The Lost Sheenan's Bride (Taming of the Sheenans Book 6) (17 page)

“The easement road. Isn’t that the one that cuts across your property?”

“Yes. But we never go down that way. My dad didn’t have any problems with the Douglases, but he wasn’t very social and he discouraged us from being overly friendly, so we grew up knowing that the easement road was for access to their ranch, not for us.”

“And you all listened?”

“It was that or get some quality time with his belt. Or fist.”

Shane studied Trey. “He was tough.”

“He didn’t suffer fools. And I don’t say this to McKenna, but what happened on the Douglas ranch would never have happened here. You didn’t cross my dad. If he suspected someone of lying to him, or doing something behind his back, he’d take you out, fast. And then ask questions later.”

“Did that ever backfire?”

“Absolutely. But it meant he was the last man standing.”

Shane’s lips quirked. “You’ve learned that one well, haven’t you?”

Trey shrugged. “I’m going to protect my wife and son until the day I die.”

“And your dad. He didn’t have any beef with the Douglases?”

“No. If anything he was protective of them. They were good people. Too religious for his liking but they always treated Mom well. Mom and Mrs. Douglas were once quite friendly. One summer they went every night together to the revival, and then the next summer they started going, and then after once or twice, Mom wouldn’t go back. Mrs. Douglas was a little confused, but Mom was adamant. She’d had enough.”

“The revival’s the traveling church headed up by Pastor Newsome?”

Trey’s head inclined. “Dad was not a fan. He didn’t trust the minister’s motives. Thought the minister was more interested in the prettier ladies in the congregation than the older ones, or the unattractive ones.”

Shane’s gut tightened. “Your mom being one,” he said carefully, not liking the uneasy feeling he’d gotten.

“And Mrs. Douglas being another.” Trey hesitated. “McKenna is almost the spitting image of her mom.”

“Did everyone in Marietta attend the summer revival?”

“No. There were a lot of people who were quite unhappy that the minister set up his tent here each summer. I never went. Dad wouldn’t let Mom take us. He said the minister was after one thing—pretty young women without a brain.”

“Your mom was stupid?”

“No. Just lonely.”

Shane didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t. It made him feel as if he’d chomped on shards of glass. “Why did your dad think the pastor targeted the young, pretty women?”

“Dad thought the minister was trying to get them to part with purses and their panties.” A dull red flush colored Trey’s high hard cheekbones. “Dad said as much to Mom, right around the time she stopped going to the services. But Mrs. Douglas continued to attend, right up until the day she was killed.”

Shane forced his thoughts away from his mother, not wanting to think of her now, not wanting to think of Bill Sheenan speaking so rudely to her. Treating her with contempt and disdain. “The murders at the Douglas ranch took place while the revival was in Paradise Valley.”

“Yes.”

“Did people talk about that?”

“There was a lot of finger-pointing. But the minister—Newsome—he was in the middle of a prayer meeting when it happened, and Mrs. Douglas was planning on going to the evening worship service that night. She’d just put dinner on the table when the assault began.”

Shane drank his coffee. Not because he was thirsty but because he needed something to do to hide his revulsion. He hated this story. He hated this book. It was beyond tragic. It was pointless…meaningless… just endless suffering and grief. He shouldn’t have ever started it. If he could go back eighteen months and undo the contract and return the advance and stop the research, he would.

But he couldn’t go back. He was here, in the thick of it, and there was no standing still. Life did not stand still. He’d committed to this path, and all he could do was go forward. “Do you remember your mother, and how she reacted to the news of the Douglas murders?”

Trey set his cup down hard on the table and crossed the kitchen to the mudroom. He disappeared inside a moment, checked a shelf that looked as if it was about to fall off the wall and then turned around. “She said it could have been her.”

It was hard to swallow. Shane’s mouth tasted sour. “Because the ranches were so close?”

“Because Grace Douglas took the brunt of the attack. She was hurt so much worse than the others. My mother—” Trey broke off, shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I shouldn’t say more. This can’t go in your book. None of this should go in your book.”

