much in love, that whenever she saw them together, Faith’s heart ached with pleasure for them.

  She only hoped her brother Adam met someone half as wonderful one day. But Adam was too busy working for the FBI to think much about marriage or even a serious relationship.

  Not that she could blame him for concentrating solely on his career. Serious relationships were complicated and they could explode like dynamite in your face.

  And she had the powder burns to prove it.

  But she wasn’t here to think about her failed engagement, she reminded herself as she sank into the easy chair before the fire with a cup of coffee, just as dusk settled over the mountains and the sky turned a vivid indigo that seeped peacefully across the mesa.

  She was here to relax. To regroup. And to give herself a break from everything she’d left behind in the city.

  Like murder cases, domestic assault trials—and the memory of the devastated expressions on the faces of Jimmy Clement’s mother and younger brother when the judge gave her what she asked for—the death sentence.

  Guilt squeezed her heart every time she thought about Jimmy Clement. It had been that way ever since she found out, two full years after Jimmy Clement’s execution, that he had been innocent of murder after all, just as he and his family had claimed.

  That justice had somehow gone terribly wrong.

  “You’ve got to let this go,” her mother had told her only a few nights ago. “You can’t hold yourself accountable for everything that’s gone wrong. You’ve done the best you could—with all of your cases and with Kevin too. Cut yourself some slack, Faith.”

  I’ll try, Mom, Faith thought, taking a deep breath as her fingers tightened around her coffee cup. I’m sure as hell going to try.

  If any place on earth could help her find some sense of peace again, that place was Thunder Creek. It had been more than a year since she’d been back, and as she gazed out at the darkening sky, she suddenly realized just how much she’d missed it.

  The coming night felt quiet and tranquil. And the cabin was always soothing, simple, and homey. The living room where she sat now was furnished with a deep tan-and-beige upholstered sofa and matching ottoman, gleaming wood coffee table, a huge Navajo rug, and a big stone fireplace that dominated the cozy space.

  The kitchen was always stocked with canned goods, coffee, soft drinks, and beer, and Great-Grandma Barclay’s hope chest in the corner of the master bedroom always held a supply of clean linen and blankets.

  And thanks to Josy, she now had ice cream in the freezer, wine chilling in the fridge, and a tin of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies on the dining room table.

  Life was good.

  Well, pretty good, Faith reflected as she sipped her coffee. It would have been a whole lot better if she hadn’t received that phone call today.

  Somehow she knew—every instinct shouted—that it was Hank Bayman on that phone, breathing hard, not saying a word.

  He hadn’t given up yet. He probably wouldn’t for a long time. The bastard was determined to find out where Susan and the kids had gone—and Faith was equally determined that he never would.

  Based on everything she’d learned about domestic violence in her years at the DA’s office, she knew that if Bayman ever caught up with Susan and the kids, he might well make good on his threats to kill them, all of them.

  That wasn’t going to happen, certainly not if Faith had any say in the matter. The courts had already let Susan down once. Faith had found it necessary to go one step further to ensure that Bayman wouldn’t have a chance to hurt Susan or the children again.

  And since only Faith, and not even the administrator of the Sisters in Need shelter, knew where Susan had gone, there was no way Bayman—ex-cop or no—would find out.

  All the tracks had been covered. Bayman would try to sniff them out, maybe even harass her for a while, but eventually he’d have no choice but to give up.

  In the meantime, she could handle a few annoying phone calls. All it showed was that even now, six weeks after Susan and the kids had moved in secret out of state, he still hadn’t given up.

  She took another sip of coffee and made a mental note to call Liz in the morning and ask her to contact Bayman’s probation officer, make sure he was complying with his sentence, that he was still going regularly to his job and keeping his monthly probation appointments. It wouldn’t hurt to see if he was in any way violating his parole . . .

  Suddenly her cell phone rang. She jumped, nearly spilling her coffee. Speak of the devil?

  But after glancing at the caller ID, she smiled as she lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, Patti.”

  “Don’t hey Patti me. You’ve been here in Thunder Creek for approximately seven hours and you haven’t called me yet? I’m furious with you.”

  “I can tell.” Faith’s shoulders relaxed and she leaned back in the chair. She and Patti Maxwell had grown closer over the years than they’d been even as teenagers. Despite the differences in geography and lifestyle, they were still connected and kept in frequent touch. But they hadn’t seen each other since Patti had come to Philadelphia six months ago for Faith’s engagement party.

