The High Country Rancher (6 page)

“Need a ride?”

He stopped walking and stared at her, watching the way the breeze moved her hair around her face. It was a face he liked.

“It’s department policy.”

“In that case.” He moved around to the passenger’s side and climbed in next to her.

“I wouldn’t want to mess with policy.” He gave her a sideways glance and watched her smile again, something that eased the tension in his body to a level he could tolerate. He was pretty sure she’d gotten an earful after he’d dodged a bullet and left the interrogation room.

“I’ve got to make a quick stop by the house, and we can get on the road.”

“No problem.” He put on his seat belt and leaned back. “I take it your boss isn’t too happy?”

She looked both ways and pulled out onto Main. “Let’s just say Endicott’s missing persons case is
stalled. My father is one step away from calling the FBI. If we can’t catch a break, and soon, we’ll have the feds crawling all over the place.”

He hated the sound of that. They wouldn’t go easy on him. They’d make his life hell, and maybe hers, too. “I’ll take the damn poly, if it’ll help.”

She braked at the stoplight and turned left onto Sycamore. “I can get the examiner out of Spokane down here next week.”

He watched a smile turn her mouth as she maneuvered the car onto Cottonwood Street and pull into the driveway of her house.

“Give me a time and place. I’ll be there.”

She put the car in Park and shut off the engine. “It’s as much for you as it is for me.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” He saw her wince. “I know I haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the only one who needs convincing.”

Mariah didn’t dare look at him for fear he’d see right through her. More than anything she wanted to believe him on all counts. “I’ll just be a minute.”

She pulled open the door latch and climbed out of the car, with her emotions at war. A battle of good cop, bad cop ragged inside of her. She’d settle for just cop at this point, because she wasn’t acting much like one where Baylor McCullough was concerned.

Fiddling with her key, she shoved it into the lock and turned the knob.

She pushed open the door and the pungent odor of turpentine hit her full force.

Mariah backed out onto the porch nearly colliding with Baylor, who’d gotten out of the car and now stood next to her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Someone broke into my house!”

Baylor took a step toward the entry and stared into the once-inviting living room.

Anger stirred in his blood as he looked at the beautiful painting he’d admired the first time he’d been in her home. Someone had doused it with turpentine. The once-majestic images now streaked and running down the canvas, dissolved by the paint thinner. He didn’t paint, but he was pretty sure an artist and her art were like a cowboy and his favorite horse—inseparable.

He put his arm around her shoulders, caution coursing through him. What if she’d been home alone when the intruder broke in?

“I’ve got to call this in. Maybe the jerk left something behind.” Her voice broke. “Something I can nail him with.” She moved away from him and he followed, determined to protect her somehow from the ugliness inside. The destruction of her artwork, the seed of her passion, the key to her soul, he guessed.

He listened to her phone call and waited with her until the first cruiser rolled up on scene before stepping back into the shadows.

Was the sniper attempt on their lives somehow related to this? And if so, how in the hell did he look after a cop whose job it was to serve and protect?

S
HE HAD TO QUESTION
Ray Buckner, Mariah decided as the last of the crime scene investigators put their equipment away and stepped out of her living room. He was supposed to be back from Missoula today.

CSI Worchester and his team’s hours of searching hadn’t revealed a single fingerprint or one identifiable speck of evidence with which to nail the SOB who’d invaded her home. He’d come through a rear window to trash the place, and left her feeling vulnerable in a setting she’d always felt safe in before.

Baylor stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, arms crossed as he studied her. “They’ll catch him, Mariah.”

She wished she could take hold of his words and believe them, but she’d seen her share of unsolved break-ins.

“With prints, you’re right, but he didn’t leave anything. And then there’s this.” She motioned to the destroyed painting on the wall behind her couch. “Why would he do that? There’s a personal message there. Deface my art, you deface me.” A shudder vibrated through her, leaving her exhausted and confused.

“How well do you know Ray Buckner?”

“I’ve met him a couple of times in my travels, seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“How old?”

“Early twenties. You think he had something to do with this?” Baylor pulled out a chair at the dining-room table across from her and sat down.

“I don’t know. He could be warning me to back off my investigation. I just need to talk to him.”

“I know he’s a saddle bronc rider. The Turners said he was rodeoing. He’ll probably be back at the Salmon River Rodeo this weekend.”

