her debacle with Jarrod, she wasn’t sure she was up to the task of looking for one. Finding a husband meant putting her heart on the line again. It would take a special man to coax her to venture toward marriage. As of yet, God hadn’t brought such a man into her life. Maybe He never would.
Quietly she turned away from the touching sight and headed upstairs to shower and dress for the day.
An hour later, she headed outside dressed in thick wool cargo pants, a Dri-FIT T-shirt beneath a fleece pullover, a parka and insulated boots. She walked to the barn in search of Wyatt.
She came across her uncle in one of the stalls with a huge, beautiful black stallion. He pawed at the ground as Uncle Carl brushed his coat.
Leaning on the stall door, Jackie said, “He’s gorgeous. What’s his name?”
Carl smiled. “Alexander. He’s a studhorse. We’re getting him ready for a live cover in a few weeks.”
“Do I want to know what that is?” she asked.
He laughed. “Making baby horses.”
“Ah. Enough said.” She glanced around. “Have you seen Wyatt?”
“May not be back from feeding the cattle.”
The scuff of a boot on dirt alerted Jackie just as Wyatt said, “I’m right here.”
Jackie turned around to find herself nose to chest with Wyatt. The scent of him, spicy and masculine, sent a shiver sliding over her. She tilted her head back. “Careful, cowboy. Sneaking up on me could get you hurt.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a slight twitch to his lips.
She planted her hand on his chest and applied pressure. She was more annoyed by her reaction to him than his closeness. “A little space, buckaroo, if you don’t mind.”
He grinned outright but stepped back. “You were looking for me?”
Trying to ignore how his devastating grin played havoc with her pulse, she strived for an authoritative tone. “I want you to take me to see where George Herman lived.”
His grin evaporated. He gave her a curt nod. “What do you hope to find?”
“Something—anything—to indicate why he was killed.”
“I’m sure the police have gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”
“True, but they didn’t have you along.”
“I’ve already told you, we weren’t close.”
“No, but you knew the man for twenty years. Maybe you’ll see something that seems normal to anyone else, but you know it is out of place for him.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “Okay. Let’s go. While we’re out, we’ll also check the feed shed.”
Pleased by his proactiveness, she smiled. “Good idea.”
“But I’m driving.”
“Knock yourself out, cowboy.” She followed him out of the barn to a dark blue 4x4 truck on steroids. Huge treaded tires, like ones on a tractor, dwarfed the body of the vehicle.
“You drive a monster truck?”
“When I need to get out on the land.” He shrugged. “Besides, my regular rig is in police custody.”
Right. The truck they’d found the incriminating knife in.
He came around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Need a lift?”
In her younger days, a remark such as that would have earned him a right jab or a stomp to his insole. Maturity had cooled her temper and allowed her to see the offer for what it was—politeness. “I can manage, thank you.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a half step back.
Thankfully, a bar jutted out of the side of the cab near the door. She reached up, barely managed to grab the bar, then swung one foot up to the running board, nearly doing the splits, and pulled herself up. Standing on the running board, she glanced back at Wyatt.
His lips twitched. “I’m duly impressed.”
“You should be,” she shot back and slid into the passenger seat. Good thing she stretched every day. That stunt could have seriously hurt.
He shut the door, came around to the driver’s side and hefted himself up into the seat. The truck’s engine rumbled like a pride of hungry lions.
“Do you enter this bad boy in monster-truck rallies or something?”
He scoffed. “No. Not my thing.”
Somehow she didn’t think so. Wyatt struck her as the homebody type. A man who liked his castle and didn’t need to show off his testosterone to feel like a man. Not that she thought he was a wimp. There was strength in his hands, his arms. After her shower this morning, from her bedroom window, she’d watched him hefting hay bales from the back of a truck. The man was strong. Probably knew how to throw a punch, too.
But was he good with knives?
She’d give him the benefit of the doubt because she trusted her aunt and uncle implicitly. However, she would still need evidence. Her training wouldn’t let her get away with less.
And so far that evidence pointed toward a setup.
But the question was, who was the mastermind? Someone out to get Wyatt? Or Wyatt trying to make it seem as if someone else was setting him up?
They drove to what looked like a small subdivision about ten minutes from the main house. “Are we still on your property?”
“Yes. These homes are leased to the ranch hands.”
“You provide your hands with their own homes on your land?”
“I do. Keeps them close, and they have a place to call their own for as long as they work on the Monroe ranch.”
“I’m impressed,” she admitted.
He slid her a glance. “Thanks.”
She popped open the door.
Putting a hand on her arm, he said, “Let me help you down, okay? Wouldn’t want you to twist an ankle or something.”
Heat from his touch penetrated the layers of clothes and seared her skin. “Uh, sure.”
He climbed out, leaving behind a cold spot where his hand had been. Disconcerted by her reaction, she undid her seat belt, slid out onto the running board and waited for him to join her. He placed his hand on her waist. She settled her hands on his shoulders. Awareness shimmered over her, and attraction arced like a neon streak. She was surprised they weren’t glowing.
He easily lifted her off the running board and slowly lowered
