Iron Will. B.J. Daniels

Both never backing down from a fight. He stared at the marshal, still angry with him after all these years.

      “I’m not staying long.”

      Hud nodded. “That’s too bad. Your mother will be disappointed. So am I. Son—”

      “There really isn’t anything to talk about, is there? We said everything we had to say three years ago. What would be the point of rehashing it?”

      “I stand by what I did.”

      Hank laughed. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t.” He shook his head. “It must be wonderful to know that you’re always right.”

      “I’m not always right. I just do the best I can with the information and evidence I have.”

      “Well, you’re wrong this time,” he said and turned back to the horses. One of the mares had come up to have her muzzle rubbed. Behind him, he heard his father head back toward the house and felt some of the tension in his chest release even as he cursed under his breath.

      * * *

      DANA HAD INSISTED on making them breakfast. After a stack of silver-dollar-sized pancakes swimming in butter and huckleberry syrup, a slab of ham, two eggs over easy and a tall glass of orange juice, Frankie sat back smiling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so much or liked it more.

      No matter what happened on this visit to the ranch, she planned to enjoy herself as much as was possible.

      “I thought dinner was amazing,” she told Dana. Hank’s favorite meal turned out to be roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrots and peas and homemade rolls. “But this breakfast... It was so delicious. I never eat like this.”

      “I can tell by your figure,” her host said, beaming. Clearly Dana equated food with love as she looked to her son to see if he’d enjoyed it. He’d cleaned his plate, which seemed to make her even happier. “So, what do you two have planned today?”

      “I thought I’d show Frankie around Big Sky,” Hank said.

      “Well, it’s certainly changed since you were here,” his mother said. “I think you’ll be surprised. Will you two be back for lunch? Your father still comes home every day at twelve.”

      “I think we’ll get something in town, but thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything.”

      Tears filled her eyes and her voice broke when she spoke. “I’m just glad to have you home. Now, plan on being here for supper. Your dad’s doing steaks on the grill and some of the family is stopping by. Not everyone. We don’t want to overwhelm Frankie.”

      “I appreciate that,” he said.

      Frankie offered to help with the dishes, but Dana shooed them out, telling them to have a fun day.

      Fun was the last thing on the agenda, she thought as she left with Hank.

      * * *

      HANK HAD BEEN restless all morning, but he’d known that he couldn’t get away from the house without having one of his mother’s breakfasts. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. It would be bad enough when she learned the truth.

      Pushing that thought away, he concentrated on his driving as he headed downriver. He’d grown up with the Gallatin River in his backyard. He hadn’t thought much about it until Frankie was doing her research and asked him, “Did you know that the Gallatin River begins in the northwest corner of Yellowstone National Park to travel one hundred and twenty miles through the Gallatin Canyon past Big Sky to join the Jefferson and Madison Rivers to form the Missouri River?”

      That she found this so fascinating had surprised him. “I did know that,” he told her and found himself studying her with renewed interest. The river had been part of his playground, although he’d been taught to have a healthy respect for it because of the current, the deep holes and the slippery rocks.

      Now as he drove along the edge of the Gallatin as it cut through the rocky cliffs of the canyon, he caught glimpses of the clear green water rushing over granite boulders on its way to the Gulf of Mexico and felt a shiver because he’d learned just how deadly it could be.

      A few miles up the road, he slowed to turn onto a dirt road that wound through the tall pines. Dust rose behind the pickup. He put down his window and breathed in the familiar scents. They made his heart ache.

      Ahead, he could see the cliffs over the top of the pines. He parked in the shade of the trees and sat for a moment, bracing himself.

      “This is the place?” Frankie whispered, her gaze on the cliff that could be seen over the top of the pines.

      He didn’t answer as he climbed out. He heard her exit the pickup but she didn’t follow him as he walked down through the thick pines toward the river, knowing he needed a few minutes alone.

      An eerie silence filled the air. When he’d first gotten out of the truck, he’d heard a squirrel chatting in a nearby tree, a meadowlark calling from the tall grass, hoppers buzzing as they rose with each step.

      But now that he was almost to the spot, there was no sound except the gentle lap of the water on the rocks. As he came out of the pines, he felt her—just as he always had. Naomi. It was as if her soul had been stranded here in this very spot where she’d died.

      His knees went weak and he had to sit down on one of the large boulders along the shore. He put his head in his hands, unaware of time passing. Unaware of anything but his pain.

      Like coming out of a daze, he lifted his head and looked across the river to the deep pool beneath the cliff. Sunlight glittered off the clear emerald surface. His heart in his throat, he lifted his gaze to the rock ledge high above the water. Lover’s Leap. That was what it was called.

      His gaze shifted to the trail from the bridge downriver. It was barely visible through the tall summer grass and the pines, but he knew that kids still traveled along it to the ledge over the water. The trick, though, was to jump out far enough. Otherwise...

      A shaft of sun cut through the pine boughs that hung out over the water, nearly blinding him. He closed his eyes again as he felt Naomi pleading with him to find out the truth. He could feel her arguing that he knew her. He knew she was terrified of heights. She would never have gone up there. Especially alone. Especially at night. Why would she traverse the treacherous trail to get to the rock ledge to begin with—let alone jump?

      It had made no sense.

      Not unless she hadn’t jumped to her death. Not unless she’d been pushed.

      Hank opened his eyes and looked up through the shaft of sunlight to see a figure moving along the narrow trail toward the rock ledge high on the cliff. His throat went dry as shock ricocheted through him. He started to call to her even as he knew it was his mind playing tricks on him. It wasn’t Naomi.

      He opened his mouth, but no sound came out and he stared frozen in fear as he recognized the slim figure. Frankie. She’d walked downriver to the bridge and, after climbing up the trail, was now headed for the ledge.

      * * *

      HUD HEAVED HIMSELF into his office chair, angry at himself on more levels than he wanted to contemplate. He swore as he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out the file. That he’d kept it for three years in the locked drawer where he could look at it periodically was bad enough. That he was getting it out now and going over it as he’d done so many times over those years made it even worse.

      He knew there was nothing new in the file. He could practically recite the report by heart. Nothing had changed. So why was he pulling it out now? What good would it do to go over it again? None.

      But he kept thinking about Hank and his stubborn insistence that Naomi hadn’t committed suicide. He didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him that suicide was the most perverse of deaths. Those left behind had to deal with the guilt and live with the questions that haunted them. Why hadn’t they known? Why hadn’t they helped? Why had she killed herself? Was it because of