Wild Temptation
by Ruth D. Kerce
ISBNs  1-931696-04-7 (download)   1-931696-95-0 (trade paperback)
From NovelBooks, Inc

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The Cheyenne Cattle Company wants Skylar Davenport's land. They've sent hired guns to persuade her and others to sell. Now there's been a murder. Skylar suspects Wade Sinclair did the killing. He mysteriously took over the murdered couple's land, refuses to answer any questions, and now seems to be after her heart. Skylar's trying to resist him and his sensual ways, but she's losing the battle.

REVIEWS

"Incredibly erotic love scenes; suspense grips the reader from page one." - Elaine Hopper, Word Weaving Reviews

5 Stars! "You won't want to put this one down; intrigue and lots of action."- Rita Hestand, Romancing the Web Reviews

"Romance and mystery blend perfectly into a story that left me wanting more." - Tracy Fransworth, The Romance Readers Connection

"A wild, breathless ride to the last paragraph." - Molly Martin, Molly's Reviews

“If you want suspense and intrigue along with a scary villain mixed in with your romance, then Escapade For One is for you. Jewel Stone has written an incredible story that will keep you absorbed until the very end. Don’t start this book until you have plenty of time to read, because you won’t want to put it down until the very end.” ~Barbara Woodward, author of The Heart Remembers and Follow Your Heart, Wings ePress, Inc.

PROLOGUE

Elk Valley, Wyoming, June 1868

 “No!” Skylar Davenport’s heart constricted, and waves of dizziness roiled through her.

George and Edna Harper, her neighbors and good friends, sat slumped on the seat of their buckboard. Anguish masked their faces, and blood stained the chests of their lifeless bodies. George’s rifle lay broken on the ground, alongside Edna’s torn, silk handbag. The horse hitched to the buckboard neighed and pawed the dirt, pulling against the reins George held in a grip of death.

How had this happened? Sobs welled in Skylar’s throat, choking her to a near faint. Her body shook, and she fumbled her Appaloosa’s reins. The mare danced to the side, and Skylar steadied her grip. “Easy, Sadie.”

A masked man, astride a red horse with a white belly, emerged from beyond the arched gateway to the couple’s property. Her stomach lurched when she saw him and the pistol pointed at her heart.

The man laughed—a wicked sound. “Si no desea morir tambien, no me sigue, mujer,” he warned, then whipped his horse into a gallop.

Fear and shock held her immobile, until anger exploded at what he’d done. “You murdering son of a—” She yanked the shotgun from her scabbard and spurred Sadie after the man.

As she crested the rise, shots rang out from the valley. Her hat flew into the air, and she ducked in reflex. If he’d wanted her dead, why hadn’t he shot her at the buckboard?

She stood in the stirrups and fired back. The shot flew wild by a good two feet.

Another bullet whizzed by her face and missed her cheek by mere inches. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she dropped from the saddle to seek shelter behind her mare.

“This was not one of my better ideas,” she murmured. The skittish mount pranced and tossed her head. “Sadie, stand still. He won’t shoot you,” she assured with more confidence than she felt.

Skylar peered around the mare’s hindquarters and saw a flash in the trees. She fired.

At the loud report, Sadie bucked and ran. “No! Sadie!” Exposed, Skylar fired again. The gun clicked, and the hollow sound speared her with terror. Empty.

A shot exploded from the trees.

Pain burned across her shoulder, and she fell to the ground. The shotgun dropped from her hands and tumbled out of reach.

He’d only grazed her, but if she played dead, he might think he’d killed her and hightail it out of there. With her eyes closed, Skylar laid stock-still.

Several painful heartbeats passed before she heard a horse trot up the hill.  Saddle leather creaked, and she felt a presence edge closer. Don’t move, she willed herself.

The man snorted, then beads of sticky moisture splashed her cheek. He’d spit on her! The urge to cringe, scream, run, even scratch out his eyes overwhelmed her, but she resisted. Her only hope of survival was to remain still.

She refused to go out without a fight. She had to think. If she hadn’t dropped her Bowie knife down the well, she could have wounded the man into submission. At close range, a knife was a weapon she knew how to use.

“Loca mujer.” He cocked his pistol. “Se advertí.”

Primal fear gripped Skylar, and she dug her nails into the dirt beneath the parched grass. A fleeting image of her younger sister, Beth, flashed before her eyes and tore at her heart. There had to be a way to escape this man!

