GOODY GOODY GUNSHOTS.

Sammi Carter.

Chapter 1.

A chill November wind howled outside the windows of my car as I pulled into the drive outside my brother's old farmhouse. Lights spilled from the windows, making the house look warm and welcoming, and I allowed myself a moment's regret that I wouldn't be going inside. In the distance, the Colorado Rockies formed a protective barrier around the valley and the town of Paradise. I could see their snow-covered spines arching upward in the moonlight to meet the night sky.

Trees towered over the two-story house, and even from where I sat I could hear the branches scratching the walls of the old house. Dry leaves and bits of dirt scuttled across the gravel driveway. A cool gust of wind filled the car as the back doors opened and my nephews, Brody and Caleb, spilled happily out into the storm. Each clutched a small tin of their favorite candy under one arm. With a wave, nine-year-old Caleb raced up the driveway and disappeared into the kitchen. His older brother Brody hung back for a minute.

My sister-in-law, Elizabeth, appeared in the kitchen window and peered out into the darkness. I flashed my lights, hoping she'd realize that Brody was still with me.

A gust of wind swept a lock of Brody's dark blond hair into his eyes. Looking far too serious for a twelve-year-old, he reached back into the car for his basketball, and I was struck by his resemblance to my brother. When he suddenly grinned, the resemblance grew even stronger. "So, have you thought about it?"

He was like his father in more than just looks. Neither of them had any patience, and once they got their teeth into something, they didn't let go. Elizabeth said it was a trait all of us Shaws shared, but I couldn't see it in myself.

Since Wyatt had to work late and Elizabeth had had a conflicting engagement, I'd gone with the boys to their Youth League basketball game that evening. Frankly, I'd jumped at the chance. I'd lived away for most of their lives, and I welcomed every opportunity I could find to bond with them now.

Once there, they'd talked me into sitting on the bench in the empty a.s.sistant coach's spot to keep the team from forfeiting the game. It wasn't until the game was over and the three of us were eating pizza and chugging c.o.kes that my sneaky little nephews revealed their true reason for asking me to come with them tonight.

I motioned for Brody to get in out of the wind. "You only asked me about being a.s.sistant coach an hour ago. I haven't had time to think about it."

"If you think about it too much, you might say no," Brody said impatiently. "Please? We need you there."

I laughed and shifted into park. "So your nefarious plan is to lock me into a promise before I can say no? Nice try, but I know better than to think you need me. I'd be about as useless when it comes to coaching a team as your dad would be in the candy shop."

Brody's smile faded. "That's not true. Dad said you used to play on a team and everything."

"That was many years ago. I've forgotten everything I used to know." His little face registered such disappointment, I looked away before it could influence me. I'm a sucker when it comes to Wyatt's four kids, and they all know it. "In case you didn't notice, I didn't do anything tonight."

"You don't have to do anything," Brody insisted. "Coach knows plenty. We just need another grown-up there, or we can't play anymore."

I made the mistake of looking at Brody, and a powerful auntlike instinct urged me to say yes. Unfortunately, I had half a dozen good reasons for saying no. "Don't you think Coach Hendrix would rather have an a.s.sistant coach who knows something about the game?"

"He doesn't care. Honest! He likes doing everything himself."

I laughed, knowing that what he said was probably true. Kerry Hendrix was a bit of a control freak. I didn't want to give Brody false hope, but that aunt thing poked at me again and made me ask, "How often do you guys practice?"

"Mostly once a week." Brody shifted his weight around, and his gaze dropped to his hands. "Sometimes two. And then there are the games. We usually play once or twice a week."

"You'd need me three or four days every week?"

"Yeah, but only for a couple of hours, and it's after work. Mostly."

Four days a week probably didn't sound like much to a kid, but I'd only inherited Divinity a couple of years earlier, and I was barely keeping up with the candy shop's demands as it was. With just two of us working sales, and one of me hand-making the majority of the candy we sold, when did I have time to do anything extra?

