Chapter Three
Jacklyn silently cursed Dillon Savage as she drove, glad she hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Wouldn’t he have loved that? It was bad enough she’d proved his point that everyone broke the law.
She couldn’t believe she’d let him get to her. Like right now. She knew damned well he wasn’t really sleeping. She’d bet every penny she had in the bank that he was over there smugly grinning to himself, pleased that he’d stirred her up. The man was impossible.
She tried to relax, but she couldn’t have been more tense if she’d had a convicted murderer sitting next to her instead of a cattle rustler. But then, she’d always figured Dillon Savage was only a trigger pull away from being a killer, anyway.
She could hear him breathing softly, and every once in a while caught a whiff of his all-male scent. With his eyes closed, she could almost convince herself this had been a good idea.
Desperate times required desperate measures. She had her bosses and a whole lot of angry cattlemen demanding that the rustlers be stopped. Because of her high success rate in the past—and the fact that she’d brought in the now legendary Dillon Savage—everyone expected her to catch this latest rustling ring.
She’d done everything she could think to do, from encouraging local law enforcement to check anyone moving herds late at night, to having workers at feedlots and sale barns watch for anyone suspicious selling cattle.
Not surprisingly, she’d met resistance when she’d tried to get the ranchers themselves to take measures to ward off the rustlers, such as locking gates, checking the backgrounds of seasonal employees and keeping a better eye on their stock.
But many of the ranches were huge, the cattle miles from the house. A lot of ranches were now run by absentee owners. Animals often weren’t checked for weeks, even months on end. By the time a rancher realized some of his herd was missing, the rustlers were long gone.
Everyone was angry and demanding something be done. But at this point, she wasn’t sure anyone could stop this band of rustlers. These guys were too good. Almost as good as Dillon Savage had been in his heyday.
And that was why she’d gotten him out of prison, she reminded herself as she turned on the radio, keeping the volume down just in case he really was sleeping. She liked him better asleep.
Lost in her own private thoughts, she drove toward Lewistown, Montana, to the sounds of country music on the radio and the hum of tires on the pavement. Ahead was nothing but trouble.
But the real trouble, she knew, was sitting right beside her.
DILLON STIRRED as she pulled up in front of the Yogo Inn in downtown Lewistown and parked the pickup.
He blinked at the motel sign, forgetting for a moment where he was. His body ached from the hours in the pickup, but he’d never felt better in his life.
Opening his door, he breathed in the evening air. A slight breeze rustled the leaves on the trees nearby. He stretched, watching Jack as she reached behind the seat for her small suitcase.
“I can get that,” he said.
“Just take care of your own,” she replied, without looking at him.
Inside the motel, Dillon felt like a kept man. He stood back as Jack registered and paid for their two adjoining reserved rooms, then asked about places in town that delivered food.
“What sounds good to you?” she asked him after she’d been given the keys, both of which she kept, and was rolling her small suitcase down the hallway.
She traveled light, too, it appeared. But then, he expected nothing less than efficiency from Jack.
“What sounds good to me?” He cocked a brow at her, thinking how long it had been.
“For dinner,” she snapped.
“Chinese.”
She seemed surprised. “I thought you’d want steak.”
“We had steak in prison. What we didn’t have was Chinese food. Unless you’d prefer something else.”
“No, Chinese will be fine,” she said as she opened the door to his room.
He looked in and couldn’t help but feel a small thrill. It had been years since he’d slept in a real bed. Past it, the bathroom door was open and he could see a bathtub. Amazing how he used to take something like a bathtub for granted.
“Is everything all right?” Jack asked.
He nodded, smiling. “Everything’s great.” He took a deep breath, surprised how little it took to make him feel overjoyed. “Would you mind if I have a bath before dinner? In fact, just order for me. Anything spicy.”
Her look said she should have known he’d want something spicy. “I’ll be right next door,” she said, as if she had to warn him.
The last thing on his mind was taking off. All he could think about was that bathtub—and the queen-size bed. Well, almost. He looked at Jack. Past her, down the hall, he spotted a vending machine.
“Is there something else?” she asked.
He grinned. “Do you have some change? I’d really like to get something out of the vending machine.”
She glanced behind her, then reached into her shoulder bag and handed him a couple of dollars.
