Heart of the Hunter (2 page)

Seized with a sudden uncontrollable fear, she drummed her
heels into the gelding’s sides and raced for home.

Chapter Two

Kelly studied the golden eagle as she ate dinner later that
night, intrigued by the intricate carving. It was the most beautiful thing
she’d ever seen, tempting her touch again and again. She marveled at the rich
feel of the gold beneath her fingertips, at the delicate lines that formed the
bird’s deep-set eyes and sharp beak. The wings were exquisite, the talons honed
to fine sharp points.

Rising from the battered kitchen table, she quickly washed
up her few dishes, took a long leisurely soak in a bubble bath, then settled
into bed, pillows propped behind her back so she could read.

But she couldn’t concentrate on the book. She kept thinking
of the body in the cave. How long had it been there? A hundred years, at least,
she thought, because the Triple M had been in her family at least that long.
Why hadn’t the body decayed? She stared at the eagle, propped against the table
lamp beside her bed. Why had the body of the Indian felt warm to her touch?

Kelly shook her head. Surely that had been a product of her
overactive imagination. But she had not imagined that long, lean body. He must
have been quite an impressive man in his day, tall and broad-shouldered. She
knew somehow that his eyes had been as black as sin, that his teeth had been
straight and white and that when he smiled…

She laughed softly, uneasily. What was the matter with her,
fantasizing about a man who’d probably been dead for over a hundred years?
First thing tomorrow she would bury the body. It made her uncomfortable just
knowing it was there.

She was about to switch off her bedside light when she saw a
dark shadow at the window. All the air seemed to leave her body and her heart
suddenly seemed too big for her chest as she watched the shadow pause, then
move on.

For a moment, she was frozen with fear, then she bounded out
of bed, ran into the living room and grabbed the shotgun from the rack over the
fireplace, grateful that her grandfather had taught her how to shoot.

Heart pounding, she stood behind the front door, listening,
waiting. For the first time, she realized just how alone she was. Her closest
neighbor was five miles to the south. She couldn’t pick up the phone and dial
911 for help.

Far in the distance, she heard the lonely wail of a coyote
and then there was only silence, a silence as deep and dark as the grave.

She stood there for a quarter of an hour, her whole body
tense. And then, gradually, the sounds of the night returned. She heard the
frogs croaking in the pond behind the house, the song of a cricket, the soft
sighing of the wind, and she knew somehow that whatever had been lurking in the
shadows had gone.

It took a long time to fall asleep that night, but when
sleep finally came, she dreamed of a tall, dark-skinned warrior with hair as
black as midnight and eyes as deep and dark as fathomless pools of liquid ebony…

In the morning, her fears of the night before seemed
foolish. She’d never been one to be spooked by shadows in the night. She’d
lived alone in Los Angeles ever since her father had died five years ago. Lived
alone and liked it, but when Grandpa McBride’s health started failing, she had
tried to convince him to come to L.A. and live with her. But her grandfather
had refused to leave the Triple M. Like Kelly, he had cherished his
independence. She knew he would have died alone if the hospital in Cedar Flats
hadn’t called to inform her he was there. She’d taken a two-week leave of
absence from her job with Wolfe, Cullman and Chattier and flown to Montana to
be with him.

Kelly felt a familiar tug at her heart as she thought of her
grandfather. In days past, when she was a little girl, her family had spent
their summers at the ranch and Grandpa had charmed her with tales of the Old
West, repeating the colorful tales his great-grandfather Charlie McBride had
once told him, tales of Indian fights and buffalo hunts and mountain men.

Her grandfather had been on his death bed when he told her
about the gold his great-grandfather Charlie had buried in a cave in the
mountain behind the Triple M.

“Gold?” Kelly had said with a grin. “If there was any gold
up there, don’t you think someone would have found it by now?”

“It’s there, girl. My great-grandpappy told me so.”

“Why didn’t he spend it?”

“He was afraid of it, afraid of the ghost who haunts the
mountain.”

“Ghost!” Kelly had exclaimed.

“I’ve seen him, Kelly girl,” her grandfather had said, his
gnarled hand squeezing hers with surprising strength.

“Really?” Kelly had asked, leaning forward. “When? Where?”

