by B. J Daniels
Unable to find a clean glass, he took his first drink straight from the bottle. The liquor bathed his tongue in bliss, warmed his throat and quenched his thirst. He took another drink as the first one reached his belly and sent a golden glow through him.
That’s when he knew he was in trouble. There was only one man who could have painted the forgery. He’d be kidding himself if he thought it was anyone but H. F. Powell. He thought of Powell’s last words to him. “I could paint one of your pieces and you wouldn’t know the difference, that’s how good I am.”
Taylor shook his head. He hadn’t let himself think of H.F. in years. Some things were best forgotten. Everyone knew that the painter had become a recluse in the last years of his life. No one had seen him for almost two years before the tragedy. There hadn’t been a funeral—at H.F.’s request. No memorial service. No family.
H.F. must be rolling in his grave since his paintings were now worth a small fortune. Taylor admitted grudgingly, the man had been one hell of a painter. But look where it had gotten him. The arrogant old fool had died alone and miserable.
Just like you’re going to die. Taylor snorted at the thought and the one that came after it. What goes around, comes around. He shuddered and took another drink, regretting the calls he’d made the moment Laramie Cardwell left. But he’d been so upset and he wasn’t in this alone.
Rock Jackson had sounded as if he’d been asleep before the call.
“I’m telling you this painting was so good... I’m not even sure it isn’t the original,” he’d told Rock. “Tell me there isn’t any chance—”
“Take it easy. You’re jumping to conclusions. Who brought you the painting?”
Taylor told him.
“The guy’s gone, right?”
“He just left.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about,” Rock had said. “Look, I have to go. Have a drink. Everything is fine.”
Artist Hank Ramsey had told him pretty much the same thing, only Taylor had heard more worry in Hank’s voice.
“If you had seen this painting...” Taylor had said feeling sick to his stomach.
Hank had asked the name of the man who’d stopped by and what painting it had been. Hank had tried to calm him back down. “Taylor, we’re all painting cowboys, horses and Indians. We’ve all had someone copy our paintings. Since you’re at the top of the heap, your paintings are going to be forged the most. Let me see what I can find out. In the meantime, don’t do anything crazy.”
He’d hung up, thinking about the other members of OWAC, picturing each of their faces and telling himself that none of them were good enough to paint such a perfect forgery.
He’d tried to call Rock back, but the number had gone to voice mail. “This is Taylor West. Call me. We really need to talk. If that painting is what I think it is... Call me.” He’d disconnected, wondering where Rock was. Or if he just wasn’t taking his calls after the first one. Which would make Rock look pretty suspicious, wouldn’t it?
Now he took a long drink, admitting that he never should have trusted Rock. Rock wasn’t that much different from H. F. Powell when it came to women. Now Rock was in trouble because of another woman. In the middle of an ugly divorce, he was probably desperate for money. But how far would he go?
Taylor knew his suspicion of Rock could also be because Rock had always been jealous of him—especially when Taylor had married Jade.
Jade. Where was his beautiful young wife? She’d probably gone to her mother’s back in Indiana. He shoved the thought of her away as he took another drink. He had a lot more to worry about than Jade.
* * *
“THE HOUSE IS YOURS,” McKenzie announced when Laramie stopped by her office after getting his rental SUV pulled out of the snowbank. He was still shaken, but even more determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.
“And the painting?” he asked expectantly. He told himself he couldn’t be sure which was original and without it, he might never know.
She chuckled. “Yours, as well. He wanted extra for it, but I convinced him that you wanted pretty much everything in the house except, of course, any items that he couldn’t possibly part with. If you don’t want the furniture, I know a consignment place—”
“No, furnished is perfect. So what is he leaving?”
“Everything, including the kitchen sink, except for the other paintings and sculptures. He has an art dealer coming to take the lot of them this afternoon.”
Laramie couldn’t hide his relief. He wasn’t sure why the painting was so important. But what had happened after he’d left Taylor West’s house had him convinced the painting was at the heart of it. He thought about the house—where he’d seen his alleged cat burglar. “How soon can I take occupancy?”
“Right away, I suppose, if you’re in that much of a hurry.”
He’d been staying with Hayes and McKenzie and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “No hurry, just anxious to get settled.”
“I can understand that. Since the house will come completely furnished, there won’t be much that you will need. He’s leaving bedding, all of which he said is brand-new. Apparently they haven’t gotten to use this house much. I take it that his soon-to-be-ex wife didn’t like it up here. Too isolated. Since you’re paying cash, I can arrange a rental agreement until the sale is final. You should be able to move in this evening. The owner is in a hurry to get out of town.”
“Great.”
“But this...urgency to get settled, it wouldn’t have anything to do with your...cat burglar, would it?”
Laramie smiled to himself. “You sound like Austin. I ran into him earlier at the restaurant. Like I told him, I know what I’m doing.” He wished that was true.
