

There Was A Crooked Man

Book 2 in

The By the Number series

Leeann Betts

Copyright © 2015 Donna Schlachter

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1-943688-07-9

ISBN-13: 978-1-943688-07-4

Published by: PLS Bookworks, Denver, Co

The Spiral S Ranch is caught in the 1950s, its heyday, right where it wants to be.

Carly Turnquist is caught in 2002,

where her story continues.

Most people think accountants are boring.

Carly Turnquist is about to prove them wrong.

The man of integrity walks securely,

but he who takes crooked paths

will be found out.

Prov 10:9 (NIV)

First and foremost, dedicated to the glory of God.

His are the only stories worth telling.

Thanks to my husband Patrick,

Who has a bigger vision for this book than even I do.

Thanks to my agent, Terrie Wolf,

Who is my biggest cheerleader.

Thanks to Continental Airlines Public Relations who answered countless questions about

dead people on a flight.

And to the memory of Stan Setliff,

Pastor, friend, with Jesus,

Who gave me the nugget of an idea

And lots of information

About ranching under arid conditions.

Other Books By Leeann Betts:

Counting the Days: a 31-day devotional for accountants,

Bookkeepers, and financial folk.

No Accounting for Murder (Book 1)

Available at Amazon.com (digital and print) and

Smashwords.com (digital only)

Future books include:

Unbalanced (Book 3) -- January 2016

Five and Twenty Blackbirds (Book 4) -- April 2016

Books by Donna Schlachter:

Second Chances and Second Cups; A sweet collection of stories

of second chances from a second-chance God. Available at

Amazon.com (digital and print) and Smashwords.com (digital only)

By Leann and Donna:

Nuggets of Writing Gold \-- a compilation of articles and

essays on the craft of writing. Available at Amazon.com (digital and print) and Smashwords.com (digital only)

Follow us:

Donna: www.HiStoryThruTheAges.wordpress.com

www.HiStoryThruTheAges.com

Leeann: www.AllBettsAreOff.wordpress.com

www.LeeannBetts.com

We are also active on Facebook and Twitter

Chapter 1

If not for all the turbulence in Carly Turnquist's life, she might have enjoyed the flight.

All she really wanted was to stand on solid ground again. Air travel had never been her favorite mode of transportation, and the last couple of bumps had only served to confirm her previous opinion -- flying was dangerous.

Still, there was no way she would have passed up this chance at a working vacation. Working for her husband Mike. Vacation for her. Not to mention getting to spend some quality time with her step-son—son of her heart—Tom. And, of course, getting to meet Sarah, the woman Tom said he hoped to spend the rest of his life with. Carly settled back in the high-backed jet liner seat and sighed. After two hectic weeks of preparing for this trip, she was more than ready to relax. Fingers still gripping the armrest tightly, just in case another sudden drop came, she closed her eyes, envisioning the vacation part—sleeping, eating, reading.

She opened her eyes again, and smiled at the man seated next to her. Mike's eyes were closed as he took another of his famous catnaps. Somehow, he could recharge his energy for hours with a five-minute nap. She squeezed his hand and was delighted when he returned the gesture.

He turned to face her. "Are you okay?"

Carly readjusted the small flight pillow behind her neck. "If you mean am I scared, I am."

"Nothing to be scared of, you know."

"I know. It's all in my mind." She looked out the window beside her. "Still, the ground is a long ways down."

"I guess I shouldn't have asked you to come. I know how you feel about flying."

Carly sat up abruptly, folding her arms across her chest. "Like you would have just come here without me?"

Mike chuckled as he pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Not if I valued my life, right?"

"Right." She started to pull away. "Not if you want to see your grandkids finish school."

He tightened his grip and whispered into her ear. "Lean into me, and you'll be safe."

Carly snuggled closer. She loved this man dearly, and even after ten years, still felt like they were on their honeymoon. "I'm so excited about this trip. Although. . . " She turned her face to his, touching her nose to his. "I do feel just a tad bit guilty that you'll be doing all the working, and I'll be doing all the relaxing."

"It won't be all work" Mike kissed her on the cheek. "We'll spend some time together. And you'll get to spend some time with Sarah. Get to know her better. After all, before long she may be a part of this family, too."

"I hope they set a date really soon." She paused. "But not too soon."

Mike laughed.

"I want them to have a nice wedding."

"You mean, you want to plan a nice wedding for them."

"That's what I said." Carly drew back from Mike, touching his strong jawline with an index finger. "Get another nap. You're going to need it."

A commotion arose from across the aisle. Carly peered past Mike and the man in the aisle seat to the younger woman in the window seat. The platinum blonde called for the flight attendant in a voice saturated with urgency.

Unable to get a clear view of the situation, Carly leaned forward, using the armrests to raise herself up slightly for a better view. She watched as the flight attendant hurried to the seat, bent over, and spoke in clipped tones.

Something was going on, but what?

Whatever the issue, she was trapped in the window seat, and, knowing Mike, he would say the situation was under control. After all, the attendants and crew were trained to handle such incidents, weren't they?

But what if this wasn't a little incident? What if there was a bomb on board? What if they were going to crash?

She clutched Mike's arm, her heart racing like a runaway train. When he winced, she let up a little on her grasp. "There's something going on across from us. That young woman called out to the attendant, and, look, an officer from the cockpit is coming back to see about it." She pulled Mike closer to her. "Are we going to crash?"

Mike smiled. "No, we are not going to crash. I'm sure it's something simple."

"I don't think the pilot personally deals with food complaints. Find out what's going on."

"The seatbelt sign is on, and I am not going to get in their way."

Carly sighed. Mike always obeyed the rules. "The seatbelt sign has been on this entire bumpy flight. Change places with me so I can see down the aisle."

"You like the window seat."

"Not now I don't. Please, Mike."

With a sigh of his own, he unbuckled his seatbelt, then stood in the aisle and waited for Carly to do the same. Then he slid into her seat and buckled up again. Carly remained standing in the aisle, intent on the action just a few feet away.

The man in uniform bent over them, speaking in hushed tones. Carly noticed the couple when they boarded, the man leaving heavily on the woman's arm. She'd wondered about their relationship as the blonde solicitously tucked a blanket around the white-haired gent's knees. Was he her husband or her father? Carly could understand the attraction of the older man to the younger woman, but what did a woman that age see in a man old enough to be her father? Carly shuddered at the thought. The answer probably came down to money.

The officer spoke rapidly to the woman as she frantically gestured with her hands. The older man sat quiet and still, an airline blanket covering his torso, his face pale against the dark blue cloth.

Carly tapped the shoulder of the man sitting in front of her. "What's going on?"

He looked up, a surprised expression on his face. "What are you talking about?"

She pointed to the row in across the aisle. "There. What's going on with that couple?"

"I dunno." His tersely response and raised newspaper told her he wanted to be left alone.

People could be so obtuse. Carly checked the passengers across the aisle, one row up. They peered through the small space between the seats, intent on watching the officer. From their whispered questions back and forth, they seemed to be as much in the dark as she was.

The officer cleared his throat, and spoke loud enough for all the passengers to hear him. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am First Officer Turner. Do we have any medical personnel on board?"

Carly counted off the seconds as they waited for a response. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

The captain stood a little taller and projected his voice. "Ladies and gentlemen. We have a medical emergency. Do we have a doctor or a nurse on board?"

Several more long seconds before a rustling from the rear of the plane caught Carly's attention. A young man made his way down the aisle, carrying a small black bag in one hand, clutching the seats with the other. Help was on the way.

Mike tugged Carly's hand. "What's happening?"

The man set his bag on the floor near his feet and opened the leather clasp then pulled out a stethoscope.

"The guy from the rear of the plane has a medical bag and looks like he knows what he's doing." Carly swallowed nervously as she continued watching. She felt a little like a voyeur, but was determined not to miss anything. "He's listening to the husband's chest."

The doctor held the man's wrist for a moment then put two fingers on the man's neck. He spoke to First Officer Turner, who gave curt instructions to the flight attendant standing nearby. She returned a moment later with a portable oxygen tank, and the doctor put the mask over the man's face.

Mike leaned closer. "Now what?"

"I guess he's still trying to find a pulse. He had the attendant to bring some oxygen, so that should be a good sign, right?" She smiled wanly at Mike. As much as she enjoyed the excitement, she really didn't want anything bad to happen to the elderly man. "I mean, they're going to be able to help him, right?"

Mike settled back into his seat. "Hope so."

"Oh no."

Mike squeezed her hand. "What is it?"

"The doctor just shook his head the way doctors do when it's bad news and they don't want to have to say the actual words." Carly sank back to her seat. "The wife is crying."

The doctor spoke to the first officer in hushed tones. "How long before we can land?"

Turner consulted his watch. "About thirty minutes, sir."

The doctor nodded. "The gentleman has died. We should move him somewhere else. And, if someone could sit with his wife?"

He glanced at the flight attendant.

She nodded. "Of course, Doctor."

The first officer drew himself up. "I'll let the captain know, and he will tell us what arrangements we can make to move the bo—" He glanced at the widow. "—gentleman."

The doctor laid his hand on the widow's shoulder. She stopped sobbing and raised her head to look at him as he spoke. "I believe he's had a heart attack. Did you know of any heart condition?"

She shook her head and buried her face in her tissue again, but not before Carly caught the hint of a smile cross the woman's lips. The doctor's hand remained on her shoulder as he waited for the first officer to return, his fingers rubbing the base of her neck.

In a very familiar manner.

Carly blinked a couple of times, certain her imagination played tricks on her. But from her position, she'd have sworn the widow leaned into his touch and occasionally glanced at him from behind her tissue.

The Captain approached and took charge of the situation quickly. "Turner has filled me in." Looking at the widow, he lowered his voice a notch. "My condolences, ma'am. We'll do all we can to make this as easy for you as possible."

She nodded her gratitude. "Thank you."

The captain continued. "We will move your husband to the rear of the plane. There are several empty seats back there. We'll take very good care of him, ma'am. Don't worry about anything. We've already radioed ahead to the Albuquerque airport, and they'll have an ambulance there when we land. Because a doctor was in attendance and has pronounced the cause of death, there won't be any need for an autopsy."

Another look of gratitude from the widow.

The captain turned to the male passenger in the nearest aisle seat and spoke quietly. The man unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped into the aisle. The captain hooked his hands under the dead man's arms, and the passenger grabbed his feet, losing a shoe in the process. Struggling against the weight and the slight turbulence, the two carried their burden to the rear of the plane.

Carly watched the sad procession then glanced back at the widow. That smile again.

The flight attendant took the seat next to the widow, offering her a pillow and blanket. The widow wrapped the covering around her shoulders, turned to the window, and closed her eyes.

Carly's mind raced.

Mike touched her arm. "What mystery is your brain conjuring up?"

Carly turned to look at him, tipping her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

"I can see your brain working. You're brewing up some mystery or some puzzle to solve right now, aren't you?"

She frowned in response. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mike Turnquist. There isn't any mystery here. The old man didn't have a heart attack."
Chapter 2

Mike's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped as he stared at her. "You are impossible. What do you mean, 'he didn't have a heart attack'? That's what the doctor said. He should know."

"No way. I know what a heart attack looks like. And his wife said he didn't have a heart condition."

"Do you know how many people every day have a heart attack who didn't know they had a heart condition? Probably seventy-five percent. Or more."

"It wasn't a heart attack. I think his wife killed him."

"Not everywhere you go has to have a murder to solve and a mess of money to find," Mike insisted. "I'm just a little worried about your over-active imagination getting us into another situation. We're on vacation, remember?"

"I saw a PBS special just this past week, and -- "

"You saw a PBS special, and that gives you more credibility than a medical doctor?" Mike lifted his right eyebrow and tilted his head from side to side.

Usually this made Carly laugh, but not now. She wasn't giving forth a very good argument. "I saw this special," she persisted. "And they talked about the symptoms of a heart attack, and they showed about ten different people having a heart attack. And none of them looked like that man." She folded her arms across her chest in defiance. "So there."

"I suspect every heart attack looks just a little different, wouldn't you agree?"

"None of them just slumped over. They all complained of chest pains. One person said that it felt like an elephant sitting on his chest."

"We weren't sitting there. We didn't see all that happened."

"I saw her putting something in his coffee." She made hand motions to illustrate what she had seen between the seats.

"It was probably just sugar or sweetener," Mike countered.

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't in a paper packet, like the ones the airline offers. It was in a bottle."

"Maybe she brought it from home," Mike offered.

"Why use her own when the airline provides it for you?"

"Maybe she doesn't like the brand name." Mike yawned and stretched in the cramped area. "Maybe he's the one with the picky taste buds."

Carly paused to consider. "Maybe. But what if she did give him something that made it look like a heart attack?"

"There was a doctor on board who was able to help him. If she planned to kill him, she couldn't have expected that."

"But Mike, he didn't help him. The man still died. If there wasn't a doctor, and he died, there would have to be an autopsy. But because this doctor was here, there won't be one."

"That's what happens when a doctor is in attendance. The wife seems satisfied it was a heart attack, Carly. Everyone but you is satisfied. After all, the doctor said it was a heart attack." He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Can't you just let it go?"

"That was convenient, wasn't it? A doctor who diagnosed a heart attack that didn't happen. Makes you wonder. . . "

Mike interrupted again. "You're not going to say he wasn't really a doctor, are you? Carly."

Carly shot him a dark look. "Maybe they're in it together, Mike."

"How does your brain jump to these conclusions? That wasn't just a leap, that was a Grand Canyon-sized jump!"

"I don't understand how you can look at the same thing I do and not see what I see. She married him for his money and now she's got it all."

Mike threw up his hands in exasperation. "Now that takes the cake, Carly. All what money? How do you know he has money?"

"Why else would a woman that young marry a man that old? It can't be because of his good looks. He was positively ancient!"

"He wasn't a day over sixty, and she's probably in her forties. That's not such a big difference at our age. Besides, he looked like he was in great shape."

"My point exactly. A man who looks like that must take care of himself. They don't usually drop dead of their first heart attack. PBS said so."

Mike picked up his headphones. "PBS said so? Carly, please."

"Seriously, Mike. PBS said that the more physically fit a person is, the greater likelihood they would survive their first heart attack. His wife said he didn't have a heart condition, so this was his first heart attack. He should have survived it. Unless it wasn't a heart attack. Why can't you see this?"

"I see the facts, and you see a mystery. Our brains are wired differently. For which I am eternally grateful, or we'd both be chasing shadows." Mike settled his head against the back of the seat and adjusted his headphones. "I'm going to watch the news. It's just getting ready to start."

Carly recognized when Mike was beginning to lose interest. How could she convince him she was right? Her thoughts whirled as she considered her options. She had about thirty minutes until the plane landed, and then she would lose what little control she had. That control was limited to the fact that everyone was on the plane together. If she could convince the pilot something was wrong, he could have police ready at the airport when they landed.

She would go talk to the doctor—or whoever he was. She stood and nudged Mike's leg with her knee. "Bathroom."

Mike looked up at her, his brow drawn down

"Sit back and enjoy the news."

Mike shook his head in amazement. He loved Carly, but sometimes she got her head caught up in some crazy ideas. He adjusted the headphones and leaned back, his eyes glued to the small television screen in front of him. He groaned inwardly. He had already seen this segment of the broadcast before. He gazed out the window to his right at the clouds below. Through a break in the formation a patchwork quilt of farmland appeared below.

Changing his focus to the horizon, his gaze fixed on a silver ribbon in the midst of the green. A river below reflected the sun, and he squinted as he tried to follow its path to the horizon.

He turned his attention back to the news broadcast, and smiled. Carly teased him about watching what she called "history" since the event had already happened. What would she call news re-runs—re-history? Since he already knew the outcome, the story held no interest for him, and once again he pondered the landscape below.

Now the patchwork of greens and browns had changed to a more urban setting. They must be passing over the metro Denver area. He studied the network of roads and highways below, marveling at how looking at the world from this altitude seemed to put things in perspective.

Everyday problems were invisible from up here. Children arguing, hurt feelings, flat tires—none of those things seemed important. Floods, fires, earthquakes—those would be visible. And life-changing.

Mike was a man of faith in his own abilities, his own decisions, and his own wisdom. As a computer programmer, he could do things with a program and data that most people only dreamt of doing. His business enjoyed much success in recent years, and in fact, he was able to pick and choose his clients.

And then a mere decade ago, Carly came along, radically changing his life, fusing his family back together, and mending his broken heart.

And yet she could be so infuriating. Like now. Where was she? What took her so long to go to the bathroom? How much trouble could one person get herself into on a plane? He shook himself mentally. He didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

Coming out of the lavatory, Carly walked down the aisle, holding onto the backs of the seats to help her keep her balance. Although there hadn't been any bumps lately, she wasn't taking any chances. Not sure where the doctor was seated, she took her time, scanning each row carefully.

Just as she was about to give up, she spotted him in the last row of the plane, sitting next to the window. She looked uneasily at the seats across the aisle from him. The dead man, wrapped in airline blankets, lay stretched out. Turning back to the doctor, Carly spied an empty seat next to the aisle in his row. He was watching the in-flight news, his headphones giving off a slightly tinny sound track.

Carly slid into the seat and gave her most reassuring smile, holding out her hand. "Hi, I wanted to thank you for coming forward to try to save that man. It was very brave of you."

His brows drew down in question, He took her hand in a limp handshake.

Carly held back the shudder. Shaking hands with him was like shaking a dead halibut.

"Do I know you?"

She pointed up the aisle. "No, I'm sitting a few rows up. I saw you treat the elderly gentleman with the, uh, heart attack. Very professional."

"Um, thank you." His eyes flicked toward the action on the screen. "Why are you here?"

Carly ignored the obvious hint. "I'm somewhat of a medical expert myself, you know." She was stretching the truth and hoped he wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Really?"

So far so good. Carly swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry, and she didn't want to betray her nervousness. "Yes. I wondered why it took you so long to come forward. Most people respond immediately. However, you waited until the first officer asked a second time for help."

He removed his headphones again and squinted at her. "Waited? I didn't wait. I answered as soon as I heard."

"The captain asked twice before you came up. Were you afraid of malpractice or something? I know that's common. Doctors don't want to get involved for fear of being sued."

"I had my headphones on, watching the news. I didn't hear him the first time, I guess."

Still not convinced, Carly continued. "How could you tell so quickly that it was a heart attack?"

"He slumped over in his seat."

"Yes, but that's not normal for a heart attack. Doesn't the patient normally complain of pain or numbness?"

"Often. But many people ignore those warnings because they're in denial." Sweat broke out on the man's brow, and his face flushed. "What concern is this of yours?"

"Well, I was looking for a—" Carly looked from side to side as if making certain nobody listened to their conversation. She lowered her voice a notch. "—a doctor to attest to a cause of death. If you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do, lady. What are you getting at?" His eyes narrowed.

Carly was afraid she'd moved too quickly and made him suspicious. "I mean, if someone were to die at home, I might need someone to sign a death certificate, mightn't I?"

He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and swiped at his forehead. "That might get expensive. Most doctors don't make house calls anymore."

"I appreciate that. I notice that you do, though, since you carry your little black bag with you." She gestured to the bag that was properly stowed on the floor under the seat in front of him. "By the way, do you carry it with you all the time? Doctors on television seem to do that."

He placed one foot on top of the bag.

The fact he was protective of the bag didn't escape Carly's notice. She continued. "I would be more than happy to pay all expenses, including any missed appointments. And travel."

"I think I could do that for you." He reached up, adjusting the air vent above his head. "Depending on the price, of course. It would have to be worth my while."

"It would be, you can be sure of that." Carly practically purred. "Do you have a business card?"

He passed her a business card which contained simply a telephone number.

She tucked the card into the front pocket of her jeans. "I'll be in touch, soon."

She patted the pocket containing the card. Standing, she shook his halibut hand again and walked unsteadily back to her seat. She would be so glad to get back on terra firma.

Hardly able to contain her excitement, she slid back into her seat. Ignoring his grumbling, she pulled on her husband's shirt sleeve. "Mike, Mike."

When he removed the headphones, she leaned closer. "He just about confessed that he is in it with the wife. He said he would sign a death certificate for a fee."

Mike's eyes remained fixed to the screen. "I'd like to watch the news in peace."

"You've seen this at least four times today already. Listen. He gave me his card. He said he would sign a death certificate for a fee."

"What's so strange about that? Doctors do that all the time." Mike raised the headphones to put them on. "You're bored. You don't like flying. You're looking for a distraction."

Carly laid her hand on his arm, stopping him. "Mike, when did the news start?"

Mike sighed. "When you went to the bathroom." He peered at her. "Or perhaps I should say, when you went to talk to the doctor."

"I used the lavatory." She knew she was onto something this time, but everything hinged on the time the newsreel started. "Are you sure about the time?"

"Yes. I'm sure. It ran for about twenty minutes when we first took off, and then there was a movie on for the next couple of hours. It came on again just about ten minutes ago. And it's going to be over before you finish asking all your questions." He laid his hand on Carly's. "Look. The man had a heart attack. His wife saw it happen. He's dead, and there's nothing anyone can do for him now. Let it go. The doctor took his stethoscope out of his little black bag and checked for a pulse, and didn't find one. He said the man was dead. What more do you want?"

Carly started to open her mouth to answer, but Mike interrupted her by raising his hand. "Don't answer that. Let's just sit back and enjoy the rest of the flight."

With that, he put his headphones on and turned up the volume.

Carly seethed for a few minutes, counting to ten several times as she calmed down. A man was dead, and she was sure he'd been murdered. Why had the doctor lied to her? The news hadn't been running when the announcement was made for a doctor. And just because he carried his little black bag on board with him—

That was it! That little black bag. Most of the items in a regular doctor's bag wouldn't be allowed on as carry-on luggage. Too many dangerous instruments, like needles and scalpels. Not to mention the drugs.

Most doctors checked their medical bags with their luggage, if they carried them at all. She knew that from another PBS special on airline security she had watched recently. And since most doctors didn't make house calls, and didn't want to get involved with malpractice suits, they rarely carried their bag around in public, either.

Carly shook Mike's shoulder again. "If I could convince you that there was a murder on this plane, would you help me talk to the captain?"

Sighing deeply, he took off his headphones again. "If you could convince me there was a murder, I would go to the captain myself."

Carly drew a deep breath. She had but one chance to get all her facts straight before Mike tuned her out. "Okay. We have a younger woman married to an older man." When he opened his mouth to interrupt, she interrupted him. "Give me a chance. This is one of those whole picture clues. Hear me out." He settled back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, and nodded.

"Okay. Younger woman married to older man. She adds something to his coffee. He slumps over. Doctor is called, doesn't come until the second call. Lies to me about watching a news program that didn't start until at least ten minutes after the man died."

On hearing this, Mike sat up straighter in his seat.

Glad to have his attention at last, Carly pushed on. "Carries a medical bag on board, even though most of the things he would normally carry in a medical bag aren't allowed as carry-on luggage anymore, like needles and scalpels. So his bag is almost empty. Why carry an empty bag, unless you just want to make it look like you're a doctor?"

At this information, Mike leaned forward with interest.

"Then, this doctor puts his hand on the wife's shoulder and a look passes between them."

Mike scowled at this clue.

Carly continued. "I know, you don't think that's important. Then you probably won't think it's important that I know I saw her smile at least twice after her husband has just been pronounced dead. And the doctor leaves his hand on her shoulder for much longer than is necessary, and even rubs her shoulder in an intimate way."

Mike started to speak, but Carly stopped him by raising her hand. "And, last but not least, this doctor agrees to sign a death certificate, for a fee, with a pre-agreed diagnosis of 'heart attack', for a person he never saw before." Carly paused to take a deep breath. "Don't you think that all of this adds up to murder?"

Mike sat for a few minutes, his eyes closed. Was he sleeping, or was he considering the situation? He sat still for so long that Carly thought he'd fallen asleep. She reached out and touched his arm. He waved her away, and she sat back in her seat, allowing him time to digest the clues.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mike opened his eyes and looked at Carly. "I'm not sure for certain that this is a murder. But for the life of me, I can't come up with a reasonable alternative that takes into account all of your clues. I'll go talk to the captain."

Carly stood in the aisle.

Mike unbuckled his seatbelt and stood beside her then pointed to the seat.

She shook her head. "I'm coming with you."

Mike put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back into her seat. "No, I'll go do this. Both of us might make it more confusing than it already is. I'll go, you wait. I'll let you know what happens."

Mike walked to the front of the plane. The head flight attendant questioned him briefly, then spoke into an intercom phone, She passed the phone to Mike, who spoke for several minutes, gesturing towards Carly.

Finally, the flight cabin door opened and the captain came out, closing the door behind him. Mike and the captain conversed in low tones, glancing occasionally at Carly. She searched Mike's face, looking for some hint of whether he'd been successful or not in convincing the captain that a murderer and an accomplice were on board, and would soon escape if they weren't stopped. After a few minutes, the two men shook hands solemnly, and the captain went back to the flight deck.

Mike's face was impassive, and he returned to his seat without saying a word. Picking up his headphones, he put them on and turned his attention to the screen.

How could he be so calm? If he'd been unsuccessful, he was going to be really angry at her for making her look like a fool. But if he had managed to convince the captain of the crime, how could he just sit there like nothing had happened?

When she could stand his silence no longer, she yanked the headphones out of the jack in the armrest. That should get his attention.

Slowly he took his headphones off, and turned to face her. "You are bound and determined that I'm not going to enjoy this flight, aren't you?"

Carly couldn't believe his attitude. It was as though nothing was wrong. "What happened?"

Mike put on that innocent look of his that infuriated her so much. "Happened? You've seen this newsreel as often as I have today. The police catch. . . "

"Not the news!" She shook his arm. "The captain."

"The captain?" Still the innocent act. "What captain? I don't think the police officer is a captain. I think he's a detective. You must have it confused with. . . "

Carly shook his arm more roughly this time. "What happened?"

Mike finally gave in to her pleading. "The captain agreed, and it's all taken care of." With that, he plugged in the retrieved headphone cord, effectively ending the conversation.

Carly was about to interrupt him again when the head flight attendant's voice came over the cabin intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to make our final approach into Albuquerque. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your seat backs and trays to their upright position."

Carly's only consolation was the television screens had to be stowed in their hidden compartments. Mike's frustration at not seeing the end of the news report was evident in the way he jammed the headphones into the pocket of the seat in front of him. She smiled at him as he made sure his seatbelt was fastened. After all, airline regulations for landing weren't her problem.

She held her breath until the landing gear locked into place. The city sprawled out before her, an oasis in the middle of a desert. As the plane descended, smaller objects came into focus: cars on the highway, a coyote running across an open area, and children playing in a schoolyard. Just before the plane touched down, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

She hated flying.

The rear wheels touched down, the plane bounced one time then settled onto its wheels. The engines went into reverse to slow the plane down, and when Carly opened her eyes again, they were drawing up to the terminal. An ambulance and several sheriff's vehicles waited near the gate.

As the plane neared the terminal, the captain's voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to thank you for flying InterContinental Airlines. We trust you enjoy your stay in Albuquerque, and that you will fly with us again soon. This is the final destination of this flight, so please be sure to remove all your belongings. Due to the unfortunate demise of one of our passengers, we ask that you remain seated until officials remove the body. Thank you for your co-operation."

At this news, the passengers began talking amongst themselves. Several glanced at the widow in pity, and one elderly lady rose from her seat to speak with the blonde when the fasten seatbelt light went off. Two businessmen complained they had a connection to make and didn't want to be held up. The head flight attendant assured them their connecting flight would not leave without them.

When the plane came to a stop at the jetway, Carly stood in the aisle to retrieve her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment. At a noise from the front of the plane, she turned to look.

The forward door opened, and two EMT's dressed in hospital whites came down the aisle with a reclining wheelchair between them. After a few words with the head flight attendant, they made their way towards the rear of the plane. Carly moved into her seat as they went past her to where the dead man lay. They placed the covered body on the stretcher and rolled back down the aisle.

As the procession moved forward, people stopped talking and watched quietly. Just like at a wedding, where the people watch the bride walk down the aisle. Only this wasn't a wedding, and this wasn't a bride. She shivered at the sadness of the situation.

As soon as the EMT's left the plane, two men in sheriff's uniforms boarded, causing the businessmen making the connecting flight to grumble again. When they voiced their complaints to the head flight attendant, one of the officers threw them a sharp look. They sat back in their seats in silence.

Carly took this opportunity to stand in the aisle again on the pretense of getting her bag down. The widow was busy digging through the overhead compartment for her carry-on bag. At a low word from one of the officers, the widow turned to face him. The second officer continued down the aisle toward the rear of the plane.

Carly drew into her seat position again, still standing. She glanced at the passengers behind her, aware that all eyes were on the officer. The second officer spoke to the doctor who handed over his medical bag, which the officer opened.

He removed a stethoscope and held the instrument aloft. "Seems strange to carry a medical bag on board and only have this in it," he said to the doctor, his voice carrying easily in the silence. "Can you explain this?"

When there was no response, he took the doctor by the arm and led him up the aisle. The widow looked on, a confused expression on her face. She looked from the doctor to the officer and back again, her mouth forming an 'o'.

The first officer asked for the widow's handbag, which she passed to him. He opened the designer bag and held up a small bottle containing a white powder. The widow protested she didn't know what the powder was and had never seen the bottle before, but he silenced her by taking her arm and leading her towards the open door.

Once the officers removed their prisoners, the passengers began to talk again, asking questions, offering suggestions as to what they had just witnessed. Carly sat quietly, too emotionally drained to say anything. Mike simply sat there, a satisfied grin on his face.

She turned to him. "You look like the cat who ate the canary, Mike Turnquist. What are you so happy about?"

"The bad guys got caught, and you solved your mystery. Now we can settle back and enjoy our working vacation without any fear of mysteries interrupting us."

Carly nodded. She was looking forward to this time together. After all, what could happen on a ranch in the middle of nowhere?

Chapter 3

Mike smiled at Carly. "From the way you're lagging behind, I guess you're amazed at how busy this airport is." He halted when she paused to look into yet another shop window. "Did you expect Albuquerque to be some small hick airport?"

She blushed, her cheeks turning a most becoming shade of pink. "I guess I did. But I'm pleasantly surprised. The Sunport has a large metropolitan feel to it."

"Want to stop for something to eat?" He hoped she was as hungry as he was. That mystery meal on the plane hadn't been enough to satisfy his appetite. "Unless you want to spend all day here window shopping?"

"I'd really like to get to the ranch." She veered toward a display in the window of a small boutique selling southwestern craft items.

He tugged playfully on her hand. "Not too anxious, judging by the way you're drooling over that window display."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. It's really pretty, but I know it wouldn't go with anything I have in the house. And no one I know has that kind of decor." She slowed as they passed a gallery of western sculpture, "Still, these are really nice."

Mike chuckled. She'd probably insist on picking up something for everyone they knew on their return trip. "So, what about eating?"

"Would you be satisfied with a sandwich?" She pointed to a sign directing them to the pickup area ahead. "Baggage claim is that way."

"Not unless it's one of those footlong super-dooper hoagies."

"Okay, let's see what we can find."

"Let's hope it isn't too far away." His appetite was somewhat legendary. He was able to eat just about anything and never gain an ounce. In fact, he could still eat as much as he did when he was a teen. Hopefully it wouldn't all catch up with him in later years. "We can share one." He spotted a sub sandwich deli and veered in to place his order. "Want all the trimmings?"

"Nothing spicy." She continued meandering up the walkway, peering into windows as she went. "I'm going to keep walking and window shopping."

"It won't take me long here. I'll catch up with you."

Actually, Mike had another reason for letting her go on ahead by herself. He was a romantic at heart, and he loved to buy surprise gifts for his wife. She responded to his gifts like a child on Christmas morning. He had passed a shop that sold silly slippers, and there was a pair in the window that looked just like their cat, Doc. Carly would get a kick out of that.

He waited as she wandered from store to store, looking in the windows at the merchandise. Finally, she went into a store, and he ducked back to the slipper shop. A clerk helped him find the right size, and he stashed the package in his computer bag.

As he left the store, checking first to make sure she wouldn't see him, his stomach growled, reminding him of his other mission. Five minutes and a foot-long Italian meatball sandwich to go later, and he was striding down the concourse, looking for his wife.

He found her in an artwork store, admiring work by local artists. One of her favorites was a three-dimensional painting with pieces of wood and bark accenting the picture. Carly chatted with the gallery owner for a few minutes, and Mike tried, but failed, to picture the piece hanging anywhere in their home. Carly cast another wistful glance back at the piece as he led her by the arm to retrieve their baggage. He sighed. He would need to make another stop here on their way back to Bear Cove.

Because of their detour, most of the passengers and their luggage were gone by the time they arrived at the baggage carousel for their flight. They were able to get their bags and get to the curb to wait for the next shuttle bus to the car rental center.

"I'm glad you booked a full-size sedan," Carly said as Mike loaded the last of their suitcases and computer cases into the trunk. "Now I can snag some nap time on the drive to the ranch."

"What? You don't want to be kept awake by my titillating conversational ability?"

"Just drive," she mumbled.

"Want some sandwich?"

"No, thanks."

Weariness echoed in her voice. Mike folded his lanky six-foot frame into the driver's seat, while Carly reclined the comfortable passenger seat a few inches and closed her eyes.

She fidgeted for a few minutes. Finally, she put her seat back upright again and looked out the windows at the passing scenery. Since it was just after four o'clock, rush hour traffic wasn't at its worst yet so they were able to get on I-25 without problem. She peered from side to side as Mike searched for a radio station to catch up on the news.

"I feel like I've been out of the loop for a month," he joked. "And it's only been twelve hours. Still, I'd like to hear the weather."

"What difference does the weather make?" Carly chided him. "We're on vacation. It will take something bigger than bad weather to spoil this time."

"We're not completely on vacation," Mike reminded her. "This is a working vacation for me, and for Tom and Sarah, remember?"

"What I meant was, I'm on vacation, and it's going to take something bigger than bad weather to spoil this. Besides, we don't have to go anywhere. We just get up in the morning, and eat, and you go to work, and I go to—wait a minute! I go walking, or riding, or even napping." She leaned back in her seat, adjusting it to recline a couple of notches. "Yessiree. I could get used to this. She closed her eyes and in a moment was asleep.

Mike smiled over at her. Funny how thinking about all that activity had worn her out enough for her to sleep. He sure loved this woman. She had come through some hard times with him over the past ten years.

He unwrapped his sandwich with one hand, keeping his eyes on the road, as he navigated the highway. The food was still warm, and he sank his teeth into the soft bread and zesty meatballs and sauce. Hmmm. This was going to go down really good.

As he drove and ate, Carly snoozing beside him, he considered what a lucky man he was. Sure, life hadn't been all a bed of roses. In fact, there were some downright nasty times. Like when Sophie died far too young.

But he'd enjoyed many happy years. College. Early years of marriage. The kids coming along. The BC years, he called them. Before Cancer. Lots of good times before the bad. Very lucky indeed.

He thought back over the recent times. The AC years. After Sophie's cancer diagnosis. Hoping against hope that medicine would find a way to stop the disease from stealing the love of his life. Watching her fade away, day by day, until the doctors said they could do no more for her. Or for him. Or his children.

He'd thought that once she was gone, that would be it. He and the kids would find a way to move on. They were still young. He needed to focus on them, getting them through school, perhaps college, a career. Marriage.

All of those events Sophie would miss.

Sometimes he wished he believed in God. Then maybe he'd believe in heaven. Because if such a place existed, Sophie was surely there, watching them from on high. Not truly missing out.

Except that after the funeral, after everybody went back to their lives, he was still left with memories of Sophie. Her presence still filled their house. He still heard her voice. Smelled her perfume. Knew she was in their bed, beside him.

Until he opened his eyes each morning and reached for her, and came away empty-handed.

The years went by. The children grew and left home. He moved on.

At least, he thought he did.

And then he met Carly.

And then the memories came flooding back.

First there had been Sophie's ghost. He thought he was ready to re-marry, and it wasn't until after he married Carly that he began to have strange dreams of Sophie. Carly had been so understanding, and over time, while his first wife's memory hadn't totally disappeared, at least he'd managed to give Carly first place in his thoughts.

Sometimes he felt a little guilty as the years went by. He was having a harder time conjuring up Sophie's face in his memory. After she died, her face was like a photograph burned into his brain. Now it was more like a faded picture, one that was becoming harder and harder to see clearly. Even when he saw his children, Denise and Tom, he thought they looked less and less like their mother. Recently, a business client commented that Tom looked like Mike, and Denise looked like Carly, her mother. Mike's stomach had knotted, but he hadn't corrected him. He knew he had to let go of that part of his life and focus on the here and now.

Of course, Carly brought some baggage of her own into the marriage. A long history of abuse and then widowed young. Several years on her own, working and going to college, developed an independent streak in her. Learning to trust had been hard for her. And getting used to being a step-mother and grandmother all at once had been a shock to her system. Still, they adapted quite well, and he knew without a doubt this woman was a keeper.

Mike was so deep in thought he nearly missed his turnoff and had to brake sharply to make the turn. Carly, roused from sleep by the sudden slowing of the car, sat bolt upright as the pavement ended and became a dusty gravel road.

"What's going on? Are you okay, Mike?" She looked out the side window, rubbing her eyes. "Do you need me to drive?"

"It's fine, love. This is our turnoff to the ranch. We're only about five miles away now."

Carly set her seat back in a more upright position. "I think the state should maintain this road better."

Mike smiled. Her crankiness was due more to being awakened suddenly than the bumps in the road.

"The state doesn't look after this road. This is the ranch's road."

"What do you mean, the ranch's road? You said we were five miles from the ranch."

"We're on ranch property now."

"How big is this ranch, anyway?"

"About thirty thousand acres, give or take a thousand."

"Thirty thousand? And you have to count all the cows and horses on all that land?"

"I don't have to physically count them. I have to devise a computer program that will track the cattle according to their tag numbers. Then the staff will keep track of medical information, feed costs by herd, productivity of calves and meat, and so on. And I'll do a similar one for the horses."

"How many cows and horses do they have?"

"Last official count was about three thousand cows, steers, and calves in varying stages, and about five hundred horses. Plus an additional two hundred horses that don't belong to the ranch, but are being boarded there."

"That doesn't sound like a lot of cattle for that much land."

"This part of the state is not irrigated and can't sustain as many head of cattle per acre. And not all of it is pasture land. Some of it is just desert and so nothing grazes on it. About a thousand acres, I think. The horses they own are kept in a ten-thousand acre section in a secluded part of the ranch, because they are raising them as wild horses, for rodeos." Mike veered slightly to avoid hitting a large grey lump on the road. "Speed bump."

Carly's face went white as she held onto the dash and then turned to look out the rear window. "What was that?"

"I think a road-kill armadillo. Hitting one of those could do some damage to the undercarriage of the car. I didn't want to take any chances. Sorry if I scared you."

"I think it would have scared me more if you had hit it." She settled back in her seat. "Tell me more about the ranch. It sounds quite impressive."

Mike's gaze was intent on the road ahead that twisted and turned across the high desert floor, and he didn't respond immediately.

Carly prompted him. "What do you mean, 'cows and calves in varying stages'?"

"Cows are the breeding stock. They're kept until they stop producing, then they go to the feedlot for fattening before being sent to slaughter. The calves stay with their mothers until they're weaned, and then they either go to breeding or to range-fed steer, depending on their gender. The steers are male cattle that have been castrated and are range-fed until they go for fattening and slaughter." He smiled as Carly wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "Where did you think beef came from, anyway?"

"I know, I know. It's just strange to think of them as living now, and then some day, not." She rubbed her tummy. "It won't make me stop eating beef, though."

"I wasn't worried about that. Anyway, the ranch keeps rotating the steers, each herd at a different stage of the process. Some are being range-fed, some are being grain-fed, some are in the fattening process, and some are waiting for shipping."

"That's going to be one amazing program to keep track of all that stuff. You'll be simplifying what would be a huge task."

"It sure will be. But I know I'm ready. And it came at just the right time. This project is along the same lines as my last contract. Deborah, the owner, noticed that ranch profits have been slipping over the past few years. She wants to have a better handle on the accounting and inventory control, to see the cracks where her money is slipping through." He paused before choosing his words with care. "Just between you and me, Carly." He cast her a stern look. "And I do mean between you and me." He waited until she nodded in confirmation. "She thinks one of her hands is stealing from her. She wants me to prove her suspicions wrong."

Carly wriggled in her seat.

Seeing her anticipation, Mike decided to clear the air right now. "There is no mystery to be solved! My program will take care of it."

"We need to find out if the ranch owner is being stolen from, and if so, who. And why." Carly turned to Mike. "Oh, this is so exciting. A mystery! Maybe I can help you solve it while you're working on the program."

"Now listen here. This is a normal working vacation. I work, you vacation. That does not include snooping around. If there is any stealing going on, I will find it when I write the program and compare actual numbers with their manual inventory. And Tom will be working with me on the requirements of the program. Plus, Sarah is helping with the marketing plan. You are not, I repeat, not to get involved, bothering hard-working ranch-hands. Do you understand?"

Mike's serious look was intended to quell any objections she might have. He was pleased when, instead of responding, she nodded her head in agreement.

Mike turned his attention back to the now-dark road before him. He suspected that even now her mind was working on this, considering what she knew. He sighed in frustration. She would find out somehow. She would do her best to snoop around without raising his suspicions.

"This is a dude ranch, right?"

He smiled at her. Trying to change the subject. "Not officially. They want to open it up for business as a guest ranch, as it's called these days. No one wants to be called a 'dude'. In ranch lingo, it's kind of a put-down."

"Okay, so when they get this program going, can they open it up as a dude—sorry, guest ranch?"

"That's the plan. So they also need an accounting interface, along with a reservation system for guests and horses."

"They're going to rent rooms to horses?" Carly laughed at her own humor. "That's a funny picture—a palomino in the hot tub."

"No silly, they will match the guest with a horse for their stay, so each guest has a horse of their own to get used to, to ride, to learn how to care for, and so on." Mike joined in the joke, laughing along with her. "You have the most vivid imagination in anyone I've ever known."

"This sounds like you're going to be really busy, programming all these systems."

"Do I detect a note of hope in your tone?"

Carly reached behind his head and touched the back of his neck. "I was just thinking, maybe I could help out by poking around while you're busy programming?"

Mike had to nip this in the bud before she embarrassed them, or worse, got herself into trouble. "I'm not going to be so busy that we can't spend some time together." What part of 'no mystery' didn't she understand? "We should be able to spend a couple of hours a day doing fun things, and in between I'll be here and there, talking to ranch hands, getting the lay of the ranch." Mike saw her hopes deflating as her shoulders sagged and she adopted a tune-him-out look in her eyes. "I'm not trying to spoil your fun. I really just want you to stay safe."

He hoped is she knew he'd be all over the ranch, she might give up her plans to snoop. But probably not. He knew his wife very well. While on the outside she might appear to agree with him, on the inside her mind was racing a mile a minute. He would have to keep on his toes for the next two weeks. He had a serious program to write, a client who could be difficult at times, and a wife about to go off half-cocked. There was no fooling with the people involved here.

Whatever stealing was going on had been a long-term affair, and the thief or thieves would not suffer fools meddling in their business. Mike's job was to uncover the facts of the theft, not necessarily the thief. Stealing cows was a serious offense. Better known as cattle rustling in the westerns. And even though this was the twenty-first century, in many ways, ranching still operated under the old rules. And under the old rules, cattle rustling was punishable by death.

Chapter 4

Carly gasped at her first sight of the ranch house. "This is not what I expected."

"Oh, and what did you think it would be like? A little cabin in the middle of the desert? Or maybe the Ponderosa?" Mike chuckled at the reference. "Real people live in real houses."

"Just because that's one of my favorite programs, what makes you think I thought it would be anything like that?" Carly swiveled her head from side to side, trying to take in everything at once. "Look at those verandas. I love it." Pointing to the shrubbery near the house, she sighed. "I bet this was full of color in the summer."

"I expect it was. And those are ponderosa pines next to the house." Mike indicated the towering evergreens growing near the two-story house. "They are native to this area."

Mike stopped the car in front of the house, and Carly rolled down the window to survey the area. Off to the east side of the yard stood a large building. Through the open barn-style doors, Carly noted several cars parked. Garage. Three SUV's, a jeep, and a golf cart were parked outside.

At the opposite end of the yard, a large barn loomed out of the twilight. Lights shone inside, and from snatches of conversation carried on the gentle evening breeze, Carly guessed that the three men lounging against the side of the barn had just gotten in from a long day's work. One of the three detached himself from the group and made his way over to the car. Mike and Carly stepped out, and Mike moved around to the passenger side where Carly stood.

"I'm amazed at this place." She gestured to the yard area. "I did some research before we came on the weather and terrain, but it's different when you're here in person."

Mike leaned over, hands on knees, and laughed all the way from his belly. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone making a vacation so much work."

Carly spluttered. "Well, how do you know what to wear or what to pack if you don't know what the weather is like?"

Mike straightened. "You do what everyone else does. You pack what you think you'll need. And buy whatever you don't bring with you."

Carly mock-punched his arm. "I did read once that when you're planning a trip, put out the clothes you're going to take and the money you think you'll need. Then take half the clothes and twice the money."

Mike walked around to the trunk and eyed the suitcases inside. "I think you forgot your own advice."

"Only half of it."

"Half of it?"

Carly reached into the back seat and retrieved her small carry-on bag. "Yeah, I brought twice the money." She pivoted in spot, squinting into the setting sun. "I never thought it would be so, so—I don't know—"

"So big?"

"Big doesn't even begin to cover it." She made a slow circle of the area, taking in the beauty of the area once again. "It isn't just the size, it's the grandeur of it all."

Cigarette smoke wafted toward them on the evening breeze, and the man came with the tangy smell, almost as if carried along with the scent. Carly's nose wrinkled. This was not the smell of the country she was expecting. Hopefully the smoke would be confined to the outdoors.

Hand extended, a huge grin on his face, the man's features became clearer the closer he got. Carly's first impression of a tall and lanky cowboy was confirmed. Just how she imagined a true cowboy. Large, brown, ten-gallon hat with a dark feather sticking off from one side. Weather-beaten skin, darkened by wind and sun, perhaps helped along by heredity? Dark hair.

"Name's Brandon. I'm foreman here." One sinewy hand cupped his cigarette, the other he extended to Mike in greeting.

Mike accepted the offered hand and shook. "I'm Mike, and this is my wife, Carly."

Brandon spat on the dusty ground. "Welcome to Spiral S Ranch."

Carly didn't detect any note of genuine welcome in either his stance or his actions. She looked over his shoulder at the other two men who moved toward them.

Brandon, catching her glance, gestured to them. "Them's Abe and Jonah."

Mike stepped forward to shake hands with each in turn. "Which one of you is which?"

The taller one nodded and grunted, "I'm Abe."

The shorter one toed the dirt for a moment, then admitted, "I'm Jonah."

Carly smiled. Jonah seemed to be on the shy side.

Brandon spit again, this time with more force than was really necessary. Carly looked at him directly. He liked to be lead man. No second fiddle for him.

"Do you live here on the ranch, Brandon?" Mike asked.

Carly noted the tautness in Mike's jaw muscles as he strained to be polite to the man who had taken no care to be polite to them. Knowing who lived here would give Mike the information he needed to know about who had the most access to the ranch.

Brandon took a long draw on his cigarette, holding the smoke for what seemed forever to Carly. Finally he exhaled a plume that a brick furnace would be proud to claim. Most of which carried in Carly's direction. "I live here with Louisa, my little Hispanic wife." He emphasized the word 'wife', a sneer on his face. "She works in the house."

Mike tensed at Carly's side. He drew a couple of deep breaths, letting them out slowly. "I'm here to work on the computer program for Deborah. Carly's here to have a vacation."

Carly sidled closer to her husband, aware of a palpable change in the men's attitude. Almost like they didn't want Mike here.

An uncomfortable silence hung over the group. Brandon's sneer became more a mask of rage. Only Jonah seemed to have no opinion one way or the other as he toed the ground with the toe of his boot, doodling, as it were, in the dirt.

Brandon broke the uncomfortable silence. "Well, now, I told Miss Deborah we didn't need no computer program to tell us how many head we have, or that we're losing money on them. But she has these new fallutin' ideas about making the ranch profitable. Can't make a dead horse profitable, I say. Right boys?" he said, turning to Abe and Jonah for confirmation.

They nodded at the ground, shuffled their feet, and mumbled their agreement.

"Yep. Miss Deborah has some strange ideas. Guess that's what you get from going to one of those fancy colleges instead of learning the ropes from the ground up. Still, it's her ranch now, since her daddy and granddaddy died, and she is the boss lady. Right boys?"

More shuffling of feet and mumbling. Carly wondered if they ever made eye contact or could even speak an intelligent word.

The small group stood awkwardly, the tension in the group like a spring that was about to pop. She looked uncertainly at Mike. He squeezed her hand, pulling her closer to him.

Brandon looked them over, top to bottom, lingering just a little too long on Carly for her comfort. She was beginning to wonder what was going on when the tension broke. Out of the corner of her eye, Carly saw two yellow streaks bounding towards them. She turned and faced two Golden Retrievers. Not sure whether they were friend or foe, She grabbed Mike's arm.

Brandon followed her gaze, his weathered face breaking into a huge grin. "Y'all don't need to worry about those dogs. They're friendly as all get-out. They live here on the ranch. But don't let them in the house. They're outdoor dogs. They only come into the barn when it's real miserable outside. Watch it though," he warned, as the first dog reached Carly and jumped up, his front paws on her chest, nearly knocking her down. "If they knock you over, they'll probably lick you to death." He turned to the other two men. "Well, boys, why don't you grab these folks' bags, and we'll take them up to the big house."

Mike turned to unlock the trunk and handed their suitcases to the waiting men. They took the bags without comment and headed for the ranch house. Mike picked up his computer and printer cases from the back seat. Carly smiled; even with plenty of help, he liked to carry his computer equipment himself.

Brandon led the way up the steps. "Big house. That's what we call the ranch house here. Right name for it, too, wouldn't you say?"

Carly recognized the man was trying his best to cover his attitude. She nodded. "This could be a hotel, or it would make a great bed and breakfast type operation."

Brandon stiffened slightly, pausing on the steps. "I guess it would. I understand you city folk like to come out to the country and see how us natives live once in a while, don't you? Kinda like going to the zoo or the museum. Cultural experience, I hear tell."

Carly stopped in her tracks at the foot of the steps, not believing the man had truly said that. The undertone in Brandon's voice was unmistakable. He didn't want them there. He didn't want any "outsiders" here. She wanted to respond with a cutting remark, and had to bite her tongue. The owner was Mike's client. She was simply here for a vacation. Sarcasm probably would earn Mike any points, so she kept quiet.

Instead, she willed herself to keep her tone light and her voice from cracking. "Actually, this is better than a zoo." She forced a smile. "Here we get to eat with the animals, as well as watch them."

She cast a glance behind her. Mike was talking to the other two, oblivious of her predicament. She could handle this. After all, what was he going to do, in front of the others? He wouldn't dare try anything.

Brandon stared at her for a moment. She put on her best smile and looked him steadily in the eye.

After what seemed an eternity, he broke into a huge guffaw and made a show of bowing from the waist. "Ma'am, you have just put me in my place in the nicest way possible. Please forgive this old cowpoke's lack of manners. I've been away from civilization too long, I guess." He continued up the steps, pausing before the main door to the house, a calloused hand on the knob. "Right this way, folks." Under his breath, he whispered in a stage voice to Carly, but loud enough for the group to hear, "Please don't speak poorly of me to Miss Deborah."

Carly acknowledged his plea for mercy with a nod, then proceeded through the door. Mike followed close behind her, putting his hand in hers once inside the door. She exhaled and relaxed.

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "Are you okay?"

She mouthed, "I'm fine. Let's forget it."

"If you have any trouble with him -- "

Carly smiled. Mike. Always the protective one. She felt very safe and very loved. "I've got it under control. I think."

The inside of the ranch house was as spectacular as the outside. Done in a southwestern theme, artistically and delicately done. The place showed a woman's touch. The bleached ponderosa pine flooring shone in the subdued lighting from sconces along the walls. The interior was an open design with a balcony running the length of the back of the house, connected to the ground floor by a magnificent set of stairs. Area rugs added color to the flooring in warm shades of coral pink and aqua. The stairs were carpeted with a runner of the same motif and several comfortable-looking wing-back chairs, gathered in conversation groupings throughout the foyer, added to the welcoming atmosphere.

Doorways opened off each side of the foyer leading into other rooms. Past the stairs, several other doorways suggested more rooms. From the door to the left of the foyer, raised voices made Carly feel as though they had intruded on something they weren't meant to hear. Carly stood uncomfortably for a moment, pretending to be engrossed in a painting of a man on a horse, before Brandon spoke in a louder-than-necessary voice.

"Well, folks, here we are. This is the big house. Abe and Jonah will take your bags to your room, as soon as I find out which one it is. Miss Deborah?"

The voices in the room stopped. Then an imposing figure by anyone's standards came through the doorway toward them. The tall woman, who Carly estimated was in her mid-forties, held out her hand to Carly, smiling. The soft lighting reflected off her long, black hair.

"Hello. Forgive me not meeting you at the door. I'm Deborah Randall." She swept her hand in gesture to the house. "Consider my home your home for your visit with us." Smiling, she extended her hand toward Carly. "You must be Carly. Your son has told me so much about you."

Sensing movement from the corner of her eye, Carly glanced past Deborah to see her Tom standing in the doorway to the room that Deborah had just come from.

Now why would Tom and Deborah be arguing?

Chapter 5

Deborah's welcoming smile and firm handshake completely bewitched Carly, and she quickly brushed off the overheard argument. After shaking Mike's hand, Deborah stepped back, allowing Tom to be included in the welcome.

He stepped forward to hug his father first, if a little awkwardly, then turned to envelop Carly in a bear hug. She returned his embrace, patting him on the back. After a moment, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently away.

Holding him at arm's length, she looked steadily into his eyes. "You look so much like your father, Tom." Seeing the quick but sad smile that flitted across his face, she added, "I see your mother in your eyes, though."

This time, a smile came and stayed on his face. Mike's first wife, Sophie, had died when the kids were teenagers, and Mike hadn't remarried for three years. By the time Carly had come along they were in college and didn't need a mother so much as they needed a good friend. Carly had been that for them, and love had come out of that relationship.

"Dad, Carly, it's so good to see you both. It's been too long."

Mike nodded. "Yes, it has been. But now we get to spend a couple of weeks working together."

"I'm glad you're here, Dad, because Deborah has been driving me crazy with questions about the program and the database." He reached over and gave his father another hug. "I don't know enough about the details to say anything."

"I'm glad you thought of me, Tom." Mike turned to Deborah. "I trust you won't have a problem with the fact that Tom and I are related?"

"Absolutely not. This way I get two for the price of one." Seeing the confused look on Mike's face, she laughed. "Didn't Tom tell you? I don't pay extra for relatives."

Carly's heart took a little leap. Was she implying Mike wasn't going to get paid for his work?

Tom cleared his throat. "Now that you've had a taste of Deborah's sense of humor, let's set the record straight. I didn't hire you because you're my father. I hired you because I knew you were up to the challenge."

Carly let her breath out quietly.

"And I didn't take the job because I wanted to help my son," Mike replied. "I took it because I love challenges."

Mike had told Carly that Deborah already had three programmers look at her specifications, and each one had said the work was too complex to compile a process effectively. Mike specialized in the complex. Of course, the chance to spend a couple of weeks with his son was a big draw, as was his desire to get Carly out of Bear Cove for a little while. There had been just too much excitement there for comfort. Some of the townspeople were still upset that Carly had been the reason that one of their town pillars was arrested for murder.

"Dad, can we take a few minutes before dinner to go over some of the parameters of the project?"

Mike looked to Carly.

She gazed longingly up the stairs, imagining a short nap.

"Sure, Tom. Carly, why don't you go up and take a nap before dinner?"

She smiled at her husband, amazed once again at his sensitive nature. "Do I have time, Deborah? I don't want to upset the schedule."

"Forgive me." Deborah stepped forward and laid her hand on Carly's arm. "I was so anxious to meet you, I've forgotten my manners." She turned to Abe and Jonah. "Take the bags to the Mesa Room." To Brandon, she merely nodded. "I'll talk to you later."

Brandon removed his cowboy hat and gave a mock bow to Deborah. With a smirk on his face, he set his hat back on his head, patting down the large feather that stuck out of the hatband. Deborah's face went pale under her tan. Then he turned and left.

Turning to Mike and Carly, Deborah said, "Your room is the first door on your left at the head of the stairs. I hope you like it. Each room has a private bath and a small sitting area, and your room overlooks the Sandia Mountains. The Mesa Room is actually a suite, because I knew you'd want to set up computer equipment. We've outfitted it with a desk, chair, and table, and there's Internet access. You'll have a glorious view of the sunrise, so long as the weather holds."

Carly started as she heard her name mentioned. "I'm sorry, Tom. Daydreaming, I guess. What did you say?"

"I said, I hope you're not going to be looking for a mystery while you're here."

She hastened to assure everyone, "No, Tom. I am under strict orders to avoid mysteries." She linked her arm in Mike's. "Besides, we've already solved our one-mystery-per-trip quota, haven't we?"

Tom tipped his head in question. "What do you mean, Dad? Already solved a mystery?"

Mike sighed. "Okay, I confess. Carly saw something strange on the plane, and she helped the police catch a murderer and her accomplice before we even landed in Albuquerque."

Carly nodded. "And before you hear all the gory details, you guys get your business done, and I'm going to freshen up. It's been a long day of traveling."

Mike followed Tom down the hallway, then he turned and came back to Carly. He planted a quick kiss on her lips. "I'll be up in about fifteen minutes."

Carly patted his arm, then adjusted her carry-on over her shoulder. "I'll be fine. Wake me after you have your shower."

"Great," Deborah replied. "Dinner will be in—" She consulted a magnificent turquoise-studded watch on her right wrist "—an hour." She indicated a door to the right of the foyer. "We'll see you in the dining room, just over there."

Carly followed Abe and Jonah up the stairs, waiting outside the room while the cowboys set the suitcases inside the door, then backed out without speaking, still not making eye contact. Carly plopped on the bed, testing its firmness.

Looking around at the suite, Carly was pleased with the gentle shades of tan and brown in the area rugs and the draperies. The now-familiar coral pink and aqua accents from the foyer carried the color scheme throughout the room in strategic accents. Carly suspected those colors were found in every room, regardless of the main color theme of the room. The sofa looked very appealing situated opposite an entertainment unit that probably housed a television.

She lay back on the bed, reveling in its comfort, glad she had time for a quick nap, even though her body screamed for sleep. Her body clock told her the time was almost nine p.m., they had been up early this morning. Still, her stomach clock growled, telling her she'd missed lunch and dinner was only an hour away. She had been too excited to eat much on the first plane, and the airline meal of mystery meat on the second plane was a long time ago, its only redeeming feature had been the three-bite dessert, and she'd slept through the hoagie sandwich in the car.

Carly pulled the comforter over her legs. She would just rest for a few minutes, then surprise Mike by unpacking the luggage and taking the computer out of its carry bag. Yes, she would love to see the look on his face when he came in and found everything ready for him to set up.

Tom led the way to the library, indicating a seating arrangement near the large bay window. Mike looked around the room in appreciation. This one room appeared to have escaped the decorator touch of the rest of the house. Dark wood-paneled walls, heavy draperies, and old, cracked leather furniture bespoke of a man's room.

He settled into a high-backed chair as Tom paced the room. Finally, his son perched on a hard-backed chair as if he expected to jump and run at any moment.

Mike smiled. "You remind me of myself at your age."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Full of nervous energy. Always wanting to be on the move, doing something."

Tom ran his fingers through his curly hair, the color so like Sophie's. Long fingers absently repeated the motion, a nervous habit he recently practiced until Carly teased him about wiping all his hair away. "I try not to do this when Carly's around."

"Seems you do that when you're under stress." Mike laced his fingers together behind his head. "I used to do that, too."

Tom leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Nothing wrong with being like my old man, is there?"

Mike nodded. "So long as you're imitating the right things."

Tom cocked his head to one side. "What do you mean?"

Mike drew a deep breath. "I didn't ask to talk to you only about business. I wanted to update you on some changes in my life, and in Carly's. It's been a while since we've seen each other."

"Yeah, too long, Dad." Tom scooted back on his chair. "So, what's new?"

Mike traced a crack in the old leather with a forefinger. "Well, you know Carly and I were involved in a couple of recent events in Bear Cove."

Tom nodded. "It's hard to believe there could be that much going on in a small town in Maine like Bear Cove. I don't ever remember that much fun when we were kids growing up there."

Mike's smile faded. "Might sound like fun now, but at the time it was pretty scary."

Tom leaned forward. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't mean—"

Mike smiled. "I know you didn't. Anyway, this project came at just the right time. Carly was under pressure by some people in town. Even after ten years, they still look at her like an outsider. Small town mentality is still alive and well in Bear Cove."

"I remember. When I decided to go into advertising, some people felt like I was abandoning the town." Tom picked at a fingernail. "Then I am glad I was able to convince you to come out here."

"Didn't take much convincing, son. I would have wanted to come anyway. The murder, the arrest of a friend of Carly's, all of that's bad enough. And then something else happened that could be even more life-changing."

Tom pulled his chair closer. "Life-changing? Don't tell me Carly is pregnant?"

Mike's mouth went dry as he looked at his son. "How would you feel if that was true?"

"I'd be very happy for you both, of course. Is she?"

Mike shook his head. "No. We had a moment where we thought that was possible. But it wasn't to be. At least not now. Doesn't mean it won't happen, though."

Tom reached over and clapped his father on the back. "Way to go, Dad. You've still got it."

Mike's face flushed with heat. He had never been comfortable talking to his children about intimate matters. He cleared his throat. "Well, we're just really glad to be here."

Yes, indeed. Carly could relax, enjoy a couple of weeks away from the newspaper headlines and reporters seeking interviews.

She would be safe. And Mike didn't care that he had to take her halfway across the country to accomplish that.

Carly awoke with a start at a touch on her shoulder. She looked up into Mike's face as he smiled down at her.

"Wake up, sleepy head. Did you want to shower and change before dinner?"

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Goodness. How long have I been asleep?"

"Only about thirty minutes. I'm finished in the shower if you want to go in. We have about twenty minutes until dinner, and I'd like to get down there early."

As if she needed reminding. Mike liked to get wherever he was going at least five minutes early. It was one of those idiosyncrasies about him that she loved. Carly, too, hated to be late and she would rather be ten minutes early than one minute late for an appointment. Unfortunately, she wasn't usually as well-organized, and her desire to be early was often laid aside for her need to finish just one more thing.

Mike studied the woodwork edging near the ceiling. "This house is older than it looks."

She stretched full length, pointing her toes and flexing her ankles, feeling as though she had run a marathon. Well, maybe not a marathon, since she really wouldn't know how that felt, never having run one before. Still, she was achy all over. "How can you tell?"

Carly was more interested in a hot shower than in the architecture of the house. Sure, this was a nice house, wonderfully decorated in colors that inspired and relaxed at the same time, but Carly had more important things on her mind.

"There aren't any closets. Houses built more than about seventy-five years ago didn't have closets. They used wardrobes and chests of drawers, like this room has."

"Interesting." Carly sat up and twisted her upper body from the waist, willing her tired body to respond. "Why is that?"

"Because the house was taxed on the number of rooms. And closets were considered rooms." Mike sat on the edge of the bed, his towel still draped loosely around his lean waist. He raised and lowered his eyebrows several times, leaning in close to her. He smelled fresh and clean from his shower. "If you insist on staying there, looking provocative and sleepy, we might just be late for dinner."

Carly considered his offer for only a moment before remembering they were in a house full of people, not in a luxury hotel by themselves. As much as she would have preferred spending a lazy hour or so with her husband, she knew they were expected for dinner.

She jumped to her feet and grabbed some clean clothes out of her still-packed suitcase. "I need a shower after sitting in the plane all day. Boy, you wouldn't think I'd be this tired after just sitting so much. Be a darling, and hang up my wrinkle-able clothes for me, would you? I can deal with the rest later."

In the shower, she relished the stream of hot water over her tired and achy body. What had she done lately—except sit in two planes and a rental car for hours—that would have made her achy?

Toweling off, she snuggled into a warm bathrobe, applied some fresh makeup, then ran a comb through her wet hair.

Mike stepped in close behind her, taking the comb from her hand. "Here, let me help you with that." With infinite patience, he gently and carefully combed the back section. "You've got some tangles here. Probably from rubbing your head against the seat backs all day."

She let her arms drop to her side. She loved when Mike combed her hair. "That feels good. I don't know why my arms are so tired."

"I'm glad you let it grow to your shoulders again."

Sometimes she was certain he could read her mind. "If it means you will comb it for me, I'll let it grow to my knees."

He reached around her to pull her closer. "Really?"

She twisted away, laughing. "Not! Now let me finish drying off. I still have to get dressed, you know." She pushed him gently out of the small bathroom. "I've got to finish combing my hair. This arid climate will dry it almost as fast as a hairdryer."

Mike mumbled something about stealing his fun, but she closed the door on his protests. When she emerged from the bathroom, Mike had unpacked her suitcases and stowed both bags out of sight. He really was a treasure.

She leaned over the desk where he sat and opened the window a few inches to let the shower steam escape. Mike was already busy setting up his computer and peripherals, including a four-in-one fax-printer-scanner-copier unit and a backup power supply. Under the desk, she spied a tangle of cables and wires she was glad she didn't have to figure out. She was a computer novice in that she could learn to use a program, but Mike was the hardware expert.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to stop what he was doing. He leaned back in the chair, and they stayed that way for a minute or two, relaxing in each other's embrace.

Mike broke the silence. "I could get used to this."

Carly stepped back and looked into her husband's eyes. "You'd go crazy after about three days of all this peace and quiet."

Mike ran his fingers through his hair. Carly reached over and stilled his hand. He smiled up at her. "You're right. I would."

Carly massaged his shoulders. "But that doesn't mean we can't do some private relaxing. After hours."

Mike leaned into her caress. "Sounds like you have something on your mind."

"Not right now. Later."

He sighed. "Seems like it's always later."

She smiled and kissed the top of his head. "I am a woman of my word."

He pulled her onto his lap and held her tight, his nose buried in her hair. "That you are."

"So let's have dinner. The sooner we eat, the sooner the evening will be over. And we can come back here to the privacy of our room."

"That's an offer I can't refuse." He looked at his watch. "C'mon, let's go. I can finish this work later. We'll be just five minutes early."

Carly checked her reflection in the large beveled-glass mirror before taking Mike's hand. Together they walked down the staircase enjoying the silence and the atmosphere. The wonderful aroma of roasted beef filled the house, and the chattering of voices from the rear of the house indicated a kitchen staff in high gear preparing a meal. English and Spanish combined in a pleasing blend of voices, creating an intimate look into life in the big house.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard loud voices once again from the room to the left. Having lived with an abusive husband, Carly did not like to hear arguing, and instinctively she shrank against the wall. Mike drew her close to him, and they waited at the base of the stairs.

Mike turned his head to whisper in her ear. "That's Deborah, but it's not Tom's voice."

Carly nodded. "I think it might be Brandon."

While they couldn't make out everything being said, snatches of phrases could be heard, including 'you don't know anything about running a ranch', from Brandon, to Deborah's retort of 'don't think you can fool me like you fooled my grandfather'.

Carly shivered. She wasn't getting a good feeling about this whole vacation idea. There was a lot of tension in this house. Why did this place make people argue so much?

Chapter 6

Carly gripped her husband's arm. "Mike. Do something."

Mike cleared his throat and spoke loudly. "Carly, love, let's go on into the dining room. I think I spied a lithography in there by Clarence Anderson."

Taking her cue, Carly followed him into the dining room, which was actually more like a dining hall. The color scheme from the foyer was carried into this room as well, although only as accents, as was the case in their private room. The main color scheme in this room was an off-white, a refreshing shade of pale yellow.

"Oh, this is so pretty." Carly's eyes followed the lines of the room. "It reminds me of the homemade butter I buy at the farmer's market at home."

"That butter is so good, especially slathered on homemade bread—" Mike stopped when Carly began to laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You are. I was talking about the color, and instantly you think of food."

"Me? You were talking about butter. You brought up the subject, not me."

Playfully she punched him on the arm. "I am determined not to let the argument in the other room distract me from my vacation." She ran her fingers along the long oak table that could easily seat twenty. "I feel like I've just walked onto a movie set or into a museum."

The entire room was decorated with great care. Fresh flowers served as accents, artfully arranged in cracked glass vases. Silverware gleamed, and crystal reflected the candlelight from the tall candlesticks on the sideboards around three sides of the room. Carly walked over to a set of large French doors leading to a paved block patio, which in turn overlooked the mesa outside. She inhaled the heady scent of ponderosa pine.

Turning from the doorway, she sauntered over to Mike, who stood in front of a framed piece of artwork hanging over a sideboard that looked to be several hundred years old. Carly ran her hand along its fine burnished surface appreciating the quality and care that had gone into preserving this piece in its pristine condition.

Behind them, Deborah's spoke at a normal volume as she entered the room. "Glad to see you decided to stick around for dinner. I guarantee the food is as good as any restaurant you've ever eaten in. My staff is superb and they love what they do."

Carly smiled. "I could tell by their happy voices."

"I didn't realize you had already met them."

"We heard them when we came down the stairs. They sounded like they were enjoying getting the meal ready."

Deborah nodded as she indicated two place settings on the same side of the table. "Won't you be seated? Tom should be here any moment." She seated herself at the head of the table. "As owner, I carry on my grandfather's tradition and sit at the head of the table. You don't mind the casual formality, do you?"

Mike held Carly's chair out for her. "Not at all. Traditions are important. Without them, we wouldn't have antiques or inheritance."

Carly patted his hand on her shoulder. "You have a wonderful decor here. Did you hire a professional?"

Deborah smiled, her pleasure at the compliment obvious. "No, I did it. My mother died when I was young, and my grandfather tended to let the house go. He kept the house exactly as it was, even the paint. When he died, I decided it was time for a change. I love color, but I didn't want every room to be an abrupt change. So I studied some style books and came up with the color scheme you see here."

Carly nodded. "I did identify the two main colors, and I assume they are carried into every room? I love the way you incorporated it into our room, unobtrusive, yet evident. And in this room, too."

Mike sat down. "Well, I must confess I didn't pick up on the colors. I did notice this lithograph. A Clarence Anderson? Very impressive."

Deborah spread her linen napkin across her lap. "Yes, he was a personal friend of my grandfather's and did that as a birthday gift back in the fifties. It's not even included in the catalogue of his works because it was never on the market." Her smile faded. "And I don't intend that it will ever be, not if I have my way." She turned her attention to Mike. "So, did you and Tom have a good chat?"

Carly clasped Mike's hand. "I think they will work it out, given some time."

Deborah frowned. "Not a problem with the program, is there?"

Mike shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."

Deborah glanced at Carly. "A family secret perhaps?" She fluttered her fingers. "No mind. Every family has secrets. Even mine."

Not sure what to say, Carly was glad when Tom came in the room. His face lit up when he saw her and his father, but an especially warm expression was reserved for Deborah. She returned his smile. Carly pondered this—Tom and Deborah? She was older than him by at least twenty years. Still, that wasn't so uncommon these days. But where did that leave Sarah, his hopefully soon-to-be fiancée? Was he getting himself into something he'd later regret?

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting." He plopped into the empty seat at Deborah's right. He smiled at Carly, his glance lingering on his father, finally resting on Deborah. Their eyes met for a moment until she dropped her gaze. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all, Tom." Deborah answered for all of them. "Carly was just telling me about your little talk with your father."

Tom glanced quickly as his father, who met his gaze evenly. "Well, I think we both have a better understanding of the work ahead of us."

Deborah squinted slightly at Tom. "Sounds serious." She rang a small brass bell she picked up from the table near her water goblet, its delicate tone a delight to the ear. "I'll call for the soup course. You're just in time. We were discussing the Clarence Anderson lithograph. You and your father have a similar eye for artwork."

Footsteps sounded on the tiled hallway floor. A short Hispanic woman bearing a huge soup tureen came into the dining room. Close behind her a man carried a tray laden with salads. Without fuss, without speaking, they set the salads at each place and the tureen in the middle of the table.

Deborah smiled at each "Thank you, Louisa. Thank you, Paco."

They left the room without responding.

Deborah pushed her chair back, but Tom waved her back into her seat.

"I'll serve tonight, if you don't mind," he offered.

Ever the gentleman, Carly noted.

Deborah nodded, her smile coquettish. She turned to Mike and Carly. "Louisa and Paco are sister and brother, and they make a great team. Talented as cooks as well as for serving. I've had formal dinner parties with twenty guests, and they have always made me proud."

Tom ladled soup into each bowl. "As you can see, I, too, have been well-taught." His eyes twinkled as he served. "I take great pains not to spill any or to stick my thumb in your soup."

The meal proceeded on a quiet note with no mention of either of the earlier unpleasantness between Tom and Deborah or between Deborah and Brandon.

Noting the less-tense set of Mike's shoulders as he ate, Carly was able to stay focused on her dinner, surprised at how hungry she was. More than once she felt Deborah's eyes on her as she ate. Carly's table manners were more than acceptable, but she knowing Deborah was watching her every move, she fumbled with her spoon and dribbled soup on the front of her shirt, dropped a piece of tomato in her lap, and managed to knock over her water goblet.

Finally, she set her spoon aside, deciding to make light of her clumsiness. "Perhaps Louisa would prefer if I ate with the cowboys. Seems I've forgotten how to use table utensils."

Deborah waved off her words. "Perhaps you're struggling with the altitude."

Carly changed taking another sip of water, managing to get the glass to her lips and back to the table without spilling any. "The altitude?"

Deborah nodded. "Yes. We're at over seven thousand feet here. You came from sea level. The air is thinner, and can cause various ailments such as achy muscles, headaches, and slower reaction times."

Carly sat back. "I didn't know that."

Tom leaned forward. "Give yourselves a couple of days and you should be right as rain. Drink plenty of water and sleep when you need to."

Carly smiled. "Sounds like a vacation to me." She picked up her spoon again. "This soup and salad are wonderful. My compliments to your cook."

Deborah's smile was effusive as she received the compliment with grace. "Thank you. Forgive me for staring at you. I was thinking what a handsome couple you and Mike make. And Tom has told me so much about you. I felt like we were already old friends. Did I make you uncomfortable?"

This woman was straight-forward in her approach and seemed very honest. Carly appreciated both of those traits in a person. She drew a breath and exhaled slowly. No point in being less so in her response. "Not really uncomfortable. Let's just say I'm glad the newness of being here is wearing off. We want you to treat us like family while we're here. No special treatment, okay?"

Deborah paused a moment before answering. "I think that treating you like family will be easy, Carly. Are you up to talking some business while we eat the main course, Mike?"

"Main course? We would have been happy with this delicious soup and the salad." Mike rubbed his stomach. "I think I do have some more room left, though. And yes, I'd be glad to talk about some of the preliminary parts of this project."

Deborah looked to Carly for agreement. Carly appreciated that for Deborah hospitality was more important than business. Deborah would never discuss business if she objected. Which she would never do. After all, this was Mike's project, not mine.

Carly nodded. "Oh, yes. I'd love to hear more about the ranch and your plans to make it profitable as a du—I mean, guest ranch."

Deborah looked to Tom. "Why don't you begin? You know almost as much as I do about our plans." She reached for the brass bell again, and as before, the brother-and-sister team entered bearing trays loaded with serving dishes soon after. "Thank you, Louisa and Paco."

Carly thought she was full from the soup and salad but the sight of all that food made her mouth water. Dishes of potatoes, carrots, peas, roast beef, and gravy were set on the table.

Deborah passed the dish nearest her to Carly who sat on her left. "We serve all meals family style here. Take it and pass it along."

Carly was happy to do so. The subsequent dishes passed to her filled her plate to overflowing. She looked over at Mike's plate. He had done the same.

Tom started the story as he filled his plate. "Well, the ranch was owned by Deborah's grandfather. He inherited the land the ranch house is on and about two thousand acres west of the house from his father, who came here during the Depression. Land was pretty cheap then, as you can imagine."

Mike and Carly nodded their understanding.

Tom continued. "Deborah's father bought up the remaining land, about twenty-eight thousand acres, as it became available. The last purchase was about thirty years ago. Mostly it was from other ranchers deciding to get out of the business, although several times he bought at bank or estate auctions."

Carly noted the pained look on Deborah's face at the mention of the auctions. Apparently there were some bad feelings associated with that. Not uncommon, she supposed.

Tom swallowed a mouthful of food before continuing. "Deborah's father renamed the total ranch package the Spiral S, after his wife, Susan, and himself, Samuel. He wanted to have lots of children to leave the land to, even making plans as to how he would divide the land so each one would have frontage access, as well as water rights, irrigated land in equal amounts, and equal amounts of pasture, fallow, and wooded areas. We found papers showing he planned for as many as six children."

Deborah's expression was sad as she picked up the story. "Unfortunately, my mother died when I was ten. My father could have remarried, but I think part of him died with her. He lost his will to live and couldn't stay here with her memory everywhere. He moved into the city for a few years, leaving me here with my grandfather, who had originally owned the land. Grandfather trained me to run the ranch." She sipped her water. "My father moved back here a couple of years before he died. I think he wanted familiar people around him. That was about twenty years ago, and my grandfather died about ten years ago. I took over complete management then. Some of the same ranch hands stayed on but most left. Working for a woman didn't sit right with them, I guess."

Carly nodded. She sympathized with the sadness and frustration in Deborah's voice. "Somehow they think it's a comedown to work for a woman. I've had that experience, too."

Mike set his knife on his plate. "So where do these plans come in for a guest ranch? Is there really enough business to support that kind of an operation?"

Tom paused, his fork in mid-air. "We intend to create that kind of traffic with a marketing campaign to appeal to upper middle-class travelers who are looking for a hands-on, back-to-nature experience. Studies show that extreme vacations, like mountain climbing and kayaking the Inside Passage of Alaska, only appeal to a small percentage of moneyed travelers. Recent studies have also shown that Americans are more interested in finding out about their own country than in traveling abroad. We think this concept will catch on really well. And we're prepared to invest the time and money to make sure it will."

Carly didn't miss the term "we" in Tom's statement.

Or the fact that his face was more animated than she'd seen in a long time.

Interesting.

"Which is where you come in, Mike." Deborah spoke up again. "I've always done the accounting for the ranch. Brandon gives me the numbers and I enter them into the computer. We show a small profit every year, which has been fine with me. I don't stay here for the money. There are lots of things I could do to make more money if I wanted to." She glanced out the now-dark windows over the mesa. "But this place is in my blood, and I don't want to leave."

"So what's changed?" Mike helped himself to another slice of roast beef. He looked to Carly, who shook her head. She was already full and only halfway through her plate.

"According to the computer, nothing. We still show a small profit. We have money in our bank account, all our bills are paid, and our help is paid slightly higher wages than the norm for this area, because they're good, and I want to keep them." Deborah toyed with the food on her plate. "But there's more to the story."

For the first time, Carly noticed she'd eaten very little.

The woman was choosing her words carefully.

Deborah passed the water pitcher to Tom. "Last month, a supplier I've never heard of called for payment of an invoice for saddles and tack. I hadn't ordered either. The supplier said he'd been dealing with Brandon but hadn't gotten his money, and so was calling me directly. I told him I'd look into it." She leaned back in her chair, weariness etched in the lines across her forehead. "I asked Brandon, and he denied having ordered the product. When I showed him the invoice with his signature, he said he forgot to give me the invoice to pay. Since it was for over a thousand dollars, I wanted to see the saddles. He tried to put me off, saying they were out on horses that were on the trail. I insisted, so a couple of days later he showed me some saddles and bridles. They didn't match the descriptions."

Carly was getting more and more interested. This was right up her alley. "What did you do next?"

"I paid the invoice and didn't say anything else. Brandon has been here for over twenty years. He was a good friend to my father, my grandfather, and then to me. He taught me a lot about running a ranch. I don't want to believe he would steal from me. If this ranch goes bankrupt, he'll lose his job, too."

"Unless he buys it up in a bank auction, Deborah," Tom interjected. "I don't trust Brandon as far as I can throw him."

Carly leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "Maybe he thinks that since your family did that to local ranchers, he can get ahead the same way. You know, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."

Deborah gasped, and the two men at the table fell silent.

Carly chuckled. "Just kidding." She sat back. "Seriously, you want Mike's program to keep tighter tabs on income and expenses?"

Deborah nodded. "Yes, that's the plan. After the program is in place, I want a physical count of all inventory, stock, and supplies, and then I can compare that with the program numbers. Any discrepancies will have to be explained. And I'm not going to accept that thousands of dollars just fell through the cracks or were counted wrong some time past. My grandfather did manual counts of the stock every spring, just before calving, then added calves, accounting for every animal, even coyote kills. I know the numbers were right. And I'm pretty sure our accounting since then has been accurate. Even if we missed identifying a coyote kill or two, it won't make that much difference in the long run."

"So, Dad," Tom said. "Do you think you're up to it?"

Chapter 7

Mike paused for a moment. He never liked to rush into a decision. And even more, he didn't like being rushed into a decision. "I believe I am, son. After we account for the stock and inventory, what's the next step, Deborah?"

"We want to incorporate a reservation system so we can book rooms via computer and schedule room turnovers. Then we want the entire accounting system included, such as payroll and accounts payable." Deborah sipped from her crystal water goblet, light reflecting off the high ceiling.

"Okay, then. So after I design the system, we can ensure that it's working as expected." He accepted the bowl of potatoes from Carly and plopped a large scoop onto his plate. "By the time we're finished, you should have everything accounted for."

Tom offered the basket of rolls to Carly. "Great. While you're working on the reservation and accounting program, Deborah and I will be working on the marketing plan. What are your plans, Carly?"

Carly finished chewing before answering. "Nothing special. I'm hoping to ride some. Walk some. Read some. And nap some in that hammock I saw in the front yard."

Deborah laughed. "That makes me really jealous, Carly. Actually, the nap in the hammock may be the only problem."

Mike watched with amusement as Carly tipped her head to one side, like the RCA Victor dog, a question on her face. She had been quiet throughout the meal. Most likely because she wasn't completely comfortable. When she got to know Deborah better, she would ask more questions. Just so long as she wasn't trying to solve a non-existent mystery.

Deborah continued. "The weather is calling for snow tomorrow or the next day and cold temperatures after that. After all, this is November in the high desert." She set her fork down, dabbing her mouth with her linen napkin. "And as I said before, get lots of rest. Don't push it going up stairs. Let your body get used to the altitude."

He'd felt lethargic himself, but put that off to being on the plane all day. "I read on the plane that we should drink lots of water and get enough sleep."

Deborah nodded. "And, if you feel dizzy, sit down."

Deborah reached for the bell again. Their servers removed empty plates and returned with coffee and tea service, as well as a large platter of assorted sweets. Carly ogled the dessert platter. He almost expected to see her licking her lips.

Carly glanced at him, her cheeks turning pink under his gaze. "Just coffee for me, please. This is just the beginning of my vacation, and I want to be able to fit into my clothes."

Her simple comment caused a ripple of laughter, and Mike noted with interest that everyone was able to relax at the table, enjoying each other's company. A commotion at the front door caused them to fall silent. A man's loud voice demanded to be admitted.

Tom pushed his chair back, standing before Deborah had a chance to respond. "Stay here, Deborah. I'll see what's going on."

Deborah nodded, her eyes wide.

Not quite sure what to do, Mike cast a warning glance at Carly, and they remained in their seats. After all, they were guests here.

Tom argued with the man at the door who insisted on seeing Deborah. Scuffling noises ensued, and Brandon burst into the dining room, his face colored with rage. Reeking of alcohol, he swayed from side to side, his stance unsteady.

He pointed a finger at Deborah. "You! You're trying to turn them against me. Louisa heard you talking in here while you were eating. You won't get away with this! I've bent over backwards to make this dump profitable. And now that it's not, you're trying to blame me. I won't stand for it. Do you understand?"

Deborah sank into her chair, her face drained of color, and her whole body shook. Carly stood behind her, putting her arm around her shoulders.

Ever the protective mother instinct.

Brandon turned his anger on Tom. "And you!" He shook his fist. "Don't think you can just waltz in here and take over this ranch right from under my nose! I've been here too long and put too much into this to just sit back and take it, do you hear?"

Mike had never seen his son so angry. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and his teeth clenched. The veins in his forehead bulged, and his face turned red.

Mike spoke up. "I think you'd better leave this house now, Brandon. You've been drinking, and you're just making a fool of yourself. Sober up and come back tomorrow and talk with us like a gentleman. Not a drunken bully."

Brandon opened his mouth to respond, but Mike didn't back down. "Don't push your luck."

Brandon lurched back towards the front door, turning on his heel before he opened the door. "You'll get rid of me over my dead body! Do you hear?" Once again, he patted the feather sticking out of the headband on his hat. "I know too much, Deborah. Too much about you and your precious family."

Then he was gone into the night.

Tom strode to Deborah's side, speaking in low tones in her ear.

Carly moved to Mike's side. "Let's give them some privacy."

Mike took her hand and led her out of the dining room and down the hallway towards the library. On the way, they paused to peer into some of the rooms. The first room was a parlor or sitting room. Decorated in light colors, there was a cool, airy feeling even in the darkening evening. Several seating groupings allowed for private conversation, and fresh flowers filled several vases. Carly inhaled their fragrance before following Mike to the next room.

The second room proved to be a family room, with a large-screen television mounted on one wall. Overstuffed sofas filled the room, and a bar area set up containing a wet sink, refrigerator, racks of glasses, and serving dishes occupied one corner.

Mike led the way to a sofa, and they collapsed into its depths. Mike cuddled close to Carly. "That was a little tense, don't you think?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Why did you mention the bank sales in relation to Brandon?"

"I remembered Stan from home talking about firing for effect. I thought I'd fire for effect."

He stroked the side of her neck softly. "And what effect were you hoping to hit?"

She patted his leg. "I wanted to see what her reaction would be." Carly sat up straight. "Seemed to me she was a mite sensitive about how her family made its money in years past."

Mike nodded. "I agree with you. But let's leave it for now, okay?"

Carly settled back into Mike's arms. "That was my plan."

"Oh, you have a plan, do you?" He fingered her hair, marveling at how soft it felt. "One beyond reading and riding and napping?" Mike lifted his head. "I hear voices in the hallway. Let's go see if we can help."

They walked toward the voices. Tom came out of the dining room, Deborah leaning heavily on his arm. Mike thought she might collapse without his son's support.

He turned to Mike and Carly. "Time to call it a night, folks. Deborah will be fine. She'll see you at breakfast at eight o'clock. Don't forget Sarah arrives tomorrow morning. She'll be here in time for breakfast. I'm looking forward to introducing her to you guys." His tight smile contradicted his light tone, and tension reflected in the taut jaw muscles and angry eyes. "Sleep tight."

"Well," Carly said. "I wonder what that was all about?"

"Carly." He knew what she was up to.

She tilted her head to one side. "What?"

"Don't play innocent with me. There are no mysteries here. Just a drunk who got his feelings hurt. Let's go see what's on television."

Carly slipped her hand into Mike's. "Sure. Still, what does Brandon know about Deborah's family that would make her keep quiet? It almost sounds like blackmail."

Chapter 8

Carly and Mike returned to the family room containing the large-screen TV. Soon they were cuddled together again on a soft sofa, surfing the channels for something to entertain them for an hour or so. However, the ranch house's location in a large bowl-shaped depression in the mesa plateau provided good protection from the wind but poor television reception. Having decided straining their eyes trying to watch a re-run of a sitcom wasn't worth the effort, they headed for their room.

Once again Carly felt like she entered a sanctuary when she opened the bedroom door. The fresh scent of the wildflower arrangement on the dresser filled the room, and Carly inhaled deeply. Mike flopped down on the bed, kicking his shoes off as he lay there. He folded his hand behind his head and closed his eyes.

Carly nestled on the bed beside him. "Are you sleeping?"

He continued to lay still, eyes closed. "Nope."

She ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair. "Then what are you doing?"

He opened one eye to glance at her. "I'm programming.".

Carly chuckled softly. "Sure."

Mike claimed he could write a program in his head before he ever got to the computer. He even claimed he could de-bug the same way. She wasn't completely convinced but she didn't know enough to seriously challenge him.

Mike's eyes remained closed, and soon gentle snoring sounds indicated he was not programming. Carly tucked the comforter around him. Restless from the long day of travel and the underlying current of tension in the house, she decided to go out for a moonlight walk. She pulled on her jacket, knowing from her pre-trip research that evenings here cooled off quickly. Leaving the room quietly, she headed down the stairs to the front door.

Carly loved the feel of the old wooden handrail and pictured Deborah sliding down as a child. Voices wafted up to meet her as she descended the broad wooden stairway. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she listened for a moment, trying to identify their origin. From where she stood she heard running water, clinking of dishes, and the sounds of closing cabinets. Most likely the food staff in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner and probably preparing for breakfast. A radio played Hispanic music softly in the background, making a nice backdrop to the happy voices.

She eased through the front door. The moon was bright over the horizon. Because they were miles from city lights, dots of light filled the night sky. The stars looked so much closer here. She looked for familiar constellations, finally picking out the Big Dipper.

When she was a child, she had gone camping with her parents. She slept out under the stars and had seen her first falling star moving so fast, she wondered if she had really seen it at all.

She scanned the night sky, hoping to see another falling star. The stars reminded her of a story her mother used to tell her of a man in the Bible named Abraham who was told his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. That would be a lot of children. Which made her wonder if things would have been different if she'd actually had children of her own. Wistfully she remembered that just a few weeks ago, she had been panic-stricken to think she might have been pregnant. She shook herself mentally, and continued on her way.

Suddenly she ran into a solid object and fell flat on her behind. Walking around with her face turned to the sky meant she wasn't watching where she was going. Embarrassed, she looked around to see if anyone had seen her. No one was in sight, and she laughed to herself. What a crazy thing to do.

She got up gingerly, dusting herself off. As she stood in the shadow of the barn, voices reached her from inside the dark structure. Not wanting to be seen, she ducked closer to the barn.

With the side of her head pressed against the barn wood, she heard the words more loudly although she could barely decipher what they were saying. Cupping her hand to her ear, she strained for better reception. She was pretty sure one of the voices belonged to Brandon, but she couldn't identify the other voice.

The evening wind chose that moment to pick up, snatching away parts of the conversation, but she was able to hear enough to know that Brandon wasn't happy with the other person, and the feeling was mutual.

She jumped at hearing Brandon's gruff voice so close and loud. "I told you, I didn't want anyone else involved in this. Too many big mouths can ruin the whole plan."

The other voice—a man's gruff answer—was accented by the sound of a fist hitting wood. "And I told you that it was too much work for just us. We need help."

"How do we know we can trust him?"

"Once he gets in far enough, he won't be able to back out. He'll be in too deep. And if he gets out of line, we'll take care of him."

"Just like we had to take care of . . . "

Once again the wind whistled around the barn, scattering his final words beyond her hearing. Carly muttered under her breath.

The unidentified man chuckled softly. "Just like you took care of him, you mean. I didn't have nothin' to do with that."

Brandon's reply was accusing. "You're just as guilty as I am. Accessory after the fact and all that."

"Don't matter, anyway. Nobody is ever going to figure out what's going on. You made sure of that."

Sounds of spitting caused Carly to cringe.

"Yep. It's such a convoluted trail that they'll just take my word for it, and we'll be in the clear. This is our last run, anyway. After this, we retire."

"That's good. I got a little nest egg stored away, and I plan to get out of this life for good."

"Me too. I want to move somewhere that doesn't smell like cow manure."

"What about Louisa?"

"What about her? I'm not taking her with me. She's just dead weight."

"Why did you marry her, then?"

"Her brother paid me a lot of money to get her citizenship. It was business."

"Did you?"

"Are you kidding? I pocketed the money. Been telling her that it's taking a long time, which it does. She's not smart enough to suspect anything."

"What if she does?"

Brandon's evil laugh caused Carly's breath to catch in her throat. "I've already shown her what happens when she gets out of line. Her arm was so sore the last time that she couldn't hardly comb her hair."

Carly shivered at the implication of that last comment. Memories of her own failed first marriage crowded in. Her stomach churned as she recalled being a victim of alcoholic abuse, and suspected Louisa had endured more than one such "lesson" from Brandon.

The voices were getting louder. They were moving towards the door. Unless she moved quickly, they would see her and know she had overheard their conversation. Carly edged her way around the back of the barn, definitely not wanting them to see her. There was no telling how mad Brandon would be if he caught her snooping here, listening in on their conversation.

Carly peeked around the corner of the barn as the two men left. Although the moon was bright, there wasn't enough light for her to identify Brandon's accomplice. She peered around the corner, then suddenly became aware of a sound behind her. Cautiously she turned, afraid of what she might see. Out of the corner of her eye, four small yellow lights in the shadows glinted back at her.

Wolves!

She bolted around the side of the barn, reaching the ranch house in double time. She took the steps two at a time, fumbling for a moment with the doorknob. Once inside, she leaned back against the door, barricading herself in from the wild beasts outside.

When her shaking subsided, she carefully lifted the lace curtain away from the window to look outside. The scene made her chuckle at her foolishness. The yellow eyes belonged to the two golden retrievers that lived on the ranch. Both of them were as friendly as puppies, and her only danger was in being slobbered to death.

Carly gratefully went back up the stairs, creeping into her room. She smiled at Mike's still prone form on the bed. He hadn't even taken off his clothes, and now she knew for sure he wasn't programming.

Unless a new programming language included soft snoring.

Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she undressed and slid under the quilt next to him. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she remembered she had opened the window after her shower. She slid from under the warm cover and moved to the window. Leaning over the desk, she lifted the lace curtain slightly to reach the window.

From below, cigarette smoke wafted up, the acrid smell tickling her nose. Curious, she leaned over to see who was outside at this late hour. All she could see were the tops of two cowboy hats below, and, listening carefully, she could just barely make out the two men's voices.

