Murder at the Dude Ranch
Texas-Sized Mysteries, Book 4
Vickie Carroll
© 2019, Vickie Carroll.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cover Design by RockSolidBookDesign.com
Proofread by Alice Shepherd
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Sweet Promise Press
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Contents
Publisher’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
What’s Next?
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Chapter One
Abby Winslow stirred her iced tea and looked across the table at her oldest friend. “Ah, why are we talking about this, about Bobby Johns? That was kid stuff a lifetime ago, Cami.”
“Because you are back here where it all began, and now he is here, and I’m a romantic.”
“Well, I’m not so—”
Cami secured her long blonde ponytail, her blue eyes flashing. “Yeah, yeah, but I’ll bet the new sheriff of Big Branch finds his way out here as soon as he knows you are staying around. You didn’t see him at your dad’s funeral?”
"No, but I hardly remember being there myself."
Cami Lane downed the last of her tea. “Mama and Daddy said come over for dinner tomorrow night, they insist.”
“Sure, I’d love to see them both.”
Cami stood and stretched. "Come on out about four, and we can have some time to visit. I've got to run now. I have an appointment in town. See you tomorrow."
They walked toward Cami's car, and Abby stopped midway. "Cami, thanks for coming by. I wish you were back here too, for good I mean, and of course that is entirely selfish of me."
Cami hugged her and paused as she put her hand on the car door. “Be careful what you wish for, Abby. Who would have guessed, huh? You, back here and turning your dad’s ranch into the Silver Arrow Dude Ranch. You are doing this for you though, right, Abby?”
“I think so, Cami. Dad had given me the option of bailing. He knew he didn’t have too long with his heart the way it was. He didn’t want to leave me a burden. We just didn’t know how little time he had left.”
“You loved your dad, Abby, I get that, but to give up your career as an insurance investigator—I just want you to be happy, so don’t mind me butting in, okay?”
“I know, Cami. I’m good.”
Abby watched Cami drive off in her mom’s big old Cadillac and wondered why so many Texans loved those cars. Give her a Volvo any day. She made her way through the house and tried to put her thoughts in order. She was going to turn her parent’s home, their ranch, her ranch now, into a dude ranch—and Bobby Johns was back. She, a widow at 33, alone and totally freaked out by the idea, was going to run a dude ranch. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
Her cousin, Evan, arrived at five complaining about the traffic out of San Antonio and the unpaved roads around the ranch. He also came with a file folder full of papers. Abby looked at the folder and rolled her eyes. “No, Evan, no more facts and figures and designs.”
“No, oh grumpy one. This is PR stuff. Two PR people I want you to talk to and line up with now. If you want to get your name on the map in time, you will have to start advertising before you are anywhere near opening day. And you are already behind. These are the two that came highly recommended: Teresa Moore, who owns her own agency, and Janice Ratlin who is co-owner with Tom Stevens. Both have experience with dude ranches, spas, vacation villas, you name it.”
“Oh, more people to talk to about things I know nothing about.”
“But Abby, that’s why you talk to people who do know, Miss Introvert.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call them tomorrow. Do you have a favorite?”
“Teresa Moore is a knockout, but I guess you don’t need that, right?”
“No, Evan, I don’t.”
“She is a tall, willowy blonde with big blue eyes, your classic nightmare. She reminds me a bit of Cami, but Teresa is taller and sleeker, if you know what I mean?”
“What do you mean, my classic nightmare?”
"No offense cousin, but you are petite, bordering on shy, and tend toward the conservative side in your dress. But those big brown eyes are a plus."
“Are you saying I’m not attractive, Evan?”
“You are attractive, of course. You’d know that if you looked in the mirror, but sometimes I think you go out of your way to try to hide it.”
“Since Ken died, I guess I have let myself go back to the wash-and-wear me.”
"Well, yes. You have this abundance of beautiful dark hair, and you keep it piled on top of your head or in a ponytail. You have a good figure, yet you hide it under big shirts. You hardly ever wear makeup. Not that you don’t have natural beauty."
Abby pushed her chair back and got up from the table. “Nice save, Evan. If this concludes the dissecting and insulting part of the evening, let’s adjourn to the family room and spread out these papers. If we need to hire more people to meet the timeline, now is the time.”
“You aren’t mad at me, are you? It’s all out of brotherly love you know.”
“No, I’m not mad Evan, I know you mean well, and how can I be mad when I know you are right. I just haven’t felt like making an effort in a long time.”
