Backlash

by Lisa Jackson

  “Did you now? And what did she have to say?”

  One side of Colton’s mouth lifted. “Not much. She held a rifle on me and ordered me off her place.”

  “Friendly,” Curtis murmured.

  “Hardly.”

  “So you didn’t find out anything?”

  “Once I convinced her that I’d had enough bullet wounds to last me a while, she finally showed me around the place.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” Colton said quickly, dismissing the subject of Cassie. He’d thought of little else since he’d seen her, but he wasn’t going to get caught up in her again. Not that she wanted him. She’d made it all too clear just how much she loathed him. “Not one sign of Black Magic.”

  Curtis frowned as he measured grain into feed buckets. “So you think Ivan wasn’t involved?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Colton admitted, climbing a metal ladder to the hayloft overhead. Damn the horse. Damn Denver! Damn, damn, damn! He kicked a couple bales of hay onto the cement floor and glowered at the empty stall from high above. Why did the damn horse have to disappear now? Using his good arm, he swung to the floor, then slit the baling twine with his pocketknife. “I still have to talk to him.”

  “What about the sheriff’s department? Maybe we should call and tell them what’s been going on,” Curtis suggested, grabbing a pitchfork and shaking loose hay into the mangers.

  “Later—when we know more,” Colton said. He’d been an investigative photojournalist for years—lived his life on the edge. He was used to doing things his way and he didn’t like the complications of the law. “Not yet. First we’ll talk to the surrounding ranchers—see if anyone saw anything. There’s still the chance that the horse’ll show up like he did before.”

  Curtis’s lips thinned. “If you say so.”

  “I just think we should dig a little deeper,” Colton said. “Give it a couple of days. If we don’t find him by the end of the week, I’ll call Mark Gowan at the sheriff’s office.”

  “And Denver?”

  “Let’s not phone him yet,” Colton decided, knowing how his headstrong older brother would take the news. “It’ll wait until he gets back. There’s nothing more he or Tessa could do.” He sliced the twine on the second bale. “Besides, I still intend to talk to Ivan Aldridge.”

  “I don’t envy you that,” Curtis muttered.

  Colton grimaced. He wasn’t crazy about facing Cassie’s old man again—but it had to be done. As soon as he checked this place again, he would confront Ivan Aldridge and see what the old man had to say for himself.

  And what about Cassie?

  Colton sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, yes, what about Cassie? There had to be some way to get her off his mind. All night long he’d dreamed of her, imagined the scent of her lingering on his sheets, envisioned the soft, blue-black waves of her hair tumbled in wanton disarray against his pillow, pictured in his mind’s eye the creamy white texture of her skin and the soft pink pout of her lips.

  Whether he wanted to or not, sooner or later he’d have to face her again.

  * * *

  Cassie slipped the bridle over Macbeth’s broad head. A rangy roan gelding with a mean streak, he snorted his disgust and sidestepped as she climbed onto his wide back.

  “Come on, fella, show me what you’ve got,” she whispered, leaning forward and digging her heels into his ribs. The horse took off, ears flattened, neck extended, as he galloped over the soggy earth.

  A low-hanging sun cast weak rays across the fields, gilding the green grass and streaking the sky in vibrant hues of orange and magenta.

  The wind caught in Cassie’s hair, tangling it as she leaned closer to the roan’s sleek shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and the long day at work faded into the background. She’d come home dead tired, found that Ivan was out, and decided to ease the aches from her muscles by riding. Besides, she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity about Colton and his allegedly stolen horse.

  She pulled on the reins, slowing Macbeth at the edge of the woods. As she guided the horse through the undergrowth, she remembered another time she’d ridden this very path—eight years ago—to tell Colton about the baby that hadn’t existed.

  “It’s been a long time,” she consoled herself, but she couldn’t shake the gloomy feeling as Macbeth picked his way through the shadowy pines.

  Before the horse had stepped from the trees, Cassie heard the river rushing wildly. The Sage, engorged with spring rain, slashed a crooked chasm through the wet earth.

