Page 12 of Killer on the Homestead (Bent County Protectors #2)

She drove like a mad woman, and though Duncan’s heart leaped into his throat approximately four different times, he refused to show it. A woman like Rosalie would see clutching the door handle as a weakness.

Besides, he couldn’t clutch a damn thing with his bad arm anyway.

She took a side entrance on the Young side of the property line, but cut over closer to his cabin where there was no real road or path.

He eyed her. “Been mapping out ways to come find me, Red?”

One side of her mouth curved up—amusement in spite of how badly he knew she didn’t want to be amused by him.

It eased something inside of him, this very simple human interaction that didn’t have any weights to it.

Even when his life had been baseball, every relationship had been full of weights—responsibility to his team, his manager, his agent.

How he was representing the team, himself. His brand , as his agent liked to say.

And he loved his parents, with everything he was.

There wasn’t a weight there he didn’t take on gladly and with enough humility to know the weights went both ways.

Because when you loved people, you worried about them.

When people supported your dream, you wanted to do right by them in every way you could.

And he wanted to fix this stress for them, this hurt. This desecration . So that was a weight.

But with Rosalie, she was just…a friend. Helping him with a problem. And there were no weights.

For a minute, that felt just as disorienting as it did freeing.

Especially when she pulled her truck to a stop in front of his cabin, then got out with a little hop and started marching right for the cabin.

Up his porch, like she was coming inside with him and that…

felt a little more like panic than ease.

He hurried up to the door, which he’d locked, so it wasn’t like she could get inside. Still, he felt the need to bar the door with his body.

“I haven’t unpacked yet.”

She waved that away with the flick of a wrist. “I’m a slob. Won’t bother me any.” She gestured for the door. “Let me in or I’ll assume you’re hiding a murder weapon and a bunch of dead cows in there.”

She smirked at him and since he genuinely didn’t know what else to do, he let her inside.

The curtains were drawn, so the room was dim.

He could turn on the lights… He could do a lot of things, but exhaustion was poking at him.

Pain—in his shoulder, his head. Since she wasn’t explaining what was up, he took a seat on his couch.

For just a moment, he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

“You’re in pain.” She said it like an accusation.

“You’re not living if you’re not in pain.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say, and I deal with criminals on the regular.”

When he opened his eyes, she was standing in front of him, hands on her hips. She was wearing a simple little black dress. It wasn’t the right color for her at all, but he didn’t mind the view of her legs. Which he took his time enjoying before meeting her gaze.

“It’s the way of life for a professional pitcher. The older you get, the more it hurts.”

She stared down at him, those violet eyes flashing with a restrained annoyance that never failed to amuse him. Or maybe arouse him was the more apt word, even if he was trying to ignore how much he liked being in her orbit. “Got any aspirin around here?” she demanded.

“For you or for me?”

She sighed at him as if he was a difficult toddler. “For you.”

“I’ve got a pain pill I can take, but I need to eat something with it.”

She marched right into his kitchen, poked around in the fridge and the little pantry.

He almost told her to stop, that he’d handle it, but she just…

moved around the space that he didn’t think she’d ever been in and made him a sandwich without asking any questions.

She filled a glass with water, brought both over, and set them on the coffee table in front of him.

Then she put a little orange bottle there too.

“Eat. Take the pill. And learn this lesson pretty dang quick—you can’t take care of the people in your life if you don’t take care of yourself.” She said this firmly, with enough conviction that he studied her.

“You do a lot of taking care?”

Her gaze skittered away from his. “I give it a shot every now and then. So here’s what we’re going to do.” She was pacing in front of him now, but if he stopped eating, she’d stop, and glare at him until he did.

So he ate, while she laid it out.

“We’re going to map it out, the missing cows.

The cows Audra found on our land last year all the way to the last one.

Map it out by location. Mark it down by calendar.

We’re going to follow every last step from a ranching perspective and see if something jumps out and connects to a murder perspective. ”

He liked that it sounded like something, but it didn’t sound like finding a murderer. “And if this has nothing to do with the murder?”

