Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

If he kissed her again, every sensible thought she possessed would flee.

“Colby.” His name was spoken on a ragged breath.

“It’s not fair,” he said in a voice that sounded rougher.

Was it possible that she’d made him feel as if the earth had rocked? That’s how she’d felt. “What isn’t?”

Featherlight, he kissed one corner and then the other of her mouth. “How wonderful you taste.”

“I have to go inside.” She gestured over her shoulder.

“Why?”

A quiet challenge stretched between them.

“Because I don’t know what I want,” Tessa said honestly.

With reluctance, he released her. Before she turned, he touched her chin, forced her eyes to meet his.

“I do,” he whispered. “I want you.”

Big Sky Cowboy

Jennifer Mikels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jennifer Mikels for her contribution to the Montana Mavericks series.

JENNIFER MIKELS

is from Chicago, Illinois, but now resides in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband, two sons and a shepherd collie. She enjoys reading, sports, antiques, yard sales and long walks. Though she’s done technical writing and public relations, she loves writing romances and happy endings.

For Karen Taylor Richman.

Thank you again.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

Centuries ago she’d have been called a witch. Colby Holmes remained undecided about Tessa Madison’s psychic abilities or if she was loony or not, but she didn’t look the way he’d imagined—a bohemian type with frizzy hair, too much makeup, too many bracelets and beads. No, that wasn’t how she looked at all.

“Man, it’s hot, ain’t it, Colby?”

With effort he dragged his gaze away from the raven-haired woman and nodded at the teenager, a sixteen-year-old who loved rodeo and often displayed a hint of hero worship. “Real hot.”

Heat, a sultry warmth that belonged in the tropics instead of Big Sky country, had made Montana temperatures soar. The unseasonably warm July air carried no breeze. Even while he stood still, doing nothing, sweat dampened the back of his shirt.

Yet she looked cool. So damn cool, Colby mused. She wore some gauzy-looking, pale blue dress that skirted her ankles. He eyed the sandaled heels, the toenails painted a frosty-looking pink color. The sheen on her bare arms.

Petite, she had an easy stride that slightly swayed the subtle curve of her hips. Shiny black hair curtained an oval-shaped face as if protecting the fairness of her skin. She appeared fragile—delicate features, small hands, slim body.

He’d heard she lived alone, had no relatives near. Independent, he assumed. And he’d heard talk. Some people wanted her gone from town. But here she was. He admired people who knew how to hang tough.

He’d been told she was twenty-four, had moved to town two months ago. She’d opened her store in a Victorian that was painted a crisp white with dark green trim and shutters. Called Mystic Treasures, it was right around the corner from Main Street and other businesses. It catered to people who were lured to the mystical world of palmistry and astrological readings and believed in extrasensory perception and premonitions.

Colby braced a shoulder against an upright near the arched, flowered trellis the bride and groom had stood beneath moments ago. Along with moonlight, the malibu lights strung along the back of the ranch house fell on the guests gathering around Sylvia and Larry Hardy.

For another moment, Colby watched Tessa Madison inch her way around the buffet table, which was draped with a white linen tablecloth and filled with serving dishes. He gave no conscious thought to his actions. When he moved near to reach for a plate from the stack, she faced him. Her delicate fingers cradled a piece of bacon wrapped around something green. With her other hand, she reached for the plate, handed it to him. “Do you want one?”

Instead of taking the plate right away, he stared at her hand, thin-fingered, the nails tipped with clear polish. “Thanks.” It was dumb, but he wanted to stare at her eyes. Haunting eyes. Gray, fringed by long, dark lashes, they held a smile as they met his. “I’m Colby Holmes.”

Her smile widened. “I know,” she announced in a tone that conveyed he hadn’t needed to tell her.

She knows? Colby watched her turn away, stroll across the grass. What does that mean? Nothing. It’s nothing.

“Colby.” At the sound of his father’s voice, he swung around. Strands of gray weaved through brown hair the same color as Colby’s. More than once, Colby had been told that he looked like his father when Bud Holmes had been younger, trimmer. “Are you listening to me?”

“No, I didn’t catch what you said, Dad.” I was drooling over the town’s resident eccentric.

“So will you bring the car around?”

“Right.” He began working his way toward the cars.

“The heat wilted the bridal bouquet,” a woman standing near the flowered trellis complained to another woman.

“Tessa told Sylvia to have silk flowers,” her companion responded. “But Sylvia’s cousin works at the florist’s and would have boycotted the wedding if Sylvia hadn’t ordered flowers from her.”

“I listened to Tessa when she told me to see my sister in Oregon. It’s good that I did. She went into labor five minutes after I arrived.”

Colby frowned. He’d reached a point where he’d try anything to get normalcy back into his family’s lives. No one was getting answers about his aunt’s murder. When Chelsea Kearns, the forensic expert in town, had suggested he take a less traditional route and talk to the woman only a handful of people had known was psychic, he’d reluctantly considered the notion.

Since then, Tessa Madison’s so-called powers had become the talk of the town. According to people who believed in clairvoyants, she could help him.

He gave himself a mental kick. He must be nuts to think about going to see her. He didn’t believe she had any supernatural power. No one could see what wasn’t visible.

Chapter One

“He’s coming in.”

The he was Colby Holmes. Tessa swung a look away from her store assistant to the man at the shop entrance. She’d had a premonition about him, one she’d wanted to ignore. She let her gaze move up long legs encased in snug, worn-looking jeans. Briefly she glanced at the ornate rodeo buckle, took in the broad shoulders in the blue chambray shirt, the well-defined muscles in sinewy arms beneath the rolled-up sleeves. An ex-rodeo champion who fluttered the hearts of most women under the age of forty, he tipped back his square-crowned, beige Stetson.

