The Last Wilder

by Janis Reams Hudson

  “Kiss you?” Had she done that? Had she actually done that?

  “—anytime you want.”

  “When pigs fly.” She wanted nothing more at that moment than to deny that she had kissed him, but the fog was lifting from her memory. Not completely, for which she thought she might be eternally grateful, but enough to allow her to recall slipping her arms around a strong, warm neck, pulling his face down to hers…and…oh, good grief!

  “But,” he told her, “just because I enjoyed being kissed by you—”

  “Did you, now,” she said archly. Might as well go with it, she decided, since there didn’t seem to be any use in denying it.

  “Very much,” he said with another smile. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t charge you.”

  “With what?” she cried. Her mind was still on that kiss. Now he was talking about charges, and she had to play catch-up. “The most you can charge me with is trespassing, if Mr. Wilder decides to press charges.” And from what she knew of the Wilders—which wasn’t much, but what there was wasn’t good—he just might.

  As if on cue, Ace Wilder stepped into the room balancing three mugs of coffee. “Who am I pressing charges against?” he asked as he doled out the mugs.

  “You should think about whether or not you want to press charges against Ms. Landers for trespassing.”

  Stacey blew on the surface of her coffee and eyed the man who’d just given it to her. He wouldn’t press charges. Surely he wouldn’t.

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  That was not exactly the answer Stacey had been hoping for, but it would do for the time being.

  Just then the sheriff’s cell phone chirped. He answered it and spoke in short, terse phrases that didn’t mean much to Stacey, except that she gathered he was talking to one of his deputies.

  When he ended the call, he eyed Stacey critically, then looked at Ace. “Well,” he said. “I now know what she was doing on your ranch last night, and you now know who your mysterious graveyard visitor is. You can add a bottle of Jim Beam to your list of items left on the stranger’s grave.”

  Stacey felt trapped. If it wasn’t for her injured ankle, which was hurting more and more by the minute, she might seriously consider bolting for the door. But what good would that do? And really, if she was careful, everything could still work out all right.

  She was puzzled, however, by the slow smile that curved Ace Wilder’s mouth. He actually looked pleased about the situation, which was not what she would have expected.

  “So,” Wilder said, “you’re our stealth grave decorator. It’s good to finally meet you. Does this mean the man in the grave’s name is Landers?”

  Stacey wasn’t sure exactly why Gran had always been so adamant that no one learn that the man in the Wilders’ grave was Grandpa. She didn’t know why Gran thought the Wilders were responsible for Grandpa’s death. Stacey only knew that to Gran, Grandpa’s anonymity was vitally important and the Wilders weren’t to be trusted.

  “I can’t say,” she said in response to Ace Wilder’s question.

  “Can’t?” Dane asked. “Or won’t?”

  She shook her head. “I was just doing a favor for someone, that’s all.”

  “Come to think of it,” Ace said, “you are too young to be the one who’s been coming all these years. You would have been a baby when he died, if you were even born yet.”

  “Who sent you?” Dane asked.

  “Does it matter?” she asked.

  “Not to me,” Ace said. “Except that we’d really like to be able to put a name on the headstone. Nobody should have to spend eternity in an unmarked grave.”

  Again Stacey shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  Ace took a sip of his coffee, then cocked his head. “Why Jim Beam?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him. “I’m just the errand girl.”

  “A few times in the past we’ve found two sets of footprints. I assume you came along at those times?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.” Ace shook his head. “I’m just curious. We’ve left letters before, to whoever was coming up there, inviting them to use the ranch road and drive to the cemetery, in the daylight, if they wanted, no questions asked.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.” And she didn’t. But she would damn sure be asking Gran about it. Why all this cloak-and-dagger business, if the Wilders didn’t care one way or the other?

  The door of the outer office opened and Stacey heard the sergeant greet someone with enthusiasm and direct the person to the sheriff’s office. A moment later a beautiful woman with black hair and blue eyes stepped into the doorway.

  “Knock-knock?” She paused and looked expectantly at first Ace Wilder, then the sheriff. She wore rubber boots up to her knees, denim pants and a white smock that billowed out over her obvious pregnancy. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all.” The sheriff rose to his feet with a huge smile. “Come on in. You’re just in time. Rachel, meet Stacey Landers. Stacey, this is Rachel Lewis, the county’s best veterinarian, and Ace’s sister.”

  The last part of Dane’s introduction was more than obvious. Rachel Lewis was a softer, feminine version of her older brother. Stacey reached for her crutches, intending to rise to greet the woman properly.

  Rachel stepped forward with a smile and an extended hand. “Don’t get up. I’ve been on crutches before. Getting up and down with them is not a bit easier than it is with this,” she declared laughingly as she patted her belly.

  Stacey accepted the woman’s handshake. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Rachel eyed her brother, then the sheriff. “Well? Have you caught the rustlers yet?”

  “We’re working on it,” Dane said.

  “I can’t believe they hit the Flying Ace.” There was a fire in her eyes that boded no good if she ever got her hands on the cattle thieves. “Do you have any leads?”

