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Big Sky Standoff
B.J. Daniels
LIKE A SHOWDOWN IN THE OLD WEST…THERE WOULD BE ONLY ONE MAN STANDING WHEN THE DUST CLEAREDThere was a standoff brewing between Dillon Savage and cattle inspector Jacklyn Wilde. Toe to toe, they were an equal match, but together they were an imperfect pair. After four long years, they were hitting the open range again, to bring justice to a lawless land.Attached at the hip until a rustling ring was busted, they had to make the best of a bad situation. But the real trouble was Dillon Savage. The cowboy was as cocksure and adventurous as ever. He had old scores to settle, and Jacklyn was there to make sure he didn't stray from his path. Only she didn't know that she was first in line….



The farther north Jacklyn drove, the more restless Dillon became.
He’d hoped the years had changed him, had at least taught him something about himself. But this place brought it all back. The betrayal. The anger. The aching need for vengeance.
“I’m sorry, where did you say we were going?” he asked. Jack, of course, hadn’t said.
“Your old stompin’ grounds,” she said.
That’s what he was afraid of. They’d gone from the motel to pick up a horse trailer, horses and tack. He couldn’t wait to get back in the saddle. He was just worried where that horse was going to take him. Maybe more to the point, what he would do once he and Jack were deep in this isolated country, just the two of them.

Big Sky Standoff
B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This one is for Harry Burton Johnson Jr. Who knows how different our lives would have been had you lived.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B.J. Daniels’s life dream was to write books. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she sold thirty-seven short stories before she finally wrote her first book. That book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½-star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and went on to be nominated for Best Harlequin Intrigue of 1995. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense.
B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem, and an aging, temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.
To contact B.J., write to her at P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, e-mail her at bjdanielsmystery@hotmail.com or check out her Web site at www.bjdaniels.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dillon Savage—The rustler had a few plans of his own when the woman who’d put him in prison broke him out for a special assignment.
Jacklyn Wilde—She was gambling her career—and her life—by teaming up with the charming cattle rustler.
Shade Waters—The elderly rancher was about to do something that he knew could get him killed.
Nate Waters—The son of the richest rancher in central Montana, he wanted the one thing he couldn’t seem to get—his father’s respect.
Sheriff Claude McCray—He had his reasons for wanting to see Dillon Savage back in prison, and one of them was a woman.
Tom Robinson—The rancher was hanging on by a thread. If he lost any more cattle he would go under.
Buford Cole—The ranch hand had been as close to Dillon Savage as anyone.
Halsey Waters—His death had left a hole in a lot of people’s lives.
Arlen Dubois—He had a habit of talking too much. But then again, no one listened, so what did it hurt?
Pete Barclay—The cowboy was a lousy liar. But was that all?

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue

Chapter One
Dillon Savage shoved back his black Stetson and looked up at all that blue sky as he breathed in the morning. Behind him the razor wire of the prison gleamed in the blinding sunlight.
He didn’t look back as he started up the dirt road. It felt damn good to be out. Like most ex-cons, he told himself he was never going back.
He had put the past behind him. No more axes to grind. No debts to settle. He felt only a glimmer of that old gnawing ache for vengeance that had eaten away at him for years. An ache that told him he could never forget the past.
From down the road past the guardhouse, he saw the green Montana state pickup kicking up dust as it high-tailed toward him.
He shoved away any concerns and grinned to himself. He’d been anticipating this for weeks and still couldn’t believe he’d gotten an early release. He watched the pickup slow so the driver could talk to the guard.
Wouldn’t be long now. He turned his face up to the sun, soaking in its warmth as he enjoyed his first few minutes of freedom in years. Freedom. Damn, but he’d missed it.
It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and kiss the ground. But the last thing he wanted was to have anyone know how hard it had been doing his time. Or just how grateful he was to be out.
The pickup engine revved. Dillon leaned back, watching the truck rumble down the road and come to a stop just feet from him. The sun glinted off the windshield in a blinding array of fractured light, making it impossible to see the driver, but he could feel the calculating, cold gaze on him.
He waited, not wanting to appear overly anxious. Not wanting to get out of the sun just yet. Or to let go of his last few seconds of being alone and free.
The driver’s side door of the pickup swung open. Dillon glanced at the ground next to the truck, staring at the sturdy boots that stepped out, and working his way up the long legs wrapped in denim, to the firearm strapped at the hip, the belt cinched around the slim waist. Then, slowing his eyes, he took in the tucked-in tan shirt and full rounded breasts bowing the fabric, before eyeing the pale throat. Her long dark hair was pulled into a braid. Finally he looked into that way-too-familiar face under the straw hat—a face he’d dreamed about for four long years.
Damn, this woman seemed to only get sexier. But it was her eyes that held his attention, just as they had years before. Shimmering gray pools that reminded him of a high mountain lake early in the year, the surface frosted over with ice. Deeper, the water was colder than a scorned woman’s heart.
Yep, one glance from those eyes could freeze a man in his tracks. Kind of like the look she was giving him right now.
“Hi, Jack,” he said with a grin as he tipped his battered black Stetson to her. “Nice of you to pick me up.”

