Conard County Conspiracy Page 4

  “A baker maybe. Damn, it’s good, though. I’m glad I dropped by.” He studied her across the plate and the mug. “Restless with nightmares, huh? Not surprising after yesterday morning.”

  “Maybe not.” She dropped in the chair facing him, propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Feels like I’m spending most of my time in this room. I’ve got a perfectly good front room, but here I am again.”

  Her gaze drifted downward, and he waited, enjoying the pecan ring. He only wished she’d have some, also. She needed it.

  “It’s John,” she said finally, still looking down. Her voice quavered a bit.

  “John?”

  “We used to spend a lot of evenings in that room, mostly in the winter. I can’t sit in there, Mitch. I see him. Hear him. It’s... I just sit in there and feel so sad. So sad.”

  He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand but wondered if he’d cross a line. With Grace he was never sure.

  “I don’t feel it as much in the bedroom,” she said, surprising him. “Probably because about a year ago I threw out the linens and painted. It’s a different room now. But the front room?” She shook her head. “If I got rid of every reminder, it would be empty. I don’t know if that would be any better.”

  She sighed and lifted her face. “An empty room might only make it worse.”

  He hadn’t thought about that, but she could be right. A gaping hole where once there had been a life.

  “I wish I had answers, Grace.”

  She smiled wanly. “Me, too. This is all new to me. Still.”

  He tried to imagine her level of grief and loss but couldn’t. Some things had to be experienced and thank God he’d never had to live through this. Losing his parents had been different, maybe because it was expected. They hadn’t filled every part of his life the way John had filled Grace’s. The two of them had been a tight, compact unit, wrapped up in each other and the ranch. Yes, there had been friends and acquaintances, but nothing like the two of them had been to each other.

  He finished the cake, still wishing she’d have some. “How about this,” he suggested. “I know the furniture in there is heavy. Most of it was built in the days when a chair or sofa was meant to last generations. But I could help you move things around. Change it up a little. Just think about it.”

  “That might help. I’ll definitely think about it.”

  He hoped so since he lacked other ideas.

  She shook herself a little. “I saw you out there on the road. You kept stopping. At least I thought it was you. It’s quite a distance.”

  “Oh, it was me. Just trying something out.”

  “Which was?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, wanting to make light of it, unwilling to lie, and very much afraid that he might give her another reason to be upset.

  “Well, I was trying out vantage points from which to shoot at that ewe.”

  “Oh.” Her face shadowed. “Why?”

  Did he want to tell her? If he didn’t, she’d probably guess he was withholding. Grace was reasonably intuitive about people, maybe from reading all those kids when she was teaching.

  “Just that...well, I don’t think it was a shotgun.”

  She shook her head. “I heard it. A rifle.” Then understanding dawned on her face. “A rifle,” she murmured. “They couldn’t have been that drunk, could they?”

  Exactly what he thought, but no need to confirm it for her.

  “Then why the hell?” She jumped up from the table and started to pace. The room was big enough to allow it. “This all seems so crazy!”

  “It does.” He wasn’t going to deny it. “Anyway, they could have shot from a bit of a distance out there. I was just looking for the places where they might have done it, but I bet it was from a truck bed, for that extra elevation. You’d have to be really drunk or stupid to fire from within the cab. Or to carry a loaded gun inside.”

  He wanted to let it go at that. Even though Grace might have a new reason for nightmares, he wasn’t prepared to ever lie to her.

  Once you lost a person’s trust, it was damn hard to regain it.

  She still paced, although more slowly. “Why would anyone do this?” she asked. “Except as a sick joke.”

  She turned toward him suddenly. “What about that company that wanted to buy our land?”

  * * *

  She’d tried to tell herself that couldn’t possibly be, but the suspicion wouldn’t go away. This entire incident was almost surreal.

  She couldn’t imagine that anyone had done this with an eye to hurting her or scaring her. She’d limited her social life to almost nothing, so who could she have offended?

  No one knew that Mitch now owned the sheep, so it was unlikely the perpetrator had been angry with him for some reason.

  “I need this to make some kind of sense,” she told Mitch. “Any kind of sense.”

  “Me, too. It’s not easy to just shrug off.”

  Grace immediately realized that saying such a thing was pointless. Everyone wanted events to make sense, and sometimes they just didn’t and never would. Like when one of her students developed cancer. How the hell could anyone make sense of that?

  She returned to the table at last, glad she had Mitch to share her concerns with. Concerns she hadn’t wanted to share with Betty, friend or not. Once again Betty had pressed her to sell the place. Grace wouldn’t even consider it, no matter how many times someone told her it was pointless for her to remain out here alone. Dangerous, even.

  She looked at the satellite phone in its charger, its red light blinking, grateful Mitch had insisted she take it.

  He was correct about the phone. Especially when she walked the land, enjoying time in the fresh breeze and sunlight, hearing the distant baas of sheep, which had been a comforting sound for years. She could almost believe the world was right again.

