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Prologue
Elk Valley, New Mexico Territory
June 1869
Skylar Davenport’s heart constricted and waves of dizziness roiled through her. “No!”
George and Edna Harper, her neighbors and good friends, sat slumped on the seat of their buckboard. Anguish masked their elderly faces, and blood stained the chests of their lifeless bodies.
Sobs welled in Skylar’s throat, choking her to a near faint. Her heart began a staccato rhythm, her body shaking so much she fumbled the reins of her Appaloosa.
The mare danced to the side, forcing her to steady her grip. “Easy, Sadie,” she whispered, not surprised to hear the tremble in her voice. The sound matched the trembling and horror she felt inside.
George’s rifle lay broken on the ground, alongside Edna’s torn silk handbag. The horses hitched to the buckboard neighed and pawed the dirt, pulling against the reins George held in a grip of death. Only the wheel brake kept them from moving forward.
An eerie chuckle caught her attention. She scanned the area in fear. From beyond the arched gateway to the couple’s property, a masked man emerged, astride a red horse with a white belly. Her stomach lurched when she saw him and the pistol pointed at her heart.
The man laughed. A wicked sound. “Si no desea morir también, no me sigue, mujer,” he warned, then whipped his horse into a gallop, heading toward a nearby rise.
Shaken, she couldn’t understand or process his words. Fear and shock held her immobile in the saddle. The urge to run overwhelmed her, until anger exploded at what he’d done. “You murdering—” She yanked the shotgun from her scabbard and spurred Sadie after the man. She couldn’t let him get away!
As she crested the rise and looked for him in the valley below, shots rang out. Her hat flew into the air. Dang it! She ducked in reflex. If he’d wanted her dead too, why hadn’t he just shot her at the buckboard instead of practically daring her to even the score by showing his presence? He’d probably thought because she was a woman she’d simply turn tail and run.
She stood in the stirrups and fired back. The shot flew wild. Her curse of frustration followed suit. “Son of a bitch!”
Another bullet whizzed by her face, missing her cheek by mere inches. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she dropped from the saddle to seek shelter behind her mare. The rise offered no other protection.
“This was not one of my better ideas,” she murmured, knowing she’d acted on pure emotion instead of good reason. She should have circled around the other way, where she could have hidden behind some boulders. But then, she hadn’t the time to assess the situation that carefully.
The skittish mount pranced and tossed her head. “Sadie, please stand still. He won’t shoot you,” she assured with more confidence than she felt. “We have to get this man.”
She peered around the mare’s hindquarters and saw a flash in the trees. She fired.
At the loud report, Sadie bucked and ran. “No! Sadie!” Exposed, she fired again. The gun clicked, the hollow sound spearing her with terror. Empty.
A shot exploded from the trees.
Pain burned across her shoulder. “Ah!” She fell to the ground. The shotgun dropped from her hands and tumbled out of reach.
He’d only grazed her, but if she played dead, he might think he’d killed her and hightail it out of there. Though she hated to let him go, she had no choice now. She was out in the open and unarmed. She needed to see to her own life. With her eyes closed, she lay stock-still.
Several painful heartbeats passed, then she heard a horse trot up the hill. Sadie? Her gut feeling told her no, and her pulse quickened. Saddle leather creaked, and she felt a presence edge closer. The man. He’d dismounted and was checking her out. Her muscles tightened, her whole body growing tense as a coil. Don’t move, she willed herself.
The man snorted, then she heard a harsh phlegm sound and beads of sticky moisture splashed her cheek. The dirty—he’d spit on her! The urge to cringe, scream, run, even scratch out his eyes struck her, but she resisted. Her only hope of survival was to remain still.
She needed to think fast. She refused to go out without a fight. If she hadn’t lost her hunting knife when she dropped it down the well, she could have wounded the man into submission. At close range, a knife was a weapon she knew how to use.
“Loca mujer. Se advertí.”
At the sound of a gun’s hammer being pulled back, fear like she’d never known assailed her. This is it. She dug her nails into the dirt beneath the parched grass. A fleeting image of her younger sister, Beth, flashed before her eyes and tore at her heart. Please. There had to be a way to escape! Maybe she could—
A shrill cry pierced the air from somewhere above. A hawk. She recognized the sound, probably the last sound of nature she’d ever hear. The man fired his gun.
She jerked at the sound and screamed in her head. But…wait. What happened? No pain. He couldn’t have missed at such close range.
