The Legacy of Copper Creek

by R. C. Ryan

  My fault.

  My fault.

  Why shouldn’t they believe she was guilty? Hadn’t she always known she deserved the life she’d been given? Oh, she’d tried to hold on to her dreams. But the truth was, her course had been set years ago when even her own mother didn’t want her.

  While she huddled in the corner of the truck and brooded, she thought about Whit, coming home to find Myrna dead, his family betrayed. How long before he was persuaded that he’d been tricked into allowing a thief and a monster into his life?

  He’d said he wanted to talk when he came back.

  She’d foolishly begun to think that this time her life would turn around. He would declare his love, and they would live happily ever after.

  She felt fresh tears well up in her eyes and blinked them away.

  Whether Whit believed in her or not, she knew in her heart that she hadn’t done anything to deserve whatever cruel fate this stranger planned for her.

  As the driver maneuvered the truck up steep hills and across streams swollen by melting snow, she forced herself to put aside her misery and pay attention.

  Slowly, with great effort, she pulled herself back from the edge of a deep, dark cavern of self-pity and felt her courage return.

  If she survived this, she would have to find her way back. To prove her innocence. And possibly, to win back Whit’s trust.

  Though none of this territory was familiar, she was determined to commit it to memory.

  She turned to the stranger. “Who are you?”

  Through gritted teeth he hissed, “Your worst nightmare.”

  “What have I done to you?”

  He turned the wheel sharply, and they passed through a line of trees casting light and shadow on the trail ahead. “You made a fatal mistake.”

  “I don’t under—”

  “You had to poke your nose in where it wasn’t wanted.”

  “What was that old rancher to you?”

  “Abe had something I needed.”

  “You wanted a derelict ranch?”

  They came out the other side of the trees into sunlight and he shot her a quick glance. “Land. Valuable land.”

  “Why didn’t you just buy it from him?”

  “He wouldn’t agree to sell.”

  “But what does that have to do with me?”

  “You went to the law.”

  “It didn’t matter. I didn’t really see anything, and I couldn’t identify you. Why come after me now?”

  He gave a chilling smile. “Your evidence had them taking a second look.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense—”

  His hand swept out in an arc, connecting with her cheek with such force, her head snapped to one side and she had to close her eyes against the shower of painful stars.

  “Shut up. I’m sick of the sound of your voice.”

  She leaned back, trying to clear her head and stay focused. So far, none of this made any sense. He wasn’t even under suspicion in the murder of that old rancher. Why risk killing her now and calling attention to himself?

  “You realize you’ll have the law searching for me.”

  “You? You’re nobody. And the daughter of nobody. After a while, when they never locate your body, they’ll just forget all about a cold case against someone with a reputation like yours.”

  When she turned to stare at him, he laughed. “Oh, I made it a point to learn all about you when that police chief from Red Rock started sniffing around the old man’s business.” His tone deepened with importance. “You didn’t think I’d just let it go, did you? I’m surprised a nobody like you would bother going to the law and thinking you could win against someone like me.”

  “I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. All I did was report what I’d overheard.”

  “You had to know, just by looking at me, that you didn’t stand any more chance than old Abe did. Once someone crosses me, they’re dead.”

  “I may be nobody, but now that you’ve killed Myrna, the MacKenzie family will never rest until you’re caught.”

  He sneered. “Right. Just the way Bear MacKenzie’s murderer was caught.”

  It was as much his words as his smug, knowing tone that had her going perfectly still as an icy chill shot along her spine.

  “You?” She swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat. “You killed Bear MacKenzie?”

  “The bastard had it coming.” He gunned the engine and their vehicle shot up a steep hill and started across a high, flat meadow.

