Chapter Three

Gage craved a cold beer, a hot meal he didn’t have to cook, and one night to himself. The beer was the only thing he could guarantee. His teenage daughter always required his attention, whether she appreciated it or not, and his deputy was bound to call him before the night was through.

He dragged himself up the front steps of his small cottage. All the lights were out. Had Izzi gone to bed already? He was late coming home tonight because Mrs. Steadman over on Pinewood called about some neighborhood boys making a lot of noise. When he arrived, the boys, if there even were any, had long gone. He suspected Mrs. Steadman had only imagined the noises outside. She was lonely since her husband died, and called the department weekly requesting he come by.

In a small town, everyone thought the sheriff was in charge of fixing all their problems. He twisted the unlocked doorknob and stumbled over shoes right inside the door. “Shit.” How many times had he told Izzi to move her sneakers?

He took a second to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark room. Two pairs of shoes? Rustling and whispers scurried to his right. He drew his gun. His heart broke into a canter. Were they being robbed this time? He flipped the light switch. “Freeze.”

The living room was bathed in light. He blinked against the stark brightness or against the vision in front of him.

“Dad,” his daughter yelled. She shoved her arm into her shirt and tugged the hem down her bare stomach.

A tall young man tripped over the coffee table filled with beer cans. Was this guy yanking up his zipper?

His heart went from a canter to a furious gallop. He wanted to break this kid’s neck for putting his hands on his baby girl.

“Isabelle Ryker, what the hell is going on here?” With shaking hands, he shoved his gun back in its holster.

“Nothing.” She pushed her hair away from her face. Her lips were red and swollen. Her chest heaved.

He stifled a groan. There was a hell of a lot more than nothing going on. “Who is this?”

“Dad, this is—”

“Never mind, I don’t give a shit what his name is. Where did you get the beer?” He glanced back to the table. Four beer cans.

Red blotches bloomed on her face. “From the fridge.”

“Our refrigerator?” He must have heard her wrong. She knew the rules. The liquor was his and his alone until she was of age.

“Sir, let me explain—”

“Young man, shut up while you still can.” Had he seen this kid somewhere before? He looked familiar. “Do you two go to school together?”

The boy looked from Izzi to him. “Yeah, we both go to UM.”

“Did you tell him you went to college?” She was going to give him a heart attack.

“Dad, let me explain.”

“Isabelle, yes or no.”

She worked her teeth over her bottom lip. “Yes.” She turned to the kid. “I go to Backwater High.”

The color drained from the boy’s face. “You told me you went to Montana.”

Gage didn’t care if the kid had been snowed by Izzi. That didn’t excuse the heavy petting he’d interrupted in his own damn home.

He couldn’t believe what was playing out in front of him. “Son, she’s fifteen. If you’re any older than that, you’d better get the hell out of my house before I arrest you for statutory rape.”

“Daddy, stop it. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I like him.” She put a hand on the boy’s arm, but the kid moved away.

“You told me you were eighteen. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know. I’d better go.” The kid tried to sidestep the table.

Gage held up a hand and stopped him in his delinquent tracks. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen this summer.”

“Are you drunk? And don’t think about lying to me.” He ground his teeth. He would have to give this kid a ride home and explain to his parents their son and his daughter were engaged in underage drinking. He could arrest them both and maybe should just to prove a point.

“No, sir. I only had one and a half.”

“Get out.” He pointed to the door.

The kid grabbed his shoes and ran out the door.

“You’re grounded forever.” He turned away from her.

“Dad, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? You’re a child. That kid could go to jail for what you were doing. And what the hell are you doing allowing some boy to put his hands all over you? Didn’t I teach you better than that? And the drinking. You’re underage. That’s illegal and against my rules. Why would you take my beer? How did you even meet him?”

“I met him at a party.” She hung her head. Her dark hair fell over her face.

“Whose party?”

“Rebecca’s sister goes to UM. We went with her.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Izzi’s friend Rebecca always rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he had a sense that young lady was trouble, and he didn’t want Izzi hanging with her. He was right.

