by Lisa Jackson
Don’t do it, Kelly. Don’t fall for him. He’s the worst possible choice. She pulled out of the lot and eased into the sluggish traffic. What was she even thinking? She wouldn’t fall for a McCafferty; she wouldn’t fall for anyone.
Cautious by nature, she’d always protected her heart. She didn’t trust easily and she had only to look at Karla’s failed marriages and twice-broken heart to keep a rein on her emotions. No man, especially a McCafferty, was worth the heartache. But the image of Matt, tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled features, beard-darkened jaw, came to mind. She envisioned him in the saddle upon a racing horse, moving easily with the animal, looking for all the world as if he belonged astride a stallion galloping hell-bent-for-leather. Her mouth went dry at the image and she glanced in the rearview mirror. “You’re a fool, Dillinger,” she growled, disturbed, as she trained her attention to the road again.
She drove north, through the outskirts of town where pumpkins and cornstalks, leftovers from Halloween or precursors of Thanksgiving, adorned some of the porches. Eventually the houses gave way to wide, snow-covered fields.
The McCafferty ranch was located twenty miles out of town, and Kelly fought the weather all of the way. Snow swirled from the heavens, blowing across the highway and melting on her windshield as she squinted against the few oncoming headlights heading toward town. The sky was dark, the hills invisible, the wintry night cold enough to chill the bones.
She listened to the police radio, though she was officially off duty, and reminded herself that Matt McCafferty was only the brother of a crime victim. Nothing more. Her fingers shouldn’t be sweating at the thought of him, her pulse should return to its normal, steady rate. She shouldn’t be feeling one drip of anticipation.
And yet she did. Oh, Lord, she did. Even her stupid stomach knotted, and she imagined what it would be like to feel his arms around her, his anxious lips on hers…and…she shifted down before her wayward thoughts could take her into forbidden territory.
Eventually, thank God, she reached the turnoff.
So this is the Flying M, she thought as she wheeled into the snow-covered lane. She’d driven past it a million times, of course, but had never once turned down the twin ruts leading to the heart of the ranch. Until now. A few hardy dry weeds poked through the snow to scrape the undercarriage of her car, and she passed fields where cattle huddled against the wind and snow.
The lane widened to a large lot and a series of paddocks around a barn, stables and several other sheds. On a rise, the ranch house overlooked it all. Tall and rambling with weathered siding and windows glowing bright against the wintry night.
Kelly parked near a few other vehicles, flipped up the hood of her jacket and braved the elements, hunching her shoulders against the wind as she dashed to the front porch and climbed the steps. Stomping the snow from her boots, she rang the bell and the door swung open immediately.
“Detective Dillinger,” Matt McCafferty drawled, his dark eyes silently appraising. Dressed in faded jeans and a denim work shirt tossed over a navy T-shirt, he stood in stocking feet. Some of the animosity had disappeared from his expression and a dark stubble covered his jaw. He was, without a doubt, sexy as hell.
And she was far from immune. Her heart was racing, her knees unsteady.
He swung the door open and stepped to one side. “Come in.”
Suddenly she felt as if she’d just been invited into a viper’s lair.
She cleared her throat. “I wanted to talk to you, ask a few more questions.”
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence?” His brown eyes held hers. “As it just so happens, I’ve got some for you.”
Chapter 5
“You have questions?” Standing toe-to-toe with him on the porch, she lifted an eyebrow, encouraging him while trying to ignore his innate sexuality. “Shoot.”
“Obviously you haven’t found the person who tried to kill Randi.”
“We’re still working on it.”
“Put more men and women on the job.” His gaze intensified, left Kelly a little breathless.
She forged on. “It’s not the only case we have, you know.”
“Yeah, but someone bull-bustin’ through a neighbor’s fence, or…kids using mailboxes as target practice aren’t quite in the same league, now, are they?”
“Trust me,” she assured him, though she sounded more forceful than she felt beneath his assessing glare, “the attempt on your sister’s life is top priority.”
He stepped out of the way and threw the door to the ranch house open a little wider. “It had better be.”
