Redemption (9 page)

As she moved through the crowds—the men in their jeans, boots, fancy Western shirts and Stetson hats, the women just as duded out—she felt as if she must stand out like a sore thumb.

This was a world apart from where she’d grown up. Everything about Montana, especially Beartooth, felt alien to her and had since she’d arrived. She did what she could to blend in, even wearing boots and boot-cut jeans, Western shirts with snaps instead of buttons, and spending most Sunday mornings on a hard pew at church with the rest of the community.

She laughed at the regulars’ jokes and kidding each morning. She’d learned to drive a stick-shift four-wheel-drive pickup as well as run a café. Last fall, she’d cut firewood for the coming winter and, once the blizzards hit, she’d shoveled snow and stoked the apartment woodstove just to keep warm as if she was a local.

Since moving to Beartooth, she’d done what she had to to survive.

But now with time running out, she felt discouraged. It had taken longer than she’d thought it would to get the café up and running and to settle into this new, strange life. But she couldn’t afford to hire anyone to run the place for her.

Then winter had set in too soon. She hadn’t gotten a feel of the land before the snow had started, the temperature dropping, the ground freezing, making finding what she’d come for impossible.

All she’d been able to do was bide her time. Get the lay of the land, as her father would have said. She thought of Harvey Logan, the only father she’d known. He would have loved Montana. It was rich in history, with lots of stories of outlaws and gold miners, homesteaders and hard winters, along with buried treasure, strongboxes from robbed stages that were never found. Hidden miser’s gold, nuggets the size of her fist, turning up when foundations were dug for one of the many towns that had sprung up overnight.

But what a hard life early settlers had faced. She thought of last winter and couldn’t imagine how anyone had survived a hundred years ago without modern conveniences. She’d wanted to throw in the towel more times than she could count on those days when winter blizzards had rattled the café windows and whirled snow into icy drifts as the temperature plummeted.

She couldn’t help but question if all of this was worth it.

At the thought, she drew on the granite-hard determination that had gotten her this far in life. She deserved to get what was coming to her—no matter what. One day it would all be worth it, she assured herself as she walked past tables of baked goods and handcrafts and women hawking their wares.

The sun beat down on her. She could hear shrieks coming from the carnival rides as she passed a line of canvas tents offering everything from tamales to tractor parts. The smell of cotton candy and corn dogs permeated the air, making her feel a little nauseous.

Kate started to turn back the way she’d come, having had enough. She knew she was still upset over the note and the sheriff’s visit. She was pushing her way through the crowd when she saw him.

Jack French didn’t appear to have seen her, though. At least she hoped he hadn’t, as she quickly ducked into the nearest tent.

The tent was small and dark inside. She froze just inside the door. The strong scent of incense filled her nostrils. She blinked, surprised to find an old woman staring at her with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen.

The woman reached out her bejeweled hand.

It took Kate a moment to realize what she’d stumbled into. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here,” she said, turning back toward the canvas door she’d just stepped through.

“There are no accidents,” the old woman said in a voice as grating as a rusty hinge but strangely captivating. “Don’t you want to know your future?”

She turned back to the woman, shaking her head as she smiled. “I believe in making my own future.”

“Then you have nothing to fear, do you?” The elderly woman beckoned with gnarled fingers.

Kate knew that if she stepped back outside right now, there was a good chance of running into Jack, and it was cool in the tent. Even the scent of incense was better than that of fried food.

What the heck? Humor the old woman, pay her a few dollars. By then the cowboy would be gone and she could sneak out of the fair and back to Beartooth.

“Sit. Give me your hand.”

Kate sat, taking in the dark velvet drapes that lined the small canvas tent. The old woman wore a caftan of equally dark jeweled colors. Her once dark hair was now splintered with lightning bolts of gray, but it was her dark eyes that held Kate’s attention.

She gave the woman her hand, felt the icy-cold, thin skin as the gnarled hand closed around hers.

