Buch lesen: «Reunion At Cardwell Ranch»

Chapter Two

Laramie remembered hearing that an alleged cat burglar had been seen in Big Sky, but so far the thief hadn’t gotten away with anything.

Until now.

Slamming on the brakes, he threw open the door of his rented SUV, leaped out and took off running. It crossed his mind that the robber might be armed and dangerous. But all he could think about was catching the thief.

The freezing snowy night air made his lungs ache. Even though he’d been the business end of Texas Boys Barbecue, he’d stayed in shape. But he felt the high altitude quicken his breathing and reminded himself he wasn’t in Houston anymore.

The dark figure had reached the end of the roofline and now leaped down as agile as any cat he’d ever seen. The thief was dressed in all black including a mask that hid his face. He was carrying what appeared to be a painting.

Laramie tackled the burglar, instantly recognizing his physical advantage. The burglar let out a breath as they hit the ground. The painting skidded across the snow.

Rolling over on top of the thief, Laramie held him down with his weight as he fumbled for his cell phone. The slightly built burglar wriggled under him in the deep snow.

“Hold still,” he ordered as he finally got his cell phone out and with freezing fingers began to call his cousin’s husband, Marshal Hud Savage.

“You’re crushing me.”

At the burglar’s distinctly female voice, Laramie froze. His gaze cut from the phone to the burglar’s eyes—the only exposed part of her face other than her mouth. The eyes were a pale blue in the snowy starlight. “You’re a...woman?”

In a breathless whisper, she said, “You just now noticed that? Could you let me breathe?”

Shocked, he shifted his weight to allow her to take breath into her lungs. This was the cat burglar?

She freed one arm and wiped away the powdery snow from her eyes as she whispered something else.

He cut his eyes to her, suddenly worried that he had injured her when he’d taken her down. She motioned for him to lean closer. He bent down.

Her free hand cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he could stop her. Suddenly her lips were on his, her mouth parting as if they were lovers.

The next thing he knew he was lying on his back in the snow looking up at the stars as the cat burglar took off. Her escape had been as much of a surprise as the kiss. He quickly sat up. He’d lost his cell phone and his Stetson. Both had fallen into the snow. He plucked them up as he lumbered to his feet. But by then she was already dropping over the side of the ridge.

He took off after her, but he had gone only a few yards when he heard the roar of a snowmobile engine.

Scrambling after her, he turned the corner of the house in time to see the snowmobile roar off through the snow-heavy pines and disappear. He listened to her get away, feeling like a fool. He’d let her trick him.

She’d taken advantage of his surprise and the extra space he’d given her to breathe. She was a lot stronger and more agile than she had appeared and she had a weapon—those lips. He groaned when he thought about the kiss—and its effects on him.

As he turned back, he saw a corner of the painting sticking up out of the snow. Laramie trudged to where it had landed. The only good news was that she hadn’t gotten away with the painting.

Surprisingly the frame was still intact. He carefully brushed away the snow, thinking about the woman who’d gotten away. He’d known his share of women in his life. A few had tempted him, a couple had played havoc with his heart and several had taken him for a ride.

However, none of them had tricked him like this. He could well imagine what his brothers would say.

But would he be able to recognize her if he ever saw her again? She’d never spoken above a whisper and he hadn’t gotten a chance to remove her ski mask before she’d dumped him in the snow.

Those eyes. Those lips. He told himself if he ever saw either again, damn straight he’d recognize her.

She thought she was smarter than he. She thought she’d gotten away. But he had the painting. And he would find her—if she didn’t find him first, he thought, glancing at the painting in the moonlight.

To the fading sound of the snowmobile, he walked back to his rental SUV. Placing the painting in the backseat, he called his cousin’s husband, the marshal.

* * *

THAT HAD BEEN too close. As Obsidian “Sid” Forester pulled the snowmobile around to the back of the cabin, she glanced over her shoulder. No headlights. No lights at all. She hadn’t been followed.

She’d taken a longer route through the trees. At first she’d thought the man who’d tackled her was the owner of the house. But she’d done her research on him and knew he was much older than the man she’d just encountered.

So who was that cowboy with the Southern drawl? Moonlight on snow did strange things to one’s vision. But she had gotten a good look at him—a better look than he’d gotten of her, she assured herself. Thick dark hair. Ice-cold blue eyes. Handsome, if you liked that clean-cut, all-business kind of man. She did not.

The only thing that had thrown her was his accent. Definitely from down South. Definitely not the New Yorker who owned the house.

That wasn’t all that had thrown her, she had to admit. The kiss. It had worked just as she’d planned and yet... She touched her tongue to her upper lip, remembering the electrical shock she’d felt when they kissed. Worse was the tingling she’d felt in her belly. True, she hadn’t kissed a man in... She couldn’t even remember when, but she’d never had that kind of reaction. She certainly hadn’t expected to feel...anything.