Another screech echoed overhead.
“What the hell?” the man yelled and fired again.
English? He’d spoken Spanish before. And what in tarnation was he shooting at? He uttered a vile curse, then she heard him remount and race down the hill.
After several silent moments, she popped open one eye and glanced around. Nothing. She slowly sat up and searched for movement.
The valley was quiet. The man had gone.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she eased to her feet, grateful to be alive. She wiped the spittle from her face and swiped at the blood that trickled from her shoulder. Thank goodness, only a minor wound. Why hadn’t he killed her? Certainly some angel watched over her today. She glanced down the rise. “Sadie?”
From behind some boulders, the mare peeked out. She neighed and then trotted up the hill. The Appaloosa eyed her and nudged her arm.
“I’m all right. Sorry I put you in the middle of all that gunfire, sweetie.” With shaky hands, she patted the horse’s neck and again searched the area for signs of life. Still seeing none, she picked up her gun and reloaded from a pack in her saddlebag. She swung up onto Sadie, praying the man wasn’t waiting to ambush her somewhere along the way.
Riding back toward the buckboard, the painful ache in her heart grew, and she choked back a sob. Her friends were dead. Their murderer free. She was lucky to have escaped with her own life.
The three of them had just come from the town picnic held each year on the first day of summer. After promising to bring over some of her famous mint tea, she’d left George and Edna at the bend in the road, right outside their property. Maybe if she hadn’t left them…
She was glad that after the picnic Beth had gone to the pond with a friend for a swim. The Harpers’ murders were going to devastate the girl.
As she approached the buckboard and stared into the lifeless eyes of the old couple, nausea assaulted her. She held her stomach until the feeling passed, then swiped at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She’d let George and Edna’s foreman know what had happened and take their bodies into town. Sheriff Logan would form a posse.
“That murdering snake won’t get away with this!”
Chapter One
July 1869
Skylar kneed Sadie down the rise. She’d just come from the graveyard, a trip she and Beth had made often these last few weeks. Today, she’d gone alone.
Much to her dismay, the sheriff had refused to form a posse to find the man who’d murdered George and Edna. The bandit was probably in the next territory by now, he’d said.
She suspected the Central Cattle & Stock Company was responsible for the Harpers’ deaths, but the sheriff scoffed at that theory.
Company men had put pressure on the Harpers and others to sell out. George and Edna had refused. She wouldn’t put murder past the CCSC to get the land they wanted. They’d already stampeded livestock, cut fence lines, and salted wells. Nothing seemed unjustified to them when it came to causing trouble for the locals.
Frustrated by the sheriff’s lack of action, she wanted to track the murderer herself. How else would the man be brought to justice? When he found out, Sheriff Logan had called her foolish and talked her out of it. Deep down, she knew he was right. She wasn’t exactly the bounty hunter type. And if she didn’t make it back, who would take care of Beth now that their parents were no longer around? Still, she had a hard time letting it go. She hated feeling so helpless.
At the bottom of the hill, she urged Sadie through a rickety gate. After a short ride down a dirt path, a wooden-planked cabin came into view.
Her home, nestled within a grove of pine trees, stood as a painful reminder of all she’d lost.
A half-hinged door from the dilapidated barn creaked in the wind like an old-timer’s knees, reminding her that she hadn’t gotten to the repair yet. Fence posts that surrounded the property looked ready to topple. The sight of her ma’s garden, where vegetables once flourished, but now weeds thrived, tugged at her heart.
Once, she’d been proud of her home. It had been well kept and alive with laughter. Things were different now. Her ma was dead, and her pa had run out, leaving her the responsibility of the homestead and raising her sister. She shifted in the saddle, feeling tired, sore, and lonely from the weight of her burdens.
A shriek pierced the air.
Her stomach churned, and she looked across the valley. The sound brought back memories of the day George and Edna died. She spotted an approaching hawk, wondering if it might be the same one. The blue-gray predator arced beneath the drifting clouds, then descended to a fence post a few feet in front of her and Sadie.
“What in the—”
An eerie glow emanated from the bird’s eyes. It cocked its head from side to side.
The hawk’s behavior struck her as odd. A wild hawk didn’t normally come so close. And those eyes! She stayed very still, not wanting to frighten the bird.
Without warning, other than a sudden rasping squeal, the hawk leapt out at her.
