LITMIR.BIZ

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narrowed. “So the fire chief has ruled the incident as arson?”

      “Accelerants were used.” She wasn’t going to elaborate on the evidence. To do so might compromise the case, especially when she didn’t yet know whether this man was involved.

      “That’s hardly a surprise.” Faint sarcasm tinged his words. “There wasn’t a lightning strike within a hundred miles of here last night.”

      She wondered if anyone had ever tried to slap that smirk from his face. It certainly wouldn’t be an easy feat to accomplish, she decided. The man was a picture of toughness.

      “Other things can cause fires, Mr. Pickens. Like cigarettes, campfires, burning trash, welding sparks—just to name a few. Were any of your men working in the area yesterday where the fire started?”

      His black brows formed a straight line across his forehead. “Why the hell are you questioning me about my men? The Cantrells are the ones you should be interrogating!”

      His defensive attitude didn’t surprise Rosalinda. From what she’d learned, this past year the adjoining Chaparral Ranch had been plagued with all sorts of problems. Some of which had spilled over onto the Pine Ridge Ranch. And Tyler Pickens hadn’t been bashful about voicing his displeasure over the matter. But that could be a guise, she told herself. He could be pretending to be a victim when in actuality he was the instigator. But why would this man want to cause trouble for the Cantrells? And did he really seem the criminal type?

      But Dale’s ex-girlfriend never seemed like a psycho, she reminded herself. On the outside, Monique had resembled a shy, soft-spoken librarian with hardly the gumption to say boo to a mouse. But she’d been an obsessed woman with evil intent on her mind. She fooled the hell out of you and your boyfriend. You need to remember that appearances can lead you in a dangerous direction.

      Shoving aside the cold little voice in her head, she said, “Deputy Harrigan is currently at the Chaparral Ranch interrogating folks there.”

      The subtle flare of his nostrils told her that he was struggling to keep a rein on his temper. But in all fairness, the man had every right to be aggravated. He’d had a portion of his land burned to a crisp and now he was being interrogated by the law. Under those conditions, no normal person would be in a happy mood.

      A sneer lifted one corner of his lips. “So they sent you up here to dig into my ranch and my personal business.”

      Her backbone straightened to a rigid line. “I’m hoping that digging won’t be necessary, Mr. Pickens. I expect you’ll want to help in this investigation, to volunteer anything and everything that might help us discover who committed this devastating crime.”

      Long, tense seconds ticked by as his cool gaze slipped over her face, her khaki shirt, then on to the long line of her legs. In spite of the fact that many women were working in law enforcement these days, they were still sometimes subjected to nasty slurs and sexual insults. But the look in Tyler Pickens’s eyes said he wasn’t dismissing her as a deputy sheriff, he was seeing her as a woman. And that unsettled her far more than his brash attitude.

      “How long have you worked for Sheriff Hamilton?” he asked.

      This was her interview, not his. Still, she didn’t want to make him so angry that he clammed up. Like it or not, she needed this man’s cooperation.

      “Long enough,” she answered evasively. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d only worked as a Lincoln County deputy for eight months. He’d think she was too inexperienced. He couldn’t know that prior to becoming a deputy sheriff, she’d already worked a year and a half for the Ruidoso Police Department. And since becoming a deputy she and her partner had already busted a major theft ring, helped capture two fugitives and recovered stolen livestock.

      His gaze settled on her left hand. “You have a family, Ms. Lightfoot?”

      Why would he be asking her something that personal? she wondered. It was none of his business. “Deputy Lightfoot,” she corrected him. “And no. Do you?” she countered.

      Even though his gaze slipped from hers, she could tell by the tight corners of his mouth that he didn’t appreciate her question. Why? Was he estranged from his family?

      “No,” he answered. “Except for my cook, Gib Easton, I live here alone.”

      “Hmm. Must get lonely,” she mused aloud. “Lonely enough to want to create a little excitement by setting a fire?”

      His response was a deep, rich laugh that had Rosalinda staring at him in wonder. The dimples in his hollow cheeks, the gleam of white teeth against his dark skin was so endearing she found herself smiling along with him.

      “You find that funny?” she finally asked.

      “Very.” Rising to his feet, he walked over to the edge of the concrete porch and with one hand made a sweeping gesture toward the mountain range to the right of them, the narrow valley directly below and in the far distance, the glint of a river winding its way southward. “All of this is mine, Deputy Lightfoot. I’ve worked hard to make it into the ranch it is today. I get excitement from watching a calf born or a foal running at its mother’s side. Not from flames eating up my precious grazing land.”

      He made perfect sense. Draining the last of her coffee, she placed the cup and saucer aside and walked over to where Tyler Pickens stood next to an arched column of rock that supported the porch roof.

      If she were to get really close to the man, she thought, the top of her head would do well to reach the middle of his chest. A fact that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, she quickly reminded herself, so why was she thinking it? After the long, nightmarish ordeal she’d been through with Dale, she’d not wanted to be close to a man again. Neither physically nor emotionally. But something about this rugged rancher was making her forget the heartache and fear that she’d endured.

      Clearing her throat, she tried her best to focus on her job. “How long have you owned this ranch?” she asked, even though county records had already told her.

      He glanced at her. “Nearly ten years.”

      Beyond the manicured lawn shaded by huge Ponderosa pines, the ground sloped away to a green valley floor, where the working ranch yard was located. From her angle, she could see a maze of barns, sheds and corrals. Cowboys on horseback were moving cattle from pen to pen, while others pitched hay and spread feed into mangers and troughs. Cows bawled and a horse’s loud whinny was answered by its nearby pal. It was a beautiful June morning in southern New Mexico, the kind that could almost make a person forget that something bad had happened the night before.

      Keeping her voice brisk, she said, “I understand you asked Quint Cantrell to sell a stretch of Chaparral land to you and he refused.”

      “That’s right. A couple of years ago, I approached him about buying a piece of land that runs adjacent to my property. Most of it is grazing land, something I need more of. Neither he nor his grandfather wanted to part with it.”

      “Did that make you angry?”

      He looked utterly bored. And perhaps he did consider her questions stupid, but to her it was legitimate.

      “Disappointed, Deputy Lightfoot. Not angry. I’m still hoping that someday they’ll have a change of heart. In the meantime, I don’t want their land burned or any other mishap to happen to their ranch. I happen to like the family.”

      “But you are aware that the Chaparral Ranch has been experiencing some problems.”

      “That’s a damned fool remark! You bet your ass I’m aware of it! I run purebred Herefords up here. I don’t want any of their Angus bulls over here breeding my cows! I don’t want my fences cut or my cattle straying off their home range! I’m sick of Cantrell problems turning into mine!”

      His icy eyes were now spitting fire, making it clear to Rosalinda that he was a passionate man.

      “I can appreciate that,” she told him.

      “Somehow

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