Wyoming Woman (10 page)

As for her brothers and what she had discovered, there could be only one answer. Family was family. Whatever they might have done, she would protect them. To keep them safe, she would lie, cheat, steal, fight, whatever was needed. And she would start by placing Luke Vincente squarely where he belonged—in the camp of the enemy.

 

Luke stood over the fresh mound of earth that covered the coffin of his friend. The two boys had gone their separate ways to finish the chores, Sebastian taking refuge in his god, and Ignacio taking refuge in his anger. But two of the four dogs remained to mourn their master, their sharp muzzles resting on their paws, their intelligent eyes deep, golden wells of sadness.

The service had been an awkward affair, with Luke struggling to speak words of consolation in Spanish that was barely adequate for working with sheep. Sebastian had fingered his rosary beads and muttered a prayer in what Luke guessed to be Latin. Ignacio had wept, cursing under his breath and glaring at the ground. When the words were finished, the three of them had shoveled the dirt into the grave and marked it with the simple cross that Sebastian had carved while his father lay dying.

All in all, it had been a miserable excuse for a funeral—a pathetic farewell to the gentlest and wisest man Luke had ever known.

Now he had a promise to keep.

Turning away from the grave, Luke stood for a moment gazing south along the mountains, in the direction Rachel had gone. It had only taken him a few minutes, at first light, to follow the prints of her narrow little boots across the muddy yard to where they disappeared amid the clumps of sage and rabbit brush. There had been no time to trail her farther, and no need. His little captive bird had fled home, and he would bet money she knew the way, even in the dark.

All the same, if it had not been for the burial, he would have gone after her. Rachel's water-damaged kidskin boots had been on the verge of falling apart, exposing her tender feet to rocks, stickers and worse. He could have offered her a ride, saving her a long, painful walk and giving them a chance to talk before he let her off a safe distance from the Tolliver ranch house.

But never mind, Luke thought irritably. It had been her choice to leave in the night. If the high and mighty Miss Tolliver had paid for her impulsiveness with cut, blistered feet, that was her problem.

But why had she gone? That was the question that pricked him like a burr. He had promised her the loan of a horse if she waited until morning. Had it been that explosive, startling kiss? Had she feared he would storm the locked bedroom and demand to take up where they'd left off?

Luke rejected that possibility out of hand. Rachel was no innocent. She had known exactly what she was doing when her honeyed lips had blocked his
questions. She had kissed him with the sureness of an accomplished flirt. And he had returned the kiss with the intent of showing the little minx that he knew her game, and that this time she'd taken on more than even she could handle.

He had felt her stiffen with surprise. Then…Lord, what had happened? It was as if everything had spun out of control, and all he could think about was how much he wanted her. Her response had triggered a surge of molten heat that had flooded his loins, building to a pressure so exquisite that he'd feared he might burst if he held her too closely.

Had he pulled away or had she? Luke couldn't remember. But the sting of her slap still burned on his cheek. Even the slap, he recalled, had sent a jolt of wildfire streaking through his veins.

He would be crazy to go near her again, or even to remember how she'd melted like hot honey in his arms, Luke berated himself. If he was so all-fired woman-hungry, there was a house in Sheridan where he could put down his money, slake his lust and leave without regret. But he knew it wouldn't do him any good. Such experiences, the few he'd tried, only left him with a bitter, hollow ache in his gut.

And his business with Rachel Tolliver had nothing to do with finding a way between those lovely legs of hers. Rachel was his only key to finding Miguel's murderers. Last night he had pressed her for answers, and she had responded with evasive tactics that only a desperate woman would try. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that she was
protecting someone close to her. Someone she would rather die for than betray.

So how to get at the truth? Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Luke scowled at the cloudy horizon. Right now, short of kidnapping Rachel and holding her hostage, his only recourse was to wait. Sooner or later the raiders would make another move against his sheep, against his herders, against him. If he could stay a step ahead of them, he might at least be able to protect the sheep and Miguel's precious sons while he ferreted out the bastards who had beaten the old man.

But he couldn't be everywhere at once, Luke realized. He had to have some idea of what to expect, and that was where Rachel came in. If he could persuade her that there was no disloyalty in keeping her loved ones out of trouble—

But what was he thinking? Rachel would not even see him again, let alone listen to reason. She was as much his enemy as the four cowboys that had nearly run his herd over the cliff.

