The Cowboy's Deadly Reunion

by Cindy Dees

  She would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she was lucky to get through an entire day without falling apart. Sometimes she had to live hour to hour, or even minute to minute, to get through the pain of losing Wes.

  Now and then she considered leaving Sunny Creek. But it was the first place that had ever felt like a home to her, and everyone in town had been so kind and welcoming to her. Wes notwithstanding.

  More importantly, she was done moving around. She’d lived in fifteen different cities in the twenty years since her mother had died. Her father’s two-year stint at the Pentagon had been the longest time the two of them had lived in a single city that she could remember. She’d had enough of it. She wanted to put down roots, and Sunny Creek was as good as anywhere else. She did love the mountains. And the clean air. And all the great folks she’d met.

  Even if living here did mean she was going to run into Wes from time to time. The good news was he was such a hermit she would never see him. Honestly, she didn’t think her pain could get any worse. Seeing him now and then wouldn’t make her suffer any more than she already was.

  The good news was there were dozens of historic homes in need of repair and renovation in this town, and there was talk of a new ski resort opening up on the other side of the McMinn Mountain Range. If that happened, the market for newly updated, authentically historic homes, would soar. She could stay gainfully employed in the area for years to come.

  Plus, it turned out she could live off her income as a designer. Particularly when she was so depressed she couldn’t bring herself to even go out to dinner to eat, let alone go shopping for clothes or makeup or any other little luxuries.

  Occasionally she dragged herself over to Pittypat’s for a piece of pie, but that was only because the sisters would come and get her if she didn’t visit them at least once a week.

  Their worry was sweet. They were like a pair of dotty old aunts who fussed and fretted over her a little too much. But they meant well. Everyone did. Annabelle Cooper brought her supper a couple of nights a week. Anna Larkin, Chase Morgan’s fiancée, had become a good friend as had Willa Mathers. Jessica found Willa’s calm demeanor and Zen approach to life particularly soothing.

  In fact, she was supposed to meet both Anna and Willa at Pittypat’s in a few minutes for supper.

  Forcing herself into motion, she laid aside paint chips and upholstery samples. She stopped in front of a mirror and winced at the sight of herself. Her hair was a mess and she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup. Which meant her skin was pale, her eyes more pale and the violent smudges under eyes so pronounced that she looked ill.

  No help for it. A broken heart did that to a girl.

  She raced into the diner a few minutes late and was alarmed to see Miranda Morgan sitting at the big booth in the back with Anna, Willa, Charlotte and Annabelle. Uh-oh. This wasn’t some sort of intervention, was it?

  “Hey, Miranda,” she said cautiously.

  “Hello there, Jessica. How have you been?”

  She shrugged, unwilling to admit that she was miserable and life had sucked since the breakup with Wes. “Does something special bring you to town tonight?”

  “I came to commiserate with you over what an ass my son is.”

  Jessica couldn’t help but smile at that. “Which one? You have several sons.”

  Miranda scowled. “Sometimes I think they’re all asses.”

  Anna and Willa hooted with laughter at that. Anna scooted over in the booth and Jessica slid in beside her. Patricia plopped a piece of lemon meringue pie down in front of her and declared it medicinal and to be consumed before dinner. Jessica dug in with enthusiasm, tasting food for the first time in days.

  The women chatted companionably around her, trading stories about the dumbest things men had ever said and done around them. Jessica let the conversation flow over her and around her, a verbal blanket of love. So this was what it was like to have family. It was pretty nice, actually. She loved the perspective of women of multiple generations coming together to share their life experiences.

  She felt the loss of her own mother most keenly in moments like this, but for once she also felt that hole being partially filled by the friendship of these women. Maybe, just maybe, she had finally found a home.

  * * *

  After the disastrous visit from Miranda, Wes settled into a pretty much permanent state of irritation at the entire human race. The whole world seemed against him. A cough went through his herd and kept him up for several long nights babysitting afflicted calves. Also, the vet bill for treating the whole herd had been steep. If it could break around the ranch, it did. Fences went down, doors broke—even his tractor broke down.

  Fortunately, he diagnosed the tractor’s problem quickly, and the hardware store in Sunny Creek stocked common tractor parts. He jumped in his truck and headed for town. As he pulled into the hardware store, he spied Jessica’s Corvette parked across the street at Pittypat’s. Great. What else could go wrong today?

  Yup, there it was. His mother’s German sedan was parked next to Jessica’s car. Perfect. He loved it when every woman he knew decided to gang up on him. Miranda really should keep her big fat nose out of his personal business. He marched across Main Street with the intention of telling her that very thing.

  He crossed the threshold into the vintage diner and stopped cold, immediately spying the large group of women laughing and talking together in the back of the room.

  “Don’t do it, man,” a male voice said from the coffee counter.

  Joe Westlake was the source of the warning, sitting hunched over a cup of coffee. Wes glared at his cousin. “My mother can stop hanging around with my ex any day now.”

