Killer Cowboy (Cowboys of Holiday Ranch) Read online

But Stacy had stolen his dreams and Cassie wasn’t the kind of woman he dreamed about marrying. Besides, he couldn’t get in any deeper with her knowing that she might sell out at any given moment.

  He now stepped out of the police station door with the intent of walking up Main Street to the café. There he would sit and drink a cup of coffee and then head back to the station.

  The wind the night before had ushered in an unusually warm front, probably one of the last of the year. If it hadn’t been for the banging shutter the night before, he knew he probably would have spent the night in Cassie’s bed. And they probably would have made love again.

  Damn the woman for awakening some of the dormant dreams inside him, for making him remember what he’d once wanted from life. He consciously willed thoughts of her out of his head.

  There were plenty of people out on the streets enjoying the beautiful day, and he smiled and nodded at people he passed.

  “Hey, Chief, how’s it going?” Abe Breckenridge stopped to greet him. Next to Abe stood his grandson, Harley. Harley was a handsome seventeen-year-old whom Abe and his wife, Donna, had raised for the last ten years. Dillon had never asked about the son and woman who had given Harley life and then disappeared from the little boy’s life.

  Dillon smiled at the older man. “It’s going, although I think there are some folks in town still trying to recover from your apple cider at Cassie’s barn party.”

  Abe smiled. “It was good. The party was a lot of fun.” His smile slowly faded. “Although I was sorry to hear about Sam Kelly and I hope like hell my cider didn’t play a part in his murder.”

  “I don’t think alcohol had a thing to do with his death,” Dillon replied.

  “You got any clues as to who’s responsible?”

  “I’m working on a few theories,” Dillon replied. The last thing he wanted was for the people he served to know that he was nowhere near having anything to help him solve the murder.

  “I also heard Cassie had some problems at her place.” Abe shook his head. “Heck of a mess.”

  “It is,” Dillon agreed and then smiled at the teenager. “Harley, how are you doing? And why aren’t you in school this morning?”

  “Teachers’ workday,” Harley replied. “There aren’t any high school classes today.”

  “Are you keeping your grades up?” Dillon asked.

  Harley glanced at Abe. “I have to, otherwise Gramps and Grandma would have my hide.”

  “And speaking of Grandma...” Abe looked at his watch. “We’d better get moving. Donna sent us into town to pick up a few things and she’ll tie my underwear in knots if we don’t get back fast enough to suit her.”

  Dillon laughed. “Then I won’t keep you from your errands. I’d hate to be responsible for knots in your underwear.”

  The three parted ways and Dillon continued on down the sidewalk, greeting people as he went. He finally reached the café and went inside.

  It was just before noon and the place was bustling. “Need a table?” Daisy asked him.

  “Not today. I’ll just sit at the counter,” he replied. Although the scents wafting in the air should have made him hungry, he wasn’t. He had too much on his mind to think about food right now.

  His short conversation with Abe had put Sam Kelly’s murder in the forefront of his thoughts and that, in turn, had intensified the knowledge that Cassie now appeared to be in the killer’s sights. And he had no idea who was responsible.

  He sank down on one of the counter stools, surprised to see Amanda Wright waiting on customers. She hurried toward him with a smile. “Hi, handsome.”

  “Hi, Mandy. I thought you were working at the bank.”

  The pretty, dark-haired young woman wrinkled her nose. “They let me go two days ago, said they were overstaffed.” She leaned over the counter toward him and lowered her voice. “Personally I think it was because that old maid Margery Martin saw me in my patriotic bra at the barn dance.”

  Margery Martin was president of the bank. Even Dillon would admit she was a stuffy, self-righteous old maid. “This is a nice place to work,” Dillon replied.

  He knew Mandy had a reputation as a wild child and there was nothing Daisy liked better than mothering women like Mandy. Daisy, despite her age and three failed marriages, was still a wild child at heart.