  “How about an eye witness who can identify two of them?” Ace said.

  “No kidding? Who?”

  Both men nodded toward Stacey, but Dane said, “I’d like to keep Stacey’s involvement quiet for the time being, so let’s just keep this among ourselves for now.”

  “All right,” Rachel said, her brow furrowed. “You really saw them?” she asked Stacey. “How? Where?”

  “Actually,” Ace said, “Stacey paid a visit to the ranch last night.”

  Rachel eyed her brother. “Why do you say that as though I’m supposed to be amazed? People do visit the ranch now and then.”

  “Yes, but Stacey didn’t come to see us, she came to leave a bottle of Jim Beam at the stranger’s grave.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She stared at Stacey for a long minute, then let out a cheer. “Finally! Maybe now we can put a name on that poor man’s headstone. Who is he, your father? An uncle? Grandfather? Do you know what he was doing here when he died?”

  Stacey held up a hand to halt the enthusiastic flow of questions. She was more than a little surprised by Rachel’s attitude, and Ace’s, as well. She would have expected anger, maybe suspicion. Not this…this feeling of welcome, as though she were a long-lost relative.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was only doing a favor for a friend. I don’t have any answers to your questions.”

  Rachel’s face fell. “Well, damn. I thought we were finally going to be able to solve the mystery once and for all. But your friend would know, right?”

  Stacey shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “But—”

  “Come on.” Ace interrupted by getting to his feet. “I assume you came to give me a ride home?”

  “I did, but now that Stacey—oh, good heavens. You came to visit the grave and ran into the rustlers? You must have been terrified.”

  “She didn’t know they were rustlers when she saw them,” Ace said. “Come on. Stacey’s got business to take care of with Dane, and I’ve got work to do at home.”


  “Well,” Rachel said as Ace steered her out the door. “I hope we get another chance to talk before you leave town,” she said to Stacey. “And I hope you catch those rotten bast—”

  “Watch your language,” Ace said tersely, giving the back of her neck what was obviously an affectionate squeeze. “You shouldn’t cuss in front of the baby.”

  “Oh, very funny, Uncle Ace.”

  The two of them continued to bicker with each other all the way across the main office and out the door.

  The silence left in their wake made Stacey want to fidget. She resisted the urge, but barely. What she really wanted to do was take another one of those pain pills and sleep for about twenty-four hours.

  She forced herself to look at the sheriff. “What now?”

  “Now,” he said, “you look through some photos and see if you spot the two men you said you would recognize.”

  Stacey nearly groaned.

  “Then we find you a place to get some decent sleep. You look like you’re about to drop.”

  “Why, Sheriff, you say the sweetest things.”

  Chapter Five

  Stacey stared at one mug shot after another until she was afraid she would dream of all those beady-eyed men the next time she slept. Which, thank God, would be soon, now that she had finished that little task and come up empty.

  A few minutes later the sheriff drove her to the local motel.

  Stacey stared at the sign outside the motel office. “It doesn’t really say that. Tell me it doesn’t really say that.”

  Dane chuckled. “Are you making fun of one of our local establishments?”

  “‘We hope you spring on in to the Hope Springs Inn’? I wouldn’t dream of making fun of something someone obviously put so much thought into.”

  “That’s good.” He killed the engine. “Because we only have one other motel in town, and it’s the Dew Drop Inn.”

  Stacey opened her mouth, then shut it, deciding that whatever she might say would come out sounding just a tad condescending. And really, she didn’t mean to poke fun. But dammit, it was funny.

  He got out of the Blazer and came around to her side and helped her out. It was a longer step down than she had yet learned to manage on one leg and crutches, so she appreciated his courtesy. And she didn’t mind the feel of his hands on her, either, but that would be her little secret.

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” For more than just helping me down.

  “You’re welcome. But I’ve changed my mind. You can call me Dane.”

  Now why, she wondered, did her heart give a little leap at his offer? “Does this mean you’ve decided I’m not a hardened criminal?”

  “It means you put a little bite to the word sheriff that I don’t entirely like. I’m hoping you’ll go easier with my name.”

  Unless Stacey entirely misread him, this was quite possibly an offer of…friendship? At the least, a cessation of hostilities. Not that either of them had been particularly hostile, but could this be a peace offering?

  She gave herself a mental shake and headed toward the office of the motel. There was no need to worry about friendship with him. Their connection was strictly business. Law enforcement business.

  Well, except for the fact that she happened to know his mouth tasted like warm honey and she liked the way his hands fit around her waist.

  By the time she had her session with the sketch artist, her ankle would be well enough that she could drive, and she would go home. She would never see Dane Powell again.

  If that thought left a little hollow spot just beneath her breastbone, it was probably only because she was getting hungry again. But she needed sleep more than she wanted food—and a shower more than anything—so, with Dane carrying her small overnight bag he’d retrieved from the trunk of her car, she sprang on in, more or less, to the office of the Hope Springs Inn.

