Big Sky Cowboy. Jennifer Mikels
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appeared relaxed, but she felt tense—because of him. A quicker heartbeat, a slight flutter in her stomach, a twinge of need signaled just how much he affected her. “Because my mother would have a vision. Then people wouldn’t want us around. The ability to see is something all the women on my mother’s side share. It’s hereditary.” She spoke with pride. She wasn’t ashamed of her ability, but it made relationships difficult. Like her mother, she’d had trouble whenever she’d gotten too close to someone. It was better to keep a distance. That was a lesson she’d learned early. “I heard you retired from rodeo recently.”
“Too many injuries. Like the dislocated shoulder.”
There was more. He harbored something heavy, Tessa realized. Something far more painful than a rodeo injury. If she concentrated, she could have learned his secret, but she would never intrude on another’s pain without being asked. “How did it happen?”
“After tossing me, the bull decided to give me a nudge.”
He made it sound as everyday as crossing the street. “You’ve lived a dangerous life.”
“It can be.”
“So you quit to stay safe?”
“That makes sense, doesn’t it?” Disturbingly his gaze swept over her face, settled on her mouth.
“Yes,” Tessa said. She resisted an urge to wet her lips.
“Have you thought about my offer?”
“You made it impossible to resist.” The door opened, and Tessa looked to see who was coming in. Would she sense the person who’d been in the car behind her? “I looked at the photographs. Does your mother have a flower garden?” With his nod, she went on. “Are there lilacs?”
“Lilacs?” His voice carried a trace of bafflement. “What do they look like?”
As a young boy, had he picked some for his mother? “A cluster of small, purple flowers.”
“There used to be. What kind of flowers do you like?”
Tessa ignored his question. “I had a sense of lilacs when I looked at one photo.” She’d thought that particular photo had been taken in Louise’s backyard.
“That’s twice you’ve done that.”
“Done what?”
“We were talking about you, not me and not the photos. You deliberately dodge.”
“The photos are why we’re together.”
Unexpectedly he leaned forward, touched a strand of hair near her cheek.
The casual touch was as good as a caress. He could make her feel all she’d avoided for years. She knew that as sensation slithered over her.
“What else did you learn from them?”
She’d show caution, wouldn’t make too much of his every touch. “I want you to know that I can never be certain I’ll be successful. But I’ll need your help. If it’s not too difficult for you, I need you to tell me about the murder.”
As if taking a moment to formulate his words, he sipped his beer. “I don’t know how much you read about it in the newspaper. Chelsea estimated that Harriet was killed on June thirtieth, the night of the lunar eclipse. Harriet was shot with a twenty-two, her own. Chelsea thinks she was knocked around first.” His voice suddenly sounded tight.
“You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to.”
For a second, he looked away, then went on as if she’d said nothing. Tessa assumed he was sidestepping emotion. “My aunt was hit on the back of the head. She was found in a chair, so he must have moved her there. Her lip was split. There must have been quite a fight before he shot her.”
“Are you sure it’s a man?”
“That’s an assumption.”
“You said that—” Tessa paused as Warren Parrish strolled in. Had he been the one following her?
Colby swung a look over his shoulder to trace her stare. “Son of a—”
Wearing a suit, Warren Parrish looked out of place among the casually dressed, mostly jeans-clad crowd.
Across the room, his stare met Colby’s. Tessa wondered if the man had a death wish as he crossed the room to stop beside their table.
Though Colby kept his eyes on her, they grew darker with anger. “What do you want?”
Parrish looked pasty, almost sickly to Tessa. “I want to know when the lawyer will be reading Harriet’s will.”
In a slow, deliberate way, Colby raised his head. “After you’re in jail.”
“If you keep trespassing on what will be my property, you might be the one who ends up in jail.”
Under his breath, Colby muttered a vile curse. For an instant, Tessa thought he would whirl Warren toward him and punch him. Instead he followed Parrish with his eyes as if willing him to get out of his sight. “Did you get any—whatever it is you get—vibrations when he was around?”
Tessa wished she had. “No vibrations. Don’t you think it odd that Harriet never told her sister when she got married?”
Some of the anger lingered in his voice. “Right now, we only have his word about his marriage to Harriet. It’s possible they weren’t. Holt’s checking on that,” he said, sounding less irritated.
“You told me Chelsea had a personality profile. What is it?”
“The killer is mature. She thought he might be military or in an elected position, a CEO or a cop. Someone with authority.”
“Does that profile fit Warren Parrish?”
“He was a sergeant in the army at one time.”
Tessa watched him sprinkle Parmesan on a slice of pizza. “Who else is on the suspect list?”
“An unknown lover. And an abusive husband of a woman my aunt helped. At least, my mother thinks he’s a possibility. Like Parrish, the guy was in the army. An MP. So he fits the profile.”
She considered all he’d said. “Did the sheriff’s department come up with a motive for the killing?”
“By Rumor standards, my aunt was fairly rich. I guess Warren’s motive would be an inheritance. He arrived in town to wait for the reading of the will. The lover? Who knows? The talk at the sheriff’s office is that Aunt Harriet was blackmailing him, demanding money for her silence about the baby. That doesn’t make sense to me. She had money. The other possibility was that she was demanding marriage, and he wanted no part of her or the baby.”
“And the abusive husband? His motive is obvious,” she said absently. “Revenge because Harriet interfered in what he’d consider was his business.”
“Right.” He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Tell me. When did this—the images—start?”
She’d expected the question. Everyone, even those who didn’t believe in her, asked. “When I was a child.” She needed no images to remember childhood taunts. Some people had called her crazy.
“Just like that, one day you woke up and saw things?”
She wasn’t offended by the skepticism in his voice. Only someone with ESP understood. Some people felt only a vague foreboding, which they excused as intuition. But even they comprehended how overpowering the moment was when what was real was suspended by a world in the future. “It came in funny ways,” Tessa said. “I’d be playing with a friend, and I’d tell her the telephone was going to ring. She thought it was wonderful I could do that, but her mother looked at me as if I’d grown an extra head.” She paused with another memory. “When we were living in Texas, another friend’s mother called to tell my mother that I was a witch and she