Page 53

“Where did you go?”

She shrugged. “I had business at the bank.”

Reed closed his eyes and counted to ten. “And what did you find out?”

“You first.” Mona cast him an amused smile. “I promise I’ll tell if you tell.”

“Dusty met with someone at the back door to the bank.”

Mona nodded. “Mr. Kuhn.”

“How do you know?”

“I was in the bank when Kuhn came rushing in the back door like a scalded cat.”

“Tell me you didn’t confront him.” Reed looked over at her, his eyes narrowing when she didn’t answer immediately. “You didn’t, did you?”

“I told you, I had business. I met with Mr. Kuhn about my loan.” She turned a corner a little faster than she should, the back two wheels slipping across pavement, sending up an earsplitting screech.

“You confronted him.” Reed shook his head. “What do I have to do, tie you up to keep you from hurting yourself?”

Mona grinned. “That idea has promise.”

When he didn’t laugh, she sighed. “Kuhn has screwed up my credit. He’s still threatening to foreclose and take Rancho Linda. I more or less accused him of being behind the rustling efforts with Dusty Gaither.”

Reed’s brows shot upward. “And?”

She shrugged. “He denied it, of course.”

“Did he say anything about his meeting with Dusty?”

“He said he didn’t have anything to do with Dusty.”

Reed looked around at the street she turned down. “Where are you going?”

“I think my truck needs a bit of bodywork. Les and Wayne’s body shop is just the place.” She pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of a dilapidated building. Rolled-up overhead doors gaped open, exposing the interior clutter of old car doors, bumpers and fenders.

Mona climbed down from the pickup studying the two trucks parked in front of the body shop, one new and shiny, the other beat-up and dented. Wrecked cars flanked the sides of the building, grease spots stained the ground and grubby prints adorned the door frames. Why had Les and Wayne been talking with the Mexicans? Oscar the bartender had mentioned seeing them together.

“Are you thinking Les and Wayne had something to do with the shooting at the granary?” Reed stared across at her.

Mona shrugged. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to endanger myself and the baby. I’m here on business.”

She detected shadowy movements inside the shop, maybe two people, but she couldn’t make them out. Wayne Fennel worked here along with Les Newton. The beauty of a small town. Everyone knew everyone else and where they belonged.

With a deep breath and determined steps, Mona met Reed at the front right fender and pretended to study the dent that had been there since well before her father died, but suddenly needed fixing.

Wayne strutted out, dressed in his signature starched blue jeans and shiny cowboy boots, reeking of cheap cologne and stale cigarettes. “Afternoon, Mona. What brings you into town?” His tone, open and friendly, didn’t exactly match the narrowed eyes.

Mona forced a friendly smile and stuck out her hand to Wayne. “Thought I’d get an estimate on what it would take to fix my front bumper. Been meaning to for a long time.”

He took her hand, his gaze sweeping her from head to foot, coming back to the deep valley of her breasts, peeking out of the cotton button-up shirt she’d chosen to wear that morning.

Reed stepped forward, blocking Wayne’s view. “So what do you think about the bumper?” Tight-lipped, his tone and hard glare was enough to shake Wayne’s mind out of the cleavage and back to the truck repairs.

Her stomach churning, Mona fought back the bile rising in her throat. Having Wayne touch her hand and stare at her like she was a naked woman in a porn magazine made her want to gag. And if he had anything to do with the rustling, God help him.

“Well, let’s see.” Wayne stared down at the bumper and scratched his head. “I’ll have to work up an estimate.”