She went still, staring at the item in her hand as though it contained something toxic and she wanted nothing more than to drop it before it contaminated her further. “Why would somebody send you that?” she whispered.
“I guess they wanted me to know about it,” he said reasonably.
“But why? What purpose would that serve?”
“Only reason I could figure was that somebody wanted me to come here.” He hesitated, feeling foolish for a slight second before he shoved the feeling away. “Like I said, I figured it was you.”
She frowned at him. “Why would I send you that?”
Matt shrugged a shoulder, feeling foolish again. “I thought maybe you needed help and were desperate enough to reach out to me of all people. From the sound of that article, things aren’t looking too good for you. Maybe somebody else sent it for the same reason.”
“In hopes that you’d help me?” She exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a snort. “Whatever the reason, I doubt it was good.”
“What makes you say that?”
“People around here haven’t exactly been going out of their way to help me out. As you may have noticed, I’m not Ms. Popularity at the moment.”
He couldn’t disagree with her there. He wished he’d seen who’d messed with her truck, but he’d been watching the store so closely for her to come out he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else. “Has anything else happened besides someone cutting your tires?”
“That’s the first outright act against me. Mostly I’ve been getting a cold shoulder from everyone in town. Almost no one has said a word to me since Bobby’s death. Only the police.” She shuddered slightly, the gesture making it clear exactly what that experience had been like for her.
He surveyed her out of the corner of his eye, this woman he hadn’t seen in eight years, this person who was so familiar, yet different at the same time. She definitely wasn’t the girl she’d once been. But could she have really changed enough to become a killer? It was possible. He could believe anyone was capable of killing for any number of reasons, whether out of anger or vengeance or self-defense. Was that what had happened? Had circumstances turned her into a killer? Or had she really become a far different person than the one he’d thought he’d known?
Or was it, as he’d wondered plenty of times after they parted ways, that he’d never really known her at all?
“What happened, Elena?”
She glanced at him, her left eyebrow quirking. “Didn’t you read the article?”
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
She simply continued to stare at him, remaining silent for a long moment. “What are you even doing here, Matt?” she repeated. “Someone sends you an article about…someone you knew a long time ago and you come all this way from New Mexico? For what?”
Someone you knew a long time ago. That was certainly an interesting way of putting it. He hadn’t missed her hesitation before phrasing it that way, and he couldn’t help wondering what her first instinct had been to say instead. “Guess I wanted to know why,” he answered. “And yeah, I wanted to know if it was true.”
“What do you care?”
“Are you saying it is?”
“No, I’m asking what difference it makes to you.”
It was still a very good question. “Call it curiosity, I guess. You never struck me as a killer. Guess I wanted to know if a person could change that much.”
She lowered her head, her shoulders slumping. “Thank you,” she practically whispered.
“For what?”
“For thinking I’m not the killing type. People who’ve known me a lot longer don’t even seem to believe that.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t do it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said firmly.
“So what happened?”
Elena opened her mouth and took a deep breath, as though on the verge of beginning, only to raise her hand and point in front of them. “In a minute. We’re here.”
He saw the turnoff to a ranch up ahead and smoothly guided the truck into the turn. A sign over the end of the driveway declared it the Weston Ranch. From the first glimpse, he could tell it was a big spread, wide-open pastures stretching out into the horizon. It looked like Elena had married well, he noted darkly. Not that he was surprised. He hadn’t worked for them, didn’t think he’d ever met any of them, but he remembered the Weston name had been big around here.
The driveway eventually ended in front of a large two-story ranch house, a barn not far from it. He could see cattle grazing in the distance in one of the pastures, a sight he knew well. She must have a lot of people working for her to be dealing with a place this size. More important, it meant there were people they were going to have to explain his presence to, something he wasn’t sure just how to do.
“How many people do you have working for you right now?”
“At the moment, none.”
He couldn’t help but glance at her in surprise. She met his eyes and shrugged lightly, a hint of resignation in her dark brown gaze. “Nobody wants to work for a murderer.”
“So how are you keeping this place running?”
“The best I can,” she said simply.
As soon as he brought the truck to a stop in front of the house, she pushed her door open and climbed out, reaching back in for the bags and taking them before he could offer to help. He followed, unable to help but notice her strong, confident stride as she walked to the house and climbed the steps. She definitely wasn’t a girl anymore. She was all woman, exuding a strength and grace he now saw she’d only been starting to develop back then.
Crossing the wide front porch, she opened the door. “Come on back to the kitchen,” she said. “I need to get these groceries put away.”
He followed her through the house, getting a quick glimpse of the living room as they passed through it. As he’d seen from the outside, it was a big place, but comfortable. Homey. The home she’d shared with her husband, he registered, the thought bothering him more than it should before he brushed the feeling aside.
In the kitchen, she put the bags on the counter and immediately began unloading them, moving some of the items to the refrigerator. There was a big table with plenty of chairs, but he remained standing, leaning against the doorway and watching her move.
Closing the refrigerator and turning away from it, she suddenly noticed him standing there and started. “I’m sorry. I’m not being a very good hostess. Can I get you something to drink?”
He gave his head a terse shake. “I’m fine. You were going to tell me what happened?”
She sighed, then nodded. “That’s right. I guess I’m just not sure where to begin.”
He wasn’t sure he did, either. A lot of it was going to involve her relationship with her husband, a topic he didn’t know if he wanted to hear all that much about, no matter how much he needed to. At the same time, he couldn’t say why the idea bothered him. Or maybe he was just bothered by the implications of why it would.
“Have to admit I was surprised to find out you were still in Western Bluff,” he said. “Thought you had all those plans of being in the big city. That summer you couldn’t wait to get back to school.”
“I know,” she said softly, without looking at him. “I never intended to stay here, either.”
“So what happened?”
She