The memory of Rusty was something of a breakthrough. It was his first memory of childhood. And if one came, there would be more. Eventually, he might recover everything he’d lost.
And he would have the truth about the bank robbery.
The rush of the creek and the hot sun on his chilled body was the most wonderful sensation he could remember. This was freedom. This was what he’s given up for nearly five years. What had been taken from him. He swallowed back the sudden anger and forced his body to relax. He would rest until he was dry, and then he would continue to the Double O and apply for the job of horse trainer. If respect of the animal was the only qualification Cassidy O’Neal required, then he might get the job.
SLATE AWOKE to the sensation of someone breathing on him. It was a prison nightmare, and he forced his body not to react. In prison, the worst thing a man could do was show fear. Even in his sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, stunned to find it was broad daylight and to see the boughs of the cypress trees fluttering in a steady wind.
He sat up slowly, instantly focusing on the huge bay horse that stood not three feet from him.
It had been the horse’s warm breath that awakened him.
The animal was better than sixteen hands, with the long back and wide chest of a Thoroughbred. But there was mustang in his eyes and in the tangled mane that hung far below his neck.
“Well, well,” Slate said, edging around slowly so that he gave the horse his shoulder. The stallion blew and snorted but didn’t attempt to leave.
“Where did you come from?” Slate asked softly. He glanced around but didn’t see the herd. Apparently the stallion was on a stealing spree. He’d come alone to see if he could find more mares to add to his harem. “Good idea, but Mrs. O’Neal seems to have all of her stock up at the barns.” Even as he spoke he noticed the fence a hundred yards to the west. Several of the boards had been splintered—as if they’d deliberately been knocked down.
Slate knew exactly who the culprit was. He eased to his feet. “I wonder if you’re Joker.”
The horse backed away from him a step or two and was poised for flight. “So, you’ve been chased. I’ll just bet you have.” He remembered what the little blond girl had called the horse—a million-dollar stallion. Slate was a good judge of horseflesh, and he knew that the animal that stood before him was either extremely valuable or totally worthless. It all depended on how he took to people.
“I’ll be seeing you later,” Slate said softly. He reached for his clothes and drew them on. He felt the horse watching each move. “You don’t know what to think because I haven’t tried to catch you.” He laughed. “That’s good.”
He walked away from the creek and never turned back to look. He didn’t have to. He knew the stallion was watching him with intense interest.
When he got to the truck, he allowed himself to turn and look, but there was no sign of the big mahogany bay. He was sure that Mrs. O’Neal would have a lot of questions for him to answer, but he had one for her. Where did such a horse come from? Joker, and he had no doubt that was Joker, wasn’t a wild range animal. He was a refined horse, one with deliberate breeding. It would be interesting to find out how such an animal had been left to go wild.
He followed the winding drive that continued up the steep incline until he saw the outline of the ranch house set among the live oaks. It was a new house, its wood and glass blending into the rocky terrain. As he drew closer, he realized it was the kind of house he would one day like to build.
Before he’d stopped the truck he saw the blond woman pause at the screened door. She started toward him, but she was passed by a blond blur that ran with the abandon of childhood.
“Lindsey!” Cassidy called.
“I won’t run under the truck,” she answered, stopping five feet from the bumper. She looked up at Slate and smiled. “I knew you’d come,” she said.
Slate found that he could not look away from the little girl. She was a handful, but it seemed that sunshine danced in her eyes. “How did you know?” he asked, despite himself.
“Because if you don’t catch Joker, Mr. Benson’s going to kill him.”
Slate looked up to find another pair of blue eyes riveted on him, but these were filled with worry and what might have been fear. That he was an ex-con, a man to be feared, was like a kick in his gut.
“What can we do for you?” Cassidy asked, her hand grasping her daughter’s shoulder and moving her back to her side.
“I came about the advertisement.”
Cassidy bent down to tie her daughter’s shoe. When she looked up, the confusion was gone from her eyes. “I know your reputation.”
