A Cowboy to Keep

by Karen Rock

  Why would the owner of a lucrative ranch leave it to track criminals?

  She glanced at herself atop Brownie. Lots of reasons drove a person from home. Could Jack’s be one as dark as hers? A sympathy for him rose, which was ridiculous because she didn’t know any actual facts.

  Her curiosity still piqued, she resumed her search and another headline snagged her eye.

  Jackson Cade Sets Passing Record and Clinches Division One Win.

  She clicked on it and a large shot of a teenaged Jackson filled the screen. His jubilant expression as he thrust two fists in the air while being held aloft by screaming teammates made her squint, marveling that this could be the same person as the remote, sober-looking man she’d met.

  His unscarred face beamed at her, and the thought that he was almost too perfect-looking then, strange as that sounded, struck her. His scar brought his heavenly good looks back to earth, so that now he resembled a darker angel, a look that drew her much, much more than a Hollywood appearance.

  But did her attraction suggest she might be falling into her old habits? She’d always had a weakness for sympathetic bad boys. She’d sworn off relationships, but now another brooding hero had appeared, just like the ones in her favorite gothic romances.

  Well. No, thanks.

  She’d left tragic love stories safely between the pages where they belonged long ago. She wouldn’t reopen that chapter in her life again.

  * * *

  JACK SLIPPED ALONG the edge of the clearing behind Tanya’s cabin, sticking to the tree line, out of view. No sense in alarming Smiley’s girlfriend in case she wasn’t involved (doubtful) or warning her if she was (a much more likely scenario).

  It’d been clear she was hiding something from the moment Dani mentioned Smiley. He hoped she’d get something more out of Tanya when she visited her friend later. Would she blow his cover?

  He moved a sapling aside and stepped over a rotting tree stump. Something about Dani made him instantly reject the idea. She’d given her word, and while he didn’t trust her, his instinct said that meant something to her.

  He smiled as he pictured the spirited woman. She looked like the type who’d defend her friends till the end, who saw the good in people until they proved her wrong, which was just like...

  His eyes dropped to his tattoo, and Jesse’s wide-open grin flashed through his mind, making his own smile fade. He forced his mind back to the hunt.

  When he glimpsed the dirt footpath that led off Tanya’s clearing up to the copper mine, Jack followed it. He stepped lightly over protruding boulders and exposed roots as thick as his arms. Studying the dirt, he noted that the fresh prints lingering in the muddy depressions all pointed to Tanya’s house. A one-way trip. He puzzled over it, doubled back, moved slower still, checking and rechecking the area as he ascended the hill.

  The shadows cast by the slanting sun pooled in the depressions, the way he preferred for tracking, illuminating the minute distinctions. A square heel with a pointed toe. Boots. Size twelve or so. A slight notch on the back of the left heel seemed to appear more than once. The stride suggested a man of average height, his build slightly husky given the depth of the impression, his gait uneven, which might mean bowlegs, a limp or just an adjustment for the terrain. There weren’t enough solid prints to be sure.

  And where was the return set? Or a partner’s? Smiley could be hiding alone in Tanya’s house and waiting to slip back up to the mine to meet someone.

  Everett Ridland?

  If so, Jack’d be there to greet them.

  In the distance, aspens gleaming in the late-afternoon sun half hid a jagged bluff. Overhead, a mourning dove quieted as he approached. It sped off its perch in a flurry of gray, leaving only the rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker to break up the forest hush.

  Suddenly he was ten years old again, creeping through the mountains with his grandfather and Lance on one of their camping trips, committing to memory the slightest disturbances in the wilderness, identifying the passage of elk, black bear and deer, determining edible berries and roots, predicting weather and the direction of his quarry’s travel by the shadows, by the moss, by some kind of sixth sense that seemed bred into his family’s bones. The same knowledge, his grandpa insisted, that’d been passed on to him.

