And simply disappeared.
Bay had begun to suspect the worst, and she wasn’t sure her mother could handle another tragedy so soon on the heels of her father’s death. She’d made Sam promise to call her immediately if he heard anything.
This might be that call.
“Would you answer my cell phone?” Bay said to Summer. “Just unsnap the cover and remove it.”
“Can’t that wait?”
“No, it can’t,” Bay said, keeping her voice calm in deference to the mare. “Hit the call button and find out who it is.”
Bay made herself stay focused on the mare’s labor, while she listened to Summer’s responses to the caller.
“She’s right here,” Summer said. And then, “This is Summer Blackthorne.”
Summer held the phone away from her ear. “It’s your brother Luke. Swearing a blue streak. Wants to know how the hell I got hold of your cell phone.”
Bay couldn’t take the risk of releasing the foal’s foreleg. The mare was losing strength fast, and she might not get another hold as good as the one she had. “Put the phone to my ear.”
“Wouldn’t it be better—”
“Do as I ask!” Bay could hear her brother still ranting at Summer. “Luke!” she interrupted. “Shut up and tell me where you are. The Big Bend? That’s five hundred miles from here! What in the world are you doing in country that far west of the Pecos? Of course I’ll tell Mom you’re all right, but what are you—”
The mare’s belly rippled, and Bay urgently bent forward, away from the phone, to make one last desperate tug on the foal’s foreleg before the contraction began. The knee unbent as the contraction hit, and Bay felt the foal move along the birth canal. “Thank you, God,” she muttered.
It was then Bay realized she’d missed whatever Luke had been trying to tell her. “Put the phone back to my ear,” she snapped at Summer.
The mare whinnied anxiously, and Bay forced herself to speak calmly despite her agitation. “Luke? Are you there? I missed what you just said. What does Clay Blackthorne—?” Bay cut herself off as she realized who was perched on bended knee beside her, then continued without mentioning names.
“So he met with some men in Midland and now you’re following them and—That sounds awfully farfetched. Luke, I don’t think you should—” Bay saw the curiosity on Summer’s face. She turned her back on the girl and whispered, “If you’re so sure he’s involved, why not go to the military police or the FBI or the Texas Rangers or whoever hunts down—”
Bay closed her eyes and bit her lip as she listened to her brother’s urgent voice. “Luke, please don’t try to handle this yourself. You might—”
The mare grunted and began to expel the foal. Bay saw the umbilical cord slide down and realized that it would be crushed between the foal and the edge of the birth canal, cutting off the flow of oxygen. She had to get the foal out quickly, or it would suffocate.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Summer asked anxiously.
Bay leaned away from the phone and frantically searched in her medical bag for the OB chain she’d brought with her. She wrapped it around the foal’s hocks, ready to pull as the mare pushed.
“Hold the damned phone where I can hear it!” she snarled.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Summer snarled back.
“Luke? Repeat what you said. I didn’t hear it all.”
The mare shuddered as another contraction tore at her belly. Bay leaned toward the struggling animal, groaning with frustration as she once again lost the sound of her brother’s voice.
Bay raged against the fates that had put her here, helping the enemy, when her own flesh and blood might be in mortal danger. She was torn violently between the demands of her heart and her head. But Luke was beyond her immediate help. The foal could be saved.
“Come on,” she urged the mare. “Push, damn you!”
Bay grasped the chain that was looped on the foal’s hocks, wrapped it around her wrist and forearm, and leaned back, pulling with all her strength, as the mare labored to expel her burden.
The foal didn’t move.
“Help me!” she yelled to Summer. “Hurry!”
The girl dropped the cell phone, grabbed the end of the chain and, grunting with effort, pulled along with Bay.
Moments later, the tiny animal slid out onto the straw and lay motionless, covered in the birth sac.
“He isn’t breathing!” Summer cried. “Do something!”
