The High Country Rancher
Jan Hambright
The High Country Rancher
Jan Hambright
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u8ee84cda-f050-576f-9233-7c6612b995f5)
Title Page (#u74d89cb1-4ac4-5739-aab2-ccab18931422)
About the Author (#u9fd8853a-57d6-55cf-8a32-09ccfdc412f1)
Chapter One (#u353ee0eb-b178-5428-b141-e3a1805629d2)
Chapter Two (#ua8fa69f8-8fb2-5cc5-8f0d-a839e8981623)
Chapter Three (#u4ecc7c54-81a2-5fb6-a47e-5449df37e29f)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
JAN HAMBRIGHT penned her first novel at seventeen, but claims it was pure rubbish. However, it did open the door on her love for storytelling. Born in Idaho, she resides there with her husband, three of their five children, a three-legged watch dog and a spoiled horse named Texas, who always has time to listen to her next story idea while they gallop along.
Jan can be reached at PO Box 2537, McCall, Idaho 83638, USA.
To my editor, Allison. Thank you for making me push myself.
To my family, who endured too many chili nights while I worked late. You’re the best! Love Ya.
And to my friend Ellen, for the great pictures you took of my horse Texas, who may or may not have made the book’s cover. Smiles.
Chapter One (#ulink_2b364ab4-ad8d-5710-9e4c-19487c370fa8)
Baylor McCullough flipped the collar of his oilskin duster up around his neck, and spurred his horse into the wind raging from the north in icy waves.
Snow pelted his face, stinging like tiny BBs, but he focused instead on the lay of the land, trying to define it in the blizzard swirling around him.
The warming pen in the barn brimmed with early spring calves, too young to survive the freak storm hammering the Salmon River high country.
Only one was missing. A bald-faced calf he’d seen with its mother yesterday afternoon before the sky clouded to murky white and the air temperature dipped below freezing.
Reining in his horse, Texas, he paused, spotting an outline in the snow just below the border of ancient ponderosa pines that lined the driveway leading into the ranch. The shape disappeared as the wind shifted, smearing his vision.
“Get up.” He tapped his heels against the horse’s flanks and rocked forward in the saddle, aiming for the trees less than twenty yards away.
Night would fall soon; the storm was intensifying. Nothing would survive after dark. He was running out of time.
Texas’s hooves thudded against the frozen earth as he searched for traction in the blowing snow and plowed through the drifts accumulating and dissipating like sand dunes on the Sahara.
Baylor forced his hat down hard on his head and steered the horse around a tangle of branches that had been ripped from one of the ponderosa. He’d be lucky if the storm didn’t take out the power before it spent its fury on the Bellwether Ranch.
“Whoa.” He eased back on the reins, stopped the horse and climbed down out of the saddle. Kneeling in the snow, he brushed hard, exposing the hide of the bald-faced calf he’d seen only yesterday, but he was too late.
He straightened. It was only one calf, only one in his herd of hundreds, but it was a loss. A knot clinched in the pit of his stomach. He mounted up, and turned Texas for the ranch a quarter of a mile away, fighting for every breath he dragged into his lungs from the blasting wind.
The pine branches he’d passed earlier whipped and jerked in the gale, like sheets on a clothesline.
Texas spooked and skittered sideways.
Baylor kept his seat in the saddle, bringing the scared horse under control.
For an instant the snow cleared, giving him a view he hadn’t expected.
Concern slid through his veins, driving him forward. He bailed off his horse and went to the ground, digging into the snowdrift piled up against the limb, looking for the thing he believed he’d seen for a brief second, and praying he was wrong.
Brushing away the last of the snow, he stared down at a human hand.
He jerked off his leather glove and pressed his fingers to the wrist, feeling for a pulse. It drummed beneath his fingertips, faint and thready.
Still alive. But not for long if he didn’t do something.
Baylor pushed to his feet and rushed to his horse.
Texas’s eyes went wide. He took a couple of steps back.
“Easy boy.” Hand out, Baylor touched the horse’s neck, calming him, before he fumbled with the laces and untied his lariat from the saddle.
He trudged back through the snow and looped the noose of the rope around the thick base of the limb.
Striding back to his horse, he mounted up, wrapped the rope around the saddle horn and urged Texas back.
“Easy…easy.” He coaxed, hoping to keep the spooked animal from an all-out bolt.
Three feet. Five feet. Ten feet. Clear.
Baylor dismounted, unwrapped the rope from the saddle horn and coiled it up as he lunged back to the spot where the limb had fallen, trapping someone.
Dropping the rope, he went to his knees and started digging. Panic drove him, until he found the hand again. Reaching down, he judged where the body was and locked his arms around it. In one pull it came free, sending him backward onto his backside with his arms wrapped around a body, and a face full of snow, but it was the sight of a slender body, and a wisp of long blond hair sticking out from under a stocking cap that fisted worry in his gut.
A woman? A hypothermic woman, a dead woman, if he didn’t get her back to the house. How long had she been lying there in the freezing cold? He mentally tried to establish a timeline as he stood up, and pulled her into his arms. She hadn’t been there at 3:00 p.m. when he’d gone out to round up his cows and calves just before the storm broke.
Putting one foot in front of the other, he maneuvered through the snow until he reached Texas, who’d calmed and stood with his head low, hind-quarters turned into the gale.
Gently, he draped her over the front of the saddle. Foot in stirrup, he mounted up and pulled her back into his arms, settling her against him.
Staring down, he saw her face for the first time. High cheekbones, a strong chin, full lips, refined, but much too still and void of color. The only thing marring her features was a bloody scrape on her right temple, probably caused by the limb when it hit her, knocked her down and trapped her.
Who was she? And what was she doing on the Bellwether?
Concern rattled through him. He might already be too late. He wasn’t a doctor, but head injuries and hypothermia were serious business.
He turned Texas for home, hoping he had better luck saving the beautiful woman in his arms than he had had with the early spring calf who lay frozen to death in the snow.
DETECTIVE MARIAH ELLIS became aware of her body one tingling appendage at a time, starting with her toes. She was cold. As cold as she’d ever been, but the air against her bare skin was warm.
