soon to be born. “Aww, Tawny.” Emily bent and gently stroked the cat, who started up a rumbling purr and leaned against Emily’s legs. “It won’t be long now, will it?” Emily crooned, feeling the kittens shift beneath her hand. She’d have to make sure Tawny had a warm, comfortable place to give birth.
She straightened and several of the family’s horses poked their heads over the tops of their stalls. Witchy, in an end stall on the left-hand side, whinnied softly and stamped against the concrete floor of her stall.
Emily slipped into the stall and greeted Witchy, patting her neck, then bent to examine the bandaged front pastern. It no longer felt hot or swollen, though Darcy had recommended wrapping it for a few weeks longer to provide extra support. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. For a brief period during her childhood, she had considered studying to be a veterinarian, but had quickly ruled out any job that required dealing with animals’ suffering.
“Are you contemplating climbing down out of your ivory tower and hiring on as the newest ranch hand?”
Emily froze as Brodie’s oh-so-familiar teasing tone and velvety voice flowed around her like salted caramel—both sweet and biting. She was aware of her position, bent over with her backside facing the stall door, where she sensed him standing. She turned her head, and sure enough, Brodie had leaned over the top half of the stall door, grinning, the cat cradled in his arms.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she released her hold on the horse’s leg and straightened. “Brodie, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He stroked the cat under the chin. Tawny closed her eyes and purred even louder. Emily had an uncomfortable memory of Brodie stroking her—eliciting a response not unlike that of the cat. “I was looking for you,” he said. “Someone told me you’re in charge of a bonfire and barbecue here Wednesday.”
“Yes.” She took a lead rope from a peg just outside the stall door and clipped it onto Witchy’s halter. The mare regarded her with big gold-brown eyes like warm honey. “What about it?”
“I was hoping to wrangle an invite, since I’m staying on the ranch. It would be awkward if I felt the need to lock myself in my cabin for the evening.”
She slid back the latch on the door and pushed it open, forcing Brodie to stand aside, then led the mare out. “I have to exercise Witchy,” she said.
He gave the cat a last pat, then set her gently aside and fell into step beside Emily, matching his long strides to her own shorter ones. “I didn’t realize you were staying at the ranch,” she said. He hadn’t been at dinner last night, but then, neither had Travis. The two men had been working on the case. Frankly, she was shocked her parents had invited Brodie to stay. They certainly had no love lost for him, after what had happened between him and Emily.
“When the CBI agreed to send an investigator to help with the Ice Cold Killer case, Travis asked your parents if they could provide a place for the officer to stay. They were kind enough to offer up one of their guest cabins.”
“Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you in town?” she asked.
“There aren’t any rooms in town,” Brodie said. “They’re all full of people stranded here by the road closure. I imagine that will change now that the avalanches have been cleared and it’s safe to travel again, but in the meantime, your folks were gracious enough to let me stay.” He fell silent, but she could feel his eyes on her, heating her neck and sending prickles of awareness along her arms. “Does it bother you, having me here?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
She led Witchy out of the barn, along a fenced passage to a covered arena. Brodie moved forward to open the gate for her. “Are you going to ride her?” he asked.
Emily shook her head. “She’s still recovering from an injury. But I need to walk her around the arena for a few laps.”
“I’ll walk with you.” He didn’t bother asking permission—men like Brodie didn’t ask. He wasn’t cruel or demanding or even particularly arrogant. He just accepted what people—women—had always given him—attention, time, sex. All he had to do was smile and flash those sea-blue eyes and most women would give him anything he wanted.
She had been like that, too, so she understood the magnetism of the man. But she wasn’t that adoring girl anymore, and she knew to be wary. “Of course you can come to the bonfire,” she said. “It’s really no big deal.”
She began leading the mare around the arena, watching the horse for any sign of pain or weakness, but very aware of the man beside her. “Tell me about Alex Woodruff,” he said.
The question startled her, so much that she stumbled. She caught herself and continued on as if nothing had happened. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”
“I’ve been reviewing all the case notes. He was here, at the scavenger hunt the day Fiona Winslow was killed.”
“Yes. He and his friend Tim were here. I invited them.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I knew the road closure had stranded them here and I felt sorry for them, stuck in a small town where they didn’t know many people. I figured the party would be something fun for them to do, and a way to meet some local people near their age.” She cut her gaze over to him. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”
He did that annoying thing Travis sometimes did, answering a question with a question. “You knew Alex and Tim from the university?”
“I didn’t really know them.” She stopped and bent to run her hand down Witchy’s leg, feeling for any warmth or swelling or sign of inflammation. “They both signed up as volunteers for research we were doing. Lots of students do. Most of the studies only pay five to ten dollars, but the work isn’t hard and cash is cash to a broke student.”
“What kind of research?” Brodie asked.
She straightened and looked him in the eye. She loved her work and could talk about it with almost anyone. If she talked long enough, maybe he’d get bored and leave. “I’m studying behavioral economics. It’s sort of a melding of traditional psychology and economics. We look at how people make the buying decisions they make and why. Almost every choice has a price attached to it, and it can be interesting what motivates people to act one way versus another.”
“How did Alex and Tim hear about your experiments?”
“We have flyers all over campus, and on social media.” She shrugged. “They were both psychology majors, so I think the research appealed to them. I ran into Alex in a coffee shop on campus two days later and he had a lot of intelligent questions about what we were doing.”
“Maybe he had studied so he’d have questions prepared so he could keep you talking,” Brodie said. “Maybe he was flirting with you.”
“Oh, please.” She didn’t hide her scorn for this idea. “He was not flirting. If anything, he was showing off.”
One eyebrow rose a scant quarter inch—enough to make him look even cockier than usual. “Showing off is some men’s idea of flirting.”
“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?”
His wicked grin sent a current
