The Cowgirl in Question

by B. J Daniels

“Here’s my cell-phone number in case you need me.” He reached in and plucked the pen and pad from her uniform pocket and scribbled down his number. He handed the pen and pad back to her. “Be careful.”

  “Good night, Rourke,” she said. “When you see Blaze, tell her to butt out of my life. I’ll do anything I damned well please—including helping you.” She drove off before he could say anything more. Probably because she had the feeling he was going to tell her he didn’t want her help anymore.

  When she glanced back in the rearview mirror, he was still standing there, looking after her. She thought of the kiss. It had been so tender, so… Her body demanded to know why she hadn’t taken Rourke up on his offer.

  Maybe he really was just offering you his bedroom. Or maybe he was offering you a night of pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. Good thing you aren’t the kind of girl who is interested in a one-night stand.

  Right.

  “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE touched it,” Cash said as he bent over the piece of plain white paper and dusted it for prints.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Rourke said, and realized he’d been too upset both times he’d found the notes. This time, he’d been too shaken by the kiss.

  Cash looked up at Rourke as if to say, when are you ever thinking?

  He paced as he watched Cash dust the paper and check it against his own prints, which of course were on file. “Well?”

  “It appears there is only one set of prints on the note, yours. The paper is white copier paper, the most common paper around.”

  “What about the handwriting?”

  Cash shook his head. “Obviously disguised. Could have been written by a right-handed person using his left hand.”

  Rourke let out a sigh. “But it proves that I’m on to something.”

  Cash shook his head. “It proves someone doesn’t want you bringing all this back up.”

  “Someone put a live rattler in a burlap bag behind my pickup seat my first day back in town,” Rourke said.

  Cash looked startled, then upset. “Dammit, Rourke, this is exactly what I was afraid of.”

  “Who do we know who sells rattlers?”

  Cash chewed at his cheek for a moment. “Cecil Danvers for one.”

  “Easton Wells used to have a fondness for snakes,” Rourke said.

  “Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”

  “No, but I’m thinking about paying him a visit.”

  Cash shook his head but saved his breath.

  “Forrest had a wad of cash on him that night at the bar,” Rourke said. He’d forgotten all about it until he’d talked to Kelly.

  “It wasn’t on him when he was found dead,” Cash said.

  “Exactly. And you didn’t find it on me. So if he had it when he left the bar but didn’t when he was found, then the killer had to have taken it.”

  Cash nodded. “You’re wondering where he got it and if anyone was a little richer after his murder.”

  “You know me so well,” Rourke said with a grin.

  “Sorry, bro. I have no idea what happened to the money. Nor did the state guys come up with anything. As for after his murder—” Cash was shaking his head “—there was a lot going on around here, but I don’t remember anyone flashing any money around. Would have been a fool to.”

  Rourke knew he was just grasping at straws, but now that Cassidy was getting the notes, he felt pressure to find the killer before the threats possibly escalated.

  Cash sighed and looked at his watch. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me talk to Cecil and Easton about the rattlesnake tomorrow?”

  Rourke stood to leave. “No, I’d rather not let them know that I’m suspicious of them at this point. Easton used to be my best friend. We’ll run into each other sooner or later.” He didn’t mention to Cash that he’d had him investigated and come up with something interesting. Cash would find out soon enough. The whole town would.

  CASSIDY WAS SURPRISED by how exhausted she felt. She didn’t even bother to turn on a light as she followed the path of moonlight streaming in the old farmhouse windows to her bedroom.

  She couldn’t believe how late it was. She shrugged out of her uniform, so tired she just tossed it aside. The blouse landed on the old trunk by the window and fell to the floor.

  She stared at it for a moment, then tiredly went to pick it up. The letters. Now, more than ever, she didn’t want Rourke finding out about them. She would build a fire in the fireplace and destroy them tonight.

  She shoved aside the uniform blouse and opened the trunk. It was nearly full of the carefully addressed envelopes. She picked up one and stumbled back to sit on the edge of her bed. What had she been thinking?

  She started to open the envelope. A thud outside the window startled her. She froze as she saw a shape move past, skulking along the side of the house. An instant later, she heard someone jiggle the back doorknob.

  Her heart in her throat, she rose as if sleepwalking and inched her way toward the phone as she heard the lock on the back door break in the sharp splinter of wood.

  She hurriedly dialed 9-1-1 and locked the bedroom door. She was surprised when Cash answered the phone instead of the night dispatcher.

  “Cash, it’s Cassidy. Someone is breaking into my house.”

  “Where are you, Cassidy?”

  “In my bedroom at the house.”

  “Lock the door, push whatever you can against it and the windows, we’re on our way.”

  We’re? She could hear someone moving through the house. She hung up and got behind the large bureau and pushed with all her strength. For a moment, it didn’t move. She could hear the intruder on the other side of the door, trying the lock.

  The bureau slid with a lurch. She shoved it across the worn wooden floor to block the doorway, then looked toward the window. It was large and paned. Anyone who wanted to get to her could come through it without any trouble.