Apparently they weren't aware anyone was nearby because they made no effort to lower their voices. One hat she recognized by the large feather jutting from the hatband—Brandon's. The other she didn't remember seeing before. Snatches of conversation wafted up to her, as if carried on the smoke.

The unidentified man pointed a finger into Brandon's chest. "I can't pay no more."

Carly detected a strong Hispanic accent. Similar to Louisa's.

Brandon pushed his hand away. "You will, if you know what's good for you."

The man stepped back. "I need the money for—"

Brandon angrily threw his cigarette to the ground, crushing the butt beneath the heel of his cowboy boot. He took several steps then turned to face the mystery man. "You'll pay, if you know what's good for you." His voice was still low but now with a threatening tone that made Carly shiver. "And don't think about running. I'll find you."

Afraid she might be seen if she moved , Carly remained stock still, barely breathing. Brandon and the other man talked in low tones for another minute then set off in separate directions. Carly carefully set the curtain back in place, taking care not to let the material swing. She slipped back into bed for the second time that night, snuggling once again into Mike's back.

For some reason, she didn't feel as safe as she would have liked.

Brandon pivoted on his heel, staring at the darkened windows of the house. He couldn't be positive, but he thought he'd heard a mere whisper behind him. He scanned the windows on the second floor. Who was staying in that room on the corner?

He was pretty sure he knew. And he was equally certain he would need to deal with that person sooner or later.

His mouth turned up in a smile. He looked forward to that.

Carly's lay in the bed, Mike's snoring a gentle lullaby, as she tried to make sense of the day's events. The dead man on the plane, the fake doctor, the not-really-grieving much younger widow.

A ranch foreman who didn't seem happy Mike was here, which now made perfect sense if he was involved in stealing from the ranch.

Angry words between Tom and Deborah.

Angry words between Brandon and Deborah.

Veiled threats.

Whispered conversations.

Blackmail.

She turned over on her other side and considered her next step. The night sounds outside her window seemed to explode in her ears. Far off, wolves or coyotes howled. Nearby, an owl sounded a warning. Insects still hummed in the trees, and downstairs Paco and Louisa chattered.

Mike stirred briefly then turned over to face her. She cuddled into him, ready to sleep.

Her eyes popped open, sleep no longer on her mind.

Something furry lurked in the bed between her and Mike.

She yelped and flung the comforter back.

Mike sat up, reaching for the light beside the bed. "What is it?"

Carly clutched her arms around her waist, mouth too dry to speak. As her eyes focused in the bright light, the furry creature came into focus. Or creatures, because there were two of them.

She pointed, her brain not able to communicate with her mouth. Mike casually picked up the creatures, holding them closer for her to see.

"You're not afraid of these, are you?"

Carly's mind finally registered that the furry lumps were not living creatures. Tentatively, she reached over and touched them. "Slippers?"

Mike nodded, a huge grin splitting his face.

"Slippers?" She took them from him, turning them over in her hands. "For me?"

Mike clambered across the bed. "Sit."

Carly complied and put the slippers on her feet. "They look like Doc." She extended her legs in in front of her, flexing her feet several times. "They fit great. I like them."

"Really?"

Carly leaned over and kissed Mike on the cheek. "Really. They just startled me in the dark, that's all."

Mike turned to face her. He pointed to his lips. "Try that again. Right here."

Carly puckered up, and Mike leaned in to kiss her tenderly.

"So, Mrs. Turnquist, how are you going to show your appreciation for this thoughtful gift?"

Carly leaned across the bed and turned off the bedside lamp. "Come over here, Mr. Turnquist. Let me thank you properly."

Later, as Carly reveled in the joy of being loved and desired, she looked forward to the next day. Listening to Mike's even breathing beside her, she felt very much at peace. The last thing she remembered was wondering what Brandon was up to. He had at least two different schemes going. First there was the man in the barn. And an unidentified partner. What were they up to? Who had they dealt with in the past? Then there was this second mystery man who seemed to be in some kind of blackmail to Brandon. There were so many unknowns, and so little time to find out.

She fell asleep wondering if two weeks would be enough time to get all the answers to all her questions. She didn't think so. But one thing was certain—she would do her best to find those answers.

After all, that's what she was good at—finding hidden answers.

About the only thing that bothered her was Brandon.

He scared her a little.

No, that wasn't right.

He scared her a lot.

Chapter 9

The next morning came far too quickly for Carly. She snuggled beneath the goose down comforter, unwilling to climb out of her cocoon. When she stretched her arm across the expanse of the king-size pillow top mattress to snuggle into Mike, the bed was empty.

She extended her fingers full-length—still no Mike. As her foggy mind finally concluded he wasn't there, the sound of running water and Mike's whistling communicated where he was.

Lazily she turned onto her side, and called out to Mike. "What time is it? Why are you up so early?"

The only answer she got was the second verse, same as the first, of the nameless, tuneless song Mike always whistled in the shower. She had once jokingly called it "The Never-Ending Song", and now he seemed determined to make the song fit the title. When she'd asked him where the tune came from, he smiled and answered, "In my head".

Sometimes men could be scary.

Since she wasn't about to go down the hallway to use the common washroom on their floor, catching a few more minutes of sleep seemed the order of the day. She lay on her back, staring up at the wood-grained ceiling, willing sleep to return. Instead, her mind went over the same questions to which she'd fallen asleep.

From outside the open window came the sudden roar of a small engine. Thinking this noise seemed out of place out here on the plains, she dragged the comforter off the bed as she went to the window to look out, still wrapped in the warm covering.

The world outside had turned white.

As far as she could see, a blanket of snow covered every surface. The barn windows were only about six inches above the snow banks, meaning there had been at least two feet of snowfall while she slept. Looking out at the stark whiteness of winter made her shiver with cold. She snuggled deeper into the warmth of the comforter, grateful for the strong house walls holding the snow at bay.

Seeing movement from around the side of the barn, she noted the two retrievers bounding through the snow banks. Those dogs never walked anywhere. Brandon trailed behind, and then another familiar figure.

The mystery man from last night.

They walked towards the house, where another figure on a snow machine waited for them. Just as they reached the rider, the person took off their helmet and goggles, revealing long wavy hair and a petite face.

Was that Tom's Sarah?

Quickly debating what to do, Carly decided to forgo a shower this morning as she'd relaxed under the healing streams the previous day. She dressed quickly and grabbed a cardigan to ward off the chill when the bathroom door opened.

Mike stepped out, still dripping from his shower. "Hey! You're up already. Where are you going?"

"In here." She pushed her way past him into the damp bathroom. "I need to freshen up. I think Sarah just got here, and we had a snow storm last night."

"I know." Mike toweled his damp hair. "Tom knocked on the door this morning around five and asked for some help with shoveling. I just got back before you woke up."

"Wow, this really is a cultural experience, isn't it?" Carly squeezed toothpaste on her brush. "They even get the guests to do some work while they're here. What a neat idea."

"That's not exactly the plan. Guests will learn how to care for their horse and tack, but they won't actually be responsible for the running of the farm, or things like harvesting. This is an exceptional situation. They aren't fully staffed right now because it's the off-season, so they need help when there's a surprise storm like this."

"Uh-huh." Toothpaste foamed at the corners of her mouth. She appraised her reflection in the mirror before spitting and rinsing her mouth. Quickly running a brush through her shoulder-length hair, she surveyed herself in the mirror.

Not bad for a woman her age.

Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded. "Are we ready to go down to meet Sarah? I don't want her to think we aren't glad to meet her."

"How will we know if we're glad to meet her until we actually meet her?"

"We don't have to like her to be glad to meet her, silly." Carly liked to turn his words back on him occasionally. Just to remind him she could give as good as she got. "We just want to check her out, make sure she doesn't have a dark and hidden past that needs to be uncovered." She playfully traced her finger along his jaw line, tweaked his ear lobe then patted his shoulder. "After all, Tom is your only son, and heir to your fortune."

"Carly, of course she doesn't have a nasty past. Unless—" He paused, one eyebrow raised dramatically.

"Unless what?"

Mike wrung his hands together, his brow creased. "Unless you count that stint in San Quentin for killing the guy she was engaged to."

Carly's breath hitched in her chest as she considered his words. He clenched his lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a hint of a smile. "You're kidding."

He walked to the wardrobe and selected a dark blue twill shirt and jeans. Hopping on one foot, he pulled on his pants.

She strode over to him, trying to keep from laughing. Putting on the sternest expression she could muster, she faced him. "Listen, here, buster. Enough bad talk about your future daughter-in-law." She planted the palm of her hand firmly on his chest, trying to push him off balance. "After all, she could be the mother of your grandchildren."

Mike pushed back against her. "Careful, Carly. If we end up on the bed, we just might miss breakfast altogether." He buttoned his shirt. "Daughter-in-law? Do you know something I don't?"

"Not for sure. But this is the first girl Tom has introduced to us since he moved to New York. Although, last night . . ." Her voice trailed off as she remembered the way Deborah and Tom looked working together. An implied rather than stated intimacy. And Brandon's accusations included Tom trying to take his place. She pushed the thoughts away. "Never mind."

He buttoned up his shirt. "What about last night?"

"Nothing."

No point in opening a can of worms where none existed.

Mike checked his reflection in the mirror. "Okay. I'm ready." He swiped his hands through his hair once more. "Let's go meet Sarah, and hopefully breakfast will be ready. All that hard work made me hungry."

"Sleeping makes you hungry." Carly grabbed his hand to her lips and kissed the palm. "You are still a growing boy."

He slipped his hand under hers and softly kissed her palm. Carly pulled him close. His arms went around her, stroking her back as he nuzzled her neck. She inhaled the spicy fragrance of his soap mingled with his unique sent. Her fingers played with the damp tendrils at the base of his neck, and she sighed in contentment. They stood that way for a long moment.

Suddenly there was frantic knocking at their bedroom door. Mike reached around Carly and turned the knob. She slipped out of his arms, her fingers hooked in his belt loops.

Who could be pounding on their door? She was supposed to be on vacation.

Tom nodded his head at his father and caught Carly's eye, a blush creeping up his neck. "Dad, Carly, sorry if I interrupted you. I want you to meet Sarah. There was so much snow, the roads were closed from the highway. She had to borrow a snow machine from a guy who lives on the other side of the highway." He grabbed Mike's arm and led the way down the hall. "She's down here."

Sarah waited for them in the foyer, peeling off her ski suit and snow boots. Her cheeks were red and small icicles clung to her bangs. Clumps of snow stuck to her suit, and when she moved, they dropped to the floor like an avalanche of moth balls.

Bending to pick up the miniature snowballs, she tossed one at Tom. "Here, take this back."

The clump landed lightly on his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're a sore loser?"

Sarah's dark wavy hair was plastered to her head, and several damp tendrils escaped the barrettes she had at her temples. "You snuck up on me." She moved with grace and surety, as if getting in and out of a snowsuit was an everyday occurrence for her.

Tom stood behind her, offering a hand to help, but really only getting in her way. Laughing, she whispered something to him. He blushed, a sight not lost on Carly, and whispered back to her.

Sarah laughed and pushed him away playfully, and turned to face Mike and Carly. "We had a little snowball fight before we came inside."

Mike smiled. "Sounds like fun."

Sarah crossed the foyer, stepping carefully to avoid the puddles created by the melting snow she tracked in. "It was. Even though I lost." She held out her hand. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Turnquist. I'm really pleased to meet you." Her well-educated voice was from somewhere east of New Mexico. "Tom has told me a lot about you."

Mike smiled broadly. He appreciated good manners. "Please, call us Mike and Carly. Mister and missus makes us sound old." He reached out and shook her hand. "And Tom hasn't told us much about you at all."

Carly hung her cardigan over the banister and stepped forward to meet Sarah. Instead of reaching out her hand to shake, she extended both arms to hug the young woman. Sarah moved into the hug as naturally as if they had known each other for years, not moments. Carly didn't like limp-handed handshakes, and she really didn't like those rigid, don't-touch hugs. Sarah melted into her arms and even patted her back as they embraced.

She was going to like this girl.

Carly stepped back, holding Sarah at arm's length, appraising her. Sarah met Carly's gaze evenly, without embarrassment or pretense.

Carly spoke first. "You are every bit as beautiful as Tom said you were."

Sarah smiled shyly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Mike spoke up from behind Carly. "And, he said you were well-bred and as nice as the girl next door. Those are big compliments coming from him."

"Well, I paid him a lot to say those nice things about me." Sarah's smile reached all the way from her heart to her face. "Mr.—Mike, he said you were a smart man with a good heart. And Carly, he said you were like a mother to him."

Sarah's words—and Tom's opinions—warmed Carly's heart.

Tom moved to his father's side. "Shall we head into breakfast? I know the staff worked hard to get this ready on time, given that the power went off this morning for a couple of hours, right in the middle of their preparation." He pushed open the door to the dining room. "This far out in the country, we keep a generator. If the power goes off again, we won't need to worry."

Mike and Carly took the same seats they'd occupied the previous night, and Tom and Sarah sat opposite.

Louisa came in with a coffee service and a teapot, setting them on the table. "Your food will be just a moment. Mees Deborah sends her regrets. She is not feeling well this morning."

Mike and Carly looked at each other in surprise, and then at Tom.

He merely shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the coffee pot. "Coffee?"

Mike nodded, as did Carly. Tom poured for them, and for himself, then poured tea for Sarah.

They sipped their beverages in silence. Carly enjoyed this particular blend, making a mental note to ask where she could purchase some to take home with her. As they re-filled their cups, the dining room doors opened again, and Louisa returned with their breakfast. She set several serving dishes on the table and removed the lids, revealing scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browned potatoes, and whole-wheat toast. Close behind came Paco bearing the condiment tray, including butter, salsa, several kinds of jams, peanut butter, and honey.

Serving dishes were passed around. Carly was pleased to note that Sarah ate a good breakfast. She was of the opinion too many young women think they could retain a trim figure by skimping on breakfast. Mike and Tom practically devoured their food, ravenous from their early-morning exercise. Silence filled the huge dining room as they ate.

When at last they had sated their appetites, they leaned back in their chairs to enjoy another cup of coffee or tea.

Carly broke the pleasant quiet. "Well, Sarah, now you know how much Tom eats for breakfast."

"I already knew—" Sarah began, then stopped. She blushed. "What I mean is—"

"Sarah." Mike's voice was gentle. "Don't worry. We are grown people. We know what happens between two people in love. We were young once, too."

Sarah smiled gratefully at him. She glanced at Tom, who leaned forward.

"Actually, she knows what I eat for breakfast because we meet for breakfast at a local diner in New York whenever we can." Tom laid his hand on hers and beamed at her.

She smiled back, nodding, their silent communication speaking volumes.

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we'd better get to work. After all, that's what we came here for."

Mike drained the last of his coffee before setting his cup on the table. "I'm going to spend time this morning working the numbers Brandon gave me into the database program. Then I want to run preliminary reports, just to see what we've got." He set his napkin on his plate and stood. "I spent time on the plane putting together a prototype from information you sent."

Tom made notes on a small clipboard near his elbow. "Sounds like you have that part under control. Sarah?"

"I have calls to make to get print and advertising prices, so I'll spend most of this morning in my room." Sarah finished her tea, daintily sipping with her pinky finger extended. "After that, I think I'll wander around and take some promotional photos."

Tom stood. "And I have some things to go over with Deborah. We'll be in the study." He turned to Carly. "What are you doing to entertain yourself?"

Carly thought for a moment. "Well, there's a whole ranch to explore, horses to meet, dogs to slobber me, and a library full of books to read and only two weeks to do it." She glanced out the window. "Because I guess a nap in the hammock is out of the question for today."

Mike laughed. "And probably tomorrow, too. Just don't wander too far, and let me know if you plan to leave the immediate yard area."

Carly snapped her heels together, stood straight, and tossed him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, captain."

Tom moved around the table and stood next to Mike. "Can I see you for a minute, Dad, before you head off?"

Carly chuckled. "You've just seen him for the past half hour. I'd think you'd have had your fill. At least for now."

Her son's smile slipped for a moment. "Never get enough of the old man." He turned to his father. "A private moment, Dad?"

Carly heard the implied meaning behind Tom's words.

Butt out, Carly.

Mike looked into his son's eyes, trying to read his expression. What did Tom want to talk to him about that he couldn't discuss in front of the women? Something to do with the ranch? With Sarah? With Deborah? Was their hostess's illness more seriously than they'd been led to believe?

Mike nodded and waited until Carly and Sarah left the room.

Tom walked to the dining room door and looked up and down the hallway before closing the door. He turned to face his father. "Don't want any prying ears."

Mike's heart hammered in his chest. Sounded serious. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and sat down in the nearest chair.

Tom walked to the window and stared out. He ran his fingers through his hair, causing Mike to smile. His son was more like him than even Mike realized sometimes. Tom's lean swimmer's build reminded Mike of the years spent at the pool, watching Tom compete in meets and tournaments. Never a winner but always in the top five, Tom had a rack full of ribbons and trophies in a box in the basement of Mike's house.

Mike stood and moved to stand beside Tom and looked at his son's profile in the morning light. He had Sophie's nose and mouth. Mike's heart slowed to its regular beat as he considered how things might have been different if Sophie had lived. He shook his head. No sense dwelling on what might have been. Especially since what he had was so much more than he'd ever imagined. A wonderful pair of kids, three cool grandchildren, and a great wife cheered his days and warmed his nights.

Life was good.

He put his arm around Tom's shoulder. "So, what's up?"

Tom shoved his hands into his pants pocket, then withdrew them, running them through his hair again. "I don't know where to start, Dad."

Mike smiled at his son, his heart beginning to race again. "Try the beginning. It's always easier to follow the story line that way."

"Okay." Tom's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I'm going to ask Sarah to marry me."

He clapped Tom on the back and smiled. "Congratulations, son."

Tom held up one hand, palm out. "Hold on. I haven't asked and she hasn't said yes either."

"She will. She loves you. Surely you can see that."

Tom nodded. "I believe she does love me. Still, when we've talked about marriage in the past, I sensed a resistance from her."

Mike shrugged. "Maybe she hasn't wanted to make you feel like she's pushing for marriage."

"I don't think that's it, Dad."

"Then what?"

"I feel like there's a ghost between us or something. A wall she can't push through."

Mike knew all about ghosts. "Has she said anything to you?"

Tom shook his head. "No. But I haven't really pressed it either. When I see the wall come up, I back off."

Mike indicated the snow-covered yard outside. "Often a person's past can be like those snow banks out there. Hidden by time, to be revealed by love and patience, like the ground out there will be uncovered in due time by the sun."

Tom stared out the window. "Sometimes it feels like whatever it was has frozen her heart, and it will never thaw. Just a small part of it, mind you. I know most of her heart is thawed and ready to love, but there's a tiny corner that can't, or won't, let the sun in."

Mike stood so close to his son their arms touched. "Give her some time, Tom. Love always wins out in the end."

"I hope so, Dad." Tom turned from the window. "I think I'll take a quick walk before I sequester myself inside for the day. The fresh air always helps me think more clearly."

As Carly considered her options for the day, she decided that since all she'd done yesterday was sit and eat, she would get out for a walk today. There was more to the ranch than just the house, and she wanted to familiarize herself with the lay of the land.

She pulled on her cardigan and headed out the front door before she remembered the snowfall. Laughing at herself, she went back inside and pulled on her heavier jacket. Her sneakers would have to do for today, since neither she nor Mike planned for this sudden change in the weather by packing snow boots.

Opening the door again, one of the retrievers surprised her by standing on his hind legs and putting his front paws on her chest. Laughing, she pushed him off, patted his head, and then patted the other dog as well. So far she hadn't heard either of them called by name, and, in reality, they both looked alike to her.

She was more of a cat person. She thought of Doc, safe and warm at home in Bear Cove. Her good friend and former colleague, Joe McLain, looked in on him every day, so she knew he was in good hands.

The dogs happily followed her down the path cut into the snow. They bounded ahead or lagged behind as they chose. Carly had to admit this was a perfect place to have dogs. They could roam at will, get lots of exercise, and she suspected the place was large enough that scooping poop was not a concern.

As Carly neared the barn, a horse whinnied, the high-pitched call indicating trouble. Carly didn't know much about horses, but she knew enough to conclude this one was either angry or afraid. A man shouted at the animal, followed by a dull thud, as though someone hit the horse with a solid object. Like a board or a stick.

She hurried her pace, surprised when a figure ran past from behind her, nearly pushing her into the snow bank on their way to the barn.

"Hey!" Carly shouted after the figure, arms waving wildly as she struggled to keep her balance. "Where's the fire?"

The figure paused imperceptibly, and Tom called over his shoulder. "Sorry, Carly."

Carly trotted to the open barn door as Tom grabbed Brandon's raised hand to keep him from striking the horse again with a piece of wood. The horse backed into a corner, the whites of its eyes evident, foam flecking its neck and shoulders.

Tom leaned his shoulder into Brandon's chest and pushed. "Hey, stop that!"

Brandon turned on his heel and took a step towards Tom with the piece of wood still raised, aiming directly for his head. Anger burned in the foreman's eyes, and his face was purple with rage. Tom raised his left arm to ward off the impending blow as Brandon swung the board in a wide arc toward his head.

Tom sidestepped as Brandon leaned into the swing, causing Brandon to miss his mark. Tom stepped backwards, a stall partition preventing him from moving any further.

Brandon sneered as he took aim again, and moved quickly, dodging a punch thrown by Tom.

The two men grappled, going down heavily into the hay and sawdust, rolling around the floor. Flecks of sweat and blood flew off the men, and the air filled with Brandon's curses. Abe and Jonah ran from the other end of the barn, and they stood near Carly, watching the action.

Carly grabbed Abe by the arm. "Do something, before he does what he said he would do. Stop him before he kills Tom!"

Chapter 10

Tom was glad he found time to stay in shape. Working out at the gym was no preparation for a fistfight, but at least he was holding his own. Still, Brandon had the advantage of experience and acclimation to the higher altitude. Within a few minutes, Tom was panting heavily.

Bending over at the waist, hands on knees, the foreman circled him like a wolf after a deer. Tom stood straight and raised his arms over his head, taking a couple of deep breaths, a trick he had learned in swimming, one that helped inflate the lungs. The movement caught Brandon by surprise, distracting him momentarily.

Responding by instinct, Tom charged Brandon, head down, hitting him in the stomach. Brandon doubled over and collapsed on the barn floor, raising a cloud of dust. Once again, the horse went into a panic, the whites of its eyes showing as it pulled at the tether. The other horses, although safe in their stalls, responded to the commotion with whinnies and stamping of hooves.

Brandon reached out in an attempt to grab a nearby pitchfork leaning against a wall. Tom stomped his booted foot onto Brandon's hand, causing him to scream with pain and rage. However, he dropped the pitchfork.

Tom stood over him, still breathing heavily. Abe and Jonah talked together in a corner, and Carly stood near the door, out of harm's way.

Brandon finally conceded, and his body went slack. Tom stepped back cautiously, freeing Brandon's hand.

Abe and Jonah moved beside Brandon and hoisted him to his feet.

The foreman rubbed his hand, a look of complete hatred in his eyes directed at Tom. "That dumb animal stepped on me. On purpose." Brandon shook a fist toward the beast, whining. "I was just putting him in his place."

"Don't be ridiculous. You sound like a two-year old." Tom brushed dust from his shirt. "I'm going to tell Deborah what I just saw. I know she's given you plenty of chances to control that temper of yours. It's one thing to take it out on the hands. But it's another to take it out on an animal."

Deborah stepped into the barn. "I came to see what all the noise was about." Her face was pale and dark circles underlined her eyes. "Tom's right, Brandon. I won't put up with it anymore. I hate to lose Louisa, but you are going to have to leave." Deborah's quiet authority echoed through the barn. "Today."

She strode to the still-struggling horse. Grasping the tether, she pulled the horse's head toward her, speaking softly into its ear and rubbing near its forelock. Almost instantly, the horse's eyes stopped rolling and the animal settled down, nuzzling her pocket. Chuckling, she reached into a pocket, holding her hand out, palm up. The horse delicately lifted the sugar cube with its lips, munching contentedly.

Brandon looked from her to Tom before speaking. "I knew you were bad news when you came here. I saw your little tart come in this morning." He pointed at Tom. "You might be interested in knowing that she doesn't just like big-city types." His voice rose in volume as he turned to Deborah. "And you wouldn't have anything if it wasn't for me. Remember that." He picked up his hat that had fallen in the dust during the fight and brushed the worn felt material against his leg. "As for that worthless kitchen help, I'm not taking her with me. You can have her."

He pushed roughly past Tom, avoided Deborah, ignored Carly and the two ranch hands, and strode out of the barn towards the small house he and Louisa had shared.

Deborah hurried to Tom's side and put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" She glanced at his face and then at the pitchfork on the ground nearby. "Did he hurt you?"

Tom smiled thinly. "I am. I'm sorry if I caused you more trouble. I know you don't need it right now."

"He's the trouble I don't need right now," Deborah assured him. "I do hope he wasn't just being mean when he said he wouldn't take Louisa. I know she dotes on him, although I don't know what she sees in him."

Carly spoke up. "I heard him talking with someone last night, and he said he only married her because her brother paid him to get her citizenship. He doesn't love her, and has no intention of following through. He took the money, and hasn't filed any papers yet."

Tom and Carly turned at the sound of a sob. Louisa stood outside the barn, her face buried in her hands. He looked to Deborah for help, feeling badly Louisa heard the truth this way.

Deborah went to the young Hispanic woman and put her arm around her shoulders, speaking in low tones to her in Spanish. The young woman nodded several times, tears flowing freely now. After a moment, she raised her head, wiped away the tears, and plodded back to the big house, her slumped shoulders and feet dragging speaking volumes.

Deborah spoke first. "I told her she has a job here and a home if she wants to stay. She said she does. I think she knew something wasn't right, and she even said she thought he might have been having an affair. He had several over the years since they married. Always with a local woman who didn't know he was married."

At these words, Tom's heart caught in his throat. Was one of those local women Sarah? Brandon had intimated as much.

Together they walked quietly back to the big house, each lost in his own thoughts. Tom wanted to know what hold Brandon had over Deborah.

He wasn't certain he wanted to know whether Sarah was just another notch in Brandon's belt.

Carly's heart lifted at the sight of Mike standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was always her rock in the midst of storms.

His brows furrowed as she approached. "I heard some shouting. What's going on?"

Tom leaned against the wall, his foot resting on the bottom step. "Brandon was beating a horse. I was able to convince him of the error of his ways." He fingered his jaw, wincing. "Deborah fired him."

Deborah walked past the small group without speaking.

Concerned, Carly followed her a few steps. "Deborah, are you all right?"

Without turning around, she answered, "Just a slight headache. I'll be fine. I'm going to my office."

Tom looked at her, concern registering on his face. "I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Deborah raised a hand in acknowledgment then disappeared into her office, closing the door behind her.

Tom turned back to his father. "So, that's about it for what was going on out there. How about in here?"

Carly patted Tom's arm, surveying the bruises already showing along his jaw line. "You should get some ice on that before it swells up."

Tom pushed away from the wall. "It's not serious. Maybe it will give me the rugged, handsome look so when I ask Sarah to marry me, she won't be able to resist."

Carly's jaw dropped, and she looked to Mike. "Did you know about this?"

Mike nodded. "He told me this morning after breakfast."

Carly hugged Tom, careful not to squeeze his bruised ribs. "I'm so happy for you. Sarah is a lovely girl. We'll be proud to call her 'family'."

Tom's mouth turned down. "I just hope she says yes. I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't."

Mike took Carly's hand in his. "She loves you, Tom. If you show her patience and compassion, she will eventually come around."

Carly nodded. "That's what your dad did with me." Ignoring Tom's frown, she continued. "I wasn't sure I ever wanted to marry. I had plans for my life. Things to do. Lists to accomplish. So he had to be patient with me until I realized I could live without him, but I didn't want to."

Tom raised one eyebrow in question.

Mike completed the thought. "If you let Sarah know you love her enough to be willing to wait until she can receive all of your love, she will come around. Wait until she's ready for it."

Tom shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I guess the only way to know for sure is to go and ask her."

Slowly, Tom walked up the stairs, using the handrail and the wall to support himself. Mike and Carly held hands as they watched him ascend, knowing that whatever happened next would change the face of their family forever.

Whether she said yes.

Or whether she said no.

Tom knocked tentatively on Sarah's door, his palms sweating. Quickly he wiped his hands on the back pockets of his jeans and brushed some hay off his leg. Looking down at his boots, he spotted a speck of mud from the barn. Standing on one foot, he polished the boot with his other leg.

There was no sound from inside the room, and he knocked again, a little louder this time. "Sarah, are you in there? It's me, Tom."

A rustling noise, then the doorknob turned. The door opened to reveal Sarah. She was still dressed in the outfit she'd worn under her snowmobile suit, but the shirt looked rumpled. She smiled at Tom, opening the door for him to enter. "Sorry. I must have fallen asleep for a few minutes."

Tom reached for her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips. She responded briefly, then pushed him away playfully. He sighed.

This was her usual reaction to any romantic overtures on his part. Sometimes he wasn't sure where he stood with her.

Taking her hand, he led her to the small sofa. She sat at one end, and he sat at the other. He was satisfied to let her set the boundaries, if that's what was needed to convince her he was willing to wait until she was ready.

Sarah sat primly, her hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead. Several minutes went by before she turned to face him. "Did you need anything, or are you here to persuade me to play hooky from work?" Her smile lit up the room and Tom's heart. "Because I may not need much persuasion."

Encouraged by her tone, he drew a deep breath. "Neither. I came to ask you a question."

She tilted her head to one side, a tiny smile curving her mouth slightly. "Sounds serious."

He nodded. Wiping his damp palms once more on his pants leg, he kneeled on the floor in front of her. He pressed her hand gently to his lips. Raising his eyes to meet hers, he began. "Sarah, I love you more than life. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me, of choosing me only for the rest of our lives? "

Sarah broke into great heaving sobs, tears running down her face.

Whatever response he had expected, this was not the one he hoped for. He wasn't sure what to do. Awkwardly, he stood. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the small blue velvet box he'd carried for several months, waiting for the right moment. This seemed like the right time. He had his parents' blessing. Sarah and he worked well together. They had a future together in business.

So why was she crying?

He scanned the room quickly, spying the tissues on a dresser. He retrieved and passed the box to her. She pulled several out and dabbed at her eyes. When she blew her nose, he averted his glance. As she regained her composure, he searched her face, disheartened when she wouldn't meet his gaze.

Finally, he could stand the silence no longer. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Will you marry me or not?"

"Is that the only choice I have, Tom?"

Tom considered her words. He wasn't sure what she was really asking. Only choice? "No, that's not your only choice. I love you."

Sarah sniffled into a clean tissue. "You already told me that."

"So what's the problem?" Tom paced the room, his boots alternating on the hardwood floor and the small area rugs. He ran his fingers through his hair several times before shoving them in his pocket.

The small velvet box taunted him.

That ring should be on her finger by now.

If she really loved him, she should have said yes.

Wasn't that how proposals worked? The guy asked, the girl said yes, the ring went on. Done.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I mean, you waltz in here, and out of the blue ask me to marry you."

Tom stopped pacing and plopped onto the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. "Come on, Sarah. It's not a complete surprise. We've talked about marriage and children and things like that. You always seemed open to talk about it."

"Somehow it seemed different when we were just talking." Sarah's voice was small, and Tom leaned closer to hear better. Sarah stood abruptly. "Can I have some time to think about this?"

Tom rose and drew her into an embrace, but she stiffened slightly at his touch. His heart sank, but he wanted to give her a chance. Some time to decide she loved him enough to say yes. He held her at arm's length. "You take all the time you need. I will wait until you tell me not to wait any more."

Stepping back, Sarah gave him another of her signature heart-warming smiles. "Thanks, Tom. I appreciate that. Now, did you also come to persuade me to play hooky?"

"No. Too much work and not enough time. Back to work before I crack the whip."

Tom opened the door. Turning in the doorway, he watched as she moved to the window and looked out. His heart sank again. Her window overlooked the barn. Had she heard the earlier fight and Brandon's allegations?

If so, how much of what Brandon said was true?

Carly ambled around the foyer, smelling the fresh flower arrangement, admiring the southwestern art hung on the walls, and running her hand along the wooden banister. Left alone to her own devices, she decided to explore the main floor of the house. Somehow, spending time alone wasn't as appealing now.

Maybe the tension and threats had something to do with that.

Maybe the mounds of snow and colder weather dampened her enthusiasm for wandering the ranch.

Whatever the reason, she decided to explore the main floor of the house to fill some time. Walking down the hall towards the kitchen she found a small room filled with shelves of books. Excited by her find, she entered, inhaling the smell of old books and leather. Throws decorated the comfortable looking furniture and area rugs offset the deep brown of the sandstone tiles on the floor. Recessed lighting cast a warm glow over the room, creating an inviting atmosphere.

Carly wandered the length of one wall devoted to built-in shelves extending from ceiling to floor, packed with books of every size and description. Some looked as if they were merely for decoration, as they were in perfect condition. Some were old favorites, the pages worn, the spines cracked. Several had dust jackets that were practically in shreds. Carefully she pulled out a book at random then replaced the volume to its spot.

Many books were in Spanish, some in Latin, but the majority were English. Several that were less than two years old and many were over fifty. There wasn't a paperback in the lot, she noted with amusement. This was an affluent family.

Carly's mind was one of order. As she wandered through the collection, she considered the order of the books. Not by title or author, she decided, since an American Dictionary was next to a World Atlas, and a Stephen King side by side with a Sue Grafton. Not by language, since Spanish and Latin were mixed in with the English. As she studied the books, she realized they were arranged by topic. Reference here, geography over there, and smaller sections of history, theology, and even some recipe books. One complete section was fiction, also arranged by topic. Mysteries seemed to predominate, although there was half a row of suspense, and two shelves full of romances.

One book in particular caught her attention because the spine wasn't flush with the others. She tried to nudge the volume back onto the shelf, but something prohibited the alignment. She pulled the book from the shelf. Perhaps the dimensions were wrong for that space. Except the ordinary-sized and shaped book should have gone in there neatly.

Something on the shelf was keeping the book from going all the way in. Tentatively she reached her hand in, hoping she wouldn't come up against a dead mouse, or worse yet, a live one.

Holding her breath, she felt around the back of the shelf, and let out a sigh of relief when her hand encountered another book. She pulled the volume out.

A Bible.

Tucked in behind another book, completely out of place and out of sight, seemed a strange place to hide a Bible. At first glance, she smiled at the mis-filing, thinking somebody was making a joke. This was the fiction shelf, right in the middle of the mystery section.

Her first impulse was to re-file the Bible. She considered where the book should be filed. Under reference, or theology, or history? Where would someone go looking for a Bible?

Carly looked at the volume in her hand, and decided that instead she would thumb through the book first. Many times families recorded their genealogy in a family Bible. Might be interesting to read about Deborah's history.

Seating herself on the nearest sofa, she pulled an afghan over her knees and began flipping through the pages. She found the pages she was looking for, delighted to see this Bible belonged to Deborah's grandparents. There was the record of their marriage. Perhaps this Bible was a wedding present. Then there were the records of the births of their children. Sadly, there were several who died before they were old enough to start school.

The handwriting changed over the years, probably as Deborah's mother took over the record keeping, and then Deborah herself. Marriages, births of grandchildren. Then, in ballpoint pen instead of fountain pen, the deaths of the grandparents.

From this record, Deborah had been married once, many year's before. Their marriage date written in a bold flourish as though full of hope and confidence. Her husband's date of death written in with a shaky hand.

No children.

This record saddened her. Maybe because of the children listed there who died so young. Maybe because of a marriage cut short by death.

Her own marriage and her own grandchildren were too young to die, and she shuddered at the thought of recording them for strangers to read long after she was gone.

But births, marriages, and deaths were all part of life.

She began to shut the book when her eye caught a piece of paper sticking out from the middle. Curious, she opened to the page. A single sheet, folded in four, a hand-written note on the outside: Things aren't always as they seem.

Feeling only slightly guilty for reading other people's notes, Carly carefully unfolded the paper.

A death certificate.

She squinted as she read the faded ink. John Webster's death certificate. Next of kin was Deborah Randall Webster, wife.

Cause of death: accident, killed in stampede.

Chapter 11

Carly had stumbled upon a well-kept secret, one someone had gone to great pains to hide. She didn't know Deborah at all, as if the Deborah she knew was only a veneer, meant to gloss over the truth hidden deep beneath.

She shook herself mentally for being so dramatic. If Deborah didn't want to mention a husband who had died—Carly checked the death certificate again—almost twenty years before, what difference did that make? None, unless there was some reason to hide that information. What would a note like that mean on a death certificate? 'Things aren't always as they seem'.

Was someone implying that John Webster wasn't really dead?

Or that he hadn't died in a stampede?

Although Carly was inquisitive by nature and loved to solve mysteries, she had to concede this wasn't really her problem. She hadn't been asked to help. Deborah seemed more than capable of looking after herself. And someone had gone to great pains to hide this Bible where neither the book or the certification would have been found. She could come up with no logical reason why someone would do that.

Carly pondered these questions. Finding no ready answers, she decided to re-shelve the Bible in its hiding place and tuck the paperback back as a cover. Having enough of books and mysteries for one day, she left the room, intending to explore some more of the main floor.

As she left the room, angry voices echoed down the hallway from the kitchen.

Her previous impression of the kitchen staff was that they got along well together, but things were not going well right now. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Carly looked up. Mike headed down toward her while Deborah and Tom came from her office next to the library.

Deborah glanced toward the kitchen. "What's going on?"

Carly shrugged. "I don't know. I was in the library. I heard voices from the kitchen. I don't understand Spanish, so I couldn't help." She smiled apologetically at her lack of language skills. "Not much call for Spanish in Bear Cove."

"I can imagine." Deborah's smile did not quite reach her eyes. "I'll see what's happening. Sounds like Paco and the housemaid are squabbling."

She strode into the kitchen, which fell silent at her arrival.

Mike and Tom stood near Carly, who shrugged once again in response to their questioning looks.

Deborah spoke in a calming tone, but Paco's response rose in both volume and tenor. Within minutes, Deborah and Paco came to the foyer.

Deborah explained. "Paco and Louisa had an argument earlier this morning, and now it seems that Louisa has run off." Despite her cool words, worry lined her eyes. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Carly moved closer. "Paco, did Louisa tell you about the fight in the barn this morning?"

Paco did not answer but kept his head down, shuffling his feet back and forth.

Deborah spoke to him in Spanish, her tone authoritative.

He looked coolly at Deborah, then turned to meet Carly's eyes. "Si, Senora Carly. She tell me he don't want her no more, and he leave her. She very upset. She say if he try to leave, she weel keel herself. I tell her he won't leave, because I weel. . . " Paco stopped, his gaze returning to the floor. "He won't leave."

Deborah touched his arm. "You will what, Paco? Tell me."

"I not really mean it, Senora Deborah." His eyes darted from Deborah to Carly, then back to Deborah. "I angry is all."

"Tell me what you said, Paco." Deborah's voice was firm but quiet.

Easy to see why she got along so well with horses.

Paco sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I tell her I weel keel him first."

Carly's heart pounded. "Then what happened?"

"She say she has, um, dolor de cabeza?" He looked to Deborah for help in translating. "In English?"

"A headache," she replied, putting her hand to her temple and rubbing it. "Like the one I have now."

"Si, a head-ache." He carefully sounded out the unfamiliar word. "I think she not telling the truth."

Carly considered this information. She certainly wouldn't want to be on the other end of either Paco's or Louisa's anger. Still, she didn't think Brandon was in any immediate danger. He seemed big enough and tough enough to look after himself.

Tom spoke up. "How about if we go look for Louisa? She can't have gotten very far in all this snow."

Smiling apologetically to the group gathered in the foyer, Deborah gestured towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry. We've never had problems like this before. And now it seems like everyone has been fighting amongst themselves ever since you got here. Really, we are normally on much better behavior than this."

Mike spoke up, his tone light. "Don't worry about it Deborah. Really, the best time to iron out these things is when you don't have paying guests here. Your staff is used to doing things a certain way, and having strangers here will put a certain amount of strain on the equilibrium of all the relationships."

Deborah smiled, her gratitude evident. "Thank you Mike. I guess you're right. But Louisa is one of my best employees. She has been here longer than almost anyone, except Brandon.. And now she hasn't shown up for duty. This isn't like her at all." She turned to Paco. "Come, let's go and check her house again. Maybe you just missed her when you last checked there."

Paco opened his mouth to respond, then snapped his lips shut. He nodded, and he and Deborah walked down the hallway towards the back door of the house.

Carly rubbed her arms. "Louisa had quite a shock this morning. Maybe she needed to be by herself for a while."

Mike looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. He probably didn't know all the details about the altercation in the barn. Recalling Brandon's thinly veiled insinuations about Sarah, she turned to Tom. "Where is Sarah? I think you were the last person to see her, after breakfast?"

Tom met her gaze evenly. "I did go and talk to her. You saw me."

Mike put his arm around Carly. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

Mike's arm dropped to his side. "What do you mean?

Tom stared at his father, his jaw muscles taut, his words biting. "I asked her to marry me." He turned away and pulled on his winter boots. "Fat lot of good that did me."

Mike put his hand on his son's arm. "What did she say?"

"She said she needed time to think." Tom pulled away from his father's touch. "What does that mean, anyway?"

Carly stepped toward Tom, stopping as he straightened and stared at her. "Usually it means just that, Tom. Sarah doesn't strike me as someone who plays mind games."

Tom's response was to zip up his jacket and pull on gloves.

Mike looked to Carly and then back to Tom. "Tom, please wait."

Tom jerked open the door. "I'm going to look for Louisa. She might be lost out there."

Deborah reappeared in the hall. "We checked the house, and there's no sign of her there. I told Paco to work with the housekeeper, Maria. They have worked together several times, and she knows her way around the kitchen almost as well as Louisa does. They will work around her absence and I'll go look for her with you, Tom."

Deborah donned her heavy jacket and knee-high boots. "By the way, the weather forecast calls for up to two more feet of snow." She pulled a woolen cap down over her hair. "You might be stuck here for a while."

Carly buried her face in Mike's chest. "Oh, Mike."

He patted her back, rubbing up and down her shoulders. "I know. That's not the answer I was hoping Sarah would give him."

"Why do you think Sarah needs time to think? He seemed to think they were so in love."

Mike kissed the top of her head. "I think they are. Maybe she just wants to make sure she loves him enough to marry him."

"I don't think that's the problem."

Mike held her at arm's length. "Who said there was a problem?"

Carly put her hands on her hips. "How could you not notice? First Deborah is making goo-goo eyes at Tom, then Brandon makes those nasty remarks about Sarah."

Mike raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "And that makes a problem how?"

"Well, you know what they say, where there's smoke, you'll need a fire extinguisher."

Mike grasped her shoulders and shook her slightly. "Don't get involved, Carly. They need to work this out for themselves. A fire extinguisher?"

"You know what I mean. Now, Mike, here's what I think we need to do."

Before she could outline her plan, Mike touched a forefinger to her lips. She brushed his hand away, but before she could continue, Mike headed for the stairs.

"I have work to do." He pointed an index finger towards the ceiling. "Upstairs. Alone. Now."

Carly moved to the foot of the stairs and sat on the bottom tread. "Fine. I'll let them work it out themselves. But you have to admit, the rest of this is really strange, Mike."

"What's strange? We're on vacation, and you find a mystery to get involved in," Mike answered, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Nothing strange about that. Just everyday life with Carly Turnquist." He shook his head. "I don't know where people get the notion accountants are boring. There is never a dull day with you."

"That's not what's strange," Carly retorted. "What's weird is Brandon seems to have several different schemes going on, and somehow it's all unraveling, right when we're here."

"How do you mean unraveling?" Mike sat down on the step above the one she sat on. "I know that with your imagination, you are bound to be in the middle of whatever is going on."

Carly stood and held out her hand. "For example, there's this book here. I found it earlier." She led him to the library, then over to the shelf where the Bible was hidden. Putting her hand in behind the front books, she felt around. "It's right here. I know it is."

Mike chuckled. "Don't tell me you 'just found' a book hidden in the back of that shelf, Carly. I won't believe it."

She turned to face him. "Of course I didn't just find it. I was in here looking at the books." She motioned to the shelves of books with one hand. "I figured out how the books were filed, since at first glance they don't seem to make any sense." She pulled books off the shelf in question, still looking for the Bible with the mysterious death certificate tucked inside. "Some of the books on this shelf weren't lined up evenly, and when I tried to push them back, they wouldn't go. I tried to straighten them out." She turned once again to face him. "So they would be even."

He smiled at his wife. "Sometimes your idiosyncrasies drive me wild." He pulled her close. "But I love you all the more for them. Remember, I was with you at the art museum the day you nearly got arrested."

"It was a subconscious act. The picture was crooked, and my hand shot out, all on its own, to straighten it."

"Sure. They thought you were trying to steal it. You should have seen your face when you were standing there, trying to convince them you were only going to straighten it on the wall," Mike's smile showed he was enjoying the moment. "Good thing I was there."

"Yeah, you were such a big help. You just sidled off and left me, as if you didn't even know who I was. When I turned to you for help, you were gone."

"What was the point in both of us getting arrested?" Mike snuggled against her. "You might have needed someone to bail you out."

"Well, it all turned out okay, didn't it?" This bantering was really just a game to him. "They didn't arrest me, and my face wasn't on the front page of 'America's Most Wanted'."

"So where's this book you're talking about, and why is it so important?" Mike ran a finger along the shelf, checking for dust. "Only thing I see is a dire need for a good cleaning."

"It was right here just a few minutes ago. I was looking for something to do, so I thought a good book would be in order. Like I said, I found it in here. But it isn't the book that's so interesting, it's what I found in it." Carly knew even Mike wouldn't be able to resist a clue like that. "You'll never guess what it was."

"Okay, I'll bite—what was inside the book? Besides pages and words?"

"Stop kidding around. I found a death certificate for Deborah's husband." She waited for Mike's reaction.

It didn't happen.

"Come on, Mike. She was married before, and he died after they were only married a couple of years, and someone was threatening to tell on her." Carly continued pawing through the books on the shelf. Not finding the Bible, she turned her attention to the shelf above. "Maybe it was up here."

"And where do you get that from? From a Bible that fell behind a stack of books that probably haven't been looked at in years?" Mike softly massaged her shoulders as, her back to him, she moved to another shelf. "You've been working too hard if you can jump to that conclusion."

"No, Mike. It's the note that was written on the death certificate. You haven't let me finish. The note said 'things aren't always as they seem' or something to that effect. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Makes me think it's time for me to get back to work. I don't know about the power supply up here. If we lose power because of the snow, I might not have electricity for my computer, and I won't be able to work." He turned to leave the room then stopped, turning her around to face him. "You said Brandon had several schemes going on. You think this death certificate was one of them. What else do you know?"

"I don't know anything for sure," she answered, "but I have some suspicions."

Chapter 12

Carly loved when she rendered her husband speechless, even if only for a moment.

He opened his mouth a couple of times as if ready to speak, then closed without uttering a word. Finally, he spoke. "That's what I thought." He turned once more to leave. "I don't know why I let you lead me on like that. What an imagination."

"Wait, Mike."

