Big Sky

by Stacey Coverstone

  “You sit there, Taylor,” Nancy said, pointing to the empty chair next to Brett. He jumped up and pulled out the chair before she had the chance to lay her hand on it. She slid a pointed glance at Mama and then Will, both of whom were grinning.

  “Thank you, Brett,” she said as he scooted her in.

  “You’re welcome.” He retook his seat and the cook promptly served the meal.

  Throughout supper, Taylor kept feeling Brett’s eyes on her. Each time she turned her head, he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he’d been staring, which she liked. He’d even winked at her once, leading her to believe he was as enticed by her as she was by him.

  Mama chattered like a blue jay, as if it were just another supper at the Slash Y, as opposed to the first night in six years Taylor had sat at the table with them. A stranger never would have known Mama had a drinking problem, her youngest daughter had recently died, or that she and Will were having troubles from the way she laughed and carried on like it was old times.

  But Taylor knew her mother well. She’d always been good at hiding things—especially the truth. Still, she was glad to see Mama smiling. She’d missed her warm smile.

  “That was some mighty fine eating,” Brett said, patting his stomach and tossing his napkin on the plate when he was done. “Thank you, Ms. Sanchez,” he said to the cook who leaned over his shoulder to clear his plate from the table. “It was delicious.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Austin,” she answered, smiling shyly.

  “Excellent, as always,” Will chimed.

  “We’ll have dessert in the great room with our coffee,” Nancy told the woman.

  “Yes, Mrs. Banner.” As Mrs. Sanchez finished clearing the table, Taylor was happy when Will moved to Mama’s side and helped her up from her chair. She toddled into the great room with the three of them following behind.

  “Good job, Mama,” Taylor said, praising her once she’d eased herself into the soft cushions of the couch. Taylor sat next to her and Brett and Will rested their bones at opposite ends of the other couch.

  Brett leaned back to get comfortable by hiking his right leg over his left knee.

  Will lit a cigar, took a puff, and asked Brett if he wanted one.

  “No thanks. I smoked cigarettes years ago and quitting them proved to be harder than lassoing a jackrabbit.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  “One drag and I’m afraid I’d be hooked again.”

  Hearing he wasn’t a smoker pleased Taylor. Clint had smoked and she’d hated the smell that permeated his clothes and the house.

  Within a few minutes, Mrs. Sanchez was serving warm apple pie and ice cream on china plates. She also set a hot pot of coffee on the sidebar at the back of the room. After dessert and more lively conversation that lasted until the sun set, Brett looked at his watch and announced it was time for him to go.

  “Thank you, Will, Mrs. Banner,” he said, standing and shaking both their hands. “I very much enjoyed the evening. I appreciate the invitation. I don’t often get a home-cooked meal.”

  “We’ll have you again,” Nancy promised.

  Brett nodded. “I’d like that very much. Taylor,” he said, extending his hand to her. “The entire day has been a pleasure.”

  She placed her hand in his and felt blood surge through her like a speeding freight train. “Can I walk you out?” she blurted.

  The grin he flashed was electrifying. “Sure. Good night,” he said once again to Will and Nancy.

  “Do you have your hat?” Taylor asked as they sauntered through the kitchen to the back door.

  “I left it in my truck.”

  The screen door squeaked as it closed behind them. As Taylor walked Brett to the pickup, she looked up at the sky. The moon was so new its light was very dim, but the stars were bright. A long quivering wail of a coyote arose in the distance and was answered from the hills beyond. She and Brett stood stock still, listening.

  When the howls ceased for a moment, she could hear the subdued roar of Fish Creek and the crooning of the gentle wind in the pines.

  “Isn’t that the prettiest chorus you’ve ever heard,” Brett whispered.

  Taylor turned toward him and whispered in return. “I walked you outside because I want to tell you something in private.”

  That got his attention. “Oh? Does it have anything to do with showing me those rodeo awards in your bedroom?” His smoldering gaze set her heart thrashing in her chest.