  She grabbed the mattress off the bed and pulled it over to the window, then did the same with the box spring, standing it up, shutting out the moonlight.

  She could hear the intruder trying to break down her bedroom door, angrily slamming against it again and again.

  Then silence.

  The silence terrified her. Where had he gone? She stood in the middle of the room, then rushed to the trunk and began to shove it toward the window. She stumbled over the mattress and almost fell, hitting her head on the box spring frame. Stars glittered in the darkness and she felt light-headed. She touched her forehead, her fingers coming away wet and sticky with her own blood.

  The sound of shattering glass brought her out of her stupor. She pushed the trunk against the mattress and box spring, then she leaned against it, putting her weight into it, but she could tell it was a losing battle.

  He was stronger than she was. She felt the mattress being forced into the room. She could hear his ragged breathing now, smell his sweat.

  Then his hand found her hair. She let out a scream as he grabbed a handful of it and said her name.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the wail of the siren died off in Cassidy’s yard, Rourke leaped from the patrol car and ran toward the house. He could hear Cash calling after him to wait.

  The front door was locked. He ran around to the back.

  The first thing he saw was the broken bedroom window and the crushed bush outside. From inside the house, he heard soft sobbing.

  “Cassidy?” It was half call, half cry. He practically dove through the window.

  She was slumped on the floor in the shaft of moonlight coming in through the window. She looked up at the sound of his voice. And the next thing he knew, he had her in his arms.

  “He would have killed me if the siren hadn’t scared him away,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Cecil Danvers.”

  Rourke held her in his arms, telling himself this was all his fault. He’d gotten her into this. She pressed her face into his chest for a moment, but when she heard Cash at t
he bedroom door, she stepped away, gathering a strength that he couldn’t help but admire.

  He shoved the bureau away from the door, unlocked the door and turned on the bedroom light. She stood, hugging herself, looking away from the window. There was a small cut on her forehead, but she was all right, he told himself. But he still wasn’t leaving her alone again. He’d take her back to the cabin. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight until Forrest’s killer was caught.

  He’d hesitated earlier because he’d been afraid of what people in town would think, her staying with a known criminal. Now he didn’t give a damn. And while he was being honest with himself, he’d been afraid to take her to the cabin, unable to trust himself around her, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t been with anyone in eleven years. He was determined not to hurt her again.

  “Are you all right?” Cash asked as he went to Cassidy.

  Rourke stood back, watching the two of them for a moment. Did Cassidy care for his brother? It was obvious Cash cared for her. But not like a lover. More like a sister. Cash was still hung up on that woman from college.

  She was telling Cash that it had been Cecil Danvers. Rourke started to turn away when he spotted something on the floor. A cream-colored envelope. What caught his attention was the name and address on the envelope. Rourke McCall #804376, 700 Conley Lake Road, Deer Lodge State Prison, Deer Lodge, Montana.

  He leaned down and picked it up. His gaze shot up to the left-hand corner. The return address was Cassidy’s.

  He stared at it in confusion. He’d never received a letter from Cassidy while he was in prison. Obviously she had never mailed it.

  He glanced back toward her and saw the large old trunk she’d pushed up against the mattress and box spring. The lid on the trunk was partially open, an envelope the same color as the one in his hand was sticking out of the opening.

  Another letter? He stepped to the trunk and lifted the lid. He caught his breath, never expecting to find the trunk full of letters. Dozens and dozens of them. All addressed to him. All never mailed.

  He heard the soft gasp and turned to find Cassidy staring at him, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a different kind of fear than what he’d witnessed earlier.

  “I didn’t mean to pry. It was lying on the floor.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  He stared at her. “What is this?”

  Cash glanced at the trunk full of letters.

  “I can explain,” Cassidy said.

  “I’ll be outside if you need me,” Cash said to her, then shot Rourke a warning look as he walked out of the bedroom. “I’ll call in an APB on Cecil. He couldn’t have gone far.”

  “What are these?” Rourke asked again after Cash was gone.

  “Letters.” Obviously. “I wrote you every Sunday for eleven years,” she said, tears shining like jewels in her eyes.

  He was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you mail them?”

  She shook her head and looked away. “It’s hard to explain.” He waited. “I wanted to tell you how I felt. I guess I thought it would make a difference.”

  He couldn’t believe this.

  “I also wrote you about things that were going on in town, the weather, funny things that had happened at the café.” She seemed to choke back a sob.

  “Oh, Cassidy,” he said, closing his eyes as he stepped to her and pulled her back into his arms. “I wish you’d mailed the letters.”

  He heard Cash come into the room, hesitate then clear his throat. Rourke let go of Cassidy and turned to face his brother. He didn’t need to look far to see the disapproval on Cash’s face.

  “The highway patrol just picked up Cecil Danvers about a quarter mile from here in the ditch,” Cash said, turning his attention to Cassidy. “He’s drunk and bleeding from cuts on his hands. He admitted to coming after you, Cassidy. Any idea why?”

  “I went out there this morning and asked him questions about his brother’s murder,” she said as if that explained it.

  Cash shot Rourke a look. “This is your doing.”

