Convictions (21 page)

Olivia's cheeks heated, but she didn't look away. "Careful, Dad, you might scare them off."

She was rewarded with a smile from Hank, which set her pulse skittering through her veins.

Hank glanced at Ted, who nodded. Ted flipped a coin to see who started, but Hank caught the quarter in the air. "Ladies first."

"Famous last words," Olivia said with a cheeky grin.

Her father smiled, his pleasure at her burgeoning confidence obvious from the twinkle in his eyes. He took the four horseshoes from Hank, and he and Olivia went to their stake.

"Ladies first?" her father teased, holding out two horseshoes.

Olivia grasped the metal shoes, their weight both familiar and foreign in her hand. She moved one to her left hand and hefted the other in her right. Turning the horseshoe until the grip felt comfortable, she took a deep breath, drew back her arm, and let it fly. The ring of metal told her she'd hit the stake, but it rolled away. No score.

She glanced at Hank down by the stake, and he gave her an approving nod.

"Good one, Ms. Olivia," Ted called.

The vestiges of nervousness faded, and she threw the next horseshoe with more confidence. This one caught the stake.

"Ringer," her father shouted. Hank and Ted clapped.

The flush of success touched her cheeks with warmth, and she bowed at the waist with a flourish.

The game continued, interspersed by the clanging ring of the shoes against the stakes and good-natured ribbing. Olivia enjoyed the closeness with her father and the farrier's affable nature. However, it was Hank's presence that provided her the most pleasure.

The sun dipped behind the mountain peaks, and Olivia shivered in the rapidly cooling air. She and her father threw for the last time to win by two points. They exchanged a high five.

Olivia's bad leg grumbled about its overuse, but she tried to keep her discomfort from showing. She'd had too much fun to spoil it.

Shaking his head but smiling, Hank picked up the horseshoes te carry them back to the barn.

"Looks like we'll have to practice before a rematch," Ted said as he slapped Hank on the back.

"It just proves beauty and brains always win over brawn," her father said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Everyone laughed.

Her father yawned. "I don't know about you youngsters, but after the late night, this old man is ready for bed."

Olivia realized she, too, was exhausted after too little sleep and the trip into Walden. But then her gaze caught Hank's, and the smolder in their hazel depths nearly made her gasp. She wondered if he remembered their kiss as vividly as she did.

"Good night, Judge," Ted said respectfully.

"Good night, Ted, Hank," her father said with a wave. "Olivia?"

"If you don't mind, I think I'll take a walk," she said.

Her father opened his mouth but closed it abruptly when his gaze darted between Hank and Olivia. "That's fine. I'll see you inside later."

Once her father walked away, the farrier smiled knowingly. "I'm kind of tired myself. Good night."

Olivia and Hank echoed his good night, then stared at one another in the growing dusk. Attraction flickered like a live wire between them. Olivia took a step toward him.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Hank said, holding up a hand.

"What's not a good idea?" Olivia asked softly.

Hank retreated a step. "You. Me. Us."

"It was a good idea this afternoon."

"Was it?"

Olivia frowned. "You liked it."

"Hell, yes, I liked it. I haven't kissed a woman in over six years." Hank shifted the four horseshoes from one hand to the other. "Next time I might not be able to stop with just a kiss, Olivia."

She wasn't certain whether she should be frightened or flattered. Right now, she was only confused and hurt. "I see."

"No, you don't." Hank glanced away and took a deep breath, then returned his attention to her. "I care for you, and I won't take the chance that I might hurt you. Besides, I have a killer to catch."

"We
have a killer to catch."

"I don't want you involved, Olivia."

Her mouth dropped open. "If you recall it was
my
idea in the first place."

Hank nodded reluctantly. "Yes, but I won't take a chance with your life. You stay out of it, Olivia. Do you hear me?"

Although Olivia appreciated his protectiveness, she wasn't the frightened woman he'd first met. "I hear you, but I don't agree. Sheriff Jordan will tell my father and me things he won't tell you. I've worked with law enforcement and I know what to ask, what to look for. You need me, Hank."

