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Murder At Granite Falls
Roxanne Rustand


Just let it go…Everyone in Granite Falls tells Carrie Randall the same thing. Is it a threat, or a warning? Yet even if it endangers her fresh start, Carrie needs to know what secret the town's hiding. There's her troubled student and his disturbing drawings. His fiercely protective father, and the mysterious death of his mother. And Carrie definitely has to find out more about the bad reputation of her standoffish new landlord, Logan Bradley. She wants to trust him, but she's been fooled by charm before. Is the town wrong about him–or is she?









Carrie stared at the phone, hesitated, then lifted it to her ear and said hello.


Seconds ticked by. Three. Four. Five.

In disgust, she lowered the phone and poised her forefinger over the end button.

“Don’t hang up.” The harsh, low whisper effectively masked the caller’s voice. “Not yet.”

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“Don’t matter.” His low, venomous laugh grated against her skin and raised the hair at the back of her neck. “Not yet.”

“Billy?”

He ignored her question. “You look pretty tonight.”

Her hand shook and she nearly dropped the phone. “What?”

“Real pretty.”

“Who is this?”

“I’d be more careful in the future if I was you. The night isn’t all that safe.”

“Maybe not for you, either,” she snapped. She jammed a shaking finger onto the keypad of the phone to end the call. He’d been watching her….




ROXANNE RUSTAND


lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, many of whom find their way into her books. She works part-time as a registered dietitian at a psychiatric facility, but otherwise you’ll find her writing at home in her jammies, surrounded by three dogs begging for treats, or out in the barn with the horses. Her favorite time of all is when her kids are home—though all three are now busy with college and jobs.

This is her twenty-fifth novel. RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achievement Award in 2005, and she won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.

She loves to hear from readers! Her snail-mail address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 52406-2550. You can also contact her at: www.roxannerustand.com, www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand, or at her blog, where readers and writers talk about their pets: www.roxannerustand.blogspot.com.




Murder at Granite Falls

Roxanne Rustand





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Even though I walk through the valley of the

shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou are

with me, Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

—Psalms 23:4


With love to my dear mother, Arline,

and brother Glen; and to Larry, who has been

so supportive during my writing journey.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




ONE


Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, Carrie Randall glanced again in her rearview mirror. The vehicle was still behind her. Billy? It couldn’t be. She’d been so very, very careful.

She’d caught a better glimpse of the car while negotiating a set of hairpin turns at a higher elevation. Not close enough to identify the make and model. But close enough to be fairly certain it was the same one that had tailed her for the past two hours.

She palmed her cell phone, checking the number of reception bars on the screen. Zero. No surprise in this isolated part of the Montana Rockies, where bears probably outnumbered the two-footed residents three-to-one.

She frowned at the odometer. Ten miles to the town of Granite Falls. The lane leading to her new home should be coming up in less than a mile. But if her ex-husband was following her, the last thing she wanted was to lead him right to her door.

An earsplitting yowl erupted from the cage on the seat behind her, followed by the frantic scrabbling of paws. “It’s okay, Harley. Just hang on.”

She stepped on the gas and rocketed past the little gravel lane that wound into the pines off to the left. Then she headed straight for town.



Granite Falls was as picturesque as its tourism website claimed.

The mountain highway widened into a charming six-block-long main street flanked on both sides by historic storefronts, boardwalks and hitching rails straight out of an old Western movie. The center of town was filled with upscale shops and quaint restaurants geared to the tourist trade, while the dusty pickups nosed up to the feed store and café on the far edge of town revealed where the locals gathered. Would that be a safe place to stop?

A maroon Lawler County sheriff’s deputy patrol car parked face-out in front of the café made her decision easy.

She checked in her rearview mirror once more, turned sharply into the parking lot and pulled up along the cruiser. Over her shoulder, she saw the dark sedan slow down, then speed past. Good riddance.

If she lingered in town long enough, the driver might give up, or get careless and not see her leave. Though if it was Billy, he’d be back, restraining order or not. “Howdy, ma’am.”

She turned to find a burly deputy behind her, a foam coffee cup in his hand, waiting to get into his car. The silver name badge pinned to his khaki uniform breast pocket identified him as Vance Munson.

Perhaps in his late thirties, he’d probably been hot stuff in high school in an Elvis sort of way, until he’d put on some years and packed on an extra fifty pounds. With an affable smile on his face, a rumpled uniform and a cellophane bag of cookies in his hand, he reminded her of a genial teddy bear.

“Sorry.” She stepped back to give him space. “I…was a little distracted. I thought someone was following me on the highway.”

The deputy’s full lips quirked into a smile. “You’ll find a lot of tourists in these parts, headin’ into town just like yourself. No cause for worry.”

“I’m actually moving here.” She extended her arm, and he juggled his coffee cup into his other hand to accept the handshake. “Carrie Randall.”

He rocked back on his heels, taking her measure. “Welcome, then.”

“A dark sedan followed me for the past hundred miles then right into town.” She looked up the empty Main Street. “Though I couldn’t tell you the license plate or even the make of the car.”

“Like I said, you’ll find a lot of travelers out here on long trips. Destinations are few and far between. People go sightseeing, and you might run into the same folks time and again. No call for worry.”

She eyed a family coming out of the café and lowered her voice. “I had to file a restraining order against my ex-husband last year.”

Munson’s gaze sharpened. “Well, now,” he drawled. “That might be a calf of a different color. He knows you’re moving here?”

“I certainly didn’t tell him. I hear he’s following a rodeo circuit down in the Southwest this summer. But…”

“But you aren’t sure.” Munson tipped his head toward the center of town. “Ma’am, you can find the county courthouse just four blocks west of here. You might want to file here, as well.”

“Well…”

“It’s for your own good.” He gave her a warm, encouraging smile. “Where are you staying? I can pass the word along. We like to keep an eye on things around here.”

Billy had dropped out of sight during the past year, while she stayed with her protective brother, Trace. During that time, she’d felt safe from Billy’s volatile temper, which had escalated ever since their divorce.

Now, she just wanted to start life fresh, with none of those old reminders. No looking over her shoulder. And no rumors filtering out about her being another one of those women who had fallen for charm and flash and ended up in an abusive relationship with an unfaithful man. In small towns like this one, idle talk by one of Lawler County’s finest would reach the local grapevine and she’d be branded forever. “I—I’ll be fine.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Munson’s expression. “Too many women fail to ask for help, ma’am, and the results can be mighty sad. Our sheriff’s department will do whatever it can to assist you, but you have to cooperate.”

She sighed. “I have a summer lease on an upstairs apartment out at Wolf River Rafting Company.”

“The Bradleys,” he said, his mouth twisting with a hint of distaste.

He’d settled his aviator shades into place, but from his long silence and the muscle ticking along his jaw, she guessed that the deputy didn’t approve. “Is there something I should know?”

“Just…watch your step out there.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head. “And don’t ever forget to lock your doors.”



With Vance Munson’s words still playing through her thoughts, Carrie felt a shiver of unease as she stepped out of her aging silver Tahoe and shielded her eyes against the setting sun.

Sure enough, Wolf River Rafting Company was emblazoned in gilt letters on a sign over the door of the two-story log building overlooking the river and on the smaller, matching building next to the riverbank.

This would be her home for the next three months, and she’d been lucky to find it through a chance discovery on the internet, though as she surveyed the area, a chill worked its way down her spine. The small clearing was bounded on one side by river, on the other three by impenetrable pine forest, and to the west the massive, snowcapped Rockies loomed high along the horizon.

She should’ve expected a Montana Rockies rafting company would be located in an isolated place offering good access to a river, but she could see nothing else close by. Not a store, not a resort. Not even a cabin. And it was a good half mile off the highway, well out of sight of any passing traffic.

Which meant she’d probably be totally alone come nightfall. Vulnerable.

Was that why the deputy had seemed hesitant about her moving out here? The tense knot in her stomach started to relax. Maybe that was it—he hadn’t been hinting at any concern about the Bradleys. He just thought this place would be terribly isolated for a woman living by herself.

Though right now, cheerful pandemonium reigned. A jumble of dirt bikes had been ditched against the trees by a group of mud-streaked boys fishing along the shore. They were fairly bursting with energy, jostling each other and teasing, and then one fell in the water and the rest laughed uproariously when he emerged.

