“You might have given me a chance to open your door for you.”

Dusty rolled her eyes. “You have to be kidding. Does anyone do that anymore?”

“I do when I pick up a woman,” Ty said, sounding indignant. “It’s polite.”

“I can open my own door.”

“That isn’t the point. Look, think of dating as a game with certain rituals involved. There are steps to go through in the relationship. Roles each sex plays.”

Dusty groaned. “Why does it have to be so complicated? Why can’t we just cut to the chase?”

Ty shook his head. “Sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. Anticipation adds to the excitement. It’s all part of the mating ritual. You just need to get into your role.”

Dusty scoffed. “This role you’re talking about. Tell me it doesn’t mean I have to act helpless, because I’m never going to be one of those women.”

“Lucky for you, there are men who actually like strong, independent women. But no man may be ready for you.”

Was Ty ready for her?

Shotgun Surrender
B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This one is for Kayley Mendenhall. A ray of sunshine

for everyone who has had the honor of knowing her.

Best wishes for a bright, fun and romantic future!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former award-winning journalist, B.J. Daniels had thirty-six short stories published before her first romantic suspense, Odd Man Out, came out in 1995. Her book Premeditated Marriage won Romantic Times Best Intrigue award for 2002 and she received a Career Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense. B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, three springer spaniels, Zoey, Scout and Spot, and a temperamental tomcat named Jeff. She is a member of Kiss of Death, the Bozeman Writer’s Group and Romance Writers of America. When she isn’t writing, she snow-boards in the winters and camps, water-skis and plays tennis in the summers. To contact her, write: P.O. Box 183, Bozeman, MT 59771 or look for her online at www.bjdaniels.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dusty McCall—The youngest of the wild McCalls was ready for love. Only, she was looking for it in all the wrong places.

Ty Coltrane—The horse rancher knew something was wrong at the rodeo. He just didn’t realize how wrong until he realized Dusty McCall was involved.

Boone Rasmussen—He had big plans for his future and a chip on his shoulder.

Letty Arnold—The news of her adoption had hit her hard. Now all she wanted was to find her birth mother. But she got more than she asked for.

Hal Branson—The private investigator had never believed in fate—until he met Letty Arnold.

Monte Edgewood—The roughstock producer thought he had everything until he got a chance to have a famous rodeo bull.

Sierra Edgewood—She had an old husband and a wandering eye and was built for trouble.

Lamar Nichols—The cowboy was supposed to be the brawn and not the brains of the operation, but even he could see what was going on.

Waylon Dobbs—The amicable rodeo veterinarian didn’t believe in buying trouble. Unless there was something in it for him.

Devil’s Tornado—He’d gone from a mediocre rodeo bull to a star overnight. But sometimes stars fall.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

The moment the pickup rolled to a stop, Clayton T. Brooks knew he should have put this off until morning. The night was darker than the inside of an outhouse, he was half-drunk and he couldn’t see two feet in front of him.

Hell, maybe he was more than half-drunk since he was still seriously considering climbing the nearby fence and getting into a pasture with a bull that had almost killed its rider at a rodeo just a few days ago in Billings, Montana.

To make matters worse, Clayton knew he was too old for this sort of thing, not to mention physically shot from years of trying to ride the meanest, toughest bulls in the rodeo circuit.

But he’d never had the good sense to quit—until a bull messed him up so bad he was forced to. Just like now. He couldn’t quit because he’d come this far and, damn, he needed to find out if he was losing his mind. Quietly he opened his pickup door and stepped out.

He’d coasted down the last hill with his headlights out, stopping far enough from Monte Edgewood’s ranch house that he figured his truck wouldn’t be heard when he left. There was no sign of life at the Edgewood Roughstock Company ranch at this hour of the night, but he wasn’t taking any chances as he shut the pickup door as quietly as possible and headed for the pasture.

If he was right, he didn’t want to get caught out here. The whole thing had been nagging him for days. Finally tonight, he’d left the bar when it closed, climbed into his pickup and headed out of Antelope Flats. It wasn’t far to the ranch but he’d had to make a stop to get a six-pack of beer for the road.

Tonight he was going to prove himself wrong—or right—he thought as he awkwardly climbed the fence and eased down the other side. His eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to the dark. Wisps of clouds drifted low across the black canvas stretched on the horizon. A few stars twinkled millions of miles away, and a slim silver crescent moon peeked in and out.

Clayton started across the small pasture, picking his way. Just over the rise, he froze as he made out the shape of the bull dead ahead.

Devil’s Tornado was a Braford brindle-horned, one-ton bull—a breeder’s Molotov cocktail of Brahma and Hereford. The mix didn’t always turn out good bucking bulls, but it often did. The breed had ended more than a few cowboys’ careers, his included.

He stared at the huge dark shape standing just yards from him, remembering how the bull had damn near killed the rider at the Billings rodeo a few days before.

The problem was, Clayton thought he recognized the bull, not from Billings but from a town in Texas some years before. Thought he not only recognized the bull, but knew it intimately—the way only a bull rider gets to know a bull.

Unless he was losing his mind, he’d ridden this brindle down in Texas four years ago. It had been one of his last rides.

Only back then, the bull had been called Little Joe. And Little Joe had been less than an exciting ride. No tricks. Too nice to place deep on and make any prize money on.

The other bulls in the roughstock contractor’s bag hadn’t had any magic, either—the kiss of death for the roughstock contractor. Last Clayton had heard the roughstock outfit had gone belly-up.

Earlier tonight, he’d finally remembered the roughstock contractor’s name. Rasmussen. The same last name as the young man who’d showed up a few weeks ago with a handful of bulls he was subcontracting out to Monte Edgewood.

If Clayton was right—and that was what he was here to find out—then Little Joe and Devil’s Tornado were one and the same.

Except that the bull at the Billings rodeo had been a hot-tempered son-of-a-bucker who stood on its nose, hopped, skipped and spun like a top, quickly unseating the rider and nearly killing him. Nothing like the bull he’d ridden in Texas.

But Clayton was convinced this bull was Little Joe. Only with a definite personality change.

“Hey, boy,” he called softly as he advanced. “Easy, boy.”

The bull didn’t move, seemed almost mesmerized as Clayton drew closer and closer until he could see the whites of the bull’s enormous eyes.

