The fire that had been smoldering between them flamed to life.

She kissed him, pressing into him, yielding to him. Letting go of whatever trouble waited outside the cabin. In the passion of the kiss, it didn’t exist. There was only Johnny.

In the rational part of her brain, she knew none of this made sense. She was kissing Johnny Kreel but she didn’t trust him. She didn’t even know him.

Familiar’s meow caught her attention.

“He’s trying to tell us something,” she said as the cat ran to the back door and clawed at it.

As Stephanie opened the door, she saw it. A hooded figure silhouetted against the dawn sky—holding a lead rope on her prized stallion. As the figure brought a whip down across the horse’s back, the stallion reared and bolted.

“Black Jack!” She started out after the stallion, but Johnny’s grasp caught and stopped her. He manhandled her back into the relative safety of the cabin. “I’ve got to—”

“No,” he said, cutting her off. “He’s got a gun. And you’re the one he’s aiming for.”

Dear Reader,

Twenty-five years ago, I walked into a local bookstore in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. One of the salesclerks knew I loved mysteries, and she pointed out a new line of Harlequin books—one that combined romance and mystery. I was instantly hooked. What could be better? I loved the combination of vivid characters and exciting action so much, I decided to try to write one.

My first Intrigue, The Deadly Breed, involved horses. But when I wrote a book about a black cat detective, Familiar, I realized that I’d opened the door to unlimited adventures. Familiar and I are very proud to be a part of this landmark 25th anniversary for Harlequin Intrigue.

Happy reading!

Caroline Burnes

Familiar Showdown
Caroline Burnes

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For Aleta Boudreaux, who saves and neuters countless cats, making the world a better place for all of us.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caroline Burnes has written fifteen books in her Fear Familiar series. She has her own black cat, Familiar’s prototype, E. A. Poe, as well as Miss Vesta, Gumbo, Maggie and Chester. All are strays and all have brought love and joy into her life. An advocate for animal rights, Caroline urges all her readers to spay and neuter their pets. Unchecked reproduction causes pain and suffering for hundreds of thousands of innocent animals.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Stephanie Ryan—is following a dream to rescue and train abused horses. Though she’d planned to create Running Horse Ranch in the wild beauty of South Dakota with her fiancé, the untimely death of Rory Sussex has forced her to go it alone. But beyond the borders of the ranch, forces are aligning that she’d never imagine.

Johnny Kreel—knows how to “cowboy up” when it comes to dangerous broncs and flying bullets, but he also has skills not normally found in a cowhand. When he appears at Running Horse Ranch, danger is hot on his heels. Is he there to help Stephanie or merely to weave another web of lies?

Familiar—the black cat detective, finds himself caught in the middle of a complex lie that brings danger to Stephanie and everyone—and everything—close to her.

Rory Sussex—was a charismatic pilot who captured Stephanie’s heart and future when he asked her to marry him and build a ranch based on the horse-training principles of Stephanie’s Oglala grandfather. When Rory disappeared in a plane crash in the Darien Jungle, he left behind a surprise that pulls Stephanie into danger.

Rupert Casper—is a neighbor of Stephanie’s and a man who’s used to having his way—no matter what the consequences. When a headstrong stallion injures Casper, the horse ends up in Stephanie’s care, and she’s determined to protect the horse from Casper’s ugly temper. But how far will Casper go to prove his point?

Carlos Diego—is a known criminal, and his harsh hand touches international events on many levels. But why would a man like Diego take an interest in Stephanie and her horse ranch?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

October is normally my favorite month. Eleanor, my humanoid, lights the first fire of the season in the library, and I curl up on my favorite green velvet pillow, the one that brings out the color of my eyes. But I’m not in Washington, D.C., where I belong. I’m in South Dakota. At the foot of the Black Hills. On a horse ranch of all things. And these aren’t even nice horses. These are rogues and outlaws.

The only benefit is that I get to hang with one fine-looking woman. While I feel Stephanie Ryan wastes a whole lot of energy on those bad horses, I have to admit that she looks good in tight jeans, boots and even those chaps. With her long, straight chestnut hair and those dark eyes, she could be some cowboy’s fantasy. And she has a special way with horses. Or at least that’s what Eleanor says. She’s a “gentler.” That’s someone who helps troubled horses and makes them safe.

She’s out there right now working with that devil horse, Black Jack. He’s black sure enough—in color and temperament. In the fifteen minutes I’ve been watching, he’s charged at Stephanie and tried to trample her. All she wants him to do is trot the circumference of the round pen. And he knows it. Yet he acts like she’s trying to kill him. That horse has got a screw loose, and someone is going to get hurt if she isn’t careful. If I could vocalize in human language, I’d suggest that she yield the battle and get out of that pen.

Why did Eleanor and Peter leave me here at Running Horse Ranch on the backside of nowhere? They told me to watch out for Stephanie. But who can protect a crazy broad who walks into a small pen with a homicidal equine?

This is going to be a long two weeks. I’m counting the hours until Eleanor returns and takes me back to civilization. It’s not that South Dakota isn’t spectacular. It is. It’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been. And the history here, in the heart of the Sioux nation, is fascinating. But it isn’t home. I’m just ready for autumn snuggles with my Clotilde. Ah, the sleek delight of her tricolored calico fur, and the elegant span of her whiskers. They way we spoon together in a sunny window and the way she grooms my face…

Such activities are not to be. I’m here with a raging stallion. Look at that black devil rear. He’s spectacular, in a bad boy kind of way. Flaring nostrils, flying mane and—Duck, Stephanie! He’s trying to kill her! He’s going completely nuts and is trying to strike her with a front hoof.

I’ve got to do something!

STEPHANIE DODGED THE HOOF by a fraction of an inch. She hit the ground and rolled toward the metal panel of the round pen, but there wasn’t enough room for her to slide underneath.

Instinct warned her and she scrabbled to her feet and dove just as Black Jack’s two front feet came down exactly where she’d been lying.

Stephanie had to admit that in the two weeks she’d been working with Black Jack, she hadn’t overcome his hatred of humans by one iota. Rupert Casper had really done a number on the animal. She didn’t want to know the details. She already despised Casper and everything he stood for. Her job was to bring Black Jack around. If she didn’t, Casper would most likely kill him.

But right now wasn’t the time to worry about the distant future. If she didn’t get out of the round pen, she wouldn’t have a future at all.

To her utter amazement, she saw the black cat dart between Black Jack’s back feet. It provided just enough distraction so she could hurl herself across the round pen. She had to get out. But when she was halfway up the metal panel, she saw the horse close the distance.

Ears flat and teeth bared, he bit her shoulder.

Pain shot through her, but she didn’t let go of the metal bars. If she fell under his feet now, he would stomp her to death.

The pain of the bite was so intense that she felt her hands weaken. She’d never seen a horse truly intent on killing a human. She’d heard stories, but hadn’t believed them. Something awful had been done to Black Jack, and it was going to take a lot to overcome it—if she lived that long.

Just when she thought she had to let go, the cat leaped onto the horse’s back, a move that made the stallion wheel and try to bite the cat. Stephanie heaved herself up the panel.

“Hold on.” The stranger came out of nowhere. With one vault, he was in the round pen with her. His arms closed around her hips and he hefted her over the panel and dropped her on the outside.

Before he could get out, the horse turned on him.

Lying in the dirt, heaving to catch her breath, she watched the horse and the man square off. The man made no threatening moves toward the horse, but he didn’t run. He held his ground, using the palm of his hand to indicate to the horse that he should come no closer.

