The High Country Rancher. Jan Hambright
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didn’t belong to him.
“What woke you up?” He slid the screen closed and sat down on the hearth. He didn’t want to spook her. She’d go cop on him again.
“The back door was wide-open and banging against the doorjamb in the wind.”
Could the figure she’d seen outside be the person who made the tracks in the corner? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t relax until he got her safely off the mountain.
“Get some rest.” He moved into the chair next to the fireplace, to stand guard, and watched her close her beautiful blue eyes.
Whatever was going on at the Bellwether Ranch was his problem, and he didn’t want her involved.
THE SMELL OF COFFEE brewing and bacon sizzling pulled Mariah out of sleep. She opened her eyes, staring at the lamp on the nightstand, at the lit bulb that glared from under the shade. The power was back on.
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the coffered ceiling. She could hear pearls of water dripping outside the bedroom window as sunlight penetrated the slats in the wooden blinds.
Idaho weather was so unpredictable—if you didn’t like it, wait five minutes and it would change.
Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stretched. Her body ached, every muscle had gone stiff. Probably a by-product of nearly freezing to death, she decided as she went to the closet and opened it to find her clothes hanging just where Baylor said they’d be.
She dressed quickly, strapped on her service revolver, and made the bed up in the decidedly masculine room that carried his scent.
She headed for the kitchen, taking her time as she surveyed the living room in the light of day. Heavy hand-hewn beams crossed the ceiling. The hardwood floor under her feet was made of maple, and polished to perfection. Amy had great taste, she decided as she turned toward the kitchen, her gaze locking on Baylor.
He worked over the stove, his broad shoulders covered in a pristine white T-shirt. Every little nagging ounce of desire in her body fizzed up, and she had to look away.
“Good morning,” he said as he turned around. “How do you feel?”
Pulling out a stool at the bar, she slid onto it and fixed a smile on her face. “Great.”
He turned to a cupboard next to the sink, pulled down a large red coffee mug and filled it from the coffeemaker. “This should help.”
A grin pulled his lips apart, showing even, white teeth. Her heart did a somersault. He set the cup in front of her. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Black’s fine.” Picking up the cup, she took a swallow, wondering if he’d been as attentive toward Amy. There it was again, that curiosity about something she didn’t need to know. Something that had no bearing on her investigation into James Endicott’s disappearance.
Baylor could feel her eyes on his back like a tick on a horse, but at least she’d left her gun holstered this morning instead of pointed at him.
“I called a tow truck for your car. He’ll be here within the hour.” He said all this over his shoulder as he loaded her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and a slice of wheat toast.
“I’m going to take you up to the hospital. Make sure you’re all right.”
“That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t doubt it. His jaw still hurt. He slid the plate in front of her and took his first long look at her in broad daylight.
Her tousled blond hair was loose, and fell to her shoulders in soft curls that made his hands ache to touch them. She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short. And those eyes, the ones flashing him a back-off warning as sure as he was standing there, well, he liked those, too. The color of a cloudless noonday sky.
“My rules. You got hurt on my property, I’ve got an obligation to make sure you check out.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she shut it, picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.
He turned around, satisfied that she’d be safe for the next two hours. He couldn’t risk having her wandering around on his mountain alone. This morning he’d found a set of footprints in the melting snow next to the timberline, right where the good detective said she saw someone last night.
Whatever was going on didn’t involve her, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.
Detective Mariah Ellis was better off back where she belonged. Far away from the Bellwether Ranch.
MARIAH SLID INTO THE cab of Baylor’s black Chevy pickup and buckled up. What was left of last night’s snowstorm lay in melting drifts, and the sun was warm against her face.
He fired up the truck and backed out of the driveway.
She tried to relax, but it was impossible. She’d yet to accomplish what she’d set out to do. Interrogate Baylor McCullough.
“I’d like you to come into the station for an interview. I need to know where you were on April the fifth.” She glanced at the muddy road in front of them, before slipping him a glance.
His jaw was set; he stared straight ahead. She knew defiance when she saw it.
“If you had nothing to do with Endicott’s disappearance, you’re in the clear.” The word but hung up on her tongue. She was so sure he was somehow involved when she’d come tearing up the mountain yesterday afternoon. Now she wasn’t as convinced, but she still had a job to do.
“A polygraph could clear you.”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You’re going to need a lot more than a hunch, Detective.”
A chill launched over her skin and landed in her gut. He was right. She was reaching. But a reach was all she had to go on at the moment. He was her only lead.
“If that’s the way you want to play it for the time being, but it’s the surest way to clear yourself.”
Baylor didn’t doubt it. It was the principle of the whole damn thing. His past was playing into it, he was sure. In the eyes of the law he’d always be suspect.
He rounded the bend in the road and spotted the tow truck along with another pickup parked in the opposite direction. He slowed and pulled in behind it.
The tow-truck driver raised his hand and waved. The man standing next to him did the same and Baylor recognized his neighbor Harley Neville who lived a mile up the road.
“You can stay in the truck and keep warm if you like.” He pulled the handle and the door swung open. He somehow doubted she’d take that option. Mariah Ellis likely lived on curiosity and adrenaline. Both went with her line of work.
“I’d like to have a look.” She climbed out of the truck and moved up next to him as he covered ground in long, even strides.
Her late model Ford Taurus was augered deep in the ditch. The rear end sticking up in the air, the undercarriage high-centered on the berm of earth, the nose rammed into the embankment.
“Bang-up job.” A whistle hissed from between his lips, drawing a glare from her that could have cut diamonds.
He stared down the road, taking note of the exact spot where she’d gotten sideways, where she’d made the mistake of hitting her brakes, and where she’d ended up. Lucky she hadn’t been seriously hurt, or he wouldn’t have found her in time to save her life.
“This your car?” the tow-truck driver asked, shifting his green Bernie’s Garage hat off then back on, before settling it low on his forehead.
“Yeah. It’s mine. You can send the bill to the county sheriff’s department.”
“Will do.” He moved to his wrecker and unhooked the wench cable.
“Harley, how are