His Defender

by Stella Bagwell

  “Señorita Corrales is here,” she announced. “In the living room.”

  “Show her back here, Marina. And when you’re finished, would you make us a fresh pot of coffee? And bring some cookies or something sweet with it.”

  “The señorita might not like coffee.”

  Ross’s nostrils flared. “But you know that I like it,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You can ask the señorita—I mean, Ms. Corrales—what she’d like to drink.”

  Nodding, the older woman turned and disappeared into the hallway. Ross directed his attention back to Neal, still waiting on the other end of the phone.

  “Sorry, Neal. My visitor has arrived. I’ve got to go.”

  “Bella isn’t your visitor. She’s your attorney. And you’d do well to remember that, amigo.”

  “Don’t worry, Neal. That’s something I’m in no danger of forgetting.”

  He hung up the telephone and leaned back in the chair to wait. Hardly enough time had passed to twiddle his thumbs before Isabella entered the room.

  The moment Ross laid eyes on her, he felt a swift, hard blow to his gut. He’d thought she was beautiful yesterday, but today she was even more lovely. A powder-blue dress of some soft, gauzy material draped her breasts and hips, while the hem fluttered against her slim calves. Her glossy black hair was braided into a thick coronet atop her head. Hammered silver in the shape of small crescent moons swung from her ears, while dusky pink hues on her cheeks and lips added to her already vibrant face.

  As he rose to his feet to greet her, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened.

  “Good afternoon, Bella,” he said as he extended his hand to hers.

  The contact of his callused hand was like grabbing hold of a hot branding iron. Isabella tried to hide the sudden jolt with a wide smile.

  “I’m glad you decided to meet with me today,” she said warmly.

  He smiled back at her and Isabella struggled not to be charmed by the dimples in his cheeks or the sparkle in his green eyes.

  “I’d never be guilty of standing up a lady twice in a row,” he said, then gestured to the opposite side of the long room where a burgundy chesterfield couch and matching chair were positioned for a view of the mountains. “Have a seat.”

  Isabella took a seat on the couch, while across from her Ross sank into the armchair, stretched out his long legs and crossed his boots at the ankles.

  She drew in a long breath and told herself to relax. He was only a man. It didn’t matter that he was rich and sexy and could charm a bird out of a tree.

  “I understand you’re a busy man and you value your time,” Isabella began. “But as I told you yesterday, it’s important that you be prepared. Just in case the D.A. decides to arrest you.”

  His narrowed eyes surveyed her in one slow, sweeping motion. “Before we go any further, I’d like to know one thing.”

  Her brows lifted warily. “What?”

  “Do you think I’m innocent? Or do you even give a damn about that?”

  A knowing smile tilted her lips and Ross felt something stir deep in his gut.

  “Does what I think make any difference to you?” she asked.

  “You answered my question with a question,” he pointed out.

  She shifted slightly on the leather couch, thinking that the cost of this one piece of furniture would probably pay for every stick of furnishings in her mother’s entire house. And the lizard boots on Ross’s feet would certainly buy several air-conditioning units. The man had money, all right. But he also had troubles.

  “Okay,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you tried to kill your brother-in-law.”

  He grimaced. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

  Shrugging, she allowed her eyes to meander over him. This afternoon he was without a hat. His thick dark hair waved back from his forehead and tickled the back of his collar. If she were to get closer, she expected she would see a few threads of gray at the temple. But then, she didn’t have any business getting that close.

  “I don’t know much about the incident, either,” she told him. “At least, not yet. But I like to think I’m a good judge of character. And besides, Neal assured me that even though you’re hot-headed, you’re not a killer.”

  His lips twitched. “And you believe whatever Neal tells you?”

  “I know from experience that he’s an honest man.”

  Jealousy waltzed in from nowhere and kicked him in the midsection. “You’ve known Neal a long time?”

  She smiled and Ross could see genuine fondness in her eyes. The next time he saw Neal, he promised himself that he was going to sock his friend in the jaw.

  “Long enough.”

  She was as smooth and cool as gourmet ice cream, he thought. But he’d bet the whole T Bar K that underneath her poised exterior, he’d find a wicked hot streak.

  “What did he tell you about the shooting?”

  “Very little. That’s what I want you to do.”

  He rubbed a restless hand against his thigh. “Jess is the person you need to talk to. He’s the one who was shot.”

  “I plan to talk to your brother-in-law and your sister,” she assured him. “But before I do, I want to hear what you have to say.”

  He started to respond, but Marina chose that moment to enter the study. He waited until the older woman had left a tray holding an insulated carafe of coffee and a plate of thick, golden-brown cookies on his desk before he rose to his feet. He walked over to the tray and quickly filled two cups with coffee.

  He glanced at her. “Cream or sugar?”

  She shook her head and he carried the cup over to her. As she leaned up to take it from him, he caught the sweet scent of lilac on her skin. The last time he could remember having smelled the old-fashioned fragrance was when his mother, Amelia, had been alive. She’d been serene and beautiful, too. Just like Isabella Corrales.