She studied the strong face with the high cheekbones, the sharply drawn jaw. In his late twenties, lean of hip, rugged-looking, he bore a few lines at the corners of brown eyes. A summer tan emphasized just how dark those deep-set eyes were.

“He’s so sexy,” Marla said under her breath. Single, in her late twenties, with straw-colored blond hair that hung to her mid back, Marla was a born romantic, convinced love was just around the corner despite a breakup a week ago from her childhood sweetheart. Freethinking, she possessed the right mind-set for working at the shop with its New Age merchandise. She’d become indispensable to Tessa. More important, in two months, she’d become a loyal friend.

Marla wandered over to her twin sister, Regina, who’d come in for a numerology book. The only other customer was octogenarian Margaret Hansen.

Tessa laid a deck of tarot cards on the display counter. The top card was the Queen of Cups. Tessa groaned. It usually signified romance. Well, she had expected him, hadn’t she? The moment his fingers had brushed hers when she’d handed him the plate yesterday, she’d felt the warning jolt and a quick breathless sensation. But premonitions weren’t written in stone. She’d stay clear of him and block any future contact.

Prepared, she looked up. She knew what he wanted, and she didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t look too friendly, she decided. In the newspaper, he’d always worn a wide smile, the smile of a champion. At the moment, he bore a less than congenial expression, his mouth set in a tight line. Well-schooled at masking her uneasiness behind a breezy demeanor, she flashed a bright smile. “Hi, again. Did you enjoy the wedding?”

“Did you?” He stopped beside a table where she’d set out a Ouija board.

“Yes, I did. Sylvia’s a friend.” Except for Marla, her twin sister, Regina, and several customers, Sylvia was one of the few friends Tessa had made since arriving in town. “There was such a positive karma there.” His frown deepened, as she’d hoped it would. She needed to discourage him quickly.

“Was there?”

“Yes, but your aura is disturbing.” For extra effect, she wrinkled her nose. “Greenish. You should come in for a psychic reading.”

“I’ll pass.”

Of course, he would. This was not a whimsical man. “Oh, you’re not of that mind.”

For a moment he said nothing. He didn’t need to. His eyes narrowed, and he looked at her as if she was crazy. “No, I’m not.”

“Too bad. You definitely need to cleanse your subconscious of cosmic disturbances. If you change your mind come see me.” Before he could respond, she turned away. Skirting the counter, she resisted an urge to roll a shoulder against the tension bunching her muscles. On more than one occasion, she’d dissuaded a man with a glimpse of Tessa, the space cadet.

Since Chelsea Kearns had revealed Tessa’s psychic power, she had been backpedaling, trying to keep a low profile. Tessa wanted so badly to stay in Rumor, to be a part of the community. Different scared some people. Like Leone Burton, she mused. A member of the town council, a pillar of society, the woman was influential, and she didn’t like Tessa.

Earlier, Leone had stormed in. Gray-haired with ramrod-straight posture, she’d declared war on Tessa’s store. She’d see Tessa gone from town, she said. She wouldn’t allow some fortune-teller to play parlor games with the good people of Rumor.

Tessa wished she could go back to bed, start the day over. She entered the storeroom, paused beside crates of unopened merchandise and reached for the crowbar on top of the worn-looking oak desk.

In the doorway, Regina, still holding the book on numerology she’d been thumbing through, peered at her. “He wants your help, Tessa.”

Tessa pried at one of the metal clips that clamped the top of a crate. “Are you going to the antiques sale tonight, Regina?” she asked instead of responding.

Marla suddenly appeared. “You should help him. Everyone likes him, Tessa.”

Regina was just as eager to play Colby Holmes’s advocate. “Tell her more about him,” she urged. “You want to know, don’t you, Tessa?”

“He used the rodeo winnings he’d saved over years to buy a small ranch and trains horses now. Quarter horses.”

They were wrong. She didn’t want to know too much about him. She’d felt more than a connection with his nearness. Sensation had swarmed in on her.

She’d dodged it then, planned to keep it at bay. That was sensible. Though he might view her as foolish with an absurd lifestyle, Tessa weighed situations, always considered the consequences of her actions. Avoiding him and his problem was the right decision.

“Tessa, he’s coming back here,” Marla said in an excited whisper with a glance over her shoulder.

Tessa straightened to see him standing in the door way. Flattening a palm against the doorjamb, he looked as if he planned to stay there. “We need to talk.”

She never expected him to be so obstinate. “I told you—”

He stepped around Marla and bridged the distance in a few strides. “I know what you said.”

Head bent, Tessa yanked at the lid on one crate. She stared at the dusty toes of his boots when he stopped inches from her. With the crowbar, she fiercely yanked at the metal clips that clamped the top of a crate.

“Give me that,” he said, closing a hand over the crowbar.

Her hand wasn’t quite steady. She looked up, saw that Marla and Regina had disappeared, left her alone with him. “A reflexologist would help you. I sense you’re tense.” Actually she was the tense one.

With more force than necessary, he worked at the lid, then flipped the final clip on the crate. “My state of mind isn’t why I’m here.”

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Perhaps he wouldn’t ask her to help if she treated him as a customer, if he thought her too odd. “If you want a reading, I can do your astrological chart. You’re a Taurus.

Stubborn, steadfast, persistent.”

His frown deepening, he set the crowbar on an adjacent crate. “A Taurus? How do you know what…”

“You were born in May. So that’s your birth sign. It’s the bull,” she said and stepped out of the storeroom. She waited until he stood beside her, then gestured toward palm-size crystals in various colors displayed in the store window. “Or we have several healing crystals, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

As she’d expected, he stared at her again as if she was short a full deck. “Healing crystals?”

“They’ll help when your shoulder aches.”

“When my—” His dark eyes slitted. “Is that knowledge about my shoulder supposed to impress me?” She didn’t miss the cynicism lacing his voice. “Everyone knows I had a dislocated shoulder.”

