Lost in Cottonwood Canyon & How to Train a Cowboy--Lost in Cottonwood Canyon

by RaeAnne Thayne

  Wyatt wasn’t sure what was happening. One moment, she was storing her gear inside the glass-fronted cabinet above her study desk, the next she sank bonelessly into her chair.

  “Taylor? Everything okay?” he asked.

  She gazed at him blankly, as if she’d forgotten he was even there, then without a word she handed him the paper. He scanned it quickly, registering the ominous note.

  The implication was clear—she could forget about waiting for state-sponsored capital punishment. If she didn’t back off, her brother would die violently in prison before the high court even had a chance to look at any appeal.

  Guilty or not, Hunter Bradshaw would pay the ultimate price inside prison.

  What kind of bastard would use her love for her brother as a billy club against her? He growled a long, colorful string of oaths but reined in his temper when he saw her skin was as pale as the paper he held in his hands and her eyes had a hollow, shocky look to them.

  She couldn’t take much more of this, he realized. In the past few weeks she had sustained stress after stress and he could see it was beginning to take its toll on her. The urge to protect her, to tuck her against him and keep her safe, just about overwhelmed him.

  His first step was dragging her out of there.

  “You need some air. Come on,” he ordered.

  He took a moment to slip the note into a page protector from his bag to preserve any fingerprints that might be there—though he doubted they would be that lucky—then grabbed her elbow and walked with her out into the cool beauty of a fall afternoon.

  The sky was vividly blue with only a few plump clouds floating across its wide expanse, but Wyatt barely noticed, consumed only with taking care of her, with seeing some color return to her face and that numb look leave her blue eyes.

  “I have to warn him,” Taylor said when they were outside. “I have to let him know he’s in danger.”

  “We can phone the corrections department and make sure they’re up to speed on what’s been going on,” he answered. “They’ll take protective measures.”

  “It won’t be enough. I’m not naive, Wyatt. I know how dangerous life can be on the inside. Like the note says, his murder would be easy enough to arrange. He’s in there with violent men who have already committed terrible crimes. What’s one more? Most of them already hate him because he was a cop and would be only too willing to do this. What repercussions would there be? There’s only so much you can do to punish a man who’s already on death row.”

  To his frustration, he didn’t have any answers. The hell of it was, she was right. Hunter Bradshaw could be stabbed with a shiv in the gut tomorrow and most people in the state would think whoever killed him had simply saved the state the trouble.

  They walked in silence for a few more moments until they reached a quiet corner of campus, with several benches and a burbling fountain. Taylor took one of the nearby benches and Wyatt sat beside her, feeling about as powerless as he ever had.

  More than anything, he wished he had the words to ease her fear for her brother, but he knew there was nothing he could say.

  “Our mother died when I was six. Hunter was twelve.” Taylor stared at the fountain as she spoke, lost in a past he couldn’t see. “She stuck one of the Judge’s antique revolvers in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Hunter found her.”

  His insides tightened at her cool, emotionless voice, at the grim picture she painted. He would have thought her made of ice except her knuckles were white where her fists gripped her knees. “Oh, Taylor. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  “Even when she was alive she was…ill. She had wild, violent mood swings. She seemed to tolerate Hunter, but for some reason something about me seemed to set her off. She would be loving and kind one second and then lash out furiously the next. She could be brushing my hair, talking about how pretty it was, like cinnamon in the sunlight, then she would suddenly try to yank it out from the roots. It was a…difficult childhood.”

  The understatement just about sent him to his knees. How had she survived? he wondered. How could any child?

  She answered his unspoken question. “Hunter was always there. He protected me, cared for me. Loved me. After our mother died, the Judge hired a series of housekeepers but they were employees. They did their job but without much in the way of love and affection. Our father was a very busy, very important man. But Hunter was never too busy for me. Even when he was a teenager and constantly at odds with our father, he always made time for his bratty little sister.”

  He was stunned that she would tell him this—the depth of her trust in him staggered him. In all the research he had done about her family, about Hunter’s childhood, he had never unearthed this information or any whisper that Angela Bradshaw had suffered from mental illness and killed herself. The judge must have covered it up to keep it from the media. With his connections, that didn’t surprise him. He probably never would have known if Taylor hadn’t confided in him.

  Her words definitely gave him new insight into the complicated man he had met in prison, Wyatt thought. The man had found his mother’s body, had protected his little sister from the woman’s wild mood swings. It would make a hell of a hook, but he knew he could never use this information. She had taken a huge leap of faith to confide in him and he refused to let her suffer for that by revealing her dark family secrets to the world.

  “He always looked out for me,” she continued. “Now it’s my turn to look out for him—and I’m failing.”

  Tears pooled in those blue eyes and a single drop trickled out of the corner of one and trailed down her cheek. Wyatt groaned and reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

  “You’re not. You’re doing everything possible to free him.”

  “It’s not enough. You have no idea how helpless I feel, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help him.”

  “If anybody understands, Tay, I do,” he answered, his voice rough.

