New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author DIANA PALMER is back with a thrilling new story featuring the Kirk brothers of Wyoming

Former border agent Dalton Kirk thought his life was over—literally—when a gang of smugglers left him for dead. Defying all odds, he survives his ordeal and returns to his Wyoming ranch ready to dedicate his future to a more peaceful home on the range. Until lovely Merissa Baker knocks on his door.

Merissa is well aware of her reputation as the local eccentric—she knows things before they happen—and she’s had a vision that Dalton is in danger. Even though her beliefs clash with Dalton’s cowboy logic, she’s determined to save the handsome rancher she’s secretly loved forever.

Visions? It’s all ridiculous to Dalton…until things start happening that prove Merissa right. And now Dalton is not the only target—so is Merissa. Can Dalton be bold enough to trust the unknown? Is this Wyoming man ready to love?

Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

“Palmer demonstrates, yet again, why she’s the queen of desparado quests for justice and true love.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dangerous

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly…heartwarming.”

—Publishers Weekly on Renegade

“Sensual and suspenseful.”

—Booklist on Lawless

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

Wyoming Bold

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Ellen Tapp, my childhood friend, with love

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

Wyoming Tough Excerpt

Wyoming Fierce Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS ONE of the worst blizzards in the history of the Rancho Real in Catelow, Wyoming. Dalton Kirk stared out the window and grimaced as the flakes seemed to grow in size by the minute. It was the middle of December. Usually weather like this came later.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Darby Hanes, his foreman. “Darby, how’s it going out there?”

“Cattle are pretty deep in it,” Darby replied, his voice breaking up with static, “but we’re holding our own with feed so far. Getting hard to reach them, though.”

“I hope this doesn’t last long,” he said heavily.

“Me, too, but we need the snow for the spring water supply so badly, I’m not complaining.” Darby chuckled.

“Take care out there.”

“Sure. Thanks, boss.”

He hung up. He hated the storms but Darby was right about their desperate need for snow. The summer drought had made it hard on ranchers all over the West and Midwest. He just hoped they’d be able to get feed to the cattle. In an emergency, of course, federal and state agencies would help to airlift bales of hay to the animals.

He went into the living room and turned on the History channel. Might as well occupy himself instead of worrying so much, he thought amusedly.

* * *

MAVIE, THE HOUSEKEEPER, frowned as she thought she heard something at the back door. She was clearing away dishes in the kitchen, nervous because the storm seemed to be getting worse.

Curious, though, she went and peered through the white curtains and gasped when she saw a pale, oval face with wide, green eyes staring back at her.

“Merissa?” she asked, shocked.

She opened the door. There, in a hooded, bloodred cape, almost covered with snow, stood a neighbor. Merissa Baker lived with her mother, Clara, way back in the woods in a cottage. They were what local people called “peculiar.” Clara could talk out fire and talk off warts. She knew all sorts of herbal remedies for illness and they said she had the “second sight” as well, that she could see the future. Her daughter was rumored to have the same abilities, only magnified. She recalled that when Merissa had been in school, her classmates had shunned her and victimized her so badly that her mother pulled her out of the local high school because of her ongoing stomach problems. The school system had sent a homeschool worker with her classwork and oversaw her curriculum. She had graduated with her class, with grades that shamed most of them.

She’d tried to work locally, but her reputation was unsettling to some of the conservative businesses, so she went home and helped her mother, earning her living with a combination of fortune-telling and online website design, at which she was quite good. She had an older computer, and a cheap internet connection at first, but as her business grew, she’d started making money. She’d managed to afford better equipment and higher internet speed. Now, she was very successful. She designed websites for at least one quite famous author and several businesses.

“Come in out of the snow, child!” Mavie exclaimed. “You’re soaked!”

“The car wouldn’t start,” Merissa said in her soft, delicate voice. She was almost as tall as Mavie, who was just above five feet seven inches. She had thick, short, wavy platinum hair and pale green eyes that were huge in her face. She had a rounded little chin and a pretty, naturally pink bow-shaped mouth, and tiny ears. And a smile that could have melted stone.

“What are you doing here in a storm?”

“I have to see Dalton Kirk,” she said solemnly. “And it’s urgent.”

“Tank?” Mavie asked blankly, using the youngest Kirk brother’s affectionate nickname.

“Yes.”

“Can I ask what it’s about?” Mavie asked, confused, because she didn’t think the family had any business dealings with Merissa.

Merissa smiled gently. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh. Well, let me go get him, then.”

“I’ll wait here. I don’t want to drip on the carpet,” the young woman said with a laugh that sounded like silver bells.

Mavie went into the living room. There was, fortunately, a commercial. Dalton had turned the sound off.

“Damn things,” he muttered. “One minute of program and five minutes of commercials, do they really think people are going to sit there and watch so many at once?” he huffed. He frowned at Mavie’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“You know the Bakers, don’t you? They live in that cottage down the road, in the cottonwood thicket.”

“Yes.”

“Merissa is here. She says she has to talk to you.”

“Okay.” He got up. “Bring her in here.”

“She won’t come. She got wet walking here.”

“She walked? In this?” He gestured at the window where huge flakes of snow were falling. “There’s almost a foot of snow on the ground already!”

“She said her car wouldn’t start.”

He sighed. He turned off the television and put down the remote control. He followed Mavie into the kitchen.

His eyes took in the slender figure of his guest. She was very pretty. Her lips were a natural red. Her eyes were big and soft and green. Her face was rather pointed, and her rounded chin made her seem vulnerable. She was wearing a hooded red cloak and it, and she, were soaked.

“Merissa, isn’t it?” he asked gently.

She nodded. She was self-conscious around men. Afraid of them, too, really. She hoped it didn’t show. Dalton was very big, like all the Kirk boys. He had jet-black hair and dark eyes and a lean, angular face. He was wearing jeans and boots and a chambray shirt. He didn’t look like a very wealthy man at all.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

She glanced toward Mavie.

“Oh, I’ll just go dust the living room for a bit,” Mavie said with a grin. She left them alone, pulling the door closed behind her as she went into the hall.

“You’re in terrible danger,” Merissa said without preamble.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I just blurt these things out, I don’t mean to.” She bit her lip. “I have visions. My mother does, too. The neurologist says it’s an aura from migraine, which I also have, but if that’s all, why do the visions always come true?” She sighed. “I had a vision about you. I had to tell you about it right away so you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Privately he thought she needed a good psychologist more than a neurologist, but he wasn’t going to say that. She was very young; barely twenty-two if he remembered correctly. “Go ahead.”

“You were attacked in Arizona by four men, just a few months ago,” she said. Her eyes were closed. If they hadn’t been, she’d have seen Dalton’s suddenly still posture and taut features. “One of the men with you was wearing a paisley shirt...”

“Damn!”

She opened her eyes and grimaced as he glared at her.

“How did you know that?” he asked, moving forward so fast that she backed up too quickly and stumbled into a chair, almost falling. She caught the table just in time. “Who told you?” he demanded, although he stopped going toward her.

“Nobody...told me. I saw it,” she tried to explain. Heavens, he was fast! She’d never seen a man move like that.

“Saw it, how?”

“In my head. It was a vision,” she tried to explain. Her cheeks were flushed. He thought she was crazy. “Please, let me finish. The man in the paisley shirt, he was wearing a suit and you trusted him. There was another man, a man with dark skin wearing a lot of gold jewelry. In fact, his pistol had gold plating and pearls on it...”

“I only ever told my brothers that!” he said angrily. “Them, and my supervisor and, later, the DOJ guys!”

“The man in the paisley shirt,” she continued. “He isn’t who you think he is. He has ties to a drug cartel.” Her eyes closed again. “He’s made some sort of bargain with a man high up in politics in this country. I don’t know what, I can’t see it. But I do know this. The other man is running for public office, some very high office with money and political superiority in the balance...” She swallowed and opened her eyes. “He wants to have you killed.”

“Me?” he asked. “What for?”

“Because of the man in the paisley shirt,” she explained. “He was with that man who shot you, who’s now second-in-command to the leader of the drug cartel. But it isn’t known. The cartel put up money so he could run for public office, high public office. Once he’s elected, if he is, he’ll make sure the drug convoys get across the border with no interference. I don’t know how.” She held up a hand when he looked as if he might question that. “They’re going to try to have you killed so that you can’t tell on him.”

“Hell, I identified the shooter to the authorities. They have notes on my debriefing,” he scoffed. “It’s all in there, about the shooter with the gold-plated weapon, the gold jewelry, the lizard-skin boots, the gold tooth with a diamond that he wore for a front tooth—the works.” He laughed curtly. “It’s too late for them to silence me.”

“I’m just telling you what I saw,” she stammered. “It isn’t about the man with the gold-plated weapon—it’s about the man wearing the paisley shirt. He’s working for the politician. He’s already tried to have a sheriff killed, a man who might have recognized him. The sheriff was shot...” She closed her eyes and squinted, as if her head hurt. In fact, it did. “He’s afraid of both of you. If you recognize him, his ties to the politician will be made public and the politician will end up in prison. So will he. It isn’t the first time he’s killed to protect his boss.”

Tank sat down. This was intense stuff. It brought back nightmarish memories from the shooting. The impact of the bullets, the smell of blood, the dark-skinned man’s insane laughter while he fired the automatic pistol. There really had been another man there, a man in a paisley shirt, as she said, wearing a suit...

“Why didn’t I remember that?” he mumbled out loud. He put his hand to his eyes. “There was a man in a paisley shirt. He asked for backup. He said a drug deal was going down, a big one. I drove out there with him. He said he was from the DEA—” He broke off and gaped at Merissa.

“You hadn’t remembered that,” she said slowly.

He nodded. His face was ashen. There were beads of sweat just above his chiseled mouth.

She knelt on the floor beside his chair and held his big hand, the one that wasn’t rubbing his eyes. “It’s all right,” she said in a tone of voice that sounded like he imagined an angel of mercy would sound. “It’s all right.”

He didn’t like being babied. He jerked his hand away, and then was sorry when she stood up and backed away, looking hunted.

She couldn’t imagine the memories she’d kindled within him. He was trying to deal with them, and not very successfully. “People say you’re a witch,” he blurted out.

She didn’t take offence. She only nodded. “I know.”

He stared at her. There was something really other-worldly about her. She was almost fragile, despite her height; quiet, docile. She seemed so much at peace with herself and the world. The only turmoil was in her big, soft green eyes, which were looking at him with a mix of sympathy and fear.

“Why are you afraid of me?” he asked suddenly.

She shifted. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Why?”

“You’re very...large,” she faltered. She shivered.

He cocked his head, frowning.

She forced a smile. “I have to go,” she said. “I just wanted you to know what I saw, so that you could keep your eyes open and be alert.”

“We have a fortune invested in surveillance equipment here, mostly because of our prize-winning bulls.”

