Josh (37 page)

“I’m his half sister, not his enemy.”

“He doesn’t know that. He knows only that another adult has come along to determine his fate.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She frowned. “I guess I’ve been so busy dealing with my own feelings, I was overlooking all the things he must be going through.”

“Does he have any family other than you? Grandparents? Aunts?”

Meg’s lips turned into a pretty pout before she chewed her lower lip. “I can try asking him now that I know he can speak. So far I’ve found no documentation of any other family. That’s why I’m so desperate to find all my father’s legal documents. I have a frightened little boy, a sprawling ranch, and who knows how many debts I might encounter, and I don’t have a clue what to do with any of them.”

“I hate to add to your burden.” Jake saw the way her eyes narrowed slightly. “Cory tells me that there’s a wrangler up in the hills with your father’s herd. His name is Yancy Jessup. A good man. Folks around here will tell you that he’s someone you can trust. But right now, he doesn’t even know that your father has passed away.” He handed over his cell phone. “Cory gave me Yancy’s number. I think you’d better give him a call.”

She plucked a cell phone from her pocket and deftly added Yancy’s name and number before extending her hand. “I’ll call him. Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.” Jake accepted her handshake, while keeping his gaze steady on hers.

She’d probably intended it to be a purely businesslike handshake, but it had become something else entirely. At least for Jake.

Was she feeling that same searing pulse of heat that he was? Or the icy fingers along her spine?

He couldn’t help smiling at the startled look that came into her eyes before she removed her hand from his and stared pointedly at the floor.

It would seem that she and Cory shared another family trait. Neither of them was very good at hiding their feelings.

With a last look at her bowed head Jake turned away.

With his hand on the door he paused. “My family’s ranch is just over those hills. We’re your nearest neighbor.”

She shot him a startled look. “The Conway ranch? Of course. Jake Conway. I was a little distracted when you introduced yourself.”

His smile grew. “I gave my cell phone number to Cory. So if you need anything, just call.”

As he made his way to his truck, he glanced toward the barn and felt a wave of sympathy for the boy caught up in all of this. He knew what it was to lose a parent at a very young age, and he could clearly recall the pain and confusion of those early days as he’d struggled with grief and fear of the unknown, and an unreasonable sense of loss and emptiness that had never gone away.

As his truck ate up the miles to his home, Jake decided that he would make the Stanford ranch his first stop in the morning. Not just to soothe a frightened little boy’s fears, he realized, but also to indulge himself with another glimpse of the boy’s gorgeous, pouty-lipped sister.

The thought of tasting those lips ought to be enough to fuel his dreams all through the night.

Q
uinn framed the wolf in his long-range viewfinder and snapped off a couple of quick photos. The male’s coat, thick and shaggy, was matted with snow from the blizzard that had been raging now for three days.

After Quinn had left the ranch and returned to the mountain, it had taken considerable skill to locate the pack, despite the homing device implanted in the male. Cut off from their den by the storm and with the alpha female about to give birth, the pack had hunkered down in the shelter of some rocks near the top of a nearby hill. Since there’d been no sighting of the female, Quinn was fairly certain there would be a litter of pups before morning. That would create a problem for the leader of the pack, whose hunting ground had been narrowed considerably by the unexpected spring snowstorm. The alpha male would have to provide food and shelter for his pack, and all would have to wait out the storm before returning to their den.

Quinn saw the male’s attention fixed on something in the distance. Using his binoculars, Quinn studied the terrain. When he spied a small herd of deer nearly hidden in a stand of trees, he understood what had snagged the wolf’s interest.

The springtime blizzard had caught all of nature by surprise, it would seem. As Quinn watched, a doe dropped her newborn into the snow and began licking it clean of afterbirth.

Sadly, the doe and her fawn, in such a vulnerable state, would be the perfect mark for a hungry pack of wolves desperate for food during their own confinement.

The male wolf took up a predator position, dropping low as he crept slowly up the hill until he reached the very peak. For a moment he remained as still as a statue, gazing into the distance.

Quinn watched, transfixed. Even though he knew this would end in the bloody death of a helpless newborn fawn, he also knew that it would mean the difference between life and death for the pack of wolves unable to go forward until their own newborns were strong enough to travel. Their strength, their survival, depended upon sustenance. The female, too weak at the moment to hunt, would trust her leader to provide fresh meat while she nursed her young.

Quinn felt again the familiar thrill as he saw the alpha male rise up and begin to run full speed across the rim of the hill. The raw power, the fierce determination of this animal, never failed to touch a chord deep inside him.

The wolf dipped below the rim of the hill and was lost from sight.

Quinn experienced a rush of annoyance. He wanted to record the kill for his journal. But something had caused
the wolf to veer off-course at the last moment. Snatching up his camera, Quinn was on his feet, racing up the hill, half-blinded by the curtain of snow that stung his face like shrapnel.

He was halfway up the hill when he heard the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot echo and reecho across the hills. It reverberated in his chest like a thunderous pulse.

Heart pounding, he ran full speed the rest of the distance.