“Are you referring to my horse training or my time in Huntsville Prison?” There was no point beating around the bush. He might as well confront the issue head-on.
“Both. But it was the horses I was referring to.”
“I’m an ex-con, and that’s a fact I can’t change.” He could see his directness caused her pain, though she hid it well.
“I know that.”
“I need the job, and I’m good with horses.”
“You used to be the best.”
He looked up to find that she was sincere. “I saw that stallion your daughter was talking about.”
“Joker?” Cassidy’s interest was immediate. “Where?”
“Down at the creek bottom. He came up on me. As your daughter pointed out, he’s a valuable animal, if he takes to people.”
“Joker was here?”
Cassidy’s mouth parted, and Slate found that he was suddenly focused on her lips. She was a beautiful woman, and she had one of the most sensuous mouths…He forced his thoughts back on the horse. “Not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Yesterday he was on the north range.” Cassidy took a quick breath. “If he’s this close, maybe we can get him.” She started walking toward the barns, signaling Slate to follow. Lindsey skipped along at her heels.
“He’s out looking for mares,” Slate said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he came up here to visit.”
He could see the enthusiasm on Cassidy’s face. “Do you think we can get him in the barn?”
Slate shook his head. “He’s too smart for that. But give me a few weeks and I’ll get him for you.”
Cassidy shook her head, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. “You don’t understand. We don’t have a few weeks. Cole Benson is going to catch him or kill him.”
Slate’s forehead wrinkled. The name Cole Benson rang a bell. “Who is he?”
“My neighbor and one of your old—” She stopped, eyes narrowing. “He was a bronc rider.”
“Cole Benson.” Slate nodded. “I remember him. Or I remember the name from some of the newspaper articles I read. He was a good bronc rider.”
“Still is,” Cassidy said as she picked up a halter and lead rope. “Excuse me, but I’ve got a horse to catch.”
“You won’t get him by riding up on him and trying to drive him into a trap.”
She stopped in midstride. “Do you have a better idea?”
Slate wanted to smile. Cassidy O’Neal had that impact on him. “I do.” He did smile when he saw her hands go to her hips.
“Are you going to tell me or just stand there grinning?” she asked.
Her exasperation made him smile wider. “I came up here looking for a job. Now, I promise you, I can do this job. But you have to hire me first.”
“You always had a reputation as a good bargainer,” Cassidy said. She tossed him a bridle. “You’re hired, and your first job is to catch that stallion. You can ride Cutter.”
Slate walked to the stall she indicated and began to tack up the gelding. “We aren’t going to catch him. My idea is to make him want to be caught.”
“And how do you suggest doing that?” Cassidy lifted Lindsey and set her on the stall door. “You’re staying here. And no guff. Nita will help you color some pictures.”
Slate gave the little girl a sympathetic look but picked up
with the conversation. “We offer him more and better of what he already has.” He brushed the gelding down and lifted a saddle from the rail. In a matter of seconds, he was tacked up, and he led the horse out of the stall.
“More and better what?” Cassidy asked, gathering the reins for her mount.
“More mares, better feed, a kind word. He struck me as a smart horse. It’s a bargain he’s likely to accept if it’s put to him the right way.”
“And that’s your job,” Cassidy said. “Yours—” she looked at Lindsey “—is to head for the house. And no complaining.” She waited until the little girl started up the walk toward the house.
“Let’s ride out and take a look.” Slate swung into the saddle, knowing that the ride was more for a chance to be with the blond woman than to check out the stallion.
Cassidy led the way and Slate followed. Instead of heading for the creek bed, Cassidy chose a trail that hung on the lip of the incline where the house sat. It was a high point that eventually gave a view of sloping green pastures.
“This is a pretty place.” Slate liked the way the trees were so varied in their shades of green. The grass was plentiful and good quality. His respect for Cassidy’s skills as a horsewoman rose.
“It was part of an old ranch called Three Sisters.”
