by Jean Barrett
Samantha had the feeling his intention was an inspiration of the moment. Nor did Cappy trust his sudden generosity, observing sourly, “That ain’t no sacrifice, cowboy. Just about everybody knows you always been partial to her.”
“Shut up, old man.” Jamming his Stetson on his head, Dick ambled off to saddle his horse and head out to the longhorns.
Since the meadows on the other side of the rise offered ample grazing, the drovers had determined that for now only one of them at a time needed to ride vigil with the contented herd. With the exception of Roark, Samantha thought. Like it or not, where he goes I go.
At the moment Roark was going nowhere. He stood there and watched Dick’s departure with a frown on his face. When the horse wrangler was out of sight, he turned that frown in another direction, his gaze sweeping over the area of the camp.
“Where’s Ernie?” he demanded.
Alex and Cappy looked around, puzzled expressions on their faces. “Gee, I don’t know,” Alex said. “We were so busy losing to Dick we didn’t notice. He must be around somewhere.”
“His things aren’t over there where he had them by that tree,” Samantha observed softly to Roark.
“I don’t see his horse, either.” They exchanged meaningful looks. Roark spoke again to Alex. “What about Ramona? Where is she?”
“She was here a minute ago asking us if we wanted coffee.”
“Think she must have gone back to the chuck wagon,” Cappy added with his usual lack of concern.
The back end of the cook truck faced them on the other side of the camp, its door wide-open. But there was no sign of Ramona there.
No longer hesitating, Roark strode across the camp and around the rear of the truck to its other side, Samantha close behind him. The ancient vehicle was parked with its nose in the direction of the canyon below the hill. They didn’t see Ramona until they reached the gap where the driver’s door should have been. Ramona had said she preferred the door missing. Open like that, it reminded her of a genuine, old-time chuck wagon.
She was seated behind the wheel of the pickup, an unfamiliar sight in her idleness as she gazed toward the canyon where Shep had lost his life. There was an expression on her face that made Samantha think immediately of her moody son. She paid no attention to their arrival.
“Ernie is missing,” Roark announced. Ramona offered no comment. “He’s gone, hasn’t he? Taken his things and cleared out.”
The woman turned her head then and considered them. “Has he?”
“You know he has. Damn it, Ramona, you should have stopped him.”
“Why?” she said, her voice animated now with anger as she came swiftly to the defense of her son. “So he could hang around and wait to be arrested when that sheriff gets back?”
“No one has accused him of anything. Why should he be charged, unless— Ramona, do you know something you’re not telling us? Maybe something connected with Shep’s death?”
“Don’t say that! I won’t listen to you say it!”
“Then why did Ernie leave?”
“Because when anything goes wrong, he’s everyone’s favorite suspect. That’s how it’s always been. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Go away.”
Roark looked like he wasn’t going to give up, that he intended to question her further. But it was obvious to Samantha that Ramona was hurting and wanted to be alone with her grief. Samantha placed a hand on Roark’s arm, signaling their need to retreat with an insistent squeeze of his hard muscles. Understanding her message, he held his tongue.
They left Ramona in the cook truck. Samantha waited until they were out of earshot before she expressed her concern. “Was she telling us the truth? Did Ernie run away because he was afraid he might end up being blamed for Shep’s death? Or is Ramona unhappy because she knows her son is guilty of everything that’s gone wrong on this drive?”
Samantha had a sudden memory of the understanding glances mother and son had shared this morning on the rim of the canyon. It was followed by another memory of a much earlier episode. An unpleasant recollection of that night back at the Morning Star Ranch when Ramona had wandered off in search of an elusive nightjar, leaving Samantha alone in the darkness. An innocent desertion? Or a deliberate action that had left Samantha vulnerable to the enemy?
It was an ugly thought, and she couldn’t bring herself to voice it.
“Speculations,” Roark answered her. “And none of them are worth a damn. But if Shep was innocent, that leaves only Ernie Chacon with a motive. Or at least the only motive we know of. No one else seems to have anything to gain by eliminating you from the race. And if Ramona is unwilling, or unable, to provide us with answers, then maybe…”
Samantha watched him decisively remove the cell phone from his belt. Seconds later she listened to him as he instructed his assistant back in Texas.
“Wendell, I know you’re already working your tail off, but you’ve got to dig deeper. If there’s anything more on Ernie Chacon, I need you to turn it up for me. Concentrate on Purgatory and that Western Museum. I think we’re missing something there. And don’t forget to keep asking around about the others in our outfit. Yeah, as soon as possible.”
“What do you expect Wendell to learn about Ernie that we don’t already know?” Samantha asked after Roark ended the call and restored the phone to its clip.
“Maybe exactly how dangerous he is. Or, for that matter, how dangerous any one of the others might be on this drive. And how desperate. Wendell’s findings wouldn’t be conclusive, but they could be one more piece in the puzzle. And we need those pieces, Samantha. We need to understand just what direction the trouble is coming from and why, because, come hell or high water, I mean to see you safe when I deliver you and those cattle to Alamo Junction.”