Kelly didn’t respond, just scraped her boots on the porch mat, then walked inside. She turned her attention away from the cowboy and inspected the place where he’d grown up, the house Randi McCafferty had called home.
Inside, the old ranch house was warm, and despite its size, had a cozy feel. Soft golden light splashed upon pine-paneled walls and plank floors that had withstood three generations of McCaffertys. A faded runner covered stairs that wound upward from the entryway, and the aromas of burning wood, roasting pork and ginger tinged the air. From the floor above high-pitched giggles erupted. Young voices. Girls. Nicole’s twins, Kelly deduced.
“Is there somewhere we could talk?” she asked as she unbuttoned her coat. He helped her remove it, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of her neck. She tried not to notice, it wasn’t much contact, but still she felt an unwanted tingle as he hung her jacket on the hook near the door.
“This way.” He led her around a corner to a living room where Thorne McCafferty, one leg bound in a cast and elevated on the extension of his recliner, was talking with a tall, blond man who hadn’t bothered to take off his jacket and was holding his hat in one hand. “Larry Todd, Detective Dillinger,” Matt introduced. “Larry’s the foreman here and Detective Dillinger is with the sheriff’s department, trying to find out who attempted to kill Randi.”
“Any luck?” Larry asked.
“Not enough,” she admitted, noticing a cheery fire burning in the grate of a river-rock fireplace. Mounted above a mantel strewn with framed photos was an expansive set of antlers holding an antique rifle. An upright piano filled one wall while worn chairs, tables and the leather couch surrounded a braided rug.
“Get the son of a bitch.” Thorne was struggling to get to his feet.
Kelly held up a hand, indicating that he shouldn’t bother standing. “We will.”
“Make it soon,” Matt persisted, and her back went up a bit.
“That’s why I’m here. As I said, I’d like to ask you a few more questions. You, too,” she added, motioning to Thorne.
“Well, it looks like you’ve got some business to take care of, so I’d better shove off.” Larry hitched his pants up. “Think about trading some of the yearlings for Lyle Anderson’s broodmares. I think it would really improve the herd.”
Thorne glanced at Matt.
Matt nodded. “I’m in favor of introducing new bloodlines in the stock.”
“Then do it,” Thorne said to the foreman. “I’ll go along with whatever you and Matt decide.”
“Done.” Larry started for the door.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Todd,” Kelly interjected. “Since you’re here maybe you could give me some insight.” She reached into her pocket and found a small notepad. While Thorne pushed himself out of the chair and braced himself with a crutch and Matt folded his arms over his chest, she said, “A couple of weeks before her accident, Randi McCafferty let you go, isn’t that right?”
The big man flushed. His lips flattened over his teeth. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Yep. That’s just about how it happened,” Larry admitted, not bothering to hide his irritation. “And it pissed me off royally. I’d been running this place ever since her father died and all of a sudden, out of the damned blue, she calls me and says she doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Did she give a reason?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’d always gotten along
with her and the last I’d heard she was satisfied with my job—liked having me look over things. I guess she changed her mind,” he added, frowning slightly. “She didn’t bother to explain, but I had the feeling that she was moving back here and that she had someone else in mind to run the spread. She didn’t say so, but it was just the way she handled the conversation. She was nice enough, I suppose,” he added, glancing at the brothers. “Even paid me for an extra three months, which was supposed to be my severance package, then she thanked me and basically showed me the door. And that was that. Years of work, down the drain. I was pretty mad about the whole thing, but figured there wasn’t much I could do about it. She was the boss as she owned half this ranch.”
“But she didn’t ask any of her partners before letting you go,” Kelly clarified.
“Not that I know of.”
“None of us heard a word,” Matt said. He grabbed a poker from the blackened tool set on the hearth and jabbed at the logs in the fire. Flames crackled and embers spit sparks. “Since Dad died, Randi was in charge. She’s always been pretty independent.”
“To a fault,” Thorne grumbled.
