accounts was going to push him over the edge. A fresh spike of fear left her limbs tingling. Why had she done that? In those last triumphant seconds, she’d gotten greedy. Heady with accomplishment and vengeance, the idea had come to her. A little dig to get back at him after all those months of putting up with his abuse.
“Stupid, Lydia,” she whispered and pressed a fisted hand to her mouth. At first, he’d wonder, but it wouldn’t take him long to put those twos and twos together and figure out what all those fours meant.
And he would come after her.
Like a fugitive in a crime drama, she’d been flown by a pilot friend of Tanner’s to St. Paul, Minnesota. From there, she’d taken a bus to Billings, where she’d paid cash for the used SUV. Now, nearly two days later, she had a burner phone and a vehicle with Montana plates. The signed title and bill of sale were tucked in the glove compartment. The day before she’d left Philadelphia she’d paid every bill, withdrawn all her savings and then closed her bank account. She’d shut down her social-media sites and left her credit cards lying in plastic bits in three different trash cans scattered around the city. She was safe. She trusted Tanner, would never have been able to get this far without her close friend and attorney.
So why didn’t she feel safe?
“Don’t worry, Lydia Newbury. Your worrying days are over, remember? You can do this. Inside, deep inside, you are brave and clever and honest.”
Okay, so she was pretty clever, mostly honest and trying to be brave. She really, really needed to be brave. Like right now. The idea of stopping for directions, of showing her face anywhere along this interstate, caused the already taut coil of nerves inside her to tighten.
Flipping on her turn signal, she put the atlas on the passenger seat, inhaled a deep breath and glanced in the side mirror just in time to see the flashing blue and red lights of the police vehicle as it pulled in behind her.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream. “Newbury, Newbury,” she repeated, reminding herself. But what if he asked for her ID? This plan hinged on Lydia not using her real name.
In her rearview mirror, she watched a tall lanky man in a khaki outfit get out. His hat was dark brown. She turned off the signal, lowered her window and folded her hands together in her lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling.
“Howdy, ma’am.” His tone was friendly, but his ice-blue gaze hinted at a cop’s shrewdness. When he leaned down she could see freckles sprinkled across his nose and flaming red hair beneath the hat.
“Hi, there.” Lydia dredged up her best customer-service smile.
“Did you break down?”
“No, Officer. Thankfully, I did not.”
“Then is there a reason your car is sitting here on the side of the road?”
“An embarrassing one.” Shrugging a shoulder, she flashed him a cringe-smile. “I think I might be lost. I’m on my way to a ranch where I’ve been hired for a job.”
His mouth pulled down into a frown. His name tag read Deputy Tompkin.
“Not the Blackwell Guest Ranch, I hope? They don’t open for another month or so.”
Blackwell Guest Ranch? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “Maybe. I don’t know... I thought I was looking for Jonathon Blackwell of the JB Bar Ranch.”
“Oh! Of course.” He did the finger-snap-point as his face erupted with a smile. “You’re the new nanny. Oh, man, this is great.” Sticking out a hand, he said, “Deputy Scooter Tompkin. Pleased to meet you.”
Lydia felt a rush of relief. “Lydia,” she said, not quite able to bring herself to say her new last name. Shaking his hand, she added, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Deputy.”
“I can’t wait to tell the guys I met you. Jon Blackwell is a friend of mine. And I can assure you, he is going to be one happy camper to see you arrive. He’s got his hands full, that’s for sure. My sister babysat for him for a spell. A real short one.” He shook his head. “He’s certainly in need of a professional.”
Lydia felt a niggle of concern. She knew Jonathon Blackwell had a fourteen-year-old daughter. As a single dad, she’d assumed he would need more of a shuttle service than a babysitter. She imagined days of ferrying her charge to school and various lessons and activities, providing healthy meals and snacks, and asking the requisite questions about homework completion. At least, that’s what her nannies had done. Back when she’d had them, before her parents’ divorce. The idea of a troubled teen didn’t scare her, though. Having been one, coupled with her years of volunteering at Hatch House Group Home for Teens, meant she was fluent in troubled teen.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’m pretty excited about it myself. If I can figure out how to get there.”
“You’re real close and it’s easy to find. Take the next exit ahead. Follow the signs for Falcon Creek until you come to a four-way stop, where you want to go straight ahead, not into Falcon Creek. After a few miles you’ll cross a bridge. Take a right—don’t take the spur that heads east. A ways after that, there’ll be a fork. You’re going to want to go straight, but don’t. Stay right and Old Tractor Road will be off to your left. Then you’ll see the sign that says JB Bar Ranch.”
“Um, okay, can you let me grab a pen and then start over at spurs and forks?”
He chuckled. “Tell you what, follow me, and I’ll take you right to the driveway.”
“Really?” Was this guy for real? “Deputy Tompkin, I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate that.” Lydia gave him a grateful smile, one she felt to the depths of her toes.
“Call me Scooter.”
“Wow. Okay, thank you, Scooter. You’re a lifesaver. I will find a way to repay this kindness.”
“Ah, it’s no problem. I’d do anything to help Jon.” Then he tipped his hat and said, “Welcome to Falcon Creek, Ms. Lydia.”
“IT’S OFFICIAL, I’M TERRIFIED of our unborn child. I know Jon’s twins are only five, but because there are two of them it’s like you can double the devious factor. No, not double—quadruple.”
Sofie was speaking to her husband, Zach, in that hushed tone people use when they’re all worked up and think they’re being quiet, when in fact the opposite is true. Jon could hear every word from where he sat on the long antique church pew that stretched nearly the length of one wall in the mudroom, the rectangular entryway adjacent to his kitchen. Since his foreman, Tom, had fixed the cattle guard, Jon had been able to medicate the calf and check on the pregnant cows and heifers. With the weather holding, he and Tom decided the generator could wait.
The opposite wall was lined with a shoe rack, two boot dryers and a series of pegs and hooks for various layers of outdoor clothing necessary when working daily in the elements of Montana—rain gear, wool jackets, parkas, hats, gloves and the like. The other end of the narrow room led to a half bath, while taking a left brought you into the kitchen.
As always, Trout sat patiently
