There, on the bit of wood, were the distinctive marks of a saw blade. He lifted the piece for his father and Whitney to see. “Everyone at the ranch knew we would be going up there for the decorations for Yule Night.”
His father took the piece of broken lumber and turned it around in his hands, inspecting the marks. “No, Colter... It had to be just some kind of accident. Maybe one of the volunteers just cut through the floor on accident. These things happen.”
Colter could hear the lie in his father’s voice.
No one would cut almost a perfect rectangle in the floor by accident. Anyone in their right mind would know the likelihood of someone getting hurt if they stepped on the spot—a spot he’d had to step on in order to get to the boxes. Someone had intended to set a trap—albeit a poor one, one that would hurt anyone who went up there and not someone specific.
He thought of the bottle of oil and gas they had found. While he had tried to convince himself the device wasn’t a threat, and was just some random discarded item, now he couldn’t be so sure. The odds of two things like this happening on the same day had to be slim to none.
Yet the bottle hadn’t been in a place where it would do much damage. In fact, if they hadn’t come across it by accident, it could simply have been covered by more snow in the coming days. Unless someone had dropped it there in an attempt to not be seen carrying it. It didn’t make sense.
If anything, this all seemed like the ill-conceived plan of a teenager, or else this was someone who wanted to simply send a message—a warning that Dunrovin was coming under attack.
She could understand acting tough, but Whitney couldn’t understand Colter’s need to pretend his body wasn’t racked by pain. He walked with a limp that he couldn’t disguise as they made their way to the ranch house.
“Let me clean you up,” she said, motioning to his torn pants and the blood that stained the cloth.
“Don’t worry—I’ll be fine. It’s just a little flesh wound,” he said, but the darkness in his eyes and the deep, controlled baritone of his voice gave his pain away.
“Don’t be so stubborn. Flesh wound or not, it needs to be cleaned up. And that’s to say nothing about maybe going to the emergency room.”
Colter shook his head. “There’s no way I’m going to the doctor.” He lifted the injured leg like it was stiff as he made his way up the stairs and into the house.
She followed him inside and pointed to the oversize leather chair that sat beside the fireplace in the living room. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
His mouth opened as though he considered protesting for a moment, but as he looked at her, he clammed up and hobbled over to the chair and thumped down.
She made her way to the bathroom and got the first-aid kit out of the closet. She was still angry with him. Hurt or not, he’d had his hands all over the blonde in the driveway.
Though she shouldn’t have been jealous, she couldn’t help it from swelling in her like a fattening tick. She had no claim on Colter Fitzgerald. In fact, no one ever seemed to have a solitary claim on the man. He dated too much and too often for her to let herself even think about him. Yet she couldn’t help her thoughts as they drifted to the way he had looked holding the puppy.
No. She couldn’t let the thought of how cute he was alter the fact that he usually drove her crazy. They couldn’t be a thing. She wasn’t looking for a relationship—especially not with a man like him.
She walked down the hallway. As she turned the corner, the blonde and Eloise were standing beside Colter. Before they could see her, she ducked into the tiny little room that was Merle and Eloise’s private office. She felt out of place and unwelcome in the room that was neatly organized, its bookshelves color-coordinated with three-ring binders and business books. She stood there listening as the blonde fawned over the hurt Colter.
Whitney stared around the room. She shouldn’t be in here, but there was no way she was going to walk out in the living room and fake nice with the woman who was clearly head over heels for Colter—and, if truth be told, probably more up his alley than Whitney was.
The lump of jealousy inside her swelled further, threatening to burst.
She stepped back, bumping against the desk as she tried to make physical distance work in the place of the emotional distance she needed. A piece of paper slipped to the floor, landing with a rustle at Whitney’s foot.
Leaning down, she picked up the page. It was a bill from Cattleman’s Bank to the tune of more than five thousand dollars. Printed on the top, with large red letters, was the word Overdue. Though it wasn’t her bill, a feeling of sickness passed over her as she stared at the number at the bottom. There was no worse feeling than looking at a bill that you knew couldn’t be paid.
She had seen those kinds of things over and over as a child when her parents were going through their divorce. The red letters were like shining beacons from a time in her life that she never wanted to remember, yet was forced to face as she looked at the paper in her hands.
No wonder everyone on the ranch had seemed on edge. She had known things were tight with her employers, but she had no clue that things were this bad.
Laying the paper back on the stack of bills in the inbox, she stepped away from the desk and the memories it wrought.
Maybe they weren’t as bad off as she was assuming. Maybe it was just one bill that had slipped through the cracks. She was tempted to flip through the other bills that were there, but she stopped herself. It wasn’t her business. And even if she knew, there was nothing she could do to change the outcome.
On the other hand, it was her future at stake. If they couldn’t pay their regular bills, then there was no possible way that they could continue to carry a staff. She had been lucky to get the job, and it was only when she’d told Eloise about her life in Kentucky that the woman had told her to come to Montana.
The woman had been so kind to her, even offering to pay for her flight here, which now, seeing what she had, Whitney knew the woman and the ranch couldn’t afford.
And now she would just have to turn around and go home. She wouldn’t be able to find another job in the tiny community that was Mystery, Montana. There was little in the way of anything here, and no one would want to hire a girl like her—one with a past spattered throughout the media.
Whitney stared at the papers. Once again, her future was at the mercy of the world around her, and there was nothing she could do to control her destiny.
She rushed out of the office, unable to stand the indelible red ink at the top of the bill a second longer. The blonde was still standing with Colter, but before Whitney could turn and rush back down the hall, Eloise noticed her.
“There she is,” Eloise said, waving her over. “Whitney, have you met Sarah?”
She felt like a dead man walking as she made her way to the living room. Sarah was smiling, her radiant white teeth just as straight and perfect as the rest of her.
“So nice to meet you, Whitney,” she said, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Likewise.” Whitney played along, but broke away from the handshake as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to meet Colter’s girlfriend, or friend with benefits, or whatever it was that this girl was to him.
“Sarah is catering the party,” Eloise added, almost as though she could sense the tension between the two women.
Whitney forced herself to smile in an attempt to comfort Eloise. Her friend didn’t need to worry about some