“She did. No red flags, evidently—just a few comments. We can go over them with my family before their final vote. But there’s no rush. Maybe we can get together after the PBR finals.”
She was definitely putting him off. He recalled their conversation in Gila Bend, when he’d implied she might be connected to his bull’s death and the downed fence. He couldn’t blame her for being angry. He should have held his tongue.
“I was hoping we could wrap this business up sooner,” he said.
“I understand. But I need more time.” She paused. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I want to do it at all.”
“What’s wrong, Tess? Is it something I’ve done?”
She didn’t answer. In the silence, he could hear the electronic buzzer that told him the mail had been delivered early today. But the trip to the mailbox could wait.
“I owe you an apology, Tess,” he said. “I was out of line when I suggested that you might be trying to damage me. I should’ve known that you wouldn’t harm my animals.”
Her laugh was strained. “As I said, if I’d been out to kill something, it would’ve been you.”
“So am I forgiven?” he asked.
Again, she paused. In the silence, he heard the sound of the ATV starting and heading out toward the gate. Had Cyrus forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to go for the mail anymore? It wasn’t worth stopping him, but the old man would need to be reminded when he got back to the house.
“You’re forgiven,” Tess said. “But I still need time to think about the contract. Signing would give you a lot of power over the ranch—maybe too much power.”
Brock weighed his words before he spoke. He could hear the sound of the ATV fading with distance. “I’m already a partner,” he said. “The contract won’t change that either way. But if—no, when—you sign, you’ll have control over the hayfields. You’ll have all the hay you need, for free. Besides that, I’ve promised a watering system for your pastures and a replacement for that old house. What have you—?”
A violent explosion from the direction of the gate, so loud that it rattled the windows, cut off his words. Brock sprang to his feet, the phone crashing to the tile floor.
As he charged outside and took off running, he could see a column of ugly black smoke rising above the paloverde trees that framed the gate. Sick dread congealed in his stomach as he braced himself for what he would find. Only a bomb would explode like that—a bomb most likely placed in the mailbox. A bomb almost certainly meant for him.
He could only pray that Cyrus had somehow been spared the force of the blast.
But that was not to be. As he neared the gate, he could see that the ATV was little more than twisted metal and melting rubber, probably from the exploding gas tank. Cyrus lay nearby on the ground, burned beyond recognition. Mercifully, he was dead.
Brock clenched his teeth to keep from howling like a bereaved dog. The old man had worked in his house for years. He’d been kind, gentle, and always discreet. The last thing he deserved was to die in such a miserable, meaningless way.
Fighting bitter tears, Brock cursed.
Men were coming from the yard, running toward him. Brock stood in the road and put up his hands as a signal to stop. “Go on back. There’s no need for you to see this or to leave your footprints on a murder scene.” He fumbled for his phone, then realized he’d left it in the house. “Somebody call nine-one-one. We’ve got to get the police out here.”
* * *
Tess had heard the explosion, followed by the sound of the crashing phone. Her heart dropped. Brock had mentioned threats and mysterious sabotage. Was this more of the same? Could he be hurt, even dead?
“Brock, are you all right?” she demanded into the phone. There was no response. She ended the call and tried again. The phone rang several times, then went to voice mail. Worry growing, she left a message. “Brock, what happened? I need to know you’re all right. Call me.”
By the time she ended the call, Tess’s imagination was running wild. She pictured him lying on the floor, bloodied and lifeless. The man had been a thorn in her side for as long as she’d known him. But what would her life be without him? Could it be that she cared more for him than she’d realized?
If Brock was gone, she would miss his ironic charm, his determination, and his raw, masculine energy. The world would be a less exciting place without him.
She remembered Andrea’s revelation—that at some point Brock had assumed a new identity. She’d planned on confronting him with what she’d learned but wanted to wait for the right time. If Brock was dead, she would never know the truth. But never mind that, it was Brock himself that mattered. The thought of losing him tore strangely at her heart.
But for now, she was helpless. There was nothing she could do except worry and wait.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANXIOUS HOURS CRAWLED PAST. IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON, ON A DAYof clouds, wind, and dust, when Tess’s phone rang. Brock’s name was on the caller ID, but that meant little. Someone else could be calling on his phone.
Heart in her throat, Tess answered.
At the sound of Brock’s deep voice speaking her name, her knees went limp with relief. “It’s really you.” She struggled unsuccessfully to keep her voice from quivering. “I was so worried.”