Secret of Deadman's Ravine. B.J. Daniels
again as it dropped to the old riverbed far below. This end of Fort Peck Reservoir was dry from years of drought, the water having receded miles down this canyon.
Across the chasm the mountains were dark with pines. This side was nothing but eroded earth and a few stands of wind-warped junipers hanging on for dear life.
Eve loosely tied her horse to a tall sage. If she didn’t get back before the storm hit, she didn’t want her mare being struck by lightning. Better to let the horse get to lower ground just in case, even though it meant she’d have to find the mare to get home.
From experience she knew the soil into the ravine would be soft and unstable. But she hadn’t expected it to give under her weight the way it did. The top layer of dirt and shale began to avalanche downward, taking it with her from her first step off.
She slid, descending too fast, first on her feet, then on her jean-clad bottom. She dug in her heels, but it didn’t slow her down, let alone stop her. As she barreled toward the ledge, she realized with growing concern that if the junipers didn’t stop her, then she was headed for the bottom of the ravine.
The eerie sound again filled the air. The wind and rain chilled her to the bone as she slid at breakneck speed toward the sound. She swept past an outcropping of rock and grabbed hold of a jutting rock. But she couldn’t hold on.
The rough rock scraped off her skin, now painful and bleeding, but the attempt had slowed her down a little. Now if the junipers would just stop her—
That’s when she saw the break in the rock ledge. While the ledge ran across the ravine, a part of it had slid out and was now funnel shaped. Eve was heading right for the break in the rocks.
Just before the ledge, she grabbed for the thickest juniper limb she could reach and hung on. The bark tore off more skin from her already bloody palm as her hand slid along it and finally caught. The pain was excruciating.
Worse, her momentum swung her around the branch and smacked her hard into another thick trunk, but she was finally stopped. She took a ragged breath, exhaling on a sob of pain, relief and fear as she crouched on the ledge and tried to get herself under control.
Trembling from the cold and the fall down the ravine, she pulled herself up by one of the branches. She’d banged her ankle on a loose rock at the base of the junipers. It ached, but she was just thankful that it wasn’t broken as she stood, clinging to the branch, and looked down.
She’d never liked heights. She swayed, sick to her stomach as she saw how the ground dropped vertically to a huge pile of rocks in the river bottom far below.
Her legs were trembling, her body aching, hands bleeding and scraped, but her feet were on solid ground.
A jagged flash of lightning split the sky overhead, followed quickly by a reverberating boom of thunder.
Through the now-pouring rain, Eve looked back up the steep slope she’d just plunged down. No chance of getting out that way. She felt sick to her stomach because she had no idea how she was going to get herself out of here, let alone anyone else.
“Hello?” she called out.
No answer.
“Is anyone down here?” she called again.
She listened. Nothing but the sound of the rain on the rocks at her feet.
She couldn’t see the scrap of red cloth. Nor whatever had appeared to glint like metal from the top of the ravine. The junipers grew so thick she couldn’t see into them or around them. Nor was she sure she could get past them the way they crowded the ledge.
The wind howled down the ravine as the sky darkened and the brunt of the storm settled in, the rain turning to sleet. From deep in the trees came the eerie low moan.
Chilled to the bone, Eve edged along the rock ledge, clinging to branches to keep from falling as she moved toward the sound. The sleet fell harder, the wind blowing it horizontally across the ravine.
She hadn’t gone but a few yards when she heard a faint flapping sound—the cloth she’d seen from the top of the ravine! She moved toward the sound and saw the strap of faded red fabric, the edges frayed and ragged. Past the cloth, dented and dusty metal gleamed dully in the cloud-obscured light.
Her mouth went dry, her pulse its own thunder in her ears, as she saw what was left of a small single-engine airplane. With a shock, she realized the crashed plane had to have been there for years. One wing was buried in the soft dirt of the ravine, the rest of the plane completely hidden by the junipers as if the trees had conspired to conceal it.
The moan startled her as the wind rushed over the weathered metal surface of the plane.
It had only been the wind.
She clung to a juniper branch as the storm increased in intensity, lightning slicing down through the canyon, thunder echoing in earsplitting explosions over her head. Water streamed over the rock ledge, dark and slick with muddy soil.
She let out a sob of despair. She wouldn’t be getting out of here anytime soon. Even if she could find a way off the rock ledge, it would be slippery now, the soil even more unstable.
Holding a branch back out of her way, she moved to the edge of the cockpit and used her sleeve to wipe the dirty wet film from the side of the glass canopy.
Cupping her hand over her eyes, she peered inside.
Eve reared back, flailing to keep from falling off the ledge, as her startled shriek echoed across the ravine.
She was shaking so hard she could hardly hold on to the juniper branch as rain and sleet thumped the canopy and the wind wailed over what was left of the plane.
She closed her eyes, fighting to erase the image from her mind, the macabre scene inside the plane chilling her more than the storm.
The pilot’s seat was empty, and the strip of torn red cloth caught in the canopy was now flapping in the growing wind. The seat next to it was also empty, but there was a dark stain on the fabric.
The passenger in the back hadn’t been so lucky. Time and the elements had turned the corpse to little more than a mummified skeleton, the dried skin shrunken down over the facial bones, the eyes hollow sockets staring out at her.
Not even that was as shocking as what she’d seen sticking out of the corpse’s chest—the handle of a hunting knife, grayed from the years, the blade wedged between the dead man’s ribs.
Chapter Two
Sheriff Carter Jackson had a theory about bad luck. He’d decided that some men attracted it like stink on a dog. At least that had been the case with him.
His luck had gone straight south the day he found Deena Turner curled up and waiting for him in his bed. He’d been more than flattered. Hell, Deena had been the most popular girl in high school, sexy and beautiful, the girl every red-blooded male in Whitehorse, Montana, wanted to find waiting for him in his bed.
So Carter had done what any dumb nineteen-year-old would do. He’d thanked his lucky stars, never suspecting that the woman was about to take him to hell and back.
Finding Deena in his bed had only been the beginning of a string of mistakes over the next twelve years that culminated in Deena lying about being pregnant and the two of them running off and getting married.
It had been hard at first to admit he’d made a mistake marrying her. He’d seen marriage as forever and divorce as failure. So he’d hung in. Right up until he caught Deena in bed with his best friend.
That had been two years ago. Since then he’d gone through a long, drawn-out, painful divorce. Painful because he felt guilty that it hurt more losing his best friend than it did ending it for good with Deena.
But that was the problem. It hadn’t ended for good with Deena. Two weeks ago, she’d decided she wanted him back and that she would do anything to make that happen.
And she meant anything.
He