by Leigh Riker
She glanced toward the front of the house. Ten years, she thought, and the tragedy of her brother’s death was still keeping them apart.
“Oh, Grey.”
“Shadow.” He drew her close once more, breathing the words—old and new—against her mouth and said, “Even our names go together.”
Like ashes and smoke, she thought. Then he kissed her again.
* * *
“I HAVE TO PICK Dad and Liza up in KC before noon,” Grey said. Shadow sat next to him in the passenger seat of his pickup. “So we’ll have to make this quick. I’ll have time on the drive home to tell him I’ve messed up with the ranch. And that Cody Jones is still on the loose.” Tight-lipped this morning, he didn’t mention their talk, or his proposal, the night before. Grey had insisted on going with Shadow to her mother’s farm. He didn’t like the idea of Derek being there, possibly confronting her again about Ava.
She felt sorry for Grey. She had little fondness for Wilson Cattle—her worst memories still lived there—but for Grey to lose his legacy ranch? She had never, in her darkest moments, wished him ill.
“Your father believes in you, Grey. He wouldn’t have turned Wilson Cattle over to you if he didn’t.” She waited a moment before going on. “Maybe it’s really you who doesn’t believe in yourself.”
“Could be, but he deserves to hear from me in person.”
She admired him for shouldering that responsibility, as he was willing—no, eager—to do with Ava now. “I know how hard you’ve tried—not only to find proof about the shooting, but to try and stop the rustlers.”
It was hard to imagine the legendary ranch in bankruptcy and Grey losing the heritage that was all-important to him. Now he could be ruined, and he would lose everything. She didn’t envy his task with his father.
As they drove out to the farm, she was glad Jenna was still with Ava at Shadow’s house. Her sister would bring Ava to the wedding later.
Shadow would be at the farm only long enough to move the hens and rooster to Bertie’s ranch for her mother. A last visit, she hoped, to the place where she’d grown up. Her belongings were now in her attic and closets. She still wondered where her mother would move. They needed to talk about that. Maybe Shadow could help her find a place, as she had helped Jenna.
By the henhouse, Grey stopped his silver truck. It had more room than her Mustang or her mother’s aging compact sedan for all the animal cages that would fill the truck’s bed. Shadow cast a quick look toward the main house and was thankful not to see Derek’s car. She’d rather avoid another confrontation, especially with Grey here.
Grey stared off into the distance, obviously still worried about his own troubles. At least they weren’t discussing Jared now.
“Have you made any progress? With the rustlers, I mean?” Shadow asked, hoping to draw him out of his silence.
He shook his head. “Finn has finished talking to people with motor vehicle registrations on the other half of that list, but no white-truck owner has turned up with any link to Cody. I spoke to a bunch of people myself—I know you didn’t think that was a good idea—but I found nothing, either. Not with Fred Miller or anyone else on the list.”
“Fred’s a mean old guy.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t, really. I’ve only met him once or twice, with Derek.” She ran through her memory then came up with a connection. “I remember. He’s Calvin Stern’s uncle on his mother’s side.”
Grey’s expression changed, as if a light bulb had come on. “Thanks, Shadow. Calvin may have been the key all along, but not in the way I expected. I was looking at him because of Jared.”
While Grey called Finn about the owner of the Bar B&J, she hurried from the truck, not wanting to keep him long before his drive to the airport. Most of the flock was in the yard, scratching at the bare ground for some stray kernels of corn. At the door to the chicken coop, she paused. “Grey, there’s not room in here for both of us. Would you unload the crates?”
“Sure.”
Inside the coop, Shadow put a hand to her chest. The hens had food and water this time, but as a girl she’d hated to collect eggs, one of her daily chores. Whenever she failed to do so, avoiding the hens’ pecking at her hands and legs, she’d had her father’s anger over the waste to deal with and her mother’s disappointment in her. Now, perhaps because of Derek, half a dozen neglected eggs in the nests were already turning into chicks. From past experience she could tell these had been here for some time, but before she could deal with them, she heard Grey call out.
