Tucker looked as horrified as she felt. He sprang off the bed as if it had suddenly turned into hot coals, grabbed his shirt and jerked it on, and then left off dressing himself to collect her clothing. Before she quite realized what he was about, he’d shoved her bra straps up her arms, fastened the hooks, and already had one of her arms pushed into a shirtsleeve. Samantha gulped back a demented giggle because the bra was inside out, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to fasten it.
“What are we doing?” he suddenly asked.
She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shh, he’ll hear.”
He turned his head aside and whispered, “We’re both consenting adults. Why are we acting like a couple of guilty kids?”
“Because,” she whispered back, “he’s my father.”
“Right,” he replied, as if that made total sense. “Your father. Damn.”
He tucked in the tails of his shirt with hard thrusts and fastened his jeans. As he buckled his belt, he said, “Where do you want me to hide?”
It meant the world to her that he understood how she felt. “In the bathroom. I’ll holler up when he’s gone.”
In a flurry of movement Samantha jerked on her jeans, finished donning her shirt, pulled on one boot, and then couldn’t find the other one. “Damn, damn, damn.” She toed the boot back off, only then registering that she had just made love to the handsomest man she’d ever met with her socks still on. “Just a minute, Dad!” she called. “I’ll be right down. You woke me from a nap.”
Tucker rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with her ability to lie convincingly. Samantha didn’t care. She was not, absolutely not, going to let her father know that she’d been having sex with her veterinarian.
She hurried out onto the landing, raced down the stairs, stopped just outside the kitchen to frantically finger-comb her hair, and then calmly entered the kitchen. “Hi!” she said brightly.
Her father treated her to a long study, much as he had long ago when she’d gotten into mischief as a child and tried to pull the wool over his eyes. “Kind of late in the day for a nap, isn’t it?” he observed.
“Yes, well.” She pushed at her hair again. And then, to her horror, she saw her ball cap lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I was just so exhausted, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” Acting casual, she made a beeline for the hat. “I guess the last few weeks have taken a toll.” Yawning for effect and hoping to keep his attention on her face, she kicked the hat under the table. “I can’t seem to get enough sleep.”
“Tucker exhausted, too?” he asked, his expression deadpan but for the questioning lift of his eyebrows.
“Tucker?” she echoed stupidly.
“Jerome saw the two of you walkin’ this way, and Tucker’s nowhere to be found in the stables. Given that his truck and dog are still outside, it follows he must be here.” He waited a beat. “Maybe you should go back up stairs and check to see if he’s under the bed.”
Samantha felt fiery heat surge into her cheeks. She jumped with a guilty start when Tucker spoke up from behind her. “No need to go searching. I’m right here.” His boot heels tapped the floor as he came to stand at her side. “Before you blow your stack, Frank, it’s not how it looks.”
Frank thumbed up the brim of his hat to give Tucker an expectant look. “How is it then?”
“I plan to marry her as soon as I can convince her to have me.”
Frank settled a questioning gaze on his daughter. After a long silence he said, “If you need convincin’, Samantha Jane, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
Samantha still hadn’t managed an intelligent response when her father swept off his hat, hooked it over the back of one of the chairs, and sat down.
“We need to talk, ladies and gents. I just got a call from Ray Ballantine, and the news about Fisher isn’t good.”
Chapter Seventeen
Samantha sat at the table beside Tucker, facing her father. Her heart was still slamming, and her face felt hot. It was more than a little unsettling to meet her dad’s gaze when her body still thrummed in the afterglow of having had glorious sex. It didn’t help that the experience had been a new one for her. She still wanted to be upstairs in Tucker’s arms. She needed some private, quiet time to go back over all of it in her mind, and then hold it close to her heart and marvel that something so beautiful had happened to her. Instead she was involved in a discussion she couldn’t concentrate on, her skin felt sticky, and the rough lace of her inside-out bra chafed her nipples every time she moved.
“Samantha Jane?”