She could tell by his clenched jaw that he didn't want to need anyone. Her heart softened. "Please, let me help you."

His inner battle reflected in his face, but he was smart enough to recognize the truth of her words. If he wanted his freedom, he'd have to accept her assistance.

Finally, his lips pressed together, he nodded. "All right. But I'll talk to the men. You talk to the sheriff."

Olivia nodded at his assent. No matter if he'd agreed with her or not, she planned to investigate. She was trained in ferreting out the truth, and it was about time she put her training back into action.

Chapter Fifteen

When Hank entered the dining area the following morning, he immediately homed in on Olivia standing at the front of the room. Usually she hid in the kitchen, but he'd watched her transformation over the weekend. He didn't know what exactly caused it but suspected the murders gave her something to think about other than her attack.

Her gaze met his, and Hank's groin tightened at her slight smile and nod. Despite his anxiety of being under suspicion for two killings, he hadn't been able to forget the passionate kiss they'd shared. Erotic dreams of her writhing beneath him in a satin-sheeted bed had tormented him overnight. When he awoke, he'd been hard and aching but had ignored his body's betrayal.

He had nothing to offer Olivia, not even a good name.

"Get moving, Elliott," Rollie said and shoved him with his shoulder.

Hank stumbled forward and spun around, his fists raised.

Rollie smiled coldly. "Go ahead, Elliott. Take a swing. See how fast they throw your ass back in the pen."

Hank's chest heaved as he fought to gain control of his anger. If he had allowed someone to bully him in prison, Hank would've ended up dead or worse. But this wasn't prison, and there were new rules.

Buck pushed through the circle of gawking men and inserted himself between Hank and Rollie. He shook his head in disgust. "You two are worse than two bulls in the springtime. Get something to eat, then get your asses outside."

Rollie showed his teeth in a caricature of a smile, then joined a handful of other men at one of the tables.

Hank found himself alone, except for Barton, who merely said, "Buck's right. Let's eat."

Hank nodded, and he and the younger man sat at the end of a table, somewhat separated from the others. Hank glanced up, his gaze instinctively returning to Olivia. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, and her face had lost some color, but it didn't look like she planned to run and hide. Instead, she appeared disappointed. In him?

Irritation made him scowl. She had no clue what kind of life he'd had to live in prison. Survival of the fittest didn't pertain only to animals in the wild.

"Rollie's not worth losing your freedom," Barton said quietly so no one would overhear.

Hank's grip tightened on his fork. "I know."

Barton glanced around, then leaned forward. "Then don't let him get to you. Next time turn around and walk away."

Hank stared at the younger man, for the first time realizing maybe he wasn't as naive as Hank had believed. He consciously released the tension in his shoulder muscles. "I'll try."

They ate in silence, until Dawn came by, refilling coffee cups. He was relieved to see she was treated respectfully by the men, even Mantle... although the slimeball let his gaze linger on her longer than necessary.

When she stopped by Barton, she ignored Hank and gave the younger man her complete attention. Barton shot a nervous glance at Hank as Dawn filled his cup. If Hank were a gambling man, he'd bet Barton knew he and Dawn were brother and sister.

"Oops, ran out of coffee," Dawn said to Hank, sounding more mocking than contrite.

Her tone was worse than a slap, and he glanced away, hiding the hurt. Once she disappeared into the kitchen, he stared at Barton, who shifted uncomfortably.

"She's my kid sister," Hank said, his voice pitched low.

Barton flushed, but he didn't look away. "I know. Ms. Kincaid told me."

Although he was surprised Olivia had spoken to Barton, Hank didn't let it show. "I don't want Dawn getting involved with an ex-con."

Barton's jaw clenched, and he shoved back his chair from the table. Without a word, he strode outside.

Hank swallowed the last of his lukewarm coffee with a grimace, then followed in Barton's resentful wake.

While Hank waited for the other men to finish eating, he wandered over to the farrier, who was already busy. A sorrel mare was snubbed to the corral while Ted trimmed her hooves.

Hank leaned against the top rail. "Need any help?"