Her bare skin? A hazy image accompanied her return to consciousness: a man lying next to her, his body pressed to hers, his warmth soaking into her frozen veins.
In a burst of horror and disoriented thought, her eyelids shot open and she jerked upright in the bed. A bed she didn’t recognize, in a room that didn’t belong to her.
Covered with only a sheet, she grabbed the bulky rust-colored comforter folded at the foot of the massive four-poster, and yanked it up around her neck.
Quieting, she listened for any sound of movement.
Her head throbbed, her stomach rebelling against the sudden jolt of excitement. Flopping back against the fluffy pillows, she waited for the nausea to pass.
The mournful howl of the wind blowing against the house was the only sound in the candlelit room, besides the crackle coming from a blazing fire burning in a massive stone fireplace, positioned against the wall opposite the bed.
Tension squeezed every muscle in her body as one-by-one she recovered her memories of the day’s events.
She’d come to the Bellwether Ranch to question its owner, rancher Baylor McCullough, about a missing prosecutor, James Endicott.
Was this McCullough’s home?
His bed?
Panic frayed her nerves and left her agitated.
She’d been advised to use caution where Baylor McCullough was concerned. He had been, after all, a suspect in his wife’s death a year ago.
Scanning the room, she spotted the object of her search. Throwing back the comforter, she climbed out of bed. A chill raked over her bare skin and her gaze settled on a silky robe draped over the footboard.
Mariah swallowed, took two steps forward and snatched the garment. She pulled it on, securing the belt with a tight tug.
The room spun.
Grabbing for the footboard, she steadied herself. Head pounding, she reached up and felt the gauze bandage taped in place on her right temple.
The branch. She’d been clipped by it while she’d walked along the road into the ranch after her car slid into the ditch half a mile back. Things were beginning to make sense. All but the faint memory of not being in the four-poster alone.
Had she dreamt that?
Taking several deep breaths, she focused on her service revolver and faltered forward until she reached the mirrored wooden dresser where it lay.
Wrapping her left hand around the holster, she pulled out the shiny .38 with her right, and instantly felt a surge of relief coat her nerves. A girl could always rely on her weapon.
She didn’t know what Baylor McCullough was capable of, and she didn’t want to find out. The .38 was the only deterrent between the two options, and she intended to use it if she had to.
Her feet stung as she turned around and stared at the open door that led out of the large bedroom. The flicker of candles in the adjacent darkness put her on edge.
Fighting the pain in her feet that resembled a zillion tiny needle pricks, she took a step forward, then another, shuffling until she reached the entry.
Stopping, she leaned against the doorjamb for support and scoped out what appeared to be the living room.
A fire blazed in a river-rock fireplace centered against one wall. Light from the flames ebbed and flowed, touching the articles in the room with its glow.
Somewhere in the unfamiliar house Baylor McCullough waited.
Was he armed?
Raising her service revolver, she inched forward, getting a sense of the room’s layout and analyzing it for cover.
The sound of someone’s deep, even breathing sliced into her senses.
She turned toward the sound and stopped her advance.
She spotted the room’s only occupant sprawled in a deep leather chair and focused on his denim-clad thighs, long, lean, well muscled and stretched out in front of him. His boot-encased feet were casually crossed at the ankles and rested on an ottoman.
By the time her tenuous gaze moved up his shirtless six-packed torso and settled on his face, she realized he was looking back.
“Detective Ellis.” The surety in his voice rattled her nerves worse than any high-speed chase ever had.
With a force that took her breath away, she snapped back into the reality that belonged to her. She was a cop and he was her number one suspect, if she could find her badge, and her…clothes.
“And you’d be Baylor McCullough?”
He rocked forward in the chair, pushing the ottoman aside before he stood up, tall, broad-shouldered and silhouetted against the firelight.
Panic zipped along her nerve endings and her mouth went bone-dry.
“I believe you already know the answer, considering you found your way into my ranch.”
Irritation warmed her insides as she lowered the pistol, her vulnerability exposed under his intense stare like a Norwegian tourist’s winter skin on Maui in December.
Embarrassment fired in her body and hit its target on her cheeks. She wasn’t a rookie; feeling like one bothered her.
“You…rescued me from the storm?”
He gave a tiny nod, confirming her suspicion and solidifying her troubles.
“My car slid into the ditch half a mile from here.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to salvage whatever thread of dignity she had left. She was bare-butt naked inside the silky robe, and she was sure he’d been the one who’d facilitated that little detail. This was no way to start an interview with a suspect, but it was the only starting point she had.
His chiseled features softened. His steel-blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he moved toward her in relaxed, even strides.
“I’ve got water on the cookstove. I’ll make you some hot tea. You need to drink it.”
“And my badge?”
The twinkle disappeared. His jaw, darkened by stubble, set in a hard line. He clamped his teeth together. “Hanging in the closet with your dry clothes.”
A tingle raced through her body as she looked up at him, unsure if she should be cautious or apologetic. He had, after all, saved her life.
He must have sensed the quandary she found herself in because he attempted to smile. “This storm has us locked in. It’ll be a couple of days before the outside world knows you’re missing.”
Mariah felt drained. The edges of her caution melted away for a moment only to be resolidified an instant later.
“I’ll have to check for myself. Have you got a telephone I can use?”
“Out. Along with the electricity.” He turned away from her and she stared at the well-developed muscles cording his back as he moved toward the kitchen.
“I’d stay off your feet for a day or two. You’ve got some frostbite. Walking around could damage the tissue, and you’ve got nice feet. Go back to bed if you want to keep your toes.” With that warning and compliment he disappeared into the darkened kitchen just beyond the firelight.
Mariah’s heart rate shot up. She’d managed to get herself into one heck of a mess. The idea of being trapped on a mountain with no phone, no car and a suspect with a foot fetish was more than she’d bargained for when she’d left the station this afternoon.
Still, she was glad he’d found her, because the alternative was a slow, cold death. She shivered, unsure if it was the result of the air temperature, or the idea of being held up with Baylor McCullough. Her prime suspect in the disappearance of James Endicott, the prosecutor who’d tried to charge him with vehicular manslaughter in his wife Amy’s death.
Hobbling back to the bedroom, she clutched the .38 a little tighter.
