She laughed and turned to her boyfriend. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Br . . .” Her voice trailed off.
It wasn’t Brandon driving the truck.
“Hi, Trish.”
It was Ben. He gave her a shy smile and accelerated, plowing them through the middle of a mud storm.
If he hadn’t helped his horrible father and uncles kidnap her, she would have thought he was good looking. As handsome as Brandon, even, although he wasn’t as popular. Of course, he’d only lived in Buffalo a few months before everything happened. She hadn’t known why he’d moved in with Brandon and Mrs. Lewis before. She didn’t really know him then other than as the shy, quiet new guy who didn’t play sports.
Everything else she knew about Ben now was from that night. That terrible, terrible night, when he’d driven her up into the mountains, and she’d ridden behind him on Goldie into Cloud Peak Wilderness. When Billy Kemecke had killed his cousin right before her eyes, her mom had shot Billy, and her dad had stuck a knife in Ben’s dad’s throat to save her. Images flashed through her mind, like it was happening all over again. One after another. Bad men, blood, and dead eyes, wide open and staring at her. She never talked about what had happened, not to anyone. She’d thought if she just went on with her life that she’d get over it. Mind over matter, like her dad always said.
He was wrong. She was wrong. It hadn’t worked. Somehow, she had to make herself quit reliving that night. But it had gotten hard with Ben back.
“What are you doing here?” Trish put her hand on the door. She wanted out. Wanted it badly. She looked through the flying mud. They were going too fast for her to jump out.
“I thought you might want to go for a ride, since you’ve been cooped up in your house. I like to go fast, but I’m a good driver.”
He grinned and she saw a round scar under his right eye. A memory surfaced. Near the beginning the school year. Maybe in late August? A dark-haired boy had held his jacket over her head and run her into the school during a thunderstorm. Inside the vestibule, they’d stood under his jacket for a second, so close she could see the little round scar under his right eye. Then the bell had rung, and she’d yelled, “Thanks,” and run toward her classroom. “What’s your name?” he’d shouted after her. She had turned then and smiled at him, jogging backwards. “My name’s Trish.” Whatever he’d said in return had been covered up by the loud voices of students hurrying to class around her. Never mind, she’d thought. It’s not like we don’t go to the same school. I’ll see him again.
But she hadn’t. Not until the horrible night.
She chewed the inside of her lip. “On the snowmobile?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t have a coat.” She wished she had Brandon’s letter jacket with her. It was big, thick, warm, and felt safe. “And the snowmobile’s Brandon’s anyway.” A truck passed them going toward Trish’s house. At least she thought it was a truck from the sound it made. She couldn’t actually see it or whoever was in it, which meant they couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t flag them down.
“It’s his truck, too, and I’m his cousin.” His voice was teasing. “I’m just borrowing it.”
“Where is he?”
He turned without hitting the brakes, accelerating onto the highway. “I dropped him off at school after lunch. He said you’re out of school until the trial is over.”
The mud made loud plops on the undercarriage. The tires started humming. Wind streaked the mud on the windows.
Trish had planned to jump out when he slowed down at the intersection. So much for that. “Oh. Yeah.”
They drove without speaking for a minute. Trish watched him with her peripheral vision while keeping her eyes straight ahead. She felt stiff and nervous, and her heart was beating hard and fast, like hail on a roof. “I’d better just get back home. My parents will be worried about me. I’m not supposed to go anywhere without permission.”
“Okay. We don’t have to snowmobile. We won’t be gone long.”
“We shouldn’t be going up into the mountains at all.”
“We can’t go the other way. I don’t want anyone to see us.”
Now the hail storm of her heartbeat was pounding inside her skull, too. This was déjà vu, riding up into the mountains in a truck with Ben, when she didn’t want to. Only this time, she wasn’t blindfolded. She could get away, before it was too late. She just had to gather her courage and wait for the truck to slow down on one of the hairpin turns ahead. There were lots of them. Lots of chances to get away. She repeated her dad’s mantra, the one he’d used when he was teaching her, Perry, and her mom self-defense. The one she’d used to keep herself sane on the horrible night. “Whatever a bad guy is going to do to you somewhere else is always worse than what he is going to do to you right here. So fight, fight, fight.” She’d fight if she had to, because she had to get out before he took her wherever he’d planned.
The truck was climbing. Trees flashed by on either side of them. Seconds, precious seconds, were ticking by. Ben navigated some gentle curves without decelerating. She gripped the door handle, ready for her chance.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked.
She kept her gaze on the road, her mind on their speed. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not kidnapping you, you know. I just want to talk to you in private.”
Like saying it made it true. Her heartbeat didn’t slow down. “Okay.”
“I don’t want Brandon to hear I was with you. That’s all.”
His words made a tiny crack in her armor. Was he telling the truth? She knew that even on that horrible night, his crazy uncles and dad forced him into it. They would have killed him and her if he hadn’t done what they said. “Uh huh.”
