At the Crossroads Read online

  Praise for New York Times bestselling author

  B.J. Daniels

  “You won’t be able to put it down.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas on Heartbreaker

  “Daniels is a perennial favorite on the romantic suspense front, and I might go as far as to label her the cowboy whisperer.”

  —BookPage

  “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

  “Daniels again turns in a taut, well-plotted, and suspenseful tale with plenty of red herrings. Readers will be in from the start and engaged until the end.”

  —Library Journal on Stroke of Luck

  “Readers who like their romance spiced with mystery can’t go wrong with Stroke of Luck by B.J. Daniels.”

  —BookPage

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

  —RT Book Reviews on Hero’s Return

  “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

  B.J. Daniels

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  At the Crossroads

  I had no idea how much my life was going to change for the better when I asked Christie Conlee if she would be my assistant. I smile as I write this because she doesn’t just brighten my day; the readers love her, too. I’ve never met anyone with so much energy—not to mention her innovative ideas, cheerfulness and efficiency. Never has she said, “I can’t do that.” Nor has she ever complained. She told me she would make my life easier. Boy howdy.

  This book is for Christie, who isn’t just a friend. She feels like part of the family now. Thanks for coming into my life.

  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

  Excerpt from the next book in the Buckhorn, Montana series by B.J. Daniels

  Excerpt from Pursued by the Sheriff by Delores Fossen

  CHAPTER ONE

  BOBBY BRADEN WIPED the blood off his fingers, noticing that he’d smeared some on the steering wheel. He pulled his shirtsleeve down and cleaned the streak of red away, the van swerving as he did.

  “Hey, watch it!” In the passenger seat, Gene Donaldson checked his side mirror. “All we need is for a cop to pull us over,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice. It reminded Bobby of the grind of a chain saw. “If one of them sees you driving crazy—”

  “I got it,” he grumbled. “Go back to sleep,” he said under his breath as he checked his rearview mirror. The black line of highway behind them was as empty as the highway in front of them. There was no one out here in the middle of Montana on a Sunday this early in the morning—especially this time of year, with Christmas only weeks away. He really doubted there would be a cop or highway patrol. But he wasn’t about to argue. He knew that would be his last mistake.

  He stared ahead at the narrow strip of blacktop, wondering why Gene had been so insistent on them coming this way. Shouldn’t they try to cross into Canada? If Gene had a plan, he hadn’t shared it. Same with the bank job that Gene said would be a piece of cake. Unless an off-duty cop just happened to be in there cashing his check—and armed.

  Concentrating on staying between the lines, Bobby took a breath and let it out slowly. He could smell the blood and the sweat and the fresh clean scent that rose from his shirt he and the others had stolen off a clothesline somewhere near the border. The shirt was too big, but he’d liked the color. Blue like his eyes. It bothered him that he’d gotten blood on the sleeve. The smear kept catching his eye, distracting him.

  At a sound behind him, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Eric’s anxious face. Bobby regretted letting Eric talk him into this, but he’d needed to get out of the state for a while. Now here he was back in Montana.

  “How’s Gus?” he asked, keeping his voice down. He could hear Gene snoring but not his usual foghorn sound. Which meant he wasn’t completely out yet. Or he could be faking it.

  Eric moved closer, pulling himself up with a hand on Bobby’s seat as he leaned forward and dropped his voice. “He’s not going to make it.”

  Bobby met his gaze in the rearview for a moment, a silent understanding between them. They both knew what would happen if Gene’s younger brother died.

  “We aren’t leaving Gus behind,” Gene said without opening his eyes. “He’ll pull through. He’s strong.” He opened his eyes and looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “According to the last sign I saw, just outside Buckhorn, Montana,” Bobby said.

  “Good. There’s a café in town. Go there,” Gene said, making Bobby realize that had been the man’s plan all along. “We’ll get food and medical supplies for Gus and dump this van for a different ride.” He pulled the pistol from beneath his belt and checked to make sure the clip was full before tucking it under the cotton jacket he’d gotten off the line.

  Bobby met Eric’s gaze again in the mirror. Things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AT THE CAFÉ counter in Buckhorn, Culhane Travis rubbed the back of his neck impatiently as he watched the distracted, skinny male cook. This was taking way too long and making him nervous. He could hear the drone of Christmas music on a radio turned low in the kitchen and smell bacon frying unattended.

  For the third time in the past fifteen minutes, the cook looked at the clock on the wall, then at his phone lying on the counter next to the grill. Leo Vernon, a parolee who’d only recently been released from Montana State Prison, had a rap sheet as long as his tattooed arm.

