Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  “When did you get the news, Sarah?”

  “Shortly after Roy called Dad. It was horrible. Mom screamed and sobbed. I cried, wrapping myself into a little ball in the corner of the kitchen, feeling so guilty that I couldn’t save my little sister.”

  Dawson smoothed his other hand over the back of the one he held. “That wasn’t your fault. You were badly hurt trying to save her, Sarah.” He saw her lift her head, her eyes wounded holes of grief.

  “I was her big sister. My parents said I was always to take care of her. It was my duty to do that and I failed.”

  He continued to stroke her hand, seeing it gave her a small amount of relief. “We’ll talk about that later. Did they capture Elson?”

  “Yes, a week later.” She lifted her hand. “He escaped up into the Salt River Range. My dad had the best trackers in Wyoming working with him to find the bastard. And they did.”

  “In the meantime, your family was burying a daughter,” he rasped, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” she uttered wearily. “It was a nightmare for all of us.”

  “And you were only nine? A child. It must have seemed surreal to you.”

  She tilted her head and gave him a long, searching look. “Why . . . yes, that’s exactly how I felt. It was as if I were living in a nightmare that would never end. My parents were grief-stricken. I’ve never seen my mom cry so hard, so long and so much in my entire life. I can see the wounds it left in both of them to this day. That’s something you never forget, when a child dies. You take it to your grave. . . .”

  “And you suffered equally,” he counseled gently. Sarah was trying to distance herself from it, and Dawson understood. “Who took care of you during that chaotic time?”

  “Gertie and Nell were with my mom and me the entire time. They cooked for us, held us, listened to us when we needed to talk or cry, kept the house going. Dad was away for all but the hours of Lane’s funeral. He was out hunting Jethro with a vengeance.”

  “Probably wanted to kill the sick bastard.”

  “I’m sure. He’s never spoken or opened up about Lane’s death since it happened.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Shortly after Jethro was caught and taken to jail, charged with kidnapping, rape and second-degree murder, she had a nervous breakdown.” Giving a painful shrug, she choked out, “Who could blame her? Lane was . . . well . . . the opposite of me. She was like a sunbeam lighting up everyone’s life. She made people smile and laugh. She loved all things, animals, insects . . . everything. I was the serious one. I didn’t have that effect on my parents or people around me.”

  “Because you were given the responsibility as the oldest, that’s why.”

  Looking away, Sarah said, “I’ve turned this whole event over and over in my mind ten thousand times. I look at it daily. As I grew older, I’d look at it a little differently, and when I was mature, I realized the incredible destructive impact Lane’s death had on all of us.” She pressed her hand to her breast. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t remember her, remember something she said, visualize her, all her expressions, what she loved to do . . .”

  “It will always be that way,” he said, squeezing her hand a little more, wanting to feed her something other than grief and sadness.

  “Yes, it will. Sometimes I see a purple dress in the dressmaker’s shop, and I think of Lane. That was her favorite color: a reddish violet color. Or I’ll see a child go down that very same alley on a bike, and I get slammed with what happened that day to Lane.”

  “There’s probably a lot of things that bring it all back to you. Much like our PTSD from having been in combat, seen our friends wounded or killed.”

  “Same thing,” she said grimly. Tears tracked down her wan cheeks. “I-I’m so tired of it all, Dawson. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, not even my dad, who has been a rock since Lane was murdered.”

  He released her hand and stood, moving closer to her, his hip meeting hers as he settled down, facing her. Lifting his hand, he cupped her damp cheek, holding her stormy green eyes. “I can see that. And now? You’re mired in Elson family drama once again.”

  She pressed her cheek into his roughened palm. “Yes.”

  “In a sick kind of way,” he murmured, more to himself than her, “it’s like payback. Jethro murdered your sister and now you killed his son. There’s irony in all this, Sarah, but damned if I know how to understand it.”

  He saw her eyes grow thoughtful. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “Now? Jethro is experiencing what your family went through years later.”

