Page 4 of Resonable Doubt

  Sheer, black fear surged through her for an instant and her knees turned to water. Then sanity flooded back. Of all the ridiculous—I don't believe in spooks, she scolded her­self. And even if I did, this particular one would never hurt me. Breanna watched the woods. Her unwelcome visitor had vanished. As much as she hated to admit it, she preferred the idea of John Van Patten's company. Ghosts came and went without reason, but flesh and blood specters didn't appear in a remote area like this without motive.

  She might find something if she followed the man's trail. Her tension rose a few more percentage points at the thought. Not in the dark. Whoever her uninvited company had been, she wasn't chasing after him. Nope, not this lady. She'd do the smart thing, which was to go home and lock the door. Tomorrow she'd get busy on those fences and tack up the No Trespassing signs.

  Chapter Three

  The door to Tyler Ross's cabin was opened with such force that it hit the interior wall and resounded like a rifle shot. Tyler jumped, slopping hot water from the kitchen kettle onto his hand. He swore under his breath, grabbed a towel off the counter and swiped at the water.

  "What in hell's wrong now?"

  Jack Jones stomped into the room, trying to shake mud and globs of pine needles off his boots. "What isn't?"

  "Do you mind? I don't have a maid to do the floors."

  Jack lifted his dark head, brown eyes glaring. "That broad's a pain in the butt. You were nowhere to be found, so I went into the barn to make sure she didn't mess with any of the listening devices when she was in there, and she damned near caught me. Had to make a quick exit through the woods, ran into a tree, fell in a stream. I wish we could arrest her and get her out of the way until this is over."

  "Do it. I'll come with you. She'll be safe that way, at least."

  "Don't start that again," Jack hissed. "I told you. If we make a move on her, she could blow the whistle. It's not much longer now. We can't screw things up this late in the game."

  "And I told you... I'm not convinced she's in on it."

  "You can't be sure of that."

  Tyler walked to a window and gazed at the trees along the road. "Call it a gut feeling."

  "I don't trust gut feelings, not with women. Your hor­mones are doing your thinkin' for you."

  It was an accusation Tyler couldn't deny. The Van Pat­ten woman was pretty with those vulnerable eyes of hers. If Jack was right, she could probably smile like an angel and knife you in the gut, never changing expressions. "Okay, I concede the point. She appeals. But, Jack, what if I'm right? What if she isn't involved? She could end up dead if she makes a wrong move. That scares the hell out of me."

  “You ending up dead is my worry. I'm tellin' you, watch your back. She's tied into this. She has to be. Just do your job, man, and make like her shadow, beginning tomorrow morning. Keep her busy. Keep her entertained. And keep her out of that barn. It's no skin off my nose if you take ad­vantage of a few fringe benefits, but don't forget who and what she is, not for a second."

  Tyler turned toward his boss. "Fringe benefits? You know that's not my style." Bracing a hand against the wall, he sighed. "If she's clean and something happens to her, maybe you can live with it. I'm not so sure I can."

  "Sometimes that's part of the job."

  Breanna quickly discovered the most difficult thing about hanging No Trespassing signs was the fence repair they necessitated. She had been working since seven, it wasn't yet ten, and she was already worn out from digging and hauling sand from the creek. Planting posts that stood up straight was no easy chore. The morning was half gone, and all she had to show for it were three leaning railroad ties. She had helped Gramps do this a dozen times, but knowing how and doing it alone were two different things.

  She had just stepped back to survey her last attempt at a vertical line when she heard a vehicle approaching. A dusty red pickup appeared around the curve and slowed. Putting a hand up to shade her eyes, she tried to see the driver, but the windshield reflected the sun. The truck pulled onto the shoulder and the engine sputtered to silence. The driver's door swung wide and denim flashed as a man climbed out.

  Tyler Ross. On the one hand, she felt glad to see him, even a touch excited. She wasn't completely immune to a nice- looking man. But could she trust him? If he was a treasure hunter, his friendliness could be a ploy.

  He gave her crooked fence posts a long, rather puzzled look as he passed them. "Havin' some problems?"

