Reunion At Cardwell Ranch. B.J. Daniels

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       Chapter Five

      Laramie left the restaurant, his mind on the painting and the woman, of course. The winter day sparkled under a blinding sun that ricocheted off the new-fallen snow. At loose ends waiting to hear if McKenzie got him the house, he went for a drive up the canyon.

      Next to the highway, the Gallatin River snaked through the canyon under a thick layer of aquamarine ice. He tried to enjoy the beauty of this alien winter place. The snowcapped pines bent under the weight of their frozen burden, reminding him that it was less than a week until Christmas. His cousin Dana loved the holidays and went all-out surrounded by her family. He smiled at the thought.

      Glancing in his review mirror, he realized he’d seen the large dark brown older-model sedan behind him before—right after he’d left Taylor West’s house. It was behind him again.

      He tried to laugh off the thought of someone following him. First cat burglars now this? Well, there was one way to find out, he thought as he neared the Corral Bar. He slowed and pulled in. The car went on past.

      The windows on the vehicle had been tinted, so he hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. If he had to guess, he’d say male. As it disappeared up the road, he told himself the driver hadn’t been following him anyway.

      He thought about going inside the bar and having a burger and a beer. This was his father and uncle’s favorite bar. Their band often played here.

      But he was too antsy. He wanted to get back and find out if McKenzie had gotten him the house...and the painting. He pulled back on the road headed toward Big Sky again, his thoughts going to his cat burglar. The forgery at the house had to have been painted by someone with a whole lot of talent as Taylor West had said.

      So if it was a forgery, who had painted it? Not some dead man named H. F. Powell unless he’d painted it before his demise. But the big question was why would his thief take it instead of the authenticated original?

      She wouldn’t. So if he was right and she’d been coming out of the house when he’d arrived, then she’d been in the process of stealing the original when he’d stopped her.

      Which meant McKenzie was about to make a deal for a forgery.

      Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he glanced in his rearview mirror. The brown car was back.

      He felt a start at the sight of it behind him again. As he glanced in his rearview mirror again he saw that the vehicle was coming up fast. The canyon road had been plowed, but the dark pavement was still icy. Add to that the twists and turns the highway took as it wound through the Gallatin Canyon and the driver of the car was going way too fast.

      Laramie had only a moment for his brain to take it all in before he realized that the driver had no intention of slowing down. A curve was coming up, one with a steep rock face on one side of the road and a precarious drop to the frozen river on the other.

      He felt the vehicle’s bumper connect with the back of his rental. Just a tap. But on the icy road that was all it took. The rental SUV began to fishtail on the ice as the dark car bumped into him again. He could feel the tires lose traction and the next thing he knew he was sliding toward the river. He felt the tires go off the pavement. A wall of snow rushed over the hood.

      Expecting the SUV would be pitched into the river and break through the ice, Laramie braced him. Moments later, heart in his throat, he was shocked when the deep snow off the side of the highway stopped his descent just yards from the frozen river. He sat, so shaken he didn’t notice the dark car backing up on the highway above him until he heard the roar of the engine.

      Looking up, all he saw was the dark tinted windows on the passenger side as the car sped away.

      * * *

      THE PULLED PORK sandwich was to die for, just as Tara had said. Sid couldn’t believe she hadn’t been to Texas Boys Barbecue before this. The beans and coleslaw were quite good, too. She had downed the cola on the drive back to the cabin but had saved the rest until she’d reached home. Once there, she’d pulled a cold bottle of beer from the grocery bag and sat down at her kitchen table to devour the barbecue. She couldn’t help licking her fingers.

      Her father would have loved the food, she thought, and then pushed the thought away. While he was always with her, driving her more than ambition, remembering him often brought aching pain. One day that pain would go away, once she accomplished the job she’d set for herself, she told herself as she cleaned up the mess and changed her clothes.

      Back at her easel, she considered the painting she was working on. It was one of her father. He was standing by a horse next to the corral. His battered straw cowboy hat was pushed back, sunlight on his weathered face. Behind him were the rocky cliffs and scrub pine of her youth. She was painting it from memory since all the photos had been lost.

      She thought of the stash of original artwork she had hidden all these years. It had been years since anyone had seen those paintings—herself included.

      Until recently.

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