The High Country Rancher (2 page)

He’d followed medical protocol for hypothermia. Right down to the skin-on-skin contact to rewarm her. He overrode a swell of desire that charged through him.

Detective Ellis was a beautiful woman, but now that he’d thawed her out, he had to keep her warm. Ice crystals in the bloodstream could cause cardiac arrest. The next several hours were critical.

Gradual rewarming was key, from the inside and out. But there was no way to tell how bad the bump on her head was. He had to watch over her until he could get her to the hospital in Grangeville sixty miles away.

He picked up the steaming mug and headed for the bedroom.

M
ARIAH SHOVED THE PISTOL
under the pillow next to her and settled into bed, covering herself with the down comforter. She hated to admit Baylor McCullough was right. She’d had enough first-aid training to know walking around on frozen feet could result in losing toes. She jiggled her legs, trying to aid circulation.

The clop of boots on hardwood brought her gaze up. He entered the room with a steaming mug in hand.

Her pulse kicked up a notch. She tried to crush the instant attraction that sizzled through her, by remembering why she was here, but it didn’t work.

She was a cop, not blind, and Baylor McCullough was an attractive man, from his intense blue-gray eyes, to his dark good looks and muscular build.

At any other time in her life, she might have explored her reaction to him, but she was here in an official capacity. The only thing that would have made her feel better was being dressed, instead of tied up in a slinky robe that had probably belonged to Amy McCullough, a dead woman.

“How are your feet?”

Damn…damn…damn,
she thought, as she stared up at him, her gaze locked with his. There was that foot thing again.

“They feel like the only pincushion at a ladies’ quilt club on a Monday afternoon.”

“You should have stayed down.” He set the cup on the nightstand and retreated to the foot of the bed.

Before she could utter an objection, he pulled the comforter back and exposed her feet.

Mariah braced herself when he touched her right foot, taking it in both hands.

She was unprepared for her body’s response to his gentle touch, or the desire that flared and twisted through her, taking her breath with it. She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn’t gotten a read on her, but the moment she opened them again, she knew that wish was futile.

His eyes narrowed, a half smile pulling at the left side of his sexy mouth. “Better?” he asked.

Mariah cleared her throat and focused on the sensation. The needling was slowly beginning to relent. She wiggled her toes trying to ignore the feel of his
warm hands firmly forcing the blood to the surface of her skin with each stroke.

“It’s not too bad. I can feel my toes.”

“We caught it in time, but you need to stay off them.” He put her right foot down and started on the left. By now she’d gotten used to his hands on her skin and she tried to relax. Tried to make it a clinical experience even though her body was humming and aware of his every movement.

“You’ve dealt with frostbite a time or two?”

“Living this far from civilization, it’s a necessary skill.”

“One I’m glad you possess.” Warmth worked its way up her lower legs. “Thank you for rescuing me, and my toes.”

“You’re welcome.” He settled her foot onto the bed and pulled the covers back over her feet.

“I’d like to know what you’re doing on my ranch, Detective Ellis.”

Mariah bristled at the abrupt change of subject. “I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

He didn’t speak. She pushed on. “Were you aware James Endicott went missing two weeks ago?” She considered herself an expert on suspect behavior and body language; she planned to absorb even the slightest measure of reaction he exhibited.

His blue eyes glistened with anger. A muscle pulsed along his square jawline, and his breathing rate shot up.

Mariah’s heart skipped a beat as she visualized the
pistol tucked under the pillow next to her, ready to be used if he showed any sign of aggression toward her.

He knew something; he had to. His dislike for the man was obvious from his physical reaction.

“And you believe I had something to do with it? Once a suspect, always a suspect?” A glimmer of amusement flashed in his eyes and played out of sync with the seriousness of the implication.

“He tried to put you behind bars, Mr. McCullough. That’s motive.”

“For the record, Detective, he has tried to put hundreds behind bars. Many more badass than me.”

She knew it was true, but she planned to push him. Interesting things bubbled out of people when you stressed them beyond their capacity to withhold the truth.

“I’ll give you that one, but we’re not talking about those badasses. We’re talking about you. You’ve got to have some resentment built up. You’ve had almost a year to plan your revenge.”

His face went placid, hiding the emotions she knew rippled just under the surface and beyond her reach for the moment.

“I’ve had time to figure things out. Time to make sense of what happened to Amy. A patch of hell, Detective, not a minute of it spent on revenge.”

