Platinum Cowboy

“Absolutely. I had to in order to protect the quail and deer. We also have turkeys and whistling ducks. I installed windmills at various intervals and fenced off areas from the cattle to provide water for the wildlife. We have a lot of quail, and we half cut the shrubs to provide shelter for them. We also planted prickly pear cactus plants in open areas to serve as cover for the wildlife.”

Impressive. “Have you had any problem with feral pigs?”

He cut her a strange look. “Some. If you spot them, keep back and let me know. And I’d advise you against riding alone in the more isolated areas, especially near the cattle land. Occasionally, we’ve had trouble with rustlers trying to steal our stock. I’ll supply you with a pistol for protection against them and the snakes.” He hesitated. “Do you know how to shoot?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “Of course. My father taught me when I was a kid.”

He veered to the left and drove to an isolated barn set among ancient trees, a stable and outdoor pens that opened to luscious green pastureland. “This is where we house the Arabians.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the spurt of excitement budding in her chest. She jumped from the truck before he had a chance to come around to her side and followed him up to the barn, determined to prove herself worthy of her job. Too many men had assumed that due to her size, she wasn’t strong or capable enough to handle the magnificent beasts she worked with.

But size had nothing to do with it. She understood the horse’s nature, listened to him speak, honed in on his mood and anxieties, and soothed him with her voice and manner.

She reined in her excitement as she entered the barn, knowing the animals would respond to her mood, as she would to theirs and lowered her voice as she approached the stalls.

Four incredible horses had been stalled. Two bays, a chestnut and a gray, which was the largest of the four, standing at least fifteen hands, compared to the average of 14.1 hands of the others.

“What are their names?” she asked.

“The larger bay is Sir Huon, and the other, Lord Myers. The chestnut is Iron Legs, and the gray one, Eastern Promise.”

“Nice,” she said, stroking Eastern Promise’s mane. One of her jobs would be to verify a horse’s good disposition before reproducing; another was to meet the quarantine standards and administer medical care.

Iron Legs whinnied and kicked the stall, as if agitated, while Sir Huon stood almost docile. She eased from stall to stall, quietly assessing each horse, noting the refined, angular heads, the large eyes and nostrils, and the small muzzles, searching for any indication that they weren’t well bred. But the distinctive concave profiles, the arched necks and structure of the throatlatches looked good, as did the well-angled hips, high tail carriages, and well-laid-back shoulders of the beasts.

“So what do you think?” Flint asked.

She reached out and stroked the taller of the bays. “They’re incredible. Of course, I’ll conduct some tests, but I think you made a wise choice.”

When she angled her head to look at him, he was smiling. “I’m glad you appreciate my animals.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart tripping as she met his gaze. Of course she did. The fact that he was a talented, cutting-edge breeder and an intelligent rancher and businessman wasn’t in question.

The fact that he cunningly used people to ensure his own personal success was. His choices had driven him to ruin her father and others.

That was why she needed to take him down.

FLINT’S CHEST SWELLED with Lora Leigh’s compliment, even though an odd tone tinged her words, as if giving him praise pained her.

But why?

He’d read her résumé and files. She was smart—possibly brilliant—and specialized in equine care.

And she was a horse whisperer. That hadn’t been in her file, but it was obvious by the way the animals had quieted the moment she entered the barn. Her quiet, melodic voice had mesmerized them.

As it did him.

Workwise, they would make an incredible team.

But there was definitely an underlying tension between them, a disdain for him, which he couldn’t ignore. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a partner—just an employee who could complement his staff.

His cell phone trilled, jarring him from his thoughts. The chestnut Arabian whinnied and started to kick at the stall. Flint excused himself and stepped outside to check the phone number. The police.

Maybe they had information about who had sabotaged his shipment and killed his men. “Flint McKade speaking.”

“Mr. McKade, this is Detective Brody Green. I’d like to talk to you today.”

“Do you have a lead on who attacked my plane?”

“Let’s discuss it in person. I’ll be at your house at noon. Meet me then.”

Flint agreed and hung up, although anxiety knotted his gut. Knowing he had an enemy put him on edge.

