by Jean Barrett
Morning Star’s ranch house, whose golden sandstone walls were just behind them, was situated on the brow of a hill that overlooked a valley. The longhorns were down there. Restless from being rounded up from the open range, they milled about in the lingering twilight, lowing their objections. Roark was aware that Samantha had been nervously eyeing the herd since the meal had been served.
He was not the only one who sensed her discomfort. Alex McKenzie, that friendly young puppy on the other side of her, tried to come to her rescue. “If it’s going to be all that rugged, Samantha shouldn’t have to put up with it. Not on horseback. She can ride in the chuck wagon with Ramona.”
Dick Brewster hooted with laughter. “That old heap? She’d be jounced to a jelly before noontime of our first day out. That is, if the thing makes it that far.”
All eyes at the table slid in the direction of a sturdy but battered pickup truck parked under a ponderosa pine several yards away. The vehicle’s back end had been fitted up as a rolling pantry. The only gaze that didn’t turn toward the truck belonged to Ramona Chacon, the Walking W’s round-faced cook. Her eyes were busy glaring at the horse wrangler.
“My baby can go anywhere your horses and cows can go, Dick Brewster. And you’d better start having a little respect for her if you expect to keep your belly full on this drive.”
Roark could see that the woman wasn’t genuinely offended. He had already decided that Ramona was too sweet tempered to mind Brewster’s teasing.
Alex returned to the subject of Samantha’s uneasiness.
“Rules don’t say Sam has to be in the saddle, just that she has to finish the drive.”
Roark wasn’t sure he appreciated McKenzie’s concern for Samantha, even though she had explained to him at the start of the meal that Alex’s interest in her welfare was the innocent result of a boyhood crush he’d had on her when he was a teenager. Fine. Except McKenzie was no longer a teenager, and Samantha looked as if she was enjoying his attention too much. And, damn it, why should he care?
Ramona added her invitation to Alex’s plan. “I’d be pleased to have your company in the chuck wagon, Sam.” Wise or not, Roark could no longer keep silent. “Good suggestion. The only thing is, Samantha has already decided she intends to make this drive on horseback along with the rest of us. Isn’t that what you told me on the trip up here, Samantha?”
She turned to him, meeting his challenge. For a moment she said nothing. He’d noticed she had an unconscious habit—whenever she was particularly tense about something—of catching the lobe of her right ear between her forefinger and her middle finger and tugging on it slowly. She was doing that now.
Roark was experiencing his own tension, wondering if she was about to tell him she’d didn’t appreciate his veto on her behalf, that she would express her own decisions. He knew she would be right if she did blast him, but he hoped instead she would agree with him. That she would have the courage to conquer her fear.
Her fingers dropped from the lobe of her ear. “Roark is right,” she said quietly. “I promised myself I would do this on horseback. I’ll stick with that.”
“Then it’s settled,” Roark said, wondering if she had any idea how much he admired her for her resolve. A resolve that he knew couldn’t have been easy for her.
One of the staff at the ranch appeared from the kitchen with a loaded tray. The outfit turned their attentions to the desserts she served them. Roark used the opportunity to study the faces around the table.
The expressions were cheerfully eager as they anticipated tomorrow’s drive. But Roark wondered, Did one of them have another agenda? Could one of this pleasant company be dangerous?
AFTER MAKING SURE that Samantha had safely locked herself in the bedroom that had been assigned to her for the night, Roark went back to his own room next door.
The old ranch house had no electricity. Hard to believe in this day and age, but its last owner, a contemporary of Joe Walker’s, had preferred it this way. Roark had to use a flashlight to find his way across the room to the oil lamp that had been provided for him on his bedside table.
There were matches beside the lamp. He struck one of them and lit the lamp. Its soft, flickering glow permitted him to perform one last, essential task before he turned in for the night. Reaching for his cell phone, he perched on the edge of the bed and punched in the digits for the number he wanted at a condo back in San Antonio.
As instructed, Wendell was waiting for his call. The young trainee answered on the first ring. “How’s it going?” he asked after Roark identified himself.
He knew Wendell was hoping to hear about some exciting development. Too bad he had to disappoint him. “Fine. We’re all one big, happy family here.” So far, Roark thought. “How about your end? Did you get out to the Walking W?”
“Visited that gulch just like you wanted,” Wendell reported, referring to the deep ravine where Joe Walker had been thrown from his horse. “I was careful not to be seen. Not much chance I would be. It’s in the middle of nowhere. Heck of a long hike out there.”
“Find anything?”
“I think maybe I did. There was a lot of wall to cover down in there, some of it pretty high. But I found this spot where the rocks looked like they’d been freshly chipped off by bullets. And if they were, that means the old man’s horse was spooked by gunfire and someone could have been shooting at him.”
Wendell was so enthusiastic about his discovery Roark hadn’t the heart to tell him that chipped rocks weren’t necessarily evidence of gunfire. “Could you tell whether the rock was scored? You know, as if bullets had left channels in it?”
“The marks weren’t clear. Maybe you’ll be able to tell something. I took a bunch of photographs. As soon as they’re developed, I’ll e-mail them for you to study. They should be waiting for you at your first stop.”