“Hello, Little Joe.” Clayton chuckled. Damned if he hadn’t been right. Same notched ears, same crook in the tail, same brindle pattern. Little Joe was Devil’s Tornado.

Clayton stared at the docile bull, trying to make sense of it. How could one bull be so different, not only from years ago but also from just days ago?

A sliver of worry burrowed under Clayton’s skull. He definitely didn’t like what he was thinking because if he was right…

He reached back to rub his neck only an instant before he realized he was no longer alone. He hadn’t heard anyone approach from behind him, didn’t even sense the presence until it was too late.

The first blow to the back of his head stunned him, dropping him to his knees next to the bull.

He flopped over onto his back and looked up. All he could make out was a dark shape standing over him and something long and black in a gloved hand.

Clayton didn’t even get a chance to raise an arm toward off the second blow with the tire iron. The last thing he saw was the bull standing over him, the silver sickle moon reflected in the bull’s dull eyes.

Chapter One

Antelope Flats, Montana

County Rodeo Grounds

As the last cowboy picked himself up from the dirt, Dusty McCall climbed the side of the bucking horse chute.

“I want to ride,” she said quietly to the elderly cowboy running this morning’s bucking horse clinic.

Lou Whitman lifted a brow as he glanced down at the only horse left in the chute, a huge saddle bronc called The Undertaker, then back up at her.

He looked as if he was about to mention that she wasn’t signed up for this clinic. Or that The Undertaker was his rankest bucking bronc. Or that her father, Asa McCall, or one of her four brothers, would have his behind if they found out he’d let her ride. Not when she was supposed to be helping “teach” this clinic—not ride.

But he must have seen something in her expression, heard it in her tone, that changed his mind.

He smiled and, nodding slowly, handed her the chest protector and helmet. “We got one more,” he called to his crew.

She smiled her thanks at Lou as she took off her western straw hat and tossed it to one of the cowboys nearby. Slipping into the vest, she snugged down the helmet as Lou readied The Undertaker.

Swallowing any second thoughts, she lowered herself onto the saddle bronc in the chute.

None of the cowboys today had gone the required eight seconds for what was considered a legal rodeo ride.

She knew there was little chance of her being the first. Especially on the biggest, buckingest horse of the day.

She just hoped she could stay on long enough so that she wouldn’t embarrass herself. Even better, that she wouldn’t get killed!

“What’s Dusty doing in there?” one of the cowboys along the corral fence wanted to know. “Dammit, she’s just trying to show us up.”

She ignored the men hanging on the fence as she readied herself. Bucking horses were big, often part draft horse and raised to buck. This one was huge, and she knew she was in for the ride of her life.

Not that she hadn’t ridden saddle broncs before. She’d secretly taken Lou Whitman’s clinic and ridden several saddle broncs just to show her brothers. Being the youngest McCall—and a girl on top of it—she’d spent her first twenty-one years proving she could do anything her brothers could—and oftentimes ended up in the dirt.

She doubted today would be any different. While she no longer felt the need to prove anything to herself and could care less about what her four older brothers thought, she had to do this.

And for all the wrong reasons.

“Easy, boy,” she said as the horse banged around in the chute. She’d seen this horse throw some darned good cowboys in the past.

But she was going to ride him. One way or another. At least for a little while.

The horse shook his big head and snorted as he looked back at her. She could see her reflection in his eyes.

She leaned down to whisper in his ear, asking him to let her ride him, telling him how she needed this, explaining how much was at stake.

She could hear the cowboys, a low hum of voices on the corral fence. She didn’t look, but imagined in her mind one in particular on the fence watching her, his dark eyes intrigued, his interest piqued.

Her body quaking with anticipation—and a healthy dose of apprehension—she gave Lou a nod to open the gate.

In that split second as the gate swung out, she felt the horse lunge and knew The Undertaker didn’t give a damn that she was trying to impress some cowboy. This horse had his own agenda.

He shot straight up, jumped forward and came down bucking. He was big and strong and didn’t feel like being ridden—maybe especially by her. Dust churned as he bucked and twisted, kicking and lunging as he set about unseating her.

But she stayed, remembering everything she’d been taught, everything she’d been teaching this morning along with Lou. Mostly, she stuck more out of stubborn determination than anything else.

She vaguely heard the sound of cheers and jeers over the pounding of hooves—and her heart.

When she heard the eight-second horn signaling she’d completed a legal rodeo ride, she couldn’t believe it.

Too late, she remembered something her father always warned her about: pride goeth before the fall.

More than pleased with herself, she’d lost her focus for just an instant at the sound of the horn and glanced toward the fence, looking for that one cowboy. The horse made one huge lunging buck, and Dusty found herself airborne.

She hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of her. Dust rose around her in a cloud. Through it, she saw a couple cowboys jump down into the corral, one going after the horse, the other running to her.

Blinking through the dust, she tried to catch her breath as she looked up hoping to see the one cowboy she’d do just about anything to see leaning over her—Boone Rasmussen.

“You all right?” asked a deep male voice.

She focused on the man leaning over her and groaned. Ty Coltrane. The last cowboy she wanted to see right now.

“Fine,” she managed to get out, unsure of that but not about to let him know if she wasn’t.

She managed to sit up, looking around for Boone but didn’t see him. The disappointment hurt more than the hard landing. Just before she’d decided to ride the horse, she’d seen Boone drive up. She’d just assumed he would join the others on the corral fence, that for once and for all, he would actually take notice of her.

“That was really something,” Ty Coltrane commented sarcastically as he scowled down at her. Ty had been the bane of her existence since she’d been born. He raised Appaloosa horses on a ranch near her family’s Sundown Ranch and every time she turned around, he seemed to be there, witnessing some of her most embarrassing moments—and causing more than a few.

And here he was again. It never failed.

She took off the helmet, her long blond braid falling free. Ty took the helmet and motioned to the cowboy on the fence, who tossed her western straw hat he’d been holding for her. It sailed through the air, landing short.

Ty picked it up from the dirt and slapped the dust off against his jeaned thigh. “Yep, that one could go down in the record book as one of the dumber things I’ve seen you do, Slim.” He handed her the hat, shaking his head at her.

