Killer Cowboy (Cowboys of Holiday Ranch) Page 16

  The old man shuffled in with a grin on his face. “Had to come into town to get Boomer some food,” he said as he eased down in the chair opposite Dillon’s. “Don’t know why I waste my time or money. That old dog isn’t happy unless he’s eating half of my steak or a couple of hot dogs.”

  Dillon laughed. “You know people food isn’t supposed to be good for a dog.”

  “That’s what they say, but I figure for Boomer it’s now a matter of quality of life versus quantity. He’s old enough to have earned his special treats.”

  “How’s everything else going? Did you come in to make a report about something?”

  “Nah, this is purely a social call.” Leroy leaned back in the chair.

  “Want a cup of coffee?” Dillon asked.

  “I wouldn’t turn up my nose at a cup.”

  Dillon called to Annie. “Can you bring in two cups of coffee?”

  “Sure thing, Chief,” she replied.

  A few minutes later the two men had their drinks and were talking about old times.

  “I always knew you’d wind up being the law in this town. From the time you were four years old you wore a little silver badge and a holster with play guns and said you were going to grow up and lock up all the bad guys.”

  Dillon smiled. “As I recall you bought me that star and holster for Christmas that year.”

  “That’s the truth,” Leroy agreed and then smiled wistfully. “You were the child me and Loretta never had. We had pretty much everything we wanted in life ’cept for children.” He took a drink. “When are you going to have some kids of your own? You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  “I’m only thirty-five,” Dillon protested with a laugh.

  “Don’t let life pass you right by. You should be building good memories right now. Someday all you’ll have left are your memories. They’ll be what keep you warm at night and what keep you sane.”

  “I’m working on it, Leroy,” Dillon replied.

  “Heard you were staying out at Cassie’s. You working on making some memories with her?”

  “That arrangement is strictly business,” Dillon replied.

  Leroy eyed him as if he could see right through Dillon’s little white lie. “If you say so. That Cassie is a fine woman.”

  “Yes, she is,” Dillon agreed.

  “And pretty, too.”

  “I get your point, Leroy, but it’s complicated.”

  “Well, then uncomplicate it,” the old man replied.

  How did you uncomplicate a woman? If only it was that easy, Dillon thought.

  An hour after Leroy left the office, his words still rang in Dillon’s ears. It was time for Dillon to settle down and start building his own family.

  Maybe all Cassie was meant to be was his transition woman. She’d made him forget all about Stacy’s abandonment. She’d made him realize he might be ready for love again. Maybe it was time he really looked around at all the single women in town.

  He was open now to the idea of a wife and children—if he could find the kind of woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Still, as he thought of all the other available women in Bitterroot, none of them stirred him the way Cassie did. None of them made his breath catch when he saw them. He didn’t feel that spark of excitement with anyone but Cassie.

  He unlocked the top left drawer of his desk and pulled out the evidence bag that held the ring that had been found in the bottom of the graves.

  Despite a lack of evidence, he believed in his gut that this piece of jewelry had fallen off the killer’s finger when he’d placed one of the victims in the ground.

  It was like Cinderella’s glass slipper, only through time Cinderella’s foot had widened and the shoe no longer fit. Men’s hands got bigger as they grew up, and years of hard work would further change them. There was no way he could try the ring on each of the men’s fingers to see if it fit. He had no idea how to find out who the ring had belonged to fifteen years ago.

  The only thing he could hope for was that the killer would finally make a mistake that would lead to an arrest. And he hoped he could protect Cassie from whoever wanted her dead.

  It was with a vague sense of defeat that he arrived at Cassie’s house that evening. She wasn’t in the kitchen, but as he entered the house and saw a faint layer of smoke coming from the oven, he knew she’d been down here long enough to put something on to cook.

  He opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of blackened meat that he thought might be pork chops. He set the pan on the counter and then climbed the stairs to find Cassie.

  She was in her workroom and stood with her back to him and facing her easel. She apparently hadn’t heard him come in and he took the opportunity to quietly watch her.

  “More green,” she murmured and twisted her brush into the paint on her palette. She then dabbed the brush on the canvas where a line of trees had begun to form against a bright blue sky.

  Her jeans fit tight on her small, round butt and she wore a long-sleeved blue polo shirt that hugged her small waist.

  “No, Cassie, too much,” she spoke again, frustration evident in her tone.

  A wave of love for her buoyed up inside him, tightening his chest to the point where he couldn’t speak. He slowly backed away from the doorway and went back down the stairs.

  He opened the refrigerator door and found left-over ham and cheese from the night before. He made them each a sandwich, threw some chips on the plates and grabbed two sodas from the fridge and then carried the plates up the stairs.

  She still painted on the picture, obviously completely consumed by the creative vision in her mind. “Dinner is served,” he said.

