Chapter 1
1
T he door nearest to where Black Hat had been sitting closed with a cu-clunk . The side door wasn’t an emergency exit, yet it struck Archer as odd that someone would use it as a way out when most folks made their way back through the vestibule. Then again, the holding area had been wall-to-wall people when he’d first arrived. He’d scarcely been able to breathe without bumping into the person next to him.
Black Hat slipping out the side door didn’t seem as suspect when he remembered how many shoulder and elbow bumps he’d taken to his back and arms.
Curiosity had him heading toward the door to see where she’d gone. The electrical current still ran through him, causing his nerve endings to hum.
Was he making a mountain out of a molehill with the woman? She could be anyone, including one of Harrison Guidry’s many conquests. A few showed up today at the Sky’s The Limit Remembrance Hall to pay their respects. The disappointment on their faces when the announcement had been made there would be no will reading had made it obvious why they’d made the effort to come. They’d believed they were special to Harrison, that they’d meant something to him. The expressions on their faces when they’d looked around and seen they hadn’t been the only special one had been priceless. Witnessing their expressions after the second announcement had been priceless. Apparently, Harrison’s wishes were clear, and his will was ironclad. Nikki, his sole living heir, would inherit every last dime of his money, every single one of his possessions, and his home. Period.
Reactions had ranged from grunts of disgust to disbelief and fainting. Yep. Fainting. Splat. Flat on their backs. One had come to, asking if there was a lawyer in the room. It had taken a lot of gall to consider suing your dead lover because you’d fainted when you learned he hadn’t left you a dime of his money. The term gold-digger came to mind.
But one woman haunted his thoughts right now—the lady in the black hat.
A moment later, he tucked his cell inside his pocket, braced his palms against the metal bar, and shoved. A chilly wind shot straight through him, causing his shoulders to hunch forward to brace against it. Chin to chest, he scanned the parking lot as he stepped outside. The door cu-clunked behind him. Locked?
Rolling gray clouds filled the sky, threatening rain.
There was no movement in the parking lot and no sign of Black Hat.
He waited, figuring he’d given her enough time to find her vehicle. She should be pulling out of the full lot by now and down the twisty drive toward the farm road. However, there was no telltale dust to be seen.
Archer shook his head. Had she even left the building? Or had she had second thoughts, turned around, and stayed? Was she still inside the hall? Had she slipped into the bathroom to freshen up or take care of business before heading out? This place was in the sticks, a good half an hour from anywhere.
Archer turned around, grabbed the metal handle to go back inside, and twisted. Locked.
Biting back a curse, he circled to the front of the building and re-entered. Folks had sectioned off in groups of three or four, sprinkled around the vestibule while talking in hushed tones. The crowd now spilled into the remembrance room. He could breathe without elbowing someone. A surprising amount of people had showed up today. Then again, in this town, curiosity could draw numbers. The grapevine was lively with chatter about other folks’ business, especially any gossip involving the wealthiest family in town—his. People would be curious about the daughter Harrison had never spoken of or paraded around town on holidays and summer breaks like some divorced men in town did.
Folks would’ve wanted to know if she’d show up at all. If she did, they’d want to know what she looked like. Had she taken after her father or mother? Would she show up with red-rimmed eyes from crying or wear a bitter scowl for the father who’d neglected her once she moved out of town? Archer assumed there’d be a high level of curiosity about Nikki’s every move, especially after she’d been suspected of aiding the man initially accused of her father’s murder. As it had turned out, her stepfather had been behind the murder—more reason to gossip about her and her situation.
Families were complicated. The thought struck the moment he almost walked straight into his half-brother.
“Everything alright?” Beau asked as he studied a surprised Archer.
“Fine. You?” Archer answered a little too quickly. His attempt to deflect the question had fallen flat based on his half-brother’s curious expression.
Beau’s eyebrow shot up. “Good.”
This would be a good moment for the thank you that Archer owed the man standing less than a foot in front of him. This would be the right time to express his gratitude. However, he was still hesitant to welcome Beau into the fold, and his thoughts had already shifted back to the text and Black Hat.
“Excuse me,” Archer said when the other words died on his tongue.
After a nod of acknowledgment, Beau stepped out of the doorframe to allow passage.
Scanning the faces in the vestibule, Archer’s gaze landed on Travis. Both brother-in-law and acting sheriff, Travis might be a good person to talk to right now as he stalled for time to locate Black Hat. Not only would Travis keep a lid on the text so as not to create undue panic, but the sheriff might be able to give some insight into whether this was a common scam.
It only took another second for Archer to decide whether sharing the text with Travis would be a good move, even if it turned out to be nothing. He fished his phone from his pants pocket and checked the screen. The moment of hope Owen might have already responded fizzled.
Archer made a beeline for Travis, who was being cornered by one of the lady mourners who’d fainted earlier.
“Surely there’s some kind of complaint I can file,” she whined. Ms. Henley was a forty-something widow. She wore all black clothing and bright red lipstick.
“I understand your situation, ma’am,” Travis said with the utmost respect. “However, the person you are trying to file a complaint against is not alive.”
“May I borrow the sheriff for a minute?” Archer interrupted.
“Well, I guess,” she said, “since the sheriff isn’t being all that helpful anyway.” Ms. Henley walked away.
“What’s going on?” Travis asked as he seemed to study Archer.
Cell in hand, he pulled up the text before tilting the screen toward Travis. “I don’t know if this is a prank, but Owen isn’t responding to my texts, so I figured I’d show this to you and get your reaction. Should I be concerned?”
Travis read the message. His expression morphed. Worry lines instantly etched his forehead. “I would take it seriously until Owen shows up and proves otherwise.”
“Can you trace the text?”
“I sure can try.”