  With her hands riding at her waist, she regarded him with a weariness she was unable to hide. She knew she must look a mess in her dirt-smudged pink blouse, with her hair fall­ing from its clasp. She lifted one arm, checked it for dust, then swiped at her cheek. "A few, yes."

  He dug in his heels to descend the bank. "Need an extra pair of hands?"

  At this point Breanna felt so hot and dusty that several extra pairs would have been welcome. There were limits to pride, and she had reached hers. "That's a slight under­statement. What I need is a whole crew. Supposedly, my cousin was caretaking here. As you can see, he did his best work sitting on his laurels."

  He came to stand beside her. Another look at her posts had him laughing. "Looks like we had high wind."

  "It might help if I had a level or a plumb."

  "Maybe we can jury-rig something. I don't have any­thing pressing to do. I'll pitch in if you'll pay off with lunch. Fence building is a two-person job."

  Breanna gave him a thoughtful glance. It couldn't hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the duration of the job. "You're on."

  Coaly came charging from behind the barn, his barking interspersed with snarls. Tyler cast an unconcerned glance over his shoulder as he strode toward his truck. "I'm fresh out of roast beef, you old codger." The dog cocked an ear and slowed to a walk. Tyler paused to give him a pat.

  It was a rare stranger that Coaly liked. In her book, the dog's unreserved acceptance of Tyler on the property was an imprint of approval. "It looks like you two are old chums."

  "He just likes me because I gave him chocolate chip cookies." Flashing her a quick, completely artless grin, he added, "And my napkin. And my sack. Sure he's not part goat?"

  "I've had cause to wonder." She met his gaze. Windows to the soul, Gramps had told her. When you size a man up, honey, look him dead in the eyes. Approaching the truck, she asked, "Have you ever set posts?"

  He pushed back his sleeves and raised a challenging eye­brow. "You're asking a born and bred Oregonian if he's ever set a post? You're lookin' at the best posthole man this side of the Cascades. You don't have any rope, I'll bet." He rummaged in a large toolbox. "Luckily, I always carry some. We'll stretch a length between two posts and rig up some kind of plumb line."

  Dubious as she was, within ten minutes he had one rope tied off level and had made a makeshift plumb from an­other piece, with a rock looped in its end.

  "This'll work," he assured her. "Won't be perfect, but it's better than a kick in the rump, right?" He positioned the plumb. "Okay, you hold the post straight, and I'll shovel and pack."

  Grasping the upended tie, she held it in position. Tyler moved with loose-limbed grace for so tall a man, precise, quick, well balanced. Muscle rippled in his arms and shoul­ders, clearly visible under his shirt. She relaxed a bit. He made short work of fence building. Maybe she would have perimeter posts to keep out trespassers, after all.

  She felt silly now for thinking he wanted her out of here. A man didn't go this far to be neighborly if he didn't want you around. "I really appreciate your help."

  He glanced up and caught her scowling. "Penny for them? What's bothering you?"

  Inclining her head toward the barn, she said, "I had company last night. Some man. Saw him run out of my barn and take off into the woods. That's why these fences are so urgent. I want to put up some No Trespassing signs."

  "A man, you say? Did you get a good look at him?"

  "No. Have you any idea who it could have been?"

  He helped her brace the p
ost while he stomped the encir­cling ground. "Sure you're not jumping at shadows?"

  A tingle of irritation crept up her throat, but she quickly swallowed it back. She couldn't blame him for being skep­tical. The Crescent Moon wasn't exactly a metropolis; the story sounded a bit farfetched. "I guess it could have been the ghost," she said lightly.

  "The ghost? What ghost?"

  His wary glance at her made her smile. "My great-great- uncle, John Van Patten. You haven't heard of him? How long've you been living down here?"

  "Three years."

  "And you've never heard of John Van Patten? He found the mother lode, you know, then died without telling where he hid it—a very selfish man, from all accounts. And now a selfish ghost. Get too close to his treasure and he appears to frighten you away."