Bay tore at the sac, wiping the colt’s mouth and nose clear with a cloth. Then she hauled its hindquarters into the air, much as a human baby might be held by its feet to free its breathing passages of liquid. But the foal remained lifeless.
“Oh, God. I killed him. I killed Ruby’s foal.”
Bay took one look at Summer’s stricken face and realized the girl had already given up. But Bay had been raised in a family that didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. She willed the foal to live. And then called on all the medical skills she possessed to make it happen.
She performed chest compressions, CPR intended to start the tiny heart. But the foal lay still.
“Daddy will never trust me now,” Summer moaned. “Oh, Ruby, I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
Bay ignored the girl’s sobs. She was too busy inserting an endotracheal tube down the foal’s nose. She reached out to turn on the attached oxygen cylinder and realized with horror that it was empty! She’d used the last of the oxygen earlier in the day to save the Franklins’ mule.
It took Bay only a second to realize that the little air she could blow through the tube from her own lungs was better than no air at all. She yanked the cylinder free of the tubing and blew into it, counting three, four, five, six, then counted the compressions as she performed them, three, four, five, six, before she once again sent her own, life-giving breath into the tiny chest.
She felt the heartbeat a half second before the foal made a tiny snuffling sound. She quickly slid the tube out as the foal coughed and began to breathe on its own.
“That’s it, little one. Come on. Breathe. Breathe,” she urged.
The foal’s nostrils quivered as it took a shaky breath.
“He’s breathing!” Summer said with a tearful laugh, as she scooted closer to the foal. “Oh, thank you, God. And thank you, Doctor.”
Bay shared a delighted grin with Summer Blackthorne as she rubbed the colt vigorously with a soft towel. Ruby raised her head and whickered a hello to her son.
The relieved smile on Bay’s face faded as she remembered the last words her brother had spoken to her. “Where’s the cell phone?” she asked, quickly wiping her hands on the towel.
“I dropped it in the straw,” Summer admitted.
Bay sieved her fingers through the prickly straw until she found it. She put the phone to her ear, but the call had been disconnected. “Damn it all to hell! Luke, you crazy fool!”
“Is your brother in trouble?” Summer asked.
“Why should you care?” Bay said bitterly. “You Blackthornes don’t give a damn about us Creeds.”
Summer didn’t deny it.
Bay was distracted again by the need to ensure that the afterbirth was delivered. Once she was certain the mare was in no more danger she said, “Make sure Ruby gets on her feet and that the colt nurses within the next half hour.”
Bay picked up the cell phone again and hit the button for “call return,” but a Mexican voice answered the phone. “Is my brother there? He’s a boy—a man—about six feet tall, slim, with brown spiky hair.”
Manny, the twelve-year-old boy who’d answered, said, “Guess your hermano’s gone. ’Cause there’s no one here but me.”
“Where, exactly, are you?” Bay asked.
“This is the pay phone at the Rio Grande Village,” the boy replied, “and I got to make a call.” And he hung up.
Bay stared at the dead phone in disbelief. What had happened to Luke? Had he been accosted by t
he two men he was following? Or had he simply run out of change for the pay phone and left to continue his pursuit?
She made a growling sound as she shoved her cell phone back into its case, then crossed to the sink at one end of the birthing stall, turned on the water full blast, and began washing herself clean.
Now what was she supposed to do? Her brother had sounded as crazy and out of control on the phone as he’d sounded last night at the Armadillo Bar. Maybe he had taken something that made him delusional. Or maybe he’d finally gotten his fill of the Blackthornes and was fighting back the only way he knew how.
“What if Ruby can’t get up?” Summer asked fearfully.
“Then you figure out a way to get her up! And if you can’t you have only yourself to blame.” Bay was angry at Summer for putting her in this situation, angry at her brother for charging into trouble without thinking, angry at Summer’s father Blackjack, for loving Bay’s mother Ren, causing the the machinations of Blackjack’s jealous wife that had resulted in her father’s death.
Bay shook the water off her hands, then struggled to calm herself as she unrolled the sleeves of her plaid Western shirt and snapped the cuffs.