“Ack!” She ducked as it soared over her head. Its talons caught a few strands of hair and ripped them from her scalp. “Ow!”
The commotion spooked Sadie, and the mare reared.
“Whoa.” She grabbed the saddle horn and clamped her knees against the mare’s sides to avoid falling. “Steady.”
The horse calmed, and she shifted in the saddle to keep her eyes on the hawk. The bird flew over the trees and disappeared against the horizon. She cringed and rubbed her head. “Crazy bird.”
* * * * *
High above the forest, the hawk soared westward, holding tight to its capture—the soft strands of the female’s hair. When it reached a clearing, it circled the two-story cabin and corrals within its sight. No human movement below.
With a soft cry, it landed on a post near a black gelding behind a fence.
The black remained still, seemingly unafraid. But the eyes of a nearby red and white horse grew fearful. It neighed and raced to the far side of the enclosure.
After the other horse was well away, the hawk pulled the hair from its talons with its beak and released the strands. The hair drifted to the ground in front of the gelding.
Once again, the bird emitted a soft cry.
The black’s eyes widened, and he moved his neck from side to side, tossing his mane. The horse then bowed his head, and his nostrils flared as he sniffed at the strands.
The horse puffed out a gentle snort of air and backed off, while the blue-gray hawk remained on its perch, watching.
Both horses whinnied and circled the corral. Once they received a screech and flutter of feathers in response, they calmed, then everything fell still and silent once more.
Sensing male humans now near, the bird spread its wings and returned to the air, disappearing eastward, back toward a rotting, wooden-planked cabin.
* * * * *
The next afternoon proved even hotter than the day before. Each day lately seemed worse than the last.
Skylar wiped an arm across her sweaty forehead. With a sigh, she stripped off her work gloves and stuck them in her belt. She couldn’t remember the valley ever feeling this hot.
Exhausted from repairing fence lines and fixing posts all day, she guided Sadie toward one of the few ponds on her land not dried up from the drought. A dip in the water would refresh her. It might even ease her frazzled nerves. All day long, while she checked the fences for tampering, she’d felt watched.
Near a clump of trees at the pond’s bank, she heard a splash and peered between the leaves. Her pulse leapt at the sight of a man’s bare backside. Nobody around here would swim in her pond uninvited.
She drew her shotgun from the scabbard. As she moved closer, he dove under the water. She eased Sadie into the clearing, and when the man surfaced, she leveled her gun at him. “Hold it right there, mister!”
He froze, and his eyes widened. But then, almost immediately, his shoulders relaxed, and his mouth lifted into a grin.
She cocked her head. He didn’t look too much older than her sixteen-year-old sister. “You’re trespassing. This is my land, my pond.”
He waded closer, but stayed submerged below the waist. An easy smile flashed across his face. “Sorry. I was just taking a swim.” He shook the water from his hair. “It’s a devil of a hot day, don’t you think?”
“Who are you? I haven’t seen you around before.” And she didn’t cotton to strangers.
He wiped the water from his face. “Just moved in yesterday. My brother bought the old Harper spread down the road.”
“The Harper—” She hadn’t seen a posting for George and Edna’s property. But then, if her theory was correct about their murders, this young man and his brother probably confiscated the land for the CCSC, no matter how he worded it to the contrary. “What’s your name, boy?”
He visibly stiffened. “Cal Roberts.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s your name…girl?”
Well, well, well. He sounded offended. Good. At least he knew she wasn’t someone to trifle with. “Skylar Davenport, if it’s any of your business. Now get out of that water.”
“I’d be happy to, Miss Davenport, but there’s a hitch.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“My clothes.” He pointed to a willow tree next to her.
Brown slacks and a white shirt dangled from the branches. On the ground, a polished rifle lay beside a pair of expensive-looking brown boots. “There’s no hitch, Mr. Roberts. Get your clothes. I won’t stop you.”
“Well, heck. Turn around, or at least move aside.”
“Forget it.” She wasn’t about to give him any leeway. Even though he didn’t have the same build as the murderer, she didn’t trust any stranger. The cattle company had sent too many men down here to cause trouble. Sending someone not much older than a boy would be a great decoy.
“Then lower that cannon.” He eyed her shotgun. “The way you’re swinging it around you’re liable to shoot off my…uh…” he glanced down, then grinned up at her, “branding iron.”
She felt her face flush, but refused to let the young man unnerve her. She raised her chin. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t make me nervous.”
