Rumors: The McCaffertys

by Lisa Jackson

  Kelly disagreed. Now they had more information to work with. It could very well turn out to be another blind alley, but it was something. She stuffed her notebook into her jacket pocket and followed Matt through the back door and across the porch.

  Outside the air was sharp. The wind slapped her face and snow swirled in the dark night. She trudged through the path Matt broke to the stables. He threw open the door and snapped on the lights.

  One horse nickered nervously. Another snorted at the intrusion, poking a large head over the top rail of the stall. “How’re ya, girl?” Matt asked, and scratched the blaze that ran crookedly up the mare’s broad nose. Outside the raw winter wind raged and howled, but in this old building with its ancient siding, hayloft overhead, tack room visible through an open door, the stables felt warm and safe, filled with the scents of horses, oiled leather, dust and straw. Cobwebs hung from the support posts, surrounded the windows and feathered in the corners. Barrels of oats and mash were stacked in an old bin, and pitchforks, shovels and buckets were held by nails pounded into the siding years ago.

  “These are the ladies of the Flying M,” Matt explained to Kelly as other mares stretched their necks over the gates. “Expectant mothers.”

  Curious eyes blinked from the heads thrust over the railings. One mare seemed skittish, another jerked away as Kelly approached, but others allowed her to pet their muzzles.

  Matt checked feed and water, patted each velvet-soft nose and spoke in low, soft tones as he scratched an ear or patted a sleek shoulder. All the while his eyes moved from one mare to the next.

  It was hard to imagine him or any of his brothers as a murderer intent on killing their half sister for her share of the Flying M. No, that was just gossip whispered around the coffee shops and taverns of Grand Hope, nothing more. In Kelly’s estimation the harsh talk was far-fetched and probably fueled by jealousy. Despite her own family’s run-ins with the McCafferty family, she found it difficult to believe that Thorne, Matt or Slade was a potential murderer.

  All of the brothers seemed more than concerned for their sister’s well-being. They were clamoring for the police to find Randi’s assailant.

  And they all doted on the baby.

  Now, as she watched Matt’s ease with the mares, his strong hands gentle as he patted a shiny neck or scratched beneath a strong equine jaw, she was more certain than ever that someone outside the McCafferty family was behind the attacks on Randi and possibly Thorne.

  “So what is it you wanted to ask me?” Matt glanced over one shoulder as he poured oats from a coffee can into the empty mangers.

  She climbed onto the top rail of a stall and hooked the heels of her boots on a lower slat while bracing herself with her hands, the way she used to do years ago at her grandmother’s farm. “I hoped you could tell me about why your father left half the ranch to your sister.”

  He slid her a troubled glance she didn’t understand.

  “Each of his sons got a sixth, but Randi inherited half of it, the half with the house and outbuildings, right? While you boys each got a sixth.”

  “That’s about the size of it. I guess Dad felt he had to take care of Randi, more than he did with the rest of us.”

  “Because she was a woman?”

  “Bingo.” His lips thinned.

  “Did she know anything about ranching?”

  “Not enough.”

  “So how do you feel about that? I mean, don’t you and your brothers resent the fact that she inherited the lion’s share?”

  He lifted a shoulder and something stirred in his gaze. “She was always Dad’s favorite.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was Penelope’s daughter,” he said coldly. “He would have gone through hell for that woman, and in the end, she tossed him over. Kinda tit for tat, if ya think about what he did to Mom.” His jaw tightened. “But it’s all water under the bridge now. Doesn’t matter a whole helluva lot.”

  “So you think John Randall didn’t split things equally because of favoritism?”

  “Probably, but I can’t second-guess my old man. At the time the old man realized he was facing the grim reaper, Thorne was already a millionaire, I had my own place, Slade…well, Slade plays by his own rules, never gave Dad the time of day, and Randi, she had a job in Seattle, yeah, but Dad never approved. Not that it mattered. She did pretty much as she damned well pleased.”

