Falsely accused...

Can she escape the real killer?

In this Gold Country Cowboys story, farrier Ella Cahill is accused of murder—and only former marine Owen Thorn, her brother’s best friend, can help clear her name. Now with someone trying to kill Ella, Owen must protect her...despite his promise to her brother to stay away from her. But can they work together to find the true killer before she becomes the next to die?

DANA MENTINK is a national bestselling author. She has been honored to win two Carol Awards, a Holt Medallion Award and an RT Reviewer’s Choice Best Book Award. She’s authored more than thirty novels to date for Mills & Boon. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at danamentink.com.

Also By Dana Mentink

Gold Coast Cowboys

Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Treacherous Trails

Pacific Coast Private Eyes

Dangerous Tidings

Seaside Secrets

Abducted

Dangerous Testimony

Rookie K-9 Unit

Seek and Find

Wings of Danger

Hazardous Homecoming

Secret Refuge

Stormswept

Shock Wave

Force of Nature

Flood Zone

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Treacherous Trails

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08261-7

TREACHEROUS TRAILS

© 2018 Dana Mentink

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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“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 Owen looked at those lush green eyes, his heart beat 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.”

Dear Reader,

Did you ever give up on a dream that you wanted with all your heart? That hurts, doesn’t it? It’s almost like experiencing a death, in a way. In Treacherous Trails, both Ella and Owen come to realize that God’s plans for their lives are so much better than those they fashion for themselves, but the lesson is not learned without struggle and pain. That happy ending could not come a moment too soon for those two!

In this book we’ve gotten a closer look at Owen Thorn, the second of the Thorn brothers. It was a joy to write about a close-knit family of brothers who support each other through thick and thin. As one of four sisters, I value so much the unconditional love of my family. I hope that you have experienced that kind of unconditional love, whether via a sibling or a close friend. These are the people that hold us up when our dreams lie broken at our feet, the earthly hands and feet God uses to carry us through the darkest time until the sun shines again.

I enjoy hearing from my readers, so feel free to pop by my website at danamentink.com and leave a comment. There’s a physical address there as well if you prefer to correspond via letter. Friends, I sincerely thank you for coming along for this second Gold Country adventure.

God bless!

Dana Mentink

Then said Jesus unto his disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.

—Matthew 16:24

To Nancy and Phil, God loving, horse loving, Kingdom serving souls. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

Extract

ONE

Ella Cahill rubbed her eyes as she climbed behind the wheel of her old van and sipped tea out of her thermos to revive herself. The pounding behind her temples was growing more and more painful. Probably fatigue. Trying to squeeze just one more appointment into her farrier’s schedule meant another small step toward covering the monthly bills, but it took a toll. You can sleep tomorrow was her motto, but that luxurious day of rest never seemed to come. She rolled down the window halfway, hoping that since the tea hadn’t worked, the cold January temperatures would restore her. Sucking in a deep lungful of crisp air, she felt grateful once more for Gold Bar, her sleepy little hometown tucked deep in the heart of California’s gold country. Funny how her craving for travel and adventure had mellowed away, leaving quiet contentment behind.

“Done so soon?”

The sudden appearance of Bruce Reed, dark hair slicked down and smelling of cologne, made her jump. Her skin prickled as her friend Luke’s words from earlier in the day came back to her.

Reed’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s dangerous.

“Yes,” Ella said. “I tended to Bellweather. I can’t understand how the shoe came loose. I just shod him last week.”

Reed shrugged. “Horses are dumb animals. They don’t know enough to take care of themselves like we do. Nice of you to make an emergency call.”

Dumb animals? Though she knew Bruce Reed was in his fifties, he seemed ageless close up, his skin smooth and tight across his prominent cheekbones, no extra softness anywhere. He quirked a smile to reveal blinding white teeth, the canines pointed and slightly longer than the rest. Wolflike, she mused before she blinked herself back to reality. The fatigue was really getting to her.

She started the engine. “I’ve got to go, Mr. Reed.”

