Wolf Creek, Montana Early Spring, Fifteen Years Earlier
Nothing in Luke McCloud's short fifteen years on earth had
prepared him for the shock of abruptly losing his beloved
grandfather.
Pain lodged in his chest, right over his heart. His head
ached from the gathering pressure of tears behind his
eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Instead he stared
without blinking at the flower-covered casket. The glossy
mahogany box with its gleaming brass handles was suspended
over the open grave, waiting to be lowered into the
Montana prairie. Beside him, ten-year-old Jessie sobbed,
hic-cupping as she tried to swallow the sound.
Several feet behind them, a uniformed Montana Department
of Corrections officer, hands clasped behind his back,
feet spread as he discreetly distanced himself from the
proceedings, cleared his throat and coughed.
The wind picked up, sweeping down from the buttes behind
the cemetery to ruffle the short spikes of green grass
pushing their way up between winter's dried yellow stalks.
Lead-gray clouds stretched across the sky from horizon to
horizon. Nudged by the wind, they released the rain that
had threatened for the past half hour. The shower
spattered the small crowd and dampened the black tarp
spread over the mound of dirt at one end of the open
grave. Moisture pearled on the velvety petals of red roses
and lush green leaves resting on top of the casket.
Luke drew in a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in his
chest and shift the lump in his throat. The cool air was
heavy with the familiar tang of prairie sage blending with
the scent of sweet roses and damp earth.
On the far side of the grave, a crowd of black-clad
mourners huddled together, their umbrellas bumping. At the
head of the casket, the minister's wife quickly opened a
large gray umbrella above her husband's head, stepping
close to escape the rain. The somber dome sheltered the
gilt-edged pages as the minister read from his leather-
bound Bible.
On Luke's left, his little sister Jessie clutched the hand
of their older brother, Chase.
Their mother, Margaret, stood on the far side of Chase,
her auburn hair a bright flame of color against the deep
black of her dress and hat. One hand gripped the arm of
Luke's father, John, the other held the handle of a bright
red umbrella. The uniformed officer stood several feet
behind Chase, a set of handcuffs dangling from the left
side of his black gun belt.
Luke ignored the deputy, glancing instead at his mother.
Margaret was a strong woman, but losing her father-in-law
was devastating, especially coming on the heels of Chase's
jail sentence.
The cause of Angus's death was officially listed as
pneumonia, but Luke knew his grandfather had died of a
broken heart. And for that, he blamed Lonnie and Harlan
Kerrigan. Their lies had sent Chase to jail, and Angus had
visibly grieved, spending more and more time alone. His
death was yet one more reason for Luke to hate the
Kerrigans.
The McClouds had feuded with the Kerrigans since 1922,
when a crooked poker game cost a McCloud their homestead,
2500 acres of prime land. But this was the first time a
McCloud had died because of the enmity between the two
families.
Luke's gaze flicked from the casket to the mourners on the
far side of the grave, traveling slowly over the familiar
faces. His grandfather's widow, Laura Kerrigan-McCloud
stood near the front of the group, leaning heavily on a
cane as she stared at the casket containing the body of
her husband. At her left, his ruddy face set in grim
lines, stood Harlan Kerrigan. Luke's glance moved on,
registering and dismissing Harlan's sister-in-law, Judith,
the wife of his deceased brother, her teenage son, Zach,
and young daughter, Rachel standing by her grieving great-
aunt's side before searching the crowd beyond.
The one Kerrigan he sought wasn't there. Lonnie Kerrigan
didn't have the guts to show his face at Angus McCloud's
funeral, Luke thought, bitterness underscoring a newfound
cynicism. His grandfather had married Laura when they were
both in their midseventies, and more than once he'd told
Luke that the women in the Kerrigan family were beautiful,
strong and admirable, but the Kerrigan men couldn't be
trusted.
Luke glanced at his grandfather's widow once more, but she
was wiping her eyes, the lacy white handkerchief nearly
the same color as her pale skin. Luke felt no glimmer of
compassion for her grief. He couldn't bring himself to
care that the elderly woman had shared his grandfather's
life for only four brief years before she was bereaved.
Luke had no room in his heart for anything other than his
own grief and a deep thirst for revenge.
