Night Thunder

by Jill Gregory

  “That’s my mama, my daddy, and me. My brother was born about a year later. We weren’t very well off back then, not many were—it was the Depression, you know. But we made it through. And once, just like you did today, I broke something—a little oval cut-glass jewel box that my father had given my mama on their second wedding anniversary. I sneaked into her room to play with it when I was about five and I dropped it on the floor. She cried when she came in and saw what had happened, and I thought it was because her beautiful present was shattered all over the floor—but you know what?”

  Still holding the frame in her hands, she looked intently at Josy. “She was crying because I’d tried to pick up the pieces and had cut my hand on the glass. My finger was bleeding.”

  Ada nodded, and Josy could see the memories floating across her gentle face. “Now, some mothers might have been furious, and mine had every right to be, but she was more upset that I had hurt myself, and she told me then— people are always more important than things. I’ve always remembered that.”

  Josy’s throat ached. “That’s a beautiful story. Your mother sounds like a very special woman.”

  “Oh, she was. She saw me through some tough times and she stood by me, which is more than some people do for their kin. I don’t have patience with that kind. Now,” she added, setting the picture frame carefully back on the mantel, “I saw you looking at all my little treasures up here earlier. Not that I mind, of course, but you seemed so caught up in them, I couldn’t help but wonder why you were so interested.”

  “They’re just so pretty,” Josy said quickly. “And I wondered if any might be antiques.”

  “Well, they’re old, let’s put it that way.” Ada chuckled. “Very few would be valuable to anyone but me. Everything here brings back memories for me.”

  “Did you grow up in Thunder Creek? In this house?”

  “I’ve lived in Thunder Creek all my life, but my parents’ house was north of town. My husband and I moved in here when we were married. I was twenty years old and I fell in love with this spot of land the moment I laid eyes on it. Of course, this was a piece of Barclay land, so no wonder—they own some of the most beautiful land in the county. My husband and me were ever so grateful when they sold this little parcel to us.”

  “Barclay land?” Josy stared at her. “As in . . . Sheriff Barclay?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But . . . I thought he was from Philadelphia. Roy mentioned he was a homicide detective there.”

  “Yes, that’s true, some of the present generation of Barclays live in Philadelphia now, but the land has been in their family for generations. They were ranching in Wyoming long before there were fences and automobiles and what passes these days for modern civilization. The Barclays go way back in these parts.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Josy murmured.

  Ada nodded. “Roy is Ty’s cousin, and he owns about five hundred acres, keeps it mostly for an investment, just like the Barclays do. But they’ve got over thirty thousand acres, and good water rights. They lease the water rights to local ranchers and someday maybe they’ll sell off some more of the property, but they have a real fine family cabin up in the mountains and they still spend family vacations here—always have. I’ve known Ty and his brother and sister since they were knee high to a tadpole.”

  “You have my sympathies.” The words somehow tumbled out without thought, and Josy could have bitten off her tongue as Ada’s brown eyes fixed themselves intently on her face.

  “What does that mean? Don’t you like Ty?”

  “I barely know him.” She shrugged. “But he isn’t exactly the friendliest person I’ve met in Thunder Creek.”

  She considered that a very tactful understatement, but Ada shook her head. “Ty Barclay’s a good man.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I grant he can be intimidating to some—especially those who don’t know him, seeing as how he’s so big, and looks like he could take a bear apart with his bare hands if he was riled—”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” Josy put in quickly.

  “That’s good.” Ada smiled as she led the way across the living room and Josy realized they were now headed out toward the porch. “Seeing as he’ll be here pretty soon unless I miss my guess.”

  Josy stopped short. “Ty Barclay is coming here? Why?”

  “Did you see those horses in the paddock when you drove up today? The roan gelding and the buckskin colt?”

