Her Montana Man

by Laurie Paige

  For this moment.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and covering her breasts with his hands.

  “Wh-what?”

  He liked the tiny catch in her voice and the way she rose to his caresses, pushing against his palms as if she, too, couldn’t get enough of the touching.

  “Tomorrow,” he told her. “Tomorrow doesn’t matter. There’s just the here and now. And us.”

  She sat up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. With her lips pressing steamy little kisses along his collarbone, she whispered, “Let’s make the most of it.”

  He heard her laughter, but also the echo of sad ness, as if she saw beyond this enchanted hour to another time, one only dimly perceived by him. He tightened his grip, suddenly knowing she was going to run from him like a latter-day Cinderella, desperate to be gone before the stroke of midnight.

  “You won’t disappear on me again,” he told her. Not this time.”

  Chelsea thrilled to the passionate fierceness of his embrace and to the hunger that fed it. Mixed with the desire was a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes as he bent and kissed her breasts, then licked along the valley between them and up to her throat before returning to her mouth with his devouring kisses.

  “Not tonight,” she agreed, but she knew nothing was forever. “Kiss me,” she demanded, feeling the desolate emptiness of tomorrow already creeping close. “Kiss me now.”

  Caught in the tide of passion, she forgot reality and basked in the fire, then the sweet glow of their joined heat until she finally fell asleep, limbs entwined, her heart content.

  Pierce arrived late at his office the next morning. “What day is this?” he asked the secretary. His desk calendar was still on Friday.

  “Tuesday the ninth.”

  “Thanks.” He flipped to the correct day. “I don’t have any meetings today. Will wonders never cease?”

  “Uh, actually the sheriff wants to see you and Dr. Kearns as soon as possible. I haven’t been able to reach her this morning.”

  The sense of well-being evaporated. Pierce picked up the phone. “She’s probably hiking around the lake. I’ll see if I can contact her. Set up the meeting.”

  He got Chelsea on the cell phone and told her of the sheriff’s request.

  “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Hold on.” He checked with the secretary. “Reingard will be here at ten,” he told Chelsea.

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Pierce hung up and swung his chair around so he could view the scene outside. The town looked peaceful, tucked into a fertile valley with a creek at each end, both eventually running into the Yellowstone River and finally into the Missouri, the Mississippi, then the Gulf of Mexico.

  A sense of the continuity of life gripped him. At one point during the night, he’d wondered if he and Chelsea had made a child.

  For a moment he felt a oneness with nature, an awareness of his own immortality reaching backward in time to his ancestors and forward through the offspring he might have. At that instant conception seemed not just possible, but inevitable between him and Chelsea.

  The phone rang with a jarring staccato. He answered at once, his body tightening at the thought that Chelsea might be calling.

  “There’s a pothole right in front of my house that hasn’t been fixed in six months,” an irate citizen told him.

  Reality snapped back with a vengeance. He grinned and reached for a pen and notepad. “What’s the address?”

  Chelsea wore her favorite cool mint-green slacks and top to Pierce’s office for the meeting. She’d roused when he’d quietly left that morning to go to his place and get ready for work. “It’s early,” he’d said. “Go back to sleep.” Then he’d kissed her and slipped out.

  She paused in the corridor, willed herself to act in a normal manner when she faced him, then entered the outer office.

  “Dr. Kearns,” the secretary greeted her warmly. “The mayor is expecting you. Please go right in. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” She went into the other office. The door immediately closed behind her and she was swept into a pair of masculine arms.

  “Hi,” Pierce murmured just before his lips came down on hers in a breathless kiss that sent her thoughts whirling.

  After releasing her, he smoothed her hair, gave her an approving once-over, then grinned.

  “Dr. Kearns,” he said in formal tones, “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  “Us?” She glanced around in alarm.

  “A figure of speech. The sheriff isn’t here yet. I made fresh coffee. Would you like a cup?”

  She saw the office was equipped with a sink, tiny refrigerator and coffeemaker hidden in an alcove with folding doors. “Uh, yes, that would be fine.”

  A knock sounded, then the secretary opened the outer door and announced the sheriff and Deputy Tanner.

  “Come in, gentlemen,” Pierce invited. He told his secretary to hold all calls, made sure everyone was comfortable, then took his place behind the desk.

  “I assume this is about the Harriet Martel case?” he said, looking at the sheriff.

  The sheriff sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. Our latest finding didn’t pan out.”

  “What finding?” Pierce cut a glance at Chelsea, who lifted and dropped her shoulders slightly.

  “The initials on the book. Tell them the results, Holt,” the sheriff ordered.

  The deputy looked gaunt, the lines in his face more heavily scored. He wasn’t sleeping well as the murder occupied his thoughts day and night, she diagnosed. Time was passing and he wasn’t any closer to solving the puzzle of the missing lover.

  “The blood on the book belongs to the victim,” Holt told them. “So does the thumbprint.”

  Pierce muttered a curse. “What about the letters?”

  Holt shrugged. “I’ve run a computer check on the ranchers and homeowners in the county, also the registered voters roster, looking at last names starting with an N or M or R. None have initials matching H and I for first and middle names.”