STOCK DETECTIVE Jacklyn Wilde knew the minute she saw him waiting for her beside the road that this had been a mistake.
Clearly, he’d charmed the guards into letting him out so he could walk up the road to meet her, rather than wait for her to pick him up at the release office. He was already showing her that he wasn’t going to let her call the shots.
She shook her head. She’d known getting him out was a gamble. She’d foolishly convinced herself that she could handle him.
How could she have forgotten how dangerous Dillon Savage really was? Hadn’t her superiors tried to warn her? She reminded herself that this wasn’t just a career breaker for her. This could get her killed.
“Get in, Mr. Savage.”
He grinned. Prison clearly hadn’t made him any less cocky. If she didn’t know better, she’d think this had been his idea instead of hers. She felt that fissure of worry work its way under her skin, and was unable to shake the feeling that Dillon Savage had her right where he wanted her.
More than any other woman he’d crossed paths with, she knew what the man was capable of. His charm was deadly and he used it to his advantage at every opportunity. But knowing it was one thing. Keeping Dillon Savage from beguiling her into believing he wasn’t dangerous was another.
The thought did little to relieve her worry.
As she slid behind the wheel, he sauntered around to the passenger side, opened the door and tossed his duffel bag behind the seat.
“Is that all your belongings?” she asked.
“I prefer to travel light.” He slid his long, lanky frame into the cab, slammed the door and stretched out, practically purring as he made himself comfortable.
She was aware of how he seemed to fill the entire cab of the truck, taking all the oxygen, pervading the space with his male scent.
As she started the truck, she saw him glance out the windshield as if taking one last look. The prison was small by most standards—a few large, plain buildings with snow-capped mountains behind them. Wouldn’t even have looked like a prison if it wasn’t for the guard towers and razor-wire fences.
“Going to miss it?” she asked sarcastically as she turned the truck around and headed back toward the gate.
“Prison?” He sounded amused.
“I would imagine you made some good friends there.” She doubted prison had taught him anything but more ways to break the law. As if he needed that.
He chuckled. “I make good friends wherever I go. It’s my good-natured personality.” He reached back to rub his neck.
“Was it painful having the monitoring device implanted?” A part of her hoped it had given him as much pain as he’d caused her.
He shook his head and ran his finger along the tiny white scar behind his left ear. “Better anyday than an ankle bracelet. Anyway, you wanted me to be able to ride a horse. Can’t wear a boot with one of those damn ankle monitors. Can’t ride where we’re going in tennis shoes.”
She was willing to bet Dillon Savage could ride bare-ass naked.
His words registered slowly, and she gave a start. “Where we’re going?” she asked, repeating his words and trying to keep her voice even.
He grinned. “We’re chasing cattle rustlers, right? Not the kind who drive up with semitrucks and load in a couple hundred head.”
“How do you know that?”
He cocked his head at her, amusement in his deep blue eyes. “Because you would have caught them by now if that was the case. No, I’d wager these rustlers are too smart for that. That means they’re stealing the cattle that are the least accessible, the farthest from the ranch house.”
“It sounds as if you know these guys,” she commented as the guard waved them past the gate.
Dillon was looking toward the mountains. He chuckled softly. “I’m familiar with the type.”
As she drove down the hill to the town of Deer Lodge, Montana, she had the bad feeling that her boss had been right.
“What makes you think a man like Dillon Savage is going to help you?” Chief Brand Inspector Allan Stratton had demanded when she told him her idea. “He’s a criminal.”
“He’s been in prison for four years. A man like him, locked up…” She’d looked away. Prison would be hell for a man like him. Dillon was like a wild horse. He needed to run free. If she understood anything about him, it was that.
“He’s dangerous,” Stratton had said. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that. And if you really believe that he’s been masterminding this band of rustlers from his prison cell… Then getting him out would accomplish what, exactly?”
“He’ll slip up. He’ll have to help me catch them or he goes back to prison.” She was counting on this taste of freedom working in her favor.
“You really think he’ll give up his own men?” Stratton scoffed.
“I think the rustling ring has double-crossed him.” It was just a feeling she had, and she could also be dead wrong. But she didn’t tell her boss that.
“Wouldn’t he be afraid of them implicating him?”
“Who would believe them? After all, Dillon Savage has been behind bars for the past four years. How could he mastermind a rustling ring from Montana State Prison? Certainly he would be too smart to let any evidence of such a crime exist.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Stratton said. “For the record, I’m against it.” No big surprise there. He wasn’t going down if this was the mistake he thought it was. “And the ranchers sure as hell aren’t going to like it. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Stratton had been wrong about that, she thought, as she glanced at Dillon Savage. She’d made a deal with the devil and now he was sitting next to her, looking as if he already had her soul locked up.
She watched him rub the tiny scar behind his left ear again. It still surprised her that he’d agreed to the implanted monitoring device. Via satellite, she would know where he was at any second of the day. That alone would go against the grain of a man like Dillon Savage. Maybe she was right about how badly he’d wanted out of prison.
But then again, she knew he could very well have a more personal motive for going along with the deal.
“So the device isn’t giving you any discomfort?” she asked.
He grinned. “For a man who can’t remember the last time he was in a vehicle without shackles, it’s all good.”
As she drove through the small prison town of Deer Lodge, past the original jail, which was now an old west museum, she wondered what his life had been like behind bars.
Dillon Savage had spent his early life on his family’s cattle ranch, leaving to attend university out East. Later, when his father sold the ranch, Dillon had returned, only to start stealing other people’s cattle. Living in the wilds, with no home, no roots, he’d kept on the move, always one step ahead of her. Being locked up really must have been his own private hell.
Unless he had something to occupy his mind. Like rustling cattle vicariously from his prison cell.
“I’m surprised you didn’t work the prison ranch,” she said as she drove onto Interstate 90 and headed east.
“They worried that their cattle would start disappearing.”
She smiled not only at his attempt at humor, but also at the truth of the matter. It had taken her over two years to catch Dillon Savage. And even now she wasn’t sure how that had happened. The one thing she could be certain of was that catching him had little to do with her—and a whole lot to do with Dillon. He’d messed up and it had gotten him sent to prison. She’d just given him a ride.

REDA HARPER STOOD at the window of her ranch house, tapping the toe of her boot impatiently as she cursed the mailman. She was a tall, wiry woman with short-cropped gray hair and what some called an unpleasant disposition.
The truth? Reda Harper was a bitch, and not only did she take pride in it, she also felt justified.
She shoved aside the curtain, squinting against the glare to study her mailbox up on the county road. The red flag was still up. The mailman hadn’t come yet. In fact, Gus was late. As usual. And she knew why.
Angeline Franklin.
The last few weeks Angeline had been going up the road to meet mailman Gus Turner, presumably to get her mail. By the time Angeline and Gus got through gabbin’ and flirtin’ with each other, Reda Harper’s mail was late, and she was getting damn tired of it.
She had a notion to send Angeline one of her letters. The thought buoyed her spirits. It was disgraceful the way Angeline hung on that mailbox, looking all doe-eyed, while Gus stuttered and stammered and didn’t have the sense to just drive off.
The phone rang, making Reda jump. With a curse, she stepped away from the window to answer it.
“Listen, you old hateful crone. If you don’t stop—”
She slammed down the receiver as hard as she could, her thin lips turning up in a whisper of a smile as she went back to the window.
The red flag was down on her mailbox, the dust on the road settling around the fence posts.
Reda took a deep breath. Her letters were on their way. She smiled, finally free to get to work.
Taking her shotgun down from the rack by the door, she reached into the drawer and shook out a half-dozen shells, stuffing them into her jacket pocket as she headed to the barn to saddle her horse.
A woman rancher living alone had to take care of herself. Reda Harper had had sixty-one years of practice.

“I WANT TO MAKE SURE we understand each other,” Jacklyn Wilde said, concentrating on her driving as an eighteen-wheeler blew past.
“Oh, I think we understand each other perfectly,” Dillon commented. He was looking out at the landscape as if he couldn’t get enough of it.
A late storm had lightly dusted the tops of the Boulder Mountains along the Continental Divide to the east. Running across the valley, as far as the eye could see, spring grasses, brilliantly green, rippled in the breeze, broken only by an occasional creek of crystal clear water.
“I got you an early release contingent on your help. Any misstep on your part and you go back immediately, your stay extended.” When he said nothing she looked over at him.
He grinned again, turning those blue eyes on her. “We went over this when you came to the prison the first time. I got it. But like I told you then, I have no idea who these rustlers are. How could I, given that I’ve been locked up for four years? But as promised, I’ll teach you everything I know about rustling.”
Which they both knew was no small thing. Jacklyn returned her gaze to her driving, hating how smug and self-satisfied he looked slouched in her pickup seat. “If at any time I suspect that you’re deterring my investigation—”
“It’s back to the slammer,” he said. “See, we understand each other perfectly.” He tipped his Stetson down, his head cradled by the seat, and closed his eyes. A few moments later he appeared to be sound asleep.
She swore softly. While she hadn’t created the monster, she’d definitely let him out of his cage.