She hadn’t thought of that angle. The annual Salmon River Rodeo was coming up. Two days of saddle bronc and bareback riding, barrel racing, bull bucking, team roping and wild cow milking fun that left the town packed to the rafters with cowboys, their horses and plenty of fans.

“Would you mind pointing him out for me?”

“Love to.” Baylor smiled and her anxiety melted into her shoes, the ones she planned to exchange for a pair of cowboy boots come rodeo time tomorrow.

Mariah moved through the crowd of fans clogging the narrow street next to the rodeo grounds. Stadium lights situated around the area hummed and illuminated the dust in the night air being kicked up by the rodeo events transpiring in the fenced arena.

The early evening air was crisp, and she buttoned her denim jacket, the one she’d donned along with a gray Stetson to take the coppy-looking edge off.

After running Ray Buckner’s name through her computer, she’d discovered he had several outstanding warrants. Her gut feeling was that he’d run. Assuming she wanted to take him in on the warrants.

Glancing into the crowd, she spotted Baylor moving at a slow pace some thirty feet from her. His height put him at an advantage, along with a cowboy hat pulled low on his head.

A zing of desire pulsed inside of her. He was a walking distraction, and she searched for another focus, finding it in the tangy smell of barbecued ribs
and onion rings that wafted from the food vendors operating along the street on the opposite side of the arena and grandstands.

Trying to look casual, she stopped and flipped open her program, searching the list of events until she found Ray Buckner’s name in the third section of saddle bronc riders. He’d drawn a horse called Sonny, and he’d be riding it if she wasn’t hauling him into the station.

Mariah closed the program and searched out Baylor again, spotting him near the main gate, his elbow resting on the top rail of the fence as he scanned the crowd.

He made eye contact with her, pulled his hat off and put it back on. The signal that he’d spotted Ray somewhere in the wave of people pushing to get into the rodeo.

Mariah’s heart rate kicked up a beat. She remained focused on Baylor as she started toward him.

He gave three quick nods.

She followed his line of sight, spotting Ray Buckner as he headed for the gate leading back in behind the bucking chutes and catch pens with a bronc saddle slung over his shoulder, wearing a bright orange and white striped shirt.

She was on him in ten quick strides.

“Ray Buckner, Detective Ellis, county sheriff’s department. I need to talk to you.”

Before she could flash her badge, he bolted into the crowd of cowboys streaming through the narrow gate.

Adrenaline surged through Mariah’s veins.

She took off after him, badge in hand as she bumped and pushed her way in behind the bucking chutes.

Getting her bearings, she saw the bobbing motion of his black hat, and raced after him, spotting him for a brief moment when he turned to see if he’d lost her.

“Ray! Ray!” Mariah waved, shouting above the drone of excited voices, but he kept moving away from her, deeper and deeper into the area where the gleaming lights surrounding the arena didn’t penetrate.

She rushed to the end of the bucking chutes and stopped, trying to ascertain where he’d gone. She spotted him rushing down a narrow corridor, and gave chase.

There were fewer cowboys the farther into the back of the rodeo grounds she pushed.

She could hear the rustle of restless livestock in the maze of pens. Caution zipped through her for an instant when a bull bellowed in the holding pen beside her.

She tried to get her bearings in the dark, cramped and dusty corridor.

Where was Buckner?

She felt a push from behind at the precise moment the small gate she was standing next to opened, and she was shoved through it into the holding pen.

Mariah hit the ground on her belly and raised her head to stare in horror at dozens of hooves.

Reality dawned hard and fast as she rolled to the left, a hoof barely missing her head.

The massive animal came at her again head down, horns poised to gore her if given the chance.

She went on autopilot. Move, keep moving.

Where was the gate? She’d have to stand to open it.

She could shoot the bull, but there were a dozen more just like him in the pen.

Mariah glanced up at the fence. The rungs were six inches apart. Too narrow for her to slip through. She’d have to use the gate. If she timed it right, she could stand up and make it through before he killed her, and she had no doubt that the eighteen-hundred-pound Brahma bull snorting and pawing the earth a few feet away could do just that in a matter of seconds.

“Mariah! Up here. I’ll pull you out.”

