by Terri Reed
Warning bells clanged in his head. This wasn’t a girl who wanted to shoot pop cans off fence posts with a pelt gun. She wanted to chase drug runners and wear spandex. What was spandex, anyhow? All he knew was that it melted next to Wyoming campfires. He adjusted his hat. “And which character did you want to be?”
He was sure she’d say Farah Fawcett’s. She was an icon even beyond the TV show.
“Sabrina.”
The tomboy. Okay, so much for thinking he could predict anything about Jackie Blain. “Why?”
“She was the smartest, the most savvy and the one who saved the day more than the others.”
He couldn’t say whether her assessment was true or not. He’d only seen the show a few times. And only to watch Farrah. “Why did you change professions?”
Her expression grew pensive. “Personal reasons.”
Concern hit him like a cold wind across the plain. “Were you injured?”
The thought of a bullet tearing through her perfect skin slammed through him, making his fist curl to keep himself from reaching out to her.
She let out a humorless laugh. “No. Nothing like that.”
Hardness settled in her blue eyes, making them shine like crystal. She looked away, and he glimpsed a shadow of hurt. Something bad had happened to her, something that still caused her pain. But apparently she had no intention of sharing her inner turmoil with him.
Which was fine with him. He had enough of his own secret torments. He didn’t want to take on anyone else’s.
Yet he couldn’t stop the welling compassion making him want to take her in his arms and soothe away whatever haunted her.
He jammed his hands into his pockets.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
“We should get back to the house for lunch,” he finally said when he couldn’t take the tension any longer. “Gabby’ll be wondering about us.”
“I’m sure she’s having fun with Spencer,” Jackie said, her expression clearing, her smile tender. “He’s getting spoiled with so much attention. I’m afraid when we go back home he’ll be one sad puppy.”
Wyatt had a feeling there would be several sad people, too.
* * *
When they arrived back at the ranch, Wyatt put the book he’d taken from George’s house on the bookshelf in the living room. He supposed he should have okayed it with the sheriff, but because the book belonged to the Monroe family, Wyatt didn’t see the need to ask permission. He’d apologize later if need be.
Gabby skidded to a stop in the doorway. “Daddy!” she squealed and ran toward him.
He scooped her up into his arms. White powder dusted her nose, and a smear of chocolate ran the length of her chin. “What have you been up to?”
“I made chocolate-chip cookies,” she said with pride.
He lifted his nose to smell the air. “Hmm. I can smell them baking. What a big girl you are to be making cookies.”
She grinned. “I am a big girl.”
There was a knock at the front door. Wyatt set Gabby down. “Go on back to the kitchen,” he directed her and headed toward the living room as Penny came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron.
“I’ll get it,” Wyatt said. He reached for the doorknob and opened the door.
The man standing on the porch wore a thick wool coat over a navy blue suit, white dress shirt, red power tie and black, shiny wing tips. His salted hair was barely visible beneath the wool watch cap pulled low over his ears.
“Good afternoon, Wyatt,” Richard Pendleton said.
Irritation sluiced through Wyatt’s blood. This was the fourth time in the past month the man had shown up uninvited on his porch.
The first time, Wyatt heard him out. The man represented a mining corporation. The Degas Group wanted to buy the mineral rights to his property and the transportation rights to use it during the mining of his neighbors’ land.
Wyatt had no intention of agreeing to either request. “What are you doing here? My answer has not changed.”
“May I come in?” he asked, undaunted. His expression was polite, his gaze friendly.
“I’d rather you didn’t. We have nothing to talk about.”
“You may want this to go away, but it’s not going to. Your neighbors won’t let it. We’ll double our offer,” he said.
They’d already offered him a half a million dollars. Now they wanted to give him a million? For rights that may or may not pan out.
Neither he nor his father before him had ever allowed any type of surveying on the Monroe ranch. Wyatt had too much respect for the land to even contemplate robbing the soil of the minerals God had enriched it with, whatever they may be. Nor was he going to allow outsiders to use the road his father had built and grant his neighbors access to it out of a sense of community.
“No.”
The congenial facade dropped. Pendleton narrowed his brown eyes. His voice dipped to a menacing growl. “You won’t be able to keep the land tied up forever, Mr. Monroe.”
FIVE
Wyatt took a step forward. Adrenaline surged through his blood. “Is that a threat?”
Pendleton held up his hands. “Just saying. We know you’re barely making payroll as it is.”
Wyatt’s fingers curled. “My finances are nobody’s business but mine.”
“Wouldn’t you rather secure your daughter’s future by putting a nice chunk of change away for her?”
“My daughter’s future will be just fine.” His father had taught him to be a shrewd businessman and rancher.
Besides the cattle, horses and hay that brought in income to the ranch, he traded stocks and had built up a nice personal portfolio that he kept separate from the Monroe holdings. He had more than enough to cover Gabby’s education at any of the top colleges in the country, including a graduate degree if she chose to go that route. He didn’t need to compromise his principles for money.
“I hear you had a bit of trouble lately,” Richard said. “The murder of your ranch hand must be bad for business.”
