Page 50 of Wyoming Tough

They moved to the display case and studied the egg.

“You know,” Mallory said suddenly, frowning, “it looks funny.”

“I was just noticing that,” Cane replied curtly. “Open it.”

Mallory brought the key out of the drawer and opened the glass doors of the ornate, wood-scrolled cabinet. He picked up the egg and frowned. “These settings look slipshod. And here—” he indicated the jewels “—they don’t look… Good God, it’s a fake!”

Cane’s jaw tautened. “A cheap fake.”

Mallory was seething. “Morie,” he said flatly. “She had the real one in her rucksack.”

“She handed it back to you,” Tank replied angrily. “You put it back in the case. I saw you do it. Morie was gone by then!”

Mallory didn’t want to admit that. It suited him to think Morie was a thief. He’d sent her packing, wounded her pride, treated her like a criminal, all on the word of a cowboy he hardly knew and a woman who harried him night and day to employ her friends and sell land to them.

His lean face was harassed. “Yes,” he had to concede, his eyes stormy. “She was gone by then.”

And all the joy in his life had gone with her. He was left with the emptiness in his heart and the certainty of long years ahead with Gelly to assuage the ache Morie had left behind. She couldn’t do it. He liked Gelly, but she didn’t stir him, not even with her most passionate kisses, except in the most basic way. Intellectually, she was a no-show. Her conversational skills revolved around popular television shows and movies and the latest fashions.

“It’s time to call in private detectives,” Cane said flatly. “In fact, Morie advised that some time ago, when I talked to her at the line cabin.”

Mallory glared at him. “What were you doing out there?”

His brother smiled coldly. “Looking for Morie after you’d upset her.”

“She was a hire. She stuck her nose into everything around here,” he muttered.

“Yes, like making canapés for a party and helping cook—and she didn’t even ask for extra pay or complain that she didn’t get it,” Tank reminded him.

Mallory felt guilty. “I meant to compensate her for that. Of course, she was running around after that judge friend of yours,” he added icily, turning to Cane.

“Danny Brannt is a gourmet chef,” Cane replied. “He and his wife have a housekeeper who was trained in Paris as a cook, and they’re always looking for new and exciting finger foods for parties. In fact, they’re famous for it. I understand that his housekeeper is helping to cater that big to-do at the Brannt Ranch next month. We were invited, I believe.”

“Yes,” Mallory murmured absently. “King Brannt has some seed bulls that are the talk of the industry. I have in mind to buy one from him for our breeding program.” He didn’t add that the mention of that last name stung. Not that Morie had any connection to that famous Brannt; she was just a poor working cowgirl.

“Can we afford one?” Cane asked amusedly. “We’re only just showing profit from the past two painful years of investments and stock adjustments.”

“We can afford one,” Mallory replied quietly. He glanced at his brother. “You and Tank are responsible for those successes as much as I am,” he added. “I know it’s been rough. I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Hell, I appreciate what you’ve done,” Cane said. “You’ve got the business head. Tank may be the marketing specialist, and I do like showing off our bulls at cattle shows with a little help from our cowboys who travel with me, but you’re the one with the genius to know where to put the money so that it will grow. That’s no mean feat in a flat economy.”

“I had help. Our stockbroker is the genius. I just followed his suggestions.” He looked worried. “Who could have taken that egg?” he wondered aloud. “And when did it go missing?”

“I don’t know. Sometime between the time that Morie left and you found the key. The question is, who had the key and the opportunity to get into the cabinet?”

“Couldn’t have been a break-in,” Mallory said, thinking out loud. “Not with our security system in place.”

“And I’d bet my stock portfolio on Mavie’s honesty,” Tank added.

Mallory nodded. “So would I. Her former boss isn’t the sort to suffer a thief any more than we are. She was with him for twenty years until he had to give up his ranch and retire, leaving her unemployed. She’s been a welcome addition to our staff.”

Cane pursed his sensual lips. “Bates, maybe?” He was thinking out loud. “He was the one who claimed to see Morie playing with the egg. Interesting, because Darby says she kept her door closed anytime she was in the bunkhouse, and she kept it locked.”

“Suspicious,” Mallory said flatly.

“A woman in a bunkhouse full of men would lock her door,” Cane shot back. “Especially one like Morie. Darby told me that she lived off campus when she was in college, because she refused to live in a coed dorm even if the whole world thought it was all right.”

His eyebrows arched. “She could have been lying.”

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