by Dana Mentink
The emotion that washed over his face amused her. He was clearly nonplussed for some reason, this man who seemed perpetually in control. “Nice to hear the ‘we.’ I’ll stick it out with you for as long as you need.”
Her face warmed. Though he was every bit the soldier, from broad shoulders to wide stance, she could not help but see in him the seventeen-year-old hero who had rescued her mother’s horse. “That is beyond kind. I want you to know how much I appreciate your help.” She quickly added, “With the horses.”
He gave her the glimmer of a smile.
She took a breath to clear her head and took off for the corral before her determination could wane. “We need to ride them. Cassie said in her journal the only way they’ll get adopted is if we make them comfortable with a saddle.”
“Good enough.” Logan fell into step next to her. “Sheila called to check on you and she mentioned Bentley is at their place. I told her we’d meet him there.”
“Let’s ride over.”
Logan hesitated. “We could take the truck.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like riding?”
“It’s not my favorite thing. I’d rather be in a tank than on a horse. At least a tank only goes where you tell it to.”
She laughed. “We can take the truck, if you feel that uncomfortable.”
“No, no. Horseback is fine.”
He approached the horses with enthusiasm and confidence she suspected he didn’t feel. He did the work competently enough, and Isabel saddled Blue Boy while Logan did the same with a spotted horse named Striker.
She mounted Blue Boy carefully and, though he shook his head, he allowed her to gather up the reins. “I wasn’t sure he’d let me for a minute there,” she called to Logan as he mounted his horse.
“Maybe he knows you and Cassie were related.”
The thought made her eyes fill. I hope he doesn’t know how I let her down.
Logan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I forgot that Blue Boy was…”
“The horse that threw my sister.” She reached down and patted the horse’s neck. “If he throws me, then maybe I’ll believe that’s what happened to Cassie, but for now, I’m going to trust him. Cassie loved him.”
Isabel followed Logan down a dirt trail that wound through a thick copse of spruce. Logan rode easily and Isabel would never have suspected he wasn’t born in the saddle. The branches closed over them, bringing welcome shade and thick shadow that dappled them as they made their way along. She remembered the shock of seeing Autie sitting in the front room of Cassie’s house, a gun perched on his lap as casually as if it had been a book.
You lack courage and commitment. You ran when you were sixteen and you will run again. What scared her the most was not that Autie seemed determined to drive her away, back to the grasp of Rawley; it was the fact that he knew her, deep down. He knew of her deepest sins.
How long had he been studying her? Soaking up the darkest of her memories and waiting to use them against her?
A branch snapped underfoot and she jerked in the saddle, causing Blue Boy to shake his mane. The trees grew thicker until their branches grazed the edges of the narrow path. She caught a glimpse of a lake in the distance, the eerie glimmer of water shrouded by trees. She imagined Autie hidden just out of sight, humming his strange tunes, tracking her as she moved.
I will be happy to make you disappear.
Disappear.
A branch caught the back of her shirt and she barely contained a scream.
Sweat trickled down her back and she felt the flicker of an insect buzz her head.
Autie’s pale eyes seemed to be watching her from every shadow until she felt like screaming.
Instead she urged Blue Boy to close the gap between them and Logan’s horse. He could not do anything if Autie’s bullet ripped through the gloom and found her head. Nonetheless, Logan’s nearness comforted her until they emerged from the woods at the entrance to the Trigg property.
A long driveway led to a sprawling ranch-style home. Well-tended fences marked a series of corrals and, beyond that, acres of grassland dotted with some of the loveliest horses Isabel had ever seen. The sheriff’s car was parked near a detached building Isabel took to be a garage. An SUV was up on blocks in front, and an open toolbox lay nearby.
Logan and Isabel led the horses to an empty corral and let them loose to crop at the choicest grass they could find. Blue Boy edged Striker away from the greenest patch and set to work.
Isabel smiled. Her legs felt a bit wobbly from the ride and she had to laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden. You did pretty well for a guy who doesn’t like horses.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t ride them. They just aren’t my first choice of transportation.”
She laughed, feeling an inexplicable happiness that momentarily drove thoughts of Autie out of her mind.
A shout came from the garage.
The sound of angry male voices poured out of the shaded opening. Isabel couldn’t make out who was yelling, but when Logan took off in the direction of the ruckus, she followed.
Inside the small structure, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness before she made out the identities of the two men.
Officer Bentley stood with his hands on his hips, head slightly bowed.
John Trigg, flushed red and lips thin with rage, faced him.
“Take off, Bentley,” he hissed. “Take yourself away from this place and don’t ever come back. I won’t be responsible for what happens if you do.”
Isabel couldn’t hear Bentley’s murmured reply. She watched in horror as John Trigg exploded in rage. His fist shot out and smashed into Bentley’s face.
EIGHT
Logan leaped into the fray as Bentley tried to scramble to his feet and John went after him again, knocking him to the ground. John shouted as he tried to get a hold around Bentley’s neck.
Logan shoved John off.
He fell backward, giving Bentley time to make it to his feet. Blood streamed out of the officer’s nose and down his chin, spattering the front of his khaki uniform. He tried to stop the flow with the back of his hand.
