Rancher's Redemption. Beth Cornelison

“Sure. I can manage.”

      Ten minutes later, she and Clay were standing with Jericho and Deputy Rawlings beside the sinkhole. The sheriff shook his head. “We’ve been down with searchlights. Turns out this hole is an offshoot cave from the old tunnel Clay and I used to play in when we were kids.”

      “A tunnel? For what?” Tamara asked.

      Clay shrugged. “Don’t know what it used to be, but the tunnel’s been there for decades. When I bought the ranch, I put barbed wire across the entrance of the tunnel so none of my horses would wander in there and get stuck.”

      “The point is, ma’am,” Rawlings said, narrowing a look at Tamara that suggested he thought she’d lost her mind. “Sheriff and I have been all up and down the passages of the tunnel, and there’s no body in there.”

      All three men turned toward her. She bristled. “I saw the body myself! I touched it, not more than four hours ago!”

      She shuddered at the memory.

      The sheriff looked skeptical. “Did you hit your head when you went down?”

      “There was a body, Jericho!” Nausea swirled in her gut. Did they think she was lying? Or hallucinating?

      “I’m sure you were in shock,” Jericho said. “Maybe—”

      “No maybes, Jericho.” His shoulders squared and stiff, Clay took a step closer to her side. “If Tamara says there was a body, there was a body.”

      Her protest stuck in her throat. She turned to Clay, wide-eyed, her mind reeling, her heart full. They’d been on opposite sides of so many issues in the final months of their marriage, she’d grown used to butting heads with this stubborn man. Having him back up her story, believe her on something as important as this, touched her deeply, warmed her soul.

      Suspicion furrowed tiny creases at the corner of Clay’s eyes. “The only real questions here are who moved the body…and why.”

      Chapter 5

      Tamara limped across Clay’s family room and eased her throbbing body onto one of the leather sofas. Fatigue bore to her bones. The painkiller dulled the ache, but her muscles were stiff and sudden movement sliced rippling pain through her abdomen. As the prescription kicked in, her body begged for rest and her eyes screamed for sleep. But restless thoughts zinged through her brain.

      Where was the dead man she’d found in the tunnel? Was it possible she’d imagined the body, as Rawlings had suggested?

      She shook her head to clear the medicated haze. No! Her hands had touched cloth. She had smelled decaying flesh. She had seen the partially buried corpse.

      Someone had moved the dead man. But who?

      Her CSI team would vindicate her. Even now they were searching the tunnel, looking for hairs, blood or tissue to substantiate her claim and try to identify the victim. With luck they’d also find footprints or drag marks showing the body had been moved.

      Clay carried two glasses from the large farm-style kitchen and set one on the wagon-wheel coffee table in front of her. “Marie says she made a fruit salad to go with dinner, but you can have some now if you’re hungry.”

      “No, thanks.” Tamara sipped her drink. Sweet tea with lemon, just the way she liked it. Clay had remembered.

      She closed her eyes and battled the swell of bittersweet emotion the simple kindness stirred. Though stress and the effect of the painkiller had her on edge, she couldn’t allow herself to lose it.

      Of course he’d remember her favorite drink. They’d been intimately connected since high school, mind, body and soul. He’d have to be thickheaded to forget such a basic preference. Clay was anything but stupid. His slow gait and laid-back manner belied the razor-sharp mind that clicked behind those dark eyes.

      “You should go to bed. You’ve had a rough day.” Clay sat on the opposite couch.

      “Not until I hear back from my team.” She huffed her frustration. “I should be out there. This was my case.”

      Clay arched an eyebrow and shot her a skeptical look. “You’re in no condition to work.”

      “I know but—” She balled her fists and sighed, trying find the words to express how the waiting killed her, how she hated starting something she couldn’t finish, how the need for answers kept her mind in turmoil.

      “But it’s hard to rest up here when your heart and mind are down at that tunnel with your team,” Clay finished for her matter-of-factly.

      She blinked, her stomach flip-flopping. “Yeah. Exactly. How did you know?”

      He shrugged and took a long swallow of his iced tea. “It’s hard for me to delegate, too. I have to be hands-on with anything that matters.”