Terri Reed - The Cowboy Target

Emerson

Wyatt wasn’t sure how he felt about the note or the fact that his father had asked his friend to “watch over” him. Had George stayed on the ranch all these years out of duty to Wyatt’s father? He felt as if he’d taken a hoof in the gut. Memories of all the times Wyatt told George to worry about his own responsibilities while Wyatt took care of the day-to-day running of the ranch horrified him.

He opened the book to replace the letter and envelope. A small scrap of paper fell out. He picked it up and stared at the numbers written across the front.

41557922-104952393

He turned the scrap of paper over. Blank on the

other side.

“Do you know about this upcoming town-hall meeting?”

Jackie’s question drew his attention away from the strange numbers. “There’s one a month. Nothing special about them. Mostly a chance for folks to get together. Why?”

She held up a flyer just like the one he had at home. She flipped it over. “Look at this.”

In big, bold letters were the words KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT OR ELSE.

Tucking the piece of paper back into the book, he crossed to her side. “Sounds like a warning.”

“Yep. And whatever George knew got him killed.”

“Why didn’t Landers find it?”

“It was stuck to the back of a National Geographic magazine.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Time to call the sheriff.”

Twenty minutes later they greeted Landers in the driveway.

“What are you two doing out here?” Landers asked.

Wyatt’s defenses bristled at the accusing tone in his stepfather’s voice. “I own the house.”

Landers cut him a sharp glance. “I’m well aware of that. However, you shouldn’t be anywhere near the place, not while you’re still a person of interest in the investigation.” He pinned Jackie with a hard look. “You should know this.”

She shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “I’m a private citizen now. Came here with the property owner. No laws were broken.”

Jackie had said something before about having been in law enforcement. At the time he hadn’t thought too much about it, but now he was curious to know in what capacity she had served.

“It doesn’t look good,” Landers groused.

“Murder’s never pretty, boss,” Jackie shot back.

Wyatt fought the urge to laugh. He really liked her spunk.

“We did find something of interest, though,” she said.

Landers’s gray eyes widened. “You went inside and searched the house?”

“To make sure whoever trashed the place wasn’t still lurking about,” Jackie stated. She held up the flyer for the town meeting with her gloved hand. “I’d say George had an enemy. We just need to find out who.”

“Not we, Ms. Blain,” Landers said in an adamant tone. “You two stay away from my investigation.”

“Some would consider you investigating your stepson a conflict of interest,” Jackie said, her tone bland.

Landers narrowed his gaze. “I’ve already put in a call to the state police. They’ll be sending someone over to assist.”

Jackie’s mouth quirked. “Good to know.”

Landers reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and used it to take the flyer from Jackie’s hands. “Now, I suggest you two go back to the main house and stay there. Let me do my job.”

With a snap, Jackie yanked off the plastic gloves. “Have you found the primary crime scene yet?”

Exasperation crossed Landers’s face. “Stop fishing, Ms. Blain. You know I can’t divulge information on an ongoing investigation.”

Jackie’s lips twisted in a wry half smile. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Why do you say that?” Wyatt asked, finding their banter entertaining and informative.

“Because if they had found the place where George had been murdered, then they would be asking you questions to see if they could place you at the scene. But because you’re still walking around a free man, I’m guessing they have yet to determine George’s whereabouts the night of his death.”

Landers looked at Wyatt, his gray eyes probing, almost pleading. “Wyatt, for your mother’s sake, please don’t do anything to throw any more suspicion on yourself. Stay close to home and out of my way.”

With that, Landers strode away, carrying the threatening note by the corner. Wyatt stared after him, pleased by Landers’s show of concern for his mother’s peace of mind.

“What’s up with you and your mom?” Jackie asked, peering at him intently.

“I haven’t talked to her.” The last thing he needed was to deal with his mother. Her calls had increased in the past twenty-four hours. She’d want to smother him with concern and demand an explanation. Just as she had the night Dina had died. But he wasn’t willing to tell anyone what happened that horrible night. No matter what.

Jackie tucked her arm around Wyatt’s and led him to his 4x4. “Come on, cowboy, we’ve another stop to make before we do as the sheriff asks.”

* * *

Half an hour later, they stood at the fence line on the southwest corner of the property. The fresh snow from last night’s storm had covered the tire tracks of the motorcycle. They drove along the fence for several yards but saw no signs of damage or tampering.

“Our mysterious cyclist most likely doubled back and left the property,” Jackie said. She had her hands jammed into the pockets of her parka. Wild blond curls stuck out from beneath the edges of her bright pink beanie. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright in the winter sun.

Attraction flared and he tamped it down because the last thing he needed was to be distracted by her beauty.

“What form of law enforcement were you in?” he asked.

She met his gaze. “I was a deputy sheriff in Atkins, Iowa.”

That explained the driving. But then again, being from Boston also explained her driving. He shook his head. “You’re just full of surprises.”

Her grin knocked him back a step. Keeping himself immune to her charms was proving impossible.

“I like to keep things interesting.”

Though his mouth felt as if he had cotton balls stuffed into his cheeks, he asked, “What made you decide to go into law enforcement?”

With a shrug, she said, “I wanted excitement. I grew up watching reruns of Charlie’s Angels. The original series.” Her grin widened. “I wanted to carry a gun.”

Warning bells clanged in his head. This wasn’t a girl who wanted to shoot pop cans off fence posts with a pelt gun. She wanted to chase drug runners and wear spandex. What was spandex, anyhow? All he knew was that it melted next to Wyoming campfires. He adjusted his hat. “And which character did you want to be?”

He was sure she’d say Farah Fawcett’s. She was an icon even beyond the TV show.

“Sabrina.”

The tomboy. Okay, so much for thinking he could predict anything about Jackie Blain. “Why?”

“She was the smartest, the most savvy and the one who saved the day more than the others.”

He couldn’t say whether her assessment was true or not. He’d only seen the show a few times. And only to watch Farrah. “Why did you change professions?”

Her expression grew pensive. “Personal reasons.”

Concern hit him like a cold wind across the plain. “Were you injured?”

The thought of a bullet tearing through her perfect skin slammed through him, making his fist curl to keep himself from reaching out to her.

She let out a humorless laugh. “No. Nothing like that.”

Hardness settled in her blue eyes, making them shine like crystal. She looked away, and he glimpsed a shadow of hurt. Something bad had happened to her, something that still caused her pain. But apparently she had no intention of sharing her inner turmoil with him.