“My mother?” McCall couldn’t help the surprise in her voice. Red Harper was one of the only men her mother’s age who hadn’t dated her after Trace had allegedly left town.
McCall had always wondered why.
“Your mother didn’t tell you I asked her out?”
She shook her head. That too was strange. McCall had lived her mother’s ups and downs with men and was always the first to hear when a new man came into Ruby’s life—or left it.
“Sorry, but no. Ruby can take care of herself.” If only that were true. McCall had seen her mother go through so many relationships that were obviously doomed from the beginning that she didn’t try to warn her off certain men anymore.
McCall, though, couldn’t help but wonder why Red had decided to ask her mother out now.
Their beers arrived. When the bartender left again, McCall picked up the frosty glass and took a sip of the icy cold beer.
Red seemed to relax a little. “So what’s this about?”
“I just wanted to ask you about my dad. You probably knew him better than anyone.”
He nodded and picked up his drink. “There was no one like Trace.”
“Is it true he was as wild as people say?”
Red smiled, flushing a little. He was a handsome man with a full head of reddish-blond hair still free of gray, blue eyes and a great smile. McCall had always liked him.
“There’s some truth to the stories.” Red chuckled ruefully. “He was a good guy, though. He just liked to do what he wanted. He and I were a lot alike that way.”
She took another drink of her beer and waited for Red to continue.
“He liked to fish and hunt and drink and chase women.” Red seemed to realize what he’d said and quickly added, “Well, until your mother.”
McCall had caught his slip-up. Why hadn’t she thought that there might have been another woman in her father’s life?
Ruby had been pregnant with McCall, wildly hormonal, according to her, and jealous as hell, if her other relationships were any indication.
Her mother’s life was straight out of a country-and-western song. If there had been another woman in Trace Winchester’s life, McCall shuddered to think how far her mother might have gone to make sure no woman took her man.
Red finished his beer in a hurry, realizing he’d messed up. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment and really need to get going.”
“Why haven’t you asked my mother out before now?”
He looked startled by the question.
“Trace has been gone for twenty-seven years,” she said.
Red smiled ruefully. “Gone, but not forgotten.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t compete, not with her expecting him to come back at any moment.”
McCall realized that Red had been competing with a ghost, even if he hadn’t known Trace was dead.
“You’d be good for Ruby,” she said.
He smiled at that. “Another strike against me. But thanks for saying so.”
AS MCCALL CAME out of the bar, blinking at the bright sunlight, she found Luke Crawford leaning against his pickup, obviously waiting for her.
“McCall,” he said with a tip of his hat.
She realized at once that he’d gotten wind of her digging into Trace’s old arrests for poaching and other hunting violations.
Not that she wasn’t surprised to see him.
Was it always going to be like this? Her heart taking off just at the sight of him? Looking for him every time she came into town, afraid he would just appear as he had now and catch her off guard?
He’d been gone for the past ten years—since they’d both graduated from high school. The ten years apart hadn’t changed how she felt. All the hurt, humiliation and heartbreak were still there at just the sight of him.
“Been waitin’ long?” she asked.
“Kind of early to be drinking,” Luke joked.
She knew she must smell like the bar, a combination of old cigarette smoke and stale beer. Even with Montana bars going nonsmoking it would take years for the odor to go away inside some establishments.
“You haven’t been waiting out here because you’re worried about my drinking habits,” she said, realizing someone in the state Fish and Game Department had to have tipped him off.
“This is awkward,” he said. “I heard that you’re looking into a few old poaching cases involving your father.”
She bristled. While all law enforcement in this part of Montana helped each other when there was trouble, this was none of his business. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“If you’re targeting my uncle for some reason it is.”
Well, it was finally out in the open.
“Why? Do you think he has something to hide?”
Luke shook his head as if disgusted. She saw his jaw muscle tighten and realized he was trying to control his temper.
“Look,” he said finally, “the trouble with our families was a long time ago—”
“My father disappeared twenty-seven years ago—the day after your uncle ticketed him.”
Luke blinked. “You’re blaming Buzz for your father skipping town? Buzz was just doing his job.”
“Was he? I think Buzz Crawford’s reputation speaks for itself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She sighed. “Come on, Luke. You wouldn’t have been out here waiting for me if you weren’t worried that your uncle is guilty of something. You know Buzz. That’s why you’re concerned. That’s why my checking on some of his old arrests has you waiting outside a bar for me.”
“Buzz took his job seriously. There is nothing wrong with that.”
She met his gaze. His eyes were a warm deep brown, his thick hair dark, much like her own. Like her, he had some Native American ancestry in his blood.
McCall remembered one time when a substitute grade school teacher had broken up a fight between Luke and another boy.
“All right, you little Apache, knock it off,” the teacher had said, grabbing Luke by the scruff of his neck.
“I’m Chippewa,” he’d said indignantly as she returned him to his seat.
McCall had remembered the pride in his voice and felt guilty because she had never taken pride in her own ancestry. But how could
