Redemption. B.J. Daniels
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It was the first time he’d been to the Branding Iron since he’d started work at the W Bar G. Since Destry had given everyone the day off to attend the fair, and he’d taken advantage of it, he decided to treat himself to breakfast. At least that was the story he told himself.
As Kate had done days before, she seemed to make a point of not looking at him. But when she came by to refill his cup, he pushed it closer to make her job easier and her fingers brushed his. She jerked back. Hot coffee sloshed onto the table and she let out an unladylike curse under her breath.
He reached for the napkins. “Here, let me—”
“I’ve got it,” she snapped, her gaze coming up to meet his. In the alley, her eyes had appeared dark, like her hair. Now, though, he saw with delight that they were wide set and the color of good whiskey. Her hair was the same color, with strands of gold woven through it, and fell to just below her chin.
He drew back his fingers and watched as she snatched the handful of napkins from him and cleaned up the mess. The shock of her touch still warmed his blood. She, on the other hand, appeared to be fighting hard to hide her reaction.
As the café began to clear out, she hurried to ring up patrons at the till and help Bethany clean the tables. He watched her. The woman could flat-out move when the café was busy. He had to admire her work ethic and her efficiency. He guessed she’d waitressed before buying the cafe.
“Ever been to a branding?” Jack asked as Kate came by a second time to refill his coffee. She shook her head, not looking at him. “There’s going to be a big one out at the W Bar G starting Monday. You should come. Get to know some of your neighbors, you know, socialize a little.”
She raised her gaze to his again. He saw anger spark like a Fourth of July firecracker.
“That’s right, you don’t need anyone.” He softened his words with a grin. “Especially the likes of me, huh.”
Some of the fire died back in her dark eyes. “Especially.”
“I just thought you’d like to see some of the real Wild West before you leave Beartooth.”
“Who says I’m leaving?” she challenged.
“Aren’t you?”
She looked away for a moment, then said, “I suppose I could bring out some cinnamon rolls. I heard neighbors bring food.”
His grin widened. “That would be nice and neighborly.”
She let out an amused chuckle as she left his table. He watched her, too interested in her for his own good.
As she started to gather up dirty dishes from a large table, he saw her freeze. Curious, he watched as she picked up what appeared to be a folded piece of paper that had been stuck under the edge of a plate.
She turned her back as she unfolded the note to read it. He saw her shoulders slump. She grabbed the edge of the table as if suddenly needing the support. For just an instant, he almost went to her. But she quickly straightened, tucked the note into her apron pocket and picked up the dirty dishes.
Jack tried to remember who had been sitting at that particular table. He couldn’t recall. He’d been too busy watching Kate to notice anyone else in the café.
So what could be in the note that would have had such an adverse effect on her? As she headed in his direction, she showed no sign of having been upset. He idly wondered where she’d learned to hide her feelings so well as she swept past him without a glance.
* * *
SHERIFF FRANK CURRY stepped out onto his porch. The morning was bright, the air brisk, the scent of the new spring growth on the breeze.
A member of the crow family who lived on his ranch called to him from the clothesline wire next to the house. A half dozen of the birds had gathered, only part of what he considered his extended family.
He’d made a habit of studying the crows and found them fascinating. This family had taken up residence on his ranch and included not only a mother, father and their “kids” but also some nephews, brothers and half brothers related to the mom and dad, he was guessing. Fifteen birds in all made up this little family.
Like some human families, the crows formed close nuclear families. Often the “kids” stayed around for more than five years. Sometimes the mother and family even adopted kids of unrelated neighbors.
The irony of crows easily forming a close-knit nuclear family unit, although he’d never been able to, didn’t escape Frank. He’d been married once a long time ago, after Lynette had broken his heart. He’d thought he’d gotten Lynette out of his system. But in truth, he’d gotten married on the rebound, a terrible mistake that he hadn’t had the sense to end even quicker than he had.
Poor Pam. She’d tried so hard to make him happy. Once she’d realized he was in love with Lynette, she’d turned his life into a living hell.
At least he’d been smart enough to end it, setting her free to find someone who loved her the way he loved Lynette. He doubted she would ever forgive him, though, not that he blamed her. Fortunately, she’d moved away after the divorce. He hadn’t seen her since.
But he’d lost his chance to have a family of his own. There was only one woman he’d wanted and Lynette had married Bob Benton. He wondered if she regretted not having a family or if he was alone in that.
One of the crows cawed at him. He smiled as more of them lined up along the clothesline as if coming to tell him good-morning. “Good morning,” he called back to them. After hours of studying the birds and their habits, he’d become somewhat of an expert on their behavior.
It was spring, so the birds had been busy building nests and courting. They were just like the cowboys and cowgirls who would be attending the spring fair today, he thought. They would preen, court and squabble, and there would be trouble. There always was.
He glanced at his watch and realized he had to get moving. He hoped he might see Lynette at the fair and mentally kicked himself for not inviting her. But he had to work, so he wouldn’t have made a very good companion anyway.
As he drove toward Big Timber, he thought about asking Lynette out on a real date. What was he waiting for anyway?
* * *
TUCKER WILLIAMS HADN’T read a book since high school and seldom even glanced at the local newspaper. But his wife, Mary, read it every morning to see who had given birth and who’d gotten divorced, died or been arrested, then passed on the goings-on around the county to him whether he was interested or not. This morning was no different.
“Some guy got murdered down by the river,” she said as she handed him a cup of coffee. She loved all those cop and forensic shows on television. “Didn’t have any identification on him, so they did a sketch and are asking if anyone knows him.” She turned the paper so he could see.
Tucker glanced at the sketch and let out a curse. “I saw him the other night. When I came out of the Range Rider, he was just getting out of his pickup. He asked me if I knew where he could find the woman who was running the café. I pointed him down the street....” He felt a chill.
“You were that close to him?” Mary asked, wide-eyed. “Then he ends up dead? You have to go to the sheriff.”
There were a lot of things Tucker had to do in his life. Work was at the top of the list. Tucker had been working construction for Grayson Construction Company for years—until recently, when his boss, Grayson Brooks, lost his wife, Anna, to cancer. Grayson had sold his construction business for pennies on the dollar to Tucker and left town. Now that Tucker was the boss, he couldn’t be late for work. “Maybe later.”
“Tuck, you can’t put this off. You might be the last person to see him alive—other than the killer.”
“Or Kate LaFond at the café was,” he said, and remembered seeing someone walking down the street that night as he’d driven past in his pickup. The cowboy had been right by