The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Before she lost the ability to think or hear anything, Phoebe thought she heard Kerry Anne laughing.

  EPILOGUE

  “Is she nuts?” Dewey asked Phoebe in a low voice as he looked at the guests arriving for a barbecue at Dani and Matt’s. It was an eclectic mix that included her new in-laws, Phoebe’s former in-law’s already on their way to getting plastered, a gaggle of female friends of Dani’s, a mix of law enforcers from various agencies, and, of course, the two, mostly reformed, law breakers.

  “She’s a romance writer,” Phoebe said. Dewey looked happy—contented even—despite the shiny electronic bracelet Bryn had attached to his ankle. A shiny gold band on her left hand kept Phoebe firmly attached to Jake.

  “Oh.” His gaze found Bryn, lingered for a moment, then turned toward Phoebe. “I’ve missed you.”

  Phoebe patted his hand. “She keeps you on a pretty short leash.”

  “So does yours.”

  Phoebe smiled. He did indeed. It had been a tumultuous six months. Dewey had given her away, though she’d had to convince Jesse it wasn’t the job of the ex-husband. Jake and Jesse would never be close, but they had achieved a sort of truce when the guys realized Phoebe really was madly in love with her marshal.

  For her honeymoon, Jake had arranged a visit to Georgia and a stop by Kerry Anne and Mama’s graves. He called it closure, she called it kind. His family had let her in, though she suspected she was still on probation with Matt. That was okay. He was a big brother. Being protective went with the territory. Kept her on her toes to know he was watching. Gave her a goal.

  All God’s children need a goal. Speaking of…

  “Are you ever going to tell her?” Phoebe asked.

  Dewey looked at her. “I wondered if you’d figured it out.”

  “I’m slow, but I get there eventually.”

  Dewey nodded in Jake’s direction. “Does he know?”

  “He doesn’t ask, I don’t tell.” It was the one secret she’d kept from Jake. “I wish you could have a happy ending, too.”

  Dewey grinned. “Maybe I’ll consult the romance writer.”

  “About what?” Bryn had approached unnoticed. In her linen shorts and top, she looked cool and feminine. Was that a softer look in her eyes for Dewey?

  Phoebe looked at Dewey. “I think I’m going to go find Jake.” She jumped off the fence and headed for her man. Behind her, she heard Dewey say, “Damn, you’re cute, girl.”

  She approached Jake from behind, but he still knew she was there. His hand reached behind him, found hers and pulled her close. His mom smiled a welcome, then her gaze drifted toward the cluster of Dani’s female friends, who were laughing, chatting and fending off Mentel boys.

  “I wonder…” Debra said.

  “What?” Phoebe asked.

  “Two boys happy. One to go.”

  Phoebe looked at Luke, who appeared to be talking climbing with Toes. As if he sensed their scrutiny, he turned and gave his mom a “What?” look.

  His mom’s smile reminded Phoebe of her mamma’s red shoes smile.

  Just a hint of evil around the edges.

  * * * *

  MISSING YOU

  Book three in The Lonesome Lawmen series.

  ONE

  Snowflakes fell thick and fast as Luke Kirby stopped his 4x4 in front of the family cabin, just south of Estes Park. On a clear day, Long’s Peak was visible from the cabin, but now his headlights had trouble penetrating more than a few yards ahead. The wind kicked up the falling snow, erasing not just the tracks his truck had made on the dirt road, but the place where sky and earth met, turning the world into a disorienting, white tunnel.

  The storm hadn’t been bad when he left Denver but had turned nasty with the rise in altitude. If the storm hadn’t cut off his retreat, he might have turned back and faced a family determined to distract him from the significance of tomorrow–the anniversary of the death of his wife, Rosemary.

  He rested his arms on the steering wheel, remembering a time when he couldn’t think the word “dead,” not about Rosemary, who had been so very much alive. He knew all the euphemisms and all the synonyms for death. None of them had changed the reality of being left alive, left alone in a world without her. How he’d hated it. He’d spent a lot of time dodging being alone, trying to stay too busy, too surrounded by people, to face it. He’d loved the “ball and chain,” had relished being one half of a whole that included her.

