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Branded Hearts
Diana Hall


KIT O'SHANE WOULD NEVER SURRENDER Her quest for justice came before any chance at love, even if that chance was with rancher Garret Blaine, a man she wanted with a wildfire intensity that rivaled the desert sun!GARRET BLAINE HAD MET HIS MATCHWhen Kit O'Shane rode onto his ranch and proved she could bust a bronc as well as any man, Garret knew he was lost. She'd stolen his heart like a thief in the night, and now that she had it… he was never going to let her go.









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u4ceddf8e-0349-5921-a9b7-c50dca7b33b7)

Excerpt (#u63710252-fe97-5d24-b64d-1beb6296f015)

Dear Reader (#u5466e083-9e9d-5c84-a77c-9de5106d4ba1)

Title Page (#ub49ee725-db2a-5177-908a-aad35bb7dfe6)

About the Author (#u808b2e21-2e17-564d-933c-5992e3d3f4f7)

Dedication (#uad950b7a-dace-5d75-ae92-133dee1e8a3c)

Prologue (#ubc63385c-4c53-55d1-8319-9c4938a7f23f)

Chapter One (#ua6e823f6-d8a8-59ac-93f2-89ff98405939)

Chapter Two (#u98361b84-1b40-5c45-9587-7f39c5c0f604)

Chapter Three (#uafb17967-ffc1-53e5-9fb5-99ca8b923c7d)

Chapter Four (#u8e284b37-c03d-59c2-ad83-26db07d8d8ec)

Chapter Five (#ud5a585dc-527f-51f8-ac5b-4e025b0f30b8)

Chapter Six (#ua83e12a8-2652-5e9f-8c9e-862d369a5805)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“Does your fiancée know you make a habit of kissing other women?”


“Not other women.” He folded his arms. The material of his shirt strained across the expanse of his chest. “Just you.”



“And what does that mean? I don’t count?” Silence answered her question. The realization cut her to the quick. “You don’t think I’m worth much, do you?”



“Abigail’s a woman of breeding. Hell, her uncle owns—”



“Your integrity?” Kit unleashed her own anger. “Just because you think my lineage isn’t rich enough doesn’t give you the right to maul me and walk away with a clean conscience.”



“You don’t understand.” Garret spoke through clenched teeth. “Abigail’s name carries a lot of respect.”



“Well, it’s a good thing it does. ‘Cause you haven’t any.” Kit felt tears sting her eyes. He considered her good enough to seduce but not good enough to be seen with in public…!


Dear Reader,



Autumn is such a romantic season—fall colors, rustling leaves, big sweaters and, for many of you, the kids are back in school! So, as the leaves fall, snuggle up in a cozy chair and let us sweep you away to the romantic past!



We are delighted with the return of Diana Hall with Branded Hearts, a terrific Western chock-full of juicy surprises! Here, a privileged young woman is on a quest to find the man who attacked her family. When she goes undercover as a cowgirl, she soon must fight her feelings for her boss, a stern cattle rancher, and eventually choose between love and vengeance…

Jacqueline Navin returns with Strathmere’s Bride, an evocative Regency-style historical novel about a darling duke who suddenly finds himself the single father of his two orphaned nieces, and in dire need of a wife! Briana by bestselling author Ruth Langan is the final book of THE O’NEIL SAGA. Here, a feisty Irish noblewoman falls in love with a lonely, tormented landowner, who first saves her life—and then succumbs to her charms! In The Doctor’s Wife by the popular Cheryl St. John, scandalous secrets are revealed but love triumphs when a waitress “from the other side of the tracks” marries a young doctor in need of a mother for his baby girl.

Enjoy. And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.



Sincerely,



Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor



P.S. We’d love to hear what you think about Harlequin

Historicals! Drop us a line at:

Harlequin Historicals

300 E. 42nd Street, 6th Floor

New York, NY 10017




Branded Hearts

Diana Hall













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




DIANA HALL


If experience feeds a writer’s soul, then I must be stuffed.



I’ve worked as a pickle packer, a ticket taker at a drive-in movie, a waitress, a bartender, a factory worker, a truck driver cementing oil wells in south Texas, a geological technician with oil companies, a teacher, a part-time ecological travel agent and now an author. The only job I’ve kept longer than five years is wife and mother.



A geographical accident, I was meant to live in the South. After high school I left rural Ohio and attended college in Mobile, Alabama. There I fell in love with balmy nights and the beaches of the Gulf. I lived in Texas, but now live in the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania with my understanding husband, a beautiful daughter, a sedate, overweight collie and a hyperactive dalmatian.


To Mom and Dad:

Thanks for all the love and support through the years,

especially this past one.

Thanks for being there when I needed you most.



Love,

Your daughter Diana




Prologue (#ulink_bcb17cc7-abe3-5f10-9252-3922d20de389)


Denver, Colorado, 1865

Katherine Benton’s hands shook as she ran them down the soft silk of her mourning dress. She had to remain firm, no matter how Father tried to manipulate or frighten her. This time, her will would prevail over her father’s. Her mother’s last wish would be granted.

Taking a deep breath, she demanded, “Mama asked me—no, begged me with her dying breath—to find my brother. And I will, just as soon as you tell me why I never knew he existed.”

Sam Benton rested his elbows on his mahogany desk. An angry flush of red tinged his neck and cheeks. Gritting a smile, he cajoled, “Kathleen was delirious in fever before she died. Forget those ramblings.” He pointed to the stack of papers surrounding him. “Now, kitten, I have work to do.”

Katherine gathered her fortitude and patience. She wasn’t one of her father’s lackeys, and she refused to be dismissed as one. “I’m almost sixteen, Father, not six. You don’t need to protect me from the truth.”

The gentleness left Sam Benton’s face, replaced with the ire of a man used to getting his own way. “It’s a cruel world out there, daughter. Be glad I’m here to run interference.”

“Mama may have allowed you to keep her in a gilded cage, but not me. I’m tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do. You won’t even allow me to see your own brother and his family.”

“Eli’s a wastrel, riding on my coattails. That daughter of his is no better. They would only use you.”

“Well, maybe I’ll use them—to help me find my brother. I’m stronger than Mama,” Katherine stated. “I’m not afraid.”

“Well, you sure as hell should be,” her father roared. “Perhaps I’ve protected you too much. A little fear is a good thing.”

Drawing a cigar from his desk humidor, he let his dark gaze search her face. “Hearing about your mother’s life might make you understand.”

He lit the stogie and inhaled deeply. As the smoke left his lungs, he released his story. “Kathleen’s family was well off back east. When she was about your age, she ran away and married a ne’er-do-well by the name of Stoker. Her husband then blackmailed the family. If they wanted to be sure their precious daughter was safe, send more money. Her family hired me to find Kathleen and bring her home.”

“I never knew anything of this.” Katherine slowly sank into the leather-bound chair, stunned by the revelations of her mother’s past. Mama had always been so quiet, so afraid.

Sam’s face and tone hardened. “Before I could find her, the bastard had taken the family’s last dollar and abandoned Kathleen in the wilderness. Alone, hungry and nearly dead from exposure.”

“Is that when you found her?” Katherine wrapped her arms around her shoulders, feeling her mother’s misery. How could her delicate mama have survived such hardship?

The stern lines of Sam Benton’s face deepened with anguish. “I didn’t save her, a Cheyenne brave did. Eagle Talon nursed her back to health. Got her with child.”

“My brother?” Elation bloomed in Katherine’s heart. Her mother had not been just rambling with fever. She had a brother to find, and her mother’s last wish to fulfill.

Her father nodded. “I never stopped looking for her. After three years, the government made a treaty with the Cheyenne. All white captives had to be returned or the villages would be burned. Kathleen left, but decided that the boy should stay with his father. Better to grow up a Cheyenne warrior than cursed as a half-breed.”

Katherine’s own heart broke at the thought of abandoning a child. The act must have haunted Mama all this time. “She must have been brokenhearted to lose a child and the man she loved.”

“Loved?” Sam roared. He jumped from his seat, sending ash over the Persian rug. “I’m the only man your mother ever loved. Kathleen had a schoolgirl infatuation with Stoker and felt only gratitude for that Indian buck.”

Sam ran his fingers through his gray hair, his voice cracking. “I found her when she came back to the fort, confused, weak and nearly broken with sorrow. I married her and vowed to erase those horrible memories from her mind. So we moved west, where no one knew us or her story. I built an empire of beef, mining and stocks. I bought Kathleen everything she wanted and kept her safe. Kathleen loved me, and only me, because I protected her.”

Her father came to Katherine’s side. “And when you were born, I swore no one would ever hurt you like that.”

Now Katherine understood her father’s anger. This lost child represented a living reminder of Father’s inability to protect and find his wife. And a rival for her love.

Pretending submission, she asked, “But what happened to the boy?”

“He’s an uncivilized savage on a Cheyenne reservation. Leave Winterhawk be.” The last came out a command. “He belongs to your mother’s past, not your future.”

Sam pulled her from her seat. “And to ensure that, you are to stay in your room. Tomorrow, you are going back to Boston and finish your schooling, not searching the Colorado Territory for some Indian.”

This time, Katherine could not fight her father’s will. Sam propelled her up the stairs and into her room. Closing the door, he spoke as the key locked her in. “You’ll thank me for this someday.”

“No, I won’t,” Katherine fumed. “And I will find my brother.” How hard could it be to find one half-Cheyenne young man named Winterhawk on a reservation? How hard would it be to convince him they were brother and sister?

Opening the silver filigree box on the vanity, she removed her mother’s jewels. These pearls, ruby pendants and diamond pins would finance Katherine’s search for her brother, for her mother’s son.

Her blue traveling gown lay across a trunk marked for Boston. Pulling out her sewing kit, Katherine began to sew the jewels into the full hem. Tomorrow, when Father thought she was on her way to Boston, she would get off the train, pawn a few gems and set off in search of her brother. From this moment on, Katherine promised, she would no longer be her father’s daughter. Instead, she would become her brother’s keeper.




Chapter One (#ulink_0e69ac15-b143-50a3-97fc-36648e14d1a3)


Front Range, Colorado, 1868

Garret Blaine rode straight into a ranch yard full of commotion. Cowhands crowded the corral, yelling out bids. Dollars spilled from their lifted fists.

“What the hell’s going on here?” He gave each of the Rockin’ G wranglers a calculated glare. Hellfire! First the news from town of rustlers in the area, and now this.

Cracker, the cook, ambled over, the afternoon sun shining off his bald head. His porcupine whiskers bristled as he spoke. “I told Cade you weren’t gonna like this.”

Cade! Garret should have known his brother would be at the center of any fracas. The rocker on their brand stood for his younger brother; a deck of cards would suit him better. Garret dismounted and threw his reins at the ranch tenderfoot, Davidson. With long, skinny limbs, big feet and sad eyes, the boy looked like a hound puppy as he scrambled to retrieve the leather reins.

Garret used his height and the width of his shoulders to cut a wedge through the crowd. Guilty looks flickered over the faces of the cowhands. Standing with his feet wide, his arms crossed, Garret faced his brother.

It was like looking in a mirror—ten years ago. Cade’s hair was a shade lighter than Garret’s sandy color, and his eyes more blue than green, but the attitude was the same—cocky and arrogant.

Leaning against the corral post, Cade tipped back his new Stetson and appraised his brother with a mildly curious stare. “Howdy, Garret. Good time in town?”

Garret ignored the question, his attention riveted on the tall man standing next to his brother. He was bare-chested except for a buckskin vest, and his tree-trunklike arms were corded with power. Scars crisscrossed a chest so wide that if he sighed, a man would feel the draft. His dark hair hung in two thick braids. Skin the color of burnished copper and eyes as blue as the Texas sky heralded the man’s heritage. Half-breed.