Ted glanced up from his hunched position, and a smile creased his broad face. "Got it under control, but thanks anyway."

Hank watched him work. "How long have you been doing this?"

"For a good while now."

"Not that much work for farriers anymore, is there?"

Ted let down the mare's leg and moved toward his work area where his forge, anvil, and tools were all set out in precise order. "You'd be surprised. At last count there were over ten million horses in the country, and as long as you don't mind traveling to your work instead of having work come to you, it's the perfect job." He grinned. "Of course, you have to like horses, too."

Hank chuckled. "No problem there."

Ted grew serious. "You interested in being a farrier?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"Maybe you should. I'd be willing to apprentice you."

With his dream to be a veterinarian lost, maybe becoming a farrier wouldn't be a bad choice. "I'll think about it."

"You do that. You're the only person I've ever made that offer to." He paused. "I get the feeling you care for horses like I do."

Hank smiled, knowing that was a high compliment. "Thanks, Ted."

Hank wandered off to get his day's assignment from Buck as he considered Ted's offer. He just hoped he got the chance to make his own decision about his future.

Hank used his bandanna to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. He'd wanted a solo task, and he'd gotten his wish. However, stacking forty-five-pound hay bales onto a flatbed wagon to take out to the cattle wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

He swigged down the rest of his bottled water and drew the back of his hand across his lips. Though tempted to remove his long-sleeved shirt, Hank knew the hay would irritate his skin if he did. With a sigh, he pulled his work gloves back on and returned to his task.

The flatbed was backed into the storage shed, up to the first row of bales, which were stacked fifteen feet high. Hank climbed the bales like stairs to get to the highest tier. After tossing another couple of dozen bales down, he descended to pile them on the wagon.

As Hank did the tedious task, his mind wandered to his sister and Olivia. With the possibility of a murderer on the ranch, he was glad they spent most of the time together. The killer might be long gone, but the possibility remained that he was even now searching for another victim. Why was there so much time between Sandra's murder and the Holcomb woman's? Maybe the killer was a transient.

Hank's sixth sense snapped him back to the present, and his gaze shot to top of the stacked hay. His eyes widened as the uppermost bales toppled toward him. He jumped off the wagon as a heavy one grazed him, throwing him off-balance. His head connected with the edge of the trailer, bringing pain and encroaching darkness. A bale fell directly on his side, and he groaned. Driven by instinct, he rolled under the flatbed.

After what seemed forever, the avalanche ended. The abrupt silence seemed eerie and somehow expectant. He opened his eyes and for a moment, he thought he'd been blinded. But it was chaff and dust that surrounded him within the confines beneath the trailer. He quickly covered his mouth and nose with his hand but was too late to prevent a sneezing fit.

Hank frantically heaved aside the hay bales piled around the trailer. He crept out from beneath it and crawled over the jumbled mound of bales as his eyes watered and his sneezes changed to hoarse coughing.

Wiping at his tearing eyes with one hand, he waved the other to disperse the dwindling dust cloud. His coughing lessened and, once he could see clearly, he looked up at the empty place where the fallen bales had been. If they'd been piled haphazardly, Hank could understand the accident. But the bales had been solidly stacked.

Had someone pushed them? But if that had happened, wouldn't Hank have seen the person come into the shed? Not if he came in the back door and climbed the stack from the other side. Hank had been too busy protecting himself to look upward.

Hank moved his arm and flinched at the soreness of his right side. His pain faded with the escalation of his anger. Who the hell would try to kill him? And why?

He strode out of the storage shed and toward the corral, where Ted was shaping a hot shoe on the anvil.

"Have you seen anyone around the yard?" Hank asked the farrier without preamble.

"What happened to you?" Ted demanded.

Hank blinked. "What?"

"You're covered with dust and got a knot growing on your forehead."

Hank fingered his brow and flinched when he found the bump. "Shit. I almost got buried by some hay bales. Did you see anyone around the shed in the last ten minutes?"

Ted shook his head. "There've been a couple fellas cleaning out the barns, but nobody over there. Are you thinking someone did it on purpose?"