“So what’d the guy do?” Tyler asked, looking up at her.
The sheriff cleared his throat again. Angelina had forgotten the lawman was there.
“I’ll just go take Prince for a walk,” the sheriff said.
“You don’t need to leave,” she told him and then turned back to Tyler. “I have no secrets. Derrick didn’t do anything. Nothing at all. I barely know the man. He asked my father for his permission to marry me. I’m afraid my father is suffering from some stress-related problem. I had to try some wedding dress on just to calm him down. And he booked a small church for the ceremony—he actually scheduled it. He gets so agitated when I say I’m not marrying Derrick that I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack.”
“Your father says he’s just concerned about your future.”
Angelina folded her arms. “He’s anxious about something, all right. But it’s not me.”
“Maybe he just wants you to get to know this Daryl guy.”
“It’s Derrick. He wears Armani suits and plays golf with my father. I doubt he even wears T-shirts on the weekend.”
“Well, that’s not a crime,” Tyler said. “And he might have a problem with expressing himself.”
“He’s my father’s lawyer. How much of a problem could he have?”
She glanced over at the sheriff. The man was inching away from them.
Angelina turned back to Tyler. She didn’t have time to worry about making the sheriff squirm. “I think Derrick needs to be investigated. Who was that guy who used to sneak around and find out things for you anyway? You always made him do that before I could date anyone.”
“Clyde?” Tyler looked surprised. “I don’t know if he’s still in business. And that was high school. It was easy to find out who the jerks were back then. Clyde just hung out in the lunchroom when you weren’t around and listened to what they said. He always charged me for his lunch, too, by the way.”
“Well, maybe Clyde can investigate Derrick. And have him check into my father, too.”
Tyler scowled at her. “Again? I thought you would have learned to trust your father by now.”
Angelina willed herself to take a breath. “This isn’t like high school. I’m not asking you to investigate my father because I want to get his attention. I really think something’s wrong. Maybe Derrick is blackmailing him and that’s why my father is insisting I marry the man.”
“What would he have on your father?”
“I don’t know, “Angelina tried to stay calm. “But even though my father is, well, my father—he could still have this secret life I don’t know anything about.”
“I thought we settled that. You’re not adopted. And your father doesn’t have another family hidden away somewhere.”
“But you always told me to trust my intuition. And something’s wrong.”
Tyler closed his eyes. “I meant you should pay attention to your surroundings. If you thought the bush was moving, assume it was.”
“Well, the bush is moving—it’s my father.”
“That’s not—” Tyler started and then stopped. “Fine. If it makes you feel better, I’ll call Clyde.”
“Thank you.”
“As I remember, Clyde was taking classes to earn a finance degree,” Tyler said. “Claimed he wanted to end up on Wall Street. He’s probably wearing an Armani suit himself now.”
“We’ve all changed.” She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Tyler. She wondered if he’d stay in touch with her this time. After high school, he had just ridden off into the sunset without a look back to see if she was standing there watching him leave.
“And even if we give Clyde a free lunch, he’ll want to be paid regular, too,” Tyler said.
Angelina nodded. “You know I have money.”
He grunted at that. “You’re an heiress. I know.”
“That’s not who I am,” she snapped back.
Then she realized she was a working woman now. And she was supposed to have the evening meal on the table by five-thirty in the Elkton bunkhouse. She had a nice beef stew in the oven and had told the ranch hands to be punctual because Tyler’s memorial service was scheduled for seven-thirty. She had insisted they all go, and the foreman had backed her up. When the cowboys hesitated, she had promised them biscuits with honey butter. She didn’t know what the foreman had offered them.
Whatever it was though they would probably still want their biscuits. But before she could make any, there was something else she needed to do.
“I need to go out to your ranch,” she told Tyler. She had to explain things to his family before she could think of feeding the ranch hands. “You may as well ride with me.”
“In that?” Tyler looked at her convertible like it was a leaky tub she was planning to set afloat in a raging flood. “That thing isn’t made for these country roads. And your driving isn’t—”
“Fine,” she interrupted him. Why had she decided to have a funeral for the one man who felt free to criticize her? Maybe he only spoke his mind so freely because they were friends. But right now she didn’t have time to argue. “I’ll ride with you then.”
She walked over and pushed the button that put up the roof on her car.
“Don’t forget Prince here,” the sheriff said as he let go of the dog’s leash.
“He rides in the back,” Tyler said.
“But he could fall out,” Angelina protested as she pushed another button to roll up her windows.
“Not at the speed I drive these roads,” Tyler said. “Only fools go fast on gravel roads. It makes too much dust and ruins your shocks.”
With that he turned his back on her and headed toward his pickup. Prince, the traitor, followed right along with him, his leash and the ribbon she’d put on him this morning, trailing behind.
She wished she could just refuse to ride with Tyler, she thought as she hurried after them. But she needed to prepare him. She really hadn’t intended to meddle in his life, she assured herself as she walked to the other side of his pickup. Of course, it couldn’t be seen as interfering since she’d thought he was dead.
Tyler opened the passenger door for her and she started to climb into the vehicle. He was reasonable. Maybe he would even see the gravestone with the angel as a compliment. It’s not like she had gotten the one with the inset photograph on it, she reminded herself. Now, that would have been extravagant.
She sat down on the seat in the cab. And that’s when she saw the photo.
“You’ve got my picture,” she said, pointing to it. “Right there.”
She hated that picture. Her father’s secretary had taken the shot, and Angelina thought it made her look like a porcelain doll. No one needed a wedding dress with that much netting. But when she complained, her father had merely sent the garment back for adjustments.
“Ah—” Tyler stopped with his hand on the door. “It was for identification purposes.”
“You needed a picture to identify me! We spent my whole senior year together.”
“Well, of course, I know what you look like,” Tyler said as he put his right hand up and ran his fingers through his hair. She remembered that gesture. It meant he didn’t want to admit something.
“Then why did you have the picture?” she asked, some