Czytaj książkę: «The Last Landry»

“Fifteen years ago, I did something terrible.”

“What?” Taylor asked, capturing his face in her hands, steeled for what he might admit. “What did you do?”

He read a thousand fleeting emotions in the pretty hazel eyes trained on his face. But it was the trust he saw in them that stabbed at him like a knife. She was going to despise him if he told her the truth.

He was the first to look away. “I can’t tell you, Taylor.”

“Sure you can,” she insisted. “Believe me, no good ever comes of keeping secrets.”

Her fervent tone gave him pause. Regarding her quietly, he felt as if he was looking at a total stranger. A dangerous total stranger. It could only be his imagination that made her words sound as though she knew from bitter experience what keeping secrets could do to a person. Which was absurd, because Taylor was the most straightforward, least secretive person he had ever met.

Wasn’t she?

The Last Landry
Kelsey Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my beautiful Katie Scarlett,

who will love seeing her name in a book!

Acknowledgments

Thanks so much to Don Scott and Marty Bass of WJZ-TV, Channel 13 in

Baltimore, Maryland, for sharing their time and expertise with me!

Congratulations and many thanks to contest winner Larenda Twigg—

I love the name you selected for Chandler and Val’s baby! I would like to

thank Pat Lieberman for helping me name Lorelei, and Helen from

Sault Ste. Marie for helping name Kasey and Sarah.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelsey Roberts has penned more than twenty novels, won numerous awards and nominations; landed on bestseller lists, including USA TODAY and the Ingrams Top 50 List. She has been featured in the New York Times and the Washington Post, and makes frequent appearances on both radio and television. She is considered an expert in why women read and write crime fiction as well as an excellent authority on plotting and structuring the novel.

She resides in south Florida with her family.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Shane Landry—The youngest Landry runs the Lucky 7 ranch but may have no claim to the land considering he may not be a Landry at all.

Taylor Reese—She’s been housekeeper for the Landrys for five years and about to turn in her resignation…if she can bear to part ways with Shane.

Priscilla Landry—The mother of the Landry brothers has turned up dead. What secrets did she take to the grave?

Caleb Landry—The Landry patriarch was murdered. Was it a twisted romantic triangle that led to his death and that of his wife?

Will Hampton—The Lucky 7 ranch foreman is keeping many secrets behind his quiet facade.

Luke Adams—This ranch hand has a questionable past and a tendency toward violence.

Senator Brian Hollister—He has everything to lose. But is he capable of murder?

Constance Hollister—Knows all the Landry secrets and will keep them in order to protect her marriage and place in society.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Prologue

WMON-TV, News at Eleven

“Funeral services were held at the Jasper Community Church this afternoon for Caleb and Priscilla Landry, the wealthy Jasper couple whose remains were discovered last week in a dry abandoned well on the ranch owned by the family.

“Law enforcement officials have classified the gruesome discovery as an active murder investigation. Sheriff Seth Landry, seen here with his six brothers, is currently heading the investigation, though sources close to the story have indicated that the Montana State Police are planning to take over, since the victims are the parents of the Jasper sheriff.

“Detective Fitz Rollins, chief homicide detective with the state police, said in an interview following the funeral that despite the crime happening fifteen years ago, several strong leads have been developed based on items recovered in the well along with the remains.

“Among the hundreds of mourners, many prominent Montanans attended the services today, including Governor Greenblat, Senator Hollister and State Legislator Jack English. In the interest of full disclosure, we here at WMON also wish to express our condolences to the Landry family. As many of you may remember, Chandler Landry was an anchor here at this station for many years and we all send our sincerest sympathies to Chandler and his family during this difficult time.

“Switching gears now…”

“Turn it off,” Callie groused as she rubbed circles on her very extended belly. Her feet were propped on a chair to ease some of the swelling in her ankles.

Taylor turned off the TV, then went into the office, returning with a pillow that she gently wedged into place beneath her friend’s knees. “You look beat.”

“No, I look like Shamu,” Callie whined. “I’m huge. I’m gigantic, I’m—”

“Eight months pregnant with twins?” Taylor smiled as she went back to the towers of plastic containers lining the counter. “I’ve got enough food here to feed a developing country. What am I going to do with it all?”

“It’s calving season,” Callie said. “Pick out what you want and send the rest down to the bunkhouse. I think Sam said they hired on twenty new temporary hands. Those guys are always hungry.”

“Good idea,” Taylor agreed, opening the top drawer and removing a roll of freezer tape and a marker. She peeked under the lids in order to write neat labels on each container. “I hope they like macaroni salad.”

“They’re men,” Callie reminded her. “They’ll eat anything they don’t have to cook themselves.”

True enough. One thing Taylor had learned in her five years as the Landrys’ housekeeper was that along with a Y chromosome came a healthy, hearty appetite.

Something that had been sorely lacking in the main house in the week since the bodies had been discovered. “How’s Sam?” she asked.

The other woman shrugged. “You know my husband. His idea of dealing with anything is to soldier on. Then again, I think he’s always suspected they were dead.”

Who didn’t? Taylor thought, though she felt it was better to keep that to herself.

“Cody is taking it the hardest,” Callie added, “though Shane is running a close second.”

“That’s to be expected.” Taylor continued labeling the containers as they talked. “Until they pulled the skeletons out of the old well and Cody had proof otherwise, I think he honestly believed he would find his parents on some remote island, sipping umbrella drinks. I think Shane just wanted them to come back. Understandable, since he’s the youngest.”

Callie sipped a glass of juice. “Maybe now this family can finally heal.”

“I hope so. Think they’re ready for more coffee?” Taylor asked, hearing the muffled voices of the Landry brothers, who were still huddled in the living room.

“Have you ever known a time when they didn’t want coffee?” Callie remarked. “I miss coffee,” she sighed. “I miss sleeping on my stomach and I miss being able to stand up with some semblance of dignity. Now I hoist myself out of a chair like bulky cargo being offloaded from a tanker. I’m supposed to be glowing. See any glowing here?”

Taylor patted Callie’s hand and chuckled. “Buck up. It’s almost over and soon you’ll have two beautiful babies to spoil.”

Callie’s pretty face brightened. “Kevin is so excited.” She smiled. “Sheldon the Child Wonder is a different matter. He’s already announced that the babies can’t come into his new room. Ever.”

“He’s two,” Taylor remarked. “Jealousy is normal at that age. He’ll be fine.” She felt confident in the advice offered, thanks to the experience she’d gained courtesy of the three afternoons a week she volunteered at the Family Assistance Center of Jasper. The center that didn’t have the budget to hire her even after she had her degree in hand. The university wasn’t an option, either. Their hiring freeze prevented even the hope of an opening any time in the near future.

Callie was grinning. “My friend the shrink.”

Taylor struggled to smile back. Barring an act of God, she’d have her Ph.D. in six weeks—an accomplishment that should have filled her with jubilation. Instead she found herself dreading the reality of what it represented. No more excuses. Time to go out into the real world. Alone. Again. She’d think about that later. For now, she was still, by default, a part of this family. Better to make the best of it while she could. “That would be ‘counselor.’A shrink is an M.D.”

“Between you and Molly, we’ll certainly have all our mental health needs covered.”

Taylor felt a stab of pain in her heart. So much for making the best of it. Molly was married to Chandler; she had a reason to stay. Taylor, on the other hand, had exactly five weeks and six days left in Landry Land.

Chapter One

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Shane Landry grumbled a week later as some pencil-necked lab tech with a long cotton swab headed in his direction.

“There were stains on the towels found in the well with Mom and Dad,” his brother Seth explained as he tipped his Stetson back off his forehead. “They were pretty degraded, but they might be useful, since initial testing revealed three distinct blood types.”

Shane opened his mouth to allowed the tech to scrape the dry end of the swab around the inside of his cheek. When that was over, he swallowed, hoping to rid himself of the cotton taste in his mouth. “How will samples from all of us help?” he asked as the man packed up his shiny chrome case and scurried out of the office.