To her amazement, Black Jack skidded to a halt. He pawed the ground and snorted. His eyes rolled, showing the whites, and he tossed his mane. While he was dangerous, Stephanie had to admit that he was also beautiful. As was the black cat, who’d come over to her and was licking her cheek with a sandpaper tongue.

“Easy, boy,” the stranger said to the horse. His voice was low, almost a whisper. He turned sideways to the horse and the two of them began to walk slowly around the pen, each ignoring the other. To Stephanie, it looked like a choreographed dance, performed by a troupe from some royal academy.

“You okay?” the stranger asked.

“Yeah.” She pushed up to a sitting position, her body feeling every thud she’d taken in the last ten minutes.

“You’re bleeding.” The man continued to pace the small enclosure. He made no attempt to move closer to the horse, but he gave no ground, either.

She looked at her shoulder. He was telling the truth. Blood had soaked through her shirt and was dribbling down her arm. “Doesn’t look life-threatening,” she said.

“Anybody ever tell you that it was stupid to climb in a pen with twelve hundred pounds of bad attitude?”

“Maybe.” She had no intention of explaining her actions to him. His behavior was unusual—she conceded that. But his dress, the worn jeans that hugged his lean body, the dusty boots and the blue chambray shirt that softened his hazel eyes—those things told her he was a cowboy. The one thing she didn’t need was a cowboy tending to her business.

“What’s this fella’s name?” he asked.

“Black Jack.”

“He’s a fine specimen, but his attitude sucks.” In two seconds, the cowboy vaulted out of the pen.

Black Jack stood for a moment as if he were trans-fixed. Then he charged the panel so hard he shook the entire round pen.

“What did you do to him?” she asked.

“That’s exactly the question I wanted to ask you. What the hell did you do to this animal to make him hate you so much?”

Stephanie arched her eyebrows. She wasn’t insulted in the least. It was exactly the question she would have asked had she come upon the same scene. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but that’s the right question. And you’ve got a keen sense of timing.” She pushed herself off the ground and stood. Her shoulder was killing her, but she’d never show it. “What’s your name?”

“Johnny Kreel.”

She held out her hand. “Stephanie Ryan.” She looked beyond him toward the barn. Parked beside it was a beat-up truck and horse trailer. She’d been so intent on Black Jack and staying alive that she hadn’t heard the cowboy drive up.

Familiar was at the truck and trailer, scoping it out. Eleanor had told her, and insisted it was true, that the cat was some kind of private detective. He did seem inordinately curious about things. Some would even call his brand of curiosity nosiness.

“I’ve been on the rodeo circuit,” Johnny said. “I saw your barn and wondered if you needed any help. Fence mending, building, things like that. And I can handle horses.”

“I can see that.” Stephanie considered this stranger. She’d been on the ranch alone for the past four months, and she’d come to realize that the spread was more than she could manage. She’d actually been thinking about a hired hand. “What would you expect for wages?”

Johnny looked around. “Say, for the first two weeks, I’d work for food and lodging for me and Tex.” He pointed to the horse trailer. “Tex is my gelding. We’ve been working the stock at the shows, but Tex hurt his leg and I need a place for him to rest up.”

Food and a roof was the best deal Stephanie had heard in a long time. She’d spent everything she had creating Running Horse Ranch. She hadn’t expected to carry the burden of starting the horse-training facility by herself, but fate had been harsh. And she was almost out of money.

“It’s a deal,” she said. “Put Tex in the first stall on the right. His buddy will be Layla, a sweet little mare that gets along with everyone.”

Johnny smiled, and Stephanie took a step back. Johnny was a handsome man, a graceful man with the confidence of a rodeo athlete. After what had happened with Rory Sussex, she had no use for any of that in her life.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thank me by getting busy.” She was brusque and she knew it. That’s the way it was going to be. Johnny Kreel could work at Running Horse for a few weeks, but she had no desire to be his friend or anything else.

“Yes, ma’am,” he offered.

She checked his gray-green eyes to see if he was mocking her, but she saw only sincerity. “I need to get Black Jack into the small barn.” She pointed to a stout structure with an eight-foot fence around the paddock area. She’d had it specially constructed for rank horses—until she could bring them around. “There’s a lead rope at the round pen gate. He was fine when I brought him out, but…”

“I need to tell you up front, Miss Ryan, that I won’t man-handle an animal.” He squinted against the sun in his face. “Some folks get upset when they realize I won’t cut corners when I’m working with one.”

This time Stephanie couldn’t stop the smile that she felt spread across her face. “Glad to hear that, Johnny, because I won’t tolerate such tactics. My grandfather was a horse gentler. His method has been passed down to me. I’ve never seen a horse that couldn’t be gentled.”

Johnny nodded. “Then we’ll get along fine. Now I’d best get to my chores. I’ll move Black Jack and then go take care of that fence over by the pumphouse. By the time I finish with that, I reckon supper should be ready.”

Stephanie stopped short. “That’s a good assumption. And pretty accurate, except for one thing. If you want a hot supper, you might get in the kitchen and cook it. I said I’d provide food. I didn’t say I’d be your chef.” She turned and walked away before Johnny could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Sometimes it was too much fun to unsettle the gender expectations of a Wild West man.

She’d hardly gone ten steps when she heard the sound of a vehicle. Her driveway sloped around the gentle swells of the land, disappearing from view and then reappearing on the top of the next hill. She put her hand up to shade her eyes as she spotted the black pickup stirring up a cloud of dust as it headed toward her.

“Damn,” she said softly.

Johnny examined the approaching vehicle. “Someone you know?”

“The guy who owns Black Jack. Rupert Casper is his name, and he’s a real piece of work. His ranch is about two miles as the crow flies, maybe four miles if you take Dry Gulch Road,” she said. Johnny didn’t say anything, but Stephanie saw the muscle in his jaw jump into play.

“You’d better take care of your shoulder,” he said without taking his eyes off the driveway. “I’ll explain to Mr. Casper that you’re indisposed.”

Stephanie shook her head. “I wish it were that easy. Casper’s going to want to know how much progress I’ve made with Black Jack. When he finds out I can’t even lead him to his stall, he’s liable to shoot him on the spot.”

Her words made the muscle in Johnny’s jaw bunch even tighter. “We’ll see about that.”

Stephanie had no use for Rupert Casper, but she put a restraining hand on Johnny’s arm. This wasn’t a fight he could win. Neither could she. “It’s a long story, Johnny. Black Jack is his horse. The horse hurt Casper, and he was going to kill Black Jack but his men brought him over here two weeks ago. I’ve been dreading this moment.”

The pickup stopped not twenty feet from Stephanie. Dust rolled over the top, and a tall man with perfectly trimmed blond hair got out from behind the wheel. His jeans were creased perfection and his boots were polished to a high sheen. The only flaw in his appearance was the white sling that held his left arm. Casper’s gaze swept over her bloody shoulder, torn shirt and dust-covered jeans.

“Stephanie,” Rupert Casper said as he came forward. He looked at Johnny but didn’t acknowledge him. “How’s my horse doing?”

“We’re making progress,” Stephanie said. She noticed that Familiar had left her side and was sniffing the tires on Rupert’s truck like a dog.

“Did Black Jack do that to you?” Casper asked, pointing to her shoulder. He looked past her to the stallion in the round pen. The horse seemed to sense Rupert’s attention. He pinned his ears and snaked his head out, striking the metal panel with his teeth.