  After she registered, Dane walked with her to her room, the third one from the far end of the motel. She unlocked the door, then balanced herself on her crutches and took her overnighter from him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For carrying my bag.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll call you this evening to see how you’re doing.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” But for some reason, she hoped he would.

  “Maybe not,” he said, “but you’ll be hungry after you’ve rested up, and the four blocks to the café is a long way to go on crutches.”

  “I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Probably,” he told her, stepping back from the door with a small smile. “But I’ll call you anyway. If you need anything, call the front desk, or my office.” He dug a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “All right,” she said, taking the card from him. “Thanks.”

  She stood in the door and watched him walk back to his vehicle, oddly reluctant to turn away. But when he looked back, she fumbled with her crutches until she had room to shut the door, and closed herself into the quiet room.

  Dane waited until Stacey closed the door of her motel room before backing out of his parking spot.

  At least now he knew what she’d been doing out on the Flying Ace last night. That answer, however, sparked even more questions. Such as the name of the man in the grave, and why she wouldn’t reveal it.

  But that wasn’t really a matter for the law. The Wilders had told him in the past that they would rather handle the mystery—and any answers that came their way—themselves. Still, Dane would like to be able to help them put a name to the stranger in their cemetery if he could.

  Just now, however, he—and the Wilders—had more pressing business, namely the theft of approximately fifty head of cattle. Stacey was at the center of that situation, too, and the theft of fifty head of cattle was most definitely a matter for the law.

  He had deputies on patrol, and he himself would hit the county roads later, after nightfall, but he didn’t really expect the rustlers to strike there in the county again this soon, if at all. But before he went out again he needed a bed, a shower and a meal, in whatever order they decided to present themselves.

  Since he made it all the way to his street at the north edge of town without a meal jumping out into the road, and since he wasn’t in the mood to cook, his stomach was going to have to wait.

  Besides, he’d told Stacey he would call her about getting something to eat later.

  Now why, he wondered, did his pulse speed up at the thought of sharing a meal with her?

  He could tell himself it was because he would be able to question her more about the men she saw at the Flying Ace. He needed more details about them, their truck, anything she could think of.

  Yeah, he could tell himself that. And he’d be lying through his teeth. What he really wanted to do was stare into those blue eyes without having to think about rustlers or cattle or trucks.

  No, what he really wanted to do was get his hands on her, but that was about as likely, to coin one of her phrases, as seeing pigs fly. Besides, he couldn’t put the make on a witness, for crying out loud. How unethical was that? He’d already kissed her, even if she barely remembered it. He needed to back off and get a better hold on his professionalism.

  He pulled into his driveway and heaved out a heavy breath. He would settle for staring into her eyes, but he doubted she’d stand for that for more than about two seconds. There was a brain behind those eyes, and a sharp one. One he itched to learn more about.

  “Hell,” he muttered as he locked his Blazer and made his way to the house. Now that he’d started thinking about those blue eyes of hers, and that tricky brain behind them, how was he supposed to relax enough to sleep?

  Easy, he thought a few minutes later as he stripped and fell across his bed. All he had to do was remember that he hadn’t had more than a short nap or two in the past couple of days. He was out before he knew it.

  And dreaming of kissing her until she moaned in pleasure.

&nb
sp; Some poor wild animal was caught in a trap and shrieking in pain, disturbing Stacey’s sleep.

  No, it wasn’t an animal. Someone was blowing a shrill whistle in her ear.

  No…no, it was…

  Dammit, she didn’t care what the blasted noise was, she just wanted it to go away.

  But it didn’t go away. It kept right on ringing and ringing and…

  Ringing. It was the phone.

  Cussing a blue streak, she fumbled in the dark for the phone on the nightstand beside the bed. “This better be good,” she grumbled, her words slurred.

  “I guess I woke you up.”

  Stacey groaned. “You oughta be a cop, Sheriff.”

  “Dane,” he corrected.

  “Ah, yes.” She rolled onto her back and blinked at the ceiling. Or what she could see of it in the dark room. “My friend, Dane.”

  “I thought you might be awake and hungry by now. I can see I was wrong.”

  At the word hungry Stacey’s stomach took notice and growled. Suddenly she was famished. “You weren’t wrong,” she told him.

  “Hey, I’m a cop, remember? I can generally tell when somebody I’m talking to is half-asleep, and that slur in your voice is a sure clue.”

  “Okay, so I’m not exactly awake. That doesn’t mean I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, unless you’ve figured out a way to eat in your sleep, you’re going to have to make up your mind.”

  “If I say food, are you buying?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, I bought your breakfast this morning.”

  “The county did, and thank you, but now we’re talking about supper and I’m currently unemployed and have a hospital bill to pay.”

  “I’ll buy your supper, and you can tell me why you’re unemployed.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’ll give you a half hour to pull yourself together.”

  Pull herself together? “Copper, you have never met a more together woman than me.”

  He was chuckling as he hung up.

  Stacey replaced the phone in the cradle and covered her cheeks with both hands. She couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing to him. He was going to think she was flirting with him, for heaven’s sake.