  But Culhane was only interested in his latest crime. He’d been waiting for the short-order cook to take a smoke break out back rather than confronting him in the kitchen in front of all these people. He didn’t want to call any more attention to himself than he had to.

  But if Leo didn’t take his break soon... Why was the man staying in the kitchen? Had the cook seen him and still thought he was with the sheriff’s department? Or was Leo waiting for something? For a text? For some important news? Waiting for someone?

  Whatever it was, the cook’s mind wasn’t on cooking, Culhane thought as he watched his breakfast beginning to burn on the grill. When Leo picked up the spatula, his hand was shaking.

  With a start, Culhane realized that the man wasn’t just distracted, he was scared. He felt his pulse bump up as he sensed the man�
�s tension even from the counter where he sat watching him through the pass-through.

  The bell over the front door of the café jangled, making them both start. Leo’s gaze shot to the door. All the color bled from his face.

  Feeling a gust of Montana fall air, Culhane turned to see three men come in. As a former sheriff’s deputy, he knew the look too well. Trouble had just walked in the door. He swore under his breath. With a warrant out for his arrest, he had more than enough trouble already. He picked up his Stetson from the counter and pulled it low, watching the men out of the corner of his eye.

  The older man of the three had a lined face, buzz-cut gray hair and old prison tattoos that showed at his neck and forearms where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. He gave the other two no more than a glance. They were much younger, both looking nervous compared to the all-business demeanor of the obvious leader of the bunch. Novice criminals, he thought and felt the earlier tension spark like the first hint of an electrical storm. He knew instinctively that the three men weren’t here just for breakfast.

  The locals in the café watched the three enter but lost interest—just as they had when he’d come in. Buckhorn, Montana, must see enough tourists that locals were immune to strangers passing through, he thought.

  He wanted no part of whatever trouble these three were peddling and reached for his wallet. He’d leave the cost of his breakfast he wasn’t going to get to eat on the counter and clear out. He had enough problems without buying more. He’d just have to catch Leo after whatever was going down here was over.

  He shot a glance at the cook. Leo looked as if he wanted to make a break for the back door. Culhane swore under his breath. There was no doubt. The arrival of these men was what Leo had been waiting for. It made Culhane hesitate. Given the fear on the cook’s face, this was about to get ugly.

  Reminding himself of all the reasons he didn’t want to get involved in this, whatever it was, he still hesitated. He just needed to talk to Leo, but it appeared so did these men. He groaned inwardly, cursing the way his luck was going.

  As badly as he needed information from the cook, Culhane knew that the best thing he could do was hightail it out of there. This wasn’t his fight. Worse, trouble would bring cops, and that was the last thing he needed right now. Once these men finished their business with Leo...

  As he started to push to his feet, he heard the bell over the door jangle again. In the plastic of the pie display case, he caught the woman’s reflection. His heart plummeted. With a curse, he slowly lowered himself back onto the stool as Alexis Brand entered the café.

  Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Of course she would come after him. He shook his head, remembering how he’d left her bed last night like a thief in the night. It wouldn’t matter that he’d only done it to keep her out of the trouble dogging him right now. Not that she would understand even if now were the best time to explain. He’d left so many of the details out about his life before her. Now thanks to the BOLO for him, she knew the worst of it.

  He and everyone else in the café had turned to see her standing in the doorway. Her short dark curly hair framed a striking face with its large brown eyes and thick lashes and that full sensual mouth that he’d never tire of kissing. In a T-shirt, jeans, boots and a denim jacket, Alexis turned heads. She wasn’t just cute. She was sexy as hell, even though she played it down.

  Everything about the way she carried herself said that she wanted to be taken seriously. He definitely took her seriously—especially right now with that look in her eye and that gun in the shoulder holster under her jean jacket. She’d come to take him in—one way or the other.

  In the pie display he saw her make a beeline for him—the bounty hunter totally unaware of the trouble that had just preceded her in the door.

  * * *

  ALEXIS HAD ACTUALLY hesitated in the café’s doorway at the sight of Culhane sitting bigger than life at the counter. Finding him had been too easy. She didn’t trust it any more than she did dumb luck. So what was he still doing here? He’d had a good head start since he’d learned about the BOLO—a lot quicker than she had. He had to know she would be on his tail. It wasn’t like him to let her catch him, and that worried her.

  But then maybe she didn’t know this cowboy as well as she thought she did. After this morning, she questioned if she ever had really known him. When she’d spotted his pickup out in front of the cafe, she’d thought for sure that he’d ditched it and gotten himself another ride. For a man on the run, he sure didn’t look anxious to get anywhere.

