Treacherous Trails

“Hank Aaron,” Owen rasped, sucking in another breath, “not Babe Ruth, and I would have had him if the branch hadn’t busted.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance Jack needed. He leaned back on his heels, letting go of his brother but keeping a wary eye on him.

“Woman or man?” Jack asked.

Ella ripped her gaze from Owen. “What?”

“Was the driver a woman or a man?” Jack repeated patiently.

“A...” She wanted to say “man” but she had not seen enough to be sure. “I couldn’t say for sure.”

“Man,” Owen said. “Too aggressive to be a woman.”

Ella smiled at Owen’s bit of ridiculous romanticism, or was it sexism? “I’m not going to dignify that statement with a comment.” She shivered as the perspiration on her brow cooled in the winter temperatures. “Could have been either. Whoever it was must have been here first and didn’t want me to find my thermos.”

Owen waved away her offered hand and got to his feet, mouth tight, as Jack handed him his cowboy hat. “Bruce Reed. Has to be.”

Her gut told her he was correct. “No way to prove it.”

“We’ll tell the cops,” Jack said. “They can see if Reed has a motorcycle registered to him. I’ll call right now.” He took out his phone and dialed.

Ella looked over the churned leaves and the mud rutted from their attacker’s wheels. Nerves tightened in her stomach as she processed what had just happened. If Bruce Reed, or whoever that had been, was looking for the thermos, then she was right. It contained proof that she’d been abducted, proof that would force people to believe she was not a killer.

“It’s here somewhere,” she mumbled. “It has to be.”

Owen began walking slowly through the detritus. She could tell he was trying hard not to limp, but his shoulders were still hunched with pain.

“You don’t have to...” she started. His body tensed. Instinctively she knew it would wound him further just then to bring any more attention to his leg. A memory of Owen as a high school senior filled her mind, his anger at being sidelined during football season for a sprained ankle.

“I can play,” he’d snapped at her. “Team relies on me.”

“They can rely on someone else for a couple of games,” she’d told him. She still remembered the look he’d given her then, eyes steely blue, glinting with passion.

“That’s worse than the messed-up ankle.”

Owen was a man who needed to be needed, a born protector. And what happened to the protector when he couldn’t do the job anymore? She’d never asked Owen about the severity of his injury, but it had been a year since his return from Afghanistan and his limp was still detectable. Could he expect a full recovery? She wondered what would happen to Owen if the answer was no.

Forcing away the gloomy thought, she hurried on with her search, allowing him some time to collect himself, but she kept him in her peripheral vision nonetheless.

If he required medical attention, she would see to it that he got it whether he agreed or not.

* * *

After an irritating rehashing of the whole incident to Larraby and his promise to patrol the area for the motorcycle, Owen endured the search, though his leg felt like it was on fire. He purposely kept back a few steps so Ella would not hear him groan every time he bent over to probe a pile of leaves. His body craved relief so badly he could taste it.

There is no way around the pain, he told himself savagely. No more pills, so get through it. He managed to scrape along for another hour until Ella slapped a hand onto her thigh in frustration.

“It’s just not here anywhere. It couldn’t have sprouted legs and wandered off by itself. The police didn’t find it, so what could have happened to it?”

“There’s a river right down the slope past the trees. Could have rolled there and washed away.”

She groaned.

“We have to call it a day. The temperature is dropping and we’re losing the light. Mom just texted insisting I bring you to the ranch for some corn chowder.”

She looked at her feet. “Um, I should just go home and...”

“Ella,” he said firmly, waiting until she finally looked at him. “My family has known you since you were seven years old. They don’t think for one minute that you’re a killer.”

Her cheeks went petal pink. “But they know, I mean, they heard that I did some drinking in the past. Maybe...”

“Maybe nothing. We were all different people four years ago. You made your peace with the Lord. You’re forgiven.”

She sighed. “I know that in my brain, but in my heart...”

He understood. Reaching out, he touched her cheek with his fingertip, her skin as satiny as a new leaf. “I get it. Hearts take a lot longer to learn than heads, don’t they?”