“And since each of us—Slade, Thorne and I—only owned a sixth of the spread apiece, we let her do her thing. We—well, at least I figured if she needed my help, she’d ask for it.” Matt’s mouth tightened and he seemed a bit ashamed as he tossed a chunk of mossy oak onto the old andirons. “To tell you the truth, I thought she’d give it all up after one winter of ranching. Even though she was in Seattle, working at the newspaper, she was responsible for what went on here. I figured she’d want to sell out.”
“To you?” Kelly asked.
“To whoever would buy, but yeah, I thought she’d come to either me or one of my brothers.” He let out a disgusted breath. “Guess I was wrong.”
Larry’s anger had dissipated. “It’s a helluva thing,” he said, his lips folding in on themselves. “She fires me, then within two weeks ends up having a baby and fighting for her life.”
“And you took your old job back.”
“The brothers asked me.” His green eyes narrowed a bit. “It took a little persuadin’, let me tell you. I don’t like bein’ let go.”
“I understand. Did you ask her who would be handling the place after you left?” Kelly asked. “This is a pretty big ranch, and since she didn’t live here, how did she expect to keep things running smoothly?”
“Good question. One I didn’t ask. Guess I was too hot under the collar.” He took a step closer to Kelly and a shadow of concern darkened his gaze. “You know, I have this feeling…and it’s nothing she said, mind you…but just a sense that she wanted to just hole up and be alone. She didn’t fire the hands, just me, so maybe she thought she could run the place herself, but—” he hesitated as he squared his hat upon his head “—I guess we won’t know until she wakes up.”
“Hell’s bells,” Thorne grumbled as he reached for a single crutch tucked to the side of his recliner.
Larry checked his watch. “I’d better get home.”
“If you think of anything else she may have said, call me.” Kelly slipped her wallet from her jacket pocket and handed him a card.
“Will do.” Larry nodded curtly, then swept his gaze to Thorne and Matt. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Within seconds the door was slamming shut behind him.
“I don’t suppose either of you can shed any further light on why your sister fired him?” Kelly asked, hitching her chin toward the window. Through the icy glass she watched Larry climb into a king-cab pickup. The sound of an engine rumbling to life reached her ears just as the truck’s headlamps blazed through the swirling snow.
“Neither of us had talked to Randi in a while,” Matt admitted, and Thorne scowled darkly. Larry Todd’s truck tore off, plowing through the drifts.
“What about the father of her baby?”
“We’re still trying to locate him—whoever he is. Kurt Striker is looking into it.” Thorne hobbled to the fireplace and, bracing his shoulders on the mantel, picked up a photograph of his sister that had been propped against the old bricks. Sighing, Thorne shook his head. “Striker’s supposed to be back here tomorrow.”
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Matt hesitated. “Is that standard procedure?”
Kelly’s temper snapped. “Listen, Mr. McCafferty, nothing about this case is standard.”
“I thought we established that you could call me Matt.”
“Whatever,” she said, bristling. “Now, what about her boyfriends?”
“I never met any of the guys she was dating, even if she was…well, obviously there was someone in her life.” The lines bracketing his mouth became more pronounced. “But I don’t have a clue as to which one of the men she’d been seeing is little J.R.’s father.” Matt raked his fingers through his near-black hair and frustration was evident in the tension of his muscles and set of his jaw.
“J.R.’s father might be someone that no one knew about, a man she was seeing on the sly,” Thorne said as the fire popped and bright sparks and smoke floated up the chimney.
Matt swore under his breath. “The truth of the matter is we all feel foolish, not knowing this basic stuff about our sister.”
“I have several names of people she dated.” Kelly flipped through her notes. “Joe Paterno, who worked freelance for the Seattle Clarion, Brodie Clanton, a lawyer whose father is a judge, and Sam Donahue, an ex-rodeo rider who ranches outside of Spokane, Washington.” She glanced up and noticed the thunder in Matt’s stare.
“I don’t know the other two guys, but Donahue’s a miserable piece of work,” he growled, dusting his hands then shoving them into the front pockets of his jeans. “But I still can’t believe that Randi was ever involved with him.”
