Hoapili introduced himself and Samantha, then gave Kitty and Gary a summary of what had happened at the stockyard, including that Landon and his cousin had apprehended the criminal. Kitty’s eyes flicked to Landon and she held his gaze for a moment. Gratitude was written in her expression. That, at least, had been the way he’d imagined in his scenario. It was the only thing he’d gotten right.
Hoapili finished his account with, “Would you like to press charges?”
“Yes.” Kitty’s glossy lips pressed together and her eyes flashed with indignation. The expression only made her look like she was posing for some haute couture wedding ad.
“All right.” Hoapili handed her the paperwork and showed her where to sign.
She scribbled her name. “How did the man get my cattle in the first place?”
“We don’t have those answers right now.” Hoapili took the paper from her. “We’ll let you know what we find out. You’ll need to inventory your livestock.”
Landon could make some guesses about how the cows had been stolen. “Check your fence line. The rustlers most likely cut it. You don’t want more cattle wandering off.”
She nodded.
His gaze slid over her. “Or rather, have Gary check it. You’re not really dressed for the occasion.”
Her cheeks flushed pink again.
Before Landon could say more, Hoapili asked, “Ma’am, where would you like your cattle? We don’t want to take any more of your time. We know you have,” he eyed the wedding dress, “other things to do.”
Gary stepped forward. “We can put them in the pasture for now.” He probably expected Landon to go unlock the back of the trailer and help him. Instead, Landon handed the keys to Samantha and kept standing there, staring at Kitty. If he stared at her long enough, she would explain all of this.
A noise drew his attention to the house—the front door shutting. A middle-aged man strolled down the patio, paused when he saw the group, and then continued toward them. He had thinning brown hair, a suggestion of a pot belly, and wore a crisp western shirt, the type tourists donned when pretending to be cowboys. His boots hadn’t been broken in, let alone seen a day’s real work.
Landon narrowed his eyes. He’d never disliked anyone so quickly or intensely.
Hoapili told Kitty that he would contact her with a case number. Landon only half heard it. His gaze was focused on the stranger.
“Call me if you have further questions,” Hoapili said. As he turned to leave, he nudged Landon and whispered, “Don’t worry, brah. I won’t tell Nani about this.” He gave Landon a last sympathetic look, then strode to his car.
Well, this was going to give everybody something to talk about at their ten-year reunion.
Landon turned his attention back to the stranger who was still making his way over to join Kitty. “Are you a photographer?” Landon called to him.
“No.” The man stopped, momentarily confused. “I’m staying in the house.”
It was true then. The guy was Kitty’s fiancé. He’d already moved in. Landon shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from balling them into fists. She couldn’t really love the middle-aged man walking toward them. He was almost old enough to be her father. The guy must be rich. Loaded. That was the only explanation.
Landon’s breaths were coming too fast. His gaze returned to Kitty, and his voice went low. “Is he here because he has money?” It was a petty accusation. He didn’t actually expect her to admit to being a gold digger.
She shrugged, unoffended. “I’ve had unexpected expenses.”
He nearly didn’t know what to say to her. “This is how you deal with unexpected expenses?”
He’d spoken too loudly. She shushed him. “He’ll hear you.”
Landon didn’t care. Blood pounded in his ears. As the man ambled up to Kitty, Landon said, “You move pretty fast for someone your age. Are you trying to rush her into this so she doesn’t have a chance to change her mind?”
“Landon!” Kitty coughed out. Her eyes went wide.
Landon didn’t even slow down. “Do you just come to a place and start throwing money around to buy people? Because anyone who buys people this fast will discard them just as quickly.”
The man stared at Landon in bewilderment. “I was not throwing money.” He had a German accent. “What do you mean ‘buying people’? I did not come to your country for that sort of thing.” He turned to Kitty, alarmed. “What does he mean, ‘buying people?’”
“Nothing,” Kitty chirped. “He doesn’t mean anything.”
Landon was about to enlighten the guy about what he meant when Kitty took a firm hold of his arm. “Landon, this is my houseguest, Mr. Gunther. He and his wife are staying here while they visit Tombstone, and then they’re going to the Grand Canyon. Mr. Gunther, this is Mr. Wyle from the ranch next door.”