The Consummate Cowboy

Too aware of the noise she was making as she moved through high grass toward the ranch road, she tried to bank her dread about what might come out of the shadows. Her back tingled. She was almost there. As soon as she reached the road, she turned away from the locked gates and the highway. The road had to lead to the ranch house—and to Zach Durham.

As the road curved, trees crowded the border. Her feet made soft thuds, and her heart was pounding so loudly that she barely heard her footfalls. She slowed, almost tiptoeing, her palms damp, while she tried to keep her imagination under control.

The night seemed interminable. When she came out of the forest, she was startled by the brightness of the night. A full moon rose high above her, and she almost groaned aloud. She hadn’t given thought to whether it would be a full moon or a new moon. Among the trees, the darkness had been a cover, but in the open, silvery moonlight illuminated the land. Even dressed in a navy long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and navy sneakers, with her hair tucked under a baseball cap, there would be no hiding beneath the bright beams bathing the earth. With a grim desperation she plunged ahead.

Did the man live at the opposite end of the state? She felt as if she had been walking for hours, yet reason told her it was only a little over an hour since she had pulled her car off the road, locked up, and become a trespasser.

And she worried about the man whose property she was trespassing on. She recalled the comments of the people in the nearby small town of San Luis when she had asked about Zach Durham.

“Zach’s a loner.”

“He keeps to himself.”

“We don’t see much of him.”

Several men mentioned that they’d seen Zach talking to Amber at a bar in town only a week earlier. That same weekend the police had found Amber’s burned, abandoned car, and begun an official search. They’d contacted Emily because her name was found on a slip of paper near the vehicle. The sheriff confirmed what the men had told her. Zach was the last person seen with Amber.

A bird’s clear whistle sounded, a high, melodious note that carried on the whisper of wind through the pines. She could detect the damp smell of spruce, and under other circumstances might have been able to enjoy her surroundings, but at the moment they held a foreboding.

Another quarter of an hour passed before she rounded a bend in the road. Ahead, yellow light shone through the trees. Her pulse jumped. She was close to her destination. Now she wished there had been some way to contact him by phone. His number was unlisted, and she hadn’t been able to pry it out of anybody in town. Uncertainty struck her.

She intended to look at the house, get a peek at him, see if she could discover any reason for Amber to be so fearful, and ascertain her missing sister’s whereabouts. Now in the dead of night, the idea seemed foolish. She wished she had come during broad daylight and confronted him directly. Yet in the light of day when she’d looked at his locked gates and No Trespassing signs, that idea had seemed unsatisfactory.

With a sigh, she moved forward. Now that she was here, she might as well see what she could discover about her reclusive ex-brother-in-law, a man she’d met only once.

She spotted the house tucked among tall spruce and pines and aspen a few yards later. Only two lights shone through windows, both on the ground floor to the rear. Emily wiped her damp palms on her jeans and strode forward. Her heart drummed as she approached the house. It was a tall Victorian structure, forbidding in the night.

She patted the bag she carried, feeling the doggie treats, wondering if treats would hold a ferocious guard dog at bay. Didn’t ranchers always have dogs? She might soon know.

She pulled out the bag of treats, ready to toss them, expecting an animal to charge at any moment Leaving the road, she stayed in the shadows, inching closer to the house. Her heart pounded violently. A twig snapped and she jumped.

Even if Zach Durham was an honest, upstanding citizen, he could shoot her for trespassing, or mistake her for a burglar. If he was not honest and upstanding, the consequences could be worse. But she had to find her sister, and Zach Durham was the last man Amber had mentioned during her frantic phone call. She could remember Amber’s warning about him. Emily wanted to see him, see inside his house, see what she could learn.

She had to cross a stretch of yard that was splashed in moonlight and that looked as bright as daylight. Grimly she rushed across it, flattening herself against the wall of the house, her pulse racing. She listened, fully expecting a shot to ring out or guard dogs to come bounding at her, fangs bared.

Edging along the side of the house, she moved toward the patch where light spilling through the glass illuminated a bright rectangle of ground. Emily reached the window, and turned to peer inside. Even at five-eleven, she had to stand on tiptoe to see anything.

She was looking into an old-fashioned kitchen with glass-fronted cabinets and a round oak table. At the sink stood a bare-chested man in jeans, his back to her. For just a moment she forgot her fear and her mission as she looked at a muscled back that tapered from broad shoulders to a narrow waist and slim hips. Her ex-brother-in-law. The man looked muscular and fit...and dangerous.

She remembered their one brief meeting after Amber’s wedding. Amber had called and announced that she was passing through Chicago on her honeymoon, that the newlyweds wanted Emily to join them for dinner.