He stopped and faced her, hand still on the doorknob.

"There's the scheme I heard him talking about with a mystery man about taking care of someone who didn't co-operate. Later I heard him talking with another mystery man, and it sounded like blackmail. There's also Brandon's attitude about you being here to confirm that his reporting to Deborah has been right. And there's his insinuation about Deborah last night after dinner, and about Sarah today in the barn."

At this last comment, Mike's eyes widened. "What about Sarah? What did he say?"

"He implied Sarah's tastes ran to less-desirable men. I think maybe she has a past Tom doesn't know about." Carly stepped back from the shelves and took a good look at them. "Where can that Bible be?"

"Forget the Bible. Brandon is probably just jealous to see Tom and Sarah together. She is from around here, after all."

"Sure, and maybe she and Brandon used to be more than just friends, and he knows something about that." Carly tried to remember what other books had been on the shelf when she was in the library before. "I think it was wedged between two mysteries by Caroline Davis. And the one book stuck out a bit. That's why I noticed it."

Mike pushed the door open, ignoring her musings as though she hadn't spoken. "Yes, and maybe he knows nothing, and he's just trying to stir up trouble for them."

Carly nodded. "Either scenario is plausible."

Mike continued. "One thing we know for certain is we aren't going to find the answers right now. I've got work to do or we won't get paid for this trip. You have a vacation to enjoy, but I know how much you enjoy mysteries, so if you poke around a little, I guess it wouldn't hurt, would it?"

Carly recalled Brandon's threats and his fight with Tom. Brandon didn't play by any of the usual rules, and she was glad he'd been fired. Still, if she played her cards right, and he left the ranch for good, she should be okay. She smiled at her husband, who was waiting for her response. "I can't see how it would hurt. I'll just listen and watch, and see what I can see. And besides," she smiled coquettishly at him, batting her eyelashes in a provocative manner. "I've got you here to protect me, haven't I?"

Mike harrumphed and left the room. His footsteps sounded on the stairway as he went back to their suite to work. She turned back to the shelves of books, wondering if she'd made a mistake about where she'd found the Bible. She ran her hands behind each shelf she could reach.

No Bible behind any of the books.

Scanning the room, she determined that the book wasn't laying on one of the many tables. The only conclusion was someone removed the Bible. Did that someone just happen to want a Bible? Or did they want that piece of paper? Another mystery to add to the list.

Standing in the center of the room, Carly scanned the shelves for anything out of place from her previous visit. Outside, the wind picked up in intensity, blowing across the mesa. She crossed to the window and drew back the heavy woven curtain, peering out. Although still mid-morning, the sky had turned ominously dark. Near the horizon, dark clouds sped towards the ranch, and in the yard, tumbleweeds and other debris flew past, dancing on the white carpet, carried on the sudden gusts of wind. Snow began to gather in banks against the buildings, the fence posts—any upright obstacle in its path.

Carly pulled her cardigan closer around her. Although the house was warm, the picture outside made her cold. A sharp banging caught her attention. One of the barn doors swung crazily in the wind. A ranch hand ran from around the house and slammed the door shut, checking to make sure the latch was secure.

In the distance, an SUV bounced along the rutted road. Not the same one they came in from the highway on, so she surmised the road led to another part of the ranch. The driver seemed to have a hard time keeping the wheels on the icy road. The vehicle finally slid to a stop in front of the ranch house. Tom jumped out and ran around to the back passenger door. He reached in and lifted a limp bundle out. He struggled across the snowy yard, slipping and sliding on the shoveled path.

Carly ran to the front entryway and yanked the door open as he got to the top step. His eyes were wild, and he stood in the foyer as if he didn't know where to go or what to do.

His eyes were wide with panic, and ice clung to his hair and eyelashes. "We found Sarah! She was in the snow! We have to warm her up right now!"

Carly looked past Tom to see Deborah running from the vehicle toward the house. She stepped into the house. "Take her into the front room. The fire is on in there. Paco!" She stopped only long enough to kick off her sodden boots before rushing into the room behind Tom.

Paco appeared from the kitchen and nodded.

Deborah pulled an afghan from the sofa. "Bring more blankets and some brandy right now."

Paco hurried out of the room.

Tom carefully laid Sarah on the sofa next to the fireplace in the front room. This was the same room where Carly heard Deborah and Tom arguing when she and Mike first arrived. Just last night. So much had happened in a short period of time.

Paco hurried in, blankets flapping behind him. His mouth was drawn, and worry lines etched his face as Deborah carefully tucked the wool wraps around Sarah. He hustled out and returned moments later with a tray bearing a brandy decanter and snifter. Setting his load on the coffee table, he nodded deferentially while Tom poured a generous portion of the amber liquid.

Tom held the glass to Sarah's lips while supporting her partially with his free arm. He spoke gently to her, encouraging her to swallow. At her first taste, Sarah's face contorted into a grimace, and she tried to push the glass away. Tom insisted, however, and she drank about half the glass before turning her face away. She leaned her head back, her eyes closed, and Tom settled her on the sofa.

Deborah stoked the fire, adding several more logs. A beautiful young Hispanic woman closed the drapes, and Deborah turned to acknowledge her. "Thank you, Maria. That will help keep the chill out."

Maria bowed her head and left the room.

Deborah's gaze studied Tom and Sarah.

Carly put her arm around Deborah's shoulders. "You're shivering. Here, sit near the fire too." She helped the woman sit. "Tom, pour Deborah a glass of brandy, too, will you?"

For the first time, Carly noticed Deborah's clothes were soaking wet, her hair plastered to her face. Her woolen cap was missing, and her hands were red with the cold. "What happened out there?"

Tom passed the brandy snifter before answering. "We went looking for Louisa. We saw some tracks in the snow, and we followed them. Deborah got worried when she saw they were leading to a ravine about four miles from here." Seeing the confusion on Carly's face, he explained. "The ranch is located on a mesa in the high desert. But it's not all flat. About a quarter of the ranch is treed, and another quarter is filled with ravines, gulches, and valleys."

Carly nodded. She knew the area he was talking about, having seen the terrain on their drive into the ranch.

He continued. "We had to leave the SUV and go on foot, because the road ends before the ravine. When we got there, we saw it was Sarah. She had lost her footing and fallen over the edge."

Carly breath caught in her throat. She could have been killed.

"She was lucky," Deborah interjected. "Where she went over was a relatively shallow incline, so she just rolled down. She must have hit her head, though, because she wasn't conscious when we first found her. We had to carry her between us back to the SUV. By the time we got her that far, she had come round."

Tom finished the tale. "Then we drove like crazy to get her back here. We don't know for sure how long she'd been there, except that I saw her right after breakfast, and that's—" He consulted his watch. "That's over two hours ago. I don't understand. She said she was going to work."

Carly stood near Tom. "She's going to be all right. Her color is improving, and she's warming up. You need to look after yourself. Sit here and warm up some."

Tom smiled at her. "I know better than to argue with you." He sat next to Sarah. "Especially when you're right."

Carly wrapped another blanket around his shoulders. At a noise in the foyer, she looked up as Mike entered the room. He headed straight for his son, kneeling beside him.

Tom filled him in quickly, and Mike's face softened. He gently touched Sarah's cheek, and she stirred at his touch, mumbling something incoherent.

Mike glanced at Deborah. "She's still cold."

The older woman brought another afghan from a drawer in a hutch, and laid the coverlet on top of the ones already covering Sarah. "We need to warm her up but not too quickly. If she has any frostbite, it's better to warm slowly. Try to wake her. Keep talking to her, patting her hands and her feet." To demonstrate, she lifted and rubbed one of Sarah's hands, patting the palm. "We want to get the circulation flowing again."

Tom picked up the other hand, copying Deborah's movements. Carly moved to sit near Sarah's feet. She lifted the blankets and pulled off Sarah's winter boots. Picking up one of her feet, she rubbed briskly but gently, and was rewarded with a slight warming of Sarah's toes. Carly pulled off a sock, gratified to see pink skin.

Deborah nodded. "That's good. I don't think she was out there long enough for frostbite. Usually that takes many hours. And the extremities would be blackening."

Tom kept up his ministrations, alternating between rubbing and patting. After many minutes, while Sarah's fingers and toes responded well to the therapy, she had still not regained full consciousness.

Mike moved closer to Tom, reaching out his hand. "Here, let me take over and give you a break." He gestured toward the chair in front of the fireplace. "Give yourself a short breather over there."

Tom nodded, relinquishing Sarah's hand to Mike. He stood and walked unsteadily to the chair, sitting down heavily. The young man's face bore lines Carly hadn't seen before. The same signs of worry Mike often bore.

Usually because he was worried about her.

Despite Tom's earlier outburst, he still cared deeply for this woman.

Tom settled back into the chair, stretching his feet closer to the fire. Prying his boots off using the edge of the stone hearth for leverage, he wiggled his cold toes in the heat. He had been better dressed than Sarah, and he hadn't been out in the storm as long. He wasn't worried about himself. But if something happened to Sarah, he would—

What? What would he do? He had no claim on her, no right to tell her where she should go or what she should do.

In fact, he wasn't entirely certain where he stood with her.

Or more correctly, what stood between them.

Because he was certain of one thing—Sarah loved him. Before they came to New Mexico, Sarah wanted to marry him.

So what changed in just a few days?

Brandon.

The name came unbidden to his mind, and the rage-filled face he confronted in the barn. Tom didn't have much experience with that kind of evil, and wondered what caused a person to turn out like that. A bad upbringing? Harsh discipline?

He shook his head. This world was a sorry place when someone else's anger could have such an effect on those around them.

Tom lifted his head as Sarah mumbled again. He turned to face her, half-rising from his seat. His father lifted a hand to stay him, and Tom sat back down. Watching his father and Carly working together to make sure Sarah was warming up ignited something in the depth of his heart. They hardly knew her, and yet were willing to perform these intimate acts of love to help her.

But that's what parents did, wasn't it?

No, their ministrations went beyond that.

They loved her. And they loved him.

Tom sighed. He didn't have much experience with love other than his parents and sister. Sure, he'd had a few girlfriends through the years, but nothing as serious as Sarah. The thought of losing her made his stomach turn over.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared into the fire. The flames danced and licked around the inside of the old stone chimney, consuming the logs, sending small spirals of smoke upward.

Like your dreams.

Mesmerized by the fire and lulled into a stupor by the heat, Tom wasn't sure if he dreamt that last statement or not. He looked around, expecting to see his father standing next to him. No one was there. He sat up straighter, determined not to have a waking nightmare. Sarah needed him to be there for her right now, not lolling away in dreamland.

A large piece of log broke off and fell with a thud onto the hearth. Tom reached forward, tongs in hand, and pushed the wood back into the fire basket. Watching the red-hot coals, the heat on his face felt good. He stretched his hands out in front of him, wishing they were holding Sarah's hand instead of the tongs.

Kneeling on the floor in front of the hearth, Tom settled back on his heels. He was at the end of his rope. The end of what he could do on his own. He just wanted Sarah to be well, to be alive, and to marry him.

Right now he would settle for the first two, leaving the marriage decision until later.

He was beginning to regret he asked her to marry him. Not because he didn't mean the words he'd said, because he did.

If she didn't survive, all he'd be left with was the memory of their last minutes together.

Minutes that ended in a quarrel.

He wished he could go back to three days ago, when things were good, and he knew where he stood with Sarah.

Or at least he thought he knew.

He looked over his shoulder. His father, Carly, and Deborah were busy still with Sarah, rubbing her hands and feet, adjusting the blankets around her. She was in good hands.

He longed to feel as safe and protected as she was.

Carly looked up at the light tap on the door, and Maria came in bearing yet another tray, this one loaded with cups of hot coffee and steaming bowls of soup. She smiled shyly at Carly, setting the tray on the coffee table next to the brandy tray. Carly met her eyes and smiled appreciatively. Maria left the room without speaking, glancing worriedly at Deborah before disappearing out the door.

Carly stood and moved to the tray. She retrieved a couple of cups of coffee, handing one to Mike and one to Deborah.

Returning to the table, she glanced over at Tom, smiling at his reclining form. She picked up two bowls of soup and set them on tables near Mike and Deborah. "Here. She'll be all right for a few minutes. You need to stop and have something to eat and drink." Balancing a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup for herself, she sat on the floor near Mike's feet. "Oh, this is good."

Mike spooned some soup into his mouth, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "You have excellent help here, Deborah. They are going to make your guests feel like a million dollars."

Deborah's tired smile lasted but a heartbeat. "Yes, if we ever get the place opened up. With all that's been going on around here, it almost feels like someone is trying to keep that from happening."

Carly met her gaze. "You don't think what happened to Sarah was an accident, do you?"

Deborah shook her head. "Sarah knows this land too well to take a tumble like that." Her mouth turned down. "No, someone was behind this."

Carly reached over and patted Deborah's hand. "Who would want to hurt Sarah? And just as importantly, why?"

Deborah looked past Carly out the window into the storm. "I don't know." She pushed a stray wisp of hair back from her eyes. "I just don't know."

A whisper of movement caught Carly's attention. Under the layer of blankets, Sarah stirred. Carly moved to her side, adjusting the covers up under her chin. Sarah's eyes fluttered open, finally focusing on Carly's face. She smiled wanly and mumbled.

Carly leaned closer, her ear to Sarah's mouth. "What did you say?"

Sarah pointed to her throat.

"Thirsty?"

Sarah nodded.

Carly picked up the glass with brandy and water she had earlier seen Tom using. Sarah took a small sip as Carly held the glass steady.

Sarah laid her head back on the pillow. "Thank you."

Carly turned to Mike. "Wake Tom up, would you, please? He'll want to know Sarah is okay."

Mike moved to the hearth and gently shook his son.

Tom bolted upright and stood unsteadily. "What is it? Is it Sarah?"

Mike patted Tom's shoulder. "Yes. She's awake."

"Sarah?" Tom lurched to the sofa and knelt on the floor beside her. He looked deep into her face. "How are you feeling?"

She reached for him, and he pressed into her arms. "Oh, Tom, I had the most horrible dream."

He patted her back, murmuring gentle words into her ear. She relaxed into his embrace, and he set her back on the sofa. "What was it about?"

She sat up straighter, and Tom adjusted the pillow behind her back. "I dreamt I was in a storm, and someone locked me out of the house, and I couldn't find my way back in. I was so cold. I thought I was going to die."

"Do you know who it was?

Sarah tipped her head slightly to one side, one eyebrow raised. "Who who was?"

"The person in your dream?"

"No. It was only a dream."

Carly stepped forward. "Because it might not have been a dream."

Sarah pulled her chin in, and frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sitting on the end of the sofa, Carly patted Sarah's feet gently. "Tom and Deborah found you in a ravine. Maybe Deborah is right, and someone tried to hurt you.

Sarah shook her head vehemently, then put her hand to her temple. "Ooh. That hurts." She looked at Tom. "Why would someone want to push me?"

"I don't know, Sarah. Do you know any reason?"

"You make it sound like I know something." Sarah's eyes filled and her bottom lip quivered. "I don't know."

Tom jumped to his feet and began pacing the room.

"You sound like you don't trust me." Sarah looked over Tom's shoulder. "Maybe you shouldn't trust me."

Tom rushed to her side, kneeling on the floor. "Sarah, I love you. I want to marry you. Please, listen—"

Sarah shook her head. "No."

Tom stopped, his mouth open. "No what?"

Sarah folded her arms across her chest. "No, I can't make that decision right now. If you must have an answer, I guess the answer is no." She turned to Mike. "Can you please help me up to my room? I need to get some more rest."

Sarah folded the blankets back onto the sofa and set her feet gingerly on the floor. Mike moved to her side, and waited as she stood, then offered his arm to support her. She took a couple of wavering steps before collapsing back onto the sofa.

Deborah hurried to her side, propping her up with a pillow and wrapping her in another blanket. "You stay there for now. We can leave you alone to get some rest, can't we?"

Carly was just about to agree when the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Chapter 13

Carly reached for Mike in the darkness, but he wasn't there.

She stifled a scream, swallowing down her fear like a distasteful pill.

Then Deborah's calm voice sounded from the black, bringing order to Carly's near-panic. "Stay where you are. The generator should kick on any minute now. If the power goes off for more than one minute, the generator comes on."

Somehow just hearing her voice soothed Carly's nerves. Still, her mind was racing. What had caused the power to go off? Would the generator start? What if they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, cut off from civilization with no power? Did the telephones still work? Was this all part of Brandon's schemes. Or something completely separate?

Keeping her mind busy with all these questions made the time pass quickly. But not quickly enough. A minute seemed to be really long as she sat in the dark, waiting. Just as she was beginning to wonder about the likelihood of power being returned, the lights flickered a couple of times before coming on, although not as brightly as before.

Deborah explained. "Because we want to provide electricity to as many rooms as possible, we have set the amperage on the generator slightly lower. Otherwise, we couldn't have power in more than a few rooms at a time. This way, you can have lights and some other small appliances." She smiled ruefully. "Unfortunately, the big ovens won't work, so it will be microwave food until power is restored."

Carly patted her stomach. "I don't think any of us are going to starve to death in the next couple of hours."

Deborah's face clouded. "We need to be prepared to run on the generator for more than just a few hours. We have been without electricity for several days at a time in past years."

Carly regretted not eating more at breakfast. Determined to make the best of a bad situation, however, she put on her best smile. "No matter. We'll make out fine. Won't we?"

Mike nodded and stepped close, putting his arms around her and whispering in her ear. "Sure. We can find ways to occupy ourselves, can't we?"

Heat rushed to her face at the implication of his words. Playfully she pushed him away. "Mike, behave yourself."

Deborah laughed as she folded a blanket. "You two are still like newlyweds. You are so cute." Her smile faded. "To conserve power, turn off any lights and equipment we aren't using. You should be able to use your computer, though. I'll let you know if that changes."

Mike nodded. "I'd like to do some more work this afternoon."

Deborah stood and set the blanket on a nearby chair. "Now that I've warmed up again, I'm going to look for Louisa as soon as I change out of these cold clothes."

Tom stood and pulled on his jacket again.

Deborah gently pushed him back down. "You stay here. I'll get one of the hands to go with me."

Tom smiled his thanks. "Just so long as it isn't Brandon."

Deborah returned his smile, although it was thin. "I don't expect he's even on the property any more. I saw him loading up his pick-up truck earlier."

This was news to Carly. "Did he say if he changed his mind about taking Louisa? Maybe that's where she is?"

"He wasn't in a talking mood. Besides, if he had told me he was taking her with him, I wouldn't be looking for her, would I?" Deborah replied, impatience showing in her voice.

Carly's blush returned.

Deborah's gaze fell. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

Carly hastened to reassure her. "It's okay. I know you're under a lot of strain. If I can help, let me know?"

Deborah nodded. "I'm going up to my room to change." She glanced at Sarah and Tom then left the room.

Tom tucked the blanket securely around Sarah whose eyes drooped shut. He sat tentatively on the edge of the sofa.

She looked at him through half-closed eyes. "I'm not going to bite you. Relax."

He shuffled into a more comfortable position. "I'm glad you're okay."

Sarah smiled. "Thanks. I really do love you, Tom. 'Not right now' doesn't mean no forever."

He nodded. "I understand. Feel up to talking?"

She straightened, reaching behind her back to adjust the pillow. "I think so."

"Can I still hold your hand?"

She reached out and took his hand, cupping it between her hands. "I hope so. This isn't like we've broken up or something. At least, I don't think we broke up. Did we?"

Tom shook his head.

Her face brightened. "Let's look at it like we've just taken a short recess in the forward progression of our relationship. We aren't going backwards, we aren't moving forward."

He nodded. "Kind of like a holding pattern?"

She smiled. "Now you've got it." She nestled her head back on the sofa. "So, talk."

"What were you doing, wandering out on the mesa like that?

She smiled wanly at him. "You forget, I was raised around here. I know that land like the back of my hand, Tom."

"Sure, but not when you haven't been here for several years, it isn't your land, and there's two feet of snow on it. You could have been killed." The concern in his eyes softened his words. "I was really worried about you."

Sarah lost the struggle to keep her eyes open, and her head began to nod. "That's where you're wrong. It is my land, or at least, it was."

He shook her gently by the shoulder. "Stay awake. What do you mean, it is your land?"

"That land used to belong to my family. When my parents died, I sold it to Deborah. Brandon wanted to buy it, but I knew Deborah would take better care of it. I was trying to keep all of our land, but I couldn't afford to pay the taxes and keep it running." She turned away, pulling the blanket up under his chin. "Let me sleep."

Tom slapped her hand. "You can't fall asleep right in the middle of our conversation."

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and opened her eyes, staring at Tom. "Okay. I had a tenant farmer for a while, but it was so much hassle trying to oversee it from New York. I decided to keep just enough land for the house and a few acres around it. Deborah wanted it because there are several spring fed wells over there. And, in rainy season, those ravines and gulches hold the water from running off, which gives her a natural reservoir, so to speak."

Carly sidled closer to hear her. "So if you know it so well, what happened? Why did you fall off the edge?"

Sarah turned her head toward Carly and Mike. "I didn't fall, I was pushed."

Carly and Mike looked at each other. Once again, Carly's mind raced. Surely she was mistaken. Why would anybody want to hurt Sarah?.

Carly chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. "What were you doing out there by yourself, anyway? We all thought you were in your room, working."

Sarah's mouth turned down. "After Tom left, I felt like I needed some air. This house was closing in on me. So, I went down the back stairs, and pulled on a jacket I found hanging by the back door." She swiped her hand across her forehead. "I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone. I just needed some air. So I put my head down, and walked." Her eyes misted over. "It was a beautiful day, the sun shining on the snow like diamonds. I kind of forgot where I was." She smiled. "I guess I've been living in the city too long. Forgot how unforgiving this country can be."

Tom laid his hand on her shoulder. "Then what?"

"Next thing I knew, I saw footprints. I thought maybe Louisa was out walking and thinking, too. The footsteps led to the edge of the ravine. I looked over. I heard footsteps and heavy breathing behind me, like someone was running through the snow. I turned around to see who it was, and he put his hands on my shoulders, and pushed. I fell backwards over the edge. That's all I remember until you and Deborah found me."

"Do you know who it was?" Carly had some ideas about who the attacker was. Brandon or one of his cronies. "Would you recognize him again?"

"No, and I don't know for sure it was a man. Except the person was taller and heavier than most of the women around here, except for. . ." She paused, her face reddening. "But it couldn't be."

"Except for who?" Carly persisted. "Couldn't be who?"

Sarah dropped her gaze. "Except for Deborah."

Tom snorted. "That's crazy. Why would Deborah want to hurt you?"

Why indeed, wondered Carly. Deborah already owned the land. She'd known Sarah for years. Unless she'd seen a rival to her affections? Carly shook her head. That didn't make sense. She could have killed Sarah any number of times. Why now? Was Tom's obvious affection for Sarah the catalyst? Did Deborah have romantic intentions for Tom?

Sarah looked Tom directly in the eye. "Tom, why would Deborah want to hurt me? Why wouldn't she want to see us happily married?"

The question hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. Several times Tom opened his mouth to answer.

Finally, he drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before answering. "Deborah and I are partners in business only. I have invested not only my company's time and money in this venture, but also my own. I believe Deborah will make a go of this ranch, but even she recognized it would take more than she had in terms of money and expertise. That's why Brandon was so mad at us. He had been offering Deborah a partnership for years. Only he wanted more than business." Bitterness dripped from his words. "Deborah saw through him and kept putting him off. When I came along and made a business proposal to her, she grabbed it, because that's the kind of partnership she was looking for. With no strings attached."

Sarah turned her eyes away, tears running down her cheeks.

Carly's eyes welled up, too. She and Sarah had been thinking along the same lines independently of each other. If thinking of Tom and Deborah together hurt her, how much more pain had Sarah felt?

Tom stroked Sarah's cheek. "I'm sorry if I caused you to doubt my love for you. Is that why you wouldn't marry me?"

Sarah turned to look at Tom. "No. It wasn't really a reason at all. I just needed to hear the truth of it." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand, pressing it to her cheek. "I don't think we need to discuss this anymore."

He nodded, his eyes glistening.

Mike cleared his throat to break the silence. "Great. Now that we're all one big blubbering mess, I'm going back up to the room. I've got work to do." He hugged Carly close. "Will you be okay on your own?"

Carly nodded. She wanted to go back to the ravine and see the evidence for herself, but she was pretty sure Mike wouldn't agree with her. Maybe she could get Tom to take her. Sarah looked like she was ready for a nap, and Tom would be as anxious to get to the bottom of this as Carly When the mystery involved other people, that was one thing. But when events touched close to home like this, that was something else altogether.

Carly noted Sarah was already asleep. She indicated with a nod to Tom that she wanted to talk to him outside the room. He nodded, stood quietly, and laid Sarah's hand gently on her chest. He practically tip-toed out of the room behind Carly.

She led the way to the library and closed the door behind them. The already-dim lighting of the room was now even dimmer, casting shadows on the books. She turned to face Tom, ready to plead her case for them to go to the ravine together.

But Tom was one step ahead of her. "When we followed the footprints to the edge of the cliff, we didn't take much time to notice other prints. We were so anxious to find Louisa. And when I looked over and saw Sarah, I was so scared." Fear showed on his face once again in the taut lines around his eyes. "Then we had a hard time getting her out. We might have messed up any other prints there. And, of course," he indicated the weather outside. "It's been snowing ever since. I don't know what we might find, but I'd appreciate if you would go with me. I know you have a good eye for that sort of thing."

Carly struggled to maintain a straight face. She needed to show good judgment. Still, she was excited to get on with the investigation. The fact was, either Sarah was pushed or she wasn't. If she was, then they needed to find out who had tried to kill her and why. If she wasn't pushed, why would Sarah make up such a crazy story?

Carly firmly pushed that thought from her mind. She didn't want to consider what that meant. With everything else going on, she believed someone wanted Sarah out of the way.

Deborah didn't appear to have a motive. She'd been here all morning or with Tom. Which meant she didn't have opportunity, either.

Relieved to hear this, since she liked Deborah, Carly headed for the stairs. "Okay. Let's change into warm clothes and go out again. If anyone asks," Carly said, nodding in the direction of her suite, "we'll say we're going snowshoeing. I saw snowshoes hanging in the barn. We can even borrow them to make it easier to get around in the snow when we have to leave the SUV."

Tom nodded and together they went upstairs. Carly went left at the top, and Tom went right to his room at the opposite end of the hallway.

"We'll meet out on the verandah in five minutes, okay?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded and entered the room. Mike was busy at work again, his back to the door.

Since she couldn't get in and out without him hearing her, she decided to come right ou and tell him what she was doing. "Tom and I are going out for some fresh air. All this excitement has us too keyed up to sit around, so we're going snowshoeing. Want to come with us?" She crossed her fingers behind her back hoping he wouldn't want to go outside. "I'm sure you're too busy, right?"

Mike didn't even look up. He stared at the screen and tapped on keys in what seemed to be a random order. Carly came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging his shoulder muscles gently. He leaned back into her, murmuring his delight.

"We'll be back in an hour or so. Don't work too long in one position. Remember to get up and stretch once in a while, okay?" She replaced her short-sleeved top with a turtleneck and heavier sweater. "See you in a bit."

Mike grunted he'd heard her and continued working. For once Carly was glad he was so engrossed in his work he wasn't paying much attention to her. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bought the snowshoeing story at all. About the only exercise she got voluntarily was jumping to conclusions.

She closed the door behind her. Tom stood outside the suite, his hand raised to knock. She grabbed him by the arm and headed toward the stairs. Tom resisted, his feet planted firmly.

She turned to face him. "What?"

"I want to talk to Dad for a minute. I'll catch up with you downstairs. Okay?"

Carly nodded, and Tom entered the room, closing the door behind him.

She couldn't understand the men in her life sometimes. All these secret talks behind closed doors.

When the door opened again, Mike sighed. If Carly was going out, he wished she would just do it. He hadn't really bought the snowshoeing story. He knew her too well for that. Still, if Tom was going with her, she should be safe enough.

He turned from the desk, surprised to see his son instead of his wife.

Tom stepped forward. "Got a minute, Dad?"

Mike did a quick save on the work he was doing before answering. Then he turned back, indicating the other office chair near the desk. "Always. Sit."

Tom sat, arranged his hands in his lap, then ran both hands through his hair.

Mike smiled and waited. Tom would speak when he was ready and not before.

Tom leaned forward. "I thought about what you said earlier about love and marriage." Mike nodded.

"I tried to give Sarah some room. Like she asked. I think she might change her mind about marrying me."

Mike's heart jumped in his chest. This was the best news he'd had in a long while. He fought to keep the smile off his face, but inside he was dancing for joy.

Tom continued. "I mean, I don't know when she'll make up her mind." He shuffled his feet on the floor. "But at lease she left the door open."

Mike laid his hand on Tom's shoulder. "That's great news." He crossed one leg over the other. "You'd better meet up with Carly before she starts investigating on her own."

Tom laughed. "You saw through her story?"

"Like a window. Just don't tell her I know, will you?"

Tom moved to open the door. "No problem."

"And Tom?"

He turned to face his father. "Yeah?"

"Watch out for her, will you?"

Tom made the sign of a cross on his heart with his index finger. "You bet."

The door closed, leaving Mike alone with his work. And his thoughts.

He sat down at the desk again and leaned his chin on his folded hands. Expecting Tom to control Carly was like ordering a battle ship to stop a hurricane. A valiant effort that would fail in the face of the greater opposition.

He opened his program and continued in the one area of his life he had some control over.

Carly waited at the head of the stairs while Tom crossing the landing, his face more at peace than she had seen for a while. He gave her a quick hug, and they went down to the foyer. The house was still and quiet, as though waiting for something to happen. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the tile flooring, etching a pattern resembling frost on a window.

Tom stuck his head into the front room then he reached for his jacket. "She's still asleep."

Carly still only had sneakers for her feet, but Tom had come better prepared with heavy work boots. Still, by the time she pulled on a heavy coat, a hat and gloves, she was overheated and glad to head outdoors.

The icy wind struck her in the face when they stepped outside even though the house and barn created a natural windbreak. They hurried to the barn to retrieve the snowshoes. When they got to the wall where Carly had seen several pairs of snowshoes hanging, only three pairs remained, although there were pegs to hold up to ten pairs.

"That's strange," Carly mused. "I know all the pegs weren't full, but there were more than just three pairs here when I saw them earlier this morning. Looks like there's at least three pairs missing, maybe more."

Chapter 14

Carly counted the shoes again, using her index finger to enumerate each article. "Then again, I can't be sure. I could just be remembering wrong."

"With all the other equipment lying around the ranch, why would anyone steal them? It doesn't make sense." Tom said. "Maybe Deborah and the ranch hand she took with her each took a pair. Or maybe that's all that were ever here."

When numbers didn't add up, Carly ended up disgruntled, but she focused on the task at hand. "That's probably it."

They grabbed two of the remaining pairs of snowshoes, and hustled over to the garage. Carly couldn't see any point in being out in the cold any more than necessary. A board near the door held several sets of keys, and Tom took one set.

He explained, "We keep all the keys hanging here so the vehicles are available. Deborah says she'd rather all the vehicles got stolen than one person suffer because of not having access to a vehicle in an emergency."

"Probably not much danger of that happening out here." Carly climbed into the passenger side. The SUV was a newer model and, although not spotless, it was well taken care of. It had to be difficult keeping a vehicle clean when living on a ranch.

Tom started the engine then checked dash lights and gauge readings. Giving a nod, he opened the garage door using the remote control in the dash of the SUV and backed out onto the hard crunchy snow covering the driveway.

He shouted over the noise of the motor. "We'll head back in the same direction Deborah and I took this morning when we went searching for Louisa."

Carly relaxed as much as possible and enjoyed the scenery as they traveled. The rolling hills covered in snow reminded her of mounds of ice cream, and the tops of nearby peaks were shaped like slices of chocolate cake.

She should have eaten something before she came out.

She turned to face him. "Isn't it beautiful?"

He stared ahead at the road. "I guess so. I've been here for a couple of week, so maybe the newness has worn off for me."

When a deer ran across the road in front of them, Carly squealed in excitement. Spotting a small group of coyotes off to the side of the road, hunched over a small still figure in the snow, which Tom identified as a rabbit, she sobered. These animals were wild. If Tom and Deborah hadn't found Sarah when they did, she might have suffered a similar fate.

Remembering Louisa was still missing and someone might have meant her harm, too, caused her to shiver inside her warm coat. She held onto the dash as they rocketed down the bumpy ice-covered road. "What if Louisa didn't leave on her own? Where could she be?"

Tom patted her hand. "I'm sure she's okay. Louisa has lived here a long time. She knows her way around. She's probably just embarrassed Brandon is leaving her behind. Maybe she's off cussing out her brother for paying for Brandon to marry her so she could become a citizen."

"Maybe." Carly stared out at the vast expanse of land. "Then again, Sarah knows her way around here and look what happened to her."

Tom nodded. "True. The good news is Deborah is looking for her. She knows Louisa and has a better idea where she'd go."

Carly breathed on the window beside her, tracing stick figures in the fog. She drew one each for her and Mike, then one for Tom and Denise, her husband and three grandchildren. She paused, finger mid-air, and turned to Tom. "I'm drawing our family."

He glanced at the window. "The ranch hands are going to love you when that dries and they have to clean the glass."

Carly stared at Tom's profile. "It will give them something to do, keep them out of trouble. I have a question, and I don't want you to think I'm prying."

A smile crept up Tom's face. "You? Prying? Why would I think that?"

Carly dropped her hand into her lap and stared through the windshield. "Fine, then, I won't ask."

"Go ahead. If I don't want to answer, I won't. Will that satisfy you?"

"Okay. Should I draw Sarah into our family portrait, too?"

The smile faded from Tom's face, and Carly was sorry she had brought the matter up. He swallowed, his jaw muscles working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

Carly raised a hand to wipe the drawing off the glass, but Tom's voice stopped her. "Don't. I like seeing all my family in one place." He slowed the vehicle as they came over a small rise in the ice-packed road. "Yes, draw Sarah in."

"Want to talk about it?"

Tom shook his head. "No. But I think I need to." He drew a deep breath. "Do you know why she won't marry me?"

Carly hadn't expected him to be so direct, and wasn't prepared. She stared out at the passing scenery, each mile bringing them closer to possible evidence of intentional harm to Sarah. "She hasn't said she won't marry you. She just needs some time."

"Did you need time when Dad asked you to marry him?"

Carly thought back to her whirlwind courtship with Mike. "No, we knew from the second time we went out. I was ready, and so was your father. His biggest concern was waiting until you and Denise were sure."

Tom stopped the SUV and turned in his seat to face Carly. "What do you mean?"

Carly positioned herself so she could look Tom square in the face. "I mean, he told me right from the start if you two didn't like me, he wasn't going to tear his family apart by getting married again." She reached across the console and put her hand on Tom's arm. "He loved you guys too much to hurt you."

"He was willing to give up his happiness for us?"

"Your father would give up his life for you two." Carly's breath hung heavy in the air of the vehicle then drifted on an unseen breeze before evaporating near the windshield. "That's what love is."

Tom sat back, leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest. He tapped one toe on the floorboard. "How do you know when you love someone?"

Carly's eyes widened at the depth and complexity of this simple-sounding question. Where to begin? She wasn't trained or prepared for this kind of step-mother-step-son talk. Lacing her fingers together, she pursed her lips, breathing in and out slowly to calm her racing heart. "I think true love is when you want to do what's best for the other person."

"Yeah, that's what Dad told me earlier."

"Really. Is that what you two talked about?"

Tom shrugged. "Some. I told him I was so scared for Sarah, and when I thought about living the rest of my life without her, I realized I couldn't. Didn't want to."

Tears tumbled over Carly's cheeks. "That sounds like love to me."

He shrugged again, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Yeah, well, I don't know about that. How did you know you loved my father?"

"When I saw I didn't want to be anywhere except with him. When I was lonely when he wasn't there, and happy when he was. When I could see myself in his home and in his family." She paused, not certain how much to share, yet not wanting to hold anything back. "We stopped dating for a few weeks, just to be sure what we were feeling."

"I didn't know."

Carly nodded. "We both realized we were not only in love, but our love went further than that. We were bonded together as one."

"That's how I feel about Sarah. I even dream about our kids, and our house, and—" His voice broke, and he looked past Carly into the open mesa. "Sometimes I can't even put it into words."

"Then I would say you love her. Now you need to be willing to let her realize she loves you. And that has to go beyond your physical presence."

Tom's mouth turned down at the corners. "I'll give her all the time she needs to realize she can't live without me." He turned around in his seat to face straight ahead. "Now, how about we get going on this reconnaissance mission before it gets too dark to see anything?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Tom put the SUV into drive and pressed the accelerator. "We need to find out who tried to hurt Sarah. After that, we can help Deborah. Deal?"

That satisfied Carly, who always liked to know what the next step was. Silently they continued until they came to a gate in the barbed wire fence. Tom pulled over and shut off the engine, pocketing the keys.

He pulled on his gloves and hat then opened the door. "This is where we have to get out and walk. It will be easier this time with the snowshoes."

They both stepped out of the vehicle into knee-deep snow. Tom opened the rear door and reached inside. Passing Carly her snowshoes, he stood his own against the fender. He reached in for a length of rope, passing one end to Carly. "Tie it around your waist. That way, if the snow gets too bad, we won't lose each other out here. You'd be surprised how easy that is to do."

Carly obeyed, tying the rope snugly around her. She bent over and snapped her snowshoes into place using the new modern fiberglass bindings which were very similar to ski bindings. "These are sure a lot easier than the old-fashioned leather bindings I'm used to." She straightened and watched her breath float off on the wind. "Are we ready?"

"In a minute." Tom fastened his bindings, then tied the rope around his waist. He pulled a backpack from the SUV, and put it on his shoulders. "Coffee, chocolate, a flashlight, and a gun. Never go out in the mesa unprepared."

Carly shuddered at the implication. A gun. Up until now, this had just been a fun mystery on which to exercise her brain. Up until Sarah's near brush with death, that is. Now the situation had become very sinister and very close to home.

In single line, they followed the dim impressions in the snow, Tom leading the way. The footsteps were fast filling with snow, another indication of potential danger. They didn't just have to be aware of threats from the people around them, but also of Mother Nature herself. The snow fell faster now and more thickly. There were several times Carly was glad she had the rope because she lost sight of Tom and wouldn't have known which way to turn if not for the tugs on the rope from his end.

She strained her eyes to see ahead and around but all around was a wall of white. The sun didn't penetrate the heavy clouds overhead, but the sheer whiteness of the snow around them almost blinded her. She wasn't sure how Tom managed to follow the trail but she trusted him to get them there safely and back to the vehicle.

All around them, the snow lay in undulating blankets on the surrounding surfaces. Small bumps proved to be rocks, now covered and smoothed over. Larger mounds were bushes now completely buried. In some places, the snow had drifted over, filling crevices, making them appear deceptively smooth. Walking without the snowshoes would have been nearly impossible, and she was grateful for the clumsy contraptions.

After what seemed like hours of slogging through the snow, she almost ran into Tom before she realized he had stopped walking. He stood stock still, staring ahead. She peered around him, trying to see. She looked from side to side, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Small mounds, bigger clumps, just like everything along the way.

Except for that lump over there. This one was longer than the rest and looked like a tree had fallen over and was now covered with snow.

Except there weren't any trees out here.

The only vegetation was sage brush, range grass, tumbleweeds, and a few scattered cacti. No trees. No long objects, about six feet long.

Stepping carefully, they slogged through the snow to the snow-covered object. Carly's breath was coming in short pants, and the cold air stung her lungs. She stood back and let Tom take the lead. Even if she was older, he was a man, and she didn't think she really wanted to know what this was.

That, and he had the gun.

Tom knelt down and brushed the snow from one end of the shape. The toe of a cowboy boot emerged. He stopped brushing snow, and stood, moving around to the other end of the shape.

Carly willed herself not to look. Was this Louisa? She didn't remember what Louisa had worn on her feet. That detail hadn't seemed important until now.

No, Louisa was much shorter. Although the snow could amplify features such as height and breadth.

Tom carefully brushed snow from the figure. He stopped, jumping back as if bitten. He stared at the figure on the ground, one boot and a small patch of face showing through the thick cover of snow out in the middle of nowhere.

Carly's breath caught in her throat.

Dumped like trash. No matter who lay here, that wasn't a fitting ending.

She covered the short distance to where Tom stood and peered around his back, wanting to know, but afraid of the answer. She looked down into the death mask frozen in a look of abject fear.

Brandon.

Chapter 15

Carly looked around, fear knotting her stomach. Maybe the killer was still nearby. But nothing moved out on the open plain. Not even a jackrabbit ventured out in this storm—which didn't bode well for how bad the weather might get.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carly spotted a smaller clump under the snow. Maybe some tumbleweed? She prodded the shape with her toe. The snow fell off, revealing Brandon's hat.

She held the hat by its edges. She'd seen enough forensic science PBS shows to know fingerprints could be lifted off many surfaces, and if there were any besides Brandon's, she didn't want to disturb them. She looked the hat over. Didn't seem to be any the worse for wear. Although something was missing. Her mind worked in slow-motion. Her body was cold, and her heart colder. She hadn't expected to find a body out here, and definitely not Brandon's.

She realized Tom was talking to her. She willed herself back to the present and peered at him through eyes that stung with the cold. "What?"

"I said," he began again, speaking slowly, "this wasn't an accident. He's been shot."

Shot? How very old western. She held the hat away from her body, as though afraid whatever caused Brandon to be shot would transfer to her.

Tom watched her from what seemed to be a hundred miles away. "Are you okay?" He moved to her side and touched her arm. "Talk to me."

She nodded. What was different about the hat?

Tom took the hat and put his arm around her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get you back into the SUV. I don't want to disturb the body, but I don't want to leave it out here too long, either."

Carly looked at him, trying to understand what he wasn't saying.

His simple reply spoke volumes. "Coyotes."

She shivered, not wanting to picture what he was saying. Or rather, what he wasn't saying.

Tom mumbled, more to himself than to Carly. "Guess Brandon lost his feather when he fell."

Feather! Of course, that's what was different about the hat. She'd always known Brandon by the feather sticking out of his hatband at that jaunty angle. Almost like a war trophy or something, the way he ran his hand over it sometimes.

"What kind of feather was it?"

"Eagle's tail feather, I think." Tom scanned the horizon, one hand shading his eyes from the glare off the snow. "Why?"

"Just wondered. Not the sort of feather that would come with a hat."

"No way. Taking eagle feathers is illegal now. Even the natives, who use it as a rite of manhood, had to stop. They use other kinds of feathers. Or, if they find an eagle feather, it's a real trophy."

Carly's curiosity warmed her from the inside out. "Wonder where he got it?"

"Maybe he got it before they banned them. Although, that was about forty years ago. He wouldn't have been old enough. We can ask Deborah. She might know." Tom checked the bindings on his snowshoes, then led the way back to the SUV. "Let's get back to the car."

They covered the distance in short order. Tom ushered her into the SUV then started the engine and turned on the heat. He told her to wait there for him then headed back to the body. Carly shivered, but not just from the cold.

Tom returned to the SUV after looking around the scene once more. Carly leaned her head against the window, staring out into nothing. He didn't speak, simply turned the vehicle around on the narrow lane and headed back to the ranch house as quickly as the icy roads allowed. Rushing wouldn't help Brandon, but Tom didn't want to leave the body there for too long because of scavengers.

Much of the ride back to the ranch house was a blur, and Carly moved as though in a dream. Her mind refused to accept anybody had died, let alone someone as odious as Brandon. No matter how many nasty schemes he was involved in, did he really deserve to die? Only the mystery of the missing feather, or actually its origin, kept her mind from blanking out altogether.

When they pulled up to the ranch house, Tom jumped out of the SUV without a word and hurried inside. Moments later Deborah hurried out with Mike close behind. Still in a daze, Carly wasn't prepared for Deborah to yank open the passenger side door, and Mike caught Carly as she began to fall from her seat. She landed on her knees in the snow, and Mike's worried look pained her more than anything. She roused herself from her stupor and managed to stand with a minimum of assistance.

"Carly, are you okay?" Mike's brow was furrowed, a sure sign he was worried. "You feel as cold as in ice cube."

Of course she was all right. She was still alive. She broke down in huge gut-wrenching sobs. Deborah kneeled next to her, patting her back gently, telling her everything was going to be all right.

Thankful for time to gather her wits, Carly reduced the sobs to small whimpers. She wiped her nose with the back of her gloved hand and stood. "I'm fine. It was just a shock to see him like that."

Mike gathered her into his arms and held her close. "At least you weren't in danger. This time. Death always reminds me of how thin a line there is that separates this life from the next."

Carly patted his back as he held her. Death reminded him of Sophie and the pain of losing her. She pressed into his arms, glad to be alive, glad to be here with him. Questions like who had killed Brandon and why would have to wait until after she was done reminding herself she was very much alive and intended to stay that way for a long, long time.

Deborah broke into Carly's thoughts. "I am so relieved to see you are okay." She turned toward the house. "I need to see how Tom is making out with calling the authorities. The telephone service has been intermittent all morning, and I'm hoping he has been able to get through to have the body brought in."

Carly relaxed into her husband's arms, glad for his physical presence. She wasn't sure she would have been able to stand on her own. When her knees finally stopped shaking, she stepped back.

Mike brushed snow and tears from her face and looked at her, care and concern written in the downturned mouth and brow. "You bring me so much joy and sometimes so much heartache. Usually not through anything you do deliberately. But sometimes so."

Carly opened her mouth to protest. But he was right. Instead of speaking, she gently touched her lips to his then laid her head on his chest.

Tom and Deborah returned, and the four stood in the ranch yard to talk. The sun was warming, the snow had stopped, and the temperature was on the rise.

Tom's expression indicated bad news. "I got through to the sheriff, but we got cut off. Severe ice storms are coming this way." His somber tone confirmed the seriousness of their situation. "I told him we were running on generator, and he said to spare it since we might be here for several days."

Deborah continued. "We have enough gas to run the generator for seven days, full-time. We can spread that a bit further if we don't run it at night."

Tom nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. If we have to get up, we can use flashlights or lanterns." He paused. "The sheriff said he won't be able to get to us for a couple of days, maybe more if the ice storm hits. He wants us to move the bo—" He cleared his throat and continued. "He wants us to move Brandon somewhere safe." He turned to Deborah. "Do you have somewhere like that? An old shed, something like that?"

She thought for a moment, and then pointed. "There's an old workshop just beyond the barn. Has a workbench in it, but no electricity. We don't use it anymore. Will that work?"

"So long as it's secure and fairly weather tight, it should be fine. I'll take a couple of the guys out to bring him in." Tom pulled the neck of his jacket closer around his neck, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Maybe we'll get a break in the weather soon."

Mike straightened, wrapping his arm around Carly's shoulder. "Want me to go with you, Tom?"

Tom glanced at Carly. "That would be great. Together we should be able to manage—" He broke off and looked at Carly. "Are you sure you're okay? That was a pretty big scare out there."

Carly lifted one side of her mouth in a smile. "I'm okay. I was so afraid it was Louisa."

Tom tugged his woolen hat more snugly on his head then pulled the SUV keys from his pocket. "Right, then. Come on, Dad. The quicker we get out there, the quicker we can get back into the warm."

