The Reluctant Rancher~Badlands (Contemporary Western Romantic Suspense) (17 page)

The man nodded as though it was a good thing. “George,” he said. “George Longbow.”

“Jenna…Dr. Lewis isn’t here yet, but we can talk inside. She should be along in a while.”

George shrugged. “I came early.
Very quiet around here.”

“I terminated the foreman and the other men quit.”

“Ah,” George pronounced, as that explained everything. “They were probably afraid to stay. Leon has a reputation for being a mean sum’ bitch.”

E.J. recalled the fearful expression on the face of the man who had come to speak to him, how he couldn’t meet his gaze. “You’re probably right about that.” He gestured to the house and followed behind his guest, the man who might possibly be able to take up
the reins of running the ranch.

E.J. sucked in a breath and released it. He felt hollow at that moment. Nothing left inside. He would have to mourn later.

~*~

When Jenna arrived at the Kincaid ranch, she spied the weathered four-wheel drive truck belonging to her old friend, George Longbow. She parked and rang the bell, but when E.J. opened the door for her, his face was etched in an
guish.

She started to ask him what was wrong, but a slight
shake of his head silenced her.

“Your friend is here,” he whispered and nodded toward the back of the hous
e. “I just started the coffee.”

She gave him a questioning look, but he seemed closed up…shuttered. She led the way and found George seated in a leather chair,
appearing to be quite at ease.

“Cool George!” She crossed the room as he rose from the depths
of the chair to clasp her hand.

“Doc. Good to see you.”
His face crinkled into a smile.

She glanced at E.J.
, but he seemed to be making himself busy with the coffee. “We were hoping you might be available to take over as foreman here, at least for the time being, depending on how things work out in the long run.”

George nodded. “I like the looks of the ranch. It has a fine spirit. I knew Eldon Kincaid in his younger days. I was just a boy, but he had some dealings with my father and uncle.”

E.J. gave him a sharp look.

Probably worried if Eldon screwed them over too
. Jenna swallowed. “I can give you a rough idea of the number of acres and the size of the herd.”

E.J. gazed at her with mild interest, but h
is thoughts remained elsewhere.

She sat down opposite George and told him everything she could think of
as to the running of the ranch.

E.J. brought coffee in m
ugs and took a seat beside her.

She gave him a questioning glance, but he remained silent.
Okay, I guess it’s up to me.
She cleared her throat. “The thing is, E.J. needs a whole new crew.”

George’s brow furrowed. “So he was telling me.” His dark gaze swept over the brooding E.J. “If you don’t have a problem with Native Americans, I can bring you
new hands.”

E.J. jerked to attention, his brow furrowing in turn. “What? No, why would I?”

“Your father was a friend to the Comanche and the Kiowa. We hold him in high regard. I just wanted to know how you would feel if all your ranch hands were from the local tribes.”

E.J. shook his head slowly. “Not a problem. I’m just looking for some good, honest men who can work cattle and manage the land.”

George nodded again, looking very wise. “You are your father’s son. I’m happy to sign on.” He drained the contents of his cup in one swallow. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning early with enough men to handle your needs. My brother Able will probably be with me.” He stood and E.J. rose as well. The two men shook hands and George took his leave.

E.J. escorted him to the door and r
eturned quickly, his face grim.

She reached for him and he pulled her to her feet, enveloping her in a fierce hug. “Are you all right? How did your visit with your dad go?”

He expelled a deep breath. “Not good. Someone killed him before I got there.” A tremor seemed to shake his body. “I didn’t even get to see him.”

She gasped.
“Oh, my god! E.J., what happened?”

“Stabbed.
He was stabbed to death.” He mumbled the words against her hair, as though he couldn’t hold her close enough.

A cold tightness settled in her chest. “How did this happen?”

He drew back to gaze at her, shaking his head. “I have no idea. The warden said the local sheriff was investigating.”

A thousand questions died in her throat. Only the image of E.J.’s anguished face kept her from probing more. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled him closer, dark suspicion clouding her thoughts.

~*~

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sara Beth didn’t seem to have any decisions to make at all. She was so thankful for the Ryans and the protective net they provided.

By the time the make-up artist at the funeral parlor got through with Nick, he appeared to be slee
ping and in the pink of health.

The Ryans accompanied her to the funeral home for the visitation. She sat in the front row, with Dr. Cami and Mr. Breck on either side, flanking her like a pair of
fiercely protective guard dogs.

People came in and out, in intervals. Nick’s many friends from high school, a few of his former teachers, and many townspeople who were probably just curious as to
how the local bad boy had died.

Sara Beth felt oddly disconnected. She was glad her emotions weren’t on display for the entertainment of the locals. Glad she could sit, holding her baby and nod pleasantly to the various people
who came to pay their respects.

Frank Wilson entered and walked to the casket in the front of the room, holding his Stetson. He gazed down at Nick in silence,
then placed his hand on the chest of the deceased. He stood like this for a few moments and then turned away. He approached Sara Beth and the Ryans.

“Hello, Sara Beth,” he said. “Allow me to offer
my condolences for your loss.”

His oddly formal speech broke through her fog.

My loss?

Yes, it was her loss. She had lost her husband. She had lost her security. She had lost her faith in the
one person she had believed in. “Thank you, Frank,” she whispered.