Emily remembered a handsome, charming man—but when had Amber ever been with a man who wasn’t handsome, sexy—a hunk?

Emily edged closer to the window and stared at him.

He had thick brown hair with a slight wave. He turned, and she was riveted by the sight of him. His chest was muscled, with a sprinkling of dark hair. His stomach was flat and trim, his jeans riding low on his slender hips. His rugged angular face had a scar along his jaw.

His gaze swept toward the window.

Recovering her wits, she dropped to the ground, her heart pounding, terrified that he might have spotted her. She leaned back against the house to get her breath and then looked inside again.

He picked up two glasses of water.

“Keeps to himself. Him and his kids. Never see ’em or talk to ’em much.” Sheriff Nunez’s words echoed clearly in her mind along with his reasons for not forcing his way into Durham’s house to search it. The sheriff said he had to have just cause for a warrant to search the place. Well, maybe she could convince the sheriff there was just cause for a search.

Emily looked at the tall man holding the glasses of water. Must be for the kids. Her niece and nephew. Curiosity plagued her. She still couldn’t believe Amber had had two babies.

Two babies that Amber had walked away from. Emily felt a stab of remorse. Zach Durham had to have a good side. She prayed he did, and was loving to the children. When Amber had called to tell her she had married husband number three, Emily had asked about Zach and the kids.

“Oh, he’s a great dad. His life centers around those kids. Mine doesn’t. I’m so happy now. I can’t wait for you to meet Raimundo.” And Amber had gone on to talk about her latest husband. Years ago when they were children, Emily had given up trying to understand her sister.

She peeked through the window again. Zach was walking toward a door to what must be a hallway. Her gaze raked again over his lean form. His profile—a firm jaw, prominent cheekbones—was rugged, the planes of his face craggy.

Then he was gone and she could see only the empty kitchen. Where had he gone?

She slipped around the corner of the house and stepped back to look at it. All the windows were dark beyond the kitchen. She tiptoed along, keeping close to the wall, thankful when she reached the shadows of an oak. Everything in her cried to get away, yet she had to find out if Amber was here.

“Don’t move.” The voice was deep, commanding and harsh.

Without thinking, she jumped in fright With a small cry, she spun around.

Something slammed into her. Pain burst in her ribs; she hit the ground and stars danced in front of her eyes. The damp ground was cool beneath her with a faint scent of pine rising from the disturbed needles. As she fell into a patch of moonlight, she looked up. A man straddled her, his fist raised to strike. She was frozen, unable to speak.

His face was in shadow, hers bathed in moonlight. His fist paused, hanging in the air as she looked up at him and saw his dark eyes staring down at her.

When she locked gazes with him, something unexplainable happened. Tension arced between them. She could all but hear the air crackling with electricity as the moment changed. Her heart thudded, but no longer in fear. She became aware of every inch of him that touched her—his thighs pressed against her sides, his hand on her shoulder. His chest was even more impressive up close, the contours of his muscles highlighted by moonlight.

And he seemed caught in the same stunned suspension. His eyes searched hers and he remained immobile.

Even though she felt vulnerable, a flicker of curiosity about him flared to life and built within her. She stared up at him. Maybe it was his primal urge to defend his home and family that terrified her and at the same time drew her to him.

He lowered his hand slowly to splay his fingers on his thigh. Her gaze followed his hand, and she couldn’t resist looking at the fly of his jeans, the taut pull of the worn material over his thigh. Her gaze flew back up to meet his fierce scowl. The magic moment that had danced between them like snow crystals was gone.

“Why are you looking in my windows?”

She could hear the rage in his bass voice. “I had car trouble,” she said, realizing he must not remember meeting her. “I’m Amber’s sister.”

His eyes narrowed while he studied her. In one swift movement that revealed how fit he was, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come inside,” he said, holding her arm and jerking his head toward the door.

Hurrying to keep pace with him, she stretched out her legs. Her ribs ached from his tackling her, and her heart pounded with fear. Her baseball cap was gone and her hair was coming unpinned, locks curling around her face.

They went up the steps and crossed the porch, then he led her into the house. Watching her, he locked the door. His hand closed around her arm as he drew her into a room and shut that door, too. Despite her consciousness of the man beside her, she took in a room with bookshelves, a large fireplace, a navy leather sofa, Navaho rugs and beamed ceilings.

He turned to her and his fingers wound in her hair. Pins went flying from her scalp as he tilted her head so he could look into her face.

She gazed into brown eyes so dark they were endless pools of blackness, eyes that held fires of rage in their depths. Her heart pounded because there was no mistaking his fury, and he looked capable of violence.

“Let go of me,” she said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt.