An Excerpt From...
A Rancher's Brand of Justice
by Ann Voss Peterson
Three long years he'd looked. Three years.
Staring at the parking garage's concrete wall, Nick Raymond gripped the steering wheel of his pickup to still his shaking hands. He'd spent half a fortune on a private investigator, mortgaging the ranch to pay his bill, and had come up with nothing. Not a trace.
Until yesterday.
He switched off the ignition and glanced into the backseat of his king cab. The seat belt was hooked into the booster seat. The DVD player was loaded with Disney movies for the long trip home, and the gas tank was full. He'd stocked up on snacks and juice boxes and had even picked up a stuffed buffalo. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
He yanked the keys from the ignition. They jangled in his fingers and dropped to the floor mat.
He was a mess.
Leaning his forehead on the steering wheel, he pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hadn't been this nervous since the trip home from the hospital after Jason was born. Heart pounding and palms sweating, he'd been sure something horrible would happen to the little tyke on the road back to the ranch. Gayle had laughed at him, though she was just as anxious.
Gayle. A dull ache centered in his gut. He'd imagined finding her for three years, mapped out every bitter word he'd throw at her, every curse he'd level for stealing his son. And now, he'd forgive it all if she were here.
If she were still alive.
He still couldn't absorb that she'd been bludgeoned to death by a man who'd tried to rob her late at night in her own apartment. He hadn't even thought of funeral arrangements. He couldn't think of them now. Now he only wanted to focus on reuniting with Jason. On bringing his four-year-old son home.
He retrieved his keys and dismounted from the truck. Hitting the lock button on the remote, he strode through the parking structure, the thud of his boot heels echoing off concrete, heading for the nearest red exit sign. This nervous quake that had a hold of him was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop it.
Jason probably didn't remember his dad or the Circle J. Had he ever ridden a horse? Did he like horses? After spending the past three years in the city, would he hate living on the ranch as much as his mother had?
Nick made his way down two flights of stairs. Of course, he was getting ahead of himself where Jason was concerned. There was a lot to think about before he'd get a chance to introduce his son to life in Wyoming. A lot to sort out with the Denver police. A lot to move beyond. But no matter how long it took to cut through the red tape, Nick wouldn't be going back to the ranch alone. He would be bringing his boy with him.
And nervous as he was, that fact brought a grin to his face and a warmth to his chest that he would make sure he never lost again.
Breaking out onto the street, he squinted against Denver's mile-high sunshine. Even the day seemed to be celebrating his fresh beginning. The air felt dry and a little crisp, a taste of fast-approaching fall. The sky was blue. The city pulsing with energy. It was going to be a good day. He could feel it.
It had to be.
He'd memorized the map he'd printed out from the hotel's Web site, but he pulled the paper from his back pocket just the same. It rattled in his hand as he looked over the familiar two-block distance he'd walked in his mind countless times on the drive down from Wyoming.
A truck roared past spewing black exhaust into the air. A dog yapped from an apartment window. A dark blue car full of young tattooed men blasting music from open windows pulled to the curb behind him. He could see all of it. Hear all of it. But he couldn't seem to focus on anything. His mind was tuned totally to the hotel rising on the corner ahead, its colorful flags flapping in the breeze.
This was it.
For a second, his legs felt weak. Maybe he should have waited, met his son at the police station, the way the detective who'd called had wanted. But that had seemed so official. So dry. In that setting, Jason might be afraid of this man he didn't remember. And Nick didn't want to start out that way.
But now he wasn't sure this idea was better.
He glanced around. So much noise. So much bustle. This would confuse the boy for sure. And after all Jason had been through in the past few days, he'd probably had enough confusion. Nick needed to find a way to make things easier.
He was still more than half a block away when the light shifted on the glass doors leading into the hotel lobby. A broad-shouldered man wearing a sports jacket pushed his way out. He glanced from side to side, the sun sparkling on his gray hair and the nearly white mustache tickling his upper lip. At first he looked like a regular businessman, then a wind gust blew back his jacket, revealing a holster on his hip.
Nick's pulse spiked. The detective. It had to be. And that probably meant…
The man reached behind his back and grabbed the door handle, holding it open. A woman with golden-blond hair brushing her shoulders stepped out behind him, a small brown-haired boy at her side. Another woman followed behind, also dressed professionally, but Nick was no longer looking at the people surrounding his son.
His son.
A hum rose in his ears and the whole universe seemed to scope in until it included no movement, no sound, no city smells, nothing but him and the boy he'd been looking for for so long.
His son.
Jason's eyes flared wide as he took in the city street. From this distance, they looked blue, like his mother's. But everything else—the slope of his nose, the cleft in his little chin, the way his ears stuck out from his shorn head—all of it looked so much like photos of Nick at age four, that for a second he couldn't quite breathe.
His son.
He dodged around the few people on the sidewalk until no one was between him and his boy but the three people with him. A roar rose from somewhere far away. Something dark glided past him on the street. Someone shouted. But all he could see was Jason. All he could think about was reaching him. Hearing his voice. Taking him in his arms. Holding him and never letting him go.
He was still thirty yards away when the shooting started.
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