Chapter Twelve

Taylor smiled when Brett chuckled at her joke. His lips parted as if he had more to say about going to his cabin. But apparently he’d only been teasing, because he let her hair drop and asked her what she wanted to speak to him about. Maybe he decided he was coming on too strong, too fast.

Although she ached to feel his touch again, she refocused, explained what she’d read in the coroner’s report, and told him of her plan to visit the sheriff tomorrow first thing. “Maybe he knows where I can find Adam Echo Hawk. I’d like to talk to that man and learn more about the kind of relationship he and Jamie had.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Brett said. “At least, not to meet with him on your own—if you can even locate him.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know anything about the guy. He could be a dangerous drug addict, like Will suspects.”

“There’s only one way for me to find out,” she replied. “Hopefully the sheriff will have that kind of information. I’m sure the law knows all the druggies. Anyway, he might have left the area after Jamie died. I have to do what I can to find him.”

“What did you read in that report that makes you more determined to investigate your sister’s death?”

Not wanting him to think she was a nut, Taylor kept the part about seeing Jamie’s spirit and communicating with her to herself. “I keep thinking about what Mama said. After learning that Jamie was finally doing something with her life, it raises questions about her final days. If she’d discovered photography and had been excited about her first exhibit coming up, why would she kill herself? That doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Maybe her death was an accidental overdose.”

“Nope. The report clearly states suicide. I’ll talk to the woman at the art gallery, too,” Taylor added, mentally adding things to tomorrow’s to-do list.

Brett nodded in agreement.

Another sad howl from the distant coyote drew Taylor from her thoughts. “Sounds like he’s lonely,” she said, gazing into Brett’s eyes that sparkled even in the twilight.

“Do you know coyotes are monogamous and they pair and breed for life?”

“No, I didn’t. It’s nice to know there are still some species who believe in faithfulness.”

“Unfortunately, many of those pairings don’t last, but that’s only because of the cycle of life. Being raised a country girl, you know how things are.” His voice deepened. “If I come upon that lonely fellow, I’ll have to shoot him. Here in the west alone, coyotes kill about twenty-seven million dollars worth of livestock each year.”

“Can’t have that happening on a cattle ranch,” she acknowledged. Taylor knew about the predatory nature of coyotes and how the ranchers’ and the coyotes’ lifestyles often collided since they shared the same habitat. “I know they spell disaster to a rancher, but it’s still sad to know one of those beautiful creatures will lose its mate if it runs into your bullet.”

“Then maybe it should stay in its den and not prowl around where it doesn’t belong,” Brett said, nodding his head firmly. Taylor cracked a smile. “Are we still talking about coyotes?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Even though she was drawn to Brett and was tempted to sway the conversation back to the earlier invite to his room, she decided to say goodbye instead. Suddenly overwhelmed with confusion about her feelings, coupled with apprehension about prying into Jamie’s life and death, Taylor thought it better—and wiser to call it a night.

“Good night, Brett.” She shook his hand formally. “I’ll see you around.” She turned and walked away before she could change her mind. When she reached the back door, she looked over her shoulder to see him standing in front of his truck with moonbeams lighting up the puzzled expression on his face.

****

Brett flipped on the inside light, locked the cabin door behind him, and tossed his Stetson on the wooden chair in the corner. His gray cat, Caesar, yawned and stretched and then jumped off the bed and rubbed against his legs.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, lifting Caesar into his arms and stroking his head. “Been sleeping away the night, I see.” The cat leaped out of his hands and padded back to the bed where he curled into a ball on top of the extra pillow and began giving himself a bath.

Brett stripped out of his clothes down to his undershirt and skivvies and stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he was finished, he checked to make sure the coffee pot wasn’t plugged in—it wasn’t—and then turned off the cabin’s main light. The shimmery glow of the moon shone through the thin curtains hanging at the glass windows, giving enough light for him to see his way to the bed.

When he crawled between the sheets, he flipped on the bedside table lamp and laced his fingers together at the back of his head. If Taylor had taken him up on his invitation to come back here tonight, what would she think of this place? Glancing around the foreman’s cabin he’d occupied for the past two years, he tried to look at it objectively, through the eyes of a woman.

The pine log dwelling consisted of one large open room, with the exception of the tiny bathroom. In the kitchen were the usual appliances, including a microwave, and three feet of counter space. Apart from his bed and the corner chair, the only other furniture in the room was a small round dining table and two spindle chairs, an overly soft couch, a small television, and an old wardrobe against one wall that held his clothes and boots. A bookcase was stacked with horse and ranching magazines and a few volumes of western fiction books, but it was mainly used as a catch-all for his keys, wallet and such. The hardwood floor was tarnished with scars from years of being trampled on by spurred boots and was covered by a large braided rug.

Brett growled low in his throat. What had he been thinking when he suggested Taylor come back with him to this place? He’d never had a woman in here before. Why her? Why had he opened his big mouth and blurted that out, knowing full well the cabin was a hovel compared to the Banner home and the palace she probably lived in back in L.A.?

The cabin was exactly what it had been built as—private quarters for a ranch foreman. There was nothing fancy about cowboys who worked the range, and this simple cabin brought that notion home. Marci had left because he couldn’t offer her finer things. Why did he think Taylor would be any different?

While his body ached to join with hers, his common sense told him it was a bad idea. Will would probably stick him on a spit and roast him if he hurt Taylor, intentionally or not. Besides, she didn’t live in Montana. She’d be going back to L.A. soon, and his heart wasn’t into a one-night stand.

“It’s a good thing that woman had the good sense to turn me down,” he grumbled, flipping onto his side toward Caesar after switching off the light. “You wouldn’t have shared the bed anyway, huh, boy?”

The cat just purred in his face.