  “There’s no question on the first two initials?”

  “No, those are pretty clear.”

  “So what’s next?” Pierce asked.

  The sheriff spoke up. “I’m going to put the case on the back burner. We don’t have enough people to keep an officer on it full-time.”

  “It’s only been what…?” Pierce peered at his desk calendar. “…ten days since the lunar eclipse. Isn’t that giving up a bit early?”

  “We’re not giving up,” Reingard said coolly. “The case isn’t closed. Holt will remain the chief investigator, but he has other duties to attend to.”

  Pierce wasn’t put off by the sheriff’s manner. “Like what? Investigating who stole those frozen chickens from the grocery last month?”

  Holt hid a grin while Sheriff Reingard frowned, anger evident in his narrowed eyes. Pierce calmly met the lawman’s hard gaze, his expression neither hostile or angry.

  For the first time, Chelsea realized how exactly right he was for the mayor’s job. He had a small kingdom to oversee, its safety and welfare his first concern. He brought humor and compassion to the office, but he also expected people to do their job and get results.

  The sheriff unexpectedly turned to her. “Dr. Kearns, what’s your opinion? Does the case warrant keeping a man on it full-time?”

  She had no choice but to deliver an honest assessment. “Unless there are new leads to follow, we seem to be at a dead end. Deputy Tanner should keep the investigation on his active list—after all, it is murder we’re talking about—but I doubt it will take up all his time as the situation now stands.”

  Pierce nodded when she looked his way. “Holt, you’re the investigator. What’s your opinion?”

  The deputy appeared discouraged. “I’m looking into a couple of new things—people in town that Harriet might have helped in some way.”

 
; “How?” the sheriff demanded skeptically.

  “Money, I think,” Holt said. “She withdrew large sums a couple of times during the past few years. I’ve asked the bank for a detailed printout of her account, including copies of checks. I want to see how she spent her money and who it went to.”

  “She was the most secretive woman I ever met,” the sheriff complained. “Who knew she had all that money squirreled away like a miser? She made the Library Board give her a big raise last year.”

  “She hadn’t had one in three years,” Piercere minded the other men. “It was overdue. A person should receive a fair salary for value given.”

  “Tell that to the voters,” Sheriff Reingard said ruefully, bringing a smile to Pierce’s face.

  “There is one other thing,” Holt said as the meeting drew to a close. “Holmes is going to hire a psychic.”

  The sheriff looked mystified, then amused. “A psychic? Is she going to read his future in some tea leaves?”

  “He wants to bring her out to Harriet’s house and let her look around.”

  The sheriff was on his feet in an instant. “Absolutely not!” he said furiously. “There’s been enough traffic through there. If any evidence existed, it’s probably already been destroyed by Colby and his poking around, not to mention Liz Barlow and her crew.” He glared at Holt as if it was all his fault.

  “They crossed the yellow tape,” Pierce reminded the sheriff, then glanced at Holt. “Why weren’t they arrested?”

  “The crime-scene guys had already checked the place out, so supposedly there was nothing to destroy. Besides, someone had leaked details to Liz. It had to have been someone in the department. I put all that in my report.”

  “Have you checked the leak?” Pierce asked the sheriff.

  “I’ll put someone on it,” he promised grimly.

  Chelsea decided she was glad she had no reason to run afoul of the sheriff. He looked ready to shoot anyone who crossed him at the moment. Murder was not a happy matter.

  “What do I tell Colby?” Holt asked. “He’s the executor of his aunt’s estate. Does he proceed with closing it out? He’ll have to have access to the house and all her records, which are closed by court order at present.”

  Chelsea observed as Pierce and the deputy waited for the sheriff to make the decision. Now that Colby was going to hire a psychic—presumably Tessa Madison, although he had mentioned some other woman—she saw no reason for her to go by the woman’s store and talk to her. In fact there was nothing to hold her in Rumor. She should go.

  “The house is off-limits for now,” Reingard decided. I want to go over the evidence myself before we give up. You can release the body for burial, though.” He checked the time. “I have to go.”

  “Me, too. I’ve been assigned to handle the complaint desk the rest of the week.” Holt nodded to her and Pierce, gave his boss a half salute and left.

  Chelsea prepared to leave when the sheriff did, but Pierce asked her to stay. She settled back in the chair.

  “What do you think?” he asked when they were alone.

  “About what?”

  “The nephew. The psychic. The deputy. The sheriff. Pick one,” Pierce suggested. “God, I’m tired of this whole thing. Are most cases like this? If so, how do you deal with the frustration?”

  “Few cases are solved in which the perp is a stranger who is passing through, but most domestic crimes, such as this one, are done by people known to the victim.”

  “Notably husbands or boyfriends,” Pierce muttered.

  “Exactly. Miss Martel’s murder fits all the classic details for crimes of passion.”

  “Except the boyfriend seems to know how to cover his tracks perfectly.”

  “Yes. He’s mature as well as cunning. He can think in a crisis situation.”

  “I’d like to get my hands on him,” Pierce said direly, then shook his head, dismissing the thought. “How about lunch? I know a place near Whitehorn that’s nice. We can play hooky the rest of the day.”

