His Defender

Alona laughed. “Knowing Naomi, she’s already sensed that we’re headed her way.”

Isabella’s godmother considered herself a medicine woman. And at seventy-five, she wasn’t going to hear differently from Isabella. Besides, she loved hearing the older woman’s stories and chants. A godmother was a very important role model to a young Apache girl and Naomi had always been there to give Isabella support and advice. She’d been the primary attendant at Isabella’s Sunrise Ceremony, an arduous four days of prayers, chants and dancing that young Apache girls go through as they enter womanhood. Since then, Naomi had taught her about many things, especially courage and tenacity—two things she fully expected to need when she dealt with Ross Ketchum.

The next afternoon Ross was in the T Bar K study, growling into the phone as he waited for his new attorney to arrive. “Neal, if I had one good excuse to drive into town, I would. Just to kick your ass.”

Laughter came back in Ross’s ear. “You might try it, buddy. But I doubt you’d get it done.”

Ross chuckled as he leaned back in the chair and propped his boots on one corner of the polished oak desk.

“You’d have a hell of a time stopping me,” he told his friend.

“So what are you all revved up about this afternoon?” Neal asked. “You should be out selling cattle instead of sitting inside on the telephone.”

Normally, Ross was never inside the ranch house at this time of day. There were always plenty of things to be done at the barns or out on the range. It was spring and Linc was working overtime breeding the broodmares. His cousin could have used his help this afternoon. Instead, he was here in the study waiting on Isabella Corrales.

“Oh, I don’t expect you have any idea what I’m doing, do you?” he drawled sarcastically. “You’re the one who sicced Ms. Corrales on me yesterday.”

There was a long pause before Neal said, “You told me you were going to get rid of her.”

“Damn it! I tried.”

“Apparently you didn’t try hard enough.”

The smile he heard in Neal’s voice galled Ross to no end. “She insisted that I need her,” Ross muttered. “I need her like I need a new pair of spurs!”

“Running low on spurs, are you?”

Ross lifted his green eyes to the beamed ceiling of the study. “Hell, no! I’ve got at least twenty pairs.”

“About the same amount as you have women,” Neal mused aloud. “Well, one more shouldn’t hurt you.”

Jerking his boots off the desk, Ross shot straight up in the chair. “Don’t clump Ms. Corrales with my women,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal countered. “She’s much too nice for the likes of you, old buddy.”

Nice? Surely a woman who was that beautiful and sexy couldn’t be nice, too. Could she?

Curiosity suddenly replaced his irritation. “What’s the story on her anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Is she married? And what is she doing up here in this neck of the woods?”

“Why Ross, you must be slipping,” Neal said dryly. “I assumed you’d already gotten all that information from her yesterday.”

Ross had spent the past twenty-four hours trying to forget yesterday and his meeting with Isabella. But so far he’d not forgotten anything about his new attorney. “Ms. Corrales and I had words. But not that kind.”

“Okay, I’ll take pity on you,” Neal told him. “She’s not married. Never has been. And she’s in the area because she’s going home to the reservation.”

“Which reservation?”

“The Jicarilla.”

Ross frowned with disbelief. “Surely not to practice law.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing there!” Ross exclaimed.

Neal chuckled. “I think you’d better take that debate up with Isabella.”

There were plenty more questions Ross would have liked to ask his friend about Isabella Corrales, but he noticed Marina had suddenly appeared in the doorway of the study.

Placing his hand over the receiver’s mouthpiece, he looked at the woman who’d worked as the Ketchums’ cook, housekeeper and nanny for the past forty years.

“Señorita Corrales is here,” she announced. “In the living room.”

“Show her back here, Marina. And when you’re finished, would you make us a fresh pot of coffee? And bring some cookies or something sweet with it.”

“The señorita might not like coffee.”

Ross’s nostrils flared. “But you know that I like it,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You can ask the señorita—I mean, Ms. Corrales—what she’d like to drink.”

Nodding, the older woman turned and disappeared into the hallway. Ross directed his attention back to Neal, still waiting on the other end of the phone.

“Sorry, Neal. My visitor has arrived. I’ve got to go.”

“Bella isn’t your visitor. She’s your attorney. And you’d do well to remember that, amigo.”

“Don’t worry, Neal. That’s something I’m in no danger of forgetting.”

