Abby sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like her answer. "After I left
the diner, I was so angry---too angry to go home. So I drove for a
while. I finally ended up at Walker's pond: I must have fallen asleep,
because before I knew it, it was about a quarter to three and I drove
home."
Junior winced. "Walker's pond, huh. I don't suppose you saw anyone,
spoke to anybody who can corroborate your 'whereabouts?"
"Walker's pond isn't exactly Main Street
," she replied dryly. The pond
was part of the Walker place whose land abutted the Connor ranch. The
Walker house had burned down three years before and the Walker family
had moved away. "There was nobody else around while I was there."
"What about on the way? Did you pass anyone who might remember your
truck heading in that direction?"
Abby felt as if she'd been plunged into a nightmare. Greg's death felt
unreal and she knew it would take time for the actuality to sink in.
She robbed her forehead, concentrating on Junior's question. "No. I
don't remember passing anyone or anyone passing me." She looked at the
man who'd been like a father to her since her parents' death. "Junior,
am I going to be arrested?"
"Abby girl, I can't answer that. There just isn't enough information
yet. But I'm not going to lie to you. It doesn't look good." He
stood and walked toward the back door. "Did Greg have any family? We
don't know who to notify as next of kin."
Abby frowned thoughtfully. "I know his parents died when he was a
teenager. Other than mentioning that, Greg rarely spoke about any
family. He always talked like he was a drifter, with no ties
anywhere."
Junior nodded. "I'll be in touch." He started out the door, then
turned back to her. "I know you've heard it in the movies before, but
I'd advise you not to leave town right now." With those ominous words,
he left.
Abby remained at the table, her mind whirling in a fog of disbelief.
Greg was dead, and from what Junior had implied, she was the number one
suspect.
"Good mornin'." Belinda came into the kitchen, still looking half
asleep. Her dark blond hair was captured in an untidy braid at the
back of her neck and her eyes held the glaze of lingering sleep.
"No, it's not a good morning," Abby replied. "Greg was murdered last
night."
Belinda gasped, her eyes losing the remnants of any sleepiness.
"What?"
"He was hit over the head with one of our branding irons. Junior just
left a few minutes ago." Abby realized she didn't even know where the
murder had taken place. She'd been too shocked, both by the murder and
by Junior's suspicions, to ask any pertinent questions. "I don't know
much more, other than he's dead and I'm the prime suspect."
"Oh, Abby." Belinda sank into the chair opposite her older sister. She
took Abby's hands in hers. "I'm so sorry for you. Even though you and
Greg were divorced, this loss must hurt."
Abby looked at her in surprise. Loss? She was sorry Greg was dead,
horrified that somebody had taken his life, but as she searched her
heart, she felt no loss. "I lost Greg years ago. I grieved for him
when he left us. I feel guilty now because I've got no grief left."
Belinda nodded, apparently remembering the grieving process Abby had
gone through when Greg had walked out on her years before. "Why would
you be considered a leading suspect? How can Junior even think such a
thing? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"Not so ridiculous," Abby returned. She quickly told her sister about
meeting Greg in the diner and the threats she'd shouted as she'd
slammed out into the night. "How was I to know hours later somebody
would kill him and my stupid threats would come back to haunt me?"
Belinda released Abby's hands and smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure it
will all be fine. Surely nobody in their right mind could really
believe you killed Greg." She stood and poured herself a cup of
coffee,
then sat once again. "Maybe Colette and Hank should cancel their plans
to leave town this weekend."
"No. I don't want them to do that. They've had their trip to Las
Vegas planned for the last month." Abby thought of her youngest sister
and her husband. They'd gotten married a month before, but hadn't had
a chance for a honeymoon. "They've already got their plane tickets and
hotel reservations, and the baby is finally over her ear infection."
"You know they wouldn't mind postponing their trip."
"I know. But there's nothing they can do for Greg or for me by staying
here. It's better they go."
A knock fell on the back door and both women jumped. "What now?" Abby
murmured, then relaxed slightly as Rusty Maxwell, the ranch foreman,
stepped inside.
"Miss Abby, I saw Junior before he left, he told me about Mr. Foxwood's
death." The old man worried the rim of his dusty brown hat between his
work-worn fingers. "I'm sorry about your loss and I hate to bother
you, but I need a check. I've got the supplies coming for that new
fence in the south pasture."
"I'm going to the barn," Belinda said as she placed her cup in the
sink. With a wave of one hand, she disappeared out the door.
