Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I T WAS LATE by the time Stuart drove home. When he saw Bailey’s SUV parked behind his house in the trees, he felt both relief and concern. She’d said she was staying the night in Billings. Had something happened to change her mind?

She’d been in his thoughts all day. Her attacker was still out there. His worry and exhaustion made him feel as if he would never be able to protect her from the man at this rate. His only hope was that whoever the man was, he wouldn’t strike yet. Stuart needed the time to find him first.

He reached his front door and started to open it, then stopped as he realized he was angry with her for not telling him why she went to Billings. But more than that, what she was keeping from him.

He wished she had stayed in Billings tonight. He wasn’t sure he was up to seeing her without getting into it. Hell, he wasn’t up to anything. He’d been looking forward to kicking off his boots, putting his feet up and having a beer or two before passing out on the couch in front of the television. Anything to make him quit thinking about her, worrying about her, wanting her.

The door he’d left locked was unlocked. He pushed it open, surprised by the smell of something cooking. He didn’t cook much for himself, making do with leftovers from the café or a fried egg sandwich. When he was this tired, he’d often skip food entirely.

As he stepped into his house, he also heard music. He rounded the corner to find Bailey standing at the stove moving with the soft, almost melancholy music playing on her cell phone. There was something so vulnerable about her, her defenses down, that he didn’t speak, couldn’t. Bailey had been a force to reckon with for so long. He realized he’d never seen this Bailey.

The sight of her made him go soft inside. He’d wanted her before, the prickly and hard-shelled woman, but this glimpse of her stole the rest of his heart. He no longer pretended he didn’t want her more than his next breath.

The song ended, and she turned slowly to look at him. “I cooked,” she whispered. “You’d better be hungry—” Unfortunately he’d lost his appetite. “Didn’t think I knew how, huh.” She seemed to see he was enchanted with this unguarded version of her. “Sit,” she ordered, and turned off the music and the food on the stove. That other version of her was gone as if he’d never seen it. He hung up his Stetson and, stepping to the table, dropped into a chair.

Turning back to him, she said, “You look like you had a hell of a day. I made spaghetti. You talk to them?”

“Not Jay Erickson and Richard Cline yet.”

“Dickie,” she said under her breath.

“I called earlier. His wife says he’s out of town—has been for the past three days,” he said.

“She could be lying.”

He began to kick off his boots. “I would never have thought of that.” Silence fell between them as she stood holding a large spoon, looking at him. The rich marinara sauce smelled delicious. But he felt too exhausted to eat.

“Not tonight,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Tonight, we talk about something else.”

He had started to say that he wasn’t up to talking period, but stopped himself. “I thought you were going to Billings?”

“Changed my mind. Took care of it with a phone call.” She put down the spoon. “Go in and sit on the couch. I’ll bring you a beer.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as he rose stocking-footed from the kitchen chair. “I’m not very hungry.”

“Me neither.” She stood there as if not knowing what to say or do. “Go. I’ll bring the beer.”

He gave her a grateful smile and headed for the couch. A few minutes later, she joined him, handing him a cold one. He noticed she hadn’t gotten one for herself—just as he noticed there was more going on with her. He thought about their last conversation. Didn’t she realize that he knew her, knew when she was holding back something?

She raised her gaze to him, her look almost apologetic as if she knew he couldn’t take too much more today. “Something happened. An SUV followed me after I left town again.”

Her words felt like an anvil dropped on his chest.

“It was the same one that followed me the last time.”

“Ralph Jones’s? You’re sure.”

The last time she thought she’d overreacted when Stuart had told her that he’d run the plates and the vehicle was Ralph’s. She’d actually forgotten about it until she saw the SUV behind her again tonight. “Why would Ralph follow me?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll make a point of asking tomorrow,” the sheriff said. “I have to go out that way to talk to Jay Erickson anyway.” He could see her doubting herself as she rose and headed into the kitchen.

“I’m going to put the food away,” she said over her shoulder.

He worried about her most days, but today had been the worst. Now he knew why. A few moments later he heard her banging around in his kitchen. He wondered if she could be wrong and figured she was struggling with the same thing. Tomorrow he’d pay Ralph a visit. Tonight... He took a long swig of his beer and put his feet up on the coffee table. He knew he should go into the kitchen and apologize for not eating at least a little of the dinner she’d made.

But he wasn’t hungry, and worse, he knew he’d ask her why she’d planned to go to Billings again in the first place. The worst part was that he had a feeling she wouldn’t tell him. He was trying to keep her safe, find the man who assaulted her, finish this for her. She was making it harder by keeping secrets. There was no way he could keep Bailey safe short of hog-tying her and locking her in his house. Even then, he figured she’d find a way to get herself into trouble.

Except twelve years ago, trouble had come after her. Was still after her.

So why didn’t she trust him enough to tell him whatever it was she was up to? Taking another long drink of his beer, he swallowed and closed his eyes.

Hours later he woke, rose and went to see if Bailey was in his guest room. To his surprise, she was.

Some of that weight that had settled on his chest earlier lifted as he closed the door softly and went to his own bed.

