by Ken Casper
Jed had unlocked the chain and pushed open the gate by the time she joined him. They walked twenty yards farther down the dirt road until they came to a shed row. As he’d indicated earlier, the corrugated-metal-covered stalls were too small and too low for giant Percherons, but they would be ideal for her small horses. The stalls opened onto a paddock that wasn’t as big as the one she had her animals at now, but it was more than adequate for their needs.
She strolled along the fence line, where an extra lower rail had been nailed to the wooden posts, as he’d told her. The job was neatly and professionally done. “This is perfect, Jed.”
“Glad it works.” There was a note of pride in his reply. “Will you be able to move them tonight?”
“I’d rather wait until the morning, if that’s okay. It’s better to let them get accustomed to their new surroundings in the daytime, with me around to observe how they’re settling in.”
He nodded. “If you need any help . . . I’ll be glad to.
Gwyn started to tell him she could handle them quite well by herself. After all, she’d gotten them this far on her own. But the prospect of sharing his company and working side by side with him had an allure she couldn’t resist.
“Thanks,” she said. “I can always use an extra hand.”
“You haven’t told me how you got into the animal-handling business,” he remarked on the drive back to Frannie’s house.
“As much by accident as design,” she said. “I’ve always liked pets, but my folks weren’t particularly fond of them. After college, when I was finally on my own, I got a cat and a dog. A friend of mine was a photographer and asked to take some shots of them snuggled up against each other for a contest he wanted to enter. The pictures took first place and an animal food company bought the photos for their advertising. You may have seen the ad campaign. Contented Critters. It was out a few years back.”
“Those were yours?”
“Uh-huh. Well, after that I was asked if I had any more animals for ads and commercials and the next thing I knew I was an animal manager.”
“Where did you go to college?”
She hesitated, then tried to make her reply sound offhanded. “Vassar.”
He crooked an eyebrow. “What did you major in there? Anything that prepared you for dog and cat food commercials?”
She’d heard the subtle mocking tone before. Most people seemed to think that someone who’d graduated from a prestigious women’s college should be doing more with her life than carting a bunch of animals around the country. Her parents certainly did. What would he say if he found out she came from one of the most distinguished families in the nation, and that she would do anything to maintain her independence from them?
“I took a slew of practical business courses, but my major was less pragmatic. French and Russian lit.”
“Useful, I suppose for training French poodles and Russian wolfhounds.”
Or for being the charming, chosen wife of a politician in the diplomatic corps.
Chapter Eight
THEY WERE ON the veranda, finishing the chicken-and-pasta casserole June had left for him in the oven, when Romeo, who had parked himself against the low wall, sprang from his snooze and started barking ferociously. Jed and Gwyn jumped to their feet. As she calmed the dog, Jed turned to see Logan Fielder walking around the side of the house.
“Good evening, Sheriff.” Jed sounded so casual a stranger might mistakenly imagine it was quite ordinary for the man with the star to drop by unannounced at dinnertime. In fact, Jed nearly flinched at the sight of the lawman. This clearly wasn’t a social visit, since Fielder was still packing a revolver on his hip.
Eyeing the dog cautiously, the sheriff said, “I need to talk to you, Louis.”
“About what?”
“It’s private.”
Jed didn’t respond, except to stare at him.
Fielder belatedly tipped his hat to Gwyn. “Ms. Miller, if you’ll excuse us for a few minutes . . .”
Rather than leave, as he no doubt expected, she settled into her cushioned Adirondack chair. “Since this is Mr. Louis’s home, Sheriff, I think I’ll let him decide if I should stay or go. If he has no objection, I’d just as soon hang around.”
Jed looked at her, his eyebrows raised. He sucked in his cheeks in surprise at her audacity, but the beatific smile he tossed her way said she’d just gone up a notch in his estimation.
