“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m carrying a shotgun,” she said tartly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m a good shot.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have more important work to do.”
“No, ma’am.”
With a muttered word, Elyssa reined Leopard toward the web of ghost trails that led to Wind Gap—and the B Bar.
Morgan followed.
As the bay turned alongside Elyssa, she saw that the Ladder S brand on the horse’s hip had been changed to read Slash River. It was a simple alteration, a matter of filling in the space between the original S-S and adding a diagonal bar across the middle.
“What if some Culpepper objects to your riding his so-called horse?” Elyssa asked acidly.
“Then I’ll know for certain that God is kind.”
Morgan’s wolfish smile said more than his words. He was plainly yearning to meet an angry Culpepper.
Elyssa tried not to smile. It was impossible.
She liked Morgan. Besides, it was Hunter’s orders that had turned Morgan into her personal, armed escort, rather than any inclination on Morgan’s part.
“Stay behind me,” Elyssa said, giving in. “I don’t want any more horse tracks than are already out there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Elyssa lifted the reins and sent Leopard into a canter. She headed straight for the web of ghost trails that joined the B Bar and the Ladder S.
It didn’t take much of a tracker to see what had happened. A small group of unshod horses had wandered—or been driven—from Ladder S to B Bar land during the night.
There were no tracks coming back to the Ladder S.
Damn it, Bill, Elyssa thought bitterly. Why are you giving Culpeppers free rein on your land?
Are you doing it to ruin me because I wouldn’t sell you the ranch?
The idea simply didn’t fit with what Elyssa knew of Bill. He was a hard man at times, but no more than the wild land required.
And he had always been gentle with her, even when he was angry that she wouldn’t sell him the Ladder S and stay in England for the rest of her life.
Is it because Bill is just one man against the Culpepper clan? Did he decide that it’s better to lose a ranch than his life?
Elyssa hoped that was the case. She could understand discretion being the better part of valor.
She couldn’t understand naked thievery.
Having met Gaylord Culpepper, Elyssa knew that it would take a very strong, very brave, very determined man to take on the Culpeppers alone. She couldn’t blame Bill for figuring it just wasn’t worth the grief.
Elyssa urged Leopard forward, following the tracks of the horses that had been stolen from the Ladder S’s home corral. The tracks headed for B Bar land, then veered off to one side in a line that went straight down into a particularly thick section of the marsh.
Mac had once told her that there were trails and byways and islands of solid land hidden among the tall, tall reeds. At least, that’s what the Indians had said to him.
A man could hide a lot of livestock in the marsh…if he knew how to get from bog to dry land in a maze of reeds, mud, and drying waterways.
Elyssa stood in the stirrups and shaded her eyes as she stared down the gentle incline to the marsh. There could be hundreds of cattle and horses scattered through the reeds and grassy tussocks.
Or there could be none.
It could be simply a tawny ambush baited with horse tracks and lined with Culpepper rifles.
“Ma’am?” Morgan said. “You wouldn’t be thinking of sashaying on down to that there swamp, would you?” Elyssa didn’t answer.
Morgan cleared his throat apologetically.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, ma’am. In fact, I would be right firm about seeing that you don’t.”
A glance at Morgan’s face told Elyssa there was nothing tentative or apologetic about his expression. He meant exactly what he had said.
“Hunter’s orders?” she asked.
“Common sense,” Morgan said bluntly. “Unless you’re half swamp rat, you’re going to get lost out there.”
“Or ambushed.”
Morgan blew out a breath and resettled his hat on his head.
“Yes, ma’am. The thought has occurred to this cowboy ever since I first saw them tracks heading off into that choice slice of hell.”
The longer Elyssa stared at the tracks, the more certain she became that they were false, dangerous, or both.
This isn’t Bill’s way of doing things.
Bill asked outright for the sale of the Ladder S to him, and then told me how rock-stupid I was for not doing it.
Face-to-face.
Yelling.