  She whirled around, her mouth in a perfect O of surprise and with a streak of blue paint decorating one of her cheeks. “Dillon! You scared the heck out of me.” She looked at the plates in his hands and heaved a deep sigh. “The pork chops?”

  “Were dead on arrival,” he replied.

  She motioned for him to set the plates on the worktable and then sighed once again. “I can’t stop burning food. This is why I never tried to cook when I was in New York. I just get too distracted to do it right. And I’m not going to apologize again because this is who I am.”

  It was as if she was intentionally reminding him why she was wrong for him. She pulled a couple of folding chairs out of the closet and he set them up at the table.

  He took their sodas off the plates and set them on the tabletop and then they both sat down. “Did something happen today?” he asked. The last time she’d completely blown off dinner was the day she’d found out she’d sold a painting.

  “Not really, except Mary and I talked about me going with her to an arts and crafts fair next spring in Oklahoma City. I’d rent a tent next to hers and could show my paintings. It would be like an art show, only not in a gallery but instead in a tent.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Will you still be here in the spring?” His chest tightened with the question.

  Her gaze held his for a long moment and then she looked down at her plate. “I...I don’t know.”

  And therein lay the problem. There was no way he’d put his heart on the line and speak of his love for her not knowing if she’d choose to leave.

  He refused to tell another woman he loved her only to watch her drive out of town without a backward glance.

  * * *

  Cassie scratched the end of her nose with the end of her paintbrush and stared critically at her latest painting. It was late Saturday afternoon and she’d been working off and on all day.

  If things were different she would have encouraged Dillon to take her to the Watering Hole that evening for a few drinks and some socializing.

  That was where all of her men would be tonight. Every Saturday night they all drove into town and blew off steam at the town’s popular bar.

  She frowned and focused back on her painting. When she’d been in New York she’d painted cityscapes like hundreds of other strug
gling artists in the Big Apple.

  Since moving to the ranch she’d focused solely on ranch and cowboy themes, and she had to admit she’d never painted better than she was right now.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about making dinner tonight. Dillon was bringing home something from the café. Since the night of the burned pork chops she’d decided the best way to make dinner was to cook it after Dillon got home from work. It made mealtime a little later in the evening, but at least she’d stopped burning things.

  Dillon. She released a deep sigh and set her paintbrush down. She grabbed the coffee that she’d poured earlier for herself from the worktable and sank down in one of the folding chairs.

  She picked up the sketch she’d made of him after he’d taken her to dinner at the café. She stared at the charcoal image of him and a well of sadness filled her heart.

  He’d be home within the hour and they’d spend another night of avoiding touching, of slightly awkward conversation that was rather superficial. That was how it had been since their last lovemaking bout.

  He’d been distant and more quiet than usual. She knew he was retreating from her even as her love for him grew bigger and brighter.

  There had been nothing better than seeing his hunger for her in his eyes. There had been nothing more captivating than his gentle kisses after their lovemaking was done. And falling asleep in his strong, warm arms had been pure magic.

  But that night had definitely marked a difference in their relationship and she felt now as if she was mourning something she’d never really had.

  She mentally shook herself, drank the last of the coffee in her cup and then set the sketch aside and got up to resume her work. If she intended to be here in the spring and did rent a tent next to Mary’s, then she wanted to complete at least twelve to fifteen paintings of various sizes through the winter.

  She tried to focus on her current painting, but thoughts of Dillon continued to intrude. In the time they had spent together he’d made her feel funny and smart and desirable.

  It was funny, but when Dillon looked at her he made her feel like somebody. But what happened when this was all over and he went back to his own life?

  Could she see him around town and not feel her heart breaking each time? Could she watch him developing a relationship with another woman and not be affected at all? She didn’t know the answer and so she didn’t know what her future held.

  In any case she wouldn’t make her decision to stay or leave based on Dillon. This was probably the most important decision she would ever make in her life and she had to make it based on where she believed she could be happy and fulfilled by herself and in her own soul.

  Too distracted to do any more painting, she cleaned up her brushes and paint and then moved downstairs to await his return. She stared out the window where a cold autumn wind had blown all day. The trees were almost bare and winter was just around the corner and still she’d hesitated about leaving here.

  If she didn’t have Dillon, what was keeping her? All indications from him were that he wouldn’t be in her life in any meaningful way in the future, so why hadn’t she already called Raymond Humes to make arrangements to sell out? Why wasn’t she actively pursuing the dream she’d had for most of her life?

  She didn’t know the answer and she didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of life without Dillon and she didn’t want to think about her future. She just wanted to live in the here and now.

  By the time she’d set the table and made a salad to go with whatever he brought in from the café, he was home. He came in with a shopping bag and a tired smile. “Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.” He set the bag on the table.

  “Sounds good. Why don’t you go wash up or whatever and I’ll get it on the plates.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  He left the kitchen and she got busy unloading the containers from the bag and placing the food in serving dishes. She fixed two glasses of ice water and added them to the table and then sat to wait for him.

