Brazen

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Touching the gelding made her think about Clay again…

  Not wanting to get bogged down in thoughts of the past, she shook away his image and instead thought about the long day she would have tomorrow.

  She’d spent the last of daylight checking the upper-pasture fences to make sure nothing needed to be repaired. She and the boys needed to move cows to fresh grazing land, and it was warm enough to drive them up above the canyon rims. Rolling, native grassland populated with excellent forage—blue grama, buffalo-grass and western wheatgrass—made up nearly half the ranch.

  If only she didn’t have to oversee the trail ride herself…

  Not that she minded running her herd. Siobhan simply felt drained by all the responsibility, all the unfortunate incidents one after the other on the ranch. She was quite simply overwhelmed.

  So when she rode up to the barn and through the dusk saw a black truck parked outside, she felt ready to cry. Clay Salazar had been on her mind since he’d been here earlier. He was too much for her to deal with right now.

  What choice had he left her?

  Dismounting, she called out, “Clay, where are you?”

  A rustling in the barn followed by a low whinny caught her attention. Now what was he doing in there? After throwing Warrior’s reins around a fence board, she decided to find out for herself.

  “Clay, what are you doing in there?”

  No answer.

  She was too tired for this nonsense. Entering the near-dark barn, she threw the switch for light. Nothing happened. It wasn’t a bulb—that switch controlled several lights. Now what? An electrical problem? Lord, she hoped Esai could fix it. The old cowhand seemed to know a little about all kinds of repairs. If he couldn’t manage it, where would she get the money for an electrician?

  “Clay!” she yelled, standing there for a moment, not wanting to stumble around in the dark.

  But if Clay was within hearing distance, he wasn’t answering.

  Maybe she didn’t have an electrical problem, after all. Maybe it was a breaker. Siobhan felt her way into the darker bowls of the barn, heading for the tack room where she hoped to find a flashlight so she could check out the box. She’d barely opened the door when the hair at the back of her neck stood straight.

  Someone was behind her.

  Even as she turned, whoever it was shoved her—hard—so she fell into the tack room. She flipped to face the opening as the door slammed shut, cutting off any view of the attacker, cutting the last of the light.

  “Hey!”

  Now in total darkness, she flew to her feet and rushed the door, but she couldn’t budge it. Noises on the other side told her that her attacker was doing something to prevent her from getting out—she didn’t have a padlock, but there were metal loops for one. She threw her shoulder into the door.

  “Ow!”

  The wooden panel stood fast.

  Furious, Siobhan banged her fists against the door and yelled, “Let me out! Let me out of here!”

  After several minutes of raising a ruckus, her throat went dry so she stopped. What did Clay think he was doing? Was this some kind of a game for him? Was he trying to scare her so she would take his warning to heart?

  Exhaustion overcome by anger, Siobhan was determined to get out and give Clay Salazar a piece of her mind.

  She felt around the inky room, hands skipping over the bridles and ropes, over the trunk filled with blankets and hoods, not stopping until she found the shelves holding miscellaneous supplies. She slid her hand along the shelf at chest level until her fingertips hit the flashlight. It went flying. Though she tried for a save, it bounced off her arm onto the floor. Several more minutes of wasted time before she recovered the flashlight and switched it on.

  Siobhan had never appreciated light more. Even this narrow beam had the power to calm her inside. She gazed around, trying to decide if she had anything that would knock down the damn door—it wasn’t a real door but a slab of wood, an inch or so thick—then pulled back. If she destroyed it, someone would have to replace it. She ran the beam of light over the door itself. Because of its jury-rigged nature, the hinges were on the inside rather than in between door and jamb. Yes!

  Back to the shelves where she had a toolbox. Finding a screwdriver, she marched back to the door.

  “Clay Salazar!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “This isn’t funny!” She started working on the screws attaching the hinges to the wood. “I don’t know what you’re thinking!” She got them all loose, then started removing them. “If you’re still out there, you’d better get while the going is good!”

