by Jenna Kernan
He lay awake beside her, watching the stars gently wheel across the sky and the moon crest the top of the canyon. Morgan rolled toward him, giving him a view of her sleeping face. He felt blessed that she trusted him enough to sleep beside him. He didn’t deserve it, of course. He was to be trusted no more than any man and less than some because he wanted what any male would want, and he’d deceived her. Ray had not told her about his mission from Kenshaw to see what she knew of her father’s business.
He felt like a traitor and wished he could be the kind of man she deserved.
* * *
MORGAN ROUSED IN the night in a panic, unsure where she was. Ray was there in an instant whispering reassurances and gathering her close. She laid her head on the pillow of his arm and rolled to her back, staring up at the sparkling curtain of stars visible between the gap of the canyon walls. If there was a more beautiful sight, she had never seen it.
“Lovely,” she whispered.
He made a humming noise that rumbled through his chest. Then he kissed the top of her head. She lifted her chin and the next kiss dropped on her willing mouth. Morgan slid a knee up over his muscular thigh as the kiss blossomed into something warm and sensual.
Ray’s mouth moved to graze his teeth against the sensitive skin of her neck as her hands worked up under his shirt to the strong cording muscles of his back. She raked her nails down his flesh and heard his intake of breath. His mouth met hers and he deepened the kiss, their tongues gliding over each other as his fingers caressed her.
He broke away to lift her blouse and kiss her stomach, each swirl of his tongue bringing her sensitized flesh alive and triggering a pulsing want that only he could satisfy.
“Ray?”
His dark head lifted and he stared up at her, his eyes hooded and mysterious.
“Don’t stop.”
His grip tightened as if he wanted to possess her, but he did not move, just stared up at her.
“Are you sure?” he asked. He seemed to be holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
She nodded. “I’m certain.”
Ray’s smile was devilish and now her breath caught as he unbuttoned her blouse and slid it from her shoulders. He followed by tugging off his shirt and T-shirt together. Then he turned his attention to the tops of her breasts exposed above the lace of her white bra. His delicious hot breath fanned her desire and she lifted to unclasp the bra, adding it to his discarded clothing. He paused to look at her and she found his gaze stirred her as much as his touch. He had told her that this was a job to him, but this, what they now shared, she knew it was real. She also knew it would not last. Nothing this good ever did. Not for her anyway.
He stroked the skin at her collarbone as he moved in to kiss her breasts. Her body reacted with heat, growing wet and ready. But he took his time, exploring her thoroughly before moving downward. When he moved back up to take her mouth, her boots, socks, jeans and panties had been cast aside and she could taste herself on his lips. She was ready but Ray rolled away. It gave her a moment to think about what she was doing. It didn’t make her change her mind but served only to convince her how much she wanted him, if only once.
When he returned to her it was to offer the slim, slippery foil package that showed either his willingness to protect her or his desire to safeguard himself from unwanted encumbrances. She tore open the packet and together they slipped on the sheath. Her hands shook in her eagerness.
“It’s been a long time,” she said, nervous and wanting all at once.
He smiled and she knew it had not been a long time for him. Men like Ray were never without female company unless they chose to be. She needed to remember that. But in a moment she was in his arms again and her qualms slipped away. She didn’t care about tomorrow. Only tonight and Ray and the heat and the friction and the bliss.
Chapter Fifteen
Ray woke with the birdsong. Morgan lay tucked up against his side, her bare back and bottom pressed against him, warming him. He threw an arm over his forehead and grew aroused all over again at the memories of Morgan in his arms. She was not the sort of lover he’d expected. He assumed she would be subdued and gentle. But Morgan was a hunting puma and her fire thrilled him. He had been with enough women to know the difference. He and Morgan had a rare chemistry and syncopation that made him hungry to have her again.
But now, in her slumber, all the cares and worries she bore faded. He saw the perfect peace and otherworldly beauty that he had no business trying to possess. Even if he longed for this kind of woman, he didn’t deserve her and had no faith that she would want a broken man haunted by ghosts.
Ray roused from his bedroll, tossing away the blanket with disgust. He had some nerve messing with a single mother. Some nerve.
Still he glanced back at her, the blankets now at her hips. He reached for her and then stopped, fisting his hand and forcing himself to leave her be.
The sun was up but had not yet risen over the eastern lip of the canyon when Ray had the fire going and the coffee on. That roused Morgan, who yawned and sat up to stretch in a way that made Ray drop one of the tin coffee cups. He caught it on the second bounce and found Morgan smiling at him. The look of satisfaction she held in her dark eyes made him feel only marginally better about his breach of protocol.
“I’m starving,” she said. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Morgan, I want to apologize for last night.”
Her smile faded and the worry lines returned to her forehead. Some of the beauty vanished like moisture into the dry air.
“Apologize?”
