Читать книгу The High Country Rancher - Jan Hambright - Страница 7

Wham…wham…wham.

Mariah bolted awake and sat up, trying to place the loud banging coming from somewhere in the unfamiliar house.

A fire still blazed in the fireplace. Fresh wood had recently been added, judging by the still uncharred ends of the logs.

“Hello,” she called out. No response.

Where was Baylor?

A measure of caution edged down her spine. She threw back the covers and crept out of bed.

“Hello,” she called as she crossed to the doorway and stared out into the living room.

The fire in the living-room hearth was little more than a heap of glowing embers now, but Baylor’s woodsy scent hung in the air, surrounding her, and she sensed he hadn’t been gone long.

Wham!

Mariah jumped.

A cut of icy wind sliced into her, raising goose bumps on her body. The noise was coming from somewhere in the area of the kitchen.

Easing forward, she searched the darkness, heading toward the sound.

Wham!

Through the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen, she spotted the source of the racket and stalked toward it.

The back door stood wide-open before another gust of wind caught it and slammed it against the jamb.

A shudder coursed through her as she stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the knob. She paused in place, staring out into the darkness.

The storm had passed while she’d slept. A full moon gleamed against the platinum snow and bathed the landscape in brilliant white light. Somewhere in the surrounding woods a series of howls built to a mournful crescendo and echoed against the mountains. She half expected to see a wolf silhouette itself against the moon, and the stark beauty of the place, along with its mystery, appealed to her artist’s eye.

But where was Baylor McCullough?

Stepping back, she pulled the door shut, but it wouldn’t latch. She jiggled the knob back and forth. The bolt released. She pulled it shut again, and heard the cylinder pop into the kick plate.

Taking one last glance through the small panel of windows in the door, she saw a trail of movement. In the timberline a hundred yards from the house, someone waded through the snow, before vanishing out of sight in the dense line of trees.

Was it McCullough? What was he doing out there? She turned the dead bolt and heard it lock in place.

“Detective?”

She jerked around, instinct taking over. Every muscle in her body coiled for maximum self-preservation. She lashed out at the man standing too close to her, catching him in the jaw with an uppercut from her elbow before she realized she’d just hit Baylor in the face.

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. I thought you were outside.” She glanced back to the spot where she’d seen someone only an instant ago.

“I’ve been in the barn, checking on the calves.” Baylor rubbed the spot on his jaw where she’d popped him. “I use the front door. I keep this one locked until I can get a locksmith up here to fix it. It doesn’t always latch.”

“I saw someone, up there, just at the timberline.” She pointed to the spot. “Were you up there?”

“No. You probably saw deer feeding by the moonlight.” He moved in next to her and stared out the window.

“Do deer walk upright?” she asked, half joking, but Baylor’s features in the lunar glow were dead serious.

“Some strange things have been going on around here the past few months.”

His cautious tone fired her curiosity. “What sort of things?”

Baylor reached for her hand and turned her toward the living room. He could feel the cold in the air through his heavy coat, and he knew she had to be freezing in the little black robe.

“It’s not important.” He felt her shiver, the vibration rippling through his hand. He coaxed her a little faster toward the bedroom and the heat from the fireplace.

“It’s almost dawn. You have to stay warm.” He ushered her through the doorway into the bedroom and released her, not content until she climbed back into bed, and pulled the covers up around her neck.

He took off his coat, picked up the poker, opened the fireplace screen and jostled the logs. A spray of sparks jumped, and the fire hissed as it intensified.

There was that feeling again, but this time there was something solid to back it up.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled as firelight danced across the hardwood floor of the bedroom and reflected in a set of liquid footprints. The spot where someone had stood long enough for the snow on their shoes to melt. Someone had been in this room tonight while Mariah slept, and the prints didn’t belong to him.

“What woke you up?” He slid the screen closed and sat down on the hearth. He didn’t want to spook her. She’d go cop on him again.

“The back door was wide-open and banging against the doorjamb in the wind.”

Could the figure she’d seen outside be the person who made the tracks in the corner? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t relax until he got her safely off the mountain.

“Get some rest.” He moved into the chair next to the fireplace, to stand guard, and watched her close her beautiful blue eyes.

Whatever was going on at the Bellwether Ranch was his problem, and he didn’t want her involved.

THE SMELL OF COFFEE brewing and bacon sizzling pulled Mariah out of sleep. She opened her eyes, staring at the lamp on the nightstand, at the lit bulb that glared from under the shade. The power was back on.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the coffered ceiling. She could hear pearls of water dripping outside the bedroom window as sunlight penetrated the slats in the wooden blinds.

Idaho weather was so unpredictable—if you didn’t like it, wait five minutes and it would change.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stretched. Her body ached, every muscle had gone stiff. Probably a by-product of nearly freezing to death, she decided as she went to the closet and opened it to find her clothes hanging just where Baylor said they’d be.