Abby turned to her foreman and frowned. "New fence?"
Rusty nodded. "We talked about it last week." Abby rubbed her
forehead, her thoughts scattered like windblown seeds. "I thought we
just bought fencing supplies."
"We did, for the north pasture." Rusty rubbed his gray whisker-stub
bled chin thoughtfully. "If it's a problem, I suppose we can mend it
one more time, but sooner or later we're going to have to buy new."
"No. We might as well do it right now. I'll be back." Abby left the
kitchen and went down the hallway to the ranch office.
As always, when she entered the small room, a vision of her father
bloomed in her head. Before his death, he'd spent long hours-in this
room, smoking his pipe, dreaming about being a prosperous rancher.
Unfortunately, he'd been better at dreaming of making money than
actually accomplishing it.
When the elder Connors had died in a car accident, they'd left behind
their three daughters and a ranch teetering on the edge of financial
ruin. The sisters' attempt to save the ranch by renovating several
buildings and turning it into a kind of dude ranch had so far been
unsuccessful. The guests were few and far between and finances hadn't
improved.
Abby walked over to the desk and pulled out the checkbook. She tore
out a check then lingered for just a moment by the rich walnut desk.
The room still retained the faint scent of cherry tobacco and the
'dreams of a man who'd loved the ranch and had instilled that fierce
love in his eldest daughter.
With a sigh of despair, she left the room and hurried back to the
kitchen where Rusty waited. "I met our newest ranch hand yesterday,"
she said as she handed him the check.
"Luke? Yeah, he showed up yesterday morning looking for work. Since
Hank is le
aving this weekend,
we need the extra hands. I don't know how long he'll stick around, but
we can use him as long as he's here. "
Abby remembered the shiny boots the man had worn. Odd. "What do you
know about him?"
Rusty flashed her a smile. "You know me, Miss Abby, all I care about
is that the men are good workers. Don't care much about their past or
future as long as their shoulders are broad and their arms strong."
Luke Black's shoulders had definitely been broad. She shoved aside
thoughts of the disturbing, attractive man and focused on the
gray-haired cowboy in front of her.
"Rusty, things might get a little difficult around here for a while.
I'll be honest with you, I don't know how Greg's death will affect
everything. Right now what evidence Junior has gathered points to me
having had something to do with the murder."
Her throat tightened with the words. "If I'm charged, I'm going to be
depending on you to see that things run smoothly here while I go
through a trial." The very thought was almost overwhelming.
Rusty reached out and patted her shoulder. "Don't you worry none, Miss
Abby. I've been working this ranch for the last fifteen years, I ain't
about to let things go."
Abby wrapped her arms around herself, fighting a chill. "The vultures
are circling. You've probably heard I've had two offers on the ranch
in the last couple of weeks."
Rusty nodded. "I heard. A man don't burp that folks around here don't
talk about it."
"Both Henry Carsworth and Deputy Helstrom have made me offers."
"Carsworth is a city slicker who doesn't know the front end of a horse
from the back," Rusty snorted.
"Needless to say, I turned both offers down." Again Abby fought off a
shiver. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what the next couple
of weeks bring."
Rusty held up the check. "Guess I'd better get back to work."
She nodded, her thoughts jumping from one subject to another. The
morning already seemed overwhelming and she fought the impulse to jump
back into bed and pull the blankets over her head.
"Mornin', Mom. What's for breakfast? I'm starving."
Dread rolled around in her stomach as Abby turned and faced her son.
His pale blond hair spiked out like sprouting wheat and when he smiled,
his lips parted to expose a missing front tooth. Clad in a pair of
pajamas decorated with horses and spurs, his face radiated sleepy
innocence.
Abby's heart fell deeper into her chest as she realized the difficulty
of her morning wasn't over yet. She hadn't even fully absorbed the
emotional shock of Greg's death herself and she now had to face the
discomfiting task of telling her son his father had been killed. "Sit
down, honey. I've got something I have to tell you."
THE EARLY MORNING sun splashed warmth on Abby's back as she made her
way to the stable. There was a slight breeze, reminiscent of the
lingering of spring in the air, and the scent of hay, sweet grass and
wildflowers embraced her. A perfect morning for a ride on
Blackheart.
It wasn't often Cody slept in and Mafia offered to keep the boy inside
while Abby enjoyed an early morning fide. Abby intended to take
advantage of the time alone and ride out to where the workers were
putting in the new fence.
