Storm Damage (Big Sky Series Book 1) Page 23

  “Good,” he returned, his voice soft and gentle.

  “I’m thinking I need to learn your moves,” Jake said out of the blue.

  I tipped my head back and looked at him. He was watching Logan and me, his face unreadable.

  “His moves?”

  Jake hesitated then shrugged. “Only a few people in this town can best me. Logan being one of them. I figure if this thing between you doesn’t work out, I’ll need to be prepared to kick his ass to the curb.”

  That was more like the Jake I knew. He wanted this for me, wouldn’t stand in our way, but he wasn’t opposed to taking matters into his own hands if it went bad. Probably looked forward to it if the gleam in his eyes was any indicator. And who better than to teach him how to get rid of Logan than Logan himself.

  Logan leaned back and grinned at Jake. The purple around his eyes had faded and was turning yellow. He was no less handsome, even bruised.

  “Sure, kid.”

  Josh bounded from the table and ran to his room, shouting over his shoulder, “I need to know this to kick Jake’s ass. Don’t start without me.”

  Jake grinned and stood to follow.

  I sighed and shook my head.

  Logan hooked his arm around my shoulders and laughed.

  _______________

  Chance tossed back his whiskey with a shaking hand as Butch Johnson approached. The ranch hand had been skirting around the edges of Chance’s notice half the day. He’d been watching Chance for some reason. The determination in his eyes told him Johnson had finally worked up enough courage to approach him, now that the rest of his staff had left for their bunkhouse or a road trip to Bozeman for supplies.

  Bear Claw had been running on autopilot since his father’s death. The herd had just been brought down from the high country that morning in preparation for winter, but Chance’s attention had been on the valley below instead of the cattle that paid the bills. His sister and brothers had spent the past hour in front of their cabin wrestling around like fools with Logan Storm. The shouts and laughter of their happy unit had peaked his anger to new heights, all while his father’s voice whispered in his head. Kill them. Make them pay. They’re the reason you grew up without a mother. End it all today.

  Chance poured another shot of whiskey, while Johnson took a step up onto the wraparound porch and leaned his large frame against one of the massive rock columns that held up the roof. He ignored the man and clenched his teeth. His sister had just jumped on the back of Logan Storm. He watched the big man as he hiked her up higher on his back as if she weighed nothing. Which she didn’t. She looked just like his mother. Just like the woman who had never fought to keep him. Tiny. Petite. Fucking angelic. But there was nothing angelic about Sarah James. She was a demon in disguise and his father the devil himself.

  “We need to talk.”

  Chance threw a fleeting glance at Johnson. “So talk then leave me be.”

  “About what I saw the night your father died.”

  Chance didn’t react to the threat. He turned his head and watched the man closely, waiting for him to show all his cards.

  “I figure you did it to put him out of his misery.” Johnson smiled slightly, conveying a false sympathy for Justice Bear, who had been a bastard to every living soul who’d worked on Bear Claw Ranch. “That bein’ said, I’m done with cold winters in Montana and need money to head south. I figure you could help me with that.”

  “In exchange for keeping your mouth shut?”

  Johnson shrugged, looking at ease because he thought he held all the cards.

  A burst of laughter drew his attention back to the valley below. His hand fisted in reaction as the cackle became a chorus in his head, taunting him. They dared to be happy when their very existence was the cause of his pain. Standing abruptly, unable to listen another second, Chance mumbled, “You want a drink while I write you a check?”

  Johnson glanced at the bottle of whiskey and grinned. “Make it a double, then I’ll be on my way off the mountain and out of your hair.”

  _______________

  “Better,” Logan mumbled, reaching out his hand to help Jake from the snow-covered ground while Max bounded between them, ready to join in the fun.

  “How was that better? I’m still flat on my ass in the snow.”

  “You rotated your hips like I told you and it stalled my takedown. That’s improvement.”

  “How is putting me on my ass gonna teach me how to take you down?”

