High Country Homecoming

by Roxanne Rustand

No bigger than a three-stall garage, it had the basics but not much selection, and the prices were steep. The teenage girl at the single checkout lane idly glanced at her as she walked in, then continued staring at her cell phone.

  The only other customer was a slender woman in tight black jeans and an even tighter black sweater, with a bouffant platinum-blond hairdo, who brought her cart close by.

  She gave Chloe a curious look, then smiled. “Pardon me, ma’am. But your name wouldn’t be Chloe, would it?”

  Startled, Chloe searched her face, trying to remember who she might be. A childhood friend from the elementary school in town, maybe? “Yes. But I’m afraid I don’t remember your name. I haven’t been here for many years.”

  “I don’t expect we’ve ever met. I’m pretty new in town myself, and I remember how hard it was for me at first, when I didn’t know a soul. So I always try to say hello.”

  Still mystified, Chloe smiled back at her. “Why, thank you.”

  The woman leaned closer, as if ready to tell a secret. “Betty Foster told me you were coming to stay at Langford Ranch. She told me to watch for a pretty stranger in town with reddish hair, so I took a wild guess. I’m Darla Peterson, Abby’s new stepmom.” She winked. “Though I’m not much older than she is.”

  “She’s the twins’ nanny, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and Jess’s new fiancée. You’ve got it. Are you getting along okay out at the ranch with most everyone gone?” She locked on to Chloe’s gaze as if trying to make sure all was well. “I hear Devlin Langford isn’t very sociable, so if there’s anything I can do for you, or you want to stop by for coffee sometime, just let me know.”

  Chloe liked this chipper woman already. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Darla pulled a pen and a crumpled receipt from her purse, scribbled down a number, and handed it to Chloe. “This is my cell number, just in case you need it. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, though. Don and I go over to the Langford ranch for Sunday dinner sometimes, and for holidays. How long will you be here?”

  “Three months at the most.”

  “Wonderful! We’ll see each other at Easter dinner, then. It will be so nice to have a new friend.” She glanced at her watch and her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness—I’ve got to run. Don’s out in the truck and he must think I’ve fallen off the planet. Nice meeting you!”

  Chloe watched her bustle away to the checkout line and smiled. With Betty and now this livewire in her life, Abby was certainly blessed. But even more so, because she and Jess had found each other. He’d always been the steady, hardworking and dependable Langford brother—and would surely be a wonderful husband, too.

  After buying her groceries, Chloe drove farther east on Main Street to see what had changed since she’d lived here, expecting mostly the empty storefronts of a dusty, dying town.

  Millie’s Coffee Shop was new, along with a number of touristy businesses geared toward the folks passing through Pine Bend on their way to the mountains. High-country adventure outfitters. A bike shop with pricey mountain bikes in the front window. A florist and several gift shops. A sportswear shop displaying running gear.

  Over the treetops to the south, the white, old-fashioned steeple of the community church still peeked about the rooftops and pines, bringing back a landslide of memories she hadn’t thought of in years.

  Her dad had never attended except for Christmas and Easter, and Gus Langford had been determined never to set foot in the church again after Heather’s funeral. For as long as Chloe had lived at the ranch, he had kept that promise, except for his wife’s funeral less than a year later, and finally, she supposed, his own. Whatever his other faults had been, when he gave his word, it was cast in iron.

  But sweet Grandma Betty, bless her heart, had herded the boys to church every Sunday, and she’d always brought Chloe along too, with a promise of thickly frosted donuts and chocolate milk at the tiny café on Main if they were all quiet and paid attention.

  She drove on slowly and glanced at the few pedestrians on the sidewalk, who all looked unfamiliar. Would she still recognize anyone in town? Probably not. She’d been just eleven when she and Dad had moved away, and the locals surely wouldn’t remember her, either.

  Even if a few folks recalled a ranch foreman’s skinny little girl with red hair and freckles, they might not recognize her now that her hair had gradually darkened to deep auburn.