As a kid, she’d been a beanpole, all elbows and knees, and she’d taken a lot of teasing about it. It had made her self-conscious. Even when she began to develop and actually had curves, she’d kept them hidden under her brothers’ too large hand-me-down western shirts.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, glaring at him as she shoved the hat down on her blond head, tucking the single long braid up under it as she did.

He shook his head as if she mystified him. “What possessed you to ride The Undertaker? Have you lost all sense?”

The truth was, maybe she had. She didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. Not that as a kid she hadn’t always tried to be one of the boys and ride animals she shouldn’t have. It came with being raised on an isolated ranch with four older brothers and their dumb friends.

That, and the fact that for most of her life, she’d just wanted to fit in, be one of the boys—not have them make fun of her, but treat her like one of their own.

All that had changed a few weeks ago when she’d first laid eyes on Boone Rasmussen. Suddenly, she didn’t want to blend in anymore. She didn’t want to be one of the boys. She felt things she’d only read about.

Now all she wanted was to be noticed by Boone Rasmussen.

And apparently there was no chance in hell of that ever happening.

“Here,” Ty said extending a hand to help her up.

She ignored it as she got to her feet on her own and tried not to groan as she did. She’d be sore tomorrow if she could move at all. That had been a fool thing to do, but not for the reason Ty thought. She’d only done it to get Boone’s attention. She couldn’t believe she’d been so desperate, she thought as she took off the protective vest. Ty took it as well and handed both vest and helmet to one of the cowboys along the fence.

She hated feeling desperate.

Being that desperate made her mad and disgusted with herself. But the problem was, even being raised with four older brothers, she knew nothing about men. She hadn’t dated much in high school, just a few dances or a movie. The boys she’d gone out with were like her, from God-fearing ranch families. None had been like Boone Rasmussen.

She realized that might be the problem. Boone was a man. And Boone had a reckless air about him that promised he was like no man she’d ever known.

“Nice ride,” one of the cowboys told her as she limped out of the corral.

“Don’t encourage her,” Ty said beside her.

There was a time she would have been busting with pride. She’d ridden The Undertaker. She’d stayed on the eight seconds for the horn.

But today wasn’t one of those days. The one cowboy she’d hoped to impress hadn’t even seen her ride.

“You don’t have to go telling my brothers about this,” she warned Ty.

He grunted. “I have better things to do than go running to your brothers with stories about you,” he said. “Anyway, the way you behave, it would be a full-time job.”

She shot him a narrow-eyed look, then surreptitiously glanced around for Boone Rasmussen, spotting him over by the bull corrals talking to the big burly cowboy who worked with him, Lamar something or other.

Boone didn’t even glance in her direction and obviously hadn’t seen her ride or cared. Suddenly, she felt close to tears and was spitting mad at herself.

“You sure you’re all right?” Ty asked as he reached to open her pickup door for her.

She could feel his gaze on her. “I told you I’m fine,” she snapped, fighting tears. What was wrong with her? She normally would rather swallow tacks than cry in front of him or one of her brothers.

“You’re sure you’re up to driving back to the ranch by yourself?” he asked, only making her feel worse.

She fought a swell of emotion as she climbed into the pickup seat and started to close the door.

Ty stopped her by covering her hand on the door handle with his. “Okay, Slim, that was one hell of a ride. You stayed on longer than any of those cowboys. And you rode The Undertaker. Feel better?”

She looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. He thought she was mad at him because he’d chewed her out for riding today?

She half smiled at him, filled with a sudden stab of affection. Funny, but since Boone, she even felt differently about Ty.

Unlike Boone though, Ty had blue eyes like her own. There was no mystery about Ty. She’d known him her whole life. Boone on the other hand, had dark eyes, mysterious eyes, and everything about him felt…dangerous.

“You wouldn’t understand even if I could explain it,” she said.

Ty smiled ruefully and reached out to pluck a piece of straw from a stray strand of her blond hair. “Probably not, Slim, but maybe it’s time you grew up before you break your fool neck.” He let go of her hand and she slammed the pickup door. So much for the stab of affection she’d felt for him.

Grow up? Without looking at him, she started the truck and fought the urge to roll down her window and tell him what she thought. But when she glanced over, Ty had already walked away.

She sat for a moment in a stew of her own emotions. The worst part was, Ty was right. It was definitely time for her to grow up. Too bad she didn’t have the first clue how to do that.

She shifted the pickup into gear. Boone Rasmussen was still talking to Lamar by the chutes. He didn’t look up as she pulled away.

TY MENTALLY KICKED HIMSELF all the way to his truck. He’d only come by the rodeo grounds this morning to see if Clayton T. Brooks was around. The old bull rider hadn’t shown up for work.

Everyone said Ty was a fool for hiring him. Even part-time. But Clayton was a good worker and Ty knew Clayton needed the money. Sometimes he showed up late, but he always showed for work. Until today.

“Any of you seen Clayton today?” he called to the handful of men on the corral fence. Several of the cowboys were trying to get Lou to let them ride again. Couldn’t let some little gal like Dusty McCall show them up.

“Saw him at the bar last night,” one of them called back. “He was three sheets to the wind and going on about some bull.” The cowboy shook his head. “You know Clayton. Haven’t seen him since, though.” The rest shook their heads in agreement.

“Thanks.” Ty did know Clayton. For most of his life, Clayton had ridden bulls. Now that he couldn’t ride anymore, he “talked” bulls. Or talked “bull,” as some said.

Still, Ty was worried about him. He decided to swing by Clayton’s trailer on the opposite side of town before returning to the ranch.

Dusty McCall drove past as Ty climbed into his truck. He let out a sigh as he watched her leave. All he’d done was make her mad. But the fool girl could have gotten herself killed. What had been going on with her lately?

Not your business, Coltrane.

Didn’t he know it.

In spite of himself, he smiled at the memory of her riding that saddle bronc. She was something, he thought with a shake of his head. Unfortunately, she saw him at best as the cowboy next door. At worst, as another older brother, as if she needed another one.

He shook off that train of thought like a dog shaking off water and considered what might have happened to Clayton as he started his pickup and drove into town.

Antelope Flats was a small western town with little more than a café, motel, gas station and general store. The main business was coal or coal-bed methane gas. Those who worked either in the open-pit coal mine or for the gas companies lived twenty-plus miles away in Sheridan, Wyoming, where there was a movie theater, pizza parlors, clothing stores and real grocery stores.

