Brenda Mott - The Sheriff Of Sage Bend

Where was she?

“Take the pistol,” Paige said. “I’ll get it.” She hurried away, then returned with a holstered .44 and a set of saddlebags.

Miranda flung the bags behind the cantle, then slid the gun inside, queasy at the sight of her sister’s blood on her hand. She grimaced and wiped her palm down the leg of her jeans.

Adrenaline on overload, she rode away at a gallop.

WHEN LUCAS BLAYLOCK HEARD the call come in over his police radio, his first impression was that Miranda Ward had been injured. His heart nearly leaped from his chest.

Miranda. A tough woman who’d never needed anyone. Least of all him.

Not since he’d left her standing at the altar seven years ago.

Flipping on his lights and siren, he turned his Chevy Blazer in a tight U and sped down the county road that led away from Sage Bend to the Rocking W. Shannon and Miranda were as close to each other as sisters could be, and he could imagine how worried Miranda and Paige were. A mountain lion had been reported in the vicinity, stalking cattle. But it wasn’t only four-legged predators Lucas was thinking about.

Six months ago, a young woman—Jo Ella Jamison—had disappeared from the parking lot of the local honky-tonk. Her body had been found days later in the next county, stuffed in a culvert. Stripped. Raped.

And Shannon Ward was a key witness to the events preceding Jo Ella’s murder.

Lucas pressed harder on the accelerator, and the high-powered engine responded, sending a plume of dust and gravel in the Chevy’s wake.

Paige Ward met him in the driveway outside the barn, near where a bay gelding stood tied to a hitching post—soaked with sweat. Paige’s lined face was pinched, and she gave him a look that was half worry, half resentment. She appeared a great deal older than forty-eight. But then she’d had a hard life. Paige had been running the Rocking W since her girls were toddlers. Since their father skipped out on them.

Yet another worthless excuse of a man.

Of course, he shouldn’t talk.

“Sheriff,” Paige said. “Thanks for coming so quickly.” But her hard gaze let him know she didn’t like him any better now than she had seven years ago.

“What happened?” He pulled out his notepad and scratched the details in a shorthand only he could decipher as she explained.

His top deputy, Garrett Rutledge, pulled in and parked behind the Blazer.

Paige gestured toward the bay. “I didn’t want to unsaddle him until you’d had a look.”

Lucas ran his hand over the horse’s neck, noting the blood on the pommel. “You’d better cool him down. But see if you can pull that saddle off without disturbing things too much. Set it over there.” He motioned.

She bristled. “I’m not stupid, Sheriff.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve already got a horse saddled and waiting for you in the barn. Figured you’d want to have a look for Shannon yourself.” Her tone let him know she’d saddle a horse for Satan himself if he could bring her daughter back safely. “Miranda said she rode up the east trail.”

Lucas nodded. “Thanks.” Tucking the notebook in the pocket of his Western shirt, he tugged the brim of his silver Stetson down over his eyes. Mostly to keep it from blowing off when he rode, but also to hide his own concern from Paige. Five years as the sheriff of Sage Bend had hardened him to violence, but murder was rare in his town. Hell, only 875 people lived here. Besides, he had a soft spot for Miranda and her little sister.

Always had. Always would.

He spoke to Garrett, who agreed to stay with Paige, then they headed for the barn. Inside, he gathered the reins of the gray Paige had readied, led the horse out and mounted.

“Sheriff.”

He looked down at her, tightening his grip as the gelding shifted beneath him.

Paige shielded her eyes from the midmorning sun. “Please find her.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me, Lucas Blaylock. I’m not that damned old.”

His lips twitched. “Only if you stop calling me ‘Sheriff.’ It’s Lucas to you, Paige. Ma’am.” He put his heels to the gray and took off up the trail.

He caught up with Miranda sooner than he’d expected. Somehow, he’d pictured her—a tough, bronc-breaking cowgirl—riding her horse hell-for-leather to her sister’s rescue. Instead, she was scanning the ground as her horse walked. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Lucas.” She spoke his name with a kind of formality. Not as she’d once said it, when he’d held her and made love to her. “I thought you’d send your deputies out here.”

“You know me better than that.” He scowled. “Tell me what happened.”

“Didn’t Mom talk to you?”

“Yeah. But I wanna hear it from you.”

“Why? Don’t waste my time, Lucas. My sister’s hurt.” She continued studying the ground.

“How can you see anything with all those tracks? Speaking of which, where are Sam and Chet?”

“On a group ride. They went up the north fork.” She gestured. “Shannon rode off in this direction. We don’t normally take our guests this way, since it’s a fairly rough ride.”

The smattering of tracks showed that more than one horse had passed by here time and again. But on closer inspection, Lucas realized only one set looked fresh. He assumed they belonged to the horse they were tracking.

Miranda pointed. “You can see where her horse came back—over there. He’d veered off the trail for a ways. See? Then he ran back onto it.”

He held on to his patience. “Logically, that means Shannon is down the trail someplace. We’re wasting time.”

Miranda’s face turned red. “Listen, Blaylock. No one wants to find my sister faster than I do. But if we go barreling down the trail and wipe out Poker’s tracks, how are we going to find where Shannon fell? She doesn’t always stick to the bridle path.”

He hated to admit she was right. Hated to admit that she could still rattle him. “We can ride off to one side, then. If we don’t find her in a reasonable distance, we backtrack.”

“Fine.” She cued her gelding into a lope.

“Miranda.”

She shot a sideways look at him.

“Sorry.”

Her blue eyes burned into his. “Just help me find my sister.”

Minutes later, they located where Poker’s tracks veered off into a meadow. A trail of trampled grass clearly showed where he’d traveled, and from the looks of things, he’d been running hard. He’d come back in the same manner, his beaten-down path through the knee-deep grass crisscrossing his original route.

Without hesitation, Miranda loped to the far side of the meadow, then pulled up to study the ground again.

“She stopped here,” she said when Lucas caught up with her. “Shannon! Where are you?” The mountains echoed her words, and a pair of blackbirds flew up from a nearby pine, squawking in protest. Scattered rock and boulders, pale gray, brown and white, dotted the landscape.

Miranda leaped from the saddle. Jaw clenched, she examined the surface of one of the rocks, some five feet in diameter. Lucas could see the blood from where he sat. “She was right here,” Miranda said, swallowing visibly. “So where is she now?”

He sat his horse, studying the surrounding mountains. “Her horse have any claw marks on it that I missed?”

“Not that I saw—but there was blood on the saddle.”

A cougar could have knocked Shannon from the back of her horse. But it seemed Poker would be clawed if that were the case. And if a mountain lion had dragged her off, there would be signs of that. His stomach churned at the thought.

He reached for the radio clipped to his belt, but all he got was static. “Damn battery’s weak.” He looked down at Miranda. “Come on. We’ll ride back to meet Garrett. Organize a search party.”