Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes Page 3

  Abby sighed, knowing he wasn't going to like her answer. "After I left

  the diner, I was so angry---too angry to go home. So I drove for a

  while. I finally ended up at Walker's pond: I must have fallen asleep,

  because before I knew it, it was about a quarter to three and I drove

  home."

  Junior winced. "Walker's pond, huh. I don't suppose you saw anyone,

  spoke to anybody who can corroborate your 'whereabouts?"

  "Walker's pond isn't exactly Main Street

  ," she replied dryly. The pond

  was part of the Walker place whose land abutted the Connor ranch. The

  Walker house had burned down three years before and the Walker family

  had moved away. "There was nobody else around while I was there."

  "What about on the way? Did you pass anyone who might remember your

  truck heading in that direction?"

  Abby felt as if she'd been plunged into a nightmare. Greg's death felt

  unreal and she knew it would take time for the actuality to sink in.

  She robbed her forehead, concentrating on Junior's question. "No. I

  don't remember passing anyone or anyone passing me." She looked at the

  man who'd been like a father to her since her parents' death. "Junior,

  am I going to be arrested?"

  "Abby girl, I can't answer that. There just isn't enough information

  yet. But I'm not going to lie to you. It doesn't look good." He

  stood and walked toward the back door. "Did Greg have any family? We

  don't know who to notify as next of kin."

  Abby frowned thoughtfully. "I know his parents died when he was a

  teenager. Other than mentioning that, Greg rarely spoke about any

  family. He always talked like he was a drifter, with no ties

  anywhere."

  Junior nodded. "I'll be in touch." He started out the door, then

  turned back to her. "I know you've heard it in the movies before, but

  I'd advise you not to leave town right now." With those ominous words,

  he left.

  Abby remained at the table, her mind whirling in a fog of disbelief.

  Greg was dead, and from what Junior had implied, she was the number one

  suspect.

  "Good mornin'." Belinda came into the kitchen, still looking half

  asleep. Her dark blond hair was captured in an untidy braid at the

  back of her neck and her eyes held the glaze of lingering sleep.

  "No, it's not a good morning," Abby replied. "Greg was murdered last

  night."

  Belinda gasped, her eyes losing the remnants of any sleepiness.

  "What?"

  "He was hit over the head with one of our branding irons. Junior just

  left a few minutes ago." Abby realized she didn't even know where the

  murder had taken place. She'd been too shocked, both by the murder and

  by Junior's suspicions, to ask any pertinent questions. "I don't know

  much more, other than he's dead and I'm the prime suspect."

  "Oh, Abby." Belinda sank into the chair opposite her older sister. She

  took Abby's hands in hers. "I'm so sorry for you. Even though you and

  Greg were divorced, this loss must hurt."

  Abby looked at her in surprise. Loss? She was sorry Greg was dead,

  horrified that somebody had taken his life, but as she searched her

  heart, she felt no loss. "I lost Greg years ago. I grieved for him

  when he left us. I feel guilty now because I've got no grief left."

  Belinda nodded, apparently remembering the grieving process Abby had

  gone through when Greg had walked out on her years before. "Why would

  you be considered a leading suspect? How can Junior even think such a

  thing? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

  "Not so ridiculous," Abby returned. She quickly told her sister about

  meeting Greg in the diner and the threats she'd shouted as she'd

  slammed out into the night. "How was I to know hours later somebody

  would kill him and my stupid threats would come back to haunt me?"

  Belinda released Abby's hands and smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure it

  will all be fine. Surely nobody in their right mind could really

  believe you killed Greg." She stood and poured herself a cup of

  coffee,

  then sat once again. "Maybe Colette and Hank should cancel their plans

  to leave town this weekend."

  "No. I don't want them to do that. They've had their trip to Las

  Vegas planned for the last month." Abby thought of her youngest sister

  and her husband. They'd gotten married a month before, but hadn't had

  a chance for a honeymoon. "They've already got their plane tickets and

  hotel reservations, and the baby is finally over her ear infection."

  "You know they wouldn't mind postponing their trip."

  "I know. But there's nothing they can do for Greg or for me by staying

  here. It's better they go."

  A knock fell on the back door and both women jumped. "What now?" Abby

  murmured, then relaxed slightly as Rusty Maxwell, the ranch foreman,

  stepped inside.

  "Miss Abby, I saw Junior before he left, he told me about Mr. Foxwood's

  death." The old man worried the rim of his dusty brown hat between his

  work-worn fingers. "I'm sorry about your loss and I hate to bother

  you, but I need a check. I've got the supplies coming for that new

  fence in the south pasture."

