by B. J Daniels
He took both her hands in his large ones and dragged her to him….
She felt herself melt into his arms, his mouth warm, his lips strong and sure. It swept her up like an adventure where anything was possible.
Jud pulled her closer, melding their bodies together as he explored her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, his body hard and possessive.
When he finally let her come up for air, she was breathing hard, heart racing, traitorous body crying out for more. The pickup’s windows were steamed over even though the pickup was still running, the heater working hard as it could to clear the glass.
The outside world appeared to be lost, which was just fine with her. She never wanted to leave this pickup cab or this man’s arms….
B.J. DANIELS
HUNTING DOWN the HORSEMAN
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
I always wanted a sister, but my mother didn’t cooperate.
So I’m not sure how it was that I came to write a book
about sisters. But I did. Fortunately, I have two women
in my life who have been like sisters—sister-in-laws
who also became good friends. That’s why this book is
dedicated to Frances Demarais and Annie Rissman
for being the sisters I never had.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B.J. Daniels wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of 37 published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½ star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and numerous nominations and awards for best book.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
To contact her, write B.J. Daniels, P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, or e-mail her at [email protected]. Check out her Web site, www.bjdaniels.com.
Books by B.J. Daniels
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
803—COWBOY ACCOMPLICE*
845—AMBUSHED!*
851—HIGH-CALIBER COWBOY*
857—SHOTGUN SURRENDER*
876—WHEN TWILIGHT COMES
897—CRIME SCENE AT CARDWELL RANCH**
915—SECRET WEAPON SPOUSE
936—UNDENIABLE PROOF
953—KEEPING CHRISTMAS**
969—BIG SKY STANDOFF**
996—SECRET OF DEADMAN’S COULEE†
1002—THE NEW DEPUTY IN TOWN†
1024—THE MYSTERY MAN OF WHITEHORSE†
1030—CLASSIFIED CHRISTMAS†
1053—MATCHMAKING WITH A MISSION†
1059—SECOND CHANCE COWBOY†
1083—MONTANA ROYALTY†
1125—SHOTGUN BRIDE††
1131—HUNTING DOWN THE HORSEMAN††
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jud Corbett—The stuntman had his life planned, until he saw the Montana cowgirl ride.
Faith Bailey—The cowgirl would take on any challenge, whether it was a handsome stuntman who knew her desires, or a killer.
Erik Zander—The director had too many skeletons in his closet. One was bound to get out with deadly consequences.
Chantal Lee—The leading lady always got what she wanted. But what was she after this time?
Brooke Keith—The stuntwoman never got her man. This time she was hoping the film would have a different ending.
Nancy Davis—Could the mousy assistant director be hiding more than her figure behind her dowdy clothing and bad haircut?
Keyes Hasting—He knew what money and power could buy and planned to use both to get what he wanted.
Nevada Wells—The leading man resented Jud Corbett getting the spotlight.
Eve Bailey Jackson—She thought she’d never know the truth about her birth until a stranger came to town with a tragic story of love and loss.
Sheriff Carter Jackson—He had every reason to be concerned about the trouble the Bailey girls were getting into now.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
According to the legend, the town of Lost Creek is cursed. Only a few buildings remain along the shore of the Missouri River in an isolated part of Montana.
The story told over the years is that a band of outlaws rode into the fledgling town and killed a mother and child, while the rest of the residents watched from a safe distance.
When the husband returned, he found his wife lying dead in the dirt street, his child and her doll lying next to her, and the townspeople still hiding from the outlaws.
He picked up his daughter’s doll from the dirt and swore revenge on the townspeople.
One by one, residents began to find a small cloth doll on their doorsteps—and then they’d die. According to one story, the rest of the townspeople fled for their lives.
But another story tells of a pile of bones found at the bottom of a cave years later. Men, women and children’s bones—the residents of Lost Creek and evidence of a story of true retribution.
THE SUN SINKING into the Little Rockies, Jud Corbett spurred his horse as he raced through the narrow canyon. Behind him he could hear the thunder of horses growing louder. The marshal star he wore on his leather vest caught the light as the canyon heat rose in waves, making the towering rock walls shimmer. Sweat trickled down his back. His mouth went dry.
Just a little farther.
His horse stumbled as he rounded the last bend and almost went down. He’d lost precious seconds. The riders were close behind him. If his horse had fallen…
His gray Stetson pulled down low over his dark hair, he burst from the canyon. On the horizon, the ghost town of Lost Creek wavered like a mirage under the cloudless blue of Montana’s big sky.
Jud felt his heart leap as he spurred his horse to even more speed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Almost there.