  Too bad that sense hadn’t been with him two years ago, the night he’d caught up with Jesse, fresh out of rehab, at a pool hall when his mother insisted he bring his missing brother home. He winced. The painful memory slashed deeper than the knife that’d left a gash that had taken over a hundred stitches to close.

  Absently running a hand over the raised scar, he halted at the edge of the woods and stared at the small campfire he’d spied earlier this afternoon. A mound of rocks were in a heap at the bottom of a steep bluff. The tracks ended.

  So. A one-way trip by one man. The pile of rocks suggested the avalanche was an accident, but he had to be sure. He scouted the cliff, found his first foothold and began pulling himself up. His fingers scrabbled on scrub brush, roots and depressions as he hauled himself upward, his breath harsh in his throat. At last, he heaved himself over the edge and lay flat on his stomach for a moment, dragging in air.

  A cigarette butt swam into view, not more than an inch away from his face. He blinked at it. Processed. Pushed to his knees and studied the distinctive filter. He picked it up and lifted it to his nose. Inhaled. It smelled darker, browner somehow, than other brands. Camel Filters.

  And in a breath, he was back at that pool hall, Jesse’s knee banging against the underside of the hardwood table top at which they sat.

  He’d looked thinner than ever, Jack recalled, despite their mother’s nonstop cooking all week since his baby brother had been released from rehab. And his eyes had been bloodshot. Telltale signs of another relapse, Jack remembered thinking, resentment swelling as he envisioned more heartbreak ahead. His family had already gone through a lot since Jesse’s addiction began in high school.

  When Jesse had said he needed money for reasons he refused to reveal, Jack imagined the worst. He would forever regret how he’d shut his brother down, telling him he didn’t want to hear about anything that involved drugs. He was sick of being his brother’s babysitter.

  His mother’s cries echoed in his ear as he sniffed the cigarette butt again. Camel Filters, the same kind he’d seen one of Jesse’s suspected killers smoking. Smiley had been caught with heroin, another connection.

  He didn’t recognize the bond jumper in his picture. The thick dark of that long ago night and the men’s hoodies had concealed their appearances enough to make clear identification impossible. Smiley might be here with an accomplice, with Everett Ridland, and either man could be his brother’s assassin.

  Adrenaline spiked his blood. Made his head swim.

  Could this be this be the chance he’d been desperately seeking to finally make things right?

  Jack shimmied back down the bluff, dusted off his pants and spun around at the sound of approaching footsteps. A man in his midthirties, his broad face mostly shrouded by a beard, appeared around a bend in the trail, a leather saddlebag slung over one arm. He pulled up short, doubt crowding his already pinched features so that he looked cross.

  “Who the heck are you?”

  Jack set his hands on his belt, easing his shirt back slightly, ready to grab his gun from his shoulder holster if needed.

  “New wrangler. Jackson Cade.”

  The stranger’s eyes skimmed down to Jack’s boots then rose. “Haven’t heard of you.”

  “Dani hired me.”

  Stroking his beard, the intruder pursed his lips and said nothing for a moment long enough to make some folks uncomfortable.

  But Jack used the time to size up the man. From the bright red on his neck and arms, he must spend a lot of time outdoors. His worn boots looked broken in...so a lot of w
alking. He looked slightly heavy, with a barrel chest that’d be handy in pinning down a foe in a brawl, and short, powerful arms that’d land a good punch if you were stupid enough to stay within reach.

  His boots resembled the size and shape of the prints, though Jack would need a closer look to be certain. What was more, he had the height and build to be one of the suspects.

  “What’s your business here?” the man growled, with no pretense of welcome or friendliness. Just straight-up menace.

  Well, good. Jack liked knowing where he stood.

  “What’s yours?”

  “I work here,” protested the guy, looking like he didn’t get challenged much.

  “Well, so do I.” Jack lowered his head and met the guy’s stare dead on from beneath his brows, enjoying his new acquaintance’s deepening scowl and the way his eyes darted away, small fish scattering before a bigger predator.

  Could this be the real person behind the Everett Ridland alias?

