Must Love Cowboys (30 page)

“Hmm, well, when the woman in question is the bunkhouse cook and doesn't even own the pans she cooks with, I'm not sure being a cowboy—rich or penniless—matters.”

“Not quite rich, not quite penniless. Somewhere in between—although closer to penniless than rich.”

“Ah. Just the way I like my cowboys. Hungry.”

He might not have been able to see my smile, but his grin creased his cheeks and crinkled the corner of his eyes—the ones I could see, anyway. “Is that a yes?”

“Depends on who's asking the question.”

“I am,” he said. “I'm asking you to marry me, Tina. Will you?”

I could have hemmed and hawed for the rest of the journey back to the bunkhouse, but I didn't see the point. Adding a lifetime of wedded bliss to what I already felt for my handsome cowboy was guaranteed to make my happiness complete. Why would I want to put it off?

“Yes, Wyatt. I will marry you. And I don't care where we live or how much money we have. As far as I'm concerned, it's all good.”

We rode in silence for most of the journey, allowing me to simply enjoy the moment with all its delightful minutiae: the murmur of the wind through the tall grasses, the creak of the saddle, Hal's muffled hoofbeats and the shifting of my weight from side to side as he walked. But most of all, the warm strength of the man I had my arms around. If it hadn't been for my twisted ankle, I would've counted it as one of the most perfect days of my life. I really didn't want Duane or anyone else to spoil it, even though it was possible that I owed him one. After all, Wyatt had just proposed to me, which might have been the result of some sort of rescuing-the-damsel-in-distress syndrome. God only knew whether he would have asked that same question if I'd been making sandwiches at the time.

Still, this new turn of events made me long to wrap up our recent bouts of intrigue and speculation and get on with our lives. It also reminded me of some rather pertinent information I had neglected to pass along.

“Guess what? Jeannine's attorney called this morning. Apparently Duane didn't know Calvin existed until the will was read. What do you say we bite the bullet and confront him with our suspicions?”

“You'll get no arguments from me. I'm getting really tired of all this dognapping and fence-cutting crap.”

“Same here,” I agreed. “I'm sure he'll deny everything—might even be a bit huffy about it—but at least he would know we're on to him.”

“Yeah. Did you notice the change in him when Calvin said he wasn't sure he would accept his inheritance?”

“He seemed very relieved.”

Wyatt nodded. “Which makes me wonder how desperate he is for that money.”

“You mean like loan sharks threatening to break his arm or something?”

“Or worse. That would explain a lot, but it also makes me wonder if he had something to do with Jeannine's death.”

“Hurried it along, you mean?”

“Yeah, although I doubt he had the kind of access to Jeannine he would need to do that. I can't see him sneaking into her house and dumping out her nitroglycerine unless he had an accomplice. I wonder how good a
friend
he was to her.”

“I dunno,” I said. “If he were to visit her and ask to use the restroom…”

“True, but I'm guessing she had more than one bathroom in her house, and she wouldn't have kept her medications in the one a visitor would use.”

I was about to voice my agreement when the horse came to a rather abrupt halt, causing me to bump my nose on the middle of Wyatt's back.

“Looks like we might get that confrontation sooner than you think,” he said.

Peering around Wyatt's shoulder, I could see that we were headed down the track to the pasture gate. Then I spotted Duane exiting the bunkhouse through the rear door to Calvin's quarters.

Unfortunately, Duane saw us a second later. If he'd stood his ground and given us a plausible explanation for being there, he might've talked his way out of it, but like most wrongdoers caught in the act, he opted to make a run for it.

“Nothing quite like catching the varmint red-handed, is there?” Wyatt reached back and took my hand. “Try to land on your good foot.”

“What? Oh, right.”

With Wyatt's assistance, I slid off the horse with a lot less grace than I'd mounted him.

Not that it mattered. No one could have seen my dismount for the cloud of dust Hal kicked up as Wyatt launched him into a full gallop. Duane never looked back as he rounded the end of the bunkhouse and hightailed it down the drive. Ophelia had a head start, but the horse and rider quickly overtook her, leaping the cattle bars and scattering gravel as they thundered across the stable yard.

Fortunately, Duane didn't appear to be armed. Wyatt had a pistol in the holster strapped to his thigh, but he didn't resort to drawing a gun on his quarry. No, in classic rodeo style, he leaped from the saddle and wrestled Duane to the ground like a runaway steer. Three seconds later, he had Duane facedown with his hands tied neatly behind his back; a calf-roping champion couldn't have done it faster. I half expected him to throw up his hands to stop the clock.

