by B. J Daniels
“The tests were inconclusive. He just doesn’t know.”
Now Sarah picked up one of the strawberries Russell had brought her earlier and took a bite. She closed her eyes as her teeth sank into it, a smile coming to her lips as she savored the fresh berry. Russell watched her, entranced. Since the moment she’d stumbled out of the woods in front of his pickup, she’d captivated him.
At first he’d thought she was an apparition, because he’d attended her funeral twenty-two years ago. This Sarah seemed so utterly vulnerable, lost and helpless. Since the day he’d found her, though, he’d glimpsed a strength and determination in her that astounded him. This woman was someone to be reckoned with.
As he watched her relish the strawberry and sigh with contentment, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the world outside this cabin. But she wasn’t his. Fate might have brought them together and made him feel responsible, but ultimately, the woman was still in love with Buckmaster Hamilton. Because of that, Russell wasn’t sure where he fit into her life—if at all.
She’d made a point of not asking about Buckmaster. Did she think mentioning the man would upset Russell? Admittedly, it did. He knew what she was waiting to hear. “Buckmaster has been calling.”
Sarah looked up, her contented expression disappearing at just the mention of her ex-husband’s—scratch that—husband’s name. Buckmaster might have had Sarah declared dead after her body wasn’t recovered from the icy Yellowstone River, then remarried seven years later, but in Sarah’s mind and heart, Buckmaster was still her husband. Russell knew Buckmaster still thought of Sarah as his wife, as well.
“What does he want?” she asked as she pushed the small empty basket of strawberries aside.
He wants you, Russell thought. The senator, now with one too many wives, couldn’t stand that this was one part of his life he couldn’t control. At least in Russell’s humble opinion.
“He says he’s worried about you. He likes knowing where you are and if you’re all right.”
She smiled at that. “What did you tell him?”
“That you were safe and that he should worry more about his current wife.”
For the first time since he’d stumbled across this woman he’d thought dead for the past twenty-two years, she laughed a real laugh. It was rich, musical and delightful. He wanted to make her laugh for the rest of her life.
Quickly he quelled that thought, chalking it up to mere loneliness. His wife of more than forty years had died recently, leaving a hole that nothing had filled—until Sarah.
“None of this is Buck’s fault.”
Russell raised a brow. They’d had this discussion before. He thought all of this was Buckmaster’s fault and had said as much. “You tried to commit suicide twenty-two years ago,” he’d argued. “What happily married woman with six beautiful daughters, the twins only months old, drives her car into the Yellowstone River in the middle of winter in an attempt to kill herself?”
“Maybe one with postpartum depression or a houseful of young children and a husband who...”
“Who was distracted with his political career?” Russell suggested.
She shook her head. “He was involved only in local politics back then, and ranching.”
“Something was wrong, and even if he didn’t drive you into that river, he wasn’t around enough to notice that you needed help.”
Sarah sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t remember, so I have no idea why I would do such a thing.”
Russell suspected something had happened to trigger her suicide attempt other than postpartum depression. He was betting Senator Buckmaster Hamilton was behind it. But Sarah didn’t believe it. Or didn’t want to believe it.
Russell didn’t want to fight with her, though, so he said, “He wants you to come stay on the ranch. He suggested I bring you late at night to avoid the press.”
“He can’t be serious,” she said, meeting his gaze.
Russell had said the same thing to the senator. “Apparently he is very serious. But you wouldn’t be staying in the big house with his other wife. You’d be living in the bunkhouse complex he built for the girls. He said it’s like a condo, and you would be comfortable and safe there.”
“Safe? Does he know the woman he’s married to at all?” She shook her head, looking miserable. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Moving onto the ranch with him married to another woman? Can you imagine what the press would make of it?”
Russell couldn’t help his relief. “Are you going to tell Buckmaster about your visit to the neurologist?”
“What would be the point? Buck wants answers. The doctor didn’t give me any.” She let out a small, bitter laugh. “Buck won’t accept that I might never recall the past twenty-two years. That those years might be gone forever.”
Russell wondered if Buck might surprise her and be just as glad she couldn’t remember. He could see that a part of her hoped she wouldn’t remember the past. But he knew those years weren’t entirely gone. He’d seen her look startled on occasion, her eyes growing dark and cloudy, her hands balling into fists. But it was her expression that told him she was remembering. Wherever she’d been, whatever she’d been, the memories terrified her. Who she might have been terrified her.
“For Buck’s sake, I need to disappear again so I’m not such an issue with him running for president. But I want to have a relationship with my children. They already expect me to desert them again. The media has already made me out to be some flighty airhead who abandoned her husband and children, returning only because of my husband’s political success.”
“You could remarry,” Russell said and then bit down hard on his tongue.
* * *
HER HEART THUDDING against her ribs, Bo looked at the knife in the man’s right hand. Her arm ached from the grip of his fingers digging into her skin. She could feel his dirty fingernails biting into her flesh. Her attempts to talk him into letting her go had fallen on deaf ears.