DILLON WOKE WITH A START, bolting upright, confused for an instant as to where he was.
Jacklyn Wilde had stopped the truck in a lot next to a café. As she cut the engine, her gaze was almost pitying.
“Prison makes you a light sleeper.” He shrugged, damn sorry she’d seen that moment of panic. Prison had definitely changed his sleep patterns. Changed a lot of things, he thought. He knew the only way he could keep from going back to jail was to keep the upper hand with Ms. Wilde. And that was going to be a full-time job as it was, without her seeing any weakness in him.
“Hungry?” she asked.
He glanced toward the café. “Always.” It felt strange opening the pickup door, climbing out sans shackles and walking across the open parking lot without a guard or two at his side. Strange how odd freedom felt. Even freedom with strings attached.
He quickened his step so he could open the restaurant door for her.
Jacklyn shot him a look that said it wasn’t going to be that kind of relationship. He knew she wanted him to see her as anything but a woman. Good luck with that.
He grinned as she graciously entered, and he followed her to a booth by the window as he tried to remember the last meal he’d had on the outside. Antelope steak over a campfire deep in the mountains, and a can of cold beans. He closed his eyes for a moment and could almost smell the aroma rising from the flames.
“Coffee?”
He opened his eyes to find a young, cute waitress standing next to their table. She’d put down menus and two glasses of water. He nodded to the coffee and made a point of not letting Jacklyn see him noticing how tight the waitress’s uniform skirt was as he took a long drink of his water and opened his menu.
“I’ll have the chef salad,” Jacklyn said when the waitress returned with their coffees.
Dillon was still looking at his menu. It had been four years on the inside. Four years with no options. And now he felt overwhelmed by all the items listed.
“Sir?”
He looked up at the waitress and said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll have a burger. A cheeseburger with bacon.”
“Fries?”
“Sure.” It had been even longer since he’d sat in a booth across from a woman. He watched Jack take off her hat and put it on the seat next to her. Her hair was just as she’d worn it when she was chasing him years ago—a single, coal-black braid that fell most of the way down her slim back.
He smiled, feeling as if he needed to pinch himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d be having lunch with Jacklyn Wilde in Butte, Montana. It felt surreal. Just like it felt being out of prison.
“Something amusing?” she asked.
“Just thinking about what the guys back at the prison would say if they could see me now, having lunch with Jack Wilde. Hell, you’re infamous back there.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, her eyes like slits of ice beneath the dark lashes.
“Seriously,” he said. “Mention the name Jacklyn Wilde and you can set off a whole cell block. It’s said that you always get your man, just like the Mounties. Hell, you got me.” He’d always wondered how she’d managed it. “How exactly did you do that?”
He instantly regretted asking, knowing it was better if he never found out, because he’d had four long years to think about it. And he knew in his heart that someone had set him up. He just didn’t know who.
“I’ll never forget that day, the first time I came face-to-face with you,” he said, smiling to hide his true feelings. “One look into those gray eyes of yours and I knew I was a goner. You do have incredible eyes.”
“One more rule, Mr. Savage. You and I will be working together, so save your charm for a woman who might appreciate it. If there is such a woman.”
He laughed. “That’s cold, Jack, but like I said, I understand our relationship perfectly. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me.” He winked at her.
Jack’s look practically gave him frostbite.
Fortunately, the waitress brought their lunches just then, and the burger and fries warmed him up, filling his belly, settling him down a little. He liked listening to the normal sounds of the café, watching people come and go. It had been so long. He also liked watching Jacklyn Wilde.
She ate with the same efficiency with which she drove and did her job. No wasted energy. A single-minded focus. He hadn’t entirely been kidding about her being a legend in the prison. It was one reason Dillon was so damn glad to be sitting across the table from her.
He’d been amazed when she’d come to him with her proposition. She’d get him out of prison, but for his part, he had to teach her the tricks of his trade so she could catch a band of rustlers who’d been making some pretty big scores across Montana. At least that was her story.
He’d seen in the papers that the cattlemen’s association was up in arms, demanding something be done. It had been all the talk in the prison, the rustlers becoming heroes among the cellies.
What got to him was that Jack had no idea what she was offering him. He hadn’t agreed at first, because he hadn’t wanted to seem too eager. And didn’t want to make her suspicious.
But what prisoner wouldn’t jump at the chance to get out and spend time in the most isolated parts of Montana with the woman who’d put him behind bars?
“Where, exactly, are we headed?” he asked after he’d finished his burger. He dragged his last fry through a lake of ketchup, his gaze on her. It still felt so weird being out, eating like a normal person in a restaurant, sitting here with a woman he’d thought about every day for four years.
Her gray eyes bored into him. “I’d prefer not to discuss business in a public place.”
He smiled. “Well, maybe there’s something else you’d like to discuss.”
“Other than business, you and I have nothing to say to each other,” she said, her tone as steely as her spine.
“All right, Jack. I just thought we could get to know each other a little better, since we’re going to be working together.”
“I know you well enough, thank you.”
He chuckled and leaned back in the booth, making himself comfortable as he watched her finish her salad. He could tell she hated having his gaze on her. It made her uneasy, but she did a damn good job of pretending it didn’t.
He’d let her talk him into the prerelease deal, amused by how badly she’d wanted him out of prison. She needed to stop the rustlers, to calm the cattlemen, to prove she could do her job in a macho man’s West.
Did she suspect Dillon’s motives for going along with the deal? He could only speculate on what went through that mind of hers.
She looked up from her plate, those gray eyes cold and calculating. As he met her gaze, he realized that if she could read his mind, it would be a short ride back to prison.
She said nothing, just resumed eating. She was wary, though. But then, she had every reason to be mistrustful of him, didn’t she.

Chapter Two
Rancher Shade Waters looked across the table at his son, his temper ready to boil over—lunch guest or not.
In fact, he suspected Nate had invited her thinking it would keep Shade from saying anything. He hadn’t seen his son in several days, and then Nate had shown up with this woman.
“I suppose you heard,” Shade said, unable to sit here holding his tongue any longer. “Another ranch was hit last night by that band of rustlers. If they don’t catch those sons of—”
“Do we always have to talk ranch business at meals?” Nate snapped. “You’re ruining everyone’s appetite.”
Nate’s appetite seemed to be fine, and Shade couldn’t have cared less about Morgan Landers’s. From what he could tell, she ate like a bird. Their guest was like most of the women his son dated: skinny, snobby and greedy. He’d seen the way she’d looked around the ranch house. As if taking inventory of the antiques, estimating their worth at an auction.
Shade had no doubt what Morgan Landers would do with the ranch and the house if she got the chance.
But then, he wasn’t about to let her get her hands on either one.
“Please don’t mind me,” Morgan said. “This rustling thing is definitely upsetting.”
“No one can stop them. They’ve fooled everyone and proved they’re smarter than the ranchers and especially that hotshot stock inspector, Wilde,” Nate said, clearly amused by all of it.
“I beg your pardon?” Shade snapped, no longer even trying to keep his temper under control. How could his son be so stupid? “You sound like you admire these thieves.”
“Well, they haven’t hit our ranch, so what do you care?”
Shade was speechless. He’d never understood his son, but it had never crossed his mind that Nate was just plain stupid.
He heard his voice rising as he said, “As long as those men are out there stealing cattle, this ranch is at risk. I won’t rest until they are all behind bars. And as for the man who’s leading this ring, I’d like to see him hanged from that big tree down by the creek, like he would have been if your grandfather was still alive.”
Nate chuckled and looked at Morgan, the two sharing a private joke. “As if he can be caught.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” the rancher asked between gritted teeth.
“The leader of the rustlers is already behind bars,” Morgan said. “Everyone knows it’s Dillon Savage. Who else could it be?”
“Really?” Shade looked at his son.
“Who else could it be?” Nate said. He had the irritating habit of parroting everything Morgan said.
“Well, for your edification, Dillon Savage is not behind bars anymore. Jacklyn Wilde got him out of prison.”
Nate had the sense to look surprised—and worried. “Why would she do that?”
“Supposedly to help her catch the rustlers. Isn’t that rich?” Waters said, and swore under his breath.
Nate looked upset, but Shade doubted his concern was for their cattle. No, he thought, looking over at the woman beside his son, Nate had other worries when it came to Dillon Savage.
“The whole damn thing was kept quiet,” Shade said, fighting his anger. “For obvious reasons.” He would have fought it tooth and nail had he known.
“Like I said, do we have to talk about this now?” Nate asked pointedly.
“Your guest might have more of an interest in the topic than you think,” he replied. “After all, she was Dillon Savage’s…” he looked at Morgan as if he wasn’t sure what to call their relationship “…girlfriend.”
Nate shot him a warning look as the cook came in with another basket of warm rolls. Morgan was picking at her salad. It galled Waters that while he and Nate were having beefsteaks, Morgan had opted for rabbit food. The woman was dating a cattle rancher, for hell’s sake.
The rancher cursed under his breath, angry at his son on so many levels he didn’t even know where to begin. Nate not only looked like his mother—blond with hazel eyes, and an aristocratic air about him—he’d also gotten her softness, something Shade had tried to “cowboy” out of him, although, regretfully, he hadn’t succeeded.
He wished he hadn’t let Nate’s mother spoil the boy so. Now in his early thirties, Nate stood to inherit everything Shade had spent his life building. Nate had no idea the sacrifices his father had made, the obstacles he’d had to overcome, the things he’d had to do. Still had to do. Nate, like his mother, would have been shocked and repulsed if he’d known.
Fortunately, Elizabeth had always turned a blind eye to anything her husband did, although Shade wondered if it wasn’t what had put her in an early grave. That and the loss of her firstborn son, Halsey.
While Halsey had loved everything about ranching, Nate never took to it. And just the thought of ever turning the W Bar over to him was killing Shade.
Nate leaned toward Morgan now, whispering something in her ear that made her chuckle coyly—and turned Shade’s stomach.
“I’m sorry, Morgan, is talk of Dillon Savage making you uncomfortable?” he asked innocently.
Nate shot him a warning look.
“It’s all right, Nate,” she said, smiling at the older Waters. “Yes, I knew Dillon…well.” Her smile broadened. “Do I care that he’s out of prison? Not in the least. Dillon and I were over a long time ago.”
Shade looked at his son to see if he believed any of that bull. Nate had never had any sense when it came to women. Apparently, he was buying everything Morgan told him, probably because he had a good view of the woman’s breasts in that low-cut top.
“Then you didn’t write him while he was in prison or go see him?” Shade asked, ignoring the look his son gave him.
“No,” Morgan said, her smile slipping a little. “We’d gone our separate ways long before Dillon went to prison.”
She was lying through her teeth. He suspected that she’d been keeping Dillon up on everything going on in the county, especially at the W Bar.
“Well,” Shade said, with exaggerated relief, “I guess the only thing Nate and I have to worry about with Savage out is losing our cattle.” He dug into his steak as he noted with some satisfaction that his son had lost his appetite.