He glanced back at the barn, then across his land. Overhead in the distance, he spotted a lone vulture soaring above a copse of trees, its talons bared, as if preparing to swoop down and attack, reminding him that he had a stalker of his own.

Was it possible that one of his own employees had sabotaged him? Had they wanted the Arabians or just to hurt his business?

Who had it in for him? Was it someone he knew and trusted, someone who worked for him or for a competitor?

He mentally ticked down a list.

His half brother, Tate, who hated him because Tate was a leech and Flint had cut him off financially? Lawrence McElroy, because Flint had outbid him for Diamond Daddy? Someone who didn’t like his connections to Viktor and the Middle East?

He hated to suspect his own men, people he considered part of his family, but having money meant making enemies, and he obviously had garnered at least one.

He had to figure out who it was before anyone else got hurt.

HE STUDIED THE DIAMONDBACK mansion from his horse. Dammit, how had things gone so wrong at the airport? Nobody was supposed to die that night.

But someone had betrayed him, and that was the cost.

He just hoped to hell that Flint McKade and the police didn’t figure out what was going on.

But the murders had attracted the attention of the cops. Not a good sign.

He had to do something to distract them, throw them off the scent.

First, he’d hack into McKade’s files, doctor a few things, then sabotage the ranch.

And if anyone interfered, he’d get rid of them, just as he had the men on the plane.

Nothing was going to get in his way now. McKade would go down, one way or the other.

And he’d be laughing as the arrogant bastard fell.

Chapter Four

Flint pocketed the phone, then stepped back inside the barn. Lora Leigh was talking to the chestnut in a soothing voice that he could barely discern. Iron Legs slowly calmed, pressing his nose into her hand as she continued to whisper to him.

Flint hated to interrupt the moment, but he needed to finish the tour and get back to the house before the detective arrived. “Lora Leigh, we should probably move along. I have to meet the police at the house at noon.”

She checked her watch and nodded, unable to suppress the faint glow to her cheeks, which hadn’t been there before. “Did they find out who tried to sabotage your shipment?”

“The detective didn’t say. Maybe he’ll tell me more in person.” He gestured toward the exit and followed her back to the truck. She had to climb up to get inside, and he almost reached out to give her a lift. But the sight of her tight butt in those jeans made his body twinge, and he knew if he touched her, he might go too far.

Gritting his teeth, he hurried around to the driver’s side, then drove toward one of the race tracks. The truck rumbled over the graveled road. The sun was beginning to heat up as noon approached.

A slight breeze ruffled the trees and stirred the intoxicating scent of the outdoors as he parked in front of the racetrack. “I wanted you to see where we begin training our hopefuls.”

A young black quarter horse with white markings on its face trotted inside the arena, its lean body and long legs silhouetted by the brilliant sunshine. A trainer worked with the animal, another led a roan outside and a gray stallion whinnied and bolted away from its trainer inside the paddock.

“He looks like he lives up to the Thoroughbred’s reputation, hot-blooded,” Lora Leigh murmured.

Flint tensed, his own blood heating as he watched her. The transformation from ice queen when she looked at him to gentlewoman when she studied the horses, intrigued him. She might be small, but she was a natural horsewoman.

He suddenly itched to have her look at him with that same softness, with admiration, but quickly tamped down the thought. He’d given her a job because he felt bad about her father. Becoming involved with an employee was strictly against his rules.

“We just got him, but he’s one of our most promising, ” Flint said.

“He’ll be worth the work,” Lora Leigh added.

Flint nodded. “The feisty, independent ones are the most challenging but the most rewarding.”

Her gaze swung to his, and her eyes flickered with some indefinable emotion. He wondered if she had grasped his underlying meaning, then chastised himself.

A second ago, he’d latched on to his control.

But in spite of his resolve, she stirred desires he hadn’t felt in a long time, including the need to understand a woman, to really know her, not just lose himself between her legs and in her body.

His gaze dropped to her breasts, and his mouth watered.

He had to admit he’d like to do that, too.