Mike shrugged into his heavier jacket, then indicated his shoes. "Will these work with the snowshoes?"

Tom nodded. "They should. Carly just had sneakers, and those look better than just tennis shoes."

Mike gathered Carly into his arms, and she inhaled the fragrance of his cologne mingled with the smell of a slightly damp wool coat. She didn't care what he smelled like, so long as he came back safely. "Be safe." She glanced at Tom over Mike's shoulder and whispered, "Both of you."

Mike nodded into her hair, then kissed her lips. "We'll take good care of each other."

Carly hugged her arms close to her body, missing Mike's body heat already. She watched the two favorite men in her life as they walked toward the vehicle, returning Mike's wave as he settled on the seat. Tom started the SUV, and the vehicle started on its third trip of the day to the ravine's edge.

With the surrounding countryside a blanket of white, the earth looked flat so that when they reached the horizon, they would drive off the edge.

Thank goodness that wasn't the case.

Just like Tom, she couldn't imagine life without Mike or his strong, handsome son.

For Mike, this was all a new adventure. Although he liked to remain active, his idea of exercise was walking or an occasional game of basketball with some of his friends in Bear Cove. He didn't have much experience with this type of rugged outdoors, particularly not in the middle of a snow storm.

Bouncing along the rutted roadway, he listened with interest as Tom pointed out various landmarks, most of which were now buried under two feet or more of snow. In the far distance, the Turkey Mountains hovered, protecting the mesa from westerly winds and providing water during the summer months. Closer, trees wore a blanket of snow that bent many branches so they seemed to meet the snow rising below.

Tom's voice called him from his musings. "This is an early snow, and many of the trees with leaves still on them will lose branches from the weight."

Mike nodded. He had seen some snows like this in Maine. And the damage that resulted from them. Still, he knew it was how nature pruned to encourage stronger growth the next season. "How far out are we going?"

"Only about six miles."

"What do you think about Carly's yearning for adventure?"

Tom glanced over at his father. "You have a pretty sharp wife, Dad."

Mike smiled. Yes, Carly was sharp. Smart, quick-witted, funny to be around. But sometimes her curiosity got her in trouble. "Did you give her the tour when you guys came out before?"

"No. We talked about other things."

"Such as?"

"Love. Marriage."

"And?"

"I've made a few mistakes in my life."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah. Me, too. Welcome to the club. The good thing is you're young enough to have time to correct them and make some good decisions."

Tom glanced at his father. "Finding Brandon's body really shook me."

"Death usually does. Reminds us of our mortality." Mike fingered a coin in the bottom of his pocket.

Would he have the words his son needed to hear?

Did he have the words to finally set his own ghosts at rest?

He stared out the window. Maybe Tom would drop the whole thing.

This was more difficult than telling the kids about the birds and the bees.

And everything in between.

"What do you think happens when a person dies?"

Mike shifted in his seat. Apparently Tom wasn't going to drop the topic. "Any person, or someone in particular?"

The SUV hit a patch of deeper snow, and Tom reached to the floor to shift into permanent four-wheel drive. Locking the hubs, he slowed the vehicle. "Well, take for example Brandon. We know he was a nasty character. What happened to him?"

Mike drew a deep breath, licking his dry lips. Where had his saliva gone? His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like road kill on an August highway. "Good people go to heaven. Bad people don't." He looked out the side window at the world of white. Maybe a change of topic was in order. "This ranch is like a winter wonderland. And you say this is an early snow? How long does winter last out here?"

Tom's eyebrows came down. "So Brandon didn't go to heaven?"

Mike considered for a moment. "I'm glad I'm not the one who has to make that call." He pointed to several antelope gathered in a cluster beneath a tree. "How do they find food under all this?"

"Do you think Mom went to heaven?"

Mike cleared his throat. "I'd like to think she did. She was a good woman." He stretched his arm across the back of the front seat. "We didn't really talk about God. I mean, we both believed there was a God. We just didn't know how to include Him in our lives. Or even that He wanted to be included. Does that make sense?"

Tom nodded. "I think so."

"How much further?"

"About a half mile." Tom slowed the vehicle, allowing it to coast to a stop before putting it in park. "I like the idea that Mom is in a good place."

Mike thought his heart would burst. Tears filled the back of his eyes, blurring his vision. When his nose started to run, he swiped with the sleeve of his jacket. "Me, too."

He reached across the console and pulled his son into his arms. Tom's body shuddered with his sobs, and Mike gently patted his child's back, just as he used to do when Tom was a toddler.

After several minutes, the two men drew apart. For the first time, Mike was not ashamed to cry in front of another man. And he sensed something different in his relationship with his son. And a peace in his heart about Sophie that hadn't been there before.

Perhaps they'd both been able to lay her ghost to rest.

Tom glanced at him then averted his eyes to look out the windshield.

Finally he looked back at his father, drawing himself straighter in his seat. "So, how do we do this?"

"Do what?" Mike looked around at the mesa outside the vehicle. "I don't know where I am or what we're supposed to be doing here."

"We're going to bring Brandon back to the ranch."

Mike's heart skipped a beat. Right. That's why they'd ventured out of the nice, warm ranch house. To bring Brandon in. "Shouldn't we leave him until the coroner can get here? That's what they do on television."

"Coyotes."

Mike swallowed back the bile burning the back of his throat. "Right."

Tom stared out the windshield for a long moment. "Are you ready?"

"No. But I'm here to help. And you can't do it on your own."

Tom pointed out the windshield. "Let's take care of business."

Carly stared out the window, willing the SUV to appear, bringing her husband and son to her. She wrapped her arms closer around herself, shivering in the cold. She should have gone with them. They hadn't looked for any evidence near where Sarah was pushed and where Brandon's body now lay. She should have insisted on waiting there until Tom could fetch some help.

But no, she had to wimp out and panic at the sight of a dead body.

Carly started as she felt an arm over her shoulders. Deborah stood next to her, dark circles of concern under her eyes. She smiled and leaned into the embrace. "Sorry. I was daydreaming."

"They'll be safe together. And they'll be home before you know it."

"I know. Actually I was beating myself up at freaking out when we found Brandon."

Deborah nodded. "I understand. It was unexpected."

"And it was my first dead body. I mean, besides funeral homes."

Deborah pulled away and walked toward the living room. "Not the same, is it?"

"No." Carly looked into the front room. "Where's Sarah?"

"She's in the front room with Louisa."

"Where did you find her?"

"One of the hands spotted her when he went to check a herd that needed to be fed. She was trying to leave the ranch. She had taken a snow machine and gotten bogged down in a drift. She's inside now, and I've already told her about Brandon. She won't talk to anyone but you."

Chapter 16

"Me?" Life flowed into Carly as her curiosity peaked. "Why does she want to talk with me?"

"She wouldn't say anything. But Carly," Deborah lowered her voice. "She has a black eye. I think Brandon. . . "

Carly pushed past Deborah and hurried into the front room with Deborah following close behind. When she strode into the front room, the heat struck her in the face. She paused, taking in the scene before her.

A fire blazed in the fireplace, both heating and lighting the room. No other lights were on, a concession to the limited use of the generator. Sarah reclined on the sofa, leaning against a pillow, her cheeks pink. Louisa sat on the chair opposite her, and the two were conversing in Spanish, their faces animated and flushed with laughter. Both turned at the sound of Carly's footsteps.

The smile vanished from Louisa's face. "Oh, Senora, I was so worried about you!" She came forward shyly.

Carly took her by the hand and led her back to the chair. "Sit down. You've had a hard day."

Granted, there seemed no love lost between Louisa and Brandon but still—her husband had just been killed. Carly's heart ached as she thought about Mike. Then again, if someone had recently brought her news that her first husband was dead, she'd probably dance a jig.

Not that she wished him dead.

At least, not now, after all these years.

Louisa's black eye explained the nature of her marriage relationship, and perhaps her reaction wasn't so strange. Carly recalled her reaction when the police broke the news to her about her first husband's death. Relief more than loss.

Louisa wrung her hands together. "Senora, I was so afraid that he would—that he would hurt you."

Carly searched her face, looking for a hint of the woman's true feelings. She held Louisa's hand for a moment. No shaking, so sweating palms. All good signs. "Deborah said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Si Senora."

"But why me? Deborah is your employer. Your friend. Why wouldn't you talk to her?"

Louisa hung her head. "I theenk you know about how I feel."

"I've never been lost in the snow."

"Not about that. About—the other."

Carly held the woman's gaze for a long moment. Yes, she knew how living with an abuser felt. The fear. The pain. The shame. The helplessness. Not wanting anybody else to know. And then the relief knowing he would never come back and repeat the past. How had she known? Was her past still written across her face? In her words? Her actions?

She wasn't that person any longer. Carly nodded.

"I want to tell you what I know. I heard Meester Tom and Senora Deborah talking, and he said you solve mysteries."

Carly looked at Sarah, who raised her eyebrows and smiled.

Louisa continued. "I hear the man talking this morning about you, and it bad. He say bad things about you."

Carly noted the impersonal and detached way Louisa talked about Brandon. "What did you hear him say?"

"He say he knows you are trouble, and you will try to stop him. He say you won't be able to. He say he smarter than you." Louisa jutted out her chin defiantly. "I know he is wrong. I know you are more smarter than him."

"Did he hit you, Louisa?" Carly leaned forward.

Her mother told her that a man who would hit a woman was really a coward underneath, a conclusion she had already come to regarding Brandon.

"Si. He know I listen to him talking." Louisa hung her head. "In my country, is not right to hit wife. In my country, wife is very special." Her eyes traveled from Carly to Deborah. "Not here in America?"

Carly patted the younger woman's hand. "It's not right in this country either, Louisa. In this country, everyone is special." She had known many years of abuse in her first marriage. Most of the time she pushed the memories away, but recent events had opened all the old wounds once again.

Louisa smiled. "I wish he be like Meester Mike. Then I would be happy like you, Senora Carly."

Deborah stepped closer. "Did he say anything else, Louisa?"

"Just that it will happen tomorrow."

Carly's stomach flip-flopped at the close proximity of such evil. If he hadn't been stopped by someone, she would probably have been in grave danger very soon. In fact, she still might be, since whoever Brandon was in cahoots with might intend to go ahead with the original plan. She bowed her head, and her shoulders slumped.

Sarah's voice drew her back from her melancholy thoughts. "Don't give up, Carly."

Carly opened her eyes and looked around the room.

The three women stared at her.

She smiled. "I'm not giving up. I'm thinking."

Deborah busied herself tidying the blankets Sarah used earlier. Louisa fingered a crucifix around her neck, lips moving soundlessly.

Carly turned to Louisa. "Who was Brandon talking with?" She was almost afraid to know the answer. There weren't many people on the ranch, and the thought that one or more of them was in cahoots with Brandon wasn't a pleasant thought. "Did you recognize him?"

Louisa stopped fingering the crucifix and shook her head. "I don't know. They talk real low. All I see is a big black hat."

Carly's heart skipped a beat. That sounded like the same hat the mystery man was wearing last night below her bedroom window. It sounded more and more like whoever was involved was nearby, since the roads were cut off from the storm.

It could be someone she had already met, someone who knew her every move. For some reason, Brandon's death had become their first priority. But that didn't mean their bad plans for her wouldn't still be in the works.

Or maybe Brandon's death had nothing to do with whatever he was involved in.

If that was true, she had more than one mystery to solve. And time was running out, as was their supply of fuel for the generator. And all the while, more snow fell around them, obscuring clues, concealing killers, and leaving them more cut off from outside help than ever.

Chapter 17

Carly wasn't sure what to do with what she'd learned so far. There were lots of theories and questions, but no solid answers.

Sarah was the first to break this latest silence. "When you came in, Louisa was telling me a funny story from her childhood. She's a born story-teller."

Louisa smiled shyly. "I have four younger sisters, and they like me to tell them stories. I make them up all the time. Now it help me keep my mind off. . . " Her voice trailed off, and she stared out the window into the whiteness beyond. "Keep my mind off this weather."

No matter how much Louisa seemed not to care, she was very hurt by Brandon.

A light knock came at the door, and Deborah turned.

Paco smiled across at Louisa. He rattled off something in Spanish, then nodded to Deborah. "I tell her am glad she is safe." He bowed to his employer. "Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes."

Deborah turned to Carly. "Is it okay with you if we go ahead and eat? Mike and Tom should be back soon."

Carly was famished, and Sarah nodded her head in the affirmative.

Deborah smiled. "Good. They won't mind if we start without them. Mike wants to discuss some business while we eat, too." She gestured to the dining room. "Let's go into the dining room and begin with the soup course."

It seemed like days since Carly had last eaten. In reality, more than six hours had passed. The grandfather clock in the hallway gonged the hour. She'd done a lot in that time, covered a lot of ground, and done some hard thinking. She deserved to be hungry.

As if rationalizing would will away the calories.

They seated themselves in their same seats of previous meals. The two empty chairs reminded Carly of the task Mike and Tom were involved in, and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Deborah took command of the situation. "They can eat when they get back. They shouldn't be long and will probably only miss the soup course."

That broke the awkwardness of the situation. Deborah stood to serve the steaming hot tortilla soup, a wonderful blend of tomatoes, corn, and zucchini in a spicy broth, topped with broken tortilla chips and shredded cheese. Their small group was silent for a few minutes as they sipped and enjoyed the soup.

Carly found a certain freedom in being with the other two women, and before long, they were chatting like old friends. Carly shared the story of how she and Mike met while attending a conference hosted by a software provider.

Deborah sipped her soup. She set her spoon down on her plate. "I have really enjoyed this time with all of you being here. I'm just sorry so many things have seemed to go wrong. It's usually more quiet and peaceful around here."

Sarah smiled and wiped the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. "The main thing is we're all safe and sound, with plenty of food and plenty of gas to run the generator until the electricity comes back on."

Deborah looked out the window. "Mike gave me some indication of what he is going to tell us when he gets back. He has done a lot of work on the program and the numbers for the ranch, and he told me someone has been stealing from me for several years."

Carly's spoon clattered into her bowl, slopping soup onto the tablecloth. She dabbed at the spot with her napkin, feeling the heat rising in her face. "Sorry. I hate to waste food on such a nice cloth."

Deborah smiled. "Don't worry. Louisa is a pro at getting out stains. You have to be when you run a ranch."

Carly stopped rubbing the spot which was not going to come out with a dry napkin. "You are so gracious. At least it seems to be in a place where it won't be noticed so long as a plate is set there."

Deborah reached over and patted Carly's hand. "Sometimes it's okay to hide things, don't you think?"

Sarah began to cough and reached for her water glass.

Carly and Deborah looked on as her coughs finally subsided.

She met their gaze. "Sorry. I'm okay. Something must have gone down the wrong way."

Deborah stood, gesturing to the soup tureen. Carly nodded, holding out her bowl for seconds. The soup warmed her insides, and she remembered reading somewhere that eating soup before the main course helped a person lose weight.

She could only hope.

Deborah filled Carly's bowl, then offered more to Sarah, who declined with a shake of her head. After filling her own bowl, Deborah sat and began to eat. Sarah set her napkin on the table beside her bowl, and stood, leaning heavily on the chair back.

She smiled at Carly's inquiring look. "I'm feeling a little tired again, so I'm going to go in and lie down for a little while until Mike and Tom get back. Excuse me."

Carly was concerned she may be experiencing a relapse. "Want me to sit with you?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll just have a little nap. I'll feel better soon. Enjoy your dinner, and if you could come get me when the guys get back, I'd appreciate it."

She opened the door and headed for the study. The door opened then closed, its final creak echoing in the quiet house.

Carly shrugged. "I don't like to push. I'll go check on her in a few minutes to make sure she's all right."

Deborah nodded. "So, Carly, tell me more about your work. It sounds fascinating."

Carly chuckled. "I've heard accounting described as many things, but fascinating wasn't one of them."

Bean counter.

Walking adding machine.

And when describing her specialty, forensics accounting, many people heard only the first word and assumed she did something with dead bodies and fingerprints.

Well, today they would have been spot on.

Sarah sank into the soft fabric of the loveseat and pulled a blanket over her legs. Her head pounded and shivers of cold ran up and down her insides.

Would she ever feel warm again?

Even colder than her body, though, was her heart.

She had been given a chance to spend the rest of her life with the most wonderful man in the world, and then her past had to rear its ugly head and threaten to take that all away. She should have known better than to agree to come back to this place after all these years.

Truth be told, she couldn't come up with a good enough reason to turn down the job.

And now Tom was waiting for an answer from her, an answer she knew she didn't want to give.

She saw no other way than to decline his offer.

What had she been thinking? To believe she could ever be happily married, give herself intimately to a man, after what had happened? Although the past was long past, the memories hurt as though they'd occurred yesterday.

How could she expect Tom to understand how she felt about herself when she wasn't even sure she knew?

Damaged goods. A victim of brutality. Unworthy of such love as he offered. Had she lied to him? Led him on? Somehow, what happened had to be her fault. These things didn't happen to good girls.

She must have asked for what happened. That's the only thing that made sense out of an otherwise senseless act. What other reason could there be?

If there really was a God, would He have allowed that to happen? She prayed for someone to help her, someone to save her. And then afterwards, she prayed someone would notice something was wrong with her and would understand why she withdrew into herself.

The only prayer God seemed ready to answer was that she wouldn't get pregnant.

And just in case the Big Guy was busy at the time, she'd given Him other opportunities. When her parents were ill. When she needed a good tenant to take over the ranch so she could keep the land.

Nothing.

No, she had given up on praying, and given up on God. If He ever existed, which she doubted.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she considered the mess her life was turning into. There had been many nights after the incident when she had prayed to die, but that hadn't happened. Now she was going to lose the one man she ever truly loved, and all because of a man who she hated and who had never loved her, but had taken the most precious thing she had—her very soul.

After Carly explained how her line of work usually had nothing to do with dead bodies, she told Deborah about her fascination with numbers. How they always stay the same. One and one always equals two. Numbers had carried Carly through the awkwardness of high school, helped her navigate the frightening years of college, and sustained her through the years of her first marriage to an alcoholic abusive husband.

At one point, as she described a little of her marital situation, Carly saw something akin to empathy pass across Deborah's face. "I think you know how I felt, don't you?"

Deborah nodded. She traced a square on the tablecloth with an index finger. "I loved John Webster, and he beat me every chance he got. Until my grandfather found out and warned him. Then he never touched me again. Ever. We even slept in separate bedrooms."

Carly understood the conflicting emotions of love and fear all too well. "My husband died in a car accident, coming home late one night from another circuit of the neighborhood bars. It was the only good thing he ever did for me."

Deborah looked Carly in the eye. "I was still devastated when John was killed."

Carly nodded. "I know. There's always a certain amount of guilt involved in a death, no matter how well you treated them."

Deborah checked her watch. "The guys should be back soon." She rang the bell, and Louisa appeared at the door. "Could you heat the soup, please? The men will want something hot when they come in."

Louisa dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Si, Senora. Mees Carly."

Carly sipped her water, setting the crystal glass on the cloth, admiring the way the light reflected off the various prisms. "I hope Sarah is okay. I should go check on her."

Deborah stayed her by placing her hand over Carly's. "I think there is something on her mind."

"Well, a lot has been going on here. Maybe a lot of painful memories have reawakened."

"Yes." Deborah dragged the word out, uncertainty ringing in her tone. "Still, she nearly choked when I made the comment about hiding things."

Carly thought back. "You may be right. But what could she be hiding?"

Deborah sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. "I don't know. I sensed tension whenever Brandon was around. And there were the comments he made in the barn and after dinner that night."

Carly's stomach did a flip-flop. "You don't think she had anything to do with Brandon's death, do you?"

Deborah raised a hand, her palm facing Carly. "No, I don't think that at all." She squinted. "Still, I think there's something."

"You may be right. Maybe she will open up with us and let us help her work through whatever it is." Carly looked out the window at the landscape, and saw movement along the road. She moved to the window. "I think the guys are back."

Deborah stood beside her, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. "You're right. Let's meet them at the front door."

As they walked across the foyer, the front door opened. Mike and Tom stood before them, their clothes covered in snow, their faces flushed. Deborah knocked on the study door, letting Sarah know Tom was back.

The door burst open, and Sarah squealed and ran to him.

He gathered her into his arms in a big bear hug. "I'm wet and cold."

"I don't care."

Mike shook the snow from his jacket and pried off his ice-covered shoes. Carly moved to hug and kiss him, while Sarah and Tom kissed passionately.

After a moment, Mike cleared his throat delicately. "Okay. We've only been gone an hour, not a month."

Sarah pulled away, high spots of color in her cheeks, but continued to stand next to Tom, holding his hand.

Tom's report was short and simple. "We put the body in the shed."

Carly admired Tom for how much he had matured in the last few days. When had he grown into a man?

He linked his arm through Deborah's. "Let's go into the dining room. We men are starved, and we're hoping you left us some food."

Deborah led the way. She rang the small brass bell, and Louisa and Paco came in response.

"Please clear the empty plates. Bring the soup first, then the main course. And coffee and tea, please."

Quickly and efficiently they did as she asked, and in a matter of minutes everything was ready. The servant team left the room once more, closing the door behind them. Deborah served the soup to Mike and Tom, while the women waited in silence.

While Mike and Tom ate their way through their first bowl of soup, Deborah spread her napkin in her lap. "Mike, I gave Sarah and Carly a brief overview of your findings. Can you give us more detail? That is, if you don't mind talking about it while you eat?"

"No, in fact Carly and Sarah might have some ideas that will help solve this mystery." Mike patted Carly's hand. "I thought the word 'mystery' would be enough to perk you up."

Carly restrained herself from clapping. "It's a wonderful idea. You know me. I like to take a string of seemingly unconnected facts and work them into a pearl necklace." At the puzzled looks from those at the table, she shrugged. "Or something like that."

Mike thought for a moment. "I've been working on the program." When Deborah nodded, he continued. "I entered the numbers from the last manual herd count. Made adjustments for the additions and subtractions to the herd. But the number I come up with is seventy-five more than the number Brandon gave me."

Deborah draw a sharp breath. "As much as that?"

Mike hurried to explain. "I double-checked my program, and I know it's not a problem there. Maybe Brandon didn't give me all the subtractions. Maybe he missed something. I'm not sure. Anyway, because of the implications of this difference, I did the same with the count for the horses." He paused to spoon more soup into his mouth. "As you know, there aren't as many adjustments to the horse herd. This isn't breeding season. There haven't been any new purchases, and you lose less to coyotes and such."

Carly studied Deborah. Her face had lost its color of a few moments before.

Carly would have given ten dollars to know what she was thinking.

"And the horse herd number I came up with is ten more than Brandon's actual number."

A dramatic pause filled the room.

Deborah leaned forward. "That means that someone has been stealing my stock." She squinted as she considered her words. "And from right under my nose."

Mike nodded. "I'm afraid that's what I believe it means, too."

Sarah interjected. "Couldn't there be another explanation?"

Mike shrugged. "I thought of that, too. So I went back to the previous manual count, ran the numbers, and checked it to this last manual count. The discrepancies were around the same, give or take an animal or two."

Deborah twisted her napkin. "So this has happened before?"

Mike nodded, his mouth a straight line. "I think that's part of the reason why the ranch has been losing money for the past several years. On top of that, expenses have been increasing, and inventory doesn't agree with your invoicing. That isn't my area of expertise, but it looks like purchases have increased by twenty-five percent over the past four years. I did a quick check, and pricing has increased by less than ten percent."

Deborah leaned forward. "What does that mean?"

Mike looked to Carly for help in explaining.

She set her coffee cup aside. "Mike is saying someone has been buying excess inventory and you've been paying for it. Perhaps they sold it and kept the money, or used it on their own property. Often they advertise the items as surplus inventory being sold at bargain-basement prices." She paused a moment. "Another way I've seen this kind of scam worked is to get a cash refund issued for the return of the goods, but the refund doesn't get put through your books. That implies collusion, since any reputable supplier would issue an invoice back the same way the original purchase was made, and wouldn't ever issue a cash credit if possible."

Deborah looked from Carly to Mike before speaking. "So, what you're saying," she said slowly, "is that someone has been stealing from me on purpose? We're not just talking rustling cattle here? We're not talking about selling a little beef on the side? We're talking criminal intent?"

Mike nodded. "I think someone has been trying to bleed you out of business. Who would want to do that?"

"A better question is why would anyone want to do that?" Deborah sat back in her chair and put her hands over her face. "I can't fathom that someone would wish me harm."

Carly hated the direction this was going. If the thefts were intentional, how far would someone go to accomplish their end? "Has anyone tried to buy the ranch?"

Deborah glanced quickly at Sarah, then shook her head. "No one serious. A few enquiries after my grandfather died. But nothing recent. Except ..." She stopped, brow furrowed in thought. "No, it couldn't be."

Mike set his spoon down. "Couldn't be what, Deborah?"

She shook her head, as if trying to convince herself she was wrong. "Brandon mentioned selling the ranch about a year or so ago. Said it was too much for us to look after. Said I should 'move on' and 'get a life'." She smiled wryly. "Those were his words, not mine. I have a life, the one I want, right here." She added. "I tried that other life, and didn't like it."

Carly's mind raced to the possibilities. If Brandon was behind this, that could explain why he was killed. Hard to find a crook for a partner that could be trusted.

Sarah broke the silence by offering Mike more soup.

He shook his head, and smiled. "No thanks. I want to leave room for the main course." He turned to Carly. "Maybe we should consider this three-course meal idea."

She smiled. There were days he hardly stopped to eat at all, let alone sit down for a formal meal. "Forget it, buster. If you want meals like this back in Bear Cove, you'll need to hire some help."

The light-hearted banter was just what they needed to dissolve the heavy atmosphere that had descended on the gathering. Deborah reached for the small brass bell. Immediately Louisa came in and gathered the empty soup bowls and near-empty tureen.

Behind her, Paco entered and set out serving dishes of the main course, which turned out to be roast chicken, dumplings, carrots, and gravy.

Carly groaned. "I'm going to have to buy a new wardrobe when I get home if we keep on eating like this!" She patted her stomach. "Deborah, how do you keep your trim figure eating like this every day?"

Deborah laughed. "I was blessed with a good metabolism. And I usually keep physically active when I don't have guests."

Sarah confirmed this. "I've seen her go on the trail for four days with the guys during calving season."

Carly noted the admiration in her voice.

"And when we were younger, she spent a lot of time breaking new horses, staying up all night tending orphan calves."

Deborah smiled. "I'd nearly forgotten those days. My grandfather had a fit when he came in my room in the morning and saw my bed wasn't slept in. Then he'd find me curled up in the hay with the newest orphan calf or foal."

Carly selected several dumplings. "Will you be satisfied with more of a management role when the guest ranch opens?"

Deborah passed her the gravy boat. "I'll have to. But I am still looking forward to hands-on involvement with the guests, especially on trail rides and teaching."

Conversation fell silent while everybody filled their plates.

Carly sopped up gravy with the light and fluffy dumpling. "Do you think Louisa would give me her recipe?"

Deborah shook her head. "I don't even know the recipe." Deborah sipped her iced tea. "Where do we go from here, Mike?"

He thought for a moment before answering. "Who would have authority to order supplies or to sell stock, besides you?"

"Only Brandon. And all the suppliers and ranchers around here know that, so if anyone else was involved, it would have to be outside this county, at least. And all of our stock are supposed to be tagged and branded, so a record would have to be kept of any sold. As for inventory, the suppliers in town know to send me the invoice and I pay for it. They do the same for refunds. I trust them."

"Okay, what do we know about Brandon?"

Sarah pushed away from the table, her plate of food untouched. "Excuse me, I think I'll go lay down for a bit."

Carly studied her, remorseful that she hadn't paid more attention to the girl. But the food was so delicious. And she was so hungry. "Are you okay? You usually have a healthy appetite." Not to mention that leaving the table suddenly didn't fit the picture Carly had of Sarah's good manners.

Sarah's face was slightly flushed, and her lips were pale. "I'm fine."

Carly stood with her. "Should we call a doctor?"

"No!" Sarah answered forcefully.

Carly took a step back. Sarah was definitely not herself.

Sarah's thin smile confirmed Carly's suspicions. "I'm fine. Just tired. I'll go upstairs and lay down for a bit. If I get hungry later, I'll find something in the kitchen." She pushed the door open, then turned, her smile fading. "Besides, it won't do you any good to call a doctor. He couldn't get out here through all that snow."

Carly met Mike's eyes, and he nodded. She followed Sarah out and up the stairs to her room, which was next to Mike and Carly's suite.

Sarah pushed the bedroom door closed when Carly reached her. She put her hand out to stop the door from completely closing.

Sarah peered around the door, eyebrows raised. "What is it, Carly? I'm okay, just tired."

"Can I come in and talk with you for a minute, Sarah? We've been worried, and I know Tom will appreciate if we make sure you've got everything you need."

"You aren't going to go away, are you?" Her voice was tired, but there was a small smile on her face. "Come in."

Carly pushed her way into the room. "The sooner you let me in, the sooner you can get to sleep."

Sarah sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped, not meeting Carly's eyes. Trying not to stare, Carly looked around the tastefully decorated suite. This room looked over the back of the ranch house, out over the paddocks and some small corrals. The mesa glistened under its new coat of white beyond, marked here and there with tracks. Probably coyotes.

Carly turned from the window and faced Sarah. "What's going on? Every time Brandon's name is mentioned, you bolt." Carly considered what she had just asked. "Sarah, were you there when Brandon was—was—" She left the question hanging, not wanting to speak the word.

Sarah shook her head, her gaze still on the floor. "I didn't see anything. Or if I did, I don't remember. All I remember is standing there, looking out over the snow, then feeling a hand between my shoulders. Tumbling head over heels down the ravine. Then nothing until Tom and Deborah found me."

"So what do you know about Brandon? Did you know him when you lived near here?" Carly persisted. "He made some unkind allegations about you to Tom."

Sarah jumped to her feet, her face white. "What did he say? Carly, you have to tell me."

Sarah's reaction caught Carly off guard.

What was Sarah hiding?

What did she know?

Chapter 18

Carly took a step back before answering. She didn't want to close the door of communication with Sarah, but she also didn't want to push her too far, too fast. "Relax, Sarah. All he implied was maybe you and he had some history together."

"What did Tom say?"

"He didn't say anything. It was a nasty comment meant to stir Tom up again. Tom just bested him in a fight, and Deborah fired him. It was Brandon's way of getting back, by threatening people." Carly moved to Sarah's side. She laid her hands on Sarah's shoulders. "What is going on here?"

Sarah's head dropped in defeat. "I was hoping to keep that whole part of my life separate." She began to cry quietly. "You can't know how hard it has been to come back here with Tom. This is where it all started."

Carly's heart broke to see the pain Sarah was going through. She sat next to her on the bed, and put her arm around Sarah's shoulder. "It can't be that bad. Tom loves you."

Sarah nodded. "That's what has made all this so hard. I don't want to hurt him." Her tears flowed freely and the quiet sobs threatened to break loose in full force. "He deserves better."

"Tell me what's going on. Then we'll decide how much Tom, or anyone else, needs to know. How's that?"

For the first time a spark of hope glimmered in Sarah's eyes.

Carly recognized a kindred soul, tortured with all that was going on.

Sarah sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. Carly folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently as Sarah organized her thoughts. Once Sarah started her story, she wouldn't need any interruptions.

Sarah took a deep breath and began. "I grew up on the next ranch, as you know." Carly nodded. "Brandon's father worked here, and Brandon was raised on this ranch, at least from a teenager on."

"I didn't know that."

"Deborah treats her help almost like family."

Carly nodded. That she'd seen firsthand.

"Well, Brandon got to thinking maybe he was family. He started making moves on Deborah, even though she's about ten years older. She refused him, and he got mad. Threatened her father, the ranch. Everything."

Carly was seeing a picture of Brandon that explained much of what had been going on with Deborah and Brandon.

"When Brandon saw that Deborah wouldn't have him, he started on me. Our ranch wasn't as big as the Spiral S, but it was profitable. I saw through Brandon, after Deborah talked to me. She was like a big sister to me. Anyway, Brandon wouldn't quit. I told my father he was pestering me, and he forbade Brandon to come to the ranch again." Sarah paused to wipe her nose with a tissue. "That made Brandon really mad."

"Go on."

"One night I was on my way home from a barn dance here at the Spiral S, and Brandon grabbed me, and—and. . . "

Sarah didn't need to finish. Carly got the picture.

"I was so ashamed. I never told my father. When he saw me come home late, muddy, clothes torn, I told him my horse had thrown and dragged me. He believed me. I thought Brandon would leave me alone. But then the other hands, on our ranch and on the Spiral S, began snickering whenever they saw me. A few even made lewd remarks, suggestive like. My father heard one of them, and fired him." She tossed the used tissue into a nearby waste basket. "Brandon spread lies about me. It got to the point where I stopped coming here to the Spiral S. Deborah wanted to know what was going on, but I couldn't tell her. I gave her an excuse about lots of homework, or lots of work at the ranch. But I think she knew."

"I swear, Sarah, I didn't know."

Carly spun around and faced the door.

Deborah filled the opening. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I came to check on you, heard my name, and stopped to listen." She crossed the room, and gathered Sarah into her arms. "Oh, Sarah, if I'd known, I'd have killed him!"

Together they clung to each other, crying.

Carly waited. There was healing going on in this embrace. They needed the time for the wounds to mend.

Finally they drew apart.

Deborah spoke first. "I thought you were tired of hanging around me. I thought you wanted to be around girls your own age."

"I couldn't look you in the eye because I knew you'd be able to see right through my story. And if you did know, and chose not to do something about it, that would just hurt too much."

Deborah smiled weakly. "We've missed a lot of years. Can we start again?"

Sarah nodded. "I'd like that." She turned to Carly. "How much should I tell Tom?"

Carly considered for a moment. "First of all, Tom loves you too much for this to make a difference to him." At the flash of panic in Sarah's eyes, she continued. "But, Tom is also too much of a gentleman to ask about your past. I don't think he'll bring it up."

The tension eased from Sarah's shoulders and back.

Carly stood. "But if this becomes a ghost between you, then you need to talk about it. Maybe just tell the particulars, not the names. And," she added, "You won't have to worry about Tom finding out from anyone else." She needed to change the subject. "Deborah, where did Brandon get the eagle feather that was in his hat?"

Deborah's face went white and she practically fell into the chair near the door. She didn't speak for a moment.

Carly prompted her. "Deborah?"

Deborah looked up at Carly and Sarah, her face still pale, although she was beginning to recover her composure. "How did you know it was an eagle feather?" Her voice broke slightly, but the color began to return to her cheeks. "Very few people know what they look like."

"Tom told me. I'd noticed it in Brandon's hat, and how he stroked it once in a while, as if making sure it was still there. He wore it like a trophy or something."

Deborah wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know how much you know about native traditions."

"Not much, especially about feathers. Tom said it used to be part of a native rite of manhood. But now it's illegal because of the ban on hunting eagles."

Deborah nodded. "That's right. My family has some native blood in their family tree. This feather was passed down through the generations. It became a tradition to pass it on to the firstborn to wear on their wedding day." She stopped, her eyes focused on a point in the distant past. "It was a precious tradition. My father gave it to me on my wedding day. I wore it in my hair. And then I gave it to my husband. He wore it in his hatband all the time. It was like a secret code between us. He patted it to say 'I love you'." She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "And then he died. Suddenly. And the eagle feather was gone. Years went by, and then Brandon started wearing this feather in his hat. And he pats it, smirking all the time."

Carly paced the room. "Is it the same feather?"

"No, mine was a wing feather, and this one is a tail feather. I first saw it the day my husband died. I thought Brandon was bragging he'd killed him and taken his feather. But when I saw it again, I knew it wasn't the same feather. Still he wears it after all these years. Just to hurt me, I guess." She rose and went to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked out over the plain. "After all these years, he still wants to hurt me. He never gives up."

Carly stood and moved to the door. "I'm glad we know some of the background." She looked at Sarah and then Deborah. Smiling, she reached a hand to Deborah. "Come on. Let's give Sarah some time alone. She needs to decide where to go from here."

Sarah adjusted her pillow, then leaned against the headboard. "Thanks. I do need some time to think. About what to tell Tom. About lots of other things."

Carly smiled. "Come on down again when you're ready. If you need me for anything, you know where to find me."

Sarah smiled. "Thanks, Carly." She passed a hand over her eyes. "Sometimes there are things you just have to do on your own. You know?"

Carly nodded. "I do know." She pulled open the door and left the room, Deborah following. "See you later."

Hopefully Sarah didn't need too much time to come to a decision.

She wasn't sure Tom could stand the suspense.

She knew she couldn't.

Sarah leaned her head wearily against the wooden headboard, trying to find a comfortable spot in the ornate woodwork. A beautiful piece of furniture, but not very comfortable.

She smiled at the similarity to her own life at the moment. From the outside, she had life by the tail. A promising career, a man who adored her, decent looks, good health.

And yet she wasn't feeling very comfortable in her skin right now.

Shifting, she adjusted the pillow behind her head.

She needed a cushion between her and the painful memories of her past.

Not to mention the possible harsh consequences of recent events. She was on the list of potential suspects who had a better reason than most to kill Brandon.

That realization made her sit upright, her head protesting at the sudden movement. She massaged her temples, willing the pain away. What would she do now? Who would she turn to?

A faint memory from her childhood swept over her, filling her with a longing for home and family she hadn't felt for many years. She had been about eight or nine, and her grandmother was still living with them. On her way to bed one night, walking past her Nana's room, she peeked in through the not-quite-closed door, and saw her Nana on her knees beside her bed. Head bowed, hands clasped, lips moving silently.

How many times had she longed for a feeling of security and peace like that?

She couldn't hope to count the number.

She smiled. Maybe she could enlist Carly's help. Wasn't that what accountants did best?

Sarah closed her eyes, shutting out the distraction of her memories around her. Carly and Mike were good people. And Carly hadn't looked at her with pity or condescension.

Or disgust.

Tom was good people, too. Far better than she deserved.

In essence, she'd lied to him by not telling him he truth. How would she feel if circumstances were reversed?

Would he pity her?

Or would he be disgusted if he knew the truth?

Sarah opened her eyes and raised her head. Maybe he already did. Had he figured out the meaning behind Brandon's words? If so, would he have sought Brandon out?

No. That was going too far. As much as she longed for a knight in shining armor to ride into her life and rescue her from her past, she'd never expect Tom to take matters into his own hands.

That was simply too frightful to believe.

Tom wasn't capable of murder.

He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Could he?

She left the bed and walked to the window. Looking out, she was glad to see the snow had stopped. All around her was peaceful.

She wished her insides were.

Carly paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced back at the closed door.

Deborah followed her gaze. "What was that all about?"

Carly smiled. "I think Sarah is close to making a life-changing decisions." She turned and headed for the dining room. "Why would Brandon stay around all this time if he was so mad at you for not marrying him?"

Deborah walked beside her. "Because he knew that would hurt the most."

"Why did you let him stay? You could have fired him long ago."

"Things are not always as they appear."

Carly shivered—those were the same words written on the death certificate. She chose her words carefully. "Did Brandon have something to do with your husband's death?"

"I thought so at first. But then—" Deborah's voice trailed off.

"But then you got the death certificate with the note written on it?"

"How did you know about that?"

"A better question is: where is it now?"

Chapter 19

Deborah whirled around to face Carly. "What are you talking about?"

Carly hadn't intended to hit so close to home with this. "I saw the note. In the Bible, in the library." Trying to calm Deborah, she said, "I wasn't snooping. I found the Bible when I was straightening the books. It's a fetish of mine, I guess. I started to leaf through the Bible and the paper fell out."

"Yes, I got the certificate. That's how I knew Brandon hadn't done it. My husband was killed in March, and my father died in June. It was a hard year for all of us. By the end of it, I was too tired to care anymore. I was glad my grandfather was here to look after things until I was strong enough again. It took me a while. I even left the ranch for a few months." She smiled, although the smile didn't quite make it from her lips to her eyes. "But, like I said before, the ranch is in my blood. I couldn't be happy anywhere else."

Carly ventured another question. "Why did you stay in a bad marriage?"

Deborah wrung her hands together like a dishrag. "I was caught between a rock and a hard place. My husband was beating me, but I still loved him. What was I to do?"

Between a rock and hard place for sure, thought Carly. From experience, she knew there were few options available. Carly had endured a similar experience until her abusive husband was killed in a car accident. He'd managed to convince her she wasn't capable of looking after herself. That every blow, every beating, was her fault. That no man but him would want her.

Deborah laid a hand on Carly's arm. "I didn't kill my husband."

"But you know who did."

Deborah smiled thinly. "You don't miss much, do you?" She nodded. "I loved John, but I was also sensible enough to know that eventually he would kill me. When my grandfather found out about John beating me, he told my father. I think my father killed him and my grandfather knew."

"I don't know. That's a big step to take. What about divorce?

"John would have taken half the ranch if I'd divorced him."

"So tell me about the stampede."

Deborah shrugged. "The police were called in. They were satisfied he died in a stampede. I think he was dead before that. I think my father started it to cover the evidence." She sighed. "John was no good. No one missed him or even cared he was dead. Putting my father on trial wouldn't have proven anything, and we knew he was dying of cancer. He never confessed. He just said if I was suspected, he would. He died just three months after John."

Carly took the older woman by the arm. "Come on. Let's go and join the men before they eat all the food." She pushed open the dining room door and pasted on a smile. "I hope you guys left us some of that great looking food."

Mike passed the bowl of potatoes to Tom. "We were just saying it would be good if you stayed away for another few minutes so we could polish at all off."

Carly sat next to her husband. "Give me those potatoes, Tom. And save some for Deborah."

Deborah sat. "Smells good. I'm hungry."

Tom passed the dish of green peas. "Is Sarah going to be all right?"

Carly nodded. "She is. She has some things to work through, but she's going to be fine."

Tom paused, the serving spoon poised mid-air. "Things to work out? Did she say something to you?"

Carly smiled. "Nothing we're going to talk about now." She passed the gravy bowl to Mike. "Now, tell us what else you saw when you went to fetch Brandon." Glancing quickly at Deborah, she rapped Tom's knuckles gently with her fork. "Nothing gory. Just the general outlay. Any evidence you found. That sort of thing."

Tom held his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You don't really think I'd discuss anything to upset your delicate constitution, do you?"

Mike choked on his food.

Carly looked at him then saw he was trying to hold back a laugh. She turned back to Tom. "Delicate constitution is right. Go ahead."

He reached into his shirt pocket and held an object in his hand, palm up. "We found this under Brandon's body."

Deborah leaned forward to see what Tom held. Her eyes widened. She seemed paralyzed, not able to lift her hand to take the object. Her eyes went from Tom to Carly.

Carly, not being able to stand the suspense, reached across the table for the object which Tom placed on her outstretched hand.

It was a feather.

She turned the brown and grey striped object over in her hand. "Is it Brandon's?"

"It's not his." Deborah's whisper seemed to fill the room. "It's mine."

Mike took the feather from Carly. "What do you mean, it's yours?" He held the feather to the light. "It was found under the body. How can you tell one feather from another?"

"It's mine. John wore it in his hat. My father gave it to me on my wedding day." Deborah sagged into her chair. "It's been missing for over twenty years. Since he died."

Carly handed the feather to Deborah. "If it was under the body, it means it was there before he died. So either Brandon had the feather or the person who killed him had it."

"I didn't kill him." Deborah's hands shook. "If I was going to do that, I would have done it long ago."

Tom looked to his father.

Mike shrugged. "I don't know any more than you about what is going on. Probably less."

Tom shook his head. "I'm really confused here."

"I've already told Sarah and Carly most of this, but I'll give you guys the short version, okay?" Deborah began. "My husband was abusive, and my father killed him, disguising his death as an accident. I suspected it and so did my grandfather. My father died of cancer shortly after John. Brandon knew or suspected something. That's why I never fired him. He threatened to tell what he knew. He said he had evidence. But he never said what that evidence was."

Carly filled in some extra information. "Part of the mystery was the disappearance of an eagle's wing feather that Deborah's husband wore in his hatband, much like Brandon wore his. Brandon began wearing the feather after her husband died, mocking her pain, and reminding her that he knew something. The feather was an important part of Deborah's family history."

"I don't know where the feather has been," Deborah insisted. "If my father had seen it the day he killed John, he would have taken it for me, even if that would prove he was the one who killed John." She leaned back in the chair, still not meeting their eyes. "When I asked him about it, all he would say is he never saw it."

Carly considered what she'd just heard. "I guess justice here in the Wild West is a little different than out east." She smiled. "Now Brandon's feather is missing. Or, it could have fallen out and be under the snow somewhere near his body. If that's the case, it might never show up."

Deborah's response was so low Carly had to strain to hear. "What difference does it make? There were two different feathers. Mine showing up now points the finger at me for killing Brandon. Not that I didn't want to."

Tom passed a serving dish to Deborah. "Is it possible someone else had the feather?"

Carly sipped her hot tea. "Maybe the killer. And he confronted Brandon with it."

Tom considered this. "If Brandon had it, he would have worn it. To hurt Deborah more. But why would Brandon want to hurt you so much?"

Deborah set her mug on the table. "Because he wanted to marry me. He thought he had a chance, and then I married John instead. And after John died, he was sure I would run to him. And when I didn't, he was bound and determined to hurt me any way he could. I think that's why he was stealing from me. To get what he should have had from me."

Carly spoke up. "I think we're missing something here. Let's look at this the way the authorities would. Who else had reason to want Brandon dead?"

Tom snorted. "That would be just about anyone who ever met him."

Carly persisted. "Hating someone doesn't mean you'd kill them. No, the feelings have to go a lot deeper than that." She turned to Deborah. "Do you have some paper?"

"None in here. I'll get some from my office. While I'm there, I'll check in on Sarah." Deborah rang the bell, and Louisa appeared promptly. "Please bring in dessert while I'm gone and perhaps more coffee and tea?"

Louisa nodded.

Deborah left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Carly leaned back in her chair, pulling at the waistband of her pants. "I don't think I'll have room for dessert."

Mike eyed her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Right."

"Well, maybe a little serving. I wouldn't want to offend my hostess."

Mike laughed. "No worry there."

Deborah mounted the stairs. How many times had she climbed these stairs in her lifetime? Running her hand along the handrail, she recalled happier days as a child when she slid down the rail into her father's arms at the bottom. Her mother sternly admonished her against doing that, but Deborah knew her father would always catch her and wouldn't let her fall.

How she longed for that same feeling of safety. Too many years had passed since she'd felt as if nothing and no one could hurt her. Too many hurts along the way.

She retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from the desk in her suite. She could have gotten some from the desk in the study, but she wanted an excuse to come to her room for a few minutes. Sitting in the easy chair near the window, she looked out at the shed beyond the barn.

Knowing Brandon's body was in there gave her the shivers. She wouldn't be able to look at that building or visit that spot near the ravine without remembering.

Only Brandon could ruin things even when he was dead.

Thinking badly of the dead gave her no pleasure. Even knowing her one major problem in life was gone did not make her happy. For many years she blamed the things going wrong in her life on Brandon. If he had only done this or hadn't done that things would be different. Now she didn't have anyone to blame.

