Treacherous Trails

“Hi, Betsy. I haven’t seen you since Christmas Eve.” The sisters had attended the annual holiday party hosted by his parents on the Gold Bar Ranch. They all had much to celebrate, since his eldest brother Barrett and his new wife, Shelby, had survived a murder attempt just days before. But all had ended well, and the newly married couple was installed in the ranch pending the completion of the home Barrett was building for her with the family’s help.

Ella brought in a plate of scrambled eggs and toast cut into small squares and settled a special utensil in her sister’s grip that allowed her better control. The wheelchair was a manual one, with Copper County Hospital stenciled on the back.

Ella flipped her hair away from her face. “The hospital was discarding them. They said I could take it.”

He hated that he’d made her have to explain herself. She wasn’t a marine under his command, he reminded himself. She didn’t owe him anything, including explanations.

Guilt licked at his heart that he’d fallen so far out of Ella’s life. But he’d heard rumors of the trouble she’d gotten into before he’d returned stateside. Rumors he’d never bothered to ask her about. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know, preferring the distant memories of lazy summer days spent at the creek.

“I forgot the orange juice,” Ella said, scurrying back to the kitchen.

While Betsy ate, he wandered to the window that allowed a partial view of the carport and the sprawling backyard, shadowed by massive pine trees that needed trimming.

He peered closer out the frosted window, his stomach tightening.

“Ella?” he called.

She joined him after she gave her sister the juice and stopped in the bedroom to pull on clean clothes and wash up. He jutted his chin toward the carport.

Her face went pale. “That’s...that’s my van.”

The muscles in his stomach clenched even more, the same way they had just before the quiet streets in Afghanistan exploded with enemy fire.

She stared at the van and he could read the tension. She was slight, petite, barely came up to his collarbone. For some reason, in that moment, she looked even smaller. He laid his hand slowly on her shoulder, delicate under his wide palm.

“Ella,” he said quietly. “Tell me everything that happened last night.”

* * *

Ella swallowed as she stared out the window at the carport. The trees swayed and trembled in the winter wind. A set of birds exploded from the foliage, startled.

“After you left the stables, did you stop anywhere on the way home?”

She rounded on him. “Owen, I know I messed up in the past but I promise you I did not drink anything except the tea in my thermos. It must have been drugged.”

“I wasn’t implying anything.”

“Just go home, Owen. Thanks for the ride, but I’ll figure out what to do on my own.”

He shifted, taking the weight off his wounded leg, calloused hands on hips. “You need help.”

It was suddenly too much. “I needed help four years ago when you deployed right after my brother did. Or maybe when my dad died—maybe that would have been a good time for some help, but you weren’t there, and neither was Ray.” Her voice wobbled.

He winced as if she’d hurt him. Good. He deserved it for thinking she would go out drinking and leave her sister alone and helpless. Even though you did exactly that when Ray and Owen deployed.

“Go home, Owen.”

Part of her wanted him to march right on out to his truck and gun it out of the driveway, but another part, a tiny part that she’d hidden away since she was seven years old, wished desperately that he would stay.

“Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

Owen strolled through the house and out the front door, hesitating just past the threshold. She thought with a moment of warmth that he’d changed his mind. Instead she saw a police car pull up at the end of her driveway. Her mouth went dry.

Officer John Larraby nodded to Ella as he got out of his cruiser and walked up the drive. “Got time for a few questions, I hope,” Larraby said. She nodded and Owen moved in closer.

Ella told him everything in a hurried rush of words while Larraby dutifully jotted notes.

“Miss Cahill, Candy Silverton is looking for her nephew, Luke Baker. Were you with him last night?”

Ella blinked. “I spoke to him at the stables in the afternoon when I was shoeing the horses.”

“I was told you had a heated argument with Mr. Baker.”

“No, I did not,” she snapped. “Someone is lying about me and I want to know who.”

Larraby cocked his head ever so slightly and dread cascaded along her spine. “What did you talk to him about?”

Should she say it? Repeat what he’d said in confidence? Tell the truth, her gut told her. “He had some...reservations about Bruce Reed, about his intentions toward Candy Silverton. I think you should ask him more about it.”

