Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes

by Midnight Wishes(lit)

  you'd come out and give me a tumble." Her anger and bitterness rang in

  her tone.

  He turned around and faced her once again. His dark eyes smoldered

  with emotion . emotions Abby couldn't begin to decipher. "No. He

  told me he'd put a lot of money into this ranch and when you divorced

  him he walked away with nothing. He told me that he continued to send

  you checks and yet you refused to allow him to see his son."

  Abby snorted. "Your half brother was a liar ... a trait that

  apparently runs in the family."

  "He contacted me days before his murder and said he wanted to sue you

  for custody of Cody, wanted some form of legal remedy to regain all the

  money he'd given you before your divorce. I told him to let me come

  out here and check things out, see if something could be decided

  without a court battle. I thought I could work here a couple of days,

  find out what the situation was, perhaps talk you into being reasonable

  about allowing Greg access to Cody. Of course, before I could do much,

  Greg was murdered." He shifted uncomfortably and broke eye COntact

  with her.

  "And you believe I'm guilty of his death, and so this is your form of

  revenge?" She eyed him bitterly. "Congratulations, Luke. You've won

  the contest to see who is the biggest bastard in the Foxwood family."

  He flinched. "Abby, I never meant for this to happen. I wanted to get

  close to you, find out if you were responsible for Greg's death, but

  things went too far."

  "Get out." Abby got out of bed and pulled her robe tightly around her.

  "Pack your things and get off my ranch."

  "Abby..."

  "Get the hell out of here, Luke." She felt as if there were a band of

  steel around her chest, squeezing her heart. She bit the inside of her

  cheek, forbidding the tears that burned at her eyes from falling.

  "Be reasonable." He took a step toward her and she backed away, not

  wanting him to touch her.

  Lies. He'd told her all lies. She'd trusted him, slept with him, and

  he'd made love to her with the sole purpose of gaining her trust to

  discover if she killed his half brother. "I don't have to be

  reasonable. Don't you remember? I'm a crazed killer. Now get out of

  here before I call Bulldog to physically remove you."

  "Abby, you're in lots of trouble. You need somebody on your side,

  somebody you can trust."

  "Are you suggesting that somebody is you?" She stared at him

  incredulously. She laughed, again bitterness rife in her voice.

  "After this you're the last person I'd trust to be on my side. I

  didn't kill your half brother. I had nothing to do with his death."

  "Are you sure?"

  For a moment his words hung in the air and sent a shiver of

  apprehension up Abby's spine. She couldn't pretend she didn't know

  what he was talking about. He'd experienced one of her crazy mental

  blackouts in person. She'd confessed to him that she had missing

  periods of time . time when she didn't know where she had been or what

  she had done.

  But she knew . deep in her heart, in the core of her soul, that she

  couldn't have killed Greg. "You can ask me that after making love to

  me? You had doubts and still you slept with me? Just get out," she

  whispered in anguish.

  He looked at her for another long moment, then did as she asked. He

  left the room and a moment later she heard the slam of the back door.

  She sagged onto the bed . the bed that still retained his scent, his

  warmth. Damn him. The tears that had threatened earlier now flowed.

  Damn him for flirting with her, pretending to be attracted to her. Damn

  him for making her be attracted to him. Lies. All lies.

  She stood and ripped the sheets off the bed. She'd wash them and hang

  them outside to dry, where the hot sunshine would banish any remainder

  of Luke's scent. She dropped the bedclothes by the bathroom door.

  First, a shower.

  Beneath the hot spray of water, she thought of those moments of

  exquisite pleasure when Luke had claimed her so completely. She'd

  thought she'd felt his heart melding with her own, thought their

  lovemaking had been more than just a physical union. It had . it had

  been his manipulation.

  Fool. She berated herself as she scrubbed her skin vigorously. How

  cruel Fate was to allow her to trust a man for the first time in years,

  only to have that man use her.

  Damn him. And damn her own hide for wanting so desperately to believe

  in what she'd thought she'd seen in his eyes. Caring. Tenderness. And

  the heat of desire. That's what she'd thought she'd seen. She now

  realized any emotion she'd thought had radiated from his eyes had been

  coldly calculated and false.

  Damn him. And damn her own weakness for wishing it weren't so . for

  wishing he really were Luke Black, a lonesome cowboy looking for

  love.

  Chapter Ten

  Luke slammed out of the house, angry that he'd told her the truth. He

  should have kept his mouth shut, should have continued his deception.

  He'd known that by telling her he'd make her angry. So why had he done

  it?

