Miss Cowgirl believes the fire was set by Rupert Casper, and Johnny has let her believe that. But my sixth sense tells me something different. There’s another layer to this. Another dangerous level. Miss Cowgirl may be caught in something she has no clue about. But innocence has never been a valid defense—or protection.
It’s my duty to look out for her, and that’s one thing I take even more seriously than food.
There goes Johnny. I’ll saunter over to the bunkhouse and see what I can find out.
WHEN JOHNNY RODE UP the first rise, he turned back to face Running Horse Ranch. The black ruins of the barn stood stark against the brown landscape. Anger made him tighten his grip on the saddle horn, and Cimarron shifted beneath him, sensing his sudden mood change.
He relaxed. No point unsettling the horse. His anger would serve no useful purpose. He had to concede that he was angrier at himself than at anyone else. Stephanie Ryan was in a dangerous place, and he was as guilty as anyone else because he’d failed to warn her.
But how could he tell her that everything she’d ever believed about Rory Sussex was a lie? What would the truth do to her?
He silently cursed Rory for being so selfish as to involve Stephanie in his life. He’d chosen a certain path, one that didn’t allow for the normal joys of family and community. His reward should have been knowing that he served his country. Instead, Rory had abandoned his oath and chosen greed and monetary gain, and in doing so, he’d betrayed his friends and coworkers and the United States of America.
Johnny had given it a lot of thought, and he’d seen how easy it must have been for Rory to pull off a double life. Stephanie was so focused on building a dream, carrying on her grandfather’s work and teaching people how to have a better relationship with their horses that she didn’t see trickery.
She was honest through and through, and that made it easy to deceive her. She’d never imagined that Rory wasn’t exactly who he said he was. She’d never even thought to look into his background or check out the stories he told her.
Some would call it naive, but Johnny saw it another way. Stephanie lived in a world far different from the one he inhabited. His world was dark and ugly, and filled with violence and men who committed cruel acts out of greed.
Her world focused on the natural life, on her unique talents and abilities, and on her desire to help others, whether four-legged or two. She wasn’t naive, she was good. There was a big difference.
Yet she would still pay the price. A price even higher than physical harm. She’d learn that she’d been betrayed by someone she loved.
Cimarron shifted restlessly, and he knew the horse was yet again picking up on his intense emotion. Horses could read a person’s thoughts and intentions, just as Cimarron understood intuitively that he was angry and in need of physical release. It was time to get busy.
Pointing the mare to the north, Johnny set out at an easy lope for the fence he and Stephanie had been repairing. He wasn’t worried about the wire, but he hoped to find some evidence of the watcher on the ridge.
If there were any way to handle this messy situation Rory Sussex had created and spare Stephanie from the truth, he intended to find it.
STEPHANIE SAW THE LONE HORSEMAN on the ridge and recognized Johnny. Even at that distance, she admired the way he sat in the saddle. He had real grace, and a talent for communicating with animals that matched her own skills.
No matter that the barn was gone; there was still work to be done. The hay supply was safe in the back barn, but most of her feed had been destroyed. She had enough for a couple of days, but the fire necessitated a trip to Custer. Dammit. She’d be happy not to go to town again until spring. And where in the world would she store her feed now? Too many questions and no simple answers.
She left the house and walked to the stud barn where Black Jack waited for her, his head out of the stall as if he were glad to see her.
She approached him with a lead rope and he willingly let her snap it on to his halter. He came out of the stall with a docile attitude.
She put him in the cross ties, picked up a brush and set to work on his gleaming coat. He was a true black, a horse so inky she could see her reflection in the gloss of his coat. A white cycle and star marked his handsome forehead. Soon his winter hair would grow in, but now he looked like a show horse.
When she walked around him, he nuzzled her shoulder and she reached up to scratch below his ear. It was too soon to be certain, but it appeared that Black Jack had turned a corner.
And he was never going back to Rupert Casper. Hell would freeze over first.
