Page 16 of Killer on the Homestead (Bent County Protectors #2)

The next morning, Duncan blearily drank his coffee while looking over everything Mom had given him. A map of the property with the cow losses marked. Her copied recollections about what had happened each day.

He couldn’t say he’d slept well. He was churned up about too many things. Murder and that kiss… kisses with Rosalie. Which he’d much rather concern himself with, but he couldn’t deny the murder was more pressing.

He sighed.

Last night, he’d considered staying up at the cabin with his parents, but figured the separation was good for all of them. Pretend things were normal, even when they weren’t.

He had moments of worry but he couldn’t think of a single reason his parents would be targets. Even if the murderer ended up being one of the ranch hands, Dad had been nothing but kind and giving. Mom too, even with her reservations about some of them.

Besides, he’d hired a security business in Bent to come out and install a security system today. He knew it didn’t solve every threat, but it would ease his mind considerably at night. He’d set the alarm himself every night if he had to.

He ate some breakfast, then headed up to the main house and met the installers.

Mom would be volunteering at the Sunrise library until dinnertime.

Dad would be out working until about then too.

So Duncan had a few hours to get into town and deal with Rosalie and the case before he had to be back to explain the new system to them.

And figure out whatever tricks in the book he had to pull out to make sure they used it. Mostly guilt.

With that sorted, he packed up what Mom had given him about the missing cattle and drove out to Wilde to hand the information over to Rosalie.

She’d tell him he didn’t need to bring it up to her. She’d be frustrated with him in her office space.

Which made it all the more enticing. It was good to move. Good to do. Good to think about something that felt like life instead of death. Just like Mom had said.

Duncan parked in front of the old building. Since it was during office hours, this time the front door was unlocked. He pulled it open and step into the cozy lobby.

A young girl, middle or high school—he wasn’t good with ages—jumped to her feet from a chair. He noted there was a softball glove clutched in her hands and eager excitement in her eyes. “Hi,” she greeted exuberantly.

The woman who’d been here the first day he’d come in strode out from back in the office somewhere and rolled her eyes.

“Down girl,” she muttered at the teen. “Sorry about her. My niece. Once she heard you’d been in the office, she wouldn’t stop hounding me.

I told her she could pick one day to come in, and if you happened to show up, she could pester you.

” The woman looked dolefully at the teen, then back at Duncan. “You picked the wrong day.”

“I’m Sarabeth,” the girl interjected.

“Hi, Sarabeth. I’m Duncan.”

“I know. Duncan Kirk. I know all your stats. Want me to recite them?”

“Uh, no. I’m…good.” Back in LA, he’d been used to this kind of thing. Had dealing with fans, especially eager kids, down to a science. But something about being home, about the way Rosalie’s boss was studying him, made his usual ease with excited kids less than easy .

“You, uh, play softball?” he asked, gesturing at the glove she was clutching.

Her face fell a little at that. “I play softball and baseball,” she said, not quite with a sneer, but close.

Eagerness seemed to take over any affront though.

“Fall’s for softball. Baseball is in the spring—I’m the first and only girl on the Bent County High School baseball team.

I pitched a shutout last week. Struck out eight.

” Her grin was one of easy teenage pride—he recognized it, felt some echo of himself in it. “All boys,” she said smugly.

“How’d they take that?”

She grinned at him, hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Like babies.” She practically bounced on her heels. “We’re going to our conference playoffs this week. I’m starting again. Will you sign my glove for good luck?” She held it out to him.

He took it. It was almost like rote muscle memory. Take the glove. Sign the glove. Smile and compliment.

But his shoulder was in its sling, and it twinged in pain as he tried to hold the weight of the glove in it. He couldn’t do the usual, because… “You did see my arm explode on national television, right?”

“Sure. But I’m not old yet. I figure it’ll be lucky ’til I am.”

He laughed in spite of himself, met Quinn’s amused gaze as she tried to hide her own laugh. Quinn handed him a marker.

He balanced the glove as best he could with his good arm, fought back a wince as he signed the heel of her glove and handed it back to her. “Mow ’em down, kid.”

“I will. Thanks. Thanks a lot! It’s tomorrow night at Bent County High School at seven o’clock if you want to come.”

“Hell, Sarabeth. I’m taking you home, you menace. Rosalie!” she called out. “Going on my lunch. I’ll be back.”

