REN WAS CLIMBING DOWN from the cab of a huge hay feeder, a machine that took the big round bales of hay and churned them up into feed, along with additives, and pushed the feed out into troughs through a long curved tube.
“Hey, boss,” J.C. called.
Ren tugged his hat lower and his scarf tighter as he joined the other man. It was even colder than the day before, and snow was still driving down. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I went to see Beakly,” J.C. replied.
“And?”
“You were right. He was paid two thousand dollars to back up the truck driver’s story about a delivery,” the other man said curtly.
Ren blew out a breath, idly watching it steam in the vicious cold as it left his warm mouth. “Maybe it’s a good thing Meredith went home, after all,” he said quietly. It still hurt to recall what he’d done to her. If he thought about it very much, he’d go mad.
“Maybe. I hope they’re watching her closely. Contract killers are crafty and meticulous, and they don’t usually strike until your guard is down.”
“How would you know about that, Calhoun?” Ren mused.
J.C. didn’t say a word. He just looked at Ren, his odd silver eyes as cold as the snow around them.
“I’m sure she’s well protected,” Ren replied. “Her brother-in-law is an FBI agent, and the family is wealthy.”
“None of that will matter,” J.C. told him. “This man’s a chameleon. He popped up out of nowhere, with a disguise that fooled both of us. He came onto the ranch right under our noses and disabled two closed-circuit cameras. Yes, we have it on tape,” he added. “We had a hidden camera that he didn’t see. It caught a good shot of him, close up.”
Ren’s cold lips made a thin line. “Print it out. I’m going to fax it to the FBI agent at his office in San Antonio,” he said. “It might not do a lot of good. I’m sure they have a pretty accurate description of him by now. But it might help.”
“Good idea,” J.C. said. “You never know what will break a case wide-open.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MERRIE LAID HER head back against the seat, smiling at her good fortune. Brand Taylor was quite knowledgeable about art, and he had a reputation for astute appraisal. He’d taught Merrie a thing or two about painting as well, during her infrequent trips to his store to buy her art supplies. He sold them in a separate room of his gallery, Jacobsville being such a small town that he needed the diversity to stay afloat financially.
She hoped he’d agree to stay on long enough to teach her the management end of the business. She knew the art side fairly well. Managing a retail business on a daily basis, however, was another matter. That was going to take some training. She might do well to sign up for a few business courses at the local community college where she’d done her art classes.
But that thought had little appeal. She had no interest in numbers or keeping records. That would turn a new and exciting job into something incredibly boring and tedious.
Alternatively, she might just hire a business manager. Her spirits lifted. Sari had suggested obtaining the services of a good certified public accountant, as well. That wasn’t a bad idea. If other people could handle the day-to-day management of the business, Merrie could do what she loved best. She could buy and sell art. And she could paint!
At least worrying about her new business would keep her mind off the one thing it kept gnawing on: Ren. Without him, life lost all color. The thought of never seeing him again made her sick to her stomach. She’d loved him. The way they’d parted was still painful to recall.
When she closed her eyes, she could envision the portrait she’d done of Ren, the one that had captured him so perfectly. He’d been surprised and delighted with the end result. She wondered what he’d do with the canvas now. Probably hide it in a closet, because he wouldn’t want to be reminded of her. He wouldn’t like remembering how badly he’d treated her, even if he’d only wanted to have sex with her. He was a kind man inside, where he hid that part of himself beneath a gruff exterior.
She knew him down to his bones. He’d been hurt so much that he withdrew from the world, from people. He lived isolated from the world and spent his life taking care of livestock. He loved animals. Animals couldn’t hurt you, and his business gave him something to nurture, to protect.
He loved the land as much as he loved cattle. He’d talked to her about his plans for pasture improvement, for experimenting with native grasses and water conservation on his property. He was a good steward of the land. They had a lot in common. Merrie loved gardening and animals, as well. If he hadn’t hurt her so badly, she might still be in Wyoming, learning more about him.