  “I’m a groundskeeper and I’ve got to clear that out. This, uh, isn’t a safe place.”

  Jack followed the man’s point to the pile of rocks left by the avalanche. His doubts about the rough man settled some. Seemed like a legitimate reason to be here. Still. He had to check.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sam. Perkins. Not that it’s any of your business,” the groundskeeper huffed. “Now. I like to get on with my work.”

  Jack nodded slowly, considering. Why didn’t he have any tools? He couldn’t outright accuse the guy of anything exactly and didn’t want to blow his cover. He’d run the name Sam Perkins by Lance later.

  Out of choices, he said, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  A few hundred yards down the trail, Jack doubled back, creeping through the thick new growth on the forest floor slowly, carefully, his breath a silent pull of air in his teeth. At last, he reached a vantage point, and peered around a tree.

  What was Sam really up to?

  But to Jack’s surprise, he was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTER SCOURING EVERY inch of the internet for more on Jack, Dani finally admitted that she’d gone too far when she looked up his astrological sign.

  Sheesh.

  Time to clear her head.

  She stood in the doorway of the barn and dragged in a long gulp of air, her nerves steadying at the familiar scents of manure and freshly tilled soil, the afternoon warmth hinting at summer.

  Shoving her hands in her pockets, she headed to Tanya’s. A moment later she’d climbed the porch steps and knocked on the front door. Waited. Rapped again. Waited some more. Tanya’s cat, Mittens, leaped off the porch railing and wound like a ribbon in between her ankles.

  Cupping a hand over her eyes, she peered into the dim interior. The TV blared. A can of something sat by itself on the kitchen table. Maybe Tanya couldn’t hear her.

  She headed around back and ducked beneath laundry hanging from the clothesline. A sudden gust lifted the damp garments.

  “Mittens, stop!” He threw his lithe gray body at her feet with every step. “Fine!” She squatted to scratch behind his ears and he rubbed his cheek hard against her palm, her leg, her foot before he slid onto the grass, tail lashing. His fierce purr practically vibrated the air around him.

  Resistance is futile, she thought, chuckling. “Who’s a pretty baby?” She skimmed her fingers along his soft stomach. “Who?” she cooed, because obviously all animals spoke the universal language of baby talk. “You’re the pretty baby.”

  Long, jeans-clad legs stepped into her line of vision and she pressed her lips together, feeling her cheeks heat. She wished she could suck those words in like a popped bubble, but they rose around her, pink and sticky sweet.

  She nearly groaned when she recognized the distinctive tooled leather boots. Jack. Brown eyes, rich as spring soil, gleamed down at her.

  “Howdy.”

  An amused expression tugged up one corner of his handsome mouth and her heart jerked to a stop. She waited for her lungs to start breathing again. The shadow cast by a nearby aspen slanted across his slashed cheek.

  “Hey.” Mittens’s tail lashed her feet when she straightened and tilted her face to stare at him.

  “Did you talk to Tanya?”

  “She didn’t answer her front door, so I thought I’d try the back.”

  “And that’s what you’re doing right now?” His head swiveled from the house to the cat. An eyebrow rose and his mouth twitched as if he fought off a full-blown smile. “Nice detective work.”

  Smart aleck.

  “What’s this?” He swooped down and grabbed a cigarette butt from the ground.

  “A car?” she ventured, unable to resist. Why did he bring out her sass? Darn those bad boys and her apparently undiminished need to flirt with them.

  He didn’t answer. Just pulled another cigarette butt from his pocket and compared the two. “Does Tanya smoke?”

  “No.” She averted her eyes, which had been lingering much too long on his profile, when he glanced up at her, quick.

  “Smiley?”

  “Just cigars. He says cigarettes are the wine coolers of smoking.”

  “Huh.”

  “Sooo...what’s the significance, partner?”

  He shot her a considering look. “Spotted the same type of cigarette at the top of the ledge where the avalanche started.”