A shrill cry pierced the air from somewhere above. A hawk. She recognized the sound. The man fired his gun.

Skylar jerked. Strange, she felt no pain.

Another screech echoed overhead.

“What the hell?” the man yelled and fired again.

English? Why had he spoken Spanish before? And what was he shooting at? She heard him race down the hill, uttering a vile curse.

After several silent moments, she popped open one eye and glanced around. The man was nowhere in sight. She slowly sat up and searched for movement.

The valley stood quiet.

Skylar eased to her feet and wiped at the blood that trickled from her shoulder. Thank goodness, it was only a minor wound. She didn’t understand why the man hadn’t killed her. She glanced down the rise. “Sadie?”

From behind some boulders, the mare trotted up the hill. With shaky hands, Skylar patted the horse’s neck and again searched the area for signs of life. Still seeing none, she picked up her gun and reloaded from a pack in her saddlebag. She swung onto the saddle and prayed the man wasn’t waiting somewhere to ambush her.

Riding back toward the buckboard, the painful ache in her heart grew, and she choked back a sob. Her friends were dead. Their murderer gone. She was lucky to have escaped with her life.

The three of them had just come from the town picnic held each year on the first day of summer. After promising to bring over some of her famous mint tea, she’d left George and Edna at the bend in the road, right outside their property.

 She was glad Beth hadn’t been with her. After the picnic, her sister had gone to the creek with a friend for a swim. The Harpers’ murders were going to devastate the girl.

Nausea assaulted Skylar as she approached the buckboard and stared into the lifeless eyes of her friends.  Her own eyes filled with tears.  She’d notify George and Edna’s foreman of what happened, then take the bodies into town. Sheriff Logan would form a posse.

The stranger, that murdering snake, wouldn’t get away with this!

Chapter One

  July 1868

 Skylar kneed Sadie down the rise. She’d just come from the graveyard, a trip she and Beth had made often these last few weeks. Today, Skylar had gone alone.

The sheriff refused to form a posse to find the man who murdered George and Edna. The bandit was probably in the next territory by now, he’d said.

She suspected the Cheyenne Cattle Company was responsible for the Harpers’ deaths, but the sheriff scoffed at that theory. Company men had put pressure on the Harpers and others to sell out. George and Edna had refused. Skylar wouldn’t put murder past the CCC to get the land they wanted. They’d already stampeded livestock, cut fence lines, and salted wells. Nothing was unjustifiable when it came to causing trouble for the locals.

Frustrated by the sheriff’s lack of action, she had wanted to track the murderer herself. Sheriff Logan called her foolish and talked her out of it. If she didn’t make it back, who would take care of Beth now that their parents were no longer around? He was right, but she had a hard time letting it go. She felt so helpless.

At the bottom of the hill, she urged Sadie through a rickety gate. A wooden-planked cabin came into view. Her home, nestled within a grove of pine trees, stood as a painful reminder of all she’d lost.

A half-hinged door from the dilapidated barn creaked in the wind like an old-timer’s knees, reminding her that she hadn’t gotten to the repair yet. Fence posts that surrounded the property looked ready to topple. The sight of her ma’s garden, where vegetables once flourished, but now weeds thrived, tugged at her heart.

Once, she’d been proud of her home. It had been well kept and alive with laughter. Things were different now. Her ma was dead, and her pa had run out and left her the responsibilities. She shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the weight of her burdens.

A shriek pierced the air, and her stomach churned. The sound brought back memories of the day George and Edna had died.

Skylar looked across the valley and spotted a hawk. The blue-gray predator arced beneath the drifting clouds, then descended to a fence post a few feet in front of her and Sadie. An eerie glow emanated from the bird’s eyes, and it cocked its head from side to side.

The hawk’s odd behavior made her shudder. A wild hawk didn’t normally come so close. And those eyes!

With a rasping squeal, the bird leapt out at her.

Skylar ducked as it soared over her head. Its talons caught a few strands of hair and ripped them from her scalp. “Hey! Ow!”

The commotion spooked Sadie, and the mare reared up.

“Whoa.” She grabbed the saddle horn and clamped her knees against the mare’s sides. “Steady.”

The horse calmed, and Skylar shifted in the saddle. The hawk flew over the trees and disappeared against the horizon. She cringed and rubbed her head. “Crazy bird.”