“You don’t know that she was,” Thorne rebutted. From his expression, Kelly guessed he didn’t like the idea of Randi and Donahue any better than Matt did. Using the crutch, he hitched his way across the braided carpet to the bookcase. “Kurt Striker is checking blood types, which should help. Even if we can’t determine who is the father of Randi’s kid, we can rule out those who aren’t.”
“Exactly. We’re working on the same premise,” she said as a clatter of footsteps on the stairs caught her attention.
Nicole Stevenson, twin girls tagging behind her, and baby—presumably Randi McCafferty’s infant—in her arms, made her way down the stairs.
Gone was the all-business, tough doctor whom Kelly had run up against. In her stead was a smiling mother listening to the little girls babble and giggle as she tended to the baby.
Kelly’s heartstrings pulled a bit just as Nicole, who had reached the bottom of the stairs, looked up and caught sight of a policewoman in her home. Her jaw hardened just a fraction before a smile tugged the corners of her mouth upward. “I think I owe you an apology,” she admitted, striding into the room. “Last night I was very upset when hospital security had been breached and Randi was attacked. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“It was tense for everyone.”
“I know, but it wasn’t very professional on my part.” She was sincere. Kelly decided her apology was heartfelt.
“It’s fine. Really.” Even though she reminded herself not to be suckered in by anyone in the McCafferty family, Kelly couldn’t help but warm to the slim woman with her forthright gold eyes and proud lift of her chin. In other circumstances, Kelly thought, she and Nicole might be friends.
“Thank you.”
“This is Randi’s baby?”
Matt crossed the room to peek at his nephew. “Yep. He’s what all the fuss is about.” To Kelly’s surprise, Matt plucked the baby out of Nicole’s arms. Big, calloused hands drew the infant to his chest, and though he seemed a tad awkward with J.R., Matt smiled down at the boy. “If only he could talk.”
Or his mother could, Kelly thought, amazed at the transformation in both McCafferty brothers. Matt was ranch-tough and no-nonsense, but his leathery touch-me-
not exterior softened as he gazed down at his nephew. Thorne, with the use of a crutch, had crossed the room and stood by Nicole, his free arm slung over her shoulder, the edgy, hard-as-nails corporate executive evaporating into a proud, caring husband-to-be. He ruffled one twin’s crown with his free hand while the other twin, a shier girl, hid behind his cast. For the briefest of seconds, Kelly felt an emotion akin to envy for this tightly knit family.
Nicole’s gaze moved from Thorne to Matt. “Hasn’t either of these gentlemen, and boy, do I use the term loosely, offered you anything? Coffee…tea…a glass of wine?”
“I’m fine, really.”
“I wants a drink,” one of the girls said, tugging on her mother’s blouse. “I wants a drink.”
“In a minute, Molly. Now—” she eyed the men speculatively “—which uncle is on J.R. duty?” Nicole asked. “The baby could use a bottle, and then, no doubt, he’ll need to be changed. Uncle Thorne? Uncle Matt?” From Matt’s arms the baby let out a soft little coo that had the amazing effect of pulling on Kelly’s heartstrings.
“I think it’s my turn,” Thorne grumbled good-naturedly, reaching for the child as Matt handed the baby to him. “But you’d better carry him into the kitchen and get me settled in with a bottle.”
“I do it!” One of the curly-haired girls, Molly, Kelly guessed, volunteered, then she dashed down the hall.
“Me, too.” Her sister raced after her, tiny feet pounding on the hardwood floor. Two bright-eyed dynamos.
“I think I’d better supervise. I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Nicole said to Thorne as she took the baby from his arms and started out of the living room, only to pause midstep. “Oh, but one last thing.” She was looking at Kelly. “Has it been proved that something was slipped into Randi’s IV? I haven’t been back at the hospital since last night.”
“Insulin,” Kelly supplied. “It can kill if the victim overdoses. Remember the Sunny von Bulow case? Where her husband was accused of trying to kill her by injecting her with insulin?”