Accidental Heiress

by Lauren Nichols

  Farrell just kept smiling. “No, ma’am, there isn’t. You’re welcome to watch every itty-bitty step I take. You might even learn something.”

  Reluctantly Casey stepped back and let him inside, becoming surprised when he walked straight through the den’s pocket doors, tossed the search warrant on the desk and headed for the wide gun cabinet in the corner. It was as though he knew the house, had spent time here before.

  Farrell glanced inside the glass case, smiled again, then turned back to her. “Unlock it, please.”

  “I don’t have the key.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Jess has it, I suppose. And he’s—” A truck came roaring up the drive and came to a skidding halt in the gravel beside the house. A second later, the cab door slammed and Jess was pounding up the steps and striding into the house. Casey sent Farrell a satisfied grin. “And he’s home for lunch.”

  Jess stalked into the den, his agitated gaze pinning Farrell. “What are you doing in my house?”

  Something about Farrell’s cocky bearing made Casey uneasy for Jess, and she moved supportively to his side. “This gentleman would like the key to your gun cabinet.”

  “Open it,” Farrell said. “I’ve got a warrant.”

  “Then I’m sure you won’t mind showing it to me.”

  “Not at all.” Farrell nodded toward the folded document on the desk.

  Jess walked over, perused the warrant, then tossed it back on the desk blotter. “A gun? A watch fob? What’s this all about?”

  Farrell swaggered over to him, that nasty smile back in place. “You know what it’s about. You’re behind all this, and now I’m finally going to have some proof.”

  Casey sighed in exasperation. “Proof of what? What are you talking about?”

  “Why, cattle rustling, ma‘am. Last night, Moe Jackson lost a whole lot more of his stock—a trailer rig full. Thing is, Moe was out there patrollin’ when it happened and just missed gettin’ himself shot.”

  Jess spoke anxiously. “Shots were fired?”

  “Spent casings at the scene say it was a .30-06 with a chipped firing pin. Now I’d like to see your aught-six.” Farrell’s gaze fell to the chain dangling from Jess’s front pocket. “But before we check your rifle, let’s take a look at your granddaddy’s watch. If I remember correctly, it had a gold fob on it. An elk, right? And strangely enough, a gold watch fob was found out by Moe’s place, right there amongst those shell casings.”

  Farrell waited for a long moment, then his voice took on a softly warning note. “You gonna take it out, or do I have to do it for you?”

  Glaring, Jess pulled out the watch.

  “Well, now, look at that,” Farrell said, feigning surprise. “There’s the chain, there’s the watch...but I don’t see a fob, do I? Where’s your granddaddy’s little gold elk, Jess? Maybe upstairs in a drawer for safekeeping?”

  Casey felt an ominous chill as thunderheads gathered in Jess’s dark eyes and he continued to stare wordlessly at the sheriff. Because, as much as she wanted to believe Jess was innocent, she’d seen a quick flicker of something other than anger pass through Jess’s intense gaze.

  Something that might have been fear.

  Chapter 8

  “Well? Where is it?” Farrell smirked.

  Jess stared steadily into the man’s pale eyes and said, “It’s gone. I haven’t seen it in years.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really, and it was a Texas longhorn, not an elk.”

  Casey felt the breath she’d been holding rush out in relief.

  Farrell scowled his disappointment, then rebounded, his smile threatening to return. “But you can’t prove that, because it’s not around anymore.”

  Jess left his frozen position on the floor and walked casually to the gun cabinet, digging his keys from his other pocket. He sorted through the ring, found the key he was looking for and opened the cabinet. “There are plenty of photographs around here showing my grandfather wearing it. My dad and me, too. Shouldn’t be a problem to have one of them enlarged.” Jess paused, and his gaze searched Farrell’s curiously. “It’s been eight years, Cy. Don’t you think it’s about time we put the past to rest?”

  Farrell’s eyes narrowed. “This investigation has nothing to do with the past. This is an official inquiry into the dealings of a suspected cattle thief.”

  “It’s your lie, tell it any way you want.” Jess took out a rifle, then unlocked a drawer and shook a shell from a box of ammunition. He handed both to Farrell. “Go ahead. Prove me a cattle thief. But don’t do your shooting anywhere close to my barns or the corral. I don’t want my animals spooked.”