He hung up the telephone and leaned back in the chair to wait. Hardly enough time had passed to twiddle his thumbs before Isabella entered the room.

The moment Ross laid eyes on her, he felt a swift, hard blow to his gut. He’d thought she was beautiful yesterday, but today she was even more lovely. A powder-blue dress of some soft, gauzy material draped her breasts and hips, while the hem fluttered against her slim calves. Her glossy black hair was braided into a thick coronet atop her head. Hammered silver in the shape of small crescent moons swung from her ears, while dusky pink hues on her cheeks and lips added to her already vibrant face.

As he rose to his feet to greet her, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened.

“Good afternoon, Bella,” he said as he extended his hand to hers.

The contact of his callused hand was like grabbing hold of a hot branding iron. Isabella tried to hide the sudden jolt with a wide smile.

“I’m glad you decided to meet with me today,” she said warmly.

He smiled back at her and Isabella struggled not to be charmed by the dimples in his cheeks or the sparkle in his green eyes.

“I’d never be guilty of standing up a lady twice in a row,” he said, then gestured to the opposite side of the long room where a burgundy chesterfield couch and matching chair were positioned for a view of the mountains. “Have a seat.”

Isabella took a seat on the couch, while across from her Ross sank into the armchair, stretched out his long legs and crossed his boots at the ankles.

She drew in a long breath and told herself to relax. He was only a man. It didn’t matter that he was rich and sexy and could charm a bird out of a tree.

“I understand you’re a busy man and you value your time,” Isabella began. “But as I told you yesterday, it’s important that you be prepared. Just in case the D.A. decides to arrest you.”

His narrowed eyes surveyed her in one slow, sweeping motion. “Before we go any further, I’d like to know one thing.”

Her brows lifted warily. “What?”

“Do you think I’m innocent? Or do you even give a damn about that?”

A knowing smile tilted her lips and Ross felt something stir deep in his gut.

“Does what I think make any difference to you?” she asked.

“You answered my question with a question,” he pointed out.

She shifted slightly on the leather couch, thinking that the cost of this one piece of furniture would probably pay for every stick of furnishings in her mother’s entire house. And the lizard boots on Ross’s feet would certainly buy several air-conditioning units. The man had money, all right. But he also had troubles.

“Okay,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you tried to kill your brother-in-law.”

He grimaced. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

Shrugging, she allowed her eyes to meander over him. This afternoon he was without a hat. His thick dark hair waved back from his forehead and tickled the back of his collar. If she were to get closer, she expected she would see a few threads of gray at the temple. But then, she didn’t have any business getting that close.

“I don’t know much about the incident, either,” she told him. “At least, not yet. But I like to think I’m a good judge of character. And besides, Neal assured me that even though you’re hot-headed, you’re not a killer.”

His lips twitched. “And you believe whatever Neal tells you?”

“I know from experience that he’s an honest man.”

Jealousy waltzed in from nowhere and kicked him in the midsection. “You’ve known Neal a long time?”

She smiled and Ross could see genuine fondness in her eyes. The next time he saw Neal, he promised himself that he was going to sock his friend in the jaw.

“Long enough.”

She was as smooth and cool as gourmet ice cream, he thought. But he’d bet the whole T Bar K that underneath her poised exterior, he’d find a wicked hot streak.

“What did he tell you about the shooting?”

“Very little. That’s what I want you to do.”

He rubbed a restless hand against his thigh. “Jess is the person you need to talk to. He’s the one who was shot.”

“I plan to talk to your brother-in-law and your sister,” she assured him. “But before I do, I want to hear what you have to say.”

He started to respond, but Marina chose that moment to enter the study. He waited until the older woman had left a tray holding an insulated carafe of coffee and a plate of thick, golden-brown cookies on his desk before he rose to his feet. He walked over to the tray and quickly filled two cups with coffee.

He glanced at her. “Cream or sugar?”

She shook her head and he carried the cup over to her. As she leaned up to take it from him, he caught the sweet scent of lilac on her skin. The last time he could remember having smelled the old-fashioned fragrance was when his mother, Amelia, had been alive. She’d been serene and beautiful, too. Just like Isabella Corrales.

“What about a cookie?” he asked. “They’re full of coconut and chocolate chips. Marina makes them herself. And trust me, they’re delicious.”

