Own the Night

by Debbi Rawlins

  When she was younger, Alana had thought often about how her life might’ve been different if she’d had a more traditional upbringing. She’d even considered inquiring about the man who’d fathered her. One particular time she’d been so furious with Eleanor for planning a Caribbean trip for them the weekend of the junior prom that she’d nearly asked her mother why she’d bothered having a child.

  But Alana hadn’t asked. Instead, she’d sneaked out of her room late that night. She’d made it only five blocks in their posh neighborhood when the police picked her up, assuming she was whacked out on drugs, given the way she was furiously muttering to herself. When they’d returned her home, Eleanor hadn’t raised her voice, not even an eyebrow. She’d merely opened the door, thanked the police in that cool, elegant voice of hers, while Alana raced up the stairs to her room.

  Until dawn she’d waited in agony for her bedroom door to open, for Eleanor to lash out at her. The lecture never came. She hadn’t been grounded, no privileges were taken away, and later, when they’d sat across the table from each other while the housekeeper served them breakfast, Eleanor had smiled that charming smile she’d perfected, and reviewed the itinerary of their Caribbean trip as if nothing had happened.

  It was then that Alana recognized the truth of their relationship. She’d finally understood her role. Eleanor hadn’t necessarily wanted a child; she’d needed a companion. Marriage had never even been considered. After all, what man could meet her expectations?

  But a child? Perfect, really, because it gave Eleanor the opportunity to mold Alana into someone who suited her mother’s preferences. Infuriatingly, the plan had worked far too well. For all Alana’s good intentions, she ended up bending to Eleanor’s will far too often.

  Alana blinked at the monitor when the unimaginative galaxy screen saver obliterated the picture of the Sundance Dude Ranch that had been there a second ago. She touched the mouse and recalled the website, her gaze sweeping from the beautiful Arabian to the cowboy straddling the animal. Hot guys. Right. What was Pam thinking? She knew Alana’s taste was more sophisticated than that, in clothes, in men….

  Although she had to admit these were some pretty nice specimens. She moved in for a closer look at their faces, but two of the cowboys had their hats pulled low. The third one had his brim tipped back and was very good-looking, but on the young side. They were the McAllister brothers, owners and operators along with their sister and mother, according to the blurb. The ranch had been in the family for several generations, but only recently had they opened their doors to paying guests.

  Alana had to smile. Yeah, she’d just bet the place was popular, especially with women looking for a vacation fling. Out of curiosity, she clicked on the descriptions of the activities offered and, impressed, started skimming the reviews.

  Just as she figured, the ranch was solidly endorsed, and so were the men. Some of the guests had included photos of their vacation, and Montana was undeniably beautiful country, with breathtaking views of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains, open meadows and storybook streams. Though the highlight for most of the reviewers had been—big surprise—the men who worked the ranch. A whole slew of photographs were dedicated to the brothers, the hired hands, the town’s sheriff….

  She peered closer. Yes, she could understand why some women might find Sheriff Calder appealing. Alana wasn’t one for a man in uniform, certainly not half a uniform. Along with his official tan shirt, he wore scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans—wore them quite well, in fact. But it was his strong, chiseled jaw that caught her fancy, even if his sun-streaked brown hair was a bit too long.

  Her phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text.

  She pulled open her drawer to check the display, though she knew who it was, and that she wasn’t about to answer.

  Eleanor’s message was brief. She’d be in a meeting for an hour, but needed to talk to her immediately after.

  Alana’s gaze moved back to her computer screen and the blue Montana sky. Outside her door she heard laughter. The mailroom staff had been assigned packing duty, and it sounded as if her office might be next on their list.

  Montana, huh? God, was she seriously considering this? Was the idea too crazy? She pushed her fingers through her hair, trying to recall when, exactly, she’d last been horseback riding. But a dude ranch?

  Hell, why not? She wasn’t allergic to fresh air. And she was getting tired of sailing in the Caribbean and visiting the Hamptons. Not that she ever had much leisure time.

