Hard Evidence (13 page)

“Just out of the blue.”

She nodded. His voice held worlds of doubt and echoed what she’d been thinking all the way home. Coincidences happened in movies and storybooks, not in real life.

“May I?” he inclined his head toward her shoulder, then stepped closer and gently pulled the loose neckline of the T-shirt a few inches away, taking care not to disturb the wound.

His touch sent a shiver through her that had nothing at all to do with her injury, and everything to do with the subtle, growing attachment she felt for him.

He drew in a sharp breath. “You got yourself quite a scrape there—all across your shoulder blade. By tomorrow there’ll be a whale of a bruise, too. Can Lauren or your mom help you with this?”

“I can get it.”

He glanced over at Ian. “I think I’ll have to look at this cabin later. Okay with you?”

Ian looked between them, his eyes alight with curiosity, but he just nodded and headed back to their cabin.

Michael waited until he was beyond hearing distance. “I need to see where this rock slide happened.”

There was deep concern in his eyes and something else—a level of caring and connection that went beyond simple friendship.
So he feels it, too
, she thought.

“I can take you up there, if you’d like.”

He shook his head in a decisive no. “Tell me where it was. I want you to stay right here.”

“But—”

“Please.” His voice softened. “You need to get that wound cleaned up. I promise you, your shoulder is going to be aching by tonight.” A corner of his mouth tipped up. “Give me good directions, and I’m sure I can find the way.”

“But you don’t know the mountains like I do,” she countered. “If our friend
is
up there, you’ll be at a disadvantage.”

His eyes twinkled. “Ah, but this sort of thing is my job. I’ll bring my two-way radio and cell, though. The question is—do you have a horse I can use?”

“Frosty is tuckered out. But if you want, you can take Mopsy.” The gelding, named by a ranch hand’s little girl, was another old-timer from the home place. Tessa had trailered him over a few days ago so Ian and Rylie could ride once her cast was off.

“You don’t have, say, a Lightning or Tornado?”

She knew he was trying to distract her with humor, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Mopsy. He’s a good, dependable kids’ horse now, but he spent his career as a trail horse in the mountains. He’ll get the job done.”

“Mopsy.” He gave her a pained look. “If this is a pony, I’d rather walk.”

“Ohh, I think he’ll suit you just fine—if you can get on him.”

Michael left the barn on Mopsy—all seventeen hands of him—right after lunch. The lumbering giant of a horse was supremely dependable, and Janna had figured the two of them should be back by four at the latest.

Four o’clock passed.

Five.

At five-thirty, she started calling Michael’s cell phone, knowing that reception was unpredictable up on the mountain, but hoping that he’d at least see Missed Call on his screen.

At six, her anxiety grew and her patience dwindled. Where could he be? Anyone new to the area could get lost, but the alternatives were even worse. He’d been suspicious about the rock slide—what if he’d been caught off guard by someone up the trail?

She jogged out to the stable and cross-tied Frosty in the aisle, then dragged her saddle out of the tackroom. Michael was right—her shoulder ached, and the deep scrapes in her flesh burned beneath the thick coat of antibiotic cream and gauze bandaging.

Her muscles screamed in protest when she hoisted the saddle onto the horse’s back, but in minutes she’d slung her rifle scabbard on the saddle, along with saddle bags filled with supplies, and was headed up-country at a fast jog.

At every bend in the trail she prayed that she’d find Michael on his way home, safe and sound. But there was no sign of him—not on the trail, not at her favorite meadow or beyond.

Surely she’d encounter Mopsy heading for home solo if Michael had taken a fall, but there was no sign of horse or rider…until Frosty’s head jerked up, ears pricked, and she whinnied.

Janna reined the mare well off the trail and behind a thick copse of serviceberry. She eased her rifle out of the scabbard and held it across her lap—just in case.

The mare bobbed her head and snorted, dancing in place.

