Reunion at Cardwell Ranch (2 page)

“If someone comes looking for it, I’ll let you know. But I have my doubts.” Hud grinned. “If you ever see that woman again, though... I’d be curious just what color her eyes are since they seem to have made a real impression on you.”

* * *

“R
EALLY
?” L
ARAMIE
DEMANDED
when he saw his brother Tanner “Hayes” Cardwell at his house the next morning. “That wasn’t funny what you and the others pulled last night.” He couldn’t help but wonder if the kiss had been planned, as well. It was a nice touch, something that would have had his brothers rolling on the floor laughing. “Hud got a real kick out of it since he has nothing to do but take bogus crime reports. I hope he arrests the whole bunch of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hayes said as he poured coffee for them.

Laramie looked to his sister-in-law and real-estate agent McKenzie. He’d been staying with them this holiday and, while he enjoyed being with them, he was anxious to get his own place. McKenzie had been helping him find a house.

“Tell me you weren’t in on it, too,” he said to her.

“I abhor practical jokes.” McKenzie shot a disapproving glance at her husband. “What did you and your brothers do?”

“
Nothing. Honest.
I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Hayes said holding up his hands. He looked genuinely innocent.

But Laramie wasn’t buying it. He knew his brothers too well. They’d all treated him as if he was the bookworm who ran their family business, Texas Boys Barbecue. They would all have said he was the brother who never had enough adventure in his life.

So it would be just like them to set this up to add some spice to his life, as they would call it.

“Who was the woman?” Laramie demanded.

“There was a
woman
?” Hayes asked and grinned.

McKenzie shook her head. “You’ll have to tell me about it on the way to the house, Laramie. I promised the owner we’d be there by nine. You can deal with your brothers later.”

On the way up the mountain, he told McKenzie about what had happened last night.

“That doesn’t sound like something Hayes would do,” she said. “Are you sure your brothers were behind it?”

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense. I saw her leaving with a painting. So, of course, I thought she’d stolen it. I guess that’s what I was supposed to think.”

“Are you sure the painting you have is a fake?”

“It doesn’t look like it to me, but I’m no expert by any means. The owner says he still has the original. So maybe I stopped the woman before she could make the switch, but I could have sworn she was coming
from
the house.”

McKenzie seemed to give it some thought. “Maybe she saw your headlights coming up the road and took off before she could make the switch.”

“I suppose. If she really was a cat burglar. Or it could be just what the marshal thinks it is—my brothers’ idea of a joke.

“I know an art expert if you’re interested in finding out about the painting. Or, if it is by a local Western artist, you could take it right to the source,” she said.

“Have you ever heard of Taylor West?”

McKenzie looked over at him in surprise. “He’s a well-known artist in these parts. He lives farther up the canyon near Taylor Fork. I’m sure if you took the painting to him, he’d be able to tell you if it was his or not.”

“I just might do that.” He looked up the mountain road ahead and thought about what he’d seen last night as he’d come over the last rise. He couldn’t help thinking about the woman. She’d certainly played her part well. If his brothers had been in on it.

He thought about what he’d seen in her eyes just before he started to call the marshal. She’d looked scared. But that could have been an act, too.

“First thing I want to do is see the original,” he said to McKenzie.

“You think the owner lied about having it? Why would he do that?” she asked as the house came into view.

“I don’t know. To collect on the insurance, maybe. He could be in on some scam involving the artwork if this artist is that well-known.”

McKenzie raised a brow as she parked next to a white SUV next to the house. “Cowboy art doesn’t go for that much. A Taylor West might sell for near a hundred grand to the right market. But we aren’t talking the Mona Lisa.”

He didn’t know what the original was worth, but he was anxious to see it. “I looked up the artist’s website last night. Most of Taylor West’s original work sells for twenty-five to seventy-five thousand depending on the size. Some of his older works are worth more.”

“Did you see this particular painting on the artist’s website?”

“No.”