She dressed quickly, strapped on her service revolver, and made the bed up in the decidedly masculine room that carried his scent.

She headed for the kitchen, taking her time as she surveyed the living room in the light of day. Heavy hand-hewn beams crossed the ceiling. The hardwood floor under her feet was made of maple, and polished to perfection. Amy had great taste, she decided as she turned toward the kitchen, her gaze locking on Baylor.

He worked over the stove, his broad shoulders covered in a pristine white T-shirt. Every little nagging ounce of desire in her body fizzed up, and she had to look away.

“Good morning,” he said as he turned around. “How do you feel?”

Pulling out a stool at the bar, she slid onto it and fixed a smile on her face. “Great.”

He turned to a cupboard next to the sink, pulled down a large red coffee mug and filled it from the coffeemaker. “This should help.”

A grin pulled his lips apart, showing even, white teeth. Her heart did a somersault. He set the cup in front of her. “Do you take anything in it?”

“Black’s fine.” Picking up the cup, she took a swallow, wondering if he’d been as attentive toward Amy. There it was again, that curiosity about something she didn’t need to know. Something that had no bearing on her investigation into James Endicott’s disappearance.

Baylor could feel her eyes on his back like a tick on a horse, but at least she’d left her gun holstered this morning instead of pointed at him.

“I called a tow truck for your car. He’ll be here within the hour.” He said all this over his shoulder as he loaded her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and a slice of wheat toast.

“I’m going to take you up to the hospital. Make sure you’re all right.”

“That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t doubt it. His jaw still hurt. He slid the plate in front of her and took his first long look at her in broad daylight.

Her tousled blond hair was loose, and fell to her shoulders in soft curls that made his hands ache to touch them. She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short. And those eyes, the ones flashing him a back-off warning as sure as he was standing there, well, he liked those, too. The color of a cloudless noonday sky.

“My rules. You got hurt on my property, I’ve got an obligation to make sure you check out.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she shut it, picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

He turned around, satisfied that she’d be safe for the next two hours. He couldn’t risk having her wandering around on his mountain alone. This morning he’d found a set of footprints in the melting snow next to the timberline, right where the good detective said she saw someone last night.

Whatever was going on didn’t involve her, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

Detective Mariah Ellis was better off back where she belonged. Far away from the Bellwether Ranch.

MARIAH SLID INTO THE cab of Baylor’s black Chevy pickup and buckled up. What was left of last night’s snowstorm lay in melting drifts, and the sun was warm against her face.

He fired up the truck and backed out of the driveway.

She tried to relax, but it was impossible. She’d yet to accomplish what she’d set out to do. Interrogate Baylor McCullough.

“I’d like you to come into the station for an interview. I need to know where you were on April the fifth.” She glanced at the muddy road in front of them, before slipping him a glance.

His jaw was set; he stared straight ahead. She knew defiance when she saw it.

“If you had nothing to do with Endicott’s disappearance, you’re in the clear.” The word but hung up on her tongue. She was so sure he was somehow involved when she’d come tearing up the mountain yesterday afternoon. Now she wasn’t as convinced, but she still had a job to do.

“A polygraph could clear you.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You’re going to need a lot more than a hunch, Detective.”

A chill launched over her skin and landed in her gut. He was right. She was reaching. But a reach was all she had to go on at the moment. He was her only lead.

“If that’s the way you want to play it for the time being, but it’s the surest way to clear yourself.”

Baylor didn’t doubt it. It was the principle of the whole damn thing. His past was playing into it, he was sure. In the eyes of the law he’d always be suspect.

He rounded the bend in the road and spotted the tow truck along with another pickup parked in the opposite direction. He slowed and pulled in behind it.

The tow-truck driver raised his hand and waved. The man standing next to him did the same and Baylor recognized his neighbor Harley Neville who lived a mile up the road.

“You can stay in the truck and keep warm if you like.” He pulled the handle and the door swung open. He somehow doubted she’d take that option. Mariah Ellis likely lived on curiosity and adrenaline. Both went with her line of work.

“I’d like to have a look.” She climbed out of the truck and moved up next to him as he covered ground in long, even strides.

Her late model Ford Taurus was augered deep in the ditch. The rear end sticking up in the air, the undercarriage high-centered on the berm of earth, the nose rammed into the embankment.

“Bang-up job.” A whistle hissed from between his lips, drawing a glare from her that could have cut diamonds.

He stared down the road, taking note of the exact spot where she’d gotten sideways, where she’d made the mistake of hitting her brakes, and where she’d ended up. Lucky she hadn’t been seriously hurt, or he wouldn’t have found her in time to save her life.

“This your car?” the tow-truck driver asked, shifting his green Bernie’s Garage hat off then back on, before settling it low on his forehead.