Power radiated from the big Indian. And Garret detected a carefully controlled savagery in the man’s stare. Garret asked, “What’s he doing here?”

Cade’s lips tightened, then his aggravating grin returned. “I hired him to break the black.”

Inside the corral, the wild mustang bellowed a challenge. He shook his coal-black mane, then reared back, his deadly hooves shaking the ground.

“I told you to break that horse.” Prickles of impatience skimmed down Garret’s spine. While he broke his back working, Cade wasted time gambling. But what should he expect? Growing up in a saloon wasn’t the best schoolroom to teach responsibility.

The half-breed straightened. His voice rumbled like thunder. “We seek work. Not trouble.”

“Them’s cowboys.” Cracker gave Garret a nod and spit out a long stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. “They rode in with hackamores.” More than a little awe colored the old-timer’s comment. Only the best riders guided their horses with just a rope bridle.

They? Garret scanned the crowd. Standing a few paces from the tall Indian, a slight figure held the reins of two horses. Despite the thick shirt and fringed leather jacket, the boy couldn’t hide his age. There wasn’t even a trace of peach fuzz on his chin! Just a scrap of dark hair could be seen beneath the slouched brim of the youngster’s hat.

The boy looked up. A gaze, the identical shade of the Indian’s, contemplated Garret. The two must be brothers. That shade of ice-blue was too rare for happenstance.

Suspicion pricked his reasoning. Two drifters arrive on the same day as news of rustlers. “I’m not hiring.”

Cade traced the outline of the brand burned into the corral fence post. Letting his finger rest on the rocker, he said, “I thought this rocker on our brand C stood for me. Guess not.”

For a year, Garret had lectured, threatened and scolded Cade about taking more responsibility. “The ranch’s half yours.”

“Then I figure I can do some hiring since the ranch is half mine,” Cade said.

The government contract to supply the army forts with horses and beef came up for bid this summer. The Rockin’ G rode a tightrope between poverty and prosperity. That contract would guarantee enough income that Garret could start to make improvements on the ranch and generate some savings.

But Sam Benton held the most influence as to who would get the cavalry deal. In the last few years, the only thing of Benton’s that had grown faster than his bank account was his dislike of Indians. And then there was Abigail Benton, the old man’s niece. Garret had been courting the girl for six months, and she shared the same views as her prestigious uncle.

Hellfire! Cade couldn’t have chosen a worse time to hang Garret over the coals. He could feel the men’s gaze glued to him. Waiting. Ready to judge Cade’s position. Half owner or just a tolerated little brother? If Garret ever hoped to have his brother as a full partner, he couldn’t afford to embarrass him in front of the wranglers. And the Indian did look hard as a whetstone and tough as jerky—two traits that would help Garret protect the herd. “How do you know he can break a horse?”

Cade smiled and pointed to the churned ground in the corral. “I think we can test just how good a cowboy he is.”

The stallion raced along the fence, his mane flying, his tail high, pausing to trample some imaginary foe.

Garret barked, “The stallion’s a killer. Can you handle him?”

“If we do, will you give us a job?” the smaller Indian questioned as he pushed his way forward. His gaze fixed on the lathered sides of the stallion. He tucked a few loose hairs under his black felt hat.

“Break the stallion, and he’ll give you the ranch.” Cade chuckled.

“Don’t need a ranch, just a job.” The boy’s cold stare met Garret’s. For a youngster, the lad showed merit. His gaze didn’t falter as it drilled into Garret.

The two Indians were drifters. Trail dust layered their clothes and bedrolls. They’d move on after a few months, and the army would be none the wiser.

Garret knew what it was like to be spit on and insulted. Being the son of a saloon gal wasn’t much different from being half-Indian. “If the stallion is broken, Cade’ll hire your brother.”

“What about me?”

“I’ll give you a job for as long as you want it,” Garret promised.

The big half-breed gave the younger one a long, silent look. Without a word passing between them, a decision was made. Both moved toward the corral.

“Two bits says he lasts longer than any of us did.” Cade gave Garret a devilish wink.

“I’ll take that bet.” Cracker joined several other cowhands clamoring for a piece of the deal. Fists rose again, money exchanged hands.

Wranglers leaned against the top rail of the corral, eager to see exactly what the powerful Indian was capable of. The cowhands looked like a poorly constructed Navajo blanket. Their shirts wove an uneven line of desert reds and browns while their jeans formed a uniform lower border.

Both Indians walked into the corral. Pine needles littered the ground, soaking up the moisture from last night’s summer rain.

The big Indian carried an old flour sack, the boy lugged a dally saddle. The stallion paced, whirled, then raced toward the youth. While the small Indian plowed through the mud toward the fence rail, still toting the saddle, the older one whipped out the sack and covered the black’s eyes. Blinded, the animal halted, his nostrils flaring.

“Kit?” The big Indian faced his smaller brother as he held on to the stallion’s halter.

“I’m fine.” Kit’s breath came out in short bursts. He slapped on the saddle and tightened the girth. The stallion pranced sideways.

Cracker, the ranch doomsayer, muttered, “Pshaw! They done got the black madder than a cornered polecat. Ain’t that right, Candus?”

The old Buffalo soldier’s black face creased into deep furrows of worry. “Ain’t no one a-ridin’ that animal now.”

While the stronger Indian held the stallion’s halter, the boy eased up to the animal’s side. He held out his hands and cupped the horse’s velvety nose. Laughter and taunts from the sidelines melted away as the cowboys watched.

Nostrils flared, the stallion possessed a lot of fight. The boy lowered his head and let out a long, slow, even breath. The stallion stilled. Then the half-breed youth inhaled as the animal exhaled, stealing the stallion’s breath.

Silence settled on the scene, the cowhands and Garret mystified by the action. Again, the two adversaries exchanged breaths, as though they were exchanging souls. The stallion’s fidgeting quieted to an alert twitch of his ears.

The tall Indian removed the flour sack. In one fluid motion, Kit pulled himself up onto the stallion’s back and his brother released his hold on the halter.

Surprise flickered across the stallion’s expressive face. Uncertainty tensed his muscles. Pawing the ground, the horse took a few steps forward.

Kit straightened in the saddle. Garret heard him utter a few Indian commands he couldn’t understand, but the black did. The horse moved away from the rail toward the center of the ring, shivering, but held in check by the steady hands of his rider.

Indian magic? Garret doubted it, but there was something about the thin boy and the powerful horse that bristled the hair along his neck, made him feel he was seeing something unique and special.

“He ain’t done nothin’ yet.” Traynor stood, his belly dipping over his belt buckle. The best bronc rider on the ranch, he had been thrown twice by the black. Traynor’s hurt pride snarled his face into a mask of hatred. “Listen here, Cade, that don’t count none on the bettin’ time. He ain’t a ridin’ ‘im.”

Cade gave the angry man a crooked smile. “Bet was the Indian would last longer on the black than any of us. Nothing was said about which Indian or about just sitting.”

“Well, let’s see some ridin’ then.” Traynor tossed his high-crowned hat into the ring. The stiff brim struck the stallion in the corner of the eye.

Outrage and raw power broke Kit’s mystical control of the stallion. Stopping short, changing direction and bucking, the black fought to throw his rider. Mud flew into the air. The smell of crushed pine burned Garret’s nose. The fear of a crushed boy quickened his pulse.

Riding like a veteran cowhand, the slim boy clung to the horse’s back. With each lunge of the horse, Kit leaned back, one arm flying into the air to keep himself balanced. Shouts of encouragement for the rider and disapproval for Traynor created a noisy din.

The stallion twisted and gyrated. Foam spilled from his mouth and lathered the bit. The acrid scent of sweat and horses heated the air. Each time the animal’s crushing hooves pummeled the ground, Garret expected to see the Indian boy fall and the stallion trample the life from him. Yet Kit outthought and outmaneuvered the horse. Perhaps they truly had exchanged souls along with their breath.

His most ingenious tactics a failure, the stallion gave a few halfhearted kicks. Sweat dripped from the girth. The horse sucked in deep breaths of air. Surrender loomed just ahead.

A calm settled over the corral. Cracker stopped in mid-chew, watching the boy and the horse. “If I live to be a hunerd, I’ll never see a ride like that again.”

One look at the older Indian, and the calm shattered. Anger blazed across the red man’s face and his stare centered on Traynor. With his brother back in control of the horse, he headed toward Traynor, his tight fists flagging a warning. The cowboy made a beeline for the barn.

The half-breed was loaded to the muzzle with rage, ready to kill. Garret jerked his thumb toward the barn. Cade slipped away from the fence and headed for Traynor. A fight, with fists or guns, could always draw Cade’s attention. Garret cut off the Indian and faced down the taller man. “Traynor’ll get what he deserves.”

Fists the size of cannonballs slowly unclenched. The Indian took a step back, a look of sarcastic disbelief on his face. “Then I will see your judgment. But if I do not agree, I will see the man pays a harsher price.”

With the Indian at his heels, Garret strode into the barn. Irritation, with the Indian and Traynor, made Garret’s lips twitch into their usual scowl.

“I came to collect my winnings.” Cade blocked Traynor into a stall.

“I ain’t a-paying you squat.” Traynor lowered his head and charged. Stepping aside at the last minute, Cade watched the muscle-bound cowboy run by and crash against the opposite stall gate.

Military discipline checked Garret’s urge to give the cowboy a mind-numbing blow. He jerked his chin toward the horizon. “Collect your wages and ride out.”

“You’re firin’ me and a-keepin’ them Injuns?” Traynor snorted, and puffed out his chest. Pointing toward the breed, he added, “That kind ain’t no good unless they’s dead.”

The breed’s fist shot out like a lightning bolt and landed square on the wrangler’s nose. Blood spurted over Traynor’s face. He fell back, wiped his face with his hand and shook off the blood. “Goddamn breed.” He reached for his gun.

Cade’s gun snaked out of the holster with the speed of a rattler’s strike. Traynor halted, his hand inches from the butt of his pistol. Despite the tense moment, Cade drawled out, “You don’t want to wind up dead as well as fired. You’ll have to spend all your wages on a casket.”

“Listen to him.” Garret tugged on Traynor’s belt and collar, bringing the stunned cowboy to his feet. A pulpy mass, bleeding and skewed to the left, marked where his nose used to be. “Cade, pay Traynor his wages from your winnings. Then see he gets his horse and rides out.”

“Dammit, Cap’n,” Traynor protested. “He didn’t win that money fair and square. You know he chea—”

Cade blocked his gun barrel with Traynor’s chin. “I’m thinking you oughta be buried at sunset. Right peaceful then.”

Traynor took the hint, shut his mouth and pulled his face away from the gun.

From behind Garret, the breed growled, “It will do for the injury to Kit.”

“It wasn’t for you or your kin,” Garret snapped as he laid the truth out bare for the Indian. “Traynor’s actions could have damaged a valuable piece of my property.”

The hooded look returned to the breed’s eyes. Turning to leave, he replied, “Indian lives are worth less than horses. This I have heard.”

Let the Bluebellies starve. They ain’t worth feeding. The prison guard’s taunt echoed in Garret’s head. He knew the value of human life and how it could be cheapened. Hell, the Indian took it all wrong. Mexican, Black, Indian, it didn’t matter. Even after surviving Andersonville prison, he had hired on Johnny Rebs.

That stallion could guarantee Garret a visit with Sam Benton. The word in town was the rich man appreciated good horseflesh, and that appreciation might manifest itself in the army contract.

“Senor, come quick.” Vega, the ranch foreman, waved both hands in the air. His handlebar mustache bounced as he added, “The rider fell…”

Aggravation threatened to break what was left of Garret’s iron-willed control. Running to the corral, followed by the breed, he pushed past the silent ring of cowboys. “Someone help him out of there…” His voice dried in his throat like grass in a summer drought. Kit’s slouchy hat blew across the chewed-up ground.