He felt her staring at him and knew why. “My mother’s place,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not territorial. I don’t remember any of it. Except…” He thought of the creek. “Maybe I do remember. When I was down by the creek, for just a moment, I knew I’d been there as a child.”
The sudden hope in Cassidy’s face that was quickly replaced by caution left him wondering.
“Look,” she said, pointing toward the bottom of a long, narrow pasture. At the very end was a band of seven or eight horses. Out of the trees Joker surged, running around them and packing them into a herd.
Slate was struck by the beauty of the horse’s movements. He was one of the finest animals he’d ever seen. “Where did he come from?”
“There are lots of stories, but no one knows the truth. Several people have tried to claim him, but it didn’t do any good because they couldn’t catch him.”
“What about a helicopter?”
Cassidy sighed. “So far, they haven’t taken it to that level yet, but it’s coming. My neighbor is mad. Joker’s been raiding his mares, and Cole is a man who likes to keep what he owns under lock and fence. He says if he can’t catch him, he’s going to kill him. Hunting him down with a helicopter would be the most expedient method. That’s why we have to get him before they do.”
Slate couldn’t have agreed more. “Let’s ride down to the bottom and see how close he’ll let us come. He knows my scent.”
He took the lead and heard her horse following behind. The slope was steep and studded with the small stones that rolled from beneath the horses feet. But the two horses were solid, dependable animals, and they made their way to the bottom safely.
Cassidy pointed up to an overhang of rock. “Every winter, some of this comes down. The ice freezes and breaks the rock. It’s beautiful in a way, but it’s dangerous.”
“Nature seems to blend beauty and danger in equal measure,” Slate said. He urged his horse beneath the outcropping and into the sunshine. He turned to speak to Cassidy. Before he could utter a word, there was the sound of a sharp explosion. Slate felt the ground tremble, and as he looked up, a huge chunk of rock broke loose. It tumbled several feet, then seemed to lodge as a hail of smaller stones crashed to the ground.
He felt the thud of fear as he realized the big rock, so precariously lodged, was directly above Cassidy’s head.
Chapter Three
When Cassidy felt her mare tremble, she wasn’t certain if it was because of Joker’s nearby presence or because of her own dislike of the narrow trail that wound beneath the overhanging rock. The ungainly formation called Big Boot, because of its shape, loomed high overhead. Cassidy thought that it might be of geological interest, but it made her nervous. Her mare, Lightning, began to prance in place and throw her head.
“Easy, Lightning,” she said, soothing the flaxen mane. “We’re—”
She never finished. Above her, it sounded as if the world had begun to explode, and she saw the giant outcropping of rock break free and begin falling. She dropped her heels into the mare’s sides as Slate and his horse charged forward, but Lightning was paralyzed by fear. The mare’s head snapped up and Cassidy could see her eyes rolling. The first rubble of sharp stones began to ping down around them.
The hail of smaller rocks subsided, and Cassidy looked up to see that the huge rock that had broken free had somehow managed to lodge against another rock. Even as she watched, it shifted and a trickle of dirt, and small stones cascaded down the bluff.
Cassidy slid from the horse’s back and whipped off her hat. Yelling and screaming, she flapped the hat against the mare’s rump, trying to drive her out of the narrow ravine and to safety.
Already panicked, Lightning began backing toward her, stumbling on loose rocks and whinnying wildly as the huge boulder shifted yet again and baseball-size stones slammed into her back in another minor avalanche.
To Cassidy’s horror, she saw that Slate had dismounted and was running back toward her—back to the danger that hung above her. A huge chunk of rock smashed into the path not four inches from her foot, and an orange-size stone struck her shoulder sharply, making her cry out with surprise and pain.
Ignoring the onslaught, Slate captured Lightning’s reins. “Easy,” he said, putting a steadying hand on the horse’s shoulder. Then he yelled at Cassidy, “Get out of here! I’ll bring the horse.”
