Fatal Burn Read online

  “Did you check your caller ID?”

  “For the person with the complaint? The screen just read Unavailable.”

  Trace rose and shouldered on the coat he’d hung on a peg at the back door. “If they send Ken, I’m sure he’ll take care of it. I don’t know the other two deputies very well. They’re fairly new.”

  Kris pulled on her coat, too. “Be careful going home, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled on his gloves. “Pretty view of your place from the crest of that first hill, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll have to check it out someday.”

  “You haven’t? On my way here, I thought I saw your footprints up there.”

  She paled. “Footprints? I’ve never been hiking up that way. Not even once.”

  At the alarm in her eyes, he offered an offhand grin. “Probably just hikers. We’ve got some real hard-core people in these parts. Off-season campers, snowshoers, you name it.”

  Her gaze skittered toward the dense timber framing the meadow. “This far out?”

  “It’s possible. I’ll take another look on my way home. With this latest snow, it’ll be real easy to see where they came from and where they went.” He hesitated. “If you ever get edgy about being here alone, call me. Or you can just come on over—Carrie has an extra bedroom in her cabin, and she loves company.”

  The brief cloud of worry in Kris’s eyes vanished and she offered him a blazing smile. “No need. But thanks for the offer. I’ll be absolutely fine.”

  Maybe she thought so, but he’d lived in these parts too long to take safety for granted. And if those tracks up on the hill revealed anything suspicious, he’d be calling the sheriff, then heading back to watch over her until further help arrived.

  SEVEN

  While Kris welcomed her visitors, Trace limped over to the barn, got back on his horse and rode off, stubborn man.

  She thought back and realized that he’d favored that leg from the first time they’d met, though he clearly tried to hide it. Maybe he just didn’t like sympathy and attention, but now it was too obvious to mask. Could he stand the discomfort of the long ride home? What if Rowdy spooked again?

  Kris kept an eye on him as he rode out of sight, then turned again to the young couple waiting for her outside the kennel entrance. Their children—all grade-school age—eagerly watched her approach.

  “We need a kitty!” the youngest girl burst out, hopping from one foot to the other. “Our Poppet ran away and made us all really sad. We need a white one!”

  Her middle sister vehemently shook her head. “Orange. My favorite color is orange.”

  “An’ I want a fluffy one, like a teddy bear.” The oldest girl’s expression was somber. “Like Poppet.”

  Their mother shushed them all. “Sorry. We’ve waited a couple months, but my husband and I think it’s time. Do you have any kittens available?”

  Kris surveyed all of the eager young faces and smiled. “I think I might be able to help. You do know there’s a waiting period?”

  The father nodded. “Same as at the old place—three days?”

  “The previous board had increased it to four, I’m afraid. They were concerned about snap decisions and regrets that could leave an animal at risk. And I had to promise the county that I would follow the protocols set by the Battle Lake facility.”

  He hesitated at the door. “What do you think, June? Maybe we should look in the want ads. There always seem to be free kittens there.”

  “Maybe there’ll be more in the spring, but I haven’t seen any lately.” The young woman swatted her puffy mittens together. “Brrr—let’s go inside.”

  Kris ushered them into the building, then led them to the room reserved for cats and opened the door. “We have two litters here, actually. They were brought in just this week, and they’re old enough to adopt.”

  The little girls squealed with delight as they hurried to kneel in front of a pen where an assortment of kittens were tumbling with each other, napping or climbing the wire.

  Above their excited chatter, their father caught Kris’s eye. “What about health papers, and such? And the price?”

  Kris lifted a clipboard from a hook on the wall, pulled off the top sheet, and handed it to him. “These little guys are all eight weeks. A vet is stopping by on Friday to give them exams and fecal tests for worms, and then they’ll have their first shots and be spayed or neutered two weeks after that.”

  “But they’re so little,” June exclaimed.

  “I thought that too, at first, but it’s very common these days—especially with shelter animals. Studies show no difference in growth, behavior or urethral problems. And it’s unbelievable how fast cats can multiply—or how young.” She nodded at the paper. “The statistics and research articles are cited on the back, along with the contract that would need to be signed.”

  “Contract?” the husband snapped.

  “Stating that you’ll promise to neuter your new pet.”

  “So we’d have to bring the kitten back here?”

  “Yes, or I’d give you a coupon covering the entire cost if you want to use your own vet. The cost is factored into the adoption fees.”

  “And we’d also have that four-day wait. You can’t make an exception? Look at our girls—they’re so excited.”

  The sharp note in his voice set her on edge, but she dredged up a warm, apologetic smile. “If I bent the rules once, I’d have to do it for other people, and I could lose my county contract. Let’s see, girls—does anyone want to hold a kitten? Be gentle, though…nice and quiet.”

  Over the din of excited voices Kris brought out the top choices and settled them gently into the girls’ arms. “There’s one you all missed, though. Look in the basket.” She reached in and pulled out a sleepy, long-haired calico. She held it aloft, then handed it to their mother. “What do you think?”

  “It gots white,” the littlest girl said reverently.

