Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (24 page)

“I was just explaining warmers to Miss Lyons here. Please join us.”

Jessie flipped through the catalog as the man made his way to the counter. “This is our forests and fundamentals section. Perfect for the guy who wants his place to smell good but not look too feminine. All the warmers feature sharp, masculine lines and motifs. They are made of slate, chrome, and wood.”

“Miss Lyons, the lawyer?” the man asked. He was looking at her instead of the catalog.

Rebecca lifted her gaze. “Yes. Have we met?”

“I don’t believe officially, but I’ve seen you with the sheriff. At the Tin Star, I believe. I am Charles Reynolds.”

“Oh, Mr. Reynolds, of course,” Jessie exclaimed. “Sadie and Hank told me you were in town researching your grandfather.”

“Great-great-etc. grandfather,” he corrected with an easy smile.

“Yes, of course.”

He held his hand out and Rebecca took it. His palm felt hard and littered with calluses. He bowed and brushed a kiss to the back of her hand. His mustache bristled over her skin and she couldn’t hold back a smile.

He gave her a grin of his own.

“I have heard you are defending the sheriff? This is marvelous. He is a fine man.”

Charles’s voice held a bit of a German accent, which Rebecca found delightful. She’d visited Germany several times growing up and the country held a special place in her heart. She shook her head. “He’s not being charged. The evidence has eliminated him.”

“Rebecca, that’s wonderful,” Jessie said.

“Have they found the killer then?” Reynolds asked. “I hope so, for the town’s sake. This murder thing can’t be good for business.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems to bring out the macabre in some people. A few of the bridesmaids from the wedding party were in earlier today and they were talking about it like it was the newest season of
CSI
.” She looked at Rebecca. “I heard they found a bloody glove behind the Chrome Barrel and prints inside of Fischer’s hotel room.”

“Hm,” Rebecca said. She was not about to discuss the case. Unease licked at her but she couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

Jessie clamped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “You can’t talk about it, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Ms. Lyons. Would you be free for dinner?” Charles asked.

Rebecca frowned then eased the expression off her face. “No, sorry. I have to get back to the sheriff’s office.”

“Pity,” he said. “I understand you’re from Boston?”

“A small suburb,” she said.

Charles nodded but excitement lit his eyes. “It’s just that in all my research I have discovered that Huber was also in and around Boston just after he left here. It’s rumored he may have built a lovely mansion up there. I think it’s called Haleston House. Are you familiar with it?”

She thought about it. “No, sorry. Not ringing any bells. But I’m not a history buff.” The unease grew and she glanced out the shop window. The sidewalk didn’t exactly teem with a mob but there were enough people out there to work as camouflage. Maybe she should return to Tag’s office.

Charles Reynolds sighed. “Few people are, I’m afraid. If not for my family interest in all of this, I probably wouldn’t be either.” He waved his hands dramatically. “Why, the great man—Huber, I mean—designed six wonderful buildings in this town. He loved to design and experiment and his ideas were quite unusual and avant-garde. Not many people appreciated him at the time, but the citizens of Freedom did. He is often quoted as saying he found his muse in this very town.”

“That’s very nice,” Rebecca said. “I’ve often heard muses can be fickle creatures.”

“Yes,” Reynolds replied. “They can be. I’ve often struggled with finding the right words for this book. I hope that one day I can be as well respected and admired as he. Many people loved him. He died surrounded by his wife and children at a very old age.” He looked sheepishly at them. “I apologize for droning on and on. I actually stopped by to check on Miss Sadie. Her store is closed. Have you seen her today?”

“She stopped in about half an hour ago. She said she was closing up a bit early because she was out of sorts.”

“Oh my,” Reynolds said mournfully.

Rebecca shared a glance with Jessie. The other woman shrugged and shook her head. Rebecca shook hers back. She didn’t want to get in the middle of any small-town gossip or drama.

“She’ll probably be home in a few minutes. You could catch her there.”

Charles nodded. “I’m on the outs with her right now. A misunderstanding and one I shall have to put to rights before I leave Freedom.”

“You’ve finished your research?” Jessie asked.

