by Sheryl Lynn
Copper barked, loosing a high-pitched yodel wavering one note below a howl. He was silent for a moment, then he began barking in earnest, a steady harkhark-hark rising in tone and frequency. Emily backed a step and caught the counter for support. Despite Copper’s muscular sixty pounds and powerful jaws, he was a gentle, rather cowardly dog who rarely barked, especially the way he barked now, with urgency and alarm. In the four years she’d owned him, the only person she’d ever known him to growl at was Tuff.
Her first thought was Mickey had made a mistake and now Tuff was out of jail and gunning for her.
Joey called from the top of the stairs, “What’s that stupid dog of yours yapping at?”
She frowned at the ceiling. Joey liked Copper as much as she did, but would never admit it in a million years. Stupid dog, indeed. “I’ll check and see,” she called back.
“If it’s a bear, holler.”
Bears occasionally visited the trash barrels or chicken house. Having never seen a bear face-to-face, Copper might get excited. He might not realize how badly a bear could hurt him. She grabbed a nine-cell flashlight and left the house.
Beside her Reb said, “Sounds like he’s behind the barn.”
So, he had remained on the porch, waiting for her. She walked to the center of the driveway, fully inside the glow of the security light.
Copper stopped barking.
She cocked her head this way and that. Because of the hilly terrain and rock formations, sound traveled in deceptive directions. “Copper?” She whistled, then paused, listening. Nothing disturbed the chickens, horses or the milk cow. Creepy little fingers crawled up her spine, and she debated fetching Grandpa’s shotgun.
Reb strolled to her side. “Barking at shadows.”
“He never does that. My husband trained him not to bark. He’s worthless as a watchdog.” She cupped a hand around the side of her mouth. “Copper! Here, boy, come on. Copper!” She flicked on the flashlight and followed the wobbling beam to the barn. Reb followed her. “It might be a bear,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“If it is a bear, all I have to do is run faster than you.”
She laughed. At the back of the barn, she flicked the flashlight beam over the trash-burning barrel. She saw no signs of any animal, not even mice or a raccoon. She called a few more times for the dog, but he failed to show.
Worry settled in her chest. “I shouldn’t let him run.”
“He seems tough.”
If Copper was chasing a bear or, heaven forbid, a mountain lion, he’d still be barking. Unless it wasn’t an animal and he’d found a person. He might bark if a stranger startled him—until the stranger put out a friendly hand or spoke a soothing word, then they’d be the best of buddies.
The kind of people who slunk around in the dark were not the kind of people she wanted to meet in the dark. Despite the warm night air, she shivered.
She turned off the light, plunging her and Reb into darkness. The security light shone over the barn rooftop, but didn’t reach where they stood. She listened intently for a bark or the pounding of paws or the choo-choo train huff of Copper’s panting.
Reb’s touch on her arm startled her. He closed his fingers gently around her elbow. He put his other hand on the flashlight. Against her ear he whispered, “Do you see something due north?”
Urgency colored his soft voice. She barely dared to breathe, moving only her eyes as she searched the darkness. No moon tonight, only billions of stars glittering icy in the inky sky. As the seconds ticked past, her concentration moved inward, focusing on the heat of Reb’s hand on her arm and the rise and fall of his chest where he stood against her shoulder. His scent wafted around her, teasing her.
Unable to stand the silence or his physical presence any longer, she said, “Maybe he’s on the trail of a deer. No use looking for him in the dark.”
“I thought I heard something running.” His breath grazed her cheek.
“Nothing out there.” Her throat felt filled with hot dough, making her whisper croaky.
“Do you want some help looking around the property for anything…suspicious?”
The unexpected offer gave her pause. “You?”
“Why not?”
“Joey would pitch a fit.”
“Technically you’re the boss.”
“And I don’t need you making trouble.” Reb believed her story; she had heard it in his voice. The novelty of it filled her with gratitude—and it threatened to make her do something stupid. She turned for the house, but Reb halted her in midstep.
“You need help.”
“So does Joey. You’ve got roundup and then transporting the cattle to auction in Denver.”