  He looked so taken with the idea of escaping the town and its problems Chelsea didn’t have the heart to refuse. “All right,” she said, also feeling a need to get away from troubles and unending questions with no answers.

  Excitement began to build in her. She tried to browbeat it into submission, but nothing worked. Being with Pierce was too alluring.

  “You’re quiet,” he said once they were on the road.

  “I’m wondering about Colby Holmes and the psychic.” She told him about working with Tessa Madison once. “That was one of my first cases in Chicago. I knew she was from Montana, but I didn’t realize she was right here in town.”

  “I don’t know about being clairvoyant or whatever, but she has a shop of some kind. I think she sells crystals and, um, beauty bath stuff, you know, to make you relax.”

  “Aromatherapy and herbal remedies,” Chelsea supplied. “They’re the latest cure-alls.”

  “Maybe I should go in for a consultation,” he said, giving her an oblique, sardonic glance.

  Chelsea couldn’t hide her surprise. “Why?”

  “I think my heart is going to be broken soon.”

  She could only stare at him in confusion.

  “You’re thinking of leaving,” he said as if this explained everything.

  Carefully, slowly, in case she fell right apart, she protested. “You wouldn’t notice if I did.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d notice.” He pulled into a gravel parking area in front of an old weather-faded building. “You ever been to the pig races?”

  She shook her head, more confused than ever. He escorted her into the restaurant.

  “We’ll have to come back on a weekend,” he told her. “I think you’d enjoy them.”

  Pierce guided her to the back of the restaurant where, to her surprise, live pigs milled around in an enclosure beyond a short oval track a few feet below the level of the viewing gallery where they stood.

  A gold statue—of a pig rather than a horse—and pots of black-eyed Susans completed the weird sensation of being at the races. Pierce watched in amusement as she stared at the setup then laughed in delight.

  He explained the state had passed a law allowing this one place to have pari-mutuel wagering on weekends during the summer, the proceeds of which went to scholarship funds for high school students.

  Shortly after, he seated her at their table, his glances warm in the dimness of the rustic building that could have served as a mess hall for local coal miners a hundred years ago.

  “I feel like Alice when she went through the looking glass,” she said. “Nothing seems quite real.” She tried to smile but gave up when her lips trembled.

  “What do you want to be real?”

  She shrugged, helpless to come up with an answer, except the haunting yearning she couldn’t name.

  Chapter Nine

  Chelsea went with Pierce to the Martel funeral on Thursday afternoon. The entire community was there. On Friday, she stayed at the cabin and read.

  Alone that afternoon, she sat on the deck by the lake and pondered Pierce’s ridiculous statement on Tuesday about his heart being broken. He’d been teasing, of course, but the words were ominous, a foretelling of what was to come. She knew who was in danger here.

  If she didn’t watch herself, she would fall in love with him all over again. That would be foolish in the extreme on her part. Making love only complicated the situation. To that end, she’d tried to send him home at night. He’d graciously but stubbornly returned to the sofa, refusing to give up the guard duty.

  She checked her watch. It was nearly time for him to arrive. The heavy thud of her heart told her how much she looked forward to the end of the workday.

  Pierce amused her with stories of the town and its denizens while they prepared a meal on the grill. They argued over television shows, watched movies and ate popcorn or ice cream as a bedtime snack, then went to their separate beds.

  He hadn’t argued about that when she’d i
nsisted she wanted no further involvement. “It’s your call,” he’d said, giving her a little bow. She hadn’t been able to read his expression.

  One more week. All she had to do was hold out for one more week, then she would go home and put this vacation behind her, no better or worse for her stay in paradise.

  Paradise?

  She shook her head at the wistful description. A wise woman kept her feet firmly on terra firma. Hearing a call, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Pierce was home.

  He’d changed from his business clothes to shorts and a T-shirt. His hair, sun-streaked into attractive shades of light and dark, blew across his forehead as the wind swept down the valley, bringing relief from the terrible heat.

  “Kelly wants us to come over tonight for supper. You game?” he called out as he drew near.

  “I’m not sure I can get out of the chair. I’ve lounged here all afternoon,” she confessed.

  He bounded on the deck and, bending, tickled her bare foot until she burst into laughter.

  “I’ll go. I’ll go,” she said, fending him off. “Shall I change clothes?”

  His gaze swept over her shorts and casual top, leaving a heated path in its wake. “No, you look fine.” He offered his hand and helped her out of the comfortable deck chair.

  “I found something in town for Kelly today. I’ll give it to her now.” She retrieved her purse and the gift she’d spotted at the store. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  They drove the few miles to the ranch in a friendly silence. She realized it didn’t matter if they talked or not. The pleasure was in being together.

  Frowning, she tried to decide if this was good or not. They arrived at the ranch house before an answer came to her. Kelly met them at the front door.

  “Hi, you two. Chelsea, come on, I want your opinion on something. Jim’s on the deck,” she told her brother.

  Chelsea followed her friend into a back room of the house. The room was newly painted in bright primary yellow.