Thunder at Dawn

by Jill Gregory

  “Tammie Morgan.” Faith groaned. “Damn. But I guess I can’t have you working yourself into a funk with a baby on the way, can I? Okay, I’ll run interference for you with Tammie. And we have to sell all two hundred of those tickets,” she stated, a determined glint entering her eyes.

  Patti laughed. “You’re still the greatest, Faith. I knew I could count on you. Come by the house tonight for dinner and I’ll bring you up to speed on everything.”

  “It’s a deal. But . . . fill me in on something first.” Faith had been trying to resist the temptation to ask about Zach McCallum, but now that she and Patti had fallen so quickly back into their old routine of telling each other just about everything, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

  She kept her tone offhand. “What is Zach McCallum doing back in Thunder Creek? And please tell me he isn’t staying long.”

  “You already know about Zach? How?”

  “I ran into him. Almost literally.” She told Patti about the near collision with Zach and Candy. “I know he inherited the Last Trail ranch after both Ardelle and Stan Harvey died. So is he here to sell it, or what?”

  “No. Zach’s here—for good, I guess. I don’t know all the details of what happened, but after his father died, he apparently cut almost all of his ties in Texas. Oh, he has a manager running his family’s ranch there—he hasn’t sold it or anything yet—but he’s installed himself at the Last Trail. He’s also building a major branch office for TexCorp Oil—right on the outskirts of town. I guess he wants to be on-site to make sure it’s done right.”

  “It sounds like a big operation,” Faith murmured, her heart sinking.

  “You bet it is. This is the biggest business deal to hit Thunder Creek since the Morgans opened the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch. Everyone’s been talking about it for months.”

  “Hmmm.” Faith schooled her face into the noncommittal expression that served her well in the courtroom. But she was puzzled. Years ago, Zach had told her about his troubled relationship with his father. But he’d also told her how much he loved Texas. Despite his conflicts with Caleb McCallum, he’d always been loyal to the family ranch and land that were his roots.

  “I’m just surprised that he’d leave Buffalo Springs,” she said, as Patti shot her a questioning look.

  “You don’t . . . still have feelings for him . . . after all this time, do you?”

  Patti knew better than anyone how Zach had hurt her ten years ago. She was studying Faith, looking worried.

  “Please.” Faith forced herself to laugh and hoped it sounded natural. “I’m far from being that dumb, love-struck nineteen-year-old, Patti. You got over your first crush, didn’t you? Or are you still writing every night in your diary about Joe Dan Foster?”

  “Hardly.” Patti giggled. “Joe Dan happens to be one of Bob’s and my best friends. He’s married, prematurely bald, and the father of twins. As a matter of fact, his wife, Margo, is on the committee for the benefit. I’ll introduce you at our next meeting.”

  Bessie appeared at the table, wiping her hands on a striped dish towel. “Is this a private party, girls, or can anyone join in?”

  As Faith and Patti urged her to sit down, she slid into the booth opposite Faith and beamed at her.

  “Ada’s coming over in a bit, but she said to tell you first off that Ty’s horses are stabled in her barn and you’re to come over and ride ’em anytime you get the urge. Not that you need any encouragement to ride,” she added with a snort. “I still remember how you stole your dad’s stallion and snuck out in the middle of the night.”

  “Ending up stranded on Cougar Mountain with a broken ankle,” Patti put in, grinning. “Your parents had to send out a search party.”

  “Won’t I ever live that down?” Faith asked in mock dismay. Patti and Bessie laughed.

  “Nope,” Bessie answered. “Not in a million years. Not in this town.”

  It was more than an hour later that Faith finally left the diner. Patti had given her Tammie Morgan’s cell phone number before heading home for a nap, and as Faith headed to her car, she started punching in the numbers.

  But suddenly she heard the rush of feet behind her and the cell phone was knocked from her hand. It clattered onto the pavement as a small boy brushed past, shouting, “Batman! Batman, come. Come!”

