The Maverick of Copper Creek (15 page)

“If you'd like, I'll finish mucking in here. Or if you'd rather, I'll make breakfast. Your call.”

She eyed him. “Honestly? I'd rather muck stalls any time than have to cook.”

He laughed. “Okay then. I'll do the cooking.” He gave her a long, slow look. “I'd feel guilty about taking the easy job if I couldn't see how good all this hard work is for your body.”

“Yeah. Right, MacKenzie.”

“You don't believe me?” He shook his head. “You ought to see what I see.”

She'd removed her parka and tossed it over the rail of the stall, rolling the sleeves of her plaid shirt, which she wore with torn, faded denims tucked into tall rubber boots. Even with her blonde hair pulled away from a face devoid of any makeup, she took his breath away.

“You could be one of those fashion models in an ad for healthy living.”

“I see all those years away have taught you how to sweet-talk the ladies.” She sipped her coffee. “I bet you've learned all kinds of other things, too.”

He merely smiled and raised a brow. “Maybe I'll show you a few of them sometime.”

“Maybe I'll let you.” Her remark, spoken before she had time to filter it, had her blushing furiously before she tossed aside the last of her coffee and got to her feet to hide her embarrassment. “Thanks for the break. Now I've got to get back to work.”

She pulled on the work glove before picking up the pitchfork.

“Come in the house whenever Vern gets back. I'll have breakfast ready.”

Brenna watched him walk away. He didn't so much walk as saunter, those long legs eating up the distance to the house with ease. He hadn't bothered to shave, and the dark growth of stubble only added to his rugged appeal.

He could have been in an ad, too, she thought. An ad inviting travelers to rough-and-tumble Montana, home of the authentic, rugged American cowboy.

The image fit him perfectly.

Sammy stood in the doorway, alternately staring at Brenna, then at the man walking away.

Finally he made a mad dash to catch up with Ash, happily trailing him up the steps of the porch.

“Traitor,” Brenna muttered as she returned to her chores.

“Now this was worth dealing with a cranky cowboy, and having to mend a section of fence with nothing but a pair of rusty pliers.” Vern tucked into the plate of scrambled eggs, thick slices of ham and fried potatoes and didn't stop until his plate was empty.

“Why was Noah feeling cranky?” Brenna asked.

The old cowboy shrugged. “I found him asleep, and told him to get his sorry…hide over to the herd. I'm not paying him to sleep on the job.”

“If I found a wrangler of mine asleep on the job, he wouldn't have the job anymore.” Ash set a steaming skillet on a hot pad in the center of the table and handed the old cowboy a long-handled serving spoon. “There's seconds. Help yourself.”

“Don't mind if I do.” Vern filled his plate again and ate more slowly, pausing now and then to sip his coffee. “As for Noah Perkins, I can't fire him. He's all we've got.”

“If he knows that, then he knows he's got you over a barrel, and he figures he can do whatever he pleases on the job. I'd do double duty before I'd let one of my hires run roughshod over my rules.” Across the table, Ash watched the old cowboy with a grin. “You act like you haven't seen food for a year.”

“Not food like this.” Vern winked at Brenna. “Not that I'm faulting you, girl. You got your hands full being an artist and hardworking rancher.”

Brenna laughed. “That's a polite way of saying that when it comes to cooking, I won't win any awards.”

“You got that right.” Vern glanced at Ash. “How'd you learn to cook like this?”

“Necessity.” Ash buttered a slice of wheat toast. “When you're alone, you cook or starve. Plus, it gave me a source of income when I was broke.”

“You cooked for a living?”

Ash shrugged. “When I had to.” He deftly changed the subject, turning to Brenna. “When I finish helping Vern with the tractor, I thought I'd drive you to town.”

She looked up sharply. “Why?”

“So you can tell Chief Pettigrew about that letter from your father.”

“I have no intention of telling Ira about it.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I've given it some thought, Ash, and I don't see any possible connection between that letter and those incidents in town.”

“Maybe you don't see the connection, but I think that should be up to the chief. It's a simple matter of showing him the letter and letting him decide whether to investigate it further or choose to let it alone.”

Her eyes flashed fire, a sure sign that she was becoming agitated. “I wish I'd never mentioned that letter.”

“Too late, Sunshine. Now that I know, I'm not going to rest until you agree to show it to the police chief.”