  “A family trait.”

  “You noticed.” He walked to a ladder built into the side wall and climbed up to the hayloft. Kelly dragged her gaze away from the faded buttocks of his worn jeans as he disappeared through an opening overhead.

  Thud!

  One bale of hay landed on the floor.

  Thud! Thud!

  More bales rained from above. Within seconds Matt had swung down to the main floor again and cut the bailing twine with his jackknife. As he leaned over, her eyes were drawn again to his hips and strong legs. Her blood heated and she turned her attention to the mare in the stall behind her. Lord, what was wrong with her? Why did she wonder what he wore, if anything, beneath those disreputable Levi’s? Why did she envision hard, muscular thighs and strong calves? She’d never in her lifetime ever so much as contemplated what a man would look like naked. Until now. And now she wondered what his body would feel like stretched out over hers, touching, sweating, tasting…

  He clicked his knife shut and she started, brought back to the here and now. Matt snagged a pitchfork from its hook on the wall and began shaking huge forkfuls of hay into the mangers.

  “You know,” he said, his shoulders moving fluidly beneath his shirt as he worked, “I hadn’t seen Randi in a while. Neither had Slade nor Thorne and we all feel bad about it. We should have kept up with her.”

  “So, as you said, you didn’t know about the men in her life, right?”

  “Well, of course I knew Randi had boyfriends, not only here when she was growing up but also when she was away at college. But I never heard that she was ever serious about any one guy, not even lately.” He jabbed the pitchfork into a fresh bale and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Kelly’s in the light from the few iridescent bulbs suspended from the ceiling. Her throat went dry, but she managed to concentrate on the conversation. “For someone who tosses out advice, she’s pretty private,” Matt added. “The independent kind. Well, you know about that.”

  “We’re not talking about me,” she retorted, stung a bit.

  “No, but I thought you could relate.” He leaned on the pitchfork and sighed. “It really doesn’t surprise me that she was involved with a man who I didn’t know about, but it’s strange that she didn’t tell any one of us, not me, or Thorne, or Slade that she was pregnant.”

  “Maybe she planned to give the baby up for adoption,” Kelly suggested.

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s not like she’s a teenager who hasn’t finished school and doesn’t know what she wants in life, or that she couldn’t afford a baby. No, I’m sure she intended to have the baby and keep him, but there was something she had to do before she told us about him.”

  “Write a book?” Kelly suggested.

  “More likely deal with the father.” He turned and faced her, and she noticed the lines of irritation pinching the corners of his eyes. “What’s the deal with that guy? Where is he? If he cared a lick about my sister he would’ve shown up by now.”

  “If he knows about her accident.”

  “He should, dammit. If he cared enough…enough to get her pregnant, then he damned sure should be hanging around.”

  “Maybe they broke up before he found out she was pregnant. Maybe she didn’t tell him just like she didn’t tell you. Maybe she doesn’t want him to know.” She thought long and hard, avoiding staring into Matt’s angry eyes. “Or maybe you’re right, he just doesn’t care.”

&nbs
p; “Damn it all.” Matt kicked at a bale of hay as he walked up to her, and as she balanced on the top rail, he pressed his nose close to hers. “Let me tell you, if my woman was in the hospital and that kid was mine—” he jerked his thumb in the general direction of the ranch house where, presumably, little J.R. was sleeping “—things would be a lot different. A whole lot different.” Matt’s lips had thinned, his nostrils flared and one fist was clenched in impotent rage. He smelled of horses and hard work. A vein near his temple became more pronounced. Tiny crow’s feet fanned from eyes set deep behind a ledge of thick black eyebrows.

  Kelly’s heart took off. She licked suddenly dry lips. Matt McCafferty was just too damned sexy for his own good.

  Her stupid, feminine heartbeat accelerated to the rate of hummingbird’s wings and she noticed the corners of his mouth, where anger pulled the skin tight. In another surreal moment, she wondered what it would feel like to kiss those blade-thin, furious lips and have his big, work-roughened hands rub against her skin. Just what kind of a lover would he be?