“Damn you to hell.” Garret shouted at the half-breed and slipped between the rails. The black, all fight out of him, rested at the opposite rail, far from the figure sprawled on the ground.

“Are you crazy?” Garret demanded. He reached out and jerked Kit up.

Kit stumbled to remain upright, then pushed his arm off with a strength that surprised him. “The black’s broken. I rode him longer than you. Now, keep your word.”

“No way in hell am I giving you or your brother a job.” Garret pushed Kit toward the corral gate.

Long ebony hair, released from the confines of the hat, whipped into the air. The scent of mountain columbines and pine surrounded him. An icy blast of anger stabbed him from the fallen rider’s stare. “You gave your word to hire me.”

“That was before I knew the truth.” His jaw clenched into a vise of outrage, Garret could hardly speak. Emotions corralled for years threatened to break free.

The gaudy posters advertising his mother’s saloon extravaganza flashed in his mind along with heartache. Why was fate sending him this blatant reminder of a time he wanted to forget? As a punishment for his youthful intolerance or as a reminder of his mother’s last wish? Make Blaine a name to be respected.

To hide his turmoil, he made his voice harsh and grating. “The Rockin’ G is no place for your kind.”

“My kind?” Kit’s eyes opened wide.

Garret felt himself drawn to the deep azure pools. He fought to swim free of their crystal-like depths and answered hoarsely, “Yeah, a woman.”




Chapter Two (#ulink_d5f456ff-7079-5383-9ee6-b1b87b7e068f)


Kit yanked her misshapen hat from the outstretched hands of a bug-eyed cowpoke. She stuffed her hair back into the crumpled crown, curbing her desire to rub her pulsating backside. Her legs trembled and her joints ached, but now was not the time to show weakness.

Inside, rampant emotions screamed at her to back down and run away. She set her features into a mask of calm, buried the fear and confronted the scowling face of Garret Blaine. “Where do you want us to livery our horses?”

The rancher’s green stare ripped into her with the fury of a dust devil. Just above his left eyebrow, a starburst scar whitened. A warning of his anger. He pushed up his shirtsleeves. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull—”

“My brother and I want the jobs we earned.” Kit way-laid the rancher’s argument. Two years of searching had worn her patience thin and callused her determination. There would be no backing down. The ranch was perfect for their needs. Quiet. Out of the way. With a sizable head of prime livestock.

“You and I both know I’d never hire a woman.” He spit out her gender like an insult. “Ride out.”

Garret Blaine didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was dealing with. There would be no retreat. She looped a rope through the exhausted black’s halter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Garret’s deep baritone voice reverberated against the barn wall and echoed in the shocked silence of the ranch. A three-legged dog hopped toward her, his teeth bared.

“Getting my pay.”

The old dog growled at her. Kit growled right back, baring her teeth and wrinkling her nose. The dog cocked his head to the side, raised one tan eyebrow, then the other, and tried another growl. Kit answered, her growl deeper and a shade more menacing. The dog backed off.

Her brother edged closer. She pretended not to see his signal for retreat.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you steal my horse?” Garret widened his stance, his lip curled into a one-sided smile. He crossed his arms across his broad chest, just under where his shirt fell open. The timbre of his full voice deepened. “We hang horse thieves.”

His threat rolled off her like water down oilcloth. All her emotions froze into a thick icicle of stubbornness. Narrowing her eyes, she dripped sticky-sweet sarcasm. “You promised us a job if one of us rode the black. Now you’re welching on the deal. I’m taking the stallion as payment.”

Cade cracked a wide grin. “The black did get ridden. And it’d be cheating to back out of a deal.” The younger, less intense Blaine snickered as he faced his brother.

“Shut up, Cade.” Garret’s tone shifted from furious to logical. “There’s no place to keep her.”

His objections made her sound more like a flea-riddled cur than a person. Keep her! The gall of that man. In Boston, a snap of her fingers and men would line up to escort her to the opera or symphony.

But Garret was far removed from those eastern gentlemen. Not a spare ounce of fat on his body. Lines etched the corners of his eyes, created from hours of riding into the hot western sun. Rugged muscles bulged along his upper arms, built from wrestling steers and creating his homestead. His gaze penetrated her, sapping her strength with its intensity. Garret Blaine was a desert. Bleak, formidable, relentless.

Her brother remained silent, but Cade gave her a wicked grin. Amusement twinkled in the cowboy’s eyes. “There’s the tack room in the barn.”

Kit pressed her point. “A job or the horse, it’s your call.” It was an empty ultimatum. One word from Garret, and she and Hawk would be facing down a half-dozen guns. Her challenge lay in the code of the West, where a man proved his worth by the strength of his word.

Flecks of green serpentine sparked in the ranch owner’s eyes. “You want a job? You got a job. For as long as you can stand it.”

“Whoo-ee!” Cade slapped his hat against his leg and danced a little two-step, creating dusty whirlwinds to coat his jeans. “The little lady got the best of Garret Blaine.”

Nervous laughter snared the cowhands as they gave the boss a sidelong glance. Garret’s sudden acceptance of the situation threw Kit off kilter. A man didn’t survive the harshness of the West by giving in. No, Garret Blaine didn’t strike Kit as a person who would concede defeat easily, but then, neither would she.

“You can livery in there.” Garret directed her toward the long, peaked stable.

A trickle of warning snaked down her spine and settled in the small of her back. The glacial tone in her new employer’s voice did not bode well. She could almost smell the man’s intense disgust with her and her brother.

Unhooking the lead, she freed the black. The horse nuzzled her hand and gave her a sympathetic look before trotting to the far corner of the corral. Kit squared her shoulders and followed the shadow of the tall cowboy.

Garret slid the hinged door to the right. New wood and fresh straw perfumed the barn. Horses whinnied and a challenging neigh came from the stalls as Hawk led his buckskin and her Appaloosa mare down the narrow aisle. Half of the twenty stalls were filled with horses and mustangs.

In the last one, a fine-boned mare paced, her belly distended from pregnancy. A tight collar of sheepskin circled her throat to keep the fidgeting horse from cribbing. Catching the scent of the strange horses, the mare kicked at her stall and neighed.

Kit heard the agitation in the mare’s call. High-strung and nervous, not a good combination. When it came time for her to drop her foal, that mare was bound for trouble. “Best build yourself a stanchion for this one.” She pointed toward the pregnant mare.

“Leave the mare to me,” Garret barked. He pointed to the empty stalls. “Bed your horses here.”

Kit led her mare into the narrow space and unsaddled her mount. Too stubborn to take good advice, she thought. Let him learn the hard way.

Heaving her saddle onto the wooden shelf, she grabbed a handful of straw and gave her horse a rubdown. The time gave her the opportunity to study the sulking ranch owner.

He folded his arms, constructing a thick wall of sinew and muscle across his chest. The top button of his faded cotton shirt was missing, exposing a sleek V of tanned skin. Worn jeans strained at the seams near his thighs. Blunt-tipped cowboy boots completed his attire. Typical cowhand. But Garret Blaine didn’t strike her as typical.

The past had made her wary of men, except for her brother. Panic knotted her stomach when a man ventured too near. Only Hawk knew the tremendous effort it took for her to face down the rancher. But now, since she knew he would honor his promise, her stomach relaxed, and she didn’t have to concentrate on governing her alarm.

Grabbing her saddlebags, she asked, “Where do we bed down?”

Garret steered her to a small room. The leather-hinged door swung open. Squaring her shoulders, she entered.

She sneezed. She sneezed again. Dust tickled her nose. An overpowering smell of horses and oiled leather clogged the air. One curtainless window allowed light into the narrow room. It was hardly larger than one of the saddles, and saddles and tack blocked most of the free space. A cot with a straw mattress lined the far corner.

Fur brushed her leg. The ranch dog rushed past and jumped on the bed, nesting the few blankets before lying down. Obviously staking out his territory.

Not the Revere House in Boston, but at least it would keep out the snow and be warmer than the cold ground. The door would have to stay open for any kind of air circulation, but she wasn’t worried. Her brother possessed the light sleep of a hunter and the long months on the trail had taught her the same. The dog would have to go.

She dropped her saddlebags. Her aching shoulders thanked her. The ride on the black and the argument with Garret had consumed her stamina. “Come, brother, we can move these boxes and—”

“This is where you bunk.” The scowl on Garret’s face deepened. “Your brother sleeps in the bunkhouse.” Through the open window he pointed to the building on the opposite side of the house.

Hawk pounced forward like his namesake. “I will not leave my sister.” His eyes blistered with anger.

Despite her brother’s murderous look and powerful build, the ranch owner remained cool. “If you don’t like the arrangement, you’re both welcome to leave.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” She placed a gentle, restraining hand on her brother’s arm. “We’re staying.”

Whispers and snickers sounded behind her. The Rockin’ G cowboys gossiped with the enthusiasm of old women, but with the intentions of lecherous cronies. A woman alone sounded like easy prey for a cowhand eager to relieve the thickness in his jeans.

From her hip, she pulled out a long Indian knife. She held the blade in the sunlight. A rainbow of color appeared along the tip and across the silver steel.

“I’m no prairie dove. See your cowhands are aware of that or they might find themselves nursing an injury.” Burning hatred heated her voice, her message loud and clear. If attacked, she knew how to protect herself.

The knife slid into the butter-soft sheath. Moisture filmed her eyes as her fingers traced the intricate beadwork on her belt. Hawk’s wife had labored hours over this gift. Hours filled with love and laughter. Hours that would never be again. Kit drew strength from the rising pain in her soul. There would be no surrender, no running home to hide with her father.

“Don’t worry about my wranglers.” Garret eyed his men. “No woman, no matter who or what she is, comes to harm on the Rockin’ G.” Bitterness sliced through his tone.

The tight circle of cowhands widened, as though the rancher’s words had constructed a fort between Kit and them. A sense of safety comforted her.

“If you two are working for me, then get a move on. We’re wasting daylight.” Challenge rang in Garret’s tone.

He wanted to hear her complain, to whine. When pigs fly. It didn’t matter that her muscles screamed with every movement. That her knees had the consistency of hot molasses. That the lumpy bed with the fleabag dog looked inviting. Kit slapped an overeager smile on her face and met Garret’s daring stare. “We’re ready.”

“I’m not paying you men to stand around,” Garret shouted as he marched from the barn.

Cowhands grabbed tools and spread out to complete the day’s tasks. Cade sauntered over to the hitching post and watched the working men from beneath his lowered brim. Blaine also noticed his brother and made a beeline for him. Kit hesitated, then followed with Hawk at her side.

The younger man looked up, ignored his older brother’s get-out-of-here stare and reached out his hand. He pumped first her hand, then, without hesitation, Hawk’s. That one unconscious motion made her warm to the handsome cowboy. Many men would never consider shaking the hand of a half-breed.

“Kit O’Shane.” A genuine smile tugged at her lips. The man’s good humor lessened the tension. “And you’ve already met my brother, Winterhawk.”

Cade slapped her brother on the back. “You two won me a sizeable grubstake for my next poker game. You play cards?” A gambler’s joy lit his soft blue-green eyes.

“No.” Hawk dashed the cowboy’s hope as he hefted his saddle and bags onto his shoulder. He headed off to-ward the bunkhouse. Kit started to follow.

“No, you don’t.” Garret’s firm hand clamped down on her shoulder and held her in place. A shiver of protest and abject fear shook her tired muscles and made her groan.

Her brother dropped his bags. His lion-claw necklace clinked a warning. The look of savagery on his face took Kit’s breath away.

“Hawk, don’t,” she pleaded. It took all her concentration to dominate her erupting panic.

