Dark Horse & the Mystery Man of Whitehorse

by B. J Daniels

  Geneva Cherry had left and never come back. Not for Laci’s first day of school, not for her home run in Little League, not for her culinary school graduation or even Gramma Pearl’s stroke.

  Or had she?

  * * *

  BRIDGER DUVALL WASN’T altogether sure Laci would show up. She’d been pretty adamant about not wanting the job. He was counting on her love of cooking. Not just to get her to show up for their cook-off but to make her accept his job offer.

  True, he had an ulterior motive. Several, in fact. He really did need a chef. Also, he liked her. And then there was the fact that she was Pearl Cavanaugh’s granddaughter. It was a long shot that she’d know anything about the Whitehorse Sewing Circle’s adoptions. She wasn’t even born the night his parents rendezvoused with her grandmother in the Whitehorse Cemetery.

  Either way, he was looking forward to seeing her again. He’d asked around and found out that Laci had started a catering business but hadn’t had the best of results since someone was poisoned at her very first event.

  While the case had been solved and Laci cleared, he doubted it had helped business.

  He looked up at the sound of the front door opening. She came in with a large box of supplies and a look of determination on her face, both making him grin. She’d shown up. He breathed a sigh of relief, happier to see her than he probably should have been.

  “Where’s your chef?” she asked as she glanced around the large commercial kitchen.

  “You’re looking at him,” he said, smiling.

  “You?” She sounded more than skeptical.

  “What? You don’t think cowboys can cook?”

  “A can of beans over an open fire, maybe.”

  His smile broadened. “I hate to make you eat your words, but I can cook you under the table.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled. “We’ll see about that, Duvall,” she said, putting down her box of supplies and tying on her apron.

  They cooked in a companionable silence, both lost in their work. He would catch whiffs of what she was making and turn to watch her. Her intensity surprised him. He had to reformulate his first impression of her from the wedding reception. All he’d seen was a blond airhead, more than a little flaky, upchucking her champagne.

  He stepped closer to see what she was cooking up. An interesting aroma rose up from the pot, mingling with the rich, sweet scent of Laci Cavanaugh’s perfume. It was more than he could stand.

  “Are you trying to steal my secrets?” she asked, cutting her eyes to him.

  “I have to have a bite.”

  She grinned and handed him a spoonful.

  He couldn’t believe the flavors. “It’s amazing.”

  Her grin broadened into a blazing smile. He looked into those big blue eyes and did the worst possible thing he could do. He leaned over and kissed her. It was just a brush of their lips, a commingling of tastes and touch.

  The bolt of shock that rocketed through him wasn’t just from the spark of the kiss. The moment their lips touched, Bridger knew hiring Laci Cavanaugh was out of the question.

  Was he crazy? He couldn’t have this woman in his kitchen. She would be too distracting. Just watching her cook was a huge turn-on since she clearly loved cooking as much as he did—and she was damned good at it. He loved the way her brows knitted when she was concentrating on slicing vegetables. Or the way she gently bit her lower lip as she melted butter.

  Who would have thought someone who looked like her could cook?

  Not to mention the fact that he’d completely forgotten why he’d made a point of running into her again. He hadn’t even gotten around to asking her about the Whitehorse Sewing Circle and her grandmother.

  Laci’s cell phone rang in her purse, making them both jump back from the kiss.

  “Can you get that for me?” she asked as she dusted flour off her hands, then scrutinized the buttermilk biscuits she’d made. She slid the pan into the oven and set the timer as if pretending the kiss had never happened. Or perhaps she was unaffected by it.

  Her phone rang again. She shot him a look. “It’s in my purse,” she said, her hands white with flour.

  He nodded numbly. He’d never known a woman who would let a man in her purse. Carefully he peeked into her shoulder bag, looking for the cell as it rang a third time.

  The purse had several recipes torn from magazines with printed changes written in the margin. She’d already changed the recipes before she’d even tried them? The arrogance of the woman. He loved it.

  He spotted the cell and snapped it open before the phone could ring again. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” he repeated.

  “Who is it?” Laci called from the stove.

  “Laci?” asked a female voice on the other end of the line.

  “Just a minute.” He handed Laci the phone. She had begun caramelizing onions on the stove as she said hello.

  “Laney,” she said, sounding pleased, and smiled over at him. “It’s my sister.” The sister must have asked who’d answered the phone, because Laci turned her back to him and said, “Bridger Duvall.” Silence, then she said, “He’s opening a restaurant in Whitehorse...Not sure...We’re here cooking...It’s a long story.” She laughed, then asked how things were going in Hawaii.

  Bridger turned back to his own cooking, shaken by his reactions not only to the kiss but also Laci’s nonreaction, if that’s what it had been. He wanted to snatch the phone from her and kiss her again, only this time really kiss her.

  Behind him, he heard Laci gasp and turned as she dropped the phone to the floor. She’d gone white as her apron.

  “What is it?” he cried.

