Fourteen
Prologue
Sheriff Savannah Moody drove up to the church and parked right at the front, next to the bridal party’s white sedan. She thought of all the people waiting inside. The white steeple was the visual focal point of Coffee Creek, Montana, but Savannah had rarely been inside.
Her father’s funeral, with the paltry attendance of less than a dozen mourners, the marriage of a close friend and then that friend’s first baby’s christening. That was pretty much it.
And now this.
With long, purposeful strides, she made her way along the sidewalk, up the stairs and to the double doors. Muffled organ music seeped out from the building’s pores—a joyous sound that soon would end.
Delivering tragic news was the hardest part of her job. Today she had to do it to a man who’d been her first love. They’d dated all through high school. She’d been so sure she’d spend the rest of her life with him.
Then he’d done something stupid, involved her brother, and the next thing she knew he’d joined the rodeo circuit, rarely making it home to Coffee Creek in the seventeen years that followed.
But he was home now. She’d seen his truck in town a few times this week. He’d returned to witness the marriage of his youngest brother, Brock.
Savannah swallowed, then took a deep breath and went in.
The organ music swelled, became something she recognized, but couldn’t name. The chatter of the waiting guests was cheerful, but edged with anxiety. Judging by the number of vehicles parked outside, at least a hundred people were waiting inside. But the vestibule was empty, so she continued toward two open doors to her right.
She’d no sooner stepped onto the blue carpet that stretched the length of the aisle, when sudden silence fell over the church. A hundred smiling, curious faces turned to face her.
They were expecting the bride.
Instead, they saw the local sheriff. And in that second expressions changed to worry, shock, concern...and fear.
“I need to talk to someone from the Lambert family.” Savannah thought her voice sounded too loud in the silent church. Sensing movement behind her, she turned to see the bridal party approaching from the rear.
First was the dark-haired bride, Winnie Hays, owner of the Cinnamon Stick Café.
Savannah had never met the redheaded bridesmaid standing a step behind Winnie, but she’d heard that a best friend from New York City had arrived in town a week ago to participate in the festivities. So this was obviously her.
The second bridesmaid was Brock’s blonde sister, Cassidy. She looked so pale, Savannah was worried she was about to faint.
Savannah turned back to the front of the church where the rest of the Lambert family was seated. Olive, matriarch of the largest ranch in the county since her husband’s death many years ago, had never hidden the fact that she looked down on Savannah and her family. Beside her was her eldest son, B.J. His eyes were on her and the penetrating gray gaze suddenly became the only thing she could focus on.
B.J. was the first to stand, so handsome and civilized in his dark gray suit. “Savannah. What happened?”
Olive stood up next, using her son’s arm for support. “Has there been an accident?”
“I’m sorry, Olive. But yes.” She had to push herself to add, “There’s been an a-accident. Jackson’s SUV hit a moose on Big Valley Road, about five miles from town.”
A collective gasp by the congregation was followed by a few seconds of stunned silence.
“Brock?” Winnie asked from behind her, voice trembling.
Savannah turned to face the bride. “I’m so sorry, Winnie. Brock was sitting in the front passenger seat—the impact point with the moose. He didn’t have a chance.”
Savannah knew the pain her words were causing and she hated it. She called on all her strength to keep calm and measured.
And then B.J. was speaking again. “What about Corb? And Jackson?”
Jackson had been taken in by the Lamberts when he was thirteen years old. And Corb was the third Lambert son, the next oldest after B.J.
“Jackson was driving, wearing his seat belt, and the air bag was able to cushion him from the worst of it. He’s badly bruised and shaken, but he’s okay. Corb was in the backseat. He should have been fine, but I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. As we speak he’s being medevaced to Great Falls. I can’t say how bad his injuries are. You’ll have to talk to the doctors about that.”
“Is he conscious?” B.J.’s mother asked, her eyes wide with desperation.
Again Savannah shook her head, wishing there were some way to cushion the blow. “No.”
Overcome, finally, by the shock and the horror, the bride swayed and suddenly everyone was rushing forward to help.
“We need a sweater, or a warm jacket,” the redheaded bridesmaid called out to the crowd.
A second later, a man’s suit jacket was settled over Winnie’s shoulders and Dan Farley, the local vet, was ordering the crowd to step back and give Winnie some space. The large, muscular man then picked up the bride and carried her out for some fresh air.
Savannah switched into crowd-control mode and cleared a path for Farley, the bride and the bridesmaid to exit the church. Then she supervised the orderly evacuation of the rest of the Lambert family.
B.J.’s gaze fell on hers as he passed by. Her stomach clenched at the fear and worry on his face. She almost reached out her arm to him. Then drew it back.
Once, she could have provided him comfort. But those days were over.
Chapter One
Eleven months later
B. J. Lambert was in the loading chute at the Wild Rogue Rodeo in Central Point, Oregon, about to settle all one hundred and sixty pounds of himself on the back of a horse that had been named Bucking Machine.
These were the moments B.J. lived for. As he clamped down on the adrenaline rush of anticipation and fear—and yes, there was fear, only a fool wouldn’t have at least a little—a deep calm washed over him.
Once that chute was opened, it would all be over in eight seconds. He might have the best ride of his life or be disqualified. He could end up injured, or he might stroll out of the arena as nonchalantly as if he’d just taken a walk through a park.
B.J.
