Promise from a Cowboy

by C. J. Carmichael

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Marissa. Your garden looks amazing. I actually dropped by to talk to Jed, if he’s available.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be glad to have a chat. He’s in the shop, working on his boat. He’s hoping to go fishing this weekend.” She pointed to the tall metal building to the right of the house.

  “Thanks.” Savannah smiled then set out to find Jed. But she hadn’t quite reached the shop when a third vehicle pulled into the lane. Marissa had disappeared in the potato patch, but the dogs went out to greet the new visitor.

  Savannah wasn’t feeling so friendly.

  Damn B.J. He was the most stubborn guy she had ever known.

  But even more maddening than his refusal to back off was the flutter of happiness she felt at knowing he hadn’t.

  * * *

  JED SMITH WAS sorting through his fishing tackle when Savannah stepped into the shop, B.J. a step behind her. Jed was a large man who’d become at least twenty pounds larger since his retirement. He dropped the lead he’d been holding and turned to Savannah with a welcoming smile.

  “Good to see you, Sheriff Moody.” Then, noticing the man behind her, he frowned. “And who’s that with you? That Bob Lambert’s son? The oldest one?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Sheriff Smith.” B.J. walked past Savannah to shake the older man’s hand. It was a shock to see how much he’d aged over the years. Made B.J. wonder what his own father would look like now, if he were still alive.

  “I’m not the sheriff anymore, son. You can call me Jed. You sure do look like your old man. He was one of my best friends, you know.”

  “So...” Jed was eyeing the two of them thoughtfully. “You guys together?”

  “No, we are not,” Savannah said.

  B.J. could see she was pissed off with him. But then, he’d been expecting that.

  “He followed me here because the questions I want to ask you have to do with—”

  “Let me guess,” Jed interrupted, holding up one hand. “The events that took place back when you kids were in high school?”

  “That’s right, sir.” Savannah filled him in with the recent developments. “So it seems our unknown traveler may soon have an identity.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised it took so long. Despite the fact that circumstances made him out to be a drunken vagrant, he didn’t really look like one. Teeth were too straight and white—hell, even his fingernails were clean. We tried real hard to ID him, though, and had no luck.”

  “I guess his family thought he’d run off to Mexico. They never thought of looking in Montana.”

  “I see.” Jed Smith put a hand to his chin and rubbed it absentmindedly as he considered the situation. “And you say that watch was pawned after the time of death?”

  Savannah nodded.

  He shook his head sadly. “Damn. I should have known this was going to come back to haunt us.”

  “I’ve read over the report you filed back then, sir....”

  “And I bet you found it rather incomplete, didn’t you?”

  “There are some unanswered questions.”

  B.J. didn’t envy Savannah her situation. He knew Jed had been her mentor and that she looked up to him. So questioning the thoroughness of his investigation back then had to be difficult for her.

  She was being professional and polite, though. And he admired her even more for how well she handled the delicate situation.

  “I think this calls for a beer. Anyone else?” Jed crossed the floor to a fridge and pulled out a can. B.J. and Savannah both declined the offer.

  Jed popped the tab, took a swallow, then gestured for them to follow him out a back door to the woodpile. There were four large stumps that provided decent sitting, and Jed waited until they were all settled before saying, “Okay. You have questions. Ask them.”

  Savannah pulled out a small notebook with worn corners and flipped a few pages. She snapped the end of her pen. “Let’s start with this one. According to the report, the fire was started by lightning. Did you have the arson experts out to take a look, though? There’s no mention in the files.”

  Jed rubbed his chin again. “Gotta admit...we didn’t call in the team on this one. Given the big storm that night, we just figured it was the most logical thing to assume natural causes for the fire. And of course, the kids had no idea there was anyone in the loft. Or they’d have tried to save him.”

  Savannah scribbled something in her notebook. B.J. could only imagine what she thought. Even to him, the sheriff’s actions back then sounded negligent. He wondered how much the sheriff’s friendship with his father had impacted his decisions that night. Had the sheriff not wanted to find answers that might land his friend’s son in trouble?

  Since his father was dead, and the sheriff was unlikely to tell him, he supposed he’d never know.

  “Okay. Next question,” Savannah said briskly. “Assuming our dead guy is Travis McBride, how did he get out to that barn? He obviously didn’t drive or you would have found his vehicle. He didn’t get a lift with B.J. and Hunter or with the other kids that drove out on their ATVs for the party. Did you question the neighbors to see if anyone had given him a ride or seen him walking along the road?”

  “That’s a good question, all right. As it happens we did question the neighbors. I didn’t put that in the file?”

  Savannah shook her head.

  “Probably because no one saw anything worth reporting.” He shrugged. “I guess the guy could have caught a lift with a trucker, then walked from the highway.”

  “That’s a mighty long walk,” Savannah countered.

  “Couldn’t agree more.”

  She sighed, jotted something in her notebook, then hit him with her next question. “According to the medical examiner’s report, McBride was intoxicated when he died. How did that happen? Did you find any empty bottles with the body?”