  The middle child grinned. “And orange!”

  “And long fur like Poppet,” the oldest girl murmured, her eyes filling with tears. “Please, Momma, can it be that one?”

  “She is perfect, isn’t she?” June nuzzled the kitten’s downy coat. “What do you think, Ray?”

  Her husband took a step back. “I think it’s time for us to leave. Let’s go, girls. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

  “But Daddy!”

  “Please!”

  The chorus of little voices grew louder.

  “Really now, Ray—where will we find one this perfect? I think—”

  “I think we’ll be on our way.”

  Stunned, Kris gathered up all the kittens and put them back in the cages, then watched the man herd his wailing children down the aisle. His wife looked back, her expression filled with regret and apology.

  Ray waited until they were all through the door, then turned back. “I appreciate your time, miss.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  His mouth flattened. “There were other applicants in the county for the shelter, you know. And some weren’t very happy that it went to you. Not happy at all. Now I see why.”

  Taken aback at his vehemence, Kris stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Delays. High fees. Fancy rules.” Ray snorted. “This is a little rural shelter, not some highfalutin place in New York City. I’m sure you won’t be in business for long.”

  “The rules were in place at the previous facility, and I have to follow them here. Anyone operating a shelter in this county would.”

  “This place isn’t owned by the county. You could sure make an exception if you wanted to. People aren’t gonna be pleased over how you run this place, if you can’t serve the public’s needs.” He walked out the door and let it slam shut behind him. A moment later, the minivan started with a roar of its engine.

  She listened to it pull away, then held up the calico kitten cradled in her hands and looked into its face. Marked with a rakish dark patch over half its face,
it looked for all the world like a fluffy pirate.

  “That was a close call, little one,” she murmured. “Those little girls were sweet, but I don’t think you’d want to deal with their dad again.”

  But she might—and the county board of supervisors, as well, if he lodged a complaint. She’d only done her job, and she’d managed to remain calm and professional. But there were no witnesses, and what the guy would tell them about her was anyone’s guess.

  A rusty prayer found its way to her lips, and she closed her eyes. Please, God, help me out here—please don’t let him sabotage this place before I’ve even begun.

  Rowdy snorted and tossed his head when Trace stopped him at the top of the hill to study the tracks in the snow. The colt’s impatience escalating now that he was headed for home, he started dancing in place, muddying the tracks.

  But the direction was clear enough.

  One set of tracks coming from the direction of the highway. One set of tracks going back. Big tracks—larger than Kris’s small feet. Tracks that ended at the top of the hill looking over her place, though how long the guy had lingered and why he’d been there was unclear.

  Photographers could be found out in the woods every season of the year. Campers. Hikers. Bird-watchers. The reason that someone had been up here could be as innocuous as a hiker losing the trail…but the feeling in Trace’s gut told him otherwise.

  The line of tracks was straight as an arrow to the top of this hill. Made with clear purpose, not a meandering search.

  Wincing, Trace dismounted and draped one rein over the colt’s neck, then held the other as he hunkered down to sift through the snow for anything the trespasser might have left behind. Nothing.

  He straightened, his knee creaking in protest. Rowdy nickered, tossing his head as he sidestepped to look toward home, but Trace kept circling the small area, kicking at clumps of snow with the toe of his boot. Surely there’d be something….

  Finally, resigned, he turned back to the colt and put his foot in the stirrup. Something glittered beneath a ray of sunshine filtering through the dense pine branches above.

  Trace stepped back down and reached for it. It was a crumpled cigarette package, shiny and new. He bent down and ran his hands through the snow.

  Five cigarette butts.

  Six.

  An empty matchbook.

  Given the depth of the snow, there could be even more cigarette butts here…but what he’d found indicated that someone had come up here and had stayed for a long while. Watching Wind Hill Ranch from a good vantage point? Why?

  Still, the footprints could’ve been from a hiker.

  Or someone hoping to photograph wolves or elk. On the darker side, maybe someone was trying to poach out of season.

  As soon as he got home, he would mention it to the sheriff, to see if poachers had been active in the area…or if any DNR people were doing some conservation department research out here.

  The footprints probably meant nothing…nothing at all. But he’d failed a close friend once before, and the searing pain of that unforgiveable failure had branded his heart forever.

  And there was no way he was going to let anything slip past him again.

  Kris moved through the kennel the next morning, feeding the animals and cleaning pens. Outside the sun had risen in a blaze of oranges and pinks over the foothills to the east, and with the promise of highs in the fifties, she could already hear the steady drip of snow melting from the roof.

  “Mid-March, and you just never know,” she said, stopping to stroke Bailey’s head as she worked her way down the long aisle. “A blizzard or balmy. Take your pick.”

  “I’ll take balmy.”

  Surprised, she turned at the familiar voice and found Trace sauntering down the aisle toward her, his hat at his side. “Did you ride over here again?”

