Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes Read online

  watched the action, wondering if the hair there was soft like fur or

  coarse and springy. "Then I quit. Now, have dinner with me."

  Abby stared at him and a small laugh bubbled out of her. "You can't

  quit," she protested. "Rusty needs you. The ranch needs you."

  "Then break your rule." Although he said the words lightly, there was

  an undertone of command that caused Abby to stiffen in defense.

  "I don't break rules."

  He smiled, a small lifting of the corners of his mouth that did nothing

  to dispel the intensity of his gaze. "That's not what I heard,"

  "Oh, really? And what have you heard?"

  He took a few more steps toward her, bringing with him' the scent of

  dust, sweat and an underlying tinge of minty soap. It was a

  distinctively male smell that called to the core of femininity inside

  her. She took a step backward, bumping into Blackheart's solid side.

  "I heard from all the folks in town that when you tire of a man in your

  life, you just hit him over the head with a branding iron."

  Anger surged inside Abby. So, the locals were feeding off this latest

  tragedy and apparently she was the grist for their rumor mill. She

  eyed Luke with an eyebrow raised. "If you believe that, then I would

  think the last woman you'd want to have dinner with would be me. What

  if I suddenly tire of you?"

  His eyes flashed and his grin widened. "I'll take my chances. Besides,

  I like my women dangerous."

  Abby mounted Blackheart, her heart pounding in a foreign rhythm. "If

  you want to see a dangerous woman, don't give me a good day's work for

  your pay. That makes me dangerous. Good day, Luke." She turned

  Blackheart and took off in the direction she'd come.

  LUKE WATCHED HER RIDE, unable to help but admire the picture she made

  on the back of the horse. Her pale blond hair was in sharp contrast to

  the ebony darkness of the animal. She looked tiny on Black-heart's

  back, yet completely in control. Blackheart. Ironic that her horse

  was named the very nickname he'd given her.

  "She's a looker, isn't she?"

  Luke turned to see Roger Eaton grinning at him. The thin, wiry man

  leaned on the handle of his shovel, his fair hair shimmering in the

  sunlight. "You don't stand a chance with her. She's got the coldest

  heart in the state of Wyoming."

  "So I've heard," Luke answered, his gaze going back to where nothing

  remained of her presence but dust devils stirred by Blackheart's

  hooves. His eyes narrowed as he thought of the blue of her eyes, the

  soft curve of her breast against her cotton blouse. The fact that she

  was attractive only made his mission more pleasant.

  "You should have seen her a couple of months ago, when Colette got

  herself into some trouble. Abby Was like a tigress, all teeth and

  claws."

  Colette. Luke knew she was the youngest, the one who'd recently gotten

  married. "What kind of trouble was Colette in?"

  Roger wiped an arm across his forehead. "I don't know the whole story.

  All I know for sure is she showed up here on the ranch ready to give

  birth and without a memory in her head. Seems she was a government

  witness against some powerful lawyer back in California. It all worked

  out all right and she married the man who was supposed to be protecting

  her. Anyway, all I know is that Abby loves three things... her two

  sisters and that kid of hers. Beyond that, the woman has stone where a

  heart should be."

  Luke flashed the young cowboy a quick grin. "I always did like a

  challenge."

  Roger snorted. "I'm just offering some friendly advice. Don't waste

  your time."

  "I figure all I've got to lose is time." Luke tucked his bandanna into

  his jeans pocket, then picked up his sledgehammer, indicating as far as

  he was concerned the conversation was over.

  What Roger Eaton didn't know---couldn't know--was that Abby Connor was

  his whole reason for being here. He intended to get to know her,

  wanted to learn her strengths and weaknesses, her hopes and dreams.

  Then, systematically, he intended to use that knowledge to destroy

  her.

  Chapter Three

  The day was far too beautiful for a funeral. It was as if nature

  itself mocked the very gravity of the ceremony taking place. Birds

  called cheerfully and the horses danced and neighed spiritedly in the

  distant corral.

  Weddings and funerals always commanded a crowd and today was no

  different. Abby guessed between forty and fifty people stood beneath

  the grove of trees that sheltered the Connor family cemetery.

  Abby suspected most people had come less to pay their respects for

  Greg's passing and more to assuage their curiosity about her . the

  suspect in Greg's murder case.

  Although murder might happen occasionally in the city of Cheyenne, it

  was rare on the ranches surrounding Cheyenne.

  "You all right?" Colette whispered next to her as Preacher Thompson

  droned on and on. Colette's hand clasped around Abby's arm, supportive

  and loving.

  Abby nodded, wishing she could squeeze out a few tears to satisfy

  everyone. She had a feeling most of the attendees were holding their

  breath, hoping she'd throw herself onto the casket and sob out her

  guilt.

