by Lisa Jackson
Colton saw her lips part in surprise. “See a ghost?”
“We’re not in the ghost town anymore,” she replied, turning back to him.
But Colton’s eyes narrowed on the man Cassie had watched entering the room. Tall and fit, with unkempt dusty blond hair and small brown eyes, he carried himself with a cocky aloofness that was emphasized by his black leather jacket and pants. Colton guessed his age around twenty-five, give or take a couple of years.
With obvious disdain, the man tossed his motorcycle helmet onto the seat next to him, unzipped his jacket and searched in a pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t glance around the room at all and seemed in a world of his own as he lit up and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
“You know him?” Colton asked, wondering if the man had been Cassie’s lover, then immediately discarded the idea. Cassie may have had her share of half-baked love affairs in the past years, but instinctively Colton guessed this guy wasn’t her type.
“Don’t you?”
Colton shook his head. “Should I?”
“He grew up around here. Worked for Denver. And now I guess he’s going to work for Dad. His name is Ryan Ferguson.”
The name sent off warning bells clanging through the back of Colton’s mind. “Isn’t he the guy you thought might have been out to get Denver because Denver fired him a while back?”
“One and the same. He’s back in town.”
“As of when?” Colton’s mind raced to new conclusions. Was Ryan Ferguson the key to the puzzle of Black Magic’s disappearance? Colton’s gaze shifted quickly around the room. Several people had noticed Ryan’s entrance. Bill Simpson’s gray brows rose, then he turned back to his wife. Vince Monroe’s eyes narrowed on the younger man. Colton swung his gaze back to Cassie. He asked again, “When did Ferguson blow back into town?”
Lifting a shoulder, Cassie swirled her straw in her tea. A lemon wedge shifted between the ice cubes. “I don’t really know—a little while.”
“And he’s been working for your dad?”
“No. Dad just hired him this afternoon.”
Colton’s thoughts turned a new corner. Was it possible that Ryan Ferguson and Ivan Aldridge had been in on the horse-napping together? He didn’t want to think so. “He doesn’t look like the type your father would want hanging around.”
“Dad needs help.” She offered a feeble smile. “Because of my job, I’m gone a lot—a lot more than either Dad or I imagined. And I’ll be moving out soon.”
Colton’s head snapped up. This was news. Cassie was actually going to cut the strings that bound her to Ivan? “Where to? When?”
“Probably an apartment here in town, sometime this summer.”
Colton’s concerns about Ryan Ferguson were shoved to the back of his mind. “Why?”
“It’s time, don’t you think? I just moved back home until some of my college debt was paid off and to lend Dad a hand. But as I said, I’m not around enough to help much, and now that I’m out of school, he can afford to pay someone.”
“So why did he choose Ferguson?”
I wish I knew, Cassie thought. “Ryan needed a job, I guess.”
Colton settled back in his booth and watched Ferguson throughout the meal. The man, though dressed in basic Road Warrior attire, seemed harmless enough. But, as Colton had learned from years of dealing with some of the most deadly terrorists in the world, looks could be deceiving. Ryan Ferguson was worth checking out.
Vince Monroe scraped back his chair. Colton glanced his way and caught the older man staring at him—hard—and the warning hairs on the back of his neck rose. Though Vince’s big face remained bland, his eyes gave him away. Colton recognized cold, hard hatred in Vince’s stare.
Jessica turned her head in Colton’s direction, offered a wobbly smile, which Colton returned with a friendly grin, then walked out on her father’s arm without a word.
“I get the impression the Monroes aren’t crazy about me,” Colton thought aloud, wondering just how many of the local ranchers felt alienated from the McLeans.
“Vince has had some bad luck.”
“That’s my fault?”
“No,” Cassie admitted, rolling her napkin nervously. “But there is Jessica.”
“I told you, there was never anything between Jessica and me.”
“Does she know that? You know, it’s just possible you hurt her, Colton, and if you did, her father wouldn’t count you on his list of ten favorites.”
