by B. J Daniels
Dillon seemed surprised by her question. “Isn’t that the reason you do the job you do? To make sure justice is served?” He winked at her. “See, you and I aren’t that different after all, Jack. We just have our own way of getting the job done.”
She watched Dillon ride on ahead of her. He looked at home in the saddle. She’d come to realize there was little Dillon Savage wasn’t capable of doing. Or willing to do for justice. Was that why he was helping her now?
As if he felt her eyes on him, he slowed his horse, turning to look back at her. Their gazes locked for a moment. He smiled as if he knew that she’d been studying him.
She looked away, hating that he made her heart beat a little faster. Worse, that he knew it. Dillon Savage was arrogant enough without seeing any kind of interest in her eyes.
“Everything all right?” he asked, reining in his horse to ride next to her again.
“Fine.”
His grin broadened. “You don’t have to always play the tough guy.”
“Who’s playing?”
He laughed. “You know, Jack, I like you. I don’t care what other people say about you.”
It was an old joke, but it still made her smile. Maybe because she knew at least the part about other people was true.
“Some men may hold a grudge toward you,” he said as he rode alongside her. “But you and I understand each other.”
She glanced at him, wondering if that was true.
SHADE WATERS STOOD at the front window, watching his son’s SUV barrel up the road. Nate hadn’t come home last night. Where had he been? Shade could only guess. He’d been with Morgan Landers.
Waters waited anxiously, having made a decision. He had to tell Nate exactly what would happen if he persisted in dating this woman.
As the car came to a stop, Shade saw that Nate wasn’t alone, and swore. Morgan. Well, he’d have one of the ranch hands take her back to town, because he couldn’t put off this talk with his son. He wouldn’t.
Waters didn’t turn at the sound of footfalls on the porch or the opening and closing of the door. He realized he was shaking, his entire body trembling.
“Nate.” He cleared his voice, raising it. “Nate. I need to talk to you. Alone.”
He finally turned as Nate entered the room. His son looked like hell. Obviously hungover, as if he’d pulled an all-nighter. Waters felt disgust as he stared at his youngest offspring. If only his elder son, Halsey, had lived.
“Dad…” Nate said, and Morgan appeared at his side, looping her arm through his, a big, victorious smile on her face.
Shade felt his heart drop. “I want to speak to my son alone.” He saw Morgan give a little tug on Nate’s arm.
“Dad,” Nate began again. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Or was he just afraid of Shade’s reaction? “Morgan and I got married last night.”
Shade felt the floor beneath him threaten to crumble to dust. He watched his every dream fly out the window. He’d always hoped that Nate would change, that he’d grow up and want to take the ranch to the next level. He’d hoped Nate would make the Waters name known not only all across Montana, but also the Northwest. Maybe even farther. Anything would have been possible.
But as he looked at his son’s hangdog face, Shade knew that Nate would only run the ranch into the ground. And Morgan… He looked at her self-satisfied expression and knew she would bleed the place dry, then dump Nate for someone with more to offer.
He saw every dream he’d ever had for the W Bar disappear before his eyes.
“Congratulations,” he said, hoping the break in his voice didn’t give him away. He stepped to his son and shook his hand, squeezing a little too hard.
Then he kissed Morgan on the cheek, embracing her, even smiling. Both newlyweds were surprised and taken aback. They’d run off to get married, afraid he’d try to stop them. Now they expected him to be upset, even to rant and rave and threaten them.
Clearly, neither knew him very well.
“I wish you both the best,” he said, almost meaning it. “This calls for champagne. You will join me for dinner tonight, won’t you?”
They both readily agreed, and Waters smiled to himself.
He’d break the news at dinner.
JACKLYN RODE THE HORSE across sun-drenched, rolling hills miles from the nearest road, the grasses vibrant green, the air sharp with the scents of spring. Dillon rode next to her, his gaze more often than not on the horizon ahead—on land that had once been in his family for five generations.
For a long time, neither spoke. She could see how much Dillon was enjoying this. There was a freedom about him even though she had the tracking monitor in her saddlebag.
They stopped for lunch in a stand of trees, letting their horses graze while they ate their sandwiches. Out here, Jacklyn felt as if she was a million miles from civilization.
After lunch, they rode on again, across land starting to change from prairie to badlands.
“So tell me about your childhood,” Dillon said out of the blue once they were back in the saddle. “Come on, Jack, we’ve got a long ride today. If you don’t want me to sing—and believe me, you don’t—then talk to me. You a Montana girl or a transplant?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Okay, if you want me to guess—”
“Montana. I grew up around West Yellowstone. I was an only child. My mother taught school. My father was a game warden.”
Dillon let out a low whistle. “That explains a lot. Now I see where you get it.”
“The game warden father,” she said sarcastically.
“No, the schoolteacher mother,” he joked, and she had to smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“So tell me about you,” she said.
“Come on, Jack, you know my whole life story. What you didn’t already know I’m sure Buford Cole filled you in on the other night at the steak house.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise.