He kept driving like he was in the Indianapolis 500. They passed signs posted on a rock cliff. Boring signs that her dad loved, about how the rocks were, like, a bajillion years old. They were rocks—who cared? Thinking about her dad made her feel guilty and sad. She’d jumped into the truck, knowing her parents would have said she couldn’t go with Brandon. And they didn’t know where she was. No one did. If she never saw them again, it would be her own fault.
Ben put on his blinker and slowed to make the right turn toward Hunter Creek Corrals. She tensed. This was a sharp turn. He’d have to slow almost to a stop. She could jump out here.
He touched her arm. His fingers were warm. “I’m so glad you’re here.” With his other hand, he spun the steering wheel. The truck slowed and he coasted around the turn.
She didn’t jump. What was wrong with her?
He drove another half mile and pulled off the road. He put the truck in park facing Clear Creek. Her house was just a few miles east along the creek, Trish knew. She could follow it all the way back to her house if she had to. There was still a lot of snow up here. It would be hard, but she could do it.
“Walk with me down to the creek,” Ben said.
Trish wanted to stay closer to the road. There weren’t many people up here this time of year, but there were some. It felt safer. “I don’t want to.”
“All right. Well, I have something I’ve been wanting to tell you, so I think it’s best if I just get this over with.” He swallowed. “Right.” He swallowed again. “This isn’t easy to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just take me home. I won’t tell Brandon.”
He turned toward her. “I like you, Trish.”
“Please stop. You’re scaring me.”
“It’s not like that. I really like you. I just want a chance to talk to you without Brandon around. And for you to really listen to me.”
“If I listen to you, will you take me home?”
“Of course. Just five minutes. Please.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She took a deep breath. “Five minutes. I’m listening.”
He put both his hands on the steering wheel and drummed his thumbs until he started to talk. “Juvie was bad, Trish. Really
bad. Some of those guys were criminals. Like my dad and my Uncle Billy. I know what I did on the mountain was wrong. I was scared, but I never should have let them force me to do those things. To take you. But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten to know you a little. I think about riding up that mountain on your horse. The way you felt against me. With your arms around me. And how you smelled. And you were right. If we’d run off together, everything would be great now.”
Trish recoiled against the passenger side door. When she remembered that night, it was with horror. But when he remembered it, it was about how she smelled and felt? And what did he mean that everything would be great now if they’d run off together? Then it hit her. He was thinking she had meant the two of them should have run off together.
“No. No, no, no, Ben. I didn’t mean we should have run away together. I meant that together we could have escaped your crazy family and gotten back to my parents, who would have helped you. Brandon and I were sort of already going together then.”
He shook his head. “Everything is the way it is because I let my dad and Uncle Billy force me into doing those things. If I’d listened to you and we’d made a run for it, you wouldn’t be scared of me or hate me.” He reached for her hand. She jerked it away from him. He looked sad. “Trish, the things you said at my hearing. The way you stuck up for me. I knew then you felt like I did. It kept me going when things were hard in juvie.”
“But I didn’t. I don’t.”
This wasn’t going well. Should she make a break for the creek? He was so much bigger and stronger than her. If he wanted to, he could catch her and tackle her and do whatever else he wanted. He’d said he’d take her home in five minutes. Would he keep his promise? She looked down at her wristwatch. He had one minute left.
Ben licked his lips. “Tell me there’s not ever a chance for us, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll let you date my loser cousin and never say another word about this.” His eyes were shining, pleading.
Trish’s insides churned like a gopher was digging its way through her guts. If she said no, she wasn’t sure what he would do. He’d said he would leave her alone, but would he? Could he? But she couldn’t say yes. She couldn’t lie.
She gripped her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. I’m with Brandon.”
Ben slammed his fist on his leg. Trish jumped, and a squeak escaped her mouth. “Trish, his mom is crazy. She had her boyfriend Stamey over yesterday planning something to keep Uncle Billy from going to trial. They asked me if I wanted to help them.”
“Help them how?”
“I don’t know, but today someone shot at the judge when he was at the hospital.”
“My dad was working at the hospital today. Is my dad okay?”
“I think so.”
“Think or know?”
“Think.”
Trish held her watch face up toward him. “Your five minutes is up. Please take me home. I have to see about my dad.”
Without a word, Ben put the truck in reverse and turned around, then shifted and left the parking lot for the highway toward Buffalo and Trish’s house. Trish could barely breathe, afraid if she made a sound, he’d change his mind. A few times she stole a glance at him. There was a tear in the corner of his eye. When he saw her looking, he swiped it away with a jerk of his hand.
He pulled up to her house to drop her off.
Henry walked out with a shotgun.
Ben looked sick. “Oh, man. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t go back to juvie. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Suddenly, Trish went from scared of Ben to hurting for him, and she wasn’t sure why. “I’ll talk to him. It will be okay.” She jumped out and ran around to Ben’s window, which he’d rolled down. “It’s my fault Henry. I thought we’d be back before you woke up.”
Henry’s face was stormy. “Your mom is out looking for you, and I called the sheriff. Someone’s on their way.”
“I’m so sorry. Really.”
