Big Sky

by Stacey Coverstone

  Jamie smiled her acknowledgment.

  As Taylor stared into Jamie’s big emerald eyes, she felt salty tears threatening to erupt from her own eyes. Why had she wasted so many years being angry and bitter? After all, wasn’t blood thicker than water? Jamie was her sister. She should have forgiven her years ago. Now she was dead and it was too late for forgiveness, for either of them.

  Apparently, Jamie could only stay visible for short periods of time because she immediately started to fade in front of Taylor’s eyes.

  “Wait, don’t go,” she pleaded softly. “I have to know without a doubt. Did you…did you…?” She couldn’t utter the words, but there was no need because Jamie vigorously shook her head, which made Taylor oddly elated. A surge of adrenaline shot through her. “Who killed you, Jamie? If you can’t speak, can you mouth the name?”

  Jamie’s edges softened and she shimmered like gossamer while growing fainter. Then her eyes popped open as if she had an idea, and she put two fingers to her mouth and pretended she was smoking. It was just like when they played charades as kids.

  “Your killer smoked?” Taylor said with excitement.

  Jamie nodded and smiled. Then she became as transparent as glass and dissipated into the air like a soft rain.

  “Taylor, who are you talking to?”

  Her head rotated to see Brett filling up the doorway. His curious gaze traveled around the room.

  “Uh, I was talking to myself,” she fibbed, noticing Jamie’s glittering energy still filling up the room. “Just speaking out loud, sorting out some things. Did you find anything out there?”

  “Not so far. What about in here?”

  Not having looked yet, she stepped over to the closet and saw men’s shirts hanging inside. Men’s jeans and underwear filled one of the dresser drawers. Some personal items that seemed of no consequence were on top of the dresser.

  “I wonder why Adam Echo Hawk didn’t ask the police for his clothes?” Brett questioned.

  “Patty Hanson told me she hasn’t seen him since the day after Jamie died. She made it sound like he’d left town, although she claims not to know where he is. He must not have cared what he left behind. She also told me Adam and Jamie argued over some business deal Jamie was involved in. I’m guessing that deal had something to do with her murder. Patty said Adam was afraid the cops might come back for more questioning, but why would he disappear without a trace if he had nothing to hide?”

  Brett’s gaze lit on the blood on the nightstand and then shifted back to Taylor. “Maybe he skipped town because he’s afraid. If he has an idea of who killed Jamie, he’s probably scared they’ll be after him, too. We need to determine motivation,” he said, sounding like a policeman.

  “We?” Her brow lifted in question.

  “I figure I can’t let you do this alone. Anyway, two heads are better than one, as they say. In your opinion, who had a reason to want your sister dead?”

  “Well, Echo Hawk should still be a suspect, even though the police claim he had an airtight alibi. Maybe he killed Jamie by accident and is afraid to admit the truth. Also, there is his former girlfriend. It’s obvious she hated Jamie for stealing Adam.”

  “That’s motivation,” Brett agreed. “A crime of passion.”

  “And she smokes,” Taylor added, remembering the clue Jamie had just given her.

  “What’s smoking got to do with anything?”

  Realizing her mistake, Taylor couldn’t tell him the truth, so she made up a little white lie she hoped wouldn’t come back to haunt her. “I forgot to tell you that Sheriff Tavares said they found fresh cigarette butts outside the front door when Jamie was discovered. She didn’t smoke.”

  “But I take it they weren’t able to lift any fingerprints since you didn’t mention this before.”

  “Correct.” She had no idea if the police had found cigarette butts outside. But if Jamie gave her that clue, it meant something and she had to run with it.

  “Anybody could have dropped cigarette butts on the ground at anytime,” Brett reasoned. “That doesn’t mean the smoker was the killer.”

  “True, but at least it’s something to go on when considering possible suspects. We don’t know if Adam Echo Hawk smokes, but Clint Sheridan does.” She explained her theory on why Clint could be considered a suspect. “For all I know, Erin Randall smokes, too,” she added. “Perhaps this drug dealer Patty told me about smokes. The list is growing.”

  “Whoa, hold on.” Brett held his hands up. “What drug dealer?”