  Who was she kidding? She felt like a teenager again, trying to ditch her mother. The thing was, she hadn’t really lied to Pam. Technically, Alana could say no to Eleanor, except the woman had a way of digging in her claws and making Alana feel guilty as hell. Sometimes it was just a look, a single word, a lift of a brow, and Alana was toast. She’d try not to give in. She’d call herself every kind of fool, because in all other aspects of her life she had a spine of steel.

  But when it came to her mom, the end result rarely varied. She’d beat herself up for being weak, throw in the reminder that Eleanor was a psychiatrist, for God’s sake, even without the power accorded all mothers to elevate or scar their children well into adulthood, if not for life. Alana would feel better for a few minutes, but then eventually give in and do what Eleanor wanted.

  Might as well wager on a dude ranch halfway across the country, on the off chance she’d actually have fun. Except no one could know, absolutely no one. Image was everything in Alana’s business. Hell, her client base consisted primarily of sophisticated trendsetters and Fortune 500 companies. No, she thought as she clicked on Reservations, not a single person could know. She wouldn’t even tell Pam.

  * * *

  NOAH CALDER STEPPED OUT OF HIS office and peered down Main Street. The Lemon sisters had finished decorating the Gazette’s window for Halloween, and moved on to hanging paper ghosts from the elm tree in the stamp-size park in the center of town.

  Normally, he would have gone home by now and left the evening shift to Roy. But it was Friday and the boys from the Circle K and the Double R had been paid earlier. Half of them would end up at the Watering Hole to shoot pool, get drunk, and mostly hang around hoping to get lucky with one of the women staying at the Sundance, who often ducked into the bar.

  In general the men behaved themselves, but Noah had promised Rachel McAllister that he’d keep an eye on her guests. Though to his way of thinking, it was the men who needed looking after. Most of the gals who’d been coming to town since the dude ranch opened weren’t the shy type. They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it.

  A couple of them had scared the hell out of him. Offering to buy him drinks, asking to take him to dinner or to go on moonlit rides… One bold young lady had asked if he’d take her somewhere to go skinny-dipping. And now even his deputies were giving him grief over it.

  He turned to look the other way and muttered an oath when he saw Avery Phelps bearing down on him.

  “You listen to me, Sheriff, and you listen good.” Flushed from spending too much time sidled up to Sadie’s bar, Avery shuffled down, shaking a scrawny fist in the air. “All this thievery business is on account of those McAllisters. And I ain’t the only one who wants to know what you’re gonna do about it.”

  Sighing, Noah shoved Avery’s fist out of his face. He was in no way threatening. In his prime, Avery might have topped off at five-seven, but age had him bent and bow-legged and a foot shorter than Noah. Even so, he knew the old man was harmless. Annoying as hell, generally belligerent, and probably lonely since his wife of fifty years had passed on three winters ago, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  Noah met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”

  His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.

  Hell, Noah didn’
t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

  “I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”

  For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.

  Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.

  Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.

  It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.

  “Look at ’em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the Salina Gazette’s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.

  “Quit pointing.”

  Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that dude ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids…their poor father is turning over in his grave.”

  Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”

  Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”

  The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”

  “Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.

  Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.

  The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.

  “What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.

  “Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.

  The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County was located south, clear down near the Idaho border. Sheriff Moran was old-school and had personally sent the fax.

  Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters…that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.

  Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.

  2

  “MY BAGS?” ALANA PROMPTED when the cabbie pulled his atrocious ancient noisy sedan to the curb and just sat there, gazing out the windshield in apparent admiration of the cheap Halloween decorations that heralded Main Street.

  “What? Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Harvey popped the trunk, then made no move to get out and retrieve her luggage. He simply relaxed against the cracked vinyl upholstery, his impressive paunch testing the buttons of his plaid flannel shirt. “Easiest money I ever made. You gonna need a ride back to the airport later?”

  “God, I hope not,” she muttered, and dug in her purse for her wallet.

  “What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.

  “Your muffler,” she said louder. “It needs replacing.”