“It will get easier, Abby. But you are young to be a widow, and I don't want to see you let your life go by so tied here to the ranch and work that you have no fun and meet no one but tourists and ranch hands. I don't want you to wake up and find you are 50 and alone."
“Okay, point taken. Have you thought of writing a help-for-the-sloppy-woman column?”
"No one said you were sloppy, Abby. I love you, and I want you to be 33, not 53."
“Hmm—okay bring your tea and let’s get to work.”
Two hours later, surrounded by folders, papers, and a
calculator, they both agreed the plan for the dude ranch would work or at least would work if all went well.
Evan stood, stretched and groaned. “I’m feeling 40 coming at me.”
“I think what you’re feeling is due to sitting all day, not being 37.”
"That could be true. I was just thinking on the way here I couldn't remember the last time I went riding or even got outside for any length of time."
“Hey, I’m looking for hard working people here at the new Silver Arrow Dude Ranch.”
“Appreciate the offer, but my skillset is not entirely compatible with your needs, Miss Abby." Evan packed up his briefcase and ran his hands through his hair. "I could use a weekend off though."
“Why don’t you plan to come for a weekend before we officially open to guests? You can be my test case, get the VIP treatment and critique the experience. It would give you a weekend of leisure at no cost and give me the feedback that I need.”
"Okay, I can do that. Just send me the dates when you know them, and I'll be here ready to ride horses, eat chili and learn to rope steers. Oh, and I'll be sure to find something to complain about for good measure."
“Thanks for all this, Evan. I know you have put in a lot of time on my behalf and don’t think I don’t realize it. I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Well, just wait until you get my critique complaining about the towels or the bath soap, or the birds waking me at dawn. You’ll be sorry.” Evan hugged Abby and gathered his things to go. “Walk me out. I want to show you where I think you should try to plant some things as a barrier to help rain runoff and improve the view.”
Later as Abby watched Evan drive off, she was even more grateful for his help. Evan knew business, especially real estate and how to stage homes to their best advantage. His practiced eye and honesty were exactly what she needed. She didn’t feel entirely alone anymore. She jotted down his latest suggestions in her ever-present notebook and noticed that the pages were filling up fast.
After settling on a new pair of jeans and a button up white shirt, Abby curled her long nearly black hair and put it up into a ponytail. She put on makeup and looked in the mirror at the finished product. Good enough for a meeting with the contractor, she decided. She looked like her mother, there was no denying it. Though her mother's eyes were a lighter brown where her eyes were chocolate dark, as her dad said many times. She used to wish for her dad's blue-green eyes, but he would tell her it was the contrast between her dark hair and eyes with her pale Irish-heritage skin that made her so striking. When she was young, Abby used to wonder if striking was a good thing.
Abby made her way to the kitchen feeling better about herself. The kitchen always made her feel happy, safe, and brought back memories of her mom. Her mom had talked her dad into a significant kitchen remodel. She looked around now and saw her mother's taste everywhere from the high-tech appliances to the large apron-style kitchen sink. Then she looked at the old clock on the wall and felt the tears well up. Mom had left the old clock for dad, a favorite of his but he would never say why. The clock had been on the wall as long as Abby could remember. The pain of her loss came at her like a physical blow, and she doubled over, holding onto the sink. Her mom, gone much too soon, at 59 with cancer, and then, Ken, her husband in a car accident. Now her dad was gone too, her rock, and she was in this rambling ranch house alone with nothing but her memories. Abby made herself straighten up and as she dabbed at her eyes, she made a silent vow. She would make her parents proud.
The sound of a car outside brought her out of her thoughts, and she walked to the window. It was too early for the contractor. She went to the kitchen door just in time to see Bobby Johns step out of the sheriff’s car.
As she had done hundreds of times before, Abby watched Bobby make his way toward the porch. He hadn't changed much, still fit, and with that long-legged walk telling the world he was in no great hurry, but he meant business. The new sheriff's hat sat comfortably on his head as if it had always been there. It covered what looked to be a still generous amount of dark auburn hair underneath it. He took off his sunglasses as he came up on the porch and stopped when he saw her. "Abby."
“Hi, Bobby, so good to see you, come on in.” Abby felt her stomach do a little flip.
Abby could feel his green eyes on her as she fumbled with the kitchen chairs. “Sit, please. Can I get you anything?”
"Water would be good. How are you, Abby?"
“Good, fine—well, you know.”