“Call me Bruce. What’s the rush?” He stroked her fingers that still clutched the window frame. “Come join Candy and me for a drink.”

“No, thank you,” she said while easing her hand away. “I don’t drink and my sister is waiting.” Ella had taken a moment to hurry home in between farrier appointments to be sure Betsy had dinner before they took a walk together. A stab of anxiety twisted through her. If she could just save enough to pay for a nurse to come and check on her sister, help her get the proper exercise for her atrophied muscles... “Work today, rest tomorrow,” Ella silently repeated to herself, but her body was screaming for sleep.

Ella blinked as her vision blurred. “I’ve really got to go,” she said, wondering when he would detach himself from her door.

“Take good care of yourself, Ella,” he said with one final smile.

She could feel his gaze on her as she drove along the lane away from Candy Silverton’s lavish stables on the outskirts of Gold Bar. Without warning, Ella began to shake, her grip loosening from the wheel.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Guiding the van to the shoulder, she patted her pockets for her cell phone but could not pull it free, so she unbuckled and stepped from the van. Fresh air would help. Her thermos fell out, rolling off into the leaves, but she was too unsteady to bend over and retrieve it. Her knees buckled and she fell, hands planted on the ground. All she could do was breathe against the dizziness. Vaguely, from the deepest part of her instincts, she heard someone approaching.

Help me, she tried to call out, but the words remained locked inside. Then she was sliding stomach-first onto the ground, rocks biting into her face, unable to move. From above she detected a presence.

Please, she tried to whisper.

Everything went black as a sack was shoved over her head, rough, smelling of oats, an old feed bag. A scream of terror lodged in her throat. Her arms were pulled behind her. Panic surged, and she tried to kick out, but her limbs were leaden. What was wrong with her? Something in her system, her brain thought. No, something in the tea, a drug.

Whoever it was seized her arms and yanked her up. It took her a long moment to realize she was being shoved back into her van, behind the wheel. Something cold made her gasp, a liquid, the sharp scent of alcohol, beer, pouring over her clothes, soaking her flannel jacket, her pants.

Whatever was happening, it was meant to destroy her, she was certain. Her only chance of survival was to get out of that van. She had to force her body to act before it was too late. With every grain of mental strength she readied herself, trying to tense her internal muscles without letting on that she was conscious. She could feel the cool air billowing in through the open van door against her. When he stepped away to close it, she would have one shot, one slender chance, one moment that would decide her fate.

Hands fumbled with her jacket, tugging, then her tormentor reached to straighten her shoulders, posing her as if she were a dime store mannequin. Her mind felt foggy and she was not sure if her eyes would work properly should she manage to get free of the bag. His fingers reached the bottom of the sack and he started to pull it off. She waited no longer.

Arms flailing like unwieldy tree limbs, she catapulted from the car, the burlap falling away. Fingers grasped the back of her jacket so she wriggled out of it and kept on, forcing her legs to carry her toward the trees, anywhere away from her abductor.

Half staggering, half running, like some zombie from a horror movie, she made it to the trees, the sound of pursuit ringing in her ears. Her numb feet caught in a twisted tree root and she tumbled down a shallow ravine in a helpless jumble of arms and legs.

She hit the bottom, the breath driven out her.

Move. Move or he’ll find you. All around were spindly pine trees and granite chunks protruding through a carpet of pine needles and fallen tree trunks. She saw a hollow underneath one of the downed trees. Dragging herself there, heart thundering, she crawled in, scooping handfuls of the dead leaves and needles over herself as a form of filthy camouflage. The sound of feet creeping through the needles caused the blood to freeze in her veins. He had to be no more than three yards from her hiding spot.

“Lord, God,” she prayed, but she could not finish as a wave of darkness overcame her.

* * *

Owen slammed his truck to a halt in the morning sunlight, shocked at the sight of Ella Cahill, the ranch farrier and his childhood friend, crawling out of the shrubs onto the road. In disbelief, he flung the door open and ran to her, ignoring the twang of pain in his damaged leg.

