“Oh, man. What a mess,” Sam muttered.
“Luke had nothing to do with the theft of those VX mines,” Bay said certainly.
“That crazy idiot. I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Sam said.
“You can’t think he’s involved!” Bay protested.
Sam rubbed his forehead. “No. I guess not.” He looked at Bay and said, “But he’s been gone a lot lately. Last night’s not the first time he hasn’t slept in his own bed. He messes it up so it looks like he slept in it, so you and Mom won’t worry about him.”
Bay saw the tightening around her mother’s eyes and mouth that revealed she wasn’t as calm inside as she appeared on the outside.
Her mother had worked in the house during the years of her marriage, so the harsh Texas sun hadn’t gotten to her complexion. She didn’t wear makeup, but she didn’t need it. Her figure was trim, almost girlish. The fine lines around her wide-set hazel eyes were the only sign that she’d endured fifty-one years of ranch life.
“What did Luke say when he called you?” her mother asked.
“I didn’t hear it all,” Bay admitted. “But I know he’s convinced Clay Blackthorne is involved in the theft of those VX mines.”
Her mother hissed in a breath of air.
“Even I find that hard to believe,” Sam admitted.
“I went up to the Castle to see Owen Blackthorne—”
“Why the hell would you—”
“If you let me finish a sentence, I’ll tell you,” Bay snapped at her brother. “I thought he might be able to help.”
“Like he helped me into this chair?”
Bay heard the bitterness in her brother’s voice. He was never going to forgive Owen Blackthorne. He didn’t think his injury had been an accident.
“I’m going with him when he heads into the Big Bend tomorrow morning,” Bay said.
“The hell you are!” Sam said.
“Someone has to go,” she said, eyeing her brother and then letting her gaze drop to his paralyzed legs. It wasn’t playing fair, but right now she was more interested in winning her point.
“I could use a drink right now,” Sam said.
Without a word, her mother crossed and poured Sam a cup of coffee and set it down in front of him.
“How did you convince Owen to let you go along?” her mother asked.
“He hasn’t exactly agreed to take me yet,” Bay admitted. “But I’m sure he’ll come around. I told him I know where to find Luke.”
“Do you know where he is?” her mother asked.
“I wish I did! About the time Luke called, I got busy delivering the foal, and by the time I got back to the phone, the call had been disconnected. I hoped Luke might have phoned here.”
“He didn’t,” her mother said. “Where was he when he called you?”
“The pay phone at the Rio Grande Village.”
“Sam, get the number of the store from information,” her mother instructed. “It’s doubtful Luke’s still there, but maybe someone can tell us if he bought supplies and which direction he headed.”
It only took a moment to get the number and for Sam to dial it. The phone rang only once before it was answered. Sam said, “Who’s this?” and quickly hung up the phone. His eyes were bleak when he met Bay’s gaze.
“Who was it?” Bay asked.
“FBI,” Sam said. “Do you think they’ll be able to figure out who called?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Bay said, and then changed her mind. “Yeah. They can probably get hold of the phone records.”
“Do you think Luke’ll call again?” Sam asked.
“How can he?” Bay said. “His cell phone probably doesn’t work in that rugged terrain, because he didn’t use it to call me. And I doubt he’ll try to use the phone at the Village if it’s being watched by the FBI.”
“Do you think he’ll know it’s the FBI?” Sam asked.
Bay pursed her lips. “They weren’t too subtle on the phone with you, were they?”
“So what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“I’m going to the Big Bend tomorrow with Owen Blackthorne. We’ll find Luke, and I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
Bay saw the struggle her mother was having between wanting Bay to stay safe at home and knowing that Bay might be Luke’s only chance to return home alive.
Sam pounded his useless legs. “God, I hate being tied to this chair. I’d go there myself if I could.”
“Blackjack is coming here tomorrow to check on some of the two-year-old cutting horses we’re training for him,” her mother said. “Maybe he knows someone who can help us locate Luke.”