The owner, Theo Nelson, turned out to be an older distinguished man who’d apparently made his money in real estate back East. “If you have any questions, just let me know. I’ll be in my study.” Nelson disappeared up the stairs, leaving them alone.

“So what do you think, so far?” McKenzie asked as they stepped to the bank of windows that looked out on Lone Mountain. The snow-covered peak glowed in the morning sun against a robin’s-egg-blue sky.

“The view is incredible,” Laramie said. Then he dragged his gaze away to look at the paintings on the walls.

“This open concept is nice,” McKenzie said as she went into the kitchen. “Great for entertaining. Granite countertops, new top-of-the-line appliances, lots of cupboard space, a walk-in pantry and even more storage for multiple sets of china and glassware—if you ever get married to a woman who collects both... You aren’t listening to me,” she said when Laramie didn’t take the bait.

“Sorry. Let’s see the second story,” he said, already starting up the stairs.

The next floor had a large second living area, two bedrooms and a study. The study door was partially open, the owner at his desk, head down.

Laramie scanned the walls quickly. The painting wasn’t there.

“Another great view,” McKenzie was saying.

He agreed, taking a moment to notice the house. He liked it. “Let’s see the top floor.” He saw her shake her head, but she followed him up to the third level.

This, he realized, was a huge master bedroom. It cantilevered out so when he stood at the bank of windows, he felt as if he was flying.

“Impressive,” McKenzie said. “But I’m not sure I could sleep in here. I have this thing about heights. The master bathroom is really nice, though. Check out this shower.” She turned, no doubt realizing she’d lost him again.

Laramie stood in front of a painting, shaking his head. “This is the one.”

“Does it look like the painting you took from the woman last night?” McKenzie asked in a whisper as she stepped closer.

“It looks
exactly
like it. How can he be so sure it’s the original?”

“Because I had it authenticated.” Neither of them had heard the owner come up the stairs to join them. Now the man stepped past them to take the painting off the wall and show them the back.

Laramie could see that it had a small card taped to the back. He realized how easy it would have been for the cat burglar to make the switch—including the authentication.

“You must be the man who thought you saw a burglar here last night,” Nelson said as he put the painting back on the wall. “I’m glad it was a false alarm.”

“Me, too,” Laramie said, still not sure he believed it.

“So what do you think of the house?” the man asked.

“I like it.”

“We’ll be looking at some others,” McKenzie said quickly. “How long are you going to be in town?”

“Only as long as it takes. So if you’re interested...”

“You’ll hear from us,” she said, motioning to Laramie that it was time to go. “I have several other houses for us to look at this morning,” she said once they were in the SUV heading off the mountain.

“Don’t bother. I want that one.”

She shot him a look. “But you haven’t even—”

“That’s the house. Find out what furniture stays. Also I want that painting.”

As they dropped over the rise, the house disappearing behind them, McKenzie hit her brakes and skidded to a stop in the middle of the narrow snow-packed road. “You want the painting?”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll part with it. If he’s selling the house, then he’s leaving Montana. His next wife won’t want any cowboy art in her house.”

McKenzie laughed. “You are definitely decisive once you make up your mind, but did you even look at the house or do you really just want the painting?”

He smiled over at her. “I want both. See what kind of deal you can get me, but don’t take no for an answer.”

She laughed and shook her head as she got the SUV going again. “You’re more like your brothers than I thought you were.”

She had no idea. “I think you’re right,” Laramie said. “It wasn’t my brothers who put that woman up to that stunt last night.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” she said.

“I think she really
is
a cat burglar.”

McKenzie shot him a look. “But she didn’t steal anything.”

He rubbed his jaw, surprised that he’d forgotten to shave. He’d been so anxious to confront Hayes this morning. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Why am I getting a bad feeling that you’re thinking of trying to catch this woman?”

He smiled over at her. He knew he could go to his brothers for help. Hayes was a private investigator and Austin, who’d been a deputy sheriff, now worked for Hayes at his investigative business.