  “What about a cookie?” he asked. “They’re full of coconut and chocolate chips. Marina makes them herself. And trust me, they’re delicious.”

  A dimple appeared to the left of her mouth. “I’ll have to try one now. Just to test your honesty.”

  The teasing lilt in her voice got to him more than her beauty, more than the sensual lure of her body, more than anything. It was an invitation for friendship, something that Ross Ketchum valued far above that sentimental notion called love.

  He fetched her a cookie and a napkin. After he’d helped himself to a couple of the sweet desserts, he returned to his seat in the armchair.

  “So,” he said after biting off a hunk of one of the cookies. “What do you want to know?”

  She wanted to know lots of things about Ross Ketchum, she realized. Things that had nothing to do with him needing an attorney, or his brother-in-law being shot.

  Disgusted with her own weakness, she said, “Just start with the day of the shooting. What were you doing that day?”

  “First of all, I’d been away on a business trip,” he said, “and I didn’t get here to the ranch until noon. After I ate lunch, I got a call from an acquaintance about a stallion he wanted to sell, so I drove over to his place to take a look at the horse.”

  “Where?”

  “About twenty minutes west of Aztec,” he answered quickly.

  “Will this person verify that you were at his place?”

  “No doubt about it.”

  Isabella put herself back into prosecutor mode. “And when did you leave there?”

  “Around four,” he told her, then grinned impishly. “And I didn’t buy the stallion. He had a big ankle. He might have gone lame later on.”

  “Four,” Isabella repeated thoughtfully. “The shooting took place when?”

  Ross shrugged. “Victoria wasn’t sure. She said dusk was falling.”

  “Hmm,” she mused aloud. “If that’s the case, you had plenty of time to drive back here and get out to the arroyo where the shooting occurred.”

  “That’s right.�
�

  She sipped her coffee and tried a bite of the cookie. As Ross had promised, it was delicious.

  “You don’t seem a bit concerned about that,” she accused.

  The corners of his mouth turned downward. “Why the hell should I be? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, but can you prove that?” Isabella asked the pointed question.

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The burden of proof should be on the state, not me. Or has the law that a person is innocent until proven guilty changed?”

  “Nothing has changed. But if you had a solid alibi, you wouldn’t have any need for a lawyer.” A tiny frown creased the middle of her forehead. “So where did you go after you looked at the horse?”

  He swallowed more of the coffee, which reminded Isabella that hers was getting cold. She reached for her cup and took a dainty sip.

  “I went to another ranch. The Double X, just north of here. Someone had told me that the owner thought he’d spotted my missing stallion a few days before.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  Ross shook his head. “No. No one was home. So I drove back here, saddled Juggler and went to check on the cattle in the south flats.”

  “Who went with you?”

  “No one. I went alone.”

  Her eyes widened at this bit of information. “Is that normal? For you to ride out alone?”

  He chuckled as though he found her question inane, but Isabella knew it wouldn’t be so funny if he found himself on a witness stand.

  “Look, Bella, the T Bar K is a big spread. And though I’ve got a bunkhouse full of hands, we’re still sometimes spread thin. If I can do a job alone, I do it.”

  As Isabella watched him pop the last piece of cookie into his mouth, she felt certain that Ross Ketchum was being honest with her. But her opinion didn’t count in a court of law. He needed an alibi.

  “I’m sorry, Ross, but I’m merely asking you what any good prosecutor would want to know.”

  He left his seat and placed his empty cup on the serving tray. Then turning to face her, he looped his thumbs over the wide leather belt at his waist. “Okay,” he said, “I can’t account for my whereabouts. But that doesn’t make me guilty.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It just makes you unlucky.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  Rising from the couch, she walked over to where he stood by the desk. After placing her coffee cup next to his, she looked up at him.

  “I’m going to figure out who really did this thing.”

  Ross couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “Sure. One little woman is going to do what the whole San Juan County sheriffs’ department can’t seem to accomplish.”

  She didn’t allow his laughter to get to her. After all, her boast probably did sound ridiculous. But he was a white man. He wouldn’t understand if she tried to explain that Naomi had told her that the truth would appear to Isabella. And her godmother had never told her a wrong thing.

  “I’m Apache,” she said with solemn pride. “We’re tenacious hunters. We don’t give up until we get our prey.”

  Humor creased his cheeks and danced in his green eyes. “Okay, so where do you intend to start on this great hunting trip?”

  A provocative smile suddenly curved the corners of her lips. “I think the best place to start would be your bedroom.”

  Chapter Three

  “My bedroom!”

  The shocked look on Ross’s face told Isabella he’d taken her suggestion all wrong. Which didn’t surprise her that much. Next to ranching, women were probably his favorite entertainment. And now he was thinking she wanted to be his tidbit for the afternoon.

  Heat swarmed her face as she tilted her chin up at him. “Yes, your bedroom,” she answered primly. “That is where you keep your firearms, isn’t it?”

  “Oh,” he said inanely. “Yeah. I have a gun cabinet in my bedroom. Is that what you want to see?”

  Turning her back to him, she licked her dry lips. “Among other things.”