Tessa was accustomed to mistrust, but for some reason, she wanted to prove to him she wasn’t a liar or a fake. “Yes, that’s true.” The act wasn’t working. He wouldn’t go away no matter how difficult she seemed to be. Tessa went with the truth, hoping it might throw him off guard, confuse him even more. “Like me, they probably read all of that about you in the newspaper.”

A hint of an amused smile tugged up the corners of his mouth.

She’d heard he was well-liked. In fact, she couldn’t recall anyone saying anything uncomplimentary about him.

“You’re a bit of a local hero, Mr. Holmes. One newspaper article was a biographical piece.” She knew more. People talked about him. Responsible. Practical. He was so sensible he’d retired from rodeo. Another man might have foolishly kept competing even though an injury had made him less capable. He was generous with his time and money. He would come to a friend’s or neighbor’s aid without being asked. But socially he’d become a loner since a broken engagement to a young woman from a neighboring Montana town.

He moved closer to a counter. A fan on it fluttered sun-streaked strands of his brown hair away from his forehead. “What’s this for?” he asked, drawing her away from her thoughts.

She pivoted to see him gesturing at the display of scented candles. She couldn’t resist a tease at his expense. “Light.”

Straight, dark brows bunched with his scowl.

“Some people buy them for romance,” she said to lighten the moment.

“Or séances?”

Tessa went on. “Other people find tarot cards and Ouija boards and dowsing rods interesting.”

“All things to help tell the future.”

“If that’s what a customer wants. I don’t use crystal balls or tea leaves or tarot cards.”

“I heard differently. I heard you can read crystals to predict the future. Something about different crystals meaning different things.”

Why would he have bothered to learn about that? “Crystal clairvoyants cast five crystals. The pattern in which they fall tells the future.”

“But you don’t do that?” He stopped beside shelves where she’d displayed ginger jars containing herbs, decks of tarot cards, astrological charts and the colored crystals.

“I can, but I don’t predict.”

He pivoted toward another wall of shelves displaying tea leaf cups, runes, Celtic crosses and candles. “You told Sylvia not to have real flowers.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, I did.”

He kept staring at the high ceiling as if something important was written on it. Hanging from a beam, a giant brilliant blue sphere rotated in slow motion in a corner of the room. “Isn’t that predicting?”

“I never told her they would wilt.”

“This building must be a devil to keep cool,” he said suddenly.

Tessa nearly laughed at the so serious, practical observation. “Not usually.” The cost of heating or cooling the old building had seemed inconsequential to her. She’d fallen in love with the Victorian. It had carried a positive aura with its warm, homey feel. At the time, she’d needed to keep negativity out of her life. She doubted this man would understand such whimsical thinking. “It has been miserably hot,” she finally added.

“Global warming.” A crackly voice cut in. Tessa smiled at Margaret Hansen, one of her best customers but a legendary eavesdropper. The elderly lady had a penchant for hot-pink fingernail polish. Today it matched the artificial pink rose stuck in her snow-white hair. “Can I see that one?” she asked, pointing to an astrological chart under a glass display.

The store occupied the first floor of the Victorian. Tessa had replaced one of the side windows with a huge, octagonal-shaped one. On sunny days, light poured into the room. Italian lights outlined display shelves. In the middle of the room near the checkout counter was a black wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to a loft and shelves of books about astral projection, channeling, I Ching, even herb cooking.

She withdrew the astrological chart for Margaret. “Look it over, Mrs. Hansen. See if it’s what you want.” Tessa crossed to Colby. He was staring at the storeroom. “Yes, it was once a kitchen. Still is, but I cook upstairs in my apartment.”

He slanted a look at her. “Is supplying an answer before I ask a question supposed to be a demonstration of your mind-reading ability?”

“It’s called observation. I saw you looking back there. Why are you here?”

“Don’t you know why?”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” Tessa had read the newspaper stories about Harriet Martel’s murder. Colby’s aunt had been forty-three, the head librarian and four months pregnant.

As if tempted, he touched the deck of red tarot cards. “My aunt—”

“Was Harriet Martel,” she finished for him. “I’ve heard about her. I’m very sorry.”

He was going to ask her. She knew there was no other reason for him to have stepped into her store. Too practical. This was a logical, realistic man who believed in only what he could see.

“I want to hire you.” Often people, even those who viewed her as a fraud, considered asking for her help when all else failed. “The sheriff’s investigation is at a dead end.” He honestly sounded stymied.

Tessa rushed a refusal before he explained more. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t get involved.”

He drilled a look at her that carried both annoyance and puzzlement. “I understand you know my mother, Louise Holmes.”

She wasn’t a fool. He was leading her in a different direction deliberately. “Yes.” Her guard went up with his shift in conversation. “Louise is a lovely woman.” A friend of Sylvia’s, Louise had come into the store several times during the past two weeks. Tessa had seen a photograph of Harriet and had noted a resemblance between her and Louise Holmes. Louise was softer-looking, and unlike the unsmiling Harriet, Louise possessed one of the most wonderful smiles Tessa had ever seen. A hundred-watt, sunshiny smile that conveyed warmth and genuine friendliness. Tessa had yet to see Colby really smile, couldn’t help wondering if he had the same smile.

She’d met his father, too. Handsome, he was an older, heavier version of Colby. Known as Bud since his days as star quarterback at the local high school, Adam Holmes had been a rancher all his life. He and Louise were well-liked by a lot of people in town.

“It was bad enough when my mother thought Harriet had died by her own hand, when everyone, including Sheriff Reingard, thought she’d committed suicide.”

“They know now it was murder.”

“Right. When my mother learned Harriet had been killed, she was stunned.”

Tessa wanted to turn away, but she heard such affection in his voice when he talked about his mother.