  "I'm going to the barn," Belinda said as she placed her cup in the

  sink. With a wave of one hand, she disappeared out the door.

  Abby turned to her foreman and frowned. "New fence?"

  Rusty nodded. "We talked about it last week." Abby rubbed her

  forehead, her thoughts scattered like windblown seeds. "I thought we

  just bought fencing supplies."

  "We did, for the north pasture." Rusty rubbed his gray whisker-stub

  bled chin thoughtfully. "If it's a problem, I suppose we can mend it

  one more time, but sooner or later we're going to have to buy new."

  "No. We might as well do it right now. I'll be back." Abby left the

  kitchen and went down the hallway to the ranch office.

  As always, when she entered the small room, a vision of her father

  bloomed in her head. Before his death, he'd spent long hours-in this

  room, smoking his pipe, dreaming about being a prosperous rancher.

  Unfortunately, he'd been better at dreaming of making money than

  actually accomplishing it.

  When the elder Connors had died in a car accident, they'd left behind

  their three daughters and a ranch teetering on the edge of financial

  ruin. The sisters' attempt to save the ranch by renovating several

  buildings and turning it into a kind of dude ranch had so far been

  unsuccessful. The guests were few and far between and finances hadn't

  improved.

  Abby walked over to the desk and pulled out the checkbook. She tore

  out a check then lingered for just a moment by the rich walnut desk.

  The room still retained the faint scent of cherry tobacco and the

  'dreams of a man who'd loved the ranch and had instilled that fierce

  love in his eldest daughter.

  With a sigh of despair, she left the room and hurried back to the

  kitchen where Rusty waited. "I met our newest ranch hand yesterday,"

  she said as she handed him the check.

  "Luke? Yeah, he showed up yesterday morning looking for work. Since

  Hank is le
aving this weekend,

  we need the extra hands. I don't know how long he'll stick around, but

  we can use him as long as he's here. "

  Abby remembered the shiny boots the man had worn. Odd. "What do you

  know about him?"

  Rusty flashed her a smile. "You know me, Miss Abby, all I care about

  is that the men are good workers. Don't care much about their past or

  future as long as their shoulders are broad and their arms strong."

  Luke Black's shoulders had definitely been broad. She shoved aside

  thoughts of the disturbing, attractive man and focused on the

  gray-haired cowboy in front of her.

  "Rusty, things might get a little difficult around here for a while.

  I'll be honest with you, I don't know how Greg's death will affect

  everything. Right now what evidence Junior has gathered points to me

  having had something to do with the murder."

  Her throat tightened with the words. "If I'm charged, I'm going to be

  depending on you to see that things run smoothly here while I go

  through a trial." The very thought was almost overwhelming.

  Rusty reached out and patted her shoulder. "Don't you worry none, Miss

  Abby. I've been working this ranch for the last fifteen years, I ain't

  about to let things go."

  Abby wrapped her arms around herself, fighting a chill. "The vultures

  are circling. You've probably heard I've had two offers on the ranch

  in the last couple of weeks."

  Rusty nodded. "I heard. A man don't burp that folks around here don't

  talk about it."

  "Both Henry Carsworth and Deputy Helstrom have made me offers."

  "Carsworth is a city slicker who doesn't know the front end of a horse

  from the back," Rusty snorted.

  "Needless to say, I turned both offers down." Again Abby fought off a

  shiver. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what the next couple

  of weeks bring."

  Rusty held up the check. "Guess I'd better get back to work."

  She nodded, her thoughts jumping from one subject to another. The

  morning already seemed overwhelming and she fought the impulse to jump

  back into bed and pull the blankets over her head.

  "Mornin', Mom. What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

  Dread rolled around in her stomach as Abby turned and faced her son.

  His pale blond hair spiked out like sprouting wheat and when he smiled,

  his lips parted to expose a missing front tooth. Clad in a pair of

  pajamas decorated with horses and spurs, his face radiated sleepy

  innocence.

  Abby's heart fell deeper into her chest as she realized the difficulty

  of her morning wasn't over yet. She hadn't even fully absorbed the

  emotional shock of Greg's death herself and she now had to face the

  discomfiting task of telling her son his father had been killed. "Sit

  down, honey. I've got something I have to tell you."

  THE EARLY MORNING sun splashed warmth on Abby's back as she made her

  way to the stable. There was a slight breeze, reminiscent of the

  lingering of spring in the air, and the scent of hay, sweet grass and

  wildflowers embraced her. A perfect morning for a ride on

  Blackheart.

  It wasn't often Cody slept in and Mafia offered to keep the boy inside

  while Abby enjoyed an early morning fide. Abby intended to take

  advantage of the time alone and ride out to where the workers were

  putting in the new fence.