***

High above the forest, the hawk soared westward until it reached a clearing. It circled the two-story cabin and corrals below, then landed on a post near a black gelding behind the fence.

The black remained still, but a nearby red and white horse raced to the far side of the enclosure.

The hawk released the hair in its beak, and the black strands drifted to the ground. The gelding’s eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. The horse bowed his head and sniffed at the hair.

When the horse backed off, the blue-gray hawk spread its wings and returned to the air.  The bird disappeared eastward, back toward a rotting, wooden-planked cabin.

***

Skylar wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. With a sigh, she stripped off her work gloves and stuck them in her belt. She couldn’t remember the last time the valley had been this hot.

Exhausted from repairing fence lines and fixing posts all day, she guided Sadie toward one of the few ponds on her land that hadn’t dried up in the drought. A dip in the water would refresh her. It might even ease her frazzled nerves. All day long, while she’d checked the fences for tampering, she’d felt watched.

Near a clump of trees at the pond’s bank, she heard a splash and peered between the leaves. Her pulse leapt at the sight of a man’s bare backside.

She drew her shotgun from the scabbard in case he meant trouble. As she moved closer, the stranger dove under the water. She eased Sadie into the clearing, and when the man surfaced, she leveled her gun at him. “Hold it right there, mister!”

He froze, and his eyes widened briefly. Then his shoulders relaxed, and his mouth lifted into a grin.

Skylar cocked her head. He wasn’t what she’d anticipated. He didn’t look much older than her sixteen-year-old sister. “You’re trespassing. This is my land, my pond.”

He waded closer, but stayed submerged below the waist. An easy smile flashed across his face. “Sorry. I was just taking a swim.” He shook the water from his hair. “It’s a devil of a hot day, don’t you think?”

“Who are you? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Yeah, I know.” He wiped the water from his face. “Just moved in yesterday. My brother bought the old Harper spread down the road.”

“The Harper—” She hadn’t seen a posting for George and Edna’s property. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Cal Roberts. What’s your name...girl?”

Skylar’s wariness turned to anger. “Skylar Davenport, if it’s any of your business. Now get out of that water.”

“I’d be happy to, Miss Davenport, but there’s a hitch.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“My clothes.” He pointed to a gnarled aspen tree next to her.

Brown slacks and a white shirt dangled from the branches. On the ground, a polished rifle lay beside a pair of expensive-looking, brown boots. “There’s no hitch, Mr. Roberts. Get your clothes. I won’t stop you.”

“Well, heck. Move aside, or at least, turn around.”

“Forget it.” She wasn’t about to give him any leeway. Even though he didn’t have the same build as the murderer, she didn’t trust him or any stranger. The cattle company had sent too many men down here to cause trouble. Sending someone not much older than a boy would be a great decoy.

“Then lower that cannon.” He eyed her shotgun. “The way you’re swinging it around you’re liable to shoot off my...uh—” he glanced down, then grinned up at her, “branding iron.”

Skylar felt her face flush, but refused to let the young man unnerve her. She raised her chin. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t make me nervous.”

“How am I supposed to know what makes you nervous?” He slapped the water.

Skylar jumped. “That makes me nervous.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his heart.

“All right.” He raised his hands. “Take it easy.”

“No more fast moves.” Skylar’s arms ached from the gun’s weight, but she didn’t dare show weakness by lowering it. “Come on out.”

Cal waded to the bank and stepped from the pond, his eyes riveted on her. She held his gaze, ignoring the fact that he was naked as best she could.

When he started to pass her horse, she poked the end of the shotgun into his chest. “Hold it. Hand me your rifle first.”

“You know, I could slap that shotgun aside and pull you right off your horse, if I had a mind to. You should have picked up my rifle long ago, lady, and then kept your distance.”

Skylar’s mouth went dry. He was right. He might be younger than she was, but he was tall and looked quite capable. She wouldn’t let him know she realized her mistake. “I wouldn’t try it,” her finger tightened against the trigger, “unless you want a hole in your chest. Your gun?”

“Fine,” Cal mumbled. He reached for the butt of the rifle, giving her full view of his own butt in the process.

“No,” she warned and looked away as much as she dared. “By the barrel.”

He reached for the other end and lifted it up to her.

