Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (7 page)

Her throat tightened. When would he ever let up on
her? “Like me? Or like your mother?”

He flinched as if a dozen flashbulbs had exploded in
his face.

She instantly regretted her cruel words, but she
couldn’t back down now. “I refuse to take the blame because Rob wanted to make
his wife comfortable.”

A muscle leaped in his jaw. He bit out his next words
through lips white with rage. “He nearly buried the ranch in debt for fear
she’d leave for greener pastures—like you did.”

A heavy knot clamped Maddy’s chest so she could barely
breathe. No, he couldn’t heap all the blame on her head alone. She wouldn’t let
him. “We both know why I had to leave when I did. We need to talk about it so
we can move on. So
you
can move on. You’re fooling yourself if you think
I was running away from
Rob
.”

“Maybe. What I know is you
did
run away.” With
that, he marched into his room. The quiet click of the door latch tolled a
louder knell than a slam.

Left unsaid was what he was thinking—
and you would
run away again.

Was he right? Would she? But no answer came into
focus.

Chapter 7

Two days later, Holt grabbed a morning mug of coffee
and one of Espie’s sweet rolls on his way to the door. He made it outside
before Maddy appeared in the kitchen. Work helped him avoid her most of every
day, but dammit he still needed to clear his brain after every encounter.

And before. Today he’d have to leave Bronc watching
over the sickly calves and mending the corral fence. He and Maddy were heading
out to visit some local ranchers. No social calls. This was investigation to
find out who had harbored a grudge against Rob, who might’ve wanted him dead.

By eight o’clock, he’d had a real breakfast and they
were on the road with Bobby in his car seat behind Maddy. “First ranch is a
ways south of Rangewood. Greg Harper was high-school quarterback when I was a
freshman. Married Irene Ingraham in my class. They took over the Double-X when
his parents moved to Sonoma. Greg should be waiting for me. Us.” He’d phoned
yesterday to ask if they could stop by.

Ensconced in the Silverado’s passenger seat, Maddy
nodded, then chattered away about the greening hillsides and distant views of
cattle grazing.

“You always so chirpy about ordinary stuff?” He didn’t
mean to sound so gruff but hell, the woman got to him.

She cocked her head and eyed him for a moment. Instead
of blasting him for being so sour, she smiled. A sort of wistful smile that
made him feel like shit on a boot heel for sniping at her. “I don’t usually get
to experience what you call ordinary stuff. Instead of peaceful hillsides, I
see bombed out villages or bunkers bristling with big guns. Instead of huge
herds of fat steers grazing in lush pastures, I see a few scrawny cattle with
skeletal ribs being herded by ragged children through parched scrub. Instead
of—”

“Enough. I get the picture.”

“The picture?” She chuckled, a trill like a spring
brook. “Holt Donovan, was that a joke?”

Hell, no, but he’d never admit it. “There’s the
Double-X up ahead.”

Thank God she let the subject drop and peered ahead at
the big sign announcing the home of prize-winning Herefords and beyond at the
stone-fronted ranch house with the wrap-around porch.

He, on the other hand, needed to concentrate on
something other than Maddy.

Why had he gone on the attack again? Not as bad as the
other day when he’d pounced like a cougar on a stray calf. All because Rob
couldn’t let go. Every time Holt had come home, he watched his brother obsess
about turning another woman into Madelyn McCoy. But how much of that was her
fault? Hell, she hadn’t known how Rob felt. Hadn’t known how absorbed he’d been
in the ideal Maddy, all in his head, not the flesh-and-blood Maddy beside Holt
in the truck.

Holt had witnessed the disbelief in her eyes when he
told her about Sara. Maddy’d gone jet-setting and taking her pictures all over
the damned world and left them—not them, Rob—and any regrets behind. Maybe
jet-setting wasn’t the right term but it amounted to the same thing. She left.

But his temper didn’t explain his behavior. What did
was his fascination with her. With her maternal care for the baby. With her
boldness and quick energy. And with her sexy body. Hell, he kept picturing her
in that skimpy nightshirt. And out of it.

When he’d held her, her slender form tight against
him, his body detonated with fireworks he hadn’t experienced in years. The
flowery fragrance of her corn-silk hair clouded his brain and shot all his
blood south.

She wasn’t immune to him either. Her breath caught and
she curled into him. He needed to ditch all emotion where she was concerned and
focus on Bobby and finding his parents’ murderer. He’d asked Maddy to join him
today because she provided a trained pair of eyes and ears. Nothing more.
Today’s visits would be all business.