“Thanks.” He looked down at the money in his hand. He hadn’t seen money for a while, either. He tossed his duffel bag into the room and strode down the hallway, knowing she was watching him. From the machine, he bought a soda and, just for the hell of it, a container of sea scent bubble bath.
She was still standing in the hallway, not even pretending she wasn’t keeping an eye on him.
“You’ll ruin my reputation if you tell anyone about this,” he said, only half joking as he lifted the package of bubble bath. “But when I saw that bathtub…We only had showers in prison,” he added when he saw her confusion.
“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 man swung the thick limb like a baseball bat. Instead, Tom just heard a sickening thud as the limb struck his temple, felt his knees give out under him and watched in an odd fascination as the dried needles on the ground came up to meet his face, just before everything went black.
JACKLYN WILDE STARTED at the sound of a knock on the hall door to her motel room. “Delivery.”
She sat up in confusion, horrified to realize that she’d dozed off. After the phone call from Stratton, she’d lain down for only a minute, but must have fallen asleep.
She rushed to the receiver terminal, half expecting to see that Dillon was no longer in his room.
But the steady beep assured her he was right next door. Or at least his tracking device was.
She thought about knocking on his door to check, using the food as an excuse. But instead she went to tip the deliveryman, closing her door behind him.
As she placed the Chinese food sacks on the table in the corner of her room, she heard a soft tap on the door between their rooms.
“Dinner’s here,” she called in response. Unconsciously, she braced herself as he stepped into her room.
His hair was wet and curled at his neck, his face flushed from his bath, and he smelled better than sweet and sour shrimp any day of the week. On top of that, he looked so happy and excited that anyone with a heart would have felt something as he made a beeline for the food.
She knew she was considered cold and heartless with no feelings, especially the female kind. It made it easier in her line of work to let everyone think that.
But how could she not be moved to see Dillon like a kid in a candy store as he opened each of the little white boxes, making delighted sounds and breathing in the scent of each, all the time flashing that grin of his?
“I can’t believe this. I think you got all my favorites,” he said, turning that grin on her. “You must have read my mind.” The look in his eyes softened, taking all the air from the room.
She turned away and pretended to look in her suitcase for something.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat while it’s hot. Work can wait. Can’t it?”
She pulled out the map she’d planned to show him later, and glanced toward the small table in the corner and Dillon. “Go ahead and start.”
He shook his head. “My mother taught better than that.”
Reluctantly, she joined him as he began to dish up the rice. “I just want a little sweet and sour shrimp.”
He looked up. “You can’t be serious. Who’s going to eat all this?”
She couldn’t help her smile. “I figured you would. You did say you’ve been starved for Chinese food.”
His grateful expression was almost her undoing—and his subsequent vulnerability as well. He ducked his head as if overcome with emotions he didn’t want her to see, and spooned sweet and sour shrimp onto a plate for her.
She made a job of putting the map on the chair beside her, giving him a moment. Maybe she’d underestimated what four years in prison had done to him. Or what it must be like for him to be out.
When she looked up, however, there was no sign of anything on his face except a brilliant smile as he dished up his own plate. She warned herself not to be taken in by any of his antics as she took a bite of her meal and watched him do the same.
He closed his eyes and moaned softly. She tried to ignore him as she pretended to study the map on the chair next to her while she nibbled her food.
“You have to try this.”
Before she could react, he reached across the table and shoved a forkful of something at her. Instinctively, she opened her mouth.
“Isn’t that amazing?” he asked as he intently watched her chew.
It was amazing. Spicy, but not too hot. “Which one is that?” she asked, just to break the tense quiet in the room as he stared at her.
“Orange-peel beef.” He was already putting some on her plate. “And wait until you try this.” He started toward her with another forkful.
She held up her hand, more than aware of how intimate it was to be fed by a man. She was sure Dillon Savage was aware of it, too. “Really, I—” But the fork had touched her lips and her mouth opened again.
As he dragged the fork away slowly, she felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the spicy food.
She met his gaze and felt a chill run the length of her spine. The smile on his lips, the teasing tilt of his head, couldn’t hide what was deep in those pale blue eyes.
She had forgotten that she’d been the one to put him behind bars, but clearly, Dillon Savage had not.