Redemption. B.J. DanielsЧитать онлайн книгу.
of the café. He recognized all of them, including Hitch McCray. “Water under the bridge.”
Carson laughed. “If I didn’t know you so well, I might believe it. I just don’t want to see you end up back in prison.”
“That makes two of us.” Jack smiled as he leaned back in the booth and stretched out his long legs. “So how are you doing?”
“Gamblers Anonymous meetings in Big Timber once a week. Working the ranch the rest of the time.”
Jack nodded. He knew Carson had been through hell the past twelve years. First, the woman he’d loved had been murdered. Everyone in the county thought he’d killed Ginny West. To keep from losing his son to vigilante justice, Carson’s father, W.T., had sent him away for eleven years. Carson had ended up in Vegas, of all places, and gotten into trouble gambling.
Just recently he’d been cleared of the murder. But Jack knew that Carson was still paying off gambling debts and dealing with his father’s death. It didn’t matter that he’d never gotten along with W.T. Blood was always thicker than water, even when you wished it wasn’t, Jack thought, with his own regrets.
“So you’re sticking around?” he asked. Carson had sworn that the last thing on earth he was going to be was a rancher, and yet Jack knew for a fact that his friend was now wrangling on the family’s W Bar G ranch with his sister, Destry.
“For now,” Carson said. “Have you made any plans?”
Jack shook his head. He’d purposely not let himself think about the future, or the past, for that matter. Especially about how he’d ended up in prison. Or who might have put him there. Or maybe more to the point, what he intended to do about it.
“Interested in a job?” Carson asked.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Wrangling on the W Bar G.”
“Destry offered me a job when she heard I was getting out, but I thought she was just being nice.”
Carson laughed. “When it comes to the ranch, my sister doesn’t offer anyone a job just to be nice. If you’re serious about sticking around and staying out of trouble, I know she’d be happy to hire you on. Or maybe you’re planning to start ranching your folks’ place.”
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to tell you the truth.”
“Well, we’re going to be working the roundup the next few days and sure could use your help with branding if you’re going to be around.”
Jack considered Carson and Destry’s generous offer, then studied his worn but lucky cowboy boots for a moment. Was he staying? He knew it could mean trouble if he did and yet... He watched Kate LaFond walk past their table again.
“Thanks for the offer. I’ll give it some thought.”
“You do that.” Carson seemed to hesitate as if afraid to broach the subject. “Have you seen Chantell yet?”
Ah, Chantell Hyett. Jack knew it was just a matter of time before he crossed paths with his former girlfriend. “The only letter she sent me in prison made it clear she wouldn’t be waiting around for me.”
“You don’t sound all that broke up over it.”
He laughed. Chantell’s father was the judge who’d sent him up—and the only one who’d taken their relationship seriously. Maybe too seriously. Two years at Deer Lodge was a stiff sentence for rustling one bull that was returned unharmed within twenty-four hours after it had gone missing. Jack recalled the self-satisfied gleam in Judge Hyett’s eyes the morning he’d sentenced him. Jack had felt lucky he’d gotten only two years.
As the large table of ranchers paid and began to leave, Jack saw Hitch McCray headed for their table and swore under his breath.
“Jack French,” Hitch said, smiling around a toothpick stuck in the side of his mouth. The rancher was on the south end of his thirties. He ranched with his mother on land just down the road from the French place. Ruth McCray ran her son and her ranch with an iron fist. When Hitch could escape her, he sneaked away to chase women and drink, both to excess.
But none of those were the reasons Jack couldn’t stand the sight of the man.
“Hitch McCray,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
Jack had heard all the stories, even while in prison, including Hitch’s driving-while-intoxicated arrests. Not that he could blame the man for drinking. If Ruth McCray had been his mother, he would have tried to stay drunk, too.
Word around town was that Ruth was on the warpath over Hitch’s brushes with the law, as well as his drinking and his taste in women. Hitch chased after any woman he saw. But if he ever caught one, his mother wasn’t about to let him keep her. Ruth had never approved of any woman her son had brought home—and, no doubt, never would.
“So you’re back?” Hitch said, sounding surprised.
“This is where I was born and raised. Why wouldn’t I come back here?” Jack asked.
Hitch shrugged, his gaze sliding across the table to Carson. “Well, if you decide you want to sell your family’s place...I know it’s not much, but I might be interested.” He looked at Jack again. “You let me know. You two have a nice day,” he said, and laughed as if he’d said something funny.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Carson said as Hitch left. “You don’t know for sure that he had anything to do with you going to prison or what happened to your old man.”
Jack nodded. No, he didn’t know. Not yet, anyway.
Bethany brought out their breakfasts. They ate, talking little. Jack found himself watching the woman he’d met last night in the alley. Kate LaFond. At least that was the name she was going by now, apparently.
It wasn’t until he and Carson had finished their breakfasts and left that Jack could no longer help himself. He had to ask more about the new owner of the Branding Iron.
“I’ve been trying to place her since W.T.’s funeral,” Carson said. “I know I met her somewhere in the eleven years when I was away from Montana. But I’d swear her name wasn’t Kate LaFond.”
“You can’t remember where?”
“No, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?” Jack suggested. When Carson said nothing, Jack eyed him more closely. “You think she was in some kind of trouble back then?”
“Or now. Why else change your name?”
Good question, Jack thought. “Maybe you have her confused with someone else.” Hadn’t he heard her say something like, “You have the wrong woman,” to the man in the alley last night? “She could just have one of those faces.”
Carson laughed. “Yeah, right.” Kate LaFond had the face of an angel. “But I suppose it’s possible,” he added doubtfully.
“Is that the rig she drives?” he asked as they walked past a newer model red pickup.
“Yeah,” Carson said and frowned. “Jack?”
“What?”
“I know that look. Don’t get involved with this woman.”
Jack nodded. Clearly the woman had secrets and some questionable acquaintances, considering the man she’d been arguing with last night. But right now he was more curious about what he’d seen in the bed of her pickup. A shovel covered in fresh dirt. Kate LaFond had been doing some digging—but not in the flower beds at the front of the café, which she’d let go to weeds.
“Where does she say she’s from?” he asked Carson.
“She doesn’t. No one seems to know anything about her. She just showed up after Claude Durham died and took over the café. Not even