  To Cara, the sight of all that shiny spring grass and those tiny wildflowers just bursting into bloom was almost more than she could bear to look at. How could the weather be so perfect, and the countryside so lovely, when everything in her world had suddenly turned upside down? She was in the hands of a cold-blooded killer. Bear MacKenzie’s killer. Abe Parson’s killer. And Myrna. Sweet old Myrna dead. It wasn’t possible. But she’d seen for herself that still body, the pool of dark, sticky blood.

  Tears pricked her eyes once more and she blinked them away, determined to remain strong and watchful and ready, in case a chance to escape should come along.

  And if it didn’t, if she was truly trapped and doomed to face the same fate as Myrna, as Abe, as Bear MacKenzie, she reminded herself that she would face it with as much courage as she could muster.

  Not for Myrna or the others. Not even for Whit.

  She had to do this for herself. To prove that no matter what life had handed her, she wasn’t a nobody.

  She was Cara Walton. She had survived so many trials that had threatened to take all the joy out of her life. But she’d kept on trying. And now, whatever her final moments were, she would do whatever she could to make herself proud.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hey, Brady.” Spotting his ranch foreman, the young wrangler, Carter, separated himself from the others and strolled up to the line of trucks.

  Brady rolled down the window. “So, you’re swamped, are you?”

  Carter looked puzzled. “Swamped?”

  “Your text said there were so many calves being born, you needed help fast. I texted back that I’d bring the troops. And here we are.” Brady was smiling as he swept a hand to include the trucks following behind.

  When he saw the look in Carter’s eyes, his smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “I never sent any text. And never got yours.” Carter shrugged before staring at the toe of his boot. “Truth is, I lost my cell phone. I don’t know where or when. Last time I used it, I stuck it in the pocket of my parka that was hanging in the barn alongside the keys. When I got up here with the herd, I couldn’t find it. It’s probably been smashed under the hooves of a couple hundred cows.”

  Seeing the scowl on the foreman’s face, he lifted both hands. “Hey, boss, don’t worry. If there’s any trouble, I can always use Ben’s phone. As soon as I get time, I’ll head to town and buy a new one.”

  “I don’t care about your phone, Carter.” Brady turned to Willow with a look of growing anger. “What I do care about is getting a text from a stranger. Who would do such a thing? And why?”

  Willow shook her head, as puzzled as he was. “I can’t figure it out. It almost sounds like someone wanted all of us up here together.”

  When Brady’s cell phone rang, he yanked it out of his shirt pocket. Spotting the caller’s identification, he said, “Ira. What’s up?”

  He listened before saying roughly, “How long ago?”

  He turned to Willow while speaking to the police chief. “None of us are there. We’re up in the hills. We’ll head back now. But, Ira, you get a copter out there now.”

  After ringing off, he stepped out of the truck and motioned for the others to do the same. As the family members gathered around, he said, “Ira Pettigrew just phoned me. He got a distress call from the ranch. Myrna could only get a few words out, but it sounds bad. She’s been shot.”

  “Shot? What the hell?”

  At As
h’s words, Brady held up a hand to silence him. “We don’t have time right now to vent our feelings. Ira’s phoned for an airlift to get Myrna to a hospital as fast as possible. She told him it’s real bad.”

  Willow let out a cry before covering her mouth with her hand.

  Whit grabbed Brady’s arm. “What about Cara?”

  “I don’t know. The chief only knows that, according to the ID, Myrna used Cara’s cell phone to tell him she’d been shot.”

  “Then Cara could have been shot, too. Otherwise she’d have made the call herself.”

  At Whit’s stunned reaction, Brady nodded toward the others. “We’re heading home now. See that Whit doesn’t take the wheel. He’s in no condition to drive.”

  Ash steered Whit to their truck and forced him into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel.

  Brady turned to Carter. “Keep only the wranglers you absolutely need. Send the rest down to the ranch house. We’ll need all the cool heads we can get.”

  And then the convoy of trucks turned in a wide arc and began the tortuous trek down the trails that would lead them home.

  Mad hadn’t felt this lighthearted in years. Just taking control of the little plane had him feeling like a frisky youth again.

