was she kidding? She felt like a teenager again, trying to ditch her mother. The thing was, she hadn’t really lied to Pam. Technically, Alana could say no to Eleanor, except the woman had a way of digging in her claws and making Alana feel guilty as hell. Sometimes it was just a look, a single word, a lift of a brow, and Alana was toast. She’d try not to give in. She’d call herself every kind of fool, because in all other aspects of her life she had a spine of steel.
But when it came to her mom, the end result rarely varied. She’d beat herself up for being weak, throw in the reminder that Eleanor was a psychiatrist, for God’s sake, even without the power accorded all mothers to elevate or scar their children well into adulthood, if not for life. Alana would feel better for a few minutes, but then eventually give in and do what Eleanor wanted.
Might as well wager on a dude ranch halfway across the country, on the off chance she’d actually have fun. Except no one could know, absolutely no one. Image was everything in Alana’s business. Hell, her client base consisted primarily of sophisticated trendsetters and Fortune 500 companies. No, she thought as she clicked on Reservations, not a single person could know. She wouldn’t even tell Pam.
NOAH CALDER STEPPED OUT OF HIS office and peered down Main Street. The Lemon sisters had finished decorating the Gazette’s window for Halloween, and moved on to hanging paper ghosts from the elm tree in the stamp-size park in the center of town.
Normally, he would have gone home by now and left the evening shift to Roy. But it was Friday and the boys from the Circle K and the Double R had been paid earlier. Half of them would end up at the Watering Hole to shoot pool, get drunk, and mostly hang around hoping to get lucky with one of the women staying at the Sundance, who often ducked into the bar.
In general the men behaved themselves, but Noah had promised Rachel McAllister that he’d keep an eye on her guests. Though to his way of thinking, it was the men who needed looking after. Most of the gals who’d been coming to town since the dude ranch opened weren’t the shy type. They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it.
A couple of them had scared the hell out of him. Offering to buy him drinks, asking to take him to dinner or to go on moonlit rides … One bold young lady had asked if he’d take her somewhere to go skinny-dipping. And now even his deputies were giving him grief over it.
He turned to look the other way and muttered an oath when he saw Avery Phelps bearing down on him.
“You listen to me, Sheriff, and you listen good.” Flushed from spending too much time sidled up to Sadie’s bar, Avery shuffled down, shaking a scrawny fist in the air. “All this thievery business is on account of those McAllisters. And I ain’t the only one who wants to know what you’re gonna do about it.”
Sighing, Noah shoved Avery’s fist out of his face. He was in no way threatening. In his prime, Avery might have topped off at five-seven, but age had him bent and bow-legged and a foot shorter than Noah. Even so, he knew the old man was harmless. Annoying as hell, generally belligerent, and probably lonely since his wife of fifty years had passed on three winters ago, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Noah met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”
His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.
Hell, Noah didn’t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”
“I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”
For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.
Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.
Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.
It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.
“Look at ‘em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the Salina Gazette’s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.
“Quit pointing.”
Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that dude ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids … their poor father is turning over in his grave.”
Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”
Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”
The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”
“Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.
Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.
The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.
“What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.
“Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.
The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County
