High-Stakes Loving [King's Bluff, Wyoming 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Fiona Archer

  She managed a smile for Ryan Gordon. An older version of Jackson with the added dash of silver to his temples, he and his twin, Parker, were the strong, silent types. Men who walked large in their six-foot frame and yet appeared non-threatening to women and children.

  “Reagan, glad you made it for lunch with the boys.” He glanced at the men. “Persistence pays off, hey, fellas?” Ryan chuckled as he set out their meals.

  “Absolutely, buddy.” Quinn salted his fries.

  “I’d sit and chat a while but we’re finishing off a rush of orders. Enjoy your meal, folks.”

  Conversation slowed as they ate their burgers and fries.

  When Mike excused himself to go to the restroom, she did the same. A cold splash of water on her cheeks might do some good.

  The restroom was located in the back of the diner not far from their table, so she passed no one as she entered. She checked her appearance. Her hair was worn in its usual braid, except today she’d styled a tendril down each side of her face, softening the overall look. Not wanting them to get soaked from the water, she tucked them behind her ears. Thank God for waterproof mascara. Panda eyes were so last season.

  As she splashed water on her cheeks, she heard the door open and the clack of heels on the tiled floor.

  The cool liquid refreshed her, dampening some of the tension bubbling under her skin. A couple of deep breaths and she’d be fine.

  “Poor Reagan. Is it all getting a bit much for you? No wonder. It’s not every day you find out your father killed his cheating wife.”

  Coldness flooded Reagan’s body. The water from the running tap sloshed over her cupped hands, flowing back down the drain.

  She’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was Darcy Richards, her tormentor all through high school.

  When she’d been a kid.

  When she’d been a victim.

  It was time she kicked this bitch back inside the gym’s locker room and locked the door.

  You can do this! Keeping her gaze zeroed in on the basin, she snagged a paper towel, then straightened her back, one vertebra at a time. With deliberate care, she turned off the tap and dabbed at her face before scrunching the towel in a ball and throwing it in the trash.

  Only then did she turn around.

  Darcy, tall, model thin, wearing plastered-on jeans and a too-tight sweater that showed off her surgically enhanced breasts, stood in all her tousled brunette glory. The cold meanness in her pale-blue eyes betrayed her true character.

  “You seem to be under a misconception, Darcy. Yes, my mother was killed. But my dad had nothing to do with her murder.” Reagan tilted her head. “Only someone with a shortage of intelligence would draw such an easy conclusion. I realize it must be hard getting enough oxygen to your brain when wearing such tight clothing, but you’ll just have to take shallow breaths and hope for the best.”

  Darcy’s face slackened. Her mouth dropped open.

  Score one for me!

  It took a few seconds, but the ex-cheerleader’s snarl soon returned. “You’ve got to be kidding. Even those guys you hired don’t believe that shit. They’ve been asking questions. Mr. Brewster told my daddy he didn’t see Sam Edwards that morning. Wasn’t your father supposed to be there while you were leeching your pity horsey ride from Duncan King?” The taller woman stepped closer.

  Reagan held her ground, locking her knees.

  “Mr. Brewster is mistaken.”

  “Nooo, he’s not.”

  Reagan shivered. The singsong tone that had haunted her from adolescence bounced off of the restroom’s tiled walls.

  Darcy smiled, as if smelling blood in the water. “You father has no alibi. The men at your table know it. I wonder why they haven’t told you that before. I mean, they spoke to Brewster days ago. How many more people do they need to interview before they tell you what we’ve all guessed? I wonder why they’re dragging it out?” She pursed her lips and gazed off to the side in apparent deep thought.

  “Of course.” She snapped her fingers. “They’re fucking you.” Cool disdain washed over her face, leaving her eyes flat. “It’s a good thing you wear such baggy clothing, honey. Even with all that extra oxygen, you’re too stupid to work out the obvious.”

  With one last piteous glance, Darcy stalked out. The lingering trail of her overpowering musk perfume assaulted Reagan. Bile rushed up her throat. The bitch wanted to stir up trouble. Ask the guys. They’ll tell you.

