“I don’t see anything else yet, do you?”
“Just the tracks that Roy and the sheriff left. At least we know what they look like.” Erin paused, scanning the ground ahead. “There’s a trail that goes along the edge of the wash. There—those tire tracks are from Jasper’s ATV. See where they swing and go right off the edge? Careful where you step. If anybody else was here, this is where they would have been.”
“I don’t see anything but those damned big boot prints. They’re all over the place. If there were any other tracks here, they’ve been covered.”
“Let’s keep going,” Erin said. “Farther up the trail there’s a place where we can climb down into the wash.”
They followed the ATV tracks up the trail, finding nothing else. “Maybe I was wrong after all,” Erin said as they made the rocky descent into the wash. “Maybe Jasper just had a stroke or heart attack and went over the edge.”
“Wouldn’t the medical examiner have discovered that?”
“The medical examiner for this county is just a general practitioner. He made an educated guess, with Jasper’s age as a factor. According to the sheriff, the only marks on Jasper were from the wreck. If we find that missing pistol where it would have fallen, there’ll be less reason to suspect that someone else was there when he died.”
Moving down the wash, they could see the wrecked ATV ahead, still waiting to be pulled out and hauled away. It had gone over sideways, crushing a deep-rooted clump of sagebrush where it had landed top-down. The bed of the wash was covered with rocks, gravel, and small boulders, carried down from the escarpment by untold years of flash flooding. No tracks were visible here, even though the sheriff and his deputy would’ve taken plenty of steps, recovering Jasper’s body and searching around the ATV for any evidence.
But had they looked under the wreck? Glancing at Luke, Erin met his eyes and realized they both had the same idea.
The four-wheeler was lying at a slant, its wheels in the air. One corner was propped up by the partly crushed branches of the sagebrush plant.
“If the pistol’s anywhere, it would be under here.” Erin dropped to her knees. As she leaned forward for a better look, Luke stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t try to go down there until we get it braced,” he said. “And no reaching under with your hand. You never know what might’ve crawled in there to get out of the sun. Stay put while I look for a rock to shore up that corner.”
He moved down the wash, searching among the rubble for a boulder substantial enough to stabilize the ATV but not too heavy to carry. Erin watched his easy stride, admiring the way his perspiration-soaked shirt clung to his muscular arms and shoulders. He looked like a man who could handle anything—a man who would keep her safe.
When she’d first thought of coming here, she’d planned on coming by herself. Now she realized what a foolish idea that had been. This was a dangerous place, where it would be all too easy to lose her balance on the rocks, to be crushed by a slip of the ATV, or even bitten by a rattlesnake. A man had died here under suspicious circumstances. If anyone was involved in Jasper’s death, they might not like her snooping around. Alone, she would be almost helpless.
Still searching, Luke moved beyond her sight. A shiver of apprehension crept up Erin’s spine. Even knowing that he was minutes away, she felt vulnerable without him.
The seconds ticked by, only to be broken by the sudden, loud report of a gunshot. Acting on reflex, Erin ducked low, her heart slamming. “Luke!” she called. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. But I can’t say the same for the rattler.” He strode into sight, one hand holstering his pistol, the other hand carrying a hefty rock. “Blasted critter almost got me when I reached for this rock. That’ll teach me to keep a better lookout.”
Kneeling, he shoved the rock under the corner of the ATV, where it would catch the weight if the vehicle shifted.
“One more thing.” Picking up a broken branch, he thrust it under the overturned chassis of the ATV and moved it around to check for anything hiding in the shade. “Nothing there, as far as I can tell,” he said. “Want me to take a look?”
“You don’t know what to look for. I do.” Erin took off her hat and got down on her belly. There was an eight-inch space between the chassis, which had no roll bar, and the ground. She crawled close enough to peer into it. As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she could make out what would have been the top side of the ATV—the seats, the steering mechanism, the brake, and the holster where Jasper would have put his pistol. But there was no pistol, not on the vehicle or on the ground beneath.
She sat up. “I couldn’t see a gun, or anything else that might be a clue to what happened.”
Luke took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Her ankle had become so tender that she could barely put weight on it. “I’ve looked all around for the pistol,” he said. “If you didn’t find it, I think it’s safe to say that it isn’t here. Now let’s get you back to the ranch before somebody thinks you’ve run off with the hired help.”
Erin laughed because she knew he was joking—although she had to admit the idea had some appeal. Being with Luke was intoxicating, and the forbidden element lent an extra spark to every meeting of their eyes, and every accidental touch.
But she was a sensible young woman. Luke wasn’t interested in her. And even if he were, such a reckless choice on her part would break her father’s heart.
To climb out of the wash, they would need to go back up the narrow, rocky trail where they’d come down. Luke walked slightly behind her, lending his arm for support as they climbed toward the rim. Erin’s ankle was throbbing, but she knew better than to expect him to carry her as he had last night. On the treacherous ground, unable to see where he wa
s stepping, he could lose his footing and send them both tumbling.
“Stop! Look at this!” He caught her arm to steady her as she turned back. Erin went cold as she saw what he’d found.
On the right-hand side of the trail was a spot where sand had washed down and filled a space between the rocks, leaving a smooth patch that glittered in the blazing sun. There on the sand, faint but unmistakable, was the shallow print of a boot sole—a narrow cockroach kicker with a long, pointed toe.
* * *
From her hiding place in the rocks above the wash, Marie Fletcher watched the man and the slender young woman walk back toward the place where they’d left their horses. Spitting her chew on the ground, she uttered a string of curses that would have made a drunken sailor blush. Seven years in the hell of Gatesville Women’s Prison, where she’d served time for armed robbery, had done wonders for her vocabulary.