“When I was younger and braver. I followed my
great-grandpappy’s map and found the cave. The gold’s in there, girl, a
fortune, just like he said.”

“And you never touched it?”

“Oh, I took a little dust now and then, when I needed it.
But something told me not to try to take more than I needed. Now it’s yours,
Kelly. Use it wisely.”

Those were the last words her Grandpa Frank had said in this
world. He was asleep when she went to visit him the next morning. He’d opened
his eyes, smiled at her and then, with a sigh, he was gone.

And now the ranch, and the gold, belonged to her.

After a quick breakfast, Kelly went out to the barn and
saddled Dusty. She had a grave to dig and it was a long ride to the cave.

Kelly approached the cavern with a growing sense of unease.
Chiding herself for her foolishness, she slipped on a pair of heavy work
gloves, removed the shovel she’d tied behind the saddle and ducked into the
cave.

She paused near the entrance to light the lantern she’d left
the day before, felt her heart begin to pound as shadows came to life on the
walls. The cavern was roomy inside, high enough for her to stand erect once she
was inside.

Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. The dead can’t
hurt you.

Her booted feet made hardly a sound on the soft, sandy earth
as she went deeper into the cave. She wouldn’t have to dig a very deep hole,
she decided, just deep enough to cover the body.

Her heart was pounding like a runaway train as she drew near
the ledge and then her breath caught in her throat.

The ledge was empty.

The body was gone.

Not believing her eyes, Kelly ran her hands over the surface
of the earthen shelf, searching for some sign that a body had actually been
there, that she wasn’t losing her mind. Nothing.

And then she saw it, the colorful Hudson’s Bay blanket,
crumpled in a heap beneath the ledge.

For a moment, she felt relief. She hadn’t imagined it after
all. The body had been there and now it was gone.

Bewildered, she stared at the blanket. Gone, she thought.
Gone where?

Lantern in hand, she searched the floor of the cave for some
sign that an animal had dragged the remains away, but there was no sign of
animal tracks, no footprints other than her own.

She laughed at that. Of course there were no footprints.
Ghosts didn’t leave footprints.

With a cry, she turned on her heel and ran toward the
entrance of the cave, scrambling out of the narrow opening as if Satan himself
were snapping at her heels.

She dreamed of the Indian again that night. She was walking
in the moonlight when suddenly he was there beside her, his black eyes glowing
like dark fires. He gazed at her for a long moment, the awareness growing
between them, and then, quite unexpectedly, he brushed his knuckles against her
cheek. The touch exploded through her like lightning and while she was trying
to recover, she heard a voice echo in her mind. A voice that was husky with warning.
His voice.
Put it back.
And then he was gone.

She woke to find the sheets tangled around her legs, her
brow damp with perspiration. Unconsciously, she reached for the golden eagle
she’d placed beneath her pillow and as her hand closed around its smoothness,
she heard the warning again. Only this time it wasn’t a dream and she didn’t
hear the words echoing in her mind.

She heard the words, spoken clearly, from the shadowed
corner of her room.

“Put it back.”

On the verge of terror, Kelly scrambled across the bed and
switched on the light, her eyes wide as they searched the room.

There was no one there.

Chapter Three

Harry Renford stared at the young woman seated before him
with obvious disbelief.

“Pay off the loan?” he said, repeating her words as if he
hadn’t heard her quite right. “You want to pay off the loan?”

Harry sat back in his chair, his hands folded on the desktop
as he studied her face. Kelly McBride was a pretty girl, with long, curly brown
hair and large blue eyes. He’d known her grandparents, Frank and Annee, for
years. Annee had died almost ten years ago, but Frank had stayed on at the
ranch, alone. He’d gotten pretty feeble in his old age, but he’d refused to
leave the Triple M, and the ranch, some thirty miles southeast of town, had fallen
into a state of disrepair.

Old man McBride had died three weeks ago, leaving behind a
mountain of hospital bills and a sizable mortgage. It had been in Harry’s mind
to buy the Triple M when it went on the market and discover for himself if the
rumors of a hidden gold mine were true. It had seemed a safe investment. If
there was no gold, and he doubted there was, Harry planned to turn the Triple M
into a guest ranch. But then Frank’s granddaughter had shown up to claim the
old place. He’d made her what he considered a generous offer for the ranch, an
offer she had politely, but firmly, refused, thereby upsetting his carefully
thought-out scheme.

