Big Sky Standoff. B.J. Daniels

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      “I hadn’t realized…”

      “It’s scary enough in the showers,” he said with a shake of his head. “Can’t imagine being caught in a bathtub there.”

      She ducked her head and put her key into the lock on her room door, as if not wanting to think about what went on in prison. “I’ll let you know when our dinner arrives.” She opened her door, but didn’t look at him. “Enjoy your bath.”

      He chuckled. “Oh, I intend to.”

      JACKLYN SWORE as she closed her room door. The last thing she wanted to do was imagine Dillon Savage lounging in a tubful of bubbles.

      Bubble bath? Clearly, he didn’t worry about his masculinity. Not when he had it in spades. But she knew that hadn’t been his reason for buying the bubble bath. He’d wanted her imagining him in that tub.

      She opened her suitcase and took out the small receiver terminal with the built-in global positioning system, turning it on just in case the bath had been a ruse. The steady beep confirmed that he was just next door. In fact, she could hear the water running on the other side of the adjoining door.

      In the desk drawer, she found a menu for the local Chinese restaurant, and ordered a variety of items to be delivered, all but one spicy. It seemed easier than going out, since after they ate, she wanted to get right down to business.

      With luck, she’d be ready when the rustlers struck again.

      Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, not surprised that it was her boss again. “Wilde.”

      “Is he there?”

      “No. He’s in the adjoining room.”

      “He’s probably using the motel room phone to call his friends and let them know where he is and what your plans are,” Stratton said, sounding irritated.

      “The phone in his room is tapped,” she said. “If he makes a call, he’ll be back in prison tomorrow. But he isn’t going to call anyone and warn them. I haven’t told him anything.”

      “Good. I didn’t want him to hear this,” Stratton said. “The rustlers hit another ranch. Bud Drummond’s.”

      The Drummond ranch was to the north, almost to the Missouri River. Jacklyn swore under her breath. “When?”

      “He’s not sure. He’d been out of town for a few days. When he got back, he rode fence and found where the rustlers had cut the barbed wire and gotten what he estimates was about twenty head.”

      Less than usual. “Why didn’t they get more? Is it possible someone saw them?”

      “Doubtful. It’s at the north end of his ranch, a stretch along the river,” Stratton said. “I told him you were going to be up that way tomorrow, anyway, so you’d stop by.”

      It had rained the day before. Any tracks would be gone. She doubted there would be anything to find—just like usual.

      “Savage giving you any trouble?” Stratton asked.

      “No.” No trouble, unless you counted the psychological games he played. She had a mental flash of him in the tub, sea scent bubbles up to his neck. Exactly the image she knew Dillon had hoped she’d have when he’d bought the bubble bath.

      “I shouldn’t have to remind you how clever he is or how long it took you to catch him the last time. Don’t underestimate him.”

      She heard the water finally shut off next door. She checked the monitor. Dillon was exactly where he’d said he would be.

      “Trust me,” she said, “I know only too well what Dillon Savage is capable of.”

      TOM ROBINSON DISMOUNTED in the dry creek bottom and pulled out his handgun. He hadn’t realized how late it was. He was losing light. A horse whinnied somewhere above him on the hillside. He moved behind one of the large pines and listened, trying to determine if the horseback rider was moving.

      He knew the man was still up there. This was the only cover for miles. At the very least he was trespassing. But Tom knew that, more than likely, the rider was one of the rustlers. Since the man was alone, maybe he was just checking out the ranch layout, finding the best access to the cattle in this section of pasture.

      Tom had gotten only a glimpse of him, but that glimpse was more than anyone else had gotten of the rustlers. His heart began to pound at the thought of catching the man, being the one who brought down the rustling gang.

      He had two options. He could wait for the intruder to break cover and try to make a run for it.

      Or he could flush him out.

      Leaving his horse, Tom worked his way up the steep incline, taking a more direct route on foot than the horseback rider had. Pebble-size stones rolled under his boots and cascaded down with every step he took.

      Halfway up, he stopped, leaning against one of the large rocks to thumb off the safety on his weapon. His hands were shaking. It had crossed his mind belatedly that there might be more than one rider now on his spread. Maybe they’d planned to meet here in the trees. There could be others waiting in ambush at the top of the hill.

      He considered turning back, but this was his land and he was determined to defend it and his livestock. He knew he had at least one man cornered. Once he broke from the shelter of trees, Tom would see him. With luck, he would be able to get off a shot. Unless the intruder was waiting for the cover of darkness.

      This, Tom knew, was the point where the cops on television called for backup. But even if he’d had a cell phone, he wouldn’t have been able to get service out here. Nor could he wait for someone to arrive and help him even if he could call for assistance.

      No, he was going to have to do this alone.

      Would the man be armed? Tom could only assume so.

      He was breathing hard, but his hands had steadied. He had no choice. He had to do this.

      Climbing quickly upward, staying behind the cover of rocks and trees as best he could, Tom topped the hill, keeping low, the gun gripped in both hands.

      He knew he couldn’t hesitate. Not even an instant. The moment he saw the rustler he would have to shoot. Shoot to kill if the individual was armed. He’d never killed a man. Today could change that.

      As Tom Robinson moved through the trees at the edge of a small clearing, he heard a horse whinny off to his left, and spun in that direction, his finger on the trigger.

      The moment he saw the animal, and the empty saddle, he realized the mistake he’d made. He spun back around and came face-to-face with the trespasser. Shocked both by who it was and by the tree limb in the man’s hands, Tom hesitated an instant too long before pulling the trigger.

      The shot boomed among the trees, echoing over the rocks, the misguided bullet burying itself in the bark of a pine off to the trespasser’s left.

      It happened so fast, Tom didn’t even realize he’d fired. He barely felt the blow to his head as the СКАЧАТЬ