She nodded. “It won’t matter. They sent a professional assassin after the sheriff in Texas. He had surveillance equipment, too. Or at least I think he did.”

He drew in a long breath. He stood up, calmer now. “I know some people in Texas. Where?”

She shifted uneasily. He towered over her. “South Texas. Somewhere south of San Antonio. I don’t know anything else. Sorry.”

That should be easy to track down. If there’d been a shooting of a law enforcement official, it would be public and he could search for it online. He wanted to do that, if only to prove her so-called vision false.

“Thanks anyway. For the warning.” He smiled with pure sarcasm.

“You don’t believe me. That’s all right. Just...watch where you’re going. Please.” She turned and pulled up her hood.

He recalled that she’d walked here.

“Just a sec,” he said. He went to the hall closet, pulled out a shepherd’s coat and threw it on. “I’ll drive you home,” he said, digging in his pocket for his car keys. Then he remembered that he’d put them on the hook beside the back door. With a grimace, he retrieved them.

“You shouldn’t do that,” she began uneasily.

“What? Drive you home? It’s almost a blizzard. You can’t even see where you’re going in this!” he said, waving his hand toward the window.

“Hang your keys there,” she faltered. There was a strange, opaque look to her eyes. “You shouldn’t do that. He’ll find them there and get access to the house.”

“He, who?” he asked.

She looked up at him and blinked.

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Come on.”

* * *

THEY WERE GOING into the garage when Darby Hanes pulled up in one of the other ranch pickups. He got out, shaking snow off the shoulders of his wool jacket. He seemed surprised to see Merissa, but he tipped his hat to her and smiled.

“Hi, Merissa,” he said.

She smiled back. “Hello, Mr. Hanes.”

“Been riding fence,” he said, sighing. “I came back to get the chain saw. We’ve got a tree across a fence.” He shook his head. “Bad weather, and more forecast.”

Merissa was staring at him without speaking. She moved a step closer. “Mr. Hanes, please don’t take this the wrong way...but...” She bit her lip. “You need to take somebody with you when you cut the tree down.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look. “Excuse me?”

She shifted, as if she was staggering under a burden. “Please?”

“Oh, no, not one of those premonitions?” Darby laughed. “No offense, Miss Baker, but you need to get out more!”

She flushed, embarrassed.

Tank narrowed his eyes as he studied her drawn features. He turned back to Darby. “Let’s err on the side of caution. Take Tim with you.”

Darby sighed and shook his head. “Waste of manpower, but if you say so, I’ll do it, boss.”

“I say so.”

Darby just nodded. His expression was eloquent. Darby had a degree in physics and was a pragmatist. He didn’t believe in that supernatural stuff. Tank didn’t, either, but Merissa’s worried face haunted him. He just grinned at Darby, who threw up his hands and went to find Tim.

Tank led the way to his big black ranch double-cabbed pickup truck and helped her up into the passenger seat.

She looked around with fascination when he climbed in under the wheel, and started the engine.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Can it cook and do laundry, too?” she wondered aloud, her eyes on all the displays and controls. “I mean, it looks as if it can do everything else. Even satellite radio...”

“It’s a big ranch and we spend a lot of time far away from the house. We have GPS, cell phones, you name it. The trucks are loaded with electronics on purpose. Plus big, expensive V-8 engines,” he added with a wicked glance of dark eyes. “If we weren’t green fanatics who generated our own energy, we’d be singled out for our inexcusable use of gasoline.”

“I drive a V-8, too,” she said with a shy smile. “Of course, mine is twenty years old and it only starts when it wants to. It didn’t today.”

He shook his head. “Maybe Darby is right. You do spend too much time alone. You should get a job.”

“I have one,” she said. “I do web design. It means I can work at home.”

“You won’t meet many people that way.”

Her expression went stiff. “I can do without most people. And they can certainly do without me. You said it yourself. People think I’m a witch.” She sighed. “Old Mr. Barnes’s milk cow went dry and he blamed me. He said it was because I lived near him. ‘Everybody knows that witches cause those things,’ he said.”

“Threaten him with a lawsuit. That will shut him up.”

She blinked and turned her head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“Hate speech,” he elaborated.

“Oh. I see.” She sighed. “I’m afraid it would only make things worse. Instead of that witch woman, I’d be that witch woman who sues everybody.”

He chuckled.

She drew in a breath and shivered. She could barely see through the blinding snow as he drove. “I’ll bet you have problems in this sort of weather. They say the old trail drivers used to stay with the cattle herds during storms and sing to them, to calm them, so they were less likely to stampede. The ones I read about were summer storms, though, with lightning.”

He was pleasantly surprised. “Those old trail drivers did baby the cattle. In fact, we have a couple of singing cowboys who do night duty for us with the herds.”

“Are their names Roy and Gene?”

That took him a minute. Then he burst out laughing. “No. Tim and Harry, actually.”

She grinned. Her whole face lit up. She was very pretty, he thought.

“Good one,” he told her with a nod.

They were nearing her cabin. It wasn’t much to look at. It had belonged to a hermit before the Bakers bought it about the time Merissa was born. Her mother’s husband had left suddenly when she was ten. People whispered about the reason. Most people locally thought it was her mother’s eerie abilities that had sent him to the divorce court.

Tank stopped the truck.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, pulling up her hood. “But you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. Thanks for the warning.” He hesitated. “What did you see, about Darby?” he asked, hating himself for the question.

She swallowed, hard. “An accident. But if he takes someone with him, I think it will be all right.” She held up a hand. “I know, you don’t believe in all this hoodoo. I don’t know why I was cursed with visions. I just tell what I know, when I think it will help.” Her soft eyes met his dark ones. “You’ve been kind to us over the years, all of you. When we couldn’t get out because of snowdrifts, you’d send groceries. When the car got stuck one time, you had a cowboy drive us home and get the car out.” She smiled. “You’re a kind person. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. So maybe I’m crazy. But please watch your back anyway.”

He smiled gently. “Okay.”

She smiled, shyly, and climbed out of the truck. She closed the door behind her and ran for the porch. Her red cape, against the fluffy white snow, reminded him of the heroine in a movie he’d seen about a werewolf. The red was stark, like blood, in that background of pure white.

An older woman, with silver hair, was waiting. She looked past Merissa and waved a little awkwardly. Merissa waved, too. They both went inside quickly.

Tank sat with the engine idling, staring at the closed door for a minute before he put the truck in gear and drove off.

* * *

“WHAT IN THE world are you laughing about?” Mallory asked his brother as he came into the living room later. Mallory and his wife, Morie, had a baby boy just a few months old—Harrison Barlow Kirk. They were just now able to sleep at night, to the relief of everyone in the household. Of course, Cane, the middle brother, and his wife, Bodie, were expecting. So it would begin all over again in the spring. Nobody minded. The brothers were all gooey over the baby.

A huge Christmas tree sat in the corner, with presents already piled up to the first set of limbs. It was an artificial tree. Morie was allergic to the live ones.

Tank was chuckling. “You remember the Bakers?”

“The strange folk in the cabin?” Mallory said with a grin. “Merissa and her mother, Clara. Sure.”

“Merissa came over to warn me about an assassination attempt.”

Mallory did a double take. “A what?”

“She says a man is coming to kill me.”

“Would you like to explain why?”

“She said it was related to the shooting in Arizona, when I was with the border patrol,” he explained, still uneasy from the memory. “One of the shooters thinks I could recognize his companion and cause trouble for a politician who plans to run for federal office. Drug-related stuff.”

“How did she know?”

Tank made a weird sound and waved his hands. “She had a vision!”

“I wouldn’t laugh too hard at that,” Mallory said strangely. “She warned a local woman about driving across a bridge. She said she had a vision of it collapsing. The woman went over it anyway a day later and the bridge fell out from under her. She barely survived.”

Tank frowned. “Eerie.”

“Some people have abilities that other people don’t believe in,” Mallory replied. “Every community has somebody who can talk out fire or talk off warts, dowse for water, even get glimpses of the future. It isn’t logical...you can’t prove it by scientific method. But I’ve seen it in action. You might recall that we have a well because I hired a dowser to come out here and find water for us.”

“A water witch.” Tank shivered. “Well, I don’t believe in that stuff and I never will.”

“I just hope Merissa was wrong.” He clapped an affectionate arm across his brother’s shoulders. “I’d hate to lose you.”

Tank laughed. “You won’t. I’ve survived a war and a handgun attack. I guess maybe I’m indestructible.”

“Nobody is that.”

“I was lucky, then.”

Mallory laughed. “Very.”

* * *

DALTON SAT DOWN with his laptop, having recalled Merissa’s statement about a sheriff in south Texas being shot.

He sipped coffee and laughed at himself for even believing such a wild tale. Until he looked through recent San Antonio news reports and discovered that a sheriff in Jacobs County, south of San Antonio, had been the victim of a recent assassination attempt by persons unknown, but believed to be involved with a notorious drug cartel across the border in Mexico.

Tank caught his breath and gaped at the screen. Sheriff Hayes Carson of Jacobs County, Texas, had been wounded by a would-be assassin in November, and later kidnapped, along with his fiancée, by members of a drug cartel from over the border. The sheriff and his fiancée, who was a local newspaper publisher, had given a brief interview about their ordeal. The leader of the drug cartel himself, whom his enemies called El Ladŕon—the thief—was killed by what was described as hand grenades tossed under his armored car near a town called Cotillo, across the border in Mexico. The assassin hadn’t been caught.

Tank leaned back in his chair with a rough sigh. He was disturbed by what Merissa had told him about his own ordeal, details that only his brothers and members of law enforcement had ever known. She couldn’t have found out in any conventional way.

Unless...well, she had a computer. She did website design.

His brain was working overtime. She had enough expertise to be able to break into protected files. That had to be it. Somehow, she’d managed to access that information about him from some government website.

The difficulties with that theory didn’t penetrate his confused brain. He wasn’t willing to consider the idea that a young woman who barely knew him had some supernatural access to his mind. Everyone with any sense knew that psychics were swindlers who just told people what they wanted to hear and made a living at it. There was no such thing as precognition or any of those other things.

He was a smart man. He had a degree. He knew that it was impossible for Merissa to get that information except through physical, and probably illegal, means.

But how did she know that he’d forgotten details of his ordeal, like the man in the suit, the DEA agent, who’d led him into the ambush and then disappeared?

He turned off the computer and got to his feet. There had to be a logical, rational explanation for all this. He just had to find it.

He’d left his car keys in the truck. He threw on his coat and trudged out through the snow to the garage to get them. The snow was getting really deep. If it didn’t let up, they were going to have to implement some emergency procedures to get feed to the cattle stranded in the far pastures.

Wyoming in snowstorms could be a deadly place. He remembered reading about people who were stranded and froze to death in very little time. He thought about Merissa and her mother, Clara, all alone in that isolated cabin. He hoped they had plenty of firewood and provisions, just in case. He’d have to send Darby over.

