by Sheryl Lynn
“Tuff has bad feelings toward Joey?”
His neutral tone gave away nothing of what he felt. She smoothed her hand back over her forehead, gathering hair, tugging her scalp. “Not bad feelings. Not good feelings, either. Tuff doesn’t feel anything at all.” She caught her lower lip in her teeth, angry all over again at Mickey. He’d been in law enforcement for as long as she could remember. Surely he could see through Tuff’s lies.
“Do you think he’ll hurt Joey?”
“If it suits him. He hates me, but as far as he’s concerned, Joey is nothing but a toy.”
Chapter Three
Reb slipped a spoon into the warm cobbler. Steam curled around the scoop of vanilla ice cream, carrying the scent of cinnamon to his nose. The amount of food he’d been packing away lately embarrassed him. He’d always enjoyed exercise and working up a good sweat. Keeping up with Joey and Claude Longo, however, felt like training for a triathlon, and he stayed ravenous all the time.
He kept his head down, but watched Emily as she settled onto the top porch step. Remaining sunlight formed a golden halo where it sparked against her hair. Her long, elegant legs gave him a hunger no amount of juicy cobbler could satisfy.
Target, he reminded himself harshly, she’s a target. He had to keep operating on the premise that she was greedy, dishonest and murderous, unworthy of his respect or regrets. He survived by keeping his emotions under control, by never acknowledging the humanity of targets. They made their own messes; he was the cleanup man.
Still, he liked her. Even if she weren’t so beautiful that he had to keep checking to make sure he wasn’t imagining the exquisite line of her throat or the depth of her eyes, he’d like her. He recognized in her a fellow survivor.
“So what did Joey tell you?” she asked, looking toward the barn. Yellow lights gleamed through the open doorway. Joey was working inside. “About me and Tuff?”
Plenty.
According to Joey, Emily had run away from home because she was spoiled and greedy. Their grandfather had refused to cave in to her endless demands, so she’d run off with a rich older man and never once bothered to let their grieving grandfather know she was alive. When she returned, she’d coerced their grandfather into leaving her the ranch. Tuff knew her dirty little secrets, so she convinced her good friend, the sheriff, to bust him on trumped-up charges.
Reb felt positive Joey didn’t know about the three million dollars.
But did Emily? If she suspected Tuff had killed a man and buried the body on this property, she might well know about the missing money. If so, she was a conspirator and a double-crosser, as willing to rat out her brother as he was willing to kill.
“Joey says you called the law on Tuff because—” Reb kept his voice carefully neutral “—you’ll do anything to get him out of the way.”
Emily surprised him with a laugh. “I wish I had the guts to do anything.” Her smile faded.
Reb mourned the loss of her smile. “So who did Tuff kill?”
Her brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve never seen him before.”
“A visitor? A lost hiker?”
“Let’s talk about something else. Like Mickey says, I don’t have evidence of anything.”
She was dying to talk about it. All she needed was a nudge. “How do you know?”
She swung her head around, frowning at him. Such an expressive face—a hell of a liability for a crook.
“Maybe you have evidence, but don’t know it. Murderers always leave clues. That’s what I’ve heard. Talk it out. See if you missed something.”
“You don’t think it’s weird I suspect my own brother?”
Reb shrugged. “Nothing weird about a murderer having a family. So what happened?”
For a long moment she sat quietly, staring into space. He kept a lid on further comments. Either she’d open up or she wouldn’t.
“Tuff disappeared for a few days. I don’t know where. He’s always taking off. I always hope he’ll stay away for good.”
Reb ate a spoonful of cobbler. The cherries popped sweetly against his teeth, and the buttery crust made his eyelids lower in pleasure. Dangerous, greedy, dishonest or not, Emily sure knew how to cook. He liked that about her, too.
“Tuff came home in the middle of the night. A man was with him. They were in the kitchen, arguing. They woke me up.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “If you knew Tuff, you wouldn’t ask.”
