Montana Midwife (18 page)

“I had help from a girlfriend.”

Well, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She didn’t want to think of his house as the cattle-ranch version of a bachelor pad. “Was that the long-distance relationship that went wrong?”

“Nope. It was the lady before her. She kept telling me that I needed my own place, and she was right. Having a separate house helped me have a life that wasn’t all about the ranch. Unfortunately, that life didn’t include her.”

A chunk of her unbound hair fell over her shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of girlfriends.”

“Not really,” he said. “What about you? Have there been other men in your life?”

“Of course.” She could be vague and push the truth away, but she wanted to explain herself. He needed to know what he was getting into before their lovemaking went any further. He might back off, might be freaked out by her lack of experience. But she had to stick to the truth, even if it meant losing the man she had dreamed about for so many years. “Here’s the deal, Aiden. I’ve never been in love.”

With slow strokes, he combed his fingers through her hair. “I’m going to need more explanation.”

“That’s fair.” She wanted to lie back and let nature take its course. “You should know the truth.”

From behind, he slipped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered, “You can tell me anything, Tabitha.”

The use of her full name seemed special and intimate. Few people even knew that name. “I’ve never, you know…”

“Tell me.”

“I’m still a virgin.”

She felt the muscles in his arms clench. Afraid that he was going to pull away from her, she held herself very still.

“A virgin midwife,” he said. “Ironic.”

“Yes.”

“Is this your way of telling me to back off?”

“No.”

“How did this situation come about?”

“A long time ago, I imagined the ideal man. Strong. Handsome. Brave. He was everything I wanted, and no other man could ever measure up to him. I’d be kissing a boyfriend, and the image of my ideal man would come into my head, and I’d know that the boyfriend was nothing but a pale reflection.”

“And you wouldn’t compromise.”

“I can’t give myself in halfway portions.” She turned around in his arms so that she was facing him. “It’s you, Aiden. My ideal man has always been you.”

He brushed a light kiss on her lips. “No pressure, huh?”

“Are you up for the challenge, cowboy?”

“You bet.”

He stretched her out on his bed and slowly undressed her. As her clothing fell away, so did her inhibitions. She wanted to see his body, wanted to feel him. She peeled off his shirt and frankly stared at the breadth of his chest and the intriguing pattern of chest hair that arrowed down to his belt buckle. He was handsome and virile and everything she imagined.

In a matter of moments, they were wrapped in a naked embrace. Moonlight through the window shone on their legs as they intertwined. His hard arousal pressed against her, and she was amazed by how natural their lovemaking felt—natural and perfect, almost ideal.

Gently but firmly, he caressed her waist and her hips and her inner thighs, until she opened herself to him. She wanted him inside her, had never wanted anything more in her whole life. Their kisses went from sweet to fiery hot.
A virgin midwife.
As he had pointed out, it was ironic.

She was an expert when it came to the female reproductive system, including what happened during sex. In detail, she could have identified her physical reactions complete with hormonal references and a detailed explanation of the interconnected limbic system. But her mind went blank.

She felt good, oh so good, and that was the only information she needed. She reveled in her heightened sensations. Fireworks popped behind her eyelids. Goose bumps marched up and down her naked skin. With every touch, every kiss, every thrust, the intensity accelerated. She didn’t think she could go any higher, and then came the explosion of relief. There were no words to describe it.

Completely satisfied, she lay on the bed beside him. Had this really happened? She was aware that at some point he’d gotten a condom from the drawer in the bedside table. For that, she was grateful.

Snuggled against his chest, she exhaled a sigh. For everything, she was grateful. “Can we do it again?”

“Was it ideal?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I never knew you had a thing for me, even though I should have figured it out. You gave me a clue.”

“I did?”

He reached over and touched the shamrock pendant she was wearing, the gift he’d given her long ago. “You weren’t saving this necklace because it’s valuable. Your attachment has to be sentimental.”

“A lucky four-leaf clover,” she said. From now on, the necklace would represent this—the luckiest night of her life.

