B.J. Daniels

by Forsaken

  What he didn’t see was the shepherd, his horse or any sign of a camp.

  As if sensing his question, Maddie said, “The camp will probably be down there.” She pointed to an opening in the rocks.

  There was tension in her expression, but she worked hard to hide it—just as she did her other emotions. Earlier with the dog, he’d witnessed a crack in her tough exterior. He’d caught it only once before—when she’d seen Dewey hiding in the barn stall.

  Her concern for Dewey, then the dog and her sheepherder had exposed a tender side of her he could tell she kept hidden. Did she do that to protect herself? Or to hide her pain and fear from others?

  It made him wonder how long she’d been alone, holding it all together so the world didn’t see how vulnerable and scared she was or how much pain she was in. He recognized the open wounds and had to look away sometimes. He knew that kind of aching regret too well.

  Maddie spurred her horse forward. He followed her down the ridge, their horses’ hooves clattering in the loose rock. As they rode across the grassy bowl, he saw an opening in the rocks where water and snow had carved a path downward.

  Riding closer, he saw the corner of a white wall tent and the charred black ring of rocks where a campfire had been built on a flat spot in front of it. No sign of a horse—or of Branch Murdock.

  Jamison told himself that the man could have taken off just as Dewey had done. He could have had enough of this and just quit. Except that Branch would be smart enough not to go back to the ranch. Instead, he could be sitting in a warm bar somewhere right now out of the wind and cold and far from the sound of bleating sheep.

  There was just one problem with that theory. According to Maddie, Branch Murdock wouldn’t have left his dog behind. Jamison had noticed the rope noose tied around the dog’s neck and the frayed end. He’d also noticed Maddie’s surprise as if she couldn’t imagine Branch tying up his dog.

  If not Branch, then who? Dewey? It seemed more likely that the sheepherder who’d left his coat on a rocky ridge when his dog had gotten loose would do that.

  “Why don’t you see to your sheep,” Jamison said to Maddie. “I’ll look for your sheepherder. I’d rather do it alone anyway.”

  She gave him a look, one that spoke volumes, before she reined her horse around. “Come on, Lucy. Work.” The dog looked reluctant but trotted off toward a handful of sheep huddled together against the rocks. The woman and dog began to herd the sheep toward the middle of the wide meadow.

  He watched them work for a moment, fascinated how they performed as a team. Then he turned his horse toward the camp. He was pretty sure he knew why neither Maddie nor the dog was interested in checking the tent. Both seemed to know they wouldn’t find Branch Murdock inside.

  * * *

  MADDIE THREW HERSELF into the work she’d done since she was a girl. The familiar sound of the baaing and bleating sheep was almost comforting, and the work kept her from thinking too hard. Lucy seemed to perk up some as well as they began to do what came instinctively—herding sheep.

  Sheep naturally stayed in bands. But the bands had split, and some had wandered off as sheep were apt to do when left unattended. She didn’t want to think about how long they’d been left to their own devices.

  She found the bellwether, the male sheep that was the leader of the flock. The bell around his neck clanged, adding to the cacophony of baaing and bleating. Maddie moved as quickly as possible. She could feel the dark coming. Shadows had already moved into the hollows along the side of the mountain. She tried not to think about Branch, and yet as she gathered more sheep from hidden pockets in the bowl, she found herself looking for his body.

  Instead she discovered the bodies of three sheep. She didn’t have to dismount to know what had killed them. They lay on their sides with exposed dull red rib bones where the flesh had been torn away. It was usually either wolves or grizzlies. From the tracks around the dead sheep, this time it had been a grizzly. She wanted to stop and study the tracks, afraid there might be more than one feeding on her sheep.

  But she was burning daylight, and any sheep that had strayed would be fair game for predators come nightfall. The best thing she could do was gather as many as she could. There really was safety in numbers, especially since she would be watching over them tonight, she thought as she touched the stock of her rifle.

  “Don’t forget you brought the law with you,” she reminded herself. Killing grizzlies and wolves was illegal—even when they were eating her sheep. But she sure as the devil would give them a good scare tonight.

  Just the thought of the deputy, though, was a painful reminder of why they were on this mountain. She’d seen no sign of Branch or his horse.

  “Oh, Dewey, what happened up here?” She felt tears sting her eyes again, but quickly straightened in the saddle and called out to the sheep to keep moving toward the others.

  Don’t buy trouble. She could hear her husband, Hank, saying those words. Everything is going to be all right, Maddie. The last words he’d said to her. The only time Hank had ever lied to her. Things hadn’t been all right. They would never be all right again.

  She angrily brushed at her tears, cold against her cheek, as darkness edged toward the mountains. For a woman who thought she was all cried out, she couldn’t help the single sob that rose in her throat.

  “Branch, where are you?”

  * * *

  AS JAMISON RODE between the rocks and approached the tent, he was glad to be alone. He wanted to check the area without anyone else traipsing through it. All his instincts told him that Branch Murdock wasn’t sitting in some warm bar right now downing a draft beer.

