Free Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) by Elizabeth Lane Page A

you were so shocked that you dropped it and ran.”
    She straightened, glaring at him like a teacher about to dress down a backward student. “You know as well as I do that Allister was shot in the back. Whoever pulled the trigger knew exactly what they were doing. And they left the rifle because theywanted it to be found. Now, are we finished with this silly conversation?”
    “For now, maybe you should have been a lawyer, Miss Jessie Hammond. You’ve presented a right smart case for yourself.”
    “I’ve done nothing more than point out the truth,” she retorted icily. “I know when I’m being tested.”
    Backing off for the present, Matt glanced toward the counter. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a piece of that apple pie, could I?”
    The glare dissolved into outrage. “Why, you shameless, no-account rascal! First you practically accuse me of murder, and then you expect dessert! I know your kind. I’ll bet your mother must have spoiled you rotten!”
    “I’m afraid she never had the chance.”
    “Well, I’m not feeling charitable. For your information, I’d rather throw that pie to the chickens than feed one bite of it to you!” She was putting on a brave front but Matt knew she was crumbling inside. Get her to relax and talk, and he might have some chance of getting to the bottom of this mess.
    “All right, name your price. I’ll do anything within reason for a piece of that pie—plow the garden, say, or mend that sagging gate on the corral—after the rain stops, of course. You’ll have my word on that.”
    “Mend the gate? Plow the garden?” She flung the words back at him, her voice husky with strain. “Ihave to leave this place tomorrow! Why should I do anything for Virgil Gates? For that matter, why should I even wash the dishes? I can’t take them with me.”
    “In that case, it would be a real shame to leave that pie for Virgil.” Matt fixed her with an appealing gaze.
    “You’re right.” Turning toward the counter, she picked up the tin pie plate. The drumming of the rain filled the silence as she held it between her hands, staring down at the flaky, golden crust and the place where two wedges of pie had been cut and removed.
    Suspecting she was about to fling the pie in his face, Matt readied himself to duck. At last, however, she placed it on the table and sank back onto her chair. Her stricken eyes pierced him to the heart.
    “I made this pie as a treat for Frank. We each had a piece for supper the night we went after the stallion. I suppose it’s a mercy we can’t see into the future.” She blinked back tears, her voice on the verge of breaking.
    “Jessie, I’m sorry—”
    “No,” she said, cutting off his apology. “Life has to go on, and pies were made for eating.” She picked up her knife, cut a generous wedge and lifted it onto a clean saucer. “This is for you, but only on one condition.”
    “Name it.”
    “You said your mother never had a chance to spoil you. I’m guessing you had a tough time growing up down Texas way. I’d like to hear a little about it.”
    Matt let out a deep breath, wishing she’d asked him almost anything else. “It’s not a pretty story,” he said.
    “That doesn’t matter.” She pushed the saucer across the table toward him. “I just need something to take my mind off all that’s happened today.”
    “In that case, I can tell some very entertaining lies. Wouldn’t you rather hear those?”
    She shook her head. A smile flickered at the corners of her rosebud mouth, but her eyes were pools of melancholy. “I’d rather hear the truth, even if it isn’t pretty.”
    “Truth is seldom pretty. At least not the truth that I’ve seen.”
    “What a cynical soul you are, Matt Langtry.” She cut a two-finger width of pie for herself. “What happened to your mother?”
    Matt steeled himself against the memory. Strange, how razor sharp it was, even after so many years. “I was seven years old. School was out, and I