Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  “I’m not sure exactly. I could take more pictures if you like. Of course I have no equipment other than my cameras and my laptop.”

  “You’re talking about digital pictures?”

  She nodded. “I generally use digital. My Nikon has twenty-four mega pixels. That would give us sharp enough resolution. I can format the images on my laptop but I have no printing equipment. We’d need cutting edge, not a drugstore printer.”

  “I know a place in the county seat, a lab that might do the printing.”

  There, a conversation between old friends working together. Warmth wrapped comforting arms around her. Then the topic of the conversation folded the shutter on her pleasure. Photographing the place where Rob and Sara were killed.

  “Okay. Let me put Bobby in his crib.” She padded to the nursery. The infant didn’t wake as she laid him on his back. “Don’t worry, pumpkin. You’re safe and loved.” She whispered it as a prayer and wiped her eyes.

  When she returned to sit at the table, she felt Holt’s scrutinizing gaze as a physical touch. His eyes, hooded and brooding, held her. Intense alertness and edgy violence in every taut muscle.

  “Some son of a bitch took the last members of our family from me and Bobby. I aim to make him pay. I appreciate any help you want to give.” He shot to his feet and turned away from her. “Bobby could have been with them. He could have ended up at the bottom of that steep slope.”

  His gruff words branded her brain. Grisly images of what such a crash could do to a tender little body razored pain through her. “Holt, don’t play what if. It gets you nowhere. I should know. Rob and Sara are...gone, but their son is alive.”

  “Do you sit by his grave every day for Bobby’s sake? Or to ease your conscience?”

  The comment made her wince. She had to say it now, while he wasn’t looking at her. “I did love Rob. I—”

  “Not enough, I reckon.”

  “He was my best friend. I wasn’t in love with him and I couldn’t marry him. I handled things the worst possible way, I admit. I panicked and ran. I never intended to hurt him.”

  “You know what they say about good intentions.”

  His harsh tone rasped like a file over her raw nerves. She forced herself to continue. “As the wedding came closer and closer, I knew what we had wasn’t magical, romantic, or the thrilling rush it should be. I worried it wasn’t a lifetime thing.”

  “He loved you that way.” His wide shoulders rigid, he kept his back to her.

  She wouldn’t argue the point. “I don’t know, but he got over me. Wasn’t he happy with Sara?”

  He pivoted to face her, his jaw set. “Have you seen any pictures of Sara?”

  What? She couldn’t divine what he was getting at. She nodded slowly. “The wedding portrait. What does that have to do with anything?”

  His long legs ate up the short distance to the living room and back. He slapped the framed photograph on the table before her. “Take a good look.”

  Sara Patterson Donovan was several years younger than Rob. The photographer had posed them standing facing each other, her cheek to his chin. Straight blond hair draped her slim shoulders and fanned down her back.

  What she saw slapped her hard. She pushed away from the table and stood. “No!”

  “Oh, yeah, baby.” Holt grabbed her shoulders and forced her to face the picture. “Sara looks—looked a lot like you. As soon as the Pattersons moved to Rangewood, Rob went after her.”

  “No, no...” She couldn’t bear it. There must be some other explanation. “You can’t be right. Rob just liked blondes.” She tried to pull away, but the photograph, more than Holt’s firm grasp, held her in place.

  With her back flush against his hard torso, his rumble of skepticism vibrated along her spine. His puff of breath warmed the top of her head. “She was a city girl like you. Used to a soft life. Used to luxury.”

  Through her thin shirt, his body heat seeped into her flesh. Her shallow breaths absorbed his scent, a mingling of soap and sun-warmed skin and leather. His hardness pressed against her spine, coaxing warmth in her belly. Taken aback, she fought the sensual charge. She closed her eyes against him and the smiling newlyweds in the portrait.

  He tightened his grip on her shoulders, and his mouth brushed her hair. Holt sucked in a breath, and with a growl turned away.