Seth leaned against his desk. “I’m hardly an expert on the double helix. I’m guessing that if we all give DNA samples, then the lab will use our profiles to filter out Mom and Dad’s blood, hopefully allowing the crime scene guys to isolate the third sample. All I know is that Detective Rollins called and asked that we all do this. Since we don’t have anything to hide, I agreed.” Seth’s expression darkened. “We don’t have anything to hide, do we?”

A quick, guilty shiver crawled down Shane’s spine, but he answered, “No.”

Seth seemed to relax. “Didn’t think so. Anyway, it has something to do with the fact that it will take a lot of time to extract DNA from the…bones, so this is faster. The investigation is high profile and going nowhere, so Rollins is in a hurry to find something that might generate a lead.”

“I’m all for that,” Shane agreed. “You coming out to the ranch tonight? Taylor’s making a stew. She mumbled something about it when I saw her this morning. Not that I was paying much attention to her, mind you. I’ve found the best way to deal with Taylor is to ignore her whenever possible.” Seth smiled, prompting Shane to ask, “What?”

“Nice try.”

“What?” Shane repeated, feeling defensive.

“Give it up, Shane. You’re hot for the girl. And as my wife reminded me just last night, for the hundredth time I might add, you better do something before she rides off into the proverbial sunset. So no, we won’t be coming to the ranch. My wife is quite insistent that you two need time alone so you’ll have no choice but to acknowledge your mutual attraction. Hurry up, though, would you?”

The defensive shield evaporated, leaving a blend of fear and annoyance swirling in Shane’s gut. “Hurry up and what? It isn’t like she sends me anything other than the stay-away vibe.”

Seth’s head fell back as he laughed. “You may not be technically blind, but you are totally dumb, bro. Taylor’s perfect for you. You just have to find a way past her defenses. She’s smart, she’s pretty, she’s funny, she’s—”

“Sarcastic and she picks on me.”

“Part of her charm,” Seth countered. “Besides, we all pick on you because you make it so easy. Back to Taylor. Aren’t you curious?”

“Physically or intellectually?” Shane countered. “The physical part is a no-brainer. Any man with a pulse would crawl over hot coals to be with her. But she’s a freaking genius, Seth. She’s smarter than I am, she’s about to earn her third degree—a doctorate, for chrissake. I have absolutely nothing to offer her,” he admitted, frowning. Saying it out loud made him feel like more of an idiot. Her IQ shouldn’t matter, but to a guy who’d barely made it through high school, it sure as hell did.

“She takes verbal potshots at me. Only me. Has since day one, because the rest of you all have fancy educations.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “That’s stupid. Taylor isn’t an intellectual snob. Ever think she might be sniping at you and only you because you’re the one she has a thing for?”

“No,” Shane admitted candidly. “In five years she hasn’t dropped a single hint in that direction. You’re way off base, bro.”

“Have you?”

Over the messy pile of files, Shane fired a hostile glance in his brother’s direction. “We’re getting a little personal here.”

“You’re getting a little avoidance here,” Seth retorted, his tone and cadence mimicking Shane’s. “I’m just suggesting that you act while you still have a chance. Just exactly how long do you think Taylor will hang around after graduation?”

Shane didn’t want to think about that. She had become such an integral part of his life. Every one of his days for the last five years had begun and ended with Taylor. She was as much a part of the ranch as he was. He didn’t want to imagine waking up to anything other than the smell of fresh coffee wafting up to his room. Or the thrill he felt when he walked downstairs to find her working in the kitchen or sitting at the table, her pretty face buried in a book.

He slumped in the chair. Shane knew to the second just how much time he had left. In 960 hours Taylor would get her degree.

“How long?” Seth pressed.

“Doesn’t look too good. She never says anything, but I know she’s been sending résumés all over the country. As far away as California.” Shane rubbed the stubble on his chin. “The last few weeks, with the news, the funeral and the state police crawling all over the ranch, she hasn’t said much. She’s got to be getting offers, though. Hell, for all I know she’s already accepted a job in Outer Mongolia.”

“Then give her a reason not to leave,” Seth suggested.

“Like what?” Shane snapped, annoyed by the feeling of utter helplessness that settled over him whenever he thought about her impending departure. “‘You know that doctorate you’ve spent the last five years earning? Well, instead of working in your field, want to stick around, clean my house and cook for me?’ Right, that’ll work.”

“No, jerk-face,” Seth breathed. “Give her a personal reason. Like telling her that you’re in love with her.”

Shane stilled. “No way.”

One of Seth’s dark brows arched in challenge. “Because it isn’t true?”

“No, because I’m not hanging myself out there when I have no idea how she feels. Hell, try if she feels.”

Letting out a loud breath, Seth shook his head a few times. “What’s the worst thing that can happen if you go for it?”

A humorless sound gurgled in Shane’s throat. “She can verbally shred me to pieces, then laugh in my face. Pass, thanks. Besides, now isn’t the best time to—”

“There is no best time,” Seth interrupted, mildly irritated. “Look at Savannah and me. We got together under pretty impossible circumstances.”

That much was true.

“You shouldn’t use finding Mom and Dad’s remains as an excuse to keep living your life in neutral,” Seth added.

“I’m not.” Much, Shane amended silently. Then again, he was haunted by a demon that none of his brothers even knew existed.

“C’mon, Shane. Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t suspect their being dead was a possibility all these years? We may not have talked about it openly, but I think deep down we all knew it was the most logical explanation for their disappearance.”

“I know. You’re right,” he sighed. “I just hope the state police can find the scumbag who killed them.”

“Me, too,” Seth agreed, his dark eyes sparked with anger. “It’s making me nuts to be cut out of the loop. Detective Rollins isn’t sharing squat about his progress. I do know he subpoenaed old bank records. Makes sense. It’s what I’d do, since we’ve always known about the hundred grand withdrawn the day they went mis…er, died.”

“I’ve always heard you’re supposed to follow the money.”

“Pretty much. Perhaps you’ve also heard the expression ‘the heart wants what it wants when it wants it’?” Seth said, back to the other subject like a fricking bulldog with a bone.

“Um, only from girls.”

He might have his hands tied about helping to solve the case of their murdered parents, but big brother Seth was doggedly hot on the trail of his baby brother’s nonexistent love life. “Brat. I’m serious. Look, Shane. You’ve got a choice to make. You can do nothing and live a lifetime of regret. Or you can decide she’s worth it and take a chance.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one facing verbal castration.” Shane blew out a breath and made a production of tightening the leather strap keeping his hair in place. Grudgingly, he knew Seth’s strategy had some merit. Taylor was smart and funny. But she wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful. Stop-in-your-tracks, heartbeat-skipping stunning. She was tiny, but not the anorexic kind of scrawny. No, Taylor had curves. Soft, supple curves that even those bulky sweaters she was so fond of wearing couldn’t conceal.

She was perpetual energy, with sparkling hazel eyes and hair the color of winter wheat. She was also mere weeks from completing her graduate work.

“You’re frowning,” Seth remarked.

“She scares me,” he admitted. “Taylor and I have lived under the same roof for five years and we’ve fallen into this…this…I don’t know what you’d call it.”

“The Country Girl.”

“Excuse me?” Shane asked, meeting his brother’s dark eyes.

“It’s a movie. Grace Kelly was in it?”

“You’re a country girl,” Shane teased. “Jeez, we marry you off and now you’re quoting chick flick titles. That’s just wrong, Seth. You need to go out and do something manly before it’s too late.”

“I’m making a point, bozo. Listen and learn. In the movie, the husband is a schmuck, the wife is an actress and the director has the hots for the actress-wife. The drunk, schmuck husband gets that the director is lusting after his wife.”

“What a loser.”

“Whatever,” Seth grumbled. “At one point in the movie, the drunk husband says the only thing worse than two people making eyes at each other is two people trying not to.”

“And your point is?”

“You and Taylor are the actress and the director. I see the way you watch her when you think she isn’t looking.”

“Everybody watches her. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“So what are you afraid of?” Seth asked pointedly.

“Aside from the fact that she’s smarter than I am? More educated? Hasn’t so much as hinted that she’s interested, you mean?”

Seth nodded. “Besides all that.”

