Page 4 of Dark Side of the River

“I called earlier and talked to Treyton. He said you were on a call. I wasn’t sure if you got my message, so I called back.”

He hadn’t gotten the message. Just before he’d taken the sheriff’s call, he’d seen Treyton take off in one of the ranch pickups driving too fast. He’d wondered what that was about. Now he knew. The question was whether his hair-trigger eldest son had taken off because of Oakley Stafford’s shooting. Or because the sheriff had told him that Cooper was back in town?

Holden rubbed his temples. “Has Charlotte Stafford been notified?”

“I called, but Mrs. Stafford was out on a ride. Talked to CJ.” The tone of his voice said what they both knew. Chisum Jase Stafford was a lot like Treyton, a hothead who needed little to set him off. Stu didn’t have to warn him that CJ could be paying him a visit before the day was over.

Holden was less worried about CJ than he was about his own son. Cooper was back after all this time? He had to wonder why, even as he felt such a wash of emotion. He’d hoped and prayed that Cooper would return. Was he home to stay?

His thoughts quickly turned to Oakley, then her mother, Charlotte Stafford, as his thoughts often did. She would have to be told.

SHERIFFSTUART“STU” LAYTONwas as blond as Cooper was dark. The two of them had grown up together. Close to the same age, they’d been in the same grade in the small rural school for years. Cooper couldn’t remember when they’d become best friends. There were rough times over the years when they’d fought over ball games or girls, but they’d lasted as friends. Stu had always had his back—even in the worst times.

Deputy Dodson had insisted on hauling Cooper into town in the back of his patrol SUV. The town of Powder Crossing hadn’t changed much since he’d left two years before, he noticed. It was a typical small Montana town, but back in its day it was a stage stop for travelers from Deadwood to Miles City.

Back then, there was the Belle Creek Hotel, still standing today, but little else. Now Powder Crossing had a community church, a café, a bar, a grocery and a convenience store that sold gas out front and muck boots, overalls, rope and feed in the back. The hotel had its own restaurant that served drinks and bar food, and a part-time post office.

Along with a sheriff’s department, the town had a small community hospital, with a couple of nurses and one semiretired doctor. For serious injuries, patients were flown to Miles City or Billings. Oakley had been taken to the local hospital. Doc Joe Hammond had taken care of his share of gunshot wounds over the years, along with delivering babies and mending broken bones. Residents of the county trusted him more than those big-city doctors who they swore charged an arm and a leg.

Cooper figured Oakley was in good hands, although her mother might not agree. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Charlotte Stafford had her daughter flown to Billings.

After repeating everything that he’d already told Deputy Dodson about what had happened, the sheriff said, “Oakley didn’t say anything else before she passed out but the wordbuttercup?”

That was the one thing that Cooper had left out of what he’d told Deputy Dodson. “She seemed worried about her horse.”

The sheriff nodded. “Knowing Oakley, makes sense. Sorry about Deputy Dodson. He’s new.”

“Not that new. He seemed to know a lot about the McKennas and Staffords,” Cooper said, but let it ride. He was still angry about being forced to leave his truck, give up his guns and being driven to the sheriff’s department in the back of a patrol SUV half naked—just short of being arrested. He’d been told in the past that he had a chip on his shoulder. Something about a cop uniform always set him on edge. Probably because he’d had enough run-ins with the law in the past to last him a lifetime.

“I really could use a shirt from my pickup,” he said.

Stu reached for his phone. “I’ll have someone get you something to wear. I’ve seen more than enough of that six-pack of yours. Been doing some physical labor, have you?”

“Construction. Can I also have my phone back?”

The sheriff slid it over to him. “We’re going to have to hang on to your guns.” At Cooper’s surprised and displeased look, he added, “It’s procedure. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.”

“I took photos of the scene, something Deputy Dodson failed to do,” he said, and opened his phone and called up the shots he’d taken.

“You took photos?” Stu looked concerned as he took the phone and thumbed through the shots. “Why?”

“Well, I didn’t do it because I thought it would make me look guilty of anything,” Cooper snapped. “But yes, I was covering my ass. I just had a bad feeling, even before your deputy started harassing me. It isn’t like I haven’t been here before. And now a Stafford was shot on the McKenna Ranch and I’m the one who found her?” He shook his head. “You think I don’t know how bad that looks no matter how innocent I am or my family?”

His friend leaned back in his chair and studied him openly. “It’s yet to be determined if your family is innocent. Have you met your brother Treyton?” He raised a hand before Cooper could argue. “What are you doing back here?”

He knew his friend didn’t mean the sheriff’s office. The truth? He didn’t really understand what had brought him back to Powder Crossing. Just a need for something he couldn’t put his finger on, an ache he couldn’t define. “Seemed like it was time to come home.”

The sheriff nodded, still studying him. “Have anything to do with this latest war between the families?”

“Which war is that? I’ve lost track.”

“You really don’t know about the latest developments?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t been in touch with his family or anyone else in the Powder River Basin. He’d tried to put the past behind him. Problem was, he was a McKenna, something he’d realized he could never outrun no matter how far away he went, since family was in his blood.

“The Staffords drilled a coalbed methane well close to the property line between your ranches. Your father is suing, claiming the well dried up his artesian well near the property boundary.” The Powder River Basin was well-known for being the single largest source of coal mined in the country. It was said to contain one of the largest deposits of coal in the world. But methane drilling was something relatively new.

He remembered that there’d been drilling twenty years ago. “Has methane become that big of a deal here again?” Cooper asked. He knew a little about it. The gas traveled with groundwater in coal seams. Extracting it required drilling a well and pumping out the water. That was where the trouble came in. All that water, millions of gallons, pumped to the surface, emptied aquifers and dumped the used water, now high in salt content, into the rivers and agricultural land.

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