Gun-Shy Bride Page 7

  RUBY CAME HOME LATE smelling of grease and cigarette smoke. McCall had been waiting for her. Her mother looked tired and there were blue lines on her calves from spending so many years on her feet.

  McCall felt sorry for her mother and guilty. How different Ruby’s life might have been if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Just as things could have been different if Trace had lived.

  Or things could have turned out just the way they had.

  “Didn’t you work today?” her mother asked.

  Had Ruby heard about her visit with Red Harper and thought McCall was checking up on her? “Nick had something come up and asked me to fill in for him.”

  Ruby glanced over at her as she entered her trailer, and McCall saw worry in her mother’s eyes. All the questions about her father. The visit to her grandmother. Talking to Red about Trace. Now to find McCall waiting here for her. No wonder Ruby looked worried.

  “I had a beer earlier with Red to talk to him about my father,” McCall said as they entered the trailer, figuring Red had already warned Ruby. “You didn’t tell me the two of you were going out.”

  Her mother shrugged. “It’s just a date to a movie.” She turned to look at her daughter and for a moment McCall thought her mother might cry. “Am I why you don’t date?” Ruby asked, the question coming out of the blue.

  She squirmed under her mother’s intense gaze. “There’s no one I want to go out with.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone since that Crawford boy.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Not that busy.”

  “Mom—”

  “Fine. I know that boy broke your heart, but, McCall, it was years ago. You have to get back on the horse that bucked you off.”

  McCall laughed. That was exactly what her mother had been doing since her husband left her. “And how has that worked out for you? Have any of these men you dated made you forget my father?”

  This time there was no doubt about the tears in her mother’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No, you’re right,” Ruby said with a shake of her head. “I keep looking for what I had with Trace.” She smiled ruefully as she swiped at her tears. “What else can I do, baby? At least the man you’re in love with is still around and available. That should tell you something. If you weren’t so stubborn—”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “Don’t I? I know what that boy did to you. He broke your heart. Just like your daddy broke mine.” Her mother turned away and said, “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” McCall said as she watched her mother go into the kitchen to pour herself what was left of the coffee and reheat it in the microwave.

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but I need to ask about my father.”

  “Fine, let’s get this over with,” Ruby said as she leaned against the counter and blew on her coffee to cool it. “Then I mean it, McCall, I don’t want to hear any more about him, okay?”

  McCall hated this, but she was afraid her mother might have found out about another woman and done something desperate, something she’d regretted all these years.

  “All these years I’ve heard rumors, whispers behind my back, about my father. Now I need to know the truth. Was there another woman?”

  Ruby put down her coffee, angry now. “You heard Trace chased girls the way some dogs chase cars, right?”

  “Is it true? Did he cheat on you?” McCall knew her mother. No way would Ruby have just taken that lying down, and after what Patty had told her, McCall didn’t like what she’d been thinking.

  Ruby made another swipe at the tears that brimmed in her lashes. “There was talk. Your father swore there was nothing going on.”

  “Going on with whom?”

  Ruby shifted on her feet, wrapping her arms around herself again, her mouth pinched. “Geneva Cavanaugh. She’d dumped him to marry Russ Cherry before Trace and I got together. He took it hard. Then Russ got killed and Geneva disappeared, leaving behind her two babies.”

  “My father didn’t run away with Geneva Cherry, Mom.” She could see that this had been her mother’s fear for the past twenty-seven years.

  Ruby began to cry. “You don’t know that. They both disappeared about the same time.”

  McCall thought about the single grave. Wouldn’t the killer have buried them together? Maybe not. The pickup was still missing, and who knew what was inside it?

  “Someone would have been heard from them by now if they’d run away together,” she said, just for something to say.

  Ruby shrugged.

  “Was there anyone else?” McCall had to ask.

  Her mother looked away. “Sandy.”

  “Sandy?”

  “After Geneva, Trace was dating Sandy Thompson. That’s when he and I got together.”

  “Sandy Thompson Sheridan?” The sheriff’s wife? Her boss’s wife? McCall stared at her mother. “You stole Trace from her?”

  “I didn’t steal him. You can’t steal men like candy from a grocery store. I was in love with Trace. I’d always loved him.”

  “So all was fair in love and war,” McCall quipped. Her mother never ceased to amaze her. This explained a lot, she realized. The cold shoulder Sandy had always given her.

  Grant and Sandy had gotten married right after high school and gone away to college together. Grant became a lawyer, Sandy a homemaker. When they’d returned to Whitehorse, Grant became county attorney. Sandy had gotten involved in social activities.

  McCall closed her eyes, seeing things too clearly. “You seduced him.”

  “Haven’t you ever wanted anything more than life itself?”

  McCall hated that Luke Crawford instantly came to mind.

  “That was how I felt about your father. I would have done anything to be with him.”

  “Even get pregnant.” McCall opened her eyes. Hadn’t she long suspected this was the case?

  Her mother’s face fell. “Yes. Now you know the truth. I got pregnant to take him away from Sandy and force him to marry me.”

  So Pepper Winchester had been right.

