out a few bills. He tucked them under his plate, then finally stood, moving in a slow, languid manner that was strangely seductive. Or maybe it was the bronzed flesh beneath the sun-bleached hair or the rugged cast to his youthful face that generated the masculine appeal.
“I’ll drop you off and stay while you check out the condition of the place,” he proposed. “If you change your mind about wanting to stay out there, I’ll run you back into town to the motel.”
“I’m tough. I can handle a few nights without luxuries.” At least she hoped she was tough. If she wasn’t, life was about to become even more unpleasant than it already had been in the past couple of weeks. Because like it or not, the Running Deer was now home. The only one she had.
She joined Langley in saying goodbye to Gus and offered a genuine thank-you for her food, assuring him it was the best she’d eaten in a long time. It was nice to be totally honest for a change.
Langley held out his jacket and then slipped it over her shoulders when she accepted. The early November wind was cutting, but the downpour had slowed to a drizzle by the time they left the café and walked the few steps to Langley’s pickup truck. He opened the door and she climbed inside. She waited for the chills of apprehension to close around her heart as Langley slid behind the wheel and slammed his own door shut.
But for the first time in two weeks, her pulse didn’t race and her stomach didn’t tie itself into ratty knots at the prospect of being alone with a strange man. Maybe her psychological scars were starting to heal the way her physical ones had. Or maybe a stalwart cowboy lawman in a small Texas town far away from New Orleans didn’t unnerve her the way every man who’d entered her hospital room had.
Now all she had to worry about was what she was going to do on a ranch when all she knew about cows was that they gave milk or became steak. And all she knew about herself were the images that haunted her mind, like a video that played the same terrifying scene over and over again.
She shivered, suddenly all too aware that she was about to be alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with only the ever-running tape in her mind for company. It wouldn’t take long to find out just how tough she really was.
LANGLEY TURNED IN AT the Running Deer Ranch, surprised to find the gate unlatched and swung open. He got out of the truck and closed it behind them, suspicion running rampant in his usually trusting mind. Maybe it was the badge that had changed him, or maybe it was just that in trying to fill Branson’s shoes, he had adopted the same doubting-Thomas nature that had always ruled his older brother.
At any rate, the open gate wasn’t the only thing troubling him. He had serious doubts that the woman sitting beside him had told him the whole truth. She’d come by bus to claim a ranch she’d said her uncle had left her, only she didn’t even know the man had died. Her declared intentions were to stay at the ranch, but the only thing she carried that resembled luggage was the soaking wet backpack.
She’d also claimed she wasn’t hungry back at Gus’s, but he’d never seen a woman eat quite that fast or appear to enjoy her meal more. And she was nervous, constantly rubbing the back of her neck or wringing her hands. When she caught him looking at her, she’d stop and sit straight, staring out into the darkness.
He’d do some investigating in the morning, find out if the Running Deer had been turned over to her. Of course, first he’d have to find out her last name. She’d been stingy even in that department, changing the subject when he’d asked.
A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the cabin. It looked even worse in the dark than it did in the daylight, if that was possible. Most of the shutters were missing, part of the railing was off the narrow porch, and the edge of the bottom step had rotted away.
“This is it,” Langley said, turning the truck so that his headlights illuminated the front door. He adjusted the delay on the lights so they’d stay on until Danielle had time to maneuver the dilapidated stairs.
She stared at the cabin. “Milton lived here?”
“He did. Right up until the day he died. But then, your uncle didn’t seem to require much in the way of creature comforts. He liked to fish and he liked to raise cattle. Actually, the ranch buildings are in much better shape than his cabin.”
“That’s Uncle Milty for you.”
But in spite of her flippant reply, her step was hesitant as she climbed down from the truck. Langley studied her profile, the bruises on her cheeks and chin taking on an almost ghoulish appearance in the glow of the headlight beams.
He walked over and took her elbow, half-expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Looks like I’m home,” she said. “I appreciate your giving me a lift out here, but you don’t need to stay. I’m sure you have work to do.”
“I’ll go in with you and have a look around, make sure no wild animals have taken over the place since it’s been vacated.”
She whirled around. “What kind of wild animals?”
“I don’t know. Polecats. Coyotes. Rats.”
“You’re joking, right?”
A coyote bayed in the distance as if in answer to her question. She shuddered.
“Do you still want me to leave you on your own?” he asked.
She shook her head, and her hair tumbled over her face. Tangled and disheveled, it was beginning to dry, falling waywardly about her cheeks and giving her the appearance of an impish nymph.
She fished a brass key from the pocket of her jeans. “This should open the door.”
“I doubt it’s locked. You don’t get a lot of uninvited guests this far off the main road.”
He led her up the steps and turned the knob on the front door. It squeaked open as he expected. The expectations ended there, dissolved by the acid that gnawed at his stomach. A string of curses flew from his mouth as he assessed the damage.
The upholstery on the couch and an ancient recliner had been ripped to shreds, the stuffing scattered over the floor like clumps of yellow snow.
“I guess I spoke too soon,” Langley said, walking to the center of the room and turning slowly so that he could better digest the sick destruction. “But I doubt whoever vandalized this place would have been deterred by a lock on the door.”
Danielle took a deep breath and then walked past him.
He followed her into the kitchen and to more chaos. If a twister had picked up the house and turned it upside down, it probably wouldn’t have wreaked any worse havoc. The floor and counter were littered with broken glass and scattered pans and utensils, and a steady stream of ants marched through trails of sugar and streaks of syrup that painted the floor.
Bits of glass cracked and skidded under Langley’s boots as he circled the kitchen. They’d had vandals strike in Kelman before. Paint sprayed on the water tower, four-letter words carved in inappropriate places, fences cut.
But he couldn’t remember hearing about anything like this, and the sight of it ground in his gut the same way the glass cut and scratched into the linoleum beneath the thick soles of his boots.
He
