Wrangled Read online

  She was an abrupt woman who had little to say. Emma knew she should be thankful, but sometimes it would be nice to have someone who would just sit and visit with her. That definitely wasn’t Mrs. Crowley, but Emma kept trying.

  “I see you’ve made coffee,” Emma said now. “May I pour you a cup? We could sit at the table for a few minutes before Hoyt comes down.”

  “No, thank you. I’m cleaning the guest rooms today.”

  Emma could have argued that the guest rooms could wait. Actually, they probably didn’t need cleaning. It had been a while since they’d had a guest. But Mrs. Crowley didn’t give her a chance. The woman was already off down the hallway to that wing of the house.

  As Emma watched her go, she noticed how the woman dragged her right leg. That’s what gave her that peculiar gait, she thought distractedly. Then she heard Hoyt coming downstairs and poured them both a cup of coffee.

  It wasn’t until she took the mugs over to the table that she realized Mrs. Crowley always made herself scarce when Hoyt was around. Maybe she just wanted to give them privacy, Emma told herself. “Strange woman,” she said under her breath.

  A moment later Hoyt came into the kitchen, checked to make sure they were alone and put his arms around her. “Good morning. Want to sneak out to the barn with me, Mrs. Chisholm? Zane and Marshall have gone to Wolf Point. Dawson, Tanner and Logan are all mending fences and Colton has gone into town for feed.”

  She laughed, leaning into his hug. It had been a while since they’d made love in the hayloft.

  * * *

  CYNTHIA CROWLEY WATCHED Emma and Hoyt from one of the guest room windows. They had their arms around each other’s waists. Emma had her face turned up to Hoyt, idolization in her eyes. She was laughing at something he’d said.

  Cynthia could only imagine.

  She let the curtain fall back into place as Hoyt pushed open the barn door and they disappeared inside. As she turned to look around the guest room, she mumbled a curse under her breath. The decor was Western, from the oak bed frame to the cowboy-print comforter. Emma’s doing, the housekeeper thought as she moved to look at an old photograph on the wall.

  It was of the original house before Hoyt had added onto it. The first Chisholm main house was a two-story shotgun. It was barely recognizable as the house in which Cynthia now stood. Hoyt had done well for himself, buying up more land as his cattle business had improved.

  On another wall was a photograph of his six adopted sons, three towheaded with bright blue eyes, three dark-eyed with straight black hair and Native American features. In the photo, all six sat along the top rail of the corral. The triplets must have been about eight when the picture was taken, which made the other three from seven to ten or so.

  They looked all boy. There was a shadow on the ground in the bottom part of the photograph. Hoyt must have been the photographer, since she was sure the shadow was his.

  Now the boys were all raised—not that Emma didn’t get them back here every evening she could. All but Zane were engaged or getting married so the house was also full of their fiancées. Emma apparently loved it and always insisted on helping with the cooking.

  Not that Cynthia Crowley minded the help—or the time spent with the new Mrs. Hoyt Chisholm. Emma fascinated her in the most macabre of ways.

  The new Mrs. Chisholm had definitely been a surprise. A man as powerful and wealthy as Hoyt Chisholm could have had a trophy wife. Instead he’d chosen a plump fifty-something redhead.

  “There is no accounting for tastes,” the housekeeper said to the empty room as she went to work dusting. Before she’d been hired on, she’d been told about Hoyt’s other three wives—and their fates.

  “Do you think he killed them?” she’d asked the director of the employment agency where she’d gone to get the job.

  “Oh, good heavens, no,” the woman had cried, then dropped her voice. “I certainly wouldn’t send a housekeeper up there if I thought for a moment…”

  Cynthia had smiled. “I’m not afraid of Hoyt Chisholm. Or his wife. I’m sorry, what did you say her name was?”

  “Emma. And I’ve heard she is delightful.”

