man’s lip curled in a sneer. Despite the bitter rage that swelled in his chest, Chase didn’t react, just looked away. Harlan’s son, Lonnie hadn’t come.
It’s probably a good thing Lonnie’s not here, Chase thought. Granddad’s funeral is hard enough on Mom and Dad. Not the place for me to meet Lonnie.
He swept the crowd again, hoping to catch a glimpse of any members of the Harper family but none of them were at the graveside.
The stab of loss and regret was unavoidable. Chase steeled himself against letting the pain change his expression.
He and Mike Harper had been best friends since grade school and now Mike’s family with no doubt believed Chase was responsible for his death. The twelve people sitting on the Wolf Creek jury certainly had—they’d convicted him of vehicular manslaughter, based on the testimony of Harlan and Lonnie Kerrigan.
I’m the only one who knows it’s not true. Once again he met Harlan Kerrigan’s hostile gaze. Correction, he thought grimly. Both Harlan and Lonnie know who really killed Mike.
Seething with bitterness, Chase focused on the casket once again, concentrating on breathing in and out with slow, measured inhales and exhales. He’d learned the method from a tough, no-nonsense guard at the correctional facility a week after he’d arrived at the institution. Defending himself in a brawl in the exercise yard had resulted in a six-inch knife wound and the guard had taken him to the infirmary to have the deep cut stitched. Following the guard’s advice, he’d signed up for meditation classes. Combined with long hours spent weight lifting and working out, after two months he’d become strong enough to enforce his desire for solitude. As a result, the other inmates now left him alone.
Alone was just fine; being left alone was what he wanted. He planned to do his time and get out.
He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air and the scent of sagebrush. Freedom. He craved it.
But first, he had to survive the next few years locked away for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Raine and Trey Harper lay flat on their bellies, peering around the sagebrush. From their vantage point atop the low hill, the twelve-year-olds had an unobstructed view of the Wolf Creek Cemetery and the cluster of people around the open grave.
“He looks different,” Raine said. “Don’t you think Chase looks different, Trey?”
Her brother stared hard at the McClouds. “He looks sad. And older. Maybe thinner. I wonder if he gets good food in jail.”
“I hope so.” Raine fell silent. “I miss Mike. And I miss Chase, too. I wish this year never happened.”
“Well, it did.” Trey didn’t face her but she knew he was fighting back tears, just as she was. She always knew when her twin was upset, just as he knew things about her without asking. Their mother said twins were connected in some weird way. Raine didn’t think of it as strange; for her it was normal.
“I don’t believe Chase hurt Mike on purpose, do you?” she asked.
“People say he did. Mom believes he did.”
“But Dad said Chase says he didn’t. Do you think he did?”
“No.” Trey looked at her, his gray eyes fierce. “I don’t.”
“Me, either.” She looked away from him, back down the hill. “But he’s still gone away and we never get to see him—just like Mike, only Mike’s dead and Chase isn’t. Do you think Chase will ever come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someday, when I find out what really happened.”
“Do you think Mom will believe you?” Raine didn’t understand her mother since Mike was killed. She stayed in her bedroom, crying day and night. Sometimes it felt like she no longer even remembered Raine and Trey were in the house. It was scary and so sad it made Raine feel like crying, too.
“Probably not.” Trey’s voice was bleak.
Below them, the service seemed to be finished. The mourners started walking toward their cars.
Trey scooted backward. “Come on, Raine. We don’t want anyone to see us. We’ll be in trouble with Dad for sure if he knows we came out here.”
Raine inched backward, rocks and twigs scratching her ankles where her jeans rode up above her socks. When the slope of the hill hid them from view, they stood, racing to their bikes and pedaling furiously down the little-used dirt road back to town, hurrying to get home before they were missed.
Fifteen years later
Late August
Gravel crunched under her car’s wheels as Raine Harper braked, slowing to read the name printed on the mailbox atop its sturdy black metal post.
“C. McCloud,” she said aloud, stopping her car and letting the engine idle.
Chase McCloud’s home lay thirty miles southeast of Wolf Creek, at the farthest boundary of McCloud Enterprises land amid towering buttes and deep coulees. No fertile fields of wheat or oats softened the landscape here. Instead, barbed wire fences marched for miles along the sharply curved road, dividing the gravel highway from untamed land. Outcroppings of shale and cliffs of clay dropped precipitously to create miniature canyons where swift-running creeks sparkled in the sunlight.
Raine knew that farther south, the land grew even wilder in the Missouri Breaks. But here, blocky red-and-white Hereford cattle, horses and the occasional pair of pronghorn antelope grazed on clumps of tough grass scattered amid gray-green sagebrush.
Rumor had it that Chase McCloud had purposely chosen to live on this outer section of his family’s property because he wanted to get as far away from Wolf Creek residents as possible. Raine had no idea whether the gossip was true and she couldn’t afford to care.
The reclusive bounty hunter might not want visitors. He probably wouldn’t welcome a Harper knocking on his door. But she needed him. She was desperate and he was the only man in the county who had experience in locating missing persons.
He owes me, she thought. He owes my family. She shifted the car into gear and turned off the highway onto the graveled lane.
The well-maintained road followed the bulge of a towering rocky butte. Raine rounded a curve and caught her breath, staring at the house and outbuildings tucked against the foot of a butte across the broad valley stretching in front of her. The house was a weathered A-frame with glass across the entire front. Built of peeled logs, it was surrounded by green lawn and tall maple trees. The barn, corrals and other outbuildings were all constructed of logs with the same aged, silvery look.
The road cut straight across the valley. Raine drove over a sturdy log bridge spanning a clear-running creek then onto the graveled drive that led to the ranch yard. She parked in front of the house and got out, pausing to survey the cluster of buildings.
Very impressive, she thought, grudgingly acknowledging the care and prosperity evident in the well kept headquarters.
A wrought iron fence surrounded the house and yard. The gate’s latch gave easily under her hand and she pushed it wide, turning to fasten it behind her. Her footsteps echoed on the wooden decking as she approached the screened door and rapped briskly. No one answered.
