The High Country Rancher (7 page)

She pulled the curtain, gauging the amount of pain every effort took, even reconsidering Dr. Munsey’s suggestion. Her left arm felt like a rock had been taped to it. She attempted to raise it up and away from her body, causing a flash of intense pain that made her gasp.

Good thing she only needed her right hand to fire her pistol. The thought squelched the last of her doubts about being prepared. If she could pull, aim and shoot, she was work ready.

Gingerly she put on the one-armed blouse, and worked the buttons.

Dressed, she shoved the prescription note in the pocket of her jeans and yanked open the bed curtain, only to find Baylor leaning against the wall in an oh-so-sexy stance that made her cheeks flame and her heart rate escalate.

She owed him her life, twice over. How could she ever repay him?

“I’ve got my pickup outside. I’ll take you home.”

She liked the sound of that. “Can we hit the pharmacy en route?”

“Sure.” He moved out into the hallway and she fell in next to him.

“What would I do without you around to save my butt every time I get into trouble?”

Baylor slowed and stopped. Reaching out, he grasped her good arm. She tried to analyze his face for clues to the tension she could feel coming from his body and radiating into her from his hand.

“Take the day off, Mariah. This is getting out of hand.”

Caution stirred inside of her. She tried to relax even while images of Buckner’s battered body imploded in her mind.

“I can’t take a day off when things get rough, Baylor. There’s a madman out there who for some obscure reason wants me dead. Maybe he has Endicott and wants to keep him, maybe someone spit in his cornflakes this morning, but for whatever reason, he’s dangerous…to you…to me. I can’t quit.”

“Detective Ellis.” Mariah turned around to find Officer Duffy standing next to her and Baylor.

“I just got a call from Officer Bradshaw. That cowboy, Ray Buckner, he didn’t make it. He never regained consciousness.” Officer Duffy nodded and left through the main door.

Mariah’s heart sagged in her chest and only the feel of Baylor’s arms around her kept her from collapsing into a heap on the floor. Her only suspect-witness was dead, along with any information he might have had about why he’d tried to kill them, or who had tried to kill them.

The door opened and CSI Worchester strode in.

“Detective Ellis, Officer Duffy said I’d find you here.”

Mariah moved toward him. “Yeah, I’m thinking of renting a permanent room. Did you find anything in the bull pen?”

“Contaminated scene. After a dozen Brahmas stomp around in it for hours, there’s nothing salvageable, but I’ll have more information once Ray Buckner’s body is released to the morgue.”

“How about the ballistics on the slug from the meadow and Buckner’s rifle?”

“Not a match. The bullet wasn’t fired from that gun.”

Mariah’s mouth went dry and a sensation of guilt glided through her body.

What had she done? An innocent man was dead based on her stupid assumption that he’d tried to kill her and Baylor.

“Thanks, Ryan. I’ll be in touch.”

He left, and she turned back to Baylor.

“Come on, you couldn’t know what would hap
pen.” He pulled her into his arms. She leaned into him and closed her eyes.

More than anything she wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t.

“Remove your shirt,” the polygraph examiner said, opening his equipment case and hooking up cables.

The interrogation room seemed five times too small to Baylor as he popped the snaps down the front of his plaid shirt and pulled it off.

He knew Mariah was there, just behind the four-by-four square of mirrored glass, watching, hoping…trusting?

“Relax, Mr. McCullough,” the examiner said as he placed a band of convoluted rubber tubes around Baylor’s chest and abdomen, then cinched them tight.

“Go ahead and have a seat.” He gestured to an oversize chair on the opposite side of the table.

Baylor sat down and leaned back, trying to take deep, even breaths to calm his blown nerves. He didn’t have anything to hide, save a secret or two, so what were the chances he’d flunk the test?

The polygraph examiner, Wendell Cranston, clamped two small metal plates to the index and
pointer fingers of Baylor’s right hand, followed by a blood pressure cuff on his left upper arm. He felt like a bovine in a calf roping event, all tied up until the flag dropped.

He watched Wendell plug the leads into a machine that looked something like a seismograph. He tried to breathe normally to combat his growing agitation with the situation he’d volunteered to participate in.

“I’m going to ask a series of exploratory questions which I’ll use to form my control questions. The exploratory questions will come off the paperwork you filled out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“This machine will record the physiological responses generated by your sympathetic nervous system. These include blood pressure, pulse, respirations and skin conductivity. This machine can detect lies, so it’s important to answer my questions truthfully. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Wendell switched on the machine, its low hum filling the room and further eroding Baylor’s resolve.

“Is your name Baylor McCullough?”

“Yes.”

“Do you live in Idaho?”

“Yes.”

“Are you thirty-four years of age?”

“Yes.” Baylor stared straight ahead, feeling the tension in his body ease.

Wendell Cranston stared down at the graph and made several marks on the paper. “I’m going to conduct a stim test now, in which I’ll ask you to deliberately tell a lie. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Is your name Baylor McCullough?”