She swallowed hard and he decided not to give her an opportunity to refuse, so he strode as best he could to the passenger-side door and opened it. She walked over. Just before she climbed in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, startling him by the pleasure it sparked. Her lips were warm and soft, like the downy feathers of the new chicks his mom fussed over in the spring.

“I’m sorry, Owen. I’m sorry Bruce Reed hurt you, if that even was him.”

Not as bad as I’m gonna hurt him for putting you through this. His thoughts surprised him. Not the protectiveness—he had always been ferociously protective of friends and family—but the tenderness that was twined around it.

Ray’s sister, he reminded himself. You owe it to him to take care of her. Period.

Ray would never condone anything further between Owen and Ella. Combat vets make lousy life partners, was Ray’s mantra. Ray was a good example, having endured a divorce after only two years of marriage. Owen still held out hope that Ray and Pam would reconcile one day, for the sake of them both and their daughter, Sarah, but Ray was an adrenaline junkie, never satisfied at home, always hankering for the next mission, too battle hardened to adjust to civilian life.

Owen felt the restlessness too, sometimes, the loss of his marine career and the pain of his injury had fueled his need for pills to dull the pain. The drugs had not healed his leg, nor had they assuaged the emptiness he felt from a military career cut short. He’d only shared some of these feelings with Jack and their church pastor, a former veteran himself, who’d counseled him when he’d hit the rock bottom of his life and fueled his determination to heal and reenlist.

At least he’d thought it was rock bottom. What if this was it? Trapped in a broken body, unable to rescue Ella from a life in prison? Imagining her in that harsh world, hurt him much more than the pain in his thigh.

Not gonna happen, Thorn, make sure of that. He made up his mind to return with a metal detector at first light and find the thermos if it took him all day.

The heater in the truck eased the muscle spasms in his leg and by the time they arrived at the Gold Bar Ranch, the agony had diminished. Ella hopped out of the truck before he could open the door for her and stopped a moment at the whitewashed fence to stroke Glory’s silky muzzle. At fifteen hands high, the bay towered over her, lowering her head to accept the gentle caress.

“How’s she doing?”

Owen was training Glory to be a cutting horse for ranch owner Macy Gregory’s husband, Drake. “Good. She responds well to rein and leg pressure. Gaining some savvy with the steers and cows over at Macy’s ranch.” Macy’s outfit was in neighboring Mountain Top where she kept a couple hundred head of cattle. It was more a hobby for the woman, as her real passion was competing in show jumping while her husband tended to the workings on their ranch. He’d heard Macy had curtailed her competing due to financial problems. “Haven’t introduced Glory to any bulls yet.” It was common misconception that horses and cows were naturally at ease around each other. It was possible to train any horse to work cows, but some horses just never got cow savvy. He had good hopes for the young filly.

“Pretty,” Ella said.

Yes, Owen thought. Why had he never noticed how very pretty Ella was? The late sunlight tinted her hair with the rusty hues of fall. Her hands were delicate and strong as they traced over Glory’s coat. More than pretty.

Shaking himself from his odd reverie, he led her into the house.

Ella went immediately to Betsy, who sat on a worn recliner, folding napkins on a tray table set in front of her. Ella kissed her and Owen left them to a moment of privacy. His mother was in the kitchen with his sister-in-law Shelby, looking at pieces of granite.

“For their new fireplace mantel,” Shelby explained to him. His mother chuckled. “Betsy already pointed to her favorite. Want to weigh in?”

“All look like rocks to me,” Owen said.

Shelby peered at the samples. “This one has more feldspar, which gives it a pinker hue.”

“Leave it to an assayer to say something like that,” his mother said with a smile.

Owen was glad to see his mother looking happier than she had in a very long time. Their grief at losing Bree, Barrett’s first wife, would never completely disappear, but the whole ranch seemed somehow more cheerful now that Shelby had found a home there with his oldest brother.

He’d never worried much about finding a life partner when he was an active duty marine. He wasn’t concerned about it in the slightest now either, because he intended to return to the marines as soon as humanly possible. So why was he suddenly hyperaware of Ella, sitting in the next room, laughing that belly laugh that had made him smile since she was a kid trailing after him?

