by Nancy Bush
Kit yanked the dripping axe from the water and frowned, as if she’d been caught stealing it. “Want me to go get a rake?”
He shrugged. “Next time.”
Davis hated pointing things like this out to her, because he knew the girl was hard on herself. Maybe it was because she chose to live as a hermit most of the time, setting up camp wherever the spirit moved her on Dillinger land. For three years she had been scavenging on this land, ever since she’d dropped out of school. Her mother, Mia, pretended that Kit lived with her in that small house in town, but everyone knew the truth. Kit was a child of the valley.
Last week with the latest blizzard bearing down, he rode out to find her and offered up an old shed a few miles out. “It’s barely more than a shack, built as a hunting shelter, I think, but you’re going to need to stay inside,” he’d told her.
“I can’t stay inside,” Kit said matter-of-factly. “But I’ll use it for sleeping.”
“I don’t want to ride out here one day and find you frozen to death. You’re underage and there are laws about these things.”
“So?”
“Look, Kit, since you refuse to live with your mother, or anyone, and you won’t even stay here with the animals, at least use the shed.”
She almost smiled. “Nah.”
Sometimes, watching her, Davis found it hard to believe she wasn’t some Indian revivalist or some new age granola looking for attention. But Kit’s eccentricities were genuine. He suspected that she went for days without seeing another human, and she seemed to like it that way. On a bad day, Davis craved a bit of isolation himself, so he understood. But most of the time, he worried about Kit out in the valley, a young woman, barely more than a girl, fending for herself completely on her own. It was an ancient way of life, living in communion with the land, hunting small prey and gathering roots and herbs, but still, he worried about her.
As he watched, Kit moved down to break the ice on the other trough. With another wild cry, she smashed the axe through the surface and then bailed the chunks of ice out. When he didn’t immediately leave, she dropped the axe, looked at him hard, then swept the ski mask from her head and shook it out.
Her hair was pulled into a long, coppery braid with wisps around her face. Thin but strong, fast but graceful, Kit was a beautiful girl. Whenever he looked at her he saw Dillinger there—she was Judd’s daughter, no denying that—but she’d also inherited a wild and free spirit that was at odds with convention.
“That cold front passed, but we’ve got plenty more winter on the way,” he said.
“I like the snow. It brings quiet.”
He nodded, wishing he could ask her about the ritual he’d seen her performing in the distance. Somehow, though, it didn’t seem wise to face the issue head-on. When you trapped a wild animal, it had no choice but to lash out at you. He would wait and think on it.
“Good work today,” he told her, nodding toward the stables. “The horses are always happy when you’re here.”
She lifted her elfin face to the moon. “They don’t want much from me. Just a good brushing and clean hooves.”
“You can go now. It’s getting late.”
“There are still a few horses who need to have their hooves picked. I can’t leave without tending to them.”
“You should be gone already.” Hearing the sound of an arriving truck, he added, “I got Sabrina coming out to check on those pregnant mares.”
“Babylon?” Kit asked. “She’s restless. I was just cleaning her hooves. She could barely hold still for me.”
Babylon was the mare Davis had been most worried about. “I worry that she might hurt herself, banging up against the stall.”
Kit grunted. “Sabrina’s good.”
Not as good as you, Davis thought, knowing Kit’s sixth sense where animals were concerned was a gift from the spirits who moved her.
As they headed toward the door, Kit yanked up the black skirt she wore over her blue jeans to wipe off the axe blade before handing it back to him.
“Good?” she asked, turning away.
“Good,” he said, watching her leave, wishing he could call her back, knowing it was fruitless.
Inside the stables, he heard a female voice talking, soft and low. Following the sound, he found Sabrina Delaney in Babylon’s stall, rubbing the mare’s sleek brown neck.
“Hey, Davis.” Sabrina didn’t even look away from the horse. “I already checked out Queenie. She’s in good shape.”
Davis nodded. “This one’s more of a worry.”