“And how am I supposed to know what makes you nervous?” He slapped the water.
She jumped. “That makes me nervous.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his heart. Her arms ached from the gun’s weight, but she didn’t dare show weakness by lowering it.
“All right.” He raised his hands. “Take it easy.”
“No more fast moves.” Not that he could do much damage, unarmed and naked. “Come on out.”
Cal waded to the bank and stepped from the pond, his eyes riveted on her. She held his gaze, ignoring, as best she could, the fact that he was unclothed.
When he started to pass her horse, she poked the end of the shotgun into his chest, which was better defined than she’d expected for someone his age. Maybe he was older than she’d suspected. “Hold it. Hand me your rifle first.”
“You know I could slap that shotgun aside and pull you right off your horse, if I had a mind to. You should have picked up my rifle long ago, lady, and then kept your distance.”
Her mouth went dry. He was right. He might be younger than she was, but he was tall and looked quite capable. She wouldn’t let him know she had realized her mistake. “I wouldn’t try it,” her finger tightened against the trigger, “unless you want a hole in your chest. Your gun?”
“Fine,” Cal mumbled. He reached for the butt of the rifle, giving her full view of his own butt in the process.
“No,” she warned. She didn’t look away as she knew she should. But then, she wasn’t looking for a thrill. She just didn’t want to compromise her position. “By the barrel.”
He reached for the other end and lifted it up to her.
She hefted the shotgun in one hand, almost dropping it, then grabbed the rifle, and shoved it into her scabbard.
“Dang!” Cal cringed and backed away. “Be careful. My rifle’s got a hair trigger.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Could have fooled me. Can I get dressed now? I’d just as soon not be found dead and naked. That would raise some eyebrows, don’t you think?” He chuckled.
“Get dressed, Mr. Roberts.” She wasn’t in the mood for levity.
His smile faded. “Simmer down, lady.” He flipped his pants off a branch. “I’m just trying to ease the tension. I feel like a dang holiday turkey, plucked naked with my wattle flapping in the breeze.”
She resisted the urge to grin and also the urge to admire how he handled himself. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Where’s your horse?”
“I walked.” Cal slipped into the trousers, and then sat on a flat rock to pull on his boots.
At least he didn’t have a red and white horse, like the murderer. She would assume he was up to no good, though. Better to be too cautious than too trusting, for now. She waved her shotgun toward a narrow, rock-lined path. “Start walking.”
“I’m going.”
Once Cal started on his way, she followed close behind. She wanted to confront the young man’s brother and find out if he was really a new-in-town rancher or actually a company man, looking to acquire land by any means possible.
Cal glanced over his shoulder. A frown marred his face. “I don’t need an escort.”
She ignored the comment. They rounded a bend and approached the arched gateway to the Harpers’ horse ranch. The memory of the couple’s bullet-ridden bodies flashed through her mind. Fighting back tears, she trailed Cal down the path toward the two-story cabin.
Her gaze flickered back and forth. No sign of the Harpers remained. The day after the killing, that crooked snake of a foreman had fired all the ranch hands, and disappeared, right along with most of the Harpers’ stock, furniture, and personal belongings.
She glared dubiously at Cal’s back, finding it hard to believe he and his brother were really ranchers. They had acquired the Harpers’ property too quickly to buy it in a public sale. Lands! George and Edna were hardly cold in their graves yet. Besides, she never saw a posting for the property anywhere. The CCSC had probably taken over the Harpers’ loan as soon as the couple had been buried. They’d done the same with Jed Cromwell’s homestead when the man took sick with the consumption and passed on last month.
A whinny drew her attention to the larger of two corrals. At first, what she saw didn’t register, then her chest tightened, and her heart skipped a beat.
Drinking from a water trough was a black gelding, and next to the trough, staring right at her, stood a red horse with a white belly!
She pulled up on Sadie’s reins. Coincidence? Her stomach clenched. She’d never believed much in coincidence. Even though she’d compared Cal to the murderer and dismissed the possibility of him being the killer, she had never really believed that the killer would stick around where he might be identified. She wouldn’t have ridden in here alone if she’d thought he was still in the territory. She needed to get out of there and tell the sheriff. The murderer rode a red horse with a white belly. If this turned out to be the same horse, the killer was here.
The cabin door creaked open. Skylar’s breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. A pearl-handled pistol glinted from the hip of the man who stood just within the door.