  “Rob gave Sara everything she wanted.” He said it with such bitterness, he might be describing Maddy. “Went into debt. Even talked me into cosigning. I thought it was for repairs to the barn. I didn’t find out what he’d done until I came home. He added eight feet to the house to create that humongous bedroom and bathroom you’re in, but ran out of money before they could put in a hot tub. All those luxuries for her, and he neglected the ranch for fear she’d leave. Like you.”

  Her throat tightened. When would he ever let up on her? “Like me? Or like your mother?”

  He flinched as if a dozen flashbulbs had exploded in his face.

  She instantly regretted her cruel words, but she couldn’t back down now. “I refuse to take the blame because Rob wanted to make his wife comfortable.”

  A muscle leaped in his jaw. He bit out his next words through lips white with rage. “He nearly buried the ranch in debt for fear she’d leave for greener pastures—like you did.”

  A heavy knot clamped Maddy’s chest so she could barely breathe. No, he couldn’t heap all the blame on her head alone. She wouldn’t let him. “We both know why I had to leave when I did. We need to talk about it so we can move on. So you can move on. You’re fooling yourself if you think I was running away from Rob.”

  “Maybe. What I know is you did run away.” With that, he marched into his room. The quiet click of the door latch tolled a louder knell than a slam.

  Left unsaid was what he was thinking—and you would run away again.

  Was he right? Would she? But no answer came into focus.

  Chapter 7

  Two days later, Holt grabbed a morning mug of coffee and one of Espie’s sweet rolls on his way to the door. He made it outside before Maddy appeared in the kitchen. Work helped him avoid her most of every day, but dammit he still needed to clear his brain after every encounter.

  And before. Today he’d have to leave Bronc watching over the sickly calves and mending the corral fence. He and Maddy were heading out to visit some local ranchers. No social calls. This was investigation to find out who had harbored a grudge against Rob, who might’ve wanted him dead.

  By eight o’clock, he’d had a real breakfast and they were on the road with Bobby in his car seat behind Maddy. “First ranch is a ways south of Rangewood. Greg Harper was high-school quarterback when I was a freshman. Married Irene Ingraham in my class. They took over the Double-X when his parents moved to Sonoma. Greg should be waiting for me. Us.” He’d phoned yesterday to ask if they could stop by.

  Ensconced in the Silverado’s passenger seat, Maddy nodded, then chattered away about the greening hillsides and distant views of cattle grazing.

  “You always so chirpy about ordinary stuff?” He didn’t mean to sound so gruff but hell, the woman got to him.

  She cocked her head and eyed him for a moment. Instead of blasting him for being so sour, she smiled. A sort of wistful smile that made him feel like shit on a boot heel for sniping at her. “I don’t usually get to experience what you call ordinary stuff. Instead of peaceful hillsides, I see bombed out villages or bunkers bristling with big guns. Instead of huge herds of fat steers grazing in lush pastures, I see a few scrawny cattle with skeletal ribs being herded by ragged children through parched scrub. Instead of—”

  “Enough. I get the picture.”

  “The picture?” She chuckled, a trill like a spring brook. “Holt Donovan, was that a joke?”

  Hell, no, but he’d never admit it. “There’s the Double-X up ahead.”

  Thank God she let the subject drop and peered ahead at the big sign announcing the home of prize-winning Herefords and beyond at the stone-fronted ra
nch house with the wrap-around porch.

  He, on the other hand, needed to concentrate on something other than Maddy.

  Why had he gone on the attack again? Not as bad as the other day when he’d pounced like a cougar on a stray calf. All because Rob couldn’t let go. Every time Holt had come home, he watched his brother obsess about turning another woman into Madelyn McCoy. But how much of that was her fault? Hell, she hadn’t known how Rob felt. Hadn’t known how absorbed he’d been in the ideal Maddy, all in his head, not the flesh-and-blood Maddy beside Holt in the truck.

  Holt had witnessed the disbelief in her eyes when he told her about Sara. Maddy’d gone jet-setting and taking her pictures all over the damned world and left them—not them, Rob—and any regrets behind. Maybe jet-setting wasn’t the right term but it amounted to the same thing. She left.

