Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

There were two entrances, the doors of each open and hanging at crooked angles, and what he assumed to be a loft was situated above the entrances, tufts of hay sticking out of its opening. A hose and small wooden cabinet were on the ground beside the right entrance of the stable, and, as Red had said, a small fish-cleaning table made of wood—looking as rickety as the stable—sat several feet to Travis’s left.

Travis walked to the table, set his bag and the cooler beside it, and started up the slope. Eyeing the hose on the ground, he rotated the knife between his fingertips and quickened his steps.

“Stay where you are!”

He jerked to a halt and looked up. A woman, around the same age as he—probably a few years younger, stood on the threshold of the right entrance of the stable, glaring at him, her fists balled at her sides. Her long, auburn hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail, and angry panic flashed in her blue eyes. Her features were familiar, as was the distrust in her direct gaze.

Hannah. Red’s niece.

She stared at the knife clutched in his hand; then her gaze drifted up his arm, over his chest, and fixed on his face. Her scrutiny pierced the blank expression he struggled to maintain and struck deep for dark secrets he wasn’t ready to share.

Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet but full of steel. “Who are you?”

* * *

Hannah tightened her fists, tore her eyes from the long blade clenched in the stranger’s hand, and met his stare head-on. Her legs shook, but she held her ground. Looking away would peg her as weak—something she refused to be again.

“I said, who are you?”

r /> He didn’t answer. Just returned her stare with a dark look of his own. Everything about him seemed dark—the fathomless depths of his brown eyes, the thick stubble lining his hard jaw, and the rich black strands of hair that fell over his tanned brow. His T-shirt—the same midnight shade as his hair—stretched tight across the wall of his chest, and dirt-stained jeans clung to his thick thighs. His bulky frame rose easily above six feet and would tower over her by at least five inches if she approached.

A tendon tightened in the sinewy forearm that held the knife.

Breath stalling, she reached back, her right hand feeling the way around the door frame of the stable’s entrance, fumbling blindly across the wall for Red’s rifle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She froze at the deep sound of his voice, her palm curled tight around the rifle on its wall mount. “You don’t. I just want to know what you’re doing on private property.”

“I’m with Red.” He studied her right arm and the portion of the stable wall hiding her hand from view, then slowly lowered the knife to the ground by his feet. “This is his knife.” His voice softened. “Red asked me to clean it for filleting the fish he caught. I met him on the mountain this morning, a few miles back. He drove me up here. You’re Hannah, right?”

Mouth twisting, Hannah nodded and relaxed her grip on the rifle but kept her fingertips on the barrel. Red. Of course. He was forever picking up strays. This made the second stranger he’d hauled home this month. The last guy he’d dragged here had mooched off them for a week and left without repayment.

“Where is Red?” she asked.

He moved to answer, but an engine growled over his words as Red’s truck sped up the dirt path and drew to a jerky halt beside the stranger.

Red hopped out, his gaze darting from the stranger to Hannah, and he held up a hand. “It’s okay, Hannah. He’s with me.” He smiled up at her. “I swung by the lodge to give you a heads-up, but I see you’ve already met.”

“Not really. I still haven’t gotten a name.” Hannah straightened to her full height and eyed the stranger again. He looked away, gaze downcast and posture stiffening.

“His name’s Travis.” Red glanced at the knife on the ground, then moved to the other man’s side.

“Travis what?” she prompted.

“That’s all I got right now,” Red said.

She glared at Red. “And you let him get away with that?”

Red’s jaw hardened. “We just met. I conducted a friendly ten-minute chat with the man, not an inquisition. If you’re that keen on a last name, try asking him nicely.” He narrowed his gaze on her raised arm. “And maybe get your hand off my gun while you’re at it?”

Face heating, Hannah slid her fingers off the rifle and lowered her arm to her side.

“Look,” Travis said, “I don’t want to cause any troub—”

“No trouble.” Red clamped a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “You’ve had a long hike and I promised you a night’s stay. I don’t go back on my word, and you’re more than welcome here.” He smiled tightly at Hannah. “We’re glad he’s joined us, aren’t we?”

The censure in Red’s stern gaze made Hannah step back. Red might be too trusting and naive in his interactions with people, but this was his land . . . and his say. Five years ago, when she’d needed him most, he’d welcomed her to Paradise Peak Ranch with open arms despite the situation she’d been in and the fallout he’d be forced to face with her abusive ex-husband. She owed Red more than she could possibly repay, and this newcomer—whoever he was—had done nothing to merit her continued suspicion.