Montana Sky

  it was an image he knew would never completely fade from his memory. “I don’t want to scare you, I just want you to be careful.”

  “You can count on it,” Tess promised him. “But what about her?” She jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “You’re not going to keep her close to the house without shackles.”

  “Adam will keep an eye on her. And so will I.” Hoping to ease the tension, he spooned up more soup. “And hanging around here isn’t going to be much of a hardship if this is the kind of cooking I’m in for.”

  Both women jumped when the outside door opened. Adam came in, along with the night chill. “They’re done with me for now.”

  “Join the party,” Tess invited. “Soup and wine is our menu tonight.”

  He gave her a solemn look before studying Lily. “I think I’d go for coffee. No, sit,” he added when Lily started to get up. “I can get it myself. I just came by to check on Willa.”

  “Ben made her go up and lie down.” Nerves and relief had words bubbling out before Lily could stop them. “She needed to rest. I can fix you some soup. You should eat something, and there’s plenty.”

  “I can get it. Sit down.”

  “There’s bread. I forgot to put the bread out. I should—”

  “You should sit.” He spoke very quietly as he ladled up soup. “And try to relax.” He filled a second bowl, brought both to the table. “And you should eat. I’ll get the bread.”

  She stared at him, baffled, while he moved competently around the kitchen. None of the men in her life had so much as picked up a dish unless it was to ask for seconds. She flicked a glance at Ben, looking for the sneer, but he continued to eat as though there was nothing unusual at all about having a man serve food.

  “Do you want me to stay over, Adam, give you a hand with things for a day or two?”

  “No. Thanks anyway. We’ll have to take it a step at a time.” He sat down across from Lily and looked her in the eye. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, picked up her spoon, and tried to eat.

  “Pickles didn’t have any family,” Adam continued. “I think there was a sister maybe, down in Wyoming. I guess we’ll try to find her, if she’s still around, but I’d say we’ll handle the arrangements once they release the body.”

  “You ought to have Nate do that.” Ben broke off a hunk of bread. “Willa will pass that to him if you suggest it.”

  “All right, I’ll do that. I don’t think she’d have gotten through this without you. I want you to know that.”

  “I just happened to be there.” It still unnerved him, the way she’d all but crawled into his arms. And the way she’d fit when she had. “Once she’s over the shock, she’ll likely be sorry it was me who was.”

  “You’re wrong. She’ll be grateful, and so am I.” He turned his hand over, palm up, where there was a long, thin scar between the lines of heart and head. “Brother.”

  Ben’s lips twitched as he looked at the similar mark on his own hand. And he remembered when two young boys had stood on the banks of a river in the half-light of a canyon and solemnly mixed their blood in brotherhood.

  “Uh-oh, male ritual time.” Absurdly touched, Tess nudged Lily so that she could slide out. “That’s my cue to leave you gentlemen to your port and cigars while I go up and do something exciting like paint my toenails.”

  Appreciating her, Ben grinned. “I bet they’re real pretty, too.”

  “Sweetheart, they are awesome.” It was simple to decide she liked him. And not a very large step from there to decide to trust him. “I guess I’ll range myself with Adam and say I’m grateful you were here. Good night.”

  “I’ll go too.” Lily reached down for Tess’s half-eaten bowl of soup.

  “Don’t go.” Adam laid a hand over hers. “You haven’t eaten.”

  “You’ll want to talk. I can take it up with me.”

  “Don’t run off on my account.” Pretty sure that he saw how the wind blew here, Ben slid off the bench. “I’ve got to get home. I appreciate the meal, Lily.” He reached up to touch her cheek, felt her instinctive wince of defense. Smoothly, he dropped his hand, as if the moment hadn’t happened. “You eat while it’s hot,” he advised. “I’ll be around tomorrow, Adam.”

  “Good night, Ben.” Adam kept his hand over Lily’s, giving it a coaxing tug until she sat again. Then he took her other hand, linked his fingers in hers, and waited until she lifted her eyes to his. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I’m always afraid.”

  Her hands flexed under his, but he judged it was time to take the chance, so he continued to hold them. “You came to a strange place, with only strangers around you. And you stayed. There’s courage there.”

  “I only came to hide. You don’t know me, Adam.”

  “I will when you let me.” He released one of her hands, lifted his own, and brushed his thumb over the faded bruise beneath her eye. She went very still, watched him warily as he traced his thumb down to the marks on her jaw. “I want to know you, Lily, when you’re ready.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes smiled and stirred her heart. “Because you understand horses, and you sneak kitchen scraps to my dogs.” The smile moved to his mouth when she flushed. “And because you make good soup. Now, eat,” he said, and released her hand. “Before it’s cold.”