Carrie smiled, remembering the exquisite patience and silence of fly-fishing with Trace. Any fish within a hundred yards of these kids had probably long since skedaddled.

To the right, a couple of eight-man white-water rafts were pulled up on the grass. Down at the river’s edge, a dozen silver-haired women chattered on the rocky bank next to a massive rubber raft—a twenty-footer, probably—with inflated tubular sides. The customers were fumbling with the fastenings of their bulky orange life vests while a tall, younger woman moved among them, redirecting wayward straps and snugging the vests into position. Occasionally, she darted into the log boathouse to fetch a different size.

The scene brought back happy memories of the river guiding job Carrie had held through college. It all seemed so normal. So safe.

The woman in charge studied her for a split second, then hiked her thumb toward the building. “Logan’s inside,” she shouted.

Carrie nodded, hit the lock button on her key chain out of habit, and picked her way across the river rock.

At the corner of the building she abruptly came face-to-chest with a man in a faded Denver Broncos T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts.

He caught her upper arms with his strong hands, steadied her, then released his grip. “Kayak rental?”

At his touch, an expected sense of awareness warmed her heart, and she quelled a sudden flash of panic. Her immediate instinct was to run.

After a heartbeat, she managed a smile and looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen this side of Paul Newman on the silver screen. Oh, my.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, catching her breath.

“My fault.”

“I—I’m Carrie Randall. I’m here about the apartment.”

His face registered a flash of surprise, and from his quick, searching look, she knew he was probably thinking she was some harebrained city gal, way out of her element.

“Well, then,” he drawled as he tipped his head toward an open staircase on the side of the building. “Let’s do the tour. I’m Logan Bradley, by the way.”

His face was lean and tan, with a strong jaw and a shock of near-black hair tumbling over his forehead that made him look as though he belonged on some back lot in Hollywood, not here in the middle of nowhere.

He offered his hand for a brief shake, the warmth of his fingers settling in the vicinity of her heart and setting off alarm bells that she would not ignore. Charmer…charmer…

She blinked and abruptly jerked her hand back.

This instant, blinding reaction was exactly what had drawn her to Billy, and the emotional wreckage from their divorce was still too painful to bear.

Though fortunately, her concerns about that dark sedan appeared to be unfounded. Deputy Munson had probably been right about it belonging to some vacationer following the same long, long highway on the way to Granite Falls. No one had been lying in wait when she left town. No one had followed her here. Thank You, Lord.

Logan frowned at her. By now, he had to figure she was not only a city slicker, but a fruitcake to boot, if she could barely shake his hand. He was probably even having serious second thoughts about accepting his new lodger.

Not a good thing.

If he changed his mind, the newest teacher in Granite Falls would be sleeping in her Tahoe during summer term, because there was literally nowhere else in the area that wasn’t priced for the affluent tourist trade. Isolated or not, this was her one shot for a roof over her head this summer, and she had no other choice.

“The apartment?” she prodded, pinning on her brightest smile.

He seemed to shake off his thoughts, and with a long sigh he led the way up a rustic outside stairway to a balcony that ran the length of the building.

Two doors, one at either end, stood open to the warm afternoon sun reflecting off the river. Between them, six double-hung windows were raised to catch the soft, pine-scented breeze.

He tipped his head toward the woman now shepherding the flock of older women into the raft. “My sister, Penny, is the assistant manager here. She lives in town, but she’s out here almost every day.” He cracked a lopsided smile. “She came up and aired your place out this morning and checked for spiders and mice, just so you wouldn’t have any surprises.”

Given the intent gleam in his eyes, she wondered if he was hoping she’d just head straight back to town. He couldn’t know that a few little guests were the least of her worries.

She lifted a shoulder. “Not a problem. I’ve got Harley with me.”

His thick, dark lashes—it was so unfair, when a guy was blessed with what she couldn’t even manage with mascara—lowered as he gave her a narrowed look. “Harley?”

She waved an airy hand at him as she passed and stepped into the apartment. “He’ll dispatch anything that moves, believe me.”

At least it was true for small vermin. If her raggedy old tomcat could handle the two-legged kind, she’d feel a whole lot safer.

Logan ushered her into the apartment and she caught her breath in delight as she stepped inside.

The photos on the internet realty listing hadn’t done justice to the feeling of being up in the treetops, with the pine paneled walls and abundance of sunshine pouring in the windows.

A bright crazy quilt hung on the wall above a ruby plush sofa and two matching upholstered chairs perfect for curling up with a good book. The L-shaped kitchen offered ample counter space with gleaming stainless-steel appliances that looked almost new. A gold, ruby and forest-green area rug warmed the hardwood floors.

“This is absolutely lovely. I wasn’t expecting it to be so nice.”

A half smile briefly touched Logan’s mouth. “Penny probably had a little too much fun with this. You have it for the summer, then a group of skiers has reserved it for over the winter. After that, she plans to live here during the tourist season every summer.”

Again, that little frisson of worry started to tie Carrie’s stomach into a knot. “So you don’t live on the property, either?”

“Penny stays with our great-aunt in town and I have an old cabin a quarter mile upriver. At least one of us is here from sunrise until dark…most days. Though I’m on the road at times, as well.”

“Sounds like a busy schedule.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Penny and I are just getting the raft business going again after a few…setbacks last year. Eventually, she’ll manage it and I’ll start adding an outfitting business for trips up into the mountains.”

She nodded, hiding her dismay at his words. She would be alone here.

Though no one knew exactly where she’d moved, except for her brother and his fiancée, and she’d carefully kept his ranch as her cell phone and credit card billing address since she could pay her bills online. With that and no home ownership records to trace, it would be hard for Billy or anyone else from her past to find her.

Surely everything would be fine.

But still, as she followed Logan down the stairs to go after her luggage, she started to pray.



“So what do you think?” Penny’s mouth twitched as she looked up at the top floor of the building, where their new tenant was busily sweeping off the balcony. “Will the new teacher last out here?”

Logan snorted. “My guess? Not even as long as the past two tenants.”

“I don’t know…she sounded pretty desperate for a place to rent over the summer.”

“That’s what the others said. A little problem with bears in the trash cans at night and a few wolf howls sent them both packing in a hurry. I gave her our cell phone numbers to call, in case she gets spooked about something.”

His gaze strayed to the petite woman wielding the broom. She had to be a good six inches shorter than Penny’s five foot eight, and with that gleaming cap of short mahogany hair and those sparkling hazel eyes, she looked like an energetic pixie. When she’d mentioned that she had some guy named Harley with her, he’d even felt a flash of serious disappointment that she was committed to someone…

Until he’d discovered that Harley was probably the most battered, disreputable cat he’d ever seen.

“I’m not a betting man, but I’ll give her two days, tops. When we ran into each other at the corner of the building she was as skittish as a week-old filly.”

“Must have been all of your charisma,” Penny teased.

“Or maybe she heard the rumors and believes them. I hope not—we’ll need her rent money if we have a slow summer like the last one.”

Penny’s smile faded. “That won’t happen. Things have died down around here, haven’t they?”

“We can hope.” He lifted a shoulder. “I just want everything in place for you here so I can get back on the road as soon as possible.”

She paled. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Your doctor said—”

“I won’t take chances.” He ruffled the top of her wavy russet mane, which had long since escaped her attempts at a ponytail, just as he had when they were kids growing up on a ranch.

She batted his hand away. “And you think riding saddle broncs isn’t taking a chance?”

“If I don’t pay off those short-term loans from last year, we could lose this place. I’ve got to go.”

“We’ll figure out something. It isn’t worth it, Logan.”

“But you own a quarter of this business and you’ll go down if I do. I can’t let that happen.”

She nudged him in the ribs and made a face. “I think it’s an excuse to leave town and not enjoy that lovely cabin any longer.”

He laughed at that. “I’m getting to know the mice on a first-name basis. You can move into the spare room any time you want—they’d love to meet you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great offer. I’ll think about it awhile longer, though.”

“At least you’re staying with Aunt Betty. I think she actually has a furnace there, if I’m not mistaken. And plumbing that works. All the time.”

“She already asked you to move in, too. There’s plenty of room.”