All the dime novels she’d read about gunfighters and their fancy six-shooters came to mind. Kid Joe, the only gunfighter she knew personally, carried his gun much the same as this man. Low on the hip and strapped down, ready for a fight—except Joe never owned such an expensive-looking weapon. What kind of gun had the murderer used? She couldn’t remember. Her heart thudded like a drum.
The man stepped out of the cabin and onto the porch.
She trembled when recognition crossed his face. Or had it? She couldn’t be sure. He’d masked it so quickly. If she ran now, he might shoot her in the back, if he was indeed the murderer.
Prepared to defend herself, she raised her shotgun. She wouldn’t let him see how he intimidated her. “Hold it, mister. Hands away from your gun.” She would have told him to drop the six-shooter to the ground, but she didn’t want his hands anywhere near it. Kid Joe had warned her never to let a professional touch his weapon. If this man was a gunfighter, he could easily gain the upper hand.
The stranger leaned against one of the porch posts and folded his arms over his chest. He crossed one boot over the other, and a glimmer caught her eye. She glanced down. A silver plate covered the tip of each black boot and was engraved with some design, but she couldn’t make it out from astride her horse.
Her gaze slid up the man’s body, cataloguing each detail. His left hand was gloved in black, as if he’d been working on something inside. His gun hand was bare. The black vest he wore covered a blue-gray shirt, which was a perfect match to the steely, blue-gray eyes that flashed against his tanned skin. From under a pushed-back dark hat, black hair hung to his collar. His square jaw, shadowed by whiskers, seemed to jut out in challenge to her presence.
He stood well over six feet and exuded an aura of confidence, indicative of a man who’d faced life’s demons and won. The stalking eyes and contained strength of his muscular body reminded her of a cougar at ease, but ready to pounce if she made a mistake.
A strange ache pulsated inside her, between her thighs. Her nipples hardened, and awareness she hadn’t experienced before washed over her. She shifted on the saddle. This man exuded more power than any she’d ever known.
“What did you do to rate an armed delivery back home?” He glowered at Cal.
“Nothing.” Cal stepped onto the porch. “Sharp-shooter Annie here just has no sense of humor.”
The man smiled and revealed even, white teeth. His eyes softened, and a dimple graced his cheek.
Her heart fluttered in response. Certainly, such an attractive man couldn’t be evil. She forced breath into her lungs and slid a finger over the trigger of her shotgun just in case. Best to be prepared.
The man arched an eyebrow and stepped down in the dirt.
Her pulse raced way too fast and perspiration trickled down her nape into the back of her shirt. “Mr. Roberts—”
“Sinclair, woman,” he corrected, and all softness disappeared from his eyes. “Wade Sinclair.”
She blanched. The term “woman” sent a shiver along her spine. The murderer had called her woman, in just that cold tone, too. That one word she’d understood in Spanish.
“What do you want?” He stepped closer.
Her stomach flip-flopped. “Back up, Mr. Sinclair. I have some questions for you.” She took a relieved breath when he stopped, but bristled when he didn’t step back. “Is that your horse—the red one with the white belly?” She nodded toward the horse.
“He’s in my corral.”
“Have you had him long?”
“Bought him yesterday.”
She lowered her shotgun a little and relaxed. He wasn’t the murderer. But then, he could be lying. Uncertainty plagued her. “Who sold him to you?”
“A man. Any more questions?”
Aggravation crept up her spine. He certainly wasn’t forthcoming with information. “Who do you work for?”
“What makes you think I work for anyone?”
She gritted her teeth, then forced herself to relax, before she totally lost her composure. “I never saw a posting for this property. How’d you acquire it?”
“Lucked out.” He edged closer.
“Stop right there, Mr. Sinclair!” She didn’t like the way he kept trying to get near her. Even if not the murderer, she needed to keep him out of arm’s reach. She didn’t trust him for one second. “Do you speak Spanish?” she asked for good measure.
“Why?”
“Hellfire!” She puffed out a frustrated wisp of air. “Quit sidestepping my questions. What’s wrong with you?” If he’d just answer her straight out, she might be able to determine his guilt, if any. And her next move.
“Right now, my problem is a nosy female toting a shotgun.”
Damn him! He was definitely hiding something. A company man? Or…
The man had the same build as the murderer. He owned a red horse with a white belly. He’d called her woman. Other than him saying he’d just purchased the horse, he looked guilty. Still, something inside told her otherwise. Oh, he wasn’t on the up and up, for sure. But a killer? She’d need more proof to label him as such.