“Why not? What is it that everyone is hiding? Because something isn’t adding up. You’ve come here, been open with me, so I’m going to tell you that my gut says the Sheenans aren’t protecting McKenna, as much as protecting themselves.” He saw Trey stiffen, and a startled look in his eyes, before his expression hardened, shuttering.

Shane didn’t let it stop him. If Trey was going to throw another punch, so be it. “You know your family,” he added. “You know what happened, but there’s more to this story. You and I both know that. I’m sure you’re aware of the investigation. It was mismanaged from the beginning.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“There was a big story in your
Copper Mountain Courier
the summer of 1997 about the problems in the investigation. Missing pages. Tampered evidence.”

“Didn’t pay any attention to it. I was just eighteen.”

“But you were dating McKenna then.”

“Yeah, I was eighteen, and my mom had just died. Hard to pay attention to the Courier when you’re burying your mom.” Trey walked past Shane to exit the kitchen. He stepped through the hall and into the dining room and stopped at the head of the table.

Shane stood behind him, seeing what Trey was seeing.

Wallpaper. Curtains. A framed landscape featuring Paradise Valley.

The bulletin boards were gone. The books were gone. The dining room table had been returned to the middle of the room, and chairs lined the table, just as they once had. The only sign that Shane still worked in there was his laptop at the foot of the table and a tidy pile of folders with a notebook on top.

There was a beat of silence. Trey looked at Shane. “You took it all down.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Shane said.

Another beat of silence followed. Trey drew a slow breath and exhaled even more slowly. “You asked who we’re protecting. It’s our families. It’s our memories. It’s our mom. I shouldn’t tell you this. I shouldn’t. And if it goes into your book I will tear you apart, limb by limb, but Mrs. Douglas wasn’t the first woman assaulted in this valley. My mom was hurt. I don’t know all the details, only that she’d confided in Grace Douglas a little bit. She’d told Mrs. Douglas that someone had hurt her and she was afraid. That’s why she stopped going to the revival. It’s why she didn’t want to leave the house. Brock suspected something had happened, too. He said he found Mom crying, and at first he thought Dad had beat her, but Mom swore it wasn’t Dad but she wouldn’t say who. Brock told us Mom wasn’t well, that she was struggling with something, and so we all took turns keeping an eye on her. We made it a point never to leave her alone.”

“Did you ever share any of this with the investigation?”

Trey shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“If you knew Dad, you wouldn’t ask that.”

“What does that mean?”

“He was hard on her. She was already unhappy. The last thing she needed was him blaming her for one more thing that wasn’t her fault.”

“Did he do that often?”

“Daily.”

Silence fell and as if aware he’d said far too much, Trey started for the door. Shane followed, accompanying him down the front steps, and out onto the dirt and gravel driveway.

“What was she like?” Shane asked as Trey swung the truck door open.

Trey’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Your mom.”

For a moment Trey seemed at a loss for words and then he answered gruffly, “Sweet. Sad. So very, very sad.” His voice hardened. He looked away, jaw gritted. “She deserved better than my father,” he added, climbing behind the steering wheel and slamming the door closed.

Trey reversed quickly, effortlessly, and turned the truck around to head out, more familiar with the Sheenan ranch than any of his brothers as he’d been the one to work it, day in and day out, until he’d gone to jail.

Shane knew all this and more. He’d spent more time the past month researching the Sheenans then he had the Douglas story. But every Sheenan discovery just led to more questions. Like just now. The conversation with Trey this morning had been equal parts enlightening and puzzling. But then, Trey himself was enlightening and puzzling.

Even more surprising was how much Shane liked him.

Maybe not every Sheenan was an ass.

All week Jet
worried about how to tell Harley she was heading out of town on Friday. When she wasn’t engaged in teaching a lesson, she’d find herself stewing over the situation, knowing she couldn’t just disappear for three days—Harley would be on the phone with the sheriffs and police in record time—but also aware that she couldn’t just tell her older sister that she was heading out of town with Shane. Harley would have the Sheenans hunting them down in record time…

What Jet needed was a good excuse to head out of town, one that wouldn’t put Harley into a panic, but nothing came to her until it crossed her mind she could attend an education workshop somewhere…something that would help her with credits should she plan on pursuing a Class I Professional Certificate. She’d come to Montana on a Class II Standard Certificate for beginning teachers, and the only way one worked up in salary was by experience and units and degrees. Harley wouldn’t question Jet’s desire to attend an education workshop or seminar.