“That’s fine.” Roark would examine those photographs, but he doubted they would give him anything useful. But Wendell, being Wendell, was so eager to succeed that, again, Roark didn’t want to discourage the overly zealous trainee.
“Tomorrow I’ll tackle the monastery and the Western Museum,” Wendell continued, referring to the institutions that would receive Joe Walker’s estate if Samantha failed to meet the terms of her grandfather’s will. “I’ll let you know what I learn.”
Cautioning him to be careful about how he handled those interviews, Roark promised to keep in touch and ended the call. He hoped he would be able to maintain regular contact with Wendell. He’d had no problem tonight, but a cell phone might not be dependable in a remote mountain area like this. There was also the matter of power, though Ramona Chacon had told him he could keep the instrument recharged using the lighter in her truck.
Roark went on sitting there for a moment on the edge of the bed, listening. Although it wasn’t all that late, a silence had settled over the house. The members of the outfit, knowing that the drive would be underway at first light, had retired early. Which, Roark told himself, was what he needed to do.
Shedding his clothes, he blew out the lamp and crawled under the covers. His phone call to Wendell hadn’t produced anything worthwhile. Not that he had expected it to, but a PI overlooked nothing. It was a beginning, and on the drive he would seize every opportunity to advance his investigation.
His last thoughts before he drifted off were for Samantha next door. He hoped she was sleeping peacefully, not worrying about tomorrow. He also wished he could think of her as nothing but a client who needed his protection instead of a woman he wanted beside him in this bed. Damn.
SAMANTHA DIDN’T BOTHER switching on the flashlight on her bedside table to check her watch, but she knew it was late. Probably close to midnight, if not after.
She had managed to drowse for a couple of hours, though fitfully, but now she was wide-awake. The moon had risen, its light streaming through the uncurtained windows. She might have blamed its brightness for her sleeplessness, except that wouldn’t be true.
Nor co
uld she blame the cattle in the valley below, at least not entirely. Although if their occasional bawling was any indication, they continued to be as restless as she was, reminding her of what tomorrow would demand of her. And tonight?
She had to face it. The fundamental reason for her waking was a physical one—she needed a bathroom. In any other circumstances, this wouldn’t have been a problem. In this place it was. The ranch house had neither bathrooms nor electricity and only rudimentary plumbing in the kitchen. Relieving herself meant a trip to an old-fashioned privy out back. Not something she wanted to risk in the middle of the night.
You can wait until morning.
That’s what she told herself, and she believed it. For a while. But the more she tried not to think about it, the more she wanted that privy. When her need became urgent, she gave in.
This is ridiculous. You have to go, so go.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she shoved her feet into her slippers, scooped up the flashlight and, after putting a coat on over her pajamas, headed for the door.
The lock was as outdated as the rest of the house, the kind that came equipped with a key. It had to be persuaded before it would turn and let Samantha out into the passage.
There were doors along both sides of the corridor, all of them closed, the rooms behind them silent. She looked at the door next to hers, knowing she had to rouse Roark and ask him to accompany her. He would have her head if she didn’t. She had raised her hand to knock when the door directly across the hall opened. Ramona emerged, surprised to find her there.
“I need a trip out to the privy,” Samantha whispered.
“Me, too,” Ramona whispered back, securing the sash on her bathrobe. “I’d welcome the company. I wasn’t looking forward to going out there alone.”
Samantha decided that as long as Ramona was with her she needn’t disturb Roark. She didn’t know Ramona well, but she knew enough to trust her.
The gleam of the flashlight led them into Morning Star’s living room where Samantha could make out the shapes of a stone fireplace, Navajo rugs on the floor, heavy pottery and dark oil paintings on the walls, the kind of Western scenes her grandfather had favored. In fact, the whole place reminded her of the Walking W’s ranch house, and she found that depressing. Still, it would be a shame when all this was pulled down and replaced with a ski lodge and condos, which was scheduled to happen when the new road was finished.
Crossing the room, they let themselves out of the house through a French door, which they left ajar for their return. A gibbous moon swam in the night sky, casting a glow strong enough to permit Samantha to make out the forms of the longhorns in the valley below. They were hushed now, as if waiting for something.
For a quick moment she experienced a sense of uneasiness. It was her imagination. She was letting her imagination get the best of her, seeing an enemy lurking in the thick shadows under the trees where there was none. Besides, Ramona was close at her side.
Samantha remembered the way from an earlier daylight visit. With the flashlight to guide them, they went around the house and along the path. Samantha was thankful for the coat over her pajamas. The day had been almost balmy, but a sharp chill had set in after twilight. It was the autumn weather that made her shiver. Or nerves. Whatever the explanation, she was relieved when they reached the facility at the end of the path.
“You go first,” Samantha instructed her companion, handing her the flashlight.
Ramona disappeared inside the privy. Samantha waited outside, wishing she would hurry. When the woman finally reappeared, she returned the flashlight with a warning.
“The batteries must be weakening. I’m afraid it’s getting kind of dim.”