“As I’ve said, we can’t find him, but we did find something else in the woods outside Silverton’s stables.”

Again, the tremor of dread. “What?” she forced herself to ask.

“Blood,” he said. “And lots of it.”

* * *

Owen watched the color drain out of Ella’s face until her freckles stood out in stark relief against her milk white skin. Shock, he recognized. He’d seen it in the faces of his marine brothers when they’d taken a round, the befuddled look of a body trying to process that it had just been shot. He grabbed her hand and she let him, fingers small though calloused and tough from her work as a farrier. “Ella,” he said quietly. “You’re not talking anymore until there’s a lawyer present.”

“A lawyer?” she repeated dully. “Owen, I didn’t do anything to Luke. He’s my friend.”

“A friend you borrowed money from?” Larraby asked.

Her face went from cream to plum. “I...yes. I did.” She looked at the floor. “He offered to loan me five hundred dollars to have Betsy’s wheelchair fixed. I was going to pay him back by the end of the month.”

Oddly, Owen felt a twist of jealousy. She hadn’t come to him for a loan? She’d gone to some other guy when it was his duty to Ray to help her in any way he could? Duty. Maybe she didn’t want to be anybody’s duty, wanted to stand on her own two feet just as badly as he did. Still, he wanted to snap at her to keep away from the spoiled, soft-handed Luke Baker.

“Mr. Reed said Baker complained that he wanted the money repaid and you weren’t cooperating,” Larraby said.

“Bruce Reed is lying,” she spat, irises sparking.

Larraby wrinkled his nose and raised an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking, Miss Cahill?”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I already explained that.”

He pursed his lips. “Okay. Would you mind letting me take a look at your vehicle?”

“Got a warrant?” Owen said. “Otherwise she doesn’t have to show you squat.”

Larraby’s look was poisonous. He and Owen’s youngest brother, Keegan, were biological half siblings, though their father would not acknowledge Keegan. Owen’s parents adopted Keegan at age sixteen. Bad blood boiled between Larraby and Keegan, and spilled over into the rest of the Thorn family. Probably always would.

“Of course you can see my van,” Ella said, stepping inside to snatch her keys off the table. “Here’s my spare set.”

“Ella,” Owen said, pulling her close and talking low, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Everything in him was screaming a danger message, loud as the whine of an incoming rocket. “Don’t.” But she was already pushing away, following Larraby to the back of the house to the carport.

Larraby strolled around the vehicle slowly, examining every inch of the white metal exterior. He gestured to the driver’s-side door handle. “May I?”

“Yes,” she said.

“No,” Owen replied at the same moment.

Larraby gave Owen the whisper of a smile. You lose, it said.

Above all things, Owen detested losing, always had.

And Larraby knew it.

Larraby unlocked the door with the key and swung it open, bending to peer inside. After a moment he straightened.

“See?” Ella said with a sigh of relief. “I don’t have Luke bound and gagged in my van, okay? I will do everything I can to help you find him, but I did not harm him in any way.”

Larraby nodded. “I’ll make a note of that, but before I go, one more thing. I’m going to open up the back, if you don’t mind.”

Ella nodded and Larraby unlocked the rear doors of the old van. Owen had heard from Ray that Zeke Potter, Ella’s mentor and the town veterinarian had sold it to her. Ray didn’t approve of the transaction, since every weekend it seemed his sister reported she was under the hood, repairing something in the aged engine, but Owen suspected she enjoyed that part. She was as at home with engines as she was with horses. A heavy wire grate separated the driver’s area from the back, ideal for housing the collection of rasps, nippers, hammers, nails and other paraphernalia of her trade, neatly stowed.

Larraby was leaning into the van. After a moment, he turned, his expression hard as stone. “I’d like to hear you explain this one.” He stepped aside. Ella cried out in horror. She and Owen stared into the sightless eyes of Luke Baker.

THREE

Owen grabbed her when she shot back, slamming into his chest. He could feel the quick shuddering breaths that shook her. “It’s all right,” he wanted to say, but nothing about the situation was all right.