She turned to Vern. “Why don't you take him out to the barn and let him work off some of this energy on that tractor?”

Vern drained his coffee in one long swallow. “Come on, Ash. You heard the lady.”

Ash glanced around at the mess he'd left in the sink. “I'll help Brenna with the dishes and then join you in the barn.”

Brenna shook her head. “If you think I'm going to give you any more time to press me about talking to Ira Pettigrew, think again. Just go with Vern and do whatever you need to do in the barn.”

As the two men headed out the door, trailed by her puppy, Brenna poured herself another cup of coffee and watched through the window as Ash and Vern crossed the distance from the house to the barn.

Though she watched both men, her mind was only on one.

He had the loose, easy stride of a cowboy. His muscles, toned from years of ranching, rippled beneath the sleeves of his plaid shirt. His dark hair, in need of a trim, was wind-tossed. His laughter, rich and warm, was carried on the breeze.

Ever since Ash had returned to Copper Creek, her carefully laid plans had come crashing and burning to the ground. Her life had become one long, crazy freefall.

She could only hope that somewhere in her future lay a smooth, easy landing.

H
old that light a little higher, Vern.”

Ash leaned in as far as he could, using daylight and the extra illumination from Vern's handheld flashlight to remove the faulty starter switch.

The older man peered over his shoulder. “Why are you so determined to force Brenna to tell the police chief about her pa's letter?”

Ash's words were muffled as he leaned deeper into the tractor's engine block. “I still think those two near accidents in town were targeting me. But since the chief suggested that Brenna could be the target, we have to take precautions. One thing we all know is that her old man was no good. He may be older now, and his health failing, but I figure a tiger doesn't change his stripes. As long as he's alive, we should consider him a threat.”

Vern nodded his agreement. “You make a good case. I'm with you on this, son.”

“Good.” Ash grunted as he replaced the old starter switch with the new one.

He tightened everything before lifting his head and turning to Vern. “Then be sure to let Brenna know how you feel. She respects your opinion, Vern. I want her to go to town with me before the day is over and let Ira Pettigrew decide how to proceed.” He nodded toward the tractor. “Okay. Give it a try.”

The old cowboy climbed up to the tractor seat and turned the ignition key. The chugging of the engine had his face creasing into a wide smile. “That'll do it, son. You do good work.”

“Good. Glad it was a simple fix.”

Wiping his hands on a rag, Ash looked around at the lack of lights in the barn, the door hanging by a single hinge, the ladder leading to the hayloft missing several rungs. “I can't believe how many things are falling apart around here.”

“It's getting old. Like me.”

“You're in a lot better shape than this place. You have to be a miracle worker to keep this old ranch and its ancient equipment running. How do you do it?”

“Rubber bands and duct tape, boy.”

The two shared an easy laugh.

Vern sobered. “But sometimes it's frustrating, especially after a long day of having to fight a lazy drifter, a leaking roof, a flat tire, and always old Mother Nature.”

“Yeah. It has to be tough to take. You need help around here, Vern. And so does Brenna.” Ash squinted up at the exposed rafters of the barn. “Now tell me about those lights. Where's the source of the problem?”

Vern shrugged. “They all went out at the same time, so it has to be the wiring.”

“I'm no electrician, but Brady's a whiz at such things. And if he can't fix it, he knows someone in town who can. I'll see if he can spare some time to take a look at it.”

“I'd be grateful for his help.” Vern crossed to the far side of the barn and hung the flashlight on a hook on the wall. He took his time wiping his hands on a rag. “You notice anything about our girl this morning?”

“Other than the fact that she was grumpy?” Ash grinned at his own joke.

“Maybe she has a right to be.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

The old man folded the rag once, twice, three times before tucking it into his back pocket. Only then did he look directly at Ash. “I noticed she kept her left hand in her lap over breakfast. But I caught a glimpse of it before she pulled on her work gloves around dawn this morning. She didn't think I noticed, but I did. That fancy diamond ring was missing.”

He saw the stunned surprise in Ash's eyes before it was blinked it away.

Ash cleared his throat. “Maybe she doesn't like to wear it while she's working.”

