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AFTER TAKING CARE OF his day-off chores, Frank decided the best approach for today’s excursion would be not as a rancher. Instead, he’d be a person on vacation, fascinated by what the artist created using such a mundane medium. He snorted. Mundane medium. He was starting to sound like Derek.
Rather than one of his snap-front western shirts, he chose a tan button down. A step above the t-shirts with logos most tourists wore. The tiniest hint he was a person who might spend a few bucks.
Who was he kidding? What did he know about making impressions through clothing? He’d gone from community college into the army, where it was all uniforms, and then to the ranch, where it was jeans, tees or western shirts.
Are you dressing for your investigation or for Kiera?
What was wrong with both?
He texted Kiera to make sure she was feeling up to their outing, and nothing had come up with her car that demanded her presence.
All OK she texted back. See you.
With time left before he needed to leave, he ran more searches. It had occurred to him in the wee hours that he hadn’t followed through with his initial hunt for exhibitors. He hadn’t bothered until Derek—and Kiera—confirmed he wasn’t chasing smoke. He had names, but hadn’t taken the next step to note what they sold, and the business names they used. Once he’d expanded his list to include those, he printed it out and headed for the ranch.
Kiera hadn’t said she’d be at the main house, so he drove past and parked in front of the guesthouse, where Kiera sat on the porch steps, sipping from a steaming mug.
He hopped out of his pickup and strolled over. She’d arranged her hair so the bandage on her forehead was hidden. She wore dark denim jeans, a long-sleeved, lightweight navy and cream pullover—vee-neck, with a metal pendant sitting below her collarbones. An ornate, abstract triangle drew his eye straight to her cleavage. He snapped his gaze to her eyes. “Morning.”
She rose. “Morning. I was enjoying the peace and quiet. I’m from Highlands Ranch, work in Denver. Sounds are traffic noises and airplanes. Here, it’s birds, the breeze, and cows. I mean, cattle.”
He chuckled, and she grinned.
“You feeling all right?” he asked.
She raised her braced wrist. “This is my only souvenir of the crash. Don’t need the painkillers anymore. How’s the heifer?”
“I don’t know, but I would have gotten a call if she wasn’t doing better. I imagine she’s enjoying Bryce’s TLC. You ready?”
“As soon as I put my coffee away and get my purse.”
Frank waited on the porch while she dashed inside, then helped her into his truck.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked as they turned onto the county road. “Am I the one interested in the art, or your bored but tolerant companion? We’re not supposed to be married, are we? Are we looking for something specific, or are we browsing?”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”
“Anything I can do to help you—and Derek—get to the bottom of his missing cattle, I’m in.”
Kiera was clearly taking this venture seriously, and something in Frank’s chest gave a quick bong. “I hadn’t given the details that much thought, but I think we’ll start by browsing.”
“Is it all right with you if I’m the excited one? That way, it won’t look like you’re digging for answers, and—assuming he’s guilty of anything—he won’t get suspicious.”
“You wouldn’t be a cop—or a private investigator—when you’re not roaming the Colorado ranchlands, would you?”
She snorted—in a ladylike way—and rolled her eyes. Which, he noticed for the first time, were an intense shade of blue, rivaling a fall Colorado sky.
“Not hardly,” she said, “although I watch the occasional cop show on television and read a mystery now and then. My job—my former job—was nothing like that.”
When she didn’t elaborate on what her job was, Frank let it drop. For now. “That’s right. You said you weren’t going back. Are you looking for a similar line of work, or something new?”
“Sort of new. I’m going to try to parlay my hobby into a paying gig. I’ve saved enough so it’s not urgent that I start a new job right away.”
“Nice position to be in,” he said.
“I earned it, trust me. Now, are we going to haggle or pay full price? Or aren’t we buying anything?”
An effective change of subject.
She’d brought up what he’d been lacking. A plan. Most of the time, his skillset entailed following, not leading. “I need to think for a bit.”
They drove on in silence while he mulled things over. Letting Kiera take the lead—the eager, attractive woman fascinated by all aspects of whatever crafts they came across—seemed a reasonable approach, and he told her so.
“Great. Do you have the list of other vendors we’re going to be checking out? So we can plan our route through the fair.”
“Yep. This isn’t a big place, and most of it is farmers’ market type stuff. All the arts and crafts booths are at one end. Up one side, down the other’s the logical path.”
“Do they give out maps?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Like I said, it’s small. Not like a county fair. It’s in a municipal park.” He glanced her way. “What’s the story with your car?”
“Insurance company insists on sending their own adjuster, who won’t get up this way until tomorrow afternoon. They’re going to arrange for a loaner, but not until after three today. Derek said I can stay another day.”
“Would have been surprised if he hadn’t.”
“I’m going to make it up to him. Do you have any idea what he’d like as a thank you gift? On top of paying my way, of course.”
“He’s a pretty down-to-earth guy. Can’t think of anything.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’ll buy him a barbed wire sculpture.”
They pulled into the parking area adjacent to the park. By now, most of the slots were filled. Frank grabbed a spot farther away than he would have liked, given Kiera’s injuries.
“I could drop you closer to the entrance,” he said.
“This will be fine. My ribs are much better.”
He worked the list of artisans and their wares from his pocket and handed it to Kiera. “I don’t know how many of them will be here. The event website didn’t list the vendors. I guess they each do their own promotion.”
She studied the list for a moment. “May I keep it?”
“Sure.”