  The best.

  She caught herself up short.

  This was silly.

  Ridiculous.

  Damned unprofessional.

  His gaze caught hers for a second and held. Something dark and dangerous sizzled in those scorching brown depths, connected with a part of her she didn’t want to examine any too closely. He was dangerous. Emotionally. But not a killer. Not a man who would plot to murder his half sister, no matter what the stakes.

  The moment stretched long. Horses shifted and snorted in their stalls. Kelly heard her heartbeats count off the seconds.

  Her throat was arid as a windswept Montana prairie.

  His gaze flicked to her mouth, as if he, too, felt the sudden intimacy, sensed the unseen charge in the air.

  This couldn’t be happening. She…couldn’t want him to gather her into his strong arms, pull her off the top of the stall, drag her close and kiss her until…oh, dear…

  As if he, too, felt the atmosphere in the musty building thicken, he took a step back and cleared his throat. But his dark gaze still held hers and she saw sex and promise in his eyes.

  Oh, God, no.

  With more agility than she thought possible at the moment, she dropped to the cement floor. “If…if…” She licked her lips, felt a wash of heat stain her cheeks, realized with disgust that her legs had gone weak. What in the name of God was she thinking? “If you think of anything else, call me,” she added, her voice louder than she’d intended.

  He hesitated.

  “I’m talking about the case.”

  “I know.”

  Her heart galumphed. Somewhere nearby a horse whinnied softly. Kelly tore her gaze from his. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? This never happened to her. Never. She worked with dozens of men, interviewed witnesses, suspects and victims on a regular basis, and she’d never even brushed the emotions that were battling within her now.

  “And you keep me posted on the investigation,” he said.

  In your dreams, she thought as she reached for the door. Yes, the family would be informed, but some of the evidence the department collected would be kept under wraps, privy only to law enforcement until the investigation was closed, used for the purpose of trapping the assailant.

  As if he read her mind, Matt grabbed the crook of her elbow and spun her around.

  “I mean it,” he said with a quiet, deadly determination. “I want to know what’s going on every step of the way in this investigation. And if there’s anything I can do to nail the son of a bitch who did this to Randi, I will.” His jaw was set, his eyes on fire, his skin tight over his cheekbones. “This guy can’t get away.”

  “I know.”

  “Otherwise I might be forced to take the law into my own hands.”

  “That would be a mistake.”

  “Just be sure it doesn’t have to happen. Get the creep.”

  “We will,” she promised.

  The fingers around her arm tightened. “I’m not kidding, Detective, I want this murdering bastard caught and punished. Big-time. And I’m tired of waiting around while my sister’s life is in danger. Either you arrest the son of a bitch, or I’ll find him, and when I do, I won’t wait around for the courts to decide what to do with him. I’ll handle it myself.”

  Chapter 6

  “I just don’t know why they don’t have a man in charge of the investigation,” Matt grumbled as he sat at the table cradling a cup of coffee two days later. It was only a few days until Thanksgiving. Juanita, Nicole and Jenny, the babysitter, had been bustling around, planning a big spread, inviting friends and relatives and decorating the house with those stupid accordion-pleated turkeys and pumpkins, gourds and squash. Randi’s condition had stabilized but not improved much, little J.R. was getting cuter by the minute, and Mike Kavanaugh had called again, trying to press Matt into selling the place he’d thrown himself into the last six years.

  On top of all that, he was losing sleep. Ever since Kelly Dillinger had been at the house the other night he’d been bothered with thoughts of her. Big-time. While working with the stock, his wayward mind would bring up the image of her face. At night he’d tossed and turned, dreamed of kissing her, woken up with an ache in his groin just as hard as it had been in high school. During the days, whenever he was at the hospital, he’d looked for her, hoped to run into her, found himself concocting excuses to call her.

