Chapter One
Wade Hendricks wascoming home.
Thunderheads gathered at the edge of the sky like portents of doom as he drove down the deserted stretch of highway toward Lost Lake.It figured that a storm was brewing, because all of his worldly possessions were piled high in the back of his pickup.Tension settled into his shoulders as he prepared for a difficult day.He didn’t mind foul weather, but he wasn’t looking forward to the reunion with his mother.Their relationship got more strained every year.Now she needed help, though she refused to admit it, and Wade was the only one left to do the job.He hadn’t bothered to warn her about his visit.She would have told him to stay in Last Chance and mind his own business.
Wade was glad for his four-wheel drive as he navigated the lonely country road.Wynona Hendricks lived on a ranch she’d inherited from her grandparents out in the middle of nowhere.Although Wade had been born in Lost Lake, they’d moved to Last Chance when he was five.He’d spent very little time at the ranch since then.He had no happy memories of the land, no childhood nostalgia for rolling fields and wide-open spaces.As an adult, he’d come to check on his mother periodically, or to offer a hand with repairs.They didn’t spend holidays here.
Wade was still a stranger to these parts, and he didn’t expect a warm welcome.
Dust kicked up in a cloud behind his tires, and the rain he’d expected didn’t materialize.He arrived at his destination before he was ready to face it.A metal gate hung off-kilter next to a wooden sign with burned-in letters that proclaimed:Nolan Ranch.Two bear statues, roughly carved by a local chainsaw artist, guarded the front entrance.He’d always likened the cubs to himself and his brother, standing on hind legs, squared up for battle.
Wade pushed the thoughts of Billy aside as he continued toward the main house.His mother’s green Subaru was parked out front.He slowed to a stop at the end of the driveway and surveyed the house’s exterior.Maybe it was a trick of the light, but the property looked tidier than usual.
As he exited the vehicle, three new additions came bounding around the corner, barking furiously at him.
Nowthiswas typical.Every time he visited, Wynona had a different menagerie of pets.She called it fostering, because she tried to find acceptable homes for them.Wade studied the trio of dogs with trepidation.One was roughly the size of a horse, with a dignified, fur-tufted head and long, gangly legs.He couldn’t identify the breed.The next was an Australian shepherd mix with a speckled coat and two different-colored eyes.The littlest, a Chihuahua, raced around Wade’s boots in a tannish blur.
As a law officer, and a former ranch hand, he had plenty of experience with animals.He knew when to retreat and when to proceed with caution.Of these dogs, only the big one appeared capable of doing serious harm.Wade greeted the beast with a calm, friendly tone.The big dog circled him but didn’t approach.The Chihuahua had no such qualms.It snarled at Wade’s ankles, kicking up dust.
Annoyed by the commotion, Wade walked toward the dog run on the side of the house.It was a basic concrete slab, secured by chain-link, and still in good condition.Wade had built it himself a few years ago for another set of rowdy dogs his mother had owned.She hadn’t used it becauseanimals needed to be free.
The Chihuahua tried to bite his boot heels with every step.Wade shuffled sideways and opened the gate.
“Get in,” he said, gesturing inside.
The wolfhound, or whatever it was, obeyed without a fuss.The Aussie mix retrieved an old tennis ball and dropped it at Wade’s feet.Then it sat with ears perked up and tongue lolled out, excited by the prospect of a new playmate.The Chihuahua finally found purchase on the hem of his jeans.It clamped down on the fabric with a miniature snarl.
Wade jerked his leg free and repeated the order.“Get in!”
The Aussie mix dashed inside, alarmed by Wade’s raised voice, or his size-twelve boots.There was a bowl of fresh water inside the run, along with a large doghouse Wade hadn’t seen before.He bent to pick up the Chihuahua, because it wasn’t following orders.As soon as his hands touched fur, the dog whipped its head around and attacked.Sharp teeth sank into the fleshy pad between his thumb and forefinger.
Wade yowled in pain and surprise, because the dog had a nasty bite to match its temperament.He wanted to throw the little bastard into the pen, but he didn’t.He deposited the pint-sized creature next to his friends and slammed the gate.Blood welled from two punctures on his hand.The Chihuahua snapped at the chain-link, ready to attack again.Its hackles were raised, teeth bared in menace.
Wade noted that the dog had very few teeth to display.His faded muzzle and hazy eyes hinted at an advanced age.Wade wondered how a half-blind dog with three crooked teeth had managed to get a piece of him.
Grumbling under his breath, he secured the gate to the dog run.Then he let himself in to the house through a side door to the kitchen.The last time he’d visited, he’d repaired the sink.He approached it now, pleased with his handiwork.The sink was spotless and free of clutter.He turned on the faucet and let cool water flow over his sore hand.Then he added a squirt of soap and scrubbed at the bite wound.
As he glanced around the kitchen, he noticed a few more anomalies.Like the sink, the floors and countertops were clean.
Weird.Very weird.
“Hello?”he called out, wiping his hands with a paper towel.
No answer.
A chill traveled down his spine.His mother was a fun-loving, free-wheeling type.She stayed out late and drank too much.She’d been indulging more than usual lately.What if she was sicker than he thought, and he’d come too late?
Wade’s chest tightened as a disturbing memory assailed him.Six months ago, in another kitchen, he’d found a body face down on the linoleum, blood spattered across the floor.Being a first responder to that particular death scene would always haunt him.It was one of the reasons he’d left Last Chance.
He glanced up at the ceiling and took a calming breath.His mother was probably sleeping off a hangover, right as rain.The woman was indestructible.
Instead of going in search of her, he opened the fridge.He found an array of food and beverages.There were healthy options, like fresh fruit.Frowning, he grabbed a cold soda and cracked it open.As he lifted the can to his lips, the sound of a creaking floorboard alerted him of another presence.Someone was approaching with stealth, and it probably wasn’t his mother.She didn’t creep around in her own house.She didn’t creep around anywhere.Wynona Hendricks entered every room like a rodeo queen making a grand entrance.
An unfamiliar voice broke the silence: “Back up slowly, and put your hands where I can see ’em.”
Wade glanced over his shoulder, the soda can still hovering near his mouth.A strange woman stood in the hallway, less than six feet away.She had his mother’s gun, a serviceable relic that she kept loaded with buckshot to run off coyotes or cougars.Wade had cleaned and emptied it after Christmas.
“Did you hear me?”the woman asked, pumping the action.“I said back up.”