  But his temper didn’t explain his behavior. What did was his fascination with her. With her maternal care for the baby. With her boldness and quick energy. And with her sexy body. Hell, he kept picturing her in that skimpy nightshirt. And out of it.

  When he’d held her, her slender form tight against him, his body detonated with fireworks he hadn’t experienced in years. The flowery fragrance of her corn-silk hair clouded his brain and shot all his blood south.

  She wasn’t immune to him either. Her breath caught and she curled into him. He needed to ditch all emotion where she was concerned and focus on Bobby and finding his parents’ murderer. He’d asked Maddy to join him today because she provided a trained pair of eyes and ears. Nothing more. Today’s visits would be all business.

  If he had to grit his teeth to ignore her softness and womanly scent beside him to make it work, he’d do it or break a tooth trying.

  “Howdy, Donovan. It’s been way too long.” Greg Harper greeted him with a big smile in his sun-creased face and an outstretched hand. These days, the former football star’s belly was bigger than his shoulders.

  They shook hands and clapped each other on the back while Maddy extricated the baby from his car seat. Bobby waved his arms and babbled with glee at being freed and out with the grownups.

  The rancher’s wife skipped down the porch steps and gave Holt a hug. Her freckled face beneath a mane of auburn hair was unlined. Not as slim as a high-school girl, but sturdy and strong as befit ranch life.

  “Irene, you haven’t changed a bit.” He held her away from him. “Still as pretty as when you were leading cheers. You still barrel racing?”

  “Not me,” the woman replied. “But you should see our daughter Ginny’s blue ribbons.”

  Holt itched to get to the point but forced himself to make small talk, introducing Maddy and the baby. “Maddy’s a family...friend. She’s staying awhile to help out with little Bobby. Like a nanny, sort of.”

  Shit, that sounded lame. He could see amusement in Maddy’s wry expression. He figured Irene knew about Maddy and Rob but she said nothing.

  The Harpers cooed over Bobby, and Irene dabbed at her eyes. “Such a tragedy for this poor little one,” she said. “Thank God you’re here for him.”

  Nice segue into where Holt wanted to go. He readied his opening as the Harpers invited him and Maddy into the house for lemonade and Irene’s homemade gingersnaps. But once they were all settled in the kitchen around the trestle table, he felt awkward about his purpose in the midst of such hospitality. The Harpers didn’t make it easier, waiting quietly with their frosty glasses.

  “Mighty good cookies, Irene.” Maddy bounced Bobby on her knee. “We, um, Holt didn’t expect you’d go to such trouble. Right, Holt?” Her gaze worked like a cattle prod to spur him to action.

  “Right. Thanks, Irene.” He jammed his hat on his knee and set down his glass. “You folks are right. Rob’s and Sara’s deaths are a tragedy. But not an accident.”

  Greg’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “What are you saying? I thought it was a blown tire from a stray bullet.”

  Holt sketched out what he knew about the crash, explained he was supplementing the sheriff’s overstretched office, and eased into his purpose for visiting. He stressed he was talking to all the ranchers so the Harpers didn’t take his questions as accusations.

  While he talked, half of his awareness was on Maddy as she rocked Bobby in her lap. A set of colorful plastic keys held the baby’s gaze. Having her present seemed to soften the purpose of the visit so these folks didn’t feel threatened.

  “Murder,” Irene murmured, her eyes wide, when he finished.

  “Do you know of anybody who had a grudge against my brother or his wife? Maybe one of your hands had a run-in with Rob?” Holt gripped his hat so tightly against his knee he crushed the crown. He smoothed it and pulled a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket.

  “A grudge? For goodness sakes, no. Two young people in love, with a baby?” She shook her head in vigorous denial such an evil deed was possible.

  Greg’s expression was more circumspect. “I don’t know of anything specific, but now and again I heard talk of Rob’s short fuse causing rifts.”

  “Like what exactly?”

  As if feeling the tension in his uncle, Bobby began to fuss. Irene took the squirming infant, and the change immediately quieted him. He cooed at the new person holding him.

  “Was it about the ranch?” Maddy asked softly. “Or his wife?”

