“I’m sorry, Tess.” The mocking tone she’d grown accustomed to was gone from his voice. “It’s been a bad day. A terrible day.”
“The explosion? I heard it and thought—”
“Somebody left a bomb in the mailbox. It exploded when Cyrus opened it. He was killed—instantly, it appears.”
“Oh, no . . .” Tess had met Cyrus only a couple of times, but now she remembered his kind manner. “How could anybody hurt that old man?”
“This wasn’t about Cyrus. Lately I’d been going to the mailbox myself. That bomb was meant for me.”
Tess stifled a gasp. “So you think someone’s been watching your ranch—the same person who killed your stock?”
“I’d bet my life on it. The police have been here, along with the CSI team. They took Cyrus’s body—it’s a murder investigation now. The old man didn’t have a family. I’m making plans for his remains here on the ranch. Would you tell Shane what happened? He’ll take it hard. Cyrus was like a grandfather to him.”
“Of course. I’ll tell him right away.”
“He can call me if he wants to know more.” Brock paused. “You know I’ve invited him and Lexie to move to the ranch. But until this mess is resolved, I don’t want them anywhere near the place.”
“I understand. Neither do I.” This was no time to discuss her issues with the move. Lexie and Shane would have to make that decision for themselves.
“That goes for you, too, Tess. I can’t risk you or anyone in your family getting hurt because of their association with me. Stay clear of my ranch. And you mustn’t be seen with me in public until this is over.”
“I understand that, too. But what are you going to do? Did you tell the police about the bull and the fence?”
“No. I had to call the police about the bomb, but I’ll handle the rest by myself. They’d only be poking all over the ranch, ruining what little peace I have left.”
And they might be poking into your past, as well.Tess knew better than to voice the thought, but she had her own suspicions about why Brock wouldn’t want the police getting too close.
“If you want to wait on the hayfields contract, it’s fine,” he said. “But if anything were to happen to me, you’d be out of luck. You’d be better off with the deal in place. If your family approves the contract, we could meet privately at that big rodeo in Las Vegas next weekend. You do plan on being there, don’t you?”
“Yes, two of our bulls will be bucking on Saturday. Ruben and I will be driving Friday night to give them plenty of rest before the event.”
“Providing things have calmed down at my ranch, I’ll be staying at the Plaza. We could meet there, in my suite, and sign the papers. How does that sound?”
“Fine, so far. I’ll have to let you know my family’s decision.”
“No problem. Call me when you have an answer. I’ve got to go now. Things are still pretty crazy here.”
Tess heard voices in the background as he ended the call. She slipped the phone into her pocket, her head spinning as she tried to take in what he’d told her and what she needed to do.
Shane would have to be told about Cyrus. And sometime in the next few days, a family meeting would have to be held for a decision on the hayfields contract. The looming question was, how much should she tell them about Brock?
Once they learned about the bomb, there’d be no point in holding back about the other threats he’d received. But she would keep his name change to herself until she knew more about the reason. Before signing the contract—assuming her family was in favor—she would tell Brock what she knew and demand answers. Once she had them, she would make the final decision herself.
Brock’s phone call, after the explosion, had shown her a more vulnerable side of the man. He had been shocked and grieving. And he’d shown genuine concern for Shane, for her, and for her family.
Before that call, Tess had assumed she knew all there was to know about his hard-driving personality. But she could no longer be sure of anything—not even her own emotions.
* * *
Three days after the explosion, the medical examiner released Cyrus’s body. Two days later, in a brief ceremony, the old man’s cremated remains were scattered from a grassy hilltop overlooking the ranch that had been his home.
To Brock’s surprise—and worry—Shane had shown up alone in his custom van and allowed himself to be transferred to a new four-wheeler for the uphill ride. Brock drove the vehicle, with Cyrus’s ashes, in a metal canister, on the bench seat between them.
On the way up the hill, there was no way to talk over the noisy engine. But on top, waiting for the ranch hands to arrive, they had a few minutes for private conversation.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Brock said. “You might not be safe here. After all that’s been going on, I’m jumping at every shadow, never knowing what to expect.”
“I wanted to come,” Shane said. “Cyrus was family. You know how I loved that old man. I wouldn’t miss the chance to pay my respects.”