Kitabı oku: «Big Sky Standoff», sayfa 3

Chapter Three

Jacklyn silently cursed Dillon Savage as she drove, glad she hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Wouldn’t he have loved that? It was bad enough she’d proved his point that everyone broke the law.

She couldn’t believe she’d let him get to her. Like right now. She knew damned well he wasn’t really sleeping. She’d bet every penny she had in the bank that he was over there smugly grinning to himself, pleased that he’d stirred her up. The man was impossible.

She tried to relax, but she couldn’t have been more tense if she’d had a convicted murderer sitting next to her instead of a cattle rustler. But then, she’d always figured Dillon Savage was only a trigger pull away from being a killer, anyway.

She could hear him breathing softly, and every once in a while caught a whiff of his all-male scent. With his eyes closed, she could almost convince herself this had been a good idea.

Desperate times required desperate measures. She had her bosses and a whole lot of angry cattlemen demanding that the rustlers be stopped. Because of her high success rate in the past—and the fact that she’d brought in the now legendary Dillon Savage—everyone expected her to catch this latest rustling ring.

She’d done everything she could think to do, from encouraging local law enforcement to check anyone moving herds late at night, to having workers at feedlots and sale barns watch for anyone suspicious selling cattle.

Not surprisingly, she’d met resistance when she’d tried to get the ranchers themselves to take measures to ward off the rustlers, such as locking gates, checking the backgrounds of seasonal employees and keeping a better eye on their stock.

But many of the ranches were huge, the cattle miles from the house. A lot of ranches were now run by absentee owners. Animals often weren’t checked for weeks, even months on end. By the time a rancher realized some of his herd was missing, the rustlers were long gone.

Everyone was angry and demanding something be done. But at this point, she wasn’t sure anyone could stop this band of rustlers. These guys were too good. Almost as good as Dillon Savage had been in his heyday.

And that was why she’d gotten him out of prison, she reminded herself as she turned on the radio, keeping the volume down just in case he really was sleeping. She liked him better asleep.

Lost in her own private thoughts, she drove toward Lewistown, Montana, to the sounds of country music on the radio and the hum of tires on the pavement. Ahead was nothing but trouble.

But the real trouble, she knew, was sitting right beside her.

DILLON STIRRED as she pulled up in front of the Yogo Inn in downtown Lewistown and parked the pickup.

He blinked at the motel sign, forgetting for a moment where he was. His body ached from the hours in the pickup, but he’d never felt better in his life.

Opening his door, he breathed in the evening air. A slight breeze rustled the leaves on the trees nearby. He stretched, watching Jack as she reached behind the seat for her small suitcase.

“I can get that,” he said.

“Just take care of your own,” she replied, without looking at him.

Inside the motel, Dillon felt like a kept man. He stood back as Jack registered and paid for their two adjoining reserved rooms, then asked about places in town that delivered food.

“What sounds good to you?” she asked him after she’d been given the keys, both of which she kept, and was rolling her small suitcase down the hallway.

She traveled light, too, it appeared. But then, he expected nothing less than efficiency from Jack.

“What sounds good to me?” He cocked a brow at her, thinking how long it had been.

“For dinner,” she snapped.

“Chinese.”

She seemed surprised. “I thought you’d want steak.”

“We had steak in prison. What we didn’t have was Chinese food. Unless you’d prefer something else.”

“No, Chinese will be fine,” she said as she opened the door to his room.

He looked in and couldn’t help but feel a small thrill. It had been years since he’d slept in a real bed. Past it, the bathroom door was open and he could see a bathtub. Amazing how he used to take something like a bathtub for granted.

“Is everything all right?” Jack asked.

He nodded, smiling. “Everything’s great.” He took a deep breath, surprised how little it took to make him feel overjoyed. “Would you mind if I have a bath before dinner? In fact, just order for me. Anything spicy.”

Her look said she should have known he’d want something spicy. “I’ll be right next door,” she said, as if she had to warn him.

The last thing on his mind was taking off. All he could think about was that bathtub—and the queen-size bed. Well, almost. He looked at Jack. Past her, down the hall, he spotted a vending machine.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

He grinned. “Do you have some change? I’d really like to get something out of the vending machine.”

