Rawhide Ranger

A rustling sound followed, and Cabe jerked his head toward the woods, his heart pounding as he spotted a shadow floating between the oaks. Someone was there, watching them.

Someone who posed a danger.

A second later, a gunshot pinged off the boulder beside them. Jessie screamed.

He shoved her down to the ground, grabbed his gun and tried to shield her as another bullet flew toward them.

Chapter Two

Jessie’s knees slammed into the ground as the Ranger threw her down and covered her with his body. Hard muscle pressed against her, his breath heaving into her ear, his shoulder pressing hers into the ground, his legs trapping her.

The scent of man and sweat assaulted her, then she tasted dirt. Pinned down by his big body, a panicky feeling seized her, and she pushed against him to escape. But another bullet zoomed within inches of them, bouncing off the boulder, and he rolled her sideways until they were near the bat cave, and hidden by the thorny brush.

“Stay down!” he growled in her ear.

Jessie heaved a breath, wishing she had the gun in her saddlebag. “Do you see the shooter?”

The Ranger lifted his head, bracing his Sig Sauer to fire as he scanned the horizon. She raised her head as well, searching and struggling to crawl out from under him. The big damn man was smothering her.

He jerked his head toward his SUV. “Get in my Land Rover, lock the doors and stay down. I’m going after him.”

Without waiting on her reply, he jumped up, ducking behind brush and trees as he ran toward her horse, vaulted onto it and sent the palomino into a gallop toward the woods where the shots had come from.

“No!” She launched after him. No one rode Firebird but her. The nerve of the arrogant bastard. This was her land—she had to protect it.

But she wasn’t a fool either. He had just ridden off with her weapon and she couldn’t chase the shooter on foot.

Another shot skidded by her ear, nearly clipping her, and she realized she had no choice. It was the bat cave or his Land Rover, and she didn’t intend to tangle with the bats.

She crouched low and sprinted toward his Land Rover, furious, and hoping he caught the man.

Firebird’s hooves pounded the ground, and the shots faded as she climbed in the Land Rover, locked the doors and crouched on the seat. Tension thrummed through her body as she waited and listened. She felt like a sitting duck and lifted her head just enough to peer out the window to watch in case the shooter snuck up on her.

Her temper flaring, she checked for the keys to the vehicle. She’d drive it back to the house and leave the surly Ranger just as he had left her. But of course, the keys were missing.

Probably in his damn pocket.

Steaming with anger, she folded her arms and tapped her snakeskin boots on the floor while she waited.

Ever since her father had purchased that land, their lives had fallen apart.

When they’d first discussed the deal, he’d been excited about the prospects of expanding his operations. She’d still been in college, but she’d grown tired of following her mother around from one man to another. So, she’d finished her degree and decided to come back to the ranch, reunite with her father and join his operation.

But when she’d returned, she’d immediately sensed something was wrong with him. Although the cattle operation was successful, her father had made some other poor investments. Odd, since he was usually such a shrewd businessman.

After reviewing the books, she’d realized they had to increase their cash flow, so she’d added boarding and training quarter horses to the cattle operation. With even bigger ranches than the Becker one around needing working horses, she’d struck a deal to train them and had increased their cash flow within months, enabling him to pay off the debts he’d accrued and steer the ranch back on track.

But her father’s behavior had worried her.

At first, she couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but little things had seemed out of sync, and she feared his memory had been slipping. He’d complained of seeing things on the land, of hearing voices and bad things happening. Lights flickering on and off. Shadows in the house. Cattle missing. A watering hole that had dried up when they had had torrential rains. Fences broken. A small barn fire that had nearly spread out of control which could have been dangerous for the livestock and ranch hands.

And now these murders.

Sergeant Navarro’s warning about danger from the spirits taunted her, but she blew it off. Spirits didn’t fire guns or start fires.

Whoever had killed Marcie and the others was obviously still lurking around. And they didn’t want her or the Rangers asking questions.