What he had sworn to do, he would do alone, Luke vowed. He would trust no one, depend on no one. And anyone who got in his way, including Rachel Tolliver, had damned well better be ready to pay the consequences.

Pressing his mouth into a thin, hard line, he turned away from the grave and walked back toward the sheds. He had a thousand sheep to shear, and one fire haired devil of a woman to forget.

 

On the morning of her third day home, Rachel was able to work her feet into her beloved old boots. Walking downstairs in them sent tingles of pain up her legs, but never mind that. She would be able to ride with her brothers now, the three of them flying across the open range, laughing as they raced coyotes, jackrabbits and each other. It would be just like old times.

But nothing could be like old times—that reality slammed home as Rachel walked into the dining room and saw Slade lounging at the table with her brothers.

There was no one else at breakfast. Rachel remembered now that her parents had planned to leave early for Sheridan, Morgan to settle with the livery stable for the mule and wagon, Cassandra to pick up some needed supplies and enjoy the time with her husband. Even after more than two decades together, the two of them seemed to share a private world that no one, not even their children, could invade. Rachel had often wondered what it would be like to know such a deep, intimate connection to another person. She could not imagine how it would feel, let alone that it would ever happen to her.

“I told Bart you were home, Miz Rachel,” Slade drawled in his lazy voice. “He perked up right smart at that news. Him and Uncle Lem plan to come by for a visit this afternoon.”

The announcement caught Rachel off guard. “But my parents won't be here!” she protested. “They'll be making the trip for nothing.”

Slade grinned. “Bart won't. It's you he wants to
see, not your folks. And Uncle Lem's just coming along so things will look proper.”

Masking her surprise, Rachel pulled out a chair, sat down at the foot of the table and made a show of spearing two hot flapjacks from a platter. From what Slade had just said, it almost sounded as if Bart Carmody meant to court her!

Three years ago, she would have given her soul to have Bart pay attention to her. His lack of interest, in fact, had tilted the balance in favor of her going away to school. Now, however, her first reaction to Slade's news was,
Why today?
Why did Bart have to show up when everything was such a confused mess? At a quieter time she would have welcomed him. She would have been flattered by his wanting her company, happy to renew their friendship and intrigued by what the future might hold. But
now?

“Rachel, don't you think you have enough syrup?” Josh's amused voice startled her out of her musings, and Rachel realized she had picked up the glass pitcher and poured nearly a pint of maple syrup onto her flapjacks. Her plate was a messy brown pool, with sticky little rivulets trickling over the edge and onto the white tablecloth.

Slade guffawed. “I'd say your mind was someplace else, Miz Rachel. Like on my cousin, maybe.”

Rachel shot him a glare. “Actually my mind was on going for a ride with my brothers this morning, and then maybe having a picnic lunch by the reservoir.” She glanced at the twins. “Are you up for that? I can ask Thomas to pack the basket.”

Jacob and Josh glanced uneasily at each other, then at Slade. Clearly they had made other plans, plans that did not include her. Maybe it was time she found out what those plans were.

“It's such a beautiful day,” she persisted. “And I so wanted my first ride to be with the two of you, just like old times. Slade is welcome, of course, if he wants to come along with us.”

Rachel forced a smile as she lied through her teeth. Slade's presence had already soured her morning. But she needed to know more about the young man and understand his influence over her brothers. How else could she fight against him?

Jacob cleared his throat. “Dad wants us to clear the lower fence and mend the broken places. Even with Slade helping, that will take us most of the morning. After that, Slade told his Uncle Lem that we'd ride out along the north range and check bait.”

“Check bait.” Rachel's distaste showed in her voice. She never had liked the idea of killing off coyotes by scattering strychnine-laced rabbit carcasses over their range. The coyotes who took the bait died in horrible agony, and the rabbits were also eaten by eagles, hawks, ravens and foxes, which suffered the same fate. Morgan Tolliver, no lover of coyotes himself, hated the practice and always used a rifle to kill predators that threatened his calves. Other ranchers, however, did not share the same view, and setting out poisoned bait was common, especially since the Cattlemen's Association had put a generous bounty on coyote tails. Many a young rancher's son had earned
pocket money by revisiting a baited area, collecting the tails of dead animals and taking them to town for the reward.