With a guilty start, she forced her attention back on her father. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He studied her solemnly. “This may be one of the most important conversations we’ve ever had or will ever have. You need to listen.” At her nod, he repeated himself. “Steve Fisher was in Boise, Idaho, at a bull-ridin’ event on the weekend Tabasco first got sick. He was in Denver at another rodeo the night Blue Blazes was doped. On Thursday, there’s no way he could have been here to poison Cilantro and Hickory. He was clear down in Sacramento.”
As she absorbed that information, Samantha felt an awful coldness move through her. “So it wasn’t Steve after all?”
Her dad shoved his thick, calloused fingers through his hair. “Apparently not. Ballantine checked with every possible airline to make sure Fisher didn’t hop on a puddle jumper to get back here, do the deed, and then leave again. The man wasn’t on any of the flights, and in this day and age, with heightened security even at smaller airports, his flyin’ under another name is highly unlikely. Ray also assured me that on two occasions, there were no flights available into Redmond for Steve to have taken.”
“Maybe he flew back to Portland and drove down here,” Samantha suggested. “If you break the speed limit, you can make it in three hours.”
Frank shook his head. “Ballantine thought of that. After goin’ over all the information Tucker gave him, he determined that Steve couldn’t possibly have pulled it off. The times of the flight arrivals in Portland, along with the drivin’ time, just don’t add up and coincide with the times Tucker estimated the dope and poison had to have been ingested.”
“Is Ballantine positive Fisher was actually that far away all three times?” Tucker asked angrily. “If he’s tracking the bastard by purchases that were made, maybe it wasn’t Steve using his credit card. I’ve used my brothers’ cards occasionally, and they’ve used mine. We just forge each other’s names. Most times they don’t ask for picture ID when it’s a small purchase. Credit card activity in those locations doesn’t absolutely prove Steve was there.”
Frank shook his head again. “That was my first thought, too, but there’s other evidence. Steve actually competed in bull-ridin’ events at all three locations. In each instance hundreds of people saw him perform. Even worse, he took first place in the Sacramento competition, attended the winner’s banquet afterward, and gave a speech. He was there, all right.”
The room fell ominously silent while Samantha and Tucker struggled to assimilate that. “I was so sure,” she said tautly. “Who else but Steve would do something so vile?”
“I don’t know,” her father replied. “I only know we have to find out, honey. If we don’t, you’re in big trouble.”
Tucker’s big, warm hand encircled hers beneath the table. It helped soothe her to feel the heat of his wide wrist resting on her thigh.
“Ballantine has concluded that it has to have been someone else,” her father went on. Looking directly at his daughter, he added, “Someone on the inside.”
“The inside?” she repeated stupidly.
Frank nodded. “I know it’s not a nice thing to think about, but with Steve completely out of the picture, we’ve got to focus on anyone else who has access to your horses. Ballantine wants permission to investigate all of your employees first. If that turns up nothin’, he’ll turn the magnifyin’ glass on everyone else—delivery people, friends, even family.”
; “No.” Samantha shook her head. “Family, Dad? That’s crazy.”
“I know it,” Frank agreed. “And I don’t believe for a minute that he’ll turn up anything on any of us. Unfortunately, honey, I can’t be so sure about your employees. People can seem one way and be another, especially when you don’t know ’em well. I’d like your authorization to put every damned one of ’em under Ballantine’s magnifyin’ glass.”
Samantha clung to Tucker’s hand now. “Nan? Ronnie?” She remembered the pathetic bouquet of weeds that Carrie had picked for Cilantro’s grave, and the anguish on the young woman’s face. “They’re not just employees, Daddy. They’re my friends. I trust them.”
“I know it, but maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Not even Nan?” Samantha couldn’t count the times that she and Nan had laughed until they were weak over some bit of girlish nonsense. She couldn’t in her heart believe that Nan had a mean bone in her entire body. Or Carrie, either, for that matter. “If Nan ever finds out I had her investigated, just think how she’ll feel. It would be a terrible slap in the face.” She thought of Kyle and shook her head again. Though the stable hand made a constant pest of himself by coming on to her and every other woman in her employ, Samantha didn’t, couldn’t, believe that he would do something so vicious. “No,” she said. “I want to find out who did this, but we have to set limits on how far we’ll go. Those special programs of Ballantine’s invade people’s privacy.”
