Of course, Holden Renshaw might use just such a trick to catch Sean off guard.
Reaching across his waist with his left hand, Sean eased the Remington from its holster. A trespassing stranger could hardly object to a man being careful. Sean wouldn’t shoot until he was sure. Until he could plausibly claim that Renshaw had drawn on him first.
As if he recognized the danger, the rider slowed his mount. Though he didn’t move his hands from the reins, Sean sensed that the stranger was ready to draw on an instant’s notice. He was tall and lean, like Renshaw, but Sean didn’t recognize the horse. He lifted the revolver halfway and hesitated.
The rider brought his mount to a stop and raised both hands level with his head. “Easy there,” he said. “I come in peace.”
Sean lowered the gun and let the man advance, certain now that he was indeed a stranger. It wasn’t any wonder he hadn’t been sure: there was a superficial resemblance between the man and Renshaw.
Resemblance or not, Sean didn’t like being caught at a disadvantage by anyone. “Who are you?” he demanded. “This is private property.”
“Is it?”
“The Blackwells own this range.”
The stranger squinted, deepening the sun-sculpted lines bracketing his eyes. “I didn’t see any fences.”
“No one contests our borders.”
The man pushed his hat back, revealing strangely pale golden-brown eyes and close-cropped brown hair. “My name is Jacob Constantine,” he said. “I have business with the Blackwells.”
Sean was hurting and in no mood for polite conversation. “What business?”
Constantine twisted to reach for his saddlebags. Sean went for his gun again, but the rider had his own weapon out and aimed before Sean could lift his own gun again.
“It isn’t polite to threaten a peaceful stranger,” Constantine said softly. “Stand down.”
Sean’s fingers twitched as if they had a mind of their own. He couldn’t beat Constantine under these circumstances, as much as he enjoyed the idea of teaching the man some manners. Slowly he replaced his gun in its holster and waited, jaw clenched, as the rider pulled a rolled paper out of one saddlebag.
Constantine unrolled the paper and held it out so that Sean could see it. “I’m looking for this man.”
The broadsheet was crudely printed; the drawing of the wanted man, dark with a heavy beard and thick black hair, showed light-colored eyes and a strong nose, but little else of the features. The crimes were rustling, robbery and murder. The reward was very generous.
Sean shrugged. “Who did he kill?”
“A man he was working for in New Mexico.” Constantine snapped the paper to straighten it against the wind. “Ever seen him?”
“No.”
“His name is Heath Renier.”
“I haven’t seen him, and I assure you the Blackwells haven’t, either. I’m the foreman here.”
Constantine cocked his head and looked Sean over in a way that was just short of insulting. “Mighty fine for a foreman.”
Sean jerked on Ulysses’s reins. “You’re welcome to be on your way.”
The bounty hunter rolled up the poster and tucked it back in his saddlebag. “He may be clean-shaven now,” he said. “And one thing that doesn’t show too well in the picture—Renier has a deep scar across his neck. He probably keeps it covered.”
A fleeting thought darted through Sean’s mind, there and gone in an instant, before he had a chance to grasp it. “There’s no such man here.”
“Have you seen a lone wolf in the area? Black fur, bigger than most?”
Startled as he was, Sean kept his countenance. “What does that have to do with this man?”
“Some say Renier keeps it as a kind of pet.”
That ephemeral thought returned, tinted by the memory of the wolf’s attack and the shame of his own fear. Sean drove it away.
“No wolves like that,” he said coldly.
“What about the ranch south of the creek?”
“Dog Creek. It belongs to my uncle. I know every hand employed there. No stranger in Pecos County stays anonymous for long.”
If Constantine was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Thanks for your help, Mr.—”
“McCarrick.”
“Mr. McCarrick.” Constantine touched the brim of his hat, turned his horse and rode south toward the creek.
Fuming with anger, Sean watched until the man become a speck on the horizon, then turned Ulysses back toward the house. Constantine was like so many men in Texas: crude, unmannered, believing himself the superior of men with twice his ability and intelligence. If he’d been the one to catch Constantine unaware…
Sean jerked the reins so sharply that Ulysses skidded and reared. The thoughts that had passed so quickly through Sean’s head during the conversation returned, crystal clear and astonishing.
It couldn’t be. The wolf. Renshaw. It had seemed complete coincidence at the time, as it would to any sane man.
But what if it weren’t? What if Holden Renshaw…
Holden Renshaw. Constantine was looking for a man named Heath Renier. H.R. A man with a scar hidden by a neckerchief.
Sean laughed, giddy and disbelieving. It was too fantastic. Renshaw always wore his neckerchief, but so did nearly every other cowman in Texas. He had black hair and light-colored eyes….
Hadn’t he always believed that Renshaw must have some great darkness in his past? Hadn’t he always been certain the foreman was a barbarian, a malevolent devil who had come out of nowhere to claim Jed’s affections?
Ulysses shifted his weight, his neck stretched in the direction of his comfortable stall. Sean ignored him. He was busy remembering every last detail of what the bounty hunter had said. The part about the wanted man having killed his employer. A man who had done such a thing once could easily do it again.