AS JACKLYN WILDE DROVE east past one small Montana town after another, Dillon realized he didn’t have any idea where they were headed or what she had planned for him.
But that was the idea, wasn’t it? She wanted to keep him off balance. She didn’t want him to know too much—that had been clear from that first day she’d come to see him in prison.
He glanced over at her now. Back when she’d been trying to catch him rustling, he’d known only what he’d heard about her. It wasn’t until he’d come face-to-face with her and the gun she had leveled at him that he’d looked into her steel-gray eyes and realized everything he’d heard about her just might be true.
She was relentless, clever and cunning, cold and calculating. Ice water ran through her veins. In prison, anyone who’d crossed her path swore she was tougher than any man, but with a woman’s sense of justice, and therefore more dangerous.
He couldn’t argue the point, given that she was the one who’d put him behind bars.
“So when are you going to tell me the real reason you got me out?” he asked now.
Outside the pickup, the landscape had changed from mountains and towering, dark green pines to rolling hills studded with sagebrush. Tall golden grasses undulated like waves in the breeze and the sky opened up, wide and blue from horizon to horizon. It truly was Big Sky Country.
“I thought I made myself clear on that point,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “You’re going to help me catch rustlers.”
He chuckled and she finally looked over at him. “Something funny about that?”
“You didn’t get me out of prison to catch rustlers. You are perfectly capable of catching any rustler out there and we both know it.” He met her gray eyes. In this light, they were a light silver, and fathomless. The kind of eyes that you could get lost in. But then the light changed. Her gaze was again just a sheet of ice, flat and freezing.
“I need your expertise,” she said simply.
Right. “Well, I’ll be of little help to you if you keep me in the dark,” he said, smiling wryly as he changed tactics. “Unless you have something besides rustling on your mind. I mean, after what happened the first time we met…”
Her eyes narrowed in warning. “The only reason you aren’t still behind bars is because you were good at rustling. That’s the only talent of yours I’m interested in.”
He lifted a brow, still smiling. “That’s too bad. Some of my other talents are even more impressive. Like my dancing,” he added quickly. He could see she hadn’t expected that was where he was headed.
“I’m surprised you had the time, given how busy you were stealing other people’s cattle.”
He shrugged. “All work and no play… What about you, Jack? What do you do for fun?”
“Mr. Savage, I told you, our discussions will be restricted to business only.”
“If that makes you more comfortable… How about you tell me where we’re headed then, Jack.”
“You’ll be updated on a need to know basis, Mr. Savage, and at this point, the only thing you need to know is that I’m Investigator Wilde or Ms. Wilde. Not Jack.”
“Still Ms., huh? I guess it’s hard to find a cowboy who’s man enough to handle a woman like you.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t take the bait.
He gazed out the windshield, enjoying himself. There were all kinds of ways to get even, he realized. Some of them wouldn’t even get him sent back to prison.
Too bad he’d so often in the past four years revisited the day she’d caught him. It was like worrying a sore tooth with his tongue. He’d lost more than his freedom that day.
There’d been only one bright spot in his capture. After she’d cuffed him, he’d stumbled forward to steal one last thing: a kiss.
He’d taken her by surprise, just as she had him with the capture. He’d thought about that kiss a lot over the years. Now, as he glanced over at her, he wondered if he’d be disappointed if he kissed her again. When he kissed her again, he thought with a grin. And he would kiss her again. If only goodbye.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Savage?” she asked.
“Naw, just remembering the day you caught me,” he said, and chuckled.
“Lewistown,” she said irritably, making him laugh. “We’re headed for Lewistown.”
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The center of the state. A hub of cattle ranches. How appropriate, given that rustlers had run rampant there back in the 1800s. It had gotten so bad that some ranchers took matters into their own hands. On July 4, 1884, a couple of suspected rustling ringleaders, “Longhair” Owen and “Rattlesnake Jake” Fallon, were busy shooting up the town when a band of vigilantes gunned them down in the street. Longhair Owen took nine bullets and Rattlesnake Jake eleven.
Dillon wondered how long it would be before a band of vigilantes started shooting first and asking questions later, given how upset the ranchers were now over this latest ring of rustlers. Was that why Jack had gotten him out? Was she hoping some ranchers would string him up?
Staring out at the landscape, he knew that the only reason she’d told him where they were headed was because he wouldn’t be getting an opportunity between here and there to call anyone and reveal their destination.
“Your lack of trust cuts me to the core,” he said as he ran his finger along the tiny scar behind his left ear, where the chip was embedded under his skin.
Much like Jacklyn Wilde had gotten under his skin and been grating on him ever since. He told himself he’d be free of both before long. In the meantime, he tried not to think about the fact that Jack as well as her superiors would know where he was at any given moment.
“You sure that monitoring chip isn’t bothering you?” she asked, frowning at him.
He hadn’t realized she’d been watching him. Apparently she planned to keep a close eye on him—as well as monitor his every move.
“Naw,” he said, running his finger over the scar. “I’m good.”
Her look said he was anything but, and they both knew it.