He grinned. “Yeah, I saw him talking to you. I can just imagine what he had to say.”
“Can you? He said you’re a man who holds a grudge.”
His grin broadened. “Buford should know. We’re cut from the same cloth.”
“He also said he wouldn’t be surprised if you were leading this gang of rustlers.”
Dillon laughed. “You don’t believe that anymore,” he said as he rode on ahead.
When she caught up to him, Dillon could tell she had something on her mind. “Come on, let’s have it,” he said.
“I was just thinking how different you are from your cousin Hud.”
Oh boy, here it comes. As if he hadn’t heard that his whole life. “How is Hud?” he asked, although he knew.
“He married his childhood sweetheart, Dana Cardwell. She owns a ranch in the Gallatin Canyon.”
Dillon nodded. He liked her voice, her facial expressions when she spoke. “I heard something about a lost will,” he said, encouraging her.
“Dana’s mother had told her she made up a new will leaving the ranch to her, with some of the income divided among the siblings, along with some other assets. For a while Dana couldn’t find the document leaving her the ranch, and it looked like she would have to sell to settle with her sister and brothers.”
“But the ranch was saved,” Dillon said, hating the bitterness he heard in his voice.
Unfortunately, Jack heard it, too. “Weren’t you away when your father sold the family ranch?”
He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “You know I was. But then, like I said, you know everything about me. You probably know when I had my first kiss, my first—”
“I know it is hard to lose something you love,” she said quickly, to cut him off, no doubt afraid of where he was headed.
“Have you ever lost something you loved?” he asked, studying her.
“Dana’s pregnant.” Jack looked away as she changed the subject. “She and Hud are expecting their first child this fall.”
That s
urprised Dillon. He hadn’t seen his cousin in years. But Uncle Brick had stopped up to the prison a few times a year to give Dillon a lecture and tell him how glad he was that his brother and sister-in-law weren’t still alive to see their son behind bars. Brick had also shared the going-ons with the family. The pregnancy must have been a recent development.
“I’m happy for Hud and Dana,” Dillon said, meaning it. “A baby.” Hud would make a great father. For the first time, Dillon felt a prickle of envy. Hud with a wife and a baby and living on Dana’s family ranch.
Settling down had been the last thing Dillon had imagined doing. He’d always told himself he would be bored to death with that kind of life. He needed excitement, adventure, challenge.
Hell, apparently he needed to be running from the law.
“If you don’t buy a ranch in the future, what will you do?” she asked.
He’d had plenty of time to think about what he would do once he was really free. “Can you see me behind a desk, wearing a three-piece suit?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Liar.” This felt good between them. Lighter. Freer. He liked it. He liked her, in spite of everything. That surprised him.
“So I guess you’ll ranch, since apparently cattle are in your blood.”
“Raising cattle so someone can steal them?” He chuckled to hide how close she’d come to the truth. “But then, you’d be around to catch the rustlers, right?”
She looked away.
“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said, moving into her range of vision to smile at her.
“I’d hate to see you go back to rustling,” she said quietly.
“I’m sure you’re aware that my grandfather left me money,” Dillon said. “It’s not like I need to find a job.”
“Everyone needs a job,” she said adamantly. “You need something to occupy your mind. Especially your mind.”
I have something to occupy my mind, he thought as he looked at her.
“How much farther?” she asked, as if feeling the heat of his gaze.
“I think I know where the calves are buried and how to get there.” Dillon had been trying to think like Shade Waters. He regretted to realize that it wasn’t that hard. He’d gotten to know the man too well. Maybe had even become too much like him over the years.
“On the other side of the canyon,” he said. He’d been mulling over why Waters would be rustling cattle. It made no sense. Especially just to kill them. Was he trying to force out ranchers in the county so he could buy their land like he had Dillon’s father?
The W Bar was so huge now that Waters had to be having trouble running it all. Dillon doubted Nate was of any help. Nate had never been much of a cowboy, let alone a rancher. Unlike his brother, Halsey, who had loved ranch life as much as Dillon had.
Also what didn’t make sense—if he was right and Waters was dumping some of the stolen cattle on the old Savage Ranch—was why? Sure, he and the big rancher couldn’t stand the sight of each other, but Dillon was small potatoes. Waters was too smart to risk everything to try to get even with Dillon after all this time. And hadn’t he just offered to give back the ranch if Dillon got Morgan out of his life?
But what really worried him was why Buford Cole would be going to the W Bar. Buford had hated Waters as much as Dillon did. Or at least Dillon had thought so.
Ahead, the rolling prairie rose to rocky bluffs. “The canyon will be hot, but the route is shorter this way.”
She glanced over at him. Was that suspicion he saw in her eyes?
“It isn’t like we’ve been followed,” he said, looking over his shoulder. He could see for miles. No one knew they were here. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that Waters was one step ahead of them, laying a trap they were about to walk into.
As they rode between the rocks and into the narrow canyon, rocks and trees towering on each side, Dillon felt even more unease.
“Just a minute,” he said, reaching out to touch Jack’s hand on the reins.