Colton rubbed his jaw pensively. The hate sizzling in Monroe’s glance couldn’t be explained by the fact that Colton had gone out with Jessica a couple of times, then left town. “I don’t think this has anything to do with Jessica. There’s got to be more. What happened between the Monroes and the McLeans while I was gone?”
“I don’t know, except that Vince was forced to sell some of his stock to Denver last year.”
“I’d think he’d be pleased that Denver would bail him out,” Colton said, his gaze following the stiff set of Vince’s shoulders as the big man shoved the door open.
“I doubt it,” she said, her appetite disappearing. “The same thing happened to Dad a few years ago. He had to sell a horse to Tessa before she married your brother. It never set well with him.”
“Anything remotely associated with the McLeans doesn’t set well with Ivan.”
“He has his reasons,” she added. “You know, Dad can be a wonderful, caring man. He’s done nothing but take care of me all of my life. You just have to give him a chance.”
To her surprise, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I’m trying, Cass. Believe me, I’m trying.” His work-roughened fingers smoothed the skin across the back of her hand, and a ripple of pleasure ran up her arm. “Come on, I’d better get you home,” he said with a cynical grin. “I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of your father.”
“Right,” she retorted, but grinned as he helped her into her coat.
Outside, the night was cool and still. Together they walked to the Jeep beneath a night-black sky. Cassie’s lips felt cold, her skin chilled, and yet being with Colton created an inner warmth that radiated to her fingers.
As he opened the door for her, he grabbed her hand, gently pulling her against him and kissing her with all the passion of eight lost years. “Thanks for coming with me tonight,” he whispered.
“Thanks for asking.”
They drove back to the Aldridge ranch in silence, but Colton remembered the people in the café and the hostility he’d sensed, the crackle of unspoken anger. Not from everyone, of course, but the Monroes and the Wilkersons had been far from friendly—and then there was Ferguson. Ivan’s hiring Ryan bothered him a great deal without his really knowing why.
Cassie touched his shoulder. “You look like you’re a million miles away,” she said, tucking her arm through his.
One corner of his lip lifted. “Not that far.”
“Where?”
“Back at the restaurant.” He shifted down and turned into the lane. The windshield wipers slapped the raindrops aside. “Has your father known Ferguson long?”
“All his life. As I mentioned, Ryan grew up around here, too,” she said. “Why?”
He drove into the yard. “Just curious.”
“Or suspicious,” she challenged.
“I guess I’m a little of both.”
“Oh, Colton, I thought this was over,” she said with a sigh. “I thought that since Black Magic was back, you’d be satisfied.”
“Relieved. Not satisfied.”
“Good night, Colton,” she whispered, refusing to get into another argument. She grabbed the door handle, but Colton reached out and trapped her next to him.
“Don’t go,” he whispered against her ear. “Not yet.”
“You could come inside.”
Colton chuckled. “Ivan wouldn’t like that much.”
“He’d get over it.” She smiled almost shyly and traced the hard line of his jaw wi
th one finger. “Despite what you may think, he’s not an ogre. He’s been very good to me.”
“And you’ve been good to him.”
Blushing a little, she said, “Except where you’re concerned.”
Colton’s teeth gleamed in the dark interior. “I haven’t completely corrupted you yet,” he murmured, his lips moving gently over her hair, causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. “But just give me time.”
“I can’t wait,” she teased back, then caught her breath as he lowered his mouth over hers. Her heart began to beat wildly.
“Oh, Cass,” he murmured thickly as he lifted his lips from hers. His eyes were glazed; his hands trembled as he touched her cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I was just wondering the same about you,” she admitted, her voice so husky she barely recognized it as her own.
“I’ll call,” he promised.
“And I’ll hold you to it.” She kissed him on the cheek, then scrambled out of his rig, waving as he shoved the Jeep into gear and took off in a spray of gravel. She stood in the yard, oblivious to the quiet, moonless night, as his taillights disappeared in the distance.
