Trouble in Big Timber

by B. J Daniels

  Hitch just had to prove it, and that was the problem.

  It was late by the time they reached the hotel.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Ford said and glanced at his phone. “Bar closes in less than an hour.”

  She smiled. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “Only on special occasions.”

  “And you think this is one of them?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “It just might be.” His look said he wasn’t ready to go to his hotel room alone. She knew the feeling. Maybe tonight they needed each other. She realized with a start that she more than needed him. She wanted him, which was entirely different. This kind of want made her ache inside.

  The bar was empty except for a few regulars watching TV at the other end of the room. She ordered herself a screwdriver. Ford raised a brow and laughed and said he’d take the same. Taking a sip of her drink, she slid off the stool, went to the jukebox and punched in a few of her favorite songs.

  The bartender saw her and turned down the volume on the TV as she took her stool again and the first song came on.

  “Seriously, why are you involved in such a dangerous job?”

  “Someone has to do it. I would think you’d know better than anyone why I do this.”

  “That was war. This is...”

  “Its own kind of war,” she said and ran a finger down the sweating fog on her glass. “I’m sorry I suspected you.”

  “Thanks, since I take that to mean you no longer do,” he said.

  “Do you still love her?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question, but once it was out of her mouth, she was anxious to hear his answer. She hated that she was hanging on his answer, knowing he would be truthful with her.

  He took a sip of his drink and chuckled to himself. “No. I’ve realized that I’ve never been in love with Rachel. Not the real kind. I was in love with the idea of her.” He met her gaze. “But I’m not even in love with that anymore.”

  “Good,” she said as a new song began on the jukebox.

  Ford stepped off his stool. “Dance with me.” He reached for her hand. His large one was warm and dry. A strong hand. It wrapped around hers as he gently led her out onto the small dance floor. A strong man, she thought as he took her in his arms.

  They began to move to the slow country song. She breathed in the distinct male scent of him and was tired enough that she was almost tempted to rest her head on his shoulder.

  She drew back a little to look into his face. “I’m serious about you leaving town.”

  He grinned. “Otherwise you won’t be able to resist me?”

  “Something like that. Ford, I’m serious. It’s too dangerous. She saw us together tonight.” She leaned back a little to meet his gaze. “Promise me that you’ll leave in the morning.”

  “If that’s what you want.” He pulled her closer. This time she didn’t resist. She rested her head on his shoulder, relishing being wrapped in his protective strength. What was it about this man that brought out such powerful feelings in her? It had happened so quickly that it had caught her off guard.

  The song ended. When she raised her head from his shoulder, she met his gaze. Heat speed-raced through her veins, reminding her how long it had been since she’d even dated.

  “Ford?”

  “I know,” he said. “Maybe when this case is over, if you—”

  “I thought I’d find you here,” said a deep male voice behind them.

  Hitch turned to see the sheriff, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, his chest puffed out. “That lab of yours is trying to find you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Hitch pulled out her phone, she saw that she had several messages from the DCI lab—and the governor. “I’m sorry. I have to go take care of this,” she told Ford. Their gazes locked. “Thank you for the dance.”

  “We’ll have to do it again sometime,” he said with a slight bow of his head.

  The look in his eye made her cheeks actually flush. “I hope so.”

  She rushed upstairs to the quiet of her room to listen to her messages. She desperately needed a break in this case and soon. She wanted this one over for more reasons than ever before.

  After closing her door to the quiet of her room, she listened to the governor’s first message. Bart Collinwood had been kicking up a lot of dust and so had Lloyd Townsend. If Hitch didn’t find something solid on the case soon...

  She listened to the DCI investigator’s message and held her breath. Maybe this was the break she needed. “I have news, just not the news I think you were hoping to hear. We found no blood or tissue evidence on the ring to suggest it had been used in a violent attack. Nothing on the ring matched Rachel Collinwood’s DNA either.”

  Hitch let out the breath she’d been holding and told herself it had been a long shot. Still, when she’d seen the Townsends’ rings, she’d thought she’d found a clue. Those grooves were so deep in that design that something would have been found. And Rachel and Paul had been lovers. She’d thought she’d found the key to breaking this case wide open.

  “As for the design and the bruise left on Rachel Collinwood’s face, we ran both the ring and photo through a variety of tests. Our conclusion? It doesn’t match. There are parts of it that are close... Sorry. We have a unit coming out your way tomorrow. I’ll have them return the ring to you.”

  Hitch tossed her phone on the bedside table. She couldn’t help but feel even more deflated. She’d been so sure that she’d found the accomplice. The ring that had made the bruise wasn’t Paul Townsend’s ring—nor was it the husband’s. All Hitch had to do was find the ring that matched that bruise. Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack.

  Another dead end. All her instincts told her that her suspicions weren’t wrong. But unless she found evidence... Worse, when she thought about it, Paul Townsend was too young and too undisciplined to be the accomplice. Wasn’t that why a year ago Rachel had cut him loose? Rachel had realized that she couldn’t count on him. So who had she turned to?