“Yeah. It’s mine. You can send the bill to the county sheriff’s department.”

“Will do.” He moved to his wrecker and unhooked the wench cable.

“Harley, how are you?” Baylor asked, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Not too shabby. The little lady was lucky this happened here and not a few miles back.”

Baylor glanced over at Mariah, who shaded her eyes against the sun beating down on them, making it almost impossible to believe only last night the area had been covered in six inches of fresh snow.

Harley was right. Less than two miles west where the river ran straight and the road turned south, there would have been nothing to keep the car from plunging over the edge into the river below.

He sobered and shook off the blanket of dread that suddenly covered him, making his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry.

“Looks like Bernie has this. Let’s head for Grangeville.”

Mariah nodded and turned toward the truck. He exchanged a nod with Harley and followed her back to the rig, enjoying the sway of her hips in her dark blue slacks. If he had to have a cop on his doorstep and in his bed, he wanted her.

They got into the pickup and pulled out around Harley’s shiny new rig. It must have cost him a small fortune, Baylor decided as he eased past the tow truck and picked up speed.

“How long have you been on the ranch?” she asked, casting a glance his way before leaning forward in the seat to study the landscape flitting past on the right.

“I took over the Bellwether from my folks in 1998. My dad’s health wasn’t so good and he couldn’t take the winters up here anymore. Now they have a place in Arizona.”

“There’s something to be said for staying warm.”

“What about your parents?” He braked and made the wide sweeping turn that put them parallel to the river a hundred feet below.

“Divorced. My dad lives in Grangeville, my mom in Lewiston.”

Damn. Why hadn’t he made the connection sooner? A thread of apprehension laced through him, knotting his muscles. “Ted Ellis is your dad?”

“That’s right.”

The knots didn’t loosen, and the knowledge put him on alert. Her father was the chief of police. He’d worked damn hard to follow the law, not engage it in spades. Now there were two Ellises who had it in for him.

Thump!

The truck jerked hard to the right and veered close to the edge of the riverbank.

A shriek escaped from between Mariah’s lips.

“Hang on!” Baylor pulled left on the steering wheel.

Thump! The truck jerked again, sending them into the opposite lane.

Baylor pulled it back and pushed down hard on the brakes. The pickup ground to a stop in the middle of the muddy road.

Mariah’s hand was on the door handle and she was out of the truck before he could assure her they were fine, but he doubted she’d have much to do with the notion, considering all the color had drained from her face.

He hopped out and came around the front of the rig to stare at the problem.

One lug nut was the lone survivor holding on to the right front tire.

Caution worked his nerves, and he touched Mariah’s back, feeling the tension in her body.

“Someone wanted you to have an accident. Someone did this on purpose. Those don’t just fall off.”

She had a point, but he didn’t want to tell her this was the second time in the past month his pickup had been sabotaged. He moved for the rear of the truck to get his toolbox and a lug wrench.

He’d get her off his mountain and safely back to town even if he had to carry her there himself.

DR. JEROME MUNSEY shined a narrow beam of light into her right eye, then her left, before he stepped back to the counter, laid the scope down and prepared a dressing to cover the scrape on her right temple.

“You’ve got a mild concussion, Mariah, but no permanent damage. You should be fine.” He moved in next to where she sat on the end of the examining table and put the dressing on her wound.

“Baylor got to you before there was any damage to the soft tissues of your appendages. You were lucky.” He stepped back and put his hands in the pockets of his blue lab coat. “Call me if you experience any dizziness, or nausea. Numbness or tingling in your hands and feet.”

“Okay.” She slipped her socks back on, head down as she tried to cover the mix of horror and embarrassment that pulsed in every cell of her body. The trip to the E.R. had confirmed her suspicions. Baylor had, in fact, rewarmed her with skin-on-skin contact. That hazy image was no dream. It was a reality that would be forever burned into her brain. Just the thought sent her imagination off on a tangent. What was worse was the way it made her feel, all hot and bothered.

She slid Baylor a quick glance. “I’m sure it was tough for him to handle, but it worked. Here I am, good as new.” She hopped off the examining table and shoved her feet into her shoes. The sooner she got home the better. She wasn’t sure she could handle another minute with him, now that she knew the full extent of what had transpired between them.

He was a suspect in a missing persons case; she had to focus on that, rather than the heat of the sexual tension that jumped between them like an unchecked forest fire.

Smiling at Dr. Munsey, she thanked him and left the E.R., headed for the exit.

“Take it easy, Detective.” The sorry-about-that note in Baylor’s voice pulled her up short.

“You should have told me!” She felt her cheeks flame, hot and telltale. “I know you did what you had to, but it’s so…”

“Intimate?”

“Yes!” And unprofessional, she thought as she pushed through the main entrance door of the hospital and out onto the sidewalk, aiming for Baylor’s pickup parked at the curb, while she tried to pull herself together.