He stood at the foot of the bed looking like a warrior poised for battle. Hard, prepared, invincible.

Mariah suppressed an insurmountable wave of sympathy. “Will you consent to a polygraph?”

Clutching the footboard rail, he stared at her for a moment before she saw his shoulders relax. Whatever grudge existed between the two men was still there. She had the facts of the case, but not from his point of view.

“No.” His arms dropped to his sides. “Get some rest.” He strode out of the room, leaving her alone with a crackling fire and more questions than answers.

Gingerly she picked up the steaming mug he’d carried in, and smelled the vapors. Earl Grey, her favorite. Its rich aroma of bergamot wafted up her nose and calmed her nerves. She clutched the mug in both hands, letting the blessed warmth infuse her fingers.

She was lucky to be alive. She owed Baylor McCullough her life. Could she cut him some slack?

The question burned a path in her brain between her professional obligation as an officer of the law, and her happiness at being alive instead of a human popsicle.

She sipped the tea, letting it heat her throat, until she was warm and relaxed and barely able to keep her eyelids open. Setting the empty mug on the nightstand, she snuggled into the covers, listening to the wind batter the sturdy ranch house, much like her gratitude toward Baylor McCullough battered her resolve about his guilt.

Amy McCullough had been her friend years ago, but she’d lost touch with her after high school. How had she and Baylor met? What had their relationship been like?

She closed her eyes, letting the questions compile in her brain. She’d read every last word of the accident report, every interview…so why had James Endicott been so determined to prosecute Baylor in a case that read like a tragic accident out of a horror flick?

Wham…wham…wham.

Mariah bolted awake and sat up, trying to place the loud banging coming from somewhere in the unfamiliar house.

A fire still blazed in the fireplace. Fresh wood had recently been added, judging by the still uncharred ends of the logs.

“Hello,” she called out. No response.

Where was Baylor?

A measure of caution edged down her spine. She threw back the covers and crept out of bed.

“Hello,” she called as she crossed to the doorway and stared out into the living room.

The fire in the living-room hearth was little more than a heap of glowing embers now, but Baylor’s woodsy scent hung in the air, surrounding her, and she sensed he hadn’t been gone long.

Wham!

Mariah jumped.

A cut of icy wind sliced into her, raising goose bumps on her body. The noise was coming from somewhere in the area of the kitchen.

Easing forward, she searched the darkness, heading toward the sound.

Wham!

Through the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen, she spotted the source of the racket and stalked toward it.

The back door stood wide-open before another gust of wind caught it and slammed it against the jamb.

A shudder coursed through her as she stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the knob. She paused in place, staring out into the darkness.

The storm had passed while she’d slept. A full moon gleamed against the platinum snow and bathed the landscape in brilliant white light. Somewhere in the surrounding woods a series of howls built to a mournful crescendo and echoed against the mountains. She half expected to see a wolf silhouette itself against the moon, and the stark beauty of the place, along with its mystery, appealed to her artist’s eye.

But where was Baylor McCullough?

Stepping back, she pulled the door shut, but it wouldn’t latch. She jiggled the knob back and forth. The bolt released. She pulled it shut again, and heard the cylinder pop into the kick plate.

Taking one last glance through the small panel of windows in the door, she saw a trail of movement.
In the timberline a hundred yards from the house, someone waded through the snow, before vanishing out of sight in the dense line of trees.

Was it McCullough? What was he doing out there? She turned the dead bolt and heard it lock in place.

“Detective?”

She jerked around, instinct taking over. Every muscle in her body coiled for maximum self-preservation. She lashed out at the man standing too close to her, catching him in the jaw with an upper-cut from her elbow before she realized she’d just hit Baylor in the face.

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. I thought you were outside.” She glanced back to the spot where she’d seen someone only an instant ago.

“I’ve been in the barn, checking on the calves.” Baylor rubbed the spot on his jaw where she’d popped him. “I use the front door. I keep this one locked until I can get a locksmith up here to fix it. It doesn’t always latch.”

“I saw someone, up there, just at the timberline.” She pointed to the spot. “Were you up there?”

“No. You probably saw deer feeding by the moonlight.” He moved in next to her and stared out the window.

“Do deer walk upright?” she asked, half joking, but Baylor’s features in the lunar glow were dead serious.

“Some strange things have been going on around here the past few months.”

His cautious tone fired her curiosity. “What sort of things?”