At the thought of all the lace and frills in Betty’s house, Logan shuddered. The second guest room was done in lilac and pink, with an explosion of flowers on the wallpaper, and though Betty was a sweetheart, she loved to hover and fuss.

“I’m fine with where I’m at for now. All I need is to get back on the circuit for the rest of this season and then the next, draw good broncs at every rodeo, and not part ways with any of them until the eight-second buzzer. Then I promise I’ll quit for good.”

They both fell silent for a moment, and he knew they were thinking about the same thing—the accusations and ensuing trial that had nearly ruined Logan’s reputation and the beginnings of their rafting company last year.

The legal costs had taken his savings, but at least he’d had good representation. Without it, he would’ve been behind bars…maybe for the rest of his life.

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” she murmured. “If it means throwing you in the boathouse and tossing away the key.”

“I’d sure be a lot of use in there.”

“Speaking of that, I had a really good group today. Those Red Hat ladies are the best.” Penny blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes. “And we’ve already got some reservations booked well into June, so we’ve got a good start on the season. I think the new website has helped a lot.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll be fine, Logan.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “People will forget about what happened. They’ll realize you couldn’t possibly be capable of hurting anyone.”

“Maybe.” He steeled himself, waiting for one of her platitudes about turning his burdens over to God, but she’d probably given up on trying to convince him. He hoped so.

Up on the outside balcony, Carrie stood at the door to her apartment. “Thanks again for helping move my things in,” she called out.

Logan lifted a hand in reply, and she waved as she turned to go back inside.

There were good reasons for getting back on the road, and now a new one had just moved into the apartment above the rafting office.

Sweet, perky, with an infectious smile and an endearing hint of vulnerability, Carrie reminded him of Janie, the love of his life through high school and college, and he could almost envy the kids who were going to be in Carrie’s classroom every day.

Penny followed his glance at the balcony, then angled an amused smile at him. “This is sure going to be an interesting summer.”

He leveled an impatient look at her. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

“Nope. Seriously, it’s time you got on with your life. Just because things didn’t work out with Lorena shouldn’t be reason to end up a hermit.”

“A hermit,” he retorted.

“Well, nearly.” Penny’s eyes danced. “You’re already thirty-three, so old age is just around the corner. It’s time to move on.”

Even after two years, Penny wanted to comfort him over the failed relationship with his longtime girlfriend, but long before that—when Penny had been too young to fully understand what was going on—he’d had a far bigger loss. Part of him had died with Janie the day a semi T-boned her car, and he’d never been the same.

Maybe Lorena was right.

Maybe his past had turned him into just another emotionless, thoughtless guy who wasn’t capable of commitment. But at least that way, he didn’t ever risk breaking the remnants of his heart.



The last rays of sunshine were slicing through the mountains to the west when Carrie finally finished putting away her clothes and arranging her possessions. Logan and his sister had left an hour ago, after stopping in to make sure she was settling in, and they’d also made sure that she had their cell numbers and the home number of their aunt Betty who lived in town.

Nice people, both of them. At least on the surface. Or were they?

Her stomach tensed into a tight ball of anxiety once again, because she still could not set aside that brief conversation with the deputy in town. There had been distaste in his expression when she’d announced her destination—far more than she might have expected if he just felt concern about a woman alone coming to this isolated place.

She shook off her doubts with a heavenward glance.

She’d prayed long and hard about the decision to come to this town. It was time to reestablish her independence and her career. She’d done the right thing, and worrying was a waste of time. But still…

Harley, curled up on the back of the sofa, opened one eye and looked at her, then went back to sleep, clearly unconcerned. “A dog would care,” she said drily, stroking his soft fur. “He’d come and sit by me and offer moral support.”

A deep rumble vibrated through the old cat’s body—more junkyard engine than purr—letting her know that at least the most important creature in the room was content. Smiling to herself, she stepped out onto the balcony and braced her hands on the railing to lean out into the fresh, sweet pine-scented mountain air.

The rushing sounds of the Wolf River beckoned. Not more than a dozen yards from her new home, its closest bank offered an easy slope for beaching rafts. Even here, she could smell the water and damp earth. The water, now ink-black in the deepening twilight, brought back such good memories of her college summers….

Drawn to its wild beauty, she went down the outside stairs and took a few steps toward the river. The sound of a twig snapping jerked her to a halt as an invisible hand of fear grabbed at her shoulder. Prickles of awareness at the back of her neck escalated to absolute certainty. She was not alone.

Someone was here. Very, very close.

She could sense his eyes burning into her back.

Hear his breathing.

She could feel his heartbeat, pounding in cadence with her own. Oh, Lord—I could really use Your help here.

Stifling a cry, she whirled and flew up the stairs, flung open the door and slammed it shut as soon as she made it inside. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her lungs burned as she drove the dead bolt home, shoved the sofa against the door, then locked all the windows and pulled the shades.

No footsteps crept up the stairs.

Nothing was moving outside when she surreptitiously peeked through all of her windows. “Just my overactive imagination,” she chastised herself aloud. “And next, I’ll be afraid of dust bunnies.” Maybe her “stalker” had just been a coyote, frozen in place at her unexpected appearance. Or a menacing chipmunk.

She’d finally talked herself down from that shaking, adrenaline-laced moment of fear when the cell phone clutched in her damp palm started to sing the first tinny notes of “Beer Barrel Polka.” The screen listed only Unavailable Number and no name, so it wasn’t anyone listed in her phonebook.

She stared at the phone, hesitated, then lifted it to her ear and said hello.

Seconds ticked by. Three. Four. Five.

In disgust, she lowered the phone and poised her forefinger over the end button.

“Don’t hang up.” The harsh, low whisper effectively masked the caller’s voice. “Not yet.”

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“Don’t matter.” His low, venomous laugh grated against her skin and raised the hair at the back of her neck. “Not yet.”

“Billy?”

He ignored her question. “You look pretty in that green shirt tonight.”

Her hand shook and she nearly dropped the phone. “What?”

“Real pretty.”

“Who is this?”

“I’d be more careful in the future if I was you. The night isn’t all that safe.”

“Maybe not for you, either,” she snapped. She jammed her finger onto the keypad of the phone to end the call.

So the sense that someone was out there hadn’t been her imagination—and it definitely hadn’t been some sort of wildlife, either. He’d been out there in the shadows. Watching her. Close enough to see the color of her shirt despite the deep twilight.

Billy?

He’d been her first guess, and a flash of anger and their long, troubled history had made her issue that foolish challenge. But now she wasn’t so sure. And how could he or anyone else have found her new cell number?

Anxiety spider-crawled its way up her spine as she started pacing the confines of her apartment, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She’d given it only to her brother, Logan and to the school where she’d be working. That deputy had sure hinted at his opinion of the Bradleys. Logan? But why would he want to drive away a new tenant? It made no sense.

She debated about calling 911, or her brother, but he was far away with heavy responsibilities of his own. Or Logan himself, which might not be a bad idea.

He answered on the fifth ring, his voice laced with concern. “Something wrong?”

She chose her words carefully. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I’m at my aunt’s house fixing a faucet.”

Yeah, right. “This late?”

A pause. “I didn’t have time until now.” He sounded vaguely distracted. “Do you need something?”

Now she could hear faint female voices in the background and the clank of something metal—maybe a wrench—so he was telling the truth after all.

At least she hadn’t confronted him face-to-face, where he’d see the warm flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck.

“Did…you or Penny give my phone number to anyone?”

A pause. “Of course not. Why?”

“Only a few people have it. I think I had a prowler.”

“Did you call the sheriff?”

“I didn’t actually see anyone, and there wasn’t a crime.” Yet, she thought with a shudder. “But a bit later I got a phone call—it had to be the same guy. No specific threat, but it was creepy.”

“I can be there in twenty minutes. Keep your doors locked.”

“You don’t have to come. I just wanted to…um…mention it.”

This time, the pause was much longer. “You wondered where I was tonight,” he said flatly. “Because I have your cell phone number—so I could’ve made that call.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, embarrassed. “And because one of the deputies in town doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Vance? Rick?” Logan sighed heavily. “Believe me, neither one has a valid reason. But right now, I’m concerned about your safety. Do you want Penny and me to come out?”

His calm concern rang true and despite her doubts earlier, she knew in her heart that Logan couldn’t be her stalker. What motive could he possibly have?

