by Nancy Bush
Davis had given her instructions to drive through the north gate and along a gravel access road. It sounded simple, but now that it was snowing again, white mist suspended over the road and billowing around cliff sides, it could be tricky. In these parts, one wrong turn of the wheel might have you bottoming out over boulders, plowing into drifts or flying off the edge of a hidden cliff. Still, she found a fresh set of tire tracks—the foreman’s truck, she hoped—and followed them down into the canyon. He’d texted that she wouldn’t be able to miss the spot as it was wide-open and he’d be there.
He hadn’t lied. As she followed the tire tracks into the valley, she spied his old truck and two men standing near a shallow grave. Two. Had he brought Ira along? She squinted through the dancing lace of falling snow.
No such luck.
“Colton,” she said aloud as her pulse accelerated. She had to fight down the swell of heat rising inside her. Oh, Lord … What was wrong with her? She was way too old for this.
Throwing her truck into park, she noticed Colt eyeing her every move as she slid to the ground and walked over. In the light of day, he was striking against the pristine white of the prairie. The dark cowboy of her fantasies. For a split second she remembered her dream and how it had felt to have his long, sinewy body stretched over hers. Naked. Flesh to flesh.
She needed to shove that image out of her mind for good.
But when he looked toward the approaching truck and smiled at her, a piece of her cold heart melted. Which was just plain dangerous.
When Davis had explained to him about the dead coyote, Colton had jumped into the situation, mostly because he knew Sabrina had taken an interest in it. Normally, a dead coyote was considered a blessing—one less predator for the baby calves—but after he and Davis arrived at the burial site, and after Davis put him to work exhuming the poor critter so that the foreman could avoid any “bad karma,” Colt saw the problem.
This animal had been skinned by a sicko. No doubt about it. Not someone looking for fur and meat or simple extermination. This was the work of a butcher trying to send a message.
To whom?
Now that Sabrina’s truck had stopped, he had to tamp down the urge to run and greet her. Instead, he watched the way she maneuvered through the snow, walking fast, her cheeks flushed, a purpose to her stride. Her gaze, when it landed on him, was strong and steady. A woman from a girl, he thought. Maybe Ricki was right. Looking at her, he remembered those feelings from so long ago, and it did sort of feel like she was the one who got away.
Snowflakes accumulated on her baseball cap as she bent over the animal, frowning. “Strange behavior,” she muttered, shaking her head as she examined the way the carcass had been butchered. Glancing up, she let her gaze meet Colton’s for the briefest of seconds before she eyed the surrounding hills once more. “Isn’t this the middle of the Rocking D?”
“About,” Davis said, and it was true. Acres of Dillinger ranch land stretched in every direction from this valley. Access wasn’t easy; a person had to make his way through a series of gates to get to this particular spot.
Sabrina asked, “Did you call your brother about it?”
“Sam has his hands full with that missing woman,” Davis said. “It’s not a crime, killing a coyote, and Mr. Dillinger asked me not to say anything.”
“I know. But this is disturbing,” she said. “Whoever did this is sick.”
“Don’t worry about Ira,” Colt put in, but his attention was on Sabrina. The tip of her nose was red from the wind, snowflakes catching on the strands of hair escaping her cap.
“It’s too cold to linger out here, and I’ve got a tarp in the truck.” Sabrina straightened and headed for her pickup. “I’d like to take the carcass back to the clinic, keep it on ice, take a closer look when I have time.”
“Okay,” Davis said, but a line had formed between his brows.
“I’ll help you,” Colton said, and followed Sabrina to her pickup. They grabbed the tarp, and then Davis and Colton wrapped up the coyote’s remains and hauled them to the bed of her truck. He, Davis and Sabrina discussed what the mutilated carcass could mean. Was it a warning to the Dillingers? But who? And why? A strike from the Kincaids? That was far-fetched. Though their feud was long-standing, who would mutilate a coyote. Again, why? Or just some psycho with no message at all? Just getting his twisted rocks off.
