The Missing Colton Page 13

  “That white streak on his chest. I think I remember seeing it with my flashlight.”

  “That’s hardly possible...” Her voice faded as her gaze went to Midnight’s hooves. “Dylan’s the only one who rides him.”

  The horse stomped and sniffed, lifting and dropping his head as he regarded them warily with a shining black eye through thickly-fringed lashes.

  Worry darkened Mia’s gaze. “We can ask Dylan on our way out,” she said, very quietly. “Maybe someone else has been working Midnight because Dylan sure as hell didn’t attack you.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “I know him. He’s a good guy. And he’s grieving. He’s just lost his mother, remember.” She glanced up at him. “You sure about that white streak?”

  “It stopped me dead in my tracks when I passed his stall. I feel that I’ve seen that horse before.”

  As they exited the stable doors, a gust of autumn wind caught her ponytail, and she said, “On our way back from Cheyenne I’ll take you the past the field where I found you. Maybe it’ll trigger another memory.”

  Jagger nodded. He was anxious to see the site for other reasons, but he imagined the cops had given the area a thorough once-over and probably trampled their boots all over any prints while they were at it.

  Mia went up to the paddock fence and called Dylan over. The man coaxed his horse in, untethered the lunge rope and wound it into a loop as he strode toward them. He was tall with dark-brown hair, and he had a long, easy cowboy stride. He pushed his hat slightly back on his head as he reached them.

  “Mia,” he said, and there was warmth in his voice. His gaze ticked toward Jagger.

  “Dylan, this is—”

  “Cole,” Dylan said as he appraised Jagger with suspicious eyes. “I heard about you.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Jagger said. “I heard about your mother.”

  The wrangler gave a curt nod, features tight.

  “Dylan, I need to get Cole to a medical appointment in Cheyenne, but we have a quick question—did anyone ride Midnight the night before last?”

  “I did, why?”

  “What time?”

  “Early evening. Why are you asking, Mia?”

  Mia said, gently, “Cole might have been injured by someone who tried to run him down with a black horse that had a white streak on its chest.”

  “You’re saying Midnight ran him down?” His words were clipped now, his eyes angry.

  “We don’t know what happened, Dylan. It could’ve been an accident,” she offered.

  “Jesus, Mia,” Dylan said, eyes narrowing sharply. “No one rides Midnight in the goddamn dark! Mere shadows spook the hell out of that horse, especially since the accident with Jethro. Riding him in the dark could be lethal.”

  It almost was.

  Dylan glowered at Jagger as he spoke. “I heard you had no memory, yet you think you remember a horse with a white streak?”

  “Dylan, I’m sorry,” Mia interjected gently. “We just passed Midnight in his stall and Cole thought he might have seen the horse before.”

  “So you jump to the idea that this was the horse that tried to run you down?”

  “It was the size and the white streak on his chest,” Jagger said coolly, watching Dylan’s eyes.”

  “Is that all, Mia?” Dylan said, still holding Jagger’s gaze.

  “Thanks, Dylan. If...” She hesitated. “If you hear that anyone took him out—”

  “Then I’ll speak to the cops.” He turned and strode back toward his horse.

  Mia exhaled heavily. “That didn’t go down well.”

  She spun round and headed toward an outbuilding that Jagger presumed was the ranch garage. He kept pace with her across the gravel.

  “Is it possible that Dylan rode Midnight in the dark, that he could’ve tried to run me over?”

  “I don’t know what’s possible anymore!” she snapped. “I like Dylan. He’s been good to me here. I don’t believe he’d do anything like that. I mean, why would he?”

  “Accident? Afraid to own up?” Jagger gave her leeway to consider options.

  “And then he took your gear, wallet, gun? That was no accident. Besides, it’s not in his character.”

  “People can surprise us.”

  “Yeah,” she said crisply. “They sure can.”

  She entered the garage. Several vehicles were parked inside. She made for a gleaming black Cadillac Escalade as she fished keys out her pocket.

  “Let me drive,” he said.

  “You’re kidding, right? You’re the one whose been bashed on the head and can’t remember a thing.” She beeped the lock. “Apart from a white streak, that is.”

  Jagger climbed into the passenger seat, uneasy. He was rousing her suspicions and making her unhappy by implicating someone she liked. Her allegiances clearly came down on the side of Dylan Frick. This was one reason to keep his cover, for now. Jagger felt she’d tell Dylan.

  As they drove down a half-mile-long avenue toward an ornate brass gate that denoted the entrance to Dead River Ranch, the estate gates began to swing slowly open. A dark Lincoln turned into the avenue.

  “That’ll be Maximilian Finch, Jethro’s lawyer.”

  “The one he called for yesterday?”

  Mia nodded, mouth tight.

  Jagger turned to watch as the vehicle passed. A uniformed chauffeur sat in front, but the rear windows were tinted. He wondered if Max Finch might be more than just an estate lawyer. He made a mental note to look the guy up as soon as he got his hands on a computer.

  Jagger had also noticed the look in the Colton siblings’ eyes when they heard that their father had summoned Finch. Any one of them might be worried that the reappearance of Cole might prompt Jethro to write his first-born son into his will. Was that motive enough for attempted murder?

