Brenda Mott - The Sheriff Of Sage Bend

Miranda had expected the press, but she’d never thought they’d come en masse. News trucks and cars from every television and radio station within a hundred-mile radius lined the ranch’s driveway. Thankfully, Lucas and his deputies somehow got them all to leave.

“Chet,” Paige said, “Go down and close the gate, will you please?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The lanky cowboy turned his horse and trotted off.

A camera flash went off in Miranda’s face just as she swung down from the saddle. She managed to get her foot out of the stirrup before stumbling into Lucas.

Where in thunder had it come from?

“I thought you were told to leave,” the sheriff growled. He took a menacing step toward the reporter, his horse’s reins clutched in one hand, the other fisted at his side. “Get the hell away from that tree and out of here, or so help me God I’ll throw you in jail for trespassing!”

Miranda barely heard him. Spots from the camera’s flash danced across her vision. It took a half minute to realize that wasn’t the cause of her nauseating dizziness. It was the memory of another camera. Another newspaper reporter.

Smile now, lovebirds. That’s it. Look like you’re already on your honeymoon. Perfect…

The woman who wrote the local wedding and engagement column for the Sage Bend News had had Miranda and Lucas pose for several shots to make sure she had a good one. The photo appeared the following day on page three, Lucas looking sexy in his white hat and Western suit as he smiled for the camera; Miranda, clearly happy, in a melon-colored dress Shannon had helped her pick out. She’d felt like the luckiest woman on earth as she’d leaned into Lucas, his arm wrapped protectively—lovingly—around her waist, her hand on his as though she’d never let go….

Miranda took a deep breath, and her queasiness gradually faded. At the sound of tires crunching over gravel, she looked down the driveway to see an old, beat-up pickup truck heading their way.

“Lucas, isn’t that your sister-in-law?” Paige asked.

“Yep.” Lucas stood waiting beside Miranda as Dena Blaylock got out of her truck, a large box cradled in her arms.

Lucas passed his reins to Miranda and moved to help as Dena extended her offering. The sleeve of the other woman’s shirt rode up an inch or so, and Miranda saw a greenish-yellow, days-old bruise on her wrist.

“Hi, Miranda,” Dena said, tugging at her sleeve. “Chet let me through the gate, Paige. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I heard about Shannon, and I wanted to help search, but my gelding’s lame.” She indicated what she’d brought. “I thought y’all could use some comfort food to tide you over for a couple of days, so you won’t have to worry about cooking.”

“That was thoughtful,” Paige said, taking it from Lucas. “Thank you, Dena.”

“There’s a couple of casseroles, and I made some stew…and some beans and ham hock in freezer bags. You can just thaw and heat them whenever you need to.”

“What did you do to your arm, Dena?” Miranda asked, even though it was none of her business. She already knew the answer anyway. But with Shannon missing—possibly the victim of violence—her tolerance was flat zero.

Dena lowered her gaze and tugged at her sleeve again. “I sprained it. Fell off a haystack unloading some bales into the loft.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been clumsy.”

“Especially since you married my brother,” Lucas said, clenching his jaw.

Dena and Clint had been married for a while…five years? Miranda thought that was about right. According to gossip, Clint had started roughing Dena up not long after their honeymoon, and had since progressed to knocking the crap out of her whenever he felt like it, which was most of the time. They had two kids, and a reputation for fighting like a couple of bobcats in a burlap bag.

Miranda was surprised they hadn’t killed one another by now. She felt sorry for their children.

Dena faced her. “I just wanted to come out and tell you how sorry I am to hear about your sister.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said, wishing Dena would take her kids and go to a battered women’s shelter.

Lucas’s steely expression let Miranda know Dena wasn’t fooling him, either. “Tell Clint I’ll stop by and say howdy as soon as I brush my horse down.”

Dena went white. “There’s no need, Lucas. You’ve got your hands full here.”

He merely grunted—a familiar sound Miranda knew meant the subject was closed. Without further argument, Dena turned and left.

“I’ll brush Cimarron.” Miranda gave him a meaningful look. “You go ahead, Lucas.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back shortly. Paige, try not to worry. We’ll find Shannon.”

Paige merely nodded.

Lucas addressed the volunteers as they gathered around, telling them about finding Shannon’s hair tie. “There’s other ways to get to that lake and the area around it,” he said. “We’ll all meet back here at one-thirty—divide into groups. We’ll decide which areas we should search next. We might have a dead end for now, but it’s possible we can still pick up a lead.”

“I’ll be happy to come back,” Kyle offered. “Maybe Blackhawk can find something yet.”

Miranda thanked him, then watched Lucas climb into his Blazer and drive away, the empty horse trailer rattling behind him. Several other people left as well, promising to rejoin the search later.

“Me and Chet can brush those horses down for you, Miranda,” Sam said, his bright blue eyes sympathetic. “Yours, too, Miss Paige. Why don’t you go inside and put your feet up for a spell.” Miranda appreciated the older cowboy trying to comfort her. “Thanks anyway, Sam, but I could use something to keep me busy.”

“You can take Snap,” Paige said, handing the mare over. “I need to get this food put away and go help with lunch.” One of the neighboring ranchers had offered to feed the volunteers a hearty meal.

“I’m going to see Tori after I finish with the horses,” Miranda told her, “but I won’t be gone long.” Tori’s shift at the Silver Spur had kept her from being at the ranch today.

Paige nodded, then headed for the back door. Miranda led Ranger and Cimarron toward the barn. She cross-tied each horse in the aisle, looking over at Poker’s stall. A lump swelled in her throat. The big bay gelding had settled down, and now stood contentedly munching hay from his feeder, oblivious to the fate of his owner.

“I sure wish you could talk,” she murmured.

As she unsaddled and brushed Ranger, Miranda’s thoughts drifted from Shannon to Lucas. She’d like to be a fly on the wall when he confronted Clint, the sorry SOB. She couldn’t understand why Dena put up with the abuse he dished out.

But most of all, Miranda had never come to terms with the fact that Lucas thought he was no better than his brother or his father, which was why he’d decided not to marry her, after all.

Apples and oranges.

But nothing Miranda had said could convince him otherwise.

LUCAS DROVE FASTER THAN he should have on his way to Clint’s place, especially since he hadn’t taken the time to unhitch his trailer. He knew his efforts were futile, but some small part of him still hoped he could shake his brother up enough to get him to back off from abusing Dena. Lucas constantly worried for her safety. And right now, he wasn’t exactly in a happy frame of mind.

He hadn’t wanted to upset Miranda any more than she already was. But when she’d brought up the possibility of a copycat killer, one thing had come to mind: Lonnie Masterson himself very well could be behind Shannon’s abduction. It was possible he had friends on the outside more than willing to help him make the only witness for his prosecution disappear.