by Cassie Miles
“It’s okay. I trust you.”
“You’re the kind of easy-going patient I’d want if I were still in practice. But that’s not happening, not anymore. I let my medical license lapse.”
Good idea. Though Doc had a certain charm, he also had physical problems, drank too much and tried to manage his health issues with pot. And his relationship with Martha was puzzling. There had to be a reason his wife didn’t let him out of her sight.
Vanessa wanted to believe that he’d been a good doctor for most of his career. As long as he fulfilled his oath to do no harm, he deserved a happy retirement. “Here’s the deal, Doc. All you need to worry about is relaxing and finding the next great fishing hole.”
“But I like staying involved as coroner. No pressure. My patients are dead, and I can’t hurt them.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a slender instrument. He removed the cover. “What’s that?” she asked.
“My lucky scalpel.” He pulled off the cover, revealing a sharp blade, which he used to cut the thread. “I like to carry it with me. Reminds me that I’m still a doctor.”
“Do you miss being a doctor?”
“Sometimes.” He handled the scalpel deftly, then he wrapped her arm in a tidy bandage and gave her instructions about applying antiseptic and not getting the wound dirty. “You’re all done.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He really did have a kind smile. “Do you mind if I ask you a question not related to the stitches?”
“Shoot!” He mimed a quick draw and chuckled at his own joke.
“I want to pay my respects to Dorothy. Do you know where her remains are buried?”
“I thought you knew.” He cocked his head to one side and studied her suspiciously. “In fact, I reckoned that you were the only living person who knew.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Dorothy had a stipulation in her will. She wanted your father to bury her in whatever manner he saw fit in whatever grave he thought appropriate.”
Vanessa took a moment to absorb this information, and listened intently as the doctor continued to talk. There was something very strange about the Whitman family and burial places. Dad wanted a three-stage scattering of ashes, and Dorothy had recruited her estranged brother for the task. What had Dad done with Dorothy? She thought of his ashes in the urn in the Castle library, and she could almost hear him laughing.
* * *
AT TEN THIRTY, it wasn’t raining hard, but Ty needed an umbrella when he escorted her out of the courthouse and into his SUV patrol car. He didn’t know where he should take her, but she was determined not to spend the night at the Castle.
A fierce display of static lightning slashed across the night sky. Thunder followed. Electric storms weren’t unusual in Colorado, but they felt like a phenomenon and often resulted in disasters like forest fires.
He and Vanessa shivered inside his SUV. The humidity was out of whack for the arid mountain climate. He started the engine. “I picked up some of your clothes and stuff when I was at the Castle. Ought to be enough for tonight. Where should I take you? A motel?”
“I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “Not that I’m scared, but I might need protection.”
“We could go to my cabin. I’ve been renovating it in my spare time.”
He gritted his teeth, wanting to bite back his words and swallow them. His relationship with Vanessa was complicated. He thought she was sexy and desirable in every way, but they weren’t dating, and he didn’t want to push too hard.
“I could go to your place,” she said. “You mentioned renovations, and I’d like to see what you’ve done.”
She wanted to discuss home-improvement projects? Not what he had in mind when he thought of an evening alone with her. “Don’t get excited. I’ve got lots more projects.”
“You’re kind of a nester, aren’t you? Like a bird that gathers bits of straw and fabric to build a perfect nest for the eggs.”
“Back it up,” he said. “I’m not interested in eggs.”
“You don’t think you are, but eggs are the entire purpose of a nest. It’s a place for the fledglings to hang out before they learn to fly.”
That was a very disturbing metaphor. Simile? Allegory? To avoid thinking about nesting, he concentrated on the road. The route to his house was easy, requiring only two right turns before veering onto three miles of winding road through a pine forest. Lightning flashed again, setting fire to the skies. “Don’t all birds make nests?”
“I guess. But some birds have fun first. They migrate from the Aleutian Islands to Guadalajara, flying hundreds of miles for a change of scenery.”
“Are you an exotic migrator?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I long for the security of the nest. Other times, I want to fly like Dad.” She fluttered her arm. “Speaking of Dad...”
Now what? “Go on.”
“I asked Doc if he could tell me where Dorothy was buried. And he was shocked that I didn’t know.” Her lips curved in a sly smile. “In her will, Dorothy appointed my father to handle her final remains—a responsibility that most people would think meant dealing with cemeteries and funeral services.”
Inwardly, Ty groaned. “I’m guessing that your dad went a different route.”
“There had already been a memorial service, a few months before they found Dorothy, so it didn’t seem right to do that again. And Simon was devastated by the fact that she’d killed herself. I don’t think he meant to keep the suicide a secret, but he didn’t want to talk about it.”
Ty understood. This was a gossipy little area, and the Whitman family was a big deal. With Gert leading the charge, Simon would have to explain again and again what he might have said to set his wife off. “What did your father do?”
“He showed up at the Castle. Simon was too upset to deal with him. It was left to Doc and Keith to hand over the airtight metal box that held Dorothy’s remains.”
