Rancher's Covert Christmas Read online

  “So...no boyfriend then?” he asked, trying to act casual and failing miserably.

  She laughed. “No boyfriend. Not in a while.”

  He nodded, again clearly trying to be blasé but a satisfied grin twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  “And you? Dating anyone?” she asked as he showed her to the edge of a cliff where a beautiful river flowed through ice-sheeted stones.

  “Nah.” He hunched his shoulders against the stiff, cold breeze and jammed his hat down more securely on his head. “When would I have the time to date? The ranch keeps me busy sunup to sundown.”

  “Hmm.” She ruminated on that as she gazed out across the river ravine at the lovely winter landscape. “My philosophy is we make time for the things that are important to us.”

  He cut a side glance to her and arched an eyebrow. “By that standard, I could assume that means dating isn’t important to you.”

  “I date!” she protested and pivoted toward him, giving him props for the way he’d turned her comment back on her. “Just...not so often anymore. I’ve gotten...” She twisted her mouth as she searched for the right word. “Picky. I don’t want to date just anyone.”

  He inhaled deeply and faced the river, nodding slightly. “Good. You shouldn’t settle.”

  “Is that your excuse? Not settling?”

  He didn’t even look at her. “I don’t intend to settle, either, but following your axiom, I’d say it was because my priority is the ranch. My family and our way of life is the most important thing in the world to me.”

  “I believe that.” And she also believed that when Zane McCall did find a woman to love, he’d cherish her the same way he valued and prioritized the ranch. Zane didn’t do things by half measure. The woman that stole his heart would be lucky indeed.

  She couldn’t deny the frisson of jealousy that tickled her for that unknown someone in Zane’s future. Shoving the jab of envy aside, she refocused on the gorge.

  “Is this where you had the zip line?” she asked.

  “No. This is the pickup spot.” He leaned forward and motioned to the sheer rock down to the river in the ravine. “Folks will raft to the bank below us and scale the rock using a belay system. The anchors are set and ready to go.”

  She slipped her phone out of her coat pocket and took several pictures. Not only did photos add credence to her cover story, the landscape, with ice twinkling in the tree branches and the river tumbling through the rocks, was magnificent.

  “Next stop is the landing area for the zip line, though, and the first night’s camp spot. Ready to go?”

  She swept one last encompassing gaze over the scenic view and bobbed her chin. “Ready.”

  The campsite and zip line terminus were equally impressive. Erin forced herself to set aside her goggling at the forested valley over which the zip line stretched to focus on the landing deck and new equipment. “So what happened this spring? How did the zip line fall?” She walked around the wide steel pole and studied the extensive bolts and clamps securing the thick cable. “This setup looks like it’s ready to withstand a hurricane.”

  “That’s the idea. Our last setup was good, but not good enough to deter our saboteur. We’re not taking any chances this time.”

  “What did the saboteur do? Cut the line?” She kept her attention focused on the cable attachment above them, hoping he’d not brush off the question as he did so often when the sabotage was brought up.

  “He cut the tree the line was anchored to. Weakened the wood just below the cable so that the tree toppled when the stress of weight was added to the zip line. The first passengers over that made that happen were Josh and Kate.”

  She did look at him then, hearing the tension in his tone. She rubbed his arm, and even through his thick coat, she felt the firm muscles and the quiver of stress as he recalled the tragic event. “But they survived, and look at them now. About to be wed. It all worked out fine.”

  He gave her a withering glance. “You know how to put polish on a cow pie, don’t you?”

  She snorted a laugh. “Wow. Is that a compliment or...?” She turned up her gloved hands in query. “Not sure what to make of that.”

  He chuckled softly. “It was intended as such. I have a hard time being optimistic at times. Thank you for reminding me to count my blessings.”

  Her stomach growled, none-to-subtly in the stillness of the winter woods. She clapped a hand to her belly and laughed. “Excuse me!”

  “Hey, I can take a hint. Let’s head to town for some lunch.” He put a hand at the small of her back, escorting her through the trees and underbrush to the dirt road where they’d left his truck.