  Now, as they skimmed over the treetops and stared down at the hills black with cattle, he pointed out places of interest to Juliet. She sat beside him in the copilot seat, enthralled by the glint of sunlight off the sparkling water of Copper Creek.

  “Oh, look.” She stared down at the line of trucks snaking along the side of a hill. “Are those MacKenzie trucks?”

  Mad studied them. “That they are, lass. Looks like they’re heading back to the ranch.” He glanced at his watch. “Odd. Why would they turn around so soon after reaching the herd?”

  As if in answer to his question, his cell phone rang. He snatched it up and, seeing Griff’s name, pressed the speakerphone so he could keep both hands at the controls. “What’s up, lad? Your wife and I are having a grand time surveying our kingdom.”

  “While you’re up there, do you see anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Such as?” he demanded.

  “Someone on foot, running away from the ranch. Or maybe a vehicle that is somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

  Mad shared a look of annoyance with Juliet. “Speak English, lad. What is it you’re asking me to look for?”

  “We’re headed back home because Myrna has been shot.”

  “Shot? Myrna? What…?”

  “We don’t know anything yet. She managed to call Ira from Cara’s phone, and the authorities are on their way to fly her to a hospital. We don’t know if Cara’s been shot, too. We just don’t know anything.”

  “What in hell…?” The old man’s hands tightened on the controls. “So am I looking for a lone shooter, or more than one?”

  “I don’t know that either, Mad. We’re hoping to get some answers when we reach home. But since I heard your engines overhead, I figured you’re in the perfect position to spot something, anything out of the ordinary. A car. A truck. Somebody on foot…”

  “We’ll start looking right away.” He glanced over at Juliet, whose face had gone ashen. “And, lad, let us know the minute you hear anything.”

  “Will do, Mad.”

  Even before the phone went dead, Mad was turning the plane in the direction of the ranch and then circling overhead, hoping to see anything that would lead to the answers they were seeking.

  By the time the family arrived at the ranch house, Chief Ira Pettigrew was inside, moving somberly from room to room, weapon drawn.

  Dr. Dan Mullin was kneeling beside Myrna, who was wrapped in blankets from head to toe.

  “She’s in shock,” the doctor said when the family hurried over to form a circle around her. “She’s lost a lot of blood, and I have her on an IV until the copter gets here.”

  “Can she speak?” Willow knelt beside the old woman and took one cold hand in hers.

  “I wouldn’t advise it.” Dr. Mullin removed a sterile packet from his bag and peeled it open as he prepared to inject a sedative into Myrna’s vein.

  “Has she spoken at all?”

  He shook his head. “Not to me.” He nodded toward the police chief. “Ira was the first one on the scene.”

  Willow got to her feet and caught Ira’s hand. “Has she been able to tell you who did this?”

  He shook his head.

  Whit was staring around as if in a daze. “Ira, where’s Cara?”

  “Gone.”

  Whit closed the distance between them. “What do you mean gone?”

  “I’ve searched the house. There’s no trace of her.” Wearing gloves, he gingerly held up a cell phone and the note left on the table. “The phone is hers. And this appears to be a confession from Cara.”

  The family hastily gathered around him as he explained. “I’m hoping the state lab can find some prints.”

  “You said it’s a confession.” Brady put a steadying arm around Willow’s shoulders. “Just what exactly is she confessing to? Attempted murder?”

  “It’s a jumble of words and letters pasted together to explain why she killed old Abe Parson over in Red Rock and stole from Willow’s bank account, before making her escape. She thanked all of you for making it so easy.”

  Willow’s head came up. “But no mention of Myrna?”

  “Maybe the shooting happened so suddenly, she had no time to add Myrna to her confession.”

  Whit’s face went deathly pale. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe any of this.”

