want to hire you.” Often people, even those who viewed her as a fraud, considered asking for her help when all else failed. “The sheriff’s investigation is at a dead end.” He honestly sounded stymied.
Tessa rushed a refusal before he explained more. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t get involved.”
He drilled a look at her that carried both annoyance and puzzlement. “I understand you know my mother, Louise Holmes.”
She wasn’t a fool. He was leading her in a different direction deliberately. “Yes.” Her guard went up with his shift in conversation. “Louise is a lovely woman.” A friend of Sylvia’s, Louise had come into the store several times during the past two weeks. Tessa had seen a photograph of Harriet and had noted a resemblance between her and Louise Holmes. Louise was softer-looking, and unlike the unsmiling Harriet, Louise possessed one of the most wonderful smiles Tessa had ever seen. A hundred-watt, sunshiny smile that conveyed warmth and genuine friendliness. Tessa had yet to see Colby really smile, couldn’t help wondering if he had the same smile.
She’d met his father, too. Handsome, he was an older, heavier version of Colby. Known as Bud since his days as star quarterback at the local high school, Adam Holmes had been a rancher all his life. He and Louise were well-liked by a lot of people in town.
“It was bad enough when my mother thought Harriet had died by her own hand, when everyone, including Sheriff Reingard, thought she’d committed suicide.”
“They know now it was murder.”
“Right. When my mother learned Harriet had been killed, she was stunned.”
Tessa wanted to turn away, but she heard such affection in his voice when he talked about his mother.
“She won’t rest unless we find out who killed Harriet.”
Nice, Tessa thought. Mr. Macho, Mr. Rugged was nice—sensitive. In seconds, she’d learned he was a good son. He’d unveiled a wealth of family concern. She’d known another man who’d never understood loyalty to family, who could ignore responsibilities without a glance back.
“Look, I wasn’t as close to her as I’d been when younger. She’d been living in Boston for a while, and when she came back to Rumor, I was on the rodeo circuit.”
And he felt guilty for not being around for her.
“I’ve heard she was unhappy, especially during the past few months.”
That Harriet was having an affair had fueled the gossip.
“You’ve probably heard. The sheriff’s investigation is stalled. For a while, everyone was convinced the killer was local. Now we’re not so sure because of Warren Parrish.” Anger teetered just below the surface of his voice. “He claims he’s Harriet’s estranged husband. One day weeks ago he unexpectedly arrived in town.”
In spite of herself, curiosity got the best of her. “Do you think he killed her?”
“I don’t like him. I wouldn’t mind seeing him gone and behind bars. There was a book in Harriet’s house with blood on it. Her own. She used it to print some letters. H and I and an N or M or R. I’ll see if I can get the book for you.”
Tessa shook her head. “I don’t want it, Mr. Holmes.”
“Colby. Call me Colby. Chelsea Kearns, the forensic expert, has come up with a profile of the killer. I’ll get it for you and—”
“You’re not listening. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.”
“A lot of people believe that you can,” he quipped.
She refused to let him bait her. She wanted him to leave—now. He was more than she’d bargained for. And what she was feeling went far beyond his great looks.
With a look, a moment’s insight into his sensitivity, she felt her pulse rate accelerate. No one had unbalanced her so quickly, so easily before. “That’s their problem, not mine,” she said, watching his gaze shift from her eyes to her lips. She couldn’t let herself connect with him. You’ll have to find help elsewhere.” Before he could say more, she stepped away to check a delivery sheet.
When she heard his footsteps, knew he was moving away, she breathed easier. He was asking too much of her. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to her psychic power if she wanted to make a home in Rumor. Too many years of moving around, she assumed, made her want to stay. She wanted to feel as if she belonged somewhere. And she could lose her chance to have that because of him, because of what he wanted from her.
Colby mumbled to himself during the drive home. One look at her eyes had almost made a believer out of him. Gray, disturbing, they seemed to see inside him. Could she read minds? How in the devil had she known he was thinking about the storeroom having once been the kitchen?
He gave his head a mental shake as he passed under the arched Double H at the entrance of the ranch. The mistake was that he’d taken a lengthy view of her in the snug jeans and bright yellow T-shirt. She hadn’t looked like a kook.
He braked near the stable and climbed out of the truck. Standing on the dirt drive, he shaded eyes against a bright sun. Wide-open rangeland blended with distant buttes. He scanned the corral, the bunkhouse and stables. This was a world he understood. This was where he belonged.
He shouldn’t have gone to her store. Blame it on the heat, he mused. It had been so hot lately. He wasn’t thinking any more clearly than anyone else right now.
In the barn, hay crunched beneath the soles of his boots while he moved past horse stalls, then grabbed a pitchfork. Second sight. No one had it. What she really was was a modern-day Gypsy of sorts with her fortune-telling and astrological readings.
When she’d spieled off the mumbo jumbo about karma and psychic readings, he’d thought Chelsea had gotten the wrong impression of her. But he wasn’t a dumb man. It hadn’t taken long to guess she’d been acting the nutcase for his benefit. Later, she’d given herself away. Instead of giving him some cunning nonsense about her power allowing her to know his birth sign, she’d surprised him and offered a logical answer. She’d read a newspaper article about him, she’d said.
He poked the pitchfork hard, harder than necessary, into the bed of hay. He rarely lied to himself and couldn’t now. His foul mood had more to do with what hadn’t happened. For a brief moment, right before he’d left, he’d gotten lost in those eyes and had nearly drawn her close just to see her reaction. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, he reminded himself. If he’d felt a heat curling in his gut, blame it on that.
Annoyed with what he viewed as stupid daydreaming, he worked longer than he’d intended. By the time he finished the chore, he needed a shower. Simpler surroundings suited him. He was a man who spent most of the daylight hours outside. His ranch required constant attention.
Colby shook his head with annoyance. He had things to do and lately he’d been distracted from the ranch, in town more than at home. He’d chosen to raise quarter horses. One had faithfully helped him earn plenty of money. They were the cream of rodeo horses, perfect as reining and cutting horses. He’d already had a rancher in Wyoming and a dude ranch owner in Colorado contact him because the horses were great on the trail, and some fellow from England had called him about purchasing a few for hunts.
In