  Rourke nodded and cursed himself. “I should never have gotten her involved.”

  “I am involved,” she said.

  Cash, to Rourke’s surprise, nodded in agreement. “Well, Cecil is in jail so you won’t have to worry about him. I doubt there is any chance he could make bail even if the judge allowed it. But you can’t stay here. I was thinking I have that big, old house—”

  “I’m taking her with me,” Rourke said. “I’ll see that nothing happens to her out at the cabin.”

  Cash motioned Rourke outside. “We’ll just be a moment, Cassidy.”

  “What?” Rourke demanded, once they were out of earshot, although he knew what.

  “Cassidy.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “No, I just don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “I don’t, either,” Rourke said. “I thought we already had this discussion?”

  Cash sighed. “You know how you are with women.”

  “Actually, I don’t. I was twenty-two when I went to prison.”

  “I would have thought you would hook up with Blaze as soon as you got out,” Cash said.

  Rourke nodded. “I would have thought so, too.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s not interested in you.”

  “Don’t spread it around town, but it seems that my taste in women has changed.” Rourke hadn’t known how much. It was still hard for him to believe that Blaze no longer appealed to him and Cassidy did but not in the same way. With Blaze it was fun and games, nothing serious. With Cassidy…he felt shy, he thought with a laugh.

  “What?” Cash demanded.

  “I think I might finally be growing up. Don’t look so surprised. I’ve got a ways to go.”

  Cash just shook his head. Back inside, Cash asked Cassidy what she wanted to do. Before she could answer, Rourke said, “She’s coming with me.” Then he added quietly to Cassidy, “Let me do this.”

  Cassidy seemed to hesitate, then nodded slowly.

  Cash sighed. “I’ll see about getting a sample of Cecil’s handwriting when he sobers up so we can compare it to the threats you both received. I wouldn’t be surprised if the handwriting matches.”

  Rourke glanced at Cassidy. She didn’t believe that any more than he did. Cecil did things like break into a house with his bull head and no plan. He didn’t write notes to scare someone. He came after the person with a sawed-off shotgun or his fists.

  “I’ll call Simon at the lumberyard and have him secure your house for you until he can put in a new window,” Cash said to Cassidy.

  “Thank you, Cash.”

  He nodded, looking worried. “We don’t know yet if Cecil killed Forrest. So, be careful, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he breaks down and confesses,” Rourke said. “It would definitely explain why he was acting odder than usual the night Forrest was murdered.” He told Cash about what Cassidy had learned.

  “Cecil caught a ride with Blaze?” Cash said. “Then he was there during the fight and even for a while afterward. He could have known where Forrest was headed, could have gone up there easily enough after he got a ride home—or even been waiting for Forrest when Forrest got there.”

  “Looks like Cecil just pushed himself to the head of the suspect list,” Rourke said.

  CASSIDY HAD HEARD about the McCall cabin on the lake but she’d never been there before.

  “It’s pretty rustic,” Rourke said as he parked behind it. He sounded as if he was worried she wouldn’t like the place. Was it possible she was the first woman he’d ever brought here?

  The inside of the cabin was small but neat, everything in miniature.

  “This is your bedroom,” he said pointing into a room with four bunk beds and a large chest of drawers. “It’s the big one,” he said with a laugh. “This is the master bedroom.”

  She walked the few feet to the next room and peeked inside. He was right. It
was just large enough for a double bed. “This must have been your parents’ room.”

  “Way back when. It’s funny but Asa never slept in there after her alleged death. He always opted for the porch cot and let us boys fight over who got the big bed.” He smiled. “I thought it was because he missed my mother and couldn’t deal with her death. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Couldn’t it just be that he loved her and the room reminded him of everything he’d given up?”

  Rourke looked down at her for a long moment. She practically squirmed under his intensity.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly. “Want to see the rest of the cabin?” He led her through a small living-room area with rustic furniture and a bookshelf filled with classics and board games. No TV.

  “It’s wonderful,” she cried, then blushed.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “I don’t have much in the fridge, but I do have beer,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen. He turned and held up a bottle of beer.

  To her surprise, she nodded, not wanting to call it a night yet. Earlier she’d been so exhausted, she thought as she walked to the wide expanse of windows that looked out on a screened-in porch and, beyond that, the lake.

  The moon had scaled the mountains and now hovered over the lake, huge and buttery-yellow, the water shimmering like liquid gold.

  “Let’s go out on the porch,” Rourke suggested as he uncapped her beer and handed it to her.

  On the screened-in porch, he pushed open the door and she joined him as he sat on the top step and looked out at the lake. Only a slight breeze whispered in the pines above the shoreline. The night was still, warm and scented with the last days of summer.

  “Pretty, isn’t it,” he said, beside her, and took a sip of his beer.

  “Breathtaking.”

  “See that spot right over there,” he asked, pointing to an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the water. “I was fishing there once when I was about six and I hooked into a huge bass. I’m telling you, it was the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in my life. Cash and J.T. were cheering me on, although it was clear they thought I couldn’t possibly land it.” He was lost in memory for a few moments.