Montana Secrets Read online

  When Trace reached the store, its front door sported a sign that read Closed for Graduation, but the pay phone he’d recalled was by the entrance. He punched in the toll-free number Wentworth had made him memorize.

  “Wentworth,” the colonel answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Gallagher.”

  “Tell me some good news.”

  “I wish I could, sir. According to his sister, Erickson said nothing that would help us.”

  The colonel’s sigh reverberated in his ear. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Shall I return to Washington?”

  “Any sign of those memories returning?”

  “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “You haven’t been there long. Can you stay a while without raising suspicions?”

  “I can try, but I really don’t see what good—”

  “Getting your memory back is our best shot. I want you in Athens, preferably at the ranch if you can swing it, until I say otherwise. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Abruptly the line went dead.

  A glance at his watch told Trace he still had thirty minutes before the program began at the high school. He ambled down the boardwalk to the nearest saloon, where he and Marc had shot pool and guzzled cold beers on their last leave. Only one battered truck was parked out front, and he found the saloon almost empty. After ordering a beer at the bar, he moved to a table in a dim corner.

  In the back of the room, three men were playing pool, and Trace recognized Snake Larson. He’d bulked up since Trace last saw him, and his pugnacious appearance had grown coarser with age. Glad that Snake was downtown and not at the high school causing trouble, Trace finished his drink and left the three arguing over whether Snake’s foot had left the floor during a shot.

  The parking lot was overflowing when Trace returned to the high school, and the only seat he could find in the crowded auditorium was in the next to the last row. He settled into it just in time for the first strains of “Pomp and Circumstance.”

  When he caught sight of Megan, dressed in a tiny navy-blue gown and matching mortarboard with tassel and leading the senior class down the aisle, his throat tightened, his eyes stung and his heart thumped like consecutive mortar fire. Assisted by two members of the graduating class, she clambered up the steps to the stage while the rest of the class filed into the front rows of the auditorium.

  Onstage, Cat stepped out from the wings with other faculty members and the principal Trace had met the previous day. Catching sight of her mother, Megan’s face lit up like a spotlight. She wiggled her fingers and grinned happily, and Cat, her pride in her daughter written all over her beautiful face, returned her wave.

  The last senior took his seat, and the music died. The principal stepped to the lectern to issue a welcome and introduce the senior class president, but Trace’s attention was on Cat and his daughter. Happiness and pride consumed him. He’d missed too many milestones in their lives, and he was thankful to share this one.

  He would always regret that he hadn’t been there when Cat went into labor and Megan was born. He hadn’t been around to help with the two o’clock feedings, to change dirty diapers, or to walk the floor with Megan when she had colic. He hadn’t witnessed her first steps, heard her first words. He hadn’t been there to dry her tears when she scraped her knee. He’d been robbed of watching her first sight of a Christmas tree, her first pony ride, and he’d been cheated of sharing all these experiences with Cat, the woman he loved more than life.

  His head throbbed with anger at the terrorists who had stolen so much from him, and he wished he could tap the memory that identified them. He had to remember, for himself and Cat and Marc and for ninety-eight other people who would never see their loved ones again. Remembering the psychiatrist’s advice, he forced himself to relax. His memories would return faster without coercion, the doctor had promised, but Trace wasn’t so sure. Weeks after the majority of his amnesia had disappeared, he had yet to recall anything other than what had come back that first day when he’d bumped his head.

  He turned his attention to the stage, where Cat was assisting the principal in handing out diplomas as the seniors trekked across the stage. In a trim navy-blue suit, white silk blouse and high-heeled shoes that called attention to her long, slender legs and trim ankles, Cat didn’t look much older than her students, but Trace could measure their respect for her in the way they shook her hand and accepted her congratulations.

  When the ceremony ended, Trace noted the students weren’t the only ones fond of Cat. The principal escorted her to her seat with a too-warm smile and a possessive hand at the small of her back.

  “See that?” a woman behind him whispered loudly to the man next to her. “I’ll bet this time next year Miss Erickson is married to Mr. Brewster.”

  “That’s old news,” he replied.

  Their words jolted Trace. Before he’d returned to Cat, he’d considered she might have found someone else, but seeing her again had wiped those thoughts from his mind. Now, however, watching her laugh and chat with Brewster, her face aglow with happiness, Trace wondered at the depth of her relationship with the principal. To Cat, Trace was only a stranger passing through. She had no reason to share her affairs, her affections or her plans for the future with him.

  No reason to know how much he loved her.

  For the first time, he considered the possibility that revealing his identity even once the terrorist danger had passed might be a mistake. If Cat had forged a new life without him, what right did he have after so many years to reappear and turn it upside down?

  “YOU’RE AWFULLY quiet,” Cat remarked on the drive home. “I hope you weren’t too bored tonight.”

  Trace jerked himself from his thoughts. The possibility that Cat might be in love with Todd Brewster rankled him. Even while admitting the irrationality of his response, he felt betrayed and bereft. After all, he reminded himself, Ryan had been dead to Cat for years. Going on with her life was the natural and healthy thing to do.

  Especially with regard to Megan, fast asleep in her car seat in the back.

