Carla Cassidy - Killer Cowboy

She returned his smile. “Believe me, I do.”

For the next twenty minutes he filled her in on the ranch business. Over the past six months Cassie had learned more about cattle than she’d ever wanted to know, but this was her life at the moment.

As Adam droned on about plans for the upcoming winter months, Cassie’s mind remained on the murder and what it meant for her future.

There was no way she could sell the property and leave for New York right now. Legally she was as much a suspect as anyone else that had attended the party, although surely nobody would really believe she’d had anything to do with Sam’s murder.

“Cassie?”

Adam’s voice pulled her out of her own head. “Sorry, what did you say?” she replied.

“I know you have a lot on your mind, so I’ll just get out of your hair and get to work.” He stood, drained his coffee cup and then carried it over to the sink. “I’ll check in with you later in the day after Dillon has conducted the rest of his interviews.”

“Thanks, Adam.” She didn’t bother getting up. Once Adam was gone she remained at the table until Dillon’s car appeared in the drive by the back door.

As he stepped out of the car, the hint of heat she always felt when around him whispered through her. He approached the house and knocked on the back door.

“It’s open,” she yelled. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said when he stepped into the kitchen.

“Then stop having murder victims on your property,” he replied.

“Trust me, I’d love to stop.” She motioned to the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be around here most of the day.”

“Did you find out anything yesterday that might help you solve this?”

His eyes were steel-gray and troubled. “Cassie, we aren’t going to solve this in a day. We have a barn full of people to interview and little physical evidence.”

“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “People were already talking about this land being damned because of the seven skeletons that were found here.”

“Your land isn’t damned and you know I’ve been working as hard as I can to solve the mystery of those skeletons. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to solve a fifteen-year-old crime where I only have one potentially important clue.”

Cassie straightened in her chair. “An important clue? Tell me, Dillon, what is it?” Was it really possible that he could solve the crime? Could he finally give peace to the seven young men who had been murdered?

Dillon frowned and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously contemplating whether to tell her or not. “You can’t share this with anyone,” he finally said.

“I promise,” she replied.

“It’s a man’s ring. When we were excavating the graves, in the bottom of one was a gold ring with an onyx stone. I believe it slipped off the killer’s finger when he was burying one of the bodies.”

“Was there any DNA on it?”

“Whatever was there was so contaminated nothing was usable.” He took a step toward the back door. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll talk to you later this afternoon.” With that he turned and left the house.

Through the window Cassie watched him walk toward the barn. She couldn’t help but notice how good his butt looked in his uniform pants. He was definitely hot.

She’d never heard any gossip about who he dated, and this was a small town that loved their gossip. All she really knew about Dillon Bowie was that he was well respected by everyone in Bitterroot and lived on a small farmstead on the other side of town. And she had the hots for him.

Restless energy surged up inside her. She got up from the table and put the coffee cups in the dishwasher. The ring of the doorbell whirled her around.

Who on earth could that be? She didn’t think anyone had ever come to the front door since she’d moved in. Everyone used the back door when they visited.

She hurried through the great room and into the smaller, more formal living room, where she could see through a side window that Raymond Humes stood on the porch.

She stifled a groan. That man was the last person on earth she wanted to see this morning. She opened the door and greeted him through the screen. “Good morning, Mr. Humes. What can I do for you?”

The silver-haired thin man smiled, the gesture doing nothing to warm the cold of his close-set dark eyes. “It isn’t what you can do for me. It’s about what I can do for you. May I come in?”

Cassie hesitated. She knew why he was here. The seventysomething-year-old man was like a vulture sensing death and waiting to capitalize on any weakness. She finally opened the screen door to allow him inside.

She refused to lead him into the heart of the house and instead gestured to the small floral sofa just inside the front door. She sat on the edge of the wing-backed chair facing him.

He swept his dusty brown cowboy hat off his head. “I was sorry to hear about poor Sam’s unfortunate demise,” he began. “You do realize this is only going to add a new blight on this ranch that will make it even more difficult for you to sell.”

“I’ve told you several times I’m not ready to sell at this point in time,” she replied.

“You aren’t going to get a better offer than mine,” he said with a confidence that irritated her.

“I’m not interested in any offer right now and did you know some of your ranch hands crashed my barn dance the other night?”

Raymond chuckled. “Hardly a crime. I found it hard to believe that you wouldn’t invite me and my men to the shindig being that we’re neighbors and all.”

“Your men and mine aren’t really friendly,” she replied as she stood.

“I’ve never understood that,” he said in bemusement.

She understood. According to her men, Humes’s ranch hands had stolen cattle, set malicious fires and done sundry other things to her ranch.

“I’ve got a lot of things going on right now, Mr. Humes. I appreciate you stopping by, but I’m not interested in any offer you might make me on this place.” She glanced pointedly at the door.

Raymond laughed once again as he rose from the sofa. “Sooner or later you’ll be interested. I’m the only person around these parts who has the kind of money you’ll want to rid yourself of this one-horse town and get back to New York City, where those fancy jeans of yours belong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he walked out the door. He was probably pleased that another murder had taken place on her property. He probably thought this newest tragedy would make her desperate to sell out to him and leave Bitterroot.

She had to admit there was a part of her that would like to cut and run. However, selling out to Raymond Humes would be such a betrayal to Aunt Cass, who had left her the ranch.

More important, it would be a huge betrayal to the men who worked here, men who embraced her as their own the minute she’d stepped into her aunt’s very large shoes.

And one of them might be a killer.

The words jumped unbidden into her head. No, there was no way Dillon or anyone else could ever make her believe that. She refused to believe that for the last six months she’d been living here with a vicious killer. Her cowboys were good, kind and hardworking men.

Still, a faint chill accompanied her as she locked the front door and then returned to the kitchen.

* * *

It was just after four when Dillon finished interviewing for the day. He’d spent most of the morning inside the barn with a couple of his best men, seeking anything that might be a clue. It had been a fruitless search.

Finally, after noon he pulled in three of the last six cowboys to talk to. He’d hoped to get something, at least a little nugget of information that might move the case forward, but that hadn’t happened.