  At the end of the four-block strip of businesses on the main road through town, there were a couple of vacant lots, then a gas station offering mechanic services, though a hand-lettered sign in the front picture window said Closed for Funeral—Credit Cards Still Okay on Gas Pumps.

  Despite all of the years she’d been away, and the changes in what was now a burgeoning little town, she felt strangely at home here, she thought with an inward smile. It was actually going to be hard to leave once her three months were up.

  After filling up her gas tank, she turned around and headed back to the ranch, humming along to a song on a country radio station turned up high.

  The SUV suddenly jerked and seemed to sink on one side.

  She groaned when she heard the flappity-flappity sound of a blown tire. Of all places—midway between the ranch and town, with vast open country as far as she could see and not a ranch in sight. Her auto-club towing service—did they even answer calls in middle-of-nowhere Montana?—had lapsed months ago, and she already knew the gas station in town was closed.

  After pulling as far over as she could onto the gravel shoulder of the highway, she went to check. Sure enough, the back left tire wasn’t only flat, it was blown beyond repair. And when she went to retrieve her spare, it was missing.

  She sighed heavily. Just before leaving Minneapolis, she’d had an oil change and had asked the guys to check all of the fluids, the tires and even the spare. Had they taken it out and forgotten to put it back?

  Sliding back into the driver’s seat, she reached for her cell phone. No service.

  She tipped her head back on the headrest. It would be more than a seven-mile hike in either direction, through desolate country, and the thought of leaving the protection of her vehicle made her shudder.

  Maybe the majority of the drivers passing by were good people, but what about the rest, who might see a lone, young woman as easy prey?

  She eyed the rise of the road a good quarter mile ahead. Maybe there’d be better reception up there. If she crept slowly along the shoulder, the tire would be ruined and probably the wheel rim, as well. But could driving that distance cause even more serious damage? Hopefully not.

  Praying she was right, she stayed on the shoulder of the road and eased the vehicle slowly up the next slope, then pulled even farther off the road and checked her phone. Two bars of reception out of five. Yes!

  Heaving a sigh of relief, she called Devlin’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. After leaving a message, she also sent a text.

  Then she waited and waited as cars and semis whizzed by so fast that her SUV shook in the blasts of wind they each created.

  With her lightly tinted windows, they likely couldn’t see her while speeding by, yet stepping outside presented the possibility of even greater problems. She hadn’t lived in a city and regularly watched the evening news for nothing.

  A half hour later, Devlin still hadn’t responded. Then an hour. For all she knew, he might not even be at the ranch, or maybe he’d left his phone in his cabin again and wouldn’t check it until evening.

  If yet another half hour passed, she would call her new best friend, Darla...though out here in ranch country, the woman could live an hour on the other side of Pine Bend. And how could Chloe impose on her then?

  An old, dented Chevy pickup slowed as it went past, then executed a laborious U-turn and pulled up close to her back bumper.

  Please Lord, a sweet old ranch lady would be p
erfect.

  But when two hulking occupants stepped out of that rattletrap truck, she took one look and her heart lodged in her throat. She hit the locks. Turned the key in the ignition. Sent Devlin another text.

  And when the two men leaned down to leer at her through the side windows of the SUV, she knew this was far worse than she’d even imagined.

  Shifting the SUV into Drive, she hit the 911 speed-dial button on her phone, stomped on the accelerator and started to pray.

  * * *

  I’m scared. Please come.

  Devlin hit sixty on the gravel lane out to the highway, then turned toward Pine Bend and floored the accelerator.

  Her first text had arrived almost two hours ago, saying she’d blown a tire halfway home from town, but he’d left his cell phone in the tack room when he had gone to the meadow for target practice, followed by an hour-long run up into the foothills. He hadn’t realized that she’d called.

  The second message sounded much, much worse, and knowing Chloe, it wasn’t just a complaint about waiting for him to show up.