  So far he hadn’t.

  It was stupid. She wasn’t even his type. He liked softer, quiet women with round curves, long blond hair and dulcet-toned voices. Whenever he’d considered settling down, which hadn’t been all that often until Thorne had decided to marry, Matt had thought he’d like a nice, home-grown woman who wanted nothing more than to be a rancher’s wife and a mother to his children. Never once had he considered that he might fall for a career woman, a gun-toting, no-nonsense, sharp-tongued cop, for crying out loud, one who lived too far from the ranch he’d bought with hard work, sweat and determination. He’d paid a hefty price for that scrap of land that signified his independence and he wasn’t going to give it up for any woman, especially a detective.

  Not that he was falling for anyone, he reminded himself, and took a gulp of coffee that burned the back of his mouth. He sputtered and coughed. Where the hell had that wayward thought sprung from?

  “A man is in charge of the investigation,” Thorne said. “Last I heard, Roberto Espinoza was leading the team.”

  Slade leaned low on his back and observed his brothers over the rim of his mug. “That’s not what this is all about. Unless I miss my guess, I’d say the lady detective bothers you for the same reasons Nicole being Randi’s doctor got under Thorne’s skin.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Matt growled, not liking the turn of the conversation.

  “Face it, brother, you’re attracted to her.”

  His gaze bore straight into his younger brother’s eyes. “No way. She’s a cop. I’m not interested in a woman detective. It’s just that she’s working on the investigation.”

  Slade slid a wide grin toward Thorne, silently inviting him in on the razzing. Ignoring Matt’s protests, he feigned deep thought and said solemnly, “I think I know what it is. You’ve got yourself a reverse authority-figure fascination going on here.”

  “What?” Matt had to keep himself from shooting to his feet. His hands clenched his cup tightly.

  “Oh, you know how they always say that women get off on men in uniforms…maybe that’s what’s going on with you—you like the idea of having some woman boss you around.”

  Matt snorted in disdain. “Don’t you have something constructive to do?” Matt asked, draining his cup and not wanting to examine Slade’s theory too closely.

  “Yeah.” The youngest McCafferty brother scraped his c
hair back. “I suppose I’d better put in another call to Kurt Striker. He said he’d be back in Grand Hope this afternoon. Maybe he learned something while he was in Seattle.” He carried his cup to the sink and tossed the dregs down the drain. “I’ll ask him to stop by this evening.”

  “Good.” Thorne pushed out his chair. “The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better.”

  Amen, Matt thought.

  * * *

  “No medications were missing from the cart, cabinets or pharmacy,” Kelly said, tossing a file onto the corner of Roberto Espinoza’s desk. It landed next to a picture of Espinoza’s son’s baseball team from last spring.

  “I’d guess that someone brought the insulin in.” Espinoza was leaning back in his chair, staring through windows reinforced with wire and glazed with ice.

  “So the hospital staff is clean?”

  “Or smart.”

  “Or both,” she said, resting one hip on the corner of the desk and pointing to the file folder. “We’ll check anyone connected with the McCaffertys. See if there’s a diabetic in the crowd, and then find out if he’s missing any medication.”

  Kelly made a mental note to herself, then asked, “What about fingerprints?”

  “None that can’t be accounted for, but given the amount of latex gloves floating around St. James that’s not a big surprise.” His eyebrows drew into a heavy single line. “But the good news is that Randi McCafferty is out of immediate danger and has been moved from ICU to a private room.”

  “With a guard?”

  “You bet. I don’t want to risk another attack or the McCafferty boys slapping a lawsuit our way.” His eyes met Kelly’s. “They’re a passel of hotheads, y’know. All three of them were on their way to juvenile detention when they were in school. Their old man bailed ’em out, time and time again, and in my opinion it didn’t do any of ’em any good.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” He cocked his head to one side and regarded her as if he had the right to. “They’ve got reputations. Broke more than their share of hearts around this town in their younger days.”