“What happens if Tuff gets out of jail before you find evidence that he’s done something wrong?”
Unhand me, quivered on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t force out the words. She couldn’t recall the last time a man had touched her, and she liked the comfort of it.
“Joey doesn’t need me in Denver,” Reb continued. “I can do the chores and help you, too.”
“Who do you think you are? Some kind of angel who solves problems in your spare time?”
He leaned close enough to fill her head with his man scent. “I’m no angel, Emily.”
Okay, fine, she was a little bit desperate. She laid a hand against his cheek and felt scratchy stubble and the hard jut of his cheekbone. He went rigid. She imagined he was shocked by her boldness. She shocked herself. The very air crackled against her skin, making her tingle.
He lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were cool, spiced with cinnamon. She slid her fingers over his cheek and touched his ear and the soft bristles of his sideburns. Her knees trembled. Her heart sounded like a drum, deafening her to the chirping, squeaking, scratching creatures of the night.
The flashlight swung limply in her numb hand. All feeling centered in her mouth, now greedy for the sweet, fresh coolness of his lips and the powerful thrust of his tongue.
He clutched the small of her back, and she pressed her belly against his, shocking herself anew. She slid and slipped her tongue around and over and under his, eagerly absorbing the slippery strength of his tongue and the smooth evenness of his teeth.
He stepped back, breaking away.
Reality returned with a thud. Mouth open, skin tingling, she stared wide-eyed into the darkness, thankful he couldn’t see her blush.
“Good night, ma’am,” he said. He strode away, disappearing into the night.
Chapter Four
Reb tried hard, but nothing knocked kissing Emily Farraday out of his head. Hot sun beating down on his back, soaking through his clothes, reminded him of her slim hands burning against his face. Wind whispering through the pines roused memories of her slightly husky voice. At night he dreamed of her, feeling the sweet fit of her against his body and tasting the honey of her pliant mouth.
Even exhausted after a long day chasing wild cows through the brush, he was consumed by thoughts of Emily. He wondered what she was doing right now. Cooking, probably, standing in the sweltering kitchen, stirring a pot while sweat made her dark curls cling to her neck while those ragged old denim shorts cupped her round bottom.
The money, he reminded himself. Find the money, figure out Emily’s involvement, do his job and get out. Never get personal. Seducing women to get information was for wise guys and amateurs. He knew better.
Kissing her had been a momentary lapse, one he had no intention of repeating.
“Head up, Reb!” Claude Longo shouted.
Reb snapped his attention to the approaching cattle. Under him the big sorrel gelding, Jack, trembled in anticipation, ready for action.
“Shue, shue, girls, easy inside,” Claude Longo sang. Swinging a lariat in lazy arcs, the old man urged cows and calves through the gate of the holding pen. A black-and-white border collie darted back and forth behind the herd like a shadow, nipping at hooves and flanks, keeping the cattle moving. Claude whistled sharply, sending the animal racing afte
r a frisky calf.
The old man intrigued Reb. Claude was at least sixty, maybe older, but he was wiry as a rat terrier and as energetic. If there were limits to his stamina, Reb hadn’t seen them, but he had seen Claude’s hatred toward Emily. At least once a day he groused to Joey about how Emily had hoodwinked Garth Rifkin and stolen the ranch. As far as Claude was concerned, Emily was to blame for everything from outdated ranch vehicles to the price of beef. It hadn’t taken Reb long to catch on to what kept Joey so sour about his sister.
Reb leaned over on the saddle and grasped the gate rope. As the last cow and Claude ambled through the opening, Reb nudged his horse and closed the gate behind them.
Joey rode up beside him, his dark eyes mellow with weary satisfaction. They’d spent a hard four days bringing in the Double Bar R cattle. Steers and heifers destined for market milled about in a nearby corral. The cows and calves in this pen would be inspected for disease, inoculated and treated, ear-notched as needed, then released.
“The truck will be here day after tomorrow,” Joey said. “Claude and me will be gone three or four days.”