  Once back on the highway to Boyd Valley, Zane asked, “After lunch, do you have someplace specific you want me to take you or am I dropping you off in the middle of Main Street and letting you wander?”

  “Well, I want to get a feel for the community, so I’ll probably do a bit of wandering. But let’s start at a hub. Where do people gather in Boyd Valley?”

  “They don’t. Not this time of day. Boyd Valley isn’t like a college town or big metropolis where people sit around coffee shops and chat. Families are working, kids are in school, business is being conducted.”

  She didn’t hear any condescension in his tone, just a statement of facts. “All right.”

  “Fact is, the diner where I thought we’d have lunch, called Zoe’s, is as close to a hub as you’ll find this time of day.”

  “Zoe’s, huh?” She wrote the restaurant name in her notepad. “What about evenings? Does Zoe’s get the dinner crowd or is there a bar in town where folks go after hours?”

  “Well, sure.” He rubbed his clean-cut chin and cast her a quick side glance. “I understand the hard-core drinkers head outside the city limits to a honky-tonk called Broncs. But I don’t imagine they’re open at this hour.”

  “Okay. We can save Broncs for one evening soon...if you’re game to go honky-tonking with me?”

  “You want to go to Broncs? Seriously?” He scoffed. “You don’t strike me as the honky-tonk type.”

  “Is that a no? You won’t take me?” He didn’t strike her as the honky-tonk type, either. Josh, maybe. But Zane seemed too business-like and serious to ever cut loose at a bar or nightclub.

  He faced her with a wrinkle in his brow. “I didn’t say no, just that your request surprised me.” He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. “In fact, I’d be remiss if I let you go in that place alone. The clientele is not known for gentlemanly behavior. Especially once the booze starts flowing.”

  “Then it’s a date?” she asked.

  He blinked and faced her with a frown. “A date?”

  She grunted. “Not a date date. But...I have your word you’ll go with me, maybe tomorrow night?”

  He turned up his palm and snorted wryly. “Sure. Why not?”

  She mock punched him in the shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll even have fun.”

  He gave her another half grin. “Who knows?”

  As they entered the town limits of Boyd Valley, she shifted her attention to the small houses and businesses that lined the main drag. A tiny post office, a beauty parlor called Snips, a liquor store. Across the street, she spotted a bank, a small grocery store and Buckley’s Feed and Seed. All the lampposts that lined the sidewalk had been decked with lighted holiday decorations of some sort. Bells, elves, snowflakes, reindeer and candles were the most prominent. Storefront windows had been sprayed with faux snow or filled with displays featuring fuzzy red stockings, cheery Santas and announcements of holiday discounts.

  She gave the Feed and Seed closer scrutiny as they passed. “Is that the store where Mr. Anderson works now?”

  “Yep. Wanna stop?”

  She checked her watch. “Depends. What time do people eat lunch around here? I don’t want to miss the crowd at Zoe’s.
”

  “Crowd might be a bit of an overstatement, but if you want to catch people at lunch, we best go there first. This town rises early, eats early, goes to bed early.”

  “Rancher’s hours?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can I buy you lunch while we’re there?”

  He shook his head. “No need. You’re our guest. I should pay.”

  “And you are doing me a favor. So I insist on buying.”

  He shook his head again and repeated, “Stubborn.”

  He parked in front of the small diner, and before she could unbuckle her seat belt and gather her purse, he’d circled the front fender and was opening her door for her.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, feeling a tingle when he gripped her hand to help her down from the high truck seat. She followed him inside the restaurant where what seemed like miles of silver and gold garland had been hung on the walls and draped along the polished wood bar. The stale scent of fried food hung in the air, mingling with the savory aroma of today’s lunch offerings. A Christmas tree loaded with twinkling lights occupied one corner, and a mechanical, life-size Santa with his stuffed sack over his shoulder guarded the door, greeting everyone who passed with a somewhat creepy-sounding, “Ho, ho, ho!”