“I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered against the horse’s neck. She didn’t know how, but she would.
Even as she thought Casper’s name, Black Jack’s attitude changed. He laid his ears back and bared his teeth, stomping a front hoof.
“Easy, boy. That’s one worry you can let go of.” She finished grooming him and led him to a paddock where he could run for several hours. Mostly in the warm-weather months, when the grass was sweet, she preferred to let the horses out on the range, where they could graze as they were meant to. But Black Jack wasn’t trustworthy, and as a stallion, special precautions had to be taken to ensure his safety and to protect the other members of her herd.
She was walking back to the barn when she saw Casper’s black truck headed her way. Her first instinct was to get her gun and shoot him as soon as he set foot on her property, but she remembered Johnny’s words. The cowhand was right. She had to let the law handle this. If she committed an act of violence, she’d end up in jail and there would be no one to care for the animals that relied on her.
Familiar materialized at her side. She was amazed at the comfort the feline gave her. “You’d better skedaddle,” she told the cat. “Rupert isn’t likely to forget that you peed in his truck.”
Familiar looked up at her and blinked. He rubbed against her legs and sauntered toward the bunkhouse.
Had he understood her? Stephanie wondered. It certainly seemed like it.
The black truck pulled up in a cloud of dust. Rupert Casper, his mother-of-pearl snap shirt buttons glinting in the sun, got out and walked to her side.
“Bad news about the barn,” he said, nodding at the blackened structure. “Thought I’d take Black Jack home, get one horse off your hands.”
Stephanie jerked a thumb in the direction of the paddock. “He’s fine and making good progress. See for yourself.” The stallion turned his tail toward Casper. It was a perfect comment on the man.
Casper flushed, and Stephanie was happy to see that he read the horse’s insult. “The sheriff says the barn fire was arson.” She put it out there, hoping for some reaction.
Casper was cool. “That’s too bad. Who’ve you pissed off, Ms. Ryan?” He chuckled. “I mean half the county thinks you’re a witch and the other half thinks you’re a crazy recluse. But neither of those impressions sounds like a reason to burn down your barn.”
“Is there ever a legitimate reason to burn down a building with animals in it?” she asked, aware that her words had some heat in them.
“Did you get all the horses out?”
She nodded, forcing herself to remain calm. “Everyone is fine. The insurance will rebuild the barn, and the sheriff will catch whoever started it. The culprit will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Well, that’s the way to handle it.” Rupert walked over to the ruins. “So it was arson.”
“That’s right.”
He kicked an ember. “I wonder how they tell that. Looks like a pile of rubble to me.”
“An accelerant was used. Whoever set the fire wasn’t very bright. The sheriff will trace the accelerant and find who purchased that particular type. The guilty party will be rooted out.” She watched Casper carefully. If she couldn’t slug him, at least she’d arouse some anxiety in him, for she had no doubt that he was behind the fire.
“I’m heading into Missoula today,” he said, “but I ca
n send Gibb to get Black Jack if he’s a bother.”
“He’s doing just fine. I’m going to ride him this afternoon.” She hadn’t really intended to, but she had to come up with a good reason to make Casper leave the horse at her ranch.
“That right? Wish I could stay around to see that.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She all but rolled her eyes.
“Is Black Jack losing weight?”
Stephanie felt an overwhelming desire to do something physical to Casper. Something unpleasant. She took a deep breath. “Not a pound. I hope you didn’t forget to roll up your truck windows. I saw that black cat hanging around here this morning.”
“Well, damnation!” Casper wheeled and started back to his truck just in time to see a quick black feline jump out of the front seat and dash around the corner of the bunkhouse.
Casper started running and Stephanie began to laugh. She tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t. Casper would be apoplectic, and she would only provoke his ire by laughing at him. But damn, it was too funny that he’d fallen prey to Familiar’s pungent brand of revenge two days in a row.
“Dammit!” Rupert stood at his open truck door cursing a blue streak. He grabbed his shotgun from the backseat of the truck. “I’m going to blast that cat into a million pieces.”
