A Dose of Danger (Risky Research)

by Kim McMahill

  But it was February, Butch was dead, and her uncle was hanging on to life by a whisper.

  After dressing in warm layers of clothes, she ran her fingers through her unruly curls in an attempt to rein them in and made her way downstairs. Guilt over sleeping late ate at her as she prepped the coffee pot to brew and then scrolled through the recent calls in her cell phone, looking for the number to the hospital. She had no cell reception at the ranch as usual, though she noticed she had a substantial number of text messages which had made it through and waited to be read. Using the phone resting in its cradle on the cracked tile countertop, Grace punched in the number to the hospital and waited while her uncle’s records were accessed by a helpful nurse.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Talbot, but there’s been no change. Your uncle still hasn’t regained consciousness, but his vitals remain steady. The doctor makes his rounds between ten and noon, so if you call back this afternoon we should know more, or I can leave him a message to call you.”

  Grace gave the nurse the phone number at the ranch, thanked the kind woman, and disconnected. Donning her parka, snow boots, and gloves, she braced herself for the chill outside as she opened the door to the brisk morning. Grace stood for a moment on the porch, allowing her eyes to adjust to the bright sun, and focused on the immense yellow machine churning down the lane. The blade, attached to what she could now see as an old battered dump truck, lumbered toward the house, pushing the deep but light snow out of its path, forming berms four feet high on each side of the road.

  A huge weight pressing down on her evaporated, knowing she wouldn’t be trapped or forced to clean out the road with the ranch tractor which wasn’t really equipped for so much snow. Uncle Moss was always prepared to wait out bad weather, and generally only went to town every couple of weeks anyway, so he had never bothered to invest in serious snow removal equipment. If the road couldn’t be cleaned out with the tractor, he’d just wait until it could, the weather changed, or someone with heavier equipment plowed him out.

  As the massive truck came to a stop and the motor silenced, Grace waited, shielding her eyes with a raised gloved hand, anxious to thank her new hero. Despite the heavy winter clothing covering every inch of the person exiting the vehicle, she recognized Deputy Carlson the moment he stepped away from the rig and was a little surprised by how happy she was to see him.

  “Good morning, Deputy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I was worried about getting out for supplies, and I’d hoped to be caught up enough on the work around here to attempt a trip to Billings tomorrow to see Moss, if the roads clear.”

  “It’s Logan. I’m afraid I can’t take credit for gallantry. We still have an investigation to complete, so you’ll need to stay out of what’s left of the barn until the county fire warden gets here, conducts his investigation, and gives the all clear for you to do what you need to with the structure. He called early this morning, and he’s on his way.”

  “Oh well, thanks anyway. The coffee should be done if you’d like a cup, but you’ll have to help yourself. I’m ashamed to admit I overslept, and I’m sure the animals are wondering what happened to their people. Uncle Moss and Butch were your typical early riser ranchers, and all the animals would have been cared for at least a couple hours ago under their watch.”

  Grace started walking toward the hay enclosure and wasn’t surprised when Logan fell into step alongside. In less than twenty-four hours, he had established himself as one of the good guys, one of those men who put others first and who wasn’t afraid of a little hard work or showing compassion when needed.

  Glancing over at him, Grace noticed he was watching her. Her eyes landed on his gloved hands and then trailed up to his unreadable hazel eyes. He wore a wool cap which showed none of his hair or if he even had any, and his beard didn’t look intentional, more like he just hadn’t had a chance to shave in a couple of days. She could tell by his tanned complexion he spent a great deal of time outdoors. Despite all the clothes, she couldn’t help but admire the man towering over her. Normally she wasn’t overly impressed by a handsome man, but nothing had been normal since his call, and clearly she still wasn’t thinking rationally.

  “By the way, the horses are hanging over the fence and giving me the eye, I can sense they’re displeased with me for oversleeping.”

  “You needed the rest. You were so exhausted last night I hated to leave you alone, but I’m not thrilled about snowmobiling after dark. I’ve been in Wyoming for a little over three years, but I’m originally an Arizona boy, so I’m still getting used to the snow, and I have a healthy respect for the winter conditions around here. I’ve seen a lot of bad accidents and even more narrow misses caused by the weather, and overestimating one’s skill and equipment can be dangerous.”

  “Yes, sorry about keeping you here so late last night. I’m sure your wife was starting to worry.” Grace hoped the comment didn’t come off as the blatant fishing expedition it was.

  “Not married.”

  Wow, the women here are either blind or stupid, or maybe there’s a darker side to him. Where I come from, an attractive man with a good job and decent manners doesn’t stay a bachelor long, Grace thought as she studied him for a moment longer.

  “Well, thanks again for plowing the road, helping with the chores last night, unloading my truck, and leaving dinner on the stove. I’m usually quite self-sufficient and on top of things, but this situation totally threw me off my stride. Uncle Moss is the only family I have, and Butch was like a favorite uncle to me. They’re really all I’ve got. To top it off, I’m buried at work with a very delicate project which I can’t put on hold or hand off to another researcher.”

