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But gunshots were hardly a natural cause—they didn't happen all on their own. Which meant that someone else had come by later that night.
After all the trouble that he'd had getting someone to look into any of it at all, finding Avery Beck's body had been the first hard proof that had presented itself. A reminder that no matter what he thought, no matter what anyone else said, there was something going on. He wasn't crazy.
Glen looked off into the horizon, back in the direction of the ranch. It had been a while. Who even knew how many cattle were there, now? The thought of home reminded him that Catherine was there, as well. Was she thinking about him? Worrying what was taking him so long? It had only been a couple of days, but he had thought it would be much less. A day, perhaps two.
"Go on."
Glen turned, furrowing his brow. "What's that, Deputy?"
"I've got to do a little digging. Go on home. I'll come to you."
"You know where the place is?"
"No." The man was honest, if nothing else. "But I can find it easy enough."
"I just bought the place—folks might know it as belonging to Bill Howell. I got the place from him a couple months ago."
"Great. I'll come by in a day or two. I figure we're going to be making an arrest. Maybe more than one. And I could use the extra hands. That is, if you don't mind. I can always go back into town, but I'm afraid someone would tip off our man."
"No, I'm fine."
"Go on home. I'll come calling tomorrow."
"Sure."
Glen let out a long breath. Time to relax—that was an unusual luxury. What had he done to earn it? Well, he wasn't going to complain. He spurred the horse on. It wasn't too far to get home. An hour, perhaps less. Getting some sleep would be fine, even if it were in the barn.
Getting some sleep in a bed, though…
He pushed the thought away. It hadn't meant anything. Catherine didn't have any interest in picking up where they'd left off in Caspar.
Catherine didn't see Glen coming until his horse was passing the window heading into the stables. He took his sweet time in there, too, which only made her crazier. The man had no sense of timing.
Nothing had been happening around the house, and that only made things worse. The twins were already down, and the nothing that was happening around the house meant that far, far too much was going on in her head. Catherine wanted nothing more than to be able to sit down and have a chat with him.
An image flashed through her head, turning her cheeks a crimson red. No, she chastised herself. Not that sort of chat, not that sort of chat at all. Just something to pass the time. Something to remind her that she wasn't the only person struggling with things lately.
Glen had left her with the promise to bring back a Marshall. That he wasn't being followed right now meant he had either failed, or the man was out on business. That he'd let Glen go home, but cogs were turning behind the scenes. She hoped it was the latter.
A knock at the door. She opened it, already knowing who she would find. Glen gave her a tired smile. Lord, she thought. The man looked good no matter what he was doing.
"How was your t
rip?"
"Not great." The smile faded. "Avery Beck is dead, and we have no witness to anything. And to make matters worse…"
He stopped himself. What could be worse than that?
"What is it?"
"I saw your husband."
Twenty Three
Glen laid his head back and let out a breath. He hadn't expected her to take the suggestion that her husband was in town well, but he hadn't expected her to take it as poorly as she had, either. Well, it didn't much matter.
She had every right to react however she wanted to. She didn't seem to want to talk about him, and when she did, she talked about him like something unpleasant that had happened to her, rather than like a husband and lover.