CABE KICKED THE PALOMINO’S sides and they galloped up the hill, scouring the wooded area where the shooter had disappeared. Another bullet soared near his head, and he ducked, then fired off a round with his Sig Sauer. The horse protested, whinnying and backing up, but he gave the animal a swift kick to urge him forward.

Another shot whizzed by his shoulder, and Cabe cursed and coaxed the horse around another bend of trees, but the shadow was gone, and the trees were too thick to maneuver the horse through, so he brought the animal to a stop, jumped off and ran into the copse of oaks.

He spotted a shadow moving ahead—the tzensa—then jogged to the east where the road lay, in case the shooter had a car ahead. Another bullet pinged off the oak beside him, the bushes to his right rustling as the man dashed through them. Cabe raced toward him, but a rattler suddenly lurched from the bushes in attack.

“Easy,” he said in a low voice. Not wanting to kill the diamondback, he froze, aware any sudden movement would bring it hissing at him.

In the distance, an engine roared to life. He cursed. He was losing the shooter.

Furious, he grabbed a stick, picked the snake up and whirled it away, then jogged toward the sound of the car. The wind ruffled the mesquite as he made it to the clearing. The creek gurgled, water rippling over jagged rocks, and a vulture soared above, its squawk breaking the silence.

But the car disappeared into a cloud of dust so thick that Cabe couldn’t detect the make of the vehicle or see a license plate. Dammit.

He’d never catch the car on foot, or horseback for that matter.

Stowing his gun in his holster, he turned and sprinted back to where he’d left the palomino, climbed on it, then rode back to the crime scene. He had to protect the evidence. Then there was the problem of Jessie Becker.

Mentally, he stewed over the identity of the shooter, considering their current suspects. Her father for one.

Jonah Becker was a ruthless businessman, but to chance hurting his own daughter—would he stoop that low?

The sun was rising higher in the midmorning sky and blazing hotter by the time he reached the crime scene, his senses honed. What if the shooter had been a distraction to mess with the crime scene? What if he’d had an accomplice and he’d gotten to Jessie Becker?

Slowing the palomino as he approached, he scanned the area. The original graves that had held the body of the antiquities broker and activist were still roped off with crime scene tape. Still keeping his gun at the ready, he dismounted, then checked the gravesites to verify that nothing had been disturbed. Everything appeared to be intact.

In two quick strides, he reached his crime kit, and examined it to verify that the evidence he’d collected was still inside. A lawyer could argue that it had been left, unguarded, and could have been compromised.

Hell. He didn’t want to lose the case on a technicality. Maybe Jessie could tell him if she’d seen anyone else around.

Sweat beaded on his neck as he strode over to his Land Rover. But when he reached for the door handle and looked inside, Jessie was gone.

His heart stuttered in his chest. God, he hoped there hadn’t been another shooter.

He didn’t want anyone dying on his watch. Even Jessie.

JESSE LAUNCHED HERSELF AT the Ranger and shoved him up against the Land Rover. “What in the hell were you were doing taking my horse and leaving me unarmed?”

A shocked look crossed his face, then fury flashed into his eyes, and he grabbed her arms to fend off her attack. “Trying to save your pretty little ass,” he barked. “And why didn’t you stay in the car like I ordered?”

“Because I don’t take orders from anyone.” Her pulse clamored, a mixture of anger at him mingling with relief that he’d returned and the shooter was gone. Although she’d never admit that to him. Then his comment registered, and she couldn’t resist taunting him. “So you think my ass is pretty?”

His jaw tightened as if he was working to control his temper, and regretted any compliment, no matter how backhanded it was. “You have a gun?”

Good grief, he was going to turn the tables on her. “Of course. I live on a ranch, Sergeant. I have to protect myself from snakes and rustlers and whatever else.” She gave him a challenging look. “And before you ask, yes, I know how to use it.”

His eyebrow lift infuriated her more. “You’re surprised? Don’t tell me you were expecting some spoiled, rich girl with a dozen servants who lives off her daddy’s dime.”

His evil smile confirmed she’d hit the nail on the head.

She huffed in disgust. “For your information, I have a master’s in business administration,” she continued, squaring her shoulders. “I started the quarter horse training operation, and now we supply working horses to other ranchers. And I not only run the books, but work the ranch myself. I’m a damn good horse trainer, if I do say so myself.”