SHADE WATERS always made a point of walking up the road to the mailbox after lunch, even in the dead of winter.
While it was a good half mile to the county road and he liked the exercise, his real motive was to get to the mail before anyone else did.
The letters had been coming for years now. He just never knew which day of the week, so he always felt a little sick as he made the hike up the road.
Even after all this time, his fingers shook a little as he pulled down the lid and peered inside. The envelope and single sheet of stationery within were always a paler lavender, as if the paper kept fading with the years.
Today he was halfway up the ranch lane when he saw Gus come flying down the county road, skidding to a stop and almost taking out the mailbox.
“What the hell?” Waters said under his breath as he watched the carrier hurriedly sort through the mail, open the box and stuff it inside. He had been running later and later recently.
Gus saw him, gave a quick wave and sped off almost guiltily.
Waters shook his head, already irritated knowing that his son and Morgan Landers were back at the house together. He had to put an end to that little romance. Maybe Dillon Savage being out of prison would do the trick.
At least something good would come of Savage being on the loose again.
When Shade finally reached the mailbox, he stopped to catch his breath, half dreading what he might find inside. Fingers trembling, he pulled down the lid, his gaze searching for the pale lavender envelope as he reached for the mail.
Even before he’d gone through the stack, he knew the letter hadn’t come. A mixture of disappointment and worry washed over him as he slammed the box shut. He hadn’t realized how much he anticipated the letters. What if they stopped coming?
He shook his head at his own foolishness, wondering if he wasn’t losing his mind. What man looked forward to a blackmail letter? he asked himself as he tucked the post under his arm and headed back up the lane.

JACKLYN HAD JUST LEFT the town of Judith Gap when her cell phone rang and she saw with annoyance that it was her boss. She glanced over at Dillon, wishing she didn’t have to take the call in front of him, because more than likely it would be bad news.
“Wilde.”
“So how did it go?” Stratton asked, an edge to his voice. He was just waiting for things to go badly so he could say I told you so.
“Fine,” she said, and glanced again at Dillon. He was chewing on a toothpick, stretched out in the seat as if he was ready for another nap.
“I hope you aren’t making the biggest mistake of your career. Not to mention your life,” Stratton said.
So did Jacklyn. But they’d been over this already. She waited, fearing he was calling to tell her the rustlers had hit again. She knew he hadn’t phoned just to see how she was doing. Stratton, too, had a receiver terminal that told him exactly where Dillon Savage was at all times. Which in turn would tell her boss exactly where she was, as well.
“Shade Waters wants to see you,” Stratton said finally.
She should have known. Waters owned the W Bar, the largest ranch in the area, and had a habit of throwing his weight around. “I’ve already told him I’m doing everything possible to—”
“He’s starting what he calls a neighborhood watch group to catch the rustlers,” Stratton said.
“Vigilante group, you mean.” She swore under her breath and felt Dillon Savage’s gaze on her.
“Waters has all the ranchers fired up about Savage being released. He’s got Sheriff McCray heading up a meeting tomorrow night at the community center. I want you there. You need to put a lid on this pronto. We can’t have those ranchers taking things into their own hands. Hell, they’ll end up shooting each other.”
She groaned inwardly. There would be no stopping Waters. She’d already had several run-ins with him, and now that he knew about her getting Dillon Savage out of prison, he would be out for blood. Hers.
“I’ll do what I can at the meeting.” What choice did she have? “Will you be there as well?”
“I’m not sure I can make it.” The chicken. “You do realize by now that you’ve opened up a hornets’ nest with this Savage thing, don’t you?” He hung up, but not before she’d heard the self-satisfied “I told you so” in his voice.

DILLON WATCHED JACK from under the brim of his Stetson, curious as to what was going on. Unless he missed his guess, she was getting her butt chewed by one of her bosses. He could just imagine the bureaucratic bull she had to put up with from men who sat in their cozy offices while she was out risking her life to protect a bunch of cows.
And from the sounds of it, the ranchers were doing exactly what he’d expected they would—forming a vigilante group and taking the law into their own hands. This situation was a geyser ready to go off. And Dillon had put himself right in the middle of it.
He watched her snap shut the phone. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel as she drove. He knew she was desperate. Hell, she wouldn’t have gotten him out of prison if she hadn’t been. She’d stuck her neck out and she would have to be a fool not to realize she was going to get it chopped off.
For a split second, he felt sorry for her. Then he reminded himself that Jacklyn Wilde was the enemy. And no matter how intriguing he found her, he would do well to remember that.
“Everything all right?” he asked innocently.
She shot him a look that said if he wanted to keep his head he wouldn’t get smart with her right now.
Unfortunately, he’d never done the smart thing. “Why do you do it?”
“What?” she snapped.
“This job.”
She seemed surprised by the question. “I like my job.”
He scoffed at that. “Putting up with rich ranchers, not to mention your arrogant bosses and all that bureaucrat crap?”
“I’m good at what I do,” she said defensively.
“You’d be good at anything you set your mind to,” he said, meaning it. She was smart, savvy, dedicated. Plus her looks wouldn’t hurt. “You could have any job you wanted.”
“I like putting felons behind bars.”
“You put cattle rustlers behind bars,” he corrected. “Come on, Jack, most people see rustling as an Old West institution, not a felony. Hell, it was how a lot of ranchers in the old days built their huge spreads, with a running branding iron, and a little larceny in their blood. Rustling wasn’t even a crime until those same ranchers started losing cattle themselves.”
“Apparently that’s an attitude that hasn’t changed for two hundred years,” she snapped. “Rustling, with all its legends and lore.” She shook her head angrily, her face flushed. “It’s why rustlers are seldom treated as seriously as burglars or car thieves.”
He shrugged. “It comes down to simple math. If you can make ten grand in a matter of minutes easier and with less risk and more reward than holding up a convenience store, you’re gonna do it.” He could see that he had her dander up, and he smiled to himself, egging her on. “I see it as a form of living off the land.”
“It’s a crime.”
He laughed. “Come on, everyone steals.”
“They most certainly do not.” Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, and she pressed her foot on the gas pedal as her irritation rose. He saw that she was going over the speed limit, and grinned to himself.
“So you’re telling me that you’ve never listened to bootleg music?” he asked. “Tried a grape at the supermarket before buying the bunch? Taken a marginal deduction on your taxes?”
“No,” she said emphatically.
“You’re that squeaky clean?” He shook his head, studying her. “So you’ve never done anything wrong? Nothing you’ve regretted? Nothing you’re ashamed of?” He saw the flicker in her expression. Her eyes darted away as heat rose up the soft flesh of her throat.
He’d hit a nerve. Jack had something to hide. Dillon itched to know what. What in her past had her racing down the highway, way over the speed limit?
“You might want to slow down,” he said quietly. “I’d hate to see you get a ticket for breaking the law.”
Her gaze flew to the speedometer. A curse escaped her lips as she instantly let up on the gas and glared at him. “You did that on purpose.”
He grinned to himself yet again as he leaned back in the seat and watched her from under the brim of his hat, speculating on what secret she might be hiding. Had to have something to do with a man, he thought. Didn’t it always?
Everyone at prison swore she was an ice princess, cold-blooded as a snake. A woman above reproach. But what if under that rigid, authoritarian-cop persona was a hot-blooded, passionate woman who was fallible like the rest of them?
That might explain why she was so driven. Maybe, like him, she was running from something. Just the thought hooked him. Because before he and Jacklyn Wilde parted ways, he was determined to find her weakness.
And use it to his advantage.