  Fields fell away on either side of the road as they drove toward the Laramie foothills. In the distance the mountains were pristine with snow. Jagger checked his watch, then remembered it wasn’t there. He wondered how much time he had before Drucker closed in on his ID.

  * * *

  After several miles in the purring Escalade, the road began to twist and turn as they climbed out of the valley. “It’s beautiful here,” he said, breaking the silence.

  Mia cast him a glance. “I thought we’d take this route seeing as we’ll be returning on the road through Dead. That way we’ll pass through the field where I found you.”

  She was silent for several more twists and turns in the road.

  “Mia,” Jagger said, “I’m sorry about what happened with Dylan back there.”

  She inhaled deeply, then said, “I just don’t want to believe anything bad about him. Or anyone on the ranch. It’s so hard, you know, to think someone you work with, or like, might be responsible for something so heinous.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, too, for what I said yesterday about the Colton siblings being mercenary. About them wanting to save their father over finding the truth about your identity.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s love. And love is mercenary no matter how you look at it—people will protect what they care about, sometimes at the expense of others.” She paused as she took the Escalade around a steep curve. “I’d probably do exactly the same if it was my father. Or mother.”

  “Mercenary love.” Jagger studied her. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

  Her gaze ticked to his. “I’m not sure there is such a thing as altruistic love, when it comes down to it.”

  A smile curved over his lips. “You’re a philosophical sort.”

  She gave a shrug. “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I was tired yesterday. My words came out har
sh.”

  Jagger’s heart rate quickened. Would Mia give him the benefit of the doubt if he found the right way to tell her what he was doing? If he could present her with evidence that Jethro was guilty of some crime, might she forgive him for the deception, possibly keep helping him?

  Her words came to his mind.

  If you’re not Cole, it should still remain about Cole, baby Cole, even if he’s no longer alive, because the crime was never solved. There was no justice done. And justice needs to be done....

  Jagger glanced into the side mirror. There was a truck in the distance, but otherwise the road was quiet.

  “What made you come to Dead River Ranch, Mia?” he said, watching the truck. It was coming fast.

  “Wow. That’s out of left field.” Mia slowed the Escalade before taking another sharp curve. They crossed a bridge, the escarpment dropping sharply off on both sides now, the ground barren.

  He snorted. “I’m tired of talking about the Coltons. I want to know about you.”

  A strange, wistful look crossed her face and she smoothed a wisp of hair back from her brow.

  “I came to get away from the west coast for a while,” she said finally.

  “Why?”

  “Just needed a break.”

  “Whereabouts on the coast?”

  “Near Bellingham.”

  He waited, but she offered no more. Mia had walls around her that she appeared to guard fiercely. He wondered exactly what she was protecting inside. He thought again about the way she worried her ring finger.

  “So you needed to get away, and this infirmary position came up?” he offered.

  Her jaw tightened ever so slightly. Another beat of silence.

  “Yes,” she said after a while. “I saw the job advertised and the pay was phenomenal, for the right person—there’s no shortage of wealth in the Colton family. And the ranch was far enough from home. I was also attracted by the openness of the skies, the fishing in the area. The Laramie mountains are renowned for their trout streams.”

  “You really love fishing.”

  “I love the outdoors. Fly fishing can take you to the heart of it. The art of tying flies, trying to mimic nature, watching what the fish are biting, it teaches you to see the world in a very intimate way...” Her voice faded and a deeply sad look entered her eyes.

  “What did you need to leave behind so badly, Mia?”

  Her fists tightened on the wheel. “This is none of your business, Cole.”

  He sat back in silence, listening to the smoothness of the Cadillac engine, watching the road ribboning by. Then he said quietly, “I wish I knew what my business was here.” He hesitated, then said, “Drucker was driving your relationship status home, and he was doing it for a reason. I was wondering if that reason had any bearing on what’s unfolding with me.”

  She blew out a breath of frustration. “It has no bearing. When Drucker questioned all of us after Avery’s kidnapping and Faye Frick’s murder, he asked where I was from and why I’d chosen Dead River Ranch. He and his officers asked everyone the same questions, looking for motive. So I told him and now he’s using it to rattle my cage, because that’s what Drucker does. He doesn’t trust anyone right now.”

  He glanced at Mia. Her cheeks were flushed, her neck tense. “Your past rattles your cage.”

  “Jesus. Yes! I applied for the job here because my engagement fell apart, okay? My fiancé dumped me at the altar while I stood there like a lost fool in my fancy wedding gown. I told Drucker that I’d needed to get as far away as I could from everyone who reminded me what a bloody loser I am.” Her eyes crackled with the fire. “Happy now?”

  Shock rustled through Jagger.

  “I...I’m so sorry, Mia.”

  She gave another quick shrug. But swallowed deeply.

  “It really messed you up?”

  “Damn right it messed me up. Sent me into therapy, too. You try it some day and see how you feel. My uncle flew from England to give me away. My bridesmaids were waiting with me. The caterers had prepared a feast and were waiting on guests. My mother had spent more money than she had to spend...” Her voice caught.

