Redemption (15 page)

“
Two
men who would keep this to themselves?”

“It would have taken two men to steal the bull and get him in my corral that night.”

“A pretty dangerous thing for a judge to do.” Carson took a sip of his ginger ale and continued, “He would be indebted to those men for life, always fearing that they could expose him at any time.”

“It would be his word, a judge’s, against theirs, plus he would have chosen men who wouldn’t be believed. Men who might have already had a brush with the law or would be afraid to stand up to him. Men who would have a lot to lose if this came out. Someone like—”

“Hitch McCray.”

Jack laughed and nodded. “Exactly.”

“Why would Hitch—”

“He’d been picked up for a couple of driving-while-under-the-influence charges before I went away. He’s been in trouble since then. I heard something about him sideswiping a car outside the Range Rider and having a run-in with your sister out at her ranch.”

Carson stared at him for a moment, then let out a curse. “You might be right.”

Jack laughed. “Great. Not even you believed I was innocent.”

“Come on, Jack, it wouldn’t be the first time you had too much to drink and got into trouble.”

Exactly. “I made it real easy for the judge, didn’t I?”

“You’re never going to be able to prove it, and if you go up against the Hangin’ Judge—”

“Just let it go, right?” Jack asked.

Carson fell silent. “I know. You’re a convicted felon and you lost two years of your life for something you didn’t do. I’d be mad as hell.”

Jack had to chuckle at that. “You lost eleven years because of something you didn’t do.”

“That was different. I loved Ginny. With her gone, I had nothing to lose. You on the other hand have a lot to lose. While any man in your boots would want to go after whoever was behind it, I’m just not sure you can get justice.”

That was the hell of it and Jack knew it. “For the sake of argument, who would Hitch have gotten to help him?”

“One of his ranch hands?”

Jack shook his head. “It had to be someone of the judge’s choosing. The two might not have even known each other. It would have been someone he could control if it all hit the fan. Also it would be someone coming up before the judge for sentencing. That should narrow it down.”

“So if you’re right, then what?” Carson asked.

He took a sip of his beer. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“If he framed you the first time just to get you out of his daughter’s life, imagine what he will do to keep this from coming out. Where are you going?” Carson demanded as Jack grabbed his hat and pushed off the bar stool to his feet.

“I need to find a computer.”

“This time of the night?”

Fortunately, he’d seen one recently that he thought he might be able to use and kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

“Jack, promise me you won’t do anything...crazy.”

Jack laughed. “Do I look like a man who would do anything crazy?” His laugh followed him out the door as he headed for Kate LaFond’s.

* * *

“
I
NEED TO USE
your computer.”

Kate leaned into the door frame, wishing she hadn’t opened the apartment door to him. A cold wind kicked up dust along the alley beneath the stairs. The temperature had dropped and she could tell a storm was blowing in.

“It’s important,” Jack said.

“Oh, well, then that’s different.”

He grinned. “Please? I know it’s late, but I saw your light on....”

She moved aside to let him in, against her better judgment. Jack and his easygoing cowboy charm were deceptive. The man could worm his way into a woman’s heart as well as her bed if she wasn’t careful.

He seemed to think she owed him, and maybe she did. He’d crossed her path—saved her life, actually, when she was being honest about it. But she hated owing anyone, especially a man like Jack French.

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to her laptop on the small dinette table. “Mind telling me what this is about?”

“I need to check on something.” He glanced around her apartment. “I didn’t notice last time I was here, but you’re not much into decorating, are you?”

She bristled. “I haven’t had a lot of time, not that it’s any of your business.”

He shot her a teasing grin as he sat down in front of the computer. “Like to keep things simple, do you?”

She ignored that as he began typing quickly on the computer keys. It surprised her to see that he knew what he was doing. Apparently, the cowboy hadn’t spent all his time in the company of only horses and cows. She watched his large hands on the keys and remembered the feel of his callused fingertips on her skin and quickly turned away to finish what she’d been doing when he’d knocked on the door.

Claude had put a small stackable washer and dryer in a closet in the hallway. She pulled her clothes out of the dryer, listening to the steady click of the computer keys as she folded her still-warm clothes and headed for the bedroom to put them away.

She’d just opened the chest of drawers when she realized she no longer heard the clack of the computer keys.

Even more disturbing, she sensed Jack directly behind her. She dropped the stack of clean clothing in the drawer and shut it slowly before turning around to find him just inches away. Jack unnerved her in ways she didn’t want to think about, especially with the two of them standing this close in her bedroom.

Kate tried not to react to his nearness or the fact that he had one of her lost-treasure magazines in his hands.

“Would you like a beer?” she asked as she stepped past him, heading for the small kitchen and putting distance between them. She opened the refrigerator, breathing in the cold air as she grabbed two beers and turned to find him watching her with amusement. The man knew the effect he had on her and enjoyed it.

She reminded herself of his kiss with Chantell at the branding. She wasn’t the only one Jack French was busy charming.

* * *

“
I
NTERESTING MAGAZINES,”
J
ACK
said as she handed him a beer and took the magazine from him to toss it back in the pile on the table. “So you’re into lost treasure, are you?”

She had seemed nervous moments before in the bedroom, but now her confidence had returned. “They were my father’s. I couldn’t part with them. I grew up on stories of lost mines, stagecoach caches and strongboxes full of gold, silver and coins.”

“Your father was a
treasure hunter?
That must have been a fun childhood.”

She smiled as she curled into one of the overstuffed chairs and took a sip of her beer. She relaxed now, as if she didn’t even mind his company—as long as she could keep a few feet between them.

“Living in the back of a pickup camper, traveling around the country looking for lost mines and buried treasure does make an interesting childhood. It had its moments.”

“Did he find anything exciting?” Jack asked as he turned one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it to face her.

