“Perfect sense,” he said. “One more question—earlier I noticed that Tesoro’s hooves had overgrown the shoes. I could trim the edges back, maybe replace the shoes with a better fit. You can decide when you get a better look at him outside. We can do him first if you want. Th
en you’ll be free for the day.”
“Thanks. For now I’ll be starting on the duplex. Let me know when you’re set up and ready.” She turned and walked away from him, toward the square of daylight at the end of the barn. She’d kept her word, she congratulated herself. She’d let the man know that she could be all business, like any other client.
“Erin.”
His voice stopped her short of the door. She turned back with a questioning look.
“You’re limping,” he said. “How’s the ankle?”
“Not bad. I’ve got it wrapped.”
“You should take it easy. You’ll only make it worse.”
“I’ll be fine, and I can’t take it easy today. I’ve got a job to do.” She lifted a hand and swept her hair off the back of her neck. “See you after breakfast.”
* * *
Luke muttered a curse as he watched her walk away, favoring the injured ankle. They’d agreed to keep things strictly business between them. But business had been the last thing on his mind as he’d stood next to her, watching her stroke her horse. Being alone with her, in the intimate space of the barn, it had been all he could do to keep from touching her—if only to lay a hand on her shoulder or brush his fingertips across the small of her back. Even that would have been a breach of conduct. Worse, it would have left him wanting more of what he mustn’t have.
Then there was that little hair toss as she walked away. He’d seen that flirting gesture more times than he could count. It was something women did, an unspoken invitation that said, Come and get me, cowboy. In Erin’s case, he could only believe that she’d done it unconsciously. But what if she hadn’t? What if she was playing games with him?
Forget it, Luke told himself. She was the boss’s daughter. She was barely out of high school, and she had a boyfriend who struck him as an entitled brat. He’d be crazy to give her so much as a wink.
He would shoe her horses, answer her questions, and treat her like the client she was. And he would do his best to forget the way she’d felt in his arms, or how his body had responded when he’d carried her out of the paddock last night.
That, as Luke had long since learned, was the only safe way to play it.
* * *
Clearing Jasper’s things out of the duplex turned out to be an easy but heart-wrenching task. Jasper Platt had been a man of simple tastes and few needs. In the alcove that served as a bedroom, his bed was neatly made with clean sheets already on it. His clothes were neatly laid in the dresser drawers or hung in the closet, where his good boots stood like soldiers at attention. Even looking at the possessions her lifelong friend would never touch again caused tears to well in Erin’s eyes.
Questions swirled and clashed. If it had been his time to die, why couldn’t it have been in peaceful sleep, or with his ranch family at his bedside? Why had he been taken alone in the rough land beyond the heart of the ranch? Had he been aware and afraid, or had life simply stopped for him?
And then there were the most tormenting questions of all—had another person been involved in Jasper’s death? Could Will, or anyone else, have saved him if they’d found him in time?
Jasper’s mahogany gun rack, a gift from Bull, was bolted to the wall next to the door. Erin was so familiar with his four guns that she could picture them with her eyes closed. There was the lightweight. 22 he’d owned since his boyhood. Erin had happy memories of Jasper teaching her to shoot with that little gun, using it to plink at bottles and tin cans. There was the Remington .30-06 rifle he used for hunting deer, coyotes, javelinas, and other game, and for the times he had to put a cow or horse out of its misery. His favorite gun was the single-barrel 12 gauge, loaded with bird shot, that he used for hunting doves, quail, wild turkey, and the occasional duck or goose.
Jasper’s fourth gun was a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver that he sometimes carried with him, in a holster buckled onto the ATV, when he went out on the range. The pistol came in handy for unexpected emergencies, such as an aggressive animal or human. Jasper had been a dead shot with that pistol, and he was as tough as he was kind. Years ago, when Erin had asked him whether he’d ever shot anybody, he had deftly changed the subject.
Two of the guns—the .22 and the heavy rifle, were still in the gun rack, locked into place with a crossbar. After Jasper’s death, the sheriff had come by with a box of his personal things—his clothes and boots, his hat, his spectacles, his keys, his cigarettes and lighter, his watch, and the bird gun. The pistol hadn’t been among the returned items, but it had been easy enough to assume that Jasper hadn’t taken it with him.
The duplex had been locked with Jasper’s key. Nobody had checked inside to make sure the pistol was there.
Until now.
If Jasper hadn’t taken the pistol, it would have been locked to the rack. He would never have left it lying around. Since the gun was missing, one of two things was possible. Either it had flown off the ATV and landed out of sight, or someone had picked it up and taken it—maybe the strange intruder she and Luke had seen last night.
A fly buzzed in the silence of the stuffy room. Erin’s mouth had gone dry. She took a moment to deliberate. She could call the sheriff now and tell him what she’d discovered. Or she could check out the accident scene herself, look for the gun or any other evidence that might have been missed, and take what she’d learned to the sheriff in person tomorrow.
If she wanted the sheriff to pay attention, the second choice made more sense. But she couldn’t go now. Luke would be working on Tesoro soon and she wanted to be there to make sure her stallion was all right. Maybe, if she finished clearing out the duplex and no one needed her, she could go this afternoon. But right now, she had work to do.
A plastic laundry basket was half full of dirty clothes. The familiar odor of tobacco smoke that rose from them brought tears to Erin’s eyes. The small fridge was stocked with Mexican beer and stale sandwich makings. This simple space had been Jasper’s home for years. He had left with no idea that he wouldn’t be coming back.
She was putting the perishable fridge contents into a trash bag when her cell phone jangled. When she saw that the number was Kyle’s, she almost didn’t pick up. She already had too many distractions. But if she failed to answer, he would only call again, or come over. She might as well talk to him now. Shifting her attention, she answered.
“Hi,” she said.