LITMIR.BIZ

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the county road, skidding to a stop and almost taking out the mailbox.

      “What the hell?” Waters said under his breath as he watched the carrier hurriedly sort through the mail, open the box and stuff it inside. He had been running later and later recently.

      Gus saw him, gave a quick wave and sped off almost guiltily.

      Waters shook his head, already irritated knowing that his son and Morgan Landers were back at the house together. He had to put an end to that little romance. Maybe Dillon Savage being out of prison would do the trick.

      At least something good would come of Savage being on the loose again.

      When Shade finally reached the mailbox, he stopped to catch his breath, half dreading what he might find inside. Fingers trembling, he pulled down the lid, his gaze searching for the pale lavender envelope as he reached for the mail.

      Even before he’d gone through the stack, he knew the letter hadn’t come. A mixture of disappointment and worry washed over him as he slammed the box shut. He hadn’t realized how much he anticipated the letters. What if they stopped coming?

      He shook his head at his own foolishness, wondering if he wasn’t losing his mind. What man looked forward to a blackmail letter? he asked himself as he tucked the post under his arm and headed back up the lane.

      JACKLYN HAD JUST LEFT the town of Judith Gap when her cell phone rang and she saw with annoyance that it was her boss. She glanced over at Dillon, wishing she didn’t have to take the call in front of him, because more than likely it would be bad news.

      “Wilde.”

      “So how did it go?” Stratton asked, an edge to his voice. He was just waiting for things to go badly so he could say I told you so.

      “Fine,” she said, and glanced again at Dillon. He was chewing on a toothpick, stretched out in the seat as if he was ready for another nap.

      “I hope you aren’t making the biggest mistake of your career. Not to mention your life,” Stratton said.

      So did Jacklyn. But they’d been over this already. She waited, fearing he was calling to tell her the rustlers had hit again. She knew he hadn’t phoned just to see how she was doing. Stratton, too, had a receiver terminal that told him exactly where Dillon Savage was at all times. Which in turn would tell her boss exactly where she was, as well.

      “Shade Waters wants to see you,” Stratton said finally.

      She should have known. Waters owned the W Bar, the largest ranch in the area, and had a habit of throwing his weight around. “I’ve already told him I’m doing everything possible to—”

      “He’s starting what he calls a neighborhood watch group to catch the rustlers,” Stratton said.

      “Vigilante group, you mean.” She swore under her breath and felt Dillon Savage’s gaze on her.

      “Waters has all the ranchers fired up about Savage being released. He’s got Sheriff McCray heading up a meeting tomorrow night at the community center. I want you there. You need to put a lid on this pronto. We can’t have those ranchers taking things into their own hands. Hell, they’ll end up shooting each other.”

      She groaned inwardly. There would be no stopping Waters. She’d already had several run-ins with him, and now that he knew about her getting Dillon Savage out of prison, he would be out for blood. Hers.

      “I’ll do what I can at the meeting.” What choice did she have? “Will you be there as well?”

      “I’m not sure I can make it.” The chicken. “You do realize by now that you’ve opened up a hornets’ nest with this Savage thing, don’t you?” He hung up, but not before she’d heard the self-satisfied “I told you so” in his voice.

      DILLON WATCHED JACK from under the brim of his Stetson, curious as to what was going on. Unless he missed his guess, she was getting her butt chewed by one of her bosses. He could just imagine the bureaucratic bull she had to put up with from men who sat in their cozy offices while she was out risking her life to protect a bunch of cows.

      And from the sounds of it, the ranchers were doing exactly what he’d expected they would—forming a vigilante group and taking the law into their own hands. This situation was a geyser ready to go off. And Dillon had put himself right in the middle of it.

      He watched her snap shut the phone. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel as she drove. He knew she was desperate. Hell, she wouldn’t have gotten him out of prison if she hadn’t been. She’d stuck her neck out and she would have to be a fool not to realize she was going to get it chopped off.

      For a split second, he felt sorry for her. Then he reminded himself that Jacklyn Wilde was the enemy. And no matter how intriguing he found her, he would do well to remember that.

      “Everything all right?” he asked innocently.

      She shot him a look that said if he wanted to keep his head he wouldn’t get smart with her right now.

      Unfortunately, he’d never done the smart thing. “Why do you do it?”

      “What?” she snapped.

      “This job.”

      She seemed surprised by the question. “I like my job.”

      He scoffed at that. “Putting up with rich ranchers, not to mention your arrogant bosses and all that bureaucrat crap?”

      “I’m good at what I do,” she said defensively.

      “You’d be good at anything you set your mind to,” he said, meaning it. She was smart, savvy, dedicated. Plus her looks wouldn’t hurt. “You could have any job you wanted.”

      “I like putting felons behind bars.”

      “You put cattle rustlers behind bars,” he corrected. “Come on, Jack, most people see rustling as an Old West institution, not a felony. Hell, it was how a lot of ranchers in the old days built their huge spreads, with a running branding iron, and a little larceny in their blood. Rustling wasn’t even a crime until those same ranchers started losing cattle themselves.”

      “Apparently that’s an attitude that hasn’t changed for two hundred years,” she snapped. “Rustling, with all its legends and lore.” She shook her head angrily, her face flushed. “It’s why rustlers are seldom treated as seriously as burglars or car thieves.”

      He shrugged. “It comes down to simple math. If you can make ten grand in a matter of minutes easier and with less risk and more reward than holding up a convenience store, you’re gonna do it.” He could see that he had her dander up, and he smiled to himself, egging her on. “I see it as a form of living off the land.”

      “It’s a crime.”

      He laughed. “Come on, everyone steals.”

      “They most certainly do not.” Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, and she pressed her foot on the gas pedal as her irritation rose. He saw that she was going over the speed limit, and grinned to himself.

      “So you’re telling me that you’ve never listened to bootleg music?” he asked. “Tried a grape at the supermarket before buying the bunch? Taken a marginal deduction on your taxes?”

      “No,” she said emphatically.

      “You’re that squeaky clean?” He shook his head, studying her. “So you’ve never done anything wrong? Nothing you’ve regretted? Nothing you’re ashamed of?” He saw the flicker in her expression. Her eyes darted away as heat rose up the soft flesh of her throat.

      He’d hit a nerve. Jack had something to hide. Dillon itched to know what. What in her past had her racing down the highway, way over the speed limit?

      “You might want to slow down,” he said quietly. “I’d hate to see you get a ticket for breaking the law.”

      Her

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