Page 65 of River Wild

More than anything when she felt like this, she wanted her horse. Often when she was sad, she would go out to the stable, loop her arm around Honey’s neck and talk to the mare. She wished she could do that right now as she watched Buck stagger across the dance floor toward her. When he reached her, he threw his arm around her and kissed her. He tasted like alcohol and made a show of sticking his tongue in her mouth. She shoved him away as his friends all howled in laughter.

“Let’s get out of here. I know where there’s a party,” he said, slurring his words as he reached for her.

She stepped back out of his reach

“I have to go home. If I’m late—”

He stumbled back from her, his expression one of anger as if she’d been the one to ignore him all night. “Then go.” He breathed alcohol fumes on her as he lurched toward her and whispered loudly, “I can do better.” He laughed. . “See ya.” Turning, he walked off, his friends joining him as they headed for the door, all of them laughing. She felt her face burn.

“I can give you a ride home,” one of her friends offered.

“No, it’s fine. I have a ride,” she said despite the sobs that threatened to burst from her. She didn’t even want to be around her friends as humiliated as she felt. She waited until they’d left and the two young teachers who’d chaperoned were packing up to leave before she stepped outside. She didn’t want one of them waiting with her. She wanted to be alone.

Pulling out the phone Pickett had given her, she made the call. He answered on the first ring. At just the sound of his voice, she burst into tears.

BAILEYDIDN’TREMEMBEReating dinner. The night was a blur of well-wishers and gawkers, who seemed to be watching them as if they weren’t a likely pair. But the worst part was the disappointment she felt, because it made her angry with herself. She was the one who’d called the shots when it had come to their so-called relationship. She’d been the one to push him away—and was still doing that.

So why did she hate that it hadn’t been real? She tried not to look at the beautiful ring Stuart had put on her finger. How could he dare make a promise of a future—even pretend—knowing what was at stake? Not that it wasn’t a good plan, but she wished she’d been in on it so it hadn’t hurt so much.

When he’d gotten down on one knee, her heart had broken. She’d never been much for tradition. It was hard for her to even admit why she was disappointed. So far nothing about her and Stuart had been traditional by any means. This was their first date, for crying out loud. She had wanted to stay home and watch TV at his house.

And it wasn’t like she’d grown up dreaming about her wedding day. She’d been more interested in horses than boys. At seventeen, she’d never been in love. Thenhehad happened.

Now she was engaged to the only man she’d ever loved, and it wasn’t real. The only thing real in her life was that there was a killer out there coming for her. Had she dreamed of her future, this was not the way she would have wanted it to go.

It only made it worse when Stuart looked at her, his eyes full of love and concern for her. She’d stared back, angry with him even as she had to admit the reason she was so disappointed. She loved this man. Because of that, she wanted the romance, the real engagement, the dream of a future together.

Damn him for making her ache for it when she didn’t believe it possible—as much as her heart yearned for a happy-ever-after with Stuart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

HOLDENSADDLEDUPand rode out as the sun rose over the mountains. There was a chill to the fall air this morning. The leaves on the cottonwoods had turned to golds, dark reds and browns. They rustled overhead as he rode along the river.

He couldn’t help the melancholy he felt at this change in season. Winter would be on its heels. He’d heard on the news this morning that it had already snowed in the high country. The weather changed quickly in Montana. In a single day, the greatest temperature change in history happened not all that far away. It had gone from fifty-four degrees below zero to forty-nine above—a shift of one hundred three degrees Fahrenheit.

It wasn’t just the thought of winter that had him down today. Summer was Charlotte’s favorite time of year. He’d been so sure his Lottie would return. Now he feared she would never come back. He’d held out hope with each hot, cloudless-blue-skied day, thinking how much she loved their spot on the creek with the deep green of the cottonwood leaves a canopy overhead. They’d spent hours there when they were young, lying on the warm, flat rocks, staring up at the cottony clouds drifting past. They hadn’t known then how their lives would turn out, and he was thankful for that.

He picked up the scent of the creek even before he saw it through the trees. His horse shuffled along through the fallen leaves, the air colder, the deeper he went into the trees. He followed the creek to their spot. Ahead, he could see that there was no one along the opposite shore.

Why had he thought there was a chance Lottie might be here waiting for him? How many days could he ride over here, filled with hope, only to have it bashed? She wasn’t coming back. He had to accept it. As he reined his horse in to leave, though, he knew he would continue hoping. It was all that kept him going.

Just as he’d started to turn away from the spot where he and Lottie used to make love as teens, he saw something that made him pull up short. At first he thought he was seeing things, that his imagination was playing tricks on him, that the flash of red was no more than wishful thinking.

Turning his horse, he rode deeper into the trees. He spotted what appeared to be a piece of red fabric tied to a tree limb. It fluttered in the breeze by the edge of the creek bed near a large boulder.

Dismounting, he worked his way across the creek from stone to stone until he reached the spot where it was tied. He saw that it was her scarf, one he remembered her wearing. He took the end of it in his fingers and brought it to his face. It smelled of her perfume. Red was definitely Lottie’s color.

His heart began to pound as he looked around, spotting her tracks and her horse’s in the earth along the bank of the creek. Lottie had been here. She’d left her scarf. To let him know she was back?

Holden felt his pulse pound. He dared not to believe it for fear the disappointment if he was wrong would knock him to his knees. But if Lottie was back... He thought about the way he’d left things. He had to see her. After moving quickly to his horse, he mounted and rode back toward his ranch, determined to get changed and drive over to the Stafford Ranch. He had no idea how long she’d been back, but he couldn’t wait another minute to see her. She had to know how he felt about her. She’d come home.

For the first time in years, he felt as if she might have found her way home to him. But when he reached his house, Bailey and the sheriff were waiting for him.

THESHERIFFWATCHEDHolden look from him to Bailey warily. When the rancher had seen them waiting for him, he hadn’t looked happy about it. When they’d told him they had to speak to him right away, he’d been clearly irritated.

“I don’t understand,” Holden said once they were all seated in his office. “What is so important that you can’t even let me change clothes after my ride?”

Stuart reached over and took Bailey’s hand. He knew how hard this was for her. Earlier, he’d seen her turning the engagement ring around and around on her finger as they’d driven to the ranch. While they hadn’t talked about it, he could tell that she was still mad at him for not warning her. After their dinner last night, they drank more at the hotel bar and came home to pass out—in separate rooms.

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