Missing in Montana, page 17
She’d known he would remarry. She’d thought he would have to wait seven years to have her declared dead. But he’d found a way around it, marrying that bitch Tasha. Unlike her, Tasha had shared Hoyt’s love of horses. Oh, the horrible pain of watching the two of them together, until one day she couldn’t take it any longer and had rigged Tasha’s saddle.
After that, she’d hoped Hoyt wouldn’t marry again. But Hoyt hadn’t been able to resist the young woman who’d been helping take care of his boys. Krystal appealed to Hoyt’s need to protect a woman in trouble. He would have continued to try to save Krystal if Laura hadn’t helped him by getting rid of her for good.
From a safe distance, she had watched him raise the boys alone, all six of them, and build an empire. She’d been proud of him, had actually loved him more.
Then Emma had come along.
Laura shook her head. Just the thought made her hands ball into fists, her jaw tightening, her heart on fire.
Hoyt was in love. Or so he thought. She knew the power of love, but it was a weak emotion compared to hate. Hate, now there was something with substance, something you could feel deep in your bone marrow, something to live for.
Laura lived now for only one thing. To see Emma Chisholm dead and gone. But this time she thought Hoyt might have to go, as well. Maybe his sons and their fiancées too. Maybe it was time to finally end this pain once and for all. If only Hoyt had loved her and only her.
As she parked her car and got out, it looked as if they were having a party, but she knew Emma made a big deal out of suppers at the ranch. Everyone was here. Perfect.
She stood for a moment, looking at the huge house all ablaze with lights, remembering when it had been hers and Hoyt’s.
Then she made her way up to the front door and rang the doorbell. It would be her house again in a few moments, she thought with a crooked smile.
* * *
When the doorbell rang, everyone turned in surprise toward the front door.
“Are you expecting someone?” Emma asked her husband.
Hoyt shook his head. “Unless it’s the live-in housekeeper. She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow though. I’ll go see.”
Emma asked her future daughters-in-law to serve dessert and went into the living room. Hoyt was already at the door, opening it as the bell rang again.
Standing back, Emma waited. She wondered what this woman Hoyt had hired to babysit her would be like. Dreaded, was more like it. Older, he’d said. Experienced, he’d said.
Emma feared she would be dull as dirt, when what she needed was to kick up her heels after everything she’d been through since marrying Hoyt.
But she wasn’t going to complain. If the woman wasn’t any fun, then Emma would find a way to sneak away from her.
Bracing herself, Emma watched Hoyt open the door. He hadn’t turned on the porch light so she couldn’t see the woman standing on their doorstep clearly.
“Come on in, Cynthia,” Hoyt said. “We expected you tomorrow, but tonight is fine. You’re just in time for dessert.”
“Call me Mrs. Crowley,” the woman said in a low hoarse voice. She spoke strangely as if out of one side of her mouth. Had the woman had a stroke?
And as she stepped into the light, Emma saw that her face was badly scarred on one side as if she’d been burned in a fire.
“Whatever you prefer,” Hoyt said and turned to see Emma standing at some distance behind him. “Mrs. Crowley, I’d like you to meet my wife, Emma.”
The woman looked up then and Emma felt a chill race through her. One of the woman’s eyes was a dark brown. The other one on the side that had been burned was completely white and sightless.
“I know I don’t look like much,” the woman said in her hoarse voice. “But I’m a hard worker.”
“I’m sure you are,” Emma said stepping to her to take her hand. “Welcome to Chisholm ranch.”
The woman’s grip was strong. “Thank you, Mrs. Chisholm.”
She hated that the woman was hard to look at because of her injury, but she knew over time, they would all adapt to it, just as Cynthia Crowley had herself.
“Please call me Emma,” she said warmly.
“Don’t you worry, Emma. I am much stronger than I look. Before long, I promise you’ll be surprised at what I’m capable of doing.”
* * * * *
LIFE OUT ON THE CHISHOLM RANCH WAS NEVER DULL
That’s Dakota Lansing’s impression, anyway. But she was always on the other side of the fence, keeping her distance from Zach Chisholm, the cowboy with a bad reputation. Now her family secrets are threatening to be unearthed and she’s afraid where they’ll lead, especially if it means setting foot on the Chisholm ranch.…
With both their lives in jeopardy, Dakota is forced to admit Zach is her only hope of staying alive. Targeted by unknown assailants, Zach discovers his mysterious connection to Dakota is much bigger than either suspected. The feisty beauty is more than his match and is becoming harder to resist. With time running out, should he let her rope him in and go along for the ride?
Wrangled
B.J. Daniels
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
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
The knock at the door surprised Zane Chisholm. He’d just spent the warm summer day in the saddle rounding up cattle. All he wanted to do was kick off his boots and hit the hay early. The last thing he wanted was company.
But whoever was knocking didn’t sound as if they were planning to go away anytime soon. Living at the end of a dirt road, he didn’t get uninvited company—other than one of his five brothers. So that narrows it down, he thought as he went to the window and peered out through the curtains.
