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Chapter One

Tuesday, April 19th.

Wild Stallion Ranch. Montana.

April came down hard on northern Montana, wrapping it in the damp, depressing gray of the grim reaper’s shroud. Rain and thunderstorms, then sleet and ice as the temperature seesawed back and forth between winter and spring.

Torrents of rain followed by a couple of late blizzards and then more rain and milder temperatures created dangerous runoff in the hillier sections of Harrison County. Rivers ran high, and with every day of rain, there was an ever-present danger of flooding and roads being washed out.

A seasonal thing and not unexpected by the local citizens, but it made for more work and put more stress on Harrison County’s limited services—Sheriff’s Office, Fire Department, County Road Department.

Sheriff Billy Johnson was up early trying to take the chill off the ranch house he lived in. Wasn’t really his and could never be—belonged to his best friend Travis Frost—but he liked the old place.

April had arrived and winter would soon be over, but in the mornings, he could still see his breath inside the house.

Kneeling in front of the woodstove in the living room, he chopped kindling and crumpled up a page of the Cut Bank Tribune, and laid in a nice fire. He had it blazing along and reached into the wood box for a medium-sized log to add and keep it going. The wood box was empty and there weren’t any more logs split.

Am I that far behind on my chores?

Cursing under his breath, Billy ran out to the neatly stacked cord of wood leaning against the barn and sheltered from the weather by the eaves.

He grabbed a sturdy-looking chunk and set it upright on the chopping block. Trying to hurry so the fire didn’t go out in the stove before he got back, Billy grabbed up the axe leaning against the woodpile. He raised it over his head and brought it down on that unsuspecting log with a helluva force.

The blade of the axe hit a knot in the log at a bad angle. The chunk of wood flew off the chopping block barely missing his head, and that fucking axe came down in a perfect arcing trajectory that lodged the blade solidly in Billy’s left leg.

The next time Sheriff Billy Johnson opened his brown eyes, he was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to two monitors and an IV pole. His mother was sitting next to his bed crying, and his girlfriend Brenda was cuddled up against him on the bed making him sweat like a fuckin pig.

“Billy, you’re awake,” said his mother. “Oh, thank God.” Shedding even more tears, she jumped to her feet. “Let me get the doctor. He’ll want to know.”

“Where’s my phone?” mumbled Billy. He tried to turn his head to check the nightstand and a wave of nausea swept over him and forced his head back onto the pillow. “Lord Jesus, I feel like shit.”

Brenda sat up and Billy saw her eyes were all red and bloodshot. What the hell had happened to her?

“Guess your phone is at the ranch, Billy. Who do you want to call?”

“Call Travis and tell him I need him up here.”

“Think he’s gonna drive all the way back from Texas?” asked Brenda.

Billy had been thinking of breaking up with Brenda, but this might not be the most opportune moment. He needed her to make some calls and do some necessary shit for him before he dumped her. He’d give it another couple of days.

“Yeah, he’ll come,” said Billy. “Call him now. Please?”

“What’s his cell number?”

Half fuckin dead from the pain in his goddamned leg, it was hard for Billy to recall Travis’s number off the top of his drug-clouded head.

“Where’s my billfold at? The number is in there in case of an emergency.”

“This would qualify,” said Brenda. “You’re the sheriff and you won’t be back in the sheriff’s office until at least Christmas. That’s a legitimate emergency.”

“That ain’t true,” said Billy. “Don’t exaggerate, Brenda. You blow ordinary shit out of proportion all the time and I fuckin hate it.”

Even talking made his leg hurt more. Billy groaned.

“Okay, then Hallowe’en.” Brenda made a pouty face and that was another thing he hated—the fucking pouty face. “You won’t be working until Hallowe’en.”

“Find my wallet, Brenda. It will be with my clothes or in the nightstand drawer right here.” He tried to tilt his head towards the drawer, and the sideways motion of it made him want to puke.