  He just grinned and nodded.

  Guess she was getting her own bag. At least it wasn’t terrifically heavy. She sighed and passed him the fee she’d negotiated for him to drive her the hour and a half to Blackfoot Falls. To be fair, the man wasn’t really a cab driver. She’d arrived at the tiny airport to find one car rental counter, and that was it. Since she didn’t have a driver’s license she supposed she was lucky to have gotten a ride from the rental agent’s brother-in-law.

  She climbed out of the car and yanked her bag from the trunk, setting it on its wheels before grabbing her carry-on and laptop, which she nested on top of the bag, anchoring everything securely to the pop-up handle. Normally, she was good at packing. But the last-minute trip and the mad dash to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch her plane had resulted in her purse ending up a catch-all that weighed heavily on her shoulder.

  Alana watched Harvey make a U-turn, then sputter down the highway, tufts of disgusting black exhaust in his wake. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her arrival in the awful car, although she’d been careful to have him drop her off at the edge of town. He wasn’t familiar with the Sundance, but she figured that as long as he got her to Blackfoot Falls, that was good enough. She just hoped there was someone around who could give her directions. The place looked deserted.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down the front of her jacket while searching for signs of life. Farther down the street there were several cars parked in front of storefronts, but the place was ungodly quiet for…she checked her watch, did a quick calculation and set the Rolex back to four-thirty, local time.

  It wasn’t exactly the dinner hour, so where was everyone? Main Street looked to be about five blocks long, though surprisingly wide, with a small square of grassy semigreen in the middle, its centerpiece a huge tree with most of the leaves gone or faded to autumn-yellow. From the bare branches hung paper ghosts fluttering in the brisk breeze.

  Not a single stop sign was in sight and definitely no traffic lights, even though there seemed to be a couple of residential side streets. Closest to her was a gas station, then a gun shop, and next to it a hardware store. Across the street was a video rental place and a pawn shop with a sign indicating the owner was gone for a week.

  A number of stores stretched toward the far end of town, but Alana couldn’t make out what they were except perhaps for another gas station. Other than a banner strung between two streetlights announcing the annual fall festival, and the ubiquitous Halloween decorations, the town was rather nondescript. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of the shops had been abandoned, just like the old boarding house in back of her.

  Her purse slipped off her shoulder as she noticed a woman and child carrying packages and walkin
g toward a parked truck. As if a button had been pressed, the town seemed to spring to life. A pack of high-school-age kids started making themselves heard from down a long block. Three more pickups turned onto Main Street, one right behind the other, and a short, bowlegged man appeared on the sidewalk, headed in the opposite direction from her. Judging by his gait, Alana guessed he’d just left a bar.

  Hell, she wouldn’t mind a cosmo about now herself. She added her purse to the carefully stacked pile of bags, and then grabbed the suitcase handle and started walking, rolling her cargo behind her. By the time she’d made it a block, more people had shown up—a few in cars, but monster-size, dusty pickups appeared to be the vehicle of choice.

  The action was clearly centered on the other side of town, so she hadn’t received any curious looks yet. Although three women riding in a green sedan gave her a once-over as they passed. She watched them park and get out, and knew instantly by their tight, trendy clothes that they weren’t locals. Had to be guests from one of the dude ranches in the area.

  A few minutes later she got her first friendly wave from a man driving by in a white pickup with heavily tinted windows. Her pulse jumped when she saw the word Sheriff emblazoned in bold black letters on the door, but the driver wasn’t the hottie she’d seen in the review pictures. Nevertheless, she watched him pull to the curb, get out and cross the street, then disappear inside the sheriff’s office.

  The wheels of her suitcase caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and she turned to give it a tug over the bulging concrete. The rough jerk upset the balance and she nearly lost the case with her laptop. Alana exhaled in relief, made sure stability had been restored, and headed for the green sedan. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to catch a ride with the blondes. Otherwise, she could call the Sundance, ask someone there to send a car for her. Or better yet, why not ask the sheriff for information?