  Logan raised his hands and waved Jake toward him again. Jake dropped his head back on his shoulders for a moment, breathing through his frustration, then came at Logan suddenly. The kid pivoted like he’d been told, and Logan counteracted the move then stopped and held Jake in a tight grip. “It’s about muscle memory. Your body needs to memorize each step until you can do it in your sleep. Once you have it down without hesitation, then we’ll move forward.”

  Logan shoved Jake forward and waved him back again, setting his hips. “If it’s about muscle memory and learning how to move step-by-step, why do I keep landing on my ass?”

  Logan grinned. “Payback for my nose.”

  A deep chuckle broke from Jake’s throat. “Right.”

  Josh had been watching Logan and Jake for the past thirty minutes. His focus was intense any time Logan glanced at him. He reminded Logan of Loverboy. The way he seemed to study any situation, breaking it down into parts until he had the answer he wanted.

  “You ready to try?” Logan asked the kid.

  Josh looked between them and nodded. “I want a go at Jake, though.”

  Jake threw his brother a smug look. “Bring it on, bro.”

  Skylar had been sitting on the porch watching. When Logan stepped back to give them room, he heard her feet hit the steps, the crunch of the snow as she moved quickly beside him.

  “Don’t hurt him, Jake.”

  Josh glanced at his sister, and Logan saw the instant he grew from boy to man. His eyes hardened fractionally then he gestured for Jake to come at him just like Logan had done. Jake shook his head as if to say, “It’s your funeral,” then rushed the kid, trying to gain the upper hand. And ended up on his back for his trouble. Josh had taken the time to dissect Logan’s moves while he’d waited, then executed exactly what he’d observed, almost to a T.

  Jake looked up at his brother in admired shock. “Fuck me.”

  Josh crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. “An object in motion stays in motion, dickweed. Haven’t you ever studied Sir Isaac Newton?”

  Skylar choked a little beside Logan, so he turned to watch the show. Her eyes were glittering with humor; her hand had come up to cover her mouth. Her cheeks were pink from the temperature, her hair a mess on top of her head. She had no makeup on. No lip shit to enhance what God had already given her, and He’d given her a fuck of a lot already. And when she threw her head back and laughed, the sound so fucking happy it warmed him from the inside out, he silently spoke to his brothers. See that, brothers? She’s mine. I wish like fuck you could be here to meet her. You’d love Skylar. She’s all-American steel, just like we’d talked about. Soft and gentle but so fucking strong you can’t help but move heaven and earth to give her what she wants. And she’s healing me. Keeping the demons at bay. Helping me live again.

  Logan swallowed at the thought. He’d wanted peace. A place to settle. But deep down he never believed he could truly escape the pain. He understood now that pain, like love, was an ever-evolving emotion. It ebbed and flowed in the good and bad times. You couldn’t escape it. But it was up to you how you dealt with it. Move forward or stay stuck in the past. Let it consume you or learn to live with the aftereffects. He knew if the shoe was on the other foot, he’d want his brothers to move forward. To be happy. And he sure as hell wouldn’t want them to take the blame. That truth struck him in the solar plexus as he watched his woman laugh her ass off. When she turned, bright eyes full of happiness—instead of pain and stress—his way, he cou
ldn’t hold back any longer. He reached out and curled his hand around her neck and jerked her to him, kissing her wet and deep so he could lay claim once again to all that beauty.

  He wasn’t sure how long it would take for this overwhelming need to claim her constantly to cease. It was just her brothers and the fucking mountains in the distance, but the persistent drive to beat his chest like a fucking caveman overpowered him. He wanted to hole up with Skylar for a month until he was as under her skin as she was to him. Wanted to be at the bar every second so he could stand between her and danger. Wanted to put a ring on her finger and his kid in her belly before they were even ready, just to prove to the world who she belonged to. He knew he needed to come to grips with the intense need to keep her in his sights at all times. To calm the voice in his head that said if he turned his back for one second, she’d be gone. Vanish. Just like his brothers.