  With the final screw removed, the wooden panel swung in at her on an angle, still attached to the frame with a piece of wood jammed through the metal padlock loop.

  Hearing bootfalls, Siobhan felt her adrenaline surge even higher. Righteous anger made her see red. She righted the panel and pulled it inside the tack room. And then she took the flashlight and shone it on the man heading straight for her.

  She met Clay halfway and shoved at him, pushing him off balance. “What did you think you were doing?”

  “What are you talking about? And why are you hitting me?”

  “Locking me in the tack room—did you really think it was funny?”

  “Siobhan, it wasn’t me. I just got here, I swear. I heard you yelling, so I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Liar!” She shoved by Clay and headed for the barn door. “Then why is your truck parked right outside?”

  Only when she got to the door, she stopped, dumb-founded. Though it was dark now, she could tell no truck was parked outside the barn. Warrior snorted and whinnied impatiently—she’d forgotten all about the horse. Mind roiling, she crossed to him now and freed him from the corral fence.

  Warrior obviously knew Clay was there. Able to read Warrior as she had always connected with horses, Siobhan knew his fevered thoughts were of his trainer…

  Clay gently bandaging a cut while murmuring something that kept the horse calm…making a connection just as she did…

  Startled by Clay coming up behind her, Siobhan whirled on him. “Where is it? Where did you park your truck?”

  Clay reached out and stroked Warrior’s nose. “Hello, son,” he said, his tone shifting into quiet mode for a moment. Warrior responded with a whinny and then snorted directly into Clay’s chest.

  “Clay! Your truck?”

  “I left it over at the house. I was coming to see you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought to check the barn.”

  The moon might not be full, but it provided enough light that Siobhan could see the truck just where he said he’d left it.

  “You moved it,” she said unconvincingly.

  “I swear I didn’t.” Clay took the horse from her and led him to the barn. Warrior swung into him as though seeking the personal contact. “I just got back here a few minutes ago, Siobhan, I swear!”

  Keeping up with him, Siobhan took a good look at Clay’s expression—deeply worried. He wasn’t lying. Once inside, he unhitched the saddle and lifted it from Warrior’s back while she removed bridle and bit. She might not be able to sense him the way she used to, but she could sense that.

  “Where’s the breaker box?” Clay asked.

  “Back there.” She pointed past the tack room and handed him the flashlight. “You’ll need this.”

  He disappeared into the dark.

  Her pulse began to tick and she suddenly felt like throwing up. He’d warned her. She hadn’t really believed him.

  She did now. Pressing her forehead against Warrior’s cheek, she focused inward, hoping to tap into the horse’s memory. Undoubtedly he’d seen the truck’s owner. But try as hard as she might, she couldn’t get there. Warrior was charged up, but not by the night’s disturbance.

  The lights went on.

  “The breaker didn’t pop,” Clay said. “It was deliberately turned off.”

  Stewing in silence, Siobhan walked Warrior past him through the barn to the other
exit. There she let the horse out into the small back pasture as Clay retrieved the saddle and bridle and put them in the tack room.

  “I need to check on something.”

  Clay grunted and she saw he was lifting the door back into place as she entered Garnet’s stall. She assured herself the old mare was all right, then looked around the barn for anything amiss. Nothing. By the time she was done, Clay had finished reattaching the hinges and was swinging the tack door closed.

  As calm as she was going to be considering what had just happened to her, she faced him. “If it wasn’t you, Clay, then who?”

  Chapter Four

  “Paco Vargas.” Siobhan paced the plank floors of her living room. He was saying a man she’d never met was undoubtedly responsible for locking her in the tack room. “What would some guy I don’t know have against me?”

  “Probably nothing, at least not against you. Now I’m another story, sorry to say. I read through him and Vargas knew it. We had a couple altercations at the correctional center, but he was forced to back down. He gave me the feeling that he wanted at me more than once. The door to the outside was the only thing holding him back.”

