Redemption. B.J. Daniels
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laughed. “Yeah, right.” Kate LaFond had the face of an angel. “But I suppose it’s possible,” he added doubtfully.
“Is that the rig she drives?” he asked as they walked past a newer model red pickup.
“Yeah,” Carson said and frowned. “Jack?”
“What?”
“I know that look. Don’t get involved with this woman.”
Jack nodded. Clearly the woman had secrets and some questionable acquaintances, considering the man she’d been arguing with last night. But right now he was more curious about what he’d seen in the bed of her pickup. A shovel covered in fresh dirt. Kate LaFond had been doing some digging—but not in the flower beds at the front of the café, which she’d let go to weeds.
“Where does she say she’s from?” he asked Carson.
“She doesn’t. No one seems to know anything about her. She just showed up after Claude Durham died and took over the café. Not even nosy Nettie Benton at the general store has been able to find out anything about her.”
“A woman of mystery,” Jack said, smiling with relish.
Carson swore under his breath. “Why did I bother warning you?”
How could Jack not be curious about her? He’d been warned to keep his distance by not only his friend, but also the woman herself.
* * *
KATE LAFOND WATCHED the two cowboys leave. She didn’t have to ask about the blond, blue-eyed handsome one who’d come in with Carson Grant. She’d already heard more than enough about Jack French.
“Just like his father,” one of the older ranchers had said, with a shake of his head, this morning before Jack and Carson had come in. She’d been busy refilling coffee cups at the large table of regulars who met in the café each morning. They’d mentioned they’d heard Jack had gotten out of prison and was back.
“Delbert French was one wild son of a bee in his day. He could ride anything and damned sure wasn’t afraid to try. But he couldn’t stay out of trouble for the life of him. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to Jack.”
“Sad what happened to ol’ Del,” another rancher agreed. “Wonder if his boy plans to keep the family place.”
Hitch McCray had spoken up. “Smartest thing Jack could do is clear out. His father never amounted to anything on that piece of land. I doubt Jack will take to ranching any better than his old man did. He’d rather be a saddle bum.” Apparently, it was no secret Hitch wanted to buy the old French place.
Kate remembered how the others had gone quiet with disapproval. Hitch was the youngest of the regulars. She got the feeling that they didn’t particularly like him but put up with him because of his mother.
“Jack has as much right to be here as anyone,” Taylor West had said into the silence. “He’s paid for his mistake. If he really was the one who took that bull to start with.”
“Why would you say that?” Hitch had challenged. “He was caught dead to rights.”
“If Jack did rustle that bull, he was either drunk or just foolin’ around,” Taylor said. “Either way, Judge Hyett went awful hard on him. I suspect if Jack hadn’t been dating Judge Hang ’Em Hy’s daughter he would have gotten off with jail time served.”
The table had gone quiet after that. Kate had finished filling the coffee cups and gone to pick up their orders. By the time she’d returned with their breakfasts, the conversation had moved on to the weather.
Overhearing the earlier discussion now made her more curious about the man who’d come to her rescue last night. She’d been angry that he’d thought she needed rescuing. She’d been taking care of herself for so long she resented any help. The last thing she wanted was to be beholden to any man—especially one like Jack French. And now the cowboy thought he’d saved her last night.
She’d seen how surprised he’d been when her attacker had taken off without a fight. What Jack hadn’t seen was the small gun she’d pulled. The other man had seen it, though. One look at her and the gun, and he’d hightailed it.
Kate shuddered inwardly at the memory. She’d hoped she would have more time before one of them showed up. But she couldn’t let it rattle her. She’d deal with it, the same way she’d dealt with everything else in her life. But it did make her all the more aware that she needed to speed things up.
Late last fall, she’d barely gotten settled in before winter had hit with a fury. She’d realized quickly that she would have to wait it out. But now that spring had finally come to the mountains, she wasn’t about to let anything stop her. Or anyone.
Kate watched Jack French and his friend Carson Grant meandering up the street. She saw Jack peer into the bed of her pickup, then turn to look back as if he knew she’d be watching. She quickly turned away. Across the street, she saw movement in the room over the general store and groaned.
Jack French wasn’t the only one who was too curious about her and her personal business. Nosy Nettie Benton had been spying on her for months.
CHAPTER THREE
NETTIE BENTON TURNED OFF the vacuum and surveyed the room. She’d been talking for years about turning the storage area over the Beartooth General Store into an apartment.
It had taken her husband leaving for her to do more than talk. Bob had been gone four months now after packing up his pickup and leaving for Arizona, with no intention of ever returning. Not that she would take him back if he did.
She hadn’t expected to hear from him, given the way he’d left, but a few weeks ago she’d received a postcard. It had a cactus in bloom on the front and the words Greetings from Arizona. She’d turned it over, easily recognizing the handwriting of her husband of thirty years.
Just wanted to let you know that I made it without any problems. Hope all is well with you. Sorry about everything— Bob
She’d stared at the scrawled words for a moment and then dropped the postcard into the wastebasket without another thought. She felt guilty enough that she hadn’t given him a thought all these months, let alone missed him. But she was through with Bob Benton and realized she had been for years.
Bob’s parents had given them the store as a wedding present. Well, they’d given it to her, since Bob had no interest in being a shopkeeper, or anything else for that matter.
She was the one who worked in the store seven days a week, short days on Sunday because she had to go to church first. She prided herself on having a general store that carried everything from canned goods to diapers, muck boots to fishing tackle.
Nettie also prided herself on knowing everything that was going on in the small community. Most days, with business slow, she would perch in the front window of the store and watch what life there was pass by. She learned a lot doing that and liked to brag that she knew more about the people of Sweetgrass County than they knew even about themselves.
The bell over the front door of the store sounded below her. Nettie glanced out the window, saw Sheriff Frank Curry’s patrol pickup parked out front, then hurriedly checked her short, dyed-red hair in the mirror on the wall before she went down the stairs.
Her pulse jumped as it always did at the sight of the sheriff, who was standing just inside the door. She straightened, fighting a ridiculous grin, and did her best not to fuss with her new haircut.
“Mornin’, Lynette,” Frank said, tipping his Stetson. He was the only person who ever called her by her given name.
A big, broad-shouldered man, he looked as if he’d stepped out of an old Western movie with his thick, drooping mustache. Now in his late fifties, like her, he was even more handsome than he’d been when the two of them were young and in