Luck of the Draw (Sterling's Montana) Read online

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  B.J. DANELS

  Luck of the Draw

  He may get a second chance at his one true love—if someone doesn’t kill her first

  When Garrett Sterling leaves for a horseback ride through his family’s sprawling Montana property, he’s expecting a relaxing break from the construction at the Sterling guest ranch. What he gets is something far more sinister. It all happens so fast that it’s hard for Garrett—and the authorities—to sort out the facts. Two things are certain, though: someone is dead and the killer knows there was a witness.

  But when the one woman he could never forget emerges as a key suspect in the investigation, Garrett will do anything he can to help clear her name. She’s still keeping secrets from him—that much is clear. But Garrett won’t rest until he uncovers what really happened that day, how she’s involved—and why everything she’s ever told him is a lie.

  Praise for New York Times bestselling author

  B.J. Daniels

  “Daniels keeps readers baffled with a taut plot and ample red herrings, expertly weaving in the threads of the next story in the series as she introduces a strong group of primary and secondary characters.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Stroke of Luck

  “With a surprising villain, a mystery full of twists and turns and engaging characters, Renegade’s Pride is an addictive page-turner.”

  —BookPage

  “B.J. Daniels has made Cowboy’s Legacy quite a

  nail-biting page-turner of a story. Guaranteed to keep you on your toes.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “I kept reading until I finished it once I started. It was that good.”

  —Night Owl Romance on Cowboy’s Legacy

  “Hero’s Return by B.J. Daniels is a creative masterpiece.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Daniels is an expert at combining layered characters, quirky small towns, steamy chemistry and added suspense.”

  —RT Book Reviews on Hero’s Return

  “I would recommend this book for anyone who loves mysteries and romance. It is the perfect blend of these two.”

  —Night Owl Romance on Hero’s Return

  Also available from

  B.J. Daniels

  and HQN Books

  Sterling’s Montana

  Stroke of Luck

  Luck of the Draw

  The Montana Cahills

  Renegade’s Pride

  Outlaw’s Honor

  Cowboy’s Legacy

  Cowboy’s Reckoning

  Hero’s Return

  Rancher’s Dream

  Wrangler’s Rescue

  The Montana Hamiltons

  Wild Horses

  Lone Rider

  Lucky Shot

  Hard Rain

  Into Dust

  Honor Bound

  Beartooth, Montana

  Mercy

  Atonement

  Forsaken

  Redemption

  Unforgiven

  This book is dedicated to Jodi Lee, who bakes an amazing cake, organizes an amazing quilt party and always challenges me with her quilt ideas.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  EXCERPT FROM JUST HIS LUCK BY B.J. DANIELS

  CHAPTER ONE

  GARRETT STERLING BROUGHT his horse up short as something across the deep ravine caught his eye. A fierce wind swayed the towering pines against the mountainside as he dug out his binoculars. He could smell the rain in the air. Dark clouds had gathered over the top of Whitefish Mountain. If he didn’t turn back soon, he would get caught in the summer thunderstorm. Not that he minded it all that much, except the construction crew working at the guest ranch would be anxious for the weekend and their paychecks. Most in these parts didn’t buy into auto deposit.

  Even as the wind threatened to send his Stetson flying and he felt the first few drops of rain dampen his long-sleeved Western shirt, he couldn’t help being curious about what he’d glimpsed. He’d seen something moving through the trees on the other side of the ravine.

  He raised the binoculars to his eyes, waiting for them to focus. “What the hell?” When he’d caught movement, he’d been expecting elk or maybe a deer. If he was lucky, a bear. He hadn’t seen a grizzly in this area in a long time, but it was always a good idea to know if one was around.

  But what had caught his eye was human. He was too startled to breathe for a moment. A large man moved through the pines. He wasn’t alone. He had hold of a woman’s wrist in what appeared to be a death grip and was dragging her behind him. She seemed to be struggling to stay on her feet. It was what he saw in the man’s other hand that had stolen his breath. A gun.

  Garrett couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Surely, he was wrong. Through the binoculars, he tried to keep track of the two. But he kept losing them as they moved through the thick pines. His pulse pounded as he considered what to do.

  His options were limited. He was too far away to intervene and he had a steep ravine between him and the man with the gun. Nor could he call for help—as if help could arrive in time. There was no cell phone coverage this far back in the mountains outside of Whitefish, Montana.

  Through the binoculars, he saw the woman burst out of the trees and realized that she’d managed to break away from the man. For a moment, Garrett thought she was going to get away. But the man was larger and faster and was on her quickly, catching her and jerking her around to face him. He hit her with the gun, then put the barrel to her head as he jerked her to him.