BAYLOR PULLED A MUG out of the cupboard next to the sink and carried it over to the counter next to the cookstove. Every nerve in his body had twisted into a knot the moment he’d discovered her badge and gun in the process of removing her wet clothes.
He knew the lanky blonde with a kick-ass body who warmed his bed wasn’t here to sell him a subscription to Ladies’ Home Journal. So what did she want? He’d seen the way she gripped her pistol, picked up on the embarrassment of the situation she found herself in. Worse, she was afraid of him. That knowledge put his emotions in a tailspin. He’d never hurt a woman and he didn’t plan to start now.
Opening a canister, he pulled out a tea bag, unwrapped it and put it in the cup, before filling it with hot water and setting the kettle back on the cookstove.
He dunked the tea bag, watching the liquid turn to amber in the candlelight before he removed it, squeezed it and laid it on the counter, trying to rid his mind of the body contact images branded on it.
He’d followed medical protocol for hypothermia. Right down to the skin-on-skin contact to rewarm her. He overrode a swell of desire that charged through him.
Detective Ellis was a beautiful woman, but now that he’d thawed her out, he had to keep her warm. Ice crystals in the bloodstream could cause cardiac arrest. The next several hours were critical.
Gradual rewarming was key, from the inside and out. But there was no way to tell how bad the bump on her head was. He had to watch over her until he could get her to the hospital in Grangeville sixty miles away.
He picked up the steaming mug and headed for the bedroom.
MARIAH SHOVED THE PISTOL under the pillow next to her and settled into bed, covering herself with the down comforter. She hated to admit Baylor McCullough was right. She’d had enough first-aid training to know walking around on frozen feet could result in losing toes. She jiggled her legs, trying to aid circulation.
The clop of boots on hardwood brought her gaze up. He entered the room with a steaming mug in hand.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. She tried to crush the instant attraction that sizzled through her, by remembering why she was here, but it didn’t work.
She was a cop, not blind, and Baylor McCullough was an attractive man, from his intense blue-gray eyes, to his dark good looks and muscular build.
At any other time in her life, she might have explored her reaction to him, but she was here in an official capacity. The only thing that would have made her feel better was being dressed, instead of tied up in a slinky robe that had probably belonged to Amy McCullough, a dead woman.
“How are your feet?”
Damn…damn…damn, she thought, as she stared up at him, her gaze locked with his. There was that foot thing again.
“They feel like the only pincushion at a ladies’ quilt club on a Monday afternoon.”
“You should have stayed down.” He set the cup on the nightstand and retreated to the foot of the bed.
Before she could utter an objection, he pulled the comforter back and exposed her feet.
Mariah braced herself when he touched her right foot, taking it in both hands.
She was unprepared for her body’s response to his gentle touch, or the desire that flared and twisted through her, taking her breath with it. She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn’t gotten a read on her, but the moment she opened them again, she knew that wish was futile.
His eyes narrowed, a half smile pulling at the left side of his sexy mouth. “Better?” he asked.
Mariah cleared her throat and focused on the sensation. The needling was slowly beginning to relent. She wiggled her toes trying to ignore the feel of his warm hands firmly forcing the blood to the surface of her skin with each stroke.
“It’s not too bad. I can feel my toes.”
“We caught it in time, but you need to stay off them.” He put her right foot down and started on the left. By now she’d gotten used to his hands on her skin and she tried to relax. Tried to make it a clinical experience even though her body was humming and aware of his every movement.
“You’ve dealt with frostbite a time or two?”
“Living this far from civilization, it’s a necessary skill.”
“One I’m glad you possess.” Warmth worked its way up her lower legs. “Thank you for rescuing me, and my toes.”
“You’re welcome.” He settled her foot onto the bed and pulled the covers back over her feet.
“I’d like to know what you’re doing on my ranch, Detective Ellis.”
Mariah bristled at the abrupt change of subject. “I’m here to ask you a few questions.”
He didn’t speak. She pushed on. “Were you aware James Endicott went missing two weeks ago?” She considered herself an expert on suspect behavior and body language; she planned to absorb even the slightest measure of reaction he exhibited.
His blue eyes glistened with anger. A muscle pulsed along his square jawline, and his breathing rate shot up.
Mariah’s heart skipped a beat as she visualized the pistol tucked under the pillow next to her, ready to be used if he showed any sign of aggression toward her.
He knew something; he had to. His dislike for the man was obvious from his physical reaction.
“And you believe I had something to do with it? Once a suspect, always a suspect?” A glimmer of amusement flashed in his eyes and played out of sync with the seriousness of the implication.
“He tried to put you behind bars, Mr. McCullough. That’s motive.”
“For the record, Detective, he has tried to put hundreds behind bars. Many more badass than me.”
She knew it was true, but she planned to push him. Interesting things bubbled out of people when you stressed them beyond their capacity to withhold the truth.
“I’ll give you that one, but we’re not talking about those badasses. We’re talking about you. You’ve got to have some resentment built up. You’ve had almost a year to plan your revenge.”
His face went placid, hiding the emotions she knew rippled just under the surface and beyond her reach for the moment.
“I’ve had time to figure things out. Time to make sense of what happened to Amy. A patch of hell, Detective, not a minute of it spent on revenge.”
He stood at the foot of the bed looking like a warrior poised for battle. Hard, prepared, invincible.
Mariah suppressed an insurmountable wave of sympathy. “Will you consent to a polygraph?”
Clutching the footboard rail, he stared at her for a moment before she saw his shoulders relax. Whatever grudge existed between the two men was still there. She had the facts of the case, but not from his point of view.
“No.” His arms dropped to his sides. “Get some rest.” He strode out of the room, leaving her alone with a crackling fire and more questions than answers.
Gingerly she picked up the steaming mug he’d carried in, and smelled the vapors. Earl Grey, her favorite. Its rich aroma of bergamot wafted up her nose and calmed her nerves. She clutched the mug in both hands, letting the blessed warmth infuse her fingers.
She was lucky to be alive. She owed Baylor McCullough her life. Could she cut him some slack?
The question burned a path in her brain between her professional obligation as an officer of the law, and her happiness at being alive instead of a human popsicle.