He frowned as he noticed that Darby wasn’t back yet. It had been several hours. He pulled out his cell phone and called Darby’s number.

It was Tim who answered.

“Oh, hi, boss,” Tim said. “I started to call you but I wanted to make sure first. Darby got hit with a limb when we brought the tree down.”

“What?” Dalton exploded.

“He’s going to be okay,” Tim said quickly. “Bruised him a bit and broke a rib, so he’ll be out of commission for a bit, but nothing too bad. He said if he’d been there alone, he’d probably be dead. Tree pinned him, you see. I was able to get it off. But if I hadn’t gone with him... He says he owes his life to that little Baker girl.”

Dalton let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he murmured unsteadily. “I believe he just might.”

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner,” Tim added, “but it took us a while to get to town, to the doc. We’ll head back in a few minutes. Have to go by the pharmacy to pick up some meds for Darby.”

“Okay. Drive carefully,” Tank said.

“You bet, boss.”

Dalton hung up the cell phone. He was almost white. Mallory, coming into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just got cured of my skeptical attitude about psychic phenomena,” Tank said, and laughed shortly.

CHAPTER TWO

DALTON COULDN’T FIND a cell phone number for Merissa, or he would have thanked her for the information that saved Darby’s life.

He looked up her business on the internet, though, and sent her an email. She responded almost immediately.

“Glad Darby is okay. Take care of yourself,” she wrote back.

* * *

AFTER THAT EXPERIENCE, Tank took her advice a lot more to heart. And the first thing he did was to place a call to Jacobsville, Texas, to the office of Sheriff Hayes Carson.

“This is going to sound strange,” Tank told Hayes. “But I think we have a connection.”

“We’re talking on the phone, so I’d call that a connection,” Hayes said dryly.

“No, I mean about the drug cartel.” Tank took a deep breath. He didn’t like speaking of it. “I had an experience on the Arizona border not too long ago. I was with the border patrol. A man who identified himself as a DEA agent took me out to a suspected drug drop and into an ambush. I was pretty much shot to pieces. I recovered, although it’s taking a long time.”

Hayes was immediately interested. “Now that’s really odd. We’re looking for a rogue DEA agent down here in Texas. I arrested a drug dealer a couple of months ago in company with a DEA agent that nobody can find information about. Even his own guys don’t know who he was, but we think he may be linked to the cartel over the border. Several of us, including the local FBI and DEA, have been trying to chase him down. Nobody can remember what he looks like. We even had our local police chief’s secretary, who has a photographic memory, get a police artist to sketch him. But even then, none of us could remember having seen him.”

“He blends.”

“I’ll say he blends,” Hayes said thoughtfully. “How did you connect your case to mine?”

Tank laughed self-consciously. “Now, see, this is going to sound really strange. A local psychic came over to warn me that I was being targeted by a politician who has something to do with the drug cartel and a mysterious DEA agent.”

“A psychic. Uh-huh.”

“I know, you think I’m nuts, but...”

“Actually, our police chief’s wife has the same ability,” came the surprising reply. “She’s saved Cash Grier’s life a couple of times because she knew things she shouldn’t. She calls it the ‘second sight,’ and says it’s from her Celtic ancestry.”

Tank wondered if Merissa’s ancestry was Celtic. He laughed. “Well, I feel all better now.”

“I wish you could fly down here and talk to me,” Hayes said. “We’ve got a huge file on El Ladŕon’s operation, and the men who’ve taken over after his unexpected demise.”

“I’d like to do that,” Tank said. “But right now we’re pretty much snowed in. And with Christmas coming, it’s a bad time. But when the weather breaks, I’ll give you a call and we’ll set something up.”

“Good idea. We could use the help.”

“You’re recovering okay from your kidnapping?”

“Yes, thanks. My fiancée and I had an interesting adventure. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” He laughed. “She held one of our captors at gunpoint with an AK-47, was really convincing. And then she confessed, when it was all over, that she didn’t know if it was loaded or the safety was on. What a girl!”

Tank laughed. “What a lucky man, to be marrying a woman like that.”

“Yes, I am. We’re getting married tomorrow, in fact.” Hayes chuckled. “And going on our honeymoon to Panama City for a few days. Next week is Christmas, so we have to be back by then. You married?”

“No woman in Wyoming crazy enough to take me on,” Tank said dryly. “Both my brothers are married. I’m just waiting to be snapped up by some kind passerby.”

“Good luck to you.”

“Thanks. Keep safe.”

“You do the same. Nice talking to you.”

“Same here.”

Tank hung up and went looking for his brother Mallory. He found him in the living room, by following the exquisite sound of a score from a popular movie. Mallory, like Tank himself, was a gifted pianist. Mallory’s wife, Morie, was better than both of them.

Mallory noticed his brother standing in the doorway and stopped playing with a grin.

Tank held up a hand. “I’m not conceding that you’re better than me. I was just thinking, however, that Morie puts us both in the shade.”

“Indeed she does,” Mallory replied with a smile. He got up. “Problems?”

“Remember I told you what Merissa said, about a sheriff in Texas whose case was connected to the shooting I was involved in?”

Mallory nodded, waiting.

Tank sighed. He perched himself on the arm of the sofa. “Well, it turns out that there actually is a sheriff in Texas who was kidnapped by a drug cartel—maybe the same cartel that shot me up.”

“Son of a gun!” Mallory exclaimed.

“His name is Sheriff Hayes Carson. There was an assassination attempt against him by one of the drug lords he arrested, just before Thanksgiving. He and his fiancée were kidnapped by some of El Ladŕon’s men and held across the border in Mexico. They escaped. But Carson says he had a run-in with one of the drug cartel henchmen before that. There was a DEA agent in a suit who was at the scene. The local police chief’s secretary saw the guy, and has a photographic memory, but even when the police artist drew him, neither Carson nor the feds could recall him.”

“Curious,” Mallory murmured.

“Yes. I remembered, after Merissa came here, that it was a DEA agent, in a suit, who led me into the ambush on the border.”

Mallory let out a long breath. “Good God.”

“Merissa says the same guys are coming after me because they’re afraid of what I’ll remember. The damnedest thing is, I don’t remember anything that would help convict someone. I only remember the pain and the certainty that I was going to die, there in the dust, covered in blood, all alone.”

Mallory got up and laid a heavy, affectionate hand on his shoulder. “That didn’t happen, though. A concerned citizen saw you and called the law.”

He nodded. “I vaguely remember that. Mostly it was a voice, telling me that I’d be all right. Had a Spanish accent. He saved my life.” He closed his eyes. “There was another man, arguing with him, telling him to do nothing. It was too late—he’d already made the call by then. I remember the other man’s voice. He was cussing. He had a Massachusetts accent.” He laughed. “Sounded like old history tapes of President John Kennedy, actually.”

“What did he look like?”

Tank frowned. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember. “I just vaguely remember. He was wearing a suit. He was tall and very pale with red hair.” He started. “I never thought of that.” He opened his eyes and looked at Mallory. “I think he was a DEA agent.” He frowned. “But why would he tell the other man not to get help for me if he was a fed?”

“Was he the same one who took you out there?”

Tank frowned. “No. No, it couldn’t have been him. That guy, the DEA guy, had dark hair and a Southern drawl.”

“Did you describe him to the sheriff?”

Tank got up. “No, but I’m about to.”

He picked up his cell phone, found Hayes Carson’s number in the stored files and autodialed the number.

It only took three rings before Hayes answered. “Carson.”

“It’s Dalton Kirk, in Wyoming. I’ve just remembered a man who called for help when I was shot. There was another man with him who tried to stop him from calling 911. The other man was tall, with red hair and a Massachusetts accent. Does that sound anything like the man you remember?”

Hayes actually laughed. “No. Our guy was tall and sandy-haired and had a slight Spanish accent.”

“A Spanish guy with blond hair?” Tank chuckled.

“Well, people from Northern Spain are often blond and blue-eyed. Some have red hair. And they say the Basque people of Spain settled in Scotland and Ireland.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I, but one of our federal agents is a history nut. He knows all about Scotland. He told me.”

“This whole thing is really strange. The man who led me into the ambush was tall and dark-haired. The man who was with the guy who called 911 was a red-head. But I remember them both wearing the same suit.” He shook his head. “Maybe the trauma unseated my memory.”

“Or maybe the man uses disguises.” Hayes was thinking, hard. “Listen, did you ever see that movie The Saint that starred Val Kilmer?”

Tank frowned. “Once, I think.”

“Well, the guy was a real chameleon. He could change his appearance at the drop of a hat. He could put on a wig, change his accent, the whole deal.”

“You think our guy might be someone like that?”

“It’s possible. People who work in the covert world have to learn to disguise themselves to avoid detection. He may have a background in black ops.”

“If I knew somebody in military intelligence, I might be able to find out something about that.”

“We have a guy here, Rick Marquez. He’s a police detective in San Antonio. His father-in-law is head of the CIA. I might be able to get him to check it out.”

“Great idea. Thanks.”

“I don’t know if he can find out anything. Especially with the odd descriptions I’ll have to give him.”

“Listen,” Tank said quietly, “it’s worth a try. If he’s ever used disguises in the past, there’s a chance somebody will remember him.”

“It’s possible, I suppose. But in covert work, I don’t imagine using disguises is exactly a rare thing,” Hayes said. He hesitated. “There’s another interesting connection, in my case.”

“What?”

“My fiancée’s father, her real father, is one of the biggest drug cartel leaders on the continent.”

There was a very significant silence on the other end of the line.

“He helped us shut down El Ladŕon,” Hayes added quietly. “And he saved the man’s family who helped rescue me and Minette. For a bad man, he’s something of a closet angel. They call him El Jefe.”

“A sheriff with an outlaw for a future father-in-law,” Tank said. “Well, it’s unique.”

“So is he. I can ask him to dig into his sources and see if he can come up with anything, like a budding politician with drug cartel ties.”

“That would be a help. Thanks.”

“I’m just as much involved as you are. Stay in touch.”

“I’ll do that. And we should both watch our backs in the meantime.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

* * *

TANK’S NEXT MOVE was to drive over to Merissa’s house through the blinding snow. What he wanted to talk to her about wasn’t something he was comfortable discussing over the phone. If there was an assassin after him, he might monitor calls. Anyone in black ops would have that talent.

When he pulled up at the front door of the small cabin, Clara, Merissa’s mother, was waiting there. She smiled as Tank got out of the truck and came up the steps.

“She said you’d come,” Clara said with a sheepish smile. “She’s lying down with a migraine headache,” she added worriedly. “She woke up with it, so the medicine isn’t working very well.”

“Medicine from a doctor?” Tank asked softly, and with a smile.

Clara lowered her eyes. “Herbal medicine. My grandfather was a Comanche shaman,” she said.

