Gun-Shy Bride. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ her hip against the counter, eyeing her daughter. “Somethin’ wrong?”

      McCall glanced around the small empty café. Ruby hadn’t cleaned off all of the tables yet. The café smelled like a school cafeteria.

      “I’ve been thinking about my father. You’ve never really told me much about him.”

      Ruby let out a snort. “You already know about him.”

      “All you’ve ever told me is that he left. What was he like?” And the real question, who would want to kill him?

      “What’s brought this on?” Ruby asked irritably.

      “I’m curious about him. What’s wrong with that? He was my father, right?”

      Ruby narrowed her gaze. “Trace Winchester was your father, no matter what anyone says, okay? But do we have to do this now? I’m dead on my feet.”

      “Mom, you’re always dead on your feet, and you’re the only one I can ask.”

      Ruby sighed, then checked to make sure Leo, the cook, wasn’t watching before reaching under the counter to drag out an ashtray. She furtively lit a cigarette from the pack hidden in her pocket.

      McCall watched her take a long drag, blow out smoke, then wave a hand to dissipate the smoke as she glanced back toward the kitchen again.

      According to Montana law, Ruby wasn’t supposed to be smoking in the café, but then laws and rules had never been something Ruby gave a damn about.

      She picked nervously at the cigarette, still stalling.

      “It’s a simple enough question, Mom.”

      “Don’t get on your high horse with me,” Ruby snapped.

      “I want to know about my father. Why is that so tough?”

      Ruby met her gaze, her eyes shiny. “Because the bastard ran out on us and because I—” Her voice broke. “I never loved anyone the way I loved Trace.”

      That surprised her, since there’d been a string of woven through their lives as far back as McCall could remember.

      Ruby bit her lip and looked away. “Trace broke my heart, all right? And you know damned well that his mother knows where he is. She’s been giving him money all these years, keeping him away from here, away from me and you.”

      “You don’t know that,” McCall said.

      “I know,” Ruby said, getting worked up as she always did when she talked about Pepper Winchester. “That old witch had a coronary when she found out Trace and I had eloped.”

      More than likely Pepper Winchester had been upset when she’d heard that her nineteen-year-old son had gotten Ruby pregnant. McCall said as much.

      “You’re her own flesh and blood. What kind of grandmother rejects her own granddaughter? You tell me that,” Ruby demanded.

      “Was my father in any trouble other than for poaching? I’ve always heard that Game Warden Buzz Crawford was after him for something he did the day before he disappeared,” McCall said, hoping to get her mother off the subject of Pepper Winchester.

      Ruby finished her cigarette, stubbing it out angrily and then cleaning the ashtray before hiding it again under the counter. “Your father didn’t leave because of that stupid poaching charge.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Trace had gotten off on all the other tickets Buzz had written him. He wasn’t afraid of Buzz Crawford. In fact …”

      “In fact?”

      Ruby looked away.“Everyone in town knew that Buzz was gunning for your father. But Trace said he wasn’t worried. He said he knew something about Buzz….”

      “Blackmail?” McCall uttered. Something like that could get a man killed.

      LUKE CRAWFORD FOLLOWED the drag trail through the thick cottonwoods. Back in here, the soft earth hadn’t dried yet. The wind groaned in the branches and weak rays of sunlight sliced down through them.

      The air smelled damp from last night’s storm, the muddy ground making tracking easier, even without the bloody trail to follow.

      It was chilly and dark deep in the trees and underbrush, the dampness making the April day seem colder. Patches of snow had turned to ice crystals on the shady side of fallen trees and along the north side of the riverbank.

      Luke hadn’t gone far when he found the kill site. He stopped and squatted down, the familiar smell of death filling his nostrils. The gut pile was still fresh, not even glazed over yet. A fine layer of hair from the hide carpeted the ground.

      Using science to help him if he found the poachers, he took a DNA sample. Poachers had been relatively safe in the past if they could get the meat wrapped and in the freezer and the carcass dumped in the woods somewhere.

      Now though, if Luke found the alleged poacher, he could compare any meat found in a freezer and tell through DNA if it was the same illegally killed animal.

      In the meantime, he’d be looking for a pickup with mud on it and trying to match the tire tracks to the vehicle the poachers had been driving.

      Pushing himself to his feet, Luke considered who might be behind the poaching. It generally wasn’t a hungry Whitehorse family desperate enough to kill a doe out of season. In this part of Montana, ranchers donated beef to needy families, and most families preferred beef over venison.

      Nor did Luke believe the shooters were teenagers out killing game for fun. They usually took potshots from across the hood of their pickups at something with antlers after a night of boozing—and left the meat to rot.

      As he followed the drag trail to where the poacher had loaded the doe into the back of his truck, he studied the tire tracks, then set about making a plaster cast.

      While it dried he considered the footprints in the soft mud where the poachers’ truck had been parked. Two men.

      After taking photos and updating his log book, he packed up, and glancing once more toward McCall’s cabin, went to give the rancher his assessment of the situation before filing his report.

      Luke knew his chances of catching the poachers were slim. Not that his Uncle Buzz would have seen it that way. Buzz Crawford had built a reputation on being the toughest game warden Montana had ever seen.

      But Luke tended to write more warnings than tickets and knew he couldn’t solve every crime in the huge area he covered. He didn’t have the “kill gene,” as his uncle often told him, and that explained the problem between him and Buzz.

      The problem between him and McCall Winchester, his first love—hell, the only woman he’d ever truly loved—was a whole lot more complicated.

      MCCALL WAS STILL CONSIDERING the ramifications of her father possibly blackmailing the former game warden. “If Trace had something on Buzz—”

      “I don’t know that for sure,” Ruby hedged. “Your father СКАЧАТЬ