by Terri Reed
He slanted her a sharp glance. She sounded just like his stepfather in interrogation mode. “Why would you ask that?”
“Prior history always plays a part in a case like this. Establishes a pattern. Motive. You two could have been arguing and it turned physical. His death could have been an accident.” She looked at the road, then casually met his gaze. “Do you drink, Mr. Monroe?”
“No, I don’t drink. And I didn’t kill him.” Why did everyone want to believe he did?
“I didn’t say you did. Just pointing out one theory.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” He pointed to a dirt road up ahead on the left. “Just past the mailboxes, take a left.”
She took the turn. The vehicle’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the snow-covered dirt road. “Okay. Then who else wanted him dead? Did he have any enemies? Threats made to his life?”
“I don’t know.” He’d thought about that while he’d sat in the jail cell. George wasn’t the most congenial of souls, but Wyatt couldn’t think of anyone on the ranch or in town who’d want to hurt him. “He didn’t confide in me. I don’t know if he’d been threatened or felt that he was in danger. We weren’t close.”
She fell silent as she drove. Wyatt watched the world outside the vehicle pass by. He didn’t need daylight to know every inch of his family spread, to see the yawning expanse of flatland stretching off to the left of the road. To the right, the distant outline of the Snowy Range Mountains reaching toward the heavens was barely visible against the night sky.
“Does this road get much traffic?” she asked, her gaze straying to the rearview mirror.
He shook his head. “No. Only goes to the house. Why?”
“We’re being followed.”
He twisted around in the seat. Behind them lay only darkness. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s there. I caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off chrome.”
If someone hadn’t just tried to frame him for murder, he’d think the woman driving the SUV was paranoid or crazy. Or both. But considering that this morning he’d found a dead body on his porch and had spent the past several hours in jail being grilled like rainbow trout on the barbecue, he wasn’t going to doubt her.
If she said something was behind them, he believed her. Still, he couldn’t see anything.
He powered down the window. Cold air swirled through the cab of the SUV. The sound of the rig’s tires crunching over the packed snow and dirt nearly masked an out-of-place noise. The rev of an engine. But not from a car or truck.
Sticking his head out the window, he strained to listen, to discern what it was he heard.
“A motorcycle,” he decided and rolled the window back up.
“Anyone at the ranch have a motorcycle?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Are you buckled in?” Jackie asked.
Reflexively, he touched the buckle to assure himself he was indeed strapped in securely. “Yes.”
“Hang on to Spencer.”
He reached down and grabbed the dog by the collar as she stomped on the brake and twisted the wheel, sending the big, lumbering SUV into a spin and coming to a halt facing the way they’d come. The SUV’s headlights swept over an oncoming motorcycle. The driver swerved at the last second and drove past them, barely avoiding becoming a hood ornament. The single rider wore all black. The machine he rode was also black, except for chrome exhaust pipes.
The motorcycle roared down the road toward the ranch and disappeared.
Jackie made a three-point turn then punched the gas, chasing after the motorcycle. But he was already too far ahead for the headlights to find him in the dark. The tracks glistened in the beam of light. So did the gently falling snow.
Anxiety tripped down Wyatt’s spine. What if the rider reached the house before they did? What would he do? Was the motorcyclist the one who’d killed George and framed Wyatt?
Jackie kept the gas floored, expertly controlling the speeding vehicle on the slick, snow-packed road. There was more than met the eye in this petite package. He added competent driver to his list of her attributes.
Two miles from the ranch, the cycle’s tracks went off-road and disappeared into the dark.
“What’s out there?” She slowed the vehicle to a stop.
“Cattle. That’s the heifer pasture. There’s a feed shed about two miles out. But there’s a fence about a half mile from this road. The gate’s on the other side of the pasture.”
“Have you checked that fence lately?”
Wyatt took in a sharp breath. “That was George’s job.”
She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s a squatter. Maybe George discovered him. Maybe that’s why he was killed.”
“That’s a lot of maybes,” Wyatt said, not liking the idea of someone trespassing on his land. “But if that theory were true, how’d the killer get my hunting knife, and why put George on my porch?”
“There’s the rub. Where do you keep the knife?”
“In the truck, beneath the seat.” Exactly where they’d found it. He didn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes.
“Lot of people know you keep it there?”
“It wasn’t a secret. And the truck’s always in plain view.”
Snow fell in earnest, a blanket of white that not even the headlights could cut through. That motorcycle rider wouldn’t be getting very far in this blizzard.
“You lock the truck up at night?” Jackie asked.
A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. “No. I don’t.”
She started the vehicle moving again. The windshield wipers worked hard to push the snow from the glass. “So in the middle of the night, anyone could have sneaked onto the ranch and taken it.”
A sense of dread assailed him. “Just like they snuck onto the ranch and left George’s body on my porch.”
She slanted him a quick glance. “Exactly.”
Which meant he and Gabby weren’t safe.
THREE
“Once we get to the house and everyone is inside and buttoned down tight, I’ll come back and have a look-see,” Jackie stated.