I knew I should say no. I had to say no. But then I looked at Brody's little face again, and my resolve dissolved like sugar in hot water. I'm such a sucker. For the past two years, I'd been searching for some way to connect with the boys. Now one had landed in my lap. How could I turn my back on it? But I also had responsibilities, obligations to Karen and to the shop. How could I say yes?

Knowing I'd cave in if I stayed there even a minute longer, I made myself say, "I don't know, Brody. I'm going to have to think about it."

"But we have to prove to the league that we have another coach in two days. If we don't, we can't play this season."

"I understand that," I said, "but I'm not sure I can commit to something that's going to take so much time. I have to consider what's best for the shop."

"Can't Karen take care of the store while you're gone?"

Karen was my cousin and a.s.sistant manager of Divinity. Actually, she knew more about the candy-making business than I did, but I was learning. "Karen and I are barely keeping our heads above water the way things are right now," I told Brody. "If I disappear four times a week, the whole thing might go under."

Disappointment flashed across his face, but he tried to look brave. "Okay."

I felt like a weasel. "I'm not saying no," I said, backpedaling so I wouldn't have to see his little chin quiver. "I'll still come out here tomorrow and talk to Coach Hendrix like I said I would."

"Yeah, but you probably will say no."

"I might," I said honestly, "but not because I don't want to help out. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah." He swept his gaze across my face quickly and got out of the car again. "I gotta go. Mom's waiting for me."

He scuffed his feet as he crossed the yard and dragged himself onto the back porch. I'd let him down, but what other choice could I have made?

Feeling lower than pond sc.u.m, I watched until he was safely inside, then put the Jetta into reverse and backed out of the yard. Newcomers to the area sometimes find the closeness of the mountains intimidating. Some even become claustrophobic. But for those of us born in the heart of the Rockies, these peaks are a comforting presence, and I needed their comfort tonight. Even with a storm looming, their solid, steady presence made me feel as if everything would be all right. I wanted to believe that, but I wasn't so sure.

Lost in thought, I reached the main road and turned toward town. The storm was gaining strength, and wind buffeted the car as I maneuvered along the twisting two-lane highway that separates my brother's house from town. Every few minutes a handful of raindrops. .h.i.t my windshield-just enough to blur my vision, but never enough to swipe away with the wipers.

I forgot all about the blinking red light the county had recently installed at Hammond Junction until I was almost upon it. I'm still not sure what actually pulled me out of my reverie enough to hit the brakes, but as I did, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and a short, dirty man in a trench coat and knit cap stumbled onto the highway in front of my car.

I jammed my foot hard onto the brake and shouted, "Hey! Watch out!" but my windows were up, and I don't think he heard me. My tires bit on the gravel that was scattered over the highway's surface, and I skidded sideways, straight toward the man who stood in the glow of my headlights, his eyes wide with shock.

At the last second, my tires found something solid, and the car jerked out of its spin. The man's eyes met mine, and I realized that the shock on his face had been replaced by a look of terror. Smudges of dirt and grime covered his face, and it looked as if he hadn't shaved in days. He stretched one trembling hand toward me.

I sat frozen, unable to move, while my heart slammed against my rib cage and my mouth grew dry from a mixture of fear and anger. What in the h.e.l.l was wrong with him, darting into the road like that? I could have killed him! Did he even realize how close I'd come to hitting him?

Anger was just what I needed to get my brain in gear. I fumbled for the window control on my armrest, ready to yell at the idiot who'd almost gotten himself killed. But before I could get the window down, he jerked upright and lurched away from my car toward the other side of the highway. He ran awkwardly, dragging one foot slightly as he moved.

Had he limped before, or had I hit him? I could have sworn that I hadn't, but what if I was wrong? Anger changed to guilt in the blink of an eye. I didn't want a lawsuit to blindside me later, so I grabbed the door handle.

"Hey!" I shouted again.

Whether he couldn't hear me over the wind or chose to ignore me, he kept running.