She went to the windows overlooking the balcony and peered into the calm peaceful night. An owl hooted from a nearby tree. From far away came the faint, distant howl of a coyote, followed by a chorus of the higher pitched yips of its young. But here she could see nothing moving, and a sense of peace settled over her. “No…it’s not necessary. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”




TWO


Carrie stood at the open door of her classroom and watched the last child burst out into the hallway.

Marie Colbert, the teacher across the hall, strolled over to join her, her dark curls bouncing with every step. “Why is it,” she said with a laugh, “that no matter how much fun we had in class, the kids act like they’re escaping a dungeon when they leave? And this is only the first day.”

Carrie flicked a glance down the hall, toward the open double doors leading out into the warm Montana sunshine. “I guess lazy summer days are meant for creek stomping, not sitting in class.”

Marie cocked her head and studied her. “You look a little tense.”

“I’m not sure that turn-of-the-century, American Western art really rang their bells.” Carrie shrugged to mask her frustration. “So I talked about how art can be a way to express deep emotions—like that done by refugee children or during wartime, thinking I might reach the kids who are so addicted to violent video games. But no luck today. I’ve got a few students who really don’t want to be here.”

Marie smirked. “I’ll bet the Nelson twins just love all that art.”

She’d pinpointed two of Carrie’s more challenging students, all right. “How did you know?”

“I had Austin and Dylan when I taught third grade. When they weren’t wrestling or lobbing spitballs, they were causing some other kind of ruckus.”

“Sounds familiar,” Carrie said drily.

“Yeah. It took all year and a trip to the doctor for Ritalin to calm them down.” Marie sighed. “I don’t think they’re taking it anymore, though. I hear they’re back to bouncing off the walls in class and haven’t learned much ever since.”

“It’s a tough call for a lot of parents. I don’t know what I would do, if it was me.” But it wouldn’t ever be. After her rocky marriage, she couldn’t imagine ever risking another bad choice and that kind of heartbreak again. How could she have been so totally wrong about one of the biggest decisions in life?

She might as well wish for the moon as to long for the happy little family she’d once dreamed of back in her naive, younger days.

“Well, I’d go with the medications that helped them settle down and learn, but that’s just me.” Marie adjusted her wire-rim glasses. “But, hey, we’ve already got one day down, and just eight weeks to go. I’ll trade you physics for art appreciation any day. You should look at the mess in my room after our gravity experiments this morning.”

“Are you a regular teacher here?”

“Honey, I graduated from Granite Falls High. I went off to Montana State, came back, and I’ve taught here ever since. Ten years.”

“You must know all of the families well, then.”

“It’s a really close-knit community. Tourists come and go, but the locals really watch out for each other.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Carrie muttered under her breath. Really glad.

“Hmm?” Marie gave her a distracted glance as she held up her hand to slow down a straggler racing for the door. “I hear you’ll be full-time in the fall. Where did you teach before?”

A brief, painful memory of Billy’s erratic, footloose ways cut through Carrie’s thoughts. “Until now, I’ve…just been able to do some substituting, now and then. We moved around a lot.”

Marie gave her an approving smile. “Lucky you to find a permanent position here. It isn’t easy, these days.”

“I know. And I’m thankful for this summer job, too. I need the money.”

Marie chuckled. “Don’t we all. Did you find a decent place to stay?”

“I have to start looking for something long-term in the fall, so let me know if you hear of anything. I have just a summer lease out at a rafting company property.”

“Which one?”

“Wolf River. Logan and Penny Bradley.”

“Really.” Marie’s eyes widened. “How did you end up there?”

“Weeks of searching on the internet—and the first day the apartment was listed, I nabbed it sight unseen. It’s really nice,” Carrie added, feeling defensive at the hint of incredulity in the other woman’s eyes. “Despite being a little noisy with the tourists coming and going on raft trips. I moved in over the weekend, and it was crazy on Sunday.”

“I can imagine.” Marie looked at her closely. “And what about the Bradleys? Have you had a chance to get to know them?”

“Not really, but they both seem like nice people.”

“Yes. Well…I’m sure they are.”

The tone in her voice didn’t ring quite true. “Is there something I should know?”

After casting a glance down the hall to where several teachers had emerged from their classrooms and were striking up a conversation as they headed toward the door, Marie flashed a diffident smile. “Well, I’m not one to gossip, you know. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything.”

“Now you have me worried.”

“Well…the Bradleys had a little…uh, trouble a year or so ago.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing proven,” Marie reassured her. “It all turned out okay…for them. There are people around town who still really want answers, though. Hey, I’d better get busy, or I’ll be here all afternoon.”

Nothing proven? Uneasy, Carrie watched Marie waggle her fingertips in farewell and scuttle across the hallway to her classroom. First Deputy Munson and now Marie had hinted at trouble, though neither had given her any concrete reason to worry.

So what on earth was going on? Tomorrow afternoon she had to go back to her brother’s ranch to pick up the last of her possessions, but when she returned, she was going to find some answers.



Not again. Carrie stilled. Held her breath. There it was—a rustle in the bushes—closer, this time. The muted crunch of pine needles. The snap of a twig.

And another.

It wasn’t the bears this time, though she might be the only person who’d ever wished it were. They tore at the garbage can lids with single-minded determination, heedless of the noise they created. But this was too quiet. Too stealthy.

And it wasn’t a wolf.

The looming threat out there was human and she’d never felt so alone.

She eased the blinds away from the window and peeked out, thankful that the apartment was darkened already, but frustrated by the dim sliver of moon that had long since slipped behind a threatening blanket of clouds.

Marie’s words from this morning ran through her mind again and again. The Bradleys had experienced a “little” trouble a year or so ago.

After class ended at noon, Carrie had taken the long trip to Trace’s ranch, and hadn’t made it back to her apartment until dusk. Logan’s pickup was gone, but Penny had just returned with her evening float trip customers and their cars were still parked next to both buildings.

She’d had to park farther away than usual, just beyond the bright pool of light beneath the security lights shining from the peak of the boathouse and the top of a single pole close to the river landing site.

It hadn’t seemed important at the time, with a noisy group of rafters chattering along the shore as they peeled off their life jackets. But now…

She drew in a sharp breath as a hunched dark form materialized out of the gloom next to her old SUV and crept from one door to the next, trying the locks. Lord—what do I do now?

She could yell and startle him…but what if he then came crashing through her apartment door? Her heart pounding, she stepped away from the window and took a slow, faltering breath, trying to still her trembling fingers and shaking knees as she punched 911 into her cell phone.

Four rings.

Five.

Six.

Why wasn’t anyone answering?

Moving back to the edge of the window with the phone at her ear, she furtively stole another look.

The stranger wasn’t by her Tahoe. He now stood a few feet away from it, something gleaming at his side. And he was staring right at her window as if he knew exactly where she was standing. As if he were taunting her.

“911. What is your emergency?”

She stood frozen, staring through the blinds as the figure melted back into the shadows.

“You have called 911,” the dispatcher said with an edge to his voice. “State your name and the emergency, please.”

“I…I think there’s someone outside. Trying to break into my SUV.”

“Your location?”

“Nine miles north of Granite Falls. Wolf Creek Rafting Company.”

“Hold on.”

She gripped her phone even tighter as several interminable seconds ticked by. The breeze had picked up, sending branches scraping against the building. The shadows beyond the reach of the security lights seemed to be shifting, coalescing.

Was that someone lurking by the boathouse? At the bumper of her SUV? Or was it just her imagination? Billy had threatened to make trouble—was it him?

From some distant place in the darkness she heard the faint sound of a distant engine roaring to life…then fade, heading toward the highway.

“Ma’am, I have an officer who should be there within twenty minutes. Are you alone?”

“Yes.” More than I’ve ever been in my life.

“Stay inside. Keep your doors and windows locked.”

He certainly had a knack for stating the obvious. “Believe me, I will,” she said wryly. “But I…I think I heard a car start up. Maybe he left it hidden somewhere up the lane and now he’s gone.”

“Do you still want the officer to stop out?”

“No…” She bit her lip. “On second thought, please. If this guy is still in the area and sees a patrol car arrive, it might scare him off.”

“Yes, ma’am. The officer will get there as soon as he can.”