So dim, Samantha discovered, that managing the privy was a challenge once she was inside and with the door closed. After making use of the facility, she was able to wash her hands using the basin and a can of water one of the staff had provided on a shelf.
By this time the flashlight was worthless. She switched it off and tucked it into a pocket of her coat. They didn’t really need it, anyway. The glow from the moon would be more than adequate enough to light their way back to the house.
That’s what she thought until she stepped out of the privy and found Ramona nowhere in sight. What had become of her? Had she returned to the house without her?
“Ramona,” she called softly, “are you there?”
There was no answer. And Samantha suddenly missed the reassuring beam of the flashlight. She also decided that the night seemed much too quiet, so quiet that she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like how heavy the shadows were in that grove of trees off to her right, shadows that could conceal a menace lurking in their depths.
She was being silly again. But she couldn’t shake her sense of uneasiness, the eerie feeling that she was being watched, that she was no longer alone out here. The feeling became a certainty when one of those dark shadows moved, detaching itself from the others.
Samantha didn’t pause to learn the identity of that furtive shadow or why Ramona hadn’t waited for her. Swinging around, she fled up the path as if every nightmare from her childhood were at her heels. She was so fearful of the thing behind her that she didn’t concern herself with what might be in front of her. Until she flew around the corner of the house and smacked into a wall that hadn’t been there before. A towering wall of living, breathing flesh.
She knew it was flesh, because when she raised her hands to defend herself against her attacker, they encountered a chest. A hard, totally bare male chest. She was dragged up against its heat when a pair of strong hands gripped her upper arms to steady her. Gasping, she struggled against his hold.
“Easy,” he said.
Samantha went still. She recognized his voice.
“What were you running from?”
“Something back there under the trees.”
“What?” Roark demanded sharply.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell. Maybe it was human, maybe not.”
Her relief that Roark was here had been both enormous and sweet, but, aware now that she was still pressed against his naked chest, Samantha experienced another kind of danger. One from which she needed to disengage herself. “I’m all right now,” she insisted. “It was probably just an animal. You can let me go.”
He released her. “What in hell are you doing out here, anyway?”
“I needed to visit the privy.”
“Then you should have had me go with you. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”
“I didn’t go out alone. Ramona was with me.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She seems to have dis—”
“Here I am,” Ramona said, trotting around the corner of the house.
“Where on earth have you been? Didn’t you hear me call you?”
“I’m sorry. There was a nightjar singing in one of the trees, and I stepped around the other side of the house to see if I could catch a glimpse of—” She broke off, as if she realized that Samantha was upset and that Roark had arrived on the scene and was looking far too rigid standing there. “Is something wrong?”
“Samantha spotted something she didn’t like under the trees. Did you see anyone back there? Or maybe an animal?”
“No, nothing.”
Roark nodded, and then before Samantha could prevent it, he grabbed her hand and hauled her in the direction of the open French door. “What are you—”
“I’m taking you back inside. Putting you behind a locked door where you belong.”
He must have the eyes of an owl, she thought. He needed no flashlight to aid him as he swiftly conducted her through the door and across the living room into the corridor, pausing only long enough to make certain that Ramona was close behind them. Samantha waited until the bemused cook was safely back inside her room before she confronted her rescuer.
“Why are you so angry with me? I told you I’
m all right now.”
“You’re not all right. You’re shaking all over. And Ramona or no Ramona, you had no business being out there without me. Or are you forgetting what happened back in Texas? That threat could have followed you here to Colorado.”
“How did you know Ramona and I were—”
“I caught a glimpse of your flashlight passing under my window so I left my room to investigate and saw the French door open.”
The light must have awakened him, which demonstrated an alertness on her behalf she had no choice but to be grateful for. She expressed her appreciation with a meek thank-you.
By then he had steered her back into her bedroom. Or what she assumed was her bedroom until he lighted the oil lamp, and she learned that it was his room.
She also discovered, turning to him, that he was a riveting sight in nothing but a pair of snug jeans. In his haste he hadn’t bothered to don anything else, unless she counted the gun tucked into his waistband. Samantha wasn’t sure whether her slight wooziness was the result of the terror she had just experienced or the slabs of hard muscle above the waistband of his jeans.
“Uh, I assume you have a reason for bringing me here instead of next door. A good one.”
“I want you on that bed.”
“I said I was grateful for your rescue, but I’m not that grateful.”
“Sitting there, Samantha, not lying there. If someone happens to be prowling around looking for you, maybe even knows which room is yours, then you’re safer waiting here while I check outside. I want to find out what you saw in that grove of trees. Try to relax, huh? I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He was gone then, taking the key with him. She heard him locking the door from the hallway outside. Eyeing the bed, Samantha decided that his command was probably a sensible one. She was feeling just weak enough to need a support, and there was no chair in the small room.
That was better, she thought when she’d lowered herself onto the edge of the mattress. What didn’t feel so comfortable was the memory of Roark Hawke’s high-handed treatment of her. All right, so she had made a mistake, but he didn’t have to be so brusque about it. It was bad enough having a bodyguard without his expecting her to ask permission every time she went to the bathroom.