  “Yes, delightful,” Cynthia grumbled to herself now. At the sound of laughter, she went to the window. Through the sheer curtains she saw Emma and Hoyt coming out of the barn. They were both smiling—and holding hands.

  Cynthia Crowley made a rude noise under her breath. “The two of them act like teenagers.”

  A loud snap filled the air, startling her. It wasn’t until she felt the pain that she looked down. She hadn’t been aware that she’d been holding anything in her hands until she saw the broken bud vase, and the blood oozing from her hand from where she’d broken the vase’s fragile, slim neck.

  * * *

  ONCE THEY HAD THE HORSES loaded at a ranch north of Wolf Point, Marshall suggested they grab lunch. Zane wasn’t hungry, wasn’t sure he ever would be again. He was anxious to call Courtney and find out what had happened last night.

  Stepping outside the café to call her, he realized that he didn’t have her number. Nor was she listed under Courtney Baxter. He tried the couple of Baxters in the Whitehorse area, but neither knew a Courtney.

  With no choice left, he called Arlene Evans Monroe at the woman’s rural internet dating service that had allegedly put them together in the first place.

  “Did you set me up with a woman named Courtney Baxter?” he asked Arlene, trying not to sound accusing. Arlene used to be known as the county gossip. In the old days he wouldn’t have put anything past her. But he’d heard she’d changed since meeting her husband Hank Monroe.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding wary. “Is there a problem?”

  “Only that Courtney showed up at my door last night saying I had a date with her through your agency and I didn’t have a clue who she was.”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t make a date with this woman?”

  “I never even signed up for your dating service. I thought maybe someone had done it as a joke.”

  “Zane, I have your check right here.”

  How was that possible? He knew he was still feeling the effects of the hangover; his aching head was finding it hard to understand any of this. But all morning he’d been worried about what had happened last night. He had a very bad feeling and needed to talk to Courtney.

  “When does it show that I signed up?” he asked Arlene.

  “Two weeks ago.”

  Two weeks ago? A thought struck him. About two weeks ago he’d come home to find someone had been in his house. Like most people who lived in and around Whitehorse he never locked his doors, so the intruder hadn’t had to break in. Nor had the person taken anything that he could see—not even his laptop computer. But enough things had been moved that he’d known someone had been there.

  He swore now, realizing that must have been when the person had gone online and signed him up for the dating service—and taken at least one of his checks. He hadn’t even noticed any were missing.

  “What is the number on that check?” he asked Arlene. She read it off and he wrote it down, seeing that it was a much higher number than the checks now in his checkbook. He wouldn’t have missed it for months.

  Who went around signing someone up for a dating service? This made no sense. It had to have been one of his brothers. Or his stepmother, Emma? She had made it clear she thought it was time her six rowdy stepsons settled down. Maybe she was behind this.

  But neither Emma nor his brothers would have come to his house when he wasn’t home, gotten on his computer and then taken one of his checks to pay for the rural dating service. Who then? And why? This was getting stranger by the moment.

  “I need Courtney Baxter’s telephone number,” he told Arlene.

  “According to the service policy you agreed to—”

  “I didn’t agree because I never signed up,” he said, trying not to lose his temper. He caught his reflection in the café window and saw the four scratches down his
cheek where someone had definitely clawed him.

  “Zane, what if I call her and make sure it’s all right first? Do you want to hold?”

  He groaned, but agreed to wait.

  She came back on the line moments later. “She’s not answering her cell phone. I left her a message to call me immediately. I’m sorry, Zane, but that’s the best I can do. It’s policy.”

  He swore under his breath. The old Arlene would have handed it over. She would also have asked why he was so anxious to talk to his “date” and the news would have gone on the Whitehorse grapevine two seconds later.

  “The moment you hear from her…”

  “I’ll let you know,” she said.

  Zane didn’t hear anything from Arlene on the long drive back to Whitehorse. He hoped that once he got home there might be a note or something from Courtney.

