Montana Refuge Read Free

as long as it took her away from this area. It actually traveled past the station again and she peeked carefully through the window. Trill stood on the sidewalk, looking north and then south. As she watched, he took from his breast pocket a pair of sunglasses and perched them on his nose.
    They had orange lenses.
    She couldn’t go to her office because James Killigrew hated the sight of her. She couldn’t go home because Trill knew where she lived. She’d resided in Oregon less than a year and the one friend she’d made was a neighbor who worked swing shift at a restaurant and then checked in on her ailing brother before finally arriving home around midnight. Even if Nora was home, though, how could Julie add to her responsibilities, and how could Nora possibly help?
    Whatever was going on, Julie knew she’d landed smack-dab in the middle of it. Someone wanted her dead. Why would Trill lie to her about being a policeman? Why would he try to eliminate her when she called to challenge him? For that matter, how did he know she’d called his phony office if he didn’t work there? Or did he know?
    How did things get to this point? What did she do now?

Chapter Two
    Tyler Hunt, whistling a tune that was stuck in his head, looked up from unloading bags of grain when he heard the approach of a vehicle. An airport shuttle van rambled down the road, carrying, no doubt, either a Boston attorney named Red Sanders or a doctor by the name of Rob Marquis. Everyone else had already arrived.
    The Hunt ranch was a working operation covering thousands of acres of land. Anyone who signed up for the biyearly cattle drive had to be willing to work because what went on here was the real deal. Cows and their calves had to be herded from the winter pastures in the basin up to the high mountain pastures for summer grazing; greenhorns and pros worked together to make it happen.
    The shuttle stopped in the big parking area and a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and brand-new buckskin chaps climbed out of the back. Hard to tell which he was, a doctor or a lawyer. As the driver retrieved his suitcase, the man looked around with a big grin on his ruddy face. Tyler smiled; enthusiasm always boded well.
    A slam of the door up at the house announced Tyler’s mother, Rose Hunt, had also witnessed the arrival and taken time from stocking the chuck wagon to play hostess. A tiny dynamo of a woman who Tyler knew was as tough as the earth she tended, twice as strong as she looked and four times as softhearted, she walked out to the van with a little less enthusiasm than usual, exchanged pleasantries with the driver and picked up the newcomer’s suitcase as the van took off back toward town.
    Tyler heard the name Sanders float across the yard—the guy in the chaps had to be the lawyer—as John Smyth, another guest who had arrived earlier in the day, came out of the house. He took the suitcase from Tyler’s mother, who seemed reluctant to release it. As Smyth turned to the lawyer, Rose took off toward the house. It apparently didn’t occur to Red to tote his own bag. Couldn’t help but wonder how a guy like that was going to handle herding cattle without someone holding his hand, but you never knew.
    Smyth was a strapping, tall man in his late thirties with dark eyes, a quick wit and helpful disposition. He’d been here only a few hours, but Tyler had spotted him everywhere, talking to everyone, listening with the kind of concentration that encouraged people to open up. He seemed particularly interested in the workings of the ranch and appeared to be a natural when it came to riding and roping.
    Tyler kept at the grain, whistling as he worked. There were a good dozen sacks left to unload and tote inside the barn. Rose would make the lawyer feel at home, serve him up something cold to drink, introduce him to the others, get him started with orientation. Then later Tyler would make a grand entrance and give a little pep talk.
    Another vehicle