THIS PERFECT STRANGER

by Barbara Ankrum

  A delicious smile curved her mouth. Like bread crumbs leading into the forest, pieces of her clothing still lay where he'd discarded them on their way to the bed. She'd never known that kind of passion before. When Cain made love to her, she forgot everything else, but him.

  He claimed it was only about sex. Perhaps, she thought, that was true. After all, men as a breed, seemed to be able to separate sex from the emotional aspects of lovemaking—a skill she'd never been much interested in perfecting. And there were moments last night when she could have sworn Cain hadn't perfected them yet, either. She suspected that underneath all that armor he wore, there was still a spark of the man who had once loved so intensely.

  Her gaze traveled over his sleeping form, from the dark hair that curled against his nape to the muscular drape of his arm across her belly. And his face…

  It was rare to catch his rugged handsomeness in its raw and unguarded form. Awake, the tension in his expression rarely left him. But now, with his dark lashes so still against his cheekbones, and the strong angles of his face relaxed with sleep, his appeal, she saw, was not in the perfection of any one feature, but in the sheer artistic composition of all of them. She had yet to find his bad angle because from any side his face was fascinating.

  Maggie couldn't resist the impulse to reach out with one finger and skim it down his jawline, to feel the rough morning stubble of his beard.

  A smile curved Cain's lips. "Awake already?"

  "It's seven," she said, sliding down under the covers, closer to him.

  "Impossible," he muttered, pulling her toward him with his arm still around her waist. "We just went to sleep."

  "For the third time," she murmured as he wrapped himself around her. "But who's counting?"

  "Mmm…" He tucked his face against her shoulder with a grin. "Are you always this insatiable?"

  "Only recently."

  "That's good." He pulled her closer, tucking her against the welcoming curve of his body.

  "Hungry?" she asked.

  "Is that a leading question?" he answered, sliding his hands over her breasts and stomach.

  "One-track mind," she murmured, closing her fingers over his.

  "Yeah … I like this track." He pressed a kiss on her neck and nuzzled the spot below her ear.

  She felt happy and safe here in his arms. It was almost as if last night had never happened. Maybe it would work, she thought languidly. Maybe when Laird understood that she didn't care about Cain's past … maybe when the town understood what really happened…

  Without warning, Jigger jumped up on the bed and bounded between them whining. Cain covered her protectively from the dog's plowing feet. "Aw, geez, Jigger!" he said.

  Jigger whoofed, prancing restlessly around them.

  "D'ya think he's gotta go?" he asked blandly.

  Maggie frowned. "He's not usually this pushy." She got up, pulling on the robe near her bed. The dog bounded down the stairs and back up again twice before she could make it to the door.

  "All right, all right…" she said, pulling open the front door. Jigger was out like a shot. But he didn't pause to answer the call of nature. He made a beeline toward the north pasture at full tilt.

  "Hey!" she called after him. "Where you going?"

  She frowned again. It was unlike Jigger to—

  The barn door.

  It was open. They'd definitely closed it last night. Closed it and latched it. Her heart started a heavy, fearful thudding.

  "Cain!"

  Maggie didn't even bother with her shoes. She ran out across the yard, half dressed, praying it wasn't what she thought it was. But when she got inside the dim barn, her heart sank. She stared disbelievingly.

  Geronimo's stall was open and empty.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Wearing only his half-buttoned jeans, Cain appeared at the barn door seconds behind her. He cursed viciously. "I latched it," he said. "Last night I know I latched it."

  "I know you did. Some one else opened it," she said, turning on her heel and heading back to the house. Tears were threatening, but it was anger that clogged her throat. "Jigger headed for the north pasture. We'll start there. I'm going to get dressed, then I'll get the truck started."

  "Is it running?"

  "It'll run." Cain was matching her stride for angry stride. "We'll find him, Maggie I promise you that."

  Twenty minutes later they did find him, tangled in a vicious twist of loose barbed wire at the far end of the north pasture. Squeals of terror erupted from the fallen, exhausted horse. Jigger was crouched loyally by Geronimo, waiting for them. He whined and thumped his tail against the ground. Cain cursed viciously as jumped out of the truck and dropped down beside Geronimo. The animal's high-pitched squeals of pain seemed to echo across the valley.

