Deliverance at Cardwell Ranch

She returned a few moments later with the coat.

“Seriously, keep it. You need it more than I do.”

“Take the damned coat,” Marc called to him before slamming the Suburban door.

Austin shook his head at her. “Keep it. Please,” he said quietly.

Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.” She quickly reached for his hand and pressed what felt like a scrap of paper into his palm. “For everything.” She then quickly pulled down her shirtsleeve, which had ridden up. He only got a glimpse of the fresh red mark around her wrist.

Austin sensed Marc behind him as he helped her into his coat. It swallowed her, but the December day was cold, another snowstorm threatening.

“Well, if we’ve all wished each other enough luck, it’s time to hit the road,” Marc said, joining them. “Hormones.” He sounded disgusted as he looked at his wife. “The woman is in tears half the time.” He put one arm around her roughly and reached into his pocket with the other. “Forgive my manners,” he said, pulling out a crinkled twenty. “Here, this is for your trouble.”

Austin stared down at the twenty.

Marc thrust the money at him. “Take it.” There was an underlying threatening sound in his voice. The man’s blue eyes were ice-cold.

“Please,” Rebecca said. Austin still couldn’t think of her as this man’s wife. There was pleading in her voice, in her gaze.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the money. “You really didn’t have to, though.”

Marc chuckled at that.

“Have a nice trip, then. Drive carefully.” Austin turned and walked toward his rental SUV.

Behind him, he heard Marc say, “Get in the car.”

When he turned back, she was pulling herself up into the large rig. He climbed into his own vehicle, but waited until the Suburban drove away. He caught only a glimpse of her wan face in the side window as they left. Her brown eyes were wide with more than tears. The woman seemed even more terrified.

His heart was already pounding like a war drum. That red mark around her right wrist. All his instincts told him that this was more than a bossy husband.

He tossed down the twenty and, reaching in his pocket, took out the scrap of paper she’d pressed into his palm. It appeared to be a corner of a page torn from a motel Bible. There were only four words, written in a hurried scrawl with an eyeliner pencil: “Help me. No law.”

Chapter Seven (#ulink_7e52b97f-04bc-5829-8062-8daf80564020)

Austin looked down the main street where the black Suburban had gone. If Marc Stewart was headed for Helena, he was going the wrong way.

He hesitated only a moment before he started the engine, backed up and turned onto the street.

Bozeman was one of those Western towns that had continued to grow—unlike a lot of Montana towns. In part, its popularity was because of its vibrant and busy downtown as well as being the home of Montana State University.

Austin cursed the traffic that had him stopped at every light while the black Suburban kept getting farther away. What he couldn’t understand was why Marc Stewart was headed southwest if he was anxious to get his wife home. Maybe they were going out for breakfast first.

He caught another stoplight and swore. The Suburban was way ahead and unfortunately a lot of people in Bozeman drove large rigs, which made it nearly impossible to keep the vehicle in sight. He was getting more nervous by the moment. All his instincts told him the woman hadn’t been delusional. She was in trouble.

From the beginning, she’d said the car wasn’t hers, the purse wasn’t hers and that her name wasn’t Rebecca Stewart. What if she had been telling the truth?

It was that thought that had him hitting the gas the moment the light changed. Determined not to have to stop at the next one, he sped through the yellow light and kept going. He sped through another yellow light, barely making it. But ahead, he could see the Suburban. It was headed southwest out of town.

That alone proved something, didn’t it?

But what? That Marc Stewart had lied about wanting to get his wife home to Helena as quickly as possible. What else might he be lying about? The pregnancy?

Austin used the hands-free system in the SUV to put in a call to the doctor at the hospital who’d handled the case. He knew he couldn’t ask outright about the patient’s condition. But...

Dr. Mayfield came on the line.

“Doctor, it’s Austin Cardwell. I’m the man who found Rebecca Stewart—”

“Yes, I remember you, Mr. Cardwell. What can I do for you?”

“I ended up with Mrs. Stewart’s purse after last night’s emergency.” He was counting on the doctor not knowing he’d already stopped by the hospital earlier. “I wanted to drop it by if Mrs. Stewart is up to it.”

“I’m sorry, but her husband checked her out earlier today.”

“I noticed she has prenatal vitamins in her purse when I was looking for her identification.”

A few beats of silence stretched out a little too long. “Mr. Cardwell, I’m not sure what Mrs. Stewart told you, but I’m not at liberty to discuss her condition.”

“Understood.” He’d heard the surprise in the silence before the doctor had spoken. “Oh, one more thing. I just wanted to be sure she got her watch before she left the hospital. She was worried about it.”

“Just a moment.” The doctor left the line. When he came back, he said, “Yes, her husband picked it up for her.”

Her husband picked up the watch with the name Gillian on it?

“Thank you, Doctor.” He disconnected. Ahead, he could see the black Suburban still headed west on Highway 191. Marc had lied about her being pregnant, but why?

Austin thought about calling Marshal Hud Savage, but what would he tell him? That Marc Stewart was a liar. That wasn’t illegal. Even if he told the marshal about the note the woman had passed him or about the diamond watch with the wrong name on it, Austin doubted Hud would be able to do more than he already had. Not to mention Rebecca had specified, No law.

Her name isn’t Rebecca, just as she’d said, he realized with a jolt.

It’s Gillian. Gillian Cooper. Rebecca’s sister? The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. That was the only thing she had reacted to last night other than the man who was pretending to be her husband. It was the name on the expensive watch. It was proof—

Austin groaned as he realized it proved nothing. If she was Rebecca, she could have a reason for wearing her sister’s watch. He thought of a woman he knew who wore her brother’s St. Christopher medal. Her brother had died of cancer a few years before.

So maybe there was no mystery to the watch. But the woman in that black Suburban was in trouble. She’d asked for his help. Even if she was Rebecca and Marc Stewart was her husband, she was terrified of him. Terrified enough to leave her child and run.

That was the part that just didn’t add up. Maybe Marc wouldn’t let her take the child. All this speculation was giving him a headache.

Austin saw the four-way stop ahead. The black Suburban was in the left-hand turn lane. Marc Stewart was turning south—back up the Gallatin Canyon where Austin had found her the night before. So where was he going if not taking her home?

Instead of taking the highway south, though, the Suburban pulled into the gas station at the corner. Austin slowed, hanging back as far as he could as he saw Marc pull up to a gas pump and get out. The woman climbed out as well, said something to Marc and then went inside.

Austin saw his chance and pulled behind the station. He knew he didn’t have much time since he wasn’t sure why the woman had gone into the convenience store. If he was right, the man would be watching her, afraid to let her out of his sight. All he could hope was that the Suburban’s gas tank was running low. He knew from experience that it took a long while to fill one.