The Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, P. J. Mellor, Nelissa Donovan

  “What took you so long?” came a booming voice, and Cassie shifted to view a good-looking, dark-haired woman, her face painfully flushed. “We were told all this would be monitored and controlled! It’s been nearly a month, and the only ‘experts’ available have been the coalition members, and nothing’s been done!”

  Cassie forced her expression and voice to stay neutral. “I’m sorry. That’s something I’m here to determine as well. We will get to bottom of the situation and figure out what needs to be done. You have my word.”

  The woman’s gaze never wavered, but Cassie detected a hint of curiosity and maybe hope. “And how do you intend to do that?” the woman asked.

  “I need to get input from those who have experienced the depredations,” Cassie said loudly. Voices rose in unison, and Cassie raised a hand. “Individually. Once I’ve had a chance to speak to the sheriff and look at reports, I’ll be contacting the parties involved so we can—”

  “So you’re saying more time can go by, and more mutilations can happen, while you chat up the locals?”

  Cassie faced Dean McCabe, her stomach forming a new knot at the ringing timbre of his voice. “Mr. McCabe, I understand this is an urgent matter. I also understand the correct way to assess this situation so that a decision can be made expediently. It’s what I do.”

  Dean moved in closer, but Cassie stayed put. She was forced to bend her head back to meet his brilliant amber gaze. “I suggest that whatever you ‘do,’ sugar, you do it fast, or the consequences won’t be healthy for anyone here in Granite Hollow.”

  “That’s Ms. Darling to you, not ‘sugar,’” Cassie said, matching Dean’s low voice. Blood rushed to her face, and she cursed herself for being affected either way by the rough cowboy’s presence or his inflammatory words. “And thank you for that, Mr. McCabe. I’ll take that into consideration.”

  She turned, nodded again to those present, and walked out, her entire body burning with irritation and something else. Something Cassie didn’t want to think about. Couldn’t think about. Not now. Not here. And definitely not with Dean McCabe.

  Sunday had been a bad day all around, and the following week hadn’t gotten much better. Dean had done his damnedest to stay out of town and away from Miss Cassandra Darling and from Jake. Damn, but the woman had looked just as good under the bad fluorescent lighting in the meeting hall as she had half in shadow on the Flanagans’ porch.

  Dean slammed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it before he strode across the lawn toward the stables.

  Christ. That was all he needed, to get cross-eyed horny over a government bombshell sent to decide the future of Granite Hollow and possibly even his ranch. Without Jake around, things had been tougher, the days longer, and the nights bone-deep quiet.

  Except for the howls.

  The yips and long-winded yowls weaved into the encroaching darkness each night like the whispers of the trees, the hoots of the owls, and the rush of the stream nearby. Part and parcel. Jake’s exact words. The wolves were part and parcel of Granite Hollow. They belonged to the land, and the land belonged to them.

  Dean grunted and tried to push his thoughts in another direction, but it was no good. The smell of fresh hay and honeysuckle filled the air around him, and Dean remembered that Agent Darling had smelled pretty damn good, too. Carla and Floyd and his neighbor Ted had kept Dean in the loop about Cassie’s agenda in town. So far she seemed pretty fair-minded, but Dean would reserve judgment until she actually concluded her findings and made a recommendation. At least there had been no more killings. Dean knew people were set on taking their own measures against the wolves, and while Dean had every intention of protecting his livestock, he wasn’t bent on hunting down the wolves. The media would have a field day if someone actually managed to take one out, which was the last thing Granite Hollow—and his ranch—needed.

  The Rocking T’s reputation was everything. If word got around that wolves were a threat, it could be just the wild card to make certain people decide to take their prized mares elsewhere. Even so, he was less worried about his spread than he was about his neighbors’, whose operations were considerably smaller. It would take only one bad season for some of them to pack it in.

