Run Wild (36 page)

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and marching back up the hill, this time holding on to her firmly so she wouldn’t trip.

Natasha didn’t fight him but held on tightly, her small, cool fingers intertwined with his. They stopped when they neared the top and stared at Burrows, who was with two of his ranch hands.

“That’s him,” Natasha whispered, as if the men across the meadow would hear her. She turned, facing Trent, and pointed into her palm. “Over there. That’s him.”

“Who?”

“That’s the man who was with Rebecca Burrows when they were on horseback and ran into me at that cabin where the clothes were.”

“That’s Pat O’Reilly.”

“Pat O’Reilly?” She stared at him as if something didn’t make sense.

“Yup.” Trent watched her frown. “You’re sure it’s the same man?”

“Positive.” Her gaze had faltered, but she shot it back up to Trent’s face. “And I’m positive that’s the truck my father was driving. But why would they both be driving the same truck?”

“Good question.” He took her hand, leading her back to the Suburban. “Burrows has a couple of those trucks, I think. His ranch hands use them.”

“But my dad isn’t working here anymore.”

He looked down at her and she looked up, searching his face. Maybe he wasn’t working here, but he was close by, very close. Natasha looked as if she was thinking the same thing.

“Let’s head over to the ranch house. We’ll meet Burrows there.” Trent followed her to the passenger side of his Suburban and opened her door for her.

Natasha was lost in thought, running her teeth over her lower lip, when he climbed in on his side. She looked so damn hot, and she wasn’t even trying. Her hair was windblown, half tucked into her coat and half out. Although her coat was tailored to show off her slim figure and wouldn’t keep her warm at all once the temperatures really dropped, her blue jeans and boots helped her fit in more to his world than her leggings and shoes she’d worn when she’d first arrived a week ago.

Trent started the truck, curious what had her lost in thought. He didn’t ask but instead pulled his seat belt around him, then backed out onto the road and headed toward the Burrows home. He had a few things bugging him, as well, one of them being Natasha’s father. It wouldn’t have been easy for him to simply obtain one of Burrows’ ranch trucks. And if one had been stolen, Burrows would have reported it stolen.

“Do you know Pat O’Reilly?” Natasha asked after a moment of driving. Her eyes were exceptionally light today, although her mood wasn’t obvious. If anything, she was reserved, being cautious around him. Her outburst toward Burrows was wrong. She knew that. Natasha didn’t appear the type of woman who would fall over herself apologizing, though.

“He’s a few years younger than I am and didn’t move here until after high school, but yeah, I know something of him.”

“What do you know about him?”

He glanced over at her. Natasha was watching him intently.

“We’ve never been friends, but we know each other.”

She sucked in a breath, held it, stared at him. “So you don’t like him?”

O’Reilly was an asshole, which was probably why Burrows had been so adamant about keeping knowledge of him being his son a secret. O’Reilly was nothing like Williams or any of Burrows’ legitimate sons.

“Let’s just say O’Reilly has never been too crazy about me.”

She nodded, as if that bit of information fit into whatever thoughts she was mulling over in her head. Trent followed the highway around toward the Burrowses’ ranch house. It was going on late afternoon and a thin layer of clouds had turned the skies gray. Trinity Ranch was on higher-elevation land, rich bountiful meadows cut thick with gullies left over from gold-mining days. It was beautiful land, closer to the mountains than his place, and land that had been coveted by more than one neighboring rancher over the years. Burrows and Post seemed to have been on a friendly basis when Trent had shown up. He hadn’t been called out to settle any disputes lately, but back in the day when his father had still been alive there had been some doozies between the two neighboring ranches.

Burrows had mentioned twice while Trent and Natasha were talking to him how good a neighbor Post was. Did he think Trent wouldn’t remember the disputes he and Post had had in the past? Or was there another reason why Burrows wanted them to think he was such a good neighbor?