“I don’t have anything to offer her. What’s she going to do on the ranch, show inkblots to cattle all day?”

Seth snorted. “First, you are a smart guy. Secondly, who cares what degrees she has? Thirdly, you haven’t so much as asked her out on a date. Maybe you should start there.”

“A date?” Shane repeated, as if the word was new to him.

“Dinner, a movie? Surely you remember how to date.”

“I know how to date. You’re the one who’s turned into girlie, movie-quoting guy.”

“I don’t know if I’d cast aspersions, Shane. Not when you’re celibate guy.”

Shane uttered a mild curse as he left the office. Problem was, he wasn’t completely sure which one of them he was consigning to the fires of hell.

“LANDRY RESIDENCE.”

“Taylor Reese?”

“Speaking.” Taylor couldn’t tell if the voice on the other end of the phone was male or female. No response. Which was darn annoying since she was elbow deep in pastry dough. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She rolled her eyes as she trapped the cordless phone between her head and shoulder in order to continue rolling out the pie shells. She didn’t have time for some teenager making prank calls on a rainy spring afternoon. “It does to me,” she said. “I’m in the middle of something. FYI, pal, this is the sheriff’s house. If you’re so much as thinking about harassing me, forget it. But have a nice day.”

“I know who you are.”

Was that supposed to be scary? “I got that when you used my name.” Annoying little creep. While she could sympathize with some poor kid stranded in what to a teenager would be the mind-numbing solitude of Jasper, Montana, she had pies to bake and deliver to the bunkhouse before leaving to make her seven o’clock class. “Bye-bye.”

With flour-dusted fingers, she grabbed the phone, pressed the off button and went back to work.

Not an easy chore, since the counters at the Lucky 7 Ranch were just a bit too high. She had to get on tiptoe in order to roll out the top crust.

The century-old kitchen was a cook’s delight. In fact, everything about the house appealed to her. Everything up to and including its occupant.

Shane Landry appealed to her in a lot of ways. Too many. Which was why she did her level best to keep her distance. She’d worked too long and too hard to do otherwise. She was not going to turn into a woman like her mother. Not going to repeat the pattern she’d learned at the feet of a master. She attacked the dough with gusto as she mentally reviewed her mother’s choices. Taylor had made that promise to herself on her thirteenth birthday. Until she had created a life for herself, no man was welcome as anything more than a temporary diversion. She’d never be dependent.

Which was why Shane was such a dangerous temptation. Temptation being the operative word. It seemed unfair that one man should be given so many gifts. She frowned at her own lack of self-restraint. No good would or could come of fantasizing about him.

Though she was weeks from graduation, she hardly needed an advanced degree to diagnose the fact that she was attracted to the wrong man. She blew out a breath of frustration as she lifted the crust on top of the sliced apples and began crimping the edges with a vengeance.

“Killing it or cooking it?” Shane asked when he sauntered into the room a second later.

His large hand snaked around her, snatching a slice of apple out of the pie before she could stop him. She slapped his fingers. The quick, fraction-of-a-second contact was all it took for her pulse to kick into gear. Damn! No touching, she reminded herself. Thinking about him was bad enough. Physical contact with Shane made her almost forget why he was off-limits.

She nudged him back with her elbow. Did the blasted man always have to stand so close? “Stick your hands in my food again and I’ll kill you and cook you. Not necessarily in that order. Don’t you have someplace to be? Other than here?” Where I won’t smell the fresh scent of soap mingling with your cologne? Where I won’t feel the warmth of your body or know that all I have to do is turn around to be in your arms?

“I belong here,” Shane reminded her. Taylor frowned again when she noticed a new bruise on his wrist as he stole another apple slice and his arm brushed hers. “You’re in a particularly nasty mood today,” he said cheerfully. “What happened, did they cancel Dr. Phil? Bummer.”

“Do not mock Dr. Phil,” Taylor insisted, stepping away before she turned to glare up at him. “He’s a very insightful, intelligent man. Two things, by the way, you are not.”

“But I’m the man who pays you, so how about something to eat?”

“Sure. Put on your shoes and socks and go to the fridge.”

His crystal-blue eyes glinted with humor. “Housekeeper, Taylor. From the ancient Greek phrase meaning ‘keep the people in the house happy.’ This is me…” he paused and waved his hands “…not happy.”

“And this is me…” she gave him her brightest smile “…not caring.”

He couldn’t help but watch as she put the pie in the oven, stiffened her spine and walked out of the room with all the airs and dignity of royalty departing the throne. There was the added bonus of seeing her hips sway with each step. Taylor had a killer body. She kept him awake nights. Which sucked, since there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about his attraction to her. Seth’s sage advice aside, Shane still didn’t think he was ready to hang himself out there just to have her slice him to shreds with that sharp tongue and even sharper mind. Especially not when she’d practically just called him stupid.

Shane took a few minutes to clean up her baking mess, then rummaged around, finally settling on some cheese and crackers. There was a wonderful smell coming from the Crock-Pot, so he knew better than to spoil his appetite. In addition to her physical perfection, Taylor was a really great cook. He tried to tell himself that he’d kept her on for that reason and that reason alone after Sam, Callie and the kids had moved out last fall.

After that, there really wasn’t a need for live-in help. Not when it was just him. And Taylor.

And enough sexual tension knotting his gut to choke several of his prize bulls.

He took the same seat at the kitchen table that had been his since he’d graduated from a high chair. He cut off a hunk of cheese and slipped it into his mouth, chasing it with a long swallow of beer.

He was still sad over the recent confirmation that his parents were gone. It didn’t make sense. Who would have wanted to kill them?

He took a healthy slug of his beer, enjoying the whiff of pot roast and the mouthwatering aroma of hot apple pie.

Shane had a feeling his mom would have adored Taylor. And—God—she would have loved all her grandbabies, too. It was sad to realize his parents would never be a part of their grandchildren’s lives. It wasn’t fair, he thought grimly.

Shane focused on being happy for all his brothers. He adored his sisters-in-law and all the little Landrys they had produced. He felt like the odd man out, though. Again.

As the youngest of the seven sons of Caleb and Priscilla, he also held the dubious distinction of being the only one who had rebelled as a teenager. The only one who had inspired the ire of their father and the protection of their mother.

Shane suffered a familiar pinch in his chest. Suddenly, the snack wasn’t all that appetizing, so he shoved it nearer the center of the large oak table that dominated the room, and concentrated on his beer.

Thinking about the recent loss filled him with guilt. He knew something about the time just before their murder. Something he’d never been able to share. Not with his brothers, not with anyone. It was gnawing at his insides.

Chapter Two

Taylor liked the structure of her life. A life, she acknowledged, as she carried the heavy tray stacked with pies toward the bunkhouse, that didn’t fit any of the criteria she’d so carefully defined. “How did I manage to mess up so royally?” she whispered as she trudged across the moist ground, doing her best to balance the tray and avoid a huge mud puddle courtesy of the early snowmelt.

Didn’t matter. It would be history soon. She’d get back on track. She’d forget that she actually liked caring for a family—lessons learned and reinforced over and over during her tenure on the ranch. She couldn’t erase the last five years. Probably wouldn’t even if she could. It would mean forgetting how much she loved preparing meals, planning parties and celebrating milestones, and she didn’t want to do that. But she couldn’t make that her whole life, right? No. Career had to be the focus. That was the smart choice. Relationships couldn’t be controlled, and had the ability to evaporate in a second. She didn’t want to be one of those sad women sitting alone in some dingy apartment, pining for a man. Men made you desperate and she’d had enough of desperate to last a lifetime.

So, while she liked her current life, Taylor knew it had to end. Time to move on. Captain her own ship. Float her own boat. “When did I become the queen of the nautical metaphor?” she grumbled, sidestepping another hazardous mud puddle.

Here she was, on the brink of checking off one of the major things on her life-goals list, and she wasn’t happy. That was annoying as sin. She should be ecstatic, exuberantly anticipating her future.

