Big Sky Cowboy

“Are you in need of one?”

Over his shoulder, he sent her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “So what is this?”

“That’s bath oil. It soothes. Relaxes sore muscles.”

He grinned with a thought. “I’ve had more than my share of those.” Facing her, he fished in his shirt pocket to withdraw photographs. It was time to force the issue. “Here. Look at the photos of my aunt, see what happens.”

“Colby, I meant what I said earlier.”

“That was then. Now you have a problem. And I have a solution. Two weeks,” he said. He offered a generous amount of money for two weeks of her time, knew she needed it badly. “Think about it.”

He didn’t play fair. She could ignore his challenge but not the money. It would take care of the financial problem Esther had dropped in her lap. Still, during the two weeks he’d requested, her whole world could crumble around her. While she tried to identify Harriet’s killer, she’d give Leone an opportunity to criticize her more, convince people she was a bad element for their town.

She placed a Closed sign in the store window, then returned to the table and spread out the photographs. The possibility existed that she might not see anything. She never could be certain she’d be able to help and she never knew how much pain she might feel.

Why hadn’t she handed the photographs back to him? Why had she mentioned the mare, a pale beige horse with a white mane and tail? She’d made a mistake mentioning that horse. She’d had no reason to show off except to convince him she had power. Why was easy to answer. The attraction for Colby had descended on her so quickly, so intensely she’d had no chance to block it. It didn’t matter that she hardly knew him or that they probably had nothing in common or that he belonged to a different world.

Most of all, he belonged.

And she was an outsider. She’d hoped if she didn’t use her psychic ability she’d have a better chance at acceptance, would be able to stay in Rumor, make friends.

One of those friends was Louise Holmes, she reminded herself. How could she not help a friend? She placed fingers on one of the photos but felt nothing. She didn’t think the photographs were recent enough to give her a clue about Harriet’s killer.

If Winona Cobb and Crystal had been home, Tessa would have driven to Whitehorn to visit them, to see if they’d be more receptive. Like her, they’d weathered a storm of criticism because of psychic powers, but they and Crystal’s husband, Deputy Sloan Ravencrest, were on vacation in California. So she’d try again. Stare harder. Let emotions radiate from the photos.

One of them was of Harriet decorating a Christmas tree. The ornament in her hand was a brass horn with a red-and-green plaid ribbon. Tessa closed her eyes. A foggy vision appeared of a young woman in a Victorian dress. An heirloom, Tessa guessed about the ornament. She felt peace. Joy. Love.

Another photograph was of Harriet and Louise smiling, sitting under a patio umbrella, frosty glasses of iced tea on the round table before them. A warm summer’s breeze rustled leaves on the trees behind them. Tessa smelled lilacs, sensed affection and love between the sisters.

In the third photograph, Harriet and Henry, the town’s mayor years ago, stood before the library. It appeared to be a dedication of some sort. Harriet was distracted. Boredom? Tessa couldn’t pinpoint the woman’s feelings.

For forty minutes, she concentrated on the photographs, but nothing about them helped her name Harriet’s killer.

The roll of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She gathered the photographs, set them on the kitchen table, then headed upstairs. She changed into a peach-colored, scooped-neck T-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

Half an hour ago, a drizzle had begun. Now rain plopped in a light but steady syncopated beat on the sidewalk outside her store.

After snatching her umbrella, she dashed to the van. Branches swayed beneath an angry wind. Storms rarely bothered her, but the day had carried more turmoil than usual. She was edgy. The moment she slid behind the steering wheel, she hit the button for her CD player.

As she drove, fingers of lightning reached downward, brightening the street with eerie flashes. Thunder rumbled, overpowering the lilting sounds of flutes and a Celtic melody.

She slowed the van, peered between the swishing windshield wipers, checked her rearview mirror for cars behind her. One followed at a distance. She passed the Calico Diner. Through one of the trailer’s windows, she saw a server. Her dark hair shone beneath the lights. Tessa had planned on going in for a hamburger, but judging by the cars parked in the dirt lot outside the trailer with its fifties decor, the diner was crowded. She wasn’t in the mood for that many people. She turned off the town’s main street. She’d head home and search her refrigerator for dinner.

The headlights of the car behind her glared in her rearview mirror. She squinted. Was that the same car? Why would it be?

In a test of sorts, she sped up. The car closed in. Tightly she clutched the steering wheel. As she turned down another side street, the car followed. Why was someone following her? Though some people indicated displeasure about her store, no one had ever threatened her.

Yet earlier, while she’d looked at antiques, an uneasy sensation had crept up her spine. Despite the congenial greetings and the laughter generously sprinkled among conversations, people had seemed jumpy. She’d tried to ignore the feeling. At the time, she’d thought she was feeling their apprehension. But now she knew. There had been more. More than once, she had sensed ill will from someone in the crowd.

Was that person in the car behind her? She maneuvered around another corner and toward Main Street. People. She didn’t want to drive all the way to the Calico Diner. But she needed people. Lots of people.

In the dark confines of the car behind her, desperation seized the driver. No chance could be taken. People were remembering how Winona Cobb’s niece, Crystal, in Whitehorn, who was supposed to be psychic, had helped authorities after the Montgomery girl’s death.

The possibility existed that Tessa Madison, too, had what people called sixth sense. Whatever was necessary had to be done to scare her off.

Her car stayed on Main Street, then turned into the parking lot adjacent to Joe’s Bar. It looked packed with the expected Friday-night crowd. Did she know she was being followed? That was good. If she was scared, she’d back off.

She’d better.

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