  “She’s dead,” Laci croaked out on a sob. “She’s dead.”

  Bridger lunged toward Laci, catching her just an instant before she hit the floor.

  A few moments later, Laci blinked her eyes open and slowly focused on the face hovering above her. A very handsome, concerned face. She sat up with a start.

  “What happened?” Bridger asked. “Talk to me.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “She’s dead.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Alyson.”

  Bridger sat back on the floor. “Spencer’s Alyson?”

  She nodded through her tears. “Laney just saw it on the news in Hawaii. Aly was swimming.” She choked on a sob. “She drowned.” She burst into gut-wrenching sobs. “I knew it. I should have stopped her.”

  Bridger scooted closer and took her in his arms. She leaned into him and cried for her friend and for herself. She had let this happen. It was all her fault.

  Bridger held her, letting her sob her heart out, offering his shoulder and an occasional paper towel.

  Finally she took a shuddering breath and sat back. He handed her another paper towel, his eyes dark with concern.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” he said.

  She nodded and dried her tears. She had to do something. She was one of the few people who knew the truth about Spencer Donovan.

  Rising unsteadily to her feet, she looked around for her purse and car keys.

  “Let me drive you home,” Bridger said, joining her. “You’re too upset.”

  “I’m not going home,” she said, buoyed by growing anger and Cavanaugh determination. “I’m going to the sheriff. He needs to know the truth.”

  Bridger frowned. “The truth?”

  “Spencer killed her.”

  * * *

  BRIDGER STARED AT her as he watched her search for her keys and purse. “Laci, you can’t really think that Spencer would—”

  “He killed her. Oh, my God, he killed her.” She was sobbing again, mumbling how she should have done something.

  “I thought you said she drowned while swim
ming,” he reminded her as she found what she was looking for in the supply box she’d brought and turned to leave.

  “I don’t know the specifics,” she said, shaking her head at him as if he wasn’t paying attention. “I just know that he killed her and if I don’t do something he’ll get away with murder.” She charged toward the door.

  He called after her, but there was no turning a wild bull when it was seeing red. Just as there was no turning Laci Cavanaugh when her mind was made up, apparently.

  All he could hope was that the sheriff would set her straight and calm her down. He sighed and looked around the kitchen, still stunned that the pretty young bride was dead and Spencer was a widower after only a few days of marriage.

  It brought home how brief life could be. He’d promised himself after his mother died that he would live his to the fullest. But, of course, he hadn’t. Instead he’d gone on this quest to find his birth mother.

  The timer went off on the oven. He took a hot pad and pulled out the biscuits Laci had made and turned off the burner heating the onions, too worried about her to even think about food right now.

  He could understand wanting someone to blame when you lost a person you loved. He just hoped that Laci came to her senses before Spencer returned.

  The last thing Spencer needed at a time like this was his bride’s best friend trying to get him arrested for murder.

  * * *

  SHERIFF CARTER JACKSON motioned Laci into his office. She closed the door and took a seat, having pulled herself together as much as possible on the three blocks to the sheriff’s department.

  “I just heard about Alyson. I’m so sorry, Laci,” Carter said, making her tear up again. “I know how close the two of you were growing up.”

  She nodded, fighting to keep from bawling again. “There is something you don’t know.” Her throat was so dry she had to swallow before she could continue. “Spencer killed her.”

  Laci had expected the sheriff to be surprised, but all he did was nod.

  “Your sister called me when she lost the cell phone connection with you,” he said.

  “Then she told you?”

  “She mentioned your suspicions,” Carter said carefully. “I called the sheriff’s department on the island and talked to the investigating officer. Apparently Alyson had been in the habit of going for a swim early in the morning. This day was no different. An eyewitness from the shore said it appeared she got a cramp. The witness tried to reach her, but she’d gone under by then.”

  Laci was shaking her head. “Where was Spencer during all this?”

  “He’d gone to the room to get something,” Carter said.

  How convenient. She didn’t believe it. “He must have given her something, drugged her or—”

  “There will be an autopsy, so if there are drugs in her system, they’ll find them.”

  She nodded, still afraid that Spencer would get away with this.

  “We’re all just sick about what happened.”

  She stood and picked up her purse. “Alyson was a strong swimmer. She was on the swim team in high school. She wouldn’t have drowned unless he did something to her.”

  “Strong swimmers get cramps and drown, Laci.”

  She shook her head. “He killed her.”

  “Based on a look?” the sheriff said quietly.

  So Laney had told him. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but his mask slipped for that instant and I saw his true feelings. I knew he was going to kill her. I should have tried harder to stop her—”

  “Why would he marry her if he really had those kind of feelings toward her?”

  It was the question Laci had been asking herself for two days. Alyson’s family didn’t have money. The ranch would be worth something but not enough to kill someone for, right?

  “Laci, it was an accident,” Carter said.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” she admitted. “But won’t you please investigate Spencer Donovan?”

  “The death occurred out of my jurisdiction, and as I said, it’s being investigated.”