She glanced behind her, then reached into her shoulder bag and handed him a couple of dollars.

“Thanks.” He looked down at the money in his hand. He hadn’t seen money for a while, either. He tossed his duffel bag into the room and strode down the hallway, knowing she was watching him. From the machine, he bought a soda and, just for the hell of it, a container of sea scent bubble bath.

She was still standing in the hallway, not even pretending she wasn’t keeping an eye on him.

“You’ll ruin my reputation if you tell anyone about this,” he said, only half joking as he lifted the package of bubble bath. “But when I saw that bathtub…We only had showers in prison,” he added when he saw her confusion.

“I hadn’t realized…”

“It’s scary enough in the showers,” he said with a shake of his head. “Can’t imagine being caught in a bathtub there.”

She ducked her head and put her key into the lock on her room door, as if not wanting to think about what went on in prison. “I’ll let you know when our dinner arrives.” She opened her door, but didn’t look at him. “Enjoy your bath.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I intend to.”

JACKLYN SWORE as she closed her room door. The last thing she wanted to do was imagine Dillon Savage lounging in a tubful of bubbles.

Bubble bath? Clearly, he didn’t worry about his masculinity. Not when he had it in spades. But she knew that hadn’t been his reason for buying the bubble bath. He’d wanted her imagining him in that tub.

She opened her suitcase and took out the small receiver terminal with the built-in global positioning system, turning it on just in case the bath had been a ruse. The steady beep confirmed that he was just next door. In fact, she could hear the water running on the other side of the adjoining door.

In the desk drawer, she found a menu for the local Chinese restaurant, and ordered a variety of items to be delivered, all but one spicy. It seemed easier than going out, since after they ate, she wanted to get right down to business.

With luck, she’d be ready when the rustlers struck again.

Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, not surprised that it was her boss again. “Wilde.”

“Is he there?”

“No. He’s in the adjoining room.”

“He’s probably using the motel room phone to call his friends and let them know where he is and what your plans are,” Stratton said, sounding irritated.

“The phone in his room is tapped,” she said. “If he makes a call, he’ll be back in prison tomorrow. But he isn’t going to call anyone and warn them. I haven’t told him anything.”

“Good. I didn’t want him to hear this,” Stratton said. “The rustlers hit another ranch. Bud Drummond’s.”

The Drummond ranch was to the north, almost to the Missouri River. Jacklyn swore under her breath. “When?”

“He’s not sure. He’d been out of town for a few days. When he got back, he rode fence and found where the rustlers had cut the barbed wire and gotten what he estimates was about twenty head.”

Less than usual. “Why didn’t they get more? Is it possible someone saw them?”

“Doubtful. It’s at the north end of his ranch, a stretch along the river,” Stratton said. “I told him you were going to be up that way tomorrow, anyway, so you’d stop by.”

It had rained the day before. Any tracks would be gone. She doubted there would be anything to find—just like usual.

“Savage giving you any trouble?” Stratton asked.

“No.” No trouble, unless you counted the psychological games he played. She had a mental flash of him in the tub, sea scent bubbles up to his neck. Exactly the image she knew Dillon had hoped she’d have when he’d bought the bubble bath.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you how clever he is or how long it took you to catch him the last time. Don’t underestimate him.”

She heard the water finally shut off next door. She checked the monitor. Dillon was exactly where he’d said he would be.

“Trust me,” she said, “I know only too well what Dillon Savage is capable of.”

TOM ROBINSON DISMOUNTED in the dry creek bottom and pulled out his handgun. He hadn’t realized how late it was. He was losing light. A horse whinnied somewhere above him on the hillside. He moved behind one of the large pines and listened, trying to determine if the horseback rider was moving.

He knew the man was still up there. This was the only cover for miles. At the very least he was trespassing. But Tom knew that, more than likely, the rider was one of the rustlers. Since the man was alone, maybe he was just checking out the ranch layout, finding the best access to the cattle in this section of pasture.

Tom had gotten only a glimpse of him, but that glimpse was more than anyone else had gotten of the rustlers. His heart began to pound at the thought of catching the man, being the one who brought down the rustling gang.