Breck stood and shook hands with Frank, while Dr. Cami remained seated beside her. The males drew away a little and it appeared they were discussing the care of her livestock, which had been transported to the Carmichael ranch and were hanging out in a segregated area, waiting for her to pull herself together enough to provide for them.

Another of Nick’s former school teachers came to pay her respects. She commented on what a scalawag Nick had been in the fifth grade and how he always made people laugh.

As the afternoon wore on, Sara Beth found her eyes drawn to the casket, to Nick’s placid profile. Why couldn’t he tell her where he had been? It would seem he owed her an explanation
, at the very least.

After a while, the baby became fussy and the Ryans suggested Sara Beth might want to leave. She nodded. Yes, she’d had enough of hurling silent questions at her husband only to receive no answers. Maybe the sheriff would have answers for her.

The funeral was held the next morning. The nice minister said good things about Nick, although it appeared he had not known him personally. The organist, Cora Lee Ferguson played a few hymns Mr. Breck had picked out and the choir did a fine job of singing. All in all, Sara Beth was sure Nick would have been pleased at the turn out.

The Ryans rode with her in a big black Cadillac
provided by the funeral home. The small cemetery that had served the local population for generations was a few blocks off the main streets. It was, in fact, equidistant between the Baptist and the Methodist churches with the Church of the Nazarene located just a few blocks further.

More nice words were spoken and Nick’s casket was lowered into a neat hole in the ground
. There was a tree nearby and some flowering shrubs along the fence line.

Not a bad place to hang out, if you were dead.

The only thing that kept bothering Sara Beth was Frank. He was always there, just on the edge of her vision. She could see his face. He looked grim, a total departure from his usually cheery expression. She wished she could talk to him about her dead husband. Wished she could get an opinion from someone who actually seemed to have one.
What happened to my husband? What did he do to get himself killed?

Frank fell in with the party of mourners escorting her back to the Cadillac. He held his hat, and mumbled again
how sorry he was for her loss.

“Thank you. Frank. That means a lot to me.” She extended her hand
and he gripped it for a moment.

“Anything you
need, just let me know.” He released her hand and turned away, striding toward the parked vehicles.

Mr
. Breck opened the back door of the Cadillac and Doctor Cami slid in first, then reached for the baby. Sara Beth released her hold on her daughter. She turned to Mr. Breck.

His dark eyes were filled with kindness. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing. All of this has been taken care of.”

“I have no idea how to even begin to thank you,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “You and Doctor Cami are the best.”

“Not a problem. We want you to be safe and have a chance to recover.” He fished a large white cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching for it. She slid into the cavernous vehicle and dabbed at her eyes.

Cami gave her a one-armed hug and expelled a deep breath. “You made it through,” she said.
“Quite a lot of rigmarole for you, young lady.”

“Oh, Doctor Cami, it all seems like a bad dream. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and Nick will be all right.”

Doctor Cami gazed at her with compassion. “You’re still in shock. The numbness will fade away and you’ll be able to start healing.”

“I hope so,” Sara Beth said. “I hope I can explain to my daughter why she doesn’t have a daddy.”

~*~

One of the other murder victims was dealt wit
h in a much less formal manner.

E.J. drove to Dallas, his emotions whirling in a blender of warring loyalties. He felt some sense of betrayal when he left Jenna behind, not sure he wanted to expose her to his former lifestyle and not sure he wanted to introduce her to the friends he th
ought might not appreciate her.

He also had mixed feelings about his decision to bury his father with no fanfare. When the coroner had completed his autopsy, the remains of Eldon Kincaid were transported to a funeral home in Dallas where he was to be laid to rest in the fa
mily mausoleum beside his wife.

E.J. knew that, even in Dallas, the news media would be all over the funeral of the murderer, Eldon Kincaid, who had in turn been murdered in prison. He had opted for a private interment with no ceremony.

Catching sight of the Dallas skyline in the distance lifted his spirits.
My city.

He drove straight to his home, opening the gate with the remote and turning onto the winding drive leading to the entrance. He parked and sat for a moment, gazing at the perfection of architecture his mother had created with help from the best designers and lan
dscape artists money could buy.

He paid a monthly fee to a cleaning service that sent a team of maids to the house on a weekly basis. Likewise, a lawn maintenance company kept the extensive grounds in a state of manicured perfection. He liked the idea that the home his mother had loved would be main
tained just as she had left it.

He
’d always thought he would return here, sooner rather than later. He had hoped his duty to his father would be dispatched and he could get back to his real life here in the city. It had never occurred to him that his father might murder an elderly woman and be incarcerated for his crime, and that E.J. might have the entire management of the vast Kincaid properties thrust upon his unwilling shoulders.

He expelled a sigh and climbed out of his vehicle. Mounting the steps, he unlocked the house and let the door swing open silently. The smell of lemon furniture polish assailed his nostrils. He stepped inside, his boots resonating o
ff the shining hardwood floors.

Home.

He walked from one end of the house to the other, trying to regain the sense of ownership he had felt after his mother’s death, when she willed all of her property to her only son. He found himself wondering how Jenna would view it. Would she appreciate the beauty and elegance of the house, or would she term it another ‘fancy-schmancy’ Kincaid place? He entered the sitting room his mother had loved. This was usually where he’d found her when the driver delivered him from school.