Page 18 of Dark Side of the River

He’d seen his father’s face fall, the low blow making the big man stagger back. Cooper had wanted to take back the words immediately. That he’d struck too close to the truth was obvious from his father’s expression. He could have said he was sorry, but he hadn’t because he’d been about to ask what he really wanted to know.

“What about thirty-two years ago?” He saw his father’s eyes widen. “Don’t you think it’s time you put all the rumors to rest? Or at least tell me the truth?” Cooper had demanded. “Am I the bastard son?” This was something that had been skulking below the surface between them for years. Now it was out.

He’d wanted his father to deny it outright. But instead, Holden had shaken his head, turned and walked away, his spine rigid, but enough slope to his shoulders that Cooper had felt sick with what he’d done.

As he’d climbed into his pickup and started the engine, he’d feared that he’d burned the last bridge between them. He’d thought he would never see his father again, and that had been the way he’d wanted it. That his father had taken him back so easily didn’t make him feel better about the question that remained between them.

But he had no idea how to get over it because there was still that question between them, a question only Holden could answer. Treyton had held it over Cooper’s head for years, calling him a bastard, taunting him with the truth.

This life hardened everything, even hearts, he thought now. It drove families apart, sent mothers away, left the men bitter and alone, their sons coming up in their footsteps with even less hope of surviving it. Cooper could see that ranching, maybe especially in the Powder River Basin, was a dying way of life. More and more ranches had sold out to large conglomerates or the rich and wealthy, who seemed to be in a race to own more of everything—even land they would never use.

He could understand why some of the ranchers had bought into what the gas companies were selling, allowing the coalbed methane wells on their property for ready cash in the belief that it was a win-win proposition. The ranchers made easy money on the promise that they wouldn’t even know the well was there.

Except that the process of getting the gas from the coalbed took gallons and gallons of water, lowering the aquifer, drying up ranchers’ wells in a place where water meant everything. When the gas wells no longer produced, they were often abandoned by the gas companies to leak contaminated water into the ground.

It didn’t escape him that Tilly had said her sister had been opposed to the drilling on Stafford property—and that one of the main gas corporation’s airplanes had been flying close by when Oakley had been shot.

His cell phone rang.Tilly?“Hello?”

“I got the name of the pilot who was flying the plane. Want to go with me to talk to him in the morning?”

He hesitated only a moment while he reminded himself that whoever had fired that shot at Oakley might have been trying to kill her. Tilly could be going to meet a would-be killer who wouldn’t miss the next time. “Of course.”

“Good.”

“How is she?” he asked.

“Same. Seven good for you? I thought we could meet for breakfast. There’s something you need to know.”

“In Powder Crossing?”

“Yes, at the Cattleman Café. Unless you don’t want to be seen in public with me.”

“See you there.”

He waited for her to disconnect. When she didn’t, he asked, “Is there something else?”

“No, we can talk tomorrow. Night.”

As he pocketed his phone, he tried to imagine what she needed to tell him. Something about the case? He figured he would know soon enough.

Yet when he went up to his room, sleep was the last thing he thought about. Grabbing his duffel, he unpacked what few things he’d kept. Moving a lot, he couldn’t hang on to much, which was fine with him. If he was staying, though, he’d have to pick up some more clothes.

He put away what clothes he had, then went to stuff the duffel into another drawer, when he spotted something on a nearby shelf. He recognized the book spine, surprised the book was there.

When he’d left this room back then, he’d packed quickly, taking only what he considered necessities. Why did he still have Leann Hayes’s favorite book? Because he’d forgotten about it after her death. For a moment, he was poleaxed by the memories of that horrible time in his life. It was bad enough that she killed herself, but the prosecutor at the time had been convinced Cooper had played a part in her death. When he’d left two years ago, he’d been in rough shape. He’d just been released from jail for lack of evidence in her death. No wonder he hadn’t noticed that she’d put the book up there.

Swallowing, his throat having gone dry at the sight of the book, he realized that he now didn’t know what to do with it. Throw it away? Put Leann behind him? It should have been easy. They’d hardly known each other, neither of them in love, both killing time in thinking they would leave one day—and not together. Dwelling on her death as he had for the past two years had gotten him nowhere. He still had no idea why she’d apparently killed herself, since her death had finally been ruled a suicide. Not that a lot of people believed it.

Yet he knew he couldn’t just throw the book in the trash any more than he could forget. He left it where it was, on the top shelf for the time being. Everything was for the time being, he told himself as he looked around his room. What was he doing back here?

Maybe more disconcerting was, what was he doing playing detective with Tilly Stafford? If not a recipe for disaster, he didn’t know what was.

CHAPTER SIX

TILLYHADN’TSLEPTwell after her argument with Stuart. She knew she shouldn’t have gone over to his place in the mood she’d been in. Not that he wasn’t equally responsible for the way things had gotten out of control. Had he really told her to stay away from Cooper as well as stop trying to find out who’d shot Oakley?

It’s my sister.As long as she was trying to find Oakley’s shooter, she didn’t worry constantly about whether her sister would wake up or not. Tilly just needed to feel like she was doing something to help.

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