But his cat burglar had made this personal. He wanted to catch her himself.

Chapter Three

“I know Taylor West’s work well,” the art dealer said when Laramie called. “Who did you say gave you my name?”

“Local Realtor McKenzie Sheldon Cardwell. She said she’s worked with you before.”

“Oh, yes, McKenzie,” Herbert Darlington said. “You have a painting you’d like me to authenticate?”

“If you can.”

Darlington made an unpleasant sound. “If it is a true Taylor West work, I will be able to tell at once. When would you like me to take a look at it?”

“I’m parked outside your gallery right now.”

The gallery was in a narrow building along the main street of Bozeman. Laramie had driven the forty-five miles first thing that morning. He was anxious to know about the painting. Even more anxious to know about the woman who’d gotten away.

Golden light shone on the paintings on the old brick walls of the gallery as he entered. He looked for any by Taylor West and saw several of Native Americans as well as one of cowboys. This one, though, was a cattle drive filled with longhorns and cowboys driving the herd through a canyon. It looked so real he could almost smell the dust the cattle were kicking up.

“Bring it back here,” Darlington said motioning to a door at the back. The man was short and thick with thinning hair above a round red face. He wore a dark suit like an undertaker and sported a narrow black mustache above narrow thin lips.

Without another word, Darlington took the framed painting from him and moved over to a table. He snapped on a light, pulled on a pair of glasses and bent over the artwork.

“Where did you get this?” he asked after a moment.

“I picked it up from an unknown source.”

Darlington shot him a look over one shoulder before returning to the painting. “It’s quite good.”

“But it’s not a Taylor West.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Laramie waited impatiently as the man pulled out a magnifying glass and went over the entire painting again. So much for being able to tell at a glance.

After a few minutes, Darlington let out a sigh, took off his glasses, snapped off the light and turned. “It’s an original Taylor West.”

Laramie let out a laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. How was that possible? How did any of this make sense? It didn’t. “You’re sure?”

The art expert gave him a pained, insulted look. “I’m guessing you picked it up for a song.”

“Something like that.” He reached for the painting.

“So you’re interested in selling it,” Darlington said. “I suppose I could make you an offer.”

“It’s not for sale.” He reached again for the painting and this time the gallery owner handed it over, though reluctantly.

“I would be happy to authenticate it for you in writing,” the gallery owner said.

Laramie wondered if he’d authenticated the one now hanging in the house he hoped McKenzie was getting for him. “I’ll think about it.” The art dealer walked him toward the front door.

Just then a tall, thin older man with a shoulder-length mane of white-blond hair and a handlebar mustache came in on a gust of wind. He looked like something out of an Old West movie.

“Cody can verify what I’ve told you,” Darlington said.

Laramie eyed the man, wondering if he was also considered an art expert.

“Cody Kent is another of our Western artists,” the gallery owner said. Then he turned to Cody. “Mr. Cardwell brought in a Taylor West painting. He was questioning its authenticity.”

“Really?” Cody tilted his head to look at the painting in Laramie’s hand as Darlington explained to him that while this was a one-of-a-kind piece, apparently there was another one owned by another collector.

That definitely got the man’s attention. “So you’re saying one of them is a forgery?”

“I’d stake my reputation that this is the original,” Darlington said, puffing himself up. “Do you agree?”

Laramie handed the man the artwork and watched him as he inspected it. He noticed that the man’s hands seemed to tremble as he stared at it.

The artist handed it back. “Sure looks like the real thing to me.” Cody Kent’s gaze met his. “Where did you get it?”

“Just picked it up recently,” Laramie said. He took it back from the older man. “Glad to hear you both agree it is an authentic Taylor West.”

As he headed for the door, Darlington followed. “Well, if you decide to get rid of it...”

Laramie shook his head but then stopped just short of the door to ask, “How much would you say it’s worth?” He noticed that Cody Kent had moved to one of the paintings on display only yards from them, clearly listening to the conversation.

