A few minutes later, Chief Peters returned with a surprisingly slim file. The chief’s brow was furrowed. “I’m afraid this is all I found. There is appallingly little here. The autopsy report states the obvious—your father was killed by a gunshot wound to the chest. No bullet or casing was found for a ballistics test. Only person who claimed to know anything was the cook who found the body.”
Slade took the folder from Peters and flipped it open. He paged through the top sheets, sketchy police reports, a handwritten statement from Agnes Barlow and—
Slade froze, his gut churning, when he uncovered the first of several crime scene photos. His father’s face was pale, his eyes staring sightlessly, his shirt drenched in blood....
“Slade?” Chief Peters’s voice shook him from his brief stupor. “You okay?”
He cleared his throat and flipped to the next photo, digging deep for the professional detachment he needed to process the information in the file objectively. “I’m fine. Was a search warrant issued to look for the weapon on the grounds of the ranch?”
“No record of it. Supposedly they didn’t have grounds for a search.”
Slade scowled and glanced up at the chief. “Other than the victim being found on the ranch property, you mean?”
“I know. Lotta holes in the police work, but I don’t have to tell you the former chief played fast and loose with rules and procedures. Someone on the Colton ranch knows something. I’d wager my whole paycheck on it.”
Slade clenched his jaw. “And I intend to find out who.”
Chapter 4
Early the next morning, Amanda finished dressing Cheyenne in a warm hooded coat and mittens and had to laugh at the puffy Eskimo bundle her daughter made. Cheyenne’s wide eyes blinked at her from the small opening in the hood, and a wave of love swept through Amanda.
“Are you sure you don’t mind my going, Miss Amanda?” Tom asked, rattling keys in his pocket. “Cheyenne’s safety is more important than my appointment. I can reschedule if—”
“I’m sure.” Amanda reassured her daughter’s bodyguard with a smile. “You take care of your business in town, and we’ll see you this afternoon.” She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s nose, winning a grin from Cheyenne. “My little Eskimo baby will be fine with me in the stable. Believe me, a kidnapper will have to come through this mama bear to lay a finger on my daughter.”
Tom’s face remained skeptical. “That’s what worries me. Not that you won’t do everything to protect Cheyenne, but that you might have to and will be hurt in the process.”
Amanda pushed down the haunting memories of Faye Frick’s death during the summer. The woman who’d raised her had died trying to protect Trevor’s daughter from a kidnapper who’d thought he was stealing Cheyenne. Trevor’s daughter was recovered safely, but if the kidnapper had taken Cheyenne, then or in a subsequent attempt, what would have happened to her sweet little girl?
She shuddered at the thought and forced a strained smile to her lips. What mattered was that Cheyenne was safe, and between herself and Tom, she felt confident her daughter was protected.
“You’ve barely taken a day for yourself since you started protecting Cheyenne months ago. Take the morning, go to your appointment. That’s an order.”
Tom gave a reluctant nod.
“But before you go,” Amanda said, slipping the baby carrier backpack onto her shoulders, “will you load her up for me?”
Tom lifted Cheyenne off the bed and slid her into the sling seat of the backpack. “There you go, princess. All set.”
Amanda and Tom walked down the back stairs together, winding up at the door to the employee wing. Tantalizing scents wafted from the kitchen where lunch was already being prepared. Amanda paused, stepping into the staff dining room to savor the aroma of chocolate that said Kate was baking one of her delicacies for dessert.
“Miss Amanda? Do you need something?” Mathilda Perkins, who’d been the head maid for as long as Amanda could remember, looked up from wiping the long trestle table where the employees ate.
“No, just savoring the smells of baking.” She took another deep breath and sighed contentedly.
Mathilda flapped her rag at her. “You shouldn’t be down here. It’s not fitting for you to be in the staff quarters.”
Amanda smiled at Mathilda, who’d repeated the same outdated concern innumerable times over the years when Amanda and her sisters came down to the kitchen to play or scavenge a snack. “Don’t worry, Mathilda. I won’t tell Jethro if you don’t.”