  “I’ll need another shell.”

  Jess smiled. “And give my firing pin a chance to chip on the second shot? No way. The first shell out of that rifle is the test shell.”

  Jess and Casey followed Farrell out back, watched him fire the round into a distant log, then examine the impression on the back of the brass shell casing he ejected. It was a round, perfect dimple—not the irregular mark Farrell had hoped for. Jess’s rifle was clean.

  Red-faced, Farrell strode over to the log, produced a pocketknife and dug out the lead slug. Then he pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the lead inside. “We’re still searching for the slugs that were fired at Moe’s last night. If we find them, we’ll be doing a ballistics check and comparing those slugs to yours.” He dropped the plastic bag back into his pocket, his expression cold. “Firing pins can be replaced. And your daddy was a fair gunsmith, wasn’t he? You’d know how to do that.”

  Casey saw a nerve leap in Jess’s jaw at Farrell’s new challenge to his honesty. There was so much hostility between these two men, she was surprised they didn’t go at each other with their fists.

  “Do yourself a favor, Cy,” Jess suggested evenly. “Stop wasting your time on me and find the people who did this to Moe. He’s a good man. He deserves better than a sheriff with tunnel vision.”

  When they’d seen Farrell back to his Jeep and watched him drive off in a plume of dust, Jess turned to Casey and sighed. “Hell of a morning.”

  “You can say that again. How did you know he was here?” She had sent him off this morning with coffee, cold drinks and a loaf of chicken salad sandwiches for his crew. She hadn’t expected to see him again until suppertime.

  “Hank saw him drive by the pasture where we were working and gave a holler.” Jess’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “All things considered, I figured he wasn’t making a social call.”

  Which finally gave Casey the opening to bring up a question she’d been wanting to ask since the night she first encountered Farrell at Dusty’s Roadhouse—the night she heard the sheriff say he wanted Jess healthy, because it would make the hanging more fun. At least that statement made a strange kind of sense now. “Jess, why does he hate you so much?”

  Jess flipped through the keys on his key ring again. After a long, thoughtful pause, he met her eyes. “I guess you deserve an answer, seeing’s how you got dragged into this. But let’s talk about it later. Why don’t we eat in town tonight? Nothing fancy—just supper at Aunt Ruby’s. It’s been a while since I looked in on her.”

  They were going out? They were going to leave this homespun hermitage and see some actual people for a change? Suddenly, Casey was almost breathless with excitement. It wasn’t a date, she told herself sensibly—not that she even wanted it to be. It was just two people getting away from the work on the ranch to relax for a few hours. After five weeks without a social life of any description, supper at Aunt Ruby’s would be like a trip to Disneyland. He hadn’t even mentioned doing anything for the Fourth of July, and that was coming up quickly.

  “I’d love it! What should I wear? I mean, do I put on a dress or—”

  Jess chuckled, his dark eyes crinkling beneath the brim of his black Stetson. “Wear whatever you like, but I’m going in jeans. If I show up in anything fancier, Aunt Ruby will have me either laid out or marr
ied ten minutes after I hit the door.”

  Casey laughed. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  “No, ma’am. Neither one.”

  “Then I’ll wear jeans, too.” He kept smiling, and as her gaze remained locked with his, unbidden, the memory of that last hungry kiss came back, stirring in its clarity and intensity. “See you around six?”

  “Make it five,” he said. “Then we can get out of here by five-thirty. It’s Wednesday, and if we don’t get there early, all the coconut cream pie will be gone.”

  Casey tipped her head curiously. “Coconut cream? I thought you liked your aunt’s apple pie.”

  “I do.” He climbed into the truck and spoke through the open window. “But I like yours better.”

  Casey fussed and fidgeted all day long, trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. At one point, after she’d tried on everything she owned, she rolled her eyes toward heaven and sighed, “You’re not going to the prom, Catherine, settle down!”

  In the end, she chose a lightweight baby blue cotton sweater from her “rich” wardrobe, simple gold hoop earrings, a thin gold chain for her neck, and her best pair of jeans—the pair that didn’t sag as much in the seat.