All such a man needed was a motive.
Sean sat very still in the saddle, half-afraid this dream might vanish with the slightest motion. That skeleton of an idea had grown flesh, and all it required now was the breath of life. That breath might come when he questioned Joey again…or when he found the ideal time and place to obtain the most damning evidence of all.
As for the wolf…if he found the opportunity to kill it, he wouldn’t hesitate, but it was far more important to avoid any premature encounter with Renshaw. Killing him in “self-defense” could not possibly be so sweet as exposing him as an outlaw who had just murdered his latest employer out of jealousy and greed.
It only remained to lay the trap. If he could use Rachel Lyndon as bait, he might be rid of the other obstacle that stood between him and his destiny.
He had kicked Ulysses into motion and was almost to the house when Amy approached on her chestnut Thoroughbred mare.
“There you are, darling!” she exclaimed. She peered into his face. “My, but you look as happy as a cow in clover. Did you catch the wolf?”
Even being compelled to admit that he had returned empty-handed didn’t dampen Sean’s mood. “It’s a clever beast,” he said, “but it has chosen the wrong enemy. I’ll bring it down, I promise you.”
“Oh, I know you will.” She drew the mare alongside Ulysses. “You work so hard, darling, and you’ve suffered so. But once we’re married…”
Sean reached across the space between them to clasp her hand. “Yes, sweetheart,” he said. “I can’t wait.” He pretended to let his mind wander for a minute or two and then turned to Amy again. “I’ve been thinking…how would you feel about throwing a party for Mrs. McCarrick?”
Amy’s pretty lips pursed. “A party?”
“It occurs to me that I have seriously neglected my uncle’s wife since I left Dog Creek.”
“I did offer to visit her, but you said that Renshaw—”
“I didn’t want you to go alone, but a party seems a perfect opportunity for you to meet. There can be no risk of altercations.”
“Why didn’t you let me ask my father to gather a p
osse to drive Renshaw away? No one likes him, and after what he has done to you, no one would object.”
“I believe that would only have made things more difficult for Mrs. McCarrick, even if I were to return to Dog Creek. I suspect that Renshaw has strongly discouraged her from venturing away from the house. There is no doubt that he hates her, but he must have seen the value in convincing her that she should listen to his advice. I can’t in good conscience ignore the situation any longer. She must be very confused about whom she should trust.”
“Then perhaps we ought to wait until Jed returns.”
Sean knew he was playing a dangerous game, but the potential reward was well worth it. “I hesitate to say it, Amy,” he said, giving her a troubled glance, “but since we’re soon to be married…”
“What is it, Sean?” She leaned toward him, all feminine solicitude. “You know you can tell me anything.”
Sighing deeply, Sean met her gaze. “I’m not sure that Jed is coming back.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s been away too long. I believe he would have sent some word to me long before I left Dog Creek.”
Amy’s face blanched with sincere alarm. “Do you think your uncle is…do you think he’s dead?”
“It’s only a feeling, you understand. I have been ignoring it for some time. But now…” He shook his head. “All my instincts tell me something has happened to him. Mrs. McCarrick may be a widow.”
Amy looked away. “If what you believe is true…” She stroked her mare’s neck. “The poor woman.”
“She is probably heir to my uncle’s ranch.”
Her always-erect posture stiffened even more. “Aren’t you his principal heir?”
“I was. I haven’t seen his will since I learned he was to marry, but I can’t believe that he would neglect his wife in any bequest.”
“You should have told me.”
“Would it make any difference, Amy? Would you cease to love me?”
For a while she was silent. When she spoke again, her voice was cool and remote. “What do you think could have happened to him?”
“Any drive has its risks, and my uncle has always insisted on running his operations with the fewest possible employees. He didn’t personally know all the drovers. One of them might have turned on him for the money. Most of the West is still wild and infested with criminals and other hazards.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you plan to share your thoughts about your uncle’s fate with Mrs. McCarrick?”
“I have no proof. But people will begin to ask questions if he does not return soon. In fact, it’s difficult for me to believe that Renshaw hasn’t come to the same conclusion.”
Amy ran her riding crop through her clenched fingers in nervous, repetitive strokes. “Do you also think that he’s withholding this information to keep control over the ranch and Mrs. McCarrick?”
At times Amy could be almost bright. “It seems a strong possibility. It is by no means certain that Mrs. McCarrick will receive the bulk of the estate, but if she is the sole heir, Renshaw would want to be in her good graces until Jed either returns or is found to be deceased.”
“But surely a man like him could never win any woman’s favor!”
You haven’t met her, Sean thought. “Renshaw, like most of his kind, can occasionally be clever, and Mrs. McCarrick knows nothing of ranching. If he makes himself essential to her, he’ll have all the control he wants. He won’t let her sell Dog Creek to us even if she decides to go back to Ohio rather than remain in such a hard place alone.”
She slapped her crop into the palm of her hand. “I still can’t believe—”
“As long as she remains isolated at the ranch, she will be under his sole influence. That is why a party would be such an excellent means of making her aware of the social and business opportunities in the county—and perhaps of learning what Renshaw has been telling her.”