“Not going to solve anything this way,” Bentley muttered.
Logan saw John about to launch another attack. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the man and restrained him, planting him facedown with his hands behind his back. “John, you need to calm down.”
John wriggled and swore but he could not free himself. Logan kept him pinned there while Isabel tried to help Bentley.
The officer shook her off. Without looking at John, he stalked from the garage, leaving a trail of blood droplets on the ground. Logan wondered why Bentley didn’t arrest John on the spot.
Logan waited a moment and then released the pressure slightly. “Keep yourself under control or we’ll be doing this again.”
John got to his feet and brushed the grit from his hands. “Stay out of it, Logan.”
“If that means letting you kill the sheriff, I don’t think so.”
“Not your job to be the hero. You’re a contractor now.” His eyes glittered. “A working stiff, like the rest of us.”
Logan felt the sting of those words. With an effort, he kept his voice level. “And this contractor isn’t going to let you kill the sheriff either.”
Carl came huffing into the garage, cheeks red from the effort. “Everybody okay? Bentley looks like he went five rounds with Muhammad Ali.” His gaze wandered from Logan to John. “That your handiwork, son?”
John snorted, but didn’t answer.
Carl’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve been through this. What’s done is done. You need to let it go.”
“Can’t.”
“You got to.”
John spat out the words. “Just because you did, doesn’t mean I’m gonna.” He stalked past his father and Isabel and left.
Carl smiled wanly and moved to Logan to shake his hand. “I assume you kept my son from taking a walk on the stupid
side?”
Logan shrugged, catching the faintest whiff of alcohol on Trigg’s breath. “Just broke up a brawl. What’s going on here?” He’d always known John had a temper, since their days in high school, but the outburst still surprised him, especially since it involved Bentley.
Carl waved a hand. “Too ridiculous to go into. Come into the house, both of you, and we’ll try to show you some better hospitality than this.”
Logan saw the puzzlement on Isabel’s face as she joined them.
They found Sheila in the massive kitchen, handing Bentley a towel as he sat at the long pine table. There was no sign of John. She wrapped Isabel in a hug and then Logan. “I’m so glad you were here. That son of mine. What am I going to do with him? He’s still a ten-year-old kid with a chip on his shoulder.” She laughed, but Logan could see real pain in her eyes. He burned with curiosity to know the root of John’s hostility toward Bentley, but could think of no polite way to dig for information.
Sheila insisted they sit down and slid glasses of iced tea in front of them. Carl was drinking something that Logan suspected was not tea.
Carl bobbed his chin at them. “Officer Bentley tells me you had another problem at the ranch.”
Isabel shot an uneasy look at Logan. He nodded encouragingly at her.
She told them about Autie’s visit.
Sheila pressed a hand to her mouth. “In the house? You must have been terrified.”
He saw Isabel swallow hard. “I’m not going to let him scare me away.”
Carl huffed. “Good for you. Show that lunatic who is in control.”
Sheila’s eyes were still round with horror. “You can’t mean you’re going to stay out there all alone? With some crazy person after you? That’s just nuts.” She appealed to the sheriff. “Tell her that’s crazy.”
His face remained expressionless under his purpling nose. “He might have meant to scare her and he’s gone. Could be he’s cleared out.”
She slapped her hand on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t bet the girl’s safety on that.” She turned to Isabel. “I think you should stay here with us, until the lawyers can arrange to have the property sold.”
Logan drained the tea. “That might be a good idea. What do you think, Isabel?”
She shook her head. “I want to stay near the horses.”
“You could tend them every day. John could ride over with you and be sure that crazy man isn’t lurking around somewhere.”
Logan spoke quickly. “I’ll help with the horses. I’m going to finish clearing the ravine anyway, so I’ll pull up my tent trailer and camp out at the ranch.” He hadn’t even given a thought to the matter before, but here came the plan, fresh from his lips. He tried for a tone of nonchalance, wondering what Isabel was thinking, but not daring to look at her.
Sheila’s mouth opened in surprise. “I thought you’d sell those horses off at the first opportunity.”
“That’s the plan. They will be adopted out, but we’ve got to work with them and find homes that fit.”
She laughed. “The tough pararescue hero really is a softy, isn’t he?”
Logan felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “It’s what Cassie wanted.”
She nodded. “Isabel, I want you to know the money Cassie left for us is going to be used to plan her memorial, and whatever is left over goes back to providing for the horses.”
Isabel’s smile was joyful as Sheila took her hands. “There’s no need for you to do that,” Isabel said. “She wanted you to have the money.”
“Carl and I insist.”
Carl nodded. “Put your sister to rest properly.” His eyes shone with tears.
Isabel blinked. “Thank you.”
Sheila stood and fetched the pitcher to refill their glasses. “Of course. We wouldn’t hear of anything else.”
Isabel cleared her throat. “And I want to do the Moonlight Ride.”
Logan’s surprise was mirrored in the other faces at the table.
“No one would blame you for pulling out,” Carl said.
