by Terri Reed
Not sure what to say in response, Jackie nodded.
“He can be so stubborn,” she continued.
“I’ve noticed.” Antsy to find Wyatt, Jackie took a side step.
“I don’t believe he killed George.” Marsha lowered her voice.
Jackie didn’t think so, either. But his wife...?
“I should go.” She hustled out the door. Outside, the late-afternoon sunlight glistened off the snow-covered roofs and made Jackie squint and raise a hand to shield her eyes. She quickly located Wyatt climbing into his truck.
“Wyatt!” she called out.
He slammed the door without acknowledging her. Annoyance shot through her bloodstream. If the man thought he could ignore or outrun her, he was sorely mistaken.
One way or another, he was going to talk to her. And then she’d decide how to proceed.
* * *
Wyatt glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove away from the library. Jackie stood on the sidewalk, hands on hips, feet braced apart. Her wild curls lifted slightly on the afternoon breeze. His jaw clenched, and he let out a groan. She’d followed him out of the town-hall meeting. He wasn’t really surprised; she didn’t seem the sort to let a bomb like the one Boyd lobbed at him go without an explanation.
And just like with everyone else who’d asked what happened that night, he would explain what he could and keep the rest tightly locked up in a box within his soul because the pain, the humiliation would be too much to bear. He’d rather feel nothing than relive the past.
He lifted his foot off the gas for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t his habit to leave behind the one he’d brought to the party. But the thought of being trapped inside the cab of the truck with Jackie’s inquisitive questions and all-too-perceptive blue eyes added pressure to the heavy weight sitting on his chest. He was barely controlling the fierce rage threatening to explode as it was. The last thing he needed was to have his self-appointed defender probing his old wound. Especially after the wary suspicion he’d seen in her gaze as she’d stared at him. Her pretty face had hardened, revealing the cop inside. Her probing would hurt.
Lifting his gaze to the Snowy Range Mountains, which provided a stunning backdrop to Lane County, he looked for inspiration. None came.
A wave of hurt washed over him. How had he become the bad guy?
He wished he could pray. That he could find some solace in faith. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe or that he and God were estranged. He just didn’t know what to say anymore. No words would form, even as a deep welling of pain choked him.
The past couldn’t be undone. He couldn’t change the hearts of the townspeople. He couldn’t even allow himself to hope the future would ever be better.
The peace he’d built around himself and Gabby had been demolished when he’d found George murdered on his front porch. The shock still reverberated through him like the ripples of a stone dropping into a pool of water.
And once again, the townsfolk were quick to point a finger at him, eager to believe him capable of murder, willing to accept his guilt when the evidence wasn’t there to support any culpability.
He couldn’t deny he’d been a wild, angry young man growing up. He had engaged in numerous fights as a teen and had had many scrapes with the law. Or rather, his stepfather. Wasn’t his fault they were one and the same.
But he wasn’t that same rebel. He was a rancher, employing ten people. He was also a father. The most important thing he could ever be.
When would he stop paying for his immature mistakes? When would he stop feeling guilty for Dina’s death?
When would he ever be free to feel anything but cold numbness in his heart? Never.
Not even for a feisty blonde.
Jackie would have to get a ride back to the ranch with her uncle. He stepped on the gas and drove away.
* * *
Jackie jumped out of her uncle’s older-model 4x4 and stalked toward the main house. The whole drive back from town, her uncle refused to say anything about Wyatt’s ex-wife other than that it wasn’t his tale to tell. Even searching the internet on her phone hadn’t yielded enough information to answer her questions. The news account stated Dina Monroe died in an accidental fall.
Had Wyatt killed his wife? How had she fallen? Was it an accident or murder? What was the official cause of death? What had their relationship been like?
And what did any of this have to do with the current situation?
SIX
Jackie tried to curb the curiosity that the afternoon had stirred as she knocked on the front door of Wyatt’s home. She heard his muffled, “Come in!”
Stepping inside, she saw he wasn’t in the living room. Nor the kitchen. The door to his home office was closed. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door and peeked inside. Wyatt wasn’t in there, either.
She took a moment to absorb the emptiness of the room. The overhead light was off, but ambient light came in through the open curtain. The room was definitely masculine in tone. The walls were painted soft beige, and a leather captain’s chair sat behind a desk and computer station. A bookcase was propped against one wall, though it didn’t hold books but rows of thick binders.
She moved away from the office to the bottom of the stairs. “Wyatt?”
“Upstairs!”
She ascended the stairs and walked to the open doorway about halfway down the hall.
Gabby’s room. Pink walls, ruffled light pink curtains and frilly bed coverings with a mound of stuffed animals making a home along the foot of the four-poster bed. It was any little girl’s dream room. In the center of the floor stood a small round table with a plastic purple tea service and four equally small chairs, two of which were occupied.
Wyatt sat across from Gabby, his knees bent high as he leaned in to let Gabby pour imaginary tea into the tiny cup in his much larger hand.