There was a steely determination in his voice and direct blue eyes that heartened her. And twisted her insides as, not for the first time, she wished Roark Hawke was anything but a man linked so strongly in her mind with her grandfather and all he had represented…and all she despised.
LAZY AND PEACEFUL. That was the climate of the drovers’ camp. Dick was still out with the herd, Cappy and Alex stretched flat and dozing, their hats over their faces to shield them from the sun. Ramona, though tight-lipped and silent, was occupied over at the cook truck with preparations for supper.
Roark knew this image was an illusion, that beneath the relaxed attitudes was a tension as they waited for an outcome from the sheriff.
He was experiencing a tension of his own as he perched on the enormous trunk of a fallen cottonwood, though he was careful to conceal it with his long legs stretched out casually in front of him, hands idle in his jeans pockets, Stetson shoved to the back of his head. His tension had nothing to do with the sheriff.
Samantha, hair freshly washed and rubbed dry with a towel, was seated a few feet away from him on a camp stool, dragging a brush through the chestnut masses. The sight of her tumbled hair gleaming in the sun brought memories of that night and morning in the canyon with the ruins. Memories of how her hair had spilled loose from her braid, permitting him to sift his fingers through its silky length, to bury his face in its scented thickness.
There was another scent he recalled. A womanly scent that had driven him wild with desire, and taunted him now as the images of that night flooded his mind. His mouth powerfully suckling her breasts while she mewed her pleasure. His finger circling through the nest of hair at the juncture of her parted thighs, then dipping inside her hot, moist center. And his own arousal, bigger and harder than it had ever been before, sinking into her deeply and, with long, frenzied strokes, bringing her to a shattering release.
Suppressing a groan, Roark felt his groin tighten as those memories surged through him. All he could think about, all he wanted was Samantha under him again, her alluring body out of control.
This is no good, Hawke. Your going crazy like this is only going to make things worse.
But how much tougher could they get? He ha
d been suffering every hell since their time in the canyon, knowing that what had happened between them couldn’t happen again. Knowing that when this blasted cattle drive was over, he had to let her go. That there could be no future for them, not when she hated everything he loved and valued.
After her encounter with Shep yesterday, he had dragged her behind the fir tree beside the path from the canyon and kissed her. Unable to help himself, he had kissed her with a ferocity that had shocked both of them. Whether Samantha knew it or not, that kiss hadn’t been an expression of his anger but of his frustration. The same frustration he was experiencing now and had been experiencing ever since they had ridden away from that other canyon.
God Almighty, how could he go and fall for a woman who wanted no part of ranching?
Fall?
And that was when it struck him like a hard blow in the gut. He had been determined all along to keep her safe. But somewhere on the long drive that resolve had altered, becoming a fierce need to protect her with his life if necessary. Becoming vital because she was so vital to him now. He was in love with Samantha.
And where is that going to get you, Hawke? Because choosing private investigation over ranching just to win her is not fair to either of you. If it’s not an honest choice, then both of you lose in the end.
But it didn’t have to be that way. Did it? Hell, no. There had to be a solution. If she felt anything like what he was feeling, they ought to be able to sort it out. It was time to find out.
Drawing up his legs, he hunched forward with his arms braced on his spread knees. “Samantha, we have to talk.” He’d meant to be gentle about it, yet somehow his voice came out harsh.
His abruptness startled her. The brush in her hand froze in midair. She stared at him for a moment before asking simply, “About?”
“Us. This thing between us. It isn’t going to go away. We have to deal with it.”
She lowered the hairbrush and laid it in her lap. “I’m listening,” she said quietly. But there was a sudden wariness in her soft brown eyes.
“What happened that night in the canyon meant something. For both of us, I’d say. And we should have talked about it then, but we didn’t. I don’t know, maybe the idea of us was something we both needed to get used to. Only now, with the cattle drive winding down, the time is running out. So what happens to us after Alamo Junction?”
That wary look had now become an expression approaching fear. “Are you saying—” She paused to run the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, an action that made him ache. “What are you saying, Roark?”
This wasn’t easy for him, either. He struggled with it. “It’s tearing us up inside, isn’t it, Samantha? What we feel for each other is tearing us up.”
“I don’t know what I feel for you,” she said evasively.
“Damn it, I think you do.” Removing his hat and tossing it to the ground, he plowed a hand through his hair and leaned toward her earnestly. “I think we both know, like it or not, that we’ve fallen in love with each other. And if we haven’t, we’re a long way down the road to it.”
Her fear had become outright panic now. “I can’t do this,” she said, looking as if she was ready to bolt.
But Roark wouldn’t let her run away. “Why?” he demanded.
“You know why.” She caught the lobe of her right ear between her fingers and began tugging at it furiously.
“I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me you don’t love me.”
“I can’t be in love with you. I won’t be. Not with a man who’s ready to throw everything away to bury himself on a ranch with cattle and horses. And you are, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
“Not with another cowboy,” she said, the alarm growing in her voice.
“Hank Barrie,” he said, unable to help his sudden anger. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? What it’s been about all along, your hatred of your grandfather and everything connected with his world, the suffering you’ve lived with since Barrie’s death.”