“What were they arguing about?” He watched her face. Looking for twitchy lies in her eyes and listening for cracks in her voice proved difficult in light of marveling over the clear texture of her skin and the rich color of her full lips. Sunset agreed with her, heightening the contrast between her dark hair and fair skin, and playing golden with the slim, strong lines of her legs.
“Tuff was telling the other man they had to split up, and the other man was saying Tuff didn’t trust him.” She lowered her voice as if Joey could by some chance hear. “It sounded like they didn’t want to get caught together. Tuff never works, but he always has money. I don’t know how he gets it. I went back upstairs and heard them leave the house.”
A thin line deepened between her brows. “They kept arguing. I tried to hear what they were saying, but a storm was coming up and I had closed the windows earlier because of the wind. I didn’t want to open one in case Tuff heard me. Then the other man pulled a duffel bag out of the car. Tuff got a shovel and pickax from the barn.”
“You’re sure it was a duffel bag?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t help but think that maybe Tuff was dealing drugs or something. They headed off that way.” She pointed west at the forest. “They had flashlights, so I could see them cross the creek and go into the trees.”
A duffel bag, Reb mused. He considered the possibility she didn’t know the duffel bag contained three million dollars.
Only a possibility. “So you think they may have buried a stash of drugs. Did you call the law?”
“Uh-huh. But there was a rock slide on the highway, so I had to wait until somebody was available.” Her dark eyes glittered, and one bare foot waved in a furious circle. “The dispatcher said I didn’t have an emergency.”
“So what did you do?”
“They left a huge mess in the kitchen. They ate all the leftovers in the refrigerator. I got mad. It was just like Tuff, trash everything then walk away as if a good fairy is waiting to clean up after him. So I cleaned the kitchen. By then I was mad enough to wait up for Tuff and his buddy to give them a piece of my mind—or to keep them here until the police came.”
A shudder shook her from head to toe. Her gaze went distant and afraid. “Tuff came back alone.”
“And you think he murdered the other man out there in the trees.”
Eyes wide and solemn, she nodded. She gestured with her spoon at the security light mounted atop a tall pole. It illuminated the house and driveway, a shining beacon that could be seen from miles away. “I was furious, but nervous, too. When I realized he was alone, I got really scared. I watched him from the doorway. He put the shovel and pickax in the trunk of his car. When he turned around, I could see his T-shirt was covered with…blood.”
“You’re sure it was blood? Not dirt?”
“I’m sure. He used the faucet by the side of the house to wash up. When he came back around here, he was soaking wet. He’d even washed down his hair. His hair, he washed blood out of his hair.” She drew in a long, anguished-sounding breath. “I slammed the door and turned the bolt.”
“Did he try to get in?”
“No, thank goodness. He ran to his car. I must have spooked him as much as he spooked me, and he took off. I called the sheriff again, but they were still working on the highway. So I got the big flashlight and checked the faucet. There was blood on the ground.”
She closed her eyes, sighed and set the bowl aside. The ice cream had melted into a pebbled lake atop the
bumpy cobbler. “And then it rained. What my grandfather used to call a frog strangler.”
“And washed away the blood,” Reb said. His credulous tone shocked him. He was falling for her story word for word.
“Stupid me, I had cleaned. If I had a dishwasher, it would be different. I’d have fingerprints on cups and plates. But no, I have to do everything by hand in that antique kitchen. There isn’t a single bit of evidence anyone was with Tuff that night. Or that I even saw Tuff. The sheriff went to talk to Tuff the next morning. He tried to outrun them in his car, but he’d been drinking and he wrecked. Then he got into a fight with Tim, the deputy. So they arrested him for being drunk and disorderly. He’d gotten rid of the tools. He had blood on him, but Mickey says it’s Tuff’s blood. I don’t have any proof. Tuff denies he was even home.”
“Where was Joey?”
“The rodeo. Joey competes in the bull-riding events. He was gone all weekend and didn’t get home until Sunday night.”
“Did Tuff know Joey wouldn’t be here?”