  “Nope.” Jed gave Savannah an approving nod. “These are good, solid questions you’re asking. Believe me, I asked them, too, eighteen years ago.” He switched his gaze to B.J. “I take it you can’t help us out?”

  B.J. was glad that he could say with all honesty, “I never saw any bottles. But then, I was never up in the loft.”

  “Hunter neither, right?” Savannah asked quickly.

  He hesitated, even though he knew what he had to say. The lie was no easier now than it had been back then. “Hunter neither.”

  Savannah’s large dark eyes fixed on him, their expression inscrutable. Meanwhile Jed heaved a big sigh.

  “So it’s all still a big mystery, isn’t it?” Jed rubbed the side of his face. “We may know the kid’s name and that he had his watch stolen, but why he was at the Turners’ barn and how he got there, well, that’s something we’ll probably never figure out.”

  For a few moments they were all silent. The squabbling of a robin as it shooed a magpie away from its nest filled the void. They all looked up to watch. Then Savannah finally spoke.

  “I guess it’s a good thing that fire was started by lightning. Because if the boys started it, even if they had no knowledge of the man in the loft, we’d be looking at mitigated homicide.”

  B.J.’s gut tightened.

  “Given the lack of evidence and the passage of time, I doubt they could put a case together against these boys,” Jed said, not seeming to realize he was talking about men who were now in their thirties.

  “Maybe not,” Savannah agreed. “But we could hardly blame the McBrides if they tried, could we?”

  * * *

  AS THEY LEFT THE SHOP at the conclusion of their conversation with Jed, Savannah wouldn’t even look at B.J.

  “I guess we’re no further ahead, are we?” He walked beside her as she made her way toward her vehicle.

  “We?” She whirled on him. “We?”
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  “Whoa. No need to get all crazy on me.”

  “I’m not the crazy one. I guess I didn’t make myself clear enough to you earlier. We are not working on this case together. Period. Stop following me around. And don’t tell me I dragged you into this. When I asked for your help, what I meant was that I needed you to tell me the truth. But that’s the one thing you still haven’t done.”

  Her words hurt. The truth often did. His jaw muscles ached, he was clenching them so hard. He let out a tired breath. “I’m trying to help—the only way I know how.”

  She looked into his eyes as if she could find in them the answers he wasn’t giving her. But she couldn’t.

  “I wish I could believe you, but there has to be something you’re not telling me, because there are some pretty big gaps between the facts of this case and the story that you and Hunter concocted.”

  She was right—her instincts were on target. But how could he tell her that he’d seen her brother go up that loft? Hunter hadn’t been there long—only a minute or two. But it was long enough that he must have seen the man passed out in the corner. Maybe he’d even stolen the watch.

  One thing was for sure. Hunter had seemed agitated when he climbed down from the ladder, and the crazy, loud boom of thunder had spooked him further.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he’d cried. He’d pulled on B.J.’s arm and dragged him outside, just as the rain had started to fall. A second later the lightning hit, igniting the barn and making their skin tingle.

  He and Hunter had raced for the ATV, nearly choking from panic. B.J. had just one thought on his mind. He had to phone the fire department. He’d headed to the nearest house—which happened to be Maddie Turner’s.

  This was the truth. It was something he’d tried to block from his mind for eighteen years. And now Savannah wanted him to unload his nightmare onto her.

  He didn’t want to do it. He knew how much it would hurt her. She probably wouldn’t even believe him. For sure Hunter wouldn’t back him up. He’d claim B.J. was lying. That he’d been the one who’d been up in the loft.

  No matter how he thought this through, B.J. couldn’t see a way out.

  “I’ve told you everything that I can.” Seeing she was about to get into her vehicle, he realized he had to give her more. A small kernel of the truth that she could hang on to. “I didn’t know that guy, Savannah. And I have no idea how he got to the barn. If I’d realized he was up there, I would have tried to save him when that fire started. I would have.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “I wish I could believe you.”

  Then she got behind the wheel and drove off. He swore, kicked his front tire, then followed behind her all the way back to Coffee Creek.

  * * *

  WHEN THEY REACHED the town, Savannah headed for her office. B.J. turned onto Main and angle-parked in front of the Cinnamon Stick. A sandwich and some black coffee would give him the fortification he needed for the next job he intended to do.

  It had been a hellish day so far. Why not complete the fun with a visit to his long-estranged aunt?

  Laurel was at the counter this afternoon, her long red hair up in a messy bun as she cleared dishes from the counter. She gave him a warm smile when she saw him, and he had no trouble seeing why his brother had fallen for her at first sight.

  “Hey, Laurel. Where’s the munchkin?”

  She gestured to a playpen in the corner. “Napping. I usually take her upstairs, but she dropped off before I had a chance.”

  He settled on the first of three vacant stools, feeling the tension slip out of his shoulders. This place had a good, homey vibe. “Hope your day is going better than mine.”

  His sister-in-law tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a shake of her head. “Judging by the looks of you, I’d say it definitely is. Would you like your coffee in a cup or should I set up an IV line?”

  He chuckled. A good sense of humor was one of the things he most liked about Corb’s new bride. “Maybe both. Plus a sandwich.” He glanced at the chalkboard to his right. “The daily special would be fine.”