Jackie’s heart stuttered and sighed. The pair looked so sweet together. The sight of this big, macho man sitting at this child-size table, daintily having a tea party with his four-year-old daughter, whose face beamed with joy, brought a rush of emotion to the surface within Jackie’s soul. Affection, tenderness and yearning mixed to form a lump in her throat.
Gabby’s red curls stuck out beneath the tiara perched atop her head. She stared at her father with adoration on her pixie face.
Wyatt glanced Jackie’s way with a sheepish smile. “We’re taking high tea.”
Her heart did a little flutter. “I see that.”
Gabby held up the teapot. “You want some?”
“Please join us,” Wyatt added, pulling back a chair for her.
“I’d like that.” Jackie sat on the edge of the seat. Her knees bumped the table. “Oops, sorry.”
“No worries,” Wyatt said. “Tea?” He handed her a cup and saucer.
“Yes, thank you.” She held out the cup for Gabby to pour. “I like your crown.”
“You want one?” Gabby asked.
“Sure, I’d love one.” Jackie shared a tender glance with Wyatt as Gabby jumped up and ran to a small trunk. She flipped open the lid and dug around. When she came back, she had a more elaborate crown in one hand and a white feather boa in the other. She reached up to plop the circlet onto Jackie’s head and then wrapped the boa around her shoulders.
“I feel like such a pretty princess,” Jackie said.
Gabby shook her head. “You’re not a princess. I’m the princess.”
“Oh. Then what am I?”
“You’re the queen!” Gabby exclaimed and sat down.
Catching the twinkle in Wyatt’s eyes, Jackie said, “Am I, now? How wonderful. Is your father my minion, then?”
Gabby tilted her head. “Minion?”
Wyatt grinned as he explained, “She means her gofer.”
Wrinkling her nose, Gabby shook her head. “He’s not an animal. He’s the prince.”
“Ah, I see,” Jackie said, nearly bursting with the effort to maintain a straight face as laughter welled inside her. “Does the prince have to do the queen’s bidding?”
Gabby blinked, then looked to her father for an explanation.
“She wants to know if the prince has to obey the queen.”
A wide smile spread across Gabby’s face. She clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. The prince obeys the queen. Everyone obeys the queen.”
Jackie liked the sound of that. Pretending to take a sip of tea to keep from hooting outright, Jackie held Wyatt’s gaze. “Indeed.”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “As you wish, my lady.”
Liking this playful side of him, she grinned. “We could use some cookies, don’t you think?”
Wyatt nodded. “Cookies would add so much to our tea. A certain princess I know made some very delicious chocolate-chip cookies.”
Gabby bounced in her chair. “Yeah! Cookies.”
He unfolded himself from the chair. “I’ll be right back.”
As he passed Jackie, she was sure his hand brushed her shoulder. She turned to watch him stride from the room. Tall and proud. A man who loved his daughter.
A dark cloud passed over the sunshine he’d brought into her life so unexpectedly. But was he a murderer?
Giving her head a shake, she looked at Gabby and smiled. “You don’t have a boa. Don’t princesses wear feathers?”
“I have only one boa.” Her face lit up. “But I do have a cape. Can a princess wear a cape?”
“Of course.”
Gabby retrieved a red velvet cape. Jackie leaned over to help her tie the string. “There, now. Princess Gabby.”
The sound of the doorbell chimed. A moment later Jackie heard the rumble of Wyatt’s deep voice. Then other men. Something was going on downstairs.
“The queen needs to go see what’s keeping the prince.” She rose. “You stay right here, okay, sweetie?”
Gabby frowned. “Can’t I come, too?”
“No, it’d be best if the princess...” The sound of the front door closing cut off the voices. They’d gone outside. She needed to get down there. Her gaze landed on a stuffed bear. She crossed the room and plucked the toy from the end of Gabby’s bed, brought it back to the table and secured him in Wyatt’s vacant chair. “Mr. Bear would like some tea.”
“And Mrs. Rabbit?”
Holding on to her patience, Jackie grabbed a big white rabbit wearing a dress from the bed and positioned the animal at the table. “There, now. I’ll go see about the cookies.”
Leaving Gabby to pour pretend tea for the stuffed animals, Jackie hurried downstairs and out the front door in time to see the sheriff putting Wyatt into the backseat of his cruiser. Another man sat in the passenger seat. He was dressed in a different uniform than the sheriff. She guessed he must be the state investigator. She rushed down the porch stairs.
“Hold on a minute!” she shouted.
The sheriff paused as he rounded the back of the cruiser. His eyebrows rose as he took in her attire. “Playing dress up?”
Ignoring his question and the feathers tickling her chin, she gestured to Wyatt. “What are you doing? Why are you taking him in?”
The sheriff sighed. “I know you want to help, Ms. Blain. The best thing you can do for Wyatt is to stay with Gabby.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You aren’t his attorney,” he stated. “Though it would probably be a good idea if you called Mr. Kelly and had him meet us at the station.”
Not about to let the sheriff keep her in the dark, she blocked his steps to the driver’s side door. “What are you charging him with?”
“We’re not charging him with anything yet. We’re only bringing him back in for questioning.”
Her mind worked possible scenarios. It was too soon for the DNA to come back on the knife. A witness? Or... “You found the primary crime scene.”