  Trying to spin his thoughts in a different direction, Dean saddled Romulus and headed out to locate the herd of rescued mustangs that roamed the Rocking T. It was time to round them up for culling and branding, and he needed to get a head count.

  As the hours ticked by, Dean’s thoughts kept wandering back to the cool blonde and then on to his brother Jake. Normally his younger brother would be riding next to him on a day like today, yakking up a storm about this idea or that opportunity until Dean wanted to shove a rag in his mouth. Funny, but now the silence stretched like the icy grip of January—cold and seemingly never-ending in its gray dullness.

  “Whoa,” Dean said softly, pulling back on the stallion’s reins and looking skyward. The lake-blue skies were bisected by only a few passing clouds—and something else. Dean watched the dark, lazy circles of the turkey vultures for a few minutes, judging direction and distance before urging Romulus into a gallop.

  Ten minutes later, Dean slowed the stallion to a trot and then to a walk as they drew closer. He noted recent signs of the mustang herd in the grassy meadow, and his stomach churned. As he crested the ridge, the meadow rolled out below him, and in the center of the field the vultures fed.

  “Yah!” Dean spurred Romulus down the small hill toward the horde of black, sending them lumbering and careening skyward at his approach.

  He reined the stallion to a halt, swung his leg over Romulus’s wide flanks, and dismounted. The grassy ground had been flattened and torn up by the struggle, and the flies had already descended on the bloody kill. “Shit,” Dean said, recognizing the old paint mare—a mustang his father had purchased nearly thirteen years ago at auction. She was one of the oldest in the herd. He knelt, placing his bandanna over his mouth as he leaned in for a closer look. The belly had been ripped open and the legs gnawed on, but the majority of the flank, shoulders, and head was still intact. An experienced tracker, Dean began to scan the surrounding field until he found what he’d been looking for—tracks. Several of them. And they weren’t mountain lion, bear, or badger.

  “Goddamn,” he growled as he stared into the ponderosas that lined the clearing and then up at the granite peaks that speared the achy blue skies behind them.

  4

  “T he evidence strongly suggests that the wolves have been involved in these depredations, Mr. Alistair.”

  “Simon, please, Cassandra. We’re all on first-name terms here.”

  Cassie didn’t return the coalition field-operations manager’s tight smile. “What I don’t understand, Simon, is why you haven’t been able to track the wolves involved?” Cassie looked pointedly at the six members of the coalition staff that crowded the living room of the five-bedroom cabin they’d rented for the duration of their study.

  Most gazes slipped away from Cassie’s, except for Simon’s. He was quiet for a moment and then said, “How much time have you spent in the field, Cassandra?”

  Cassie sat back in the chair and forced her irritation into the background, ignoring his challenge. “You do realize that if we can’t distinguish which ones are doing the depredations, they will all be removed?”

  Simon Alistair leaned forward on the desk, his expression unreadable. “Is that going to be your official finding? Will you be recommending relocation?”

  Cassie’s gaze didn’t waver, but she did wait before answering. She didn’t want to tell him it probably would be her official finding as she still had evidence to comb through and more people to interview, and there was something disconcerting about Simon’s emotionless attitude. But she supposed a calm leader was better than a half-crazed one.

  “I can’t answer that now, Simon,” Cassie finally said. “I have more research to do, which includes spending a day with your field ops to observe the pack and their habi
ts. I would like to do that tomorrow.”

  A scrape of a chair pulled Cassie’s attention to the back of the room, where a young man stood. “I can take you out, ma’am.”

  Cassie realized it was the handsome sandy-blond young man who had faced off with Dean McCabe earlier in the week. “And you are Mr….?”

  “Just Jake, ma’am.”

  “All right, Just Jake.” She grinned. “But only if you stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ Makes me feel like my grandmother.”

  His face reddened, but he smiled, and Cassie’s breath caught at the stunning quality it brought to his serious but handsome features. Jake took off his hat. “We’ll go out early on horseback. You should know we haven’t been getting signals near town, which is why these killings don’t make sense. I can’t figure why they would be killing for sport. There’s plenty of natural game on the mountain.”