  As she got ready for bed, her thoughts kept straying to Ford. She’d met few men who could occupy her thoughts as much. She thought about what he’d confessed to her about the day he’d gotten the call from Rachel. It hadn’t been easy for him to admit. She could tell that he was embarrassed by even the foiled attempt to end his life. She couldn’t imagine how low he’d been at that moment to even consider it. Ford Cardwell wasn’t the impulsive type. If suicide had been his intention, then Rachel really could have saved his life.

  If so, then Hitch now believed in fate.

  She realized that she had no solid proof that Rachel had planned the killing of her husband. That was what frustrated her the most. She had the lack of fingerprints on the glass and pottery. She had the lack of the husband’s voice on the call to Ford. She had the bruise. She had the cartridge casing by the kitchen door. She had the lack of bruises and abrasions on the husband’s hands. But even with all of that, it still might not be enough to hold up in court.

  Had she lost her perspective? Had she wanted Rachel to be guilty? “What if your instincts are wrong?” she asked herself in the empty hotel room.

  “I’m not wrong.” Whatever Rachel had been hit with, it also hadn’t been with her husband’s ring. So whose had it been?

  Whoever had hit her had forgotten to take off his ring. But Rachel would have realized it at some point and had him put Humphrey’s ring on. Which meant Humphrey was already dead.

  But without that ring... This was the part of a case that she hated the most. Being so close she could feel it, but not being able to find that one crucial piece of evidence that would complete her investigation. She’d been here before. Usually, it was something small that she’d overlooked. Or a mistake the criminal had made or was going to make.

  She needed the accomplice—
and that ring.

  She climbed into bed, telling herself she’d never get to sleep, not with her roiling emotions—and her growing feelings for Ford Cardwell.

  A few hours later, she was startled awake by the ringing of her phone. She picked up. “Good morning, Governor.”

  “Is it? What have we got on this investigation?”

  “Nothing definite yet, but—”

  “The sheriff seems to think that you’re on some kind of crusade against this woman.”

  Hitch groaned inwardly. “I’m just trying to get at the truth like I always do.”

  “You have a great record at doing just that. But this case is...”

  “Complicated.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” the governor said. “I can’t give you much more time on this. I have another case you’re needed on. Not to mention the fact that you seem to have stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

  “Give me forty-eight hours. If I don’t have evidence by then, I’ll leave it to the sheriff.” Hitch knew what that would mean. Rachel Collinwood would get away with murder.

  “Forty-eight hours.”

  The clock was ticking.

  * * *

  FORD WAS WAITING for Hitch when she came out of the hotel. He pulled her aside behind a pillar at the edge of the building. “You okay?” he asked, his hand still on her arm. She nodded, but he could tell something was wrong. “It wasn’t the ring, was it,” he said.

  She groaned. “You know about the ring?” Shaking her head, she said, “These small towns. No. It wasn’t the ring I was looking for. I’d hoped it matched a bruise on Rachel’s face.” She described the bruise. “It didn’t match close enough. So I’m back to square one, since I’m almost positive the bruise was made by a man’s ring—just not her husband’s.”

  Ford had heard about Paul Townsend being brought in. It had been his pickup that they’d seen leaving the Collinwood Ranch. But not his ring.

  “I have an idea,” he said, having given this some thought last night after they’d parted. He couldn’t leave town. Not now. “Rachel trusts me. Put a wire on me and let me try to get the truth out of her.”

  Hitch was shaking her head before he could even finish speaking. “Not happening. I need to wind this investigation up in the next forty-eight hours, and quite frankly, you’ve become a distraction I can’t afford.”

  “Is that what I am to you?” he said, grinning.

  “I’m serious. Please go home so I know you’re safe.”

  “I can’t do that.” He held her gaze. “I came here to save Rachel if I could. Instead, I find myself getting involved with you.”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re involved.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” He cupped her cheek, drawing her face up to his own. “Tell me there is nothing between us and I’ll walk away right now.”

  She parted her lips, but no words came out. He pulled her into his arms. He could feel her heart pounding in her pulse. “Last chance,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hitch had flat-out refused to even think about his plan. She was determined that he leave and go back to Big Sky. Did she really believe that Rachel would harm him? Kill him? Even if she’d murdered Humphrey, Ford didn’t believe that she would kill him.

  But he could also be wrong about that. Wrong about a lot of things when it came to Rachel. He knew it was risky. The thought made him laugh. It wasn’t that long ago that he was racing toward a cliff with only one thought in mind—ending his life as he knew it.

  Now, though, his life felt precious. He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to live—even if Hitch Roberts wasn’t part of it. Not that he was ready to give up on the two of them. She needed this investigation over and so did he. He could tell that she’d hit a wall in the investigation. If he could move it along, he would do whatever he had to.

  As he drove out to Rachel’s ranch, he told himself that maybe Rachel didn’t trust him as much as she used to. But she didn’t see him as a real threat. She saw him as naive and weak because of his feelings for her, which he’d more than demonstrated at her wedding. If anything, she found him dispensable, just as she had fifteen years ago. Now that he’d already given his statement to the sheriff, she wanted him gone.