She took one last look at the dejected girl and debated whether to give her any comfort. She could explain to Summer that the mare was merely exhausted and should recover shortly. But she remembered her murdered father, and thought of Luke’s dire situation, and kept her peace. Maybe a little worry would make the girl more cautious next time.
In the end, she relented and said, “Ruby’s going to be fine. But you have my number. Call me if you need me.”
Without another word, Bay collected her medical bag and left the barn. She felt agitated. Frustrated. And yes, she admitted, frightened. What had Luke gotten himself into? How much danger was he really in? And what could she possibly do about it from five hundred miles away?
Bitter Creek was situated on the eastern side of the bottommost tip of Texas—south of San Antonio, west of Houston, and north of Brownsville. The Big Bend National Park was located on the opposite side of the state, where the line of the Texas border dipped into Mexico, following the “big bend” in the Rio Grande.
The Big Bend National Park was about the most desolate, perilous place you could be in West Texas. Even in these modern times, people still got lost there and died of thirst. The desert landscape was rife with poisonous snakes and sharp-thorned cacti. Cell phones didn’t always work in the rugged mountains and deep canyons, which explained why she hadn’t been able to reach Luke when she’d dialed his number earlier in the day, and why her brother had finally called her from the pay phone at the Rio Grande Village.
Luke had said he planned to stay in the Big Bend until he either found the missing VX mines—or had enough evidence to put Clay Blackthorne in jail. Who should she call for help? The Park Rangers? The FBI? The Texas Rangers?
There was a Texas Ranger only a quarter mile away at the Castle—Clay Blackthorne’s twin brother Owen. She ought to drive right up to the Castle and confront Owen Blackthorne at his wake and demand that he arrest his brother and rescue hers.
She shuddered at the thought of confronting him after what had happened last night. Owen hadn’t believed her brother last night when he’d made accusations against Clay. Why should he believe Luke twenty-four hours later?
Bay had ample evidence that when push came to shove, the Blackthornes took care of their own. Owen’s mother had never been made to pay for her part in Jesse Creed’s death. Instead of being tried in court, she’d been committed to some fancy, five-star sanitarium. No wonder Luke was so certain Clay would escape justice. No wonder he was so desperate to find proof of Clay’s wrongdoing.
Bay brushed at some straw clinging to her still-damp auburn hair. Damn it, the law was the law. And she wasn’t about to leave her baby brother hanging in the wind.
She jumped into her pickup and gunned the engine, eating up the quarter mile between the stable and the house. When she got to the front door of the Castle, she slammed on the brakes, burning rubber, then swerved into a tiny space, narrowly missing two black Cadillac limousines—front and back—that must have brought dignitaries to the funeral.
Bay shut off the ignition, not waiting for the sputtering truck engine to die before she shoved open the door and got out. She’d just lost a father. She couldn’t afford to lose a brother, too. She charged up the front steps, determined to confront Owen Blackthorne and—
Bay had no idea what she was going to say. She gravitated toward the sound of deep male voices and turned left from the high-ceilinged central hallway into a room fogged by pungent cigars and choking cigarette smoke.
The old-fashioned parlor was full of big men, but Bay easily found Owen in the crowd. He wasn’t the tallest man or even the one with the broadest shoulders. But in a roomful of close-cropped heads, his wavy black hair crept a good two inches over his collar. And while every other Texas Ranger there wore a dark tie and still had his sleeves buttoned at the cuff, Owen’s yoked shirt was open at the throat, exposing dark curls, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong, sinewy forearms.
Bay felt dozens of curious—and even a few lustful—male eyes on her. She kept her shoulders back, her chin up, and her eyes focused on Owen Blackthorne as she crossed the width of the parlor to where he sat on an aged, saddle-brown leather sofa. His sharp cheekbones and bronzed skin gave him the look of some long-ago savage.