  She was nervous with anticipation by the time Jess made it home, and it was a struggle to keep him from seeing how important this was to her. He saw it just the same, and sent her a curious look as he paused on his way up the stairs to take his shower.

  “Are you all right?”

  A deep flush crept into Casey’s cheeks. “It’s just been a while since I’ve gone anywhere,” she explained. “I’ve missed it.”

  Jess’s expression turned grave, and he seemed to recall that the lifestyle Casey had put on hold was far different from the one she was living now. Then he said, “Yeah, I guess you probably have missed it. But the weeks will go fast now. You’ll be through mucking out stables and home before you know it.”

  And even though she honestly was looking forward to seeing her family again and reclaiming her life, Jess’s words were strangely subduing.

  Fifteen minutes later, he came back downstairs, turning back his sleeves. “All set?”

  “All set.” The clean, sexy scent of his soap and a musky aftershave wafted on the air, drawing Casey’s attention to the rest of him. He wore a blue plaid cotton shirt that looked almost new, and the jeans he had on tonight weren’t the usual “work” variety. They were soft and snug, hugging lean hips, muscular thighs, and the undeniable evidence of his masculinity. “You look nice, Mr. Dalton.”

  Jess smiled, and his appreciative gaze took in her jeans and sweater, lingering briefly on the crocheted edging on her low, round neckline before returning to her face. “And you look beautiful, Miss Marshall. Let’s go dazzle the hicks.”

  Laughing, Casey preceded him through the front door, her earlier happiness returning almost magically. They were halfway to town before she realized it wasn’t the compliment that had lifted her spirits. It was Jess’s calling her Miss Marshall, not Mrs.

  The crowd at Aunt Ruby’s Café was loud and rowdy, with laughter bouncing off the ceiling fans and waitresses scurrying like mice through a moving maze. It seemed to Casey that everyone had cabin fever, or ranch fever, or whatever the locals called being cooped up too long. And this wasn’t even a weekend. After Jess had shaken hands and shared a few passing words with a dozen friends, a waitress Casey didn’t know led them to a vacant booth. Sliding into her seat, she exhaled in surprise. “Wow.”

  Jess took off his hat and laid it in the booth beside him, then roughed a hand through his dark hair. “Wow, what?”

  “What’s going on? Why such a crowd?”

  “It’s wing night—hot chicken wings. On Wednesdays they’re six cents a piece, and Ruby can’t fry ’em fast enough to keep everybody happy. She started doing it about six or seven years ago. Now it’s tradition.”

  Only then did Casey survey the diners surrounding her and notice the massive platters of barbecued chicken wings on the tables. Good heavens, the grease! Half the people in here had to be angioplasty candidates; the other half were only planning their coronaries.

  Sharon rushed over to their booth, clutching an order book and menus. “Hi, Mr. Dalton, Mrs. Marshall. You need menus?”

  Jess shook his head. “Not me. I’ll have a dozen wings, baked potato with sour cream, corn on the cob, coleslaw and lots of ice water.” He sent Casey a warning look. “The wings are pretty warm. You might want to try the chicken-fried steak instead.”

  “And thumb my nose at tradition? Not a chance.” She smiled up at Sharon. “I’ll have the same.”

  Sharon scrawled their orders on her pad. “Okay, you want your wings hot, super hot, Armageddon, or straight from hell?”

  Jess chuckled at Casey’s aghast expression. “Just hot tonight, Sharon. We’d better start her off easy.” In a shot, Sharon scurried off, Jess calling after her, “And two pieces of coconut cream pie!”

  Grinning, Casey propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “I’m never going to be able to eat all of that, you know.”

  Jess returned her grin, and she liked the creases that fanned out beside his brown eyes. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Casey was wiping her hands for the hundredth time and picking off a piece of paper napkin stuck to her index finger. She glanced over at the long line leading to the ladies’ room, then sighed in resignation and looked at Jess. “Okay, close your eyes.”

  “Why?” He was finishing the half-dozen wings she couldn’t eat and, by the looks of him, enjoying every morsel.

  “Because I’m about to use my glass of ice water as a finger bowl, and I don’t want you phoning Emily Post.”

