Chase's Promise. Lois Dyer Faye

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      She rapped on the door again, listening for movement inside while rubbing her knuckles.

      Discouraged, she went back to her car, pausing with the door open while her gaze swept the ranch yard and buildings one last time. Just as she’d given up, the sound of a hammer ringing on metal reached her ears.

      She turned, looking all around the buildings. The ring of hammer against iron sounded again, not a single blow this time but a rhythmic tapping.

      As Raine headed toward the sound, she caught sight of a trace of smoke coming from the chimney atop an outbuilding beyond the barn.

      She crossed the graveled ranch yard quickly, dust puffing up beneath her sandals. The nearer she drew, the louder the hammering grew. She rounded the side of the building and found long sliding doors pushed wide on their tracks, leaving the space open to the elements across one whole side. She stepped into the shadowy interior and halted, stunned.

      A man, stripped to his waist, stood at an old-fashioned forge. Sweat had dampened his black hair and the heavy muscles of his upper torso gleamed, his tanned skin marked with numerous scars.

      He looked up when she entered, his blue eyes narrowing as he appeared to evaluate her in one searing glance before returning his attention to the piece of red-hot metal on the anvil.

      “Chase McCloud?” she asked, although she recognized the fierce blue eyes and handsome, sharp-planed features. She’d seen him a month or more earlier when she’d literally bumped into him one afternoon. On her way to talk to Trey in his apartment above the Saloon, she’d just stepped inside the bar door as Chase was leaving. Taken by surprise, he’d walked into her, grabbing her arms to keep from knocking her down. His apology for colliding with Raine had been abrupt and distracted.

      She certainly remembered him but she doubted he remembered her. She knew what he’d seen in that one swift look—the same mahogany hair and gray eyes he’d been familiar with when she was a little girl and he was her oldest brother’s best friend. Yet she’d caught no flicker of recognition on his face just now before he turned back to the forge.

      “I’m McCloud.”

      “I’m Raine Harper,” she began.

      “I know who you are,” he interrupted. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t look at her, his attention focused on the hot iron, turning it as he hammered, shaping the glowing end into a long, graceful curve.

      Raine tucked her fingertips into the front pockets of her jeans. “I want to hire you.”

      “To do what?”

      “Find my brother—he disappeared over two weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him and no one’s seen him for seventeen days.”

      “Did you call the cops?”

      “Yes. But they tell me they’ve reached a dead end. They won’t resume an active search unless there are new leads to follow. That’s why I want to hire you.”

      “No.”

      Raine blinked. “Why not?”

      Chase tapped the hammer against the iron curve one last time and turned to thrust the metal into a barrel. The hiss of cold water meeting hot iron was accompanied by steam rolling upward. He took a ragged towel from his back pocket and rubbed his face and hair, then scrubbed it over his chest before tossing it on the bench behind him.

      He picked up a black T-shirt lying next to the damp towel and pulled it over his head and arms, yanking it down as he came toward her.

      Raine tensed as he approached but he simply walked past her and out into the sunlight.

      “Wait!” She hurried after him. “The least you can do is give me a reason—tell me why you won’t look for Trey.”

      “I don’t want to.”

      His answer was so blunt it left Raine speechless for one shocked moment before a flood of anger erased caution. She grabbed his arm and he halted to look down at her. His blue eyes were remote. It wasn’t so much hostility but the total lack of emotion on his face that made Raine quickly release her grip on his forearm.

      “Why not?”

      He didn’t answer.

      Frustrated, Raine frowned up at him. “My brother’s missing and you’re a bounty hunter. If the police can’t find him, you’re the only person in the area that has a chance of locating him.”

      “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

      “No.” She shook her head, adamantly rejecting the possibility. “Trey would have told me if he were going to be gone longer than overnight. He knows I worry. He would have phoned.”

      “Then maybe he isn’t able to make a call.”

      “You mean he might be dead. He’s not.” She saw the flicker of skepticism in his expression. “We’re twins. I’d know if he were dead.”

      “Then why are you worried?”

      “Because something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

      “You can ‘feel’ your brother’s in trouble? Is this some psychic thing?”

      “Yes. I know it sounds weird, but we’ve always known if the other was in trouble, or hurt. And I know I have to find Trey. Will you help me?”

      “Sorry. I never take cases from locals.”

      Raine clenched her fists, her temper flaring. “You owe me,” she told him. “You owe my family.”

      His face hardened, a muscle flexing along his jawline. “I don’t owe you anything, lady.”

      “You cost me and my family one brother when Mike died. You owe it to me to help save Trey.”

      “If I owed your family a debt, which I don’t, I paid for it with three years of my life.” His voice was as cold and hard as a Montana winter.

      He spun on his heel and stalked away.

      “Trey disappeared when he went to meet someone who promised to tell him the truth about the night Mike died,” Raine called after him in a last, desperate bid for his cooperation.

      Chase stopped walking. He turned to look at her, menace in every line of his body.

      “What did you say?”

      Raine felt as if she’d poked a mountain lion with a stick and had him turn on her. She’d wanted Chase’s attention. Now she had it and chills of fear prickled her skin.

      “Trey received a letter telling him that if he wanted to know how Mike really died fifteen years ago, he should be at the Bull ’n’ Bash tavern in Billings on Friday night. He refused to let me go with him and he hasn’t come home.”

      “Was the letter signed?”

      “No.”

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