Earlier B.J. had decided that he would sleep in his brother Brock’s cabin tonight. A long time ago his father had built three cabins along Cold Coffee Lake, which lay about a quarter mile beyond the main house. The idea had been one house for each son, but B.J. had given up his claim to Jackson.
Corb, his new bride, Laurel, and their baby, Stephanie, lived in the third cabin.
The middle one had been vacant since Brock’s death last July. It would be a nice quiet place for him to stay until he sorted out what to do with his life.
B.J. was heading there when he noticed a light on in the office of the home barn. He could think of only one person who would be working on the books at this hour, and it was a person he wanted to see.
Sure enough, he found Jackson on the oak chair behind the desk, frowning at the computer monitor.
“Hey, man. Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard?”
Jackson blinked, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Maybe a time or two. How are you doing? I thought you were in Central Point this weekend with your family?” Jackson stood, and shook his hand warmly.
When B.J.’s father had first brought Jackson to the ranch, Jackson had been thirteen and B.J. seventeen. They’d butted heads at first. B.J. had resented the fact that his father was paying attention to this kid—this delinquent—who wasn’t even part of the family.
But Jackson had worked hard, kept quiet and stayed out of trouble at school, and B.J. grudgingly came to respect and even like the guy.
Eventually he learned enough about Jackson’s past to realize the guy deserved a break. His mom had been in jail herself when Jackson got into trouble with the law. And his father had never been a part of his life.
At seventeen B.J. hadn’t been able to imagine life without his dad. Now, five years after losing him to a heart attack, he still felt the loss.
“I was there,” he said in answer to Jackson’s question. “But I decided to come back early.” He shared the family’s results with Jackson, but brushed off Jackson’s congratulations.
“Just another rodeo trophy, that’s all. I was glad Cassidy and Farley did so well, though.”
Jackson went to the small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a couple of beers. “But I thought you had another rodeo in Washington you were headed to next?”
“Had a change of plan. Plus I figured it was time to check up on the place. Frankly, I was hoping to find you enjoying life a little more than the last time I came home.”
“And when was the last time?”
“You know damn well when. Last March, when we were celebrating Corb and Laurel’s new baby.”
“That was three months ago.”
“Yup.” He eyed Jackson’s face, noting the tired lines around his mouth and eyes. “You had any fun at all since then? Dated any pretty girls?”
Jackson snorted. “No time for that nonsense around here.”
“You used to find the time to have fun,” B.J. recalled. “Blaming yourself for Brock’s death is just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
“I don’t blame myself.”
“If you’d look me in the eyes when you said that I might be able to believe you.” B.J. took a swallow of his beer and regarded his foster brother thoughtfully. He’d never forget the night before the wedding when they’d been discussing the driving plans. Initially he’d been the one who was going to chauffeur Brock and Corb to the wedding, while Jackson drove Olive in a separate car.
It was Olive who had nixed that plan, insisting that her eldest son should be the one to accompany her into the church.
“If I’d been behind the wheel, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Brock would still be dead. Corb would have hit his head and gone into that coma. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. It was just bad timing.”
Both Savannah and a local rancher who had witnessed the accident had agreed on that point. Why couldn’t Jackson take any comfort from that?
“Have you ever thought of seeing a counselor or something? Maybe a professional could help.”
As he’d expected, Jackson shook his head at the idea. “Naw. It’s not just the guilt that bugs me. It’s having been there. And seen it all. I’m the only one, you know. To this day Corb doesn’t remember the accident, or even the entire week before it happened.”
“He’s lucky he doesn’t—even if it did almost cost him his relationship with Laurel.”
Jackson nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “The worst was those ten minutes before help arrived. It was so quiet, I could hear the birds chirping in the brush. But all around me was blood....”
You couldn’t be a rodeo cowboy for eighteen years and not have seen a lot of blood and gore. But the picture Jackson was painting broke B.J.’s heart. He wondered why it had taken him so long to talk to Jackson about this. Or maybe it had taken this long for Jackson to be ready to talk. “It must have been hell.”
Again Jackson nodded, his gaze fixed despondently on his boots.
“What can I do to help?”
“What can anyone do? I just go on, getting through each day best as I can.” He picked up his beer can, looking at it as if it were something strange that he’d never seen before. “Sometimes I wonder, though....”
“What?”
It wasn’t easy to get Jackson to open up and talk about himself. Now that he’d cracked a chip in his foster brother’s armor, B.J. had to do his best to keep him talking.
“I just wonder if I shouldn’t be moving on.”
“Work somewhere else, you mean?” B.J. didn’t consider himself a sentimental person, but he had to admit the idea was disconcerting.
“I brought it up to Corb once. He took it like some sort of personal insult. It isn’t as if I’m not grateful for what your family did for me. I just can’t stand feeling like I’m some sort of fill-in for Brock. Living the life that he was meant to have, instead of doing whatever it was that I was intended to do.”
