Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

“You’d probably know that if you were around more often.”

Garret let the barb slide. “How could I know it? We’ve never met her.” And as far as Garret knew, Ray hadn’t met her either.

“What’s her picture doing on your computer?” Chayton asked.

“She’s coming here.”

“Lovely,” Chayton said, sarcasm trailing a sigh. “I should have guessed. She owns the condo next to ours. Ray left it to her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. What’s going on? What did your boss want?”

Garret grunted. “How do you know that was my boss?”

“Simone said some guy named Buchanan called you.”

“Who is Simone?”

“My bartender.”

“Oh, the hot one with the pink hair?”

“The hot one with a big boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’re dating her?”

“No, I’m not dating her. But she does have a big boyfriend who could probably whip your ass.”

“Nobody can whip my ass.”

Chayton puffed his chest. “I’m up to the challenge any day of the week.”

“You were starting to scare me when you said her big boyfriend might whip my ass. You aren’t that big, and you can’t whip my ass.”

“I don’t date employees, but like I said I’m up to the challenge of whipping your ass. Now back to Buchanan. He is your boss, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, why is he calling you? You going back to work?”

Not exactly.
He’d be working while investigating a new neighbor who was the niece of a former friend. Garret didn’t want to investigate anything. Not right now. Maybe not ever. He wanted to rid himself of all communication, though he knew that would never make him inaccessible to the U.S. Government.

Garret slapped his brother on the back. “No, man. I’m staying here a little longer if that’s okay with you.”

“My home is your home.”

Garret grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and twisted the top. “What do you know about Ray’s niece?”

Ray was older than Garret by eight years and had moved to Tanyon nineteen years ago. Chayton had grown into a rebellious teen after their father died, but Ray had become his mentor, especially after Garret moved off to college. He’d been there to help them through their mother’s death and had stayed close throughout the years.

“Nothing much,” Chayton said. “Ray longed to meet her. Never knew her, but was somewhat obsessed with her if you really want my opinion. Why is your boss sending pictures of her?”

Garret was tempted to tell his brother the real reasons, get his take on the situation, but he couldn’t. He cocked his brow. “I’m a federal agent. They send me pictures of all my neighbors.”

“Their criminal histories, too?” Chayton joked.

Garret chuckled and took a drink of water. “Sometimes.”

Chayton shrugged and turned serious again. “Ray tried calling his niece and sent cards all the time. I have no idea why his sister snubbed him. His whole family did.”

“She must have found out about Ray and now she’s coming to check out the condo.”

Garret sat on the arm of the couch and glanced out the window. An expanse of white bowling into deep canyons was the splendor of this region, but also the danger. Dark clouds clasped the mountains like ghosts hanging onto the peaks, waiting for the opportunity to free fall. The sun descended, its illumination only a blinding beam from the snow.

It reminded him of the white that flashed behind his eyes the night his partner died.

• • •

Three floors.

That’s how long it took Reagan McKinney to steady her breathing and prepare for her next round of shock. The elevator clanged to a stop. The doors whooshed open.

Reagan’s stomach dropped.

“Are you coming?” Naomi rested her hand on the elevator door after gracefully hauling out her luggage, as if the five piece Louis Vuitton had anything to do with Reagan’s hesitation.

“Give me a second.”

“For what? I have to pee.”

Reagan grasped the handle of her suitcase and jerked the bag across the elevator’s threshold as Naomi moved aside. The door closed behind her. Closing the door to her past, but not her fears. Her purse slapped against her thigh as she followed, one side of her luggage rolling smoothly across the floor while the other, the one where the wheel should have been, lagged and lurched across the linoleum.

“What number did you say again?” Naomi asked.

“Three sixty-eight.”

“Almost there.”

Reagan grunted, nervous energy preventing any solid reply. After her flight landed in Montana, she’d waited for the arrival of Naomi’s plane, pacing and planning for an hour. During the long ride to this small town, Naomi chattered about her job as a fashion consultant. Reagan smiled and nodded to indicate her interest. Living on opposite coastlines didn’t mean the cousins had nothing in common, but Reagan was in no mood to gab and Naomi was in no mood to listen. It had worked out well for them.

