camp was just what his son needed. He wanted Dewey away from his friends, and with his father gone so much of the time...”
“But you had your doubts.”
She gave him an impatient look. “Not everyone can spend that much time alone.”
“But Branch was with him.”
She let out an amused snort. “Branch isn’t much of a talker. He could go for days without a single word, so yes, Dewey would have had a lot of time to himself. Just because he got scared and came out of the mountains, doesn’t mean—”
“Please try to reach Branch,” he said, motioning to the radio.
She did as he asked, though with apparently the same result as she’d had earlier. “Like I said, he probably doesn’t have the radio with him.”
“Or he’s unable to answer. Does he have a cell phone with him?”
“No, but they aren’t worth a hill of beans back where we’re going. Not really anywhere to plug it in, either, when it runs out of juice.” She turned and started out the door, clearly over his interrogation.
“So where exactly are we going?” he asked as he went after her. Even with his longer legs, he had to walk fast to keep up with her.
“Up there,” she said without slowing down as she descended the porch steps and strode across the yard toward the barn. She waved a hand past the low sheep barns to the snowcapped mountains rising to dizzying heights in the distance. “It’s a good day’s ride.” She shot him a look, assessing him, as he caught up to her. He could see that he came up lacking in her estimation.
“A whole day?” That surprised him. He looked again to the mountains. He’d come out here wanting to lose himself in this wild remote country, but he hadn’t meant literally.
“We’re getting a late start,” she said as if his questions were slowing them down even more. “We’ll be lucky to reach camp in two.”
Jamison had looked at a map of the area before he’d left New York and had been in awe at the way the mountains to the south of Big Timber ran all the way to Yellowstone Park with the only access from this area by foot or horseback.
As he stared at the snowcapped peaks, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like way back in such an isolated place, let alone how difficult it would be to survive in such unforgiving, wild country. It had to mess with a person’s mind. He wondered what it had done to Dewey Putman.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PICKUP RATTLED up the road, the horse trailer with two horses inside knocking along behind it. As Maddie drove, the road narrowed until it was little more than two ruts. They followed the Boulder River through a tight canyon of rock and pines, the road winding deeper into the mountains.
Jamison looked over at the ranch woman. She had a tight grip on the wheel, her eyes on the road ahead and a determined set to her jaw. He wanted to ask about her husband and son as well as how far they would drive before they would unload the horses and head up into the mountains.
But he held his tongue, sensing the last thing she wanted to do right now was talk to him, especially about her husband and son.
So he focused on the road ahead and tried not to let his thoughts get too far ahead of him—or behind him for that matter. When he’d left New York for Montana, he’d promised himself that he wasn’t going to belabor that former life with thoughts of if only.
But he couldn’t help thinking about Maddie’s ranch house with its 1950s decor and its family photos in her bedroom—and the high-dollar, high-rise apartment he’d shared with his now ex-wife and the complete lack of family photographs anywhere in it.
Lana had insisted on a professional decorator who had assured her that family photographs on the mantel were tacky.
He’d given her free rein, not caring at the time. He’d just wanted Lana to be happy.
“So have you always done this?” Jamison asked, needing to break the silence and avoid thoughts of his ex-wife and that other life.
Maddie shot him a glance. “Driven a truck with a horse trailer on the back?”
“Raised sheep.”
“It’s my family’s ranch, so yes, five generations worth of sheep ranchers. You know anything about sheep?” She continued before he could answer. “Sheep don’t like to walk in water or move through narrow openings. They prefer to move into the wind and uphill rather than downwind or downhill. They see in color but have poor depth perception. That’s why they avoid shadows and always move toward the light. They have excellent hearing, so they’re more sensitive to high-frequency sounds. Loud noises scare them. They’re actually quite timid, easily frightened and defenseless against predators. A sheep falls on its back? It can’t right itself. It will die right there if someone isn’t watching over it.”
“I...I didn’t know—”
“Sheep are nothing like cows,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “Cattle need to be fenced in or handled by a bunch of cowboys on horseback. With sheep, all it takes is one experienced sheepherder. He can handle over a thousand head of sheep alone with no fence, no night corrals, just him, his horse and his dog.”
“Why are you—”
“Because you don’t know anything about sheep or where we’re headed. I’m willing to bet you’ve never been in country like this. It’s rugged and wild, isolated and unforgiving—not the kind of place to take a greenhorn. So it’s not too late to change your mind,” she said.
“Change my mind?”
“About going with me. I’d be happy to let you know what I find.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
She scoffed at that. “When was the last time you spent two days on horseback at over ten thousand feet above sea level?”
“I’ll try not to be a bother to you.”
She sighed. “If you can’t keep up, I’ll leave you behind.” She shot him a look. “I’m serious. I need to get to the sheep camp and check on my sheepherder. I won’t let you slow me down.”
“Agreed.” He glanced at the .357 Magnum pistol strapped on her hip. “As long as it isn’t your policy to shoot stragglers.”
“Best not find out,” she said, slowing the pickup. Ahead he saw a wide spot next to the river. Beyond that was a Jeep trail that rose abruptly, and beyond that was nothing but towering pine-covered mountains.
“This is where we leave the truck,” she said and climbed out.
* * *
NETTIE BENTON HATED to think of Frank up at the state mental hospital visiting his daughter. She’d known right from the start that there was something wrong with Tiffany when she’d rented her the apartment over the store. But it wasn’t until she’d seen the girl’s demonized drawings of Sheriff Frank Curry that she’d realized Tiffany was dangerous.
She
