Page 27 of One in a Million
“We heard about that old bastard, Frank, on TV.” Stetson, dark, wiry, and agile, was in line for the PRCA bull riding championship. “So somebody hated him enough to murder him. At least it wasn’t us.”
How did Cheyenne take the news?Roper held back the question he knew better than to ask his brothers. “Frank was a good boss. He was always fair with me. I’m genuinely sorry he’s gone. What did you have against him?”
“Just the way he’d come by here and look down on us, treat us like we were dirt.” Rowdy rode saddle broncs. He and Chance, who was barely out of high school, were national leaders in team roping. Chance was also a young wizard with a rope.
“And he was always sniffing around Cheyenne,” Chance said. “He even sent her flowers. It was creepy. He was old enough to be her father—hell, almost old enough to be her grandpa.”
“Did anything ever come of that?” Roper couldn’t resist asking.
“He wanted to take her under his wing and train her for reining and cutting competitions,” Stetson said. “He told her that with her talent, he could make her one of the greatest horsewomen in the country and a big money winner. Cheyenne turned him down cold. She wanted to do rodeo with us.”
“And when was this?”
“While you were selling our Colorado ranch. By the time you got here, Frank had given up, and Cheyenne was on the circuit with us. End of story. Especially now that Frank’s dead.”
Chance’s grin widened. “And now Mom says you’re working for his widow—theoo-la-laLila Culhane. How’s that going?”
“Fine. I’ve got a job to do, and I’m getting paid for it.”
Roper went on inside to wash up. He found his sister in the dining room with their parents. She was setting the table. His mother was tending the stove. His father, seated at the table’s head, was dribbling Jack Daniel’s into his coffee cup.
Cheyenne’s sun-browned hands arranged the napkins and silverware on the sides of the plates. She was small in stature, but her fined-boned body was tough and sinewy. A cloud of dark hair, almost black, framed a face with a full, impetuous mouth and Elizabeth Taylor eyes that were dark instead of violet.
Dressed simply in fitted jeans and a faded denim shirt, with no makeup or jewelry, she was a young woman whose beauty and intensity drew eyes to the arena whenever she competed in barrel racing, breakaway roping, or other women’s events. Even now, that intensity seemed to burn in her, almost shimmering in the room. Would it last? Roper found himself wondering. Or sometime in the future, would she burn out and drop like a falling star?
“Your sister got an offer fromVoguemagazine to pose for a fashion shoot,” Rachel said. “I told her she should accept. The money would be good, and the magazine issue could open up doors for her.”
“Too late.” Cheyenne folded the last paper napkin. “I already turned them down. High fashion—the makeup, the jewelry, and those silly costumes—it just isn’t me.”
“Look around you.” Rachel’s gaze took in her disabled husband at the table. “Rodeo doesn’t last forever. An injury, or even a run of bad luck, could end your career tomorrow. You need to back up your options.”
“I’ll think about that later. For now, I’m right where I want to be.”
“How did the rodeo go for you, Sis?” Roper changed the subject.
“All right.” She gave him a smile. “Jezebel and I came close to a record in the barrel racing—thirteen point nine seconds.” Jezebel was the beloved palomino mare she’d raised and trained for the sport. “But I missed a throw and came in second in breakaway. I need to work on that. Chance is going to coach me.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Rachel said. “Go and get your brothers, Cheyenne.”
Minutes later, the family was holding hands around the table, sharing the grace that Rowdy had been asked to say. As they helped themselves to chicken and dumplings, homemade rolls, and a fresh salad from Rachel’s protected garden, Roper reminded himself of how his family kept him grounded. This was a world apart from the craziness and constant pressure of working for the Culhanes. Sometimes, like tonight, it was what he needed.
As for Roper’s worries about Cheyenne and her possible involvement with Frank, he would put them to rest for now. Stetson’s story made sense. Frank had wanted to take her from her family and make her his protégée. He could imagine that her parents would resent him for that. But Cheyenne had turned him down. End of story. And with so much in limbo at his workplace, Roper had more urgent concerns.
* * *
Sam had spent the rest of the afternoon watching Roper train horses and interviewing the stable workers. He was enjoying the evening coolness on the porch of the bungalow when Jasmine showed up with his dinner on a covered tray. Her washed hair was loose, her blood-spattered clothes replaced with plain gray sweats, her face bare of makeup. The effect was wholesomely sexy. Sam struggled to ignore the pleasantly warm stirrings in the depths of his body. This woman was a suspect in his murder case, and today she’d demonstrated the strength and reflexes to kill.
“Mariah’s lasagna. It’s the best.” She placed the tray on the small outdoor table and sank into the empty chair next to Sam. “Sorry, I tried to get you a dinner invitation, but Lila put her foot down, said it was family and none of your business. I think the pressure is getting to her.” Reaching out, she lifted the cover off the tray and set it aside. “Enjoy it while it’s hot. I’ve long since eaten.”
“Thanks.” Sam was hungry; and the lasagna, served with green salad and garlic bread, was superb. “My compliments to Mariah,” he said.
“She’s the one you should talk to.” Jasmine leaned back in the chair, stretching like a cat. “Mariah’s been with the family since the early days of my parents’ marriage. She knows the history of this place and the people in it. But getting it out of her won’t be easy. She’s nothing if not discreet.”
“I get that,” Sam said. “So far, she’s barely given me the time of day. I get the feeling she doesn’t like having a nosy stranger here, stirring things up.”
“I imagine you’re right. But for what it’s worth,Iwelcome you here. I want justice for my father. You’re my best chance of getting it.”
“Thanks for the endorsement. I’m beginning to wonder if this investigation is getting anywhere. I know I’m not supposed to discuss the case, but so far, no one seems to be the right fit.”