  Urgency replaced grace as she tugged her shirt in place and dragged the previously delicately curled tendrils from behind her ears. With a swipe of her hands down the front of her fawn skirt, she marched back to their table.

  The guys rose at her return, Quinn holding out her chair. Both frowned at her fidgety movements. She couldn’t get comfortable. She rubbed at the stray wisps of hair on her neck that itched against her skin. Had Quinn changed the angle of her seat? She gripped her hands on the base and scraped it closer to the table, ignoring the screech of the metal legs against the hard vinyl.

  “What’s wrong?” Trust Mike to not muck around. It suited her perfectly.

  “Did you question the Brewsters?” She stared first at Mike and then Quinn. The tightening of the latter’s mouth didn’t bode well, whether for her or his answer, she didn’t know. And right now, she didn’t care.

  “Yes.” Quinn’s gaze narrowed. “They’re amongst a group of locals we’ve interviewed.”

  “And? What did they say?”

  “Why don’t we leave this discussion for tonight? The diner isn’t the best place to share our findings.”

  Why, when the whole town seemed to know before her?

  “No, I want to hear it now.”

  “Simmer down, Reagan,” Mike warned before his voice softened. “Whatever’s bit into your hide, we’ll talk it through.”

  “There’s nothing to talk through. I simply wish to receive the update as promised. Now, about Mr. Brewster?”

  Quinn stared at her a moment longer before speaking. “Brewster agrees he spoke to your dad the night before at the dance and asked him to take a look at repairing a stall in the barn that needed more than Brewster’s meager carpentry skills. But when he turned up the next morning as agreed, Sam never arrived.”

  “I’ve already told you his truck broke down on the road leading to Brewster’s farm. They must have missed each other.”

  “You did. Unfortunately, we can’t find any witnesses who saw him or his truck during that time. It leaves two hours unaccounted for. And your dad with no alibi.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He couldn’t be serious?

  “No. That’s reality.” Quinn’s tone lacked any emotion. “This is all beside the fact your dad’s watch was found at the murder scene.”

  “Again, I’ve already explained that away. Mom was taking it in for repair.” Why weren’t they listening to her?

  Quinn nodded, his actions saying he understood, however his words soon proved otherwise. “That could be, but there was no jeweler’s quote in your mom’s handbag, which would strengthen that argument. And the watch was found under her body, the strap torn at the buckle, indicating a struggle.”

  She looked away, staring at a potted Boston fern as it glowed in the noon-day sun. The vibrant green did nothing to soothe the worsening cramps in her stomach.

  “Your parents were under stress. In the original case notes, your dad admitted their marriage was strained at the time of your mom’s disappearance.”

  “All couples disagree.” She’d heard the arguments, late at night, when they’d thought she was asleep. One morning she’d woken early to find her dad sleeping on the living room sofa.

  “According to friends, it ran deeper than mere disagreements. Your mom’s behavior triggered gossip and in some cases impacted on your dad’s business,” Mike said.

  She sucked in a breath. “Who said these things?”

  “Folks who have no motive for lying.” Quinn’s calm voice clawed at her frayed nerves. “For now, we
’ll keep their names confidential. When our report is finished, you’ll see the full story.”

  This was all wrong. Who had they been talking to? What about Jeb Stewart or Wes Daniels? They’d stick by her dad.

  “Reagan, sometimes we don’t know everything about our parents that we think we do.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Mike,” she snapped, louder than she intended.

  His gaze hardened. “This is upsetting news for you and not what you wanted to hear. So you can avoid embarrassing yourself, I’ll remind you you’re in a public place.”

  “My embarrassment? Do you think I care about that when Dad’s character’s being assassinated?”

  “Your mother deserves justice. That’s our priority.” Quinn scrubbed a hand over his face. When he focused on her again, regret clouded his gaze. “Reagan, from the start we made one promise—that we’d seek out the truth. We never promised to clear your dad’s name.”