  Watching him from under her lashes, she picked up her spoon and ate.

  Upstairs, armed with a book she’d chosen from the library and a bottle of mineral water she’d taken from behind the bar, Tess walked toward her room. She had decided to read until her eyes crossed, hoping that it would bring her undisturbed and dreamless sleep.

  Her imagination was much too vivid, she thought. It was the very reason she was beginning to make her mark as a screenwriter. And the very reason that the details Ben had provided were going to shift and stir until they formed many ugly visions in her head.

  She had great hope that the thick paperback romance whose cover promised plenty of passion and adventure would steer her mind to other venues.

  Then she passed Willa’s door and heard the bitter, broken weeping. She hesitated, wished to hell she’d thought to come up the other stairs. More, wished the helpless sobbing didn’t touch a chord in her. When a strong woman wept, she thought, the tears came from the deepest and darkest corners of the heart.

  She lifted a hand to knock, then on an oath just laid her palm on the wood. Perhaps if they had known each other, or if they had been complete strangers, she could have gone in. If they had had no ghosts between them, no harbored resentments, she could have opened that door and offered . . . something.

  But she knew she wouldn’t be welcomed. There could be no woman-to-woman comfort here, much less sister to sister. And realizing she was sorry for that, very sorry, she continued to her own room, carefully closed, carefully locked the door behind her.

  But she no longer thought her dreams would be undisturbed.

  I N THE DARK. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WHEN THE wind kicked up and threatened and the rain came hard and vicious, he lay smiling. Reliving every moment of the kill, second by second, brought a curious thrill.

  It had been like being someone else while it was happening, he realized. Someone with vision so clear, with nerves so steady, he was barely human.

  He hadn’t known he’d had that inside him.

  He hadn’t known he would like it so much.

  Poor old Pickles. To keep from laughing aloud, he pressed both hands to his mouth like a child giggling in church. He hadn’t had anything against the old fart, but he’d come along at the wrong time, and needs must.

  Needs must, he thought again, snorting into his hands. That’s what his dear old ma had always said. Even when she’d been stoned, she’d been happy to dispense such homilies. Needs must. A stitch in time. Early to bed and a penny saved. Blood’s thicker than water.

  Recovered, he let out a breath and dropped his hands on his belly.

/>   He remembered how the knife had slid into Pickles’s belly. All those layers of fat, he mused, patting himself. It had been like stabbing a pillow. Then there had been that sucking sound, the kind you could make giving a woman a nice fat hickey to brand her.

  But the best, the very best, had been lifting what was left of Pickles’s hair. Not that it made much of a trophy, all thin and straggly, but the way the knife had made that wicked flap had been so fascinating.

  And the blood.

  Good Jesus, did he bleed.

  He wished he could have taken more time with it, maybe done a little victory dance. Now the next time . . .

  He had to stifle another chuckle. For there would be a next time. He was through with cattle and pets. Humans were much more challenging. He’d have to be careful, and he’d have to wait. If he took another one too quick, it would spoil the anticipation.

  And he wanted to choose the next one, not just stumble over someone.

  Maybe he should do a woman. He could take her into the trees, where he had hidden his trophies. He could cut her clothes away while she was begging him not to hurt her. Then he could rape the shit out of her.

  He grew hard thinking of it, idly stroked himself while he planned. It would certainly add a new thrill to be able to take his time over it, to watch his prey, watch the eyes bulge with fear as he explained every little thing he was going to do.

  It had to be even better that way. When they knew.

  But he would need to practice. A woman would be the next stage, and he hadn’t perfected this one yet.

  No rush, he thought dreamily, and began to masturbate in earnest. No rush at all.

  PART TWO

  WINTER

  They that know the winters of that country know them to be sharp and violent . . . .

  —William Bradford

  NINE

  E VEN MURDER COULDN’T STOP WORK. THE MEN WERE jumpy, but they took orders. Now that they were another hand short, Willa pushed herself to take up the slack. She rode fences, drove out to the fields to check on the harvest, manned the squeeze shoot herself, and huddled over the record books at night.

  The weather turned, and turned fast. The chill in the air threatened winter, and there was frost on the pastures every morning. What cattle wouldn’t be wintered over had to be shipped to feed pens for finishing—Mercy’s own outside of Ennis or down to Colorado.

  If she wasn’t on horseback or driving a four-wheeler, she went up with Jim in the plane. She’d considered getting her pilot’s license, but had quickly discovered that air travel didn’t suit her. She didn’t care for the noise of the engine or how the quick dips and turns affected her stomach.

  Her father had loved to buzz the land in the little Cessna. The first time she’d flown with him, she’d been miserably ill. It had been the last time he had taken her up.