Now his gaze followed hers to the knife and back to her face. “That’s right, sweetheart. Unless ya want this blade plunged into yer belly, ya do what I say.”
His words sent terror shooting through her. She fought to breathe as she met his eyes. Instantly she recoiled at the cold hatred she saw there. She didn’t need a reminder of who this man was and what he was capable of. A man who’d already killed once. A violent criminal.
“We’re goin’ to walk down to my camp,” he said and tugged on her arm.
All her instincts told her she had to think of a way to get away from this man. But he was big, a good six foot four or more, and solid as a new barn. Even if she could break free and avoid the knife, she doubted she could outrun him.
Looking around, she saw that her horse had stayed where the man had dragged her from it. If she could reach her horse—
“Ain’t going to happen, so ya might as well put it out of yer pretty little head. You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Yer mine now.”
She swallowed, terrified at the thought. “They’ll be looking for me. You would have a better chance without me. If you took my horse—”
He jerked her arm, dragging her over to a tree where he had hidden an oily green pack. She watched him lay down the knife and lean over to reach into the pack with his free hand. Her whole body was trembling with fear, but she had to at least try to get away.
She spun to the side, his fingers losing their grip on her arm as she flung herself in the direction of her horse. She took a step, then another, longer one, trying to run on her quaking legs. If she could just reach her horse—
The blow to her back flung her to the ground. She sprawled in the dirt, the fall knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping like a trout tossed up on the bank, she struggled for breath as she tried to get to her feet.
His knee landed in her
back, the weight of him crushing her to the ground again. She let out a scream of pain. He wound his hand into the hair of her ponytail and jerked her head back.
“Maybe I weren’t clear. Yer with me now. Anybody comes lookin’ for ya? I’ll kill ’em. Ya want me to hurt ya bad? I will and I’ll have fun doin’ it. Try to get away agin? And ya will wish ya was never born.”
He rose and she was able to take a breath, then another. Her back ached. So did her arm and the roots of her hair as he dragged her to her feet by her ponytail.
“Me and Bo-Peep. Ain’t we a handsome couple?”
Bo felt sick to her stomach as he pulled her back over to his pack. He dug out a roll of duct tape, ripped a piece off with his teeth and, still holding on to her hair, one-handedly bound her wrists. She had the horrifying feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d bound a woman with duct tape.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SENATOR GLANCED at the clock on the wall and swore. It had been hours, and no sign of his daughter or the cowboy who’d gone after her.
“Maybe I should call the sheriff,” he said more to himself than to his wife.
“I thought you promised to wait twenty-four hours before you did anything,” Angelina reminded him.
“Bo didn’t take the money,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. “It’s just...missing.” He realized it must have been missing for some time. He recalled his daughter Olivia’s engagement party. Bo had been throwing down the champagne. He’d been concerned then. Why hadn’t he talked to her about it?
“Even if she didn’t take the money, Bo’s responsible for it,” Angelina said.
Bo would know that, as the president of the foundation it was her job to make sure nothing was amiss. If word got out... He realized he was starting to sound like Angelina. She constantly worried about even the breath of scandal hurting his chances of being elected president.
Angelina lived in fear of what his daughters might do to embarrass them all. Now that he had thrown his hat into the presidential ring, he felt as if he was on a runaway train. He needed all his attention on the race. But there had been one problem after another on the home front.
Problem? Hell, a tornado had torn through their lives. He found himself second-guessing the decisions he’d made from the age of twenty-five when he’d met and married Sarah, not to mention what he’d done after her presumed death.
Friends kept saying the worst was behind him and Angelina. Really? So why did he feel as if he was merely waiting for the other shoe to drop?
“Stop pacing! You’re driving me crazy.” Angelina moved past him to pour herself a drink.
Buckmaster watched his wife in surprise. Angelina had never been a drinker other than an occasional glass to be social. “Pour me one, too.”
She turned to look at him but said nothing before turning back to make them both a drink. “I’ve been thinking about our future.”
Their future? “If this discussion is going to be about Sarah again—”
“It’s not.” She handed him his drink and took hers to the couch. She didn’t speak again until she’d sat down, run a hand down the length of her skirt and taken a sip of her cocktail. Her gaze was clear and steady as she looked up at him. “Are you going to withdraw from the campaign?”
It was the last thing he’d expected her to ask. He’d thought everything that had happened would have made the decision for him. Of course, it had come out that Sarah hadn’t braked before she drove into the river twenty-two years ago. He’d thought for sure his poll numbers would have plummeted to the point that it would be ridiculous for him to stay in the race.
But people actually felt sorry for him. They admired him for trying to do the right thing in a difficult situation.
“Your numbers are good, better than good,” Angelina said. “Even my brother’s actions only strengthened your platform.”
