Big Sky Lawman

by Marilyn Pappano

  “That’s okay. You can sit on the chair, and I’ll sit on the steps.”

  Looking pleased with the idea, Homer led the way to the porch. Before sitting, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dusted the seat and each spindle of the rocker, then shook out the handkerchief, redepositing the dust on the seat, before tucking it back into his pocket. Then he sat.

  Sloan restrained a smile as he took a seat on the top step, turning so that he faced Homer. No one was sure how old the man was, Homer least of all. Somewhere in his seventies, Sloan guessed. If he stood straight, he’d be six-three, maybe six-five, but his shoulders were so stooped that he walked in a perpetual crouch. His hair was gray and thinning, and fell past his shoulders, and his beard, also gray and thinning, reached halfway down his chest. He lived in a uniform of overalls, flannel shirts and work boots. On a man about whom everything was unusual, those boots were the most unusual—a size fifteen at least. Homer’s feet made Sloan’s size elevens look damn near dainty in comparison.

  “Homer, do you know Christina Montgomery?”

  “Nope. Who is she?”

  “A young woman who lived in Whitehorn.”

  “You live in Whitehorn.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “I knew who she was.” From his jacket pocket, Sloan withdrew the photograph of Christina that every police officer, deputy, state trooper and BIA law officer had been given. It was a casual shot, snapped at a party six months before her disappearance.

  Homer took it and studied it for a long time, then asked, “Who is this?”

  “Christina Montgomery.”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You don’t remember seeing her around town? Mayor Montgomery’s daughter?”

  “I didn’t vote for the mayor. Don’t like politics. Say, did I tell you I had a run-in with an alien from outer space? Right out there.” He flung out one bony hand to point off into the woods. “Lessee now, it was back in September…or was that when the durned UFO zapped Kincaid’s cow? Yep, I b’lieve it was. Musta been August, right after them heavy rains. Walkin’ through the woods, I was, when all of a sudden, there it was. Had a big ol’ alien ray-gun and no hair and eyes… Lord, those eyes! They like to drove me mad just lookin’ at ’em. I saw it, and it saw me, and it tried to git me with its ray-gun—” he lunged forward, both hands lifted above and to the side as if clasping a bat or something similar, and then he sat back with a grin “—but Homer Gilmore ain’t nobody’s fool. I never been caught by no aliens yet, and I ain’t ever gonna be. Right fast I hightailed it outta there.”

  “About the woman, Homer…” Sloan began, feeling more than a little out of his depth.

  “It weren’t no woman. It were an alien. They don’t got male and female, y’know. Don’t need to. They can reproduce anyways. Pro’bly from Jupiter, it was. They’s pretty hostile up there. Not like the Martians or the Venusians.” Homer began rocking and shaking his head in perfect tempo. “Scared some gray into old Homer’s beard, it did. Yes, sir, it was one fierce sight.”

  With a sigh, Sloan got to his feet, took the photo from Homer and returned it to his pocket, then headed for his truck. When he looked back just before climbing in, the old man was still rocking, still talking. He didn’t have a clue Sloan was leaving and probably wouldn’t remember in five minutes that he’d ever been there.

  Which made his insistence that he didn’t know Christina pretty much worthless.

  Hell, how hard could it be to build a case against a crazy man? Even though it was doubtful that Homer would ever be ruled competent to stand trial, the D.A. very well might get him locked up in the state mental hospital for the rest of his life. That would kill an old man accustomed to his freedom like Homer.

  So he and Rafe would have to make sure it didn’t happen.

  He took the northern route back to the highway, then drove to the Stop-n-Swap. For the first time, he hoped Crystal was in the back working. This time it was Winona he wanted to talk to.

  He was in luck. There were no customers in the store, and Winona was alone behind the counter. She greeted him with a bright smile as she rose from her chair. “Why, Deputy Ravencrest, how nice to see you. Crystal’s in the back. You can go on back or I’ll call her up here.”