Baylor stared at Mariah’s backside. “Look.” He reached for her shoulder and stopped her before she could get into the truck.

She turned on him, her anger visible in the rigid set of her jaw. Her blue eyes all but sparked.

“Would it help if I told you it was clinical? I was more interested in saving your life than exploring your body.” He wrestled with a rush of desire that closed his throat.

She gave him a wary stare as he reached for the door handle and opened it for her. “Let’s get you home.”

He closed the door behind her, went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. “Where to?”

“I live at 405 Cottonwood. It’s off Sycamore on the west side of town.”

“I know the street.” He fired the engine and pulled out onto Main, searching for the right words. Why was she so upset? He wasn’t sorry for saving her life; hell, he’d probably done himself a favor, but there had to be more to it. He’d never take advantage of a woman, especially one who was borderline comatose and not in control of her faculties.

Realization slammed into his brain. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Mariah Ellis had a boyfriend? Explaining what had happened to her and how he’d saved her was going to complicate her life.

“No one besides Doc Munsey and you and I have to know what happened. I’m willing to let it go unsaid if it’ll keep the peace between you and your…boyfriend.” He flipped on his blinker and turned right onto Sycamore Street.

“Thanks for that,” she whispered. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Mariah nibbled at her lower lip and stared out at the familiar street. It seemed like an eon since she’d last driven down it. So when in that short span of time had she left her straight-talking style twisting in the wind? She should just tell him she didn’t have a boyfriend. There was no one in her life; her job had taken care of that.

“There. The yellow house on the left.” She pointed it out and tried to relax. Cop. She was a cop, she needed to start acting like one, even if she didn’t feel the vibe and hadn’t for a long time. She still had a major case to solve. Baylor rolled to a stop in front of the yellow house, with a white picket fence and massive pots brimming with pink flowers on either side of the front steps.

He couldn’t shake the disappointment of knowing she had someone in her life. Hell, he was happy for her. She was a beautiful woman. He gritted his teeth and climbed out of the pickup, meeting her on the sidewalk before opening the gate and following her up the walk.

She stopped, fished in her pocket and pulled out a house key. “Come in for a drink before you head back.”

His first response was to pass, but he didn’t; instead, he followed her inside and watched as she shuffled into the kitchen. “Is sun tea okay?”

“Yeah.” Baylor gazed around the living room. The place was neat and appointed with cushy furniture. Her scent tinged the air, a mix of sweet and spicy. His gaze held on a piece of landscape artwork on the wall behind her beige sofa. Moving closer, he focused on the artist’s signature in the bottom right corner. Mariah Ellis.

“This is your work,” he said as she came into the living room with a glass of iced tea in each hand.

“Recognize the setting?” She smiled and he realized how relaxed she looked for the first time since he’d met her.

“The Seven Devils Mountain Range…from the Pappoose Creek side.”

“Very good.” She handed him the cold glass. “Do you want to see more?”

There was a note of excitement in her voice. Her eyes took on a sparkle he hadn’t noticed before. This was Mariah Ellis’s passion. This was what made her tick. Her art.

Moving down the hall, she showed him paintings of Mirror Lake, the Salmon River Canyon and a moose standing knee-deep in a pond at dawn feeding on moss.

“You should open a gallery. Your work is very good.”

She warmed under his praise and his breath caught in his lungs. There was something innocent about her, something as unspoiled as her art, and he wanted to kiss her in the worst way, but he reined in the urge. He’d probably get the other side of his jaw popped. Didn’t she already think he’d stepped over the line when he rewarmed her? How would she explain a kiss to her boyfriend? Frozen lips?

He took a deep gulp from his glass and turned toward the living room and escape. He’d fulfilled his obligation. She was home safe.

“Thanks for the drink.” He handed the glass to her at the door and glanced down at an open book lying on a small table.

His heart jumped in his chest. He reached out and picked up the high-school yearbook.

Staring up at him from the page was a picture of Mariah and Amy. Arms locked, leaning against a set of lockers. The caption read, “Friends Forever.”

His gut squeezed. He looked at Mariah. “You knew my wife, Amy?”

“We were best friends our sophomore year of high school.”

A wave of caution raced through him, leaving him cold inside where he’d been warm only moments ago.

This was personal. Her suspicions about his involvement in Endicott’s disappearance were fueled by her certainty about his guilt in Amy’s death. There would never be an end to it. He’d done everything he could to save her life that night, short of drowning himself.

He closed the book and put it down. “I’ve got a long drive back to the ranch.” He turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

“Baylor.”

He paused without turning around.

“For what it’s worth, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He didn’t look back, just stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

He’d see her again. He knew it. Come Monday morning she’d have her cop face on, and he’d have to prove himself all over again.