“Here we are.” Naomi parked her luggage next to the door. “You got the key?”

“Yep.” Buried underneath plane tickets and loose dollar bills in her huge purse with a ripped pocket. She remembered placing the key in the pocket before she realized it was torn.

“Oh, Lord.”

At first, Reagan thought Naomi’s exclamation was from lack of patience and, well, maybe Reagan wasn’t full of the grace and poise Naomi practiced on a daily basis, and maybe the mess she had to rifle through was a bit annoying, but give her a break. She’d just spent weeks trying to find a way through an uprooted life. And hours on a plane by herself traveling to a place she didn’t know.

She looked up with a reply on her lips, but noticed Naomi’s attention focused behind her. She turned to look.

A black mark trailed the length of their path from the elevator to where her suitcase now teetered. She’d lost the wheel to her luggage ages ago, and now the broken plastic thingy left evidence of her misshapen life. Reagan sighed, picturing herself with a mop and bucket as she scrubbed at the marks. She wondered if she could find a “Caution, Life is a Mess” sign to warn others to steer clear of her catastrophes.

“Great,” she muttered.

“Why in the world didn’t you use some of that money your uncle gave you to buy yourself a new set of luggage?”

“There’s nothing wrong with this suitcase.”

“Except that it’s missing a wheel.” Leave it to Naomi to notice the small details. “Seriously,” Naomi continued, “your luggage is an expression of yourself. An extension of your wardrobe.”

“And mine clearly expresses the status of my life at the moment. Here’s the key.” Reagan held up the key and grabbed hold of her bag before it toppled over and took Naomi’s prized set with it.

“First thing we’re doing is going shopping. New bags. New keychain.”

“It’s one key, and I didn’t see the need to take up valuable space in my purse for one key. The pocket would have been fine if it wasn’t torn.”

“New purse.” Naomi stepped aside, giving Reagan space to open the door. But Reagan couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready to begin this new era.

Six weeks ago, Reagan wondered how she was going to manage her monthly credit card payments. She’d broken up with Kyle, the dirty cheating slimeball, after coming home early from a job she’d hastily quit only to find him in bed with another woman. Her body flushed in fury at the memory. She was almost thirty years old and didn’t relish moving back in with her mother.

Now she wondered what to do with the hundreds of thousands of dollars left in her account after her credit cards and tuition loans were paid in full. Her uncle, an uncle she never knew existed until after his death, had opened accounts in her name so all she had to do was prove she was Reagan Dawn McKinney, born March twenty-second to Frank and Sharon McKinney. Her accountant and lawyers and other bigwig guys her uncle had employed would take care of the other details.

She squared her shoulders. She was ready for a change. Ready for a new life. Ready for a real vacation. She’d called Naomi, her cousin in California, who happily grabbed the first plane out to meet her here. Reagan would assess the condo and decide whether to keep it or sell it but would never go back to her former life. In the process, she hoped to learn about the man who left all this to her.

Like why. Why her? Why hadn’t she known of his existence? Why was her mother so secretive about him?

“Reagan?”

Naomi’s voice penetrated her fog, but Reagan couldn’t summon the nerve to unlock the door. Once she did, this would all become real. Her expectations would be met, exceeded, or seriously flop as they had most her life.

Handing Naomi the key, Reagan stepped back. Impatience agitated her chaotic nerves, and she couldn’t decide whether she was happy or nervous or just plain scared. Scared of what she’d find. Scared of how her life might change. When it took Naomi longer than it should, she almost pushed her aside to unlock the door, but Naomi got it opened and stepped inside.

Hesitancy again. Her brain hurt with indecision. Reagan removed the key from the knob, another good way to delay the inevitable, while Naomi searched for the light.

“Wow,” Naomi said. “Very nice.”

Reagan’s withering energy focused on the room. She agreed with Naomi.

Wow.

Wood stylized the floors, countertops, and cabinets while rock cloaked a corner fireplace and the base of the kitchen island.

She detected the faint odor of cats. Not an unpleasant smell but an obvious one when a cat lived in the home, especially after being closed up for weeks. She coasted along the wood floor, searching for signs of an animal. A litter box. Toys. A food dish.