  “Drove. Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  He stopped in front of her, smelling of snow and pine and leather, his thick black hair tousled. He looked like the epitome of tall, dark and masculine, but his mouth was again set in a grim line, and she found herself wondering what he’d look like if he ever broke into laughter. Probably drop-dead gorgeous and well out of her league, though she’d likely never find out. There was clearly something about her that he disliked, maybe even resented. And if not for Carrie’s prodding, he certainly wouldn’t have returned to Wind Hill a second time.

  “I took a look at those tracks on my way home yesterday.”

  Despite his attitude, she continued to find the man way too attractive, but now those thoughts fled as a sense of unease made her shiver. “And?”

  “They started down at the highway and ended up on that hill overlooking this place. Big prints, most likely a man’s. He must’ve been up there for quite a while—he smoked a lot of cigarettes before heading back down to the highway.” Trace studied her intently. “Have you had any unusual calls, or visitors lately? Any evidence of prowlers?”

  “N-no…just people coming and going because of the shelter. No one who seemed suspicious.” She bit her lip, thinking. “Bailey would pick up on any strangers around the house at night, and he’d bark his head off. And if anyone came around the kennel after dark, the shelter dogs would go crazy, too.”

  “I called the sheriff yesterday evening. He doesn’t know of any DNR studies going on out here, and there haven’t been any problems with poachers in the area. It’s probable that the tracks were from someone out hiking or taking photos of wildlife.”

  But Trace didn’t look as if he thought it was nothing. He looked flat worried about something, and it wasn’t just some hiker or a townie with a camera. “With government lands close by and the tourism in this area, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”

  “I told the sheriff he needs to be running a deputy through this area more often, but he’s short staffed with one guy off on sick leave. Most ranchers around here carry at least one rifle on a rack in their pickups. Do you have one?”

  “Th-there’s a Winchester 700 .270 in the kennel office. It was Thalia’s—it even has her initials carved on the stock.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  She managed a slight smile. “I grew up in Montana, remember? I’m pretty rusty, but long ago I did stay with people who taught me.”

  “Do you carry your cell phone with you all the time?”

  His intent gaze lasered into her own, making her shiver in an entirely different way. Flustered, she ducked her head and patted her pockets until she found her cell and took it out to show him. “Got it.”

  “Don’t take any chances, hear?”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “You know there was a break-in out here after Thalia died. We scared those guys off, but maybe they cased the house and will try to come back.”

  Or the prowlers could be from her own past.

  Allan, maybe…or his friends. Or the person who’d left a threatening note in the mailbox. Maybe even someone from around here, who was in financial straits and resentful because she’d managed to snag the shelter contract and salary, though none of those ideas seemed likely.

  A stronger possibility made her shiver.

  The thought of dogs suffering at the hands of some greedy puppy mill breeder had made it impossible to sit still after she closed the animal shelter office yesterday, and there’d still been no word from the sheriff about him taking time to investigate.

  So once again, she’d gone out to cover another long section of that road—cruising slowly enough to survey every property she passed, mile after mile. Anyone passing her surely would’ve mistaken her for a gawking tourist, but there hadn’t been anyone else out there.

  At least, no one she’d seen.

  Dense underbrush had crowded one narrow lane marked with a dented mailbox. And there, she’d heard the faint sound of distant barking. A cacophony of barking…far more than the usual two or three dogs found on a ranch.

  She hadn’t been stup
id. She’d taken note of the location, then kept going until she hit an area with good cell-phone reception, and she’d reported the place to the sheriff’s office. He hadn’t called back.

  She pulled her thoughts back to the present when she realized Trace was giving her a curious look, and tried to remember what he’d just said. “I…appreciate your concern.”

  “I can be here in no time, if I’m at the ranch. Day or night. Unless,” he added with a rueful smile, “I’m in the middle of a difficult foaling like I was last night.”

  “Did everything go all right?”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up a notch. “Healthy colt, and the mare’s fine, though she was a maiden mare and didn’t want to accept him at first after all she went through during delivery.”

  Kris pulled a face. “Poor little guy.”

  “Stop by and see him sometime. We’ve got four new ones now. Three of them fillies, fortunately—and good paint color on all of ’em.”

  It wasn’t a warm extension of friendship, exactly, but given the rocky start they’d had and his persistent, distant attitude, it was a step forward. Polite neighbors…that’s all I want to be, and nothing more.

  “I’d like that. Thanks.” The cell phone in her hand chirped, and she automatically glanced at the unfamiliar number on the screen. She muted the ring and shoved the phone into her pocket. “Sorry—I’ll return the call later.”

  Trace shook his head and turned toward the door. “Go ahead and take it. I need to get going, anyway. Just remember what I said…and watch your back.”

  EIGHT

  The message on her voice mail was from a Deputy Sam Martin. His words sent adrenaline rushing through her, making her fingers tremble as she returned his call.

  Thirty minutes later, Kris was behind the wheel of the Battle Creek shelter’s old four-wheel-drive truck, bouncing over a series of rutted back roads that led far into the woods east of town.

  Ahead, she could make out a county patrol car partially hidden by the heavy pine branches spilling over into the road. As she stopped by a familiar rusted mailbox, the lanky, redheaded deputy climbed out and waved her over to the side.