She sipped the tea, letting it heat her throat, until she was warm and relaxed and barely able to keep her eyelids open. Setting the empty mug on the nightstand, she snuggled into the covers, listening to the wind batter the sturdy ranch house, much like her gratitude toward Baylor McCullough battered her resolve about his guilt.
Amy McCullough had been her friend years ago, but she’d lost touch with her after high school. How had she and Baylor met? What had their relationship been like?
She closed her eyes, letting the questions compile in her brain. She’d read every last word of the accident report, every interview…so why had James Endicott been so determined to prosecute Baylor in a case that read like a tragic accident out of a horror flick?
Chapter Two (#ulink_76996671-9750-57f1-bdec-5455b49f0bef)
Wham…wham…wham.
Mariah bolted awake and sat up, trying to place the loud banging coming from somewhere in the unfamiliar house.
A fire still blazed in the fireplace. Fresh wood had recently been added, judging by the still uncharred ends of the logs.
“Hello,” she called out. No response.
Where was Baylor?
A measure of caution edged down her spine. She threw back the covers and crept out of bed.
“Hello,” she called as she crossed to the doorway and stared out into the living room.
The fire in the living-room hearth was little more than a heap of glowing embers now, but Baylor’s woodsy scent hung in the air, surrounding her, and she sensed he hadn’t been gone long.
Wham!
Mariah jumped.
A cut of icy wind sliced into her, raising goose bumps on her body. The noise was coming from somewhere in the area of the kitchen.
Easing forward, she searched the darkness, heading toward the sound.
Wham!
Through the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen, she spotted the source of the racket and stalked toward it.
The back door stood wide-open before another gust of wind caught it and slammed it against the jamb.
A shudder coursed through her as she stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the knob. She paused in place, staring out into the darkness.
The storm had passed while she’d slept. A full moon gleamed against the platinum snow and bathed the landscape in brilliant white light. Somewhere in the surrounding woods a series of howls built to a mournful crescendo and echoed against the mountains. She half expected to see a wolf silhouette itself against the moon, and the stark beauty of the place, along with its mystery, appealed to her artist’s eye.
But where was Baylor McCullough?
Stepping back, she pulled the door shut, but it wouldn’t latch. She jiggled the knob back and forth. The bolt released. She pulled it shut again, and heard the cylinder pop into the kick plate.
Taking one last glance through the small panel of windows in the door, she saw a trail of movement. In the timberline a hundred yards from the house, someone waded through the snow, before vanishing out of sight in the dense line of trees.
Was it McCullough? What was he doing out there? She turned the dead bolt and heard it lock in place.
“Detective?”
She jerked around, instinct taking over. Every muscle in her body coiled for maximum self-preservation. She lashed out at the man standing too close to her, catching him in the jaw with an uppercut from her elbow before she realized she’d just hit Baylor in the face.
“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry. I thought you were outside.” She glanced back to the spot where she’d seen someone only an instant ago.
“I’ve been in the barn, checking on the calves.” Baylor rubbed the spot on his jaw where she’d popped him. “I use the front door. I keep this one locked until I can get a locksmith up here to fix it. It doesn’t always latch.”
“I saw someone, up there, just at the timberline.” She pointed to the spot. “Were you up there?”
“No. You probably saw deer feeding by the moonlight.” He moved in next to her and stared out the window.
“Do deer walk upright?” she asked, half joking, but Baylor’s features in the lunar glow were dead serious.
“Some strange things have been going on around here the past few months.”
His cautious tone fired her curiosity. “What sort of things?”
Baylor reached for her hand and turned her toward the living room. He could feel the cold in the air through his heavy coat, and he knew she had to be freezing in the little black robe.
“It’s not important.” He felt her shiver, the vibration rippling through his hand. He coaxed her a little faster toward the bedroom and the heat from the fireplace.
“It’s almost dawn. You have to stay warm.” He ushered her through the doorway into the bedroom and released her, not content until she climbed back into bed, and pulled the covers up around her neck.
He took off his coat, picked up the poker, opened the fireplace screen and jostled the logs. A spray of sparks jumped, and the fire hissed as it intensified.
There was that feeling again, but this time there was something solid to back it up.
The hair on the back of his neck bristled as firelight danced across the hardwood floor of the bedroom and reflected in a set of liquid footprints. The spot where someone had stood long enough for the snow on their shoes to melt. Someone had been in this room tonight while Mariah slept, and the prints didn’t belong to him.
“What woke you up?” He slid the screen closed and sat down on the hearth. He didn’t want to spook her. She’d go cop on him again.
“The back door was wide-open and banging against the doorjamb in the wind.”
Could the figure she’d seen outside be the person who made the tracks in the corner? He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t relax until he got her safely off the mountain.
“Get some rest.” He moved into the chair next to the fireplace, to stand guard, and watched her close her beautiful blue eyes.
Whatever was going on at the Bellwether Ranch was his problem, and he didn’t want her involved.
THE SMELL OF COFFEE brewing and bacon sizzling pulled Mariah out of sleep. She opened her eyes, staring at the lamp on the nightstand, at the lit bulb that glared from under the shade. The power was back on.
She rolled onto her back, staring up at the coffered ceiling. She could hear pearls of water dripping outside the bedroom window as sunlight penetrated the slats in the wooden blinds.
Idaho weather was so unpredictable—if you didn’t like it, wait five minutes and it would change.
Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stretched. Her body ached, every muscle had gone stiff. Probably a by-product of nearly freezing to death, she decided as she went to the closet and opened it to find her clothes hanging just where Baylor said they’d be.
She dressed quickly, strapped on her service revolver, and made the bed up in the decidedly masculine room that carried his scent.
She headed for the kitchen, taking her time as she surveyed the living room in the light of day. Heavy hand-hewn beams crossed the ceiling. The hardwood floor under her feet was made of maple, and polished to perfection. Amy had great taste, she decided as she turned toward the kitchen, her gaze locking on Baylor.
He worked over the stove, his broad shoulders covered in a pristine white T-shirt. Every little nagging ounce of desire in her body fizzed up, and she had to look away.
“Good morning,” he said as he turned around. “How do you feel?”
Pulling out a stool at the bar, she slid onto it and fixed a smile on her face. “Great.”