Baylor reached for her hand and turned her toward the living room. He could feel the cold in the air through his heavy coat, and he knew she had to be freezing in the little black robe.

“It’s not important.” He felt her shiver, the vibration rippling through his hand. He coaxed her a little faster toward the bedroom and the heat from the fireplace.

“It’s almost dawn. You have to stay warm.” He ushered her through the doorway into the bedroom and released her, not content until she climbed back into bed, and pulled the covers up around her neck.

He took off his coat, picked up the poker, opened the fireplace screen and jostled the logs. A spray of sparks jumped, and the fire hissed as it intensified.

There was that feeling again, but this time there was something solid to back it up.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled as firelight danced across the hardwood floor of the bedroom and reflected in a set of liquid footprints. The spot where someone had stood long enough for the snow on their shoes to melt. Someone had been in this room tonight while Mariah slept, and the prints didn’t belong to him.

“What woke you up?” He slid the screen closed and sat down on the hearth. He didn’t want to spook her. She’d go cop on him again.

“The back door was wide-open and banging against the doorjamb in the wind.”

Could the figure she’d seen outside be the person who made the tracks in the corner? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t relax until he got her safely off the mountain.

“Get some rest.” He moved into the chair next to the fireplace, to stand guard, and watched her close her beautiful blue eyes.

Whatever was going on at the Bellwether Ranch was his problem, and he didn’t want her involved.

T
HE SMELL OF COFFEE
brewing and bacon sizzling pulled Mariah out of sleep. She opened her eyes, staring at the lamp on the nightstand, at the lit bulb that glared from under the shade. The power was back on.

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the coffered ceiling. She could hear pearls of water dripping outside the bedroom window as sunlight penetrated the slats in the wooden blinds.

Idaho weather was so unpredictable—if you didn’t like it, wait five minutes and it would change.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stretched. Her body ached, every muscle had gone stiff. Probably a by-product of nearly freezing to death, she decided as she went to the closet and opened it to find her clothes hanging just where Baylor said they’d be.

She dressed quickly, strapped on her service revolver, and made the bed up in the decidedly masculine room that carried his scent.

She headed for the kitchen, taking her time as she surveyed the living room in the light of day. Heavy hand-hewn beams crossed the ceiling. The hardwood floor under her feet was made of maple, and polished to perfection. Amy had great taste, she decided as she turned toward the kitchen, her gaze locking on Baylor.

He worked over the stove, his broad shoulders covered in a pristine white T-shirt. Every little nagging ounce of desire in her body fizzed up, and she had to look away.

“Good morning,” he said as he turned around. “How do you feel?”

Pulling out a stool at the bar, she slid onto it and fixed a smile on her face. “Great.”

He turned to a cupboard next to the sink, pulled down a large red coffee mug and filled it from the coffeemaker. “This should help.”

A grin pulled his lips apart, showing even, white teeth. Her heart did a somersault. He set the cup in front of her. “Do you take anything in it?”

“Black’s fine.” Picking up the cup, she took a swallow, wondering if he’d been as attentive toward Amy. There it was again, that curiosity about something she didn’t need to know. Something that had no bearing on her investigation into James Endicott’s disappearance.

Baylor could feel her eyes on his back like a tick on a horse, but at least she’d left her gun holstered this morning instead of pointed at him.

“I called a tow truck for your car. He’ll be here within the hour.” He said all this over his shoulder as he loaded her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and a slice of wheat toast.

“I’m going to take you up to the hospital. Make sure you’re all right.”

“That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t doubt it. His jaw still hurt. He slid the plate in front of her and took his first long look at her in broad daylight.

Her tousled blond hair was loose, and fell to her shoulders in soft curls that made his hands ache to touch them. She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short. And those eyes, the ones flashing him a back-off warning as sure as he was standing there, well, he liked those, too. The color of a cloudless noonday sky.

“My rules. You got hurt on my property, I’ve got an obligation to make sure you check out.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she shut it, picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

He turned around, satisfied that she’d be safe for the next two hours. He couldn’t risk having her wandering around on his mountain alone. This morning he’d found a set of footprints in the melting snow next to the timberline, right where the good detective said she saw someone last night.

Whatever was going on didn’t involve her, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

Detective Mariah Ellis was better off back where she belonged. Far away from the Bellwether Ranch.