Isabel raised her chin. “Cassie wanted the horses to participate, to be seen. It might help them find homes, and it’s an important fund-raiser for a group she felt passionate about.”
Logan was mesmerized by the determination that shone from her dark eyes, the courage written in the tilt of her head, the strength of her words. He wished he had a gift for sketching, so he could capture the expression on her face that made his heart beat faster.
After they’d returned the horses to the ranch and given them free rein in the pasture, Isabel found herself seated next to Logan in the front seat of his truck. As he drove down the steep mountain road toward his condo, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I should have talked to you about my plan.” He shot a quick look at her. “To camp out in my tent trailer at your place.”
She pulled the hair from her face and secured it against the wind rushing in the open window. “It’s a lot to ask.”
“You didn’t ask. I lined out the mission all by myself.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Leftover from my previous job.”
“What branch of the service?”
“Pararescue. Air Force folks who go in and pull people out of the fire. Sort of a mobile ambulance, if you will.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” he grunted. “It was.”
She saw emptiness and longing written in his eyes. “You miss it.”
“Like an arm or leg. I busted up my ankle on a mission that went bad. My only hope now is to get hired on as an instructor.”
“Would that satisfy you?”
He sighed. “I would sweep floors and empty trash cans, if that’s what they needed.”
She looked at his strong profile, the way he leaned forward a bit when he talked about his work. “Well, it’s okay by me if your new mission is sleeping in your tent trailer at the ranch, but it doesn’t sound very comfortable.”
He laughed. “Trust me, I’ve slept in worse conditions. Much worse. But why didn’t you take the Triggs up on their offer to stay?”
Isabel mulled it over. Why hadn’t she? It was some indefinable feeling about John Trigg that had risen in her gut even before they had come upon him punching the sheriff. “I’m not sure. Maybe the fighting. What does John Trigg have against Bentley?”
“I don’t know. I would have said nothing if I hadn’t seen them going at it today.”
But it had been one-sided, she thought. Bentley hadn’t thrown any punches in return or arrested John, and what had John said to his father about letting things go?
“Just because you did, doesn’t mean I’m gonna.”
Whatever it was, the three of them were involved in something painful.
They arrived at Logan’s condo and Isabel thought the place matched his personality; orderly, precise, neat. She peered at the photos of him with his buddies. Cassie’s unmailed letter hinted that he’d had a wife, but there was no evidence of much feminine influence.
Her attention was arrested by a precisely folded flag.
Logan returned from hitching up the tent trailer and packing a small duffel bag. “A buddy of mine didn’t make it. He had no family. That’s why I have the flag.”
She wanted to touch him then, to bring him into her arms and ease away the heavy grief in his words. Her own desire startled her. She’d only loved two men in her life and both her father and Rawley hurt her to the core. Stepping away, she put her hands in her pockets. A memory poked at her.
“Autie sang something about a flag.”
The phone rang and he gestured for her to sit on the couch. “Hey, Bill. I’m putting you on speakerphone. Isabel Ling, Cassie’s sister, is here with me.”
Bill’s voice was low and soft as he greeted them.
Logan leaned forward. “What do you have for us? The guy goes by the name of Autie and he’s paid Isabel another visit.”
“Something about this case is eating at me, but I couldn’t find any matches, Loga
n. I contacted some old-timers from the region and talked them up a little, but they need more to go on. Anything you can provide?”
Isabel related some of the conversation she’d had with Autie, giving Bill details about the clothes and his gun. “And he knows…many of the details of my life.” She did not want to talk about her past, especially not in front of Logan, but Bill was caught on a detail.
“Slouch hat and boots. Long hair. What did he call you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Miss Ling? Isabel? What did he call you?”
“Ma’am.” Her eyes drifted back to the flag. “I was just remembering he sang an odd song the day he pushed me in the ravine, and again at the cemetery. I can’t recall all of it, but it was something about the flag and a drummer boy.”
Bill’s tone was grim. “And the lovely old flag?”
“Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”
There was a pause. “Because I know who your bad guy is, or more accurately, I know who his father is.”
Logan stood. “Tell us.”
“I didn’t figure it out until you told me about the song. That’s an old Civil War tune. Put that together with the hat, long hair, his antiquated speech patterns.”
Isabel frowned. “I don’t understand. Do you know Autie? Who is he?”
“Autie was the nickname of George Custer, the famous U.S. cavalry commander. Your Autie is actually Oscar Birch. I knew Autie’s father. I put him in prison last year, actually.”
A muscle in Logan’s jaw twitched. “So Autie’s father is the one—”
Bill finished. “Who killed my partner.”
Isabel gasped. “How awful!”
Bill’s voice shook only once as he continued. “We were tracking Oscar Senior for months. The guy is a complete Civil War nut. He had shelves of books about Custer, everything ever written on the man. He collected weapons from the era and even dressed the part. He raised his son to be a fanatic as well. Social services went out a few times investigating Oscar as a potential wife beater, but she’d never say a word against him. Neither would the son, of course. Daddy is his hero. We always suspected Autie helped his father hide from us for such a long time, but we could never prove it. Autie was never charged with anything. He’s got no criminal record.”