  A platitude, but true—time did heal. So gradually had time done its work that he’d hardly noticed at first. One day he’d realized he was above the shadows. Not happy, but no longer sad, finally able to feel whole—and be whole—all by himself.

  If someone asked him why he was here on this bitter night, instead of with his family, he could tell them it wasn’t because he was living in the past or because he begrudged his brothers their happiness. They’d earned their time with their women the hard way. Matt and Dani had saved each other from the jaws of death up on Long’s Peak just over two years ago.

  Jake had saved his Phoebe’s butt, and now she regularly kicked his up over his ears. Luke could see that Jake didn’t mind; in fact, he seemed happy to bend over and present his backside for her boot. He had a tiger by the tail with that girl.

  Luke grinned. Even Matt had given in to the Phoebe juggernaut, after strong initial resistance, allowing her to stand as godmother to the first Kirby grandson. Young Mark had them all wrapped around his tiny, pink finger. Even Phoebe was smitten. He expected her to enter the motherhood stakes any day now.

  The only two people more amusing than his brothers were Bryn Bailey, Jake’s FBI partner-in-crime solving, and Dewey Hyatt, Phoebe’s former partner-in-crime committing. He just hoped he was there when Bryn realized she was in love with her pet criminal, though Jake had hinted she also had softer feelings for the elusive Phagan, who Dewey was supposed to be helping her hunt down. Luke had his own ideas about Phagan and Dewey, but it wasn’t his job to point out the obvious, not when it was so entertaining to let events play out on their own.

  No, he wasn’t here because he couldn’t handle their happiness. In a way, their happiness had lifted him with them and had brought him here tonight. In the headlights, the cabin was dark. Empty of everything but years of memories, not just of Rosemary, but his dad, killed in the line of duty. This was the first time he’d been here alone since Rosemary’s death. She’d loved the mountains, loved the cabin, even in a storm—if they were safe inside with a good fire.

  With a start, he realized the cabin had almost disappeared into the storm. The warmth from the truck’s heater had faded and his exhaled breath turned into a white fog in the icy air. Snowflakes, lit by the headlights, swirled in a wind-driven frenzy. He’d better get moving. Didn’t want to spend the night in his truck. Good thing he’d brought plenty of supplies with him. If the weather report was right, he could be stuck up here for a couple of days. Looked like there’d be enough snow for some cross-country skiing when it cleared. Nothing like a brisk battle with nature to remind him that he was alive.

  He left the headlights on while he unlocked the door, though the benefit was limited, and unloaded his supplies. Inside the cabin, he tested the silence and found it bearable—though not much warmer than outside. He turned on the refrigerator, wondering how long the power would stay on, while he stowed his perishables. Well, he’d used a snow bank for a fridge before, no reason he couldn’t do so again.

  A gust of wind caught the window over the sink, lifting it, then dropping it with a bang. He caught it before it could lift again, making a mental note to tweak Jake about it when he got home. He and Phoebe had been the last ones to use the cabin. He noticed a bit of snow and some dried stuff on the counter under the window and brushed it into the sink.

  The air was chill, damp, and tainted with the smell of old fire and older food, but a new fire would soon burn it away. He didn’t turn on any lights besides the kitchen. He knew his way around and besides, there was enough
light spilling out from the kitchen until he got the fire going. Rosemary had liked the room lit by fire. Many a snowy night they’d huddled together under a pile of quilts and watched snow pile up in drifts against the windows.

  He stopped for a moment as the memories caught up with him. Rosemary laughing as she pelted him with snowballs. Rosemary smiling up at him from the blanket as the mountain sun bathed her in its crystal light. Rosemary looking at the mountains and not at him when she told him she was dying and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  Seven years. Like Jacob in the Bible, he’d served his time, done his duty and now it was time to move on. Not to forget, but to move out of the shadows and live again.

  “Don’t mourn too long, Luke,” she’d said to him that last day, her voice the only part of her he still recognized. She’d never said what too long was, but he could almost see her standing in the light from the kitchen, tapping her watch the way she had when he’d been out on the mountain too long.

