Familiar Showdown Page 10

  Johnny’s arms encircled her and she stepped into him, felt his hard chest beneath her fingers and face. This was not smart, and she knew it, but she could no more stop herself than she could fly.

  A fire had been smoldering between them from the first moment they’d met, and now it had flamed into life.

  She lifted her face and met his lips. His arms pulled her against him and he leaned into the kiss, demanding now instead of receiving.

  Stephanie kissed him, pressing into him, yielding and taking the initiative as her body burned to take matters further. The past and future receded. There was only this single moment and the way that Johnny’s lips claimed her.

  Locked together in a passionate embrace, Stephanie let go of whatever troubles waited outside the cabin. In the passion of the kiss, they didn’t exist. She lost herself in the taste and smell and touch of Johnny Kreel. And she never wanted to surface.

  Suddenly, Johnny released her. He stepped back as if he’d been scalded, a look of distress on his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The cat.” He reached back, swatting at his backside.

  Stephanie finally saw the cat. Familiar had dug his claws into Johnny’s pants—and likely a good bit of his skin. He hung from Johnny’s butt.

  “Familiar.” She reached for him, but the cat sprang away. He went back to his food and began eating as if nothing had happened.

  “I don’t think the cat cares for romance in the kitchen,” Johnny said, rubbing his backside.

  “Familiar is a cat of distinctive likes and dislikes.” She brushed imaginary hair out of her eyes. She felt young and green and shy, and the thought of meeting Johnny’s penetrating gaze was difficult. Now that the passion had cooled slightly, she was stunned at her own behavior. Never in her life, not even with Rory, had she been so carried away with desire.

  Johnny reached across the table and lifted her chin. “Familiar may not approve, but I do.”

  Again the feeling that her balance was gone washed over her and she put her hands on the table. “Maybe Familiar is right.”

  Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe he is. Or maybe he’s not. I’ve wanted to kiss you from the first minute I laid eyes on you. I don’t regret it. And I hope you don’t.”

  “This doesn’t make sense to me. I’m kissing you, but I don’t trust you.” She threw up her hands. “I must be completely nuts.”

  Johnny took his seat at the table. “Look, Stephanie, this is a bad situation, I agree. And if you want to call a halt to it until we’ve figured out how to deal with Diego, I understand. But as soon as this is over, I intend to pick up exactly where we left off.”

  “Me-ow.” Familiar jumped onto the table. “Meow!”

  Stephanie saw that the cat had gone from mellow to tense. Something was afoot.

  “He’s trying to tell us something,” Stephanie said.

  Familiar ran to the back door and began to claw frantically at it.

  As soon as she opened the door, the cat shot out into the pinkish-gray morning light. Stephanie grabbed a jacket and was right on the heels of the feline.

  When she rounded the corner, she saw what had upset Familiar.

  A hooded figure stood at the paddock holding a lead rope attached to Black Jack’s halter. Both figures were mere silhouettes against the glowing eastern sky, but Stephanie could clearly see the whip the figure held.

  He brought it down across the stallion’s back, and Black Jack surged out of the paddock. The man tried to hang on to the lead rope, but he was no match for the panicked horse.

  Black Jack reared, his front hooves narrowly missing the figure’s head. Then the stallion spun and bolted, the rope dangling dangerously behind him as he galloped away.

  “Black Jack!” Stephanie started after the stallion, but Johnny’s grasp caught her and stopped her.

  “He may have a gun,” Johnny warned as he manhandled her back into the relative safety of the cabin. Stephanie caught a glimpse of the hooded figure getting to his feet.

  “Black Jack is loose!” Stephanie struggled to free herself.

  “You can’t go out there.” Johnny pressed her against the kitchen wall and held her until she stopped fighting.

  “I have to find that horse.” Stephanie spat the words.

  “And we will. Together. But we have to use some precautions, Stephanie. If that’s one of Diego’s men, he’ll have a gun and he’ll use it if you force him into a corner. Now if you’ll calm down and stay put, I’ll handle this.”