“We’ll have figured out one mystery at least.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “Listen, maybe this is the deadest of ends, but we’re already at one. And so are the cops. If they won’t follow this line, we have to. Because we’ve got ranch eyes, or at least I do.”

“I’ve got ranch eyes,” he muttered, feeling defensive because…

yeah, he didn’t have a clue. For the past fifteen years, he’d only been on this ranch on holidays.

But there’d been a time—before high school, because even then his parents had let him focus on baseball—in the early part of his childhood when his life had been about setting him up for taking over the ranch someday.

He’d never…wanted that, but he’d been raised in it. So he wasn’t ignorant. He wasn’t going to let himself feel like he didn’t belong right here. Like he didn’t know more than those detectives who’d never dealt with calving or branding season and everything after and in between.

“Okay, so we use our inherent understanding,” Rosalie said firmly, not arguing about his ranch eyes .

“And maybe it’s the wrong direction, but sometimes when you scale a brick wall, you get to the other side and realize it didn’t lead you where you wanted to go at all.

But other sometimes, that’s an answer all on its own, or it leads you to a place you’d never have thought of otherwise. We need a map of the ranch.”

Duncan nodded. “I can get my hands on a map.”

“Then we need dates. More than just that list of cows your mom gave you. What was going on that day, who was working what jobs. Maybe you could talk to Terry about it. Or I can.”

“I’ll do it,” Duncan said. “Not sure Terry’s my biggest fan. Pretty sure he sees us both as outsiders, but he’ll be more careful with you. If I get Mom behind me, he’ll tell me everything.”

“Okay. So I’ll leave it up to you. Gather all that information, and we’ll go from there. Tonight, I’ll talk to Audra about everything she remembers when the cows ended up over at our place.”

“Sure, I—” He was interrupted by a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and saw his agent’s name. He could avoid it, but then he’d be distracted, and he still wanted to talk to Rosalie about Owen. “Can you wait here? Just a second. I have to take this, but… Just give me one second.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but she nodded, so he walked deeper into the cabin and went into his bedroom. The last thing he wanted was Rosalie’s eyes on him while he talked to Scott about baseball things.

Rosalie watched as Duncan moved stiffly down the hall and into a room she suspected was his bedroom. He shut the door.

She’d never seen that look on his face before. A kind of hard-edged annoyance. Not quite as pissed off as she’d seen him get over things with the case. No, there was something too resigned about it.

Rosalie forced herself to survey the cabin instead of continuing to mine thoughts about Duncan’s facial expressions. But there was something she had no compunction about mining.

Since he was occupied, Rosalie poked around his living room, which was indeed full of unpacked boxes. She’d been a private investigator too long not to take liberties when she had the opportunity. She nudged open a box in the corner, then just stared at it.

It was full of…trophies and awards. Somewhat haphazardly packed. None were wrapped up carefully, but a few sheets of bubble wrap were stuffed here and there. She didn’t reach out and touch one, but she read the engraving on one that she could see. Cy Young Award .

It sent a strange wave of sympathy through her—which didn’t make much sense, because he had an award she knew was incredibly important and amazing in his sport.

He was loaded. He had gone out into the world and lived his dream.

So why should she feel any sympathy for that, even if it had ended on a sour note?

But he’d been at the top of his game. A bona fide star. Now he was back in Wyoming and in constant pain, it seemed. With missing cows, murders, and worry about his parents.

And that was the foundation of where any sympathy came from. She could see it on his face, the way he wasn’t taking care of himself. He worried far more about his parents than about his old awards, or life, or even his pain.

He’d been going around today hurting, all because he hadn’t taken the time to eat something and take a pain pill.

She was just soft enough that she couldn’t quite harden her heart against that. Which didn’t seem fair at all.

“Did it ever occur to you some of that might be private?”

Rosalie refused to jump or startle. She glanced over at him and smiled, not bothering to close the box. “Of course it occurred to me. That’s why I looked.”

