“I do, too,” J.C. said, looking at him with eyes almost silver, surprising in a face with an olive tan. “Too much to be a coincidence. He might have been on the property earlier and got spooked.”
Ren looked at the truck driver in the distance. “I got the feeling that not much would spook that man. Willis, wait half an hour and call Nat Beakly. I’d bet you a full breakfast, including coffee, that the truck never shows up over there.”
“I won’t take that bet,” Willis said, smiling.
“Let’s get busy,” Ren said.
They turned and went back to their vehicles.
*
MERRIE HAD COME DOWNSTAIRS to get a glass of milk when Ren walked in, still carrying the Winchester.
“Something’s happened! Is he here? Has he found me?” she asked, her young face a study in fear.
He stood the gun up in a corner before he went to her. He took her by the arms and pulled her against him. “It’s all right. We’ve got armed men everywhere. He won’t get to you. I promise.”
“I’m not a coward, honest I’m not,” she said against the soft sheepskin of his jacket. “It’s just...I’d rather fight something I can see, you know?”
“I do know.” He smoothed his hand over her back, and she stiffened. Odd how the sweater felt, as if it was uneven somehow.
The phone rang. He kept an arm around Meredith as he answered it. “Yes?”
He chuckled as he listened. “Okay, Willis. Thanks. And thank J.C. Guess I’ll be buying breakfast for you two in the morning. Sure. Good night.”
He hung up. “It was a legitimate mistake. The driver thought we were Nat Beakly’s place. He said he’d been held up in traffic, and that much is true. I heard about the wreck on the scanner, had the whole interstate shut down for about two hours.”
“Thank goodness,” she said heavily.
He tilted her face up and smiled at her. “Go on up to bed.”
She made a face. “I want some milk. I’m thirsty.”
“I think I might have a milk cow in the pasture off the barn...”
She gave him a droll look.
He just grinned. “If you’re going to the kitchen anyhow, how about bringing me a beer on your way back?”
“Sure!”
He went to put the Winchester back in the gun case, which he locked. By that time, she had a cold beer bottle in one hand, unopened.
“Sari says Paul doesn’t like anybody opening his beer before they hand it to him. It may be an FBI thing,” she added, smiling.
He took the cold beer from her. “Could be. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She hesitated.
“Something else?”
“Why don’t you buy cans instead of bottles?”
He leaned down. “Glass bottles eventually disintegrate into the ground. If you drop a can, it’s bad for the ecology.”
“Simple solution—don’t drop one!”
He gave her a sardonic look. “I like the way beer tastes when it comes out of bottles. Cans make it taste tinny.”
She grinned. “Can bigot,” she accused.
He burst out laughing. “Get some sleep, Cinderella. Tomorrow night, you go to the ball.”
“I hope my dress is okay,” she said worriedly. “Delsey said it would be appropriate, even though it’s, well, unorthodox.”
His eyebrows arched. “How unorthodox?” he asked suspiciously.
“It doesn’t show anything,” she said quickly. “Well, a little of my legs, but nothing else.” She flushed.
That flush delighted him. He smiled at her. His black eyes twinkled. “A little of your legs? How scandalous.”
She laughed self-consciously. “I guess it would have been, a hundred years ago.”
“We’ll leave around six tomorrow,” he told her. “Delsey won’t have to feed us. Which is a good thing. She’s sitting with a neighbor who’s having surgery tomorrow morning. Delsey’s going to spend the night in her room.”
“They let you do that?” Merrie exclaimed.
“They do in Catelow,” he replied.
“That’s such a sweet thing to do.”
“The poor woman’s scared. She’s sixty and she’s never been ‘cut on,’ as she puts it. Some female problem that requires an operation. She’s Delsey’s third cousin.”
“We don’t have any cousins or aunts or uncles,” Merrie said sadly. “Sari and I are all that’s left of our family.”
“Randall and I are pretty much the last of ours. Except for his mother.”
“She painted, didn’t she?” she asked softly. “It’s her studio that you’re letting me borrow.”
“She painted.” He turned away.
“Good night,” she said, not pushing her luck with him.
“Sleep well,” he said, but he didn’t look at her again.
*
“WHOSE HOUSE IS the party going to be at?” Merrie asked Delsey as the older woman helped pin up her long hair in a style that looked like something out of the forties. It really suited the dress.
“Durward Phelps’s place,” she replied. “He has mining interests all over, and he owns at least two producing oil wells. He’s very rich. But he didn’t inherit it. He’s like Ren. He worked hard for what he has.”
“He must be a nice man.”
“He is. But his niece isn’t. I hope she isn’t going to be there tonight.”
“It’s that woman, Angie, that Ren was mixed up with, isn’t it?”