The car parked outside was a compact, lime-green with Montana State University plates. Definitely not one of his brothers, he thought with a grin. Chisholm men wouldn’t be caught dead driving such a “girlie” car. Especially a lime-green one.
Even more odd was the young, willowy blonde pounding on his door. She must be lost and needing directions. Or she was selling something.
His curiosity piqued, he went to answer her persistent knock. As the door swung open, he saw that her eyes were blue and set wide in a classically gorgeous face. She wore a slinky red dress that fell over her body like water. The woman was a stunner.
She smiled warmly. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He waited, wondering what she wanted, and enjoying the view in the meantime.
Her smile slipped a little as she took in his worn jeans, his even more worn cowboy boots and the dirty Western shirt with a torn sleeve and a missing button.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” he said when he saw her apparent disappointment in his attire.
“Oh?” She looked confused now. “Did I get the night wrong? You’re Zane Chisholm and this is Friday, right?”
“Right.” He frowned. “Did we have a date or something?” He knew he’d never seen this woman before. No red-blooded American male would forget a woman like this.
She reached into her sparkly shoulder bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Your last email,” she said, handing it to him.
He took the paper, unfolded it and saw his email address. It appeared he had been corresponding with this woman for the past two days.
“If you forgot—”
“No,” he said quickly. “Please, come in and let’s see if we can sort this out.”
She stepped in but looked tentative, as if not so sure about him.
“Why don’t you start with how we met,” he said as he offered her a seat.
She sat on the edge of the couch. “The Evans rural internet dating service.”
“Arlene’s matchmaking business?” he asked in surprise. Arlene Evans, who was now Arlene Monroe, had started the business a few years ago to bring rural couples together.
“We’ve been visiting by email until you…”
“Asked you out,” he finished for her.
“Are you saying someone else has been using your email?”
“It sure looks that way, since I never signed up with Arlene’s matchmaking service. But,” he added quickly when he saw how upset she was, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Arlene is behind this. It wouldn’t be the first time she took it upon herself to play matchmaker.” Either that or his brothers were behind it as a joke, though that seemed unlikely. This beautiful woman was no joke.
She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I’m so embarrassed.” She quickly rose to her feet. “I should go.”
“No, wait,” he said, unable to shake the feeling that maybe this had been fate and that he would be making the biggest mistake of his life if he let this woman walk out now.
“You know, it wouldn’t take me long to jump in the shower and change if you’re still up for a date,” he said with a grin.
She hesitated. “Really? I mean, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. But you have the advantage over me. I don’t know your name.”
She smiled shyly. “Courtney Baxter.” She held out her hand. As he shook it, Zane thought, This night could change my life.
He had no idea how true that was going to be.
CHAPTER TWO
Dakota Lansing got the call at 3:20 a.m. She jerked awake, surprised by the sound of the ringing phone. She hadn’t had a landline in years. Glancing around in confusion, for a moment she forgot where she was.
Home at the ranch. It all came back in a rush, including her father’s death. She turned on the light as the phone rang yet again and grabbed the receiver.
As she did, she glanced at the clock, her mind spinning with fear. Calls in the wee hours of the morning were always bad news.
“Hello?” Her voice broke as she remembered the last call that had come too early in the morning.
This is Dr. Sheridan at Memorial Hospital in Great Falls. I’m sorry to inform you that your father has had a heart attack. I’m afraid there was nothing we could do. Your sister is here if you would like to speak with her.
My sister? You must have the wrong number, I don’t have a sister.
“Hello?” she said again now.
At first all she heard was crying. “Hello?”
“Dakota, I need your help.”
Her sister, half sister, the one she hadn’t known existed until two weeks ago, let out a choked sob.
“Courtney? What’s wrong?”
More sobbing. “I’m in trouble.”
This, at least, didn’t come as a surprise. Dakota had expected her half sister was in trouble when she’d asked after their father’s funeral if she could stay at the ranch for a while.
“I want to get to know you,” Courtney had said. But it had become obvious fairly quickly that her half sister wanted a lot more than that.
“Speak up. I can barely hear you,” Dakota said now.
“I can’t. He’s in the next room.”
Dakota rolled her eyes. A man. Not surprising, since Courtney had been out every night in the two weeks since their father’s funeral.
“I think he might be dead.”
Dakota came wide awake. Dead? “Where are you?” There was a loud crash in the background as something fell and broke. “Tell me where you are,” Dakota cried as she stumbled out of bed. “Courtney?”
Her father’s secret love child, a woman only two years younger than herself, whispered two words before the line went dead.
“Zane Chisholm’s.”
* * *
ZANE WOKE TO POUNDING. He tried to sit up. His head swam. He hadn’t really drunk champagne last night, had he?
Numbly he realized the pounding wasn’t just in his head. Someone was at the door and it was still dark outside. He turned on a light, blinded for a moment. As he glanced over at the other side of his queen-size bed, he was a little surprised to find it empty. Courtney had come home with him last night, hadn’t she?