  When he reached out a hand to snatch the paper from Ira’s hand, the lawman shoved him backward with as much force as he could muster. “Don’t even think about it, Whit. I won’t have you contaminating evidence.”

  “That isn’t evidence. It’s a damned lie.”

  “That could be. But then the question would be why? Why not just write a letter? This thing had to take time, finding the exact words, cutting them out, pasting them on this paper. This was totally premeditated. It could be a fake or the real thing. That’s for the lab to determine, if they can lift any prints. As for the phone, we’ll be able to trace every call she’s made from it. But by leaving it behind, she knew her whereabouts couldn’t be tracked by our state technicians. I’d say this was very carefully planned.”

  He dropped it into a plastic bag and sealed it before turning to Willow and holding up a bank receipt. “Willow, did you withdraw a hundred thousand dollars from the ranch fund?”

  “A hundred thousand? Why would I want such a sum of money?”

  Ira shrugged. “Someone withdrew a hundred thousand dollars from the ranch funds.” He held up withdrawal slip. “Is this your signature?”

  She examined the paper before shaking her head. “It’s a good forgery, but it definitely isn’t mine.” Willow turned her face into Brady’s shoulder and gave a shudder. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Did Cara Walton have access to your office and your bank ledgers?”

  Willow went pale as the knowledge dawned. “She called me just after I left the house today, asking if she could use the computer in my office. Of course I told her she was welcome to it.”

  They all looked up at the sound of the helicopter circling overhead before landing on the runway behind the barn. Within minutes, a team of medics hurried into the kitchen, carrying a gurney.

  As they prepared Myrna for the flight, under Dr. Mullin’s direction, Willow hurried over to catch the old woman’s hands in hers.

  “Stay strong, Myrna. We love you and we’re sending our prayers with you.”

  The housekeeper lay as still as death.

  Willow leaned close to press a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, how I wish you could tell us what happened here, and where Cara has gone.”

  Though her eyes remained closed, Myrna’s lids flickered. Her lips moved in a feeble whisper.

  As the medics carried the gurney toward the door, Willow turned to the others. “Sh
e was obviously agitated and trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t make out the words.”

  Whit caught his mother’s hand. “Did you catch anything?”

  “Just gibberish. It sounded like she said ‘trance’ or ‘dance.’ But that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Neither does that ‘confession.’” Whit’s voice was low with anger as he turned to Ira. “I don’t care how all this looks—I know Cara isn’t capable of doing any of this. She could no more harm Myrna than you could, Chief. She loves that old woman. As for stealing money from my mother’s account, it just isn’t something she would ever consider.”

  The police chief put a hand on Whit’s shoulder. “She came here with nothing but the clothes on her back. She’s been living on the hospitality of you and your family since you first met her. Met her, I should add, under questionable circumstances.” When Whit looked as though he were about to raise his fist, the chief stopped him. “Look, son. I know you have feelings for this girl. But you know that old saying. Love is blind. And those feelings are blinding you to the truth.”

  “The truth?” Whit pulled away with a look of fury. “What truth do you see here, Ira?” He pointed to the mixer on the countertop. “Why would someone who intended to commit a crime calmly go about preparing to bake a cake and then stop halfway through the process to shoot Myrna and then run away?”

  The chief looked perplexed. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Attempted murder rarely does.”

  “But this is crazy and you know it.”

  Ira paused before saying quietly, “If Cara Walton isn’t the one who put together this crazy confession, and isn’t the one who shot Myrna, and I’m beginning to have my doubts about that, then she’s in the hands of the one who did. And that means that little lady’s in serious trouble.”

  Whit latched on to the only words that mattered. “So you don’t believe this confession either?”

  “I don’t know what to believe, son. We have Myrna’s words that she’d been shot. She didn’t say Cara’s name. And then there’s all this.” He waved a hand. “Like you said, would someone go to the trouble of preparing cake batter if she intended to confess to a crime, steal a fortune, and shoot anyone who stood in her way?”