Killer Cowboy (Cowboys of Holiday Ranch)

by Carla Cassidy

  “We all are. Dillon said he’d be back here around eight this morning to talk to some more of the men. He’s wasting his time. He won’t find his answers here.”

  “I told him as much yesterday.” She got up from the table to get a fresh cup of coffee, fighting against the memory of being held far too briefly in the lawman’s arms.

  “I still think he’d better be looking hard at Butch Cooper,” Adam said when she was seated once again. “Amanda was flirting pretty hardcore with Sam at the party and Butch might be an easygoing guy, but he didn’t look all that happy.”

  “I’m sure Dillon is going to explore all the possibilities.”

  “Yeah, I just wish he’d stop focusing so much attention on us.” Adam took a sip from his cup and then guided his attention out the window. “Anything that happens around here, he’s always quick to interrogate all of us.”

  “He’s just doing his job, Adam.”

  He focused his gaze back on her and smiled. “I know. It’s just frustrating. He’s had his eye on us since those skeletons were discovered. Whatever happened to those teenagers happened before we all got here. All the men who grew up here on the ranch are good, solid people. You should know that by now.”

  She returned his smile. “Believe me, I do.”

  For the next twenty minutes he filled her in on the ranch business. Over the past six months Cassie had learned more about cattle than she’d ever wanted to know, but this was her life at the moment.

  As Adam droned on about plans for the upcoming winter months, Cassie’s mind remained on the murder and what it meant for her future.

  There was no way she could sell the property and leave for New York right now. Legally she was as much a suspect as anyone else that had attended the party, although surely nobody would really believe she’d had anything to do with Sam’s murder.

  “Cassie?”

  Adam’s voice pulled her out of her own head. “Sorry, what did you say?” she replied.

  “I know you have a lot on your mind, so I’ll just get out of your hair and get to work.” He stood, drained his coffee cup and then carried it over to the sink. “I’ll check in with you later in the day after Dillon has conducted the rest of his interviews.”

  “Thanks, Adam.” She didn’t bother getting up. Once Adam was gone she remained at the table until Dillon’s car appeared in the drive by the back door.

  As he stepped out of the car, the hint of heat she always felt when around him whispered through her. He approached the house and knocked on the back door.

  “It’s open,” she yelled. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said when he stepped into the kitchen.

  “Then stop having murder victims on your property,” he replied.

  “Trust me, I’d love to stop.” She motioned to the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be around here most of the day.”

  “Did you find out anything yesterday that might help you solve this?”

  His eyes were steel-gray and troubled. “Cassie, we aren’t going to solve this in a day. We have a barn full of people to interview and little physical evidence.”

  “I know.” She blew out a sigh. “People were already talking about this land being damned because of the seven skeletons that were found here.”

  “Your land isn’t damned and you know I’ve been working as hard as I can to solve the mystery of those skeletons. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to solve a fifteen-year-old crime where I only have one potentially important clue.”

  Cassie straightened in her chair. “An important clue? Tell me, Dillon, what is it?” Was it really possible that he could solve the crime? Could he finally give peace to the seven young men who had been murdered?

  Dillon frowned and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously contemplating whether to tell her or not. “You can’t share this with anyone,” he finally said.

  “I promise,” she replied.

  “It’s a man’s ring. When we were excavating the graves, in the bottom of one was a gold ring with an onyx stone. I believe it slipped off the killer’s finger when he was burying one of the bodies.”

  “Was there any DNA on it?”

  “Whatever was there was so contaminated nothing was usable.” He took a step toward the back door. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll talk to you later this afternoon.” With that he turned and left the house.

  Through the window Cassie watched him walk toward the barn. She couldn’t help but notice how good his butt looked in his uniform pants. He was definitely hot.

  She’d never heard any gossip about who he dated, and this was a small town that loved their gossip. All she really knew about Dillon Bowie was that he was well respected by everyone in Bitterroot and lived on a small farmstead on the other side of town. And she had the hots for him.

  Restless energy surged up inside her. She got up from the table and put the coffee cups in the dishwasher. The ring of the doorbell whirled her around.

  Who on earth could that be? She didn’t think anyone had ever come to the front door since she’d moved in. Everyone used the back door when they visited.

  She hurried through the great room and into the smaller, more formal living room, where she could see through a side window that Raymond Humes stood on the porch.

  She stifled a groan. That man was the last person on earth she wanted to see this morning. She opened the door and greeted him through the screen. “Good morning, Mr. Humes. What can I do for you?”

  The silver-haired thin man smiled, the gesture doing nothing to warm the cold of his close-set dark eyes. “It isn’t what you can do for me. It’s about what I can do for you. May I come in?”

  Cassie hesitated. She knew why he was here. The seventysomething-year-old man was like a vulture sensing death and waiting to capitalize on any weakness. She finally opened the screen door to allow him inside.

  She refused to lead him into the heart of the house and instead gestured to the small floral sofa just inside the front door. She sat on the edge of the wing-backed chair facing him.