I thought about going after him, but something about the deserted road, the rising wind, and the shadows on the sides of the street stopped me. He'd be okay, I told myself. I'd probably frightened him as much as he'd frightened me, that's all.

Giving a thin laugh, I reached for the gearshift. At the same moment, a loud bang sounded just outside my car, followed by a second, and then a third. The man in the trench-coat jerked backwards with each shot, and then, while I watched too stunned to move, dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

Chapter 2.

Thirty minutes after I left it, I pulled back into my brother's driveway. I'd tried calling both Wyatt and the police from my cell as I drove, but the storm must have been playing havoc with the signal-it's not even all that reliable in good weather. That's one of the bad things about living in the mountains, I guess, but it's a small price to pay for the scenery and the lifestyle.

I left the car running and pounded onto the porch, helped along by a gust of wind. I rang the doorbell out of courtesy, but turned the k.n.o.b to let myself inside at the same time. "Wyatt? Where are you? It's me, Abby."

Footsteps sounded overhead, and boards creaked under my brother's weight as he came down the stairs. "Abby? What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you? You're making enough noise to wake the dead."

I hurried down the hall and met him at the bottom of the stairs. He's five years older than me, a wall of solid muscle from working hard his whole life. If it weren't for the liberal streaks of gray in his hair and the wrinkles etched into his weathered skin, he might have been able to pa.s.s for much younger. Sometimes when I look at him, I see Grandpa Hanks scowling out of his deep brown eyes. Tonight, even with irritation written all over his face, I saw the big brother who once threatened to toss a couple of boys into a ditch for bothering me, and that's the one I needed.

He scratched at the T-shirt covering his chest, and I realized he was wearing nothing else but a pair of boxers. "What is it?" he demanded. "Don't tell me you have a flat tire, because I'm not going out in the middle of the night to change it for you."

Okay, so he's not exactly a knight in shining armor. He's big, and he's tough, and he's nicer than he acts most of the time. "My tires are fine." I glanced up the stairs to make sure none of his kids were listening, then snagged his arm and drew him a few feet away just to be sure. "Go get dressed, while I call the police. I just saw a man get shot, and I need you to come with me."

I started toward the kitchen phone, but Wyatt caught my arm and stopped me in my tracks. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. You saw what?"

"Keep your voice down," I warned in a whisper. "I don't want the kids to hear us." Then, because he was obviously losing patience, I said again, "I just saw a man get shot out at Hammond Junction. I don't know who he was, but somebody shot him right in front of me."

"Are you kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" I pulled my arm out of his grip and waved him back toward the stairs. "Get dressed," I said again. "I'm going to call the police. I'll tell you everything I can on the way."

"You want me to go with you to a place where a man just got murdered? Are you nuts?"

"I'm going to have to show the police where it happened," I explained, trying hard to hang on to my patience. "I'd kind of like to have somebody with me while I wait. Besides, he might still be alive, so hurry. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"What's wrong with me?" Wyatt barked a laugh. "Some guy's out there shooting people, and you want me to drive you back there so we can get shot?"

"I want you to drive me out there so we can make sure the poor man who already got shot gets medical attention if he's still alive. Whoever shot him isn't going to hang around waiting to get caught. He's probably long gone by now."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Would you hang around?" I marched into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and punched in the number for the police. Wyatt trailed after me, still scratching. Before he could say something dumb like claiming he would hang around the scene of a shooting, Justin Cole picked up the dispatch phone at the police station.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd met Justin a few times, and I liked him. I filled him in on the crime I'd witnessed, and he promised to send someone to investigate right away. I promised to meet the officers on the scene and started to hang up, but at the last minute I asked Justin to let Pine Jawarski know what was going on.

Jawarski's a friend. Some might even say he's more than a friend, but if you ask the two of us, we'll both tell you that hasn't been established yet. He's also a detective with the Paradise Police, and if I had to go back out to Hammond Junction in the middle of the night, I wanted him there.

