so her life in the wild would begin.
Ducking under and around ancient trees, then between head-high thickets, Tess came at last to the stream, which angled across the slope. For most of its course, the brook ran shallow and clear—icy-cold from the snows above, narrow enough to step across. But at this point it paused in its chuckling journey and widened to a pool—another reason Tess had chosen this site for Zelda’s den.
She set the rifle and her kit to one side and knelt, then unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. Then the next. An absent smile curved her lips as she pictured Zelda’s spotted, big-footed kittens crouching on the rocks beside her, peering fascinated into the pools. Ears pricked as they searched for minnows.
An excellent place to raise a family.
CHAPTER FOUR
YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, Adam had driven his truck up to the trailhead north of Sumner line camp. From there he had made several trips, backpacking a summer’s worth of books and supplies two miles downhill to the cabin.
Too tired to head back at the end of the day, he’d stoked the wood-burning stove and stayed on, figuring he’d return to the valley in the morning. There was still plenty to be done before the cattle drive started. Plus, tomorrow night he’d meet Gabe in Durango—go over final thoughts and plans for this investigation.
Sumner line camp was Adam’s old stomping ground from three summers ago. Last time he’d lived at this cabin, he’d been mourning Alice. A two-year engagement that should have ended with a wedding had ended instead in betrayal. His ring returned with a pretty apology, and her lukewarm hope that they could still be friends.
But if Alice didn’t want to build a home and family with him, Adam could do without her friendship. Without any reminder of her—or what might have been.
Stung by her loss and the part his job had played in their breakup, he’d even considered quitting the police, going back to his Colorado roots to start life over again as a cowboy. He’d spent that summer up here in the high country, relearning that he needed more of a challenge in his life than a herd of cantankerous cows.
That September he’d gone back to New Orleans, back to the force, with a renewed dedication.
And with his heart on the mend, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never risk it again. Since Alice, Adam had devoted himself to loving women well—but never seriously.
Still, sleeping in his old bunk, he found a ghost of that summer’s loneliness had crept upon him in the night. Flooded with memories both painful and pleasurable, he’d woken at dawn. Instead of heading back, he’d gone out walking. Wandering miles farther than he’d intended, he came at last upon a stream.
And heard a woman’s voice.
Pure wistful imagination, Adam assured himself. Nothing but the babble of running water weaving around the remnants of last night’s dreams.
Whatever its source, it trailed off after a minute. He shrugged and walked on, eyes on the stair-stepping run of narrow pools. If a lover was too much to wish for, then maybe there were trout?
A movement ahead caught his eye and he looked up.
And there she was.
A dark-haired woman kneeling on a rock, both hands cupped as she dipped them to the pool.
He sucked in a startled breath and froze.
Her hands scooped water and splashed it on her face. She made a muffled, laughing sound—it had to be freezing—then smoothed her palms over her tousled hair, brushing it back off her brow. Her fingers met at the nape of her neck—she laced them and stretched her spine. Small, high breasts rose with the sinuous movement and Adam bit back an instinctive groan.
Again she bent to the pool. Bathed her face and swan neck. “Yow!” Drops of water glistened on her throat and the curves that the flaring halves of her shirt revealed.
Enchanted, he moved closer—
And stepped on a branch. Crack!
She didn’t glance toward the sound, but turned smoothly away, reached—and swung back again. A rifle swung with her, rising, seeking…
At the sight of that rounding bore, years of hard-earned reflexes kicked in—Adam dived for cover. He hit the ground good shoulder first, then rolled. A bolt of lightning slammed across his chest, sizzling sternum to shoulder point. “Shit! Merde!” If he’d rebroken his collarbone! Or had she shot him? But no, he’d heard no retort.
“You’re…not a bear.” She’d risen to peer into the bushes where he’d landed.
“Dammit!” One minute he’d been whole and well, nothing but flirtation on his mind.
And now? Adam drew a shaking breath and pushed up out of a drift of last year’s leaves. Pain played a savage piano riff down his ribcage. “Hell!” He hated feeling helpless. If she’d shoved him back to the bottom of the hill he’d been scrabbling up with such effort…
“Or maybe you are.” She’d shifted her rifle up and away, but not so far it couldn’t quickly swing back. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Did I—?!”
“Well, I don’t like being snuck up on,” his tormentor said reasonably. The corners of her mouth curled, then straightened again. “’Specially not in spring, when the sow bears have cubs.” Cradling the rifle across her left forearm, she reached casually for her buttons, fumbled at the lowest one, single-handed.
“Put the gun down before you drop it,” he growled, rising stiffly to his knees.
Her slate-green eyes narrowed. Her hand paused in its effort. “No need.” A pulse fluttered in the damp hollow of her throat.
So her coolness was a front. The cop in him was glad she was wary of a strange man, even though her grip on the gun set his alarm bells to jangling. “Look, I’m turning around. So set the gun down nice and easy and use both hands, okay? Much safer for both of us.”
He turned his back and seized the moment to run his own hands up his ribs. Painful, but no new jagged bumps where they’d mended. He fingered his collarbone and winced. Likely pulled a muscle as rebroken the bone, but—the hell with it. If he couldn’t cowboy this summer, then he couldn’t do the job he’d promised Gabe. He swung around again.
Caught in the act of fastening her top button, she froze as their eyes collided.
The moment stretched out…his breathing quickened. Possibilities spun in the air like dust motes sparked by the sun.
Her fine eyes widened and he knew she read his thoughts, knew she wanted to look away. Was too proud to let him win this silent clash.
With calm deliberation she finished her task, while a dusting of rose painted her high cheekbones.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked suddenly. She hadn’t just dropped out of his dreams.
She wore running shoes, not serious hiking boots. He scanned the rocks around her feet and found no sign of a backpack. Just a canvas overnight