“Easy, babe.” Crooning softly, Janna placed a hand on Frosty’s neck to settle her. “Easy now. I sure hope that’s your friend up the trail and not someone else.”

Frosty jigged sideways, then froze with her head raised high. Now Janna could hear the clopping sound of unshod hooves, too.

A moment later Mopsy appeared.

Alone.

T
he forbidding bank of clouds she’d seen earlier had stalled over the peaks of the mountains for a few hours, but now they loomed overhead, and fat drops of rain started to fall.

Blinking against the rain hitting her lashes, Janna slid her rifle back in its scabbard and urged Frosty forward to snag Mopsy’s reins. She looped them around her saddle horn, then rummaged in her saddlebags for a wallet-size package containing a plastic rain poncho and quickly pulled it over her head.

“Whoa—that looks really inviting! Got another one?”

Utter relief rushed through her at the sound of Michael’s voice. “You bet.”

He must have come through a heavier squall of rain at the higher elevation, because his shirt was soaked and plastered to his chest, and his hair was dripping water down his face. But—praise the Lord—he was walking at a good clip and appeared to be unharmed.

She gestured to a rocky overhang midway between them. “I have an extra sweatshirt, too.”

Dismounting, she tied the horses to a couple of birch trees and released the saddlebags, then dashed under the ledge. “What on earth happened?”

“John Wayne’s horse always stayed where he left it,” Michael said with a rueful grin. “Apparently, Mopsy hasn’t seen many movies. Unless they were about Houdini, because I did have him tied to a tree.”

He shivered, his teeth chattering. “Take your shirt off,” Janna ordered. She bent over the saddlebags and pulled out the sweatshirt, then found another poncho. “The sweatshirt’s just a medium, but at least it’s dry.”

He peeled off his shirt and tossed it on a nearby sagebrush. The smooth, hard muscles of his chest flexed and glistened as he struggled to pull the snug sweatshirt over his wet skin. It barely brushed the belt loops of his jeans, but a moment later he’d donned the poncho.

He was still shaking, his face pale, but he smiled in gratitude. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” he said fervently, looking out at the pouring rain. “It would have been a long, wet walk home.”

“Can’t have you catching pneumonia.” She peered up at the sky. “These storms are usually short, though. In an hour, the ground will be all but dry.”

A bolt of lightning sizzled through the air in a blast of brilliant light, followed a split second later by a ground-shaking explosion of thunder.

Janna started shivering. “That was too close.”

Michael nodded as he scanned their surroundings. “I think I’ll just sit this one out.”

There were several rocks the size of bean bags piled under the lee of the ledge. He waited until she sat, then settled onto the one next to her. When she shivered again, he draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Thankful for the shared warmth, she snuggled a little closer. He smelled of fresh rain and a faint hint of aftershave, and she found herself wondering what it might be like to be kissed by him. She felt herself flush, and shifted slightly away so he wouldn’t notice.

“Did you see anything unusual up on the trail?”

He chuckled, and she felt the deep vibration of it against her. “Besides the back end of my horse, who was heading east?”

“I promise, Mopsy and I will have a talk about that.” She looked up at him, and saw his smile fade.

“I found the rock slide,” he said somberly. “It’s a miracle that you and your horse weren’t swept off the trail. There’s about twenty feet where it’s now completely impassable.”

She shivered again, and this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“It just seemed odd that tons of rock would break free at the exact moment you were passing by. What are the chances? So I tied Mopsy to a tree and found another way up to the top, on foot.”

She held her breath.

“I searched the area. The guy was careful. He didn’t leave much of anything behind. But I did find evidence that someone must have been using a pickax near the ledge.”

The implication was clear. “Someone was
waiting
there? Waiting for me?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Someone who knew I’d started riding up there every morning?”

“And probably spent considerable time choosing the best place, then started loosening those rocks. My guess is that he never thought his efforts would trigger that much of rock slide—but once some of them fell, the entire edge just gave way.”

