Red Thunder Reckoning

The unfairness of it all was enough to make her want to roar. She swallowed back her outrage. “How can I fight this?”

“Let it go, Ellen.”

Her mouth gaped open. “After all you’ve been through, I thought you’d understand. I thought I could count on you.”

“Ellen—”

“I can’t let it go.” Her voice cracked and her vision was blurring again. “They deserve a voice.” Just as she had.

Chance pushed himself off the desk, scrubbed a hand through his hair, then faced her once again. “I know they mean a lot to you, but they’re not yours. I can’t do anything but follow the law.”

“They’ve been abused.”

“There’s no way to prove that.”

“All it would take is one visit by the judge to see how bad off they are.”

Like a soldier about to face a firing squad, Chance stood ramrod straight. “There’s the other side, Ellen.”

“What other side?”

He hesitated.

“Just spit it out, Chance. I’ve wasted too much time already to worry about couching words because you’re afraid I’m not strong enough to handle them.”

He nodded. “You’ve come a long way in a year—”

“But.”

“But you’re still weak. After fifteen years of near vegetation, you’re expecting too much of yourself. You’re still going to physical therapy. You can’t operate at one hundred percent.”

She gaped at him. “You don’t think I can handle taking care of the horses?”

“You’ve got three of your own, plus these six—”

Fisting her hands by her side, she jumped up. “Wait a min—”

“Now let me finish.” He held up a hand. “All of these horses have special needs. I think that’s a load too heavy for anybody, let alone for someone in your position.”

Her mind reeled at the possibility of losing the horses due to her own weakness. “So what, you expect me to just let them go and say, hey, sorry I can’t take care of you, so goodbye and good luck? I’ve been taking care of them for nearly a week. I’m handling the work just fine.”

He cocked his head, a dead-serious look on his face. “You asked me to shoot straight.”

“And you did,” she acknowledged, bracing herself for the next attack.

“You spend half your life in the sunshine and you look as pale as the moon. You don’t just look tired, you look downright exhausted. You’ve lost weight when you should be gaining. If you don’t start taking care of yourself, none of these horses will be able to count on you.”

With that, he’d hit her rawest nerve. She stumbled back a step, losing all her fury. He was right. If she did run herself ragged, the horses would have no one to give them voice.

“There’s also the question of space,” Chance said. “You’ve got eight stalls and nine horses.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got two that won’t come inside. I’ve got enough pasture for them all. I’ve got two corrals, a ring and I’m working on a round pen—”

“You’re not digging holes and lugging lumber on your own, are you?”

She jutted her chin, straightened her stance. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

“Ellen…”

He reached for her shoulders. She shrugged off his hold.

“So, how do I resolve this? I’m not going to let the horses go. Not while they still need care.”

Chance blew out a long breath and squeezed the nape of his neck. “Tell you what, you hire yourself a hand and I’ll talk Judge Dalton into taking a look-see at your operation.”

The pinprick of escalating panic stampeded through her. Shaking her head, she said, “Chance, you know how I feel about the ranch.”

“It’s non-negotiable. You want my help, you’ve got to give me something to work with.” He offered her his hand. “Deal?”

This wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t have anybody looking, watching…reporting. She couldn’t do it. Not after having no choice in the matter for fifteen years.

But if you don’t, she reminded herself, you’ll lose the horses and they need you.

“This way, you’ll at least get the chance to convince the judge you can handle the load.”

For fifteen years she was forced into silence, drugged against her will, kept a prisoner in her own body by a man who cared nothing about her. She’d had no voice, no one to fight for her. Stuck in the prison of her mind all she’d had for company was the nightmarish image of Kent and Kyle drowning in the river, of her dreams dying with them. Only in the collection of crystal horses catching rainbows of light on the dresser had she found a ray of hope. Horses had kept her fighting for her life.

She had to keep fighting for the horses. They were voiceless. They needed her. Not Bancroft. Not Chance. Not the judge. No one would stop her from seeing them healthy again. She couldn’t let them down.

She took Chance’s hand and reluctantly shook it hard once. “Deal.”