Three or four days alone with Emily, Reb thought, then scowled, pushing down his eagerness. He slouched on the saddle, resting his forearm on the saddle horn. Must be the ranch to blame for the strange turns his brain kept taking.
He’d grown up on a cattle ranch in eastern Arizona. Handling cattle was much like riding a bicycle; the body didn’t forget the moves. He’d forgotten what a tough, dirty job it was, though. Despite thick chaps, his thighs felt as if someone had beaten them with a baseball bat. His spine ached from riding a horse through the harsh, mountainous country. In the past few days he’d been stomped on by hooves, knocked against trees and he’d smacked himself numerous times with his own rope.
But he liked it. A few times he’d found himself seriously considering a change. Drop out of sight, erase the past, never look back as he settled on a ranch to live a peaceful life.
No lies, no pretenses, no targets.
He shook away the musing as if shaking away flies. Being on the ranch was making him sentimental.
Keeping an eye on Claude, Joey lowered his voice. “While I’m gone, best watch out for Pat Nyles.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s a loser who lives over other side of Humbolt. He’ll do anything for a buck. And I do mean anything.” His mouth pulled, straining downward, and he rubbed his hands nervously over the saddle horn. “Him and Tuff run together. Pat is crazy, totally nuts.”
Reb’s forehead tightened, and the tension spread over his scalp and reached his neck. “What aren’t you telling me, Joey? What does this Nyles have to do with anything?”
The kid flinched, looking guilty. “Tuff’s antsy. He keeps asking me what you’re doing. He thinks you’re ripping him off. What am I supposed to tell him? He says it doesn’t matter if I have an alibi or not.”
“Nyles. What about Nyles?”
“He sort of mentioned Pat in passing. I—I didn’t think he was, you know, serious.”
Reb itched to land a hard one on Joey’s chin, knock him clean off the saddle. “You think this is a game, kid?”
“No!” He stared blankly at his gloved hands.
Reb glanced across the pen. Claude had dismounted, and now fiddled with the pump on the water trough. “You don’t get it,” he said. “You hope Tuff is kidding. Hell, you hope I’m kidding. But he’s not and I’m not. This is dead serious, and if you want to save your skin and this ranch, you better get serious, too.”
“I don’t want anybody hurt,” Joey muttered weakly. He peeked at Reb. “Tuff’ll come around. He can’t be meaning it. He doesn’t want Emily dead, not really. He’s just mad ‘cause she got him locked up. He’ll get over it.”
Reb could have groaned. Joey worked like a man and looked like a man, but he was a confused kid blind to the facts of life. Fact one—Tuff Rifkin wanted Emily dead. Fact two—as soon as Reb got his hands on the money, Tuff and Emily were going down. Fact three—Joey lost all say-so in the script the minute he’d picked up the telephone and said Tuff needed a hit man. No turning back, no changing his mind, no regrets.
“Did he,” Reb said slowly, “put Nyles on to Emily?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Will you see Tuff before you head off for Denver?”
“Yeah. Tonight.”
“Two things. Tell Tuff he must be talking in his sleep, because the sheriff heard a rumor about him hiring a hitter.”
Joey scowled, shaking his head. “That’ll blow it.”
“It’ll make him cautious, trust me. Drop Nyles’s name into the conversation, let him think his buddy is the bigmouth. Second thing, tell him Emily invited some friends to visit. That’ll buy some time. Can you do that much, Joey?”
“Why don’t you get it over with, Reb? What do you need time for?”
“Trust me. Tell your brother another thing. I want another grand up front.”
“You’re crazy! I can’t ask him that. He’ll take my head off.”
Reb suspected Tuff had a partner, someone besides Emily, who knew where the money was hidden. Someone who might fetch another thousand bucks and lead Reb straight to the stash.
Joey licked his dry lips. “You believe her, don’t you? That’s why you’re fixing up things around the ranch. Snooping. You think Tuff killed a guy.”
The way he looked at Reb said he suffered from doubt. He was finally wising up and realizing his older brother wasn’t soliciting murder for hire because he was ticked about spending sixty days in jail for a drunk-and-disorderly charge.
