Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  Tracy nodded. She could vaguely remember the younger woman.

  “She’s curator of the Native American Museum here in Whitehorn,” he continued. “She and some of the tribe think the bones belong to some long-lost ancestors of theirs.”

  “They might,” Tracy reminded him mildly.

  He grimaced in disbelief. “Are you ready to look at the officer’s reports?”

  She nodded. The cool air sighed over her face, a soft, slow caress like that of a lover. She recoiled from the idea.

  She’d known some of the old feelings and memories were bound to be stirred by her return to Whitehorn. She just hadn’t realized they would be so strong.

  But he’d always done that to her, she admitted.

  Judd had always made her think of touching and loving and all those other things associated with the male-female attraction from the very first moment they had met. It came as a shock to her that he still did. And that no other man ever had.

  While she read the field reports of the people who had made the initial investigation after George had brought the bones into the tribal-police office, Judd returned several telephone calls.

  She noted his tone seemed different with other people compared to the one he used with her. When he talked with the mayor, the tension she’d heard earlier was gone. In its place was a relaxed amusement with a sincere undertone—Judd took his responsibilities seriously—as they discussed plans for the county fair scheduled for the next weekend.

  When his secretary, Juliet Clarke, came in with some letters for him to sign, Tracy felt a strange jolt of some peculiar emotion, sort of the way she’d felt when she witnessed the caress Maris Wyler had given him.

  Judd and the attractive blonde talked quietly. His voice held a lazy resonance that shivered right down Tracy’s spine. He had a way of listening while seeming to stare at the ground or off into space, then looking at the speaker with a slow, sideways glance, his full attention on the person.

  It was very appealing to a woman to be the center of that attention, which had a dark, sensual aspect to it that Tracy didn’t think Judd even knew about.

  Women did. They fell at his feet like trees in the path of a tornado.

  When he finished with the letters and the secretary left, he placed another call. He laughed after identifying himself. The other person must have said something very humorous. Tracy thought it was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  She tried hard not to listen, but Judd’s laughter rumbled over her like distant thunder, vibrating right down to her toes. She clenched the report. Against her will, she wondered if he was talking to Maris. He was making plans for the evening.

  When he hung up, she laid the brief reports on his desk. “I’d like to see the topos now.”

  He removed the topography maps from a cabinet and spread them over the cleared surface of the desk. Moving around until he stood beside her, he stretched his arms wide as he opened the rolled map.

  “Hold that corner,” he requested.

  When she did, he used his left hand to point out the location of the crime scene…if there had been a crime. Bones did not necessarily mean murder and mayhem. They might even belong to an animal instead of a person.

  His shoulder pressed against hers as she leaned forward to study the area. A jolt of sensation shot through her. She moved slightly away and sensed his quick look.

  When she glanced at him, she witnessed a harshness that hadn’t been present when he’d talked to his date for the evening. She stood very still as a storm of emotion swept her in its path.

  The moment stretched…became forever….

  The secretary knocked and stuck her head in the open doorway. “Sterling is on line two.”

  Judd moved back around the desk.

  Tracy breathed once more. “I have all the information I need. I think I’ll go home.”

  He paused with his hand on the telephone. “I’ll drive you in a minute.”

  “Uh, no, I’d rather walk.” She picked up her purse and slipped out of the office. She knew she was running away. She just didn’t know from what.

  Two

  Tracy explored the town before starting home. She compared the stores and buildings with her memories. Some things had changed. Some had not.

  Mason’s jewelry store had had an antique clock in the window seventeen years ago when she and Judd had married. It had been there when she’d left town seven years ago. It was there still. However, the name on the sign indicated the son was now the jeweler. She assumed the older Mason had retired.

  A new supermarket occupied a corner, but she couldn’t recall what had been there before it. She walked to the house, drove back in the rental car and bought groceries.

  The sun was beginning to set when she returned to the cottage. The sky was gilded in shades of rose, gold and lavender when she finished putting her groceries away and arranging the kitchen. She unpacked the clothing she’d brought.

  Sitting at the table, drinking a cold soda, she listened to the sigh of the wind through the pines. The only sound in the house was the steady drip-drip of the faucet.

  She tried to turn it off and failed. She made a mental note to pick up a washer at the hardware store and replace the worn one.

  After that, she changed from her good clothes into old, much-worn jeans, a blue T-shirt and a nylon Windbreaker with blue sleeves and interesting splashes of primary colors on the rest. She thought of eating, but decided she wasn’t hungry.

  Leaving the house, she wandered across the backyard to the rocky outcropping that overlooked the highway down below. Cars whipped past fairly steadily. It wasn’t like city or freeway traffic in California, where she now lived, but the road was busy for a small town in southern Montana.

  Yellowstone traffic, she decided. Families on vacation, going to see Old Faithful geyser, or maybe they’d already been to the park and were heading on up to the Lewis and Clark National Forest to camp and fish.

  She leaned against a tree and gave a shaky sigh. Darkness seemed to fill her soul. She’d talked with a psychologist a couple of years ago. The woman had told her she needed to face the past and come to terms with her grief before she could get on with her life. Tracy had thought the doctor crazy.