His eyebrows arched.

“I know, I’m blonde and so is Merissa, but it’s true just the same. I had a little boy just after I had Merissa. He died—” she hesitated, still upset about it after all the years “—when he was just a week old. But he had black hair and dark brown eyes. It’s recessive genes with Merissa and me, you see. Our coloring, I mean.”

He moved a step closer. He noticed that Clara, like Merissa, immediately backed up, looking uneasy.

He stopped dead, frowning. “Recessive genes.”

She nodded. She swallowed, relaxing when she saw that he wasn’t coming closer.

“Clara, I don’t really know you well enough to pry,” he began softly, “but it’s noticeable that you and Merissa start backing away from me if I come close.”

Clara hesitated. Oddly, she trusted Tank, even though she barely knew him. “My...ex-husband...he was scary when he lost his temper.” She managed a laugh. “It’s an old reflex. Sorry.”

“No offense taken,” he replied gently.

She looked back up at him with wide green eyes the same shade as Merissa’s. “I divorced him, with help from our local sheriff—the one before this one. He was so kind. He got help for us, sheltered us through the divorce and made sure my ex-husband left not only the town, but the state.” She managed a weak smile. She swallowed, not dealing with it well, even now. “We were always afraid of him, when...when he got mad. He was big, like you. Tall and big.”

Tank looked into her eyes. “I’m a teddy bear,” he told her with pursed lips. “But if you tell anybody on my ranch that, I’ll send an email to Santa Claus and you’ll get coal in your stocking.”

Clara, shocked, burst out laughing. “Okay.” She sobered. “Merissa says the man who led you into the ambush is coming.”

His face hardened. “When?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said. “It’s why you can’t prove it scientifically, because experiments under scientific control very rarely work. It’s sporadic. I know things, but they’re usually nebulous in my mind and I have to interpret what I see. Merissa is much more gifted than I am. It’s made her the subject of much cruelty, I’m afraid.”

“I heard about that. May I see her?”

“She’s not well...”

“My older brother Mallory is subject to migraine headaches. He has high-powered medications that can prevent them if they’re taken in time. The ones he wakes up with, though, don’t even respond to meds. He has to try to sleep them off.”

“Merissa’s are bad,” she commented. “Come on in. I’m sorry I kept you out here talking in the freezing cold!”

“I’m wearing a very heavy jacket,” he assured her, and smiled.

* * *

MERISSA WAS NOT in bed. Terrible sounds of a meal returning were heard in the bathroom.

“Oh, dear...” Clara began.

Tank walked right into the bathroom, found a washcloth and wet it while Merissa, kneeling at the toilet, was still heaving.

“You shouldn’t...be in here!” she protested weakly.

“Bull. You’re sick.” He waited until the last of the spasm was over, flushed the toilet and bathed her pale face. Her green eyes were enormous. “Is it over, you think?”

She swallowed, tasting bile. “I think so.”

He pulled out mouthwash and poured a little in a cup, smiling as she took it and ruefully washed her mouth out. He turned on the faucet to flush it away when she pushed it out into the sink.

He bathed her face again, as he would a child’s, appreciating her delicate, elfin beauty. Her complexion was truly peaches and cream; exquisite, like that pretty bow-shaped mouth. “You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmured softly.

She stared at him blankly.

“Never mind.” He put the washcloth in her hand, swung her up in his arms and carried her to bed. He tucked her in. “Just lie still. I have a friend who’s a doctor. Do you mind if I call him to come out here?”

“Doctors don’t make house calls,” she protested weakly.

“Oh, this one does.” He pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number, waited for a second until it was answered. “John. Hi. Tank here. Have you got a couple of minutes to take a look at a young woman with a massive migraine and no meds?”

He paused, grinned. “Yes, she’s gorgeous,” he said, eyeing Merissa.

There was obviously a question.

“Merissa Baker,” Tank replied.

Merissa closed her eyes. He wouldn’t come now. He’d know it was the witch woman, whom everyone in town avoided.

But Tank was laughing. “Yes, she is a phenomenon. I can attest to her skills. Yes, I know you would. We’ll be expecting you. Want me to send one of the boys to drive you over?” He nodded. “No problem. I’ll call Tim right now.” He hung up, phoned Tim and gave him directions to get to the doctor.

He turned back to Merissa and sat down next to her on the bed. “His name is John Harrison. He’s retired, but he’s one of the best physicians I’ve ever known, and his medical license is kept current.”

Merissa removed the comforting cold wet cloth from her eyes and winced at the light. Photophobia was one of the symptoms of the condition. “Dr. Harrison? He’s fascinated with psychic phenomena,” she pointed out. “They say he was friends with one of the researchers who used to work in the parapsychology department of a major college back East years ago.”

“That’s true. He thinks you’re fascinating. He can’t wait to meet you,” he told her.

She sighed and put the cloth back over her eyes. “That’s a new thing, all right. Most people never want to meet me. They’re afraid I’ll curdle the milk.”

“You’re no witch,” Tank scoffed. “You just have a gift that’s outside the area of established science. In a couple of hundred years, scientists will research it just as they research other conditions. You know, two hundred years or more ago, there was no antibiotic, and doctors had no clue about exactly how disease processes worked.”

“We’ve come a long way from that.”

He nodded. “Indeed we have. Tummy feeling better?”

“A bit, yes. Thanks.”

Clara was standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. “The herbs always worked before,” she commented.

Tank looked up. “Can you make her a cup of strong black coffee?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Old home remedy for asthma attacks and headaches. You know, most of the over-the-counter medicines for headaches contain caffeine.”

Clara laughed. “I’ve learned something. I know herbs, but I’d never thought about coffee as a drug. I’ll make the coffee right now.”

“I love coffee,” Merissa whispered. “I couldn’t face breakfast this morning, so I missed my first cup of the day.”

“We’ll get you better. Don’t worry.”

She swallowed. The pain was intense. “This is really nice of you. The doctor, I mean.”

“He’s a good friend.”

She peered at him from under the washcloth. “You’re good with sick people.”

He shrugged. “I thought about being a doctor myself, at one time. But I have a hard time sticking to things. Maybe a touch of adult ADD.” He chuckled, alluding to Attention Deficit Disorder.

She smiled. “Well, thanks.”

He smiled back and tucked the washcloth over her eyes. “I imagine the light is uncomfortable, even with the curtains closed. Mallory has to have a dark room and no noise when he gets these headaches.”

There were sounds in the kitchen and the delicious smell of brewing coffee. A couple of minutes later, Clara walked in carrying two cups. She handed one to her daughter, and the other to Tank. His contained just cream, no sugar.

He gaped at her. “How did you know how I drink my coffee?”

She shrugged and sighed.

He laughed. “Well, thanks. It’s just right.”

She smiled.

* * *

THE DOCTOR, JOHN Harrison, was tall, with gray hair and light blue eyes. He smiled as Clara escorted him into the bedroom, where Tank was sitting beside Merissa on the bed.

Tank got to his feet and the men shook hands.

John opened his bag, got out his stethoscope, and sat down beside the pale woman.

“Dr. Harrison, thank you so much for coming,” Merissa said in a weak voice.

“This is how things used to be done, in the old days when I got out of medical school,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many elderly people who could barely walk almost cheered when I showed up at their doors. Now that I’m old, I understand. It’s hard on the joints to sit for an hour or two waiting to see the doctor.”

He listened to her chest, checked her vital signs and then looped the stethoscope around his neck. He had her do some very simple exercises and he checked her pupils.

“I haven’t had a stroke,” she teased.

His eyebrows shot up. “How did you know I thought that?”

“I don’t know.” She flushed. “These things just slip out.” She sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I were normal.”

He laughed softly, pulled out a small bottle and unwrapped a syringe. He attached the needle, inserted it into the bottle, pushed out air, filled it to a notch and put the bottle down.

“This may sting a bit.” He used an alcohol wipe on her arm before he slid the needle in gently. A few seconds later, he withdrew it. She hadn’t even flinched.

“Didn’t sting at all. I feel horrible.”

“Do you get the aura?” he asked.

“Yes. Usually I just go blind in one eye, with static like you see on a television screen when there’s no channel coming up. But this time there were brightly colored lights.”

He nodded. “Do you have a family physician?”

“We went to Dr. Brady, but he moved to Montana,” she said softly. “We go to clinics now.”

“You can consider me your family physician, if you like,” he offered. “And I do make house calls.”

“That would be so kind of you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. “You see, we frighten most people, Mama and I.”

“I’m not frightened of you. I’m intrigued. That injection will make you sleep. When you wake up, the headache should be gone. But if the headache worsens or you have new symptoms, you must call me.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And I think you should have a CT scan. Just to rule out anything dangerous.”

“I hate tests,” she groaned. “But I’ve had them already. The neurologist didn’t find anything like a tumor in the scans. He said it’s migraine without a specific cause.”

“Do you mind if I contact him?” he asked. “I know we’ve only just met...”

She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.” It was very nice having a doctor who didn’t feel that she and Clara were “peculiar.” “I’ll write his number down for you.” She did, on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re better, I’d like to talk to you about this gift of yours. When I was in college, I did several courses of anthropology. I still audit courses on the internet, to keep up with what’s going on in the field. Every community since recorded history has had people with unusual gifts.”

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “As for psychic gifts, the government once had an entire unit of what were called ‘remote viewers.’ They were used to spy on other countries. Quite successfully at times,” he explained.

“I’d like to hear more about that,” she said, becoming drowsy.

“All in good time. If your headache isn’t better when you wake up, call me.” He pulled out a business card and put it on her bedside table. “My cell phone number is on there. Use it. I never answer the landline phone if I can help it. Only a handful of people know the other.”

“That’s so kind of you.”

He shrugged. “I loved medicine. I still do. I just hate all the nitpicky rules that have reduced it to red tape with pharmaceuticals mixed in.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

He left the room, pausing to speak to Clara. Tank smoothed back Merissa’s soft hair. “I’ll talk to you again, when you’re not in such bad shape,” he said with a gentle smile. “I hope you get better very soon.”

She caught his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

He bent impulsively and kissed her forehead. “You’re easy to take care of,” he said softly.

“You came to see me. What about?” she wondered.

“You knew I was coming.”

“Yes. I felt it.”

He drew in a breath. “I talked to the sheriff in Texas. We both remember a man who seemed to have more than one face...”

She sat straight up in bed. “That’s it! That’s it!”

He thought she was having a reaction to the medicine. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, coaxing her to lie back down.

“I kept seeing a man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs,” she blurted out in a rush. “I didn’t know what it meant. Now I do. The man who’s after you, that’s him!”

He felt cold chills down his backbone. “Your mother said you think he’s coming here.”

“Yes. Soon.” She held his hand. “You must be very, very careful,” she said, her face drawn. “Promise me.”

