She hadn’t realized how fast she was going until the pickup started to fishtail again on the washboard. Having driven more dirt roads than paved highway, she quickly got the pickup back under control and allowed herself to slow down a little.

  In the distance, she could see the lights of the McCall ranch house and the turnoff to the ranch. Behind her, nothing but dust. Maybe.

  She knew she’d have to slow down to make the turn onto the road down to the ranch, but once she did, she was sure no one would follow her up to the house. No one who knew the McCall men, anyway—and how protective they were.

  Behind her, dust roiled up into the darkness. The entrance to the ranch road loomed in her headlights, the log arch, the sign: Sundown Ranch. Home. Safety. She’d never felt afraid here, didn’t want to now.

  She hit her brakes and cranked the wheel—glancing back as she did. The rearview mirror filled with headlights.

  She swung through the ranch arch and onto the road that led to the ranch house, her pulse a war drum in her ears. The other rig had been right behind her!

  Racing down the quarter-mile-long road to the house, she roared into the yard, shut off the engine and jumped out, ready to run as she looked back, half expecting to see the other rig coming after her. A few more stars had popped out, and there was just a sliver of moon.

  As the dust settled, she felt her breath seize in her chest. A quarter mile back on the county road by the entrance to the ranch road, she could see the dark shape of a pickup, the headlights turned out. It was too far away and too dark to see who was behind the wheel. But the driver was sitting there in the darkness as if…Her heart began to pound furiously…as if watching her.

  She turned and ran to the house. Racing up the steps and across the porch, she jerked open the door.

  “What in the hell?” Asa McCall demanded as he came out of his den scowling at her. “I heard you come driving in. Are you drunk or just crazy, girl?”

  “Someone followed me home.” She pointed toward the road, shaking with fear.

  Her father stepped out onto the porch and looked toward the gate. Asa was a big man with a reputation for being hard and uncompromising. Dusty knew he had a soft spot—at least where she was concerned. Soft spot or not, he would kill to protect his family.

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  She moved to his side and followed his gaze. The dark shape of the pickup was gone, the road empty. “But he was just there.”

  “He?” Asa asked looking over at her.

  “I just assumed it was a man,” she said. “It was a pickup. Sitting up there by the gate with the headlights off. He chased me home.”

  Her father was still eyeing her. Dust hung like low clouds over the county road from where she’d raced home. Her father knew her, knew she didn’t scare easily; he had to believe her.

  “Was this some man you met at the rodeo?”

  “No. I don’t know who it was.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he looked back out at the road. “I don’t like you hanging around a rodeo this late at night.”

  “I was with Letty.”

  He glanced down at her as if sensing the truth. It was as if he could smell it on her.

  “Ty Coltrane was there, too,” she added quickly, knowing how much her father liked Ty.

  He glanced back toward the road. “I’ll take a look around in the morning.”

  She touched his arm as he turned to go back inside. “Thank you.” She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed him to believe her.

  He smiled at her and cupped her cheek with one callused hand before he left her on the porch, the door closing behind him.

  Dusty stood listening to the sound of his footfalls disappear down the hall as she stared at the ranch gate. The county road was empty, the pickup gone. Had he turned around and gone back to town? Or gone on up the road?

  Someone had chased her home. But for what purpose?

  She started out to the truck to get her shoulder bag, still unnerved. Had the driver planned to run her off the road or just follow her home? He’d definitely been trying to intimidate her.

  She opened the pickup door and reached for her bag. Why would anyone follow her home unless…. Her heart thudded in her chest. Unless he wanted to see where she lived.

  Clutching the leather pouch to her, she closed the truck door, telling herself that made no sense. All the person would have to do was mention her name and anyone in the county could tell him where to find the McCalls’ Sundown Ranch.

  McCall had always been an impossible name to live down, thanks to her four older brothers. They were to blame for how protective her father had always been with her. And the reason her teachers had warned her the first day of school that they weren’t putting up with any more shenanigans from McCall kids.