Carrie leaned her head against the window frame and peered through the edge of the blinds. The parking lot was empty. Only the sounds of the river and the breeze-tossed branches filled the silence.

But this incident brought back memories of other nights last fall, when she’d tried to still her racing heart. When a threatening phone call or email had kept her on edge. When Billy had promised to make her pay.

And there’d been another one of his cryptic emails just last night. A subtle threat. A promise that when he came back to Montana, he was planning on a little visit.

The figure out in the darkness had seemed a little…taller than him, though that could have been a trick of the lighting, or a perception enhanced by her own fear.

But what if he was back in Montana and had already found her?



Counting the slow drag of the minutes on her watch, Carrie shivered in the chilly night air, unable to tear herself away from the window. What if the stranger came back? What if he managed to quietly pick the lock on her door?

Harley padded across the room to wind around her ankles like a warm, sinuous powder puff, then stalked away and curled up on the back of the sofa where he promptly went to sleep.

“Some watch cat you are,” she muttered.

The most interest he’d shown since their arrival Sunday had been over the appearance of Logan’s golden lab. The cat had patrolled the windowsills for ten minutes after the sighting, the low grumble in his throat promising no quarter if he ever got the chance to attack.

The dog didn’t appear very energetic. It had apparently slept away the afternoon in the boathouse, and had only emerged to jump into Logan’s truck when he got ready to leave yesterday evening. With all the people around, it hadn’t uttered a single bark.

But still, a dog might offer a sense of security, and her brother’s fiancée, Kris, did run an animal shelter…though it would be a long drive to check out the possibilities for a good, noisy companion.

“I wonder if Logan would like to make a temporary trade?” She studied her sleeping cat, who opened one eye, offered a bored yawn and went back to sleep. “Maybe not.”

At the crunch of tires on gravel she stiffened, a hand at her throat…then relaxed when a patrol car marked with K-9 Patrol on the side pulled to a stop.

Relief flooded through her when a deputy stepped out with a clipboard in hand. He wasn’t the rumpled, overweight teddy bear of an officer she’d met in town, though. This one was thin, austere-looking and older, his uniform crisply pressed, his military-cut, salt-and-pepper hair silvered by security light overhead.

She stepped out of her apartment onto the balcony. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she called out as she descended the stairs and crossed the parking area to meet him.

“Deputy Rick Peterson.” He accepted her handshake. “I hear you’ve had a little trouble?”

“There was someone out here, trying to break into my Tahoe. I keep it locked, so he couldn’t get in. I know it’s probably not a big deal, but I’m here alone.” The police dog in the backseat of the patrol started barking. “Maybe your buddy has picked up his scent, or something.”

“Had any trouble out here before?”

“I just moved in Sunday afternoon and thought I had a prowler last night, as well. This is the first I’ve actually seen him.”

“You surely haven’t had enough time to make any enemies here.” He looked at her over his half-rim glasses. “Or have you?”

She shook her head. “No. But one might’ve followed me from the past.”

He pursed his lips as she told him about Billy, then he flicked on his flashlight and circled her vehicle. She followed on his heels and peered inside, too.

“Are you missing anything?”

Her boxes of books were still on the backseat, along with her old camera bag and an even older ink-jet printer. “Everything is still there—not that anyone could want it.” She tried the door handles. “And the car is still locked. I suppose I’ve called you on a wild-goose chase.”

“Not a problem. If a stranger was out here lurking around, I can understand why you’d be concerned.” He scanned the wide parking area and beyond that, the dark, nearly impenetrable pine forest that rimmed the clearing on three sides. “Maybe you’d be better off finding a place in town. Closer to civilization.”

“I tried, but no dice. I’ll have to find a different place by September, though.”

“Our county sheriff’s department is understaffed and we have a lot of ground to cover. If you do encounter trouble out here, we might not be able to respond as fast as we’d like.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip. “I understand. I still hope my past isn’t going to be an issue. But I’ll let the Bradleys know about it.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Still, a lady living alone like you might want to take a gun safety course and keep a weapon around. There’s other varmints out here besides the two-legged kind.”

“I grew up on a ranch. I’ve had my own shotgun since I was twelve.”

“Is it here?”

“It’s in the back of my SUV.”

He snorted. “Won’t do you much good in there.”

“I didn’t want to bring it in until I had time to install a padlock on my closet. There are families with kids all over this property during the day. If one came upstairs and found it while I wasn’t home…” She shuddered.

He went to the back door of the SUV. “Ma’am, I recommend that you take it upstairs for the rest of the night. Just firing off a warning shot might do a world of good if that prowler comes back. It could take us a long time to get here.”

She could only imagine the deputy’s amusement if he saw her battered 1960s Remington shotgun, a gift from her grandfather.

Years ago, back when she was a teenager, she’d left one of the ranch dogs in her pickup cab while she’d struggled to catch and treat a calf with scours, and the dog had chewed the butt of the wooden stock to splinters. The weapon was old but accurate, and sentiment had kept her from trading it off.

She patted her pockets. “I…don’t have my keys on me.”

He tipped his head toward the front door. “Looks like you have a keypad, though.”

She pulled a face. “It doesn’t work. I can just take care of this tomorrow.”

His gaze sharpened. “Go ahead and get your keys. I don’t mind waiting.”

At the hint of suspicion in his voice she sighed, and dutifully ran upstairs to retrieve her keys from the kitchen table. If he’d misread her hesitation and thought he was going to make headlines by finding stolen loot or a few hundred pounds of pot in her trunk, he was going to be sadly disappointed.

She unlocked the liftgate, opened it and stepped aside while it lifted on its own.

His eyes flared wide when he saw the only contents—the old shotgun and a box of shells. “That’s…it? Does it even work?”

“It actually shoots true, even if it looks a little rough.” The barking from inside the patrol car grew more frantic. “Does your dog need to be let out, or something?”

“I just started my shift. He shouldn’t.”

Now, Carrie could hear the sound of its claws scrabbling against the windows. “I’m glad you aren’t letting him loose. He sounds fierce.”

“Ranger’s new to the department, and he’s still erratic.” The deputy scowled toward his vehicle, a thoughtful look spreading across his face. “But he does know his business. Maybe—”

The radio mike at his shoulder crackled with static. A rapid-fire dispatcher’s voice rattled off a series of codes, then an address.

Peterson listened, tapped a button on the mike and muttered a response as he strode to his vehicle and pulled open the front door.

He paused, half-inside, and looked back. “Accident on the highway. I have to leave. But don’t hesitate to call the dispatcher if you have any problems. Believe me, we’d rather answer a false alarm now and then, than have to deal with the aftermath if someone fails to call in time.”




THREE


The clerk, a stocky middle-aged woman with Norma emblazoned on her name badge, finished ringing up Carrie’s last item. “You must be planning on a blizzard in June, with all these groceries.”

Carrie smiled at the teenage boy bagging the last of her purchases and rescued a bottle of Diet Coke before it disappeared into a bag with her canned goods. “With a weekend ahead, I probably won’t want to brave the tourist traffic to come back into town.”

“And this is just mid-June. Wait till the Fourth of July.” Chewing on her lower lip, Norma tilted her head and studied the name on Carrie’s check, then slid it into the cash register and handed her the receipt. “There was someone in here asking about you the other day.”

Small-town gossips at work, no doubt. Carrie rolled her eyes. “I hope you had good things to say.”

“It was some guy who wondered if I knew where you lived.”

Carrie stilled. “He? Did he say who he was?”

Norma thought for a moment. “Nope. It was real busy at the time. He didn’t buy anything, just sort of cut into the line to ask me and then he left.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“I just had a glimpse of him, but he was a nice-looking man. Dark hair. Thirties, maybe.”

Which could be Billy or a thousand other guys. But how many other guys would be looking for her? Carrie fidgeted with her key ring. “Do you remember what day?”

“Honey, at my age the days sort of blur together. It was early in the week, anyways. I know I haven’t seen you since then.”

“Did you tell him where I live?”

“I may be getting old, but I’m not stupid. If he was an axe murderer, I’d never forgive myself. But,” Norma added, “everyone in town knows about you being the new teacher here. And with the Bradleys’ trouble last year and you staying out there, word gets around.”

Which meant there was a good chance someone might have shared that information without a second thought. But then again, maybe the guy had been totally innocent. Someone needing to deliver a package, perhaps.