In contrast, Fielder’s weather-beaten face turned dark red, while his dusty gray eyes nearly bulged out of his head. The irate scowl he cast at her was nothing short of demonic. Nobody talked back to Logan Fielder. Slowly letting the pent-up air out of his lungs, he continued to glare at her for a minute, then turned to Jed.
“The day Granger went missing—I want you to tell me exactly where you were.”
“I told you that nineteen years ago.” Jed refused to flinch under the lawman’s bullying tactics. He’d learned a lot since he was almost eighteen. “My answer hasn’t changed.”
“Tell me again.”
Jed barely managed to keep his hands from tightening into fists. He met the man’s hard stare. “Read your notes.”
Teeth set, Fielder let several heartbeats go by before he said, “I have. By your own account and everyone else’s, you were the last person to see the Granger woman alive—”
His heart beginning to pound with indignation, Jed interrupted before Fielder could go any further.
“Hold it right there, Sheriff. Frannie Granger wasn’t ‘the Granger woman.’ She was my foster mother, the person who brought me up after my own mother died. She’s the victim in this case. Treat her with the dignity and respect she deserves.”
Logan Fielder worked his jaw for several seconds. “Noted,” he finally muttered. “Now, the day she disappeared, where did you go, who were you with, who did you see and who saw you? They’re questions you better have answers to if you expect to establish an alibi. I didn’t push you real hard back then because I didn’t know she was dead, murdered. I know it now, and by God I’m going to get some answers.”
Gwyn’s insides clenched and her stomach turned to acid. She realized scare tactics and intimidation by innuendo were standard interrogation tools, but she wondered if the sheriff didn’t also have a personal agenda in the way he was conducting this investigation. Granted, for some reason, Fielder didn’t like Jed Louis, but did he really think one of Uncertain’s wealthiest and most prominent—and, presumably, most powerful—citizens murdered his foster mother? Why? Or was he simply looking for a scapegoat on whom to pin the crime?
“Jed,” Gwyn said in a voice that surprised her by its apparent calm control, “I suggest you not answer any of the sheriff’s questions until you can talk to an attorney and have him present.”
Slowly, Jed dragged his eyes from his inquisitor and looked at Gwyn. Though his expression was sober, there was an unmistakable gleam in his eye—just for her.
“I think you’re right.” Redirecting his attention to Fielder, he said with slow deliberation, “I have nothing to tell you, Sheriff. Now, if you’ll excuse us . . .” He turned his back on his uninvited guest.
“You’re making a big mistake, Louis. We could have handled this informally, but you want to play rough. Fine. We can do it your way. The questions won’t change whether you answer them here or in an interrogation room downtown. I just thought you might prefer sleeping—” he gazed up at the mansion “—in your own bed than on a rack in the county jail.” He took a step toward the path he’d used and turned abruptly. “I think you’re well-advised to get yourself a lawyer, Louis.” Romeo emitted a menacing growl. “Make it a real good one, because that’s what you’re going to need.”
Chapter Nine
GWYN WATCHED Jed after Fielder left. To all outward appearances, he was calm. There were no muttered curses, no imp
recations against the sheriff’s browbeating tactics. Jed’s fork didn’t clatter on the plate or his hand shake when he brought it to his mouth, but he ate slowly, quietly, thoughtfully. Beneath the cool facade, she saw a man who was simmering and perhaps just a little afraid.
There was good reason for him to be, Gwyn told herself. The county lawman had all but threatened to charge him with murder. That was enough to chill anyone’s bones.
She pointed to an umbrella-shaped tree covered with purple blossoms a few dozen yards beyond the stone wall of the veranda. “What kind of tree is that?”
He raised his head and looked in the direction she was pointing. “Jacaranda. It’s in the catalpa family. Originally from Brazil, I think. June’s husband, Josiah, is the groundskeeper. He can probably tell you a lot more about it.” His tone was mechanical, remote.
“It’s beautiful. Is that what I smell, sort of a sweet grape fragrance?”