Her concern made him feel warm inside, as if he were sitting in front of a cozy fire with a cup of hot chocolate. “I promise.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m very sleepy.”

“Rest is the best thing for you. I’ll come back another time.”

She smiled. “That would be...very nice.”

He got up. She was already asleep.

A man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs. At least now, thanks to her, he had some idea of what might be coming his way. He would have to take precautions, and soon. He looked down at the sleeping woman with odd, possessive feelings. He wasn’t psychic, but he knew that she was going to play an important part in his life.

CHAPTER THREE

TANK PAUSED TO talk to Clara and the doctor when he left Merissa’s room.

“She’s asleep,” he told them.

Clara smiled. “I’m so glad. Those headaches are terrible. You think there may be something bad causing them,” she said to the doctor, who looked surprised at her intuition. Clara stared at him with wide, soft eyes that seemed almost transparent. “It’s not a tumor,” she said in a soft monotone. “There’s nothing...”

The doctor laughed. “It amazes me, that you can see that.”

Clara looked self-conscious. “It comes and goes. I never know when something will pop into my mind. Merissa has a true gift. She can, well, look at something and see what’s going to happen. I can’t.”

“It’s a very rare ability,” the doctor told her.

“It makes us outcasts,” Clara replied. “We rarely leave the house. People stare and whisper. I hate going to the grocery store. One woman even asked me if I kept a familiar.”

“Good Lord,” Tank muttered.

“We’re pretty much used to it by now.” Clara laughed. “And we do get a lot of people who ask us to read for them. That’s usually hit-and-miss and I tell them that, but they come anyway. Sometimes we’re able to see something that saves lives, or even marriages. It’s a good feeling. It almost makes up for the notoriety.”

“You handle it well,” Tank said.

“Thanks.”

“She said her neurologist did tests and gave me his number,” he told Clara. “I’ll confer with him. But you’re right. She showed no signs of having any impairment beyond the migraine. You call me if she doesn’t get better,” Dr. Harrison told Clara firmly. “I don’t care if it’s two in the morning.”

“I owe you a great debt just for what you’ve already done,” Clara said. She pulled out her purse. He protested but she handed him a large bill anyway.

“Gas money,” she told him. “Don’t argue.”

He just shook his head. “I’m on retirement, you know,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter. You came here as if we were family, and retirement isn’t usually enough to buy food and medicine at once.”

He smiled. “All right then. Thank you,” he said formally.

She smiled back.

* * *

TANK WANTED TO STAY. He hated leaving that sweet blonde woman in the bedroom. He’d felt possessive while he was looking after her. It was a new, and strange, feeling. He’d had brief romances over the years, but he’d never found a woman he could think of in terms of a future together. Now, all at once, his mind was being changed.

It disturbed him, thinking about the chameleon federal agent who had led him into the ambush on the border. He’d dismissed Merissa’s vision at the beginning, but after speaking to Sheriff Hayes Carson in Texas, now he was sure she was right.

* * *

A FEW DAYS later, the storm was still annoying everyone, but there were some changes going on at the ranch. All the men had started carrying weapons, even when they weren’t riding fence. And whenever Tank went outside, at least two men were nearby, watching—something that Mallory had ordered.

New surveillance equipment was installed by a local company. It seemed to disconcert the man who set up the cameras that so many armed men were walking around near Tank.

“Something going on that you’re worried about, mate?” the technician asked Tank. “I mean, men with guns everywhere. You’re never alone for a second, are you?”

Tank shrugged. “My brothers are overprotective. Probably nothing, but there may be a threat of some sort.”

“And you know this from what, an informer?” the man probed.

Tank pursed his lips. “A psychic.”

“Fair dinkum?” the man drawled in a thick Australian accent. He shook his head. “Don’t put no faith in them things, mate, they’re all bogus. Nobody can see the future.”

Tank didn’t argue. “Maybe you’re right. But we like to err on the side of caution.”

“It’s your money,” the man said, and went back to work.

He was through quickly. “This’ll set you right, mate,” the installer told Tank with a smile. “This is state-of-the-art stuff. Nobody will be sneaking up on you now. No worries.”

“Thanks. It does rather feel like being in prison, however.” Tank sighed, looking around at the state-of-the-art camera towers.

“We pay a price for safety,” the other man replied. “With your life at stake, this seems a pretty fair dinkum one, you know?”

Tank smiled. “I know.” It didn’t occur to him then to ask how the man knew his life was on the line, since he hadn’t elaborated about the threat to either the woman at the company’s office or this installer.

“Well, that should do it,” the man replied. “Oh, and I did put a small camera in your office, just to square things up. It’s hidden, so you won’t have to worry about somebody spotting it.”

“Where?” Tank asked, concerned.

The other man put a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “If you don’t know where it is, you can’t tell somebody, right?”

He laughed. He had a similar appliance in his truck, a Lo-Jack, and where it was installed nobody knew. “I get it.”

“Good man. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call us, right?”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” he replied, and grinned again.

Why should Tank suddenly think of a play, with one of the characters complaining that another character “smiled too much”?

Curious, he watched the man climb into a nice, late-model car and drive off. Why wasn’t he in a company truck, like most technicians drove?

So he called the security company and asked.

“Oh, that’s just Ben.” The woman in the office laughed, although she sounded just briefly disconcerted. “He’s eccentric. He likes women, you see, and he thinks they’re less likely to be impressed by a guy if he’s in some company vehicle.”

“I see.”

“Not to worry,” she returned. “I’ve known him for years. He’s just curious, to put it politely. But he knows his job, and he’s good at it.”

“I’ll stop worrying.”

“We’re happy to have the work,” she added gratefully. “It’s been a bit slow, lately, with the economy in such a bind.”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “We’re looking for new markets for our cattle. Everything’s slow.”

“I guess you’re selling off stock.”

“Sold it off before winter,” he corrected. “And a good thing it was. We’re having to truck in feed. This storm is bad.”

“I know. I had to get a lift to work with a friend.” She laughed. “If he hadn’t been able to drive in this, you wouldn’t be speaking to me now.”

“Good thing your guys can work in this mess,” Tank said. “I didn’t want to wait for the weather to break to get the system installed.”

“Expecting some sort of trouble?” she asked. “Not that it’s my business.”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he prevaricated. “But we had a threat about one of our bulls. Best to be safe.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Not worrying about some sort of attack on people there, then?”

He laughed deliberately. “What in the world would somebody attack us for?” he asked. “I did jaywalk last week, but I hardly think the sheriff’s coming by to arrest me.”

She laughed, too. “Silly thought. I suppose your cattle are quite expensive.”

“And that’s an understatement,” he replied. “A friend of ours was visited by rustlers a few weeks ago. Had one of his prize bulls taken. Not going to happen here.”

“Not with our equipment on the job, I promise you,” she replied. “Thanks again for the business. If you know anybody else in need of surveillance equipment, we’d be grateful for the work.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

He hung up.

* * *

THE STORM DID BREAK. Snow was still piled everywhere, but the sun came out. Tank had phoned Clara to make sure Merissa was better.

“She’s back at work already.” Clara laughed. “Would you like to speak to her?”

“Yes, I would, thanks.”

There was a brief pause. “Hello?”

Tank loved her voice. It was soft and clear, like a prayer in the wilderness. “Hello,” he replied softly. “Are you better?”

“Much. Thanks again for your help. The doctor called in a prescription for me at the drugstore,” she added. “He says it will help prevent the headaches, if I can tolerate it.” She laughed. “I’m funny about medicine. I can’t take a lot of it. I used to take feverfew for migraine, and another herb, but they weren’t working.”

“Modern medicine to the rescue,” he mused.

“Modern medicine is just a reworking of ancient Native American and indigenous folk medicine wrapped up in pills,” she pointed out.

“Have it your way.” He smiled, then paused. “When the snow melts a bit, how would you like to go over to Catelow and have supper at that new Mediterranean eatery everybody’s talking about?”

Her intake of breath was audible. “I’d love to,” she said with flattering quickness.

He chuckled softly. “I like Greek food,” he said. “Well, I don’t like resinated wine, but that’s another thing.”

“What is that?”

“The wine?” he asked. “It’s an acquired taste, a wine with resin in it. It’s quite bitter, but I’m told that many people like it.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“To me, too. But I love the food.”

“I like spinach salad with goat cheese.”

“So do I.”

She laughed. “We have things in common.”

“We’ll find more, I imagine. I’ll call you in a day or two and we’ll set a date. Okay?”

“Okay!”

“Call us if you need anything.”

“I will, but we’re fine.”

“Okay. See you.”

“See you.”

He hung up, feeling very proud of himself.

* * *

A FEW MINUTES later, he walked out to the barn, where Cane and Mallory were talking to Darby about arrangements for a new bull they’d purchased. They turned when he came in, wearing a huge grin.

“You win the lottery or something?” Cane joked.

“I’m taking Merissa out to eat,” Tank replied.

There were several shocked expressions.

He glared at them. “She won’t turn me into a toad if she doesn’t like the food,” he said sarcastically.

“That isn’t what worries us,” Cane said quietly.

Mallory moved forward. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Look, it isn’t that we don’t like Merissa. But we know very little about her family. There have been some stories, some very unpleasant ones, about her father.”

Tank frowned. “What stories?”

Mallory glanced at Cane and back at Tank. “Well, that he beat one of his hands almost to death,” he said.

Tank was shocked. “He doesn’t live there anymore.”

“I know,” Mallory said. “But...”

“But you think maybe Merissa’s like that?” Tank said through his teeth.

Mallory removed his hand. “I’m doing this badly,” he groaned.

Cane moved forward. “Nobody knows where he is,” he said. “There’s a warrant, a standing warrant, for his arrest on assault and battery charges.”

“If you get involved with her,” Mallory seconded, “and he comes back...”

Tank understood, finally, what they were saying. He relaxed. “You’re worried about me.”

They both nodded. “We heard all sorts of things concerning him. He was possessive about his daughter. She was just ten at the time, and he was violent toward anybody who tried to talk to her.”

“I wonder why?” Tank asked.

“There were also rumors about what he did to her mother,” Mallory added solemnly.

“To Clara?” Tank was shocked. “But she’s a woman!”

“A man like that doesn’t care,” Cane said coldly. “Our doctor told me, in confidence once, that he’d treated Clara for some potentially fatal injuries.” He looked at Mallory with a question in his eyes.

“Tell him,” Mallory said.

Cane drew a breath. “Merissa was brought in with Clara, with a concussion and a broken leg,” he added. “The doctor said she tried to save her mother.”

Tank leaned back against a stone pillar with a rough curse. “Concussion!”

“It could explain some of her strange abilities,” Mallory said quietly. “There’s no scientific explanation that I’m aware of, but there are many things we still don’t know about brain function.”

“He hit a ten-year-old hard enough to break her leg?” Tank was talking to himself.