“I did it to myself,” Stephanie said. “Black Jack’s a hard case. I won’t deny it. But he’ll come around.”

“He’s a danger. I fired the two men who brought him over here. They disobeyed me when I told them to shoot him.”

Stephanie could see that Casper took pleasure in his power. “They thought they were doing the right thing. They knew how much money you had invested in the horse.”

“It’s my money.” He walked toward the round pen.

Black Jack spun on his hindquarters.

“He’s got a lot of potential,” Stephanie said. “If you’ll give me more time, I can bring him around, and he’ll make a champion cutting horse. He’s got the build and the bloodlines.”

“He’s a rogue. I think the best thing I could do with him is cut my losses and put him in a dog-food can.” Casper walked back to his truck, opened the passenger-side door and brought out a rifle. “He’s as rank as he was the day he came here. Not even you can work magic on this beast.”

He started walking toward the round pen.

“You can’t shoot him here.” Stephanie looked at Johnny, who was watching the exchange without saying a word.

“I’ll send one of the boys with a backhoe to bury him tomorrow.”

“Rupert, you misunderstand me. I’m telling you that you can not shoot him on my property.” She stepped in front of Casper. “I won’t allow it.”

Casper shifted the gun and a look of astonishment was quickly replaced by anger.

Stephanie noticed that Johnny moved forward so quickly and with such grace that he was beside Rupert Casper in no time. Johnny was a good man to have on her side in a pinch.

“Before you do anything, let me show you the progress we’ve made with Black Jack,” Johnny said softly.

Rupert turned to him as if he’d just become aware of the other man’s presence. “Who the hell are you?”

“Johnny Kreel.” He didn’t hold out his hand, and he didn’t say anything else. He went to the round pen, climbed over the panel and walked toward Black Jack without any hesitation.

The stallion blew twice, his eyes rolling for a moment before Johnny caught his halter and snapped on the lead rope that he’d picked up. Without a wasted movement, he opened the gate, led the stallion out and away from Rupert and Stephanie.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Casper said. “No one’s ever been able to lead that horse.”

Though she’d been leading Black Jack for the past two weeks, the horse wasn’t reliable. He’d be fine, and then he’d blow up, as he’d done earlier that day. Stephanie was amazed that Johnny had been able to handle him, but she was smart enough to keep it to herself.

“We are making progress,” she said. “If you don’t want to keep Black Jack, I’ll buy him.” She’d offered more than once, though she had no idea where she’d get the money to pay for the horse. She’d figure something out.

“He’s my horse,” Casper said. “If I can’t ride him, no one is going to.”

That was typical of a man like Rupert Casper. Everything was a possession. It was ego, pride and vanity. “If you’ll give me some time, you’ll be riding him and taking blue ribbons in the cutting competitions.”

Casper stared at the horse until Black Jack disappeared into the barn. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll see how much progress you’ve made.”

Stephanie clamped her mouth shut, even though she wanted to shred Rupert Casper with her tongue. Casper was the kind of man who took his anger out on helpless creatures. Black Jack would suffer.

When she turned away from the round pen, she saw the cat jump out the window of Casper’s truck. Rupert opened his truck door and swung in.

“Son of a gun!” He jumped out of the truck as if the seats were on fire. To Stephanie’s amusement, she saw a dark circle of dampness on the butt of his creased jeans.

“That cat peed in my truck!” Casper’s face was scarlet with anger. “I saw that black cat hanging around here. Where is he?” He still held the rifle and he swung around looking for the cat.

Stephanie was loving every second of it. “Are you sure it’s cat urine?” She stepped over to the truck and caught the distinctive smell. “Pe-ew! It’s cat urine all right.” It took all of her restraint not to laugh out loud. And there was no sign of the cat. It was almost as if he knew what he’d done and skedaddled. Eleanor insisted that Familiar was highly intelligent, but Stephanie hadn’t believed her. At least not one hundred percent.

“I’ll never be able to get that smell out of my truck,” Casper said angrily.

“I’m sorry, Rupert. As I told you, I don’t have any cats. Maybe it happened somewhere else and you—”

“If I see that black son of a—he’s dead.”

Stephanie shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

Casper got into the truck and slammed the door as hard as he could. He swung wide and made a U-turn in the middle of her yard. She watched him drive away.

She was still standing there when the cat sauntered out from behind a watering trough. He rubbed against her legs and purred.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked, bending to stroke him. There was something special about Familiar, something uncanny.

“Me-ow.” He looked up at her and slowly nodded his head.

“Holy cow,” she said, kneeling so that she could scratch under his chin. “Eleanor wasn’t kidding.” She picked him up and kissed him. “And I’m proud of you. But we’d both better stay out of Rupert Casper’s way as much as we can.”

Chapter Two

Black Jack entered his stall willingly enough and even allowed Johnny to remove his halter. He stood docile and well-mannered until Johnny stepped out of the stall and started to close the door. Then he lunged. But Johnny was ready for him. He’d seen horses like Black Jack before.

And he knew what often happened to them. They paid with their lives for the mistreatment they’d received.

“You’ve got a chance here, boy,” he said softly. “That woman out there wants to help you. Me, too. But the hard work is going to be up to you. If you don’t come around…” He hung the halter on a peg outside the stall door and went to get Tex out of the trailer.

He examined the cut on Tex’s leg, hosed it down, re-wrapped it and put the gelding out to graze in the small paddock that adjoined his stall. All the while he kept glancing toward the ranch house, hoping to see Stephanie headed his way.

From the gossip he’d heard about her in the small town, he’d expected her to be beautiful. As best he could tell, that was one of the many problems she faced. Folks didn’t understand a beautiful woman moving out on an isolated ranch alone. It went against the norm and had added fuel to the fire of speculation.

In the two days he’d spent in Custer, South Dakota, before coming out to the ranch, he’d heard all kinds of rumors about her, everything from her practicing black magic to being some kind of felon hiding from the law.

None of that was true. That much he knew for certain. She was a strong woman who’d refused to give up on her dream even after suffering a terrible loss. But folks in town didn’t know that. Obviously, Stephanie didn’t feel the need to talk about her personal business, and thank goodness for that.

The townsfolk didn’t know anything about her past or the hardships she’d been through. But he did. It was her past that had brought him to Running Horse Ranch.

He felt a painful jab in his hamstring and whipped around to find the black cat digging his claws into his legs.

“Hey!” He tried to step away, but the cat stayed with him. “Let go!”

Familiar released his claws and sat down, his gaze steady. Johnny laughed uneasily. It was almost as if the cat had read his thoughts. While he had a healthy respect for the intuitive abilities of all creatures, he didn’t believe a cat could read minds. At least he hoped not. Because what he’d come to Custer to do required deception.

While the rodeo story he’d told Stephanie was true, it was a long, long way from the whole truth.

Footsteps thudded in the barn and he latched the door to Tex’s paddock, then turned to meet Stephanie. She was a tall, willowy silhouette in the barn door, and he felt again the pounding attraction.

“Is your horse okay?” she asked, walking to the stall door and leaning against it as she appraised Tex.

“He’s healing. He hung his leg in a gate.”

“Looks like you know your way around a bandage.”

Johnny nodded. “You work around stock, you have a lot of opportunities to learn first aid.”

“Where have you worked?” she asked.

Her dark gaze settled on him, and he knew she was nobody’s fool. He had to be careful, because Stephanie was the kind of woman who checked things out.

“Most recently, I was over in Rapid City. The Big Bar Ranch, Mr. Linton. Before that, I handled the stock at the Missoula rodeo for Gateman Ames. Both of those men will give me a good reference. I didn’t have any problems on the job.”