Luke Baker’s blond head protruded from under the blanket at an awkward angle. Owen had seen death plenty of times before and although Larraby checked for a pulse, there was zero chance that the man was alive. His eyes were open, staring and dull, a splash of dried blood visible on his neck above the wool blanket where the tip of a broken farrier’s rasp protruded from his skin.

“I didn’t hurt him,” she whispered. “Please believe me. I did not do this.”

“Then when my coroner gives me a time of death, you’ll have an alibi.” Larraby lifted a corner of the blanket with his pen. “I’m guessing sometime yesterday. So, Ella, care to change your story?”

Owen tightened his grip around her shoulders. “She wants to talk to a lawyer.”

“Time to lawyer up? Not looking too innocent anymore are we?”

“I didn’t kill him. I was abducted and spent the night in a ravine like I told you.” Tears began to stream down Ella’s face. “He is...was my friend.” Owen held her tight, brain scrambling to find a way to fix it.

Larraby used the pen to pull the blanket farther away. “That’s a farrier’s rasp, isn’t it?” he said, pointing to the metal shaft that protruded from Luke Baker’s throat. “Yours? Your prints are on it? The other half of the one you gave me that was in your pocket?”

There was a sound of hushed voices and then Candy Silverton appeared around the corner of the carport. Her hair was swept into a neat platinum chignon, and a short man wearing a dark leather jacket followed one step behind. Bruce Reed, Owen figured.

Larraby held up a palm to stop her progress but Owen heard her sharp intake of breath as she saw the contents of the van. Her shriek cut through the air like bullet fire.

“Luke,” she cried, trying to get to his body. “No, no it can’t be.” Her escort held her back.

“Candy,” Reed said, face grave. “Don’t look.”

Candy’s eyes went from the tool embedded in the flesh of her nephew’s neck to Larraby and finally her gaze slid to Ella.

“You...you killed my nephew.”

“I didn’t,” Ella said, voice hardly above a whisper. “I didn’t. I... I think I was drugged, something in my thermos.” She turned panicked eyes on Owen. “It dropped out of my van. If we can find it...”

Reed stared at Ella, eyes shifting in thought. Candy’s mouth twisted. “Spare me the lies. You’ll fry,” she spat at Ella. “I’ll see to it that you die for what you did to my nephew or I will kill you myself.”

Ella turned her face to Owen’s chest and clung to his shirt, barely able to stand.

“I didn’t kill him...” she sobbed. “I didn’t.”

He caged her in a fierce embrace. “It’s going to be okay,” he said helplessly.

She pulled away, eyes bright with tears, shaking hands flat against his chest. “Owen, tell me you believe me.”

He stared at her naked grief, the unadulterated terror. He saw in her face the little girl she had been, freckled, pesky, fun loving, now a woman, beautiful, desperate, vulnerable.

But there was the overwhelming evidence against her, her van, her farrier’s rasp, the alcohol...

Trust was a dangerous thing, he knew, both from his work with horses and his time in the marines. It could blind you, cripple you, make you weak...but sometimes it could save your life.

He held her close, seeing his own reflection in the tear-streaked green of her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I do believe you.”

She cried harder then and looked in panic toward the house. “Please...”

He knew what she was asking. “I’ll take care of Betsy and I’m gonna get you out of this.”

Silverton was crying on Bruce Reed’s shoulder, loud, gasping sobs. For a split second, Reed met Owen’s eyes and he saw the sly, twisted gleam. Evil, he thought.

Owen glared full-on at the man and sent the message loud and clear. You and I are enemies now.

Larraby stepped forward, twisted Ella’s hands behind her back and snapped on the handcuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he began.

* * *

In her cell, Ella squeezed herself into a ball. The shapeless tunic, pants and fabric slippers felt strange on her skin. Again, she started to check the time on her old trusty Timex and found it missing, taken by the police when she’d been booked.

The hours after the arrest and arraignment had blurred, and she could not quite believe it was her second day of incarceration. Every humiliating detail seemed like something from a nightmare; the strip search, the mug shot that left her dazed and finally the arraignment when she’d been marched into a crowded room and heard the charges against her.

Murder. The murder of Luke Baker, her friend.