“She won’t rest unless we find out who killed Harriet.”

Nice, Tessa thought. Mr. Macho, Mr. Rugged was nice—sensitive. In seconds, she’d learned he was a good son. He’d unveiled a wealth of family concern. She’d known another man who’d never understood loyalty to family, who could ignore responsibilities without a glance back.

“Look, I wasn’t as close to her as I’d been when younger. She’d been living in Boston for a while, and when she came back to Rumor, I was on the rodeo circuit.”

And he felt guilty for not being around for her.

“I’ve heard she was unhappy, especially during the past few months.”

That Harriet was having an affair had fueled the gossip.

“You’ve probably heard. The sheriff’s investigation is stalled. For a while, everyone was convinced the killer was local. Now we’re not so sure because of Warren Parrish.” Anger teetered just below the surface of his voice. “He claims he’s Harriet’s estranged husband. One day weeks ago he unexpectedly arrived in town.”

In spite of herself, curiosity got the best of her. “Do you think he killed her?”

“I don’t like him. I wouldn’t mind seeing him gone and behind bars. There was a book in Harriet’s house with blood on it. Her own. She used it to print some letters. H and I and an N or M or R. I’ll see if I can get the book for you.”

Tessa shook her head. “I don’t want it, Mr. Holmes.”

“Colby. Call me Colby. Chelsea Kearns, the forensic expert, has come up with a profile of the killer. I’ll get it for you and—”

“You’re not listening. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.”

“A lot of people believe that you can,” he quipped.

She refused to let him bait her. She wanted him to leave—now. He was more than she’d bargained for. And what she was feeling went far beyond his great looks.

With a look, a moment’s insight into his sensitivity, she felt her pulse rate accelerate. No one had unbalanced her so quickly, so easily before. “That’s their problem, not mine,” she said, watching his gaze shift from her eyes to her lips. She couldn’t let herself connect with him. You’ll have to find help elsewhere.” Before he could say more, she stepped away to check a delivery sheet.

When she heard his footsteps, knew he was moving away, she breathed easier. He was asking too much of her. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to her psychic power if she wanted to make a home in Rumor. Too many years of moving around, she assumed, made her want to stay. She wanted to feel as if she belonged somewhere. And she could lose her chance to have that because of him, because of what he wanted from her.

Colby mumbled to himself during the drive home. One look at her eyes had almost made a believer out of him. Gray, disturbing, they seemed to see inside him. Could she read minds? How in the devil had she known he was thinking about the storeroom having once been the kitchen?

He gave his head a mental shake as he passed under the arched Double H at the entrance of the ranch. The mistake was that he’d taken a lengthy view of her in the snug jeans and bright yellow T-shirt. She hadn’t looked like a kook.

He braked near the stable and climbed out of the truck. Standing on the dirt drive, he shaded eyes against a bright sun. Wide-open rangeland blended with distant buttes. He scanned the corral, the bunkhouse and stables. This was a world he understood. This was where he belonged.

He shouldn’t have gone to her store. Blame it on the heat, he mused. It had been so hot lately. He wasn’t thinking any more clearly than anyone else right now.

In the barn, hay crunched beneath the soles of his boots while he moved past horse stalls, then grabbed a pitchfork. Second sight. No one had it. What she really was was a modern-day Gypsy of sorts with her fortune-telling and astrological readings.

When she’d spieled off the mumbo jumbo about karma and psychic readings, he’d thought Chelsea had gotten the wrong impression of her. But he wasn’t a dumb man. It hadn’t taken long to guess she’d been acting the nutcase for his benefit. Later, she’d given herself away. Instead of giving him some cunning nonsense about her power allowing her to know his birth sign, she’d surprised him and offered a logical answer. She’d read a newspaper article about him, she’d said.

He poked the pitchfork hard, harder than necessary, into the bed of hay. He rarely lied to himself and couldn’t now. His foul mood had more to do with what hadn’t happened. For a brief moment, right before he’d left, he’d gotten lost in those eyes and had nearly drawn her close just to see her reaction. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, he reminded himself. If he’d felt a heat curling in his gut, blame it on that.

Annoyed with what he viewed as stupid daydreaming, he worked longer than he’d intended. By the time he finished the chore, he needed a shower. Simpler surroundings suited him. He was a man who spent most of the daylight hours outside. His ranch required constant attention.

Colby shook his head with annoyance. He had things to do and lately he’d been distracted from the ranch, in town more than at home. He’d chosen to raise quarter horses. One had faithfully helped him earn plenty of money. They were the cream of rodeo horses, perfect as reining and cutting horses. He’d already had a rancher in Wyoming and a dude ranch owner in Colorado contact him because the horses were great on the trail, and some fellow from England had called him about purchasing a few for hunts.

In passing, he patted the rump of the prize mare he’d purchased less than three months ago. He’d been taken with her. Because she was no cow pony, he spent more than made sense for her, but she was a fair beauty, pale beige with a white mane and tail, had a hint of Thoroughbred. She stood proud. She’d bear champions. But she still wasn’t pregnant.

He lifted off his hat and used the back of his hand to wipe away sweat as he strolled toward the barn door. He stepped outside into the almost stifling heat. Hotter than hell. A setting sun peeked below the gathering pewter-gray clouds and bathed everything in a warm golden glow, made the air sticky with the promise of rain.

With thoughts about a shower, he passed the outdoor ring where one of his ranch hands was reining a horse sharply around a barrel. Hooves spraying a cloud of dirt into the air, the horse circled the first barrel tightly and then hurtled toward a second at the other end of the ring. She’d be ready for sale soon.

He’d barely stepped inside the house and removed his hat when his cell phone rang. He tossed his hat on a table in the front hall and unhooked the phone from his belt. Only a few people had the number. His mother was one of them.

“Colby, we’re still waiting.”