“That ring hasn't left her finger since the city slicker put it on.” The old man continued studying Ash while he added, “Speaking of which…he paid a call last night, shortly after you left. I was sitting outside my trailer, enjoying a beer in the dark. He stormed up the porch steps like a wounded bear. Wasn't inside the house very long. When he left, there were tires spitting gravel, like somebody being chased by the devil. Afterward, the kitchen lights went out. The only light I saw was in Brenna's room upstairs. That one was on and off most of the night until I fell asleep after midnight. I suspect that our girl may be feeling a mite conflicted right now. Even though, from Revel's reaction, I'd say the final decision came from her, not him.”

Vern paused a beat. “Not that it matters who said what. The fact is, Brenna's no longer wearing Revel's ring.”

Ash dropped down on the edge of a bale of hay and stared in silence at the ground.

Seeing the thoughtful look on his face, Vern climbed up to the seat of the tractor. Though Ash hadn't said much, the look on his face spoke volumes.

The old man was whistling as he drove out of the barn and steered the tractor along the lane heading toward a distant meadow.

“All I'm asking is that you show Ira the letter.” Ash pulled on his sunglasses as the truck ate up the miles from Brenna's ranch to town.

Brenna shot him a dark look while her fingers continued worrying the edges of the envelope.

“I'm trying to do as my mother asked, and be a forgiving daughter. And now you're suggesting that I name my father as a suspect in something that could be criminal.”

“I'm not suggesting that you make any accusations or point any fingers. Let the chief come to his own conclusions.”

She held up the letter. “He says he's near death. His organs are failing. How could he possibly be strong enough to drive a truck across Montana just to target me?”

“I'm not saying he did or didn't do anything wrong. But if he'd been holding a grudge all these years, it's a possibility.” Seeing her stricken look, he added gently, “Listen, Brenna. I'm not pointing a finger at your father. I'm just doing as the chief said, and offering any name that could be a suspect. It would be wrong to withhold something that could turn out to be important information during an investigation.” To keep things light he winked. “Can you tell I spent a lot of nights watching cop shows on TV?”

That brought a smile to her lips. “All right. I get it.” She set the letter back in her lap. “And I'll show him the letter. But I want Chief Pettigrew to know that I don't believe my father is capable of this.”

“Fair enough.” Ash glanced at her hand, then away. He'd gone over and over in his mind how to approach the subject of the missing engagement ring, but he couldn't come up with a way to keep it light. So he continued avoiding the obvious.

Finally, when she reached into her purse for her sunglasses, he caught her hand in his. “Hey.”

Her eyes went wide before they narrowed on him. “What?

He shrugged. “Nothing. I just noticed this hand is looking…a tad naked.”

She snatched it away and folded it under her right hand in her lap.

“Chris and I are…taking some time off.”

“Time off. Is that like a vacation?”

“Yeah.” She looked over to see his lips curling into a smile. “Are you smirking?”

“Just smiling. Is smiling allowed?”

“Not if it means you're laughing at me.”

“Me? Laugh at you? Now why would I do a thing like that, Sunshine?” He waited a beat before asking, “Are you happy or sad about this…vacation time?”

She didn't answer for so long, he started to regret his question. Maybe he'd struck a nerve. The last thing he wanted to do was add to any pain she might be suffering.

Finally she started speaking in halting sentences. “I'm not sure just what I'm feeling. Maybe a little…relieved. Chris is being reassigned to Helena, and then, if he gets his wish, to Washington, D.C. It's where he's always wanted to be. We both knew his assignment out here was temporary. He never tried to hide that fact from me.”

“So, he didn't invite you along for the ride?”

“As a matter of fact, he did. To Helena, and then to Washington. When he first talked about it, I went along with the plan. It seemed like…a fantasy, I guess. But now that it's real, and not just some far-in-the-distant-future goal, I have a lot of doubts. My home is here. My family ranch. My studio.” She swallowed. “My friends.” She glanced at him. “When he pressed for an answer, I felt a real moment of panic.”

“And now?”

She shrugged. “Maybe there's still a little panic. But not as much. And honestly, I just can't see myself ever living in a big city. Look at me.” She glanced down at her faded jeans and T-shirt, and the scuffed sneakers that she'd bought in a resale shop a year ago. “I'd never fit in.”

