The Deputy Gets Her Man. Stella Bagwell
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Nobody gives a damn what happens on the the Pine Ridge Ranch.”
She turned a thoughtful gaze toward the busy ranch yard. “Frankie Cantrell, Quint’s mother, is from Texas. In fact, she’s back there now visiting her older sons. Did you know that?”
“Is that question a part of your investigation?”
“No. Just my curiosity.”
A disapproving groove appeared between his brows, and Rosalinda got the impression he wasn’t used to having personal questions directed at him. And suddenly she was wondering about far more than his feelings toward the Cantrells or their adjoining land. This ranch was even more remote than the Chaparral and he’d already admitted that he lived here alone. Outside of raising cattle and horses, what did he do for companionship?
Apparently deciding she was simply talking as one person to another, he said, “Yes, we’re both from Texas. Back there I lived on my parents’ ranch, the Rocking P, just west of Austin. But Mrs. Cantrell said she’d lived in the southeast, in Goliad County, and we’d never met before I moved here.”
“What made you want to come to New Mexico?”
“To make a place of my own. And I like this area.”
“It’s a far distance from Austin,” she stated the obvious.
“That’s one of the reasons I like it,” he said flatly.
Which could only mean he’d left something behind there, Rosalinda decided. The same way she’d left a part of her life behind in Gallop. But none of that had anything to do with the present.
“Well, concerning the fire, Mr. Pickens, do you have any reason to think one, or more, of your hands might have set the blaze?”
Expecting him to lash out again, he surprised her by shrugging. “All my men have been with me for several years now. They’re good, dependable guys.”
Folding his arms against his chest, he turned toward her and Rosalinda’s gaze was drawn to the fabric stretched across his biceps, the cuffs rolled against his corded forearms. “Don’t get me wrong, Deputy Lightfoot. There’ve been squabbles among my hands. Throw ten men together for eight, ten, twelve hours a day and eventually there’ll be friction. But nothing serious between them and the Chaparral hands.”
“Do you know if any of them are buddies with Chaparral hands?”
“Not that I’m aware of. You’d have to ask them.”
She nodded. “Well, I would like to speak with your men. Ask them a few questions,” she told him.
“If you want to talk with Gib, you’ll find him in the kitchen. The rest you should find down there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the ranch yard. “But I wouldn’t expect any confessions,” he added wryly.
She shot him a cool smile. “I’m not expecting confessions, Mr. Pickens. I’m looking for pieces of information that will tell me the comings and goings of your men prior to the fire.”
She drew a card from her jeans pocket and handed it to him. “Here’s my name and a sheriff’s department number where you can reach me. If you think of anything that might be helpful in this matter, don’t hesitate to call.”
He took the card and without looking at it, stuffed the piece of paper into the pocket on his shirt. “I’ll do that.”
Extending her hand to him, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Pickens. I, or someone with the department, will keep you informed.”
“I would appreciate that,” he said.
He took her hand again, only this time he didn’t shake it, he simply held it. Heat swam beneath the surface of her cheeks, and Rosalinda felt a strange current pulling her toward the rancher.
Disturbed by the sensation, Rosalinda withdrew her hand and stepped off the ground-level porch. As she strode to her truck, she felt his gaze following her, but she didn’t look back to confirm her feelings. For now, she’d seen enough of Tyler Pickens.
Chapter Two
Back on the porch, Tyler picked up the deputy’s empty cup and entered the house. In the kitchen he found Gib cleaning up the aftermath of their breakfast.
Upon hearing Tyler’s footsteps, the older man, who possessed a head full of snow-white hair and a brown, leathery face, glanced over his shoulder to study him with faded blue eyes. “That was short and sweet.”
Short? Tyler felt as though his time on the porch with Ms. Lightfoot had stretched into hours instead of a few minutes. As for the sweet, he couldn’t deny the deputy had caught his attention. Not with her words, but with her looks.
He didn’t know what the hell had just happened to him. He wasn’t interested in women in that way. Not since DeeDee. She’d torn a hole right down the center of his dreams, his hopes and everything he’d planned for his future. She’d driven a wedge between him and his family and ripped his world apart in the process. Because of DeeDee, the thought of any woman these past ten years had chilled him. Yet something about Rosalinda Lightfoot had snared every masculine cell in his body and had him staring at her like a damned fool.
“She didn’t have that many questions.” He dropped the cup into a sink of sudsy water. “I tried to tell her she’s wasting her time questioning me and my men.”
Gib walked over to a round wooden table and gathered up a handful of condiments. “Is she?”
His mind still swirling with the image of the woman’s long, dark hair, chocolate-brown eyes and soft pink lips, Tyler looked at his longtime friend and employee.
“Are you implying that one of us is an arsonist?”
The crevices around Gib’s mouth curved downward toward his chin. “Sometimes people are good at hiding things about themselves.”
Gib Easton had once worked on the Rocking P for Tyler’s father, Warren, but when Tyler had decided to make the move to New Mexico, the man had chosen to accompany him here to this mountain ranch. Gib had been one of the few people who’d clearly seen that Warren Pickens played favorites with his twin sons and that Tyler had always ended up with the short straw. He’d always been grateful for Gib’s support. Now their years together had made Gib the one man Tyler could completely trust.
“That’s true,” Tyler admitted. “But I have faith in my men.”
“Art and Joey were riding fence in that area yesterday. Sawyer told me that much.”
“Think about it, Gib. Can you picture those two carrying jugs of gasoline on their horses? Not likely.”
The older man cocked a curious brow at him. “Gas was used to start the fire?”
Clearly annoyed with himself for letting a woman rattle him, Tyler muttered, “Damn it, I don’t know. Deputy Lightfoot said some sort of accelerant was used. I just assumed it was gasoline.”
Gib crossed the room and shoved the salt and pepper shakers onto a cabinet shelf. “What else did she say?”
Pausing at the table, Tyler glanced out the glass patio doors situated a few steps away. From this angle, he could see the deputy’s truck parked near the main barn, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Nor were any of his ranch hands. She probably had them gathered in the barn. Or maybe she was cagey enough to talk to each of them independently. Either way, Tyler could imagine how the men would react to her. She was as sexy as hell. The kind of woman that made a man think of long, pleasurable nights.
“She wanted to know if I was angry enough at Quint Cantrell to want to burn his land.”
Comical confusion wrinkled the older man’s features. “Where did she get that idea? Quint is a friend. At least, he’s always appeared to be friendly.”
“Because Quint wouldn’t sell me that tract of land near the river she thinks