Her pulse was back to normal by the time she entered the cabin. The air smelled of oil paint, turpentine and linseed oil. She shrugged out of her boots and coat at the back door, hung up her coat and kicked her boots aside as she moved to the painting she’d been working on earlier that day.

She gave it a critical perusal before moving into the small kitchen. Unfortunately she hadn’t been to the grocery store in several days. She was always starved after one of what she called her “night jobs.” With a bottle of beer—her last—a chunk of cheese and some stale bread, she stepped into the living area where a half dozen paintings were drying.

The cabin was small with only a living room, kitchen, bedroom, small bath and a storage room off to one side at the back. The moment the owner had shown it to her—and told her about all its peculiarities—she’d had to have it and had quickly signed the papers.

Sitting down now, she considered each of her paintings as she ate her snack and sipped her beer. It was hard to concentrate after what had happened earlier, though. She’d come close to getting caught before, but nothing like tonight. What would the man do?

Go to the marshal.

She considered that and decided she wasn’t worried about the law catching up with her.

What did worry her was that he had the painting.

Taking another bite of cheese and bread, she chewed for a moment before washing it down with the last of the beer. She really did have to go to the store tomorrow.

Just the thought of going out in public made her wonder if she would run into him. That was the other thing about her cabin. It was nestled in the woods, far from urban Big Sky.

What if she did see him again? She had no doubt that she would recognize him. She’d gotten a good look at him. He had high cheekbones, a patrician nose and generous mouth. She felt that ridiculous stirring again over that one stupid kiss.

She assured herself that there wasn’t any way he could recognize her since she’d had the black ski mask on the whole time. Nor could he recognize her voice since she hadn’t spoken above a whisper.

Shaking her head, she tried to put him out of her mind. There was more than a good chance that she would never see him again. Obviously he was a tourist, probably only here for the holidays. Once the holidays were over, he’d be on a jet back to wherever he’d picked up that Southern drawl.

Still, she wondered who he was and why he’d driven up to the house tonight. Probably lost. Just her luck. What other reason could he have had to be there?

But while she’d gotten away, it hadn’t been clean, which upset her more than she wanted to admit. She prided herself on her larceny skills. Worse, she’d failed. She didn’t have the painting.

Losing her appetite, she tossed the crust of stale bread in the trash and put the cheese back into the fridge before she returned to her work in progress. She always did her best thinking while she painted.

* * *

“SO, YOU DIDN’T see her face?” Marshal Hud Savage asked as he looked up from his report at the marshal’s office later that night.

“She was wearing a ski mask with only the eyes and mouth part open. Her eyes were this amazing...bluish-silvery color.” Laramie frowned. “Maybe it was the starlight but they seemed to change color.” He realized the marshal was staring at him. “Just put down blue. If I ever see those eyes again, I’ll recognize her.” Or those lips, he thought, but he wasn’t about to tell Hud about the kiss.

It had taken him by surprise—just as she’d planned. But for a moment, his mouth had been on hers. He’d looked into her eyes, felt something quicken inside him, then her warm breath on his cheek and...

He shook his head, reminding himself that it had only been a ploy and he’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. He’d kissed a thief! What annoyed him was that he had felt anything but disgust for what she’d done.

“How about height and weight?” Hud asked after writing down blue.

Laramie shrugged. “Small. Maybe five-five or -six. I have no idea on weight. Slim. I’m sorry I don’t have a better description. It all happened too fast. But I have the painting. Maybe you can get her fingerprints—”

“Was she wearing gloves?”

He groaned.

“And you say she got away on a snowmobile?”

All he could do was nod.

“Did you get a make or model?”

Another shake of his head.

“And she overpowered you? Was she armed?”

Laramie groaned inwardly. “Not armed exactly. She was much stronger than I expected and she moved so fast... She caught me off guard.”

Hud nodded, but he appeared to be trying hard not to laugh.

“You wait until you find her. She’s...wily.”

Hud did chuckle then. “I’m sure she is. Here. Sign this.”

“So what are the chances you’ll catch her?” Laramie asked as he signed the report.

“With a description like the one you just gave me...” Hud shook his head. His phone rang and he reached for it. “Marshal Savage.” He listened, his gaze going to Laramie. “Okay. Yep, that’ll do it.” Hanging up, he picked up the signed report and ripped it in half before tossing it into the trash.

“What?” Laramie demanded.