  Josy nodded. She’d noticed the horses—gorgeous animals, chasing each other around the paddock facing Angel Road. She’d taken a good long look at the house at the end of the lane and was pretty sure it was the same house she’d gazed at all those years ago with her parents. Then she’d been distracted by the sight of those glossy, spirited horses frisking in the sunshine.

  “I did notice them. They’re beautiful.” She hesitated only a moment. “I was hoping to have a chance to go over and take a closer look.”

  “That so?” Ada regarded her with interest. “Do you ride?”

  “No. But I always wanted to.”

  It was true. Ever since she’d come to Thunder Creek with her parents that one time, and seen some children riding headlong across a meadow on the outskirts of town, she’d wondered what it would be like to race like that, fast as the wind, out in the open air with no one and nothing to hold her back.

  Not that she’d ever had the chance.

  “Those two horses belong to Ty,” Ada continued, and pushed open the screen door, holding it for Josy. “He stables them here, rides them on the weekends, and in exchange pays me a little something and helps out with chores.”

  Her heart quickened. “So . . . he’s coming here to ride? Today?”

  “And to tend to the horses.” Ada eased herself onto the porch swing and patted the weathered wood beside her, inviting Josy to have a seat. “During the week, or if he’s too busy, young Tommy Hanson comes and takes care of them. But most every weekend Ty’s around. Sometimes he rides up to the Barclay cabin and spends a night or two. Once a month or so I’ll get him to stay and have Sunday supper with me. He likes to keep to himself these days, but he’s always been good company—oh!” She broke off.

  “Here he comes now—what did I tell you?” A satisfied smile wreathed her face, and Josy followed her gaze to where a black Crown Victoria police cruiser streaked toward them down Angel Road.

  Ty Barclay braked sharply fifteen feet short of the porch steps and eased his long frame out of the car.

  “Come on up here, Ty. I need a word with you,” Ada called in the peremptory tone of an old woman, and Josy’s stomach clenched. She glanced at her watch—she really did need to get going soon. Her dinner date with Chance was at seven o’clock and it was half past four already. She wanted to shower, and wash her hair . . .

  But her mental list of chores flew right out of her mind as Ty Barclay strode up to the porch.

  Damn, why did he have to be so supremely, irresistibly handsome? Especially today, in the late afternoon sunlight, he looked very much the rugged, modern cowboy in his jeans, black shirt, and cowboy boots, with the black Stetson sexily shading those brilliant blue eyes. Even his walk was sexy—long, easy strides, filled with confidence and a kind of edgy grace.

  Too bad when it came to manners and charm, he was a big fat dud, she told herself. But her heart gave a strange lurch when those blue eyes locked on hers. His gaze was cool and decidedly brief. It immediately shifted to Ada and grew much warmer, she noticed with some irritation.

  “What can I do for you, Ada?”

  Addressing the older woman, he looked and sounded far more relaxed than Josy had ever seen him.

  “I want you to tell me what’s going to become of poor Vernon Watkins. But first, you’ve met Josy Warner?”

  “Yeah.” He gave Josy a curt nod. She returned it in kind. The air between them was frigid, but as Ada glanced sideways at the blonde woman on the swing beside her, and then over at Ty, she was sure she detected a sizzle bene
ath the frost.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard all about Vernon already.” Ty took the porch steps two at a time and leaned his tall frame against the rail. “The whole town’s talking about him.”

  “Well, of course they are. I heard it in Bessie’s Diner all week and even at the shower today—both Roberta and Ellen MacIntyre brought him up. You heard about it too, didn’t you, Josy?”

  “I think so. Something about him going crazy and tearing up his own house. ‘Going postal’ is the way Roberta put it.”

  Ada shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s true, Vernon just up and went to pieces. It was a good thing Ty got there when he did. Now tell me”—she leaned forward, fixing her gaze on Ty—“was Sue Ann really all right? Vernon wasn’t beating on her, was he?”

  “He hadn’t touched her by the time I got there, but she was plenty upset.”

