Murder in Black Canyon

by Cindi Myers

  Since her engagement to Trask Beaumont and the completion of their home on the ranch, she’d given up her apartment to her twin, Darby. He had been living in a cabin not far from the bar, but he’d jumped at the chance to live upstairs.

  Now she glanced toward the back window. The curtains were some she’d left when she’d moved out. One of them flapped in the wind. Darby must have left the window open. She hadn’t been up there to see what he’d done with the place. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, since she’d moved most everything out, leaving it pretty much a blank slate. She thought it might still be a blank slate, knowing her brother.

  Pushing open the back door into the bar kitchen, she was met with the most wonderful of familiar scents. Fortunately, not everything had changed in her life, she thought, her mood picking up some as she entered the warm café kitchen.

  “Tell me those are your famous enchiladas,” she said to Billie Dee, their heavyset, fiftysomething Texas cook.

  “You know it, sugar,” the cook said with a laugh. “You want me to dish you up a plate? I’ve got homemade pinto beans and some Spanish rice like you’ve never tasted.”

  “You mean hotter than I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh, you Montanans. I’ll toughen you up yet.”

  Lillie laughed. “I’d love a plate.” She pulled out a chair at the table where the help usually ate in the kitchen and watched Billie Dee fill two plates.

  “So how are the wedding plans coming along?” the cook asked as she joined her at the table.

  “I thought a simple wedding here with family and friends would be a cinch,” Lillie said as she took a bite of the enchilada. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet and then hot bite of peppers before all the other flavors hit her. She groaned softly. “These are the best you’ve ever made.”

  “Bless your heart,” Billie Dee said, smiling. “I take it the wedding has gotten more complicated?”

  “I can’t get married without my father and who knows when he’ll be coming out of the mountains.” Their father, Ely Cahill, was a true mountain man now who spent most of the year up in the mountains either panning for gold or living off the land. He’d given up ranching after their mother had died and had turned the business over to her brothers Hawk and Cyrus.

  Their oldest brother, Tucker, had taken off at eighteen. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Their father was the only one who wasn’t worried about him.

  Tuck needs space. He’s gone off to find himself. He’ll come home when he’s ready, Ely had said.

  The rest of the family hadn’t been so convinced. But if Tuck was anything like their father, they would have heard something from the cops. Ely had a bad habit of coming out of the mountains thirsty for whiskey—and ending up in their brother Sheriff Flint Cahill’s jail. Who knew where Tuck was. Lillie didn’t worry about him. She had four other brothers to deal with right here in Gilt Edge.

  “I can see somethin’s botherin’ you,” Billie Dee said now.

  Lillie nodded. “Trask insists we wait to get married since he hopes to have the finishing touches on the house so we can have the reception there.”

  Trask, the only man she’d ever loved, had come back into her life after so many years that she’d thought she’d never see him again. But they’d found their way back together and now he was building a house for them on the ranch he’d bought not far from the bar.

  “Waitin’ sounds reasonable,” the cook said between bites.

  “I wish we’d eloped.”

  “Something tells me the wedding isn’t the problem,” Billie Dee said, using her fork to punctuate her words.

  “I’ll admit it’s been hard giving up my apartment upstairs. I put so much love into it.”

  “Darby will take good care of it.”

  Don’t miss

  OUTLAW’S HONOR,

  available June 2017 wherever

  HQN Books and ebooks are sold.

  www.Harlequin.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Heinlein

  “I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”

  As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first episode of

  TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE (Part 1 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Prologue

  The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.

  The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.

  The thought of Elliot gets me moving.

  Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.

  An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.

  “Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.

  The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.

  It’s no use, anyway.

  The beach is empty.

  Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.

  The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.

  I can’t lose him—he’s everything.

  Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...

  But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?

  The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.

  I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.

  Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.

  There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.

  Waiting for me...

  “Elliot!”

  My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.

  As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.

  I run toward the dark figure on the beach.

  Sarah

  I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.

  “Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”

  Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.

  “Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.

  Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the goo
d-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.

  Lucky, lucky, lucky...

  One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”

  I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn’t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.

  “She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”

  “But I’m not—”

  I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?

  Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.

  Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.

  The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.

  Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.

  “So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be compatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”

  The Taylor-Coxes are American royalty. Their East Hamptons home is even more luxurious than ours, and it’s close enough that it will be easy to shuttle Elliot back and forth during the party. Eleanor’s offer is meant to be generous, and certainly our friends will be impressed.

  “If you’re sure...it’s a lot of trouble for you.” I hope my tone conveys the proper gratitude.

  It could have been left at that. We could have enjoyed the gorgeous day, eating the glorious food Edward and Warwick grilled for us, and then stretched out for a nice long nap.

  But of course Eleanor has to go too far.

  “Your family must attend this time, Sarah—I insist.” Her lips purse into a moue of displeasure. Seeing her expression, Emily hurriedly hands me a glass of tepid water before vanishing into the house again. “It’s getting ridiculous. Why do they have such an aversion to us? People will talk.”

  I shoot a pleading look at Warwick and his father, but they’re studiously ignoring us, piling steaming steaks on a platter. Once again, I’m left to fight my own battle.

  “It’s not that. They’d love to meet you.” Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. It’s not Eleanor’s fault—my family situation must seem strange to outsiders. “They’re just very busy. I don’t even know where my sister is half the time. She’s always out of the country.”