Not sneaking around in the small hours of night, playing cruel pranks.
After a final look at the marsh, Elyssa sat back in the saddle and turned to Morgan.
“Where is Hunter?” she asked crisply.
“Bustin’ broncs.”
Elyssa reined Leopard around and headed for the brush corral at a gallop.
Morgan followed. His eyes watched the marsh until they were well beyond rifle range.
When Elyssa and Morgan arrived at the brush corral, Reed had a mustang by the ears and was hanging on for all he was worth. Hunter grabbed the bridle right at the bit, pulled the bronc’s head around nearly to the left stirrup, and vaulted into the saddle.
“Let ’er rip,” Hunter said, releasing his hold on the bit.
Reed let go of the bronc’s ears and dove for the other side of the corral gate.
Smiling, Morgan sat back in his saddle to enjoy the show.
The mustang was a wiry little stud with springs in his feet. He swapped ends, crow-hopped, and twisted his hindquarters like a fish in an effort to unseat his rider.
Hunter rode him like a cat, never moving more than necessary, never showing daylight between himself and the saddle. He used the spurs not as a punishment, but to make certain the stud was doing his best.
After a few minutes the mustang stopped bucking, snorted hard, and turned around to look at the strange growth on his back.
Speaking in a low, calm voice, Hunter stroked the horse’s neck. Then he dismounted with a peculiar, flowing movement that never left him off balance in the stirrup.
Hunter’s boots barely touched the ground before he took hold of the bridle, held the stud’s head up, and got back into the saddle once more.
The stud snorted, sidestepped, bucked halfheartedly, and then stood still.
For the first time Elyssa noticed that the mustang sported a new Ladder S brand on his hip. It was the same for every other mustang in the corral.
Hunter dismounted.
The stud simply looked at him.
“Tally this one and get the next,” Hunter called to Reed.
The horse was officially green-broke, which meant that a good rider could mount him in reasonable safety without the help of another man.
“Damn, but that man’s a sight to behold with a bronc,” Morgan said, grinning. “Only seen one better than him.”
“Better? I doubt that,” Elyssa said.
“Ask Hunter. He’ll agree that his brother has a finer hand with broncs.”
Holding his lasso ready, Reed rode slowly toward the mustangs milling at the far end of the corral. There was a flurry of shying, snorting, and lunging to the side, but to no avail. A loop shot out and settled around the neck of another bay.
Reed wound his end of the rope around the saddle horn and dragged the reluctant bronc to the snubbing post to be saddled.
Without looking at Elyssa or even acknowledging that she was there, Hunter stripped the bridle and saddle from the first mustang and headed toward the snubbing post.
“Hunter,” Elyssa called. “I have to talk to you.”
He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder.
“Later,” Hunter said curtly. “I’m busy.”
“It’s
about the missing horses.”
“That’s why I’m busy. I’m breaking new ones to replace the others.”
“It will just take a few minutes.”
“That’s worth one bronc, Sassy.”
With that, Hunter resumed walking toward the snubbing post at the far end of the corral.
Elyssa aimed Leopard at the gate.
Before Hunter realized what was happening, Leopard had jumped the gate and pivoted to a stop dead across Hunter’s path.
Damn her recklessness, he thought savagely. She’s going to take that stud over the wrong fence someday and both of them will end up in a tangle in the dust.
But that wasn’t what was really bothering Hunter, and he knew it.
He wanted Elyssa so much, and hated wanting her at all, that it angered him even to look at her. The memory of her laughter after being drenched with cold water haunted him.
The memory of her nipples showing clearly through the thin, wet blouse set him afire.
“It’s about Bill,” Elyssa said. “I’m worried.”
Hearing Elyssa’s voice soften on Bill’s name, and seeing the concern in her eyes, put the finishing touches on Hunter’s already raw temper.
“Just what is it about that cow-rustling, horse-thieving, Culpepper-loving son of a bitch that worries you?” Hunter drawled.
“We can’t prove that Bill is stealing livestock.”