  “We’re not saying he’s guilty. Only that right now, we’re not obtaining the results you want. The facts of the case are leading down a different path.” Quinn cast a glance over her shoulder, toward the front of the diner.

  Were people staring? Let them! Apparently they all had opinions on the matter. Maybe they should hear hers.

  “And a man’s reputation, his honor? My dad was one of the good guys. Doesn’t that count for something?” She curled her hands into fists.

  “Hard evidence counts more. Or in this case, the lack of. Emotions can cloud a person’s vision.” There was that flat, immovable tone again.

  It was like she didn’t know him.

  All her hopes had been pinned on the guys standing by her, proving what she knew to be right.

  Jesus, what a freaking colossal mistake. They weren’t interested in helping her. Hell, they’d kept the truth from her. Why hadn’t they said anything last night?

  Of course. They were fucking you.

  Coldness seeped into her body. Was Darcy right? Was it just down to the sex?

  Or was she giving in to her own fears? Too fat. Not sexy enough. Couldn’t hold their attention, so why bother. You can’t be rejected when you don’t put yourself out there.

  But…no! Mike and Quinn weren’t listening to her. They didn’t understand. She knew her dad. He didn’t do this. Why couldn’t they just listen to her, believe in her?

  This had to stop. The investigation. Them and her. All of it. It stopped now.

  “We’re planning on visiting—”

  “No.” She kept her hands clenched to hide their shaking.

  “Pardon?” Mike’s voice had an edge of steel. She ignored it.

  “No. You’re fired.”

  “Excuse me?” Disbelief laced Quinn’s tone.

  “You heard me.” She stood, gathered her bag from the back of her chair and clutched it to her chest. Damn her shaking hands. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, how every word she forced out of her mouth cut like a knife to her heart.

  “Reagan, calm down. We can talk this out at your house. Or maybe ours? We’d planned to bring you over this weekend.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You’ve made your opinions clear. I disagree. Our business is over.”

  “And us? Are we also dismissed?” Even with her own wall of pain falling down around her, she couldn’t miss the hurt in Mike’s voice.

  “We were trying things out. Guess we didn’t fit together so well after all.” Liar. “Good thing we found out now.” She forced herself to meet their gaze. “I’ll organize for Chloe to collect your things from the house. I think”—she swallowed around the lump in her throat—“that’s for the best.”

  She turned and fled, the stares of her fellow diners scalding in their pity. Lowering her head, she pushed past a tall figure in a fawn uniform at the diner’s entrance.

  Out on the street, the noise of cars and people played as an abstract backdrop as she struggled for air. Fool. This is what happened when you confused fictional heroes with reality. Life wasn’t one idealized romance novel with a guaranteed happy ending, as she’d now learned firsthand.

  Tears blinded her gaze and mocked her with every shaky step back to the library. Choking on a sob, she clenched her fists by her sides, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. She didn’t care. Let it be a reminder. Fools feel pain.

  With gumption, good friends, and no doubt a semi-trailer-sized dose of luck, she’d win this damn election and somehow help prove her dad’s innocence. And she’d do it without any would-be heroes at her side.

  For if there was one thing in her favor, she rarely needed to learn a lesson twice.

  * * * *

  Quinn battled the urge to slam his fist into the table. “Christ, what a total fuck up.”

  “We should go after her.” Mike glared toward the diner’s doorway as if willing Reagan to reappear.

  “No. Let her run out of steam first.” Quinn eyed Caleb as he approached them, manila folder in hand.

  Judging by the grim set of their friend’s jaw, the conversation was sure to be a hoot.

  “Is Reagan okay? She rushed right past me,” the sheriff asked as he sat in Reagan’s empty seat.

  Quinn belted out a sigh. “No. We shared with her our preliminary findings.” He took a long swallow of his iced tea. Christ, he’d kill for a beer right now.

  “And?”

  Mike’s laugh held no humor. “She fired us.”

  Caleb leaned back in his chair and whistled.

