Confessing to the Cowboy - By Carla Cassidy Page 0,12
workers I’ve ever had,” Mary agreed with a gentle smile.
Junior nodded, obviously satisfied and proud of her answer. “Okay, I’ve got to go back home now. I’ll lock up behind me because I’m responsible.” Without waiting for replies, Junior turned and headed back to the kitchen door he’d come through.
Mary found herself smiling after him. She’d taken a chance on hiring him and discovered that people had underestimated his abilities and his need to feel productive. She turned back to look at Cameron, whose eyes were narrowed in thought.
“Wonder what Junior does at night. I know his mother pretty much lets him come and go as he pleases.”
Mary turned back to look at him in surprise. “Surely you don’t think Junior is capable of such crimes. He doesn’t have the cunning, he doesn’t have the mental capacity to make plans and assure escape without detection. Besides, Junior loves me and he loves the women who work here.”
“What about Rusty?”
“What about him?” Mary realized her tone had become slightly defensive. “You know Rusty has worked for me for years. Yes, he has a temper, but he also has a strong protective streak when it comes to the waitresses.”
“But what do you know about his past?” Cameron persisted.
“Enough. I know he lost his wife and child in a house fire years ago. I know that he drifted from place to place, eaten up by grief and drinking too much for a long time and he finally wound up here working for me. Cameron, you’re looking at the wrong people.”
“I have to look at everyone,” he replied. “I’ve got to either dismiss them completely as suspects or put them on my list of potential suspects.”
“You have a list of potential suspects?” she asked hopefully.
His lips curved up in a slow, rueful smile. “I’m working on it. Right now I have a list with every man in town on it and I’m trying to weed it down.”
“Maybe it’s a woman,” Mary said.
Cameron stared at her in surprise and leaned against the back of the stool. “To be honest, we hadn’t even considered the possibility.”
“But there have been no sexual overtones to the murders, so a woman could have been responsible, right?”
Once again Cameron worried a hand through his hair, and for just a moment Mary wondered what that brown richness would feel like beneath her fingertips.
“Thanks, you just put all the members of town over twelve years old on my potential suspect list.”
She smiled sympathetically. “Sorry, it was just a thought.”
“Unfortunately it’s a viable thought. Even though Dorothy told Winneta she saw a large man outside her house the night before her murder, it could have been a big woman or a normal-sized person casting a large shadow in the moonlight.” He raised his cup and drained the last of the coffee. “Walk me to the door?”
She nodded. In another lifetime she would have walked with him to her bedroom. They would have made beautiful love that would banish all thoughts of murders and evil. But in this lifetime she walked him to the front door of the café.
He grabbed his hat from the hook and set it on his head, looking every inch an intelligent, sexy man. Instead of reaching for the door, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes lightening to a more golden-green hue.
She wanted to fall into that light, an illumination that whispered of desire and safety and all the things she dreamed about at night. But she knew it was a false light, a mirage that would disappear if he knew about her past.
“I’m worried about you,” he said softly.
“About me?”
His hands slid down her arms and then back up again to her shoulders. “You might be the owner of this café, but that makes you the head waitress and somebody is killing waitresses and we don’t know if that somebody might consider you the ultimate prize.”
His words shot a shuddering chill down her body. Until Dorothy’s murder nobody had been sure what was driving the murderer. Now they could make an educated guess that whoever it was had a thing for waitresses.
“But I’m different,” she said, her voice a faint whisper. “I’m different than the other waitresses who have been killed. I don’t live alone and I have Matt.”
“And we don’t know how this killer might escalate.” He raised a hand to her cheek and she found the impulse to lean into him and instead took a step back, away from his touch. He dropped his