Unperturbed by Hawk’s threatening glare, her new boss lightened his grip. His fingers tangled in her hair, then moved across the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

He’s not out to hurt you. Not after that warning in the barn. The knowledge deadened her fear and opened the door to a different emotion. His touch caused a strange tingling sensation down her neck and across her throat, erasing the cold terror. Warmth smoldered in her like an old campfire.

Garret’s voice sounded hoarse as he issued orders to her brother. “You and Cade can round up the herd from the east pasture.”

Turning to her, he fixed his gaze on her face. “The tack needs to be completely cleaned, every bridle, saddle and halter taken apart, oiled and put back.”

“Come on, Garret,” Cade complained. “Kit deserves a rest after that ride.”

“Hope not, because she needs to muck out the stables and start cutting a cord of wood.”

“Kit’s a horse trainer, not a stable hand.” Hawk’s sharp voice added to the tension.

“She’s what I make her,” Garret shot back. “If she doesn’t like the work, she can quit.” A crafty smile slanted across his lips as he disclosed his plan. “You’re free to leave when you want. I expect it’ll be soon.”

Compressing all her fear and her anger into a tight lump in her heart, Kit met his gaze without flinching. “Only time will tell, Mr. Blaine, which of us lasts the longest.”

Annoyance hovered in his eyes. The scar on his temple blazed. Kit thought a lightning bolt might come from his head like the Greek god Zeus. “A week. And you’ll be lucky to last that long.”

Smugness she had learned at her father’s knee. Haughtiness at her Boston finishing school. Kit drew herself to her full height, dismissed the fact that Garret still stood a head taller and gave her chin a regal lift. “Then we’ll be discussing this issue again, Mr. Blaine. At the end of the week.”

Garret swore, pivoted on his heel and entered the cedarsided cabin. The plank door jumped the hinges from the force of his slam.

Cade stamped the ground with one foot.

“What are you doing?” Hawk asked.

“Putting out sparks.” Cade gave her a saucy wink. “I figure the lady here and Garret done kindled enough to start a range fire.”

Amazement hit her full force when Hawk bit his lip to keep from smiling. Her brother hadn’t found life amusing in a long time.

Kit combed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s got Blacks, Mexicans, Johnny Rebs and Bluecoats all working here. Why not us?”

“He’s got this bur in his bonnet about getting a contract with the army. And there’s this big-mouthed sonofa…Excuse me, ma’am.” Cade gave a two-fingered salute to the brim of his cowboy hat. “I mean a big-mouthed know-itall that calls the shots here. And if there’s one thing Sam Benton don’t like, it’s Indians.”

“Sam Benton,” Hawk growled. “This name I know.”

As do I. Kit rested her hand on her brother’s arm. Heaven help them if they ran across Benton. Her father would make sure Kit never saw her brother again, and if Sam Benton discovered the truth about Kit’s time in the Indian village, he would use his power to destroy Hawk and lock Kit away in a protected shell for the rest of her life.

“Garret’s counting on Benton to help him with the contract. But it’s those pants of yours that’ve really set him off.” The laughter melted from the man’s eyes. Every muscle tensed in the handsome young cowboy’s face. “Our ma was a whore.” He waited to see if the news shocked her. It didn’t. Hardship forced women into many roles. She had only to look at herself for proof.

“We don’t hide it under a rock,” Cade went on, leaning against the hitching post. “Don’t paste it on a billboard. She wore pants and cracked a bullwhip. Ma was pretty well known in the cow towns. Wichita, Dodge City, Abilene. Spent her last years salooning in Colorado City. Garret don’t cotton to being reminded of that time.”

Kit knew the pain of rejecting a parent. Garret resented his mother, whose life-style had forced him to face the unpleasantness of the world. Kit, a father who had tried to shield her from life. “Does he hate his mother so much?”

“Hate?” Cade rubbed his face as though to wash away the memories. “At one time, I’d say that was the only thing that drove Garret. He was a wild one. Full of spit.”

“What happened?” She wrinkled a brow in bewilderment.

Taking a deep breath, Cade seemed to evaluate whether she was searching for gossip or really cared. He must have found her worthy because he answered. “The war. Garret turned as somber as a preacher at the Pearly Gates.” Cade tapped the edge of her nose with his index finger. “Don’t you worry none over Garret. I got me a feeling you’re about as hard as some of Cracker’s week-old biscuits.”

He turned to her brother. “Hawk, I’ll be waiting for you to saddle up.” Cade adopted Kit’s nickname for her brother with the ease of a trusted friend. “Take one of the ranch horses and let that buckskin rest a spell.”

Waiting until Cade ambled over to the bunkhouse, Hawk shook his head, the blue feather in his braid rustling against the stiff leather of his vest. “This man, Garret Blaine, he is like the mountain above the treeline, cold, hard, never to thaw. We must find another ranch to take us on.”

She faced the rising peaks. In the distance, sunlight glistened on the snowy tops. Glaciers plucked the rock and, after centuries, carved jagged ridges and horns. Garret Blaine had a will harder than granite, and it would take more than ice and snow to dent it.

“The desert,” Kit corrected her brother. “Every bit of softness has blown clear of that man. He’s got a heart of stone and he’s as relentless as the desert sun.”

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the tiny spots of brilliant light behind her eyelids. “But we will stay. The Rockin’ G is perfect for us.” Her soul cried for peace, for an end to the quest that had kept her on the trail for two years.

Just a few more days and her long search would be over. At last, she would be able to sleep without having to tire her body to the limits of endurance. The thought gave her a much needed boost of morale. She opened her eyes, ready to fight.

Hawk had lost so much. To the bitter end, Kit would stand with her brother and see this mission to its bloody conclusion. Then perhaps she and Hawk could start again. Someplace where the nightmares of the past could no longer haunt them.

“Garret Blaine will have to make do with our company for a while. His ranch is remote, understaffed, and has some prime livestock.” Lowering her voice, she added, “The place is perfect for rustlers.”

Hawk’s icy stare heated. He clenched his fists into boulders capable of crushing the life from his enemy. “If Jando is here, I will find him. And kill him.”

He left Kit to wonder how long she would have to endure Garret Blaine before they could make a move. She prayed it wouldn’t be long. Both she and her brother needed a rest from their pursuit.

“Let this be the last time,” Kit whispered to the slight breeze. Only the sound of the evergreens and the sharp perfume of the cedars replied.




Chapter Three (#ulink_c763d3ce-ef61-5f0d-b44a-f4613ccd0ea6)


As soon as Cade stepped out the bunkhouse door, Garret hauled him around the corner. “In town, I heard news about rustlers. Nearly two hundred head of cattle are missing.”

He paused as he faced the barn where Hawk waited with two mounts, ready to ride out. “The last spread they hit was McVery’s, and he’s just north of town.”

Cade’s gaze followed Garret’s stare. “Kit and Hawk ain’t lassoed up with thieves.”

“We don’t know that.” Garret had to be positive Cade realized the danger to the ranch and to himself. Those two Indians could be tracking the Rockin’ G’s livestock and defenses. Both were scarce. “I’ve got nothing to go on except those Indians showing up at the same time as the rustlers. That’s nothing to condemn a man for.”

“Or a woman.”

Garret chose to ignore his little brother’s baiting re-mark. “You keep an eye on that Indian. Remember, he’s your responsibility.”

A roguish smile stretched Cade’s lips. “I’ll do that. But you be sure to do the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Garret felt as if his brother were luring him into a box canyon.

“Kit’s your hire.” Cade gave him a wink. “You make sure you keep an eye on her. A real close eye.” He gave Garret a jaunty salute then whistled as he strolled over to the barn. Slapping the big Indian on the back like an old friend, Cade saddled up and the two rode out.

Striding to the cabin, Garret threw open the door and entered the cool interior. He peeked out the curtainless window and spied Kit toting out saddles, her shoulders draped with bridles. She settled down in the shade near the pump and started scrubbing the leather.

What was he going to do with the likes of her? Garret rubbed his hand down his face. He paced between the cookstove and table until he reached the flour sacks that marked off Cade’s room. A quick pivot, ten paces, and he had reached the ragged quilt that sectioned off his room.

Memories tugged at his heart. He found himself lifting the curtain and walking over to his bed. At the foot, he stared at the trunk. Rubbing his hands down his jeans, he worked the stiff straps free then unlocked the trunk and swung the lid open, releasing the scent of cedar.

With reverence, he pulled out a quilt. Evenly spaced stitches held a kaleidoscope of patches. The red square came from Pa’s shirt. A faded triangle of blue had long ago been Garret’s coveralls, then Cade’s, then finally a part of his mother’s creation.

Time slipped away, and Garret returned to the homestead of his childhood. He could hear the sound of his pa’s fiddle and Ma’s clear voice calling her family to supper. Cade, just a baby swinging in a hammock in the dugout, giggled and sucked a sugar-water rag.

Why had he even saved the quilt? The bits of cloth no longer represented his life. They belonged to a family that existed fifteen years ago. Before his pa was bushwacked and his ma turned to whoring for money.

Despite the weight in his heart, he placed the quilt back in the trunk and picked up a leather satchel. His fingers shook as he flipped back the cover.

Brown, wrinkled papers, the ink faded with age, crackled as he shuffled through them. His mother’s fine script pleaded with him from the pages. The shame of his desertion stirred up a guilt so strong, so overpowering that it threatened to choke out the tears locked in his heart.

That trunk had remained unopened for five years, since the start of the ranch. He knew why the desire to hold that quilt came over him. Crossing over to the open window, he watched Kit working under the shade of the pines.

Deceitful, conniving, ice water for blood. He knew the type. Wasn’t surprised Cade took a liking to her. Every saloon packed the bar with them. There was nothing demure or soft about Kit. Except for her hair. Like dark cornsilk. His fingers had slid through the strands with a mind of their own, reluctant to leave the satiny touch.

Heat flamed in his groin. Lust didn’t play a part in his plans for the future. A good year, some expansion, then he could propose to Abigail.

Abigail—she’d jump to the wrong conclusion about Kit faster than a jackrabbit headed for the brush. And then there was Sam Benton. Slighting his niece and hiring two half-breeds would not win Garret an introduction and a chance at the cavalry contract.

But if he threw the two off the Rockin’ G, he’d be saving his ranch and losing his brother. He’d deserted his ma. Garret wouldn’t make the same mistake with Cade. The ranch represented Cade’s best hope of amounting to something besides a cardsharp. And to secure the ranch’s future, Garret needed that army deal.

Solving this quandary was about as easy as tying down a bobcat with a piece of string. Near impossible. But not completely out of the question. All Garret needed to do was drive Kit away. Her brother would follow. He would be rid of the Indians without overruling Cade.

Kit O’Shane would leave and leave soon. He made the vow and left the cabin. As he slammed the door, he wished he could shut away the memories sewn into the quilt and his heart as easily.




Chapter Four (#ulink_74d32c50-b422-5625-9555-a3bac945268e)


Kit’s eyelids flew open. Her heart pounded in her chest. A quivery weakness raked her body as she lay on her rickety cot. Another night, the same recurring nightmare.

As she sat upright, her feet collided with the sleeping ranch cur. After nearly a week of sharing quarters, she and Chili had reached an uneasy compromise. She got the bed. The dog retained ownership of the moth-eaten blankets. On the floor.

“Kit?” Hawk paused from coiling his lariat near the window. “I thought you had fallen asleep.”

Each evening, her brother lagged at the barn until all the cowhands had bedded down. A formidable wall of protection against living, breathing men, Hawk couldn’t ward off the horror in her dreams.

For a second, she wished Hawk could take her dreams from her, make her forget the terror she had lived through. But the nightmares helped her focus on her goal. A man’s death. The annihilation of Jando’s evil. She closed her eyes and asked, “Did you find anything today?”

Her brother’s silence answered her question. No. Five days without a sign of the rustlers.