Instead, Cassidy flapped the hat harder, finally startling the mare forward. Once Lightning began to move forward, she was ready to run. She churned toward the mouth of the ravine, grunting as a heavy rock struck her neck.
Cassidy ran behind the horse, her gaze focused on the broad shoulders of the man in front of her. He’d risked his life and gone back for Lightning—and her. It had been a remarkable display of courage, and heart. They were almost out of the ravine, and she could see the open meadow ahead where Cutter waited for them, ears twitching and nostrils flaring.
Only twenty feet to go. Slate was almost in the clear. Small rocks continued to shower down on them, and Cassidy flinched again as one struck her foot. This would be a story to tell around the campfire—the day Big Boot nearly crushed her to death.
“Cass!”
It was the horror in Slate’s voice and the use of a name that no one had uttered in nearly five years that tingled Cassidy like an electric charge. Her blue gaze met and locked with his just as another rock struck the side of her head.
Her upper body went numb, but she felt the pain in her knees as she dropped sharply to the ground. And then there was nothing.
SLATE SAW THE ROCK strike Cassidy, and it was as if the pain was transmitted to him. Afraid if he released the mare too soon, she’d panic and run back on top of Cassidy, he led Lightning clear of the opening and sent her running free. In one smooth motion, he was dodging and weaving his way back through the narrow passage.
A cloud of dust partially obscured his vision, but he didn’t need to see clearly. The image of Cassidy, blood flowing from the gash on her temple, was imprinted on his mind. He didn’t wait to decide if she was alive or dead. He lifted her into his arms and turned and ran. Small stones cascaded all around him, striking viciously. But he felt only the woman in his arms, her body still warm and her limbs pliant. He couldn’t be certain she was breathing.
He burst into the sunshine and staggered, nearly losing his footing. He heard a low rumble behind him, and felt the earth jar as the huge hunk of rock finally hit the ground. Dust exploded from the narrow ravine.
To his right, a cottonwood tree cast dense shade, and he eased Cassidy down. His fingers found the pulse at her neck, steady and strong, and for the first time since the landslide, he allowed himself to feel relief. She was a
live.
The creek was only a hundred yards away, and once he made sure she was as comfortable as possible, he ran to it. He needed fresh water to clean the cut on her temple, cold water for the swelling that had already begun and could be serious. When he got to the creek, he used his shirt as a cloth. He was headed back when he saw the stallion.
Joker stood over Cassidy, his nose almost touching hers. When the gelding he’d been riding stepped forward, Joker laid his ears back, snaked out his head and threatened the horse. For a second, Slate stopped and watched. He couldn’t be certain if Joker was standing his ground against the gelding, or if he was protecting Cassidy.
He didn’t have time for more observation. He was too worried about Cassidy. As he approached, Joker gave one loud whinny that was answered by the mares at the far end of the meadow. With a whirl, he was gone.
Slate settled beside Cassidy and took her head in his lap, where he could cradle her from the hard ground. He gently used his shirt to clean her wound. A goose egg had already formed, and the skin on top of the swollen area was cut and bruised. It was a long gash, but not deep. He was as easy as he could be as he carefully worked the bits of rock and dust from the wound. Although her face was ashen, she was breathing regularly. As he dislodged a sharp bit of rock, he was glad she was unable to feel the pain.
He had barely finished when she stirred, and her lids fluttered.
“Slate?” she said, confusion in her eyes. Her hand reached up and touched his face. The faintest smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “What a wallop. What hit me, a hoof?”
“A rock,” he said, taking more pleasure than he ever dreamed possible in her touch. “Don’t you remember?” he asked softly.
Cassidy lowered her hand, and the gentleness in her eyes disappeared. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to get her elbows under her and push off his lap into a sitting position. “I forgot…I was confused.”
His hand restrained her as he eased her back down against his thighs. “You just took a nasty knock on the head. Give it a minute or you’ll pass out”
Remember Me, Cowboy Page 4
