Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Sloane
Dan is not happy with me.
He wanted to sweep me off to the hospital to get my ankle checked out, but I flat-out refused. I insisted we return to where Bo and Jillian were waiting for my backup.
As it turns out, Sheriff Ewing and two deputies arrive right behind us on two more ATVs. Unfortunately, one of them is Frank Schmidt. Ugh.
“What is wrong with you?” Junior asks when Dan helps me dismount.
“She was fucking shot at,” Dan spits out.
I elbow him in the gut as I turn a reassuring smile on my boss.
“I twisted my ankle but I’m fine.”
“What’s this about getting shot at?”
“I was getting to that…”
I turn to shoot Dan a warning look before launching into my description of events. When I get to the part where the shooting starts, Wolff hands Ewing the rounds they collected.
“There may be more, but our focus was on finding Sloane,” he offers.
“Can you show Deputy Schmidt where?”
“Sure. But there was something else,” Wolff points out, piquing my attention. “We heard an ATV start up and take off farther up the mountain. I was going to go have a look.”
“When was that?” I want to know.
“Right around the time we found you.”
“You think it was the shooter?” Ewing asks.
“I’d think it would have to be,” I volunteer. “This is a hiking trail, and not a particularly popular one. Why else would someone be heading up the trail on an ATV?”
“Where does this trail lead?”
“The trail meanders to a small lake about four miles from the trailhead. It loops around the lake and returns the same way,” Bo answers the sheriff, showing him on the map.
“So whoever went up there has to come down the same route, basically,” Ewing concludes.
“Is there anything else up there? Hunting cabin?” I probe further.
“Nothing visible on the satellite,” Bo indicates. “But it wouldn’t be unless it was built in a clearing. Lots of hunting shacks up in these mountains no one but the builder knows about.”
“Is this BLM or US Forest Service land?” I follow up.
If it falls under Bureau of Land Management, you’re not allowed to build anything, but with the USFS, you can apply for a permit to build a recreational cabin. A permit would mean a paper trail we could follow.
“Most of the land here is US Forestry,” Wolff informs me. “There are a few pockets of BLM land, and some privately owned sections, but the bulk on this side of the Fisher River is national forest.”
“Frank, you take one of the ATVs, and go with Wolff. Do the whole trail, see what you can find. Look for tracks, trails, shelters,” the sheriff orders the deputy.
“I’ve got a forensic team coming in,” he continues. “I’m going back to the trailhead to wait for them. Jillian, are you able to hang around to show the team the dumpsite?”
“I can show them,” I pipe up, sensing which direction this is going in.
Junior pins me with a look. “No, because you’re getting that ankle checked out.”
Behind me I hear Dan mutter, “Thank you.”
“I can stay,” Jillian answers the initial question. “I’ll head back to the trailhead with you for a bit though. I need to feed Emo.”
I’m annoyed at being sidelined—this is my case, dammit—but I recognize when I’m outvoted. Maybe once that ankle has been looked at, I can come back out here.
Ewing nods at her, “Excellent. And Sloane? Call me for an update once that ankle is taken care of.”
I outright reject the sheriff’s suggestion to call an ambulance to pick me up from the trailhead, and concede instead to the least complicated option; to let Dan get me back to the ranch, and from there drive me to Libby.
Five minutes later, I’m back in Will’s saddle, Dan behind me. I’m upset. I’m in pain, and I’m not in the mood for conversation. Luckily, he seems fine with the silence. Despite being annoyed with him, I lean back against his chest and close my eyes, lulled by the horse’s steady gait.
When we get to the ranch, Dan directs his horse to where he has parked his truck right beside his cabin. As he lifts me down, I notice my mother is watching from the porch of my cabin, two doors down. She immediately gets up and walks over, while Dan helps me into the passenger seat of his pickup.
“What happened to you?”
I grab Dan’s arm and dig in my fingers, silently warning him not to respond the way he did to Junior Ewing. My mom doesn’t need to know I was shot at.
“I slipped and twisted my ankle. My boss insists I get it checked out. Where is Aspen?” I change the subject.
“Sleeping. I just put her down twenty minutes ago.”
“Hey,” Dan interrupts, “I’m quickly going to hand Will off at the barn.”
“You looked cozy,” Mom suggests as both of us watch Dan’s fine ass lead the horse away.
“Hmmm.”
“Nice of him to look after you.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Nice? He’s overbearing. Controlling. Oh, and stubborn.”
Mom seems to find that funny.
“Are we talking about Dan? Because it sure sounded like you were describing yourself there for a minute,” she scoffs. “What you describe as overbearing and controlling, looks to me to be protective. And you only call him stubborn because I’m guessing you didn’t get your way. The pain is making you cranky.”
I open my mouth, but my mother’s pointedly challenging raised eyebrow stops me from speaking.
Dammit . I hate when I’m wrong.
The truth is, I am cranky from the pain, and from dehydration, and my stomach is trying to eat itself at this point. It’s probably close to dinnertime by now.
“I need some water, and a snack.”
It isn’t exactly a concession, but I know Mom will understand it as one.
“It may not be a good idea to eat before you go to the hospital.”
“I’m not going in for surgery, Mom,” I counter.
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
When Dan returns and gets behind the wheel, there are two bottles of water in the cupholders and a couple of freshly baked banana muffins in a Ziploc bag on my lap, courtesy of my mother.
Feeling a little ungrateful—thanks to Mom for that as well—and perhaps a tad remorseful, I put my hand on his arm.
“Thank you, by the way, for riding to my rescue. I don’t think I could’ve made it up that ledge on my own.”
“No problem.”