“I don’t want you to think that what happened last night changes anything between us.” In fact, sex changed everything between a man and woman. He knew it and from the confusion in her eyes, she knew it, too. “I’m still your protector. I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. But...”
She snorted. “We slept together, Ray. You didn’t ask me to marry you.”
Now he was wondering what she would say if he did ask. No would be the wisest reply. Hell no, even better.
“Yeah. I know. But women read things into such encounters. I didn’t want you to do that.”
“Encounters.” She fastened her bra, drawing the lace over her breasts, before yanking on her blouse and finally, tugging on her jeans. Next she slid bare feet into hiking boots and headed for the privacy of the brush. But she turned like a cornered animal to face him. “I never asked you for any sort of commitment, Ray. I’m a big girl and certainly don’t need you to explain to me how the world works.”
She left his sight and a moment later he heard a familiar rattle that could only come from a coiled rattlesnake. Such snakes gained a rattle each time they shed their skin and the sound of this rattle told him it was a damn big one.
“Morgan?”
She did not answer.
“Don’t move. I’m coming.”
He found her standing stock-still facing a coiled rattler that had its back against the rock face and had no way to escape but by lunging at Morgan. Ray had a pistol in his boot, but they were too imprecise. The rifle was back at camp.
Ray drew out his knife. Morgan’s eyes moved but she wisely remained motionless. The snake continued to rattle a warning. Ray usually let snakes be, but there was no way to this time because Morgan had inadvertently cornered the reptile and now stood in striking distance. If he got close enough to use a stick to pin the head, it might just lash out at Morgan’s leg and hit her above her boot.
“Don’t back up. Don’t move. Run when I hit it,” he said. Ray would have to be quick as a mongoose. He adjusted his grip on the knife, taking hold of the wide, flat blade. One of his favorite pastimes as a boy and then in Iraq was throwing this particular knife. He was accurate at twenty paces. But he’d never had a woman’s life hanging in the balance. Not just any woman, but Morgan.
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And now she had become so much more.
Don’t think. Just do it.
He lifted the weapon. The snake’s tongue flicked and the rattling increased in tempo. Ray threw.
“Run!”
Morgan sprang away like an antelope. But it was unnecessary. The snake’s head had been severed from its writhing body. Ray watched the blood drain and the snake’s body come to eventual rest.
“All I could think of was Lisa,” Morgan said as she now clung to him. “I just want to get that money back to the FBI and go home.”
Ray allowed himself to hold her until she stopped trembling. After checking the area to be sure there were no more snakes, he left her to finish her business.
He used the radio to call Jack and then checked on the horses, walking them down to the spring, then back to the camp to find Morgan, pale but composed. Her eyes seemed a little redder than he recalled. He hoped she had not been crying or if she had been that she wouldn’t start up again. What the heck had he been thinking last night?
Ray snorted. Thinking was not what he’d been doing. And just like always, this Eagle Warrior spotted trouble too late. He didn’t know what to say or do about their little encounter. But in truth, he was already thinking about how to do it again.
Man, he was low.
They ate breakfast and broke camp as the sun rose higher, nearing midmorning and the time it would make its appearance over the canyon ridge.
“This is where we used to sit. My father said that rock was the one that the ancient people used.” She pointed to the wall of stone that had separated from the rest of the rock on the canyon’s face. The sun had finally reached the ridge, sending rays of light across the eastern wall, gradually inching down the cliff dwelling and closer to their position. They were only a little past the spring equinox but he could see where the one spiral was very near to the place the shadow now fell. The other spirals showed how far the shadow traveled through the year.
“There,” she said. “See how it has gone past the first two dots on that line? That means the first two plantings are over and it isn’t yet time to sow the cotton seeds. That was the third crop. After that it’s beans and squash and pumpkin.”
Ray watched the shadow crawl across the canyon wall as he sipped bitter black coffee from his mug and he made a guess as to where the shadow would fall when it met the earth. There he saw a pile of stones that did not look as if they had been arranged by nature. Could Karl have expected them to follow this trail and to be here in the month of April? Did he know so well the shadow’s path and when he would die and when Morgan would follow those clues? The small hairs lifted on his neck and he knew that Karl had planned it all.
“Morgan. Look at that pile of stones.”
She did and her mouth dropped open as she put the pieces together. Then she shivered. “Do you think?”
“I do.”
They moved to the pile, preceding the shadow that moved quickly now as the sun rose higher. They moved the stones, one by one, and found a green plastic cooler half buried in the dry soil. Ray looked at Morgan who sat back on her heels.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“Do you recognize this?”
“Yes. My father’s. I didn’t notice it was missing.”
Ray lifted the lid, knowing what he would find. He was not disappointed. The small cooler, designed to hold six cans of liquid instead held stacks of bills, neatly tied with long strands of buffalo grass that had just begun to yellow.
Morgan tilted her head back until she looked straight up at the sky as if she could not look at the money. Ray left the lid open as he watched her. They sat behind the line of shadow but the canyon wall now blazed with light.