Colton wasn’t sure what to believe, but he’d be willing to bet that Davis knew more than he was letting on. Something was eating away at the foreman, and though it might take some time to get to the truth, Colt was determined to get to the bottom of it.
“If this is a threat from one of the Kincaids,” Colton said, “it’s outside of their usual tactics, unless something’s changed that I don’t know about.”
Sabrina shook her head. “Well, we know it’s not Emma Kincaid. She takes in strays. Dogs, cats, even brought in a wild fox with a broken leg that she found on the side of the road last year. I don’t see her as someone taking a knife to a coyote. Certainly not like this.”
Davis said, “But the others. Alex and Blair. Wild kids.”
Blair Kincaid had his mother’s icy blue eyes and demeanor, but Alexandra took after the Major with reddish-brown hair and a sunnier disposition. “I haven’t seen either of them in years since they moved away,” Colton said. “They haven’t been invited to the wedding, have they?” When neither Sabrina nor Davis answered what was really a rhetorical question, he said, “I’ll have to ask Ira.”
“Alex was just a kid. She was never really a problem,” Sabrina said. “But then there’s Mariah.”
Colton distinctly remembered Mariah Kincaid. Dark-haired and dark-tempered. A natural bully if there ever was one. “What about Hunter?” he asked.
“Works for the fire department,” Sabrina said.
There was irony there, as once upon a time some people in the town had felt that the Major’s oldest child had set fire to the old homestead. There was talk of seeing him at the site just before the place went up, though Colton had never believed he could be capable of arson, let alone murder.
Colton felt the bitter cold of December settle in his bones. “Hopefully this is the end of it.”
“And not the beginning,” Davis agreed, heading to the cab of his truck.
Colt closed the tailgate of her truck, then followed around to the front. Sabrina tugged open the door and nearly went down in a slippery patch of snow glazed with ice.
“Whoa there.” Colt reached for her, catching her around the waist. His hands gripped her hips, and for a moment there was the tactile memory of the flare of her hip bones, the curve of her waist. In his arms she seemed frail and strong, delicate and yet all woman.
He held her to him, enveloping her with his arms, lingering a moment.
Her eyelids flickered in surprise. They stared at each other and then she gently pulled herself free. “I … I’ll call you when I … when I get a chance to examine the carcass,” she said breathlessly.
“Okay.”
He didn’t move as she climbed into her truck and fired it up. He stood there in the middle of the snow-capped expanse and watched as her pickup bounced down the rutted, white lane near the fence line. A snow cloud almost took it, but she hit the brakes and her red taillights glowed through the white storm, then she took a turn at the north gate and the vehicle disappeared.
A part of him wanted to chase her down.
And do what? Remind her that you were too young for a wife and she was barely legal? That seeing your uncle’s burned body had changed your devil-may-care outlook on life? That you just wanted out of Prairie Creek?
Davis was already behind the wheel of his truck, its engine idling loudly, exhaust visible in the cold air. Colton climbed into the passenger side and the foreman put the old Ford into gear. Cranking on the wheel, Davis followed the fresh tracks of Sabrina’s rig as Colton wondered how the hell he could get close to her again.
She was the first glimmer of light
he’d seen in so many long, dark winters. But they had a past … a past he had fucked up.
How do you change the mind of a stubborn woman like Sabrina? An impossible challenge. Against all odds, against all reason.
But then maybe Ricki was right that “things happen for a reason,” a saying he’d found trite and patronizing, something people would say when there was no explaining a tragedy, but this time … Maybe it was good he’d come back to meet his son. Maybe it was time to put the memory of all he’d lost aside and concentrate instead on what he could possibly win.
From his perch near the cave’s entrance, the killer trained his binoculars on the threesome who had collected on the valley floor. Despite a curtain of falling snow, he recognized them. The ranch foreman, one of the town vets, and Colton Dillinger, the old man’s eldest.
So the prodigal son had returned. Reason to celebrate. Add one more Dillinger to the guest list … at the Pioneer Cemetery.