She sighed. She would need to find another foreman. Of course, even if he hadn't died, she needed to replace him. She considered her current ranch hands, wondering if one of them would be willing and able to step in and take over, if not permanently, then temporarily. Like she'd said before—men didn't like to work for women. Maybe she needed to think about taking control of her own ranch back again.

Tucking the notepad and pen in a pocket in her skirt, Deborah rose, taking one last longing look at the chair she had been sitting in. She'd spent many hours in that chair, overlooking the operations of the ranch yard. Watching new stock coming in, market stock going out. Visitors coming to the house. Her father going out to work his favorite horse. So many memories.

Wiping an errant tear from her cheek, Deborah left her room, pausing outside Sarah's room. She tapped lightly.

Sarah answered immediately, a sure sign she wasn't sleeping. "Come in."

Deborah opened the door. Sarah sat at her dressing table, brushing her shoulder-length hair, the late afternoon sunlight glinting on the copper strands. The younger woman smiled at her in the mirror.

"I just came to see that you were all right. You look great."

Sarah turned from the table, setting her brush on a silver tray. "Thanks. I feel so much better."

"That's amazing. Did you make some decisions, then?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes. I did."

Deborah sat on the chair beside the door. "Are you getting ready to come downstairs again? We've got dessert."

Sarah turned to the table and fastened a short choker-style necklace around her neck. "Yes. I've made the decision to tell Tom about Brandon and the rape." She checked the small filigree hanging from the choker. "Do you think that's a good decision?"

Deborah nodded. "I do. Like Carly said, you probably don't need to tell him details, just lay it out for him."

Sarah stood, brushing the wrinkles from her tan skirt. "Carly is such a good woman." She looked at Deborah. "She is wise. Unlike anybody I know. Do you understand what I mean?"

Deborah stood. "I do. I kind of got the impression you two have had some heart-to-heart discussions before."

"Only one actually. And then I did some deep thinking of my own."

Deborah laughed lightly. "You have been busy. Maybe I should go downstairs and leave you enough time to balance the national budget."

Deborah stood suddenly, pushing Sarah into an upright position on the floor. "Well, lots of time to think about that later on." She held up the pad of paper. "Right now they're waiting for me to fetch them some paper. Coming?"

Sarah stood, brushing off her skirt. "Yes. My headache is gone, and I want to keep up with what is going on."

Deborah linked arms with her young friend, and they jostled through the doorway, laughing at each other. Together they walked down the stairs, Deborah marveling at the serenity evident in Sarah's smile and glowing cheeks.

Was that because of peace?

Or love?

Whatever Sarah had, she wanted some for herself.

"Good." Carly set the pad on the table, absently smoothing the top page. "I always think better when I can see it on paper. Who do we have?"

Tom's reunion with Sarah was short but sweet. The two limited their embrace to a quick hug. Carly could tell from the younger woman's glowing face and Mona Lisa smile that she had made some important decisions and was completely at peace with them.

Sarah spoke up tentatively. "I guess there's me."

Tom looked at her in alarm. "Why would you want Brandon dead?"

Sarah took Tom's hand and held it close to her heart. She drew a deep breath. "I have a couple of things to tell you, and I want to have it out in the open."

Tom tried to pull his hand away. Instead she raised his fingers to her lips and kissed him tenderly on the back of his hand. Her eyes met his and held his gaze. "Brandon has been a nasty person for as long as I can remember. He took whatever he could whether it belonged to him or not." Tears filled her eyes, and she choked back a sob. "I spent a lot of years blaming myself for what he did. Blaming Deborah and my parents for not knowing something was wrong. Blaming myself for leading him on in some way. I guess I came to the point where I figured I must have deserved what he did." She swallowed hard, thrusting her chin out defiantly. "But I didn't deserve it. He was wrong to take what wasn't his. And when he did, he stole a part of me I can never get back. He stole a part of me that should have belonged to you." She lowered her gaze. "As a result, I didn't think I was worthy to marry you. I didn't deserve happiness, or a man who loved me, or a family." She raised her eyes again to meet Tom's. "But today Carly helped me see I am worthy, and whole, and loveable, and desirable."

A myriad of emotions passed over Tom's face. While Sarah was speaking, his face had flushed and his fists clenched. Then the color drained from his cheeks, and now tears glistened in his eyes. As Sarah waited for his response, Tom's eyes flitted from his father to Carly, then to Sarah.

When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. "That took a lot of courage to tell me."

"I was afraid to tell you before because I thought I would lose you. But because of the secret between us, I was going to lose you anyway."

Tom looked from Carly to Sarah, and back. Sarah held his gaze evenly, fear evident in her eyes. Tom held his arms open towards her and she moved into his embrace.

Carly smiled. She was right. Tom was too much of a gentleman to let something so long ago make a difference in how he felt about Sarah.

Sarah released Tom's hand. "I don't have an alibi for when Brandon was killed. I was out on the mesa, and you only have my word that Brandon was alive when I last saw him."

"We know you didn't kill him!" Tom sputtered. "Tell her, Carly. We don't suspect her, do we?"

Carly patted his arm. "I don't think she killed him. But we are looking at what the authorities will look at. And they will mark her on their list as a suspect." She thought for a moment. "I think the real killer has already thought of that and took advantage of that situation. What they didn't count on was the feather."

Mike held up his hand. "How does the feather change things?"

Carly made a note. "I don't think the feather was put there purposely. I think it was an accident. Lost during the struggle. And what it does is limit the people who could have killed Brandon, since the feather was found under the body. That means whoever killed him had the feather with them when they went out there."

Deborah raised her hand. "There's me, of course."

Carly noted Deborah's simple confession.

When Tom opened his mouth to object, Deborah raised her hand to silence him. "Of course, I'd be a suspect. He hated me, wanted this ranch, and was stealing from me."

Carly made some more notes. "Speaking of which, what were you two arguing about yesterday?"

Chapter 20

Carly waited for Deborah's answer, her pen poised in the air.

Deborah sighed. "You don't miss much. He wanted a raise. Actually, it was blackmail. He wanted a 'bonus', as he called it. With profits slipping, and since I already suspected he was stealing from me, I wasn't about to give him more. When I said no, he got angry. Said I'd regret it. Said he had information I would pay for."

Mike helped himself to a slice of tres leches cake. "You said something about him not fooling you like he'd fooled your grandfather. What was that about?"

"He told my grandfather he knew of a way to get the mineral rights assigned to the ranch."

Carly paused in her note-taking. "How does that work?"

Deborah spread her hands. "We own the land, but we don't own the mineral rights. It's the way the government keeps control of the real wealth. Brandon said there was a loophole, and he knew a lawyer who could help. But nothing ever came of it. He stole five thousand dollars from my grandfather over a six-month period using that lie."

Carly flipped to another page in her notepad. "Is that what you and Tom were arguing about?"

Tom shook his head, his eyes meeting Deborah's. "We were arguing about Brandon. I saw he was no good right from the start. I couldn't understand why Deborah kept him around. I wanted her to fire him then, send him packing."

Deborah nodded. "I was afraid he would tell someone my father killed my husband." Tears glistened on her lashes. "About the only thing my father was able to leave me was this ranch and his good reputation. If Brandon accused him of murder, we were likely to lose contracts, maybe stir up trouble with suppliers. I was already in bad enough shape financially. I just couldn't stand the thought of people thinking badly of my father."

Carly nodded. "Sometimes reputation is the most important thing we can leave our kids."

Deborah smiled. "I see you understand. And even though I never knew what proof Brandon had, he was evil enough to follow through, even fabricating evidence if he needed to."

Carly scribbled furiously. "Okay, so you had motive to kill Brandon. Did you have opportunity?"

"I was here in the house with Tom or out looking for Louisa with Abe all morning."

Carly nodded. "Okay, I think that eliminates you. Who else?"

Tom sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "I didn't like Brandon."

"And you fought with him in the barn, beating him." Carly added the note to her list. "Which didn't make him happy. He threatened you."

Mike leaned forward "Was it enough to kill him over?"

"He did make nasty remarks about Sarah."

Carly nodded again as she wrote this information down on the paper. "Okay. Did you have opportunity?"

Tom thought for a moment, his arms folded across his chest. "I was here in the house with Deborah or out looking for Louisa."

"Okay, that eliminates you. Who else?" She turned to Deborah. "We also know Brandon was going to leave Louisa behind. That could be cause for murder, don't you think?"

Deborah agreed. "Yes, and Louisa was missing for a while."

"What was her story again?" Mike served himself more coffee before passing the pot to Carly. "Where did you find her?"

Deborah walked over to the window and looked out at the ocean of snow. "She said she was ashamed he was leaving her and took a snow machine to leave the ranch and go back home. Her family lives in town. Abe said he saw her about an hour earlier on his way out to feed the stranded herd. He didn't think much of it. But when he saw her in the same place when he came back, he realized she was in trouble."

Tom unfolded his arms. "Louisa couldn't have made it from the ranch house after breakfast, to the ravine, killed Brandon, and then come back and taken the snow machine, in time to get stuck where Abe saw her."

"Right." Carly looked to the others who nodded. "So she has an alibi."

Mike paused, his coffee mug midway to his mouth. "So where does that leave us?"

"That leaves us in a hard place." Carly wiped her mouth with her napkin. She glanced at her list again. "There must be someone else who hated Brandon enough to kill him. Or who was afraid of what Brandon knew."

Sarah extended her hand towards Carly's list. "Or who wanted to cut him out of his share of whatever was going on."

Carly nodded. "Good point. So, who else is on the ranch?"

Deborah thought. "Paco. If Louisa told him Brandon had taken his money and not filed the immigration papers, that would have made him mad. And then to hear Brandon was leaving her."

Carly shook her head. "I heard Paco in the kitchen after breakfast. And he was there when we discovered Louisa was missing. Could he have had time to kill Brandon and still have lunch ready all by himself and with the power out?"

Deborah pursed her lips. "Possible but unlikely. That leaves Abe and Jonah. Abe's been here a long time. He wanted to be foreman but my grandfather chose Brandon after my husband died. Abe used to have a drinking problem. Grandfather didn't want to put him under extra stress while he was trying to stop drinking. I guess there could have been some anger there. Nothing I've seen, though."

Tom fidgeted with the salt shaker. "Besides, I don't think he had time to kill Brandon and still get out to the stranded herd. Louisa saw him go there and come back. It takes about an hour to do that."

Carly had a thought. "Sarah, when you went to the ravine, did you see any other prints in the snow?"

Sarah thought for a moment. "Yes. I saw prints. That's why I walked out there. I thought maybe Louisa went for a walk."

Carly turned to Tom. "When you and Deborah went there, did you see prints?"

"To be honest, we weren't paying much attention. We saw the prints, jumped out of the SUV, and ran to the edge. There could have been more than one set of prints and we wouldn't have noticed them. Then we trampled through the snow bringing Sarah out of the ravine."

"Tom's right," Deborah confirmed. "We weren't looking around us. And, of course, we didn't know she'd been pushed at that point. We thought she'd fallen."

Carly looked directly across the table at Sarah. "Tell me again what happened."

"I went for a walk. I walked down the road and cut across the meadow when I saw the footprints."

"Okay," Carly persisted, "what next?"

"I remembered the view from the edge over there. I wanted to see it before I headed back. I was standing near the edge, and I felt a hand on my back, and then I fell."

Her words hung in the air while Carly checked her notes again. "Did you see or hear anything when you were cutting across the meadow?"

"Let me think." Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. She opened her eyes suddenly. "I saw two men near that old lean-to in the section you were going to irrigate a few years back."

Deborah nodded. "We didn't irrigate because Brandon said it was too sparse, too far to carry the water, too many gopher holes. Lots of reasons not to."

Tom prompted her to continue. "What were they doing, Sarah?"

"They were arguing. I couldn't hear them. I recognized Brandon, of course. The other man had his back to me. I thought at first it was Jonah, but I didn't recognize his hat. Jonah usually wears that brown leather Stetson. This man had on a black ten-gallon. So I don't know who it was."

Carly perked up. A black ten-gallon! That sounded like the same man she saw talking with Brandon the first evening they were on the ranch.

And the same man Louisa had seen talking with Brandon on the day he'd died.

She turned to Deborah. "Do you know anyone who wears a black ten-gallon hat?"

Deborah considered before answering. "I know Jonah wears a brown leather Stetson. And Abe wears that old felt sombrero thing. Apart from them, I just have a few seasonal hands here in the spring and summer. Brandon was a particularly nasty man, but most of that was directed at me." She glanced at Sarah. "And Sarah. And apart from her and me, who would want to kill Brandon? And where did the feather come from? And who pushed Sarah?"

Who indeed.

And why?

If they knew why, they would know who.

Sarah glanced at Tom, noting his strong profile and the darkening shadows around his jaw line where he needed to shave. He rubbed his hand along the stubble, almost as if he'd read her mind. She smiled. This was a man she would be proud to call her husband.

Her mind raced as she considered all the happenings of the past couple of days. When she agreed to come for a working vacation, the only thing she'd had on her mind was spending time with Tom. So much had been going on they hadn't really spent much quality time together.

And now she had revealed a deep, dark side of her she had hoped to keep secret from anyone. How could Tom evernthink about marrying her now he found out about Brandon? Would he think of her as less than marrying material?

She thought she would never tell another living soul. But how could she live with that ugly secret? What would her wedding night have been like, knowing she wasn't able to bring him the most precious gift of all—her purity?

Knowing he expected her to be a virgin.

No, this was for the best. If her past really mattered, he wouldn't be any happier finding out after they married.

Sarah closed her eyes, weariness stealing her attention. She opened them when she realized everyone had stopped talking. Looking around the room, everyone stared at her. She smiled, the color rising in her cheeks. "Sorry. Did someone say something?"

Tom squeezed her hand. "We ran out of suspects. Any other ideas?"

She quirked her chin in the direction of Carly's list. "My name is there. And so is Deborah's. Seems like we've got the bases covered, don't you?"

Chapter 21

While Carly pondered Sarah's statement, she watched the others. Tom put his arm around Sarah who stiffened at his touch.

What was going on there?

Deborah stared at a point on the opposite wall. When Carly followed her gaze, she saw nothing that would normally hold attention.

Mike, as usual, oblivious to the tension in the room, worked on polishing off another piece of cake.

She smiled, envious of his metabolism and his ability to push problems aside.

Carly studied her list, trying to piece all the facts together, wondering if she had missed something important.

Louisa and Paco came to the door and looked in.

Deborah caught their eye.

Paco spoke. "Mees Deborah? Will there be anything else?"

"No, that's all for now. Thank you. You can clear the table later."

As Paco and Louisa turned to leave, Carly had an idea. "Deborah, would it be okay to ask Paco and Louisa some questions?"

Deborah looked at her, her eyes squinted. "I know your goal is to get to the bottom of the mystery." She turned to the housekeeper and her brother. "Paco. Louisa. Please wait. Miss Carly wants to ask you something."

Tom spoke quietly to Sarah, who nodded. He turned to Carly. "While you are doing that, we are going to get some air. You can fill us in later."

Carly nodded. "No problem." She waited as the pair left the room hand in hand. "They have a lot to work through."

Mike touched her arm, whispering in her ear. "It's better they work it out before they get married."

Carly reluctantly pushed her half-eaten dessert aside, then turned to smile at Louisa and Paco. "Why don't you sit down? This won't take long."

Tom helped Sarah pull on her coat, and together they stepped outside. The sun was sinking below the mountains, casting dark shadows in the yard. Sarah gestured to a set of chairs on the verandah, and they both sat. Their breath rose on a late afternoon breeze, drifting away out of sight.

Tom turned his chair slightly to face Sarah, and leaned forward, elbows on knees. He waited. He wasn't sure how to start this conversation, and he wasn't really sure he even wanted to have it. His insides churned as he thought of all the pain and humiliation Sarah experienced at Brandon's hands. The thought of that man touching her made him sick. He was glad he hadn't known when he fought with Brandon what he knew now.

He would have killed the man.

He could have killed him.

Sarah stared out over the snow, and Tom marveled at her beauty. No wonder Brandon wanted her for his own, but to force himself on her—bile rose up in his throat, burning all the way from his stomach to the back of his tongue. He swallowed hard.

Somehow he had to get through this, get past that feeling.

He had to make sure she never saw the revulsion in his eyes as he thought of them together.

He had to get past the anger and the pity and the pain.

Sarah looked at him, searching his face. "What are you thinking?"

He tried to assume a nonchalant expression. What would be harmless to be thinking about? What would be easy and not lead to insinuations? How could he tell her what he was really thinking?

He smiled at her. "I was just thinking love is never an easy decision, but it's always worth it."

"Is that what love is—a decision?"

He leaned back in the chair. "That's what Dad says."

Sarah nodded. "Sounds too simple. Takes all the romance out of it."

Tom clasped his hands behind his head. "It does, doesn't it?"

Sarah kicked at a lump of snow with the toe of her shoe. "What have you decided, about us?"

The clump fell over the edge, disappearing from view.

In some ways, that clump of snow felt like all his hopes and expectations falling off the edge of the world into oblivion. Never to surface again.

"What makes you think I've come to a decision?"

"I can tell by the way you won't look at me."

"Nothing has changed."

Sarah leaned forward and grasped his hands in hers. "Don't you see? Everything is changed. How can I know you aren't marrying me because of some sense of duty? Or pity? How can I know you won't think differently of me in a year's time, or five years?" She released his hands and sat back in her chair. "How can I know you aren't thinking all the things about me I'm thinking about myself?"

Tom hesitated.

She sneered at him. "You already have thought those things." She stood. "Never mind, Tom. I guess I am just damaged goods. I won't hold you to your proposal. The answer is still no."

Sarah yanked the front door open and went inside, slamming the door behind her.

Tom's heart sank as the door on his future slammed shut.

Carly looked up from her notes.

Paco and Louisa backed up to the dining room door, which stood slightly ajar.

They looked like caged wild animals, looking for a chance to escape.

So far, they'd answered all her questions. Forthrightly, if she had to make a determination.

So, what had changed?

She offered a smile. "Louisa, you and I, we have a lot in common."

Louisa's shoulders relaxed. "Yes, Senora Carly."

"Please stay and answer some more questions. We aren't trying to blame you for anything. We just want to know what happened."

Louisa glanced at her brother, who nodded. "Yes, Senora Carly."

"Louisa. You told Paco that Brandon wasn't taking you with him. Is that right?"

Fear-filled eyes looked from Paco to Carly then back again. Carly saw Paco nod slightly.

Louisa spoke, tears choking her voice. "Si, Senora Carly. I hear him say that. I go to Paco to ask for help."

"What did Paco tell you?" She needed to be gentle. Right now Louisa trusted her a little. She didn't want to lose that trust. "Did he get angry?"

Louisa shook her head. "He tell me not to worry, he look after everything."

"What did you do next?"

"I take snow machine, and I try to leave." Louisa's cheeks turned red. Her eyes dropped from Carly's face. "I so ashamed. In my country, if husband leave wife is because wife is no good. I try to be good." Her fingers touched her black eye. "But Brandon say I never good enough."

She was lying about something.

Carly needed to find out what. "Did you go to Brandon first? Try to get him to take you with him?"

Alarm registered on Louisa's face. She edged toward the door again. Paco touched her arm.

She relaxed under his touch and nodded. "He say I only good for one thing."

"What happened?"

"I go to our house but he not there. I look in the barn. He not there. I not know where else to look so I left." She turned to face Deborah. "I'm sorry, Mees Deborah. I was not thinking. I did not mean to steal your snow machine. I just wanted to run. I was so ashamed!"

Paco spoke so quietly Carly couldn't hear what he said.

She faced him. "Could you please repeat that, Paco?"

Paco's chin jutted out in defiance. "I know how you work. You try to make it look like Louisa keel him."

Carly's jaw dropped. "That is the last thing on my mind. We thought perhaps someone was trying to force Deborah to sell her land or lose the ranch." Carly considered her words. Perhaps what he said bore looking into. Where there's smoke, there's fire. "Why do you think we want to blame Louisa?"

"So the real keeler escape. After all, all Mexicans are thiefs and killers."

Deborah stood, bright dots of color reflecting her anger and indignation. "Paco, apologize immediately."

Paco met her glare, unflinching.

Carly tried to diffuse the situation. "Paco, I don't think that at all. But you know something you aren't telling us."

Paco turned to look at her once again, the whites of his eyes a stark contrast to his dark pupils. Carly read the indecision on his face.

Finally, the defiance seemed to leak out of his posture. He nodded once. "Sorry."

At a touch on her shoulder, Carly turned. Mike stood behind her. She eased to his side, comforted by his presence.

Mike took over the questions. "Paco, what else do you know?"

Carly's insides boiled and she grit her teeth to hold back the words. Having been a victim of abuse, her tolerance fuse for abusers was short. When she thought of the injustice of Brandon's actions—well, he deserved to die. The world was better off without him.

She might have tried to do him in herself had she known what he was really like.

Her breathing became shallow and sweat ran down her back. She looked around at the others. Didn't seem as though anybody else noticed her struggle. Mike continued asking Paco questions.

If she found out Paco killed Brandon, she'd nominate him for a medal.

Carly drew several steadying breaths, willing her racing heart to slow. She licked her lips, dry with tension. Unclenching her fists, stretching her fingers, she considered the havoc Brandon's selfishness had wrought on the lives of so many people.

Just about everyone in this room suffered at that man's hands.

Just about everyone had a reason to want him dead.

Paco considered Mike, their gazes locked. "I tell Louisa I weel go talk to him. I see him drive off in one of the jeeps. I borrow snow machine to follow. He goes to lean-to shed in south pasture. He go inside, and talk with man. He come out, and he see something far off. A person walking in snow. He follow. I follow him. I think maybe is woman he is seeing." He looked at Louisa, swallowed hard, then continued. "Maybe this why he leave Louisa. I think maybe I will catch him and shame him."

Mike smiled, encouraging him to tell the rest. "Go on, Paco. You don't need to worry. If you tell the truth, we will all help you."

Paco continued. "He walk carefully, sometimes hiding behind bush. I do same, so he don't see me." He turned to face Deborah. "Is Mees Sarah. She goes to edge of um, barranco?"

Deborah nodded. "Ravine."

"Yes, ravine. She stand there, just looking. He come up behind her and push her. She fall over, and he stand there laughing. At first I think is game. I wait for her to come up and laugh with him. But she not come up. Then I know is not a game. I run over to him, to help her. But he catch me and we fight. But no one win this fight. Snow is too deep."

Carly smiled wryly at the picture of the two men floundering in the deep snow. The snow was past their knees when she and Tom went out there.

Paco continued with his story. "We stand in snow and fight with our words. I tell him Louisa is good wife, he take her with him. He laugh at me. I tell him we know he not file papers for her with government. He say bad things." Paco looked to Louisa apologetically. "I sorry, Louisa. I thought he love you. I thought he be good husband for you. But he not. But it not matter. I make him take you with him."

Mike prompted him. "How could you make him take Louisa with him, Paco?"

"I know secret about him he not want anyone else to know."

"What kind of secret?"

"I find feather in his room. Many years ago. A feather I know Meester John wore in his hat. I know Senora Deborah look for this feather. A eagle's feather."

Chapter 22

Carly digested this information as Deborah took over the questioning. "What do you mean, you saw this feather in Brandon's room, Paco? Do you mean you saw it there recently?"

"No Senora Deborah. I saw it there the day after Meester John die."

Deborah rose and stood behind her chair, her knuckles white on the chair back. "Why didn't you say anything then?"

Paco's face colored again, and his eyes dropped from Deborah's. "I want Louisa to stay in America. I think if he marry her, she will stay. So I tell him I will tell you I saw the feather unless he marry Louisa."

Louisa pushed away from her brother. "He say you pay him to marry me!"

"I not pay him." Paco reached for her hand again. "I never do that."

Deborah came around the table and stood near Louisa. "But you did blackmail him. Only you didn't know she would still have to file papers to become a citizen, did you?"

Paco still wasn't able to look at his sister. "No. I think he marry her, it happen. I didn't know until he say it take money. I give him money."

Mike stepped forward. "So, you fought, you reminded Brandon you'd seen the feather. What did he say?"

"He say who going to believe a wetback over him?" Paco slowly sounded out the diminutive.

Deborah winced at the remark. "I would."

Paco looked at her, his half-smile sad. "I not know that."

Deborah returned to her chair, sitting heavily, her face pale. Carly was concerned for her. Deborah had experienced several bad shocks in a short period of time. Silently she filled Deborah's water glass and asked if she was okay. Deborah nodded and leaned back in the chair, her eyes closed.

Mike touched Paco's shoulder. "What happened then?"

Paco thought for a moment before answering. "He pull feather from leather pouch inside his shirt. He wave in my face. He say no one ever find out about this, and no one believe me. I so mad, I charge at him like bull." To demonstrate, Paco bent over at the waist, clenched his fists, and extended his arms. "I run at him, hit him in middle with my head. He fall down in the snow. I get up. He not move. I think maybe I keel him. I run back to house. No one is here. No one know I was out. I very scared. I not say anything to anyone." He folded his arms across his chest as if defying them to contradict his story. "I not sorry."

In the silence following Paco's amazing confession, a loud bang sounded in the foyer. Carly opened the dining room door. Sarah stormed into the entryway and slammed the door behind her.

Carly called out to her. "Sarah, come on in here. You look nearly frozen to death. Where's Tom?"

Sarah hung her coat on the rack near the door. "He decided to get a little more air. He'll be in later."

Carly waved her into the dining room, noting the color in Sarah's cheeks. The young woman moved to her seat at the table and sat down. A few moments later, the front door opened again.

Peaking out, she saw Tom. "Come on in, Tom. Paco is just telling us about the feather and Brandon."

Tom strode into the dining room and glanced around the table. Rather than sit, he leaned against the mantle.

Carly sighed. Apparently their talk hadn't gone well.

She considered the new information revealed by Paco. Where before there had been only one mystery suspect, now they should include Paco in that list. There had to be some way to prove whether Paco had killed Brandon or not. But how?

Carly reviewed the scene she and Tom found when they went to look for evidence of who had pushed Sarah over the cliff. There were numerous prints in that immediate area, and with the additional snow that had fallen, none were particularly identifiable. Then she remembered Brandon's hat had been found a short distance from the body.

She stepped forward. "Paco, when you charged at Brandon, do you remember what happened to his hat?"

Paco eyed her warily. "His hat?"

"Yes, his hat, the one with the other feather in it."

Deborah pushed her chair back and stood. "What does his hat have to do with anything?"

Carly turned, surprised at her terse tone. "I just want to know what happened to his hat."

Paco squinted his eyes in thought. "His hat on his head when he fell down. I remember, because back of brim bent. I think he weel be very mad when he wake up and see benthat."

Carly checked her notes. "Paco, Brandon was shot."

Paco's face drained of color. "I no shoot him. I no have gun."

Deborah paced the room, her shoulders tense. She faced Carly. "Do we know what kind of gun was used?"

Carly shook her head. "No."

Mike chucked her gently on the shoulder. "You need to watch more PBS programing to learn about guns and calibers." He looked around the room. "It was a large caliber, probably a rifle. I didn't see any powder burns on his clothing."

Carly's brows raised in surprise. "Mike Turnquist, you are a secret junior agent in your spare time. And you tease me about watching forensic shows."

He smiled. "I confess. I watched a true crime show a few times, and they happened to talk about guns."

Carly returned his mock punch. "Happened?"

Mike raised his hands in surrender. "Busted."

The brief interlude interjected a moment of lightness, breaking the tension.

At this good news, Carly's smile was genuine. "Then we know Paco didn't kill Brandon."

All eyes in the room looked at her with varying emotions registered in them. In Mike's eyes, admiration. In Sarah's, was that fear? Tom and Louisa, relief? Paco's eyes indicated he still wasn't sure she was telling him the truth. And Deborah's? What did Deborah's eyes tell her? Surprise?

She went on to explain. "When Tom and I found Brandon, his hat was at least ten feet away from his body. Paco says his hat was still on his head when he left him."

Deborah shrugged. "Maybe the snow blew it off."

"If that was so, there would have been snow inside the hat where it rolled across the snow. There wasn't any snow inside." Carly returned to her seat and her list. "No, the hat was either laid down or thrown down where we found it."

Mike ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, who else is on the ranch? It had to be someone here, right?"

The others nodded. Yet everyone was accounted for.

Except . . .

"Jonah!" Carly blurted out. "We haven't figured out where Jonah was in all of this."

Deborah protested. "I don't think it was Jonah, Carly. You would have recognized him."

She quickly scanned her notes. "I never saw the man's face, either in the barn or outside my window."

Tom sat beside her. "Louisa would have known his voice, wouldn't she?"

"Right." Deborah moved to look out the window. "What reason would Jonah have to kill Brandon?"

Carly shrugged. "Maybe they were partners."

Mike nodded. "Maybe Jonah found out what Brandon was doing and confronted him."

Deborah didn't look convinced by their reasoning. "That's a lot of maybe's."

Carly studied her notes. "Still, he hasn't been around much."

Deborah turned from the window. "We need to get Jonah in here and ask him a few questions." She turned to Paco. "Please find Jonah and ask him to come in. Just tell him we have a few questions."

Paco nodded and left the room.

Once again the room was silent. Louisa looked to Deborah, lifting one brow in question. She nodded, and Louisa left the room quietly. Carly stared into the fire, lost in her thoughts. She knew the clue had to be right in front of them. The killer had to be one of the people on this ranch. And while at face value everyone's alibis seemed airtight, there had to be a flaw somewhere.

As she considered her list, one thought kept coming back to haunt her—the feather. The feather was integral to solving this murder. Even as she thought of solving this crime, however, she wondered if the process was worth the bother. After all, a truly odious man was dead. No one really cared he was dead.

Much like John Webster.

John Webster made everyone around him miserable with his life, and his death solved a lot of problems. At least that was how it looked on the surface. Carly knew better—there was a sadness in Deborah that probably hadn't always been there.

Sadness at what could have been and now never would.

Sadness that perhaps all these years she thought her father had killed him and maybe he hadn't.

Sadness that her grandfather had gone to his grave believing his son was a murderer.

Carly pounded her fist into the palm of her hand. "You know, there's been a lot of talk about schemes and dirty rotten scoundrels. I wonder if anything is really as it seems?"

Mike sat at the table, toying with his spoon. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we have a list of people who were hurt by Brandon. We have a list of people who may have killed him. We have some good people perhaps driven to desperation. We have some bad people who may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Tom stood next to Deborah at the window. "And your point?"

Carly rubbed her eyes. "How do we determine who is the bad guy here?"

Mike leaned back in his chair. "I see what you mean. Usually it's easy to tell the good guys from the bad."

Tom smiled. "Too bad it isn't like the old movies." Deborah faced him. "You know, like the good guys wear white hats and the bad guys wear black hats."

Deborah clapped him on the back. "Just like an old John Wayne movie, you mean?"

"Right. That would sure make our job easier."

Mike poured himself some water. "Except it isn't clear cut like black and white."

Carly sighed. "I know. I wish it was." She thought of the assumptions she had made about the people involved in this mystery. Had John Webster's death really solved anything? Doubt and suspicion had been Deborah's companions for all this time. Fear of exposure from Brandon. And after all was said and done, he was probably the murderer.

Maybe the solution to this crime wasn't in the dirty schemes Brandon was involved in. After all, were a few head of cattle and some missing saddle tack worth getting killed over, or worth killing for? Somehow Carly didn't think so.

She sat up straighter in her chair and broke the silence. "What if this isn't all about the cattle rustling and missing saddles? What if all this goes back to John Webster?"

Deborah made as if to protest this line of thought, but instead just sat there, her mouth hanging open in shock. Mike and Tom debated the question between themselves. Sarah cocked her head to one side, thinking about the suggestion.

They all looked like bad actors in a bad soap opera.

Carly rose and paced the area rug. "We've heard a lot about Brandon talking with some mystery man about stealing. But I also heard them allude to taking care of the last person who tried to stop them. Maybe, just maybe, for all that he was a nasty man, John Webster was killed because he tried to do the right thing? Perhaps for the first time in his life."

The room was silent until Deborah spoke quietly. "If that's true, then why was Brandon killed? We already know he tried to kill Sarah. He wasn't trying to do the right thing. And he's probably the one who killed John."

Suddenly the answer was clear to Carly. "Maybe because he didn't kill John Webster, but knew who did."

Chapter 23

Carly continued. "Let's consider what we know for sure, and I'll add in a few suppositions. We know this ranch exists because ranchers went bankrupt and had to sell out for less than their ranch was worth. Right, Deborah?" When Deborah nodded, she continued. "Okay. So, there were some hard feelings about that?" Again Deborah nodded. "Any threats against your father?" She nodded the third time. "Who specifically?"

Deborah thought for a moment before answering. "The Rodriguez family owned the north parcel. They sold because their herd got an infection. They asked my father to lend them money, but he said no." Seeing the frown on Carly's face, she hurried to explain. "It wasn't so he could steal their land from them. He didn't lend money to anyone on principle. Ranching was going through a slump right then, and my father knew he needed every penny he could get his hands on."

She reached into a drawer in the sideboard and rummaged around. Finally she stood, hands on hips. "I was sure I had that ledger book in there. Will you excuse me while I look in the study?"

Carly nodded. "Sure. Do you think it will help us figure out what's going on?"

"It will at least set my mind at ease about what I remember. This will only take me a minute."

Mike stood and paced the room. "This entire discussion is making me very nervous, Carly." He turned to face his wife. "Somehow you have managed once again to embroil yourself in another mystery."

Carly stood beside him, linking her arm in his, forcing him to stand still. "Well, it isn't like I went looking for this."

Mike's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "I know. You never do. But you still seem to find it."

Carly laid her hand on his arm. "I can't help it."

He pulled Carly close to him, and laid his chin on her head. "Someone has already gotten away with murder a couple of times if not more, and I don't think he'll stop there."

Tom cleared his throat, and Carly remembered they weren't alone in the room. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she turned around. Tom and Sarah were going through a hard enough time right now without watching public displays of affection. "Sorry, we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Tom grinned. "Actually, it's good to be encouraged by seeing a couple of old folks like you who are still in love."

Mike released Carly and strode around the table. He grabbed Tom by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet, holding him at arm's length. "What do you mean 'old folks'?" He pulled Tom into a bear hug. "I can still arm-wrestle you under the table, kiddo."

Tom laughed, and Carly was delighted to see Sarah join in. The atmosphere in the room brightened considerably as they waited for Deborah to return.

Deborah walked in at that moment, and looked at the four of them, her eyes resting on Carly.

Carly held up her hands in mock surrender. "Don't ask me. They just started acting silly."

Mike released Tom and returned to his seat at the table. "Did you find what you needed, Deborah?"

She held a ledger book in her hand. "Yes. It's the accounts of the ranch during the time my father was buying up the land around here. It shows what he paid for each parcel." She sat in her place and flipped through several pages before finding what she wanted. "My father paid a fair price for the parcel, even though it was at auction. He bid nearly double what the highest bid was. Still, Senor Rodriguez didn't quite see it that way. He threatened my father that very day, saying if he ever saw him again, he would kill him." She paused. "I don't think my father took him seriously, though. And when my father died, Senor Rodriguez came to the funeral. And no," she said, her smile wry, "he didn't dance on his grave."

"Okay, who else might have wanted retaliation against you or your family?" Carly persisted. "Because I think it all comes down to that."

Sarah leaned forward. "Why do you think that, Carly?"

"If we suppose John Webster was killed because he got wind of some scheme against the family, we need to ask what was the scheme? If it was something you folks consider serious, like cattle rustling, he would have waited to catch them red-handed, and then shot them without benefit of a trial. Am I right, Deborah?" Deborah nodded slowly. "If it was a threat to the family itself he would have gone to your father or grandfather, right?" Deborah nodded again. "But what if it had to do with mineral rights?"

Deborah sat up straighter in her chair, nodding too. "He'd have gone to the person and confronted them."

Carly buttoned her sweater against a sudden chill that swept down her spine. "And he ended up dead because of it."

Tom shook his head. "But why the missing feather, and how did it end up with Brandon?"

Carly sat back in her chair once again. "The feather was a message to the family that this was personal. Someone who knew the family well enough to know the feather would be missed. Unfortunately, because everyone suspected everyone else, the importance of the missing feather was, well, missed."

Sarah toyed with a spoon. "What was the significance of the missing feather?"

"The missing feather—" Carly began to answer, but did not finish.

A loud explosion rocked the room, and the room went black for the second time in two days.

Chapter 24

For a moment, Carly was too stunned to react. The china and crystal in the cabinets chinkled together, and the darkness threatened to swallow her whole.

Once again, Deborah spoke first. "It's okay. Remember, the generator will come on in about—"

Tom's voice sounded eerie coming from his dark corner. "The generator was already running."

Mike's disembodied voice came from somewhere near Carly. "Hold on, I've got a lighter in my pocket."

Carly peered through the gloom at him. "You don't smoke. Why would you carry a lighter?"

He flicked the igniter several times before it caught. "After the power went off the last time, I went looking for a match to light the lamp in the suite, and I found a lighter instead. I must have slipped it into my pocket without thinking."

A flicker of light from the chair next to Carly lit a small circle in the dark. A collective sigh of relief, as soft as a whisper, escaped from Carly, even though the glow was pitifully small in the large room.

"There are candles on the mantle there." Deborah pointed. "Let's light them and use them to help us find some lamps. I hope that explosion wasn't the generator."

Mike led the way to the mantle, and soon several tall candlesticks glowed brightly. Somehow the room seemed warmer and more familiar with even this small amount of light. Under Deborah's direction, the men led the way to the pantry where emergency oil lamps several large flashlights were stored. In a corner of the kitchen, they discovered a very frightened Louisa huddling, her apron pulled over her face as she muttered prayers in her native language.

"Oh, Senora Deborah, I am so glad to see you!" Her face was pale in the dim light. "Paco was coming to tell you he no find Meester Jonah. There was loud noise, and Paco ran out to see what it is. He not come back yet."

Deborah put her arm around Louisa's shoulders. "How long ago was that, Louisa?"

"I don't know. Right after loud noise. He tell me to stay here." Louisa's voice quaked with fright. "He not hurt, is he?"

Sarah moved to stand beside her. "Come with us, Louisa. I wouldn't want to be here in the dark, either."

"We'll find him, Louisa." Mike turned to Tom. "Why don't you and I see if we can fix the generator, then go look for him. Carly and Sarah can round up some more lamps."

Deborah took one of the lamps. "I'll find more lamps and turn off whatever lights we can to conserve energy." Mike and Tom nodded. "I don't know where Jonah might have gone." Deborah turned to Louisa. "How about you get us something to eat? Everyone will be hungry when they get back."

Louisa nodded. "I will make Paco's favorite. Pozolle polla."

Deborah hugged Louisa. "Sounds good. Chicken and rice."

Sarah stepped forward. "Okay, Mike and Tom have their assignment. Deborah and Louisa have their work. What does that leave for Carly and me to do?"

Mike thought for a moment. "You can bring in wood for the fire. We're going to need lots to get us through this evening and possibly tomorrow as well." He extended a hand to Carly. "We each have an important job to do. I wish I didn't have to ask you to go out there at all. But I'm not coming up with a better idea."

Carly quirked her head toward the front of the house. "Come on, Sarah, let's go. We have a lot of wood to bring in before it gets full dark." Carly returned to the foyer and pulled on a heavy jacket hanging on the coat rack. She glanced down at her tennis shoes. "I don't have anything warmer to put on my feet."

Sarah adjusted a hat over her curls. "Don't worry. You should be fine so long as you don't go beyond the wood pile."

Tom patted Sarah on the shoulder. "I won't be long."

She kissed him chastely on the cheek. "I'll keep the lamp in the window for you."

Carly opened the door. "That's a funny saying."

Sarah laughed. "It's from an old movie we watched on our first date. The sea captain's wife always kept a lamp burning in the window at night when her husband was at sea."

Carly nodded and Mike drew her close to him, whispering in her ear. She smiled and touched her lips briefly to his.

Sarah stepped outside. "Race you to the shed."

Carly laughed and planted a kiss on Mike's cheek. "Got to go if I'm going to win that race."

She dashed off across the yard after Sarah, excited to be on a new adventure, but the somber looks on Mike's and Tom's faces reminded her this was serious business. A man had been killed, Sarah had nearly been killed, and now Paco was missing.

Yes, indeed, this was serious business.

Carly pumped her arms and legs, trying to catch up with Sarah. The snow fell heavily again, and Sarah stopped in her tracks. Carly collided with her, and the two women giggled as they teetered back and forth. Although the woodshed was only about a hundred yards from the house, Carly had to squint to see its outline against the snow. The temperature had dropped again, and the wind had picked up. Even the sun seemed intent on staying away, hidden behind banks of dark clouds, just a small flicker against the horizon far to the west.

Sarah pointed towards the end of the house. "The shed is at the end of the house. Follow close. This snow is making it hard to see where you're going."

Carly followed closely, this time without benefit of snowshoes or a rope. The snow swirled, threatening to block her eyes and nostrils. She definitely felt more comfortable when she was tied to Tom earlier in the day.

Still, her destination was just around the end of the house here. No way she could get lost.

Walking with her head down, trying to keep the snow from blowing into her eyes, Carly watched for Sarah's footprints. The snow blew around in little eddies like miniature tornadoes, making visibility poor. She kept the house on her right until she came to the end of the verandah. Then she straightened and looked around, not sure where to go next.

She couldn't see Sarah.

She couldn't see the house.

She turned around, trying to see her tracks, but they were already filled with snow.

She turned back the way she was headed, straining to see Sarah.

Nothing.

She turned to the left, hoping the woodshed was near enough to see.

Still nothing.

What to do? If she kept walking and missed the shed, she could be walking to her death. Past the house, the only thing between her and the open mesa was the bunkhouse. If she missed that, beyond the immediate ranch yard, there were no fences for landmarks, no buildings. Nothing, except ravines, and gulches, and open mesa.

And a killer who had already gotten away with at least two murders.

Tom struggled to keep his eyes on the generator shed housing. With the snow swirling and the wind creating little eddies of ice pellets, he was having a hard time. At one point, he stopped and turned his back to the wind as a gust threatened to blow him off his feet. He hunched his shoulders, pulling his collar up around his ears.

His father was close behind, his hand on his shoulder. When the touch slipped, Tom stopped immediately. No sense in getting lost out here. He pivoted in his tracks, holding his breath until he saw his father's face grinning at him.

"I slipped on some ice. Didn't you hear me calling to you?"

Tom shook his head, shouting over the roaring wind. "No. I stopped when I didn't feel your hand."

His dad looked around the yard, worry creasing his forehead. "I'm glad you did. I hope the girls will be careful."

Tom nodded. "They don't have as far to go as we do. Still, I hope they quit after a load or two."

His father put his head down against the wind. "Let's get this thing fixed so they don't have to bring in much wood at all. We still have to go look for Jonah. And Paco."

Tom grinned and clapped his father on the shoulder. "No pressure, Dad. No pressure."

Sarah reached the woodshed first and raised her hands in victory. She wheeled about, expecting to see Carly close behind.

Nothing.

She took a step back, feeling the rough wooden door of the shed solidly behind her. She strained to see Carly.

No sign of her.

She called Carly's name, hearing her words echo off the hills around the yard.

No response.

She waved her arms a couple of times, hopeful if Carly could see movement she would respond.

Still nothing.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, quickly snatched away by the gale-force winds buffeting her body. Pulling her scarf up over her mouth and nose, she gained a small respite from the biting cold and blinding snow.

The wind let up slightly, and Sarah turned her face into the blizzard again. Suddenly their impromptu race seemed childish and foolhardy. She wished she had simply walked alongside Carly.

She wished she didn't have to be out in this storm.

She wished she had found a good reason to never have come to New Mexico at all.

If she could just turn back the clock—

If she could go back in time a couple of days, she and Tom would still be all right.

Her breath seeped up over the scarf, creating a mist that froze instantly to her nose and eyelashes. Blinking to clear her vision, she sighed heavily, resulting in more icicles on her lashes as she tried to blink away tears.

Thinking of what could have been would do her no good. She took a tentative step back towards the house. Torn between her responsibility to bring wood to keep the house and its occupants warm, and her fear for Carly's safety, she paused. Bringing back a few sticks of wood might keep the fire going until the men could fix the generator, and she could still look for Carly. After all, Carly was sensible. She'd realize they were separated, then she'd turned around and return to the house.

That would be the smart thing to do. Go back to the beginning, and wait for her.

She pulled open the heavy plank door, and stooped inside to pick up several small logs. Balancing them in the crook of her arms, she nudged the door closed. Squinting against the snow, she looked for her footprints to retrace her steps to the house.

The setting sun cast dark shadows across the snow, making the prints almost impossible to see. The snow was coming down fast enough to fill the indentations quickly. She surveyed the area, noting the large shape that was the barn. Sniffing the wind, she detected fragments of smoke, which could only be coming from the house. Feeling with her feet, she headed back towards the source of the wood smoke.

After a dozen steps, she stopped again and turned around, searching for some sign of Carly. Sarah's heart skipped a beat as she considered the deadly storm swirling around him.

She couldn't lose Carly.

And she didn't want to lose Tom.

While she had no control over what Tom might decide, she had control over her part in his decisions. She needed to trust in Tom's love for her. Just like she was now taking one step at a time as she moved towards the house, she had to take one step at a time in her relationship with Tom.

While she thought things had changed in the last few days because of what was going on here at the ranch, really nothing was different. The ghosts hovering between Tom and her had always been there. They just hadn't taken the time to see them until forced.

Tom was the man for her. He would probably wait as long as she needed until she came to the same realization.

At least, she hoped he would wait.

Sarah turned and continued to the house. If they were going to survive, she needed to get the wood back to the house. Without heat and a way to cook, no one would be able to look for Carly. And perhaps she wasn't really lost. Maybe she had already returned to the house.

She could only hope and pray she was safe. Because if she wasn't—

Chapter 25

Tom reached the shed door, his breath hanging like fog around him. He turned, glad to see his father directly behind him. Beyond that, swirling snow. Pulling open the shed door, he cursed softly at the scene within. His flashlight, although not very bright, lit the room well enough for him to see the carnage inside. The generator was at the center of the loud explosion. He stepped from the harsh elements into the relative quiet of the small lean-to.

"Come in, Dad. It's not much warmer in here, but at least we're out of the wind."

His father stomped his feet inside the door, flapping his hands like a crippled chicken. He grinned at his son. "Trying to keep warm."

Tom grinned back, his face a frozen mask. He rubbed a glove over his cheeks, patting them lightly. "I feel like I've been to the dentist and gotten a shot of Novacaine."

Tom walked over to what remained of the generator, which wasn't much. His dad shut the door and followed close behind. Mostly just the casing and a small puddle of oil on the floor. Black burn marks showed the power of the explosion. As Tom bent to examine what looked like a footprint in the soot, he heard a groan from the dark corner.

He straightened and shone his flashlight where he thought the sound had come from. "Who's there?" he asked in what he hoped was his most threatening voice. His stomach knotted and his knees shook.

Mike peered into the dimly-lit corner. "What did you hear?"