  At the end of the street she saw a mutt that looked like a cross between a golden retriever and a Lab. It was bounding across the intersection, narrowly avoiding traffic. As Faith knelt to retrieve her phone, she saw the boy dart across the street in pursuit, still calling the dog’s name.

  But with his eye on the dog, he hadn’t looked both ways as he leaped almost directly into the path of a pickup. She gasped, her heart stopping cold as the boy froze before the oncoming vehicle. The brakes shrieked as the driver attempted both to stop and to swerve sideways. With inches to spare, the pickup veered left and came to a halt, narrowly missing the child.

  An instant later a huge potbellied man with a bull neck and a gray crew cut jumped from the truck. The boy spun toward the spot where his dog had disappeared, but before he could take off, the man grabbed him by the arm.

  “You goddamned little troublemaker. I ought to thrash you from here to kingdom come. Didn’t your no-good father ever teach you to look both ways?”

  “Sorry—I shoulda looked, but . . . let me go. I have to catch my dog!”

  The man jerked the boy closer. “I asked you a question. Answer me right now.”

  “Let him go, Mr. Harrison.” Faith had reached them by then. The boy, who looked to be about ten, was trying futilely to pull free of the rancher’s grip, and Faith spotted the red mark on his thin freckled arm.

  “Take your hands off him now,” she ordered.

  Fred Harrison squinted at her in the afternoon sunlight, as cars wove their way around the three people in the middle of the street.

  It took only a moment before he recognized the woman in the jeans and yellow T-shirt. Faith Barclay, he thought darkly. The little Barclay firecracker. The sheriff’s kid sister, all grown up. And she looked nearly as fierce as her brother when he was breaking up a fight. An ornery bitch for all her prettiness.

  Scowling, he released the boy’s arm.

  “You stay out of this, little girl,” he warned her, aware that Sheriff Barclay wasn’t even in town. “This is between me and this kid. He nearly got me and himself killed.”

  “I didn’t mean to, mister, but I have to catch my dog!” A note of frantic despair filled the boy’s voice. “I’m sorry, I really am.” He glanced swiftly between Faith and the big man. “I should have looked, but Batman can only see out of one eye and I didn’t want him to get lost or hit by—”

  A car door slammed behind them.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Dad!”

  Zach McCallum strode toward them, but he wasn’t looking at Fred Harrison or at Faith. He was looking at the boy who ran to him eagerly and threw himself into his arms.

  Dad. This is Zach’s son. Faith froze as shock ripped through her.

  “Dillon,” Zach demanded, “are you all right?”

  “Yeah, but Batman saw a cat and he ran after it. We have to find him!” The boy grabbed his father’s arm, trying to pull him along.

  “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

  Zach glanced first at Faith, who had gone still as a statue, then at Fred Harrison.

  “Your boy nearly got the both of us killed,” Harrison barked. “He’s a wild one, ain’t he, just like you,” he added with contempt.

  “How did that red mark get on my son’s arm?” Zach asked quietly. “Did you put it there?”

  Faith saw the muscle throbbing in his jaw, but that was the only visible sign of anger coming from Zach. The rangy teenage boy she remembered from years ago had been volatile as dynamite, and quick to fight—this man was outwardly calm, totally controlled, and radiated quiet authority. Only that one little muscle in his jaw and the iron flatness of his voice betra
yed what he was feeling and exactly how much self-control he was exerting right now.

  “What if I did put it there?” Harrison sneered. “The boy’s arm ain’t broken—he got off easy. He practically dove under my truck and begged me to mow him down!”

  “It won’t happen again. And you’d better never lay a finger on him again,” Zach said evenly.

  “Now that’s real interesting considering what you did to my boy, McCallum,” Harrison snapped.

  Zach looked him square in the eye. “Pete and I settled that between us, a long time ago. Maybe it’s time you got past it too.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Does your son know what you did? Did you ever tell him what you did to my boy?”

  Faith held her breath. The Zach she remembered would have slugged the older man right about now. That Zach would be shouting, striking out. This cool-eyed, dark-haired man with the impassive features and tight-lipped stare merely touched a hand to the little boy’s shoulder.

