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At the sound of boot heels on the stone floor, they both turned. One look at the man and Dillon knew this had to be Halbrook Truman, the ranch owner. He carried himself like a man in a hurry to get whatever he wanted with no doubt in his mind that he would succeed.
The fiftysomething rancher appeared distracted, so it took a moment before he looked up and actually saw them. His gaze went from Tessa to Dillon before he stumbled to a stop. “Ethan?” He started to laugh, shaking his head as if nothing surprised him anymore. “You’re the last person I expected to see—especially wearing a damned sheriff’s department uniform. Did you make Luke one of your deputies?” The man guffawed at his own joke.
For the second time in two days, someone had thought Dillon was Ethan. He’d lived so long separately from his brother that he’d forgotten what that was like.
“I’m Undersheriff Dillon Lawson. Ethan was my brother.” He couldn’t help using was. Part of him still wouldn’t let himself believe that Ethan really was alive. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his brother all over again if not.
Halbrook let out a grunt. “Yeah, right. Call yourself whatever you please, since we both know that the rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated. But you’d better be here to return my property.” The rancher glanced at Tessa. “All of it, including the ring I gave my fiancée. I hope to hell you didn’t knock up Ashley, too.”
So Halbrook had heard about Ethan’s death, but unlike Dillon, he hadn’t been fooled by it. “What property might that be?”
The rancher narrowed his gaze. “What the hell is this?” He laughed again but there was no humor in it. “You foolin’ with me, son? You should know better than that.”
“As I told you, I’m not Ethan. I’m his twin brother. I take it he never mentioned he had an identical twin.” Dillon tried not to let that hurt him. He remembered Ethan saying once that he felt like a carbon copy, not the real thing.
“You have some credentials on you?” Halbrook Truman asked.
Dillon produced his driver’s license, along with his badge and one of the photographs he’d shown Tessa, of him and his brother. For years he hadn’t had to explain about his twin because Ethan hadn’t been part of his life. It felt strange now.
The rancher’s eyes widened as he took in the photo. His gaze swept up to meet Dillon’s and narrowed. “He never said anything about having a twin.” Suspicion laced his tone. “If you’re not Ethan, then what are you doing here?”
“I wasn’t sure Ethan had worked for you. Now that I know he did, I’m hoping you might know where he is.”
Halbrook fidgeted with the coins in his jeans pocket for a moment before moving to a cabinet along the wall. A door swung open, exposing a built-in bar.
Before, the man apparently hadn’t thought he was really dealing with law enforcement. Now he seemed worried. Why was that, if Ethan had taken his property from him? Wouldn’t he be glad to have the law involved?
“You didn’t say what my brother took that you were hoping I was bringing back, along with your fiancée’s ring,” Dillon said to the man’s back as Halbrook poured himself a drink and took a gulp from the crystal glass. The alcohol seemed to fortify him.
“And you didn’t say why you’re really here, if you weren’t even sure your brother worked here or not,” the rancher said without turning around.
“Luke Blackwell.”
Halbrook turned slowly and raised a brow. “I didn’t know we were talking about Luke.”
“You offered Luke a job when he got out of prison,” Dillon said. “You were instrumental in getting him out.”
“I like to help a man who wants to change.” The rancher shrugged and poured himself another drink. “He also apparently lied when he vouched for your brother.” Dillon noticed that the man’s hands were shaking, but not from fear or nervousness. Halbrook Truman was furious.
“Luke doesn’t still work for you?”
Halbrook laughed in answer.
“When did my brother and Luke leave your employ?”
The rancher pretended to give that some thought. “Let’s see. I’d say it was in the middle of the night the first part of February a year ago, as I recall. I found my safe open and empty the next morning and my fiancée, Ashley, gone, along with some of my hired hands.”
“You called the sheriff?”
The man’s expression darkened. “It was a personal matter.”
Dillon didn’t like the sound of that, given that Ethan had allegedly died in a car accident a month after leaving this ranch. The wreck had been ruled an accident, since alcohol was involved. Dillon had had no reason to suspect anything. Until Tessa showed up. So who had been in that car? Who had really died that night?
He pulled out his notebook and pen. “If you could give me the name of the ranch hands who left with my brother...”
“I don’t see the point.”
“I need to find Ethan. One of the others might know where he is. Or I could talk to your current employees—”
“Luke Blackwell, Tom Grady and Buck Morgan. You want the name of my fiancée, too?” The alcohol seemed to have loosened his tongue. Or maybe he didn’t want Dillon talking to his employees. “Ashley Rene Clarkson.”
Dillon wrote down the names and asked, “Do you know where they went after they left here?”
The rancher cocked his head. “If I knew, I wouldn’t still be looking for them, now, would I?”
“You’re looking for them?”
Halbrook seemed to regret his words. He waved off the question with a dismissive sweep of his hand. “It’s no big deal. They took some money. I’d forgotten all about it until I saw you.”