“I bet you are,” he said with a sultry smile that made her belly clench.

For a moment the air changed between them, their eyes locked, and she sensed she’d won his admiration.

Then his frown returned, and he gestured toward the spot where they’d found the bones. “Then you oversaw the purchase of this land?”

She stiffened, knowing he was backing her into a corner and yanked away from his grip. In spite of his razor-sharp voice, his touch had been protective and almost … tender.

She couldn’t let him confuse her with those touches, or seduce her into incriminating her family. She was not her mother, a woman who fell into bed with every man who looked at her.

“No,” she said cautiously, back in control. “Dad made the deal when I was away at school finishing my degree.”

“How about your brother, Trace?”

She bit her lip. Things had been tense between her and Trace since she’d moved back. Because of Trace’s animosity, she was staying in one of the small cabins on the property instead of the main house. “He put the deal together,” she admitted.

“And your father’s lawyer, Jerry Collier, handled the sale?”

She nodded.

“I’ll need to question your father, brother and Collier.”

That knot of worry in her stomach grew exponentially. She only prayed her father handled the interview without looking incompetent—or guilty. Between his ruthless business tactics, and his recent memory lapses, he might just hang himself.

“You’re going to talk to them now?” she asked.

He regarded her with suspicion in his eyes. “No, but soon. First I have to take care of business, obtain that injunction against this land being used until the land issue is resolved and transport the evidence I collected to trace.” He heaved a breath. “Did you see anyone else here after I rode off?”

“No.”

“No one could have touched my crime kit?”

She narrowed her eyes as if she realized the direction of his thoughts. “No, there was no one else here. And I didn’t touch your kit or the evidence.”

“How do I know I can trust you? You and I don’t exactly have the same agenda.”

His husky voice skated over her with distrust … and sexual innuendo. Damn, the man was so seductive that for a moment, her chest pounded, and she wanted to win his trust. But she would not allow him to turn her into a pile of feminine mush.

“Yes, I want to clear my family’s name,” she said, “but I also know that the best way to do that is for you to find the truth.”

Another long, intense look, and she barely resisted the urge to fidget—or turn tail and run. Normally his size and stare probably intimidated men and women, but she refused to allow him to rattle her. She lived in a man’s world, did jobs men did on the ranch.

“You can take my prints if you want,” she said with a saccharine smile.

A deep chuckle rumbled from within him. “If the lab turns up prints, I will.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “So, what now, Sergeant?”

She intentionally made his title sound like a four-letter word, and was rewarded when a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I’m going to look for the bullets and casings from the shooter, then make sure this crime scene and those burial sites are guarded around the clock.”

She frowned, half wanting to stick around to see what else he discovered—and to watch him work. But she needed to check on her father and warn him about the Ranger. Hopefully her dad and Trace both had alibis for this morning. Her father had still been in bed when she’d stopped by for coffee, but Trace had already left the house. He was somewhere on the ranch.

He’d been adamant about getting rid of the Rangers. Would he have shot at this one to try to run him off?

Irritated, she turned and headed toward Firebird, but the Ranger called her name, his voice taunting.

“Where are you going, Jessie? Running to warn Daddy that I found more damning evidence against him? That I intend to take a sample of his blood to see if it matches the red paint used in the ritualistic burials so I can nail him for murder?”

She schooled her reaction, then offered him a sardonic look. “No, Sergeant. My father is innocent. Get a warrant and take your blood sample, and you’ll prove it.” She swung up into the saddle and glared down at him again. “And in spite of the fact that you’re trying to take away our land and destroy our reputation, I have a ranch to run.”

The challenge in his dark eyes sent her stomach fluttering again, then his look softened, turned almost concerned. “Be careful, Jessie,” he finally said in a gruff voice. “Remember there’s a shooter out there, and he may still be on your property.”

She patted her saddlebag where she kept her pistol. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” Settling her hat more firmly on her head, she clicked her heels against the mare’s flanks, yanked the reins and sent Firebird galloping toward the main ranch house.