He had two options. He could wait for the intruder to break cover and try to make a run for it.

Or he could flush him out.

Leaving his horse, Tom worked his way up the steep incline, taking a more direct route on foot than the horseback rider had. Pebble-size stones rolled under his boots and cascaded down with every step he took.

Halfway up, he stopped, leaning against one of the large rocks to thumb off the safety on his weapon. His hands were shaking. It had crossed his mind belatedly that there might be more than one rider now on his spread. Maybe they’d planned to meet here in the trees. There could be others waiting in ambush at the top of the hill.

He considered turning back, but this was his land and he was determined to defend it and his livestock. He knew he had at least one man cornered. Once he broke from the shelter of trees, Tom would see him. With luck, he would be able to get off a shot. Unless the intruder was waiting for the cover of darkness.

This, Tom knew, was the point where the cops on television called for backup. But even if he’d had a cell phone, he wouldn’t have been able to get service out here. Nor could he wait for someone to arrive and help him even if he could call for assistance.

No, he was going to have to do this alone.

Would the man be armed? Tom could only assume so.

He was breathing hard, but his hands had steadied. He had no choice. He had to do this.

Climbing quickly upward, staying behind the cover of rocks and trees as best he could, Tom topped the hill, keeping low, the gun gripped in both hands.

He knew he couldn’t hesitate. Not even an instant. The moment he saw the rustler he would have to shoot. Shoot to kill if the individual was armed. He’d never killed a man. Today could change that.

As Tom Robinson moved through the trees at the edge of a small clearing, he heard a horse whinny off to his left, and spun in that direction, his finger on the trigger.

The moment he saw the animal, and the empty saddle, he realized the mistake he’d made. He spun back around and came face-to-face with the trespasser. Shocked both by who it was and by the tree limb in the man’s hands, Tom hesitated an instant too long before pulling the trigger.

The shot boomed among the trees, echoing over the rocks, the misguided bullet burying itself in the bark of a pine off to the trespasser’s left.

It happened so fast, Tom didn’t even realize he’d fired. He barely felt the blow to his head as the man swung the thick limb like a baseball bat. Instead, Tom just heard a sickening thud as the limb struck his temple, felt his knees give out under him and watched in an odd fascination as the dried needles on the ground came up to meet his face, just before everything went black.

JACKLYN WILDE STARTED at the sound of a knock on the hall door to her motel room. “Delivery.”

She sat up in confusion, horrified to realize that she’d dozed off. After the phone call from Stratton, she’d lain down for only a minute, but must have fallen asleep.

She rushed to the receiver terminal, half expecting to see that Dillon was no longer in his room.

But the steady beep assured her he was right next door. Or at least his tracking device was.

She thought about knocking on his door to check, using the food as an excuse. But instead she went to tip the deliveryman, closing her door behind him.

As she placed the Chinese food sacks on the table in the corner of her room, she heard a soft tap on the door between their rooms.

“Dinner’s here,” she called in response. Unconsciously, she braced herself as he stepped into her room.

His hair was wet and curled at his neck, his face flushed from his bath, and he smelled better than sweet and sour shrimp any day of the week. On top of that, he looked so happy and excited that anyone with a heart would have felt something as he made a beeline for the food.

She knew she was considered cold and heartless with no feelings, especially the female kind. It made it easier in her line of work to let everyone think that.

But how could she not be moved to see Dillon like a kid in a candy store as he opened each of the little white boxes, making delighted sounds and breathing in the scent of each, all the time flashing that grin of his?

“I can’t believe this. I think you got all my favorites,” he said, turning that grin on her. “You must have read my mind.” The look in his eyes softened, taking all the air from the room.

She turned away and pretended to look in her suitcase for something.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat while it’s hot. Work can wait. Can’t it?”

She pulled out the map she’d planned to show him later, and glanced toward the small table in the corner and Dillon. “Go ahead and start.”

He shook his head. “My mother taught better than that.”

Reluctantly, she joined him as he began to dish up the rice. “I just want a little sweet and sour shrimp.”

He looked up. “You can’t be serious. Who’s going to eat all this?”

