Reunion at Cardwell Ranch (5 page)

Laramie smiled to himself. “You sound like Austin. I ran into him earlier at the restaurant. Like I told him, I know what I’m doing.” He wished that was true.

But he didn’t think the earlier incident was an attempt to kill him. Then what had it been? If the driver had wanted to scare him off, then he’d failed. Laramie was more determined than ever. He was counting on his cat burglar coming back for the painting. It was just a gut feeling, but a strong one, that for some reason she really needed that painting. And he really needed answers.

He stood to leave.

“Don’t forget this,” McKenzie said reaching behind her. She handed him what Theo Nelson believed to be the original painting.

He stared at it, anxious to compare it to the one in his rented SUV. “Question, if I wanted everyone to know I’d bought the house, how would I go about getting the word out?”

McKenzie laughed. “In a small community like Big Sky? Are you kidding? Everyone knows everyone else’s business. It’s probably already out there since the owner informed me to go ahead and change the security information to yours. You’ll need to change over the utilities and everything else as soon as you get into the house. But if you were to stop by the furniture store or the grocery and happen to mention you’d bought a house...”

“Let me know when you have my key, and thank you so much. Oh, and one more thing. Have you ever heard of an artist by the name of H. F. Powell?”

“Of course. In fact, one of his paintings is coming up for auction at the Christmas ball this year. It’s expected to go high. This interest in cowboy art...”

“Just curiosity.”

She laughed. “Uh-huh.”

Laramie realized how little he knew about art in general as he left for Meadow Village. His plan was to do exactly what McKenzie had suggested. He had a feeling that his cat burglar kept her ear to the ground. How else had she known that the house was supposed to be empty last night?

Chapter Six

Sid rubbed her back. It ached from hours spent painting. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been working. When she painted, time flew by. She hadn’t even noticed that her back was aching until a few moments ago when she finally laid down her brush.

She also realized she was hungry. Going to the fridge, she peered in. She’d bought the basics at the store, but nothing appealed to her. The pulled pork barbecue sandwich came to mind. Why not go back there? Several good reasons came to her. Except once she thought of barbecue, nothing else would do.

This late in the evening, Texas Boys Barbecue was quiet. Only a few booths were taken. She slipped into one and was thankful when a different waitress came out with a menu.

“We have a special, if you’re interested,” the young woman said. She rattled off a variety of items, but all Sid keyed in on was the words
ribs
. Her stomach growled.

“I’ll take the baby-back rib special.” She started to say “to go” but stopped herself. “And a beer.” As she started to whip out her ID, she realized the waitress wasn’t even going to ask for it. With relief, she put it away, sat back and took in the place in a way she hadn’t done earlier. It was nicely done. Comfortable and homey but without kitschy knickknacks. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming and the smells coming out of the kitchen were making her mouth water.

It felt good to be out of her cabin. She sat back, relaxing—until she heard voices in the kitchen as the waitress brought out her beer. Taking a sip, she watched the back, hoping to get another look at Laramie Cardwell. From where she sat, she could hear the conversation. This time there were three men, all of them speaking with a Texas drawl. But no Laramie.

“So he got the house?”

“He’s moving in tonight.”

“What was the rush?”

“Apparently he’s anxious to get settled.”

“I hope that’s all it is.”

“Bet Dana is already planning a housewarming.”

Laughter before the three left.

Laramie was moving into the house
tonight
?

So Tara’s information had been right, not that she’d doubted it. Sid thought about Laramie showing up so late the night before at the Nelson house on the side of the mountain. He’d only been interested in the house, but he’d stumbled onto her. Just her luck.

“I’m sorry,” Sid said getting the waitress’s attention. “But could I have that order to go?”

* * *

L
ARAMIE
WAS
AT
the grocery store when McKenzie called to say she had the key to the house. “Do you want to meet at the house?”

“Sounds great. I’m picking up a few things. I can meet you there in thirty minutes.”

He quickly got what he needed and headed for the checkout. In a matter of minutes he would have the key to his house. He owned a high-rise condo in Houston, but he had never been this excited about the purchase even though the condo had an amazing view of the city.

The house was perfect for him since he didn’t plan to spend that much time in Montana. But he needed his own place when he did. If anything, he thought he might spend more time here—during the summer months.

Would he love the house as much if his cat burglar didn’t come back for the painting? He pushed that thought away, telling himself he was in the market for a house long before he’d laid eyes on the dark-clad figure running along the rooftop. Long before the kiss.