“Hell. I’m sure Mom and Corb never meant to make you feel that way when they offered you Brock’s job.”
“Not Corb, for sure,” Jackson agreed.
But maybe Olive? B.J. wouldn’t put it past her. He suspected that his mother did somehow blame Jackson for Brock’s death. Olive had never warmed up to Jackson. Even when everyone else treated him like part of the family, she’d maintained an air of cool distance.
He could see how hard this must be for Jackson to handle in the wake of the accident.
“It hurts me to say this, but if you want to leave, then that’s what you should do.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. The perfect opportunity just opened up for me, but there is a catch. I’d need to start right away. And you know it would take a while to find a replacement for me here. And even longer to train him...”
That was all true.
But there was one solution.
It would require a commitment that B.J. wasn’t sure he was ready to make. But didn’t he owe Jackson this much? Jackson, who had shouldered such a burden for this family all on his own this past year?
“I know someone. And he doesn’t need any training.”
“Really?” A spark of hope lightened Jackson’s dark brown eyes.
“Yup.” B.J. nodded. “Me.”
Chapter Five
After a fitful night spent worrying about Regan, it was a relief to go to work the next morning. Regan and Murray had taken off on their road trip before Savannah had got out of bed. She’d heard them rustling around in the kitchen, then shutting the back door and starting up Regan’s Honda Civic.
She’d considered getting up to say goodbye. But they’d obviously planned on a quick exit with no farewells. And maybe they were right. It might be easier this way.
Regan had left a note
on the kitchen table at least.
I love you, Vanna. Try not to worry. We’ll drive carefully. See you in four weeks!
Xoxo Regan.
So there. It was done.
Not in the mood for breakfast, Savannah dressed for work, then took a to-go mug of coffee in the SUV with her.
And, finally, her mood lifted. She loved everything about being the sheriff of Bitterroot County.
She loved the uniform she wore, she loved her four-by-four SUV that could handle the worst of roads or weather—and in Montana there was plenty of both—and she especially loved her badge.
The population of Bitterroot County was small, less than ten thousand people, and so her office was sized accordingly. She oversaw a staff of three full-time deputies, one part-time officer and a full-time dispatcher. Aside from her dispatcher, Haley McKenzie, everyone on her staff was male and older than she.
A lot of people asked her why a woman would want to work in such a male-dominated world. The choice might seem strange to some, but it was all Savannah had wanted to do since Sheriff Smith had come to the high school to talk at an assembly. She’d been so impressed.
Later, she’d gone up to the man. All the boys had wanted to see his gun. She was impressed by the badge. She’d told him then, bold as could be, “I’m going to be sheriff of Bitterroot County one day.”
To his credit, Sheriff Smith had encouraged her. Seven years later, he’d hired her on as a rookie deputy. Ten years after that, when he was ready to retire, he’d supported her campaign to replace him.
No one in her family had been keen about her career choice, though. Before his death, her father had told her, “It’s a rough world out there, girl. You’d better be a teacher or nurse. You can always get a good job with training like that.”
But every county needed a sheriff, too, and Savannah hadn’t been deterred. She’d studied law enforcement at school and gone straight from that to working as a deputy.
Despite her fears that the citizens would see her as too young, the wrong sex or, worse, bring up the disreputable drinking and gambling past of her father, she’d pursued her goal. She still couldn’t believe she’d won and gave all the credit to Sheriff Smith’s endorsement.
Some people—namely, her mother, brother and some of the citizens who hadn’t supported her election, including Olive Lambert from Coffee Creek Ranch—had suggested she wouldn’t last long in the position.
But after almost three years in the role, Savannah loved the job more than ever. And now that it was time to gear up for the next election, she was determined to keep it.
The sheriff’s office was located on Church Street in the two-story brick courthouse. Savannah pulled into her parking space at ten minutes to eight. She found the office quiet. Haley wouldn’t be in for another hour. In her small office next to the interview room, Savannah checked her email messages and her calendar. Administrative matters kept her busy until her coffee mug was empty and Haley arrived to start her day.
“How was your trip to Central Point?” Haley was in her mid-twenties, and newly engaged to a successful cattle rancher in the neighboring county of Fergus. She was bright, a good worker and was blessed with such a cute smile and sweet, sunny disposition that all the deputies had professed themselves brokenhearted when she announced she was getting married.
“Long.”
“Did you see your brother?”
“He was a no-show.”
“Really? The bum.” Haley had been in the office with her when she was checking the registration listings for the rodeo and she knew the purpose of the weeklong holiday had been to connect with her rambling twin brother.
“In Hunter’s defense, he didn’t know I was coming.” While her twin didn’t have a cell phone, she could have sent a message to his Gmail account. She knew he checked that every week or so.
But the truth was, she’d hoped to surprise him.
And her reward was a wasted week—and the return of B. J. Lambert to Coffee Creek. Not that she really believed he was back here because of her. But it was quite the coincidence.
