by Jillian Hart
“Why am I not surprised?” This was premeditated, well planned, and theirs wasn’t the only ranch hit. Good thing Dad had taken down the chopper. “Are we safe here?”
“Don’t know. Let’s get the cattle behind a working fence and worry about it later.” Justin flanked the herd on one side, leaving her the other.
“C’mon, girl.” She could feel Bella eager to go, and they took the near side, gathering the herd toward the downed fence. They made short work of it, moving together in rhythm, familiar and at ease. When she spotted three Parnell steers trying to break free, she brushed her heels against Bella’s side and they neatly drove the animals back to the herd. A job well done. Justin dismounted and worked the downed wire while she held the curious cattle in the field.
“Someone cut this,” Justin called over his shoulder, hauling up a fence post and ramming it back into its mooring. “They were going to drive the combined herds down the boundary road and into trucks.”
“We caught them in time.” She would have felt relieved, but the back of her neck tingled. They weren’t alone. As if Bella felt it, too, the mare stiffened. Her head went up and her ears swiveled as she scented the wind. The horse was telling her someone was out there. Autumn hefted her rifle, safety off. She sighted north, searching the rolling fields through her scope. “Justin? We’ve got company.”
“I hope it’s not the rustlers. We are seriously out-gunned.” Justin tightened a wire, raised his rifle and peered through his scope. It took him a beat to survey his side of the ridge. “It’s Dad and some stranger.”
“What stranger?” Alarm settled into the pit of her stomach. She followed the rise of the ridge with her rifle until she saw Dad astride Rogue clear as a bell through the scope. She recognized the man following him. Ford Sherman, riding one of their horses and looking confident and as sure as any western sheriff. Trouble was definitely on the way.
Chapter Four
Ford saw next to nothing in the dark except for a few feet ahead of him. What he could see disappeared in a fast drop. A looming cloud cover obscured all of the stars. He could make out a hint of the hillside cascading downward into an abyss. At the bottom of that abyss, Autumn Granger gazed up at him open-jawed. Looked like the last thing she would ever figure was to see him riding and not falling off a horse.
Half-hidden in the night and graced by shadows, she was breathtaking. He took in the sight of her bareback astride an unbridled palomino, both woman and horse luminous in the night. Autumn wore no hat, and her long unbound hair tangled in the breeze. She looked powerful and free and impossibly sweet, holding that rifle at half-mast. He wondered if she saw him as a city boy now, and pretty much hoped he’d gone up a notch in her estimation.
Gunfire spit through the air and made his mount dance. Ford kept his seat, squeezed slightly with his knees and spoke gently to calm the fine quarter horse he was riding. No stranger to gunfire, he lifted the rifle and carefully sighted and searched the dark line of the hill rising slowly to the north. He couldn’t see much with the cloud cover moving in, but he had range, so he squeezed the trigger, pretty sure where the shot had originated. The Winchester kicked hard against his shoulder, but the distant spit of rock fragmenting and a faint, pained curse told him he’d hit true.
“Good shot, Sheriff,” Granger told him. “You’ll do.”
“Glad to hear it.” The echo of gunfire faded, and there was no mistaking the scatter of footsteps. Shadows slipped from behind boulders and trees heading for the fence line. “Looks like I flushed them out.”
“Let’s try to round ’em up. We’ve got some hard riding ahead, so hang on.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Granger led the way down the ridge, plunging into the dark like some fearless rodeo stuntman.
You can do this, cowboy. He took a breath and tightened his grasp on the horse’s mane, and off they went. It had been a long time since he’d been on horseback, but some things a man didn’t forget. The symmetry of an animal’s gait, the ripple of muscle and the swing of a horse’s walk were unlike anything else. Without stirrups, he gripped his knees forward and leaned back to fight gravity on the steep slope. He didn’t take his gaze from the fleeing shadows far ahead. Autumn rode into sight, chilling his blood. Did the woman know she was riding straight into danger?