“He found rattlesnakes, rock slides and gully washers that finally took out the pickup and camper. He was killed in a rock slide looking for a lost mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s the way he would have wanted to go. He would have kept looking for buried treasure until he couldn’t walk anymore. Not being able to chase the stories would have killed him in a much more tragic way. I guess if he had to go, I’m glad it was doing something he loved.”

“I admire that kind of passion,” Jack said.

She cocked her head at him, openly studying him. “You don’t have it?”

He grinned. “I’m passionate about some things.”

She shook her head at him in mock disgust.
“Women.”

“That’s one,” he admitted as he watched her get up and move across the room. She was lithe and graceful. He realized she moved like a cat—quiet, no wasted effort—and she had to be the only person in Beartooth who ran for exercise.

“Don’t most lost treasures have some curse attached to them?” he asked.

Her laugh was musical. It made him smile.

“My father said he didn’t believe in the curses, but by the end, after a lot of strange accidents, I suspect he became a believer.”

“What about you?”

“We’re all cursed in some way. It’s like luck. I make my own.”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shake of his head. “I think some of us are cursed when we’re born. The only thing that keeps us going at all is a little good luck.”

“
You
were cursed at birth?” she asked, sounding amused and suspicious. “That fortune-teller said I was, too. You sure you didn’t have a hand in that?”

He shook his head and made an X over his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.”

“No,” he admitted. “Is that what upset you, what the fortune-teller told you about being cursed at birth?”

“We were talking about you. So you weren’t born into a life of privilege?”

“My mother died when I was three.” He didn’t mention his inheritance he’d never touched. “My father never got over it. He was known for brawling and ending up in jail.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes I think from the get-go my story was already written. It’s been hard trying to overcome my family legacy, not to mention my father’s genes.”

“I lost my mother, too, only my father had a little different approach. He sold everything and we hit the road in search of lost treasure. I guess it was
his
way of running away, like your father ran away by fighting.”

“Sounds like our fathers were a lot alike.” He met her gaze. “Makes me wonder what else you and I have in common.”

She put down her beer and got to her feet. “Must be time for you to go.”

“Was it something I said?”

“It’s just that I know your type, Jack. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Mine, either. But there’s something different about you. About us.”

She tilted her head at him as if to say she wasn’t buying a word of it. “I saw you with your girlfriend at the branding.”

“Chantell isn’t my girlfriend.” He could see she didn’t believe that, either. “The only reason she kissed me was to get a rise out of you. Did she?” He grinned. “Apparently she succeeded.”

He finished his beer and got to his feet. As he passed her on the way to the door, he touched her shoulder. “Thanks for the beer and the conversation. This is the nicest time I’ve had in years. No bull.”

He let himself out into the cold. It had started to snow. Nothing quite like spring in Montana. Eighty degrees one day and snowing the next. Huge, lacy flakes drifted down into the darkness. Several inches of the light, airy stuff had already fallen. It now blanketed everything, including his pickup.

“Why the devil did you come back here?” he asked himself as he tracked through the snow to his truck.

As he started to open the driver’s door, he glanced up at the window of the upstairs apartment over the café. Kate had turned out the lights, but he could see her standing there, a dark shadow.

Something about it sent a chill up his spine. He brushed snow from the door handle and opened the door. Snow floated in the air, swept into the pickup and covered the seat. He brushed it off and climbed in.

The engine turned over with a low groan. The heater came on blowing ice-cold air. He turned it off and glanced through the falling snow again to the apartment window. It was empty.

* * *

K
ATE WATCHED
J
ACK
drive away. She couldn’t believe it was snowing again. She had witnessed the land turn from a dull winter brown to vibrant green. Each day the fields turned a brighter green and blossomed with wildflowers.

The creek across from the café roared, snow fed from the mountains and smelling of pine. Just this morning she’d awakened to the sound of birds singing and a fresh breeze stirring the new leaves of an old cottonwood next to her window.

Was this place growing on her? She scoffed at the idea. “I only have a few more months, Claude. Then no matter what, it’s goodbye, Beartooth.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“
D
ON’T YOU DARE
DIE
.”

As Claude Durham slowly opened his eyes, Kate got up from the chair beside his hospital bed and moved to him. He looked weak, but he’d gotten some of his color back.

“I thought you would be long gone,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes again.

She wasn’t about to admit that she’d spent the night in an uncomfortable chair next to his bed. “You’re the one who barged into my life. I wasn’t leaving until you told me the truth.”

“The truth?” His smile was wan. So was the soft chuckle he emitted. He opened his eyes again. “I already told you. I’m dying.”

“I want to know about my mother.” She met his gaze. “And my father.”

His eyes fluttered closed again. “It’s a long, not very flattering story.”

“Since I’ve probably been fired from my job by now, I have a lot of time on my hands—and you owe me the truth, since you started this. Also, I doubt I could think less of you.”

He smiled at that, no doubt seeing through the lie. It was a while before he finally began to speak, though. Still keeping his eyes closed, he said, “I had an older brother. He ran away when he was fifteen. Our father drank. Our mother finally ran him off and remarried a man named Bruce Durham. Bruce was fine. We were living on a ranch down in Wyoming. Bruce adopted me and my younger brother, Everett. But Bruce didn’t last long. My mother had a few problems of her own, and social services finally took Everett away. I was old enough, seventeen by then, that I took off. I lost track of Everett. Because I was good sized for my age, I went to work on a Wyoming oil rig and saved every dime I made.”

“Fascinating, but what does any of that have to do with Beartooth?”

He opened his eyes. “My mother was born there. She used to tell stories about growing up on the edge of the Crazies. I had this idea that it was Shangri-la. When I finally had enough money that I could buy an old pickup, I headed there. I got a job working in the kitchen at the Branding Iron Café.”