  She started up the front steps of the house and stumbled as a thought hit her. What if the driver of the pickup hadn’t known who she was? Or where she lived?

  Well, he did now, she thought with a shudder.

  Chapter Four

  Outside Antelope Flats

  Sheriff Cash McCall slid down the steep embankment toward the partially hidden wrecked pickup lying in the bottom of the ravine. Coroner Raymond Winters waited in the shade of a chokecherry tree.

  Winters was fifty-something, a quiet, mournful man who, besides being coroner for the county, owned Winters Funeral Home, just across the border in Sheridan, Wyoming.

  The pickup had obviously rolled several times before coming to rest at the base of the tree. A rancher had spotted it while out on his four-wheeler checking calves and called 911.

  As Cash neared the battered truck, he could see the Montana plates. Same county as Antelope Flats. He leaned into the cab, afraid he would know the driver.

  He did.

  “It’s Clayton,” Winters said behind him, sounding regretful. “Clayton T. Brooks. I saw him ride during Cheyenne Days. He was one hell of a bull rider. Damned shame. Heard he started hitting the bottle hard after he was forced to quit. That last bull broke him up good.”

  Cash nodded. Clayton T. Brooks was a legend in these parts. “They don’t make ’em like him anymore,” he agreed. What a hell of a way to end up, though, Cash thought.

  Clayton was crumpled, beaten and broken on the floorboard on the passenger side of the pickup—and he’d been there for a while.

  “Takes a certain kind of man to keep climbing back up on an animal that weighs a ton and would just as soon stomp you as not, don’t you think?” Winters commented.

  Unlike his brothers, and even his little sister Dusty, Cash had never rodeoed. Nor had he ever really understood the attraction. But then, he’d never been that much into ranching, let alone trying to ride animals intent on stopping you.

  Cash tried the pickup door on the uphill side of the cab. Jammed. He went around, yanked on the other door. A dozen empty beer cans clattered to the ground.

  “I would suspect his blood alcohol level was over the legal limit when he left the road,” the coroner said dryly. “No skid marks up on the pavement. He didn’t even try to hit his brakes. Wasn’t wearing his seat belt, either.”

  “How long would you say he’s been here?” Cash asked.

  Winters shook his head. “Hard to say. My guess is at least a day, maybe more. I’ll know more once I get him out of there.”

  Cash heard the whine of the ambulance siren.

  “This has always been a bad curve,” Winters said as the siren suddenly stilled, followed by the sound of doors opening and closing from the highway above them. “Looks pretty cut-and-dried. Alcohol-related fatality. Damned shame.”

  Cash agreed as he stepped back from the pickup, the smell of stale beer and death making him queasy this early in the morning. He turned to go up and help the ambulance crew with the stretcher, remembering the last time he saw Brooks.

  The bull rider had been down at the Mint Bar with some of his drinking buddies. He’d been talking rodeo, all he ever talked about. It had been his life. Rodeo and the bulls he’d ridden. Clayton had been bragging about how he never forgot a bull.

  As far as Cash knew, he had no family. But Clayton wouldn’t be forgotten. The rodeo community would mourn his loss and he would go down in history as a cowboy who had ridden some of the most famous bulls in history during his career. Cash guessed that was more recognition than most people got after they were gone.

  Still, it was a shame that Brooks couldn’t have died doing what he’d loved instead of missing a curve on some dark stretch of narrow two-lane highway with too many beers under his last winning rodeo belt buckle.

  DUSTY MCCALL BIT DOWN on her lower lip, hesitating as she looked toward the cool shaded entrance to the Coltrane Appaloosa Ranch barn.

  For a moment, she almost turned around and rode back to her own ranch. But she’d come this far…

  The sun was hot on her back. She slipped off her horse and sidled toward the barn door, stopping to peer in. There was still time to change her mind.