  “If he has nothing against me…then, I don’t get it.”

  “He’s hired help.”

  “Who hired him?”

  “Buck Hale.”

  “Buck?” He’d hated Clay—and undoubtedly her, as well, just because she and Clay had once been inseparable. Enough reason to want to see her lose the ranch? “You think Buck wants to put me out of business?”

  “I think he doesn’t care what happens to you, Siobhan. I think he wants your spread, and he’s willing to do whatever he needs to so that he can get it.”

  Siobhan threw herself into a scarred leather chair opposite his. They were sitting before the stone fireplace. She’d put some logs on when they’d entered. Though it was late spring, as soon as the sun went down the air caught a chill, and she was already cold inside.

  “Wow, two of them want this spread, then. The man who was here when you arrived—Early Farnum—he wants the place, too, but he’s willing to put the moves on me to get it.”

  “So I noticed.” Clay’s voice tightened. “You know that and you’re still dating him?”

  “Dating? What gave you that idea?”

  “You said you’d see him tomorrow night.”

  “He offered to drive me to a civic meeting in Soledad. That’s all.”

  “You could have said no.”

  Why was he pushing this? And why did she feel as if she was backed into a corner? “What if I felt the need to be sociable?”

  “Then you want to date him?”

  “No!” And why did he care? “I’m newly widowed if you remember.”

  At the moment she had to remind herself that she was in mourning. Even if she and Clay no longer had the connection that had brought them so close, even if she never meant to do anything about it, she could still be attracted to his rugged dark looks that made him appear right at home in the rustic setting—stone house, plank floors, exposed vigas along the ceilings.

  Realizing where her thoughts were leading her, she started. This had been her late husband’s family home, after all.

  She said, “I buried Jeff four months, one week and three days ago.”

  “You keep count.” Then he asked, “How did your husband die, anyway?”

  “A riding accident.”

  “I heard that part. But how exactly?”

  “I wasn’t there. Jacy and Tonio, the former cowboss, went out to look for Jeff. They found him dead. His neck was broken from the fall.”

  “Are you sure it was from the fall?”

  “Of course. What else?”

  “Did you ask the horse?”

  She blinked at him and for a moment couldn’t speak. Most people would think that was an odd question to ask anyone. Crazy, really. But not an odd question for her. Not for Clay to ask, either—he knew about her ability.

  “I couldn’t even if I thought there was reason to do so. They fell on a sandstone formation just below the rimrock. Why they were in that area, I have no idea, but the horse’s leg was broken and Jacy had to shoot him.”

  Something Siobhan didn’t think she would have been able to do. Her sister-in-law took everything that came her way in stride.

  “So you only know that your husband’s neck and the horse’s leg were broken.”

  Her pulse suddenly shot up. “What are you implying?”

  “That there could be more, things maybe Jacy didn’t notice. They probably weren’t looking for proof of any kind.”

  “Proof?” She wasn’t liking where he was going with this. “Of what?”

  “Of murder, Siobhan. I think your husband may have been murdered.”

  Sucking in her breath, Siobhan stared at Clay. He was serious, convinced of what he’d said. A sick feeling filled her as she wondered if it could be true.

  Could Jeff really have been murdered?

  That would make his death no less her fault—she’d agreed to marry him and had passed on the curse—but if he was murdered, she wanted to know about it.

  Wanted to see the murderer brought to justice.

  “How do I prove it, Clay?” she asked, forcing herself to breathe. “If it was murder?”

  “I’d say for starters, we go to the site and take a look. My grandfather taught me a lot in the short time I lived with him…but it’s been four months since your husband’s death, Siobhan. Four months of weather. Any proof may have been blown or washed away. There may be nothing left for us to see. We might not be able to prove anything. We may have to wait and see what happens next.”