“When I came over, she was pawing the floor of her stall,” Sabrina agreed. She let herself out of the stall, then turned back to face the tall, rangy mare. “What is it, girl? Feeling nervous?”
“She’s high-strung,” Davis said. “Always has been.”
“Some of us women are just born that way, right, girl?” Sabrina said as the mare stretched her long neck over the stall gate and nudged Sabrina with her nose. “Yeah, I know, it’s tough.”
“So far, she hasn’t been a problem,” Davis said. “Kit knows how to calm her down.”
“Was it Kit who cleaned her hooves? Because whoever groomed Miss Babylon did a great job.” As if she understood, the bay snorted, her dark ears twitching at the conversation. When Davis nodded, Sabrina added, “That girl is something else with animals.”
“She said you were good, too.”
“Really.” Sabrina arched a brow. “High praise, indeed.”
Davis nodded.
“You look worried,” she said.
“I am worried,” he admitted.
“Kit lives off the grid by choice. We all know Mia. Her relationship with her daughter isn’t a good one. They couldn’t be more dissimilar.” When Davis didn’t respond, she said, “Let’s keep an eye on Babylon, but I don’t see any reason to worry or medicate her. She’s healthy. Bright eyes and a gleaming coat. Make sure she gets enough exercise and try to keep her calm. Avoid any undue stress.” She picked up her veterinary kit.
Davis looked behind him. He wanted to be sure Kit wasn’t within earshot, but the girl was long gone. “Have you handled any weird cases lately?” he asked her intently.
Sabrina met his gaze and said slowly, “I treated a wild hawk today, which isn’t my usual.”
“Ritualistic animal killings. Mutilations.”
“What? No. Why? What’s happened?”
“Ira asked me not to talk about it.”
“Now you really have to tell me.”
“We found a mutilated coyote carcass on Dillinger property.”
“Mutilated how?”
“Skinned. Sliced. By a human, not an animal.”
“Did you call the authorities?” she asked, making a disgusted face. Davis understood. Of all the creatures on the planet, humans were by far the most cruel.
“No law against killing coyotes.”
“I know, but … Look, can I see the carcass?”
“We buried it out in the valley.”
“Can you unbury it? The ground’s frozen, so it should be intact.” She put down her veterinary kit to zip her jacket. “You’ve got my interest piqued. As least show me where it is. I’ll come back in the morning.”
Suddenly, Davis wanted to end the conversation. He had hoped Sabrina would have an explanation, a way around the facts that were staring him in the face, the evidence that all pointed to the one person he wanted to believe was free of blame. “In the morning,” he agreed. If that would get her off the trail right now, he would take a ride out with her.
“You’ve got me spooked, Davis,” she admitted.
He shook his head. She wasn’t the only one.
Sabrina stared into Davis Featherstone’s granite face. For a man so young, he possessed a gravitas she generally only saw in people who’d lived a long time. “So call me in the morning and we’ll figure out a time,” Sabrina told him as she grabbed her kit and headed toward the door.
“Tomorrow,” Davis said.
&n
bsp; Just as she turned away from the foreman, the door to the stables opened and along with a rush of cold air a man appeared.
Colton damn Dillinger. Big as life.
A shepherd followed him inside as the pale barn light washed over a face she’d recognize anywhere, despite time, distance and years. His jaw was a bit tighter, his features more angular, all reminders of a boyhood long vanished. He seemed to have filled out, still long and lean, even rangy, ever the cowboy.
Her heartbeat ran light and fast, which was ridiculous. It’s over, Sabrina. Long over. Remember that. For God’s sake, remember that.
“Sabrina?”
Dear God, even his voice was familiar.
Colton’s gaze caught hers. “I thought I saw you drive in.”
“You don’t miss a trick.”
“Ouch.” His lips twisted a bit. “I probably deserved that.”
“And more.” The words just came out, repressed for what seemed like forever.