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, Aiden slipped out of bed early. Before leaving the bedroom, he made sure Tab was cozy under the covers. It gave him immense satisfaction to tuck the dark brown comforter around her naked body while she slept soundly, breathing steadily through slightly parted lips. When he kissed her forehead, she wriggled and made a soft murmur that reminded him of a purring kitten. He was tempted to wake her and start the day off right by making love again.

But he could wait. He wanted their first morning together to be special, with fresh coffee and a civilized breakfast with normal conversation. For a while, they could forget about investigating. This would be their time.

He pulled on his jeans, left the bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen. Ideally, he’d put together a tray of food with a napkin and a single red rose in a vase. Ideally?

She’d called him her ideal man, and he wasn’t sure he liked the title. He’d spent much of his life trying to be perfect, taking care of the ranch and making sure everybody else was happy.
Nobody’s perfect.
Sooner or later, he’d disappoint her, and he didn’t want to see the look in her bright blue eyes when she realized he wasn’t ideal, after all.

Barefoot, he padded across the tile floor in the kitchen. He ground the beans and set the coffeemaker to brew. Food supplies in his refrigerator were scant, but he could make do with a couple of eggs, bread and chunk of cheese that hadn’t turned green.

A glance at the digital clock told him it was twelve minutes after eight o’clock. Chores on the ranch would be well under way. Breakfast in the main house would be already prepared, which meant he had the option of running over there and grabbing a couple of plates. But he didn’t want to see anyone else, didn’t want to share this private time with Tab.

His cell phone on the polished granite countertop rang, and he glared at it. When caller ID showed it was the sheriff, Aiden really didn’t want to pick up. An early-morning call was sure to be bad news. He answered anyway. “Good morning, Sheriff.”

“I shouldn’t be making this call,” the sheriff said, “but I owe you for your efforts on the investigation. And I’m hoping you can help me with what I have to do this morning.”

His sunny vision of a nice breakfast with Tab disappeared behind a cloud of new responsibilities. Things were about to get nasty again. “Tell me.”

“We identified the fingerprints that Joseph Lefthand found at Maria Spotted Bear’s house. There were a set of prints on the window and on the door leading into the barn.”

Those positions fit with the route for the person Aiden had been chasing. “You got those prints yesterday. Why did it take so long to find the match?”

“We weren’t looking in the right place. The prints weren’t in the criminal database. They matched a set we had taken recently and hadn’t fed into the system.” He cleared his throat. “They belong to Clinton Brown, Misty’s boyfriend.”

“Damn.” Aiden hadn’t seen this coming.

“I’m on my way to your ranch to arrest him. I already stopped at his parents’ house, and they said he didn’t come home last night. They weren’t worried about him being gone because he stays at the bunkhouse at the ranch sometimes.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Aiden said.

“I’m concerned about taking him into custody. He tried to kill Wally. I have to treat Clinton as a dangerous suspect.”

“Give me twenty minutes. If he’s here, I’ll have him ready to go quietly with you.”

“I shouldn’t do this.” The sheriff paused. “But I trust you. Twenty minutes.”

Aiden disconnected the call and set the phone down. When he looked up, he saw Tab standing in the doorway. She wore one of his T-shirts that hung almost to her knees. Her long hair—God, he loved that beautiful hair—fell around her shoulders. Her eyes regarded him steadily.

“All I heard was ‘fingerprints,’” she said.

“The prints found at your grandma’s house belong to Clinton.”

She gaped. “I can’t believe it. Clinton shot Wally?”

“It seems like that.” He glanced longingly at the coffeemaker. “I have twenty minutes to find Clinton and get him ready to turn over to the sheriff.”

“I’m coming with you. Don’t even think about arguing with me. I’ll be ready before you have your boots on.”

Regretfully, he watched her pivot and run back through the house toward the staircase. His hope for a sweet, peaceful morning was gone.

* * *

A
FTER A PHONE CALL
to Blake, Aiden learned that Clinton hadn’t spent last night in the bunkhouse. He hadn’t showed up for work yesterday. His Jeep was nowhere at the ranch. He’d run away, which was absolutely the worst thing he could do. Fleeing was considered the desperate act of a guilty man.

