Lone Rider

by Lindsay McKenna

  Wincing, Tara muttered, “Him. I was afraid this was about him. Damn.” She saw Sarah’s green eyes soften with sympathy.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “When I heard from your father, who I’m always running into over at the courthouse, that you were home, he asked me to get involved in your kidnapping case. A snitch who works with Cade, my assistant sheriff, told him Cree was talking about you after he found out you were back. This snitch works for us; used to be a druggie but is clean now. When Cade sat down to interview him about Elson, who works up at a restaurant in Jackson Hole, I got called in on it. The reason I’m here is to ask you to take out a restraining order against him. I wanted to meet with you, find out what you wanted to do about him, if anything. The only thing I can offer you is the restraining order. It will put him on warning not to approach you.”

  Moving uncomfortably, Tara said, “Do I really need one?”

  “I’m trying to assess the situation, figure out if there’s still a threat toward you from Elson. My gut is screaming at me to get this restraining order enforced.”

  “What does your dad think?” she asked. “Because my father admires and respects him. He’s worked on many cases involving people here and I’d like to know his thoughts.”

  “I did discuss it with my dad and he thinks there’s good reason to go forward with the restraining order.” She pushed the papers toward Tara. “Based on his knowledge and my going over your kidnapping case, I agree with him. Elson works fifty miles north of us, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t come to visit his mother or hang around with his three brothers when he’s got time on his hands.”

  Stomach tightening, feeling as if an invisible hand were gripping it, Tara studied the restraining order form. “My parents haven’t spoken to me about this yet. Was my dad in favor of it after finding out the details?”

  “I talked to your parents abonnt it last night. Given that your father’s a judge in this county and that my office works daily with him, I wanted his advice. We talked about it, and he felt I should be the one to discuss this with you. It’s more of a formality, but it’s an important one in the chain of events on something like this, should Cree ever try to approach you again. The i’s have to be dotted and the t’s crossed. I have no problem throwing his ass back into prison because you need to feel safe here, Tara.”

  “So, my dad thinks a restraining order should be in place?”

  Sarah nodded, watching her. “It makes sense under the circumstances. Elson threatened you as he walked out of the courtroom after being convicted and being sent to prison for ten years for your kidnapping. He’s been out for a year on parole.”

  “I haven’t really asked my dad about him because, frankly, out of sight, out of mind with that crazy bastard. I guess I didn’t want to know. I’m still hiding.”

  Mouth quirking, Sarah said, “I’m in close contact with Commander Tom Franks of the Teton sheriff’s department in Jackson Hole. They know Elson is part of a gang in that area that sells drugs on the side. He’s got a part-time job as a dishwasher at the Red Pickup Saloon in town. So far, they haven’t been able to find him with drugs or selling them, but we know he’s doing it. But he hasn’t tested positive for drug use.”

  “Is he selling drugs somewhere else in Lincoln County, Sarah?”

  “We know Hiram, Kaen and Elisha are. But they also work with a drug lord from Central America, too. Often, they’re out of state, and we don’t have the manpower Teton County has to follow them around to prove it. This is one of the poorest counties in Wyoming, so my budget can’t be stretched as much as I’d like.”

  “What’s your gut say?” she asked, feeling her hands tighten painfully into fists.

  “That Cree sells his nickel bags where and whenever he can. We’ve got a major Guatemala drug cartel in Wyoming that’s trying to gain traction locally. We don’t know if Elson is part of a bigger drug dealer scene or not. We know his three brothers are involved.”

  Making a muffled sound, Tara slid her hands around the mug of coffee. She had grown up with Sarah Carter. She was a no-nonsense kind of person but had a kindness to her, too. “His mother, Roberta, is the county gossip. What’s she saying?”

  Smiling a little, Sarah said, “Not much on that account. On everyone else? Any dirt she can find, she’s spewing like the toxic person she is and will tell anyone who stands and listens to her nasty tales.”

  “Like mother, like sons,” Tara muttered. “Nothing’s changed since I left at eighteen.”

  “No, same players, same scumbags, same upstanding citizens. The canvas hasn’t really changed much, except that we have a lot of military vets coming home to work in the county.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Tara said.