  For a moment, she looked at him blankly, and then he saw understanding flicker in her eyes—they darkened with empathy. She touched his cheek with a tenderness that took his breath away.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You’re right. I’m afraid I’ve become very self-absorbed these past few months. I forget about your sister—and that others carry their own burdens.”

  The urge to tell her about Kate and his suspicions was so powerful that the words swelled in his throat and hovered there, but he somehow managed to swallow them down.

  He couldn’t tell her, at least until he had something more substantial to share.

  He settled for softly pressing his mouth to those fingers she still held against his cheek.

  Her hands trembled and a delicate shiver rippled across her shoulders. Sunshine shot golden threads through her hair and she closed her eyes and leaned into him.

  And Wyatt knew he was lost.

  CHAPTER 13

  His kiss was slow, tender, sweet, and her heart seemed to give a long sigh of welcome.

  Her arms curled up against his chest and she breathed in that clean male scent of him, wanting to burn it into her brain cells. For a few moments she let herself forget about the newspaper article left on her carrel, forget his odd reaction to Kate the other day, forget everything but this aching tenderness.

  In his arms, her burdens didn’t feel nearly so heavy, and for the first time in days she let herself fully relax.

  Before their kiss, she had been so tired, she thought as she leaned against him. Tired of the constant worry and of the finely wrought tension between her and Wyatt.

  But in his arms, her fatigue seemed to bubble away like the water flowing over the fountain’s lip, leaving an odd contentment in its wake.

  He pulled her closer until she was almost on his lap, and she wanted to be nowhere else on earth.

  After several long, intoxicating moments, he drew in a ragged breath and stilled the soft caress of his fingers. “We’ve got to stop doing this,” he murmured, regret in his voice.
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  Her thoughts were a soft, dreamy haze and she could only manage to form one semi-coherent word. “Why?”

  His laugh sounded rough, ragged. “Now there’s a good question, Counselor. For one thing, we’re in a public place. Much more of this and I don’t think I’ll be able to prevent making a spectacle of both of us to any unsuspecting passersby.”

  She blinked back to awareness and realized her shirt was untucked and they were both breathing hard. Although they were in a semi-secluded spot, shielded from view on nearly every side by trees and bushes, from the right angle, anyone might be able to see them.

  Heat singed her cheeks. How could she have forgotten herself so completely? For a woman who valued control, knowing she could lose it so easily with Wyatt—could forget where she was, what she should be doing—was a terrifying, mortifying concept.

  She didn’t understand this man. How could he have looked so completely gobsmacked when he saw Kate and still gaze at Taylor with such tenderness in those green eyes?

  “You’re killing me, Taylor.” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear above the fountain. “You have to know that. If circumstances were different, you and I would both be naked on this bench right now.”

  She shivered at the intensity in his voice and the image his words conjured up. Her breasts ached and her insides did a long slow roll. She wanted that so much—wanted him—that she couldn’t seem to breathe around it. Okay, not here on a campus bench, maybe, but if they were somewhere else, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stop.

  To cover her reaction, she forced herself to joke. “Wouldn’t the papers just go to town with that one? Utah’s sexiest bestselling author caught in campus romp with sister of notorious felon.”

  His short laugh sounded strained. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but the moment passed.

  “Thank you for the listening ear and for…everything else. Believe it or not, I feel better.”

  “Glad one of us does,” he muttered.

  She surprised both of them by laughing at his disgruntled tone. When he stared at her, an odd light in his eyes, she realized how seldom she must laugh anymore. She hadn’t found many things amusing since Hunter’s arrest.

  No matter how things turned out, she needed to change that, she decided. Her brother was right, she couldn’t put her life on hold forever.

  “I’d better go. I’m afraid I won’t have time to eat with you after all. My study group will be waiting.”

  Disappointment marked his frown, but he nodded. “I’ll walk you back to the library. Just give me a minute.”

  Taylor was intensely conscious of him as they sat in the fading autumn sunlight while the cool fall air caressed them and the fountain gurgled in the background.

  After a moment, he stood up. “I think I’m ready.”

  Her awareness of him didn’t ease as they walked back to the library. She caught herself appreciating his lean, rangy build and his confident stride.

  “What about the letter?” he asked when they neared the law complex. “Will you go the police?”

  “With what? A photocopied newspaper article? They’ll laugh me right out of the station.”

  “You were probably too shell-shocked to notice, but I put the note in a page protector, just in case any fingerprints could be lifted. Do you mind if I give it to Gage to run through the FBI lab?”

  “I thought he and Allie were still on their honeymoon.”

  “They returned over the weekend. I’m sure he would do what he could to help us.”

  Us. What strength was contained in that tiny word! She found it soothing and comforting and empowering, even if it was only an illusion. She and Wyatt were not an us. They weren’t an anything.

  “You can certainly give it to him,” she answered. “But I doubt he’ll find anything useful.”

  “You’re probably right, but it’s worth a shot.” He paused. “Who knew that was your particular carrel?”