  The horse greeted her before she saw him, nickering pleasure as Abby

  entered the stable. Abby smiled as she approached the last stall,

  where the black quarter horse, already saddled, awaited her.

  Blackheart had been a gift from a neighbor and had earned his name

  while Abby's brother-in-law, Hank, had trained him. Many mornings Abby

  was pulled from her work by Hank's shouts as the horse threw him again

  and again. "You black-hearted creature," Hank would exclaim as he

  dusted off his backside.

  "Come on, sweetie," Abby said as she led the magnificent beast from the

  stall. As they walked outside, Blackheart danced with high spirits, as

  if anticipating a run.

  With the ease of habit, Abby swung herself up and onto Blackheart's

  back. Grasping the reins, she set off at a pleasant gait.

  It had been three days since Greg's murder. Nobody from the sheriffs

  department had been out to question her again. In an ironic twist, as

  Greg's only known kin, Abby had made the arrangements for the funeral

  that would take place tomorrow. Greg would be buried in the Connor

  family plot with Abby's parents.

  She shoved thoughts of funerals and death aside, needing this moment to

  just breathe in the sweet, scented air, revel in the beauty of the

  morning. Time enough for reality later.

  She gave Blackheart his head, allowing him to pick up speed as they

  raced across the fields toward the south. Abby's body automatically

  adjusted to the rhythm of the run molding to the horse as if they were

  one entity.

  The wind tippled through her hair and stung her cheeks, but she didn't

  rein in. Instead she reveled in the wildness of the run. It was

  impossible to focus on any problems with the power and speed of

  Blackheart beneath her.

  Connor land flashed by her, filling her heart with both pride and

  despair. She couldn't lose the ranch. She just couldn't. Somehow,

  she'd find a way to hang on.

  It wasn't until she saw the ranch hands in the distance by the fence

  line that she reined in and slowed the horse to a walk.

  One particular cowboy caught and held her attention. Luke Black. She

  hadn't seen him since that first meeting on the evening of Greg's

  murder. Again she felt a shock of pleasure race through her at his

  physical attractiveness.

  His bare chest gleamed with a coating of perspiration, delineating each

  muscle mass as he swung a sledgehammer up over his head, then brought

  it down on a post. Each blow drove the post deeper and deeper into the

  ground.

  Dark hair formed a valentine design on his chest, the tail of the heart

  elongated, creeping down his stomach and disappearing into the jeans

  that rode low on his hips.

  A coil of heat unfurled in Abby's stomach and swept through her with

  provocative intensity. Something about Luke Black affected her in a

  visceral way.

  He paused in his labor, as if he felt her gaze, and turned toward her.

  The rim of his dusty hat hid his eyes from her view. He released his

  hold on the sledgehammer and allowed it to fall to the ground with a

  thud. "Morning, Abby."

  Her name on his lips had a smooth familiarity that instantly put her

  back up. "Luke." She nodded curtly.

  He swept his hat off his head, exposing his rich dark hair to the gleam

  of the sun. He pulled a bandanna from his jeans pocket and wiped it

  across his forehead. "Nice horse," he observed.

  "Thanks. He's my favorite." She leaned over and patted the horse's

  neck. "His name is Blackheart."

  Something in Luke's eyes flickered, an inner amusement along with a

  tightening of his jaw. "Nice piece of flesh," he added, his gaze not

  on the horse but rather skimming the thin fabric o
f her blouse.

  Abby felt a flame of heat sweep up her neck and suffuse her face. Damn

  the man, he seemed to have the ability to make her feel quite naked.

  She felt like Lady Godiva without her curtain of hair.

  She dismounted the horse and surveyed the broken fence line and the

  ranch hands still working. "What do you think, another day or two and

  it will be finished?"

  He nodded. "We should be able to get it finished by tomorrow night."

  He moved the bandanna down his neck, blotting at the hollow of his

  throat where a pulse pounded visibly. "Heard about your husband's

  death."

  "Ex-husband."

  "Whatever." His eyes glittered darkly. "I must say, you seem to be

  taking it all very well. Mourning becomes you."

  Abby stiffened, recognizing a vague censure in his tone. "I don't

  think you know me well enough to understand how I'm handling

  anything."

  "Then have dinner with me tonight and let me get to know you better."

  Abby stared at him, shocked. Her stomach fluttered as she thought of

  spending any length of time alone with Luke and his dark eyes and

  suggestive smile. She caressed Blackheart's muzzle, trying to ignore

  the butterflies inside her. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I have a

  rule and never get personally involved with the men who work for me."

  He wiped the bandanna across the width of his muscled chest. Abby