“Your evidence is circumstantial at best,” she declared in a honeyed voice.
Wyatt snorted. He was well aware of how circumstantial evidence could convict someone in the court of public opinion.
“That’s true,” Bruce Kelly interjected. The lawyer appeared a bit flummoxed, his gaze shifting between the fiery blonde and the intimidating sheriff.
“His prints are on the knife,” Landers countered, keeping his attention on the woman.
“Understandable since it’s his knife,” she shot back. “There are also textured prints from a glove.”
“Which he could have been wearing,” Landers said, darting a glance at Wyatt.
Wyatt could see the irritation in Landers’s eyes and couldn’t help feeling a little jolt of satisfaction. It was good to see someone else getting Landers’s goat for once. Growing up, Wyatt had only ever received grief from his stepfather. Still did, if truth be told.
Without so much as glancing in his direction, the woman tucked in her chin. “Really? So you honestly think he’s gonna go to the trouble of killing the guy, remove his body from the primary crime scene, dump him on his own porch for all the world to see, then be dumb enough to leave the knife in plain sight but ditch the gloves? Not likely. This has all the earmarks of a setup, and if you can’t see that...”
“Careful, Ms. Blain,” Landers warned with a glower. “I agree there is more going on here than meets the eye.”
She smirked. Wyatt held back a grin.
Landers met Wyatt’s gaze. “You’re free to go, Wyatt. Just don’t leave town.”
As if Wyatt would. Where would he go? This was his home. Gabby was here. But he refrained from responding. Instead he met the bright blue-eyed gaze of his mysterious defender. She stared back with unabashed curiosity. He didn’t know this woman, so why would she defend him? Was she the lawyer Carl Kirk said he was hiring? But then why was Bruce Kelly here?
Bruce cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “Now that we have that settled, I’ll speak to my client alone.”
His client?
Sheriff Landers gave a curt nod and exited the room.
Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest. “So which one of you is my lawyer?”
* * *
Jackie couldn’t help but appreciate the hunk standing before her. She’d never really been into the cowboy type, but this one...whew, sure made a girl’s heart beat faster.
Tall and lean, he was dressed in worn denim with a soft-looking chambray shirt stretched over shoulders that made her think he could support the whole state of Wyoming on his back. He had a ruggedly handsome face with a firm jaw and dark, intense eyes beneath a well-loved traditional cowboy hat. In the dim light of the interrogation room, she couldn’t tell if his hair was black or dark brown. She guessed she’d have to wait for the light of day to find out.
A little thrill zoomed through her tummy at the prospect of spending time with such an attractive man.
So not a good reaction to be having. Wyatt Monroe could be a murderer.
“I am,” Bruce said. “Carl Kirk asked me to represent you.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicked over the lawyer before settling once again on Jackie. Curiosity and something else she couldn’t decipher shone in the inky depths of his eyes. “And you are?”
She stepped forward and thrust out her hand. “Jackie Blain. Carl and Penny Kirk are my uncle and aunt.”
He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment as if she were offering him a stick of dynamite. She waited, not about to let this cowboy think for a moment that he intimidated her with his brooding attitude.
Slowly he unfolded his arms and grasped her hand in his much bigger one. Their palms met. Warmth spread up her arm and settled beneath her breastbone.
“Ms. Blain, why are you here?” he asked as he quickly let go of her hand.
She flexed her fingers and jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I have a background in law enforcement, and Uncle Carl asked if I’d come out and see what I could do to help.”
He took a moment to absorb that before saying, “Well, you’ve done your good deed for the day.” He tipped his hat. “I appreciate it. Sorry you had to come all the way from...”
“Boston.”
His eyebrows rose. “Boston. Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to the city.”
She nearly laughed but settled for a grin. “Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily, cowboy. I’m your ride back to the ranch.”
His jaw firmed in clear displeasure.
Jackie turned to Mr. Kelly. “Is there anything else you require at the moment?”
The bemused expression on the man’s face was comical. “No. Unless Mr. Monroe has some questions for me.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t kill George.”
“Then there shouldn’t be any problems. I’ll let you both know—” he shifted his gaze to Jackie and then back to Wyatt “—if there are any developments.”