But he didn’t think the earlier incident was an attempt to kill him. Then what had it been? If the driver had wanted to scare him off, then he’d failed. Laramie was more determined than ever. He was counting on his cat burglar coming back for the painting. It was just a gut feeling, but a strong one, that for some reason she really needed that painting. And he really needed answers.
He stood to leave.
“Don’t forget this,” McKenzie said reaching behind her. She handed him what Theo Nelson believed to be the original painting.
He stared at it, anxious to compare it to the one in his rented SUV. “Question, if I wanted everyone to know I’d bought the house, how would I go about getting the word out?”
McKenzie laughed. “In a small community like Big Sky? Are you kidding? Everyone knows everyone else’s business. It’s probably already out there since the owner informed me to go ahead and change the security information to yours. You’ll need to change over the utilities and everything else as soon as you get into the house. But if you were to stop by the furniture store or the grocery and happen to mention you’d bought a house...”
“Let me know when you have my key, and thank you so much. Oh, and one more thing. Have you ever heard of an artist by the name of H. F. Powell?”
“Of course. In fact, one of his paintings is coming up for auction at the Christmas ball this year. It’s expected to go high. This interest in cowboy art...”
“Just curiosity.”
She laughed. “Uh-huh.”
Laramie realized how little he knew about art in general as he left for Meadow Village. His plan was to do exactly what McKenzie had suggested. He had a feeling that his cat burglar kept her ear to the ground. How else had she known that the house was supposed to be empty last night?
Chapter Six
Sid rubbed her back. It ached from hours spent painting. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been working. When she painted, time flew by. She hadn’t even noticed that her back was aching until a few moments ago when she finally laid down her brush.
She also realized she was hun
gry. Going to the fridge, she peered in. She’d bought the basics at the store, but nothing appealed to her. The pulled pork barbecue sandwich came to mind. Why not go back there? Several good reasons came to her. Except once she thought of barbecue, nothing else would do.
This late in the evening, Texas Boys Barbecue was quiet. Only a few booths were taken. She slipped into one and was thankful when a different waitress came out with a menu.
“We have a special, if you’re interested,” the young woman said. She rattled off a variety of items, but all Sid keyed in on was the words ribs. Her stomach growled.
“I’ll take the baby-back rib special.” She started to say “to go” but stopped herself. “And a beer.” As she started to whip out her ID, she realized the waitress wasn’t even going to ask for it. With relief, she put it away, sat back and took in the place in a way she hadn’t done earlier. It was nicely done. Comfortable and homey but without kitschy knickknacks. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming and the smells coming out of the kitchen were making her mouth water.
It felt good to be out of her cabin. She sat back, relaxing—until she heard voices in the kitchen as the waitress brought out her beer. Taking a sip, she watched the back, hoping to get another look at Laramie Cardwell. From where she sat, she could hear the conversation. This time there were three men, all of them speaking with a Texas drawl. But no Laramie.
“So he got the house?”
“He’s moving in tonight.”
“What was the rush?”
“Apparently he’s anxious to get settled.”
“I hope that’s all it is.”
“Bet Dana is already planning a housewarming.”
Laughter before the three left.
Laramie was moving into the house tonight?
So Tara’s information had been right, not that she’d doubted it. Sid thought about Laramie showing up so late the night before at the Nelson house on the side of the mountain. He’d only been interested in the house, but he’d stumbled onto her. Just her luck.
“I’m sorry,” Sid said getting the waitress’s attention. “But could I have that order to go?”
* * *
LARAMIE WAS AT the grocery store when McKenzie called to say she had the key to the house. “Do you want to meet at the house?”
“Sounds great. I’m picking up a few things. I can meet you there in thirty minutes.”
He quickly got what he needed and headed for the checkout. In a matter of minutes he would have the key to his house. He owned a high-rise condo in Houston, but he had never been this excited about the purchase even though the condo had an amazing view of the city.
The house was perfect for him since he didn’t plan to spend that much time in Montana. But he needed his own place when he did. If anything, he thought he might spend more time here—during the summer months.
Would he love the house as much if his cat burglar didn’t come back for the painting? He pushed that thought away, telling himself he was in the market for a house long before he’d laid eyes on the dark-clad figure running along the rooftop. Long before the kiss.
At the checkout, he was impatient to get into the house. He had to wait in line behind a half dozen people and wished now that he hadn’t bothered. Glancing around, he studied the other people in the line. The tourists were easy to spot in the latest ski gear or after-ski wear.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a bulletin board. Dana had mentioned that there were always people looking for housecleaning jobs around Big Sky, if he needed help.
A poster with cowboy art on it caught his eye. A name jumped out at him. H. F. Powell. Leaving his basket to save his place in line, Laramie quickly stepped to the board. Western Art Exhibit at the Museum of the Rockies in Bozeman. H. F. Powell was one of the artists featured in what the poster said was a rare exhibit of the Western masters.
