Page 56 of Colorado Country Omnibus

“On my deathbed, maybe.” He laughed.

She sat down at her desk and went to work. At least it kept her mind off Dal for most of the day.

Chapter 9

Meadow went home and changed clothes. She wore jeans and boots and a long-sleeved blue checked shirt with a fringed vest under her shepherd’s coat. She looked very Western, especially when she brought out her treasured feather-brimmed cowgirl hat to go with it. She looked in the mirror and heard Dal’s harsh voice ridiculing her when he saw how she was dressed.

She went back to her wardrobe and took out a navy blue pantsuit and a modest white camisole. She thought about leaving her gun at home. Like most people in law enforcement, she knew hand-to-hand combat and how to take down an opponent, even if she’d been sadly unprepared for the one assault when she’d needed to use it. She’d been trained by a veteran of wars in the Middle East, a combat veteran who was a master trainer for their department in St. Louis. He’d been a dish, but he had a lovely wife and two sweet little boys. He didn’t wander, either, not even when beautiful women flirted with him. He was quite a guy. Loved his wife.

She could just see Dal being faithful if he ever married. It was hilarious. He’d be sneaking out the back door to some other woman’s house while his wife was busy in the kitchen. He’d never be able to limit himself to just one woman.

There had been plenty of women in his life. If she hadn’t heard that from other people in Raven Springs, she’d have known by the masterful way he kissed her at the dance. In just a few heated minutes, she was almost far gone enough to go home with him. He’d kissed her as if he was dying, as if she was the last woman he’d ever hold in his arms. It was an odd thing. He was dating Dana, who was rumored to be experienced herself. Why was he kissing Meadow that hungrily, if he was getting what he needed from Dana? It was a question she really didn’t want to answer. Dal hated her. That wasn’t going to change. If it wasn’t Dana, it would be some other woman. It would always be some other woman, never Meadow. Once she got that through her thick skull, maybe she could force him out of it. Memories of his ardor haunted her.

She left her blond hair long around her shoulders, hating herself for that one concession. He loved long hair. Angrily, she found a pretty elastic hair tie and looped it around her hair, making it into a ponytail.

She looked at her waist, which was bare. The gun was part of her working gear. Most burglars weren’t armed; most wouldn’t harm anyone in the commission of a theft. But there was always the exception. This thief had struck twice already and apparently had no compunction about breaking in. She could be in danger if he did carry. Her mind went back to the prison interrogation room and the beating she’d taken from the inmate she’d been interviewing. She swallowed hard. Dal didn’t like the gun, but he didn’t have her past. And he had no right to make her feel guilty about the tools of her trade.

She got her duty belt with her badge on it and whipped it around her waist. She took her Glock out of the locked drawer in the living room, loaded the clip and chambered a round, put on the safety, and stuck it in her belt. She was going armed, even if Dal made harsh comments and laughed at her. Not that he’d be there, she assured herself. He’d be gone. That was why she had the key to his house, after all. Sad, how that depressed her.

She threw on her thick Berber coat and drew an equally thick wool cap over her head. The snow was coming down in buckets.

* * *

Dal’s house was quiet. Snow settled in front of the dying fire in the fireplace with Jarvis, the huge red Maine coon cat, who’d laced himself around Meadow’s pants legs and purred up a storm.

“Sweet boy,” she said softly, petting him.

She patted Snow on the head and put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. It seemed to be the only source of heat in the very cold room. It was comfy, though, with overstuffed chairs and a long sofa in the same earth tones. There was a Navajo blanket over the chair. Meadow had seen one just like it at an exhibit she’d gone to with her father in Denver. Dal had been there. Meadow had enthused over the beautiful jagged pattern and the bright colors. Dal had made fun of her enthusiasm and embarrassed her into silence. Then, apparently, he’d purchased that very blanket and brought it home with him. She was surprised.

She touched it, curious. She’d never been in his home before, not even with her father, who visited him frequently. She tried to stay as far away from him as she could. He always had something cutting to say to her.

Why had he bought the blanket she’d wanted? To keep her from getting it? That was a laugh. The beautiful thing had cost almost a thousand dollars. It was functional, but still a work of art. Meadow, much less her father, could never have afforded something so very extravagant. Not that it wasn’t worth every penny. It was meant for a house like this, for furnishings like this. Everything around her was elegant, not like the secondhand or on-sale things that graced Meadow’s apartment and her father’s house.

She sat down on the couch and turned the television to a game show she liked. She settled back with a bottle of Perrier water she’d found in the kitchen and made herself comfortable.

* * *

She’d gone through the movies, couldn’t find one she liked, found nothing to tempt her on the local stations. So she settled down with the Weather Channel and watched the progress of the storm that was plowing into Raven Springs. It had already overcome the ranches. She’d phoned her foreman to ask about the progress of their pregnant heifers and been assured that the nighthawks were on the job.

She’d lowered the lights in the living room and muted the sound on the channel. She was very tired. It had been a long day. She’d had to track down a witness in a domestic violence case, always a tricky thing to do. The witness, an older woman, finally admitted to what she’d seen but refused to appear at trial or even be deposed. Meadow gently reminded her that the victim, a pregnant young woman, had been admitted to the hospital with injuries that cost her the child she was carrying. The witness reluctantly agreed to appear as a witness for the prosecution.

Ann Farrell, the assistant district attorney assigned to the case, had gone with Meadow to talk to the witness. Afterward, they’d had lunch and traded horror stories. Civilians had no idea what people in law enforcement had to cope with. District attorneys were also involved in the daily operations of law enforcement when they had to prosecute a case. The assistant DA was confident that she could win the case. The victim was mad enough to testify and had, in fact, already filed for divorce. Since the case was unlikely to be tried until the next circuit court session, the divorce would be through and the husband under a court order not to approach his wife or have any contact with her. A wife could testify against her husband, especially in a criminal case where the wife was the victim.

Meadow wondered privately what sort of lowlife would raise his hand to a pregnant woman in the first place. Probably, she mused, the same sort of lowlife who would chain a dog to a tree and forget to feed and water it, like poor Snow.

She reached over and ruffled the fur between Snow’s ears, laughing as the pretty husky raised her head and closed her eyes. Snow was such a treasure. She loved the thick white fur with its pale red tips. She’d never had a pet as intelligent as her dog.

After a few minutes, she stretched out on Dal’s cushy couch with a pillow under her head and dozed while the television droned on.

She was barely aware of a faint noise in the back of the house, but Snow heard it and got up quickly. She lifted her head, sniffing the air. She looked at Meadow with her pale blue eyes and howled faintly.

Meadow sat up. Her hand went automatically to her pistol as she got to her feet and moved on the carpet, silently, to the hallway. She heard the noise again. So did Snow, who jumped forward and ran toward the source of it.

That sound was coming from Dal’s office. He’d told her about the antique writing desk that was kept there, the one she was guarding. It seemed that his concern wasn’t misplaced. The thief had come back!

Her heart racing, pistol steady in both hands, Meadow moved cautiously behind Snow. She wanted to call the dog back, but her voice would alert whoever was moving around in the room down the hall. She hoped that Snow wouldn’t do too much damage to him before she got there. The dog was aggressive when she needed to be, despite her usually sweet temperament.

She heard a thud. Seconds later, there was a loud yelp. “Snow!” Meadow called, and started running down the hall. To hell with stealth. Something had happened to her pet!

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