Chapter Eight
Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming into the open doorway as Clancy stepped into the barn. She was hit with the strong scent of hay and horses, both familiar to her since her father had been a rodeo cowboy.
She spotted Dub standing in the tack room doorway, his back to her.
She studied him, watching the muscles of his back, shoulders and arms rippling as he swung a large saddle up to its spot on the shelf.
She liked seeing him in his element. In truth, she just liked seeing him.
Yesterday, she’d thought she would never see him again.
“Do you need to call someone and let them know where you are?” Dub asked, his back still to her.
She froze, surprised that he knew she was standing there, but also taken aback by how true his words were. She didn’t really have anyone she could call because she had a tendency to burn bridges behind her.
Clancy hated that she didn’t have that many people in her life whom she could call.
She’d phoned Sarah, a new friend, but one she knew she would lose touch with the moment she left here.
She’d always been rootless, even after growing up in Dry Gulch her entire life.
She told herself that she didn’t get close to people because she was like her father, always leaving soon.
The truth was she didn’t get close because she was afraid of being left by herself.
She knew it was from her father. The day he left when she was eight was the worst day of her life.
She’d always had her cousin Goldie, but now Goldie was married to Max and they were about to have their first child.
She’d felt like she was in the way, so she’d leased the small house her mother had left her and gone to Grass Range as if the answer was here.
“You aren’t happy, Clancy,” Goldie had said to her before she left. “Do something about that. It’s your life. Stop blaming your father or even your mother. What is it you’re looking for? Go find it. I want you to be happy.”
Big surprise, she hadn’t found it in Grass Range any more than she had in Dry Gulch. Maybe it wasn’t her location. Maybe it was her.
When she didn’t answer, Dub turned around to face her. “I can help you,” Dub said, jerking her out of her thoughts.
She tried to swallow the lump that had quickly risen in her throat at his words. “I must look like I need help.” She tried to laugh it off as she glanced down at the too-large overalls and barn jacket to the mud boots on her feet. “Is it the way I fill out these clothes?”
But when she looked up and saw his face, she saw his serious expression hadn’t changed. She instantly missed his grin.
He took a step in her direction. “Have you always disliked cowboys?” he asked as if he seriously wanted to know.
She shook her head. “It wasn’t anything personal.”
“Really, you didn’t have a cowboy boyfriend who broke your heart? No? What did your father do for a living?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed and looked away, uncomfortable talking about her father, especially to Dub. “He rodeoed and worked some as a ranch hand.”
“So, he’s the cowboy who broke your heart,” Dub said.
She shot him a look, about to argue, but the words stuck in her throat.
She had been heartbroken when her father left.
Her mother had wanted it that way and quickly found someone else.
No wonder Clancy had shied away from cowboys.
No wonder she thought the happy life she dreamed of was far away from rural Montana.
“Unless there have been others who broke your heart?” he asked, his eyes bright under the brim of this Stetson.
She shook her head. “Nope, I’ve stayed clear of them.”
“Just like you’re trying to stay clear of me. Are you really moving to Billings?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be working?” she asked, wanting to change the subject as she glanced around the barn. Anything was preferable to looking at this man. He confused her, made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, kept her off-balance. She was pretty sure that none of that was good.
Although now she felt a little guilty that she hadn’t given him a chance when he asked her out all those times.
She had been tempted, given that he made her mouth go dry, her knees weak and her insides like lava.
He wasn’t like any man she’d ever met, let alone any cowboy.
Dub Crawford made her pulse beat faster and desire flare bright inside her.
He wasn’t just good-looking, though he was that, and he did fill out his Wranglers quite nicely with those long legs and that perfect behind, but it was the undefinable that tempted her.
He felt like the kind of man who would keep surprising a woman for years to come.
“If this is about me turning you down for a date…” she began. “I really thought I wouldn’t be staying around, so why start up something?”
He leaned against the stall door, openly studied her. “What are you looking for, Clanc?”
No one had ever called her Clanc. No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her right now.
Her chest hurt as she tried to breathe; her pulse thumped in her ears.
She opened her mouth to answer his question, then closed it.
He wasn’t asking for the worn-out story she’d told too many times.
She had no idea what she was looking for.
She’d felt lost for so long. She realized she’d been running scared even before Esther’s murder and right now was not the time to be making rash decisions about some cowboy.
“I have a bad feeling that you’re in trouble,” he said quietly as he took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. “I know you don’t trust me, me being a cowboy and you disliking the whole bunch of us, but I could help you because unless I’m dead wrong, you need help.”
The closer he got, the harder her heart banged against her ribs, making it feel impossible to take a breath.
She’d felt so alone for so long, pushing away anyone who got too close.
But Sarah had managed to get through the barriers and become her friend.
Now Dub was storming the castle, and he was the man she hadn’t wanted to push away—just the opposite.
Dub made her ache to confide in him as he moved within inches of her, so close she could kiss him.
Kissing him was exactly what she wanted to do.
But she also desperately wanted to tell him everything, to put her troubles on his broad shoulders, maybe even feel his arms around her as she leaned into him.
But when she opened her mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Dub and his father had been so kind to her, yet she’d brought her troubles right into their house.
She couldn’t involve Dub, especially since she had no idea just what she’d stepped into back at the rest home.
But she knew it was bad—two women were dead.
Her only hope was that Max would find the killer by the time the bridge was fixed and she could leave here.