She couldn’t help her smile. “I figured you would. You did say you’ve been starved for Chinese food.”

His grateful expression was almost her undoing—and his subsequent vulnerability as well. He ducked his head as if overcome with emotions he didn’t want her to see, and spooned sweet and sour shrimp onto a plate for her.

She made a job of putting the map on the chair beside her, giving him a moment. Maybe she’d underestimated what four years in prison had done to him. Or what it must be like for him to be out.

When she looked up, however, there was no sign of anything on his face except a brilliant smile as he dished up his own plate. She warned herself not to be taken in by any of his antics as she took a bite of her meal and watched him do the same.

He closed his eyes and moaned softly. She tried to ignore him as she pretended to study the map on the chair next to her while she nibbled her food.

“You have to try this.”

Before she could react, he reached across the table and shoved a forkful of something at her. Instinctively, she opened her mouth.

“Isn’t that amazing?” he asked as he intently watched her chew.

It was amazing. Spicy, but not too hot. “Which one is that?” she asked, just to break the tense quiet in the room as he stared at her.

“Orange-peel beef.” He was already putting some on her plate. “And wait until you try this.” He started toward her with another forkful.

She held up her hand, more than aware of how intimate it was to be fed by a man. She was sure Dillon Savage was aware of it, too. “Really, I—” But the fork had touched her lips and her mouth opened again.

As he dragged the fork away slowly, she felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the spicy food.

She met his gaze and felt a chill run the length of her spine. The smile on his lips, the teasing tilt of his head, couldn’t hide what was deep in those pale blue eyes.

She had forgotten that she’d been the one to put him behind bars, but clearly, Dillon Savage had not.

Chapter Four

Dillon stared into Jack’s gray eyes. For a moment there he’d been enjoying himself, so much that he’d forgotten who she was: the woman who’d sent him to prison. His mood turned sour in an instant.

He dragged his gaze away, but not before she’d seen the change in him. Seen his true feelings.

She shoved her plate aside, her appetite apparently gone, and spread the map out on the table like a barrier between them. “We need to get to work, so as soon as you’ve finished eating…”

He ate quickly, but his enjoyment of foods he’d missed so much was gone. He told himself it was better this way. Jack had to be aware of how he felt about her. She would have been a fool not to, and this woman was no fool.

But he doubted she knew the extent of his feelings. Or how he’d amused himself those many hours alone in his bunk. He’d plotted his revenge. Not that he planned to act on it, he’d told himself. It had just been something to do. Because he would need to do something about the person who’d betrayed him. And while he was at it, why not do something about Jack?

Only he would have to be careful around her. More careful than he’d been so far.

Food forgotten, he shoved the containers aside and stood to lean over the map. But his attention was on Jack. He could tell she was still a little shaken, and wanted to reassure her that he was no longer a man driven by vengeance. No easy task, given that he didn’t believe it himself.

But that wasn’t what bothered him as he pretended to study the map. As a student of human nature, he couldn’t help but wonder why, when he’d been so careful to mask his feelings for years, he had let that mask slip—even for an instant—around the one woman who controlled his freedom.

Jacklyn watched his eyes. They were a pale blue, with tiny specks of gold. Eyes that gave away too much, including the fact that behind all that blue was a brain as sharp as any she’d run across. And that made him dangerous, even beyond whatever grudges he still carried.

On the map, she’d marked with a small red x each ranch that had lost cattle. Next to it, she’d put down the number of livestock stolen and the estimated value.

Some of the cattle had been taken in broad daylight, others under the cover of night. The randomness of the hits had made it impossible to catch the rustlers—that and the fact that they worked a two-hundred-mile area, moved fast and left no evidence behind.

Dillon had been leaning over the table, but now sat back and raked a hand through his still-wet hair.

“Something wrong?” she asked. Clearly, there was. She could see that he was upset. If he was the leader of the rustlers, as she suspected, none of this would come as a surprise to him. Unless, of course, his partners in crime had hit more ranches than he was aware of. Had they been cheating him? What if they’d been double-crossing him? She could only hope.

She reminded herself that there was the remote chance Dillon Savage wasn’t involved, which meant whoever was leading this band of rustlers was as clever as he had been. Another reason Dillon might have looked upset?

