Rancher's Covert Christmas

by Beth Cornelison

  “Here’s the thing,” Mr. Garrison said, pushing his plate away and folding his arms over his chest. “There’s not a person I’ve talked to who can imagine a good reason for the Double M to have been targeted. Rumors have been circulated that it’s an inside job. It’s no secret that Roy Summers went to rehab a few months back. Some folks say he committed the vandalism while in a drunken stupor. But even drunk, Roy Summers is one of the most loyal men I know. He and his boy, Brady, are like family to the McCalls.”

  Mr. Finklebine snorted. “They are family now that Piper and Brady got hitched.”

  Mr. Garrison swept one hand toward his friend. “There you go. They are family.”

  “I heard the sheriff was looking into the possibility that Michael—that’d be Zane’s father—” Mr. Finklebine added, looking over the top of his glasses as he leaned toward Erin “—might be behind it all for the insurance money.”

  Her chest tightened, knowing how badly Michael had taken those suspicions and the lengths he was going to in order to clear his name and save his business, his family. Erin worked to hide her feelings about that theory. She cleared her throat. “How do you feel about that possibility?”

  Finklebine scoffed. “If Michael McCall’s committing insurance fraud, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “I don’t believe it, either. Not for a second,” Mr. Garrison echoed.

  “So then...do you two have any theories?” she asked, noticing from the corner of her eye that Zoe had brought out her and Zane’s food.

  “Well...” Mr. Garrison knitted his brow, a deeply thoughtful expression molding his face. “I’ve wondered if some big corporate outfit could be trying to buy out the Double M and Michael won’t sell.”

  “I hear the mafia is into every kind of business these days.” Mr. Finklebine wagged his finger at her. “It could be some crooked big-money corporation or the mafia.”

  Erin kept a straight face. Barely. She’d seen crazy hypotheses borne out before, but the notion that the mafia had decided to drive the Double M out of business was a bit far-fetched to her. She tapped her lips with a finger and nodded.

  Over Mr. Garrison’s shoulder, she could see Zane trying to catch her attention with a small wave. “Gentlemen, my meal has arrived, but it was lovely speaking to you both.” She slid them each one of her faux writer business cards with her cell number. “If you think of anything that might be useful to me concerning the McCalls or their ranch, please reach out to me. I’ll be in the area for a few more days and would love to treat you to a cup of coffee in exchange for your ideas.”

  Both men pocketed the cards, and Mr. Garrison stood when she did. “Pleasure meeting you, ma’am. Good luck with your article.”

  * * *

  “We’ve got trouble.” He paced the floor, his gut in knots as he reported in to his blackmailer.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a woman at the ranch. A reporter of some kind. She’s asking lots of questions, nosing around.”

  He heard a terse expletive then a strained silence.

  “What kind of questions is she asking? What news outlet is she from?”

  “Some travel magazine, I think. Supposedly she’s doing a thing about the adventure company, but her questions have included the incidents I set up. She’s pokin’ her nose in all aspects of the business and family history.”

  His blackmailer grunted. “Then you do have a problem. Your job is to see that nothing she learns comes back to me. Because if I go down, I’m taking you with me. And murder is a whole lot bigger deal than anything that can get pinned on me.”

  He plowed his fingers through hair damp with flop sweat. “It wasn’t murder!” Then realizing how loud he’d become, he choked down his panic and grated through clenched teeth, “It was an accident.”

  “It was a death caused by your negligence. And you left the scene. Between the two charges, you’ll do serious time, my friend.”

  His gut roiled. His blackmailer was no friend. A friend didn’t put your nuts in a vise and force you to hurt people you valued and respected. Family.

  Not for the first time, he considered going to the cops himself, confessing what he’d done, taking the lumps. Before this went any further. Before anyone got hurt. Before anyone else got hurt, rather.