“Owen?”

He realized his mother was looking at him. “Jack told me what happened. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Hungry, is all.”

“Hint taken,” Shelby said, gathering up her granite samples. “I’ll take these back to the cabin so we can get the table set.”

His mother cocked her head, still looking at him. “How can we best help Ella?”

“I’m gonna figure that out.”

“We,” she repeated. “It’s not all on you, Owen.”

But as he caught sight of Ella holding her sister’s hand, he did not agree. She was his childhood pal and his best friend’s sister. The buck stopped with him. He would save Ella Cahill or die trying.

FIVE

Ella felt the elephant in the room in the way the Thorn family studiously avoided any mention of her current situation. Mrs. Thorn ladled out creamy bowls of corn chowder accompanied by hunks of corn bread.

Owen ate sparingly, she noticed, the lines of pain still prevalent on his forehead. Mr. Thorn chatted with his boys about the workings of their ranch and made sure to include Betsy in the conversation. Betsy beamed, nodding and even speaking a few words. Ella’s heart swelled. It was good for her sister to be around a family. The Cahills hadn’t exactly provided a ton of parental nurturing since their mother died when Ella was twelve. Their father, Shawn, was a hardworking, taciturn ex-military man who worked ridiculous hours as a long-distance trucker, relying on Ella and Ray to keep the household together and care for Betsy. The only time she’d ever seen him cry was at their mother’s funeral, a trickle of tears down his weathered face, quickly wiped away.

After Ray’s first deployment, the responsibility for Betsy’s care had landed squarely on Ella’s seventeen-year-old shoulders, and she had developed a full dose of resentment. At first she’d thought her brother would finish his service and come home to help her, but one deployment led to another, and then he’d married and started a new family. Though she’d never told him so, she’d resented him for having choices that seemed to be denied to her and Betsy.

And then when she was twenty two, Ray left for yet another overseas stint, then Owen left for his first deployment, and her father passed away. Ella had felt completely alone and mired in responsibilities that threatened to smother her. Thinking back on it, she relived the shame of how she’d acted out, gone to parties and started drinking, anything to escape what she felt was an impossible burden.

But waking up in the passenger seat of veterinarian Zeke Potter’s van, the one she now owned, had been a wake-up call. She remembered the fear. How long have I been away from Betsy? How long have I left her alone? God both convicted her in that moment and changed her life.

Zeke had taken her home from the bus stop where he’d found her passed out on his way back from tending the difficult birth of a calf.

“Ella Cahill, you’re smarter than this,” he’d said. “If you want to learn about animals, come see me.”

And she had. He introduced her to a local farrier who taught her a trade, and she started reading her Bible again, taking Betsy to church with her whenever she could. She’d become such a good farrier, in fact, that she’d been solicited to work with the team that supported the US equestrian athletes in the Olympics. Oh, how she’d desperately wanted to accept, but there was no one to take care of Betsy, so she’d declined and walked away from her one and only chance. That hurt badly for awhile, but God had changed her feelings and her heart.

Yes, she’d given up the dreams she’d had for herself, but she was doing what she was meant to and the pain of deferred dreams had subsided to a soft, nostalgic ache.

The years passed in a blur, Owen and Ray reenlisting and repeatedly redeploying. Ray coming home sporadically, and neither one ever bringing up her shameful behavior, though she was sure they both knew all about it. There were no secrets in small towns. How grateful she was that Jesus forgave, protected both her and Betsy on those wild and dangerous nights. The things that could have happened to her, to them both...

Stifling a shiver, she ate gratefully, the savory soup and bread almost warming the cold places inside her. But there was an axe hanging over her head, tethered by a very fine thread. At any moment she feared Larraby would plow through the door with some new evidence that would convict her without doubt.

Keegan, the youngest Thorn brother, sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth on the checkered napkin. “Okay, so I’m just gonna say it. I mean, I know we aren’t supposed to talk about your troubles, Ella, but I’ve seen someone out riding the trails at night on a motorcycle.”