  Dismounting a half-dozen yards away and leaving his horse ground tied, Jamison walked slowly toward the camp.

  The canvas tent flapped loudly in the wind, but very little ash blew up from the burned-out fire pit. He would guess there hadn’t been a fire in the crude rock ring for at least a day.

  The ground was rocky except for a spot where the tent had been erected. Spring grass grew tall around the structure, and the earth looked soft.

  He slowed as he neared it. Outside the tent on one side, a stake had been hammered into the ground. A piece of frayed rope was still tied to it.

  On the other side was a pile of freshly split firewood.

  The flap that acted as the door whipped in the wind, giving him glimpses of the tent’s interior. A small woodstove, a makeshift table and box with some utensils and supplies, and two cots. Several sleeping bags lay on the cots, an old blanket on the floor between them covered with dog hair.

  Other than that, the tent was empty.

  From what he could see, there was no sign of an altercation. No visible blood—at least not the quantity that could be seen from this distance.

  As he moved closer to the tent, he slowed to study the footprints in the soft earth. He crouched down to study them more carefully, his pulse bumping up a notch as he realized what he was seeing.

  Three distinct and different sets of footprints had been left in the dirt. Dewey’s, he recognized from the boy’s boots he’d bagged back at the ranch. One large set of worn cowboy boots, he was betting belonged to Branch Murdock.

  It was the third set of fresh prints that caught his interest. They were fresher, made from the newer soles of hiking boots that left the imprint of the brand name in the soft dirt. They were larger than either Dewey’s or Branch’s, and from the varying indentations, it appeared the man had been limping.

  The tracks also had crossed the others, which led him to believe whoever had worn the hiking boots had been here recently. Or at least after Dewey and Branch.

  As Jamison photographed the tracks with the camera from his saddlebag, he considered the ramifications and felt a chill run the length of his spine. As he looked toward the sound of Maddie herding the sheep in the growing darkness, all his instincts told him that they might not be alone.

  As he started to step into the tent, he looked again at the pile of split
logs for the woodstove. It took him a moment to realize what he wasn’t seeing, doubted he would find in the tent, either.

  Someone had split the wood. So where was the ax?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BETHANY GATES REYNOLDS had The Worst Heartburn. She couldn’t wait to get home and sprawl in Clete’s old recliner, balance the remote control on her protruding abdomen and watch old movies for the rest of the night.

  Eight and a half months pregnant, she’d never been so uncomfortable in her life. She could barely drive the pickup, but couldn’t even reach the gas pedal of the SUV. So Clete had traded her vehicles. She hated the pickup as much as she hated the way her whole body had swollen up to the point of bursting.

  She couldn’t force her feet into real shoes tonight and, unable to get comfortable, had gotten up and gone to the store for ice cream in Beartooth in her slippers. Nettie Benton had given her one of her disapproving looks.

  “What is it?” Nettie had asked, pointing at her belly.

  “A boy.”

  The old gossip had actually smiled. “Clete must be happy about that.”

  “He is.” She’d worked at her wedding band as Nettie checked her out—both her groceries and her. Her fingers were so fat they looked like little sausages, and she would never be able to get her wedding ring off now, could barely turn it on her finger.

  When she’d mentioned that her ring was stuck on until the baby came, her husband had said, “That’s good because you have no reason to take it off anymore.”

  She’d regretted even mentioning taking off her wedding band. Neither of them had to be reminded of how foolish she’d been a year ago. She’d almost destroyed her marriage and lost Clete.

  But amazingly, he’d forgiven her and even gone to marriage counseling with her. He’d admitted his part although she was the one who’d strayed. He’d been so happy when months after the counseling she’d gotten pregnant—even happier when he’d found out he was having a son.

  “Looks like you’re due any day,” Nettie had said, handing over the bag of groceries.

  “Another couple of weeks.”

  Nettie had looked skeptical. “I doubt you’ll make it that long.”

  As if fiftysomething Nettie knew anything about having babies. She and her husband, Bob, were childless—and now divorcing, if the Beartooth grapevine could be believed.

  “The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.” All Bethany had wanted was to get home, plop down and put her feet up.

  As she started to turn down the road to her house out in the middle of the valley, another vehicle came roaring out of the narrow drive. She stopped the truck just in time as the black SUV fishtailed past her, kicking up a cloud of dust. Bethany caught only a glimpse of the driver and two passengers. She didn’t catch their license plates, but she had a fleeting impression of the men: not from around here.

  She watched the black SUV disappear down the road behind her, wondering who they were. Her house was the only one down this road. Of course, the men could have been lost, but she had a feeling they’d been looking for her husband.

  That alone would be enough to cause her concern given the hour. Clete should still be working at the bar. She would have been alone out here at the house when the men had stopped by—if she hadn’t gone for ice cream.

  Suddenly scared, she drove on down the road. She would call Clete as soon as she reached the house. Just in case the men came back.