Bay exchanged glances with Sam. After their father’s death, the patriarch of the Blackthorne family had hired their mother to train cutting horses for him, which gave him an excuse to come around and check things out. “Do you really think Jackson Blackthorne would be willing to help us, Mom?”
“Despite what your father believed, the Blackthornes aren’t all ogres.”
Bay felt her heart skip a beat. Enmity for the Blackthornes had been a part of her life from the cradle. She’d never heard a good word spoken about them around this table. Her mother’s pronouncement was blasphemy in this household—or would have been if her father had still been alive.
Bay searched her mother’s eyes, uncertain what it was she sought. Had her mother made peace with Jackson Blackthorne? Could the generations-old feud simply be called off?
Even if her mother was willing to forgive and forget, Sam was not. “The Blackthornes are all sonsofbitches, every blackhearted one of them,” he said vehemently. “And Blackjack has the blackest heart of all.”
Her mother didn’t argue. She merely rose and said to Sam, “Keep your cell phone handy, in case Luke finds a way to call you,” and left the room. They heard her tread on the stair to her bedroom.
“What’s gotten into her?” Sam said irritably, once she was gone. “When did the Blackthornes become our friends?”
“I don’t like them any better than you do,” Bay said. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t have their uses. I suspect Blackjack has friends in high places who can find out things we wouldn’t be able to learn on our own.”
“I suppose Mom’ll bat her eyelashes at him, and he’ll tell her whatever she wants to know.”
Bay was irritated by the suggestion that her mother would actively flirt with Jackson Blackthorne. “The fact she’s willing to ask for information doesn’t mean there’s some kind of romance budding between them.”
Sam’s lips twisted cynically. “When was the last time you saw them together?”
Bay felt her shoulders tense. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if Eve Blackthorne wasn’t in the picture the two of them might very well end up together. And I’m not so sure it won’t happen anyway.”
Bay shoved herself out of her chair so abruptly, it scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. “Mom would never get involved with a married man. She’d have to be crazy to do something like that.”
“Crazy in love,” Sam said so softly Bay wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
“You’ll need plenty of rest if you’re going to be trudging around the Big Bend. That’s a treacherous place, Bay. Watch your step.”
Bay stopped at the kitchen doorway and turned back to her brother. “Sam.”
“What?”
“Mom …” She bit her lip, wondering if there was anything either of them could do to save their mother from the kind of hurt that would come her way if she fell in love with a married man. “Nothing,” she said at last.
“I’ll find a way to stop him from hurting her,” Sam said. “No matter what I have to do.”
Sam’s threat sounded deadly. Bay didn’t know what to say. But she couldn’t make herself warn him off. So she simply said, “Good night, Sam.”
“Watch yourself around Owen Blackthorne,” he said.
&
nbsp; “What?”
“I saw how he looked at you when he showed up at Dad’s funeral.”
Bay scoffed. “The man has absolutely no interest in me.”
“Just be careful. Whatever else you might say about those Blackthorne men, they’re charming bastards. He just might steal your heart when you aren’t looking.”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” she said. “I don’t have a heart to lose.”
Chapter 4
AS HE MADE THE TWENTY-FIVE-MILE DRIVE to Bad Billy Coburn’s ranch from the Castle the next day, Owen considered Bayleigh Creed’s ultimatum. He still chafed at the reminders of how his family had victimized hers. Hell, he hadn’t started the feud between their families. And his brother Trace had fallen in love with her sister Callie. How could you blame him for that?
Owen had done the best he could to make sure his mother paid for the murder of Bay’s father. In a fit of anger, his mother had admitted her involvement to her family. But Russell Handy, the man she’d conspired with—who was both her lover and his father’s segundo—had taken all the blame on himself, confessing his guilt to the police and refusing to name any other responsible party. Handy had been convicted of murder and was serving a life sentence in Huntsville. Nevertheless, Owen had arranged to have his mother committed to a sanitarium.