“Won’t tell Mr. Jethro what?” Another of the family’s maids, Hilda Zimmerman, hustled in from the front of the house, a feather duster in one hand and a broad smile spreading her lips when she spotted Cheyenne. “Oh, look at you, Cheyenne! How’s our little girl?”
“Mathilda was just reminding me of the impropriety of the family mingling with the staff.” Amanda waited while Hilda cooed over Cheyenne.
“Phooey. Old-fashioned rubbish.” Hilda placed a hand on Amanda’s cheek. “You come see me anytime you want, especially if you have your darling girl with you.”
Mathilda huffed a frustrated sigh. “Have you finished cleaning the main living room, Hilda?”
The older woman cut Mathilda a disgruntled side glance. “Nearly.”
“Well, when you’re done, I need your help changing sheets on all the upstairs beds.”
The door out to the ranch yard opened, and a dour woman with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail strode in carrying a large basket. Without acknowledging anyone, she retrieved the bundle of dirty kitchen towels and aprons that sat in the corner on the floor. As she turned and started toward the door to the basement laundry room, the stern-faced woman eyed Amanda and Cheyenne with a dark look.
Amanda flashed a weak smile of greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Black.”
The laundress, who lived on the property in an old shack with her husband, the handyman, ignored Amanda’s greeting and shuffled past her. As it often did, the contrast between Hilda’s warmth and cheerfulness and Mrs. Black’s sullen silence made Amanda shake her head. Quirky as they were, from Mathilda’s outdated insistence the staff remain separate from the family to head cook Agnes’s bossy rule of the kitchen, the ranch staff was her family as much as Cath and Gabby were.
Kate breezed in, a hot pan in her hands, and Amanda called to her, “What smells so good, Kate?”
“Chocolate torte.” Kate sent Amanda a sad smile. “I was hoping one of my desserts would tempt your dad to eat something. He’s getting so thin.”
“Well, if anything will tempt him, it’s one of your treats.” Amanda stepped out of the way as another maid, Fiona Cudge, hurried through the dining room, apparently oblivious to Amanda’s presence.
“Fiona!” Mathilda scolded. “You nearly knocked Miss Amanda over.”
Fiona glanced up, her cheeks flushing. “So sorry. I’m just in hurry. Mr. Colton is asking for a fresh blanket.”
No doubt her father had been berating Fiona for not having an endless supply of whatever he randomly demanded at the ready. As much as she tried to treat the staff like family, her father treated the staff like slaves. Like dirt.
The impulse to apologize for her father—again—swelled inside her, but Mathilda cut her off.
“So get the blanket. Shoo! Hurry.” Facing Amanda, Mathilda gave the baby a curious look. “Why do you have Cheyenne? Where did Tom go?”
Amanda explained to Mathilda about Tom’s errand while watching Kate bring another torte pan in to the buffet to cool. The staff dining room felt a bit like Grand Central Station at the moment, and Amanda started backing toward the door.
“Shall I ask someone on the staff to watch the baby for you?” Mathilda asked.
“No, we’re fine. I’ll just be in the stable feeding the horses and mucking stalls.”
Mathilda looked offended. “That’s not your job. Leave that for Mr. Kent or Cal.”
“I don’t mind helping out until the hands get back from Las Vegas, and chickpea and I enjoy being around the horses. Right, sweetie?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. All she could see of her daughter was the back of her hood-encased head, but Cheyenne kicked her legs and gurgled at Hilda, who was still admiring the baby.
Mathilda gave a disapproving shake of her head, and Amanda headed out into the frigid morning.
Cal was loading tools in one of the ATVs when she reached the stable. Bingo and Betsy, the ranch’s two English Shepherds, were milling about his feet, looking for attention. He paused long enough to ruffle Bingo’s fur as Amanda entered. “Morning, Miss Amanda.”
“Morning, Cal. Where are you off to?”
“Repairing fence in the upper pasture.”
