Blue Sage (Anne Stuart's Greatest Hits Book 3)

by Anne Stuart

  “I can do it when I ride him,” Tanner volunteered casually.

  Maude’s eyes sharpened. “She’s gonna let you ride him? That hell-born baby of hers?”

  “So she promised.” Tanner’s eyes met hers over the chipped blue mug, the faintest trace of a challenge in them, and any lingering doubts Ellie had slipped away.

  “So I promised,” she agreed.

  “God almighty, it must be love!” cackled Maude.

  Tanner choked on his coffee.

  * * * * *

  Ellie couldn’t help it, Tanner thought as he drove toward the wide main street of Morey’s Falls. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the light from her eyes. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her soft, slightly swollen lips from curving into a smile. Even his brooding silence didn’t daunt her. The woman was simply, unequivocally happy.

  It had been a long time since he’d had that effect on another human being. He was used to making people suspicious and miserable, resentful and frightened. When Ellie didn’t think he’d notice, she looked at him as if the sun rose and set within him. It was an addictive, dangerous thing, and he knew he had to do something about it while he still could.

  “Can we stop by Davidson’s Market on our way home?” she asked, trying to keep a somber expression on her face and failing. “I have to get my purse, and I’m out of essentials.”

  “Essentials?”

  “Milk, bread and Tab. All the necessities of life,” she said.

  He should have known better. He did know better, but he drove straight on into the center of town without a word. He’d never been one to avoid a confrontation, and if one was brewing, they might as well face it. Maybe Ellie would see the light without having to be shown it.

  It was just after ten o’clock on a sunny, late-June morning. The wide sidewalks of Morey’s Falls were unusually crowded, and the faded, gloomy-looking people looked a little dazed by the glorious sunshine. They looked even more dazed at the sight of Tanner driving Ellie Lundquist in Maude Gilles’s ancient sedan.

  Ellie had her hand on the door before he’d even pulled the car to a stop, directly in front of the market. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Don’t you want me to come in?”

  She looked startled. “Of course,” she said, and he believed her.

  “Never mind. Get me a carton of cigarettes.” He handed her a crumpled wad of bills.

  Her eyes danced. “I shouldn’t. I gave up my cane; you can give up those coffin nails.”

  “Get me the cigarettes, woman,” he ordered in a mock snarl, “or you’ll be in real trouble.”

  “Maybe,” she said, dancing away from him without taking the proffered money.

  She practically skipped into the store, he noted sourly. And the people on the sidewalks stared—first after her, then back to him, sitting in the car, then back toward Ellie. Tanner’s instincts, never relaxed, started working overtime.

  He counted to one hundred, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He counted, again, this time in Spanish. Still no Ellie. The looks he was getting from the passersby were growing more hostile, and the small crowd, instead of thinning, was growing larger.

  It was an unbelievably beautiful day. The big Montana sky was like a canopy of blue overhead, the mountains were sharply outlined in the distance, the green of early summer making the town seem prettier than it really was. But Tanner was beyond noticing. There was trouble, real trouble, and Ellie was in the middle of it.

  The people scurried out of his way as he strode across the sidewalk to the fancy glass door of Davidson’s Market, but he could hear the undercurrent of resentment, feel the hostile eyes at his back. He ignored them, pushing the door open, and then he stopped still, just inside the store.

  Ellie was standing up against a row of canned vegetables, and the light had gone from her eyes. Her hands were clutched tightly around her purse, her mouth was pale and set, and her face was white with strain. The signs of his lovemaking were clear as day, to him at least: the slight reddening of her soft skin from his beard, the tiny bite mark on the side of her neck, that slightly out-of-focus look she still carried despite her defiant stance.

  No one noticed him enter. He was partially obscured by a tall shelf of baked goods, and he stood there, watching. One huge, threatening man stood directly over Ellie, but there was a semicircle of six or seven people surrounding her, baiting her. They should have torches and pitchforks, he thought for one bizarre, abstracted moment. Or at least come equipped with a large red letter A.

