by Geri Krotow
“The sheriff will be right out.” Halle’s eyes met his briefly before they moved back to the gruesome scene.
“Don’t look at it, Halle.”
“Ernie was mine. I owe it to him to see this through.” She abruptly stood, leaving Alastair swinging. Before he could reach out to stop her, she leaned over the butchered animal, her hand grabbing what looked like a piece of paper that had been wedged into the screen door.
“A note. The bastard.” Halle held up a business-sized envelope for him to see and he watched her tear it open and pull out a sheet of paper, along with a pink handkerchief.
“Halle, leave it—it could be evidence for the sheriff.”
She paid no heed and stared at the letter, her expression grim and unyielding. She should have looked ridiculous, the infuriated ranch owner on whom someone played a vicious, awful prank. Her hair was a wild reddish mane about her, her crushed dress stained with blood on the hem, her dainty sandals standing in the blood that had started to congeal on the porch floor. Instead, Halle Ford was the embodiment of a Celtic warrior princess. His avenging angel.
Alastair knew in that moment that he was screwed. It wasn’t the fact that he reacted so strongly to Halle’s suffering. That he could chalk up to compassion, or even concern for the mother of his child. What clued him in that he’d passed the point of any possible emotional detachment from Halle was his heart’s anguish.
Chapter 10
Halle stared at the blood note. Literally, a blood note, written in Ernie’s, no doubt. She turned it around to show Alastair the one red word, “SELL.”
“This wasn’t just some kid’s prank, Alastair. And this pink handkerchief? It’s the type that Livia Colton uses. Except she’s dead.”
Alastair actually blanched, or was that a grimace? Her tough Scottish husband didn’t strike her as squeamish. So was he holding back his deeper feelings about the slaughter? He hadn’t balked at the grade-B horror movie scene on her front steps, but a word written in blood about a ranch that wasn’t anything to him yet made him look as green as she’d felt these past weeks?
Halle couldn’t stop the laughter if she wanted to. Alastair was immediately at her side, his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, Halle. This is shock.”
“No, no, it’s not, Alastair. This is me laughing at the ridiculousness of this. This is the first time I haven’t felt sick to my stomach and you’re the one who looks like you’re going to blow chunks at any moment!” She bent over with the giggles, hoping she didn’t find herself needing to pee because getting to the bathroom with a dead steer’s head in her way would be awkward at best.
Which only made her laugh more.
Alastair backed away but not before taking the note and handkerchief from her. He held both by their tippy-top corners and laid them on the porch swing. As soon as she could, she used the tissue he’d handed her to wipe the tears from her eyes, marveling that the lavender-scented object hadn’t disintegrated after so much use. But it wasn’t a paper tissue; it was a white linen handkerchief. Lace trimmed, with an elaborately embroidered B on one corner. It didn’t feel starched but soft with wear, and the ivory shade indicated age. “Alastair, is this a family heirloom?”
A quick flash of the North Sea as he looked at her. “My great-grandmother’s. My great-great-grandmother gave it to her in a set when she married into the Buchanan clan. The grandmother I told you about gave it to me, for my future bride. My sister has one, too.” Thoughtfulness, a softening of his features before he focused back on the creepy note.
“And you let me blow my nose in it?”
“Halle. You have a severed cow’s head on your front door with a note from someone telling you to sell. My great-grandmother’s handkerchief and how it will get laundered is the least of our problems. It’s lasted over a century and a half, it’ll last another day.”
“I forgot about how Europeans take history for granted. And it’s a steer. Not a cow.”
“Come here, babe.” He opened his arms and she went, telling herself it was for moral support and that her heart hadn’t pulsed at his Scottish endearment. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, which was the perfect height for her. Strong arms held her close and when he started to caress between her shoulders she relaxed into him. “That’s it, just let it all go. We’re going to find out who did this and they’ll get their comeuppance.”