Maybe she expected him to be angry about it. Maybe she hadn’t really considered his reaction. But she sure wasn’t prepared for that grin of his, and the way it shot through her like fireworks.

“You want to go through all my awards, Red?” he asked in that slick way he had that she really, really wished didn’t affect her the way it did. “You’ll be here all night.”

Something about him saying all night poked holes in all her usual smarts. Because she should have let that go. Stepped back and away from the danger, danger of it all.

She didn’t. “Well, if that’s the most entertaining thing you can think of to do all night, no wonder you’re back to living with your parents.”

The air felt charged then. All night hanging around them like a storm that rolled in out of nowhere. Which just kept happening. Every time she was around him.

It’s not going to stop.

No, it wasn’t. Not when he moved closer, and she was not someone who retreated, even when she should. She stood her ground. She fought any threat head-on and with relish.

Except this one. She took a step back, and then another, until she found herself backed against a wall.

A place she had never found herself in all her life.

“That wasn’t an invitation to prove yourself,” she said, but she didn’t sound like her normal, in-control, haughty self. She sounded winded.

Particularly when he stood in front of her, all tall and broad and so handsome it hurt.

He raised an eyebrow, leaned closer. “No?” he asked, reaching out. She thought he’d touch her face or something, something she should stop him from doing. But he only smoothed a big hand over her hair.

Still that almost touch skittered through her like the sizzle of a lightning strike that hit close enough to worry about. “N-no.”

“Did you just stutter?” he asked, too much amusement in his tone as he leaned close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. He smelled like clean, crisp winter. A hint of pine.

But she did not stutter. Wouldn’t. Her scoffing laugh was high-pitched even to her own ears. But he was so close , and he was so damn tall . His eyes felt like magnets. Like entire solar systems that sucked her into their orbit.

She knew better than to be sucked in, than to get mixed up in anything that wasn’t light and easy. Anything she wasn’t in complete control of, and boy, was she not in control of this.

It was just…she could almost imagine it. His hands on her. His mouth on her. She could imagine it so well she was having a hard time reminding herself why she shouldn’t let it happen. There was a reason.

Wasn’t there?

“Rosalie.” He said her name in a way she couldn’t even describe.

It was low, almost…pained. Like he felt even half the two polarizing things tearing her apart.

She could feel his dark eyes searching her for some explanation, some answer, because for whatever reason there was this question between them, an unknowing she wanted an answer to.

And at the very same time, didn’t want at all.

“Let’s just see,” he murmured. “Let me.”

It wasn’t a question. There was no answer she was supposed to have. It was almost an order, not that she ever took orders.

Ever.

But she let him anyway.

His mouth touched hers, the lightest, nothing touch. His eyes were still open and on hers. An answer to a question she didn’t understand, because there were too many layers to it. To him. To her.

That would have been enough to have her stepping away, but it was like he sensed it. Her closing in and up, and he didn’t let her. He deepened the kiss instead, bringing his hand up to cup her head and pull her in.

It was like being catapulted into a carnival ride. All spins, and dips, and a strange weightless joy. He didn’t taste like cotton candy though. No, there was an edge to him, a danger at the periphery of all that summer sweetness.

And Rosalie had always been a little too intrigued by danger, the rush of it all. Because danger was simple, and temporary. It destroyed in little ways.

It was secrets, and time, and believing too much that destroyed in big ways. And that was what seemed to twist inside of her now. It was too big, too…something.

But the kiss was like a drug, even knowing it was a bad idea, she shouldn’t do it, and it would be terrible for her, she sank into it, and him, and the sweet twining of want and need.

He eased his mouth away, his hand still cupped around her head, keeping her close. Too close. She blinked up at him, not altogether certain she was breathing. His dark, intense gaze just held hers, with a seriousness she couldn’t bear .

What the hell was she doing?

“I have to go.” She ducked out from his light grip, didn’t look back. She had never been a coward in her life. Not once. But she needed to be one now. “You get all that information. Call me when you do.”

Maybe he said her name, maybe she imagined it. But she got the hell out of Dodge while she could.