  “I know, Rose,” he murmured. “I know.”

  He checked the wood box and found it filled. Jake had also laid out logs in the fireplace. Only needed a match. That made up for the open window, Luke decided. In a short time, he had the fire started, putting out cheerful heat against the winter chill. When the power went, he’d be warm and have hot coffee. He could live without a lot of things, but hot coffee in the morning wasn’t one of them.

  He’d sleep in front of the fire. It would be warmer and he could feed the hungry fire. He and Rosemary had slept downstairs the last time they were here. They’d made a bed for two on the floor. He’d use the couch. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done time on one. Life with Rosemary hadn’t been all smooth and easy. The Kirby men had a weakness for spirited women.

  He did a quick run upstairs for a couple more quilts. There was a sturdy mega-sized lap quilt kept folded over the back of the couch, but it wasn’t enough on a night like this. He also grabbed some pillows to soften the hard arms on each end. Back downstairs, he noticed that the quilt wasn’t folded over the back, but spread across the seat. In the flickering light from the fire, it almost looked like there was someone under it. For a minute chills snaked down his back, until common sense reasserted itself.

  If someone was here, it was a squatter who’d likely used the unlatched window to get in. He bit back an expletive. Couldn’t kick a dog out on a night like this. So much for being alone. He dumped his blanket load on a chair. Odd that whoever it was hadn’t heard his noisy arrival and made their presence known. It was enough to make him uneasy, so he pulled his gun. As a cop, he’d learned to err on the side of caution. He knew which boards creaked and took care to avoid them as he approached the couch. Keeping the figure covered, he reached out and flipped the edge of the blanket back and saw—

  Feet.

  Or more precisely, a pair of hiking boots and blue-jean covered legs below the knees. Good boots. Not a squatter then. Maybe a hiker?

  Luke felt a bit ridiculous and a little anxious about the lack of movement as he moved to the other end. Being alone with a body wasn’t what he had in mind either. This time when he flipped the blanket back, he saw hair. Lots of it. Tangled and blonde enough to make Marilyn Monroe jealous. The ends of most of it were hidden under the part of the blanket that still covered her middle, except for a bunch that hung over her face and off the edge of the couch, forming a question mark on the wood floor.

  It seemed Goldilocks had come calling but found only one bear.

  He stowed his gun and knelt down beside her. Bits of dried brush, brown grass and twigs were caught in the tousled strands of her hair. She had a thick, fleece jacket on, with bits of dried brush stuck to it, too and it had been torn in several places. One of her arms hung off the edge of the couch; the hand at the end of the arm was bare and badly scratched. A couple of her nails were broken, the edges ragged and torn.

  “Who’s sleeping on my couch?” he muttered, as he gathered up the trailing strands of hair, icy cold and soft as silk, to expose her face. It was scratched, too, and there was a nasty looking bump just above her temple. A thin trail of dried blood disappeared into her hairline. The bones under the scratches were good, the kind that wear well over time. Her jaw was strong and determined. Laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes seemed at odds with a mouth that was full and rather sad. Her thick lashes lay in dark fans against her pale, bruised skin, hiding her eyes. Equally dark brows arched over them.

  It was hard to be sure because memory was so unreliable, and his memories of Rosemary as a young woman were buried under her last months of wasting away from ovarian cancer, but she kind of reminded him of a young Rosemary, or her sister, if Rosemary had had one. It was a bit eerie on a dark and stormy night. If her eyes were blue when she opened them, he might just have to join the X-Files fan club.

  Luke felt along her neck. Her skin was cold, but he found a pulse—rapid and a bit shallow—but there. She wasn’t dead. Yet.

  Luke knew a bit of first aid—most of it about hypothermia, since he and his brothers spent so much time in the mountains. She needed to be warmed up fast. He grabbed the quilts he’d collected and piled them on top of her. When he knelt down to ease a pillow under her head, he realized she was looking at him, her eyes wide and puzzled.