“Do you think it’s possible it might have been Pat O’Reilly who shot at me when we were at that cabin earlier this week?” Natasha’s question came out of the blue, and Trent looked at her, wondering if that was what had been nagging at her since they’d left the far end of the ranch.

“I hadn’t thought about it. Why?”

“When I saw him just now, across the meadow,” she began, adjusting herself so her back was at the passenger door and she faced Trent. She pulled one leg up and rested it on the seat, causing the denim to stretch and accentuate her long, slender legs. “I couldn’t help thinking I could have mistaken him for my father. He wears a hat, but his hair is sort of gray sticking out from under it. But he’s tall. The men in my family are really tall and big.”

Trent was six feet, two inches. He gave it some thought. O’Reilly might be close in height to him.

“Burrows is a big man. Most of his boys are good sized.”

She shook her head. “I’m just talking about O’Reilly. He was with Rebecca when I was riding Midnight. He kept glancing over at the cabin. What if they knew those clothes were in there? Maybe they were coming to take them and I prevented them from doing it.”

“Why would they leave clothes in a cabin? I’m all for speculating and brainstorming, but we need facts.”

“Do you have O’Reilly’s prints or DNA on file?” she asked.

“Actually, I might have his prints. I did book him quite a few years back when he first moved here. He isn’t quite as wild as he was when he was young and just out on his own.”

“Maybe you and I should take a look at that cabin I found,” she said, facing forward once again and letting her voice drift off as she spoke.

They were nearing the Burrowses’ or he would have discussed everything with her further. Natasha’s eyes lit up when she speculated, tried to fit random clues together. He didn’t doubt it was in her blood. The thought of brainstorming together, weighing the pros and cons of every clue they had on this murder, and figuring it all out together had an unusual, strong appeal. Now wasn’t the time, though. They had other matters on hand.

His phone rang as the entrance to the ranch came into view. Natasha’s eyes were peeled to the entrance instead of him when he accepted the call.

“Oakley,” he said, holding the Bluetooth in his ear as he adjusted the volume, then slowed and signaled to enter the ranch.

“Trent, this is Burrows,” the older man said. “My wife wants to talk to your little lady when you get to the ranch.”

“Ethel wants to talk to Natasha?” Trent frowned and was very aware of Natasha shooting her attention his way.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Yup. I just talked to her, let her know I was heading that way and bringing you two on in with me. Before I could even tell her why I’d invited you over, she asked to speak with Miss King.”

Trent thought about it for a moment. He prayed he wasn’t making a mistake. Natasha had strong investigative skills and a yearning to uncover the truth in a mystery. He saw that easily. But she flew off the handle too damn easy. If Ethel said anything to her about her father …

“She didn’t say what she wanted to talk to her about?” Trent asked.

“Nope. As soon as I told her we’d be over that way soon, she hurried to get off the phone. Probably picking the place up for you,” he added, chuckling. Burrows apparently didn’t seem to think there was an issue, and he’d seen a peek at Natasha’s fiery side.

“All right. We’re pulling in now.”

“Trent, do you really have proof Nellie Burrows existed?” Burrows’ voice had changed, softened somewhat, as if he were suddenly discussing something almost reverent.

“I’ll show you as soon as I see you.”

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Trent pulled the Bluetooth out of his ear. Burrows had sounded completely in awe. Trent was real curious why the man didn’t think Nellie was real but figured he would know soon enough. After pulling up to the ranch house and parking alongside the wraparound front porch and behind two ranch trucks Natasha was staring at shrewdly, he cut the engine and studied Natasha.

“I don’t know why Ethel wants to talk to you,” he began slowly.

She turned her head and looked at him, making a face as she spoke. “You’ve told me the woman is pregnant. Like I would strike out at a lady in that state, in her home. You don’t think much of me, do you?” she sneered, although that bite she could put in her words when she was pissed wasn’t there.

He was afraid he thought a bit too much of her. When Natasha opened her truck door and got out on her side, Trent hurried around the front of his Suburban, meeting her in time to close her door for her.

