Fortune's Way (7 page)

“Which is why we want you to run the riding business,” Dean said to her.

Miranda’s jaw dropped.

He smiled. “Kyle and I discussed it. We can’t think of anyone we’d want more. Anyone we’d trust as much as you, to move in and join our ranch family.”

Her heart leaped as she read the meaning behind his words. “I, uh, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about changing careers.”

Kyle smiled. “Before you came here, you probably hadn’t thought about a lot of things. This is a very good idea, Miranda.”

Mr Fortune studied each of them. “I’m sure she has the knowledge, but does she have the riding experience we’d need?”

“She was a member of the California Junior Rodeo Association for ten years.” Dean beamed proudly.

Kyle added, “She did barrel racing and pole bending. Best All-Around Champion for three years straight.”

Dean gazed at her affectionately. “And she was Rodeo Queen the whole damned time. What better qualifications could we ask for?”

Tears welled in her eyes and she quickly brushed them away.

“That certainly sounds adventurous.” Dean’s father nodded. “Of course, I had Miz McCabe checked out before I hired her for this job. She has a spotless employment record. I’d say she’d be a good woman for the position.”

Dean turned to his father. “Will you consider it, then? The riding academy, rather than a guest ranch?”

“I don’t see why not. I didn’t want to lose the family home, either. I was just trying to look at the big picture and save the ranch.”

Dean breathed a deep sigh of relief. He glanced at Kyle and Miranda, then back at his father. “There’s something else, Dad. I haven’t pressed this because it didn’t seem that important until now. I’m bisexual, and I’m in love with Kyle. If this is going to work, he’ll be moving into the main house as my domestic partner.”

His father studied him for a moment then smiled. “Finally ready to come out, eh? Okay, whatever you say.” To Kyle, he said, “Welcome to the family, son.”

Dean and Kyle gaped at each other. Dean’s disbelief was visible. “You knew?”

“Your mother and I talked about it years ago. She thought we should say something to you. I told her we needed to wait until you brought it up. I never dreamed it would take this long.”

“See?” Kyle elbowed Dean. “Your dad is cooler than you thought.”

“Yeah, cool.” Dean looked like he still didn’t quite believe it.

“It’s about time,” Mrs Carson muttered. “There’s really no sense in all this sneaking around.”

Miranda chuckled. “You knew too? What about Rebecca?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs Carson shook her head. “This is going to come as a shock to dear Rebecca. But, as the young people say, it is what it is. She can learn to live with it, or not. Her choice.”

Dean gazed at his father. “I still can’t believe you knew all this time.”

His dad shot back, “I can’t believe you never trusted me enough to share the truth. I hope we’re beyond that now, son. We’re what our family has left, right here in the room. We should be able to talk to each other about anything.”

Dean folded his arms across his chest. “Since you feel that way, I should tell you about Miranda.”

She moved next to him and pinched his arm. “Uh, no, that’s okay.”

Dean’s father gazed at them questioningly.

“It’s nothing,” she assured him.

“O-kay.” He turned to Mrs Carson. “I’m going out to see the horses, then I hoped we could all share a nice lunch. Will you walk part of the way with me?”

“Of course.” They headed out, leaving Dean, Kyle and Miranda staring at each other.

Dean rubbed his arm. “Why did you pinch me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just because you’ve got some newfound freedom doesn’t mean I’m ready to announce that I’m having earth-shattering sex with two guys at once.”

“Ah. I see your point. Sorry.”

She smiled sweetly. “No harm done. Once we see where this is going, we can talk about telling people later.”

Kyle hoisted her suitcases. “Right now, ‘this’ is going into your room to unpack. Agreed?”

She rubbed her chin. “I’ll need to go back and give notice. Then I’ll have to bring more clothes from my apartment.”

“We’ll help with that.” Dean nodded.

Kyle added, “But that doesn’t have to happen this weekend, right?”

Miranda smiled. “Right. This weekend, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes!” Kyle headed down the hall then turned back to her. “Can I have the blue room? It feels more masculine than the yellow one.”