  Jess wiped his mouth, took a long swig of his water and sent her a chastising frown. “No, no, no, that’s not the way a real wing eater cleans up.”

  “No?”

  “Of course not.” And suddenly her index finger was in Jess’s mouth and he was sucking, his tongue wet and slick, his teeth softly scraping. She was so stunned, she didn’t have the wherewithal to stop him for a second. Then she yanked her hand away, heat flooding her face. He had obviously meant it to be funny, but it wasn’t. It rattled her nerves and threw her off balance.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “but I think I’ll do it my way, if you don’t mi—”

  “Enjoyin’ yerself, nephew?”

  Flustered, Casey looked up to see Ruby Cayhill standing over them with two slices of coconut cream pie topped by four inches of golden-white meringue. The look in those twinkling blue eyes said she was absolutely delighted with what she had seen.

  “Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.” Jess took the dessert plates from his aunt, offered one to Casey and made room for Ruby in the booth beside him. “How are you, gorgeous?”

  Ruby sighed. “Tired, if you want the truth. These folks eat like starvin’ Texans at a Dallas barbecue.” She sent him a grin and a wink. “How’d you and yer business acquaintance like the wings?”

  “They were excellent, as usual. Casey?”

  Casey pulled herself together and tried to ignore the rough feel of Jess’s tongue, still tingling on her fingertip. She couldn’t believe he had done such a thing in a room full of people.

  She found a smile for Ruby. “They were wonderful. I’ve had wings before, but nothing like yours. There was actually meat on them.”

  “Good!” she exclaimed through a merry cackle. “That’s what we like t’ hear. Keeps folks comin’ in, and the bells ringin’ on my cash register.” Ruby turned back to Jess, and while she happily elaborated on how good business had been lately, Casey surreptitiously wiped her hands with a wet napkin, wondering how far Jess would have gone if she hadn’t stopped him. The images cropping up in her mind made her draw a soft breath.

  Ruby’s pale eyes grew serious as she continued to speak to Jess. “What’s this I hear about Cy Farrell tryin’ to pin Moe Jackson’s trouble on you?”

&nb
sp; Jess’s mouth tightened in disgust. “How’d you hear about it?”

  “Moe and Lila were in here earlier. We talked.”

  “And what do they think?”

  “Same as everybody else—that Farrell’s still holdin’ a grudge and ain’t seein’ things clear.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Amen t’ that. I swear, if that fool sheriff comes in here talkin’ that nonsense, he’ll get a piece of my mind an’ get shown the door. I won’t have him malignin’ my own kin in my own place.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yer right,” she scowled. “That young snot knows better than t’ rile me up. Wasn’t that long ago I chewed him out fer swipin’ a pie off my windowsill.” Abruptly, Ruby’s smile returned, and she patted Jess’s arm affectionately. “Now I’d best skedaddle and check on the girls in the kitchen. Sharon’ll be right over t’ clean up the table and bring you some coffee.”

  “Nah, I’ll take care of it, she’s got enough to do.” Jess kissed his aunt’s cheek. “And you should get off your feet for a while.”

  “Oh, I will,” Ruby chuckled, levering herself out the booth. She motioned toward the big round clock on the wall. It was almost eight. “One more hour and I throw everybody out, whether they’re done eatin’ or not.” She pinched his nose. “That means you, too, so don’t lollygag.”

  When Ruby was gone, Jess cleared the table and filled their coffee cups. The conversation remained light until they’d finished their pie. Then Casey put her fork aside.

  Ever since Ruby mentioned Cy Farrell’s name, Casey had been replaying this afternoon’s little drama in her head. She had seen again the way the sheriff strode unerringly into the den and to the gun cabinet—saw his easy familiarity with Jess’s home. And Farrell had known that the watch fob Jess had once worn had belonged to his grandfather. “You and the sheriff were good friends at one time, weren’t you?”

  Jess looked up. “Yeah. Grew up together, hung out during school. He was even a pallbearer when my dad and stepmother were killed.” At her questioning look, Jess explained, “It was a small-plane accident. Engine failure. I quit college my senior year and came back to take care of Ross and run the ranch.”