“They remind me of the prickly pear,” he murmured, unable to tear his gaze from her face. “The flowers are beautiful and exotic.” He rubbed the upper part of his backside, with a teasing grin. “But those glochids sting. And they’re damn hard to get out.”

Lora Leigh laughed, a beautiful musical sound that twisted his insides and made him ache for more. The sun shimmered off her golden-blond ponytail. Her eyes were shaded by the hat, but her lips drew his gaze. Pink, like plump raspberries, they made him want a taste.

Forgetting all reason, he reached out and twirled a strand of her hair that had escaped the clasp between his fingers.

Her laughter died, a sudden passion flamed in her blue eyes, and he leaned forward. Just one taste.

A shadow passed over her face, though, and she shifted and glanced at her watch.

He dropped his hand, feeling like a fool. When she looked back up at him, the ice had returned to her eyes. “You’d better take me back if you’re going to meet that detective.”

“I’m sorry, Lora Leigh—”

She threw up a hand in warning. “Don’t. Let’s just keep our relationship on a business level.”

Dammit, she was right. He’d made a mistake in touching her.

And it wouldn’t happen again.

LORA LEIGH’S HEART POUNDED in her chest as Flint drove her back to the cottage. What was wrong with her? One minute they’d been talking about the horses, and the next he’d cracked that joke about the prickly pear, and she’d imagined him falling on one, the spiny needles sticking in his butt, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Then his eyes had turned hungry.

For a brief second, she’d forgotten who he was and why she was here. That he was her boss, and she despised him. That she’d come here to find Johnny and possibly some dirt on Flint.

But the man had cast some kind of spell over her, had almost kissed her, and she’d almost let him.

She’d seen the pictures of him with countless women in the papers, she knew he had dozens of females chasing him, and she didn’t intend to fall prey to his charms or money and become another notch on his bedpost.

She couldn’t allow a kiss to happen. She stiffened her spine, stared out at the passing brush, at a loon in the distance, then vaulted from the truck when he stopped in front of the cottage.

“Thanks for the tour,” she said. “I’ll review the horses’ medical files and get started this afternoon.”

“Sure.”

She hurried inside, retrieved Johnny’s photo, and walked to the cafeteria for lunch. The rustic building was filled with long wooden tables, a salad bar, hot dishes, cold plates and sandwiches, an ice cream and dessert island and a drink stand with jugs of homemade sweet tea, lemonade and bottled water and sodas. Already a dozen men, dusty from working with the cattle and horses, had filed in and were heaping their plates with the entrée of the day—meat loaf made from Flint’s own prized beef cattle.

Preferring her heavier meal at night, she opted for a turkey sandwich and fresh fruit, then carried her plate and a bottle of water to one of the tables. It was easy to see the division of laborers: the cattle hands tended to stick together, as did the grooms and horse trainers.

She imagined Johnny would have sought a job as a groom, so she joined that table but was well aware that some of the men at other tables were eyeing her openly. She offered them a friendly smile, but an elderly Hispanic man frowned at her, so she turned away, then introduced herself to the employees at her table.

“I’m Dr. Lora Leigh Whittaker,” she said. “I’ll be working with the horses, so if you detect any problems, please let me know.”

A young brunette named Kiki grinned and introduced herself; then the four men at the table followed suit. They chatted for several minutes, exchanging general information about their backgrounds and experience.

“I heard someone mention that I should talk to a groom named Johnny. Do any of you know where he is?” Lora Leigh asked.

Kiki frowned. “We don’t have a groom named Johnny. Maybe you’ve got the name wrong.”

Lora Leigh shrugged innocently. “Probably so. This is my first day. I’ve met so many people, I’m confusing names.”

She desperately wanted to show them her brother’s picture, but if she aroused suspicion, one of them might report her to Flint. Maybe she’d find that list of employees in his files. He might even have photos of them attached to their applications.

She finished up, then excused herself and walked to the vet clinic, grateful that Carol had left for lunch and the office was empty. She settled at the main computer and began to search through the files for Flint’s employee list. Medical records on the horses were easily accessible, and she made a mental note to review them to verify that Flint treated his animals with the care he professed.

Yet when she tried to tap into the employees’ files, she came to an impasse—she needed a password.