  “Actually, Miz Cobbs, I’m here to see you.” He gestured for her to sit again, and he leaned both elbows on the counter. “Tell me about Homer Gilmore.”

  “Is Homer in trouble? Oh, dear, that old fool hasn’t gone off and injured himself, has he?”

  “No, ma’am, he’s fine. I’m just looking for some information. Does he have any family?”

  “Not that I know of. He was married once, but his wife’s been dead…oh, forty years or more. No children, no siblings.”

  “Do you know where he came from?”

  She shook her head. “He was here when I moved here. He used to work back then, but his mind was starting to go. He’s lived the way he does now for about twenty-five years.”

  “Where does he get his money?”

  “Government checks. Handouts from generous neighbors. He pretty much takes care of himself, but people help him out. Why all the curiosity?”

  Sloan ignored her question. “Has he ever been in trouble? Ever bothered anybody, gotten into a fight, maybe threatened anyone?”

  “Good heavens, no! Homer is the dearest, sweetest man you’ll ever meet. He would never hurt a fly. Why, he takes strays home with him, feeds them and cleans them up and finds homes for them. He’s absolutely harmless. What is this about, Sloan Ravencrest?”

  He debated what to tell her, then settled on the truth. After all, she was Homer’s best friend. He might need her help. “Apparently there’s some speculation in town that Homer might be involved in Christina Montgomery’s disappearance.”

  Winona was speechless. Eyes and mouth open wide, she stared at him, took a deep breath to refute his statement, then simply stared instead.

  Then the moment passed, and she burst into speech. “Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard! You can’t possibly believe that! No one in their right mind could believe it! Homer is incapable of causing injury to another human being! I’d stake my life on it! Why, I—”

  “Whoa, Miz Cobbs. I don’t believe it. But the only way I know to keep the D.A. from looking to charge Homer is to prove that he’s innocent. That means finding out who’s guilty, and I don’t have a clue who that might be.”

  Winona’s gaze slowly shifted from him to the back room, then returned to him. He could read what she was thinking without the least bit of psychic power. He raised both hands to stop her. “No. I promised Crystal that I wouldn’t ask for her help. I gave her my word.”

  “But if I ask, you won’t have to.”

  “No. Besides, she’s told me everything she knows, and it didn’t help.”

  “Didn’t help? You found the clearing where Christina almost surely had her baby.”

  “And with absolutely no evidence to prove that she ever set foot there.”

  “Well, that’s not Crystal’s fault, and it’s hardly a reason to allow poor Homer to be railroaded.” Swiftly her expression changed from indignation to pure distress. “Oh, Sloan, if they lock him up, he’ll waste away. He’ll absolutely die in jail!”

  “He won’t go to jail, Miz Cobbs.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, then finally said, “Because he’ll wind up at Warm Springs long before he’ll see the inside of a jail.”

  “The mental hospital?” She sounded shocked and scandalized. “That can’t happen! I won’t allow it to happen, and you mustn’t, either! There’s got to be something you can do.”

  Sure. He could prove Christina was alive and well, or he could prove she was dead and find her killer. Those were his only choices. And his only help in proving either one was a crazy man who ran into aliens with ray-guns in the woods at night.

  “Miz Cobbs, do you hav
e a county map?”

  “I’ve got a state map back there in the corner.” Rising agilely from her chair, she rounded the counter and headed for the distant corner. “Picked it up in an estate sale over in Missoula. Used to belong to a college professor.” Bending, she hefted a heavy frame onto an old soda pop icebox and blew away a layer of dust.

  The map was over fifty years old, but not much in Blue River County had changed. Sloan leaned over it, following the thin line of a county road. “Homer lives about here, right?”

  Winona nodded.

  “And the clearing Crystal saw in her vision is…about here.” It was a greater distance than most people wanted to travel on foot at night, and across some rough terrain, but Homer Gilmore wasn’t most people. He knew the county better than anyone, and had been crisscrossing it day and night, good weather and bad, for years.