“Checkin' bait's no sport for a lady, Miz Rachel,” Slade drawled. “I daresay you wouldn't enjoy it much.”

Ignoring him, Rachel glared at her brothers. “Dad won't be happy about your going,” she said sternly.

“He won't know about it,” Jacob said. “Not unless you tattle on us.”

“Please, Rachel.” Josh fixed her with what she'd always thought of as his puppy-dog expression. “It's Mom's birthday next week. We want to get her something nice.”

“We saw a necklace and some earrings in town,” Jacob chimed in. “They're real silver, with shiny blue stones, the same color as Mom's eyes. But the necklace and earrings together cost fifty-two dollars, and we don't have anywhere near enough money.”

“Fifty-two dollars!” The story sounded fishy to Rachel, but she decided to play along. “At fifty cents each, that's more coyote tails than you'll find in a month!”

“Not if we get lucky,” Jacob said.

“Get lucky? What are you talking about?” Rachel's eyes narrowed as she saw Josh give his brother a cautionary nudge. But it was Slade who answered her question.

“It's Uncle Lem who's offering to pay the bounty,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Fifty cents for a coyote. Fifty dollars for one of those black-and-white sheepdogs.”

R
achel strained forward in the saddle, her hands clutching the reins as the galloping bay leaped a wash and thundered through the scrub. The hot spring wind raked her hair, reddened her eyes and sucked the moisture from her skin. Her body, unaccustomed to the punishment of long rides, screamed for rest and shade. But a sense of urgency drove her on.

She should have been running
away
from Luke Vincente, not toward him, Rachel thought. He was the enemy, hated by her family and neighbors. Their last encounter had left her shamed and seething. Every shred of common sense she possessed told her to keep her distance from the man. But the thought of those graceful, intelligent dogs falling prey to a hideous death was more than she could stand. She had to warn Luke before something terrible happened.

What had possessed her brothers to become involved in such a scheme? Jacob and Josh had always loved animals. But they were young and impression
able, easy game for the older, more experienced Slade.

Rachel remembered an incident from her childhood—a gang of dogs that had run wild at night, attacking young calves, pulling them down wolf pack fashion and slashing them to death, not to feed on them but for the mere pleasure of killing. When the marauders were finally rounded up and shot, they were found to be ranch dogs and pets, friendly and docile at home but reverting to savagery when roused by their pack mates. It made sense that what was true of animals could also be true of people.

But she could not let herself believe that. Jacob and Josh were good boys. They'd been raised by good parents and taught right from wrong. It was the circumstances that had thrown everything into confusion—the idea that cruel acts were justified as long as they were committed against an enemy. It was the same idea that had triggered massacres, purges and pogroms from the beginning of history.

Slade was no fool. Neither was Lem Carmody. They had used that same logic to manipulate her innocent young brothers into joining their war.

The war against Luke Vincente.

Rachel's spirits quailed as she crested the last hill and saw the sprawl of buildings and sheep pens that marked Luke's ranch. Would he welcome her as a friend? Would he make angry demands, or would she be met with a wall of cold silence?

She hesitated on the hilltop, resting the horse and fighting her own fears. Luke's feelings toward her
didn't matter, she told herself, urging the horse forward. She had come to warn him about the danger to his dogs, nothing more. She would deliver her message and go. After that, if she was smart, she would never set eyes on him again.

As Rachel neared the ranch, she could make out the gray-white clusters of sheep milling in the pens. She remembered now that Luke had brought in the herds for shearing. She could only hope the dogs would be there, too, safe from harm.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw two of the dogs on the porch. A third, the big, shaggy mongrel, came racing around the house to bark at her as she rode into the yard. Alerted by the noise, Luke emerged from the shearing shed.

Rachel's heart contracted as she saw him. He was stripped to the waist, his sinewy bronze body gleaming with sweat. His eyes glared at her from behind a tangle of black hair that had tumbled over his forehead. His hands gripped a rifle, one finger resting on the trigger.

He lowered the gun as he recognized Rachel. But the wariness did not leave his coffee-colored eyes.

“Hello, Luke,” she said, forcing herself to meet his stormy gaze. “You don't look very glad to see me.”

“What are you doing here, Rachel?” His voice was flat and cold.

“I—” She cleared her dry throat. “I came to help you.”

He muttered something under his breath. “Last
time you were here, I asked for your help. You answered me by running off in the night. Why should I believe things are any different now?”