“Hold on there.” Stephanie got a grip on her laughter. “No firearms on the premises, Rupert. I’m serious.” She walked to him and put her hand gently on the barrel. “This isn’t the place. I’ll get you some paper towels.”
She trotted to the bunkhouse, returned with a roll of towels and handed them to him. “I can’t imagine why that cat persists in doing this. He doesn’t bother my vehicles.”
“If he gets close enough, I’ll run him down.”
Stephanie had no worries that Familiar was foolish or careless enough to get in front of Rupert Casper’s truck. “I’ll take those.” She took the dirty wad of paper towels. “And I’ll let you know how Black Jack is doing. My best advice is to give me some time. You’ll reap the rewards of my efforts—guaranteed.”
“Get rid of that damn cat.”
“Have a safe trip to Missoula,” she said as she walked toward the trash can on the front porch of the bunkhouse. She was laughing softly to herself as Casper drove away.
SITTING HERE IN the window of the bunkhouse, I have a dilemma. I’ve found something. I was headed out to get Stephanie when that vile biped, Rupert Casper, drove up. That required a priority shift on my part. Messing up his truck became my first goal, and I have to say the man doesn’t have sense enough to pour piss out of a boot, pun intended. He left his window down again. Well, duh. When opportunity opens a window, this is one black cat who’s going to jump through it.
I have to say, it was a satisfying sideshow. Leather seats. Sometimes vanity makes my job so much easier.
But that’s done, and I have to decide whether to bring Miss Cowgirl in here and show her what I’ve discovered. I knew there was a backstory on Johnny Kreel. My initial computer check came up with evidence to support the story he told Stephanie, but somehow it didn’t ring true. At least not to me. Now I discover this cell phone with a series of calls made to Washington, D.C.
What cowboy calls the nation’s capital on a regular basis?
So I punched the call button, and a perky young woman answered, “Project Omega.” Now my Latin is rusty, but last time I checked, omega is the last letter in the Greek alphabet and means “the end.” That’s exactly the kind of name the government gives some kind of secret agency.
Maybe it’s a stretch, but I think Johnny Kreel is a federal agent of some sort. He showed up just at the right moment. He has a skill set that makes him valuable to Stephanie, so she decided to keep him around. He acts like a law officer when no one is looking, and he has a weapon in his truck that looks police issue. My interpretation—he’s an undercover federal agent here on assignment.
Am I jumping to conclusions?
Not a chance. This is the real deal. Johnny Kreel has been sent to Running Horse Ranch. Now I’m going to figure out why. What I can’t decide is whether to alert Miss Cowgirl to this. If she feels that Johnny has betrayed her, she’ll send him packing. And that might be the worst thing that could happen. Johnny may be what’s standing between her and harm.
Why is someone after Stephanie? Why would they burn down her barn? Thank goodness Johnny was here or some of those horses would have burned to death.
While I don’t like keeping this information from Miss Cowgirl, I’m going to. For the moment. Until I dig up more info on Johnny and Project Omega.
Now, I need sustenance. My brain has furiously burned countless calories as I’ve puzzled out this situation. Hmm. Stephanie has gone into the kitchen. With a little nudge, I can make her think grilled fish.
There she is, looking through the freezer for food. I’ll brush against her leg, get her attention, then pull the old Rasputin number on her. I’ll visualize exactly what I want. See it, Miss Cowgirl. Look into my eyes and see: coals dusted with a layer of ash. Salmon sizzling over charcoal. Gaze deeper, Stephanie. Smell that aroma. Wonderful on the crisp air.
“How about some grilled salmon, Familiar? There’s some right here.”
“Meow.”
Humanoids are fairly easy to manipulate in the right circumstances. And they never see it coming.
Chapter Seven
Stephanie put the fish in the sink to thaw. One drawback to living in such isolation was the lack of fresh fish and produce. She relied heavily on frozen foods. But it was a small price to pay for the solitude and beauty of her life.