Hurriedly, he searched the poster for the date, fearing he had missed the exhibit. With relief, he saw that it opened tomorrow. Until today, he’d never heard of H. F. Powell. Now he was curious about the man and his work given that Taylor West swore he was the only man who could have duplicated his work so perfectly.
His cat burglar had certainly piqued his interest in Old West art, he thought. After he checked out, he put his groceries in his SUV and walked up the hill to the restaurant for his dinner. The special tonight at Texas Boys Barbecue was ribs so the cook had saved him a slab along with sides.
As he entered the back door, he breathed in the smell of the food, still amazed that his and his brothers’ love for barbecue had led to their Texas Boys Barbecue success. None of them ever had to work another day in their lives, but of course they all did have some job because that was the way they were raised. As promised, the cook had his dinner wrapped and ready to take home to his new house.
It was on his way out that he saw a woman as she came out of the front of the restaurant and climbed into a blue SUV.
The woman caught his eye because of the way she moved. No wasted motion, her steps so fluid—and familiar—as she hurried toward her vehicle. He stood there watching her get into the SUV, feeling like a man who’d just seen a ghost.
A thick, long curly mane of strawberry blond hair hung around her shoulders, catching the last of the day’s light and making it shine like copper. He held his breath as he watched her slide behind the wheel. The engine revved. She seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. Just like that night.
It was her.
All common sense told him that he couldn’t possibly have recognized her simply by the way that she moved. There must be dozens of slim young women like her in the area. And yet...
He looked down the hillside to where he’d left his vehicle as she backed up and sped off up the road toward the mountain. There was no way he could reach his vehicle in time. All he could do was watch her get away.
Which was good, he realized. His first impulse had been to go after her. And then what? If only he had been close enough to see her eyes. And those lips. He told himself that if he saw those again, he’d know for certain.
He was thankful he hadn’t gone after her and made a fool of himself. He could just imagine what his four brothers would say if he shared this “sighting” with them.
“You need a woman,” Tag would say. “Stalking is illegal,” Hayes would warn him. “Get a grip,” Austin would say. “I agree with Tag. You need a woman bad,” Jackson would add.
As the blue SUV disappeared over a rise, he thought they would have been right. What was going on with him? This wasn’t like him. He always thought things out before he reacted. And yet last night, he’d gone after what he believed to be a thief without any thought to the risk.
And now he’d almost chased that woman down, and yet what were the chances she was the same woman? Big Sky wasn’t a large community. If McKenzie was right, then the woman might already know who he was. If that had been her... Would she dare go to Texas Boys Barbecue if she knew who he was, though?
He thought of the woman, of those silver-blue eyes, of those bee-stung lips, thought of how she’d tricked him and gotten away. Yes, she would go to the restaurant he and his brothers owned. The woman was a risk taker.
That thought sent a current of excitement through him.
What if she had gone there looking for him because she needed to get her hands on the painting—just as he’d suspected?
Laramie went back inside Texas Boys Barbecue. It only took a minute to find the young waitress who’d served the woman. “She didn’t happen to use a check or credit card to pay for her dinner, did she?” he asked, crossing his fingers.
“Cash.”
He couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“Is there a problem?” the waitress asked.
“No, I was just hoping to get her name.”
The teen
laughed. “All you had to do was ask. I know her. That is I’ve seen her at the craft shows. Her name is Obsidian Forester, but she goes by Sid for short.”
“Obsidian.” He nodded, silently cheered. He had her name. “Wait, you said craft shows?”
“Yeah, she’s one of the exhibitors like me. I make candles and sell them. It’s just something I like to do in my spare time since I like crafting.”
“What does...Sid sell?”
“She paints scenes on stuff like handsaws, milk jugs, anything that is kind of old and rusted.”
He couldn’t help the thrill that moved through him. Maybe that really had been her. “So she’s an artist,” he said more to himself.
“I think she’s wasting her talent painting on old junk.” The teen shrugged. “But what do I know? People seem to like what she does. She sells more of those paintings than I do candles.”
“You don’t happen to know where she lives, do you?”
* * *
AS SID DROVE HOME, she told herself not to let the Texas cowboy rush her. But she could feel the clock ticking. Any good thief knew not to play against the odds. She’d been lucky, but lately she’d been seen. Then last night, almost caught.
Once at the cabin, she ate her ribs. It was already dark. This time of year in the canyon it was pitch-black by five. The ribs were as good or even better than the pulled pork. She licked her fingers after finishing the last one, then cleaned up the kitchen and herself before dressing in all black. Picking up the black ski mask, she headed for her snowmobile.
The next house on her list wasn’t far from her cabin, but she took the long way. The owners were spending the holidays in Hawaii. At least that was the intel she’d gotten on them. It would be easy to find out if it was true. The couple drove a huge ivory SUV and left it in the drive when they were there.
For months, she’d done endless research on the houses she planned to hit and the people who owned them. This one was owned by an older couple. He’d been a pilot, she a homemaker. The house was modest by Big Sky standards.