by Rita Herron
Sincerity rang in the old man’s voice, the affection he felt for the family obvious. “All right, Wilbur. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
“Sure thing. Now you find the creep that hurt Miss Jessie. That little lady don’t deserve this.”
No, she didn’t.
Wilbur flicked his hand in a wave, then limped toward his truck.
Dragging his mind back to the task at hand, Cabe retrieved his flashlight and kit from his SUV, then paused to pat the palomino in the stall.
The animal rolled its head sideways, pawing with his uninjured foot as if to say he was upset about Jessie as well. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out who hurt her, fella.”
Cabe pulled on latex gloves, then swept his flashlight across the barn, digging through the straw and wood shavings scattered on the floor. He spent the next half an hour searching the barn, the garbage, the storage room. He methodically examined the grooming tools, searching for blood on the brushes and hoof picks, then searched the neighboring box stalls.
Finally he discovered a hammer that had been dropped down into the stall next to the one where Jessie had been attacked. Blood dotted the hammerhead, so he bagged it to send to the lab. Another sweep-through of the stall, and he spotted a bracelet wedged between the cracks of the wooden slats.
A Native American gold bracelet with garnets embedded in a pattern symbolizing the Morning Star.
The Morning Star was the brightest on the horizon at dawn. Natives revered it as a spirit and most Pueblos honored it as a kachina. The star also symbolized courage and purity of spirit. According to the Ghost Dance Religion, it represented the coming renewal of tradition and resurrection of heroes of the past.
Unease tightened Cabe’s chest. He’d seen this bracelet before.
It belonged to Ellie Penateka.
Good God. Had Ellie attacked Jessie?
JESSIE ROUSED IN AND OUT of consciousness as the doctor examined her head. “Miss Becker, you’re going to need a couple of stitches. Then we’re going to do X-rays and a CAT scan.”
She nodded miserably. All she wanted to do was go home.
Or talk to Ranger Navarro and see if he’d found out who had assaulted her.
Her head was throbbing, so she closed her eyes while the doctor cleaned the wound and stitched her. The ride down the elevator for the X-ray and CAT scan was bumpy and made her nauseated. A claustrophobic feeling engulfed her in the cylinder, and she clenched her hands by her sides, willing herself to remain calm. She was strong and tough. She would not fall apart in the hospital.
Finally the lab technicians rolled her from the machine. Perspiration coated her skin, and she gasped for fresh air.
“We’ll take you to a room now to rest,” the tech assured her.
Jessie clenched the handrail. “I want to go home.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “The doctor will have to read your tests first.”
Frustrated, she massaged her temple while they helped her into a wheelchair and an orderly rolled her back to the elevator. The scents of antiseptic and alcohol flowed through the halls, the droning sound of machinery grating on her nerves.
The orderly dropped her at the nurses’ station on the second floor, and a plump nurse with white hair pushed her toward a room. “Come on, honey, let’s settle you in bed so you can rest.”
“I hate hospitals.” Jessie tried to stand, but a dizzy spell sent the room swirling, and she had to reach out for help to steady herself.
The nurse caught her arm and helped her to the bed. “Take it easy.”
Jessie slid beneath the covers, still struggling for control. She was accustomed to taking care of everyone else, not being vulnerable and needy. “I’ve been stitched up, X-rayed and had a CAT scan, so why can’t I go home now?”
“Honey, nobody likes hospitals,” the nurse murmured as she adjusted the pillows. “But the doctor insists that you stay under observation for the night.”
“But I would rest better at home,” Jessie argued.
“Listen, Miss Becker.” The nurse’s voice grew firm. “It’s already midnight. Just go to sleep, and in the morning you can go home.”
Jessie clutched the sheets to her, feeling guilty for being a problem, but still anxious. The last thing she wanted was for her father to find out that she’d been attacked on the ranch.
He was in bed when she’d stopped by earlier. Surely Ranger Navarro wouldn’t disturb him in the middle of the night…
CABE DIDN’T CARE IF IT WAS the middle of the night. He was going to talk to Ellie and find out what the hell was going on.
The land grew more barren as he left the town and drove to Ellie’s pueblo-style house bordering on the edge of the reservation. Apache oaks flanked her property, and bluebonnets swayed from her flower bed. Ellie’s place had always boasted of their culture, but her obsession with her cause had colored her tolerance of others who weren’t so strong-minded.
Essentially, she liked to stir trouble for trouble’s sake. And she had a political agenda.
He had zero tolerance for that kind of behavior—the reason he’d walked away from her and never looked back.
Her small gold sedan was parked in the drive, and a faint light glowed from the bedroom. He rolled his shoulders as he climbed from his SUV and walked up the limestone path to her house. If she hadn’t attacked Jessie tonight and was sleeping, she was going to be pissed that he’d disturbed her. And even more so that he considered her a suspect.
But her anger was something he’d live with.
He raised his fist and knocked twice, a light breeze rustling the trees as he waited. A minute later, he knocked again, then saw the kitchen light flicker on, and heard shuffling inside.