Those words weren’t exactly reassuring. Something else had struck Archer as odd a few seconds ago, but he was just now realizing what it was. When he’d retrieved his cell from his pocket, it had been otherwise empty. He checked again as Travis fired off a few texts to his team so they could investigate.
No key fob.
Archer muttered a curse as he turned tail and gaited across the vestibule, out the door, and into the parking lot. Travis was a couple of steps behind him.
The sheriff caught up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My truck is here, but my key fob is missing.”
“Missing or lost?” Travis asked.
“Missing.”
“Are you sure it didn’t fall out of your pocket?” Travis continued.
“I’m certain.” He was figuratively scratching his head because his truck hadn’t been stolen. “Wouldn’t the person who took my key also take my truck?”
“Not necessarily.” Travis’s gaze shifted to the ground. “Someone might have wanted to get inside to steal something. Do you keep your wallet inside?”
“No.” Archer joined the sheriff in the search. He understood the logic of someone wanting something inside the truck. Once the person got what they wanted, they would toss the key fob.
Side by side, they covered the ground from the front door to his vehicle.
“Any other keys on the ring with the fob?” Travis asked.
“Yes.” Archer cursed. “To the guest cabin on ranch property where I’m staying.”
Travis had his cell out in a second flat, calling for a deputy nearest Rescue Ridge Ranch to meet him there. His gaze immediately shifted back to Archer. “Want a ride home?”
Going to see Archer Sturgess had been a huge mistake. Annalee Copeland realized the fact a little too late, considering the deed was done. Worse yet, he’d seen her. She was certain he’d spied her from across the room. Turned out, there wasn’t a hat brim large enough to keep him from spotting her. Had he recognized her? Annalee would bet yes, but she wasn’t certain one way or another. One fact was clear; her skin had sizzled the second his gaze had landed on her, just like old times. The intensity of their emotions had scared the hell out of her at seventeen, and that was a big part of the reason she’d left Saddle Junction for a fresh start. Or should she say another fresh start? Wiping the slate clean had seemed like the way to go, but then she’d been running all her life. It was what she knew how to do, and she was good at it. Sticking around and putting down roots had sounded like punishment. Prison-level punishment.
She’d never forgotten Archer, though, and no one had measured up since. Even at a young age, she’d known the kind of relationship she’d had with Archer only came once in a lifetime. She’d spent all the years between now and then trying to chalk it up to innocence and young love instead.
Annalee didn’t want to think about the other part of her life—a part that caught up to her too often and still haunted her to this day, no matter how many times she escaped. Becca Copeland. The problem wasn’t exactly with Annalee’s mother—it was the company she kept. The names might change, but the dudes were carbon copies of each other. Abusers. Control freaks. Ex-cons. Becca’s boyfriends and, sometimes, husbands were bad news. It was the only constant in an ever-changing world.
No matter where Annalee hid, Becca and her latest disaster/crisis weren’t far behind. Becca was always on the verge of “getting her life together,” as she so often said, but real change seemed to end up just out of reach.
Still, Annalee never gave up hope that one day her mother would find the magic answer that would allow her to pluck up the courage to stand on her own two feet instead of being dependent on the opposite sex. Being alone wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a person. Annalee should know. She had expert-level experience in keeping a healthy distance.
This time, Becca was in real trouble and had dragged her daughter down with her. Annalee had disappeared with the evidence that would get her mother’s latest boyfriend locked up for the rest of his life if the justice system worked like it was supposed to. Annalee knew better than to trust the legal system. After all, she’d been moved from foster home to foster home as a young child, but she’d been returned to her mother every time Becca had temporarily cleaned up her act and promised to get a job so she could take care of her daughter.
Taking the evidence and running had been the only way to ensure nothing bad happened to her mother, too.
The picture of Archer, unconscious and tied up, had been enough to bring her back to Saddle Junction to see for herself if he’d been abducted or if the image in the text had been some kind of artificial intelligence trick. It had to be the latter because Archer was fine—a little too damn fine if you asked her. He’d filled out his six-foot-three-inch frame with stacked muscles. An improbable V formed at his waist where slacks hung low on his hips. The term “Adonis” applied to his sculpted physique. The man could be the poster child for any fitness program, except he’d earned every one of those muscles working a ranch instead of on a machine. Thick dark hair cut short with a few curls contrasted with perfectly straight white teeth and clear blue eyes the shade of a spring sky.
Damn.
Archer still caused her heart to batter the inside of her ribcage and her stomach to free fall. What could she say? The man was perfection and probably had a long list of women who could attest to the fact. Or one special lady who’d stuck around, unlike her. Her gaze had almost instantly shifted to his ring finger. Relief she had no right to filled her when there was no sign of a gold band. It didn’t mean he wasn’t married. Not everyone wore a wedding band, she reminded herself.
What mattered most was that he was fine. The picture in the text must have been altered. But why?
To drag you out of hiding and back to Saddle Junction.
She bit back a curse. If that was true, the trick had worked. She’d come to town with the handgun in a bag, tucked at the bottom of her backpack. Fingerprints and a murder weapon were powerful tools for a district attorney. Would her mother be implicated and treated as an accomplice?
This evidence was the only leverage Annalee had to protect her mother. Becca might be many things, but she wasn’t a hardened criminal. In panic mode, her mother had stuffed the gun inside Annalee’s backpack and told her to disappear. And then, Becca had ditched Annalee before she could get any further information about who the current boyfriend was or who he’d killed.
As Annalee slipped through the woods toward the vehicle she’d stashed closer to the farm road, her mistake dawned on her.
Archer might be alive and well, but she didn’t remember seeing his brother—correction, identical twin brother, Owen.
Shit on a stick.
The picture was real. They had the wrong guy.