An image of him bloodied and stuffed into her van surfaced before she could stop it, tears pricking her eyes. Then her memory shifted back to the moment when a court-appointed lawyer stood next to her as she made her plea.

Not guilty. She wanted to shout it, scream the words, stand in the chair and holler, “I am not a murderer. I am being framed,” to anyone who would listen. But there were no friendly faces to appeal to, only people who saw her as a felon, guilty, going through the motions before she was tried and packed off to prison where she belonged.

And then the judge pronounced the bail at fifty thousand dollars. It might as well have been a million. There was no way she could come up with the required 10 percent to bond herself out of jail. Her bank account hovered just below two hundred dollars, since the doctor had changed Betsy’s medicine to a more expensive variety that sucked up money faster than she could earn it.

Betsy. What was she thinking right now? She knew Owen would keep his word and find someone to take care of her, but her sister knew no other life except their quiet existence in Gold Bar. Who would cut up her toast into squares? Massage the muscles along her shoulders that tightened up? Turn on her favorite game show every night at seven thirty sharp? Who would pray with Betsy? All the things which had once seemed like chores were now precious connections that brought her closer to her sister than she’d ever thought possible.

Ella’s throat constricted, but there were no more tears left. The other woman sharing her cell had not spoken a word, only turned her face to the wall and pulled the thin blanket up to cover her head.

“I don’t belong here,” she wanted to tell her cellmate. They’d taken a blood sample, but it might be too late to prove that she had not been drinking. Could it show that there was a drug in her system? If she could just find the thermos maybe there would be fingerprints on it.

The door clanged and she jumped. An officer stood there, beckoning. “Your bail’s been posted.”

“By whom?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Just come with me please, ma’am.”

Her heart leapt. “So... I don’t have to stay here?”

His eyebrows drew together. “You’re out until you go to trial, or do something to violate your bail.”

She heard the hardness in his tone. “Until they prove me guilty of murder, you mean?”

He shrugged, but she could tell that was exactly what he’d meant.

Enjoy the time before you’re behind bars forever.

She padded after him and collected her meager belongings, though the police insisted on keeping her clothing and shoes. She was surprised to find a pair of worn jeans, her patched sweatshirt and her sneakers with the holes in them. Meekly, she pulled them on.

“Exit’s that way, ma’am,” the officer said, ushering her toward a door.

“But who posted my bail?”

“Guy named Owen Thorn,” was the answer from the duty clerk.

Her stomach shrank into an aching knot. Humiliation complete, she was ushered through the exit door.

* * *

Owen saw her emerge, small and hunched as if she was expecting a blow. It twanged something inside him. He figured her release would be sometime that day so he’d camped out, waiting, asking his mom to go through Ella’s house to find her some clean clothes, since he didn’t feel it was right for him to go through her personal things. He rolled down the truck window, shoved back his cowboy hat with a thumb, and called to her.

She jerked, hesitating, and he thought she might ignore him, but then she walked over, head down, eyes on the ground.

“Let me give you a ride home.”

She considered, still not looking at him.

“Come on,” he prompted, getting out and opening the passenger door for her.

Finally she climbed in, hands twisted together in her lap.

He was not sure what to say. What were the right words after someone had been accused of murder and arrested? Words were not his strong suit at the best of times. “Betsy’s okay,” he said. “She’s been staying at the ranch. Mom’s happy to have her around. I think they’re making pies today.” Dumb, adding that pie thing, but he couldn’t make his mouth say anything better.

Ella nodded.

“Uh, do you, er, need anything?”

“Could you give Betsy a ride home? I...they kept my van.”

“No problem.” He straightened, happy to have something concrete to do. “I’ll drop you off and let you settle in while I go get her.”

“Thank you, and thank you for posting my bond. I’ll pay you back, every penny.” The ferocity crept into her tone, and he was glad to hear it. Jail had not broken her spirit. Stay angry, he wanted to tell her. Anger is a far better thing than despair.

As the miles wound by she stared intensely out the window. She was searching, he realized.

“Stop, Owen, stop here. I think this is near the place where I got out of my van. If I can find my thermos, I can prove I was drugged.”