“I thought you understood. I thought when I told you everything that night—”
“Oh, I understand all right.” There was hurt in her eyes, but Roark didn’t let that stop him. He had been holding back long enough. It was time she learned the truth about her Hank Barrie. “It’s you who doesn’t understand, Samantha. Who needs to hear she’s been grieving for a man who wasn’t entitled to her grief.”
“You don’t know—”
“What? That the guy was a bastard who never deserved you? Because he was, Samantha. That’s right, your Hank Barrie was no stranger to me. Why should that surprise you? The rodeo circuit is a pretty tight scene. And if you’re any part of that scene, even for a few months like I was, then sooner or later you encounter everyone else related to it. As I did, in a Wyoming bar the night before he died.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, begging him not to go on.
Roark ignored her plea, his anger fueled by Samantha’s image of her pure and innocent young cowboy. A lie that had been gnawing at him ever since their night in the canyon.
“Your Barrie was a lesson to me, Samantha. I saw what could happen to a man’s ego after he won a few purses. The glory went right to his head. He was wallowing in it, swaggering over the attention all the rodeo groupies were lavishing on him. He had a redhead with him. His latest girl, they said, laughing because he had slept with all of them and boasted about it. You didn’t know about that, did you, Samantha? You didn’t know about all the drinking, either.”
“It isn’t true.”
“Yeah, it is true. It was the drinking that cost him his life the next day in that competition. He died because he was no longer sure and steady. That was your Hank Barrie, Samantha. A drunk and a lecher who cheated on you. How many years have you been mourning him and blaming your grandfather—and all he stood for—for taking him away from you?”
Samantha was silent, staring at him with a stricken expression on her face. It was only then that Roark realized what he had done. And hated himself for it. He had wounded her. Wounded her cruelly by robbing her of the memory of a sweet and gentle lover. It didn’t matter the man who was the focus of that memory had never really existed in this form, had in fact betrayed her without remorse. And though she might accept the reality of Hank Barrie now, she would never forgive Roark for confronting her with it.
He had risked a gamble and failed. Samantha could never be his, and he would have to live with that loss for the rest of his life.
IT WAS AFTER SUNDOWN before the outfit learned of the decision about Shep’s death. Sheriff Wilkins sent one of his young deputies to their camp, an indication in itself that his office entertained no serious suspicions.
“Alcohol,” the deputy informed them. “Medical examiner detected a high enough level in his bloodstream to determine that, in his opinion, the cause of death was an accident. No evidence of any injury other than the result of his fall into the canyon. There’ll be the formality of a coroner’s inquest sometime in the near future, but until then—”
“That mean we’re free to go?” Cappy barked.
“No reason to detain you, not when you’ve got those cattle to move.”
“What about this here inquest?”
“It probably won’t be necessary for any of you to appear, but you should be available if you’re called. I’ll need addresses from all of you. Oh, and we should settle on arrangements for the body to be shipped back to Texas.”
He wrote their addresses in his notebook and never seemed aware that one of their company was missing. Anxious to be underway again, none of them mentioned Ernie Chacon’s absence.
The deputy took Roark aside. “Police photographer asked me to give you this,” he said, handing Roark an envelope. “I don’t know what’s inside, and I don’t want to know.”
Which meant, Roark thought, that Sheriff Wilkins wouldn’t have approved of this action. He accepted the photographs, hoping that when he had a chance to s
tudy them, they would offer him some truth about Shep’s death. He and Samantha had revisited the scene this afternoon before their quarrel, and although he had searched the area carefully, he’d found nothing. All he could do now was move on with the cattle while making every effort to protect Samantha.
And that, he knew, meant keeping her at his side, which wasn’t going to be easy considering how she felt about him now. Because, although physically she’d continued throughout the afternoon to stay as close to him as he had earlier commanded, emotionally she was as far away from him as it was possible to get.
Lost in his black mood, it took Roark a moment to realize that the others were gathered around and gazing at him expectantly. They were looking for direction from him, just as they had this morning. The outfit clearly regarded him as their new trail boss. Roark accepted this, realizing that safeguarding Samantha might be easier if he was in control. It was time to get practical.
“If any of you have decided you’ve had enough, now is the time to say it.”
Cappy sniffed in disdain. “And do what? Just walk away and abandon the cows?”
The others were silent, but none of them indicated a desire to quit the drive.
“This isn’t going to be easy, folks,” Roark cautioned them. “We’re two men short, we have to reach those stock cars the day after tomorrow, and we have another rough stretch of country between here and Alamo Junction.” He had already ascertained this from having consulted the maps and detailed notes Shep had left behind. “But I think if we push hard enough, we can still make that deadline.”
No one raised an objection.
“Good. Then in the morning at first light we move longhorns.”
When he and Samantha were alone again, Roark snatched a few moments to look at the photos the police photographer had shot. None of them produced a result. He wasn’t giving up. He would study them more carefully when he had better light and more time.
He and Samantha turned in early that night along with the others who anticipated tomorrow’s challenges. But sleep eluded him. Among all his concerns, Samantha chief among them, was a nagging uneasiness about the ravine back at the Walking W.