Redemption (14 page)

Jack thought about denying that he was in any way involved with Kate LaFond’s or Melissa Logan’s life. But Carson didn’t give him a chance.

“Let’s meet later for a soda at the Range Rider?” his friend asked.

“Right now I just want to get cleaned up and off my feet,” Jack said. “Give me a call later. You have my cell phone number.”

Jack climbed into his pickup and started down the long road to Beartooth. “Melissa Logan,” he repeated. “Kate LaFond. Who are you really?”

He knew he should stay clear of the woman either way. There was something about her that reminded him too much of himself—not a good thing.

And yet, he was drawn to her like a cowboy to the range. He’d known his share of women. None intrigued him the way Kate had the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

Jack couldn’t get her out of his mind—or that scar he’d felt just below her rib cage. It was a good foot long in total and thick with scar tissue. A knife wound? Or some kind of surgery?

The woman had too many secrets. Any one of them could have made her dangerous.

He let out a frustrated curse. Wasn’t his problem, he told himself.
Just walk away. You have enough problems of your own.

Judge Hyett came to mind, bringing with it an aching need for justice.

* * *

O
N A HUNCH,
the sheriff swung by his ranch. The place was more a hobby ranch, since he already had a full-time job. He raised a few cattle, a couple of pigs and enough chickens to keep himself and the staff at the sheriff’s department in fresh eggs.

As he drove up the road toward his ranch, he felt his gut tighten. A small brightly colored compact car matching the description of the one Lynette had told him her renter drove was parked behind his barn. Even though he’d seen the sketch that definitely looked like him sitting at his kitchen table, he didn’t want to believe the girl had been spying on him.

But apparently Lynette was right. The girl had taken an interest in him for some reason. Maybe it was a class project, he told himself as he pulled in, blocking the road that led out—just in case there was some reason she would need to make a run for it.

Getting out, he walked the last quarter mile through the tall, green spring grass, coming up behind her car. It was empty. He glanced around, wondering where she could be. He felt his chest tighten as he cleared the corner of the barn and saw that his front door was wide open. Well, that answered that question.

He thought about pulling his gun, but quickly rejected the idea when he thought about the young girl he’d glimpsed in the upstairs window over the store. Whatever her story, he couldn’t believe she meant him any harm.

As he stepped inside the front door, he stopped to listen. He heard something slam, like a drawer, and realized the noise had come from upstairs. Taking the stairs three at a time, he reached the landing and moved quietly down the hall toward his bedroom—the only room with a chest of drawers.

She had her back to the door and was just going through the bottom drawer when he saw her.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

He would have sworn she jumped a foot. She spun around, her eyes wide with fright, fear dominating her small, pale face. How could Lynette think, because of a few drawings, that this skinny little girl was dangerous?

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said.

She swallowed and pressed herself against the front of the bureau as if it was all that was holding her up.

“I’m Sheriff Frank Curry, but I have a feeling you already know that. I’m afraid I haven’t had the privilege of meeting you, though.” When all she did was stare, he said, “I’m going to need your name.”

“Are you arresting me?” Her voice broke with each word.

“Should I?”

She straightened a little, defiance coming into those big blue eyes. “I haven’t done anything.”

“If you were looking for valuables—”

She scoffed at that idea. “I’m not a thief.”

“But you did break into my house.”

“You left your door unlocked.”

“Not as an invitation for you to come in and go through my drawers. So if you’re not a thief, then what were you looking for?”

She lifted her chin. It surprised him the amount of challenge she could put into one look. She was such a tiny thing, so young, so...innocent. “I was looking for a photograph of my mother.”

He frowned. “Your mother?”

“You didn’t even keep
one,
did you?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t—”

“My name is Tiffany
Chandler.
”

Chandler? He felt his eyes widen in surprise and alarm. His ex had taken back her maiden name of Chandler? “You’re
Pam’s
daughter?”

“She said you would deny me.” Fury flashed in those blue eyes hotter than the coals of a branding fire.

“Deny you?”

“Deny that I’m your daughter.”

CHAPTER TEN

F
RANK STARED AT THE GIRL
, too shocked to speak for a moment. His cell phone rang. He reached for it, never taking his eyes off the young woman standing in front of him. The call was from the dispatcher.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. There’s been an accident. A semi rolled over on Highway 191 between Big Timber and Harlowton and is blocking the road on a blind curve. Can we talk later?”

“You don’t believe I’m your daughter.”

“I don’t know what to believe. If this is true, then why didn’t your mother tell me?” He saw her expression close like a steel trap.

“She said you would pretend you didn’t know about me.”

He fought back a curse. What had Pam told this girl? Lies, that was certain. “I have to go, but I will come by if it isn’t too late so we can talk. You’re staying in the apartment over the store, right?”

She didn’t respond.

“I’m not denying anything, all right? This has been a shock—I don’t know what to say.”

She nodded slowly, but was clearly still angry.

“I will come by later or first thing in the morning,” he said, and started to reach for her, to touch her shoulder, but she drew back.

“You’d better go,” she said, and turned and walked away.

He followed her car as far as the highway. She turned toward Beartooth. He flipped on his lights and siren and headed north, his mind racing.

As he rushed toward the accident, he tried to remember those last few months with Pam, after spending almost eighteen years doing his damnedest to forget them.

Even now, the weeks before she moved out were a blur of arguments. She’d been more emotional than he’d ever seen her, but he hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Now he realized she could have been pregnant if the girl really was his.

Why hadn’t Pam told him?

Or had she tried?

He had a sudden flash of Pam standing at the kitchen sink. She was wearing her favorite dress. The smell of roast beef was interlaced with the scent of her perfume.

It was years after that before he’d stopped smelling the sickly sweetness of that perfume. She’d quit wearing it after he’d told her he didn’t like it. Had it been that night?

