Gun-Shy Bride (14 page)

He loved the storms in this part of the country. Everything was intense up here, from the weather to the light that made the pale green spring grasses glow and warmed the Larb Hills in the distance to a dusty purple.

The storm swept across the open landscape, rain pelting the pickup, wind chasing tumbleweeds to trap them in the barbed wire fences that lined the two-lane.

As the rain passed, Luke rolled down his window and breathed in the smell of spring. The storm had left the land looking even greener, the sky washed a pale blue.

He wished McCall was with him right now, knowing she would appreciate this scene. He hadn’t been able
to get her out of his head. But that was nothing new. Last night, though, had only made him want her more after wanting this woman most of his adult life. Now they had a chance. Or they had had one before his uncle called.

While Luke had made his choice when he’d decided to do this, he still felt disloyal as he entered the Glasgow FWP regional office.

It surprised him that McCall believed Buzz was a killer but that Buzz wouldn’t lie about where he’d been in his warden’s daily log. Was his uncle really that arrogant—and that foolish?

Twenty-seven years ago in the fall, Buzz would have probably been down in the Missouri Breaks at the far south of his jurisdiction for most of the day checking on bow elk hunters. He would be needed there more than out in the prairie looking for a possible antelope poacher.

Except, even if that’s what Buzz had done, he would still have had to drive right past the road to the ridge where Trace Winchester’s body had been buried. Right past the old Crawford place where Trace’s pickup had been sunk in the mud at the bottom of the stock pond.

Buzz could have killed Trace Winchester, buried him on the ridge and gotten rid of his pickup in the pond.

But Luke didn’t believe he had. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe Buzz would commit murder.

“Mornin’ Helen,” Luke said as he recognized the older woman working the main desk.

“Hi, Luke. What brings you to the big city?” she joked. “I didn’t see a trial on the schedule.”

“Nope, not today. I’m on another errand. I need to
know where I can find the game warden daily logs from twenty-seven years ago.” He knew they kept them in case a legal problem came up years down the road.

“Twenty-seven years ago? Those would be in our storage facility at the other end of town. I can give you the key. They’re all filed by month and year. Do you know what date you’re looking for?”

He nodded. “Shouldn’t take me long.”

“H
OW IS YOUR LUNCH
? Poison-free?” Pepper Winchester actually smiled, her dark eyes almost teasing.

“Fine,” McCall said, a lie. Enid was no cook. Still, that wasn’t the only reason she’d lost her appetite, she thought as she put down her fork. “Why did you really invite me out here? It wasn’t for lunch or photos.”

Her grandmother arched a brow as she put down her fork and pushed away her nearly untouched lunch. “Why did Buzz Crawford kill my son?”

“I beg your pardon?” McCall was taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

Pepper’s direct gaze bored into her. “There must have been a reason.”

McCall had asked herself the same question. “I don’t know. I suppose it will come out in the trial.”

Her grandmother looked skeptical. “Let’s hope so. If you hear anything, you’ll let me know?”

McCall nodded and was about to tell her grandmother that she’d been suspended and wouldn’t be hearing much.

But Pepper stood, signaling lunch and the visit were over. As she turned to leave, she said over her shoulder, “You know the way out?”

Before McCall could answer, her grandmother had disappeared back into the gloom and doom of the old lodge.

But from the shadows, McCall caught a glimpse of Enid before the housekeeper ducked out of sight.

T
HE DOOR TO THE METAL
storage unit opened with a groan. A blast of musty hot air hit Luke in the face as he reached in to turn on the light.

The long narrow building was filled with shelves from floor to ceiling, the ones closest to the door, the most recent. He entered the maze of shelves and worked his way to those from twenty-seven years ago.

According to McCall, Buzz had caught Trace Winchester poaching an antelope before the opening of antelope season. That could have meant minutes before daylight. Or the night before.

Luke pulled down the logbook for October and, stepping under one of the bare bulb lights, flipped through the book.

The notes were all written in his uncle’s precise printing—until he got to the day in question. The first entry on October 20 was of Trace Winchester’s poaching violation. But what had Luke’s heart racing was that the entry was nearly illegible. The words ran together, looking hurriedly scrawled.