  But the thought of life inside a prison cell made him sick to his stomach. Claustrophobic. He needed the outdoors, the fresh air and wide-open spaces of ranch life. He’d die on the inside. Maybe that was what he deserved, but he wasn’t ready to concede that fate. Yet. Maybe he could fix this. Maybe he could meet his blackmailer’s demands and still find a way to fix the damage he’d caused.

  Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. When had he become such a pushover?

  He squeezed his eyes shut, self-loathing a living thing clawing his heart.

  “What do I do?” he asked. He really didn’t want to hear how his blackmailer expected him to handle the reporter. He’d been talking to himself, asking a rhetorical question.

  But his blackmailer took the query at face value and said flatly, “Deal with her.”

  His pulse stuttered. “What do you mean?” he asked, stunned. But he had a horrible sense that he knew exactly what the demand implied.

  He heard a sound outside—voices—and knew he had to get off the phone. Quick.

  His blackmailer huffed impatiently. “Do I have to spell it out? We can’t let some snooping bitch ruin everything now. Get rid of her, whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 7

  “So did you learn anything interesting?” Zane shoved his napkin in his lap and arched one eyebrow as Erin stirred her soup.

  “Well, your family has an excellent reputation in town.” She paused to sip from her spoon. “And Mr. Finklebine has a theory that the sabotage at the Double M is the work of the mafia.”

  Zane choked on the soup he’d just swallowed. Grabbing his napkin, he covered his mouth as he half coughed, half laughed. “Pardon?”

  She tugged her lips into a wry grin. “You heard me right.” She leaned toward him, across the table, whispering, “The mafia.”

  “Wow. That’s...” He screwed his face in a frown of amused disbelief.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She sipped her drink then added, “You’ll be happy to know I didn’t get any more tales about tainted baseball gloves or beer behind the barn.”

  Zane took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. Then crooking a finger for her to come close again, he leaned across the table. “What Mr. Garrison doesn’t know is that I’m the one who convinced his sons not to put the Bengay in Freddy’s jock strap. It coulda been worse.”

  Erin covered her mouth as she laughed, and Zane’s heart lifted at the melodious sound. The mirth in her eyes rivaled the lights on Zoe’s gaudy Christmas tree. He felt a lightness in his soul as he shared lunch with Erin that he hadn’t known in a long time. Too long.

  She blew on a spoonful of soup and sipped it. “Tell me about Piper’s stalker. Where is he now?”

  And just like that the light disappeared behind a cloud. Zane set his sandwich on the plate and chewed slowly, deciding how much and what to tell Erin. “He’s in prison back in Massachusetts, where he’d committed a murder.”

  Erin’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Murder? Did he hurt Piper? How was he caught?”

  “Long story. He scared her, scared us all pretty good, but she wasn’t harmed physically. He nearly killed Roy, Brady and Connor though.”

  “Seriously?” Erin blinked and leaned toward him. “What happened?”

  Zoe arrived at their table to refill their drinks and bring their check, sparing him from going into the grisly details of that nightmarish chapter of his family’s recent past. Or so he thought. As soon as Zoe stepped away from the table, Erin’s questions continued.

  “Is there any chance this stalker is responsible for the sabotage events at the ranch?”r />
  Feeling the first pulses of a headache coming on, he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “No. The police have looked into that.”

  She nodded. “And the police eliminated him because...?”

  Zane groaned his frustration.

  “I know. Stubborn. Right?” She grinned unrepentantly. “Humor me.”

  “All right! But then we change the subject, because none of this helps your research for your article.” Zane poked at his sandwich but didn’t pick it up. The reminder of how he’d nearly lost his sister and some of his closest friends just over a year ago had squelched his appetite. “He lived in Boston and worked with Piper. He has solid alibis for all of the incidents except the burning of our alfalfa field. He copped to everything he did in stalking Piper as part of a plea deal, but he vehemently denied any part of burning the field. In fact, he may have seen the saboteur, and he gave a vague description of someone he saw in that field while he was spying on Piper and the ranch.”