With the phone call out of the way, I turned back to my conversation with Wyatt because, of course, he hadn't moved an inch the whole time I was on the phone. He's stubborn like that. "Let's say you just shot somebody," I said, still trying to hang on to my patience. "What would you do? Hang out in the bushes waiting for the police to show up, or hightail it to someplace safe?"

I don't know what Wyatt would have said to that, because Elizabeth chose that moment to join us. She was dressed for bed in a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of Wyatt's T-shirts. Her sandy red hair hung loose to her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were dark with concern. "What's this about a shooting?"

Apparently, Wyatt and I hadn't done a very good job of keeping our voices down.

Wyatt jerked his head toward me. "Abby says she saw somebody get shot out at Hammond Junction. She wants me to go back there with her to make sure the guy's okay and wait for the police."

The concern in Elizabeth's eyes deepened. "He was shot? Are you sure?"

"I heard the shots and saw him go down."

"But he's not dead?"

"I didn't wait around to find out," I explained. "My first instinct was to get out of there and call the police."

"Good instincts." Oblivious to the need for a quick response, she dragged a chair from the table and sank into it. "Do you know who it was?"

I shook my head. "I only saw him for a minute. I don't think it's someone I know, but I may have seen him around town. I didn't see who shot him. Whoever it was must have been hiding in the trees on the side of the road. I didn't even know he was there until I heard the gunshots."

Elizabeth gave a shudder and turned her gaze toward my brother. "You can't let her go back there alone."

"I don't want her to go at all," Wyatt snarled. "Seems to me the smart thing would be to let the police come here to talk to her."

"Wyatt-"

"No, Elizabeth. I mean it. If I go with her, it will only encourage her."

"Wyatt."

My brother jerked one hand through the air and glared at his wife. "She doesn't need to be there, Lizzie. You know what she's like. If I go back there with her now, the next thing we know, she'll be up to her eyeb.a.l.l.s in it."

"Hey!" I said, "I'm right here in the room, remember? And just for the record, I have no intention of getting up to my eyeb.a.l.l.s in anything."

Wyatt snorted a laugh. "Yeah. Right. That's what you say now."

"And that's what I'll say when the police meet us at the junction. No matter what you think, I'm not running around looking for trouble. Like I said, I don't even know who the guy was."

"Yeah, but you'll find out," Wyatt predicted, "and then you'll figure out some reason you need to get yourself wrapped up in the middle of it. And the next thing you know, you'll be in some kind of trouble, and then guess who you'll call."

Jerk. Just because that's what had happened a couple of times in the past . . . I glared at him and patted my pockets, trying to figure out where I'd put my keys. "Fine. Don't come with me then. I'll go by myself. I've already been here too long."

"Abby, wait!" Looking stern and maternal, Elizabeth glared at her husband. "You can't let her go back out there by herself, Wyatt. She's your sister."

He growled low in his throat and turned away.

"Don't push him," I insisted. "I'll be fine. I've been hanging around here so long, the police are probably there already." I gave Elizabeth a brief hug, promised to call when I was home safe, and let myself out onto the back porch. I'd just settled behind the steering wheel of the Jetta when I saw Wyatt come out the front door, his hunting rifle in one hand.

He'd pulled on a pair of jeans and some boots, and he motioned for me to get out of my car and into his truck. Irritated as I was with him, I was also relieved. He put the rifle on its rack in the back window and climbed into the driver's seat, while I hoisted myself into the pa.s.senger's seat.

With a pointed look at me, he started the truck, gunned the engine a couple of times to show me how annoyed he was, and shifted into reverse. "d.a.m.n pain in my a.s.s," he muttered as he backed the truck around the Jetta.

"Yeah, maybe," I snarled back, "but at least we're even. It's no joyride having you for a brother, either."

I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw his lips twitch. He bl.u.s.ters and bluffs a lot, but like I said before, underneath it all, he's got a good heart. It's just that sometimes you have to dig really deep to find it.