Rough Diamonds: Wyoming Tough / Diamond in the Rough

“What if it was your brother or your father?” he asked simply.

She sighed. “That’s a harder choice.”

“Killer’s got a cousin that they think might help him. They’ve got his place staked out. They’re sure Bascomb is getting food and shelter somewhere.” He shook his head. “But the cousin’s place is miles from here. I don’t think Joe Bascomb would turn up on the ranch.”

“He doesn’t have anything against the Kirks, does he?” she asked a little worriedly.

“Not that I know of,” Darby told her. “In fact, Tank testified as a character witness for him during the trial. Tank still thinks he’s innocent.”

“What did he do?”

“Killed a man that he said was beating up his girlfriend. Said he didn’t mean to do it. He hit the man and he fell into a brick wall, hit his head and died. Would have probably been ruled accidental except the girlfriend suddenly testified that he banged the man’s head against the wall and killed him deliberately.”

“Why would she lie?” she asked.

“She was sweet on Bascomb, but he was in love with his late wife and didn’t want anything to do with this girl. Story was, she called him to come help her because she was scared of her new boyfriend. He was fond of her, so he went. The boyfriend had hit her once or twice and Joe Bas-comb intervened to save her.” He sighed. “Noble effort. He saved her and he said she got even with him because he wouldn’t get involved with her, although she denied it in court. It got him convicted. It’s a capital offense, too. He slipped away from the transport deputy, handcuffs and leg irons and all, and hid out in the woods. They found the cuffs and irons later.” He smiled. “Joe’s a blacksmith. Wasn’t hard for him to get free, I expect.”

“He sounds like a decent man.”

He nodded. “More than one decent man’s gone to prison on the word of a spiteful woman, however.” He checked his watch. “Best get going or you’ll be late back for lunch.”

“I’m on my way.”

She saddled her horse and rode off.

AT LEAST SHE DIDN’T HAVE TO worry about the escaped killer so much, now that she knew why he’d been convicted. Of course, he’d be desperate and she didn’t want to get in his way or threaten him. But she could understand his plight. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be any way to save him. He’d go to prison for life or die in the electric chair at a judge’s pleasure. It didn’t seem right.

She found no more breaks in the line. The weather was beautiful. The predicted snow didn’t materialize. Everything was getting green and lush, and she finally took off her jacket because it was getting hot.

She paused by a stream and closed her eyes to listen to it gurgle along. She felt herself relax. A twig snapped. She whirled and looked around her, her hand tight on the bridle of her mount. A good thing, because the gelding jumped at the sound. Horses were nervous creatures, she thought, and usually with good reason. She’d seen one tear loose from a hitching post and go careening over a fence just from a pan being dropped in the kitchen.

“What is it, boy?” she asked softly, looking around with some unease.

Nothing stirred. But she cut her losses. She mounted, turned the horse and urged him into a gallop toward the ranch.

LATER, SHE TOLD MALLORY about it when he came home. She found him in the kitchen drinking coffee with Mavie. He was concerned.

“It’s not unlikely that Joe might come here. Tank helped him in court and thinks he’s innocent,” Mallory said. “But the fact is that he’s an escaped, convicted killer. If you help him or Tank helps him, there will be consequences. You remember that.”

“I didn’t see anybody,” she protested. “I just heard a branch snap, like somebody stepped on it. I thought I should tell you, just the same. Could have been an animal, I expect.”

“Could have been. Or could have been Joe Bascomb,” he added. “You keep your eyes open. Darby give you that cell phone?”

She nodded and produced it.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Cane said he thought he’d seen you before. Now that he mentioned it, you do look familiar.”

“I told him…I just have that sort of face.” She laughed. She couldn’t react to the remark. “I might look like somebody you remember.”

He frowned. “Not really. Tank and I were watching this old movie on the classics channel. It starred that actress who killed herself—what was her name? Kane,” he said finally. “Maria Kane. That’s it. You remind me of her.”

“I do?” She smiled broadly to hide her discomfort. “Thanks! I think she was gorgeous! I watched that movie myself. I like the old black-and-white ones.”

He was diverted, as she’d meant him to be. “Me, too. I’m partial to Randolph Scott and Gary Cooper and John Wayne, myself.”

She raised her hand. “Bette Davis.”

He made a face. “Hard as nails. I like feminine women.”

She shifted uncomfortably. He was making a statement. Probably Gelly Bruner was his ideal. He’d already said he liked the pretty blonde actress in the werewolf movie. Gelly was blonde and blue-eyed, and pretty, also. Morie, with her dark hair and eyes and olive complexion, would never be to his taste. He might like kissing her, but he wasn’t looking at her as if he wanted anything more from her.

“Do you ever wear anything besides slacks and shirts with writing or pictures on them?” he asked suddenly.

She stared at him. “I’d have a real hard time pulling calves in a dress.” She said it with a straight face.

He gave a sudden laugh. “Damn!”

“Well, I would, boss,” she said reasonably.

He just sipped his coffee. “I guess you would.”

Piano music was coming from the living room. It was soft and pretty at first, then there were fumbles and then a crash. “Damn it!” Tank groaned.

They heard him get up and soon he came into the kitchen. He glanced at Morie. “I can’t get the rhythm of that coda. Do you have your iPod with you, with the soundtracks on it?”

“No,” she replied. She’d left it in the bunkhouse. “But I can show you.”

He frowned. “You can play a piano?”

She shifted as Mallory stared openly at her. “Sort of.”

“Sort of.” Tank caught her hand and pulled her along with him to the living room. He seated her at the grand piano. “Show me.”

CHAPTER SIX

“I JUST PICKED UP a little piano playing at the last job I worked,” Morie protested, denying her many years of piano lessons. “I probably can’t even do an octave now.”

“Can you read music?” Tank persisted.

She shifted. “Yes. A little.”

“Come on, then. Play.”

She couldn’t figure a way out of it. They might ask all sorts of questions if they knew how well she played. She’d been offered a music scholarship in college, which she’d turned down. Her parents could well afford her tuition, and the scholarship might help some deserving student who had no such means.

After a minute’s hesitation, she put her long-fingered hands on the keyboard and looked at the score before her.

She found the pedals with her foot, rested her hands on the keyboard and suddenly began to play.