  “It’s a losing battle, Wes. I’m telling you. I grew up with four sisters, and I know what I’m talking about. You don’t want to mess with them when they close ranks and band together to hate on a guy. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “Willa and Anna are back there. They’ll side with me.”

  Joe snorted. “Don’t be so sure of that. They look pretty chummy with Jessica.”

  “She ditched me. I’m the injured party here,” Wes declared.

  Joe shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

  Scowling, Wes stomped past the grinning sheriff and headed for the big booth in the back corner. He caught sight of Jessica and his steps faltered. The impact of her beauty upon him was as great as ever. Maybe greater. Her features were so cleanly drawn, so purely lovely, they defied reason. No mere mortal was that perfect. Yet, there she sat. His gut twisted in desire and longing.

  Truth be told, he suspected he would always react to her like that. God knew, she was the kind of woman who would be gorgeous at any age. Her bones, her eyes and her sunny spirit would all surely stand the test of time.

  Jessica looked up and her gaze lit on him. Shock passed through her eyes, followed by wariness. Hurt. And then sadness. His gut twisted again, but for an entirely different reason. He’d put that unhappiness in her expression if everyone around him was right.

  “Ladies,” he said tersely.

  “Wes!” Miranda exclaimed. “Whatever brings you here?”

  “Can I talk with you for a minute, Mother?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?”

  “In private?” he ground out.

  She looked around the table at the other women seated with her. “These women are all family. Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of them. They’ll find out what you said anyway. After all, the gossip network in this town is first-rate.”

  He felt his back molars grinding together like grist wheels. “Have you been drinking?” he snapped.

  “Coffee? Yes. I’m drunk on caffeine.”

  Since when was his mother such a playful and annoying person? It was almost as if Jessica had rubbed off on her. Which was alarming in the extreme to contem
plate. “Mother...”

  Miranda’s eyebrows sailed up. “Don’t you go taking that tone with me, young man. I brought you into this world, and I can surely take you out. I’m here to have dinner with dear Jessica and her friends, so say your piece and go. You’re disturbing us.”

  “It’s not appropriate for you to be hanging out with my ex.”

  “Why not? She’s a delight and I enjoy her company immensely. You, on the other hand, have become a gigantic sourpuss.” Miranda shrugged. “I chose to keep her after your breakup.”

  “Oh really?” he spluttered.

  “Really. The poor girl had to grow up without a mother, and she could surely use one now to help her navigate the vagaries of men who insist on acting like jackasses.”

  “Jackasses?”

  “Giant ones,” Miranda answered firmly.

  Wes nodded slowly, anger building to a conflagration in his gut. He looked across the table at Jessica. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, breaking up my family now.”

  She spoke lightly. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing that all by yourself.”

  “Wow. Anna, Willa, would you like to dive in here and pile on any more abuse?”

  Anna looked a little cowed by the whole spat and retreated into the corner of the booth to do her best approximation of disappearing. Willa, however, planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward to study him intently.

  “You don’t have any idea why Jessica walked out on you, do you? You think it’s her fault. That she up and decided to leave you. Am I right?”

  He sensed the minefield he was walking into and cautiously made a noncommittal sound.

  “You have no idea that you pushed her away from you, do you? You’re so wrapped up in your own little world that you can’t see beyond the end of your own nose. I never knew you had such narcissistic tendencies, Wes. I have to say, you don’t wear them well.”

  “I’m not a narcissist!” he exclaimed. Why did he feel as if he was playing right into her hands by flaring up at her name-calling?

  “What would you call it then? Selfishness? Immaturity? Plain old head-up-your-ass?”

  The other women hooted with laughter, and he felt his face growing red. “What are you doing to me, Willa?” he bit out.

  “I’m trying to give you a swift kick in the pants. You need to take a good hard look at yourself, my friend. I could help you if you’d like. I just got my official counseling license.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” he retorted. Ugh. The last thing he wanted was to have his basically little sister poking around inside his noggin.

  “The offer stands. Whenever you’re ready to figure out where you went wrong with Jessica, you know where to find me.”

  Ha. He could take care of his own damned relationships, thank you very much. Rather than stick around and take any more abuse from the tableful of women, he spun and stalked toward the exit.

  “Told ya so,” Joe muttered as Wes got close to him.

  “Don’t you start with me,” Wes snapped.

  “Actually, do you have a minute? There’s something I’d like to show you at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Unless it’s the bottom of a bottle of beer, I’ll pass.”

  “It’s official business, actually.”

  Wes frowned. “Oh. Well, in that case, lead on.”

  He followed his cousin outside and down Main Street past a half-dozen buildings to the sheriff’s office, which was housed in a quaint, old-fashioned building that looked more like a saloon than a police station. But once they passed inside, it was all modern law enforcement with computers, big monitors on the walls and several young, smart-looking deputies sitting at high-tech workstations, wearing headsets.

  “What’s up?” Wes asked.

  Joe said hello to each deputy who looked up at him and led Wes across the open space to a desk inside a glass-walled office. “Have a seat.” He indicated a chair in front of his desk, and Wes sank into it as Joe moved around behind the desk to sit.