  “No. I’m not sure my stepfather—your boss—would approve. He never did allow boys in my room.”

  Brett moved in close and lifted her hair off her shoulders, sifting it between his fingers. “Then maybe you’d like to come to my room.”

  Taylor lifted one eyebrow. “Why? Do you have some etchings you want to show me?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Taylor smiled when Brett chuckled at her joke. His lips parted as if he had more to say about going to his cabin. But apparently he’d only been teasing, because he let her hair drop and asked her what she wanted to speak to him about. Maybe he decided he was coming on too strong, too fast.

  Although she ached to feel his touch again, she refocused, explained what she’d read in the coroner’s report, and told him of her plan to visit the sheriff tomorrow first thing. “Maybe he knows where I can find Adam Echo Hawk. I’d like to talk to that man and learn more about the kind of relationship he and Jamie had.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Brett said. “At least, not to meet with him on your own—if you can even locate him.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t know anything about the guy. He could be a dangerous drug addict, like Will suspects.”

  “There’s only one way for me to find out,” she replied. “Hopefully the sheriff will have that kind of information. I’m sure the law knows all the druggies. Anyway, he might have left the area after Jamie died. I have to do what I can to find him.”

  “What did you read in that report that makes you more determined to investigate your sister’s death?”

  Not wanting him to think she was a nut, Taylor kept the part about seeing Jamie’s spirit and communicating with her to herself. “I keep thinking about what Mama said. After learning that Jamie was finally doing something with her life, it raises questions about her final days. If she’d discovered photography and had been excited about her first exhibit coming up, why would she kill herself? That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Maybe her death was an accidental overdose.”

  “Nope. The report clearly states suicide. I’ll talk to the woman at the art gallery, too,” Taylor added, mentally adding things to tomorrow’s to-do list.

  Brett nodded in agreement.

  Another sad howl from the distant coyote drew Taylor from her thoughts. “Sounds like he’s lonely,” she said, gazing into Brett’s eyes that sparkled even in the twilight.

  “Do you know coyotes are monogamous and they pair and breed for life?”

  “No, I didn’t. It’s nice to know there are still some species who believe in faithfulness.”

  “Unfortunately, many of those pairings don’t last, but that’s only because of the cycle of life. Being raised a country girl, you know how things are.” His voice deepened. “If I come upon that lonely fellow, I’ll have to shoot him. Here in the west alone, coyotes kill about twenty-seven million dollars worth of livestock each year.”

  “Can’t have that happening on a cattle ranch,” she acknowledged. Taylor knew about the predatory nature of coyotes and how the ranchers’ and the coyotes’ lifestyles often collided since they shared the same habitat. “I know they spell disaster to a rancher, but it’s still sad to know one of those beautiful creatures will lose its mate if it runs into your bullet.”

  “Then maybe it should stay in its den and not prowl around where it doesn’t belong,” Brett said, nodding his head firmly. Taylor cracked a smile. “Are we still talking about coyotes?”

  “I don’t know,�
�� he admitted.

  Even though she was drawn to Brett and was tempted to sway the conversation back to the earlier invite to his room, she decided to say goodbye instead. Suddenly overwhelmed with confusion about her feelings, coupled with apprehension about prying into Jamie’s life and death, Taylor thought it better—and wiser to call it a night.

  “Good night, Brett.” She shook his hand formally. “I’ll see you around.” She turned and walked away before she could change her mind. When she reached the back door, she looked over her shoulder to see him standing in front of his truck with moonbeams lighting up the puzzled expression on his face.

  ****

  Brett flipped on the inside light, locked the cabin door behind him, and tossed his Stetson on the wooden chair in the corner. His gray cat, Caesar, yawned and stretched and then jumped off the bed and rubbed against his legs.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said, lifting Caesar into his arms and stroking his head. “Been sleeping away the night, I see.” The cat leaped out of his hands and padded back to the bed where he curled into a ball on top of the extra pillow and began giving himself a bath.

