I was too busy to be studying her freckles.
“Did you know who I was?” I blurted.
“Pardon?”
“At Willie’s. Did you know who I was?”
“No. You said you came through town. I assumed you didn’t live here.”
“You said Bozeman. I thought you were a tourist.”
“You really didn’t know who I was?”
“I wouldn’t have fucked you in my truck had I known. As a general rule, I don’t do hookups with locals. Gets messy when women realize I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m too busy.”
“Ah. Then you’re in luck because I have no desire for a relationship. And as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”
Like fuck it had never happened. That night was burned into my brain. But if she wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, that was fine by me. No one in Quincy needed to know I’d given the chief of police three orgasms.
“Back to the reason for my visit. I’d like to know more about that road to Indigo Ridge.” She was all business tonight, her shoulders square and her expression stoic. Just like it had been Wednesday. Not a ghost of her mesmerizing smile graced her soft lips.
Probably safest that way. “Want a beer?”
“No, thanks.”
“On duty?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
I finished my bottle, making her stand there and watch, then I retreated to the kitchen for beer number two. Maybe two Bud Lights would dull my senses enough so I wouldn’t have a raging erection while she was in my house. At the moment, my dick was ready to say fuck it and carry her to my bedroom.
We hadn’t had a lot of room to maneuver in the backseat of my truck. On a king-sized mattress, Winn and I could have some fun.
Jesus. I scrubbed a hand over my face as I opened the refrigerator. What was wrong with me?
Winn was here to talk about a dead girl, and I was thinking of sex. The mental image of Lily Green’s smashed body was sobering, and I closed the fridge, forgoing the beer.
“Did you talk to Lily’s mother?”
“I did.” A wave of sadness broke her neutral composure. “It didn’t take long to confirm Lily’s identity through fingerprints. I spoke to her mother on Wednesday evening.”
“Have you ever done that before? Notified a parent that their child was dead?”
She gave me a single nod. “It’s the worst part of this job.”
“Sorry.”
“My mentor at the Bozeman PD used to tell me that it was our duty and our responsibility to ease the burden any way we could. That we never know how we’ll change the lives we touch with this job. He once had to tell a woman that her husband had been killed in a liquor store robbery. Years later, he bumped into her. They started dating and they’re married now. He’d always remind me that even the dark days pass. That we heal from our losses. I don’t know if that’s true when you lose a child. But I hope, for Lily’s mother’s sake, that in time, she finds comfort. And I hope that I was able to soften the blow, as much as that was possible.”
I studied her as she spoke, gentle honesty and vulnerability in her words. If she’d spoken to Lily’s mother like this, with such truth and compassion, then yes, she’d softened that blow. As much as that was possible.
The news of Lily’s suicide had traveled quickly through Quincy, as expected. I’d gone into town this morning to place a classified at the paper and the Nelsens had been buzzing with the news. No doubt it would be next week’s headline. Emily had fished for more information and, when I’d stayed quiet, had made a not-so-subtle offer to trade sex for secrets.
I’d decided to post my help-wanted ad online instead of in the paper.
Emily had been a one-night mistake last year. A mistake I was still paying for.
I hoped Winslow wouldn’t turn out to be the same.
“Was there a note?” I asked. “From Lily?”
She ignored my questions and asked one of her own. “Can you tell me more about the road to Indigo Ridge?”
“It’s a gravel road. There’s not much else to tell.”
“There’s a trail going up the ridge. I walked it yesterday. How often do you or staff members of your ranch use it?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because this is an ongoing investigation.”
“Into a suicide.”
“Into a young woman’s death.” She spoke like Lily could have been murdered.
“Don’t drag this out looking for something that’s not there. You’ll only make it worse.”
Her fists clenched. “I’m asking questions because I owe it to that girl and to her mother to do my job.”
“Your answers would have come with a suicide note.”
Winn didn’t even blink.
“So there was no note.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I stopped by your parents’ place before coming here. Your dad said you’ve taken over management of the ranch. I’d prefer to talk with you because he said you were the one who’d know most of the day-to-day routines. But if I should head back there and ask them these questions—”
“No.” Damn it. This was not a topic I’d put on Dad.
The first suicide off Indigo Ridge had been years ago. He’d found the body and taken it really hard. To this day, he avoided that road at all costs. I wouldn’t make him relive that, even if it meant reliving it myself. “Let’s talk in the living room.”
My house wasn’t nearly as big as my parents’ six-thousand-square-foot home, but half that size suited me just fine. The open concept and vaulted ceilings gave my rancher character and an open feel. With three bedrooms and an office, it was plenty for me. I didn’t have six kids to wrangle, unlike Mom and Dad, who’d needed to add on twice to fit us all.
I walked to the couch and took a seat as Winslow went to the opposite side of the coffee table, sinking into a leather chair.
She glanced at the framed photo on the end table. “Your siblings?”
“All six of us. I’m the oldest. Then Knox. Lyla and Talia, the twins. Then there’s Eloise, who manages the inn.”
“Pops introduced me to her after lunch on Monday.”
That awful, tense lunch. “Mateo is the youngest. He’s working here on the ranch and at the inn until he decides what he wants to do.”
He’d probably take over a family business or start one of his own. That’s what the rest of us had done. My parents had instilled their entrepreneurial spirit in us all. And their love for Quincy.
Each of us had moved away for college. Knox and Talia had stayed away the longest, but eventually, the pull of Quincy and family had brought them home too.
Winslow studied the photo, memorizing our faces. Plenty of people had a hard time telling me and my siblings apart, especially when we’d been young. Our ages were close. Knox and I had the same build, though his tattoos set him apart. The girls were undeniably sisters.
But I suspected Winslow wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing my siblings. She was smart. Focused.
Good qualities in a cop.
“Okay, Chief.” I leaned my elbows onto my knees. “What do you want to know?”