Not only was the oldest son back in the picture, he was out in a snowstorm digging up the coyote carcass. Another dutiful Dillinger.
“Good job, Colton.” He’d been afraid the dead coyote would be buried deep and forgotten, like so many other Dillinger secrets.
But not this time. Not only did they dig up the corpse, but the vet was taking it with her in her pickup.
They were bothered.
Good. He wanted to set them on edge.
This was a good development, he thought smugly. The message had not only been sent; it had been received.
And now, it was time to ramp things up.
A rush of anticipation sizzled through his blood as he considered his next act, one that would make the death of a coyote pale in comparison.
His next move would strike at the heart of the happy couple’s upcoming ceremony. He had defiled their land. Now it was time to defile their church.
Fantasizing about the surprise in their eyes, the stunned expression on their faces when they came upon the horror, got his juices flowing. He licked his lips and rattled the teeth in his pocket for good luck.
This one, too, would be a test, but then, weren’t they all? His mother’s words echoed through his brain. Practice makes perfect.
Chapter Eleven
“I know it’s disturbing,” Sabrina admitted to her partner. Any skinned creature was a gruesome sight, and this one was distressing.
“I just don’t know why you brought that damned thing here,” Antonia said as Sabrina bent over the dead coyote on the metal table. During a break between patients, Antonia had walked into the little-used unit behind the clinic to check on Sabrina’s “lapse in judgment,” as she called it.
“I want to know what happened. The coyote figures prominently in Shoshone legend. Some of the men were really bothered by this, and I thought it might help to get it off the ranch. Besides, this is a concern. I wanted to examine the carcass, and I’m glad I did. Look at this.” She had used a clamp to wedge the coyote’s mouth open to examine the area. “He’s missing a tooth, but it’s not from an accident.”
Folding her arms in front of her, Toni leaned closer. “It’s an extraction, complete with incision.” She shook her head. “Who does oral surgery on a coyote?”
“The same psycho who skins him.”
Antonia turned on the hot water in the small sink. She lathered up and scrubbed her hands, but looked into the mirror mounted over the sink, her reflected gaze meeting Sabrina’s.
Sabrina opened the door of the refrigerated unit and slid the carcass onto a shelf. “I know it’s weird. That’s why it bothers me.”
“This is Wyoming.” Antonia dried her hands on a paper towel. “Dead animals come with the territory, but yeah, this is out of the realm of normal for around here.”
“Agreed.”
“Do what you want. I know you will, anyway. As long as he’s quarantined out here and doesn’t affect the patients, I don’t really care.”
“I’m going to call the Dillingers, just to let them know about this missing tooth. At least they should know what kind of a kook they’re dealing with.”
Antonia smiled and cocked her head. “A good excuse to talk to Colton. Right?”
“No. He’s an old flame, long extinguished. You know that. Geez, Toni, you’re as bad as the rest of the gossips around this town.”
Toni shook her head. “I’m just saying that ever since you’ve known about the wedding and the fact that Colton might be returning, you’ve been different. Now that he’s here …” She shrugged.
“Save me.” Sabrina went to the sink, happy to turn away so that her friend couldn’t see her expression.
“I just wonder why you won’t admit it, not even to yourself.”
A good question, Sabrina thought. Was she that transparent? If so, why the hell was she kidding herself?
Mia Collins blew a kiss toward the old homestead house as she passed the turnoff that went by the charred remains of what could have been. Then she made the sign of the cross over her chest. She wasn’t even Catholic, but whenever she thought of Judd Dillinger and how horribly he’d died and how she’d miraculously escaped the same hellish fate, she sketched a quick cross and whispered a prayer. She’d been Judd’s lover and she’d dreamed of being his wife. No matter that he’d had Lila and their two children. Mia had always just assumed Judd would divorce Lila, let her raise the kids, then someday, somewhere, they would walk down the aisle together. She’d even envisioned herself as playing a dutiful stepmom, if called upon.
I remember, Judd. I always remember.
