by B. J Daniels
There had been a barbed wire fence along both sides of the road, but Waters had it taken down after he’d bought out Dillon’s father.
Jacklyn could feel the change that came over Dillon. The land off to their left had once been his. He would have probably been ranching it now if not for Waters.
She saw him looking ahead to the rocky bluffs, and wished she’d known him before he became a cattle thief.
“There’s been more than one rig on this road,” Dillon said.
“Can you still get out this way?” she asked, thinking that the road must dead-end a few miles from here.
“You can reach the county road, if you know where you’re going,” he said, pointing to the southeast.
The road wound through the badlands. To the right ahead was the opening to the canyon they’d tried to come up. To the left were more deep ravines and towering bluffs, then miles of ranch land.
As they rode closer to the canyon entrance, she saw the distinct track through the grass where someone had driven off the road back into the rocks. She could hear a meadowlark’s sweet song, feel the day slipping away as the air cooled around her and the light dimmed.
She felt an urgency suddenly and rode out ahead, following the tracks. Along with the urgency was an overwhelming sense of dread. How many cattle had been buried back here? She hated to think.
She reined in in surprise where one set of vehicle tracks veered off to the left, while the other headed to the right, toward the canyon entrance.
As Dillon joined her, he reached over and touched her shoulder. “Look,” he said, his voice a low, worried murmur.
She followed his gaze to a rock outcropping and saw the glint of light off a windshield. Her gaze met his as she unsnapped the holster on her weapon. Sliding off her horse to the ground, she whispered, “Wait here.”
“Not a chance,” he whispered back.
Ground-tying her horse, Jacklyn moved cautiously toward the vehicle hidden among the rocks. Dillon walked next to her, as quietly as a cat. The air that had felt cool and smelled sweet just moments before became stifling as she entered the shadow of the bluffs. Crickets chirped from the nearby grass, overhead a hawk cried out as it soared in a wide circle, and yet there was a deathly quiet that permeated the afternoon.
“IT’S REDA HARPER’S pickup,” Jack said as they rounded the rocks and saw where someone had hidden the truck.
Dillon peered inside. Empty. “You don’t think Reda is behind the rustling, do you?”
Jack shrugged. She wouldn’t have put anything past the ranchwoman, even rustling cattle. “You have to admit she’s smart enough to be the leader of the rustling ring. Otherwise, what is her truck doing here?” She glanced up as if the words had just hit her, and shook her head, dread in every line of her face.
“I’ll go have a look, and if everything checks out—”
“Not a chance,” she said, echoing his words. “I got you into this. I won’t be responsible for you getting killed while I stand by.”
He smiled at that. “Be careful,” he said softly. “You’re going to make me think you’re starting to like me.”
“Don’t you wish,” she joked as she strode toward her horse.
Yeah, he did wish, he thought as he watched her swing into the saddle. He reminded himself that this was the woman who’d captured him and helped send him to prison. But the memory didn’t carry the usual sting. He smiled to himself as he caught his reins and swung up onto his horse. He was starting to like her. More than he should.
“I forgot that you see me only as a means to an end,” he said as he looked at her. “I need to keep reminding myself of that.”
She didn’t glance at him, but he saw color heat her throat. Had he hit a little close to home or had their relationship changed since she’d gotten him out of prison?
He told himself, as he led the way, that he must be crazy if he thought he might be getting to Jack. True, she wasn’t calling him Mr. Savage anymore. She was still ordering him around, but he wasn’t paying any attention. And she hadn’t sent him back to prison even though they hadn’t caught the rustlers. Yet.
All in all, he hadn’t made much progress with her. But then, he supposed that depended on what kind of progress he wanted to make. His plans had changed, he realized. He no longer felt any anger toward her. If only he felt the same way about Shade Waters…
The canyon was wider at this end. A few aspens grew in clumps along the sides of the bluffs, their leaves whispering in the breeze as he and Jack rode past.
They hadn’t gone far, following the tire tracks in the soft earth, when he spotted the backhoe and the freshly turned earth a dozen yards down a small ravine at one side of the canyon. That the rustlers had used a backhoe to bury the calves didn’t surprise him.
It was the pile of rocks that had cascaded down from the canyon wall along one side of the ravine that brought him up short. He let out a curse as Jack rode ahead of him, dismounting near the tumbled heap.
He went after her, already pretty sure he knew what she was about to find when he saw the shotgun lying to one side.
She let out a small cry and dropped to her knees beside the pile. The fallen rocks were shot with color.
“Jack, don’t!” Dillon yelled as she frantically began throwing stones to one side. “It’s too late.”
JACKLYN DIDN’T REMEMBER dismounting and rushing to the rocks. Didn’t remember falling to her knees beside the pile or reaching out to touch the bright fabric of a shirtsleeve.
All the time, she must have known what was trapped underneath, but it wasn’t until she moved one of the rocks and saw first a hand, the nails short but bright red with polish, then a face contorted in pain and death, that she let out a cry and stumbled back.
Dillon grabbed her, pulling her to him. “There’s nothing you can do. She’s dead.”