  Brett stripped out of his clothes down to his undershirt and skivvies and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he was finished, he checked to make sure the coffee pot wasn’t plugged in—it wasn’t—and then turned off the cabin’s main light. The shimmery glow of the moon shone through the thin curtains hanging at the glass windows, giving enough light for him to see his way to the bed.

  When he crawled between the sheets, he flipped on the bedside table lamp and laced his fingers together at the back of his head. If Taylor had taken him up on his invitation to come back here tonight, what would she think of this place? Glancing around the foreman’s cabin he’d occupied for the past two years, he tried to look at it objectively, through the eyes of a woman.

  The pine log dwelling consisted of one large open room, with the exception of the tiny bathroom. In the kitchen were the usual appliances, including a microwave, and three feet of counter space. Apart from his bed and the corner chair, the only other furniture in the room was a small round dining table and two spindle chairs, an overly soft couch, a small television, and an old wardrobe against one wall that held his clothes and boots. A bookcase was stacked with horse and ranching magazines and a few volumes of western fiction books, but it was mainly used as a catch-all for his keys, wallet and such. The hardwood floor was tarnished with scars from years of being trampled on by spurred boots and was covered by a large braided rug.

  Brett growled low in his throat. What had he been thinking when he suggested Taylor come back with him to this place? He’d never had a woman in here before. Why her? Why had he opened his big mouth and blurted that out, knowing full well the cabin was a hovel compared to the Banner home and the palace she probably lived in back in L.A.?

  The cabin was exactly what it had been built as—private quarters for a ranch foreman. There was nothing fancy about cowboys who worked the range, and this simple cabin brought that notion home. Marci had left because he couldn’t offer her finer things. Why did he think Taylor would be any different?

  While his body ached to join with hers, his common sense told him it was a bad idea. Will would probably stick him on a spit and roast him if he hurt Taylor, intentionally or not. Besides, she didn’t live in Montana. She’d be going back to L.A. soon, and his heart wasn’t into a one-night stand.

  “It’s a good thing that woman had the good sense to turn me down,” he grumbled, flipping onto his side toward Caesar after switching off the light. “You wouldn’t have shared the bed anyway, huh, boy?”

  The cat just purred in his face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a restless night, Taylor got up bright and early and headed for Prosperity to see the sheriff. After she’d driven through the ranch gate, she saw Charlie Keller and one of the other ranch hands mending fence and pulled over to say hello.

  “Miss Taylor, it sure is good to see you again,” Charlie said, walking to the car and pulling off his glove to shake her hand.

  “Good to see you, too, Charlie. How many years have you worked the Slash Y now?”

  “Too many to count. Peppermint?” He fished a candy from his pocket and offered it to her.

  “I’d love one. Thanks.”

  His slow smile drew into a straight line. “I sure am sorry for your loss. I remember you and Miss Jamie fishing down at the creek and riding your ponies all over this place when you were girls.” He shook his head sadly.

  “Thank you, Charlie.”

  His gaze dropped to the ground and an awkward moment squeezed between them.

  “Who’s your partner?” she asked to break the silence, nodding toward the other man.

  “That’s Dash Bullion. Dash,” he said, calling out, “come on over and meet the boss’s other daughter.”

  The man didn’t seem too pleased with having to stop working to socialize. Taylor noted the squat cowboy’s bowed legs as he sauntered toward them. He didn’t remove his glove or hold out his hand to shake, so she didn’t either. His face was scarred with pockmarks, which may have accounted for some of his surly air.

  “Dash, this is Miss Taylor Young. Miss Taylor, this is Dash Bullion.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said. “Charlie, I know you call me miss out of respect, but it’s really not necessary. I’m thirty-four years old now. I’d like it if you’d simply call me Taylor.”

  His face flushed an endearing pink and his eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t think I could do that. You’ll always be Miss Taylor to me.”

