He stood in the doorway for a long moment, his posture tense, his dark eyes churning. He threw an impatient look at the front door, everything in his body language telling her he wanted to leave—had probably been on his way out when he discovered her in the den.
But he didn’t go.
Black Stet son dangling from his fingertips, he came inside and sat at the edge of the desk. “I don’t know.”
Any energy Casey had left trickled away, and she sank onto the sofa across from him. “Dear God...” She looked back up at him, unwilling to believe she’d heard him right. “Are you saying you did this thing? Jess, I know you left the ranch that night—I watched you leave from my bedroom window.”
“Which automatically makes me guilty, right? You think I did it. You think I herded Moe’s cattle into a semi, then, just for the hell of it, fired a few rounds from a .30-06 at a man I’ve known and respected all my life.”
“No, I don’t think that! But I do need to know why you felt, you couldn’t tell Farrell the truth. He was just here, and before he left, he said some very damaging things about you.”
“Like?”
“Like you have a criminal record.”
“And you believed him.”
“No! I did everything but swear on a stack of Bibles that you were innocent.” Casey’s gaze slid to the old leather-bound photo album still lying open on the floor. “Then I came up here to prove Farrell wrong... and found that.”
Jess expelled a short, mirthless laugh as he pushed to his feet and started toward the door again. “And you wonder why I lied to Cy—a man who’d just as soon see me swinging from a rope as look at me. Good God, the woman I’m sleeping with even has her doubts.”
“The reason, Jess,” Casey repeated, coming after him and trying to ignore his description of her. Trying not to be hurt because he hadn’t said, “the woman I’m closest to,” or even “the woman I care about.” “Why did you lie when he asked about the fob?”
Jess pivoted bitterly to face her. “Because it could be mine, and I knew if I admitted that to Cy, he’d have me behind bars in a heartbeat. He never would’ve taken into account that I ride that fence all the time—that with Moe’s land bordering Broken straw, I’m in the vicinity of the Jackson spread at least twice a week. It’s entirely possible that I lost it over there.” A nerve broad-jumped in his jaw, and his voice dropped to a mutter. “Not that any of it means a damn thing anymore, after my trip to the basement. As soon as I saw those—” He stopped abruptly, his rugged features darkening with anger. Jess yanked his hat on. “I have to go.”
Unnerved by the emotion in his voice, Casey pressed him to finish his sentence. “As soon as you saw what?”
“Nothing.”
Jess strode through the pocket doors to the foyer, Casey at his heels. Why was he still so upset? Getting the truth out in the open should have made him less anxious and irritable, especially since she’d tried to understand. But, if anything, he seemed even more tense. Which made her think part of his anger was caused by the unknown “something” he’d seen in the basement.
“At least tell me if you’re going to see Farrell.”
“I’m not.” He grabbed the doorknob.
“You should. And you should ask to look at that watch fob. Maybe it isn’t even yours.”
“Yeah, right.” He shoved the screen door open and strode onto the porch. “There must be hundreds of men in the area wearing fobs these days. The fad’s coming back, just like hula hoops and Pet Rocks.”
Jess started down the steps, then whirled abruptly when Casey kept following, his dark eyes telling her without words that she wasn’t welcome where he was going. “Incidentally,” he said curtly, “I do have a police record. In fact, it should probably be a lot longer than it is.”
Then he descended the steps and walked briskly down the driveway toward the outbuildings.
It should probably be a lot longer than it is? Casey gripped the porch railing and watched in stunned dismay as Jess strode into the barn. A few minutes later, he led the big bay out, swung aboard and rode off. Good heavens, she thought, what had he gotten himself into? What had she gotten herself into? Was she in love with an outlaw? Was he exactly what his black hat, sharp cheekbones and lean, shaded jawline professed him to be?
Casey drew a long, shaky breath as more questions formed in her mind. What had Jess seen downstairs that had somehow made all Farrell’s accusations insignificant? What had he discovered that had surprised and upset him so much that he’d stalk away without an explanation?