As Izzi continued to grow up and get closer to the age Ajay was when he died, Gage wanted to protect her more and more. If he’d been paying better attention back then, maybe Ajay would still be alive.

“You went to a college party after I told you not to, and you drank three beers.”

“It was two and a half. I’m sorry.” A tear ran down her cheek.

“Grounded. Three weeks. Go to your room.” His head hurt.

She slunk away from him without another word. A throbbing began behind his eyes. He gathered the cans and tossed them in the recycling bucket under the sink.

He changed out of his uniform, locked up his gun, and popped open the fridge. He grabbed the last Cold Smoke Scotch Ale, cracked the seal, and pressed the cold can to his forehead.

Being a single parent had never been more difficult. He had no idea how to handle his daughter. How his mother raised five boys by herself was beyond him.

He moved around the small kitchen and pulled a can of soup from the cabinet. He dumped it into a pot and lit the burner. Not much of a dinner, but he wasn’t as hungry as he thought he was.

The pain in his head went up four notches when he pictured Calista standing outside Howard’s Hardware. She had come home at his request but was probably mad about her father’s recent arrest. Andy had it coming, though. His drinking was becoming a problem.

Of course, the death glare from Calista’s amber eyes might have had more to do with him than her father. She would never forgive him for what Ajay did. When she looked at him, she saw his little brother, the man who killed her sister. After sixteen years, it might be nice if she tried. He wasn’t holding any grudges. Well, not many.

A knock came from the front door. That kid had better not be back. He turned off the soup.

“Gage, are you home?” His mother walked into his house as if it was hers. In a way, it was.

“In here.” He poured the soup into a bowl.

Karen Ryker stepped into his kitchen wearing the smile she reserved for her children and grandchild and carrying a large white binder in her arms. Her black-rimmed rectangular glasses sat in their expected place on her nose.

“Please tell me you didn’t come over to talk about the barbeque for the Fourth.” After what he saw in his living room, he only wanted to nurse his beer, slurp his soup, and forget he had a teenage daughter who wanted to have sex.

“I need some of your input for the barbeque and the fireworks. Give your mom a hug.”

She waved him over, and he indulged her. He leaned his frame down to her petite one, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I don’t care that you’re a foot taller than I am and a grown man. I still love hugging my boys.”

“We noticed.”

She swatted his arm. “Wiseguy.”

“Why don’t you ask Jett and Lock what they think about the barbeque? They’re the ranchers. Or did you fire them again?” He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table for her and took the seat opposite.

“I have never fired my children from the ranch.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“That was one time. And you all deserved it.” She opened her binder.

“We were kids.” He dumped the spoon in the soup.

She sat back with a distant look in her eyes. “We had some good times back then, didn’t we? You know, before Dad and Ajay were gone. For the briefest of moments, I thought I had it all.” She waved her hands in front of her eyes. “Oh, look at me. I’m sorry. Sometimes this time of year sneaks up on me and steals my breath. Now where were we?”

He gripped her hand and gave a squeeze. She smiled but pulled her hand away and patted his arm.

“Mom—”

She put her hand up. “Gage Michael, I’m fine. Really, but thank you. Is that your dinner?”

“Want some?” He held up the spoon.

“Let me make you something. You and Izzi can’t eat like that.” She stood, but this time he put a hand up.

“Mom, I’m fine. Just like you.”

“Don’t sass your mother.” She gave him a small smile. “Okay, fine. Have your soup.” She pulled a page from her binder. “Now Jett wants to change the menu. I printed out some ideas. What do you think?”

He took the paper from her. She wanted the conversation about the past over, and he would oblige. She was the toughest woman he’d ever met, and she had expected her boys to be just as tough. If she needed something, she would ask. Maybe.

She rattled on about the Fourth of July celebration on the ranch. The town and their guests expected a celebration every Fourth. It didn’t matter their family experienced the worst tragedy on the nation’s birthday. The Ryker Ranch had to perform, but he missed his kid brother. The guilt never loosened its grip on his chest.

“Jett wants everything the same as last year. He won’t budge. I thought you might be able to persuade him to try a few new things. He listens to you,” Mom said.