Candles. There’d been candles on the table and his favorite supper.

With a curse, he slapped his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? All the signs were there, but where was he?

Lynette. He’d been to see her at the store that day. Probably stopped in for an orange soda and a candy bar. No doubt left there in a bad mood. He had seen that Lynette wasn’t any happier in her marriage than he was in his. But at least Lynette had the store. He’d wanted children; Pam was always dragging her feet, saying she wasn’t ready.

Had she planned to tell him that night that she was pregnant? She knew how badly he’d wanted a child. The nice dress, the candles on the table, his favorite dinner...

He couldn’t remember anything else about the night except that she never lit the candles and he never ate the meal. They must have gotten into an argument. Pam was so jealous of Lynette it was like an obsession.

“I married
you,
” he would snap at her.

“Only because you couldn’t have her.”

It was an old argument, one that got them nowhere.

“I love
you,
Pam. How many times do I have to say it?”

She’d never believed it, even though he
had
loved her. He just didn’t love her the way he loved Lynette, the way he always would love Lynette, his first love.

A week after that night, he came home from work and Pam was gone. The divorce papers came a few weeks later. He didn’t try to get her back. He just signed and mailed them. In truth, he’d been relieved. He couldn’t live anymore with Pam’s constant suspicions and accusations.

He’d always thought that if they’d had children, they would have made it. He would have loved Pam more than anything for giving him children. He’d thought children would give Pam what she needed as well—an anchor to him that would prove his love.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been driving until he saw the traffic backed up ahead. In Montana, miles were measured by hours or how many six-packs it took to get from one town to the next. Towns were few and far between in this part of the state, so it often took a lot of beer. Montana was new to the open-container law, not that some paid much attention.

That was one reason that crime in the state often involved alcohol and speeding. Murder was a rarity. But right now he would gladly murder Pam.

Ahead, he saw the overturned semi. Cursing how stupid he’d been about so many things, he slowed.

I have a daughter
.

Was it true? Why would Pam have kept this from him all these years? Could she hate him that much? Apparently so, he thought as he pulled to the side of the road.

As he started to get out, his radio went off. A moment later, the dispatcher patched through a call from the warden at Yuma prison.

“You still need identification on that mug shot you sent me?” the warden asked.

Frank said he did. “So he was one of yours?”

“Up until two weeks ago, when he and his brother were released on some damned legal technicality. You say he was murdered? I’m not surprised. He was always in trouble while he was in. His name’s Darrell Ackermann.”

Ackermann? Frank’s heart dropped. “You say he was released with his brother?”

“Gallen Ackermann. That photo you sent of the murder weapon? Gallen spent most of his time here hitchin’ horsehair. I asked his cell mate. He says it’s one of Gallen’s ropes. He’s another one headed for a violent end.”

* * *

O
NCE BACK IN TOWN
after another frustrating day digging in all the wrong places, Kate hurriedly changed and went downstairs to the café. Fortunately, it wasn’t busy yet. Bethany and Lou were handling things just fine, but even on a Monday night there would be a rush because of her weekly specials.

The special tonight was prime rib with a baked potato and a salad. She’d added it to the menu even though Claude’s friend Arnie Thorndike had told her she was making a mistake.

“Claude never had weekly specials,” the attorney told her.

“My Monday night specials are especially popular,” Kate had said, annoyed that Arnie was butting into her business.

“That was what was nice about the Branding Iron,” the older man said. “Claude kept it simple. People around here like simple.”

She’d refused to argue with him even though she wanted to say, “What do you know about people around here? You live like a hermit. So if you don’t like it, go back to your lair and leave me alone.” But she didn’t.

Instead she wondered why Claude had never mentioned Arnie Thorndike if they really had been best friends. It seemed odd, since Claude had told her about so many other people around Beartooth.

He’d warned her that Nettie would be trouble. She smiled now as she tied on her apron. Claude had certainly called that one right.

“She’s incredibly nosy,” he’d said. “Trust me, she’ll try to find out everything about you or die trying. Best thing to do with her is put her off the scent as quickly as possible.”

So why hadn’t he mentioned Arnie Thorndike?

Because Arnie was merely annoying and not someone she had to worry about, she thought as the bell tinkled over the door and a half dozen ranchers and their wives came in.

The only other person Claude hadn’t warned her about was Jack—and he’d turned out definitely to be someone she had reason to worry about.

* * *

“
I
THINK
I
KNOW
who was behind framing me for the rustling charge,” Jack said when he and Carson met at the Range Rider Monday evening.

Carson glanced over at him and then picked up his ginger ale to take a long drink.

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Jack continued. He knew Carson thought the best thing he could do was to forget it. Jack couldn’t have agreed more. But since when did he do the best thing for himself?

Kate LaFond came to mind. He pushed that thought away and continued. “I probably drank too much and had way too much fun in my young life and no doubt made some enemies I don’t know about, but no one dislikes me enough to send me to prison for two years. No one but Judge Hyett.”

Carson shook his head. “What are you saying?”

“Think about it. I was dating his precious daughter. He never made a secret of how he felt about that. Maybe he thought we were getting serious. Or maybe he just decided to nip it in the bud and get rid of me. What better way than sending me up on a rustling charge?”

Carson was still shaking his head. “Even if what you’re saying was true—”

“I know. You can’t imagine the judge stealing a prized bull in the middle of the night, right? So he got someone else to do his dirty work.”

His friend looked as skeptical as Jack had originally felt when the idea had come to him. “Don’t you see how perfect the judge had it? All he had to do was pick a couple of felons who would be coming before him for sentencing. He would make them a deal they couldn’t refuse. And if they ever talked, it would be the judge’s word against theirs.”