“Almost. My last stop is the jail.”

“The jail?” Rebecca said in surprise.

“Yes, it’s one of the six buildings Huber created,” Reynolds said. “I want to offer my readers a contrast to how it’s changed in the last hundred years. I have the original blueprints and want to compare. The sheriff said I could come by tomorrow at eight.”

Rebecca offered him a smile. “I’m sure the sheriff will be delighted to host you.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem the type to be delighted if you ask me.”

She laughed. “You have me there, Mr. Reynolds.” She looked down at the catalog and pointed to a dark walnut warmer that was more square than round. “Do you have this one in stock?” It would look stunning in Tag’s dining room atop the sideboard.

“I do, actually.”

“Perfect, I’ll take it.”

Mr. Reynolds cleared his throat. “I’ll just wander the shop until you are finished.”

Jessie gave him a sweet smile. “It won’t take long. Feel free to browse.”

The man melted away toward the racks of deer-head antlers and country-chic items.

While Jessie packaged up the warmer, Rebecca sifted through the buckets of scents and chose five different ones that ranged from piney woods to leather and one called Sandalwood Sensuality. It smelled sinful and sexy. The scent reminded her of Tag and Wade. Her entire body inwardly pulsed with remembered desire.

Jessie handed her purchase over the counter. “I put your receipt in the bag. If you have any trouble with the warmer, just bring it back in.”

“Thanks, Jessie.” Bag in hand, Rebecca headed for the door. The bird cooed softly as she stepped into the warm Texas evening.

She checked her watch. Only a quarter of six. She still had time to browse.

The next store she wandered into was the old-fashioned soda fountain. The white floors sparkled and rows of shelves held glass containers full of tempting candy. But it was the long walnut-and-brass counter that pulled to her right away. The place was empty of customers save one man hunched at the far end of the bar. He had a broad back and his arm was moving at lightning speed. She heard the crackle of paper turning and realized he must be writing.

A giant of a man stood behind the counter. He wore all white, including a crisp apron and a hat that perched on his dark head with a devil-may-care kind of tilt.

“Evening, ma’am.”

His drawl was as long and deep as the Charles River.

“Hi.” She slid onto one of the tall stools and eyed the menu. Every kind of malt or soda combination in the world looked to be inscribed on the wall above his head.

“You’re that lawyer lady here for the sheriff.”

Rebecca froze in the middle of setting her purse down. She eyed him warily.
Jessie did say everyone in town knew who I was.
She managed a small nod.

“You’re Rebecca Lyons?”

The man at the other end suddenly appeared at her elbow. He was grinning ear to ear. “I’m Donald Alcott. Pleasure to meet you. What are you having? I’m happy to buy.”

Her lips twitched.

The soda jerk leaned his forearms on the counter. “I’m Clint Howard,” he said. “Glad you’re here. He’s a good man.”

The familiar refrain was nice to hear.

She looked at Alcott and shook her head. “Thanks, but I have it covered. I’ll have a vanilla malted, please.”

Clint stood. “One malted coming up.”

Alcott slid onto an adjacent stool. “Miss Lyons, I’m a reporter with the
Bastrop Banner
. I’m in town doing a piece on The Hitching Post. Have you been by there?”

She had a feeling he wasn’t going to go away easily. “Not yet.”

“It’s a grand old building,” he said. “Alfons Huber built it. He also secured the land and handed it over to the city.”

Despite her wariness Rebecca found herself curious. “Why?”

Alcott waved his hand and she couldn’t help but notice how his bicep curled and flared with the movement. She had a feeling he spent more time pressing iron than keys at a computer.

“The town took care of him and his family when they were stranded here.”

“Freedom does seem to be very welcoming, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Alcott shifted on the stool. “I’ve learned a lot about this town in the short time I’ve been here. One thing they are is
forgiving
.”

She frowned. Why had he emphasized forgiving?

“Ms. Lyons, Rebecca. May I call you Rebecca? Listen, I’m meeting with Sheriff Cain tomorrow at seven.”