The greeting made him laugh. “Hello, Mom.”

“Did you find our future daughter-in-law today?”

He indulged her. “Should I have?”

“We’d hoped,” she said with a lightness that assured him this was as much a game as a serious discussion.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You say that, but I don’t think you take your father and me seriously.” Her voice carried humor. “You need to get married. We’re waiting for our grandchild.”

Here it comes, Colby mused. Once a week, his mother gave her we-won’t-live-forever lecture.

“We need an heir, Colby.”

It was useless to tell her not to plan a wedding. While she had high hopes, he’d given them up. There was no perfect woman for him. Diana Lynscot had ended his belief in the forever-after daydream, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to bother looking for another woman.

“Colby, are you listening?”

“To every word, Mom.”

Some of the humor left her voice. “What about our other problem? Did you see Tessa today?”

“I talked to her. She’s not interested.”

Disappointment filled her voice. “Oh.”

“Have you ever been in that shop?”

“Of course.”

“It’s unusual,” he said. The store hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d been envisioning black walls, witches’ spells and vampire lore. Instead he’d seen unicorns and charms for good luck.

“That’s what makes it so interesting,” she said without hesitation. She had such a great capacity for accepting people and anything new.

“She’s unusual,” he said.

“I think she’s lovely. Don’t you?”

A mild description. Tessa Madison was something else. Cool on the surface. Smiling even when provoked. Controlled. He admired that. He’d followed her movement around the store. He liked the way she moved. It was that simple. “Mom, we’ll get answers.”

“I want people to understand what a wonderful person Harriet was. There’s been so much gossip.”

And that hurt her, Colby knew.

“Harriet wasn’t difficult or peevish. She was a strong-minded, independent woman. A woman with many fine qualities. She wasn’t always easy to understand. But she was special and caring around your father and me. You need to let Tessa help,” she said more firmly.

“There are other ways.”

“Colby, don’t be difficult.”

He wasn’t the one being difficult. “I asked her, Mom. She’s really not interested.”

“Sweetheart, please try again. I know she can help. You will, won’t you?”

He thought he’d be wasting time, but offered her another assurance before saying goodbye. When his aunt had died, he’d felt useless. Well, this wasn’t about him. It was about his mother, about her love, her memories of her sister.

He withdrew a business card he’d plucked up at Mystic Treasures and dialed the phone number. “Tessa Madison,” he requested of Marla, Tessa’s employee.

“Tessa isn’t here.”

“This is Colby Holmes.”

An excited edge crept into her voice. “She’s not here. She went to the antiques sale.”

“Thanks.” Colby set down the receiver. He needed to get this problem handled—now. He cursed the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was walk around the town square and look for the Gypsy lady.

Chapter Two

It was so blessed hot even at dusk. Colby scanned the sea of faces as people browsed from table to table, looking at clocks and crystal and antique jewelry. He stopped beside a table displaying Civil War guns. How hard could it be to find someone who looked like her? She was hardly ordinary with all that black hair and that trim little body.

“A good showing, huh, Colby?”

Colby let Tessa’s image drift away and forced himself to face the ex-mayor, a fiftyish, barrel-chested man with a receding hairline and a reputation as a ladies’ man since his divorce five years ago.

“It was a good idea to have this at night instead of the day. Don’t you think?”

Colby knew he was looking for a pat on the back. “I heard you suggested that to Pierce,” he said, referring to the town’s present mayor. “Real smart idea, Henry.”

Henry nodded thanks, then gestured in the direction of the tall, ruddy-faced man whose dark blond hair was threaded with gray. “Stay away from the sheriff,” he said about Dave Reingard. “He’s sure been in a foul mood for days.”

“It’s the heat,” Colby said. “Everyone’s grumpy.” But who could blame Dave? Colby mused. He had a murder to solve and a lot of pressure to do it quickly. Colby noticed that the deputy sheriff, Holt Tanner, stood near Dave. Colby doubted either man had an eye for the old furniture. They’d shown up at the antiques fair because people were tense, needed to see law enforcement was nearby.

“We need to find the killer,” he heard one woman say to her husband.

“We could all be killed in our beds,” an elderly man commented to a friend.

Concern had increased that a killer was lurking. Colby figured nothing would alleviate that worry except the sheriff announcing he’d arrested someone. Warren Parrish ranked at the top of Colby’s suspect list. Visually he followed the middle-aged man’s path as he meandered from one table to the next as if no worries existed in his life. Thin, tall, with gray hair, he puffed on a cigar, and despite the heat wore his trademark light-colored suit.

It took effort not to slug him. Since Parrish had arrived in town and announced that he was Harriet’s estranged husband, he hadn’t shown a second of genuine grief.

“Your mood is dark.”

Colby turned slowly, preparing himself to see Tessa Madison’s gray eyes. How could he have missed her? he thought. She wore a white dress with small pink-and-green flowers. Sleeveless, it brushed her ankles and scooped to a V above the shadow of her breasts, just enough to tempt his imagination. On her feet were white sandals with half a dozen straps. He eyed her pink toenails and the thin ring, a silver band, on one toe. “My mood’s okay.”

“Purple aura,” she teased.

He found himself grinning. “Not green anymore?”

“Oh, no. Definitely purple.”

Staring at her lips, not for the first time, he wondered about her taste. “Not a good sign?”

Slowly her smile spread to her eyes. “Certain auras reflect a person’s mood or future.”

Colby couldn’t stop himself. He released a snort of disbelief.

“You don’t believe that?”

He could do his own kind of taunting. “I believe in what I can see—” He paused, looked away from the gold triangle dangling from her left earlobe and fingered her necklace and the amulet, a dime-size letter X. “Touch.” Deliberately he let his skin brush hers above the scooped neckline. “Feel.” With satisfaction, he heard her suck in a breath as his knuckle caressed her skin. “What’s this?”