“Uh-huh.”
His mind was somewhere else. Well, hers wasn’t exactly focused on horticulture either.
“This casserole is delicious,” she babbled, hoping small talk might pull him out of his reverie. He gave a vague nod, then seemed to realize he was expected to say something in reply.
“June’s an excellent cook,” he agreed. “Do you cook?”
She chortled. “I have trouble boiling water without burning it. I’m getting better, though. The other day—”
Obviously not listening to her, he put down his fork and pushed back his chair. “Would you excuse me a minute?”
“Of course. Is there—”
“I’ll be right back.” He placed his napkin beside his still-full plate and walked toward the French doors at the far end of the patio.
He waited until he was inside the library before he allowed his hands to tighten into hard fists. He’d come close to losing control when Fielder had referred to Frannie with such condescension. Whether it was calculated on the sheriff’s part or just the natural disdain he showed for everyone, Jed wasn’t sure. It didn’t make any difference. Fielder had found a weak spot and Jed had no doubt he would exploit it for all it was worth.
Jed didn’t like feeling vulnerable, prey to people’s definitions of who and what he was. It gave other people power over him. For too many years, he’d been Helen Louis’s illegitimate son, Walter Louis’s bastard nephew, Frannie Granger’s foster kid. It had taken years to set those labels aside. He’d transformed himself into Jed Louis, prominent landowner and reputable Percheron horse breeder. Then Fielder pulled his chain and he’d reverted to the insecure, defensive teenager of twenty years earlier. Never mind that he was trying to preserve the dignity of the one adult in his life who’d done her best to protect him from others—and sometimes from himself. For a moment he’d slipped, reverted. What would happen if he let himself go completely?
He was grateful for Gwyn’s presence during the sheriff’s visit. Had she not been there, he might well have reacted differently to the man’s questions and blurted out something stupid, something incriminating. She’d stood up to the old bully—or more properly, he thought with a faint smile—sat there like a lady and defied the lawman. Gwyn Miller had a way of inspiring self-control.
The smile faded. That wasn’t precisely true. If anything, being with this sophisticated woman with the shiny auburn hair made him want to unleash restraints, not curb them. He’d come dangerously close to kissing her this morning. And this afternoon, when they’d walked side by side, hands almost touching, he’d wanted desperately to reach over and entwine his fingers with hers, feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body.
Why hadn’t he? He wasn’t blind; he’d seen her glances. Gwyn might disagree with him on issues, but it didn’t affect their physical attraction. Kissing Gwyn Miller would be a pleasant thing. He took a deep breath.
So why hadn’t he taken the next step? When they were on the lawn, why hadn’t he kissed her? Why hadn’t he taken her hand in his at the horse paddock, wrapped her in his arms and savored the feel of her body pressed against his? Every time he asked himself those questions, he came up with the same disturbing answer. He was afraid . . . afraid if he touched her once he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Afraid if he tasted one of her kisses it wouldn’t quell the hunger. Afraid if he ever made love to her . . .
He strode to the desk, lifted the handset and punched in a series of numbers.
It was picked up on the second ring. “Hello? Who’s there? My daddy can’t come to the phone right now ’cause he’s in the bathroom.” The juvenile, high-pitched voice immediately dispelled the ache of a moment before.
“Hi, Alanna.” He’d dialed Riley’s unlisted home number, not his business number, which would have gotten him an answering service. “How’s my favorite girl today?”
Alanna was a delightful child, bright and cheerful. Her mother had died giving her birth, but the baby had been blessed with a father who loved her dearly and had done everything in his power to make up for the loss. Raising her by himself couldn’t be easy, but Riley was a wonderful dad. A little girl without a mother. The parallel with a little boy without a father was too close for comfort. He forced the image from his mind.
“I got a boo-boo on my finger, Mr. Jed,” the four-year-old answered.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I bet your daddy kissed it, though, to make it all better.”
