Rancher Under Fire by Vickie McDonough

Author:Vickie McDonough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

NINE

“Look. Tire tracks.” Mariah pointed to the ground.

Jackson squatted beside her, and the heat of her denim-clad leg radiated out to warm his chilled thigh. Ignoring the reaction it caused in his traitorous heart, he studied the marks in the hardened dirt. Yep, definitely tire tracks. Zigzag tread marks had been formed in the mud alongside the road and had hardened solid overnight. Hope soared. Maybe he’d finally found the evidence needed to locate the person harassing him.

“Last night’s sprinkle made the ground soft enough that whoever blew up your sign probably made these tracks.” She looked at him with a spark of hope gleaming in her eyes.

“Maybe. Could just be someone who lives down the road slipped off the blacktop, though. Still, they look fairly fresh. The mud that pressed up into the treads is in good condition. Maintained its shape well.”

“I don’t think the ridges would be so sharp if these were old tread marks that had been rained on.”

Jackson stood, and Mariah followed. “These are definitely recent tracks. Got a tape measure, by chance?”

He nodded and returned to his truck, rifled through his glove box and found what he was looking for. Returning to Mariah’s side, he handed it to her.

She pulled out the tape strip and measured the width and length of the tread marks then released hold of the metal, and it whizzed back in with a snap as the end tab hit the base. “Thanks,” she said, handing the tape measure back to him. She pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket, typed on a yellow screen that resembled a notepad and then slipped it out of sight again.

Jackson wondered how much info about him and his ranch she had stored away in that little device. Had she been making notes all along, and he hadn’t noticed because he’d been too enamored with her?

He shook the thoughts from his head. He had more important things to stew on than his infatuation with Mariah or even the interview.

Pieces of charred wood he’d missed last night still littered the highway. He needed to clear the road before someone had an accident. “Let’s build a fence of sorts around the tracks so we can preserve them until the sheriff can get out here. I called him, but he’s tied up on the far side of the county until this afternoon.”

Mariah glanced up. “We’re going to town?”

He nodded. “I always eat breakfast at Auntie’s Café on Sunday mornings. Deuce is gone to eat with friends. I thought you might prefer breakfast out to instant oatmeal or a Pop-Tart.” He grinned at the way her face scrunched up. He figured she’d never eaten a Pop-Tart before. She probably ate some kind of hoity-toity bran muffin with her caffe latte every morning. Or maybe she was one of those diet-conscious women who skipped breakfast altogether.

“Breakfast sounds good. I’m dying for a big, fat waffle smothered in maple syrup. Do they have those?” Her thin eyebrows darted upward, hope shining in her sparkling eyes.

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