  Zane gave creepy Santa the stink-eye as he walked by it, then motioned for Erin to come with him up to the bar. He introduced her to the woman behind the cash register at the end of the polished wood bar, who turned out to be the owner, Zoe Taylor. Erin estimated her age in the late fifties or early sixties based on the threads of gray in the long, thick braid of her dark hair and the tiny laugh lines bracketing her mouth and brown eyes.

  “Nice to meet you, Erin. Will you two be eating with us today?”

  Erin had only finished her breakfast a couple of hours earlier, but she nodded. “We’d love to.”

  Zoe wiped two plastic-encased menus and handed them to Erin and Zane. “What brings you to this corner of the world?”

  “Research.” Erin took the menu and glanced at the list of entrées. She avoided eye contact with Zoe as she told her practiced fib. “I’m staying with the McCalls while I work on an article.”

  “You’re a reporter?”

  “Well, more like a features writer,” Erin said.

  “She writes for a travel journal. Well Traveled magazine,” Zane offered.

  Zoe laughed. “Uh, are you sure about that, Zane? Maybe you should check her credentials.”

  Erin’s pulse thumped. Had she done something that gave her away? Could the restaurant owner see through her lie? She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry?”

  Zoe waved a hand at her. “Just teasing, hon. There was another supposed writer and photojournalist in here about a year ago. Turned out he was no reporter but was actually stalking Zane’s sister, Piper.” She faced Zane. “You remember?”

  Zane’s countenance could have been carved in granite. “Kinda hard to forget. That cretin wasn’t a joke to our family.”

  Zoe schooled her face. “Sorry, hon. Didn’t mean to make light of it. I just...”

  When the older woman’s voice trailed off awkwardly, Erin prodded Zane. “Piper was stalked by some creep?”

  “Yes.” His terse answer signaled his unwillingness to discuss the matter further. “I’ll have the club sandwich and vegetable soup.”

  Erin ordered a cup of the potato soup and followed Zane to a table near the front door. She wanted to talk further with Zoe, knowing the woman’s business likely made her privy to much of the town gossip. Perhaps she could steal away from the ranch under some pretense or another and drive up here on her own later in the afternoon or tomorrow. One way or another, Erin needed to learn more about Piper’s stalker and his whereabouts.

  As she pulled her chair up to the table, she glanced around the mostly empty restaurant. “Do you know any of the other people here?”

  Zane looked over his shoulder at the other diners. “I grew up in this town. I know all of them. Who do you want to meet?”

  “Who has the most interesting tales about your misspent youth?” She curled up a corner of her mouth and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “What makes you think I misspent my youth?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  His expression softened, and he shrugged one shoulder. “I hung out with Josh and Brady, so...yeah. I had my moments.”

  She gave a greedy-sounding chuckle and rubbed her hands together. “Now we’re talking! Spill. Or point me toward the person who can reveal all.”

  Zane rolled his eyes and shifted on his chair to scan the other tables again. “Well, the man in the gray sweater was my high school math teacher. And the man he’s talking to coached the baseball team I was on in elementary school.”

  “Excellent.” Erin scooted her chair back. “Target sighted. Engage interview.”

  “You’re going over? Now?”

  “That was the purpose of my trip today.” She left her purse on her chair but pulled out a pen and notepad.

  “But—”

  She approached the two older gentlemen with a smile, leaving Zane to follow her. Or not. His choice.

  * * *

  Zane sighed and shoved out of his seat to trail Erin to Mr. Finklebine and Mr. Garrison’s table.

  “Good morning, sirs.” She flashed her brilliant grin, and the men looked up, clearly intrigued by the stranger in their midst. And why not? She was beautiful, and her smile captivated. What man wouldn’t give her his attention?

  She launched into her introduction, shaking each man’s hand, and laid out her spiel concerning the article she was writing. “I’d love to get your perspective on the McCall family, the Double M, the ranch’s history and contributions to the town...or any scandalous tales about Zane, here, that you want to share.” She lightly jabbed his ribs with her elbow and winked at him.

