Sacred Ground by Rita Karnopp Read Free Book Online Page A

a man. Besides she had Lance to care about. Her son's smile and loving hugs were enough . . . or were they?
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    A blaring car horn woke Willow with a start. She sat on the couch, confused, struggling to get her bearings. A repeated blast made her realize what had awakened her to begin with.
    She glanced at her watch; she'd slept barely an hour. Fatigue claimed her body, protesting as she went out the front door. "Ever think of coming to the house and ringing the doorbell?" She hoped Wyatt would one day grasp she hated his oafish manners.
    "Aw, Willa, darling, you love every minute of attention I give you, don't you?" he asked, drawling his words.
    "How many times do I have to ask you to speak like a Montanan and not with that idiot, fake Texan drawl? I don't mind a tall man from Dallas speaking in his manly twang, but you sound like a burping jackass." She knew she sounded rude and impatient, but she didn't have the time of day for Wyatt, and especially not now.
    "What's got you in such a mood? Is that Brett's truck up the road a piece? Ran into the ditch, I see. Drunk I suppose."
    "From what I hear, Brett Turner doesn't drink. What would make you say that?" she asked, in the right mood for a hot fight. He squirmed, and she wondered what she'd said to make him appear that uneasy.
    "Was meant in jest, Willa. How about offering me some coffee?"
    She drew in a long breath and closed her eyes for a second. "Not today, Wyatt. I’ve been up most the night with Thunder. She had twin calves. It's been a long night, and I'm not much for company."
    He walked around his fancy black Mustang, and stopped mere inches in front of her.
    Willow drew back, desperate to put space between them. "I'm serious, Wyatt. I just want to get some sleep before Lance gets home from school."
    "Where are your folks?" He glanced around, playing with his thin, straggly mustache.
    "They left with Aunt Liz Hunting Bees to visit family in Browning for a few weeks."
    "You're here all alone?" he asked.
    She didn't like the way he boldly looked her over. "I guess you could say that."
    "Where's your pickup?" he asked.
    She hated his third degree. She’d never had much patience for Wyatt and today she had none. "Brett borrowed it―"
    "Brett Turner came here and borrowed your truck?"
    She shook her head, amazed at his outburst. "It's the least I could do since he helped me with Thunder's calving last night."
    "Boy, things are getting cozy around here. I wouldn't have figured Brett would ever have balls ta spend a night at Arrowhead. Old Gordon must be turnin’ over in his grave."
    "You have a dirty mind and an undisciplined tongue. I didn't say anything about Brett spending the night. He helped me with the animals." She watched Wyatt raise a brow in accusing disbelief. The gesture unraveled her twisted, tense nerves. "You can go to hell, Wyatt Anderson! At least go home!" She stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her.
    She drew in several deep breaths, struggling to calm her nerves. That man not only aggravated her, she couldn't stand his skinny hands and gaunt appearance. His smile was more of a leer, and his eyes had the warmth of a rattlesnake.
    "Didn't mean to make you mad, Willow ."
    She whirled around, exasperated he'd followed her and hating his tight-lipped smile. "Please leave. I'm tired and not in the best mood, in case you haven't noticed.”
    "Let's have a cup of coffee and talk," he suggested. "There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."
    "Please, Wyatt, not today."
    "It has to do with Gordon's death."
    Willow felt the blood drain from her face. She slowly went into the kitchen. The clicking of boot heels on the hardwood floor told her Wyatt followed.
    She busied herself filling a coffee carafe with water. "What about Gordon's death? You know something, Wyatt?"
    "I heard some talk, now it's only talk mind you, but many times there's a grain of truth in talk and―"
    "Wyatt! Good God, get on with