Rosalie appeared in her office doorway. He watched as her quick gaze took in Sarabeth, the glove, him. “Sure, Quinn. I’ll hold down the fort.” She nodded at him. “Duncan.”

She looked wary, so he grinned at her.

She didn’t grin back. She was guarded again, trying to hold him off with cool indifference. But he saw the faint hint of pink at her cheeks. There was no way she wasn’t reliving—at least a little bit—that kiss from last night.

And that put him in quite the good mood.

Rosalie didn’t want to have Duncan in the close quarters of her office, cowardice or not. Especially the way he was grinning at her, like he could read her mind. Or her memories.

She still hadn’t been able to shake that damn kiss. Kisses .

So she stayed where she was, leaning against her office doorframe, while Quinn and Sarabeth said their goodbyes and left.

“I’d apologize for them, but… Sarabeth’s a special kid. She’s been through a lot. Deserves a thrill of a lifetime, no matter how misguided she is for thinking your signature is a thrill.”

Duncan, of course, didn’t take offense to her little jab.

His grin didn’t die. He just kept looking at her and moving toward her.

Normally, she’d refuse to retreat, but she had a bad feeling if she let him get within touching distance, she wouldn’t have the presence of mind to stop whatever he would do.

So she turned her back to him, moved into her office, and sat down in her chair behind her desk. To create a nice boundary between them. She refused to acknowledge the amusement on his expression as he took the seat across from her desk.

“I’ve got what I call character sketches of all the ranch hands,” she said, jumping right into business.

“Terry, obviously, is going to garner the most attention from the detectives since he had a key. So I want to let the detectives handle that, and I’ll put my attention elsewhere. Cover all our bases.”

Duncan nodded. “I’ve got the map. Mom’s recollection of what happened on the days the cows went missing.” He put the folder she hadn’t seen him carrying on her desk.

Rosalie opened it. She was most curious about the map. She wanted to picture everything, visually. Get a sense of the space of the whole timeline of events. She spread out the map on her desk, then stood so she could see it better.

“The red circle is the general area they think the cows disappeared from. Xs are where they found dead cattle—just the one time. Hash marks are where the rest of the herd was, approximately. It’s dated here, and the dates match up to Mom’s recollections.”

Rosalie didn’t want to look at the recollections or dates just yet. First, she wanted this sense of place. The missing cattle didn’t cluster. There was the first incident—the missing cows found on the Young Ranch.

She wouldn’t call what she noticed a pattern exactly, but it was movement.

She pointed it out to Duncan. “They move. Slowly. Closer and closer to the west side of the ranch. First, you had three end up on our property.” She put her finger on the map, slid it over.

“Then you had two disappear, and a cow found dead here. Seemingly two different problems, but maybe not.” She moved her finger again.

“One disappears here. Two weeks before the murder.”

“Doesn’t this kind of follow the pathway you drove me on the other day?”

Rosalie nodded. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like the proximity to Audra and Franny and their own herd.

Duncan pointed to a spot on the map. The pasture where Owen had found Hunter.

“If you include the murder, it follows the movement.”

“But not the path,” Rosalie murmured, considering all the different angles.

“No, but there’s a cut-through right here.

” He pointed again, slid his finger from that point to the pasture.

“Or there was when I was a kid. I haven’t paid close attention, but when I go back this afternoon, I’ll check it out.

Back when I was a kid, we used it as a cut-through.

Ranch hands, dogs, horses, whoever and whatever if we didn’t want to take the service road around but needed to get up to the house. ”

“Or maybe, in this case, the pasture.”

Duncan nodded grimly. “But what does it mean?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll go through your mom’s recollections. I might go over it with Audra too. How she got the cattle back to your dad.” Rosalie had been avoiding Audra since last night, and wanted to continue to do so, but eventually she’d have to face her. Might as well be for work.

“In the meantime, I want you to go over these write-ups I put together on the other ranch hands besides Terry. Add your own interpretations, and ideally, your mom’s.

Unless it’ll be too tough on her.” She got out the papers she’d printed out earlier, stapled them together and handed them across the desk.

“No, she’ll want to help. And she’ll be able to give Dad’s real opinions on them too—not just the no-one-would-murder one he gave the cops.”