a schoolboy and did his job. He had two deaths to investigate, and Jessie was his only link to the truth. He would get to that truth, he swore, no matter what it cost him.
Jessie watched Matt Langtry as he wound his way up the slope. He moved the horses at a deliberate pace, taking care with Frank’s body on the turns. He did not look up at her.
She forced herself to keep still and wait for him, even though her nerves screamed with the urge to race on ahead. To keep running would only make things more awkward between them. Sooner or later she would have to stop and let him catch up. It might as well be now.
Still trembling, she raked her windblown hair back from her face. Her fingertips brushed the spot along her hairline where his lips had nibbled a brief path. The sweetness of that small caress had almost undone her. She had wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to sink into his arms, bury her face against his shirt and cry her heart out.
No one had held her in a comforting way since the death of her parents in a blizzard four years earlier. Frank had been the focus of her love between that time and now, but there had been no outward affection between the two of them. They had been partners in survival—close in spirit, but private and proper in terms of physical affection.
Only when Matt had pulled her against him and brushed that light caress along her hairline did Jessie realize how lost she’d felt and how hungry she was for the strength of a man’s arms.
Terrified by the rush of emotion, she had pushed him away and lashed out to protect herself. Matt Langtry’s actions had tipped the scales against her brother’s life. If he’d manacled Frank’s hands in front instead of behind, or if he’d given her the key when she’d demanded it, this tragedy would never have happened.
How could she forgive him for that? How could she let him touch her, when her heart screamed against what he’d done and what he stood for? The law was always on the side of rich landholders like Allister and Virgil Gates. Poor farmers and homesteaders didn’t stand a chance.
Holding the mare in check, she waited for Matt to bring the horses up onto the ridge. Her heart crept into her throat as he came closer. It was easy to hate him at a distance. But when he was near she felt confused and vulnerable. It was all she could do to keep from kicking the mare and bolting off at a gallop, just to get away from him.
As he came abreast of her, he cast an impersonal glance in her direction. His face was as expressionless as a granite slab. He had chosen to ignore her, she thought. Fine, that would make everything easier.
Avoiding him with her eyes, she nudged the mare to a brisk walk. He stayed at her side, moving in close enough for conversation. It seemed he wasn’t going to make things easy after all. Jessie’s heart slammed against her ribs as she waited for him to speak.
“How well did you know the Gates brothers?” It was his lawman’s voice, flat and relentless in its demand for answers.
“I hardly knew them at all,” she answered truthfully. “I knew who they were, of course. I’d seen them in town and on the road. But I don’t recall exchanging a word of polite conversation with either Allister or Virgil. Ranchers and homesteaders don’t exactly socialize in these parts.”
“Or any other parts that I know of. What about your brother? What kind of dealings did he have with them?”
“None—until last fall when Allister laid eyes on the stallion. As I told you, he made Frank an offer in Laramie, and Frank told him the horse wasn’t for sale at any price. That’s the last we heard until the week when the Felton marshal served us with notice that the Gates brothers had redeemed our mortgage and we had three days to clear off the property. Later that day, Allister came by with a half-dozen cowhands from his ranch and took the stallion.”
Even as she spoke, Jessie was amazed that she could tell the story so calmly. There had been nothing calm about that afternoon. The men from the Gates Ranch had galloped up to the house armed with pistols. They’d caught Frank outside, unarmed except for the heavy double ax he’d been using to break up a stump. Holding him at gunpoint, they’d put a lead on Midnight and taken the stallion out of the corral. Jessie had rushed outside in time to stop her brother from hurling his ax at Allister, which would have surely gotten him shot.
“You have no right to take that horse!” she’d shouted as Allister’s men led the stallion down the trail. “He’s not part of the ranch. He’s ours.”
Allister Gates had shot her a contemptuous look, spat in the mud and ridden away.
Frank had been beside himself. It had taken all Jessie’s persuasive powers to keep him from getting his rifle and going after Allister Gates right then. But that didn’t mean he’d murdered the man. If he had, he would never have been able to keep it from her.
She glanced back over her shoulder to where her brother’s body lay slung across the bay horse. Now that Frank was dead it would be all too easy to blame him for killing Allister. Case closed. Frank was beyond judgment, but his name would be forever tainted with the stain of murder. And the real killer, whoever he was, would go unpunished.
Whatever the cost, Jessie vowed, she would not allow that to happen. She owed it to Frank and to their parents’ memory to clear his name. And the one man who might be able to help her was riding at her side. No matter how much she might resent him, she could not afford to drive him away.
“What can you tell me about the Gates family?” the marshal asked, breaking the silence. “Did Allister leave a wife? Any children?”
“That’s a story in itself,” Jessie said. “The Gates brothers were both bachelors, and since Allister was in his fifties and Virgil in his forties, nobody expected that to change. Then, last summer, Allister made a trip to St. Louis and came home with a wife.”
Matt gave a low whistle. “You’re right. That is a story in itself. What’s she like?”
“Younger—a widow, I’d guess. Nice looking. And she knows how to dress. I’ve seen her in town a few times, but that’s all. I can’t say I know her.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Lillian—I heard someone call her that.”
“Lillian.” He repeated the name thoughtfully, as if he were tasting each syllable. Maybe the marshal had an eye for rich, good-looking widows, Jessie thought with a stab of irritation.
Impatient, she seized his arm. “Don’t you see? Now she owns half the ranch. And Virgil owns the other half. If he marries his brother’s pretty widow, he gets it all! Virgil had a lot more motive for killing Allister than poor Frank ever did!”
“So how do you explain the fact that Allister was shot with Frank’s gun? Nobody could have known the gun would be there.”
“No, but Virgil could have found it and seen the perfect opportunity to kill Allister and let Frank take the blame. Or it could have been someone else—maybe one of the ranch hands who had a grudge against Allister. Heaven knows, he wasn’t the most likable man in the world.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”
The coldness in Matt’s voice hit Jessie like a slap. For the space of a breath, she weighed the wisdom of telling him about Allister’s behavior when he came for the stallion. No, she decided, that would only lend weight to the case against Frank.
“I
