Wyoming Wildfire. Elizabeth Lane

seduce, even kill—to get what she wanted?

      He studied her furtively, his attention lingering on a bead of perspiration that had pooled in the hollow of her throat. He found himself wondering what it would be like to lick that bead away, savoring the salty taste of her sweat as he nibbled his way upward to her mouth…or downward to the cleft between those luscious breasts….

      Matt jerked himself back to reality. Fantasizing about Jessie might be delicious, but after a while, he knew, it wouldn’t be enough. He would want her. And he couldn’t have her, not as long as she was a suspect in his murder investigation.

      For now, he could only regard her as an intriguing puzzle.

      By the time the grave was deep enough, the storm had moved in. Black clouds, split by crackling thunderbolts, seethed overhead. The air was heavy with moisture.

      There’d been no time to prepare a coffin. But now Matt saw what Jessie had brought up the hill, bundled in the oilskin sheet.

      Placing the bundle on the ground, she unfolded it with careful, tender hands. Inside was a beautifully pieced patchwork quilt. Noticing the lack of wear around the edges, Matt judged that it must be new—a treasure in this rough place.

      Jessie looked up at him, fighting back tears. “It’s a wedding-ring quilt. My mother made it for the girl Frank would find and marry one day. But now there’ll be no girl, no marriage, no children. Only this.” She rose to her feet and turned toward the horse that carried her brother’s body. “Help me lay him on it,” she said.

      Matt knew better than to protest, even though this seemed a waste of so much loving work. Frank would have rested just as well in the oilskin or the bare earth and never known the difference. But if it would ease Jessie’s heart to wrap him in the quilt meant for his bride, who was he to argue against it?

      With Matt cradling Frank’s head and shoulders while Jessie supported the feet, they eased the lanky body off the horse and laid it out on the beautiful quilt. Sensing that she wanted to do the rest alone, he stepped back and watched as she crossed his hands over his chest and tucked the quilt around him. When everything but his face was covered, she bent and kissed his waxen forehead. “Sleep tight,” she whispered, as she must have done countless times when her brother was small. Then she folded the quilt over his face and rose to her feet.

      As she did so, raindrops spattered around them, drenching their hair and clothes. Hurrying now, they used the oilskin to lift the body and lower it into the grave. Then Matt reached down and pulled the waterproof ends over the quilt.

      “Go on,” he said. “Take the bay down to the house and get dry. I can finish up here.”

      Water streamed off her hair, beading on her ebony brows and lashes as she shook her head. “We can’t just leave,” she argued. “Not without saying words over him.”

      Matt sighed. This was the part of burials he always dreaded most. And standing here in the rain didn’t make things any pleasanter. “Go ahead,” he muttered. “Say whatever you need to, but make it fast.”

      “You first.”

      Matt bit back a growl of protest. Meeting Frank Hammond had set loose a whole string of calamities, and the last thing he felt like was finding something good to say about the poor young fool. But Jessie was waiting, so he clasped his hands, bowed his head and fumbled for some words that wouldn’t add to her anguish.

      “Lord, only you know what was in this boy’s heart, and only you can be his judge. We ask you to see the good in him and to welcome him home. Amen.”

      She shot him a startled glance, and he realized he should have said more. But never mind. He was done, and now it was her turn. He might as well let her talk as long as she wanted. They were already soaked to the skin and couldn’t get any wetter. He watched her in silence as she stared down at the bundle in the open grave.

      “I know people will say you’ve gone to a better place, Frank,” she began. “But you were in a good place right here, and you left it too soon. You missed the chance to finish growing up, to get married, to have children, and to grow old on this earth. And you left with people accusing you of something I know you didn’t do.”

      She paused, swallowed and licked a tear from her lips. “It’s too late to undo the wrong and bring you back. But I’m not going to let it rest, Frank. Whatever it takes, I’m going to bring Allister’s killer to justice and clear your name. I swear it on your grave, and on Mama and Papa’s graves.” She drew in an anguished breath, like the sound of tearing silk. “That’s all I have to say, I guess. Except that I love you. I didn’t say it much when you were alive—I mostly just scolded and bossed you. But I’m saying it now, just in case you’re someplace where you can hear…”

      Her voice trailed off as she turned away and picked up the shovel where she’d left it thrust in the ground. Dirt and rocks spattered on the wet oilskin as the first scoop of earth dropped into the grave.

      Matt followed her example, digging deep and hard into damp soil and flinging it down into the hole. He wanted to be done with this sad business and get out of the rain. Better yet, he wanted to wake up in his own bed and realize that he’d dreamed this entire hellish day and had never known Frank or Jessie Hammond.

      Jessie worked beside him in silence, her hair hanging over her face in curly black strings. Her soaked flannel shirt clung beneath the baggy overalls, giving him glimpses of her voluptuously curved little body. Matt tore his eyes away. This was a funeral, not a damned peep show, he reminded himself. He’d be smart to keep his eyes, and his thoughts where they belonged.

      After the grave was filled and smoothed over, they mounted in the drizzling rain and rode down the hill. Matt was spattered with mud from head to toe and so cold that his teeth were chattering. He knew that Jessie must be the same. Yet she sat like a queen in the saddle, head erect, spine ramrod straight, ignoring her own misery. She was a proud thing. Too proud, he thought. With no family, no home and no money, she was going to need help. The sooner she accepted that fact, the better off she would be.