Owen had paid a higher price for his efforts than anyone knew. It hadn’t been easy pointing a finger at his own mother. And as she was led away by two burly male nurses dressed all in white, she’d let him see just how much she despised him for it.
The rough hit he’d put on Bay’s brother Sam on the football field that had left him paralyzed had been an accident. Oh, he’d been mad, all right. But he hadn’t been mad at Sam. Sam had just gotten in the way … and gotten hurt.
He’d kept a rigid control on his temper ever since. But his reflexes had been honed by his years in law enforcement, where any hesitation might cost him his life. Which was why he’d ended up with a stranglehold on the good doctor when she’d surprised him on the back porch.
Owen just wished he hadn’t ended up body to body with her. There’d been no way to control his physical response to her soft, feminine curves; that had been instinctive and instantaneous. She wasn’t very tall, but she was all legs, and she’d fit him in exactly the right places. Something he would rather not have known, considering he was a Blackthorne and she was a Creed. It figured that since he never wanted to see her again, circumstance was throwing her in his way.
He’d learned from Paul Ridgeway that Bay’s brother Luke had been positively identified as the owner of the motorcycle abandoned in the Big Bend. Owen couldn’t afford to pass up the chance that Bay could lead him right to Hank’s killer.
On the other hand, having her along was going to be a pain in the ass. He ran a finger across the three tender welts on his throat, where she’d scratched him. She reminded him of one of those small, prickly animals that put up dangerous spikes if you got too close.
His brow furrowed as he remembered the look in her eyes when he’d pinned her against the wall. It wasn’t just surprise and fear he’d seen in her eyes. More like panic and terror. He wondered if she’d been attacked sometime in the past.
Her reactions certainly hadn’t been those of a helpless female. Somewhere along the line, Bayleigh Creed had taken a self-defense course. His lips twisted ruefully, as he thought of how close she’d come to doing serious damage to the family jewels. Luckily, his reflexes had been faster than hers.
He was sorry he’d frightened her, but she should have known better than to come at him like that in the dark. Hell. He was probably going to have to apologize to her. He hated apologizing even more than he hated losing his temper.
And he dreaded the thought of staring into those violet-blue eyes of hers while he did it. A man could lose himself in those deep blue wells. Actually, when he’d waylaid her last night, they’d merely been dark and shadowy, wary and wounded.
Owen swore under his breath. Hank had recently argued that Owen needed to take a break from the job. That he was walking a ledge, ready to go over. Maybe his friend had been right. Was it reasonable to expect someone dangerous to accost him on his own back porch?
But after the grueling day he’d spent burying his best friend—and controlling his emotions while he did it—he’d been wired pretty tight. His quick reflexes, which had kept him alive in more than one dangerous situation, had simply gone into overdrive. But he didn’t need a break from the job. And he didn’t want one. He loved his work.
It was all he had.
Owen veered away from that thought, refocusing on the problem at hand. Bayleigh Creed. At least he’d stayed cool enough not to seriously hurt her. But she was going to have a helluva sore throat for a couple of days. Which might keep her quiet if they had to spend time on the trail together.
Had he decided, then? Was he going to take Bay with him?
No. No way. No how. That woman was not going with him into the wilderness.
As Owen pulled up to the dilapidated Coburn homestead, he saw Bad Billy slouched in a rickety chair on the covered back porch. His long legs extended over the broken porch rail, his booted feet crossed at the ankle. A day’s growth of dark beard masked his cheeks and chin, and he wore a battered Stetson that was crushed so far down over his shaggy black hair that it left his eyes in shadow.
Western courtesy should have had the younger man rising to greet him. As Owen cut the engine on his pickup, Bad Billy Coburn merely caught the cigarette that hung from the corner of his mouth with two fingers, flicked the ash to the sun-seared porch with a third, and set it back between his lips.
Owen had taken only two steps from his pickup when Billy said, “That’s far enough.”