But Norma would’ve noticed a FedEx or UPS uniform.

Carrie managed a smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Norma’s forehead creased into a worried frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. You look worried.”

“Believe me, I want to know.”

Norma gave her head a decisive nod. “Well, if I see this fella again, I’ll be sure to tell you. And he won’t be getting any information from me.”

Carrie smiled in thanks as she headed for the exit, the bag boy following at her heels with the cart. Small towns, she thought with an inward sigh. Friendly, connected and sometimes entirely too trusting. Maybe Norma would be careful…but what if it was already too late?



The view was perfect, from the shaded spot between the drugstore and Marv’s Saddle Shop and Shoe Repair. The tourists window-shopping along Main Street were a better cover yet. And if anyone else saw him, it wouldn’t matter. He blended right into the fabric of this vacation destination town.

He watched with satisfaction when Carrie stepped out of the grocery store. She paused, shaded her eyes with her hand, and scanned both sides of the street as if she knew someone was watching.

He remained motionless, his dull clothes fading into the shadows and the dark gray wall behind him, his hat settled low over his eyes. She’d come so close to seeing him, several times, it was almost funny. Now, her gaze flitted past him. Hesitated. Then swept by him once more before moving on.

It was amusing to observe her inability to protect herself, to clearly identify danger, even in this innocuous setting.

He smiled to himself. He had time. He’d nose around, and find out exactly what was going on out at the Wolf River Rafting Company. And when he was ready, he’d pay her a little visit so she’d receive a taste of what was to come.

He could hardly wait.



It felt so good—so normal—to walk into her classroom the next morning, that Carrie smiled to herself. She hadn’t slept well at all last night, with the grocery clerk’s words running through her thoughts in an endless litany and her ears attuned to the slightest sounds outside. That stranger hadn’t just been casually looking for her around town. He’d wanted to find out where she lived. Had someone blithely shared the information—and sent that prowler to her door?

Since Monday night she’d felt restless during the day, too. Wary. Repeatedly had a crawling sensation at the back of her neck at odd times and would whirl around, only to find that nobody was there. But here at school, surrounded by all of the kids and teachers, she could finally relax.

Just ten feet inside the door of her classroom, Carrie saw a creased piece of paper on her desk.

Ordinary typing paper. Nothing unusual. Except that even from a distance, the carnage drawn on it sent a flutter of distaste through her midsection and unsettled the peanut butter and marmalade toast she’d eaten on the way into town.

Some fifth-grade boys liked to doodle in the margins of their notebooks…weapons and bombs and war scenes. That was nothing new. But as she drew closer, the exquisite detail and blatant suffering in the characters’ eyes were too real, and an entirely different slant from the norm.

One monstrous, semihuman figure had a look of pure evil on its face, with oversize sharp teeth, and was bedecked with multiple guns and swords and knives. Several bodies lay dismembered on the rough ground, blood flowing from them to mingle and form a river of crimson that ran to the edge of the page.

She shuddered as she stared down at it, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

It was fifth-grade-level art, in style and execution, but the artist must have spent hours on the fine detail. Granted, this was a humanities enrichment class focusing on art appreciation. Maybe the child had been proud of his work and wanted to share it. She leaned closer, then turned the paper over.

But if so, why hadn’t he—or she—signed it?

“What’s up?”

At the unexpected voice behind her, Carrie startled and spun around, a hand at her throat.

Marie grinned. “Sorry—I thought you heard me say hello from the doorway.”

“I didn’t. I was studying a picture left on my desk.” Carrie handed her the drawing. “Creepy, isn’t it?”

Marie gave it a superficial glance and rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

“I know. But this is more than that. Look at the faces, and amazing detail. There aren’t just X’s for the eyes of the dead. These people are hurting.”

“Yeah, well…you’re the art teacher. This was probably done by some kid who’s a little more advanced. So, would you like to meet for lunch this afternoon?”

Advanced in artistic skills, true…but also possibly troubled. Carrie dropped her gaze to the drawing once more. Just holding it gave her a sense of the child’s intense emotions. Please, God, don’t let this mean that this child is suffering through a bad situation.

She closed her eyes, visualizing each of the twelve students in her class. All of the boys wore T-shirts and shorts or faded jeans; most of the girls wore pretty summer tops. Had she seen any bruises? Unusual behavior? Nothing that she could recall.

“Uh…Carrie?”

“Sorry. Yes—lunch sounds wonderful.” She slid the drawing into the top drawer of her desk and dropped her purse into the bottom drawer. “Any place you choose.”

“Silver Bear Café, south edge of town. Best place in town, and the tourists haven’t found it yet. There’d be a half-hour wait at any of the touristy places. By the way,” she added with a lift of an eyebrow, “I hear you had some excitement on Monday night.”

Carrie’s heart sank. “News sure traveled fast.”

“Courtesy of my police scanner.” Marie chuckled. “Everyone has one around here—it’s faster than just heading down to the feed store or café to hear the latest news. Memorize all those official code numbers, and it’s a wealth of information.”

“Great. So now the whole county knows the new school-teacher makes unnecessary 911 calls, and is apparently afraid of the dark?”

“Just because there wasn’t a prowler still out there when Rick showed up doesn’t mean you didn’t have one.”



At the ruckus emanating from the riverbank, Logan set aside his camera, took a last disgusted look at the massive rip he’d just photographed as evidence for the insurance company—too straight and even to have been from natural causes—along the deflated, fifteen-foot side tube of one of the larger rubber rafts, and strolled over to check out the latest fishing disaster.

Sure enough, the Nelson twins were in the thick of things—teasing and chortling over the tangled lines of two younger boys. Another two ignored the others as they sat on the bank tossing rocks into the water.

“Dylan, Austin, lay off,” Logan said mildly as he took hold of the fistful of tightly knotted filament. It was too tangled to ever pull apart. He eyed the two younger boys, both with nearly white-blond hair, who had come out just a couple times with the older ones. “Looks like you tried to get this apart, and it just got worse. Right?”

The boys nodded.

“Some days are just like that. Let’s see. You are…Robbie and Danny?”

They both nodded.

“Fifth grade?” Logan guessed high, hoping to elicit a smile.

“Third.” Danny’s lower lip trembled. “Robbie’s in fourth.”

“Do your parents know you’re out here?”

“We rode our bikes,” Danny said evasively, dropping his gaze to the rocky ground.

“Mom has to work on Saturdays. She don’t care,” Robbie added with a defiant tilt to his chin. “Just so we get back for supper, is all.”

“I see.” Logan pulled a knife from the sheath at his belt and cut away the mass of fishing line, then reattached each hook and bobber. “There you go, boys. What did you say your last name was?”

“Jensen,” Danny piped up as he eagerly reached for his rod.

“Now he’s gonna tell, stupid,” Robbie hissed, elbowing his younger brother in the ribs. “See if we get to go fishing then.”

“I don’t care if you’re here, but your mom does need to know and give her permission. Okay? The river can be a dangerous place.”

“Nobody owns the river,” Robbie shot back. “We learned that in school.”

“You’re right,” Logan countered, hiding a smile at the boy’s spunk. “But the land is mine, and since I’m the responsible adult here, I just want you to be safe. And for your mom to say it’s okay.”

“But…but this is the best spot on the whole river. Clear back to town.”

“I know. It slows down along this stretch, and there are nice deep trout pools close to the bank. There’s a good one just a dozen yards down from the raft launching area.”

Robbie’s brow furrowed with intense concentration. “Can we come again if we bring a note?”

“That would be good, though I also need to tell her that I can’t be responsible for you. All of the other moms had to do the same thing—talk to me, and write a note, if their boys wanted to be here.”

Robbie and Danny looked at each other.

“Phone number?” Logan prodded gently. He punched the numbers into his cell phone as the older boy recited them, then hit Send.

It didn’t take long to discover why the boys both looked so crestfallen. After he explained the situation, there was a brief silence, then the decibel level of their mother’s voice rose with each word, until he had to hold the phone well away from his ear. She disconnected before he could say a single word in the boys’ defense.

“Sorry, guys. She says you can’t be riding your bikes down the highway, and you are not allowed near the river.” He smiled at them, trying to soften the news, though the quiet snickers of the Nelson twins from a few yards away didn’t help matters.