  But her eyes remained dry, although her heart entertained a small ache

  for what might have been had Greg been a different kind of man.

  When she'd met him she'd dreamed of what their lives would be like

  together. They had been sweet, midnight dreams of love and laughter.

  She placed a hand on Cody's shoulder. He looked up at her, flashing

  her a small smile. Greg's death was no more than a stranger's passing

  to the little boy. He'd been so young when Greg had left; he couldn't

  grieve for a man he'd never known.

  Wishing this were finished, dreading the gathering at the house that

  would immediately follow, Abby looked around the group of people.

  Junior Blanchard and Deputy Helstrom stood off to one side, eyeing each

  and every person as if seeking answers to unspoken questions.

  Several of the ranch hands looked ill at ease, their hats in their

  hands. Abby knew they'd much rather be out working, but she'd called

  off all work at the ranch for the day.

  Her gaze locked with Luke's. His eyes held a stark, naked emotion that

  for a moment threatened to buckle Abby's knees. Grief. Deep and dark,

  it flowed from him for just a moment, then was replaced by a knowing

  smile, making her wonder if she'd seen grief at all.

  A shiver raked up her spine as she tried to figure out exactly what

  she'd seen. Why would Luke Black feel anything about Greg's death? Or

  had she only imagined that stark moment of grief?

  She broke the gaze and instead focused on Preacher Thompson, who with

  thunder and damnation reverberating in his voice, seemed to be winding

  down.

  With the official ceremony over, the crowd of people began to disperse,

  although Abby knew over the next several hours most of them would make

  their way to the main house.

  As a unit, the Connors walked the distance back to the
house. "Abby,

  Colette and I don't have to take off tomorrow," Hank said as he shifted

  Brook, his daughter, from one arm to the other.

  "I don't want to hear another word about it," Abby said firmly. "You

  and Colette and the baby are getting on that plane tomorrow." She

  smiled at her brother-in-law. "Really, Hank, I insist. There's

  absolutely nothing you can do here. In fact, if I know you and Colette

  are having a good time, it will make things easier for me."

  "And it's not like she'll be here all alone," Belinda added. "I'll be

  here with her."

  "And me," Cody quipped, not wanting to be left out.

  "Besides," Abby continued. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time before

  Junior and Deputy Helstrom find the person who killed Greg." She hoped

  her voice rang with more optimism than she felt.

  At the house, Maria had prepared for the onslaught of people, a sturdy

  twenty-cup coffeemaker perked in the kitchen and pitchers of ice tea

  had been made. Throwaway cups and napkins lined the kitchen table

  along with several platters of cookies. Abby knew most of the people

  coming would bring food, as if hot casseroles and baked hams could be a

  panacea for sorrow.

  Abby went to her room to change into cooler, more comfortable clothes

  and instructed Cody to get out of his little suit and into jeans. She

  knew better than to expect Cody to keep his suit clean for an entire

  afternoon.

  By the time she returned to the living room, people had begun to

  arrive.

  As with most social gatherings, it didn't take long for the men and

  women to find different areas of comfort. The women bustled in the

  kitchen, helping Maria cope with the steady influx of food, and the men

  rambled out to sit on the porch or lean against the front fence.

  Abby drifted back and forth, accepting condolences and trying to ignore

  the frank stares and whispers that followed in her wake.

  "Heard she said she'd kill him..."

  "She's always been a cold one..."

  "Such a flirt, it's no wonder she killed him..." The whispers followed

  her like shadows, snippets of conversations she knew dwelled on

  everything from speculation on her love life with Greg, to how she

  might have gotten into his rented room to kill him.

  "Abby." Sheila swept her into a friendly embrace. "How you doing,

  hon?" She pulled Abby out of the living room and into the quiet of the

  hallway. "I can't believe you got stuck paying for Greg's funeral

  expenses after all that man didn't do for you."

  Abby smiled. "It seems even in death, Greg is still sucking money from

  me. But I couldn't just let him be unclaimed, buried in some county

  plot. As Cody's father, I owe him this much."

  Sheila frowned. "Abby, I'm sorry about having to tell Dad about the

  fight you and Greg had in the diner on the night he was killed. I hope

  ...I hope you aren't mad at me."

  Abby gripped her. friend hand. "Don't be silly. If you hadn't told

  your father, somebody else who was in the diner that night would have.

  Besides, I just had a fight with Greg. I didn't kill him."

  Sheila nodded. "I know that, and so does Dad. But I think he's going

  to hand over the investigation of the case to Richard."

  "Deputy Helstrom? But why would Junior do that?"