“Are you his brother?” She indicated Cal, recalling their different last names.
Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you want? Did he do something?”
She’d never get her questions answered at this rate! What should she do now? She couldn’t report him. Sheriff Logan would laugh in her face. She had no real evidence he’d done anything wrong…yet. “Your brother, or whoever he is, was trespassing.”
“I went for a swim, lady. I didn’t kill anyone.”
At his choice of words, her pulse jumped. “Keep him off my property, Mr. Sinclair.”
“What makes you think you can ride in here and issue orders?” He uncrossed his arms and stalked toward her.
“Stop!” Her stomach twisted into hard knots, and she snapped up her gun. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cal stiffen. “Back off or you’re dead, I swear it.” She’d never killed anyone in her life, but she thought she sounded convincing. And if threatened, she would do whatever necessary to protect herself. Satisfaction flowed through her when apprehension crossed Sinclair’s face.
This time he did step back.
He nodded to the rifle in her scabbard. “Is that my brother’s?”
So they were brothers. She wondered if he even realized he’d confirmed it. “It is.” She lowered the shotgun slightly, the weight uncomfortable in her hands, but she kept it aimed in his direction.
“Hand it over.”
“Do you really expect me to do that?” His superior yes-I-do expression sent a wave of rage through her.
A flutter of feathers caught her eye, and she turned at the familiar sight. Was that the hawk again? Suddenly, she felt a viselike grip over her fingers and the shotgun.
She gasped, and her gaze whipped back to meet Sinclair’s in a war of wills. When his fingers eased up, she released the gun as if burned.
He grabbed it and tossed the weapon to Cal.
The arrogant cur! Not about to sit there helpless, she fumbled in the scabbard for Cal’s rifle. As she pulled it out, the gun slipped from her sweaty hand and fell to the ground, firing on impact. “Oh!”
Sadie spooked, and she fought to keep the mare from breaking away.
With a foul curse, Wade jumped back. “You’re a menace, woman! You’re going to end up killing yourself.”
Sinclair leaned over and picked up the gun, then handed that weapon to Cal, also.
Once she calmed her mount, she noticed Wade just standing there, studying her face. Her hand drifted to the two-inch scar on her cheek, then fluttered to the red marks on her throat. She couldn’t help but wonder what he thought.
“Ride on out. We’ve got work waiting,” he finally said.
Although beginning to believe he wasn’t the murderer—if so, he’d most likely have shot her by now—she figured he still meant trouble and was probably a company man. Unable to hold her tongue, frustrated by him, his brother, and even herself for confronting him in the first place when it might not have been safe, she lit into him. “My name is Miss Davenport, not woman! And I, too, have work. I don’t appreciate having to round up your strays.” She shot a disapproving look at Cal. “Next time, any trespassers caught on my land will be shot.” Let him think about that. “My gun?”
“Not a chance.”
What? “Oh!” She jerked Sadie’s reins and raced toward the gate. She had never met such an arrogant man in her life!
Cal rubbed his chin. “That was her.”
“I know.” Wade removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I recognized her even before she introduced herself.” Except, her actions troubled him. They didn’t make sense.
“Why’d you rile her like that?”
“She was holding us at gunpoint. What did you want me to do, invite her to tea?”
“You could have just drawn on her and gotten it over with.”
“You saw the way she handled those guns.”
“Sure did. Not what I expected.”
“Me either. I have to be certain.”
Cal jumped off the porch and walked backward toward the barn. “She’s got spunk. Too bad about those scars. She’d be a real beauty without them, don’t you think?”
“No.” He frowned. “I don’t.” The lie left a stale taste in his mouth. Skylar was a beauty even with the scars. He’d been stunned by her sultry violet eyes, soft pink lips, and mass of wavy black hair. The brown riding trousers and red chambray shirt she wore hugged her body in ways that would turn any man’s blood hot. Just thinking about her made his cock stir.
He wondered about the bastard who’d given her the scars. She was self-conscious about them. He could tell by the way she fingered them. He didn’t know for sure what caused the one on her face—a knife most likely—but the ones on her neck were obvious. She’d been choked, and hard enough to leave a permanent reminder. He inhaled deeply, reining in his anger at such a cruel act.
But had her tough stance been real or an act? Something didn’t feel right here.