“No.”

Wendell made a mark on the paper as it flowed out of the machine. “Are you thirty-four years old?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.” Baylor cleared his throat and sucked in a deep breath, seeing his last images of Amy flash in his mind. “I’m a widower.”

“Just yes or no answers, Mr. McCullough.”

Baylor shut his eyes and tried to focus on the examiner’s voice, but he could feel his muscles clenching tight between his shoulder blades.

“Do you live on the Bellwether Ranch?”

“No.”

“Were you born in Idaho?”

“No.”

“That concludes the stim test. I was able to detect the lies, and to establish a baseline. We’re ready to begin.”

Baylor sucked in a deep breath, opened his eyes and glanced at the mirror. What was he thinking? He was doing this for her. Something about the way she saw him mattered on a primal level that he couldn’t explain.

“Do you know James Endicott?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see James Endicott on April the fifth of this year?”

“No.”

“Is your name Baylor McCullough?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know James Endicott was having an affair with your wife, Amy?”

“No!”

“Do you live on the Bellwether Ranch?”

“Yes.” With all the remaining patience Baylor could muster he remained in the chair, determined to stay put until the bitter end.

“Did you kill James Endicott?”

“No.”

“Did you have anything to do with James Endicott’s disappearance?”

“No.”

“Were you born in Idaho?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of James Endicott?”

“No.”

“Are you thirty-four years of age?”

“Yes.”

M
ARIAH STOOD FROZEN
in front of the mirrored window, staring at Baylor. She could see the tense set of his shoulders, hear the stress in his voice. Had
she done the right thing, asking him to take a polygraph? And what if he didn’t pass? Was she prepared to deal with that?

She hit the off button on the open microphone and the viewing room went silent. It was easier that way. She’d lost every ounce of her objectivity in this case. It was time to give it up. Time to let go. But could she step out on him now?

Her throat tightened, reality twisted around her thoughts and she pondered the real question. Could she bear to never see him again?

The viewing-room door banged open and Ted Ellis strode in, closing the door behind him.

“Has he cracked yet?”

“No, Dad, but any moment now.” She’d been unable to keep the sarcasm from lacing itself around her words, a fact that her father jumped on.

“I’ve been watching you, Mariah, and you’ve gone gaga on McCullough.” Ted Ellis glanced at his wristwatch. “You’ve got until five o’clock this afternoon to pull yourself together or you’re off this case.”

She wheeled on her father, but couldn’t find the words to rebut. A sense of calm settled over her as she glanced down at her watch. “Only three hours to go. Thank you, and I’ll take a couple of days off while I’m at it.”

For the first time in forever, Chief Ellis was speechless, but it didn’t take him long to find his tongue. “You really have lost your objectivity, haven’t you?”

Turning back to the glass, she watched Wendell Cranston release Baylor.

Her mouth went dry and she mentally traced every hard line of his broad chest. A rush of need spiked in her veins. “Yes, I have. He’s a decent man and I owe him my life.”

Mariah’s throat tightened; the admission was cathartic. “I believe he’s innocent.”

Her father stared at her and shook his head. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll reassign the case to Maxwell, and if he can’t catch a break, the feds are next in line.”

A shudder skimmed her body. The idea of turning over jurisdiction to the FBI didn’t sit well. “I plan to wait for the examiner’s report before I make my decision.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Her dad patted her shoulder. “I’ve always encouraged you to follow your gut, Mariah. That’s what put you on his trail in the first place, but sometimes your feelings get in the way of your gut and you have to accept that.”

Dread bubbled up inside of her and she turned back to the viewing window. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Point taken.”

Cranston gave the wrap sign, holding up four fingers on his right hand. She watched Baylor pull on his shirt and work the snaps before he pushed his hat down low on his head and left the room.

“Do you want me to stay for the analysis?”

“No. I can take whatever Wendell has to say.”

“Okay.” Her dad left the viewing room and she continued to watch the examiner as he studied the roll of graph paper, marking it at random intervals.

Her heart pounded in her eardrums. She could feel the tension as it agitated her muscles one by one until she thought she’d explode if she waited any longer.

Wendell waved his hand for her to come into the room and she exited the viewing room, working hard to keep her steps as casual as possible.

Baylor stood in the hallway, tall and relaxed, like a man without a problem in the world.

Her steps faltered, and she came face-to-face with him. “I hope it’s everything you need, Mariah.”

The low sexy quality of his voice was as effective as a caress, and she fought the urge to lean into him. To feel his arms around her.

“I only need the truth.” She gazed up at him and for an instant his eyes narrowed.

“I’m not sure you could handle it.”

“Try me.”

Contemplation played on his features. He was a man teetering between two options, the truth or a lie. Rattled, she suddenly didn’t want either tossed her way. Not from him, not right now. “Save it until after I’ve gotten Wendell’s analysis. We might have lots more to talk about by then.”

He didn’t comment as she turned away, a fact that
bothered her. She entered the interrogation room and closed the door behind her. What was he hiding?