“I have no idea. Not that it makes any difference. Tuff could tell Joey that Martians had landed, and Joey would believe it.”
“Sounds like the sheriff believes Tuff, too.”
The comment earned him a glare.
“Sorry.” He concentrated on another bite of cobbler.
“I’m not mad at you. It’s—it’s…I have zero credibility around here. I get so frustrated. I make one little mistake, and nobody lets me forget it. But Tuff flashes a smile, and all is forgiven. It’s sickening.” She drew up her knees and hugged them. “I’ve been all over the forest, and I can’t find anything suspicious.”
“You’re sure you never saw the other man before?”
“Positive.”
“What did he look like?”
“What difference does it make?” She gave him a mischievous sideways glance. “Most likely he’s the only dead guy out there.”
Reb chuckled. “Don’t do this to me, ma’am. Get me all interested in the story, then leave out details. Did he look like a drug dealer?”
“Like I know what a drug dealer looks like. Shoot, if you met Tuff, you’d think he was a movie star or something. Girls go gaga over him.” Her easy smile faded, turned troubled. “By the time they figure out how mean he is, it’s too late.”
He was beginning to wonder if Emily realized how beautiful she was or what kind of effect she had on him. “So was the other guy good-looking?”
“I suppose he looked like a thug. My height maybe. Light hair, worn in a ponytail. Real muscular, like he worked out a lot in a gym. I didn’t see his face very well, but he had a tattoo.” She patted her left shoulder. “I saw it underneath his shirtsleeve. It looked like a mountain lion or panther.”
His heart lurched, pounding hard against his chest wall. Up until now only suspicions and rumor told him he was on the right track. Her description fit Jimmy Mullow, former small-time hood who’d promoted himself to big-time murderer and thief. Excitement rippled through Reb’s muscles, along with dismay. If
Emily spoke the truth, then Mullow was dead and Tuff wasn’t about to let slip where he’d stashed the cash.
“What about the duffel bag? Found it?”
She gave him a gee-you’re-dumb look. “That’s the least of my worries. I have exactly sixty days to either find the body or get my practice in on the target range. I’d prefer not to shoot my own brother even if he did kill a man.”
“I’m surprised the sheriff won’t help you out. He sounds like he likes you.”
Her entire body stilled. Reb realized his comment sounded as if he cared about her love life. When she lifted her eyes to him, the softly amused gleam in their dark depths said that was exactly how she took it.
She picked up her cobbler bowl and rested it on her knee, then scooped out a small amount onto her spoon and nibbled it. A fat drop of melted ice cream clung to her upper lip. She licked it away with a kittenish flick of her tongue. “Mickey’s always asking me out, but I don’t take it personally. He thinks because I’m a widow, I’m desperate for…company.”
“Are you?”
She dropped her gaze, her eyelashes sweeping down like a curtain. “No.”
Joey said Emily’s husband had died a little more than a year ago, leaving her a wealthy merry widow.
Reb suspected the wealthy part was true. If she had her hands on the three million, then finding Mullow’s body would ensure her older brother couldn’t hunt her down, and she could skip with the loot without spending the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. But merry? Emily Farraday owned the saddest eyes Reb had ever seen.
“Mind a personal question?” he asked.
Color rose on her cheeks. The sight struck him square in the diaphragm, stealing his breath, firing his blood. For a moment he didn’t care about the money. All that mattered was finding out what caused her blush. Low-key anxiousness made him squirm on the seat, bringing him back to earth.
“Ask what you want, but I probably won’t answer,” she said. She fixed her stare on the barn.
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Pardon?”
“Vamoose. Get while the gettin’s good. You don’t appear overly enchanted with living here.”
Lights winked out inside the barn. Joey pulled the big barn door along the tracks. Metal screeched in protest, and the door rumbled like far-off thunder. Head down, his cowboy hat hiding his face, he ambled to the henhouse and shooed a stray chicken inside. He closed the door after her. For a long moment he stood still, facing north, staring at the craggy finger of Hannah Peak.