She rummaged through her cabinets for wild rice and laid out the components for a meal. When Johnny got back, she’d start preparations.
Until then, she needed to work some horses and attend to the many daily chores of the ranch.
As she was about to leave the kitchen, the photograph of her and Rory caught her eye. It was sitting at an odd angle, as if someone had picked it up and put it back.
Rory. How had someone so vital simply disappeared?
She lifted the photo and took it to the kitchen window where the light was good. As she studied the image, she remembered in vivid detail how perfect that week at the beach with Rory had been.
He was such a handsome man—tall and blond, like a Viking god. He’d had the best laugh. That was the first thing that drew her to him. His laughter had been free and generous and easy to ignite.
In many ways, he’d been her polar opposite. That had been a plus, though. He’d offset her seriousness with his lighthearted “Live and let live” humor. He’d balanced her streak of duty and responsibility with a madcap desire for fun. She was a “Play it safe” gal and he was a gambler. The combination had been terrific.
She missed him.
A tear plopped down on the glass surface of the photo and she angrily brushed it away. That time was gone. Rory was gone. The only thing she had was this moment and the life she’d begun to build. That would be enough. She could carry on her grandfather’s horse-training methods and make a difference for the animals and people she touched. It wasn’t insignificant. The only trouble was that she’d never thought she would be doing it alone.
The black cat rubbed against her leg, and she put the picture back and sat down at the table with Familiar on her lap. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered to him.
Stephanie had a hard time admitting it, but she was lonely. The cat was extraordinary company. And Johnny Kreel had also stepped into a breach. He was a cowboy, a drifter, and soon he’d be down the road. Cowboys were a breed that didn’t take to fences or hobbles. Freedom, no matter what the cost, was all that mattered.
But while he was here—
She heard a horse whinny, and she reluctantly put Familiar on the floor. Duty called. Grabbing a light jacket, she headed to the barn and the horses that needed to be worked.
JOHNNY GROUND-TIED CIMARRON, noting that Stephanie had done an excellent job with the mare’s
training. She stood like a rock. When he’d worked his grandfather’s farm in Alabama, he’d become fully aware of how important a well-trained horse was.
Sometimes the horse was the difference between life and death. And most horses, once they understood what was being asked of them, were willing to oblige.
He scrutinized the flatland that lay to the south, placing in his head the location where he and Stephanie had been mending the fence. He was on the ridge above the pasture—the same place where he’d seen the reflection of sun on binoculars.
It wasn’t a coincidence that someone was spying on Stephanie the same day her barn burned. This was bad business. The quicker he wrapped it up, the better for everyone. Especially for Stephanie.
As he slowly walked a grid of the area looking for any clues, he hoped the watcher wasn’t Rory Sussex. If Rory came back from the dead, as it were, Stephanie would suffer. Carlos Diego was bad enough, but he was a crook and a lowlife. Stephanie would ultimately deal with that.
Rory was her fiancé, the man she’d believed in enough to share her heart. To find out who he really was would be devastating.
Johnny knew that from personal experience, because Rory had been his partner. A man he trusted with his life on delicate international information-gathering missions. More times than he could count, he’d placed his life in Rory’s hands, and Rory had always come through for him.
Then things had changed.
Johnny wasn’t certain if the money had gotten to Rory, or if Carlos Diego had found a weakness where he could apply leverage and turn Rory. Or if Rory had simply lived too long in the shadows and lost touch with the part of himself that needed light.
A lot of undercover agents ended up throwing in with the bad guys. Johnny had seen plenty of it.
Whatever happened to Rory, it had nearly cost Johnny his life in Colombia, and it had put Stephanie in danger now.
They’d been working a gun-smuggling operation that was headquartered in Colombia but reached all the way to the Middle East. Carlos Diego could supply anything—weapons, drugs, delicate information on U.S. operatives in dangerous countries. And Carlos was always willing to sell to the highest bidder.
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