“What do you think?” Reb asked.
Joey shook his head. “I wish both Tuff and Emily would just disappear and leave me alone.” With that, he hauled the reins, spurred his horse and the animal carried him away from the holding pen.
EMILY LUGGED STRAW down the center aisle in the barn. The clumsy bale bumped against her knees with every step. Straw dust floated around her head, irritating her nose.
Leave now, she thought. Forget ranching and lousy weather and living in the broken-down old house with its sixty-year-old kitchen and an ungrateful brother who acted like a spoiled-rotten little brat.
This morning at breakfast all she’d asked was for him to make checks from the cattle sale out to her. Checks to Claude Longo meant a hassle with the bank, after she’d cleaned up the messes he always caused with his head figuring. Joey had shouted at her, saying Claude would take care of business the way he always did. He’d accused her of being greedy and a cheat.
He’d looked and sounded just like Grandpa.
If she had an ounce of self-respect, she’d sign the ranch over to Joey and walk away. Staying on at the Double Bar R was futile. She didn’t belong here, and she owed Joey nothing. Not a single, blasted thing. She had enough money to start a new life. She could open a catering service or attend the culinary institute the way she once dreamed of doing. Grandpa would never know about her broken promise. He had no right to make her promise to do anything in the first place. He’s the one who ran me off the ranch and refused to forgive me for marrying Daniel. Grandpa should have felt guilty, not me.
Suddenly she realized Reb was watching her. Standing partially inside a stall, he leaned a shoulder against a post. He’d pushed his hat to the back of his head, and its whiteness emphasized the sooty blackness of his hair. Heat flooded her face and throat. It had been easy to avoid him since that dangerous kiss. He’d been busy, working roundup, but now Joey was gone to Denver. That left her and Reb, alone.
“Something wrong, ma’am?” he asked, revealing nothing of what he felt.
“No.”
“You look mad about something.”
She compressed her lips. Reb had eaten breakfast this morning as if her argument with Joey was no more interesting than a television show. She wondered how Reb had managed to acquire the skill of ignoring crazy goings-on. “I’m not mad about anything,” she lied.
> “I’m not trying to interfere or anything, but slapping a big wooden spoon upside Joey’s head might do you both some good.”
She envisioned herself chasing Joey with a spoon and laughed in spite of her mood. “A rolling pin might work. Or a frying pan.”
She dropped the straw bale in front of the milk cow’s stall, then flexed her gloved fingers to bring back feeling where the baling twine had cut off the circulation. “I’m sorry you have to see us squabbling all the time.”
“Family,” he said as if it explained everything. “I finished my chores. Need some help?”
What I need, she thought, is to have my head examined. Why do I keep torturing myself trying to hold this ranch together? “You can fetch the wheelbarrow.” She tried to think of some chore to send him out of the barn and away from her, but nothing came to mind.
He brought the wheelbarrow and two pitchforks. Seeing his intention to help increased her discomfort. He’d walked away from kissing her without any explanation. Most likely Joey had told him some juicy stories about her bad reputation. The way she’d practically offered herself to him in the darkness must have convinced him Joey was telling the truth. She wanted to explain herself, but didn’t know how to do so without humiliating herself completely. She grabbed a pitchfork and dug into the task of mucking the stall.
Blossom, the jersey milk cow, ambled across the pasture and peered over the half door into the stall. Emily gave the cow’s wet nose a pat. As if realizing somebody received a petting and it wasn’t him, Copper trotted into the stall and nudged Emily’s leg.
“Get out of here, you big baby,” she said fondly. She caught Reb grinning at her.
He wielded the pitchfork as if it had no weight. Within a few minutes they’d filled the wheelbarrow with old straw.
“Are you going out to ride over the property today?” he asked.
“Yes.” It was only a matter of time until Tuff was out of jail—and she was in danger. She had to find evidence of his wrongdoing on the ranch. She grasped the barrow handles. “Are you serious about helping me, Reb?”
“Sure.” He stepped in, easing her aside and taking the handles from her.