An open kitchen with an island bar sat to the left of the entry. Two leather couches clustered together in front of a massive TV that hung on the wall in the living room, and the nearby mantel displayed several pictures.

She inched her fingers along the logs of the wall, hoping every crevice would reveal something about her uncle. A sense of loss invaded her other confused emotions. It was as if she’d expected him to be waiting to greet her.

She didn’t even know what he looked like.

Naomi disappeared as Reagan approached the pictures. Eager to absorb their knowledge, she retrieved one, pinpointing the man who must be her uncle. The resemblance between him and her mother was incredible. The small ears, the thin lips, the wide smile, and his eyes.

She almost dropped the picture, righted it, and snatched the next one.

She singled out her uncle, centered between two men decked in ski gear and fighting with the skis for their place in the picture. Another photo depicted Ray and the same men, goggles resting on their foreheads and beanies hiding their hair, holding a six pack of beer with huge smiles on their faces. A landscape photo on the side of the mantel depicted the mountains in the spring, with flowers and a waterfall.

She noticed photos of her, scattered among the frames as if they belonged. Many of them were close-ups, the lens zoomed on her face. Had he spied on her?

A shiver swept her spine, tingling on her collarbone.

Her uncle was attractive, appeared younger than Mom, and flaunted Reagan’s same brown eyes. With her picture so close to his, their similarities amazed her. They could have been siblings, but she didn’t have a brother.

Of course, until recently, she hadn’t known she had an uncle.

Sniffing at the clog in her throat, she turned away from the pictures. They couldn’t speak or tell her of the memories, the mysteries, of the man who once lived here.

She heard the faint sound of a toilet flushing and water running. Naomi came to stand beside her.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she rested her arm on Reagan’s shoulder.

Reagan nodded as she swiped away a tear. She felt she’d just learned she was adopted. This man obviously thought enough of her to leave his belongings and money to her. She’d thought her mom was an only child. Her only cousin, Naomi, came from her dad’s side. Why would her mom have a brother she never spoke of? What other skeletons were struggling for freedom?

“This is beautiful,” Naomi said. “We need to start a fire and it’ll all be good.” A small statue of a bear near the fireplace held a stack of wood. Naomi leaned over and shuffled pieces into the cavern of old ash.

“I’ll find matches,” Reagan said.

She took her time opening drawers, fingering the cool touch of the countertops, and noticed Ray’s evident delight for luxury. Stainless steel appliances, dinnerware that looked expensive, and a scarlet table runner down the middle of the dining table. A glass vase with silk orchids sat on the runner, the vase shimmering with diamond-like sparkles.

“Would you look at this?” Reagan picked up the vase. She doubted they were real diamonds, but the man had given a niece he’d never met over a quarter of a million dollars, so nothing about him should surprise her.

“Where are the matches?” Naomi yelled.

“I’m working on it.”

“I can’t stand this ash,” Naomi said, grunting and groaning as she tried to clean out the fireplace after she’d already loaded the wood.

“I saw a handheld vacuum on the shelf near the mantel,” Reagan said.

Naomi found the vacuum and turned it on, drowning out the silence with its loud whirr. Reagan smiled, remembering Naomi’s compulsion to keep things clean and organized. She shouldn’t have any problems in this condo. Besides the few luxury items scattered throughout, everything was orderly and simple.

Almost too orderly and simple.

Reagan upped the thermostat and relaxed on the sofa, covering her legs with a blanket. The electricity had stayed on for necessity after Ray’s death, but the room was cold. She wondered how long it’d been since someone lived here or if someone had lived with Ray. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have given her the condo, would he?

“I found lighters,” Naomi said. Within minutes, a fire blazed.

The flames did little to soothe Reagan. Her muscles cramped, caging her. Jumping up, she threw the blanket over the couch and paced, opening and closing the cabinets to find something. Anything. Nothing. Either someone cleaned it out after Ray died or he didn’t eat much.

“You wanna go roam around?” Naomi asked. “I noticed a bar within walking distance. We could check it out.”