His gaze moved back to Harlan Kerrigan's niece. Lonnie's
cousin Rachel was young, not more than ten or eleven, her
thin, childish body wrapped in a black wool coat against
the cold April rain. Her bare legs were long and slender.
His glance slid impersonally over the girl, marking and
filing away in his memory the thick mane of dark hair and
black-lashed gold eyes that watched him with solemn
compassion.
She has eyes like Lonnie, he thought briefly, as she
stared back at him, unblinking. No, not quite, he
realized. Lonnie wouldn't have the nerve to face any of us
now. It didn't matter how much courage she had. Her last
name was Kerrigan, that alone was enough to earn his
hatred.
"Our Father, Who art in Heaven..."
Margaret's tear-clogged voice lifted to join the
minister's. Luke bowed his head, the girl's golden eyes
forgotten as his lips formed the familiar words.
His mother's voice faltered, catching on a sob before it
steadied, her fingers tightening their hold on his
father's overcoat. Jessie's small, cold hand slipped into
Luke's and clung, and he clenched his teeth against the
tremors that shook him. He didn't trust his voice not to
break so he prayed silently, staring at the ground.
On the far side of the grave, Rachel Kerrigan bowed her
head for the Lord's Prayer, but she couldn't resist
watching Luke McCloud from behind the shield of her
lashes. His features were devoid of expression, his gaze
lowered, but she'd caught him looking at Laura moments
before. And when that ice blue gaze had left her great-
aunt and met hers, she'd been frozen by the fierce anger
that leaped to life for a brief moment before he narrowed
his eyes and they were once again unreadable.
The crowd around her stirred, shifting and murmuring, and
Rachel realized the prayer had ended. She glanced quickly
at her great-aunt, but Laura stood motionless, her head
bowed in silent prayer. Behind them, two women whispered,
their voices growing louder and more distinct.
"Such a shame. Poor John and Margaret."
"They must be heartbroken to lose Angus so soon after that
awful business with their son."
Rachel stiffened. Her gaze flew to Laura but she seemed
oblivious to the women, lost in her grief.
"Hmph." A third voice joined the first two. "If you ask
me, it was Angus that had the broken heart. He was a proud
man. It had to be hard on him when his grandson was sent
to prison for murder."
Rachel spun to face the three older women. "It wasn't
murder," she whispered fiercely. "It was manslaughter. And
the car crash was an accident."
"An accident?" The heavyset woman who'd used the M-word
pursed her lips and frowned. "That's certainly not what
the judge decided. And clearly not what the Harper family
believes, since there's not a single one of them here
today. Why are you defending young McCloud? He swore your
cousin caused the accident. If the judge had believed him,
Lonnie would have gone to jail instead of the McCloud boy."
Rachel couldn't tell the gossip that it was possible
Lonnie had lied about what happened when Chase McCloud's
pickup truck rolled, leaving a third teenager, Mike
Harper, dead. In her experience, Lonnie never told the
truth if a lie would make his life easier. But her uncle
and great-aunt stood within hearing distance and they both
doted on Lonnie, stubbornly refusing to admit he was
anything less than perfect.
Stymied, Rachel settled for giving the three women a
withering glare and turning her back on them. * * *
Luke echoed his mother and father's murmured amens before
he steeled himself as the minister and his wife headed the
line of mourners approaching his family. His parents
accepted their neighbors'condolences with dignity as they
filed past.
He gritted his teeth and met each curious, accusing glance
without expression, silently daring them to say anything
about his brother. If they say one word out of line, I
swear, I'll hit someone.
Lonnie Kerrigan's reckless driving had caused the car
accident that killed Mike Harper — but Chase was the one
in jail. And six months after Lonnie testified under oath
that Chase was driving the truck that caused the accident,
Angus McCloud suffered a massive heart attack followed by
pneumonia. The accident, the teenager's death and the
trial resulting in Chase's being sent to a Montana youth
correctional facility had devastated the McCloud family.
Luke ignored the passing mourners, his gaze drifting
beyond them, locking onto the only five figures that
hadn't joined the line shuffling past his parents.
Harlan Kerrigan was shaking off his sister-inlaw's hand,
clearly growling a refusal at her as he took his aunt
Laura's arm and turned his back on the graveside. Zach's
unreadable gaze met Luke's before he walked away. The girl
hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. Her gaze
collided with Luke's, a silent apology in their gold
depths, before she turned and hurried after her family.