RANCHER TOM ROBINSON had been riding his fence line, the sun low and hot on the horizon, when he saw the cut barbed wire and the fresh horse tracks in the dirt.
Tom was in his fifties, tall, slim and weathered. He’d taken over the ranch from his father, who’d worked it with his father.
A confirmed bachelor not so much by choice as circumstances, Tom liked being alone with his thoughts, liked being able to hear the crickets chirping in the sagebrush, the meadowlarks singing as he passed.
Not that he hadn’t dated some in his younger days. He liked woman well enough. But he’d quickly found he didn’t like the sound of a woman’s voice, especially when it required him to answer with more than one word.
He’d been riding since early morning and had seen no sign of trouble. He knew he’d been pushing his luck, since he hadn’t yet lost any stock. A lot of ranchers in this county and the next had already been hit by the band of rustlers. Some of the ranchers, the smaller ones, had been forced to sell out.
Shade Waters had been buying up ranch land for years now and had the biggest spread in two counties. He had tried to buy Robinson’s ranch, but Tom had held pat. He planned to die on this ranch, even if it meant dying destitute. He was down to one full-time hired man and some seasonal, which meant the place was getting run-down. Too much work. Not enough time.
On top of that, now he had rustlers to worry about. And as he rode the miles of his fence, through prairie and badlands, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his luck was about to run out. This latest gang of rustlers were a brazen bunch. Why, just last month two cowboys had driven up to the Crowley Ranch to the north and loaded up forty head in broad daylight.
Margaret Crowley had been in the house cooking lunch at the time. She’d looked out, seen the truck and had just assumed her husband had hired someone to move some cattle for him.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at the men or the truck. But then, most cowboys looked alike, as did muddy stock trucks.
Tom could imagine what old man Crowley had said when he found out his wife had just let the rustlers steal their cattle.
Tom was shaking his head in amusement when he spotted the cut barbed wire. Seeing the set of horseshoe prints in the dirt, he brought his horse up short. He was thinking of the tracks when he heard the whinny of a horse and looked up in time to see a horse and rider disappear into a stand of pines a couple hundred yards to the east.
Tom was pretty sure the rider had seen him and had headed for the trees just past the creek. From the creek bottom, the land rose abruptly in rocky outcroppings and thick stands of Ponderosa pines, providing cover.
“What the hell?” Tom said to himself. He looked around for other riders, but saw only the one set of tracks in the soft earth. He felt his pulse begin to pound as he stared at his cut barbed wire fence lying on the ground at his horse’s feet.
Tom swore, something he seldom did. He squinted toward the spot where he’d last seen the rider. This part of his ranch was the most isolated—and rugged. It bordered the Bureau of Land Management on one corner and Shade Waters’s land on the other.
The man had to be one of the rustlers. Who else would cut the fence and take to the trees when seen?
Still keeping an eye on the spot where the horse and rider had disappeared, Tom urged his mount forward, riding slowly, his hand on the butt of his sidearm.

Chapter Three
Jacklyn silently cursed Dillon Savage as she drove, glad she hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Wouldn’t he have loved that? It was bad enough she’d proved his point that everyone broke the law.
She couldn’t believe she’d let him get to her. Like right now. She knew damned well he wasn’t really sleeping. She’d bet every penny she had in the bank that he was over there smugly grinning to himself, pleased that he’d stirred her up. The man was impossible.
She tried to relax, but she couldn’t have been more tense if she’d had a convicted murderer sitting next to her instead of a cattle rustler. But then, she’d always figured Dillon Savage was only a trigger pull away from being a killer, anyway.
She could hear him breathing softly, and every once in a while caught a whiff of his all-male scent. With his eyes closed, she could almost convince herself this had been a good idea.
Desperate times required desperate measures. She had her bosses and a whole lot of angry cattlemen demanding that the rustlers be stopped. Because of her high success rate in the past—and the fact that she’d brought in the now legendary Dillon Savage—everyone expected her to catch this latest rustling ring.
She’d done everything she could think to do, from encouraging local law enforcement to check anyone moving herds late at night, to having workers at feedlots and sale barns watch for anyone suspicious selling cattle.
Not surprisingly, she’d met resistance when she’d tried to get the ranchers themselves to take measures to ward off the rustlers, such as locking gates, checking the backgrounds of seasonal employees and keeping a better eye on their stock.
But many of the ranches were huge, the cattle miles from the house. A lot of ranches were now run by absentee owners. Animals often weren’t checked for weeks, even months on end. By the time a rancher realized some of his herd was missing, the rustlers were long gone.
Everyone was angry and demanding something be done. But at this point, she wasn’t sure anyone could stop this band of rustlers. These guys were too good. Almost as good as Dillon Savage had been in his heyday.
And that was why she’d gotten him out of prison, she reminded herself as she turned on the radio, keeping the volume down just in case he really was sleeping. She liked him better asleep.
Lost in her own private thoughts, she drove toward Lewistown, Montana, to the sounds of country music on the radio and the hum of tires on the pavement. Ahead was nothing but trouble.
But the real trouble, she knew, was sitting right beside her.

DILLON STIRRED as she pulled up in front of the Yogo Inn in downtown Lewistown and parked the pickup.
He blinked at the motel sign, forgetting for a moment where he was. His body ached from the hours in the pickup, but he’d never felt better in his life.
Opening his door, he breathed in the evening air. A slight breeze rustled the leaves on the trees nearby. He stretched, watching Jack as she reached behind the seat for her small suitcase.
“I can get that,” he said.
“Just take care of your own,” she replied, without looking at him.
Inside the motel, Dillon felt like a kept man. He stood back as Jack registered and paid for their two adjoining reserved rooms, then asked about places in town that delivered food.
“What sounds good to you?” she asked him after she’d been given the keys, both of which she kept, and was rolling her small suitcase down the hallway.
She traveled light, too, it appeared. But then, he expected nothing less than efficiency from Jack.
“What sounds good to me?” He cocked a brow at her, thinking how long it had been.
“For dinner,” she snapped.
“Chinese.”
She seemed surprised. “I thought you’d want steak.”
“We had steak in prison. What we didn’t have was Chinese food. Unless you’d prefer something else.”
“No, Chinese will be fine,” she said as she opened the door to his room.
He looked in and couldn’t help but feel a small thrill. It had been years since he’d slept in a real bed. Past it, the bathroom door was open and he could see a bathtub. Amazing how he used to take something like a bathtub for granted.
“Is everything all right?” Jack asked.
He nodded, smiling. “Everything’s great.” He took a deep breath, surprised how little it took to make him feel overjoyed. “Would you mind if I have a bath before dinner? In fact, just order for me. Anything spicy.”
Her look said she should have known he’d want something spicy. “I’ll be right next door,” she said, as if she had to warn him.
The last thing on his mind was taking off. All he could think about was that bathtub—and the queen-size bed. Well, almost. He looked at Jack. Past her, down the hall, he spotted a vending machine.
“Is there something else?” she asked.
He grinned. “Do you have some change? I’d really like to get something out of the vending machine.”
She glanced behind her, then reached into her shoulder bag and handed him a couple of dollars.
“Thanks.” He looked down at the money in his hand. He hadn’t seen money for a while, either. He tossed his duffel bag into the room and strode down the hallway, knowing she was watching him. From the machine, he bought a soda and, just for the hell of it, a container of sea scent bubble bath.
She was still standing in the hallway, not even pretending she wasn’t keeping an eye on him.
“You’ll ruin my reputation if you tell anyone about this,” he said, only half joking as he lifted the package of bubble bath. “But when I saw that bathtub…We only had showers in prison,” he added when he saw her confusion.
“I hadn’t realized…”
“It’s scary enough in the showers,” he said with a shake of his head. “Can’t imagine being caught in a bathtub there.”
She ducked her head and put her key into the lock on her room door, as if not wanting to think about what went on in prison. “I’ll let you know when our dinner arrives.” She opened her door, but didn’t look at him. “Enjoy your bath.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I intend to.”