When he woke the early next morning, Bailey was gone—as usual. He might have thought he’d dreamed her except for the faint smell of marinara sauce still in his kitchen. As he’d predicted, he’d awakened fully clothed on top of his bed. Alone.

W IL LOW ’ S brOTHER A ARON was already sitting in the Cattleman Café in Powder Crossing when Bailey walked in. She liked that he was punctual. As she headed for his table, guilt made her legs heavy with each step. She’d gotten his sister killed.

Often when she forgot why she’d come back home after college, she reminded herself as she did now that she’d come home to catch the man who’d tried to kill her. She’d feared he would do it again – if to her, then to someone else. And now he had killed Willow.

Aaron looked up at her approach, surprise making him blink. She’d forgotten for a moment how much she resembled his sister. She saw in his eyes just how much they had looked alike as he pushed unsteadily to his feet. This was going to be so much more difficult than she had thought.

“Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Branson,” she said as she took the chair he pulled out for her. She could feel him staring at her and tried not to let it make her more nervous than she already was.

“Please, call me Aaron,” he said as he sat back down.

She nodded. “I’m Bailey McKenna.”

“I know. What I don’t understand, though, is why you wanted to ask me about Willow. Were you friends?”

Bailey realized she should have expected him to question her motives. “No. I knew who she was.” She met his gaze. “I saw the resemblance between us.”

He nodded slowly. “It really is striking. You could have been sisters,” he said, voice breaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, and had to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “But that’s why I hoped you could help me find the person who killed her.”

“Are you working with the sheriff’s department?”

“Not really.” This was going to be much harder than she’d expected. Fortunately, the waitress came to the table to take their orders. Bailey knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite. “Just coffee. Black. Thank you.” The waitress filled her a cup and refilled Aaron’s before leaving.

Bailey jumped in headfirst. “This will probably sound ridiculous to you, but I think your sister was killed because she changed her hair color.”

“That’s weird. The sheriff asked if I knew who talked her into going back to her natural color—something a little darker than your own. But I don’t understand why that would—”

“I think I’m next. That’s why I need to find him before he finds me.”

He stared at her, leaning back in his chair, clearly concerned that she was delusional from his wary expression.

“I know you probably told the sheriff everything, but I’d hoped that since then, you might have thought of something else. Willow might have mentioned the men she came in contact with at the hotel.”

Aaron took a sip of his coffee, eyeing her over the cup. As he set it down, he said, “I don’t know who told her to go back to her natural hair color. You really think that’s why she was killed? The sheriff thinks that too, doesn’t he?” His look said he suspected her secret.

Bailey washed down the bile that rose in her throat with some of the hot coffee. It was early enough that the café was empty except for a couple of ranchers sitting at the counter, visiting with the waitress. Still, it was hard to say the words. “He attacked me when I was seventeen,” she said, her voice a whisper as she held Willow’s brother’s gaze.

He started, instantly reacting. “If that’s true, then why—”

“I never saw his face.”

“But you—”

“I managed to get away from him. That was twelve years ago. After all this time, when nothing else happened, I assumed—”

“That he wouldn’t do it again,” Aaron said with a curse. His gaze locked with hers. “Because it’s you he really wanted.”

“That’s the assumption. You and the sheriff are the only ones who know this,” she said quietly.

He shook his head, clearly having a difficult time with this information. She thought he might storm out. She thought he might take out all his pain by lashing out at her. She’d beat herself up for years. Nothing he could say or do would be worse than what she’d already done to herself.

“I don’t know how I can help you,” he said as he made a swipe at the tears that had spilled onto his cheeks.

“Willow knew this man well enough that she changed her hair for him,” Bailey said. “He made her feel safe. She wouldn’t have been afraid when he came for her until it was too late.”

He said nothing for a long moment, his long fingers slowly turning his cup around and around as he stared into his coffee. “I asked her if there was anyone special in her life. I knew how badly she’d been hurt before. I was afraid—” He cleared his throat. “There were men who flirted with her. But she said there was one rancher who came into the hotel bar a lot. She never mentioned his name—just that he was harmless when I’d expressed concern she was getting involved again too quickly. He apparently brought her presents, silly little things. I’d forgotten she told me that.”

“What kind of silly little things?” Bailey asked, making him glance up in surprise.

He shook his head and looked away. “I should have paid more attention when she called,” he said, emotion making his voice hoarse. After a moment, he seemed to remember something. “A tiny windmill he made out of a piece of straw while he was sitting at the bar.” He nodded. “Pretty corny, huh. Oh, and fudge. When she told him her favorite, he brought her peanut butter fudge. I’d forgotten. He wrapped the piece of fudge up in silver Christmas paper and pulled it from his pocket like a magician. Sounded so hackneyed I figured he was just some old rancher who saw her more like a daughter.”

Aaron cleared his throat again, wiped at fresh tears and said, “But I remember how touched she was by the gestures.” Raising his gaze, he asked, “Do you think he’s the one who...”

“I don’t know, but this might help me find that rancher,” she said. “If it isn’t him, he might know who else had an interest in your sister.”