  “Butch was a heck of a guy, and so is your uncle. I’m really sorry for your loss, and I have no doubt Moss will pull through…he’s one tough old cowboy. With so much going on last night, I guess I wasn’t too sensitive to what you must be going through,” Logan stated, furious with himself for continuing to forget who this woman was and allowing himself to fantasize about her on a personal level when she was dealing with more than anyone should have to bear.

  “Don’t think another thing about it. I needed help and food more than a shoulder to cry on. I’m sure I’ll have a meltdown at some point, but right now there’s too much that needs to be done, not just with the ranch. Butch didn’t have any family that I’m aware of. His parents died a long time ago. He never mentioned any siblings, though I guess that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any. He was widowed before he and his wife had any children of their own, so I suppose that leaves me to make the arrangements.”

  “Hmm.” Logan nodded. He hadn’t located any next of kin to notify, and Grace just confirmed he hadn’t missed anything. He wasn’t thrilled about adding to her burden, but he still had an investigation to complete, and he believed she could fill in some blanks. At first glance, it was pretty straightforward, the fire had been an accident, but until Moss woke up, if he did, and the county fire warden and coroner submitted their reports, Logan would continue to proceed with the investigation.

  “What do you say I help with the chores and, after the fire warden finishes up, we head into town? I know it’ll be difficult, but I’d like to ask you some questions about your uncle, the ranch, and the neighbors. We can do that at the sheriff’s office, so you can meet Sheriff Harris. Butch’s body hasn’t been released from the coroner yet, but we could still stop by the mortuary and make preliminary arrangements, and then pick up any supplies you need. I can cook more than soup out of a can, but that’s about all I saw in the cupboard or the refrigerator last night.”

  “I’m sure the freezer in the garage is full of venison, so I imagine Uncle Moss thought he was well stocked, but I hear you.”

  “I really haven’t developed a taste for wild game, but don’t tell anyone around here. So far, the locals have accepted me okay, but it’s probably best to keep this our secret.”

  Grace laughed. “Me neither. I usually bring frozen dinners with me a
nd claim I’m on a diet when I come for a visit. Though I probably blow that story with my breakfast rituals.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would buy that, even your uncle,” Logan replied as his eyes examined Grace from head to toe.

  She blushed as she climbed into the tractor’s seat and fired up the motor, thankful Logan had continued on so he couldn’t see her expression exposing the turmoil of emotions running rampant through her mind.

  With the storm past, and after having been fed well the night before, the cows hung back from the gate enough to let them pass without the drama of the previous attempt. Grace and Logan quickly and efficiently moved the massive rolls of hay to the waiting livestock in comfortable silence, as if they had worked together for years. After several trips, the giant rolls were spread out in long, neat rows, the cows’ noses happily buried in the newly laid hay, and the tractor was again parked.

  As they finished feeding the horses, cats, and dogs, and clearing the ice out of the water troughs, the sound of an approaching vehicle broke through the early morning calm. Grace stopped and leaned against the top pole of the corral fence. She didn’t look over at Logan but could feel him standing next to her.

  “Bud Wilson. He’ll look through what’s left of the barn and see if he can figure out how the fire started.”

  Grace just nodded and continued to study the truck churning toward the house, wondering what, if anything, Bud Wilson could possibly discover in the smoldering ruins to shed any light on the tragedy.

  The truck came to a stop and parked near the house. A tall, lean man in his late fifties exited the pickup and made his way toward them. Grace watched as he and Logan shook hands and exchanged a few words, and then turned their attention to her.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Talbot,” Bud said as he took Grace’s outstretched hand. “I’ve known your uncle and Butch most of my life, and they were both very proud of you. The way Butch talked, you’d think you were his niece instead of Moss’s. And Moss, you are his pride and joy. He always lit up whenever your name entered a conversation.”

  “Thank you, and please call me Grace,” she replied, choking back her emotions. She looked over at Logan and saw the pity in his eyes. She appreciated the sentiment, but his concern only pushed her closer to the edge. “I can finish from here, Logan, so go ahead and do what you need to do.”

  “We won’t be long. We’ll tie this up as quickly as we can.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account. I want answers. You haven’t told me much, but people who live this far from a fire department aren’t generally careless, and I can’t figure out why Butch couldn’t get out of the barn, and Moss couldn’t get in. I’ve never seen a padlock on the door, Moss seldom even locked the house, and why would Butch block the door from the inside? Nothing makes sense.”

  Logan had thought of the same things, which was why he was in no hurry to call the incident an accident and close the case. An autopsy was standard in non-witnessed deaths, and all fires were investigated for cause. He was anxious to see both reports. Butch was no fool, and Moss was no weakling. The problem was he couldn’t find a motive. The barn was insured along with everything else on the ranch, but he had already checked, and Moss’s finances were sound. The ranch had been in the family long enough that Moss held it free and clear, and Logan had uncovered no other financial commitments.

  Moss had a decades-long battle with his closest neighbor over some grazing issue. Logan had heard no rumors indicating anything had escalated between the two ranchers lately, though he still planned on visiting with Don Matthews.

  Waiting until Grace had ducked through the chicken coop door, Logan followed Bud to a pile of smoldering hay. He had looked the site over but hadn’t been too thorough for fear of disturbing something important to Bud’s investigation. He watched the man work, fascinated by the way Bud sifted through the ashes, jotted notes, took photographs, and carefully bagged several miniscule items.