The phone rang. She spun on her heels and strode to the door. Rubbing the wrist that held her watch she cursed Garth Ramsey for marrying her when she couldn’t object, for stealing nearly half her life. She cursed Brad Bancroft for his careless disregard for his animals’ needs. She cursed her body for betraying her when she needed it most.

But all the cursing in the world wasn’t going to change the facts. It hadn’t saved Kyle. It hadn’t brought him back to life. And over the past year if she’d learned anything, it was to face the facts before her no matter how unpleasant they were.

“Well, shoot,” she muttered as she plowed through the sheriff’s office door.

For the horses she was going to have to hire help. And having someone trespass on her sanctuary was going to feel like being under glass all over again.

Chapter Two

The hum hit him first, deep in his gut. Recognition slapped him next. Shock rooted him.

“Ellen,” Kevin whispered.

Of all the things he’d expected to find in Gabenburg, she had never even entered his mind. If he hadn’t been holding on to the doorknob to the sheriff’s office, the blow of seeing her standing there might have knocked him over.

What was she doing so far from home? Her roots were planted so deeply in Ashbrook that she hadn’t understood his need to catch a ride on the wind before settling. What had caused her to leave the land where she’d seeded her dreams?

He swallowed hard and stared at her narrow back. The hum in his gut whirred until it burned, then spread until he was wound so tight his fingers dented the wood on the doorjamb.

She still wore her hair in a loose French braid that tickled the bottom of her shoulder blades. Light still played with the gold, making it shimmer with her every move. Errant strands still framed her face with corkscrews of curls. His index finger twitched with an ache to wrap itself around one of those golden curls.

When she turned, her gray-green eyes reflected every emotion coursing through her. A sharp gnaw of hunger champed through him as he remembered the sizzle of energy her emotion-filled body could transmit.

Even after all those years, she still had the power to knock him off balance just by being there.

He’d prepared himself to handle his brother. He’d prepared himself to take whatever punishment was his due. But seeing Ellen scrambled his mind, undid his purpose.

He needed to think. But he couldn’t drag his gaze from the woman he’d once wanted with such a fierce passion he hadn’t been able to see straight.

A flood of regret, of need, of pain surged through him in a tidal wave. Anger and desire roiled like the Red Thunder’s water, churning forgotten silt to the surface. The part of his memory he hadn’t dared to look at in years whirled through his mind like a ruthless hurricane. Then longing settled over him and sank, drowning him in a pool of sorrow so deep he could barely breathe.

He remembered her laughter, brook bubbly and wind-chime light. He remembered her tears, salty and warm. He remembered her love, tender and sweet. Worst of all, he remembered the way he’d refused to listen to her fears about his leaving for the summer, believing that if he did, they’d cage him.

Through the swell of his memories, the conversation between Ellen and the sheriff floated up. What he heard made his stomach curdle.

Before Kevin could quite recover his mental balance, Ellen spun on her heels, wobbled and strode toward the door. As he started to retreat, the door blew open. The edge caught his shoulder, loosing an oomph of discomfort from him. The Australian cattle dog at his side cowered against the outside wall. Muttering under her breath, Ellen plowed past them without a glance.

Shifting his gaze from Ellen to his brother, Kevin was torn. Should he face Kent or go after Ellen?

With the sheriff busy answering a call, Kevin slipped away before anyone noticed him. He needed time to think.

Cap bill pulled down low, chin bent nearly to his chest, hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets, he started walking. The dog, Blue, slanted him a worried glance, but kept pace.

There wasn’t much to Gabenburg. The town was neat and compact and held an old-fashioned appeal. The bakery, the general store, the feed store all bore the pride of ownership. No litter dirtied the main street. Pots of geraniums, planters of impatiens and borders of red-veined caladium splashed the storefronts with color. Judging by the friendly hellos bouncing back and forth, everyone knew everybody.

Ellen, she was here.

An unexpected tightness banded his chest. He shrugged it off as uneasiness. Not caused by Ellen. He’d made peace with his undying desire for her long ago. Cities, towns, even villages, had a way of making him feel hemmed in. That was it. He longed for Nina’s ranch, for the mountains of Colorado with their green pastures and crisp air.