  “It’s not right we haven’t gotten a chance to meet them,” Eleanor says, her brow furrowing with a disapproving expression I am all too familiar with. “They weren’t even at the wedding, for God’s sake. What kind of people miss their own daughter’s wedding? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding something.”

  I choke on a mouthful of water, soaking the collar of my sundress and narrowly missing my son, who gurgles in his sleep. “Hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?”

  Warwick stops joking around with his father. Their little haven by the barbecue falls silent. I can feel their eyes burn into me as they watch the show.

  “Well, I certainly don’t know, do I?” Eleanor hands me a napkin. “You’ve always been so mysterious, Sarah.”

  My cheeks grow hot. “I’m not mysterious. It’s just—”

  “All right, all right, that’s enough.” Warwick comes over and plants a kiss on the top of his mother’s head. “At ease, Mother.”

  She swats at him, but I can tell she’s flattered by his attention. Her Ice Queen exterior softens. Only her darling son gets away with mussing her hair.

  Good. Maybe now she’ll lay off, let me get some rest. Maybe Warwick will have a heart and tell her I’m exhausted, that Elliot has been waking up every hour on the hour and when I try to breastfeed it takes him forever to latch on.

  No such luck.

  “Is what I’m asking so wrong? I’m merely trying to include Sarah’s family. I want us to get to know one another.”

  “Of course not, Mother.” Warwick perches beside her on the lounge chair and pats her hand. “You’re being completely reasonable, as always.”

  “You know I don’t like sarcasm, Warwick. Seriously, though, it’s only a party. It’s not like I’m saying they should spend the entire summer—”

  Eleanor’s eyes gleam, sending my heart plummeting into my sandals.

  Uh-oh.

  “Yes, that’s perfect,” my mother-in-low crows, clapping like a delighted child. “That’s a fabulous idea. Your family will spend the entire summer here, with us. That will give us time to really get to know one another.”

  The thought of my mother, waltzing around the Taylor-Coxes’ multi-million-dollar estate with a glass of gin in her hand, makes me feel ill. Before I can respond, Warwick leans across and squeezes my thigh.

  Don’t panic, his eyes say. I’ve got this.

  “That might be a bit extreme.” He laughs, showing his lovely teeth, and I pray he’ll be able to talk some sense into her. “I’m sure Sarah’s family already has plans for the summer. They’re very busy people, as she said. But how about a compromise?”

  I’d begun to relax when he intervened, but now a chill slinks up my spine. I stare at him, attempting to communicate telepathically.

  No, no, no! What are you doing?

  “What if they come for the week of the christening? That shouldn’t be too arduous, should it?” When he smiles like that, a dimple appears in his cheek. Ordinarily I find it endearing, but not today.

  The three Taylor-Coxes wait for my answer. My mind races, but I can’t think of a single excuse. Silently I sigh. I know when I’m beaten.

  “Okay, I’ll ask. But I can’t promise anything. Like I said, I don’t know where Maisey is right now. She could be in outer Mongolia.”

  Maisey. An image of my little sister drifts through my mind. She’s twenty-four now, a woman. Has it really been ten years since I’ve seen her? So much will have changed. Maybe it’ll be fun to have her around.

  “They’ll come,” Warwick says with the certainty of a man used to getting what he wants. He slowly trails his fingers over my arm, caressing it in the way he knows I like. “I’m sure they’d love to see the baby.”

  As if on cue, Elliot wakes up from his all-too-brief nap and shrieks, momentarily deafening me.

  “Sounds like someone is hungry,” Edward says, clearly relieved to ch
ange the subject. “And he’s not the only one. Shall we eat?”

  “In a minute, dear. We need to wait for Sarah.” Eleanor watches as I struggle to my feet, holding my wailing infant. Warwick rushes to help and guides me to the French doors with his arm around my waist.

  Eleanor’s words make me freeze in mid-step, as if she’d doused me with the ice water she refuses to let me drink. “I do hope you’re nursing him. It’s the best way to lose that baby weight, you know.”

  I don’t miss Edward’s assessment of my postpartum figure. At least he has the good grace to blush when he notices me noticing.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” Warwick murmurs. “I’ll make sure you get the best steak, cooked exactly the way you like it.”

  He kisses my temple and opens the patio doors, and soon I’m alone in my cool, dim house with only my son to comfort me. Elliot’s cries quiet to whimpers, and I wonder if he wanted to get away from Eleanor as much as I did.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into my baby’s ear. “I owe you one.”

  * * *

  It’s a relief to remove the diamonds from my ears that evening. I wince at the stab of pain from my swollen lobes. It echoes the dull throb from my breasts, which are suffering the agony from another hopeless skirmish with my son.

  He isn’t rejecting you. Some babies weren’t meant to nurse. At least he’s eating, that’s the important thing.

  As I tuck the large gemstones into my dresser drawer, wishing yet again that my husband would let me wear something more discreet, I don’t hear him come up behind me. I move to hide the empty bottle, but it’s too late.

  “Oh, Sarah.” Warwick’s voice is heavy with disappointment. “I thought we’d agreed you were going to try.”

  “I am trying.” I attempt to keep the defensiveness out of my voice and fail miserably. “It’s not working.” Tears sting my eyes and I duck my head so he can’t see my face.