  "Oh, God," Maggie gasped, joining him at Geronimo's side. It was bad. Very bad.

  With his hand on Geronimo's neck, Cain surveyed the damage. It was considerable. His legs and chest were streaked with blood and there were cuts everywhere. Some were bone deep. Foamy white sweat glistened on his coat and his eyes were white with terror.

  "Shh—boy," Cain soothed, his words hitched with emotion. "It's gonna be all right." But he turned back to her and said, "Maggie, go back and get the gun."

  Maggie shook her head pleadingly. "No. We can save him?

  Cain stared back down at the horse. "Maggie, look at him. He's in terrible pain. Even if he makes it, he'll be scarred. Maybe lame for life." He didn't say that they'd already lost the sale to Tischman, but they both knew that was true. "It's not fair to him not to do it."

  "But is it fair to put him down before we know for sure? If nothing's broken…?" she said. "He's got a strong heart. He can survive this. Let him try. Please, Cain—"

  Cain shook his head and stared down at the fallen horse. "We'll let the vet make the decision. Go back and call him. Tell him to bring his truck and trailer up here.

  Tears were streaming down Maggie's face, but she didn't even hesitate to follow Cain's orders. She was on Biscuit and heading back to the house almost before he could finish.

  "Then come back with wire cutters and Betadine solution," he shouted after her. He stroked Geronimo's neck. "And hurry."

  * * *

  "It'll be touch and go for a while." Kip Ridlinger, the handsome thirty-something local vet stood and stretched his back, then bent to help Cain gather up the refuse of the battle to save Geronimo. Used sterile pads, bandages, empty bottles and strands of suture thread littered the barn hallway.

  Standing near Geronimo, who was lying in his stall covered in a blanket on a fresh bed of clean straw, Maggie's gaze was fixed on Cain. He'd hardly said a word the whole time Kip had been working on the animal, his barely leashed anger over the fiasco plain as the cuts on Geronimo's legs. Laird had stepped way over the line this time and she was afraid of what Cain might do.

  "He has an even chance," Kip went on, shoving his dark hair out of his eyes with the back of his sleeve, "considering the severity of the lacerations. It's going to depend on him. But you should know there'll be scarring. The tendon on his left rear fetlock was injured most severely. It may heal well, it may not. We'll just have to wait and see." He reached into his bag and handed Maggie a handful of medicine. "Apply this Nolvasan ointment on all the cuts twice a day. Betadine solution and Furacin ointment at bedtime on all the sutured areas. I'll come back in a day or two to check on him. If there's any change, call me immediately. Get him on his feet by tonight if you can. Tomorrow at the latest."

  Cain reached a hand out to him and Kip took it. "Thanks, Doc," he said tightly.

  "You're welcome. Good luck," Kip said. "He's a beautiful animal. It's a crime, is what it is. You think this was a prank of some kind?"

  Cain and Maggie exchanged glances. "That wire in the pasture was no prank," Cain said grimly. "I checked that whole fence line myself three days ago. It wasn't there. Someone put it there then deliberately ran
Geronimo into it."

  Kip shook his head in disgust. "Any idea who might have a bone to pick with you?"

  Cain threw the refuse into a trash can. "I have more than an idea."

  "We don't know that for sure," Maggie argued.

  "Like hell we don't."

  "Why don't you let the sheriff handle it?" Kip said.

  "Yeah? And what do I give him?" Cain asked, a muscle working in his jaw. "An open barn door? A stray coil of fencing? No, the sheriff's gonna take one look at this and decide we were careless. I intend to take care of this personally."

  Maggie's heart took an elevator drop. "Cain … no—"

  "Somebody's got to stand up to him," he said. "It might as well be me." He turned to Kip. "Thanks for everything, Doc. Let us know what we owe you."

  The vet shook Cain's hand regretfully, then watched Cain storm out of the barn toward the house. Maggie let out a shaky sigh. "I'd better go try to talk some sense into him."

  "If he's going where I think he's going," Kip warned, "you'd better do more than that. Hog-tie him if you have to. He's walking into a world of trouble over at the Bar ZX."