  The men laughed, obviously charmed by her.

  “Not sure how much scandal you’ll find about Zane,” Mr. Finklebine said, waving his fork. “Zane was always one of my best students and a model citizen, as I recall. Piper was a good student, as well. Now Josh got up to some no good now and then, but all in all, the McCall kids are good folks. Raised right.”

  Zane nodded politely to his former math teacher. “Thank you, sir. That’s kind of you.”

  Mr. Garrison snorted and wiped his mouth on his napkin. “It may be kind, but it’s a lie.”

  Erin faced his Little League coach with an arched eyebrow. “A lie? How so?”

  Zane narrowed a puzzled look on the stoop-shouldered man.

  “He got into plenty of mischief, just like any boy. My own sons included. My boys told me about the beer and cigarettes that were filched outta various homes and passed around behind our garage. You were in that crowd,” he said, aiming a finger at Zane. “Don’t deny it.”

  Zane opened and shut his mouth like a trout out of water.

  Erin gave him a mock shocked expression. “Scandalous!”

  Raising both palms, he sighed. “Guilty.”

  “And you were one of the boys suspended for a few games after you put Bengay in Freddy Brown’s catcher’s mitt.”

  Erin curled her lips in over her teeth, apparently fighting laughter.

  “I...was.” The heat of embarrassment climbed his neck and tingled in his cheeks. Zane jabbed his fingers in his pockets. “But that’s not helpful to Ms. Palmer for her article.”

  “Not so fast, Bucko. Everything is grist for the mill,” Erin said with a sly grin dimpling her cheek. “You never know where you may find inspiration.”

  He grunted. “In that case, I’ll bow out. My ego can’t handle the ignominy.” He nodded to the two older men and took a step toward his and Erin’s table. “Gentlemen, be merciful.”

  * * *

  Erin waited until Zane had stepped away before she pulled another cha
ir up to the men’s table to join them. Despite the tug of regret that he’d been put on the spot that way, she was pleased to have the opportunity to speak to the men without Zane listening. “What I’d really like to talk about is the McCall family and the Double M Ranch in general.”

  “Good people. The ranch has been a stalwart in this community for decades,” said Mr. Finklebine, a gray-haired and potbellied man with wire-rimmed glasses and bushy silver eyebrows.

  His leaner redheaded companion nodded. “Agreed.”

  Erin smiled at the men, deciding how to word her inquiries so they weren’t leading. She kept her volume low so that Zane wouldn’t overhear. “To the best of your knowledge, is that an opinion shared by the rest of the town?”

  Mr. Garrison leaned back in his seat and rubbed his pointed chin, his lips pursed as he thought. “Can’t recall hearing much of anything spoken against them.”

  Mr. Finklebine lifted his coffee mug. “Like I said. They’re good people.”

  “If anything,” Mr. Garrison added, “folks feel bad about the trouble they’ve had of late.”

  Erin’s pulse picked up. Now they were getting somewhere. “Trouble?”

  “Some fool idiot dumped poison in one of their ponds and killed a bunch of their cattle last summer,” Mr. Garrison explained, his tone gruff.

  “Nah, it was summer before last. Eighteen months ago,” Mr. Finklebine corrected. “I remember because I heard about it while I was in the hospital for my knee surgery.” He faced Erin. “That was just the beginning of their trouble.” He narrowed his pale eyes at her. “I’m surprised Zane didn’t tell you about all this.”

  “I know some of it. But to write my article, I need to hear all the versions of the story. What has been said around town. What the sheriff’s report says...” A trip to visit the sheriff without Zane was in her plan for later today or tomorrow. “What the family says. I’m interested in your take on what’s happened at the Double M recently.”

  “Damn shame,” Mr. Finklebine said then slurped his coffee. “That’s my take.”

  A bubble of frustration swelled in her. She needed more specific answers, but she hated to steer the conversation too much for fear of tainting their answers.