Page 29 of One in a Million
The words trailed off as he realized she’d vanished into the night.
* * *
What was I thinking?
She hadn’t been thinking. That was the trouble.
Jasmine returned the tray to the kitchen, walked out to the patio, and sank into a chair by the pool. The shimmering water reflected the image of the moon like a gold coin dropped into its depths.
That very morning, she’d sworn off involvements with men. She should have reminded herself of that tonight when she’d brought Sam his dinner and stayed to talk. After the parade of jocks, cowboys, and Hollywood types who’d drawn her in and battered her pride over the years, Sam Rafferty was like few men she’d ever known—strong and steady, masculine, intelligent, and gentle. If she let him, he could wreck her heart.
But the man was untouchable. Even if she could heal the pain of his recent divorce—and she wasn’t bad at such things—Sam was here for one reason. It wasn’t romance or even mindless, no-strings-attached sex. He was here to solve a murder, a job that demanded laserlike focus. She wouldn’t be doing him any favors by trying to distract him—especially when she herself could be a suspect.
As the daughter of Frank Culhane, Jasmine had grown up getting whatever she asked for, even when it came to men. But this time the answer was no.
CHAPTEREIGHT
The next morning, after coffee and sourdough toast in the Culhane kitchen, Sam took the Jeep and left for the McKenna Ranch. He’d hoped for the chance to speak with Mariah, but the crusty, middle-aged cook had been busy and brusque, ignoring his efforts to get her attention. Something told Sam that catching her at a good time was never going to happen. For now, he would let it ride and look elsewhere.
As he drove past the house, Sam could see no sign of Jasmine. Maybe she was rethinking last night’s confession. Maybe that confession had been her version of goodbye.
Not that it mattered. This was the twenty-first century. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to pick up a strange man in a bar for sex. As he’d said to her, maybe it had been her way of grieving.
He had no claim on the free-spirited Jasmine. Still, what he viewed as a self-destructive act grated on him, almost making him wish he could unhear her story.
Whatever her reasons, she’d been good company yesterday. Alone, Sam found himself missing her sunny, passionate presence. But right now, he had a job to do.
If the Culhane place, with its grand house, reminded Sam ofGone with the Wind,the McKenna spread looked more like his idea of an actual ranch. There was no well-watered lawn, shrubbery, or flowers. The sprawling frame house wanted paint. But the new stable and fences were built to last, with good quality materials and workmanship. The towering windmill turned soundlessly in the light morning breeze.
The dusty yard was cluttered with vehicles—the expensive horse trailer pulled by a heavy-duty pickup, a motor home, a pair of four-wheelers, a specially equipped van with wheelchair plates, and a well-used Ford Escort. Roper wouldn’t be here. Sam had already seen him at the Culhanes’. But his younger siblings were in evidence around the yard, doing chores and exercising their horses. One young man was practicing with a rope, twirling, looping it, and tossing the lasso over the fence posts. These weren’t regular ranch kids, Sam reminded himself. They were celebrities, rodeo royalty. He was looking forward to meeting the parents who had raised them.
In the paddock, a petite, dark-haired brunette was putting her palomino mare through a series of dashes and turns. Sam recognized her at once. In person, she was even more striking than in her photos.
As he approached the fence, she pulled up her horse. “I take it you’re Agent Rafferty,” she said. “Roper mentioned you might be paying us a visit. Our parents are in the house. Just ring the doorbell. They’ll be expecting you.”
Sam thanked her and crossed the yard to the porch. He was curious about these talented young people. But he needed to remember that he was here to investigate a crime.
An aging mongrel dog thumped its tail as he crossed the porch. Sam bent down and scratched its ears before ringing the bell.
The woman who opened the door was dressed in faded jeans and a worn, plaid cotton shirt. Her classic features suggested that, like her daughter, she might have been a beauty once. But it appeared that hard work, childbearing, and frugal living had leached the joy out of her. Tall and lean, like her sons, she exuded an aura of self-sacrifice. This woman, Sam surmised, had given everything to her family. The rewards were outside in the yard and on the wall of rodeo trophies he glimpsed through the opening into the next room. Surely the young McKennas were bringing in plenty of cash in prizes and endorsement offers, but he saw no evidence of it here.
Her features softened but remained guarded as she opened the door wider and welcomed Sam into a home that was sparsely furnished but immaculately clean. As Sam presented his credentials, she gave him a smile and extended her hand. Her grip was as strong as he’d expected. “Rachel McKenna, the mother of this outfit,” she said.
“Have a seat at our kitchen table.” She pulled out an unmatched chair. “You can talk with my husband, Kirby—he’s the head of the family. And you look like you could use a hunk of chocolate cake with some fresh coffee.”
“I wouldn’t turn that down, ma’am.” Sam took the seat she’d offered and greeted the man who sat across from him.
Sam had learned to recognize a chronic alcoholic when he saw one. Kirby McKenna had all the earmarks—the bloodshot eyes, the florid nose, the glazed expression as he dribbled whiskey into his coffee cup. Jasmine had mentioned that he was a disabled bull rider. He appeared to be in some pain.
Sam sensed that he’d been an impressive man. Small and wiry, like most bull riders, his dark coloring suggested mixed ancestry—maybe Spanish or Native American. He had clearly passed his looks to his children, especially his daughter. Sam was aware that Roper, older, taller, and huskier than his agile siblings, was a stepson.
Kirby spoke to Sam without preamble. “We’re sorry Frank is dead, but we sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with killing him. Cheyenne and the boys were on the road. And Roper was here all night. We know because the dog was barking at a skunk outside, and Roper got up to chase it off before the dumb mutt could get sprayed. Besides, Roper always said Frank was a decent boss. They got along fine.”
A generous slab of chocolate cake had appeared in front of Sam like magic. The first bite melted in his mouth. “What about your family’s relationship with Frank?” he asked. “Your boys told me he tried to get Cheyenne to train with him.”
“She said no. We wouldn’t have let her if she’d said yes. She was too young for that decision.”
“We’re protective of our children,” Rachel said. “We’ve raised them by the Good Book. It takes a lot of trust to send them out to those rodeos, but it’s what they want. They look out for each other, and when they come home, they give us a full accounting.”