  "Uh-huh. Next, you'll gladly sell me the Brooklyn Bridge, right?" He chuckled and stepped on the blade of the shovel, burying it to its hilt. "One thing's sure, though. Ghost or man, he's not too smart. If a brisk wind comes up, that barn'll topple like a card house."

  "It's not that bad. I went in yesterday and the floors didn't give way."

  "Well, I'm telling you, don't trust them. I went in there once to see if I could find a wrench to adjust my tripod. Those planks gave with every step. Stay out of there. Okay?"

  Breanna decided to be gracious. "I'll be careful. But it is my barn, you know. There are things in there I'll need now and again."

  "Tell me what and I'll get them for you."

  "And have my fence builder disabled? Not a chance."

  Tyler laughed. Easy, relaxed laughter. It cleansed the last traces of uneasiness from Breanna's mind.

  Three fence posts later, Tyler was as dusty and sweaty as Breanna had been upon his arrival. The afternoon sun glared down on them, mercilessly hot, making Breanna's nose feel parchment dry. "How about a lemonade break in the shade?" she suggested. "I'll make some sandwiches."

  He wiped a shirt sleeve across his forehead, squinting down at her. "You won't have to twist my arm on that of­fer."

  It took a very careful balancing of the tray to walk from the cabin to the barnyard without spilling liquid from the pitcher onto their sandwiches. Tyler was sitting in the shade of the fruit cellar, his back braced against the shake siding, arms propped on his upraised knees. "Man, that looks good."

  She placed their tray on the ground, cast Coaly a glance to warn him away, then poured Tyler a brimming glass of lemonade and handed it down. "Better be. It's fresh- squeezed."

  He tipped back his dark head and took several long swal­lows. Breanna filled another tumbler and lowered herself cross-legged beside him, proffering the pitcher. "More?"

  "Mmm-mmm," he replied, putting his glass to the spout.

  She gave him a refill, then settled back against the shakes, taking slow sips while he made short work of a sandwich. It had been a while since she had fed a man, two years, in fact, since her breakup with Richard. She had forgotten how big their appetites were. She felt almost guilty reaching for her share on the tray, but was too hungry to resist. "Does that revive you a bit?"

  "Delicious. And there's nothing like lemonade to quench the thirst." Tyler looked over at her, trying his best to re­main objective. She was a pretty woman; straight nose, a sensitive mouth, her sun-streaked brown hair escaping the twist of braid atop her head in wispy curls. Her eyes were cornflower blue, expressive and easy to read, the kind that gave a guy's heart a twist if he had any conscience at all. His stomach tightened. "Tell me something. Do you really be­lieve in ghosts?"

  She shifted her gaze to the barn. After a thoughtful mo­ment, she swallowed and replied, "To say I didn't would be to call my grandfather a liar. He saw John Van Patten with his own eyes. Gramps never fibbed. He exaggerated some­times, but never fibbed."

  Tyler watched her closely. "Aren't you scared?"

  "Oh, yes, terrified." Her smile dimpled her cheek, so mischievous that he nearly laughed and ruined her punch line. Her voice, when it came, was low and impish. "I don't have a bridge to sell you. How about a good used car?"

  Now he did laugh, the kind of laugh that came from deep inside and erupted without effort. If she was a criminal, it wasn't any wonder she was still on the loose. With her per­sonality as a front, nobody would ever believe— the thought jerked Tyler up short, and he sobered. He was doing exactly the opposite of what Jack had told him, let­ting down his guard, trusting her. If he wanted the last laugh, he'd better watch his step.

  Breanna saw the sudden seriousness cross Tyler's face. She wondered if she had said something to upset him. Swallowing the last bit of her sandwich, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Why?"

  "You look like somebody stepped on your grave."

  "Not as yet." His eyes met hers, searching, then veering away. He glanced at his watch. "Could you hold off on the rest of this until I can help? I do have a couple of errands to run this afternoon."

  "I don't expect you to do the entire fence for me," she protested.

  "Hey, what are neighbors for? They used to have barn raisings. We're having a fence raising." He gave her a slow wink. "Besides, there are fringe benefits."

  His smile told her she was the attraction. "Oh, really? What might those be?"