  The world would never be right again. Maybe it was time to start rebuilding. But how and where? Diving into a social life at church daunted her. She doubted she could take any groups yet.

  At heart she’d always been an introvert living in an extrovert’s world. She had managed, but she’d never regretted exchanging her life for a quieter one with John.

  She looked at Mitch. “I love it out here. Always have.”

  “I honestly wondered how much you gave up when you married John.”

  She half smiled. “Absolutely nothing. I think I was built for this life.”

  Some of which was gone now, but she had to stop thinking that way. It was holding her down, holding her back.

  “I’m not ready to give John up,” she blurted, astonishing herself with the bald statement.

  Mitch nodded, his work-hardened face softening. “I know. I miss him, too.”

  “Part of me is beginning to think I’ve let this go on long enough. That I really need to let go and move on.”

  “Grief has its own timetable, Grace.”

  “You’re right.” But now she felt exposed just for having said the truth out loud. It sounded...over the top, now that she’d heard the words hanging on the air. Nothing, however, changed the facts. She wasn’t ready to let go of John. Maybe it was time to put something around that hole in her heart and life.

  On the other hand, getting busy might only be a distraction, or a flight from the grief itself. Maybe it needed to burn out in its own time. Although it would never be entirely gone. Ever.

  “Want another piece of pecan ring?” she asked, turning the conversation to something less threatening. A brief break from her gloomy thoughts.

  “Only if you’ll have one.”

  Again she smiled faintly. “Pressure?”

  “Hell no. This is so good you need to taste it. You must have lost twenty or so pounds and are starting to look like someone in severe need of nourishment.”

  Even as irritation rose in her, it collapsed before becoming fully born. “You’re right,” she admitted. “Although a pecan ring is hardly nourishment.”

  “It’s calories. Enjoy them.”

  She retrieved a plate for herself and brought the it over to the table. “Help yourself, Mitch. I’m not going to eat the whole thing. It’ll wind up in the compost when it dries out.”

  “We can’t have that.” Using the knife, he cut himself a generous piece, then foisted an equally big one on her.

  “I never eat that much,” she protested.

  “Try. Compost, remember?”

  A stillborn bubble of laughter tickled her stomach. Laughter was so rare to her these days that she welcomed it. “Taskmaster.”

  He held up a hand. “Hey, you’re talking to the guy who runs a cattle ranch. I never take no for an answer.”

  “Are you sure the ranch doesn’t run you?” Man, was she teasing? She’d almost forgotten she could do that.

  “It probably does run me,” he admitted, forking off another bite. “But I like to pretend I’m the boss.”

  “It’s a good illusion.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. But it gives me one advantage.”

  “Which is?”

  He half shrugged. “I was able to tell Bill he’s the boss for a couple of hours.”

  Finally, at long last, the bubble of laughter rose and emerged quietly.

  Mitch smiled at her. “I like that sound.”

  She did, too. It felt good. Maybe it was time to pull out those comedy DVDs that she and John used to laugh at so easily. Time to reclaim something.

  The loneliness might come again, but laughter would help.

  Then she made a huge decision. “When you have the chance, I’d like to rearrange the living room. But only when you have time.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I have help for. Two of us will come over tomorrow or the next day and make quick work of it. I’ll call to let you know. In the meantime, if you can, think about how you’d like to reorder the room.”

  That wouldn’t be easy, but she had to do it. She couldn’t keep living in two rooms.

  “I will,” she answered, as much of a promise to herself as to him.

  Then he startled her.

  Mitch asked, “Want to come riding with me some morning?”

  * * *

  Mitch thought she was making remarkable progress all of a sudden. He hoped to help keep her going in this direction. He feared her response, and that she would shy away from any more change.

  She used to love riding the range on horseback. She’d often mentioned how peaceful it was, how beautiful to be out in the pasture with the sheep. But it might reawaken the very sorrow she was trying to edge past.

  Then she astonished him. “I’d really like that. I hated giving up the horses.”

  And everything else, he thought. The dream, the sheep, the hired hands. The horses.

  He’d watched as the financial burdens had become too much for her and had been glad that he was able to take over the flock of sheep. He’d always wanted to try his hand at sheep. Now he had a good excuse to go ahead.

  He was grateful he didn’t have to watch her struggle to try to do the job alone. It was truly a bigger job than one person could handle. He’d figured she wouldn’t be receptive to the idea of him sending help over.

  Two birds with one stone. He’d gained something he wanted and she’d been relieved of a huge burden. The latter seemed the most important to him, but he never wanted her to guess that.

  Just like he didn’t want anyone in the county to know he’d bought her flock. He didn’t want people to think he’d taken advantage of the widow. Or worse, that he’d saved her. Yeah, he’d had mixed feelings about doing it. She deserved her pride. Let them all think she was making it, that the shepherds were hers.

  He’d encouraged her enough about moving forward for one day. He wondered what she’d change her mind about it.

  Well, he couldn’t do a damn thing about that, except keep trying gently.

  He cared about this woman. A great deal.