She nodded. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

After what she’d been through, he didn’t blame her.

“I’m ready to fix that fence,” he said. “Where are your tools?”

“In the shed. Should be everything you need.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” He felt her gaze as he walked out into the sunshine and on toward the toolshed.

THE STEW MEAT SIMMERED on low heat, and Stephanie raked the carrots into the pot. While she had no intention of becoming a cook for the hired hand, she was also a realist. There wasn’t a burger joint or café within fifty miles of Running Horse Ranch. The ranch was nestled in a shallow valley at the foot of the Black Hills. The closest town was a long way off, and cell phone reception and even the satellite for her computer were highly unreliable. If Johnny Kreel was going to eat, someone at Running Horse Ranch was going to have to cook.

While she might get by with a peanut butter sandwich, she couldn’t expect Johnny Kreel to go without a decent meal.

She could hear the sound of the skill saw and then the solid thwack of a hammer against a nail as he repaired the fence. He was a fast worker. A hard worker. And she’d spent more time than she should staring out the kitchen window, watching him. A competent man at work was a pleasure to observe. Especially one who looked like Johnny.

He was handsome in a rugged way, and if she’d been in the market for romance, he’d certainly fit the bill—dark-brown hair with a slight curl, hazel eyes that shifted between gray and green, dimples, a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He certainly looked good in his cowboy shirt, and he moved with grace and economy.

The way he’d handled Black Jack intrigued her. Why had the horse responded so quickly to him when she’d worked for the past fourteen days—seemingly in vain—to build trust with the stallion?

That more than anything else captured her imagination. Horses were normally good judges of character. They didn’t trust all humans, but Black Jack had trusted Johnny. Could she trust him? That remained to be seen.

While she pondered the mysteries of Johnny Kreel, she chopped the onions and potatoes and added them to the bubbling stew. It wasn’t a fancy meal, but it would be filling.

She turned the stove down and picked up her cell phone. Luck was with her—she had reception. Within ten minutes, she’d spoken with Mr. Linton at Big Bar Ranch and Mr. Ames in Missoula. Both gave Johnny high marks as an employee and both said they hated to lose him, but that he’d been a man who kept moving. It was the cowboy way.

She hung up the phone and returned to the window. Johnny had finished the fence and was gathering up the tools. What kept a man on the move? In the days of the old West, it wasn’t uncommon for a cowpoke to drift from ranch to ranch, working the seasons of calving, branding and driving to market. But those days were gone.

Even cowboys needed regular pay, a place to live and insurance.

So why was Johnny Kreel on the move?

Maybe she’d never have an answer to that question, but she’d never forget that there was a question. No one was ever going to raise her expectations and send them crashing again.

“Meow.”

She looked down to find the black cat at her feet. He head-butted her shin and then looked up at her. “Meow.”

“Hungry?”

He did that slow nod again and she had to wonder—for at least the third time—if the cat was actually answering her question.

“Eleanor left some poached salmon for you.”

“Meow.”

It sounded like the cat said yes. Extraordinary. She got the fish from the refrigerator and prepared a portion for him. When he started eating, she shook her head as she set the table for dinner.

Dusk was falling. The days were short in October, and the nights could be nippy. She’d stocked the bunkhouse with blankets, but she had an extra down comforter.

She went to the back door. “Johnny, dinner’s ready!”

Before he appeared, she returned to her work in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table for two.

GETTING INTO THE RANCH HOUSE was the first step. Johnny didn’t feel good about what he meant to do, but he didn’t have a choice. Not really. He was accomplished at his job, and that’s why he’d been sent to Running Horse Ranch in the first place.

He opened the screen and stepped into the delicious aroma of cooking stew. Despite Stephanie’s caustic words, she’d rustled up some grub for him. Against his better judgment, he felt a jolt of pleasure. He quickly reminded himself that he was at the ranch for a purpose, and one that would undoubtedly put him at odds with the horse trainer.

“Have a seat.” Stephanie pointed at a stout wooden table. A small cluster of wild prairie flowers in a delicate vase graced the rough-hewn table, and Johnny thought the contrast perfectly symbolized Stephanie. She was as beautiful as the flowers and the fragile vase, and as durable as the old, scarred table.

He stopped his thoughts dead. He could not afford to romanticize Stephanie Ryan. She was part of a mission, part of his job.

“Something wrong?” Stephanie asked as she brought the stew to the table and took her own seat.

“No.” He answered too quickly. He lifted the glass of red wine at his place and took a sip. Before he could swallow, something sharp and wicked gripped his shin.

He exploded up from the table, wine flying everywhere.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed.

Both he and Stephanie ducked to look under the table where Familiar sat, placidly licking his paw in total innocence.

Stephanie cleared her throat, leaned over and refilled his wineglass, ignoring the stain all down the front of his shirt.

“That cat is a dangerous beast,” Johnny said. He felt like an utter fool. The cat had caught him by surprise.

“That cat is an extraordinary judge of character,” Stephanie said, her level brown gaze locking on him. “He peed on Rupert Casper’s truck seat.”

Johnny didn’t believe her at first. It took only a few seconds for him to realize the truth of her statement. “That’s pretty incredible.” He grinned. “And pretty great. I can forgive him for making me spill the wine if he’s going to harass Rupert Casper.”

Stephanie held her spoon aloft. “I’m just wondering why Familiar found it necessary to attack you.” She left the words hanging between them.

“Maybe he doesn’t like the smell of cowboy,” Johnny said.

Stephanie took a dainty spoonful of the stew. She swallowed and put down her spoon. “Oh, I don’t think Familiar objects to the smell of cowboy, but I’m certain he has a keen dislike of the smell of a rat.”

Johnny froze. For one split second, he wondered how Stephanie had unmasked his cover so quickly, but then he realized she’d merely taken a stab in the dark. He forced a chuckle. “Oh, then I’m safe.” But he wasn’t. Not if Stephanie found out what he was really up to.

He bent over the bowl and began to eat. While it wasn’t fancy, the thick stew was delicious, as was the crusty bread. Johnny was hungry. And while he could enjoy the pleasure of the food, he had to steer clear of the woman who sat across the table.

STEPHANIE ATE THE STEW she’d cooked, but her thoughts weren’t on the food. Johnny Kreel took center stage in her mind. For no reason at all, Familiar had attacked him under the table.

She tore off a crust of bread and chewed it slowly. She didn’t know Familiar, but in a few short days, she’d come to trust him a lot more than she trusted Johnny Kreel.

The man’s past employment checked out, but that didn’t mean anything. That was the last six months. Where had he been the other thirty or so years of his life?

“Are you from this area, Johnny?”

“No, ma’am,” he answered, gaze focused on his bowl.

“So where are you from?” She was like a dog worrying a bone when she got started. She’d know every detail before she was done.

“I grew up in the wire grass country of Alabama. My granddad raised cattle.” He still didn’t look at her.

“And what happened between growing up and today?”

At last he lifted his gaze, and she saw there was a tempest brewing in his oddly colored eyes. He covered it quickly.

“I went to the University of Alabama on a scholarship and ended up in the law school.”

“You have a law degree?” She was surprised. Not that he didn’t look capable. In fact, Johnny Kreel looked like he could take on and conquer almost anything he set his hand to.

“I do, but I only practiced for five years. It wasn’t the job for me.”

He’d really ignited her curiosity now. “Why not?”