  Now she wasn’t so sure. Returning was harder than she’d expected. Emotions she’d buried in her work were stirring, and she couldn’t seem to stop them.

  She spotted a vehicle on the highway that reminded her of Judd’s unmarked sports truck. Was he with his date now? Did he take her to his place after dinner? Or did he go to hers? Was he getting on with his life as the doctor had told her to do?

  Tracy squeezed her eyes tightly shut, unable to bear the thought of him making love to another woman.

  She felt lost and confused and unable to cope.

  All this on the first day back in town, she mused, trying to mock her emotions. She trembled to think of the coming days with Judd. He would want to be in on every detail of her investigation.

  Maybe she could solve the case quickly and go back to where it was safe. In California, they only had earthquakes, mud slides and wildfires to deal with.

  Restless, she walked north along the bluff. The sky was an interesting watercolor of lavender fading into blue fading into deep purple-blue. When the path angled back to the lane, she followed it without question.

  Almost in a trance she turned left on Silver Creek Road, then right on Stoney Ridge. In another few minutes, she stood in front of the rustic rail fence along the front of the house she and Judd had built. Honesty forced her to admit he’d done most of the work, but she’d loved helping.

  They had worked so hard that fall, getting the outside done so they could finish the inside during the winter. Later, it had been nip and tuck to see which occurred first—completing the house or having the child that spring.

  Judd had put the final touches on the nursery three weeks before Thadd had been born.

  She gripped the log railing with both han
ds as she stared at the house. It had natural stone halfway up the sides, then split redwood logs the rest of the way. Wide, double-paned windows framed views of the woods on all sides.

  The steep pitch of the roof allowed two rooms upstairs, one as a guest bedroom, the other for storage of all the treasures families collected and couldn’t bear to throw out.

  She wondered if the same family lived there. No one seemed to be home. There were no lights inside that she could detect.

  Walking along the fence, she stopped by the front gate, which stood open. A red-and-white soccer ball lay by the road. She picked it up and studied it as if she’d never seen one before.

  Finally, her chest tight and achy, she tossed the ball gently toward the house so that it came to rest by the two steps leading down from the front porch. She thrust her hands into her pockets and quickly walked down the street.

  Instead of returning home, she headed for the main part of town. She realized she was hungry.

  Crossing the street, she went to the Hip Hop Café. The small eating place hadn’t been there eight years ago. It wouldn’t bring back any painful memories. She pushed open the door and went in.

  The café was a jumble of used tables and chairs that were bright and colorful. The place had a vibrant charm that must make it popular—along with its good food, going by the delicious aromas. A jukebox sat in a corner. Two samplers decorated the walls, among various other things. The first person she saw was Lily Mae Wheeler, widow, divorcée, town gossip. Tracy hesitated, but it was too late to turn around and skedaddle back to the cottage.

  “Well, bless my soul! Would you look what the cat dragged in?” Lily Mae demanded of no one in particular. “Tracy Hensley.”

  When Lily Mae pushed out a chair with her three-inch-spike heeled sandal, Tracy had no choice but to join her.

  “When did you get into town, hon?”

  “Today. Around noon,” Tracy answered.

  “I’d heard you were coming—oh, here’s my dinner.” She picked up her purse to make room for the dinner plate. “Melissa, were you in town when Tracy lived here? About five, six years ago, wasn’t it, Tracy?”

  Since Lily Mae didn’t leave anyone time to answer questions, Tracy and the other woman spoke at once.

  “It was seven years ago when I left—”

  “I wasn’t here then—”

  They both stopped, then smiled at each other. Lily Mae broke right in. “Melissa Avery, this is Tracy Hensley.”

  “Roper,” Tracy corrected. “Tracy Roper. I decided to use my maiden name after the divorce.”

  Melissa frowned thoughtfully. “I remember. You were married to the sheriff. Your little boy…” She trailed off, embarrassed at bringing up the subject.

  “It’s all right,” Tracy said quickly. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  “Tracy is a famous FBI agent,” Lily Mae put in.

  Melissa expressed an interest in what she did.

  “Actually, I’m a consultant on special cases,” Tracy explained. “I also work at archeology digs as an anthropologist for the University of California sometimes, although forensic investigations are taking more of my time.”

  “I’m fascinated,” Melissa told her, “but I have to get back to work. We’re shorthanded tonight, so I’m helping wait tables. I’ll bring you a menu in a sec.” She hurried away.

  “You two should be friends,” Lily Mae announced. “You’re both hardworking and independent as hell. Now tell me what you’ve been doing since I saw your father last spring.”

  Tracy told Lily Mae of her doings after she ordered a salad special. It was nice to know some people never changed, she mused while they ate and talked. The gay divorcée had once had an eye for Dr. Roper, but he had seen no one but his wife.

  Tracy worried briefly over him getting hooked now by the voluptuous woman, who preferred to call herself a widow.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Her father, a workaholic like herself, had buried himself in his book project this past year.