  “He’s in a maximum-security prison in Montana. I’m sure he’s been made aware of what happened.” She lifted her head and gave him a grateful look as his hand fell away. “I wonder if it’s hit my parents.”

  “I don’t know. But your getting shot and almost killed by Brian, I’ll bet that’s raised the specter of this deadly pattern between the two families. It can’t be lost on them. It certainly wasn’t on you.”

  “You’re right. I should call my parents, talk with them. But it’s so hard to bring Lane up to them. I tried when I was younger, and they would always deflect my questions about how they were feeling.”

  “I would guess because they were both working on their own grief and loss.”

  “I’m sure.” She frowned. “I don’t know if I should try to broach this with them. They’re reeling because I was wounded. I think they’ve had enough.”

  “They’d lost one daughter. And now? They almost lost their other daughter: you. I’m sure they’re hurting as much as you are right now.”

  “Yes, but they at least have each other to lean on, to cry in each other’s arms and hold each other at night when they feel so damned fragile, as if they’re going to break from the weight of all the emotions we carry since Lane’s death. I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” she said wearily. “Dad was shot at six times in the twenty years he was sheriff of this county but never received a wound, thank God. I saw something important leave him when Lane was murdered. He wasn’t the same man ever again. Even at nine years old, I saw it, though I didn’t understand it for a long, long time. And every time Dad was in a situation where his vest saved his life, I watched another little piece of my mom die. It was as if his being in law enforcement was draining the life out of her.” She rubbed her eyes. “Now I was nearly killed. It has to be brutal for my folks, Dawson. And I don’t know what to do to help them, comfort them.”

  “First, you have to care for yourself, not them. That will come later.”

  “With the Elson boys threatening revenge? It’s sent my parents into a whole new world where they aren’t sure if any of us will live or die. My dad knows the Elsons, know what they’re capable of doing. I know he talked to my mom about leaving town until this is settled, to visit her sister in Arizona, but she refused to leave. She’s become a fighter.”

  “Like her daughter.”

  “Right now? I feel like a doll filled with sawdust for stuffing. I don’t feel strong or confident like I used to, Dawson. I know in part it’s due to almost dying. I’ve seen military friends go through something similar.”

  “It’s a process,” he agreed. Getting up, he picked up the glass of water on the bed stand, handing it to her. She’d cried enough tears to dehydrate herself. He was heartened when she took the glass, draining it.

  “I think you’re a mind reader,” she said, wiping her lips.

  “Me? Oh, no. If I was? I wouldn’t have made so many damn serious mistakes in my life, so don’t put me on any pedestal, okay?” and he smiled a bit at her, seeing a slight flush to her cheeks.

  “Yeah, none of us need a pedestal to stand on.”

  Silence settled over the room, except for the panting of King, who sat near his feet, all his attention devoted to Sarah. He, too, could feel how fragile she was. Dawson wished he had more experience, maybe a true mind-reading ability, to get inside her head and know exactly whe
re she was. He was afraid to ask too many questions precisely because of the delicacy he felt around her.

  “You said you’ve never talked to anyone like this since Lane’s passing?”

  “I tried talking to my parents. I was desperate to talk; I had so much fear, anger and grief inside me.” Her voice grew hoarse. “At nine? You don’t realize much. Now? I realize my parents were so devastated by what had happened to Lane they didn’t have the strength to help me, too.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The grannies would take me for a day, usually on weekends because of school. Gertie was always trying to get me to talk about the experience, but I couldn’t do it. One thing I did ask her one day was why it had happened.”

  “Did she have an answer?”

  “No. She said everything was in another’s hands, far outside the reach and understanding of we humans. Gertie is very spiritual. From her perspective, things happen for a reason, even though we’ll probably never know why until we start to die, and our life runs before our eyes before we pass. Then we’ll have all the answers to our questions.”

  “Did her explanation comfort you?”

  “I was too young to appreciate her wisdom. I do now. But she held me, rocked me to sleep on nights when I’d wake up screaming from nightmares of Lane’s kidnapping.”

  “Was Nell able to help you through it, too?”