She hefted the shotgun in one hand, almost dropping it, then grabbed the rifle, and shoved it into her scabbard.

“Dang.” Cal cringed and backed away. “Be careful. My rifle’s got a hair trigger.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Could have fooled me. Can I get dressed now? I’d just as soon not be found dead and naked. That would raise some eyebrows, don’t you think?” He chuckled.

“Get dressed, Mr. Roberts.”

His smile faded. “Simmer down, lady.” He flipped the pants off a branch. “I’m just trying to ease the tension. I feel like a dang holiday turkey, plucked naked with my wattle flapping in the breeze.”

Skylar resisted the urge to grin.  She cleared her throat instead. “Where’s your horse?”

“I walked.” Cal slipped into the trousers, and then sat on a flat rock to pull on his boots.

At least he didn’t have a red and white horse—a Sabino, like the murderer. She would assume he worked for the cattle company, though. Better to be too cautious than too trusting. She waved her shotgun toward a narrow, rock-lined path. “Start walking.”

“I’m going.”

Once Cal was on his way, she followed close behind. She wanted to confront the young man’s brother and find out if he was really a new-in-town rancher or a company man.

Cal glanced over his shoulder, and a frown marred his face. “I don’t need an escort.”

Skylar ignored the comment. They rounded a bend and approached the arched gateway to the Harpers’ horse ranch. She trembled at the memory of the couple’s bullet-ridden bodies. Fighting back tears, she trailed Cal down the path toward the two-story cabin.

  Her gaze flickered back and forth. No sign of the Harpers remained. The day after the killing, that crooked snake of a foreman fired all the ranch hands, and disappeared, right along with most of the Harpers’ stock, furniture, and personal belongings.

She glared dubiously at Cal’s back, finding it hard to believe he and his brother were really ranchers. They had acquired the Harpers’ property too quickly to buy it in a public sale. Lands! George and Edna were hardly cold in their graves yet. Besides, she never saw a posting for the property anywhere. The CCC had probably taken over the Harpers’ loan as soon as they heard of the murders. They’d done the same with Jed Cromwell’s homestead when the man took sick with the consumption and passed on last month.

A whinny drew her attention to the larger of two corrals. Her chest tightened, and her heart skipped a beat.

Drinking from a water trough was a black gelding, and next to the trough, staring right at her, was a Sabino!

Skylar pulled up on Sadie’s reins. She needed to get out of there and tell the sheriff. The murderer rode a Sabino. If this was the same horse, the killer was here!

The cabin door creaked open.

A pearl-handled pistol glinted from the hip of the man who stood just within the door. Skylar’s breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

All the dime novels she’d read about gunfighters and their fancy six-shooters came to mind. Kid Joe, the only gunfighter she actually knew, carried his gun much the same as this man. Low on the hip and strapped down, ready for a fight—except Joe never had such an expensive-looking weapon. What kind of gun had the murderer used? She couldn’t remember. Her heart thudded like a drum.

The man stepped out of the cabin and onto the porch.

She trembled when recognition crossed his face. Or had it? She couldn’t be sure. He’d masked it so quickly.

She raised her shotgun. She wouldn’t let him see how he intimidated her. “Hold it, mister. Hands away from your gun.” She would have told him to drop the six-shooter, but she didn’t want his hands anywhere near it. Kid Joe had warned her never to let a professional touch his weapon. If this man was a gunfighter—or the murderer, he could easily gain the upper hand.

The stranger leaned against one of the porch posts and folded his arms over his chest. He crossed one boot over the other, and a glimmer caught Skylar’s eye.  She glanced down. A silver plate covered the tip of each black boot and was engraved with some design, but she couldn’t make it out from astride her horse.

She should turn tail and run, but curiosity won out over common sense, and she held Sadie steady. Skylar’s gaze slid up the man’s body, cataloguing each detail. His left hand was gloved in black, his gun hand bare. The black vest he wore covered a deep blue shirt, which was a perfect match to the blue eyes that flashed against his tanned skin. From under a pushed-back dusky hat, black hair hung to his collar. His square jaw, shadowed by whiskers, seemed to jut out in challenge to her presence.

He stood well over six feet and exuded an aura of confidence, indicative of a man who’d faced life’s demons and won. The stalking eyes and contained strength of his muscular body reminded her of a cougar, at ease, but ready to pounce if she made a mistake.