She tried variations on the ranch’s name, Diamond Daddy, Flint’s name, then his birthday, which she’d found in one of the many articles on him.

She drummed her fingers on the desk in frustration. Nothing worked.

She’d have to sneak into his home office and see if she could find an employee list and his password there.

The sooner she found out what had happened to Johnny, the sooner she could leave the Diamondback and Flint McKade behind and move on with her life.

FLINT STRODE INTO HIS office, irritated with himself for his lack of control with Lora Leigh. It was her first day, for God’s sake, and he’d tried to get up close and personal.

While she might have disliked him before, her opinion of him had probably taken a drastic downhill slide, any respect he might have earned from his ranch operations evaporating.

Lucinda had left a stack of pink message slips on his desk, and he thumbed through them, noting that several were from charity event planners, one was from Akeem, telling him that a memorial service had been planned for Viktor in two days, and a third was from Amal Jabar, his Middle Eastern contact who’d arranged for the Arabians to be imported. According to Amal’s message, he’d questioned his men but hadn’t learned anything suspicious.

Flint picked up the phone to return Amal’s call, but a knock sounded at the door, and he glanced up and saw Detective Brody Green poke his head in. “McKade?”

He nodded. “Come on in, detective.”

The sandy-haired cop loped in, his mouth set in a stern line, his eyes perusing the room and taking in the Triple Crown trophy. “Impressive. I watched the races and couldn’t believe how fast Diamond Daddy was.”

“He is a great Thoroughbred.” Flint gestured toward the leather chairs facing his desk. “Would you like coffee or a cold drink?”

Detective Green shook his head. “No, thanks. Just finished lunch.”

Flint nodded and sat down, planting his hands on the desk. “What did you find out about the attack last night?”

The detective removed a pocket-size notepad and glanced at it. “Nothing concrete yet. The medical examiner verified your pilot’s ID, as well as that of the older man, Grover Harper, but there’s a problem with the younger man’s identity. You said you didn’t know him?”

“I have a lot of employees in different capacities, Detective. I don’t know them all personally.”

“You don’t interview them?”

“My manager Jose Ortega is in charge of hiring the ranch hands and Reba Bales oversees the horse people, trainers, assistants and grooms. Didn’t he have ID with him?”

Detective Green made a clicking sound with his teeth. “That’s just it. He did. Name on the ID is Huey Houston, but in the DMV records, we found two Huey Houstons. One is eighty-five years old and in a nursing home in Corpus Christi, and the other died five years ago in a car crash in Austin.”

Flint frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re saying this guy used a fake name?”

The detective shrugged. “Looks that way. If he were Hispanic, I’d think he was an illegal, but this guy was Caucasian. Could be he’d had trouble with the law and wanted to hide out on your land.”

Flint squared his shoulders. “If he was a criminal, you think he might have had something to do with the sabotage?”

“It’s a possibility. We’re running DNA, checking prints and looking at dental records, but that will take time.” Detective Green leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. “Meanwhile, I’ll need a list of all your employees.”

Flint’s pulse pounded. “You think this was an inside job?”

“Whoever did this had knowledge of your plans, the time your shipment would arrive, where the plane would land.”

Flint shifted, anger mounting in his gut. He didn’t like suspecting his own people.

“Who all was involved in this shipment?” Detective Green asked.

Flint rapped his fingers on the desk. “My business manager, Simon Cornwall, of course. Reuben Simms, the pilot who brought them in. Amal Jabar. He’s my Middle Eastern contact who helped arrange the importation. Then the two hands who were on board.” He paused, seeing their bloody faces in his mind.

“Who else?” Detective Green asked.

Flint sighed. “My partners in the Aggie Four, and Deke Norton of Norton International. But they all had vested interests in the Arabians.”

Detective Green pursed his mouth. “I’ll still need to talk to them. Any problems between you guys?”

“No,” Flint said. “Not at all. I’d trust any one of them with my life.”

Detective Green gestured toward the computer. “Now that list?”

“Right.” He clicked a few keys, entered his password, then accessed the file and hit Print. While they waited, Detective Green pressed on.

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