“You sound like Mary Poppins.” She murmured into his ivory shirt, the silk tie smooth and cool against her cheeks. Grasping his lapels, she looked up at him as they stood on the battered porch, turned away from the grisly greeting that had welcomed them home. “I think I need more than a spoonful of sugar to get through this, Alastair.”
He grinned and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re not alone, Halle.”
They were still standing in their embrace when the first sounds of the sheriff’s vehicle reached Halle’s ears. She lifted her head and saw the telltale plume of dust rising behind the car. In spite of the heavy rains of the last couple of weeks, the dirt had dried enough on the surface to allow brown clouds to form around his approach.
“I take it that’s the sheriff?” Alastair’s arms remained around her, as if he didn’t want to let go any more than she did.
Reluctantly Halle pulled away. “Yes. It’s Jimbo McCroy. I went to high school with him.”
“Is there anyone in Shadow Creek you don’t know?”
“Actually, Jimbo is the Sheriff of Creek County, but we’re all a tight community. He works closely with the Shadow Creek Sheriff, Knox Colton, my friend Allison’s husband. We’re all very close in these parts. That’s how I know word of our being married is going to get out quickly.” And she had an awful feeling that their marriage had somehow set off this awful event.
The car turned on a dime and came to a halt perpendicular to the front porch. Halle thought the former high school athlete was overkilling it on the driving but kept it to herself. Right now, they needed help from the law.
Looking every bit the tall, studly Texan that he was, Jimbo got out and strolled over to them, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. Halle suspected he was balding as she never saw him without the Stetson.
“Hey, Halle, honey. Bring it on in here.” Jimbo held out his arms and Halle stepped off the porch to give him a friendly hug. Of course Jimbo had to show off his still fantastically built body and hugged her high, lifting her off her feet. Her breasts squashed against his chest and she looked at her former classmate with chagrin. “Really, Jimbo?”
White teeth flashed as he set her down and let out a laugh. “Halle, you haven’t changed a bit. Don’t ever, darlin’. Look at you—you’re so pretty in that dress. Oh, sorry about the blood. I haven’t seen you since your daddy passed. How you making out, other than today’s fiasco?”
“I’m good, Jimbo.” Alastair walked silently up next to her. She felt his heat shimmer off his body, and suspected it wasn’t desire but something else aimed at Jimbo. Alastair wasn’t jealous, why would he be? It had to be his anger at the situation.
“Jimbo McCroy.” The former football star stuck out his overdeveloped forearm and Alastair accepted the handshake.
“Alastair Buchanan.”
“Alastair’s my husband.” Halle blurted out the truth before she could think. Jimbo was bound to find out soon enough, if he hadn’t already. They’d had a civil ceremony at the courthouse, for God’s sake. News never traveled slower than the speed of a pinto in Shadow Creek.
The pronouncement was enough to cause Jimbo to tilt his hat back, revealing a large, smooth forehead against which his brows rose with incredulity. “So I heard. I’ll admit it was a bit of a surprise when I read about it this morning. Not that Halle hasn’t been on the wish list of a long line of Shadow Creek guys. Congratulations!” A gentleman at heart, Jimbo leaned in and gave Ha
lle a kiss on the cheek, then turned to Alastair and clapped him on the shoulder while shaking his hand again. “Congratulations and welcome to Creek County and Shadow Creek, Alastair.”
“Thank you.” Alastair found his voice before Halle, and she wondered if his teeth appeared clenched because he was angry at her. It was the second time she’d revealed their quickie wedding. Even though he’d said he hadn’t expected it to stay secret, Alastair was accustomed to confidential business dealings. He’d learn quickly that nothing in Shadow Creek was a secret for very long.
“What did you mean by you ‘read’ about it, Jimbo?” Alastair’s question was fair.
“It’s on Everything’s Blogger in Texas. They list everything from burglaries to births. That’s where you saw it, Jimbo?”
“Yes, read it there about two minutes after you said ‘I do.’ You two are a good-looking couple. How’d you meet?”