  Because you needed the distance, a small voice answered inside him. He

  had gotten too close, and in those moments after making love to her,

  fear had resounded within him.

  He walked toward the bunkhouse. What he needed most was a shower to

  wash away the memory of the feel of her in his arms.

  Although she had demanded he pack his bags and leave the ranch, he

  intended doing no such thing. Something wasn't right here and he

  wasn't about to leave until he had some answers.

  He owed it to Greg to find out who had killed him, and at this point

  Luke simply wasn't convinced beyond a doubt that it had been Abby. Even

  though he had witnessed her in some kind of a mental blackout the night

  before, even though he knew Greg had threatened to take Cody, he wasn't

  convinced that

  Abby had killer instincts. And it would take killer instincts to bash

  a man in the head half a dozen times with a branding iron.

  Then there was the question of those phone calls. Dammit, who was

  responsible for those? And why? Until he had more answers, there was

  absolutely no way he was leaving this ranch.

  He walked into the bunkhouse and over to his locker. Spinning the

  combination wheel on the lock, he thought of the other men who shared

  this space with him. If Abby wasn't the killer, then it was quite

  -possible one of these men might be responsible for Greg's death. But

  who . and why? What connection could Greg have had with any of these

  men?

  He grabbed a shirt from his locker and pulled it on over his head, then

  sank onto the edge of his bed. He knew now that most of what Greg had

  told him had been lies.

  Greg had always had a weak character and a fondness for easy money.

  Luke had hoped in his years on his own that Greg had changed his ways,

  matured to become a responsible, honorable man.

  He thought of Cody's worn, well-read letters. Three letters from a man

  who had professed to Luke his desire, his eterna
l love, his need to see

  his son. It just didn't wash.

  There had always been only one thing that motivated Greg, and that was

  greed. And if Luke had to guess, it wasn't his threats to pursue a

  relationship with his son that got him killed, it had been his

  voracious appetite for easy money.

  He stood and decided to find Rusty. It had been the old man who had

  initially hired him and, as far as he was concerned, Rusty would have

  to fire him. But Luke knew the ranch was understaffed and overworked.

  He had a feeling the foreman would be reluctant to see Luke go anytime

  soon.

  Besides, he wanted to ask Rusty if he could borrow his truck to drive

  into town. It was time Luke reintroduced himself to Deputy Helstrom,

  let the officer know Luke's connection to Greg. He wanted to see the

  reports, the files from the investigation.

  As he left the bunkhouse, from the corner of his eye he saw somebody

  slink around the edge of the barn. He frowned. For the past two days

  most of the men had been working in the pastures mending fences.

  Curious, Luke followed his instincts and slid around the side of the

  barn. He saw a male figure running for the cover of the grove of trees

  behind the barn. "Hey!" he yelled.

  The man hesitated a moment and turned to look at Luke, then continued

  to run away. Billy Sims. What was he doing here?

  Luke didn't try to run after him, knowing Billy could easily lose him

  in the woods and had too big a lead on him. Instead he tried to figure

  out what the man had been doing. Had he been in the barn?

  Luke thought of the nail that had wound up beneath Blackheart's saddle

  blanket. Billy had saddled the horse that day and Billy and Abby

  apparently had a history of trouble.

  Luke walked into the dark coolness of the barn, the scent of horse,

  leather and hay welcoming him.

  Blackheart nickered from his stall, apparently sensing his human

  presence. He went over to Blackheart, relieved to see the horse looked

  fine. Blackheart stretched his neck out in greeting and Luke petted

  his forehead. "I don't have any treats for you," Luke said to the

  animal as he stroked the dark hair.

  Leaving the horse, Luke frowned once again, wondering what Billy Sims

  had been doing sneaking around the barn. On impulse he climbed the

  wooden stair to the loft and looked around. Bales of hay were stacked

  one on top of the other nearly to the ceiling, but nothing looked

  amiss.

  He left the loft and leaned against the barn wall, eyeing the interior

  thoughtfully. Perhaps Billy hadn't been in the barn after all. In any

  case, it didn't look like he'd tried to do any damage.

  Although most of the men working the ranch were affable and hard

  laborers, what bothered Luke was that each seemed to be more than a

  little secretive. Did one of them harbor the secret of murder?

  Hearing footsteps outside the barn, Luke stepped into the darker

  shadows, wondering if Billy had returned.

  Roger Eaton walked into the barn and directly to the workbench that

  stretched across the back wall. He grabbed a sackful of nails then

  turned around and gasped as Luke stepped out of the shadows. "Crimi-ny,

  Luke, you scared the hell out of me." He gestured to the sack of nails

  he carried. "Rusty sent me back for these." Roger's lips turned up in

  a sly smile. "I noticed you didn't sleep in the bunkhouse last

  night.