The horse greeted her before she saw him, nickering pleasure as Abby
entered the stable. Abby smiled as she approached the last stall,
where the black quarter horse, already saddled, awaited her.
Blackheart had been a gift from a neighbor and had earned his name
while Abby's brother-in-law, Hank, had trained him. Many mornings Abby
was pulled from her work by Hank's shouts as the horse threw him again
and again. "You black-hearted creature," Hank would exclaim as he
dusted off his backside.
"Come on, sweetie," Abby said as she led the magnificent beast from the
stall. As they walked outside, Blackheart danced with high spirits, as
if anticipating a run.
With the ease of habit, Abby swung herself up and onto Blackheart's
back. Grasping the reins, she set off at a pleasant gait.
It had been three days since Greg's murder. Nobody from the sheriffs
department had been out to question her again. In an ironic twist, as
Greg's only known kin, Abby had made the arrangements for the funeral
that would take place tomorrow. Greg would be buried in the Connor
family plot with Abby's parents.
She shoved thoughts of funerals and death aside, needing this moment to
just breathe in the sweet, scented air, revel in the beauty of the
morning. Time enough for reality later.
She gave Blackheart his head, allowing him to pick up speed as they
raced across the fields toward the south. Abby's body automatically
adjusted to the rhythm of the run molding to the horse as if they were
one entity.
The wind tippled through her hair and stung her cheeks, but she didn't
rein in. Instead she reveled in the wildness of the run. It was
impossible to focus on any problems with the power and speed of
Blackheart beneath her.
Connor land flashed by her, filling her heart with both pride and
despair. She couldn't lose the ranch. She just couldn't. Somehow,
she'd find a way to hang on.
It wasn't until she saw the ranch hands in the distance by the fence
line that she reined in and slowed the horse to a walk.
One particular cowboy caught and held her attention. Luke Black. She
hadn't seen him since that first meeting on the evening of Greg's
murder. Again she felt a shock of pleasure race through her at his
physical attractiveness.
His bare chest gleamed with a coating of perspiration, delineating each
muscle mass as he swung a sledgehammer up over his head, then brought
it down on a post. Each blow drove the post deeper and deeper into the
ground.
Dark hair formed a valentine design on his chest, the tail of the heart
elongated, creeping down his stomach and disappearing into the jeans
that rode low on his hips.
A coil of heat unfurled in Abby's stomach and swept through her with
provocative intensity. Something about Luke Black affected her in a
visceral way.
He paused in his labor, as if he felt her gaze, and turned toward her.
The rim of his dusty hat hid his eyes from her view. He released his
hold on the sledgehammer and allowed it to fall to the ground with a
thud. "Morning, Abby."
Her name on his lips had a smooth familiarity that instantly put her
back up. "Luke." She nodded curtly.
He swept his hat off his head, exposing his rich dark hair to the gleam
of the sun. He pulled a bandanna from his jeans pocket and wiped it
across his forehead. "Nice horse," he observed.
"Thanks. He's my favorite." She leaned over and patted the horse's
neck. "His name is Blackheart."
Something in Luke's eyes flickered, an inner amusement along with a
tightening of his jaw. "Nice piece of flesh," he added, his gaze not
on the horse but rather skimming the thin fabric o
f her blouse.
Abby felt a flame of heat sweep up her neck and suffuse her face. Damn
the man, he seemed to have the ability to make her feel quite naked.
She felt like Lady Godiva without her curtain of hair.
She dismounted the horse and surveyed the broken fence line and the
ranch hands still working. "What do you think, another day or two and
it will be finished?"
He nodded. "We should be able to get it finished by tomorrow night."
He moved the bandanna down his neck, blotting at the hollow of his
throat where a pulse pounded visibly. "Heard about your husband's
death."
"Ex-husband."
"Whatever." His eyes glittered darkly. "I must say, you seem to be
taking it all very well. Mourning becomes you."
Abby stiffened, recognizing a vague censure in his tone. "I don't
think you know me well enough to understand how I'm handling
anything."
"Then have dinner with me tonight and let me get to know you better."
Abby stared at him, shocked. Her stomach fluttered as she thought of
spending any length of time alone with Luke and his dark eyes and
suggestive smile. She caressed Blackheart's muzzle, trying to ignore
the butterflies inside her. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I have a
rule and never get personally involved with the men who work for me."
He wiped the bandanna across the width of his muscled chest. Abby
Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes Page 3