Page 5 of River Wild

“Thank you,” Bailey said. “This is more than I need.” She could never understand why her father hadn’t married Elaine. The woman had been like a mother to them for years. Elaine’s own mother had been their original housekeeper and had been raised here on the ranch. She’d often said that it was the only home she’d ever known.

Bailey helped herself to a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and waited for her father to tell her why he’d wanted to talk to her. She’d learned from an early age not to confess to anything before hearing what he already knew.

“I was worried about you after I got the call this morning from Ralph Jones,” Holden said.

She looked at him, trying to make sense out his words. Local rancher Ralph Jones? How would he have heard about the fiasco at the Billings library? Or was this about something else entirely?

“A woman’s body was found in the river,” he said. “Apparently, she’d been murdered. Ralph said he had a scare because when he first saw her lying there, face down in the river with her dark, curly hair floating around her head...” Her father’s voice broke. “He’d thought it was you.”

Bailey couldn’t inhale. “Who was it?” The question came out on a ragged breath.

“Willow Branson.”

She had an immediate mental image of the young woman who worked at the local hotel. Bailey had noticed Willow’s resemblance to her the first time she’d seen her. Willow was young and trusting, and she looked enough like Bailey to be her little sister.

Except that Willow was blonde.

“No, it can’t be her,” Bailey said. “Her hair isn’t dark.”

“It was when I saw her last week,” her father said.

“Why would she change it?” she demanded too loudly.

Her father was looking at her strangely. “I guess she got tired of being blonde. I don’t think it was her natural color. Bailey, are you all right?”

HOLDENSTAREDAThis daughter with growing concern. All the color had leached from her face. Her blue eyes, so like his own, were wide with a fear that alarmed him. “Bailey?”

Her hand trembled as she put down the cup of coffee she’d picked up. “I have to go.” She rose unsteadily. He reached for her even as she pulled away. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d let him touch her more than a few seconds, let alone hug her.

When he’d mention being worried about her, Elaine always pointed out how independent Bailey was. He knew how stubborn she’d been as a child and wild as a teenager. But he couldn’t remember her being so distant. When had she become like this? He couldn’t recall. He told himself that they’d been close when she was younger. He recalled little gestures, like homemade presents and Father’s Day cards as well a hug or an arm around him, a kiss on his cheek. When had all that stopped?

He felt as if there was so much he’d missed because he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems.

Bailey had been difficult during her teen years, rebellious, often in trouble. But she’d outgrown that at college, apparently, because she’d obviously studied hard, graduating at the top of her class. After college, when she’d come home... He frowned. She’d graduated early, smart as a whip. He’d thought maybe she would go back to school, become a lawyer. She’d talked about it when she was younger.

Frowning, he wondered what had changed her mind. Not just about being an attorney. She hadn’t found a career after college. He honestly didn’t know what she did every day. He hadn’t thought too much about it until she’d become so angry. Angry at him, he thought as he watched her leave.

Pushing to his feet, he called after her. “Bailey, I’m worried about you coming and going at all hours of the night. You’re scaring me.”

She had reached the front door and turned to look back at him. For a moment, she was his little girl. Something replaced the anger that so often burned in her blue eyes. He recognized the emotion with a start. Pain. Regret. Remorse. It hurt him to see it so blatant in her expression. Worse, he saw something else. Blame, as if he was the one who’d caused all that naked anguish behind the shine of tears.

And then she was gone out the door.

He slowly lowered himself into his chair, stricken by what he’d seen. What had he done to his little girl?

THESHERIFFMADEhimself go through the motions as he waited for the state crime team to drive over from Billings. He’d made the necessary calls and taken the necessary photos, looking, he hoped, as if he knew what he was doing even when he no longer trusted himself.

Now, as he stood on a rock in the river and looked upstream, he noticed with a start what a beautiful Montana fall day it was. The blinding blue of the sky overhead. The crisp air scented with the pungent smells of fall, from the dried grasses and leaves to the faint hint of smoke from someone’s early morning fire. He could feel winter’s breath on the back of his neck, and something darker as he realized the killer might have stood in this very spot not all that long ago.

He felt a chill as if the killer might be watching them from the thick stand of cottonwoods along the river that was the heart of this basin. It began in Wyoming and traveled more than one hundred fifty miles to empty into the Yellowstone.

It was not like any other river in the state. Many claimed that the Powder River was a mile wide, an inch deep and ran uphill. The running joke was that it was too thick to drink and too thin to plow. Captain Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition had named it Redstone River. But the Native Americans called it Powder River because the black shores reminded them of gunpowder, and that had stuck.

“Okay to take her?” the coroner called to him, dragging him out of his reverie.

Stuart nodded and moved to help the coroner and EMTs retrieve the body and transport it to the waiting coroner’s van that would take Willow to the local hospital morgue for the autopsy.

As the coroner slammed the van’s back doors, Stuart asked, “Any idea how long she’s been in the water?” He was still the sheriff, still in charge of this case—until the state team arrived.

---