“What kind of proof do you need, little girl? A confession? A track-by-track demonstration of how he did it? A shot in the back from ambush?”
“Bill would never hurt me,” Elyssa said urgently. “You don’t know him like I do. I’m—”
“That’s gospel,” Hunter said in a savage voice. “I’ve always preferred women.”
The insinuation didn’t even register on Elyssa. She just kept talking right over Hunter.
“—afraid that he’s being held hostage by the Culpeppers,” she finished.
“Hostage. Judas H. Priest.”
“It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”
“You can’t see the truth when it stands on your feet and spits in your eye, can you? Dear old Bill is stealing you blind!”
“No! He needs our help!”
“He needs a bullet.”
Elyssa looked at Hunter’s bleak eyes and remembered the tangible hatred he had for everything associated with the Culpeppers.
Cow-rustling, horse-thieving, Culpepper-loving son of a bitch.
“No,” she said in a raw voice. “I won’t let you hurt Bill. Do you hear me? Don’t hurt him!”
Hunter gave her a raking, contemptuous glance.
Then he wondered why pretty flirts like Elyssa and Belinda ended up losing their heads over two-bit cheaters twice their age who happened to be neighbors.
Swiftly Hunter stepped closer to Leopard. When he spoke, only Elyssa heard him.
“Quit dogging my tracks and wearing silk,” Hunter said in a low, icy voice. “If I wanted what you’re flaunting, I’d be the one guarding you, not Morgan.”
“I’m not—”
“The hell you aren’t,” he interrupted. “The boys laugh about it in the bunkhouse, all the hip swinging and lip licking and come-hither looks you give me.”
“I do no such thing!”
“That will come as news to me and the boys,” Hunter retorted. “Go away, Sassy. When I feel like taking what you’re shoving in my face, I’ll let you know.”
Elyssa flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment that her interest in Hunter was a subject of jokes in the bunkhouse.
“Morgan,” Hunter barked. “Open the gate.”
The gate squealed and creaked behind Hunter.
“Now, get that spotted stud out of my way,” Hunter said. “I have better things to do than talk to a flirt.”
Elyssa looked at Hunter for a long, tight moment. There was no give in him, no hint that he would relent and act on her fears for Bill.
Fine, she told herself fiercely. I’ll do it myself.
Ignoring the open gate, Elyssa reined Leopard toward the wide brush fence of the corral. The stud took it like a spotted deer, leaving Hunter swearing in the dust.
15
Holding her breath, Elyssa crept down the staircase. She prayed every step of the way that Hunter was so exhausted by breaking broncs that he wouldn’t awaken.
Or if he did, that he would mistake the creak and pop of the stairs for more complaints of the house as the damp ground fog settled into the wood.
The thought of facing Hunter after the way he had stripped her pride raw in the brush corral made Elyssa feel hot and cold at once.
Don’t think about Hunter and the hands laughing at you. Next to what’s happening on the Ladder S, all of the rest is just chicken feed.
But Elyssa still didn’t want to face Hunter. She didn’t know whether she would ignore him or lift the shotgun and watch him sweat.
The latter thought had great appeal.
Don’t think about Hunter.
Only when the door to the kitchen closed behind her did Elyssa relax and let out a sigh of relief. She had gotten away from her sharp-tongued watchdog.
She hurried across the open area between house and barn. A pumpkin-colored moon hung big and low in the sky. There were a few high clouds, remainders of an evening storm. Despite the moon’s size, it cast little light. What illumination reached the earth was sucked up by a ground fog that clung to every dip, hollow, and crease.
Something cold nudged Elyssa’s fingers. She muffled a startled shriek and looked down.
Vixen looked up at her, wagging her tail hopefully.
“No,” Elyssa whispered. “Go back to guarding the barn.”
Vixen cocked her head, hesitated, and then trotted off to the barn.