  The path curved toward the river’s banks, and Cassie stared across the wild expanse of water, a physical chasm between the McLean and Aldridge properties. Though the river was the natural dividing line, there was a stretch of grassy bank between the swirling Sage and the McLean fence line, where Colton McLean himself was stringing wire.

  Wearing mud-spattered jeans and a work shirt that flapped in the breeze, he winced as he stretched the barbed wire taut between red metal posts. His broad shoulders moved fluidly under his shirt, and his jeans were tight against his hips.

  He glanced up when Cassie urged Macbeth forward. A cynical smile twisted beneath his beard. “Here to see the scene of the crime?” he shouted.

  “If there was one.”

  “See for yourself.” Straightening, he rubbed his lower back.

  She did. Her gaze wandered to the far bank where tire tracks were visible in the soggy ground. The fence had been repaired, but Cassie was convinced that Colton could tell that the wires had been cut. It was just too bad he thought her father was involved.

  “So your horse hasn’t returned?”

  “Not yet. I don’t really expect him to.”

  “Last time he did.”

  “So I heard.” Colton ran the back of his hand across his forehead, and his eyes met hers. “Is Ivan home?”

  “He wasn’t when I got home.”

  “Tell him I want to talk to him.”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “He thinks you’re out of your mind,” she said, tossing her hair from her face. “If anyone took your horse it wasn’t Dad.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  Goaded, she swung off Macbeth’s broad back and walked to the edge of the river. The swift current eddied and rushed over fallen trees and huge flat boulders. The air smelled fresh and damp, and if it hadn’t been for Colton and his stupid accusations, she would actually have enjoyed being there.

  “So why do you think Dad did it?” she yelled as Colton sauntered to his side of the river. Only forty feet separated them, but it could have been miles. “Why not the Lassiters, the Monroes, Wilkersons or Simpsons?”

  “Give me a break!”

  “They’re all ranchers.”

  “The wires were cut here, Cass. Here. The truck took off from Aldridge land!”

  “You think! You’re not even sure that Black Magic’s been stolen.”

  A thunderous expression crossed his face. “I’m sure all right.”

  “Then why not someone else? Someone who knew that you’d automatically think Dad was involved?”

  “No one else is your father,” Colton said through clenched teeth. “No one else has a vendetta against the McLeans.”

  “A vendetta,” she gasped, incredulous. “Come on, Colton, you can’t believe—”

  “What I can’t do is deny that a feud ever existed between your family and mine!”

  “But a vendetta, for crying out loud! I think you’ve spent too many years dodging bullets and changing the name on your passports!” If it weren’t for the river separating them, she would have gone right up to him and slapped his angular, bearded face. “Either that or you’ve watched too many old movies!”

  “Ha!”

  “If, and I repeat, if your horse really has been stolen, any one of a dozen ranchers could’ve done it! Black Magic’s a bit of a legend around here. Anyone who wanted him could’ve taken hi
m and made it look like Dad was involved. After all, the feud is common knowledge.”

  “You’re grasping at straws, Cass!”

  “And you’re condemning my father!” Furious, she twisted Macbeth’s reins in her fingers and hopped onto the gelding’s broad back. “Get real, Colton, or go to the Middle East or some other war-torn place and leave us alone!”

  “I intend to,” he said under his breath as he watched her dig her heels into the roan’s sleek sides. The horse took off with Cassie, her face flushed and furious, clinging to his back. With a clatter of hoofbeats, horse and rider disappeared into the trees. “And good riddance!” Colton growled, stalking back to the fence and ducking under the restrung wires. He snagged his jacket from the post, hooked it over his finger and swore all the way back to the truck.

  Why did he let her get to him? Why couldn’t he be immune to the mocking glint in her hazel eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, the sharp bite of her tongue? He’d known a lot of women—many far more sophisticated and glamorous than Cassie—yet none of them had gotten under his skin the way Cassie Aldridge had.

  Years ago he’d convinced himself he loved her, that they could make a go of it—and she’d lied to him, tried to trap him into marriage.

  And yet he was still attracted to her.