The sound of Baylor’s voice was a relief, and she scrambled to her feet just as the bull lunged, slamming into her body with his head and hooking her with his horn.

A sting of pain shot through her left arm and she saw stars for an instant, trying to suck in a breath.

She was lifted up off her feet by the force of the blow.

Baylor bolted up the fence, lodged his feet in one of the rungs, bent over at the waist and snagged Mariah from the bull. He then raised her up above the enormous animal before he could finish her off.

He set her on the other side and jumped down, pulling her into his arms.

His heartbeat hammered in his eardrums, drowning out the cheers of fans as an animal tossed its rider before the eight-second buzzer.

He felt her sag in his arms and looked down at her. Blood stained the front of his shirt and the sleeve of her jacket gapped open.

“Mariah?” Fear constricted his chest, making it hard to breathe. Time ground to a stop, images clicking by in slow motion. He was there again. In the water, a prisoner of that night a year ago. Amy…he had to save Amy. The car filled with water. Icy water. Terror’s crushing power dug into his brain and immobilized him.

“He hooked me. I need the EMTs.”

The whisper of Mariah’s words cut through the replayed trauma stuck in his brain and sucked him back into the present.

“Where?”

“My arm.”

He scooped her up and laced through the crowd heading for the ambulance and the EMTs who could do for her what no one had been able to do for Amy, not even him.

Save her.

She was fragile and small in his arms. Urgency bubbled up in him and he quickened his step, not satisfied until he reached the EMS staff.

“A bull hooked her,” he said as he sat her down on the back step of the ambulance.

Already he missed the feel of her in his arms, and he watched as they took a pair of scissors to the tattered sleeve of her jacket and exposed her arm.

A gash marred her skin just above her elbow. The bleeding had almost stopped, but she was going to need stitches.

“You’re lucky he didn’t catch the brachial artery,” the EMT said as he cleaned the gash and applied a sterile dressing. “You need to roll up to the hospital and have it stitched.”

Mariah nodded and felt suddenly nauseous. She’d been inches from death. If it hadn’t been for Baylor…

“Would cowboy Ray Buckner please come to the registration window to sign your release? They’re holding your bronc.” The announcer’s voice rasping over the loudspeaker caught her attention.

Concern jetted through her. If Ray hadn’t signed his release so he could ride, that could only mean he’d taken off after she’d tried to question him. Was he the one who’d shoved her into the holding pen with the bulls?

“Can we get a couple of EMTs down here behind the bucking chutes?” The announcer’s voice held an edge of panic in it and Mariah stood up.

Baylor was next to her before she could take a step. “Relax, sweetheart. He hit you hard.”

She touched his hand and felt a jolt of attraction arch between them. “Yeah, but something’s up. Ray
Buckner didn’t sign his release. He probably took off after I chased him.”

“You’ll find him, Mariah. You know where he lives.”

It was true. There wasn’t much chance he’d slip completely away. She planned to call in uniformed backup before she got to the hospital. They’d find Ray Buckner.

She watched two EMTs grab their jump kit and disappear into the crowd behind the bucking chutes.

“I need to take your blood pressure,” another EMT said.

The cuff tightened on her arm and slowly released. She jotted down the results on a run sheet. “You be sure to get your arm stitched up within six hours.”

“I will,” Mariah promised, as the EMT took the BP cuff off her arm.

The announcer’s voice come over the PA system in a panicky tone. “Can we please have the arena cleared immediately? We’re going to release the bulls from the holding pen. Please clear the arena.”

Mariah stood up, feeling tension stiffen the air over the entire area. Baylor must have felt it, too, because he stepped closer to her.

“We need an officer down behind the bucking chute.”

Mariah felt for her gun with her right hand, content when she locked her hand around the butt of it. “I’m going.”

Baylor was two steps behind her as a loud groan went up from the crowd. Dodging through people, she made it to the now-empty holding pen where she’d nearly been killed only moments before.

A grim-faced cowboy opened the gate for her when she flashed her badge.

Inside, the EMTs worked at a numbing pace doing CPR on a cowboy, trying to save his life.

Mariah swallowed hard as she stepped closer, catching a glimpse of a familiar-looking shirtsleeve. Orange and white. Horror rushed through her bloodstream, just as Baylor put his arm around her shoulders, stabilizing her on her wobbly knees.