“It’s the runic letter for good luck.” Her gaze remained on him as she stepped back, forcing the chain to slip from his fingers. “Are you here to buy something?”

“Browsing.” Admiration whipped through him. She wouldn’t intimidate easily. “What about you?”

“I bought something.” When she gestured toward a cherrywood rolltop desk, a pleased smile lit her face. “Look. Isn’t this beautiful?” Lovingly she ran a hand over the top of the desk.

“Nice.” He had no real knowledge about what was a genuine antique, but he liked her choice. Not perfect, its top bore a few scratches. It had been more than a fine antique. It had been useful. Sturdy, long-lasting, it was also too heavy for her to move around. Colby viewed the moment as the perfect opportunity. “Do you need help getting it home?”

In a slow, measuring way, she cast a sidelong look at him.

He laughed, guessing her thought. “No strings.”

“I couldn’t ask you….”

“I volunteered.”

“I have a van. I’ll go home and get it.”

“Do you have good muscles, too?” She looked like a good wind would knock her down. He watched her eyes slice to his arms, sinewy after years of pitting his strength against a broncing animal.

“Colby.” Henry’s slap on the shoulder forced him to look away. “I heard news.” Henry spoke low, as if his news was confidential. “Diana’s back.”

Colby hadn’t seen Diana in a year, not since the day she’d placed his engagement ring on the bedside table and announced she wanted something he wouldn’t give her.

“I heard she’s staying in town for a while, might even settle down here again.”

“That so?”

Henry grinned wider. “Want me to tell her hi for you if I see her?”

“No, Henry.” Colby chose a surefire way to get Henry to leave. “Give me a hand with this desk, will you?”

Henry looked so dumbfounded at the request that Colby nearly laughed.

“You don’t have to,” Tessa protested.

“It’s yours?” Henry snuck a look to his left and then his right as if checking to see who was watching him. Uh, sorry, Colby. Got to go. Lester needs me,” he said about his brother.

Lester was nowhere in sight. “That’s okay. I can manage by myself,” Colby said.

“You shouldn’t have asked him to help me,” Tessa said once they were alone. “Most people aren’t comfort able around me.”

Because she made them believe she was weird. But was she? He stared at the desk. A sturdy, serviceable choice, the kind a practical person would favor. “This isn’t about you. It’s about his laziness.”

“He mentioned your ex-fiancée, didn’t he?”

“Diana Lynscot. She married another. Did you learn that, too?”

“Yes. I heard, too, that she’s a widow now.” Empathy filled her voice. “That’s so terrible. To be a widow and not even be thirty.”

“He was fifty-nine. And rich.” He withdrew his truck keys from a pocket. “I’ll get my truck and take this desk to your place, if you’re ready to leave.”

“I am. Thank you for playing good neighbor Sam.” He watched long, soot-black lashes flutter before she raised her eyes to him. Enough. He needed to stop noticing every little thing about her. He had enough on his mind. Like his ranch. And a prize mare.

“The mare—” She started, then paused and looked past him.

The mare. His mare? What about her? He waited for her to say more, but she was smiling at someone.

Curious, Colby looked over his shoulder.

Slim, with chin-length dark hair, his mother strolled toward them with a bright smile. “Is he being difficult, Tessa?”

“No, he isn’t, Louise,” Tessa answered.

Colby slipped an arm around his mother’s shoulder. Quit talking about me as if I took a walk.”

Her smile waned despite his humor. “Did you see him?”

“I saw him,” he answered, well aware she was discussing Parrish. “Try to ignore him, Mom.”

“I plan to.” She craned her neck. “Your father is around here somewhere. He’s thinking of buying one of those electric beer signs.” She rolled her eyes. “I do hope I can talk him out of it.” Lightly she touched Tessa’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Tessa.”

“You, too.”

“I’ll be by the store soon,” she assured with a backhand wave.

Tessa looked in another direction. “That man.” With a nod of her head, she indicated Parrish. “Is he the one who was casting gloom around you?”

“Casting gloom around me?” She had a cute way about her.

“That’s what he was doing,” she said, deadly serious.

“Yeah, that’s Parrish.” Temptation slithered through him to reach out, thread his fingers through silky-looking black hair. He wondered if the strands felt as soft as they looked. “Warren Parrish,” he added and wondered if he was losing perspective, letting his attraction for her interfere with why he was with her. “Parrish came to town and claimed he was married to my aunt. Harriet had never mentioned him or being married.”

“Have you checked this out?”

“They’re doing that.”

She met his gaze. “The sheriff?”

“Holt Tanner, the deputy sheriff, is checking on him.” He didn’t like having to sit back and let someone else handle everything. “So far there’s no new leads, no real suspects. I’ll get the truck.” On the way home, he might stop at the vet’s. The mare was prime for breeding but still wasn’t pregnant.

“She is pregnant, you know.”

It took a second for her words to sink in. This was nuts. He didn’t believe she had some psychic vision about his horse. Over his shoulder, he leveled his best no-nonsense look at her. “No, she isn’t.” He’d been informed a week ago that the test had been negative. He kept walking without another look back. She’d heard he was concerned about the mare. She was trying to mess with his head. Well, she was wasting her time. He didn’t believe in psychics, karma, transcendental babble. He’d never even liked magic shows.

“Colby.” Henry fell in step beside him. “You need to know something.”

In no mood for conversation with Henry, he only slowed his stride instead of stopping. He wasn’t twenty feet from his truck. The conversation would be brief, he hoped.

“People aren’t too sure about her—that Tessa Madison.”

That stopped him. He’d never worried what other people thought about something that was his business. “I didn’t know you knew her well enough to have an opinion,” Colby challenged. He’d always favored the underdog. That was his father’s doing. Bud Holmes had studied law for a while before his father’s death had forced him to take over the family ranch. He’d taught his son to believe in honesty and a fair chance for everyone. Colby figured Tessa Madison deserved one, too.

