To Trust a Rancher

by Debbi Rawlins

  She looked blankly at him. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “Good. That’s how I meant it.”

  He’d moved closer to her, close enough to take the two buckets out of her hands, and it occurred to him that she might’ve been stalling. One way to find out.

  He leaned in and kissed her. His lips on hers, nothing overly dramatic, just a test run. When he dropped the buckets and broke it off, she looked disappointed.

  Ryder pulled her into his arms and kissed her like he’d wanted to last night and all this morning. Hell, like he’d wanted to when they’d come back from town.

  She fit like she’d been designed to rest against his chest. Even with their damn coats. Which he wanted to unzip right now and throw on the haystack. But that might have to wait because the way she tasted, a little like peppermint and a lot like want, was absorbing all of his attention.

  A second later, she jerked back a bit, grabbed a breath, then tilted her head. But this time it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. Her nose bumped his, and it threw her off. She leaned back and looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

  He offered a little help and once he cupped her nape with his palm, they found their rhythm again. But he could feel how rapidly her heart was beating. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped. He wanted this to be the first of many, but he backed off just in case.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded quickly, a smile teasing her lips.

  “You don’t want to slap my face or anything?”

  She laughed, then leaned in and grabbed one more brief kiss. Her shy smile and that trademark blush told him everything was fine. Oddly, though, he was reminded of his early high school days with Maggie Weaver. With both of them new at making out, they’d fumbled around like eager puppies. Which was kind of crazy. Becca was twenty-five, and she had a child. Still, he had the feeling she wasn’t very experienced.

  For some stupid reason, the idea pleased him. He squeezed her hand, then picked up the biggest bucket. “We better get back in there before I get carried away.”

  Even in the barn’s dim light, Becca’s eyes shined. Yeah, there’d be more kissing. He touched her hair, stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  “How long have we been out here?” she whispered, her lids drifting closed.

  “Not long,” he said, amazed at the softness of her skin. He slipped his fingers into her hair and her breathy sigh skimmed his wrist. At the renewed urge to strip off both their jackets, he snapped out of it. “Maybe too long. Come on.”

  With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her out of the barn, grateful for the chilly air. His body needed to settle down before they reached the house.

  Thankfully, everyone was still in the kitchen. Becca stepped to the side as he studied the ceiling, trying to guesstimate if the huge fir would fit. Somehow, he’d make it happen. But not if his thoughts kept straying back to Becca and the kiss. When he glanced at her, he saw that she’d been staring at him. They smiled at each other.

  Then Lance walked out of the kitchen. “What can I do, boss?”

  Ryder finally got the bucket where it needed to be—not too close to the fireplace. “Help me move these two chairs,” he said, “so we can bring in the tree. Where’s Wiley?”

  “Getting something from the bunkhouse. He’ll be right back.”

  The setup was perfect. With help, he’d get that sucker inside. He turned for the door, just as someone knocked. He saw the tan uniform through the decorative glass and thought it might be Grace, but what would the sheriff be doing at their place?

  “Afternoon, Sheriff,” he said, as he opened the door. Ryder could see from her expression it wasn’t a holiday call. There was no doubt at all that it was bad news. Real bad news.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Becca started shaking the moment she saw the woman in uniform enter the living room. Nonononono screamed in her head.

  Gail came from the kitchen through the dining room, distracting Becca for a moment. Then Wiley burst through the front door, his breath coming out in heaves as he went to stand by Gail.

  Ryder, who looked tense but together, moved closer to Noah who was staring at the sheriff with his mouth open. She gave him a brief smile, a small nod at Becca, then addressed Ryder in a quiet voice. “We should speak in private.”

  He frowned absently, evidently lost in his own thoughts. “Sheriff, this is Becca Hartman, she’s a family friend. It’s okay for her to be here.”

  “Hi, I’m Grace,” the sheriff said, then glanced at Noah. “What about the boy?”

  “Becca, please stay,” Gail said, a beat behind, her voice shaky. She looked at Wiley.

  He looked torn, but then scooped up Noah. “Lance and me need some help figuring out where to put the outdoor lights, little man, and since you did such a great job choosing the tree...”

  Wiley already had him at the door, with Lance on his heels. A second later, the door closed behind them.

  “Why don’t we all take a seat?” Grace said.

  Ryder went to Gail’s side, and when her knees started to buckle, he helped her walk to the couch where he sat her down next to him, leaving space for Becca on his other side. His arm went around his mother.

  Grace took a seat on the edge of the chair across from the couch, her hat in her hands, her expression so full of sorrow there was no doubt what had happened—just the how.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” she began. “The LAPD believe they’ve found your daughter. Amy had her driver’s license on her and the picture was a match.”

  Gail’s cry filled the living room. It wrenched Becca’s heart, and she didn’t hear her own cry until the sob that followed.

  “How?” Ryder asked, his voice so low and cold it was like the north wind slicing into Becca’s skin.

  “Beaten and strangled, as far as they know. The medical examiner hasn’t issued a statement yet.”

  “Where did they find her?”

  “In a park close to the address listed on her license.”