  Cassie returned his smile, admiring Jake’s passion, and remembering that same fire in herself when she had first started working closely with the release programs three years ago. While her passion for the majestic animals had never faded, the reality of what it took to try to reintroduce a native predatory species into the now “civilized” world quickly tempered that blind ardor. “It’s not unheard of. Sometimes an animal will develop a lust for the killing. And as far as not having picked up signals near town, it could be that one or more of the collars are defective or giving off weak signals. It’s something that needs to be checked.”

  Cassie steadied her gaze back at Simon Alistair. “We have to do everything we can to get this situation under control. It’s vital to all the release programs that we maintain impeccable relations with the communities and that they follow the letter of the law exactly. If we cut corners or err on the side of the wolves at the expense of the community, we put all of the current programs and future programs at risk.”

  Simon’s iron expression never wavered. “Of course, we understand that, Miss Darling.”

  Cassie smiled. “Do you, Mr. Alistair?”

  He didn’t answer, and Cassie stood, knowing she’d outworn her welcome. She almost felt sorry for the man, but stubborn ignorance in something as important as this wasn’t acceptable. There were lives at stake, those of the wolves and those of the domesticated animals and the livelihoods of the people in this town.

  She turned back to Jake. “It was nice to meet you, Jake. The coalition is lucky to have someone with your dedication and passion assisting them.”

  The young cowboy moved to the door with her, his boots clunking on the hardwood floor. “I would like to walk you out, if that’s okay.”

  “Certainly,” Cassie said, curious despite her vow to remain as detached from the coalition members as she could prior to her official determination. But this young man intrigued her.

  Once the door closed behind her, Cassie felt the tension lift from her shoulders, and she walked with ease to her car, with Jake mirroring her steps. “Was there something you wanted to say to me in private, Jake?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Cassie studied his handsome face and was again struck with the knowledge that he looked familiar. His green eyes were shadowed with concern and something else—maybe a little trepidation.

  “I don’t suppose I should be asking you this, but you seem like the type of person who might be able to talk sense into someone.”

  Cassie’s curiosity flared even greater. “Whatever you say to me in confidence, Jake, will stay confidential.”

  He ran a hand through his collar-length hair before looking up, his gaze somber. “There’s talk that certain people are taking things into their own hands and hunting the wolves. They intend to shoot on sight, and I know them all well enough to tell you they mean it.” He held up a hand before she could respond. “They’re good folks. I’ve known them my whole life, but they’re scared, Miss Darling. Scared for their animals, their livelihood, and even for their children’s safety. I’ve tried to talk to them, but they won’t listen.” He glanced over his shoulder at the coalition headquarters. “Not anymore. But there’s someone they will listen to, if he would speak up.”

  “What makes you think this person will be influenced by me?”

  The corners of Jake’s eyes crinkled, and he smiled. “Because he respects tough, knowledgeable people, and that’s exactly what you are, Cassie.”

  Cassie started at the familiar use of her name, but she didn’t take offense by it. Quite the opposite. She felt comfortable with this man. As if she’d known him forever. It was a strange feeling. “All right. Who is this person?”

  “Dean McCabe. My older brother and owner of the Rocking T.”

  As Cassie checked her hair in the car visor mirror, she thought back on the day’s events, particularly her conversation with Jake McCabe. Against her better judgment, Cassie had accepted Jake’s invitation for an early dinner, and over fried chicken and mashed potatoes, she had ended up telling him things about herself she probably shouldn’t have. And Jake had been more than willing to disgorge his own history. She learned that Dean had raised Jake from the time of their mother’s death, when Jake was nine and Dean twenty. Apparently their father had been scarce before their mother died, and afterward stopped coming around altogether. Or, Dean had convinced him not to come around…. Jake didn’t sound too sure which way it had played out.

