Caitlan didn't think, she knew for certain Randal had thrown the kittens into King's stall as an act of revenge-toward her and possibly toward Missy for attacking him. Yet she had no concrete evidence beside her gut instinct, and Randal's awful smirk, that he'd actually done the deed.

Heaping the meat onto the buns and cheese, she gave a casual shrug. "I'm just curious where he was when this happened."

"He was with Hank and Sam down at the cook-house when Laura started screaming."

Great alibi, Caitlan thought, but how long had the kittens been dead before Laura found them?

Caitlan set J.T.'s dinner on the table, along with a tall glass of iced tea.

J.T. turned around toward the table, glancing from his plate of Sloppy Joe's to Caitlan, who'd taken a seat across from him. "Thanks. You didn't have to make my dinner." A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "I'm not such a lousy cook that I couldn't have warmed the meat myself."

She smiled. "I'm sure you could have, but you look exhausted and I really don't mind."

He picked up a sandwich, then looked back at her. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Go ahead."

He devoured the first Sloppy Joe with gusto and gulped down half his iced tea. After swiping his mouth with a napkin he said, "I'm still trying to figure out if this incident with the kittens has anything to do with what happened to me at the creek. I'll be damned if I can think of any reason why someone would want me killed, or what killing those kittens would accomplish. It all seems like someone's demented idea of fun." He picked up another sandwich, a ruthless look entering his eyes. "I especially don't like the thought that my daughter's life could be in danger."

His concern was a very realistic one, Caitlan thought, considering the fact that Randal showed no remorse for the acts of violence he'd already committed. "Are you sure there's no one around here holding a grudge of some sort against you?" she prompted.

J.T. washed a bite of sandwich down with a long drink of iced tea. "The only person who's held a grudge against me has been Randal, but it's a personal grudge that has been ongoing since our childhood." He waved a hand in the air, dismissing Randal as a possible suspect.

Caitlan ignored the subtle hint to let the subject drop. "Does Randal stand to gain anything if you should die?"

"You mean the ranch?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "No. If anything should happen to me, everything, right down to the last head of cattle, will go to Laura when she turns twenty-one. Until then Kirk and Debbie would have control of the estate and her trust."

He finished off his last sandwich, stood, and took his dish to the sink and rinsed it. Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he stared out the kitchen window to the darkened night beyond. Caitlan thought this was his way of ending their discussion until he turned around and propped his hip against the counter, looking at her intently.

Indecision warred in his gaze, then finally he said, "There's one person I'm getting increasingly suspicious of."

Startled by the possibility that she'd somehow been wrong about Randal, she sat up straighter. "Who?"

"Mike Peterson, a hand I hired a few months back."

"What has he done?"

"Nothing, really." Releasing a tight breath, he scrubbed a hand down the stubble shadowing his jaw. "At least nothing that I've actually caught him doing, but it's the way he slinks around the place that annoys me. If anyone had a reason to throw those kittens into King's stall, he did."

"Why?" Caitlan found it hard to believe that someone else had as much motivation as Randal for killing those kittens.

"Remember when you came running out of the barn and bumped into me?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously, trying to guess what he was getting at.

"Did you see Mike in there before you came out? He's a lanky guy with dark hair, kind of brooding."

Caitlan hadn't seen anyone but Randal, but that didn't mean Mike hadn't been there, witnessing the argument between herself and Randal. If Mike had, wouldn't he have said or done something to help her? "No, I didn't see him. Why?"

"Because after I sent you up to the house for a jacket I went into the barn and ran into him. He was smoking a cigarette in the tack room and I got on his case about smoking in the barn. He knows better. One little spark and the place would go up like an inferno. He apologized and promised it wouldn't happen again, but there's just something about him I don't trust. I'm thinking about letting him go, but I can't prove he's done anything." He shifted on his feet, frustration rippling through him. "Hell, I don't know anymore, Caitlan. I hate looking at my men, men I've trusted, and wondering if any of them are involved in these incidents."

