Merrie didn’t lift her eyes until he was out the door and gone. She sipped coffee with a wistful glance at Delsey. “I set him off just by being in the house.” She sighed. “He really dislikes me.”
“It wouldn’t matter who you were, child,” Delsey said with a smile. “That she-cat razed his pride, made him a laughingstock on social forums online.” She shook her head. “She was vindictive. None of what she said about him was true, but it was almost impossible to counter it.”
“Yes, it is.” She wondered what the woman had said about Ren. He was proud. It must have hurt his feelings very badly to be ridiculed in a way he couldn’t fight.
There was the sound of a big truck out front, followed by a door slamming and a knock at the door.
Delsey went to answer it, and she stared blankly at the parcel service driver. “You sure that’s for here?” she asked him with a grin.
“If there’s a Miss Grayling here, it is,” he replied, putting a stack of boxes just inside the front door. A flutter of snowflakes entered with them.
“It’s my art supplies!” Merrie enthused. “Oh, thank you!”
“That’s all art supplies?” Delsey asked, shaking her head. “What’d you do, order live models?”
The parcel driver chuckled, waved and left.
“It’s an easel and some canvases and a lot of paints,” Merrie replied. “I was afraid to ask Sari to send my supplies out here from Texas. I didn’t want anybody to trace them.”
“Oh, yes,” Delsey agreed, remembering. “That stalker.”
Merrie frowned. Well, perhaps Ren hadn’t felt comfortable telling Delsey the truth. It didn’t matter. Surely the FBI was hot on the trail of the contract killer by now.
“So I thought it would be better to order them from here,” Merrie added. “Do you have a pair of scissors?”
“Something better.” She grinned, went into the kitchen and came back with a knife in a leather pouch. “Ren gave it to me for my birthday. It’s made by the same people who made the skeet gun he uses in competition.”
“He shoots?”
She nodded. She bent to open the packages. “Not so much these days. Mostly he hunts elk or deer or partridge. Business is so complex here that he doesn’t get a lot of time off.”
“The men stay very busy.”
“That’s ranching, honey,” Delsey said. “There’s always something.”
“It was that way at our ranch, too,” Merrie confessed. “But we only had horses. No cattle. I don’t know much about them yet, but I’ll learn. YouTube is great!”
Delsey gave her a droll look. “Ren is better. Why don’t you ask him to take you around and show you how he manages cattle?”
She sighed. “He’d point me to the path that leads down to the stables and tell me to help myself,” she said with a wistful smile. “He doesn’t want me around. Randall must have known that, before he brought me here. I should have stayed in Comanche Wells.”
Delsey touched her hair gently. “No. You should be here, where you’re safe. Ren will come around. You’ll see. Now let’s get these things into the studio.”
*
THEY MOVED THE art supplies into the room that Merrie was using for a studio. “Did his mother really paint?” she asked.
Delsey nodded. “Yes. His father never remarried. He loved his ex-wife until the day he died.”
Merrie’s lips parted. “Ren didn’t say that his mother painted, did he?”
Delsey winced. “He never talks about her. Never calls her. She sends cards and letters—well, she used to—and he sends them right back, unopened. I don’t think he’s even seen her since he graduated from college and came here.” She shook her head. “It’s sad. His mother was a nice person, from what Randall says about her, and she grieves for Ren.”
Merrie didn’t know what to say. She drew in a long breath. “Our mother was like spring itself,” she commented, idly touching the unassembled easel in its box. “She loved us so much. She was always doing things with us, taking us places, loving us. After she died, life was a nightmare.”
Delsey didn’t pry, but she was openly curious. “What did she die of?”
Merrie bit her lower lip. “We think our father killed her. Please don’t tell him,” she said, nodding toward the door with a worried expression, indicating that she meant Ren. “Our father was violent. Paranoid. She died of a concussion, but one of our local doctors thought it was murder. He tried to do an autopsy, but he was suddenly called out of town, and Daddy paid somebody to do it while he was gone and classify it as an accidental death.”
“Why didn’t the doctor protest?”
“Because Daddy made threats to the people in charge.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “You can’t imagine the fear he instilled in people. He had something on every single person who worked for him—even Mandy. Mandy had a brother who was in the mob up north. Daddy threatened to have her brother sent to prison. He knew people who could plant evidence. Everybody in Comanche Wells, where we live, was scared of him. Even people in Jacobsville were. He terrorized the whole community.”