Stockman’s Showdown (The Stockmen #4)

Seventeen

At the open doorway of the newly renovated boys’ boardroom, Bree hesitated. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. All day, she’d been avoiding the Riggs brothers—helping Charlie, sorting out orders, and trying to figure out why Leo was stealing water from the dam.

She’d assumed Monet had already told them about the gunshots. Letting them stew over that for a few hours had seemed wise, especially if she was about to add fuel to the fire by mentioning the sneaky pipeline.

Even though Bree was used to handling problems on her own, they needed to know.

She leaned against the doorjamb where Dex and Ryder were busy with some paperwork. ‘Knock. Knock. Hello, children, and what mischief have we been up to today?’

‘Bree?’ Ryder was holding a black-and-white photo. He didn’t just glance at her, he gave her a full-minute detailed inspection.

She felt positively naked in her welding pants and sweaty work shirt, that he’d made sexy under that glare—until she recognised the man in the photo Ryder was holding.

‘What are you doing with my great-uncle’s photo? And this room?’ It might not be hers, but she’d spent a lot of time and effort creating it for Ryder. They’d pushed the workbenches to one side to clear the floor space. That’s when it clicked. ‘You’re going over the murder scene.’

The last time anyone had tried to map out the murder scene was when she’d interrupted Policeman Porter and Charlie, back when Dex was dragging around an oxygen tank like a puppy.

At that stage she’d been more worried about getting busted for her illegal gin still than a sixty-year-old murder mystery, especially when she’d assumed her Great-Uncle Harry had done the wrong thing.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

It was enough to make her roll her heavy shoulders where guilt had nestled in for the long haul, for ever thinking badly of Harry like that, and for not believing her grandfather in the first place. It was enough for her to call a truce of sorts, to try and play nice with Ryder so she could get involved in solving this murder mystery, in the hope of clearing her great-uncle’s name.

‘We are. And I had these brought in for you.’ Ryder lifted the lid of a white cardboard cakebox, its edges slightly frayed from being jostled around, but the contents inside were nothing short of perfect: a dozen cupcakes.

Oh, heavenly sweet cakes. ‘Are these train station Lucy’s cupcakes?’

Ryder shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes at the man who she’d never imagined holding a cakebox filled with assorted scrumptious cupcakes that sang sweet promises full of flavour. Oh, how she loved those dainty, feel-good party cakes.

Hold on. Had someone told Ryder about her love for cupcakes?

‘What do you want?’ She narrowed her eyes at the cunning male.

‘I just want to talk.’ Ryder even pulled out a chair for her to take a seat at the table.

‘What about?’

‘I have a list.’

‘You always have a list.’ She pointed to his large whiteboard listing out the station’s various projects. It was a to-do list that never ended.

‘This is a different list.’ The ways his hips swayed as he walked with those strong thighs, was a thirst trap as he approached the coffee machine.

Now that’s how you wear a pair of jeans.

‘Coffee?’

‘Sure.’ She dropped into her seat, anything to stop looking at Ryder. ‘Are you in on this too, Dex?’

‘Would you shoot me if I was? But I wasn’t.’

‘Go on, eat one.’ Ryder put a coffee mug down in front of her and dragged the cakebox closer. She could smell their divine sweetness, each one uniquely decorated, promising a burst of flavour.

There was a rich red velvet cupcake, its crimson hue highlighted by a swirl of velvety cream-cheese frosting. Next to it, a chocolate ganache glistened like liquid silk beneath a delicate chocolate curl. There was a lemon meringue, perched atop a zesty lemon base. A coffee and walnut creation stood near the white chocolate glossy glazed cupcake, and so many more. Bree’s mouth watered.

The big man then placed one of the fluffy, buttery delicacies on a napkin and gently placed it in her hands. ‘Eat.’

No one did that for her. Leaving her to marvel at how gentle Ryder was with his touch.

‘If you insist…’ She grinned as she used the tip of her finger to taste the butter cream and recited her favourite prayer. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these mixed groups of sugars in the holy art of cupcake heaven. May our cholesterol and blood pressure remain steady for another day.’ Bree bit into her frosty cupcake, her eyes rolling with pleasure.

Dex sniggered behind his mug as he rocked on his chair. But it was Ryder’s deep chuckle that did something to her insides, especially when his eyes crinkled with amusement.

She washed it down with a mouthful of coffee. They made good coffee. ‘Well okay then, seeing as how I’m always up for bribery and corruption,’ she said, guessing this was their master plan, ‘we’ll go question for question. You can ask me something, and then I’ll ask you something.’

‘Deal.’ Ryder said that way too fast, when he usually preferred to answer questions with a question, to avoid spilling the details.

‘Do you want a cupcake, cupcake?’ Never had she been more satisfied with his do not test me glare .

‘Do you have the email address for Elsie Creek Station?’

‘I do.’ She pinched a piece of paper and a pen off the boardroom table and scribbled down the details. ‘This is the sign-in, and the password. I used to monitor it for Darcie and Charlie to manage the station’s correspondence and bills, and I’ve been babysitting it at the request of the trust lawyer.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us sooner?’

‘You never asked. And I kept forgetting.’ She took another bite of her delicious cupcake. It was a rich and moist carrot cake, made with almond flour and coconut oil that was such a delicious combination, she’d eat a dozen if she wasn’t careful. ‘My turn. Was Monet here earlier? I saw her plane flying over.’

‘She was here.’ Ryder’s scowl was ferocious, with Dex’s just as bad.

Bree used the napkin to brush away the crumbs. ‘What’s going on, Dex?’

‘Leo shot at Monet’s plane, clipped her wing. I had to repair it before she could fly home.’

‘Is Monet okay?’ She leaned forward, full of concern. Not only was Monet their favourite bush pilot, but Monet was also a friend of the family who loved her cocktails and music as much as Bree did. Liquid lunches with Monet had been known to roll into days.

‘Monet’s fine,’ replied Dex. ‘She went home.’

‘Good.’ Bree calmed her fears, licking the icing from her fingers, well aware that the following words were going to push their buttons. ‘I heard those gunshots.’