Run Wild (40 page)

His voice had grown quieter as he spoke, and Natasha found herself staring into his eyes, seeing wisdom there she hadn’t seen before. Maybe years of running, of heading out the moment any relationship got serious, had finally taken their toll on him. It might be too late for her and her father, but there was someone in his world he cared about. And apparently he cared enough to go back into the fire and pull her out.

“Wait a minute, Dad,” Natasha said, waving her hand in the air to shove aside all the meaningful advice. It was clouding the issue and making her think about things she couldn’t afford to think about right now. “How is this not your fight? Don’t you care if you go to prison?”

This time George’s laughter sounded a bit more sincere. “Sweetheart, I would love very much to never see the inside of a prison. And, if it came down to it, I have a bit of a nest egg put aside. If the good sheriff sees fit to haul my old ass back to Weaverville, I can spring for a pretty decent lawyer. But that isn’t what I’m talking about. Like I told you, Carl Williams’ murder was the fireworks. A crime of passion is often violent and bloody. But a crime of the heart is worse. It’s sinister, destructive, and too often backfires and wipes out not only those you once loved and now despise but those you still care about, too.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I need a room.” Natasha returned the stare from Matilda at Pearl’s Bed-and-Breakfast until the woman came to her senses and realized she had a guest wishing to spend money at her establishment.

“Oh. Of course.” The hefty woman fluttered her hands in front of her, seeming for a moment to have forgotten how to do the check-in process. “Do you wish the same room as … er, before?” She managed to remember the process and began hustling through the check-in.

“That’s fine.” Natasha didn’t care where she stayed as long as it was in Weaverville and close to the jail where Trent had taken her father.

It still wouldn’t sink in. How could she have read Trent so wrong? What in the hell had he been thinking? He had stood there the entire time Natasha had spoken to her father and had heard every word he’d said. George King did not murder Carl Williams! Plain and simple. End of story.

Anger and pain still coursed through her veins. Even after standing there, listening to Trent calmly inform her father he was going with them back to Weaverville for further questioning, she hadn’t realized Trent’s intentions. What questioning? She had run her father through every single detail of the case, had asked him questions using different angles. Maybe she didn’t have a badge or piece of paper certifying her as a professional investigator, but damn it, she knew the process!

“May I see your credit card, please?” The way Matilda asked, it sounded as if she’d already asked once and been ignored.

“Yes.” Natasha gave herself a mental shake. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, dear.”

If Matilda Patterson knew George King was down at the jail with the sheriff undergoing interrogation, the entire town would know. A mean chill flashed through Natasha, causing her to shiver and almost drop her wallet when she pulled it out of her purse. She managed to open it and pull out her credit card. Her brain was fried, clogged with too many pieces of truths and facts. She was hurt from believing she knew someone when apparently she didn’t. All she wanted to do was climb into bed, any bed, as long as she was alone, and fade away into a dreamless sleep. If she were prone to using sleeping pills, tonight would be the night for several.

“Here we are,” Matilda said, holding up the credit card printout. “If you’ll just sign here.”

Natasha scribbled her signature. “Thank you,” she murmured when she accepted the key and pamphlets about Weaverville along with a printed list of curious facts about Pearl’s Bed-and-Breakfast she’d received the first time she’d stayed here.

Natasha didn’t wait to be offered an escort but walked around the counter and pushed through the door to the kitchen. For a moment she thought of informing Matilda she’d better not drop a bug in her purse this time, but what was the point? Obviously, Sheriff Trent Oakley ran this town the way he saw fit. Everyone fell into line and did things his way or he bulldozed them over. Natasha still felt the pain and bruised pride from his bulldozer.

She worried she would toss and turn, with Trent’s impassive expression frozen on his face when he’d dropped her at his house and at her truck. Her father had been in the backseat, silent, brooding, a giant of a man known and loved by everyone for his gallant nature and playboy charm, reduced to a suspect in a murder investigation, a crime he so obviously didn’t commit. It had been the worst drive of her life.

Her father’s look of betrayal, Trent’s cool, incredibly attentive eyes watching her even when she didn’t say a word but got out of the Suburban and traipsed across the drive to the Avalanche. Trent’s dark, forbidding stare, his arm relaxed casually on the rolled-down window of his truck, waiting as she started the truck, turned on the headlights, and finally, when it was clear he didn’t plan on leaving until she did, turning his head and keeping his gaze on her as she pulled out in front of him and headed into Weaverville. Natasha was sure she would toss and turn. But as she blinked, peeled the thick, fresh-smelling quilts down to her nose, and peered out at the bright sunshine causing dust motes to float around in the air across her room, she realized she’d gotten her wish. She had slept soundly through the night without so much as a tiny dream.

After showering, and putting the same clothes on she’d worn the day before since her suitcase was in Trent’s house, Natasha grabbed her phone from her charger and placed the call home. She unloaded on her uncle, then her aunt. After hanging up with them and more worked up than she’d been last night, Natasha called Marc. She called Jake. Her aunt called Natasha back. She put in another call to Jake when she heard he’d called Uncle Greg, concerned.

“More than anything, I just want to know how many times you’ve fucked him,” her younger cousin had said, his deep baritone ornery sounding even though long-distance and several states away.

“None of your damn business,” she’d shot out at him. Jake was the youngest and the tallest of all the King men. Natasha had told him more times than she remembered all that meant was that it would hurt more when he fell.

“That much, huh?” he said, the laughter in his voice simply annoying her further.

“Jake, you don’t get it. I trusted him. I took him straight to Dad.”

“I do get it.”

“Yeah? Mind sharing this incredible insight you have?” She was getting a headache.

“He took Uncle George in for further questioning. Has he arrested him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought talking to all of you would help me calm down and then I’d head into town to see what happened between the two of them.”