She brought her horse up. “What’s wrong?”
He wished he knew what to tell her. How could he explain this feeling? “Let me go first,” he said, adding, “I know the way.”
The look she gave him said she doubted there was a chance of getting lost in the narrow canyon, but she let him ride ahead of her.
He urged his horse among the rocks. There was no breeze in here, only heat. It felt stifling. That and quiet. He was regretting coming this way when a shadow fell over him.
He glanced up in time to see a hawk soar low over the rocks, its shadow flickering over the canyon for a few seconds before it was gone.
Dillon was literally jumping at shadows. What the hell was wrong with him?
As he turned to look back at Jack, he felt his horse stumble and heard a metal ping like the snapping of a guitar string.
“Get back!” he yelled, and jerked his mount’s head around, digging his boot heels into its flanks.
He grabbed her reins as his horse rushed past hers, pulling her with him as the first rocks began to fall.
Their horses bounded along the canyon floor as the air filled with dust and the roar of a rockslide.
Chapter Thirteen
Jacklyn bent over her horse as Dillon charged ahead on his, drawing her after him through the tight canyon.
Behind her she could hear the crash of rocks. Dust filled the air, obliterating everything. Then, suddenly, they were riding out of the dust, out of the canyon. The breeze chilled her skin as Dillon brought the horses to a stop in the open.
“Are you all right?” he cried, swinging around to look at her.
She nodded. “What was that back there?” she demanded, knowing it was no accident.
“A booby trap.”
She stared at him, not comprehending. “You’re telling me someone was waiting for us in the canyon? How is that possible? No one knew we were headed this way.”
“The booby trap was wired to set off the rockslide if anyone tried to come up through the canyon.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
Dillon gave her a knowing look. “Who do you think?”
“You aren’t going to try to tell me that Shade Waters rigged that, are you?”
He gave her a cold stare. “No. I doubt he knows how.”
She felt a chill. “But you do.” She remembered six years ago almost getting caught in a rockslide when she was chasing him.
“Oh, my God,” she said, drawing back from him.
“The difference is that mine was just to slow you down,” he said. “There was no chance of you being hurt.”
She shook her head, wondering if she would ever really know this man. It was an odd thought, since more than likely he would be going back to prison. Where he belonged.
“I never did it again,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “Too many things can go wrong. I didn’t want your death on my conscience.”
She realized she was still trembling inside at their near tragedy as she glanced back up the canyon. “You know who rigged that, don’t you,” she said quietly.
“No, but I used to know some men who were acquainted with the technique.”
She turned in her saddle to look at him. “You’re talking about the men who rode with you. I’ve never understood why you didn’t give up their names. You could have gotten less time in prison if you had.”
“Don’t you know me better than that?” With a shake of his head, he added, “I made a lot of mistakes before I went to prison.”
“You mean like getting caught.”
He locked eyes with her, his expression intense even though he was smiling. “No, before that. I started off with what I felt was a damn good reason for what I did. But if prison taught me anything, it was that, while vindicated, I lost more than my freedom. I’m trying to get that back.”
“What do we do now?” she asked, glancing at her watch. They had been riding most of the day. They were losing light.
“We’ll have to
go around the bluffs. It will take longer, but it will be safer.”
“You expect other booby traps?”
“No. But I’m not taking any chances. The good news is that the rockslide confirmed what we suspected. They had to have gotten rid of the stolen calves on the other side of the canyon. That’s why they booby-trapped it from this side.”
“Either that or they were expecting us because they know you,” she said.
Dillon’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the canyon. “Yeah, that’s another possibility, isn’t it?”
THE SUN HAD MADE its trip from horizon to horizon by the time they reached the other side of the canyon. The shadows of the bluffs ran long and dark. The air had cooled. They still had a couple of hours of daylight. Jacklyn hoped they’d find the evidence, then ride out to the road, and avoid being forced to camp tonight.
She’d made sure they had the supplies they needed, just in case. There was no telling how long it would take to find where the calves had been buried. She refused to consider the possibility that Dillon was wrong, that Waters had too much land to hide in, that it might be impossible to find the dead calves—let alone that they didn’t exist, that she’d been taken in by Dillon.
She concentrated her thoughts on Shade Waters. As arrogant as the man was, he would feel safe, if he was behind the rustling. This part of the ranch was isolated, far from a public road and all his land. He would feel confident doing whatever he wanted back here, she told herself. No matter what happened in this remote section, no one would be the wiser.
And there would be some poetic justice in dumping the cows on what had been the Savage Ranch.
At the top of a hill, Dillon reined in his horse. She joined him, glad to see that they’d finally made it to the old section road. Jacklyn could make out the hint of tracks, faint as a memory, through the grass.
“They left us a trail,” Dillon said.
From this point, they could see for miles to the west. Almost as far as Waters’s ranch house, but not quite. The good news was there were no vehicles in sight.
They rode down the hill and followed the faint tracks through the deep grass along what had once been a section road between the Savage and Waters ranches. Someone had definitely been using it lately.