LITMIR.BIZ

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turn you over to the sheriff.”

      “No.” The boy’s hands fisted in the dark mane. He kept his head down, cleared his throat and coughed. “My... Señor De Zavala wouldn’t mind.”

      “That’s my horse. If Señor De Zavala gave his permission, why are you—” Jackson searched for the word he needed “—sneaking around in the dark?” Approaching the horse, Jackson slipped the gun into his waistband. “Should we go get your boss?” A quick jerk of the boy’s head confirmed what Jackson already guessed. “Kid, do you even belong on the ranch?”

      “I belong.” Chin up, he looked so small on the big stallion. Patting the horse’s neck, the boy relaxed his shoulders and turned away.

      Jackson reached for the leather reins. “This stallion could have killed you. Don’t think your ma would appreciate losing you over a ride.”

      “My mother is dead, señor.” The youth tried to pull the reins from Jackson.

      His hands looked too smooth to have ever done any real work. Jackson growled in frustration. The poor kid was an orphan doing what he had to do to survive. He continued in Spanish. “So who’s waiting for you?”

      “Nadie.”

      Nobody. Such a simple word to describe a devastating existence for a child.

      “Right.” Jackson fought down the urge to offer the kid a safe place. He didn’t have the time or resources to take on a lost boy.

      Helping people never worked out anyway. His hand felt huge circling the boy’s upper arm as he pulled him off the horse. The warmth coming through the cloth surprised Jackson.

      Once on the ground, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest. The youth’s wide-eyed stare stayed glued on the front of his shirt he had left open. Turning red, the boy jerked his head down, then tried to yank his arm free. The underdeveloped muscles weren’t much of a contest to Jackson’s strength.

      “When was the last time you ate?” For more times than he could count, Jackson was glad he had learned his grandmother’s native tongue. She had been proud of her homeland of Spain.

      “I am not your concern, señor.” He tried to jerk his arm back again. “Release me.”

      The boy’s Spanish sounded educated. “So you can steal something else?” With his hands wrapped around the small arm, Jackson pulled the boy closer. Just because he wasn’t turning the youngster over to the law, didn’t mean he couldn’t scare him. “What’s your name?”

      The boy glared up at him with his lips pulled tight into a thin line. He had a fresh scrape across the left side of his face.

      Jackson gave him a slight shake. The kid was going to end up in a bad way if he wasn’t careful. “You want to dangle from a rope? They hang horse thieves. They won’t care about your age. What’s your name?”

      The small jaw locked down and the muscle flexed, stubbornness written all over the soft face.

      “Fine. You can tell the sheriff.” He started pulling the boy toward the old tack room. Jackson hoped the kid didn’t call his bluff.

      “Santiago! My name’s Santiago.” His voice cracked. The boy started coughing as he fought Jackson’s grip.

      Jackson stopped and stared down with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest of the name.

      The kid shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. The narrow shoulders slumped. “Smith.” The single mumbled word disappeared into the floor.

      “Really? Smith?” The kid either didn’t know his last name, or he lied. Knowing how harsh the world could be, Jackson figured it might be a bit of both.

      “Listen kid, why don’t we talk to the boss and see about getting you a job?”

      Santiago’s head shot up, his dark eyes large. With a short growl, the boy swung his leg back and kicked Jackson hard in the shin. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip. The ragtag boy took the opportunity to run.

      Straight to Dughall. The stallion still stood in the middle of the barn, ground tied when one of the reins dropped in a coil on the dirt-packed floor.

      As if he did it all the time, the small body flew onto the bareback of the horse as he grasped the leather reins. With a kick the stallion bolted out the large barn door, past the corrals and into the moonlit pasture with the kid.

      Jackson bit down the angry thoughts as he ran after them. The kid was going to get them both killed. At the door, he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that covered the night sounds.

      To Jackson’s surprise, Dughall didn’t stop right away. He whistled again.

      At the edge of the tree line, the big black stopped and looked back at him. The boy’s seat never wavered. The kid knew how to ride.

      The stallion swung his head around, back to the trees. Santiago dug in the back of his heels and slapped the leather reins against Dughall’s rump, urging him forward.

      One last whistle pulled the horse’s attention back to Jackson. As the big animal turned and moved toward the barn, he hung his head low.

      The kid jumped from the stallion’s back and ran into the trees. The big brute paused as if he wanted to join the little thief.

      “Get over here!” Jackson scolded his horse.

      A lit kerosene lamp came from the house, swinging as the carrier came closer to the barn. Jackson recognized Rafael De Zavala, the ranch owner.

      “What is all the noise about? Is everything all right?” His smooth Spanish accent enriched his crisp English.

      “There seems to be a little thief running wild.”

      “Híjole, more gangs have moved into the area. Is everyone safe? Did they take anything of value?”

      “Tried to run off with Dughall.” The horse stood next to him now and nudged him with his soft muzzle. Jackson wasn’t sure if he was apologizing or asking to leave with the boy.

      From the other side of the barn, a few of the ranch hands joined them, guns drawn.

      “I’ll send for the sheriff.” De Zavala turned.

      “No, don’t worry about it. The kid was beat up and half starved. He didn’t get away with anything. Everyone should go back to bed.”

      “Diego.” De Zavala called out. “Stay in the barn and stand guard. Estevan, make sure we have someone every night to watch the horses.”

      The men left. Jackson turned to De Zavala and held his hand to midchest. “He was about this tall. His name was Santiago. Do you know him?”

      The older man’s mouth fell open, then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be. Are you sure? My son, who drowned during a storm, is Santiago.” De Zavala gave him a tight smile and shook his head. “I’m being foolish. My son is gone, and he would be taller. He was a man, not a boy.”

      He walked over to Dughall and placed a hand on Jackson’s horse. “You have a very fine stallion. Is it too late in the night to talk business? I’m unable to sleep, and I have an idea to give you.”

      That sounded promising. More so than anything else Rafael De Zavala had said since they started corresponding months ago. Jackson nodded.

      “Settle your horse then, and come to the back of the house through the kitchen. We will meet in my study. Everyone is asleep, and we can finish our talk of business.”

      “I’ll be there.” His plans were falling into place.

      “Good. I have given much thought to what you want, and I think you can take care of a problem I have. It will be a good partnership.”

      Jackson watched the man make his way back to the big hacienda. Arrogance and shrewdness radiated off him, much like Jackson imagined it did off

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