A future that didn’t include the large, loving Landry family. Taylor felt a chill carried on the early evening air. Within a week of meeting the Landrys, all of her preconceived notions had started to crumble. Everything, absolutely everything, she’d been living, breathing, believing, planning and plotting for much of her life had collapsed, crumpled, shattered. It wasn’t supposed to be like th—

She screamed, nearly pitching the tray, startled by seeing two men lurking in the shadows. Her yelp of alarm brought four or five more men out of the bunkhouse, along with the attention of the shrouded figures. Her heart was racing even after she recognized one of the men.

Nervous laughter spilled from her as Will Hampton stepped into the beam of light caused by the flood lamp mounted above the front door. “You nearly scared me to death!” she chided.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied with a tip of his tattered hat.

Will was a walking cliché, the very image of a taciturn cowboy. From the hat to his craggy, leathery face, jeans, bowed legs and scuffed boots—you name it, he had it. Along with a personality that bordered on nonexistent. He barely ever spoke, and when he did, it was in one-or two-word sentences that almost always ended in a polite “ma’am.”

Smiling, Taylor acknowledged the other man. He wasn’t familiar, but they were at the launch of the spring calving season, so there were any number of men drifting in and out of steady employment. “I brought you dessert.” She handed the tray to Will, glad to rid herself of its weight, and smiled at the other man. “Hi, I’m Taylor.”

“LukeAdams,” he stated, offering her a perfect smile.

Too perfect, she thought. Ranch hands didn’t normally spend that kind of money on cosmetic dentistry. Nor, she noted, did they have tattoos across their knuckles. Nor, ink marks aside, were they usually so attractive. Luke didn’t have the sun-aged skin of a tenured hand. He was just shy of six feet, with neatly trimmed hair—what she could see of it beneath his hat—and light eyes. Maybe he was just what she needed to get her mind off Shane. Not the brightest approach to filling her final weeks on the ranch, but it wasn’t as if she had any plans for a future here.

“Welcome to the Lucky 7.”

“Thank you,” he said politely.

“When did you sign on?”

“A couple of days back,” Luke answered.

He had a nice voice—not as deep as Shane’s—and he was definitely checking her out. “Where’d you work before?” Taylor’s curiosity was, pathetically, only marginally piqued.

“Here and there,” he said with a shrug of acceptably muscled shoulders. Shane’s were broad and sculpted. She knew this because she’d seen him shirtless. A half-dressed Shane was a thing of beauty.

“…Mrs. Landry?”

She shook off her Shane-brain and asked Luke to repeat the question.

“Are you Mrs. Landry?”

“I’m not,” she answered quickly, hating that she hated saying it. “But there are six of them around. Can’t help but run into one eventually.”

“Six wives? Is this one of those pluralist families I’ve read about?”

“We gotta go, Luke,” Will interrupted, clearly irritated by the mildly flirtatious tone of the conversation. “Ma’am.”

Then again, everything about Taylor seemed to irritate Will. They hadn’t exactly bonded during her time at the ranch. At first she’d tried killing him with kindness, but that didn’t get her too far. Now she just settled for civil exchanges whenever the two of them shared the same space.

Taylor couldn’t fathom why it was that Shane adored Will. As she walked back to the house, she recalled the countless times he had praised the foreman, who’d been working at the ranch in some capacity or another for more than forty years. She suspected Shane thought of the older man as a substitute father. Made perfect sense, considering that Will had stepped in to handle things during Shane’s father’s absence. Good thing, too, since none of the other brothers had any interest in the actual day-to-day running of the ranch.

She thought about the gaggle of Landry men. Sam preferred the world of high finance. Seth and Cody were in law enforcement, Seth as the sheriff of Jasper and Cody as a federal marshal. Chance was a doctor, a general practitioner in town. Clayton had a law office in Missoula, crusading to save others from the horrible ordeal that had robbed him of four years of his life. And Chandler, well, he was a big, important author now. Taylor smiled, remembering how stunned she’d been to learn of his well-hidden, secret persona.

Shane was the homebody. He adored everything about the ranch, including Will, who he obviously looked to as a friend and mentor. That alone was almost enough of a reason for Taylor to keep trying with the crusty old guy. She had a pretty good idea of what it must have been like for Shane to return to the Lucky 7 after so many years, only to find his parents gone.

Now he knew they were dead. She felt great empathy for the Landry clan. Especially Shane, since she knew precisely how he was feeling even if they never talked about that sort of thing. Actually, they never talked, period.

The concept of parental abandonment hit close to home, Taylor acknowledged as she stepped off the pathway in order to avoid another mud puddle. She knew what it felt like from firsthand experience.

That was only a minor reason why Shane was off-limits. In addition to a strong physical pull, she suspected, they had too much else in common. They had—

Taylor didn’t get to finish her thought. Not when she found herself suddenly flying facefirst into a deep puddle of mud. Turning her head to the side just in time, she spat out grit, then let loose a colorful curse.

She opened one eye to see a pair of size thirteen boots inches away from her nose. “Is that any way for a lady to talk?” Shane chided.

“Are you going to help me?” she demanded, glaring up at him as she struggled to her hands and knees in the cold slime.

His face contorted in what she was sure was a very gallant attempt to keep from laughing. “Only if you ask nicely.”

She glared daggers up at him, feeling the globs of mud slide down the front of her shirt and into her bra. “I would rather gnaw off my own muddy tongue.”

“Suit yourself,” he sighed, shifting his weight and crossing his arms over his chest.

Taylor did a humiliating Three Stooges thing where she’d almost make it, then lose her footing and fall again. But she refused to ask for his assistance. Arrogant and…stupid. Neither of those things normally described her, yet Shane seemed to bring them all out in spades.

With the grace and balance of a two-legged giraffe, she finally pulled herself out of the puddle and back onto dry land. She was soaked, and filthy, smelled like earth and was so cold her teeth started to chatter.

Shane mumbled something unflattering about her being hardheaded as he removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

“It’ll get ruined,” she complained.

“So will you, if you don’t get out of those wet things before you catch cold.”

She wrapped herself in the coat, feeling the warmth of his body transfer to hers. “You don’t catch a cold from the weather. A cold is a virus and—”

“Can’t you ever just say thank-you?” he grumbled as he took her by the elbow and led her toward the back door.

She practically had to jog to keep pace with him. Shane didn’t seem to realize that their height difference meant she had to take two steps to his one. “Sure. Thank you for not helping me out of the puddle.”

He chuckled softly. As always, the sound comforted her in ways it shouldn’t and at a time it shouldn’t.

“You’re a real smart-ass, Taylor.”

“One of us has to be smart,” she retorted, glancing up to bat her eyelashes at him. “Get the door so that I don’t have to wash the mud off it in the morning.”

“A competent housekeeper wouldn’t wait until morning.” He reached around her and grabbed the knob, then yanked open the door.

“A competent housekeeper wouldn’t work for the pittance you pay me.” Which was totally unfair, she acknowledged rather guiltily. Sometimes she had to find ammunition when no ammunition was available.

“Free room,” he reminded her, following her inside. “And board, tuition payments and a car. I don’t see where you’re so bad off.”

Removing the coat, she held it out to him as if she was handing him a giant cootie. “I am perfect. You are bad off.”

“Really?” Using his coat like protective gloves, he grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around and marched her into the hallway.

Taylor almost shrieked when she caught sight of her reflection in the beveled mirror above the highboy. Her hair was nothing but limp, brown clumps. The only part of her face not covered in mud were her eyes, making her look like some nocturnal creature.

“Not so perfect now, eh?”

“You’re an evil man,” she cried, twisting free and racing off to her room. She’d worry about the mud tracks on the polished wood floors after she showered and threw her clothes in the trash. Only now there was very little hope of making her class on time. That great, structured life of hers had gone to hell in a handcart rather quickly.

Ten minutes later, a freshly showered Taylor was racing around, putting on her shoes while making an attempt at maneuvering the hair dryer one-handed. It wasn’t the best system, so she gave up, grabbing a large clip off the vanity and twisting her clean but soaking hair into a messy bundle at the back of her head.

At least she wouldn’t be stuck in a class for three hours wearing a damp sweater, smelling like wet wool. Glancing over at the clock, she grabbed her keys and dashed toward the front door. If she ignored the posted speed limit and parked illegally, she’d only be ten or fifteen minutes late.