“Just an interesting pattern,” he said.

She nodded. She’d been afraid he was going to start lying to her right off the bat. “Interesting how?”

He gave her a look that said she knew as well as he did. “By omission.”

“Yes,” she agreed, relieved he hadn’t tried to con her. “It appears they are saving the biggest ranch for last.”

He smiled at that. “You really think they’re ever going to stop, when things are going so well for them?”

No. That was her fear. Some of the smaller ranchers were close to going broke. The rustlers had taken a lot of unbranded calves this spring. Based on market value, the animals had been worth about a thousand dollars a head, a loss that was crippling the smaller ranches, some of which had been hit more than once.

Worse, the rustlers were showing no sign of letting up. She’d hoped they would get cocky, mess up, but they were apparently too good for that.

“What do you think?” she asked, motioning to the map.

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m more interested in what you think.”

She scowled at him.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” he contended. “I’m just curious as to your take on this. After all, if we’re going to be working together…”

She fought the urge to dig in her heels. But he was right. She’d gotten him out of prison to help her catch the rustlers. It was going to require some give and take. But at the same time, if he was the leader…

“I think they’re going to make a big hit on Shade Waters’s W Bar Ranch. It’s the largest spread in the area and the rustlers have already hit ranches around him for miles, but not touched his.”

Dillon lifted a brow.

“What?”

“I suspect that’s exactly what they want you to think,” he said.

She had to bite her tongue. Damn him and his arrogance. “You have a better suggestion as to where they’ll go next?”

He leaned forward to study the map again. After a long moment, he said, “Not a clue.”

She swore under her breath and glared at him.

“If you’re asking me what the rustlers will do next, I have no idea,” he said, raising both hands in surrender.

“What would you do?” she snapped.

Dillon shrugged, pretty sure now he knew why Jack had gotten him out of prison. “Like I told you back at the prison weeks ago, I’m not sure how I can help you find these guys.”

He saw that she didn’t believe that. “Look, it’s clear that they are very organized. No fly-by-night bunch. They move fast and efficiently. They know what they’re doing, where they’re going to go next.”

“So?” she asked.

“If you think I can predict their movements, then you wasted your time and your money getting me an early release. You might as well drive me back to prison right now.”

“Don’t tempt me. You said you think they want me to assume they’re going to hit Waters’s ranch. What does that mean?”

“They wouldn’t be that obvious. Sorry, but isn’t the reason this bunch has been so hard to catch the fact that they don’t do what you expect them to? That gives them the upper hand.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Savage.”

He sighed and looked at the map again. “Are these the number of cattle stolen per ranch?” he asked, pointing to the notations she’d made beside the red x’s.

She gave him an exasperated look, her jaw still tight.

He could see why she thought the ring would be looking for a big score. The rustlers were being cautious, taking only about fifty head at a time, mostly not-yet-branded calves that would be hard to trace. Smart, but not where the big money was.

Jacklyn got up from the table as if too nervous to sit still, and started clearing up their dinner.

“It’s not about the money,” he said to her back.

She turned as she tossed an empty Chinese food box into the trash. “Stop trying to con me.”

“I’m not. You’re looking at this rationally. Rustling isn’t always rational—at least the motive behind it isn’t. Hell, there are a lot of better ways to make a living.”

“I thought you said it was simple math, quick bucks, little risk,” she said, an edge to her voice.

So she had been listening. “Yeah, but it’s too hit-or-miss. With a real job you get to wear a better wardrobe, have nicer living conditions. Not to mention a 401 K salary, vacation and sick pay, plus hardly anyone ever shoots at you.”

“Your point?” she said, obviously not appreciating his sense of humor.

She started to scoop up the map, but he grabbed her hand, more to get her attention than to stop her. He could feel her pulse hammering against the pad of his thumb, which he moved slowly in a circle across the warm flesh. His heart kicked up a beat as her eyes met his.

What the hell was he doing? He let go and she pulled back, her gaze locked with his, a clear warning in all that gunmetal-gray.

“All I’m saying is that you have to think like they think,” he said.