He pulled to the side and prepared to get out with her. She turned tortured eyes on him. “Just drop me. I’ll look and walk home. It’s only a couple of miles. I don’t need your help.”

“Well, you’re getting it anyway. I promised Ray...”

Her eyes rounded in horror. “You told him what happened?”

Now he’d done it. “He got wind of it somehow, maybe from his ex-wife. He called me and I could not lie to him.”

“So now he knows I was arrested for murder and that the whole town thinks I killed Luke Baker in a drunken rage.”

“No,” Owen said firmly. “He thinks you were framed, just like I do, probably by Bruce Reed, and he’s going crazy that he can’t be here to help, but I told him I would get you out of this mess.”

Her lips tightened in a grim line. “I don’t need you to fix it. I will, and I’ll show you all that I am telling the truth.”

“I believe you.”

“No, you don’t. You just don’t want Ray’s little sister to be in prison.”

“That’s unfair.”

“I don’t care.” Her mouth trembled, eyes feverish. “Nothing about this has been fair. I’m going to take care of myself and Betsy like I’ve always done. We don’t need you and Ray to do anything.” She got out and slammed the door.

He did the same, pulse ticking higher. If she was going to be a “firecracker,” a word his twin Jack used for the most hot-blooded horses they worked with on the Gold Bar Ranch, then so be it. He wasn’t about to turn away, no matter what she tossed at him.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He folded his arms and stared at her. “Protecting you from yourself. Now tell me where to start looking or I’ll start a meter-by-meter perimeter search and we’ll be here all day. Gonna get cold, you know. Forecast says we’re in for a freeze, so the longer you dillydally...”

She glared at him, chin tipped to look up at him. Under any other circumstances he would have smiled.

“I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”

“Not unless you think you can outwrestle me and I’ve got a hundred pounds and a foot and a half on you, so deal, Ella Jo.”

She whirled away and he followed her, muttering something about him under her breath and peering into the piles of pine needles in a much less orderly fashion than he would have attempted.

“It’s metal, painted green,” she snapped, “with a twist-on top.”

His head shot up as his senses detected the danger before his brain could react.

“Incoming,” he shouted, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her to the side as a motorcycle hurtled off the road and straight for them.

FOUR

Ella could not process at first what was happening as the motorcycle bore down on them. Owen propelled her behind the nearest tree, which saved her from the impact of the churning tire. The driver’s face was invisible behind the shaded visor of his helmet as he roared past, but his or her intent was clear. The motorcycle engine whined as he spun the bike into a 180-degree turn and came at them again.

By the time Ella scrambled to her feet, Owen had grabbed a fallen branch and planted himself in the path of the oncoming vehicle like a baseball player, ready to swing for the bleachers.

“Owen,” she screamed. “What...?”

There was no time to finish the sentence as the motorcycle careened toward him. With a savagery in Owen’s eyes she had never seen before, he swung the thick branch at the rider. The wood broke, ricocheting off the attacker’s chest, shaking but not unseating him. The front wheel struck Owen’s leg and he grunted in pain, hitting the ground hard.

The motorcycle spun again and Ella could see that this time the driver meant not to miss his quarry. She dashed out, grabbed a rock and threw it as hard as she could at his helmet. Thanks to her days of pitching endless baseballs for Ray and Owen, her throw hit home with a crack as it struck the assailant’s visor. It was not enough to stop him. Owen was trying to get to his feet, face tight with pain.

She found another rock and aimed to throw it when the sound of another vehicle cut the chilly air. She thought the motorcycle was going to come after them again regardless, but the driver wheeled away, disappearing down the road.

Jack Thorn leaped out of his truck and ran to his fallen brother. His blond hair and blue eyes marked them as twins, though not identical, his build more slender than Owen’s, face narrower. He went to his knees next to Owen, gripping his arm.

“How bad?”

Owen breathed through his nose. “I’m okay,” he grunted, teeth gritted.

Jack looked as though he did not believe his twin. His hand remained locked on his brother’s arm, as if he could tell by the feel of the tensed muscles whether Owen was telling the truth or not.

Ella knelt next to them. “Whoever that was on the motorcycle came after us. Owen tried to do some nutty Babe Ruth thing and knock him off the bike.”