“Good deal,” Jackie said and headed for the door, aware of Wyatt’s scowl. “Come along, cowboy. I’m hungry, and Aunt Penny’s made meat loaf.”
* * *
Wyatt ground his back teeth as the new arrival in his already tangled life sashayed toward the jail door. Who did this lady think she was, anyway? It was one thing for her to go toe-to-toe with Landers—he rather liked that—but he wasn’t used to being ordered around. Especially by a diminutive spitfire with big blue eyes and a pert nose.
The Kirks’ niece. She’d never been out to the ranch before. Made sense if she lived in Boston. Boston! How had she arrived so quickly? He’d been taken into custody this morning. It would take at least eight hours to fly from Boston because there were no direct flights between the cities and another two hours of driving from Laramie, yet she looked as fresh as a daisy on a spring day.
Carl shouldn’t be sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
After retrieving his personal belongings, Wyatt lengthened his stride to keep up with Jackie as she left the sheriff’s station and headed to the parking lot toward a big black SUV.
“Hold up,” he said, snagging her by the elbow. She tensed beneath his hand. “When did you get in?”
“We flew in around four. Rented this baby and drove over from Laramie.”
“Who’s we?”
“Spencer.” She tugged her elbow free and opened the driver’s side door. “Hey, boy. Miss me?”
Wyatt peered over her shoulder into the vehicle. A white-and-brown bulldog sat on the passenger seat, his tongue hanging out and his brown eyes staring at Jackie with devotion. He let out a single woof.
Wyatt blinked. “You brought your dog?”
She climbed in and started the engine. “I wouldn’t leave him.” She gave him a pointed look.
“I thought snub-nosed dogs weren’t allowed on commercial airlines,” he said.
“Some don’t. We flew over on the Trent plane.”
“Trent? What’s that?”
“Trent Associates. Private protection specialists.” She grinned. “At your service.”
No wonder she didn’t look travel weary and had arrived so quickly. A company plane. Impressive. He wondered what she did for Trent Associates. He tried to remember if Carl had ever said. Probably some sort of admin job, like his mother. Marsha Landers was the administrative assistant to the mayor.
“If you’re coming, you better get in.” With that, Jackie shut the door.
For a moment he stood there in stunned silence. He’d never met anyone like this woman. On the surface she looked sweet and almost fragile with her small stature and delicate features, but he’d glimpsed the hard steel beneath that soft exterior when she stood up to his stepfather, the sheriff.
That earned her points in his book. Just as long as she didn’t get too used to bossing him around.
He opened the passenger door and eyed the dog, who stared back impassively at him. “I’m not riding in back.”
The mutt looked friendly enough, but Wyatt wasn’t taking any chances. He kept his hands far away from the drooling canine’s mouth. That jaw looked pretty strong.
Jackie whistled softly and pointed her finger toward the floor. The dog hopped down between the captain’s seats. Wyatt settled into the passenger seat and barely had his seat belt buckled before she took off, her foot a heavy weight on the accelerator.
“Whoa, there is a speed limit,” he said.
She eased up on the gas. “Sorry. Force of habit. Driving aggressively is part of my job.”
Curious, Wyatt studied her profile. There was just the slightest hint of freckles across her cheeks. She had a nice jawline and a slender neck. Delicate, even. “And what job would that be?”
“I work for Trent Associates. We’re a protection specialist agency.”
“You said that. But what do you do?”
The droll glance she sent his way made him feel as if he’d just said the Grand Tetons were molehills. “Protection.”
He tucked in his chin. “Protection? As in bodyguard?”
“Yep.”
He couldn’t picture this itty-bitty woman protecting anyone. A smile tugged at his lips. “Let me get this straight—you’re a bodyguard?”
She sighed. “I know. Difficult to believe, right?”
“You could say that.”
“I get that a lot. At first.” She slid another speculative glance his way. “What were you thinking I did for a living?”
He eyed her authoritative grasp on the steering wheel and amended his earlier assumption. “I’d have guessed schoolteacher, or principal, even.”
She laughed. “No. But I do like kids.”