  “Daisy has been terrific. Anything new on Sam’s murder?” Mandy asked softly, her dark brown eyes radiating a deep sadness.

  “Nothing so far,” Dillon replied.

  “He was such a nice guy. I enjoyed hanging out with him at the party. I really hope you don’t think Butch had anything to do with it. Butch knew before we started dating that I’m a big flirt and I told him if he had a problem with it he should just keep riding past my stable.”

  “Butch seems like a stand-up guy.” Dillon had talked to Butch the day after the murder. Dillon suppressed a sigh. It seemed no matter where he went today everyone had murder on the mind.

  “Butch is okay for the moment, but I don’t think he’s my forever man.” She flashed him another smile. “I’m still looking for my Prince Charming.”

  “I hope you find him,” Dillon replied. He didn’t know a lot about Mandy, but what he did know was fairly tragic. Her mother had died when she was a young girl. Her brother had run off years ago and in recent times her father had become the town drunk.

  “At least the hours are more flexible here so that I can be home when my dad needs me. And now, what can I get for you?” she asked.

  “Just a cup of coffee.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some lunch? Daisy’s homemade tomato soup and a grilled cheese on Texas toast is the special today.”

  “Thanks, but just coffee is fine.”

  Minutes later a steaming cup of java was before him and Mandy had moved on down the counter to attend to other patrons. He sipped his coffee and listened to the hum of conversation going on in the café.

  He was just about to relax when Raymond Humes eased down on the stool next to his. “Chief,” the old man greeted him with a nod.

  Great, just what he needed, Dillon thought. “Raymond,” he replied. Dillon had yet to figure out if Raymond had played a part in Sam’s death, but he was certainly still high on Dillon’s suspect list.

  “Beautiful day,” Raymond said.

  “That it is,” Dillon agreed.

  “Probably one of the last of the season.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” Dillon replied.

  “Won’t be long before the snow flies and everyone hunkers down in their homes.”

  “That always makes my job easier,” Dillon said.

  “Speaking of your job, I’ve heard through the grapevine you’ve been out at Cassie’s more than once in the last week.”

  “You heard right. Strange occurrences going on out there, fencing torn down and sheds mysteriously locking themselves. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Raymond looked at him in surprise. “Why on earth would I know about anything that goes on at the Holiday ranch?”

  Dillon gave the man a hard look. “If I find out your men are behind all this, Raymond, I’ll not hesitate to throw you in jail.”

  Raymond released a rusty-sounding laugh. “What makes you think I have any control over the men who work for me?”

  “If they’re behind all the things going on at Cassie’s ranch, then I suggest you get control over them, because I’ll make sure you go to jail right along with them for complicity.” Dillon took a drink of his coffee and then continued, “I know you want her ranch, Raymond.”

  “I haven’t hidden my intentions about wanting to buy the Holiday place,” Raymond returned. “I don’t have to resort to murder or anything else like that. Sooner or later Cassie Peterson is going to go back to the city. She’s not cut out for ranch life. She knows when she decides that I’m ready to make it easy on her by taking over the ranch.”

  At that moment Mandy came over to take Raymond’s order, int
errupting any more conversation with Dillon. That was fine with him. He finished his coffee and left the café to head back to the office.

  He’d had enough town talk for one day. Everyone wanted answers that he didn’t have, and the idea of Cassie selling out to Raymond Humes chapped his hide more than just a little bit.

  You aren’t invested emotionally in Cassie, he reminded himself. She was just a woman he’d slept with and one who currently needed his protection. He shouldn’t give a damn where her future was because he was convinced it wasn’t with him.

  Was it possible one of Raymond’s men was trying to terrorize Cassie so that she’d sell out? He might believe that if it wasn’t for Sam’s brutal death. He knew Humes’s men were all kinds of trouble, but murder wasn’t their style.

  If he could just figure out why Sam had been killed, then maybe he could sort this all out. And if seven skeletons hadn’t been unearthed maybe he wouldn’t have such a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  When he returned to the station and was in his private office, he called Cassie. She answered on the second ring. “I just thought I’d check in,” he said. “How is your day going?”

