LITMIR.BIZ

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her to go totally brain-dead.

      They reached the shed, and he opened the door. A large four-wheel ATV sat inside. Wordlessly, he slid onto the seat and turned the ignition key. The engine started on the first try.

      “Helmet is over there,” he said, motioning to one of two helmets hanging neatly on the wall. “Red one will probably fit you best.”

      Rachael picked up the red helmet. When she turned around, he’d already eased the vehicle forward and out of the shed. Leaving the engine running, he slid off the seat and motioned for her to get on. “You ever driven one of these things before?”

      “No, but I’m mechanically inclined.” Sliding the helmet onto her head, she climbed onto the seat. “And I have a level four drive rating,” she added. Level five was the highest rating.

      “I’m impressed, but you still get a lesson.”

      Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she nodded.

      Bo set his finger against the right handlebar grip. “You have your gas here on the left. Brake on the right.”

      “I’ll try to remember that.”

      Surprise rippled through her when he bent to fasten the chinstrap. His eyes met hers through the Plexiglas shield. They were the same endless blue as the Wyoming sky. “You sure you can handle this thing?” he asked.

      “You tell me.” Tired of being underestimated, Rachael revved the engine and let off the brake.

      Bo stepped back just in time to avoid being run over.

      Spewing gravel, the ATV leapt forward like a big mechanical beast. Gripping the seat with her thighs, Rachael swung the vehicle into a 360-degree circle.

      Bo stood near the shed, watching her and shaking his head. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

      “I’ve been accused of that once or twice.”

      “Don’t go too far. And be careful once you get on the trail. A lot of country out there.”

      “I think I can handle it.” She patted the purring engine.

      “I was talking about the cougars and black bears,” he said deadpan.

      The mention of fanged carnivores gave her pause. Rachael might be a whiz at taking down someone twice her size armed with a gun, but the thought of facing down an animal with claws and teeth made her rethink the wisdom of her afternoon jaunt to the trails. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

      Without waiting for a reply, she hit the gas and headed toward the ridge on the north side of the ranch.

      THE DIRT TRAIL was well-marked and ran north for several miles before curving south and looping back toward the ranch. At the top of the northern-most ridge, the land fell away into a postcard-pretty valley where horses and cattle grazed on golden prairie grass.

      Rachael stopped the ATV at a good vantage point and shut down the engine. Removing her helmet, she shook out her hair and just sat there staring at the scene. Around her, a light breeze whispered through the tops of the tall ponderosa pines and low-growing juniper. Birds twittered and swooped in the branches. Somewhere in the distance a cow bawled for her calf.

      Pulling the water bottle from her backpack, Rachael drank deeply, savoring every cold swallow. Alone and surrounded by nature, her every sense seemed heightened. She dropped the bottle back into her backpack and was about to start the engine when the snapping of a twig froze her in place.

      Bo’s words about cougars and bears flashed through her mind. But what made the hairs at her nape prickle was the ever-present knowledge that Karas wanted her dead. She planned to be ready if he made a move.

      Spinning, she jammed her hand into the backpack, grabbed the Beretta and brought it up.

      The resonant click of a hammer being pulled back froze her in place. “Hold it right there, Missy.”

      Chapter Three

      Pulling back the slide, Rachael brought the weapon up and around. The sight of the man on the horse took her aback. He looked like something out of a western, replete with worn leather chaps, a beat-up western hat, a blue bandanna around his neck—and a rifle the size of a cannon aimed at her heart.

      Sitting on the ATV, outgunned in every sense of the word, she held the Beretta steady. Body shot. Centered just to the right of his heart. But she didn’t put her finger on the trigger. At the moment, she didn’t know if this man was friend or foe. The one thing she did know was that he hadn’t been sent by Karas. Judging by the spots on the horse’s rump, he was one of Bo Ruskin’s cowboys.

      “Who are you?” she asked.

      Taking his time, he set a gloved hand on the saddle’s horn. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

      Going with her instincts, she lowered the Beretta. “I’m a guest at Dripping Springs Ranch.”

      “Since when does Bo Ruskin arm his guests?”

      “Since yesterday. And for your information he didn’t arm me. I came this way.”

      The rifle went down. The man threw his head back and laughed. “Well, Bo Ruskin does have some interesting guests, don’t he?”

      “I wouldn’t know,” Rachael muttered. Now that the initial burst of adrenaline had ebbed, annoyance that this man had gotten the drop on her set in.

      You’re getting rusty, Armitage….

      “I’m Jimmy Hargrove. Bo’s foreman. But I run cattle mostly.”

      “Rachael Armitage.” She unchambered the round and slid the Beretta back into her pack.

      “You’re pretty good with that, huh?” he asked, referring to the pistol.

      “I don’t miss, if that’s what you mean.”

      He nodded as if in approval. “Where you headed?”

      “Just doing some exploring.”

      He motioned toward a high ridge to the north. “There’s some interesting scenery up that way, especially if you want to put that peashooter you’re packing to good use.”

      “What do you mean?”

      He smiled. “There’s an area up the valley a ways. Got some old cans you can set up. Makes for some nice shooting.”

      The thought of some target practice appealed to Rachael. First, because she enjoyed shooting. Second, because she didn’t want to get rusty. “I might just check it out.”

      “Enjoy your stay.” Jimmy Hargrove tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

      Rachael felt as if she’d stepped back in time a hundred and fifty years as she watched the cowboy ride down the trail and disappear into the scrub. The contrasts between her life in Washington, D.C., and this ranch were enough to give a girl whiplash. She wondered how Bo Ruskin managed out here.

      Starting the ATV, she took the vehicle in the direction of the shooting range.

      THE STORM CLOUDS began piling up on the western horizon at just before six o’clock. Bo had been working horses most of the afternoon. He’d been bitten once, kicked at and taken a spill. Having gotten little sleep the night before, he was bone-tired. The last thing he wanted to hear when he walked into the house was that Rachael hadn’t shown up from her exploration excursion yet.

      “That city slicker leave over two hours ago,” Pauline explained as she shoved two pies into the oven. “Should have been back by now.”

      Remembering the way Rachael had torn out of the driveway in that ATV, he shook his head. “She’s a little too independent for her own good.”

      “A lot if you ask me,” Pauline put in.

      Bo downed a glass of tap water and

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