Gun-Shy Bride. B.J. Daniels
truck was his office as well as his main source of transportation unless he was in one of the two boats he used to patrol the area’s waterways.
This time of year, because of paddlefish season, he spent most of his time on the Missouri River south of Whitehorse. Today he was checking tags and watching for fishing violations. Fishing was picking up all over his area from the Milk River to reservoirs Nelson and Fort Peck.
For the next few months, he’d be spending fourteen-to -hour days watching fishermen, checking licenses and boats for safety equipment.
That wouldn’t leave much time to catch the deer poachers, but he figured they knew that.
Tired from getting up at dawn, Luke headed back toward Whitehorse a little earlier than usual. His place was just to the south, his parents’ old homestead that he’d bought when he’d recently returned to Whitehorse. The homestead had been sold following his parents’ deaths but he’d managed to get it back.
He liked to think it was a sign that he’d made the right decision by coming back here. A sign that there was a chance for him and McCall. He was building a new house on the property and was anxious for a couple of days off to work on it.
As he drove over the rise on the road, the stark skeleton of his new house set against the sunset, he slowed. The truck parked down by his stock pond didn’t look familiar.
He pulled his pickup to a stop and got out, scanning the old windbreak of Russian olive trees as he did. The unfamiliar truck had local plates. As he walked past the pickup, he saw an older outboard lying in the back in a pool of oil and the broken tip of a fishing pole floating next to it.
“Hey!”
The greeting startled him even as he recognized the voice.
His cousin Eugene Crawford stepped from behind one of the outbuildings where he’d obviously gone to take a leak. He had a fishing pole in one hand and a beer in the other.
“Grab your rod,” Eugene said. “Let’s catch a few.”
The last thing Luke wanted to do right now was fish. He needed some shut-eye. Hopefully the poachers would take a night off and let him get some rest.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to hit the hay,” he told his cousin.
“At least come down and watch me catch a couple.”
After Luke’s parents were killed in a small plane crash when he was seven, his Uncle Buzz had taken him in and he and Eugene were raised like brothers.
His cousin, who was two years older, had always looked out for him, fighting his battles, covering his back. In high school, Eugene had been the popular one, a former high school football star and a charmer with the girls.
Now Eugene lived in the past, high school being his glory days after an injury his freshman year in college ruined any chance he had to play pro football.
Since then, Eugene had struggled, going from one job to the next, having his share of run-ins with the law as well as women. Just recently divorced for the third time, Eugene seemed to be down on his luck, if that old beat-to-hell pickup he was driving was any indication.
“All right. But just for a few minutes,” Luke said, giving in the way he always had when it came to Eugene.
“So, catch any poachers lately?” his cousin asked as he cast out into the pond and sat down on the edge of the earthen dam. It was an inside joke, something Buzz had always asked from the time Luke had become a game warden.
“A few,” he answered, just as he always did with Buzz.
Eugene laughed as he watched his red-and-white bobber float on the dark surface of the water. Long shadows lay across the pond, the sky behind him ablaze with the setting sun.
Luke suspected his cousin hadn’t just come out here to fish.
“Sit down,” Eugene said, an edge to his voice. “You look like any minute you’re going to check my fishing license.”
It would be just like his cousin not to have one. Eugene liked to push the limits.
“I told you. I’ve got to get some sleep,” Luke said, realizing he wasn’t up to dealing with Eugene’s problems right now, or his excuses.
“Sure. I know. You have a job,” Eugene said sarcastically.
“Whatever it is, I’m really not up to it tonight.”
“Yeah, you got your own problems, huh. Don’t want to hear about mine.” His cousin swore, reeled his line in, checked the bait and threw it back out. “I need money. I’m not screwing with you. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Luke sighed. “How much are we talking?”
“Fifty grand.”
He let out a low whistle. “How the hell did you—”
“You’re starting to sound like Buzz,” Eugene said in a warning tone.
“Sorry, but that’s a lot of money.”
“You think I don’t know that? I just made a few bad bets down in Billings and now they’re threatening to kill me.”
It was Luke’s turn to swear. “How long are they giving you to come up with the money?”
“Six weeks, but that was two months ago,” Eugene said. “I’ve heard they’re looking for me.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.” Luke had invested most everything he had in the house and land.
“You could put this place up. It’s got to be worth a bunch. How many acres do you have here, anyway?”
Luke felt as if he’d been sucker punched. He waited until his initial anger had passed. “I can’t do that,” he said, turning to leave. He wasn’t stupid enough that he didn’t know what would happen if he put up his place for the money. “There are already two mortgages on it.”
“Even ten thou would help,” Eugene said, pleading. He didn’t seem to notice the tip of his rod bend as a fish took the bait.
The fish was the only one taking the bait today. “Sorry.” This was one mess Eugene would have to get out of on his own.
“Yeah, sure you’re sorry,” Eugene said bitterly.
Luke’s cell phone rang. He checked it and groaned inwardly. “I have to take this.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Luke hated leaving things this way between them. He wished there was something more he could say. But the only thing Eugene wanted to hear was that Luke was going to bail him out, just as he had done too many times in the past.
Instead, as he left he pointed to his cousin’s pole. “You have a fish.”
McCall was on the outskirts of Whitehorse when she got the call on her cell phone. The moment she heard the sheriff’s voice, she knew.
“Where are you?” Grant asked.
“On the edge of town. Something up?” She hadn’t heard anything on her radio. There was little crime in Whitehorse. The weekly sheriff’s reports consisted of barking dogs, checks on elderly residents, calls about teens making too much noise and a few drunk and disorderlies.
The sheriff seemed to hesitate. “Pepper Winchester phoned me.”
McCall had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Still, it hit with a thud that set off her pulse. Hadn’t she known this would happen? And yet, she’d hoped blood really was thicker than water.
“Pepper seemed to think you were on sheriff’s department business, investigating her son’s disappearance,” Grant said. “I assured her that wasn’t the case. I can understand how you might have wanted to see her.”
McCall said nothing, hating the pity she heard in his