Terri Reed - The Cowboy Target

“That’s a lot of maybes,” Wyatt said, not liking the idea of someone trespassing on his land. “But if that theory were true, how’d the killer get my hunting knife, and why put George on my porch?”

“There’s the rub. Where do you keep the knife?”

“In the truck, beneath the seat.” Exactly where they’d found it. He didn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes.

“Lot of people know you keep it there?”

“It wasn’t a secret. And the truck’s always in plain view.”

Snow fell in earnest, a blanket of white that not even the headlights could cut through. That motorcycle rider wouldn’t be getting very far in this blizzard.

“You lock the truck up at night?” Jackie asked.

A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. “No. I don’t.”

She started the vehicle moving again. The windshield wipers worked hard to push the snow from the glass. “So in the middle of the night, anyone could have sneaked onto the ranch and taken it.”

A sense of dread assailed him. “Just like they snuck onto the ranch and left George’s body on my porch.”

She slanted him a quick glance. “Exactly.”

Which meant he and Gabby weren’t safe.

THREE

“Once we get to the house and everyone is inside and buttoned down tight, I’ll come back and have a look-see,” Jackie stated.

“Not in this weather,” Wyatt countered. A greenhorn like her would get herself lost in a whiteout like this. He wouldn’t even chance it without careful preparation.

When they arrived at the house, the whole place was lit up. Carl, Penny and Gabby rushed outside onto the porch to greet them as they climbed out of the vehicle.

Relieved to know his family was okay, Wyatt let out the breath lodged beneath his ribs.

“Daddy!” his daughter squealed, barreling into his legs in a blur of fuzzy pink footsie jammies the second he stepped onto the porch.

“Hey, sweetie.” Swamped with love for his little girl, he lifted her up so she could wrap her little arms around his neck. He tugged the corners of his jacket around her tiny body. His daughter loved him unconditionally. It should be enough. But Dina’s words taunted him. Left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Carl and Penny hugged their niece.

Gabby pointed a finger at Jackie. “Who’s that?”

With her arm around Jackie’s waist, Penny said, “This is Jackie. Remember I told you we had a guest coming?”

Jackie smiled at Gabby. Wyatt liked the way Jackie’s eyes softened when she looked at his daughter.

“Hi, there,” Jackie said. Snowflakes balanced on her blond curls glistened in the glow of the porch light. “I love your freckles.”

“Hi.” Gabby returned the smile and ducked her head into Wyatt’s neck. Her cold little nose pressed against his skin.

“You want to see something neat?” Jackie asked.

Gabby lifted her head and nodded.

Jackie hurried back to the vehicle. Carl followed. While he went to the back of the SUV, Jackie opened the passenger door. She lifted Spencer off the floor and carried him to the house.

Gabby nearly jumped out of Wyatt’s arms. “Doggy.”

He let her down so she could pet the canine.

Jackie’s blue eyes twinkled as she squatted with the dog in her arms. “His name’s Spencer. He’s an English bulldog.”

Gabby squealed with delight.

Carl hefted a big black duffel bag out of the back of the SUV and carried it to the smaller house across the driveway.

“You’re both invited over for some meat loaf. It’s Jackie’s favorite,” Penny said.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go wash up.” Wyatt took Gabby by the hand and watched Penny lead her niece to the small house across the drive from the main house. Spencer trotted along behind them, leaving paw prints in the powdered snow.

As Wyatt led Gabby inside, she said, “I want a Spencer.”

He wasn’t surprised. He had a feeling there were many changes coming thanks to a certain blond guest.

And he wasn’t sure they were all going to be good.

He took one last glance out at the snowy night before closing the door and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day. With no dead bodies.

* * *

The next morning Jackie was up and out for a recon run by 6:00 am. The blizzard had calmed, and the morning sun gleamed on a fresh layer of snow. Thankfully, she’d heard enough about Wyoming winters from her aunt and uncle that she’d packed appropriate clothing for a winter run.

Unfamiliar with the terrain, she’d opted to stay on the dirt road she’d driven last night. Though a good two inches of new powder covered the road, she didn’t have any trouble discerning the path.

The magnificent landscape reminded her of a painting. The dark had hidden the blanket of white stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional copse of trees or outcropping of rocks. Off in the distance, majestic mountains rose like fingers pointing skyward, as if to remind her to look toward heaven.

Her breath puffed out in a small cloud in the frigid air. “Lord, thank You for the beauty all around me. Thank You for Your protection every day. Lord, I ask for Your guidance.”

Because she didn’t know what to make of Wyatt or the situation. Someone tried to frame him for murder, but they’d done a sloppy job, which led her to believe it wasn’t a very thought-out plan. Whoever was behind this wasn’t organized and didn’t really know what they were doing.

Was this some sort of personal vendetta against Wyatt? Or more of a spur-of-the-moment attempt by the killer to camouflage his identity? Was it someone on the ranch? Or could Wyatt have killed George and tried to make it look like a setup?

So many questions, but she had two weeks to figure it out. And she would. For her aunt and uncle. For that cute little freckled girl. And for the brooding, albeit handsome, rancher who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his wide shoulders.

When she’d left the house, she’d seen a couple of men already up and working in the barn and a few more in the big equipment shed. She’d taken a cursory look around. Asked a few questions of the hands. None had anything of use to tell her. None owned a motorcycle or knew of anyone who’d have been out the night before.

She’d asked Uncle Carl last night if he knew of anyone who owned a motorbike, but he didn’t. She hadn’t told them about the bike following them. She didn’t want them to worry any more than they already were. She doubted anyone had slept well. She hadn’t, which was another reason she’d needed the run. To clear the cobwebs from her brain.

At the four-mile mark on her pedometer, she turned around, heading back toward the ranch house. A shadow overhead grabbed her attention. She slowed her pace to watch a low-flying prop plane. She kept her eyes on the plane, noting that the aircraft flew in a grid pattern over the land. Back and forth, back and forth. She’d heard of cattle ranchers surveying their herds via the air. Maybe Wyatt had someone keeping watch over his cattle and horses from above.

She returned to the house to find Aunt Penny up and dressed. Spencer was waiting at the door. He sniffed her feet before losing interest and disappearing around the corner of the living room.

“You’re up early,” Penny said. “Would you like coffee?”

“Please.”

“Do you run every day?”

“Most days.” She sipped from the blue-and-white ceramic mug of steaming coffee Penny handed to her. “So what’s the story with Wyatt and the sheriff? Uncle Carl said there’s bad blood between them.”

Penny pressed her lips together to form a tight line. “Sheriff Landers is Wyatt’s stepfather.”

“Ah.” That explained why the sheriff had been both antagonistic yet reasonable. He could have easily pushed to keep Wyatt locked up until morning at least—or longer if he’d wanted to be a real pain. But he hadn’t. Because of their family connection, no doubt. Though she’d sensed tension between them.