So someone had been following her on her lovely, quiet rides alone. And while she’d been savoring the solitude and magnificent scenery, he’d been analyzing where she went and he was planning what to do next.

But that stranger was no longer simply trying to scare her into closing the lodge.

He wanted to see her die.

Janna couldn’t sleep.

Restless, she stared at the clock on the bedside table and groaned in frustration, willing away the dark images that had filled her thoughts since coming down off the mountain this evening.

The lodge and cabins had been her dream since the day her husband walked out despite her efforts to save their marriage.

Starting a new life here had seemed like a perfect answer to her heartfelt prayers. Yet nothing was turning out quite as she’d planned.

Tessa was still coolly distant. Claire’s hostility had only increased, though that could signal the advancement of her Alzheimer’s. Bringing the facility back to life was proving more complicated and expensive than she’d expected.

And now, her plan for creating this new life for Rylie and her at the lodge was placing them in danger.

God, did I misunderstand? Was this just a foolish dream, and not what I should have chosen? Am I stubbornly keeping us at risk by staying here?

If her stalker knew about her trail rides, he had to know about the deputy sheriff’s presence here. Maybe that had provided a layer of protection against any outright confrontations. But what would happen when Michael and Ian moved to town?

Troubled, she pushed back her covers and paced her room, then slipped quietly down the hallway to the great room of the lodge.

A few glowing embers still pulsed in the fireplace, but the room was chilly, cast in eerie silver and black relief by the moonlight streaming through the expanse of windows facing west.

Shivering at the cold oak flooring beneath her bare feet, she grabbed a Navajo blanket from the back of a sofa and wrapped herself in it, then added some pine twigs for kindling and a few lengths of hardwood to the fire.

The fire caught, crackling and snapping as it devoured the kindling, releasing the delicious, tangy scent of pine.

The growing flames sent golden light dancing into the room.

A chair creaked, and Janna looked up to find her mother sitting in one of the chairs back in the shadows, watching her. “Why don’t you come closer to the fire?”

She didn’t expect Claire to respond, much less follow her suggestion, and felt an absurd flash of pleasure when her mother rose and settled in a high, wing chair opposite hers.

The flickering light deepened the weathered lines and wrinkles in Claire’s face, adding decades to her years. “You could tell me what’s going on,” she said after a long and stony silence. “I think it’s only fair.”

Janna considered and discarded a dozen breezy replies, buying time by crouching at the fireplace to rearrange the logs on the grate. She’d tried to avoid conveying her unease, knowing that Claire could do nothing to help and that her spells of dementia made her moods unpredictable at best.

What could she have overheard?

As if she’d read Janna’s mind, Claire snorted. “I might have been a lousy mother, but I’ve got eyes. You don’t believe the damage to that cabin was random, for one thing. There were my flat tires, and something must have happened when you went riding today. You probably think it all has something to do with those bones. Or maybe, that it’s all related to me.”

Surprised, Janna looked over her shoulder. “You?”

“That should hardly be a surprise.” Claire’s voice turned bitter. “Especially to you. I know I’ve made enemies here—but I’d do it all over again to protect this ranch.”

Their shared past loomed between them like fierce, roiling storm clouds—promising the end of their uneasy truce if either said another word.

The years of anger and impatience and criticism.

The complete inability to ever communicate.

The final, painful acceptance of the fact that her own mother was completely devoid of love and affection for her.

An empty chill spread through Janna as she eased back in her chair and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders.
There’s no point in starting it all over again…just let it be. Please, just let it be.

After a long silence she dragged her gaze from the fire and found Claire staring at her. “I no longer have the heart to argue, Mom.”

Claire flinched at the affectionate term—one Janna had tried to quit using as a teenager, at Claire’s stern request. “I was never much of a ‘mom’ to you. We both know that, but you weren’t much of a daughter, either.”