His manner roused a spark of irritation in her. “All right,” she snapped. “I didn't come to help you. I only came to warn you. I'll speak my piece and go.”

He watched her in distrustful silence, waiting.

“Lem Carmody has put out a bounty on your dogs,” she said. “He's setting out coyote bait where you run your sheep, and he's offering a fifty-dollar reward to anybody who brings in a dead sheepdog.”

Luke's expression did not change. His eyes drilled into her, probing for the truth. It took all her strength of will to keep from turning the horse and riding away.

“Is that all you came for?” His question dripped innuendo.

Her cheeks blazed as the implication sank home. She felt the heat, the sudden tightening in her loins as his darkly insolent gaze swept over her. The awareness that he could arouse her like this, with the merest look, only heightened her fury.

“If you think I'd so much as come near you, you conceited, presumptuous, arrogant—” she sputtered, then broke off as she saw the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The insufferable man was toying with her. She had played right into his hands, and now he was laughing.

Rachel glared down at him, relief diluting her outrage. Some of Luke's anger, at least, had been for show. But that didn't mean she should stay and accept
his insulting behavior. Mustering her dignity, she straightened in the saddle. “I've spoken my piece, and now I'll be going,” she said. “The only reason I came here was to make sure your dogs were safe. You can take my warning for whatever you think it's worth.”

Without waiting for his reply, she swung the horse around and nudged it to a trot.

“Rachel.”

She had almost reached the gate when his voice stopped her. She reined in the horse and twisted in the saddle, looking back at him over her shoulder.

He was standing where she had left him, arms folded, sunlight glinting on his bare torso. “Thank you,” he said. “I'm sorry if I was touchy. It's been a rough three days, and your leaving didn't make things any easier.”

Rachel hesitated, torn by her own pride. If Luke was waiting for her to apologize in return, he could wait till doomsday. She owed him nothing. “I only came about the dogs,” she said. “The rest is over and done with.”

“Then you may have come for nothing.” His voice and gaze held her captive. “I didn't know about the bounty, but I'm not surprised. The ranchers know we need the dogs to run sheep. But poisoned bait's always been a danger, so the dogs are trained not to touch carrion on the range. Traps and guns are even more of a worry because there's no protection against them. All we can do is try to keep the dogs in sight.”

Rachel glanced toward the house, where two of the
sheepdogs lay on the porch, their pink tongues lolling in the heat. The third dog, the one that had barked at her, crouched a few paces from Luke's side, still eyeing her warily.

“Don't you have four dogs?” she asked.

“We do.” He gave a low whistle, and waited with Rachel for the missing animal to come bounding around the corner of the house. When nothing happened, he whistled again. The other three dogs lifted their heads and pricked up their ears, but there was no sign of the fourth.

“Shep always stays close by, and he always comes to that whistle.” Luke's expression had darkened. Hesitating only for an instant, he turned and strode toward the barn where the horses were kept.

“I'll help you look for him,” Rachel said. “Two sets of eyes will be better than one.”

When he did not reply, she chose to take his silence as consent. By the time he emerged, minutes later, mounted on the rangy buckskin, she had watered her horse and was waiting for him at the gate.

The surly dog that had barked at Rachel came at Luke's whistle and fell into step alongside his horse. At a terse command from Luke, it raced ahead, its sharp nose searching the ground.

“Do we just follow him?” Rachel asked.

“Dan's the best tracker of the four. If he can't find Shep—” Luke's words ended in a shrug. He was a man of few words, but Rachel felt his deep attachment to all of the dogs. They had been truer to him, she sensed, than most of the humans in his life.

As they rode, she found herself casting sidelong glances at his craggy profile. She had spent hours alone with this very private man, had known his arms and felt the raw hunger in his kiss. Yet he remained very much a stranger to her.

She burned to pry into his past, to ask him about his time in prison and the story behind the desperate act that had put him there. But then, she wasn't supposed to know about his conviction for killing a man. She had heard that story from her mother, who had heard it from Lem Carmody. To bring it up now would only put Luke on the defensive and heighten his distrust.

“Are you ready to tell me why you left?” His abrupt question jolted her, throwing her off balance.

“I think you know why,” Rachel shot back the first retort that came into her head.