“I suppose,” she teased, and followed him in to the other guestroom.

He set her things down. “It’s the same size.”

“It’s fine,” she confirmed.
As long as I’m here, I don’t care which room I’m in.

Dean wrapped his arms around her from behind. “It doesn’t matter. You know we’re all going to sleep in my room, anyway. These are just to store your stuff.” He placed a kiss on her temple.

“Works for me.” Kyle grinned, and leaned in to kiss each of their cheeks.

Her heart soaring, she pressed back against Dean and wrapped her arms around Kyle’s neck. “This promises to be a wild ride.”

Dean chuckled, holding both her and Kyle in his arms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Kansas City Heat: Dixon’s Duty

Jenna Byrnes

Excerpt

Chapter One

“Time of death was approximately ten to twelve hours ago. I’ll know more when I get her back to the lab and can run specific tests.” Abigail Walters, the medical examiner for the Kansas City Police Department, rose from her crouched position then stepped back from the corpse.

Detective James Dixon leaned in closer, studying the abrasions around the woman’s neck. Her long blonde hair was splayed around her shoulders, but the reddish-purple marks on her skin were still visible. As were two round scorch marks on her breasts. “Strangled, just like the victim last week. Cigarette burns. Can’t say I like where this is heading.”

“Nope. Dix, check out her simple black dress and shoes. She doesn’t look like a hooker, more like a business woman out for an evening on the town.”

He glanced at the victim’s left hand. “No indentations from a wedding ring, not that she’d still have the ring if she
was
wearing one.” He looked in either direction down the alley they were standing in. “Who knows how many people were through here last night?” He turned to the uniformed officer who’d been first on the scene. “No sign of a purse or handbag of any kind?”

“No, sir.” The officer shook his head.

“Let’s keep looking. Have your team scour every inch of this area, including the dumpsters over there. Our perp may have taken what he wanted and ditched the bag.”

“Look for cigarette butts, too,” the ME added. “We might pull some DNA off them.”

“We’re on it,” the man answered, then headed to confer with the others on his detail.

She made notes in a small book. “Very similar MO to the last vic, pretty, mid-thirties, long, light-colored hair. If it is the same guy, he’s definitely got a ‘type’.”

Dix waggled his brows. “Better watch out, then. You just described yourself.”

She tucked the notebook into her pocket while rolling her eyes. “Thanks, dude, but the ‘thirties’ door slammed on me a few years ago. And these gals had blonde hair, not shades of gray. Of course, the color
could
have come from a box. ” She tucked a wispy strand that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.

Facing her, he ducked his head and said quietly, “Your hair is a beautiful, shiny shade of silver, not gray, and I hope you never use bottled color on it. And as for the ‘thirties’ door being closed”—he shook his head—“well, Abby, you could have fooled me.”

His gaze scanned up from her military-style boots to the unattractive navy jumpsuit she wore at crime scenes. It sported large KCPD letters on the front and back, and the boxy style successfully hid whether the wearer was male or female.

Abby laughed. “Dix, if I didn’t know you were gay, I’d either have to jump your bones or bring you up on sexual harassment charges. Can’t decide which would be more fun. I’d love to watch you squirm.”

He grinned. “Which one of those two choices might make me squirm? Never mind, not sure my heart could take it. It’s been a long dry spell since Raph left. You’re starting to look pretty good to me, jumpsuit notwithstanding.”

“You
are
hard up! Sexy beast like you shouldn’t have trouble finding a man. Everybody loves shaggy brown hair that perpetually looks overdue for a trim and a three-day beard growth like yours. And those puppy-dog eyes have the tiniest little crinkles around the corners when you smile. Damn. Now I’m making myself horny.”

He feigned a horrified expression. “Eye wrinkles? God, that is sexy.”

“I said
crinkles
. They’re
very
sexy on a man. A woman, not so much.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Got those when that ‘thirties’ door slapped me on the ass on my way out.” He glanced up as his partner approached.