  She wanted to throttle him. All the tender feelings from a moment before fled. In their place were anger and worry for the horse.

  “I’ll be right back.” Johnny went to the closet and brought out one of the rifles. He held it, barrel pointed down. “Stay in the house.”

  She clamped her teeth together.

  “Promise me?”

  He wasn’t going to budge until she promised. “I’ll stay here,” she said, lying through her teeth. What was good for the gander was good for the goose—a bit of wisdom her Grandmother Olga had taught her. Grandmother Olga, a Swedish immigrant, had claimed that she had tamed and trained Grandfather Running Horse just as he had gentled the wild horses.

  Somewhere along the line, Stephanie had to concede that maybe she should have spent more time with Grandmother Olga, learning those important lessons about men.

  “Don’t come outside,” Johnny said as he opened the back door. He didn’t wait for an answer.

  JOHNNY SLIPPED OUT the door, hot on the trail of Familiar. He could hear the pounding of Black Jack’s hooves growing softer and softer. The stallion had headed west.

  While Johnny worried about the horse, he was far more worried about the figure near the paddock. Judging from the size of the frame, it was a man, who ran and straddled an ATV. He tried to kick the vehicle into life but the engine only coughed and failed to catch.

  Johnny ran. He was nearly at the four-wheel vehicle when the engine caught. Johnny launched himself into a flying tackle, grasping the rider’s shoulders in an attempt to unseat him. But the driver ducked and held on to the handlebars of the machine. Swerving back and forth, he successfully dislodged Johnny.

  As Johnny rolled in the dust, the intruder gunned the engine of the ATV and took off. By the time Johnny regained his footing, the trespasser was fifty yards away and traveling too fast to catch.

  Cursing, Johnny stood, dusted off his pants and went to the paddock to see if any clues had been left behind.

  Familiar had beaten him there, and the black cat was batting something in the tall grass by the paddock gate.

  Johnny knelt beside the cat to examine the area. To his surprise, the rising sun glinted on something shiny. He picked up the cuff link. It was heavy gold with a vine twined around an ornate D.

  Carlos Diego loved to display his wealth. He was known as an elegant dresser who often wore cuff links, gold chains and diamond rings. Even his gunmen wore French cuffs with Diego’s signature gold links. The D led Johnny to believe that the cuff link belonged to one of Diego’s minions. But why would Carlos Diego want a horse, particularly one as dangerous as Black Jack? As leverage, or perhaps an act of terrorism that would bring Stephanie to heel.

  He pocketed the cuff link just as he heard Stephanie running up behind him.

  “Get the truck,” she ordered. “Hurry. I’ll grab a bucket of feed. Maybe we can stop him before he gets to the ravine.”

  Before he could say anything, she was gone, running to find a bucket and some feed. Now wasn’t the time for negative thoughts. He was worried about the horse, too. He ran to his truck, cut a sharp U-turn, and stopped as Stephanie and Familiar ran out of the shed. They both climbed into the pickup.

  “Who was that man?” Stephanie asked.

  Johnny hesitated. When he felt her gaze on him, her anger growing, he explained, “I didn’t get a look at him, but I found a cuff link with a D engraved on it. He must be one of Diego’s men. It’s one of Diego’s trademarks th
at his men are well dressed. They all wear French cuffs and cuff links with his signature D on them.”

  She nodded and was silent for a moment as the truck sped down the little-used ranch road. “Why would Diego want a horse?” she finally asked.

  “Maybe to bargain with.”

  “Or maybe to send a message,” she said, voicing what he didn’t have the heart to tell her. Carlos was the kind of man who would think nothing of killing a horse—or a child—to make his point. He was utterly ruthless.

  “But Black Jack got away,” he pointed out.

  “And is running wild with a lead rope attached to a halter. If it catches on deadfall and he can’t break free, he’ll die of thirst.”

  Johnny had thought of everything she said, but he hadn’t wanted to mention it. Stephanie was a realist, though. She was horsewoman enough to see the hard facts.