Ophelia joined in the fray, barking her head off. Hal stopped a few strides away before turning and trotting back to Wyatt. I, of course, approached the scene much more slowly.

Duane's slick, assured manner was gone, his expression of frank dismay clearly evident as Wyatt jerked him to his feet and marched him toward me. From the look of him, it wouldn't take much encouragement to get him to talk.

At about the same time, Calvin came out onto the porch through the kitchen door. “What's all the ruckus about?”

“Caught this varmint coming out the back door to your quarters,” Wyatt replied. “Better call the police—and Angela. I think they need to hear what he has to say for himself.”

“Sure thing,” Calvin said.

Calvin had no sooner retreated through the doorway when Jack came outside, his lips stretched into a broad grin and his eyes alight with excitement. “I was standing by the window when you came flying across the yard. That was some damn fine ridin' and ropin'—like something out of a John Wayne movie.” With a slow wag of his head, he added, “Shoulda been taking pictures.”

“Me too. That was totally awesome!” My phone had a decent camera on it—I could've even taken a video—but by the time I'd fished it out of my pocket and started filming, I would have missed seeing my hero do his stuff.

Wyatt's grin spoke volumes. Duane offered no resistance as Wyatt aimed him toward the bunkhouse. Ophelia walked alongside him, her menacing growl undoubtedly contributing to his docility.

Jack came down the steps and took Hal's reins. “I'll put him up for you. Just don't do anything 'til I get back. Don't want to miss this.”

Neither did I. Too bad the rest of the guys weren't there to see it. A glance at my watch informed me that it was one fifteen, although I could've made a pretty good guess based on how hungry I was. Limping along as quickly as I could, I reached the steps just as Angela came running down from the main house.

“Thank God you're all safe,” she exclaimed. “I was getting worried.” Her gaze traveled downward to my bum ankle. “You're hurt.”

“Not too bad.” I waved a deprecating hand. “A little horse liniment should fix me right up.”

Angela giggled. “You're turning into a real rough-and-tumble cowgirl, aren't you?”

Wyatt and I exchanged a glance that had me chuckling along with her.
If she only knew.

“No kidding. I've even been on a horse—
and
fired a gun.” I nodded at Wyatt. “Not sure I could ever top what he did, though. Did you see it?”

She shook her head. “I was in the office. Thought I'd better come down and see if you were back yet.” With a nod toward Duane, she added, “Looks like you found more than your dog. You'll have to tell me all about it.”

“Believe me, it'll be a pleasure.”

* * *

The local sheriff and his deputy arrived in a surprisingly short time. Sheriff Carlson was tall and lean with iron-gray hair and a bristly mustache, and his dark-haired, smooth-cheeked deputy appeared to be a capable young man—young being the operative word. However, neither of them fit the part of a Western lawman quite the way Wyatt did. All he needed was a badge. I was so proud of him I couldn't stop smiling.

I stretched out in one of the recliners while Wyatt rubbed liniment on my ankle, which had swelled considerably and was already turning all sorts of interesting colors. The officers took statements from those who were witnesses, after which, Duane proceeded to spill his guts. As fast as he was talking, I hoped the sheriff was taking notes in shorthand.

Filthy dirty and soaked with sweat, Duane Evans sat alone in a straight-backed wooden chair in the middle of the room, his shoulders hunched forward as he picked at the inseams of his jeans. The only things missing from the classic interrogation scene were the glaring overhead lights and a hard-bitten detective with rolled-up sleeves and a battered fedora.

“I needed that money to pay gambling debts and cover up what I'd already stolen from the foundation,” Duane began. “The loan sharks were threatening me. I couldn't wait two years. I needed the money
now
. I had no idea Jeannine was going to leave her estate to her brother. Hell, I didn't even know she
had
a brother. When I heard how the will was worded, I-I panicked. I had to make sure he didn't inherit.”

“And how did you plan to do that?” Sheriff Carlson asked.

“Cocaine,” Duane replied. “I got it from a guy who swore a high enough dose would cause a heart attack—said he'd seen it happen. Jeannine had a bad heart, and after I'd seen the sort of medicines her brother was taking, it was obvious that he did too. I switched some of his pills for cocaine tablets. When that didn't work, I dumped out his nitroglycerine.”