  “There’s a word for women like you,” the big man was saying. He was so close to her he was spitting in her face with each angry word.

  “There are lots of words for women like me,” Ellie replied, her voice even despite the strain. “Start with human.”

  “I’ll start with traitor,” the man thundered. “And then go on to trash, cheap, no-good, murdering…”

  “Your vocabulary’s very nice, Pete,” she said; though Tanner could hear the quaver in her voice he doubted anyone else could. “But I’m not a murderer, and neither is Tanner.”

  “He’s the spawn of a murderer, and you turned your back on everyone that loved and cared for you all these years when you shacked up with him.”

  “Pete,” Ellie protested.

  “You betrayed us,” a woman spoke up, her voice unfamiliar to Tanner. “You betrayed the Judge, you betrayed your father and you betrayed yourself.”

  Very good, Tanner applauded silently. That was better than anything he could come up with to drive her away. Let her take a little bit more, and then he’d get her out of there and finish the job. Maybe it would be enough to get her out of this godforsaken town altogether, to someplace where she could live life without having to be a saint. To someplace where she could find a man she could really love, and not have to throw it away on a loser like him. If that thought was acid eating away at his innards, it was no more than he deserved. He never should have touched her, and now he was paying the price.

  But Ellie was paying a higher price. Tanner had seen a mountain lion take down a sheep once. He’d known better than to do anything but sit there, absolutely still, until the blood lust had passed, but he’d seen the desperate, cornered look in the sheep’s eyes, knowing the end was coming, too stupid to be anything but brave.

  And there was Ellie, with the same, stupid courage. He should let them torment her just a little bit more, but he didn’t think he could stand it.

  “You’ve stabbed us all in the back, Ellie,” another voice was saying. “We all loved you, trusted you...” And Tanner realized with sudden shock that it was Lonnie.

  Tanner moved then, into sight, striding down the crowded aisle of Davidson’s Market to the huddled group of angry townspeople.

  Pete Forrester was a giant of a man, built like a linebacker, with massive thighs and shoulders and big meaty hands to match his red, angry face. He topped Tanner by probably half a foot and one hundred pounds, and there’d be no contest in a fair fight. Fortunately Tanner didn’t fight fair.

  Reaching around the burly figure, he took Ellie’s stiff arm and tugged. She came readily enough, and he began leading her out the door.

  The townspeople watched in sullen silence, too surprised by his sudden advent to protest. Pete finally broke the spell.

  “Get out of here, you murdering bastard!” he shouted. “And take her with you!”

  Tanner stopped by the door. He looked at Pete, a long, measuring look, and noted without surprise that it still worked. Pete backed off, muttering something beneath his breath. It was always easy to stare down a coward and a bully, and Pete Forrester was exactly that. “If I were a bastard,” Tanner said coolly, “we wouldn’t have any problem here, would we?” And taking Ellie with him, he let the door close gently behind them.

  They weren’t through yet. The number of people on the sidewalk had swelled, and he half expected bottles and insults to be thrown. He should have known better in this town of the livin
g dead. They just watched, surly and apathetic, as he helped a shaken Ellie into the car and pulled away, into the bright sunshine.

  “We’ll get your necessities of life from Addie. We need to tell her where to find her truck,” he said, looking over at her. She had her arms wrapped around her, for warmth on this hot summer day.

  “Could you take me home?” she asked in a very small voice.

  He opened his mouth to say something, to comfort her, and then shut it again. Comfort from him would only weaken her. They drove in silence back through town. Tanner could feel the eyes watching their departure, feel the hostility fanning forth in waves of tension. Why the hell had he ever involved Ellie? He’d known from the start it would bring nothing but trouble, nothing but pain and despair.