“I’m fine,” she said even as her voice broke. She saw the disappointment in Dub’s eyes that she wouldn’t trust him. A piece of her heart broke off and dropped away. He was a good man like his father and she’d hurt him. “Please,” she said. “Put me to work.”
Dub nodded slowly, clearly not buying it as he reached into his jeans hip pocket, jerked out a pair of work gloves and tossed them to her. “I’ve already mucked out most of the stalls, but you’re welcome to finish the job. Shovels over there with the wheelbarrow. Holler if you need me.”
As he turned away, she fought the impulse to call him back before it was too late.
She watched his broad back retreat deeper into the barn before she headed for the shovel and wheelbarrow.
She’d learned at a young age not to depend on anyone but herself.
She was going to have to figure things out on her own.
She couldn’t dump her problems on these people who’d been nice to her.
As she began to shovel out a stall, she told herself that the best thing she could do was hope the bridge was fixed soon and she could leave before she hurt them. She hated to think about Dub’s and his father’s reaction when they learned just exactly what kind of trouble she was in.
She had to make sure she’d be long gone by then. She couldn’t face their disappointment—or her own.
* * *
MAX THOUGHT HE’D finally gotten lucky on this case when the lab called to say that the blood on the pen found in Jane Cooke’s room wasn’t her own. It wasn’t the same blood type. The blood on the pen had to be the killer’s.
“You’re sure it’s not her blood type?” he had to ask, knowing a prosecutor would ask the same thing.
“The victim’s blood type is O positive, like about thirty-seven percent of the population,” the lab tech explained. “The blood on the pen is O negative. Only thirteen percent of the population has it.”
“What about DNA on the blood on the pen?” Max asked.
“That will take much longer. What I can tell you is that your killer has type O negative blood. Hope that narrows down your suspects for you.”
After he hung up, Max contacted the Shady Rest manager. “I’m guessing you have each resident’s blood type on record.”
“I don’t personally, but Doc probably does,” Vernon said and gave Max the number for Dr. Zeb Frazer, the local retired physician in the area.
Hoping he’d get the break he needed in the case, Max called the doctor. If they had all the residents’ blood types, maybe they’d have their killer.
He felt as if time was running out. He had to find and stop the killer before anyone else died, so he was relieved when the doctor finally arrived.
Dr. Frazer was a short, squat man with white hair and bushy white eyebrows. He had brought over the list of residents’ blood types. It didn’t take long to discover that none of the residents had O negative blood.
“How is that possible?” Max said more to himself than the doctor. “Whoever killed Jane had O negative blood.”
“I’d say that it wasn’t one of the residents,” the doctor ventured with a shrug. “I’ve hardly ever run across a person with O negative blood type.”
“It has to be someone connected to the rest home.” That left the staff, the manager and the doctor. “What’s your blood type, Doc?”
Frazer bristled. “Not O negative.”
“You’re positive none of the residents have O negative?” the sheriff asked, unable to let go of what he’d hoped was going to solve at least one of the murders.
“Not anyone who still lives there,” the doctor said as he put the paperwork he’d brought back into his case. He paused. “I did have one resident with type O negative. As I said, it’s rare. But Mildred Wilson, who died about three weeks ago, was O negative.”
Another dead end, Max thought. It made no sense for the killer not to have a connection to the rest home with two residents murdered. So if not one of the residents, that left the staff.
“I’m going to need a warrant,” Max said more to himself than the doctor. “When I get the court order, I hope you’ll help me get blood samples from everyone here on staff—including yours.”
The doctor made a dismissive sound as he left. Max was sure he was on the right track. None of the residents had killed Jane. That didn’t mean they hadn’t killed Esther, but with the scarf connection, he figured he only had one killer on the loose. At least he hoped that was all.
Now all he had to do was convince a judge to let him get blood samples from the staff and anyone connected to the rest home.
He still didn’t have a motive, though. From what he’d heard about Esther’s thievery and already knew about her personality, he’d assumed there was enough reason for someone to want to kill her. But Jane was another story. If the cases were indeed connected.
The manager seemed to think the rest home was secure after the gates were locked for the day.
But what if people had found a way to get in and out without him aware of it?
Looking outside, he saw that it had finally quit raining.
He mentally kicked himself for not checking the perimeter of the building earlier, but there was no time like the present. He could use some fresh air.
He walked the perimeter. It didn’t take him long to find what he’d feared he would. At one of the exits, not far from Esther’s room, he found how anyone could have come and gone after hours.
Back in Vernon’s office, he asked, “I’m going to need a list of visitors for the past month. Also I’m going to need to talk to all of the staff again. I found a rock by one of the emergency exits closest to Esther’s apartment.”
“A rock?” Vernon frowned.
“When I was at law enforcement academy, we had set hours, but there were some who sneaked out by leaving a rock to keep the door from closing and locking them out when they returned. There was a large rock at your back door.”
Vernon looked embarrassed. “I had no idea. I’ll get you that list of visitors. It isn’t very long.”
“Also, I need to know which residents leave the rest home regularly.”
“We have a few who are ambulatory,” the manager said. “I know Hazel’s a sleepwalker, but as far as I know, she’s never gotten out at night.”
The sheriff nodded. His first thought had been that residents were sneaking out. But now he wondered who might be sneaking in. Still, he believed both murders had been inside jobs. He called Dr. Frazer. “I need to ask you a question about the O negative blood type.”