Between Antelope Flats and Sheridan there was nothing but sagebrush-studded hills and river bottom, and with deer, antelope, geese, ducks and a few wild turkeys along the way.

Antelope Flats had grown some with the discovery of coal-bed methane gas in the land around town. There was now a drive-in burger joint on the far edge of town, a minimall coming in and talk of a real grocery store.

Ty hoped to hell the town didn’t change too muchin the coming years. This was home. He’d been born and raised just outside of here, and he didn’t want the lifestyle to change because of progress. He knew he sounded like his father, rest his soul. But family ranches were a dying breed and Ty wanted to raise his children on the Coltrane Appaloosa Ranch just as he’d been raised.

Clayton T. Brooks had bought a piece of ground out past town and put a small travel trailer on it. The trailer had seen better days. So had the dated old pickup the bull rider drove. The truck wasn’t out front, but Ty parked in front of the trailer and got out anyway.

The sun was high in a cloudless blue sky. He could smell the cottonwoods and the river and felt the early spring heat on his back as he knocked on the trailer.

No answer.

He tried the door.

It opened. “Clayton?” he called as he stepped into the cool darkness. The inside was neater than Ty had expected it would be. Clayton’s bed at the back looked as if he’d made it before he left this morning. Or hadn’t slept in it last night. No dishes in the sink. No sign that Clayton had been here.

As Ty left, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had settled over him. Yesterday, Clayton had been all worked up over some bull ride he’d seen the weekend before at the Billings rodeo.

Ty hated to admit he hadn’t been listening that closely. Clayton was often worked up about something and almost always it had to do with bulls or riders or rodeo.

Was it possible Clayton had taken off to Billings because of some damn bull?

TEXAS-BORN BOONE RASMUSSEN had been cursed from birth. It was the only thing that explained why he’d been broke and down on his luck all twenty-seven years.

He left the rodeo grounds and drove the twenty miles north of town turning onto the road to the Edgewood Roughstock Company ranch. The road wound back in a good five more miles, a narrow dirt track that dropped down a series of hills and over a creek before coming to a dead end at the ranch house.

Boone could forgive those first twenty-seven years if he had some promise that the next fifty were going to be better. He was certainly due for some luck. But he’d been disappointed a few too many times to put much stock in hope. Not that his latest scheme wasn’t a damned good one.

He didn’t see Monte’s truck as he parked in the shade of the barn and glanced toward the rambling old two-story ranch house. A curtain moved on the lower floor. She’d seen him come back, was no doubt waiting for him.

He swore and tried to ignore the quickened beat of his heart or the stirring below his belt. At least he was smart enough not to get out of the truck. He glanced over at the bulls in a nearby pasture, worry gnawing at his insides, eating away at his confidence.

So far he’d done two things right—buying back a few of his father’s rodeo bulls after the old man’s death and hooking up with Monte Edgewood.

But Boone worried he would screw this up, just like he did everything else. If he hadn’t already.

He heard someone beside the truck and feared for a moment she had come out of the house after him.

With a start, he turned to find Monte Edgewood standing at the side window. Monte had been frowning, but now smiled. “You goin’ to just sit in your pickup all day?”

Boone tried to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth as he gave the older man what would pass for a smile and rolled down his window. Better Monte never know why Boone had been avoiding the house in his absence.

“You all right, son?” Monte asked.

Monte Edgewood had called him son since the first time they’d met behind falling-down rodeo stands in some hot, two-bit town in Texas. Boone had been all of twelve at the time. His father was kicking the crap out of him when Monte Edgewood had come along, hauled G. O. Rasmussen off and probably saved Boone’s life.

In that way, Boone supposed he owed him. But what Boone hadn’t been able to stand was the pity he’d seen in Monte’s eyes. He’d scrambled up from the dirt and run at Monte, fists flying, humiliation and anger like rocket fuel in his blood.

A huge man, Monte Edgewood had grabbed him in a bear hug, pinning his skinny flailing arms as Boone struggled furiously to hurt someone the way he’d been hurt. But Monte was having none of it.

Boone fought him, but Monte refused to let go. Finally spent, Boone collapsed in the older man’s arms. Monte released him, reached down and picked up Boone’s straw hat from the dust and handed it to him.

Then, without a word, Monte just turned and walked away. Later Boone heard that someone jumped his old man in an alley after the rodeo and kicked the living hell out of him. Boone had always suspected it had been Monte, the most nonviolent man he’d ever met.

Unfortunately, Boone had never been able to forget the pity he’d seen in Monte’s eyes that day. Nor the sour taste of humiliation. He associated both with the man because of it. Kindness was sometimes the worse cut of all, he thought.

Monte stepped back as Boone opened his door and got out. Middle age hadn’t diminished Monte’s size, nor had it slowed him down. His hair under his western hat was thick and peppered with gray, his face rugged. At fifty, Monte Edgewood was in his prime.

He owned some decent enough roughstock and quite a lot of land. Monte Edgewood seemed to have everything he needed or wanted. Unlike Boone.

But what made Monte unique was that he was without doubt the most trusting man Boone had ever met.

And that, he thought with little remorse, would be Monte’s downfall. And Boone’s good fortune.

“How’s Devil’s Tornado today?” Boone asked as they walked toward the ranch house where Monte had given him a room. He saw the curtain move and caught a glimpse of dyed blond hair.

“Son, you’ve got yourself one hell of a bull there,” Monte said, laying a hand on Boone’s shoulder as they mounted the steps.

Didn’t Boone know it.

Monte opened the screen and they stepped into the cool dimness of the house and the heady scent of perfume.

“Is that you, Monte?” Sierra Edgewood called an instant before she appeared in the kitchen doorway, a sexy silhouette as she leaned lazily against the jamb and smiled at them. “Hey, Boone.”

He nodded in greeting. Sierra wore a cropped top and painted-on jeans, a healthy width of firm sun-bronzed skin exposed between the two. She was pinup-girl pretty and was at least twenty years younger than her husband.

“It will be interesting to see how he does in Bozeman,” Monte continued as he slipped past his wife, planting a kiss on her neck as he headed for the fridge. He didn’t seem to notice that Sierra was still blocking the kitchen doorway as he took out two cold beers and offered one to Boone.