Everyone fell silent, staring at him.

He shrugged. “I like bikes, so I pay attention to stuff like that. Jack told me he had seen the same thing when he was flying around in the Death Trap.”

“Death Trap?” Ella asked.

Owen shook his head. “His ultralight aircraft.”

“Basically a toaster with wings,” Keegan said. “Anyway, there’s a biker using the trails around here.”

Owen put down his spoon. “Who’s the rider? Same guy who tried to take us out?”

“Dunno, but I was thinking maybe we can find out. That would help, right?” He eyed his brother with a sly smile. “The front fender probably has a little dent from Owen’s knee in it.”

Owen didn’t smile back but Ella could see the amusement in his eyes. “A big dent.”

Keegan laughed. “I stand corrected. I figured Jack and I can check out the ridgeline where I saw the guy riding. Follow the trail if there is one back to finding out where he came from. How ’bout it, Jack?”

Jack nodded, pushing his plate away.

“I’ll go too,” Owen said.

“No.”

Ella had not heard Jack argue with his brother before. His quiet voice was firm. “You take Ella and Betsy home.” Ella had already made it clear they had no plans of staying on the Thorn ranch in spite of Evie Thorn’s offer.

Owen locked eyes with Jack.

“Take care of Ella. She should be your priority.” Jack’s tone was light enough, but something in the downward turn of his mouth hinted of pain. Jack was probably thinking of Shannon Livingston, Ella’s best friend and the love of his life. She’d walked out on Jack to go to medical school, taking his heart with her.

Barrett cleared his throat. “He’s right, Owen. Best to get Ella and Betsy settled in.”

Owen hesitated for another moment before he tossed his napkin on the table. “Okay. I’m gonna find that thermos tomorrow and pay Bruce Reed a visit.”

Ella gasped. “No, Owen. He’s dangerous.”

His mouth hardened into a grim line and the look in his eyes scared her. “So am I,” he said.

* * *

Owen downed a couple of aspirin when no one was looking. It dulled the throbbing, if only temporarily, before he led Ella and Betsy to the big ranch van they’d gotten when Grandad became wheelchair bound. It was roomier than his truck, for sure, with a lift to ease Betsy into position with more comfort than him moving her.

They were back at her little house by seven, as the last glimmers of sunlight faded to black. He noticed afresh how the structure was shrouded by a thick border of trees, set back from the road. Isolated.

He jerked toward a faraway buzz of engine noise as he lowered Betsy’s wheelchair from the truck. Not a motorcycle, just a horse trailer rumbling away from Candy Silverton’s ranch.

You’ll fry.

Her words rang in his memory, but even louder was the clear message written on Bruce Reed’s face, a bold statement that he was a man who would get whatever he wanted and eliminate whoever was in his way. Owen suspected what Bruce wanted was Candy’s millions. He watched Ella open the front door and usher her sister into the house.

“Ella,” he called to her. “Okay if I do a quick check of your windows and doors?”

“I...” She had started to protest. “I guess that’s a good idea.”

Of course it was a good idea, but it would take some getting used to. No one in the town of Gold Bar, the Thorns included, ever locked anything. They hadn’t needed to, until now.

When he’d returned to the Gold Bar after his first deployment, he’d fought the urge to secure the ranch tight. Naive boy no longer, he knew there was evil and death because he’d seen it, escaped it, mourned for those who hadn’t. But he would not allow those feelings to color his actions at home because he did not want Gold Bar, nor his perception of it, to change.

But it had anyway. He remembered the night after his second deployment when he’d grabbed a rifle and gone to check on a noise, only to scare his mother half to death as she warmed tea.

The look on her face, the mug shattering on the floor, his grip on the rifle.

“Owen,” she’d breathed. “Owen, is that...you?”

He realized later that his face, his demeanor, must have been so hardened into a mask of hatred, that he’d likely scared her half to death. He’d promptly re-upped and then he was back in Afghanistan, the only place where things made sense. He’d come a long way since then, understood his desire to be alone, and the need to share with people who could help him.