Wyatt dipped his chin and stared at the man. “Did you have something to do with George’s death?”
“Me?” Richard scoffed. “Rumor has it you’re the one the police are looking at. What happens if you go to jail? Who’s going to protect your ranch and your daughter when you use all your resources for legal fees?”
Wyatt’s temper flared. He held on to it by a thin string. “Get off my property and do not return.”
“Or what? I’ll end up like your poor ranch hand?”
Wyatt took a step forward. “Leave.”
“Fine. I’ll see you at the town-hall meeting.” With that, Pendleton rapidly retreated, nearly knocking Jackie over in the process. Wyatt hadn’t seen her approach; he’d been too focused on the slimy city slicker.
“What did that guy want?” she asked as she followed Wyatt inside.
“Nothing important.”
“Hmm, not buying that.” She shimmied past him and blocked his way. She made a formidable barrier. “Tell me what’s going on. That man made some statements that could be deemed threatening. And given recent events...”
Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “He represents a mining company that has been after me to sell them the mineral rights on the Monroe ranch. And transportation rights for the neighbors’ land.”
“What kinds of minerals are in the ground here?”
“Don’t know. Not something I’m interested in finding out. Because even if there was a vein of gold, I wouldn’t allow any mining.”
“Admirable stance. How do you suppose he heard about your trouble?”
He arched an eyebrow. “This is a small town. People talk.”
Her lips twisted, drawing his gaze. She had nice lips, sof
t looking, plump. Kissable.
He blinked, taken aback by where his mind was going.
The more time he spent with her, the harder it was to resist the attraction between them.
Okay, so he couldn’t help being attracted. A normal reaction given she was a beautiful woman and, well, he was a red-blooded male.
She had curves in the right places and a pretty face that he could get used to looking at day in and day out. And that head of hair. He wanted to bury his hands in that mass of curls and see if the strands were as silky as they appeared. He wanted to wrap the stray curl teasing her mouth around his finger and tug her closer.
Whoa, not happening.
He jerked his gaze and his thoughts away from that treacherous path.
“I think we should head to that town-hall meeting,” Jackie said.
Bringing his gaze back to her, he nodded. “All right. But I have to warn you, these things are pretty dull.”
“I can handle it. Besides, if Mr. Mining Guy is going to be there, you’ll want to make sure you are, too.”
* * *
The town-hall meeting was held in the basement of the library. Jackie followed Wyatt inside the windowless room. Metal folding chairs had been set up in rows, and a podium with a microphone stood at the head of the room. Most of the seats were already taken. People called out greetings to one another. The din of chatter echoed off the walls. The scene reminded her of town meetings back in Atkins. She guessed most small towns were the same in many respects.
As people noticed Wyatt enter, the chatter died down to a low roar. Jackie frowned at the stares and whispered comments. Her protective instincts charged to life. She wanted to stand on a chair and chastise the townsfolk for behaving so badly.
If Wyatt noticed the change in the atmosphere of the room, he didn’t show it. He folded his long frame onto a seat at the end of a middle row. Jackie slid past him to take the seat next to him.
A few minutes later, a heavyset man took the podium.
“Welcome, everyone, to our March town-hall meeting. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Mayor Jay Whitehead. We have several items on the agenda today. But first, we have a guest here tonight—the representative from Degas Group. He’d like to have a moment of your time before we get started with town business.”
The man who’d visited the ranch house stepped up to the mic. “I’m Richard Pendleton. I’ve spoken with many of you over the past few months. As some of you know, the Degas Group is a mining corporation based out of Cheyenne. We believe the land here in Lane County is rich in minerals. We’d like the opportunity to partner with you to mine the soil and make us all a little richer.”
Wyatt snorted under his breath.
A thought occurred to Jackie. If the corporation was pushing this hard, they had to have some idea what was beneath the ground. And whatever it was must be worth a pretty penny because she doubted the Degas Group would be interested in making money for other people out of the kindness of their hearts.
“I’m ready to sell, but a certain someone won’t,” an elderly man grumbled loudly from somewhere behind Jackie.
Richard nodded. “It’s true that we have some members of your community who are opposed to the idea of mining the earth, but we assure you we are committed to preserving the land and doing as little damage as possible in our mining operations.”
“It’s Wyatt Monroe who’s ruining everything. He’s keeping the rest of us from profiting from our own land!” a woman shouted.
“That’s true,” another voice called out. “I’m ready to sell now, but unless I can use the access road across his property, they won’t buy.”
“I thought he murdered George!” A lanky man jumped to his feet and pointed at Wyatt. “Why isn’t he locked up?”
The room erupted as others joined in, wanting to know why Wyatt hadn’t been arrested and put in jail. Why wouldn’t Wyatt sell his rights? Why wouldn’t he allow his neighbors to use his roads?
Jackie’s temper boiled. She started to rise, but Wyatt’s hand restrained her. She turned to stare at him. He shook his head, his brooding gaze hurt but resigned. With a huff, she settled back down but her fingers curled.
“Please, please,” Jay said, holding up a hand. “Calm yourselves. Sheriff Landers would like to address the issue raised by Boyd Dunn.”