“Mutual acquaintances. Jeremy Kincaid and his wife, Adeline.” Alastair’s clipped response had the tone of “none of your Texas beeswax, Jimbo.”
“Wow, so you’re a bud of Jeremy’s.” Jimbo stuck his thumbs in his gun holster. “There’s a classmate who’s made it big, for sure.”
Halle wasn’t about to reveal that Alastair was in fact ten, twenty times richer than Jeremy. It wasn’t anyone’s business, and even though she trusted Jimbo, she had her child to think of now. Their child. She looked at Alastair and dug deep to offer a sunshiny smile. “We did a trail ride together and the rest is history, isn’t it, babe?” Using his earlier Scottish sentiment came naturally. Too easily. She’d worry about that later. Besides, it was probably the shock of the morning. Poor, poor Ernie.
“So, when did you come back to Bluewood?”
“Just now, maybe twenty minutes ago.” Alastair spoke with command. Again, she had a sense of this relationship becoming far more than a parenting agreement.
“And you came home to this crap. I am sorry, Halle. Let me go take a look. I’ll shoot some photos, collect evidence.”
“Have there been any other pranks like this lately?” Halle prayed there had been but couldn’t shake the very personal feeling of this. Someone wanted her out of Shadow Creek, Bluewood shut down.
“No, save for some cow-tipping on the dairy farms east of here. Usually the teens leave the longhorns alone. But don’t you worry. It usually doesn’t get much safer or quieter than Shadow Creek, Halle. You know that.” He scratched his forearm. “But that’s changed since Livia Colton stirred things up, hasn’t it?”
She knew he referred to things like hit and runs that took away her father before his time, before she was ever ready to let go of him. He was too polite to spell it out.
Jimbo walked up to the porch. Halle and Alastair stayed in the small front yard, giving the sheriff space to do his job without distraction.
Alastair faced her squarely. “He’s awfully friendly. I take it you were more than school chums?”
Halle looked at Alastair’s guarded expression. And laughed. “Please tell me you’re not doing some kind of testosterone jig over Jimbo. We were never more than classmates. He comes off as overly affectionate, is all. I didn’t date football players.” No, she’d always gone for the more intellectual types. The bright, quiet boys who grew up to become brilliant doctors or engineers. Or entrepreneurs. Like Alastair.
“How long has he been in law enforcement?”
“Forever. I think he took criminal justice on his football scholarship to A&M, and he was on the Austin PD for a long while. Here in the States, sheriffs are usually elected and are at the county level. While my address says ‘Shadow Creek,’ Bluewood is actually outside of the town’s limits, in the jurisdiction of Creek County.”
“He had to run a political campaign to be sheriff?” The muscles in Alastair’s jaw were so taut Halle’s fingers itched to see if she could pluck them like a violin.
“Yes, but it’s not like any other political position. A lot of times the sheriff runs unopposed, and no one cares much which political party he represents. They just want someone competent in the office. Someone who understands the locals and the conditions of the land out here.”
“Hey, did either of you touch this note or the handkerchief?” Jimbo held the blood-written note with two latex-gloved fingers, an evidence bag in his other hand.
“We both did, but we were careful to handle them on the edges. I did touch the back of the letter, though, before Alastair reminded me not to.” Halle felt stupid that she’d contaminated evidence.
“Okay, no worries but I’ll need to get both of your prints before I leave, for comparison.”
“He’s not getting my fingerprints.” Alastair spoke through tight lips.
“He’s not going to steal your identity or anything, Alastair. Unless, oh boy.” She took a deep gulp of air, chose her words carefully. “You’re not doing anything illegal now, or in the past, with this huge business you run, are you?” She knew that it was hard to keep a large corporation like the Clyde Whiskey conglomerate completely clean. She’d read enough suspense novels and kept up with international business news as a hobby. Dreaming that Bluewood might one day become its own huge business.
