Shot in the Dark
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Nicole Helm
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17.1K
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25
Harlequin🏰 Historical
HarlequinChapter One
Sarabeth Peterson was eleven years old. She had done a lot in her short life. Moved from Florida to Arizona and then to Wyoming. She’d helped protect her mother from all the varying family who wanted to hurt her.
And then, a month ago, she’d killed her father.
Self-defense, of course. And she hadn’t really known him anyway. Mom had kept her as far away from Rob Currington as she could, but he’d found them last month. Hurt Mom. Used her.
And Sarabeth had shot him. Saved them.
But she knew they weren’t safe yet. Mom thought the fact the old bank robbery gold had been found meant people would stop looking.
Sarabeth knew better. There was more—so much more—and someone was going to figure out she was the one who knew about it.
Luckily, there was someone who could help her.
The problem was finding a way to talk to Henry Thompson without her mother finding out. Mom would find a way to talk Henry out of helping them. Sarabeth had to keep it a secret. Usually not easy to do, but Mom had been busy the past month—talking to the police, and family services, and getting a job at a company that offered people stagecoach rides so they could pretend they were back in the old days or something.
Adults were weird.
But they were staying in Wilde, Wyoming. Sarabeth was happy about that. She liked it here. Better than Florida and Arizona. She liked the mountains and the ranches and all the space. It was like an adventure.
Adventures were fun, but they were also dangerous. They were going to need some help. They were going to need some protection.
A phone call wouldn’t work—she wasn’t sure anyone would listen to her over the phone. Mom didn’t let her use the computer without supervision, so email wasn’t on the table.
It had to be done face-to-face.
“Sarabeth.”
She had to turn her attention away from her plans to the man she didn’t trust sitting in front of her. She liked the lady from family services. Maybe she didn’t always agree with Ms. Angie, but the social worker had a nice smile. And she didn’t talk to Sarabeth like she was a dumb little kid.
The family counselor, Dr. Evan, was another story. And she didn’t like his eyes. Flat and brown and too...something. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. It made her angry.
Sarabeth was used to being angry, but she usually understood why. She didn’t know why Dr. Evan made her angry, only that he did. And Mom had always said to listen to her gut feelings. When you didn’t, you ended up tied up in a basement.
At least, that was what had happened to Mom. After ten years of keeping them away from Sarabeth’s dad, Mom’s luck ran out and Rob had showed up at exactly the wrong moment and brought them to Wyoming against Mom’s will.
Sarabeth hadn’t liked her father, but she had liked trying to find the gold. She’d hated that Rob had hit and hurt her mother, but Sarabeth had done something about it. Hadn’t she?
“What are you thinking about?”
She fingered the piece of gold in her pocket. It had been her dad’s. Well, technically, he had stolen it from a man who was maybe his dad, but dead now. Because of her father.
Who was dead now, because of her.
That was kind of weird, wasn’t it? It was a thought she would have shared with Ms. Angie. She wasn’t about to share it with Dr. Evan.
“I don’t like it when my mom’s not in here,” Sarabeth said. She didn’t scowl at Dr. Evan, even though she wanted to. Because sometimes you had to pretend to get what you wanted. And she wanted to not have to come to these dumb appointments anymore.
Dr. Evan’s face changed. It got kind of pinched like he was irritated with her, but his smile stayed put and his words weren’t mean.
“We thought maybe you’d feel more comfortable talking about your father without her in the room.”
“I’m not,” Sarabeth returned flatly. She didn’t want to discuss anything with Dr. Evan, but especially her father.
“All right.”
Sarabeth didn’t believe his smile for a second, but he pushed a button on his phone and asked somebody to send Mom in.
“I think we’ve got about as far as we can today,” Dr. Evan said to Mom. “We’ll see you at your appointment next week, Sarabeth.”
“Thank you, Dr. Young.” Mom put her arm around Sarabeth and started leading her to the door.