  “Ham, cheese and tomato coming right up.” She passed him a large-size, take-out cup of steaming, fresh coffee. “Heading home now?”

  “Eventually. First I’m planning to pay a visit to Maddie Turner.”

  “Really? Corb wants to do that, too. We’re hoping to find some time to go together next week. I think he’s a little nervous about it. The family feud has always bothered him a lot.”

  “Me, too. I’ll sleep better once I’ve done what I can to mend fences. But for all I know, she’ll boot me off the property before I get a chance to apologize.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Even if she doesn’t, I’m still not sure what to say to her. How can I explain why I’ve behaved like such an asshole all these years?”

  “You can start by saying exactly that.” Vince came out of the kitchen at that moment, stripping off his apron and dropping it into a basket near the back door. “My shift is over, but if you’re planning to visit Maddie, would you take her some cinnamon buns? She loves them and she hasn’t been well enough to come to the café in a long while.”

  As he spoke Vince was boxing a half dozen of the sticky rolls. When he was done, he taped the box closed and handed it to B.J.

  “Sure I will, but—” B.J. did some math and realized Vince and Maddie must be close to the same age. “I didn’t realize you knew my aunt.”

  “Well, I did. And if I’d have been a smarter man, I would have married her. But I picked the rodeo instead. And the bottle.” He turned to Laurel. “See you tomorrow.”

  And then he was gone out the back door and B.J. was left staring at Laurel, who looked as amazed as he felt.

  “Vince Butterfield and Maddie Turner,” she said slowly. “Who would have guessed?”

  “Not me,” he assured her. His visit with his aunt was going to be even more interesting than he’d thought.

  Chapter Nine

  The last time B.J. had been to his aunt’s house—the only time—was eighteen years ago. He’d knocked urgently on her door, and as soon as she’d opened it, had yelled at her to call 911. “Your old barn is on fire!”

  He remembered how wide her eyes had gone. “You okay?” she’d asked. Two dogs tried to push their way outside and she’d closed the door to a small gap as she waited for his answer.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Go home now, B.J. And tell your father.” Then she’d shut the door firmly.

  Now B.J. stood in front of that same door. It needed staining. The bottom panel had started to rot. He thought of the countless bulls and broncos he’d faced in his rodeo career. How odd that he’d never felt nearly as nervous in the chute as he did right now.

  It was five o’clock. She might be out in the barns doing chores. Or starting her supper. He hadn’t thought of it before, but this wasn’t the most convenient time to pay a visit. Maybe he should come back tomorrow....

  And then he heard something come up from his rear. A border collie—younger than Sky and a little smaller—was sniffing his leg. Then a second dog, very similar to the first, had her nose on B.J.’s boot.

  “Honey. Trix.”

  Both dogs lifted their heads, then promptly ran toward their mistress. B.J. swung around slowly.

  His aunt was walking from the barn toward him. Maddie had on baggy overalls, with a long-sleeved shirt and a checkered bandanna tied at her throat. She didn’t look much like his mother. Except, he realized as she drew closer, for her eyes.

  They were the trademark Turner green—the color of a glacier-fed lake in the summer time.

  Her complexion was gray, and the skin at her cheeks and jaw was slack, suggesting a recent loss of weight.

  She stopped when they were abou
t ten feet apart. The dogs halted, too, one on either side of her, heads swiveling from their mistress to the stranger, then back to Maddie.

  She calmed them with a hand to each of their heads. Tipping her own head to one side, she regarded him for several seconds before lifting her chin. “You here to talk me out of giving my land to Jackson?”

  “God, no.” His reply was instinctive and swift.

  “Good. You can come inside, then. Want some supper?”

  She led him into a spacious kitchen that belonged to another era—well before granite and stainless steel. The flooring and counters were of aged pine, and the stove was an antique wood-burning model that even on this warm summer evening was putting out a modicum of heat.

  “Don’t use electric,” Maddie explained as she added a log to the stove, then put a kettle on to boil. Two cats were suddenly in the room. Whether they’d been sleeping in some quiet corner or had sneaked through one of the two doors, B.J. couldn’t say. One of them slunk up against his leg. The other hung back and watched the proceedings with sleepy eyes.

  It was a cozy room. Chaotic but welcoming. There were braided rugs on the floor and hand-sewn cushions on the chairs.

  Before he knew it Maddie had fried up potatoes, sausages and onions and had a plate of food on either end of the painted wood table.

  “I’m sorry about your brother Brock,” Maddie said.

  He accepted her commiserations with a nod. “And I was sorry to hear you were sick. Sure made me think, though. Just seems crazy that we spent our entire lives living a few miles apart and yet stayed so—”

  “Separate.” Maddie supplied a word that seemed to fit.

  She had a fork in hand but had yet to put any food in her mouth, even though it smelled delicious. B.J. took a taste and confirmed that this was so.

  “You kids were caught in the middle of an ugly situation. As your aunt, I had to watch you grow up from afar. Don’t think I blame you for that. I’m leaving my land to Jackson for another reason entirely.”

  “We’re going to miss him at Coffee Creek. But at least he isn’t going far.”