He was lying. Dillon had seen the man’s fury. Halbrook Truman wasn’t a forgiving man. He thought of what Tessa had told him about the conversation she’d overheard with Ethan and some stranger. Had Halbrook hired a man to get back whatever the bunch of them had stolen?
“It would help if I knew what they’d taken,” he said. “If my brother owes you money—”
“I don’t need your money.” The rancher downed his second drink. He seemed calmer as he put down the glass. “I’m sorry, I would have offered you a drink but I’m assuming you’re on duty,” he said to Dillon. “And—” he turned to look at Tessa “—you’re—”
“I’m fine,” she said, her tone crisp. “But would you mind if I used your bathroom?”
“There’s one down the hall on the right. Help yourself,” Halbrook said, and watched Tessa until she disappeared around the corner. “That your doing?” His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess, she’s the one interested in finding your brother.” He laughed. “Ethan has been busy. Looks like you’d better hurry and find him.”
Dillon changed the subject, asking some general questions about the ranch while they waited. Halbrook was happy to talk about his “spread.” Apparently he hadn’t bragged about what he had to only Ethan. He was ready to brag to anyone who would listen.
“My great-grandfather made his fortune in the gold fields and started this ranch,” Halbrook boasted. “It has grown with each generation.”
“That’s a nice elk,” Dillon said, nodding to the mount over the fireplace.
“I killed him when I was twelve. One shot to the heart. Gutted him myself. Had to quarter him to get him back to the ranch. Scored four hundred on Boone and Crockett.” The man swelled with pride as he looked at the elk.
Dillon saw Tessa coming down the hallway. She looked pale. He feared coming here had been a mistake. Bringing her definitely had been. She didn’t need to hear more bad things about the father of her baby. He hated to even think how many ranchers his brother had ripped off or how many of them had a score to settle with Ethan.
At least now he had an inkling of why his brother might be on the run. Even on a good day, he suspected Halbrook Truman was a force to be reckoned with. What had Ethan stolen? Clearly something the rancher wanted back. Could it be the reason Ethan had faked his own death, if indeed that was what had happened?
Dillon had a bad feeling that he’d better find his brother before the rancher did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ETHAN LAWSON WOKE in a cheap motel, hungover and depressed. He glanced toward the window. The curtains were closed, but through a thin space between them, he could see that it was too light outside. It was too quiet, too. Earlier he had been vaguely aware of vehicle engines starting, followed by a scraping sound.
He swore as he sat up. The motel room was hot, the window partially steamed over as he stood and walked to it to part the curtains. “Snow.” He cursed again. A good four inches had fallen overnight. What was he doing in this godforsaken country this time of year anyway?
As his head cleared, he remembered why he wasn’t down south in the desert. He let the curtain fall and turned, tempted to go back to bed. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and it would be dangerous to stay here any longer.
He moved into the bathroom, turned on the shower and while he waited for the water to warm, he relieved himself in the toilet. It was after he’d showered that he’d accidentally seen himself in the mirror over the sink. He’d known he probably looked the way he felt—terrible. But still, the image had been shocking.
A couple weeks’ growth of sandy-blond beard gave him a homeless appearance. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a haircut, as he ran his fingers through the curls at his neck. How long had it been since he’d even looked at himself in a mirror?
He let out a bitter laugh at the thought. He couldn’t even face himself, and with good reason. Forcing himself, he locked eyes with his image. They really were windows into the soul. What he saw broke his heart.
The irony didn’t escape him. Here he was trying so hard to stay alive, and part of him had already died. Those eyes looking out at him were those of a corpse.
“There is a faster way to kill yourself if you’re interested,” the barmaid had told him last night when he’d asked her to just leave the whiskey bottle. “I would think a cowboy like you would own a gun. Can’t afford a bullet?”
He’d chuckled. What did she know? Maybe he had a good reason to drink himself to death. That thought had made him take a drink straight from the bottle last night. But after that, he’d lost his taste for it and had left, angry and sick at heart.
Now he dressed and opened the motel room door, telling himself that he needed to pick up a razor and some shaving cream before the next motel. Maybe a pair of scissors to trim his hair.
His old pickup was capped with snow and now the only rig left in the motel lot. He glanced out, checking the street. He thought of that barmaid again. If only he could drink himself to death. He doubted he could stay alive long enough, though, for the booze to kill him.
Every morning he woke with the same thought. Things could be worse. A lot worse. Then he would remember what was at stake. The only way things could be worse was if he failed.
That thought usually brought back the vivid memory of being in a car, racing toward an abyss and a fiery death at over eighty miles an hour in the desert. Unconsciously he checked to make sure the knife was still in his pocket. His lucky knife, he called it since escaping that car. Bailing out of it would probably have killed him if he hadn’t been drunk and landed in sand. He’d rolled, ending up against a cactus. He was still pulling spines out of his backside almost a year later.
But that had been a whole lot better than what had happened to Buck Morgan, he reminded himself.