He turned to a cupboard next to the sink, pulled down a large red coffee mug and filled it from the coffeemaker. “This should help.”
A grin pulled his lips apart, showing even, white teeth. Her heart did a somersault. He set the cup in front of her. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Black’s fine.” Picking up the cup, she took a swallow, wondering if he’d been as attentive toward Amy. There it was again, that curiosity about something she didn’t need to know. Something that had no bearing on her investigation into James Endicott’s disappearance.
Baylor could feel her eyes on his back like a tick on a horse, but at least she’d left her gun holstered this morning instead of pointed at him.
“I called a tow truck for your car. He’ll be here within the hour.” He said all this over his shoulder as he loaded her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and a slice of wheat toast.
“I’m going to take you up to the hospital. Make sure you’re all right.”
“That’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”
He didn’t doubt it. His jaw still hurt. He slid the plate in front of her and took his first long look at her in broad daylight.
Her tousled blond hair was loose, and fell to her shoulders in soft curls that made his hands ache to touch them. She wasn’t tall, but she wasn’t short. And those eyes, the ones flashing him a back-off warning as sure as he was standing there, well, he liked those, too. The color of a cloudless noonday sky.
“My rules. You got hurt on my property, I’ve got an obligation to make sure you check out.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she shut it, picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.
He turned around, satisfied that she’d be safe for the next two hours. He couldn’t risk having her wandering around on his mountain alone. This morning he’d found a set of footprints in the melting snow next to the timberline, right where the good detective said she saw someone last night.
Whatever was going on didn’t involve her, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.
Detective Mariah Ellis was better off back where she belonged. Far away from the Bellwether Ranch.
MARIAH SLID INTO THE cab of Baylor’s black Chevy pickup and buckled up. What was left of last night’s snowstorm lay in melting drifts, and the sun was warm against her face.
He fired up the truck and backed out of the driveway.
She tried to relax, but it was impossible. She’d yet to accomplish what she’d set out to do. Interrogate Baylor McCullough.
“I’d like you to come into the station for an interview. I need to know where you were on April the fifth.” She glanced at the muddy road in front of them, before slipping him a glance.
His jaw was set; he stared straight ahead. She knew defiance when she saw it.
“If you had nothing to do with Endicott’s disappearance, you’re in the clear.” The word but hung up on her tongue. She was so sure he was somehow involved when she’d come tearing up the mountain yesterday afternoon. Now she wasn’t as convinced, but she still had a job to do.
“A polygraph could clear you.”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “You’re going to need a lot more than a hunch, Detective.”
A chill launched over her skin and landed in her gut. He was right. She was reaching. But a reach was all she had to go on at the moment. He was her only lead.
“If that’s the way you want to play it for the time being, but it’s the surest way to clear yourself.”
Baylor didn’t doubt it. It was the principle of the whole damn thing. His past was playing into it, he was sure. In the eyes of the law he’d always be suspect.
He rounded the bend in the road and spotted the tow truck along with another pickup parked in the opposite direction. He slowed and pulled in behind it.
The tow-truck driver raised his hand and waved. The man standing next to him did the same and Baylor recognized his neighbor Harley Neville who lived a mile up the road.
“You can stay in the truck and keep warm if you like.” He pulled the handle and the door swung open. He somehow doubted she’d take that option. Mariah Ellis likely lived on curiosity and adrenaline. Both went with her line of work.
“I’d like to have a look.” She climbed out of the truck and moved up next to him as he covered ground in long, even strides.
Her late model Ford Taurus was augered deep in the ditch. The rear end sticking up in the air, the undercarriage high-centered on the berm of earth, the nose rammed into the embankment.
“Bang-up job.” A whistle hissed from between his lips, drawing a glare from her that could have cut diamonds.
He stared down the road, taking note of the exact spot where she’d gotten sideways, where she’d made the mistake of hitting her brakes, and where she’d ended up. Lucky she hadn’t been seriously hurt, or he wouldn’t have found her in time to save her life.
“This your car?” the tow-truck driver asked, shifting his green Bernie’s Garage hat off then back on, before settling it low on his forehead.
“Yeah. It’s mine. You can send the bill to the county sheriff’s department.”
“Will do.” He moved to his wrecker and unhooked the wench cable.
“Harley, how are you?” Baylor asked, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Not too shabby. The little lady was lucky this happened here and not a few miles back.”
Baylor glanced over at Mariah, who shaded her eyes against the sun beating down on them, making it almost impossible to believe only last night the area had been covered in six inches of fresh snow.
Harley was right. Less than two miles west where the river ran straight and the road turned south, there would have been nothing to keep the car from plunging over the edge into the river below.
He sobered and shook off the blanket of dread that suddenly covered him, making his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry.
“Looks like Bernie has this. Let’s head for Grangeville.”
Mariah nodded and turned toward the truck. He exchanged a nod with Harley and followed her back to the rig, enjoying the sway of her hips in her dark blue slacks. If he had to have a cop on his doorstep and in his bed, he wanted her.
They got into the pickup and pulled out around Harley’s shiny new rig. It must have cost him a small fortune, Baylor decided as he eased past the tow truck and picked up speed.
“How long have you been on the ranch?” she asked, casting a glance his way before leaning forward in the seat to study the landscape flitting past on the right.
“I took over the Bellwether from my folks in 1998. My dad’s health wasn’t so good and he couldn’t take the winters up here anymore. Now they have a place in Arizona.”
“There’s something to be said for staying warm.”
“What about your parents?” He braked and made the wide sweeping turn that put them parallel to the river a hundred feet below.
“Divorced. My dad lives in Grangeville, my mom in Lewiston.”
Damn. Why hadn’t he made the connection sooner? A thread of apprehension laced through him, knotting his muscles. “Ted Ellis is your dad?”
“That’s right.”
The knots didn’t loosen, and the knowledge put him on alert. Her father was the chief of police. He’d worked damn hard to follow the law, not engage it in spades. Now there were two Ellises who had it in for him.
Thump!
The truck jerked hard to the right and veered close to the edge of the riverbank.
A shriek escaped from between Mariah’s lips.
“Hang on!” Baylor pulled left on the steering wheel.