Sarabeth knew she shouldn’t. Mom told her to be nice and polite to people who wanted to help, but Sarabeth couldn’t always resist poking at somebody. Especially a somebody she just didn’t like.
“Bye, Mr. Evan.” He hated when people called him Mr. instead of Dr. She’d found that in her first appointment with him.
She’d said it once every appointment since.
His nice smile fell and Sarabeth had to hide her grin behind her hands as Mom led her outside.
“That was wrong, Sarabeth,” Mom muttered as they waved at the front desk lady and then left.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t like him. You said I don’t have to talk to people I don’t like.” Sarabeth squinted at the summer sun as she looked up and down the street.
Wilde was by far the smallest town they’d ever lived in. There wasn’t even a grocery store here. It was a strange place, but that was what Sarabeth liked about it. It felt odd and out of place like she did.
Still, she preferred the ranches out past town. All that land. Horses. Big sky and space. Sarabeth felt alive and in control out there. But town was okay too.
One of the Bent County stagecoaches went by and Mom waved at the driver. They started walking down the road. They lived in an apartment above a hardware store just down the block. Mom had lived there when she was a little kid with her grandma.
Before they got very far, Sarabeth saw a familiar silver truck. She looked wildly around for any of the Thompson brothers, hoping for one in particular to materialize. But wherever they were, they weren’t in or around their truck.
That truck would eventually go back to the Thompson ranch, where Henry was—if he wasn’t the one driving it. Sarabeth slowed her pace and pulled her hand out of Mom’s grasp.
“Jessie!” someone called. Mom tensed, but she plastered on a smile. Sarabeth knew Mom couldn’t stand nosy Mrs. Caruthers who ran the hardware store with her husband, but Mrs. Caruthers had not picked up on it.
“What have you two been up to?” Mrs. Caruthers asked, smiling her big, toothy smile. Her eyes were beady though. And always watching.
Sarabeth shifted to stand behind mom. “Hello, Mrs. Caruthers,” Mom greeted. “How are you today?”
Mom was good at that. Not answering questions. They’d spent a lot of time hiding, lying, not answering questions that might make her father or Mom’s family come after them.
Mrs. Caruthers was talking about some foot problem she had, but Sarabeth wasn’t listening. She was looking at the silver truck. She knew it was one of the Thompson brothers’. Knew it.
Her lucky gold piece was giving her the chance. She let go of Mom’s hand. “Mom, can I go buy a piece of candy?”
Mom looked down at her, eyebrows drawn together. She looked into the store window they were standing in front of, then sighed and gave a little nod.
But Sarabeth didn’t go into the store. She backed slowly away, toward the truck, watching Mrs. Caruthers’s mouth move and move and move.
Sarabeth scrambled up into the truck bed as quiet as a mouse. She curled herself into a little ball in the corner and waited, hoping against hope the Thompson brother would return soon and drive off. Before Mom realized she wasn’t coming back.
She didn’t think of how worried Mom would be or how much trouble she’d be in. She just thought about how she could finally get the help Mom needed.
HENRY ROYAL HAD been more than happy to leave his last name behind when his superior officer had informed him of the military leak that necessitated he and his team members be killed on paper, then sent to the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, to ranch with a new last name.
Royal held nothing but tragedy and bad memories attached. Thompson was like a new start.
He wished the new start included a little less cow waste, and really wished it included a lot less of his military brothers bringing women into their lives. Zara had been fine enough. A ranch woman, always ready and willing to go toe to toe with his bad temper and scathing sarcasm, and Jake was happy so that was that.
Kate, on the other hand, was a softer sort, and Henry didn’t care for soft even if Brody did. And if Kate was soft, Hazeleigh was downright pillow fluff, the opposite of her sister Zara. But Landon was dedicated to the sweet woman.
All their love bull gave Henry an itch between his shoulder blades. Only bad things could come of love and committing your life to each other. He’d learned that lesson early and not a damn thing in his life had ever changed his mind.
