No, he thought. No, I don’t.
* * *
She watched Barrett exhale long and slow. He couldn’t be older than his early thirties but there was a deep storehouse of grief and fatigue in his electric-blue eyes that made her wonder. He rubbed a hand over his chin as if to smooth away some painful thought.
“Not the time. If you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you to the hospital, or you’re welcome to wait here for the police.”
“I don’t need a hospital. I need to get back. The police can talk to me at Uncle Ken’s house.” She stood. “I’m okay and I can find my own way to my car.”
“Begging your pardon, but I’ll escort you.”
“Not necessary.”
Barrett didn’t answer.
Evie appeared to have recovered her composure. “We will bring you your clothes when they’re dry.”
“Thank you very much, but I can pick them up. You have all been extremely kind. I can’t thank you enough.”
Evie took her by the hand. There was something forced in her smile and it made Shelby sad. For a few minutes, it had been nice to feel like someone’s daughter again. It pained her that somehow things had changed, though she didn’t know why.
“That’s what neighbors do,” Evie said. “Barrett will see you back.”
Barrett stood stiffly by the door.
“Hey,” Owen said, moving close to his brother. Shelby noted he had a pronounced limp. “I can take her,” he said quietly, but Shelby heard him anyway.
Barrett shook his head. “I got this.”
What was it about her relationship with Uncle Ken that had instantaneously set up a wall between her and the Thorn family?
It’s not your problem. You’re here for Uncle Ken. The Thorns could put up walls for whatever reason and it was of no consequence to her. At the moment, her entire life goal was to get back to her uncle’s place and enjoy the hottest shower she could stand.
Barrett led her outside. As she passed the foyer, she caught the scent of pine from a Christmas tree. It was standing in the corner of the room, festooned with ornaments. On the fireplace mantel, green branches were trimmed with tiny red glass balls. A framed photo graced the mantel, a grinning Barrett without the cowboy hat, his arm around a young woman, radiant in a wedding dress, her long hair pinned back with white roses. She was lovely. Barrett flicked her a glance, catching Shelby looking at the picture. She looked away and followed him outside.
The rain had slackened off to a weak sprinkle. The events of the day overwhelmed her as her mind spooled through the memories. A sudden blow to the head, the sensation of being hauled into her trunk, the awful sound of the lid slamming shut.
The attack had been from Joe Hatcher, she was sure of it, but why? Just to keep her away from the mine? Out of greed? Anger at her perceived trespassing? Or perhaps he had some deep-seated resentment about her uncle, too?
“You ride?” Barrett said, pulling her back to the present.
“Since I was a kid,” she said. That was probably overstating. She’d slacked off on her riding since her youth when she would visit her uncle in the summertime, but she found herself wanting to prove her worth to Barrett Thorn. Bad enough that he’d had to rescue her from a locked trunk and lug her out of a ravine. She couldn’t leave him thinking she was some flimsy damsel-in-distress type.
He untied the horse that Jack had been riding. “Lady is a gentle ride.”
She was right. He did think she was clueless. Ignoring his offered hand, she put her foot in the stirrup and climbed onto the saddle.
Barrett mounted his horse and clicked his tongue at the big animal.
Shelby was grateful that the rain had tapered off. Moonlight cast a weak glow over the landscape as they trailed back to where she’d parked her car. Her own stupid mistake made her groan inwardly. Some assayer. Hadn’t even realized she’d strayed onto Hatcher’s property.
Determined not to incur any more embarrassment for one evening, she slipped off Lady and handed the reins to Barrett. He was a giant astride the big horse, and as immovable as a cliff.
“Thank you again,” she said. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“Don’t owe me anything. I’ll help you find your keys or maybe I can hot-wire it.”
“No need for you to stay. I’ll find them.”
He ignored her, dismounting and beginning a search of the wet ground.
She hesitated, curiosity burning inside. “Barrett, what do you have against my uncle?”
He looked away. “Don’t need to talk about that now.”
“It’s not likely we’re going to do much chatting in the future.” That got no reaction. “So tell me. If you have a beef against Uncle Ken, then I have a right to know. He’s my only family.”
Barrett’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “No disrespect intended, ma’am, but you don’t have a right to know.”
She folded her arms, her pulse kicking up. “If Uncle Ken has an enemy right next door, then it is my business.”
Barrett looked down at her, considering, shoulders a broad, tense wall against the night sky. He blew out a breath. “All right. You want to know so bad, I’ll tell you.”
She waited quietly.
“Ken’s son killed my wife.”
The words dropped like stones. Killed my wife. She found herself unable to speak. An endless moment passed between them but she could not think of a single response.
“Let’s find those keys,” he finally said.
Her thoughts ran rampant as they searched. Glass littered the ground from where Barrett had broken the window.
Her cousin Devon had killed Barrett Thorn’s wife? She flashed back to the photo she’d seen, a radiant bride and her handsome groom. With a surge of guilt, she realized she hadn’t been back to her uncle’s ranch in so long that she had only known the barest hint about what was going on in the lives of Uncle Ken and Devon.
She’d known Devon had gone to prison for causing an accident that had killed a woman, but she did not know the particulars. The times she’d called, Uncle Ken had steadfastly refused to discuss it.
Still lost in thought, she found her pack under a nearby shrub. There was no sign of her samples, but everything else was there.
Barrett held the reins of the two horses in his hands. He looked somewhere over her head, anywhere but in her eyes.
“I’ll wait until you get your car started,” he said. “Good night, Miss Arroyo.”
In his