Danny’s eyes glistened with tears, but Robbie’s face reddened. “Never?”

“She says you can’t come here alone. But maybe when you’re older, okay?”

“Are we grounded?” Danny whispered, a tear trailing down his cheek.

For a lifetime and a half, if his mother’s voice was any clue.

Logan ruffled the boy’s hair, wishing he dared give him a hug. Knowing it would be improper and even dangerous to offer that comfort. “She didn’t tell me. She only said that she’d be here in fifteen minutes to take you both home. Do you have a dog?”

“Mom doesn’t like dogs. They’re messy,” Robbie muttered.

“Want to see mine?” Logan held two fingers to his mouth and sent off a piercing whistle. A few seconds later, Murphy appeared at the door of the boathouse, blinked at the sunshine, then ambled over to sit at Logan’s feet.

“He’s just a lazy ole dog,” Robbie said.

“You think? Take a look.” Logan silently signaled and Murphy rolled over. “Ask him a simple math question. Kindergarten level.”

A smile glimmered on Danny’s face. “One plus two?”

Murphy waved his tail furiously, and with each of his three deep barks, the child’s smile grew. “Wow.”

Even Robbie was showing more interest now. “What else can he do?”

“Do you have a good arm for throwing?”

“Yeah.”

Logan searched the ground, picked up an old yellow tennis ball and lobbed it into a high, long-distance arc. The old lab tore across parking lot and was there to catch it as it fell.

Now all the boys were watching. One of the Nelson twins tried to intercept the dog when it returned, but it neatly circumvented him and stopped at Logan’s feet. Logan handed the ball to Robbie. “Give it a try. And don’t worry about throwing as high as I did—grounders are good, too. He’ll do this until he gets too tired.”

True to form, Murphy chased after the ball for Robbie several times, and then Danny, until both boys were grinning and cheering Murphy on.

“Nice job,” Carrie said quietly. “You handled that very well.”

Logan turned and found her perched on the top of a picnic table in front of the boathouse. He reined in his automatic flash of pleasure at seeing her there. “I didn’t know you were out here.”

“You were occupied. Very well, by the way. You could’ve been a great teacher. Or a counselor.”

“Thanks. I once thought about teaching at a university—livestock production or horse management, maybe. But…well, things changed at home and my sister and I both headed back to the family ranch after we graduated from college.”

“So where is home?”

“An hour or so from here.” He hitched his shoulder a little, brushing aside the raw memories of struggling to save the ranch. “My mother won a fierce battle with cancer, but my dad ended up having to sell out to pay off her medical bills.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. She’s in remission, and my dad would’ve given the earth to make her well.”

“Where are they now?”

“Florida. She’d always dreamed of retiring there but never thought it possible. Now Dad manages a quarter horse breeding farm south of Tampa, and Mom has a part-time job in a gift shop. They say it’s like living a second honeymoon every single day.”

She smiled at that. “Sounds like a happy marriage.”

“It is.” He angled a rueful look at her. “Kinda hard to follow an act like that. They still hold hands at sixty.”

“So you’re one of those guys looking for perfection?” she teased.

“I’m just not looking,” he shot back, softening his words with a quick grin. But it was the truth. He’d stored away his wounded heart long ago, after Janie died, and he had no intention of getting into any conversations about it. How had they gotten onto this topic?

He shifted uneasily, thankful to hear the sound of a vehicle coming up the lane. As it came into view, he could see Montana plates—and from the duet of groans from the two boys, knew it probably belonged to their mother.

The SUV pulled to a hard stop, and a slender woman stepped out, her jaw rigid. “Boys—get your bikes over here right now. We’ll put them in the back.”

With a faint nod in Logan’s direction, she marched to the rear, lifted the tailgate, and helped the boys load the bikes. Their eyes were downcast as they climbed in, though Danny braved a quick, longing glance toward Murphy before he pulled his door shut and slumped into his seat.

Their mother paused at her own door, clearly unhappy and torn between a swift getaway and common manners. The manners won when she finally looked up at Logan for a split second before her gaze darted away. “The boys will not bother you again.”

“They weren’t a bother. I just want parents to know when their kids are out here. I can’t be responsible for them while I’m working, and that river current is dangerous.”

“As I said, they won’t be back.” She slid into her seat, hesitated, then her gaze locked on his. “Sheryl Colwell was a friend of mine. I’m sure you understand.”

The SUV left in a cloud of dust.

The other kids had wandered back to their fishing poles as soon as Murphy tired of fetching and plopped down under a tree.

Now Logan could feel Carrie’s curious gaze on his back. He could sense that she was turning the woman’s words over in her mind, wondering what it all meant.

Unless she knew already, in which case this just confirmed whatever gossip she’d heard in town.

“When I walked over here, I saw you studying the raft. What’s going on?”

Surprised at the change of topic, he looked over his shoulder. “Damage. Tina and Penny don’t remember hitting any sharp boulders on the river during the evening float trip yesterday. They couldn’t have reached the landing site downriver unless it happened during the last few minutes anyway. And when they hauled the raft back here, it was still fully inflated.”

“So it happened here. On the shore.”

“Vandalism.”

She moved closer to the raft and bent down to inspect it. She reached out to touch the damaged area and her hand brushed against his.

She jerked her hand back as if she’d touched fire, a flash of confusion crossing her face, and he knew she’d felt it, too—an electric sensation that had shot up his arm and landed somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

“Um…” She blinked. “A knife, maybe?”

“That’s my guess.”

Frowning, she straightened and shaded her eyes with her hand as she studied the boys along the riverbank. “Think it was any of those kids?”

“The four here now all come from the Sundown Trailer Court—and that’s not the trailer park with the fancy security fences and beautiful landscaping. Sundown is shabby, with beer bottles and trash thrown around. It doesn’t sound like the boys get much parenting, so they’re probably just glad to have a free place to hang out.”

“Still…”

“Nope. They hang around quite a bit, and they’re all good kids. Now, anyways,” he added with a grin. “We had to discuss manners a few times early on.”

Carrie bit her lower lip, her eyes troubled. “If not them, then who? Why would anyone want to cause you trouble?”

“Believe me, this wasn’t the first time something happened here during the past year. And it probably won’t be the last.”

She appeared to be oddly relieved at the news. “I thought the prowler on Monday night was stalking me, but maybe not.”

“Stalking you?”

“I know, it probably sounds silly. But my ex-husband, Billy, wasn’t all that happy about our divorce, even though he initiated it. I get threatening calls from him now and then.”

Logan frowned. “Worrying about something like that doesn’t sound silly at all.”

“But he couldn’t know where I am right now.” She flipped a hand dismissively. “I made sure of that when I left my brother’s ranch.”

“Still…”

“So, do you think that prowler was the one who damaged your raft?”

“Nope.” He ran a hand over the damaged surface. “We would’ve noticed yesterday when we tried to put it on the river. But it was fine.”

“What if he was just scoping things out, and came back last night?”

“Maybe.”

She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her khaki slacks and offered it to him. “You should call the sheriff’s department.”

He sighed, thinking of the other suspicious events on the rafting company property and his cabin over the past twelve months. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You’ll need a police report to file an insurance claim, right?”

He laughed at that. “I took photos, but my insurance company has become a little testy when I call.”

“But that’s their job. Answering your calls. Taking care of your claims.”

“Within reason.”

“Well, if I were you—” Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had trouble.”

“No, ma’am.”

“But…why?” Her gaze swept the dense forest of pines crowding in on three sides of the clearing. “And why doesn’t the sheriff’s department help?”

He thought about all the ways they’d failed to properly investigate. The morning after someone shot out a window in his cabin. Or the day he’d found his tires slashed. Or the other, more subtle events that illustrated exactly what local opinion was regarding his character.

Given the offhand attitude and smirk on the face of the deputy who’d responded to his calls, any amount of trouble at Wolf River Rafting Company was what Logan deserved, and more.

“I’m sure they’re busy enough as it is,” he said finally. “And what are they going to do? A little vandalism won’t warrant some big investigation.”

“I think there’s more to all of this than just that.” She regarded him for a long moment. “Since I moved to town, two deputies and a teacher have hinted that I should be worried about living here. I ignored them, because I think you and your sister seem like nice people. But now Robbie and Danny’s mom acted like she didn’t want them to ever come out here, no matter what. So what’s going on?”