His jaw tightened. “Call his lawyer, Ms. Blain.” With that, he slid into the driver’s seat and drove away.
She met Wyatt’s gaze through the back passenger window. The bleakness in his eyes cut a cold path through her. She couldn’t let him be railroaded into a murder charge. She had to do something.
First, though, she needed to make sure Gabby was safe and cared for. Securing Aunt Penny took precious minutes as her aunt peppered her with questions she didn’t have the answers to. Then she took off toward town in her rented SUV. On the way she called her boss.
“Jackie, I trust you’re spending your vacation relaxing?” James Trent asked.
“Not exactly.” She quickly explained the situation. “I’m headed to the sheriff’s station now.”
There was a moment of silence before James cleared his throat. “I can appreciate that you feel the need to help this man because of your love for your aunt and uncle, but might I remind you, you are no longer in law enforcement? You need to back off and let the authorities do their jobs. Your role is to be the dutiful niece. Not the cop or the bodyguard.”
She winced as his words sank in. Logically, she knew he was right.
What was her role here? Her aunt and uncle wanted her to investigate, to prove Wyatt innocent. But she had no authority to do that. Sheriff Landers had already chastised her once for interfering.
Wyatt wasn’t a protectee. There hadn’t been any real threat to his life, if you discounted a possible murder charge and someone following them.
The image of Wyatt and Gabby sitting at the little table having a tea party knotted her stomach.
The best way to help Wyatt and Gabby was to call his lawyer and pray that God would see them through this.
* * *
Wyatt sat across from the state investigator, answering the same questions he’d answered two days ago for Sheriff Landers. The answers had not changed.
Hopefully they’d realize he was telling the truth soon and let him go home to Gabby. His heart contracted in his chest. He hadn’t been given a chance to tell her goodbye before being shoved into the back of the sheriff’s car and driven to town.
But Jackie knew.
And he trusted she’d take care of Gabby. That gave him some measure of peace. His daughter was safe with the pretty blonde.
“So the last time you saw George was the day before his murder?”
Barely able to keep a hold on his temper, Wyatt gritted out, “Yes. I’ve already said this. Twice now. He was fine. He was heading into town to buy Gabby’s Easter present.”
That was one thing Wyatt could always count on George for—spoiling Gabby every chance he got. Like the Kirks, George had taken it upon himself to be a surrogate grandfather to Gabby.
George’s killer was still at large, and the longer the police wasted time trying to pin his murder on Wyatt, the less likely it would be they’d find the real culprit and make an arrest.
“And you didn’t go to town that night?”
“No. Like I said, I was home with Gabby.”
“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”
Obviously a four-year-old wasn’t a reliable alibi. “I’m sure if I’d left, the Kirks would have noticed.”
The state investigator, a thin, balding man with sharp features and sharper hazel eyes, made a note on the pad of paper in front of him. He’d introduced himself as Special Agent Ed Harrison. “You stayed in the whole night?”
“Yes. The whole night.”
“Have you ever been to the Whiskey Saloon?”
Wyatt blinked. That was a new question. “Not in a long time.”
Harrison narrowed his gaze. “How long?”
“More than ten years.”
“Why?”
Wyatt frowned. “Why what?”
“Why haven’t you been to the Whiskey Saloon in ten years?”
Clamping his teeth together, Wyatt fought back the burn of anger. “The last time I set foot in the Whiskey Saloon was to drag my drunk father home.”
The episode was etched in Wyatt’s memory like the carvings on a tree trunk. Faded but never totally gone. Wyatt had received a call from Bill Smith, the proprietor of the Whiskey Saloon, telling him he’d better come take his father away before he drank himself to death. Removing him from the bar hadn’t prevented him from drowning his sorrows in drink. He’d died of liver failure not long after that day.
“You didn’t go to the Whiskey Saloon the night of March 18?”
“No. I didn’t. Why?”
“Someone matching your description was seen talking to Mr. Herman in the parking lot.”
Wyatt blinked. “Wasn’t me.”
A knock on the interrogation room door startled Wyatt. The door swung open, and Bruce Kelly walked in. “I demand you cease questioning my client.”
Harrison leaned back in the metal folding chair. “Your client didn’t ask for a phone call or for his lawyer.”
But Sheriff Landers had suggested to Jackie that she call him. Wyatt had heard it from the back of the cruiser, so surely the state investigator had, too. But technically, Harrison was correct. Wyatt hadn’t asked for Mr. Kelly because he’d had every confidence Jackie would.
Kelly’s lips pressed together as he shot Wyatt an annoyed look. Clearly Kelly thought Wyatt should have asked for him. “I’m here now. I’d like a moment alone with my client.”
“Of course.” Harrison stood and strode from the room.
Kelly set his briefcase on the table and took the seat recently vacated by the state investigator. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“How did you know to come?” Though Wyatt had a pretty good idea how the lawyer heard he was needed. Jackie.
“Look, they have a witness claiming to have seen you with George just prior to the time the medical examiner says he was killed. You need to level with me. Were you with George?”