“I’m not a damned criminal, Halle. So the answer is no, my business isn’t dirty. Not in the least. This is about the security measures I’ve been trying to distill for you in digestible chunks. If my fingerprints get out into a large system like the United States government database, someone could hack them and then get into other parts of my identity.”
Halle had had enough of Alastair’s billionaire worries. “Hey, Jimbo, will you put our prints into a big database?”
“Huh? No, no way. That’s against the law and privacy acts. I can only take your prints with your permission and you’ll sign a release to allow the Sheriff’s Department to use them only for the sake of comparison. Then we destroy them.” He sealed the second zipper top plastic bag, the pink handkerchief mocking Halle’s sanity. “To be honest, I’d bet my paycheck that we’ll only find your prints here. Whoever did this doesn’t want to get caught, trust me.”
“How can you be certain? Don’t mentally ill people do things like this? It could be a cry for help.” Alastair’s comment sounded good to Halle. And she wanted to believe it—that this wasn’t anything real. On her wedding day, of all times.
Jimbo shook his head. “First, they had to know enough about Texas livestock to be able to wrangle this steer out of your paddock without hurting themselves. Second, they butchered the poor guy in cold blood, and if it’s their third time doing so, it’s a felony in Texas. At the very least they’re facing a misdemeanor and stiff fine. Third, they left a threatening note and are trying to impersonate a dead woman with this pink cloth. That’s another felony of its own type. I’m going to have to dust the horns for prints, just in case, and send them off to the lab for blood analysis, to make sure it’s just cow’s blood all over the place. We don’t have fancy lab facilities here in Creek County. Have you had any other types of similar, smaller incidents around the ranch lately?” Jimbo directed his query to Halle.
“No, nothing like this.” Ever. Which was why her insides were quaking.
Jimbo spoke as he worked. “Is Charlie working today, Halle?”
“He was here earlier, along with one of the part-time hands.”
“Have one of them come up here and clean this up.”
“I told them to take the rest of today off, on account of the wedding. Besides, I want to bury Ernie properly. He was more than another head of cattle.”
“Understood. Which brings me to another ugly question—where’s the rest of Ernie?”
Halle hadn’t felt even a twinge of nausea since they’d pulled up to the house all hot and bothered, ready to do the horizontal two-step like two lust-struck teens. But when Jimbo reminded her of the dreadful way Ernie had met his de
mise, she couldn’t stop the ubiquitous queasiness.
Her morning sickness had paid an afternoon visit.
Chapter 11
Alastair’s anger simmered long and hot as he and Jimbo walked out to the pasture. This was too much for her, between the morning sickness and finding her steer slaughtered.
And despite Halle’s protestations to the contrary, Sheriff Jimbo seemed awfully friendly for a simple secondary-school friend. They stopped and stood next to one another in the field just outside of Bluewood’s paddock. They’d found the rest of Ernie. He’d been left like shark chum in the middle of the pasture where Halle’s other livestock usually grazed.
“Mr. Ford, Halle’s dad, used to have this pasture chock-full of cattle.” Jimbo snapped photos with his phone, talking as he went.
“If it’s up to me, she’ll have it full again.”
Jimbo paused and gave him a hard look. “I hope you mean it, Alastair. Halle’s good people, and she did right by her daddy. She left a lucrative career in Austin to come home and manage the ranch, to keep the family business going. You don’t see a lot of us doing that any longer. She deserves the best.”
Alastair remained silent. He wanted to call Jimbo out for posing as a new friend when in reality he was obviously attracted to Halle and cared a great deal for her. Not that Alastair was threatened by that, or felt anything close to jealousy. He hardly knew Halle, certainly not well enough to be jealous, no matter how much he had the serious hots for her.
She’s your wife.
“Halle and I are going to turn the ranch around, make whatever changes are needed to return it to its best operating status.”
“Glad to hear it.” Jimbo shook his head. “Damn it, if this was a group of drunk kids, why did they have to pick Halle’s place? Of all the surrounding ranches, they went after Bluewood. And the note was clearly for her eyes only.”