  She smiled. “I understand. Mr. Bullion, I saw you riding that green colt yesterday when I came in. How’d he do?”

  “Got him broke,” was all he said. His dark eyes darted between her and Charlie and then he said, “Gotta get back to work.” And he strutted back to the fence.

  “Don’t mind Dash,” Charlie told her, slipping his glove back on. “He has a burr under his saddle most days.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Has a notion life is unfair. Dash fancies himself more of a cattle baron than a ranch hand. He’d like nothing better than to get rich quick and leave Montana for greener pastures.”

  “Why doesn’t he move on if he’s so unhappy here?”

  Charlie rubbed a hand over his chin. “I doubt anyone else would hire him. Despite his surliness toward people, he’s good with cattle and horses. ’Course that could be said for all of us hands.”

  “Not you, Charlie.” Taylor smiled. “You don’t have a surly bone in your body.”

  “I appreciate that. It’s good to have you home again.” After waving goodbye, he went back to laboring at the fence.

  As she drove to town, Taylor thought about Charlie’s comment about cowboys being better with animals than they were with people. Brett had said something similar, but he seemed to have no problem communicating with her—or her folks. Wondering how he’d slept last night and if he’d thought of her before closing his eyes, she pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s department and entered the brick building.

  A trim, brown-skinned Hispanic man wearing jeans, with wavy black hair and chocolate brown eyes, stood at a desk behind the front counter talking on the phone. Although she didn’t know him, the badge pinned on his denim shirt assured her he was the sheriff.

  “Can I help you?” asked a young woman sitting at the other desk in front of a computer. She stopped typing and peered over the top of her glasses.

  “I’d like to speak to the sheriff,” Taylor said, smiling at the man who wore a proud veneer and had the handsome looks of A. Martinez, an actor she’d photographed before. He glanced at her and held up a finger to acknowledge he’d be with her shortly.

  “That’s Sheriff Tavares,” the woman said. “He’ll be with you as soon as he finishes his call.” Then she went back to her typing.

  “Hello. How can I be of service?” Tavares asked once he put down the phone receiver and stepped to
the counter. His gaze raked over her.

  “Hello. My name is Taylor Young and I’ve come to speak to you about my sister.”

  “Jamie Young,” he finished.

  “That’s right.”

  “Follow me. We can talk in my office.” He pushed open a swinging door for her to step through and led her down a short hallway to his office, where he closed the door behind them.

  “Coffee?” he asked, nodding at the coffee pot on the credenza next to his desk.

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  He poured himself a mug full and told her to take a seat. Once he was settled behind his desk, he said, “I’ve been told you just arrived from California. You came to ask me if I think your sister was murdered. Am I right?”

  Stunned, although she wasn’t sure why since this was a small town, Taylor nodded. “Did my mother speak to you?”

  “No. Your father, Mr. Banner, did.”

  “Will is my stepfather. My last name is Young.”

  “Pardon me. You did say Young when you introduced yourself, didn’t you? I’ve been Sheriff of Prosperity for a couple of years, but I’m still putting faces to names. Of course, I’ve never seen your face before. I’d remember such a pretty woman.” His smile was slow and wide. “I’m Rick Tavares,” he said, officially presenting himself and reaching over his desk to shake her hand.

  “Nice to meet you.” Will had not mentioned speaking to the sheriff, and that piqued her curiosity, so she went straight to the point. “When did my stepfather come in to talk to you about his doubts concerning Jamie’s death?”

  “He didn’t. We were both having lunch at the diner around the corner one day when he mentioned his wife—your mother—was questioning the official coroner’s report.” His gaze penetrated her when he leaned forward and said, “Let me assure you, Miss Young, that there was no foul play involved in your sister’s death. My office’s investigation and the results of the coroner’s examination clearly determined the cause of death as suicide. It’s still possible it might have been accidental, because even a slight overdose of Phenobarbital can cause death, but, that being said, it’s considered suicide by all accounts. It is miss, isn’t it?” he added nonchalantly.