Thump! The truck jerked again, sending them into the opposite lane.
Baylor pulled it back and pushed down hard on the brakes. The pickup ground to a stop in the middle of the muddy road.
Mariah’s hand was on the door handle and she was out of the truck before he could assure her they were fine, but he doubted she’d have much to do with the notion, considering all the color had drained from her face.
He hopped out and came around the front of the rig to stare at the problem.
One lug nut was the lone survivor holding on to the right front tire.
Caution worked his nerves, and he touched Mariah’s back, feeling the tension in her body.
“Someone wanted you to have an accident. Someone did this on purpose. Those don’t just fall off.”
She had a point, but he didn’t want to tell her this was the second time in the past month his pickup had been sabotaged. He moved for the rear of the truck to get his toolbox and a lug wrench.
He’d get her off his mountain and safely back to town even if he had to carry her there himself.
DR. JEROME MUNSEY shined a narrow beam of light into her right eye, then her left, before he stepped back to the counter, laid the scope down and prepared a dressing to cover the scrape on her right temple.
“You’ve got a mild concussion, Mariah, but no permanent damage. You should be fine.” He moved in next to where she sat on the end of the examining table and put the dressing on her wound.
“Baylor got to you before there was any damage to the soft tissues of your appendages. You were lucky.” He stepped back and put his hands in the pockets of his blue lab coat. “Call me if you experience any dizziness, or nausea. Numbness or tingling in your hands and feet.”
“Okay.” She slipped her socks back on, head down as she tried to cover the mix of horror and embarrassment that pulsed in every cell of her body. The trip to the E.R. had confirmed her suspicions. Baylor had, in fact, rewarmed her with skin-on-skin contact. That hazy image was no dream. It was a reality that would be forever burned into her brain. Just the thought sent her imagination off on a tangent. What was worse was the way it made her feel, all hot and bothered.
She slid Baylor a quick glance. “I’m sure it was tough for him to handle, but it worked. Here I am, good as new.” She hopped off the examining table and shoved her feet into her shoes. The sooner she got home the better. She wasn’t sure she could handle another minute with him, now that she knew the full extent of what had transpired between them.
He was a suspect in a missing persons case; she had to focus on that, rather than the heat of the sexual tension that jumped between them like an unchecked forest fire.
Smiling at Dr. Munsey, she thanked him and left the E.R., headed for the exit.
“Take it easy, Detective.” The sorry-about-that note in Baylor’s voice pulled her up short.
“You should have told me!” She felt her cheeks flame, hot and telltale. “I know you did what you had to, but it’s so…”
“Intimate?”
“Yes!” And unprofessional, she thought as she pushed through the main entrance door of the hospital and out onto the sidewalk, aiming for Baylor’s pickup parked at the curb, while she tried to pull herself together.
Baylor stared at Mariah’s backside. “Look.” He reached for her shoulder and stopped her before she could get into the truck.
She turned on him, her anger visible in the rigid set of her jaw. Her blue eyes all but sparked.
“Would it help if I told you it was clinical? I was more interested in saving your life than exploring your body.” He wrestled with a rush of desire that closed his throat.
She gave him a wary stare as he reached for the door handle and opened it for her. “Let’s get you home.”
He closed the door behind her, went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. “Where to?”
“I live at 405 Cottonwood. It’s off Sycamore on the west side of town.”
“I know the street.” He fired the engine and pulled out onto Main, searching for the right words. Why was she so upset? He wasn’t sorry for saving her life; hell, he’d probably done himself a favor, but there had to be more to it. He’d never take advantage of a woman, especially one who was borderline comatose and not in control of her faculties.
Realization slammed into his brain. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Mariah Ellis had a boyfriend? Explaining what had happened to her and how he’d saved her was going to complicate her life.
“No one besides Doc Munsey and you and I have to know what happened. I’m willing to let it go unsaid if it’ll keep the peace between you and your…boyfriend.” He flipped on his blinker and turned right onto Sycamore Street.
“Thanks for that,” she whispered. “He’ll be thrilled.”
Mariah nibbled at her lower lip and stared out at the familiar street. It seemed like an eon since she’d last driven down it. So when in that short span of time had she left her straight-talking style twisting in the wind? She should just tell him she didn’t have a boyfriend. There was no one in her life; her job had taken care of that.
“There. The yellow house on the left.” She pointed it out and tried to relax. Cop. She was a cop, she needed to start acting like one, even if she didn’t feel the vibe and hadn’t for a long time. She still had a major case to solve. Baylor rolled to a stop in front of the yellow house, with a white picket fence and massive pots brimming with pink flowers on either side of the front steps.
He couldn’t shake the disappointment of knowing she had someone in her life. Hell, he was happy for her. She was a beautiful woman. He gritted his teeth and climbed out of the pickup, meeting her on the sidewalk before opening the gate and following her up the walk.
She stopped, fished in her pocket and pulled out a house key. “Come in for a drink before you head back.”
His first response was to pass, but he didn’t; instead, he followed her inside and watched as she shuffled into the kitchen. “Is sun tea okay?”
“Yeah.” Baylor gazed around the living room. The place was neat and appointed with cushy furniture. Her scent tinged the air, a mix of sweet and spicy. His gaze held on a piece of landscape artwork on the wall behind her beige sofa. Moving closer, he focused on the artist’s signature in the bottom right corner. Mariah Ellis.
“This is your work,” he said as she came into the living room with a glass of iced tea in each hand.
“Recognize the setting?” She smiled and he realized how relaxed she looked for the first time since he’d met her.
“The Seven Devils Mountain Range…from the Pappoose Creek side.”
“Very good.” She handed him the cold glass. “Do you want to see more?”
There was a note of excitement in her voice. Her eyes took on a sparkle he hadn’t noticed before. This was Mariah Ellis’s passion. This was what made her tick. Her art.
Moving down the hall, she showed him paintings of Mirror Lake, the Salmon River Canyon and a moose standing knee-deep in a pond at dawn feeding on moss.
“You should open a gallery. Your work is very good.”