  Ripping his mouth for hers, Logan pinned her to his body while he tried to collect his rambling thoughts. Tried to figure out why the hair on the back of his neck seemed to be standing on end suddenly. Why his radar was on high alert at that very moment. Everything in him said to stalk to his truck and pull out his M40. To scan the area for intruders. And when Max growled beside him, putting Logan on alert, just as he’d been trained, he knew his instincts were right. His attention darted from scanning the area for the enemy to his war dog. He followed Max’s line of sight up, up, up until he saw a dark figure on the rocky outcropping just below Chance’s monstrosity of a home.

  Then he was running to his truck.

  Twenty-One

  Puzzle Pieces

  WHILE PINNED TO Logan’s chest—his arms wrapped so tightly around me I could barely breathe—you’d think my whole being would be centered on the man holding me. But a dark figure of a man weaving and stumbling on the outcropping above our land held my attention instead. Focusing on the distant figure, I was certain it wasn’t Chance. The man had shorter hair and a stockier build than my older brother. I’d seen ranch hands near the edge before, but never this close. Why Justice never put a guard rail up when Chance was a baby, I’ll never know. Hell, why he built his house so close to the edge I’ll never understand. I always figured it was some perverted way of looking down on the rest of us. On all of Madison County. The proverbial king on his throne, watching the peasants as they spent their days in pursuit of a fraction of what he’d attained in his life.

  The man seemed to stumble then right himself as he grew closer to the edge. I opened my mouth to shout a warning I knew he wouldn’t hear, but Logan must have seen him too because he let go of me suddenly, running for his truck with a barking Max close at his heel. But there was nothing Logan could do. I watched in horror as the man stumbled again, then pitched forward and walked right off the side of the ridge in a free fall. I spun around, unable to watch him fall to his death, and clenched my eyes shut as a scream spilled from my throat. Jake and Josh both rushed to my side, shouting, “What’s wrong?” so I pointed behind me, pulling air deep into my lungs to keep from passing out at the thought of what the fall had done to his body.

  “A man just walked off the ridge,” I finally choked out.

  Both turned instantly when Logan’s truck revved—breaking the eerie silence—and took off. I followed them with my eyes to keep from searching for the body I knew was no more than fifty yards from the back of our home. I didn’t need to see the snow tarnished with crimson to know the man hadn’t survived the fall. Not from the height of an eight-story building.

  My brothers dove into the back of Logan’s truck, where Max stood barking, and held on as the tires spun briefly in the snow then it darted forward, covering the distance to where the man had fallen in a matter of moments. When they bailed out of the back of the truck, I ran into the house for my cell phone and dialed 911.

  _______________

  Twilight faded into darkness as Logan pulled in front of Bear Claw Ranch. In the distance he could see the bunkhouse was lit from within, but the main house was dark. The commotion below, when Ennis paramedics came to take away the body of Butch Johnson, clearly hadn’t alerted the ranch to the accident.

  Logan scanned the massive log structure in front of him and searched for any sign of life. He still had no proof Chance Bear was responsible for the recent deaths in Ennis, but his gut told him he was on the right track, even though he’d watched Butch Johnson take a nosedive off the ridge under his own power. He hadn’t seen another soul on the cliff at the time the man fell, so he had no cause to question Chance Bear in an apparent accident. He was here only in an official capacity to notify the owner of the property. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take the opportunity to take the man’s pulse. He needed to be sure Butch Johnson’s death had been an accident. Just as Frank Wells’s death appeared to be an accident.

  Six deaths in a week.

  That thought gnawed at Logan as he stepped toward the log home, searching for any trace of life. He’d left Max with Skylar to protect her and her brothers while he was gone. Normally the war dog would have his backside. They’d been able to infiltrate the enemy easily, knowing their six was always covered by Max, so Logan turned to his side to keep an eye on his back and front.