If he had to grit his teeth to ignore her softness and
womanly scent beside him to make it work, he’d do it or break a tooth trying.

“Howdy, Donovan. It’s been way too long.” Greg Harper
greeted him with a big smile in his sun-creased face and an outstretched hand.
These days, the former football star’s belly was bigger than his shoulders.

They shook hands and clapped each other on the back
while Maddy extricated the baby from his car seat. Bobby waved his arms and
babbled with glee at being freed and out with the grownups.

The rancher’s wife skipped down the porch steps and
gave Holt a hug. Her freckled face beneath a mane of auburn hair was unlined.
Not as slim as a high-school girl, but sturdy and strong as befit ranch life.

“Irene, you haven’t changed a bit.” He held her away
from him. “Still as pretty as when you were leading cheers. You still barrel
racing?”

“Not me,” the woman replied. “But you should see our
daughter Ginny’s blue ribbons.”

Holt itched to get to the point but forced himself to
make small talk, introducing Maddy and the baby. “Maddy’s a family...friend.
She’s staying awhile to help out with little Bobby. Like a nanny, sort of.”

Shit, that sounded lame. He could see amusement in
Maddy’s wry expression. He figured Irene knew about Maddy and Rob but she said
nothing.

The Harpers cooed over Bobby, and Irene dabbed at her
eyes. “Such a tragedy for this poor little one,” she said. “Thank God you’re
here for him.”

Nice segue into where Holt wanted to go. He readied
his opening as the Harpers invited him and Maddy into the house for lemonade
and Irene’s homemade gingersnaps. But once they were all settled in the kitchen
around the trestle table, he felt awkward about his purpose in the midst of
such hospitality. The Harpers didn’t make it easier, waiting quietly with their
frosty glasses.

“Mighty good cookies, Irene.” Maddy bounced Bobby on
her knee. “We, um, Holt didn’t expect you’d go to such trouble. Right, Holt?”
Her gaze worked like a cattle prod to spur him to action.

“Right. Thanks, Irene.” He jammed his hat on his knee
and set down his glass. “You folks are right. Rob’s and Sara’s deaths are a
tragedy. But not an accident.”

Greg’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “What are
you saying? I thought it was a blown tire from a stray bullet.”

Holt sketched out what he knew about the crash,
explained he was supplementing the sheriff’s overstretched office, and eased
into his purpose for visiting. He stressed he was talking to all the ranchers
so the Harpers didn’t take his questions as accusations.

While he talked, half of his awareness was on Maddy as
she rocked Bobby in her lap. A set of colorful plastic keys held the baby’s
gaze. Having her present seemed to soften the purpose of the visit so these
folks didn’t feel threatened.

“Murder,” Irene murmured, her eyes wide, when he
finished.

“Do you know of anybody who had a grudge against my
brother or his wife? Maybe one of your hands had a run-in with Rob?” Holt
gripped his hat so tightly against his knee he crushed the crown. He smoothed
it and pulled a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket.

“A grudge? For goodness sakes, no. Two young people in
love, with a baby?” She shook her head in vigorous denial such an evil deed was
possible.

Greg’s expression was more circumspect. “I don’t know
of anything specific, but now and again I heard talk of Rob’s short fuse
causing rifts.”

“Like what exactly?”

As if feeling the tension in his uncle, Bobby began to
fuss. Irene took the squirming infant, and the change immediately quieted him.
He cooed at the new person holding him.

“Was it about the ranch?” Maddy asked softly. “Or his
wife?”

“Rob was very protective of Sara,” Greg said, his
words measured. “He hovered. Kept the reins tight whenever they went out.
Didn’t like it when other guys talked to her. Like that. I can see where his
over-protectiveness could’ve riled a few.”

Holt glanced at Maddy with new eyes. He’d asked her
along as another set of eyes and ears but didn’t count on such insight. Having
a partner in this mess felt good. But it was business, only business. Maybe if
he reminded himself often enough, he might actually believe it.

Irene huffed. “Over-protectiveness? Not exactly. More
like jealousy and control. Sara was a meek little thing. She didn’t seem to
mind Rob’s hovering, but maybe she would have down the road. I liked him, but he
needed to learn that wives are partners, not pets.”

*****

Shivering in the dawn chill, Holt traipsed to the
barn. Fog spirits hovered above the pond, but the rising sun would soon banish
them. Mares’ tails over the mountains predicted showers. With May’s advent,
April’s wet snows on these high valleys yielded to rain.

He heard Bronc’s drawl before he saw him. “You put the
lie to all those stories about taciturn cowboys. You ever shut up?”