As he got up he saw that he was stark naked. Whoever was at the door was pounding harder now. He quickly pulled on a pair of obviously hastily discarded jeans and padded barefoot into the living room to answer the door.
“What the hell happened to you?” his brother Marshall asked in surprise when Zane opened the door.
“I’m a little hungover.” A major understatement. He couldn’t remember feeling this badly—even during his college days when he’d done his share of partying.
“Your face,” Marshall said. “It’s all scratched up.”
Zane frowned and went into the bathroom. He turned on the light and stared in shock into the mirror. His pulse jumped. He had what looked like claw marks down the side of his left cheek. As he looked down at his arm, he saw another scratch on his forearm.
What the hell had happened last night?
“Are you okay?” Marshall asked from the bathroom doorway. He sounded worried, but nothing like Zane felt.
“I don’t know. I’m having trouble remembering last night.”
“Well, it must have been a wild one,” Marshall said. “I hope it was consensual with whatever mountain lion you hooked up with.”
“Not funny.” His head throbbed and his memory was a black hole that he was a little afraid to look into too deeply.
“You do remember that you and I are picking up horses in Wolf Point today, right?” Marshall said. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get cleaned up, but don’t even think about trying to get out of this. I need your help and we’re already running late. I told you to be ready at four forty-five.”
Zane nodded, although it hurt his head. What time was it, anyway? The clock on the wall read 5:10 a.m. “Could you make me some coffee while I get ready?”
His brother sighed. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for partying like this?” he grumbled on his way to the kitchen.
Zane stepped into the bathroom, closed the door and stared into the mirror again. He looked like hell. Worse, he couldn’t remember drinking more than a glass or two of champagne, certainly not enough to cause this kind of damage.
He thought about Courtney. She had to have done this to him. He touched his cheek. What scared him was, what had he done to get that kind of reaction from her?
* * *
EMMA CHISHOLM HAD been an early riser all her life. She liked getting up before the rest of the world when everything was still and dark. Since marrying Hoyt Chisholm a year ago, she especially liked seeing the sun come up here on the ranch.
As she stepped into the big ranch kitchen, she heard a sound and froze.
“I hope I didn’t scare you.”
Emma shuddered as a chill raced down the length of her spine. She tried to hide it but knew she’d failed when she turned to see amusement in their new live-in housekeeper’s one good eye. Up before sunrise and often the last one to bed, the woman moved around the house with ghostlike stealth.
“There really is no need for you to work such long hours,” she said as Mrs. Crowley stepped out of the dark shadows of the kitchen. The fifty-eight-year-old woman moved with a strange gait—no doubt caused by her disfiguring injury. It was hard to look into Mrs. Crowley’s face. The right side appeared to have been horribly burned, that eye white and sightless. Behind her thick glasses, her other eye shone darkly.
“I’m not interested in sleeping anymore,” Mrs. Crowley said. Her first name was Cynthia, but she’d asked them to refer to her by her married name.
The moment she’d come to the house, she had taken over. But Emma couldn’t complain. Mrs. Crowley, a woman about her own age, was a hard worker and asked for little in return. She lived in a separate wing of the house and was Emma’s new babysitter.
Not that Emma’s husband, Hoyt, would ever admit that was the case. But last year his past had come back to haunt them. It had to do with the deaths of Hoyt’s last three wives. An insurance investigator by the name of Aggie Wells had been convinced that he’d killed them.
When Aggie had heard about Hoyt’s fourth marriage—this one a Vegas elopement to Emma—she’d come to Montana to warn Emma that she was next.
Aggie was dead now. While the police hadn’t found her killer, Emma was fairly certain that the perpetrator was the same one who’d murdered at least one of Hoyt’s wives.
Aggie Wells had originally been convinced that the killer was Hoyt, but as time went on she’d thought Hoyt’s first wife might still be alive. Laura had allegedly drowned in Fort Peck Reservoir more than thirty years before. Aggie had even found a woman named Sharon Jones, whom she believed was Laura. Unfortunately, Sharon Jones had disappeared before the police could question her.
For months now Hoyt had been afraid to leave Emma alone. Either he or one of his six sons hung around the house to make sure no harm came to her.
She’d been going crazy, feeling as if she was under house arrest. Hoyt and his sons had to be going crazy as well. They were ranchers and much more at home on the back of a horse than hanging around the kitchen with her.
Finally Hoyt had come up with the idea of a live-in housekeeper. Emma was sure that Mrs. Crowley wasn’t what he’d had in mind. But after all the rumors and suspicions that were flying around, it was next to impossible to get anyone to work at the ranch.
Fortunately, Mrs. Crowley had been glad to come. She said she liked that Chisholm Cattle Company was so isolated.
“People stare,” she’d said simply when Emma had asked her if she thought she could be happy living this far away from civilization.
She was an abrupt woman who had little to say. Emma knew she should be thankful, but sometimes it would be nice to have someone who would just sit and visit with her. That definitely wasn’t Mrs. Crowley, but Emma kept trying.
