“No need for that now, is there? Do you always carry a flashlight?”
“Only when there’s a chance I might run into Henry.”
She laughed—not a tinkly, little girl
laugh, but a full-bodied woman’s laugh that surprised Luke with its innocent sensuality. He forced himself to focus on the danger that lurked in the darkness beyond the paddock.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “I saw a man outside the fence, tall and thin, with long hair. When those birds flew up, he ran. I don’t know who he was or what he was up to. But people with good intentions don’t go sneaking around in the dark.”
Luke was hoping she’d be sensibly frightened. Instead she was excited. “You’ve got a flashlight. Let’s go look for tracks. That way, if we see them again, we’ll recognize them.”
“I’ll look—after I’ve seen you safely to your front porch.”
“No, I need to see them, too, so I’ll recognize them in case they show up again. Come on.”
Even against his better judgment, Luke couldn’t argue with her logic. “All right,” he said. “But stay close behind me. There’s no way to know who’s out there in the dark, or what they want, or whether they have a gun.” He moved ahead of her. “I mean it. Don’t do anything stupid.”
* * *
Erin slipped between the rails and followed Luke up the slight slope, toward the fence at the rear of the paddock. He’d turned the flashlight off. The thin crescent moon lent enough light for them to see their way.
Don’t do anything stupid. His words rankled her, as if he viewed her as a brainless little doll. Maybe she ought to tell him what had happened to her six years ago, when Stella Rawlins, the woman who’d owned the Blue Coyote and run a smuggling ring on the side, had kidnapped her, knocked her out with chloroform, and headed for Mexico with her in the trunk. Not only had Erin managed to get loose, but when her father caught up with them, she’d managed to stop Stella from killing him.
Stella was in prison now, serving a life sentence for kidnapping Erin and murdering a county prosecutor. Erin’s testimony at her trial had been the key to putting her away.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Luke Maddox would never have said that if he’d known whom he was dealing with.
They had reached the mesquite clump where Luke had startled the quail earlier. The mares and foals had settled back into their grazing, a sign that the intruder had probably left. But there was no way to be sure.
“Get down and stay put,” Luke whispered. “I want to check around before we look for tracks.”
Keeping low, he covered the last few yards to the barbed wire fence that bordered the west side of the paddock. Hunkered in the shadow of the mesquite, Erin watched as he picked up a rock from the ground and flung it over the fence. It crashed into the heavy underbrush beyond, startling an owl into flight. The mares raised their heads and pricked their ears. When nothing happened they lowered their heads to graze again. If an intruder were close by, they would be nervous and alert.
Without waiting for a signal from Luke, Erin made her way up to where he crouched by the fence, directing the beam of his flashlight low on the other side. “There,” he said. “Take a look.”
Clumps of yellow grass and ragweed grew outside the fence line, with taller scrub farther back. In the circle of light, Erin could see where the dry vegetation had been recently crushed. Here and there were spots of open ground where the dust lay fine as talcum powder. On one of these, the beam of light found one perfect track—the print of a cowboy boot with an underslung heel and long, pointed toe, a style known as a cockroach kicker.
Erin studied the print, trying to brand the image in her memory. Had she ever seen it before? Surely if she had, she’d remember.
“Does anybody you know wear boots like that?” Luke asked her.
“Not that I’ve noticed. And nobody who works on the Rimrock matches the description of the person you saw.”
“Well, until you know who it is and what they want, be careful. Don’t be alone out here. And you may want to put a guard on the stock, in case your visitor is a thief. For now, you need to get back to the house before your father sends out a search party. Come on.”
He walked slightly ahead of her, using his flashlight on the uneven ground. “Are you going to tell your father?” he asked.
“Not yet. He’s got enough worries on his mind. I may tell Sky if I need to. But I hope you’ll keep this quiet for now. We don’t need a bunch of crazy rumors flying around the ranch.”
“Fine with me.” He paused suddenly, turning back to face the way they’d come. “Listen,” he whispered. “Tell me what you hear.”
Erin stood perfectly still, ears straining to hear beyond the buzz of night-flying insects and the rustle of wind in the scrub. It took a moment, but when she caught the sound, a shiver passed through her body.
It was the faint but unmistakable rumble of a departing motorcycle.
CHAPTER SIX