She dislodged her boots from under Chili’s warm body, slipped them on and wove her way through the tack to stand next to her brother. “There’s a few hours before sunset. I think I’ll take a walk down near the river.”

Her brother rose, tight-lipped and scowling, seeing through her white lie. “You walk when the spirits speak. I will go with you.”

“No.” Kit shook her head. “I know you mean well. But I have to learn to not be afraid.”

Her brother’s lips tightened into a firm line. “I failed you in the village and fail you here. Garret Blaine works you like a slave.” Frustration seethed in her brother’s voice. “And I allow it.”

“I allow it,” Kit corrected. “And every chore is worth it if it helps us find Jando.” Shrugging her shoulders, she gave her brother a wry smile. “The Rockin’ G’s not so bad. Food’s good. Accommodations livable. And then there’s Cade.” Humor brought a smile to her lips. “I think he could charm the rattle off a snake if he set his mind to it.”

“He cannot charm his brother.”

“No, he can’t.” She bit her lower lip. If Garret was hard on her, he was twice as severe with Cade. Not once had she heard the older brother praise the younger, or offer a word of encouragement. Then again, Kit had stumbled onto more than one work-time poker game, with the younger Blaine scraping in the ante. “I suppose Cade enjoys our presence. It gives Garret someone else to criticize.”

“You do more than your fair share of work.”

“I get a great deal of satisfaction provoking the elder Blaine.” So far, Kit was the winner in the battle of wills between herself and the rancher. The heady thrill of victory lifted some of her dread.

“This I have noticed.” A mild tone of censure tempered Hawk’s voice. He cuffed her chin with his fist. “Go take your walk. But do not go far.”

“Only to that rock.” She pointed toward a dark finger of granite at the river’s edge. “I’ll be back at sundown.”

Hawk handed her a wool serape as she passed. “Sundown, then I will come for you.” Finality carved his words.

Kit accepted the terms—a solitary constitutional timed by her protective brother. There had been a time when she would have chafed at the limits on her freedom. Now she understood the necessity. Father had been right—the world could be incredibly cruel.

The door creaked as she opened it. Chili pulled himself to his feet and rushed out ahead of her. The old dog took every opportunity to put her in her place. Second. Master and hound had a lot in common. She glimpsed the dog’s tail as he rounded the cabin.

Outside, pale shades of amethyst and turquoise tinted the sky. She rested her elbows on the corral fence and whistled low. The stallion lifted his regal head, sniffed the air and trotted over to her. He nosed her shirt pocket, aware of the sugar cube hidden inside.

“Here you go, big fella.” Kit dug the cube out and held it flat on her palm. While the horse munched contentedly, she admitted, “You know I don’t bring you treats just to drive Garret crazy.”

The horse snorted, not fooled by her entreaty. All right, getting under Garret’s skin was her foremost enjoyment.

He had expected her gone after the first night. One look at her hard at work before sunrise, and the swagger had left his step. And this morning! Oh, if only she could have preserved the rancher’s shocked face. It was worth every aching muscle to see his cocksure grin melt and his eyes glitter with surprise.

Garret Blaine might not be a man to push, but she wasn’t a woman to easily succumb to pressure. She and Hawk would remain on the ranch until they no longer needed a cover. Then she would gladly wave farewell to the scowling rancher.

A refreshing soak while she reveled in her remarkable tenacity with Garret would ease her nerves. She headed for the river, knowing that after a bath she’d sleep well, especially knowing Garret wouldn’t.



Enjoying the coming sunset, Garret watched Chili wind himself into a comfortable position on the porch. A faint line of smoke rose from the bunkhouse chimney. The tinny sound of Vega’s guitar floated in the air along with Cracker’s off-key singing. His wranglers were fixing to bed down, worn out from an honest day’s labor.

A few solitary minutes to collect his thoughts and he’d be ready for some shut-eye himself. If he could get any. Peaceful sleep was a memory. The sound of Kit’s ax chopping wood until the late hours had kept him awake last night. Along with his conscience. A woman, no matter if she dressed in pants and wore a knife the size of his forearm, could take only so much.

An irritated neigh called from the corral. Garret shifted from his seat and craned his neck around the corner. Kit with the stallion again. And not another soul around.

Where the hell was that brother of hers? Come quitting time, Hawk usually stood sentry over Kit, an imposing barrier to any cowboy that tried to saddle up to the girl. A barrier Garret was mighty glad to let stand. He wanted Kit gone, but he didn’t want her hurt.

He watched her as she, ambled toward the water, glistening with the late-day sunlight. She walked with a natural grace, unafraid of the night sounds. The setting sun and long shadows chilled the air but she carried a poncho instead of wearing it. Her hair cascaded down her back, swaying gently as she moved, giving him a glimpse of her jean-clad legs and backside.

A primitive beauty in a primal land. His blood stirred. Barbaric urges roused in his loin. He had lived too long in a brothel not to recognize pure, unadulterated lust. The intensity shook him. Downright frightened him.

If she tempted him, there was no telling what fire burned in the jeans of his wranglers. And Kit wasn’t helping matters. What was she doing walking alone this close to night? Was she hoping some lonely cowboy would wander down to the river?

There was just one thing to do. Go down to the river and, in calm, simple language, lay it on the line. He had a ranch to think of. A woman of upstanding reputation he was courting. She and her brother could take an honest wage for their work and ride on. Cade would never be the wiser.

He’d mind his temper and strive for a civil conversation. If he talked to her, it would be man-to-man—or rather, man-to-woman. The thought carried an unwelcome sensation to his blood, sending heat branching through his torso.

Andersonville had starved the wildness from him. Or so he thought. Each time he looked at Kit, a fresh rain fed those urges. He felt them taking root, pushing forward and growing stronger.

Kit had to go. But he needed a few moments to brace himself for the confrontation and calm the fire in his gut.



For centuries, the block of dark granite had battled the river, forcing the water to divert around its immovable mass. Unable to wash away the obstruction, the river pounded into the unyielding rock, until it gouged a Ushaped indentation. A perfect pool for a sheltered bath.

Kit swam through the cool mountain water. She let her worries and concerns float away. Tension and weariness seeped from her bones but an undercurrent of caution remained. Would always remain until Jando died.

Standing in waist-deep water, she watched the current tumble stones along the stream bottom. The rock and the river, neither willing to give up the battle. She and Garret, neither about to accept defeat. But nature had reached a compromise in forming the pool. There could be no such concession between herself and the rancher. To the bitter end, she would fight to stay, and give Hawk time to track down Jando.

She emerged from the water, her hair plastered to her neck and back, and shivered as a breeze skipped across her skin. Her flannel shirt served as a towel first, then a robe. Lifting her mass of hair, she untangled it from her shirt collar to let it dry.

Covered to her knees, she retrieved her pants from the scraggly branches of a juniper and wiggled into them. The cotton material clung to her still-damp body. She hopped up and down to work the jeans up her legs.

Clean and refreshed, Kit slipped on her boots, then wrapped herself in the thick warmth of the serape. Leaning against the rough granite, she listened to the prairie.

Crickets chirped. Fish splashed in the stream. Sweet grass whispered to the wind. The sharp, pungent smell of sage and juniper scented the breeze. Serenity floated away the last vestiges of her nightmare. She had to give Garret credit for choosing this spot to place his ranch. The Rockin’ G was an Eden.

Like a mother tucking in her child, evening enveloped the rolling hills. The sun balanced on the mountain horizon. Stars dusted the sky, the twinkling lights pale in the twilight. Three radiant stars lined up low in the sky. Orion’s belt.

Lightning bugs winked in the tall grass, and she heard the swish of prairie grass being stepped on. By habit, she placed a hand on the hilt of her knife. Steady footsteps thudded the ground, drawing nearer. She kept her voice smooth and unaffected by the approaching stranger. “Do you share an interest in astronomy or are you spying?”

Garret Blaine rounded the tip of the boulder and stopped short. A small cowlick danced in the slight breeze. His full lips were pressed into a scowl, ready for an argument. “I want to talk with you.”

“About astronomy?” Kit gave him a delightfully obtuse smile, meant to throw him off balance and give her time to regain hers. The fluttering in her heart started. Fingernails of fear dug into her soul. Swallowing hard, she refused to allow anything more than a casual facade to show. Words rambled from her mouth. “I prefer the myths that correlate with the constellations to the actual science.”

The old dog sat on the rancher’s heels, his growl like the sound of a distant tornado.

“What are you talking about?” Garret shook his head. He had been working the girl too hard, she was talking loco.

“The stars.” She looped a strand of wet hair behind her ear and pointed toward the sky. “There’s so many, how could you miss them?”

“I’ve seen stars.” Garret brushed away her comment while his gaze riveted on her appearance. Droplets of water hung like dew on her walnut-colored skin and glistened at the hollow of her throat. Ebony hair lay sleek and wet against the nape of her neck.

Bathing! Out here. Alone. Didn’t the girl have a bit of sense? A timber wolf could have crept up on her. Or a lust-frenzied cowhand. Then what would she have done?

As though reading his mind, she rubbed the hilt of her knife with her thumb.

“I got a ranch to run,” Garret reminded her and himself. “I don’t have time to waste looking at the sky. Now, I want to talk to you—”

“Never just a few spare minutes to enjoy your surroundings?” She taunted him with her clear azure gaze. “Come now, Mr. Blaine, a man doesn’t choose to build his home in this location without appreciating the beauty of it.”

She didn’t waste kindling getting a fire started in the pit of Garret’s stomach. “Best place to put the cabin, there by the pines,” he said.

“Oh, I agree.” That little half smile came back, along with his own longings. “Those evergreens make a tremendous windbreak, plus the scent is heavenly. And the river’s close enough to draw water from.”

“I got a well, so come winter I don’t have to break river ice.” These few hundred acres were his life, his future. “I plan to keep building.”

“Another corral? A smokehouse?”

That thorn of discomfort stabbed deeper. Kit seemed to know what he was going to say before he did. Caution and surprise made him answer slowly, “Thinking about those and adding on to the cabin.”

“The cabin?” Kit wrinkled her brow. “That seems rather extraneous. There’s only Cade and you. The bunkhouse is sufficient, even if you increase your employees.”

Garret wasn’t quite sure what extraneous meant, but he could guess. “For right now. But with a good drive, I might be thinking of taking a wife.”

Her eyebrows unfurled, one arched in a delicate dark line. “Taking a wife? Interesting choice of words, Mr. Blaine. And do you have an intended hostage selected?” Her tone implied she extended her deepest sympathy to his betrothed.

“Abigail Benton.”

“Ah, so you intend to marry for money.”

“I do not. I can take care of my woman. If given the chance.”

“So, you’re marrying her uncle, Sam Benton.”

“Benton can open doors that are usually shut to the son of a saloon girl.”

“And love?” Kit leaned back against the boulder. The action accentuated the graceful arch of her neck.

“It’ll come,” Garret assured Kit. Abigail expected a man who would honor his vows and supply her with a fine home. In return, she would present him with a social standing in the community. Business, pure and simple. No cumbersome emotions to tangle up between them. “Abigail’s a fine woman.”

“For a parlor room. She’ll make sure all your china matches, your silver is polished, and your household staff doesn’t cheat you.” Cocking her head toward his oneroom cabin, Kit snorted. “I can see now why you’ll need to add on, at least a wing for the kitchen staff.”

“Now hold on.” Garret didn’t like the condescending tone Kit was using. “You got no call talking about Miss Benton that way.”

“I can talk about Miss Benton any way I choose.” Kit emphasized Abigail’s title. “And everything I said was the truth.”

“You know, you could learn a few things from a lady like her.”

He expected anger. A sharp, witty retort. She laughed. Nothing like Abigail’s titter behind her lace fan. Kit released a gut-busting, side-splitting caterwaul. She licked her lips then pressed them together, composing herself. “There might be a few things Abigail Benton could learn from me.”