Kate was instantly startled by the alarm that flashed in the woman’s black eyes. A rattled breath escaped the fortune-teller’s lips. Horror contorted her features.

Kate tried to pull back her hand, but the woman’s grip was like a vise.

“There is something dark. It’s all around you,” the seer said as if the words were being pried from her. “It’s like a curse that has followed you since birth. I see a man, several men—” Her voice broke as the clawlike fingers released hers so quickly Kate’s hand dropped to the small makeshift table. She felt the cool velvet of the table covering as she pushed away from the table and the crone’s distressed look.

The old woman blinked, her eyes seeming to clear. She appeared upset to see Kate still there. Not half as upset as Kate, though.

“You could have just told me I was going to meet a tall, dark stranger who would fall madly in love with me,” Kate snapped as she got to her feet. She hadn’t even wanted to come in here. She certainly didn’t need some dire fortune, let alone that accusing tone.

The woman shook her head. “You have already met him. He is tall. Not so dark.”

Kate thought of Jack French with his blond hair and pale blue eyes.

“But the love affair is cursed because of the danger surrounding you.”

“What kind of fortune-teller are you?” Kate demanded.

“I can only speak what I see.”

“If you think I’m paying for that lousy fortune—”

“I don’t want your money.”

Insulted, Kate opened her purse, threw down a twenty and stalked out. Before the canvas curtain closed behind her, she saw the old woman cross herself.

Kate let the tent flap snap shut behind her as she stepped out into the sunlight, needing warmth to chase away the pall the old woman had cast over her.

But as she stepped into a shaft of warm, golden sunlight, she saw the man she’d been trying to avoid earlier. Jack French was leaning against one of the tent posts, clearly waiting for her.

“Bad news?” he asked. He wore a blue-checked shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. His jeans, like his boots, looked as new as the Stetson cocked back on his blond head.

She glared at him and had the wild notion that he’d had something to do with what the old woman had told her. She knew she shouldn’t let the cowboy or the fortune-teller upset her. Neither knew anything about her. But she had already been on edge from earlier.

“Were you listening to what she told me?” she snapped.

He shook his head. “Just saw you come out scowling,” he said as he pushed off the tent post to join her.

Obviously she’d wasted her time trying to avoid him. He must have seen her duck into the tent.

“I thought fortune-tellers weren’t supposed to tell you anything bad about the future,” he said.

“She must not have read the fortune-teller manual. Or maybe she foresaw you waiting outside the tent for me.”

He grinned at that and shoved back his hat. “So she
did
mention me?” He studied her a moment. The grin faded. “You really
are
upset. Over what some carnival charlatan told you? I thought you were smarter than that.”

She knew her face gave her away. She
was
upset. It was foolish. Had she really let what the old woman said shake her composure? She was angry with herself for even stepping into the tent to begin with. Of course, that was all Jack’s fault.

“Or are you upset over the sketch of the dead man in today’s newspaper?” His eyes had narrowed, his gaze intent on her.

She unconsciously lifted her chin, bracing herself. “I was shocked.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, still studying her.

“As I told the sheriff, I’d never seen him before. The man obviously had the wrong woman.” She wanted to bite her tongue. She didn’t have to explain any of this to Jack French, especially since she could see that he didn’t believe her.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“No, and I don’t care to. I’ve already told the sheriff everything I know.” She started to walk off, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I think you’re in trouble and I stepped smack-dab into that trouble the first night I met you.”

Kate thought about what the fortune-teller had said about the danger around her. Jack was in danger just being near her. Was that why she was so upset? Because what the old woman had told her was too close to the truth? Maybe especially for Jack? Isn’t that why she’d been furious with him the night he’d gone after the man in the alley, the now dead man?

“You shouldn’t have butted in the other night,” she said. “I didn’t ask for your help or need it.” She jerked free of his hold, hating that his touch rattled her. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it.”

“Is it? Let’s hope the sheriff sees it that way—and whoever left you that note at breakfast.”