After a moment, Sierra moved to let Boone pass, an amused smile on her face.

“He’s already getting a reputation among the cowboys,” Monte said heading for the kitchen table with the beers as if he hadn’t noticed what Sierra was up to. He never seemed to. “Everyone’s looking for a high-scoring bull and one hell of a ride.”

Boone sat down at the table across from Monte and took the cold beer, trying to ignore Sierra.

“Are you talking about that stupid bull again?” she asked as she opened the fridge and took out a cola. She popped the cap off noisily, pushing out her lower lip and giving Boone the big eyes as she sat down across from him.

A moment later, he felt her bare toes run from the top of his boot up the inside seam of his jeans. He shifted, turning to stretch his legs out far enough away that she couldn’t touch him as he took a deep drink of his beer. He heard Sierra sigh, a chuckle just under the surface.

He knew he didn’t fool her. She seemed only too aware of what she did to him. His blood running hot, he focused on the pasture out the window and Devil’s Tornado, his ticket out, telling himself all the Sierra Edgewoods in the world couldn’t tempt him. There was no greater lure than success. And failure, especially this time, would land him in jail—if not six feet under.

Devil’s Tornado could be the beginning of the life Boone had always dreamed of—as long as he didn’t blow it, he thought, stealing a sidelong glance at Sierra.

“Everyone’s talking about your bull, son,” Monte said with pride in his voice but also a note of sadness.

Boone looked over at him, saw the furrowed thick brows and hoped Monte was worried about Devil’s Tornado—not Boone and his wife.

There was a fine line between a bull a rider could score on and one who killed cowboys. And Devil’s Tornado had stomped all over that line at the Billings rodeo. Boone couldn’t let that happen again.

Sierra tucked a lock of dyed-blond hair behind her ear and slipped her lips over the top of the cola bottle, taking a long cool drink before saying, “So what’s the problem?”

Monte smiled at her the way a father might at his young child. “There’s no problem.”

But that wasn’t what his gaze said when he settled it back on Boone.

“The bull can be too dangerous,” Boone told her, making a point he knew Monte had been trying to make. “It’s one thing to throw cowboys—even hurt a few. But if he can’t be ridden and he starts killing cowboys, then I’d have to take him off the circuit.” He shrugged as if that would be all right. “He’d be worth some in stud fees or an artificial insemination breeding program at this point. But nothing like he would be if, say, he was selected for the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. It would be too bad to put him out to pasture now, though. We’d never know just how far he might have gone.”

A shot at having a bull in the National Finals in Las Vegas meant fifty thousand easy, not to mention the bulls he would sire. Everyone would want a piece of that bull. A man could make a living for years off one star bull.

That’s why every roughstock producer’s dream was a bull like that. Even Monte Edgewood, Boone was beginning to suspect. But only the top-scoring bulls in the country made it. Devil’s Tornado seemed to have what it took to get there.

“I wouldn’t pull him yet,” Monte said quickly, making Boone smile to himself. Monte had needed a bull like Devil’s Tornado.

And Boone needed Monte’s status as one of the reputable roughstock producers.

After more rodeos, more incredible performances, everyone on the circuit would be talking about Devil’s Tornado. That’s when Boone would pull him and start collecting breeding fees, because it wouldn’t matter if the bull could make the National Finals. Boone could never allow Devil’s Tornado to go to Vegas.

But in the meantime, Devil’s Tornado would continue to cause talk, his value going up with each rodeo.

If the bull didn’t kill his next rider.

Or flip out again like he did in Billings, causing so much trouble in the chute that he’d almost been pulled.

Devil’s Tornado was just the first. If this actually worked, Boone could make other bulls stars. He could write his own ticket after that.

But he could also crash and burn if he got too greedy, if his bulls were so dangerous that people got suspicious.

Monte finished his beer and stared at the empty bottle. “I don’t have to tell you what a competitive business this is. You’ve got to have good bulls that a cowboy can make pay for them. But at the same time you don’t want PETA coming down on you or those Buck the Rodeo people.”

Boone had seen the ads—Buck the Rodeo: Nobody likes an eight-second ride!

Monte looked over at him. “When I got into this business, I promised myself that the integrity of the rodeo and the safety of the competitors would always come first. You know what I’m saying, son?”

Boone knew exactly what he was saying. He looked out the window to where Devil’s Tornado stood in his own small pasture flicking his tail, the sun gleaming off his horns, then back across the table at Sierra Edgewood. Boone had better be careful. More careful than he had been.

Chapter Two

Sundown Ranch

Asa McCall heard the creak of a floorboard. He turned to find his wife standing in the tack room doorway. His wife. After so many years of being apart, the words sounded strange.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shelby asked, worry making her eyes dark.

“I’m saddling my horse,” he said as he hefted the saddle and walked over to the horse. The motion took more effort than it had even a few weeks ago. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but then Shelby noticed everything.

“I can see that,” she said, irritation in her tone as she followed him.

Shelby Ward McCall was as beautiful as the day he’d met her forty-four years ago. She was tall and slim, blond and blue-eyed, but her looks had never impressed him as much as her strength. They both knew she’d always been stronger than he was, even though he was twice her size—a large, powerfully built man with more weaknesses than she would ever have.

He wondered now if that—and the fact that they both knew it—had been one of the reasons she’d left him thirty years ago. He knew damn well it was the reason she had come back.

“I’m going for a ride,” he said, his back to her as he cinched the saddle in place, already winded by the physical exertion. He was instantly angry at himself. He despised frailty, especially in himself. He’d always been strong, virile, his word the last. He’d never been physically weak before, and he found that nearly impossible to live with.

“Asa—” Her voice broke.

“Don’t,” he said shaking his head slightly, but even that small movement made him nauseous. “I need to do this.” He hated the emotion in his voice. Hated that she’d come back to see him like this.

Shelby looked away. She knew he wouldn’t want her to see how pathetic he’d become. He wished he could hide not only his weakness but his feelings from her, but that was impossible. Shelby knew him with an intimacy that had scared him. As if she could see into his black soul and still find hope for him. Still love him.

“I could come with you,” she said without looking at him.

“No, thank you,” he added, relieved when she didn’t argue the point. He didn’t need a lecture on how dangerous it was for him to go riding alone. He had hoped to die in the saddle. He should be so lucky.