Spotting the river, Kevin veered toward it. He needed space, he decided, and time to revise his plan. Blue dutifully followed him.

Far from being the gift of absolution Kevin had imagined, his visit to Gabenburg was plunging him back in the thick of his nightmare. Ellen, Kent, anger, so much anger. He palmed the bone feather Nina had given him and worried the carved ridges with his thumb.

All he’d wanted to do was fulfill his promise to Nina. A day, maybe two, then he’d get back to training the horses waiting for him. He wasn’t expecting Kent to receive him with open arms or to forgive him. More likely his brother would just send him packing—and have every right to.

But Ellen complicated things.

He closed his eyes against the picture forming in his mind. The last time he’d seen her, he’d hauled her out of the Red Thunder. A gash had scored her temple, winding threads of blood through her hair, leaving her rag-doll limp in his arms. More than anything, he’d wanted to stay with her. But Kent couldn’t swim. He’d had no choice. He’d had to go after his brother.

Fifteen years of near vegetation. How could one small cut have caused so much damage?

His thoughts jumbled into a snarl of anger so potent, he could feel his blood start to boil. He dragged in a breath and forced himself to focus on the heat of the noontime sun beating down on him.

Summer wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, but already sweltering heat hung like a weight and seemed to suck the very breath out of him. The furious sounds of the swollen river pounded his determination as he walked along the bank. The mud beneath his boots appeared intent on keeping him from reaching his goal. Moving each foot forward required a Herculean effort.

The memories of Ellen and Kent and that awful evening by the Red Thunder he’d tried so hard to forget leeched into him. He’d need more than a lifetime to repay his debt to both of them.

I’ve really messed things up, Grandmother.

Then it’s time to rewrap the prayer stick, Pajackok.

To the rhythm of the relentless race of the river, he tried to order his thoughts. Blue gave a hoarse whine. Kevin dismissed the worry with a motion of his hand.

Ellen. She was here.

Kevin stopped and faced the river. Fifteen years of near vegetation. “I didn’t know how badly she was hurt.”

Blue cocked his head.

“I know,” Kevin said, squinting at the sun glimmering off the water. “Ignorance doesn’t make it right.”

He’d understood her desperation that evening. He’d even understood her tactic of trying to incite jealousy. But the jumble of love and fear and anger inside him had known no logic. And when she’d turned her attention to Kent to try to win him back, he’d chosen the wrong way to express the feelings storming inside him.

“I was seventeen,” he tried to rationalize.

Blue batted a paw at Kevin’s jean-clad leg.

“I know. That’s no excuse either.”

His feelings had run too deep, too fast. He’d pushed Kent into the river and everything had gone to hell.

Fifteen years of near-vegetation.

His flash of temper had changed all of their lives. It had altered the course of Kent’s. It had turned Ellen’s into a living nightmare.

“Nina was right,” he told the dog. “I have debts that need paying.”

Blue bumped at Kevin’s hand with his nose.

His brother deserved an apology—and would get one—but if Kent chose to run him out of town, Kevin could never repay Ellen.

He kicked a stone. Blue chased it through the rough grass, but skidded to a halt at the bank. The stone sank hard and fast into the water. Blue boomeranged back to Kevin’s side.

Kevin scraped a hand along his jaw, over his cheek. Time and the river had changed his face. “My own twin probably couldn’t recognize me.”

Blue cocked his head, offered a paw.

“No one else in Gabenburg knows me.”

His main concern was helping Ellen. Someone was trying to steal another dream from her. He couldn’t let that happen. She’d lost too much already. He had to do everything in his power to see her hang on to it—even if it meant he had to hire himself out as her ranch hand.

He’d deal with his debt to Kent later.

“If I show up on her front door and say I’m Kyle Makepeace, do you think she’d even hear me out?” The pain of the imagined rejection squeezed him hard.

Blue licked his hand.

“No,” Kevin said, scratching Blue behind the ear. “She’s better off thinking of me as Kevin Ransom rather than the boy who’s responsible for those fifteen years of near vegetation.”

Hunching his shoulders, he turned away from the river. He motioned to Blue and headed for his truck.

First he needed more information. Then he needed a plan.

