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She did wonder why her mother had never said anything about her hanging out with Pickett Hanson and Duffy McKenna. Because they’d been friends for so long? Or because she didn’t think her daughter would ever be serious over either of them?
Her mother took a chair across from her. “As I mentioned, one of my lawyers will be talking to you about the unfortunate accident.” Oakley had to grit her teeth not to correct her. “I need you to stop fighting with your brother. Can’t you see how hard this is on him?” She groaned inwardly, teeth clenched. “Once we get through this and your brother is exonerated, you can go back to arguing with him as you always have, but for now...”
“Does it bother you at all that he shot me?” Oakley asked, more curious than defiant.
“Of course it bothers me. I stayed by your bedside for days praying you would pull through and furious at whoever had done this.”
“But that was before you knew it was CJ who had shot me.”
Her mother took a controlled breath. “Nothing about this is easy for me. Fortunately, you survived. You’re going to be fine. But CJ—”
“What did the doctors say about his condition?”
Charlotte looked annoyed to be interrupted but answered. “He has a neck injury, but fortunately his spinal cord wasn’t severed. The doctors are optimistic he will walk again.”
Oakley nodded. “So the wheelchair is just temporary. Until you get the charges against him either dropped and changed to community service or some such slap on the wrist.”
Anger sparked in her mother’s eyes. “If you’re insinuating—”
She rose to leave. “I was just wondering if he’s pulling the wool over your eyes as well as everyone else or if you’re in on it with him.”
“Oakley.” Her mother was on her feet now, too. “Why do you want to argue all the time?”
“Because my brother has never taken responsibility for what he’s done.”
“What about you? If you hadn’t been on the McKenna Ranch that day, none of this would have happened.”
Oakley sighed. Arguing with her mother was getting her nowhere. “Don’t worry about what I’ll say to the attorney. You might recall that I don’t remember what happened.”
“That’s good,” her mother said. “Our attorney is flying in. I’ll let you know the time and place to make your statement.”
She nodded as she studied her mother. “I should warn you, though, that bits and pieces of that day are starting to come back. CJ is worried, which should tell you something.”
With that, she started for the door and heard the squeak of the wheelchair down the hall. He’d been listening, just as she knew he had. “I’ll tell the attorney that I don’t remember,” she said over her shoulder. “Unless I remember before I talk to him.”
She smiled to herself as she left. But as she climbed into her truck, she looked back at the house and knew that if she didn’t remember soon, CJ was going to get away with everything.
Meanwhile, she’d practically waved another red flag in front of her brother, as if daring the bull in him to come after her. Was she really hoping he could try to kill her again so he would get caught this time?
THEOLDERWOMANwho answered Pickett’s knock at hotel room 403 was thinner than he recalled. Sarah Johansen’s hair had turned from blond to steel gray, but that stern, determined look in her blue eyes was just as he remembered. She was dressed in an expensive-looking gray suit, crisp white blouse and heels, and couldn’t have looked more out of place here in this old hotel in a small, isolated town in eastern Montana.
That was worry enough since he couldn’t have people wondering who she was or what she was doing here. He had to get her out of Powder Crossing as fast as possible.
“At least you were prompt, Archibald,” she said and stepped aside to let him enter.
He walked to the center of the room and turned to face her. He didn’t bother to ask how she’d found him. She worked for a multibillion-dollar corporation with more resources than the president of the United States. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she said and closed the motel room door. “If you had responded to any of my texts, you would already know. Sit down.”
He’d taken orders from her for years and almost obeyed without question just as he had as a child. “I won’t be staying that long. What are you doing here?”
She seemed to study him then, frowning as she took him in. “You’ve...changed,” she said, moving closer. It wasn’t a compliment.
He had changed from the scared teen he’d been. And he didn’t jump when she said jump, but then again there was no question about who had the power in this situation—and she knew it. Still, he was determined to wait her out.
Sarah cleared her throat and never having been one to mince her words said, “Your father is ill. It’s time for you to come home.”
Pickett could hear the emotion in her voice. He’d long suspected that she’d been in love with his father from the day she became his personal assistant all those years ago. For all he knew or cared, they might even have been lovers at some point between his father’s ill-conceived marriages.