Harry shifted in his chair. He wasn’t a man who liked to see
his plans upset, especially by a young city girl who probably didn’t know the
difference between a dandy brush and a hoof pick.

“Well, that’s fine, Miss McBride,” he drawled. “Just fine.
But where, if you don’t mind my asking, did you get the money?”

“I don’t believe the source of my funds is a requisite for
paying off the loan, Mr. Renford.”

“No, no, of course not. Well, it will take me a day or two
to get the necessary papers drawn up. Why don’t you come back on, say, Friday
afternoon?”

“Fine. Until then, Mr. Renford.”

Outside, Kelly drew a deep breath and let it out in a long
sigh of relief. She was glad to be out of Harry Renford’s sight. She didn’t
like the man, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t his looks, she mused. He
was quite a handsome man, with a shock of wavy blond hair that was just turning
gray at the temples, a charming smile, when he cared to use it, and light gray
eyes. It was his eyes, she decided now, they were cold and unblinking, like the
eyes of a snake.

Well, as soon as she paid off the mortgage on the ranch, she
wouldn’t have to deal with him again. Tomorrow she would drive into Coleville
and see about selling some of the smaller nuggets. She didn’t dare do it here.
Cedar Flats was a small town where everybody knew everybody else’s business.
She didn’t want to have to answer any questions about where the gold came from.

Frowning, she started down the sidewalk to where she’d left
her car. In a few days, she’d have to decide what to do about the ranch. When
she’d first arrived, it had been in her mind to sell it, but once she’d seen
the place again, remembered the good times she’d had there, she’d known she
couldn’t sell the old place. It had, after all, been in her family for over a
century. Still, it was horribly run down. The house and the barn were in need
of repair, the house needed painting inside and out, the corral fences needed
new rails, there was no stock to speak of except for Dusty and a couple of
aging chickens.

Nevertheless, she was here and she was here to stay, even
though it meant relocating, quitting her secretarial job with Wolfe, Cullman
and Chattier, finding other employment…

Kelly laughed softly. She didn’t need to work anymore.
Having access to those nuggets was like having a trust fund. She was set for
life.

She was unlocking the door of her car when a man appeared
beside her.

“Miss McBride?”

Kelly hesitated a moment before answering. “Yes?”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

He was Indian, she thought, noting his dark skin and high
cheekbones, though there was nothing particularly sinister about that. There
were lots of Indians in Cedar Flats. Most of them lived out on the reservation.

“Talk?” Kelly said. “About what?”

“The Triple M.”

Kelly glanced around, reassured by the presence of other
people nearby. “What about it?”

“I’d like to buy it.”

Kelly glanced at his faded green shirt, the sleeves of which
were rolled up to his elbows, exposing bronze forearms thick with muscle.
Frayed blue jeans hugged his legs and his feet were encased in a pair of
run-down black boots. She doubted if he could afford to buy a cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” she said politely, “the ranch isn’t for sale.”

She opened the door and slid behind the wheel, but before
she could close the door, the man took a step forward, placing himself between
her and the car door.

“Could we go somewhere and discuss it?” he asked.

Kelly shook her head, thinking that his voice was as deep
and rich as dark chocolate fudge.

“Please.”

The word seemed torn from his throat and she had the sudden
unshakable feeling that this was a man who hadn’t done much apologizing in his
life.

She looked at him then, really looked at him for the first
time, and felt a shiver of apprehension skitter down her spine. He looked
remarkably as she had imagined the corpse she’d found in the cave would have
looked when he was alive.

Kelly’s heart began to pound as she noted the similarities.
Like the body in the cave, this man was tall and dark. His thick black hair
fell past his shoulders. His legs were long, his shoulders were unbelievably
broad beneath the almost thread-bare shirt. He seemed made of solid muscle. His
eyes were as black as obsidian, just as she’d imagined those of the dead man
would have been. His nose was straight as a knife edge and his mouth… Oh my,
she had never seen such a sensual mouth on a man in her whole life.