  He still hadn’t seen any sign of her at five miles from the ranch, then six...

  A half mile later he rounded a curve.

  And there it was—praise the Lord.

  Her SUV had gone off the road, down an embankment, broken through a barbwire fence to end up nose down in a shallow, dry creek bed. An old pickup was parked on the highway shoulder just above it, as if someone had stopped to help her.

  But when Devlin pulled to a stop and jumped out of his vehicle, he instantly knew there’d been no helping involved.

  His heart jerked in his chest.

  One guy was slowly stalking Chloe way out into the sagebrush, as if he was a predator toying with prey.

  His Chloe—in danger. That such a lowlife dared even to contemplate laying a hand on her sent adrenaline surging through Devlin.

  His buddy—heavily muscled, with tattoo sleeves emblazoned up both arms—was moaning and bent nearly double by the side of her SUV, his hands at his tear-streaked face.

  Clearly she must have pepper sprayed him at close range. Good girl. Still, it didn’t pay to risk having him recover and then have to deal with them both.

  Devlin reached him in a split second. “Hey, you—looking for trouble?”

  “I guess you are,” the man growled as he straightened, blearily glared at him and threw a hard left that just missed.

  Cold fury surged through him as Devlin dropped him with a swift upper cut, then spun around, searched the back of the pickup and found some lengths of baling twine to tie the man’s hands behind his back. He grabbed the keys out of the ignition.

  The man’s heavily muscled Neanderthal buddy had apparently kept enough distance from the pepper spray, and he was closing in on Chloe as she limped across the sagebrush-infested flatland. She wouldn’t have a chance if he caught her.

  Instinct born of his years in the Marines kicked in as Devlin took off down the slope, vaulted over the fence and raced toward them, his light footsteps muffled by the sandy ground beneath his feet and nearly silent.

  Chloe began to curve back toward the highway. The man blocked off her path like a cutting horse singling out a steer, driving her farther from the view of any drivers passing by.

  He abruptly stopped and started to turn, the blade of a knife glittering in one hand.

  But Devlin was already on him, slamming him to the ground and twisting one hand high behind his back until he howled in pain. His knife slithered away across the ground.

  Despite the man’s stench of booze, sweat and cigarettes, Devlin leaned close. “I would be so happy if you chose to resist,” he whispered harshly, “given what you were planning to do to that poor girl.”

  The man writhed beneath him. Devlin braced one knee against his spine and leaned heavily on it. “Go ahead, be difficult. But know that I could snap your neck with one hand. Easily.”

  “He’s a Marine. I wouldn’t test him if I were you.” Chloe called out as she edged closer, still staying a safe distance away, her face ghostly white and her arms wrapped around her middle.

  Devlin looked up at her, then did a double-take at a bruise already forming by her eye. “Did he hit you?”

  “No—I just bumped my head when I started running, tripped and fell. No big deal.”

  Devlin searched her face. “Are you dizzy? Could you have been knocked out for a while?”

  “No—or I never would’ve gotten away.”

  He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms for a long, comforting embrace, but the man beneath his knee started struggling harder and Devlin readjusted his grip. “After we’re done here, you should go to the ER in Pine Bend.”

  “No. I’m fine. It would be a waste of time.”

  No matter what she thought, he would keep an eye on her for a while. “You wouldn’t happen to be wearing that leather belt again, would you?”

  “First the pony, now this. I’d better never leave home without it,” she said with a shaky laugh as she unfolded her arms, took off the belt and handed it over, then stepped well away.

  She watched as Devlin jerked the man’s other arm behind his back and twisted the narrow belt into a tight set of makeshift handcuffs, then hauled him roughly to his feet. “Wow. You’re good at that.”

  “Just practice.” Devlin surveyed her from head to toe. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She shuddered. “A whole lot better now. I owe you my life.”