"I wanted to say I'm sorry about your dad. I had to work the day of the funeral, but I did make it over the graveyard, but you were leaving, and I didn’t want to stop you.”
“I was in some sort of fugue state anyway. He seemed so well, so like himself that morning, and then…”
“Yeah, I know. So, you’re here to stay?”
“Wow, the news spreads fast as always I see.”
“Oh yeah, the second you started hiring more contractors, your privacy took a hit. You know how it is.”
“Right, well, it’s okay. I’ll be happy for the news to get out soon, I’m sure.”
“The Silver Arrow Dude Ranch, huh?”
“How did you know that?”
“Just a guess. I figured you’d want to keep the ranch name since it’s been the same through four generations here.”
“Yes, of course, you’d know that.” Abby could feel herself flush. “Tell me how things are going with you, Bobby.”
"It's been a bit of an adjustment for sure, coming back here after so much time away, a bit like what you're going through I'd guess. Things change."
“Do you like being sheriff?”
“It suits me for now. I’m appointed to fill the vacancy, but I’ll have to run in the election next November. I figure by then I’ll know if it’s going to be a good fit long term.”
“You’ve got my vote—if you want to stay, I mean.”
“Thanks, Abby. When do you plan to open for business?”
"June if all goes well. That's weeks of crazy activity ahead of me followed by the stress of open house and hopefully, a few guests. I figure that by October I'll either be crazy or ready to sell."
Bobby stood to go. “I guess we’re both in a wait-and-see situation here then.”
Abby struggled for something to say that wouldn’t sound like she was questioning him about his personal life. “Why don’t you come out for dinner one night? Sandy is still cooking, so no need to worry about my questionable skills. I’d love to catch up more and show you the plans to see what you think.”
Bobby reached into his shirt pocket. “Sure, here’s my card. I’ll put my private cell number on here for you. Just let me know when you want me to show up.”
“I’ll send you a couple of dates to see if anything fits your schedule. I know how crazy things can get.”
Bobby edged toward the door. “You look great, Abby, really good. It was nice to see you.”
“You too Bobby.” She watched him get back in the car and drive away. She remembered watching him drive away the last time when he left for college, a lifetime ago.
Abby vowed not to think about all the things that could go wrong as she sat at the kitchen table for a solitary lunch with her marketing folder. She had to get into her businesswoman mode for her meeting the next day with the PR ladies. It was essential to know what she wanted before the meeting. She knew the area, and along with Evan’s input, had a good idea of what to expect, but she didn’t know how to get the word out to the target market. Evan could only do so much, and it wasn’t fair to ask him to be an unpaid ambassador for her, though Abby knew he would be just that as much as possible. After making a list of questions and settling on a budget, she printed out a copy of her questions for each appointment.
Before long the general running of the ranch took over and she was occupied with those practicalities until dinner time. Sandy, her dad’s long time cook and housekeeper, had made a pork roast, so Abby invited her ranch hands, Danny and Leon, for dinne
r and to update them on the plans and timeline. They both seemed to appreciate the gesture and shared some of their ideas with her.
Later, Abby curled up on the sofa and wrapped her dad's old blanket around her. It still had his aftershave smell, and she took a deep breath and forced herself up. She made her way down the hall, washed her face and found a book to read on her way to the bedroom. She was shocked to see it was nearly midnight.
Abby woke up the next morning thinking about Bobby and her dream. Growing up, Bobby would swing out over the stream on a rope he had tied to a giant limb of a huge and ancient tree. She wondered if the tree was still there. She stretched and looked at the clock, nearly eight and she felt rested for the first time in weeks. She plodded into the kitchen on bare feet and made coffee. Sandy had been and gone already, leaving her a massive pan of cinnamon rolls still warm in the oven. She opened the oven door, and the smell made her mouth water. Just as she took a large bite of one, her phone rang. The caller ID told her it was Cami. "Hey, I'm stuffing myself with homemade cinnamon rolls, you should come over."
“Oh no, my mom is fattening me up enough over here. Just calling to see if you wanted to get together for lunch today. I’d like to talk to you without my parents around.”
“Why don’t you come over at eleven and sit in on my meeting with one of the PR ladies and we can go into town for lunch after, or we can stay here and have leftovers.”
“Okay, I’ll see you at eleven. Maybe we can stay at your place for lunch,” Cami said.
“Sure, whatever you want. Oh, guess who stopped by yesterday?”
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