Something cool brushed his cheek. Snow? He didn’t have time to do more than wonder. His horse leaped the last few feet to the valley floor and broke into a smooth, flawless gallop. He was trailing the others. Without a word between them, the family circled the area like the ranchers they were, looking to round up stray cattle. Autumn was in the lead. She stayed left, flanking the area, thinking to cut them off at the section property line. He remembered the rugged dirt lane cutting through the fields, where he’d first met Autumn. Now it was the rustlers’ means of escape.
Ignoring the faint beats of the county helicopter and the patter of more snowflakes against his face, he raised his rifle to scope the land. It was tricky because of the horse’s constant motion. Something gleamed darkly ahead. He recognized the barrel of a semiautomatic. Adrenaline spiked, clearing his senses. Because of the lay of the land, Autumn couldn’t spot the danger, but he could. The rustler he’d downed was prone on the ground, providing cover for his buddies, who were running as fast as they could for the tree-lined river. Ford took careful aim. Lord, don’t let me miss.
“Autumn!” Granger’s call of warning split the night.
Ford squeezed, and his shot fired in unison with Granger’s. An eternity passed in a millisecond while he waited with fierce red rage beating through him. Finally the gun flew out of the rustler’s hands and he toppled backward, winged. The helicopter beat more loudly, visible through the newly falling snow, lights flashing. The horse beneath him didn’t shy from the distraction but reached out, eating ground, gaining altitude on the hillside. He felt rather than heard his cell ring. He hated to lower the rifle, but he fished the phone out of his pocket.
“We’ve spotted cattle haulers parked about two miles away. They’re heading out.” The south-boundary sheriff bit out the information like an order. “Visibility is falling. We’ll do our best to track ’em down. Can you handle the ground pursuit?”
“Ten-four.” He pocketed his phone. The horse skidded to a stop, sod flying from beneath steeled hooves. The suspect he’d hit had vanished. Granger knelt on the ground.
“I’ve got one set of tracks.” He sounded more than angry. Frank Granger was a big man, and he looked like the abominable snowman, flecked with white, bristling with outrage. When his daughter rode close, the fury was tempered with affection.
A close family, that was plain to see, and Ford understood. He’d grown up in one, too.
“We’ve got three men on foot.” Ford dismounted, casting around for signs of another set of boots in the snow. “They’ve split up. I’ll take this one.”
“The sheriff and I will follow this pair.” Autumn pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket and shone it on a second set of tracks. “Dad, will you be all right alone?”
“Be careful” was Granger’s only answer. Already he was riding his horse fast around a copse of cottonwoods, lost in the night and storm.
“Nice of you to ride along with me.” Ford mounted up and signaled his horse with his heels.
“Least I could do. You don’t know the lay of the land.” As if that were her only reason, she didn’t look at him while she drew her mare to an abrupt stop at the crest of the hill. “The snow is coming down fast. We’re going to lose them.”
“The trail’s gone.” The snow fell faster, feathery wisps coating the high mountain plains with an iridescent glow. He could see the gleaming bare branches of the cottonwoods, the long stretch of a pasture, a huge milling herd of cattle, which were dark splotches against the pearled rangeland. A platinum gleam of a river wound through it all. No sign of anyone else in this vast open landscape.
“They’re heading for the river.” Without
chopper or trucks, there was no other quick escape. “This is your land. If you were him, what trail would you take?”
“This way.” She plunged her horse down the black side of the slope, disappearing from his sight. The wind whipped her hair, making her appear fearless in the night. She left him with a sense of wonder as he followed her lead through the dark. Although he couldn’t see her, he could sense her—the plod of a horse’s hooves ahead, the faint hint of her silhouette, the curve of her shadowed arm as she cradled a rifle. She was magnificent, and his heart noticed.
Hard to deny the way his pulse sped up and slowed down at the same time. Ford swiped snowflakes off his face with his coat sleeve. When he should have been scanning for any sign of the rustlers, his gaze returned to her. Autumn rode out of the shadow of the hillside, as mighty as a Western myth, as beautiful as the snow falling.
