“Townsend,” he said, his brows drawing together in concentration, a deep line of concern digging into his forehead. “He a friend of Bryce’s?”

“Was. Past tense. Why?”

J.D. didn’t answer. He just stood there, stroking his thumb back and forth across his lower lip as his mind worked. He had ridden back up along Five-Mile Creek after leaving Del, as much to clear his head as to look for signs of Del’s phantom cougar. The creek ran through a narrow strip of Forest Service land that acted as a buffer of sorts between Rafferty land and Bryce’s land. Heavily wooded, it had seemed like twilight in the middle of the day-a sensation that might have been peaceful if it hadn’t been oddly disturbing.

He hadn’t expected to find much of anything worth looking at. Some tracks maybe, nothing more. The area was isolated, with no easy access. Not the sort of place the tourists and hikers sought out. The Absaroka-Beartooth wilderness offered miles of trails for them, although he had seen backpackers and signs of backpackers on Rafferty land more and more as the legitimate park areas became more crowded. What he found on Five-Mile Creek he couldn’t attribute to weekend foot traffic.

Signs of horses-a number of horses-and dogs. The carcass of what had been a big, strong hunting dog a week or so ago lay half in the creek, its body torn and rotting, fouling the water. He pulled it out and left it on the bank for nature to dispose of. The state of decay made it difficult to determine how the dog had met his end. He thought of Del’s claim of a big cat, and wondered. A cougar would turn and fight if it had to.

Horses, dogs, cigarette butts, and shell casings on the ground. Signs of a hunt. But there was nothing in season. Cougars were protected, at any rate-not that some didn’t meet untimely ends every year. There were guides who would promise big cats to hunters for a price. Poaching was one of the most common-and most profitable-crimes in the state of Montana.

Horses, dogs, signs of a hunt. And just north of Five-Mile Creek lay Evan Bryce’s private paradise. Bryce the sportsman. Bryce the high roller. Bryce, who was a friend of the dead judge who was the lover of the dead Lucy, who was the client of the dead lawyer, Daggrepont.

“I broke the news to Bryce myself,” Mari said. “He was devastated.” She rolled her eyes and made a face.

“What’d he do?”

“He made the appropriate noises, but his heart wasn’t in it. Actually, I think he couldn’t have cared less. I didn’t see any genuine emotion out of him until Will crashed the party. Talk about uncomfortable moments. I don’t think Emily Post ever covered what to do when a drunken cowboy assaults the host and accuses him of playing the ol’ bump and grind with his wife.”

“Oh, Jesus,” J.D. swore, driving a hand back over his forehead and through his short dark hair. He cocked a leg and huffed out a sigh as he tried in vain to massage the knots from his neck. “What happened?”

“Will took a couple swings at Bryce, said some mean things to Samantha. Samantha ran into the house in tears, then Bryce broke a chair on Will’s ribs. He’s got an ugly temper. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t get on any side of him.”

“Yeah, like you have anything to say about it.”

She started to turn from him, as if she meant to walk away. J.D. snagged her by the arm and took a subtly aggressive step toward her. “I mean it, Mary Lee. I don’t like the feel of any of this.”

“And I don’t like you telling me what to do,” she said, scowling at him. She felt as if she hadn’t slept in days and the insulation on her temper was being stripped away layer by layer, exposing a tangle of raw nerve endings, which Rafferty poked at every time he came around. “You’re not a player here, cowboy, as far as I can see. You made that very clear last night. And before that, and before that. All you ever wanted from Lucy or me was sex and this land. You’re not getting either now, so that puts your nose out of joint. Tough.

“You don’t want me nosing around Lucy’s death. You don’t want me checking out your loony uncle. You don’t want me hanging around Bryce. Well, guess what, Rafferty? I don’t care what you don’t want. You don’t want me on mutually acceptable terms, so get the hell out of my life.”

She pulled her arm free of his grasp and started toward the house, feeling old and battle-scarred. Fleetingly she wondered what the folks back home would say if they could see her now. Little Marilee, who had almost compromised her life away in a failed attempt to please everybody else. If someone asked her to compromise now, she thought she would probably just haul off and punch that person in the mouth.

“You know,” she said, turning back toward J.D., “you’re nothing but a hypocrite, Rafferty. You sit up on your big horse on your precious mountain and pontificate about integrity and personal accountability. Look in a mirror. I’d say you’re about a quart low on both.”

J.D. said nothing. He stood on the deck and watched her go in. A few minutes later, her Honda started up on the other side of the house and gravel crunched and popped beneath the tires as she drove out of the yard.

SAMANTHA lay in the center of the king-size bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening for night sounds. There weren’t any. Not like there was in her house in town. No dogs barking. No late traffic from the patrons of the Hell and Gone on their way home. No grinding groan from her dinosaur of a refrigerator as it edged its way toward extinction. No ringing in her ears from straining to hear Will come in when she knew in her heart that he would not.

Oh, Will. What happens now?

The decision had already been made, she supposed. Will had made his feelings clear, and she had taken her first step away from him. A giant step. Onto shaky ground. Her heart beat at the base of her throat while she waited to take a long fall.

Bryce had made love to her. It seemed like a dream, but she knew it wasn’t. Her body hummed with the aftereffects.

He had told her he loved her.

She should have felt… something. Happy. Relieved. Excited. Vindicated. But she mostly felt numb. She was a naive stranger in uncharted territory. She didn’t know what was expected of her or what to expect of anyone else.

Bryce had slipped from the bed as she slept. She wondered now where he was, wondered what he might be thinking. Probably that she was an inexperienced girl and not very good in bed. If she had been good in bed, Will would never have left her.

Sighing, her heart weighing heavy in her chest, she sat up and propped herself against the headboard. There was a stem of purple snapdragons on the empty pillow where Bryce’s head should have been. Beneath the flower he had tucked a note. She opened it and read it by the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand.

Samantha,

I knew you would want some time to think.

Please don’t feel guilty. We followed our hearts;

they are seldom wrong.

Bryce

Her heart had steered her wrong more than once. Into Will’s arms. To the altar with a man who had no business being married. She no longer trusted it. She held her breath now and tried to listen to what it might tell her, but all she heard was the low buzz of the clock-radio on the nightstand.

Too tense to be still, she slipped out of bed and into the jeans and T-shirt that had been discarded. Barefoot, she padded across the thick carpet and stood staring out the window. The pool lights had been switched off. A thin sliver of moon turned the water to liquid pewter.

A memory surfaced, sweet and painful. Will grinning at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. A pool behind a house in Reno. They were on their honeymoon-two whole days of unbridled lust. They had blown all their cash but three dollars and ninety-seven cents playing slots and keno. Will had finagled a room for their wedding night in the Biggest Little Honeymoon Motel as a part of the package deal with the Biggest Little Wedding Chapel, but they had no money for a second night and Will’s MasterCard privileges had been revoked.