Murder At Granite Falls

“I won’t take chances.” He ruffled the top of her wavy russet mane, which had long since escaped her attempts at a ponytail, just as he had when they were kids growing up on a ranch.

She batted his hand away. “And you think riding saddle broncs isn’t taking a chance?”

“If I don’t pay off those short-term loans from last year, we could lose this place. I’ve got to go.”

“We’ll figure out something. It isn’t worth it, Logan.”

“But you own a quarter of this business and you’ll go down if I do. I can’t let that happen.”

She nudged him in the ribs and made a face. “I think it’s an excuse to leave town and not enjoy that lovely cabin any longer.”

He laughed at that. “I’m getting to know the mice on a first-name basis. You can move into the spare room any time you want—they’d love to meet you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great offer. I’ll think about it awhile longer, though.”

“At least you’re staying with Aunt Betty. I think she actually has a furnace there, if I’m not mistaken. And plumbing that works. All the time.”

“She already asked you to move in, too. There’s plenty of room.”

At the thought of all the lace and frills in Betty’s house, Logan shuddered. The second guest room was done in lilac and pink, with an explosion of flowers on the wallpaper, and though Betty was a sweetheart, she loved to hover and fuss.

“I’m fine with where I’m at for now. All I need is to get back on the circuit for the rest of this season and then the next, draw good broncs at every rodeo, and not part ways with any of them until the eight-second buzzer. Then I promise I’ll quit for good.”

They both fell silent for a moment, and he knew they were thinking about the same thing—the accusations and ensuing trial that had nearly ruined Logan’s reputation and the beginnings of their rafting company last year.

The legal costs had taken his savings, but at least he’d had good representation. Without it, he would’ve been behind bars…maybe for the rest of his life.

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” she murmured. “If it means throwing you in the boathouse and tossing away the key.”

“I’d sure be a lot of use in there.”

“Speaking of that, I had a really good group today. Those Red Hat ladies are the best.” Penny blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes. “And we’ve already got some reservations booked well into June, so we’ve got a good start on the season. I think the new website has helped a lot.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll be fine, Logan.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “People will forget about what happened. They’ll realize you couldn’t possibly be capable of hurting anyone.”

“Maybe.” He steeled himself, waiting for one of her platitudes about turning his burdens over to God, but she’d probably given up on trying to convince him. He hoped so.

Up on the outside balcony, Carrie stood at the door to her apartment. “Thanks again for helping move my things in,” she called out.

Logan lifted a hand in reply, and she waved as she turned to go back inside.

There were good reasons for getting back on the road, and now a new one had just moved into the apartment above the rafting office.

Sweet, perky, with an infectious smile and an endearing hint of vulnerability, Carrie reminded him of Janie, the love of his life through high school and college, and he could almost envy the kids who were going to be in Carrie’s classroom every day.

Penny followed his glance at the balcony, then angled an amused smile at him. “This is sure going to be an interesting summer.”

He leveled an impatient look at her. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

“Nope. Seriously, it’s time you got on with your life. Just because things didn’t work out with Lorena shouldn’t be reason to end up a hermit.”

“A hermit,” he retorted.

“Well, nearly.” Penny’s eyes danced. “You’re already thirty-three, so old age is just around the corner. It’s time to move on.”

Even after two years, Penny wanted to comfort him over the failed relationship with his longtime girlfriend, but long before that—when Penny had been too young to fully understand what was going on—he’d had a far bigger loss. Part of him had died with Janie the day a semi T-boned her car, and he’d never been the same.

Maybe Lorena was right.

Maybe his past had turned him into just another emotionless, thoughtless guy who wasn’t capable of commitment. But at least that way, he didn’t ever risk breaking the remnants of his heart.

The last rays of sunshine were slicing through the mountains to the west when Carrie finally finished putting away her clothes and arranging her possessions. Logan and his sister had left an hour ago, after stopping in to make sure she was settling in, and they’d also made sure that she had their cell numbers and the home number of their aunt Betty who lived in town.

Nice people, both of them. At least on the surface. Or were they?

Her stomach tensed into a tight ball of anxiety once again, because she still could not set aside that brief conversation with the deputy in town. There had been distaste in his expression when she’d announced her destination—far more than she might have expected if he just felt concern about a woman alone coming to this isolated place.

She shook off her doubts with a heavenward glance.

She’d prayed long and hard about the decision to come to this town. It was time to reestablish her independence and her career. She’d done the right thing, and worrying was a waste of time. But still…

Harley, curled up on the back of the sofa, opened one eye and looked at her, then went back to sleep, clearly unconcerned. “A dog would care,” she said drily, stroking his soft fur. “He’d come and sit by me and offer moral support.”

A deep rumble vibrated through the old cat’s body—more junkyard engine than purr—letting her know that at least the most important creature in the room was content. Smiling to herself, she stepped out onto the balcony and braced her hands on the railing to lean out into the fresh, sweet pine-scented mountain air.

The rushing sounds of the Wolf River beckoned. Not more than a dozen yards from her new home, its closest bank offered an easy slope for beaching rafts. Even here, she could smell the water and damp earth. The water, now ink-black in the deepening twilight, brought back such good memories of her college summers….

Drawn to its wild beauty, she went down the outside stairs and took a few steps toward the river. The sound of a twig snapping jerked her to a halt as an invisible hand of fear grabbed at her shoulder. Prickles of awareness at the back of her neck escalated to absolute certainty. She was not alone.

Someone was here. Very, very close.

She could sense his eyes burning into her back.

Hear his breathing.

She could feel his heartbeat, pounding in cadence with her own. Oh, Lord—I could really use Your help here.

Stifling a cry, she whirled and flew up the stairs, flung open the door and slammed it shut as soon as she made it inside. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her lungs burned as she drove the dead bolt home, shoved the sofa against the door, then locked all the windows and pulled the shades.

No footsteps crept up the stairs.

Nothing was moving outside when she surreptitiously peeked through all of her windows. “Just my overactive imagination,” she chastised herself aloud. “And next, I’ll be afraid of dust bunnies.” Maybe her “stalker” had just been a coyote, frozen in place at her unexpected appearance. Or a menacing chipmunk.

She’d finally talked herself down from that shaking, adrenaline-laced moment of fear when the cell phone clutched in her damp palm started to sing the first tinny notes of “Beer Barrel Polka.” The screen listed only Unavailable Number and no name, so it wasn’t anyone listed in her phonebook.

She stared at the phone, hesitated, then lifted it to her ear and said hello.