And not just that, Luke realized. The entry was written in black ink—while all the rest of the entries and those after that day were in blue.

It was a small thing and if he hadn’t known Buzz the way he did, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Buzz prided himself on doing everything neat and tidy and by the book.

Buzz had broken with routine, indicating he’d been upset and hurried.

According to his uncle’s notation, he’d gotten a call from dispatch asking him to check on a possible problem on the ridge where Trace Winchester’s remains had been found.

He’d responded, found Trace poaching an antelope, written him a ticket. He’d made no mention of Trace’s rifle.

Luke stared at the writing until it blurred before his eyes, feeling sick. Buzz had been there and might be the only person still alive who knew what happened on that ridge that day.

News that Buzz Crawford had been released from jail hit the streets at the speed of light. McCall heard it at the first stop she made once back in Whitehorse after her lunch with her grandmother.

She got the feeling that everyone had believed him guilty and if not guilty, then at least
capable
of murder.

The sheriff caught her as she was coming out of the post office.

“McCall?” Grant was standing beside her car, clearly waiting for her. She thought about seeing him parked down the street from his house and wondered again if he’d been spying on her—or his wife.

“Sheriff.” Had her grandmother called him about her again?

“I just wanted to let you know that Buzz Crawford is out on bail.”

She wondered why he hadn’t just called her. Maybe he had. She hadn’t checked her messages since she feared there wouldn’t be one from Luke.

“I heard,” she said. “It’s all anyone in town is talking about.”

“Sorry I didn’t let you know sooner. Luke got him out on bail.”

Good ol’ Luke.

The sheriff seemed to hesitate. “I also wanted to let you know that Buzz filed a formal complaint against you, saying he believes you planted the rifle in his house in an attempt to frame him. I know that isn’t the case,” Grant said quickly. “But he’s pretty worked up. If he should come by your place, just call the department at once.”

“Sure.” And twenty minutes later someone would arrive at her cabin twenty minutes too late?

“Eugene got himself locked up last night,” the sheriff said. “Drunk and disorderly. He hasn’t made bail.”

“At least Luke didn’t get him out,” she said, more to herself than the sheriff.

“Just watch your back.” The sheriff cleared his throat. “I never thanked you for your work in finding the pickup. I’m sorry I had to take you off the case. And I wouldn’t worry too much about Buzz. He’s too smart to threaten you. He’s in enough trouble as it is.”

She wished she could be that sure of what Buzz Crawford would do. Or had done, for that matter.

W
HEN
L
UKE RETURNED
to the cabin, he found McCall standing at the edge of the deck looking over the river. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a beer in her hand.

She turned at the sound of his footfalls and he saw her expression. She hadn’t been sure he would return.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Enjoying the evening.” He saw she had the gun he’d
given her tucked into the waistband of her jeans and wondered if she wasn’t out here because she could hear anyone who approached. Obviously she’d heard that Buzz had been released from jail.

Luke had stopped by the lake house but hadn’t found Buzz at home. He wasn’t sure what he planned to say to his uncle. He wasn’t sure what there was to say. He ended up leaving a note:

He knew it sounded cryptic, but he also didn’t want to leave anything that could be potentially incriminating. Telling Buzz about what he’d found in the logbook would have been.

After he’d left Buzz’s place, all he’d wanted to do was return to McCall.

Now, without a word, he stepped to her and took her in his arms. He didn’t want to talk about anything, especially his uncle. He wasn’t going to let anything come between them ever again.

“I checked Buzz’s logbook,” he said, drawing back to look into her eyes. “You were right. The evidence is there. As I was leaving, the sheriff arrived. He took the book.”

She nodded, not seeming surprised. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

She motioned to the cooler at her feet. “You look like you could use a beer.”

He smiled and let go of her long enough to take a beer from the box and unscrew the top. He pulled on the beer,
taking a long drink. She was right. This was exactly what he needed, something cold to drink, a nice view and the woman he loved.

Dark shadows were forming in the river bottom as another short spring day turned to dusk. He could hear a flock of geese honking softly from the shallows. A breeze stirred McCall’s dark hair. He breathed in her scent as he snuggled against her back and slipped a hand inside her shirt to cup her bare breast.