  Darkness had settled fully. With no light on in the front yard or the home, the gloom was as thick as mud. Logan scanned the area looking for Chance’s truck and didn’t see it. He took a cautious step toward the front steps, palming the gun tucked into the back of his jeans out of habit. He’d also strapped his combat knife to his belt loop and had zip ties in his pocket. His gut told him not to confront Bear without his usual tools of engagement.

  He took the steps up to the front door on silent feet. The boards creaked beneath his weight, the only sound of his approach. He stilled before knocking, glancing to his left. An eerie calm had shaped the night. No sounds of wildlife threatened the silence. No owls made their presence known. Only stillness and a sense of foreboding filled the air.

  Squinting into the inky gloom, Logan pivoted and started to draw his weapon just as a shadow rushed him with an arm raised, bearing a knife glittering off the moonlight. He dodged the strike, losing his gun in the process, as he thrust out with his foot, his boot glancing off the shadow of a man as it melted into the pitch-black and disappeared. Logan immediately released his knife from its harness instead of searching for his gun, turning the blade toward his body, ready to dance.

  “This is Chief of Police Logan Storm,” he told the night. “Come out with your hands up.”

  Silence.

  He hadn’t seen the man’s face but he was sure it was Chance Bear. “Chance Bear. Come out with your hands raised.”

  Nothing.

  Logan centered his attention on his surroundings, listening for sounds of his attacker. The night felt empty. Void of life. He waited a moment longer, then sheathed his knife and stepped off the porch to his truck. He turned on his headlights and scanned the porch. It was as empty as the night, so he bounded back up the steps and located his 9mm. As he stepped off the porch, headlights coming from the direction of the highway broke the night, so he waited until the vehicle was closer then drew his weapon and signaled it to stop.

  The driver’s side window lowered as he approached, and an old man with graying hair stuck his head out the window and growled, “You point that thing at a man you better be ready to use it.”

  Logan produced his badge and flashed it at the man with his free hand, not lowering his weapon. Inside the cab with the old man were two younger men, both wearing identical looks of anger.

  “I’m here to inform Chance Bear that one of his employees took a header off the ridge earlier this afternoon and died. I was attacked by an unknown while in the process of notification, so until I have your cooperation, my weapon stands at the ready. Do you know where I can find Chance Bear?”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” the old man muttered, making the sign of the cross. “Not another one. First Rip and now . . . Who was it this time?”

&nbs
p; “Do you know where I can find Chance Bear?” Logan barked out again, ignoring his question. His gut told him it was Bear on the porch, but he couldn’t be certain. He needed confirmation Bear was on the ranch.

  The old man swallowed then shook his head. “Ain’t seen him since this afternoon. Said he was headed into Twin Bridges on business and intended to stay the night. He’s got a woman up there he visits from time to time.”

  Logan lowered his weapon and stuck it in his waistband. “Dead man’s name is Butch Johnson. The paramedics on the scene said he worked for Chance Bear. Is that correct?”

  “Jesus. Yeah. Decent worker but he constantly moaned about moving to Florida. I told him Florida ain’t no place for a cowboy, though.”

  “He have any enemies?”

  “None that I know of,” he replied, then turned to the man next to him. “You know of any, Cobb?”

  “He was too laid-back to piss anyone off,” Cobb replied. “Are you sayin’ this wasn’t an accident?”

  “Just crossing my T’s,” Logan mumbled, putting out his hand for the old man to shake. “If you hear from Bear tonight, let him know I need to talk to him.”

  “My name’s Mac. Mac Macey. I’ll let him know the minute he gets back.”

  Logan started to turn to leave then looked back at the old man. “You been on the ranch a while, Mac?”

  The old man nodded. “Been in charge of the chuck wagon goin’ on near twenty years.”

  “You got a cell number I could have if I need to get in touch with you?”

  Macey rattled off the number while Logan logged it in his contacts. When he was done, Logan decided the direct approach was best. “If I had questions about the operation here, would you talk to me?”

  The old man seemed to pale before clearing his throat. “I, ah, I’m loyal to the Bear Claw. Unless you get one of them warrants and force me to talk, I’m not inclined.”