He dared step a little closer and he seemed taller than she remembered, and, of course, even more broad-shouldered. “Okay, let’s start over.” When she looked up sharply, he held up both hands. “Sorry, bad choice of words. I meant the conversation.”
“O-kay,” she allowed, but was looking for a way to end this. Conversation with him was pretty much pointless. They had been lovers long ago, it didn’t work out, and now they were making awkward small talk.
He made a stab at it again. “So, you’re the vet for the Rocking D. I guess some things have changed in eighteen years.”
Some things, but not everything. The thought was irritating. The same attraction that had brought them together so long ago still sparked between them. Stupidly. Yes, dammit, after eighteen years, the chemistry was still there. And she hated it. Time to end this. Now.
“I was just leaving.” She nodded toward the door, hoping for a quick escape.
“Is there a problem with the herd?” Colt asked.
“She was just checking over one of the broodmares,” Davis interjected, and Sabrina realized she’d forgotten the foreman was standing nearby. That’s what seeing Colton did to her.
Obviously, Davis saw his quick exit. “See you in the morning,” he told Sabrina, then headed toward the rear of the stables.
“I heard you took over Doc Storey’s practice,” Colton said, drawing her attention back to him again. She smelled the scents of leather and soap and horses on him, the combination reminding her of a hot night of making love to him. Oh, God. “Good for you,” he was saying. “It’s what you always wanted.”
What I wanted was you, she thought and hated herself for it. He left you, Sabrina. Don’t ever forget. She didn’t bother with a fake smile and just said, “I’ve been practicing for a few years now.” Tightening her grip on the handle of her bag, she ignored the fact that he was still too damned handsome for his own good. Two days’ growth of beard and long hair poking out from beneath his hat only added to that rugged cowboy charm.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad Dad hired you to take care of the stock.” He tipped back his hat, and the sincerity in his eyes struck a chord deep inside her. It’s because you’re tired and rundown and vulnerable. This isn’t a true feeling; no attraction lasts eighteen years.
She looked away from him. A headache pounded in her tired brain, and the last thing she needed right now, the very last thing, was dealing with Colton Dillinger. Of course, she’d thought she was long over him, had convinced herself that if she ever saw him again, she wouldn’t feel a thing.
It was mortifying to know she was wrong.
What she felt at the sight of him was a ludicrous blend of anger, humiliation and desire. Was she curious about him? Hell, yes. But she wasn’t going to go there. She’d grown up in the past eighteen years, and though she suspected passion could still run hot between them, plenty of things had changed. She had a life here … and he had one in Montana. End of story.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine, really, but I have to go,” she said and turned away before he could recognize the lie in her eyes. Marching through the snow to her truck, she tried to think rationally, to push aside any of those old unresolved feelings for him that still lingered. Not old, she told herself, more like ancient. He wasn’t a part of her life now and never would be. She made her living from treating livestock in the area, and Ira Dillinger’s ranch represented the lion’s share of cattle and horses in the valley. She needed the Dillinger business and couldn’t risk blowing it with anyone in the family, even Colton.
She absolutely couldn’t have him know how she felt.
Yanking open the door to her truck, she swung behind the wheel and threw her bag onto the passenger seat.
“Wait!” Colton was jogging through the snow, his dog bounding behind him. He caught up with her, his boots sliding a bit in the snow, just as she slammed the door shut. The alarm that reminded her she hadn’t buckled up began to ding, so she yanked the seat belt strap over her shoulder and clicked it in, then fired up the engine so she could roll the window down.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”
She stared at the dashboard to avoid his penetrating eyes. “I’m just tired, and it’s been a long week.” And I was just hit with the terrible realization that I’ve thrown away eighteen years of my life pining for you.
For a second he hesitated, as if he didn’t know what to say. “It’s … it’s good to see you again.”
“We don’t have to pretend that we’re friends, Colton,” she said.
“What?” He was as surprised by her tone as she was.
“I’m sorry. You caught me at a bad time.”