She warmed under his praise and his breath caught in his lungs. There was something innocent about her, something as unspoiled as her art, and he wanted to kiss her in the worst way, but he reined in the urge. He’d probably get the other side of his jaw popped. Didn’t she already think he’d stepped over the line when he rewarmed her? How would she explain a kiss to her boyfriend? Frozen lips?
He took a deep gulp from his glass and turned toward the living room and escape. He’d fulfilled his obligation. She was home safe.
“Thanks for the drink.” He handed the glass to her at the door and glanced down at an open book lying on a small table.
His heart jumped in his chest. He reached out and picked up the high-school yearbook.
Staring up at him from the page was a picture of Mariah and Amy. Arms locked, leaning against a set of lockers. The caption read, “Friends Forever.”
His gut squeezed. He looked at Mariah. “You knew my wife, Amy?”
“We were best friends our sophomore year of high school.”
A wave of caution raced through him, leaving him cold inside where he’d been warm only moments ago.
This was personal. Her suspicions about his involvement in Endicott’s disappearance were fueled by her certainty about his guilt in Amy’s death. There would never be an end to it. He’d done everything he could to save her life that night, short of drowning himself.
He closed the book and put it down. “I’ve got a long drive back to the ranch.” He turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.
“Baylor.”
He paused without turning around.
“For what it’s worth, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t look back, just stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.
He’d see her again. He knew it. Come Monday morning she’d have her cop face on, and he’d have to prove himself all over again.
Chapter Three (#ulink_63bc2a8b-a26d-57b5-8d9a-386326b5d6a7)
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Young lady. Mariah mentally finished the sentence she’d outgrown a long time ago and closed her father’s office door to keep the gossip to a minimum. Everyone in the department seemed to already know she’d spent Friday night trapped on a mountain with a suspect. She had no idea how things got spread, but they did, like butter on a waffle.
“I told you my car went into the ditch in the storm. The electricity and phone lines were down. I had no cell service up there, and no way out. If Baylor McCullough hadn’t found me, you’d be hanging at the morgue right now identifying my frozen remains, so give it a rest.”
Chief Ellis’s mouth opened, then closed as he rocked back in his chair, and studied his daughter. “Do you still think he had something to do with Endicott’s disappearance?”
Mariah swallowed, digging for her feelings on a matter she’d been so sure of only days ago. Baylor’s guilt.
“I don’t know. But he’s hiding something. You should have seen his reaction when I spoke about Endicott. There’s definitely some animosity there.”
“Hell, yeah. Endicott pressed him to the wall. I never understood exactly why he went after him so hard. The evidence seemed to support Amy McCullough’s death as a tragic accident. But enough rage to snatch the man and make him go away? You got anyone else on the list?”
“I accounted for everyone Endicott prosecuted. They’re either walking a straight line, out-of-state, dead or back in custody. McCullough is the only one who still lives around here.”
“You’re lucky he doesn’t file a harassment suit against you. Make sure you play him straight. If he is involved, we need a clean case, no loopholes he could slip through.”
“Okay.” She stood up to leave, her nerves as tense as a race car driver’s waiting at the start line.
There was only one way to capitalize on her suspicion. She’d have to stake out the Bellwether Ranch. If she could find probable cause, she could get a search warrant. Maybe she could find what he was hiding. She just hoped it wasn’t Endicott.
BAYLOR MOVED PAST THE kitchen window for the third time in ten minutes, making sure he saw what he saw. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and adjusted the focus, dialing in the nose of the vehicle parked west of the ranch in a patch of trees a quarter of a mile away.
Detective Ellis’s white car. She’d been there since dawn. Watching, waiting for him to make a move. Amusement rippled through him. He put the field glasses down.
If determination was all it took to be a cop, she would take the prize. Too bad she was so far off target. Granted, he hated what Endicott had done to him and the effect it had on his life, but he had nothing to do with his disappearance.
Baylor headed outside to the barn. Somehow convincing Detective Ellis of that fact seemed important. If she wanted evidence, he’d show her there wasn’t any, not on the Bellwether Ranch anyway.
MARIAH CLOSED HER EYES for an instant, trying to stop them from burning. She’d been on the stakeout since five this morning, and her coffee thermos was empty.
This had to be one of the worst ideas she’d ever managed to employ, at least on a twenty-five-hundred-acre ranch. Baylor could have hidden Endicott anywhere. Maybe she should give it up and go back to square one. Good, old-fashioned, pound-the-pavement, last-person-to-see-him-alive kind of stuff. Someone had to have seen something. She just had to pose the right question to the right person.
She opened her eyes and was startled. The object of her crack-of-dawn investigation stood next to her car holding the reins to a couple of horses.
“Good morning,” he said. “You’ll never get any nosing around done sitting in your car.”
Damn, she’d been caught. “You have a better plan?”
“How about I give you a tour of the ranch on horseback. You can search for Endicott anywhere you’d like.”
“And if I find him?” The air inside the vehicle went hot.
“You can cuff me and take me to jail.”
“Deal.” She rolled up the driver’s-side window, climbed out of the car and locked it. “I haven’t ridden in a while. Is he gentle?”
“Jericho? Yeah. The last person he dumped lived to tell about it.”
She grinned, feeling like a 4-H student at her first horse show.
Baylor handed her the reins, watched her mount up and settle into the saddle. He could only hope that his method worked. That the beautiful detective would drive away happy and convinced there wasn’t a body hidden somewhere on the Bellwether.
“We’ll head east. That’s the most remote area of the ranch. Lots of game trails. Abandoned mine shafts. I don’t run cattle out there for that reason.”
“Too dangerous?”
“One wrong step and you don’t come home.” He turned his horse and headed for the main road. They’d follow it for a couple of miles and take the Bear Creek trailhead just before Harley Neville’s place.
Mariah nudged her horse up next to Baylor’s and tried to relax. The feel of her sidearm on her belt offered some comfort. Searching without a search warrant, riding next to a suspect, all seemed a little strange to her, but if it helped her pull together a case, it’d be worth the risk.
“Shoot. I forgot my lunch in the car.” She attempted to turn the horse back toward her vehicle.
“Don’t worry.” Baylor patted his saddlebag. “I brought enough for two.” He grinned and her heartbeat went haywire.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Her certainty about his involvement in Endicott’s disappearance seemed to flail whenever she was with him. Something about his easygoing style sucked her in and changed her mind.