“Yes,” Mallory replied. “It’s worrying that nobody knows where he is.”

“It’s been years,” Tank pointed out.

“So it has. But it’s something to consider. Like that man who helped put you into intensive care...”

Tank held up his hand suddenly. “Let’s not go into that,” he said with a look that wasn’t lost on his brothers.

“Okay.”

He stood up. “I want to have a look at that tractor that’s been acting up,” he told his brothers, motioning them to follow him.

They nodded to Darby Hanes, who grinned. He was feeling better and back at work.

Tank started the engine and left it idling.

“I don’t think surveillance can pick this up,” he told the two of them, “over the noise, and my back’s to the camera so they can’t read lips. Listen, I don’t want to mention anything about our suspicions. Something’s not quite right about the company we hired to install the cameras. I can’t explain it,” he said irritably.

“You been talking to Merissa?” Cane teased.

“I have, but she didn’t mention it. No, I just have a feeling,” he added heavily.

Mallory didn’t laugh. “I had the same feeling,” he said curtly. “And I’m not psychic. The guy came in a car, not a service vehicle. He had an Australian accent, but it was put on. I had a friend in the service who was from Adelaide. I know the difference.”

Tank lost color in his face. “The rogue federal agent, the chameleon.”

“It’s possible,” Cane said, interrupting.

“Yes, but what do we do about all the cameras? And he might have bugged the phones, as well,” Tank said with growing unease. “He had access to the whole house, thanks to my stupidity! I should have mentioned that we hire a company from out of town.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Mallory said gently. “Neither of us thought about the possibility, either. It seemed a logical thing to do.”

“Yes, it did,” Cane agreed.

“We might have another company come in and tweak the cameras,” Mallory suggested with twinkling eyes.

“Not a bad idea,” Tank said. “I have a friend who can put bugs in ice cream and you’ll never see them. He was working as an independent contractor in the Middle East when I was serving over there. I’ll give him a call on my cell.”

“Your cell may be bugged,” Mallory pointed out.

“I’ll buy a throwaway,” Cane said. “And use it. We’d all better have some. I’ll send Darby into town for them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tank muttered. “We hire people to protect us from the bad guys, and they may turn out to be the very people we’re watching for.”

“Our advantage,” Cane said, “is that they won’t know we’re onto them.”

“We could all just be paranoid,” Mallory suggested.

The other two looked at him for a minute, laughed and shook their heads. “No.”

He shrugged, and grinned.

“Tell the wives,” Tank added, “not to say anything about this in the house.”

“We will. They’re going on a two-day Christmas shopping trip to Los Angeles Friday,” Cane pointed out. “Morie’s taking Harrison with them. She can’t bear to leave him even with Mavie for a couple of days.”

“She’s a great little mother,” Tank said. He pursed his lips. “And I hear you and your new father-in-law have a hunting trip planned for next month up in Montana.”

“Heard that, did you?” Mallory chuckled. “We do. Now that he’s a grandfather, he’s a lot less judgmental and harsh.”

Tank didn’t want to mention how much Mallory had mellowed. So he just grinned.

“I’ll call Merissa back and set up our date for Saturday,” Tank decided. “I can be fairly certain that the restaurant won’t be bugged.”

“I wouldn’t make that bet,” Mallory replied. “Especially if you told her where you’re going.”

“I did,” Tank groaned. Then he brightened and laughed. “I’ll drive her over to Powell instead, and we’ll eat at the Chinese restaurant. But I won’t tell her until we’re on the way.”

“Creative thinking,” Cane said.

“I’ll have my friend sweep the truck before I leave.” He paused. “If he’s got the time, I might hire him on as a temporary. Nobody has to know what he really does for a living.”

“Do it,” Mallory said. “Better safe than sorry.”

* * *

TANK SENT DARBY Hanes into town that afternoon for throwaway phones. As soon as he had his, and it was activated, Tank placed a call.

“Hello?” It was a male voice, deep and quiet.

“It’s Tank,” he replied. “How are things?”

There was a pause. “Not good. How are you?”

“Fine, so far.” He hesitated. “Are you free for a couple of weeks? It’s a job, and it pays well.”

There was a rush of breath. “How the hell did you know I’m out of work?” came the reply. “Just finished one job and didn’t even have another lined up. Bills are piling up, house needs repairs...” He was lying through his teeth, but Tank wouldn’t know. He didn’t speak of his private life to outsiders. He maintained the fiction that he was a starving mercenary, living from job to job.

Tank chuckled. “Great! Well, not about the bills, I mean. But you’re hired.”

“You’re a lifesaver! What do you need done?”

“I’ve got a rogue fed after me,” Tank said. “I just hired a surveillance company to put up cameras and install bugs—but I have a nasty suspicion that the installer will turn out to be the rogue fed who’s after me.”

“Damn! You do have the worst luck!”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “How soon can you come up here?”

“As soon as you email me a ticket” came the reply. “I haven’t unpacked from the last job. It will be a pleasure.”

“You aren’t working for your...for your old boss, I mean?” He bit his tongue. He’d almost slipped and said “your father,” but he didn’t dare do that. Rourke wouldn’t get on the plane. Most people suspected that Rourke was the illegitimate son of K.C. Kantor, the ex-merc millionaire. Nobody said it to Rourke’s face. Nobody dared. Besides, if the man was living from hand to mouth, it was unlikely that he had a rich father looking out for him.

“No, the boss and I had a falling out,” Rourke replied heavily. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Things have gone from bad to worse. And Tat won’t speak to me at all.” The last was said with subdued rage. Tat was a socialite journalist who’d gone with Rourke and General Machado to retake Machado’s country in South America. Rourke and Tat, his nickname for her, had a very long history. Rourke had known her since she was a child. They had a rocky friendship.

“Put her neck hairs up again, did you?” Tank asked.

Rourke cursed. “She’s gone in with the troops, over in Nganwa,” he said, naming a small country involved in a nasty revolution. “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. It’s a bloodbath over there. I know seasoned mercs who won’t go near the place!”

“Journalists are usually protected,” Tank said quietly.

“Sure they are. Want to hear how many bought it last year on assignment?” he asked pessimistically.

“Sorry to hear she’s in danger,” Tank said finally.

“Her own damned fault. Stupidity has a price. For two bits, I’d go in and drag her out...” He hesitated. Swallowed. “Send me the ticket. I’ll be right up.”

“I’ll email it on my alternate account,” Tank said.

“Good man.”

“Thanks, Rourke,” he said quietly.

“Hey, what are friends for?” came the reply.

* * *

MERISSA WAS WEARING a soft beige dress that clung to her slender figure, outlining her pert breasts and tiny waist and flaring hips. She wore flat shoes with it, and her blond hair waved in soft curls around her elfin face. She wore a small Christmas tree pin on the dress and a matching clip in her hair.

She smiled shyly at Tank, who stared at her with open admiration. “If it’s too dressy...” she began self-consciously.

“I don’t very often see women in dresses these days,” he replied with a gentle smile. “I think you look lovely.”

She flushed and then laughed. “Thanks.” She indicated her shoes. “I can’t wear high heels. I suppose this looks peculiar...”

“It looks fine.” He didn’t question the odd remark. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” She peered into the living room. “See you later, Mom. Lock the doors,” she added firmly.

Clara laughed softly. “I will. Got your key?”

“Yes.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks.”

Tank stuck his head in the door and grinned. “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.

“I know you will,” Clara replied.

* * *

ROURKE HAD ARRIVED the day before. He got to work at once on the security cameras, swept the house for bugs—and found several—and swept the truck just before Tank got in it for his date.

“We’re going to Powell to have supper,” he told her. “Sorry, but we’ve had a hitch in our security.”

Merissa was very still. “It was him. The man in the suit.”

He glanced at her quickly. “Well...yes, we think so.”

“How ironic,” she said breathlessly. She shook her head. “He’s very confident.”

“He is, but it will be his undoing,” he said coldly.

She didn’t speak. Her face was drawn.

He stopped the car at a red light as they approached Powell. “What do you see, Merissa?” he asked very softly.

She swallowed. “Something bad.”

“Can you be more specific?”

She glanced at him. “I don’t know.” Her face contorted. “It’s just a feeling right now. I can’t...I can’t see what it is.”

He reached across the seat and caught her soft hand in his. “It’s all right. We’ll handle it.”

She felt a jolt all the way to her feet at his touch. His hand was big and warm, callused from work. She looked down at it in the light from the streetlamps. It was a beautiful hand, very masculine, with neatly trimmed and clean flat nails.

“You have beautiful hands,” she burst out.

He chuckled. “Thanks. Yours aren’t bad, either.”

She grinned.

He felt the same electricity that she did. It was comforting, to have that physical contact with another human being. Tank had imagined himself in love a couple of times, but it had never been this intense. He wanted to protect her, take care of her. She was a strong, capable woman. She could support herself, and did. But she made him feel taller, stronger.

“What are you thinking?” she asked suddenly.

He squeezed her hand gently. “That this is one of the best ideas I’ve had in years.”

She laughed. “Thanks.”

“You’re comfortable to be around.”

“Not many people in Catelow would agree with that.”

“They don’t know you. People are afraid of the unknown, of anything that isn’t scientific.”

“Well, this certainly isn’t scientific,” she agreed. “I’ve spent my life seeing things that terrify me.” She glanced at him. “So many people want to know the future. But if they could see what I see, they wouldn’t. It’s never good to know what lies ahead.”

“I have to agree.”

“I mean, it’s one thing to have a handle on the weather, or what fashions will be in vogue the next year, or if you’re going to meet someone who will change your life. But to want to know what’s going to happen to you in a year, two years... You should never want to know those things.”

He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her hand as he drove. “You never talk about your father.”

Her hand jumped, as if it had been jolted by electricity.

He looked toward her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She swallowed. “You’ve...heard things.”

He pulled into the parking lot at the Chinese restaurant and cut off the engine. He turned to her. “Honestly, yes, I have.” He searched her eyes, huge in that pale face. “You don’t have to talk to me about him if you don’t want to. We barely know each other.”

She hesitated. “He was...brutal.”

“Was?”

She bit her lip. “We haven’t seen him in years,” she said. “We don’t know where he is. But we’re always afraid that he might come back.” She closed her eyes and shivered. “He was a big man. He was so strong...!”

“He hurt you.”

She looked up at him with tragic eyes. “Me, and Mama,” she agreed heavily. “I was so happy when he left. She threatened him. She told him what would happen if he stayed in Catelow. She knew, you see, and it wasn’t only a premonition. He beat up one of our farmhands and almost killed him. Mom told him that the man would press charges and he would go to jail. It’s the only reason he left.”

“I see.”

She drew in a breath, and shook her head. “No, you don’t. I lived in terror all my life that he would kill my mother.” She closed her eyes. “Once, I got brave, and tried to stop him.”