“I’m leaving!” she called out, skating on her towel to clean the mud off the floor as she went.

“For good, I hope?” Shane asked as he came out of the living room and leaned against the jamb.

She smiled. “Soon enough, but for now, you’d be lost without me, Shane.”

His eyes met hers. “Very true.”

Man, she hated it when he did that! Banter worked. Moments of genuine kindness, like sacrificing his coat and cleaning the kitchen after her pie baking marathon, did not. The man didn’t play fair.

It was easier to spar with Shane than to acknowledge his good side. Well, technically, it was a great side. But she was in too much of a hurry to deal with all that right now. “N-night,” she stammered awkwardly, moving in a wide arc to avoid even the possibility of making physical contact.

“Do you have pencils and paper?” he asked, moving into her path.

“It’s graduate school, Shane, not kindergarten.”

His dark head tilted to one side; his warm, minty breath fell across her upturned face. Taylor’s pulse quickened as his fingers reached out, hovering just shy of her throat. Anticipation rushed through her system. Contradictory thoughts—Please touch me! No, don’t touch me!—ping-ponged in her mind. She struggled to keep from betraying herself completely.

Not an easy task when she was standing in the shadow of more than six feet of absolute male perfection. His soft, cotton shirt hugged every inch of corded muscle, outlining his broad shoulders and solid torso. She tried not to notice that unlike her, his chest rose and fell rhythmically, evenly. She had to stand her ground. She knew Shane well. Suspected he would pounce at even the smallest slip in her facade.

That was her fault. She was the one who’d put that tightrope between them. The cute-banter idea had seemed safe when she’d first arrived at the ranch and felt the tingle when he’d shaken her hand. Now it was a flimsy cover barely protecting her from the intensity of his gaze. The longing churning in her belly. The need building day by day, hour by hour, second by second.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her shiver. “You could stay here. I’ll draw some inkblots and you can analyze me.”

She slapped his hand away. “Pass, thanks. I don’t have time to play games with boys in men’s clothing.” She checked her watch, using that as an excuse to divert her eyes from the tractor beam of his gaze.

“Chicken?” His tone was low and far too sexy for her comfort level.

“No, thanks, I’ve eaten.” She inched past him. “Good night, Shane.”

“Have a good time.” His voice was now laced with something that managed to be seductive and taunting all at the same, confusing time. She was glad to be making an escape and even happier to have an excuse to do it quickly.

The man was annoying. He was impossible. “He does have a great butt,” she murmured as she opened her car door. That small confession brought a smile to her lips.

A smile that vanished the instant she saw the threatening note attached to her seat by the glistening blade of a knife.

Chapter Three

Knife in one hand, Taylor read the note. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The block printing made it impossible for her to identify the writer, but the contents and the knife made the message frighteningly clear: “SHANE DID IT. THE PROOF IS IN THE ATTIC.”

OhGodohGodohGod! This wasn’t possible. Shane was a lot of things, but not a killer. Sure, they had their tense moments, but she knew with absolute certainty that he was incapable of hurting anyone. Especially not the mother he worshiped and the father he revered.

Why accuse him?

Oh, God. Who could have delivered this?

Maybe it was a joke. A sick, perverted and cruel one, but some fool’s idea of humor. She couldn’t show Shane. Not now.

Observing him these last few weeks, she knew where he was on the bereavement scale. The initial denial stage had passed the second he’d identified his mother’s wedding ring. The anger stage had passed as well, probably because he’d transferred those emotions to the fantasies of what he’d do when the killer was caught. The funeral ritual had been an outlet for the bargaining and depression stages.

Shane had now reached the final phase—acceptance. Yes, she knew it had been a sudden, unwelcome and painful journey, but she wasn’t about to let some weasel with a warped sense of humor set him back to square one. Crumpling the note, she decided when and if she ever found the prankster, she’d kick him, then charge him for repairing the puncture left by the knife. “Jackass,” she muttered.

Taylor heard the sound of an approaching car and hurriedly put the knife and crumpled note inside her purse. Tossing her bag on the passenger seat, she slipped behind the wheel.

Seth’s marked SUV pulled alongside her sedan just as Taylor turned the key, starting the engine. With a wave of her hand, she rushed off before he noticed anything was amiss. Amiss? She almost choked. That wasn’t the word for it. Amiss didn’t come close to describing the protective surge of anger churning her insides.

SHANE WAS IN THE PROCESS of grabbing another beer when he heard the front door open and close. For a split second, he let himself hope that it might be Taylor coming back inside. Maybe she’d decided to abandon her class in favor of spending the evening with him. Yeah, sure. That was about as likely as fish learning to dance. Acknowledging that reality made him scowl.

Seth strolled into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s with Taylor?”

Shane shrugged. “Don’t know. I never know, which probably explains why we’ve lived under the same roof for five years and I still don’t know her middle name.”

“Sophia,” Seth replied with a brotherly sneer as he weaved toward the kitchen. “Put us all out of our misery and make your move. Get proactive, will you?”

“Proactive? Is that from your word-of-the-day calendar? You weren’t here a few minutes ago. If you were, you’d rethink your belief that she’s hot for me. She thinks I’m a moron.”

“You can be a moron, but that’s beside the point,” Seth teased. “Trust me on this, Shane. Time’s a-wastin’.”

“Why do you think she’s interested in me?”

“My exceptional talents for deduction.”

“Really?” Shane asked, smacking Seth’s Stetson off his head. “Maybe you should put those skills of yours to good use by trying to figure out why the woman can barely keep a civil tone in my presence. She hates me.”

“You’re so wrong,” Seth stated, tossing his hat onto the table. “Men are such jerks.”

“First you quote movies, now this?” Shane demanded. “You are such a girl.”

“No, I’m insightful,” his brother said easily. “One of the many advantages of age and experience, bro.”

“Do you have a valid reason for being here?” Shane asked as he watched his brother help himself to a bottle of water, tucking it into the utility belt clipped at his waist. “By valid I mean something more than a roadie of water and an opportunity to rag on me? Has there been a development in the investigation?”

Seth flopped into his chair. “Nothing so far. But after our chat this morning, I thought I’d come by to see if you asked her out. Everyone is very interested in your progress with Taylor. We voted and decided it was more fun to focus on that than champing at the bit because we can’t get involved in solving Mom and Dad’s murder.”

Shane and his brother shared a moment of reflective silence.

“Everyone?” Shane asked. “What did you do, take a poll?”

“Actually, I did.” Seth smiled. “With Sam, Callie and the kids out of the house, we all think it’s time you stopped dragging your heels. I swear, Shane, it took less time for Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel, for chrissake.”

“He had divine inspiration. I have Taylor’s verbal missile defense system. By the way, I know she’d be thrilled to hear my brothers are so concerned about our love life—the one we don’t have—that they felt it necessary to gossip and send an emissary.”

“Whatever,” Seth remarked dismissively before taking a long swallow of beer. “So, what’s the holdup? How much longer do we all have to stay away?”

“You call this staying away?” Shane flicked a bottle cap at Seth, which he deflected easily. “Besides, what do you care?”

“We’re crazy about Taylor, and speaking only for myself, it would be really, really nice if the two of you could hook up before midnight Sunday.”

Shane rolled his eyes. His brothers didn’t think anything was off-limits when it came to the friendly placing of wagers. “How much?”

“I bet fifty bucks that you’d admit your undying love before the vernal equinox. Make it happen and I’ll split the booty with you.”

“Maybe,” Shane hedged. “What’s the pot up to?”

“Twelve hundred. But only because we made Chandler pony up a thousand on the sixty day over-under.”

Shane gave an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe I should work a deal with Chandler then.”

“Before you get too chummy with him, you should know he bet the over, that it would take you more than sixty days to convince Taylor to accept your sorry ass.”

“He might be right,” Shane admitted, shoulders slumping under the weight of knowing that he wasn’t exactly on the road to success. Forget the road, he hadn’t even left the driveway. That could change, if he could come up with a feasible plan. Until he had one, a switch of topic seemed like a good idea. “How are Savannah and the kids?”