But his warning reverberated in her head, and she kept her eyes peeled as she crossed the distance in case the shooter was still lurking around. Not only were the Native Americans incensed about the land deal, but other locals were jealous of her father’s success.

One of them had shot at the Ranger and her today.

She didn’t intend to end up dead like the others.

A TIGHTNESS GRIPPED CABE’S chest as he watched Jessie disappear into the distance.

She was undeniably the most stubborn, independent, infuriating, spunky, sexy woman he’d ever met.

Even when she’d been hissing at him like a rattlesnake, his body had hummed to life with arousal. Unfortunately, the fact that she was so devoted to her family and defended her father to no end only stirred his admiration.

And she could tame a wild horse. Damn he was sure of that. In fact, he’d like to climb in the saddle with her and tangle a time or two.

He almost hated to take down her father and destroy her image of him. Or cause her any grief.

But the wind whispered with the scent of death, the murder victims’ faces swam in his mind, the Native spirits screaming for justice.

He’d do whatever was necessary to ferret out the truth.

Jonah Becker and his son, Trace, had no scruples—that was the key to their success. Was it the key to Jessie’s rise in the ranching business as well? Was she really going back to work, or running to help her father cover his crimes?

Remembering the hairs he’d found, the clay sample and the leather pouch, he punched in Lt. Wyatt Colter’s number. Wyatt had been the first Ranger working the case and the lead. “Navarro.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

Cabe explained about the evidence he’d collected and the attack.

“If someone forged Billy’s suicide note or forced him to write it, then killed him,” Wyatt said, “they obviously don’t want us still poking around.”

“Which means that Billy may not have killed the antiquities dealer, the activist, Marcie or Daniel Taabe. So the real killer is still at large and definitely wanted to scare me off.”

“Maybe it was Jonah Becker or his son,” Wyatt suggested. “We still believe he obtained that land illegally.”

“Could have been one of them, I guess, but Jessie Becker was with me. She could have been hit as well.”

“Dammit, this case has been nothing but trouble. Someone’s been tampering with the evidence every step of the way.” A long, tense moment passed. “Keep the scene secure and make sure you follow the chain of custody. When we catch this bastard, we don’t want him to walk.”

Cabe bit back a sarcastic remark. “I know how to do my job, Lieutenant. I’ll take the evidence to the sheriff’s office and have a Ranger courier pick it up to transport to the lab. But first, I’m going to search for the bullets and casings from the shooter.” A noise in the brush drew his eyes, and he turned to study the woods again, wondering if the killer had returned.

“I also found a leather pouch with the initials LL on it. Jessie said it belonged to a horse groom named Linda Lantz who worked for her two years ago. Apparently Linda left the ranch about the same time Marcie faked her kidnapping and death.”

“So she might have been involved?” Wyatt asked.

“Or she could be a witness. We need to find out if she’s still alive. And if so, where she is now.”

Wyatt mumbled agreement. “I’ll see what I can dig up on her.”

Cabe cleared his throat. “One more thing. I discovered another burial spot. I’m sure this one is an old grave, a Native American female, but I’ll need the ME and Dr. Jacobsen for verification.”

“We should excavate the entire area,” Wyatt suggested.

“No,” Cabe said emphatically. “These last two bodies suggest that this is definitely a sacred burial ground. We can’t remove bodies or disturb the dead.”

“But—”

“I’m telling you we can’t,” Cabe said sharply. “Besides the legal problems, it’s too dangerous, Wyatt. The dead are already incensed over what’s been done to them here. If we start digging up the bodies and moving them, the spirits will be even more angry and dangerous.”

“You really believe in all this superstition?”

Cabe chewed the inside of his cheek. He’d hated the traditions, the way some of the Natives on the reservation refused to acclimate with the rest of the modern world. The animosity between the two sects in town and the old prejudices that refused to die.

But he couldn’t deny some of the things he’d seen and experienced growing up. And again today.

“Yes,” Cabe said. “And if you think the Native American faction in Comanche Creek is up in arms now, just try to dig up a sacred burial ground.”