“Just telling you what I heard. She was arrested last year while living somewhere else. You might want to stay clear of her.”

Colby drilled a hard look at him. “Sounds like gossip to me, Henry.” What could she have done to be arrested? Fraud? A scam?

Henry started to move away. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Colby scowled after him, then unlocked his truck. Minutes later, with the help of the mayor, Pierce Dalton, he’d loaded the desk onto the bed of his truck.

“That was nice of the mayor,” Tessa said while settling in the passenger’s seat. “People really like him.”

He picked up on her small talk. “He’s with Chelsea, you know,” he reminded her.

She released a soft laugh, a soft and sensuous-sounding laugh. A laugh that sent a jolt through him. “Yes, I do know that. They’re planning a wedding. And no, I’m not interested in our mayor.”

Colby was surprised. A lot of single women in town were disappointed when Pierce got engaged to Chelsea. At the end of the block, Colby maneuvered the truck around the corner to her store.

“I have a furniture dolly at the store,” she said as he braked.

Colby flicked off the ignition. Before he could respond, she jumped out of the truck. Was she always so high-energy or was he making her nervous? Meeting her on the sidewalk, he held out a hand. “Give me the keys and—”

With an airy stride, she ambled ahead of him toward the back of the house. “Don’t need them.”

Okay, Rumor wasn’t the crime capital of the nation, but good sense made most people lock doors. “Why don’t you lock?”

“It doesn’t work.”

He said the logical thing. “Then buy a new one.”

She stilled, grinned at him. “Why?”

“Don’t you worry about a burglar?”

“Why should I? Only someone who believed in what I sell would be interested in my merchandise. At present, that number is few.”

Logic. Amazing. She’d made her point with logic. “A woman alone should lock the door.”

“I do plan to contact a locksmith,” she assured him with a more serious look.

Colby liked her smile. “Did you have fun at my expense?”

“A little.” She reached for the doorknob, opened the door but paused. “You’ve been warned about me, haven’t you?”

He’d never put much faith in anything Henry said. My mother thinks you’re the best thing that’s happened to this town.”

A smile sprang to her face. “You’re kidding?”

“A breath of fresh air.”

“If only everyone thought that way,” she said wistfully.

“Tessa, is that you?” The blonde with the singsong voice charged into the storeroom. The moment she spotted him, she skidded to a stop. “Oh, hi.”

Colby grinned. She looked surprised and flustered. Hi.” He’d had his share of rodeo groupies. It harmed no one for him to be pleasant.

Tessa lifted a brow but said nothing about her assistant’s reaction. “I didn’t think you’d still be here, Marla.”

“Jolie and I were talking after I locked up. She wants to know if you think her ghost will like—”

Another voice interrupted. “Oh, don’t bother her now.” A carrot-colored redhead stood in the doorway that connected the storeroom to the front of the store. “Come on, Marla,” Jolie said, and snagged the younger woman’s arm to pull her into the store.

Colby waited until they were alone. “Her ghost?”

“She has a friendly one.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Some spirits are malevolent.”

“How do you know if…” He stopped himself, not believing he was having a conversation about ghosts.

“I hope Marla and Jolie didn’t make you uncomfortable. They aren’t too subtle about their matchmaking. And they’re always trying to find me my soul mate.” A hint of humor sparkled in her eyes. “Regina, Marla’s sister, assured me that love would only happen if it’s in the stars.”

In the stars. That kind of thinking belonged to a romantic. He wasn’t one of them. “Isn’t there some guy somewhere?”

“No, there isn’t. Do you want to get the desk?”

“Sure.” Before stepping away, he touched a corner of the old desk. “What about this one?”

“I’m moving it outside behind the store. The neighbor two doors down wants it.”

Colby spent the next few moments transferring desks. After moving the new one inside, he left to take the other one to her neighbor. The man rattled off a dozen thank-yous before Colby left. Returning to Tessa’s store, he found her on the phone, frowning.

She set down the receiver, offered a weak smile. “Thank you for helping with the desks.”

“It’s okay.” She had trouble, had no good reason to share it with him, but she looked as if she needed a sympathetic shoulder. “You have a problem?”

“You’ll probably hear about it.” She set a cup with a whimsical drawing of a black cat on the desk. “That was my landlady. Esther Dugan.”

Esther had been his fourth-grade teacher. Never had he heard her say a harsh word to anyone. “I didn’t know she owned the place.” He wandered to a counter. “Sweet lady,” he said, staring at a deck of tarot cards.

“I always thought so. She’s also malleable.” She strained for a smile. “It’s not your problem.”

He turned and perched on the edge of the desk. “I asked.”

She shrugged. “She informed me that the rent is being raised and is due at the first of next month. I doubt I can pay that much of an increase. Perhaps six months from now when my business is more established and Mystic Treasures becomes known in Whitehorn and Billings.”

“But not yet?”

“No. Eventually I’d hoped to buy the house.” She plopped pens and pencils into the cup. “I’m sure that Leone Burton influenced her. She’s Esther’s sister-in-law. Leone came in to see me and—”

“She came in here?” He couldn’t hide his incredulity. Set in her ways, even a touch narrow-minded, Leone came across as a lot older than fifty-something. She looked old-fashioned from her hairstyle, something that resembled a bun on the top of her head, to the laced-up shoes she always wore. In Colby’s opinion, she’d be one of the last people in town to buy a crystal for seeing into the future.

“She’s on a crusade to close my business.”