“Savannah is hot and my children are cuter, smarter and growing faster than everyone else’s.”

Shane smiled, knowing full well Seth’s remark was part jest and part fatherly pride. “Speaking with complete impartiality, I’m sure.”

His brother stood and launched the now-empty bottle in a perfect arc into the trash can. “A three-pointer.”

“Not from that distance, girlie-man,” Shane scoffed, tossing his beer bottle behind his back, around his waist, and watching it sail easily into the recycling bin with a satisfying clink. “Now, that is a three-pointer. I am the king.”

“Yeah,” Seth chuckled softly. “The lonely king.”

“That was harsh.” True, but harsh nonetheless.

“Buck up, bro. I’d be happy to give you some pointers if—”

Shane glared his older brother into silence. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Yep. Here.” Seth paused and replaced his Stetson, which bore the official seal of the city of Jasper. “I’m checking on a couple of parolees you hired for the calving season.”

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?”

Seth shook his head. “One did six months of an eight-month stint for bouncing checks, and the other guy’s out on early release on a simple use and possession.” Seth glanced at a small pad he pulled from his breast pocket. “Brian Meyer is the bad-check passer. Luke Adams is the bad driver with the bad habit. He wasn’t bright enough to keep under the speed limit while he was rolling a joint on his thigh.”

“Don’t have to be bright to be a criminal,” Shane said with an expelled breath. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Seth scanned the notepad again. “I ran checks on both guys when Will sent me their names. Nothing popped in the system. I would’ve called if anything came up. Meyer is a first-timer, so it’s worth giving him a chance. Adams has a few other busts, petty stuff. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Shane shrugged. “Will’s pretty good at screening them. He wouldn’t hire on anyone he didn’t think was a safe bet.”

“I agree,” Seth said. “Still, I want both of them to know I’m in the area. I’ll run out to the barn and just say hi before I head home.”

Shane walked with his brother to the front door. A rush of cold air filtered in and he was distracted for a minute, wondering if Taylor was dressed warmly enough. Of course not. She’d rushed out without a coat.

“Show them your gun and be sure to look mean,” Shane teased.

“Good tip, thanks.” Seth raised one hand and bounded down the steps two at a time. “You have fun tonight! All alone and wandering through the house like a—”

Shane slammed the door, not interested in taking any more of his brother’s ribbing. It wasn’t like he was ready to concede that his hands-off policy was getting harder and harder to maintain. In addition to his staggering fear of rejection, the truth was the growing intensity of his feelings for Taylor scared him. Keeping her at arm’s length was a lot easier than risking everything.

Except that his patience was running out. He felt as if his life had been one big hourglass for the last five years. Finding his parents, after wondering where they were and why they’d left, gave him an odd feeling, a kind of warning bell that there might only be a few grains of sand left.

“She’s going to graduate,” he told himself as he wandered back into the living room and flopped down on the leather sofa, grabbing the remote control. “Get a job and leave.” The thought depressed the hell out of him.

He flicked through the satellite menu without really seeing the images. They had two hundred fifty channels, but there was nothing on. Instead, his mind played visions of Taylor. In the kitchen. Working in the yard. She was as much a part of the Lucky 7 as he was now. Thinking about her impending and inevitable departure weighed heavily on him.

Four hours and fifty-six minutes later, Shane tried again to convince himself that he wasn’t actually waiting up for her. Right? his conscience ridiculed in a taunting little voice that was irritating as hell. Had to be that he was totally engrossed in the infomercial for the miracle herb that promised everything from increased energy to improved sexual function. Plus, if he acted now, he could get a six-month supply for the value price of only three hundred twenty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents. A veritable steal.

“Like I need anything for sexual function,” he muttered, standing up and taking his dishes into the kitchen. “My plumbing works just fine, thank you very much. That isn’t my problem. Sell me a magic pill to read her mind. Now that would be freaking worth three hundred and ninety-whatever dollars! Hell, I’d pay ten times that.”

He had just put a plate with crumbs of her delicious apple pie in the sink and was about to call it a night when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the front porch.

A sense of excitement rushed through him as he stilled, listening to the door opening and closing, followed by the familiar rhythm of her moving in his direction.

Taylor’s subtle perfume entered the room a split second before she appeared.

He knew something was wrong the second he saw her. “Fail a pop quiz or something?” he asked, disturbed by the tension in her hazel eyes.

Damn it. Taylor had hoped he’d be asleep by the time she got home from class. She wasn’t up to a verbal sparring match with Shane tonight, she really wasn’t. She’d been on a razor’s edge through the entire class, absorbing nothing. Anger over the knife and the note had claimed her focus for hours.

Somebody had strolled up to her car, in full view of the house, and had taken the time to open the door, stab the knife and note into her upholstery and walk away.

Who? And why make such a cruel and false accusation about a man who’d just buried his parents?

She tossed her purse on the foyer table by rote, then panicked a little—what if Shane suddenly ripped into it and demanded to know why she was carrying a knife? She shook with pent-up rage, and rubbed her arms as a diversion, trying to avoid him when he stepped farther into the hallway. “Not now, please? It’s late. I’m tired.” And spitting mad and…

She’d pivoted, fully intending to hide in the sanctuary of her room, when she felt his large fingers gently close on her shoulder. Fighting the urge to lean into the invitation of his touch, she stopped in her tracks. Finding the note, trying to figure out who might have sent it, sitting though a class without processing so much as a word of the lecture—all of it had zapped her energy. She was exhausted and wired all at once—that jittery, caffeine-rush kind of energy that had her stomach burning and her pulse pounding in her temples.

“What’s up, Taylor?” he asked softly, the teasing tone gone from his voice.

She opened her mouth, then went mute when he eased up behind her and began to softly massage away the tension that had been holding her hostage since leaving the ranch. His fingers moved gently, subtly. Because her still-damp hair was up in the clip, she was able to feel the warm wash of his breath against her neck.

“Your shoulders feel like rocks. Come on, tell Dr. Shane all about it.”

Tell the truth? Lie? She didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not when his touch scrambled her already taxed brain. The bombardment of sensations easily overshadowed all rational and intelligent thought. It was impossible for her to process anything beyond the soothingly familiar scent of his cologne as he continued the massage.

Warnings flashed in her mind and she couldn’t ignore them. Deliberately, she turned slowly, lifting her eyes to his. Taylor noted a slight amount of apprehension in his gaze. But mostly she saw a smoldering, tightly leashed passion that threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

It was easier—not to mention smarter—to simply walk away before this went down the proverbial path of no return. That was the wise move and she knew it. Which was why she lifted her palms and placed them against his chest. She fully intended to push him away, toss out a cutting barb, then find sanctuary in her room.

Those good intentions pretty much evaporated the minute she felt the taut plane of corded muscle beneath her palms. The rapid, even pace of his heartbeat. Shane’s body was as solid as a statue and as unyielding as his clear blue eyes. Her fingers fanned out, as if acting of their own volition. Her normally sharp intellect was no match for the years of curiosity that fueled the longing building in the core of her being.

The pads of his fingertips slipped slowly up, over the flushed skin of her throat. His eyes fixed on her mouth, on the way her pale, rose-tinted lips parted ever so slightly when his thumbs hooked beneath her chin. Her eyes blazed but she didn’t look away. Brave Taylor. Maddening Taylor. Shane wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

He also wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Or even if there should be a next move. She sent out mixed signals, and Shane was afraid if he read them wrong he’d be in a world of hurt. He had no idea if Taylor would verbally knock him into the next county or if he was actually seeing possibility in her steady gaze. The signals she was sending right now all seemed to indicate she was as interested and inquisitive as he was. However, she’d shot him down enough times that he was unwilling to rely on the reading or misreadings of signals alone.

“Is now a good time for me to kiss you senseless?” he asked, applying subtle pressure to properly position her upturned face.

“That would certainly level the playing field. Then we could both be senseless.”