JACKLYN SWORE as she closed her room door. The last thing she wanted to do was imagine Dillon Savage lounging in a tubful of bubbles.
Bubble bath? Clearly, he didn’t worry about his masculinity. Not when he had it in spades. But she knew that hadn’t been his reason for buying the bubble bath. He’d wanted her imagining him in that tub.
She opened her suitcase and took out the small receiver terminal with the built-in global positioning system, turning it on just in case the bath had been a ruse. The steady beep confirmed that he was just next door. In fact, she could hear the water running on the other side of the adjoining door.
In the desk drawer, she found a menu for the local Chinese restaurant, and ordered a variety of items to be delivered, all but one spicy. It seemed easier than going out, since after they ate, she wanted to get right down to business.
With luck, she’d be ready when the rustlers struck again.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, not surprised that it was her boss again. “Wilde.”
“Is he there?”
“No. He’s in the adjoining room.”
“He’s probably using the motel room phone to call his friends and let them know where he is and what your plans are,” Stratton said, sounding irritated.
“The phone in his room is tapped,” she said. “If he makes a call, he’ll be back in prison tomorrow. But he isn’t going to call anyone and warn them. I haven’t told him anything.”
“Good. I didn’t want him to hear this,” Stratton said. “The rustlers hit another ranch. Bud Drummond’s.”
The Drummond ranch was to the north, almost to the Missouri River. Jacklyn swore under her breath. “When?”
“He’s not sure. He’d been out of town for a few days. When he got back, he rode fence and found where the rustlers had cut the barbed wire and gotten what he estimates was about twenty head.”
Less than usual. “Why didn’t they get more? Is it possible someone saw them?”
“Doubtful. It’s at the north end of his ranch, a stretch along the river,” Stratton said. “I told him you were going to be up that way tomorrow, anyway, so you’d stop by.”
It had rained the day before. Any tracks would be gone. She doubted there would be anything to find—just like usual.
“Savage giving you any trouble?” Stratton asked.
“No.” No trouble, unless you counted the psychological games he played. She had a mental flash of him in the tub, sea scent bubbles up to his neck. Exactly the image she knew Dillon had hoped she’d have when he’d bought the bubble bath.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you how clever he is or how long it took you to catch him the last time. Don’t underestimate him.”
She heard the water finally shut off next door. She checked the monitor. Dillon was exactly where he’d said he would be.
“Trust me,” she said, “I know only too well what Dillon Savage is capable of.”

TOM ROBINSON DISMOUNTED in the dry creek bottom and pulled out his handgun. He hadn’t realized how late it was. He was losing light. A horse whinnied somewhere above him on the hillside. He moved behind one of the large pines and listened, trying to determine if the horseback rider was moving.
He knew the man was still up there. This was the only cover for miles. At the very least he was trespassing. But Tom knew that, more than likely, the rider was one of the rustlers. Since the man was alone, maybe he was just checking out the ranch layout, finding the best access to the cattle in this section of pasture.
Tom had gotten only a glimpse of him, but that glimpse was more than anyone else had gotten of the rustlers. His heart began to pound at the thought of catching the man, being the one who brought down the rustling gang.
He had two options. He could wait for the intruder to break cover and try to make a run for it.
Or he could flush him out.
Leaving his horse, Tom worked his way up the steep incline, taking a more direct route on foot than the horseback rider had. Pebble-size stones rolled under his boots and cascaded down with every step he took.
Halfway up, he stopped, leaning against one of the large rocks to thumb off the safety on his weapon. His hands were shaking. It had crossed his mind belatedly that there might be more than one rider now on his spread. Maybe they’d planned to meet here in the trees. There could be others waiting in ambush at the top of the hill.
He considered turning back, but this was his land and he was determined to defend it and his livestock. He knew he had at least one man cornered. Once he broke from the shelter of trees, Tom would see him. With luck, he would be able to get off a shot. Unless the intruder was waiting for the cover of darkness.
This, Tom knew, was the point where the cops on television called for backup. But even if he’d had a cell phone, he wouldn’t have been able to get service out here. Nor could he wait for someone to arrive and help him even if he could call for assistance.
No, he was going to have to do this alone.
Would the man be armed? Tom could only assume so.
He was breathing hard, but his hands had steadied. He had no choice. He had to do this.
Climbing quickly upward, staying behind the cover of rocks and trees as best he could, Tom topped the hill, keeping low, the gun gripped in both hands.
He knew he couldn’t hesitate. Not even an instant. The moment he saw the rustler he would have to shoot. Shoot to kill if the individual was armed. He’d never killed a man. Today could change that.
As Tom Robinson moved through the trees at the edge of a small clearing, he heard a horse whinny off to his left, and spun in that direction, his finger on the trigger.
The moment he saw the animal, and the empty saddle, he realized the mistake he’d made. He spun back around and came face-to-face with the trespasser. Shocked both by who it was and by the tree limb in the man’s hands, Tom hesitated an instant too long before pulling the trigger.
The shot boomed among the trees, echoing over the rocks, the misguided bullet burying itself in the bark of a pine off to the trespasser’s left.
It happened so fast, Tom didn’t even realize he’d fired. He barely felt the blow to his head as the man swung the thick limb like a baseball bat. Instead, Tom just heard a sickening thud as the limb struck his temple, felt his knees give out under him and watched in an odd fascination as the dried needles on the ground came up to meet his face, just before everything went black.

JACKLYN WILDE STARTED at the sound of a knock on the hall door to her motel room. “Delivery.”
She sat up in confusion, horrified to realize that she’d dozed off. After the phone call from Stratton, she’d lain down for only a minute, but must have fallen asleep.
She rushed to the receiver terminal, half expecting to see that Dillon was no longer in his room.
But the steady beep assured her he was right next door. Or at least his tracking device was.
She thought about knocking on his door to check, using the food as an excuse. But instead she went to tip the deliveryman, closing her door behind him.
As she placed the Chinese food sacks on the table in the corner of her room, she heard a soft tap on the door between their rooms.
“Dinner’s here,” she called in response. Unconsciously, she braced herself as he stepped into her room.
His hair was wet and curled at his neck, his face flushed from his bath, and he smelled better than sweet and sour shrimp any day of the week. On top of that, he looked so happy and excited that anyone with a heart would have felt something as he made a beeline for the food.
She knew she was considered cold and heartless with no feelings, especially the female kind. It made it easier in her line of work to let everyone think that.
But how could she not be moved to see Dillon like a kid in a candy store as he opened each of the little white boxes, making delighted sounds and breathing in the scent of each, all the time flashing that grin of his?
“I can’t believe this. I think you got all my favorites,” he said, turning that grin on her. “You must have read my mind.” The look in his eyes softened, taking all the air from the room.
She turned away and pretended to look in her suitcase for something.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat while it’s hot. Work can wait. Can’t it?”
She pulled out the map she’d planned to show him later, and glanced toward the small table in the corner and Dillon. “Go ahead and start.”
He shook his head. “My mother taught better than that.”
Reluctantly, she joined him as he began to dish up the rice. “I just want a little sweet and sour shrimp.”
He looked up. “You can’t be serious. Who’s going to eat all this?”
She couldn’t help her smile. “I figured you would. You did say you’ve been starved for Chinese food.”
His grateful expression was almost her undoing—and his subsequent vulnerability as well. He ducked his head as if overcome with emotions he didn’t want her to see, and spooned sweet and sour shrimp onto a plate for her.
She made a job of putting the map on the chair beside her, giving him a moment. Maybe she’d underestimated what four years in prison had done to him. Or what it must be like for him to be out.
When she looked up, however, there was no sign of anything on his face except a brilliant smile as he dished up his own plate. She warned herself not to be taken in by any of his antics as she took a bite of her meal and watched him do the same.
He closed his eyes and moaned softly. She tried to ignore him as she pretended to study the map on the chair next to her while she nibbled her food.
“You have to try this.”
Before she could react, he reached across the table and shoved a forkful of something at her. Instinctively, she opened her mouth.
“Isn’t that amazing?” he asked as he intently watched her chew.
It was amazing. Spicy, but not too hot. “Which one is that?” she asked, just to break the tense quiet in the room as he stared at her.
“Orange-peel beef.” He was already putting some on her plate. “And wait until you try this.” He started toward her with another forkful.
She held up her hand, more than aware of how intimate it was to be fed by a man. She was sure Dillon Savage was aware of it, too. “Really, I—” But the fork had touched her lips and her mouth opened again.
As he dragged the fork away slowly, she felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the spicy food.
She met his gaze and felt a chill run the length of her spine. The smile on his lips, the teasing tilt of his head, couldn’t hide what was deep in those pale blue eyes.
She had forgotten that she’d been the one to put him behind bars, but clearly, Dillon Savage had not.