“Joey scattered Grandpa’s ashes up there,” Emily said. “The rock was their private place.” She dashed the back of a hand surreptitiously at her eyes. “I have to stay for Joey. I made a promise.”
“To him?”
She didn’t answer. She watched Joey cross the driveway and yard. He climbed onto the porch, careful not to hit Emily with his feet, but not acknowledging her, either.
Reb hoisted his bowl. “You’re missing out. Best cobbler I ever ate.”
“I’m on my way,” Joey said absently, and entered the house. He rattled around the kitchen cupboards.
A few minutes later Joey’s footsteps faded down the hallway toward the stairs.
“He’ll never forgive me,” she said.
“For what?”
“For anything.” She sighed. “For everything. For living, I suppose.”
EMILY SHIFTED on the wooden step to better see Reb.
The unmistakably masculine shape of him filled the corner. Shadows hid his face, except for the corner of his mouth illuminated by the thin edge of light coming through the kitchen doorway. If she wanted to, she could touch his boot without stretching and trail her fingers up the length of his leg to his knee.
She told herself he reminded her of Daniel, of how they used to sit outside on nice evenings to discuss the day. Except Daniel had loved the sound of his own voice. Conversations with him had meant looking interested and nodding in the appropriate places while he exclaimed, laughed, gestured, told stories, hashed over problems and gossiped. No thought crossing his mind ever went unsaid.
Reb sat quietly, his thoughts contained. After a few seconds she noticed the rise and fall of his chest and the almost imperceptible tapping of one finger against the bowl he rested on his thigh. Images rose of his fingers playing soft as a sweet dream against her skin. Of how his hair might smell of shampoo and sunshine and a hint of horse. His arms secure around her, holding her close so she could hear the rhythm of his heart and feel his solid strength against her cheek.
Dangerous thinking. She was beginning to sound desperate even to herself. She jumped to her feet. She snatched up her cobbler bowl and held out her hand for Reb’s.
He handed over the bowl. “Did I say something wrong?”
“You don’t say anything.” She laughed uneasily. “And I’m talking way too much.”
He rose from the chair. Moving a
ir brought his scent to her nose, and he smelled exactly the way she imagined: sun, soap, horse. His skin would feel tough, she knew, and his tan would be uneven, dark on his forearms and neck and throat, paler where he wore a shirt. His legs were probably untanned, furry with dark hair and steely with muscle and heavy bone.
Daniel is dead, a voice whispered from far back in her mind. You’re not.
“You could use somebody to talk to, Mrs. Farra-day.”
He made the formality sound both polite and ludicrous. “Emily,” she said. “Call me Emily.” She reached for the door. “No offense, Reb, but talking so much to you isn’t right. We aren’t friends.”
“We could be. Emily.”
The way he said her name ruffled deliciously over her scalp and left her ears tingling. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” She slipped into the house, escaping with her virtue intact and widow’s weeds firmly in place.
As she cleaned up, she listened for Reb to leave the porch. Music from Joey’s radio filtered down through the ceiling. Given reprieve from the sun, the old wooden house creaked and groaned, its dry timbers seeming to sigh. A cricket chirped, first from near the door, then as if by a feat of ventriloquism from beneath the sink. Outside an owl warbled a mournful whoo-scree.
The owl does cry, tonight you die. Goose bumps tickled her arms.
She finished the dishes. Her entire body ached from listening so hard for boot steps on the creaky old porch. She rubbed lotion into her hands and stared at the screened door. The porch was dark except for a crooked rectangle of light shining through the screen onto the boards.
Reb waited for her. She felt him.
To tell for certain she would have to step outside to see if he remained on the chair in the corner. If she did, he’d know she was looking for him.
He wanted to be her friend.
Cowboys tended to be loners, able to withstand long stretches of solitude, but everybody needed a friend. Despite his calm independence, Reb could be lonesome. She liked talking to him. He didn’t appear to have a judgmental bone in his body.