  “I’ve got some information for you. We got the ballistics report back on the bullets that were fired at you in your upper pasture. They’re a match for the rounds we dug out of Jessica’s car. The same weapon was used to shoot at both of you.”

  Wes leaned back hard, shocked. “Who in the hell has it in for both her and me?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” Joe replied.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been over and over the time I spent with her in Washington, all the mutual acquaintances we had. People I knew through her father. I’ve racked my brain, and I’ve got nothing, man.”

  Joe made a sympathetic sound. “Keep trying. If something or someone clicks, give me a shout. I’ve got Jessica working on it, too.”

  An urge to ask how she was doing danced on the tip of Wes’s tongue, but he bit it back. Besides, he knew the answer for himself. She was partying it up with her girlfriends and restoring a fancy house. Life was going just great for her.

  “There’s something else,” Joe said grimly.

  Wes yanked his attention back to his cousin sharply. “What is it?”

  Joe opened a drawer, pulled out a folder and pushed it across the desk toward Wes. “I’ve been in touch with the Washington, DC, police recently. The name Demoyne ring a bell?”

  Wes looked up sharply. “He’s the guy who arrested me after I beat up the guy who drugged and assaulted Jess.”

  “Officer Demoyne has been working with Jessica for a while, now. She has been getting threatening emails from an anonymous sender.”

  “Yeah, and she took long enough to tell me about it,” Wes blurted.

  “Probably because she hates your guts, man.”

  Wes scowled at his cousin. “I wasn’t that big a jerk to her. She might have walked out on me, but I highly doubt she hates me outright.”

  Joe shrugged. “I try to stay out of relationship drama as much as possible.”

  “Good call,” Wes replied drily.

  “At any rate, Demoyne has been forwarding the emails to me. They’re coming from a computer server in Billings, but the user could be signed in from anywhere in Southwestern Montana and be using the server wirelessly.”

  “Can’t you track this person down?”

  “Apparently not. I don’t fully understand the technology, but the stalker is intentionally disguising his or her location and identity.”

  “What do you need from me?” Wes asked in concern. Joe didn’t use words like threatening and stalker lightly. He was a cop, for crying out loud, and those words had specific and weighty meanings.

  “Here’s the thing. We’ve got no idea who might be sending these. Officer Demoyne has had an FBI profiler take a look at them, but the profiler says they’re too generic to give him a handle on the psyche of the author. I was wondering if you’d take a look at the emails. See if they trigger anything for you.”

  Wes picked up the file and opened it. He thumbed through message after message, reading in growing horror. Why in the hell hadn’t Jessica told him about the rest of these? The first messages were dated well before she’d moved out of his house. He could see what the profiler meant. The messages were similar, with several common themes running throughout them. The author wanted Jessica to leave Montana and go back to Washington, DC. And the author told her over and over that if she didn’t leave Montana, and soon, both she and Wes would be in mortal danger.

  “This bastard’s threatening me?” Wes blurted. “Why?”

  “If you’ll notice, the threats against you subsided soon after she moved back to Sunny Creek and bought the Cleever house.”

  “She bought a house in Sunny Creek?” Wes exclaimed.

  “Well, yeah. You didn’t know?” Joe shrugged. “It’s one of those big old Victorians on the north end of town. She’s restoring it
. I hear she’s really turning it into a showplace. Folks are raving about it.”

  “She’s not actually planning to stay in Sunny Creek, is she?” he asked in dismay. He didn’t know whether to be thrilled that she hadn’t bolted to some distant shore or royally pissed that she’d stuck around his hometown just to taunt him.

  “How the hell should I know? I’m not her social secretary. Not that I’d mind applying for the job. She’s one fine-looking woman. Nice lady, too. What the hell were you thinking, dumping her?”

  “I didn’t dump her,” Wes ground out.

  “Ah. She dumped you, huh? Tough luck.”

  Wes really didn’t want to talk about his failed love life with his cousin, or anybody else for that matter. “Why didn’t you tell me I was being threatened in these emails of Jessica’s?”

  “Because the threats against you had stopped by the time I was brought into the loop, but have recently started up again. Officer Demoyne is also worried about Jessica’s safety, and asked me and my guys to keep an eye on her as long as she’s in town.”

  “Are you?” Wes challenged.

  “Absolutely. We’ve got someone within a block of her place pretty much around the clock. When she goes over to Hillsdale to pick up stuff for her house, one of my guys almost always follows her.”

  “How long are you planning to keep up this security detail?”

  Joe leaned forward. “As long as those threats continue to come to her inbox.”

  “How many are there, anyway?”

  “Fifty-three and counting. She gets one or two a day, usually. Now and then she gets a cluster of several all at once.”

  “And there’s no distinguishing words or phrases to help you identify this asshole?” Wes asked.

  Joe shook his head.

  Wes picked up the stack of emails again and went through them, more slowly this time. They were stiff. Formal. Almost like business letters. Something in the emails resonated with him but he couldn’t put his finger on it.