Picking up a piece of bread, he took his time answering. She could see that he was thinking through his response, which meant he cared.

“I thought the law was going to be about fighting for truth and justice.” The tiniest bit of red tinged his strong face. “I know that sounds corny, but it’s true. I really thought I could make a difference.”

He returned to his food as if he’d answered her.

“What happened?”

Johnny met her stare head-on. This time he didn’t look away or flinch. “A man I defended—an innocent man—ended up in prison. He was killed before his case came up for appeal.”

“I’m so sorry.” An almost irresistible urge to put a comforting hand on his arm struck her, but she restrained herself.

“He was a good guy. An innocent man wrongly accused. Putting him in prison was like throwing him into the lion’s den. Everyone knew he’d be killed and no one did a thing to stop it. After that, I sort of lost my taste for the justice system.”

“A law degree can be a handy thing,” she said. Rupert Casper and Black Jack sprang to mind. Wasn’t there some law that said possession was nine-tenths of the law?

“I don’t practice. Besides, I was only licensed in Alabama.”

“You could get licensed here. Folks in town would be glad to have another lawyer.”

“Not this one.” The way he said it told her he was ready to let the subject drop.

“So after you quit the law, what did you do?”

He visibly relaxed. “I bummed around the country, working on ranches and doing odd jobs. I needed to get back in touch with the things I’ve always loved about the West.”

“And did you?”

He finally laughed. “Did you work for the Spanish Inquisition in a past life?”

His question was so unexpected that she laughed, too. His dusty cowboy clothes hid a lot more than they revealed. “Maybe,” she said. “You just never know, do you?”

“No, ma’am, you don’t.” He eased his empty bowl away from him. “That was delicious, except for the wine I threw all over myself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make sure Tex is comfortable, stop by and visit with Black Jack for a moment and then I’ll be off to bed.”

Chapter Three

Stephanie swatted away the small furry creature that licked her face with a barbed-wire tongue. It took several moments to realize that a black cat was in her bed and demanding that she wake up. Pushing the cat away, she tried to sink back into a dream where a handsome cowboy walked through her barn and straight into her arms.

It took another moment to remember that Familiar was her houseguest.

She reached out to stroke Familiar’s head. A soft chuckle escaped as she thought back through the events of the day before. The cat had really done a number on Rupert Casper. Familiar’s “gift” to Black Jack’s owner had been purr-fect. She kissed the top of Familiar’s head and earned another sandpaper lick.

Too bad Black Jack was such a tough case. She sensed the horse’s fear. He lashed out at humans because he’d been hurt, and hurt badly. Some horses could be “broken” by cruelty, punishment and pain. Others, like Black Jack, died fighting mistreatment. The question was, could she bring Black Jack back from the brink of self-destruction? She wanted to show him that humans could be kind and loving and a true partner. But would he accept that after the abuse he’d received?

As much as she hated the idea, she might have to confront Rupert Casper about what, exactly, he’d done to the horse. That knowledge would figure prominently in how she approached Black Jack.

With the memory of the stallion’s bad behavior came thoughts of Johnny Kreel. She’d hired a cowboy. Johnny wasn’t some phantom. He was flesh and blood, a handsome man who’d infiltrated her dreams.

She groaned and rolled over, cracking one eye open to find dawn breaking in the east.

“It’s not even light outside,” she complained to the cat. But Familiar had done a thorough job of waking her. She threw back the covers and put her feet on the chilly floor.

It was only October, but the mornings were cold. She found clean socks, jeans and her boots. From the dresser she pulled out a thick shirt and slipped it on. Feeding the stock was the first order of business.

Grabbing a jacket, she stepped out the back door into the crisp morning. In the distance the Black Hills rose from the flatland, a symbol of many things Stephanie loved. Her grandfather had been Oglala Sioux, and her ranch was named for him. Running Horse. He’d been legendary as a “gentler,” a man who preferred the company of his horses to that of humans.

After the death of his wife, Running Horse had lived alone on a small ranch with his horses. His reputation had spread far and wide, and people drove from all over the continent to bring him horses.

They brought him the rank horses, the ones that no amount of training or abuse could break. Stephanie had never seen him agitated for a single moment. He studied each animal and learned the horse’s secret wounds. Then he began the process of listening and building trust.

Stephanie had spent her summers following behind him like the most loyal of dogs. His days had been long, but Stephanie was never bored. She watched him work, listening to him talk about this horse’s spirit or that horse’s past experiences.

Not one single time had she ever complained of tiredness or hunger. Grandfather Running Horse and the privilege of sharing his work was all she needed.

Until she turned thirteen. Her life had unraveled then. The grandfather she adored was killed in a farming accident.

Stephanie’s parents, both more interested in humanitarian efforts than money, couldn’t afford to keep up the ranch, so it had been sold. Five years later, they died in a cholera epidemic in Africa. The tradition of horse gentling had almost died with Running Horse—until Stephanie decided to try her hand at it.

As Stephanie walked across the yard to the barn, she felt her grandfather’s presence with her. She often felt him close by. In the long days since her fiancé had disappeared into the Central American jungles in a tragic plane crash, her grandfather’s spirit had sustained her.

And he was with her now.

She heard the sound of hoofbeats and hurried into the barn. Tex and Layla peeked out of their stalls. Each gave a throaty greeting.

“In a minute,” she said as she walked by. First she had to see who was running, and why. Concern drove her to pick up speed.

She burst out of the barn and stopped in her tracks. In the round pen, Black Jack was moving at an extended trot. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy hide, and she was struck by the sheer beauty of the horse’s movement. His grace and balance were exquisite.

In the center of the round pen was Johnny Kreel. He held a soft cotton rope in his hand, sometimes slapping it lightly against his leg when Black Jack slowed.

Stepping forward, he turned a shoulder to the horse and Black Jack stopped. His flowing mane settled on his neck and he snorted, a wary eye on Johnny’s every move.

“Reverse,” Johnny said crisply. He stepped forward, shifting his position again. The horse did an about-face and began to trot around the edge of the round pen in the opposite direction. Johnny moved back to the center and continued shifting so that he constantly faced the horse.

It all went as smooth as clockwork.

Stephanie walked to the round pen and put her boot on the rail. “Well done,” she said softly. She didn’t want to distract Johnny from his total focus on Black Jack.

“He understands what I tell him.”

“I’ve never doubted his intelligence,” Stephanie said. “I just wonder if he can overcome the way Rupert Casper handled him. From the stories I heard, it was pretty brutal.”

“He can leave it behind,” Johnny said. “That’s our job—to see that he does.”

She’d tried to block out Black Jack’s future, but now she confronted it. “And once we straighten him out, he’ll go back to Rupert Casper.”

Johnny signaled the horse to whoa. Black Jack slowed to a walk and then stopped. He stood perfectly still as Johnny walked to Stephanie.

“Maybe not. Life is peculiar. Sometimes a horse ends up where he needs to be.”

Stephanie wished that were true. “I can’t afford to buy Black Jack, even if Rupert would consider selling him, which he won’t. Black Jack is a high-dollar horse.”

“He’s not worth much if Rupert Casper can’t ride him,” Johnny pointed out as he vaulted over the rail and stood beside her.

“You heard Rupert. He’ll see the horse dead before he lets anyone else ride him. That’s the kind of man he is.”

Johnny wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Let’s see how far we get with Black Jack before we predict the future. Or maybe, as the folks in town say, you’ve got a crystal ball in the house. And a boiling kettle and a broom that flies.”

