Chapter Four
Cree Elson felt the rage building in his chest. It always happened when Cory, the manager of the Red Pickup Saloon, yelled at him.
“Get those goddamned dishes washed! My waitresses are out of beer glasses out front! Get on it!”
He worked at the rear of the saloon, enclosed, no windows, hot, humid, and he was sweating like a pig. He hated the manager, who was the son of the owner, Ed Blackwood. He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm, dishes clashing and clanging as he pushed hard to get them all into the huge aluminum dishwasher. Fuck them all! He hated smug Cory, who was all of twenty-two, a snot-nosed brat who called on Dad if things didn’t go his way. Cree’s red hair clung to his brow as he grabbed a plastic crate that held a lot of dirty beer glasses. They were next into the washer.
He hated this menial work. His mother was always railing against him to quit this crappy job and get something else. But who else would hire an ex-con? Not many, as he’d found out after getting out of prison. From the age of eighteen through twenty-eight, he’d been incarcerated. Another kind of hate, deeper and more malevolent, rose in him. As he slapped the beer glasses into another section of the dishwasher, not caring if he broke them or not, he pictured Tara Dalton’s face in his mind. He’d been eighteen when he’d tricked her into coming into a back room of the gym. From there, he’d grabbed her and dragged her outside to his beat-up old Ford pickup. He’d made a clean escape, heading for the Salt River Mountains, where he’d dreamed of building her a cabin and living with her.
Unfortunately, the sheriff had caught up with him within a day of trying to hide in the mountains. Tara was a fighter and wouldn’t stop trying to escape, which flustered the hell out of him. Yes, he’d hit her in the face and split her lip. Yes, he’d broken her nose. The sheriff of Lincoln County at that time, David Carter, had tracked them down because there had been a late May snowfall and he’d been easy to find.
When he’d caught up to him, the judge of the county, Tara’s father, Scott Dalton, had to recuse himself from the case. Cree had celebrated that, but the other judge, Jeb Parish, a white-haired crotchety old bastard, had handed him a ten-year prison sentence for abducting Tara.
Scowling, he slammed the door on the machine, jabbing a button to get everything washed and cleaned.
“Get out here!” Cory yelled from the open door. “Bus the tables, dammit! You’re lazy, Elson. Flat-out lazy! I got customers waiting for clean tables. You’re costing me money!”
Cursing beneath his breath, Cree grabbed a huge green plastic tray and marched angrily toward the door, pinning Cory with a look he hoped would kill the little bastard on the spot.
But it didn’t.
Breathing hard, Cree knew if he retaliated, he’d get fired. What was worse? Working at a lawful job or selling drugs secretly on the side? It sure as hell netted him a lot more money than being yelled at by this mangy coyote of an asshole kid.
At thirty years old, Cree felt a decade older than his age. Tonight, he’d meet up with some of his customers, pass drugs for money, then go back to the boardinghouse at the end of town. There, he shared the bottom floor with three other men around his age. Two of them were ex-cons, like him. The other, Billy Pike, just hadn’t been caught yet breaking the law. Cree could sell enough drugs to pay his rent and have some money left over to give to his mother. The dishwashing job gave him legitimate cover.
He brushed past Cory, storming down the white-tiled hall. Out front there was blaring cowboy music, lots of laughter, hooting and hollering from the tourist patrons who were here to experience the so-called Wild West. The Red Pickup Saloon was known as the place where the action was. Cory paid some actors who pretended to be tourists to start a bar fight at least once a day, usually at happy hour, around four p.m. People would lift their cell phones, videotaping the exciting event. It was entertainment.
What wasn’t funny was that the Teton sheriff’s department knew what was going on at the saloon and frequently dropped by to keep things quiet.
It was late afternoon when Cree pushed through the swinging, bar-style wooden doors and toward the forty round wooden tables on one side of the saloon. It was filled with patrons. The mahogany, 1920s bar, which was the talk of the town, had leather saddles instead of stools, surrounding its U-shape. That was always a busy area, and one he didn’t have to be concerned about. About fifteen tables needed to be cleared, so he got to work.
As he did, his red brows drew down and he glanced out the window of the saloon, and he saw someone he hated: Sheriff Sarah Carter herself, not one of her deputies, dropping in.
What the hell!
She was the sheriff of Lincoln County, not Teton County. He snorted and kept on clearing the table. She was five-foot-nine-inches tall, wearing her khaki uniform, that gun on her right hip. He hated women who were in charge of anything. They were supposed to be subservient to men. His mother had read it out of the Bible, which was his guidepost. Women were to serve men, not the other way around.
Carter entered the saloon and nearly all heads turned her way. She took off her dark brown baseball cap, holding it in her left hand, coolly surveying the patrons. Cree almost snickered when Cory came bursting out of the hall, panic written on his face, afraid law enforcement was going to cause problems and his patrons would leave. He watched out of the corner of his eye, all the while continuing to clear tables. Elated that Cory was sweating as he hurried over to Sheriff Carter, Cree couldn’t help but lift his full lips into a wolf grin of delight. Cory was always afraid of a sheriff, whether it was Teton County’s or the one next to it, Lincoln, which Sarah Carter ran.
He’d give anything to eavesdrop on their conversation, but the music was too loud to hear anything. Within a minute, the patrons were back to drinking, talking and laughing as the sheriff stood near the entrance, speaking with Cory.
Cree was careful. Because he had a criminal record, he could be searched at any time for drugs and weapons. He wouldn’t put it past Sarah Carter to do just that, although she never had before. But sometimes, the Teton’s deputies frisked him and gave him a hard time outside his workplace. Oh, they’d like to see him and the others in the boardinghouse out of this town. Cree knew they were considered druggies. Jackson Hole was a glamour spot in Wyoming, a Palm Springs in its own right, with lots of filthy-rich homeowners who looked down their noses at the working class.
So? Why was Carter here? He rarely saw her, especially in another county, so that made him curious about what had brought her here. There was word on the street that there was an undercover FBI agent trying to break into the drug trade in this part of Wyoming. If there was, Cree certainly hadn’t run into the bastard. And if he did and found he was a plant? He knew what the Guatemala drug lord, Pablo Gonzalez, would do. That spy would be dead in a heartbeat, his body thrown into the forest, never to be found.
Cree bought his drugs from Gonzalez but refused to be part of the ring. Not stupid, he was aware that the US government had its eye on the drug lord and was just waiting to take him down. No, he didn’t need that. He had to stay clean in the eyes of the law or else.
His immediate threat was Sarah Carter, whose spring-colored green eyes narrowed speculatively on him when she lifted her head after talking to Cory. Instantly, Cree’s pulse rate shot up and he forced himself to look away, paying attention on cleaning the table in front of him. Shit! What did the bitch want with him? Glancing surreptitiously to the right, he saw her leave Cory’s side and come toward him. Mouth tightening, he stopped cleaning as she approached, wary about what she wanted. His heart started to beat harder. Carter had no enforcement capability in this county. It wasn’t hers to run. God knew, however, she had more than once visited his mother, asking about his alleged drug activity. His mother always rolled over and played the idiot all the townspeople thought she was. It was a ruse, of course, and they often laughed about it afterward.
Straightening to his full six-foot-two-inches, he glared at Carter, who halted about three feet away from him. Most people, when he assumed that stance, automatically backed off. But she didn’t. He’d entertained the idea many times in his head kidnapping her and taking her to the cabin he’d built in the Salt River Mountains.
“You want somethin’?” he demanded, a wet cloth in his right hand.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go to the hallway, out of everyone’s earshot. You go first and I’ll follow you.”
He wanted to spit into her calm-looking face. Nothing rattled that bitch. Absolutely nothing. Cree grabbed the plastic tray filled with dirty dishes and glasses, moving around the table and heading toward the swinging doors. Once inside the hall, he went to the kitchen and set the tray aside, waiting for her to appear. She wore a man’s clothing, but that didn’t hide her femininity in the least, which Cree saw as a weakness. Women weren’t better than men. They never had been. His hands tightened at his sides.