Elyssa looked toward the bunkhouse. Streamers of ground fog danced like silver flames in a faint wind. Not a bit of light shone from the bunkhouse. She was up even before Gimp.
Quickly Elyssa went to the barn, saddled Leopard, and headed for Wind Gap. With her black riding habit, a dark stockman’s coat, and a black scarf tied around her hair, she was very hard to see even in the gaps between the fog.
In the fog itself, she was invisible.
The ride to Bill’s ranch had never taken Elyssa longer. In addition to the fog, she used every bit of available cover to conceal her passage through the night.
There was no way of knowing if the Culpeppers had anyone watching Wind Gap.
As Elyssa had hoped, once she was through Wind Gap, the fog became thicker. But experience told her that the fog wouldn’t last much beyond daybreak. By then, she had to be back at the ranch.
And Bill Moreland had to be with her.
Elyssa feared what would happen if Hunter met Bill over a rifle.
What is it about that cow-rustling, horse-thieving, Culpepper-loving son of a bitch that worries you?
Elyssa shivered at the memory of what she had seen in Hunter’s eyes when he had drawn a bead on Ab Culpepper a few days ago.
Hatred.
He needs a bullet.
Elyssa was afraid that Hunter would shoot Bill on sight, the same as he would four-legged vermin stalking a calf.
I can’t let that happen, Elyssa thought starkly. Just because Bill hasn’t lifted a finger to help me, that doesn’t mean he deserves to die.
He was so good to me all those years before I went to England.
With determination in every line of her body, Elyssa guided Leopard through the fading darkness. If any Culpeppers were guarding the approach to Bill’s cabin, they didn’t raise a cry when Leopard ghosted past.
Tautly Elyssa watched ahead for any sign of light. There was none. She dismounted and tied Leopard to a bush. With great care she crept as close to the cabin’s privy as she dared.
There was a thicket of brush only ten feet from the back of the privy. Crouching, Elyssa merged her outline with the shrubs as Bill had taught her to do when they hunted together.
E
lyssa licked her lips, pursed them, and whistled softly. A clear, lilting nightingale call lifted into the fading night. Bill had taught her the whistling notes years ago, when she was a girl and her mother’s silver laughter rang through the house.
No light came on in the cabin in response to Elyssa’s whistle.
No one called through the night to her.
Nervously Elyssa looked at the sky. The stars were already gone. A faint peach color glowed in the east.
She sent the lilting call through the silence again.
Nothing happened.
Maybe Bill drank too much and is sleeping too hard to hear me, she thought anxiously.
Licking lips that felt as dry as flannel, she pursed again and whistled. A false nightingale sang to the black cabin for a third time.
No lantern flickered to life.
Dawn condensed across the eastern sky in a pale wash of pink.
Elyssa waited.
And waited.
Just as she was going to give up, the front door of the cabin creaked. A man came out and headed for the privy.
Bill.
Relief coursed through Elyssa.
Bill walked to the privy with the hesitating steps of a man who was hung over or half-blind in the predawn gloom. Somehow his ragged stride led him past the privy to the thicket.
“Over here,” Elyssa whispered. “It’s me.”
“Christ, Sassy,” Bill hissed. “I told you when you got back never to come here! Go home!”
Elyssa tried to make out Bill’s expression. What she saw of his eyes in the rising light didn’t comfort her.
Bloodshot.
Angry.
And most of all, afraid.
“Just like your mother,” Bill whispered, furious. “Reckless to the bone! Get out of here!”
“Come back with me,” Elyssa whispered coaxingly. “I need you.”
“Go home.”
Though Bill’s voice was soft, the expression on his face wasn’t.
“Bill—”
“Go!”
“No,” Elyssa said in a low, hard voice. She stood up in a rush. “Too many Ladder S cows have been stolen. Too many horses are missing. The tracks all lead to—”
“Well, well,” said a stranger’s voice from behind Elyssa, “would you lookee here. Someone brung Ab a prime piece of woman-flesh.”
Autumn Lover Page 20