  She had been wondering the same thing. “Other second-years. My professors. Dozens of people. It would be easy for anyone to find out, really, simply by asking the right person.”

  “I’m sure the library has an extensive security camera system that most likely captured whoever left it there. But unless we get the police involved, we won’t be able to access those tapes.”

  “The police aren’t going to be interested, Wyatt. You and I both know that. It wasn’t even a threat really, just a small comment about a newspaper article.”

  “You know better than that. We both do,” he said. “The bastard knew just what he was doing—threatening you didn’t work, so he found something even better. Threatening your brother.”

  As tactics go, it was vicious and low and remarkably effective. She knew she would have a difficult time focusing on the case. She lived daily with the knowledge that her brother faced death, but now that menace was far more immediate, far more real.

  Even with that shadow hanging over her, she couldn’t quit. “I told you I’m meeting with Martin tomorrow for an update,” she said. “I’ll let you know how things go.”

  “I should be at the apartment all day. I gave you the address and phone number, and you have my cell. I’ve got weeks’ worth of correspondence to catch up on and promised myself I wouldn’t move from my computer until I was finished.”

  “I’ll call you after my appointment.”

  “Be careful, Tay. Promise me that.”

  She had to admit his concern warmed her, she thought as she nodded agreement, and made the world seem just a little less dark and scary.

  * * *

  In his elegantly appointed offices in the historic Judge Building the next morning, Martin greeted her with his usual hug and kiss on the cheek, but she could already see distracted shadows in his eyes.

  “I’ve got about ten minutes before I have to leave for a meeting with the prosecutor’s office about a plea deal for another client, so we’ll have to do this fast.”

  Taylor took the comfortable leather wingback he gestured her to, trying to tamp down the familiar frustration churning through her. Every time she met Martin the conversation seemed to run along the same channels. He was always distracted and evasive, she was always pushy and impatient.

  “Thank you for making time to meet with me,” she said. “How is Judy?”

  “Good. She’s spoiling herself at Green Valley Spa in St. George for the week. It was my anniversary present to her.”

  Judy James was one of the kindest, most gracious women Taylor knew. At one time or another, Martin’s wife had served on just about every charitable committee in town, and she loved entertaining and supporting arts and culture in the valley.

  “What can I do for you, Taylor?”

  Martin’s brusqueness took her by surprise, jarring her from fond thoughts of his wife. Instead of sitting beside her on the other armchair, he had taken a place behind his desk. In any other man, she would have seen it as a power play, but this was Martin.

  “I’m sure you can guess. I wanted an update on the appeal.”

  “It’s going well,” he said. “I expect to be filing several briefs in the coming weeks.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying for the past three months.” She leaned forward, trying not to sound encroaching or managing. “If it will help, I’ve found some new information that might be relevant to your briefs.”

  His hand tightened on the expensive pen he was using to jot a note in his planner. He gazed at her with paternal concern. “You’re becoming obsessed, Taylor. I’ve said this before but I mean it this time. You need to develop some outside interests beyond your brother’s case. You’ve dropped out of med school, given up your life’s dream, sacrificed everything for Hunter. Your father wouldn’t be happy about this.”

  “The Judge wanted both Hunter and me to follow in his grand judicial footsteps. You know he refused to pay one cent toward medical school and was livid with Hunter for becoming a cop. He would be ecstatic that one of us ended up
in law school—maybe not the circumstances that led me to it, but the end result.”

  “You’re right about that. I know it was his fondest dream that one of you pass the bar, but he wouldn’t have wanted it this way.”

  “We deal with what we’re given, Martin. You’re the one who taught me that.”

  He didn’t answer, and she took that as encouragement to outline for him the various theories she and Wyatt had developed. Knowing her time was limited, she spoke quickly and concisely.

  Martin took a few notes here and there but didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about any of their new information. At least he was listening, though. She had to give him points for that.

  “One more odd thing I wanted to ask you about—” She spoke quickly, knowing her ten minutes had been up at least five minutes ago. “Do you remember the Paul Valencia case?”

  The pen slipped from his fingers and would have rolled from the desk to the floor but he quickly caught it. “Of course I do. How could I forget? It’s one of only two death penalty cases I’ve ever lost.”

  Hunter was the other one, she realized. Was there something significant in that fact?

  “I know it was a long time ago, but do you remember if Mickie Wallace Ferrin was involved in the trial proceedings at all? She worked for the prosecutor’s office at the time.”

  He looked annoyed at the question. “I don’t know. She could have been. It was a long time ago. Anyway, what does any of that have to do with Hunter?”

  “I don’t know. Probably nothing. But she apparently spent some time researching the case right before her death. I just found it odd that she could barely get out of bed from the effects of radiation and chemo but she dragged herself to Quinney to look through Pacific Reporters. Don’t you find that strange?”

  “People who are dying do odd things. I think you’re desperate and are willing to follow any wild guess.”

  She gazed at him, startled by his bluntness. When he rose and started stuffing files into his briefcase as if their interview was over, her dander rose right along with him.