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Wild
Temptation
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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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