She slammed her desk drawer a little more vigorously than usual.
“Whoa.” Haley, who’d been standing in the doorway during their brief conversation, raised her eyebrows. “Somebody needs more caffeine this morning. Shall I go put on a pot?”
“Don’t bother on my account. I’ve already had mine.” She lifted her to-go cup. Both she and Haley had agreed that they needed to cut down on their coffee intake, though it was easier said than done. “I just hope Hunter hasn’t gotten himself into trouble somewhere.”
“He hasn’t phoned for bail. That’s a good sign.”
Savannah laughed, as if Haley was joking. But while her brother’s worst misdemeanor since he’d left home to become a rodeo cowboy was a drunk-and-disorderly, Savannah lived in fear that one day it would be worse.
Of course, if that John Doe turned out to be Travis McBride, and the investigation was reopened, maybe worse had already arrived for Hunter.
And for B.J.
Her cheeks burned as she remembered his anger from the previous day. He’d been right. Instead of getting all mad and giving him the silent treatment, she should have talked to him about what had happened all those years ago.
Maybe then he would have opened up to her.
Because he sure wasn’t doing that now.
A new message popped into her email, from the coroner’s office. She read it with dismay.
How could they have neglected to save the dental records and DNA sample from their John Doe? It was standard procedure in cases where bodies were unidentified.
Damn. Much as she hated to criticize her predecessor’s work, it sure seemed the investigation into this John Doe’s death had been shoddy. Why else had they missed the coin that B.J. had found so easily? And not to have collected DNA evidence...
She could guess what would happen next. June Savage would apply to get the body exhumed.
Savannah closed down her email. “I’m going on patrol for a few hours.”
On her way to the door Savannah added, “If we get any calls from the state attorney’s office, make sure to let me know right away.”
“Will do,” Haley promised.
* * *
THE COUNTY CEMETERY was on Grave Street, past Ed and Abby’s feed supply and hardware store. A triple row of pine trees had been planted on the north side of the property to divide the cemetery from the rest of the town.
There was a truck parked in the visitor lot when Savannah pulled in. She sighed when she saw it. Just her luck to show up at the same time as B.J. He wasn’t in the truck, so he was probably at his family’s grave sites on the other side of the hill. For a moment she considered driving away.
This was all her fault for approaching him in the first place. Now she’d brought him back to Coffee Creek and it seemed she was destined to keep running into him until this whole McBride business was put to rest.
She could come back later.
But in the end, she decided to stay. She’d never been one to run from a potentially awkward situation. She wouldn’t be much of a sheriff if she had.
The June morning was already warm. A meadowlark was perched on a fence post near the entrance, singing gaily despite the somber surroundings. As Savannah approached, the bird took off for shelter in a nearby grove of aspen.
Packed gravel paths crisscrossed neatly through the cemetery. As she crested a gentle hill, Savannah finally spotted B.J. She guessed he was standing by his brother’s grave, though it could have been his father’s, as well. They were side by side with just space enough between them for Olive, when her time came. Savannah remembered all this from Brock’s funeral. At the time she’d thought of her own father’s plot, and how her mother probably would end up buried there one day, too
.
But not her. No. Savannah could not imagine resting peacefully beside the parents who had caused her so much grief in life. Her will stated explicitly that she be cremated and her ashes spread out in the mountains somewhere.
B.J. was wearing his hat, and by the angle of the brim, his head was lowered in either prayer or quiet contemplation.
She left him in peace and headed toward her original destination, the grave site of the unknown traveler.
That was how he had been buried, the unfortunate young man who’d had the bad luck to be passed out in the loft of an abandoned barn when it happened to catch on fire.
Happened? No. She couldn’t believe it was coincidence that he’d been up there. She now knew just how isolated that barn was. No way would a stranger just “happen” to pass by and take refuge.
She went to look at the gravestone. She’d only ever seen it in passing and had never paid it much attention. Now she took in the simple marker with its two-word engraving.
And she wondered how long it would be before the orders came for the body to be exhumed.
“So. We meet again.”
She hadn’t heard B.J.’s footsteps. He must have cut across the grass rather than taken the longer gravel path. He moved up beside her to read the inscription on the headstone.
“The unknown traveler. I always wondered what happened to his body.”
“Your father never told you?”
“He didn’t volunteer the information and I never asked. Guess we both wanted to put the episode behind us.”
“Hunter felt the same way. Wouldn’t talk about it, even with me. Not that we talked much after that night.”
Keeping Hunter on the right path with his schooling had always been a struggle for Savannah. But he’d begun skipping a lot of classes after the fire. In the end, he hadn’t finished the year with enough credits to graduate.
At the time it had felt like the end of the world to her. But over the years she’d learned to let go of her feeling of responsibility for her brother. She wished he’d save more, drink less, maybe even find a nice, grounded woman and settle down.
Promise from a Cowboy Page 5