  “That’s what she told me. I stopped in to bring her some pie the other day and she just broke down, poor thing. She denied Vernon hurt her, said he just lost control and started smashing the furniture, all worried about the rustlers getting more of his cattle. But I wanted to make sure she wasn’t covering up for him.”

  “No, she was fine, but scared out of her wits.”

  “And with good reason.” Leaning her shoulders back in the swing, Ada looked weary for the first time all afternoon. “It’s a damned shame, that’s what it is. They were on the verge of bankruptcy a few years back,” she explained to Josy. “And Vernon managed to get a loan from his son-in-law to keep going, but now . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. “If those rustlers hit him again over the summer months, they’re going to put the Circle Star Ranch under.”

  “Are you talking about cattle rustling—like in the movies?” Josy had heard some talk about rustlers here and there, but she’d been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t paid much attention. Cattle rustling was something that happened in old TV shows and movies, not in the twenty-first century.

  “It’s done with trucks and trailers now,” Ty told her. She felt a twinge of alarm when her heart gave a little flutter as he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time that afternoon.

  He was too handsome in the hard gold sun. Too vividly, vibrantly male. She struggled to keep her attention on his words, not on the powerful line of his shoulders, the sharp planes of his face, or the low, pleasing timbre of his voice.

  “But it still goes on,” he continued, taking off his hat, turning it in his hands as he leaned against the railing. “Instead of stealing one or two cows or horses here and there, the rustlers load up a truckload of animals in the middle of nowhere and hightail it out of state.”

  “But where do they go?”

  His gaze narrowed. “Someplace where they don’t have brand inspectors and no one pays too much attention to the cows or quarter horses brought into the kill plants. Even with ranchers doing flyovers of the back acres when they can to check on their herds, most of the time no one’s the wiser until the cattle have been rounded up and counted in the fall. By then it’s too damn late.”

  Ada peered at him. “Have you gotten any leads?”

  “One or two.”

  Shrewdly, she took a moment to study his face, reflecting on his coolly noncommital tone. “Ah, I bet you’ve got a suspect or two in mind,” she said, delighted. “Not that you’re going to tell us.”

  A flash of amusement lit his eyes. “You got that right.”

  She gave a bark of laughter.

  “Well.” Ty tipped his hat to her, then set it back on his head. He turned those steady brilliant blue eyes on Josy. “I guess if you ladies have grilled me enough for one day, I’ll just go saddle up.”

  Ada’s phone rang from inside the house and she pushed herself out of the swing. “That could be Billy—he calls me every Saturday, you know. Ty, would you mind showing Josy the horses? She told me she’d love to see them up close.”

  Before either Ty or Josy could speak, she hurried into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

  Not this again, Josy thought in dismay. That’s all I need—Ada channeling Roy Hewett.

  “Don’t listen to her,” she told Ty, a frozen smile on her face. “I’m not interested in seeing the horses.”

  “No surprise there.”

  She went still, then her gaze narrowed on him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “My guess is you’ve probably never ridden anything more feisty than a carousel horse in your life.”

  “So?”

  “So you’d probably rather not risk your manicure hoisting your butt into a saddle.” He looked her over lazily. That silky blue and white sundress that was wrapped around her body wasn’t made for riding, but oh, man, it suited her. It was cool and shapely and enticing, just as she was. And equally out of place in the hard wilderness of hills and canyons on Blue Moon Mesa—which was where he was headed.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he added, shoving away from the railing and sauntering down the steps. “But it’s none of my business.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She glared after him as he headed with that infuriatingly easy stride toward the stables. The nerve of him. She’d never in her life met a more irritating man.

  “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Could you possibly stereotype me any more than you already have?” she called after him.

  He turned back, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Hey, beats me. Could I?”

  She shot off the swing, down the steps, and across the front yard, hauling up only a foot away from him. She notched her chin up, way up, so she could stare him in the eyes.