Henry’s lips moved like her dad’s did, with no sound coming out. Maybe it was a dad thing—Henry’s wife was about to have a baby. He turned on his heel and headed for his truck. Trish started to go after him, but Ben’s voice stopped her.
It was urgent, cracking with emotion. “There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“You deserve to know the truth. To be treated better.”
“What do you mean?”
His face was splotchy red. “Brandon is seeing someone else behind your back.”
Snow crystals pelted Trish’s nose. She hadn’t noticed the wind pick up or the temperature drop, but clouds had rolled in. The bright springtime world of earlier had turned winter dim again. Her knees buckled, and she put a hand on the front hood of the truck for support. “Who is it?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“It’s Charla Newby, isn’t it?”
“I can’t tell you who it is, Trish.”
Hurt and jealousy pummeled Trish senseless. Even in that moment, some rational part of her knew that how she felt wasn’t Ben’s fault. Brandon was the one cheating on her. If it was anyone’s fault it was his. Although maybe it wasn’t Brandon’s fault either. He barely ever got to see her, and, when he did, she made up excuses to keep him from touching her. She’d read books. She understood that guys had strong urges. That some girls weren’t brought up like Trish was, to save sex for marriage. Or even to save it for when they had a boyfriend. So maybe it was also his mother’s fault, and her parents’, and a whole lot Charla’s, and maybe partly Trish’s?
But it still hurt. It hurt crazy bad, and it made her lash out at the nearest target. Ben. The messenger. Who she drilled like he was a bullseye in a shooting tournament.
She turned on him. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what?”
Spittle sprayed from her mouth. “How dare you try to ruin my relationship with Brandon? He’s not even here to defend himself. I hate you, Ben Jones. I would never, ever, in a million years date someone as disgusting as you. I can’t believe I tried to keep you out of juvie. I hope you go back and stay there, where I don’t ever have to see you again.” She gasped for a breath, then kept going. “You’d better look for another place to stay, because after I tell Brandon everything you said, you’ll be out on your tail so fast, you won’t know what happened.” A frantic energy burned through her, and she pushed away from the truck. She wanted to run, run hard, but she didn’t know where, only that she needed away. “Now get out of here, unless you want me to get you thrown in grown-up jail this time.”
The shocked, humiliated look on Ben’s face as the color drained out of it made her feel better for a few seconds. But only for a few. By the time his look changed to fury, she was regretting her outburst. He hadn’t deserved it. But she didn’t know how to take it back. All the frenetic energy coursing through her vanished, and, instead of running, she wanted to melt into a puddle right where she was standing.
Ben left, spraying mud, water, and snow from the tires behind him and all over her.
Her mom’s Suburban barreled into their driveway. Trish just stood there, tears pouring down her cheeks, covered in mud, stock still as snow fell around her.
Chapter Twenty-nine: Butt
Buffalo, Wyoming
Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 2:00 p.m.
Patrick
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Ronnie walked to the front door, escorted by Ferdinand. She’d been close by, on a shift guarding the judge, when Henry had called in Trish’s short-lived disappearance.
“No, but thank you,” Susanne said.
“We’re just sorry to bother you,” Patrick added.
“No bother.” Ronnie turned the knob, then stopped. “Oh, by the way, the answer on the life insurance question was yes.”
“On Jeannie, paying out to her husband?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough to settle some fairly large debts. I’ve told the investigating
team.”
Patrick knew it. He nodded in grim satisfaction. “Thank you, Ronnie.”
She smiled. “I hope you feel better soon, Trish.”
Trish was sitting on the couch with her face buried in Susanne’s shoulder. She didn’t lift her head, and her reply to Ronnie was unintelligible. Patrick was embarrassed, but if Ronnie was bothered, she didn’t show it. She slipped out and shut the door. Ferdinand slumped onto the floor just inside the door and whined. When they’d lived next door to Ronnie, she’d been the dog’s special friend, often giving him a second breakfast when he went to visit her.
Patrick paced the length of the living room. After he’d passed his daughter three times, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He whirled to face her. “What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”
Her back heaved with sobs. Her wail was muffled against her mother. “I don’t know. But you don’t have to roar at me like some kind of lion.”
Patrick ground his teeth. He’d spent the last few hours sequestered with the succession of law enforcement officers who had showed up en masse to investigate the shooting. City, county, state, and even some feds, because the feds always showed up in Wyoming. As many people as were on the case, it didn’t sound like they had any leads. No one saw a vehicle or a person that roused any suspicion. They’d retrieved the slugs in the parking lot, and he’d seen crime scene investigators tracing back the paths of the bullets, but they’d returned disheartened. Down to the last man—and one woman—they’d opined that the target had been Renkin. If Patrick hadn’t been so eager to finish up and get out of there, his feelings would have been hurt that they didn’t think he was worth shooting. He’d finally escaped, heading for a very late lunch and the sanctuary of his home, only to walk in on an epic showdown between his wife and the daughter who just wouldn’t give them a break.
He still hadn’t eaten lunch, either.
“Do you realize someone tried to kill Judge Renkin and me today? And that it was probably about this trial and the family of those boys you insist on running around with?”
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