“That he wasn’t your daddy after all. Turns out Mary wasn’t a one-man kinda gal.”
Callie’s gut tightend and he held her gaze, his eyes burning with intensity. He was enjoying this. And despite her skepticism, she had to ask the question.
“Let’s assume for a minute that you aren’t a lying sack of garbage. If Riley didn’t get my mother pregnant, who did?”
Landry showed her his most malevolent smile yet.
“Why, Jonah Pritchard, that’s who.”
Chapter Eighteen
The world turned sideways.
Callie felt a rush of dizziness slam into her and she nearly fell out of the saddle. She really was going to be sick now. Could feel the bile rising in her throat.
She didn’t think she’d ever come this close to fainting before, even when she got the news about Treacher. But she was close now. Had to muster up every bit of her will to keep from diving headfirst into the dirt.
Sensing her distress, Harlan nudged his horse up alongside hers and grabbed hold of her arm. “You okay?”
She was trying to control her breathing. Couldn’t get enough air to form any words.
“How you expect the girl to be okay?” Landry said. “News like that is bound to trouble anyone.”
“Shut up, Bickham,” Harlan snapped.
“I’m just the messenger. She’s the one insisted I tell her.”
“I said, shut up. You say another word, I’ll pull you off of that horse and beat you to a pulp. You understand?”
“Whatever you say, Marshal.”
Harlan glared at him then returned his attention to Callie. The world was starting to right itself now, and she was finally able to breathe.
“Easy, Cal. Just take it slow…”
She knew he must be thinking he’d walked straight into one of Nana Jean’s soap operas, but his blue eyes showed nothing but concern and she was grateful for that.
“I’m good,” she said. “Thank you.”
At least she hoped she was.
The thought that her mother had ever gone near Jonah Pritchard’s bed was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
He squeezed her arm. “Take your time.”
She put her hand on his and squeezed back. “No, I’m okay now. I’m fine.”
“Well, ain’t you two love birds a picture?” Landry said. “Just like Jonah and Mary. Of course, she was a good thirty years younger than him.”
Harlan turned, sitting upright in his saddle. “Your nose looks like it stopped bleeding, Bickham. You want me to fix that for you?”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re a violent man?”
“I’m not the one running around trying to kill people, remember? Keep flapping your gums and you’ll find out what violence really is.”
Landry opened his mouth, then immediately closed it again, finally smart enough to heed Harlan’s warning.
Something else that Callie was grateful for.
There was no way to know if he was telling the truth about her mother and Jonah, and she could only hope that he was the lying sack she thought he was. But Gloria’s unspoken accusation kept tumbling through her head, and that was enough to stir up some doubt.
Of course her mother had been eighteen at the time of her pregnancy, and was known to be a bit of a wild child. Was it possible that she had been attracted to Jonah? Had she been dating Riley, but secretly sleeping with his old man?
The thought sickened Callie, but then that’s exactly what it was designed to do. Landry was playing mind games. Trying to exploit a weakness where he saw it, to gain some kind of leverage over her.
But it wouldn’t work unless she let it.
And she wasn’t about to let it.
She steeled herself and sat upright, refusing to give in to his emotional terrorism.
“Can we get moving now?” she said to Harlan. “The sooner this creep and his friends are behind bars, the better I’ll feel.”
ONCE THEY GOT STARTED, they rode for another hour, continuing to wind their way through the Lost Woods. They had picked up the trail again, right where Landry had promised it would be, so at least he wasn’t taking them on a wild goose chase.
Or so they hoped.
They still had no idea why he’d gone to so much trouble to help a trio of unapologetic sociopaths. It seemed odd to Callie that his loyalty was so strong that he was willing to kill for them—especially after they’d shot Jonah—but she had long ago given up on trying to figure out what motivates criminal behavior. People killed for the stupidest reasons, so in a perverse kind of way, maybe Landry was to be commended. At least he hadn’t gutted anyone over a pair of tennis shoes.
Not that this would make Sheriff Mercer feel any better. And Callie doubted it would color a jury’s verdict once she testified against the old fool. But on the list of motives for attempted murder, loyalty wouldn’t even be close to the top.
Landry obviously felt that someone he cared about was being threatened, and had decided to do something about it. And back in the outlaw days he probably would’ve had a lot of townsfolk cheering him on, just as they’d cheered on Jeremiah Pritchard.
But the outlaw days were over. Even out here in the middle of nowhere.
Maybe someone had forgotten to tell Landry.
The sun was almost gone by the time they reached the far side of the woods and found themselves on a high bluff overlooking a canyon.
Calling it a canyon was being generous. It was really little more than a crevice in the earth, the mountains on either side rising toward the sky like protective walls shielding it from any but the most observant eyes.
No helicopter would be able to find it. And it was no wonder that none of the posses of the past had ever made it this far.
“Robbers Canyon,” Landry said, then gestured to the lip of the bluff where a narrow trail snaked treacherously into the crevice. “It’s getting dark. Might want to postpone the rest of this trip ’til daylight.”
“How long is the ride?” Harlan asked.