He pulled a faded photoengraving from his vest pocket and studied the image. No scars. But then, the image wasn’t clear. He turned it over and read the name scrawled on the back. Skylar Davenport.
The hair on his nape twitched, the way it always did when something didn’t ring true. He shook his head and pushed aside the doubts.
He’d been paid to do a job. He would do it.
* * * * *
Devlin rifled through the folder, tossing several papers aside. Not here. “Where’s the picture, Conrad?” he asked the man lounging behind the desk. He wanted another look at the little whore.
“Sinclair took it with him.”
“Damn.” With a derisive snort, Devlin dropped the file and propped a hip on the polished desk. “I wanted this assignment. You knew that.”
“After your last fiasco, don’t expect the agency to send you on any more cases involving a female suspect, Devlin.” The man lit a cigar and took a long draw.
“I got the bitch to confess, didn’t I?” He smiled as the memories came back to him. He loved this job.
Conrad sighed. “She confessed all right. It would have been nice if she’d been guilty, though.”
* * * * *
“Was he really naked? Totally naked?” sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Davenport asked with wide eyes. She slid onto a rickety seat at the kitchen’s split-top table. “Tell me every detail.”
Skylar strode over to the sink, still out of sorts from the encounter. She forced a deep breath. “Stay away from the pond.” She worked the pump until cool water flowed between her fingers. “It’s not safe.”
“Because of one naked man?”
Picking up a cloth to dry her hands, she wondered about Beth. Her sister was so naïve when it came to men. But then, she supposed that was natural for a girl her age, always on the lookout for the ideal storybook hero in every cowboy or drifter she met. She fingered the scar on her cheek and remembered when she, too, had entertained such girlish ideals. No more.
“I’ve never seen a man without his clothes on.”
Skylar spun around, and the cloth fell from her hands. “I hope not!”
“He was a crotchety old man. That’s why you won’t tell me anything. He was ugly and all shriveled up with nothing to see.” Beth propped her elbows on the table and cupped her cheeks in her hands.
“He wasn’t crotchety.” She tried to sound nonchalant. She wasn’t about to comment on the shriveled part. “His name is Cal Roberts, and he’s about your age, maybe a year or two older, I’d say.”
Beth perked up. “Was he cute?”
“I’m sure you’d think so,” she answered absently, her thoughts drifting to Cal’s brother. What would Wade have looked like naked in the pond with water rolling down his taut, muscular body? She would have lowered her gaze south of his beltline, if he’d been naked. Seeing a man like him without clothes on would have been too tempting to resist. Her interest was simply a physical thing, of course. She’d never be attracted to a man so arrogant or someone who might be a company man.
“Did he seem nice?”
Skylar shook herself back to reality. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to find out.” She picked up the cloth and laid it next to the pump.
“Why are you wrought up? I think this is great. All the boys around here are so boring.”
“Now don’t go getting any ideas. I want you to stay away from him—them. At least for now, until I find out more about them. Cal may not be too bad, I don’t know yet. But his brother, Wade Sinclair, is pure trouble, in my opinion. He’s completely arrogant. And I’d bet he could snap a man in two if he wanted. I’d hate to imagine what he might do to a woman. His hands felt powerful enough to wrestle a bull. He didn’t even care that his brother trespassed on our land. He probably works for the cattle company or worse. You wouldn’t believe his gall. The skunk actually took my shotgun away from me.” Beth’s amused look stopped her cold. She was rambling, a tendency she often exhibited when excited.
“He made quite an impression on you.” Beth grinned that knowing grin of hers that Skylar hated. “You felt his hands?”
“Beth…”
“All right. I’ll be serious. What makes you think he works for the cattle company? And what did you mean by ‘or worse’?”
She didn’t know which question to answer first. She decided to stick with the most important. “Mr. Sinclair owns a red horse with a white belly.”
“So?” The girl’s eyes widened. “Wait…you think he’s the one who murdered George and Edna?”
“Maybe.” Her heart ached at the thought. “Well, no. Not actually, I guess. Heck, I don’t know.”
“It could just be a coincidence, you know.”
“I know. Sinclair claims he bought the horse only recently.”
“See. He couldn’t be the killer then. Besides, I’m sure lots of horses with that coloring can be found in the territory.”
“I’m leaning toward that conclusion myself. But I don’t want to make a mistake. And even if not a murderer, he probably works for the cattle company.”
“You keep saying that.”