  “We? What we? You have a job at the High Desert Correctional Center.”

  “I have the next few days off. And I have a couple weeks’ vacation coming.” He shrugged. “I have no other plans. I’d be glad to spend that time here.”

  “Let me understand this. You’re willing to go out of your way to help me get justice for the man I married?”

  “I’m willing, and you do need someone, Siobhan. Not only to keep you safe but also to keep this place from going under. I heard you lost your cowboss. I’m available, at least on a temporary basis.”

  Siobhan’s mind roiled. Clay here on the ranch, working with her. Unlike her, he had years of experience working on a cow-calf operation. Right after high school, he’d hired on with a spread, then had worked an even bigger one until she’d married Jeff. Then Clay had simply disappeared.

  She couldn’t fathom being so close to him again.

  Couldn’t fathom putting him in danger. Still…

  Clay had changed. Or perhaps they both had. Despite the attraction she still felt, she couldn’t connect with him. Couldn’t sense what he was thinking or feeling that had once been as natural to her as breathing. The psychic link between them had been broken.

  That connection had been the reason she’d sent Clay away—it was the warning that most McKennas in her family had experienced, and most had ignored. But the connection was gone now, and she didn’t intend to get involved with Clay anyway, which meant he would be safe from the McKenna legacy.

  “All right,” she finally said. “I do need a hand here…I can’t allow this ranch to go under. If you’re really willing, I can use your help just temporarily until I get this spread running smoothly.”

  She didn’t want to take him away from a job he loved, but if Clay had some time off as he said, she could use his help. And if he could somehow figure out whether Jeff was murdered, all the better.

  “IT’S A DEAL, THEN.” Clay was glad Siobhan didn’t try to fight him on this—he would have had to find some way to support her whether or not she wanted it. “We can check out the site where your husband died in the morning.”

  She frowned. “It’ll have to wait a while longer. I have cows to move first. It’s warm enough to bring the herd to the upper pasture.”

  “When we’re done with that, then.” Clay got to his feet. �
��I assume you have room for me in the bunkhouse.”

  He’d have to go back to the correctional center to get his things. And to make arrangements to take his vacation time. Anything beyond that was a question mark right now. He would see how it went.

  “I thought I would put you up at the camp,” Siobhan said. “That way you’ll have your privacy. It’s about a mile from here, closer to the herd. Several horses are pastured out there. You can take your pick.”

  “What if I want to ride Warrior?”

  Siobhan hesitated, and her expression told him she knew he’d trained the gelding.

  Warrior had been his demo horse—the mustang he’d gentled when he’d first started in the program—his example of how it was done properly for the would-be inmate trainers. Warrior had been auctioned off several months later along with horses gentled and trained by the inmates.

  How interesting that Siobhan had bought Warrior. Interesting…but a coincidence?

  “If you prefer Warrior,” she said, “of course he’s yours. I’m grateful, so anything you need.”

  He asked, “Don’t you ride any other horses?”

  “Garnet, sometimes, but she’s injured. One of those many accidents around here lately.”

  It didn’t surprise him that she still had Garnet. Her mom had given Siobhan the mare for her birthday when she was a kid. Their bond was unbreakable.

  “She’s too old to be chasing a herd of cows up above the rimrock anyway,” Clay said. “Stay on Warrior. Let me see what you have pastured at the camp.”

  Clay didn’t like being that far from Siobhan, not after what had just happened to her, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. Enough that she’d let him back into her life, even if as an employee, so that he could protect her.

  No way would she let him into her home, though, not to stay. That would be expecting too much.

  So when she started for the door, saying, “I’ll drive out there—you can follow me,” he followed.

  Outside, he tuned in to the night, listened for any noises he couldn’t place, sent his gaze roaming through the dark. Siobhan stood at her SUV, seeming tense until he nodded and went for his truck. They got into their vehicles simultaneously. A five-minute drive through the valley and into another canyon and they were at the camp.