The heat was beginning to rise, reflecting brilliantly on the high polish of Amy’s English riding boots. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said slowly. “We ought to arrange a general introduction for Mrs. McCarrick. I shall invite all the ranchers in Pecos and Crockett. Mrs. McCarrick will find she has a better ally in the Blackwells than in a ruffian like Renshaw.”
Sean smiled. “Clever girl.”
“Someone will have to fetch her, of course. I could send—”
“Renshaw himself will bring her, my dear.”
She gaped most unbecomingly. “Invite him? Have you gone mad?”
“I doubt very much that he would let her come alone.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She bit the end of her crop. “How can we be sure she’ll come?”
“If we invite him as well and he attempts to keep her from coming, there would be a great deal of gossip. He may not care what others in the county think of him, but he won’t want to raise too many questions or ruin her reputation. And if he accompanies her…” He patted Amy’s knee with his good hand. “Renshaw will be compelled to acknowledge that she does have other friends, and Mrs. McCarrick will see what he truly is.”
After considering for a few moments, Amy nodded. Though it was very short notice for the majority of ranchers who lived many miles from Blackwater, she agreed to convince her mother to hold the party in two weeks.
Of course it was possible that Rachel had come to the conclusion that Sean had tried to bribe her…or that, in spite of Sean’s belief to the contrary, she had learned the truth of the whipping. She might even be reluctant to attend because her attraction to Renshaw had turned her against Sean for no other reason than that Renshaw hated him.
But that might not matter in the end. She could hardly refuse an invitation to a gathering hosted by the most prominent family in Pecos County. She would have to continue to paint herself as a respectable member of the community.
The Fates were on his side, but he must continue to show himself worthy of their regard. By the time the party ended, he would know if his scheme would come to fruition.
Chapter Twelve
OVER THE NEXT four days, Heath taught Rachel how to ride. Every dawn he met her with a touch of his hat brim and a mumbled “mornin’,” she asked if he had found Joey yet—always with the same worry he tried to ignore—and they began the lesson. They both pretended that nothing had changed between them; Rachel concentrated on her learning, and Heath tried to close off all his senses. Later in the morning, when they were finished, he and Charlie would ride out to take care of the season’s remaining work—not too taxing now, which was fortunate, considering there were only the two of them left to do it.
By late afternoon Heath would be searching for Joey, covering a different area each day, looking for any track, any trace of scent, that might tell him where the boy had gone. He even sent Maurice to ask in Javelina, and Charlie to Blackwater, but no one had seen the boy.
By the time it got dark, Heath was generally in a filthy mood. That was when he went over the creek to Blackwater and started hunting for Sean. But Sean didn’t take his bait; no matter how often the wolf taunted or how close he got, Sean never came after him. The fact that Sean always traveled with at least two hands said he was still expecting Heath to make good on his threat, but he wasn’t even willing to risk facing a lone lobo. His pride wasn’t big enough to defeat his cowardice.
If it hadn’t been for that unfinished business, Heath could have been on his way. He’d heard nothing more about the bounty hunter, but that could change at any time. And everything else was just about ready. Gordie was as fit and strong as Lily’s colt. He sat up and looked right at Heath whenever Heath came to see him, his eyes bright and his mouth full of funny little babbles that Heath almost thought he was beginning to understand.
Then there was the letter from Ohio. All Heath had to do was show it to Rachel. She could go back anytime she wanted.
But he didn’t show it to her, and he didn’t leave. He taught her skills she would probably never use: how to mount pro
perly, how to hold the reins and guide Banner, their second-oldest and gentlest horse, in a slow walk. On the second day he let her ride a big circle around the outbuildings. On the third, he let her try a trot, watching her every second. She didn’t grab the saddle horn once.
Every day was pretty much the same. Every day, even when they barely touched, even though he let her use the mounting block and wore his gloves so he wouldn’t have to feel her skin, his cock reminded him exactly what he was missing.
On the fourth day, Heath watched her canter Banner around the corral, keeping a close eye on the gelding’s gait and her balance in the saddle. He could be at her side in seconds if she started to fall, but she never did. That was the only thing that saved him.
He pulled his hat low over his eyes as if that could block out the overwhelming awareness of her that never went away. How in hell had he managed to lose all sense just because Rachel Lyndon had almost fallen a few feet off the back of an old gelding?
A few feet that could have killed her, if Jericho had decided to spook. That was his fault, for coming near the house as a wolf instead of Changing first. But even his worry didn’t explain why he’d almost started something he couldn’t finish.
She’d looked at him with heavy eyes full of need, opened her arms and her lips, ready to open her legs and her body. Not to Jed. To him…
Banner came trotting up to the fence, ears swiveled back as he listened to Rachel’s praise. Her smile faded as soon as she met Heath’s gaze.
“Had enough?” he asked in the flat, even voice he always used when he spoke to her now.
“Do you think I ought to continue?” Same kind of voice, prim and almost respectful, as if she was talking to a teacher at one of those fancy schools back East.
“You done good.” He opened the corral gate and followed her to the mounting block. He stood ready in case she needed help, but she got down herself and shook out her skirts.
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