  Ryder stared down for a moment. “I guess there’s no chance they made a mistake.” He looked up. “How did they know to contact you?”

  “She was in the system,” Grace said and cleared her throat. “She also had a couple of pictures on her. One of a little boy. And a high school yearbook photo of her and two friends that pointed them to Blackfoot Falls.”

  Becca gasped.

  It was Noah in that picture. Her Noah. Amy’s Noah.

  She doubled over on the couch, wracked with pain so deep the sound was trapped inside her chest, squeezing the life right out of her. The bastard had killed her. Becca knew he had. Yet she felt so utterly unprepared. As if she hadn’t suspected a thing. Hadn’t imagined this moment a hundred times.

  All she could see behind her closed eyes was Amy that last day, the determination to escape on her face. The way she’d looked at Noah.

  The front door opened. It was Wiley. “Otis has Noah,” he said. “He’s fine.” He went over to the couch and rested on the arm next to Gail. She lifted a trembling hand, and he grabbed it.

  Ryder nodded at the older man. “It’s about Amy.”

  Wiley didn’t look away from Gail, not even for a second. Her head was down as she quietly sobbed into her other hand.

  Becca, her vision blurred with tears, could barely believe how Ryder was so in control. How he wasn’t ripping the room to shreds.

  Briefly, he bowed his head. “Do they have any suspects?”

  “They didn’t say. Her body is with the Los Angeles County coroner’s office, where they’ll perform an autopsy. But they’ll need one of you to go and give an official identification before they can proceed.” Grace caught Ryder’s eye and some sort of silent communication passed between them.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Anything else?�
��

  Grace stood, taking a piece of paper out of her breast pocket and passing it to Ryder. “That’s the phone number and address of the coroner’s office. I’ve included the name and number of the investigating officer and my card with my cell phone number if you need anything.”

  Ryder rose, leaving Wiley to tend to his mother while he walked the sheriff to the door. “Thanks for coming, Grace. I know this wasn’t easy for you either.”

  “I’m just so sorry for all of you. I didn’t know Amy, but I’ve heard she was a nice person.” She hesitated at the door and glanced at Becca, who’d followed them. “Is there anyone else I can call?”

  “No,” he said, sounding bone-weary. “I’ll take care of everything from here.”

  “Look, Ryder, I don’t know you that well, but personally, let me just say, your mom shouldn’t go to LA.”

  “I know.”

  Grace shook his hand, nodded at Becca and left.

  “Wait.” Becca caught Ryder’s arm when he turned toward his mom. “I need to talk to you.”

  He gestured to give him a moment.

  They watched as Wiley helped Gail to her feet, put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, Gail. Let’s go get you a glass of water.”

  Ryder might’ve said something, done something to signal Wiley, but Gail didn’t put up much of a fight. Becca didn’t think she had anything left to fight with. But before Gail entered the kitchen, she turned to Ryder. “I’ll go,” she said, her voice older than her years. “I’ll go get ready.”

  It was quiet when Wiley helped her into the kitchen, releasing the swinging door behind him.

  As soon as they were alone, Becca said, “The sheriff is right. Your mom can’t go. And neither should you. I’ll go to LA and make the ID.” She moved her hand to her stomach, afraid she was going to be sick. “Amy won’t look how you remember her. She hasn’t been in good shape for a while.” She touched his arm. “Please. I don’t want that to be your last memory of her.”

  He looked into her eyes and she could see he wasn’t calm at all. His eyes were so full of shocked rage. “You left her. You knew she was in trouble, and you left her to face it alone. You should’ve told us the truth so I could have done something. I could have gone to get her. Brought her back. Put her into rehab. She’d still be alive.”

  Becca flinched. Some part of her brain knew she couldn’t have told them anything. She didn’t know where Amy was living or how she’d planned to get away from Derek. Becca had tried to help her, but their only communication had been on Amy’s terms. What was Becca supposed to have done? She hadn’t called the family because she’d believed Amy’s lies. And most important of all, Becca’s first concern had to be Noah.

  But she couldn’t say any of that to Ryder. “I’ll go to Los Angeles. I’ll identify her. And I’ll talk to the investigating officer.”

  “Oh,” he said, his voice like fire and ice, “you’re going all right. And so am I.”

  He turned his back on her and pushed open the kitchen door so hard she was surprised it didn’t break off the hinges.

  Becca ran to the bathroom, sure now that she was going to be sick. It seemed everything she’d feared had come true. Except it hadn’t occurred to her that Ryder could hate her so very much. That Gail would never want to look at her again. It was her fault. All of it. She should have tried harder, done more to get Amy free from the drugs and Derek.

  She landed on her knees, in front of the toilet, and even though she’d had a small breakfast, it burned coming up. Or maybe that was just what it felt like now to be her. Burning pain, scorching guilt.

  Finally, when there was nothing left in her, she washed her face, cleaned her mouth. She had to go out there. The only thought that made it possible to move was that Noah was safe. Her sacrifice was worth that, at least. Even if it wasn’t close to being enough.

  Stepping into the hallway, she passed the pictures of young Amy in the frames on the wall. Her tears started again, and she supposed they’d never stop. The living room was empty. The bucket for the Christmas tree was still by the front window.