  Stunned, she said, "How would you know who he was talking about?"

  Kip smiled thinly getting into his truck and starting the engine. "I haven't lived here my whole life for nothing, Maggie. Let me know if you need anything."

  When he'd gone, Maggie hurried into the house to find Cain searching for the keys to his motorcycle. God only knew what had happened to them when they'd gotten in the door last night. And she prayed he wouldn't find them.

  Cain yanked the seat cushion up on the chair in the living room, muttering to himself.

  "Cain, you can't just go over there and accuse him with no proof."

  "Like hell I can't." He stalked across the room to the jacket he'd left hanging over a chair back. He rifled the pockets and threw it back down again. "Where the hell are my keys?"

  "I don't know. Listen to me," she said. "We can't fight him that way. We have to come at him legally."

  "You mean use Sheriff Winston?" He laughed out loud. "Don't you see what Donnelly's doing, Maggie? He's got the dam nearly eaten away. Pretty soon that floodwater's gonna come pourin' over your side of the dike and there won't be any stopping it."

  "And you think you can stop him by going over there and using your fists?"

  "I sure as hell am not gonna sit here and take—"

  The phone rang and they both scowled at it. Cain took up his search again as Maggie answered the phone. He knew the damned keys had to be here somewhere. They'd gotten home, hadn't they? Opened the door?

  He stalked over to the table and saw Maggie's truck keys and decided to settle. Then he heard a tone in Maggie's voice that sent a chill through him and made him stop on his way to the door.

  "Unanimous?" she was saying, her back rigid as a fencepost. "Really. Yes, I understand perfectly… Mmm-hmm… Oh, and Ernie? I hope you die soon." She slammed the receiver down and stood there shaking.

  He didn't really have to ask. "The loan?"

  She nodded. "They turned me down."

  He wanted to break something. Specifically Laird Donnelly's face.

  So that was it. Everything he'd feared was coming to pass. His life, it seemed, was just a series of backfires set to try to stop the coming conflagration. But he should have known that this particular one had been doomed from the get go. It was too good to be true. Now Maggie had been caught in the burn and the only thing he could think to do was to walk straight into the oncoming flames.

  He tightened his fist around the keys until they dug into his palm and he headed for the door.

  "Cain—" The word was a plea. "Don't go."

  He turned back to her, his hand on the door handle. "You know I have no choice, Maggie."

  * * *

  The Bar ZX was a sprawling operation that covered ten times the land Maggie's did. Thousands of head of cattle ranged on surrounding pastures and the landscape was punctuated with signs of prosperity, from the newly built state-of-the-art stables to the indoor training ring the size of an Olympic skating rink. The main house was practically part of the land, situated at the top of a knoll, massively built of Montana pine logs and river rock from the nearby Musselshell.

  None of which impressed Cain as much as the sheer numbers of cowhands whose presence he felt from the moment he drove onto Donnelly land. He felt their stares as he pulled the truck to a grinding stop in front of the main house and slammed it into park. He got the distinct feeling he'd been expected.

  It was the cowhand who'd given Maggie such a hard time in town, Joe Johns, who happened to be lounging on the railroad tie steps that led to Donnelly's front door.

  "Do something for you?" he asked with a grin, standing to prevent Cain access to the stairs.

  "Where is he?" Cain demanded.

  "Who?"

  Cain started to shove past him, but Joe grabbed his arm. "He ain't here."

  "Like hell." He started to shove the man aside when a voice from somewhere behind him stopped him.

  "Looking for me?"

  Cain turned to find Donnelly and several of his men striding toward him. Cain shoved Joe out of his way and moved in Donnelly's direction.

  "You son of a bitch," he growled, diving at Donnelly. The rancher dodged him as the three nearby men intercepted Cain's lunge and dragged him back by the arms.

  "Well, well…" Laird said with a surprised laugh. "The dog has teeth."

  "Call off your gorillas, Donnelly, and fight me like a man."

  "I don't need to fight you, MacCallister. I just have to watch you sink yourself."