A battered, bloody, half-dead Ray Buckner lay in the muck of the bull pen where he’d been stomped and gored.

Uniformed officers attempted to shield the scene from the crowd that had gone silent.

She turned into Baylor, burying her face against his chest to shut out the horror of the trauma unfolding in the dirt.

Had she caused this? In Ray’s panic to escape, had he fallen in the bull pen? Or had he been pushed in just like her?

She pulled herself together and looked up at Baylor. His mouth was set in a hard line, which softened as he stared down at her.

“That could have been you.”

Mariah swallowed. “But it’s not.”

He nodded, and the grim set of his jawline relaxed. “Do you think he was pushed?”

“Yeah. Considering the same thing happened to me. This pen is a crime scene. And the bastard who did it is out there, somewhere.” She took in the sheer number of people and sighed. The odds she’d find him were slim to none, and she hadn’t even had a chance to get a look at her assailant in the darkness behind the chute.

“I’ll speak to the uniforms, give a statement and head for the hospital.”

Baylor nodded, released her and moved toward the gate.

She headed for Officers Duffy and Bradshaw, who worked crowd control.

Scanning the faces of the curious onlookers, she searched for anything or anyone who didn’t jive, but there was no one who stood out. No one wearing an “I did it” sign posted above their Stetson, and she could only pray that Ray Buckner lived to tell her how he’d found his way into the bull pen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Officer Bob Duffy said as he looked at her arm.

“I got too close to a bull, just like Ray Buckner.” She motioned to where the EMTs still worked on him. “I don’t think this was an accident. You need to call it in, have CSI Worchester and his team come down to have a look. One of you needs to ride to the hospital with Buckner, in case he says anything.”

Bob Duffy shook his head. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way any evidence could survive this mess.”

Mariah looked around at the bull pen, which was a virtual quagmire. Bob was probably right. “Do it anyway. You never know.”

He nodded and turned away, pulling his handheld radio off his belt to make the call.

“I’ll ride in with him,” Officer Bradshaw said before turning and making his way over to where EMS worked.

Mariah searched for Baylor and saw him waiting for her next to the gate.

Working her way toward him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the assailant was standing in the crowd, watching, and that fact bothered her.

B
AYLOR WATCHED THE
doctor put the last stitch in the back of Mariah’s arm. She was lucky to be alive, Doc Munsey had said more than once.

If the gash had been any deeper the bull would have hit that brachial artery the EMTs referred to earlier and she would have run the risk of bleeding to death.

He pulled in a deep breath and let it out. How was he going to tell her he’d made the decision not to leave her side again?

Someone wanted her to die. Was she safe anywhere? Her home had been violated, public settings were no obstacle to the perpetrator, what was left?

“Why so serious?” she asked, looking up at him
while she hugged the hospital gown to her chest just above her breasts.

A rush of desire surged inside of him as the memory of feeling her skin next to his, flared and burned in his mind.

“There’s some SOB out there who wants you dead. Reason enough?”

The slight smile on her lips collapsed, making him regret his words even though they were true. He liked her smiling much better. He liked it when her passion surfaced. He’d like it better if she weren’t a cop.

“Can you get police protection?”

“This isn’t a rusty episode of
Miami Vice.
I am the protection.”

Tension had a stranglehold on his nerves. He had a ranch to run, cattle to herd, spring calves to brand, but his only concern revolved around the woman in front of him. A woman who still didn’t trust him. That was something he intended to change.

“You can get dressed, Mariah,” Dr. Munsey said, pulling out a prescription pad. “I’ll give you some pain medication and an antibiotic. Are you allergic to anything?”

“No.”

He scribbled on the pad. “This should work. Remember to keep the wound dry, and consider taking a couple of days off from work. You don’t want to tear it open.” He ripped the page off and handed it to her, nodded and left the examine room.

Mariah considered the doctor’s suggestion for about two seconds. She couldn’t leave in the middle of an investigation, and with Baylor’s polygraph examination coming up, she’d be remiss if she wasn’t there.

An ounce of dread metastasized inside of her. What if he failed the test? There was no one to substantiate his alibi.

“Out…you’re keeping me from my duties.” She slipped off the examining table and stared at Baylor’s retreating backside. An incredible view.