  “Any thoughts?”

  “There’s not much left here except the iron parts of tools, but this little piece looks like maybe it came from a hurricane lamp. The fire had to burn pretty darn hot to nearly incinerate a lantern.”

  “What would that prove? They might have kept lanterns in the barn in case the electricity went out.”

  Bud shrugged his shoulders and took a few more photographs. “I think I’m done here, but if you think Grace is up for a few questions it might help.”

  “She seems to be holding up okay,” Logan replied as he strode toward Grace.

  “Girl’s got to be hurting something fierce. Those two old men were all she had. I grew up with Moss and John, her pa. The brothers were real close until the summer Abigail showed up as a guest at a neighboring dude ranch. By the time her family left, Moss and John had come to blows, and every wrangler in the valley under thirty thought he was in love. Grace takes after her mother in the looks department. Abigail was a beauty, but she had trouble written all over her. Thanks to Moss, though, Grace turned out okay. She pretty much kept to the ranch except for school, so I had never actually met her until today. According to Moss, though, she is really smart, kindhearted, hardworking, and self-sufficient, if not a bit too independent. He told me once he was proud she would never rely on her looks to manipulate some man into taking care of her, like her mother did.”

  The two men reached the corral where Grace had resumed her earlier stance of leaning against the round, top wooden pole and staring out at nothing in particular. The conversation stopped, and Grace looked over at the two men, smiling at them weakly.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “It’s a little premature to say, but it shouldn’t take long to finalize the report. Before I go, I was hoping you could answer a couple questions.”

  “I’ll try,” Grace replied.

  “Do you know if the barn was professionally wired?”

  Grace nodded and gave Bud the name of the licensed electrician who had done the work.

  “One of the best in the county,” Bud replied. “And you say that was only completed a couple years ago?”

  Grace nodded again and watched as Bud jotted notes on his clipboard.

  “There’s not enough left to recognize an electrical fire. I’m sure it was all up to code, but I’ll check with the electrician to see if he remembers anything unusual about the job or kept any kind of records that might be helpful.”

  “What did your uncle do during the frequent power outages we have up here?” Logan asked.

  “We have two gas generators, one for the house and one for the barn, which we run to provide electricity for portable lights and heaters. I guess I need to add that to my lengthy list of things to replace immediately. If there’s a long cold snap or new babies in the coop or sheds, we’ll need both generators functional pretty soon.”

  “So you have never used kerosene lanterns?” Logan asked.

  “I’ve never even seen one around here. When you live in a place like this, there’s no point in going camping. We didn’t keep anything flammable in the barn because of the hay. We have a bulk fuel tank over there,” she said, pointing. “Gas cans for the mowers, generators, and other equipment are in the little shed, and there’s a backup propane bottle for the grill in the garage. I’m not aware of anything else.”

  Logan glanced over at Bud but said nothing.

  “Again, Grace, I’m so sorry about Butch, but I’m sure Moss will be home in no time. I think I’ve gotten all I can out of what’s left. Once you clear it with your insurance company, and if the deputy doesn’t have any objections, I suggest you have someone knock down those standing timbers as soon as possible. They’re a real hazard, and will likely collapse during the next significant windstorm or heavy snowfall.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take care of it,” she replied, walking the fire warden to his truck and turning her back on the charred remains of her past.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace usually loved the drive between the ranch and
town along the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway. Today, as they made their way home, she didn’t even notice the elk in the snow-covered meadows, the red dirt hills along the roadside, the breathtaking views of the mountains peeking through the trees as they wound their way up and over the pass, or her first glimpse of Pilot and Index Peaks. Her body felt numb. Her head ached, and she was thankful Logan let her sit in silence. She wallowed in a myriad of depressing thoughts and grief and thought back over the day.

  She had met Sheriff Gage Harris and answered his and Logan’s questions, though nothing in her opinion could possibly be of any help. The sheriff was kind, patient, and professional, and acted like an all-around upstanding guy. He had been sympathetic, yet he exuded an aura of strength and confidence that made him natural sheriff material. Under different circumstances, she had no doubt she would have found Sheriff Harris impressive, but talking about her uncle and Butch had overshadowed everything else.

  After the visit to the sheriff’s office, Logan drove her to the mortuary, where she made arrangements to have Butch cremated as soon as his body was released. She would wait until spring, her favorite time of the year on the ranch. Hopefully, her uncle would recover and be home so they could spread the ashes on the ranch together, along with any other friends who wished to pay their respects to the wonderful man who had been such a huge part of her life since she was a child.

  The supermarket was a blur. She hoped she had managed to buy the necessary supplies to get by until things got back to some semblance of normalcy. Logan had done most of the shopping as she followed him through the store like a lost puppy, doing her best not to get irritated whenever they were delayed by some hopeful young woman. He was polite to all of them, but he had kept moving and expertly deflected all the curious questions directed at her. She couldn’t blame the women for their attempts to catch Logan’s attention, but today it annoyed her, even though she had no right to be possessive of his time.