  "The fantastic lemonade and good sandwiches, of course." He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, hauling her up with him. "We'll hit it for another hour, then call it a day. You're getting sunburned."

  "I tell you what. I'll accept more help on the fence if you'll come to breakfast tomorrow morning. I'd like to re­pay you for all the work."

  "I'll be here. What time?"

  "Sevenish?"

  "Sounds great."

  Two hours later, Breanna put away the last of the lunch mess and dried the dishes, stowing them in the cupboard. Tyler had just left. She wiped the table, then rinsed the rag and folded it neatly over the antique pump handle. Then she stepped to the window to gaze out at the rose trellises fram­ing the glass. All in all, it had been a good day, exhausting, but nice.

  Only one thing troubled her. Off and on she'd noticed a certain reserve in Tyler's manner, subtle, but there, almost as if he held a part of himself in check. Not once had he of­fered any information about himself, nothing about his family, his marital status or if he had children. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. A man that old had to have a past. Yet Tyler gave nothing of his away, not even by a slip of the tongue. It was fanciful, but she had the impression his identity began and ended with Graves Creek. Perhaps she would get to know him better over breakfast tomorrow.

  Stifling a yawn, Breanna went to the bedroom to retrieve her newspaper photocopies she'd made at the library. She stretched out on the sofa, determined to stay relaxed. If she planned to investigate the fire, she had to stay objective.

  She read until the cabin's interior was swathed in shad­ows. Read, reread. And found nothing new. But discour­aged though she was, she felt better because she was actively seeking answers. If she kept searching, the truth would come out sooner or later. When it did, perhaps Dane would be as relieved as she was to have it in the open.

  Digging in her cooler, Breanna pulled out the fresh veg­etables she had purchased yesterday. A salad with slices of roast beef from the deli sounded just right after a hot day. After a sponge bath at the sink, she would settle herself in bed with a cup of herb tea and her glitzy novel. She de­served a bit of pampering if the sore muscles in her back were an indicator.

  Three a.m. Breanna squinted at the luminous hands on her travel alarm clock, unsure why she was suddenly awake. She flopped onto her back and groaned. The dog. He was whining, running from window to window. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, she staggered to her feet. "All right, already, I'm coming."

  Coaly's low snarl brought her up short. She knew that growl. Someone was outside. Clammy sweat filmed her palms as she braced herself against the bedstead to look out the French windows. The fruit cellar blocked her view of the orchards beyon
d.

  "What is it, boy? What do you hear?"

  Breanna tiptoed to the kitchen, peering out the paned glass at the moonlit drive. Nothing. She glanced down at the dog. His growl deepened, as if to assure her he knew what he was talking about. There was somebody out there, no question of it.

  "I've had all I'm going to take of this nonsense. What the devil's going on around here?" She hurried toward the bedroom. "A man in the bushes, a man in my barn. Well, I think it's time I found out why." Tossing off her night­gown, she bypassed underwear, dragged on her jeans, zipped up, and leaned over to shove her feet into sneakers. "Don't look so worried, I'm just going to look. I won't get caught."

  Coaly whined again. Breanna had to agree with him. It was risky going out there, but she couldn't continue living here with her nerves stretched like a tightrope, either.

  "Nope, you can't go. You'll bark." Yanking on her green blouse, she quickly buttoned it. "Now, you stay." Leveling a finger at the dog's nose, she said, "Quiet, understand? You raise a fuss and you'll give me away."

  Coaly's whines trailed off into miserable squeaks. She gave him a consoling pat. "Hey, old man, trust me to take care of myself, huh? If all else fails, I can outrun him."

  As quietly as she could, she slipped out the front door, straining her ears for noises. A faint clanking sound rang in the night. Someone on the other side of the fruit cellar. She sneaked to the retainer wall steps. Fearful images crept into her mind, but she quickly banished them. This was her property, and if she didn't come out and check on it, no one else would.

  If she darted across the drive she could make it to the outhouse, where she would have an unobstructed view of the barnyard. Not giving herself time to chicken out, she bounded down the steps, stooping low as she crossed the opening.

  "Whoa, did you see that?" she heard someone bark.