Stephanie couldn’t stop the frown. “Folks in town been talking about me, have they?”

“Folks don’t mean harm,” Johnny said. “Their lives are boring and they think yours isn’t.”

“I think they should mind their own business. But for your information, I don’t practice witchcraft or black magic. Now I’ve got to feed the horses and you should see what you can do with Moon Stinger and Dolly’s Rocker. They’re both in the barn and both need some work.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

She left him at the round pen and continued with her morning barn chores. Feeding the horses was always a pleasure. She loved the snuffling noise they made as they cleaned up their oats.

When she started back to the house, she passed Johnny’s rig parked beside the barn. The trailer was in excellent shape, and the truck was well maintained for a rodeo man.

She glanced at the interior as she walked by. Just beneath the edge of the front seat was a gun. Not a rifle, which a lot of ranchers carried, but a handgun. Something that looked modern and dangerous.

She kept walking, unsure how the weapon made her feel. Guns were a part of life for many men. Somehow, though, she hadn’t expected it with Johnny. He was different. He communicated with the horses. Folks like him normally didn’t care to carry a deadly firearm.

Then again, she didn’t know him. She couldn’t forget that, no matter how much she admired his technique when he worked with the horses. He was an unknown entity, and chances were he wouldn’t remain around Running Horse Ranch long enough for her to figure out who he was deep down.

THE DAY IS OFF to an excellent start. Cowboy Johnny is dealing with the devil horse, and Miss Cowgirl found the gun in the cab of Johnny’s truck. Now, I’m not a gun aficionado, but I’ve seen a lot of weapons in my day. That is an expensive weapon. And one with some firepower. A Glock, one of the preferred weapons of law enforcement agencies and the Feds.

Which makes me wonder about a couple of things. How did Johnny find the Running Horse Ranch? We’re miles off the beaten path. He had to drive here specifically. And he shows up with a skill set that just happens to be what Stephanie needs.

I’ve always been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what if it’s the Trojan horse? When something is too good to be true, it usually is. So now it’s up to me to do a bit of sleuthing.

Is Johnny Kreel just a drifting cowboy, or is there more to this package than meets the eye? Stephanie has a computer. I can start there. With my private investigator knowledge, I can check a few Web sites and start a background check on this guy.

But first some breakfast. I catch the aroma of bacon. While I’m normally a seafood kind of cat, I can be swayed by other dishes. A nice bacon and cheese omelet would do wonders for my hungry tummy.

Then off to work.

LIFTING THE OMELET from the skillet, Stephanie served the cat and then began making breakfast for Johnny. He’d finished with Black Jack and she’d called him in before he started work on the other two horses.

He sat at the table, though he’d offered to help cook. She kept looking at him, his dark hair slicked back and his face freshly shaved. With his strange gray-green eyes, he seemed to take in everything.

She put the omelet in front of him and sat down to finish her coffee and toast.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“I don’t normally eat breakfast,” she said, “but Familiar let me know he was ready for something.”

“Smart cat.” Johnny glanced at the shelf where she kept her cookbooks and several framed photographs. “Is that your husband?” he asked, indicating a picture of Stephanie and a handsome man on a beach.

Stephanie didn’t have to look at the photo to know what it was. It had been taken only weeks before she moved to South Dakota. She and Rory had been at Gulf Shores, Alabama, a last fling in the Southern sun before moving north. It was the last weekend Rory had been alive.

“My fiancé,” she said. “He died in a plane crash.” Normally that put the kibosh on further conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “You two look so happy. When was the crash?”

She almost told him to mind his own business, but she stopped herself. “About four months ago. He ran a charter airline business out of New Orleans. His plane went down somewhere in the Darien Jungle.”

Johnny stopped eating. “That must be terrible for you.”

To her surprise, she found her eyes clouding with tears. “Rory was a good man. We were going to run this business together.”

“He was giving up his charter business?”

She nodded. “He loved flying, but he could have kept one plane and done a part-time business here. Mostly, though, we wanted to focus on the horses.”

“So he was a trainer, too.”

Stephanie smiled. “Not really. But he wanted to learn. That’s the important thing, isn’t it? To want to learn a different way of relating to an animal.”

“If more folks were willing to open their minds, it would be a different world,” Johnny said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I should get to work, but first…” He picked up his plate and went to the sink, where he ran the hot water and began washing up.

“That’s not necessary,” Stephanie said.

“Probably not. But you cooked, so I’ll clean up. It’s not a fifty-fifty distribution of work, but it’s more fair than your doing it all.”

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee, watching him as he efficiently tidied the kitchen. He knew his way around housework, which was more than surprising for a cowboy.

“How long do you expect to be in these parts?” she asked.

Johnny didn’t turn around. He rinsed a plate and set it in the drainer. “I’d thought a couple of weeks, but I’m in no hurry to leave. Nobody is expecting me anywhere down the line.”

“That’s good to know,” she said. Winter was coming. While the ranch work was hard enough in the summer heat, the winter was going to be long and cold and even more difficult. “Maybe, if things work out, you’d want to stay around here.”

“Let’s get to the end of the first two weeks. After that, if you like the way I work, we can negotiate a salary.”

“Perfect.” She stood and took her coffee cup to the sink. “When you finish Dolly and Stinger, let me know. We’ll saddle up and check the fence line on the north pasture.”

He grinned. “Sounds like a good plan. I haven’t done range work in a long time.”

“You’ll get plenty of chances around here,” she said.

HE RODE CUTTING PATTERNS on Stinger and Dolly. Both horses moved willingly and with total confidence. Stephanie had done a wonderful job with them. If they’d had problems, he could find no trace of them.

When he was finished, he knocked at the back door, and Stephanie came out, ready to ride. The afternoon had warmed, and she carried a light jacket. They saddled two more horses and set out across the flatland toward the Black Hills.

He had questions to ask. Plenty of them. But he had to be careful how he phrased them. He could see that the wound Rory Sussex had left was still raw. And if Stephanie ever found out who and what Rory really was, she’d be terribly hurt. On one hand, Johnny could understand why Rory would lie. Stephanie was a rare woman. And she’d never have willingly involved herself with a man whose entire life was a web of fabrications. It was either lie or lose her.

But Rory had to know that eventually the house of cards would come tumbling down around him. He couldn’t simply walk away from the life he’d led and become a different person. Certainly, he may have thought that the wilds of South Dakota were secluded enough that he could build a new life. But they weren’t. And now Stephanie had been caught in Rory’s past.

“You’re looking mighty serious,” she said as they crossed a dry creek bed. “Something wrong?”

“Sorry. I was thinking about your fiancé and his plane crash. It’s just hard to grab hold of. Did they find out why the plane crashed?”

Stephanie waited until her horse had scrambled up the side of the creek bed before she answered. “They never found the plane. Or Rory’s body. The control tower got a Mayday call from Rory. He was having engine trouble. That’s the last anyone heard.”

“They never found any of the wreckage?” Johnny knew this. The trouble was, he didn’t believe it.

“No. I hired an investigator, someone who knew the jungle. They searched, but it’s apparently impenetrable in places.”

He could see that she was uncomfortable. It would be hard for anyone to count a loved one dead without a body. He hated the word closure, but it was true. The physical body gave closure, allowed death to become real.

Except, in the case of Rory Sussex, Johnny didn’t believe there had been a plane crash or a death. In fact, he and the U.S. government were almost certain that Rory was very much alive.

The question was where had he gone and when would he show up at Running Horse Ranch?