  Rising, he promised he’d come over in the morning with a couple of mounts, then left quickly so as not to give her time to make excuses.

  He just hoped she’d sleep better tonight.

  As ugly as the killing of the ewe had been, he couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would do it maliciously.

  Well, except for using a ewe for target practice.

  That was pretty bad, but not likely threatening.

  Chapter 4

  Fog blanketed the world in the early morning. The fog was surprising in a place where dryness lowered the humidity until it was next to nothing.

  Maybe an unexpected cloud was moving in.

  Mitch sat on his porch, his booted feet up on the rail, and waited for Bill to arrive. Lila had provided him with an insulated carafe of coffee and a plate full of homemade blueberry muffins. That woman loved to bake and if he wasn’t careful she’d add a few unwanted pounds to his frame. Even with hard physical labor, that was always possible.

  She mothered him. He smiled faintly into his coffee mug and decided that mothering was a sign she liked working here. She could have made his life hell by reducing her cooking to basics, claiming she had enough to do keeping up with a bachelor’s house.

  Not Lila. Never a complaint. Well, he did try not to ask too much but still. The woman was a workhorse, not only taking care of him but making sure his hired hands and his shepherds were fed.

  Those lunch pails were always welcome out on the range, and if his men were closer, all they had to do was run by the kitchen. His shepherds had a specific list of staples they preferred. Things that wouldn’t spoil. Those men were pretty much self-reliant.

  As he waited for the fog to burn off, he enjoyed watching wisps of it moving slightly on stirring air. Eventually a morning breeze would sweep it away if the sun didn’t dry it out.

  Despite his plans to ride with Grace that morning, he wouldn’t have minded a bit of rain. Rain was always welcome out here, greening the pastures and rangeland. Helping to fill ponds and keep creeks running. Most of his neighbors were getting to the point of needing it desperately.

  He was blessed in his land and he knew it. John and Grace were similarly blessed, so he understood why that industrial stock company had wanted to buy them out.

  He wondered if Grace had begun to think that might be a good idea after the ewe’s killing. But no, Grace had a stiff backbone and she’d lost enough already. He’d be floored if such a thought even crossed her mind.

  He poured more hot coffee and succumbed to a second muffin. Lila appeared, wiping her hands on her apron, to ask if he needed anything else before she started the eggs and bacon.

  “Dang it, Lila, you’ll kill me with kindness.”

  She chuckled, her large bosom shaking slightly. “A hardworking man needs good food. And them muffins ain’t that bad for you. No sugar.”

  He looked at the plate. “Really?”

  “I’ve been cheating on that the whole time and you never noticed.” She winked at him. “Tomorrow maybe banana bread.”

  He groaned and she laughed as she returned indoors.

  Grace had dealt with some of her stress by baking, but it sounded like a slightly irritating task for her. The dough wouldn’t rise because the house was too chilly?

  The things he didn’t know.

  Bill should arrive soon, Lila would most likely give him muffins and cook him breakfast, as well. He’d wondered lately if Bill and Lila were taking a shine to each other. They were both in their early forties and seemed to like hard work. A starting point. Lila’s cooking could only help.

  He grinned, trying not to open a muffin-filled mouth.

  The ewe kept bursting into his thoughts, however. He wanted to talk with Zeke and Rod again, get them to be more specific about what had been happening just before the shooting. It still struck him as odd that the sheep had scattered that way. Zeke hadn’t looked very happy about it.

  Yeah, he needed to get a herding dog. Maybe he’d ask Grace to go with him to find one with enough instinct for Zeke and Rod to finish the training.

  Ransom Laird, a guy with a mega flock of sheep, might be able to point him in the right direction. Or Cadell Marcus, the K-9 trainer. Or even the vet, Mike Windwalker.

  He and Mike got along pretty well, which was good, because cattle often needed attention, as did sheep. Non-ranchers seemed to think you could just put them out on the land and they’d take care of themselves.

  Nope. They needed vaccinations, various kinds of treatments, and his cows sometimes had female problems. Not just a “sow them then reap them” kind of business at all. Most animals needed a bit of TLC occasionally.

  He often felt he had a bit of connection with his cattle, particularly the cows. The steers, on the other hand, he tried not to get too close to, because they’d be off to market. A reality of his life and not one that especially pleased him. Necessity drove him.

  The sheep, however, could be shorn every spring and go back to grazing and making lambs. Well, except for the rams. They could get difficult during breeding season and he needed to keep an eye on them because they’d get into some amazing fights. They needed to be separated from the ewes after they bred, and care had to be taken that they weren’t alone. Sheep, like humans, didn’t handle isolation very well.

  When the lambs were weaned, the ewes could be milked, a surprising source of income.

  Sometimes he thought he’d be better off just selling off his cattle and going full-time to raising sheep.

  When he considered how sheep needed the company of other sheep, his thoughts turned to Grace. She couldn’t indefinitely live alone and avoid social contact. He sometimes was surprised that she’d made it this long.