A leaden weight settled on Wyatt’s heart, and he turned to watch the Wyoming sky out the passenger window. Images of his daughter floated through his mind. The day she’d taken her first steps, the night she’d split her lip on the coffee table, her delight when she opened her Christmas presents. His heart ached that Gabby would grow up without a mother.
As they reached the outskirts of town, Jackie pointed to the computer display on the dashboard. “You can put your address in the GPS system.”
He shook his head. “That would take you the long way around. We’ll go a more direct route. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
“Suit yourself. So, tell me about George Herman.”
The image of George’s battered face came to mind with a fair dose of horror and regret. Had he said “good job” to George lately?
Wyatt ran a hand over his face. “Not much to tell. My dad hired him as a ranch hand about twenty years ago. He was a hard worker when he wanted to be. Had strong opinions about most things and a penchant for fighting.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Ever with you?”
“We’ve had our share of arguments over the years. He didn’t think I was running the ranch the way I ought to.”
“Any of these arguments turn physical?”
He slanted her a sharp glance. She sounded just like his stepfather in interrogation mode. “Why would you ask that?”
“Prior history always plays a part in a case like this. Establishes a pattern. Motive. You two could have been arguing and it turned physical. His death could have been an accident.” She looked at the road, then casually met his gaze. “Do you drink, Mr. Monroe?”
“No, I don’t drink. And I didn’t kill him.” Why did everyone want to believe he did?
“I didn’t say you did. Just pointing out one theory.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” He pointed to a dirt road up ahead on the left. “Just past the mailboxes, take a left.”
She took the turn. The vehicle’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the snow-covered dirt road. “Okay. Then who else wanted him dead? Did he have any enemies? Threats made to his life?”
“I don’t know.” He’d thought about that while he’d sat in the jail cell. George wasn’t the most congenial of souls, but Wyatt couldn’t think of anyone on the ranch or in town who’d want to hurt him. “He didn’t confide in me. I don’t know if he’d been threatened or felt that he was in danger. We weren’t close.”
She fell silent as she drove. Wyatt watched the world outside the vehicle pass by. He didn’t need daylight to know every inch of his family spread, to see the yawning expanse of flatland stretching off to the left of the road. To the right, the distant outline of the Snowy Range Mountains reaching toward the heavens was barely visible against the night sky.
“Does this road get much traffic?” she asked, her gaze straying to the rearview mirror.
He shook his head. “No. Only goes to the house. Why?”
“We’re being followed.”
He twisted around in the seat. Behind them lay only darkness. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s there. I caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off chrome.”
If someone hadn’t just tried to frame him for murder, he’d think the woman driving the SUV was paranoid or crazy. Or both. But considering that this morning he’d found a dead body on his porch and had spent the past several hours in jail being grilled like rainbow trout on the barbecue, he wasn’t going to doubt her.
If she said something was behind them, he believed her. Still, he couldn’t see anything.
He powered down the window. Cold air swirled through the cab of the SUV. The sound of the rig’s tires crunching over the packed snow and dirt nearly masked an out-of-place noise. The rev of an engine. But not from a car or truck.
Sticking his head out the window, he strained to listen, to discern what it was he heard.
“A motorcycle,” he decided and rolled the window back up.
“Anyone at the ranch have a motorcycle?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Are you buckled in?” Jackie asked.
Reflexively, he touched the buckle to assure himself he was indeed strapped in securely. “Yes.”
“Hang on to Spencer.”
He reached down and grabbed the dog by the collar as she stomped on the brake and twisted the wheel, sending the big, lumbering SUV into a spin and coming to a halt facing the way they’d come. The SUV’s headlights swept over an oncoming motorcycle. The driver swerved at the last second and drove past them, barely avoiding becoming a hood ornament. The single rider wore all black. The machine he rode was also black, except for chrome exhaust pipes.
The motorcycle roared down the road toward the ranch and disappeared.
Jackie made a three-point turn then punched the gas, chasing after the motorcycle. But he was already too far ahead for the headlights to find him in the dark. The tracks glistened in the beam of light. So did the gently falling snow.
