by B. J Daniels
But he knew the answer to that.
She could send him back to prison.
He was probably headed back there for another year, anyway. If she lost her job, which appeared likely, then this deal was over. He knew Stratton hadn’t wanted him out to begin with, and with pressure from Shade Waters…
But that wasn’t what worried him. It was Sheriff Claude McCray. McCray had seen the two of them together by the truck. He would make trouble for Jack. Dillon didn’t doubt that for a second.
The tow truck driver finally arrived. Jack had been leaning against the side of the disabled pickup, arms crossed, a scowl on her face.
Dillon had had the good sense to leave her alone. Now he listened to Jack give the tow truck operator instructions to take the pickup to a tire shop, have the slashed tires replaced, the state billed, and the truck delivered to the motel in the morning.
The driver, a big burly guy with grease-stained fingers, grunted in answer before driving off with the pickup in tow.
“Pleasant fellow,” Dillon commented as he and Jack were left alone in the dark parking lot.
She grunted in answer and started walking toward the motel. He guessed she needed the fresh air so he accompanied her and kept his mouth shut.
They hadn’t gone a block, though, when her cell phone rang. She shot him a look. He felt his gut clench. It was the call they’d both been expecting all night. Once Stratton fired her, Dillon would be on his way back to Montana State Prison.
Well, at least he’d gotten a kiss, he told himself. And Chinese food. Sometimes that was as good as it got.
He could tell that Jack didn’t want to talk to anyone, after everything that had happened tonight. As she checked her caller ID, he figured that, like him, she was worried it would be the sheriff.
“It’s Stratton,” she said, and gazed at Dillon. They’d both been expecting this. He sure was calling late, though.
Was there some reason it had taken him so long? Maybe like he was giving it some consideration—until he got a call from the sheriff?
She snapped open the phone. “Wilde.”
Dillon watched her face. A breeze stirred the hair around her face, and her eyes went wild, like those of a deer caught in headlights.
“I see.” She listened for a while, then stated, “Fine. No, I understand. If that’s what you want.” She snapped the phone shut.
Dillon stared at her, trying to gauge the impact of the call. She looked strange, as if all evening she’d been preparing herself for the worst. Earlier, he’d had the feeling that she’d already given up the job. There’d been a freedom in her that had drawn him like a moth to a flame. “Well?”
“The rustlers hit again. Leroy Edmonds’s ranch, to the east. Stratton thinks it was the same bunch. One of the ranch hands just found where the barbed wire fence was cut. Not sure when or how many head were stolen.”
“Did Stratton…?”
“Fire me? No.” She shook her head, as if this had been the last thing she’d expected. Maybe still couldn’t believe it. “Waters apparently talked him out of it. Seems Waters has had a change of heart.”
“Not likely,” Dillon said with a curse, wondering what the bastard was up to.
Just as she had earlier, Jack looked to be close to tears. Tears of relief? Or just exhaustion? This day had to have played hell on her. He wished there was something he could do to make things easier for her. But he wasn’t going to make the mistake of trying to kiss her again.
That woman at the steak house, the one who’d laughed and drank wine and seemed free, was gone. This one was all-business again.
“So you’re telling me Waters has agreed to let us on his ranch?” Dillon asked, more than a little surprised.
“Sounds that way.”
“Why the change of heart?” he had to ask.
“Shade says one of his ranch hands saw someone watching a grazing area with binoculars. He’s agreed to let us talk to the hired hand and even have access to that section,” she said. “That’s a start.”
She seemed relieved that she hadn’t been fired. But there was also a sadness about her. Dillon felt a stab of guilt for denigrating her job earlier.
“The sneaky son of a bitch,” he said with a laugh. “He’s that sure we won’t catch him at whatever he’s up to. Tell me this doesn’t feel like a setup.”
“I have to treat it like a legitimate lead,” she said, sounding as if she wasn’t any more happy about this than he was.
“I know. It’s your job. But just do me one favor. No matter how sure you are that Waters is innocent, don’t ever underestimate the bastard.”
Jacklyn smiled. “Funny, that’s what everyone keeps telling me about you.”
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, with new tires on the truck, Jacklyn filled up the gas tank, then picked up the horse trailer and enough supplies to last a good three days.
“So we’re headed for Leroy Edmonds’s place?” Dillon asked, as Jack pointed the rig north again. “I thought you said his ranch was to the east?”
“First stop is Waters’s spread. I need to talk to the hand who says he saw someone up in the hills scoping out the herd,” she said.
He nodded, but sensed there was more going on with her this morning. Unless he was mistaken, there’d been a change in Jack. Not quite a twinkle in her eye, but close. He’d bet money she was up to something.
It was one of those blue-sky days that was so bright it was blinding. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the weather was supposed to be good for nearly a week.
Dillon still couldn’t believe he wasn’t headed back to prison. It made him a little uneasy. “So who’s the ranch hand?”
“Pete Barclay. He’s worked for Waters ever since you went to prison,” she said, glancing over at him.
She wasn’t fooling him. All his old cowboy buddies were back in central Montana. Neither of them thought that was a coincidence.