Wyatt sighed. “So what do you suggest we do?”

“Inform the forensic anthropologist that we have to do everything we can to preserve the burial grounds, any artifacts here, and identify the bones.”

“Don’t worry. Nina would do that anyway. She’s very protective of her finds.”

“Good.” Cabe scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m going to call a meeting of the Town Council and the leaders of the Native American faction. A court injunction should stop any more use of the land by the Beckers until the matter is resolved. Hopefully that will soothe ruffled feathers long enough for us to sort things out and find our murderer.”

“I’ll arrange for Deputy Spears and some floating deputies to guard the land twenty-four seven,” Wyatt said. “Even though Deputy Shane Tolbert was cleared, I don’t want him near our crime scene. His past relationship with Marcie still poses a conflict of interest.”

“He strikes me as a hothead,” Cabe said.

“He is,” Wyatt agreed. “What about the Becker family?”

Cabe shifted and scrubbed dirt from his boots. “I’ll question Jonah and his son and get a warrant for blood samples from both of them. If one of their blood matches the paint from Daniel Taabe’s body, we’ll know who’s to blame.”

“What about the daughter? Do you think she’s covering for her father?”

Cabe hesitated. He wanted to believe that Jessie was innocent. But he’d hold off judgment until he fished around some more. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”

For some reason, the thought of spying on her disturbed him.

And she’d felt downright sinful when he’d covered her body with his. Of course, she’d shoved at him to get off her. She’d obviously hated him touching her.

Yep. Jessie Becker was a hands-off case.

He absolutely couldn’t get involved with her. She and her family were his prime suspects.

And if she was covering for her father, he’d have to throw the book at her as an accessory.

Chapter Three

Jessie frowned as she rode back to the main house. If Billy Whitley hadn’t killed Marcie and the others, then who had?

Deputy Shane Tolbert’s father, Ben? He’d confessed to shooting at Sergeant Hutton and the sheriff, but he denied killing Billy, Marcie, Daniel Taabe, the antiquities broker and the Native American activist who first accused Jonah of the illegal land deal.

Instead of the investigation coming to an end, the situation was growing worse. The Rangers had only allowed her on their task force because she knew the lay of the land, and they trusted her more than they did her father or brother.

Then again, they had probably asked her to join them so they could watch her as a suspect.

Jessie tied the palomino to the hitching post, the sight of the Bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes swaying in the breeze.

Spring was usually her favorite time of year, a time where life was renewed, the land blossomed with an array of colors, green leaves and flowers, and the beautiful blue of the Texas sky turned glorious shades as winter’s gray faded and the sun glinted off the rugged land.

She paused to inhale the scent of fresh grass filling the air, but the memory of the brittle skeleton bones she’d seen haunted her—instead of life thriving now, there was too much death on their land. Violence and suspicion had invaded her home like a dark cloud.

She stomped up the steps to the porch, determined to protect her own. The ranch and her father were her life. And now that life and her family’s future and good name were in jeopardy.

Her head ached from anxiety, and her shoulders were knotted and sore. She shoved open the door to the scent of freshly baked cinnamon bread, coffee and bacon, but her stomach churned. She couldn’t eat a bite.

Lolita, the cook who had been with her father for years, loped in with a smile. “You hungry, Miss Jessie?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. Is Dad downstairs yet?”

Lolita gave a short nod, but concern darkened her brown eyes. “In his private study. I took him coffee, and he’s resting in his easy chair.”

Good, at least he had an alibi. Not that Lolita wouldn’t lie for him, but Jessie hoped to clear the family with the truth. “Did he have a hard night?”

Lolita nodded. “I heard him pacing the floor until near dawn.”

“I’ll check on him now.” She swung around to the right, then knocked on her father’s study door. He had insisted on maintaining a small private space for himself, so she and Trace shared a connecting office next door.

Expensive, dark leather furniture and a bulky credenza gave the room a masculine feel. An ornately carved wooden box sat on his desk where he kept his pipe tobacco, and built-in paneled bookcases held his collection of leather-bound historical journals and books.