  Not wanting to drag the loaded horse trailer down the narrow lane to the house, Marshall dropped him off by the mailbox on the county road.

  “You sure you’re going to be all right?” Marshall asked.

  He’d been sick all day and still had a killer headache.

  “You really did tie one on last night,” his brother said, looking concerned. “What were you drinking anyway?”

  “I remember having some champagne.”

  Marshall shook his head. “That all?”

  Zane couldn’t recall if it had been his idea, but he doubted it. Courtney must have suggested it. “And I only had a couple of glasses, I’m sure.”

  His brother lifted a brow. “You sure about that?”

  He wasn’t sure of anything. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” he lied as he climbed out of the Chisholm Cattle Company truck and headed down the narrow dirt road to his house.

  The early summer sun was still up on the western horizon. It warmed his back as he walked. Grass grew bright green around him, the air rich with the sweet scents of new growth. Grasshoppers buzzed and butterflies flitted past. In the distance he could see that there was still snow on the tops of the Little Rocky Mountains.

  As he came over a rise, he slowed. A pickup he didn’t recognize was parked in front of his house. Courtney? Or maybe one of her older brothers here to kick his butt. He quickened his step, anxious to find out exactly what had happened last night—one way or the other.

  Zane was still a good distance from the truck when he saw the woman and realized that it wasn’t Courtney. This woman was dressed in jeans, boots and a yellow-checked Western shirt. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She stood leaning against the truck as if she’d been waiting awhile and wasn’t happy about it.

  When she spotted him, she pushed off the side of the pickup and headed toward him. As she came closer, his gaze settled on her face. He felt the air rush out of him. She was beautiful, but that was only part of what had taken his breath away.

  He’d seen Dakota Lansing only once since she was a kid hanging around the rodeo grounds. She’d been cute as a bug’s ear back then and it had been no secret that she’d had a crush on him. But, five years his junior, she’d been too young and innocent so he’d kept her at arm’s length, treating her like the kid she was.

  The last time he’d seen her he’d happened to run into her at the spring rodeo in Whitehorse. He’d been so surprised to see her—let alone that she’d turned into this beautiful woman—he’d been tongue-tied. She must have thought him a complete fool.

  The whole meeting had been embarrassing, but since she’d moved to New Mexico, he’d thought he would never see her again. And yet here she was standing in his yard.

  “Dakota?” he said, surprised at how pleased he was to see her.

  Smiling, he started toward her, but slowed as he caught her body language. Hands on hips, big brown eyes narrowed, an angry tilt to her head. His brain had been working at a snail’s pace all day. It finally kicked into gear to question what Dakota Lansing was doing here—let alone why she appeared to be upset.

  She closed the distance between them. “Where is my sister?” Those big brown eyes widened, and he knew she’d seen the scratches on his face just seconds before she balled up her fist and slugged him.

  The punch had some power behind it, but it still had less effect on him than her words.

  “Your sister?” he asked, taking a step back as he rubbed his jaw and frowned at her. He’d known Dakota Lansing all his life. She didn’t have a sister.

  Chapter Three

  “Courtney Baxter,” Dakota said. “The woman I know you were out with last night.” She looked as if she wanted to hit him again. Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do to her?”

  He rubbed his jaw, feeling as if he was mentally two steps behind and had been since Courtney Baxter had knocked on his door not twenty-four hours before. “Courtney Baxter is your sister?”

  “My half sister. Where is she?”

  His head ached and now so did his jaw. Dakota had a pretty good right hook. “How do you know I was with her?”

  “She called me sounding terrified. What did you do to her?”

  Taking a step back, he raised both hands. “Hold on a minute. We can figure this out.”

  “What is there to figure out?” she demanded.

  He noticed something he hadn’t earlier. Dakota’s left hand. No wedding ring. No ring at all. The last time he’d seen her, she’d had a nice-size rock on her ring finger. He’d heard she was engaged to some investment manager down in New Mexico.

