Delores Fossen - Mason

Angry ones.

Mason was still no doubt insisting that she leave immediately. Grayson had the more level head, and she remembered Boone calling him an old soul.

Abbie hurriedly changed into loose pants and oversized denim shirt. No underwear, but the flat slipper-type shoes fit. She was ready to face down the enemy, or rather her former employer, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Mercy. There was soot on her face. Her hair was a tangled mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes. And then she wondered why she cared.

Oh, yes. She remembered.

Mason, and that body-to-body contact. Abbie cursed him. Cursed herself. She didn’t let men get under her skin, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Steeled with that reminder, Abbie walked back into the main room, only to have both Ryland men stop their whispered conversation and stare at her.

“So, what’s the verdict?” she came right out and asked. Of course, Mason scowled at her and mumbled something she probably didn’t want to hear anyway.

“Our other brothers Dade and Nate are out looking for the man who took shots at you,” Grayson informed her. He was all cop now. “Any idea who he was?”

She shook her head. “It was too dark to see his face.”

Mason swung his attention in her direction. “What about the man who set the fire? Too dark to see him, too?”

Abbie ignored the skeptical, snarky tone. “I didn’t see him,” she verified. “In fact, I didn’t see anyone. I only sensed someone was there.”

“Your senses are good,” Grayson volunteered. “Because I looked at the door that Mason pulled off you. It’d been torn from its hinges. If you didn’t do that—”

“I didn’t.”

Grayson lifted his shoulder. “Then someone else did. I’m guessing it was the same man who fired those shots.”

She guessed the same. Abbie also guessed that his brothers would give it their best efforts in searching for the man. But she also knew there were miles and miles of wooded area surrounding the Ryland ranch. The odds weren’t good. And that put a hard knot back in her stomach.

“He’ll be back,” she said before she could stop herself. Abbie instantly regretted the admission, but it didn’t surprise Grayson. Perhaps not Mason either. It was hard to tell because his face seemed to be frozen in that permanent glare.

“Boone didn’t send me,” she reiterated. “And I’m sorry that you’re riled because someone tried to kill me on your ranch.”

“I’m not riled because of that.” That got rid of the glare. Judging from his annoyed huff, Mason hadn’t intended to ditch the glare, raise his voice. Or show even a smidgen of what had to be a bad temper to go along with that gruff exterior.

But Abbie hadn’t intended to go the snark route either. “Look, I’m frustrated. Scared. And feeling a dozen other things that you clearly don’t want me to feel. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” Mason snapped. He stared at her. And stared. Then cursed again. “Quit apologizing,” he repeated.

Like the little arm rub he’d given her earlier, before he’d seen the concho, it sounded, well, human.

Grayson gave them both a stern glance, especially his brother. “Are you two sleeping together or something?”

“No!” Mason and she said in unison. Mason shot his brother a look that could have frozen Hades.

Grayson did some more staring and then made a sound of disbelief. “Then maybe we can concentrate on finding the man who tried to kill you.” He waited until he had their attention before he continued. “I’ve already made a call to Marshal Harlan McKinney to let him know what’s going on, and I’ve put out feelers to find out if Vernon Ferguson’s connected to this.”

She gave a weary sigh and pushed her hair from her face. “You won’t find a connection,” Abbie assured him. “Ferguson’s too smart for that.” And that reminder caused her to go still. “Ferguson found me awfully fast. I’ve been here at the ranch only three days.”

“Maybe Boone told him,” Mason instantly suggested.

Abbie didn’t even have to consider it. “Boone doesn’t know I’m here. That’s the truth. I told him I was visiting a friend in Austin.”

Mason gave her a flat stare. “So you’re telling us the truth, but you lied to him?”

“Yes.” She ignored his sarcasm and turned toward Mason. “Did you do some kind of background check on me?”

Mason probably would have preferred to continue the sniping match, but she saw the moment that he turned from an angry son to a concerned rancher and lawman. “Of course. I use a P.I. agency in San Antonio to screen potential employees.” He paused. “I don’t have the report back on you yet.”

Later, she would curse herself for not realizing that Mason would run such a check. She didn’t have an arrest record. In fact, not many records at all, and that would have perhaps flagged a P.I.’s interest.

It had probably flagged Marshal McKinney, too, but Abbie had called him right before she applied for the job at the ranch to tell him she might be working there for a short period of time. She’d also asked the marshal not to tell Boone, and McKinney must have complied because Boone hadn’t tried to stop her. And he would have if he’d known she was anywhere near Silver Creek.

Abbie shook her head and stared at Mason. “So why did you hire me before you got the report?”

“Because he needed a cutter,” Grayson jumped to answer. “He goes through five or six cutting-horse trainers a year.”

The muscles in Mason’s jaw tightened. “Because most aren’t worth spit.” Another pause, and he tipped his head toward her. “She seemed to know what she was doing.”

“Thanks. Your father trained me,” she added, knowing it would cause his glare to return. It did. Not just from Mason, but his brother, too.

She huffed but regretted that little jab. It was clear she wasn’t going to win them over to her side, so it was best to tell them the truth and hope they’d be willing to do something to help her.

Abbie took a deep breath before she started. “Something happened about a month ago. I’m not sure what,” she added because it looked as if both Rylands were about to interrupt her. “I know it started when Boone heard the news reports about the senator who committed suicide here in Silver Creek.”

“Ford Herrington,” Grayson supplied.

Abbie waited for them to add more. They didn’t. But she’d done her own reading about the senator. He’d confessed to murdering his wife and the Ryland sons’ grandfather Chet McLaurin, before taking his own life.

“What connection did Boone have to Senator Herrington?” Abbie asked.

“You mean other than Herrington murdering Boone’s father-in-law?” Mason asked. He was back to being a cowboy cop again.

She nodded. “Is there something more?”

Mason shook his head, huffed. “According to Ford, our grandfather was having an affair with Ford’s wife.”

“Was he?” she pressed, though she still couldn’t see the connection with Boone.

“Maybe.” And when Mason paused, Grayson took up the explanation. “His wife was having an affair with someone. Ford’s daughter, Lynette, confirmed that. She overheard her mother talking about it before she was killed, and Lynette has no reason to lie, because she’s our sister-in-law.”

So maybe that was the connection she’d been searching for. But why would a decades-old affair between a senator’s wife and Boone’s father-in-law have such an impact now? Especially because everyone seemed to know about it.

“Is it possible that the senator’s wife got pregnant and had your grandfather’s baby?” Yes, she was grasping at straws, but she had to find what had set all of this in motion.