Rancher's Covert Christmas

Her head lolled to the side, and when he relaxed the arm across her chest, her legs buckled. She slid to the ground. Inert. Silent.

His breath rasped in shallow gasps as he dropped to his knees to feel for a pulse.

OhGodohGodohGod! What had he done?

Her sightless eyes stared up at him, and acid pooled at the back of his throat. A numb stupor settled over him.

She was...dead.

He’d...murdered her.

Dazed, he slogged through the horrible truths, his sins, which flashed like slides on a screen. A review of all his transgressions. Lies. Arson. Betrayal.

And murder.

He’d killed an innocent woman.

Again.

Chapter 1 (#ud0e994ef-21a1-51ef-8250-3ad136980580)

Two weeks earlier

Deception did not sit well with Erin. Her life’s work, her history, her passion was truth. But her client had been adamant. No one was to know her true purpose for going to the Double M Ranch in Boyd Valley, Colorado. Or rather, she would be going, assuming she could sell her cover story to—she checked the notebook where she’d scribbled the names and phone numbers of her contacts—Zane McCall. Of the four co-owners of McCall Adventure Ranch, Zane was the chief business manager and, according to her client, the primary hurdle she had to pass.

Erin Palmer took a deep breath, mentally reviewing her practiced script, and tapped in the phone number she’d been given. The line rang several times, and she was about to hang up, expecting the call to go to voice mail any moment, when a low male voice answered. “H’lo?”

“Hi,” Erin said, infusing her tone with cheer, “My name is Erin Palmer. I’m looking for Zane McCall.”

“You found him. What can I do for you, Erin?”

An unexpected thrill raced through her hearing her name caressed by his sultry baritone voice.

“Well, Zane—” If he could use her first name, she could use his, too. And no, she wasn’t flirting. After all, she didn’t know anything about the guy other than the melted-dark-chocolate sound of his voice. And flirting would be unprofessional. And—

“Yes?”

Erin wet her lips and refocused her straying thoughts. “I’m a journalist for Well Traveled magazine.” She cringed internally as the lie rolled smoothly from her tongue. “I’m interested in writing a feature piece about adventure ranches and McCall Adventures specifically.” A pregnant pause followed, and Erin’s heart tapped out a staccato beat. “Um...Zane? You there?”

“Yeah. I...” She heard the creak of desk chair and his sigh. “Can I ask why?” His sexy baritone voice was now rife with suspicion.

“Why what?”

“Why McCall Adventures?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched her lips together. Answering his question would require laying out an even more elaborate lie. Her gut twisted as she dug for a believable excuse. She couldn’t say, “Because that’s the cover I’m going with to get me on-site at your ranch.”

She decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I heard about the trouble you had with your soft opening, the failure of the zip line and—”

“Wanted to exploit our accident and drag our business through the mud?” The once enchanting voice now had an edge of steel.

Erin swallowed hard. “No! Not at all. Quite the opposite. I respect the way you’ve turned the business around and recovered from the setback. In fact, I’d like to highlight the precautions you’ve taken and the remarkable strides you’ve made toward your relaunch.” She held the phone away from her mouth and pulled a face, shocked at her fawning. Kiss up much, Erin?

After another significant pause, Zane asked, “Well Traveled magazine, you say?”

“That’s right.”

Another chair squeak filtered through the line, followed by what sounded like the clacking of a computer keyboard. A moment passed before it clicked. He was looking up the magazine, verifying her credentials! Of course he would check out her story. He was smart to do it. So she had to be smarter to pull off her cover.

“I’m not officially on staff at the magazine,” she said, quickly pulling the magazine’s website up on her own laptop. “I freelance, and I’m hoping to sell my article to Well Traveled. I’ve queried the editor-in-chief about my article idea, and she said she was interested if I could get her a draft by the end of January.”

“You mean he? The magazine’s website says the editor-in-chief is someone named Bill Sherman.”

Erin cursed silently as she brought up the staff page. Sure enough, the editor-in-chief was a man. He smiled at her from his bio picture in all his balding, bespectacled glory. Erin felt a prickle of perspiration pop out on her face.

This. This was why she hadn’t wanted to lie to Zane and his business partners. She sucked at it. Along with all her other reasons for eschewing the art of deception and vigorously pursuing truth, her complete ineptitude at pretense meant she had a slim chance at pulling it off. Her go-to was always honesty, even if it hurt.

Yes, Officer, I know how fast I was driving. Just write me the ticket.

Yes, DMV worker, that is how much I weigh. I love cheese.

Yes, little sister, those pants make you look fat. Stick with the black pair.

“Oh, sorry. Not Bill. I meant the assistant editor,” Erin countered with what she hoped was a casual-sounding laugh. She scrolled down the staff bio page to the next listing. “Claire Norris is who I queried.”

She should call her client back and refuse this job. While the case intrigued her, the ground rules gave her too much consternation.

“Well...” Zane said and sighed. “A positive article in a travel magazine would be good publicity.” He paused. “Though I hate to remind people of the accident. I’d rather let bygones be bygones regarding that dark chapter of our past.”

Erin wanted to tell Zane that dark chapters were never truly history for anyone. They shaped you, changed you, marked your life forever. But such grim prophesying wasn’t likely to win her points in her appeal to Zane, so she tucked her personal experience with tragedy away and focused on her sales pitch.

“Yes, the article would definitely be good publicity. Which leads me to my special request.”

“A request?” His guarded tone was back.

A shame. She much preferred the casual, flirty baritone. She tried to imagine the face that went with the seductive voice. Typically she didn’t research the subjects of her investigations before meeting them. She trusted her instincts about people, and first impressions, uncolored by personal histories, social media or biased articles, were at the heart of how she operated. She researched businesses, places and things, but people required face-to-face meetings. That intangible but all-important vibe she got by looking people in the eye.

Which brought her back to...

“Yes. I’d like to visit the ranch. Conduct interviews. Get a firsthand look at the business, a feel for the locale. Would it be possible for me to come out there for a week or two? I know it’s right before Christmas, but I’m on deadline.”

“Uh,” he grunted. Clearly she’d caught him off guard. “When?”

“I can be there Monday.”

Dang it. Her curiosity was tickling her. Thrashing her, really. She had to know the face that went with that voice! She hesitated only a moment before opening her Facebook account and doing a search for Zane McCall.

“So soon?” he asked. “I don’t know. We’ve got a busy couple weeks leading up to Christmas. It’s the end of the season, and we’ll be sorting the herd in preparation to go to auction.”