Redemption (24 page)

Then he looked in her direction and she felt her blood run cold. It was him. The oldest Ackermann. Cecil, she’d heard him called.

Her grandmother’s cherished china cup slipped from her fingers. She hardly heard it shatter in the old white-porcelain sink—or the plate beneath it crack and break in two.

As if sleepwalking, she reached for the dish towel, drying her hands as her gaze followed the man crossing her yard toward her back door.

Loralee had left the shotgun just inside the front door last night. She knew she would never reach it in time. At her age, just the force of firing both barrels would probably land her on her backside anyway.

She had another way of dealing with the critters that wandered into her backyard, one that had worked for her since she was a girl.

As she heard the back door splinter, she picked up the slingshot she kept by the screenless kitchen window and one of the round rocks she’d hauled up in a pail from the creek.

She’d sent grizzlies hightailing it with one good shot.

One good shot was what she needed now, she thought as she turned to see the man standing just feet away in the open doorway.

“Remember me?” he asked, amusement and malice in his tone. “Not going to chase me out of your vegetable patch this time.”

Even if she hadn’t seen the knife clutched in his hand, his expression told her everything she needed to know. She slipped the rock into the slingshot, never taking her eyes off the man. She could smell Cecil from where he stood, a potent mixture of sweat and rage.

The moment he moved, she lifted the slingshot, took aim and let the rock go.

* * *

A
S HE LEFT
W
ESTFALL’S
office, Frank hated what he’d been forced to do, but there was only so much he could do on his own without jeopardizing his position as sheriff.

But had he really hired Billy the Kid Westfall? His reasons had made sense back at his ranch this morning. He couldn’t do more than a cursory search for Pam because of his job. He needed someone without those limitations, and that was definitely Billy Westfall.

There was another good reason for hiring him, though, one that made even more sense. Billy’s grandfather Bull was the one person Pam might have confided in. If anyone knew where she was now, it would be Bull Westfall.

When Pam had first come to Montana—before Frank had met her—she’d rented an apartment from Bull’s sister Elizabeth. The Westfall family had adopted her, taking her under their wing, since she was a city girl lost in the wilds of Montana.

“Bull is like the father I never had,” she often said. “He and Elizabeth were so kind to me.”

“Before I came along,” he would add for her.

Frank knew his talking to Bull would get him nowhere. Bull never liked him and no doubt still blamed him for his grandson leaving the sheriff’s department.

But Bull might help Billy find Pam. Why was she hiding to begin with? It made no sense. Was she really that afraid of him? Or did she just want Tiffany to believe she was?

Frank swore under his breath. How convenient that Pam had disappeared and right when he had so many questions to ask her.

Billy had always been a loose cannon. If anyone could find Pam if she didn’t want to be found, then it just might be Billy the Kid.

Frank hoped to hell he hadn’t made a mistake. Not just in hiring Billy, but in looking for Pam. He was half-afraid Pam had reason to fear for her life if he found her.

He had just reached his patrol pickup when he got a call from dispatch.

“Loralee Clark says she has a dead man in her kitchen. She wants to know what you’d like her to do with him.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J
ACK LOOKED UP
and saw a dark-colored pickup coming up the road toward him. As it drew closer, he could hear the rumble of the motor and the missing tailpipe. His pulse jumped at the familiar sound as he recalled where he’d heard it only nights before.

The truck roared past in a cloud of dust, the driver keeping his foot to the gas pedal and his eyes straight ahead. Even if he hadn’t recognized the sound of the truck, he would have known the man wasn’t from around these parts. Everyone in the county gave a nod or raised a couple of fingers from the wheel when they passed another vehicle, especially out here on a dirt road.

He dropped over a rise, then turned around in the middle of the road and went after the truck. In truth, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe just see where the man was headed. Or get his license plate number. Anything more would be foolhardy at best if the man behind the wheel of that pickup was who he suspected he was.