“All I can come up with is a couple of good guesses,” he said, keeping his eye on the dog. “Either you didn't trust yourself to spend the night in the house alone with me, or you didn't want to answer any more questions.”

“Maybe you were the one I didn't trust.” Rachel was not fooling him, and she knew it. “I shouldn't have come here, Luke,” she said. “There's a war on. You and I are on different sides, and whatever you might think, I don't owe you a thing. You have no right to demand anything from me, not even an explanation.”

His hand flashed out and seized her wrist in a grip that was like an iron manacle. “A good man has died
because of your so-called war. He died because he was working for me, and I owe it to his sons to find the murderers who beat him to death. If you know something, Rachel, if there's someone you're protecting—”

“No!” She jerked so abruptly that her horse shied, but Luke did not let her go. “I'll tell you the truth,” she said. “Out there on the range, when those cowboys chased your sheep, I thought I recognized someone. Who it was doesn't matter, because there's no evidence to connect any of them to your friend's murder. There are plenty of people who want you and your sheep gone, Luke. That doesn't make them killers.”

He stopped the horses, letting the dog go its way for the moment. “How much do you know, Rachel? Damn it, you're my only lead, my only hope—”

“Then you have no hope at all,” Rachel said. “I don't know anything about what happened the night Miguel was beaten. I don't
want
to know.”

“But if you hear something, see something—for the sake of decency, Rachel—” His fingers tightened around her wrist.

“No!”
She twisted away, but he maintained his firm grip. “Don't you see? I can't help you. I can't take your side in this, Luke. When I leave here today, I don't intend to ever see you again. It has to be that way, or—”

The dog's frantic barking exploded from the direction of a sandy, scrub-filled wash that broke their path fifty yards ahead. Releasing her wrist, Luke spurred
his horse in the direction of the sound. Rachel followed, even though her common sense told her that now would be the time to wheel her mount and ride for home. With trouble on his hands, Luke would not follow her. She could get away clean, and she would never have to face him again.

But she was already riding fast behind him. Dry juniper limbs lashed her face as the horse plunged down the side of the wash. Ahead of her, Luke had jerked his mount to a halt and flung himself out of the saddle. She could hear his curses mingled with the dog's plaintive, whining barks.

Tossing the bay's reins over a cedar limb, she leaped to the ground. Through the brush she could see the black outline of the dog, digging furiously at a fan of fresh earth at the side of the wash. Luke had dropped to his knees and was digging, too, clawing at the dirt with his bare hands.

“What happened?” Rachel flung herself down beside him.

“Some kind of cave-in,” he muttered. “Don't know what caused it, but Shep's under here somewhere. I saw his tracks leading up to this spot.”

“Do you think he's alive?”

Luke's only answer was a grim tightening of his mouth.

Rachel seized a flat slab of rock and used it to scrape at the loose earth. The big black-and-tan dog, no longer growling at her, sent up showers of dirt and rocks as they worked side by side. Bits of earth coated Rachel's hair, face and clothes. She was barely aware
of them as she dug frantically to reach whatever lay beneath the caved-in bank.

Beside her, Luke labored in grim silence. She knew he was steeling himself for what he might find beneath the rubble, and she ached for him. The dogs were invaluable to the work of herding, and despite his gruff manner toward the diminutive black-and-white collies, Rachel could sense Luke's deep attachment to them. Finding one of them dead would be one more blow to a man whose soul was already bruised and bleeding.

What were the odds they would find the dog alive? Perilously slim, Rachel realized. They had been digging for a good ten minutes, but were barely halfway through the debris. And, aside from the fact that the loose earth was still damp, there was no way of knowing how many minutes the dog had been trapped before their arrival. Rachel scooped faster, harder. Perspiration trickled between her breasts as she battled the nameless dread that had settled over her spirit. Finding the collie's body, she knew, would break Luke's heart.

A yip from the big black dog shattered her musings. He was digging with renewed energy, his ears pricked forward, his dark muzzle coated with dirt. Little whining noises rose from his throat as he zeroed in on one spot and pawed like a demon.

“He can hear something—oh, Luke!” Rachel abandoned her scraping and plunged in beside the dog. Heedless of broken nails and raw fingers, she clawed at the earth, widening, deepening the hole.

“Careful.” Luke caught her arm and jerked her back against him. “He could be trapped in what's left of the hole. We don't want to cave it in on him. Let Dan find him.”