  She saw him staring at her left hand and stuck her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, her look daring him to say anything about it.

  No chance of that.

  “We should put something on those knuckles,” he said, having noticed before that her right hand was swelling. Hitting him had hurt her more than it had him. Well, physically at least.

  Dakota Lansing. He still couldn’t believe that the freckle-faced tomboy who used to stick her tongue out at him had grown into this amazing-looking woman.

  “Why don’t you come into the house for a minute,” he said, and started for the front porch.

  “Zane, I’m only interested in finding my sister.”

  “So am I.” He left the door open, went into the kitchen and opened the freezer door. By the time he heard her come in he had a tray of ice cubes dumped into a clean dishcloth.

  “What did you do to her?” Dakota demanded again from the kitchen doorway.

  He motioned to a chair at the kitchen table. “Dakota, you know me. You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but she did sit down. He reached for her injured hand, but she quickly took the ice from him, pushing his hand away.

  “Courtney said on the phone last night that she was in trouble. I heard something crash in the background. Just before the connection went dead she said your name.”

  The whole time she’d been talking she was glaring at him, challenging him to come up with an explanation. He wished he could.

  “Dakota, I have to be honest with you. I can’t remember anything about last night. I woke up this morning alone with these scratches on my face and—” he pushed up his sleeve “—my arm.”

  Her eyes widened a little when she saw the scratches on his arm. He saw fear flicker in her expression, fear and anger. “How long have you been dating my sister?”

  She sounded almost jealous. Which he thought just showed how hungover he was. “I had never laid eyes on her until she showed up at my door last night claiming we had a date,” he said. He saw she was having trouble believing it. “I swear it. And I certainly didn’t know she was your sister. So how is it I never knew you had a sister?”

  “She’s my father’s love child.” Dakota sighed and shifted the ice pack on her swollen knuckles. “I only found out two weeks ago after my father died.”

  He remembered seeing in the newspaper that her father had passed away. He’d thought about sending a card, but it had been so many years, he doubted Dakota would remember him.

  �
�Are you sure she’s even—”

  “I saw her birth certificate. It had my father’s signature and his name on it. Apparently Courtney’s mother and my father got together either when my mother was dying or right after.”

  He could see how painful this was for her. Dakota had idolized her father, and to find out on his death that he’d been keeping a lover and a sister from her for years…

  “So you’re claiming that Courtney just showed up at your door?” Dakota asked, clearly not wanting to talk about her father.

  Zane told her about his call to Arlene at the dating service, the check someone had used to enroll him and that he was waiting to hear from Courtney, since he, too, was worried about what might have happened last night.

  She studied him for a long moment. “So a woman you have never seen before shows up at your door claiming you have a date, and you just go out with her anyway?”

  He guessed Dakota had probably heard about his reputation with women. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  Her chuckle had a distinct edge to it, and he remembered why he’d always liked her. Dakota had always been smart and sassy. She’d been a daredevil as a kid, always up for just about anything, from climbing the three-story structure that held the rodeo announcer’s booth at the fairgrounds, to trying to ride any animal that would hold still long enough for her to hop on. Since her father had raised rodeo stock, she’d had a lot of animals to choose from. He’d liked her a lot. Still did, he thought.

  “How well do you know her?” Zane asked.

  “Not as well as you know her, apparently,” Dakota said, and shoved the ice pack away as she reached for her phone.

  “Who are you calling?” He hated to think.

  “I’m trying Courtney’s cell.” She punched in the number and hit Send. “I’ve been trying to call her all day and—”

  At the distant sound of a phone ringing they both froze for an instant. Then, getting to their feet, they followed the muffled ringing.

  Zane hadn’t gone far when he realized the sound was coming from his bedroom. He pushed open the door and stepped in, Dakota on his heels.

  The ringing seemed to be coming from the bed, but when he drew back the crumpled covers, it was empty. As the phone stopped ringing, no doubt going to voice mail, he knelt down and looked under the bed.