soggy ice-cream box and the scoop, then stalked through the door the housekeeper held open. Aware of Herman’s amusement and her dad’s frown, she ladled sloppy vanilla cream over each bowl of cobbler and took the box back to the freezer before sitting down to her own portion. No one at the table said a word. They finished their desserts in record time.
But only little Zak, happily smearing himself, his shirt and the tablecloth with purple berries and sticky cream, actually enjoyed the food.
CHAPTER THREE
BOBBY BOUNCED into the back seat of Dan Aiken’s truck, dragged off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his sleeves. “Man! I thought that sermon would last till sundown. Preachers must get chosen by how long they can talk.”
“You’re telling me.” Dan fired the engine, backed through a mud puddle and left the church parking lot with a squeal of tires. “I was about to stand up on the pew and start crowing like a damn rooster, just to get him to stop.”
In the passenger seat, Racey laughed, coughing out a lungful of cigarette smoke.
“I thought the sermon was really good.” Beside Bobby, Megan had a holier-than-thou look on her face. But her eyes laughed.
“You little liar.” Grinning, Bobby caught her wrist to pull her over for a kiss.
At his touch, she winced and gave a hiss of pain.
“What? What’s wrong?” He opened his fingers and looked at her arm where it lay across his palm. A bracelet of dark red bruises circled her delicate wrist. “Damn. Did he do this to you?”
Megan had turned toward the window.
“Did your dad do this, honey?” Hand on her chin, he made her face him. Tears filled her big brown eyes and dripped onto his thumb as she nodded.
Bobby fell back against the seat, swearing under his breath. “Somebody ought to put that bastard in jail. Or maybe just take him out and shoot him like the rabid dog he is.”
Megan’s soft fingers touched the back of his hand. “It’s okay, Bobby. Really. He woke up when I came in last night, is all. He didn’t like that it was so late, and he…he took me to my room.”
“Dragged, you mean.” She didn’t have to draw him a picture. “Did he know you were with me?”
“He thought I was with Racey.”
“I guess that’s a good thing.” Megan’s dad would’ve killed her if he knew she was seeing a Maxwell. He would’ve killed her if he knew about the little motel in Bozeman where they’d spent the better part of the night. “How’d you get out this morning?”
“Mama told him I had to go to church. Then she said I was going to Aunt Sara’s to baby-sit.”
“Are you really?” What good was a long Sunday afternoon off without Megan?
She smiled when he looked at her. “Sara and Rick are taking the kids to see his mother down in Red Lodge. I don’t have to be home until six.”
“So what are we gonna do?” Dan reached out and pulled Racey closer. “And where are we gonna do it?”
They stopped at the Quik-Save in Mitchell for some sandwiches and chips, colas and beer. The girls stayed in the truck; when Bobby and Dan stepped outside again, they found a cowboy, elbows propped on the driver’s-side window frame, with his head and shoulders inside the cab. The black pickup with a double gun rack across the parking lot identified Hank Reeves—Megan’s ex-boyfriend, sometime wrangler for local spreads and full-time pain in the butt.
Bobby stepped up to the rear door of the truck and opened it into Reeves’s shoulder as if he hadn’t noticed anyone standing there.
“Hey!” Reeves staggered back a stride, called Bobby a foul name.
Putting the bag of food down beside Megan, Bobby turned to face the cowboy. “You talking to me?”
“Not if I can help it.” Reeves tried to lean in the window again, but Dan had him blocked. “You’re in my way, kid. Beat it.”
Dan had a very short fuse. “Get away from my truck before I kick you away.”
Reeves grabbed Dan’s Sunday-shirt collar. Fists tight, Bobby tensed up for some action, and then he heard Megan say his name.
“Don’t fight him, Bobby. Not here, not on Sunday.”
“Was he bothering you?” Megan had dated Reeves until Bobby asked her out last spring. The guy still hadn’t gotten over being replaced by a Maxwell.
She shook her head, and her shiny hair bounced. “No, he was just saying hello. Please…let him leave. Don’t cause any more trouble.”
Dan and Reeves were still scuffling for purchase, trying out holds to test each other’s strength. With a sigh, Bobby circled around and pulled his friend back from Hank Reeves’s grip. “Break it up. Come on, settle down.” His hard shove sent Dan stumbling up against the front fender of the truck. Bobby turned to Reeves. “Just hit the road. It’s Sunday, and the girls don’t want to watch a fight.”
Reeves started forward, hesitated, and glanced at Megan. Finally, he swore and picked his hat up out of the dirt. “I’ll see you about this later,” he promised Dan. Glancing into the truck, he actually smiled for a second at Megan. “I’ll see you later, too, sweet thing.”
Bobby gritted his teeth and kept his hands at his sides. Barely.
Once Reeves’s truck left the parking lot, Dan gave Bobby a shove as good as the one he’d received. “I shoulda just beat him up once and for all. Why’d you get in the way, man?”
Bobby climbed into the back of the truck cab, set the grocery bag on the floor and pulled Megan into his arms. “Because the lady said so.” He lifted her face to his for a kiss. “And as far as I’m concerned, what Megan says goes!”
RAFE FOUND the first carcass about a mile into the forest.
He’d taken Jed out for a hike Sunday afternoon, hoping to work off the extra helping of roast beef Mona had piled on his plate at lunch, trying to outwalk his irrational disappointment at being blown off—again—by Thea Maxwell. At least this time she’d had a good reason. But that didn’t make him feel any more optimistic about the future.
Walking at a good pace, Rafe left the last isolated houses behind and entered national forest land. Jed wandered ahead, in his usual dopey way, snuffling at the carpet of needles shadowed by tall pines and cedars, the bases of trees, the crevices of rocks. Though he frequently disappeared from sight, the noise he made carried. He sounded like a miniature steam engine chugging up the hill.
Suddenly, the huffing stopped. The forest went still, too quiet. And then it came—the long, baying call of a hound on the scent, and the snap of branches as Jed crashed through the underbrush on the slope high above. Breathing hard, Rafe followed.
He used his hands to climb a couple of the steepest ridges. As he levered his body over the rim of a nearly vertical ledge, he saw his dog about a hundred feet ahead, frozen in place, ears stiff. On his feet