“Shadow, come see this!”
She ran out to the yard, where he dashed from here to there, trying to catch a live yellow chick that had already hatched. He was laughing at the chase. The sound gladdened her heart; she hadn’t known how to cheer him up. He scooped the chick into his hand then darted off after another. “I could use some help here,” he said.
A little bird ran under the coop. For years there’d been a hole between the now-dry earth and the floor of the henhouse above that provided enough room for a chick to scoot through the gap into darkness—and safety. A red hen ran next to the hole, clucking like the worried mother she probably was. “Oh, dear,” Shadow said. She bent down by the hole. You were never good with my chickens, she could almost hear her mother say. Good thing she wasn’t here.
Shadow dropped onto all fours and lay flat to push one arm through the hole, blindly fishing for the missing chick. A warm fluff ball grazed her fingers then scampered off again into the black hole, cheeping in outrage.
A feather floated past Shadow’s nose, making her sneeze before she tried again to reach the chick. And failed. “Grey,” she called.
Counting to ten for patience, she reached in even deeper, but she couldn’t grasp anything but dank air. Then Grey was there, a hand at her shoulder. Chicks fluttered all around them.
“I’ve got most of them in the crates now, but let me try. My reach is longer.”
Lying flat, he pushed his right arm and shoulder into the hole. After a moment, he handed Shadow the escaped chick covered in dirt, but then he reached back into the gap under the henhouse. “There’s something else in here. Did your folks store things under this coop?”
“No.” She crooned to the chick she held. With its fluffy yellow feathers and dark eyes, it was actually cute.
Grey shoved his arm deeper and groped around. A second later, groaning at the apparent strain to his shoulder, he pulled out a brittle plastic bag, its clear surface clouded, and stood up. Whatever it contained must have been there a long time.
She and Grey stared down at the package in his hands. The layers of newspaper inside couldn’t disguise the obvious shape of a handgun, and Shadow’s heart beat faster. She hadn’t looked at a firearm since Jared died. It took another moment before the significance of Grey’s find fully registered. If she didn’t miss her guess, he was holding the missing weapon that had killed her brother.
Shadow was stunned. Grey looked shocked, too.
“We shouldn’t open this,” he said, swallowing hard. “Fingerprints.”
She still couldn’t quite believe it. “The cops searched every inch of this farm after Jared died.”
“Well, they missed a spot—not an obvious one—and this gun must have been here all along.”
“This is potential proof of whoever pulled that trigger,” she said. “Assuming it’s the same gun that killed Jared.”
This was what Grey had tried so hard to find.
Would the gun prove him innocent? Or guilty?
She wanted to believe in him, and she almost did, yet in that moment their past loomed over her. Shadow reached out for the plastic bag and, hating herself for not being able to trust Grey, she thought, I can’t. As she took the bag from him, their fingers brushed and she watched his eyes dim even as the
warmth of his hand went through her. She had tried, but he could see that she had failed.
She couldn’t love him the way she did before, the way she wanted to now.
The way I still do.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GREY MET HIS father and Liza at the Kansas City airport. On their way home he told his dad about the gun he and Shadow had found under the henhouse. She’d promised to take the bag to Finn Donovan for him, and Grey had wondered for a second if she didn’t even trust him to deliver it.
If there were still viable fingerprints, Finn would compare them with Grey’s, which were still on file from ten years ago, yet he couldn’t overlook Shadow’s first reaction. Like him, she’d been shocked. Then he’d seen another expression cross her features, one she probably didn’t even realize she had. He could only call it fear that the missing gun would prove him guilty in her brother’s death.
Grey tried not to fault her for the lack of trust. Perhaps because of him, Shadow had lost her brother, which was hard enough for her to bear. He could understand that—because of Ava. If anyone tried to hurt her, or his sister Olivia, he’d have a hard time opening his heart to them.