  “Oh, I guess I forgot to mention him.” She explained and then asked, “Do you know him?”

  “No. Why would I know him? I don’t mix with drug pushers.”

  “Of course you don’t. I worded that wrong. Whom do you mix with, besides horses and cows?” She smiled.

  “I’m choosey about the people I hang out with.”

  “So, I should feel flattered that you’re hanging out with me right now.”

  “That’s right.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Since the subject has come up, I was wondering if you’d care to spend some time with me this evening? That is, if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “What do you have in mind?” She wondered if he was going to suggest showing her his room again and her heart started to beat faster.

  “It’s Friday night, which means dancing at Maverick’s.”

  “Maverick’s? Do you mean the honky-tonk bar on the edge of town? That place is a dive, isn’t it?”

  “Not anymore. It’s still a cowboy bar, but it’s under new management and is more upscale than what you must remember.”

  “Upscale, huh?” She slid a sly look at him. “What kind of dancing?”

  “Mostly country line dancing.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “I do not line dance.”

  “Neither do I, but once in a while they play a slow song.”

  A lump formed in her throat while staring into his twinkling blue eyes and imagining being held in his arms and swaying with his body to a slow country tune.

  “They also have pool tables, a mechanical bull, and there’s always a game of corn hole going on.”

  She laughed out loud. “Corn hole? What the heck is that?”

  Brett playfully elbowed her uninjured arm. “You sure are a city girl now, aren’t you? Don’t even know what corn hole is.”

  “Sounds dirty.”

  “Go with me tonight and you’ll find out if it’s what it sounds like.”

  Despite the near disaster earlier, Taylor was primed, greedy for his touch. His teasing was turning her on. “All right. Sounds fun.”

  Nodding his head once, firmly, Brett sucked in a deep breath and grinned in satisfaction.

  “I’m not sure we’re going to find anything here after all,” she said, ceasing the exploration and leading the way out of the bedroom. “But I’m glad I came. I feel a little closer to my sister being here.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yes, it is.” Although her instinct was that she could trust Brett, he might not think the same of her if he knew she was seeing ghosts.

  After they stepped into the sun and she locked the door behind them, Brett untied both horses and held Dusty while Taylor mounted. After he threw his weight into the saddle, she said, “Thanks for coming here with me. I’m glad you showed up on the trail when I needed help. Just like my white knight.”

  “Just part of the job description, ma’am,” he joked, “although you are certainly no damsel in distress. It’s obvious you can hold your own in almost any situation.”

  “Well, I am a country girl, as you keep reminding me.” She took up the reins and they began a leisurely walk in silence. Once they reached the open pasture, Taylor said, “If you’re game, Dusty and I will race you and Bill back to the house.”

  Brett punched his Stetson further onto his head, but declined to accept the challenge. “No need to race today with your arm aching. We can race another time.”

 
; She moaned in disappointment. “Is that a promise?”

  “Cross my heart. Anyway, I prefer you save your energy for tonight.” When he winked, Taylor shivered, even though there was no breeze.

  Chapter Eighteen

  With Taylor safely deposited at the house, and a pledge to pick her up at eight o’clock sharp tonight, Brett walked Bill and Dusty to the barn and removed their tack. He folded the cotton bag into a square and stuck it in his back jeans pocket. None of the wranglers were around, which meant they were at the bunkhouse, probably getting ready to hit the town and get drunk.

  Hopefully, he’d be able to get Charlie Keller alone for a few minutes to question him about the incident today. It would do no good to come right out and accuse the man of setting Taylor up, but something was fishy and he had to get to the bottom of it. The boss’s daughter could have been killed, and Charlie was the one who had saddled the horse. There were some important questions that needed answering before Brett answered to Will.

  Finding the bag where the horse tracks were was no coincidence. Someone had let that snake out of the sack to spook Dusty—and to hurt Taylor. Brett knew it as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the morning. He didn’t care if Taylor had known Charlie all her life, or whether she believed he had nothing to do with her accident. All fingers pointed to him being involved somehow.