  “For your information, I couldn’t care less what you think about me.”

  “Same here. So what has you so upset?”

  “I’m not upset. You just rub me the wrong way.”

  “Yeah. I have that effect on a lot of people.”

  “Well, golly gee, why am I not surprised?”

  He gave her the ghost of a grin then and it nearly knocked the breath out of her lungs. His face changed subtly; it didn’t soften exactly—that would be too much to ask—but it became . . . less hard. Less detached.

  And if possible, even more handsome.

  “You’re not an easy person to get along with, you know that?” Ty said slowly. He resisted the urge to reach out and smooth a flyaway strand of silky blonde hair that had tumbled across her cheek. “Maybe you should consider lightening up a little.”

  “Me?” She gaped at him.

  “Horseback riding is good for the soul. Especially around here.” He spread his arm, encompassing the meadows and mountains looming behind Ada’s house. “There’s this one particular trail I know. You ride for a while along the banks of the creek, then veer across a gully, head up into the foothills. It’s full of flowers, and the birds just sing all the time and you can see for miles when you get to the top of Shadow Point. Then you head on to Blue Moon Mesa and that’s where it really gets spectacular.”

  He pushed his hat back a little on his head and studied her with those keen eyes.

  “Mellows me out every time. You ought to try it—I bet it beats meditation therapy and yoga and all that crap to hell.”

  “For your information I don’t do yoga or meditation therapy,” she snapped.

  His eyes glinted in the sunlight. “Maybe you should.”

  Her mouth opened. And closed. She wanted to say something horrible to him, something every bit as rude as he had said to her, but she refused to lower herself to his level. While she struggled to come up with something mature yet stinging, he laughed.

  “So are you game?”

  “For what?” She eyed him with all the frozen dignity she could muster.

  “For a little riding.” He shifted closer to her, looming over her at the base of Ada’s porch steps. She was astonished to see he was actually smiling at her.

  “I promise not to let you fall off your horse. My two are
pretty spunky—they’d probably be too much for you to handle, but Ada has an old mare—she’s gentle as a lamb. You could probably manage her.”

  “Gee, thanks. I’m sure I could—if I wanted to.”

  Amusement flickered across his face. “Do you own any riding clothes?”

  “I told you, I don’t—”

  “Jeans and a T-shirt should do it. Tell you what—I’ll hang out here for a while. If you get back in the next hour, I’ll take you up to Blue Moon Mesa.”

  “I can’t.” What was she saying? I won’t. I don’t want to go riding with you, is what she ought to have said.

  Yet . . . did she? She pictured herself up on a horse, riding alongside Ty Barclay in the foothills. Then she pushed the image away.

  “Why can’t you?” he challenged, his eyes piercing into hers. “Too scared?”

  “I happen to have a date.”

  A muscle tensed in his jaw. But his eyes were unreadable. For a moment she wondered if he was going to ask her who her date was with, but he remained silent.

  He probably already knew she was going out with Chance. She’d gone to the movies with him last Saturday and tonight he was taking her to a real Western steak house in the nearby town of Winston Falls.

  Corinne knew of their plans. Which meant Roy knew. Considering the size of Thunder Creek, there was every probability that Ty Barclay knew too.

  “How about tomorrow? Say, twelve noon?”

  She was flabbergasted. “Wh-why?” she sputtered. “Why on earth would you want me to go riding with you?”

  She was frank, he’d give her that. She didn’t beat around the bush, or play games. Ty felt a tug of admiration.

  “Damned if I know. Let’s just do it, not think about it.”

  Josy tried to form the word no. But she found herself nodding.

  “Then let’s meet right here. Noon tomorrow.” He looked her over, his gaze roaming down her body.

  “I don’t suppose you own any shoes that aren’t high heels?” he drawled.

  Josy followed his gaze down to her stiletto-heeled Manolo Blahniks. “In one minute I’m going to change my mind,” she threatened.