Killer Cowboy

But he’d wanted to give her just a small nugget of hope that he would get to the bottom of things. He’d wanted to do something to alleviate the shadowed darkness in her eyes.

He knocked on the back door and Cassie answered. “Come on in,” she said, gesturing him into the kitchen that smelled of spicy meat cooking.

“Something smells good,” he said.

“Taco pie. Halena Redwing taught me how to make it. Why don’t you have some with me? I’ve already made a salad, and the pie will be ready in minutes.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose...” he began.

“Dillon, please. It’s no imposition at all. Besides, I absolutely hate to eat alone.”

There was something slightly desperate in the depths of her lovely eyes. It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to spend any time with her, especially alone. “I skipped lunch and taco pie sounds delicious,” he heard himself say despite his internal dialogue.

She flashed him a grateful smile. “Then sit and relax and I’ll just get the dishes on the table.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Don’t talk about murder or my men while we eat.” She pointed to a chair.

“I can do that,” he agreed and sat. He’d talked and thought about murder enough for the day. The taco pie smelled delicious and Cassie looked charming in a pair of fancy jeans that hugged her slender legs and a pink sweatshirt that made her eyes appear even more blue than usual.

He remained silent while she placed plates and silverware on the table. As she bent over to get the taco bake out of the oven, he couldn’t help but notice her figure. She was a petite woman, but perfectly proportioned.

Cassie Peterson could definitely be a threat to his mental well-being if he allowed it. She was the first woman to tempt him since Stacy had walked out on him almost five years ago.

It’s just a quick dinner, he told himself. No threat there. It would be nice not to talk about murder or potential suspects for the duration of the meal. He just wasn’t sure what they might talk about. In the past every time he’d spoken to Cassie it had been because something bad had happened on her ranch.

Something bad had happened now, but he was almost grateful she didn’t want to chew on it over dinner.

Minutes later she had the meal on the table and gestured for him to help himself. “Why did you skip lunch? You know you would have been welcome to eat with the men. Cookie always makes plenty of food.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he wasn’t at all sure he’d be welcome in the dining room. Between yesterday and that afternoon he’d grilled most of her men pretty hard. “I was busy in the barn and lost track of time,” he replied. He ladled a portion of the pie from the dish onto his plate.

“The weather was certainly nice today,” she said.

“Autumn is my favorite season,” he replied.

“Mine, too.” She smiled, as if pleased they’d found some common ground.

He focused on his plate and tried to ignore the small burst of heat her smile had sparked in the pit of his stomach. He took a bite of the taco pie and then gazed at her once again. “This is delicious. You’re obviously a good cook.”

She laughed, the sound musical and pleasant. “Not really, but I’m trying. Halena has given me a ton of her recipes, and she’s a good cook. There are a lot of Aunt Cass’s recipes here, too. I’ve realized in the last couple of weeks that cooking and baking might be a great stress reliever if I learn how to do it right.”

“Maybe I should take it up,” Dillon said drily.

“You don’t cook?”

“Most of my meals are eaten at the café. I work so much that it’s just easier to eat out.”

“All work and no play?” She took a bite of her salad and held his gaze.

Oh, he’d like to play right now. He’d like to capture her cupid lips with his and... Crap, the stress of these cases was definitely getting to him.

“No play,” he replied more curtly than he intended. She looked down at her plate and he instantly felt guilty for his sharp tone. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re an artist.”

She looked at him once again. “I like to paint.”

“Watercolor or oil?”

Her eyes lit up. “Right now I’m doing oil paintings with Western themes. I have an arrangement with Mary Redwing. She’s got a couple of them up on her website for sale.”

“From everything I’ve heard Mary has a solid business.” The Native American woman sold handmade baskets, pots and other items inherent to her Choctaw culture while her grandmother, Halena, sewed traditional dresses to sell.

“Have you always liked to paint?” He felt himself begin to relax for the first time in weeks.

“Always. All I ever dreamed of was becoming a famous artist. That’s what I was working toward before I came here. I owned a small shop that sold my artwork along with some other items.”

“Was it successful?”

She hesitated before replying and her eyes darkened slightly. “I was struggling to make ends meet. I think with more time and money it might have been a real success. I never dreamed I’d wind up on a ranch in Oklahoma.”

“Were you close to your aunt Cass?”

“Not really, although I was named after her. She came to New York a couple of times to visit my parents and when I was about ten we came out here to visit. But that was about it. That’s why I was so surprised when she left me this place.” She paused to take a drink of water and then continued, “Aunt Cass was kind of the outcast of the family. My parents are very New York. They’re both criminal defense lawyers and extremely driven.”

For the next half an hour they ate and she talked about her parents and her life before Holiday ranch. He laughed as she related stories about quirky characters who had come into her shop.

“You know, Bitterroot isn’t without its own quirky characters,” he said.

“I already know that Halena loves to wear funky hats and occasionally pinches some cowboy’s butt.”

He laughed. “That she does, but I’ll bet you didn’t know that Leroy Atkinson has his entire house lined inside with aluminum foil so space aliens can’t see him or hear his thoughts. He also believes aliens visit his ranch on numerous occasions.”

Her eyes lit with suppressed laughter. “Is that for real or are you making it up?”

“I don’t make stuff up,” he replied. “About twice a month Leroy calls me out to his ranch to see evidence that a spaceship has landed on his property. I never see anything other than some tamped-down grass where a cow rested through the night. Actually, my parents lived next to Leroy when I was a kid. Leroy was like a second father to me. He calls me out to his ranch because he’s lonely.”

“That’s sad,” she said. By this time their plates were empty. “Would you like an after-dinner cup of coffee?” she asked. She stood and a spark of fading sunlight danced in the strands of her curly blond hair.

The desire to touch the soft-looking curls itched his palms. “Thanks, but I should probably be on my way.” He needed to get out of here. Spending time with her had been far too pleasurable.

He got up from the table. “Thanks for the great meal.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me. Sometimes this big old house gets a bit lonely,” she replied.

He headed toward the back door, needing to escape her. Without the smell of the food, he became acutely aware of her lilac and vanilla scent that wafted in the air. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, more oppressive.

He turned to tell her goodbye and she was right there, standing mere inches from him. Her lips were slightly parted as if anticipating a kiss, and even before he recognized his own intention, he drew her to him and covered her mouth with his.