  She could hear the low murmur of a male voice. Ty Coltrane’s. She eased into the cool darkness, aware of something in the air. An electricity like static heat, taut with tension.

  “Easy, pretty girl,” Ty murmured from one of the horse stalls. “You’re just fine. The first time is always the toughest.”

  Dusty edged deeper into the barn until she could peer over the top of the stall door. Ty sat on a bed of straw, his back to her and the stall door. In front of him a mare, her belly swollen to enormous proportions, paced in the confined space, her eyes on Ty, her expression worried.

  In obvious agitation, the mare turned to her side to look back at her belly as if she felt the foal inside her and was confused by it. She stopped and nickered at Ty as if needing reassurance.

  “It’s all right,” Ty murmured as he watched her. “That’s it. Take your time. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  From experience, Dusty knew that most mares foal between midnight and 3 a.m. for some unknown reason. The fact that this mare was running late didn’t bode well.

  Dusty wasn’t sure how long she stood there listening to Ty’s soothing murmur and watching the pregnant mare, worrying that something was wrong.

  Suddenly, the mare awkwardly lay down, her legs under her. With a groan, she went to her side.

  Ty stroked the mare as he moved into position. From where Dusty stood she could see the foal start to appear. She stared at the purplish white bag covering the foal, trying see the new life inside it.

  After a few minutes, she could make out the front hooves and then the head. The foal started out feet first, nose between its front legs as if diving. Then stopped.

  Dusty stood transfixed, anxious now for the rest of the foal’s body to be expelled. It was taking too long. She could feel Ty’s nervousness as well as her own. She bit down on her lower lip, gripping the top of the stall door.

  Ty rolled up his sleeves, still quietly encouraging, his hands and voice working to soothe the mare.

  Nothing happened.

  Dusty chewed at her lip, afraid as she watched him pull gently on the foal each time the mare pushed. It took everything in her not to go into the stall to help, but Ty was doing all that could be done and she didn’t want to upset the mare.

  Without warning the foal popped out—right into Ty’s lap. He let out a surprised relieved laugh as he held the bundle.

  Dusty felt her chest swell, tears burned her eyes as she watched Ty carefully brush back the white covering of the sack to let the gawky little thing breathe.

  The foal had dark curly wet hair that looked like crushed velvet. As a ranchwoman, she’d seen dozens and dozens of births, but this one felt as if it were the most amazing. She gazed awestruck as Ty toweled the little colt dry, rubbing it gently, clearing away the protective cover, all the time murmuring to both. Talking softly, he rubbed the foal’s ears, handled the hooves, flipped him over.

  The mare watched. Dusty could feel the trust between the horse and Ty. He drew the foal over so the mare could tenderly nose it, smell it and as Dusty stared into the stall, the foal awkwardly got up on stick-like legs and stumbled to its feet, all legs and big eyes.

  Dusty choked back a laugh. The foal nuzzled around the mare until Ty helped him get his first sips from one of the mare’s two teats. The mare looked surprised for a moment, then seemed strangely content.

  Dusty stared at the two horses standing next to each other, sensing the instinctive mother-child bond between them. She swallowed back the lump in her throat.

  Ty turned, surprised to see Dusty McCall standing at the stall door, watching, her eyes wide and shiny as she stared down at the new foal.

  As always, he felt that little flutter in his chest whenever he saw Dusty. He stepped out of the stall, closing the door as the mare began to clean up her new off-spring. “Hi.”

  Dusty didn’t respond, seeming at a loss for words over the birth. He smiled at that. She never ceased to amaze him. After as many livestock as she’d seen birthed, she still got teary-eyed. He knew the feeling. “It’s just so incredible, isn’t it?” she said after a moment.

  He nodded. He’d seen more foals born than he could count, but he never got over the wonder of it.

  He watched her peer into the stall, the expression on her face tender. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d just dropped by like this. He had to wonder what she was doing here. Not that he was complaining. He liked her. He’d always liked her. Sometimes, he almost thought they were friends.