  “You’re not suggesting…” Winona trailed off when he glanced at her.

  “Homer said that one night back in August, right after those heavy rains, he had a run-in with an alien in these woods.” He tapped the map between the other two points he’d marked. “Christina disappeared right after those heavy rains, and the last place we can put her is this clearing.”

  “Do you think Christina was the alien?”

  “Maybe. More likely, the person who killed her was. He said the alien threatened him, but he got away. Christina would have no reason to threaten him.”

  “But her murderer would.”

  He studied the map a moment longer, then pressed a kiss to Winona’s forehead. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “We’re practically family, Sloan,” she said with a girlish laugh. “You can call me by my name.”

  “I’d like that, Winona. I believe I’ll go say hello to your niece before I head back out to work.”

  “I’ll stay here and see that you aren’t disturbed.” She gave him a wink as he walked away.

  When Sloan walked into the store room, music was playing on the radio behind Crystal’s desk, and she was keeping time with the sandpaper on a heavy oak bookcase. For a while he simply stood back and watched the flex of muscles as she sanded in long, sure strokes, the sway of her hips as she shifted from side to side, the movements of her fingers as she wiped away dust and tested her work.

  Someday she was going to touch him that way—and someday soon, or he’d go nuts. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, which was only fair, since he’d never loved a woman. He thought about her all the time and dreamed about her—and in most of those dreams, he was inside her, filling her, making her whimper and plead. Sweet hell, someday he would have her—sooner rather than later.

  Moving quietly, he sneaked up behind her, slid his arms around her and pulled her close. She didn’t even give a soft cry of surprise, but closed her eyes, leaned back against him and sighed quietly. “You knew I was there, huh?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

  “Hmm. I felt you.”

  “How did I feel?”

  “Fabulous.” She looked up at him then and smiled. It just about buckled his knees. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I was just passing by. Thought I’d stop in and see if I could steal a kiss from my sweetheart.”

  “I’d rather give you one.”

  “By all means, please do.” He released her, and she turned to face him, resting her hands on his upper arms. For a time that was all she did, besides turn a little pink and smile nervously before brushing her mouth across his in the most chaste of kisses. When she started to step back, he caught her and held her fast.

  “Uh-uh. No way. I have not fallen in love with a woman who could mistake that innocent little peck for a real kiss.”

  As she held his gaze evenly, he realized what he’d said. It wasn’t the most romantic of declarations, certainly not the scene he would have set or the words he would have chosen, but he wouldn’t call them back.

  “Have you fallen in love with me?” she asked, trying to be so cool but unable to control the tiny quiver in her voice.

  “Absolutely,” he murmured. “Does that worry you?”

  She tilted her head to one side as if considering his question, then smiled and said, “Not at all. I think it’s sweet.”

  “’Sweet?’” he echoed with a groan. “Ah, Crystal, you sure know how to deflate a man’s ego.”

  That made her laugh. “Your ego is perfectly healthy. I’ve never known a man with a stronger sense of who he is and of his own self-worth than you. Considering your history with your mother and the prejudice you’ve dealt with all your life, it says something impressive about you and about your family.”

  “On behalf of my father, my grandparents and all the other countless relatives who had a hand in raising me, I thank you. Now, how about that kiss?”

  For a moment she simply looked at him. The expression in her eyes was lighthearted, and the corners of her mouth were curving into a smile in spite of her best efforts to contain it. After a moment she cupped her hands to his face and murmured, “Pucker up, darlin’.” And then she gave him her sultry, Southern best.

  Sloan swore the heat generated between them was enough to bring the mercury in the thermometer out front to a boil. If he looked out the window, no doubt he’d see wildflowers poking up through the ground, thinking it was summer again, and the snowcaps on the Crazy Mountains would be turning to slush. Not that he could look at anything, or do anything, besides kiss her back and want her and need her.

  When she ended the kiss, he was slow to open his eyes. When his breathing was seminormal again, when his heart had slowed to a gallop, he did open them to find her watching him with a sweet, gentle smile. “We’re still here,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “And not even singed.”