He went out to the pickup, made a swipe at the deep snow on the windshield, all the time watching the street. He probably wouldn’t even recognize the men who’d been paid to find him and kill him. He likely wouldn’t see them coming. Some days he wondered why he even bothered. He’d surely mess this up, too. Wouldn’t it be easier just to end this once and for all?
But then he thought of Tessa and was reminded of why he was doing this.
The street was still quiet in this part of Colorado. All the small mountain towns looked alike. The moment you drove out past the city-limits sign, there was nothing but miles of sagebrush and antelope until the next little burg.
It will be over soon, he thought as he went back inside the motel, picked up his duffel bag, then, making sure he hadn’t left anything behind, went out and started his truck.
His pistol was loaded, stuck in his waistband under his shirt and jacket, reminding him he wasn’t just the hunted, but was also the hunter. As he pulled away from the motel, he looked around for a store and an internet café.
Survival had now come down to only a matter of which of them found their prey first.
* * *
DILLON SEEMED LOST in thought as they left the ranch. Tessa could see that he was taking the news about Ethan maybe even harder than she was. She felt like such a fool. She’d actually thought that Ethan had panicked about marriage and fatherhood and that he’d only taken her money because...
Because he never had any of his own. What had he done with the money he’d made from his construction job? He’d often had a few beers at the local bar after work, but other than that he didn’t spend much. He’d given her a little to help with the rent after he’d moved in, and had promised her more when he could afford it.
What had happened to whatever money the three men had stolen from Halbrook Truman’s safe? For that matter, what had happened to the man’s fiancée?
“What do you think Ethan took from back there?” Tessa asked as they drove back toward Wisdom.
Dillon shook his head.
“Seems that if it was money, Halbrook would have jumped at the offer you made to repay it.”
“Does seem that way. I suspect this is less about what they took and more about the man’s pride.”
She couldn’t argue that.
“Tell me more about this rifle Ethan was looking at online,” he said.
“It was popular during the Civil War, a Henry .44-caliber rimfire, lever-action, breech-loading rifle.”
He glanced over at her. “You know a lot about rifles, do you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Only because Ethan seemed so interested in this particular one. Are you thinking one of them was what Ethan helped steal from Halbrook Truman? But why, if Ethan was in on taking the rifle, would he be looking for it online?”
“I was just thinking about that. If an antique rifle was what they took, my guess is that someone else has it. Maybe Luke double-crossed him and he’s thinking Luke will try to sell it online. But we don’t even know if there is any connection between Halbrook and this rifle. That model definitely isn’t rare.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “I checked. Nine hundred of them were manufactured between the summer and October of 1862. By 1864, production had peaked to 290 a month. By the time production ended in 1866, approximately fourteen thousand had been manufactured.”
He laughed. “You do your homework.”
“The thing is, though, one in excellent condition can bring in a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not peanuts, and yet not enough to kill someone over—especially if you were already rich.”
Dillon nodded. “Except that Halbrook Truman is angry and wants his property back. We don’t know that this rifle Ethan was looking for has anything to do with him or what was taken from him. Or that Halbrook had anything to do with why Ethan has pretended to be dead for a year. But it does make me wonder.”
The town of Wisdom appeared again on the horizon.
“I was thinking we’d stop at that café we saw in town and have something to eat.” He looked over at her. “You need to take care of yourself and my niece.”
She smiled, touched by his concern. “I’m not upset about what he said about Ethan.”
“Still, I’m sorry my brother—”
“You aren’t your brother’s keeper.”
He laughed and pushed back his hat to rub his forehead with his free hand as he drove. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I always tried to protect him.” He shook his head.
“Protect him?” She saw Dillon swallow.
“Our dad. He had this idea that you had to break the spirit of a wild horse—or a wild boy. I stepped between them enough times to take the brunt of it, but—”
“You were a boy yourself.”
Dillon looked away. “Ethan was always...too...tender. I think that’s why the old man went after him instead of me. Ethan felt things too strongly. It made him seem—well, at least in our father’s eyes—weak. The old man thought he could toughen him up. Instead...”
“Ethan’s a man now, capable of making his own choices in life,” she said firmly. “Just because he might have gotten a raw deal as a kid, he doesn’t get to spend his life blaming his behavior on that.”
Dillon glanced over at her, no doubt surprised by the fierceness of her words. “Was your childhood—”
“Fine. It was just fine.” His sudden compassion made her want to bite back her heated response. She looked away and was grateful he didn’t push the subject.
The café was small and rustic, like a lot of cafés she’d seen off the beaten path in Montana. Over lunch they talked about the magnificent country outside the café window. It was spectacular, especially in contrast to the desert of Southern California. As Tessa listened to Dillon talk, she could hear his love for this state. That love warmed her. She’d always longed for a place with deep roots but had never had it. Ethan had told her once that he’d left home at eighteen and professed he preferred to be rootless. So unlike his twin, who had planted obvious roots here.