  She had a feeling it was going to be another long night. She’d felt his distance the minute he’d stepped into the house. Over the past two weeks there had been times when she’d actually believed that he might be falling in love with her.

  Now she was beginning to believe that what he felt for her was only an intense physical attraction that wasn’t followed up with anything deeper than that. It was depressing and a reminder that she’d never been worth much in her entire life.

  “Busy day?” she asked him as he came back into the kitchen.

  “Not too bad.” He joined her at the table.

  He’d changed out of his uniform and now wore a pair of jeans and a black pullover polo shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and taut abs. He looked breathtakingly handsome despite the shadows in his eyes.

  They helped themselves to the food. “Looks like it has gotten cold out there today,” she said.

  “That wind is definitely blowing from the north, making the day unusually cold,” he agreed. “It feels especially chilly after all the warm days we’ve had.”

  “The meat loaf looks good,” she said.

  “I don’t think Daisy and her cooks know how to make anything bad,” he replied.

  As they ate he told her about people who had come into the police station or who he’d visited with out on the streets. “Abe has Harley picking up trash around town as part of his punishment.”

  “Good for Abe,” she replied.

  “Good for Harley and good for the town,” he replied.

  While they continued to eat he caught her up on all the town news. Daisy had dyed her hair from her signature bright red to a flaming orange for autumn. Steve Kaufman, a widower who spent much of his time reading and drinking coffee at the café, had asked out Jenna McCain, who worked at the general store, although Dillon didn’t know if an actual date had taken place yet or not.

  “I can’t wait until I can get out of this house and go into town and visit with people like a normal person,” she said.

  “I know this has been hard on you, Cassie,” he replied.

  “I don’t mean to be a whiner.”

  He laughed. “Cassie, the last thing I would call you would be a whiner.”

  They were still seated at the table having coffee when darkness fell and a string of headlights appeared coming up the lane from the big garage.

  “You always know when it’s Saturday night around here,” she said. “The men can’t wait to spend part of their paychecks on booze and women.”

  Dillon laughed once again. “It’s that way on every ranch in Bitterroot. Saturday night the Watering Hole fills up with every single woman and a bunch of men ready to blow off steam after a week of hard work.”

  “I just hope somebody manages to get Sawyer home safe and sound.” She shook her head. “That man definitely can’t hold his liquor.”

  “At least he’s a fairly quiet drunk who just passes out. Zeke Osmond and some of Humes’s other ranch hands just get louder and more obnoxious.”

  “I wish I knew what caused all the bad blood between Raymond and my aunt Cass. I’ve read almost all of her journals now and I’d hoped to find the answer.”

  “I’m assuming if you would have found anything pertaining to the crime in those journals you would have told me.”

  “Absolutely,” she replied. “Unfortunately they talk about her decision to staff the ranch with young runaways, but she doesn’t mention any of the men by name. I’m on one of the last journals now and according to the date it was written just months before she died. I think there are only a couple more journals left in the shed and I’m assuming they’re just like the ones I’ve already read, mostly filled with her loneliness and grief over my uncle dying and her intense hatred of Raymond.”

  Once again a visible weariness crept across his features. “Why don’t you go sit and relax in the living room and I’ll clean up the kitchen,” she said.

  Normally he would
have protested and insisted he help, but tonight he simply murmured a thanks and left the kitchen. Cassie cleared the plates and glasses and put the leftovers in the refrigerator and then moved to the great room where Dillon sat in the chair.

  “Want to watch something?” she asked and gestured toward the television.

  “Sure.”

  She took the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television, grateful for the noise it provided. The awkwardness was back between them and she didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Do you want it on another channel?” she asked.

  “No, this is fine...unless you want to watch something else?”

  “This is fine with me,” she replied. The stilted pleasantness between them made her want to scream. The hours just before bedtime had become particularly excruciating.

  She thought of the gun upstairs in her nightstand drawer. She knew how to aim and pull the trigger. Maybe that and the alarm system was all she needed to protect herself from whoever was after her.

  Maybe it was finally time to let Dillon off the hook and send him home. Her heart squeezed tight at the very thought of him not being in this house with her. She’d grown so accustomed to his presence here. And she had to admit there was more than a little fear involved in facing being alone in the house.

  But he looked so miserable, and there was no question that things had gotten tense between them since they had made love again, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

  She could love him all she wanted, but she would never be the kind of woman he was looking for in his life. She would never be the little homemaker he wanted. Maybe she had to love him enough to let him go.

  A touch of fear tightened her chest as she thought once again of being all alone here and facing a potential killer. Surely with the alarm and the gun she’d be okay.

  “Dillon?”

  He turned to look at her and his eyes were dark and unreadable. “Yes?”

  “Maybe it’s time we stop all this.”

  “Stop all what?” A confused wrinkle appeared across his forehead.

  “We both know you can’t stay here forever. I have the security system and a gun. Surely I’d be okay here alone.”