  “Want to have dinner with us tonight?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “We’ll eat around six-thirty. Come over whenever you want.” She brushed her fingers lightly over his jaw as she pulled away, then stepped back. She picked up the sandpaper, but didn’t start sanding again until he reached the door.

  Which seemed fair. After all, he didn’t start breathing again until he was through the door.

  As Sloan pulled out of the Stop-n-Swap parking lot, his cell phone rang. It was Rafe, wanting to know what he’d found out about Homer. Sloan gave him the gist of his conversation with the old man, then brought up the alien sighting. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I’d like to go out to the woods and have a look around.”

  “You think Christina might have been out in those woods at night? Christina, the shopper princess, whose idea of roughing it was wearing shoes not made in Italy?”

  Sloan hesitated, then carefully phrased his reply. “I know. It doesn’t seem likely. But remember the vision I told you about?”

  “Winona’s vision?”

  Guiltily he didn’t correct his boss. The fact that his next words were less than honest made him feel even guiltier. “She’s convinced that Christina gave birth in the woods at night. From the description, I think I know the area, and it’s the same general area as Homer’s alien sighting. I’d like to go out there and look around. Maybe old Homer was just seeing things. Maybe he ran into Christina. Or maybe he ran into someone who had already run into Christina.”

  There was a heavy silence. He knew Rafe was weighing the merits of a search based on nothing but the say-so of a woman acknowledged by half the county to be a kook. He was also, no doubt, considering the backlash if it got out that he’d committed county resources to such a search. The sheriff’s department would look desperate, or like a bunch of New Age wackos, and Rafe’s critics would make the most of it.

  “I’m not asking for any help,” Sloan said. “Just let me go out and look around. I’ll be on the radio. If you need me, I’ll be available.” Once he’d hiked back through the woods to his unit, then hightailed it to wherever.

  Rafe exhaled loudly. “All right. Go ahead. I’ll instruct the dispatchers to assign you calls only if there’s no one
else available. Where is this place?”

  “Out by the old Baxter place.”

  “Near the old trail head?”

  “Yeah. That’s where I’ll be parked. Thanks, Sheriff.” After hanging up, Sloan muttered a curse. He hated misleading Rafe, hated being less than honest with a man who was taking a risk by trusting him a hundred percent. But damn it all, what else could he do? He had to protect Crystal, and so far, he hadn’t been forced to tell an out-and-out lie.

  He’d just withheld part of the truth. Trust Rafe, if he ever found out, to point out that that wasn’t much better than an outright lie.

  At the makeshift parking lot, he slid his cell phone into his pocket, locked the truck and started up the trail. By the time he reached the clearing, the sun had disappeared and the sky had turned leaden, making the air seem colder than it really was. As he stood in the clearing beside the spot where Crystal had reacted so strongly, a chill shivered down his spine. It was a hell of a place to give birth. Why would she choose it? Why come here in the first place?

  To meet someone. It was the only half-logical answer he could think of. But whom? Maybe the father of her baby. But no one had a clue who he was. After her mother’s death, Christina had run a little wild, developing a serious fondness for partying, outrageous behavior and men—all a cry for her father’s attention. Well, now she had it, but it was too little, too late. Ellis Montgomery would have to live with that knowledge.

  Say Christina had come here to meet the baby’s father—to make some demand, perhaps—and unexpectedly she’d gone into labor. She gave birth there on the ground and… And what?

  She hadn’t gone to the hospital in Whitehorn. She hadn’t driven to a nearby house to call for help. She hadn’t checked into any hospitals within a five-hundred-mile radius, at least not under her own name. She hadn’t gone to one of the local midwives for care.

  Just how much energy would she have had to go anywhere? He would imagine that giving birth was exhausting, to say the least, and if Crystal’s vision was accurate, she’d lost a lot of blood. How much energy would she have had to go wandering off?