Jack topped several rises. Ahead, all he could see was a cloud of dust. The road curved, dipped and finally rose again along the foothills of the Crazies. As he topped the next rise, he could see the road for several miles. It was empty.

He swore under his breath as he hit his brakes. Dust hung in the air, but there was no sign of the truck. Jack slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. The man must have turned off or circled back around.

The thought sent his heart racing. Circled back to town—or Ackermann Hollow?

Turning around, Jack took off toward Beartooth. Kate had said she was working late at the café. But what if things had slowed down and she’d decided to do some digging on her own this evening?

* * *

K
ATE LOOKED UP IN
surprise as Jack stormed in the back door of the café. She’d just put the closed sign on the front door and locked it only minutes before and was heading upstairs to change.

“I was afraid you’d close early,” he said.

“If you’re hungry—”

“You weren’t thinking of going to the hollow alone, were you?”

She put her hands on her hips. “We might be partners, but I can—”

“I just saw one of the Ackermanns. I think he’s headed for the hollow.”

Kate tried not to let him see how that news scared her. “You’re sure it was an Ackermann?”

Jack swore. “It was one of those two men who paid you a visit not long ago. Does it really matter if they are Ackermanns or not?”

She didn’t know why she was arguing with him. Maybe because she didn’t want to believe they were back.

“Damn it, Kate. I’m telling you it was one of them. I passed him on the road. When I went after him, he—”

“Why would you go after him?” she demanded and pushed past him for the stairs to her apartment. “This is why I didn’t want you involved.”

He caught up with her before she reached the stairs. Grabbing her arm, he turned her to face him.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice breaking.

“I’m just going up to my apartment.”

“You know what I mean. Let this go. No amount of gold is worth losing your life over.”

She studied his handsome face, weakening at his touch, at the way he looked at her. Without thinking, she touched her palm to his cheek. His jaw was rough with a day’s stubble, strong with determination. “I wish I could.”

He shoved back his hat and his gaze locked with hers. “I can’t protect you 24/7 and I can’t stick around and see you get killed.” She watched him reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the map.

She raised a brow, her heart sinking as he handed it to her. “Already running out on me, Jack? I thought it would be after we found the gold. I guess I underestimated you.”

Letting out a growl, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. His kiss was an angry mix of frustration and passion. She opened her lips to his demanding mouth as he lifted her off her feet and pressed her against the café wall with his body.

She clung to him, unapologetic for the desire that rippled through her like a rogue wave. She wanted him, wanted him out of her system. She’d known he was a heartbreaker. She’d sworn he wasn’t stealing hers the way he had that damned prize bull that had sent him to prison and yet when he ended the kiss and her feet hit the floor again, she felt something inside her break.

“I’ll be out at my family’s place in case you change your mind,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. “I’m getting the place ready to sell.” With that he walked out.

* * *

S
HERIFF
F
RANK
C
URRY RACED
out to the Clark place, siren and lights blazing.

He found Loralee sitting on the porch, a double-barreled shotgun lying across her lap.

“Loralee?” Frank said as he climbed out of his patrol pickup.

“Sheriff.”

“I understand there is a dead man on your kitchen floor?” he asked, glancing toward the house. “Did you shoot him?”

“Nope. Nailed him good with a rock and my slingshot. I’m a deadeye with that thing.”

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go take a look,” he suggested as he mounted the porch steps.

“Fine with me. I’ve seen enough of him and his.”

Him and his? Frank pulled open the screen and stepped in. As he did, he drew his weapon and moved cautiously toward the kitchen.

The house was chock-full of things Loralee had collected during her lifetime. Knickknacks were everywhere. Those and quilts. They hung on the walls, off the backs of chairs and over the couch.

As he stepped into the large ranch-style kitchen, he couldn’t help noticing how clean it was. So clean that the puddle of tracked blood on the floor jumped out at him. So did the fact that whoever had left the blood was no longer lying there.

The tracks in the blood headed for the back door. Frank followed the trail out the door and down the steps. From there the blood disappeared in the grass.

He glanced around the yard. Seeing no one, he went back to the front porch and Loralee.

