Page 52 of River Wild

“A man tried to take my bag. It wasn’thim. Whoever it was, I’m not sure if he wanted my money or my laptop, or he could have suspected I was writing a book and was afraid about what was in it. Afraid he or his family was talked about.”

Stuart shook his head as his gaze met hers. “The injuries to your face.”

“A deputy from another county with relatives in this one.”

“No wonder I suspected you were in trouble,” he said with a shake of his head. “You do realize that it’s going to be hard to differentiate between the killer and some random person who wants to stop this book of yours from ever seeing print. Have you already sold it?”

She nodded. “I just need to write the final chapter—the finding and killing of the man who attacked me.”

The sheriff groaned. “Who all is in the book?”

“Pretty much everyone.”

“Your family? Your father?” She nodded. “You blame him, but why everyone else in the basin? You can’t blame them too for what happened to you.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but I think Willow would.”

He sighed. “It was one bad man.”

“Who blends in so seamlessly with the residents of the Powder River Basin that I can’t find him,” she said, feeling her ire rise. “Someone knows him, really knows him, because he came home with a small horseshoe branded on his left shoulder and knife wounds that someone had to bandage. Why haven’t they come forward?”

“Maybe he’s a bachelor who lives alone, and he bandaged himself. I assume you checked the hospital and those in the surrounding area.”

She nodded. “Someone stitched him up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a wife who lies in bed next to him at night. Or a sister or daughter who senses something wrong with him. Or a neighbor who saw him covered in blood twelve years ago. Or a rancher or his wife who passed him on the county road near the river where Willow lay drowning. Maybe even someone who saw him come out of the woods where her body was found.”

“Not everyone recognizes evil when they see it,” Stuart said.

“Or they see it, but they don’t want to get involved. Or they refuse to see—let alone do anything about it.” Bailey shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m no better than any of them. I let Willow get killed knowing the monster was out there because I was too traumatized to come forward all those years ago, asking myself what was the point since I couldn’t identify him.”

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “You said everyone is in this book?”

“Anyone with a secret, so pretty much everyone. I didn’t set out to unearth the stories, but once I did, the writer in me had to tell their secrets and unlock the mysteries and local legends.” She saw his expression change as he realized who else was in the book.

“My mother,” he said on a shaky breath. It wasn’t a question.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“STUART—”

The sheriff shoved back his chair and rose abruptly to his feet. “I don’t want to know.” A lie. He’d spent his life wanting answers as to what happened to her. But he also wanted to know if the nightmares he had about her were real or just a child’s fear of monsters manifested out of nothing.

The last thing he was going to do was ask Bailey about his mother. That was a deep, dark well he couldn’t go near, not now, maybe not ever.Thiscertainly wasn’t the time. He had enough on his mind that he feared he couldn’t handle the truth.

Nor did he need anything distracting him. He had a killer to find. A killer who had only today reminded Bailey that he was still close, still coming for her. That was enough to deal with. He hadn’t been in the greatest head space when this had all started. The only reason he was still sheriff was Bailey.

“I want you to know,” she said, sounding worried, “I didn’t set out to do this, I swear. I just wanted to find him, but the more wives and girlfriends and daughters I talked to, the more I realized that he couldn’t have gotten away with what he did to me without their help.”

“We should get some rest,” he said, glancing at the time. Where had the night gone? He could feel the weight of everything she’d told him. It dulled the memory of their kisses, their embrace. “Promise me you’ll stay in the guest room and won’t leave on your own before it gets light.”

BAILEYNODDED,FEELINGBEREFT.This is why I didn’t want to tell you.She thought about earlier, throwing herself at him, safe in his warmth and the solid shelter of those arms, his chest pressed to hers, their heartbeats in tandem. It had felt so right. Just like their dinner in the kitchen tonight. She remembered thinking how she never wanted it to end.

“I promise I’ll stay.” She watched him turn his back on her, go into his bedroom and close the door, surprised by the ache of longing knotting in her chest. Tears burned her eyes. All those months she’d come here, keeping Stuart at arm’s length, she’d known in her heart he was here for her unconditionally. She’d felt she could always depend on him.

But right now, she wasn’t so sure about that. He had planned to resign as sheriff. He’d only changed his mind because of her. She wondered if he was regretting that decision at this moment. He’d been through so much, almost dying. Maybe he wasn’t up to this. She knew that she often felt she wasn’t.

What if she’d dragged him into this only to get him killed? The thought was like a blow to her chest, stealing her breath and making her heart race. He was risking his life forher, and she’d never asked him why he had wanted to resign, why maybe he needed to step away.

She certainly longed to put the past behind her. For so many years, she’d believed that she could—once she found the man and stopped him, once she told the world what he’d done, what she’d done, because she planned to kill him.

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