White Christmas in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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by withholding information. Until now. He knew he’d seen Eric tonight even though he hadn’t seen his face. And he wasn’t willing to give up his brother that easily. Not until he heard the other side of things.
The sheriff didn’t press and Rusty breathed deep. Maybe the doctors were right that he merely needed some rest.
He turned to search for the woman’s face. If the lawman’s voice was real, she must be, too.
Just then he heard the soft sounds of slippers on the hardwood floor and he saw the woman turn to look behind her. She had a lovely neck, he thought with a smile.
“No,” the woman whispered in horror as she looked at something.
Rusty tried to raise himself up to defend her from whatever was coming, but he had no strength. Then he saw the woman was merely worried about the girl who ran from behind her and stood in front of him with her little hands on her hips. Her angel wings were crooked, but her face was beaming.
“Have you seen my daddy?” she demanded to know.
Rusty felt as if the room was spinning. “What’s he look like?”
He’d known too many fathers who had died in Afghanistan. “Was he an army man? In my platoon?”
“No, he’s a king,” the girl replied proudly as she stepped a little closer.
“British?”
“No, he’s a king in Montana,” she insisted with a guilty look at her mother. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “With a crown. My mommy doesn’t believe, but—”
Rusty smiled, finally realizing she was pretending. He had no idea that kind of innocence was still alive anywhere in the world.
He was going to answer her when he was struck with a sudden worry. The girl must have a mortal father, too.
“Does your father wear an orange parka?”
That would describe the tall man who had been in the ravine waiting for Eric. The man must have been using night-vision goggles, too. He wouldn’t have been able to see Rusty without them.
“My father always wears a purple robe,” the girl said firmly. “Purple is for kings. Never orange.”
He relaxed. “I haven’t seen him, then.”
Rusty wondered if his brother knew the man in the orange parka had taken a rifle out after the taillights on Eric’s pickup disappeared from view. In the dark, Rusty wouldn’t have known the man was aiming the gun at him except that he’d seen a small white beam of light a second before the shot was taken.
“Tessie, sweetheart,” the woman said as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the girl, “the sheriff needs to ask the man some questions. And you need to go back to the bedroom.”
The woman released her daughter and gave her a nudge in the direction of the hallway. All three adults watched as the girl dutifully walked down the hall and went through a door.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said.
The lawman nodded and then moved closer so Rusty could see him and the notebook in his hand.
“Where were you when you got shot?”
Rusty thought a minute and then decided there was no harm in telling the lawman. “The ravine that is a quarter of a mile from the gravel road that intersects with the road that goes up to the Morgan ranch.”
Rusty had been fortunate he’d been able to scramble to the top of the ravine and get on his horse before the man in the orange parka could walk over to where he had been shot.
“So you were on your father’s old place? The one the bank foreclosed on?”
Rusty nodded and the slight action made him wince. “I was just looking around. No harm in that.”
“An ambulance is on its way,” the sheriff said as he stood up and put the notebook back into his pocket.
The sheriff had a gray Stetson on his head and it shaded his eyes, but there was no doubt where he was focused next. “I recognize you now. You were a scrawny little kid last time I saw you. That ranch of your father’s was bigger than the Elkton ranch here. Got put up for sale by the bank in the past month or so. Some corporation bought it. It wasn’t handled right—I’ll give you and your brother that much.”
Rusty tried to answer, but the pain in his head stopped him from doing more than giving a slight nod. He was surprised anyone from Dry Creek would remember him. He’d joined the army when he turned eighteen and hadn’t come back until he’d gotten off the plane in Billings early this morning. That was eight long years and he’d changed.
“I keep track of your brother,” the sheriff continued, his broad face looking almost sympathetic. He pushed the brim of his hat back so his eyes were no longer hidden.
Rusty nodded. “Eric is supposed to be staying with the Morgans and going to school. But they said he got temporary work on another ranch, so he wasn’t there. He thinks I’m coming next week.”
He heard another feminine gasp from behind his shoulder. He tried to turn, but his shoulder twisted in pain. He could barely hear what the sheriff was saying.
“I don’t know about any job, but your brother’s been causing trouble,” the lawman continued. “Claimed the bank cheated you all somehow. Seems your dad had a heart attack and died before he could prove he paid off the mortgage on that ranch of his. That might make your brother mad enough to steal cattle.”
Rusty didn’t say anything. He’d talked several times on the phone these past weeks with his brother and he had his own suspicions about what was happening around here. He knew his brother would never steal anyone’s cattle. Rustling had prompted their father’s need for the loan that had ultimately taken the ranch away from them all. But he feared the boy was in deeper trouble than he had thought.
“If my father says he made the payment, he did,” he finally said. That much he knew for certain. His father might have been a mean, cantankerous man, but he was honest to the point of plain stubbornness.
The sheriff looked at Rusty some more, as if weighing the words Rusty was holding back as well as the few he’d spoken. Finally, the lawman squinted at the notebook in his hand. “Anyone we can contact for you, son?”
“Just my brother, Eric. He’s the only family I have.”
Rusty felt the sweat collecting on his forehead—which made no sense, because the air was chilly.
Another shadow flitted over him, and when he blinked, he saw the woman again. He hoped he wasn’t going to pass out.
“Your brother’s Eric? Eric Calhoun?” the woman demanded, clearly upset.
The woman’s eyes were wide and he couldn’t help but notice they were the color of warm honey with flecks of cinnamon in them.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“You tell your brother to stay away from Karyn McNab,” the woman said with some steel in her voice. “She’s too young to get married.”
“Married?” Rusty repeated, stunned. “Who’s getting married?”
“Your Eric wants to marry my Karyn,” the woman said, the challenge obvious in her voice even before she added, “and I’m doing my best to stop them from making the worst mistake of their lives.”
He looked at the woman, trying to form a reply. His mouth wouldn’t work, though.
“It didn’t help that Mrs. Hargrove said they could be Mary and Joseph in the church pageant,” the woman added, putting her hands on her hips just as her daughter had done earlier. “They promised to come up with a donkey.”
Rusty closed his eyes. He used to know a Mrs. Hargrove. But now he’d lost so much blood he must be light-headed. The odd thing