The loud report of a rifle shot punctuated the air. Jud grabbed his side, doubling over and grimacing with pain. The second shot caught him in the back.
Tumbling headlong from his horse, he hit the ground in a cloud of dust.
“Cut! That’s a wrap.”
FROM THE SIDELINES, assistant director Nancy Davis watched Jud Corbett get up grinning to retrieve his Stetson from the dirt.
“He’s such a showoff,” stuntwoman Brooke Keith said beside her, her tone a mixture of envy and awe.
“The man just loves his work,” Nancy said, cutting her gaze to the stuntwoman and body double.
That got a chuckle from Brooke. “Kind of like the way the leading lady just likes to be friendly.”
Nancy watched as Chantal Lee sauntered over to Jud and, standing on tiptoes, whispered something in his ear. Jud let loose that famous grin of his as Chantal brushed her lips against the stuntman’s suntanned cheek before she sauntered away, her hips swaying provocatively.
“Easy,” Nancy warned.
“Easy is exactly what she is,” Brooke said with obvious disgust as she walked off toward Jud.
Jud Corbett was shaking his head in obvious amusement at Chantal. Whatever she’d offered him, he wasn’t taking the bait.
As Brooke joined Jud, Nancy couldn’t help the sliver of worry that wedged itself just under her skin. All she needed was Chantal and Brooke at each other’s throats. There was enough animosity between them as it was. She’d have to talk to Chantal and tell her to tone it down.
As for Brooke…Nancy watched the stuntwoman sidle up to Jud and knew the signs only too well. A catfight was brewing, and Jud was about to be caught right in the middle. Nancy wondered if he realized yet what a dangerous position he was in.
“NICE STUNT,” Brooke said with an edge to her voice as she handed Jud a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” he said and took a long drink. “But you could have done that stunt blindfolded.”
She smiled at that, but the smile never reached her eyes. “I was referring to Chantal’s stunt.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” He’d noticed, though he certainly hadn’t taken it seriously. Chantal liked to stir things up.
Brooke chuckled. “You noticed.”
“Good thing I never date women I work with while on a film.”
Brooke eyed him. “That’s your rule?”
“The Corbett Code,” Jud said, lifting his right hand as if swearing in.
She laughed. He liked Brooke. He’d worked on a couple of films with her. She was a grown-up tomboy.
Chantal Lee, on the other hand, was a blue-eyed blond beauty, all legs, bulging bosom and flowing golden hair. While Brooke was the perfect stunt double for the star, she dressed in a way that played down her curves. The two could have passed for sisters, but they were as different as sugar and salt.
Brooke was scowling in the direction of Chantal’s trailer. “Did you know Chantal demanded another stuntwoman and body double? Zander refused, even though Chantal threatened to break her contract.”
That surprised Jud. Not about Chantal, but about director Erik Zander, who had never seemed like a man with much backbone. But if the rumors were true, Zander was betting everything on this film, a Western thriller. Apparently, it was do or die at this point in his career.
According to the rumor mill, the director was in debt up to his eyeballs from legal fees after a young starlet had drowned in his pool and the autopsy showed that the woman was chockfull of drugs—and pregnant with Zander’s baby.
He’d managed to keep from getting arrested, but it had cost him not just his small fortune but his fiancée, the daughter of a wealthy film producer. She broke their engagement, and that was the end of her wealthy father backing Zander’s films.
Jud paid little attention to rumors but he did have to wonder why Erik Zander had decided to produce and direct Death at Lost Creek, given the publicity after the death at his beach house. On top of that, Zander had cast Chantal Lee and Nevada Wells, former lovers who’d just gone through a very nasty public breakup. Jud feared that would be the kiss of the death for this film.
Jud had gotten roped into the job because Zander had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—complete control over all the stunts in the movie as stunt coordinator.
Suddenly Chantal’s trailer door slammed open. The star burst from it, clutching something in her hand as she made a beeline for them.
As she drew closer, Jud saw that the star had one of the small rag dolls from the film gripped in her fist. She stalked up to the two of them and thrust the doll into Brooke’s face.
“I know you left this on my bed, you bitch!” Chantal screamed. “If I catch you in my trailer again…” She threw the doll at Brooke.
Jud watched Chantal storm away. Everyone in the common area had witnessed the scene but now pretended to go back to what they were doing.
Beside him, Brooke stooped to pick up the doll that had landed at her feet.
Jud saw at once that the doll wasn’t one from the prop department. He took the tiny rag doll from her. It was so crudely made that there was something obscene about it.
Brooke wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans as if regretting touching the ugly thing. “I didn’t put that on her bed.” She sounded confused and maybe a little scared.