Kate felt herself freeze. She opened her mouth and almost said, “You took the note?” But she caught herself in time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed to say.

“You never do.” His gaze was hotter than the sun overhead. “Let’s just hope you’re right about being able to take care of yourself.”

She walked away from him, but after a few steps she couldn’t help glancing back. He stood watching her. The look in his blue eyes shook her more than his touch had.

* * *

J
ACK SWORE UNDER
his breath as he watched Kate—or whatever her name was—walk away. Every instinct in him warned him to keep his distance from the woman. Whatever she was involved in, he wanted no part of it.

He looked around for his friend. If Carson had seen him talking to Kate, he’d feel the need to lecture him again about getting involved with the wrong women. Jack told himself he’d learned that lesson with Chantell Hyett, the judge’s daughter. So why was his mind still on Kate LaFond?

Jack spotted Carson talking to Lisa Anne Clausen. Actually, Carson was nodding, and Lisa Anne was doing most of the talking. He had to smile to himself. When was Carson going to wake up and see what was right before his eyes? Lisa Anne was pretty and sweet and in love with him. She had been since grade school, Jack thought.

Carson just never seemed to notice. He’d been so in love with Ginny West that he hadn’t looked at another girl. Now with Ginny’s murder solved, maybe both Ginny and Carson could find some peace. He wanted his friend to start living again.

And Lisa Anne was just what Carson needed. Maybe Jack would have to help things along, he thought with a grin. Then he realized he was as bad as Destry and Margaret, wanting to play matchmaker.

As he started to walk toward Carson and Lisa, he nearly collided with Chantell Hyett, the woman he hadn’t had the sense to stay clear of before his rustling arrest, which had cost him two years of his life.

“Jack,” Chantell said in surprise. She was dressed in fancy Western wear, her long blond hair curling over one shoulder under her red cowboy hat.

The woman was beautiful, there was no getting around it. Tall, willowy, blue eyed, she was her daddy’s princess. And she knew it and used her looks to get what she wanted. Not that she could have wanted for much.

“You’re
out of prison?
” She seemed shocked to see him.

“I thought your father would have told you. It must have slipped his mind.”

She smiled at his sarcasm. Judge Hyett wasn’t about to tell her anything about Jack French. “You got out early.”

No thanks to her father. “Good behavior.”

She laughed at that, but quickly sobered. “I’m sorry I didn’t write you more often. I wanted to come visit, but—”

“But you got a better offer,” Jack said. “Understandable.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said, and pretended to pout. “You know how Daddy feels about
criminals.
”

He had his doubts that he would have been a criminal if it wasn’t for her daddy, but he really didn’t want to get into this with her, especially here at the fair.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” he said, although that wasn’t entirely true. He tipped his hat and started to walk away. Seeing Chantell had brought back not only the reminder that he’d spent two years in prison for something he hadn’t done, but also that old burning desire for vengeance.

“Jack,” she called after him. “Give me a call sometime.”

He nodded, but he wouldn’t be calling. He was a changed man, he told himself as he kept walking. He’d known what her father thought of him dating his daughter. But that hadn’t stopped the old Jack French, who took dangerous chances.

The new Jack French didn’t take unnecessary risks with women. That thought had barely surfaced when he spotted Kate LaFond climbing into her red pickup, and he felt a pull stronger than gravity.

“I’m a changed man,” he said to himself as he started to turn way. A large, dark pickup with two men inside pulled out after her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

N
ETTIE HADN’T HEARD A PEEP
out of her renter all day. Nor had she seen the little waif. She wondered if she should check on Tiffany. Surely she was planning to go to the spring fair.

Yesterday, she’d spotted her on the store’s front porch, her sketchbook in her lap and her hand busy drawing. Nettie couldn’t imagine what she was sketching—obviously something from memory, since she wasn’t looking at anything but the sketch pad.

Dying to see what the girl was drawing, Nettie had gone out on the porch. Tiffany had been skittish as a new colt. She had hurriedly closed her sketchbook and took off like a shot.