  “Dillon, apologize to Mr. Harrison.”

  “But he—”

  “Dillon.”

  The boy looked glumly up at the potbellied rancher whose face was as fiercely red as his shirt.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. For the first time Faith heard sullenness in his tone.

  “You oughta be, boy.” Harrison glared at him, then his hard gaze shifted to Zach again. “And you—I heard what you’re up to in this town. You’re not going to get away with it either. You watch and see.”

  Then he stalked past Faith to his truck.

  Dillon glanced uncertainly at his father. “What does he mean, Dad?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Zach’s expression was grim. “Right now let’s concentrate on Batman.”

  “Okay, then, come on.” Dillon tugged on his arm.

  “Hold on one more minute, son.” Zach looked at Faith. “What did you have to do with this?”

  “Not a thing.” She shrugged indifferently, turned on her heel, and started walking away, her throat tight. Behind her she heard the boy’s quick voice.

  “That lady made him let go of my arm, Dad. He wouldn’t listen to me. But she yelled at him. Now come on, we have to hurry—Batman could get run over!”

  Faith saw something out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she spotted the dog. He must have circled back around Main Street because he was streaking across the front of Merck’s Hardware, toward the gas station down the street.

  Without thinking, she stuck two fingers in her mouth the way Adam had taught her when she was eight. She whistled, a high piercing whistle that rang up and down the street.

  The dog’s head swiveled and he came to a stop. She whistled again, saw him turn around, his ears alert.

  “Batman—come!” she yelled, and whistled once more.

  He came. Trotting like an obedient pony, he approached her with his tail wagging and his golden fur gleaming in the sun. Behind her she heard Dillon whooping with joy, then the boy raced past her to throw his arms around the dog’s neck. The animal sat obediently down in front of Faith as if there was no place else on earth he’d rather be.

  “How’d you do that?” Dillon asked, flashing her the biggest, most admiring smile she’d ever seen.

  “My brother taught me to whistle when I was even younger than you.” She watched the dog lick his cheek and neck. “It works on horses too.”

  “And you still remember how to do it? That’s awesome!”

  “Dillon, when you get older you’ll learn that there’s some things you never forget. And some people too,” Zach said beside her.

  Faith turned to stare at him. “And some you wish you could forget,” she retorted quickly.

  A smile touched the corners of his lips. “Dillon, this is Faith Barclay. We used to be friends a long time ago.”

  We were a helluva lot more than that, Faith thought furiously, but she kept her mouth clamped tight and nodded at Dillon.

  “Thanks for getting Batman back,” Dillon told her, snuggling his face against the dog’s furry neck.

  “I’m glad I could help. Keep an eye on him, okay?”

  “You bet I will!”

  She spared only a nod for Zach before heading toward her car, but Dillon’s voice carried as she walked briskly away.

  “Dad, I wish I had a brother to teach me cool stuff like hers did. Did you hear how loud she whistled? I want to learn how to do that too—in case Batman ever runs away again.”

  She never heard Zach’s response. But as she pulled the SUV onto the street, her mind was racing. Zach McCallum had a son. A son he clearly adored. Well, she knew he’d gotten married, didn’t she? This shouldn’t be a surprise. And it shouldn’t be shaking her up this much, not after all these years.

  But it did. It stabbed through her with a jagged pain.

  The sight of him with his son brought back waves of sorrow. Her hands shook on the steering wheel.

  Was Zach still married to Alicia Andrews, the old girlfriend from home he’d left her for? Was she here too?

  Why hadn’t she thought to ask Patti about that . . .

  Because I don’t want to know. Don’t care, she told herself sharply, her temples throbbing as she left the town behind and turned toward Blue Moon Mesa.

  What difference does any of it make? Nothing about Zach’s life has anything whatsover to do with mine.

  She needed to stop looking back. What in the world would it accomplish? What did she think she’d find? Some justification for being a totally naive idiot that summer, falling for a boy who was rebellious and dangerous, devastatingly handsome, and unpredictable as lightning? A boy who’d betrayed her, lied to her, let her down?