Cal was known for being more reserved than the other hands, spending much of his time by himself, disappearing for long periods. They’d recently learned he was responsible for an ailing grandfather, which explained some of his time away from the ranch and his reason for not going with the other hands to Nevada, but Amanda remained cautious around him, despite his courtesy and hard work.
David Gill, Cheyenne’s father, had been personable and ambitious, but he’d proven to be a two-timing jerk with a family in Boston. That experience had taught her to be more cautious about who she trusted. And Cal still had shaky alibis for several of the attacks on her family and the staff the past few months.
He climbed on the ATV and whistled for Bingo to join him. Tail wagging, the black-and-white dog jumped onto the all-terrain vehicle behind Cal. “I’ll take care of mucking the horse stalls when I get back, but I don’t want any cows getting loose in the foothills through that downed fence.”
“Where’s Slade? What’s he doing?”
“Finishing his breakfast, last I saw him. But that was an hour ago.”
Amanda waved to Cal as he cranked the engine. “I can handle cleaning the stalls. You don’t have to do everything while the rest of the guys are gone.”
“Thank you, Miss Amanda. Back as soon as I can.” With that, he rumbled away on the ATV and Betsy whined at being left behind.
“Come on, Betsy. You can hang with us girls.” She patted her leg, and the brown-and-white dog followed her farther into the stable.
Amanda tugged on the straps of Cheyenne’s carrier, readjusting the load as she found the feed bucket and checked that the heaters in the watering troughs were working. Having Cheyenne in the stable while she worked was inconvenient, but with the threat of kidnapping still hovering over her, Amanda didn’t dare let her daughter out of her sight unless Cheyenne was with Tom.
She was still feeding the horses and making sure they each had ample water when Slade strode into the stable. Spotting her, he crossed the alley and leaned against the gate of the stall where she worked. “How’s Peanut?”
“Better. I put him back on full rations last night.” She moved into another stall to feed Prince William, the horse she’d gotten at the height of her teenage crush on Great Britain’s royal hunk.
Slade nodded and glanced down the row of stalls. “I thought I’d ride out on the property and get a feel for the land and the herd, maybe check the equipment. Is there a horse you prefer I ride?”
“You don’t want to take one of the four-wheelers?” Amanda motioned toward the back of the stable.
“Naw. I prefer a saddle to an engine most any day, but especially when I’m out in the pastures.” He adjusted his hat and returned his gaze to her. “I plan to bring my own horse down next weekend, but I wanted to make sure things were going to work out here before making the transfer.”
She dumped the bucket of feed in PW’s trough, rubbed his nose then moved out of his stall as he started his breakfast. “While Jared and the others are in Vegas, you can pretty much take your pick of the hands’ horses.” She pointed to a stall near the back where a black horse tossed his mane. “But Midnight needs exercise. He’s Jethro’s stallion and can be temperamental, so be careful. Cal just left for the upper pasture to repair a fence. He may need a hand.”
Slade jerked a nod. “All right.” He eyed her as she fixed a bucket of grain for the next horse. “You always tote your kid on your back while you work out here?”
“Not always, but often. She enjoys it.” Amanda freed her hair from Cheyenne’s grip before continuing her work.
“I’d have thought you’d have your pick of babysitters, what with your sister, stepmother and a half-dozen staff in the house.”
“The staff wasn’t hired to take care of my daughter. They have plenty of other things to do.” She lugged the feed bucket into the next stall. “My stepmother and her lazy spawn couldn’t be bothered to do anything as helpful or nurturing as babysitting. Not that I’d ever leave Cheyenne in Darla’s care. All you have to do is look at how Trip and Tawny turned out to see why that’s a bad idea.”
Slade stepped into the stall with her and took the handle of the bucket. “Let me do that.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied but still nudged her out of the way to finish the task. “So Darla and her kids don’t help out on the ranch?”
Amanda gave an indelicate snort. “Puh-lease. They have freeloading down to a science. I really don’t know why my dad lets them stay. Gabby helps with Cheyenne sometimes, and Tom guards her almost around the clock. But he has to sleep sometime. I gave him this morning off because he had some kind of personal business in town.”