“Not a coffin?”
“After Doc cleaned up the pieces of Aunt Dorothy, there wasn’t much left to bury—a skull and a couple of bones. Dad put the box that was about the size of an ice chest on a gurney, wheeled it out to his van and drove away. He never told anyone where he went.”
Outside, the lightning sizzled, which suited the mood of this morbid story. Ty wrapped it up. “Doc thought he must have told you.”
“A logical conclusion. Mom was dead and buried. I wasn’t aware of any close friends Dorothy might have had.” She adjusted her position in the passenger seat so she didn’t put weight on her injured arm. “We need to find Dorothy’s burial site and excavate that box.”
“God help me, I agree.” Every time they raked up a new chunk of evidence, Aunt Dorothy’s cold case took on more significance. “The metal box is suspicious. I want to know what’s inside.”
“Dad might have left a clue about where she was buried in the Fluffball story.”
“I found your father’s book in the library,” he said. “I stuck it in your backpack.”
“It’ll make a great bedtime story.”
The final turn on the narrow road that led to his two-story stripped log cabin dodged through a thick stand of ponderosa pine and random boulders. Someday, he wanted to rent a backhoe and clear the rocks. The main work he’d done on the exterior involved repairs to the A-frame roof that peaked over the front entrance. Inside, he’d refinished floors, painted walls and replaced some ancient plumbing fixtures. He enjoyed the work he’d done and was proud of the results, which made him wonder if Vanessa was right about his identity as a domestic nester waiting for eggs.
When she stepped through the front door, she admired his refinished floor and choice of paint using knowledgeable terminology. No stranger to DIY projects, she even identified the color in the dining area as Heather Mist.
“You know what you’re talk
ing about,” he said. “I’m guessing you’ve done some of your own renovations.”
“I want to be exotic and fly free over Buenos Aires.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I’m a nester at heart.”
“I like that about you.”
Their gazes met, and he was tempted to get close, to inhale the fragrance of her hair, to embrace her and carry her off to his bed. A rumble of thunder encouraged him to take action. Move to the next level. She’d kissed him first on the Hag Stone, opening the door. He wanted to believe it was time to deepen their connection.
In a tiny voice, she asked, “Are we safe here?”
There was no way in hell that he’d put her in danger again. “Even if the bad guy figured out you were here, My cabin has a top-notch security system and I asked two of my deputies to keep watch.”
She took a tentative step toward the staircase. “I need to take a shower. Is the bathroom upstairs?”
The rain sluiced down the log cabin walls. The static lightning crackled outside the windows, and thunder roared. A rattling noise came from upstairs. Vanessa gasped. The mood was broken.
“What was that?” she asked.
“A shutter must have torn loose.” He charged up the staircase, two at a time. “I’d better take care of that before it blows off. Take the first room to the left. That’s the guest room and there’s a bathroom attached.”
“Thanks for everything,” she called after him.
The night wasn’t over. More could happen.
Chapter Fifteen
Vanessa rubbed a fluffy yellow towel over her hair and ran a comb through the tangled strands. There was nothing like a steamy hot shower to help you relax. The tension knots at the base of her neck had loosened. Her breath came more easily. Unfortunately, she couldn’t snuggle under the slate blue comforter and go to sleep.
The bandage covering her stitched wound had gotten wet, and she needed Ty’s help to replace the dressing. Doc had given her antiseptic, gauze pads and bandages. She popped a pain reliever, gathered the necessary supplies and went downstairs.
She found Ty in the small kitchen. His spiky hair was wet, and he’d changed into a maroon University of Montana T-shirt. She pointed to the bear claw “Griz” logo. “Did you go to college there?”
“Played football for a couple of years. Go Grizzlies! Then I busted my leg.” His hand automatically dropped to his thigh, muscle memory of an injury. “Never made it back to school.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “That winter I came to Aspen and started teaching skiing.”
“I’m guessing that was against medical advice.”
“Not really,” he said. “The docs said I should exercise to rehabilitate my leg. Teaching kids to ski isn’t heavy duty. By the next season, I was on the ski patrol.”
She noticed a tea setting with two cups and a china teapot on the kitchen table. There was also a plate of cookies. “Midnight snack?”
“I figured you’d need to change the dressing on your arm, and a cup of chamomile might help us both get to sleep.”
Ty was a nice guy, but this level of thoughtful behavior was above and beyond. He couldn’t possibly have an adorable teapot with pattern of butterflies and rosebuds ready for immediate use. He must have searched his cabinets for it.
He pulled out a chair for her at the table. How could this guy who played football for the Grizzlies be so sweet? Her thoughts drifted toward the memory of their kiss, which had been gentle and controlled. When they kissed again, would there be passion? She hoped so. Vanessa was ready to be swept away on an exotic adventure.