He swung awkwardly up onto the horse, giving her a final look, realizing how final it would soon be. He never tired of looking at her and just the thought of how many years he’d pushed her away from him brought tears to his eyes. He’d become a doddering sentimental old fool on top of everything else. He spurred the horse and rode past her and out of the barn, despising himself.

At the gate, something stronger than even his will forced him to turn and look back. She was slumped against the barn wall, shoulders hunched, head down.

He cursed her for coming back after all the years they’d lived apart and spurred his horse. Cursed himself. As he rode up through the foothills of the ranch his father had started from nothing more than a scrawny herd of longhorn cattle over a hundred years ago, he was stricken with a pain far greater than any he had yet endured.

His agony was about to end, but it had only begun for his family. He would have to tell them everything.

He tried not to think about what his sons and daughter would say when he told them that years ago, he’d sold his soul to the devil, and the devil was now at his door, ready to collect in more ways than one.

J.T., his oldest, would be furious; Rourke would be disappointed; Cash would try to help, as always; and Brandon possibly would be relieved to find that his father was human after all. Dusty, his precious daughter, the heart of his heart… Asa closed his eyes at the thought of what it would do to her.

He would have to tell them soon. He might be weak in body and often spirit, but he refused to be a coward. He couldn’t let them find out everything after he was gone. Not when what he’d done would put an end to the Sundown Ranch as they all knew it.

Sheridan, Wyoming, rodeo

IT WAS FULL DARK and the rodeo was almost over by the time Ty Coltrane made his way along the packed grandstands.

He’d timed it so he could catch the bull riding. No one he’d talked to had seen Clayton, nor had there been any word. But Ty knew that if Clayton was anywhere within a hundred-mile radius, he wouldn’t miss tonight’s rodeo.

Glancing around before the event started, though, he didn’t see the old bull rider. He did, however, see Dusty McCall and her friend, Leticia Arnold, sitting close to the arena fence.

Dusty didn’t look the worse for wear after her bucking bronc performance earlier today. He shook his head at the memory, telling himself he was tired of playing nursemaid to her. She wasn’t his responsibility. He couldn’t keep picking her up from the dirt. What if one day he wasn’t around to save her skinny behind?

“Now in chute three, we’ve got a bull that’s been making a stir across the country,” the announcer bellowed over the sound system. “He’s called Devil’s Tornado and for a darned good reason. Only a few cowboys have been able to ride him, and those who have scored big. Tonight, Huck Kramer out of Cheyenne is going to give it a try.”

Ty felt a start. Devil’s Tornado. That was the bull that Clayton had been so worked up over. Ty was sure of it. He angled his way through the crowd so he could see the bull chutes as he tried to recall what exactly Clayton had said about the bull.

Devil’s Tornado banged around inside the chute as Huck lowered himself onto it to the jangle of the cowbell attached to his rosin-coated bull rope. The cowbell acted as a weight, allowing the rope to safely fall off the bull when the ride was over. Riders used rosin, a sticky substance that increased the grip on their ropes, to make sure they were secured to the bull in hopes of hanging on for the eight-second horn.

Huck wrapped the end of the bull rope tightly around his gloved hand, securing himself to the one-ton bull. Around the bull was a bucking rigging, a padded strap that was designed to make the bull buck.

A hush fell over the crowd as the bull snorted and kicked at the chute, growing more agitated. Huck gave a nod of his head and the chute door flew open with a bang and Devil’s Tornado came bursting out in a blur of movement.

Instantly, Ty knew this was not just any bull.

So did the crowd. A breath-stealing silence fell over the rodeo arena as Devil’s Tornado slammed into the fence, then spun in a tight bucking cyclone of dust and hooves.

Devil’s Tornado pounded the earth in bucking lunges, hammering Huck with each jarring slam. Ty watched, his heart in his throat as the two-thousand pound bull’s frantic movements intensified in a blur of rider and bull.

The crowd found its voice as the eight-second horn sounded and bullfighters dressed like clowns rushed out.

With his hand still tethered to the monstrous bull, Huck’s body suddenly began to flop from side to side, as lifeless as a dummy’s, as Devil’s Tornado continued bucking.

The bullfighters ran to the bull and rider, one working frantically to free the bucking rigging from around the bull and the other to free Huck’s arm from the thickly braided rope that bound bull and rider.

Devil’s Tornado whirled, tossing Huck from side to side, charging at the bullfighters who tried desperately to free the rider. One freed the rigging strap designed to make the bull buck. It fell to the dirt, but Huck’s bull rope wouldn’t come loose. The cowbell jangled at the end of the rope as Huck flopped on the bull’s broad back as the bull continued to buck and spin in a nauseating whir of motion.

Other cowboys had jumped into the arena, all fighting to free Huck. It seemed to go on forever, although it had only been a matter of seconds before one of the bullfighters pulled a knife, severing Huck from Devil’s Tornado.

Huck’s lifeless body rose one last time into the air over the bull, suspended like a bag of rags for a heart-stopping moment before it crumpled to the dirt.

The crowd swelled to its feet in a collective gasp of horror as the rider lay motionless.

Devil’s Tornado made a run for the body. A bullfighter leapt in front of the charging bull and was almost gored. He managed to distract the bull away from Huck, but only for a few moments.

The bull started to charge one of the pickup riders on horseback, but stumbled and fell. He staggered to his feet in a clear rage, tongue out, eyes rolling.

Cowboys jumped off the fence to run to where Huck lay crumpled in the dirt. A leg moved. Then an arm. Miraculously, Huck Kramer sat up, signally he was all right.

A roar of applause erupted from the grandstands.

“That was some ride,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker. “Let’s give that cowboy another round of applause.”

Ty sagged a little with relief. He hated to see cowboys get hurt, let alone killed. Huck had been lucky.

Ty’s gaze returned to Devil’s Tornado. The bull ran wild-eyed around the other end of the arena, charging at anything that moved, sending cowboys clambering up the fence. Ty had seen this many times during bull rides at rodeos.

Devil’s Tornado was big and strong, fast out of the chute and one hell of a bucker, but those were attributes, nothing that would have gotten Clayton worked up.

“Whew,” the announcer boomed. “Folks, you aren’t going to believe this. The judges have given Huck a whopping ninety-two!”