  Hadn’t he had some half-crazy idea about bringing her down to his level? He should have known it was impossible. She was sitting there beside him, hurt, aching, grieving. Yet he knew for a fact that she held nothing against Pete Forrester and his ilk. And nothing against his own worthless self.

  He was about to do something about that, however. A quick, clean cut was the kindest. If he didn’t drive her away now he’d never be able to let her go, and there was no future for her with Charles Tanner’s son.

  “Would you mind dropping me off at the cabin first?” he asked, keeping his voice cool.

  She looked over at him, startled out of her misery. “I thought…I mean…” She floundered to a stop, took a deep breath and started again. “I wanted to be with you,” she said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? Do you think I mind what those people said? I know them too well, I know the kind of pain they’re going through.”

  “And have you forgotten who inflicted that pain?”

  “No. I still need you, Tanner.”

  He steeled himself. He hated hunting, hated the notion of gunning down some helpless animal. He had no pleasure in what he was going to do. He just knew he had to do it.

  “Don’t make me say it, Ellie,” he said, his voice still remote.

  “Say what? That you don’t need me? I don’t suppose you do. You’re much more self-sufficient than I am.” She was trying to keep her voice light, trying and failing. “And you can’t tell me you don’t want me. I wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” He kept his eyes trained on the roadway in front of him, listening to the little intake of breath that was a swallowed gasp of pain. “You may as well know, I went after you for a reason.”

  “You went after me?”

  “Didn’t you notice you were being stalked? There you were, sweet and pretty and just waiting to fall, and there I was, the spawn of a murderer. I thought I might even up the score a bit. Bring you down to my level.”

  She said nothing for a long time, and he didn’t dare look at her, for fear he’d waver, tell her he was lying, ask her to run away with him and never set foot in Montana again.

  He’d pulled up in front of the derelict cabin before she finally spoke. “So now that you’ve brought me down to your level,” she said quietly, “what next?”

  He opened the door and climbed out, leaving the motor running. She slid across the wide bench seat to the driver’s side, put her hands on the steering wheel and looked up at him, her face calm, expressionless, waiting for an answer.

  “What next?” he echoed. “Goodbye, Ellie.” And he shut the door very carefully.

  There was no sign of pain or distress on her pale face. He could see the faint dusting of golden freckles dancing across her cheekbones, glinting in the bright, cheery sunlight. “Goodbye, Tanner,” she said. Putting the car in gear, she drove away, down the winding dirt road.

  He waited until she was out of sight, waited until the sound of the big engine had faded in the distance. Then he started to curse, a mindless litany that did nothing to relieve his own grief and rage.

  Finally the words faded into silence. He walked into the cabin, feeling as always the sense of desolation that the place engendered in him. He’d had to do it, he reminded himself. For his sake, and for Ellie’s. Now all he had to do was survive the next few days, long enough to find out who or what was behind the incidents that were echoing his father’s history. And then get the hell out of there.

  He looked around the weather-stained walls. One thing he promised himself. Before he went, he was going to torch that place, scorch it down to the relentless clay it sat upon. And then, even if Charles Tanner, Sr. didn’t find peace, his son would.

  * * * * *

  Ellie didn’t cry. There didn’t seem to be any tears inside her, everything felt hot and dry and burned up. She skirted town, driving the long way around rather than having to see the angry faces watching her. She considered running to Doc for comfort, then rejected the idea. Ginger was there, Ginger who’d crow with triumph and then probably hotfoot it back out to the cabin to see if she could take up where Ellie had left off.

  Tanner would probably be glad to see her. Compared to her, Ginger’s expertise would be a welcome alternative. Maybe she’d just been so impossibly inept the night before that he hadn’t wanted to bother with her.

  No, she couldn’t go crying to Doc, even if Ginger wasn’t there. There were some things you couldn’t talk to a man about, even if he was one of your oldest friends.