Filling their teacups, adding honey and stirring felt like an old-fashioned version of foreplay. So many Regency romances—one of her favorite choices for recreational reading—were full of repressed desire and tea drinking. She gazed at him over the rim of her cup. Could this Colorado sheriff be her modern version of Mr. Darcy?
He placed a small notebook and a pen by her elbow. “I thought you might want to make a list for tomorrow.”
He was absolutely correct. Listing her responsibilities would clear her mind and help her think about something other than the shape of his mouth and the deep green undertones in his gray eyes. She picked up the pen and tapped it on the tabletop. She didn’t have a session with Simon on her agenda. Though she could always work on transcription, it wasn’t an urgent task.
“Headings,” she said. “Number one is Aunt Dorothy’s remains. We need to find her burial site, dig up the metal box and see what’s inside. What do you think it looks like?”
“An ice chest or mini-fridge.” He drained his teacup in a manly gulp and poured another with the delicate touch of a Regency gentleman. “Here’s what we’re not going to do—wander around the open range making targets of ourselves. We need to limit the search area.”
“We should study the Fluffball story for mention of a landmark.” She made a shorthand note on her list. “And check the photo of Dad and Dorothy as kids.”
“And when we find that landmark, I have an idea of how to search without revealing ourselves to the bad guy.”
“How?”
“We have access to technology that wasn’t available when Dorothy first disappeared.” He paused for effect and snapped his fingers. “Drones.”
“I’m impressed. Do you have a drone?”
“S&R has several. We’ll determine a limited area and search for the cat’s gravestone.”
“That’s brilliant! I could kiss you.”
“Could you?” His voice dropped to a low sexy baritone. “I wouldn’t stop you.”
She was tempted yet held back. “Next item on the list—paperwork. Gert mentioned the Greenwell Law Firm handled some of the Whitman family business.”
“What do you think you’ll learn from them?”
So many of the twists and turns of her family’s relationship were tangled with wills, ownership documents and insurance policies. Thoughtfully, she nibbled on a chocolate cookie and sipped her tea. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a visit to the law firm. Also, these legal papers circle back to Bethany’s murder.”
“I have an item for your list,” he said. “Agent Morris wants to do a reenactment figuring out where everybody was at the time of the murder. That’s not for tomorrow but the next day.”
“Why do we have to be there? We’re not suspects.”
“Witnesses,” he said. “We retrace our route, and maybe we’ll remember something significant.”
She made a note. “We should probably stop at the Castle tomorrow. Morris might have information on the autopsy. After we search with the drone, we’ll stop by. That makes it a full day. We should start early tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “Let me replace that bandage.”
He went to the sink to wash his hands before he pulled his chair around to sit beside her, much the way Doc had done. Ty’s medical expertise was evident in the way he gently but firmly handled her wounded arm, but his touch had a special quality. When he pushed aside the short sleeve of her lightweight flannel pajamas and his hand brushed her bare arm, goose bumps prickled across her skin.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“Doc did a good job with the stitches.” He dabbed antiseptic on the wound and blew on it so it would dry quickly. His breath was cool and soothing. “You won’t have much of a scar.”
He carefully replaced the dressing and bandage. It felt like such a small wound didn’t deserve all this attention, but she appreciated the care. “I’ve never been shot before.”
“Let’s hope this is the last time.” He glided the tip of his finger down her arm from her shoulder to her wrist. “That bandage ought to last until the next shower.”
She turned her head and studied the expression on his face. “You’re good at taking care of people. And you’re a n
ester. Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“You sound like my mother.”
That definitely wasn’t the connection she’d hoped for. “You’re looking forward to settling down, aren’t you?”
He took her hand in his. “I’m not like you, Vanessa. I don’t make lists and cross off every item. My life isn’t well planned. Sometimes, it’s confusing. I don’t have a girlfriend because I can’t go to the Significant Other Shop and pick one up like a loaf of bread. When it’s the right time, I’ll meet her. The decision will be spontaneous.”
“An adventure,” she said. “When do you think you’ll meet her?”
“Maybe I already have.”
Let it be me. “On the Hag Stone, I kissed you first. We’ve had a couple little nudges and hugs, but I’m waiting for serious payback.”
Still holding her hand, he stood and tugged her closer. “How serious?”
“A definite kiss, the kind that makes my toes curl and my eyeballs roll back in my head.”
His mouth joined with hers. The pressure felt just right—not ferocious and not mushy. His lips teased. It was sensual magic. His tongue penetrated her mouth and tangled with hers.
She pressed her body against his, melting into him, feeling every possible sensation. At the same time, she went into a dream state where she couldn’t tell hard from soft, hot from cold, up from down. Her mention of toe curling wasn’t far off the mark. His kiss made her feel like she was floating on air.
It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Were they moving too fast? She didn’t want to hurt Ty or lead him on. Vanessa was almost thirty, not an easily excited teenager. She needed to be responsible. With an effort, she forced herself to separate from him. The space between them felt like an Arctic abyss.
Breathing hard, she said, “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