  His words knocked the air out of her. Something about Camel filters nagged at the edge of her memory. Then it hit her. Her ex...but he was thousands of miles away...behind bars. She forced down her panicked thoughts. “But Smiley wouldn’t have intended me any harm...”

  He shook his head. “This could be the other guy on the double homicide. Ever heard the name Everett Ridland?”

  “No. And Smiley isn’t a murderer.”

  “And he doesn’t appreciate Very Berry wine coolers. Got it. Let’s see if Tanya is in.”

  He followed her to the screened-in porch’s door. “I can handle this on my own,” she said over her shoulder and lifted her hand, then stopped. “It’s open.”

  “All the invitation we need.” He eased open the door into Tanya’s kitchen and gestured for her to precede him. “Go in and call for Tanya like you think she’s home.”

  “What if she’s not?”

  “Just got an email saying my search warrant’s been authorized.”

  “You can’t just go through her things,” she hissed.

  “This isn’t exactly a panty raid, darlin’. Not unless you’re into that, of course.”

  At his sarcastic drawl, she rolled her eyes and elbowed past him. “Tanya! Hey, girl,” she hollered once she’d stepped inside the kitchen, feeling like a complete fraud and the worst friend possible. “You decent?”

  She moved farther into the cluttered space, noting a newspaper open to the sports section beside a can of beer, an empty pizza box thrown on top of her trash can and the shade still down on the window above her sink.

  The stale scent of strong cigarettes rose from a dirty ashtray beside the paper, cigarette butts crushed in the middle. Muddy tracks crossed the kitchen floor and she put her foot next to one, seeing how much bigger it was. Not Tanya’s for sure... Smiley’s? The smoker’s? She ignored the questions. These were her friends. She knew them.

  But you thought you knew Kevin, too.

  And Jack? She couldn’t trust her interest in him, either.

  “Anything?” rumbled a voice beside her ear.

  “Thought you were waiting for my signal,” she said, her voice breathy.

  “If I waited any longer, I’d be drawing Social Security.”

  “Ha-ha,” she enunciated slowly, so he understood exactly how unamusing she found him—so he wouldn’t suspect that she really did fi
nd him funny.

  No more flirting.

  He tipped his hat. “Never thought I’d hear you laugh.”

  “You didn’t.”

  His lightbulb grin had her turning away, fast. “Tanya!” she called again. “Stopped by for that visit!”

  She waved Jack back, hoping he’d return to the porch, but he waltzed right by as if breaking and entering—though he had a warrant...

  Then again, bad boys didn’t ask for permission. Or follow rules.

  Shoot.

  “She’s not home,” he announced, and his boots thunked on the wooden floor as he paced through the rooms, searching. When he headed to Tanya’s bedroom, she hustled after him.

  Jokes aside, she needed to protect her friend’s privacy. He looked under the floral spread across the bed, and when he peered up at her, the lace hem fell across his hard-bitten face in a contrast so comical she almost did laugh.

  “Would you know what size shoe Tanya wears?” He pulled out a large pair of boots with a distinctive star pattern on them. She knew those... Smiley’s. But they could have been left here last year. Or Tanya might have held on to them after the breakup and planned to give them back.

  “Same as me. Seven.” She’d borrowed a pair of Tanya’s heels once for a local wedding in the mistaken belief she could actually walk on stilts. Her toes stretched inside her comfy boots and wiggled at the remembered torture. Nope. She was a tried and true, square heel kind of gal.

  He peered inside the boots and she heard him mutter, “Twelve.”

  A clatter at the back door made the air clog her lungs.

  “Mittens,” called a lilting, sing-song voice. “Did you leave this door open?”

  “Tanya!”

  Jack’s large hand engulfed hers and he tugged. “Quick! Into the closet!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DARKNESS FOLDED AROUND them as they squished into the tiny space and jammed shut the folding door. Honey, thought Jack, as he inhaled her scent, every one of his senses acutely aware of the soft woman pressed against him.