  But would she trust him enough to tell him the truth?

  He had to pretend he was still blindly in love with her. That wouldn’t be easy. Rachel had been his fantasy woman for years. Unfortunately, that woman had never existed, and it had taken her to show him that. Had Humphrey come to that same conclusion those last few seconds before she’d killed him?

  Ford realized now that he’d used the fantasy of Rachel so other women never quite measured up and he didn’t get hurt. As a boy, he’d seen the hell his father had gone through during the divorce. Ford’s own mother had deserted them. No wonder he had commitment issues.

  Until now. He’d never met anyone like Hitch before. She’d made him realize what he wanted in a woman—knocking Rachel off that pedestal he’d put her on.

  As he pulled up in front of the ranch house, he knew this was going to have to be the acting job of his life. Rachel was smart. She was also leery of him after his last visit. If she spotted the lie... He pushed the thought away. He would just have to make sure she didn’t.

  As Rachel opened the door, he caught a whiff of familiar perfume. Her hair was pulled up, a gold necklace twinkling at her slim throat. She was wearing a slinky jumpsuit in a turquoise blue that brought out the blue in her eyes and hugged her curves. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous and she knew it.

  “Ford, I was glad when you called. Come in.”

  She let him into the living room. “I hate the way we left things the last time you were here.” Soft music played in the background. The lights had been dimmed. “Have a seat. Let me get us something to drink.”

  Still standing, he watched her walk into the kitchen, taken aback by this warm reception. Earlier when he’d called, he’d said the same thing. He didn’t like the way they’d left things. She’d sounded wary at best on the phone but had said of course she wanted to see him before he left.

  Now he felt a sliver of concern work its way under his skin. This could be a huge mistake. But he was already here, he told himself as he looked around. He spotted Rachel’s phone on the table next to the couch. Hadn’t the sheriff taken her phone? This must be a new one. He realized that she must have been looking at it when he knocked and put it down and forgotten it.

  Ford quickly picked it up. She hadn’t signed off. He wasn’t sure what he was even looking for. Certainly not a confession.

  After glancing at her emails, he opened her photos. He went to the most recent ones. He was scanning through them when one caught his eye. All the breath rushed from him. It was of Rachel. She was tied to an iron bed, wearing nothing but what appeared to be a fireman’s jacket that barely covered her private parts. He zoomed in to make the logo larger. Sweet Grass County volunteer fireman’s jacket.

  Had Humphrey been a local volunteer fireman? Ford knew it would be easy enough to find out, but he doubted it. In the photo, Rachel was laughing and saying something to the person taking the shot. It was the gleam in her eyes that told him the photographer wasn’t Humphrey. That and the fact that this photo had been taken on her new phone, so it had been shot recently.

  He quickly switched to open Rachel’s contact list, curious about whose number he’d find, when she called from the kitchen.

  “I hope you still like dark beer.”

  “You know me,” he called back and quickly looked around for a place to put the phone. He stuffed it between two of the large, heavy fashion magazines on the coffee table as he heard her coming back and sat down next to it.

  “I was so glad I had a beer for you,” Rachel said, returning to the living room with a bottle of dark beer and a frosted glass, which she put down on the table at
the far end of the couch next to him. She sat down at the opposite end of the couch, picked up her glass of red wine and turned toward him. Her smile looked glued on and slightly crooked. He figured it wasn’t her first glass of wine tonight.

  “I’m so sorry we had to reconnect after all these years in such a tragic way,” she said. “It appears that all of Humphrey’s and my dirty secrets are now local gossip. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I’m sure you never expected to find yourself in such a situation.”

  “Exactly,” she agreed. “People like Humphrey and I... Well, I never expected something like this to happen. Not to us. I know you were shocked,” she said, leaning toward him a little.

  He got another wave of her perfume. It made him nauseous. He reached for his beer and poured some into the glass. The cold made him shiver a little. “I was shocked,” he admitted. “I had no idea.”

  “No one did. Shyla said I should have told someone. Called the police on him. Done something more before things got totally out of hand.” She shook her head and took a sip of her wine. Cupping the glass in her hands, she looked at him. “I was so ashamed. I didn’t want anyone to know. I especially didn’t want you to find out. What you must think of me.”

  “You can’t believe that I would think less of you because of this.”

  Tears welled in all that blue. She licked her lips and gave him a sad smile. “You were Humphrey’s best friend, but I always felt you and I... I don’t know. That we had a special connection.”

  There would have been a time when those words would have warmed him to his toes. Instead, he found himself comparing this visit to the last one, when she’d been trying to get rid of him. Apparently, she wasn’t hiding her boyfriend in the back bedroom this time.

  “Ford, there’s something I have to ask you.” She put down her wineglass and turned all of her attention on him. “There’s a rumor going around. I’m sure it’s not true. Some people saw you dancing with that woman, the medical examiner, and the other night I went for a drive and...” Her gaze locked with his. “I thought I saw you in her patrol car.”