  Now that there was only Jim qualified to pilot—and he had a tendency to hotdog—she wondered if she’d have to reconsider. An operation like Mercy needed a backup pilot, and maybe if she was at the controls she wouldn’t get light-headed or nauseous.

  “Pretty as a picture from up here.” Grinning, Jim dipped the wings, and Willa felt her breakfast slide greasily toward her throat. “Looks like we got another fence down.” Cheerfully he dropped altitude to get a closer look.

  Willa gritted her teeth and made a mental note of their position. She forced herself to scan the cattle, take a broad head count. “We need to rotate those cows before they take the grass down.” She hissed between her teeth when the plane angled sharply. “Can’t you fly this damn thing straight?”

  “Sorry.” He tucked his tongue in his cheek to hold back a chuckle. But when he got a look at her face, he leveled off gently. She was a pale shade of green. “You oughtn’t to come up, Will, leastwise without taking some of those airsick pills first.”

  “I took the damn things.” She concentrated on her breathing, wished she could appreciate the beauty of the land, the pastures green and glinting with frost, the hills thick with trees, the peaks white with snow.

  “Want me to take us down?”

  “I’m handling it.” Barely. “We’ll finish.”

  But when she looked down again, she saw the road where she had found the body. The police had taken the body away, had even taken the mutilated carcass of the steer. They’d combed the area looking for and gathering evidence. And the rain had washed away most of the blood.

  Still, she thought she could see darker patches on the dirt that had soaked in deep. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, and even when they flew past and over pasture, she could still see the road, the dark patches.

  Jim kept his eyes trained on the horizon. “The police came by again last night.”

  “I know.”

  “They haven’t found anything. It’s been damn near a week, Will. They don’t have squat.”

  The anger in his voice cleared her vision, helped her turn her eyes away and toward his face. “I guess it’s not like the TV shows, Jim. Sometimes they just don’t get the bad guy.”

  “I keep thinking how I won that money off him the night before it happened. I wish I hadn’t won that money off him, Will. I know it doesn’t mean a damn, but I wish I hadn’t.”

  She reached over, gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “And I wish I hadn’t had words with him. That doesn’t mean a damn either, but I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Goddamn bitchy old fart. That’s what he was. Just a goddamn bitchy old fart.” His voice hitched, and Jim cleared his throat. “I—we heard you were maybe going to bury him in Mercy cemetery.”

  “Nate hasn’t been able to locate his sister, or anyone. We’ll bury him on Mercy land. I guess Bess would say that was fittin’.”

  “It is. It’s good of you, Will, to put him where there’s only family.” He cleared his throat again. “The boys and me were talking. We thought maybe we could be like the pallbearers and we’d pay for his stone.” His color rose when he caught Willa staring at him. “It was Ham’s idea, but we all agreed to it. If you do.”

  “Then that’s the way we’ll do it.” She turned her head, stared out the window. “Let’s go down, Jim. I’ve seen enough for now.”

  W HEN WILLA DROVE BACK INTO THE RANCH YARD. SHE spotted Nate’s rig, and Ben’s. Deliberately, she stopped in front of Adam’s little white house. She needed time before she faced anyone. Her legs weren’t much steadier than her stomach. There was a headache, brought on, she supposed, by the incessant humming of the plane, kicking behind her eyes.

  She climbed out, stepped through the gate of the picket fence, and indulged herself by squatting down to pet Beans. He was fat as a sausage, with floppy ears and huge mop paws. Elated to see her, he rolled over to offer his belly for a rub.

  “You fat old thing. You going to lie here and sleep all day?” He thumped his tail in agreement and made her smile. “Your back end’s wide as a barn.”

  Her voice brought Adam’s spotted hound, Nosey, racing around the side of the house. With his ears perked up and his tail waving like a flag, he trotted over and pushed himself under Willa’s arm.

  “Been up to no good again, haven’t you, Nosey? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve had your eye on my chickens.”

  He grinned at her, and in his attempt to lick her hands, her face, stepped on his buddy. When the two dogs began to wrestle and dance, Willa got to her feet. She felt better. Maybe it was just being in Adam’s yard, where the fall flowers were still stubbornly blooming and dogs had nothing better to do than play.

  “You finished fooling with those useless dogs?”

  She looked over her shoulder. Ham stood on the other side of the gate, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His jacket was buttoned and he wore leather gloves, making her think perhaps he felt the cold more these days.

  “I reckon I am.”

  “And you’re finished flying around in that death trap?”

  She ran her tongue over her teeth as she walked toward him. In his sixty-five years,
Ham had never been inside a plane of any kind. And he was damn proud of it. “Seems like. We need to rotate cattle, Ham. And we’ve got another fence down. I want those cows