He sighed deeply. “Pete Barclay.”
“What? I thought Pete was your friend? Or are you going to tell me that he’s now in cahoots with Waters?”
Dillon shook his head. There was no telling her anything. “Pete actually saw one of the rustlers?”
“The person was up in the hills. He saw a flash of light up in the rocks that he believes came from binocular lenses. When he went up to investigate, he found tracks. Look, I’m not sure what I believe at this point. That’s why I want to talk to Pete.”
“Right.” There was more to it, sure as hell.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t trust Waters,” she admitted, as if the words were hard to say.
Dillon looked at her in surprise. That was the most honest she’d been with him. Not to mention that she’d just taken him into her confidence. Maybe he was finally making inroads with her. Or maybe she was just telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.
REDA HARPER HAD NEVER been good at letting sleeping dogs lie. She hadn’t slept well last night, tossing and turning, her mind running over the meeting at the community center and, even more, what she’d seen on the W Bar.
She’d made a few calls first thing this morning to find out if the rustlers had struck again.
She’d been shocked to hear that, sure enough, they had hit another ranch. One to the east, though, not Waters’s. How was that possible, when she’d have sworn she saw them on the W Bar last night? Unless she’d seen them after they’d hit Edmonds’s ranch.
But what had she really seen?
“Isn’t any of my business,” she said to herself, even as she sat down at her desk and pulled out the pale lavender stationery. Caressingly, she ran her fingertips over the paper. Nicer than any paper she would have bought for herself. The stationery had been a gift from her lover.
“The no-good son of a bitch,” she said under her breath. Her lips puckered, the taste in her mouth more sour than lemons as she picked up her pen and, with a careful hand, began to compose one of her infamous letters.
The mistake she’d made wasn’t in mailing the letter, she realized later. It was in not leaving well enough alone and only sending the letter.
Even as she was pocketing shells and picking up her shotgun, she knew better. Not that she’d ever drawn the line at butting into other people’s business. In fact, it was the only thing that gave her any satisfaction in her old age.
No, it was not leaving well enough alone when it came to Shade Waters. Her mother, bless her soul, had always said that Reda’s anger would be the death of her.
Of course, her mother had never known about Reda’s affair with Shade, so she’d never witnessed the true extent of her daughter’s fury.
Had there been someone around to give Reda good advice, he or she would have told her not to get into her pickup armed with her shotgun. And maybe the best advice of all, not to go down that back road to where she’d seen that stock truck last night.
JACKLYN TURNED AT THE gate into the W Bar Ranch, taking a breath and letting it out slowly.
Last night she hadn’t been able to sleep—not after the ranchers’ meeting, everything she’d learned at the steak house with Dillon, and finally Stratton’s call.
At least that’s what she told herself. That it had been Dillon who gave her a sleepless night—and not just the kiss.
The night before had left her off balance. Even a little afraid. That wasn’t like her, and she knew part of it was due to Dillon Savage. She’d known he was dangerous, but she’d underestimated his personality. Even his charm, she thought with a hidden smile.
But last night, unable to sleep, she’d realized what she had to do. As she drove into the W Bar, she knew the chance she was taking. She was no fool. She’d gotten Dillon out of prison for the reason he suspected: to give him enough rope that he would hang himself. She’d been that sure he was the leader of the rustling ring.
Now she suspected that Stratton was doing the same thing with her.
This morning before they left, she’d called Shade Waters. He’d been almost apologetic. She’d questioned him why this was the first time she’d heard about one of his men seeing someone on the ranch. Why hadn’t he mentioned it yesterday at his place? Or last night at the meeting?
“I just heard about it. I guess he told Nate and—” Waters let out a low curse “—Nate had other things on his mind and forgot to mention it until late last night.”
“I want to talk to the ranch hand.”
“I’ll make sure he’s here in the morning.”
She’d wondered even then if Waters was making things too easy for her, setting her up, just as Dillon suspected. Or was she just letting Dillon sway her, the same way she’d let him kiss her last night?
As she parked in front of the ranch house, she was glad to see there wasn’t a welcoming reception on the porch this time. “I need to talk to Pete alone.”
“I’ll be right here,” Dillon said, lying back and pulling his hat down over his eyes. He gave her a lazy grin.
“Make sure you stay here,” she said.
He cut his eyes to her. They seemed bluer today than she’d ever seen them. Just a trick of the light. “At some point, you might want to give me more to do than sleep.”
Soon, she thought. Very soon.
DILLON’S INTENTION had been to stay in the pickup. The last thing he wanted to do was make Jack mad again, he thought, as he watched her walk toward the barn. She did fill out her jeans nicely, he decided. He groaned, remembering the hard time he’d had getting to sleep last night, just thinking about their kiss.
He’d figured this early release would be a cakewalk. Just hang back, let things happen, do as little as he could. Jack was good at her job. She didn’t need him.
But that had been before last night. Now he felt frustrated, on too many levels. He couldn’t sit back and let Jack make the biggest mistake of her life.
The thought made him laugh. The biggest mistake of her life would be falling for him.
Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.