  But minutes later when she drove into the yard, she saw that Clete was home. Climbing out of the truck, hugging the bag with the ice cream in it to her, she wondered why he would have left work early. She was even more curious when she came in the front door of the house and found her husband pulling his backpack from the closet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Oh, good, you’re home,” he said then saw the bag she was carrying. “You didn’t have to go to the store. I could have done that.” He took the bag from her and headed into the kitchen.

  She followed. “You got off early?”

  “It was slow, so I could slip away.”

  “I just saw some men leaving.”

  Clete put the ice cream into the freezer. He never put the groceries away. Her earlier concern heightened.

  “They’re some friends from college,” he said finally.

  Bethany thought about how fast the driver had been going. The large SUV had looked new. She couldn’t put her finger on why it made her uneasy that the men in the rig had been here—or how they’d known where to find her husband since he never had friends from college stop by.

  “What did they want?”

  “Why would you think they wanted something?” he asked too defensively.

  She took a breath, placing her hand over her huge baby bump. The kid had been kicking her hard all day.

  Clete noticed. “Are you all right?” He closed the distance between them, his hand joining hers. They stood like that until they felt junior kick again.

  Her husband smiled, his expression softening when he raised his gaze to hers. They’d promised each other during their marriage counseling that they would always be honest with each other.

  It had been a big thing for Clete to even agree to marriage counseling. No man he’d ever known had gone to marriage counseling. Bethany certainly hadn’t thought she’d ever need it. When they’d married, she’d been young and quickly disillusioned. Clete hadn’t been in the least romantic. So when another man had made her feel loved and desired and special...

  “I want to be honest with you,” her husband said now and sighed. “They weren’t friends from college. They were on my football team. Rich kids. None of them were there on scholarships and loans.” He sounded bitter. It had been tough for him trying to play football and get good grades so he didn’t lose his scholarship. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt and could have finished college if he hadn’t had so much on his plate.

  “So they just wanted to say hello.”

  He looked embarrassed because it was now clear they wouldn’t have stopped by if they hadn’t wanted something from him. She disliked them without even meeting them. Is that why she’d been concerned when she’d seen them coming from the house? Because she’d never met anyone Clete had gone to college with. So much of his time had been spent with football that the team was all he had, and they’d abandoned him after he’d gotten injured and had to quit.

  “They want to take a hike up the Boulder, back into the Beartooth Wilderness over the mountains to Yellowstone Park,” he said, his hand still on her stomach. “They knew that I was from around here, so...”

  “So they wanted advice?” She was hoping that was all it was. Or maybe to borrow some gear. Why else would Clete have been digging out his backpack, right?

  He shook his head. “They want me to guide them. It’s only for a few days,” he added quickly. “I’ve already gotten someone to cover for me at the bar.”

  It surprised her he’d made the decision so quickly and without talking to her about it. “If you don’t like them why would you—”

  He took his hand from her stomach and raked it through his thick hair. He was still the most handsome cowboy she’d ever known. Even though he now owned a bar, he was a ranch kid at heart who still liked to ride bucking horses. Clete was one of those men who was more at home on a horse than behind the wheel of a pickup.

  “I did it for you and the baby. They’re going to pay me to take them. It’s a lot of money.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Why would they do that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are lots of maps and guidebooks...”

  “They’re rich kids,” he said, clearly getting more irritated. “They can afford to have someone take them. If not me, they’ll hire someone else.”

  She wanted to say, “Let them hire someone else.”

  But he didn’t give her a chance. “It’s easy money, and you know how I love that country. I know it, and it’s been ye
ars since I’ve been up there in the spring. I want to do this.”

  It was wild, remote country. She looked at it every day from her kitchen window—the horizon filled with snowcapped mountains.

  “I’m having this baby soon,” she said, amazed she should have to tell him that when she was standing right before his eyes.

  “The doctor said not for at least two more weeks. I’ll only be gone a couple of days, four at the most.” He sighed. “We need the money, Bethany. Without you working...”

  She reminded herself how wonderful he’d been when she’d learned she was pregnant. It had been his idea that she should quit her job waitressing at the Branding Iron and stay home with the baby.

  Now, though, she heard the worry in his voice and stepped closer to cup his warm, strong jaw in her palm. She’d fallen in love with Clete Reynolds at a tender young age. She’d always known she would marry him. He’d been older, and at first he’d seen her as nothing more than a kid. When he’d gone away to college on a football scholarship, she’d been afraid he’d never come back.

  As awful as it was to admit, she’d been glad when he’d gotten hurt and had dropped out of school and come home to work at the Range Rider.

  Now he owned the bar, and while maybe neither of their lives had turned out the way they’d thought it would, they were together and about to have a baby they both already loved.

  “Let me do this,” Clete said softly, and pulled her close.

  She snuggled against him as close as she could with the baby between them, and breathed in his outdoorsy, masculine scent. Clete was her cowboy. He loved the outdoors and needed time in it.

  “If it’s what you want to do...” she said.

  “Great.” He gave her the smile that had melted her heart all those years ago. At nearly thirty, she’d been in love with Clete more than half her life.

  She shoved her misgivings aside, telling herself this would be good for him. He’d make some extra money, and it was the time of year that he couldn’t wait to get up into the mountains.