  Cassie couldn’t help but think Jake might have been the lucky one by not having his father around. Too bad she couldn’t say the same.

  He’d also told Cassie that Dean had been running the ranch pretty much on his own since that time, and Cassie couldn’t help a grudging amount of respect begin to color her initial opinion of Dean McCabe. It was a pretty amazing accomplishment for a twenty-year-old to raise his younger brother by himself and manage a successful horse ranch.

  Cassie smiled and flipped the visor back up. She looked out the window at the quiet, one-story, sprawling ranch home and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s not going to get any easier five minutes from now.”

  When she’d agreed to speak to Dean, Cassie had thought it wouldn’t be such a difficult thing, but now it was all she could do not to run in the opposite direction and pretend she and Jake had never had that discussion. Late afternoon was already winding down, and Cassie wanted to get it over with and get back into town before the pitch black of Granite Hollow settled in like velvet drapes.

  “Quit being such a wuss, Cass,” she said under her breath as she walked toward the front steps. Jake had assured her that Dean would be a perfect gentleman, if a little brash, and that he wasn’t prone to shooting people.

  Cassie wiped sweaty palms on her skirt before she knocked. As her fist connected, the dark wood eased inward, throwing Cassie off balance. She caught the edge of the door and steadied herself, her eyes blinking to adjust to the change in light. “Uh, hello? Mr. McCabe?”

  No answer. Cassie backed out and rapped loudly on the wood, clearing her throat at the same time. “Mr. McCabe?”

  Nothing.

  Cassie frowned. She imagined people probably left their doors unlocked in Granite Hollow, but it seemed odd that they would leave them wide open as well. As a niggling of concern filled her abdomen, Cassie stepped inside.

  A brass table lamp shone brightly on a side table, and Cassie couldn’t help but glance at the photos scattered around the large but comfortable-looking great room. A large pine-framed photo caught her eye near the door, and she picked it up for a closer look. A petite black-haired woman with an enormous smile filled the picture. She was holding a baby in one arm, her other wrapped around a tall, thin boy of about ten or eleven. Even at that young age, Cassie was struck by the brilliant amber gaze and warm, slightly devilish smile.

  Dean. He looked so happy, so comfortable with his mother and baby brother. So proud.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Cassie shrieked and nearly dropped the picture as she spun around. “Dean?”

  “Who in the hell else would it
be? Last time I checked, this was my house.”

  Every line in Dean’s granite-hard body was stretched tight, and his golden eyes seemed to flicker with barely controlled rage as he filled the doorway. Cassie was quick to set the photo back down and face him squarely, her heart thrumming in her throat. “I came to see you, and the door was open—”

  “So that gives you the right to come inside and snoop?” He stepped closer, and Cassie was forced to step back.

  Heat filled her face, but Cassie refused to look down. “Of course not. It’s not like that.”

  Another step and Cassie found her back touching the wall and Dean blocking everything in front of her. Heat from his body filled the narrow space between them, and Cassie felt a sliver of desire curl inside her abdomen.

  A sun-browned hand slapped the wall on one side of her head, followed by the other, and Cassie stared up in shock as Dean’s head lowered until their faces were only inches apart. “What is it like, then, Cassandra?”

  Cassie focused on Dean’s full lips and tried to remember why she was there. The entire situation was ludicrous, surreal, and she was certain she must be dreaming.

  His breath blew warm across her cheek as he settled in closer. “Well?” he growled.

  Cassie pressed her fingers into her palms, her head floaty. “I—I thought you might be home and…are you going to kiss me?”

  Dean smiled, and Cassandra’s nipples tightened under his smoldering gaze.

  “What would you do if I did?”

  Cassie shivered and forced her gaze off his lips and back to his eyes. “Depends.”

  Dean raised dark brows. “On?”

  “How hot the kiss makes me. I’m not known for my self-control when it comes to men who can kiss like gods and fuck like stallions. Are you one of those men, Dean McCabe?”