The Lawman Meets His Bride Read Free Page A

one thing, it was colder up here at this altitude—he could feel it even sitting in the car. It would be even worse after dark.
    But again the harsh realization struck him with almost physical force: it wasn’t just sure prison time he faced, and for a crime he never committed. It was also fatal surrender to a dark destiny, the affirmation of evil handed down in the bloodstream. At least, that’s how others would see it. Quinn was no hermit who thumbed his nose at society; he cared very deeply what others thought about him.
    That last thought steeled his will.
    He took another look at the sign. He’d have to come up with some cock-and-bull story for the Realtor, assuming one would even come out this late. He had no clear idea how far away Mystery was. But he knew he had to try.
    He took his cell phone out of his briefcase and tapped in the number on the sign.

Chapter 2
    O nce her Jeep started climbing out of the verdant valley, winding higher on Old Mill Road, Constance felt Beth Ann’s “Eighth House” nonsense lift from her like a weight.
    It was a gloriously fine day, much more like early May than late January. White tufts of cloud drifted across a sky blue as a deep lagoon. Even this late in the afternoon the sun had weight as well as warmth. It felt good through her wool skirt and blazer.
    Below her, in Mystery Valley, Hazel McCallum’s cattle clustered around feed stations in pastures that once again soon would be rich with sweet grass, timothy and clover. Hazel’s next wheat crop would be heading up, too. If this weather held, planting season would come very early this year.
    Seeing the cattle queen’s realm spread out below like a panoramic painting made her decide to call Hazel. After all, this was the first nibble on that oldcabin, which had been sitting vacant ever since old Ron Hupenbecker passed away back in the ’80s. Hazel didn’t really need the money, of course. Even the low prices for beef lately hadn’t hurt her valley empire much.
    But Mystery’s matriarch seemed eager to know someone was living there again. “An empty house on my land,” she once confided to Constance, “makes me feel like I’ve broken a promise.”
    She fished the cell phone out of her purse and tried Hazel’s number.
    “Hello?” Hazel answered immediately in a youthful voice that belied her seventy-five years.
    “Hazel, hi, it’s Connie.”
    “What’s cookin’, good-lookin’? Haven’t heard from you in days. I was hoping maybe you’d run off to have a fling with one of my cowboys.”
    Constance laughed. “You’d love it if I did, wouldn’t you?”
    “So might you, so go right ahead. Tell you what…whoever you pick, I won’t even dock his wages.”
    “Hazel, my God! I’m not even half your age, yet I end up doing all the blushing.”
    “Hon, I grew up on a ranch. Nothing makes me blush. Oh, I know you like smart men who read books and talk about great painters. A girl with your looks, going all the way overseas to spend her vacations alone at stuffy museums with idiotic names like Santa’s Soap.”
    “It’s Santa Sophia,” Constance corrected her, laughing, “and it’s a magnificent cathedral in Istanbul. Besides, I’m not always alone—I’ve met somevery fascinating men at museums. Believe it or not, cowgirl, there’s life outside the rodeo.”
    “Oh, stuff those highbrow types. Cowboys have their good points, too.”
    “Sorry, Hazel. I just can’t warm up to men who treat their boots better than their women.”
    Both women enjoyed a good laugh, for the joke had a nubbin of truth to it. Despite the ease and affection of their banter, however, Constance knew that Hazel was dead serious about that fling offer—and even better if it led to something more permanent.
    Constance had gradually taken on the status of one of Mystery’s most glaring marriage holdouts. Two of her younger siblings were married, a third engaged. When Hazel pressed her about it, she usually demurred with the excuse