At the checkout, he was impatient to get into the house. He had to wait in line behind a half dozen people and wished now that he hadn’t bothered. Glancing around, he studied the other people in the line. The tourists were easy to spot in the latest ski gear or after-ski wear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a bulletin board. Dana had mentioned that there were always people looking for housecleaning jobs around Big Sky, if he needed help.

A poster with cowboy art on it caught his eye. A name jumped out at him. H. F. Powell. Leaving his basket to save his place in line, Laramie quickly stepped to the board. Western Art Exhibit at the Museum of the Rockies in Bozeman. H. F. Powell was one of the artists featured in what the poster said was a rare exhibit of the Western masters.

Hurriedly, he searched the poster for the date, fearing he had missed the exhibit. With relief, he saw that it opened tomorrow. Until today, he’d never heard of H. F. Powell. Now he was curious about the man and his work given that Taylor West swore he was the only man who could have duplicated his work so perfectly.

His cat burglar had certainly piqued his interest in Old West art, he thought. After he checked out, he put his groceries in his SUV and walked up the hill to the restaurant for his dinner. The special tonight at Texas Boys Barbecue was ribs so the cook had saved him a slab along with sides.

As he entered the back door, he breathed in the smell of the food, still amazed that his and his brothers’ love for barbecue had led to their Texas Boys Barbecue success. None of them ever had to work another day in their lives, but of course they all did have some job because that was the way they were raised. As promised, the cook had his dinner wrapped and ready to take home to his new house.

It was on his way out that he saw a woman as she came out of the front of the restaurant and climbed into a blue SUV.

The woman caught his eye because of the way she moved. No wasted motion, her steps so fluid—and familiar—as she hurried toward her vehicle. He stood there watching her get into the SUV, feeling like a man who’d just seen a ghost.

A thick, long curly mane of strawberry blond hair hung around her shoulders, catching the last of the day’s light and making it shine like copper. He held his breath as he watched her slide behind the wheel. The engine revved. She seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. Just like that night.

It was her.

All common sense told him that he couldn’t possibly have recognized her simply by the way that she moved. There must be dozens of slim young women like her in the area. And yet...

He looked down the hillside to where he’d left his vehicle as she backed up and sped off up the road toward the mountain. There was no way he could reach his vehicle in time. All he could do was watch her get away.

Which was good, he realized. His first impulse had been to go after her. And then what? If only he had been close enough to see her eyes. And those lips. He told himself that if he saw those again, he’d know for certain.

He was thankful he hadn’t gone after her and made a fool of himself. He could just imagine what his four brothers would say if he shared this “sighting” with them.

“You need a woman,” Tag would say. “Stalking is illegal,” Hayes would warn him. “Get a grip,” Austin would say. “I agree with Tag. You need a woman bad,” Jackson would add.

As the blue SUV disappeared over a rise, he thought they would have been right. What was going on with him? This wasn’t like him. He always thought things out before he reacted. And yet last night, he’d gone after what he believed to be a thief without any thought to the risk.

And now he’d almost chased that woman down, and yet what were the chances she was the same woman? Big Sky wasn’t a large community. If McKenzie was right, then the woman might already know who he was. If that had been her... Would she dare go to Texas Boys Barbecue if she knew who he was, though?

He thought of the woman, of those silver-blue eyes, of those bee-stung lips, thought of how she’d tricked him and gotten away. Yes, she would go to the restaurant he and his brothers owned. The woman was a risk taker.

That thought sent a current of excitement through him.

What if she had gone there looking for
him
because she needed to get her hands on the painting—just as he’d suspected?

Laramie went back inside Texas Boys Barbecue. It only took a minute to find the young waitress who’d served the woman. “She didn’t happen to use a check or credit card to pay for her dinner, did she?” he asked, crossing his fingers.

“Cash.”

He couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“Is there a problem?” the waitress asked.

“No, I was just hoping to get her name.”

The teen laughed. “All you had to do was ask. I
know
her. That is I’ve seen her at the craft shows. Her name is Obsidian Forester, but she goes by Sid for short.”

“Obsidian.” He nodded, silently cheered. He had her name. “Wait, you said craft shows?”

“Yeah, she’s one of the exhibitors like me. I make candles and sell them. It’s just something I like to do in my spare time since I like crafting.”