M
ARIAH SLID INTO THE
cab of Baylor’s black Chevy pickup and buckled up. What was left of last night’s snowstorm lay in melting drifts, and the sun was warm against her face.

He fired up the truck and backed out of the driveway.

She tried to relax, but it was impossible. She’d yet to accomplish what she’d set out to do. Interrogate Baylor McCullough.

“I’d like you to come into the station for an interview. I need to know where you were on April the fifth.” She glanced at the muddy road in front of them, before slipping him a glance.

His jaw was set; he stared straight ahead. She knew defiance when she saw it.

“If you had nothing to do with Endicott’s disappearance, you’re in the clear.” The word
but
hung up on her tongue. She was so sure he was somehow involved when she’d come tearing up the mountain yesterday afternoon. Now she wasn’t as convinced, but she still had a job to do.

“A polygraph could clear you.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You’re going to need a lot more than a hunch, Detective.”

A chill launched over her skin and landed in her gut. He was right. She was reaching. But a reach was all she had to go on at the moment. He was her only lead.

“If that’s the way you want to play it for the time being, but it’s the surest way to clear yourself.”

Baylor didn’t doubt it. It was the principle of the whole damn thing. His past was playing into it, he was sure. In the eyes of the law he’d always be suspect.

He rounded the bend in the road and spotted the tow truck along with another pickup parked in the opposite direction. He slowed and pulled in behind it.

The tow-truck driver raised his hand and waved. The man standing next to him did the same and Baylor recognized his neighbor Harley Neville who lived a mile up the road.

“You can stay in the truck and keep warm if you like.” He pulled the handle and the door swung open. He somehow doubted she’d take that option. Mariah Ellis likely lived on curiosity and adrenaline. Both went with her line of work.

“I’d like to have a look.” She climbed out of the truck and moved up next to him as he covered ground in long, even strides.

Her late model Ford Taurus was augered deep in the ditch. The rear end sticking up in the air, the undercarriage high-centered on the berm of earth, the nose rammed into the embankment.

“Bang-up job.” A whistle hissed from between
his lips, drawing a glare from her that could have cut diamonds.

He stared down the road, taking note of the exact spot where she’d gotten sideways, where she’d made the mistake of hitting her brakes, and where she’d ended up. Lucky she hadn’t been seriously hurt, or he wouldn’t have found her in time to save her life.

“This your car?” the tow-truck driver asked, shifting his green Bernie’s Garage hat off then back on, before settling it low on his forehead.

“Yeah. It’s mine. You can send the bill to the county sheriff’s department.”

“Will do.” He moved to his wrecker and unhooked the wench cable.

“Harley, how are you?” Baylor asked, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Not too shabby. The little lady was lucky this happened here and not a few miles back.”

Baylor glanced over at Mariah, who shaded her eyes against the sun beating down on them, making it almost impossible to believe only last night the area had been covered in six inches of fresh snow.

Harley was right. Less than two miles west where the river ran straight and the road turned south, there would have been nothing to keep the car from plunging over the edge into the river below.

He sobered and shook off the blanket of dread that suddenly covered him, making his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry.

“Looks like Bernie has this. Let’s head for Grangeville.”

Mariah nodded and turned toward the truck. He exchanged a nod with Harley and followed her back to the rig, enjoying the sway of her hips in her dark blue slacks. If he had to have a cop on his doorstep and in his bed, he wanted her.

They got into the pickup and pulled out around Harley’s shiny new rig. It must have cost him a small fortune, Baylor decided as he eased past the tow truck and picked up speed.

“How long have you been on the ranch?” she asked, casting a glance his way before leaning forward in the seat to study the landscape flitting past on the right.

“I took over the Bellwether from my folks in 1998. My dad’s health wasn’t so good and he couldn’t take the winters up here anymore. Now they have a place in Arizona.”

“There’s something to be said for staying warm.”

“What about your parents?” He braked and made the wide sweeping turn that put them parallel to the river a hundred feet below.

“Divorced. My dad lives in Grangeville, my mom in Lewiston.”

Damn. Why hadn’t he made the connection sooner? A thread of apprehension laced through him, knotting his muscles. “Ted Ellis is your dad?”

“That’s right.”

The knots didn’t loosen, and the knowledge put him on alert. Her father was the chief of police. He’d worked damn hard to follow the law, not engage it in spades. Now there were two Ellises who had it in for him.

Thump!

The truck jerked hard to the right and veered close to the edge of the riverbank.