Last night, he’d proved just how uncivilized he could be. Bay had lain awake for hours after she’d gotten home, thinking about their encounter. He’d stared at her like she was some helpless lamb, and he was a starving wolf. She’d made herself stand still for his scrutiny and had felt his eyes devouring her legs, her belly, her breasts…
She’d experienced the same perusal from any number of men before Owen Blackthorne had come along—and been totally unmoved by it. Bay felt the same unwelcome reaction looking at Owen Blackthorne now that she’d felt last night. A fluttering in her stomach. An erratic heartbeat. And a hot flush of awareness that made the too-warm room in which she now found herself seem suffocating.
It was disturbing to find herself vulnerable to such a barbaric man. He was the enemy, a callous, coldhearted Blackthorne. His mother had arranged the murder of her father. His brother now threatened hers. And Owen himself had been responsible for the high school football injury to her brother Sam that had left him paralyzed, imprisoned for life in a wheelchair.
Owen’s attention was focused on the very pregnant woman dressed in black, who was sitting beside him. Bay realized she must be Hank Richardson’s widow.
Mrs. Richardson held a lace-edged white handkerchief against her nose, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her tragic appearance only made her look more ethereally beautiful. Bay watched as the widow suddenly grabbed Owen’s hand and placed it on her burgeoning belly. It seemed the baby had kicked, and she wanted him to feel it moving inside her.
When Bay saw the look of wonder Owen exchanged with the woman, an excruciating shard of envy knifed through her. She would never share that particular joy with a man.
The painful knot in her throat caught her unawares.
There was no way she’d be able to speak if Owen glanced up and noticed her now. She stumbled backward over the Texas Ranger behind her, nodded an apology, then turned and shoved her way through the mass of uniformed police officers, not stopping until she reached the cool, clean air outside.
She took several deep breaths to calm herself. When she looked around, she realized she’d fled out the back door instead of the front. The covered porch was dark, except where the glow of light from the kitchen knifed through the open screen door.
Her hands bunched into fists, and she made a growling sound in her throat at her ridiculous behavior. It had been foolish to run away, but Bay knew she couldn’t go back inside. When the screen door opened, she made a startled sound.
“Oh. Sorry. Thought I’d catch a smoke,” a young waiter said.
In the young man, Bay saw the messenger she needed. “I could use some help,” she said.
“Certainly, ma’am,” the waiter said, standing erect at the urgency in her voice.
“Do you know who Owen Blackthorne is?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Find him and tell him there’s an emergency at the barn. A mare is in trouble, and he’s needed there.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
As the waiter turned and hurried back inside, Bay wondered if she’d worded her message strongly enough. Maybe she should have said A mare is in desperate trouble.
Summer had said her brother Owen would have come, if he’d known Ruby was in trouble. Well, Bay would just see if the girl was right.
She slipped into the shadows and waited, like a she-wolf, for her quarry.
Chapter 3
BAY CAUGHT HER BREATH WHEN OWEN BLACKthorne stepped into the cool night air. He was close enough to touch. His shaggy black hair looked rumpled, as though he’d shoved both hands through it in agitation. When he started to move off the porch, Bay reached out and grasped his sleeve.
A second later she was slammed back against the wall, a powerful male hand at her throat choking her. She could feel the heat of him, the solid maleness of him. And panicked. She clawed at Owen’s flesh with her nails and drove her knee upward toward his genitals. He thrust her upraised knee aside, and the full weight of his over-six-foot frame shoved hard against her from shoulders to thighs.
Bay froze, staring up at him in mute horror. Her body trembled in shock. She tried to speak, but there was no air to be had beneath the crushing pressure of his grip on her throat.
“What the hell…?” He released her throat and grabbed her arms to yank her into the narrow stream of light from the kitchen doorway.
She gasped a breath of air, coughed, then gasped another, pressing a shaky hand to her injured throat. She wrenched to free herself, but he let her go without a struggle and took a wary step back. She rubbed her arms where he’d held her, wishing she’d approached him more directly.
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