Matchmaking with a Mission

by B. J Daniels

  It wasn’t a man she needed but the courage to do what she’d always wanted: start a horse ranch. She’d loved paint horses from the first time she’d seen one. Descended from horses introduced by the Spanish conquistadors, paints were part of the herds of wild horses that once roamed these very plains.

  With paints becoming popular with cowboys for cattle work, McKenna believed she could make a good living raising them. If she could get the Harper property for the right price at the auction Saturday. It was all she could think about.

  “I’ve found you just the man,” Arlene gushed. “He’s perfect for you. I hear wedding bells already.”

  “Slow down,” McKenna said, wishing she’d read the small print to see how she could get out of this.

  “He’s handsome, a hard worker, loves horses and long walks and…did I mention he’s handsome?” Arlene laughed again, making McKenna wince. “He’s going to be out of the cell phone service area until Saturday night, so he’ll meet you at Northern Lights restaurant at seven. You’re going to thank me for this.”

  McKenna groaned inwardly. There was no backing out at this late date, especially since calling him sounded like it was out of the question. But suddenly she was more than a little afraid to find out who Arlene Evans thought was her perfect man.

  She only half listened to Arlene rattle on about the man as she thought of the auction and her plans for the future: a man was the last thing on her mind.

  It wasn’t until after she’d hung up that she realized she hadn’t caught her date’s name. Great. She thought about calling Arlene back but didn’t want to put herself through another twenty minutes of hearing about how perfect this guy was for her.

  In a town the size of Whitehorse, spotting the man should be easy enough at the restaurant Saturday evening.

  McKenna quickly forgot about her date. The house would be open for viewing before the auction, but she couldn’t wait. She had to take another look at the place, and this might be her only chance to spend a little time there alone.

  ARLENE EVANS GLANCED away from her computer screen to see her daughter Charlotte sprawled on the couch.

  Just moments before that Arlene had been feeling pretty good. Her Internet rural dating service had taken off. Several of the matches she’d made had led to the altar. She’d always known she had a knack for this, even if she’d failed miserably with her own children.

  For years she’d tried to find someone for her oldest daughter, Violet—with no luck at all. A lot of that was Violet’s doing, she had to admit now. Violet was crazy—and dangerous—so no wonder no man had wanted to take that on.

  Now Violet was locked up in a mental institution—hopefully never to be released, if Arlene had anything to do with it.

  Bo, Arlene’s only son, had been engaged to Maddie Cavanaugh. The two had been all wrong for each other from the beginning. Unfortunately, since the breakup, though, Bo hadn’t shown any interest in finding himself a good woman to spend the rest of his life with. In fact, when Arlene had offered to line him up with one of her clients, he’d told her it would be over his dead body. It broke her heart, since Bo had always been her favorite.

  And then there was Charlotte, the daughter that Arlene had thought would never have any trouble finding a husband.

  Arlene scowled as she studied her youngest child—and Charlotte’s huge protruding belly. For months Arlene had been trying to find out who had fathered the baby now growing inside her daughter. The baby was due next month, and Arlene was no closer to discovering the name of the father than she’d been when she’d found out about the pregnancy.

  Charlotte took perverse pleasure in keeping it a secret. If her daughter even knew, Arlene thought with a silent curse. Other mothers considered their children blessings. Arlene had come to see hers as a curse.

  Not for the first time, Arlene saw a silver SUV drive past. She couldn’t see the driver, not with the glint of the June sun on the darkened side window, but she had the impression it was a woman behind the wheel.

  Arlene frowned, trying to remember how many other times she’d seen the vehicle. Strange, since not much traffic ever came down this road. She put it out of her mind. She had a lot more important things to worry about.

  When she turned back to her computer, she was surprised to see that she had a potential new client. She completely forgot about the silver SUV as she clicked on the man’s e-mail and felt a small thrill that had nothing to do with success or money.

  Since my wife died, I find myself deeply needing the company of an interesting woman. I want someone who would like to travel the world with me. Someone who wants to share my final years.

  Travel the world. What woman wouldn’t want to do that with an attractive older man? A man only a little older than Arlene herself.

  She e-mailed Hank Monroe back, promising to find him the perfect woman and set up a time to meet.

  BEHIND HARPER HOUSE, Nate Dempsey leaned on his shovel to rest for a moment and listened to the sound of the wind in the trees. A hot, dry wind that made his skin ache. The years must have distorted his memory. He’d been so sure he was digging in the right place.

  But the land looked different than he remembered, and it had been a long time ago.

  He began to dig again, turning over one shovelful of dirt after another, trying to gauge how deep the body would have been buried.

  As he dug, he tried not to think about that hot summer night. Not the sounds he’d heard. Nor the fear he’d felt knowing he could be next. What he hadn’t known was who they were burying out back. He didn’t know that until the next morning. Until it was too late.

  The heat bore down on him. He stopped digging for a moment to look up at the blue wind-scoured sky overhead and catch his breath. Standing there, it was impossible not to think of the past. Had a day gone by that he hadn’t remembered this place?