“I just spoke with the owner of the house. He hadn’t planned to come up this holiday, but apparently McKenzie called him yesterday and told him you would be looking at the house. Seems he’s anxious to sell, so he flew in tonight.” Hud met his gaze. “When I called the maintenance service and asked them to check the house, they found him there. He looked around to see what was missing and found nothing out of order.”

“There wasn’t anything missing? Was he sure?”

“It seems he has a painting, just like that one...” He pointed to the one leaning against the wall on the floor near Laramie, the painting the cat burglar had dropped. “It isn’t missing.”

“That’s not possible.”

Hud shrugged. “The owner says he has the original—the only one of its kind. Also, he said his house hasn’t been broken into.”

“That can’t be right. I saw her coming out of the house.”

“Or did you just see her on the ridge of the garage roofline?” the marshal asked.

Laramie thought back. “Maybe I didn’t see her come out of the house.”

“Since the first report we received about a cat burglar, we’ve had several sightings. But in all three cases, nothing was taken, the house showed no sign of forced entry...”

Laramie could see where this was going. “So it was a...hoax?”

Hud studied him openly for a moment. “You didn’t happen to mention to your brothers that you were going up to that house tonight, did you? They also didn’t happen to tell you beforehand about a cat burglar in the area, did they?”

He would kill his brothers. “You think it was a setup?”

Hud shrugged. “You know your brothers better than I do, but I’d say you’ve been had.”

Had in more ways than the marshal could even imagine. He got to his feet. “I’m sorry to bother you with this, then. I just hope they haven’t planted counterfeit money on me, as well.” His brothers had told him that Hud was investigating a counterfeit operation that had been passing fraudulent money in the canyon.

“Let’s hope not,” Hud said with a groan. “I get a call a day about a bad twenty. Someone’s churning them out,” he said getting to his feet. “In the old days it took a lot of expensive equipment and space along with some talent. Now, all you need is a good copy machine. A video online will walk you through the entire process. The good news is that these operations are often small. We aren’t talking millions of dollars. Just someone needing some instant spending money.”

“Well, good luck finding your counterfeiter and, again, I’m sorry about this. You have enough going on.” But as he turned to the door, he said, “What about the painting?”

“The owner swears he has the authenticated original with paperwork on the back.” Hud shrugged. “I would imagine this is nothing more than a cheap prop.”

“Then you don’t mind if I keep it?” Laramie asked.

The marshal chuckled. “It’s all yours.”

Laramie considered the painting on the floor. It was what he would have called Old West art, a rancher on horseback surveying his herd. It was titled “On The Ranch” and signed by an artist named Taylor West. The painting looked expensive to him, but what did he know?

“If someone comes looking for it, I’ll let you know. But I have my doubts.” Hud grinned. “If you ever see that woman again, though... I’d be curious just what color her eyes are since they seem to have made a real impression on you.”

* * *

“REALLY?” LARAMIE DEMANDED when he saw his brother Tanner “Hayes” Cardwell at his house the next morning. “That wasn’t funny what you and the others pulled last night.” He couldn’t help but wonder if the kiss had been planned, as well. It was a nice touch, something that would have had his brothers rolling on the floor laughing. “Hud got a real kick out of it since he has nothing to do but take bogus crime reports. I hope he arrests the whole bunch of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hayes said as he poured coffee for them.

Laramie looked to his sister-in-law and real-estate agent McKenzie. He’d been staying with them this holiday and, while he enjoyed being with them, he was anxious to get his own place. McKenzie had been helping him find a house.

“Tell me you weren’t in on it, too,” he said to her.

“I abhor practical jokes.” McKenzie shot a disapproving glance at her husband. “What did you and your brothers do?”

“Nothing. Honest. I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Hayes said holding up his hands. He looked genuinely innocent.

But Laramie wasn’t buying it. He knew his brothers too well. They’d all treated him as if he was the bookworm who ran their family business, Texas Boys Barbecue. They would all have said he was the brother who never had enough adventure in his life.

So it would be just like them to set this up to add some spice to his life, as they would call it.

“Who was the woman?” Laramie demanded.

“There was a woman?” Hayes asked and grinned.

McKenzie shook her head. “You’ll have to tell me about it on the way to the house, Laramie. I promised the owner we’d be there by nine. You can deal with your brothers later.”

On the way up the mountain, he told McKenzie about what had happened last night.

“That doesn’t sound like something Hayes would do,” she said. “Are you sure your brothers were behind it?”

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense. I saw her leaving with a painting. So, of course, I thought she’d stolen it. I guess that’s what I was supposed to think.”

“Are you sure the painting you have is a fake?”

“It doesn’t look like it to me, but I’m no expert by any means. The owner says he still has the original. So maybe I stopped the woman before she could make the switch, but I could have sworn she was coming from the house.”