He’d been down there cleaning and oiling his rifle after taking it back to the hot spring last night. He’d said gun barrels rusted quickly when subjected to moisture.
Turning around, Casey swallowed the dryness in her throat, walked back inside, and went downstairs to the reloading room.
Trying to temper his anger and disillusionment, Jess topped a rise in the north pasture and scanned the sloping green valley below. Amazingly, Ross was where he’d said he would be, riding the fence line and checking for strays. With a click of his tongue and a touch of bootheels to the bay’s ribs, Jess pointed his horse down the hill—all the while aching to wrap the gelding’s reins around his brother’s neck.
Ross glanced up at the sound of hoofbeats, then grinned as Jess drew nearer and brought the snorting bay alongside Ross’s chestnut.
“Thought you’d stick close to the homestead today,” Ross said, his twinkling blue eyes sending Jess a very readable message. “In fact,” he added with a brash grin, “I figured you’d be supervising the painting.”
Jess ignored the thinly veiled reference to Casey and glanced coldly at the rifle stock sticking out of Ross’s saddle scabbard. “Is that your aught-six?”
Ross’s smile faded, and the good-looking face beneath the tan Stet son lined suspiciously. “What if it is?”
“Let me see it.”
“Not till you tell me why you want it.”
Jess sent his brother another dark look and held out his hand. “Now, Ross.” Ross gave him the rifle.
Praying his suspicions wouldn’t be confirmed, Jess urged his horse into a walk and stopped several yards away from Ross’s mount. Quickly he racked a shell into the chamber, gripped the bay’s reins, and fired into the air. The startled horse beneath him recoiled as the sharp crack reverberated through the valley, but Jess held fast to the reins, keeping control. To his left, an irritated Ross was calming his own jittery horse.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Ross shouted.
Ejecting the shell casing in a normal manner would have thrown it onto the ground. Instead, Jess slid the bolt back slowly, then dumped the brass casing out of the chamber into his gloved hand. His heart sank when he saw the short, sharp slash on the back of it—not the round dimple he’d hoped for.
But where there had been rage and frustration only minutes ago, now there was only a peculiar sort of numbness. Jess met his brother’s eyes and spoke quietly. “Isn’t your life screwed up enough without getting involved with cattle rustlers?”
Jess watched Ross pale beneath his deep cowboy tan and swallow nervously. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This shell casing says you do. The casings Farrell found at Moe’s the morning after the rustling came from a .30-06 with a chipped firing pin. Your gun has a chipped firing pin. Cy came out to the ranch to check my aught-six, but it was clean. Yours wasn’t there. You’d taken it down to the bunkhouse with you.”
Ross’s gaze slid away, and he squirmed in the saddle. “You never told me Cy came out to check guns. You never mentioned anything about chipped firing pins, either.” He dragged his gaze back to Jess, but stopped just short of making eye contact. “You should’ve told me, Jess.”
Jess exhaled a short, flat laugh. “I probably would have, if you’d been around. But I guess you were too busy stealing cattle at the time.”
Ross started an indignant denial, and Jess’s anger came flooding
back. “Don’t lie to me again. I’ve had it with your fairy tales! Do you know how sick I felt when I went downstairs to clean my gun and found those shell casings in the reloading room?” When Ross didn’t reply, Jess went on. “Or are you going to tell me they’re not yours?”
“Yes, they’re mine!” Ross shouted back. Then his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to shrink in his saddle. He was caught, and he obviously knew it.
“Now the hard question, little brother—where did those casings come from? What were you shooting at?”
“A target! The other night, I fired some shots at a coyote that was gettin’ too close to the herd, but I missed him, so the next day, I hung a target and sighted in my gun. When I picked up the ejected casings, I never looked at them. I just dropped them off at the house for reloading, like I always do.” He swallowed. I didn’t know about my pin.”