  Erin perked up. “He saw the vandal?”

  “Allegedly. But his description was so general as to be useless. A man in blue jeans and a cowboy hat. That describes half the population of Boyd Valley.” Zane rubbed his sternum, behind which his acid reflux had returned. He’d kept mum about the irritating health issues he’d started having lately. The family had enough to worry about without telling them he’d started having bad heartburn, headaches and sleeplessness. He was pretty sure they were simply a result of his constant aggravation over the ranch finances and concern for his father’s high blood pressure. “Can we go back to discussing my misspent youth now?”

  “Hmm, good point,” she said, arching an eyebrow and tapping a fingernail on her glass of diet cola. “Have you considered that Freddy Brown could be your vandal, seeking retribution for the Bengay incident?”

  “Seriously?”

  She flipped up a palm. “It makes as much sense as anything else. And more sense than the mafia.”

  Zane stirred his soup idly, thinking about her suggestion. “It’s not Freddy. His family moved away when we were all in sixth grade.”

  The tinkling of the bells over the front door signaled a new arrival to the restaurant, and when he saw who entered, his heartburn blazed hotter.

  * * *

  Gill Carver. His loan officer. Aka local pain-in-the-ass, burr-under-his-saddle and all-around source of ill-will. He couldn’t help the moan of displeasure that rumbled in his throat.

  Erin frowned. “What?”

  “Don’t look, but trouble just walked in.”

  She started to turn, despite his warning, and he grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t...”

  But Gill had spotted him and moseyed up to their table, his gaze falling to Zane’s grip on Erin’s wrist. “Ma’am, is this fella bothering you?”

  She raised her eyes to Gill. “Excuse me?”

  Gill turned to Zane. “You have to hog-tie or manhandle your dates to get them to stay through the whole meal these days, Zane?”

  Instead of releasing Erin’s arm, he turned his hand so he could lace his fingers with hers and gently stroke the underside of her wrist with his thumb. “What’s the matter, Gill? Don’t recognize affection and petting when you see it?”

  “Gill?” Erin asked. “You’re Gill Carver?”

  Zane shot Erin a startled look. The woman had an excellent memory.

  Gill’s expression was equally surprised. “I am.” He extended his hand for her to shake. “And you are...?”

  “Erin Palmer.” She untangled her hand from Zane’s to shake Gill’s.

  Zane immediately missed the contact.

  “I’m using the excuse of writing an article about the McCall Adventure Ranch to renew an old romance with Zane.” She winked at Zane. “Right, babe?”

  God bless her for following his lead. Zane felt a funny catch in his chest when she used the term of endearment and a matching tone of voice.

  “An article on the adventure ranch?” Gill faked a jaw-cracking yawn. “Ma’am, you can find a lot of things way more interesting than his failure of a business.”

  “It hasn’t failed,” Zane said through clenched teeth, though he struggled to keep his tone civil. The last thing he wanted was to escalate a confrontation with Gill in front of Erin. In the past, he’d prided himself on being the most levelheaded of his siblings in dealing with the menace that was Gill Carver. Some days it was harder than others. “We’re restructuring and will open in a few months.”

  “So you’ve said, but that remains to be seen.” Gill flashed a smug grin.

  “You have reason to believe they won’t reopen?” Erin furrowed her brow and tipped her head in query. “Why is that?”

  Gill lifted a shoulder. “Just a theory. Word on the street is the Double M and everyone on it are circling the drain.”

  In his lap, Zane fisted his hand. Must. Not. Punch. Gill.

  “Interesting,” Erin said, putting her hand on her chin as if deep in thought. “From what I’ve heard since I arrived, the McCalls have a first-class operation and are widely respected in town. Everything I’ve been told indicates they expect to pull through these rough times and come out stronger than before.”

  A muscle in Gill’s cheek twitched, and his eyes grew cold. “You’ve been drinking the punch they’re serving out at the Double M, huh? I thought journalists were supposed to be unbiased.”