“That’s because I’m betting that Wade and Cal took over the Harpers’ loan on behalf of the company. It wouldn’t be the first property the CCSC has acquired that way. I never saw a public posting for their place. How else could he have found out about the land and acquired it so quickly? We both know the banker is as crooked as they come and has been helping the CCSC.” The loan on her own property came to mind, and an uneasy feeling struck her.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Skylar. The other land the company has acquired is vacant. Wade and Cal might be perfectly innocent of everything.”
* * * * *
Darkness settled quietly over the valley. Skylar strolled across the dry, dusty yard near the barn. She needed time alone to think. She wiped her brow.
Not even the night air offered relief from the day’s heat. She rolled up her sleeves and pulled open the collar of her shirt.
Before she got halfway across the yard, a shriek pierced the moonless night.
She spun toward the sound, and a bird swooped into her line of vision. The hawk! Was that bird rabid or something?
Sharp talons scraped the bare skin of her arm as the bird whisked past. “Ow!” She clutched her forearm and blood seeped past her fingers. “Dang it!”
Her stomach clenched as something else drew her attention. On the ground not three feet away, two rattlesnakes, barely visible in the darkness, slithered toward her. Unable to move, she watched in horror as the bird landed on the snakes and ripped them to shreds with its claws. The sight made her ill, and she suddenly felt lightheaded. She needed to get back to the cabin.
The bird looked up and flew at her again.
With a sudden jolt of energy, she turned and ran, but the hawk caught her. It landed on her shoulder, and its talons gripped her shirt, ripping the material and sending pain through her flesh. She froze in her tracks.
With a controlled breath, she mustered what little courage she had left and turned her head toward her attacker, hoping it would fly off, but prepared to fight claw to claw if necessary to get it away from her. Except, she didn’t see the blue-gray feathers of the frightening bird. She saw the blue-gray eyes of a man.
Impossible!
She spun around. “You?” Her stomach clenched, and the pulse pounded through her veins.
With renewed panic, she turned and ran into the cabin. “Beth! Wake up!” She raced into the bedroom for her shotgun. Where was it? She thought she’d put the gun beside the bed.
Maybe she’d left it in the kitchen. She turned and terror gripped her at the sight of the man standing inside the bedroom door. She backed up against the wall.
Smoldering blue-gray eyes singed her in slow perusal. He was clad in black, except for silver-tipped boots and a pearl-handled pistol. He didn’t speak, only stalked nearer.
She tried to dash from the room, but he caught her and pushed her against the wall. His large, calloused hand moved possessively on her stomach, then inched toward her breasts. His fingers burned right through the clothing she wore, and she felt her nipples harden. Though fully covered, she felt naked under his heated gaze. “What do you want?”
Not answering, he just stared at her, as if he could see into her soul. In desperation, she struck out at him.
He grabbed her wrists and pressed them against the wall over her head. “Doo ???dzid da,” he whispered against her mouth. His gaze shifted to her lips.
Oh, my! Conflicting emotions surged inside her as his warm breath fanned her cheek. What had he said? Was that Spanish? She didn’t think so. Submitting to the desire in his eyes actually played through her head. She shook the image aside and tried to scream, but her voice betrayed her. An internal help was all she could manage. She pinched her eyes closed, willing him to leave.
His lips glided down her neck and his knee pressed intimately between her legs, causing her cunt to throb.
Waves of longing washed over her. Her weakness filled her with shame, but his touch felt like molten fire. His tongue teased her sensitive flesh, and a primitive urge to melt against him tugged at her soul. She needed this man inside her, to feel him between her legs, making her his.
He released one of her wrists and pulled at her shirt, ripping it open. His fingers pinched her bared nipple.
She gasped, and her eyes flew open at the exquisite thrill that raced through her body. But she didn’t see the blue-gray eyes of the man.
She saw the blue-gray feathers of the bird.
Bolting upright, she gasped for air. Confused, she fumbled for the lantern next to the bed. “A dream. Only a dream.” Her body sagged in relief. She sat awake and alone in her room.
Pain throbbed along her arm. She glanced down, and her breathing hitched at the sight of jagged scratches. “How—” Had she scratched herself while sleeping?
A screech from outside drew her attention. When she looked toward the open window, her heart fluttered and then beat a frantic rhythm. Shudders raced up and down her spine.
On the floor lay a clump of thick black hair and along with it…a hawk’s blue-gray feather.
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