Jacklyn pressed her face against his chest, his shirt warm, his chest solid. She needed solidity right now. In her line of work, she took chances. She carried a gun. She knew how to shoot it, but she’d never had to use it. Nor was she in the habit of finding dead bodies. Cows, yes. People, no.
She just needed a moment to catch her breath, to get her emotions under control, to stop shaking. That’s all it took. A moment listening to Dillon’s steady heartbeat, feeling his arms wrapped protectively around her. She stepped back, nodding her thanks, under control again even if she was still shaking inside.
“We have to call someone,” she said, as she dug out her cell phone.
Dillon watched, looking skeptical. “I doubt you’ll be able to get service—”
She swore. “No service.”
He nodded.
She glanced at the pile of rocks, then quickly turned her head away. “What was she doing here? She must have seen the backhoe in here and walked back to investigate.”
Dillon shook his head. “What was she doing on Waters’s ranch to begin with?”
That was the question, wasn’t it. Everyone in the county knew there was no love lost between the two of them.
“I need to see if I can get the phone to work higher up in the hills,” Jacklyn said, reaching for her horse’s reins so she could swing up into the saddle. “I’ll ride up—” She heard Dillon call out a warning, but it was too late.
She was already spinning her horse around, only half in the saddle, headed for a high spot on the bluffs, when she heard a sound that chilled her to the bone.
SHADE WATERS LOOKED UP from his plate in the middle of dinner and realized he hadn’t been listening. He’d insisted they eat early because he had some things to take care of.
“Shade,” Morgan said in that soft, phony Southern drawl of hers. “I asked what you thought about my idea.”
“What idea is that, Morgan?”
“Redecorating the house. It’s so…male. And so…old-fashioned. Don’t you think it’s time for some changes around here?”
He could well imagine the changes she really meant. “Definitely,” he
said. “In fact, that’s what I was doing, thinking it was high time for some changes around here.”
Morgan looked a little surprised. He was taking this all too well. He knew she kept wondering why he wasn’t putting up a fight.
“My first suggestion,” he said, looking over at his son, “is that you both move into town.”
Nate started in surprise. “What?”
“I’m changing my will in the morning,” Shade announced. “I’m not going to leave you a dime. Oh, I know you’ll spend years fighting it, but I can assure you, the way I plan to change my will, you’ll lose. You’ll never have the W Bar,” he said, his gaze going to Morgan. “Or any of my money.”
For once Morgan appeared speechless.
“Dad, you can’t—”
“Oh, Nate, I can. And I will. You have no interest in the ranch. You never have. As for your…wife—”
“I think your father might be getting senile,” Morgan said, glaring at Shade. “Clearly he is no longer capable of making such an important decision.”
The rancher laughed. “I wondered how long it would take before you’d try to have me declared incompetent. Understand something, both of you. I will burn this place to the ground, lock, stock and barrel, before either of you will ever have it.” He tossed down his napkin. “I have an appointment with my lawyer in the morning. I suggest you find a nice apartment in town to redecorate, Mrs. Waters. And Nate, you might want to find a job.”
With that, he left the room, doing his best not to let them see that his legs barely held him up and he was shaking like the leaves on an aspen. The moment he was out of the house, he slumped against the barn wall and fought to control his trembling as he wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve.
He’d done it. There was no turning back now.
JACKLYN’S HORSE SHIED an instant after she heard the ominous rattle. Both caught her by surprise. She only had one foot in a stirrup as the animal reared. The next thing she knew she was falling backward, her boot caught there.
“Jack!” she heard Dillon yell as he lunged for her and her horse.
She hit the ground hard and felt pain shoot through her ankle as it twisted. Her horse shied to the side, dragging her with it, the pain making everything go black, then gray.
When her vision cleared she saw Dillon leap from his horse and grab her mount’s reins, dragging the mare to a stop before he gently freed Jacklyn’s boot from the stirrup.
She would have cried out in pain, but the fall had knocked the air from her lungs. She lay in the dust, unable to breathe, the throbbing in her ankle so excruciating it took her a moment to realize the real trouble she was in.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rattlesnake coiled not a foot from her. The snake’s primeval head was raised, tongue protruding, beaded eyes focused on her as its tail rattled loudly, a blur of movement and noise as it lunged at her face.
The air filled with a loud boom that made her flinch.
The snake jerked. Blood splattered on the rocks behind it, then the serpent lay still.
In that split second before she saw the rattler lunge at her, and heard the deafening report of the gun, Jacklyn had seen her life pass before her eyes, leaving her with only one regret.
The boom of her gun startled her into taking a breath. She gasped, shaken, the pain in her ankle making the rest of her body feel numb and disconnected.
Dillon dropped to the ground next to her, her gun still in his hand. Later, she would recall the brush of his fingers at her hip in that instant before the snake struck.
She took deep ragged breaths, eyes burning with tears of pain and relief and leftover fear.