After school Wednesday, Jet sat down at her computer and did a search for workshops and courses in Montana, specifically for the coming weekend, which was the President’s Day weekend. She’d been worried that because it was a legal holiday on Monday there wouldn’t be anything, but the opposite was true. There were quite a few offerings across the state—four in Missoula, one in Billings, two in Bozeman. She studied the offerings for Missoula, and was pleased to see several for elementary age students, including utilizing Montana state parks to teach Montana history. The all-day course would include lesson places for place-based education regarding Montana’s Native American tribes. Lesson plans ranged from social studies to art, reading, and science. Definitely interesting coursework, and useful for Jet since she was still new to Montana.

Jet signed up for the five hour workshop and paid the small fee, and then sent Harley an email with details, so her sister would know where she was this weekend and what Jet would be doing.

Harley immediately replied to the email.
“Where are you staying? How are you getting there? Will you be on your own?”

Jet grimaced, not wanting to fib, but at the same time not wanting to share too many details, either, which could just trip her up and trap her later. So she waited to answer, and then just before bed sent a quick text.
“Going with a friend. Driving. Not sure where we’re staying yet.”

That seemed to appease Harley as the next day there was no email or text reply.

F
riday arrived and
Shane picked up Jet from her school as she’d decided she’d rather leave her car in the school parking lot than drive all the way home, delaying their departure further.

Marietta sat off Highway 89 and was on the way to the Flathead Lake so it wouldn’t have been much of a delay to stop by Kara’s and pick her up, but Shane knew Jet was more worried about people seeing them leave town together than the actual delay, so he agreed.

They’d been driving for close to forty-five minutes and had left Bozeman well behind when he felt Jet’s gaze rest on him yet again. She seemed to be spending more time looking at him than the scenery outside the car window.

“What?” he asked, shooting her a glance.

Her eyes met his. “I don’t know. You tell me what.”

“You’re smiling.
A lot
.”

She shrugged, still smiling. “I’m excited. This is fun. I’m looking forward to seeing Flathead Lake and visiting places I’ve only heard about. I know we don’t have time to really spend in Butte, but is there any way to do a quick drive through the historic downtown part, just so I can see it for myself?”

“Butte?”

“I’m fascinated by the city. I teach Montana history to my one fourth grader and Butte kind of haunts me. It was once this city of tremendous wealth with the discovery of copper and the dawn of the electrical age and then by the 1950s it was on its way to being a ghost town.”

“It’s not a ghost town. It’s Montana’s fifth largest city, I believe.”

“Yes, but Montana is not densely populated. Montana’s biggest cities would be considered towns by California standards.”

“Don’t let a Montanan hear you say that!”

“No, I know. I’ve learned to be careful, but it’s interesting to note that today Missoula’s population is close to seventy thousand. Bozeman is right around forty thousand. And Butte is maybe thirty-four thousand, but it once was
the
place to live. It had over a hundred thousand people—some say one hundred and twenty thousand people in 1920—and huge mansions, theaters, and beautiful civic buildings. It even had its own amusement park, with rollercoasters and a lake and stood there until the 1970s, when it was torn down.”

“Columbia Gardens.”

She nodded. “I would have loved to have seen it.” She sounded wistful. She was clearly fascinated by the idea of a mining company tycoon creating an amusement park for the people of Butte in 1899.

William Clark had purchased twenty-one acres at his own expense, and never charged admission. When he died in 1925, his family sold his estate and holdings, including the amusement park, to Anaconda Copper Mining Company and they ran it until 1973 when it closed for good. “I can’t show you the amusement park,” Shane said, “but Clark’s mansion is still there, and some of the other Copper King mansions, but in my opinion, Clark’s is the most impressive, and in summer is open as a museum.”