If Claire had delivered a slap to Janna’s face, it couldn’t have been more painful. Janna stood and started for her bedroom. “Then I guess we were both failures.”

“Wait!”

The command was worthy of any army general, but Janna knew she had to keep moving or risk saying words she could never take back.

“Please.”

If Claire had ever uttered the word “please” in her life, Janna hadn’t heard it. She stopped. “I’m not sure there’s anything more we can say right now that won’t be hurtful. It’s probably better to just forget this whole conversation.”

“Your father didn’t die.”

Stunned, Janna turned around. The room seemed to tip for a moment, and she had to reach out to brace herself against the back of a chair.
“What?”

“Not exactly.”

Claire’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if she were retreating into the past, and Janna wondered if she were lost in some sort of delusion. The doctor had warned Janna and her sisters not to believe everything their mother said.

“You’re either dead, or you’re not,” Janna said cautiously.

“Oh, now he is. Finally.” Claire’s voice hardened. “After I inherited this place, he wanted to turn it into the biggest Angus ranch ever. We mortgaged everything to buy the right bloodlines. We build new barns, advertised. Then times got hard, and he turned mean. Drank. When I got pregnant with you, he took off like a scalded hound with everything we had left in the bank.”

Understanding dawned, and with it, compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

“He nearly destroyed
everything
. This ranch. My future. At nine months pregnant, I was herding cattle. I could afford no one else.”

“That’s something I can’t change,” Janna said quietly. “None of it was my choice.”

“No, but you’re a dreamer, just like him. Smart and stubborn and mouthy, and you always thought you were way too good for this ranch. I needed help—but you had your nose in your books. You only had to open your sassy mouth, and it always seemed like your daddy was still here—right in my face.” Claire’s chin lifted. “I figure you at least deserve to hear the truth.”

Janna struggled with this first, clear glimpse of her father. A man who’d probably gone toe-to-toe with his wildly independent and dominant wife on a daily basis—not that it excused him for running away and taking the money she desperately needed.

It must have been the worst possible match.

“I always loved books, Momma. I dreamed of college from the time I was little. But I did help you out. I worked on this ranch a lot. I can’t help that I wasn’t a tomboy like Leigh and Tessa.” Janna searched her mother’s face for acceptance and found none. “Couldn’t you have loved me for who I was—just a little?”

“Of course I did. I’m your mother.” Claire stood, cinched the belt on her robe a little tighter and brushed past Janna on her way to the door. “Don’t wake me up in the morning for breakfast. I think I’ll sleep in.”

Of course I did. I’m your mother
. The cold tone certainly belied her words.

Janna stayed by the fireplace until dawn, watching the fire burn low, fade to embers and then finally flicker into cold, charred remnants.

Her mother’s revelations bit deep.

Tessa and Leigh had both been through failed relationships but had never married, and Janna’s own husband had left, just as her father had thirty years before. The McAllister legacy wasn’t a happy one for finding deep and abiding love.

With every passing day she felt a deeper connection to Michael, and found herself looking forward to the moment he pulled up at his cabin after work, hoping there’d be a chance to talk with him.

But it would never lead to anything more, because she couldn’t take that chance.

Carl had once seemed like the perfect man, too—before they were married. Then he’d immersed himself in his career with late hours and long weekends. He’d drifted away from their church, and from Janna—and he’d broken Rylie’s heart whenever he forgot another promise to her during that sad and difficult time.

Now he honored her scheduled visits and was trying harder to be a good father despite the responsibilities of a new wife with children of her own. But it could never again be the same as a whole and happy family for Rylie.

And the thought of remarrying to create that illusion just wasn’t an option.

A loveless childhood, a failed marriage—what were the odds that Janna could ever really make a relationship work? Zip, if her mother, sisters and divorce were any clue, and it simply wasn’t worth the risk to try.

Rylie would become attached to a stepdad, then face yet another loss. And Janna would never put her through that kind of heartache again.