Lighthearted, she gathered her skirt in her fists and ran quickly along the path to the back porch.
She was still smiling to herself when she let herself into the house and found her father in the living room, his reading glasses poised on the tip of his nose as he worked on another crossword puzzle. Only one lamp burned, and the television, turned down so low she could barely hear a sound, gave off a pale gray glow.
“Have a good time?” Ivan asked. His voice was flat. He didn’t bother looking up.
“The best!” She wasn’t going to let her father’s disapproval destroy her good mood. Not tonight.
Frowning, he slipped his glasses from his nose, then polished the lenses with the tail of his shirt. “I wish I knew what it was about Colton McLean that mixes you up.”
“I’m not mixed up,” she said, plopping down on a tired-looking ottoman and noticing the lines of strain that had deepened near the corners of her father’s eyes.
“So now Colton McLean is a god again?”
“Not a god.”
“Then a hero.”
“No—but not a villain, either. He’s just a man.”
He snorted, tossing his folded newspaper aside. “You’ve gone out with a lot of men,” he said quietly, “and not one of them has even made you smile.”
“Not true, Dad.”
“You never gave them a chance.”
Cassie frowned. “What’re you getting at?”
“Four years of college—then veterinary school. All that time and you didn’t let one man get close to you—not really. And now Colton McLean blows back into town, sticking around only long enough for the bullet wound to heal, and you’re acting like a schoolgirl with a fresh case of puppy love.” He sighed heavily. “It’s beyond me why you’d give a man who’s only caused you heartache a chance to hurt you again.”
Cassie didn’t want her father to deflate her soaring spirits, so she said, “Look, we’ve been over this.” Bending down, she placed a kiss on his forehead. “I’m okay.”
“I hope so,” she heard him whisper over the rustle of newspapers as she dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. In a way, her father was right, she supposed as she stared at her room with new eyes. It was a young girl’s room. Though the movie posters and ruffles had been replaced years ago and her canopied bed was long gone, the evidence of her childhood remained. Everywhere, from the neglected records stacked in the closet to blue ribbons she’d won at a local fair, there were reminders of her youth, a girlhood devoid of a mother and an adolescence dominated by one single obsession: Colton McLean.
She swallowed hard as her father’s advice rang in her ears. She was falling in love with Colton again, and there wasn’t much she could or would do about it. But this time she was older, a grown professional woman with an education, a fledgling veterinary practice and a purpose in life. Colton McLean could never change that, nor could he determine her happiness as he once had. Or could he?
With a frustrated scowl, she dropped onto the eiderdown quilt of her brass bed and stared at the ceiling. Unconsciously she hugged a pillow to her chest and shoved aside any lingering doubts about her own future. She was her own woman, and nothing, not even Colton, could change that.
Chapter Nine
The next afternoon, while she was handing a recuperating Himalayan kitten to its owner, Colton burst through the waiting room door. His gaze collided with Cassie’s. “I need you,” he said the minute Mrs. Anderson walked outside.
The look on his face was desperate. His jaw sported a day’s growth of beard, his eyes seemed sunken and his knuckles were white as he rammed his fingers through his hair.
Cassie swallowed hard. How many years had she waited to hear those three words. But uttered in the middle of the waiting room, they didn’t ring with the desperation and love she’d hoped to hear. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Black Magic.”
Of course. Cassie clamped her jaw together. Always Black Magic. “What about him?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. But he’s not right. He’s not eating—and he seems weak. His temperature is over 103 degrees.”
Cassie felt a stab of instant remorse for her selfish thoughts. “Is he coughing?”
“No.”
“Nasal discharge?”
Colton rubbed his jaw pensively. “Not that I noticed. But he was restless last night.”
“What about his vaccinations?” Cassie asked, considering the symptoms. “Are they up to date?”
“I assume so—Tessa and her old man are pretty sticky about that. They don’t fool around when it comes to the animals and their health.”