If the ballistics report confirmed this was the gun that killed Jared, and Grey’s fingerprints were found on the trigger Shadow would never join him for the last gasp of Wilson Cattle or anything else. A hundred years plus of prosperity, Grey thought, and under his watch he’d managed, all right, to lose everything. Now he might have lost his freedom, too. And, worst of all, Shadow and Ava.
He glanced over to see the familiar set of his father’s face. He sat on the passenger seat, and Grey’s stepmother was in the back seat of the extended cab.
His father didn’t respond to Grey’s story of the plastic bag or even to what he’d told him about the ranch. “Logan’s wedding still on for today?” was all he said.
“Yep.” Grey wasn’t in the mood to take part, though he would. All he could think of was that gun and the match that might be made of his fingerprints, assuming they were there. His and who else’s? There were only four possibilities: Grey, Jared, Derek and Calvin. But Calvin claimed he’d never been near the gun.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I let you down. I promised I wouldn’t, but when you go over the ranch accounts, you’ll see. I was already having trouble for the past six months. Then after the bank denied me a loan, the rustlers struck. I’ve lost too many cattle—assets that are now in the red column. Without a big influx of cash, there’s no way I can rebuild the herd. I’m a bad judge of character, too,” he added. “Cody Jones was nothing but a plant for whoever else rustled those cows.”
His father made a sound of disgust. “People have been stealing cattle and horses since man first domesticated the animals. They probably always will. The crime is just more high-tech these days—normally. Doesn’t sound so in this case, from what you’ve told me.” He shifted in the suit Grey had never seen him wear before. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. While I’m here we’ll talk to Barney again, tell him he’d better negotiate a loan, or I’ll pull every cent I have in other accounts out of that bank.”
But Grey wouldn’t let his dad make up his losses. “Handing Wilson Cattle to me was a mistake.”
His father straightened his tie. “Who am I talking to here? Grey, listen to yourself. I don’t recognize my own son. I ‘handed’ this ranch to you for one reason—because I knew you could do the job. Sure, I challenged you last time we spoke. Wilson Cattle is—was—my heritage, too.”
He hesitated. “You can save it for your children one day. Don’t turn your back on my help now just because you’re too proud.” He tugged at the tie again. “I didn’t plan to tell you until after Logan’s wedding, but Liza and I want Wilson Cattle to be yours. That’s official. At this point in my life I’d rather take it easy, travel some more, spend time with the woman I love. Frankly, I like the excitement in Dallas, the good restaurants. We even saw a play and a couple of operas last season. Liza is in charge of my cultural re-education.”
Grey glanced at Liza in the rearview mirror. His stepmother sent him a smile.
“She’s good for you, Dad. You’re good for her.”
“After all that hoopla with your mother? Always vying for your attention, making Olivia prove her loyalty. I’d say so.” He shook his head. “I wish your mother nothing but happiness—that new husband of hers, too—but I’m a far happier man than I used to be.” He hesitated again. “So. You going to take care of business or give up when the going gets tough?”
Grey cracked a smile. “You trust me? But why, when I haven’t proven myself, after all. And Jared Moran’s death still hangs over me.” And prevented any future with Shadow. Maybe finding the gun this morning had only made that more certain in her mind. But why would she think he’d hidden the gun there? Whether or not it had been Grey’s finger on the trigger, he hadn’t been the one to hide the gun. He knew that much.
His dad sat back with a sigh. “Jared’s death shook us all pretty badly. And at nineteen, that was a hard road for you to travel. I admit the shooting set plenty of people in this town against me for a while, as well, just for it having happened on my property. I’ve always believed in your innocence, Grey. If they’re still looking sideways at you, that’s their problem. I don’t need to know what Finn learns from that gun.”
“Unless my prints are there.”
