It was a threat, only subtly veiled. He was physically capable of killing a woman, but what about emotionally?
He seemed to have a low opinion of women in general, but according to Junior, he had loved Celina Graham. At one time, she had wanted to marry Reede. Maybe everyone, including Reede, had taken for granted that they would marry until Celina had married Al Gaither and gotten pregnant with Alex.
Alex didn’t want to believe that Reede could have killed Celina under any circumstances, but she certainly didn’t want to believe he had killed Celina because of her.
He was chauvinistic, arrogant, and as testy as a rattler. But a killer? He didn’t look like one. Or was it just that she’d always had a weakness for dark blond hair and green eyes; for tight, faded jeans and worn leather coats with fur collars; for men who could wear cowboy boots without looking silly; for men who walked and talked and smelled and sounded and felt consummately male?
Reede Lambert was all of that.
Disturbed more by his effect on her senses than by his cautionary words, she pulled her arm free and backed toward the door.
“I have no intention of dropping this investigation until I know who killed my mother and why. I’ve waited all my life to find out. I won’t be dissuaded now.”
Chapter 10
Reede let loose a string of curses the minute Alex left the stable. Pasty Hickam had overheard them from his hiding place in a nearby stall.
He hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on their conversation. When he had come into the barn earlier, he’d only been looking for a place where it was dark and warm and solitary, where he’d have some privacy to nurse his damaged pride, cultivate his resentment of his former employer, and suck on his bottle of cheap rye as if it was mother’s milk.
Now, however, his ennui had vanished and his mind was concocting a nefarious plan. Sober, Pasty was merely crotchety. Drunk, he was mean.
He’d barely been able to contain himself as he listened to what that gal from Austin had to say to the sheriff, and vice versa. Lordy be, she was Celina Gaither’s daughter, here to investigate her mama’s killing.
Thanks to her, and a benevolent God he didn’t even believe in, he had been given a golden opportunity to get revenge on Angus and that useless son of his.
He’d busted his ass on this place, worked for miserly wages, and gone without completely when Angus was so broke he couldn’t pay him, but he’d stuck it out. He had gone through thick and thin with the bastard, and what thanks did he get? Fired and booted out of the bunkhouse that had been home for almost thirty years.
Well, fortune had finally smiled on Pasty Hickam. If he played his cards right, he could finally have some money for his “retirement fund.” Ruby Faye, his current lover, was always after him about never having any money to spend on her. “What’s the fun of having an affair if I don’t get something out of it besides the thrill of cheating on my husband?” she was fond of saying.
Monetary compensation, however, would be icing on the cake. Revenge would be sweet enough. It was past time that somebody kicked Angus where it hurt.
His impatience was at a near-frantic pitch by the time Reede finished examining his mare and left the stable. Pasty waited several moments to make sure he was alone before leaving the empty stall where he’d been curled up in the fresh hay. He moved down the shadowed corridor toward the wall telephone. He cursed a horse that nickered, spooking him. For all his meanness, courage had never been his strong suit.
He called Information first, then quickly punched out the digits of the number before he could forget them. Maybe she hadn’t had time to get there, he thought anxiously after he’d asked the clerk to ring her room. But she answered on the fifth ring, a trifle breathlessly, like she might have come in while the phone was ringing.
“Miz Gaither?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“You don’t need to know. I know you, and that’s enough.”
“Who is this?” she demanded, with what Pasty thought was false bravado.
“I know all about your mama’s murder.”
Pasty cackled to himself, enjoying the sudden silence. He couldn’t have got her attention any sooner or any better if he’d walked up and bit her on her tittie.
“I’m listening.”
“I cain’t talk now.”
“Why not?”
“Cause I cain’t, that’s why.”
It was risky to go into it with her now over the telephone. Somebody might pick up another extension somewhere on the ranch and overhear him. That could prove to be unhealthy.
“I’ll call you back.”