“I’ll go first,” Tucker said softly. Angling a determined look at Samantha, he said, “If I don’t have a problem with being investigated, no one else should take it personally, either. A crime has been committed—a terrible crime. It may be an invasion of Nan’s privacy if Ballantine documents when and where she last bought tampons or discovers that she reads soft porn, but keep it in perspective. Compared to what Cilantro and Hickory were subjected to, it’s nothing.”
“You, investigated?” she echoed. “Why would I even consider—”
“Several reasons,” he interjected, “starting with the fact that I’m in love with you. Maybe I’m insanely jealous and got pissed, thinking you smiled wrong at Jerome or Kyle.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Absurd, yes, but also possible. Like your dad says, people can seem one way and be another. What do you really know about me?”
“I know everything I need to know,” she said softly, hearing the echo of his words to her only a short time ago. “You’d never poison one of my horses. I know it. I don’t need a report from Ray Ballantine to tell me that.”
Tucker’s blue eyes went cloudy with tenderness. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you for that, Sammy. It means more to me than I can say. But it still makes sense for me to go first. I have access to morphine. I met you only a short while before all of this came down. I frequently visit farms and ranches, giving me an opportunity to get my hands on outdated swine feed or sprays that contain arsenicals. I also have the knowledge to pull it off. Lastly, if any of your employees find out they’ve been investigated and are offended, you can mollify them with the response that everyone was investigated, even your vet.”
“I don’t like it,” she protested.
“You’ll like goin’ to jail even less,” her father retorted. He gave Tucker an admiring look. “I’ll go next.” His hard mouth tipped into a grin. “Why not?” He returned his gaze to his daughter. “You can tell your employees that you had your own father checked out.” He lifted his hands. “Aside from popcorn and Benji films at Dee Dee’s place, I’ve got nothin’ to hide. Anyone who gets totally pissed is someone worth lookin’ closer at, if you ask me.”
“Even Jerome?” Samantha said shakily.
“Jerome won’t give a shit,” her father replied. “If he was here, he’d be linin’ up behind me and Tucker to go on Ballantine’s list. He loves you, honey. And he loved Cilantro, too. He wants to catch the person who killed her every bit as much as we do.”
“I have to talk to him first,” Samantha insisted. “I can live without the rest of them, but not Jerome. He’s like part of our family.”
“I’ll talk to him,” her father assured her. “If he objects to being scrutinized, we’ll honor his wishes. But I’ll be mightily surprised if he does. Jerome has no secrets that are worth keepin’. If he’s ashamed to do somethin’, he doesn’t do it, plain and simple.”
“All right,” Samantha pushed out, but the words came hard. By giving her permission, she was acknowledging the possibility that someone on her payroll, someone she cared about and genuinely liked, was as heartless and evil as Steve Fisher. What did that say for the world she lived in?
Her father pushed up from his seat to cross the kitchen and make some coffee. As he rinsed the basket and reusable filter, he asked, “Is there anyone, anyone at all who works for you, who may have reason to hate you, honey?”
Samantha drew her hand from Tucker’s and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don’t think so. I try to be a good boss. Maybe I fail in that sometimes, but mostly I think I’m fair.”
As he measured out coffee, Frank said, “I don’t necessarily mean that you did somethin’ to deserve the hatred. And maybe hatred is the wrong word. Take Kyle, for in stance, always struttin’ his stuff and makin’ eyes at you. A second ago, Tucker talked about the possibility that he could be insanely jealous. Could the same hold true for Kyle?” He slapped the basket drawer closed on the coffeemaker and pushed the brewing button. “You’re a beautiful woman. The man works with you day in and day out. It’s entirely possible that what you laugh off and make light of is very serious to him.”
