Page 20 of Setup In Montana

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.