  He wasn’t sure what Charlie’s motivation would be for wanting to injure Taylor, a girl he’d watched grow up. But nothing was out of the question. He’d seen men turn against their own flesh and blood before.

  Although Charlie was close to sixty, Brett considered him to still be a good ranch hand, even though the two of them had butted heads on several occasions. Being the senior hand and believing the old traditions were best when it came to cattle, Charlie had disagreed with some of Brett’s more innovative ways of managing the ranch. The last time he’d challenged Brett, it had turned into a verbal sparring match until Brett had given a warning, reminding Charlie in no uncertain terms who the foreman of the Slash Y was. Then he’d walked away, unwilling to lose his cool in front of the other men.

  Could Charlie have orchestrated a prank that went terribly wrong, all in the hopes of getting Brett in trouble with Will? Or fired? Brett shook his head, believing anything was possible.

  Thank God Taylor had not been injured badly. When he walked her to the back door of the Banner home, she’d promised to take a Motrin and a hot bath, in that order. And if she started to feel sick and thought she needed to see a doctor, she’d vowed to let him know and he’d promised to drive her to town himself.

  As he curried Bill, Brett asked the paint what he thought about the woman.

  “I know. You weren’t paying any attention to her, were you, boy? Your eyes are only for Dusty.” Brett glanced at the Haflinger standing still in the crossties looking pretty and waiting for her brushing. Bill gazed at her with a steady eye.

  “Well, let me tell you something, Bill,” Brett continued, tossing the curry brush on the ground and walking the paint into his stall. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever put my heart on the line for a woman again.” He put Bill in his stall and stepped out and turned the hose on to fill the water bucket through the bars. “But the moment I swung Taylor up onto your back and she wrapped her hands around my middle, something happened to me.” A deep-throated nicker came from Bill.

  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” he went on, while striding to where the hay was stacked. “Me thinking I might want to settle down again, after all these years.” He stepped back inside the stall and filled Bill’s feeder. “I know. I know. We’ve only known each other for two days, but when Cupid’s arrow strikes, there’s not a thing a man can do but accept the prick.” Brett gave Bill a rub on the nose, and then he went into the stall next door and filled Dusty’s water bucket and her feeder with hay.

  “I think Will would forgive me for falling for his stepdaughter,” Brett thought aloud, while currying Dusty. “The biggest problem I can see is that she lives in L.A. and I live here. But as Uncle Blue always said, where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  Once he’d put the mare in the stall next to Bill and checked on all the other horses to see that they were contently munching on supper, Brett left the barn, whistling, and headed for the bunkhouse. The moment he reached the building, however, the whistling stopped and his face drew into a sober mask. After flinging the bunkhouse door open, he stepped inside and filled up the doorway. Three men’s heads pivoted and stared back at him. They each were occupied with various stages of dressing and undressing.

  “Where’s Charlie?” he asked, hearing a toilet flush from behind the bathroom door.

  “In the john,” Dash said, hitching his thumb in that direction.

  “What’s up, boss?” Glenn, the youngest hand, tucked a clean shirt into his jeans and buckled his belt.

  “Just need a few minutes of Charlie’s time,” Brett answered, leaving the front door standing open. “Y’all heading to town tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Glenn, with a wide smile. “You gonna shoot some pool at Maverick’s?”

  “I might be there later.” There was no need for them to know all his business. They’d see him there.

  The bathroom door squeaked open and Charlie stepped out zipping up his trousers. A towel was spread around his bare shoulders. When his gaze met Brett’s, he nodded a greeting and sauntered to his bed and grabbed a checkered shirt from off the bedpost.

  “Can I see you outside, Charlie?” Brett said, not waiting for a reply. He stepped out and walked far enough away from the bunkhouse where they could have privacy.

  When Charlie joined him wearing the shirt, he said, “What can I do for you, Brett?”

  His long hair was down and wet. Brett’s pointed gaze did not waver from Charlie’s face. “Are you the one who saddled Dusty for Taylor this afternoon?”

  “Dusty?” Charlie squinted in confusion. “No, boss. Not Dusty. Miss Taylor asked me to get a horse ready for her. I decided Sugarfoot would be the best mount. I don’t think Miss Taylor has ridden a horse in a while, and Sugarfoot is as calm as they come.”

