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She would love him for the rest of her life.
As Shane disappeared into the stable, Aaron, wearing a sport jacket over his usual plaid shirt, stepped out of his house. After pausing to lock the front door, he walked to his truck, climbed into the cab, and drove out of the yard.
Lexie stayed where she was, her pulse racing as she watched the red truck climb the road to the pass. She couldn’t make a move until he was out of sight. If she could see him, he could look back and see her.
And it wouldn’t be a good idea to start up the ATV. The noise of the engine would bring Shane out of the stable to check on what was happening. She would have to get to Aaron’s house on foot.
She watched the truck crest the pass and vanish. Just to be safe, she forced herself to wait a few more minutes. Then she climbed out of the ATV and set out across the pastures, down the slope toward Aaron’s house.
* * *
Shane entered the first stall of the long stable. The horse, a buckskin mare, had been nervous about the wheelchair on his first few visits, but by now she’d grown accustomed to the strange mechanical contraption attached to the man. He talked to her and stroked her before he picked up the pitchfork he’d propped against the wall of the roomy box stall. Moving with care, he began forking up the dirty straw and pitching it into the wheeled cart he’d left outside the stall gate. Devising this process had taken time, trial, and error, and he was still trying to become more efficient. But he enjoyed working and being with the horses. It was one of the rare times he felt at peace. His latest long-term idea for the ranch was to add bucking horses to their rodeo stock. Bulls were ready for retirement after five or six years in the arena. A healthy bronco, for less investment, could buck for more than twenty. Tess was actually thinking it over.
He hadn’t seen Lexie this morning. More than likely, she was avoiding him. The strain between them had been there since his first day on the ranch. For that, he could only blame himself. He’d needed space, but until yesterday, he hadn’t realized how far away that need had driven her.
Was it too late to keep her from leaving? He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He only knew that he loved and needed her—and that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.
* * *
Heart pounding, Lexie stepped onto the porch of Aaron’s house and raised a corner of the worn, dusty doormat. As expected, the key was there. When she lifted one end with a handy twig and picked it up with her fingertips, a shiver passed through her body. It wasn’t too late to do the smart thing and leave. But if she were to turn back now, she’d never forgive herself. She had to do this for Callie.
Remembering Val’s warning, she checked around the frame before opening the door. There it was—a small piece of cellophane tape that would pull loose when the door was opened—not a problem as long as she remembered to stick it back in place when she left.
Had Aaron expected someone to come into his house? But no, Lexie decided, it was just natural suspicion. After years of living alone, a man could develop some strange habits.
The key turned in the lock. She slipped it into her pocket, opened the door, and stepped inside.
In the dim light that fell through the closed venetian blinds, she could see that the place was a mess of junk and clutter. Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight? It might have even been a good idea to bring a gun. She could’ve borrowed the pistol that was locked in the glove box of Shane’s truck. But it was too late to think about that now.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see more. Beer cans and snack bags cluttered the floor around the beat-up recliner that faced the TV. Stale odors drifted from the kitchen. Lexie resisted the urge to turn around and leave in disgust. She’d known that Aaron was solitary and maybe a bit eccentric. But she’d never guessed that he might be mentally unwell.
The kitchen was even worse. Dirty dishes and spoiled food cluttered the table and countertop. A foul odor seemed to rise from the cabinet below the sink. Trying not to inhale too deeply, Lexie opened the cabinet door.
A dead mouse lay swollen belly-up in a spot of powdery white substance that appeared to have spilled on the bottom of the cabinet. Was it rat poison? Lexie gagged and closed the cabinet door. She could feel the fear welling inside her like an icy flood. But she’d come this far. She needed to finish what she’d started before she panicked and fled.
The bed was rumpled, the covers thrown back. There was a closet on the far wall, its door missing. Nothing appeared to be inside but some clothes on hangers and some muddy-looking boots thrown on the floor. Dirty clothes were tossed over the back of a chair. The rest of the furniture consisted of a bureau on one wall and, next to the bed, a nightstand with a single drawer. If there were personal secrets to be found, the nightstand would be the place to look first.
Before opening the drawer, she checked the edges for more tape or anything else that might leave evidence of tampering. Finding nothing, she slid the drawer open.
Her eyes did a quick survey of the contents—tissues, a pen and notepad, a pack of Marlboros and a lighter, a bottle of prescription pills, an open package of condoms . . .
A glance at the bottle was enough to confirm that the pills were Viagra. Lexie’s knees had gone weak. She would never have suspected Aaron of having an active sex life, yet the evidence was right here in front of her. But who was his partner? Assuming it was a woman, the choice was narrow. Either he was sneaking somebody in from the reservation or . . . it had been Callie.
The puzzle pieces were tumbling into place, almost too fast. If Callie had been sleeping with Aaron, and if she’d been here on the night of her death, then the missing bra—the bra that could be evidence of a murder—could be somewhere close.
If she’d lost it here, where would it go? Behind the bed, maybe? Or under it?
Forcing herself to stay calm, Lexie dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. Something pale was hanging from the box spring. She reached for it, caught it with her fingers, and tugged it free. It was a lacy white bra, size 38DDD—unmistakably Callie’s.
Dizzy with fear and a strange elation, she was about to stand when she noticed something else on the floor, at the edge of the bed where it might have fallen. She reached for it, picked it up.
Her heart dropped as she held its weight in her hand.
It was Aaron’s wallet, containing his driver’s license, his cash, his credit cards, everything he’d be likely to need today. In his haste to get to his appointment on time, he must’ve dropped it out of his pocket while he was getting dressed.
Once he realized it was missing, he would almost certainly come back for it. He could already be on his way.
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