Tom put his index finger to his lips. Another groan. Cautiously stepping over metal shards, careful not to slip in the oil stain, he made his way toward the sound. Coming around the corner of what had been the generator housing, he spied the toe of a cowboy boot. Half-afraid to look, for fear he wouldn't find the foot attached to anything, he drew a deep breath and called out again, "Is anyone there?"

Hearing a noise, Tom looked back at his father, who hefted a large wrench in one hand. Tom nodded. "Be prepared, like the Boy Scouts."

His dad thwacked the palm of his left hand with the wrench. "Better safe than sorry."

Again a muffled groan came from the corner. Tom gently prodded the cowboy boot, and was relieved at the resistance. He envisioned finding body parts.

He hurried around the corner, brought up short at the spectacle before him. Jonah, bound and gagged, looking as if he'd been roughly tossed into the corner. Whoever destroyed the generator didn't care whether Jonah lived or died. The only thing that saved him, it appeared, was that the explosion blew away from Jonah instead of in his direction. The metal generator housing shielded him from the brunt of the explosion.

"Dad, it's Jonah. He's hurt."

Tom bent down and removed the duct tape from Jonah's mouth. His father strode to Jonah's feet to untie the ropes binding him. Tom rolled the man onto his side to free his hands.

Jonah took a deep breath and licked his lips, now raw from the tape. Jonah groaned softly and struggled against his bonds, making the task of untying him more cumbersome. In addition, Tom struggled to hold the flashlight so he could see what he was doing while he loosened the knots. And his fingers were already stiff with the cold, despite the fact he wore gloves. Finally, frustrated by his inept efforts, he tore the gloves off and threw them against the wall. His fingers, although nearly blue from the cold, managed to loosen the coarse ropes enough so Jonah could slip his hands out.

Jonah flexed his fingers. "At last! I thought I would die of the cold out here!"

"What happened, Jonah?" Tom extended his arms for Jonah to grab. Hoisting the cowboy to his feet, Tom checked him quickly for other injuries. "You look okay."

His father grabbed an elbow to steady the cowboy. "Did you see who did this to you?"

Jonah shook his head, then rubbed the base of his neck. "It hurts to even move my head. When I find the guy who did this, I'll. . . "

Tom pulled his gloves back on. His fingers were so stiff they felt like they would fall off if he moved them. "What are you doing out here, Jonah?"

"I came to check the fuel level on the generator. When I got here, the door was open a little bit. Didn't think nothin' of it. Thought the wind had just blowed the door, you know?" Jonah rubbed his forehead. "I came in. Saw this guy bending over the generator. I shouted at him." He put his hand to the back of his head then looked at his hand. Dark and wet. Blood. He winced. "He just mumbled, and I came over to see what he was doing. He swung at me with some kind of pipe and caught me on the back of the head. That's the last I remember until the explosion." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "I thought I was a-gonner. Pieces of metal and bits of wood fell on me. "

Tom's father reached out to steady Jonah, who leaned heavily against the two men. After a few minutes, Jonah took a step, then two. Finally he was able to stand without help, and within several more minutes, said he was fit enough to get back to the big house.

Tom wasn't so sure. "You're still looking pale, Jonah. We'll make sure you get back there. Then we'll go look for Paco."

Jonah moved towards the door. "Where is he?" Sagging at the knees, he leaned heavily against Tom's father. "Seems like we're havin' a terrible time keepin' track of folks around here." He peered at Tom. "Maybe your dad needs to come up with a program for that."

Tom chuckled. "You've got a weird sense of humor." He grasped the man's arm. "Hold on, I've got you." He adjusted Jonah's weight on his shoulder. "We don't know. He's been missing for a while now. We were going to see to the generator, then go look for him."

His father hooked Jonah's other arm over his shoulder, and together they helped the injured cowhand through the doorway.

Jonah's face pulled into a frown. "What is goin' on in this place? It's like it's cursed or something!" Pushing open the door, he peered into the thickening storm. "People missing and people turning up dead, then this explosion, and me gettin' knocked out. This place isn't safe."

Tom panted at the exertion. "Speaking of you, Jonah. Do you know who this man was who hit you and then blew up the generator?"

"He looked real familiar. Tell the truth, when I first saw him, I thought it was Brandon, rose from the dead. Kind of looked like him. Tall and skinny, with the same kind of hat Brandon used to wear. 'Cept it was black, not brown. But can't say for sure that I know him. Can't tell you his name, anyways."

Tom considered this information as he half-carried, half-dragged Jonah through the door. Jonah sounded genuine, but still. . .

They stepped out of the shelter of the shed into the wind, which pounded on them, as though trying to beat them back into the shed. Ted leaned into the onslaught, amazed at how much snow had fallen in the few minutes they'd been in the shed. His father grunted as he lost his footing in the snow, going down on one knee. Tom caught all of Jonah's weight on himself.

His dad brushed himself off. "I guess tennis shoes weren't made for ice and snow." He nodded in the direction of the house. "Let's go before our feet freeze."

Tom laid a hand on Jonah's shoulder. When Jonah turned, his face screwed up in a grimace of pain, Tom smiled to encourage him, then led the way back through the knee-deep snow to the ranch house.

He couldn't see much of anything. Blowing and new-fallen snow completely filled in their footprints. He only knew where he was going because he was familiar with the layout of the yard. Once or twice he stumbled, slipping on ice beneath the snow. At least once Jonah slipped, falling to his knees in the icy blanket. Somehow his father managed to keep his footing. Tom wished there were lights on in the house to use as a beacon in the blizzard. There wouldn't be any benefit in them getting lost in the snow, too.

Carly wandered in the swirling snow, not knowing where she was going. She pulled her hood up around her ears, but still the snow sifted down her neck. Her feet were cold and wet, sneakers being little use in the knee-deep snow. Several times she floundered in a deep drift, and once she lost her footing and fell over a small bush.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been lost when she finally ran into a fence. She sagged in relief against the wooden pole. She sat in the snow, her back facing the wind, as she fought to catch her breath. She beat her hands against her sides to keep warm, but soon she couldn't feel her toes any more.

She would die for sure if she stayed where she was, so Carly staggered to her feet and forced herself to keep moving. She felt her way along the barbed wire, catching her mittens and piercing a finger at one point.

Great. Tetanus on top of everything else.

Pulling off her mitt, she sucked her finger until the bleeding stopped.

As she walked, her hands following the life-line of barbed wire, Carly considered the sequence of events that brought her to this point.

Maybe she should have erred on the side of caution and insisted on tethering herself to Sarah.

Maybe she should have led the way to the woodshed. But if she had, perhaps Sarah would be the one lost out here.

Carly thought of her daughter and grandchildren, bringing their smiling faces to her mind. Her nose was numb, and she couldn't move her lips any more. Fingers tingled and toes hurt. Probably frostbite. She had to keep moving.

Brushing snow out of her eyes, Carly continued through the knee-deep snow. All around her, the world was so white she squinted against the brightness. Her head ached, her knees wobbled, and she stumbled more often.

Just when she thought circumstances couldn't get any worse, they did.

She ran out of fence.

Panic rose in her throat. She held back the tears filling the backs of her eyes. The last thing she needed right now was for her eyes to freeze shut. She stamped her feet, pounded her thighs with her fists, anything to keep warm. Her breath escaped in huge clouds of white, which the wind snatched away.

She peered back the way she had come, but once again the snow and wind had obliterated her tracks. She couldn't see the last post of the fence, even though she knew it was right beside her. She reached out to reassure herself of its existence, and her hands met with air. She wheeled around, grasping in front of her with her hands, stepping cautiously in the drifts. She had to find the fence. It led somewhere. If this was the wrong direction, she could turn around and follow it the other way.

But the fence was gone, seemingly into thin air.

Along with her hopes.

Carly fell to her knees in the snow. Exhausted, discouraged, and frightened, she had never felt so alone.

Straining her eyes to see some evidence of the location of the house or another building and seeing none, Carly gave up. Keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her, she scanned the surface for evidence of a path, a fence, even a ravine—anything that would help her. Several times her feet went out from underneath her and she fell to her knees. The hard-packed snow made getting up more difficult.

She was so tired.

She shook her fist at the storm. "I won't quit, and you can't beat me. Do you hear me?" Her voice, flung away by the wind, didn't even have enough grace to echo. She filled her lungs with air and screamed as loud as she could. "I won't quit, and you can't beat me!"

She sank to the ground, all her strength gone.

She wouldn't quit.

She wouldn't.

Sarah watched through the dining room window for signs of Tom, Mike, and Carly. Beyond the verandah, the snow whirled like dust devils. She wiped at the fog on the window that seemed intent on blocking her view.

Deborah came into the room bearing lamps and candles.

Sarah turned, her brow furrowed. "Where are they? Shouldn't they be back by now?"

Deborah came to stand by her side. "I'm sure they are fine. They have probably reached the generator shed and are putting it back into service right now."

Louisa stood on her other side. "Si, Senorita. And perhaps they have found Senora Carly."

Deborah turned to Sarah. "Why don't you sit near the fire? You're still cold."

"Si, Senora. You can keep the fire strong so we will stay warm in here." Louisa made poking motions with her hand. "Is better to keep room warm."

Sarah moved to the hearth and grabbed the fire iron. She nudged at a log threatening to roll out of the fire basket. While outside her expression was calm, inside her mind berated her for somehow managing to lose Carly in the storm, and for treating Tom so harshly, doubting his love for her. How could she have been so foolish as to think time was what she needed? What she really needed was to find Carly. To love and be loved. To occupy her mind with planning a wedding. To get married and start a family. Sarah sighed deeply and prodded at the errant log again.

How was she going to explain how she lost Carly when she didn't understand what happened herself?

Chapter 26

Carly couldn't remember when she had been this cold or this scared before. All around her was whiteness. Blinding. Swirling. Suffocating. She closed her eyes once more against the glare, against the sharp pellets of ice that were flying around her face. Her hands were numb, as were her feet. She slipped on ice hidden beneath the snow and fell to her knees. Her knees screamed in pain. She was in real trouble, and her body just wanted to lay down and sleep. She lay on her side, the snow cold against her cheek. If she could just sleep for a few minutes, she would have enough strength to carry on.

No! Her brain screamed at her. Get up! Move or you'll die! She willed her body to move, to push on. Slowly she sat up then put one foot flat on the ground. Using her hand as a lever, she pushed against her knee, gaining enough strength to stand once more.

Squinting her eyes in an effort to see, she took a tentative step forward. Then another, then another. Was that a light out there? Was that the house? Or the barn? Or even the bunkhouse? Unsure, she plodded on, inexorably toward—toward what?

Suddenly she stopped, her ears straining to pick up what sounded like a voice. Did someone call her name? Or was she merely wishing to hear another voice so much she was hallucinating?

After a few moments of not hearing anything but the roar of the wind in her ears, she continued blindly on her trek. Carefully, afraid of slipping again, fearful she'd step over the edge of solid ground, she put one foot in front of the other, feeling with the front foot before putting her weight on it. She took no more than a dozen steps when her front foot didn't meet with a solid surface. She stood poised on one foot, uncertain where to step next. She stepped back. She had come to the end of the road. A gulch or a ravine lay in front of her. She had missed the shed and the bunkhouse. Now she was on the open mesa.

Alone.

In a snow storm.

Panic rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. The sound of footsteps on the crusty snow came from behind her. Afraid to look, but more afraid not to, she slowly turned. She'd heard coyotes howling since she'd been out here, and half-expected to see their yellow eyes glinting at her through the snow.

Instead, she saw the upright shadow of a person.

She was saved! Perhaps Mike had come looking for her. She knew he would. He wouldn't leave her out here by herself.

But the shape came closer and materialized into a man.

A man with a black ten-gallon hat.

She was in even bigger trouble.

That hat belonged to the man she had seen talking with Brandon below her window.

Alone,

In a snow storm.

Near the edge of a ravine.

And this man was most likely Brandon's murderer.

He stepped closer to her, an ugly sneer contorting his face into a frozen mask of threat and violence. As though frozen in her tracks, Carly stood still. Should she run? Call for help?

Nothing made sense to her numb brain and body.

Would he shoot her? Or simply push her over the edge?

Carly couldn't hold back the irony of her situation. Many people had tried to push her over the edge in the past, only this time it was literal.

Perhaps if she asked, he might shoot her and put her out of her misery.

The closer he got, the more he looked like Brandon. Which wasn't possible, of course. Brandon was dead.

So who was this man?

When he got within arm's reach, he lifted his hands, planted them on her shoulders, and before she had a chance to resist, pushed. Over and over she tumbled as she went down the steep incline of the ravine. The grey sky and the white snow revolved around her as she fought to stop the momentum. But she wasn't successful, and instead of slowing down, picked up speed. When she hit the bottom, she collided with a snow-covered rock, knocking the air out of her. As everything went dark, she wondered if this was what dying felt like.

Tom was busy fighting his own battle, one that didn't appear he would win anytime soon. The two hundred yard journey from the shed to the ranch house felt like a lifetime. Jonah leaned heavily against him, supported on the other side by his father, and the three men slipped and slid on the ice that lay beneath a thin sheath of snow. The dark sky mirrored his thoughts, and without electricity to light their way, they were literally stumbling around blind. Without some help, this was a battle they were sure to lose.

And through all this, he worried about Sarah and Carly. With any luck, he'd get back to the house and find out they'd returned safely with enough wood to keep the house warm until either the power came back on or help arrived because the generator wasn't repairable. At least not with the few tools and no parts available.

He was bone-tired, his eyes were weary, and he had trouble feeling his feet and his hands. He wanted to lie down and rest, but willed himself on, knowing that not only was his life in the balance, but so was Jonah's, and maybe his father's, too.

When he didn't think he could take another step, a small pin prick of light off to his left flashed through the swirling snow. A lamp or just wishful thinking? He blinked his eyes several times, squinting through the storm, willing the light to reappear. Now the flicker moved back and forth as if floating on air.

A signal!

He nodded in the direction of the light. "Dad, somebody's signaling to us."

His father nodded, his mouth a taut line, his cheeks pale, icicle clinging to his eyelashes.

Changing direction to intercept the signal, they drew closer until he could make out a shadowy figure holding a lantern.

A voice carried to them on the wind. "Tom! Mike! Carly! Over here!"

Sarah's voice, ever sweet and full of hope, now beckoned him like a beacon in the night. He hoisted Jonah a little higher on his shoulder and increased his pace. Jonah and Mike stumbled along beside him.

Tom was so intent on watching the light and listening to Sarah's voice he completely forgot about the steps leading up to the verandah. He stubbed his toe in the bottom one and went down on his hands and knees, Jonah on top of him and Mike on top of him.

Sarah ran to them, one arm holding a load of blankets, the other hand the lantern. "Where's Carly?" She looked past the three men into the swirling mess, panic in her voice.

Tom looked at her. "You mean she isn't here?"

Mike's voice interrupted before Sarah could respond. "What's happened to Carly?"

Deborah came out onto the verandah. "What's going on? Who do we have here?"

Louisa joined them, and soon the battery of questions flew so fast Tom couldn't keep up.

His father shrugged Jonah into a chair on the deck and headed for the steps.

Tom grabbed him by the arm. "Dad, you can't go out there alone. You'll get lost."

His father glared at him a moment then nodded as he stared out at the expanse of white covering the surrounding area. "I can't stay here and do nothing."

Sarah helped Tom to a chair, her eyes red from crying, her hair damp at her temples and neck. "I'm sorry, Tom. We got separated on the way to the wood pile." She drew a ragged breath. "I hoped she'd turn around and be here when I got back."

Louisa stepped forward. "Where ees Paco? You no find him?"

Deborah hooked an arm beneath Jonah's shoulder. "We need to get him inside quickly before he goes into shock." She quirked her chin toward Louisa. "Help me with him, and we'll find Paco."

Between the two women, they carried the sagging Jonah into the front room, taking Sarah's previous place on the sofa. Sarah and Mike supported Tom, who felt as though his knees would give out under him at any moment. After settling the three men into chairs, the women provided blankets and a glass of brandy to each of the hardy explorers.

Tom sipped his drink then leaned his head back against his easy chair, relishing the heat on his feet and face. Exhaustion beckoned, and his eyes closed.

Sarah's gaze never left Tom's face. Her worst fears had been cast away.

He was safe.

The room fell silent as the men basked in the heat from the fire, but with every crackle of flame, every log that burned, guilt and shame built inside Sarah at her failure to protect Carly.

When Tom's eyes closed again, she raised her hand to get everyone's attention, waiting until the room fell silent. "Carly was behind me on the way to the wood shed. I turned the corner to the shed, and when I looked back, she wasn't there. I thought maybe she had come back to the house." She hung her head, shame threatening to suffocate her.

She may have managed to kill Carly because she wasn't paying attention. Her heart ached for Mike, knowing how much he loved Carly. And so did she. And Tom. And what about Denise and the grandkids? She choked back a sob.

Mike rose from his chair and crossed the room to stand by her, laying his hand on her shoulder.

Sarah looked up at him, tears blurring her vision. Worry had chiseled deep lines in his face.

Mike swiped at a tear that had trickled down her cheek. "Carly's okay, I know she is. She's tough. And smart." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple working up and down. "We're going to find her."

Mike returned to his seat, and Sarah's heart ached even more as she felt some of the pain he had to be feeling. She'd experienced the same worry and doubt just minutes before when Tom was out there. The snow was falling so heavily that going outside now was to risk life and limb.

Deborah spoke up. "Mike, it's pretty bad out there. Past the end of the house, there's only the bunkhouse, and then nothing. She might be safe in the barn, or in the bunkhouse. If not ...." she let the unspoken words hang there for a moment. "Either way, there's no benefit to going out in that storm to look for her."

Sarah's heart crumbled. Deborah was right. But knowing in her head didn't make her heart accept the truth any easier.

Tom moved to Sarah's side and sat next to her, dark circles beneath his eyes as he studied her. She noted the way his jaw muscles clenched and unclenched. When she reached her arm around him, she felt his shivering. "Here, let me warm you up. Lean on me."

Tom leaned his head on her shoulder, and she stroked his hair, still damp from the snow. Rubbing his back with her hand, Sarah was pleased when he relaxed against her. Louisa ministered to Jonah, making sure he drank some hot tea to warm him up. Deborah brought in more logs from the wood box on the verandah, adding some to the fire, dumping the rest in the box on the hearth.

Everybody acting so normally, when nothing was normal at all.

Not for her. Not for Mike.

And not for Carly.

Mike's world crashed in around him, like he was in a death spiral, and there was no pulling out. He listened, all emotion drained from him like water from a leaking barrel, while the others discussed the storm, Jonah's condition, the generator, and the likelihood of Carly's safe return.

All he knew for sure was Carly was out there, and he couldn't sit here and do nothing. Mike lifted his head and looked around the room. No one was looking at him as they huddled across the room, talking amongst themselves. If it was up to him, he'd charge out in the storm.

And probably end up getting just as lost as Carly.

But how could he simply sit here and do nothing?

Chapter 27

When Carly next opened her eyes, she couldn't recall what had happened. Why was she lying flat in the snow staring at the sky? Why did she feel like she'd been floated downstream in a barrel and tossed over Niagara Falls? Everything hurt—from the tips of her toes to her hair follicles. Even her eyeballs hurt when she blinked.

Then the memory came back in a rush—she had been pushed over a cliff by a man who looked like Brandon! Same build, same height, same swarthy features and practiced sneer.

Had he returned from the dead to haunt her?

No, that was silly.

Ghosts weren't real.

At least, not real the way numbers were.

And Brandon had a number—one. One day he'd been dead, laid out in the cold shed behind the house.

So why would this stranger have done this to her? She didn't even know this man, yet he tried to kill her.

Gingerly she moved her arms and legs, making sure nothing was broken. All around was quiet. Thankfully, the snow had stopped, and pinpoints of light filled the night sky. Stars. Millions of them. Somehow even their faint light was a comfort to her.

She was pleased nothing more serious than aches accompanied her when she sat up. Her head throbbed, and her back was a little sore, but no serious damage appeared to have been done. She stayed seated for a few minutes, getting her bearings. She had to figure a way out of this mess. Then she stood, swaying a little uncertainly at first. She looked down at the snow. A red stain. Blood. Putting a hand to her head, her fingers came away stained. She must have hit something on the way down. Maybe a tree stump or a rock. Still, she gained strength with each passing moment. She needed to get back to the ranch house. Mike would be worried sick about her.

The thought of him worrying brought tears to her eyes. Despite his dire predictions, she never intended to worry him.

But somehow she always did.

Carly looked around, able to distinguish the cliff she had been pushed over. She had at least a forty-foot climb to the top. She took a deep breath, and began. The incline had iced over since her fall, and there were few toeholds or finger holds. She stabbed at the snow with the toe of her sneaker trying to create a small indentation for her shoe to catch. Each time her foot hit the ice, stabbing pain traveled up her leg. Carly wasn't sure whether this was good or not. She didn't have much experience with frostbite. Still, believing any feeling should be better than none, she pushed on past the pain.

She managed to dig several toeholds and found some lumps in the snow for finger holds. She climbed—or rather scrabbled—about halfway up when her right sneaker slipped on the ice, and she slid down to the bottom again. Discouraged, worn out, and near despair, she released the despair building within her. Tears warmed her cheeks before becoming ice pellets as the cold air froze them to her face like statues in a winter wonderland.

Her hair blew into her eyes, and she reached up to push the errant tresses away, when, for the second time that evening, she heard a sound behind her. Was he coming back to finish her off? Or were coyotes surrounding her, drawn by the smell of blood?

Determined not to go down without a fight this time, she whirled to face whatever was there. Something knocked her down in the snow again, flat on her back. She balled her hands into fists, intent on getting in a few punches before she was finished off.

The two ranch dogs stood over her, their tongues hanging out. Snow covered their coats, and ice crystals hung in clusters from the hair on the end of their ears. Ice even encrusted their paws. If she'd had the energy, she'd have felt badly for them, but then she recalled Brandon's remark that they were outside dogs. She remembered hearing about dogs that curl up in a ball, nose under tail and just let the snow fall on them.

Whatever the case, she was glad they were here. She had every confidence they would lead her to safety. She sat up, pushing them playfully away. She petted them and briefly scratched their ears. They seemed content simply to sit there enjoying her attentions.

But Carly was not content to sit. She wanted to get into the warmth of the house. The circle of family and friends. The safety of Mike's embrace. She stood again. "C'mon, guys. Let's go home."

In response, one of the dogs grabbed Carly's gloved hand and pulled. Her glove slid off, and the dog backed away with his prize in his mouth, as though taunting her to chase him.

Carly was too tired to play. Disappointed, the dog sat down. The other dog tried to wrestle the glove away, and a short game of tug of war ensued. Finally, the second dog managed to secure the prize and ran off, her red woolen glove in its mouth. The first dog gave up on the game and sat down again.

Carly tried again. "C'mon. Let's go home."

Still he sat there, cocking his head from one side to the other, as though trying to decipher what she wanted him to do. She sighed, wishing she knew how to speak 'dog'. If he was anything like Doc, her cat, he probably knew key words. Doc knew the word 'treat', as well as 'supper', and 'brush'.

She tried these out on the dog. "Treat?"

No response.

"Supper?"

Nothing.

"Bone?" Still nothing.

Finally, in desperation, she said, "Home?"

The dog looked at her for a moment and then bounded off.

Carly called, "Wait for me!"

The animal acted like she hadn't spoken. She struggled to keep up with the four-legged beast, falling behind with every step, until finally the only way she knew which way to go was by following the prints in the snow.

She felt like Hansel and Gretel of fairy tale fame following a trail of bread crumbs. Or in her case, dog print crumbs.

Unlike her earlier sortie in the snow when Sarah's footprints filled in too quickly with the blowing snow, the dog's prints remained clear. By now the animal had disappeared over the rise, and she stumbled along, her feet heavier with each step. She slogged through the snow, wishing for a place to rest. A shovel. A warm fire. Something to drink.

Just as she was ready to give up, too exhausted to take another step, another dark shape loomed in front of her. Had the mystery man come back to finish her off? She stopped dead in her tracks, not wanting to get too close. She refused to make his task any easier than necessary.

She squinted against the glare from the snow. The shape wasn't a man but a small shed. Relieved at finally finding shelter, she walked the perimeter until she found the door which she pulled open. Stepping inside, she didn't even bother to see what was in there. She really didn't care. She simply wanted to get in out of the cold. Anything else, she'd deal with later.

Pulling the door shut, her glance took in the empty shed. Inside was too dark to see anything else, so she simply sat down, laid her head back against the wall, and promptly fell asleep.

When she awoke, she had a cramp in her neck. Her eyes felt gritty like sand, and she was really hungry. She stood slowly, letting her cold and stiff muscles warm up a little before she got her bearings. She beat her hands against her thighs to warm them and stomped her feet a little to get the blood flowing again. What she wouldn't give for a hot drink right now.

When she had limbered up enough to begin her trek back to the ranch house, she opened the door. The sun was just beginning to come up over the horizon, which meant she had been in the shed all night. Stepping out the door, she looked back at her resting place for the night, grateful for the shelter and the rest.

Her blood ran cold at the sight within and her knees wobbled, threatening to dump her in the snow.

Brandon's body lay on the floor, mere feet from where she had slept.

She shivered. She could have tripped over him. She beat a hasty retreat and closed the door securely behind her.

As she turned to leave, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Biting her lip to hold in a scream, she turned around slowly.

The man in the ten-gallon hat.

Mike looked up. Tom and Sarah weren't in sight. Probably spending some private time in another room. Deborah and Louisa fussed over Jonah, tucking in his blanket, rubbing his hands to warm them.

He rose, knees and back stiff, and walked to the dining room door, making sure it closed behind him. He needed to do something. Anything. The specific action didn't matter. So long as he could convince himself he was helping Carly.

Looking down the hallway towards the kitchen, he noted the closed door to the library. The front entryway was lit by an oil lantern on a table. He picked up the light, walked to the dining room, and set the lantern on the windowsill. Pulling back the lace curtain, he peered out into the darkening yard.

The snow swirled around in mini-whirlwinds, obliterating his vision of everything beyond the window. The lantern threw a glow over the verandah and onto the snow. If Carly couldn't see the house, maybe she could see the light.

At least he had done something. He hated feeling so helpless, so dependent.

Hearing voices from down the hall, he walked to the library and knocked on the door. Tom's voice bid him enter. He pushed the door open and peeked in. Tom and Sarah sat on the sofa. Tom's arm looped over her shoulders. For a moment, he thought of the countless times he and Carly had sat in a similar position, watching a fireplace or a television or listening to music. He swallowed hard. "Just wanted to make sure you two were okay."

Tom stood, his face flushed. "We're fine, Dad. I was just coming to check on you."

Mike sat in a chair facing the fire. "I just feel like I need to do something. So I put a lantern in the dining room window."

"Whatever you need, you know I'm there for you."

Mike nodded. "I know."

Tom sat forward. "We need to figure out how to find Carly."

Mike gazed into the fireplace. The flames licked at the logs. "At least the snow has stopped."

A soft sob escaped from Sarah.

Mike tossed her a quick smile. "It isn't your fault, Sarah. Carly's strong. She'll be all right."

She nodded.

He continued. "Why don't you see if you can rustle us up something to eat?"

She stood and rubbed her hands together. "Good idea. Thank you."

Mike waited until the young woman left the room. When the door closed, he continued. "Carly is strong and stubborn, but she's also not used to this kind of snow. And she's not exactly dressed for the weather."

Tom nodded. "Seems our biggest worry is frostbite."

"I agree. So what do you suggest?"

Tom leaned over and picked up the fire tongs hanging on a hook on the stone fireplace. He poked at the burning log and added another to the bed of embers. "We should ask Deborah. Maybe she has some ideas how Carly could get lost and what direction she might head."

"Sounds like a good idea." Mike leaned back in his chair. "Anything else on your mind?"

Tom shook his head. "It can wait."

Mike leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other knee. "We have some time. Did you and Sarah make up?"

Tom nodded. "Apparently so."

"Apparently so? Aren't you sure?"

Tom reclined into the sofa, one arm stretched along the back. "When I was out in the snow, trying to get to the shed and the generator, I had some time to think about what was fair for Sarah. I decided I was willing to wait until she was ready to marry me."

Mike nodded. "And what changed?"

"I'm not certain. But when I told her, she seemed to think maybe I was having second thoughts. Which I'm not."

"Maybe she's just feeling bad about Carly. She thinks it's her fault she's lost."

Tom shook his head. "I think she's feeling bad about something. I'm just not sure it's about Carly."

Chapter 28

"You are one tough broad." The stranger's snarling voice made Carly's blood run even colder, and he reached to grab her arm before she could run. When she tried to scream, he clamped a dirty, calloused hand over her mouth to stifle her. "Try that again, and you'll die the hard way." His breath was sour with alcohol and poor hygiene.

Carly's stomach churned, and she knew he was serious. He'd already killed at least one person, Brandon. And she had no idea what had happened to Paco, or Tom, or even Jonah. And what about John Webster?

She had to buy some time so she could come up with a plan. But how?

As she was considering her options, she saw another man out of the corner of her eye. Maybe help was on its way. As he got closer, she recognized him—Paco! Surely he would help her get away.

But her heart sank when the mystery man—as she'd come to think of him—spoke to Paco. "About time you showed up."

Paco looked troubled. "I no think anyone get hurt, Walter."

Walter? Who is Walter? Carly's mind raced through her list of suspects. There was no Walter on that list.

"Shut up, you dumb wetback! You knew we were in this for big money. Did you think they were just going to hand it over to us on a silver platter?"

"You say no one ever find out what we do until too late." Paco's voice took on a whine. "You say we take the money. That's all."

"And they haven't found out, have they?"

"Why you have to hurt Senora Carly? She not know anything."

"She saw me. She knows I pushed her into that ravine. She should have frozen to death out there, or else the coyotes should have gotten her." Walter squeezed Carly's arm harder than was necessary. "You are one lucky broad."

She was going to have bruises tomorrow. If she even had a tomorrow.

Figuring she'd better speak up in her own defense, she cleared her throat. "I really don't know anything."

Walter smacked her hard across the face with his open hand. "I don't want to hear anything from you."

Her head whipped around and her ears rang. She slumped against him, smelling the vinegar sour smell of unwashed body and even dirtier clothes. She gagged and fell to her knees.

Walter stepped back, and she fell in a clump to the floor. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were the toes of his worn cowboy boots, crusted with mud and manure. Once again, bile rose in her throat, and she turned her head slightly to put some distance between her and the odor as she squinted at him through her tears.

He looked around the shed, turning over crates.

Paco backed into a corner. "What you look for, Walter?"

Walter merely growled in response and continued his search. Paco went to Carly's side and knelt beside her. "I sorry, Senora Carly. I no mean for anyone to get hurt."

"What about Brandon?" She kept her voice low. She didn't need to give Walter reason to hit her again. "He got hurt."

Paco's chin jutted out. "He bad man. He hurt Louisa. He going to spoil everything."

"How was he going to do that, Paco? What are you involved in?"

Paco opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. His eyes bored into hers, but she couldn't tell if he was daring her to contradict him or asking for help.

Until a trickle of blood oozed from his mouth. Then his eyes glazed over, and he fell forward on his face. A large hunting knife stuck out of his back.

Carly jumped to her feet and turned to run. Walter grabbed her roughly by the arms and forced her to look down at Paco's body.

"See what happens when someone tries to double-cross me? Look at him! Stupid wetback! Letting his hatred get in the way of business."

"Your plan has gone all wrong, hasn't it, Walter?" Carly was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Maybe facing death removed all fear. "That is, if you ever had a plan."

"You think you're so smart, don't you? You don't know nothin'."

"I know Brandon was your brother, and Paco killed him for beating Louisa. And that wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"What else do you know?"

"I think Brandon killed John Webster and Paco found out. He used the missing eagle's feather to blackmail Brandon into marrying his sister. What I don't know is why Brandon killed Webster. Was it over mineral rights?"

Walter snorted. "Webster was a no-good scoundrel. We wanted him in on the plan. He went along to a point, but then he got nervous. The old man gave him some money at first, then started asking questions. Webster wanted out. He threatened to blow the whistle on Brandon and me. We didn't want that. So Brandon killed him."

"Why take the feather and stage the stampede? To cover up the murder?"

"Brandon didn't start no stampede. We had nothin' to do with that. And it wasn't 'til later that we found out about the feather, when Paco came to Brandon with it. Waving it around, threatening him with it."

"Then Paco must have taken it from Webster and started the stampede. Question is: why take the feather?"

Walter thought for a moment. "Maybe leverage. To let Brandon know he knew."

"So your plan was to gain control of the land. That's the only way to have any control over mineral rights. Have you been trying to bleed the ranch dry?"

Walter smirked. "You got a good head on your shoulders, lady. Yeah, Brandon had enough control of what went on around here. Course, that was after his first plan went wrong, to marry into the family. Then he tried to marry into the ranch next door. There's just as much oil on that ranch as on this one. Don't matter now, of course, since Randall bought that ranch, too. Makes this one all the more valuable."

"How did Paco get involved in all this?"

"At first, he was in for the money. Like when he got Brandon to marry his sister, he used that feather to get us to include him."

"And the Bible?" Sweat trickled down the small of her back. She swallowed against the bile rising up in her throat. "What happened to it?"

Walter laughed. "Paco saw you coming out of the library. He told Brandon, and Brandon retrieved the book and the death certificate. He wanted to up the price with Deborah." He swiped his hand through greasy hair. "He never got the chance. Now I've got the certificate."

"What do you plan to do with it?"

Walter gazed across the snow towards the mountains in the distance. "The ranch goes all the way to the mountains. I've always wanted to own land." His gaze locked hers. "I think I can convince Deborah to see things my way."

"How do you plan to do that?" She didn't really want to know the answer, but knew she had to keep him talking. Keep him off his guard. "She's a tough lady."

"I plan to pick up where Brandon left off. First get myself hired on as foreman, then prove myself invaluable when I convince her Brandon and Paco were stealing from her. She'll be so grateful—" He sucked air through his front teeth. "She'll be so grateful, no telling what she might do."

Carly shivered, not only from the cold, but also from the thought of Walter and Deborah in any kind of partnership. "Now what?"

"Now, I'm gonna have to kill you. You know too much."

"I only know what you told me. And it would be my word against yours." Carly tried to keep her voice level and calm, but inside she was running and screaming. Maybe she could convince him she was on his side. "We would make good partners. You the brawn, me the brains."

"Sure." He smirked, his teeth crooked and gapped made his face look like a jack-o-lantern in the dim light. "And who would be the beauty?"

She stepped back, her eyes wide as she feigned offense. Keep him talking. "So what's the next part of your plan? With Brandon dead, your way to bleed the ranch dry just died with him. And they're going to ask questions about Paco's death. Even though he is just a—" Her tongue caught on the unfamiliar and distasteful word. "—a wetback, some people still care about justice."

Walter grabbed her by the arm, pulling her roughly along with him. "Paco will go missing, and it's going to look like he killed you. How's that for a plan?"

A pretty good one. Unless she could come up with something better.

Walter dragged Carly toward the shed where Brandon's body lay. He pulled open the door and shoved her inside. She fell to the floor, mere feet from the still form.

She tried once more to buy some more time. She pushed against the door. "Walter!",

He hesitated, then opened the door again. "What?"

"Why did Brandon wear that eagle's feather in his hat? We know it wasn't the same one Webster wore."

"He wanted to let Deborah know it was him that set her free from that jerk. He knew what Webster was doing to her. Brandon loved her long before Webster ever came around. But he didn't have the real feather, so he used one just like it." Walter gave an evil laugh. "Only thing is, she was so sure her father killed Webster that she didn't understand. That used to irk Brandon. Finally, he gave up on her and wore it just to hurt her."

Carly wasn't sure how stringing Walter along and getting answers to her questions would buy her much more time. She was in a pickle. How would she get out of this?

Walter shoved her into a corner. "Now, you just stay there. I'll be back in a minute to make sure you never get a chance to tell anyone what you know. I gotta go move this fool's body before someone comes along and finds it."

When Walter closed the door and dropped the latch into place, Carly ran her fingers along the edges of the solid surface. There had to be another way out of here.

But all she got for her efforts were two broken nails and a splinter.

She leaned against the wall.

This looked like the end.

There was no latch on this side.

She was locked in with a dead man.

And the only way out was past a man threatening to make her just as dead.

Sarah had no intention of talking to Tom again. Ever, if she could help it. Which was unlikely, given they'd accepted this contract. Still, just because they worked together didn't mean they were a couple.

She stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Tears stained her cheeks. Crying had made her eyes bloodshot, the red veins standing out against her white cheeks. She patted a tissue at the corner of her eye. A small oil lamp flickered on the dresser, and the shadows in the room danced at the edge of the circle of light.

A light knock came at the door, and she paused. "Who is it?"

"Mike."

Sarah's cheeks colored. "I'm not up to visitors right now."

"Okay. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. You left the room pretty abruptly."

Sarah's hands trembled, and she laid them in her lap. "I was tired."

Mike chuckled. "Okay. I'm leaving now."

"Fine."

She felt funny, talking to Mike through a closed door. But she really wasn't feeling up to seeing anyone right now. She might never come out of her room again. She giggled. Somehow the thought of her sitting in this room for the rest of her life struck her funny. She pictured herself here in about fifty years, hair white, in a rocking chair, still refusing to come out.

Tossing the tissue in the trash can, Sarah moved to the dresser and picked up the lamp. She was not going to grow old sitting in this room. She had to come out some time. It might as well be sooner rather than later.

Drawing a deep breath to steady her hands, she opened the door to her suite and moved to the head of the stairs. The house was still in darkness, and the only sounds were soft voices from the dining room. The house had grown chilly with the setting sun, and Sarah pulled her sweater closer around her. Holding the banister, she made her way down the stairs.

Pausing at the bottom, she debated whether to turn left into the dining room or right to face Tom in the library.

She drew a steadying breath. She needed to clear the air with Tom.

She needed to know where she stood with him.

Or whether she'd be standing alone.

Tom looked up at the sound of the door opening. His heart beat quicker at the sight of Sarah. Her red hair framed her face, falling softly on her shoulders. She was beautiful, as always, even though her thin smile didn't light up her eyes, and he recognized the signs of crying—red red eyes, puffy nose.

He gestured to the easy chair recently vacated by his father. "Won't you sit? I've got something to tell you."

She didn't answer but moved to the chair and sat down. Or rather, perched. She looked like a bird ready to take flight if he moved too quickly or spoke too loudly.

Tom clasped his hands. "Sarah, I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened at his words.

"I didn't handle what happened very well. I wasn't expecting it, I guess." He looked into her eyes. "I want to marry you, I want to be with you, and I want to love you for the rest of my life." He dropped his gaze. "But I want to do what's right for you. And if that means letting you go, I'll do it even though it will break my heart."

"I feel like such a fool." Her soft voice barely reached him. "Like a fraud."

He covered the distance between them and sat on the floor at her feet. "I'm the one who is the fool. Please give me another chance." When her face colored, he continued. "Give me another chance to prove I am the man for you."

Ten minutes later, Tom, still sitting on the floor, leaned against the sofa. He closed his eyes, worn out from a sleepless night and the tension between him and Sarah. She'd listened to him without comment, her eyes alternating between searching his face and staring at the floor. He wasn't sure he'd gotten through to her, but he'd done his best.

At the sound of rustling, he opened his eyes. Sarah sat on the floor beside him. She smiled at him and clasped his hand. He squeezed back.

She leaned her head on the sofa. "I'm amazed by what I've seen in you these last few days."

He turned to face her. "Is that good or bad?"

"Both."

"How do I make it more good than bad?"

Sarah stood easily, graceful and athletic as always. "I think you're doing a fine job. Have patience with me. I think we're going to be okay."

Tom stood, stiff from sitting on the floor too long. He smiled at the love of his life, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But he would take his time. Not scare her off again. In time, she would share that part that still haunted her. "I need to get more exercise."

She took his hand and led him into the foyer. "Come on. Let's go see what everyone else is doing."

"Dad said he wanted to go out as soon as it was light enough. I want to be able to help him however I can." Tom pushed open the dining room door, glad to feel the slightly warmer air from the fireplace. He hoped Carly was warm and comfortable out there somewhere, although somehow he doubted that was the case.

Still, he could hope.

Chapter 29

Carly looked around the small shed, hoping something had suddenly appeared she hadn't seen before. Frantically, her eyes scanned the semi-darkness, trying not to look at the still form on the floor. At least someone had been decent enough to cover his face. She couldn't bear to look at him.

Just when she was ready to give up, she spied something in the corner. Crawling on her hands and knees in the declining light, she reached out, feeling for the object. It wasn't much, but it felt like a snowshoe. Several pairs.

The missing snowshoes from the barn.

But why were they here?

More important than why they were here was that they were, she next considered how to make the best use of them. As a weapon? Testing the aluminum frames, she doubted they would make a very good bludgeon. And this new design didn't end in a point like the old-fashioned ones, which meant they weren't very useful for stabbing. What were they good for?

At any moment Walter could come back in and finish her off.

She had to do something.

Fast.

When the sun came up in the morning, Mike got busy deciding what to do. The atmosphere in the front room was oppressive. No one had gone to go to their bedroom the previous evening as they waited for Carly to find her way home, safe and sound.

He planned to check out the buildings in the ranch yard first, looking for her or clues to her whereabouts. Then, if she wasn't there, he planned to take a snow machine and expand his search until he covered the entire ranch.

All thirty thousand acres.

If that's what was needed.

Tom argued with him for some time over going alone, but finally conceded to his father. Not that Mike didn't want company.

He didn't want company if he found Carly's body.

Because despite his words, his brave face, he was starting to lose hope.

And that would never do.

His plan in place, Mike stood. "I'm going to go look for her now."

Tom and Sarah followed him into the foyer as he donned his heavy coat, hat, and gloves.

Deborah joined them, pressing a thermos into his hands. "Take this. You might need it, for yourself, or for her. She's going to be cold, spending the night outside."

Mike smiled, encouraged by the implication of her words. She believed Carly was still alive. He turned to Tom and Sarah, giving each one a brief hug. "Keep the lamp in the window for us, Sarah."

She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

Mike went out the door, the others following him as far as the verandah. A blast of air as cold as his heart struck him, and he hunkered down into his jacket, tugging the flaps of his hat lower.

As he walked down the steps, the two dogs ran over to greet him, one of them bearing him a gift. Probably a stick. Or a dead varmint.

"What do you have for me, boy?" He reached down, and the dog released the treasure, much chewed, and very wet with dog saliva. Mike recognized the item immediately—one of Carly's gloves.

He turned to the others and ran back up the steps. "Look!" Then the implication of what this might mean that Carly wasn't wearing the glove hit him. He choked back his fear. "You don't think—"

Tom's response brooked no opposition. "No, Dad, we don't. I'm going with you."

Deborah came out, several heavy coats in her arms. "We're all going with you. I'm the only one who can get the dogs to take us back to her. Come on!"

She pulled on her jacket, ran down the steps, and went to the dogs. Taking the glove from Mike's hand, she let them both sniff the item. Then she stood and held her arm out in front of her, pointing. "Find!"

Both dogs took off running in the direction of the open mesa. Mike, Deborah, Tom, and Sarah followed close behind, not taking their eyes off the dogs. The further they got from the ranch house, the deeper the snow got. The dogs slowed their pace, as they too floundered through the knee-deep snow. They led the way to the edge of the ravine, and stopped.

Mike's heart nearly stopped as he looked over the edge, fearing the worst. The others caught up with him, breathing heavily in the cold air. He studied the trampled snow leading down the side of the hill, the rock at the bottom which penetrated the heavy white blanket, and the dark stain.

He slipped and slid down the icy bank and slogged through the snow until he reached the stain.

Dark brown.

Looked like blood.

Not a lot.

And judging by the footprints, whoever had shed the blood had walked away.

Mike turned to Deborah. "Why would the dogs lead us here if she isn't here now?"

"She must have been here. Maybe they found her here. Let me try again." She called the dogs to her, and they trotted over obediently. She let them sniff the glove again, and then she stood, pointed, and said, "Find!"

The dogs looked at her, tipping their heads this way and that as though confused by the instruction. She repeated the command. Finally they ran in the direction of the barn.

Mike was encouraged. If Carly had spent the night in the barn, she would have been able to stay warm with the hay and saddle blankets. At least she hadn't been outside through the storm.

But the dogs ran right past the barn.

Mike's heart caught in his throat. Had she somehow managed to miss the barn altogether and was now out in the open mesa?

Deborah called the dogs back.

Confused, Mike strode over to her. "What are you doing? They were on her trail, and you called them off?"

"Mike, the only thing out there is the old shed where we put Brandon's body. The chances of her finding that in the middle of a severe snowstorm are practically nil. The dogs are leading us in one of their games."

Mike looked to Tom and Sarah. Deborah's words had totally disheartened them once more as they stood close together, not meeting his eyes. He looked for the shed, but snow drifts almost buried the small structure.

He tugged his hat closer on his head. "Please, what if she did make it there? She could be trapped in there, from all the snow. I have to go look."

Carly wasn't sure how well her plan was going to work but she figured she should at least get points for trying. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. Numb fingers hampered her work as she unlaced one pair of the snowshoes. These were modern construction, employing nylon bindings instead of the leather sinews from the old style of shoes. Leather tended to dry out and crack, not suitable for what she needed.

Swallowing down the sour taste rising in her throat, she tied Brandon's body to one of the remaining snowshoes. Touching the cold body made her skin creep.

If this didn't work, she would be as dead as he was.

When she pulled him upright, the cloth fell off of his face. His customary sneer had been replaced with a look of surprise.

Quickly she used the nylon bindings from one snowshoe to fasten the snowshoe with the body—she could handle the situation better if she referred to him as 'the body', and not as Brandon—to a crossbeam. Trussed up in this way, Brandon looked like he was standing in the middle of the room, right as rain.

She stepped to the place where the open door would block her from Walter's view, one of the binding-less snowshoes in her hands. She doubted she could hit Walter hard enough to knock him out. But she was hoping the element of surprise would give her enough time to incapacitate him.

Once again she cold, the lack of sleep and lack of food beckoned to her, causing her to doze off a couple of times. Each time she snapped awake, eyes struggling to focus in the dim light.

After what seemed like hours, the latch creaked. She hefted the snowshoe in her hands and drew a deep breath.

This was her only chance.

In a few minutes, she'd be out of here.

Or she'd be dead.

Walter stepped in. "C'mon, missy. Might as well make this easy on yourself."

She held her breath. If he saw her now, her plan wouldn't work.

When she didn't answer, he moved into the shed. As he did, Brandon's body moved in response to a slight gust of wind through the door.

He stepped back, gasped, and raised his hands in front of him. "No, it can't be. You was dead."

This was her chance.

Carly brought the frame down over his head and shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides.

Walter screamed in rage and surprise, trying to lunge for Carly. Unsuccessfully, he then turned his concentration on trying to get the frame off. Carly darted around him and out the door. He chased after her, intent on not letting her escape. Carly ran through the deep snow, past the place where the red stain marked the spot where Paco had died. She averted her eyes, not wanting to consider the fact she was still in grave danger.

After several hundred feet of running and stumbling and slipping on ice, Carly paused to catch her breath and look behind her. Walter had fallen in the snow, flat on his back, feet flailing, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Carly laughed. He looked like a turtle on its back, unable to right itself.