  “Grandma Nell is the soul of warmth and kindness. Her father was a Methodist minister, and she has a deep, deep faith. She helped me by kneeling with me at my bed, saying prayers before she tucked me into bed. She urged me to create prayers that came from my heart for Lane. That helped me a lot at the time.”

  “If anyone ever thinks grandparents aren’t important . . .” he agreed, emotion in his tone. “They each gave you a rock to cling to during that time.”

  Again, Sarah gave him a questioning look, opening her mouth to ask something but deciding against it.

  “How else can I help you, Sarah?”

  “What if I told you that all I wanted and needed right now was to be held?”

  His heart pulsed powerfully as he held her pleading gaze. “I can do that for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Better than a cup of hot tea,” and the corners of his mouth hooked upward as he saw a brief flitting of amusement come to her expression. He could feel just how tired she was. Now he understood why.

  “I’m going to lay down here,” she said, pulling her hand from his and smoothing her palm across the rumpled covers. “I just want to be held, but not tightly.”

  “Just keep talking and we’ll figure it out together.” His voice had grown deeper, all his emotions churning within him. Partly for Sarah; the rest, for himself. Looking at the clock on her bed stand, he said, “It’s 0400.”

  “I’m feeling it,” she said, slowly moving and settling on her back.

  Understanding that she couldn’t lay on either side because of the freshness of her leg wound, Dawson patiently waited until she seemed okay in the position she had taken. He wore a T-shirt and blue-and-white-striped pajama bottoms. At least he wasn’t seminaked; Sarah didn’t need to worry about him in that way. Sure, he wanted her. But he wanted a woman to want him as much as he wanted her. Nothing less would do. He’d learned well from his past. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” she said, pulling the covers aside. “I’m nervous, though,” she admitted, her gaze flitting to his.

  “Me too,” he teased. “Keep talking to me as I settle in?” The mistake he’d made in his first marriage was not communicating. It had been a brutally hard lesson, one Dawson wasn’t about to repeat. He slid in beside her, on the right side, and pulled up the covers. There were several pillows on the bed and he took one, shaping it with his hand. He made sure there was at least six inches between them. “I’m going to slide my arm beneath your neck. Okay?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Sure would be nice. But he kept that to himself as he eased his arm beneath her neck. Already, he could inhale her scent, that sweetness combined with whatever she washed her hair with. He saw her lashes drop as he laid down, his arm beneath her neck, curving lightly around her shoulder. All the tension she was holding seemed to dissolve with his contact. Damn, it felt so good to be with her in a bed, something he’d dreamed of ever since meeting her. Right now, Sarah was hurting deeply for so many reasons. “Okay?” he asked huskily.

  “Yes, wonderful.... Thank you, Dawson. . . . I trust you . . .”

  Her words were slurring, and he realized just how exhausted she really was. “Go to sleep,” he urged, his chest barely touching her right shoulder. Closing his own eyes, he released a held breath, his senses taking over, washing through him on every level. Feeling the natural heat of her body beneath that colorful summer nightgown, he could feel his body responding to her. Suppressing any sexual desire for her was impossible. He was glad there was some distance between them. The last thing Dawson wanted was for her to become aware of his sexual need for her as well.

  Soon, he could hear her breath shallowing out, slowing, and felt the muscles in her neck relaxing. Her scent was intoxicating to him, exciting him and yet, he reined in his desire. Dawson had learned from the tragedy of his marriage that love was more than just about sex or lust. Sure, it was a part of it, especially the first year or two. But then it began to take a secondary place to other ways of showing his partner, his wife, that he loved her. Things like this: holding a woman, cradling her, feeding her a sense of his nearness, strength and calm, among so many others being shared right now.

  His mind refused to settle down. How hard it must have been when Brian, Jethro’s son, had come after her. Just as his father had murdered Lane. My God, what kind of sick pattern was at play here? Lane and Sarah were the innocent lambs in this sordid drama. Lambs led to slaughter by the violent, dysfunctional Elson family. Allowing all that to sink in, Dawson began to realize just how much danger Sarah remained in. Which one of the brothers would seek revenge? All of them? He had no knowledge of them himself.

