“He claims he’s Harriet’s estranged husband. One day weeks ago he unexpectedly arrived in town.”
In spite of herself, curiosity got the best of her. “Do you think he killed her?”
“I don’t like him. I wouldn’t mind seeing him gone and behind bars. There was a book in Harriet’s house with blood on it. Her own. She used it to print some letters. H and I and an N or M or R. I’ll see if I can get the book for you.”
Tessa shook her head. “I don’t want it, Mr. Holmes.”
“Colby. Call me Colby. Chelsea Kearns, the forensic expert, has come up with a profile of the killer. I’ll get it for you and—”
“You’re not listening. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.”
“A lot of people believe that you can,” he quipped.
She refused to let him bait her. She wanted him to leave—now. He was more than she’d bargained for. And what she was feeling went far beyond his great looks.
With a look, a moment’s insight into his sensitivity, she felt her pulse rate accelerate. No one had unbalanced her so quickly, so easily before. “That’s their problem, not mine,” she said, watching his gaze shift from her eyes to her lips. She couldn’t let herself connect with him. You’ll have to find help elsewhere.” Before he could say more, she stepped away to check a delivery sheet.
When she heard his footsteps, knew he was moving away, she breathed easier. He was asking too much of her. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to her psychic power if she wanted to make a home in Rumor. Too many years of moving around, she assumed, made her want to stay. She wanted to feel as if she belonged somewhere. And she could lose her chance to have that because of him, because of what he wanted from her.
Colby mumbled to himself during the drive home. One look at her eyes had almost made a believer out of him. Gray, disturbing, they seemed to see inside him. Could she read minds? How in the devil had she known he was thinking about the storeroom having once been the kitchen?
He gave his head a mental shake as he passed under the arched Double H at the entrance of the ranch. The mistake was that he’d taken a lengthy view of her in the snug jeans and bright yellow T-shirt. She hadn’t looked like a kook.
He braked near the stable and climbed out of the truck. Standing on the dirt drive, he shaded eyes against a bright sun. Wide-open rangeland blended with distant buttes. He scanned the corral, the bunkhouse and stables. This was a world he understood. This was where he belonged.
He shouldn’t have gone to her store. Blame it on the heat, he mused. It had been so hot lately. He wasn’t thinking any more clearly than anyone else right now.
In the barn, hay crunched beneath the soles of his boots while he moved past horse stalls, then grabbed a pitchfork. Second sight. No one had it. What she really was was a modern-day Gypsy of sorts with her fortune-telling and astrological readings.
When she’d spieled off the mumbo jumbo about karma and psychic readings, he’d thought Chelsea had gotten the wrong impression of her. But he wasn’t a dumb man. It hadn’t taken long to guess she’d been acting the nutcase for his benefit. Later, she’d given herself away. Instead of giving him some cunning nonsense about her power allowing her to know his birth sign, she’d surprised him and offered a logical answer. She’d read a newspaper article about him, she’d said.
He poked the pitchfork hard, harder than necessary, into the bed of hay. He rarely lied to himself and couldn’t now. His foul mood had more to do with what hadn’t happened. For a brief moment, right before he’d left, he’d gotten lost in those eyes and had nearly drawn her close just to see her reaction. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, he reminded himself. If he’d felt a heat curling in his gut, blame it on that.
Annoyed with what he viewed as stupid daydreaming, he worked longer than he’d intended. By the time he finished the chore, he needed a shower. Simpler surroundings suited him. He was a man who spent most of the daylight hours outside. His ranch required constant attention.
Colby shook his head with annoyance. He had things to do and lately he’d been distracted from the ranch, in town more than at home. He’d chosen to raise quarter horses. One had faithfully helped him earn plenty of money. They were the cream of rodeo horses, perfect as reining and cutting horses. He’d already had a rancher in Wyoming and a dude ranch owner in Colorado contact him because the horses were great on the trail, and some fellow from England had called him about purchasing a few for hunts.
In passing, he patted the rump of the prize mare he’d purchased less than three months ago. He’d been taken with her. Because she was no cow pony, he spent more than made sense for her, but she was a fair beauty, pale beige with a white mane and tail, had a hint of Thoroughbred. She stood proud. She’d bear champions. But she still wasn’t pregnant.
He lifted off his hat and used the back of his hand to wipe away sweat as he strolled toward the barn door. He stepped outside into the almost stifling heat. Hotter than hell. A setting sun peeked below the gathering pewter-gray clouds and bathed everything in a warm golden glow, made the air sticky with the promise of rain.
With thoughts about a shower, he passed the outdoor ring where one of his ranch hands was reining a horse sharply around a barrel. Hooves spraying a cloud of dirt into the air, the horse circled the first barrel tightly and then hurtled toward a second at the other end of the ring. She’d be ready for sale soon.
He’d barely stepped inside the house and removed his hat when his cell phone rang. He tossed his hat on a table in the front hall and unhooked the phone from his belt. Only a few people had the number. His mother was one of them.
“Colby, we’re still waiting.”
The greeting made him laugh. “Hello, Mom.”
“Did you find our future daughter-in-law today?”
He indulged her. “Should I have?”
“We’d hoped,” she said with a lightness that assured him this was as much a game as a serious discussion.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You say that, but I don’t think you take your father and me seriously.” Her voice carried humor. “You need to get married. We’re waiting for our grandchild.”
Here it comes, Colby mused. Once a week, his mother gave her we-won’t-live-forever lecture.
“We need an heir, Colby.”
It was useless to tell her not to plan a wedding. While she had high hopes, he’d given them up. There was no perfect woman for him. Diana Lynscot had ended his belief in the forever-after daydream, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to bother looking for another woman.
“Colby, are you listening?”
“To every word, Mom.”
Some of the humor left her voice. “What about our other problem? Did you see Tessa today?”
“I talked to her. She’s not interested.”
Disappointment filled her voice. “Oh.”
“Have you ever been in that shop?”
“Of course.”
“It’s unusual,” he said. The store hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d been envisioning black walls, witches’ spells and vampire lore. Instead he’d seen unicorns and charms for good luck.
“That’s what makes it so interesting,” she said without hesitation. She had such a great capacity for accepting people and anything new.
“She’s unusual,” he said.
“I think she’s lovely. Don’t you?”
A mild description. Tessa Madison was something else. Cool on the surface. Smiling even when provoked. Controlled. He admired that. He’d followed her movement around the