  “No!” Garrett cried, the sound lost in the wind and crackle of thunder in the distance. Dropping the binoculars onto his saddle, he drew his sidearm from the holster at his hip and fired a shot into the air. It echoed across the wide ravine, startling his horse.

  As he struggled to holster the pistol again and grab the binoculars, a shot from across the ravine filled the air, echoing back at him. And then another and another and another. Four shots, all in quick succession. He winced at each one as he hurriedly grabbed up the binoculars again and lifted them to his eyes. His hands shook as he tried to locate the spot on the mountainside across the ravine where he’d last seen the two people.

  With dread, he saw what appeared to be a leg on the ground, sticking out of the tall grass, where the two had been only moments ago. He quickly looked around for the man. In the dense trees, he caught the blur of someone running back in the direction where he’d originally spotted t
he two.

  He focused again on what he could see of the body on the ground. The leg hadn’t moved.

  In the distance, he heard the faint sound of a car engine roaring to life. He swung the binoculars to the end of the ridgeline and saw a dark blue SUV speeding away. It was too far away to get more than that. It quickly disappeared in the trees.

  Garrett swore. At moments like this, he wished he had cell phone coverage on the mountain. But his father had always argued that being off the grid was the appeal of Sterling’s Montana Guest Ranch. No cell phones, no TV, no internet. Nothing but remote, wild country.

  Reining his horse around, he took off down the trail back to the guest ranch lodge. It had begun to rain by the time he leaped off his horse and hurried inside.

  He used the landline to call Sheriff Sid Anderson.

  “I just witnessed a murder,” he said when the sheriff came on the line. He quickly told him what he’d witnessed, including giving him what information he could about the SUV that he’d seen roaring away.

  “You fired a shot into the air?” the sheriff asked. “So the killer saw you?”

  He hadn’t thought of that. “From across the ravine. I don’t think the killer is concerned about me.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Sid said. “You think you can take me to the body?”

  “Meet me where Red Meadow Road connects with the forest service property and I’ll take you to the spot.”

  “Twenty minutes. I’ll be there. But be careful,” the sheriff warned. “The killer might not have gone far. Or he might be on the way to your guest ranch.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALL THE WAY from Whitefish, Montana, up into the mountains, Sheriff Sid Anderson was mentally kicking himself. If he had retired last summer, it would be someone else driving up here now to investigate an alleged murder.

  His days on the job were numbered. He had hoped to get through them without something like this. It was his own fault, he told himself as he drove. He’d been worried about who would become sheriff when he was gone. Several of the deputies were champing at the bit to take his place. But it was the undersheriff that he’d been worried about most.

  Undersheriff Ward Farnsworth had run against Sid in the last election and lost. He was the wrong man for the job and the voting public knew it. But if Sid had retired, Farnsworth would have been acting sheriff until the election. Sid couldn’t turn the county over to a man who liked to throw his weight around and hide behind his badge. Worse, since Ward was running for the election again this fall, he spent most of his time campaigning rather than doing his job. But soon, the undersheriff wouldn’t be his problem. Let the voters decide, he thought.

  As he neared the mountains, large drops of rain began to smack the windshield, sounding like distant gunfire. Sid turned on his wipers. He was rolling with lights and siren even though there wasn’t any traffic on this road because of the thunderstorm. The rain would keep the tourists down in the valley today.

  He hoped the rancher was mistaken about what he’d seen—and not just for selfish reasons. He didn’t need a murder—not when he was so close to retiring and putting his lawman years behind him. Had it been anyone but Garrett Sterling, he would have been more skeptical. He’d known the Sterling family all his life, but over his many years in law enforcement, he’d found even the best of people often weren’t sure what they’d actually seen when thrown into a stressful situation.

  One of the reasons Sid was skeptical at all was that he knew the spot where the rancher had been when he’d seen what he thought was a murder. The ravine between him and where he’d seen the couple was deep and wide. Also Garrett hadn’t seen the actual shooting—he’d only heard the shots and seen what he thought could be a body lying in the tall grass—and someone fleeing.

  Not that Sid couldn’t envision someone driving up to the end of the road to commit a murder. But there were better places to kill a person with so much wild country around the area. Why pick one so close to Sterling’s Montana Guest Ranch?

  As he turned onto Red Meadow Road, he swore at the thought of the position the rancher might have put himself in. It wouldn’t be the first time Garrett had intervened in an attempt to save a life. He was that kind of man. But the killer now knew that he’d been seen. It wouldn’t take much for him to find the guest ranch—and the rancher.

  As Sid drove, he kept an eye out for the dark blue SUV that Garrett had seen racing away, even though he had little hope of seeing it. Enough time had passed for the alleged killer to make a clean getaway. Not to mention that this area was a honeycomb of mountain roads. If the person driving the SUV knew the area, they could disappear down any one of them and be long gone by now.