  He’d spent years looking over his shoulder, knowing whose face he would see that instant before he felt the blade. But now he was no longer that skinny, scared boy. Nor was he a man willing to run from his past any longer. It would end here.

  He began to dig again. Had it really been twenty-one years since he’d left this godforsaken place? Coming back here, it felt as if it had only been yesterday.

  His shovel hit something that made the blade ring. He shuddered at the sound as he looked down, expecting to see bones. Just a rock. No body buried here.

  He stopped again, this time the skin on the back of his neck prickling. As he had earlier, he felt someone was watching him. Carrying the shovel with him, he strode back to the house and stripped off his shirt to use it to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

  For a moment he stood at the back door, surveying the land behind the house, the tall, old cottonwoods that followed the creek bed, the weather-beaten barn and outbuildings, the rolling grassy hillsides.

  He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean Roy Vaughn wasn’t there. He was the man Nate had to fear now, just as he had as a boy.

  Stepping inside, he turned on the faucet at the old kitchen sink, letting the water run until it came up icy-cold, all the time watching out the window. He could almost convince himself he’d only imagined that someone was watching him.

  Discarding his shirt, he scooped up handfuls of water, drinking them down greedily. Johnny’s remains were out there somewhere. With all his heart he wished it wasn’t true. That Johnny had run away, just as he’d been told. But he knew better. Johnny would have come back for him if he’d gotten away. Johnny wouldn’t have left him at Harper House. Not when Johnny had known how dangerous the place was for Nate.

  As he turned off the faucet and wiped his wet hands on his jeans, he gazed out the back window again.

  Ellis Harper hadn’t let anyone near the house in years. That meant no one else would have had a chance to dig up the body and hide it, right? He’d come as soon as he’d learned of Harper’s death. But had he come too late?

  Bare-chested, he went back out and began to dig aga
in in a different spot, the heat growing more intense. He dug down deep enough, turning over a final shovelful of dirt, and looked down into the hole seeing nothing but more earth.

  This was the area where he’d thought they’d buried the body. He’d stake his life on it. Hell, he was staking his life on it.

  There was just one problem.

  The body was gone. If it had ever been here.

  CRICKETS CHIRPED IN the tall grass as McKenna dismounted, loosely tied her horse and slipped between the logs of the jack fence.

  The grass brushed her jeans, making a swishing sound as she moved through it toward the house. She listened for the sound of a rattlesnake, telling herself not only was she trespassing but her father could have been right about the dangers—including snakes.

  A stiff breeze at the edge of the house banged a loose shutter and whipped her hair into her face. She stopped to look around for a moment, feeling as if she was being watched. But there was no vehicle parked in the drive. No sign that anyone had been here in a very long time.

  She tried the screen door on the front porch first. The door groaned open. The wind caught it, jerked the handle from her fingers and slammed the door against the wall.

  McKenna thought she heard an accompanying thud from inside the house, as if someone had bumped into something. She froze, imagining Ellis Harper coming out with a shotgun. But Ellis was dead. And she didn’t believe in ghosts, right? “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello?” she called a little louder.

  Another thud, this one deeper in the house. She stepped to the front door, knocked and, receiving no answer, cupped her hands to peer through the window next to the door.

  The house was empty except for dust. That’s why the recent footprints caught her attention. The tracks were malesize boot soles. Someone from the county would have been out to check the house before the auction, she told herself.

  The tracks led into the kitchen at the back. What she saw leaning by the back door made her reconsider going inside. A shovel, fresh dirt caked on it, stood against the wall. Next to it was a plaid shirt where someone had dropped it on the floor.

  Her horse whinnied over at the fence. Another horse whinnied back, the sound coming from behind the house.

  Someone was here.

  Not someone from the county, who would have driven out and parked in front. Someone who’d come by horseback. Someone who didn’t want to be seen? Just like her?

  Ellis Harper’s funeral had been earlier this week. Anyone who read the paper would know the house was empty.

  But why would that person be digging?

  She retreated as quietly as possible across the porch and down the steps. As she angled back toward where she’d left her horse, she glanced behind the house.

  There appeared to be several areas on the hillside where the earth had been freshly turned. She hadn’t noticed it earlier; all her attention had been on the house. As she reached the fence and quickly slipped through, her horse whinnied again. The mare’s whinny was answered, drawing McKenna’s gaze to the hillside beyond the barn in time to see a rider on a gray Appaloosa horse.

  From this distance she could see that the rider was a man. He was shirtless, no doubt because he’d left his plaid shirt in the house where he’d discarded it along with the shovel.

  She caught only a glimpse of him, his head covered by a Western straw hat, as he topped the hill and disappeared as if in a hurry to get away.

  She wondered who he was. Obviously someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—just like herself. She hadn’t gotten a good enough look at him and knew she wouldn’t be able to recognize him if she saw him again, but she would his horse. It was a spotted Appaloosa, the ugliest coloring she’d ever seen—and that was saying a lot.

  As she swung up into her saddle, she couldn’t help but wonder what the man had been digging for—and if he’d found it.