No wonder she hadn’t packed her bags and fled to town after her first day here. She didn’t know.

“Well?”

He felt the old, familiar weight of sadness and regrets crush his heart. “Probably because everyone in the county, barring a few jurors, still believes I murdered Sheryl Colwell.”




FOUR


“W-who was Sheryl Colwell?” Carrie stared at Logan, still not believing what he’d just said. Murder?

That he’d been tried in a court of law meant there had been evidence. Good evidence. And that the sheriff’s department and district attorney had been convinced of his guilt. From the oblique warnings she’d received, at least two deputies still believed he was a dangerous man. Had she been living this close to a cold-blooded killer? Chatting casually with a man capable of violence?

And he knew exactly how alone she was out here, on these long, cold Montana nights.

Logan’s expression turned stoic, as if he knew she was judging him and had already found him guilty. “Sheryl was a nice lady, far as I know. Thirty-two, with a husband and son.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Is her son Noah Colwell?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve had him in class a whole week and didn’t know anything about it. Poor boy—I have yet to hear him say a word in class. I just thought he was shy.” She felt her heart squeeze at the thought of all Noah had been through. “No wonder he’s so withdrawn.”

“His father has been intensely protective of the kid ever since. His sister came to live with them, since he has to travel quite a bit. He’s sometimes gone for weeks at a time.”

“That’s awful.”

Logan stared off at some distant point on the horizon, his voice flat and emotionless. “It was all part of the prosecution’s summation—how an innocent young child lost his mother due to one heinous act of violence, and has an even more disrupted family life because of his dad’s absences as a long-haul trucker. The attorney made it clear just how traumatized the boy was—to the point that he had barely spoken after his mom’s death. And maybe that was all true. But someone else killed her.”

She searched his face, trying to find the truth in his words. Wondering what she should believe. “If you were acquitted, why would those deputies still think you’re guilty?”

“Frankly, I don’t know why they ever thought so in the first place.”

The logical, practical side of her urged her to grab her keys and flee to the safety of Granite Falls. A growing feeling in her heart told her that this man couldn’t possibly be guilty of such a terrible crime. “But it’s over now, right?”

“Not at all.” He wearily shook his head. “I think the sheriff figured it was an easy, high-profile case, and expected it to wrap up with a nice, tidy conviction just before reelection time. Instead, my lawyer proved reasonable doubt and made him and his department appear inept. Which was true.”

“And the locals…”

“Some still figure this was just one more case where a crooked lawyer managed to set a killer free. Small-town gossip just doesn’t die.”

“I know. I grew up near a small town like this one, and memories run deep. As in, ‘Jane Doe? Oh, yeah—she’s the one whose mother had the affair with that doctor over in Evansville back in 1982.’” Carrie faltered to a stop as heat started creeping up the back of her neck. Way to go…now you’re babbling. “Uh, well…some things just brand you for life in a small town.”

As if he didn’t already know that from recent, bitter experience—a fact that he’d made perfectly clear. Even more embarrassed, she clamped her mouth shut.

He met her gaze squarely, as if he’d just read her thoughts, a muscle ticking along the side of his jaw. “If you want to tear up your lease contract, I’ll refund the deposit. But if you have any questions that could help set your mind at ease, fire away.”

“How well did you know Sheryl?”

“We ran into each other on Main Street now and then, and she came out for a couple of float trips. Once with her boy, then she came again alone. That’s it. End of story. We were just casual acquaintances. And on both raft trips there was a full load of passengers—tourists from all over the country, so neither trip included the intimate interlude that the prosecutor implied.”

“You were the guide?”

“Just by chance, both times. Tina hadn’t finished her training and safety certification yet.”

“So…what was Sheryl like?”

“As I said, she was a nice lady. Quiet. I don’t think she asked a single question during either trip. In fact, she seemed a little scared of the water. And when we beached the raft at our midway point for a riverside lunch, the other passengers took a hike up to Badger Peak rather than take time to eat. She was the only one who stayed behind, and she read a book the whole time. Said she didn’t like heights.”

“I suppose the other passengers were questioned, and said you two had…plenty of time alone together.”

“Right. The prosecutor tried to prove it was the start of an ongoing affair, if that’s what you’re getting at it.” Logan snorted. “So given the supposed affair, she later committed suicide? Or I killed her in a jealous rage because she wouldn’t leave her husband? None of that makes sense.”

“And if there was no proof—”

“Oh, there was ‘proof’ all right. An imprint of a Chaco sandal near where she fell off the cliff. In my size…as if most outdoors enthusiasts around here don’t wear that kind of sandal.”

“That’s it?”

“A scout troop saw me in the area earlier, while they were out working on a hiking badge.” He heaved a sigh. “I was out hiking myself. And since I was up in the mountains alone most of the day, I had no alibi for the hours in question. A witness claimed Sheryl said she’d been seeing me on the sly. There was more, but none of it was true.”

Carrie had watched enough old Law & Order reruns to know that some serial killers possessed enough charm to gain their victims’ confidence. But if Logan was lying about this, he was incredibly good at it. Even with her gaze riveted on his face she hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of guilt or deceit.

“I guess…I just don’t know what to say,” she said finally.

“All I know is that I’m innocent, and that I’m not going to stop searching until I find the guy who did kill her.” A corner of his mouth lifted wryly. “Though there’s a saying about how there are no guilty prisoners on death row, so I guess you’ll have to decide for yourself just what you want to believe.”



Before talking to Logan on Saturday, Carrie would’ve automatically believed the sheriff’s department over a claim of innocence by a man she barely knew.

Yet she’d already seen Logan’s gentleness with the local kids and his teasing banter with Penny. His wry, self-deprecating humor and quiet sense of honor. She’d been drawn to him for those very reasons, and that feeling had grown with every passing day.

Those surely couldn’t be traits of a killer.

All day Sunday she’d been able to think of nothing else. Wavering from one hour to the next as to whether or not she’d be wise to just leave. Praying for guidance.

And then, in the evening, she’d happened to look down from her apartment window to find Logan sitting on the open tailgate of the company pickup with his head bowed, one arm draped around the dog sitting at his side. Penny was there, too, her hand on his shoulder and her own head bowed.

Carrie had no delusions about the fact that even the worst of sinners might pray for forgiveness. And should. Yet the closeness of that scene, and the obvious love Penny had for her brother, touched Carrie’s heart in a way all of the logical thinking in the world had not.

If Logan had been shunned by this town for something he hadn’t done, how could she do the same?

She jerked her attention back to her classroom, hit the off button on the TV remote, and popped the DVD out of the player. It was her favorite—a depiction of the American cowboy as portrayed in paintings and sculpture by Remington.

“So,” she said with a smile, “how did Remington’s subjects differ from the ranches and cowboys we see today?”

Seven pairs of eyes stared blankly at her, quiet and obedient, while in one corner of the room, Noah Colwell silently stared down at the top of his desk, his thin shoulders hunched. In the other back corner, the Nelson twins looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Austin?”

That earned a guilty glance from the twin who seemed quieter, and snickers from his brother—who was her most likely candidate as creator of the violent drawings left on her desk on Monday, and again today.

“Dylan?”

His snickers died as Dylan silently lifted his chin in subtle defiance.

“Does anyone here live on a ranch?” She scanned the room. Two girls raised tentative hands. There were at least four others, out of the twelve students in her class, but no one else volunteered a hand. “Well, I’ll bet all of you have seen ranchers and cowhands come into town. Are their hats just the same now as they were back in the days of the Wild West? How about their chaps, and their saddles?”

The students seemed to collectively slide down in their chairs and avoid meeting her eyes. Not unexpected, she realized with an inward smile. Middle school was such a tender time for being easily mortified by unwanted attention or, worse, saying something that might make classmates scoff.

“Well, our next project will be creating either a watercolor or acrylic painting in the style of Remington, but with the cowboys wearing modern-day apparel and using present-day equipment. So think hard on it overnight, and we’ll see you here tomorrow.” All twelve students scrambled to their feet and bolted for freedom.

One, a beautiful Latina with shimmering hair that swung down her back to her waist, hesitated when she reached the door. “I won’t be in class the rest of the week,” she said with a shy duck of her head. “Can I do a makeup assignment for anything I miss?”




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