Sam's mind was racing. Maybe, he decided, Roy had done him a favor after all. It had been an unpleasant surprise to discover that Dillon MacKenzie was still alive, and a lawman yet... Why, not six months ago the bastard had killed two members of his gang.
And that same day, MacKenzie had found out for himself why the legendary Stringer Sam had never been caught. No doubt he was the one MacKenzie had really been after, but so what? Sam had slipped beneath the long arm of the law too many times to be bothered by the likes of Dillon MacKenzie.
His mind sifted back. MacKenzie hadn't been a lawman two years ago ... He recalled that long ago day he'd hauled MacKenzie from his stage coach, him and his ladybird. Shit, but the man had a mouth! MacKenzie had sworn to see him in his grave ... A smirk curled Sam's lips. It was with a great deal of pleasure that he'd decided MacKenzie deserved a slow, painful death. He'd taken even more pleasure in taking MacKenzie's woman as his own...
Cruel lips flattened in a vicious sneer. But the bastard hadn't died, God rot his soul!
This time, Sam vowed coldly, he wouldn't fail.
Roy's eyes darted back and forth between Sam and the door. Could he make it? he wondered frantically. It was worth a try, he decided. But before he could make a move, Sam lifted his head. His smile was purely malicious.
In his hand was a length of rope.
Roy staggered back. "Please, Sam." He was blubbering like a baby. "Please don't kill me. Please ..."
Down the street, the merry song-and-dance at the Silver Spur continued. A shout of ribald laughter drifted on the air as Rowdy Roy choked his last breath—
The townspeople found his body strung up from the gnarled branches of the old cottonwood tree behind the jail the next morning.
Chapter 1
The house was two-story and sprawling, set back among a windbreak of towering cottonwood trees. Beyond the house and cluster of outbuildings, the Laramie Mountains rose in shadowed silhouette against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.
Abigail MacKenzie stood on the porch, her slender figure garbed in faded brown cotton. A gust of wind blew a stray strand of hair across her cheek. She pushed it away and flipped the thick chestnut braid from her shoulder to her back. A faint frown marred the honeyed skin of her forehead as she anxiously scanned the horizon.
Lord, but she regretted her argument with Pa this morning! She had stewed and fretted since he'd left, so much so that Dorothy had finally chased her outside.
Yet it wasn't all her fault! Her life revolved around the Diamondback ranch, and her marital status—or lack of it—had never concerned her. But lately Pa had begun to bring up the subject more and more often. It didn't help that Dillon had begun to chide her about it as well.
"No one could put up with you, little sister," he'd told her just last week. "You're too damned full of starch and sass. And no man likes to be told what to do—especially by a woman."
The usually soft line of Abby's lips tightened. Just thinking of Dillon's lofty tone and mocking grin infuriated her all over again. And now Pa had practically called her an old maid, too!
Her father's approval was the one thing she'd always sought—and most of the time she succeeded in getting it. She could ride and shoot and rope as well as any of the ranch hands, which was why she'd gone after that stray calf yesterday morning.
Sure enough, she'd managed to find him. He'd also managed to get himself cornered by a timber wolf; a skitter of excitement had raced through her. They'd lost a dozen calves and yearlings the last few months. Lucas was convinced a wolf was responsible. Could this be the one? And wouldn't Pa be glad if she nailed this critter straight through the heart?
But the wolf had bolted, and he was a wily one indeed. He'd led her in circles for hours before she finally found his trail again, which was why she hadn't gotten back to the ranch until well after midnight. Pa was pacing a hole through the rug in his study. Lord, but he could boom and bluster! He'd shouted so that Abby was certain she'd heard the windows rattling in their frames.
"God Almighty!" he exploded. "What possessed you to take off like that? Do you know what's been going through my mind? I thought you were lost. Lying hurt somewhere—maybe even dead!" Duncan MacKenzie ran a meaty hand through the thatch of iron-gray hair on his head and glared at his daughter.
Abby dropped her gloves on his desk. "I told Lucas where I was going," she said coolly. Lucas was her father's foreman. "Besides, it's not the first time I've chased down a stray calf."
"It's the first time you didn't have sense to come back before nightfall!"
He leveled a gaze of fearsome intensity upon her—not that she showed any signs of backing down, or even bending a little. The seconds ticked by while they fought a silent battle of wills. Finally Duncan swore silently. Abby was a strip off his own hide, all right. And so was her brother.
"Isn't it enough that your brother risks his damn fool hide trailing outlaws from here to kingdom come? And all in the name of law and order!" He snorted, and Abby was heartily thankful Dillon wasn't there to hear him. "Now you're chasing halfway across the country after a five-dollar calf!" he finished. "I'm not so greedy that I'll miss that five dollars, missy!"
"But it wasn't just the calf," she proclaimed with a shake of her head. "There was a wolf on his heels when I found him. He ran off when I showed up but I tracked him down." Her eyes gleamed. "I found the wolf's den, Pa, and his mate, too!" She thought of the pelts tied to her saddle and tossed her head triumphantly. "I made sure we won't lose any more calves to those two, Pa."
It was a hollow victory. Pa remained unimpressed, and Abby slipped upstairs to her room, more than a little disappointed.
When she'd come downstairs before sunup this morning, she had decided it might be wise to say no more about the whole episode. They planned to start branding out in the summer pasture today.
Abby had taken it for granted that she would be present as usual.
Pa had curtly refused.
Abby shoved back her plate and regarded him with narrowed eyes. "I haven't missed a branding in years, Pa!"
"Well, you're going to miss this one," he shot back.
Abby glanced at Dorothy, who stood at the stove in the corner sliding flapjacks onto a plate. Dorothy was Lucas's wife; she and Lucas had a small house out behind the barn, and Dorothy did the cooking and cleaning for them as well. Was it her imagination, or were Dorothy's shoulders shaking with laughter?
Her gaze slid back to Pa. "You're still riled up about last night," she muttered.
"Damn right I am. I want you close to home, Abby, do you hear?"
When Abby said nothing, his eyes sought Dorothy's. "Dorothy," he said more quietly, "would you go out and ask someone to saddle up Brandy for me?"
Dorothy flitted from the kitchen, her lips still twitching in amusement.
His gaze returned to Abby, who hadn't relieved him of that accusatory stare. Her chin jutted out, a smaller, more delicate version of his. "Why?" she demanded. "Why now?"
"Because I can't trust you further than I can see you, young lady." Duncan's chair scraped against the floor. "Maybe I ought to marry you off to Buck Russell and be done with you!"
Abby gasped. Buck Russell, who owned the neighboring ranch on their northern border, had made it known to Pa that he wasn't averse to uniting the two families—and their ranches.
"Pa, I can't believe I heard you right! You don't even like Buck Russell. Besides, we're a team, Pa. You always said so. We love this place! Why, what would happen to the ranch if I weren't here? Dillon wouldn't be here for you like I am... you were right when you said he'd rather be off chasing outlaws than chasing stray calves!"
An odd expression crossed Duncan's features. Too late Abby wished she hadn't spoken. While there was a part of him that was proud his son was Laramie's marshal, she alone knew how deeply it pained him that Dillon had never been interested in the ranch. But she didn't dare say so, for that very reason.