  Cain jerked at the hold of the men who held him fast. "You're a real piece of work. It's bad enough that you can't keep your filthy hands off a woman like Maggie who wants no part of you. That you have to resort to pulling her loans and scaring the hell out of her at every turn. Now you've stooped to breaking and entering … ambushing defenseless animals. Well, Geronimo is gonna live, in spite of you."

  The other man laughed, but a few of the cowhands looked around uneasily. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. Geronimo who?"

  "What is it, Donnelly?" He shot a furious look in the direction of his grazing cattle. "All this land isn't enough for you? You need to suck the heart out of her place, too?" Cain jerked at the hold of the men. They held him fast. There were three of them and one of him.

  "I think Maggie's been workin' you too hard over there, MacCallister. You need to calm down. Now," he said, "You gonna behave? If you are, I'll let you go."

  "Screw you."

  His cocky smile widened. "Let him go, boys."

  They did, and Cain shrugged off their hands, snapping his shirt back into place again. He looked around, gauging his odds. They weren't good.

  "I think," Donnelly continued, "all that prison time made you a little paranoid, MacCallister. You're misinformed. I got no designs on Maggie or her place. I'd say if anyone had designs, it's you. Exactly what did she promise you in exchange for a roll in her hay?"

  His fist connected with Donnelly's jaw with a satisfying crack before anyone could stop him and the two of them were on the ground, rolling in the dirt. The rancher had him by the shirt but that didn't prevent Cain from connecting with Donnelly's soft belly twice before he was dragged off him by a pair of his men who threw a couple of quick punches, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over and coughed.

  On an oath, Donnelly wiped the blood from his lip with the back of one hand as Cain straightened and blew out a breath. "That was a mistake," the rancher said, staring at the blood on his wrist.

  "You leave Maggie alone," Cain snarled, "I'll kill you or any one of your men who touches her again, you son of a bitch."

  Donnelly rubbed his aching jaw and got slowly to his feet. Unbelievably, the smile was back, and Cain had the sinking feeling that somehow he'd played directly into his hands.

  "Well, that sounds like a threat. You heard it boys." He nodded to the men holding
Cain as he brushed the dirt off the sleeve of his two-hundred-dollar shirt. They let him go and shoved him toward the truck.

  "Get off my land, MacCallister. If I see you back here, I'll see you in jail."

  It was Cain's turn to smile now. He opened the truck door and slid into the driver's seat. "You forget I've been inside, Donnelly. It ain't pretty, but I'd survive." He turned over the ignition. "A man like you … a rich piece o' white who needs his hired hands to fight his battles for him? Well," he said, "they'd spread you with jam and eat you for breakfast. You think about that the next time you consider coming over to my place."

  Jamming the truck into reverse, he made a sharp three-point turn and left Donnelly and his men staring after him as he tore off the Bar ZX.

  There was no choice now. He knew what he had to do.

  * * *

  There was only one bar in Fishhook worth calling a bar, Mahoney's was a small, hole-in-the-wall that doubled as a bingo parlor on Wednesday nights and sported Naugahyde covered bar stools and whiskey worth drinking.

  But this was a Monday and the place was empty except for a lone drinker in the back, the bartender and Cain. For the second time in as many weeks, Cain sat staring at a shot of whiskey. He'd gone to First Federal. Set up the account. All that was left was to work up his nerve to finish what he'd started.

  "Hey, aren't you Maggie Cortland's new husband?" the bartender asked, swiping around Cain's still full shot with a bar towel.

  Cain looked up at him. The kid couldn't be more than twenty-three with a thick head of blond curls and eyes the color of an ocean. He looked like he belonged on the California coast with a surfboard instead of a seedy little nowhere bar.

  "You're him, aren't you?" he pressed. "You're the one."

  "I guess I am," he answered, hunkering over his whiskey like a dog with a bone.

  "I'm Bruce Winslow, Moody River's nephew." He grinned. "My dad was Moody's older brother. You know Moody, right?"

  Cain nodded. "Listen kid, I'm not in the mood to—"

  "Yeah," the kid went on, not hearing him. "My aunt Moody, she kind of adopted Maggie and me, you know when my dad passed on, and after Maggie's husband … well…" His voice trailed off as Cain lifted the whiskey, turning the glass in the light.