  After finding her bed empty this morning, she’d showered and turned on the news. Culhane wanted for murder? But that wasn’t the real shocker. He was wanted for the murder of his wife. “Murder? Wife?” she’d repeated, sounding like a parrot before she’d called Al Shaw, a deputy she and Culhane used to work with—before they’d both been fired six months ago by the new sheriff.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Al.”

  “They haven’t found the body yet, but there was sufficient blood at the scene...The marriage was over seven years ago. Her name is Jana Redfield...Travis.”

  “That’s all nice, but where has he gone?” She knew Culhane—or at least she’d thought she had. He would be on any lead he could turn up to try and clear his name. There was no way he’d killed anyone. Let alone his...wife?

  That was the part that astounded her. Wouldn’t a wife have come up in conversation over the past year that she and Culhane had been lovers? Even an ex-wife. The man had a whole lot of explaining to do. She’d sworn that she would find him and bring him in.

  “Where’s he gone, Al? I know he would have called you.”

  “You’re really putting me on the spot here, Alexis. He’ll have my hide for this.”

  “So will I, Al, if you don’t tell me right now.”

  With a sigh, Al had finally weakened, since Alexis knew when push came to shove, he was probably more afraid of her than Culhane. “He’s gone to Buckhorn to talk to a parolee by the name of Leo Vernon. He’s a cook at the café there. He has some connection to Culhane’s wife, Jana.”

  Culhane’s wife. The words made her grind her teeth. So when she’d found Culhane sitting calmly in the café as if about to have breakfast, it was all she could do not to pull her gun and shoot him right there. But then, she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing him behind bars—after she got the answers he owed her.

  As she headed toward him, all she could think about was the two of them last night in her big bed and all the other nights they’d spent together over the past year. Oh yeah, she had a lot of questions.

  She took the stool next to him at the counter. “Culhane,” she said quietly, calmly. “Hope I didn’t miss breakfast.”

  He didn’t look at her. “We need to take this outside,” he said, his voice low.

  The urgency in his tone made her frown. As he made a motion to get up, she put her hand on his arm and felt his muscles tense as he looked over at her.

  Just in case he’d forgotten, she reached with her other hand inside her jacket. His eyes narrowed. He knew from experience that she had a gun tucked in there. She doubted he wanted her to pull it here in the café with all these people.

  “Alexis,” he said, but she interrupted him. Surely he didn’t think he could sweet-talk her into stepping outside with him. So he could get the jump on her?

  She saw that he hadn’t eaten yet. “I’m hungry,” she said, looking around for the waitress. Catching her eye, she motioned the teen over to them. “A stack of pancakes and bacon,” she told her. “And coffee, please.”

  “You need to trust me on this, Alex,” he whispered as the waitress left. A knot formed in her stomach at the use of his nickname for her. It conjured up images of the two of them in bed, the sheets twisted around them, a breeze cooling their naked bodies. But that was back when she’d thought she knew this man and trusted him w
ith more than the left side of her bed. Hard to believe that that was just yesterday.

  “Trust you?” She chuckled and held his gaze with a fierce one of her own. Sometimes she forgot how damned handsome he was, especially when he smiled at her like that. She could have drowned in those bottomless blue eyes of his. Perhaps he was thinking about them being together just last night. It gave her little satisfaction. Taking him in, though, would make her feel better.

  “Just look where trusting you has gotten me. So I don’t think so,” she said and lowered her voice. “And Culhane? If you give me any trouble, I’m taking you down right here.”

  She had pepper spray and handcuffs in her purse and a Glock in her holster under her jacket. This wasn’t her first rodeo, and he knew it.

  * * *

  FIFTY-SEVEN-YEAR-OLD Bessie Walker could smell her cinnamon rolls she’d made baking in the café’s oven. Earlier, she’d told herself that they might be her last ever here in her native Buckhorn. She’d been thinking about leaving. Maybe just for the winter. Maybe for good. On the radio in the kitchen, a Christmas song came on. She’d forgotten all about the holiday this year. She hadn’t even gotten a tree. Her heart just wasn’t in it.

  “Bessie?” She’d smiled in spite of herself as she’d heard Earl Ray call her name. “Bessie, did you notice that one of those cinnamon rolls had my name on it?”

  “This center-cut one that I’ll slather with extra icing?” she’d called back from the kitchen and heard that low chuckle she’d come to love. She knew the way to Earl Ray’s heart. The problem was the overcrowding when she got there. He was still in love with his wife, who’d been dead for years.

  Grabbing the coffeepot, she’d gone out front. Some locals had gotten up early this morning, knowing it was cinnamon-roll day—and the last of the season. It was that time of year. The tourists had cleared out. Buckhorn was about to become a near ghost town, with shops and residences boarded up as winter set in.