“I see something!” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “Maybe we’ll catch the varmint—”
“I see him.” How he noticed anything aside from her was a total and complete mystery, but a faint black blur at the corner of his vision drew his attention. He whirled toward the suspect, pressing his knees tighter against the horse’s side. The animal responded, leaping into a fast canter. He leaned low, ignored the slap of mane against his face, adrenaline spiking again. Snow closed in, falling furiously, cutting off the world and the image of a man leaping off the riverbank in a swift dive. Gone. By the time Ford reached the steep ledge, the boot prints were filling and whiteout conditions closed in. Disappointment gripped his gut, bitter and harsh. Breathing hard, he hauled his phone from his pocket, but it wouldn’t connect. He checked the screen. No bars.
“The helicopter wouldn’t help, anyway.” Autumn slid off her horse and joined him on the bank. “That’s a swift current.”
“Maybe I can still catch him.” He fumbled with his zipper and gave it a tug. Cool air hit him in the chest. He shivered with cold although he couldn’t feel it. His senses were heightened. The gurgling rush of the swift, deep river hid sounds of a swimmer, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“Ford.” A soft, mittened hand landed on his own. Her voice drew him and calmed the beat of adrenaline charging through him. Time slowed, the world stopped turning and, in the odd gray light of a night’s snowfall, she gazed up at him with caring. “Let him go. Your life isn’t worth risking over him.”
“He tried to shoot at you.” He could have shot at you, is what he didn’t say. He could have hit you, even killed you. The words wadded in his throat like a ball of paper and refused to move. He couldn’t speak for a moment, but he could pray. Thank You, Lord, for that piece of grace.
“I’m fine, thanks to you and Dad.” Her hand remained on his in silent understanding. “That was some pretty fine shooting. You’re not bad for a city boy.”
“A compliment? That’s a surprise.”
“Don’t I know it. No one is more stunned than me.”
“Still think I’m not too ugly?”
“We’re talking of your sheriff skills, Sherman, not your other qualities.”
The sweet warmth of her alto wrapped around him like a cloak, keeping the cold at bay. For the first time in years he didn’t feel alone. It was hard to tell in the storm, but he thought he saw a twinkle in her deep hazel eyes. Teasing him when she meant something more serious.
He knew teasing was easier. He avoided serious whenever he could. He’d gotten enough of it in his line of work to last him a lifetime. “You’re welcome,” he choked, finally able to get out the words. “Now you owe me.”
“Me? I owe you?” She tossed her head, sending snowflakes flying off her silken curls, bracing her feet like a gunfighter ready to draw. “We don’t know if it was your bullet that winged him or my dad’s. I’m sure it wasn’t yours. You aren’t used to shooting off the back of a horse.”
“How do you know that? Because I’m a city boy?”
“You’ve got skills. I want to deny it, but I can’t.” She drew away, reaching for her horse and leaving an imprint on his hand that cooled without her near. She hopped onto her horse, hefted her rifle into the crook of her arm and swiped at the snow clinging to her face. “I haven’t heard any shots, so that must mean Dad and Justin didn’t run into trouble, either.”
“As long as they’re safe.” He braced one palm on the gelding’s warm back, grabbed a handful of mane and hopped up. Snow had closed in, and all he could see of the river was a faint shadow. “I’m going to ride the riverbank for a spell. That water’s cold. No one can stay in there for long.”
“You’re a stubborn man, aren’t you?”
“I prefer to call it determined.” He gritted his teeth against the cold, ignoring the vicious bite of the wind as he faced into it. “A little storm isn’t going to stop me.”
“Then I’d best come with you.” She whirled her mount away from home, coming closer, and a ghost of a smile curved her soft lips. Had he noticed before how pretty her mouth was? It looked like summer itself, always smiling. Undaunted by the storm, she gave her mare’s neck an encouraging pat. “It’s been a while since Bella and I had an adventure. Besides, it’s not as if I can leave you out here on your own, city boy.”