Colby didn’t doubt Leone could manage to do that. Looking down, he stared at one of the tarot cards of two nudes. The Lovers was printed in bold black letters at the bottom of the card. Crazy. This was crazy. Too easily even he could fall beneath her whimsical spell. Annoyed, he dropped the lover’s card. He wanted no part of love again. And he couldn’t worry about her. He was here for his mother’s sake. She was the one he needed to think about. “What’s this?” He fingered a small vial of purple-colored liquid. “A love potion?”

“Are you in need of one?”

Over his shoulder, he sent her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “So what is this?”

“That’s bath oil. It soothes. Relaxes sore muscles.”

He grinned with a thought. “I’ve had more than my share of those.” Facing her, he fished in his shirt pocket to withdraw photographs. It was time to force the issue. “Here. Look at the photos of my aunt, see what happens.”

“Colby, I meant what I said earlier.”

“That was then. Now you have a problem. And I have a solution. Two weeks,” he said. He offered a generous amount of money for two weeks of her time, knew she needed it badly. “Think about it.”

He didn’t play fair. She could ignore his challenge but not the money. It would take care of the financial problem Esther had dropped in her lap. Still, during the two weeks he’d requested, her whole world could crumble around her. While she tried to identify Harriet’s killer, she’d give Leone an opportunity to criticize her more, convince people she was a bad element for their town.

She placed a Closed sign in the store window, then returned to the table and spread out the photographs. The possibility existed that she might not see anything. She never could be certain she’d be able to help and she never knew how much pain she might feel.

Why hadn’t she handed the photographs back to him? Why had she mentioned the mare, a pale beige horse with a white mane and tail? She’d made a mistake mentioning that horse. She’d had no reason to show off except to convince him she had power. Why was easy to answer. The attraction for Colby had descended on her so quickly, so intensely she’d had no chance to block it. It didn’t matter that she hardly knew him or that they probably had nothing in common or that he belonged to a different world.

Most of all, he belonged.

And she was an outsider. She’d hoped if she didn’t use her psychic ability she’d have a better chance at acceptance, would be able to stay in Rumor, make friends.

One of those friends was Louise Holmes, she reminded herself. How could she not help a friend? She placed fingers on one of the photos but felt nothing. She didn’t think the photographs were recent enough to give her a clue about Harriet’s killer.

If Winona Cobb and Crystal had been home, Tessa would have driven to Whitehorn to visit them, to see if they’d be more receptive. Like her, they’d weathered a storm of criticism because of psychic powers, but they and Crystal’s husband, Deputy Sloan Ravencrest, were on vacation in California. So she’d try again. Stare harder. Let emotions radiate from the photos.

One of them was of Harriet decorating a Christmas tree. The ornament in her hand was a brass horn with a red-and-green plaid ribbon. Tessa closed her eyes. A foggy vision appeared of a young woman in a Victorian dress. An heirloom, Tessa guessed about the ornament. She felt peace. Joy. Love.

Another photograph was of Harriet and Louise smiling, sitting under a patio umbrella, frosty glasses of iced tea on the round table before them. A warm summer’s breeze rustled leaves on the trees behind them. Tessa smelled lilacs, sensed affection and love between the sisters.

In the third photograph, Harriet and Henry, the town’s mayor years ago, stood before the library. It appeared to be a dedication of some sort. Harriet was distracted. Boredom? Tessa couldn’t pinpoint the woman’s feelings.

For forty minutes, she concentrated on the photographs, but nothing about them helped her name Harriet’s killer.

The roll of her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She gathered the photographs, set them on the kitchen table, then headed upstairs. She changed into a peach-colored, scooped-neck T-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

Half an hour ago, a drizzle had begun. Now rain plopped in a light but steady syncopated beat on the sidewalk outside her store.

After snatching her umbrella, she dashed to the van. Branches swayed beneath an angry wind. Storms rarely bothered her, but the day had carried more turmoil than usual. She was edgy. The moment she slid behind the steering wheel, she hit the button for her CD player.

As she drove, fingers of lightning reached downward, brightening the street with eerie flashes. Thunder rumbled, overpowering the lilting sounds of flutes and a Celtic melody.

She slowed the van, peered between the swishing windshield wipers, checked her rearview mirror for cars behind her. One followed at a distance. She passed the Calico Diner. Through one of the trailer’s windows, she saw a server. Her dark hair shone beneath the lights. Tessa had planned on going in for a hamburger, but judging by the cars parked in the dirt lot outside the trailer with its fifties decor, the diner was crowded. She wasn’t in the mood for that many people. She turned off the town’s main street. She’d head home and search her refrigerator for dinner.

The headlights of the car behind her glared in her rearview mirror. She squinted. Was that the same car? Why would it be?

In a test of sorts, she sped up. The car closed in. Tightly she clutched the steering wheel. As she turned down another side street, the car followed. Why was someone following her? Though some people indicated displeasure about her store, no one had ever threatened her.

Yet earlier, while she’d looked at antiques, an uneasy sensation had crept up her spine. Despite the congenial greetings and the laughter generously sprinkled among conversations, people had seemed jumpy. She’d tried to ignore the feeling. At the time, she’d thought she was feeling their apprehension. But now she knew. There had been more. More than once, she had sensed ill will from someone in the crowd.

Was that person in the car behind her? She maneuvered around another corner and toward Main Street. People. She didn’t want to drive all the way to the Calico Diner. But she needed people. Lots of people.

In the dark confines of the car behind her, desperation seized the driver. No chance could be taken. People were remembering how Winona Cobb’s niece, Crystal, in Whitehorn, who was supposed to be psychic, had helped authorities after the Montgomery girl’s death.

The possibility existed that Tessa Madison, too, had what people called sixth sense. Whatever was necessary had to be done to scare her off.

Her car stayed on Main Street, then turned into the parking lot adjacent to Joe’s Bar. It looked packed with the expected Friday-night crowd. Did she know she was being followed? That was good. If she was scared, she’d back off.

She’d better.

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