  “I was thinking of all those seniors,” he improvised, “and the shock they’re in for when they hit the real world.”

  “We try to prepare them,” Cat said, “but high school’s nothing like the cold, hard reality of being on your own for the first time in your life.”

  “Your principal seems like a nice guy.”

  “He’s terrific. It took a while for the school and the town to warm up to him. A small place like this is usually suspicious of strangers—” She broke off with an embarrassed laugh. “Present company excepted, of course.”

  Her voice had warmed significantly when she spoke of Brewster, but Trace had no way of gauging the depth of her feelings. He decided to give it a try anyway.

  “So you’re fond of Brewster.”

  “Very.” She cut a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “But not the way I think you mean.”

  “What do you think I mean?”

  “That I’m in love with him.”

  “Are you?”

  She hesitated so long his heart plummeted in his chest. “He wants me to marry him.”

  God, it was worse than he thought. “And what do you want?”

  She shrugged. “I lost what I wanted five years ago. Now it’s Dad and especially Megan I need to worry about.”

  “What do they have to do with Brewster?”

  “Todd could help Dad at the ranch before and after school during the term and full-time in summer. And he’d make a terrific father for Megan. He’s really good with children.”

  He felt sick inside, as if someone had died, at the thought of another man raising his daughter. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

  She shook her head. “My head tells me accepting would be the smart thing to do, but my heart—”

  Flustered, she glanced at him again, and even by the dim lights from the dashboard, he could see the flu
sh creeping over her face.

  “What does your heart tell you?”

  Gripping the wheel, she stared straight ahead. “That I don’t love Todd the way I loved Ryan.”

  Her words were faint consolation, since she believed Ryan dead.

  They drove a few more miles in silence before she turned to him again. “You’re an objective observer. What would you advise?”

  Stop the car and let me kiss you again the way I did this afternoon.

  “Hey.” He worked at keeping his tone light. “You can call in the Marines for all kinds of help, but for this job, you should ask Dear Abby. Matters of the heart are out of my league.”

  “You don’t have someone you care about?”

  If you only knew.

  “I had to be careful in Tabari. If I looked at one of their women the wrong way, I could have found myself dead very quickly.” Frustrated by the direction of the conversation, he changed the subject. “Megan did a great job tonight.”

  “She loves the attention,” Cat said. “It’s so lonely for her on the ranch with just Dad and me, I think it’s good for her to—”

  They had reached the entrance to the ranch, and Cat stopped the car.

  “What’s the matter?” Trace asked.

  “The gate’s open. We closed it when we left.”

  “Maybe the MacIntoshes dropped in to check on your dad.”

  “Not this late. They’re dairy farmers, remember? Their day begins at four o’clock, so they went to bed hours ago.” Cat shook her head with a worried frown. “Maybe the catch wasn’t fastened, so the wind blew the gate open.”

  “I made certain it was latched tight when I closed it.” Trace remembered how he’d tested the catch with a strong tug before climbing into the car at their departure.

  With a puzzled frown, Cat eased the car through the gate and up the road toward the house. “I’m probably worrying for nothing. Maybe a visitor Dad wasn’t expecting left it open.”

  Trace said nothing, but he was on full alert. Everyone in Athens had been at the graduation tonight.

  Except Snake Larson and his cronies.

  “Turn off your headlights,” Trace said at the final bend before the house. “There’s enough moonlight to show the way. And go slow.”

  After an anxious glance at Megan, still sleeping soundly in the back seat, Cat did as he asked. The big SUV glided silently toward the ranch house, the only sound the faint crunch of gravel beneath the tires. When they reached the house, moonlight illuminated the dark bulk of a pickup truck parked by the front walk.

  “Recognize the vehicle?” Trace asked.

  Cat shook her head and pulled her SUV in behind it.

  Lights blazed from all the windows, and the sounds of breaking glass and splintering wood floated toward them on the night breeze.

  Trace spotted the dark shadows of at least three men outlined against the curtains as they moved through the house. From the violence of their actions, Trace could tell this was no friendly visit.

  “Daddy’s in there!” Cat cried.

  “I’ll take care of Gabe.” He reached for the door handle. “You keep Megan safe. Call the sheriff on your cell phone and take Megan to the MacIntosh farm. Now!”

  He jumped from the car and ran up the front walk toward the house.

  Chapter Eight

  Trace halted at the porch steps and turned to watch Cat’s SUV disappear down the drive. If he went barging in now, he would roust the intruders on her heels. He didn’t want to risk their forcing her off the narrow highway in their haste to escape.

  Unfortunately, their escape was probably the best scenario he could hope for.

  He’d counted at least three men inside. If they were armed, even with his superior hand-to-hand combat training he was definitely outmatched. His main concern was for Gabe. Trace decided to leave apprehending the home invaders to the law. If he could drive the intruders from the house, they had only one road out of the area, the same road the sheriff would travel to reach High Valley. With any luck, the lawman and his deputies would intercept the criminals if Trace could somehow convince them to leave.

  While Trace debated the best method to evict them, the clamor inside the house lessened, and he heard a deep voice call, “Find anything?”

  “Zip,” a rough voice answered from a different room.

