Page 45 of River Wild

“Don’t you want to know who died?”

The rancher grunted and turned back to him.

“Willow Branson,” Stuart said.

“Who?” Something flashed in Erickson’s eyes before he looked away.

“The young woman who worked at the hotel in town. She sometimes filled in at the hotel bar.” Stuart knew that Erickson more than likely drank at the Wild Horse Bar rather than the hotel. Maybe he didn’t “know” Willow, but he would have seen her around. He definitely knew who she was.

Also, Jay was at Holden McKenna’s barbecue twelve years ago shortly before he’d married his long-time girlfriend, Angie Durham, and inherited the Erickson ranch.

At a dripping sound, Stuart realized the noise appeared to be coming from pickup bed. He stepped closer. The truck bed had been recently washed out and was still wet.

With a shudder, he realized that the rancher might be not only the killer, but the man who’d assaulted Bailey. He felt heat rush to his chest and cramp his stomach. When he spoke, his voice sounded stilted, each breath a struggle.

“There a reason you washed out your pickup bed?” When Erickson hesitated, the sheriff said, “I’m going to need you to come into town and make a statement under oath about where you were the night Willow was abducted and the morning she was dumped in the river.”

Erickson swore and took a threatening step toward him. There was that instant when Stuart welcomed it. His hand went to the gun strapped at his hip. “Don’t make me do something you’re going to regret.”

As the front door of the house swung open with a bang, Erickson stopped coming at him and raised both palms. A woman as wide as she was tall yelled, “Somethin’ wrong, Sheriff?”

“Just need a moment with your husband, Angie.” His pulse hammered so loudly in his ears, he could barely hear. He stared at Jay Erickson, trying to picture him twelve years younger, dressed up at the McKenna barbecue, then later in that old cabin, stripped down. He’d have the scars to prove it—including where Bailey had gotten him with the small branding iron.

Angie came out to the edge of the porch. “Don’t say nothin’ to him, Jay. You got a warrant?”

“It isn’t that kind of visit,” Stuart said.

Her gaze went to her husband and back to the sheriff. “It sure looks like that kind of visit,” she said, crossing her arms on her ample chest.

Stuart looked at the rancher. He seemed more afraid of her than even the armed lawman.

“What did he want to know?” Angie demanded. When her husband didn’t answer, she picked up an old iron rake leaning against the porch and descended the steps.

Stuart tried to keep both Jay and Angie in his sights as she lumbered toward them. He could see how this could go south real fast. “I asked Jay where he was the night Willow was taken and the morning her body turned up in the river.”

“Where do you think he was?” she snapped. “Home with me.”

“You’ll swear to that under oath?” Stuart asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “You betcha. But what’s it to you?”

“She was murdered.”

Her brows shot up as she stepped closer. “You think myhusbandhad somethin’ to do with it?”

The sheriff hoped like hell that this didn’t escalate. He dropped his hand to the butt of his gun, afraid drawing it and trying to take Jay in right now would only make things worse. Clearly neither Jay nor his wife had any respect for the star he was wearing or the gun on his hip.

He studied the two of them, reminding himself that this was another reason why he’d typed up his resignation with the best intentions. He’d learned quickly why domestic disputes were so ugly and dangerous for law enforcement.

“I think you better get off our property,” Erickson blustered.

“Jay, I need you to come in to my office. You’re welcome to bring your lawyer.”

“And if he don’t?” Angie demanded, brandishing the rake.

“Right now, he’s only wanted for questioning. I’d hate to have to come back out here and escort him in handcuffs.” He looked at Jay. “Don’t make me come after you.”

With that, Stuart tipped his hat and walked past Jay’s pickup toward his patrol car. All the time, his ears were tuned in to movement behind him as if there were two rabid dogs foaming at the mouth who could be nipping at his heels at any moment.

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