I catch him glancing over with a grin on his face I choose to ignore. Instead, I give one of the muffins my full attention.
“Is the other one for me?” he asks.
I hold the Ziploc bag open for him. He’s probably hungry by now too.
“Why don’t you just drop me off and get yourself some dinner?”
He shoots me a look as he shoves half a muffin in his face.
I guess that’s a no.
Dan
It didn’t take her long to fall asleep.
The clock on my dashboard says nine fifteen when I turn onto the driveway to High Meadow.
She was poked and prodded, X-rays were taken, and the ultimate diagnosis is a second-grade torn ligament. Sloane’s going to be in a walking boot, at least until she sees the doctor for a follow-up in two weeks. She was also given some pain meds and a prescription for more, for which we stopped at the drugstore on the way out of town.
She wasn’t happy to be told she’d need to take it easy and wouldn’t be driving for the immediate future. Understandable, since it’ll likely make doing her job difficult, but I can’t say I’m too unhappy about it. At least she’ll be safe sticking around the ranch.
We both made some phone calls while waiting around the hospital. I was able to connect with JD, who said the window contractor is coming back in the morning to finish three upstairs windows, but the downstairs is done. It was a reminder for me to turn on the GoPro cameras with my app.
Sloane updated her mom, and called Sheriff Ewing who let her know the forensic team had arrived. Apparently, they’d come with floodlights so they could get started right away. I know Sloane is itching to get back out there, but I don’t think she’ll make it tonight. She doesn’t even wake up when I pull up in front of her cabin and turn off the engine.
“Hey.” I tap her on the knee. “We’re home.”
She grunts and rolls her head the other way, so I get out and round the truck to open her door. Next, I stick my head in the door and brush her lips with mine.
Now she cracks an eyelid.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside and in bed.”
The corner of her mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. “Yeah?”
I chuckle, she almost sounds drunk.
“Don’t get any ideas, Sleeping Beauty. No sleepovers tonight. You have your mom waiting inside.”
Her nose scrunches up, suggesting that reminder doesn’t make her happy.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make up for it another time,” I promise.
Instead of helping her out of the truck so she can walk under her own steam, I decide to capitalize on the fact she seems in a pliable mood. I slip an arm around her and one underneath her knees, lifting her out, with the romantic notion of carrying her inside.
Even though I’m in decent shape and have a good half a foot on her, Sloane isn’t a petite woman, and this may be a bit more of a challenge to pull off than I anticipated. But Isobel is already waiting in the doorway, watching, and I’m not about to fall down on the job in front of her.
I do my best to make my trek to the front door look effortless, and Sloane seems to buy in, as she snuggles her head against my shoulder.
“Why don’t you bring her straight through to her bedroom. I already put the baby’s crib in mine,” her mom suggests with a smirk.
I do believe the woman has an evil streak.
And it may well be genetic.
When I—as carefully as I can muster—lay Sloane down on her bed, she grins up in my face.
“An A for effort, but you may need a few ibuprofen after that.”
“Why don’t you hire someone?”
This from my sister, who called as I walked in my door. She wanted to know about the progress at the house and I mentioned we’d had a bit of a setback.
“I have the week off. I’ll get back on track.”
Although, her comment does give me an idea.
“I can’t wait to see what it looks like,” Lindsey continues. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to get out there before Thanksgiving.”
My father wanted to host Thanksgiving this year, and Lindsey and her family were planning to come up for that. No way in hell my house will be done in two months or we could have it there, but she clearly wants to come see it.
“I’ll take some pictures tomorrow. The sunsets are amazing from the porch.”
In the background I hear one of my nieces start wailing.
Lindsey sighs. “That’s my cue. Nightmares. It’s a new thing,” Lindsey explains. “Be glad you don’t have kids. Talk to you later.”
I immediately think of Aspen, and I’m tempted to tell my sister about her and her mother, but I don’t get a chance because she’s already hung up. It’s probably a good thing, because I’d have been on the phone for another hour, and I really want to follow through on that idea she gave me.
Bo answers the phone immediately with, “How is she?”
“Grade two ligament tear. She’ll be in a boot for a couple of weeks.”
“Ouch. Bet she’s not happy.”
I think of the smiling woman I left in her bed half an hour ago, but I have no doubt that smile will be gone in the morning.
“Not really. Anyway, that’s not the reason I was calling,” I confess. “Do you know if Jackson is going to be around tomorrow morning? I’d like to drop by.”
“Yeah, as far as I know. I can’t guarantee he’ll be up for a social visit, but you’ll find out.”
“It’ll be more of a business proposal. I could use some help with the house. It’s gonna be a challenge to do my job, work on the house, and manage trades all at the same time.”
“Not to mention the new and incapacitated girlfriend,” Bo contributes.
I hadn’t even thought about that, but he makes a good point. No way to start a relationship if you don’t have time to invest in it.
“Yeah, there’s that,” I admit.
“So what?” Bo pushes. “You wanna ask Jackson to work for you?”
“If I’m gonna hire someone, it might as well be him.”
Bo laughs at me. “Is that what you plan on telling him?”
“I was thinking about it, now I’m not so sure.”
That makes him laugh even louder.
“Ah, who knows. He may surprise you.” Then he adds, “I’ll make an extra big pot of coffee.”
He doesn’t wait for me to thank him before he ends the call.
I toss back the dregs of my beer and contemplate grabbing another, but then I get a whiff of myself. I guess I need a shower more than I need another beer. It’s been a long-ass day and I’m about ready for bed anyway.
Grabbing my empty bottle and my phone, I head to the kitchen. I’m about to plug my phone in the charger, when a soft ping announces an incoming text.
How’s your back?