She shaded her eyes. “What’s that?”
He followed the direction of her gaze and saw something dark in the gap between the two canyon walls. It did not soar like a hawk but hovered like a hummingbird, soundless and three hundred feet or more above them. Ray snapped the lid of the cooler shut.
“Drone,” he said.
“A drone? You mean one of those things that fly around and interfere with aircraft?”
“I have to call this in.” He was on his feet as the drone veered out of sight.
“Is it from the FBI?”
He sure hoped so. “No way to tell.”
Ray radioed in and told Jack what had happened. Jack said he’d call Luke Forrest and that he was on his way with back up.
“Get to the horses,” Ray said.
“Are we taking the money?” she asked.
Great question. Because either with or without the money, they were bound to meet trouble.
“I got it.” He yanked the cooler free and tied it to the cantle of his saddle. Then he checked his rifle to be sure it was loaded and ready. Morgan bridled the horses and secured their bedrolls. With the horses saddled and the girths tight, the two mounted up to begin the ride down the canyon.
They met trouble before they even left camp.
* * *
RAY’S FIRST INDICATION of company came when the bedrock at his feet exploded. He recognized a rifle shot but his horse went crazy, rearing on his hind legs and continuing over. Ray had been on enough horses to know his mount was going over backward and leaped from the saddle, landing beside the rolling horse as the spine of the saddle cracked.
“Ray!” Morgan leaned from her saddle, extending her hand for him and he was about to accept her hand when he realized the money and his rifle were tied to his saddle.
Another shot sent rock shards up beside his boots. Ray drew the pistol from his boot holster and turned in the direction of fire.
“Drop it, soldier, or I drop her.”
Ray didn’t, of course and the next shot was fired. Her horse screamed and fell to its front knees, sending Morgan tumbling over the withers and onto the ground. Her horse struggled to his feet, his fetlock gushing blood.
“Next one takes her life,” called the shooter.
Ray threw his pistol aside and moved to Morgan.
“Radio,” said the shooter.
Ray dropped his only means of communication. Cell phones were useless up here. The man motioned him back and then moved in to smash the radio with a rock while Ray thought about his knife. It was a straight blade, about four inches. The right sort for cutting a rope or throwing at a man’s chest.
“Walk this way,” called their attacker.
Ray helped Morgan rise and they walked in the direction of the bullets. A man stepped out from cover. He was dressed for riding in a denim jacket, wide brimmed hat, jeans and boots. His hair was dark and he needed a shave. The Anglo was about fifty and had a badge clipped to his belt.
“You’re on tribal land,” said Ray.
“I know where I am, Strong,” came the reply.
Morgan gasped. “I’ve seen you before,” she said.
“I was afraid of that. Avoided you at the station when we brought you in.”
“You brought me in?”
“My guys. I’m the chief of police in Darabee.”
Ray took another look. It had been a while since he’d met Jefferson Rowe, but he remembered him.
For just a moment Morgan looked relieved while Ray judged the distance he’d need to throw the knife and found it too far. He had to bury that blade to the hilt and he didn’t expect that Chief Rowe would allow him close and personal enough to stick him.
“Well, Ray Strong. Been a long time.” He laughed.
Rowe had been the arresting officer the night Ray had rolled his truck in Darabee with a blood alcohol level that should have rendered him unconscious which at the time seemed preferable to his grief over Hatch. That was no crime. But then he’d picked up his keys and driven his truck. He deserved what followed—every bit
of it.
“Are you here to arrest us?” she asked.
“Not exactly. If you wouldn’t mind getting Ray’s horse? And please don’t touch his rifle or I’ll shoot him where he stands.”
Morgan left them to do exactly what Rowe ordered.
“You a private contractor now, Rowe?” Ray asked.
“Sure beats a cop’s pension.”
Morgan returned leading Ray’s Appaloosa gelding. Rowe motioned for her to come nearer, keeping the rifle aimed at Ray. She advanced slowly, showing the caution she had said she lived by. But if that were true, then when she had been out of sight up the canyon, she could have kept on going. Instead she had returned with his horse, which seemed uninjured, and placed herself right back in Rowe’s sights.
“They’re really worried about you, Morgan. What your father told you. What you know. If you can identify the man who paid your dad off.”
Ray realized that the chief of police would make a valuable operative for the eco-extremists.
He hazarded a guess. “Would that be the same man who made sure her dad knew exactly when and where he’d have a clean shot at Ovidio Sanchez?”
“Very good, Mr. Strong. I see you are not always pickled in alcohol.”
“I saw you in the restaurant that day,” said Morgan. “You held the door for me.”
“See, I knew you held eye contact a little too long. Did you recognize me from the station? I was careful not to be the one to interview you after your dad’s arrest.”
Morgan shook her head.
“Well, shoot. But you did spot me after I dropped off the check. You understand my reason for concern?”