  “You’re right about Sugarfoot.” Brett’s brow furrowed. “Are you telling me you did not saddle Dusty for Taylor to ride?”

  “No, sir, I did not. Dusty’s a good girl, but Sugarfoot is more reliable on the trail.”

  “Then how do you explain Taylor riding the Haflinger today?”

  “I didn’t know she had been.”

  “You gave her the horse. How could you not know?”

  “No, sir.” Charlie shook his head emphatically. “I did not give her that horse. I’d just taken Sugarfoot from his stall when Glenn called me away to check an outlet that was sparking in the bunkhouse. Tumbleweed and Dash were both walking into the barn at the time. I asked them to get Sugarfoot ready for Miss Taylor and I high-tailed it here to the bunkhouse.”

  Since Charlie was the go-to man when electrical matters needed to be addressed, Brett thought his story was sound. “Okay. You can go. Ask Tumbleweed and Dash to come outside.”

  Charlie nodded and retreated into the one-story timber bunkhouse. Moments later, Tumbleweed and Dash were standing in front of Brett glaring with irritation. Maybe they both had hot dates they were late for, but Brett doubted it.

  “Which one of you saddled up Dusty and gave her to Will’s daughter this afternoon?”

  “Me.” Dash raised his hand.

  Dash was a disagreeable cuss, but from what Brett knew of the man, he had always been honest. Just because he’d saddled Dusty didn’t mean he’d let the snake loose out in the trees. Although he felt the blood pumping through his veins, Brett knew he had to stay levelheaded if he was to get to the bottom of this. “Why Dusty?” he asked. “Charlie just told me he’d intended for Taylor to ride Sugarfoot. Didn’t he mention that to you before he left the barn?”

  “Sugarfoot’s leg was hot,” Tumbleweed answered. “I’m the one who suggested Dusty. She’s a quiet ho
rse, too.”

  Except when a snake is thrown at her, Brett thought, eyeing the two of them and watching closely for unusual behavior. “Did Charlie mention where Taylor was riding to?”

  “Yep. He said she was going to the back forty,” Tumbleweed said. “We assumed she was headed to her sister’s cabin.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  The large man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Made sense she’d want to visit the place.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brett thought a minute. “So, you’re the one who actually talked to Taylor,” he asked Dash.

  “I made sure the cinch was tight and handed her the reins.”

  “Did you inform her of any of Dusty’s quirks?”

  “Such as?” Dash got that squirrely look in his eyes, like a kid who was being blamed for something and preparing to defend himself.

  “Such as the horse is terrified of snakes?”

  Dash scratched his head. “Didn’t think about it. I haven’t been on the mare lately. Most horses don’t like snakes.”

  “Why the questions, boss?” Tumbleweed interrupted. “Something happen?”

  Brett decided to tell them so he could gauge their reactions. “Taylor was tossed from the horse when a snake crossed the trail. I’m trying to get all the facts straight before Will chews my ass up one side and down the other for almost getting his stepdaughter killed.”

  “Is she okay?” Tumbleweed asked. Dash’s facial expression remained unchanged, but that didn’t mean much. He always looked like he was constipated.

  “She wasn’t hurt bad,” was all Brett said. “Thanks. You two can go.”

  As they ambled back to the bunkhouse, Brett knew there wasn’t anything else he could do. There was no proof either of the men had followed Taylor to the back forty and flung the snake at her. Even if one of them had, what motivation did Tumbleweed or Dash have for wanting Taylor hurt?

  Maybe it had been a coincidence after all. Perhaps the snake had slinked onto the trail by itself. But what about the sack he’d found? Brett’s hand went to his back pocket and fingered the cotton material folded into a square. He grunted. A bag the shape and size for holding a slithering reptile simply had not appeared out of the blue on the trail. As sure as the sky held stars, Brett knew it belonged to someone—and that someone had accidentally dropped it as he or she galloped away from the scene of the crime. Could fingerprints be lifted from the bag? He speculated as he sauntered to his cabin.