It had been eighteen years, but Mia still keenly felt his loss. Certainly more than Lila ever had. Judd’s wife had tucked Garth and Tara under her arms and torn out of town like she’d just been waiting to leave. In a blink she’d married that rich Alaskan oil man. Mia had been holding her breath wondering if Lila had been sent an invitation to the wedding, but Pilar hadn’t mentioned whether Lila was coming or not. There was a chance she wouldn’t show. Lila had blamed Ira for being complicit in Judd and Mia’s affair, so it seemed highly unlikely she would show her face around Prairie Creek again, and she’d married just as fast as she could, or so Mia had heard.
“No one else remembers you, Judd, but I’ll never forget,” Mia said as she kept her eyes on the snowy lane. She had been working at the seed shop when they’d met. She’d been freaking out because she was turning thirty, and he’d been so kind and well-dressed and flattering. He’d told her she didn’t look a day over twenty-one, and he called her Sunshine. That was his name for her.
She sighed and touched the crystal dangling from her rearview mirror. Judd had given it to her, saying she’d brought the sparkle back into his life. She’d known he was married, but she still had felt sorry for him. He’d said his wife wouldn’t let him touch her anymore, with the young kids and all, and a man had needs.
She’d discovered those needs for the first time in the storeroom of the seed and feed when Judd had followed her back on the sly. The secrecy, the excitement of knowing that Deke Everly could come in any time, all that pressure had added up to make the sex really good. “Explosive,” Judd had called it, and she’d slapped him on the shoulder, pretending to be a prude, though she’d really gotten off, too.
After that, they met in a lot of different locations. A motel on the interstate a few towns over. Picnic areas at the state park. And some nights he thought it was okay for them to hook up at Big Bart’s. “I need some Sunshine today,” Judd would tell her when he came into the seed store. And she would tell him that all seeds needed sunshine to grow. Ha.
The night of that deadly blaze, she and Judd had been so into each other, creating their own heat, that they’d been sort of oblivious to their surroundings. Judd had built a cozy fire in the main hearth, warming up the place, creating a love nest that naturally had smelled of charred wood and smoke. So when more smoke began to fill the room, it had taken them a while to notice.
And then there was a blank spot in her memory. She knew a lot o
f people didn’t believe her, but the next thing she remembered was Colton Dillinger carrying her away from the fire. His strong, young arms saving her. He’d been her hero … still was. Colt was the only Dillinger who didn’t seem to blame her for Judd’s death. As if. She’d been devastated by that terrible night, too. She’d lost her lover, and her health had been compromised forever.
Really, sometimes those Dillingers acted like she had started the fire, when she was actually a victim of it. Ira had been a first-class son of a bitch when he learned about Mia’s pregnancy. Mia had been forced to sue Judd’s estate for support, but she’d gotten a paltry sum out of them. Her lawyer had advised her to take what was offered, and ever since she’d felt cheated. Of course that little nest egg was long gone, but the real point of contention now was respect. Her daughter, Kit, was a Dillinger, but she’d been reduced to scavenging the badlands when she should have been raised in a nice house like this.
Trimmed in snow and white lights, the house was pretty as a Christmas card. Mia parked, killed the engine and fingered her keys with a sigh. Part of this could have been hers. She could have been a Dillinger living … well, like Pilar. Instead, what did she have besides this pretty little crystal? Nothing! Life was not fair.
Wanting to keep her hands free, Mia left her cane in the backseat and carefully made her way along a path that had been shoveled free of snow. Though she still limped slightly, she walked as tall as was possible and barely had her finger on the doorbell, when it was thrust open.
“Oh!” Pilar was on the other side. “I forgot you were coming today. Good. Finally! Ira is in the great room, so don’t bother him.”
Mia pursed her lips to keep from snapping at the little bitch. Bother? As if she were selling magazines door-to-door. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Mia said, trying to keep the spite out of her voice.
“Perfect.” Pilar stood back, giving her room to pass. “I’ve had such a day. The church rehearsal is still on. Ira is bowing out, but you can still get into the church. And I’ve got a million and one things to do.” She actually did seem a little harried.