Baylor spurred his horse and she followed suit as they settled into a slow canter that ate up the distance.
The sweet scent of honey locust and pine sap hung in the air. The rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the dirt lulled her into a contented state that she’d rarely achieved since she’d started working at the sheriff’s department.
Baylor reined his horse in and waited for her to do the same. “Here’s our trail. It’s a steep climb, but the view on top is worth it.”
There was that sensation again. That zing of pleasure across her nerves, that flutter in her chest. “Looks like it would be too much work to get a body up there.” She stared up the sloping trail as it disappeared into the trees.
Her comment put an edge of tension in the air between them, which was precisely what she needed to pull her back down to earth. Until the Endicott case was solved, and Baylor was cleared, she had to sock the odd feelings away somewhere so they didn’t interfere with her job.
“A good strong horse and some determination. It could be done,” he said without hesitation.
She stared at him, trying to gauge his emotions, but his face gave nothing away. Was he joking or dead serious, she couldn’t be sure.
“Let’s head up. Make sure it’s clear.” He tipped his hat, the one shielding his features from her scrutiny.
She fell in behind him, leaning forward in the saddle as her horse trudged up the first steep incline, then took a right as the trail switched back across the face of the mountain.
Half an hour later they reined in their horses under a massive ponderosa pine and dismounted.
Mariah’s legs were shaking as she got them underneath her and took a look around. Breathtaking vistas spread out in front of her everywhere she turned.
“What do you think?” Baylor asked, tying the horses to a low-hanging limb.
“It’s beautiful.” Already her artist’s eye was honing in on all the possible angles she could use in her work. “I could stay up here for days and have something new to capture on every one of them.”
“I knew you’d like it.” He untied the double-pouched saddlebag, pulled it off the back of the saddle and tossed it over his shoulder. “Come on, there’s a place to relax just up the trail.”
Mariah tagged along behind him, staring at his broad shoulders as they moved beneath his denim shirt. Every ounce of control she possessed seemed to drain away, and desire, intense and volatile, throbbed in her veins.
She swallowed, focusing on the trail ahead of them as it opened into a small meadow flanked by dense timber. A gushing creek roared from out of the mountainside, then slowed and meandered across the meadow before dumping into a pond.
A well-traveled path wound through the heart of the clearing, flanked by knee-deep bear grass, ending next to a sandy beach on the banks of the pond.
“This is perfect.” She attempted to move past him, determined to sort out all the unfamiliar emotions tangled up inside of her, but he reached out and caught her hand, pulling her toward him.
A jolt of electricity coursed through her as they made contact. Gazing up into his face, she knew he’d felt it, too.
“Mariah…I…” What the hell was he thinking? Baylor wondered as he stared at her lips, then back into her eyes. He was a man on fire. He’d wanted to kiss her all morning and hadn’t been able to shake the desire. He’d even tried to remind himself she was a cop, out for blood, and still it hadn’t done the trick.
He pulled off his cowboy hat, gave it a toss and dropped the saddlebags as he lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t resist. Instead, her arms came up around his neck.
Mariah’s head swam. Every nerve in her body attuned itself to the feel of Baylor’s body pressed against hers.
She opened her mouth for him, tasting him as he deepened the kiss, exploring her with his tongue in a slow, sensual rhythm. An ache manifested itself deep and low in her belly. A primal need that begged for satisfaction as he lowered her to the soft meadow grass.
Fire ignited in her veins, consuming all reasonable thought in its flame. She wasn’t a cop, he wasn’t her suspect. They were a man and a woman, locked in the heat of desire. Lost in their own private heaven. Oblivious to the world around them.
The first bullet whizzed past Baylor’s right ear and bored into the ground next to his head, sending up a spray of dirt.
Somewhere in the timberline on the other side of the meadow, the gunshot echoed back.
Drunk on desire, Baylor rocked back, staring down at her. Reality jolted him into action. Someone was shooting at them.
He rolled them both hard to the left, took her hand and dragged her to her feet.
“Run!” he yelled.
Ping.
Another bullet zinged past, hitting the ground inches behind them.
Baylor aimed for the trees two hundred feet in front of them, caution driving him as he tried to pick the safest place to go off trail. The meadow was riddled with boarded-over vertical mine shafts; one wrong step and…
Before the thought had time to solidify, the earth gave under his feet.
In a last desperate attempt to save Mariah, he yanked hard, sending her flying past him, but the cavernous hole was too big.
It swallowed them whole and they fell through the rotting boards into darkness.
Mariah hit the bottom of the pit with a thud. The air pushed from her lungs as she slammed into the ground. Pain shot through her body from the jarring drop.
Baylor hit next to her.
She heard him grunt.
Dust clogged her mouth and nose, grit showering her tongue and grating on her teeth.
She lay still and opened her eyes.
It was dark at the bottom of the hole, and it took a moment for them to adjust. She scanned the earthen walls of the mine shaft. They were trapped.
She choked back a sob, drawing on her training instead. A cool head was the best tool in a situation like this.
“Baylor, can you hear me?” she asked, encouraged by a scraping noise and a grunt.
“Yeah.”
The sound of his voice sent a charge of excitement through her. He was alive.
“How deep do you suppose this shaft is?”
“Thirty feet maybe.”
May as well be a hundred, she thought as she pulled herself up into a sitting position, looking for anything that could help them escape.
“Are you hurt?”
“Does my pride count?”
She smiled in the darkness. “No.”
“Good.”
Mariah pulled herself to her feet, dusting off the layer of dirt that coated her body. She watched Baylor stand up, testing his feet under him before he put his head back and gazed up at the beams of light pouring through the jagged slats of wood above their heads.
The shaft was tight, maybe six by six.
A chill rocked her body and she fought a wave of hopelessness. They had to find a way out or this hole would become their grave.
Baylor wiped a trickle of blood off his forehead with the back of his hand and stared up at the opening.
The walls of the vertical shaft were laced with tree roots, the only thing that had slowed their fall. Worry hammered through him, pounding his nerves to a pulp. In frustration he grabbed a root and tested it for stability, but after a hard jerk it pulled out of the wall, coating him in more dirt.
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