  He swept his dusty brown cowboy hat off his head. “I was sorry to hear about poor Sam’s unfortunate demise,” he began. “You do realize this is only going to add a new blight on this ranch that will make it even more difficult for you to sell.”

  “I’ve told you several times I’m not ready to sell at this point in time,” she replied.

  “You aren’t going to get a better offer than mine,” he said with a confidence that irritated her.

  “I’m not interested in any offer right now and did you know some of your ranch hands crashed my barn dance the other night?”

  Raymond chuckled. “Hardly a crime. I found it hard to believe that you wouldn’t invite me and my men to the shindig being that we’re neighbors and all.”

  “Your men and mine aren’t really friendly,” she replied as she stood.

  “I’ve never understood that,” he said in bemusement.

  She understood. According to her men, Humes’s ranch hands had stolen cattle, set malicious fires and done sundry other things to her ranch.

  “I’ve got a lot of things going on right now, Mr. Humes. I appreciate you stopping by, but I’m not interested in any offer you might make me on this place.” She glanced pointedly at the door.

  Raymond laughed once again as he rose from the sofa. “Sooner or later you’ll be interested. I’m the only person around these parts who has the kind of money you’ll want to rid yourself of this one-horse town and get back to New York City, where those fancy jeans of yours belong.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he walked out the door. He was probably pleased that another murder had taken place on her property. He probably thought this newest tragedy would make her desperate to sell out to him and leave Bitterroot.

  She had to admit there was a part of her that would like to cut and
run. However, selling out to Raymond Humes would be such a betrayal to Aunt Cass, who had left her the ranch.

  More important, it would be a huge betrayal to the men who worked here, men who embraced her as their own the minute she’d stepped into her aunt’s very large shoes.

  And one of them might be a killer.

  The words jumped unbidden into her head. No, there was no way Dillon or anyone else could ever make her believe that. She refused to believe that for the last six months she’d been living here with a vicious killer. Her cowboys were good, kind and hardworking men.

  Still, a faint chill accompanied her as she locked the front door and then returned to the kitchen.

  * * *

  It was just after four when Dillon finished interviewing for the day. He’d spent most of the morning inside the barn with a couple of his best men, seeking anything that might be a clue. It had been a fruitless search.

  Finally, after noon he pulled in three of the last six cowboys to talk to. He’d hoped to get something, at least a little nugget of information that might move the case forward, but that hadn’t happened.

  Over and over again he heard that Sam had fit in with them all just fine, that nobody had seen anything at the party indicating a problem between the dead man and anyone else other than Butch.

  There were still many avenues to explore, but Dillon felt in his gut that the answers not only to Sam’s murder, but also to the murders that had taken place years ago, lay right here on the Holiday ranch.

  As he headed to the house a weariness weighed heavily on his shoulders. It was the same disillusionment that had been with him since the day the seven bodies had been unearthed.

  Dillon considered himself a good lawman, but the seven unsolved mysteries had left him feeling inadequate. It was an emotion that brought up old, bad memories. He shoved them aside as he reached the back door.

  He’d been kicking himself all day for sharing with Cassie the information about the ring that had been found in the grave. He should have never confided in her. While he trusted that she would keep the information to herself, it had been unprofessional of him to tell her.

  But he’d wanted to give her just a small nugget of hope that he would get to the bottom of things. He’d wanted to do something to alleviate the shadowed darkness in her eyes.

  He knocked on the back door and Cassie answered. “Come on in,” she said, gesturing him into the kitchen that smelled of spicy meat cooking.

  “Something smells good,” he said.

  “Taco pie. Halena Redwing taught me how to make it. Why don’t you have some with me? I’ve already made a salad, and the pie will be ready in minutes.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to impose...” he began.

  “Dillon, please. It’s no imposition at all. Besides, I absolutely hate to eat alone.”

  There was something slightly desperate in the depths of her lovely eyes. It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to spend any time with her, especially alone. “I skipped lunch and taco pie sounds delicious,” he heard himself say despite his internal dialogue.

  She flashed him a grateful smile. “Then sit and relax and I’ll just get the dishes on the table.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Don’t talk about murder or my men while we eat.” She pointed to a chair.

  “I can do that,” he agreed and sat. He’d talked and thought about murder enough for the day. The taco pie smelled delicious and Cassie looked charming in a pair of fancy jeans that hugged her slender legs and a pink sweatshirt that made her eyes appear even more blue than usual.

  He remained silent while she placed plates and silverware on the table. As she bent over to get the taco bake out of the oven, he couldn’t help but notice her figure. She was a petite woman, but perfectly proportioned.

  Cassie Peterson could definitely be a threat to his mental well-being if he allowed it. She was the first woman to tempt him since Stacy had walked out on him almost five years ago.

  It’s just a quick dinner, he told himself. No threat there. It would be nice not to talk about murder or potential suspects for the duration of the meal. He just wasn’t sure what they might talk about. In the past every time he’d spoken to Cassie it had been because something bad had happened on her ranch.

