Page 41 of River Wild

THEANNOUNCEMENTABOUTTilly Stafford McKenna’s baby shower had appeared in the local shopper, theTattler. Like in a lot of small Montana communities, everyone who got a shopper in their mail or picked up one at local businesses was invited.

This morning, Charlotte Stafford had gotten a copy of the printed announcement via text message from her daughter. It had been days without even a text until this morning, proving what a lousy mother she was. But she figured not answering calls or texts from her offspring was no worse than the other things she’d done.

The truth was, her children were all grown and didn’t need her—better for everyone. Not that they hadn’t tried to reach her, especially CJ, but she’d ignored the calls, texts and messages. Mostly they wanted to know when she was coming back, and she didn’t have an answer for that.

She was looking at the baby shower announcement when her phone rang, startling her. She saw that it was Elaine calling. Before Charlotte had left, she’d told Elaine not to call unless she had to. That left it open to interpretation.

Hesitating for a moment, she picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded strange since she seldom used it. She saw no one, hardly left her room. Everything she needed could be ordered at the touch of a button.

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer my call,” Elaine said.

Charlotte chuckled. “I can tell by your disapproving tone that I’m about to get a lecture. Should I hang up now?”

“No,” her friend said, her voice softening. “I’d ask how you are, but you’d lie, so I won’t. I’m calling about Tilly. She’s pregnant, due in a couple of months, I think. Oakley and Birdie are throwing her a baby shower next week.”

“Birdie?”

“Your soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Brand’s fiancée. Birdie Malone. Dixon’s daughter.”

“Yes, Dixon, my dead husband who keeps coming back to haunt me,” she said. “Small world, isn’t it.”

“She reminds me of you, Charlotte.”

“Oh mercy, that can’t be good.”

“They haven’t announced a wedding date yet, but I would think you’d want to meet your first daughter-in-law-to-be before then,” Elaine said. “You also don’t want to miss your daughter’s shower—let alone the birth of her baby.”

No, she didn’t, but all of this news seemed to be about people she no longer knew—even her own blood. She’d burned so many bridges, caused so much trouble. How could anyone miss her?

“Holden’s miserable.”

The words struck her like a knife to her heart. “I didn’t ask.”

“He’s hurting. Charlotte, you need to come home. You can’t keep running. It’s time.”

STUARTDROVEONout of town on the gravel road toward Richard “Dickie” Cline’s ranch. The day was one of those bright, warm fall days when the air smelled like burning leaves and mown hay as he drove. Overhead, white puffy clouds bobbed in a clear, deep blue sky.

The season had changed almost without him noticing it. He knew winter was coming since the temperatures had been dropping at night. This morning he’d noticed frost on his windshield. It was a sign that snow wouldn’t be far behind in this part of Montana.

He felt more aware of time passing today as he turned in to the road to the Cline Ranch, sending up a cloud of dust and dried cottonwood leaves. Ahead, he saw the two-story ranch house sitting back from the river and slowed.

Even from a distance, he could make out a horseshoe hanging over the front door. It struck him that he hadn’t questioned the brand the man had used on Willow or Bailey. Why a horseshoe?

According to superstition, if the horseshoe was hung over a doorway with the ends up, it caught good luck from anyone who walked under it.

However, if the ends pointed down, the good luck would spill out on those entering. But it was also said to keep evil away.

The horseshoe hanging over the Cline house pointed down, Stuart noted as he climbed out of his patrol SUV and walked toward the door, wondering if it had kept evil out.

Annette Cline opened the door a few moments after the sheriff’s knock with a surprised look. “Sheriff?” she said and glanced past him before returning her gaze to him. “To what do I owe the honor?”

A nice-looking woman a good fifteen years younger than her forty-year-old husband, Annette leaned suggestively against the doorframe. She wore a blue short-sleeved dress that matched her eyes, the fabric falling over her curves like running water, accentuating everything.

The look in her eyes had always been a little too predatory. It struck Stuart as he took in her freshly applied makeup that she’d been expecting someone—just not him.

“Is Dickie around?” he asked, noticing how quiet the ranch yard seemed.

“He’s out of town,” she said, and smiled. “Can I give him a message when he comes back?”

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