“You’re not buying into that local legend,” he said with a chuckle. “Not you.”
She smiled at that but still appeared upset. According to the script for Death at Lost Creek and local legend, the recipient of one of these dolls was either about to have some really bad luck, or die.
“I’ll take that,” Nancy snapped as she came up to them and held out her hand.
Jud dropped the tiny rag doll into it. From the look on the assistant director’s face she was not amused. But then Jud didn’t think he’d seen her smile since he’d gotten to the set.
“I can’t wait until this is over,” Brooke said, her voice breaking after Nancy walked away. “I hate this place.”
He’d heard the crew complaining about the isolation since the closest town was Whitehorse, Montana, which rolled up its sidewalks by eight o’clock every night.
But Jud suspected it was the script—not the location—that was really getting to them. Their trailers were circled like wagon trains, one circle for the crew, another for the upper echelon in what was called the base camp.
Not far from the circled RVs was the catering tent and beyond it was the false fronts and main street depicting the infamous town of Lost Creek.
But it was the real town of Lost Creek farther down the canyon that had everyone spooked. Now a ghost town deep in the badlands of the Missouri Breaks, with its history it was a real-life horror story.
All that was left of the town were a few rotting wooden buildings along the creek and the Missouri River. The town, like so many others, had been started by settlers coming by riverboats up the wide Missouri to settle Montana.
The wild, isolated country itself was difficult enough for the settlers. The river had cut thousands of deep ravines into the expanse, leaving behind outcroppings of rocks and scrub pine and hidden canyons where a person could get lost forever. Some had.
But even more dangerous were the outlaws who hid in the badlands of the Breaks and attacked the riverboats—and the towns. Lost Creek had been one of those towns.
“I have to get away from here for a while,” Brooke said suddenly. “Are you going into town tonight?”
“Sorry, I’ve been summoned to a family dinner at the ranch. Which means something is up, or I’d ask you to come along.”
“That’s right, your family lives near here now. Trails West Ranch, right?”
He nodded, wondering how she knew that. But it wasn’t exactly a secret given who his father was. Grayson Corbett had graced the cover of several national magazines for his work with conservation easements both in Texas and Montana.
“I’m dreading dinner tonight,” Jud admitted. He had been ever since he’d gotten the call from his father’s new wife, Kate. That in itself didn’t bode well. Normally Grayson would have called his son himself. Clearly Kate had extended the invitation to make it harder for Jud to decline.
“Family,” Brooke said. “That’s all there is, huh.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She smiled. “I’m fine. You’re a nice man, Jud Corbett, but don’t worry, I won’t let it get around.”
He watched her walk away, strangely uneasy. He’d worked with Brooke before. She was a beautiful, talented woman with a core of steel—much like Chantal. She didn’t scare easily. He suspected whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with a silly rag doll or the horror stories that went with it.
BABY SHOWERS were enough to make any twentysomething female nervous. For Faith Bailey it was pure torture. But she had no choice.
This was a joint shower for the very pregnant Cavanaugh sisters, who Faith had grown up with.
Laci Cavanaugh
had married Bridger Duvall, and the two owned the Northern Lights Restaurant in downtown Whitehorse. Laney Cavanaugh had married Deputy Sheriff Nick Giovanni, and they had built a home near Old Town Whitehorse, where the girls’ grandparents lived. Both sisters were due any day now—and looked it.
The shower was being held at the Bailey Ranch in Old Town Whitehorse, the only place Faith had ever considered home in her twenty-six years. Another reason Faith had to be here.
But as she sat in her own ranch house living room, she couldn’t help feeling out of place. Almost all of her close friends were married now, except for Georgia Michaels, who owned the knitting shop in town, In Stitches. And everyone knew what followed marriage: a baby carriage.
“Can you believe this population explosion?” her friend Georgia whispered. On the other side of Georgia, their good friend Rory Buchanan Barrow was fighting morning sickness even though it was afternoon.
When they were all kids, growing up in this isolated part of Montana, they’d all vowed not to get married until they were at least thirty-five, and none of them was going to stick around Whitehorse. Instead, they’d sworn they would see the world, have exciting adventures and date men they hadn’t grown up with all their lives and dated since junior high.
While some hadn’t married the boy next door, they’d all fallen hard for their men and totally changed their big plans for the future.
Faith couldn’t help but feel annoyed with them as she looked around the crowded living room and saw so many protruding bellies and wedding bands. To make matters worse, they all looked ecstatically happy.
A man and marriage just wasn’t Faith Bailey’s secret desire, she thought as she looked wistfully out the window at the rolling grassland and the rugged edge of the Missouri Breaks in the distance.
