Forsaken

He looked up from his cooking. “Your hair is beautiful.”

His compliment knocked her off balance—and just when she was starting to accept his being here with her.

Her mop of hair had come loose in the night. She hadn’t realized she’d been working her fingers through the thick strands to get the tangles out until he spoke. Now she felt self-conscious.

She glanced at the reddish locks that tumbled over her shoulder. Lately she’d noticed the spun silver intertwined with the red. It had startled her since she hadn’t been aware of the passing of time or how she’d aged with it.

He looked away to tend to breakfast as if sensing her discomfort. She’d never much cared about the way she looked in the mornings—at least not since losing Hank. Nor did she want to start again.

It was another reason she dressed the way she did. There were a couple of old widower ranchers who had been giving her the eye. Dollars to doughnuts they just wanted her land. It didn’t matter even if they really were attracted to her. She wasn’t interested.

Jamison looked up again, and she quickly pulled her hair up, turning her back to finish the job. She thought she could feel the deputy’s gaze warming her back as she worked her fingers through it.

She cursed herself for letting him make her feel self-conscious. Worse, unnerve her. Her heart pounded with a long-forgotten pleasure from the compliment and a flicker of her earlier desire. Both burned through her body, igniting emotions she’d buried with her husband and son four years ago.

For so long she hadn’t let herself feel. Every day, she rose with only work in mind. Running the ranch and trying to keep her head above water had taken all her energy. She’d had little time to think of anything else.

Each night she’d fallen into bed, so exhausted that the only thing she had wanted or needed was sleep.

The last thing she needed was for a man to make her feel, let alone want again, especially when it was this greenhorn.

* * *

JAMISON REALIZED HE’D upset Maddie and regretted saying anything. He noticed the way her fingers trembled as she fought her beautiful long mane into an obedient plait that trailed down her strong back.

She seemed to take a steadying breath before she slapped on her hat and turned back to him and the fire. Her cheeks were heightened in color, her blue eyes bright as diamonds. She ducked her head as if afraid of what he might see in those eyes.

He suspected it had been some time since anyone had complimented her on her appearance. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. The words had just come out without thinking.

“I didn’t know what you liked to eat,” he said as he offered her a plate of thick bread slices he’d toasted over the fire with strips of bacon, scrambled eggs and cheese tucked between them.

She took it without much enthusiasm as if no hungrier than he was. Sitting, she balanced on one of the log stumps as if she’d done it hundreds of times. She probably had. This was her country. She knew it no doubt better than anything else in her life. It sustained her sheep and a part of her as well, he thought. She was at home here, more content than his wife had ever been in their expensive high-rise apartment in New York City.

Taking a small polite bite, she chewed for a moment. Her gaze sprang up to his as she swallowed. “It’s...good.”

She sounded so surprised it made him laugh. “Thank you for that grudging compliment,” he said with a grin.

“I didn’t realize you could cook.”

“I’m glad I can surprise you.”

“Summer camp?”

“Actually Boy Scouts.”

“I’d have to see the badge to believe that.”

He couldn’t help being pleased. He’d teased a smile out of her.

“Thanks for...cooking.”

He gave her a nod.

She ate quickly after that, no doubt as anxious as he was to get moving. Since he’d awakened, he’d been unnerved by the sudden quiet that had settled around them. The wind had stopped sometime during the night, and now a hush had settled over the mountainside.

“I’ll get us saddled up,” she said when she’d finished the breakfast sandwich. He noticed that she’d eaten it all, just as he had. Like him, she must fear she was going to need the strength later today.

As she readied the horses, he broke camp, packing up the rest of the food and putting out the fire.

“How much farther?” he asked as they swung up into their saddles.

“We should find their camp by afternoon.” He could see how hard her next words were for her. She hadn’t wanted him along, didn’t want him interfering. Maybe more to the point, she didn’t want to have to worry about him along with her other concerns. “Are you doing all right?”

He smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

She snorted at that as she spurred her horse out of the pines and into the clear blue Montana morning.

* * *

WHEN SHERIFF FRANK CURRY opened his eyes, he was on his bedroom floor. He hurt all over, so at first it was impossible to know how badly he’d been injured. He couldn’t even tell where all the pain was coming from.

As he tried to sit up, his head swam. His vision blurred to pinpoints, forcing him to lie down again. He lay on his back with his eyes closed and tried to make sense of what he was doing on his bedroom floor with the room in shambles around him.

What had happened? The last thing he could recall was seeing Lynette at the store, wasn’t it?

As he gingerly touched his aching shoulder, his memory came back in a flash, along with the pain of being hit with a baseball bat. Pam! The pain and anger threatened to blind him. He sat up, gripping the edge of the bed for support. Pam had been in his house. She’d—

He glanced around the room, at the destruction. It made no sense. If it wasn’t for the mess she’d left behind he might have thought he’d fallen, hit his head and dreamed it all.

As he started to get to his feet, he looked around for his gun. It wasn’t in his holster and yet he remembered pulling it. He remembered Pam daring him to use it. He hadn’t, though, had he?

No, if he had, Pam would be lying here in a puddle of blood.

So why hadn’t she taken the gun and used it on him? “Why didn’t you just kill me?” he bellowed even though he knew Pam was long gone, and just as he was well aware of why she hadn’t used his gun on him.

Pam had no intention of going to prison for killing him. Not when she could just torment him and get away with it.

But not this time. She’d been in his house. She’d torn it up. She and whoever she’d brought with her had attacked him. She wasn’t getting away with this.

He got to his feet and took a wobbly step. As he bent over to see if the gun had been kicked under the bed, everything started to go black again. He gave it a minute then looked again. No gun.

Pam must have taken it. Great. He pulled out his cell phone. It dawned on him that the first call he should make was to the hospital. His temples throbbed, and when he touched the back of his head, he could feel the crusted blood in his hair. He was sure he had a concussion. How bad of one, he didn’t know. It would depend on how long he’d been out.

Through the window he could see the sun coming up. It was late when he’d come home from the movie in Bozeman and heard someone in his house. But still he’d been out for hours.

His left thigh ached, and when he touched it, he could feel that it was badly bruised. The memory of Pam swinging the baseball bat came back. He was amazed he didn’t have some broken bones or that she hadn’t beaten him to death once he was down.

He guessed that she’d stopped because she’d made her point. No sense in beating a dead horse, right?