Desire sparked along his nerve endings, firing that old familiar need in him. The passion had been there the first time they’d touched and nothing had dampened it, not even the years spent apart.

She turned to kiss him, tasting of cold beer. He dragged her to him, encircling her with his arms, deepening the kiss. Her body molded to his, and he could feel the frantic beat of her heart.

“Unless you want me to make love to you right here on this deck, I think we’d better go inside,” he whispered as he drew back from the kiss.

She smiled up at him and whispered back, “What is wrong with out here on the deck?”

I
T WASN’T UNTIL LATER
, snuggled together under the blanket, their clothing pillowed beneath their heads and the starry night above, that they heard the sirens.

McCall sat up as she saw the flashing lights and saw where they were headed—toward the lake. “Luke?”

She’d barely gotten the word out before he was up and pulling on his clothing.

“I have a bad feeling,” he said.

She had one as well as she quickly dressed and they took his pickup and headed north, following the lights of the sheriff and ambulance.

As they turned off the road, McCall saw what she’d feared. Both the patrol car and the ambulance had stopped in front of Buzz’s house.

Luke pulled up in the pickup and jumped out. As he ran toward the house, McCall saw a deputy stop him. She turned to look for the sheriff and, spotting him, hurried over.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Buzz committed suicide.”

“Suicide?” She couldn’t help sounding astonished. Buzz Crawford was the least likely person she knew to even contemplate suicide. “Are you sure?”

“He left a note,” Grant said. “He’s the one who killed your father, McCall. He confessed. I guess, confronted with all the evidence…”

She nodded, thinking about what Luke had said he’d found in Buzz’s logbook. Still, she felt shaken. Buzz had taken the cowardly way out, and while her heart ached for Luke and his loss, she was angry that she and her mother hadn’t gotten to see this go to trial. This didn’t feel like closure because now they would never know why.

She turned to see Luke, his face twisted in anguish as he came toward them.

“They won’t let me in,” he said to the sheriff. “They said he’s dead?”

“I’m sorry, Luke. Buzz shot himself. He left a suicide note along with a confession to the killing of Trace Winchester.”

L
UKE DROVE
M
C
C
ALL BACK
to her cabin, too stunned and distraught to talk and thankful she didn’t question him.

“I need to be the one to tell Eugene,” he said as he pulled up next to her cabin. He leaned in, kissed her and said, “I’m sorry about your dad. You tried to warn me.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said and, touching his cheek, told him to be careful before she got out of the truck.

“I need some time,” he said. “I might go out to my place at least to check things tonight. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled in understanding. “Don’t worry about me. Take all the time you need. I know you’ll be back.” She closed the door and walked toward her cabin.

He waited until she was inside before he turned around and drove through the darkness, feeling as if he’d been hit by a train.

His mind was racing. He’d found what could constitute evidence in Buzz’s logbook. Had the sheriff shown it to Buzz? Is that why his uncle had decided to write the confession and kill himself?

Luke drove toward town, turning it all over in his head. The night was black. No stars, no moon, the clouds so low now it was like driving through cotton. He had his side window down letting the cold night air blow in.

He didn’t feel the chill, only the intense sense of loss and regret. He kept rehashing his last conversation with Buzz over in his head and blaming himself that he hadn’t seen this coming.

Didn’t everyone say there were signs? Buzz had been acting strangely, but Luke had thought he was just bored with retirement and worried about Eugene.

Luke had never believed that a man like Buzz would
ever do something like this. Murder? Then suicide? He had a bad feeling that the ones least likely to commit either were the ones who would surprise you.

For Buzz it might have been a case of the perfect storm: the arrest, his disappointment in Eugene. Suspecting, as Luke did, that Eugene had been using his pickup to poach could have been the last straw.

A thought crossed his mind. He scoffed at the idea but couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that the thought hadn’t been as crazy as he wanted to believe.

Luke slowed the pickup on the edge of Whitehorse and headed for the sheriff’s department—and the county jail where his cousin was still locked up the last he’d heard.

M
C
C
ALL FELT NUMB AS SHE
stopped on the deck to pick up the blanket she’d left there. The darkness seemed to close in along with the shock.

Buzz was dead.