  He picked up the knife with the edge of his shirt, careful not to leave his own fingerprints, and propelled the man forward with his other hand. He saw her wince as she took a step. “How bad is that ankle?”

  “Just a little sprain, if that.”

  He offered her the crook of his elbow and slowed his pace when she took his arm.

  She glanced up toward the highway. “Looks like a deputy has finally arrived.”

  “You got nothin’ on me,” the man snarled, shooting a glare toward Chloe. “I didn’t even touch you. I’ll be free in no time.”

  “Something tells me this isn’t your first rodeo, buddy,” Devlin said. “I’m a witness, this young lady will have plenty to say and you will be facing charges.”

  They met up with the deputy at Chloe’s car. He already had the other man in handcuffs and shook his head as he pulled another set from the back of his belt. “Duane and Keith Dooley, together again. You know what the judge said the last time you boys got paroled, yet here you are. When will you ever learn?”

  The deputy’s deep, gravelly voice was easy for him to hear, and it brought back a landslide of memories. Devlin took a good look at the deputy and laughed. “Lance? It’s been a long time.”

  Chloe glanced back and forth between them, her eyes narrowing on the deputy’s name badge. “Lance Harrison? You two were buddies in high school.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lifting a clipboard he’d left on the hood of her SUV, Lance took a pen from his front pocket. “I’m sure I can take a wild guess, but can you tell me exactly what happened here?”

  Chloe visibly shivered. “I had a blown tire and I was waiting for help. These two guys saw me, did a U-turn on the highway and came after me. I tried driving on just the wheel rim, but didn’t get far—they rammed my back bumper, I lost control and ended up in the ditch.”

  Lance nodded. “And then?”

  “I had pepper spray in my glovebox.” She bit her lower lip. “I disabled one of them, but then the other guy—”

  “Duane.”

  “Yeah, Duane hit the cannister out of my hand and grabbed me. I got him in the stomach with my elbow and took off. But then he came after me, threatening me with his knife. He kept taunting me, like he really enjoyed the chase.”

  The deputy took a long look at her face. “I see some bruising. Did one of them hit you?”
/>   “No, I fell while trying to get away.”

  He wrote something else on his clipboard. “I’ve actually been looking for these two, for parole violations. They’ll be finishing their full sentences, and with this incident, that should put them away for a long time.” Lance finished writing his notes. “I noticed that you have Minnesota plates. Will you be in the area for a while?”

  “Three months over at the Langford ranch. I’m renting a cabin there.”

  “Good. I might need to talk to you again later. Want me to call for a wrecker?”

  Devlin hunkered down next to the blown tire and battered rim. “I’ll take care of it for her. If I don’t have the right size wheel back home, I’ll pick one up in town on Monday. Thanks, though.”

  The deputy pulled a business card from his pocket and flipped it over to Devlin. “Give me a call sometime. We should get together and knock back a few drinks at Red’s for old-time’s sake, eh?”

  The place had been a dive with a bad reputation in the old days, where underage drinkers slipped in the back door and were welcomed with a wink of the eye and a big ole Montana howdy. It was probably even worse now and not a place Dev wanted to be.

  He felt Chloe’s gaze burning into the back of his head. “Let’s meet for dinner instead. Give me a call when you’re free.”

  He helped march the two men over to the patrol car and load them into the back seat, then he went back to Chloe’s SUV and waited while she retrieved her phone, purse and jacket.

  “I’ve also got groceries in the back,” she said, lifting the tailgate.

  The tension of the last twenty minutes slipped away as he looked down at her, his heart thudding. Bone-deep relief filled his chest over what might have been if he hadn’t seen her text message. If he’d been too far away. Or if he hadn’t taken her seriously.

  Without conscious thought, he pulled her into an embrace, then lowered his mouth to hers for a sweet kiss. But he still couldn’t let her go. Thank you, Lord.

  She was safe. Warm and breathing and beautiful, his sweet Chloe, but even now she could have been left out amongst the sagebrush, where her body might never have been found.