He smiled in spite of the remark, only because he felt her trembling. Though Taylor couldn’t keep her sharp tongue in check, neither could she keep her body from reacting. Thankfully, that much she couldn’t hide. The knowledge made him feel a tad more confident. So Shane inched his forefinger toward her mouth. He loved seeing that flash of heat in her eyes as he brushed it across her lower lip. He felt her breath rush over his hand. When she moved fractionally closer, Shane increased the pressure of his fingertip, his confidence rising.

His palm rested against her throat, allowing him to feel a hint of her response. Taylor’s pulse quickened, growing more and more rapid as he dipped his head, stopping just short of making contact.

He could have pulled her against him. Lord knew he wanted to—had for what seemed like forever. He could have kissed her, tested the passion that was smoldering in her eyes. But then he would have given up this. The heady, powerful sense of expectation coiled in every last one of his cells.

Somehow, seeking personal fulfillment suddenly didn’t seem as important as knowing she felt something. Maybe the same things he did. As strange as it sounded to his desire-addled brain, he needed her to make the move, be the aggressor. Say it out loud, clearly, without equivocation, letting him know this was what she wanted from him.

“Tell me,” he prompted. “Tell me what you want.”

For the first time ever, he saw something bordering on indecision pass through her pretty eyes. Not exactly encouraging, but not totally discouraging either. He took it as a minor victory.

“I—I’m not sure.”

It took all of Shane’s fortitude and self-restraint to step back. His body practically throbbed with need denied, but if he had any hope of changing the nature of their relationship, this was the best way to go. He hoped. “Well, until you are, I can’t help you. Good night, Taylor.”

She blinked up at him, said nothing, then turned and walked briskly down the hall. At first, he labeled her quick retreat as a defeat, but then he saw the way she was digging her nails into her palms as she hurried away. He smiled. So, Taylor Reese wasn’t as immune as she pretended. That knowledge alone made the whole self-denial thing worth it.

Chapter Four

“You can’t be serious!” Taylor stared at the burly detective standing in the foyer. “A search warrant? To find what, exactly?”

“Read the warrant, honey.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the man. She didn’t care that he had a dozen officers in tow. Nor was she terribly impressed by the shiny gold shield clipped to the front pocket of his tweed jacket. She didn’t even care that him calling her “honey” was both demeaning and dismissive and normally would have caused her to launch into a strict lecture on sexism. All of that paled badly in comparison to the dread that came in a rush.

Detective Rollins and his uniformed minions invaded the house. Unfolding the paper, she carefully read the unfamiliar wording, pausing to absorb the part about probable cause. “An anonymous tip?” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am,” the detective acknowledged. “Please stay out of the way during the search.”

“Wait until I call Shane. Or the sheriff.”

“Call whoever you want.” He shrugged. “However, the warrant doesn’t require us to wait while you do.”

Damndamndamn! Taylor raced for the phone, dialing Shane’s cell phone. One, two, three rings, then voice mail. “Wrong time to be ignoring your phone,” she said through gritted teeth as she punched in a 9-1-1 page. Next, she dialed Seth, who was, according to his secretary, in court.

Over the din of several simultaneous conversations and the violating sound of drawers being opened and closed, she opted to try Clayton.

“Justice Project.”

Relief washed over her when she heard his voice. “Thank God,” she breathed, explaining what was happening. “What should I do?”

“First, calm down,” Clayton counseled. “Then read me the warrant.”

She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. The first portion cited the date and time of the tip and identified the officer taking the call. Taylor swallowed, then continued, “The caller directed officers to the Lucky 7 Ranch, primary residence of the deceased. Caller identified Shane Landry as the perpetrator and claimed there was evidence contained in said residence, specifically .38-caliber ammunition matching the ammunition used in the crime.”

“Okay. There’s nothing to worry about, Taylor, because that’s the most ridiculous claim I’ve ever heard. Shane would never have killed our parents. Yes, there’s always been ammunition on the ranch but it’s locked up in the attic.”

Her blood ran cold. “The attic?” she repeated, lowering her voice to a near whisper.

“Yes,” Clayton said. “My dad was big on gun safety. He didn’t want any accidents, so the ammo has always been kept separate from the guns. My parents were fanatical about it.”

“Clayton, I—”

“Stop worrying,” he interrupted. “Everyone in Jasper knew about the house ammo rules. I remember hearing people rag on my dad when I was a kid. Folks used to say it defeated the point of having a gun when you had no way to load it in a hurry.”

“Stop!” she insisted, fairly yelling to get his attention. It worked.

“Sorry. What is it?”

Taylor’s eyes darted around to find, much to her utter frustration, that several of the officers were openly eavesdropping on her conversation—such as it was. Chief among them was the lead detective, who was standing a few feet away, rummaging through the top drawer of the highboy. “This isn’t right,” she hedged.

“Trust me on this.”

She took the cordless phone and walked out the front door, hardly noticing the cold despite her bare feet. She let Clayton drone on while she wandered out of earshot.

“…sure it is just someone hoping to collect the reward we’ve offered for information leading to an arrest. The state police are probably inundated with tips. Rollins has to follow up on them, it’s his job. And…” Clayton paused and expelled a loud breath “…this is a high profile case, Taylor. The governor and a U.S. senator attended the funeral. Rollins is probably getting a lot of heat on this one.”

Taylor felt confident it was safe to talk when she was a good ten yards from the house. “Quiet,” she snapped, her nerves frazzled. “Listen to me. I got a note. It basically said the same thing.”

“When?” Clayton’s tone registered instant alarm.

After telling him about the note and the knife, Taylor asked, “What should I do?”

“Where are they now?”

“In my purse, in the hall. Why?”

“Go back in the house. Do it now.”

“I am,” she said, briskly retracing her steps. “Then what?”

“Grab your purse and keys and go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Clayton answered. “Just get the hell out of there. Do you have a cell?”

“Yes, but shouldn’t someone be here while they’re going through the house?”

“Technically, no one has to be present. Beside, I’ll handle that. You just get out of there. Call me as soon as you’re off the ranch.”

Motivated by fear and an intense desire to protect Shane, Taylor walked back inside and nearly groaned when she found Rollins still planted in the foyer. How was she supposed to get her purse with its damning contents, with him standing right there?

Oh hell, it didn’t matter. She put the phone back on the cradle, slapped the warrant on the table and in precise, clipped syllables, said, “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“No,” she corrected. “I wasn’t asking a question, I want you to move.”

One bushy brow arched almost accusingly above a penetrating brown eye. “Because?”

“I don’t have to be here to watch while you harass this family.”

“This family?” he repeated, new interest flaring in his eyes. “I was under the impression that you were an employee.”

“I—I am. A very loyal one. One that will go screaming to the press if you and your goons don’t leave this home exactly as you found it when you’re finished with your little fishing expedition. So, hand me my purse and I’ll be on my way.”

He did as she asked.

Taylor’s heart was pounding as she spun and walked toward the door. She had taken two steps when Detective Rollins said, “Miss Reese?”

She stopped. So did her heart and her ability to breathe. Rollins obviously must have figured something was up. Why wouldn’t he? He hadn’t impressed her as a stupid man. Stupid, no. Wrong? Definitely.

That didn’t change the fact that she was caught. She actually entertained the notion of pulling out the note and eating it. Not smart, but better than giving this man more evidence to bolster the flawed theory that Shane was somehow involved or responsible for the murder of his parents.

Taylor didn’t trust herself not to do something rash, making it impossible for her to turn back to face the detective. Her shoulders tensed as she managed to get a single word past the lump in her throat. “What?”

“You shouldn’t leave.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Am I under arrest?”

“Um, no.”

She whirled around then, trying to read his expression. No such luck. “Then why can’t I leave?”

He pointed at her feet. “No shoes. Unless you make a habit of going out barefoot.”

Pressing her lips together, Taylor stiffly went to her room and slipped on some flats, keeping a tight hold on her purse. Obviously, she wasn’t suited for a life of crime. Not if her shaking hands and wobbly knees were any indication.

It felt like a lifetime passed before she was tucked behind the wheel of her car, speeding down the long drive toward the main highway. Once she cleared the iron archway that bore the ranch’s logo, she fumbled in her purse for her phone and called Clayton back.

“What now?”