  “Rob was very protective of Sara,” Greg said, his words measured. “He hovered. Kept the reins tight whenever they went out. Didn’t like it when other guys talked to her. Like that. I can see where his over-protectiveness could’ve riled a few.”

  Holt glanced at Maddy with new eyes. He’d asked her along as another set of eyes and ears but didn’t count on such insight. Having a partner in this mess felt good. But it was business, only business. Maybe if he reminded himself often enough, he might actually believe it.

  Irene huffed. “Over-protectiveness? Not exactly. More like jealousy and control. Sara was a meek little thing. She didn’t seem to mind Rob’s hovering, but maybe she would have down the road. I liked him, but he needed to learn that wives are partners, not pets.”

  *****

  Shivering in the dawn chill, Holt traipsed to the barn. Fog spirits hovered above the pond, but the rising sun would soon banish them. Mares’ tails over the mountains predicted showers. With May’s advent, April’s wet snows on these high valleys yielded to rain.

  He heard Bronc’s drawl before he saw him. “You put the lie to all those stories about taciturn cowboys. You ever shut up?”

  The old wrangler poked his head above the second stall, where he was saddling Quickstep, the roan gelding. “Horses like it. Calms ‘em down. I tell ‘em about where we’re goin’. Up to the northwest fence line, if that’s okay with the boss.” Accustomed to Holt’s teasing, he offered a toothy grin.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “You have any luck the other day talking to the neighbors?”

  “Not much. Only verification of what I already knew. Rob had a temper that might’ve riled somebody. Who that somebody was is still a mystery. All three ranch owners promised to ask their cowboys if any of them had a run-in with him.”

  He didn’t hold out much hope. Sure hadn’t heard a word in the two days since the marathon drive. Who would admit a dispute and heap suspicion on his own head? The only possibility as he saw it was if a cowboy knew of another’s argument with Rob.

  Rob’s jealousy and protectiveness were news but no shock. No wonder, given his history of obsession with Maddy. How Sara had responded bore looking into further, even if she’d seemed passive. Could the new mother have rebelled, maybe with another guy? He hoped to hell not and put the notion out of his head in favor of physical chores.

  “I can muck out the horse stalls and tend the other critters,” he said.

  Finished saddling up, Bronc let the other three horses into the back corral. “These stalls can wait, but the cattle won’t. I’ll help with the calves afore I mount up.” A sly look quirked his mouth. “Espi
e shooed Maddy outside to ride fence with me. She was good company. You want me to fetch her to help you out?”

  “Not what that pampered female signed on to do. She’s tending to Bobby today.” Grateful for chores that kept his mind and body busy, Holt strode outside to the sheltered pen where the sickly calves and new moms were isolated.

  What was he going to do about Maddy? He ought to send her packing, but he couldn’t. Bobby needed her. And she was proving to be an asset in his search for the murderer. Why couldn’t he just treat her like hired help?

  Shit, he knew damned well why. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman before. He was as bad as Rob. What stopped him from taking her to his bed was the knowledge she’d take off at any time. He wanted no woman he couldn’t rely on. Enough. He splashed water from the faucet on his face.

  “You workin’ up a sweat already, boy?” Bronc chuckled as he tugged one of the calves toward him.

  “Just getting warmed up.” So much for keeping his brain occupied with chores. “Two of these Hereford babies look more alert.” They had to watch the newborns closely. Diarrhea could kill a calf in a matter of hours.

  “Yup, their backsides are clean. The meds are beatin’ the scours.” Bronc sent them with their moms to the common pen.

  Afterward, the hired man led his mount out of the barn. As he trotted away, Holt heard him discussing the sunrise with the horse.

  On a sigh, he ordered himself to ease up on Maddy. He had to give her credit for pitching in. Besides riding with Bronc, Maddy helped with tagging the calves. Maybe she wasn’t as pampered as he expected or as he claimed to one and all. He just had to keep his distance. His participation in her betrayal of Rob didn’t exonerate her one whit. Having her here only reminded him of that night. He wouldn’t trust her or let himself depend on her. If an impulse brought her here, another would take her away.

  And the mysteries about Maddy bothered him.