  It made him furious that Sarah and her family were once again being subjected to the Elsons’ murderous ways. They were all sociopaths as far as he was concerned, and he’d treat them in that light. It made them capable of being predatory hunters of Sarah and relentless about their revenge. He kept his right arm lying along the line of his body, but how badly he wanted to lift and curve it around her hip, hold her close.

  Sarah knew from the get-go just how much danger she was in, and Dawson now understood completely why she’d wanted to remove her family from their gun sights. She knew better than anyone to what lengths the Elsons would go to get what they wanted. He wondered how long Jethro had lusted after Lane. Probably a long time, would be his guess. The old man knew they went down a particular alley on their way home from school. He knew exactly where to entrap them, to grab Lane without anyone seeing it happen. Worse, he knew in his gut that when Jethro struck Sarah full force in the face with his fist, he’d wanted to kill her. He probably thought he had because he’d have heard the crunch of bones breaking in her nose and cheek.

  That bothered Dawson deeply; if Jethro had realized Sarah wasn’t lying dead on the ground, he’d have continued to pummel her until she was. He wouldn’t want any survivor to name him. It was a nest of predators they were dealing with. The Elsons reminded him of the vengeful Taliban at its worst, wiping out any Afghan village that refused to go along with them. The enemy would amass enough soldiers to break down the gate, get inside the mud walls of the village and kill every man and woman. They’d take the children across the Pakistan border and sell them as sex slaves to the highest bidder.

  Now, he couldn’t sleep. At all. It was imperative he make this cabin a lot safer. Before Sarah’s admission, he’d done some recon in protecting the outer area. But now? No fucking way was Dawson going to allow any Elson to sneak up on them. He’d go out tomorrow to buy motion sensor equipment, not caring how much it cost. And if he couldn�
��t cover the expense of a tight security system? Well, he’d go to Gertie and explain it. Dawson knew she would cover the expenses without question.

  The Teton County commander, Tom Franks, had already loaned deputies to follow the three Elson boys. Dawson had a sneaking suspicion Franks knew all about the kidnapping and murder of Lane; that was probably why he’d been so generous. Things were clearer for him now. As a recon Marine, he knew how to assess any land for its strengths and weaknesses. He could create an unbroken system at least half a mile from the cabin that would alert them of an intruder breaking through the invisible lines, giving them time to prepare for an attack.

  The next thing he had to do was get the assistant commander, Cade Jameson, to give him all the intel on the Elsons. He knew he’d do it. The more Dawson knew about them, the better he could anticipate what kind of attack they might spring on them. The Taliban had an MO; he’d learned it quickly, and that had saved his life many times. But it had also helped him see where and when he could set up an attack among the groups, like the shadow he’d become, and take them out. The more he knew, the better. He knew Sarah wasn’t ready to go there. She was just trying to survive the first couple of weeks after getting shot. Never mind she’d killed Brian. Even though he was scum, he knew no one in law enforcement wanted to pull a trigger unless it was absolutely necessary.

  His heart turned to Sarah. She was sleeping deeply now, her breath shallow and slow. She was relaxed, and he felt good about that. Surprised that she’d asked him to sleep at her side, he smiled a little to himself. Sarah might be going through a helluva lot right now, but she was no wilting lily. It took a set of cojones to ask him for something like this. Yes, this woman was a real warrior, an equal, and she saw him as being trustworthy. That made his heart soar. Trust, he knew from the loss of his marriage, either was there or it wasn’t.

  Tiredness drizzled through him. It had been a rough day. And a rougher night, mostly for Sarah. Her nearness fed him, allowing him to relax to a point. They had King, who would be their alarm should he hear anything out of the ordinary. There was a pistol in his bed-stand drawer, a bullet in the chamber, the safety on. He had gone years with a pistol that had no safety on it, a SEAL weapon, and he was used to having one around. Sarah wasn’t and didn’t like the idea of the safety being off, and he honored her request. Dawson had no qualms about defending themselves. It was just a question of how many of the Elsons were coming.