Beth Cornelison

Rancher's Covert Christmas


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you were quite helpful in calming the patient earlier. Some sort of yoga breathing?”

      She shrugged. “Mostly common sense. He needed not to hyperventilate, which was where he was headed, so I got him to refocus his thoughts and breathe deeper.”

      “Don’t be modest, dear. That was a good thing you did. We thank you. Dave is like family to us.” Melissa patted Erin’s sleeve, and the maternal gesture flowed through Erin like warm honey. She immediately liked the woman, whose kind eyes and generous smile spoke of a gentle soul.

      “Melissa and Michael McCall...” she said, tipping her head with a grin tugging her lips. “How very alliterative.”

      Melissa chuckled. “Says the writer. Yes, we have plenty of Ms around here. That’s where the Double M got its name.”

      Erin furrowed her forehead. “I thought the ranch had been in the family for several generations.”

      Melissa gave a startled laugh. “Someone has been doing her research!” She sent her husband an impressed look before returning her gaze to Erin. When the mostly gray blue heeler nuzzled her hand, Melissa bent to stroke the dog’s head and scratch his ears. “The ranch was my family’s for close to fifty years before I inherited it when my father died. We renamed it the Double M at that time because I wanted Michael to feel he was included, that he belonged, that the ranch was truly his as much as mine.”

      Michael jerked his head toward Melissa. “What? You told me you wanted to change the name because Rocking X sounded like a porn palace.”

      Erin snorted a laugh and quickly covered her mouth to muffle her mirth.

      “It did sound like a porn palace or house of ill repute!” Melissa fussed. “My mother thought so, too. It needed to change. And the Double M achieved both dignity and a sense of inclusion for you. Win-win.”

      Michael touched his wife’s cheek. “Well done, love.” He gave her a peck on the lips. “Thank you.”

      The clack of metal stretcher legs folding called their attention to the back of the ambulance. Dave was loaded in the patient bay, and Zane had to retrieve one of the dogs when it tried to jump into the ambulance with the stretcher.

      Helen clambered in next to Dave before the back doors were slammed shut.

      “Lord, take care of him. Give them both strength and peace,” Melissa said under her breath, then raised a worried look to her husband.

      “Why don’t you follow the ambulance to the hospital?” Michael said quietly to his wife. “I’ll join you shortly, but I want to stay here as long as the sheriff is on the premises.”

      Melissa gave him a long, anxious stare. “Will you behave? Let your sons talk to the deputies? I don’t need another emergency because your blood pressure spiked.”

      The reminder of his medical condition clearly irritated the ranch owner, but he sighed, nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

      “Thank you.” Melissa rose on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek before heading across the ranch yard calling, “I’m going to the hospital. Roy? Josh? Anyone want to ride with me?”

      Michael shifted his body so that his back was to the rest of the people in the yard. “You saw the accident happen?”

      “Sort of,” Erin said, matching his lowered volume. “I was talking to Zane at the time, and suddenly the ladder collapsed, and Dave was on the ground.”

      “And you suspect foul play?” Michael lifted an eyebrow.

      Erin shook her head. “Not necessarily. I just thought it wise for the police to photograph the scene, treat it as sabotage for the time being. Just in case. Considering the history of incidents here, it would be prudent.”

      “I agree. Unfortunately, the deputy I talked to is not so convinced. I tried to argue the point and was sidelined by my family because I had a cardiac event a few years ago and am at risk of another because of my blood pressure.” He grumbled something under his breath, then said, “The best thing for my blood pressure would be to see this menace hanging over us solved, and the ranch put back on a profitable trajectory.”

      “I’d like to go observe,” Erin said, casting a glance behind her client and seeing the deputies milling about the ladder debris. “We’ll talk later.” She offered her hand and said in a louder voice, “It was nice to meet you, Michael. Thank you for hosting me.”

      He jerked a nod and stepped aside, and Erin eased closer to the area where the deputy was nudging the parts of the broken ladder with his toe.

      “Um,” she said and cleared her throat, “aren’t you going to photograph the scene before you move pieces?”

      The deputy raised his head and eyed her. “We only do that at crime scenes, ma’am. No evidence of a crime here.”

      “And how do you know there was no crime if you don’t examine the broken parts and try to determine what happened?”

      The deputy tucked his thumbs in his utility belt, puffed his chest out and narrowed a glare on Erin. “And who are you?”

      “Guest of the ranch. Concerned citizen. Witness to the accident. Take your pick.” She tipped her head. “I’m available now if you are planning to interview the witnesses.”

      “Again, no need. No crime to investigate.” He took a step toward her. “Unless you know something about what happened that you’d like to share. You have a reason to believe this was more than an accident?”

      She flipped up a gloved palm. “Context. Past incidents of vandalism here. And, in my experience, ladders don’t typically just fall apart.”

      The deputy bent to pick up the bits of the rusty screw she’d found earlier. “They do when the hardware holding ’em together rusts out this much. The ladder was old. Worn out. I don’t see enough here to warrant an investigation.”

      She held the deputy’s stare. The hard slash of his mouth said clearly he was miffed that she’d questioned his professional judgment, but she didn’t back down. She was no stranger to crimes being brushed under a rug, investigations neglected because of political agendas and the influence of money.

      She heard the crunch of boots on slush but didn’t take her eyes from the deputy.

      “Is there a problem here?” Zane said, stepping up beside her and dividing a glance between her and the deputy.

      “I was just offering to tell Deputy—” she shifted her gaze briefly to the man’s name tag “—Morton what happened. What I saw. But he indicated he wouldn’t be conducting interviews or investigating the cause of the accident, seeing that he has no reason to believe anything untoward happened here.” She didn’t try to hide her sarcasm, and she earned a scowl from the deputy and a puzzled look from Zane.

      Morton cast a disgruntled look at Zane before returning his dark glare to her. “Thank you for your concern, ma’am,” he said tightly, his expression flinty. “I’ll be sure to contact you if we have any questions for you later. Good day.” He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

      Zane watched the officer go for a moment before facing her with a crease in his brow. “What did I miss?”

      “I was just expressing my concern to the deputy that they weren’t doing a more thorough investigation of what happened here.” She motioned to the broken ladder, then rolled her shoulders, releasing some of the tension that had knotted there as she’d confronted the deputy.

      “I see.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and he glanced toward the departing squad car. “As I said earlier, I appreciate your help with calming Dave. But if I may be blunt, Ms. Palmer...”

      His return to her surname told her all she needed to know about his mood, his opinion of her conversation with the deputy.

      “The incident is not your concern, and I would ask that you not