  “I think so. I was in the Marine Corps from eighteen until I was twenty-two. After I left, I got a job with the Teton sheriff’s department, where I cut my teeth on civilian law and got to know the lay of the land in western Wyoming. That’s why Tom Franks and I are so close. I worked under him.”

  “And then you ran for sheriff here when your father said he was retiring?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking at the restraining order form, Tara asked, “Do you think by serving Cree with this that he might focus on me even more? If he’s focused at all?”

  “That’s a question I wish I could answer, Tara, but I can’t. What I’m trying to do is put legal protection in place for you. I don’t want Elson coming into my county causing problems. He’s mentally ill, unpredictable, and everyone knows it, but no one can do anything about it. He’s not allowed to have a gun. He’s been in bar fights in Teton County. I just don’t want him bringing it all here. If I can nip it in the bud and give you some protection, I’d like to do it. What do you think?”

  Tara nodded, looking at the demands on the restraining order. “We both know it’s a worthless piece of paper if Elson doesn’t want to obey it.”

  “I know that. But at least we’ll have legal documents on record should he attempt to bother you after I serve it to him. Then? I can arrest him.”

  Rubbing her face, Tara muttered, “I hate this. I knew coming home would stir up this crap, Sarah.”

  Sadly, Sarah nodded. “It has to be hard on you. I can’t imagine how you feel, your worry that he’ll start stalking you again, watching you, as he did when you were sixteen.”

  Rubbing her arms, Tara said, “Exactly.”

  “But you’re not sixteen. You’re twenty-seven now, mature, far more savvy than before. You were in the military, so you know how to defend yourself. Have you gotten a concealed gun license yet?”

  “No, I haven’t. Shay said all the wranglers on the Bar C have them, and that I should carry, too. I just got here, so I haven’t made it a priority yet.”

  “I think it would be a good idea,” Sarah said. “Do you want to sign the order?” and she motioned toward the papers beneath Tara’s hands.

  “I guess. What are you going to do then?”

  Sara finished off her coffee and sat up. “Once I get the Clerk of Courts and everyone who has to sign it taken care of, I’ll pay Elson a visit up in Jackson Hole. Tom will work with me on that. They’d like nothing better than to get rid of Elson because they know he’s dealing. There’s a huge effort to get that Guatemala drug ring out of there, but it’s been slow going. The FBI are finally going to send some agents and money our way to try to run the bastard out of our state.”

  “Not the Wyoming I knew growing up,” Tara said, regret in her tone. Sarah had provided a pen along with the order and she picked it up, signing the papers with a trembling hand. “Is there anything I need to do—tell Shay or anyone else here on the ranch?”

  “Once I get you a copy of the signed restraining order, I’ll inform Shay. I’ll ask the Clerk of Courts to send her a copy because you’re living on her ranch. I know she holds a Friday-night meeting with Libby Hilbert, which is two days from now. I’ll make sure she has a copy of it, as well as you. Let everyone know on Friday.
The more eyes we have on you when you go to town or leave the ranch property, the better off you’ll be.”

  Pushing the papers toward Sarah, she muttered, “I feel like I’m in prison. I’m going to have to be watching over my shoulder, remain alert. Like I did when I was rescued from Cree.”

  Sarah folded the papers and tucked them into her briefcase. “Look at it this way: You were in the military. Your dad told me you were black ops and saw combat. You can use your PTSD to remain alert. That can help you in a perverse way under these circumstances.” She pushed the chair back and stood. “If you need help,” she pulled a business card from her pocket, handing it to Tara, “call me. I’ll have my department up to speed on Elson and this restraining order ready to go by tomorrow morning.”

  “Do you think he’ll try to hurt me?” Her stomach ached with tension and she unconsciously rubbed that area of her body.

  “Elson knows the Teton sheriff’s department has him under their microscope. If he breaks the law, he’s going to spend a long time in a federal prison. I don’t think he wants to do anything to jeopardize his freedom.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tara whispered, shaking her head. “He’s obsessive, Sarah. Sick and obsessive.”