“Sunshine, you'd fit in anywhere you wanted to be. But I know what you mean about leaving all this.” He felt his heart soar as the truck came up over a ridge and the little town of Copper Creek came into view. “Most people would see only the dingy buildings and struggling ranchers. Not to mention miles of wilderness. But after years away, I see old friends who share my grief at the loss of my father, and who ask about my mother and grandfather and brother.” He turned to her. “It has to be the same for you. When your mother passed, there was old Vern, offering to stay awhile and help out with ranch chores, and ended up staying for all these years.”

She nodded. “And Nonie Claxton over at Wylie's, who used to send home bowls of soup with me after school. And Reverend Hamilton's wife, Francis, who made my dress for graduation after my mother passed away. And your father, who paid my taxes without telling a soul. I only learned of it when I went to plead my case, and learned it had been settled.” Her smile bloomed as she remembered. “So many good friends who got me through some really hard times.”

Ash shot her a look of absolute astonishment. “I didn't know about Pop doing that, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He could be the toughest, meanest slave driver around. But he had a soft spot for good people in need.”

“If it hadn't been for your father, Ash, I know I'd have lost my land years ago. He not only paid my back taxes, but paid them forward, too, so I wouldn't have to worry. When I found out, I rode old Thunder over to his place to thank him. He was working out in one of the barns, and his face got all red and his eyes were watering. He said he had a cold, but I think he was remembering you.”

Ash's voice was rougher than he'd intended. “What makes you think that?”

“Because when I was leaving he hugged me, and said he hoped some day my best friend would come back.” She looked out the side window, avoiding Ash's eyes. “And we both knew who he was talking about.”

“Yeah?” There was a softness in Ash's voice that hadn't been there moments earlier.

She turned to study his profile. “Yeah.”

They drove through the town in complete silence.

By the time they parked the truck and walked into the police chief's office, they were both smiling and feeling as though a heavy weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

Ira Pettigrew read the letter several times before setting it aside. He steepled his hands on the desktop and peered at Brenna, who was seated across from him and beside Ash.

“The handwriting's pretty shaky. You recognize it as your father's?”

She glanced helplessly at Ash. Of all the questions she'd been anticipating, this hadn't been one of them. “I wouldn't know. I never got a letter from him before.”

“Do the bank records show whether your check has been cashed?”

“It's only been a couple of weeks. But I can ask Sarah over at the bank.”

“You do that. And let me know.” Ira leaned forward. “I'll give you back this letter as soon as I make a copy for my files. Until I figure out what's causing these incidents, I need to question anything that seems unusual.”

“And you think my father could be involved?”

He kept his tone impersonal. “Not at all. It sounds to me as though he's hoping to make peace before facing his Maker. But I can't discount any theory, no matter how thin. It's my job to be suspicious.”

He studied both of them. “Anything else I should know about? Ash, you remember any new enemies I ought to be checking up on?”

Ash shook his head. “How about Luther?”

“He was up in North Pond, hauling a load of grain at the very time that rogue truck was bearing down on you two. I checked out his story, and half a dozen witnesses were able to verify it.”

Ash swore. “I was wishing it was Luther. Then we could all catch a breath and relax.”

“I expect the two of you to be vigilant about your safety. As a lawman, I view one runaway truck as an accident. But I consider two a conspiracy.”

He got to his feet, signaling an end to their meeting. “I've got to get over to the courthouse. I'm grateful that you brought this letter in, Brenna. It may mean nothing, but I'd rather follow a dozen false leads, even if they don't lead to a solution, than overlook something and have it turn out to be important.”

Brenna flushed. “I didn't want to bring it here. I just don't see any connection between the letter from my father, and these accidents. The only reason I'm here is because Ash insisted.”

The chief offered a handshake to Ash. “Then I thank you for doing the right thing.”

He crossed to the opposite wall and set the letter in a copier. When a page was printed out, he handed back the original to Brenna.

Before the chief left, Ash put a hand on his sleeve. “What about your investigation into Pop's death, Ira? Any leads?”

The chief met his look of concern with one of his own. “I've asked the state police to assign a couple of their best detectives to the case, Ash. They have the bullet taken from your father's body, and, after interviewing you and your family, they've been checking out every item your family listed as possibilities. Rustlers. Poachers. Anyone who owed your father money. Even old friends from his past who may be down and out, and jealous enough of his success to hold a grudge. So far, they've come up empty. But I gave your mother my word that this investigation won't end until we have the guilty party.”