Jake didn’t agree as he and Zara were now engaged. No doubt Brody and Landon would fall into the same trap soon enough.
Luckily, his other two brothers were as likely to form romantic attachments as Henry was to sprout wings. Taciturn, injured Dunne. Stick-up-his-ass former commander Cal.
No, the three of them were safe. Thank God.
Henry parked the truck in front of the big house that now felt too dang crowded. Though Landon and Hazeleigh had moved into the cabin across the yard, Henry had still been conned into the big house, agreeing to give Brody and Kate the little shack outbuilding he’d redone into a nice room.
Henry still complained bitterly about it, though Kate being an amazing cook made it worth the while. Zara took a turn washing dishes—which was one less turn he had to take. It wasn’t all bad.
Not that he’d let anyone know that.
Henry preferred to focus on the bad. That way when it came and bit you on the ass, you were ready.
He slammed his truck door, headed for the house, but then he heard a strange...sound. He looked back at the truck, and there was a little girl.
The little girl they’d helped last month. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, taking in her windblown brown hair and red-cheeked face.
“I need your help,” she said, hopping out of the truck with a child’s ease.
He looked in the bed of the truck, trying to figure out where the hell she came from. “You didn’t ride in there all the way from town, did you?”
“I absolutely did.”
He was losing his touch. That was concerning. There’d been a day he wouldn’t have driven an inch without knowing, instinctively, there was a stowaway in his truck.
Of course, he wasn’t used to stowaways asking for help rather than wanting to kill him.
She fisted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. She was fierce, he’d give her that. But she was a tiny thing—far too skinny for her frame, all angles and vinegar.
He’d been impressed by her vinegar, in awe of the way she’d calmly killed her father to save Landon’s—and her mother’s—life. She was something.
But she reminded him of too many things to name, and no matter what she’d done, she was still a little girl.
“Does your mom know you’re here?”
She shook her head, casting a guilty glance at the ground. “But she doesn’t understand. Mom thinks she’s safe here, but she’s wrong.”
Henry’s military training jumped to alert. Danger. He was good at stopping danger. But he also knew that poor woman who’d been tied up in a basement would be worried sick that her daughter was missing.
He pulled out his phone and texted Landon inside.
Call Sarabeth’s mom. She stowed away in truck. Out here now.
“What are you doing?”
“Telling Landon to call your mom. He’s got her number, doesn’t he?” He hit Send on the text.
The little girl’s face flickered for a moment. A wince, a moment of guilt, then sort of resetting herself. Focusing on him and this bizarre little stunt rather than all the trouble she’d no doubt be in.
“You have to protect my mom. She’s in danger.”
“How do you know that?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, a stubborn pout on her face. “I know.”
He shook his head, trying to remind himself who he was, where he was and how little this was his problem. “Look, kid...”
“I may be young, but I killed my father. I don’t feel much like a kid.”
He understood where she was coming from. She didn’t have a clue how much, but boy, was this little girl not his problem. “That doesn’t make you Wonder Woman.”
“See. This is why I need you.”
“No, if you need anybody, and I’m not convinced you do, you want one of my brothers. Landon helped you before. He’ll—”
“No, I need you.”
“Kid—”
“You’re mean.”
Henry had his mouth open, but no words came out. Mean. He was indeed mean. Had been called it in a lot more colorful language than this little girl had employed.
“You’re the mean one,” she insisted. “Your brothers are nice, or at least nicer than you. Whoever wants to hurt my mom is mean. And real bad. She needs someone who can protect her from that. I’m mean, but I’m small. I need help.”
Henry tried to harden his heart—after all, he wasn’t sure he even had a heart anymore. Or if he’d ever had one to begin with.
But it hit close to a home he’d spent a lifetime running from. A failure he’d tried to make up for his entire military career.
And failed, more times than he liked to count. The failures always outweighing the successes, no matter how the scales tipped in his favor.
“Please,” the little girl said, big eyes on him imploringly. “You’re the only one who can help.”