  “We’ll find him,” Johnny said, determined to recover the stallion. “Black Jack is smart. He may end up back at the ranch on his own.”

  “There’s a group of wild horses that winter down in the ravine,” she said slowly.

  Johnny nodded. “That’s likely where he’ll head.”

  Stephanie rubbed between her eyes. “When Black Jack first came here, I considered letting him go, giving him his freedom. He’s young and strong and powerful, and I haven’t seen the old stallion that ran with the wild herd all summer. I actually thought that maybe the kindest thing I could do for Black Jack was to let him revert to the wild.”

  Johnny let her talk. Worry had made her taut as a bowstring. Talking might be the only thing that would help her unwind. “Maybe it would be best,” he said softly. “I think Black Jack could adapt to a wild life. At least he wouldn’t have to go back to Rupert.”

  She bit her lip. “Believe me, I considered it. But I’m afraid Rupert would shoot the entire herd. He’s like that, as you’ve seen. I don’t have a choice. I have to catch Black Jack.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Me-ow!” Familiar let out a cry and patted his paw against the dash.

  “I think he’s pointing north,” Stephanie said.

  Johnny slowed the truck and finally stopped. He got out and began to investigate the ground. The sun was fully up and the light was good, showing a series of footprints in the hard earth. Just as Familiar had thought, the horse had left the ranch track and had headed into the rolling range lands.

  It was going to be hell trying to find him, but Johnny was determined to do just that. Find Black Jack and bring him home.

  Chapter Eleven

  While we have no option but to search for Black Jack, it’s occurred to me that this whole horse thing may have been a ruse to get us out of the cabin so someone could search the place. We’ll know if that’s true when we return.

  Maybe I should have raised this issue, but what’s the point? Johnny can’t leave Stephanie alone at the ranch to defend it. Nor can he allow her to search for Black Jack alone while he guards the cabin. Communicating my concerns will only make a bad situation worse.

  For now, Black Jack is the focus. I have to say, though, it makes me a little uncomfortable to be driving along, here on the open range. For right now, there isn’t tremendous danger because the land is flat where we are. But ahead, where the hills rise up, men could be hiding. Trust me, I watched enough John Wayne movies to recognize a potential ambush. The Duke would be on red alert, because a sniper could shoot Miss Cowgirl and Johnny from a higher vantage point. We need to find that bronc and get back to the ranch.

  If I could reach Eleanor and let her know our situation, she could use her influence in Washington, D.C., to get some help out here. My human daddy, Peter Curry, D.V.M., tends the pampered pets of some of the most powerful people on Capitol Hill. In other words, he has juice. And Eleanor is no slouch. Her university work puts her in contact with those who pass as brainiacs in the biped race. Most are plenty smart in the book sense, but they often lack what I like to call “walking around sense.” Still, they have power. They can get things done. If Eleanor and Peter had any idea what was going on at Running Horse Ranch, they’d be on the phone to some senators and law enforcement officials so fast…

  The problem is, I’m not certain who’s involved in this Omega and who isn’t.

  Johnny said Omega is a project, not a branch of law enforcement. That tells me it’s interdepartmental. And if Carlos Diego is brokering counterintelligence, then the people working in Project Omega must be the James Bonds of the U.S. intelligence community. Rory Sussex must be one whale of a talent. He’s managed to play the U.S. government, his friends and Carlos Diego. Man, if he’s found alive, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.

  But is Rory alive? This is the elephant in the room no one is talking about. Are Miss Cowgirl and Johnny facing two foes—Diego and a renegade Rory Sussex?

  How much more complicated can things get? Eleanor told me that I needed a vacation and how wonderful it would be to relax at Running Horse Ranch. Relax? Right. Not in this lifetime.

  Looks like Johnny is slowing the truck. We’re closer to the ridge of hills, and I don’t like this at all. Okay, I see what it is. A lead rope is lying in the dirt. And on closer inspection, I see that it didn’t break. Someone unsnapped it.