A strange ache pulsated inside her, awareness she hadn’t experienced before washing over her. She shifted on the saddle. This man was more powerful than any she’d known.

“What did you do?” The man glowered at Cal.

“Nothing.” Cal stepped onto the porch. “Sharp-shooter Annie here just has no sense of humor.”

The man smiled and revealed even, white teeth. His eyes softened, and a dimple graced his cheek. Skylar’s heart fluttered in response. Certainly, such an attractive man couldn’t be evil. She forced breath into her lungs and slid a finger over the trigger of her shotgun just in case.

The man arched an eyebrow and stepped down in the dirt.

“Mr. Roberts—”

“Sinclair, woman,” he corrected, and all softness disappeared from his eyes. “Wade Sinclair.”

Skylar blanched. The term ‘woman,’ sent a shiver down her spine. The murderer had called her ‘woman,’ in just that cold tone, too. That one word she’d understood in Spanish.

“What do you want?” He stepped closer.

“Back up, Mr. Sinclair. I have some questions for you.” She took a relieved breath when he stopped, but bristled when he didn’t step back. “Is that your Sabino?” She nodded toward the horse.

“He’s in my corral.”

“Have you had him long?”

“Bought him yesterday.”

She lowered her shotgun a little and relaxed. He wasn’t the murderer. But then, he could be lying. Uncertainty plagued her, and her body stiffened. “Who sold him to you?”

“A man. Any more questions?”

Aggravation crept up her spine. He certainly wasn’t forthcoming with information. “Whom do you work for?”

“What makes you think I work for anyone?”

Skylar gritted her teeth. “I never saw a posting for this property. How’d you acquire it?”

“Lucked out.” He edged closer.

“Stop right there, Mr. Sinclair! Do you speak Spanish?”

“Why?”

She puffed out a frustrated wisp of air. “Hellfire! Quit sidestepping my questions. What’s wrong with you?”

“Right now, a nosey female toting a shotgun.”

Damn him! Why wouldn’t he just answer her straight out? She could only think of one reason. He was hiding something. The man had the same build as the murderer. He owned a Sabino. He’d called her ‘woman.’ He could very well be guilty. “Are you his brother?” She indicated Cal, recalling their different last names.

Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you want? Did he do something?”

She’d never get her questions answered at this rate! What should she do? She really couldn’t report him. Sheriff Logan would laugh in her face. She had no real proof he’d done anything wrong...yet. “Your brother, or whoever he is, was trespassing.”

“I went for a swim, lady. I didn’t kill anyone.”

At his choice of words, Skylar’s pulse jumped. “Keep him off my property, Mr. Sinclair.”

“What makes you think you can ride in here and issue orders?” He uncrossed his arms and stalked toward her.

 “Stop!” Her stomach twisted into hard knots, and she snapped her gun up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cal stiffen. “Back off or you’re dead, I swear it.” Satisfaction flowed through her when apprehension crossed Sinclair’s face.

This time he did step back.

He nodded to the rifle in her scabbard. “Is that my brother’s?”

So they were brothers. She wondered if he even realized he’d confirmed it. “It is.”

“Hand it over.”

“Do you really expect me to do that?” His superior ‘yes I do’ expression sent a wave of rage through her.

A flutter of feathers caught her eye, and she turned. Suddenly, she felt a vise-like grip over her fingers and the shotgun.

She gasped, and her gaze met Sinclair’s in a war of wills. His fingers eased up, and she released the gun as if burned.

Wade grabbed it and tossed the weapon to Cal.

Not about to sit there helpless, she fumbled in the scabbard for Cal’s rifle. It slipped out of her sweaty hand and fell to the ground, firing on impact.

Sadie spooked, and Skylar fought to keep the mare from breaking away.

With a foul curse, Wade jumped back. “You trying to kill me or yourself?” He leaned over, and picked up the gun, then handed that weapon to Cal, also.

Once she calmed her mount, she noticed Wade just standing there, studying her face. Her hand drifted to the two-inch scar on her cheek, then fluttered to the red marks on her throat.

 “Ride on out, woman. We’ve got work waiting,” he finally said.

The brusque tone of his voice irritated her, and anger once again overruled fear and better judgment. “My name is Miss Davenport, not woman. And I, too, have work. I don’t appreciate having to round up your strays.” She shot a disapproving look at Cal. “Next time, any trespassers caught on my land will be shot. My gun?”