“Like what? How to wear pants and throw a knife?”

“Yes.” A distant look came over Kit’s eyes, like looking at the far shore of a mountain lake. “The West is untamed, Mr. Blaine. Your Miss Benton wouldn’t be able to protect herself very well with a silver spoon.”

“I said, I can take care of my woman.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will. But no one can guard a loved one twenty-four hours a day.” She puckered her lower lip and gave him a heavy-lidded glance. The spark left her eyes, replaced with sadness. Then, like a summer storm, it was over. A sly smile crossed her lips. “I would think Cade would be more to Abigail’s taste than you. He’s quite the ladies’ man.”

“My brother wouldn’t know a lady if she bit him on the nose.”

“Well, if she did bite him on the nose, she wouldn’t be much of a lady, now would she?” Kit’s smile deepened. A dimple formed on her left cheek. “Cade is quite witty, and very handsome.”

Hellfire! This whole conversation had drifted into the badlands. A horrible suspicion congealed in Garret’s mind. Was that little hellcat thinking of sinking her claws into Cade? She might be about the same age as Cade, but Garret would guess she was years more experienced. His brother was just fool enough to fall for her.

“Cade is off-limits to you,” he warned.

“Off-limits?” The smile disappeared. Its absence sent a strange sense of disappointment filtering through Garret. Animosity blistered across her face.

“Don’t think you’re going to worm your way into Cade’s affections.”

“Worm?” she huffed. The dark blue of her eyes frosted.

“You think you can get a piece of my ranch by latching onto my kin.”

“I don’t know which is more pathetic, your overinflated pride or the way you treat your brother.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Garret’s voice rose. He lost all hope for a calm and logical conversation. The woman was beyond it. Chili’s growl grew louder; he bared his teeth.

She faced him and poked him in the shoulder with her index finger, “It means you have a poor opinion of Cade if you think the only woman that would marry him would be after your ranch. Your brother is kind, generous, delightfully amusing and extremely attractive.” Her voice rose, also, not shrill, but forceful and direct.

Kit’s list of Cade’s attributes stung. Garret didn’t want to hear her thoughts about him. “I know exactly what kind of man my brother is.”

“You certainly don’t express it.”

“I’ve had it with this.” Garret swatted his hand at the air between them, brushing away her comments as if they were an annoying gnat. “You’ve lectured me on the woman I plan to marry and the way I treat my brother.”

“There hasn’t been time to address any other issues.” She clipped each word with a back-east accent.

Chili picked up the lull in the conversation by snapping at Kit then sitting back, a deep rumble in his chest. Undaunted, Kit snapped right back and growled lower. The old dog looked at Garret, surprise and confusion in his dark brown eyes. Chili didn’t know what to make of Kit any more than Garret did.

“And I want you to stop that. Quit picking on my dog.”

“He started it.” Kit turned her attention from Chili to Garret. Her glacial stare pierced him. Two icicles of sapphire blue.

The woman was impossible and always had to have the last word. “You’d argue about anything, wouldn’t you? You’d even butt heads with a three-legged dog.”

“Why not?” she called over her shoulder as she marched past him. “I argue with the two-legged variety.” Rounding the boulder, she disappeared from Garret’s sight. He detected the exchange of whispers, then the soft thud of feet retreating back toward the ranch. Looking around the boulder, he spied Hawk standing near Kit, his arm protectively around her shoulder. So where was Cade? Obviously not following the Indian.

Kit O’Shane had more prickles than a cactus. And Garret felt as if he had walked right over every thorn. He watched her ramrod-stiff back melt into the darkness. That woman was cantankerous. Ill-tempered. Hardheaded. And she had succeeded in keeping him from discussing her departure. He added “crafty” to her list of faults.

Pompous. Extraneous. Address the issues. Astronomy and constellations. Kit threw out three-dollar words as if she had a vault full of them. Hawk didn’t tote around a vocabulary like his sister’s.

Something didn’t sit just right about that girl. How’d a half-breed learn words like that? Missionary schools taught more Bible learning than reading and writing. Kit didn’t learn to speak with that tone or with that accent growing up on a reservation. The mystery surrounding the two Indians muddied like a river after a downpour. How much of Kit and Hawk’s story was true, and how much of it was just a tall tale?

Garret walked back toward the cabin, a twister of thoughts and speculations blowing through his mind. And the warning of rustlers whirling in his heart.




Chapter Five (#ulink_4069b368-919d-5bb0-973f-17741cff6d4a)


Scrape! Kit’s file gouged into the grease coating on the bunkhouse stove. The sound of metal grating against metal sent spine-tingling pain up Garret’s backbone. The needlelike ache lodged at the base of his neck.

Resting his elbows on the plank table, he rubbed his temples. The pain in his head continued to throb. He took a sip of his coffee. Cold. Lord, how long had he been watching her work? Too long.

After a morning of scrubbing, she ought to look like hell. So why did she look so damn beautiful? She knelt near the old stove, a bucket of ashes and dirt at her feet. The red dye of her cotton shirt had faded to the color of dry desert rock. Her cut-off shirtsleeves left threads hanging down her arms. Soot dusted the tip of her nose. Perspiration curled the fine wisps of hair around her face and neck.

Kit’s translucent blue stare never wavered. Standing, she swept the ashes into her bucket with the broom. “I’m finished as soon as I dump this into the ash bin.”

“Good.” Garret racked his brains for another tedious chore. Hell, she had already cleaned tack, shoveled horse manure and now the stove gleamed like new. But he wasn’t beat yet. “There’s hay to stack in the barn loft.” A sweltering afternoon of breathing chaff and lifting heavy bales would do her in. Maybe.

“Anything else you need done before dinner?” Insolence darkened her eyes.

I want you and your brother gone. Garret didn’t need to voice his desire. She knew he didn’t want her around. He resented the position he found himself in—stuck between kowtowing to a prig like Sam Benton and obliging Cade’s sudden interest in the ranch.

Garret had to admit his brother had finally found the blister end of a shovel since Hawk’s arrival. Following the Indian forced Cade to work side by side with him. And Hawk had turned out to be a hell of a wrangler.

But the promise of the cavalry agreement made Garret wince. Sam Benton and his lackey brother, Eli, unofficially governed its control.

A look at Kit’s full lips, slightly pouting from her effort, and a traitorous longing threatened to weaken Garret’s will. He fought down the hot licks of passion and ordered, “Tomorrow, you and your brother ride brush.”

A full day of riding in the hot sun through thorns and dry brush for longhorns would finish off her stubborn streak. By this time tomorrow, Kit would be long gone. Just a bad memory. One he wasn’t likely to forget.

“We’ll leave at first light.” She spoke with quiet authority then went back to sweeping ashes into the bucket.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and slowness dogged her steps. A thick blanket of guilt nearly smothered him. She was wearing down. Finally. He should be exhilarated. He wasn’t. A snake with two bellies couldn’t crawl as low as he felt.

The urge to explain himself, to make her understand his predicament forced Garret to make a stab at conversation. “Kit, there’s this contract with the army coming up.”

She puffed back a strand of loose hair and kept working. “That’s a lucrative proposition.”

“One I aim to make come true.” He paused, wet his lips, considering how to be tactful but truthful. “There are powerful people in Colorado that feel Indians and cavalry don’t mix. ‘Specially Cheyenne.”

The wire file stopped in midstroke. Straightening, she lifted her chin and gave him a glacial stare. “If you plan on firing me, then I’m taking the black. I rode him. I broke him. I’ll own him.”

A wagonload of nitro on a bumpy road couldn’t be as ignitable as that woman. “Now wait just a minute.” The hairs on Garret’s neck bristled with her high-handed attitude. “I give the orders around here.”

“Really? Sounds to me like the ‘powerful people’ run the Rockin’ G.”

“Sam Benton can make a helluva enemy.”

Her fingers clenched the wire brush until they turned white. A flicker of indignation and pain flashed across her face. Garret wasn’t surprised. Benton had an intense dislike of the Cheyenne. He had men combing the reservations, drumming up reasons to search their homes and stirring up trouble.

The depths of Kit’s eyes heated to the color of an inner flame. “Perhaps I should just wait for Sam Benton to give me my work on the Rockin’ G.”

Every blade of grass on his ranch, every drop of water in the stream, every cool mountain breeze laced with the scent of pines were a part of Garret. A swell of ownership and pride swept over him.

Poking himself in the chest, he laid down the law. “This is Blaine land and no one else’s. I give the orders around here.” The declaration lifted a weight from his heart and his conscience.

A secretive smile played on her full lips. “I see. Then, Mr. Blaine, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” She headed for the door.

Frustration made him mutter, “I oughta save myself the headache and run you and your brother off.”

Her whole body stilled. She lowered the bucket and pivoted to face him. “So why don’t you? You could have us gone if you really wanted it.”

“When a Blaine makes a promise, it’ll be kept.” The angry steam boiled out of him, and he dropped the huffiness from his voice. “And I’ve gotten more work out of Cade in the week you’ve been here than the whole time he’s been on the ranch. I’m willing to put up with anything that can draw my brother away from the poker table long enough for him to see his future lies here, on the Rockin’ G, and not in some saloon.”

The thunder left her stormy eyes. A half smile curved her lips. “Even when it comes between you and the army contract.”

“I stand by my word and my brother.”

Her tone softened. “Mr. Blaine, I think there’s hope for you yet.” Picking up the bucket, she left, leaving Garret exactly where he started. Stuck with her and her brother.

“Cap’n.” Davidson burst through the bunkhouse door and skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over his overgrown feet. “There’s a fancy buggy headin’ this way. Cracker’s thinkin’ it’s yore Miss Abigail.”

“Argh.” Garret ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he could rake the trouble from his life as easily. Abigail didn’t venture far from the comforts of Colorado Springs without a good reason. Traynor must have spread the word in town about Kit and Hawk. Thank goodness the cowhand had ridden out before discovering the Indian youth was in reality a woman. Abigail was a sensitive woman. She couldn’t handle too many surprises at a time.

Garret slammed his hat on and threw open the door. He spotted Kit heading toward the barn, ready to tackle his latest chore. How could two women be so different? Abigail’s delicate form would collapse under the weight of the heavy feed. And if he didn’t handle the next few minutes just right, his relationship with her would collapse just as quickly.



Dust from the hay and barn chafed Kit’s neck. After only a few minutes of work in the stuffy loft, her clothes hung heavy on her body and sweat drenched her skin. A breeze traveled through the window, cooling her but stirring the dirt and her irritation. The whole barn could ignite from one spark of her anger.

Garret Blaine had her perplexed. He seemed a man tearing himself in two. On the one hand, he was so like her father. Ambitious, thirsty for power, trying to control his family.

On the other, Garret labored from sunup to sundown to build this ranch. And he carried out a promise no matter the consequences. A soft lump rose in her throat. That she could take to heart. Fulfilling a promise was the center of Hawk’s and her world. The reason she was willing to endure the herculean labors.

Honest, stubborn, strong, money-hungry, dependable, trustworthy. Garret Blaine was a strange mixture of all the traits she abhorred and admired. With each confrontation, her panic decreased and new emotions grew. He fired her temper and a strange hunger in the pit of her stomach.

The smothering heat intensified. Kit pulled her shirttails free and fanned herself, but the warmth that traipsed through her blood didn’t lessen. Moving to the window, she dangled a leg over the ledge, opened the collar of her shirt and prayed for a chilling breeze.

The creak of wagon wheels drew her attention. A fancy surrey rolled into the yard, its red tassels swaying from the canopy. Two dapple mares trotted in front, their heads forced into a fashionable arch with a tight martingale.

A short, stocky man kept a heavy hand on the reins. His high top hat shaded little of his face. Sun exposure reddened his ample cheeks. On his spotless white shirt, rows of ruffles hid his chin.