“It’s Cabe, Ellie, open up.”
The peephole opened, and Ellie’s eyes widened as she recognized him. “Cabe, what are you doing here?”
“We need to talk,” Cabe said.
The click of the lock turning sounded in the quiet of the night, then the door swung open. Ellie tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, then tied the belt to her satin robe. Her eyes looked blurry, as though she might have been sleeping.
“Cabe, it’s late. What’s going on?”
“Where were you tonight?”
An instant spark of anger darkened her brown eyes. “You saw me at the meeting, Cabe.”
“What did you do after you left?”
She pursed her lips. “I met with some of the supporters of our faction at the barbecue place down the street, then came home.”
“What time was that?”
She shrugged and glanced at the clock on her wall. “About nine, I guess. Why are you asking all these questions?”
“You heard the shooting in town. Do you own a gun, Ellie?”
She stiffened. “No. And I was with my friends when that fight broke out. We stayed inside until it was over.”
That fact could easily be checked out. “Let me see your hands.”
Her eyebrow rose. “What?”
“Just let me see your hands.”
She gave him a withering look. “You’ve got to be kidding, Cabe. I knew you’d crossed the line, but now you’re actually turning against us. Against me.” She shook her head. “And here I thought we were friends.”
“I’m not turning against anyone,” Cabe spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m just doing my job.”
He lifted her hands and examined them for GSR, but detected no visible signs.
“Satisfied?” she asked bitterly.
“Not yet,” he said, ignoring her condemning glare. “You didn’t happen to drive out to the Becker ranch, did you?”
“Cabe, why are you asking me these questions?” she asked in a testy voice. “What happened?”
“Jessie Becker was attacked tonight in the barn.”
Ellie gasped. “And you think I attacked her?” Hurt crossed her face. “Why in the world would I attack Jessie Becker?”
He steeled himself against her. �
��Because of her father.”
Ellie waved a dismissive hand. “That’s ridiculous. I may be an activist but you know I’m not violent.” Her lips thinned into a pouty frown. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing, not after the past we shared.”
A past that he couldn’t allow to interfere with the case.
Pinning her with a stony expression that had intimidated men twice his size, he removed the bagged bracelet he’d found in the barn stall and held it up. “Then why did I find your bracelet in the stall where Jessie was attacked?”
Chapter Seven
Cabe watched Ellie fidget. “It is your bracelet, isn’t it, Ellie?”
She chewed her bottom lip, but her gaze lifted to him, a pleading look in her eyes. “You know it is, Cabe. My grandmother gave it to me.”
He nodded. “Then why was it in the stall where Jessie was attacked?”
Ellie’s face paled slightly, then she gulped and seemed to recover. “There is a logical explanation.”
He arched a brow, waiting, his jaw tight. “I’m listening.”
“I said I could explain. But I’d rather not.” She pressed a hand to the side of her cheek. “It’s…personal.”
Impatience made him hiss. “Listen, Ellie, I don’t give a damn how personal it is. I’m investigating an assault and attempted murder. So if you have a good explanation, you’d better cough it up.”
Ellie clamped her teeth over her lip and glanced around nervously. “I was out at the Becker place, but not tonight.”
“Then when?”
She shrugged. “A couple of evenings ago.”
Cabe crossed his arms, suspicious. “What were you doing there?”
Again she glanced over her shoulder, and it struck him that she might not be alone. Was someone in her bedroom?
“Ellie?”
“I went to see Trace.”
“Trace? Why? Did you think you could convince him to incriminate his father and turn over the land?”
A slight hesitation. “Not exactly.”
“Stop stalling, Ellie, and spit it out.”
A long-suffering sigh escaped her. “I’ve been having an affair with Trace.”
Shock bolted through him, ending in a chuckle of disbelief. “Try again.”
She raked her gaze over him, angry, defiant, challenging. “Don’t act so surprised, Cabe. Do you really think I’ve been sitting around pining for you?”
“No,” he said dryly. “I thought you and Daniel Taabe had a thing.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes opposites attract.”
“Right. Or maybe you have another agenda. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him into helping your cause.” That sounded more likely.
“I resent your implication,” Ellie said.
“And so do I.” The male voice came from behind her, at the door to Ellie’s bedroom.
Cabe muttered a curse as Trace Becker sauntered toward Ellie. “You’ve been listening?” Cabe said.
Becker swung an arm around Ellie. “Damn right I have. And Ellie was with me tonight, so there’s no way she attacked Jessie.”
Cabe narrowed his eyes. The two of them were providing each other with alibis—he didn’t like it. “Some brother you are. You aren’t even going to ask if your sister is all right?”
Trace’s bony shoulders lifted. “I figure she is or you would have said she was dead.”
Cabe fisted his hands by his side. Trace’s tone suggested it wouldn’t have bothered him if his sister had died.
“I also found two long black hairs out at the site where that Native body was buried. They look like yours, Ellie.”
Ellie huffed. “I was not at the burial site.”
“Then let me take a sample of your hair for comparison, to eliminate you as a suspect of course.”