“You are? Why?” She grinned. “Don’t tell me he performs weddings as part of his duties as sheriff?” The image of Taggart Cain decked out in a formal suit and towering over respective brides and grooms popped into her head. She couldn’t decide if he’d glower or use his bored surfer-boy look as he performed the ceremony.

Alcott smiled. “No, not at all. I’m working with him on the murder.”

She lifted a brow.

“Since the town doesn’t have a full-time paper or reporter and I happened to be here, I’m covering it for the
Banner
, as well as the
Beacon
, which is Freedom’s local paper.” He dipped his head and a swag of blond hair flopped onto his forehead. He managed a sheepish grin. “To tell you the truth, I’m hoping these investigative articles will get picked up on the AP wire.”

“Here you are.” Clint placed a frosty and frothy sundae glass in front of her. An old fashioned red-and-white swirled straw poked out from the top of the foamy head.

Her mouth watered. “This looks sinful, Clint.”

His blue eyes sparkled when he winked. “I’ve heard it can cause a good girl to go bad.”

Rebecca sipped and stopped with her lips pursed around the straw. She looked up at him, then down at the drink, then back up at him.

Did everything in Freedom have these kinds of sensual surprises?

“Yeah? Yeah? Good stuff,” he said.

She greedily sucked down another long pull. A rush of adrenalin warned her of an impending brain freeze and she reluctantly stopped. “That’s about as good as the potato salad at the Tin Star.”

Clint ducked his head and whipped out a cloth from his back pocket. He wiped the spotless counter. “Ah, you don’t have to say that.”

She took another sip and sighed in pleasure. “It’s true though.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you ever considered going commercial with this?” She pulled down another long, delicious drink.

Clint grinned. “Funny you should mention that. One of the kids who’s getting married tomorrow said the same thing.”

Rebecca nodded. “I suspect you’d make it big with this recipe. Heck, you could end up like good ole Alfons Huber.”

The soda jerk frowned. “Dead at forty-two? No way.”

She paused. “Forty-two? I admit I’m not much of a history buff but that seems young even for the late 1800s.”

He shrugged and his big shoulders seemed to roll endlessly. “Well, he probably would have lived longer if he hadn’t been on that train. Funny how one little decision can ruin your life.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rebecca swirled her straw. She normally didn’t get into history but the tight-knit community of Freedom thrived on it and she seemed to have caught the fever.

Clint leaned against the counter. “Back in 1881, Huber was scheduled to speak to some fancy building society in New York City. He’d been down here to visit the town on the fifth anniversary of his stay. By then Huber Days had become a tradition with a carnival and games and all sorts of things. After he cut the ribbon on opening day, he headed to the train station but his coach got blocked by a stampede from a local ranch. He missed his original train but managed to catch the next one.”

Rebecca grimaced in empathy. She hated when her plans were thrown into chaos. “Sounds like a busy man. I imagine he was not happy about the delay.”

“Nope,” Clint said. “Especially since a few miles down the tracks the train was robbed. Huber and two other people were shot and killed.”

She gasped. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, it was a dark day for Freedom. And his family, of course,” he hastened to add. “Freedom went into mourning for a few years afterward and commerce just about died out. It was then the mayor and town fathers decided to resurrect the Huber festival in his honor. It’s been going strong ever since.”

“I’m glad the town recovered,” she said sincerely. “This place is great.”

Clint smiled. “I think the feeling is mutual.”

“So, Rebecca, about the sheriff…” Donald Alcott nudged her elbow.

She frowned at Alcott. She’d forgotten he was even there. “What about him, Mr. Alcott?”

“Like I said, he’s meeting with me in the morning but I’d like to get some background information on him and the case. I hate going in with no details and wasting his time.”

A prickle ran up her neck and centered on the back of her skull. She wondered if she’d managed a brain freeze after all.

Or is it Alcott’s questions?

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said coolly. “I can’t talk about the case and I don’t know much about the sheriff.”

Alcott’s jaw bunched for a second so swift that Rebecca wasn’t sure she saw his reaction correctly.

“I know a few things,” he said, “if you’re interested.”

She hesitated. She
was
interested in learning more about Tag. She’d prefer that he be the one to tell her the details of his past, though.