  He’d hesitated to call an ambulance or get the coroner involved at this point. First he wanted to make sure there had been a murder. Once he could verify that there was a woman’s body on the ridge, he’d call in the troops. As short-staffed as they always were, he didn’t want to waste resources.

  Ahead, the road dead-ended at a wide spot. There was just enough room to turn around. Garrett’s pickup was parked off to one side of the road. The rancher was smart enough not to disturb any fresh tracks where the alleged killer must have turned around before making his escape.

  He could see deep grooves in the dirt—now turning to mud—where someone had left in a hurry. The blue SUV? The ruts were now quickly filling with rainwater.

  As he pulled up, Garrett hopped out of his truck and rushed through the driving rain to the patrol SUV. He opened the passenger side on a gust of wind and rain.

  “Nice day for a murder,” Sid said.

  Garrett shook rain from his Stetson and slipped out of his coat to shake it before climbing in. “I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”

  True enough, he thought. “One of the reasons I’m hanging up my gun and badge soon. I’m looking forward to doing some woodworking in my garage. Might pick up a part-time job if I get too hungry.” He grinned over at Garrett. “If you’re right, this will hopefully be my last murder case before the election when someone else takes the job. I’m hoping you’re wrong and that all of that is behind me.”

  He could see that Garrett was keyed up and tense. Sid asked for more details as to where it had happened as rain pounded the top of the SUV and ran down the windshield like a river. The last thing Sid wanted to do was go out in this thunderstorm let alone find a woman’s body lying in the grass and have a killer on the loose.

  But as long as he was wearing this star... “Let’s do it,” he said to the rancher. Cutting the engine, he pulled on his rain gear and climbed out. Garrett joined him, the rain a steady drumming on their Stetsons and coats.

  As they began to work their way up the muddy path next to the road, Sid was reminded of another reason it was time to quit being a lawman. He was getting too old for this. He wanted to spend his time enjoying himself. He thought of Dorothea Brand and smiled. He had his retirement all planned out and if he was lucky, she was going to be a part of it.

  Dorothea had worked for the Sterlings for the past thirty years and had been like a mother to Garrett and his two brothers after their mother died.

  The wind howled through the pines, branches rocking as the rain fell horizontally, pelting him like hurled pebbles. He felt the icy-cold liquid soak his jeans and run down into his boots. He thought about his warm workshop where he did his woodworking. A bolt of lightning splintered the bruise-colored sky over the mountain peaks. In answer the deep, chest-vibrating sound of thunder followed behind it.

  Stopping to catch his breath, he looked through the rain into the dark of the forest and felt a chill. You just have to live long enough to enjoy retirement. Where had that thought come from? He shook it off and, ducking his head to the rain, started walking again.

  Garrett, he noticed, had a grim look on his face. It wouldn’t be the first murder the rancher had witnessed. But it wasn’t
like anything a man got used to, Sid reminded himself, thinking of his first murder scene.

  Of course Garrett was shaken. It was a lot to handle for a man who wasn’t used to violence. He was no doubt wondering, the same as Sid was, why here? Why on this particular mountain ridgeline? And why had he been there to witness it? Coincidence?

  When something like this happened, you realized that if you had taken just a little longer over breakfast, you wouldn’t have seen a thing. You might have heard distant shots, but you wouldn’t have thought much about it. With the thunder and lightning, you might not even have heard someone being murdered.

  Ahead of him, Garrett stopped under the bough of a huge pine. Sid followed his gaze across the ravine, now shrouded in fog and rain, in the direction of the guest ranch.

  “It’s right up here,” the rancher said pointing to an open area ahead, the lush grass tall and green. So deep that it would be hard to find a body.

  * * *

  “DON’T TELL ME that you aren’t aware that the sheriff has a crush on you,” the elderly Eleanor Franklin said without looking up from her knitting. “The way Sid acts when he’s around you? You’ve got yourself an admirer, Dorothea Brand. Mark my words.”

  Dorothea scoffed, but only for Eleanor’s benefit. She prided herself on her second sight. Not that she was clairvoyant exactly. It was just that she sensed things and had for most of her more than fifty years. Her mother had been a witch, well, at least according to her. She’d taught Dorothea to cast spells.

  Admittedly the spells mother cast had never exactly worked, at least not in the way she’d hoped. Henrietta Brand was often stirring up a love potion or two on the postman, the butcher at the grocery store, the mechanic at the shop down the street.

  Dorothea had struggled with her own spell casting. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t have a sixth sense—keen intuition anyway. She’d certainly been right about what she’d felt coming more often than not. Not that she’d been able to change events with her spells or her sage or her candles.