“Not in this weather,” Wyatt countered. A greenhorn like her would get herself lost in a whiteout like this. He wouldn’t even chance it without careful preparation.
When they arrived at the house, the whole place was lit up. Carl, Penny and Gabby rushed outside onto the porch to greet them as they climbed out of the vehicle.
Relieved to know his family was okay, Wyatt let out the breath lodged beneath his ribs.
“Daddy!” his daughter squealed, barreling into his legs in a blur of fuzzy pink footsie jammies the second he stepped onto the porch.
“Hey, sweetie.” Swamped with love for his little girl, he lifted her up so she could wrap her little arms around his neck. He tugged the corners of his jacket around her tiny body. His daughter loved him unconditionally. It should be enough. But Dina’s words taunted him. Left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Carl and Penny hugged their niece.
Gabby pointed a finger at Jackie. “Who’s that?”
With her arm around Jackie’s waist, Penny said, “This is Jackie. Remember I told you we had a guest coming?”
Jackie smiled at Gabby. Wyatt liked the way Jackie’s eyes softened when she looked at his daughter.
“Hi, there,” Jackie said. Snowflakes balanced on her blond curls glistened in the glow of the porch light. “I love your freckles.”
“Hi.” Gabby returned the smile and ducked her head into Wyatt’s neck. Her cold little nose pressed against his skin.
“You want to see something neat?” Jackie asked.
Gabby lifted her head and nodded.
Jackie hurried back to the
vehicle. Carl followed. While he went to the back of the SUV, Jackie opened the passenger door. She lifted Spencer off the floor and carried him to the house.
Gabby nearly jumped out of Wyatt’s arms. “Doggy.”
He let her down so she could pet the canine.
Jackie’s blue eyes twinkled as she squatted with the dog in her arms. “His name’s Spencer. He’s an English bulldog.”
Gabby squealed with delight.
Carl hefted a big black duffel bag out of the back of the SUV and carried it to the smaller house across the driveway.
“You’re both invited over for some meat loaf. It’s Jackie’s favorite,” Penny said.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go wash up.” Wyatt took Gabby by the hand and watched Penny lead her niece to the small house across the drive from the main house. Spencer trotted along behind them, leaving paw prints in the powdered snow.
As Wyatt led Gabby inside, she said, “I want a Spencer.”
He wasn’t surprised. He had a feeling there were many changes coming thanks to a certain blond guest.
And he wasn’t sure they were all going to be good.
He took one last glance out at the snowy night before closing the door and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day. With no dead bodies.
* * *
The next morning Jackie was up and out for a recon run by 6:00 am. The blizzard had calmed, and the morning sun gleamed on a fresh layer of snow. Thankfully, she’d heard enough about Wyoming winters from her aunt and uncle that she’d packed appropriate clothing for a winter run.
Unfamiliar with the terrain, she’d opted to stay on the dirt road she’d driven last night. Though a good two inches of new powder covered the road, she didn’t have any trouble discerning the path.
The magnificent landscape reminded her of a painting. The dark had hidden the blanket of white stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees or outcropping of rocks. Off in the distance, majestic mountains rose like fingers pointing skyward, as if to remind her to look toward heaven.
Her breath puffed out in a small cloud in the frigid air. “Lord, thank You for the beauty all around me. Thank You for Your protection every day. Lord, I ask for Your guidance.”
Because she didn’t know what to make of Wyatt or the situation. Someone tried to frame him for murder, but they’d done a sloppy job, which led her to believe it wasn’t a very thought-out plan. Whoever was behind this wasn’t organized and didn’t really know what they were doing.
Was this some sort of personal vendetta against Wyatt? Or more of a spur-of-the-moment attempt by the killer to camouflage his identity? Was it someone on the ranch? Or could Wyatt have killed George and tried to make it look like a setup?
So many questions, but she had two weeks to figure it out. And she would. For her aunt and uncle. For that cute little freckled girl. And for the brooding, albeit handsome, rancher who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his wide shoulders.
When she’d left the house, she’d seen a couple of men already up and working in the barn and a few more in the big equipment shed. She’d taken a cursory look around. Asked a few questions of the hands. None had anything of use to tell her. None owned a motorcycle or knew of anyone who’d have been out the night before.
She’d asked Uncle Carl last night if he knew of anyone who owned a motorbike, but he didn’t. She hadn’t told them about the bike following them. She didn’t want them to worry any more than they already were. She doubted anyone had slept well. She hadn’t, which was another reason she’d needed the run. To clear the cobwebs from her brain.
At the four-mile mark on her pedometer, she turned around, heading back toward the ranch house. A shadow overhead grabbed her attention. She slowed her pace to watch a low-flying prop plane. She kept her eyes on the plane, noting that the aircraft flew in a grid pattern over the land. Back and forth, back and forth. She’d heard of cattle ranchers surveying their herds via the air. Maybe Wyatt had someone keeping watch over his cattle and horses from above.