  Something bad had happened now, but he was almost grateful she didn’t want to chew on it over dinner.

  Minutes later she had the meal on the table and gestured for him to help himself. “Why did you skip lunch? You know you would have been welcome to eat with the men. Cookie always makes plenty of food.”

  He didn’t want to tell her that he wasn’t at all sure he’d be welcome in the dining room. Between yesterday and that afternoon he’d grilled most of her men pretty hard. “I was busy in the barn and lost track of time,” he replied. He ladled a portion of the pie from the dish onto his plate.

  “The weather was certainly nice today,” she said.

  “Autumn is my favorite season,” he replied.

  “Mine, too.” She smiled, as if pleased they’d found some common ground.

  He focused on his plate and tried to ignore the small burst of heat her smile had sparked in the pit of his stomach. He took a bite of the taco pie and then gazed at her once again. “This is delicious. You’re obviously a good cook.”

  She laughed, the sound musical and pleasant. “Not really, but I’m trying. Halena has given me a ton of her recipes, and she’s a good cook. There are a lot of Aunt Cass’s recipes here, too. I’ve realized in the last couple of weeks that cooking and baking might be a great stress reliever if I learn how to do it right.”

  “Maybe I should take it up,” Dillon said drily.

  “You don’t cook?”

  “Most of my meals are eaten at the café. I work so much that it’s just easier to eat out.”

  “All work and no play?” She took a bite of her salad and held his gaze.

  Oh, he’d like to play right now. He’d like to capture her cupid lips with his and... Crap, the stress of these cases was definitely getting to him.

  “No play,” he replied more curtly than he intended. She looked down at her plate and he instantly felt guilty for his sharp tone. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re an artist.”

  She looked at him once again. “I like to paint.”

  “Watercolor or oil?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Right now I’m doing oil paintings with Western themes. I have an arrangement with Mary Redwing. She’s got a couple of them up on her website for sale.”

  “From everything I’ve heard Mary has a solid business.” The Native American woman sold handmade baskets, pots and other items inherent to her Choctaw culture while her grandmother, Halena, sewed traditional dresses to sell.

  “Have you always liked to paint?” He felt himself begin to relax for the first time in weeks.

  “Always. All I ever dreamed of was becoming a famous artist. That’s what I was working toward before I came here. I owned a small shop that sold my artwork along with some other items.”

  “Was it successful?”

  She hesitated before replying and her eyes darkened slightly. “I was struggling to make ends meet. I think with more time and money it might have been a real success. I never dreamed I’d wind up on a ranch in Oklahoma.”

  “Were you close to your aunt Cass?”

  “Not really, although I was named after her. She came to New York a couple of times to visit my parents and when I was about ten we came out here to visit. But that was about it. That’s why I was so surprised when she left me this place.” She paused to take a drink of water and then continued, “Aunt Cass was kind of the outcast of the family. My parents are very New York. They’re both criminal defense lawyers and extremely driven.”

  For the next half an hour they ate and she talked about her parents and her life before Holiday ranch. He laughed as she related stories about quirky characters who had come into her shop.

  “You know, Bitterroot is
n’t without its own quirky characters,” he said.

  “I already know that Halena loves to wear funky hats and occasionally pinches some cowboy’s butt.”

  He laughed. “That she does, but I’ll bet you didn’t know that Leroy Atkinson has his entire house lined inside with aluminum foil so space aliens can’t see him or hear his thoughts. He also believes aliens visit his ranch on numerous occasions.”

  Her eyes lit with suppressed laughter. “Is that for real or are you making it up?”

  “I don’t make stuff up,” he replied. “About twice a month Leroy calls me out to his ranch to see evidence that a spaceship has landed on his property. I never see anything other than some tamped-down grass where a cow rested through the night. Actually, my parents lived next to Leroy when I was a kid. Leroy was like a second father to me. He calls me out to his ranch because he’s lonely.”

  “That’s sad,” she said. By this time their plates were empty. “Would you like an after-dinner cup of coffee?” she asked. She stood and a spark of fading sunlight danced in the strands of her curly blond hair.

  The desire to touch the soft-looking curls itched his palms. “Thanks, but I should probably be on my way.” He needed to get out of here. Spending time with her had been far too pleasurable.

  He got up from the table. “Thanks for the great meal.”

  “Thank you for sharing it with me. Sometimes this big old house gets a bit lonely,” she replied.

  He headed toward the back door, needing to escape her. Without the smell of the food, he became acutely aware of her lilac and vanilla scent that wafted in the air. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, more oppressive.

  He turned to tell her goodbye and she was right there, standing mere inches from him. Her lips were slightly parted as if anticipating a kiss, and even before he recognized his own intention, he drew her to him and covered her mouth with his.

  Her lips were welcome heat and sweet softness. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought she’d pull away, but instead she leaned into him and opened her mouth a little more in invitation. Desire suffused him as he deepened the kiss, and their tongues swirled together in a heated dance.