“Ella. What happened? How badly are you hurt?”

She reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, the cold of her fingers seeping right through his shirt sleeve. “Someone...someone abducted me.”

He was momentarily speechless. “Who?”

“I don’t know. There was...” She touched her face as if searching for something. “He put a bag on my head. I think he drugged the tea in my thermos.”

Something inside him went white-hot with anger. “Someone you know?”

“I’m not sure.” Her voice was high-pitched, tight. “Where’s my van?”

“I didn’t see it.”

Her eyes scanned the sunlit shoulder of the road before widening. “Owen, what time is it?”

“Six a.m.”

Her mouth fell open. “Thursday morning? Betsy’s been alone all night?” She struggled to her knees. “I have to get home.”

“We need to call the police and an ambulance.”

“I don’t need an ambulance. Call the police, but get me home first. They can talk to me there, okay? Please?”

Her face was scratched and bruised, red hair matted with burrs and leaves. What kind of person would harm Ella Cahill? He put his rage aside and prioritized the mission. Get her home. Get her help. Punishing her attacker would have to wait.

Easing a hand under her elbow, he helped her stand slowly, gratified that there were no outward signs of broken bones or blood. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her to his truck, but she was already moving in that direction under her own power.

She pushed tangled hair from her face. “How did you know to find me here?”

“I’ve been driving the area for an hour searching for you.” He hesitated. “The cops, Larraby I mean, called the ranch before sunrise looking for you.”

“Why me?”

He still could hardly believe it himself. “They got an anonymous call that you and Candy Silverton’s nephew, were in an altercation yesterday.”

“An altercation with Luke? Who said that?”

“I don’t know, but now Luke is apparently missing.”

“Missing?” she gasped.

“Yeah, Candy called it in early this morning when she discovered his bed hadn’t been slept in. She’s worried he’s been in an accident or something.”

“And they think I have something to do with that?”

He fisted hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what they think. I wanted to find you and you didn’t answer your cell. There was no answer at your home either.”

Ella caught her lip between her teeth. “Betsy can’t work the phone very well. Owen, please get me home. She will be frantic with worry or she might have fallen. She’s not safe getting in and out of her wheelchair by herself. Her ability to walk has really deteriorated.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen.”

She followed him to the driver’s-side door, preparing to slide in as he opened it for her until she pointed to a bit of flannel lying half-hidden under a scattering of pine needles.

“There’s my jacket,” she said, frowning. “It should be near my van.”

“I’ll get it.” He picked it up. Muscles knotted in his stomach as he examined it.

“Is my phone in the pocket?” Ella called.

“No phone.” He held the jacket closer for her to see. Using the edge of the sleeve, he pulled something from her breast pocket—a broken farrier’s rasp.

The edge was covered in blood.

His gaze caught hers and he knew her mind screamed with the same question.

Whose blood was it?

TWO

Ella tried to focus on Owen as he drove to her house. Strong face, wide cheekbones, the face of a model beneath the hat, not the cowboy he was or the marine he had been. She knew he was holding back a million questions, but she had no answers for any of them. Who had taken her? She remembered what Luke told her about Bruce Reed. He’s dangerous. Her gut told her the same thing but she had not seen her attacker’s face, heard his voice. Reed had no reason to harm her. Where was her van? How had her farrier’s rasp gotten bloody? And the question that kept stabbing at her insides...where was Luke Baker?

Instead of succumbing to hysteria, she focused on the details as she tried to piece together the story for Owen. His presence was comforting, the worn knees of his jeans, his free hand brushing her wrist, eyes like stonewashed denim that flicked over her face, crew cut hair grown out now into a crown of blond that scattered across his forehead. Owen Thorn, the man she’d known since she was seven, a fixture in her life until the day he’d deployed. Just three years older than her, but he’d assumed the role of big brother over the years until he gave himself to the marines. And now here they were again, Owen standing in for her brother Ray.

She gripped his offered fingers.