  Zane caught her almost imperceptible flinch. He was prepared to come to Erin’s defense, put Gill in his place, but Erin got there first. “And I’d have thought a loan officer would want his clients’ business to succeed. I mean, if nothing else, I’d think there would be ethical issues at stake if not legal.”

  Gill stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

  Erin scoffed. “Just asking a question. That’s what journalists do.” She looked puzzled for a moment then added, “Why? Do you feel threatened?”

  Zane mustered all his composure to keep from laughing or cheering...or kissing Erin on the lips. He needn’t have worried about her. Clearly she could take care of herself.

  Gill squared his shoulders and divided a glare between Zane and Erin. Zane held his loan officer’s gaze, silently daring him to push him further, to give him cause to break a few teeth. Instead, Gill took a step back and jerked a nod, his expression cold. “A pleasure, as always, to see you, McCall,” he said in a tone that contradicted him. “Enjoy your meal.”

  Zane remained silent as Gill marched away and took a table on the opposite side of the dining room.

  “So...that’s Gill,” Erin said, studying Zane over the rim of her glass as she sipped diet cola.

  “Yup.” Zane took a deep, restorative breath, trying to shake loose the tension coiled in his chest.

  “You’re right. He’s an ass.”

  He raised his cup of coffee to her in a toast. “You were magnificent, by the way. Bravo.”

  She scowled and shook her head. “No. I let him get to me. I was unprofessional. I’m supposed to remain neutral. Objective. But I let him get under my skin.”

  “Gill’s good at getting under people’s skin. He’s like a chigger that way. Don’t kick yourself.”

  “What he is is a bully. He wanted to get a rise out of us, and I gave him what he was angling for. I know better.”

  “I’ve been trying to be the voice of reason with my siblings and Brady for the last fifteen or more years in regard to Gill. But some days he pushes all the right buttons and...” He exhaled through pursed lips, making his lips buzz. “When he started in on you, I was this close—” he held his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart “—to serving him a knuckle sandwich.”

  A startled, somewhat awed, expression crossed her face. “Really? You were going to fight him to defend me?”

  “Hell, yeah. No one insults a lady in my presence and gets away wi
th it. But when I saw you had everything in hand, I ceded to your less violent and probably more effective means of putting him in his place.” He ducked his chin toward her. “Good job.”

  Her gaze shifted across the room, presumably to Gill, though Zane had his back to Gill’s table and wasn’t going to turn to look.

  “He’s so openly hostile to you,” she said quietly, her tone and expression contemplative.

  “Yeah—why?”

  “His attitude toward your family makes him such a natural, obvious suspect in the sabotage.” She met his gaze, her brow dented in concern. “Too obvious, really. Why would he draw attention to himself like that if he had something to hide?”

  Zane tensed. “Because he’s an ass, and he can’t help himself?” He paused, sighing. “Erin, like I’ve said, that’s not your concern. I don’t want your article to be about our problems. I don’t want you to waste your energy digging into matters best left to the sheriff.” He covered her hand with his again to emphasize his point, but the contact sent electricity through him. He took a moment to recover from the shock that rippled through him when he touched her silky skin, then whispered hoarsely, “Please. Drop it. For me?”

  Her gaze clung to his, her evergreen eyes softening with his request. As he’d done when Gill appeared, now she flipped her hand and laced their fingers. “Have you considered that I want to help you figure this mess out? Maybe I can bring an outside perspective that will clarify things that have escaped your notice. Why not let me help where I can?”

  “I appreciate your concern. I do.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “But you’re a travel writer, not a cop. And the last thing our family needs is for you to poke a hornets’ nest or put yourself in harm’s way by asking questions and forming hypotheses that aren’t part of your article.”

  A shadow passed over her face, and he could tell by the way she caught her breath and bit her bottom lip that she was deciding how to respond.