  His hand suddenly rested against the small of her back and Isabella had the absurd urge to close her eyes.

  “It’s at the other end of the house,” he told her. “I’ll show you.”

  Isabella mentally shook herself and quickly started toward the door. Ross followed at her side while his hand remained at her back. Once they were out of the long study and in the hallway, he guided her to the left.

  “How many people live here in the ranch house now?” she asked, while wondering why she didn’t make a move to pull away from him.

  “Only me. Victoria moved out three weeks ago when she married Jess. Marina lives in a small house of her own on the property.”

  The two of them had already passed several doorways. Too many rooms for just one man, Isabella thought.

  “There’s another wing on the opposite side of the house,” he added, as though reading her thoughts. “Victoria did use those.”

  More curious than ever, she glanced up at him. “Why did your father build such a huge house?”

  “Well, he had four children. And when Mother was still alive he did a lot of entertaining. Cattle and horse buyers might come and stay a whole week while they looked over the ranch’s livestock. That’s when the ranch was really hopping,” he added, his voice full of wistful pride.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “And it isn’t hopping now?”

  He smiled faintly. “Sure it is. We just do things differently nowadays.”

  “You mean you don’t invite people into your home anymore?”

  Ross frowned. “You’re trying to make me sound inhospitable.”

  “Not really. You just don’t seem the sort of man who’d enjoy playing host for very long.” Not without a wife around to play hostess, she thought.

  With a sly smile, he reached out and pushed open a door to his right and motioned for her to go in.

  “This is it,” he announced.

  A bedroom said a lot about the person who slept there, and as Isabella looked around the spacious room, one thing kept coming to her mind. Ross Ketchum was all man.

  The king-size bed was sturdy oak with short, fat posts at the head and foot. It was covered with a rich burgundy-colored spread that matched the drapes on the windows. Paintings and sketches of the old west were scattered here and there on the whitewashed walls. To one side of the doorway a row of pegs held an assortment of felt and straw cowboy hats, a leather holster for a six-shooter, and a brown, oiled slicker. Along the end of the room, a tall gun cabinet made of varnished cedar and glass sat next to a shorter chest of drawers.

  Several steps away to her right, one lone photo sat atop an otherwise bare dresser top. The distance between it and Isabella made it impossible to see who or what was in it.

  “No TV?” she asked.

  His lips twisted wryly. “A man has better things to do in bed.”

  She should have seen that coming, Isabella thought with a measure of irritation at herself.

  “Is that where the rifle was kept?” she asked, inclining her head toward the gun cabinet. “The one that was fired at Mr. Hastings?”

  Ross nodded. “That’s it. I’ve had that particular 30.30 for years. Dad gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday. We used to take deer-hunting trips back then, before his heart got too bad.”

  There it was again, she thought. That faint wistfulness in his voice that said he missed his parents and missed the way his home life used to be.

  The notion softened her in a place that was far too private to be letting thoughts of Ross Ketchum inside.

  “When did your parents pass away?” she asked gently.

  “Dad died nearly two years ago. Mother passed on quite a while before that. Probably five or six years, I’d say. I’ve pushed the dates out of my head. They’re not ones I want to remember, if you know what I mean.”

  She knew all too well. When her grandmother Corrales had died, she’d felt such an intense loss, she’d n
ot been able to eat or sleep for days.

  “I’m sure your father is riding another range now. And your mother is probably with him.”

  Her remark reminded Ross that she was Apache; she viewed spirituality and the afterlife in a slightly different way than most white folks. The Apache believed that once a loved one died, he or she simply journeyed to another world where life continued in much the same way.

  “I hope you’re right. But I doubt Amelia is with him.”

  Her brows lifted. “Why do you say that? Surely your parents would want to be together.”

  He chuckled. “Dad was a tough old codger. I can’t see any woman wanting to live two lives with him.”

  Isabella wanted to ask him why he hadn’t followed his father’s example and filled the empty ranch house with a wife and children. From the information Neal had given her, she knew he was thirty-five. Well past the settling-down age. But questions of that sort would be getting away from her reason for being here, she told herself. And anyway, it didn’t matter why Ross Ketchum was without a wife. She wasn’t interested in him in such a way. She doubted she would ever be that interested in any man again after Brett.

  Leaving his side, she walked over to the gun cabinet and peered through the glass doors. There were four rifles and a pump shotgun resting in the velvet holders.

  “Is this where you store all your firearms?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “Yeah. There’s a couple of pistols in the drawer at the bottom.”

  “Did you have the cabinet locked up the day of the shooting?”

  Ross cursed. “No. I never lock the thing. It would be pretty useless when anybody could knock the glass out. Besides, why should I lock it? There’s no children around, except my nephew Aaron, who lives about a mile on up the mountain. And he never comes into this room. Even if he did, the guns are never loaded.”

  She could see his point, even if she didn’t agree with it.

  Turning away from the cabinet, she studied the layout of the room. “What about those sliding glass doors? Where do they go?”

  Ross walked over and pushed the drapes completely to one side to expose a view of a rocky, pine-dotted bluff.