He shook his head, wondering how she could go on as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. What he hadn’t known—and the press still didn’t—was that Angelina wasn’t the only one being blackmailed by the now dead Drake Connors. Her brother, Lane, had tried to hide his affair with the man. Realizing Drake planned to expose both him and his sister, he’d agreed to pay the blackmail, only to meet the man along a deserted road nearby and shoot him twice in the back. To avoid a trial and likely a lifetime in prison, Lane hung himself in his jail cell.
“I don’t understand why we’re having this discussion now. I’m in the race. Angelina, what is it you’re so afraid of?” Buckmaster demanded.
Tears filled her eyes. “Other than you leaving me for Sarah?”
He opened his mouth to assure her but closed it. He cared too much about her to lie to her. He had no idea what the future held for the three of them.
“My other fear? That you’ll be like your father and back out of the presidential race at the last minute. Like you, he was in a position where he could have taken the presidency. And then he just up and quit without any real explanation.”
Buckmaster didn’t know any more than anyone else about his father’s sudden decision. “When my mother died, he must have felt as if he’d lost everything.”
“I’ve often wondered if Sarah didn’t get the idea to drive into the river from your father.”
“He didn’t try to kill himself. He’d been drinking, grieving, he was—”
“Brokenhearted over your mother’s death.”
Buckmaster sighed. The last place he wanted to go was down this particular trail. “Angelina, why do you keep digging up the past?”
“Why do you?” she shot back. “Oh, that’s right, Sarah dug herself out of her grave to force us all back into the past.”
“I thought this wasn’t going to be about Sarah,” he chided her.
“The past seems to have a way of repeating itself. There was a rumor that your father had another woman in his life, and that’s what killed your mother.”
He groaned. “A rumor. As far as I know, there was nothing to it. You know how these things get started. But I still don’t see what any of this has to do with us.”
“You don’t see the similarities? You are primed to become the next president. There is another woman in your life. Who says you won’t bail at the last minute like he did?”
“I’m not going to bail. You’re not going to die. I’m not going to get drunk and roll my pickup and end up in the Yellowstone River.” He stepped to her to place his hands on her shoulders. “Have a little faith that things are going to turn out fine.”
“I’m scared something terrible is going to happen,” she whispered as she looked up at him.
He hated that he’d felt the same way for some time now. “Like what?”
Angelina shook her head. “I just have this feeling...”
He wished he could alleviate her fears and his own.
She stepped away from him, finished off her cocktail and straightened. “You are still in a position where you can have everything you’ve dreamed of.”
Not everything, he thought as he took a sip of his drink. The liquor burned all the way down. The only way he could have the presidency now was if he stayed with Angelina, and she knew that. He couldn’t win without her. He especially couldn’t win if he left Angelina for Sarah.
He felt as if he had made a deal with the devil.
* * *
“THE FBI DOESN’T seem to think there’s a problem with Sarah Hamilton,” Undersheriff Dillon Lawson said as he came into his boss’s office and closed the door.
Sheriff Frank Curry waved him into a chair. “So that’s it?”
Dillon shrugged. “They seem to agree with the media that she had an unfortunate accident and may have some mental issues, and they don’t really feel it’s necessary to put any manpower into findin
g out where she’s been for the past twenty-two years. The general feeling is that she might have had postpartum depression, and that’s what drove her attempted suicide. Her failure to end it all made her take off, possibly with help, and start her life over.”
“And how was she supposed to start her life over without any money or a place to stay?” Frank demanded. “She couldn’t even get a job without a Social Security number.”
“She could have gotten a false identity. You know it isn’t that hard. Maybe whoever helped her leave Beartooth also helped her obtain the documents,” Dillon said. “As for money...she must have had some help there, too. She doesn’t appear to have been cleaning motel toilets all these years.”
Frank knew he had a point. There were ways to get by, especially for a woman. “So why come back now? And why drop in the way she did?” When he’d investigated the spot where Russell Murdock had found Sarah, he’d walked back into the woods. The area was isolated—only one road, no houses, not even a nearby ranch or farm. What he discovered was a paratrooper-type parachute caught in the trees. Sarah’s DNA had been on the chute’s harness.
“Why now? That’s the million-dollar question and the one that has you worried, I suspect,” his undersheriff agreed.
Frank shook his head. “Not just anyone gets dropped out of a plane in the middle of nowhere without any memory of the past twenty-two years.”
“I’m sure you’ve considered that she might be lying about her...amnesia.”
Frank let out a laugh. “The press definitely has. As you said, they consider her an unhappy wife with mental issues. Women especially have turned against her because she left six young children behind, including two almost newborns. But Sarah Hamilton isn’t just anyone. She’s the first wife of Senator Buckmaster Hamilton, the man who, according to the polls, is going to be our next president.”
Dillon shrugged. “But if the FBI doesn’t think she’s a threat...”
“Then I shouldn’t, either.” Frank wished he could quell his concerns as easily. “Did they run an extensive background check on her?”