“It’s nice to see chivalry isn’t dead,” she muttered under her breath.

“Act like a lady and I will always treat you like one,” he informed her, lowering his voice as well.

Natasha looked up at him, not saying anything but giving him an odd look. Since he’d spoken the truth and would never be anything but a gentleman when they were out in public, Trent let it slide. Natasha probably wasn’t exposed to good manners by many of those city men she’d spent time with.

Just thinking of her with any other man rubbed him wrong. Another surefire indication he was getting too close to her. He had to accept it as the truth, though, or what she’d said at the office wouldn’t have upset him the way it did. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to dwell on where his relationship was going with Natasha. As long as she didn’t go anywhere. He had a murder to solve.

*   *   *

Natasha watched the woman facing her look back and forth between her and Trent as he and Jim Burrows talked. Ethel Burrows was sizing them up, deciding for herself if they were having sex, since she probably would never ask. Not that Natasha would tell her if she did.

Natasha couldn’t remember what the paperwork had said, but Ethel looked to be in her early to mid-forties. She had short platinum hair that curled around her face in soft waves. Natasha doubted it did that on its own, which meant Ethel spent a fair amount of time making herself look pretty every morning.

Ethel’s nails were painted a pretty pink and fairly long. This woman didn’t do a lot of physical labor on the ranch. That much was obvious at a glance. She wore tight blue jeans and high heels and didn’t look very pregnant to Natasha. Some women didn’t show until their sixth month or so. Natasha had read somewhere that Ethel was five months pregnant. Either way, those blue jeans couldn’t have been that comfortable.

Jim pulled out two imported beers and held up one to Trent as he came around a long, narrow island in the middle of the kitchen. The room was impeccable, but Natasha didn’t see Ethel as the fresh-apple-pie type of ranch wife, either. Natasha wondered what the woman did do with her days while Jim was out with his cattle.

“You two men run along,” Ethel said, sidling up next to Natasha and wrapping her arm around Natasha’s. Ethel began guiding her across the kitchen. “Go do your men talk. Us ladies will visit out here.” She waved Trent and Jim on, watching until they’d disappeared behind a dark mahogany wood door and closing it.

“You’ve got a beautiful home,” Natasha said once the women were alone. She accepted a chair at a round kitchen table. Running her hand over the smooth, nicely polished wood, she didn’t feel a single crumb. Either they had one hell of a housekeeper or there weren’t a lot of family meals conducted here.

“Thank you.” Ethel beamed. “I spent the first year I lived here completely remodeling the place. You can’t have another woman’s mark on your home,” she added, giving Natasha a knowing nod. “Now, what can I get you to drink? I can’t have alcohol these days,” she said, patting her tummy and grinning. Crow’s-feet and fine lines around her mouth showed off her age, which Ethel otherwise appeared to be hiding rather well. “But I do have fresh iced tea.”

“That sounds fine.”

Ethel poured two iced teas out of a glass pitcher, then joined Natasha at the table. “Now honey, tell me about your daddy.”

Natasha bristled in spite of the broad grin on the other woman’s face. She’d anticipated Ethel bringing up her father, but not like this. There was a gleam in Ethel’s eyes. Her face glowed. She couldn’t wait to hear every detail Natasha might offer about her dad. And it was a look Natasha had seen way too many times during her life. Ethel Burrows had been having sex with Natasha’s father!

No wonder her father disappeared when Carl Williams was murdered.

Damn it, Dad!

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you tell me where he is,” Natasha said coolly.

Ethel straightened, giving her a wary look. Natasha waited it out. Ethel was starving to know about the man she was sleeping with. The rerun was so old it was almost boring. Natasha waited out the moment of silence knowing it wouldn’t take long for Ethel to break. She was in love with George King, as all the women in his life had been, and would do whatever Natasha wanted for information on the man who never had opened up to any of them since Natasha’s mother had left so many years ago.