McKenzie seemed to give it some thought. “Maybe she saw your headlights coming up the road and took off before she could make the switch.”

“I suppose. If she really was a cat burglar. Or it could be just what the marshal thinks it is—my brothers’ idea of a joke.

“I know an art expert if you’re interested in finding out about the painting. Or, if it is by a local Western artist, you could take it right to the source,” she said.

“Have you ever heard of Taylor West?”

McKenzie looked over at him in surprise. “He’s a well-known artist in these parts. He lives farther up the canyon near Taylor Fork. I’m sure if you took the painting to him, he’d be able to tell you if it was his or not.”

“I just might do that.” He looked up the mountain road ahead and thought about what he’d seen last night as he’d come over the last rise. He couldn’t help thinking about the woman. She’d certainly played her part well. If his brothers had been in on it.

He thought about what he’d seen in her eyes just before he started to call the marshal. She’d looked scared. But that could have been an act, too.

“First thing I want to do is see the original,” he said to McKenzie.

“You think the owner lied about having it? Why would he do that?” she asked as the house came into view.

“I don’t know. To collect on the insurance, maybe. He could be in on some scam involving the artwork if this artist is that well-known.”

McKenzie raised a brow as she parked next to a white SUV next to the house. “Cowboy art doesn’t go for that much. A Taylor West might sell for near a hundred grand to the right market. But we aren’t talking the Mona Lisa.”

He didn’t know what the original was worth, but he was anxious to see it. “I looked up the artist’s website last night. Most of Taylor West’s original work sells for twenty-five to seventy-five thousand depending on the size. Some of his older works are worth more.”

“Did you see this particular painting on the artist’s website?”

“No.”

The owner, Theo Nelson, turned out to be an older distinguished man who’d apparently made his money in real estate back East. “If you have any questions, just let me know. I’ll be in my study.” Nelson disappeared up the stairs, leaving them alone.

“So what do you think, so far?” McKenzie asked as they stepped to the bank of windows that looked out on Lone Mountain. The snow-covered peak glowed in the morning sun against a robin’s-egg-blue sky.

“The view is incredible,” Laramie said. Then he dragged his gaze away to look at the paintings on the walls.

“This open concept is nice,” McKenzie said as she went into the kitchen. “Great for entertaining. Granite countertops, new top-of-the-line appliances, lots of cupboard space, a walk-in pantry and even more storage for multiple sets of china and glassware—if you ever get married to a woman who collects both... You aren’t listening to me,” she said when Laramie didn’t take the bait.

“Sorry. Let’s see the second story,” he said, already starting up the stairs.

The next floor had a large second living area, two bedrooms and a study. The study door was partially open, the owner at his desk, head down.

Laramie scanned the walls quickly. The painting wasn’t there.

“Another great view,” McKenzie was saying.

He agreed, taking a moment to notice the house. He liked it. “Let’s see the top floor.” He saw her shake her head, but she followed him up to the third level.

This, he realized, was a huge master bedroom. It cantilevered out so when he stood at the bank of windows, he felt as if he was flying.

“Impressive,” McKenzie said. “But I’m not sure I could sleep in here. I have this thing about heights. The master bathroom is really nice, though. Check out this shower.” She turned, no doubt realizing she’d lost him again.

Laramie stood in front of a painting, shaking his head. “This is the one.”

“Does it look like the painting you took from the woman last night?” McKenzie asked in a whisper as she stepped closer.

“It looks exactly like it. How can he be so sure it’s the original?”

“Because I had it authenticated.” Neither of them had heard the owner come up the stairs to join them. Now the man stepped past them to take the painting off the wall and show them the back.

Laramie could see that it had a small card taped to the back. He realized how easy it would have been for the cat burglar to make the switch—including the authentication.

“You must be the man who thought you saw a burglar here last night,” Nelson said as he put the painting back on the wall. “I’m glad it was a false alarm.”

“Me, too,” Laramie said, still not sure he believed it.

“So what do you think of the house?” the man asked.

“I like it.”

“We’ll be looking at some others,” McKenzie said quickly. “How long are you going to be in town?”

“Only as long as it takes. So if you’re interested...”

“You’ll hear from us,” she said, motioning to Laramie that it was time to go. “I have several other houses for us to look at this morning,” she said once they were in the SUV heading off the mountain.

“Don’t bother. I want that one.”

She shot him a look. “But you haven’t even—”

“That’s the house. Find out what furniture stays. Also I want that painting.”

As they dropped over the rise, the house disappearing behind them, McKenzie hit her brakes and skidded to a stop in the middle of the narrow snow-packed road. “You want the painting?”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll part with it. If he’s selling the house, then he’s leaving Montana. His next wife won’t want any cowboy art in her house.”