When he came to the spot where the male had fallen, Quinn stared at the crimson snow, the beautiful body now silent and still, and felt a mingling of pain and rage rising up inside, clogging his throat, tightening a band around his heart until he had to struggle for each breath.

How dare anyone end such a magnificent life. Why?

He studied the prints left in the snow made by a single horse.

Far off in the distance, barely visible through the falling snow, was a tiny beam of light.

An isolated ranch house, it would seem.

Clouds scudded across the rising moon, leaving the countryside in near darkness.

Quinn knew that he needed to return to his campsite soon and settle in for the night or risk freezing. But he was determined to confront the rancher who had just robbed Quinn’s pack of its leader. A cruel act that had not only left the vulnerable female and her newborn pups without a guardian but had also cut short the scholarly research that had consumed the past five years of Quinn’s life.

With a heavy heart he turned away, knowing that by morning scavengers would have swept the area clean of any trace of carnage. It was the way of nature.

Even if he were so inclined, there wasn’t time to dispose of the wolf’s body. Quinn needed to follow the tracks in the snow before the storm obliterated them completely. Already the surrounding countryside had fallen under the mantle of darkness.

He returned to his campsite and began to pack up his meager supplies. As he did so, anger rose up like bile, burning the back of his throat and eyes.

All attempts at scholarly disinterest were swept away in a tide of fury at the loss of the wolf Quinn had come to love.

He could no longer hide behind a professional wall of anonymity.

This was personal.

He needed, for his own satisfaction, to confront the rancher who had snuffed out the life of the creature that had consumed every minute of every day of his life for the past five years.

As he shouldered his supplies and began the trek in the darkness he found his thoughts turning to his father. There was no comparison between this despicable act and the horrible trauma Cole had suffered at losing Seraphine. Still, the loss was so deeply felt that it connected Quinn to Cole Conway in a way that nothing else ever had.

Was this how Cole had felt when he’d faced the greatest loss of his life? Had he been swamped with this helpless, hopeless sense that everything that he’d worked for had just been swept away by some cruel whim of fate?

Cole had been, in those early days, inconsolable. A man so grief stricken, even the love for his children and his father, Big Jim, hadn’t been able to lift him out of the depths of hell. Cole’s only coping mechanism had been
to throw himself into every hard, physically demanding chore he could find around the ranch, many of which would have broken a less determined man.

Right this minute, Quinn would welcome any challenge that would lift him out of his own private hell.

Quinn moved through the waist-high drifts, keeping the light of the distant ranch house always in his sight.

Someone would answer for this vicious deed.

Someone would pay.

As Quinn drew close enough to peer through the falling snow, he could make out the sprawling ranch house and, some distance away, the first of several barns and outbuildings.

He was turning toward the house when he caught the glint of light in the barn. Pausing just outside the open door, he watched the rancher forking hay into a stall, where a horse stomped, blowing and snorting, as though winding down from a hard ride. The snow that coated the rancher’s parka and wide-brimmed hat was further proof that he’d just retreated from the blizzard that raged beyond these walls.

Quinn stepped inside, holding his rifle loosely at his side. It wasn’t his intention to threaten the rancher, merely to confront him. But right this minute, Quinn relished the thought of a good knock-down, drag-out fight. For one tiny instant he was that helpless boy again, confronting the rancher Porter Stanford as he’d gloated over the needless deaths of a wolf and her pups. Then Quinn snapped back to the present, though the thought of that long-ago scene had his voice lowering to a growl.

“I’m tracking a wolf-hating rancher. Looks like I found him.”

The figure whirled.

Quinn continued to keep his rifle pointed at the ground, though his finger tightened reflexively on the trigger when he caught the glint of metal as the rancher lifted the pitchfork in a menacing gesture.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Quinn blinked. The voice didn’t match the image he’d had of a tough Wyoming rancher. It was obviously female. Soft. Throaty. Breathless, as though she’d been running hard.

“My name is Quinn Conway. My spread’s about fifty miles east of here. And you’d be…?”

“Don’t act coy with me. You know who I am. You’re trespassing on my land. I’ll give you one minute to turn tail and leave, or you’ll answer to this.”

Quinn realized that, though her left hand continued to hold the pitchfork aloft, her right hand had dipped into the pocket of her parka and she was holding a very small, very shiny pistol aimed at his chest.

He lifted a hand, palm up. “I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

“Oh, sure. That’s why you burst into my barn holding a rifle?”

“I’m here to get some answers.”

“Sorry. I’m fresh out.” She tossed aside the pitchfork and in one quick motion pocketed the pistol and grabbed a rifle leaning against the wall. Taking careful aim, she hissed, “Now get, whoever you are. And tell Deke I have no intention of changing my mind. If he thinks he can send some bully—”

Quinn reacted so quickly she didn’t have time to blink. He kicked aside her rifle, sending it flying into the air. Before
it landed in the hay he’d leaped at her, taking her down and pinning her arms and legs with such force beneath him that she was helpless to move anything except her head.