  Oh, dear. The implications of this go far beyond interesting. First of all, who could get close enough to that horse to unsnap the lead? And why?

  This doesn’t bode well at all.

  STEPHANIE PICKED UP THE ROPE and examined it. Her fingers traced the twisted cotton, and Johnny could almost read her thoughts. The lead was in good shape, the snap in working order. She clicked the snap again and again.

  Johnny knew the only explanation was that someone had deliberately removed it from Black Jack’s halter. But why not remove the halter, too? And how had they gotten hold of the horse long enough to unhook the lead?

  He searched the area, looking for the bright red piece of tack. He saw nothing, except for footprints that led to the rope and then away. Back to what appeared to be ATV tire tracks.

  He watched as Stephanie read the same story in the dirt. “You think it was the same guy who was at the ranch this morning?” she asked.

  Johnny shook his head. “I can’t tell. The tread isn’t distinctive enough. It’s just a rough impression in the sand.”

  “I know.”

  Johnny had come to respect her skills. She was enough of a tracker to realize that the prints left by whoever had unhooked Black Jack’s lead told no clear story.

  “We should get out of here.” Johnny scanned the horizon. “We’re sitting ducks if someone wants to shoot us.”

  “I’ll bet they’re all at the ranch having a field day going through the cabin and the sheds,” Stephanie said.

  Johnny didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “You thought of that, too?”

  “It was the first thing that crossed my mind. But what could we do except pursue Black Jack?”

  “At least he’s not going to get hung somewhere,” Johnny pointed out.

  “I’d feel better if the halter had been removed, too, but you’re right. This greatly improves his chances of survival.”

  “Shall we keep hunting for him?” Johnny surveyed the area.

  “I think we need to go back and get some horses. We’ll be able to track him on horseback. He’s less likely to be upset by a horse than a vehicle chasing after him.”

  “That’s the worst—” He bit back his response. Stephanie wasn’t the kind of woman who took kindly to criticism of what she deemed to be necessary.

  “He’s fond of Piper and Layla,” she said, as if explaining that that would make it less dangerous. “If he hasn’t hooked up with the wild herd, maybe he’ll come to one of the mares.”

  It wasn’t a bad plan. In fact, had there not been the possibility of a sniper, Johnny would have proposed the exact same plan. But she read his disapproval. He saw it in the way her face fell.

  “I’m sorry, Stephanie. I think w
ith the lead rope removed, the worst danger is over. We should let Black Jack take care of himself.”

  “There are a million reasons he may not be able to do that,” she said slowly.

  “I know.” He couldn’t stop himself. He put his hand on her shoulder. It was a gesture of support and comfort, but he was aware of the sexual charge as soon as he touched her. “There’s another way of looking at this, though. Black Jack is probably safer out here. I don’t think anyone can catch him. No one can burn the barn down around him or shoot him while he’s penned in a corral. He may be better off running free.”

  Stephanie sighed. “You may be right about that. What about the other horses?”

  Johnny considered his answer. “I don’t think Diego will let you drive out of here with them loaded in a trailer. Worst case, he could shoot out a tire and wreck the rig.” He was frightening her. He could see it, and he didn’t like it, but he’d vowed to tell her the truth, at least as much as he could without further endangering her.

  “So we’re prisoners here?”

  “Pretty much. Maybe we should turn the horses out. We’ll round them up later, when this is over.”

  “Tex is injured. If he gets out here, running…”

  Johnny hid his worry. She had enough of a burden to carry. “I know, but he’s a smart horse. He’ll look out for himself. I’m afraid if I don’t let him go, he’ll end up being target practice for one of Diego’s men.”

  Stephanie threw the lead rope in the back of the pickup. “Then let’s go. The more daylight they have, the better their odds at finding a safe place to graze.”

  Johnny wanted to hold her, to try to offer at least the comfort of his arms. But he didn’t. He let her walk back to the truck and climb in the passenger seat, the black cat right at her side like a shadow.

  He got behind the wheel and drove back to the ranch, dreading with each mile what he might find when he got there.