“Uh-huh, but he’s got to kiss it some more, because it hurts again.”
“Well, when he comes out of the bathroom, you have him kiss it for me, too, all right? And would you also ask him to call me at home as soon as he can?”
“Okay. Bye.” She slammed down the receiver.
Jed jerked the phone from his ear and chuckled. He turned toward the doors and stopped. Gwyn was standing there on the edge of the early-evening sunlight, her features in shadow, but they weren’t so dark he couldn’t see and feel her looking at him. For a moment the two of them just stared at each other.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, breaking the silence that was building into discomfort. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just wondered if you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her with a crooked smile.
“Perhaps it would be better if I left and gave you privacy.”
“No, don’t go.”
The phone rang.
“Come on in,” Jed called out to her, his hand automatically reaching for the receiver.
As expected, it was Riley. “I’m glad you finally got out of the bathroom,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you kiss Alanna’s boo-boo for me?”
There was a smile in Riley’s voice. “Yes, that should do the trick for a while. The next step is a bandage. It’s usually good for a day or two. What’s up?”
Jed inhaled. “Our esteemed sheriff was here asking questions.”
“Hmm.” There was the briefest pause. “I have to put Alanna to bed, then I’ll ask Mrs. Yates to mind her. I’ll be over in . . . give me half an hour, forty-five minutes.”
“That was your neighbor, Riley Gray. He’s my attorney,” Jed told Gwyn after he hung up. “He’ll be over in a little while.” He moved toward her, or rather, toward the double doors behind her. “I’m sorry to have spoiled your dinner.”
“Blame it on the party crasher.” She glanced around. “So this is the library you’re so fond of.”
She couldn’t blame him. It was a large room that ran from the front to the back of the house. A wide bay window looked out on the front lawn and the circular driveway. French doors and window panels gave a full-length view of the garden beyond the veranda and the lake in the distance. The two other walls were covered floor to ceiling with dark-stained bookcases. The outside end wall contained a handsomely carved marble fireplace. The polished hardwood floor had several thick Oriental carpets spread across it. The furniture was traditiona
l and conservative, altogether a very masculine room. It suited Jed well; no wonder he liked it.
At his invitation, Gwyn preceded him back to the veranda and the dinner they’d abandoned. Romeo, apparently at home by the low wall, opened one eye briefly, then returned to his contented nap.
“We can at least enjoy dessert. June makes a tantalizing black bottom pie.”
“Get thee behind me, Satan.” She laughed. “Ah, to hell with it. Bring on the demon chocolate.”
Together they cleared the table. She accompanied him as he wheeled the serving cart to the kitchen, which was big and modern with commercial grade worktables and appliances. Not exactly homey, in spite of the houseplants in the windows and on neighboring counters, but it was well suited for entertaining large groups.
He removed a small cream-topped pie from an oversize stainless-steel refrigerator and asked Gwyn to follow him back outside with the glass plates and forks June had left on the counter. Before they sat down, he refilled their water glasses from a covered carafe.
“It’s rich,” he noted, indicating the pie.
The whipped-cream-and-chocolate dessert was every bit as good as Jed had predicted. At the offer of a second piece, she hesitated, then gave in to temptation.
“They say chocolate has a soothing affect on the nervous system,” she noted as she raised her fork. “It may not be true,” she admitted, “but the idea at least salves my conscience.”
The setting sun gilded the flagstone veranda, drawing out nature’s colors in deep relief. Birds twittered as they prepared for the night ahead. The heavy warmth of the day mellowed on a gentle breeze to a refreshing coolness. Conversation waned, but the silence between them was as comfortable now as the soft shadows slowly edging their way across the verdant fields.
When the lights dotting the perimeter of the veranda came on automatically, Jed suggested he make coffee and they go into the library. Once again, she helped clear the table, but when she offered to wash the dishes they’d piled up, he told her that was June’s job.