Despite his worry about the gun, Grey tried to take in his father’s words. His trust in him. Maybe it’s you who doesn’t believe in yourself, Shadow had said. His dad might be the only one who did believe, and Grey wouldn’t give up. If the gun couldn’t prove his innocence, and if Shadow never forgave him, he would summon some of his determination to trust in himself—which would require setting aside some of his stubborn pride.
As he turned in to the driveway at Wilson Cattle and felt the same sense of homecoming he always did, Grey knew he wasn’t done yet. Except, quite possibly, with Shadow.
He glanced at his father. “Then it looks like we’re going to keep this ranch.”
“You are,” his father said. “I’m just here to observe.”
* * *
AT THE CIRCLE H, Shadow studied Blossom in the bedroom mirror. “Almost done. Quit fidgeting.” She tucked a strand of Blossom’s russet hair back into the sleek topknot she’d worn today with tendrils that framed her pretty face and showcased her lace veil. In a yellow dress that matched Shadow’s, Blossom’s friend Tammy held the bridal bouquet. “This gown is perfect on you,” she said.
“A beautiful bride,” Shadow agreed.
Blossom hugged them. “I’m so nervous. But I can’t wait for Logan to see me.”
Her ivory wedding dress had lace across her shoulders and down the elbow-length sleeves. Underneath that feminine overlay the strapless bodice boasted an empire waistline above a skirt that fell in a fluid column to her heeled sandals, highlighting her pregnancy at the same time it appeared to disguise that change in her shape. A satin sash completed the look.
Shadow could hear the first strains of wedding music begin to play from the yard. It was time, and she had to put that morning’s trip to the farm out of her mind, the quick surge of distrust she’d felt toward Grey.
She and Blossom walked with Tammy through the house to the front door, and Shadow felt a few nervous twinges. She hadn’t seen him since they’d found the missing gun.
When she’d handed it to Finn, he’d told her he might be late for the wedding. And for Finn, Logan and Blossom had adjusted the start time, but he still wasn’t here. They would have to begin without him.
At the top of the porch stairs, she and Tammy stood in front of Blossom and Logan’s grandfather, Sam. With his leg cast off, he was ready to walk Blossom down the makeshift aisle to the rose arbor where Logan was waiting, fussing with his yellow tie. Shadow flicked a glance at Grey. Standing next to Logan,
he looked more handsome than ever in his white shirt, navy blazer and tan khakis, his hair combed and shining, his face newly shaved. Hoping his somber expression was due to the ceremony that was about to begin, she glanced at the new boots he wore. Then, with the change of tune that was her signal, she began her walk.
A minute later, with the first notes of “Here Comes the Bride,” Blossom and Sam stepped out with only a slight hitch in his gait, her arm looped through his. Shadow watched from her place in the arbor adorned with white roses. She swallowed her regret.
If things had worked out years ago, she and Grey might have gotten married in a similar way, starting their lives as one, like Blossom and Logan were doing now. Instead, they’d spent ten years apart. Last night, and Grey’s proposal, had given Shadow a glimpse of what they could have, but this morning, as if potential happiness couldn’t last any longer than that, they’d found the gun.
She studied the assembled guests, including Grey’s father and stepmother, Willy and Tobias, and her mother and Jack. They were all seated on white chairs and looking misty-eyed as the bride came down the aisle beside a beaming Sam. Or was Shadow seeing them through a blur? Weddings always brought tears.
Swallowing her emotions, she watched Nick, the ring bearer, who held a satin pillow and was grinning at his father the whole way to the arbor.
She scarcely heard the vows. At the last second, Finn had slid into his place beside Grey at the altar. She kept blinking, remembering better times with Grey, wishing... And then trying to read Finn’s face for any sign that he’d discovered the truth about the gun.
When the service ended with a first kiss between the new husband and wife, Shadow looked away from the tender meeting of their lips. She found herself staring into Grey’s eyes, remembering last night and the kisses they’d shared, deeper than in the Kansas City hotel bar or at his ranch the day they’d told Ava he was her father. If she wasn’t wrong, he was thinking of those kisses, too.