“Maybe I’m not as much of a city boy as you think.” It was his turn to make her wonder about him. As he pressed his horse into a fast walk, leaving her to follow, he felt her curious gaze on his back. Was she as interested in him as he was in her? It was going to be fun finding out.
Clearly, she had misjudged Sheriff Ford Sherman. Autumn could admit when she was wrong. He rode Lightning as if he belonged on the back of the dappled gray quarter horse, sitting tall and straight and in command. Although the storm and the night fought to hide him from her, she caught glimpses of him on the trail ahead of her—the straight line of his back, the cut of his profile and the dark glint of the rifle he carried.
So, what was the man’s story? Did she really want to know? Judging by the kick of her pulse, maybe not. Perhaps it was better to stay in the dark, to let her curiosity about him go unanswered. Maybe it would die a quiet death and she could bury her interest in the man right along with it. The wind changed, gusting hard against her face, and she ducked against the slap of snow. Thunder cracked overhead.
“Time to head in, Sheriff.” She cupped her half-numb hands to shout into the gale. “Thunder means lightning. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not get hit by it.”
“Hey, I’m up for new experiences.”
She couldn’t see his grin, but she could hear it. She didn’t want to like him, but she did. He had a good sense of humor and an inner grit she never would have guessed at.
“I just wish we could have found them.” The veil of snow parted just enough to give a glimpse of the man gazing in the direction of the rolling river, wistful, nail-tough, not wanting to give up the chase. “They couldn’t have lasted in that river long. Not with ice forming along the banks. They would have to get out, and if they did they wouldn’t be moving fast.”
“It runs off our land and to a county road. My guess is they climbed out at the bridge and it’s too late to catch them. Time to give up the chase, Sheriff.” She didn’t know why she reached out, but when her hand found the hard plane of his forearm the bite of the arctic cold vanished, the rush of the wind silenced and the night shadows ebbed. “It’s getting too cold for Bella.”
“Then we head in.” He didn’t move away. The moment stretched as if time itself had ceased moving forward and no snow fell. “I know it’s a lost cause hunting anything in this storm, but I had to try. Now I’ve got only one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know the way home? Because I don’t.”
“Follow me.” She urged Bella around with a touch of her heel. The cold returned with knife-sharpness, and the snow stung her face as the wind beat her with a boxer’s punch. Time kick-started, and she lost Ford in the sudden swirl of the storm.
“Whew. Can’t believe it’s gettin
g worse.” He eased up alongside her, sticking close. “Let me guess. It always snows like this here. It’s something else the mayor didn’t tell me when I agreed to take this job.”
“I’m tempted to say yes, but that would be too cruel.” They left the river bank behind and headed into the dark night. “We can get weather like this, but not often.”
“I don’t remember this in the local forecast.”
“It wasn’t. The local news comes out of Jackson, so it’s not always accurate for us. This morning Dad said a big storm was coming, so he and Justin cancelled their trip to Casper.”
“Your dad’s a pretty good weatherman.”
“A good rancher has to be. You get to learn the way the air and winds feel before a big storm. Dad is especially good at it.” Her teeth should have been chattering from the cold, but the brunt of the wind didn’t hit her because Ford rode at her right side and blocked it. Had he done that on purpose? She listened to another peal of thunder. Sounded as if it was moving farther to the southeast. Good news. “So, are you going to fess up?”
“About what?”
“About where you learned to ride and shoot like that.” He wasn’t as good as her dad, but he was close, and not many men could say that. She didn’t want to respect him, but she couldn’t help it. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“I could, but it would make a better story over dinner. Maybe Friday next week?” Although she couldn’t see more than a hint of his silhouette, she knew he was smiling. She just knew it.
“Will you ever stop?” She was not about to fall victim to his charm.
“Not until you say yes.” The thing is, he didn’t sound charming in that flattering way insincere men did. Without her prior assumptions about him, he came across as an honest, solid guy. He lowered his voice a note and drew his horse closer. “Here’s a warning. I can be persistent.”
“Then I would be smart to keep you at arm’s length, wouldn’t I?” Tempting not to. Very tempting.