  “It’s not just that, Cole, it’s the realization that your whole future was being constructed on lies.” She paused, gathering raw emotions. “I loved him. I thought Brad, my fiancé, loved me back. I believed him when he said he wanted to build a life with me, have children with me.” She gave soft laugh and her eyes glittered. “How could I have not seen through the lies?”

  Guilt twisted through Jagger.

  “How long were you and Brad engaged?” he said quietly.

  A muscle ticked above her eye. She was battling to hold her emotion in now that she’d started to tell him.

  “It’s okay, Mia—I shouldn’t have—”

  “Sixteen months,” she said, voice thick. “Long enough to plan the wedding. Long enough to plan a life, put a down payment on a small house, get a mortgage, talk about children.” She swallowed. “Long enough to believe I was going to spend the rest of my life as Mrs. Brad MacLean.”

  “Tell me about him—Brad.”

  Her gaze snapped to him. “Why?”

  “Because I like you, Mia. And that makes me want to know you.”

  Something unreadable flashed through her eyes. “Cole, last night—the kiss—it was a mistake.”

  He swallowed, nodded. “I understand.” He wanted to say more, but it risked bringing up his nightmares. It risked fracturing the fragile thing they’d shared.

  “I don’t even know who you are,” she added, and Jagger knew she was struggling with her attraction to him. Just as he was conflicted over his attraction to her.

  He remained silent.

  “I thought Brad was a hero,” she said after a while. “A big, brave, alpha guy who knew his heart, knew himself, made sacrifices for others.” She went quiet awhile. “But he was a coward. Brad Maclean was a yellow-bellied bastard who was terrified of commitment and didn’t have the guts to look me in the eye and tell me. He didn’t have the balls to call off the wedding before it happened. He just got on a plane that morning and left me standing outside the church.”

  Jagger stared at her, shocked. “He got on a plane?”

  “For Nigeria. He’s still there for all I know. He never called or wrote. He never said sorry.”

  He thought of his own fear of commitment, his inability to ask for Melinda’s hand in marriage. Melinda, like Mia, was a good person. She’d dreamed of the same things Mia had just spoken of. House. Kids. Family. But every time Melinda had raised those things Jagger had been unable to breathe. The mere thought of tying himself to a woman and a mortgage on a house in suburbia had given him severe claustrophobia. Until Afghanistan.

  Until the ambush and the head injury had changed everything Jagger thought he knew about himself.

  But by then it had been too late.

  Melinda was gone, married to someone else. Jagger figured she’d been seeing the guy while he was in Afghanistan, if not before. But she had offered him an ultimatum. She’d given him a chance to change his mind.

  And he’d run. Like Mia’s ex had run.

  Jagger got guys like Brad MacLean. Brad was the man Jagger once was.

  Guilt, remorse, wrenched through his stomach. He wanted to reach out, touch Mia. Say he was sorry. For her, for himself. For Melinda. For men like Brad who lived empty lives. For every damn mistake he’d made in his life. He wanted to tell her how he was different now.

  She quickly rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Mia...I shouldn’t have pressed. I’m sorry—”

  “I should’ve listened to what my mother was actually trying to tell me from the beginning—that Brad was wrong for me, that he was too much like my father, that I was going to repeat the m
istakes she’d made in her own relationship with my dad.” Her jaw lifted as she straightened her spine. “And I should be so over it by now,” Mia said crisply. “I thought I was. But...” Her eyes met his, briefly, then she returned her attention to the road, leaving the sentence hanging, as if she’d said too much.

  “But what?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Genuinely curious now, Jagger said, “How was Brad like your father?”

  Mia gave a soft snort. “My father lived for adrenaline, adventure. He was a mountaineer. The dopamine fix that came from risking his life was a drug for him, and he was an addict.” She slowed for another bend, following the road higher into the mountains. The snow seemed closer. “The more my father could inhabit that raw place between life and death, the happier he was. And he’d choose it over my mother, over helping her make a home. He’d choose it over being a father.” She paused. “In hindsight, Brad was just like him.”

  Jagger leaned back into the passenger seat and scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Mia could be talking about him. His fix had also been risking his life. In his case it was to get the story. And it had been a drug. Sure, he liked to argue that he was the voice of the underdog, but he couldn’t deny that he’d started to live for the thrill of the hunt. Jagger was a composite of everything Mia didn’t like in a man.

  “Did you hate your father?” he asked quietly, watching the empty black ribbon of road unfolding before them.

  “No. I loved him, worshipped him. We all did. Like puppy dogs hoping your superhero will look your way, and feeling so proud when he did pay you attention. Or when he taught you to fish. Or took you camping.” Mia inhaled deeply. “In some ways, when he died, my mother was liberated.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Avalanche on Denali five years ago.”

  Avalanche. Denali. A beat of recognition drummed through Jagger. “Your father was a guide?”

  “Yeah, he was taking five clients up when he triggered a massive slide—an error of judgment. It was a controversy in the climbing community for a while. People blamed him for the deaths. Two of the families sued. Others said that was just the risk of going out there—sometimes Mother Nature won and you died.”