  Ruby was crying again. “I thought…” She stepped over to a chair and dropped into it, pulling her knees up to wrap her skinny arms around them, holding on as if for dear life. “I thought once we were a family, once you were born…” Her voice trailed off. She sniffed and McCall handed her a tissue from the box by the couch. “I guess I got what I deserved. The bad karma came back and bit me in the ass.”

  “You didn’t deserve what you got,” McCall said, fearing the killer might not agree. “Let me understand this. Trace and Sandy didn’t break up until it came out about your pregnancy? How did Sandy take this news?”

  Her mother mugged a face. “Sandy said Trace and I ruined her life but she seems to have survived just fine, lives in that big house up on the hill, married to the sheriff. Married him right after Trace broke up with her.”

  McCall frowned, unnerved by the timing. How hurt and angry had Sandy been? Hurt and angry enough to take it out on Trace?

  “Mom, isn’t it possible Sandy loved my father as much as you did?”

  Ruby scoffed at that. “Trace was the love of my life. You haven’t seen me marry anyone else, have you? It sure didn’t take Sandy long to get over Trace, did it?”

  Maybe that was because Trace was dead to her. Dead and buried.

  Another thought struck McCall, one that sent a chill through her. Sandy had obviously married Grant on the rebound. He had to have realized that. Which brought up the question: how had Sheriff Grant Sheridan felt about Trace Winchester?

  LUKE PARKED IN THE SHADOWS of the towering cottonwoods. As he got out, the breeze carried the scent of the new leaves that had just started coming out on the trees. They fluttered, making a sound like a whisper.

  In the distance, a hawk let out a cry, and the forest paralleling the river fell silent. Twilight had settled into the cottonwoods. Through the thick bare branches, he could see the colors of the su
nset deepening against the darkening sky.

  It was early for poachers, but he’d noticed that this poaching ring seemed to be hitting at different times.

  The quiet in the river bottom lulled him, his thoughts sneaking up on him as he walked along a fishing trail. There were times that he was at his most vulnerable, like now, and his thoughts turned to McCall.

  She hadn’t changed much from the girl he’d fallen in love with. If anything she was more beautiful. And headstrong and independent and prickly as a porcupine. She’d done just fine for herself without any help from anyone.

  What was crazy was that he believed in his heart that they belonged together. If it wasn’t for what had happened back when they were seniors in high school—

  The sound of the rifle shot made him jump. The soft boom carried along the river bottom sending a flock of ducks rising up in a spray of water nearby.

  He froze, listening, anticipating a second shot, hoping he would be able to determine which direction it had come from. The second shot came seconds later, followed by a quick third, then silence.

  Luke took off running through the trees to where he’d parked his pickup. From his estimation, the shots had come from a quarter mile downriver.

  At his pickup, he jumped behind the wheel and took off down the road, knowing they would hear him coming.

  By now at least one of them should be up to his elbows in blood from gutting out the deer they’d shot. They would hear his pickup engine and have to decide whether to load up the deer or just make a run for it.

  Either way, he would have them if their tire treads matched the plaster casts he’d made of their last three kills.

  The poachers were getting more brazen, killing one deer after another even though they must know he was tracking them. That kind of boldness often ended badly.

  As he raced along the narrow windy dirt road that ran parallel to the river, Luke wished he’d taken the time to pull on his bulletproof vest. The men he was chasing would be armed.

  As he came around a bend, he saw a pickup come barreling out of one of the many fishing access roads in a cloud of dust. All he was able to tell about the truck was that it was dark colored and an older model.

  As Luke hit his lights and siren, he saw through the dust that one of the poachers was in the back of the truck—and the man wasn’t alone.

  The rising dust from the pickup made it impossible to ID the man, though—or get a license plate number on the fleeing vehicle.

  As the truck took one of the tight, narrow curves too fast, Luke heard the screech of metal as a fender skinned one of the cottonwoods at the edge of the road. An instant later something large came tumbling out of the back of the truck.

  Luke slammed on his brakes, skidding to a stop just inches from the carcass lying in the middle of the road.

  For a heart-stopping moment, he’d thought the poacher had fallen out of the back of the pickup. But then he smelled the familiar scent of the animal’s blood on the breeze—the dead deer blocking the road.

  In the distance, the pickup disappeared over a rise as he watched, the poachers getting away. Again.

  SANDY SHERIDAN LIVED WITH her husband, Grant, in a house up on the hill overlooking Whitehorse. The houses up here were newer. In Whitehorse, moving from the older homes to the hill was considered a step up in both lifestyle and status.

  McCall parked in front of a split-level much like the others on the hill. She’d waited until the sheriff had left for a sheriffs’ conference in Billings.

  Even though it was late, Sandy Sheridan answered the door still wearing her robe and slippers, both white and fluffy. Her hair was sprayed into an updo that not even one of Whitehorse’s stiff breezes could dislodge.

  She’d applied fresh makeup, her cheeks looking flushed, eyes bright and ringed with mascara. McCall wondered what she was getting so duded up for at this time of the day. Or for whom.

  “If you’re looking for Grant, he’s not here. He’s at—”

  “The Montana Sheriff’s Association meeting in Billings. I know. Actually it’s you I wanted to see,” McCall said.