“It’s not like that, Dad.” Samantha started to say that Frank thought she was beautiful only because he was her father, but knowing and loving Tucker had wrought a change within her, and she no longer felt second-rate. “To Kyle I’m just another mark. He comes on to everyone. That’s just him. He may be serious, in a joking sort of way, but he doesn’t get mad when he’s turned down. He just regroups and tries again.”
Her father drew three mugs from the cupboard. “You got your tablet in your pocket, Tucker?”
“I always have my tablet.”
“Start taking notes then,” Frank advised. “We need to make a list.”
“A list of what?” Samantha asked.
“Suspects,” her father replied. “People who may have a reason to want to hurt you, or kill your horses, or dam age your reputation, even if it seems far-fetched.” To Tucker, he added, “This may take a while. If you’d like to bring your dog in, I’m sure Samantha wouldn’t mind.”
Three pieces of jerky and two bowls of water later, Max lay asleep with his head on Samantha’s stocking feet as the discussion continued. In less than an hour, every one in Samantha’s employ had been scrutinized except Jerome, and it had been determined that each person might, for one reason or another, have it in for Samantha.
“I still find it hard to swallow that it could be Nan,” Samantha said for at least the third time. “We’re friends.”
“She’s also working her ass off for a piddlin’ wage.”
“I pay her decent money,” Samantha argued.
“For a rancher still strugglin’ to make it, you pay her decent,” Frank retorted. “But she may not see it that way. She’s got an apartment; you’ve got a nice home. She drives a rattletrap economy car; you drive a new four-wheel-drive Ford. Trust me, honey, I’ve been there, with hired hands who hated my guts just for bein’ their boss. It didn’t matter that I worked harder than they did and went without, tryin’ to make ends meet. In their eyes, I was a little rich boy who’d inherited this land and had every damned thing handed to me on a silver platter.”
“All right, all right,” Samantha said in defeat. “It’s a long shot, but we can put down her name, I guess.”
She glanced over Tucker’s arm to peruse the list again. Even the quiet, unassuming Carrie had come under fire, the contention of Frank and Tucker being that the woman was homely, friendl
ess, and might secretly resent Samantha for making her feel inferior. In Samantha’s opinion, their arguments held no water. She’d seen the anguish in Carrie’s eyes when she’d stood over Cilantro’s grave. The woman’s tears had not been faked.
“I’m exhausted,” Samantha said, sinking back in her chair. “Put everybody on the list. I don’t care.”
Frank held out his hand for the sheet of paper Tucker had just torn from the tablet. “I’ll be leavin’ then so you can get some rest while I call Ballantine.”
Samantha held up her arms to give her father a farewell hug. He returned the embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Stop your frettin’,” he commanded. “Ray Ballantine’s a good man. He’ll do his best not to offend your friends if he feels it’s necessary to question them. And if he finds nothing on ’em, they’ll probably never even know he investigated them.”
After her father left, Samantha found it difficult to look at Tucker. In the cold aftermath of their lovemaking, she felt a little embarrassed over some of the intimacies she had so wholeheartedly engaged in. Okay, a lot embarrassed. And to top it all off, she’d been so into it that she’d actually screamed.
“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He caught her chin and forced her to look at him. After studying her for a long moment, he said, “You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“That’s two in less than a minute.”
“Two what?”
“Fibs. Fib number one, if it’s bothering you, it isn’t nothing. Fib number two, you are blushing, which tells me you’re either upset about something or embarrassed.” He narrowed his blue eyes slightly. “Let me guess. You’re remembering what we did, and you’re feeling uncomfortable.”
“Do we have to go there?”
Keeping a firm grip on her chin, he leaned close, eclipsing her vision with a blur of masculine features as he traced the line of her cheekbone with warm, silken lips. His breath smelled faintly of coffee and moved over her skin like a caress. And to her dismay, just that fast, she wanted him again.
Sun Kissed Page 31