  “I know. All we can do is be watchful and alert. I’m hoping Elson will get nailed on drug charges up in Teton County. I don’t want him in our backyard. The only time he comes here is to visit his mother.”

  “How often is that?”

  “Maybe once or twice a month. I think he gives her some of his paycheck.”

  “Okay, good to know. Whether I like it or not, I’m going to have to adjust to my new reality,” she offered, standing.

  “I’ll be in touch with you. In the meantime, welcome home. I know your parents are really happy to have you back.” Sarah came over and gave her a quick hug.

  If only her PTSD wasn’t so bad … Looking at Sarah, she suspected she had the same symptoms. She just cloaked them better than Tara. “Thanks for everything you’re doing. I really appreciate it.”

  Sarah placed her hand on her shoulder. “Keep integrating into the Bar C. Let the other vets here help you, Tara. Shay has a tight group of wounded warriors here, and I know they’ll be like vigilant guard dogs. They may be able to take away some of your worry and concerns. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Four

  Cree Elson felt the rage building in his chest. It always happened when Cory, the manager of the Red Pickup Saloon, yelled at him.

  “Get those goddamned dishes washed! My waitresses are out of beer glasses out front! Get on it!”

  He worked at the rear of the saloon, enclosed, no windows, hot, humid, and he was sweating like a pig. He hated the manager, who was the son of the owner, Ed Blackwood. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm, dishes clashing and clanging as he pushed hard to get them all into the huge aluminum dishwasher. Fuck them all! He hated smug Cory, who was all of twenty-two, a snot-nosed brat who called on Dad if things didn’t go his way. Cree’s red hair clung to his brow as he grabbed a plastic crate that held a lot of dirty beer glasses. They were next into the washer.

  He hated this menial work. His mother was always railing against him to quit this crappy job and get something else. But who else would hire an ex-con? Not many, as he’d found out after getting out of prison. From the age of eighteen through twenty-eight, he’d been incarcerated. Another kind of hate, deeper and more malevolent, rose in him. As he slapped the beer glasses into another section of the dishwasher, not caring if he broke them or not, he pictured Tara Dalton’s face in his mind. He’d been eighteen when he’d tricked her into coming into a back room of the gym. From there, he’d grabbed her and dragged her outside to his beat-up old Ford pickup. He’d made a clean escape, heading for the Salt River Mountains, where he’d dreamed of building her a cabin and living with her.

  Unfortunately, the sheriff had caught up with him within a day of trying to hide in the mountains. Tara was a fighter and wouldn’t stop trying to escape, which flustered the hell out of him. Yes, he’d hit her in the face and split her lip. Yes, he’d broken her nose. The sheriff of Lincoln County at that time, David Carter, had tracked them down because there had been a late May snowfall and he’d been easy to find.

  When he’d caught up to him, the judge of the county, Tara’s father, Scott Dalton, had to recuse himself from the case. Cree had celebrated that, but the other judge, Jeb Parish, a white-haired crotchety old bastard, had handed him a ten-year prison sentence for abducting Tara.

  Scowling, he slammed the door on the machine, jabbing a button to get everything washed and cleaned.

  “Get out here!” Cory yelled from the open door. “Bus the tables, dammit! You’re lazy, Elson. Flat-out lazy! I got customers waiting for clean tables. You’re costing me money!”

  Cursing beneath his breath, Cree grabbed a huge green plastic tray and marched angrily toward the door, pinning Cory with a look he hoped would kill the little bastard on the spot.

  But it didn’t.

  Breathing hard, Cree knew if he retaliated, he’d get fired. What was worse? Working at a lawful job or selling drugs secretly on the side? It sure as hell netted him a lot more money than being yelled at by this mangy coyote of an asshole kid.

  At thirty years old, Cree felt a decade older than his age. Tonight, he’d meet up with some of his customers, pass drugs for money, then go back to the boardinghouse at the end of town. There, he shared the bottom floor with three other men around his age. Two of them were ex-cons, like him. The other, Billy Pike, just hadn’t been caught yet breaking the law. Cree could sell enough drugs to pay his rent and have some money left over to give to his mother. The dishwashing job gave him legitimate cover.