Sarah came to a halt just within the opened door to the kitchen, settling the hat on her head, keeping her gaze steady on him.
“Tara Dalton has left the military and is home for good.” Her voice lowered. “And you need to know that a restraining order against you was just put into service.” She pulled it from the clipboard she carried, handing a copy of it to him. “You can’t be within five hundred feet of her at any time. You even so much as look at her? And you’re in Lincoln County, my turf? I’ll take you down so damned fast it will make your head spin.”
He grabbed the piece of folded paper. “I didn’t know she was back.” That was a lie, but he didn’t care.
“My advice, Elson? Stay the hell away from my county. If I find you in it? I’ll have a deputy tailing you wherever you go. Got that? You’re to leave Tara Dalton alone. Don’t speak to her. Don’t approach her. I’m just waiting to take you in and haul your ass into court again. And this time, there won’t be any leniency on breaking your probation. Got it?”
Glaring at her, he stuffed the paper into his back pocket. “Yeah, I got it, Sheriff.” He saw her eyes go a darker jade color, her voice low.
“You come into Lincoln County? We have a drug-sniffing dog team now. We know your truck and license number. My deputies have standing orders to pull you over and search you and that truck any time you cross the county line. Got it?”
“Yeah,” he snarled, “I got it, Sheriff.” He hated her calm expression, hated that game face she always wore. “I have a right to visit my mother!”
“Sure you do. Just expect our drug-sniffing team to be all over you when you do.”
Hatred pooled deep within him. Right now, he was torn between who to go after first: Tara Dalton or this bitch of a sheriff. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to hurt Sarah Carter real bad. “That’s harassment,” he grunted.
Shrugging, Sarah said, “But it’s justified. Let’s see, Elson. How many times had you gone to jail for a couple of weeks to a month for selling drugs or having them on your person before kidnapping Tara?” She held up her hand. “Six times in the span of three years you were in juvie. You’re not careful. But if I catch you? I’m asking the state attorney general to go after you with everything we can and put your ass in prison for a long, long time.”
His upper lip lifted and he barely rasped, “You gotta catch me first.”
* * *
Tara wished her stomach would relax. Sarah had dropped by in the afternoon with the signed papers. She had taken a copy of them over to Shay, who was in her office at the ranch house. Asking her to stay, they’d walked to the kitchen. Tara could smell a beef stew cooking on the stove. She’d met Reese earlier and he’d gone to town with Noah to get more grain for the horses boarded in the ranch stables.
“How are you doing?” Shay asked, carrying cups of coffee to the kitchen table and sitting down.
Tara sat opposite her. “Not good today. Sarah coming to fill me in on Cree just brought up everything I was trying to ignore.”
Shay nodded. “Yes, it’s a sticky, awkward situation you came home to. But wipe that worry out of your eyes, okay? Sarah’s on top of this. She’s working closely with the Teton County sheriff. All you have to do is be alert. Plus, we’ll discuss this when Libby drops by for our Friday-night get-together tomorrow night.”
“Yes, everyone needs to know what’s going on,” Tara said glumly. “I just wish things were different. That Cree was out of here. Gone from my life forever.”
“I know.” Shay sighed and gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s sort of like our ongoing legal issues with my father. He lives in Wind River now. We have a restraining order against him; he can’t come to Bar C land again, but I hate the possibility of meeting him at the feed store or at Kassie’s Café. I’m always nervous about it.”
“I forgot about that,” Tara admitted. “Even though your father isn’t going to kidnap you, that’s still a terrible stress for you.”
“It sure is. And every day, people in Wind River who see him say he’s getting stronger physically. He wants to get rid of his limp and the weakness from that stroke he had and prove to the court that he’s fully capable of retaking the Bar C. Reese thinks it will eventually culminate in a jury trial.”