  There was Maude, of course, but she didn’t want to do that either. Maude had looked so happy when they left. She had found herself a grandson, a link with the future, and Ellie didn’t want anything to get in the way of that happiness.

  When it came right down to it, there was no one she could turn to. She’d spent so many years being calm, being helpful, being there for people, that there was no one to do the same for her. All she could do was go home and crawl into bed, between the fancy sheets she’d put on for Tanner. Maybe she’d strip the bed and sleep on the bare mattress.

  A low moan of pain startled her. It startled her even more to realize the sound had come from her own throat. Almost home, she promised herself.

  There was no one in sight when she pulled Maude’s old car into the driveway. No one to watch as she limped painfully up the back stairs and into her unlocked kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she carefully turned the key she’d found a few days ago. She moved through the house, locking every door, pulling down the shades, unplugging the telephone. Her gold-headed cane was resting at the foot of the stairs. She picked it up, feeling the smooth metal with a sense of soothing familiarity as slowly, carefully, she climbed the long dark flight of stairs.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  Just when things ought to have quieted down, just when tempers began to calm, word came of another incident. One of Charles Tanner’s victims was buried in Helena, and someone had desecrated that grave, pouring red paint over the headstone. Nerves tightened further still, tension rose in the tiny town. And Ellie kept her cane with her at all times.

  She didn’t waste time wondering whether it was psychosomatic, whether she needed the cane, needed to limp when life seemed empty and desolate. All she knew was that the throb in her knee was a constant reminder, and the angry expressions on the townspeople’s faces were fading, returning to looks of kindly commiseration as she limped around town, alone, and Tanner kept his distance.

  Even Pete Forrester seemed to have mellowed. He’d said good-morning to her when he’d passed her on the street the day before, and even judgmental old Sally Richmond had managed a wintry smile. At first Ellie’s reaction was a startled relief that managed to penetrate the numbness that surrounded her. And then she realized what had prompted the kindliness.

  They’d decided she’d been a victim again, this time of Charles Tanner’s son. She’d been led astray, seduced and abandoned, and they were willing to fold her back into their collective arms and forgive her momentary weakness.

  As long as she went back to being the martyr of Morey’s Falls, she thought bitterly. As long as she was willing t
o stay alone in that dark old house, doing good deeds, keeping herself untouched after her fall from grace.

  For the time being that was easy enough. She had no interest in having anyone touch her, anyone at all. But that would pass. Tanner would leave, and as soon as he was gone she’d pull herself together and get out, too. Right now it hurt too much to make plans. But as soon as he was gone, as soon as there was no danger of running into him in the empty streets of Morey’s Falls, she’d get back to being her normal, resourceful self, and get her normal, resourceful self out of there.

  At least the odd, eerie incidents had almost stopped. A few more animals had been found dead, one or two people reported a Peeping Tom lurking around, and the news about the grave in Helena that had caused a flurry of concern had quickly died down. As far as she knew, Tanner had done nothing to get people excited again. He spent a lot of time with Addie Pritchard, he spent a lot of time with Maude. Doc, the bearer of that information, had even allowed that Tanner had spent a lot of time with him. Though not, he added, with Ginger, who’d found herself a divorced man in Menton, two towns over, and spent most nights away.

  Eliie didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. On the one hand she was fiercely, gloriously relieved that Ginger hadn’t done her bit to fill Tanner’s empty bed. On the other hand, the sooner he was completely out of reach, the sooner she’d recover.

  She awoke late on the morning of July third with a sense of impending doom. It was no different from any other morning in the past two weeks, since before Tanner even arrived she’d woken with the feeling that life was about to crash around her head. She lay there beneath her heavy cotton sheets, feeling the thick, humid air closing around her, dreading the days ahead. Next afternoon she’d have to unveil that monolith in the pocket-sized park, she’d have to say all the appropriate things and dress in semi-mourning like the professional widow she was. If she could just get through the next forty-eight hours, Tanner would be gone, and so would she.