  Violet. He hadn’t expected that. Deep, pure violet. They brought the pale mask of her face to instant, vivid life and put a good bit of his unease to rest. Not Rosemary. He hadn’t really believed she was. It was just weird. Weird enough for his imagination to activate. Thank goodness neither of his brothers was here. Wouldn’t they get some mileage out of this situation if they ever found out?

  He’d put her in her late twenties, but now, looking into her eyes, he upped that by a few years. Her eyes were wise, more aware than the average twenty-something, despite the confusion clouding their depths.

  “Do I—know you?” she asked. Her voice was a thin thread of sound, but clear and crisp. It suited their mountainous surroundings, reminding him of a stream running over rocks on its way to the low lands.

  “I don’t think so. Name’s Luke Kirby. My family owns this cabin.”

  Her lashes closed for a moment. Her brows drew together in a frown. “Cabin?”

  He reached past her, turned on a rustic styled lamp and gestured to their surroundings. “Cabin.”

  Her lashes lifted higher, her gaze making a limited survey of her surroundings. “Oh.”

  Despite this, he could tell the lights were still out inside her head. He waited for her to orient herself. Something had happened. A fall of some kind, he guessed, based on what he’d seen of her injuries. It sometimes took time to put the pieces of memory together in the right order after a shock.

  “Would you like some soup and coffee?” he asked. “We need to get you warmed up, if you’re up to it.”

  “I am hungry.” She sounded surprised. “Thank you.”

  He left her for the kitchen, glad for the time away from her. He still felt a bit off balance by her resemblance to Rosemary, and, if he were honest with himself, her unexpected beauty. His body had taken in more input than his brain could process, but the main gist of it was basically, wow.

  He put water in the coffeepot, started heat under it. Found a can of soup and dumped it in a pan. Maybe he should start dating again, just to let off some steam in his “wow” reflex.

  He turned and found her standing in the doorway studying him with a seriousness that did nothing to relieve the pressure. She was taller than he’d expected from someone with so slight a build. She stood carefully, but with a grace and elegance that her discomfort couldn’t erase.

  “Is there—” She stopped, color flooding her cheeks.

  Luke found he could grin and felt better, more balanced and in control again. “Bathroom’s through there. Light’s on the right.”

  It was odd, but kind of cute, that she was embarrassed to ask for the john. There was something a bit old-fashioned about her, despite her ve
ry modern clothes. He could see her behind a tea pot in a room full of antiques. In a dress that matched her eyes and had a bunch of white at the neck. Something like Katharine Hepburn would wear.

  “Thank you.” She turned, wobbling a bit.

  He fought back the urge to leap to her assistance. Partly because he didn’t want to scare her and mostly because he wasn’t sure he could leap. His body had surprised him a few times lately by not responding to his mental commands. A reminder that he wasn’t as young as he felt. Instead he asked, “Do you need help?”

  She smiled. “Thank you, but no. I can manage. Stiffened up a bit while I was asleep.”

  Her back straightened, her chin lifting as she made a determined beeline for the bathroom door.

  Guts and beauty. Interesting. It wasn’t until Luke heard the door creak closed that he realized he still didn’t know her name. While he kept a watchful eye on the soup, he dug out the first aid kit and a flashlight. If she had a concussion, her eyes would show it. And if she did? Well, he’d deal with it then. He had his phone. He could call for advice.

  The soup started to bubble. He lifted it off the heat, gave it a stir, and then poured it in a bowl. Grabbed some crackers and a cup of coffee and put it all on a tray. He heard the door creak open and found his thoughts bubbling like the soup. It was, he decided, like something out of a Raymond Chandler book. Snowed in the mountains with a mysterious woman—who had probably missed her step, taken a tumble and then lost her way, he reminded himself. No mystery, just Mother Nature’s pointed reminder not to take her for granted.

  She hadn’t just used the toilet, he saw. She’d washed the blood off her face and tidied her hair. Most of the bits of brush were gone and her hair was now pulled back into a sort of knotted ponytail that hung all the way down her back. Her face was white and she trembled from the effort. Luke jumped forward, surprised and pleased his body did as requested, and helped her back to the couch. He got her settled with a pillow behind her and blankets tucked around, then brought her the tray.