His mouth tightened. “Ella, I don’t think... I mean, I’m just asking because the police will. Were you...have you been drinking?”

Blinking hard, she raised her chin. “No,” she said in a voice louder than she meant, snatching her hand away from his touch. “He poured it over me, whoever it was. If I can figure out where it happened, there will be proof. The burlap sack, the bottle he was holding. My thermos. I think it might have been Bruce Reed. He was the last one I saw before I left Candy’s ranch.”

“It’s not the time to work all that out. Let’s get you home.”

“As long as you know I wasn’t drinking,” she insisted.

Owen had no doubt heard from her brother Ray, his best friend, of her wild rebellion during their first deployment. But that was the past. Forgiven, forgiven, forgiven, she chanted silently, but her cheeks went hot with shame that Owen would even suspect such a thing.

“We’ll check on Betsy. I can ask my mom to come and stay with her while we go talk to the cops,” he said.

Anger still simmered in her belly at the doubt she imagined she’d heard in his voice. What right did he have to judge her? Especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong...this time. But where had the blood come from? Her mind was foggy from the time she’d left Reed at Candy Silverton’s stables to the moment she’d crawled out of the ravine. There had to be proof that she was telling the truth.

“I have to find my van.”

“After I get you settled, I’ll go look for it.”

“No.” Whatever it was, whatever she’d done, she would take care of it herself. Betsy counted on her. There would be no more painful moments with Owen Thorn, a man who didn’t believe her. “I’ll find it myself.”

“Not in that condition, you won’t,” he commanded, as if she was a new recruit.

“Owen...” She started to retort, but pain made her break off, clapping her hands to her temples.

He let out a long, slow breath and she could feel his gaze wandering her face. “Oh, Ella Jo,” he breathed in a voice so gentle it broke her heart.

“Don’t call me that,” she said. Tears pricked her closed eyes. “That was a lifetime ago and I’m not seven years old anymore.”

When he parked, she flung open the door and ran for the house, calling out for her sister.

* * *

Owen stood on the shadowed front porch, suddenly unsure what to do. A memory washed over him of the three of them, Ella, her brother Ray and himself, swinging on a rope across the creek behind their house, competing to see who could hang the longest before plunging into the icy water. Owen won enough times to infuriate Ray, which in turn sent Ella into gales of girlish giggles before she took her turn and beat them both. They passed the early years of their lives together, morphing from little kids to high schoolers, to semi-adults, the memories clear and sharp.

But now the laughter and innocence seemed to be light-years away. An ominous feeling weighed him down like body armor and he found himself entering, passing through the minuscule kitchen and into the family room where he discovered Ella with Betsy. The knot of tension in his gut loosened a fraction.

As a very young child, Betsy had suffered a brain injury due to some sort of hemorrhage, he knew, though neither Ella nor Ray liked to talk about it. Ella knelt on the braided rug next to her sister’s wheelchair, both their faces wet from crying. Betsy was only four years Ella’s senior, but she appeared much older.

“I am so sorry I didn’t come home last night,” Ella whispered, stroking her sister’s hand. “You must have been so scared. I was...in an accident.”

Betsy clung to Ella’s fingers, green eyes a paler shade than her sister’s, hair a light auburn instead of Ella’s flaming red. Owen did not know how much Betsy understood, but she could see relief in the woman’s face, which indicated she’d been plenty worried.

“I’ll make you some breakfast right now,” she said to her sister. “I know you’re hungry.”

“I called from the truck,” he said quietly. “The police are on their way.”

“Have they found Luke yet?”

“No.”

She turned those vivid green eyes on him. A shadow darkened their brilliance, fear, and he felt stung by a helpless desire to make it go away. He wished he could take back his earlier question. Ella would not have gone out drinking and left her sister, and even if she had, he was not the one to mete out judgment. Hypocrite, his mind jabbed. Less than a year since you couldn’t stop downing painkillers, or have you forgotten? He went to Betsy.

“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.”

“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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