Cheyenne kicked and whined, the first signs that she was getting restless.
Slade poured the grain in the feed trough and shot her an annoyed look. “Which leaves you hauling a kid on your back while you pick up the slack for the hands who are off in Vegas.”
Amanda straightened her spine and cocked her head. “First off, that kid on my back is my daughter. Carrying her with me while I work is not a burden, it’s a joy. She loves the animals, and I love having her with me. I don’t need a babysitter, because taking care of her is my job. I’m her mother, and she is safest with me.
“Second, our hands work hard all year. They’ve earned their week off, and December is the best month for them to take time away. I’m perfectly capable of feeding the horses and mucking the stalls for a few days while the guys are at nationals.”
Cheyenne sneezed and gave another cranky whimper.
Slade raised a hand, palm forward. “Hey, don’t shoot. If you want to bust your butt doing grunt work, be my guest. But I think Cal and I can hold the fort down a couple more days until the rest of the hands get back. And for what it’s worth, your daughter’s nose is running. You don’t need to have her out in this cold air.”
Amanda fished a tissue from her coat pocket, then twisted, trying to reach Cheyenne’s face. Finally she held the tissue out to Slade. “Will you? I can’t reach her.”
He looked at the tissue as if it were a rattlesnake. “Me?”
“Why not?”
He scowled. “I don’t think wiping snotty noses for the owners’ kids was in the job description. How about I stick to looking after the animals, and you stick to wiping noses? After all, you are her mother and taking care of her is your job.”
She grimaced, hearing him toss her words back at her, then lifted her chin. “What’s wrong, cowboy? Scared of a little baby snot? I thought tough guy wranglers like you would be used to a little messiness.” She shoved the tissue toward him again and softened her expression. “Please?”
Pulling a face, he took the tissue and cleaned Cheyenne’s face. When he was done, he jammed the dirty tissue back in her hand. “There. But if I were you, I’d take her to a doctor. She could be sick.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you full of parenting advice? Levi already ex
amined her. He says it’s just a cold.” She tossed the tissue in a trash barrel and sent Slade a sweet smile as he strode away. “But your concern is duly noted. Thank you.”
Amanda continued working in the stable for the next hour, singing silly songs to her daughter when Cheyenne fussed. Eventually, she hung Cheyenne’s backpack-style baby carrier on a tack hook when her back started to ache. She kissed her daughter’s forehead, tucked her blanket more snugly around her and, within minutes, Cheyenne’s head lolled to the side, resting on the rolled head pillow in the carrier. Amanda hurried to finish mucking stalls before her daughter woke up.
As she finished her last stall, the sound of hooves and jingle of reins called her attention to the holding pen next to the stable. She stepped to the stable door in time to see Slade leading a cow into the small corral. He dismounted from Midnight and headed toward her.
“Problem?” she asked.
“Cow versus barbed wire. Looks infected.”
She nodded. “I’ll get my bag and take a look. Put her in a squeeze chute, will you?”
Amanda put Cheyenne’s carrier on her back again and retrieved her veterinary bag from the storage room where she’d left it after caring for Peanut a couple of days before. By the time she’d returned to the holding pen, Slade had moved the squeeze chute, a narrow steel cage that was only big enough for one cow to stand in, and was coaxing the injured cow inside. Once in the chute, the cow would have severely limited ability to move while Amanda treated the injury on its shoulder.
She did a preliminary exam of the wound and saw that it was, indeed, infected.
“Well?” Slade said, coming to stand behind her.
“I’ll need to clean out the infected tissue for starters.” Kneeling beside the chute, she opened her bag and began preparing a sterile wash. “I’m almost out of Betadine.” She glanced over her shoulder at Slade. “If there’s not more in the cabinet inside, I keep vet supplies in the storage room at the back of the barn, as well.”
He scoffed a humorless laugh. “Is that your way of asking me to bring you more, princess?”
Colton Christmas Rescue Page 5