The best way to find Clinton was through Misty. As Aiden hurried toward the main house with Tab at his side, he checked his watch. “I’ve got eight minutes.”

“I still can’t believe that Clinton is a killer.”

“Look at the facts,” he said. “Clinton had access to the gun when David was shot. It’s only his word that he was unconscious. Then, he had a fight with Ellen Jessop. Now, his fingerprints are at your grandma’s house.”

“That’s what you call ‘circumstantial evidence,’ right? Clinton has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that doesn’t make him a serial killer.”

He sure as hell hoped not. It bothered him that the father of Misty’s baby might be capable of such heinous violence. Approaching the front porch, he said, “I’m going to talk to Misty alone. This isn’t a time for worrying about her stress level. I need answers about Clinton, and I need them now.”

“Should I explain to the others what’s going on?”

“That would be wise.”

He charged through the front door and went to the kitchen where his mom sat with Maria Spotted Bear. “Where’s Misty?”

“Still in bed,” his mom said as she rose to her feet. “What’s the matter?”

“Tab will explain.”

He pivoted and rushed to the staircase. In less than five minutes, the sheriff would be here. Without knocking, Aiden opened the door to Misty’s room.

She sat in a pink upholstered chair by the window, fully dressed with her hands resting on her belly. Her eyes were red as though she’d been crying, and her expression was uncharacteristically grave.

“Where’s Clinton?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t come to work yesterday. Did he contact you?”

Hesitantly, she said, “I’ve talked to him. And he sent me text messages.”

“If you really want to protect him, you’ll tell me where he is. Running away like this makes him look like he’s got something to hide.”

“He knew what it would look like,” she said. “That’s why he took off.”

“The sheriff is going to be here in a couple of minutes. If you’re hiding Clinton, you’ll be arrested as an accessory. Misty, you could go to jail. I know you care about Clinton. But he’s not worth it.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain what Clinton was doing at Maria Spotted Bear’s house.”

“He was playing detective. He thought Wally the Buffalo Man might know something and went looking for him. But Clinton wasn’t the only person who was searching for the old man. He saw somebody else.”

“Who?”

“A guy in a ski mask. Clinton thought it was Aspen Jim, but he wasn’t sure.”

“And then?”

“He followed them to Maria Spotted Bear’s house. He saw the guy shoot Wally and run away. Clinton tried to use his phone to call 911, but he couldn’t get a signal from inside the barn. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Tab about that. She’s told me that it’s hard to get a signal. She said—”

“Stay on track, Misty.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

“I don’t want that, either.” He leaned over her and patted her hand. “You have to cooperate and tell the truth. Then, it’ll all work out okay.”

“The truth hasn’t worked out for Clinton. He knew it wouldn’t.”

“He must have seen us arrive in the chopper.”

“Right,” she said.

“Why didn’t he approach us?”

“He was afraid you’d think that he shot Wally. Everything is working against him. He looks guilty. So, he made sure that Tab saw him at the window, and then he ran and led you to the barn where you could help Wally.”

The story she told was too stupid to be made up. “I believe you.”

“Do you, really?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

From the moment they found Wally, Aiden had been bothered by the fact that the supposed intruder at Maria Spotted Bear’s house had directed them toward the injured man. And Tab had mentioned that someone else used compression on the gunshot wounds. She’d thought it was Wally himself, but Clinton might have applied first aid.

He stared hard at his sister. “If you know where Clinton is, you’ve got to tell.”

“I don’t know,” she said miserably.

“The sheriff is going to start a manhunt. If what Clinton told you is true, the sheriff isn’t the only person who wants to find him. The killer will be looking, too.”

“You can check the text messages he sent to me. He never says where he is.”

Red and blue lights flashed through her window as the sheriff’s vehicle pulled up to the house. The sheriff wouldn’t want to leave without taking someone into custody. Aiden would have to do some fast talking to keep his sister out of jail.