She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

“The only way I can do that is if I know what they really want,” he said.

“They want cattle.”

He laughed. “No. Trust me, it’s not about cattle. It’s always about the end result. The cattle are just a means to an end. What we need to know is what they’re getting out of this. It isn’t the money. They aren’t making enough for it to be about money. So what do they really want?”

“The money will come from a big score. Waters’s W Bar Ranch.”

“After they’ve telegraphed what they are going to do so clearly that it’s what you’re expecting?” He snorted. “No, they have something else in mind.”

She shook her head as if he was talking in riddles. “I won’t know what they want until I catch them.”

He grinned. “Catching them is one thing. Finding out who they are is another.”

She was glaring at him again.

“You’ve been trying to catch an unnamed ring of cattle rustlers,” he said patiently. “What do these men do when they aren’t rustling cattle? You can bet they work on these ranches,” he said, pointing at the map.

She sat back down very slowly. He could tell she was trying to control her temper. She thought he was messing with her.

“Look,” he said softly. “You already know a lot about these guys.” He ticked items off on his fingers. “One, someone smart is running this operation. That’s why these characters seem to know what they’re doing and why they haven’t made any mistakes. Two, they know the country.” He nodded. “We’re talking some inside jobs here. They know not only where to find the cattle, but which ones to take and when. They either work on the ranches or have a connection of some kind.”

She crossed her arms, scowling but listening.

“Three, they’re cowboys. They’re too good at working with cattle not to be, and they’ve used horses for most of their raids. I’ll bet you these guys can ride better at midnight on a moonless night in rough terrain than most men can ride in a corral in broad daylight.”

She actually smiled at that.

He smiled back, then asked, “What’s so humorous?”

“You. You just described yourself,” she said, her gaze locking with his. “We’re looking for someone just like you. How about that.”

WHEN THE CALL CAME hours later, Jacklyn was in the middle of a nightmare. She jerked awake, dragging the bad dream into the room with her as she fumbled for her cell phone beside the bed.

“Tom Robinson’s in the hospital,” Stratton said without preamble. “He’s unconscious. The doctors aren’t sure he’s going to make it.”

Jacklyn fought to wake up, to make sense of what he was saying and what this had to do with her. Although she couldn’t remember any specifics of the nightmare, she knew it had been about the leader of the rustling ring. He’d been trying to kill her, stalking her among some trees. She could still feel him out there, feel the danger, the fear, sense him so close that if she looked over her shoulder… It had been Dillon, hadn’t it?

“It seems like he might have stumbled across the rustlers,” Stratton said. “His hired hand found him near a spot where someone had cut the fence.”

She glanced at the clock next to the bed. It was just after midnight.

“Are you there?” Stratton asked irritably. Like her, he’d obviously been awakened by the call about Tom. “When Tom didn’t return home for dinner, his hired hand tracked him down, and got him to the hospital. You know what this means, don’t you?”

Jacklyn threw off the covers and sat up, trying to throw off the remnants of the dream and the chilling terror that still had her in its grip, too. Snapping on the light beside the bed, she asked, “Did they get any cattle?”

“No. He must have scared the rustlers away.”

More awake, she said, “You told everyone to stay out of the area, right? To wait until I got there before they fix the fence?”

“Sheriff McCray already went out to the scene tonight.”

She swore under her breath.

“I told Robinson’s hired man that you’d be there first thing in the morning. The rustlers have moved up a level on the criminal ladder. If Tom dies, they’ve gone from rustling to murder.” With that he hung up.

She closed her cell phone and, bleary-eyed, glanced again at the clock, then at the monitor. She’d turned it down so there was no steady beep indicating where Dillon Savage was at the moment.

But she could see that he was in the room next door. Probably sleeping like a baby, without a care in the world.

With both a real nightmare and a bad dream hanging over her, she fought the urge to wake him up and ruin his sleep, just as hers had been. She wondered what Dillon Savage’s reaction would be to the news.

She turned out the light and crawled back under the covers, even though she doubted she’d get back to sleep. Silently, she prayed that Tom Robinson would regain consciousness and be able to identify his assailants.

The rustlers had messed up this time. They’d been seen. It was their first mistake.