His voice begged for an excuse to fight, and Owen had to resist the urge to give it to him. “I imagine you’ve been keeping up with the news about the hijacking,” he said.
“Don’t have a T V. Don’t read the paper.”
Owen stuck his hands in his back pockets to keep them from bunching into fists. He’d dealt with plenty of wise-ass punks. But there was an air of menace about Bad Billy Coburn. Everybody knew Billy had been beaten regularly by his father the first fourteen years of his life. As small as the town of Bitter Creek was, the kid’s bruises had gotten noticed.
But there wasn’t much anyone could do about it when Billy insisted he’d gotten the marks from being clumsy or from the rough ranch work he did. The signs of brutality had ended abruptly when Billy reached the eighth grade. It was easy to figure out why. Billy had suddenly sprouted and grown taller than his father, eventually topping him by a good half foot.
As a teenager, and into his early twenties, Bad Billy Coburn had earned his name, becoming a dangerous sonofabitch to cross. He was suspended so often, it was a wonder he’d graduated from high school. Owen had heard that Billy scored amazingly high on the college boards—which meant he was plenty smart. But he didn’t have the grades to get into an affordable state university, and his family didn’t have the money for a private one.
Over the next few years, Bad Billy Coburn had drunk too much, fought on a whim, and looked for trouble wherever he rode.
The drinking had stopped two years ago, when Owen’s brother Trace had fired Billy from his job as a Bitter Creek cowhand for getting into a drunken brawl that involved their younger sister Summer. Because Billy was such a good man with a rope, he’d managed to get other ranch work. But the kid didn’t get along well with others, so the jobs never lasted very long.
Owen figured Billy had the intelligence to plan the theft of the VX mines, and he might finally have gotten sick and tired of living hand-to-mouth and decided to do something illegal about it. So the question was, had Bad Billy Coburn crossed the line from troublemaker to terrorist?
Owen surveyed the lanky cowboy coiled in front of him, malevolence lurking in his dark eyes. “Got any ideas who might have stolen those mines, Billy?”
“Sure don’t.”
; “Make a guess,” Owen said.
“You can bet someone in Bravo Company was involved. No one outside the few of us who discovered those mines even knew they existed. But we all knew they’d have to ship them somewhere to be destroyed.”
Owen’s hands came out of his pockets and hung at his sides, not far from the Colt .45 he carried in a holster at his hip. “You were one of the guardsmen who found the mines?”
Billy nodded curtly.
“How many others were involved?”
“Maybe a half dozen enlisted men. And your brother Clay. He’s our CO.”
“Was Luke Creed one of those men?”
“Yep.”
“Was Luke particular friends with any of the half dozen guardsmen you mentioned?”
Billy shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Were you friends with any of them?”
The young man’s gaze was shuttered, defiant. “I don’t need any friends.”
Owen felt a stab of pity at that bald statement of the isolation in which Bad Billy Coburn lived his life. It must have shown on his face, because Billy’s features tightened.
“Give me some help here, Billy,” he said.
“I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire,” Billy retorted.
Resentment for all the years he’d stood alone against the world simmered in Bad Billy Coburn’s dark, sullen eyes.
“Look, kid—”
Billy lurched from his chair, and it clattered backward onto the porch. He took one step into the harsh sunshine, his eyes narrowing, his mouth flattening into a hard line, a muscle jerking in his cheek. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his boot.
Suddenly, Billy was no longer the skinny, beleaguered kid who’d been six years behind Owen in school. His shoulders were as broad as Owen’s, and he was not more than a hairsbreadth shorter than Owen’s six-foot-four-inch height.
“Get the hell out of here,” Billy said coldly.
Owen didn’t think Billy was involved in the theft of the mines. But somebody ought to keep an eye on him, just in case. He’d report his suspicions to Paul Ridgeway, and let the FBI handle it. Owen had turned to leave, when he heard a voice that stopped him in his tracks.
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