Jackie was glad to have a name to put to the rabble-rouser.
Sheriff Landers stepped up to the microphone. “There has been no arrest made in the murder of George Herman. This is an ongoing investigation. The state police have sent officers to assist in the investigation.” He pinned several people with direct looks. “I would like to remind you all that guilt is proven in a court of law, not in rumors and speculation.”
Surprised to hear the sheriff sticking up for Wyatt, she turned to see his reaction. Or rather, lack of reaction. He stared impassively at the sheriff. But then she realized his jaw had firmed to a hard line. Not as unaffected as he’d like everyone to think.
Boyd Dunn practically foamed at the mouth. “But he murdered his wife! He murdered Dina! Surely you have to take that into account!”
Stunned by the accusation, Jackie jerked her gaze to Wyatt’s. She saw guilt and sadness in the swirling dark depths of his eyes, making her blood run cold.
He murdered his wife.
The echo of the accusation ricocheted off the concrete walls of the library’s basement and slammed into her, forcing the breath from her lungs.
Could it be true? Had Wyatt murdered his wife?
After a heartbeat of silence, the room erupted again.
Uncle Carl quickly stood and came to Wyatt’s defense. The mayor asked for silence and was ignored. Others debated Wyatt’s guilt and innocence. Everything faded to white noise as Jackie stared into Wyatt’s dark eyes.
She willed him to jump to his feet and deny the allegation.
But he didn’t. No defense tumbled from his lips. His seemingly dispassionate gaze never altered. His posture didn’t change. Only the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed a reaction.
It was enough to make Jackie want to defend him. The man she was coming to know was a devoted father, was a fair boss to his employees and had a conscience.
But the words stuck in her throat. She’d seen a whole lot of guilty during her time as a sheriff’s deputy. Enough to make believing in a man’s innocence first a tough row to hoe.
Maybe this time she saw what she wanted to see.
She’d witnessed firsthand how evil hid behind all sorts of facades. The philanthropist who embezzled money from his employees. The soccer mom who dealt drugs. The churchgoing father who beat his wife and kids.
As a bodyguard, she’d protected clients from stalkers who looked like the boy next door, from corporate CEOs who wanted to crush a whistle-blower, from a vengeful ex-con out to kill the person who’d been instrumental in sending him to prison.
Evil prowled like a hungry tiger, eating away at the hearts and souls of those who let it in. Had Wyatt let evil in? What did she really know about him?
She knew he was a widower. Knew his wife died three years ago, but Jackie didn’t know how she’d died. The cause of death hadn’t been important to the current situation.
Now she had to know. But not here, not like this.
Until she learned the details, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty. That was the way justice was supposed to work—in a perfect world, at least.
Her gaze slid to the man who’d so passionately accused Wyatt of murder. Rangy with sandy-blond hair beneath a baseball cap, the man’s features were sharp with angles and planes. He glared at Wyatt with palpable malice and resumed his seat. Was he a relative of Wyatt’s deceased wife?
Jackie turned her attention to the man from the mining company, who was lea
ning against the wall. After witnessing the animosity between Wyatt and the Degas Corporation’s representative, the smug look on Pendleton’s face wasn’t surprising. The anger his smugness evoked within her chest caught her off guard.
Her fingers curled into even tighter fists. She hated to see anyone enjoying another person’s pain. Had he prompted Boyd’s accusation?
A loud whistle brought all the chaotic noise to an abrupt halt. The sheriff removed two fingers from his lips to say, “Please, everyone, settle down. We will not discuss the past. If you have issues with the law, you can come to my office.”
The mayor took over the microphone. “Okay, people, we have a full agenda. Moving on now, let’s talk about the Easter Parade.”
A hand on her arm set her senses on alert. Wyatt leaned close. “You’ll need to ride back with your uncle.”
The musky, pleasant scent of his aftershave distracted her, so it took a moment for his words to sink in. By then he’d risen and strode toward the exit, his head held high and his back ramrod straight. If he was aware of the glares following him, he didn’t acknowledge them. Jackie scrambled from her seat and hurried after him.
Just as Wyatt reached the exit, a woman stepped up and touched his arm. Surprise washed over Jackie as she noted the resemblance between Wyatt and the older woman. She had to be his mother. She wore a brown shearling coat over jeans and a purple turtleneck sweater. Her brunet hair was cut in a short bob, and her dark eyes brimmed with sympathy.
Wyatt stalled for a fraction of a second. His back was to Jackie, so she couldn’t see his expression, but there was no mistaking the stiffening of his shoulders. He patted his mom’s hand, then continued out the door.
Hurt twisted his mother’s face. Empathy knotted in Jackie’s chest. As she passed the older woman, their gazes collided. Jackie gave her a polite smile as she headed toward the door to follow Wyatt, but his mom stepped into Jackie’s path.
“Hello. I’m Wyatt’s mother, Marsha. My husband told me who you are and why you’re here,” Marsha said. “I appreciate that you’re helping Wyatt. He needs someone on his side who he’ll listen to.”