“Forget it.”

“Oh!” Skylar jerked Sadie’s reins and raced toward the gate. She had never met such an arrogant man in her life!

***

Cal rubbed his chin. “That was her.”

“Yeah, I know.” Wade removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I recognized her even before she introduced herself. Good job.” Except, her actions troubled him. They didn’t make sense.

“Why’d you rile her up like that?”

“She was holding us at gunpoint. What did you want me to do, invite her to tea?”

“You could have just drawn on her and got it over with.”

“You saw the way she handled those guns.”

“Yeah, not what I expected.”

“Me either. I have to be sure.”

Cal jumped off the porch and walked backwards toward the barn. “She’s got spunk. Too bad about those scars. She’d be a real beauty without them, don’t you think?”

“No.” Wade frowned. “I don’t.” The lie left a stale taste in his mouth. Skylar was a beauty. He’d been stunned by her sultry violet eyes, soft pink lips, and mass of wavy black hair. The brown riding trousers and red chambray shirt she wore hugged her body in ways that would turn any man’s blood hot. He wondered about the bastard who’d given her the scars. She was self-conscious about them. He could tell by the way she fingered them. He didn’t know what caused the one on her face, but the ones on her neck were obvious. He’d seen that kind before. She’d been choked. He inhaled deeply, reining in his anger at such a cruel act.

Had her tough stance been real or an act? Something didn’t feel right here.

He pulled a faded photoengraving from his vest pocket and studied the image. No scars. But then, the image wasn’t clear. He turned it over and read the name scrawled on the back. Skylar Davenport.  

The hair on his nape twitched, the way it always did when something didn’t ring true. He shook his head and pushed aside the doubts.

He’d been paid to do a job. He would do it.

***

Devlin rifled through the folder and tossed several papers aside. “Where’s the picture, Conrad?” he asked the man behind the desk.

“Sinclair took it with him.”

With a snort, Devlin dropped the file and propped a hip onto the desk. “I wanted this assignment.”

“After your last fiasco, don’t expect the company to send you on any cases involving a female suspect, Devlin.”

“I got the bitch to confess, didn’t I?” He smiled as the memories came back to him. He loved this job.

Conrad sighed. “Yeah, she confessed all right. It would have been nice if she’d been guilty.”

***

“Was he really naked? Totally naked?” sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Davenport asked with wide eyes. She slid onto a rickety seat at the kitchen’s split-topped table. “Tell me every detail.”

Skylar strode over to the sink, still trembling from her encounter with Wade Sinclair. She forced a deep breath. “Stay away from the pond.” She worked the pump until cool water flowed between her fingers. “It’s not safe.”

“Because of one naked man?”

Picking up a cloth to dry her hands, Skylar wondered about Beth. Her sister was so naïve when it came to men. But then, she supposed that was natural for a girl her age, always on the lookout for the ideal storybook hero in every cowboy or drifter she met. She fingered the scar on her cheek and remembered when she, too, had such girlish ideals. No more.

“I’ve never seen a man without his clothes on.”

Skylar spun around, and the cloth fell from her hands. “I hope not!”

“He was a crotchety old man. That’s why you won’t tell me anything. He was ugly and all shriveled up with nothing to see.” Beth propped her elbows on the table and cupped her cheeks in her hands.

“He wasn’t crotchety.” Skylar tried to sound nonchalant. She wasn’t about to comment on the shriveled part. “His name is Cal Roberts, and he’s about your age, maybe a little older, I’d say.”

Beth perked up. “Was he cute?”

“I’m sure you’d think so,” she answered absently, her thoughts drifting to Cal’s brother. What would Wade have looked like naked in the pond with water rolling down his taut, muscular body? She trembled at the thought.

“Did he seem nice?”

She shook herself back to reality. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to find out.” She picked up the cloth and laid it next to the pump.

“Why are you so wrought up? I think this is great. All the boys around here are so boring.”

“Now don’t go getting any ideas. You’re to stay away from him—them! Cal may not be too bad, but his brother, Wade Sinclair, is pure trouble. I’d bet on it. I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s completely arrogant. He could probably snap a man in two if he wanted. His hands felt powerful enough to wrestle a bull. He didn’t even care that his brother trespassed on our land. I’m sure he works for the cattle company or worse. You wouldn’t believe his gall. The skunk actually stole my shotgun. And the things he dared to say!” Beth’s amused look stopped Skylar cold. She was rambling, a tendency she often exhibited when excited.

