looked past Ryan, his face taut with emotion—rage? Worry? She couldn’t be sure—and met the cool, implacable gaze of Richard Murphy.
At least that’s who she thought the man sitting at the head of the long table, radiating authority like a lord over his fiefdom, must be.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said. “I was looking for a Mr. Richard Murphy.”
She hadn’t been wrong. The man pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That’d be me.”
“I’m—”
“Becca Reynolds. Ryan here was telling us all about you.”
Becca took in the way Ryan’s mouth turned down even more at the corners.
He’s not happy about whatever is going on.
“Well, good. That saves me the trouble of explaining things. I was wondering if you’d be available to show me your…infestation later today.”
“We all will. Right, boys? We certainly want to cooperate with Miss Reynolds so she can get her job done.”
“That’s—that’s great.” This was creepy, the way the men around the table—including Jack MacIntosh—all nodded enthusiastically at Murphy’s directive, though their expressions looked anything but.
“Uh…Becca. You said you had some more questions for me. We can handle them now, if you want to follow me back out to the farm. Or are you here for breakfast?”
Ryan’s voice seemed strange, forced. Was he following orders or just using her as a handy excuse to ditch the meeting?
It didn’t matter. She knew him in a way she didn’t know the other men in the room. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she’d get the full story out of Ryan quicker than she would anyone else. She was convinced he wanted to tell her the deal.
Or maybe you’re just fooling yourself.
“Sure, I’ll follow you. I’ve already eaten.”
Ryan threw down a couple of bills onto the Formica table. He exchanged a long look with Jack, but he didn’t, she noticed, say goodbye to anyone. Everyone else seemed to be waiting for her to get out the door so they could resume the meeting.
“Looking forward to seeing you later today, Miss Reynolds. Just come on when you will.”
Murphy’s invitation reeked of phony goodwill as his words didn’t match the hard, speculative light in his eyes.
“I’ll do that, Mr. Murphy. Ryan? If you’re ready?”
They headed outside into the early-morning sunlight. She took a stab at loosening some details from Ryan.
“I didn’t mean to drag you away from your breakfast buddies.”
“They’re not my buddies,” he growled.
Well. That was a reaction. It cheered her immeasurably, save for a niggling doubt about what Ryan’s cousin had been doing there. She tackled Ryan about it. “Not your buddies? What about Jack?”
Ryan’s dark glower morphed into worry. That was then smoothed into something more inscrutable. “He was probably there for the same reason as me—waiting to see what Murphy had to say.”
Maybe. But Jack did sell insurance—though not for crops—and he wasn’t happy to have someone poking around. She’d need to keep an eye on Jack.
The thought that someone other than Ryan could be the focus of the scam eased some of the anxiety eating at Becca. She’d spent an insomnia-plagued night second-guessing herself, and then had been awoken at 6:00 a.m. by her dad’s phone call.
Becca hadn’t exactly lied to him, she just hadn’t spilled the whole truth. It was too complicated, and she wanted to figure out a few things first. He’d been satisfied to hear that she thought something hinky was going on.
“Thought so,” her father had said. “Mighty funny that a guy with MacIntosh’s know-how is at the epicenter of a bunch of claims on some parasitic plant. Mark my words, he’s in it up to his neck.”
Becca looked at Ryan now. She prayed that he’d talk to her, come clean about whatever had been said in that room. If it were a conspiracy, he would be considered just as guilty as the rest of them if he knew what was going on and said nothing.
“Mee-Maw wanted me to invite you to lunch today. It’s leftovers, mind you, but Mee-Maw’s leftovers are better than a lot of people’s fresh-cooked.”
“I’ll definitely take her up on it.”
“She likes you.”
What about you, Ryan? Do you like me? Don’t you see any of Sunny in me? Won’t you trust me?
“Ryan!” a woman called from the diner’s door. She hurried over to where Becca and Ryan stood.
“Charlotte, I told you—”
“I know, I know. I’m a worrywart, and you want me to quit nagging you about J.T.”
J.T. again. Becca tried to fade into the background to hear anything that might prove enlightening.
Ryan shot a sideways glance toward Becca. Was he in a hurry to cut the waitress’ conversation short?
“I promise, when I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know,” he answered the woman cryptically. “Becca? Are you ready? I’m already so far behind I’ll never get caught up.”
With that, he strode off toward his pickup.
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