Jett wasn’t going to listen to anyone. “I’ll talk to him.” His first younger brother was a lot like him in some ways. Jett believed in order and rules that needed to be followed. They had inherited that characteristic from their father and his Kootenai work ethic. Even if Dad was only part Native American, his staunch work philosophy was what killed him.

“Where’s Izzi?” His mother took his soup bowl and washed it.

“She’s in her room. Grounded.” He sipped his beer.

“What could that sweet girl possibly have done? Go easy on her.” Mom might be tough, but her rules could be bent with nothing more than a hug. All her children knew how to play her when one of them wanted something. No one had been better at that than Ajay.

“Please don’t undermine my authority with her. I caught her making out with a boy and drinking beer.”

His mother waved her hand in the air. “Oh my. Well, I’ll leave it to you to figure out.”

She wiped down the counters, straightened the mail, and moved Izzi’s shoes away from the door. “Silver Bell didn’t want to come in from the pasture again today. Jett said to leave her and he’d bring her in when she was ready.”

“Is she sick?” He needed to get over there and spend some time with his horse. He’d been neglecting her because he’d been so busy since Memorial Day weekend.

“She’s old, Gage. You’re going to need to face that.” His mother wiped her hands on a dish towel.

“She’s okay, Mom. Jett would have said if she wasn’t.”

“I’m saying that Silver Bell may be winding down. I want you to be prepared.”

He couldn’t lose her. She had been Ajay’s horse. “I’ll stop by the barn tomorrow.”

“Fair enough. I’m going to head back to the main house.” She hugged him.

“Do you want me to drive you back? It’s late now.” He had picked the farthest guest cottage from the main house to live in when he came home with a toddler and needed his mother’s help to raise her. He wanted to keep some of his dignity, and at least the half mile between his cottage and the main house allowed him a morsel.

“I think I know my way.” She winked.

“I should take you.”

“You worry too much.” She held her binder to her chest with her arms crossed like a shield and adjusted her glasses with one hand.

“It’s my job to worry.” He reached for his keys.

“It’s your job to serve and protect. Everyone else. Good night, my love.” She closed the door without another word.

He dropped onto the leather recliner and grabbed the remote. Usually around ten or eleven, he would take a quick ride through town to make sure everything looked tucked in for the night, but tonight his muscles ached, and his head still throbbed. Maybe his mother was right. He did worry too much.

His eyelids grew heavy. He was ready to surrender to sleep, but the shrill sound of his cell jarred him awake. Without looking at the screen, he answered. “Sheriff Ryker.”

“Sir, we have a report of a two-one-one,” his deputy sheriff said, using the old number codes.

“Is anyone hurt?” The second robbery in as many weeks. A chill ran over his skin. He jumped from the recliner.

“No, sir. The subject was in and out fast.”

He stopped. Not much could be done at this hour if no one had been apprehended. “Take a report of what’s missing. And make note of anything the victims can tell you. And how many times do I have to tell you to use plain language instead of the number codes?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Gage shook his head. His hands were tied when it came to hiring Barry Pearce. No one else had wanted the job, and he couldn’t run the department all by himself. They had Phyllis who answered phones and smart-mouthed anyone who got in her way, but other than her, it was him and Barry.

“Any neighbors hanging around?”

“No, sir. No neighbors nearby.”

A house without neighbors in proximity probably meant the robbery had occurred at one of the farms on the outskirts of town. “Don’t miss anything. I’ll check on them in the morning.” He’d review the report and canvas the area again then.

“But I think you should come out here. The victim is pretty upset.”

“Is it Mr. Logger?” The Logger farm bordered the next town over. Kids usually just pegged his house with dried peas. They made a racket against the old man’s metal siding. He would come running with his gun, and the kids would run into the fields laughing.

“No, sir. The robbery was at the Hartman bed-and-breakfast.”

A cold hand of dread ran down his back. “Has Andy been drinking? Is he out of control?”

“I wish it were that simple. It’s Calista. She won’t stop crying, and she won’t let me call an ambulance. Took my phone and threw it across the room. I think she’s in shock. Probably never been robbed before. Will you come?”

“I’ll be right there.”