“I’d like to think we are friends.” He seemed sincere.
Perfect!
“Good. Yeah. That’s great. We’re friends.”
“What the hell, Sabrina?”
She was acting nuts and she couldn’t help herself. Shaking her head, she threw the truck into reverse. Before she could leave, he clamped a gloved hand over the open window ledge. “I’ve got to go,” she said, staring pointedly at his fingers.
Why in God’s name could she remember every touch, every moment with him?
Because for a long while after he left, you reviewed it night after night, alone in your bed, wishing for him, wanting him …
“I was a shit back then,” he said, picking up on her feelings as if she’d voiced them.
“You were.”
“I’m trying to say I’m sorry if I—”
“If you what?”
“I don’t know. Hurt you.”
She gritted her teeth. She felt tears burn her eyelids, but she held them back and blamed them on how tired she was. “And I was really … young. So, okay. Good. We’ve apologized. We’re all kumbaya now, okay. Look, who cares, anyway? It was so damn long ago.” She tried to laugh it off, but her throat was too tight.
“Sabrina …”
“Stop! I know you’ve been to hell and back, Colton. I heard about your family and I’m sorry about that, for you. I really am. But … this is … oh, hell, I don’t know what this is. Listen, Colton, I’ve really got to go.”
His jaw tightened and he glanced away, but his gloved hand was planted firmly on the window. “Could we talk, sometime?”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I, um, I guess I’ll see you at the wedding. Everybody thought you wouldn’t show, but, well, everybody was wrong: Here you are.”
“Ahh …” He nodded as if he finally understood. “You didn’t think you’d have to see me.”
She had no answer to that as a gust of wind blew through the cab.
“How about we grab a cup of coffee sometime?” he persisted. “It’ll give us a chance to talk. Catch up on the last eighteen years or so.”
She took a deep breath, trying to think clearly. Impossible, with Colt’s face in the open window, just inches away from her. “I don’t think so.”
“Sabrina, come on.”
She fought with he
rself. “I don’t mean to be … petty or hold grudges, but maybe it’s my nature.”
“Yeah, right.” His smile, as boyish and irreverent as she remembered, slid across his jaw. “I’ll call you. I’m sure someone here has your number.”
“I didn’t say ‘yes.’”
“Just a matter of time, darlin’.”
God, he was irritating. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
“It’s a date, then.”
She let out a disgusted breath. “We’ll see.”
“That we will.” His cocky grin mocking her, he slapped his palm on the window ledge and stepped back.
Sabrina hit the gas and, wheels spinning in the snow, fishtailed out of the drive and drove into the blessed darkness.
The killer stood beneath the low-hanging branches of a pine and stared through a veil of falling snow to the tall windows of the Dillinger house. Without any shades the glass soared to a peak, allowing the lights within to blaze brightly into the night. Ira Dillinger, that old prick, saw no reason for privacy, no need to shut out the rest of the world. Of course not. Imagining himself as king of this part of Wyoming, Ira Dillinger feared nothing. He considered himself and his family impervious.
Guess again, old man.
All of Dillinger’s false pride was about to come to a crashing, brutal end. Which would be perfect.
From his hiding spot, he smiled at the thought of the havoc he would wreak. Soon. He salivated at the thought and touched the handle of his hunting knife buried deep inside his pocket. Life as he knew it was going to change for the old man. Ira Dillinger and anyone close to him was going to learn about fear.
Quietly, he slunk through the shadows, staying close to the thicket of trees that flanked the machine shed. From beneath the roof’s overhang, he found a new vantage point, where another window was visible.
Anxiously, he waited.
He listened to the sound of an owl hooting in the distance, barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.
His eyes were trained on the window. Through the glass that soared nearly thirty feet to the roof’s peak, he had a view of the wide plank staircase leading to the second floor. The grand main staircase. He told himself he wouldn’t have to wait long and, as expected, within ten minutes, he spied Pilar Larson mounting the steps to the upper story.