“You sound so cool and relaxed.”

She wanted to punch him in the nose.

“If you want, Natasha, we can come up there. Angela and I can catch a flight and be there before this evening.”

Natasha suddenly wanted to cry. “That’s not necessary. And you’re a sweetheart, Jake, to offer.”

“Anything for my brat of a cousin,” he said, but then turned serious. “Dad says Uncle George is innocent. You do, too. That is good enough for both of us. Angela can’t find a lot of details about this online.”

Natasha laughed, but it came out sounding more like a snort. “Weaverville is small town, Cuz. Not to mention, you aren’t going to find a Web site, or blog, about Trinity Ranch.”

“Someone up that way has a computer. And if this is local gossip and the happening item of the moment, you might be surprised who could be sitting in their bedroom blogging away about it as we speak. Oftentimes you can learn more than you think that way.”

Natasha thought of Rebecca Burrows and all the anger welled up inside her. The young woman could write one of those blogs that ended up with a million hits from people feeding off her rage.

“Good point.” Natasha glanced at her laptop. Her temples were throbbing, and another cup of coffee would probably kick off a full-blown headache. “I haven’t eaten,” she announced, but felt silly for doing so.

“Go eat,” Jake stated the obvious. “Angela did just get a few hits for Trinity Ranch,” he added.

Natasha pulled her laptop out of its case and plopped on her unmade bed, opening it. “Are any of them connected to Rebecca Burrows?” she asked, half-joking.

“She’s got a blog.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha waited impatiently as her laptop loaded; then remembering the bed-and-breakfast only had dial-up, she cursed, then cursed more when her cousin laughed at her.

“I can’t believe my cousin, computer geek Natasha, is in a town that lives off dial-up.” He laughed long and hard.

She struggled with the phone cord she had in her laptop case. At least she came prepared for everything. “Go to hell, Jake.”

“Sounds like you’re already there.”

She yanked the phone cord for the telephone in her room out of the wall, plugged in her cord, connected it to her laptop, then tapped the edge of her laptop with her fingernails while waiting for it to connect.

“Actually, Weaverville is the most beautiful town you could ever imagine,” she told him truthfully. “The Trinity Alps are breathtaking. I should have taken pictures. None of you will believe I’ve hiked across a meadow where cattle graze so I could speak with the rancher who owns Trinity Ranch.”

“Huh,” was all Jake said. “Natasha, you should read this woman’s blog. She hates Trinity Ranch and Jim Burrows. That’s the owner? Damn, and she is his daughter? Wow. There is some rage going on up there. Why isn’t she a suspect?”

Natasha wanted to scream. The dial-up was taking forever. “Paraphrase it for me.”

“She’s going on and on about how men suck for leaving loving wives for skanky younger bloodsuckers.”

“Oh yeah. I got that one firsthand.” Natasha stood, stretched, and gave up on her laptop. “I’m going to go find food. Thanks for letting me vent.”

“Take care of yourself and be careful,” Jake advised, his voice softening with sincere concern.

It made Natasha want to cry. She needed to get out of there. “I always do.”

“I know.”

She said quick good-byes and hung up. Her stupid cousin, whom she loved so much, would have a field day if he knew he’d brought tears to her eyes.

It was cold outside, but the sun was bright. Natasha opted for stretching her legs a bit and walked across the street to the Nugget, leaving the Avalanche parked behind the bed-and-breakfast. It hadn’t surprised her that Trent had made no effort to call her or check on her since leaving her at her truck last night. But it hurt. She admitted she had feelings for him. Accepting them was the only way to get over them, then get them to go away.

Natasha forced the scowl off her face, focused on the ground, and hurried across the street. If she looked up at any car driving by or any passerby on foot, she’d have to endure the stares she knew were being thrown her way.

They would look at her, laughing.
Who was she to think she could prance into this town and sweep the sheriff off his feet? None of our women have been able to do it. Little city slicker thought she had skills better than all of them. Looks like the sheriff showed her.
Not to mention, Natasha was positive they were all labeling her the daughter of a murderer by now.

She thought of retreating, running to the safety of her room. Natasha wasn’t sure if anywhere delivered in Weaverville. Probably not. She hurried across the parking lot to the door of the diner.

Two men were leaning against an old pickup truck parked behind the diner. Natasha immediately identified it as being identical to the two that had been parked in front of Jim Burrows’ house yesterday.

“I didn’t see it coming. I’ll tell you that. Ethel Burrows doesn’t seem smart enough to pull off a heist right under her husband’s and the sheriff’s noses.”

Natasha froze in her steps, her bare hand wrapped around the cold metal of the handle on the door to the diner. What had she just heard?

“Never underestimate the power of sex,” the other ranch hand said.

Both men started laughing.

Natasha let go of the handle, balled her hand in a fist, and stuffed it in her coat pocket for warmth. Her cell phone was in the way. Reaching in her other pocket, she pulled out her gloves, put them on, then grabbed her hair and twisted it before stuffing it inside her coat. She looked around, searching for a good spot to stand, listen, and not be overly obvious.

“I heard she lost all the money, though. Doesn’t the sheriff have it as evidence?”

“Evidence to what? It doesn’t have anything to do with that murder. I heard she’s already down there signing paperwork to have it all turned over to her, or Trinity Ranch, as I’m sure she’ll tell him. She’s picking up her lover boy while she’s down there.”

Natasha’s eyes damn near bugged out of her head. There was nowhere to hide. She pressed her back against the side of the building, looked down, and hoped she appeared to be waiting for someone before going inside. The two men didn’t appear to notice her as they continued.

“I don’t get women. She goes to all this trouble to snag fifty grand when her husband is worth ten times that much, at least. Why would she run off with some penniless ranch hand when she has the master of the ranch wrapped around her finger?”