Blood.
MCCALL DIDN’T WANT her grandmother or her mother finding out about Trace before she could tell them herself.
She’d crawled out on a limb when she’d withheld evidence from the sheriff. Now she was about to saw that limb off. But in her heart, she knew what she had to do. She knew the sheriff would wait until he had another DNA sample and report before he’d go to either Ruby or Pepper about the bones found on the ridge.
It wouldn’t be enough that McCall’s DNA had matched because her parentage was considered questionable. Just as it probably wouldn’t be enough proof for her grandmother.
As she drove toward the Winchester Ranch for the second time within days, McCall didn’t let that bother her. She owed her father this, she told herself as the green landscape rolled past.
The sky was clear, the day warm for this time of year in this part of Montana. She loved spring. It had been a long, cold winter, but this was her home, country she loved, land that she knew.
She put down her window, letting the fresh air blow in and told herself her grandmother would see her. Enid wouldn’t be able to stop her.
The nice thing about the Winchester Ranch being so far from civilization was that even if her grandmother called the sheriff, by the time he got to the ranch McCall would be gone. Of course, if Grant was determined to arrest her, he would know where to find her.
She smiled, realizing she might be more like her father than she wanted to admit.
As she turned into the ranch yard, she saw a curtain move on the second floor and the old dog came out barking and growling. Well, they know I’m here, anyway.
She got out of the pickup, no longer fearful of the dog. Her grandmother really should get a meaner, younger dog if she was serious about keeping people away.
She didn’t even get to knock before the door was flung open. Enid, looking like an ugly old bulldog, stood blocking the doorway, her lip curled in a snarl.
“Mrs. Winchester—”
“Will see me,” McCall said cutting her off. “Tell her I have news about Trace.” It surprised McCall how angry she was. Her mother said she’d inherited her father’s temper, and he had apparently inherited it from his mother—if the fury McCall saw in her grandmother’s face was any indication when she appeared.
“You were warned not to—”
McCall waved the copy of Trace’s hunting license she’d brought her grandmother. “Do you want to know what happened to your son or not?”
Pepper Winchester stopped in midsentence. Enid offered to call the sheriff and was headed for the phone when Pepper stopped her. “Leave us alone.”
Enid looked as if she were going to argue. Instead, she left in a huff, clearly furious at being sent away like hired help. McCall had to wonder again about the woman’s relationship with her grandmother.
“If this is some kind of ruse to—”
“The sheriff hasn’t called you?”
Pepper’s hand went to her throat. “Why would Sheriff Sheridan—”
“My father never left town.” She glanced past her grandmother and saw Enid lurking down the hallway, eavesdropping. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
Pepper had gone very pale. McCall had the feeling that her grandmother had been expecting this visit from her, had known after McCall’s last one that something other than curiosity had brought her here.
This time her grandmother led her into a small office. It appeared it hadn’t been used in years, like most of the rest of the massive lodge.
Pepper closed the door but continued standing. “What is this about my son not leaving town?”
“A man named Rocky Harrison found some bones,” McCall said, talking quickly, knowing any minute her grandmother could send her packing. “The bones had been washed from a shallow grave on a ridge.” She stepped to the window and pushed back the curtain. “That ridge.”
Her grandmother moved to stand by her, staring out at the ridge in the distance.
“This is a copy of what I found where those bones had been buried.” McCall handed her the copies of the hunting license and the antelope tag. “The license and tag were protected because they were still in the plastic folder he carried them in.”
Pepper’s hands trembled as she took the pages and looked at the printing on them. She seemed to sway, but when McCall reached toward her, she quickly straightened.
“The bones can’t be my son’s,” her grandmother said, her voice breaking. “You’ve made this up as an excuse to—”
“I had a DNA test run on the bones.”
Pepper’s gaze narrowed. “Comparing them to whose DNA?”
“Mine. The remains in that grave were my father’s and assuming you’re through denying I’m Trace Winchester’s daughter...”
Her grandmother stared at her for a long moment before she moved like a sleepwalker over to one of the leather chairs and sat down heavily. She motioned impatiently for McCall to sit, as well.
“Why hasn’t the sheriff called me about this?”
“He will be calling you to request a sample of your DNA to run a comparison test,” McCall said.
“These bones—”
“Were buried in a shallow grave on the ridge. The rainstorm the other night washed them down into a gully. The hunting license was buried in the mud in the grave.”
Her grandmother’s hand holding the copy of the license began to tremble again. She quickly stilled it. “You’re telling me that someone killed my son.”
McCall nodded. “Twenty-seven years ago.”
“Who?”
McCall shook her head. “It will be next to impossible to find his killer after all this time.”
Her grandmother bristled at that. “I’m sure the sheriff—”
“Grant Sheridan will turn the case over to the state crime lab but with a case this cold...”
Pepper recoiled with a shudder. “If you’re saying I’ll never know who killed my son... Trace will get justice if it takes my last dying breath.”
She’d hoped that would be her grandmother’s attitude. “Then help me find his killer.”
“You?” Pepper scoffed at that. “You’re