“With almost fatal results,” he added.

Her eyes were huge. “You know?”

“Catelow is a very small town, Merissa,” he pointed out. “Yes. I know.” His expression hardened. “If I’d been here then, he’d never have touched either of you.”

Her face lightened, and her eyes widened. “He would have been afraid of you.”

He searched her eyes. “Are you? Afraid of me?”

She swallowed. “Not so much anymore,” she said. “A little, maybe.”

His face softened. “A little?”

She shifted on the seat. “Not in the way you mean. You...confuse me. You make me uncomfortable. But not in any way I’ve felt before....”

While she was talking, he unfastened his seat belt, and hers, and moved closer. “Uncomfortable?” he asked, propping his hand on the door beside her ear.

“A...little,” she stammered. He was very close. She could smell the spicy cologne he wore, feel the heat from his body. His lips were at her forehead. “Just...a little,” she amended.

He laughed softly. “Just a little?”

She struggled to keep her breathing steady, but it was a losing battle. One of his hands came up and rested against her cheek. His thumb worked at her soft lips, parting them very gently.

“I like making you...uncomfortable,” he whispered as his head bent. “Just a little.”

His chiseled mouth traced her lips, teasing them apart very tenderly, so that he didn’t frighten her. She was very nervous. Her hand came up to touch his, and it was ice-cold. He didn’t need a program to know that she wasn’t used to having a man this close. It made him feel more protective than ever.

“Easy, now,” he whispered, and his lips parted hers so that he could ease between them. “Easy...does it.”

His mouth moved down onto hers. It was unfamiliar. It was disconcerting. But after a minute, it became more familiar, more comfortable. Very soon, her lips relaxed. Her body relaxed.

She liked it.

He drew her closer, but slowly, gently. He wrapped her up against him like fragile treasure and worked on her mouth until he made her hungry for him.

She reached up, around his neck, and clung to him quite suddenly as the hunger flashed in her like lightning. She kissed him back with the same urgency that he kissed her.

But very soon, it became clear that he was going to have to start undressing her or stop kissing her. It had been a very long dry spell.

He drew back, flattered that he had to uncouple her hands from his neck and ease her away from him.

He smiled gently at her embarrassment. “Don’t worry. It’s all perfectly natural.”

“It...is?”

“Yes. It is.” He brushed back her hair, loving the feel of it. “We should go inside.”

She swallowed. She could still taste him on her lips. He tasted of coffee and mint. She smiled slowly. “I guess so.”

He chuckled. He got out and helped her down. He held her hand all the way into the restaurant.

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHY DID YOU change your mind about where we ate?” Merissa asked when they were halfway through huge plates of chicken lo mein, which they discovered was a mutual favorite. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I love Chinese food. But why?”

“Same reason I hired a man to sweep my truck for bugs,” he said heavily. “It seems I hired the bad guy to put in a surveillance system for me.”

“Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed.

“I’m usually more careful,” he said with a smile. “But I had no idea he was that close. You see, your premonition was right on the money. You really do have a gift.”

“I hate having it,” she replied.

“This time, it might save my life,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

She grimaced. “I was so afraid, turning up at your door in a snowstorm.” She laughed. “But I felt I had to tell you.”

“If you hadn’t, I’d be in a world of trouble right now,” he pointed out. “I had no idea that I was even a target after so long.”

“You wouldn’t have been, I think, except for the politician running for federal office,” she said. “He’s trying to get rid of any embarrassing loose ends before the campaign heats up. Imagine what his adversaries could do with information like his friendship with a drug cartel.”

“Yes.”

“This man you hired, to look for the bugs your adversary placed,” she began. “There’s a woman. She’s in very great danger.” She bit her lip.

“She’s a photojournalist covering a war in Africa,” he supplied, not even uneasy now about her gifts.

She nodded. “An unexpected thing will save her life,” she said slowly. “A necklace, of all things.”

“She’ll be all right?” he asked, concerned.

“She won’t die,” she amended.

That sounded ominous.

She drew in a breath. “Someone told a lie. It’s what separates them. He believed it.” She sipped hot tea. “It was said to protect her, but instead it destroyed her happiness.” She looked up at him. “She loves him so much,” she said heavily. “It’s a shame.”

He wondered if he should tell Rourke.

“Don’t,” she said, as if she’d read the thought. “Don’t say anything to him. Things are at a crossroads right now. If he acts too soon, she could die. Everything is connected. We live in a silver web of activity, binding all that lives on the earth.” She laughed again. “I sound like a tree hugger. Well, I am a tree hugger. But we’re much more connected than people think.”

“A butterfly flaps its wings and there’s a typhoon?” he teased.

“Something like that, yes.”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her warmly. “You’re amazing,” he said. “I’ve never known anybody like you in my whole life.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

“It truly is,” he confessed. He smiled. “And tonight is a beginning. Isn’t it?”

She started to say something. Her eyes grew opaque. She lost color. Her green eyes were terrified when they met his. “We have to go home. Right now! Please!”

He didn’t bother to ask what was wrong. It was enough that she knew something was urgent. He got up and paid the check and then led her out to the truck.

“At my house or yours?” he asked as he started it.

“Mine. And please, hurry!” she said. “It may be too late already!”

He didn’t spare the engine.

They pulled up in front of Merissa’s cabin and ran onto the porch. Merissa worked her key in the lock, fumbled and finally opened it.

“Mom!” she called frantically. “Mom!”

There were sounds of movement. A door opened. Clara came out into the hall, a little foggy, laughing.

“Here I am. What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw their worried faces.

“I...had a feeling,” Merissa said, hating to put it even into words, for fear it might come true.

“A feeling?” Clara asked gently, and now she was frowning, too.

Merissa relaxed. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She turned to Tank. “I rushed you home for nothing!”

“It’s always good to check,” Tank replied gently. “I’m beginning to put a lot of confidence in your ‘feelings.’”

She smiled at him warmly. “Thanks.”

“What sort of feeling?” Clara asked, because she knew that Merissa didn’t give way to panic.

“I don’t know. Something dangerous. Something planned.” She closed her eyes. “Soon. Very soon.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t know what!” she groaned.

Clara hugged her. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be okay.”

“Just in case,” Tank said slowly, “I’m going to put a man over here, to keep an eye on the place.”

“That would be so kind of you,” Clara began.

Merissa frowned. “Do I smell smoke?”

They split up, going from room to room. All of a sudden, the fire detector in the back bedroom went off like an explosion.

Tank ran ahead of the women, rushed into the room and stopped dead. There was smoke coming from an extension cord. Beside it, a squirrel was squirming in agony.

“Oh, dear,” Clara murmured. “I forgot to close the flue in here... Squirrels love to come in the cabin and build nests in the ceiling.” She grimaced. “Is he dead?”

Tank picked him up. The squirrel was shivering. “He’s not dead, but he’s going to need some attention. I have a friend who’s a wildlife rehabilitator. I’ll call him as soon as I get home. Have you got a shoebox and an old towel?”

Clara rushed to get them for him so that he could transport the injured squirrel.

“I’ll unplug it.”

“Be careful, honey,” he told her.

She glanced at him and flushed prettily. She laughed and eased the plug out of the wall.

He loved that blush. He loved calling her pet names. She was the sweetest woman he’d ever known.

“You think he’ll be okay?” she asked, gently touching the head of the injured squirrel.

“Careful, he may bite,” he said.

“Oh, they never bite me. I’ve picked up all sorts of injured things, even a snake, once. I had to put a bandage on his back. Weed eater got him,” she said ruefully.

“You aren’t afraid of snakes?” he asked, curious.

“I’m terrified of them,” she said. “But he was bleeding and obviously in pain. So I picked him up. He didn’t seem to mind, even when I started putting antibiotic ointment and a big Band-Aid on him. I had to take him to a wildlife rehabilitator, too. I wonder if it’s the one you know?”

He chuckled. “Probably. There aren’t too many of them around Catelow.” He paused. “What sort of snake was he?”

She blinked. “I don’t really know. He was quite large.”

“Color?”

She described it.

He burst out laughing. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. That’s a rattlesnake, you crazy woman! They’re deadly poisonous!”

“Are they? He was very tolerant. He didn’t even rattle when I put him in the box and took him to the rehabilitator. I guess that explains why he was upset when I wanted him to let the snake go. He didn’t tell me.”

He was amazed, and it showed. “Truly gifted,” he murmured.

“Animals like me, I suppose,” she said shyly. “I have to shoo the birds away from the feeders. One stood on my wrist while I filled up the tube feeder.”

“I like you, too,” he said softly, searching her pale eyes.

Her lips parted on a quick breath. “You do?”

He smiled.

“I mean, you’re not afraid I might turn you into a frog or something in a temper?” she asked, not quite facetiously.

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everybody knows that witches keep cats,” he pointed out. “Look it up.”

She burst out laughing.

“Should I tell him about the two stray cats we feed every morning?” Clara teased as she came back with a shoebox and a piece of towel.

“Shh!” Merissa said quickly, putting her finger to her lips.

They all laughed.

Tank made holes in the top of the shoebox while Merissa held the squirrel.

“You’re going to be just fine, don’t worry,” she told the little animal. It looked up at her from wide, dilated eyes. It was still shivering.

“I think it’s in shock,” Tank said. He took the squirrel and put it gently in the box with the towel and closed it up. “I’ll call my buddy right away.”

“You’ll let us know?” Merissa asked.

He smiled. “Of course.”

“I hope they don’t eat the wiring in the attic,” Clara said nervously. “I’m going to close the flue right now!”

“At least he’s a boy squirrel. We don’t have to worry about any babies in a nest inside that the mother couldn’t get to,” Merissa said. “They say if it’s a mother squirrel and you close her access, the babies will all die. It’s so sad.”

“True. But so are electrical fires.” Tank glanced at the wall where the cord had been plugged in. “Don’t use that until I can get one of my men over here to check the wiring.”

“Okay,” Merissa said. “Thanks. I’m terrified of fire.”

“Me, too,” Clara seconded.

“Not much danger of that, just from a blown extension cord, especially when you’re standing beside it when it blows. But it’s always best to be cautious. I’ll take our friend home with me. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told Merissa.

She grinned. “Okay.”

He grinned back. “Good night.”

They went out to the porch to see him off. He waved as he went down the driveway, still covered with the remains of the snowstorm.

They went back into the living room. The small Christmas tree they’d put up that day was beautiful with its colored lights. Clara didn’t have them set to flash because it gave Merissa headaches. It was pretty just the same. Clara put an arm around Merissa’s shoulders. “So now I can see which way the wind is blowing, and I don’t even need to be psychic.” She laughed.

Merissa leaned her head against her mother’s. “I’m so happy. I never expected to find anyone who’d like me the way I am.”

“I thought I had, once,” Clara said quietly. “I made a terrible mistake. And you paid more for it even than I did.”