  Mike huffed in agreement, then continued. “Then she informed us we ‘don’t fit together well.’ The little reader’s decided we can take a hike on the personal front too.”

  “Purely on the strength of not liking what she heard?” Caleb’s raised brows mirrored their own confusion. “That doesn’t seem like Reagan.”

  Quinn lowered his glass to the table, landing it with a hard thump. “Exactly. There’s more to it. And we aim to find out.”

  Caleb rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Word’s spread about you asking questions. That’s on top of my own investigation. A murder changes people’s perceptions. They now question what before they accepted on face value.” He grimaced. “And Reagan wouldn’t give a damn about such a rational explanation. She idolized her dad.”

  Didn’t they know it. “Sometimes idols have feet of clay.”

  “True. As do some marriages.” Caleb narrowed his gaze. “You’ve heard of Leonard Aitken, right?”

  “The councillor who’s retiring,” Mike confirmed.

  Caleb nodded. “He visited me about half an hour ago. Produced a copy of a valuation on the Edwards’s property dated a week before Julie’s disappearance. Leonard says the request came from Julie.”

  The dots joined together fast. “Marriage issues. Property valuation. She was contemplating a divorce.”

  “According to Leonard, Julie never said as much but that’s what he deduced.”

  “Why didn’t Leonard say something at the time of her disappearance?” Mike asked.

  “No proof she’d been murdered. Only a guess she’d run away.” Caleb shrugged. “Apparently he didn’t want to add more to the rumor mill. Now that there’s been a body discovered, he’s not so shy. Though he did say he bumped into Reagan on his way to my office. I get the impression that left him a tad uncomfortable.”

  “This certainly doesn’t help Sam’s case.” From behind Mike, Quinn spotted Penny heading in their direction. She wore a look on her round face that held no humor. “Watch out. Penny’s on her way.”

  Mike’s cell rang, playing a ringtone designated for the MacKenzie brothers. He moved away to take the call.

  “What happened with Reagan? I saw her run out.” Hands on hips, Penny stood between Mike and Caleb’s chairs, her gaze bouncing between him and Mike. Ryan and Parker came to stand behind their wife.

  “She’s upset with some news we presented to her. We’re giving her time to cool down.”

  “This regarding your investigation? Between
you fellas and Caleb, folks have had nothing else to talk about than that poor family.”

  He’d seen the looks Reagan received as they walked into the diner. It burned his gut people were giving her a hard time, even more that unless they were malicious, he had no place interfering. An overbearing attitude with the locals would only impede their investigation.

  “It’s an unfortunate side effect, Penny. However, we have to ask questions to find the truth.”

  “I’m not arguing against finding the truth, Quinn. But it seems like the one person who needs all of our support is also the one paying the price.” Penny’s pink-tinted lips pressed together hard.

  Parker laid his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “We know, honey.” Furrows deepened between the brows of the older twin.

  Their concern for Reagan only raised his level of respect for these fine people.

  In the background, Mike spoke in curt sentences. Both can’t come. How soon?

  “I know you’ve spoken to my husbands.” Challenge gleamed bright in Penny’s eyes. “Were you planning on asking me any questions?”

  God, he loved it when a fine woman showed her steel.

  “We’d planned to set up a time with you after lunch, but you’ve been busy, so—”

  “No problem. I’ll tell you now. Julie Edwards was my dear friend. I loved her like a sister. But there were times I could have strangled her. She flirted, innocently I believe, with a few of the men in the town.” Penny turned down one corner of her mouth. “They may or may not have gotten ideas she was interested in more. She wasn’t. Julie loved her husband and adored her child. Yes, she and Sam were having some issues. What marriage doesn’t?”

  “And Sam, did he love his wife?”

  “Unreservedly. He worshipped her.”

  And that may have been the problem.

  “Thanks, Penny. We appreciate your honesty.” He noted the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed. Folks needed a chance to be listened to and acknowledged. “Parker and Ryan had told us we should get your take on events. Finding the right time to fit everyone in has been problematic.”