Disappointment and weariness sank deeply into Jess’s bones. “Dammit, Ross, how did you get yourself into this?”
Ross blinked, then drew several long breaths and let them out, an obvious effort to turn back tears. “Honest, Jess, I didn’t know what they were going to do that night—and I swear, it was only that one time. I owed them some money, and they said I could work part of it off if I helped them do a job.”
“Yeah, right. You never had a clue your friends meant to steal cattle when they backed a semi up to Moe’s fence and pulled out the bolt cutters.”
“They’re not my friends, and I didn’t know! At least not until it was too late.” Ross looked away again, took off his hat, then pulled it back on. He met Jess’s eyes and drew a deep breath. “Look...” he began nervously. “I don’t know how to change a firing pin...but Dad taught you.”
“Ross—”
“Just listen before you say no. A while back you had some trouble, and I was there for you. You could change my firing pin. And after the casings are reloaded, there won’t be any more evidence. I mean...once you knock out the primers and replace them, I’m in the clear, right?”
Jess’s stomach did another sick roll as he stared at the desperation on his brother’s face. How much of Ross’s trouble was his fault, for habitually fixing the kid’s mistakes? And he was still doing it. He’d already reloaded the incriminating shells, and to all intents and purposes, the only evidence linking Ross to the crime was the rifle Jess now held in his hands.
A term he’d learned in a freshman psych class popped into his mind, and Jess swallowed. Enabler. By never demanding that Ross stand on his own two feet, Jess had been instrumental in making his brother the man he was.
First he had let him blow off college. Then there had been pity for an orphaned kid trying to find his way—which had resulted in a lighter workload for Ross on the ranch. Worse, there had been all those advances on his wages to cover his gambling debts, and finally, the bargain Jess had struck with Casey to make sure Broken straw remained in Dalton hands. A side thought thanked God for her compassion and her strong sense of right and wrong; if not for her, they could be in worse shape than they were.
But his “fixing” things for Ross hadn’t done the kid a damn bit of good. It had only reinforced the notion that Ross’s gambling and inconsiderate actions would be tolerated. But no more.
No more.
Jess toughened his features and watched hope die in Ross’s eyes as he realized there would be no replaced firing pin, no quick fix this time. Yes, there had been a three-month stretch when Ross was the dependable one. But Jess had repaid Ross’s favor a dozen times over.
“I want to know everything,” Jess said gravely. “Names, dates, and times. From the beginning. When you’re through, we’re driving into town to see Cy Farrell.”
It was dusk when Jess returned to the house, bone-weary and beaten. His mind was still swimming with the highlights—or low lights, he thought morosely—of Ross’s confession. He’d owed money to two men he wouldn’t name. They had offered to let part of the debt slide if he helped them do a job they wouldn’t describe. They had told him to bring a gun.
“At first, I thought they were just gonna outlaw a couple of deer,” Ross had said.
Then they’d driven to a secluded spot and met a man with a tractor-trailer rig, and Ross had understood. He’d tried to back out, but they’d forced him to ride along, making him an accessory. They knew having a jail term dangling over his head would keep him quiet.
And there had been no pay, even though Ross insisted he should be given something for putting himself at risk. But he’d refused to herd Moe Jackson’s cattle into the waiting semi, and they’d denied him recompense.
“They had my rifle, Jess,” Ross had said miserably. “Then, out of the blue, Moe showed up, and De—One of the guys fired it over Moe’s head to scare him off.”
“What if it wasn’t just to scare to him off?” Jess had asked coldly. “What if this creep just missed? Your gun wasn’t shooting dead-on that night, was it?”
And remembering that he’d had to sight it in again, Ross had nodded fearfully and admitted that maybe they hadn’t missed Moe on purpose. Which had only reinforced his refusal to name the rustlers. “I can’t do it, Jess. They’ll find me if I do.”