She returned to the house to find Aunt Penny up and dressed. Spencer was waiting at the door. He sniffed her feet before losing interest and disappearing around the corner of the living room.
“You’re up early,” Penny said. “Would you like coffee?”
“Please.”
“Do you run every day?”
“Most days.” She sipped from the blue-and-white ceramic mug of steaming coffee Penny handed to her. “So what’s the story with Wyatt and the sheriff? Uncle Carl said there’s bad blood between them.”
Penny pressed her lips together to form a tight line. “Sheriff Landers is Wyatt’s stepfather.”
“Ah.” That explained why the sheriff had been both antagonistic yet reasonable. He could have easily pushed to keep Wyatt locked up until morning at least—or longer if he’d wanted to be a real pain. But he hadn’t. Because of their family connection, no doubt. Though she’d sensed tension between them.
“Where is Wyatt’s dad?”
“He passed on a decade ago.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door. Penny set her coffee in the sink before moving to answer the knock. Gabby and Wyatt stood on the threshold, bundled up for the walk across the driveway.
Gabby entered with an abundance of exuberance to see Spencer. “Here, doggy, doggy. Spencer.” She disappeared into the living room with Penny hot on her heels.
Wyatt gave Jackie an apologetic smile. “Hope you don’t mind. She was dying to come see your dog.”
“Not at all. Spencer will love the attention.” She set her mug on the counter. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, I’ve already had two cups.” He eyed her running gear. “Exercising?”
“Running helps get me going in the morning.”
“You came prepared.”
“I did.” She remembered what she’d seen on her run. “Do you have a plane surveying your cattle and horses?”
A scowl darkened his gaze. “No. But I know the one you’re talking about. The white plane with the blue stripe. I’ve seen it occasionally. More so lately. Flies pretty low.”
“That’s it. If he’s not flying on your behalf, I wonder what he’s doing.”
“Beats me. I can’t control the airspace over the ranch.”
“Worth checking on. There’s gotta be some federal regulations about low-flying aircraft,” she commented.
He shrugged. “Could be. I’ll check into it. I’ve got work to do. Ranch won’t run itself.” With that, he tipped his hat and then headed toward the kitchen door.
“Wyatt.”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
“Be careful. Make sure you’re always with someone. Or two or three someones.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “I can take care of myself.”
Her mouth quirked. His ego was a bit touchy. She’d have to remember that. “I’m sure you can. But you don’t want to leave yourself open to another frame job. Or, worst-case scenario, leave Gabby on her own.”
Her meaning dawned in his dark eyes. “Right.” He tipped his hat and walked out.
Every instinct told her to get up and follow him. As a bodyguard, her first priority was always to keep the protectee within reach. But he wasn’t her protectee. He wasn’t her client.
She’d come here with the promise to her aunt and uncle that she’d keep an eye on the investigation into who killed George Herman. Though thinking about who they were and why they’d tried to frame Wyatt for the murder burned in her veins like molten lava.
Her dormant investigative skills clamored to be put to work. They were skills she hadn’t had to use often since leaving the Atkins County sheriff’s department and going to work for Trent Associates as a protection specialist. G
uarding people rarely required investigating murder.
She made her way to the living room and stopped in the arched doorway. Gabby sat on the floor with Spencer’s head on her lap while Aunt Penny read her a story from a thick volume of children’s classics. Seeing the child and dog so cozy made Jackie’s heart twist in her chest. Her gaze moved to her aunt, to the contented expression on her lined face.
Jackie was glad God had brought this little girl into her aunt and uncle’s life. Yearning gnawed at her as strong as hunger. Maybe someday God would give Jackie a little girl, too.
But first she would need a husband.
After her debacle with Jarrod, she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of looking for one. Finding a husband meant putting her heart on the line again. It would take a special man to coax her to venture toward marriage. As of yet, God hadn’t brought such a man into her life. Maybe He never would.
Quietly she turned away from the touching sight and headed upstairs to shower and dress for the day.
An hour later, she headed outside dressed in thick wool cargo pants, a Dri-FIT T-shirt beneath a fleece pullover, a parka and insulated boots. She walked to the barn in search of Wyatt.
She came across her uncle in one of the stalls with a huge, beautiful black stallion. He pawed at the ground as Uncle Carl brushed his coat.
Leaning on the stall door, Jackie said, “He’s gorgeous. What’s his name?”
Carl smiled. “Alexander. He’s a studhorse. We’re getting him ready for a live cover in a few weeks.”
“Do I want to know what that is?” she asked.
He laughed. “Making baby horses.”
“Ah. Enough said.” She glanced around. “Have you seen Wyatt?”
“May not be back from feeding the cattle.”
The scuff of a boot on dirt alerted Jackie just as Wyatt said, “I’m right here.”
Jackie turned around to find herself nose to chest with Wyatt. The scent of him, spicy and masculine, sent a shiver sliding over her. She tilted her head back. “Careful, cowboy. Sneaking up on me could get you hurt.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a slight twitch to his lips.