She wrapped the blanket around herself and stood staring down at the river through the deep black of cottonwoods. No starlight filtered past the bare branches. No moon shone in Montana’s big sky.

The only light was a ghostly glaze that shimmered on the surface of the water as it snaked past.

McCall shivered and pulled the blanket tighter as a gust of wind moaned through the trees.

It was over.

Buzz had killed her father, and while she would never know why, at least she should be thankful that Trace Winchester had gotten justice.

So why did she feel so empty, she wondered as she
leaned against the railing and breathed in the rich scents from the river bottom. It was over.

Over for some, she thought. Not for Luke, though.

Suddenly she felt as if icy fingers had brushed across the back of her neck. Her stomach contracted with a feeling she was no longer alone, and that what was waiting for her in the dark wasn’t just dangerous—it was deadly.

She stared hard into the black cottonwoods, listening for any hint that there was someone out there watching her at this very moment. Eugene? Had he gotten out of jail? The wind moaned through the branches, the limbs moving restlessly against the dark sky.

Taking a step back, she edged toward the front door of the house, trying to remember if she’d locked it, suddenly filled with a sense of dread.

She’d only taken a few steps when she remembered the gun Luke had given her. She’d had it earlier on the deck…

She stopped, her gaze scanning the dark shadows of the deck. She couldn’t see it. Maybe Luke had picked it up. Or maybe they had knocked it off the deck earlier.

As badly as she wished she could find it, she wasn’t about to take the time to look for it. Turning, she lunged for her front door, that feeling of danger too intense to ignore.

The knob turned in her hand. She hadn’t locked it. Damn.

She stepped in, fumbling for the light as she slammed the door behind her, breathing hard.

There’s no one out there. You’re just spooked over everything that has happened. You’re running scared and it’s not like you.

McCall reached for the lock but froze. Had it been the soft scuff of a shoe? Or a breath exhaled? Or had she just sensed it as she had on the deck?

Whatever the reason, even before McCall hit the light switch and spun around, she knew. Someone was behind her.

“W
HAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
?” Eugene said from his cell bunk when Luke walked in. “You’d better be here to get me out. Because if you’ve come to give me a lecture…”

Luke gripped the bars. Obviously no one had told him about Buzz yet. “I need to know something, Eugene. I told Buzz that someone was using his pickup to poach deer along the river.”

His cousin leaned back on his bunk. “When did you tell him that?”

Luke swallowed back his guilt. “Right before he was released from jail.”

“And let me guess. You suspect I was using the pickup. What was I doing with the deer?”

“Selling them to a client in Billings to pay for your gambling debts.”

To his surprise, Eugene began to laugh. “Doesn’t that sound a little too organized for a worthless ne’er-do-well like me?” his cousin asked, getting up and coming over to the bars. “Huh, hotshot game warden?”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Luke asked, afraid he already knew what was coming.

“Buzz. It was
his
idea. He was bored and if anyone knew how to poach and get away with it, it was Buzz. Why do you think we went to Billings? To unload what we’d killed.” He laughed again. “Don’t look so shocked.
Buzz used to poach all the time when he was warden. You didn’t notice how our meat supply never ran low?”

Luke stared at his cousin, remembering what McCall had said about her mother thinking Trace might have had something on Buzz he was using as leverage. “Did Buzz also mention that Trace Winchester was blackmailing him?”

Eugene grinned. “Well, if Trace was, I can tell you this much—no one blackmails Buzz for long.” His cousin shook his head, giving Luke a disgusted look. “You always thought you were better than us, didn’t you? Buzz joked that as great as you thought you were, you’d never catch us. Even if you did, Buzz said you’d never arrest us.” He turned to go back to his cot. “When you see Buzz, tell him to spring me from the joint.”

“I’m afraid Buzz isn’t going to be springing anyone,” Luke said. “He committed suicide tonight after confessing to killing Trace Winchester.”

“P
LEASE DON’T DO ANYTHING
heroic,” Sandy said, rising from the kitchen chair where she’d been sitting, waiting.

Heart hammering, McCall heard the click of the safety being flipped off on the pistol as she stared at Sandy Sheridan. Two thoughts zipped past. What was the sheriff’s wife doing here pointing a gun at her? And Luke wouldn’t be back tonight.