“Do you know the old Hudson place?” he asked.

“Kind of.”

“Head northeast once you pass through town. It’s about ten miles up on the righthand side. Park by the tanning shed and one of us will meet you there. Can you do that?”

“Sure. There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“Which way is northeast?”

SHANE HAD WORKED HIMSELF into an almost blinding fury by the time he shoved open the back door. He just didn’t know which thing to be pissed about first.

Detective Rollins won, mostly because he was seated in the kitchen as if he had some sort of God-given right to be there.

In my house. Thinking I was involved in the deaths of my parents. Shane saw red and stuffed his hands into his back pockets just in case he couldn’t contain the very real urge to punch the guy.

“Mr. Landry,” the detective acknowledged, not bothering to stand as he continued to flip through a file Shane immediately recognized. Thanks to their mother, each brother had a thick box filled with childhood mementos. Shane suspected she’d done it just to make sure each of them felt special. It was her way of acknowledging each of her boys as an individual. Priscilla had always sworn that someday they’d all thank her for her efforts. It stung to know he’d never have the chance.

Shane felt a poignant, visceral pain at the sight of the familiar handwriting on the side of the box lying open at the detective’s feet. His dad used to tease his mom about her appalling handwriting—said it looked as though a fly had fallen into the ink and crawled across the page.

Ah, man… To his heart and mind his mom hadn’t died fifteen years ago, but two weeks ago, and he still felt raw.

Seeing that box anywhere near this guy who apparently thought he was guilty of parenticide made Shane’s eyeballs throb. Without letting the detective get further than a greeting, Shane glared down at him. “You’re way off base.”

“Maybe,” the officer said with a shrug. “You weren’t a very good student, were you, Shane? You don’t mind if I call you Shane, do you?”

“Yes, you can call me Shane, and no, I wasn’t a great student. But since you’re looking at my old report cards, you already know that.”

“Have a seat,” Rollins suggested, his tone revealing nothing. “We need to talk about a few things.”

Reluctantly, Shane yanked out his customary chair and joined the detective at the table. “You think I killed my parents because I got bad grades?”

“I wanted to give you an opportunity to talk. Clear up a few things.”

“Like?” Shane was eyeing the man cautiously. Clayton had warned him not to speak to the cops, but Shane failed to see the harm. After all, he hadn’t done anything. Well, nothing illegal.

Rollins closed the file, laced his stubby fingers together and rested them on top of the table. “Why would someone accuse you of the murders?”

“I have no idea. The reward, maybe?”

The detective nodded, then flipped open a small notebook. “Tell me what you remember about that night fifteen years ago.”

“I wasn’t here that night,” Shane reminded him, annoyed that he was being asked to repeat facts he knew full well were part of the missing-persons report filed fifteen years earlier. “I moved out that day.”

“What precipitated the move?”

Shane kept his gaze level, while his heartbeat faltered. “It was time,” he said easily. “I was eighteen.”

“You stayed away for five years. Why was that?”

“I wanted some space. Out on my own. I can give you a list of the ranches I worked during that period, and there are any number of people who will vouch for me.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched out before Rollin sighed pensively and asked, “How come a guy whose family owns one of the biggest spreads in western Montana runs off to work as a hired hand for someone else?”

“That’s the reason,” Shane answered confidently.

“Why be the help when you can be the boss? I don’t get that. Someone wanted to hand me a ranch on a silver platter, you better believe I wouldn’t up and decide to do grunt work.”

“I’m not sure why this is such a tough concept for you to grasp.” Shane felt a whole slew of unpleasant memories churning in his stomach. “I wasn’t the boss. My father was. As far as I knew, he’d continue to be the boss, so the fact that I left should be enough to convince you that I couldn’t possibly have been involved.”

“That’s certainly one way to look at it.”

Anger washed over Shane as he again was treated to an noncommittal response from the detective. “It’s the only way.”

“Okay.” Rollins stood with a grunt, started toward the door, then glanced back. “I should ask, Shane, how did you get on with your parents?”

Guilt assaulted him. “Like any eighteen-year-old.”

“Could you be a little more specific? Good, bad, what?”

Shane’s mind played a series of video clips. Happy memories interspersed with some that weren’t so happy. Then the chilling details of that last time he’d seen his parents alive. “More like okay. I was a pretty volatile kid. And stubborn. A lot like my father, actually.”

“Really?” Rollins pried. “How so?”

Meeting the man’s gaze, Shane answered, “He taught me not to suffer fools gladly. Is there anything else?”

“Not right now. Maybe when I get results back on the items we’re taking. One of the officers should be in with an inventory for you to sign.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon, Shane.”

Defiantly, Shane replied, “I’ll be right here.”

He was right there ten minutes later when the phone rang. Shoving aside the promised inventory sheet, he grabbed the receiver with such force he sent the base unit sailing across the counter. “Landry.”

“Shane!” Taylor wailed into the phone. “Are you okay? Are the police still there?”

“They’re gone. But forget about the police. A note? A knife? What the hell were you thinking, Taylor? And why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t believe this! You’re yelling at me?” she huffed as she raked her fingers through her hair. Hair that was blowing all over the place. Because she was outside. In the cold. With no coat. In the middle of blasted nowhere. Smelling whatever possibly toxic chemicals were leeching from the metal drums littered everywhere. Saving his butt. “You ungrateful jerk!”

“Don’t even go there,” he warned, his bellowed words echoing in her ear. “Details, Taylor. Right now, before Seth gets there. I don’t want to hear them secondhand. Not like I had to hear from Clayton about the note and knife you got. How could you keep something like that from me?”

She was so angry she wanted to scream. Instead, she very childishly hung up on him, and in an even more childish move, she went over to a nearby, rusted-out barrel and kicked it. Hard. Which accomplished two things: her toe hurt and she had an ugly scuff on one of her favorite shoes.

When her cell phone vibrated as it played Beethoven’s Fifth, she purposefully waited to answer until the last possible second before it switched over to her voice mail. She started to pace on the rutted surface of the unattended driveway. “Maybe I did the wrong thing, but I did it for the right reason,” she declared before Shane could say a single word. “You owe me an apology.”

“No, you owe me one, Taylor.”

She stopped short, recognizing the muffled voice from yesterday, when she’d been baking pies. Man? Probably. Woman? Maybe. Creepy? Definitely.

“This is not a good time, either,” she snapped, wishing now she’d spent the extra three dollars a month for caller ID from her cell service.

“Pay attention, Taylor. How do you think I got this number?”

She rolled her eyes. “Off the Internet, no doubt. Not exactly a challenge in this day and age. This really isn’t a good time, so—”

“Look to your left.”

Annoyance gave way instantly to the rush of fear, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, yet she couldn’t help but turn her eyes in that direction.

Nothing. Nothing but an empty field with the remnants of a stripped pickup and a few more barrels. How dare this little weasel pull a B-horror-movie thing? She was equally annoyed at herself for buying into the prank.

“I looked. Now will you get off my phone?”

She was about to hang up when the caller asked, “Do you see the truck?”

Okay, she was completely terrified now. She spun in dizzying circles. “Uh-huh.” She didn’t see anyone. Nothing but the rustling trees far off in the distance. How could he know where she was? Hell’s bells! No one knew. No one that wasn’t a Landry.

Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Yes. Good! Had to be it. The wind was strong, easily letting the person on the other end know she was outside. The truck? Also easily explained. Virtually everyone in Montana had a truck. This was just like those fake psychics. They listen, pick up audible and visual clues, then tell you what you want to hear. A cute parlor trick, but not now.

“Great, there’s a truck nearby. Are we finished?”

“Keep watching the truck, Taylor, and remember, it could just as well have been you. Get him to confess. If he runs, I’ll find him. If you run, I’ll kill you. Then he’ll have your blood on his hands, too.”

“What in the—”

Pop.

It took a second for her eyes to pick up the cause of the sound. The truck rocked. She frowned. What…? The windshield of the old truck spiderwebbed. It took several seconds for the sound and the image to register in her frozen brain.

Her breath left her lungs in a rush of sheer, unadulterated fear. Someone had shot the truck.