  “I’ve got something.” A third voice sounded from upstairs. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  There was a thud of heavy boots descending the interior staircase, and Trace managed to duck around the side of the house before the screen door slammed open. Three large figures jumped from the porch and bolted to the pickup truck. The driver had the engine started and in gear before the third man closed the passenger door. With the motor roaring and its heavy tires spewing gravel, the truck circled and headed down the drive toward the entrance at high speed.

  Once their taillights disappeared, Trace darted inside. The intruders had left the lights burning, and the sight of their destruction stunned him. Drawers had been pulled open, their contents dumped, furniture upended, knickknacks shattered, rugs thrown back. A hurried search of the first floor revealed no sign of Gabe.

  “Gabe!” Trace shouted. “Where are you?”

  In the stillness, a soft moan floated down the stairs. Trace took the steps to the second floor three at a time. The same devastation had been wreaked on the second floor, and he had to jump over debris to reach Gabe’s bedroom. When he crossed the threshold, Gabe’s bed was empty, and the spacious room appeared unoccupied.

  A groan sounded from the far side of the room.

  Rounding the bed, Trace spotted Gabe slumped in the corner.

  The older man was struggling to rise. One arm hung limply at his side.

  “Take it easy.” Trace hurried to him. “I’ll help.”

  Sliding an arm beneath the shoulder of Gabe’s good arm, he assisted him to the bed and eased him to a sitting position against the headboard. “What happened?”

  Dazed, Gabe shook his head. “One minute I was asleep. The next a bright light’s shining in my face. I jumped out of bed and tried to fight them, but someone grabbed me. A big guy wearing a ski mask and gloves flung me in that corner. I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew, you were shouting my name downstairs.”

  Trace noted the knot forming above Gabe’s eye. “You hit your head. And it looks as if your arm’s broken. Is there a phone upstairs?”

  “In Cat’s room. You calling the sheriff?”

  “Cat’s already called him.”

  “I don’t want Megan to see me like this.”

  “Cat and Megan are on their way to the MacIntoshes. The intruders were still here when we returned from town, so I wanted her and Megan safely out of their way.”

  “Could you see who they were?”

  Trace shook his head. “Like you said, they wore ski masks, dark clothes and gloves. Will you be okay while I call an ambulance?”

  With a stubborn set to his jaw, Gabe attempted to stand. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  With a firm but gentle shove, Trace pushed him onto the bed. “You need that arm set and you could have a concussion. Now stay put until I get back.”

  In Cat’s room, he found the phone slung under the bed but still working. While placing the call for an ambulance, he surveyed the damage. Her room, too, had been thoroughly trashed. Had the men been looking for money and valuables? He remembered the watcher on the ridge earlier that day and wondered if, despite Cat’s skepticism, someone had been casing the house in preparation for the night’s break-in.

  But why?

  Cat had assured him the only items of value on the ranch were the cattle. Had the robbers struck because of the isolated locale, figuring to get in and out so easily that it didn’t matter if their take was small?

  After the operator assured him that medical assistance was on the way, Trace quickly inspected the rest of the second floor. Every room, including Megan’s and Marc’s, had
been tossed, and when he reached the guest room, he found his belongings strewn across the floor. The contents of his shaving kit had been dumped in the guest bathroom.

  He returned to Gabe, who had propped himself against the headboard, his face ashen, his right arm clutched awkwardly against his side.

  “The paramedics will be here soon,” Trace said. “Are you in much pain?”

  Gabe shook his head in denial, but his gray pallor said otherwise. “But I’m mad as hell. Who would do this?”

  “Cat and I saw someone watching the ranch from Preacher’s Ridge this morning. Maybe they were drifters, passing through and looking for some easy cash.”

  Gabe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Or Snake Larson and his friends.”

  “I saw them drinking in town earlier tonight.” Three of them, Trace recalled.

  Gabe nodded knowingly. “Snake’s a coward. He would have figured the whole family would attend the graduation. Everyone in town knew Megan was the class mascot. He said he’d get even with me for running him off. Must have been surprised to find me here asleep.”

  Out front, a vehicle approached and braked quickly. Car doors slammed.

  “The sheriff couldn’t get here that fast,” Gabe warned. “The thugs may have come back. Look behind the panel in the middle of the top closet shelf. I keep a loaded handgun there so Megan can’t find it.”

  Trace was headed for the closet when Cat’s voice called from downstairs. “Daddy? Trace?”

  “We’re up here,” Trace shouted.

  Seconds later, Cat hurried into the room, her face flushed, her hair wind-tossed. She rushed to her father. “Are you all right?”

  “Broken arm,” Trace warned her when she reached to hug her dad. “Paramedics are on the way. Where’s Megan? She shouldn’t see all this.”

  Cat eased onto the bed beside her father and took his hand. “After contacting the sheriff, I called the MacIntoshes, and they met me halfway. Mrs. Mac took Megan to the farm, and Mr. Mac and his sons came with me. They’re downstairs.”

  Trace considered Gabe’s worsening color. “We’ll take your father to meet the paramedics. That way he’ll get treatment quicker. Mr. Mac and his boys can wait here for the sheriff.”