Page 7 of Killer on the Homestead
“How’s the wife?”
Said scowl turned into a grin. “Amazing. I am a well-fed man.”
She glared at him. Because his wife,hersecond cousin, had once lived on the Young Ranch withherand used her considerable cooking skills to feed Rosalie. “Bragger.”
“I aim to be when it comes to Vi and Mags.”
And since the simple sweetloveimbued in each of those words made her itchy, she got to the point. “You got a copy of that police report on the property damage I requested?”
He swiveled in his chair, pulled out a file folder, and handed it to her. “No leads. Not sure how that’s going to help your case.”
She shrugged, flipped through the file to make sure everything she requested was there. Hart was okay to work with, but some of the deputies sneered at what she did. She figured they were jealous she could bend the laws they had to enforce to get her perps. “We’ll see.” She closed the file, looked at Hart.
“You heard of any cattle rustling going on?”
His expression immediately changed to one of concern. “Something happen at the ranch?”
She shook her head. “Not at our place. This is Fool’s Gold business.”
He leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath. “Haven’t heard anything that I can think of off the top of my head, but I’ll ask around. Let you know.”
“Thanks. How many more weeks you got back here?”
He grunted. “Got a doctor’s appointment next week. Hoping to wheedle some clearance out of him.”
“Good luck, then. See you Sunday.”
“Vi’s bringing rolls and pasta salad.”
“Thank God,” Rosalie said, and meant it. “Audra can bake, but she can’t cook for a damn.”
“You should tell her that.”
“Ha. Ha.” Rosalie left the sheriff’s department and drove back to the Young Ranch, out closer to the small town of Sunrise. She pulled off the highway onto a side road, then onto the gravel road that would lead her home.
There was a sign under the arch that readYoung Ranch, Established 1908.She loved this place. In her bones. She didn’t care a whit about raising cattle, the price of beef or hay. She wanted nothing to do with the accounting books or inventory, but shelovedthe place. The feeling of ancestry and history and just…home.
Even if her parents had turned out to be the opposite of everything she’d thought, it didn’t tarnish the love she felt for thisplace. For roots.
And it had been nice, really, just her and Audra and their cousin, Franny. Three twentysomething women living together, kicking Wyoming ass together. They’d helped Vi out of her terrible situation, gotten to help raise Magnolia before Vi had moved in with Thomas. Life was good.
Good.
She heard voices the minute she walked into the main house. The welcome smell of meat sizzling in the kitchen—which meant Franny had cooked, thank goodness. She dropped her bag, took two steps, then wrinkled her nose and turned back to hang it up on the hook, as Audra preferred.
Sometimes she liked bothering her older sister. Sometimes she lived for it. And sometimes Audra’s long-suffering self-sacrifice made Rosalie feel like a guilty slob.
Once her bag had been hung up acceptably, she moved into the kitchen. Audra and Franny were already sitting at the table, plates full.
They greeted each other and Rosalie went straight for the food and began to pile her plate high. There was nothing better than a home-cooked meal after a day of work. Especially when Franny was making it.
“I heard someone talking about Duncan Kirk being in town,” Franny said in between bites as Rosalie slid into her seat at the table.
Audra nodded. “Natalie told me he’s planning to stay indefinitely. They even fixed up one of the cabins on their property for him.”
“That’s nextdoor. Do you think we’ll see him?” Franny had grown up in Seattle with Audra and Rosalie’s aunt and uncle, but they’d always made the trek out to Wyoming for holidays. Audra and Franny especially had kept in touch as teenagers, and when Franny’s writing career had taken off, she’d moved out to Wyoming to live with them for a bit. Forinspiration, she said.
Rosalie thought about Duncan Kirk in her office this afternoon. He would be one hell of an inspiration. “Isaw him,” Rosalie volunteered. “Talked to him even.”
