I think it’s because of his father and how he was killed.”
Isabella snorted. “Thousands of people have lost loved ones to a drunk driver. John is no different. And that happened thirty years ago! John was only a baby. He didn’t even know his father.”
“And you never knew yours,” Alona added regretfully. “Both of my children were raised without fathers.” A wistful look filled her eyes. “That’s not what I would have chosen for either of you.”
Alona’s husband and John’s father, Lee, had been killed when John was only two years old. Some time afterwards, Alona had become involved with Isabella’s father, a rich, prominent white man, who’d refused, even until his death, to acknowledge his half-Apache daughter. Alona rarely ever brought up the subjects of Lee Corrales or Winston Jones. Isabella wasn’t exactly sure why her mother had mentioned the two men today.
“Oh Mother, you’ve done your very best with me and John. And you’re a good example of the fact that a woman doesn’t need a man to survive.”
Alona shot her daughter a reproving look. “Bella, I haven’t chosen to be single all these years. I would have preferred to have a man at my side. But good men are hard to find.”
“Amen to that,” Isabella said with conviction before she tilted the glass of tea to her lips.
Alona rolled her dark eyes. “I guess this means you’re not seeing Brett anymore.”
Shaking her head, Isabella stirred the sugar up from the bottom of her glass. Thank goodness she hadn’t been foolish enough to fall in love with the Dona Ana deputy before she’d learned exactly how he felt about her plans to return to the reservation.
There’s no way I’d bury myself in some dirty, dusty little town filled with nothing but Indians.
Months had passed since she’d broken their relationship, but his words still haunted and sickened her. She was half-Indian, she’d reminded him. But he’d argued it wasn’t the same. She was a civilized Apache. She was educated. She knew more about life than just raising goats and drinking whiskey.
Shaking away the awful memory, she said, “He was just a friend, Mother. And now that I’ve left Las Cruces, I doubt I’ll ever talk to him again.”
Alona made a tsking noise of disapproval. “A beautiful woman like you without a man. It’s indecent.”
Isabella wrinkled her nose playfully at her mother. Alona could pass for thirty-five and when the two of them were out together she turned as many male heads as Isabella. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Alona chuckled. “Don’t try being a lawyer and twisting my words back at me.”
“But I am a lawyer,” Isabella pointed out. “And that’s what keeps me happy. I don’t need a man hanging around me, trying his best to break my heart.”
Sighing, Alona folded her fingers together and rested them on the tabletop. “So tell me about this new case you’ve taken on. I take it that’s why you can only stay one night?”
Isabella reached back and pulled the beaded barrette from her hair. Once the shiny black strands were loose, she twisted the whole lot into a bun at the back of her head and refastened it with the barrette. The cool air blowing through the open window felt good against her bared neck.
“That’s right. I’ve got to be back at the T Bar K by tomorrow afternoon.”
Concern suddenly shadowed Alona’s dark eyes. “I’ve heard about that ranch before. It’s enormous and those people who own it are rich. They also have a reputation for being rough.”
Ross Ketchum’s outward appearance might be described as rough. He was certainly a physical man. But Isabella figured if she looked beneath the chaps and spurs and battered cowboy hat, she’d find he was as slick as a snake and more clever than a wily coyote.
“Neal assures me that the Ketchum family is upright. Otherwise, I would have never agreed to help Ross.”
Alona’s eyes narrowed as she studied her daughter. “Have you met this man yet?”
She’d more than met Ross Ketchum, Isabella thought. She’d collided with the man. All through her drive here to the reservation, he’d pestered her thoughts. And she had to admit, if only to herself, that she’d never encountered anyone like him.
“Yes. Today.”
Alona sighed. “Well, I understand that once you decided to become a defense attorney, you’d eventually be rubbing elbows with all sorts of people. I guess I just didn’t expect you to jump feetfirst into a murder case.”
Isabella smiled. It wasn’t like her mother to dramatize anything. “It’s attempted murder, Mother.”
“Yes, but I hear that a dead man was found on the T Bar K about a month ago. And they’re saying his death was a murder.”
“It’s amazing how news travels,” Isabella remarked with dismay. “Especially bad news.”
“I saw it on the Farmington evening newscast.”
There wasn’t any point in trying to hide the disturbing information from Alona. Especially when it was already being spread through the media. “Okay, you heard right,” Isabella admitted. “But the specifics of that case haven’t been made privy to me yet. And anyway, I’m not at all certain that the under-sheriff’s shooting has any connection to the homicide.”
Alona looked completely befuddled. “How can you say that? It looks pretty obvious to me that the incidents are connected.”
“Sometimes things are too obvious, Mother. That’s why I plan to do a lot of investigating. To see what’s hidden underneath all that obvious stuff.”
“What is this Ketchum man like?” Alona asked curiously.
Isabella drummed her fingers on the tabletop. She wasn’t about to let her mother know the man had left her trembling, literally. Alona would take the tidbit of information and run with it in all the wrong directions. For years now her mother had wanted her to get married and produce a brood of children.
Shrugging one shoulder, she said, “Oh, he was nothing special. Just a typical cowboy.”
Alona eyed her skeptically. “Is that why you’re all dressed up today? Because you met with this typical cowboy?”
Isabella glanced down at her dress. At least she’d managed to brush away the specks of dirt that had flown up from the hooves of Ross’s horse once she’d gotten back into the car.
“I’m an attorney, Mother,” Isabella said primly. “I have to dress accordingly.”
A wide smile spread across Alona’s face. “Of course you do. And I’m sure that typical cowboy thought you were very beautiful.”
Had he? Isabella wondered. He’d called her beautiful, but he’d probably mouthed those words to dozens of women. Especially when he wanted one to agree to his terms.
“Ross Ketchum doesn’t care what I look like. In fact, I had to do some fast talking just to hold on to