She shoved it in her purse. “Let’s go find us a cattle rustler.”
Eagerness radiated off her. Frank hoped it wouldn’t lead to trouble.
~~
KIERA ACCEPTED FRANK’S help getting out of his truck. Her bruised ribs weren’t complaining much, but it seemed to make him happy. To be honest, she didn’t mind his touch. As they strolled along the path to the market, strains of ragtime piano filled the air.
“That sounds live,” she said. “Not piped in.”
“Yep. There’s a small stage area, and locals perform. Everything from country to rock to jazz.”
As they neared the entrance, brightly colored canopy tents came into view, along with a steady stream of people. And their dogs. Vendors greeted everyone, both human and canine, offering samples of their foodstuffs and water and treats for the dogs.
The aromas surrounded her. At least half a dozen food trucks lined the walkway, their wares announcing themselves in a tantalizing blend of smells. Kettle corn, sausage, onions, peppers, tamales, chili. Tables held baked goods, produce, meats and cheeses.
“We could have lunch here,” she said.
“Whatever you prefer.”
Did he sound disappointed? Did he have a sit-down restaurant in mind? A favorite place he wanted to show her? “We can decide once we’ve done what we’ve come for.”
Tempted as she was to stop at every vendor, Kiera kept moving. “Is the craft section this way?”
“Yep.” A light touch at the small of her back guided her along the walkway, where the streams of people parted and switched direction.
They passed the final food truck, one selling Hawaiian shave ice, and the music grew quieter, the aromas less pronounced. The atmosphere was less festive, but no less friendly. Kiera paused, palmed Frank’s vendor list. “Up one side, down the other, right?”
“Right.”
Candles, soaps, woodcarvings. Hats, stained glass, pottery. Quilts, jewelry. Baby clothes, kitchen towels. Something for everyone. “The people on your list. They’re not all cowboy crafts, are they?” she asked.
“Nope. My take is there are plenty of people who are relatively local. They do the circuit based on location, not by what they’re selling.”
Kiera stepped aside, studied Frank’s list. Nothing unique about most of them. Things you’d find at any community market. Only one specialized in barbed wire art, but there were several others who created their art using native materials. Lamps from deer antlers? Did people buy those? “You don’t have to kill deer to get their antlers, do you?”
Frank chuckled. “Nope. They shed them every year. Grow new ones. Seems a waste of metabolic energy, but who am I to question Mother Nature? There are people who think you have to kill a sheep for its wool, too.”
“Even I know that’s crazy.” Kiera had decided she’d pretend to be on the hunt for Christmas presents for everyone at the office, even though she’d be departing the obligatory Secret Santa exchange the company thought would breed camaraderie amongst the employees. Knives for back-stabbing would be the appropriate gifts for everyone.
At the first table, Kiera fingered a matching necklace and earring set.
“These are all handmade,” the woman behind the table said. “The beads in that one are tiger eye. These—” she picked up another set— “are lapis. They’d bring out the color of your eyes.”
“Beautiful,” Kiera said. “We just got here, so I’m going to keep browsing. Do you have a card?”
The woman gestured to a carved wooden holder, and Kiera took a card, slipped it into an outside pocket of her purse.
Kiera sensed Frank’s impatience as they worked their way from table to table. Guys didn’t shop, they bought, but she was establishing their cover. He was playing his role of bored companion, whether he knew it or not, perfectly. If these vendors chatted with each other—and she was sure they did, especially if they frequented the same events—then she’d rather they remembered her as an interested potential customer, and not someone digging for information.
By the time they reached the first table on their list, Kiera had bought a pair of oven mitts, a scarf, a pair of earrings, and a set of scented soaps.
“You know, you don’t have to buy,” Frank whispered. “These people are happy to chat with everyone.”
“I know,” she said, her voice low. “But these are all useful, either for me or as gifts.”
Stepping closer to the table, she pointed to the display of leather goods. “Look at these, Frank. I still need something for Derek. You think he’d like one of those hatbands? I like the pattern on this one.”
Frank must have picked up on the change in her tone. “Could be,” he said, showing interest for the first time this morning. “You make these all yourself?” he asked the vendor.
“Sure do,” the vendor, a gray-haired man with skin like the leather goods he sold, said. “No two exactly alike.”
“How do you get the leather?” Kiera asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “You don’t kill the cows, do you? This is cow leather, isn’t it?”
The man shot a look of sympathy combined with disbelief at Frank. “No, ma’am. I buy my leather from craft supply houses.”
“Someone has to kill the animals, right?”
“Well, yes, if you put it that way. They’re not killed for the leather, though. There’s the meat and other byproducts. Cattle are used efficiently, with little waste.”
“Don’t mind her,” Frank said. “She’s a vegetarian. A tough life in Colorado.”
Kiera huffed. “I get by. The planet is better for it.” She picked up one of the man’s business cards. “Thank you, Mr. ... Wainwright.”
They moved on, and Kiera asked Frank his impression of Wainwright as a cattle rustler.
“I don’t think so, but you’ve made quite the impression. I thought we were trying to gather information without calling attention to ourselves.”
“You think I overdid it?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Okay.” Kiera pivoted and went back to the table, picked up one of the hatbands. “I’ll take this one.”
With her purchase bagged, she hurried back to Frank. “Now, he’ll remember me as a nutjob, but a nutjob who bought something.”
They browsed three more tables before arriving at their real target. The barbed wire artist.