“What does...Sid sell?”

“She paints scenes on stuff like handsaws, milk jugs, anything that is kind of old and rusted.”

He couldn’t help the thrill that moved through him. Maybe that really had been her. “So she’s an artist,” he said more to himself.

“I think she’s wasting her talent painting on old junk.” The teen shrugged. “But what do I know? People seem to like what she does. She sells more of those paintings than I do candles.”

“You don’t happen to know where she lives, do you?”

* * *

A
S
S
ID
DROVE
HOME
, she told herself not to let the Texas cowboy rush her. But she could feel the clock ticking. Any good thief knew not to play against the odds. She’d been lucky, but lately she’d been seen. Then last night, almost caught.

Once at the cabin, she ate her ribs. It was already dark. This time of year in the canyon it was pitch-black by five. The ribs were as good or even better than the pulled pork. She licked her fingers after finishing the last one, then cleaned up the kitchen and herself before dressing in all black. Picking up the black ski mask, she headed for her snowmobile.

The next house on her list wasn’t far from her cabin, but she took the long way. The owners were spending the holidays in Hawaii. At least that was the intel she’d gotten on them. It would be easy to find out if it was true. The couple drove a huge ivory SUV and left it in the drive when they were there.

For months, she’d done endless research on the houses she planned to hit and the people who owned them. This one was owned by an older couple. He’d been a pilot, she a homemaker. The house was modest by Big Sky standards.

Sid had met both of them at the local art shows. She often struck up conversations, especially with people who had a piece of art she was interested in. Art lovers were quick to talk about the artists they liked. It hadn’t been easy to find the owners of the pieces she still needed, but she’d finally tracked them all down.

As she came over a rise, she saw the house. It loomed up out of the darkness. No lights on inside. No large SUV in the drive. The couple kept it in the garage for the next time they flew in.

She killed the engine on the snowmobile some distance from the house. There were no other homes around, one of the benefits of this affluent community. No one wanted neighbors. At least not ones they could see from their houses.

The snow was deep on this side of the mountain. She’d brought snowshoes for the last part of the hike up to the house. Strapping them on, she grabbed her canvas bag and started up the mountain. The moon had come up and now poured silver over the snowy landscape.

Sid could see her breath. The house sat on the side of a mountain at about six thousand feet above sea level. She stopped to catch her breath and look back down the mountain to where she’d left her snowmobile. Nothing moved in the darkness of the pines.

Ahead, moonlight shone a path to the house. Sid listened. Hearing nothing but her own breath, she headed for the house.

In and out. She set her watch. Five minutes. Then she slipped in through the back door that had been unlocked for her by Maisie at the precise time. She knew exactly where the painting she needed would be hanging and, turning on her penlight, headed right for it.

The exchange didn’t take more than a few seconds. She put the painting into the large canvas bag, remembering the night before when the other bag she’d used had a hole in it. Another mistake. She was getting sloppy. Not because of overconfidence, she told herself. No, it was that she’d done this so many times it was becoming routine.

She thought of Laramie Cardwell as she locked the door behind her, texted Maisie
“Lunch tomorrow?”
—their code—and headed for her snowmobile. As she drove the snowmobile toward her cabin, she realized that once she had the painting she’d lost last night, she’d be done with these kinds of night jobs.

It filled her with a strange nostalgia. She’d been at this for several years now. When she’d started, she had questioned her sanity. Why do this when it could go so badly if she were caught?

Last night that had almost happened. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in her nature to leave anything undone—even if she
hadn’t
needed the painting to finish what she’d started. She would get that painting back and end this once and for all.

* * *

“
S
O
WHAT
DO
YOU
THINK
?”
McKenzie asked as Laramie used his key to enter his new house.

“I love it,” he said as he stepped in and took a deep breath. Through the wall of windows at the front of the house Lone Mountain glistened in the twilight.

“From what I can tell, he left everything but the artwork—other than the one you bought,” she said. He looked around, realizing he would have to get more art for the walls, especially with these high ceilings. Walking through the house, he didn’t see much that he would change. Theo Nelson’s decorator had done a grand job of furnishing the house.

“He even left dishes, flatware and stemware,” McKenzie said shaking her head. “He must not have been very attached to the house.” She sighed. “There is a used furniture shop down the valley that we call the Second-Wife’s Club. Most of it comes from Big Sky. New wife, all new furnishings. You can get some great deals, if you’re interested.”