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“There’s no one in there.” Frank saw fear seize her expression.

“He wasn’t dead?” she cried.

“Apparently not. He left blood on your kitchen floor and a trail out your back door.”

Loralee swore, shocking him. She clutched the shotgun tighter. “That means he’ll be back.”

“I think you’d best tell me what’s going on, don’t you?”

She nodded and he listened, even more shocked to hear what she had to tell him.

“You’re sure it was one of the Ackermanns?” he asked when she’d finished.

“I never forget a face. I keep telling Marian that. I told her I recognized Kate LaFond.” She scoffed. “She didn’t believe me. Thought I was getting senile. Can’t wait to see her face when I show her the proof I found.”

“Excuse me. Kate LaFond?”

“She looks just like her mother,” Loralee said emphatically.

If it wasn’t for the blood and the male-sized tracks in Loralee’s kitchen, Frank would have thought the woman
was
senile.

“I’m confused. What does this have to do with Kate LaFond?” Frank asked.

Loralee sighed and reached in her pocket to pull out a crumpled photograph. He was instantly reminded of the photo he’d found near the dead man’s body.

He glanced at the snapshot of a woman holding a baby. He stared at the pretty young woman and the baby in her arms. The resemblance was undeniable.

“Who is this?” he asked Loralee.

“Teeny Ackermann.”

Frank was already shaking his head. This couldn’t be her. In the other photograph, Cullen’s wife had been horribly thin, her face drawn, her hair looking as if it had been cut with dull scissors. There had been a vacant, despondent look in her eyes. Nothing like this happy, sweet-looking woman with the baby.

“I took that photograph,” Loralee said. “It was about a year after Cullen married her and brought her back here to help raise his other woman’s brood.” She tsked, then added, “That baby she’s holding? It’s Kate LaFond. She can call herself anything she likes, but I’m telling you, that’s her. Even you saw the resemblance.”

Even me,
he thought. “There is
some
resemblance,” he said noncommittally.

Loralee humphed at that. “Like I said, I never forget a face. The minute I saw that cur, I knew it was the oldest Ackermann whelp. I caught him enough times stealing my vegetables from my garden. Thank my lucky stars those boys went away all those years ago. They scared me. I always knew that one especially would be back when he growed up. When I’d see him in my garden? That look he’d give me?” She shuddered and glanced toward the front door of her house. “I should have hit him harder.”

Frank looked toward the hollow where the Ackermanns had lived. He had to hand it to Loralee for going up there alone. There were only a few places that he’d felt evil had holed up from some long-ago crime. That hollow was one of them.

“Lock up the house,” Frank said. “I’ll get one of my deputies to take you to your daughter’s.” He thought she’d put up a fight, but to his surprise, she didn’t. “You can leave the shotgun here.”

She looked skeptical.

“He won’t come looking for you in Big Timber. But I’ll have a deputy keep an eye on your daughter’s place, just in case, until he’s found.”

While Loralee got together what she would need, Frank called for backup. He wasn’t sure how badly the man had been bleeding. He hoped for enough blood to track him.

“Bring the dog,” he told his deputy. “I want to find this man.”

* * *

K
ATE HAD JUST TURNED
onto one of the dirt roads that headed up into the Crazies when she spotted the sheriff’s patrol pickup coming toward her.

She’d been upset after Jack left. He was probably right about the map being nothing more than fantasy. But Claude had believed it, and she needed to trust it, too. She felt she owed it to both her fathers—the one who had given her life—and the one who’d raised her. Both believed in lost treasure. Both had spent their lives looking for something they’d lost.

Just as she owed her mother after she’d risked her life to make the map and see that her daughter got it—and the gold.

She hoped the sheriff’s patrol pickup kept going toward town. But luck wasn’t with her. The pickup slowed, his window came down and he began to flag her over.

Her stomach roiled as she braked to a stop beside his truck.

“Afternoon, Sheriff. Is something wrong?” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, but she did her best not to show it.