  The kitchen door opened and Ryder emerged, shutting the door behind him.

  She walked over to him, stood as straight as possible in front of his condemning gaze. “I need to go back, anyway. Noah will come with me. I have someone to look after him while I take care of everything, so you can be here for your mother. You’re both wounded and grieving.”

  Ryder snorted. “You think I’d trust you to go alone? And besides, you don’t have time for your best friend’s funeral? You’re going to cut and run now? Bullshit. You’re coming with me. We’ll leave Noah right here.”

  It was a slap so hard it knocked her back to six days ago. Her panic was just as real as it had been when she’d done everything in her power to get Noah out of LA and beyond Derek’s reach. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No.” She turned around, ready to race to the bunkhouse. All she needed was him and her purse. The hell with their things.

  Ryder caught her arm. “You planning on running? Huh? You’d rip him away from my mother now? When she needs the comfort?”

  His words got to her. “Noah and I have never been apart,” she whispered, twisting her arm to get free. “What am I going to say to him?”

  He looked down, somewhat startled, and quickly released her. “Don’t worry about it. My mother will explain.”

  “No. It’s my responsibility.”

  “You have some nerve talking about responsibility now.”

  “Ryder. I’m his—”

  “Mother? Like you were Amy’s friend? We have to be at the Kalispell airport before dawn. I’ve already gotten the tickets.”

  * * *

  THE DRIVE TO the coroner’s office had been worse than he’d imagined. He’d been to LA before, but he’d never flown into LAX or driven in rush hour traffic. It didn’t help that, now, two hours since making the identification, they were still driving at a snail’s pace and hadn’t spoken. He would’ve welcomed the silence but it made it too easy to recall Amy’s lifeless, bruised and battered face.

  Jesus, he’d give just about anything to get a hold of the bastard who’d killed her before the cops got to him.

  Becca shifted in the passenger seat. According to the coroner’s office, the police wanted to ask her some questions about Amy’s boyfriend, and she seemed eager to speak with them. Or maybe that’s what she wanted Ryder to believe.

  She’d tried to convince him to go check into a hotel while she took a cab to the LAPD office. As if he would let her out of his sight. Who the hell knew what she was going to tell the detective? Something twitched inside his gut at that thought, but just because he’d been attracted to her, and Noah was a great kid, didn’t mean Becca was a good person.

  Good people didn’t go on the run while their friends were in the crosshairs of some drug dealer.

  The Hollenbeck PD in Boyle Heights had a fancy façade, but it was surrounded by a lot of brick buildings and graffiti. Ryder sat with Becca in the lobby, waiting for far too long in the uncomfortable silence to be called into an empty office by the investigating officer.

  He was a tall, slender Latino man by the name of Alfonso Richardson, who offered them a beverage, then sat down across from them.

  He flipped open a file and read for a minute, then looked at Becca. “You’re related to Amy Mitchell?”

  “I am,” Ryder said.

  “But I live here and was Amy’s friend.”

  “In Los Angeles?”

  Becca nodded. “Boyle Heights, actually. Soto Street.”

  “Do you know who would have wanted to hurt Ms. Mitchell?”

  Becca sniffed, fisting the tissue in her hand. “I know her boyfriend was Derek Gomes. I know he’s a drug dealer, and he was responsible for Amy getting into drugs
.”

  “You’d met him? Been to their apartment?”

  “I met him about six years ago. Saw him a few times after that. But Amy—” Becca glanced down. “Amy knew I didn’t like him, so after she moved in with him, she always came to my house or we met somewhere. I don’t know where their apartment is. She didn’t want me getting mixed up with his friends. I did see Derek a couple of times, though. Near Sam’s Tacos.”

  “Were you aware that Ms. Mitchell showed signs of abuse going back months, maybe years?”

  “Yes,” she said, then paused before she could speak again. “I didn’t see the bruises at first, she hid them well, but I knew they were there.” Tears slid down her cheeks, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand and used the crumpled tissue for her nose. “I did everything I could to get her to leave him... I did. But she wouldn’t go. She said she would, but she never tried. Until a few days before I left town.”

  “What happened?”

  Ryder sat forward in his chair.

  “She came over. Brought my—” Her voice broke. She bowed her head, dabbing furiously at her eyes. Started to speak, then stopped again. It sounded as though she couldn’t catch her breath.

  Even Ryder got a little worried for her.

  “Are you okay?” the detective asked. “Would you like to take a break?”

  Keeping her gaze lowered, she shook her head.

  He glanced at Ryder. “Ms. Hartman, would you prefer we conduct this interview in private?”

  Like hell.

  Ryder was about to set the cop straight when Becca shook her head, her hair falling forward and hiding most of her face.

  “Amy brought my son a toy and gave me some money. Not a lot, a few hundred dollars, but I didn’t want to take it when she told me she was leaving Derek. She said he was in trouble with some guys, I guess his drug suppliers. And that he had to go to the border to take care of business. He’d never let her out of his sight for more than a couple of hours before. But he wasn’t taking her with him, and she figured it would be the only chance she’d have to get as far away as she could.”

  The detective kept writing as she took a sip of water.