  "Dad says he's too close to you. That if he's in charge, people might

  say he's letting his personal feelings for you get in the way of his

  job."

  Abby raked a hand through her hair, unhappy at this turn of events.

  "I'd say Richard Helstrom might be accused of the same thing."

  Sheila frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Abby shrugged. "Deputy Helstrom made me an offer on the ranch a couple

  weeks ago. What better way to tip the scales in favor of me selling to

  him than by putting me behind bars where I can't hold on to the

  ranch."

  "Richard would never do a thing like that," Sheila protested. Abby

  looked at her, surprised at the vehemence in her defense of the lawman.

  Sheila blushed prettily. "In the last couple of months since Richard

  moved to town, we've been seeing each other quite a bit. I know you

  aren't happy that he wants to buy your ranch, but he really is a nice

  man."

  Abby smiled. "I'm sure you're right. I'd just feel better if Junior

  remained in charge of finding out who killed Greg." At least she knew

  Junior would have her best interests at heart. She wasn't so sure

  about Deputy Richard Helstrom.

  "Don't worry, everything is going to be fine," Sheila assured her.

  "Richard is a good man and he'll work every bit as hard as Dad to find

  the real killer."

  Abby nodded. "I'd better get back to the rest of the guests." She

  gave Sheila a hug. "Thanks, Sheila, for being a good friend."

  It was about an hour later that Abby stepped out onto the porch to get

  a breath of fresh air. She immediately spied Junior leaning against

  the corral railing. She walked over to him, noticing how the midday

  sun emphasized his years. For the first time since she could ever

  remember, he looked old and fired.

  "I heard you're relieving yourself from Greg's case," she said in

  greeting.

  He flashed her a fired smile. "If I'm to guess, you've been talking to

  Sheila. There isn't any barrier between what my daughter hears and

  what she says ... it just kind of all flows in and out

  spontaneously."

  Abby smiled at the apt characterization of Sheila. "She's a good

  friend."

  He nodded. "And I have a feeling you're going to need some good

  friends now."

  "That bad?" Abby's heart quickened with dread. "Not good." Junior

  heaved a deep sigh. "We've got a dead man, witnesses to your threats,

  and a murder weapon that could only have come from your barn."

  "Lots of people have access to the branding irons," Abby protested.

  "That's true, but lots of people didn't have a motive for wanting Greg

  dead. Motive, Abby, that's what seems to be lacking with everyone but

  you. Hell, half the people on this ranch didn't even know Greg. He

  hadn't been in town long enough to make anyone mad enough to kill

  him."

  "Don't underestimate Greg's charm. In a matter of minutes he could

  make a saint angry," Abby replied dryly.

  "You don't have to tell me about Greg Foxwood's character. I was here

  when he left you, I remember how he broke your heart."

  "But that was years ago and the punishment for breaking a woman's heart

  isn't death."

  "But Greg did threaten to take Cody away from you, didn't he?" Junior

  eyed her sharply.

  "Yes, but do you really think I'd telegraph my intentions by yelling

  them to a bunch of people in a diner, then go out and follow through on

  my threats?"

  "It doesn't matter what I think, and most officials will tell you these

  kinds of crimes aren't always committed with forethought. I just know

  that's the motive that a prosecutor will use. He'll say you two argued

  in the diner and you went to Greg's room to finish the argument, Things

  got out of control and you smashed him in the head."

&n
bsp; "But that's not what happened. Somebody else met Greg in his motel

  room and somebody else hit him with a poker from this ranch."

  "It doesn't help that you've got no alibi that can be corroborated."

  "I've got the truth," Abby replied.

  Junior looked at her sadly. "I'm not sure in this case your truth is

  going to be enough."

  LUKE SAT on several bales of hay just outside the barn, his attention

  captured by Abby and the sheriff talking by the corral.

  "My daddy's dead."

  He jumped at the sound of the boyish voice and turned to see Abby's son

  standing near the end of the hay bales. "I know." He looked back at

  Abby, noting the way the sun played on the pale hue of her hair, how

  her long dress hugged her tall slenderness. The ruffled bodice and

  sleeves gave her an overall innocent appeal, but Luke wasn't fooled.

  "Are you a daddy?" Cody's voice interrupted Luke's thoughts and he

  frowned at the boy. "No. I'm not a daddy."

  Apparently not put off by the frown as Luke had hoped, the boy

  scrambled up next to him on the bale of hay. He brought with him the

  scent of boyhood, of sunshine and innocent mischief, of lemon fabric

  softener and rich black dirt. "I feel bad 'cause I don't feel bad ...

  about my daddy, I mean. Everybody keeps saying 'poor little boy' but I