  Lily Mae, with her bleached hair, outrageous earrings, loud laughter and come-hither glances, might be good for him. She was good-hearted, and might introduce some fun into his life—a spark of unpredictability. Heaven knew, one could never tell what the woman would say or do next.

  Tracy controlled an urge to giggle at the idea of staid Professor Roper being tugged through life by Lily Mae.

  “So I told her she should try spanking his bottom and that would put a stop to those tantrums,” Lily Mae said, ending another story while Tracy finished her meal. The hoop earrings with two-inch parrots sitting in the hoops swung to and fro.

  Lily Mae was in her fifties. She’d never had children, and her marriages hadn’t lasted all that long.

  Tracy realized the woman was lonely. She’d adopted the residents of the town and county as her extended family, thus she felt quite free to give out advice on any subject to anyone. A wry affection warmed Tracy’s heart for the talkative widow.

  “I guess you heard about Maris Wyler, didn’t you?” Lily Mae asked over fresh blackberry cobbler and ice cream.

  Tracy’s heart leapt to her throat. “Maris?” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to hear of an engagement. It was none of her business what Judd did in his private life, but…she didn’t want to hear about it.

  “She up and married some drifter that came through, a rodeo rider just like that good-for-nothing husband of hers who got himself killed. The man showed up claiming Ray had died owing him some money. Which was probably true.”

  “So…Maris is married to—to this other man?”

  The parrots swung wildly as Lily Mae nodded. “She just had a baby a few months ago—his name is Clay. I always thought Maris had a head on her shoulders, but you know what passion can do to a person.”

  Tracy felt a rush of heat to her face. She bent over her cobbler and scooped up the last bites. When she looked up, Lily Mae was studying her curiously.

  “She and Judd went out some for a year or more, but nothing ever came of it. Sometimes a person can’t get over that first love. Your father is that kind, I think.”

  A flash of mutual understanding passed between them. Tracy touched Lily Mae’s hand in sympathy. The widow, for all her bright clothes, jewelry and painted face, had more depth to her than appeared on the surface.

  During the rest of the meal, they chatted about the town and its various problems. It was dark and surprisingly late when Tracy refused a ride from Lily Mae and started home.

  As she passed the mayor’s house, she heard the familiar gravelly rumble of a deep voice. She ducked her head and tried to hurry. She didn’t want to see Judd and his date saying good-night to the mayor and his wife.

  “Tracy,” he called out before she could get more than three-fourths of the way past the mansion.

  She stopped and turned. Judd stood alone on the paved driveway next to the house. He was dressed in a suit and tie. Her heart knocked hard against her ribs.

  “Hello,” she managed to say in a nonchalant voice. She looked at him, then away.

  His face wore a frown when he came to her at the end of the sweeping drive. “What are you doing out after dark?”

  She bristled at his tone. “Is there a curfew you didn’t tell me about?”

  That brought him up short. “Of course not,” he said in a more reasonable manner. “It’s just…it’s after nine. Not many people wander around a small town this late.”

  She didn’t owe him an explanation, but she found herself giving one anyway. “I went to the café for dinner. Lily Mae Wheeler was there—”

  His muted groan brought a stop to the words. “Say no more. She talked your ear off for three hours.”

  “Well, two,” Tracy admitted.

  “Get in. I’ll drive you home.” He motioned to a low-slung sporty-looking car at the curb.

  “This is yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  His direct gaze challenged her to make something of it. They had never bee
n able to afford a new car, much less a luxury vehicle such as this, during their marriage, but they had teased each other about the one they would buy “when our ship comes in.”

  The plans they had made…so many dreams and hopes…so many bright promises for the future…

  “Trace?” he said, shortening her name as he used to. He held the car door open for her.

  She got in, feeling very uncertain about the wisdom of this. She hadn’t felt this self-conscious the first time they’d made love, there on a grassy meadow with the June sun pouring over their entwined bodies.

  It took less than five minutes to get to her house. He sat in the car after turning off the engine. “You didn’t leave the porch light on.”

  “Uh, no. I didn’t expect to be gone so long. I mean, I was just out for a walk. I’d thought I might go to town for dinner, but I wasn’t sure.” She stopped the incoherent chatter.

  For some reason, it was more difficult to talk to him knowing he wasn’t involved with Maris.

  That didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with someone else.

  She realized it must have been the mayor’s wife on the phone earlier that day, inviting him to dinner. Tracy wondered if there had been an extra woman at the table for him. She shied away from the thought. It was none of her business.

  “Look,” he said harshly, “I don’t know if we can work together if you’re going to act as if you suspect my motives every time I speak to you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?” he snapped. He swung his head around to glare at her in the dim glow cast by a streetlight on the corner. “Admit you didn’t want me to come to the house this morning. Admit you didn’t want to have lunch with me. Hell, you didn’t want to come into my office to review the case.”

  “Judd—”

  “Do you hate me that much?”

  She gasped, stunned by the question. “I—I don’t hate you at all.” She stumbled over her denial.

  He faced forward, staring out into the darkness behind the cottage. Trees were visible as a darker outline against the dark sky. A sliver of moon hung above their branches.