Jess took off his hat, dragged a tired hand through his hair and tossed his hat on the hutch in the foyer. The confession had been given to him alone. Afterward, Ross had begged Jess to let him turn himself in, and Jess had agreed. Then he had promised Ross he’d keep quiet about everything until Ross saw Farrell. Ross had asked for a day or two to gather his courage and, reluctantly, Jess had agreed to that, too. He was still “enabling.”
“You’re home.”
Jess looked inside the den to see Casey sitting at the desk. His typewriter was sitting in front of her, and as he watched, she withdrew a sheet of paper, signed it, then folded it in thirds.
Ambling inside, he nodded at the sheet in her hand. “Writing a letter?”
Casey nodded soberly and picked up an envelope. “My mom called a few minutes ago to share some good news, and she reminded me of something.” She paused, seemed to consider whether to explain, then drew a breath and did. “The other night when she phoned—the evening we went to the hot spring—it was to say that a nursing position had opened in the pediatrics department where I used to work. My lawyer’s on the hospital board and has offered to put in a good word for me.”
Jess stared, feeling a strange weakness invade his body as she licked and sealed the envelope. “So...that’s an application for employment?”
“No, just a letter asking for an interview. My application’s already on file. The position will be available the first of August.” Her voice dropped and she averted her eyes. “That’s only a few weeks away.”
Jess couldn’t feel his heart anymore. He had known she would be leaving sooner or later; there had never been any other plan. He’d just thought it would be later—in September, when they sold the herd and she had enough money to get herself squared away in an apartment. He cleared a surprising tightness from his throat. “Can you afford to leave here that soon?”
“I’ve had some time to think about it. If I get the job, I’ll have the money from Ross to tide me over until I start drawing a paycheck, so yes, I should be okay.”
“Your mother must be pleased,” he said, and it was a struggle to smile.
“Yes, she is, especially since she and Paul have set a wedding date.”
“They have? I thought she felt it was too soon to remarry.”
Casey sent him a tight smile. “That was never the problem, and I suspected as much. She was afraid of...well, the physical side of marriage. She’s a shy woman who had known only one man in her life, and she was feeling unsure of herself. Which is silly, because my mother is a very beautiful woman.” Casey pushed back the swivel chair and stood. “She finally worked up the courage to tell Paul what the problem was, and they had a long talk. The wedding’s set for August twenty-first.” Casey paused. “Naturally, she wants me to be there.”
“Natur
ally,” Jess repeated quietly. He watched her open the top drawer of the desk and slide the stamped envelope inside.
“I’ll mail this the next time I get into town,” she murmured, then offered him an uncomfortable smile that reminded him that things had been tense between them when he left this afternoon. “If you’re hungry, I can—”
“Thanks, but maybe later. I don’t have much of an appetite right now. I’m going to take a shower.”
“Jess?”
He stopped, his hand on the newel post as he prepared to climb the stairs. “Yes?”
“I was thinking about what you said before you left. About—”
He exhaled raggedly. “About my police record, I know.” He paused for a second, not really sure he wanted her to know what a jerk he’d once been. Then, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he heard himself say, “If you need to know about it, I’ll tell you.”
A softness came into her eyes, and Jess felt a swell of appreciation.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she answered gently. “And that’s not what I was talking about. I was thinking about your saying it’s rare for men to wear watch fobs anymore.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“Apparently it’s not that rare. One of the delivery men at Belle Craw ford’s was wearing one the other day. Which made me think that...if a man who enjoyed wearing a fob lost his, he might want to replace it—maybe even replicate it. And since most of the thefts have occurred in the tricounty area, it almost seems as though the people doing this are local, or are staying nearby. Don’t you think?”
After his talk with Ross, he could have told her that it wasn’t merely speculation; the men were holed up nearby. Otherwise, Ross wouldn’t have encountered them at Babylon. Although how close to Comfort they were staying and how often they surfaced was another question altogether.
“We could start phoning jewelry stores in the area,” Casey suggested. “We could ask if they have elk fobs in stock—which is doubtful—and when we get a no, we can ask if they take orders.”
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