“How badly are you hurt?” Dillon asked as he looked into her beautiful face. There was no doubt that she was hurting, even though she tried to hold back the tears. Her body was trembling, but he couldn’t tell if it was from pain or fright.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say, lying through her teeth. He could see that she was far from fine. But he let her try to get to her feet, ready to catch her when she gave a cry of pain and was forced to sit back down.
He handed her the gun. “Let’s try my question again. How badly are you hurt?”
“It’s my ankle,” she said, replacing the pistol in her holster with trembling fingers.
“Let me take a look.” He gently urged her to lie down, watching her face as he carefully eased her jeans up her leg. “I don’t want to take off the boot yet.” She wouldn’t be able to ride without it. Also, it would keep the swelling down.
As he carefully worked his way down one side of her boot with his warm fingers, tears filled her eyes. She tried to blink them back and couldn’t.
“I don’t think it’s broken. But if it’s not, it’s one nasty sprain.” He looked past her and saw that both horses had taken off, skittish over the rattlesnake or the gun blast.
“I need to go round up the horses. Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
He nodded, glancing around to make sure there were no more rattlers nearby. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time. I’m fine.”
He rose to his feet, then leaned back down. “Do not try to walk on that ankle. You’ll only make matters worse if you do.”
“I’m aware of that.” She sounded as if she would have cried if he hadn’t been there.
THE MOMENT DILLON WAS gone, Jacklyn eased herself as best she could away from the dead snake, putting her back to a warm rock. She prayed that her ankle wasn’t broken, but the pain of just moving it almost made her black out again.
As Dillon disappeared from view, she felt a sob well up inside her, then surface. She swore, fighting back the urge to give in to the pain, to the despair. How was she going to be able to find the evidence now, let alone ride out of here?
Not only that, the receiver terminal for Dillon’s tracking device was on her horse. This would be the perfect opportunity for him to take off. She couldn’t very well chase after him. She couldn’t even walk, and if he didn’t return with her horse…
She looked up to see him leading both horses toward her, and relief made her weak. She was reminded of how gentle he’d been moments before as he’d checked her leg.
“You all right?” he asked, as he knelt down in front of her again.
She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. He had to have known she’d be worried he might not come back for her.
He reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek. “Let me help you up on your horse.”
She nodded and let him ease her up onto her good leg. His big hands were gentle as he put them around her waist and lifted her up into the saddle.
The cry escaped her lips even though she was fighting to keep it in as she tried to put her injured foot into the stirrup.
“Okay, you aren’t going to be able to ride out of here,” he said.
“No, I—”
“It’s miles to the nearest ranch—and that ranch belongs to Shade Waters. You’d never make it. Anyway, it will be getting dark soon. We’ll make camp for the night up there on that hill, and take the road out in the morning,” he said, pointing to the southeast.
Clearly, he’d given this some thought already. She shook her head, close to tears. “I can ride. We have to tell someone about Reda.”
Dillon pulled off his hat and raked a hand through his hair as he looked up at her. “Won’t make any difference to Reda if we tell someone tonight or in the morning.”
“You could ride out for help,” she said through the pain.
“I’m not leaving you here alone. Tom Robinson is dead. So is Reda. The men behind this have nothing to lose now in killing anyone else who gets in their way.”
She met his gaze.
He gave her a slow smile. “Finally starting to trust me? Scary, huh?”
Very. She looked toward the top of the bluff, where he planned to make camp. They would be able to see for miles up there. That�
�s why he was insistent on camping on the spot, she realized. “You think they’ll be back, don’t you?”
“Let’s just say I’m not taking any chances.” He swung up into the saddle and looked over at her. “Come on. It’s flat up there, with a few trees for shade and wood for a fire.”
She wanted to argue, but as her horse began to move and she felt the pain in her ankle, she knew he was right. She wasn’t going far. Nor could she leave here without evidence that would finally bring this rustling ring down.
As she let Dillon lead her up the steep bluff, she had one clear thought through the pain: her life was now literally in his hands.
Chapter Fourteen
The sun had dipped behind the mountains, leaving them a purple silhouette against the sunset. The air smelled of pine and aspens.
After Dillon had set up the tents and taken care of the horses, he made them dinner over a fire.
Jacklyn watched from where he’d settled her. He worked with efficiency, his movements sure, a man at home in this environment.
She felt herself relax as she watched him. The world seemed faraway, almost as if it no longer existed. Plus the pills he’d given her hadn’t hurt.
“Looks like you’re always prepared,” Dillon had said when he’d found pain pills in the first aid kit she’d brought along with the other supplies.
“I try to be,” she’d said, but in truth nothing could have prepared her for Dillon Savage.
A breeze stirred the leaves of the aspen grove where he’d chosen to camp. She stared at his broad back, surprised how protective he was.
“I feel so helpless,” she said as he handed her a plate.
“It gives me a chance to wow you with my culinary talents, since dancing is out.”
She tasted the simple food she’d brought and looked up at him in surprise. “It’s wonderful.”
He smiled, obviously pleased. “I had a lot of practice cooking over a fire.” He sat down beside her with his own plate. She ate as if it had been days since she’d last tasted food.