  “Fool,” he ground out, climbing into the cab of the truck. “Damn stupid fool!”

  * * *

  “That’s right. Two days ago,” Colton said, his jaw rock-hard, his fingers clenched around the telephone receiver. “The horse just disappeared.”

  “And you think he was stolen?” Mark Gowan asked. He was short and stocky with fiery red hair and a keen mind. Colton had known him for years.

  “The wires were snipped. No one here did it.”

  “Have you talked to Ivan Aldridge?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe he was going to replace the section of fence.”

  Colton’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be sure to ask him when I see him.”

  “What about neighboring ranchers?”

  “Vince Monroe, George Lassiter and Matt Wilkerson swear they haven’t seen anything suspicious.”

  “Okay,” the deputy said with a sigh. “I’ll be out just as soon as I’ve made a few inquiries.”

  “Thanks.” Colton hung up and strode out of the den. The house was a mess, he thought, surveying the hallway and kitchen. He hoped that Milly Samms would return soon to clean it up—either that or he’d have to don an apron himself.

  One side of his mouth curved into a half smile. He’d never admit it, but he had missed the rotund housekeeper with her constant advice and easy smile. Watch it, McLean, he warned himself, you’re getting too comfortable here.

  “Never!” he muttered, shoving open the back door.

  Outside, the air was clean and fresh. White clouds drifted in a blue Montana sky. Colton walked directly to the stables. Fresh paint gleamed, and new windows sparkled. The building had just been rebuilt; the final touches had been completed this past December.

  His teeth ground together. The stables represented all that he detested on the ranch. Eight years before, on the night after Colton had learned of Cassie’s lies, his mother and father had been killed in a blaze inadvertently set by Tessa Kramer’s brother, Mitchell. Denver, trying to save his parents and some of the horses, had been burned so badly he’d nearly died. Despite plastic surgery, Denver would wear his scars the rest of his life.

  And so, Colton thought wryly, would he. Though his scars were all internal, they were just as deep and painful.

  Leaning against the top rail of the fence, he glowered at the building and didn’t feel the wind kick up and ruffle his hair.

  All the pain and grief had caused him to hate this ranch and everything about it.

  He closed his eyes and shuddered. He’d been out riding that evening, trying to push Cassie out of his mind forever, when the gates of hell had literally opened....

  * * *

  The air was hot, the ground dry. Bees flitted near his Stetson, and flies buzzed around his bay gelding’s face. “Come on,” Colton growled to his horse, unable to shake his black mood. Cassie’s deception was turning his gut even as he tried to forget that she ever existed.

  He should be glad, he told himself as the bay sauntered slowly across the dry fields to the river. He stared across that silvery slice of water to the woods and beyond. Aldridge property. Cassie’s home. He was better off without her.

  But the feelings brewing inside him were far from joyful. Even a sense of relief was missing. In its stead was loss and anger, a deep-seated and hateful anger.

  So he wasn’t going to be a father; he should be walking on air. No responsibilities, no ties, no wife!

  Damn it all to hell!

  More frustrated than he’d been in all his twenty-one years, he climbed off the gelding, kicked at a clod of dust with the toe of his boot and glowered at the Sage. Why had she lied? Why, why, why?

  The sky turned hazy as diaphanous clouds hid the sun. Colton barely noticed what was happening overhead. His horse snorted a little, then sidestepped nervously.

  “Steady,” Colton muttered as the first smell of smoke drifted to him. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Surfacing from his dark thoughts, he froze. A prickle of dread slid like ice down his spine. He noticed for the first time that the day had grown unnaturally dark. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

  Fire!

  He whirled. His heart slammed in his chest.

  Black smoke surged upward, billowing menacingly to the sky. “God—oh God, no!” Colton cried, jumping onto his horse and driving the heels of his boots into the gelding’s sides.

  He rode as if the devil himself were following. Slapping the reins hard against the bay’s shoulders, swearing wildly, he stared straight ahead. Fire licked upward, crackling and rising in ugly gold flames through the rafters of the stables.

  Red-and-white lights flashed; huge fire trucks rumbled up the lane.