  I guess the boss lady has you doing personal work for her. "

  Luke took a step toward the blond cowboy. "Be careful what you're

  insinuating."

  The smile fell from Roger's lips. "Hey, no offense intended," he said

  quickly. "I just hope you're sleeping with one eye open," he added

  with a rueful shake of his head.

  Luke eyed him curiously. "So you think Abby killed Greg?"

  Roger shrugged. "I think it's more possible than not. From what I

  hear she had motive and opportunity. I figure if it walks like a duck

  and quacks like a duck ... it's a duck."

  "Isn't it possible it could be one of the ranch hands? They would have

  had access to the murder weapon and anyone could have snuck out of the

  bunkhouse on the night of the murder."

  "Sure, I suppose that's possible," Roger agreed easily. "There's only

  one problem ... why would any of the ranch hands want to kill Greg

  Foxwood? Personally, I never met the man and I imagine not many of the

  others had met him, either. Where's your mo-five?"

  Motive. As Roger left the barn and hurried to deliver the nails Rusty

  had requested, Luke stared after him, his mind whirling. If Abby

  hadn't killed Greg, then somebody else had and there had to be a

  reason.

  Motive. It was what tied Abby to the crime and was the missing link

  for any other suspect.

  He left the barn and headed for the pasture, irritated by his thoughts,

  wondering why in the hell it was suddenly so important to him that Abby

  be innocent of the crime.

  FOR THE REMAINDER of the morning Abby kept herself busy, trying to keep

  thoughts of Luke and his betrayal at bay, but self-recriminations

  plagued her no matter what she did.

  After turning on the washer with the load of her bedsheets, she went

  into the office to do a little paperwork. No matter how hard she tried

  to concentrate on the numbers in the ledger, her mind rebelled and

  instead formed visions of Luke.

  She cursed herself for so easily allowing him to crawl beneath her

  defenses. For six years she had kept herself aloof, remained

  untrusting, and yet in the space of a handful of days Luke had burrowed

  beneath her barriers and touched her in the most vulnerable emotional

  places.

  After six years of being alone, she hadn't realized how hungry she'd

  been not only for a masculine touch, but for the company of a man, the

  gaze of an interested male, all the things that make up a

  relationship.

  She jumped as the phone rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She

  stared at the instrument on the desk, wondering if it would be another

  prank call, wishing she had an answering machine. Taking a deep

  breath, she snatched up the receiver, relieved to hear Bert Manigan's

  voice.

  "Tell me this isn't bad news," she said when he'd identified himself.

  Darlin'

  I wish it were good news, but I spent the morning with the sheriff

  going over the files of your case, and in a bundle of canceled checks

  of yours he has five made out to Greg dated in the last ten days,

  totaling over two thousand dollars. Want to tell me what that's about?

  "

  "I don't know what that's about. I didn't write any checks to Greg in

  the past ten days, let alone two thousand dollars' worth," Abby

  protested.

  "Abby, honey, I've got copies of the checks right in front of me."

  "I don't care what you have. I haven't written any checks to Greg in

  months and months."

  "But you have written him checks in the past?" Bert asked.

  Abby sighed. "Yes, I have. He'd call me crying hard times and hinting

  that if he had a little cash, he'd stay aw
ay from me and Cody. I know

  it was wrong, I know it was foolish, but over the years I occasionally

  sent him small amounts of money."

  "This isn't good, Abby. The prosecution will' attempt to use that

  information against you. They'll say Greg was extorting money from you

  and you grew tired of paying him."

  "But that's not what happened and I haven't written a check to Greg in

  months," she said in frustration.

  "Well, somebody wrote him checks on your account and signed your name."

  Bert read off the numbers of the checks and Abby wrote them down. When

  he hung up Abby had the feeling of a noose around her neck, a noose

  growing fighter and tighter.

  She flipped to the back of the checkbook register and found that the

  checks Bert had mentioned were missing. There were a total of ten

  missing checks, and they looked to have been hurriedly ripped out of

  the checkbook.

  Who would have stolen the checks and made them out to Greg? Nothing

  made sense anymore. She slammed the checkbook closed and leaned her

  head against the cushioned backrest of the desk chair.

  She'd always maintained an open door policy at the ranch, especially

  when it came to this office. At one time or another each and every one

  of her ranch hands had been either sent into this room to retrieve

  something or had come in here to be handed their paycheck. Any one of

  them would have had access and opportunity to steal the checks. But