No, Jack was going at this all wrong. She was never going to catch the rustlers at this rate. She needed to investigate the W Bar and Waters.
Was she dragging her feet because of Dillon’s own past with the rancher? He swore under his breath and sat up. The place was quiet. Maybe too quiet?
He told himself he had to think of what was best for him as well as Jack. She needed his help. He wondered how long it would be before he was headed back to prison, if she didn’t get a break in this case.
Something shiny caught his eye. Grillwork on an old stock truck parked in tall weeds, behind what was left of a ramshackle older barn.
He thought of Jack for a moment. She’d disappeared into the new barn, closer to the house. He knew why she had balked at investigating Waters on the q.t. behind her supervisor’s back. Because she didn’t have a criminal mind.
But he did, he admitted with a grin, as he popped open his door and slipped out of the pickup. He wouldn’t go far, but he definitely wanted to have a look at that truck. He was betting it was the same one he’d hitched a ride in just the day before.
Sneaking along the side of the building, Dillon kept an eye out for Jack. He hated to think what she would do if she caught him.
The W Bar definitely seemed too quiet as he neared the front of the truck. He hesitated at the edge of the building, flattening himself against the rough wood wall to listen. He could hear crickets chirping in the tall weeds nearby, smell dust on the breeze, mixed with the scents of hay and cattle, familiar smells that threatened to draw him back into that dark hole of his past.
After a moment, he inched around the corner of the barn and along the shady side the stock truck. It was cool here, wedged between the truck and the barn. He stayed low, just in case he wasn’t alone. Strange that no one was around, other than the hired hand Jack was meeting with in the other barn. Pete Barclay, she’d said. He and Pete had never been close. Pete was a hothead.
That fact made Dillon nervous about Jack being in the barn alone with him. He reminded himself that she was wearing a gun, this was what she did for a living, and he had to trust her judgment.
Still, he was worried as he moved past the driver’s door and along the wooden bed of the truck. He grabbed hold of one of the boards and climbed up the side, hesitating before he stuck his head over the top. He still hadn’t heard any vehicles. No tractors. No ranch equipment. Not even the sound of a voice or the thunder of horses’ hooves. Where was everyone?
As he finally peered over the top of the stock rack, Dillon wasn’t all that surprised by what he found. The back of the truck had been washed out. There was only a hint of odor from the dead calves that had been in it yesterday.
Climbing down, he noticed that the truck was older than he’d realized yesterday. Probably why it was parked back here. Because it was seldom used.
He started around the corner of the barn, sensing too late that he was no longer alone.
JACKLYN FOUND Pete Barclay where Waters had told her he would be. In the barn. On her walk there, she saw no one else. She hadn’t seen Waters’s car, nor Nate’s, for that matter, and suspected they might have gone into town to avoid her.
Which was fine with her.
Pete Barclay was a long, tall drink of water. He had a narrow face that she’d once heard called horsey, and he wore a ten-gallon Stetson that he was never going to grow into. His long legs were bowed, his clothing soiled, she noted, when she found him shoveling horse manure from the stalls.
“Mornin’,” he said when he saw her, and kept on working.
“Shade told you I was coming out?”
Pete nodded.
“I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” He shoveled the manure into a wheelbarrow, not looking at her.
“Shade said you saw someone watching the ranch?”
Pete dumped another shovelful into the wheelbarrow, the odor filling the air. Had Waters purposely told him to do this job thi
s morning, because she would be talking to him?
“Can’t say I saw anyone, just kind of a reflection. You know—like you get from binoculars.”
“So you investigated?”
He nodded as he scooped up more manure. “Just found some boot and horseshoe prints. The ground was kind of trampled. Looked like someone had been hanging around behind a rock up there.”
“And where was this, exactly?”
He told her. He still hadn’t looked at her.
“Shade said you told Nate?”
He gave another nod.
“How many cattle would you say Mr. Waters has in that area?” she asked. She couldn’t see Pete’s face, but his neck flushed bright red.
“Mr. Waters said I wasn’t to be giving out any numbers. Truth is he’s talking about moving the cattle closer to the ranch house until the rustlers are caught.”
“That’s a good idea,” she agreed, wondering if Shade had any idea what a terrible liar Pete was.
“He said to tell you to take the Old Mill Road. The country back in there is pretty rough. It’s a good day’s ride on horseback.”
“Then I’d better get started,” Jacklyn said.
SHADE WATERS STEPPED OUT in front of Dillon, blocking his way, as he came around the corner of the barn.
Dillon had often thought about what he would do if he ever caught the rancher in a dark alley, just the two of them alone, face-to-face.
“You and I need to talk,” Waters said.
Dillon cocked his head, studying the man. Did the rancher have any idea how much danger he was in right now? Up close, Waters looked much older than he remembered him. He had aged, his skin sallow and flecked with sun spots. But there was still power in his broad frame. Shade Waters was still a man to be reckoned with.
“What could you and I possibly have to talk about?”
“Your father.”
Dillon couldn’t hide his surprise. He glanced toward the pickup, but didn’t see Jack. “I don’t think you want to go down that road.”