You’re better. His mind, maybe, but his body still scoffed at him, the leg twinging in mockery. He would overcome that too. He mentally chided himself for not making the next physical therapy appointment. Perhaps it was fear that kept him from going, rather than procrastination. What if his doctor said there was no chance he could resume his military career? What then?

He walked the outside perimeter of the house too, checking that the screens were in place and exterior doors were locked. Then he examined the inside, trying not to show Ella that he noticed the locks were cheap and many of them were rusted. One window would simply not lock properly for all his forcing, so he cut part of a broomstick and wedged it in the track.

Ella played the messages back on her answering machine connected to the house phone. He marveled at the old avocado green device with the curly cord. But that was Gold Bar for you—a town with a foot in the present and the other firmly planted in the past.

Though he tried not to listen, it was impossible to miss her body language. With each message, her shoulders sank lower.

“... Went with another farrier.”

“... No longer require your services.”

“... Got someone else to do the work.”

Ella’s lips trembled and she did not look at him. “They all think I’m guilty. No one wants a murderer working for them.”

He laid hands on her shoulders and massaged gently. “It’s only temporary. We’re gonna clear this all up.” Her shuddering breaths told him she was trying hard not to cry so he turned her around and held her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin.

“I’ve worked so hard,” she whispered. “Every night for months to complete farrier school. I put every penny I saved into starting my business.”

He tightened his hold. “Ella, I’m going to fix this. I promise.”

The house phone rang and after a moment of hesitation, Ella stepped out of his embrace and answered. Whatever she heard made her jerk so violently, she let go of the phone, sending it dangling toward the floor. He snatched it up and put it to his ear.

Candy Silverton’s voice was almost unrecognizable, twisted with rage. “You didn’t have to kill him. I would have loaned you money. You selfish, no good piece of trash.”

“Ella didn’t kill your nephew,” he said over her wailing. “So knock it off.”

“Oh yes she did, and I’m going to make sure she pays with her life.”

The line went dead.

He replaced the phone on the cradle. Ella folded her arms tight across her chest. “She has a lot of influence in this town. I’m sure she’s told everyone that I killed Luke.”

He answered when his phone vibrated. His brother Keegan spouted the info so quickly he could barely catch it all. When he disconnected, he lifted Ella’s chin until she looked at him.

“We just got a break. My brothers found the motorcycle hidden in a gorge and gave the license plate number to Larraby. Keegan has a girl he once dated who works for a private eye. He asked her to run the plates. Guess who it’s registered to?”

“Who?”

“Bruce Reed. Jack phoned the cops and Larraby’s away at the moment but he’ll head over to talk to Reed first thing Monday.”

A streak of hope broke across her face. “So we might be able to prove he tried to run us down, but how will that get me off the hook for murder?”

“I dunno,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “But it’s got to help us show Bruce Reed for what he really is.”

“You can’t go over there Monday, Owen, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Sure I can. It’s a free country and I’d like to hear Candy Silverton explain to Larraby that she just called and threatened your life.”

“Everyone will be angry at your intrusion,” she said. “Larraby, Candy Silverton, Bruce Reed...”

“You know,” he said, smiling at her, “I just don’t really care.”

“Don’t get in trouble for me.”

“Ella, I’ve risked my life for people I will never meet. You, I’ve known since you were in grade school.” As he looked at those lush green eyes, his heart started beating to a faster tempo, the pulse thundering loud in his ears. He cleared his throat. “You’re my best friend’s sister and my family loves you. Why wouldn’t I take a risk for you?”

“Because I don’t want you to,” she said firmly. “Because this isn’t your battle.”

“Well, I’m making it my battle.”

“Why?”

“I just told you.”

“No. You could let the police handle it. Family friendship doesn’t go this far. Ray would understand.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

She blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “You’ve nearly been run down. Isn’t that enough?”

He fought to keep his tone level. “Have we cleared your name yet? Have we gotten back everything you’ve lost? Your work? Your reputation? Your freedom?”

“No,” she said, voice breaking.

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

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