Anxiety tripped down Wyatt’s spine. What if the rider reached the house before they did? What would he do? Was the motorcyclist the one who’d killed George and framed Wyatt?
Jackie kept the gas floored, expertly controlling the speeding vehicle on the slick, snow-packed road. There was more than met the eye in this petite package. He added competent driver to his list of her attributes.
Two miles from the ranch, the cycle’s tracks went off-road and disappeared into the dark.
“What’s out there?” She slowed the vehicle to a stop.
“Cattle. That’s the heifer pasture. There’s a feed shed about two miles out. But there’s a fence about a half mile from this road. The gate’s on the other side of the pasture.”
“Have you checked that fence lately?”
Wyatt took in a sharp breath. “That was George’s job.”
She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s a squatter. Maybe George discovered him. Maybe that’s why he was killed.”
“That’s a lot of maybes,” Wyatt said, not liking the idea of someone trespassing on his land. “But if that theory were true, how’d the killer get my hunting knife, and why put George on my porch?”
“There’s the rub. Where do you keep the knife?”
“In the truck, beneath the seat.” Exactly where they’d found it. He didn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes.
“Lot of people know you keep it there?”
“It wasn’t a secret. And the truck’s always in plain view.”
Snow fell in earnest, a blanket of white that not even the headlights could cut through. That motorcycle rider wouldn’t be getting very far in this blizzard.
“You lock the truck up at night?” Jackie asked.
A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. “No. I don’t.”
She started the vehicle moving again. The windshield wipers worked hard to push the snow from the glass. “So in the middle of the night, anyone could have sneaked onto the ranch and taken it.”
A sense of dread assailed him. “Just like they snuck onto the ranch and left George’s body on my porch.”
She slanted him a quick glance. “Exactly.”
Which meant he and Gabby weren’t safe.
THREE
“Once we get to the house and everyone is inside and buttoned down tight, I’ll come back and have a look-see,” Jackie stated.
“Not in this weather,” Wyatt countered. A greenhorn like her would get herself lost in a whiteout like this. He wouldn’t even chance it without careful preparation.
When they arrived at the house, the whole place was lit up. Carl, Penny and Gabby rushed outside onto the porch to greet them as they climbed out of the vehicle.
Relieved to know his family was okay, Wyatt let out the breath lodged beneath his ribs.
“Daddy!” his daughter squealed, barreling into his legs in a blur of fuzzy pink footsie jammies the second he stepped onto the porch.
“Hey, sweetie.” Swamped with love for his little girl, he lifted her up so she could wrap her little arms around his neck. He tugged the corners of his jacket around her tiny body. His daughter loved him unconditionally. It should be enough. But Dina’s words taunted him. Left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Carl and Penny hugged their niece.
Gabby pointed a finger at Jackie. “Who’s that?”
With her arm around Jackie’s waist, Penny said, “This is Jackie. Remember I told you we had a guest coming?”
Jackie smiled at Gabby. Wyatt liked the way Jackie’s eyes softened when she looked at his daughter.
“Hi, there,” Jackie said. Snowflakes balanced on her blond curls glistened in the glow of the porch light. “I love your freckles.”
“Hi.” Gabby returned the smile and ducked her head into Wyatt’s neck. Her cold little nose pressed against his skin.
“You want to see something neat?” Jackie asked.
Gabby lifted her head and nodded.
Jackie hurried back to the vehicle. Carl followed. While he went to the back of the SUV, Jackie opened the passenger door. She lifted Spencer off the floor and carried him to the house.
Gabby nearly jumped out of Wyatt’s arms. “Doggy.”
He let her down so she could pet the canine.
Jackie’s blue eyes twinkled as she squatted with the dog in her arms. “His name’s Spencer. He’s an English bulldog.”
Gabby squealed with delight.
Carl hefted a big black duffel bag out of the back of the SUV and carried it to the smaller house across the driveway.
“You’re both invited over for some meat loaf. It’s Jackie’s favorite,” Penny said.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go wash up.” Wyatt took Gabby by the hand and watched Penny lead her niece to the small house across the drive from the main house. Spencer trotted along behind them, leaving paw prints in the powdered snow.
As Wyatt led Gabby inside, she said, “I want a Spencer.”
