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“So what should we do about Black Magic?”
“Find him!” Colton rubbed the back of his neck. It was wet. “We’ll split up, go over every field. Len and Daniel can check the western fields, you check south and I’ll take the north.”
“Fair enough. Just be sure to check the property butting up to Aldridge’s place.”
“I will,” Colton promised as he climbed into his Jeep and headed north. He’d check every inch of fence line, every square foot of the northern corner of the property, if for no other reason than to prove Curtis wrong. He and Curtis had a tenuous relationship at best. For years Colton had thought Curtis responsible for the fire that had cost his parents their lives. However, he’d been wrong, and in the past few months he had discovered just how much Curtis knew about ranching. The old man, once he’d given up the bottle, was loyal, true-blue and Denver’s father-in-law.
Now, with Denver in California, they had to work together—at least for a few more weeks. Then, once Colton’s shoulder healed from the wound he’d received while on assignment in Northern Ireland, he’d take off. Colton couldn’t wait to leave Three Falls, Montana. As soon as his doctor gave the word, Colton McLean was history in big sky country.
Two hours later Colton hadn’t found any trace of the horse. His shoulder throbbed and his muscles were cramped from the cold. Angry with Black Magic and the world in general, he squinted past the rain-spattered windshield.
“That’s what you get for letting your brother talk you into sticking around and looking after things,” he jeered, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Two gray eyes glowered back at him. He turned his attention to the acres of Montana ranch land stretching past the beams of the headlights. “Damn horse.”
Colton yanked on the steering wheel, guiding his Jeep along the fence line. Maybe he’d get lucky and find Black Magic. But maybe not. The chronic pain in his shoulder reminded him that his luck had run out some six months before.
The wipers slapped the rain off the glass as he studied the sagging wire. Easing up on the throttle, he slowed near a thicket of oaks in the northeast corner of the property. The Sage River cut through Aldridge property on the far side of the fence.
Colton was about to give up, but a gaping hole between two fence posts caught his eye.
Jaw clenched, Colton yanked on the emergency brake, let the Jeep idle, then hopped out. His boots sank into an inch of mud. His eyes never left the fence—or what was left of it.
Sure enough, the fence wire had been cut, all four strands neatly snipped. The rusted wires sagged, leaving more than enough room for a horse—or an entire herd—to slip through to the stretch of land between the fence and the river.
Fingering a clipped end, Colton noticed a clump of ebony hair—probably from Black Magic’s tail—clinging to a barb. Beneath his beard, Colton’s jaw grew rigid. Rain and wind lashed at his face. “Son of a—”
Thunder cracked over the hills.
Colton swung the beam of his flashlight over the ground. Hoofprints and bootprints were clearly imprinted in the soft earth. A cigarette butt had been tossed on the wet stones flanking the river. Thick, heavy-treaded tire tracks followed the jagged course of the Sage. Swollen by spring rains, the river rushed by, shining silver, roaring so loudly he barely heard the next clap of thunder.
Colton glared at the swift current. The Sage was a natural dividing line between the McLean Ranch and the Aldridge spread—as deep and wide as the feud that had existed between the two families for nearly a generation.
So Curtis had been right. Black Magic hadn’t just disappeared, he’d been stolen! Again. This time from under Colton’s very nose. Transported to heaven-knew-where by a truck that had been waiting on Aldridge land.
With all the proof he needed, he strode swiftly back to the pickup. He ignored the rain pouring down the collar of his jacket and the sharp jab of pain in his shoulder as he yanked open the door and crawled into the battered old rig.
Ramming his Jeep into gear, he stared through the windshield toward a scraggly thicket of oak and pine, beyond which stood the Aldridge ranch house. The house where Cassie still lived.
Colton’s fingers curled over the gearshift. Cassie’s image swam before his eyes. Impatiently he shoved the vision aside. Eight years had passed since he’d last seen her. If he had his way, he would never lay eyes on her again, never stare into her luminous face nor touch the lustrous sheen of her blue-black hair.
Stomping on the throttle, he turned the Jeep toward the road leading to the Aldridge ranch. He hoped Ivan was home. Tonight was as good a time as any to drag the truth from the old man.
* * *
Cassie twisted off the faucet and stepped out of the shower. Through the bathroom window she heard Erasmus, her father’s crossbred collie, barking and growling loudly enough to wake the dead.
“I’m coming!” she called. “Hold your horses!” Muttering to herself about Erasmus’s particular lack of brains, she snatched her favorite robe from a hook on the bathroom door and stuffed her arms down the sleeves.
She was so tired she wanted to drop. After spending the past twelve hours at the Lassiter ranch, trying to save some of George Lassiter’s heifers from a serious case of milk fever, she was beat. Two animals had survived. Three had died. Veterinary work wasn’t for the fainthearted, she decided as she cinched her belt around her waist.
She dashed down the threadbare red runner on the stairs. Outside, Erasmus was going out of his mind. Barking gruffly and snarling, the old dog
paced the porch and scratched at the front door.
“What’s gotten into you?” Cassie asked, flinging open the door. Fur bristling, teeth bared, Erasmus streaked past her and dashed around the corner to the kitchen. “What the devil?” Cassie whispered.
“Down!” a male voice commanded from inside the house.
Cassie froze.