  “Okay. Sawyer, Brody and Adam are here finishing up the painting. My wall is back to normal and that makes me very happy. How is your day going?”

  He couldn’t help the way her melodic voice lifted his spirits a bit. “All right so far. Are you remembering the alarm?”

  “Absolutely. I definitely don’t want you mad at me again. You look all kinds of mean when you’re mad.” She laughed and a wave of warmth shot through him at the pleasant sound.

  “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the afternoon?”

  “Once the men are finished I thought I’d check the cookbooks and figure out a good meal to have ready for you when you get here after work.”

  “Cassie, you know it isn’t necessary for you to cook for me,” he replied.

  “I know it isn’t necessary, but it’s the least I can do in return for all you’re doing for me.”

  “I’m doing my job,” he said. And making love with Cassie Peterson had nothing to do with his work, he told himself. Still, the thought didn’t halt the memories of her throaty moans or her body’s welcome of him the night before.

  “Right. All I need to know is about what time you think you might be here so I can plan the meal accordingly. I’m trying a new recipe. I hope you like chicken.”

  “I like chicken just fine and I plan on leaving here around five barring any emergencies that might arise.”

  “Okay, then I’ll see you when you get here.”

  They ended the call and Dillon reared back in his chair. He hated that just hearing her voice, that just talking to her so briefly, changed his mood.

  More than anything, he hated that he couldn’t wait until five when he could leave work and spend his evening with her.

  * * *

  It was two thirty when Cassie tackled the smothered chicken with potatoes recipe. According to the recipe it had to cook for an hour and a half, so she figured if she got it into the oven by three then she could turn the oven down to warm and it would be ready to serve when Dillon got there around five.

  As she peeled potatoes her thoughts were filled with Dillon, as they had been for most of the morning. He seemed to have gone out of his way on the phone to remind her that he was staying with her because it was his job.

  If one of the other women in town was in danger would he move in with them? Would he take them to bed and make sweet, hot love with them?

  She didn’t think so. There was definitely some sort of wild chemistry between them, a chemistry he couldn’t deny. Could it be anything more than a sexual attraction? She didn’t know, but it was already more than that as far as she was concerned.

  She’d just put the chicken in the oven when her phone rang. A glance at the caller ID let her know it was Mary Redwing. “Hi, Mary.”

  “Congratulations, you sold a painting.”

  Cassie’s heart jumped in wild elation. “I did... Really?”

  Mary laughed. “You really did.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “Cowboy at Dusk,” Mary replied. “A man from North Dakota bought it and his payment went through without a problem. I’ll text you his address so you can ship the painting to him.”

  “Okay. Oh, Mary, I’m so excited!”

  Mary laughed. “I hope you’re excited enough to keep painting and allowing me to put them up on my website. I have a feeling this is just the beginning for you and I’m so glad we’ve partnered up.”

  “Me, too,” Cassie replied, her heart still doing happy somersaults in her chest. “I’m working on a new painting right now.” She thought of the approaching storm in her latest work. “It’s called Imminent Danger.”

  “Ooh, sounds intriguing. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “I should have it done in the next week. How is Joey doing?” Joey was Tony Nakni’s baby with another woman, a woman who had been killed. Tony was one of Cassie’s cowboys and through fate he and Mary had found each other and fallen in love. Mary would be the only mother Joey knew.

  “He’s growing like a weed.” Mary’s voice was filled with love. “I never knew how wonderful it would be to be a mother.”

  “I’m so happy for you and Tony and Joey,” Cassie replied.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you go now so you can get to work. I can’t wait to get your new painting up for sale on the website.”

  “Thanks again, Mary. I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me.”

  “No, thank you for the privilege of allowing me to sell them.”