  And made a fool out of her in front of the entire town.

  She gritted her teeth. Not to mention running away like some kind of coward from what he’d done to Pete Harrison . . .

  Driving into the foothills, she switched on the radio, desperate to think of something other than the ugly scene she’d just witnessed between Zach, his son, and Fred Harrison. Refusing to wonder what new beef Harrison seemed to have with Zach now . . .

  It doesn’t matter. None of it. The past is dead. History.

  As she climbed up the twisting road into the foothills, the tall pines and gray rocks flew past. And suddenly, the Eagles’ “Desperado” wafted from the radio.

  She listened to a few bars, her stomach roiling. Then she switched off the song, snapped the radio into silence. That song had always reminded her of Zach. Of the wild, reckless boy with the lonely soul who’d made love to her on Snowflake Mountain.

  Des . . . perado . . .

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she switched the channel in her mind.

  Think about dinner tonight at Patti’s. The auction. Tammie Morgan.

  And a nice long bath before driving out to Patti and Bob’s. Whether you want to wear blue jeans or black jeans, the white cotton sweater or the blue silk tank . . .

  But when she reached the cabin she found a chirpy message from Patti on the answering machine, one that gave her something else to think about entirely.

  “Hi, Faith, it’s me, your friendly neighborhood social planner. Dinner’s at six. Don’t be mad, but you’re in for a surprise. Be sure to wear something pretty.”

  Oh, no. Faith groaned. I’m going to have to kill her. She closed her eyes for a moment and then went to run her bath.

  Chapter 4

  “IT JUST HAPPENED,” PATTI WHISPERED IN THE kitchen as she handed Faith the oversized salad bowl brimming with cut-up lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, and radishes. “Bob invited Owen to dinner, I didn’t.”

  “But you invited Rusty Gallagher, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but actually, it wasn’t my idea.”

  Faith’s brows lifted. “Whose idea was it?”

  “Roy’s.” As Faith stared at her, Patti sighed. “I ran into him at the gas station on my way home and mentioned you were coming to dinner tonight. And then Rusty pulled in while we w
ere talking and I saw this big lightbulb go off in Roy’s head, and before I knew it, he was saying I should introduce the two of you.”

  “Patti—”

  “And then Rusty came over to say hello, and well, it just sort of happened. I had no idea that Bob had invited Owen. Now, how many women would complain about having dinner with two good-looking eligible men? . . .”

  “I know you and Bob—and Roy—mean well, but I’m not ready to start dating anyone again.”

  “Well, why not?” Patti grinned. “It’s been months now since you called off your engagement.” Piling char-grilled steaks onto an oval platter, Patti continued talking in a reasonable tone.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to get your feet wet again—before you forget how to swim?”

  “How to swim? Patti, I’m just trying not to drown right now,” Faith shot back, exasperated. “All I want is a good foothold on solid ground.”

  “Well,” Patti murmured in a low tone as they headed toward the dining room, “I can understand that, but it wouldn’t hurt you to stick one little toe in the water, would it? I’m not asking you to dive in, and Roy isn’t either, but . . .”

  Faith had no time to answer because they reached the dining room where Patti’s husband, Bob—who had broken all her crayons one summer when she was six because she’d beaten him in a footrace through town—sat at one end of the rectangular oak table, smearing butter on sourdough bread, while Rusty Gallagher’s and Owen Carey’s gazes swerved simultaneously toward her as she came forward with the salad.

  “Damn, that looks good.” Owen smiled, but he wasn’t looking at either the salad or the steak Patti set down in the center of the table. He was smiling at Faith, appreciation in his crinkly brown eyes as he surveyed the simple V-necked cotton sweater she wore with black jeans.

  She’d known Owen forever—his father had been the foreman at Fred Harrison’s Flying Devil ranch and he’d been good friends with Fred’s son, Pete, both before and after his injury—as well as with both Ty and Roy. He was burly and good-looking in that uniquely attractive outdoorsy way, with dark sandy hair and a ready smile. Patti had told her he was divorced, liked to play the field, but could never seem to find the “right” girl.