She laughed until it wasn't funny anymore.

And then she laughed at the relief of not being killed.

She sank to the snow and laughed because she was so tired and hungry and cold she couldn't think of what to do next.

When she was done laughing, too exhausted mentally and physically to move, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the morning sun warming her from the outside in.

Chapter 30

Mike leaned against the barn and closed eyes. He'd never felt so helpless before, except perhaps when Sophie was ill. A single father of two teenage kids, he was lost without her.

And now he might lose Carly.

Tom touched his arm. "Dad, I'll go with you."

Mike opened his eyes. Sarah and Deborah and Louise stood in a small knot a few feet away, a tiny circle of color in the expanse of white.

Sarah stepped to Tom's side and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of your dad, and bring Carly home."

Mike nodded. "Come on. Let's do it."

He slogged through the snow, his son beside him, wanting to find Carly, fearful of what he might find. The closer he got to the shed, the faster he walked, until he was nearly running.

As he plowed through the last snow drift between the men and the shed, Mike spied a dark form in the snow ahead of them. His heart skipped a beat as he considered the implications. He stopped, and Tom stood beside him, bending over from the waist as he caught his breath.

"Tom, is it—"

"Dad, think. If she'd been here all night, she'd be covered in snow."

With those words, Mike found the strength somewhere to run once more across the white blanket. He fell to his knees beside Carly and carefully lifted her head and shoulders, cradling her in his arms like a baby. His tears fell on her cheeks.

She opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sun, pushing against his chest. "Walter, let me go."

"Oh Carly, I thought I'd lost you." Tears choked Mike's words. "Are you okay?"

She smiled up at him, her lips and face blue with cold. "I knew you'd come looking for me." Her head sagged against his chest. "I knew you'd find me."

Tom arrived on the scene and pointed toward Walter. He patted Mike on the back. "Since Carly is in good hands, I'll go get help."

Mike nodded, pulling Carly closer to him. She needed to get warmed up quickly. He would be glad when he could see for sure she was safe and unharmed from her overnight adventure. And if he had his way, she'd never have the opportunity to put herself into such a situation ever again.

Carly moved, and he stared down into the face of the woman he loved so much. She sighed and mumbled. He leaned closer to hear her better.

"I wasn't scared, not even for one minute."

Mike looked deep into her eyes. "I know, love. I wasn't scared either. I knew we'd find you."

Together they rested, damsel-not-so-much-in-distress and her white knight.

Mike smiled as he laid his chin on the top of her head.

He'd always wanted to be someone's white knight.

And if he had his way, he'd always be Carly's.

Tom trotted back to the house, the icy air searing his lungs. But in a good way.

Rejuvenated by the good news of Carly's survival, he pounded up the stairs to the verandah, his boots echoing off the wood. As he reached the top step, Deborah yanked open the door.

Her eyes wide, she looked past Tom. "Did you find her?"

Sarah pushed past Deborah, flinging herself at Tom, her eyes filled with tears.

He caught her, swinging her around in his arms. "She's fine. She's fine. I came for help."

Deborah tugged on her heavy sheepskin coat. "I'll get Abe. He's in the barn. I saw him on our way back to the house."

Sarah jumped up and down, her hands clasped in front of her.

Tom grinned. "You look as happy as a child."

"I feel like a child, Tom. This is such a good day. And it's still early."

Tom ushered her into the house. "Dad will want somewhere comfortable for Carly. Let's make sure the fire in the dining room is roaring."

Louisa sat on the hearth, turning a log. "I hear you find Mees Carly. Did you find Paco?"

Tom shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm sure we will."

Sarah sat beside Louisa. "Let's keep busy until we know where he is, okay?"

Louisa nodded. "We make hot tea and coffee. Something simple to eat."

The two left the dining room, chattering about the best food and drinks to prepare.

Tom threw a couple of more logs on the fire and brought in more wood from the box on the verandah. He noted the outside box was less than half-full. He would soon need to fetch more logs from the woodshed behind the house.

He scanned the room, noting the still-folded blankets on the back of the sofa. He tugged an easy chair a little closer to the fire, and opened the drapes to let in the morning sun.

Outside, the morning light reflected on the snow like diamonds. The stark symmetry of the barn seemed out of place in this winter wonderland. Along the fence line, several tumbling tumbleweed—only not tumbling right now—decorated the railings.

Sarah bustled in and set a tray on the table. "Here are the tea and coffee. I'm keeping Louisa busy in the kitchen getting some food ready." She looked into Tom's eyes. "Are you sure you didn't see Paco out there?"

Tom shook his head. "I was so focused on Carly, I didn't see anything else. I'll make sure Dad and Carly get some help, and then I'll look around."

Sarah laid a hand on Tom's arm. "This really is a good day, Tom." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so glad we found Carly. I was so worried."

Tom squeezed her hand. "Me too." He turned to leave, but stopped when Sarah spoke his name. He turned to face her, his heart silently begging her to say the words he wanted desperately to hear. Afraid she wouldn't, he kept his expression as neutral as he could. "Yes?"

Sarah stepped toward him. "Tom—" Her voice broke, and she sank into a chair.

Tom knelt beside her, his arms aching to hold her. Still, until she told him, he had no right to do that. Instead, he patted her arm and she finally rewarded him with a smile.

"You are such a good patter."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"When you hug, when you comfort, you always pat."

Tom looked around the room, conflicting emotions battling for his attention. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to do that, Sarah. Could I?"

Now she raised an eyebrow in question.

Several different emotions flitted across her face—confusion, hurt, doubt, then—was she laughing?

But was she laughing at him, or with him?

Somehow the situation didn't seem very funny just about then, and Tom was certain she was laughing at him. He frowned. "I don't know what's so funny."

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself and doubled over, waves of laughter rolling up from her inner core. She tried several times to speak, but each time she opened her mouth, another fit of laughter took over. Finally, she regained control of herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Sorry. You just sounded so formal, like you were asking my father if you could court me."

Tom stood, hands on hips. "And what would be so funny about that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It seemed a little late, since we're already engaged."

"And what's so funny—" Tom paused, mouth open. He knelt beside Sarah again. "Did you say engaged?"

She nodded.

He clasped her hand. "Then you want to marry me?"

She drew his hand to her lips, kissing the back gently. "I've never wanted anything more."

"For better or for worse?"

Sarah sank to the floor beside him. "For richer or for poorer. Until death do us part."

Somehow she even made that sound good.

Tom gathered her into his arms, holding her close. He inhaled the sweet smell of her hair and tenderly kissed her neck. She rubbed his back, up and down and in circles.

And he gently patted her back.

Mike held Carly as tightly as he dared. He surely didn't want to cause her any pain, but he did want to make sure she didn't get any colder. As he held her and watched her sleep, he considered how hopeless and futile he'd felt the previous night. And how much more in control and empowered he felt in the daylight.

He brushed a stray snowflake from her cheek as the breeze carried off her breath on a vapor.

He'd come so close to losing her, having her snatched from him.

Removing one glove, he noted her cheek was warm to the touch. He ran his hand down her arms and legs, pausing at her hands and feet. Warm. He shook his head, marveling at the fact she could spend the night outside and be in such good shape.

In his arms, Carly stirred slightly, then opened her eyes. "How did you find me?"

"One of the dogs brought your glove back to the ranch house."

Carly nodded. "Right. I guess he's going to deserve an extra treat." She closed her eyes again. "Remind me to do that."

Mike shook her slightly. "Maybe it would be better if you stayed awake."

Carly smiled. "I'm fine. I'm toasty warm, and hungry as a bear. When can we go home?"

"Tom went back to get a snow machine and some help. You were unconscious, and we didn't know if you were injured or. . . " Mike's voice trailed off at the alternatives. He blinked back tears. "But you're fine."

Carly struggled to sit. "Where is Walter?"

"Who is Walter?"

"He's the one in cahoots with Brandon."

Mike had been so glad to see Carly was not harmed he had blocked out everything else. The small ravine they were in was so quiet and peaceful, except for that grunting noise coming from near the shed. He turned his head in the direction of the sounds.

A dark figure thrashed around, limbs moving, strange noises emanating from him. "I guess that would be Walter?"

Carly used Mike's arm to get to her feet, swaying a little from side to side. "Uh-huh. Go make sure he's all right, and then see if you can restrain him before he escapes."

"I'm not leaving your side."

Carly took a step. "Fine, then I'll go with you." Carefully she made her way towards the prone figure writhing in the snow. "Walter, lay still."

Mike grunted, then stamped his feet to clear his shoes of snow, and walked quickly to pass Carly. When he got within fifty feet, he was able to make out the man lying on the snow, with some contraption around his arms and chest, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. Concerned, Mike jogged toward him.

Mike reached the man and hoisted him to his feet. "Walter?"

The man struggled against the snowshoe frame that pinned his arms to his sides. "Get me out of this thing." He took a step back as Carly drew near. "Keep her away from me. That woman is crazy."

Mike shook the man to get his attention. "Why are you here?"

"I'm one of Miss Deborah's cowhands."

Mike squinted. He didn't remember seeing any Walter on the payroll records. "What happened?"

Walter nodded in Carly's direction. "That crazy broad over there attacked me."

Mike's grunted. He knew Carly well enough to know she might be a hothead, but she wouldn't attack someone unless defending herself or someone else. "Attacked you?"

Walter spat, tobacco juice staining the snow at Mike's feet. "Yeah."

Mike looked beyond Walter to the shed. "In there?"

"Yeah."

"Wait here." Mike held his hand up to Carly, relieved to note that she stopped . He walked over to the shed. As he got closer, a gust of wind blew the door open, revealing a body strung from the rafters. Tentatively he stepped closer, bending down to get a better view of the face. Brandon. He turned to look at Carly.

She gestured with her hands for him to go around the small shed. He did, and saw another body, this one with a knife sticking out its back.

Paco.

And judging by the redness of the blood, not dead for very long.

Returning to Walter, Mike considered his options. Carly had spent the night under some nasty conditions. Someone killed Paco, and he recognized Brandon's body as the one hung on some ropes. Carly said Walter was the man working with Brandon. He couldn't think why Carly would attack this man without good cause. He looked at the brown tobacco stain melting a dent in the snow.

And saw something else.

Blood on the toe of Walter's boot.

Blood spatter, to be exact.

Meaning he was near Paco when the young Hispanic man was killed.

Carly's weapon of choice was a sharp tongue, not a knife.

Since Brandon was already dead, that left only Walter.

Walter struggled against his bindings. "Hey, are you going to get this thing off me, or what?"

"Or what."

Walter took another step backwards, nearly stumbling. "Huh?"

"I'm not going to take that off you, Walter. In fact, I'm going to put you back in that shed. And we're going to wait for the sheriff."

Grabbing Walter by the arms, Mike marched him to the shed. Walter twisted and dug in his heels, cussing at him, but Mike had the advantage of two useful arms and leverage. He gave Walter a push into the shed, a sense of satisfaction erasing his weariness as the cowboy went down on his knees, then rolled onto his back.

Walter shouted obscenities as Mike closed and latched the door.

"I just did."

Mike returned to stand beside Carly. At that moment, the sun burst from behind the Turkey Mountains, bathing the valley in hues of pinks and golds. Mike caught his breath, amazed at the spectacle. Across the yard, a horse snorted and pawed the snow, sending up great clouds of white from its hooves and nostrils. A covey of quail, startled by the noise, broke from a nearby sagebrush hedge, their wings beating the air in time with Mike's heart.

He paused, surveying the countryside. Amazed at how beautiful the land could be in the midst of such brutality.

Kind of like people.

Goodness and evil living next door to each other

Carly blinked against the glare of the early morning sun off the snow. Several men descended the hill on snow machines. With hands on hips, she stretched her back from side to side, working out the kinks. She flexed her fingers several times, glad to feel the life coming back in them. Stomping her feet, she wiggled her toes, and was rewarded with sharp tingling running from her toes to her knees.

She took several steps towards Mike, grateful he was here. In the distance the steady hum of the snow machines reminded her help was on its way. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the nearness of her husband, the warm sun on her face, and the joy of being alive.

Chapter 31

Carly relaxed on the small sofa in the dining room, her toes pointed toward the fire roaring in the large stone hearth. She was warm from the inside out for the first time in hours. Raising her head, she looked around the empty room, her glance resting on the Clarence Anderson lithograph above the sideboard.

Still relishing the peace and quiet and heat, Carly remembered their first day here—was that only two days ago? So much had changed in such a short times. Brandon and Paco were dead. Walter awaited the sheriff's arrival prior to his arrest on at least two counts of murder. Louisa was a widow, and Deborah's life was completely turned around.

And that didn't even begin to touch on her own family. Tom and Sarah were conspicuously absent, and Mike was up in their suite doing some last minute "tweaks", as he called them, to his program and data for Deborah.

After their experiences of the past few days, Carly wasn't sure about where anything or anyone stood.

She smiled. Except she knew where she and Mike stood, and she was sure Tom and Sarah were well on their way.

Shaking her head, Carly shifted to adjust the pillow behind her back. Her toes were feeling comfy and warm, and even the tingling was gone. She sniffed the air—smelled like Louisa was busy in the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten in a while.

Eating. She was happy to be alive to enjoy another good meal. There were times in the last hours when she hadn't been too sure she would survive long enough to eat again.

As she envisioned roast beef and basted potatoes and fresh peas, Mike came through the doorway, and his smile lit up her heart.

"Ah, you're awake, sleepyhead." He perched on the sofa beside her, pulling her into a warm hug. "Did you have a good nap?"

Carly leaned into his strong arms, inhaling the cold air and smell of outdoors he carried. "I'm all warm again, inside and outside."

Mike held her at arm's length and stared into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Carly snuggled against his chest. "Fine." She leaned back. "But you know, I didn't tell you the truth earlier."

Mike's brows came down. "Oh?"

She nodded. "I said I wasn't ever scared. I was."

Mike pulled her close again, laughing softly. "Me too."

Carly pressed her face into him. "You were?"

"Yes. But you know what?"

Carly looked up at him. "What?"

"I knew you were tough and would make it through."

Carly smiled. "I may not be as tough as you think." She mock-punched his chest. "I was more worried about you than I was about myself."

"Me? I was safe and warm."

"I know. But I knew how much you must have been worrying. And how sad you would be if anything happened to me."

Mike nodded, stroking her cheek gently. "You know me well." He looked out the window, sadness flitting across his face. "I didn't even want to think about losing you." He shuddered. "Sophie's death was bad enough. I sure wouldn't want to do that again."

Carly patted his arm. Mike rarely showed her his vulnerable side. "I'm glad to be here."

An hour later, Carly's mouth watered as she surveyed the dishes on the dining room table. Deborah invited Louisa to join them, and although the young woman was still reeling from the shock of learning her brother was dead, she sat at Deborah's left hand.

Serving dishes and plates covered the surface of the table. Potatoes, roast chicken, gravy, and three kinds of vegetables competed with fresh rolls and homemade butter for Carly's attention. She helped herself to the chicken first. "Louisa, I don't know how you cooked all this food without electricity."

Louisa smiled. "The stove is not electric, Mees Carly. Ees gas. Just need match."

Of course. Gas.

Deborah spooned potatoes onto her plate and passed the dish to Sarah. The others followed suit by serving themselves from each dish and passing to their right.

Carly forked roast chicken into her mouth. The heady garlic seasoning burst in her mouth, and she moaned. Savoring the tender morsel, she smiled at Louisa. "Oh, you have outdone yourself this time, Louisa. I'd love to have the recipe."

Louisa smiled, puffy eyes only slightly marring her beauty. "Thank you, Mees Carly. I have no recipe." She tapped her temple. "Just here."

Mike laughed. "Sounds like your kind of cooking, Carly." He looked around the table. "Carly isn't a big believer in following recipes. We never have the same dish twice."

Carly set her fork on her plate. "That's because I don't always have all the ingredients. So I improvise."

Tom laughed. "Like the time you didn't have brown sugar, so you used bread crumbs?"

Carly folded her arms across her chest. "They were both brown."

"Right. But not sweet. And you were making oatmeal cookies."

Sarah joined in the laughter. "Sounds interesting."

Carly unfolded her arms and picked up her fork again. "Actually, they tasted like sawdust."

Deborah laughed, and soon the others joined in, including Carly and Louisa. It was good to hear laughter in a house that recently had so much pain.

In deference to Deborah's request that they not discuss the events of the past few days until dinner was eaten and coffee was served, Carly used the time to organize her thoughts, wishing she had her notepad. But eating and jotting notes didn't seem the polite thing to do, so as she ate, she looked at each event in terms of what she knew now, not what she had known when it happened. By the time dinner was done and they were relaxing over coffee and tea, she felt confident in her conclusions.

She set her coffee cup on the table. "Some of what I'm going to tell you is what Walter told me. Some is from what we already knew, and some will be supposition."

Deborah offered her the coffee pot, and Carly filled her cup again, then passed the pot to Mike. "Walter and Brandon knew about mineral rights with this land and some of the surrounding properties. That's why they wanted the land. They'd paid a geologist to do some surveys and found oil in that back acreage where the wild horses are raised. That's where Walter has been, in that area where Brandon kept steering you clear of. They didn't want you or anyone else going out there and seeing their exploratory wells."

Deborah leaned forward. "My grandfather always said our wealth was in our land. I thought he meant the land itself was good land. And now I see he meant the oil underneath."

Carly nodded. "Yes. Your husband found out about their plot to ruin your family financially so you would sell. They wanted him to join their group. When he threatened to tell your grandfather, Brandon killed him." She glanced at Louisa. What she needed to say next would pain the young woman. "I'm sorry, Louisa, but Paco saw a chance to blackmail Walter and Brandon, so he took the feather and started the stampede." Carly leaned back. "It wasn't to Paco's advantage for the sheriff to realize Webster had been murdered. He had a better hold over the brothers if they were free." Carly laid her hand on Louisa's arm. "I'm sorry, Louisa. He was part of their group. But he was killed because he tried to protect me."

Louisa's smile was tight with pain. "I always know he keep secret from me. But I not know what."

Carly didn't see any benefit in telling Louisa her brother blackmailed Brandon into marrying her. Both men were dead, and that piece of information wouldn't make Louisa feel better about herself or her brother. She went on with her story. "Brandon took the feather from John's hat because it was a rare trophy. Walter saw it would place Brandon at the scene of John's death, and took it from Brandon. So Brandon got his own feather. He knew you would know the difference, but once you turned his marriage proposal down, he was so bitter and hateful he wanted to hurt you as much as possible."

Deborah set her coffee cup down and walked to the window. "So you mean neither my father or my grandfather killed John?"

Carly stood and moved next to her, rubbing Deborah's arm. "No. Brandon killed him."

The quiet words echoed through the room. After several minutes, Deborah turned to face Carly. "And John was killed because he was trying to do the right thing?"

Carly nodded. "No matter what else he was, he had some sense of right and wrong."

Mike spoke up. "So what happened next?"

Carly returned to her seat. "Well, once Deborah took over running the ranch, Brandon and Walter and Paco bided their time. They stole cattle and horses, ordered supplies and sold them, making extra pocket money until they could run the ranch into the ground, a little at a time. But over the years, it added up."

Mike pulled papers from a folder he retrieved from their suite before dinner. "Carly's right about that. According to the numbers I ran, you would have only lasted maybe another year. You're behind several months in your mortgage payments on the ranch, some of your suppliers are threatening to cut you off, and Abe and Jonah haven't been paid for two months."

Deborah stormed to her chair, holding the back tightly until her knuckles turned white. "How could this happen and I not know it?"

Scanning a page, Mike set the folder on the table. "It seems they changed the billing addresses on several accounts, including your mortgage, to a post office box, which they had control of. And Abe and Jonah told me you always paid in cash."

Deborah nodded. "We're so far out here, and they have to drive sixty miles to the nearest bank, so I gave Brandon the money each month." She stopped. "And he didn't pay them?"

Mike shook his head. "Apparently not. When he did pay them, it was usually late, and never the full amount."

"Why didn't they say something?"

"They figured you were short on money. Abe said he didn't have anywhere else to go, and he likes working here. Jonah has a small group of people he helps and he didn't want to leave them. Turns out he's something of a cowboy preacher."

Deborah sat. "Preacher? How could I not know that?"

Carly leaned back in her chair. "In case you didn't notice, they don't talk much. They keep to themselves."

Mike nodded. "I asked them about that. They said Brandon told them you didn't like them, and they were only here because he put in a good word to you."

Deborah shook her head. "He had us all tricked, didn't he?"

Louisa grasped Deborah's hand. "He was very crooked man, Mees Deborah." She pointed to her heart. "Crooked in the heart."

Deborah squeezed the young woman's hand. "You're right." She looked at the others. "So, where do we go from here?"

Carly's glance rested on the lithograph over the sideboard opposite her. She had an idea and turned to Deborah. "You told us the first day we were here that Clarence Anderson did that painting especially for your grandfather. Is that a landscape of somewhere on the ranch?"

Deborah nodded. "It's the wild horse acreage." She rose and stood before the litho, pointing at a small area. "See, that's a herd there in the distance."

"Is this a usual example of his work?"

Deborah thought a moment. "No, he usually does close-ups, like bronco riders, cowboys, that sort of thing. Why?"

"I just think there's a reason why he painted something outside his area of expertise. What else is in that painting?"

Deborah studied the piece. "I know this area. And I know there isn't any water there." She pointed to another area. "See? Here it looks like a huge lake going over this way. There's no water like that out there."

Sarah spoke. "Maybe your grandfather already knew about the oil, and he's showing you where it is."

Deborah faced her. "What do you mean?"

"Your grandfather was part native, right?" Sarah stood beside Deborah. "So was my grandmother. She could sense where water was under the ground. Maybe your grandfather could do the same with oil."

Carly reached over and lifted the painting from the wall. Turning it over, she ran her fingers around the paper backing. Sliding her fingers under a loose edge, she pulled out a piece of paper, yellowed with age, which she passed to Deborah. "Or maybe he already knew because he'd had his own geologist out there."

Deborah glanced at the paper. The color drained from her face, and her legs wobbled. Tom jumped up and caught her, setting her back in her chair. Sarah poured some water, and Deborah sipped, her eyes glazed over. Finally, she drew a deep breath, and smiled at the faces staring at her. "No need to worry. I'm fine. It's just a shock. No wonder my grandfather said that picture was never to leave the family. This is a copy of the mineral rights grant along with a survey estimating the oil out there." She set the paper on the table, patting out the wrinkles. "We won't have to worry about the money to make the changes we need to make around here."

The overhead light flickered on and off, then stayed on.

Sarah moved to the telephone next to the sofa and lifted the receiver. "There's dial tone."

Tom stood beside her. "I'll call the sheriff. But before I do that, Sarah and I have an announcement." He cleared his throat. "Dad, Carly. Sarah and I want to let you know that we are engaged to be married. We're planning a spring wedding, in Bear Cove. If that's okay with you?"

Carly and Mike stared at each other, their mouths open.

Mike was the first to recover, bounding from his chair to embrace his son in a bear hug. "Okay with us? Okay with us? It's more than okay." His voice broke. "Your mother would be so proud of you."

Carly went around the table to hug Sarah. "We're so happy for both of you. I could see there's something special between you two. I know you'll be good for each other."

Sarah nodded and hugged her tighter. "Thanks, Carly. We needed to hear that."

Mike turned to Sarah, and Carly turned to Tom, and they traded hugging partners. Deborah and Louisa looked on, smiles lighting their faces. Tears filled Sarah and Carly's eyes, and Mike pounded Tom on the back. They traded partners again, this time Mike and Carly hugging, and Sarah and Tom shyly embracing. Carly looked over Mike's shoulder at Tom's back, and caught Sarah looking at her. Carly winked and smiled, and Sarah responded by burying her face in Tom's shoulder.

Oh yes, she will do nicely.

Amid much eye-wiping and throat clearing, the six sat to finish their coffee and tea. The four women chattered about wedding plans, while Mike left to check on their prisoner, and Tom called the sheriff.

Carly hoped that getting married and having a family were very important to Sarah.

Sarah's next comment confirmed her conclusions. "We want to start our family as soon as we get married."

Carly was delighted. She loved grandkids and wanted many more. Mike's daughter, Denise, and her husband Don seemed content with their three, so Carly was thrilled she would soon have more grandbabies to rock.

The two men returned to the table together and gave an update. The sheriff was on his way, and Walter was still tightly tied up. Complaining loudly, but otherwise in good shape.

Carly leaned back in her chair, half-listening to the chatter around her. The last three days had been busy. Several mysteries were solved, and although she would prefer no deaths, nobody had asked her opinion.

Her mind raced through the next eleven days of her vacation as she pictured herself back in Bear Cove, helping Tom and Sarah plan their wedding.

Yes indeed. She'd be glad to get home again. By now, everyone in Bear Cove was bound to be so busy planning for the holidays they would forget her part in the solving of the recent crime spree in the small town.

And what could be safer than a wedding?

What could possibly go wrong?

Thanks for taking the time to read There Was A Crooked Man.

Stay tuned for a sneak peek of Unbalanced.

Coming in January 2016

Chapter 1

If not for her son's wedding, this would be the happiest time of Carly Turnquist's life.

She loved her career as a forensic accountant, tracking down assets, including cash, bank accounts and stocks, and proving legitimate ownership. For most people, working all day collating the evidence file for her last client, a brokerage firm that suspected one of its account managers of embezzling funds, would have left them tired and cranky.

But Carly Turnquist, snoop extraordinaire, was on the case. She successfully unwound the convoluted trail of fraud and deceit, confirmed that the account manager was indeed guilty of stealing over a million dollars in the past year. She made recommendations for improved internal audit practices to ensure this didn't happen again. The result was the trial was on the court docket, and Carly had been served a subpoena to testify less than a week after the wedding.

No, work was invigorating. What really got her goat was she was stuck preparing dinner by herself. Mike was still working in their basement office on a program for a client. Her step-son Tom and his fiancé Sarah had pulled into the driveway just minutes before she was ready to put the food on the table. The handsome couple walked toward the house, hand in hand. Sarah tossed back her hair, laughing at something Tom said to her. The peaceful and happy picture they made brought a smile to Carly's lips.

Tom burst into the house, his nose in the air as he sniffed for evidence of what was on the menu for dinner. His exuberance made the front door slam open in the same boyish manner that had driven her crazy for years.

Before she could stop herself, those all-too-familiar words flew from her lips. "Don't slam the door."

Tom laughed in the same way that melted her heart when she'd first met him over ten years before. "Sorry, Carly."

He and Sarah surrounded her in a giant bear hug, causing her to juggle the plates in one hand as she grabbed for the doorframe with the other.

"Let me go." She tucked her chin and caught a plate threatening to slip over the edge. "If you break a plate, you have to wash dishes for a year."

Mike appeared at the top of the stairs, a smile replacing the look of concern on his face as he took in the scene before him. Carly winked over Tom's shoulder at her husband.

Tom released Carly and turned to his father. "Dad, good to see you again." Awkwardly they did a little dance of reaching to hug, then changing their minds to shake hands.

Finally, Mike pulled his son to him, patting him on the back affectionately. "Good to see you, too." He looked over Tom's shoulder at Sarah, who took the dinner plates from Carly and headed to the dining table. "And you too, Sarah. Even though you are stealing my boy away from me."

Sarah lifted her elbow in a wave as she went past. "Hi, Mike. Been fitted for your tux yet?"

Mike groaned. "No. Lots of time. The wedding is a week away, and I don't want to get a tux that is too small."

"Too small?" Tom grabbed silverware from the drawer and headed for the dining room. "You're supposed to get one that fits, Dad."

"Don't you remember what happened at our wedding, Tom?" Carly stirred the pasta sauce at the stove. "He got fitted two weeks before the wedding, then gained ten pounds from nervous eating."

"I remember." Tom came back into the kitchen. "Anything else you need on the table, Carly? We're starved."

Mike patted Tom's shoulder. "You're always starved. I think you must still be a growing boy."

Carly passed Mike the pasta bowl then opened the fridge door, peering inside. "Here, Tom, take the salad, and I'll give Sarah the pasta sauce."

In just a few minutes they were seated around the table, passing serving dishes around, scooping portions of spaghetti and sauce onto their plates. Once the first helping disappeared, dishes were passed around for seconds. Carly sat back, appetite satisfied, as her two favorite men stuffed themselves. She stood to clear the table.

Sarah reached over and touched Carly's arm. "Sit down, Carly. Tom and I can clear the table. You already did all the hard work of cooking."

Tom mumbled unintelligibly, his mouth still full of food. Carly sat again. Not one to stand on ceremony, she rested her elbows comfortably on the table.

Finally swallowing, Tom spoke. "How are the wedding preparations going, Carly? Anything we can do to help?"

Mustering her best smile, Carly shook her head. "The church is set, the flowers and cake ordered, telephone invites have gone out, the caterer is booked. Wait a second, let me get my notebook." She rose and went to the small table near the telephone in the kitchen that served as her unofficial working zone. "This notebook has all the information I need to get this wedding done on time and on budget." She fumbled through some junk mail she needed to toss in the recycle container. "Hold on. I made a note this afternoon about the photographer. I put the book right here to remind me to call first thing in the morning."

But the notebook wasn't there. Frantically she pawed through the supermarket flyers and a couple of magazines that had come in today's mail.

The small wire-coil book wasn't there.

Leaning against the kitchen wall, she thought. Someone must have taken the notebook. Which was silly, of course. Why would anyone want to take it? She and Mike were the only ones in the house this afternoon, and he wouldn't dare touch the book. He'd already told her in no uncertain terms that the wedding was in her hands. He wanted the young couple to elope. In fact, he'd offered them money, figuring if they skipped the big ceremony and reception they could save money.

Belatedly, Carly realized he was probably right. Still, she didn't want to see her only son married without notice. And the fact he was her step-son, not her natural born, didn't change her feelings on the matter.

Drawing a couple of deep breaths, Carly tried to reason where she had put the notebook. Without that information, she'd have to look up names and numbers again, and the notebook contained all her notes on verbal agreements with suppliers.

This couldn't be happening.

Mike leaned against the door leading from the dining room. "Carly, what's taking you so long?"

"Just a minute." She sifted through the pile of papers I can't find the notebook."

Had she used the notebook somewhere else in the house? Between her panicked breathing and the rustling papers, she didn't know Sarah had come into the kitchen until the woman stood at her elbow.

"Carly?"

Carly looked up. "I need to get you a bell you're so quiet."

Sarah chuckled. "Come back in and finish dinner. We'll help you find the book later."

"You're right. I can remember the few things we need to talk about for now."

Re-joining the men in the dining room, Carly sat down in her chair, her energy dripping away like a leaky faucet. Funny how worrying about something made her so tired.

Mike reached over and patted her hand. She smiled at him. He always managed to lift her spirits.

She drew a deep breath before reciting the preparations already seen to, checking them off on her fingers. "Church, minister, organist, music, guests, caterer, attendants—all confirmed. Oh yes, and flowers. Hall decorations, party favors, cake." She paused, furrowing her brow as she concentrated. "What's left? The photographer, who I have to call tomorrow. His number is in the book. He was referred by a friend of a friend, so if I can't find the book, I'll just have to make a couple of calls to get his number again. No big deal." She sat back in her chair. "I think that's it."

Sarah nodded.. "Sounds like it. We're looking after rings and honeymoon."

Tom nodded in agreement.

"And I'm looking after my tux," Mike added. "Next week."

Carly gasped.

Mike's left eyebrow lifted in question, a funny habit he had that Carly simply adored. "What is it?"

"I've been so busy worrying about your arrangements, I haven't even thought about my dress. Or my hair."

Silence enveloped the room. Tom fidgeted with his water glass. Mike studied her as if she'd grown another head.

Sarah was the first to respond. "As the mother of the groom, everyone will expect you to be well-dressed and well-coiffed."

Carly nodded. "I know. I forgot all about me."

Sarah stood and gathered the plates. "No worries. Your orders are to spend tomorrow looking after the dress and the hair dresser." She headed for the kitchen then turned around. "You spent all your time making certain everyone else was looked after, and forgot all about yourself. Can't have that happening. You are almost as big a star of this show as Tom and me."

Carly shrugged. "No worries. After all, I have a whole four-and-a-half days until Saturday afternoon." She turned to Tom. "Now, show Sarah what a good husband you're going to make her, and help with the dishes."

That night, Carly dreamed about the wedding as she slept. Everything was perfect and went exactly as planned. Except she was walking down the aisle in her camisole and slip, because she'd forgotten to get a dress.

The next morning Carly awoke with the day's list of things to do already circling her mind like vultures over a carcass. Padding to the shower, she turned the hot water on full, hoping to wash away the cobwebs left over from her dream. She had woken several times during the night, only to pick up the dream from the beginning each time.

The shower didn't completely remove the remnants of her night. The house was quiet by the time she padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Mike sat at the table, his coffee cup in hand. He raised one eyebrow in question.

Carly shook her head. "Not ready to face the day yet."

Mike patted the chair next to him, and Carly obediently sat. He filled a cup with coffee and set it on the table in front of her. Pulling on oven mitts, he opened the oven door and pulled out a cookie sheet. Carly wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, enveloped in a curious combination of anticipation and dread of the coming week. She inhaled the steam from the hot beverage, creating an oasis in what promised to be a hectic day. Savoring her first sip, her glance caught the calendar on the wall, each day packed to overflowing with notes of things to do and people to call.

She sighed as Mike placed a platter of cinnamon rolls on the table. "Those smell good."

Mike mock-bowed from the waist. "Your pleasure is my pleasure, Madame."

Carly peeled the rolls apart, placing one on each of their plates. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

Mike frowned in thought. "I don't know. But you're stuck with me, so make the best of it."

His response brought a smile to her lips. "Funny."

He shoved an entire roll into his mouth and icing oozed from the corner of his mouth. Carly reached over and wiped off the icing with her index finger. Mike darted his tongue out and licked her finger quickly, flicking the icing on his nose.

Carly laughed, offering him a napkin. "Maybe that will teach you to eat more slowly."

Mike crossed his eyes. "My mother worked on me for many more years than you have. Don't count on it taking hold now at this late time of life."

Carly stood. "Can I fill your cup again?"

"Sure. Then I have to go."

She filled his cup and cracked open the oven door to let the heat into the kitchen. Nothing like a little extra warmth on a cool morning. "Working at the client's site today?"

"At least for this morning." Mike downed the last of his coffee. "Want me to help you look for your notebook?"

"No, I'll be fine. Eventually my brain will remind me where I had it last."

Carly tidied up the kitchen after Mike left, then pulled an old envelope from the trash can to use as an interim notebook. She made a quick but short list of the things she needed to do today: Dress and Hair Appointment. Surveying her list, she smiled. That wasn't a very long list. She should be able to cross everything off by the end of the morning.

Making the call to the only beauty salon in Bear Cove, a combination beauty parlor and barbershop, she asked for the owner, Margaret. "Hi, Margaret. It's Carly. Can I make an appointment for this coming Saturday, the fourteenth, in the morning, to get my hair done?"

The sound of pages being flipped back and forth as Margaret checked her calendar. "Sorry, Carly. I'm all booked that day. How about the next Saturday?"

Carly sighed. Sometimes she worried she'd consume all the oxygen by sighing so much. "Tom gets married on Saturday. At two in the afternoon. The next week won't do."

Margaret clicked her retractable pen several times, popping a bubble-gum bubble in Carly's ear. "You shoulda called me earlier. You know that's my busy time of the week."

"Sorry, Margaret, I just remembered last night. Can you work me in somehow? I just want a simple cut and blow dry."

Margaret tsk-tsked. "Now, Carly, you aren't going to be satisfied with a simple blow dry for your son's wedding, are you?" More bubble popping. "No, siree, we can't have wedding pictures of you with a blow dry."

Carly sat at the small table, one eye on the clock. Time was ticking away. "What do you suggest, Margaret?"

Pen clicking furiously, pages flipped some more. "I'll rearrange my clients, and I'll set you up for a full job. Maybe a perm."

Carly's heart skipped a beat and she stared at the receiver. "No, Margaret. I don't want a perm."

"Sure, sure, I know. You don't like to fuss with your hair. You don't have to fuss with a perm. Trust me."

Carly rolled her eyes, mimicking the kids. She knew Margaret's perms. Half the women in town had fallen victim to them. Tight little curls on top, shaved short up the back. If Margaret wasn't so pathetically stuck in the seventies, the style would be funny.

"Please, Margaret, I know you're busy, so if you could just put me down for a wash, cut, and styling, that would be great."

"Well..."

"Please."

"Will you promise to come back another time and let me see how I can transform you? I just went to a conference and learned some great highlighting techniques."

"Fine. We can talk when I see you on the fourteenth." Carly hung up, hoping by the time her appointment rolled around, Margaret would have forgotten her offer. The last thing Carly wanted was to be transformed. She'd seen those strange little toys the kids collected—hands and feet turning into wings and fins. While some days she might wish for three hands, she'd at least like to keep the two she had. "Now on to the dress."

The only dress shop in town other than the Wal-Mart up on the highway, which no one in their right mind would realistically call a dress shop, was the "Well Dressed". When she didn't get an answer at the shop, she called Penny's home number.

Penny answered on the first ring. "Hello, Carly. I hoped I'd hear from you eventually. How are the wedding plans going?"

"Fine, except for one small detail. I forgot I needed a dress."

"No wonder, given the number of times I've actually seen you wear a dress."

Carly flinched at the bite in that response. "Well, you know how it is, working from home doesn't give me much opportunity to wear dresses."

"I personally think most women, especially women our age, shouldn't wear pants. It's unbecoming."

Carly frowned. Penny Holcomb was over fifty if she was a day, several years older than Carly. She didn't include herself in Penny's age bracket. And she resented being included involuntarily. "Well, anyway, I know you're closed today, but the wedding is on Saturday. Could you meet me at the shop this morning so I can buy an outfit?"

"I don't know, Carly. As much as I'd like to help you, I had plans for today."

"What about tomorrow? If I need alterations, will that give you time to have them done for Saturday?"

"Won't be enough time. My seamstress is already backed up." Penny sighed. "I declare, Carly, you seem to find ways to get into the biggest jams of anyone I know."

Carly bit her tongue to hold back her retort. Penny's words hit too close to home sometimes. That was one of the drawbacks of living in a small town. Not only did people know every detail of everyone else's life, they felt the need to comment on any behavior not deemed to conform to town standards.

And as much as Carly loved Bear Cove, she didn't like the feeling of constantly living under a microscope.

Take her last situation—she preferred to refer to them as situations, not jams as Penny called them, or messes, Mike's favorite term. Not even escapades, which Tom loved to toss around to describe her curious nature and unique ability to ferret out a mystery. The last situation she'd been involved in included cattle rustling, murder, and a twenty-year old mystery. And before that, the mayor died and money went missing. Not to mention the time before that when she found herself locked inside a furnace.

Carly hadn't realized mysteries would drop into her lap when she moved to Bear Cove after marrying Mike. Not like she went looking for them. But somehow she did get involved. And being an outsider who meddled in what was considered none of her business didn't exactly endear her to the residents. Bear Cove folks didn't condone criminal activity. They just didn't like to upset the status quo. And jailing one of the pillars of society in the coastal town did not endear her to anyone.

Penny had never hidden her opinion regarding Carly's penchant for justice. The fact Penny was even talking to her at all was an improvement in their strained relationship. And the fact Penny was best friends with a murderer didn't give her any special status, at least as far as Carly was concerned.

And really, forgetting to buy a dress until nearly the last minute couldn't possibly be considered her fault. "You're right. I guess I'll just go up the highway to the Wal-Mart and see what they have."

Penny gasped. "You will do no such thing. Imagine have pictures taken of yourself standing next to your son and his beautiful bride with a dress off the rack like that. I can meet you at ten o'clock. For one hour."

"I appreciate that, Penny. See you at ten."

"And Carly?"

"Yes."

"No buying off the sale rack. Only off the regular racks. And not something that's going to take hours of alterations, either."

Carly drew a deep breath, letting the air out slowly before replying. "Fine. See you at ten. Got to go."

Piqued because Penny read her mind about the mark-down rack, Carly dug her check book out of her purse to confirm she had enough money to buy a dress at full price. Her thrifty nature normally limited her to the mark-downs, so for her to promise to buy at full price was a landmark day for Bear Cove. Carly could almost hear the wagging tongues around town when word got out.

She checked the clock on the stove. She had about twenty minutes before she needed to leave for the dress shop. Hoping to find her notebook, she went through the flyers and unopened mail again, sorting several piles on the table. She tossed unwanted flyers in the purple recycling bin and wrote a couple of business checks to pay bills.

Despite her best efforts, the missing notebook was still—well, missing. When she glanced at the clock in her office, she saw she'd spent more time than planned looking for the notebook. Somehow this book had taken over her life, the very thing she'd tried to avoid. Keeping all the information in one handy-dandy place was supposed to make her life easier not more complicated.

Carly hurried to get ready to meet Penny. Already she had visions in her mind of the perfect dress. Sarah's gown was ivory and lace, her flowers were pink coral. Carly thought a deep coral suit would be perfect, and, in accordance with her thrifty nature, would also serve as the perfect outfit for a special night out with Mike.

She grabbed her keys from counter near the phone. "See you later, Doc. I'm off to buy a dress."

Movement near the stove caught her eye, and she paused on her way out the back door. Doc the cat nosed around near the stove. Looking at his food dish, which was empty as usual, she sighed. She wasn't meant to be on time. Penny would be furious. Quickly she dumped a scoop of food in his bowl, topped up the water dish, and absentmindedly stroked his back. Completely ignoring her, Doc continued his investigation near the stove.

"Cats," Carly muttered to herself, since there was no one else to hear her, except Doc, and he certainly didn't seem interested in her. Feeling a little peeved at his apparent lack of gratitude over having his bowl re-filled, she nudged at him with her toe. "Doc, what are you looking for?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Visions of mice popped into her head. She couldn't have mice, not just five days before the wedding. She was hosting some of the out of town visitors, not to mention the rehearsal dinner.

She couldn't have mice.

Carly tried to think, panic rising in her, threatening to overtake her best intentions of peace and calm. Mike was out of the house. Tom and Sarah were at work. She had to get to the dress shop before Penny gave up on her.

She didn't have time for mice.

Now she was more angry at the mice than afraid of them. Pushing Doc impatiently to one side, she got down on hands and knees, intent on spying out their hiding place and scaring them out of her house. Peering under the stove, all she could see was some uncooked elbow macaroni spilled last week. Angling her head to one side, she stuck her nose in the small crevice between the counter top and the side of the range. Nothing—wait, there was something in there.

Getting to her feet from that awkward position reminded her of her resolution to lose that last five pounds. Working from home was hard on the willpower. She didn't have to walk very far to get to work, and the fridge was always within easy reach. Not to mention that the only kind of exercise she engaged in involved jumping to conclusions or passing the buck. At least, that's what Mike said.

The guy was a comedian. Not a good comedian, but that was another story for another time.

She grabbed the sides of the stove, and with a mighty heave, managed to loosen the appliance from its tight spot. A couple of more nudges, and she could get her hand between the side and the cupboard. Reaching in, she half-expected to bring out an old piece of toast or an expired flyer.

Nope, her prize was more substantial than that.

Her notebook.

Waving her trophy in the air, she let out a rush of breath at the relief. Not only were there no mice or moldy Melba toast in evidence, this book was crucial to her mental well-being. She looked around for Doc, intending to gather him up and give him a big hug. But Doc, in that inscrutable way of cats, was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, his back leg up in the air, licking an unreachable spot.

Carly sighed. The day was looking up. No pun intended.

Carly's walk to the dress shop was quick and uninterrupted. Most of Bear Cove was at work. Nestled on the Atlantic Ocean, the town had that settled-in look of many small towns on the coast. The only thing setting Bear Cove apart from the rest was its unwritten code about minimum development. No tourist trap pricey downtown area for Bear Cove. Most of the residents still shopped for their groceries in the small grocery store next to the combination barber shop/beauty salon. Everyone knew everyone in Bear Cove, and the residents wanted life to stay that way.

When Carly moved here just over ten years ago, she felt like an outsider and was treated like one by many. "If you weren't born here, you didn't belong here" was one of the town's unwritten but often implied mottos. The other one was "We like it the way it is." Several tough years passed before she began to feel at home, and the town finally accepted she was there to stay after she saved her former boss's life.

She'd earned the right, apparently, by rescuing one of their own.

All of that might have been overcome by her solving the mystery of the numbered company and the murder of the former mayor. Time would tell.

The only person Carly saw on the way was Maria Beckwith. Her friend must have had a tougher row to how than Carly did herself. Three strikes against the young newlywed—she wasn't born here, she was Hispanic, and she was the town's only female police officer. A thing not done by a gentlewoman, apparently. At least, judging by sniffs, raised noses, and averted glances in the past. one of the town's two police officers. The town tolerated Maria only because she was married to the town's pharmacist. Carly continued to encourage Maria to put in her time until the town loosened up and let her into their inner circle.

Given her own experience, no telling how long that might take.

As Maria cruised by in the town's police car, Carly raised a hand to wave, but Maria wasn't looking in her direction. Carly let her hand drop, feeling a little foolish. What was it about waving at someone who didn't see her that always made her feel silly?

As Carly rounded the corner from Jamaica Street to Main Street, the wind blowing in off the water made her eyes tear up. Salt mixed with humidity stung her face, and she stopped for a moment, brushing tears from her face. Her vision thus clouded, she blinked several times before continuing.

Finally able to see again, although her eyes weren't completely clear, she paused in front of Penny's dress shop to survey the window display. This was her kind of shopping. Window shopping. Working from home had definite advantages, besides being near the fridge. She also saved a lot of money on her wardrobe. She owned a couple of dresses and a suit or two for client meetings, but other than that, her primary outfits were jeans or sweats.

Penny worked on the window display for the coming spring selection by adding a couple of wicker chairs in the center of the platform and setting out pots of artificial tulips and daffodils. Carly watched, glad for a reason to stay outdoors for a few more minutes to enjoy the sun on her head and to delay the dress-buying experience.

Drawing a deep breath, she tasted a trace of salt on the air as she braced herself for what she knew was not going to be a pleasant experience. She just wanted a simple suit, but Penny would make sure it was an Outfit. With a capital O. Carly just wanted to not embarrass Sarah at the wedding, but Penny would want to make a fashion statement.

Savoring the smell of the nearby ocean, Carly turned to pull open the door and step over the threshold into the Fashion Queen's sanctum, feeling somewhat like a fly lured into the web by a spider. From behind her, she heard a shout. She turned around. A man with a kit bag ran down the steps of the bank and jumped into an older car idling by the sidewalk. He slammed the car door and gestured to the driver. The car sped away with a squealing of tires, heading down the street toward her.

Curious as to the cause of such a hurried departure, Carly was even more surprised when old Mr. McMasters, the bank security guard, hobbled down the steps, shouting at the top of his lungs and firing his gun several times in the general direction of the speeding car.

Between the gunfire and the screaming of the tires, Carly couldn't make out what he was shouting, but he was obviously upset.

As if that wasn't enough to convince Carly to postpone her shopping trip today, maybe permanently, the driver of the car, in his haste to elude the scattering of bullets, jumped the curb.

The car headed directly towards Carly as she stood, mouth agape, on her way into the dress shop.

