What? Slumped down in the seat? The answer came in a rush. Josey had changed her appearance. He wasn’t sure how or when, but that had to be the explanation.
“Did you see which way they went when he drove out of town?”
“South.”
“South?” Why would the driver go back the way he’d come? “On Highway 191 toward the river?”
“No, they took the Sun Prairie road. I was thinking I wouldn’t take a car like that down that road.”
RJ could only be thankful the cowboy hadn’t been driving some nondescript sedan or this clerk would have never noticed him. “What’s down that road besides Sun Prairie?”
The clerk laughed. “Well, there are some ranches, Fort Peck Reservoir, but they didn’t look dressed for fishing. Mostly there’s just a whole lot of open country.”
RJ rubbed his temples. His head felt like it might explode. “So there is no way of knowing where he was going.”
“Well, there wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t asked me for directions when we were both getting gas in our rigs.”
This clerk was on RJ’s last nerve, plucking it like an out-of-tune guitar string. If this discussion had been in person, that jackass would be breathing his last breath shortly. “Directions?”
“To the Winchester Ranch. Didn’t I mention that?”
Chapter Eight
Josey woke a little after one in the morning to find Jack’s chair empty.
She sat up, listening. A breeze stirred the limbs of the large cottonwood tree outside the window. Shadows played on the bedroom floor, the curtains billowing in and out like breath.
Where was Jack? She slipped out of bed and went to the window. For a moment, she didn’t see him. But just as he had the night before, he moved stealthily along the edge of darkness, staying to the deep shadows. He was headed like before toward the closed wing of the lodge.
She frowned and realized it was time she found out what her “husband” was up to. She feared that, whatever it was, if his grandmother found out it would get them kicked off the ranch. She wasn’t about to admit that she was worried about Jack.
Grabbing the robe Jack had bought her, she shrugged into it, failing to talk herself out of what she was about to do.
At her door, she listened. No sound. Opening it, she crept out, carrying her cowboy boots. At the top of the stairs, she stopped. A dim light shone downstairs. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen.
Josey listened but hearing no sound tiptoed down the stairs to the front door. Easing it open, she stepped out, closing it behind her.
She hesitated on the front step to pull on her boots. Then she followed the same path Jack had taken, keeping to the shadows until she reached the far wing of the lodge.
It was an odd wing, she noticed. It had been built back into the side of a hill and appeared to be much older than the original structure. The doors and windows had been boarded up, but someone—Jack?—had removed the boards from the doorway.
The breeze picked up, the door blowing open a little wider as she stepped into the darkness of the boarded-up wing. The air was much colder in here and smelled musky, as if the wing had been closed up for some time.
Josey waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She didn’t move, hardly breathed as she listened. The only light bled in from the doorway. She’d left the door open, thinking it might be the only way she could find her way back.
At first she heard nothing but the sound of the breeze in the trees outside. Then her ears picked up a fainter sound coming from inside, a scratching noise that could have been mice. Or something larger.
She hesitated. Was it that important she find out what Jack was up to?
The answer was yes, she realized. She moved toward the noise, feeling her way along the dark hallway until she saw the shaft of light coming from under one of the doors.
Mice didn’t carry flashlights, she told herself. She moved cautiously forward, stopping in front of the door. She listened to the scratching sound for a moment before she tried the cold knob.
It turned in her hand.
She took a breath. Was she sure she really wanted to know Jack’s secrets? She eased the door open a few inches.
In the glow of his flashlight resting on one of the shelves, Josey saw Jack standing in front of a rock wall. Jack had a crowbar in his hand and was scraping mortar from between the stones.
The room appeared to be a root cellar with rows of shelves. There were dozens of old jars covered with dust, their contents blackened with age.
Jack worked feverishly, as if desperate to see what was on the other side of that wall.
Josey only had a moment to wonder about what she was seeing when a door slammed down the hall.
JACK FROZE, all his instincts on alert. Heavy footfalls echoed down the hall. The hall light flashed on. He swore under his breath and grabbed the flashlight, snapping it off as he turned to look toward the door.
The door was open. A figure was framed there. His heart caught in his throat. He knew that particular figure anywhere. Josey, dressed in only a robe and cowboy boots.
He started to take a step toward her, but she motioned him back as the heavy footfalls grew louder. Jack sank back into the dark shadows of the room, but there was no escape. He was caught. And so was Josey.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” boomed Alfred Hoagland’s easily recognizable, raspy old voice. Through the doorway, Jack saw Alfred grab Josey by the arm.
Without a thought, he stepped toward the door, going to her rescue.
A giggle, high and sweet like a child’s stopped him cold. What the hell? It took Jack a moment to realize it had come