Cassie lifted an eyebrow. So Curtis Kramer had managed to change Colton’s opinion about him. Maybe there was hope for the Aldridge team. “Let me check our records.” Quickly Cassie flipped through the files, pulled up the chart for the McLean Ranch and scanned Black Magic’s immunization record. “It looks current,” she murmured, mentally checking off the most common problems as she read Black Magic’s history. “Any other symptoms?”
Colton, his lips compressed, shook his head. “All I know is that this came on like that!” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “I showed him to you just the other day. He was fine.”
Nodding, Cassie remembered the sleek black stallion, the health that fairly oozed from his mischievous eyes and glossy ebony coat.
No wonder Colton was worried. “I’ll come out and have a look,” she said, managing a practiced, professional smile, which belied the fact she was concerned. “Maybe he’s just having a bad couple of days.” But she didn’t believe it for a minute. Black Magic was healthy and young; there was no reason for him to be listless or out of sorts. “Craig should be back any minute,” she said, checking her watch and the appointment book. Fortunately she’d seen her last scheduled case of the day.
Shrugging out of her lab coat, she said to Sandy, “If we get an emergency call or someone comes in before Craig gets back, telephone me at the McLean Ranch. Someone will be near a phone.” She glanced at Colton for confirmation.
He nodded. “Milly’s back at the house, and we have extensions in the barns.”
“Good.” With a few last-minute instructions to Sandy, she grabbed her veterinary bag and followed Colton outside.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he suggested, but Cassie shook her head. As much as she’d have liked to have a few minutes alone with him, she didn’t want to end up stuck at the McLean Ranch depending upon him to take her home to her father’s house.
“I’d better take my own truck. I’ll meet you there.”
Colton gave her a quick nod and hopped into his rig. Less than a minute later he’d headed out of town.
Cassie followed at a safe distance behind, wondering what could be wrong with Denver’s prize stallion. Worries plagued her. Fever. Fever from what? Infec
tion? Virus? She gnawed on her lower lip as she drove. The McLean Ranch was known for the high-quality care given its stock. Petty jealousies aside, most of the ranchers in the area respected Tessa Kramer McLean’s handling of the horses and cattle. And Denver, since he’d returned, had proved himself a capable, caring rancher.
But both Tessa and Denver were gone—and had been for several weeks. What kind of a rancher was Colton? Hadn’t he sworn to hate everything to do with the ranch? Wasn’t he here only to recuperate?
“Stop it!” she muttered angrily to herself as she flipped on the radio. Obviously Colton cared about the ranch or he wouldn’t have raced to the clinic, looking haggard and worn. Nor would he have assumed the responsibility for the ranch and stock if he hadn’t been prepared to give it his all.
He was already out of his Jeep and talking to Curtis by the time she drove into the yard, which separated the main house from the stables and barns. His arms crossed over his chest, his face drawn, he listened as Curtis talked.
“. . . Afraid so,” Curtis was saying as he puffed on the cigarette dangling from his lips and squinted through the smoke. “Whatever it is must be contagious.” Casting a skeptical glance at Cassie, he added, “I hope you know your stuff.” He tossed his cigarette to the gravel and ground it out with the toe of his boot.
“Contagious?” Her heart sank. “Another horse has symptoms?”
“See for yourself.” Without another word, the wiry ranch foreman led Cassie and Colton into the stallion barn.
The minute she saw Black Magic, Cassie knew Colton’s fears were well-founded. Something was wrong—very wrong.
Gone was the handsome, vital stallion she’d seen only days before. Now Black Magic held his head stiffly; his eyes, once bright, were dull. “Poor baby,” Cassie murmured as she examined him carefully, running her fingers over his body, checking nose, mouth, ears and eyes. His temperature had climbed to 104 degrees, his pulse had elevated significantly, and there was some nasal discharge.
“Well?” Colton asked, frowning as she carefully touched the stallion’s jaw. Her fingers encountered hot swelling over his lymph nodes, and Black Magic tossed back his head, knocking Cassie’s hand away from the abscess.