Next to him sat a young woman whose blond hair was caught up in an impractical hat the size of a currycomb. Pastel flowers bloomed across the top and anchored a swath of black netting across her face. Her frock coat covered her gown from neck to ankle, protecting her dress and the velvet cushion seat from trail dust.

Kit chewed on a hay straw and watched the driver halt the buggy in front of the lodgepole cabin. “Blaine, I want a word with you,” he commanded.

Her gaze shifted to Garret. Rotating his shoulders, he took his time crossing the yard. Curls at the nape of his neck coiled in several directions. A too long lock of hair draped over his eyes, giving him a roguish look.

Kit let her fingers slip through the loose hay on the loft floor. A remote attempt to brush back Garret’s wayward strands. Surprised at her response, she pinned her fingers under crossed arms. A fluttering sensation swept across her chest and nestled just below her heart.

Touching his finger to his hat, Garret nodded toward the woman. “Miss Abigail.” He didn’t look at the driver as he added, “Fredrick.”

Abigail Benton! Kit grabbed the pulley rope and leaned out the window. So this was what her cousin looked like. When Garret had mentioned he was courting her, Kit’s stomach had flip-flopped. She had made some discreet inquiries about Abigail and her father, Eli, hoping to gain their help in her search. Both turned out to be self-centered wastrels, living off Sam Benton. Kit had avoided any contact.

A sour taste puckered her mouth as the dainty young woman leaned over the driver and clasped Garret’s hand. “I’ve been so worried about you. Rumors are flying.”

Worried? The only thing Abigail Benton ever concerned herself with was Abigail. Kit fumed as the young woman stepped down, lifted her hem and displayed small, delicate ankles.

Ensconced between the buggy and Garret’s tall frame, Abigail slowly withdrew her lace-covered hand from his loose hold. Lifting the netting from her face, she displayed clear alabaster skin and a cameo profile. “Garret’s going to clear this whole thing up.”

She’s batting her eyelashes! Kit retreated into the loft and pulled the crown of her water-stained hat down to her eyebrows. How can Garret be so naive? Can’t he see he deserves better than a simpering tease?

Disappointment sliced through Kit’s heart along with a nasty emotion she was afraid to identify. It felt too close to jealousy. She shouldn’t care what the lean rancher did or whom he married. But she did. Somehow, Garret had become more than a convenient hideout.

“You hired anyone lately?” Fredrick issued the question like a command.

“What business is it of yours?” Garret stiffened. What happened on the Rockin’ G was none of Marvin Fredrick’s concern.

Fredrick’s heavy jowls looked as though they’d been sandpapered. He gave Garret a nasty smile, baring white even teeth. “Word has it two Indians tricked you and that brother of yours into hiring them.”

Garret looked past the buggy to the barn. Kit sat in the loft window, eavesdropping along with the other men.

Abigail fluttered her hand like a fan. “Don’t take Fredrick’s comments the wrong way.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Abigail.” Garret constrained the anger from his voice. “I wouldn’t stoop to a fight with you here. I’m sure Fredrick realized that when he suggested you come with him.” Garret watched the man’s face contort in a grimace of anger and outrage at the intended insult.

Behind him, Vega and Cracker snickered as they inspected a saddle Kit had already cleaned and repaired. Candus stooped to examine the hoof of a mule tied to the hitching post. His deep chortle could be easily heard. Bugeyed and with a wide grin, Davidson sat on the porch and shouted, “Good one, Cap’n.”

At least Garret didn’t have to deal with Cade’s biting wit and Hawk’s imposing presence. They were bringing in cattle from the valley pastures.

“Cade hired a man. Goes by the name of Hawk. And I took on Kit.” Now was not the time to tell Abigail that his new employee was a woman. Not with Fredrick after him like a snapping turtle. Garret’d ride into town in a few days and explain everything to her. After she had some time to digest his next bit of news.

Abigail patted her elaborately coiffed hair. “All of this was just a silly mistake.”

“Kit and Hawk are half-Cheyenne.” Garret’s voice dropped in timbre, but he made the statement without apology.

“Garret!” Beauty could hide many flaws, but Abigail’s china-doll face magnified the prejudice in her soul. Her eyes narrowed to slits and the Cupid’s bow of her lips thinned to a stiff, tight line.

“Indians are nothing but filthy animals.” Abigail’s whine pained his ears. She clutched the throat of her frock coat. “Really, I had thought you better than your upbringing.”

The verbal slap rubbed salt into the wound of his childhood. Garret tried to reason with her. “There’s no cause for this.”

“Of course there’s cause.” Abigail’s voice turned shrill with indignation. “I cannot believe you would put all the women in the area in danger like this. My uncle Samuel says—”

“Your uncle Sam talks a lot.” Garret could have bit his tongue after he spoke. Hell, where had that come from? It sounded like something Cade would say. Looking toward the barn, Garret spotted Kit still leaning dangerously out of the window. She gave him a nod of approval. His lips twitched. He almost found himself smiling.

“Sam Benton knows what this territory needs to become a state.” Fredrick reached out his hand and helped Abigail return to the carriage. “And he knows exactly what should be done with every murdering redskin.”

This kind of talk could only lead to trouble for Kit, Hawk and the Rockin’ G. Wild talk and a liquored-up crowd were a recipe for a hanging party. Garret replied staunchly, “Those Indians haven’t murdered anyone.”

Fredrick pointed his finger at Garret. “Four nights ago, rustlers hit Ben Harris. He lost twenty head of cattle, a string of prime horses and three men. The outlaws took scalps.”

Four nights ago! While Garret had been arguing with Kit by the pool, rustlers had attacked. She had an alibi, but what of Hawk? He hadn’t shown up until sundown. Where had he been for those few hours? As soon as Cade rode in, Garret had some questions to ask.

He wasn’t about to let Fredrick see the lash of doubt. “If I catch any of my men tossing a loose rope, I’ll be the first to turn them in.”

Abigail sat primly in the carriage, staring straight ahead. “Garret, you have the potential to make something of yourself, despite your mother. Are you going to throw that all away for a couple of savages?”

A whore’s son. He couldn’t escape it. Every cowboy that had ridden the range in the last ten years knew about his ma. His fingernails dug angrily into the soft leather binding of the surrey. “Leave my mother out of this,” he rasped warningly.

Startled, Abigail pulled an immaculate handkerchief from her drawstring pocket and waited, the clear expectation of an apology on her face. Garret didn’t oblige.

Abigail bit her lip and let a fine line of hardness into her voice. “I am well aware you are sorely lacking in education and breeding. I’m willing to overlook that, but if you expect to ever court me again, then you had best get rid of those creatures.”

Her gaze flickered over his face then lingered on his mouth. Her voice turned husky. “I don’t hold a grudge. Unlike my uncle Samuel. Get rid of those Indians, and everything can be just like it was.”

It didn’t matter that the words came from a pretty package and that Abigail’s voice sounded sweet as sugar, Garret detected the threat. Fire the Indians or have Sam Benton as an enemy. Garret fingered his collar. It felt tight and restrictive, as did Abigail’s attempt to bring him in line.

Thundering hooves pounded into the yard, bringing a groan to Garret’s lips. Cade and Hawk trotted toward the corral. Dark sweat lined their mounts and Cade’s shirt. Dressed in fringed leggings and a vest, Hawk looked like a marauding warrior instead of a cowhand.

“I’ll be watching you, Blaine.” Lifting his whip, Fredrick flicked it in the direction of Hawk. “And that hea-then.” He smacked the rump of his matched grays with the whip. The carriage rumbled past. Dirt and sod roostertailed from the wheel, spattering Garret’s jeans and shirt.

Hawk didn’t give the surrey a glance, just untacked his horse and started rubbing the animal down. Cade moseyed over to Garret, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Something I said?”

“I gotta talk with you.” Garret propelled his brother toward the cabin. Pushing the door open, he dragged Cade inside then spied out the window. Davidson was walking toward the outhouse. Near the barn, Vega and Cracker were actually repairing the supply wagon. Candus hoofpicked a mule near the corral. No busy ears to overhear his conversation.

“I want to know if you’ve been keeping an eye on Hawk.”

Displaying his palms, Cade lamented, “’Course I have. See these blisters? I got just as many on my backside.”

“You know where he’s been every minute?”

“Mostly. We can’t herd in longhorns tied to each other’s hip. But he’s never come up missing on the range.”

“And the evenings, here at the ranch?” Garret asked.

Cade twisted his lower jaw, as if he were having the barber remove a bad tooth. “He just goes over to the barn and sits with Kit. Ain’t no reason to follow him—”

“Four nights ago—” Garret glanced at the window, then lowered his voice “—where was he?”

Cade removed his hat and ran the brim through his hands. “Four nights ago? Let me recollect. I seen him at supper. Then just after sunset with Kit down by the river.”

“Two hours unaccounted for.” Garret slapped his hand on his thigh. “Hawk could have ridden to the Harris spread and made it back by sundown.”

“Why would Hawk want to ride over to the Lazy Bar T?”

“Rustling. Harris lost cattle, horses and three men.” Garret dipped himself a mug of cold water from the crock. He sipped the liquid and contemplated the evidence. Hawk had no alibi. The Indian hated being parted from his sister, so why let her stroll, alone, in a secluded spot?

And what of Kit? If Hawk was involved with the outlaws, what was her part? An innocent sister, or a luring temptress? Was her bath a ploy to keep Garret occupied while Hawk sneaked away? Her nightly walks an attempt to keep his mind on her and not on the ranch’s defenses?

Cade stood, determination hardening his features. “I ain’t firing Hawk just ‘cause Abigail Benton says so. He’s worked harder than any man we’ve got.”

Garret examined his little brother. Cade had his dander up. And not about a card game. “You like this Indian, don’t you?”

“I like them both.”

“Why?”

A casual shrug and a shuffling of his boots accompanied Cade’s response. “They sorta remind me of us. Got the world telling them they ain’t no good ‘cause of their blood.” Sincerity strengthened Cade’s voice and made him sound older than his eighteen years.

Garret released a long, slow sigh. He should just fire those two and be done with it. If Cade wasn’t involved so seriously…If this wasn’t the first time his little brother had shown some responsibility…

Scratching his eyebrow, Garret made up his mind. There was just too much at stake to leave it to Cade and his history of recklessness. If Hawk was involved with the outlaws, Cade could get hurt. “From now on, you stay clear of Hawk.”

“But, Garret—”

“No buts.” Garret would brook no arguments. “These outlaws are desperate men. They’ve already killed.”

“You think Kit and Hawk are guilty,” Cade accused.

“If I believed that, those two would be riding off this ranch now. And I’d be talking to the sheriff. I got questions. And I want answers.”

“I can get them.”

“And wind up shot.” Garret sucked in a breath. “Cade, just do as I say. I’ll be watching them from now on.”

Cade stared at a knot in the floorboard. His jaw worked like a gristmill, grinding his teeth together. “I’m sure you won’t ever need it, big brother, but if you want some help, you can count on me.” Stuffing his Stetson back on, he took three long strides and left the cabin.

Help was exactly what Garret required, but none that Cade could give. He’d need a flour sifter to sort out the medley of emotions in his heart. Passion and desire tempted Garret to lay aside his suspicions. The anguish of his youth cried for him to be lenient. His sharp-edged instincts, honed in Andersonville, commanded him to think first of himself, his brother and his ranch.

Indecisiveness was a new emotion for Garret. He didn’t like it. If Hawk and Kit were rustling, Cade was going to need indisputable proof. And Garret wasn’t prepared to even hint to the authorities his concern unless he had the same type of evidence. One way or the other, he would find out the truth about the two Indians.