The crowd cheered as Huck was helped out of the arena. He seemed to be limping but, other than that, okay.

Had Clayton just been impressed by Devil’s Tornado? No. Ty distinctly remembered that Clayton had been upset, seemingly worried about something he’d seen at the Billings rodeo involving Devil’s Tornado. But what?

The pickup riders finally cornered the bull, one getting a rope around the head and a horn and worked him toward the exit chute. Devil’s Tornado pawed the earth, shaking his head, fighting them.

Ty worked his way in the direction of the exit chute, hoping to get a closer look. As Devil’s Tornado was being herded out, he seemed disoriented and confused, shying away from anything that moved.

Usually, by the time a bull got to the exit chute, he recognized that it was over and became more docile. Not Devil’s Tornado. He still seemed worked up, maybe a little high-strung, stopping when he saw the waiting semitrailer, looking scared and unsure. Still, not that unusual for a bull that had just scored that high a ride.

Ty wouldn’t have thought anything more about the bull if he hadn’t seen Boone Rasmussen rush up to the exit chute and reach through the fence to touch the still aggravated Devil’s Tornado. What the hell? Ty couldn’t see what Boone had done, but whatever it was made the bull stumble back, almost falling again. Rasmussen reached again for the bull, then quickly withdrew his hand, thrusting it deep into his jacket pocket.

How strange, Ty thought. Devil’s Tornado was frothing at the mouth, his head lolling. Ty saw the bull’s eyes. Wide and filled with…panic? Devil’s Tornado looked around crazily as if unable to focus.

Ty tried to remember where he’d seen that look on a bull before and it finally came to him. It had been years ago in a Mexican bull ring. He was just a kid at the time, but he would never forget that crazed look in the bull’s eyes.

Is this what Clayton had witnessed? Is this what had him so upset? Had Clayton suspected something was wrong with Devil’s Tornado, just as Ty did? But what would Clayton have done about it?

Ty wasn’t even sure what he’d just witnessed. All he knew was: something was wrong with that bull. And Boone Rasmussen was at the heart of it.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Letty asked, sitting next to her friend.

Dusty stared through the arena fence toward the chutes and Boone Rasmussen, not sure what she’d seen or what she was feeling right now. “See what?”

Letty let out an impatient sigh. “Don’t tell me you missed the entire bull ride because you were gawking at Boone Rasmussen.”

Dusty looked over at her friend, surprised how off balance she felt. She let out a little chuckle and pretended she wasn’t shaking inside. “Some ride, huh.”

But it wasn’t the ride that had her hugging herself to ward off a chill on such a warm spring night. She wasn’t sure what she’d seen. Letty, like everyone else, had been watching Huck Kramer once the bull had gone into the chutes.

Dusty had been watching Boone. That’s why she’d seen the expression on his face when he reached through the fence and hit Devil’s Tornado with something. Not a cattle prod but something else. The bull had been in her line of sight, so she couldn’t be sure what it had been.

Boone Rasmussen’s expression had been so…cold. It all happened so fast—the movement, Boone’s expression. But there was that moment when she wondered if she’d made a mistake when it came to him. Maybe he wasn’t what she was looking for at all.

TY MOVED ALONG the corrals to the exit chute where Devil’s Tornado now stood, head down, unmoving. Rasmussen stood next to the fence as if watching the bull, waiting. Waiting for what?

A chill ran the length of his spine as Ty stared at Devil’s Tornado. This had to be what Clayton had seen. The look in that bull’s eyes and Rasmussen acting just as strangely as the bull.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lamar Nichols stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the bull and Rasmussen.

Ty looked past the big burly cowboy to where Rasmussen prodded the bull and Devil’s Tornado stumbled up into the trailer. Rasmussen closed the door behind it with a loud clank.

A shudder went through Ty at the sound. “That’s some bull you got there.”

“He don’t like people.” Lamar stepped in front of him, blocking his view again. “Unless you’re authorized to be back here, I suggest you go back into the stands with the rest of the audience.”

Ty looked past Lamar and saw Rasmussen over by the semitrailer. “Sure,” Ty said to the barrel-chested cowboy blocking his way. No chance of getting a closer look now.

He knew if he tried, Lamar would call security or take a swing at him. Ty didn’t want to create that much attention.

As Ty headed back toward the grandstand, he searched the crowd for Clayton T. Brooks with growing concern. Now more than ever, he wanted to talk to the old bull rider about Devil’s Tornado and what had happened at the Billings rodeo that had riled Clayton.

But Ty didn’t see him in the crowd or along the fence with the other cowboys. Where was Clayton anyway? He never missed a rodeo this close to home.

“THANKS FOR HANGING AROUND with me,” Dusty McCall said as she and her best friend, Leticia Arnold, walked past the empty dark grandstands after the rodeo.

The crowd had gone home. But Dusty had waited around, coming up with lame excuses to keep her friend there because she hadn’t wanted to stay alone—and yet she’d been determined not to leave until she saw Boone.

But she never got the chance. Either he’d left or she just hadn’t seen him among the other cowboys loading stock.

“I’m pathetic,” Dusty said with another groan.

Letty laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s just…” She waved her hand through the air unable to explain all the feelings that had bombarded her from the first time she’d laid eyes on Boone a few weeks before. He was the first man who’d ever made her feel like this, and it confused and frustrated her to no end.

“Are you limping?” Letty asked, frowning at her.

“It’s nothing. Just a little accident I had earlier today,” Dusty said, not wanting to admit she’d ridden a saddle bronc just to impress Boone and he hadn’t even seen her ride. She hated to admit even to herself how stupidly she’d been behaving.

“Are you sure Boone’s worth it?” Letty asked.

Right at that moment, no.

“He just doesn’t seem like your type,” her friend said.

Dusty had heard all of this before. She didn’t want to hear it tonight. Especially since Letty was right. She didn’t understand this attraction to Boone any more than Letty did. “He’s just so different from any man I’ve ever met,” she tried to explain.

“That could be a clue right there.”

Dusty gave her friend a pointed look. “You have to admit he is good-looking.”

“In a dark and dangerous kind of way, I suppose,” Letty agreed.