Chapter Four

Sunlight glinted off something—a quick wink, wink. Johnny saw it, but he didn’t call Stephanie’s attention to it. Someone was on the high north ridge, watching them with binoculars.

He eased his horse forward so he was between Stephanie and the watcher. Just in case.

So who was it on the ridge? Was it Rory? Or was it some of the men pursuing Rory? Johnny had no doubt that members of Carlos Diego’s gang were hot on Rory’s heels. Rory had managed to piss off everyone involved. And Diego, a powerful man who’d built an empire selling information and drugs, didn’t keep hurt feelings to himself. He resolved his problems with bullets.

“Here’s a break in the fence.” Stephanie slipped off her horse, put on her gloves and began pulling the barbed wire out of a tangle. She used her lithe body to tug the wire taut, and Johnny was momentarily captivated by her sheer physical beauty.

When she looked up at him with a frown, he dismounted and grasped the wire to help her. She labored with total concentration, and Johnny could see that she’d learned to work fast and efficiently. Living alone on a South Dakota ranch, she had no time for mistakes or leisure.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

He found her staring at him, brown eyes puzzled. A whisper of suspicion shifted across her features.

“No. Just distracted for a moment.” He forced his mind back to the job at hand.

“Distracted by what?” she asked.

“Thinking about how you’ll manage here by yourself.” He saw instantly that he’d offended her. Her cheeks flushed with anger and she yanked at the wire.

“I’ll manage just fine. A man isn’t the solution to every problem on a ranch, you know.”

He controlled the impulse to touch her and wondered what was wrong with him. He’d almost stroked her back, as if it were his job to comfort her, as if she’d desired his protection. “I didn’t mean it that way. If you were a man, I’d still have concerns about one person with all this work and responsibility. What if you get hurt? Cell phone coverage out here is spotty at best. You could lie—”

“Stop it!” She wheeled around to confront him. “Stop it right now. A meteorite could fall out of the sky and strike me if I lived in Chicago or New York. A driver could have a heart attack and lose control of a car and I could be crushed. Or someone could mug me. The only difference is that I’d likely lie in the middle of the street with people passing by and no one would help.”

“I’m sorry, Stephanie. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He could see that he’d stepped in it deep. An apology wasn’t going to smooth this over.

“Bad things happen everywhere, Johnny. It’s true, I could get hurt here. But I could get hurt anywhere. And just let me tell you, for the record, the worst kind of hurt comes not from physical pain but from—” She broke off and took a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to sound macho or condescending.”

She struggled to regain control of her emotions, and he could see how much it cost her. “It’s okay. I overreacted.”

She bent back to the fence, and he had an opportunity to scan the ridge. There was no reflection of sunlight on metal. Whoever had been watching had either left or hidden.

While he didn’t like it, he had expected it. Rory Sussex had stolen from two factions—the U.S. government and Carlos Diego. Both were out to get him.

And Stephanie was caught squarely in the middle—with the added handicap that she had no clue as to what was happening around her.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said as he helped her pull the fence tight and stapled it into place. “I want to cover this north line before dark.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, glad for any reason to move away from the ridge where the observer had such an advantage.

He wasn’t worried that someone would hurt Stephanie. Not yet. Not until Rory made his next move. But once Rory initiated the action, Stephanie could become the bone in a very big dogfight.

STEPHANIE REGRETTED HER OUTBURST, but she was fed up with folks heaping doom and gloom on her head. She knew the risks and dangers of living alone, so isolated, on a horse ranch. Once the winter set in, travel was difficult and there was no guarantee anyone would think to check on her. But the truth was, she could just as easily live in town and be alone. She hadn’t bothered to try to make friends, and there was no one to miss her even if she lived in a town apartment and were injured.

She blew her breath out, mounted her horse and rode along the fence. They mended an additional two breaks and finally hit the end of the fence line. The wire was good for another winter, unless a deer or something crashed through it and took it down.

They’d worked in silence for the better part of an hour, and she’d grown comfortable with him. As she turned her horse toward the barn, Johnny spoke again.

“I am sorry if I upset you.”

“It wasn’t you. Every time I go into town, I hear that. People feel compelled to warn me about all the dire things that might happen. I don’t see them fretting about Wade Chisholm or Will Tanner. And it’s because they’re men. Because I’m a woman who’s chosen this life, they can’t help but see me as reckless.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Point taken. You trust yourself, and others should respect that and trust your decisions.”

Despite the fact that she was still a little sore, she laughed, too, though her laugh was rueful. “Sometimes trust can be misplaced.”

“Folks can disappoint—that’s a fact. I’d rather spend my time with a horse,” Johnny agreed.

“A horse and one black cat.” She relaxed, letting her body sway with Flicker’s movement as the little roan carried her home. “You know, I never thought I’d be a cat person, but Familiar is so…”

“Intelligent?” Johnny supplied.

“That’s right. He seems to hear everything I say and he even answers me. I’m sure he does.” She laughed out loud. “Eleanor, his owner, says he’s a detective. That people around the world hire him to solve cases.”

A frown passed over Johnny’s face. “Really? How extraordinary.”

“You don’t think it’s poppycock?”

“Why couldn’t it be true?” Johnny shrugged. “It’s as likely as some of the things I’ve seen.”

She found it surprisingly easy to talk to Johnny. Before he’d appeared at Running Horse Ranch, weeks had passed when she didn’t speak to anyone. Once she stocked up on supplies, she only went to town for emergencies or necessities. And she’d spent most of July and August on the ranch.

“Tell me about Black Jack,” Johnny said. “Where did Rupert Casper get him and how?”

Stephanie thought back through the tangle of the horse’s history. “Some of this is fact and some is gossip and some is pure vicious rumor from the two men who brought Black Jack here.”

“Let’s start with the vicious rumor. That’s my favorite part,” Johnny said.

Stephanie took a swat at his arm. “Could be you’re working for the local gossip mill in town and have been sent here to get the real story on me.”

“Is there a real story?” Johnny asked.

The question caught her by surprise, especially since he watched her with the keenest look. Almost as if he expected her to reveal some deep, dark secret. Well, he’d be mighty disappointed if that was what he was waiting for. She’d had tragedy, for sure, but nothing she had any desire to reveal.

“What you see is what you get,” she said. “Now let’s talk about the horse.”

“I’m listening.”

“Gibb and Kyle brought Black Jack over about two weeks ago. They said there’d been an accident. Rupert decided he was going to ride Black Jack whether the horse wanted it or not. They saddled him, and Rupert got on.” She watched Johnny’s expression, trying to gauge his feelings, but she couldn’t read him. It was as if a mask had settled over his features.

“Black Jack was quick and vicious and he threw Rupert and then stomped Rupert’s shoulder,” she continued. “Rupert felt that the horse meant to kill him, so he ordered the horse to be shot. While Rupert was in the hospital, Gibb and Kyle brought him here to me. They said Rupert had struck him repeatedly with a club. They believed the horse was merely trying to defend himself.”

Johnny sighed. “I guess he thought he’d beat the horse into submission.”

“Something I’d like to try on Rupert,” Stephanie said darkly.

“So where did Black Jack come from originally?”

“From Nevada. An actor named Jim Diamond had a big cutting horse ranch. He died and his son sold everything. He didn’t care about the ranch or the stock or any of it. He wanted the cash. Black Jack had a reputation for being difficult to handle even then. But Jim Diamond loved him, and the horse was obedient and well-behaved for him.”

“Horses know when people care about them.”