The truth could wait until he’d repaired a bit of the damage he’d created.

TESSA BANCROFT PEERED inside the empty trailer, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The stale stink of horse manure and hay assaulted her nostrils and made her sneeze. Her voice bounced against the metal walls. “Where are the horses?”

“She no let me load them,” the burly Mexican said.

Gilberto Ramirez didn’t even have to nerve to look her in the eye when he told her of his failure. The poor excuse of a man gazed at his well-worn boots and held his battered straw hat in both hands. Deportation, she suddenly realized, held more fear for him than her wrath.

“She could not tell you no. Don’t you understand that?” Tessa could barely control the impatience rattling through her. First the good doctor had failed in his mission. He’d actually sided with the Paxton woman and agreed the horses were too hurt to transport. Now this. She thrust out a hand. “Give me the writ.”

Gilberto’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“The piece of paper,” she said, swallowing back the half-dozen epithets on the tip of her tongue.

“I give to her—like you say.”

She wanted to tear her hair out by the roots. Throwing up her hands, she pounded down the ramp. “I’m surrounded by incompetent fools!”

Her step faltered. Ellen Paxton was a woman alone. How much would it take to prove her incompetent? Tessa swallowed a smile. Incompetence. That was the answer to protecting the project.

“You,” she said to Gilberto, “come with me. Let’s see if you can do something right for a change.”

She marched to the high-tech barn that served as the project’s headquarters. Barging into an office, she startled the mousy technician entering data into the computer. “Get me Judge Dalton on the phone.”

When the girl simply blinked at her, Tessa plunked the Rolodex in front of her. “Now.”

What was the point of influence if you couldn’t exploit it?

ELLEN HAD BARELY started the evening feed when she heard a truck chugging up the road. Instantly wary, she put the grain bucket down in the middle of the concrete aisle and went to the barn door. Few people came this way unless she invited them. Bancroft’s attempt to retrieve the horses was still fresh in her mind. Her body stiffened, ready for another battle. Shading her eyes against the sun, she watched the truck’s approach.

Pudge, the Shetland pony with the foundered feet, had never missed a meal and didn’t plan on making this a first. He made his displeasure at the wait known with a series of snorts and the thumping of his well-padded rump against the stall wall.

“In a minute,” she said, distracted. At least it wasn’t a trailer. The white truck looked too plain to belong to the flashy Double B outfit. But if it wasn’t one of Bancroft’s minions, who was it?

The truck stopped at the electric gate. A man and a dog exited. When he couldn’t find a latch, he crawled through the metal bars and hiked up her driveway.

Despite the sun’s heat, a shiver skated through her. Backlit by the sun, with the wind stirring dirt around his feet, he made her think of an opening scene in a spaghetti western. Hero lighting, Kyle had called it. The man walked over the uneven grade with the power and grace of a sure-footed horse, but something about him also made her want to run for cover. Maybe it was the black T-shirt on such a hot day. Maybe it was the way his black baseball cap shaded his features. Maybe it was the air of menace around his canine companion.

The dog, with its tan-patched throat and legs, and gray-flecked coat, reminded her of a hyena. Even the blue bandanna wrapped around its neck couldn’t soften the feral air of the beast. Its eyes sported a worried and tentative look—almost as if she was the one who needed fearing.

“Ms. Paxton.” The man extended a hand toward her. The tanned fingers and work-roughened palm hung in midair.

How did he know her name? She took a step back, careful to keep plenty of room between them.

“My name’s Kevin Ransom.” He let his hand fall back to his side. “I heard you’re looking to hire a ranch hand.”

With his black hair and his keen dark eyes, he wasn’t the hero of this show. He could easily have played the villain in one of those old-time westerns Kyle had liked to watch. There was something unsettling about the coarse chiseling of his features and the way the scars veined his skin like the wrong side of a crooked seam. From the raspy sound of his drawl, she guessed he’d suffered some sort of damage to his vocal chords.

His appearance was enough to make even the most genial person leery. But it was his penetrating gaze that sent another frisson of warning down her spine.

There was something a little too timely about his arrival. And she’d never liked coincidences. Was Bancroft planting a mole because she’d refused him access to the horses this morning? If so, why had he sent someone who would frighten her? Was this “ranch hand” meant as an intimidation tactic?