“Ten, fifteen minutes, I’d guess. Never really timed it.”
“And what are we walking into when we get down there?”
“Another trail. Five-minute ride around a couple outcroppings before we hit the cabin.”
Callie could see the wariness on Harlan’s face. They had no real reason to believe this man, and every reason to assume he was sending them straight into an ambush.
Landry sensed Harlan’s hesitation. “What’s the matter, Marshal? Don’t you trust me?”
“We trusted you to draw us a map,” Harlan said. “And look where that got us.”
“That was before you so kindly reminded me how much I value my life.” He gestured to his nose. “And my extremities.”
“Doesn’t help that you threaten to kill us every chance you get. And tried a few times.”
“All true, but you’re a man and you know how it is. Gotta put up a good front, make sure your opponent knows you ain’t no pushover. Especially in front of a lady. But after this long ride, I’ve seen the error of my ways.”
“Not if you think I swallowed a single word you just said.”
Landry snorted. “Good one. I like that.” He looked out at the sky. “But the more we jaw, the closer it gets to sundown. So what’s it gonna be, Marshal? Yay or nay?”
Harlan looked down at the canyon, then up again at Callie. “What do you think, Cal? Think we should trust this creep?”
“We don’t have much choice. It’s about the only thing we can do at this point.”
“Now you see there? That’s a smart girl,” Landry said. “It’s all that Pritchard blood running through her. Even if it is watered down a bit.”
Callie swiveled her head. “You’re gonna want to knock that off right now.”
“You know, you remind me of your mother. She and I used to smoke cigarettes back of the band building at school. Did a little necking now and then, too, although I never did get past second base with her.”
<
br /> Now Harlan chimed in. “Stow it, Bickham.”
But Landry wasn’t listening. “One day she up and tells me all about her little love affair with Jonah Pritchard. Says he may be older, but he’s the kindest, most giving lover she’s ever—”
“All right,” Callie said, turning to Harlan. “Either we tie this weasel to a tree and leave him up here, or I’m gonna be forced to use my firearm.”
“I opt for the firearm,” Harlan said, and he didn’t sound as if he was joking.
Landry took a look at their faces. “Now wait just a minute.”
“What do you say we let fate decide?” Callie said, then climbed off her horse and gestured. “If I find rope in this saddlebag, then that’s that. But if it’s empty, I’ll take that as a sign I need to empty my gun, too.”
Harlan nodded. “Works for me.”
“Now hold on,” Landry said, his gaze going straight to the saddlebag. “This ain’t funny. You want me to shut up, I’ll shut up. I was just havin’ a laugh.”
“Too late,” Harlan said. “You played your last card and it was a joker.”
Callie reached for the saddlebag in question and unfastened the flap. Flipping it open, she shoved a hand inside and pulled out a coil of rope.
“Lucky you,” she said. “I guess that joker was wild.”
Landry’s entire body went slack. He looked relieved but defeated. She was pleased to see that all the fight had drained out of him.
Of course she’d known there would be rope inside. She had put it there before they’d left Pritchard Ranch, and Harlan had seen her do it. But if Landry could mess with people’s heads, so could she. And she almost felt ashamed by the amount of pleasure it had given her.
Almost.
“Tree it is,” she said, then hefted the rope. “Although this might make a pretty good noose.”
Harlan nodded again. “That works, too.”
“You people are just flat-out cruel and sadistic.”
Callie smiled. “That’s not it at all, Landry. We just don’t like you.”
Five minutes later they had him cuffed, gagged and tied to a tree, with a promise that they’d do their best not to forget about him.
The look on Landry’s face was one that Callie knew she would cherish for many years to come.
Chapter Nineteen
They decided to enter the canyon on foot.
Despite the growing darkness they knew that their horses were a visual target, and if anyone should be waiting for them, the potential of being spotted was much too high.
Besides, navigating such a treacherous trail in the dark on horseback wasn’t exactly a wise move. As much as Callie loved the animals, she figured there was less risk of taking a tumble if she was traveling on her own two feet.
The trail was narrow enough that looking down into the canyon made her heart pound a little. It was a long drop, and a simple misstep could end in disaster.
She and Harlan moved quickly but carefully, using flashlights, but only turning them on when they absolutely had to. It wouldn’t do to have Billy Boy or Meg or Creep Number Three see bobbing lights on the mountainside and sound the alarm.
Callie said, “We better hope Landry doesn’t get loose up there.”
“Are you kidding me? He’d need the intervention of the Almighty to do it. And I’d rather risk that than risk him giving us away.”
“I was just making noise, but I have to tell you, a part of me really did want to shoot him.”
“I don’t blame you,” Harlan said, “all that garbage he was spewing about your mother?”
“You think he was telling the truth?”
“Based on what little I know about Landry Bickham, I’d say that he and the truth have been strangers for a very long time.”
“Maybe so, but he sure got me wondering.”
“Tell me this,” Harlan said. “Does it really make a difference? Father, grandfather, either way Jonah Pritchard is dead, and when he was alive he didn’t want to have anything to do with you. If it were me, I’d wash my hands of the whole thing.”