Stephanie nodded. “That’s true. Anyway, Black Jack had a couple of homes before Rupert got him. There were incidents, and people were injured trying to handle the stallion. He acquired a reputation—and not a good one. So Rupert got him for way under value.” In the distance the ranch was visible. She’d be glad to get home.

“And Rupert would rather kill him than let him go to someone who could help him?”

“Rupert has an ego the size of California and a brain smaller than a pea.”

“I didn’t care for what I saw of him.”

“I’d love to bury him in an ant bed and coat his head with honey.”

Johnny’s laughter was rich and deep. “I hope I don’t ever piss you off,” he said.

She glared at him but couldn’t hold it. “See that you don’t.” But then she spoiled the effect by laughing herself.

“Anyway, Black Jack is a descendent of Three Bars and Iron Man. He’s working cattle all the way, and if someone can get through to him, he’ll be one of the fanciest, finest cow horses in the West.”

“We made some progress this morning.”

She flashed him a smile. “I saw that. But don’t let him trick you. He’s smart and he doesn’t trust people. He’ll act fine for several days, and then he’ll snap.”

That put a frown on the cowboy’s face.

“You don’t think he’s unbalanced, do you?” Johnny asked.

Stephanie gave that thought serious consideration. She owed Johnny that much if he was going to put himself at risk by working the stallion. “I don’t think so. I believe he’s terribly smart. And he watches us. But his trust has been undermined. If we can’t teach him to trust again, I don’t know that he’ll ever be reliable.”

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” Johnny said. “Race you to the barn.”

He didn’t give her a chance to accept or decline. His gelding spurted forward and Stephanie had no choice but to lean forward into Flicker’s mane or eat his dust.

WHILE THE HUMANS are away, the cat will play. At least this black cat will. Thank goodness it’s a beautiful, sunny day. I need to do some work on the Internet, and reception might be problematic if the atmosphere is cloudy. Way out here in the hinterlands, the only Internet access is by satellite.

It’s a simple matter to check out Johnny Kreel, cowboy extraordinaire. I like it that he’s here to help Miss Cowgirl, but the more I’ve thought about the coincidence of his arrival, the more troubled I’ve become.

Let’s see here. Johnny Kreel, born Oct. 30, 1973. Almost a Halloween baby. Born to Patricia and John Kreel in Enterprise, Alabama.

Attended the University of Alabama and graduated from law school. Interesting.

Not a whole lot of additional information. No service record. Nothing suspicious, and nothing of any real interest. Homogenized work record, and then he sort of vanishes from the Internet. Let me check the rodeo rosters.

Here he is, just where he said he’d been. Followed the rides along Texas, Oklahoma, and into South Dakota. Okay, he checks out so far.

But someone who wanted to create a past could do so without too much trouble. And why am I suspicious? Call it a hunch. Or call it an observation, if that pleases you more. While I’m glad he showed up and rescued Miss Cowgirl, I can’t help but find it odd that he appears out of the clear blue sky—a man who finds his way to a horse ranch at the end of miles of dead-end dirt roads.

Could be simple coincidence or good luck. Could be a higher power at work. Or it could be that Johnny Kreel set out to find Stephanie for some as-yet-unrevealed purpose. I don’t have the answer to that, but my gut has kept me alive more times than I can count.

Speaking of gut, I think it’s dinnertime. And lo and behold, here come the range-riding cowhands. Thank goodness they didn’t invite me to go and mend fences. I was far happier poking around the house. Now let me shut this computer down before they realize I’ve been checking up on things.

AT STEPHANIE’S DIRECTION, Johnny washed his hands at the kitchen sink and took the hand towel she proffered. To his embarrassment, his stomach registered a loud complaint.

“Sounds like you’re hungry,” Stephanie said. “Me, too. Let’s see what kind of grub we can throw together.”

“I can cook.” Johnny spoke before he thought. She slowly faced him, an amused grin reflected in her dancing eyes.

“Oh, really? A cowboy who has a law degree and who cleans up the kitchen and can cook.” She folded the dish towel carefully. “That’s not a combination of talents one normally finds in South Dakota.”

Johnny felt the blood climbing his cheeks. Before he could say anything, she shook her head.

“And one who blushes. My, my.”

“Damn it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You are one aggravating woman.” To his chagrin, that amused her even more.

“I’ve been called a lot worse,” she said. “That aside, how about some steaks and the fixings?”

“Perfect,” he said.

They worked together and whipped up the meal in short order. When Johnny questioned the third steak, Stephanie pointed at the cat.

“Familiar likes steak.”

She was setting the table when the telephone rang. She picked it up as she searched through a drawer for steak knives. “Running Horse Ranch,” she said.

Johnny pulled two chilled beers from the refrigerator and was putting them on the table when he heard the phone clatter to the floor.

Stephanie was white as a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She looked as if she were going into shock. He grasped her elbow and supported her while at the same time scooping up the telephone.

“Who is this?” he demanded into the phone.

“Stay out of this,” a muffled and distorted male voice said. “This is between me and the woman.”

Johnny felt the adrenaline run through him. This was the first move. The finish could prove very bloody. “Who is this?” he repeated.

“The man who’s going to gut you like a dead animal if you don’t clear off that ranch and mind your own business.”

Instead of answering, Johnny ended the call. Stephanie had recovered, and he saw spots of anger in her cheeks.

“That bastard,” she said.

“Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She started to turn away, but Johnny grasped her shoulders.

“Who was it?” Johnny insisted.

“Let me go.” Stephanie’s eyes flashed danger.

Johnny held her firmly. “What did he say?”

She struggled for a moment before she stopped. When she met his gaze, her eyes were hard as flint. “He said he was watching me.”

Johnny kept his features bland, just as he’d been trained. “Did he say anything else?”

She shook her head. “That was enough. And that tactic won’t work on me. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Rupert Casper gets the better of me with a threatening phone call.”

For a moment Johnny was stunned. “Rupert Casper?”

“That’s who was on the phone. Who else would call here and say he’s watching me, like he’s some kind of killer waiting for an opportunity to strike?” Stephanie clattered two plates onto the table. “Well, he can’t frighten me with that foolishness.”

Johnny opened the two beers, taking his time. “You really think that was Casper?”

She got flatware from a drawer and finished the table settings. “Who else? It just shows what kind of bully he is.”

“Why would he do that?” Johnny asked.

“Because he’s gone back to his ranch and sulked about Black Jack. He realized that he made himself look like a fool. Now he’s going to make me pay because I didn’t let him kill the horse.” She motioned Johnny into a chair as she put the food on the table. “Did he say anything to you?”

Johnny hesitated. Now was the time to come clean, to tell Stephanie everything. He didn’t for a minute believe the man on the other end of the telephone was Rupert Casper. Not a chance. The caller was someone far more lethal, and by not telling Stephanie, he put her at risk. But ignorance of the events unfolding around her might also be her only way to stay safe. “No, not a word.”

She’d cut up one of the steaks into bite-size portions for Familiar, and she set it on the table. The black cat hopped onto a chair and sat, golden eyes watching Johnny carefully.

“Then let’s eat. That goat isn’t going to spoil my supper.” Stephanie slipped into a chair and unfolded her napkin. “Dig in.”

Johnny picked up his fork, but he found himself staring into the golden gaze of the cat. Familiar was glaring at him, as if the cat knew he’d lied.

He speared a bite of steak and forced himself to eat. He’d come to Running Horse Ranch with an assignment, and despite his personal feelings, he was duty bound to follow this through to the end. Exactly as he’d been ordered. He had no other choice.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.