A glance to the side showed her a pitchfork leaning against a post. Not much of a weapon, but she could reach it in two steps—if she didn’t trip over her own feet first. Tension still affected her ability to move in spite of the weekly physical therapy sessions.

Why hadn’t she thought to get a rifle? Or a guard dog? Or an alarm system of some sort? But she didn’t have anything worth stealing—not even her ragged band of horses would interest a normal thief. Until today, she’d felt safe in her little corner of the world. “Who told you I was hiring?”

“Ms. Conover down at the Bread and Butter bakery. I’ve got experience with horses.”

Taryn had sent him? Ellen could check that fact easily enough.

He ran a hand over his scarred face. “I know I don’t look like much, but I’m harmless.” He smiled and the gesture added an odd gentleness to his features. “Ask Blue here, he’ll tell you.” As if on cue, the dog licked the tips of his master’s fingers. “I’ve got references. I’d be glad to have you call them.”

He thought she was judging him by his looks. For heaven’s sake, taking care of broken creatures was her business. Horrified at having given him the wrong impression, she fumbled to reassure him. “No, no, it’s not your face.”

No, the reason for her reticence was pure fear. In the past year, she’d worked hard to make every decision her own. Running this ranch had gone a long way to speed her recovery. She didn’t want to hire anyone. She needed to be alone. She had to prove to herself that she could control her own destiny.

“It’s just that I’ve already promised the job to the son of a friend,” she lied, unable to pin down why this man set her nerves so on edge. The narrowing of his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. How many times had people turned him away because of his unfortunate looks? She shrugged, feeling more awkward by the minute. “You know how that goes.”

“Sure.” He nodded once, then jerked his chin in the direction of the grain bucket behind her. “Tell you what, since he isn’t here now, and you’re in the middle of feeding, why don’t I help you out?”

Why the persistence? “That’s not necessary. I can handle it.”

“All I’ll charge is some water for me and my friend.” He patted the dog’s head. The dog looked up at him adoringly.

Talk about feeling lower than a snake. Here she was ready to assign evil motives to him just because Bancroft had wanted his horses back. All Kevin Ransom was doing was trying to earn some food. He looked lean enough to have skipped a few meals, but not totally desperate.

“I can spare you a meal,” she said. Then she’d send him and his dog on their way. She didn’t need the kind of tension this stranger—any stranger—in her home could spark. “But I really don’t need the help.”

Something in the pasture caught the dog’s interest. A low, rusty growl issued from his throat. He shifted. The movement strained the bandanna at his neck, exposing a hairless necklace of shiny red skin. She gasped. Without thinking, she knelt by the animal. The dog promptly hid behind the man’s legs. “What happened to your dog?”

The man shrugged and looked away. “Some drunk yahoo had him tied with a rope in the back of his pickup and turned a corner too sharply. Blue here went over the side, but the jerk didn’t notice. Took me a mile to get his attention. I thought for sure the dog was dead.” He smiled crookedly, but his eyes were cold and hard. The look warned you didn’t want to get on this man’s wrong side. “I convinced his owner he didn’t want him anymore. Other than the fact he can’t bark, Blue’s as healthy as can be.”

When the man reached down to help her up, she realized how close he was…how isolated the ranch was…how vulnerable she was. She shot up too fast. Dizzy, she lost her balance. He caught her elbow. She snatched it out of his grasp and stumbled a few paces back, landing on her butt.

He lifted both his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was making things worse by the minute. He thought it was his looks that were scaring her, but her action was pure instinct. She couldn’t stand anyone touching her. Not after fifteen years of being poked and prodded against her will. Bancroft and his threats this morning had made her tenser than usual.

This time, she got up slowly and dusted off the seat of her jeans while she rounded up her scattered thoughts.

“I just lost my balance is all. I’m sorry.” She puffed out a long breath. “Look, why don’t I—”

A whinny of terror rent the air.

The dog shot forward to respond. A motion of the man’s hand stopped him cold. Crouched low on his haunches, muscles shaking, Blue waited for permission to herd.