He wasn’t surprised. He had a feeling there were many changes coming thanks to a certain blond guest.
And he wasn’t sure they were all going to be good.
He took one last glance out at the snowy night before closing the door and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day. With no dead bodies.
* * *
The next morning Jackie was up and out for a recon run by 6:00 am. The blizzard had calmed, and the morning sun gleamed on a fresh layer of snow. Thankfully, she’d heard enough about Wyoming winters from her aunt and uncle that she’d packed appropriate clothing for a winter run.
Unfamiliar with the terrain, she’d opted to stay on the dirt road she’d driven last night. Though a good two inches of new powder covered the road, she didn’t have any trouble discerning the path.
The magnificent landscape reminded her of a painting. The dark had hidden the blanket of white stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees or outcropping of rocks. Off in the distance, majestic mountains rose like fingers pointing skyward, as if to remind her to look toward heaven.
Her breath puffed out in a small cloud in the frigid air. “Lord, thank You for the beauty all around me. Thank You for Your protection every day. Lord, I ask for Your guidance.”
Because she didn’t know what to make of Wyatt or the situation. Someone tried to frame him for murder, but they’d done a sloppy job, which led her to believe it wasn’t a very thought-out plan. Whoever was behind this wasn’t organized and didn’t really know what they were doing.
Was this some sort of personal vendetta against Wyatt? Or more of a spur-of-the-moment attempt by the killer to camouflage his identity? Was it someone on the ranch? Or could Wyatt have killed George and tried to make it look like a setup?
So many questions, but she had two weeks to figure it out. And she would. For her aunt and uncle. For that cute little freckled girl. And for the brooding, albeit handsome, rancher who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his wide shoulders.
When she’d left the house, she’d seen a couple of men already up and working in the barn and a few more in the big equipment shed. She’d taken a cursory look around. Asked a few questions of the hands. None had anything of use to tell her. None owned a motorcycle or knew of anyone who’d have been out the night before.
She’d asked Uncle Carl last night if he knew of anyone who owned a motorbike, but he didn’t. She hadn’t told them about the bike following them. She didn’t want them to worry any more than they already were. She doubted anyone had slept well. She hadn’t, which was another reason she’d needed the run. To clear the cobwebs from her brain.
At the four-mile mark on her pedometer, she turned around, heading back toward the ranch house. A shadow overhead grabbed her attention. She slowed her pace to watch a low-flying prop plane. She kept her eyes on the plane, noting that the aircraft flew in a grid pattern over the land. Back and forth, back and forth. She’d heard of cattle ranchers surveying their herds via the air. Maybe Wyatt had someone keeping watch over his cattle and horses from above.
She returned to the house to find Aunt Penny up and dressed. Spencer was waiting at the door. He sniffed her feet before losing interest and disappearing around the corner of the living room.
“You’re up early,” Penny said. “Would you like coffee?”
“Please.”
“Do you run every day?”
“Most days.” She sipped from the blue-and-white ceramic mug of steaming coffee Penny handed to her. “So what’s the story with Wyatt and the sheriff? Uncle Carl said there’s bad blood between them.”
Penny pressed her lips together to form a tight line. “Sheriff Landers is Wyatt’s stepfather.”
“Ah.” That explained why the sheriff had been both antagonistic yet reasonable. He could have easily pushed to keep Wyatt locked up until morning at least—or longer if he’d wanted to be a real pain. But he hadn’t. Because of their family connection, no doubt. Though she’d sensed tension between them.
“Where is Wyatt’s dad?”
“He passed on a decade ago.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door. Penny set her coffee in the sink before moving to answer the knock. Gabby and Wyatt stood on the threshold, bundled up for the walk across the driveway.
Gabby entered with an abundance of exuberance to see Spencer. “Here, doggy, doggy. Spencer.” She disappeared into the living room with Penny hot on her heels.
Wyatt gave Jackie an apologetic smile. “Hope you don’t mind. She was dying to come see your dog.”
“Not at all. Spencer will love the attention.” She set her mug on the counter. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, I’ve already had two cups.” He eyed her running gear. “Exercising?”