Montana Midwife

“Can you? If Misty’s story is true, the shooter might still be in the area.”

She looked up at him. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”

“It’s unlikely he’s still around, but it’s something to keep in mind. At that meeting in Crow Agency, nobody actually said we might be facing a serial killer. But it’s possible.”

She remembered the serious tone of the meeting and the warning to be on the lookout. “I thought the meeting was about two missing girls from Henley who were last seen on the rez.”

“There’s more to the story,” Aiden said. “A couple of months ago, at the end of the summer, the sheriff in Billings found the body of a tourist who had been camping. She was raped and murdered. Since then, three other girls have disappeared. All the victims are blonde, like Misty.”

Tab touched her long, black braid. “I guess that means I’m safe.”

“You can’t make that kind of assumption with a crazy person. His M.O. might change in a flash.”

Fear nibbled at the edge of her mind. “I’ll keep my rifle handy. And I won’t dawdle.”

“Call me when you get home.”

Her cell phone wasn’t much protection. Not only was the reception spotty but nobody would reach her in time if she called for help. “He used Misty’s rifle. Does that mean he doesn’t have his own gun?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden said.

“Have you been working with the police? You seem to know a lot about the murdered tourist and the girls from Billings.”

“I volunteer my chopper to look for missing persons, keeping an eye on things from the sky. I like to go up as often as possible.”

“You enjoy flying?”

“From the first time I rode in a chopper, I loved it—swooping through the skies, leaving gravity behind and soaring free.” The tension in his face relaxed as he looked heavenward and grinned. “It’s the freedom. No restraints. No regrets.”

“And no responsibilities,” she said.

“That, too.”

Aiden had been forced to take on a lot after his father died. He’d had to leave college and take care of the ranch. No wonder he wanted Misty to have a wider scope of opportunity. “I’ve never been in a helicopter.”

“A virgin,” he said.

In more ways than one, but he didn’t have to know about that part of her life. “You make it sound exciting.”

“It’s a different perspective,” he said. “I know a lot about this territory. And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to walk along with you. We might run into something along this path.”

“Something?”

“Somebody,” he said.

She heard a rustling in the brush beside the river and turned to look. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

A skinny man with a wild gray beard crept out from behind a tree. Over his shoulders, he wore a buffalo robe. He held a ski pole in each hand, using them as walking sticks.

“Visitors,” he shouted. “Welcome, pretty lady.”

Tab stood and stared. Her jaw dropped, and she felt her eyes pop wide like a cartoon version of herself. What the hell?

Chapter Four

Aiden relished the look of shock on Tab’s face. It wasn’t easy to ruffle her feathers, but he’d succeeded. She recovered her poise quickly. Her gaping mouth snapped shut, and her full lips smoothed into a slightly upturned line that wasn’t exactly a smile. Under her breath, she muttered, “Good thing you warned me about this little something. I might have shot him.”

No fear. Her first thought was to grab her rifle and stand ready to protect herself. He liked that attitude. This lady wasn’t about to scream or take off running, not her. Not Tab.

Thinking of her as Tab instead of Tabitha was becoming easier. The longer name—Tabitha—rolled off his tongue with an almost musical resonance. Tab was one crisp, practical syllable. It suited her. The way he figured, a woman named Tab could stand up for herself while a Tabitha would be the type to flutter her eyelashes and swoon.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“His name is Wally, but everybody calls him Buffalo Man.”

“Certainly not because of his size,” she said. “He couldn’t weigh more than one twenty-five including the fur cape and ski poles. What’s he doing here?”

“He camps along the river. I spotted his tent when I did my visual sweep in the chopper.”

Feet together, the scrawny gray-haired man hopped toward them, mimicking the technique of a downhill skier. Gradually, he was coming closer.

“He could be the shooter,” Tab said.

“I don’t reckon so. His campsite is another mile or so downriver. He was there when I flew over.” Besides, Aiden had become fairly well acquainted with the old man. “He’s not a murderer. A thief? Maybe. But not a killer.”

Wally claimed to be part Crow, but nobody on the rez claimed him back. A drifter, he’d been in this area for three or four years. When he occasionally showed up at the Gabriel ranch looking for work, Aiden would find him something to do with the stipulation that Buffalo Man take a long soak in a hot tub and shave his whiskers. In a lucid moment, Wally had confided that he’d lost his job, his wife and his house, but he wasn’t sad or self-pitying. He’d chosen to go back to nature.

Usually, he wasn’t so talkative, and today he said nothing as he approached. When he was about five feet from them, Aiden caught the whiff of a powerful stench—the smell of old campfires and dirt. He held up a hand. “That’s close enough, Wally.”

Buffalo Man bared his yellow teeth in a grin. “That’s a pretty horse.”

“Thank you,” Tab said. “Do you live out here?”

“It’s my right. I’m Indian, like you.” He cocked his head to one side. “You’re Maria Spotted Bear’s granddaughter.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know things. Lots of things.”

“You’d better not be spying on my grandma,” she said. “I wouldn’t like that.”

He dug the tips of his ski poles into the earth and planted his fists on his skinny hips. “I am not a Peeping Tom. I have my dignity. You can ask Aiden. Go on, ask him.”

“Wally does work for me at the ranch. He’s a good handyman.”

“Handy Wally, that’s my moniker.”