  She was close to tears again. “Please, at least check out his background?”

  The sheriff nodded slowly. “If you’ll do me a favor. Keep your suspicions to yourself?”

  She nodded. “You’ll let me know what you find out?”

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  BRIDGER CALLED A half dozen times and stopped by on his way home, but Laci’s car wasn’t in the drive, nor were any of the lights on inside the house.

  He could imagine how it had gone with the sheriff and hoped she was all right.

  Finally he called her grandfather. Titus Cavanaugh was a big, powerful man, both in stature and in his standing in this part of Montana. Bridger had butted heads with him only the one time over the adoption business and, more to the point, over his wife, Pearl, and her part in it.

  Finally Titus had sworn on the Bible he used for his Sunday church services that he knew nothing about Bridger’s birth or adoption. Bridger had believed him.

  “I’m trying to find Laci,” he said without preamble.

  “And who might you be?” the older man asked.

  “Bridger Duvall. I was with Laci today when she got the bad news about her friend Alyson. I’m worried about her.”

  Silence, then finally the man said, “You can reach her at her friend McKenna Bailey’s.”

  “Thank you, I’ll do that.” He hung up, wondering if Titus would have given him the information if he knew Bridger hadn’t given up on finding his birth mother. Far from it.

  “Hello, you’ve reached the Baileys. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you.”

  Bridger hesitated, then said, “McKenna? It’s Bridger Duvall. I’m trying to find Laci. I’m worried—”

  “Bridger?” Laci said as she came on the line.

  He breathed a sigh of relief, surprised how good it was to hear her voice. “Laci, I was worried about you.”

  She made a small wounded sound. “I’m okay.” She didn’t sound okay. She sounded miserable.

  “Listen, if there is anything I can do...”

  “Thanks, but there isn’t anything anyone can do now,” she said. “Thanks for calling, though.”

  He felt so helpless. “You take care of yourself.”

  * * *

  “THE POLICE HERE are convinced that it was an accident,” her sister said when Laci called the next day.

  “Based on what?”

  “An eyewitness,” Laney said.

  “I want the name of that eyewitness,” Laci said.

  “You aren’t serious.”

  Laci had never been more serious in her life. “If you can’t get it for me, I’ll get the sheriff to help me.”

  “All right,” Laney said. “I’ll see what I can do. Laci, you’re starting to worry me.”

  “I know her death wasn’t an accident. He killed her.”

  “Okay, but if you’re right, why? What was his motive?”

  “He’s sick. Maybe he didn’t want to marry her. Maybe he was forced to. Maybe Alyson was pregnant.”

  “Laci, even if she was pregnant, Spencer didn’t have to marry her. There wasn’t anyone holding a shotgun to his head at the wedding, was there?”

  She knew her sister was right. Still, she made a note to check back with Sheriff Jackson about the autopsy and whether Aly had been pregnant. “What other motive could there have been? It wasn’t like Alyson or her grandfather had a lot of money.”

  “That old ranch house and even the sizable land the Bannings owned can’t be worth much in that part of Montana,” Laney said. “Sweetie, I think you’re wrong about this and I hate to see you accuse the man of something he didn’t do based on—what?—a look? You realize t
hat if he loved her as much as he seemed to—to everyone but you—then he is devastated right now. He just lost his wife, the woman he loved and swore the rest of his life to. And even worse, he probably feels responsible. If he hears that her best friend now suspects him of killing his wife, imagine what that would do to him. You can’t go off half-cocked with this, Laci.”

  “I know.” She had to admit those rational thoughts had crossed her mind in her more sane moments. “But what if I’m right and he’s getting away with murder?”

  Her sister sighed.

  “I know what you’re saying, but I’m not wrong about him,” Laci said stubbornly. “And I’m going to prove it.”

  “Laci, I really don’t like the sound of this,” her sister said with both reproach and fear. “If you’re right about him, then he’s dangerous.”

  “I have to find out the truth. I owe Aly that much at least.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped her from marrying him,” Laney said adamantly. “I love Nick so much there isn’t anything anyone could have said to keep me from marrying him. If Spencer is the man you think he is, then on some level Alyson knew but refused to believe the truth about him.”

  “You think she suspected something was wrong?”

  “If you’re right, then, yes, I do,” Laney said. “But she wouldn’t have wanted to believe it. You telling her would have only cost the two of you your friendship.”

  Laci knew her sister was right. “Still, I wish I had tried harder to warn her.”

  “By doing what? Throwing yourself in front of the car after the reception? Come on, Laci, you know that wouldn’t have done any good. Stop beating yourself up over this. Nothing you can do now will bring Alyson back. Let it go.”

  She wished she could.

  “At least let it go until I get back,” Laney said. “Whatever plot you’re hatching can wait until next week, can’t it?”

  Laci leaned back, pressing the phone to her mouth as she fought tears, remembering Alyson waving from the back window of the car as it sped away, remembering how she’d said she was having the time of her life in Hawaii.