  “It’s just so…cool,” she said, peeking over the stall door at the new foal again.

  “It is that.” He studied her, realizing she must have ridden over here. That’s why he hadn’t heard her drive up.

  She was dressed in her usual: jeans, boots and one of her brother’s cast-off western shirts under one of her brother’s large cast-off canvas jackets, no makeup, her long blond hair plaited in a single braid down her back, her western straw hat pulled down low.

  He had a sudden memory of her standing in the middle of the rodeo corral last night with wild bucking horses pounding around her. What the hell had she been doing there? After watching her ride one of the bucking broncs yesterday morning at the clinic, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

  “What are you going to name the foal?” she asked, finally looking over at him. She had the palest blue eyes he’d ever seen, peering out of gold dusted lashes.

  He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. She usually treated him like one of her brothers—her least favorite, he thought with a wry smile.

  “Haven’t given a name any thought,” he said. “What do you suggest?”

  “Miracle,” she said without hesitation. “What’s his mother’s name?”

  “Rosie.”

  “Rosie’s Little Miracle.”

  He laughed. “Great name for a roping horse.” He pretended he was a rodeo announcer. “And our next contestant is Big Jim Brady on his horse Rosie’s Little Miracle…” He laughed again.

  Dusty mugged a face at him.

  He headed deeper into the barn, needing to check several other mares that were due to foal. Unlike Rosie, though, those mares were old hands at this and wouldn’t need any help. He’d been worried about Rosie. The first time was always the hardest.

  Dusty followed him like one of the ranch dogs.

  He stopped in front of a stall and she practically plowed into him. She hadn’t just dropped by. The girl had something on her mind. He was dying to know what it was. “There something I can do for you, Slim?”

  “Last night, did you go straight home from the rodeo?”

  He raised a brow, amused. “You asking if I have myself a girlfriend in town?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I just wondered, since you left before I did.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I came straight here.” He frowned. His horse ranch was down the county road from the McCalls’ Sundown Ranch. “You rode all the way over here this early in the morning to ask me that? What’s going on?”

  She looked down as she dug the toe of her boot into the dirt and shook her head. “Nothin’.”

  He’d learned that nothin’ with Dusty McCall was always somethin’. He leaned against the stall and crossed his arms. “Come on, what gives, Slim?”

  She made another face at him. “I wish you’d quit calling me that.”

  He studied her. “Why do you care when I got home?”

  She looked away, worrying her lower lip with her teeth the way she did when something was bothering her. “Someone followed me last night from town.”

  He felt his insides go cold. “What do you mean someone?” Last night, he’d seen Boone move through the bucking horses, heard him open the gate. At the time, Ty hadn’t understood why Boone had sent the horses back through the empty corral—until Ty had hauled Dusty out a few moments later.

  Had Boone known Dusty was in there? Or had he just heard someone and been afraid they’d overheard his argument with Dobbs and Lamar? Maybe Boone thought it was Ty in the corral spying on him. But that didn’t explain what Dusty had been doing in there, did it?

  “All I know is that whoever followed me was in a dark-colored pickup.” She met his gaze. “Whoever was behind the wheel pretty much chased me home though.”

  “You mean like tried to run you off the road?” he asked, his mouth dry as straw.

  “I never let him get that close.”

  Ty sighed, thankful Dusty was one kick-butt girl. “You couldn’t tell the make or color of the pickup?”

  “It was too dark.” She cocked her head at him. “I just thought it might have been you because you’re always turning up where I am. Like last night after the rodeo.” Her big blue eyes narrowed. “What were you doing there anyway?”

  “Well, I wasn’t following you, Slim,” he said, shoving off the stall door. “I need to get to work, even if you don’t.” He didn’t like hearing that someone had followed her home. Any more than he liked hearing her complain about him always turning up around her.

 

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