Rawhide Ranger. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ we find the evidence we need to put away your father for stealing Native American property.” He paused for emphasis. “And for murder.”

      JESSIE BECKER GROUND HER teeth in frustration at the tall, dark-skinned Ranger’s threat. She knew exactly why he was here, and she had about as much use for him as she had for the other Rangers and the sheriff who’d been traipsing all over her property the past few days.

      No, she had no use for him. They’d brought out the big guns now. This one was Native American, a sexy broad-shouldered hunky one at that. But his heritage meant that he would definitely be out to slaughter her family.

      And her as well.

      She had to protect her family.

      “My father didn’t steal this land, and he certainly never killed anyone.” Her tone matched his, and she dug the silver toe of her boot into the dirt.

      “Are you sure about that, Miss Becker? Maybe you don’t know your father as well as you think.” He stepped closer, tilted his head sideways and pierced her with his laser eyes. “Or maybe you’re covering for him.”

      Her stomach fluttered with awareness, but she steeled herself against his accusations—and his sinful looks. The fringed rawhide jacket he wore gave him a rugged look that matched his brusque masculinity. Shoulder-length, thick black hair brushed his neck and his eyes were the darkest color of brown she’d ever seen. Brown and sultry and mysterious.

      They were also as cold and intimidating as his thick, husky voice.

      Both of which could melt the clothes right off a woman. Even hers and she was a hard sell when it came to men.

      But she had to stay on her toes and couldn’t let down her guard—or her bra straps—for a second.

      “Or maybe you arranged to buy the land illegally,” he said, “and you’re responsible for murder.”

      “How dare you?” She raised her hand back, balled it into a fist, tempted to slug him, but his eyebrow went up in challenge, and her sanity returned. She had to get a grip. She couldn’t attack the law or she’d end up in jail. Then what would her father do?

      “How dare I what?” he asked. “Try to find out the truth? Try to solve the murders that occurred on your property?”

      He inched closer, so close his breath brushed her cheek. A breath that hinted at coffee and intimacy and … sex.

      She folded her arms, ignoring any temptation to take another whiff. “I thought Billy Whitley killed Marcie James, Daniel Taabe, and those others?”

      He shrugged. “We have reason to believe that someone else might be responsible, that Billy Whitley’s suicide note might have been forged.”

      “What makes you think that?”

      “The handwriting analysis didn’t pan out after all, and the blood used in the ritualistic burial doesn’t match Billy’s.”

      “What blood?” Jessie asked.

      “The Comanches bury their dead in a ritualistic style. They bend the person’s knees, bind them with a rope, then bathe them. Then they paint the deceased’s face red, and seal the eyes with clay. The red face paint is made from powdered ochre mixed with fish oil or animal grease and blood.” He paused again to make his point. “Human blood.”

      In spite of her bravado, Jessie shivered slightly.

      “After that, they dress the deceased in the finest clothing, lay them on a blanket, then wrap the body in another blanket and tie them with buffalo-hide rope. The body is placed in a sitting position on a horse and taken to the burial place west of the Comanche settlement and buried.”

      “So you really think this land is sacred?”

      He gave a clipped nod. “Yes. The cadaver found was definitely Native American, the bones years old.”

      Jessie rubbed her arms with her hands. “But why would Billy admit that he killed Marcie and Daniel if he didn’t?”

      Sergeant Navarro’s eyes darkened. “Because someone forced him to write that confession, or forged it.”

      Tension stretched between them as she contemplated his suggestion. “If you think my father did all that, you’re crazy.”

      His jaw tightened. “Your father had means, motive and opportunity.” He gestured toward the crime scenes where the bodies had been discovered, then to the latest grave where the Native American had been uncovered. “But if he’s not guilty, then someone else is, and I intend to find them and make them pay.”

      His big body suddenly stilled, went rigid, his eyes sharp as he turned and scanned the grounds. She saw the animal prints in the soil just as he did. Coyote prints.

      He moved forward stealthily like a hunter stalking his prey, tracking the prints. His thick thighs flexed as he climbed over scrub brush and rocks until he reached a copse of oaks and hackberries. Tilting his hat back slightly for a better view, he dropped to his haunches and pawed through the brush.

      She hiked over to see what he was looking at. Hopefully not another body. “What is it?”

      He held up a small leather pouch he’d hooked by a gloved thumb. “It looks like a woman’s.”

      She knelt beside him to examine it closer, focusing on the beaded flowers on the leather.

      “Have you seen it before?” he asked.

      He turned it over, revealing the letters LL engraved on the other side, and perspiration dampened her breasts. “Yes.”

      “Whom does it belong to?”

      She bit her lip, a memory suffusing her. “LL stands for Linda Lantz. She worked for us as a horse groom a couple of years ago.”

      He narrowed his eyes. “Where is she now?”

      “I don’t know. She left the ranch about the same time Marcie was killed.”

      The Ranger cleared his throat. “And you’re just telling us about this now?”

      She jutted up her chin defiantly. “I didn’t think her leaving had anything to do with Marcie’s disappearance and death. Linda had been talking about moving closer to her family in Wyoming so I assumed she left to go home.”

      “Without giving you notice?”

      She shrugged. “It happens.”

      “Well, if she left that long ago, then this pouch has been here for two years. That makes her a possible suspect …” He let the sentence trail off and Jessie filled in the blanks.

      A suspect or perhaps another victim.

      Worried, she stood, massaging her temple as she tried to remember if Linda had acted oddly those last few weeks.

      “Did she know Marcie?” Ranger Navarro asked.

      “I don’t think so, but they could have met СКАЧАТЬ