Page 13 of Dark Side of the River

“If you’re afraid, don’t worry. I was planning to go by myself,” she said, and turned, already a few steps ahead of him.

“You’re not going by yourself,” he said as he caught up to her. “I’m going with you.” She gave him a sidelong look but said nothing. “Don’t make me sorry I told you.” In truth, he was sorry. He could see how much she wanted to find the person who had shot her sister. But now he’d given her probably false hope. There was a slim chance that Oakley had been shot from the plane.

At the same time, it was a relief that Tilly had taken what he told her seriously. He couldn’t help feeling there was something suspicious about the plane. That the pilot had flown over him so low like that had nagged at him last night. He’d lain in his room at the ranch unable to forget seeing Oakley come racing out of the woods. He remembered the terrified look on her face. She had been running from something very dangerous.

He’d kept thinking about the way she’d tried to pass him a message. Buttercup. It hadn’t made any sense. Still didn’t. But whatever it meant, it was important at least to her. He suspected it was why she’d been shot.

“We’ll take my truck,” Tilly said. “I’ll drive.”

He wasn’t about to argue as he climbed into the passenger side.

HOLDENWATCHEDHISeldest son pace the living room floor. He knew Oakley Stafford’s shooting had everyone on edge. But he couldn’t help being surprised at how Treyton was taking it.

“They’ll be coming after us,” Treyton said as he paced. “They’re going to make it look like one of us shot her. We need to be ready. I can’t believe that you just let them take our rifles.”

One of the biggest fears of most Montanans, Holden knew only too well, was that someday someone would take their guns. It had never happened, but it was a fear his father and grandfather had shared.

“This isn’t that,” he told Treyton. “The lab will run ballistics on our firearms. If one of them wasn’t the weapon that fired the bullet that struck Oakley, then the sheriff will bring them back. Let’s not turn this into something it’s not,” he said as patiently as he could.

Glancing at the time, he needed to put a damper on his son’s paranoia and get going. He didn’t want to be late for his appointment.

Yesterday, he’d gone out to the ranch manager’s house. Deacon Yates had gathered the ranch hands for him. Holden had hated to ask, but he knew he had to.

“If any of you might know anything about Oakley Stafford’s shooting, I need you to tell me,” he’d said as he looked around the bunkhouse. He knew all of the ranch hands, trusted most of them. They were young and often headstrong. The older ones worried him more, especially when it came to the McKenna-Stafford bad blood.

“I know that after the vandalism on our ranch, some of you might have wanted to pay back the Staffords, even though we can’t be sure they were responsible.” Several men grumbled that they knew otherwise. The same individuals who had gotten into fights with Stafford ranch hands before.

“Even if a few hotheads from their ranch are responsible for the vandalism, I don’t condone any kind of retribution,” Holden said. “As I’ve told you, any hand caught continuing this vendetta will be fired. But this shooting is serious. I’m hoping that if any of you know something, you will come to me. I will help you any way I can, including hiring you a lawyer if you were the one who pulled the trigger, because I want you to have a fair trial.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. “Violence is unacceptable. I can’t say that enough. This has to stop.”

“Tellthemthat,” said Rusty Malone, one of the older ranch hands who’d been in the brawl in town with the Stafford men.

“I’m telling you, Rusty,” Holden said, trying not to lose his patience. “If you have a problem with it, you know the road off the ranch.”

Rusty looked as if he had more to say but was smart enough not to.

Holden told the men that the deputies had taken their rifles as part of the investigation. They would be returned. Then he’d thanked them all for complying with the warrant and left. Now he was anxious to get to his appointment.

“Treyton,” he said, interrupting his son who’d been going off about something. He hadn’t really been listening, worried about getting to his appointment on time and so much more. “I’ve already told the men that I don’t want trouble. I don’t want you stirring them all up. The Staffords are not coming after us, and we’re not preparing for war.”

“We’re already at war with them,” he shot back. “They do any more coalbed methane drilling and we won’t have any water. The Staffords are trying to put us out of business. If we don’t fight back—”

Holden rose. “I don’t have time for this right now. Let me deal with Charlotte Stafford.”

“Like you have in the past?” his son said sarcastically.

“Would you see to that fence to the north?” It was the farthest point from the Stafford Ranch and trouble. At least he hoped that would be the case. “Take a few men with you. Take Malone. While you’re up there, check out the pasture grass. We might need to move that herd.”

Treyton nodded but clearly wasn’t finished. “What about Cooper? He back to stay? He planning on working for his keep or just—”

“Leave your brother to me. In fact, when I get back from my appointment, I hope to get you all together to discuss a couple of things.”

His son looked surprised and suspicious. “If this has anything to do with Cooper’s return—”

“It doesn’t. Just a family meeting. It’s time we had one, don’t you think?”

Holden left to avoid further discussion. Everything would be clear when he returned tonight. Though he dreaded the outcome. Treyton was worried about the Staffords destroying the ranch?

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