Kit studied the furrowed brows and tight line of her brother’s lips as he climbed the ladder to the loft. “You found something?”

White streaks of anger tunneled across Hawk’s neck. “I found an old campfire. And these.” He pulled a dark leathery circle from the pouch on his belt. Long dark hair hung in a snarl from it.

Brilliant sparkles formed in front of her eyes and she gripped her brother’s arm to keep from fainting dead away. “Did Cade see this?”

“No. Cade talks too much. He is easy to lose on the trail. Jando could walk in front of him and he would not notice.” Hawk replaced the scalp in the leather pouch and tugged the leather ties closed. The look on her brother’s face made Kit fight back the raging waves of horror.

“This time, my brother, we’ll get our revenge.”




Chapter Six (#ulink_12b94e5e-6c03-5166-be5f-9d2e8acac42e)


Garret’s eyes adjusted to the starlit darkness. The North Star twinkled high to the left, pointing the way toward Denver. Just above the mountains, three stars lined up along the western horizon. Kit had called them Orion’s belt. He would never be able to look at them again without visualizing her at the pool, her hair sleek and wet, her lips full and red, his body primed for the taste of her.

The cabin door opened and a sliver of firelight sliced the night. Cade stuck his head out, exposing his bare chest. “She go to bed yet?”

Clearing his throat, Garret tried to cover up his confusion. “I always sit a spell about now.”

A devilish smile crossed his brother’s lips. “Yeah, but you usually take a seat facing the bunkhouse, not the barn.” Cade walked out, propped his bare feet on the porch rail and clasped his hands behind his neck. “She’s a woman to ride the river with. Got grit. I like that.”

“You mean she’s hardheaded and stubborn as a mule.” Garret forced his voice to remain unaffected by his brother’s ribbing. Cade’s praise also caused Garret to fret.

At eighteen, it didn’t take much for a pretty girl to turn his head. And Kit was more than beautiful. Kit was breathtaking. And not just in her looks, but in the way she moved and blended with the frontier, as though she were a part of it.

Garret could understand Cade’s admiration, but he couldn’t tolerate it. Not if it might hurt Cade in the long run. What if the two Indians were really more than they seemed? Cade couldn’t afford another run-in with the law. In a cool tone, Garret reminded, “Stay away from those two.”

Cade used both hands to scratch his head. His blond hair stood up on end. “Those two ain’t cut out for rustling any more than I’m cut out for ranching.”

“But the Rockin’ G’s half yours, Cade.”

“A piece of paper don’t change who I am.”

Cade couldn’t be more wrong. Two years in Andersonville and a piece of paper had changed Garret. Ma’s will. That one sheet of dry, crinkled paper carved a wound in his heart that would never heal. Made him pray he could turn back time and put to rights all the wrongs he had done his mother.

“You’re thinking about Ma again.” Cade wrapped his arms around his bare waist. The cool night air caused gooseflesh to prickle up his arms.

“What makes you say that?”

“That ugly scowl on your face, like you owe the world.” Cade stood and walked over to the door. “Big brother, you don’t owe no one nothing. Not the past, not me and ‘specially not Ma. Start living in the here and now and stop looking for trouble where it ain’t. Give Kit and Hawk the benefit of the doubt. It’s what we woulda hoped for.” Opening the door, he slipped back inside the cabin. Except for the soft glow of the lantern in the cabin window, blackness prevailed.

The benefit of the doubt. A fair chance to show his mettle. It had taken the worst hellhole in the Confederacy to give Garret his opportunity to grow to manhood. To show other men and himself just what he would do and, more important, what he wouldn’t do to survive. Was the Rockin’ G Kit’s chance? Could Garret turn his back on her and still live with himself?

He entered the cabin. Cade had already hit the sack. His deep, regular breathing brought a twinge of envy and regret to Garret. His brother had no worries. He could sleep easy.

Garret peeled off his clothes and lay on his straw mattress. Restless, he was tempted to get out his mother’s quilt and wrap himself in the memories of his early years. But he didn’t. That life was long ago, best forgotten, along with the desire that flared each time Kit O’Shane looked at him with her icy blue eyes. He fell asleep haunted by images of her full lips and soft body.



A knock hammered through Garret’s dream.

“Mr. Blaine? Wake up, Mr. Blaine.” Kit’s voice pleaded from behind the door. Garret fought off sleep as he shook his head. He wrapped a Navajo blanket around his waist and trudged across the room.

He threw open the door. The lantern in her hand blinded him for a moment. His eyes adjusted to the light, and Kit materialized from the glow. Fine, thick strands of ebony hair blended into the night, streamed down her shoulders and framed her oval face. The first few buttons of her shirt were undone, exposing a hint of the fullness beneath. Blood rushed to his brain and he came instantly awake, aware of the pulsing energy in his loins. “What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s the mare.” Kit’s gaze flickered over his face, his naked chest, then hid behind a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her voice sounded hoarse. “She’s going to drop the foal. I thought—”

“I’d want to know.” Finishing her sentence was like sharing an intimacy. “Let me get my pants on.”

“I’ll meet you over at the barn.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and she bolted off before he could stop her. The swinging light marked her progress across the yard.

Garret grabbed his frayed jeans from the wall peg. From behind his curtain, Cade mumbled. His rope bed creaked as he turned over, then his even breathing returned. Garret thought about waking Cade then changed his mind. He didn’t want to throw those two together any more than necessary. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled on his pants and boots, then headed for the barn.

Kit alone, with her hair unbound, could be a helluva temptation. A temptation even he might not be able to resist. Eve in the Garden hadn’t been able to resist the serpent’s apple. Garret only hoped he could do better against Kit’s native beauty.



Heat radiated across Kit’s cheeks as she returned to the barn. She hadn’t expected Garret to answer the door with only a blanket around his waist. The hard lines of his chest had stirred a deep yearning in the core of her body.

The intensity of the emotion bewildered her. After the destruction of the village, a part of her had died, but Garret’s tousled hair and contoured arms and shoulders rekindled life into her dormant woman’s soul. Made her dream of his lips on hers. She pushed open the door and wished she could leave her quivering knees and pounding heart outside.

Chili danced outside the mare’s stall, following the horse’s restless movements. Hanging the lantern on an iron hook, Kit leaned on the stall gate. Lines of sweat darkened the sorrel’s brown hide. A trickle of blood snaked down the horse’s fetlock. The mare kicked the gate, sending vibrations through Kit’s fingers.

The barn door opened, and Garret strode in. With his shirt open, she could see the corded muscles along his ribs and abdomen. Panic tore at her. Kit fought and controlled the fear. He’s not going to hurt you. He doesn’t want you. The wave diminished to a ripple of apprehension. Along with regret. Deep inside her, a part of her longed for Garret’s touch. Fear forced her to bury the hot emotion.

She stared at the door expectantly. “Cade coming?”

“No. Didn’t figure we needed him.” Garret’s eyes became flat and unreadable.

He’s too close. Survival instincts screamed at Kit to back away. The scent of soap clung to his clothes, beguiling her. With little effort, she quieted the warnings in her head. “We should be able to handle this.”

An undercurrent of tension evaporated from his voice. “Yes, we should.” Kit didn’t understand if he was referring to the mare or to something else.

The mare kicked the stall as her extended stomach quivered. “She could break a leg or cut a tendon,” Kit worried out loud.

Garret pondered for a moment then suggested, “We can pad the gate with blankets, but we don’t have enough to line the walls.”

We. The word left his lips and lodged in Kit’s heart. Garret made her dream of a man who could permanently destroy the fear Jando had instilled in her.

One day, maybe, she would be able to dream. But not while Jando lived. She turned her mind to the task at hand. Yesterday’s chores gave her an idea. “We could use the bales in the loft to build a wall.”

Approval warmed his eyes. He smiled, and Kit found herself lost in the curve of his lips and in the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “You get the blankets. I’ll throw down the bales.”

He lit another lantern on the shelf, then climbed the ladder. The wood floor creaked under his weight as he moved to the far side of the barn. She could hear him grunt softly, then his heavy steps back. A bale fell to the floor in front of her. Then he retreated for another.

The steady beat of his feet reassured Kit. Each step told her of his presence, but she didn’t have to deal with the strange conflicting emotions his closeness caused. Searching the barn for blankets and flour sacks, she let the task command her thoughts.

“Move aside.” Garret puffed behind Kit. He lugged a hay bale over his head. With controlled strength, he dropped it inside the stall, next to the wall. The mare pranced to the opposite side.

“Let me help.” Kit turned to grab a bale.

A callused palm checked her motion. Garret’s thumb massaged her arm, and heat radiated through the thin cloth of her shirt. “Those bales are too heavy for you to lift.” The hard line of his jaw softened, and his eyes melted into a gentle moss-green.

Confusion with her own smoldering emotions made her blurt out, “You didn’t seem to think so yesterday.”

“I said lift, not shove.” Garret tossed the gentle reprimand aside as he released her. Her arm felt cold, as though she needed the warmth of his touch. He returned to the pile of bales at the foot of the ladder.

Kit had to compose herself. Garret Blaine had actually been considerate. He had teased her. She glanced toward him, his back straining to lift the heavy bale. Lantern light turned his hair golden, and without his Stetson, a cowlick sprang free. For once he didn’t look dry, hard and unforgiving. His broad shoulders seemed ready to support her, his strong arms ready to protect her.

Three more bales and he effectively boxed the mare into the center of the stall. When he had finished, he paused, standing so close she could study the swirls of his ear, the way the hair around his neck curled, and see the rays of the starburst scar on his temple. His shirt smelled of crushed hay and a musky masculine scent from his labors.

Kit tore her gaze away from him and concentrated on the mare. “I don’t know what else we can do.” She used that word, too. We. And she was without fear. Instead, she felt an anticipation that offered both promise and danger.

Kit and Garret spoke to the horse, their voices intertwining, alternating from one to the other. Their comforting tones and gentle pats soothed the animal. Only when her sides quivered, the signal of a labor pain, did the mare toss off their hands and roll her eyes.

“This could go on for hours.” Garret leaned on the gate, his shoulder brushing hers. “Why don’t you turn in?” Chili whined as he looked eagerly at the dark tack room.

Shaking her head, Kit combed her fingers through her hair. “No. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” The dog slumped to the floor, clearly disappointed.

An awkward silence dominated the barn. Garret rubbed his temple, his fingers tracing the rays of his scar.

“You get that in the war?” Kit’s gaze centered on his temple.

Self-conscious, Garret withdrew his hand. “In a manner of speaking.”

One dark brow arched. Her exquisite mouth crooked to the side. “What does that mean?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clasped his hands together and stared at the spot where his thumbs interlaced. “I was in Andersonville for two years.”

“I’ve heard stories about the place—”

“None of them could be as bad as the truth.” He unclasped his hands and stepped away from the stall, turning his back on her. “Twenty thousand men stuffed into a prison built to hold a few thousand. Disease, starvation, abuse were everywhere.”

“Did one of the guards do that?” The concern in her voice made him face her. Garret found himself hypnotized by the play of lantern light across the planes of her face and the shimmer in her hair.

“No.” He fought to find his voice. “A Union officer. He threw a rock, hit me in the head.”

Long, slender fingers lay over his hand, then withdrew, trembling. Kit bit her lower lip. “It must have been horrible.”

He stood with her in the glow of the lanterns, surrounded by darkness, and felt they were the only two people on Earth. Nervousness made him try to make light of his situation. “I came in with about twenty other Blues. Nineteen years old, brash, tough and cocksure.”

“Sort of like Cade.”

“Worse than Cade.” He smiled at her exaggerated shocked expression. Then the smile faded as he remembered the rest. “That lasted all of ten minutes. That’s when the rocks started flying. The prisoners were trying to stone us. Kill us for our boots, uniforms and share of food. I saw a captain aim for me and then everything went black.”




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