  “Oh?” Sandy was her mother’s age, early forties, but the years had been kinder. “I guess I can spare a few minutes,” she said, glancing at her watch, clearly annoyed as she stepped back to let McCall enter the house.

  The house was furnished with pale furniture against white walls and drapes, giving the place a sterilized, cold feel.

  “I’d offer you something to drink but—”

  “I’m here about you and Trace Winchester,” McCall said, cutting to the chase.

  Sandy looked as if she’d just slammed her fingers in a car door. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Earlier she’d been standing, looking impatient, now she lowered herself into a nearby off-white club chair.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d heard that you were in love with him, and I’m talking to people who knew my father.”

  Sandy let out a nervous laugh. “Why? That was high school.”

  “Some people never get over high school—or their first loves.” As McCall knew only too well. “Look, I know you were dating my father when my mother got pregnant with me.”

  Sandy’s face stiffened in anger belying her words. “That is ancient history. I really don’t have the time to—”

  “I should have known what I heard wasn’t true. If you’d been that much in love with my father, you wouldn’t have married Grant so quickly.”

  “I loved Trace,” Sandy snapped, taking the bait. “We were going to get married, but then your mother…” She waved a hand through the air, hurriedly regaining her composure.

  “You’re still in love with my father,” McCall said, unable to contain her shock. What was it about the man that made women love him so desperately even after everything he did to them?

  Sandy looked away. “Don’t be silly. That was—”

  “Twenty-seven years ago. Not even time can change some things, though, huh.”

  “I really don’t want to talk to you about this,” she said, getting to her feet. “It isn’t any of your business or your mother’s.”

  Unfortunately, McCall feared it just might be. “You must have hated Trace for betraying you the way he did,” she said as she rose to leave.

  “I was angry. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “I think I would have wanted to kill him.”

  Sandy said nothing, her expression though said it all.

  “I can see that he hurt you terribly. I’m sorry.”

  Tears filled the older woman’s eyes. She brushed at them, obviously embarrassed and angry, and now her mascara was running.

  “You’ve brought up a painful time in my life,” Sandy said. “But that’s all behind me. As you can see, I did quite well without Trace Winchester.”

  McCall stared at her, seeing a miserably unhappy woman behind the perfectly made-up face. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Now if you don’t mind…”

  “What about Grant?” McCall asked, stopping at the door. “Does he know you never got over my father?”

  Sandy opened the door. “Why are you asking about this after all these years? Does my husband know you’re here?” She fumbled in the pocket of her robe for her cell phone.

  “Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” McCall said, stepping past her. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your…appointment.”

  As she left, McCall glimpsed a car parked under a large old tree at the far end of the dead end street. Sandy hadn’t needed to call her husband. He already knew about McCall’s visit. Grant had apparently lied to both of them about going to the sheriffs’ meeting.

  But as McCall drove away, she wondered who Grant had been spying on—her or his wife.

  LUKE LAY ON THE BED in his small camper trailer, unable to fall sleep. He’d planned to take a nap before staking out a spot on the river later tonight.

  Through his bedroom window he could see the dark sk
eleton of his house and hear the breeze whispering through the beams as clouds scudded past in the gathering dusk.

  He blamed McCall for his restlessness. The woman haunted his thoughts, making him ache with a need he hadn’t been able to fill with any other woman. Had he thought the years would have changed McCall’s mind about him? Or her feelings?

  At times like this, he’d always turned to his work. He forced his thoughts to the poachers’ pickup and how close he’d come to catching them earlier. He’d only gotten a glimpse of the truck as it came flying out of the fishing access, dust billowing.

  The pickup was somewhere between brown and a rusted red. A good fifty years old. Something from the late fifties, early sixties. A beater. If he had to guess, he’d say a ’62 Ford.

  There were more than a few around in this part of the country. Hell, Buzz even used to own one.

  Maybe he still did.

  Luke sat up with a curse. He hadn’t seen Buzz’s old pickup for years. It used to be parked in the back of that old barn behind Buzz’s lake house. Hell, it probably didn’t even run anymore.

  He swore again. He knew he wouldn’t get any sleep if he didn’t find out if that truck was still there. Buzz hadn’t driven it in years. But that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t.

  It was crazy. Or maybe not so crazy. He thought about that night years ago when he and Eugene had taken the pickup on a joyride. Buzz always kept the keys in the truck’s ignition. Since the barn was a good distance from the lake house, they’d had no trouble taking out the pickup—and returning it—without Buzz being the wiser.

  Luke had this crazy idea that someone might be using Buzz’s pickup to poach deer. The irony didn’t escape him. Nor would it have someone like Trace Winchester, who would have loved to rub it in Buzz’s face.

  Irony? Or payback?

  It was dark by the time Luke parked on the road behind his uncle’s old barn and killed the engine. He sat for a moment listening to the sounds of the night before he grabbed his flashlight and climbed out.

  The moon was a sliver of white against the darkening sky. A few stars glittered through the veil of clouds. A breeze carried the distinct odors of the lake. Through the trees he could see the lake house. No vehicle parked next to it. Buzz wasn’t home.