“I remember my dad talking about Ray and his father when I was growing up,” Tara murmured. “He said Ray was always getting the tar beaten out of him by his old man. And before I went into the military Ray was well on his way to destroying the ranch. It was already beginning to die.”
“It was. I got the shock of my life when I came home on a hardship discharge to take over the Bar C because he was in a nursing home, incapable of doing much of anything after that stroke.”
Looking around the warm, large kitchen, Tara said, “Well, you’ve done so much good, bringing the Bar C back to life. You deserve all the credit, Shay; you had a dream, a vision for your home.”
“There’s days when I feel good about it,” Shay admitted. “If not for Reese’s love and support, I don’t think I could have taken on my father and made a stand against him.”
“Reese is a great guy, but then, all the men of the Bar C are.”
“Speaking of them, do you think you’ll get along with Harper?”
Tara smiled a little, sipping her coffee. “Yes. He’s very nice. I don’t see any problems arising between us. It’s just me getting used to the tempo and pace of the ranch at this point.”
“Well, we’ll let all the wranglers in on your kidnapping and the fact that Cree Elson’s still around; plus, they need to know about the restraining order. Sarah sent me an updated photo of Elson, and I’ve passed it to everyone’s cell phone so they can spot him if they see him around town or anywhere near our ranch.” Reaching over, Shay touched Tara’s hand. “Don’t worry. Everything will settle down and start smoothing out the more you get used to your new, fixed routine known as civilian life.”
Giving a weak smile, Tara said, “There’s a lot of military here at the Bar C, which makes it a lot easier to make that transition, Shay. And I really do want to contribute.”
“You will, in time. I just need you to breathe, take it easy and let Harper guide and integrate you into our ranch rhythm.”
“I’ll sit down with him tonight and tell him what happened. I don’t want to blindside him at the Friday-evening meeting.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Shay said.
* * *
Harper sat in the living room with Tara after dinner. She appeared nervous and tense, as if she had something on her mind.
Sitting at one end of the couch, she poured out the story of her kidnapping by Cree Elson. It took every bit of his control not to reach out and drag her into his arms, to give her a sense of safety. It was painfully obvious that Tara didn’t feel safe at all after Sarah Carter’s visit and the signing of the restraining order.
Opening her hands, she uttered, “I’m really sorry to drag you into this, Harper. But I felt you needed to know first, not last, what was going on in my life. It wouldn’t be fair for you not to be aware I have an enemy out there who could jump me at some point. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt by Elson. He’s crazy and flies into unexpected rages and lashes out.” She touched her nose. “When I was with him and tried to escape, he punched me in the face and broke my nose. He told me after I regained consciousness that he didn’t know what had happened, that he had no memory of striking me.”
Moving slowly, Harper sat up, elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped between them, studying her in the lulling silence. There was such fear in her eyes, and he could feel the tension and anxiety swirling around her. “I think you’re pretty brave, coming back here,” he said quietly, holding her anguished gaze. “Did you know Elson would be around when you came home?”
Shaking her head, she whispered, “I put him deep down in myself to the point where I buried it all. When I finished my enlistment, my whole life was in tatters. The PTSD was tearing me up and that was my focus. When I got home and my dad told me that Cree was still in the area, that’s when it hit me like a sledgehammer. Up until that point, I honestly hadn’t thought of him in years.”
“Because your focus was on surviving missions and combat,” he said, nodding.
“Yes . . .”
“How do your parents feel about this? About Elson being in your backyard?”
“My mom worries he’ll do the same thing to me, kidnap me or try to kill me. My dad has full belief that law enforcement will keep me safe.”
“The difference between a judge and a mother,” Harper said, his mouth pulling inward at the corners for a moment. “What do you want to do, Tara?”
“I wanted to come home, Harper. Have I thought about leaving since I found out about Cree? Yes. But I love this valley. I love all the people I grew up with and I want to be home to try to get well.”
“I agree with you. When you come from a happy home, plus a town of people who know and love you, it’s good to stay.”