Chapter Four
Dillon stared into Jack’s gray eyes. For a moment there he’d been enjoying himself, so much that he’d forgotten who she was: the woman who’d sent him to prison. His mood turned sour in an instant.
He dragged his gaze away, but not before she’d seen the change in him. Seen his true feelings.
She shoved her plate aside, her appetite apparently gone, and spread the map out on the table like a barrier between them. “We need to get to work, so as soon as you’ve finished eating…”
He ate quickly, but his enjoyment of foods he’d missed so much was gone. He told himself it was better this way. Jack had to be aware of how he felt about her. She would have been a fool not to, and this woman was no fool.
But he doubted she knew the extent of his feelings. Or how he’d amused himself those many hours alone in his bunk. He’d plotted his revenge. Not that he planned to act on it, he’d told himself. It had just been something to do. Because he would need to do something about the person who’d betrayed him. And while he was at it, why not do something about Jack?
Only he would have to be careful around her. More careful than he’d been so far.
Food forgotten, he shoved the containers aside and stood to lean over the map. But his attention was on Jack. He could tell she was still a little shaken, and wanted to reassure her that he was no longer a man driven by vengeance. No easy task, given that he didn’t believe it himself.
But that wasn’t what bothered him as he pretended to study the map. As a student of human nature, he couldn’t help but wonder why, when he’d been so careful to mask his feelings for years, he had let that mask slip—even for an instant—around the one woman who controlled his freedom.
Jacklyn watched his eyes. They were a pale blue, with tiny specks of gold. Eyes that gave away too much, including the fact that behind all that blue was a brain as sharp as any she’d run across. And that made him dangerous, even beyond whatever grudges he still carried.
On the map, she’d marked with a small red x each ranch that had lost cattle. Next to it, she’d put down the number of livestock stolen and the estimated value.
Some of the cattle had been taken in broad daylight, others under the cover of night. The randomness of the hits had made it impossible to catch the rustlers—that and the fact that they worked a two-hundred-mile area, moved fast and left no evidence behind.
Dillon had been leaning over the table, but now sat back and raked a hand through his still-wet hair.
“Something wrong?” she asked. Clearly, there was. She could see that he was upset. If he was the leader of the rustlers, as she suspected, none of this would come as a surprise to him. Unless, of course, his partners in crime had hit more ranches than he was aware of. Had they been cheating him? What if they’d been double-crossing him? She could only hope.
She reminded herself that there was the remote chance Dillon Savage wasn’t involved, which meant whoever was leading this band of rustlers was as clever as he had been. Another reason Dillon might have looked upset?
“Just an interesting pattern,” he said.
She nodded. She’d been afraid he was going to start lying to her right off the bat. “Interesting how?”
He gave her a look that said she knew as well as he did. “By omission.”
“Yes,” she agreed, relieved he hadn’t tried to con her. “It appears they are saving the biggest ranch for last.”
He smiled at that. “You really think they’re ever going to stop, when things are going so well for them?”
No. That was her fear. Some of the smaller ranchers were close to going broke. The rustlers had taken a lot of unbranded calves this spring. Based on market value, the animals had been worth about a thousand dollars a head, a loss that was crippling the smaller ranches, some of which had been hit more than once.
Worse, the rustlers were showing no sign of letting up. She’d hoped they would get cocky, mess up, but they were apparently too good for that.
“What do you think?” she asked, motioning to the map.
He leaned back in his chair. “I’m more interested in what you think.”
She scowled at him.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” he contended. “I’m just curious as to your take on this. After all, if we’re going to be working together…”
She fought the urge to dig in her heels. But he was right. She’d gotten him out of prison to help her catch the rustlers. It was going to require some give and take. But at the same time, if he was the leader…
“I think they’re going to make a big hit on Shade Waters’s W Bar Ranch. It’s the largest spread in the area and the rustlers have already hit ranches around him for miles, but not touched his.”
Dillon lifted a brow.
“What?”
“I suspect that’s exactly what they want you to think,” he said.
She had to bite her tongue. Damn him and his arrogance. “You have a better suggestion as to where they’ll go next?”
He leaned forward to study the map again. After a long moment, he said, “Not a clue.”
She swore under her breath and glared at him.
“If you’re asking me what the rustlers will do next, I have no idea,” he said, raising both hands in surrender.
“What would you do?” she snapped.
Dillon shrugged, pretty sure now he knew why Jack had gotten him out of prison. “Like I told you back at the prison weeks ago, I’m not sure how I can help you find these guys.”
He saw that she didn’t believe that. “Look, it’s clear that they are very organized. No fly-by-night bunch. They move fast and efficiently. They know what they’re doing, where they’re going to go next.”
“So?” she asked.
“If you think I can predict their movements, then you wasted your time and your money getting me an early release. You might as well drive me back to prison right now.”
“Don’t tempt me. You said you think they want me to assume they’re going to hit Waters’s ranch. What does that mean?”
“They wouldn’t be that obvious. Sorry, but isn’t the reason this bunch has been so hard to catch the fact that they don’t do what you expect them to? That gives them the upper hand.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Savage.”
He sighed and looked at the map again. “Are these the number of cattle stolen per ranch?” he asked, pointing to the notations she’d made beside the red x’s.
She gave him an exasperated look, her jaw still tight.
He could see why she thought the ring would be looking for a big score. The rustlers were being cautious, taking only about fifty head at a time, mostly not-yet-branded calves that would be hard to trace. Smart, but not where the big money was.
Jacklyn got up from the table as if too nervous to sit still, and started clearing up their dinner.
“It’s not about the money,” he said to her back.
She turned as she tossed an empty Chinese food box into the trash. “Stop trying to con me.”
“I’m not. You’re looking at this rationally. Rustling isn’t always rational—at least the motive behind it isn’t. Hell, there are a lot of better ways to make a living.”
“I thought you said it was simple math, quick bucks, little risk,” she said, an edge to her voice.
So she had been listening. “Yeah, but it’s too hit-or-miss. With a real job you get to wear a better wardrobe, have nicer living conditions. Not to mention a 401 K salary, vacation and sick pay, plus hardly anyone ever shoots at you.”
“Your point?” she said, obviously not appreciating his sense of humor.
She started to scoop up the map, but he grabbed her hand, more to get her attention than to stop her. He could feel her pulse hammering against the pad of his thumb, which he moved slowly in a circle across the warm flesh. His heart kicked up a beat as her eyes met his.
What the hell was he doing? He let go and she pulled back, her gaze locked with his, a clear warning in all that gunmetal-gray.
“All I’m saying is that you have to think like they think,” he said.
She shook her head. “That’s your job.”
“The only way I can do that is if I know what they really want,” he said.
“They want cattle.”
He laughed. “No. Trust me, it’s not about cattle. It’s always about the end result. The cattle are just a means to an end. What we need to know is what they’re getting out of this. It isn’t the money. They aren’t making enough for it to be about money. So what do they really want?”

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