  Faith had asked her that night to be a bridesmaid at her wedding—when she’d thought there was still going to be a wedding.

  “Looks like I can’t get away with anything these days.” Faith grinned. “How do you know how long I’ve been here? No, don’t tell me—Roy.”

  “Of course Roy. Have you forgotten how quickly news spreads in a town this size?”

  “I guess I have.”

  “Well, let it be a lesson to you.” Patti laughed and the familiar warm sound of that laughter took Faith back to countless pajama parties, afternoons stuffing themselves with french fries and Cokes and pie at Bessie’s Diner, to summer horseback rides where they just happened to trot by the ranches of boys they had crushes on.

  “So when can we get together?” Patti asked. “I haven’t seen you in ages. And now that you’re here, there’s something I need to ask you.”

  “Not legal advice, I hope.” Patti had married Bob Maxwell three years ago and was blissfully happy—at least she had been the last time they’d spoken. You’ve got divorce and splitsville on the brain, Faith told herself, relieved when Patti answered with characteristic good humor.

  “Nope, no legal advice, I’m keeping this big teddy bear guy of mine around for a while. Hold on, hon, I’ll be right there,” Patti called into the distance, then returned to the conversation. “But I do need your help with something, Faith. How about meeting me at Bessie’s Diner tomorrow for breakfast? Is ten okay?”

  “Better than okay. I haven’t had Bessie’s pancakes in forever.”

  “Then tomorrow’s going to be your lucky day. See you then.”

  Faith set down the phone and leaned back in her chair. It would be good to see Patti. And Bessie, and Ada Scott, who worked the cash register at the diner.

  Over the years, coming to Thunder Creek during the summers and occasionally over winter break, she’d become a part of this town, even when she was away. So many of the people here were like family—they’d seen her grow up and she’d known them all as long as she could remember. The Barclay family had ties to Thunder Creek that went back generations, and the current generation was still as closely tied to the town as those that had come before.

  She let out a deep peaceful breath. She was beginning to feel a million miles from Phi
ladelphia, from the courthouse, the politics, the pressures.

  And she wouldn’t have to face any of it again for a whole month.

  As soon as I confirm that Bayman is still in Philly and hasn’t gotten a whiff of Susan’s whereabouts, I’ll really be able to kick back, she thought.

  And then she made another decision. While Liz was checking up on Bayman, she’d call Susan herself. Just to reassure herself that everything was fine.

  Susan’s safe, she told herself as she poured more coffee. Stirring in a spoonful of sugar, she listened to the vast comforting silence of the August night, and for the first time in a long while, a semblance of calm stole through her.

  Maybe the world will get lucky, she thought. Her fingers curled around the mug and she lifted it to her lips.

  Maybe Hank Bayman will manage to get himself flattened by a truck.

  The headlights of the U-Haul truck blinded him as he froze in the middle of the street. Where the fuck had that thing come from?

  Hank Bayman heard the roar, the screech of brakes. He blinked once, and dove. He smacked into the pavement in front of Smiley’s Bar a split second before the front wheels of the massive sucker squashed him.

  Hank sucked in a good whiff of cool night air. That and the shock of the truck bearing down on him had sobered him up some.

  He swore, staggered to his feet. His knees hurt like hell. His fucking hand was bleeding. He’d nearly been killed!

  I need another beer—or three, he thought, and peered around him. Which one to pick? A bar was like a pretty woman, inviting, seductive, and always calling his name.

  He turned away from Smiley’s and headed instead toward the Peephole. Their waitresses wore skimpier outfits. And their pool tables were in better shape.

  He was a big man, but nimble. He’d played football in high school and had been damned good at it. He’d gotten a scholarship to college, but his father had needed him to help out at the gas station. No college for Hank. No, sirree. Just work at that damned gas station, six days a week, nights, weekends.

  Working alongside Pop hadn’t exactly been pleasant either. Pop was never in a good mood, not since ol’ Mom had run off and disappeared. Poof, one night she was tucking him into bed, telling him if the teacher complained one more time about his bullying the other kids at recess she’d have Pop whomp him good, and the next morning—zip. She was gone. She and her Camels and frayed blue robe and bright red lipstick. She’d taken fifty bucks from Pop’s wallet while he slept, and ten from Hank’s piggy bank.