Merissa was very still. “Dalton knows.”

“What?”

“He knows, about what Dad did. He said if he’d known us back then, my father would have gone to prison for it.”

“I lived in terror for so many years, afraid that Bill would return, that he’d find us, that he’d want to get even with me for divorcing him,” Clara confessed.

“Do you know where he is?” Merissa asked worriedly.

Clara shook her head. “The last I heard, from his cousin who’s still in touch with me, he was working on the docks in California. I hope he stays there.”

“So do I,” Merissa replied. “Oh, so do I!”

* * *

TANK DROVE THE squirrel to the rehabilitator. It was necessary, because law prevented any veterinarian from treating a wild animal. That had to be done by a trained rehabilitator, and there were so few that many injured animals died. The rehabilitators were so overworked that many just stopped answering their phones in self-defense, not having realized the incredible number of injured wild animals they were signing up to treat. The law was in place to protect animals and the public, but it seemed to Tank that it was designed to let wounded wildlife die. Like so many other little-known laws, its good intentions sometimes were outweighed by its tragic consequences.

“At least this one will live,” Tank told Greg Barnes, his friend.

“Yeah, he’s just shocked and burned a bit.” Greg chuckled. “A couple of days rest and some good food, and he’ll be back out chewing up electrical cords again.” He put the squirrel in a clean cage with water and food. Nearby were many other cages, containing a raccoon with a bandaged leg, a wolf with a leg missing, even a raven with a broken wing.

“What happened to all of these?” Tank asked.

“Kids with guns” came the irritated reply. “A teenager shot the raven for sport. I had words with him and his father, and court action is pending.”

Tank shook his head. “And the wolf?”

“Ate two of a rancher’s calves. He was trapped. He lost the leg and would have died if I hadn’t found him. People and wild animals just don’t mix.”

“Ranchers have to live.”

The rehabilitator nodded. “So they do. Nobody wins in a situation like this. The rancher is being fined for trapping the wolf. It’s an endangered species. The rancher said his calves were also endangered, but it won’t help him.” He glanced at Tank. “Most of the people who write law concerning wild animals have never seen one.” He had a strange, wicked look on his face. “You know, I have this recurring daydream about putting a couple of these legislators in a room with several hungry wolves...” He sighed. “Well, never mind. But I guarantee it would change attitudes. The survivors would probably legislate for change.” He put his hand to the wolf’s muzzle through the cage and stroked it. The wolf didn’t seem to mind. “Not you, old fellow,” he said gently. “There are sweet wolves and mean wolves. Sort of like people.” He glanced at Tank. “But in the wild, a wolf is going to do what comes naturally, whether it’s kill and eat elk or cattle. The trick is to make sure the numbers aren’t so big that the habitat can support the pack and they don’t resort to raiding cattle ranches.”

“Don’t tell me. Tell Congress.”

“Wouldn’t I love to tell Congress how I feel about what goes on in the real world out here. How do you tell a wolf it can’t cross a property line? Or a raven that if it goes to ground hunting a rabbit it’s likely to be shot in lieu of a target?”

“At least you’re trying to help,” Tank pointed out.

Greg smiled. “Trying to. Yes.” He waved an arm around the room full of cages. “I have two more rooms like this.” He cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Ever wonder why I’m not married?”

Tank chuckled. “Not really. I don’t know a lot of women who’d like to share space with a wolf. Even one in a cage.”

“Got a cougar in the other room. A ferret and a couple of skunks. All victims of trapping.” He shook his head. “The raven was a special case, I mostly do mammals.”

“Who brought him to you?”

He grimaced. “The boy’s mother. His dad thought it was great, how he hit the raven on the fly. His mother was horrified.”

“Good for her. I like to target shoot, but I don’t do it with animals. Well, except deer, in hunting season,” he amended. “I love venison.”

“Me, too,” Greg confessed. “That’s rather a different case. Not enough forage for an overpopulation of deer, so we hunt the excess to keep the herds healthy. Can’t explain that to outsiders, either. We’re killing Bambi.”

“Bambi can kill you with those hooves,” Tank commented. “They’re like razor blades.”

“Indeed they are. Deer are powerful, especially the bucks, with those big racks.”

“Think the squirrel will live?”

“If he doesn’t it won’t be my fault,” Greg said. He smiled. “I love animals.”

“Maybe someday you’ll find a woman who does, too.”

He shrugged. “Or not.” He eyed Tank. “You got this squirrel from Merissa Baker, didn’t you?” he asked.

“No comments about curdling milk,” Tank said defensively.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Greg replied. “She’s got this way with animals, is what I meant,” he said. “Brought me a snake one day that she’d bandaged. She was afraid the bandage wouldn’t stay on.” He whistled. “Biggest damned timber rattler I ever saw, and it was lying in her arms like a baby. Minute I touched it, it tried to strike at me. But I bandaged it and nursed it back to health and turned it loose.”

“She told me about that.” Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Some gift.”

“Some gift. There are people among the Cheyenne tribe here who have it. I’ve seen them gentle wild horses with just light touches and tone of voice. You know,” he added, “maybe there’s something to this theory that everything has a soul.”

Tank held up both hands. “I have to go.”

“Just thinking out loud, is all.” Greg chuckled. “Anyway, your squirrel is going to be fine. Might not be a bad idea to truck him up north a few miles to turn him loose. For the sake of the wiring in Merissa’s house, that is.”

“I was thinking the same thing!”

* * *

TANK WENT BACK HOME. He was still laughing about the snake.

“What’s funny?” Mallory asked with a grin.

Tank smiled. “Merissa once took a snake to Greg Barnes for treatment.”

Mallory shook his head. “I’ll bet she hates snakes, too.”

“She does, but that isn’t what makes the story curious. It was a timber rattler.”

Mallory’s eyes grew larger. “It didn’t bite her?”

“Greg said she brought it in, holding it in her arms, and it just laid there. Until he tried to work on it, that is, and it struck at him.” He laughed at his brother’s expression. “She has a way with animals.”

“A timber rattler.” He sighed. “Well, that’s one for the books.”

Tank nodded and smiled.

Mallory was watching him with interest. “Things heating up, are they?”

Tank was surprised. “How would you know that?”

“You’re my brother. It isn’t like you to take an interest in a woman. Well, it’s not an everyday thing, at least.” Mallory was alluding to his own wife, Morie, in whom Tank had been briefly interested before he realized that Mallory’s antagonism to her was concealing a growing passion.

“I love Morie like a sister,” Tank said quickly. “Just in case you wondered.”

Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you better than that.”

“We had a very nice supper,” he recalled with a smile.

“I like the food at that place, too,” Mallory began.

“We went to a Chinese place in Powell,” Tank corrected.

Mallory’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

He shrugged, and jerked his head toward the base phone on Mallory’s desk in a corner of the living room. “Just wanted a change.”

“I see.” And Mallory did see. He was aware of the bugs.

Just as he said that, Rourke strolled in, one brown eye twinkling beside the one with the eye patch. His blond hair was thick and combed. He was wearing khakis, a habit from South Africa, where he lived, and he looked very smug.

“Fourteen bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.

They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”

“You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”

“You’re good,” Tank mused.

Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”

“Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.

Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.

Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his silence.

“Sorry about that,” Tank said gently.

Rourke shrugged again. “No big deal. I can go later. It’s not as if the war will be over in a day or two. Sad case. The president of the country is Harvard-educated, he’s brilliant and he has a feel for politics. His opponent comes from some dusty backwater village and he can’t even sign his own name.” His expression became grim. “He’s ordered women and children butchered for daring to help the government forces, in ways I can’t even tell you about. It’s like tribal warfare back in the 1800s, only worse.” He looked at Tank. “Even having been in a war in the Middle East, you have no idea how warfare is conducted in such places. I’ve been shot at by eight-year-olds with AK-47s.”

“Child soldiers.” Tank’s expression was eloquent. “People who employ them should be tried and shot.”

“They will be, when the president is back in his office. And he’ll prevail. I’m certain of it. He has the backing of most of the Western nations.” His smile was sarcastic. “His country is almost floating on oil, you see. Some of his advisors are spec ops people from a country I won’t name.”

Tank sighed. “At least he has help.”

“A lot of it. But meanwhile, whole villages are being burned out, their populations decimated. Crops are destroyed before harvest, so the refugee population grows daily. Borders are closing around the country, so there are tent camps set up everywhere. It’s the most heart-rending thing I’ve ever seen.”

“War is ugly,” Tank agreed. “Thanks for taking care of the bugs,” he added, changing the subject. “I was starting to twitch every time I looked at the phone.”

Rourke smiled. “I know that feeling.”

He turned. “I’ve got to talk to our electrician. I want him to go over to the Baker house and fix an electrical problem that the squirrel caused.”

“Is the squirrel returning when it’s mended?” Rourke wondered.

“Nah. Greg’s going to release it a few miles north.”

Rourke pursed his lips. “Does a squirrel have built-in GPS?”

Tank burst out laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe I should look that up before he has time to release the varmint.”

“Not a bad idea,” Mallory added. He made a face. “I wish Morie and my son would come back. I’m lonely.”

“I imagine Cane is, too.” Tank chuckled. “He’ll be missing Bodie, especially since she’s pregnant. He paces and paces, worrying about her.”

“Shopping trips.” Mallory shook his head. “I don’t know why they can’t shop in Catelow.”

“Big Paris fashion boutiques and fancy baby boutiques on the go in Catelow, are there?” Rourke asked with a bland expression.

“Well, not so much,” Mallory replied with twinkling eyes.

“Good point,” Tank replied. He was thinking of Paris fashions and how they’d look on Merissa, with her neat, trim figure.

“You need to bring Merissa to dinner when they get home,” Mallory commented as they wandered out of the house toward the bunkhouse.

Tank’s heart jumped. He smiled. “That’s a good idea.”

Mallory just laughed.

* * *

THE ELECTRICIAN WENT to the Baker home, but midway there, he hit something and had to pull off the road. He got out to see what had stopped him and found, of all things, a spike strip, like policemen used to trap fleeing criminals, lying across the asphalt. He pulled it to the side of the road and left it, then called Darby Hanes.

“Can’t you just change the tire?” Darby asked, surprised.

“I’ve got four flats,” the electrician, Ben, muttered. “I don’t carry four spare tires on this thing.”

“Good Lord, what’d you hit?” Darby exclaimed.

“A spike strip,” Ben said disgustedly. “I can’t imagine why the police left it here for people to run over!”

“What police? You’re out in the country. And I haven’t heard anything about a chase.”

“I know.”

“Call the wrecker. I’ll be right there.”

“No need, Darby. I’ll go with the truck and wait while they get the tires on it. I’ll phone the Bakers and explain.”

“Well, okay. That might be best. While you’re there, get them to check the battery. Replace it if you need to. Truck’s been hard to start lately.”

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