“But it’s an awful price, Harper. What if Cree attacks me in this house? What if he hurts or kills you? Or Shay, Reese or anyone else who lives on the ranch? I couldn’t bear to have that happen. And I know Cree is capable of killing.”
“But he hasn’t.”
“No, not so far, but I saw it in his eyes. He gets angry, snaps and he’s a wild man without control.” She touched her nose. “I know from experience. I pushed him too far and this is what happened to me. I still feel to this day that he’s obsessed with me, and he could kill me if the situation was right.”
Seeing the helplessness in her expression, he said, “You have a right to come home. You have a right to be with your family. No one should be able to chase you away.”
“That’s how I feel, Harper. I’m angry, I’m scared and my imagination is tearing the hell out of me. My PTSD makes it worse because now I’m in a different form of combat, but it’s still life and death. I thought by coming home I’d find peace. Healing.”
He heard the anguish in her whispered tone, saw the defeat in her eyes. “Look,” he said gently, “Rome wasn’t built in a day and you coming home after so many years, I’m sure, seems daunting. I believe you couldn’t be safer than here on the Bar C. We’re all combat-trained vets. Once everyone gets Elson’s photo and you share your story on Friday night, you’ll have a vanguard of vets surrounding you. We all live with PTSD, which makes us hyperalert.” He grinned a little. “And in this case? With Elson potentially skulking around again? Our alertness will keep us more aware than most other people. You’ll be safe. And if you have to go into town, one of us can go with you. You don’t need to be by yourself, feeling like there’s a target on your back. We’ll figure something out that works for you. Okay?”
She gave him a grateful look. “Thanks . . . I hadn’t thought about our hyperalertness. You’re right. I just hate imposing my problem on all of you. And it’s not a little one; it’s nasty with awful consequences if Cree tries to come after me again.”
“Well,” he counseled, straightening up, “let’s just see what the gang has to say on Friday night. Okay? Because, whether you like it or not, men are very protective of women and children.” He held up his hand. “And I know you can take care of yourself, but in this case, the more eyes and ears on the situation can be a huge plus. It will keep everyone safe. If we know who the enemy is, that’s ninety percent of the battle.”
She looked mollified by his words. Harper wished he could do a helluva lot more for Tara. There was magic between them; he could feel it. He already knew what love was, and his heart was opening for the first time since Olivia had divorced him. He’d never blamed his ex-wife for her actions. At the time he was a certifiable emotional and mental wreck. Now, years later, he’d worked through a lot of his PTSD, he’d matured and life didn’t seem quite so threatening to him.
He watched Tara collapse against the sofa, her knees drawn up against her body, her arms around them, afraid. At least she had some hope in her eyes, and if his words, his quiet tenor, could do that to ease her mind, that was good. She was more worried about others being harmed by Elson than herself.
Harper understood that reaction to being part of a team. Serving in the military molded a person to care for their team, squad or platoon equally, usually more than themselves. It was the ability to sacrifice for their comrades that set them apart from people in the civilian world. He knew Tara, without ever thinking, would put her own life in jeopardy to save any one of them from Elson.
His heart opened and the sensations flooded his chest in a way he’d never experienced before. Tara was so damned brave, but she didn’t see herself like that. All she saw was that she was a catalyst waiting to get one of them hurt because Elson might stalk or attack her again. Every cell in his body wanted to protect her, shield her from her thoughts and agony and worry. He needed to find a way to focus her attention on something other than the drama of this bastard threatening like a lurking shadow over her life. Harper wanted desperately to hold Tara. She looked so alone, so frightened leaning against the couch. Silently, he promised her that he’d be there for her in whatever capacity she’d accept him into her life.
Understanding he was no pick of the litter because he’d already lost a marriage and a woman he’d loved deeply, Harper held no rosy, idealistic goals for a romantic relationship with Tara. Right now, she needed a steadfast friend who could support her and get her focus off what could hurt her and on to something far more healthy and hopeful. Harper could do that for her. He knew he could.