“I keep thinking about my mother. Nana Jean has always painted this rosy picture of her and if she had anything to do with Riley killing himself—”
“You’ll tie yourself up in knots if you start thinking like that.” He took hold of her wrist and they stopped. “But maybe there’s a lesson in this. One we can both benefit from.”
“What do you mean?” Callie asked.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to believe what people tell us. They embellish, they exaggerate and sometimes they flat-out lie. And everything is filtered through their own experiences, their own prejudices.”
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about my mother?”
“Because you aren’t a stupid woman,” Harlan said. “I know this isn’t the time to be getting into this, but once we’re done here, I’d like you to do me a favor.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’d like you to sit down with me and let me tell you what happened the night Treacher died. Treacher getting drunk, Nicole, the whole nine yards. And I’m talking about the truth, not a bunch of so-called eyewitness accounts by people who could barely stand up straight.”
Callie instantly felt the walls going up—the way they always did when she was confronted by that night. But when she thought about all the shouting and the crying that she and Harlan had done in the aftermath, all the accusations, she realized she never really had given him his say. Not without a knee-jerk reaction to every other word he spoke.
She had closed him out without apology. She knew that now, and there was no excuse for it. She’d paid dearly these past ten years because of it.
It occurred to her that being so deeply in love with someone was a double-edged sword. There was the joy, the exhilaration, but there was also the fear, the insecurity, the jealousy and anger—all of which stemmed not from the relationship itself, but from a personal lack of self-confidence. The inability to believe that someone can love as much as he is loved back.
The key, she realized, was trust and communication. Listen to each other and don’t jump to conclusions, no matter what someone outside that relationship might say.
Callie knew she owed Harlan his chance to explain. And even if that explanation didn’t live up to scrutiny, at least she could take comfort in knowing that she’d been fair with him. This time.
As they stood there in the middle of that narrow trail, Harlan’s hand on her wrist, the darkness gathered around them, she reached up with her free hand and touched his jaw, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
“It’s the least I can do,” she said.
Then he turned his head toward her, put his mouth on hers and gave her a real kiss, before moving past her and continuing on down the trail.
And as Callie watched him, she once again thought about her trembling thighs and knew that what she felt in them had nothing to do with the ride.
LANDRY BICKHAM COULDN’T help laughing.
All his life everyone had looked at him as dumb old Landry, the boy who never could. There may have been some truth to that in school where he’d always had trouble paying attention, but for every ounce of book learning he lacked, he’d earned a pound of street smarts. And he knew a man couldn’t get through this life without a fair bit of improvisation.
As incongruous as it might seem—considering he was a sunbaked old ranch hand—unlike Jonah, Landry had never been a big fan of outlaws. Landry’s hero, believe or not, was a little Hungarian-born fella called Eric Weisz, otherwise known as Harry Houdini.
If you were to sift through the rubble of the Pritchard home and work your way down to the basement where Landry kept a bedroom, you’d find the charred remains of his Houdini collection. Half a dozen biographies, several how-to books, and even a couple of old silent movies the magician had made to capitalize on his popularity.
It killed Landry to know they were all gone now, but such is life, and they’d be easy en
ough to replace.
Landry had performed a few card tricks in his time, but he’d never found much fun in it. Oh, he could hold his own in the sleight-of-hand department, but it didn’t interest him all that much, unless he could find a way to get something out of it.
His true skill had always been knowing how to read people. To figure out how to manipulate and misdirect them, just like any good magician. He may not have been big on fancy card moves, but he could win a pot with a smile and a wink, or get a woman to lie down with him with a few simple words, or make a self-possessed old coot like Jonah Pritchard think he was running the show.
It sometimes took a fair amount of improvisation, but like Harry Houdini, Landry was good on his feet. He could control a conversation and make a couple of lightweights like Callie Glass and U.S. Deputy Marshal Cole react pretty much the way he wanted them, too.
Once they’d caught him in the woods, he’d known full well that if he pushed them hard enough, they would do exactly what they’d done. Leave him alone up here while they went off to perform their so-called duty. Such as it was.
He had gotten a kick out watching little Callie play her game with him. She was a tough gal when she needed to be—everybody knew that—but she’d never been the type to up and shoot someone just because he’d rattled her cage a bit. It had been fun watching her, however, and he felt a tiny chuckle coming on just thinking about it.
Misdirection and manipulation. Controlling the dialogue and knowing how to get people looking at your left hand when they should be watching the right. Which is why, as Marshal Cole slapped these cuffs on one wrist, Landry was busy using his free hand to pick the Marshal’s pocket.
Quickly, deftly and accurately.
And by the time the cuffs were snapped shut behind him, Landry had clipped the key between his fingers in a way that would make his hands look empty. It was a trick old Harry used to do before they locked him in a trunk and dumped him in the river. Or turned him upside down and stuck him in a tank full of water.
Ropes and knots had never been a challenge for Landry, so once the cuffs were off, everything else was gravy. And five minutes after they’d left him behind, he was on his feet and headed for the trail.
A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews Page 12