Darlington seemed to give a price more thought than was necessary since he’d just offered to buy it. “I could give you...thirty,” he said, keeping his voice down.

“Thirty?”

“Thirty
thousand
,” Darlington said. “It would be more but it’s an older piece. His work has improved over the years.”

Was that right? Laramie smiled to himself. From what he’d seen online last night, artists’ older work appeared to have more value—especially if the artist was now dead. Taylor West was still kicking, apparently, but Laramie suspected the painting must be worth a lot more that what he was being offered.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep it,” he said as he tucked it under his arm. “It has...sentimental value.”

* * *

S
ID
PUT
ON
clean jeans and a sweater to go to the grocery store. Often she went in her paint-streaked pants and shirts. Anyone who paid any attention was aware that she painted since she spent most Saturdays at the local craft show selling her wares.

Not her paintings, but haphazardly done Montana scenes on everything from old metal saw blades and antique milk cans to ancient tractor parts and windmill blades. Amazingly, her crafts sold well, which proved to her that most people didn’t know the difference between good art and bad.

But today she wanted to fly under the radar. No reason to call attention to herself as an artist. It might be too risky if the man from last night was still in town. She knew she was being silly. He’d probably completely forgotten about her.

She assumed he would have gone to the marshal last night with a story about her robbing that house. Since the painting wouldn’t be missing, she wasn’t worried.

Her only regret was losing the painting. She needed it. Which meant she had to get it back. Or taking all these chances would have been for nothing.

Where was the painting now? She’d learned at a young age to make friends where needed. Now she picked up the phone and called her friend who worked at the marshal’s office as she drove to the grocery store.

After the usual pleasantries, she said, “So what’s new down there?” Dispatcher Tara Kirkwood loved her job because she got to know everything that was going on—and she loved to share it.

“Counterfeit bills keep turning up,” Tara said, keeping her voice down although the office was small and she was probably the only person down there right then. The marshal and detectives were probably out.

She and Tara had established long ago that anything Tara told her wouldn’t go any further—and it never had. “The marshal is chasing one right now that was passed at the Corral Bar.”

“No more cat burglar sightings?” she asked after listening to what Tara knew about the counterfeit bills.

“Actually, before Hud left, he said his wife’s cousin who is in town caught the cat burglar last night.” She laughed. “According to him, the burglar turned out to be a
her
.”

“No kidding? So is she locked up down there?”

“Naw, she got away.” Tara laughed again. “Hud got a chuckle out of it since apparently there was no crime and his cousin-in-law was quite taken with the woman.”

Sid laughed even though this was not what she wanted to hear. The marshal’s cousin-in-law? Just her luck. Not to mention “quite taken with her”?
Really?
She thought of the kiss. It might have been a mistake since she’d had a hard time forgetting about it, as well.

“What’s the guy’s name?” she asked.

“Laramie Cardwell.”

Cardwell?
Anyone who lived in the Gallatin Canyon knew that name. The Cardwell Ranch was one of the first established in the canyon. But she’d never heard of a Laramie Cardwell before.

“You said he was in town. So he’s not from here?” she asked even though she knew his accent was way too Southern.

“His father is Angus Cardwell. Apparently his mother got a divorce years ago and took her five sons to live in Texas. Laramie’s up here from Houston. He and his brothers own that new place, Texas Boys Barbecue.”

“Huh.”

“Have you tried it yet?” Tara asked.

“No. I’ve been meaning to, though,” she said, realizing it was true.

“It’s really good.”

“So did the so-called cat burglar get away with anything?” she had to ask. “You said no crime was committed?”

“Laramie found a painting, but it wasn’t stolen from the house. I overheard Hud say Laramie is hanging on to it. Kind of like a souvenir.”

Sid mouthed a silent oath. She’d reached Meadow Village and the grocery store. “So now it’s hanging at Cardwell Ranch,” she joked.

