coat. I just assumed it was him since I was on the Bear Claw.”
“Are you certain enough you would swear to it in a court of law?”
Lucas stared blankly at Logan for a second, but he saw the exact moment it all clicked into place. He knew the kid would balk when he shook his head vigorously, backing away from Logan. He looked back at Rip Jackson and paled a bit more. “Are you saying Rip didn’t fall?”
“I’m not saying anything. Autopsy will tell me if I have an accident on my hands. I’m just making sure I cover all my bases in case this wasn’t what it appears to be.”
Lucas paled further. “I’m not sure who I saw, he was pretty far away,” he lied. “It could have been anyone. I really need to get going now, if you don’t need me anymore.”
He didn’t blame the kid for being scared. And if push came to shove, Logan didn’t think his testimony would help for the very reasons the kid used. But it finally gave Logan a starting point. A thread to tug. Chance could have just been out checking his property, but three deaths in two days were connected loosely to Chance, he realized. His father had died the day Logan arrived in Ennis, so his body was at the morgue, tying Chance to Frank. Duke was tied to everyone in Ennis due to his job, but especially Chance since he’d warned Logan the night he disappeared not to let his guard down. Now he had Rip Jackson, who lived on Chance’s property, dead at the bottom of his own fucking steps. He didn’t think exposure killed the old man. He could see an indention across his forehead as if he’d been hit or fell, striking his head on the wooden step. From what he could see there was no bruising or swelling, indicating he died almost instantly. The snow had covered any evidence to a crime for now, so he’d have to wait for the coroner’s report.
Logan looked over the kid’s shoulder and nodded to the EMTs. They’d been waiting for Logan to give the all clear before moving the body. “You can go, Lucas. But call me if you remember anything else, yeah?”
Lucas barely looked at Logan. With a, “Sure, sure,” he flew down the steps and hopped on his four-wheeler, racing down the trail toward the highway.
Logan watched the kid tear down the road for a moment, then went to kneel next to Rip Jackson as the EMTs prepared him for transport. “You know this guy?” Logan asked, pulling out his phone to take pictures of Jackson’s head and the surrounding ground. He’d have to tape off the area once the body had been removed to preserve any evidence beneath the snow.
Tom White, a man he’d met in the bar his first night working, scoffed. “Mean. Down to his bones mean. He and Justice Bear were cut from the same cloth.”
“What about the son?”
“Chance? He’s arrogant, guarded, keeps to himself most of the time, but he’s never struck me as mean until he pulled this stunt with Skylar and the boys.”
Logan scanned the horizon in the direction of the main ranch house and knew he couldn’t put off having a word with Chance Bear. Not with all the speculation running rampant through his brain.
Eighteen
Chance
THE HORSE PRANCED in place; it’s nervous energy filled the small space as Chance cowered in the corner of the stall. Blocking out the scent of manure and hay as he crouched on the floor, he watched Rip Jackson warily. The old man had been drinking more and more to alleviate what years in the saddle had done to his body, and his favorite target for his frustration was Chance.
Rip hurled a shovel at Chance. Missing its mark, it bounced off a wooden slat above Chance’s head. Castaway, his horse—named at a time when Chance had felt particularly forgotten by both his parents—jerked at the sudden crash.
After a long but bitter ride along the border of his father’s property, Chance had been brushing the chestnut-colored stallion when Rip appeared drunk at his side. Over the years, Rip had developed a radar for Chance’s emotions. Seemed to know when to attack and retreat. And he was right on target, as usual, because Chance had ridden down the slope and watched his mother play with his younger sister and brother.
He’d stayed in the shadow of the trees observing the three, allowing bitterness and anger to