He whirled around and braced his hands on the counter, his gaze trained out the window again. The muscles across his shoulders bunched with tension, and it took deliberate restraint on Caitlan's part not to jump up and go to him, to put her arms around his waist and offer quiet reassurance and support.

After an eternity of seconds had passed J.T. swore harshly, his words bitter and succinct to match his mood, and pushed away from the counter. Mumbling something about going into his office, he disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Caitlan feeling alone, emotionally drained, and empty inside.

Somehow she knew J.T. felt the same.

Chapter Eight

Carrying a plate of fresh sliced bananas and a piece of toast, Caitlan knocked softly on Laura's bedroom door, wanting to reassure herself that the girl was okay, since she hadn't come down for breakfast.

"Come in," Laura answered, her quiet voice barely reaching Caitlan's ears.

Opening the door, Caitlan peeked inside. Laura stood in front of her dresser mirror, methodically running a brush through her long hair. Her face looked freshly scrubbed, and although sadness lingered in her eyes, the puffiness around them had diminished. In accordance with the unusually warm spring day, she'd dressed in pink shorts, a white shirt, and sandals.

Stepping inside the room, Caitlan smiled. "I brought you something to eat before we leave for your Aunt Debbie's. How are you feeling?"

Laura put the brush down and shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Dad's already been up here three times to check on me."

"He's just worried about you. We all are."

"I know." Tears welled in Laura's eyes, and her bottom lip trembled slightly. "Is it okay if we don't talk about what happened yesterday?"

"Absolutely." Caitlan understood. The memory was still fresh and raw. Laura needed her own time to heal. "But when and if you do want to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen."

Laura nodded, sniffling.

Caitlan gave her the plate of food, attempting to keep Laura's mind occupied with other things. "How would you like me to French braid your hair before we leave?"

Laura's eyes widened. "You know how?"

"Yep."

Laura grinned. "That'll be so cool!"

Pleased that her tactic had worked, Caitlan motioned for her to sit down on the bed while she retrieved a comb and an elastic band from the dresser. Coming up behind Laura, Caitlan sectioned off her hair and began the braiding and layering process.

"Tell me what to expect when we get to your Aunt Debbie's today," Caitlan said, purposely making her request sound more like interest, rather than a diversion.

For the next fifteen minutes, while Laura ate her snack and entertained Caitlan with tales of many Sunday afternoons past, Caitlan finished the French braid and secured the end with the elastic band.

Caitlan was so in tune with J.T., she felt his presence before she actually saw or heard him. Heat tingled along her nerve endings and a light flutter tickled her belly. While Laura chatted on, Caitlan glanced surreptitiously toward the doorway, already knowing what she would find.

Her gaze collided with J.T.'s. This was the first time she'd seen him since he'd walked out on her in the kitchen the night before and she had to admit he looked much better, the tension and frustration seemingly gone for the time being. He wasn't wearing his hat, and she decided she preferred him without it.

Darker threads of gold warmed his green eyes, and the corner of his mouth curved in a smile so sexy and intimate, Caitlan's body flushed with a startling excitement that robbed her of breath. Before she could find her voice to acknowledge him, his gaze drifted over the blue chambray shirt Debbie had loaned her, and down the length of her jeans-clad legs to her beige leather boots. When he looked back up approval and something much more primitive flickered in the depths of his eyes.

Casually, he strode into the room, as if he hadn't just put her body in a state of nuclear meltdown. "You girls ready to go?"

Laura's head whipped around to J.T., and she smiled up at him. "Oh, hi, Dad. Do you like my hair?" she asked, turning her head so he could check out Caitlan's handiwork.

"Umm. I love it," he commented, playfully tugging the tail of the braid.

Casting her father a tolerant look, Laura smoothed her hand over the intricate weaving "I want to get a bow for the end of my braid. Wait here, Caitlan," she said, then rushed out of the room. Seconds later the sound of drawers being open and closed echoed from the bathroom.

The smile on J.T.'s lips belied the accusatory arch of his brow. "What did you do to my daughter? I've been in here three times this morning trying to cheer her up, and each time I could barely coax a smile out of her."

Caitlan gave him an upswept look injected with teasing charm. "It's a woman thing."