“More than likely at his new house,” Tara said.

“His new house?”

The dispatcher dropped her voice even further. “The house that he caught her allegedly robbing? He’s
buying
it.”

Sid pulled into a parking spot in front of the store. Tara was always a wealth of information. “Now that is a coincidence,” she said. “So apparently he’s staying.”

“At least for the holidays I would think. You really should try their barbecue. It is
so
good.”

“I just might do that. Got to go. Sure hope they catch those counterfeiters.”

“Me, too. Hud is fit to be tied. It will be nice when things die back down around here.”

Disconnecting, Sid parked in front of the grocery, thinking about everything Tara had said. How was she going to get the painting back? She’d never been one to push her luck and hitting the same house twice was more than risky, especially since now Laramie Cardwell might be expecting her. But did she really have a choice?

Her stomach growled. Still hungry and realizing it was almost lunchtime, she looked up the hill at the sign for Texas Boys Barbecue.

* * *

T
HE
FAMILY
HAD
gathered at the Cardwell Ranch for lunch. Everyone but Laramie.

“What’s going on with him?” Austin asked. For years he had been the no-show brother, the one who caught grief because he didn’t play family well. Since meeting Gillian and returning to his birthplace, he’d changed. He loved these family get-togethers.

“He’s looking for the cat burglar,” McKenzie said. “And the four of you can blame yourself for that if you’re behind this.”

“What?”
Austin asked, looking around the table. Hayes told him what he knew, Hud added his part and McKenzie finished it up. “
Seriously?
Laramie is trying to find this woman?” He turned to Hayes. “You told him we had nothing to do with this, right?”

“I swore we didn’t.”

Austin groaned. “So he might actually be chasing a real cat burglar.”

“Only if the cat burglar is a young woman with silvery-blue eyes,” Hud said, shaking his head. “This whole cat burglar thing started when a few residents saw a dark-clad figure sneaking around a couple of houses. But the bottom line is that no one has reported being burglarized. No valuables or paintings are missing.”

“So you think it’s a hoax,” Austin said.

“I do,” the marshal agreed. “Probably the local security company put the woman up to it to drum up more business. A lot of the people in Big Sky are from urban areas so security is a concern for them. The rest of us locals don’t even bother to lock our doors.”

“He told me he was going to visit the artist whose painting the woman dropped,” McKenzie said between bites. “Taylor West. He lives up the canyon near Taylor Fork.”

“Why didn’t he come to us?” Austin asked his brother Hayes. “We are actually trained for this sort of thing.” He’d gone to work for Hayes’s detective agency after quitting the sheriff’s department in Texas—he hadn’t been satisfied being simply retired. Gillian had been right. He’d been miserable. He was too young to retire and he enjoyed investigative work.

“Seriously?” Dana asked. “You don’t understand why your brother might want to solve this thing on his own? It involves an apparently attractive woman who tricked him and escaped. Laramie is related to all of you. Enough said. He probably thinks she’s in trouble and is off to save her.”

They all laughed, but Austin couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had.

“I know that look in your eye,” Gillian said to Austin. “Don’t do it.”

“She’s right,” Jackson said speaking up. “We need to stay out of this. I think Laramie’s been getting bored running the business. Why not let him have a little...fun, since there is nothing to the cat burglar stories?”

They all agreed. Except Austin. “
Fun?
What if this woman is dangerous?”

“Laramie can take care of himself,” Hayes said. “He hasn’t just been sitting behind a desk for the past ten years. He’s worked with some of us on cases. I think Jackson’s right. He needs this and he needs us to stay out of it.”

Austin couldn’t help being protective of his youngest brother. While he and Hayes had both worked in law enforcement, Laramie had no experience dealing with criminals.

“I hope you’re right,” Austin said as he watched his family finish their lunches. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Laramie had no idea what he was getting into.

For the time being, he’d stay out of it since, if Hud was right, it had been nothing but a prank. But if a woman was involved...