Brenda Mott - The Sheriff Of Sage Bend

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This book is dedicated to all the strong women

out there who have risen above whatever obstacles

have come their way. And to the women who are

not so strong, who do the best they can with the

situations life has thrown them. Godspeed.

And with special acknowledgment

and thanks to two of the strongest women

I know: my editor, Victoria Curran,

and my agent, Michelle Grajkowski.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“YOU HAVEN’T BEEN yourself lately, Shannon.” Miranda Ward studied her sister’s drawn expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Shannon feigned grave interest in her reflection as she swept her black hair into a ponytail and tied it with a scrunchie that had seen better days. “Can’t a person want a little time alone without something being wrong?” She turned to face Miranda in the riding stable’s tiny bathroom, nearly colliding with her.

“I know you better than that.” Her sister stepped out of the way. “But if you don’t want to tell me what it is, I guess I can’t make you.”

Shannon brushed past her, moving through their mother’s office and on into the barn. “I’m going riding,” she said. “We’ll talk when I get back, okay?”

“Come on, let me go with you. Chet and Sam can hold the fort until Mom gets back from the feed store.”

“Nope. Thanks anyway.” Shannon waved over her shoulder as she headed for a nearby stall.

Undeterred, Miranda watched while her sister saddled her big bay gelding, Poker. “I was hoping you’d tell me about that phone call you got last night.”

Shannon whirled back to her. “You were listening?” Her gaze darted to where Chet and Sam stood outside, jaw jacking with a couple of tourists who’d just returned from a ride.

Miranda kept her voice low. “No. But I couldn’t help overhear some from Mom’s living room. Did it have to do with the trial?”

Shannon’s eyes widened briefly, and Miranda easily caught the nervousness her younger sister tried to hide. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing, really. Just you—on the phone. Who were you talking to at eleven o’clock?”

“None of your business.”

That might be true—if Shannon wasn’t a key witness in an upcoming rape and murder trial. “All right,” Miranda finally said. “You want to have supper with me tonight?”

“Sure. If you promise not to interrogate me. I’ll get enough of that when we go to court.”

“I thought you said we’d talk later.”

“And we will.” Shannon led Poker down the aisle toward the open double doors at the far end. “See you.”

“Have a good ride.” Miranda watched as Shannon swung into the saddle and set off at a trot.

Poker’s shod hooves clacked along the hard-packed dirt trail that wound through the scrub oak, growing fainter as he and Shannon turned off the main path and disappeared into the trees.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Miranda helped her mother unload the sweet feed from the pickup, glad for the chance to talk to her in private. Chet and Sam had taken a group of eight out on a trail ride minutes ago, heading north across Paige Ward’s sixty-five acres. They’d be gone for at least an hour. Miranda tugged a fifty pound sack of grain toward the edge of the dropped tailgate. “Have you noticed anything wrong with Shannon lately, Mom? I know she’s got a lot on her mind, but she’s awfully withdrawn.”

Paige paused, brushing her black bangs out of her eyes. Her dark Cherokee skin was further browned by the late June sun. People said Miranda looked more like her mother than Shannon did, even if Miranda’s hair was brown and her eyes blue.

“The trial’s got her out of sorts. Can’t say as it hasn’t left me with a few sleepless nights.”

“Me, too. I’ll be glad when it’s over.” Miranda shouldered the bag. “Shannon’s been holding up pretty good through it all, though. Haven’t you noticed it’s only lately she’s been acting weird? She didn’t want me to go riding with her. And she was talking to someone on the phone late last night when I left the house.”

“Is that a crime?” Paige hopped down from the truck and hefted a sack onto her own shoulder.

“No. But it’s not like her.” Miranda followed her into the barn. “And she hasn’t been eating well lately, either.”

Paige leaned the grain on the edge of a bulk-size feed bin. Overhead, swallows scolded from a mud nest in the rafters, then swooped away. “That’s true enough. But you know how it is when you get busy. Sometimes I forget to eat, too.”

“I wish I had that problem.” Miranda pulled the string on the bag of feed, and sweet-smelling, molasses-covered oats, corn and milo poured in a golden arc into the bin. As she discarded the empty sack, she heard hoofbeats outside. “Sounds like Shannon’s back.”

“Well, that was a short ride. Maybe she decided to let you tag along, after all.” Paige headed back to the truck.

“Yeah.” Miranda walked to the rear doors, freezing as she looked out, her heart racing. “Mom! Come quick.”

Poker galloped into the stable yard, riderless, stirrups flapping. Sweat soaked his coat, and his nostrils flared. “Whoa, boy.” Miranda grabbed his dangling reins. One was broken, the leather snapped in two where he’d likely stepped on it. Poker’s ears swiveled back and forth. Trembling, he dipped his head and blew loudly.

“What the hell…?”

“My God,” Paige said from behind her, reaching out to rest her hand on Poker’s neck. “What happened? He’s hotter than a firecracker.”

Miranda’s stomach pitched. “Shannon wouldn’t do that to him on purpose.” She looked at the saddle and caught her breath. “Mom.” She touched the pommel, then looked down at her fingers. Blood.

“Oh, dear Lord.” Paige’s hand went to her chest. “Sam said he heard a cougar out back last night.” There were hundreds of acres of public forest around Paige’s riding stable, handled by the Bureau of Land Management.

Miranda shoved the gelding’s reins at her. “Take him. I’m going to look for Shannon.”

Paige calmed the riled horse. “I’ll lock up and ride out with you.”

“No, stay here. Call the sheriff’s office.” Wishing her roping horse wasn’t several miles away at her own ranch, Miranda saddled Sundae, one of the best wrangler horses her mom owned—a big red dun. Her fingers flew as she threaded the latigo through the cinch and quickly tied it off.

She was shaking from head to toe.

Any rider could get bucked off, no matter how experienced. And accidents happened. The blood didn’t necessarily point to a cougar attack. So what did it mean? Shannon wouldn’t have passed by Sam and Chet and their group, because she’d headed up the east fork of the trail, so riding out to find them would do no good.