Dark and dangerous. Wasn’t that the great attraction, Dusty thought, glancing back over her shoulder toward the rodeo arena. She felt a small shiver as she remembered the look on his face when he’d reached through the fence toward the bull. She frowned, realizing that she’d seen something drop to the ground as Boone pulled back his hand. Something that had caught the light. Something shiny. Like metal. Right after that Monte had picked whatever it was up from the ground and pocketed it.

“You’re sure he told you to meet him after the rodeo?” Letty asked, not for the first time.

Dusty had told a small fib in her zeal to see Boone tonight. On her way back from getting a soda, she’d seen Boone, heard him say, “Meet me after the rodeo.” No way was he talking to her. He didn’t know she existed. But when she’d related the story to Letty, she’d let on that she thought Boone had been talking to her.

“Maybe I got it wrong,” Dusty said now.

Maybe she’d gotten everything wrong. But that didn’t explain these feelings she’d been having lately. If she hadn’t been raised in a male-dominated family out in the boonies and hadn’t spent most of her twenty-one years up before the sun mending fence, riding range and slopping out horse stalls, she might know what to do with these alien yearnings. More to the point, what to do about these conflicting emotions when it came to Boone Rasmussen.

Instead, she felt inept, something she wasn’t used to. She’d always been pretty good at everything she tried. She could ride and rope and round up cattle with the best of them, and she’d been helping run the ranch for the past few years since her father’s heart attack.

But even with four older brothers, she knew squat about men. Well, one man in particular, Boone Rasmussen. And after tonight, she felt even more confused. She wasn’t even sure that once she got his attention, talked to him, that she would even like him. Worse, she couldn’t get that one instant, when he’d reached through the fence, out of her mind. What had fallen on the ground?

“Dusty?” Letty was a few yards ahead, looking back at her.

Dusty hadn’t realized that she’d stopped walking.

But then again, she was a McCall. She’d been raised to go after what she wanted. And anyway, she couldn’t wait around for Boone to make the first move. Heck, she could be ninety before that happened. She was also curious about what Boone had dropped. Stubborn determination and unbridled curiosity, a deadly combination.

“Oh, shoot, I forgot something,” Dusty said, already walking backward toward the arena. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Letty started to argue with her, but then just nodded with a look that said she knew only too well what Dusty was up to.

She thought again about the look she’d seen on Boone’s face earlier and felt a shiver as she wandered back through the dark arena.

The outdoor arena looked alien with all the lights off, no crowds cheering from the empty stands, no bulls banging around in the chutes or cowboys hanging on the fences. Even the concession stands were locked up.

As Dusty headed toward the chutes, stars glittered in the dark sky overhead. The scent of dust, manure and fried grease still hung in the air. She felt a low hum in her body that seemed to grow stronger as she neared the chutes, as if the night were filled with electricity.

The same excited feeling she’d had the first time she’d seen Boone Rasmussen a few weeks before. He’d been sitting on a fence by the bull chutes, his cowboy hat pulled low over his dark eyes. He’d taken her breath away and set something off inside her. Since then, Dusty hadn’t been able to think straight.

Like now. If she had a lick of sense, she’d turn around and hightail it out of here. She heard the scuffle of feet in the dirt behind the chutes, a restless whisper of movement and saw a dozen large shapes milling inside a corral. The bucking horses.

The roughstock contractor hadn’t finished loading up. That meant Boone could still be here since he had been working with Monte Edgewood, who provided the stock for the rodeo. Maybe Boone had stayed behind to help load the horses.

She climbed over the gate into the chutes. It was dark, but the stars and distant lights of the city cast a faint glow over the rodeo grounds. She moved along the chutes, stopping when she heard voices.

She looked past the empty corral and the one with the bucking horses and saw what appeared to be several cowboys. All she could really see were their hats etched against the darkness. Boone? She couldn’t be sure unless she got a little closer.

Climbing over the fence, she dropped into an empty corral next to the one with the bucking horses. On the cool night breeze came the low murmur of voices. She felt her stomach roil as she tried to think of what she would say to Boone if that was him back there.

Unfortunately, she found herself tongue-tied whenever she saw him. She’d never had trouble speaking her mind. Quite the opposite. What the devil was wrong with her?

She knew she couldn’t keep trying to get his attention the way she would have when she was ten. She had a flash of memory of her bucking horse ride earlier and Boone completely missing it. She still hurt from the landing. And the humiliation of her desperation.

Through the milling horses, she caught sight of the dark silhouette of three cowboy hats on the far side of the corrals. She couldn’t see enough of the men to tell if one of them was Boone. It was too dark, and the horses blocked all but the men’s heads and shoulders.

She stepped on one rung of the fence and tried to peer over the horses, surprised to hear the men’s voices rise in anger. She couldn’t catch the words, but the tone made it clear they were in a dispute over something.

She recognized Boone’s voice and could almost feel the anger in it. Suddenly, it stopped. Eerie silence dropped over the arena.

Hurriedly she dropped back down into the corral, hoping he hadn’t seen her, but knowing he must have. She felt her face flush with embarrassment. What if he thought she was spying on him? Or even worse, stalking him?

BOONE CAUGHT MOVEMENT beyond the horses in the corral and held up his hand to silence the other two.

A light shone near the rodeo grounds exit, but the arena and corrals lay in darkness. He stared past the horses, wondering if his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Through a break in the horses, he saw a figure crouch down.

“Go on, get out of here,” he whispered.

Lamar nodded and headed for the semitruck and trailer with Devil’s Tornado inside.

Boone glanced at Waylon Dobbs. The rodeo veterinarian looked scared and ready to run, but he hadn’t moved.

“Who is it?” Waylon whispered.

Boone motioned with an impatient shake of his head that he didn’t know and for Waylon to leave. “I’ll take care of it. Go. We’re finished here anyway.”

Slipping through the fence into the corral with the bucking horses, Boone used the horses to conceal himself as he worked his way to the far gate—the gate that would send the massive horses back into the corral where he’d just seen someone spying on them.

Had the person heard what they’d been saying? He couldn’t take the chance. Everyone knew accidents happened all the time when nosy people got caught where they didn’t belong.

The horses began to move restlessly around the corral, nervous with him among them. His jaw tightened as he thought about who was just beyond the horses. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew the person was still there.

Carefully, he unlocked the gate and stepped back in the shadows out of the way of the horses. Whoever had been spying on him was in for a surprise.

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