Calvin snorted his disgust. “The cocaine didn't work because I hadn't taken any pills in months. It wasn't until Tina showed up that I decided I wasn't quite ready to give up on life. I honestly don't remember doing it, but I must've taken one of each like I was supposed to—which, as it turned out, was a mistake.”

A momentary chill shook me as I remembered how close Calvin had come to dying that night—and all because he'd decided he wanted to live.

How ironic
. “I have all of Calvin's old meds in a bag in my desk. Some of them didn't match the label descriptions, and since I didn't have any idea what they were, I'd planned to take them to a pharmacy for disposal. Never quite got around to it, though.”

The sheriff nodded. “Good. We'll take those as evidence.” He returned his attention to Duane. “That explains how Mr. Douglas wound up in the hospital, but not what you were doing here today.”

“Doesn't explain how you got into Calvin's room with the door locked, either,” Wyatt put in. “Especially with Calvin and Jack sitting right here in the mess hall.”

Duane actually smiled. “I figured you might lock up at some point, so I stole a key and had a duplicate made. The way you people leave this place unlocked made it so easy. As for coming in when they were here, after last night, I realized they were both deaf as posts, so I thought I'd give it another try. The cocaine almost worked the last time.” He paused, giving me a look that made me want to slap him. “Once I got you and your damned dog out of the way, I knew they'd be here alone.”

I could scarcely believe what I was hearing, especially given the smug manner in which he'd said it. The creep actually seemed proud of his ingenuity. How could anyone be that cold and unfeeling? “But why would you do that after Calvin said he wasn't sure he wanted the money?”

“I figured he'd change his mind once he realized how much money he would be giving away.”

“What about the fences?” Wyatt asked. “I take it you're the one who's been cutting them.”

“Yeah,” Duane said with an insolent shrug. “That was just to keep you guys busy.”

Wyatt turned toward the sheriff. “We can probably prove that, if necessary. There was blood on the last wire that was cut. I covered it up in case we needed it for comparison.”

“Good thinking,” Sheriff Carlson said. “Although we may not need it.”

Having heard Duane's confession, I thought we all deserved a pat on the back for our intuitive detective work. We'd already figured out everything except for the gambling and the cocaine. Wyatt and I had even hit on the loan shark angle, which was probably why Duane was being relatively cooperative. He must've realized he was safer in police custody than tangling with a bunch of vindictive loan sharks.

Of course, the fact that Calvin was still alive was the most important result of our involvement. Perhaps Jeannine hadn't been as lucky.

“What about my sister?” Calvin asked, giving voice to my thoughts. “Her death was mighty opportune.”

“Believe me, killing Jeannine was the last thing I wanted to do,” Duane replied. “She was donating to the foundation on a regular basis. When she died, the donations stopped.” With an expression of utter mystification, he stared at the floor, shaking his head slowly. “She always said she was going to leave her estate to the foundation. I still can't figure out why she didn't.”

My derisive laughter diverted Duane's downcast gaze. “Couldn't possibly have been because she suspected you of embezzling, could it? She might not have been able to prove you'd been stealing, but cutting the funding for two years might've made it more obvious that something fishy was going on and at least gotten you kicked off the board.”

Judging from his openmouthed reaction, that explanation hadn't occurred to Duane.

Sheriff Carlson closed his notebook and got to his feet. “Kinda reminds me of the night I was chasing a suspect who was wearing shoes with flashing red lights in the heels.” With a grin, he added, “We don't catch the smart ones.”

Evidently Duane Evans didn't belong in that category.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a relaxed and festive occasion. Festive for obvious reasons, and relaxed because the chicken wings were already done and Wyatt had made the fried rice, deeming me too injured to stand in front of the stove. I could've done it, of course, but he insisted, so I let him. He even made a fruit salad for dessert.

Everyone seemed happy and relieved that the mystery had finally been solved, until Wyatt let it slip that he and I were engaged to be married.

After we'd received hearty congratulations from the group as a whole, Calvin spoke up. “If it hadn't been for you two, I might not have been alive to inherit anything. I'm thinkin' I oughta give you a big chunk of my inheritance as a wedding present.”

As touched as I was by his generous offer, it was a moment before I could control my emotions enough to speak. “That's very kind of you, Calvin, but you might want to wait and see how much money you'll get before you start giving it away. Duane might be wrong about the amount. It might not even be enough for your own retirement.”