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Chapter 3
“That… that body was Ron?”
The sheriff nodded, tight-lipped.
“How… how was he killed?” Lainey asked, hating the quiver in her voice.
“Sorry, Lainey. Can’t tell you that right now.” Then he turned and headed toward the mess hall again.
“Wait, Sheriff,” she called. When Jacobs turned around, she asked, “Does that mean you don’t know yet? Or that you don’t want to tell me?”
Jacobs stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally he said, “It means I can’t tell you right now.” He strode down the hill toward the mess hall, moving fast. As if afraid she’d pester him for more information.
Lainey stared after him, horrified that Ron was dead. That he’d been murdered. But a glimmer of lightness expanded in her chest. She tried to banish it, but it settled in. Made her want to exhale slowly.
What was wrong with her? Instead of grieving for the loss of a life, she was relieved that Ron couldn’t hurt her again.
A painful, sad way to end a marriage that had become a nightmare.
Brody’s strong arm curled around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lainey. I know you and Ron had problems, but it has to be a shock to find out he’s been murdered.”
“You don’t suspect me, too?” she asked.
“Of course not.” Brody stared into her eyes. “You’re incapable of killing anyone.”
Lainey shook her head slowly. “You’re wrong.” She opened her purse and showed him the edge of the matte black gun. “I bought this after I changed the locks on my house. To protect me in case Ron came back and tried to get in.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulder, then he loosened his grip and brushed his fingers slowly up and down her arm. Brody’s touch soothed her, as she’d always suspected it would. “Protecting yourself is very different than killing someone in cold blood.”
“Yes. It is,” she said, drawing in a breath. Her lungs burned from the smoke, and her throat was raw. “But at night, when I listened to the noises outside my house and wondered if it was Ron trying to break in, I prayed that he’d drop dead. Set me free.” She stared down at her lap, her eyes burning. Was it the smoke and ash filling the air? Or was it shame?
“I think that’s normal,” Brody said quietly. “Even though you never said anything, I could tell something was wrong. When I’d see you together, your body language didn’t scream love and affection. It reverberated with fear and anger. Desperation. Anyone who paid attention could see that.”
“And you were paying attention,” she said quietly. She’d known he had been. Every time he came to her office on business, her heart sped up a little. Her stomach fluttered. She’d shoved those feelings away ruthlessly, unwilling to admit to being interested. Determined to ignore the attraction.
But it was always there, simmering beneath the surface.
She sighed. “Regardless of what Ron did, he didn’t deserve to be murdered in a dark, garbage-filled building. No one does. But it’s hard to mourn him. And that makes me feel like a horrible person.”
“You’re absolutely not a horrible person. The exact opposite, actually.” Brody slid his fingers down her arm and squeezed her hand, his palm leathery and rough against hers. The hand of a hard-working rancher. “Come on,” he said, tugging her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here. Go back to town.”
Lainey glanced toward the smoldering mess hall. “Maybe the sheriff wants me to stay here.”
“He didn’t tell you to stay here. And that would be pretty callous, even for a cop.” He curled his arm around her shoulder and led her toward the gate. “You want to ride into town with me?”
Yes. That was exactly what she wanted. But she shook her head. “No. I’ll need my car. You can follow me.” She slanted a look at him. “Will you… No.”
“No to what, Lainey?”
She should have kept her mouth shut. But Brody was waiting. His gaze settled on her. Comforting. Non-judgmental. Finally, sighing, she said, “I was going to ask if you’d come back to the house with me. For a few minutes, anyway.”
“I’d be happy to do that,” he said immediately. “Maybe you can tell me more about why you were out here looking for Ron.”
It would be a huge relief to share her worries and concerns with someone else. She had friends in town, but other than the members of her book club, she’d drifted away from most of them in the last few years. Ron had been jealous. Resented the time she’d spent with friends. So she’d seen them less and less.
“I can’t take your time,” she said, shaking her head. “You were headed into town when you saw the fire. I’m sure you have errands to do.”
“I was mostly killing time,” he said, his voice easy. Relaxed. “I’d finished all my chores at the ranch.” He smiled. “Thought I might visit my accountant to find out what she’d need to file my quarterly taxes.”