  “Yes!” Cassie punched the air in triumph once she’d hung up from Mary. Somebody had liked one of her paintings and that somebody had liked it well enough to put their money where their mouth was.

  She happy danced around the kitchen table and then raced up the stairs to her workroom. In the closet she had the paintings that Mary had put up for sale for her. She pulled out the one that had sold and set it aside.

  Thank goodness when the paintings had first gone up on the website she’d had a burst of optimism and had bought all the shipping supplies she’d need.

  She’d have to cover the painting in Bubble Wrap and then place it in one of the special crates she’d bought for shipping. Her cell phone dinged and she knew it would be the text of the name and address of her buyer from Mary.

  But before she wrapped up the sold item, the painting on the easel called to her. Imminent danger, that was what Dillon had said she was in, and the two words were appropriate as a title on her painting. The farm in the picture was in danger of the approaching storm. Maybe she’d just work on it for a little while. She picked up her paintbrush and got to work.

  “Cassie? Are you up there?”

  Dillon’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  “Yes, I’m in my workroom.” She hurriedly tossed her brush in turpentine. Oh, God, how long had she been up here? As usual, she’d lost all track of time while she’d been painting.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy.” Dillon stood in the threshold.

  “I sold one of my paintings.” Once again happiness danced through her and she ran to him and grabbed his hands. “Mary called me and told me my Cowboy at Dusk sold. I am absolutely delirious with happiness.”

  Dillon laughed and squeezed her hands. “Congratulations. We should do something special to celebrate. Do you have any champagne in the house? We should at least toast to your success.”

  She laughed with the pure joy of the moment. “We can have champagne after dinner.” Horror swept through her. Dinner. She’d forgotten all about it. “What time is it?”

  “Almost six,” he replied. “I was a little late getting out of the office.”

  She dropped his hands and pushed past him. She raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. Grabbing two hot pads she opened the oven door and was met with a wave of heat and the scent of burned chicken.

  “
Oh, no,” she exclaimed as she pulled the baking dish out of the oven and set it on the counter. She tore off the aluminum foil and stared at the overcooked mess. She looked up to see Dillon. “It’s totally ruined.”

  Disappointment overwhelmed the joy she’d felt only seconds before. “I wanted to cook you a nice dinner.” She looked down at the meal once again and was shocked to feel tears gathering in her eyes.

  Dillon touched her on the arm. “Cassie, it’s just chicken,” he said softly.

  She turned and gazed at him, tears blurring her vision. “No, it isn’t just chicken. It’s burned chicken and it was supposed to be a good meal for you after a long day at work.”

  He reached out and dragged a finger gently down her cheek. His gaze was warm as it locked with hers. “Successful artists don’t cry over burned chicken. Do you have a pizza in the freezer?”

  “Yes, I think there’s one.”

  Once again he touched her cheek. “I think pizza and champagne are a fitting celebration. I’ll bake the pizza and you find the booze and that smile you greeted me with when I first walked in.”

  It was at that moment Cassie realized how very easy it would be to fall in love with Dillon Bowie.

  * * *

  Their celebration took place over pepperoni pizza and champagne. He could tell the minute she’d had not quite enough pizza and a little too much of the bubbly.

  Her cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink, her eyes took on the bright sparkle of gemstones and she became even more talkative than usual, which he wouldn’t have thought possible.

  “I always thought I’d be celebrating my first sale in some fancy art studio and be surrounded by artist types,” she now said. “They’d all toast to me and then I’d eat a couple of fancy hors d’oeuvres that I didn’t really like and then I’d go back to my tiny half-bare apartment to pray for more sales.”

  She shook her head, took another sip and then grinned at him. “But this is nice. I’m so glad I got to celebrate my first real sale with you.”

  “I’m glad to be sharing your celebration,” he replied.

  “I’ll bet your parents gave you huge birthday parties when you were growing up,” she said.

  His mind shifted gears to stay up with her free-flow conversation. “Yeah, they did. Didn’t you have birthday parties when you were little?”