Big Sky Cowboy. Jennifer Mikels
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plucked up at Mystic Treasures and dialed the phone number. “Tessa Madison,” he requested of Marla, Tessa’s employee.
“Tessa isn’t here.”
“This is Colby Holmes.”
An excited edge crept into her voice. “She’s not here. She went to the antiques sale.”
“Thanks.” Colby set down the receiver. He needed to get this problem handled—now. He cursed the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was walk around the town square and look for the Gypsy lady.
Chapter Two
It was so blessed hot even at dusk. Colby scanned the sea of faces as people browsed from table to table, looking at clocks and crystal and antique jewelry. He stopped beside a table displaying Civil War guns. How hard could it be to find someone who looked like her? She was hardly ordinary with all that black hair and that trim little body.
“A good showing, huh, Colby?”
Colby let Tessa’s image drift away and forced himself to face the ex-mayor, a fiftyish, barrel-chested man with a receding hairline and a reputation as a ladies’ man since his divorce five years ago.
“It was a good idea to have this at night instead of the day. Don’t you think?”
Colby knew he was looking for a pat on the back. “I heard you suggested that to Pierce,” he said, referring to the town’s present mayor. “Real smart idea, Henry.”
Henry nodded thanks, then gestured in the direction of the tall, ruddy-faced man whose dark blond hair was threaded with gray. “Stay away from the sheriff,” he said about Dave Reingard. “He’s sure been in a foul mood for days.”
“It’s the heat,” Colby said. “Everyone’s grumpy.” But who could blame Dave? Colby mused. He had a murder to solve and a lot of pressure to do it quickly. Colby noticed that the deputy sheriff, Holt Tanner, stood near Dave. Colby doubted either man had an eye for the old furniture. They’d shown up at the antiques fair because people were tense, needed to see law enforcement was nearby.
“We need to find the killer,” he heard one woman say to her husband.
“We could all be killed in our beds,” an elderly man commented to a friend.
Concern had increased that a killer was lurking. Colby figured nothing would alleviate that worry except the sheriff announcing he’d arrested someone. Warren Parrish ranked at the top of Colby’s suspect list. Visually he followed the middle-aged man’s path as he meandered from one table to the next as if no worries existed in his life. Thin, tall, with gray hair, he puffed on a cigar, and despite the heat wore his trademark light-colored suit.
It took effort not to slug him. Since Parrish had arrived in town and announced that he was Harriet’s estranged husband, he hadn’t shown a second of genuine grief.
“Your mood is dark.”
Colby turned slowly, preparing himself to see Tessa Madison’s gray eyes. How could he have missed her? he thought. She wore a white dress with small pink-and-green flowers. Sleeveless, it brushed her ankles and scooped to a V above the shadow of her breasts, just enough to tempt his imagination. On her feet were white sandals with half a dozen straps. He eyed her pink toenails and the thin ring, a silver band, on one toe. “My mood’s okay.”
“Purple aura,” she teased.
He found himself grinning. “Not green anymore?”
“Oh, no. Definitely purple.”
Staring at her lips, not for the first time, he wondered about her taste. “Not a good sign?”
Slowly her smile spread to her eyes. “Certain auras reflect a person’s mood or future.”
Colby couldn’t stop himself. He released a snort of disbelief.
“You don’t believe that?”
He could do his own kind of taunting. “I believe in what I can see—” He paused, looked away from the gold triangle dangling from her left earlobe and fingered her necklace and the amulet, a dime-size letter X. “Touch.” Deliberately he let his skin brush hers above the scooped neckline. “Feel.” With satisfaction, he heard her suck in a breath as his knuckle caressed her skin. “What’s this?”
“It’s the runic letter for good luck.” Her gaze remained on him as she stepped back, forcing the chain to slip from his fingers. “Are you here to buy something?”
“Browsing.” Admiration whipped through him. She wouldn’t intimidate easily. “What about you?”
“I bought something.” When she gestured toward a cherrywood rolltop desk, a pleased smile lit her face. “Look. Isn’t this beautiful?” Lovingly she ran a hand over the top of the desk.
“Nice.” He had no real knowledge about what was a genuine antique, but he liked her choice. Not perfect, its top bore a few scratches. It had been more than a fine antique. It had been useful. Sturdy, long-lasting, it was also too heavy for her to move around. Colby viewed the moment as the perfect opportunity. “Do you need help getting it home?”
In a slow, measuring way, she cast a sidelong look at him.
He laughed, guessing her thought. “No strings.”
“I couldn’t ask you….”
“I volunteered.”
“I have a van. I’ll go home and get it.”
“Do you have good muscles, too?” She looked like a good wind would knock her down. He watched her eyes slice to his arms, sinewy after years of pitting his strength against a broncing animal.
“Colby.” Henry’s slap on the shoulder forced him to look away. “I heard news.” Henry spoke low, as if his news was confidential. “Diana’s back.”
Colby hadn’t seen Diana in a year, not since the day she’d placed his engagement ring on the bedside table and announced she wanted something he wouldn’t give her.
“I heard she’s staying in town for a while, might even settle down here again.”
“That so?”
Henry grinned wider. “Want me to tell her hi for you if I see her?”
“No, Henry.” Colby chose a surefire way to get Henry to leave. “Give me a hand with this desk, will you?”
Henry looked so dumbfounded at the request that Colby nearly laughed.
“You don’t have to,” Tessa protested.
“It’s yours?” Henry snuck a look to his left and then his right as if checking to see who was watching him. Uh, sorry, Colby. Got to go. Lester needs me,” he said about his brother.
Lester was nowhere in sight. “That’s okay. I can manage by myself,” Colby said.
“You shouldn’t have asked him to help me,” Tessa said once they were alone. “Most people aren’t comfort able around me.”
Because she made them believe she was weird. But was she? He stared at the desk. A sturdy, serviceable choice, the kind a practical person would favor. “This isn’t about you. It’s about his laziness.”
“He mentioned your ex-fiancée, didn’t he?”
“Diana Lynscot. She married another. Did you learn that, too?”
“Yes. I heard, too, that she’s a widow now.” Empathy filled her voice. “That’s so terrible. To be a widow and not even be thirty.”
“He was fifty-nine. And rich.” He withdrew his truck keys from a pocket. “I’ll get my truck and take this desk to your place, if you’re ready to leave.”
“I am. Thank you for playing good neighbor Sam.” He watched long,