“He made quite an impression on you.” Beth grinned that knowing grin of hers that Skylar hated. “You felt his hands? What makes you think he works for the cattle company? And what did you mean by ‘or worse’?”

She didn’t know which question to answer first. She decided to stick with the most important. “Mr. Sinclair owns a Sabino.”

“A Sabino?” The girl’s eyes widened. “So…you think he’s the one who murdered George and Edna?”

Skylar nodded, and her heart ached at the thought.

“We don’t see that many Sabino horses around here, but it still could just be a coincidence, you know.”

Beth had a point. “Well, even if Sinclair isn’t the murderer—he claims he bought the Sabino only recently—he has to work for the company. They took over the Harpers’ loan, I’ll bet. It wouldn’t be the first property the CCC has acquired that way.” The loan on her own property came to mind, and an uneasy feeling struck her. “But I’m telling you right now, if I find out Sinclair is the murderer—” she glanced out the window as a hawk glided past, “I’ll see to it he hangs.”

***

Skylar strolled across the dry, dusty yard. She needed time alone to think.

Goodness, it was hot! The night air offered no relief from the day’s heat. She rolled up her sleeves and pulled open the collar of her shirt.

Before she got halfway across the yard, a shriek pierced the moonless night.

She spun toward the sound, and a hawk swooped into her line of vision. Sharp talons scraped the bare skin of her arm as the bird whisked past. “Ow!” She clutched her forearm, and blood seeped past her fingers.

On the ground not three feet away, two rattlesnakes, barely visible in the darkness, slithered toward her. She watched in horror as the bird landed on the snakes and ripped them to shreds with its claws. The sight made her ill, and she felt lightheaded.

The bird looked up and flew at her again.

She turned and ran, but the hawk caught her. It landed on her shoulder, and its talons gripped her shirt, ripping the material. She froze in her tracks. With a controlled breath, she mustered what little courage she had left and looked toward her attacker, prepared to fight claw to claw if necessary to get away. She didn’t see the blue-gray feathers of the frightening bird. She saw the blue-gray eyes of a man.

“You?” Her stomach clenched, and the pulse pounded through her veins.

Panicked, she ran into the cabin. “Beth! Wake up!” She raced into the bedroom for her shotgun. Where was it? She thought she’d put it beside the bed.

Maybe it was in the living room. She turned and terror gripped her at the sight of the man standing inside the bedroom door. She backed up against the wall.

Smoldering blue eyes singed her in slow perusal. He was clad in black, except for silver-tipped boots and a pearl-handled pistol. He didn’t speak, only stalked nearer.

She tried to dash from the room, but he caught her and pushed her against the wall. His large, calloused hand moved possessively on her stomach, then inched toward her breasts. His fingers burned right through the clothing she wore. Though fully covered, she felt naked under his heated gaze. “What do you want?”

He didn’t answer, just stared, as if he could see into her soul. In desperation, she struck out at him. He grabbed her wrists and pressed them against the wall over her head. “Doo nnldzid da,” he whispered against her mouth. His gaze shifted to her lips, and she trembled.

Warm breath fanned her cheek, and conflicting emotions surged inside her. What had he said? Was that Spanish? She tried to scream, but her voice betrayed her. She pinched her eyes closed, willing him to leave.

When his lips glided down her neck, an unexpected wave of longing washed over her, replacing her fear. Her weakness filled her with shame, but his touch was like molten fire. His tongue teased her sensitive flesh, and a primitive urge to melt against him tugged at her soul. Her eyes fluttered open. She didn’t see the blue-gray eyes of the man.

She saw the blue-gray feathers of the bird and bolted upright.

She fumbled for the lantern next to the bed. She was awake and in her room alone. Her body sagged in relief. “Only a dream.” Pain throbbed in her arm. She glanced down, and her breathing hitched at the sight of jagged scratches. Shudders raced up and down her spine. “How—?”

A screech from outside drew her attention. When she looked toward the open window, her heart fluttered, and then beat a frantic rhythm.

On the floor, lay a clump of thick, black hair and along with it...a hawk’s blue-gray feather.

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