“Detective.” Wendell reached out and shook her hand.

“Did you arrive at a conclusion?” Anticipation poised her nerves on the edge of an emotional precipice.

“Yes.”

B
AYLOR PACED THE
corridor, feeling every second pass in torturous increments. He’d told the truth, answered the questions Wendell had put to him. Why didn’t he feel like the outcome would say otherwise?

He sat down in one of the chairs that lined the hallway. He needed to tell Mariah about the night Amy died. He was sure she’d already read the file—what good detective wouldn’t? An edge of guilt sliced into him, releasing a flood of emotions he’d believed he’d dealt with.

The interrogation-room door opened and Mariah stepped out, followed by Wendell Cranston and his black suitcase of lie detector paraphernalia. He turned left and disappeared into the station.

Baylor stood up, trying to gauge the look on Mariah’s face, but got nothing. Caution hedged his bet on the outcome, and a pang of anxiety chased through him.

“Put me out of my misery,” he said, glad when she finally looked him in the eye.

“Wendell ruled it inconclusive. Your answer spikes to the control questions match your answer spikes to the relevant questions. You’re either a fabulous liar, or the most truthful suspect I’ve ever met.”

He didn’t know whether to demand a retake or be content with inconclusive. Either way he was back at square one with her. He reached out and grasped her elbow, steering her toward the door. He needed her alone, needed to touch her, to coax her, to make her understand, to make her believe, but she stopped short and pulled out of his grasp.

“The odds are pretty good I’ll be pulled off this case by morning.”

Caution settled around his nerves and he suddenly understood why she’d been so hopeful that the polygraph would produce a positive result. “I’ll be bait for the next detective who’d like nothing better than to prove I had something to do with Endicott’s disappearance?”

The downcast glance of her eyes told him he was spot-on. “Is this your choice, Mariah?”

She looked straight at him and his heart slammed against his ribs.

“I’ve lost my objectivity…” her voice dropped to a whisper “…where you’re concerned. I can’t do my job when I’m around you.”

Desire, hot and all consuming, ignited in his body and he reached out for her. She didn’t resist, but took his hand and steered him across the hall into the
viewing room. The door shut and he heard the lock engage. Gone were the last of the emotional restraints that boxed him in. He knew at that moment she felt the fire, too. Experienced the primal burn of need heating them to white-hot.

Mariah’s breath caught in her throat. She focused on the feel of Baylor’s hands moving over her body with slow seductive precision. Everywhere he touched he left her skin humming with the need for more.

She raised her mouth to his and he pinned her to the door with his body. It was crazy, it was sane, it was everything in between, and she needed him like she needed air. She breathed him in, trying to reconcile her emotions with her primal physical response to his heated touch. A small sigh escaped from her as he deepened the kiss, demanding more without words.

The thud of rushed footsteps in the hall outside of the viewing room pulled her from the lust-induced haze, and she ended the kiss.

Baylor groaned.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, reluctantly stepping back from him and smoothing her hair.

His eyes had darkened and still smoldered with a desire so palpable she felt like she could reach out and touch it, or bring it back to life in an instant.

Three loud raps on the door sounded and echoed in the tiny room. Baylor moved in front of the mirrored glass and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mariah pulled open the door, spotting a uniformed officer as he was poised to enter the interrogation room.

“What’s going on?”

“Dispatch just got a couple of 911 calls for the rural fire department. There’s a structure fire on the Bellwether Ranch.”

Panic zipped through her as she pulled the door all the way open and stepped out into the corridor with Baylor on her heels.

“Did they say what kind of structure?” she asked.

“A barn, I think. I thought McCullough should know.” The officer headed back toward the station.

Baylor pushed past her and headed for the door. It took everything he had not to run.

Fires in the backcountry were hard to fight. There were no hydrants to hook onto. The water would have to be trucked in, in a tanker that usually arrived after the structure had been reduced to ashes. Already he was counting his losses. Thankfully he’d turned the horses out this morning and the band of calves who’d been rescued from the storm were back with their mothers in the pasture.

“I’ve got to go,” he said over his shoulder as he pushed out into the afternoon sun. Then he bolted, leaving the afterglow of kissing Mariah in his wake, but not completely out of mind.

D
USK HAD DESCENDED
on the high country when he roared up the driveway two hours later. The haze of
smoke had been visible in the air by the time he’d left the Salmon River road and crossed onto Bellwether property.

He braked hard and stared at the blackened skeleton of the barn that had been standing on the ranch since before he was born. A couple of two-ton bales of hay still flamed out, despite the fireman holding the water hose on it.

Two water tender tankers covered the scene along with a dozen volunteer firemen, and Travis, his ranch hand, sat on the back bumper of one of the trucks with his head down.

Worry stewed inside of Baylor. Was Travis okay? He pulled in a breath and climbed out of his pickup. He’d mentally prepared for the worst. At least none of his livestock had perished in the fire.