“Got a witness who says he saw the vic coming out of a bar last night around midnight.” He glanced at the ME. “Hey, Abby.”

“Mac,” she acknowledged. “If that’s the case, this woman died shortly thereafter. Probably wasn’t time to kill her somewhere else and dump the body.”

“So she died here,” Dix repeated. He glanced at Steve MacDonald, his partner for the past three years. “Want to let the unis know that? Might make a difference how they process the scene. You and I should take her picture to that bar and see if anyone recognizes her.”

“Let’s do it. I’ll talk to the unit commander then meet you down at the end of the block. Bar’s just around the corner.”

“Sounds good.” Dix watched Mac walk off before turning back to Abby.

“How’s his wife doing?” she asked. “Last I heard she was starting chemo.”

He nodded. “The doc thought he got all the cancer with her lumpectomy, but there was something about a suspicious lymph node. So yeah, chemo. It makes her sick as hell for a few days. Mac said this round is really kicking her butt.”

“I’m sure it’s rough, but it’s the best option for a good outcome. I’ll keep her in my thoughts.”

He batted his lashes. “Me too?”

Abby chuckled. “Always. Go do your thing and let me finish up here. I’ll text you when I have results, or phone you if we get lucky.”

He kicked at a pebble in his path then headed toward the end of the alley. Over his shoulder he replied, “I won’t hold my breath. I haven’t gotten lucky in a
very
long time.”

“You’re due!” she called after him.

Dix grinned to himself and kept walking.

Mac was speaking with the captain on scene when Dix approached. His partner looked tired, with definite lines creasing his forehead and the skin around his eyes. Wrinkles, nothing that could be called ‘crinkles’.
Worry lines. Lack-of-sleep lines.
Dix figured he could take his pick. He couldn’t imagine caring for a spouse with cancer and counted his blessings that the disease hadn’t touched his life. “Ready to do this?” he asked Mac.

“Yeah.” They fell into step and headed around the next corner. “Place is named Last Call Bar and Grille. Ever heard of it?”

“No, but I don’t frequent this neighborhood.”

“Like I do.” Mac rolled his eyes.

Dix grinned. His buddy’s longish-blond hair and tweed jacket with patches on the elbows made him look more like a professor than a cop. Mac had three daughters, six granddaughters and a one-year-old grandson who was sure to be spoiled beyond belief. The family was a great support system for his wife Cecile, who’d been stoic since her diagnosis. Dix knew Mac would love to retire and spend more time with his wife and family, but police work didn’t pay that well. He’d work the streets or shove papers around on a desk right up to retirement age, as would Dix, who had a few years longer to go than Mac.

He paused in front of the neat little sign identifying Last Call and checked it out. “Nice place. Not what I expected.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed, opening the door. “Seems decent enough.”

They stepped inside. The bar was dimly lit, but Dix could tell it was well-tended. “Pretty clean, too.”

“Yeah. Could have fooled me, ’cause the neighborhood sucks.”

Dix thought so, too. He hadn’t figured the bar would be more than a dive, commonplace for the area. This place was no speakeasy—it seemed like more of a restaurant. And from what he could smell, a good one.

“Afternoon,” the bartender greeted them. “Sit anywhere, as you can see we’re not too busy today.”

“That’s no shit,” Mac mumbled under his breath.

There were ten to twelve tables in the joint, and only one was occupied by a young couple eating burgers and fries. A lone man sat at the bar, thin with straggly gray hair. Dix wondered if the old guy was still breathing or if he’d kicked off and no one had realized it yet.

He couldn’t help noticing the bartender, a handsome man about his own age with similar brown, shaggy hair. Something shined in his eyes, weariness for one thing, but Dix couldn’t put his finger on what else. “Afternoon.” He stepped up to the bar and flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Dixon and this is Detective MacDonald of the KCPD. We’re investigating a murder that took place near here last night. Have you ever seen this woman?” He held up a photo of the deceased.