  He brushed past Cory, storming down the white-tiled hall. Out front there was blaring cowboy music, lots of laughter, hooting and hollering from the tourist patrons who were here to experience the so-called Wild West. The Red Pickup Saloon was known as the place where the action was. Cory paid some actors who pretended to be tourists to start a bar fight at least once a day, usually at happy hour, around four p.m. People would lift their cell phones, videotaping the exciting event. It was entertainment.

  What wasn’t funny was that the Teton sheriff’s department knew what was going on at the saloon and frequently dropped by to keep things quiet.

  It was late afternoon when Cree pushed through the swinging, bar-style wooden doors and toward the forty round wooden tables on one side of the saloon. It was filled with patrons. The mahogany, 1920s bar, which was the talk of the town, had leather saddles instead of stools, surrounding its U-shape. That was always a busy area, and one he didn’t have to be concerned about. About fifteen tables needed to be cleared, so he got to work.

  As he did, his red brows drew down and he glanced out the window of the saloon, and he saw someone he hated: Sheriff Sarah Carter herself, not one of her deputies, dropping in.

  What the hell!

  She was the sheriff of Lincoln County, not Teton County. He snorted and kept on clearing the table. She was five-foot-nine-inches tall, wearing her khaki uniform, that gun on her right hip. He hated women who were in charge of anything. They were supposed to be subservient to men. His mother had read it out of the Bible, which was his guidepost. Women were to serve men, not the other way around.

  Carter entered the saloon and nearly all heads turned her way. She took off her dark brown baseball cap, holding it in her left hand, coolly surveying the patrons. Cree almost snickered when Cory came bursting out of the hall, panic written on his face, afraid law enforcement was going to cause problems and his patrons would leave. He watched out of the corner of his eye, all the while continuing to clear tables. Elated that Cory was sweating as he hurried over to Sheriff Carter, Cree couldn’t help but lift his full lips into a wolf grin of delight. Cory was always afraid of a sheriff, whether it was Teton County’s or the one next to it, Lincoln, which Sarah Carter ran.

  He’d give anything to eavesd
rop on their conversation, but the music was too loud to hear anything. Within a minute, the patrons were back to drinking, talking and laughing as the sheriff stood near the entrance, speaking with Cory.

  Cree was careful. Because he had a criminal record, he could be searched at any time for drugs and weapons. He wouldn’t put it past Sarah Carter to do just that, although she never had before. But sometimes, the Teton’s deputies frisked him and gave him a hard time outside his workplace. Oh, they’d like to see him and the others in the boardinghouse out of this town. Cree knew they were considered druggies. Jackson Hole was a glamour spot in Wyoming, a Palm Springs in its own right, with lots of filthy-rich homeowners who looked down their noses at the working class.

  So? Why was Carter here? He rarely saw her, especially in another county, so that made him curious about what had brought her here. There was word on the street that there was an undercover FBI agent trying to break into the drug trade in this part of Wyoming. If there was, Cree certainly hadn’t run into the bastard. And if he did and found he was a plant? He knew what the Guatemala drug lord, Pablo Gonzalez, would do. That spy would be dead in a heartbeat, his body thrown into the forest, never to be found.

  Cree bought his drugs from Gonzalez but refused to be part of the ring. Not stupid, he was aware that the US government had its eye on the drug lord and was just waiting to take him down. No, he didn’t need that. He had to stay clean in the eyes of the law or else.

  His immediate threat was Sarah Carter, whose spring-colored green eyes narrowed speculatively on him when she lifted her head after talking to Cory. Instantly, Cree’s pulse rate shot up and he forced himself to look away, paying attention on cleaning the table in front of him. Shit! What did the bitch want with him? Glancing surreptitiously to the right, he saw her leave Cory’s side and come toward him. Mouth tightening, he stopped cleaning as she approached, wary about what she wanted. His heart started to beat harder. Carter had no enforcement capability in this county. It wasn’t hers to run. God knew, however, she had more than once visited his mother, asking about his alleged drug activity. His mother always rolled over and played the idiot all the townspeople thought she was. It was a ruse, of course, and they often laughed about it afterward.