Ellie muttered a sound of disbelief, then reached up and yanked out a strand of hair. “Go to hell, Cabe.”
She dropped the black strand into his palm, then slammed the door in his face.
Cabe carried the hair to his SUV, bagged and labeled it to send to the lab. The lights flicked off inside, and he imagined Trace and Ellie sliding back in bed together.
Not that he cared who Ellie slept with.
But the fact that they’d hooked up raised questions in his mind.
Was Trace the one playing both sides, maybe to get back at his father for something?
Would Ellie and Trace lie to protect each other? And if they had been in cahoots, what exactly was their agenda?
JESSIE DRIFTED IN AND OUT of a fitful sleep, but the sound of the door squeaking open made her jerk awake, and she blinked trying to distinguish the shadow in the doorway.
Had the person who’d attacked her come here to hurt her again?
Fear clogged her throat, and she threw the covers off her, ready to run.
“It’s okay, Jessie. It’s me.”
The voice—deep, throaty, unerringly male, as potently enticing as his big body. And his scent…like musk and man and sex.
She remembered him soothing her as the ambulance had arrived and had clung to that voice.
“Jessie?” He moved toward her, with silent steps that emanated an air of power and strength.
She exhaled shakily and reached for the covers with a trembling hand, once again feeling naked and exposed.
And more vulnerable than she had in her entire life.
Because she was attracted to this dark-skinned Ranger. More attracted than she’d been to a man in years.
That thought terrified her the most.
She could not fall prey to every sexy man’s charms like her mother. And she especially couldn’t hop into bed with a man who was determined to destroy her father and the last chance she had of becoming a part of his life.
But as Cabe grew nearer, and she inhaled his scent again, her chest clenched with the need to whisper his name and beg him to stay with her. To confess that she didn’t want to be alone.
Not in the dark in this hospital bed knowing that someone had tried to kill her.
He stopped beside her bed, towering over and looking down at her with those brooding, deep brown eyes. Eyes that had seen more than his share of pain and sorrow.
Eyes that had detected spirits on the land in question.
Eyes that could steal her soul—and her heart if she wasn’t careful.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said gruffly. “How are you feeling?”
Sweet, tender, erotic sensations momentarily numbed the pain in her head at the sound of his concerned tone. She had to clear her throat to speak.
“I’m all right.”
He traced a gentle finger into her hair toward the wound. “Headache?”
“A little,” she said quietly.
For a moment, it felt as if the two of them were cocooned into the room, as if nothing could touch them or come between them. As if the world and all its problems had faded away.
She wanted the moment to last. To be real.
For the world to disappear. For the murders to be solved. And for Cabe Navarro to stand before her just as a man. Not a Ranger in charge of the case in a town where their two worlds divided them.
“I’m sorry, Jessie.” Sincerity laced his voice. “You don’t deserve to be in the middle of this mess.”
For some reason she didn’t understand, tears burned her eyes. Embarrassed, she tried to blink them away, but he must have noticed because he dragged the corner chair over beside the bed, then sat down.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, hating her weakness. “I’m not usually so emotional.”
“It’s natural,” Cabe murmured. “You were attacked tonight.”
She twisted her hands in the sheets. “You didn’t talk to my father, did you?”
“No. Wilbur was going to stop by your house.”
“Oh, gosh. I don’t want to upset my father.”
“Ahh, Jessie.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Always protecting others, aren’t you
?”
“That’s what families do,” she said softly.
“Not always.” His expression grew hard. “Do you want me to go?”
A pang of panic went through her chest. “No. I…don’t like hospitals. When I was little I got pneumonia, and my mother left me alone for days.”
His angular jaw tightened. “She didn’t stay with you or visit?”
“No. Her social life was more important.” She shook her head, battling bitterness at the memory. God, why was she being such a baby? She’d never told anyone how much that experience had hurt.
He dropped his gaze to her hands, where she’d knotted them in the sheets, then pulled one hand into his big palm. “I’ll stay right here and hold your hand all night if you want.”
A tingle of awareness ripped through her. “You don’t have to do that, Cabe.”
Suddenly he stood, walked to the window and looked out as if he needed to put distance between them. Immediately she missed his closeness. His touch. The connection she’d felt.
“I’m in charge of this case. The person who attacked you might return any time.”
A shiver rippled through her, disappointment on its heels. So he wasn’t staying out of concern, but because of his job.
She had to remember that.
“Did you get a look at your assailant?” he asked.
“No, the lights went out and he hit me from behind.”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Your ranch hand claimed he didn’t see anyone either. Do you trust him?”
“Wilbur?” Jessie gave a soft laugh. “With my life. He’s like a second father to me.” Or maybe a real one.
“I found a hammer that appears to have been the weapon the attacker used. It had blood on it, so I dropped it at the sheriff’s office to be couriered to the lab for analysis. Maybe this perp messed up and left a print.”
Jessie considered that. “Maybe.”
His tone grew darker. “There’s something else.”
Cold dread filled her. Did he think Trace had attacked her? “What?”