The old wrangler poked his head above the second
stall, where he was saddling Quickstep, the roan gelding. “Horses like it.
Calms ‘em down. I tell ‘em about where we’re goin’. Up to the northwest fence
line, if that’s okay with the boss.” Accustomed to Holt’s teasing, he offered a
toothy grin.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You have any luck the other day talking to the
neighbors?”

“Not much. Only verification of what I already knew.
Rob had a temper that might’ve riled somebody. Who that somebody was is still a
mystery. All three ranch owners promised to ask their cowboys if any of them
had a run-in with him.”

He didn’t hold out much hope. Sure hadn’t heard a word
in the two days since the marathon drive. Who would admit a dispute and heap
suspicion on his own head? The only possibility as he saw it was if a cowboy
knew of another’s argument with Rob.

Rob’s jealousy and protectiveness were news but no
shock. No wonder, given his history of obsession with Maddy. How Sara had
responded bore looking into further, even if she’d seemed passive. Could the
new mother have rebelled, maybe with another guy? He hoped to hell not and put
the notion out of his head in favor of physical chores.

“I can muck out the horse stalls and tend the other
critters,” he said.

Finished saddling up, Bronc let the other three horses
into the back corral. “These stalls can wait, but the cattle won’t. I’ll help
with the calves afore I mount up.” A sly look quirked his mouth. “Espie shooed
Maddy outside to ride fence with me. She was good company. You want me to fetch
her to help you out?”

“Not what that pampered female signed on to do. She’s
tending to Bobby today.” Grateful for chores that kept his mind and body busy,
Holt strode outside to the sheltered pen where the sickly calves and new moms
were isolated.

What was he going to do about Maddy? He ought to send
her packing, but he couldn’t. Bobby needed her. And she was proving to be an
asset in his search for the murderer. Why couldn’t he just treat her like hired
help?

Shit, he knew damned well why. He wanted her more than
he’d ever wanted a woman before. He was as bad as Rob. What stopped him from
taking her to his bed was the knowledge she’d take off at any time. He wanted
no woman he couldn’t rely on. Enough. He splashed water from the faucet on his
face.

“You workin’ up a sweat already, boy?” Bronc chuckled
as he tugged one of the calves toward him.

“Just getting warmed up.” So much for keeping his
brain occupied with chores. “Two of these Hereford babies look more alert.”
They had to watch the newborns closely. Diarrhea could kill a calf in a matter
of hours.

“Yup, their backsides are clean. The meds are beatin’
the scours.” Bronc sent them with their moms to the common pen.

Afterward, the hired man led his mount out of the
barn. As he trotted away, Holt heard him discussing the sunrise with the horse.

On a sigh, he ordered himself to ease up on Maddy. He
had to give her credit for pitching in. Besides riding with Bronc, Maddy helped
with tagging the calves. Maybe she wasn’t as pampered as he expected or as he
claimed to one and all. He just had to keep his distance. His participation in
her betrayal of Rob didn’t exonerate her one whit. Having her here only
reminded him of that night. He wouldn’t trust her or let himself depend on her.
If an impulse brought her here, another would take her away.

And the mysteries about Maddy bothered him.

Like how come a big-time photographer could afford to
hang out indefinitely in the mountains of Colorado? She remarked in an offhand
way the other day that she’d talked to her agent. That made sense, but she was
hiding something. Made him want to protect her, dammit.

For a man who’d left official inquiries behind with
the DEA, he was up to his hat band in two unofficial ones. Sorting out Maddy’s
mysteries was creeping up a close second to solving Rob’s murder. Tough part in
the meantime was dousing his hots for her.

He worked his jaw to loosen the cramping muscle there.
Then he started on the next chore of making sure the penned-up animals had
plenty of hay and water before he headed inside to clean the stalls.

*****

“Here you go, Bobby. It’s all right, love.” Maddy
stopped his squalling with the bottle. She sighed with the return of peace and
strolled to the nursery window with the infant in her arms. Bobby guzzled his meal
noisily, his chubby fingers curled into fists.

Caring for him gave her joy, and she amused herself by
snapping pictures with her Nikon—frames of him, of Bronc mending fence, of the
wobbly calves, of the surrounding mountains, of the lonely family graves,
everything. What she wouldn’t give for a darkroom.

The days passed easily enough, but it was false
security.

When Bobby finished the bottle, she walked to the
kitchen with him at her shoulder. She patted his back to coax a burp from his
tummy. “Attaboy. You like that stuff now, don’t you, pumpkin?”