  The fence was just ahead. “Come on,” Colton urged, racing faster, hoping the horse could clear the top rail. But the gelding, once he understood Colton’s intention, skidded to a stop and reared, refusing to take the jump.

  Swearing, Colton leaped from his back. “Damn coward,” he cried, climbing the fence and spying his uncle’s old flatbed parked near a dilapidated sheep shed. He wasn’t aware that he was running, just that he had to get to the truck.

  Breathing hard, he wrenched open the door, climbed behind the wheel and found the keys in the ignition. Colton twisted his wrist, glancing in the rearview mirror at the horror of the fire. “Come on, come on,” he said as the old engine turned over, sputtered, coughed and finally caught.

  Colton ground the gears and stomped on the gas. Bald tires spun, and the truck shuddered before lurching forward. Colton didn’t stop at the gate but drove through, sending boards splintering in both directions. Within seconds he brought the truck to a halt near the house. Sirens wailed, terrified horses screamed and the day had turned to hellish night.

  Heart pumping wildly, eyes smarting from the smoke, Colton threw open the door and hurled himself out of the truck, running across the yard toward the flaming stables, stumbling, gasping for breath.

  The fire chief barked orders through a bull horn. Men were running everywhere. Horses shrieked in pain and fear.

  Tessa Kramer and her brother, Mitchell, were bending over the prone form of her father. Curtis Kramer’s hair was singed, and soot streaked his otherwise white face.

  “Give us room,” a paramedic ordered as he and another man tried to revive the old man. The smell of whiskey on Curtis’s breath mingled with the stench of smoke.

  “Everybody back off!” the chief ordered.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Colton demanded.

  The chief ignored him.

  Colton stared in horror at the stables. Orange flames shot out of the roof, and heat rippled in sickening waves from the inferno. />
  Curtis coughed loudly and stirred, his red-rimmed eyes focusing on his daughter. “Tessa, gal?” he murmured, cracking a weary smile.

  Colton watched as tears formed in Tessa’s eyes. “Thank God, you’re all right!” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her father’s grimy work shirt and burying her head against his chest. “Did you see Denver—”

  “You were with him,” Curtis said, and shook his head. “No one—”

  “But Denver’s in there! So are his parents,” she protested, her head snapping up.

  Colton’s knees threatened to buckle. “Oh, sweet Jesus! No! No!” He stumbled backward, and he had to fight to keep back the blackness that was enveloping him. His head felt as if a herd of wild horses were charging through it.

  “Hey, you? Are you okay?” a man shouted.

  Stumbling blindly forward, Colton started for the stables.

  “It’s too late!” Mitchell Kramer yelled. “Colt—stop! Damn him!”

  “Stay back!” the chief commanded through the horn. “Christ! Somebody stop him—”

  A blast ripped through the stables, and the building exploded in a fiery burst. Glass shattered. Timbers groaned and crashed to the ground. Flames crackled and reached to the sky in death-tinged yellow fingers.

  The earth shuddered. Colton’s feet were thrown out from under him. He was slammed into the ground, hearing the wail of terrified horses and the screams of firemen. They were all dead! Denver, Mom, Dad!

  Colton’s fingers curled in the gravel. Vomit collected in the back of his throat. Sharp rocks dug into his palms. Deep, wracking sobs tore through him. His family, his entire family had been destroyed by the ranch they’d loved. He pounded impotent fists against the sharp gravel until they bled.

  “Come on, son,” the fire chief said, offering his hand. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

  He struggled to his feet and blinked against tears and smoke.

  “Hey—here’s another one!”

  Two firemen dragged what seemed to be a lifeless body from the blaze.

  “Get the oxygen!”

  Denver! Colton started forward. The chief’s hand curled over his arm. “You’d better wait—”

  But Colton didn’t listen. He recognized the clothes. But when he was close enough to see Denver’s face, he stopped dead in his tracks. His stomach roiled again, and he nearly threw up. Denver’s face was blackened by smoke—his hair was singed, and one side of his jaw and cheek had been burned.