A dimple appeared to the left of her mouth. “I’ll have to try one now. Just to test your honesty.”

The teasing lilt in her voice got to him more than her beauty, more than the sensual lure of her body, more than anything. It was an invitation for friendship, something that Ross Ketchum valued far above that sentimental notion called love.

He fetched her a cookie and a napkin. After he’d helped himself to a couple of the sweet desserts, he returned to his seat in the armchair.

“So,” he said after biting off a hunk of one of the cookies. “What do you want to know?”

She wanted to know lots of things about Ross Ketchum, she realized. Things that had nothing to do with him needing an attorney, or his brother-in-law being shot.

Disgusted with her own weakness, she said, “Just start with the day of the shooting. What were you doing that day?”

“First of all, I’d been away on a business trip,” he said, “and I didn’t get here to the ranch until noon. After I ate lunch, I got a call from an acquaintance about a stallion he wanted to sell, so I drove over to his place to take a look at the horse.”

“Where?”

“About twenty minutes west of Aztec,” he answered quickly.

“Will this person verify that you were at his place?”

“No doubt about it.”

Isabella put herself back into prosecutor mode. “And when did you leave there?”

“Around four,” he told her, then grinned impishly. “And I didn’t buy the stallion. He had a big ankle. He might have gone lame later on.”

“Four,” Isabella repeated thoughtfully. “The shooting took place when?”

Ross shrugged. “Victoria wasn’t sure. She said dusk was falling.”

“Hmm,” she mused aloud. “If that’s the case, you had plenty of time to drive back here and get out to the arroyo where the shooting occurred.”

“That’s right.”

She sipped her coffee and tried a bite of the cookie. As Ross had promised, it was delicious.

“You don’t seem a bit concerned about that,” she accused.

The corners of his mouth turned downward. “Why the hell should I be? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, but can you prove that?” Isabella asked the pointed question.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The burden of proof should be on the state, not me. Or has the law that a person is innocent until proven guilty changed?”

“Nothing has changed. But if you had a solid alibi, you wouldn’t have any need for a lawyer.” A tiny frown creased the middle of her forehead. “So where did you go after you looked at the horse?”

He swallowed more of the coffee, which reminded Isabella that hers was getting cold. She reached for her cup and took a dainty sip.

“I went to another ranch. The Double X, just north of here. Someone had told me that the owner thought he’d spotted my missing stallion a few days before.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Ross shook his head. “No. No one was home. So I drove back here, saddled Juggler and went to check on the cattle in the south flats.”

“Who went with you?”

“No one. I went alone.”

Her eyes widened at this bit of information. “Is that normal? For you to ride out alone?”

He chuckled as though he found her question inane, but Isabella knew it wouldn’t be so funny if he found himself on a witness stand.

“Look, Bella, the T Bar K is a big spread. And though I’ve got a bunkhouse full of hands, we’re still sometimes spread thin. If I can do a job alone, I do it.”

As Isabella watched him pop the last piece of cookie into his mouth, she felt certain that Ross Ketchum was being honest with her. But her opinion didn’t count in a court of law. He needed an alibi.

“I’m sorry, Ross, but I’m merely asking you what any good prosecutor would want to know.”

He left his seat and placed his empty cup on the serving tray. Then turning to face her, he looped his thumbs over the wide leather belt at his waist. “Okay,” he said, “I can’t account for my whereabouts. But that doesn’t make me guilty.”

“No,” she agreed. “It just makes you unlucky.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Rising from the couch, she walked over to where he stood by the desk. After placing her coffee cup next to his, she looked up at him.

“I’m going to figure out who really did this thing.”

Ross couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “Sure. One little woman is going to do what the whole San Juan County sheriffs’ department can’t seem to accomplish.”

She didn’t allow his laughter to get to her. After all, her boast probably did sound ridiculous. But he was a white man. He wouldn’t understand if she tried to explain that Naomi had told her that the truth would appear to Isabella. And her godmother had never told her a wrong thing.

“I’m Apache,” she said with solemn pride. “We’re tenacious hunters. We don’t give up until we get our prey.”

Humor creased his cheeks and danced in his green eyes. “Okay, so where do you intend to start on this great hunting trip?”

A provocative smile suddenly curved the corners of her lips. “I think the best place to start would be your bedroom.”

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