  ARLENE CALLED HANK Monroe to confirm their appointment to sign him up for her rural dating service before she headed into Whitehorse. The first thing that had struck her was his voice. It was deep and soft and sent a small thrill through her. Had any man’s voice ever done that before? Not that she could remember—but then, she was no spring chicken anymore.

  She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment. The man couldn’t be as good as he sounded either in his e-mail or on the phone.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting you,” he’d said. “I have to confess, I’ve never done anything like this before. You know, dating online. The way my generation did it was gazes across a crowded room. I’m a little nervous.”

  She’d assured him there was nothing to it.

  But Arlene was nervous herself when she reached the Hi-Line Café where they’d agreed to meet.

  The moment she walked in and spotted Hank Monroe sitting at one of the booths her heart began to pound wildly. Never in her life had she experienced such a reaction.

  She’d been pregnant with Violet when she married Floyd Evans. It had been the result of a one-night stand. She’d said she was on the Pill so he wouldn’t take her right home. Floyd had been good-looking and popular, and she’d thought she could fall in love with him—and him with her if he’d give her a chance.

  She’d also erroneously thought that she wouldn’t get pregnant.

  She’d been wrong on all counts.

  But when she’d discovered she was pregnant, Floyd had seemed as good a bet as anyone. He had a farm down in Old Town Whitehorse and, while reluctant, he had agreed at the urging of his parents to stand up and accept his responsibilities.

  She’d known she was no looker. It was one reason she’d learned to cook at an early age. She’d realized she needed more to offer than other girls. She’d thought her cooking and cleaning would make Floyd fall in love with her. She’d still dreamed of the happily-ever-after romance she hadn’t found with Floyd or any other boy.

  She’d been only seventeen when she and Floyd had married. He’d been twenty-eight. Now, at fifty-one, Arlene had long ago given up on love, let alone romance.

  Hank Monroe looked up just then. He wasn’t handsome, not by anyone’s standards, but there was something about him that had her pulse pounding as she made her way to his booth.

  “Arlene?” he asked hopefully as he got to his big feet.

  She could only nod and smile. “You must be Hank.”

  He nodded with a laugh that resembled a donkey’s bray. She laughed then, too, and they exchanged a look that made Arlene feel seventeen again.

  “I like your laugh,” he said and grinned.

  By the time she had him signed up for her dating service she had a date with him for Saturday night and was on her way to buy herself something special to wear.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. But at the back of her mind she heard her mother’s nagging voice warning her that this feeling wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Because Arlene didn’t deserve to be happy.

  HAD VIOLET EVANS known what her mother was feeling at that moment, she would have joined her deceased grandmother in warning Arlene not to count on a future—let alone a happy one.

  If Violet had her way, her mother wouldn’t be around long. And from what the doctors were saying at the mental hospital, it looked as if Violet was going to get her way.

  And not even Arlene—who’d seen through Violet’s ruse—could stop her. In fact, Arlene Evans might be the only person alive who knew how sick—and dangerous—her daughter really was.

  But while Violet hadn’t fooled her mother, she had her doctors. As Violet sat next to the window and looked over the hospital grounds, she could almost taste freedom. It wouldn’t be long now. She’d played her role perfectly. All those case histories of psychosis had given her the script. Now she was nearing the final act, the one that would get her released.

  It didn’t surprise her that her mother was fighting her release. Arlene knew what Violet was capable of and, worse, had an inkling of what
she would do once she got out of this place. Violet’s great sin, she believed, was that she’d shamed her mother by not being marriageable.

  She’d been born unattractive and hadn’t grown out of it. Even her mother—who Violet resembled—had snagged a man. Arlene’s endless attempts at marrying her off had only made matters worse. Violet hated her for it. Hated that she’d taken after her mother, unlike her two siblings.

  “Violet? Is everything all right?”

  She turned to find her doctor watching her closely, a slight frown on his face.

  “I was just thinking about some of the awful things my mother said I did,” she covered quickly as she realized he’d seen her true feelings when he’d walked up on her.

  She really had to be more careful.

  He sat down beside her. He was a small man with small hands. “Does that make you angry?”

  “Only with myself,” she said piously. She’d worked so hard to hide what was really going on inside her. She would have to remember not to think about her mother.

  “I am getting better, aren’t I, Dr. Armond?” she asked pleadingly.

  “Yes, Violet. I am very pleased with your prognosis. Very pleased. In fact, that was one reason I came to find you.” He paused and smiled. “I’m recommending your release.”

  Violet’s heart leaped. “Oh, Dr. Armond. Are you sure I’m ready?”

  “Yes, Violet. I’ll recommend some outpatient visits, of course, but there is no reason you can’t be an active member of society again. I’d hoped you would be excited.”

  “Oh, I am. I can’t wait. To think that I have my whole life ahead of me…” Her eyes brimmed with tears and he covered her hand with his.

  “I’m so glad to hear that because I’ve set your release for next month.”

  Next month? She’d been planning on getting out sooner than that. What was wrong with the stupid old quack?

  She was careful not to let her disappointment or her anger show. She tried to calm herself. What was another thirty days here? Nothing compared to what she’d been through. But it still felt like a lifetime, she was so anxious to get out.